#dear god this took an hour to write

[divinelolita]

gm baeeee i missed uuuu😍😍😍

i jus thought of smth and now i’m gonna give it to youuuu

georg and tom(together cuz like why not and it can be headcanons or a full fic) who got a bf who kinda stims(for example clapping your hands, shaking your fingers, jumping up and down etc etc u can do more research later on if u want) when hes excited or doing things he rlly rlly likes BUT

but but but sadly in the past hes been called weird for it and if tom and georg gave reader smth they know he really likes on the outside it’s gonna look like he doesn’t care for it but he’s actually holding the stims cause he thinks his bfs are gonna find him weird😔🤞🏾(for me holding in stims can be painful cause it feels like your straining or holding in a really bad cough)

OMFG

I GOTTA DO THAT GUSTAV THING U SENT ME

ONE MIMENT

GEORG X MALE READER X TOM

hiiii bae i missed you more 😻😻 if this is bad or inaccurate i apologize, i did try doing some research on the topic aswell

Georg and Tom exchanged excited glances with each other as they placed a perfectly wrapped box infront of their boyfriend. It was a shiny, metallic blue color along with a satin white ribbon. On the side of the box was written "To: M/N" . Tom looked at the boy excitedly, barley being able to contain a huge grin being spread across his face. "For you, M/N!" he chuckled to himself as he watched his eyes widen slightly as your face lit up.

"F..for me?" You questioned, slightly squirming in your seat as you felt your heart beat a little faster, excitement and nervousness pulsing through your veins as you ran your fingers gently along the sides of the beautiful box infront of him. Georg smiled warmly, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear as he looked at the boy with love. "Of course, M/N! You deserve it. Now c'mon, open it!"

With shaking hands, You inched closer to the box, carefully pulling off the blue wrapping paper to reveal a beige colored box, practically begging to be opened. "What could it be.." You muttered quietly to yourself, gently shaking the box making something rattle inside. "Well, it's not a puppy if that's what you were hoping for." Tom's dreads swung behind him as he leaned in closer, his voice tinted with a bit of sarcasm.

You giggled quietly, pushing Tom in the shoulder. You could barley keep still, your hands were shaking and you kept shifting from foot to foot. Georg looked at you expectantly, a warm smile on his face. "Alright, just open it already!" he chuckled, inching a bit closer to you. You took a deep breath as he unfolded the box gently. You drummed your fingers on the sides of the box with one hand as the other went into the box, pushing aside the tissue paper. You grasped the item in your hand, staying like that for just a moment before you hesitantly pulled it out of the box completely.

".. Oh my god." you said breathlessly, your eyes widening and your jaw slightly dropped, rotating the item in your hand. You rocked back and forth on your feet, hands shaking as you tried not to move them to clap or ball them up. You didn't want to drop the item your boyfriends had gotten you, but trying to stay still like this was starting to hurt you and make you more anxious.

Georg smiled at you softly, his hand rubbing your back slowly in circles. "Do you like it, M/N?" he hummed, pecking your cheek gently. You felt your heart beat faster as you gripped onto the item a bit harder, trying to control yourself with a deep breath. "I... Yeah!" you managed, legs bouncing under you. You managed a small smile as you tried to keep your stims and movements to a minimum. You didn't want to scare them or make them nervous, so you tried your best to hide your excitement.

Tom looked at you for a second before slinging an arm around your shoulder, a hand going to yours which was holding the gift. "You don't have to hide anything from us..We want to see you happy, babe." he coaxed, kissing your cheek.

Georg added, "We don't want you to hurt yourself or be uncomfortable. You don't need to hold back." he ran his hands down your sides, rubbing in a circular motion.

You tried to bite back the massive grin but failed, letting out s soft squeal as you tightened your grip on the item, bringing it closer to your face. "Oh my god! How.. How did you even get this?" you bounced on your legs happily, your hands shaking as you placed the item infront of you, looking at it with awe as you clapped your palms together quietly, waves of happiness wracking though your body.

Tom just chuckled, pulling you closer as he brought you into a hug, kissing the top of your head. "A wizard never reveals his secrets." you heard Georg snort beside you, guffawing at Toms comment. "A magician never reveals his secrets," Georg corrected, taking another step close to you guys as he looked down at the resent they had gotten you.

[screamingaboutaceattorney]

which culprits were executed?

disclaimer i know nothing about actual law and did no research for this post which i feel fits the spirit of the franchise so i will not apologize for it. also i did not include perjury charges because no one has ever been charged for that in these fucking games

ideas under the cut because spoilers or whatever and also there's so many of these bitches oh my fucking god

frank sahwit: no, i don't think so. he killed one person in a panic, and aside from that he was just a petty burglar. probably a decade or two in jail, but he's getting out eventually (plus, we did see him in the imprisoned turnabout, and he seemed to be doing just fine)

redd white: unfortunately, no. blackmailing most of la and killing mia is probably not an executionable offense :( i'd imagine life in prison, if not 50 years or so. depends on his lawyer, honestly

dee vasquez: i'd say no. yes, she blackmailed people and had mafia connections, but she killed hammer in self defense. a good few decades behind bars, and then she'll be back to producing movies with the same dramatics as always (someone is probably going to keep a closer eye on that, though)

yanni yogi: prooooobably not? he killed hammond, yeah, but was at least slightly coerced into it, and based on his confession in turnabout goodbyes, probably plead guilty this time! fairly certain he'll just get a life sentence

manfred von karma: hell yes. he killed a man in cold blood over what most people would consider an inconvenience, covered it up for fifteen years, assaulted maya and phoenix (which they probably pressed charges for), and probably forged evidence (he definitely got jeff master's confession under duress, at least, even if it was orchestrated by blaise). even beyond all that, though, we know he's dead by bridge to the turnabout (maybe earlier, i don't remember off the top of my head)

damon gant: yuuuup. he killed two people, forged loooooots of evidence, blackmailed the chief prosecutor, and did so all as the chief of police (except the first murder, i guess). he's gonna hang for that

richard wellington: nah. similar to sahwit, he was a petty criminal who killed someone in a panic to keep his other crimes a secret. he'll be out of prison in like 25 years

mimi miney: this one's tough, but i think no. did she kill thirteen people? yes, she did. however, the first twelve were because she was overworked and exhausted and made a mistake, while the last one was something she did out of desperation to keep her secret from getting out. she's probably got a good 20-30 years behind bars, but she'll get out eventually

acro: nope, nope, no way is he being executed. he intended to kill regina, sure, but definitely not russell. i'd imagine the rest of the circus vouched for him at his trial, too. on top of that, he's already disabled. probably got a solid 20 or so years in prison, but that's it

matt engarde: shockingly (maybe), no! he's an all-around godawful person, but kidnapping a girl and hiring an assassin (and then blackmailing said assassin) probably doesn't warrant the death penalty. i imagine he would've asked for life in prison, too, given the... situation he was in regarding de killer

dahlia hawthorne: canonically executed, which is a big plot point. don't think i need to elaborate here

luke atmey: no? he killed bullard because he was being blackmailed, blackmailed ron delite because he was being blackmailed, and then was also a phantom thief. don't think he's gonna die for any of that

furio tigre: i'm gonna say no. he killed glen elg, was a loan shark, had ties with the mob, and assaulted phoenix, but i imagine that just got him a hefty prison sentence

godot: absolutely not. he's canonically disabled and only killed misty to protect maya. if anyone's getting out of this with just a fine, it's him

kristoph gavin: empathetically yes. forging evidence, killing two people, attempting to kill a third... he's getting the noose, no questions asked

alita tiala: don't think so. she killed meraktis, but he did try to kill her first. also had ties to the mob, but the kitakis openly hate her now, so i don't think that matters as much. three decades in prison, tops

daryan crescend: HARD maybe. he killed letouse, blackmailed machi, and smuggled the cocoons, but he's also a celebrity and a police officer and was being kinda blackmailed about the cocoons. depends on his lawyer and how hard interpol pushes for his execution. i could see it going either way

ted tonate: no, but he probably is getting a life sentence for killing arme, assaulting apollo, and setting off a bomb in an occupied courtroom while a trial was in session

florent l'belle: i don't think so, no. he can only be charged with killing kyubi since perjury isn't a thing in ace attorney, so he's probably got 50 years to a life sentence, since he did kill the mayor of a village and also caused environmental damage with all the fucking perfume (he did get sued for that one, though).

aristotle means: gonna say no here. just because he accepted bribes and instilled his students with shit values doesn't mean any of that is necessarily a crime (the bribes thing might be but hell if i'm gonna check), so it's really just killing one person that he's being charged with. his sentence might be longer depending on klavier, though, since he was expressly close with constance courte and is well respected in the legal system (as well as an actual fucking celebrity)

the phantom: if simon blackquill was gonna hang for killing metis and stealing a psychological profile while pleading guilty, there's no fucking way this guy's escaping the noose

marlon rimes: canonically, no! that death was a full-on accident, and phoenix argued for him to receive help instead of conviction. he'll be fine

pees'lubn andistan'dhin: given that they were going to execute a nine-year-old for this crime, yeah he's gonna die

roger retinz: don't think so, no. troupe gramarye was fucked up, and he continued the trend, but i don't think he'll die for it. depends on who prosecutes his trial though, since he framed trucy for it and she is the little darling of the legal system (who is not very involved in the legal system)

geiru toneido: probably not. she killed taifu on purpose, sure, but over a misunderstanding. i'd imagine she'll be fine and out of jail in a few decades

paul atishon: god i wish, but no. being a politician an asshole isn't a crime, and i don't think archie buff's death is something he'll get the death penalty for

ga'ran sigatar khura'in: i have NO IDEA if she'll be executed or not. she's responsible for countless deaths (and lots of treason), yes, but she IS still royalty. i'd like to say yes, but that's not something i'm super confident in

pierce nichody: probably not, given that gloomsbury's death was an accident and he didn't succeed with killing ellen. depends on if the sprockets press charges, given that they're pretty rich and influential

jacques portsman: don't think so. i'm fairly certain that faith's murder and his involvement in the smuggling ring don't add up to the death penalty

cammy meele: nahhh. she's involved with the smuggling ring again, but she killed hicks in a panic. she'll probably be fine

lance amano/ernest amano: you have no idea how desperately i wish i could say these fuckers got the noose, but i unfortunately can't. organized crime + a fake kidnapping + involvement in the smuggling ring + a few deaths =/= execution

calisto yew: yeah i'd say so. she killed at least two people, was involved in the smuggling ring, was a member of a vigilante group, and attempted to shoot kay. lang and edgeworth are getting her in the noose if it kills them

quercus alba: yuuup. part of the smuggling ring, killed people, abused his diplomatic immunity, had a cross examination that lasted too long... he's gonna hang for that last offense alone /j

horace knightley: i would not think so, but i could be wrong! i think the biggest thing in regards to his execution would be if "di-jun huang" pushed for it, but roland killed him so it's a moot point anyways

patricia roland: yeah. everyone involved in the ss-5 plot is gonna hang, no questions asked

dane gustavia: i'm going to tentatively say yes? given that he caused the is-7 incident, which led to the dl-6 incident, which led to... many things, plus the fact that he fled the country for a while, he's probably gonna hang for that. could be wrong, though!

blaise debeste: dear god yes. not only did he kill jill crane, he was involved in ss-5, forged a shitload of evidence, has made many people "disappear" (they're probably all dead), and not to mention sebastian :( he's gonna hang and i'm gonna enjoy it

simon keyes: probably not? given that he's only directly responsible for one death and was a victim of circumstances, i imagine he'll get a life sentence, but nothing more

[timberpen]

So I might actually do this so here is what I got so far for the Horror Writer SAGAU

The idea is that said horror writer is isekaied into Tavyat. Their works and WIP were previously appearing in various parts of Tavyat in the form of books. It is heavily debated in Tavyat wether these books are warnings, documentation of past events or a testimony of events that are currently going on in their current world. An example of how much this effects Tavyat is that the Creepypasta fanfic they wrote when they were 12 has caused those that believe it to be a warning/past events have been calling for forested areas to be heavily patrolled and that their nation’s children show not be allowed to enter such places alone vision holder or not for fear that the SlenderMan taking them. A few weeks before the creator decends an imposter showed up. The imposter is cruel and threatens to release the horrors in the stories on Tavyat as a whole if they do not obey their creator’s every order. One of those orders is to destroy anyone that tries to impersonate The Creator. When the actual Creator arrives they are surprised to see the state of Tavyat. As they try to make their was to Mondstadt, they get chased down by Outrider Amber who manages to get a (thankfully) non-pyro infused shot in the shoulder of The Creator. You can imagine the shock she feels upon seeing this “imposter” bleeds (color to be determined). Amber realizes what is happening but knows they are currently in no shape to take down the real imposter. She gives The Creator a brief rundown on the situation and helps bring them somewhere safe to recover their strength which happens to be in Wolvendom. That is where they meet Razor and his Lupical that don’t trust the Imposter Creator. However when they find find the real Creator they can smell from their blood that they are the real Creator to which they immediately shelter them. (I’m a Razor main and he doesn’t get nearly enough recognition in this au.)

[calamitoustide]

decided to look through my journal to find my notes on the secret fic and... there are so many fics i completely forgot existed in here

[webbedphantom]

The Last Stand

Okay, so I wasn't planning to explain this for a while, since it's kinda the finale to my entire AU, or at least the main story, but since I mentioned it in a recent thread, I figured I should probably just get it out there.

To be honest, I've been wanting to talk about it for a while, because it is probably the coolest thing I've ever come up with. But it's tough to explain because it builds off a lot of concepts that would be set up over the course of the story.

So, because of that, I'm gonna put this whole thing under a read more, just in case anyone wants to avoid spoilers for a story I've yet to actually write-

Also BIG spoilers for Persona 5's endgame, but that probably goes without saying.

So, first let's set a bit of the groundwork. In this AU, the Metaverse is completely inaccessible. But the stuff inside it, Yaldabaoth especially, wanna get out, and they're willing to do damn near anything to do it.

Luckily for them, Masayoshi Shido is obsessed with the cognitive world, and dedicates a lot of his company, the Shido Corporation, to figuring out how to tap into the power of the Metaverse. And while most of that research hits a dead end, one doesn't. The Metaverse Serum, which is a whole other can of worms, connects people to the cognitive world and allows them to tap into its power irl. (Though it's also extremely deadly to 99% of the population, which again, whole can of worms, but yeah)

But that connection is a two way street. So when someone actually manages to survive exposure, aka Aaron, the inhabitants of the Metaverse finally have a way into our world. Though it starts off small.

At first, the shadows are only able to manifest in the minds of others, able to control their bodies while they sleep. But they know all they have to do is expose more people to the serum, making more Persona users, giving their world and ours a stronger connection to let bigger and badder things come through, and in far more physical forms, with the end goal of letting the God of Control out of his cage, to fuse the two worlds together.

To make a long story slightly shorter, Aaron and his teammates manage to stop their attempts... for the most part. Each time, one or more of them get exposed to the serum for one reason or another, making the team larger, but also making the shadows that come through much stronger.

Then there's Shido. He's been trying to figure out how to harness the Metaverse for his own ends, often creating a lot of the messes the team needs to clean up, but eventually he finds a solution.

He kidnaps the Phantom Spider, since he was the first to survive the process, and runs countless experiments on him to figure out how he did it, finding out his secret identity in the process. This goes on for days, before his teammates finally track him down and free him... but not before Shido got what he wanted.

Almost immediately after figuring out the process, he tests it on himself, turning into a hulking beast of a man, inspired by Ultimate Green Goblin and Shido's own Shadow.

He isn't quite in his right mind when he first transforms, he hears voices of his own inner demons that urge him to be more like his shadow. And one of those urges was to destroy those who had dared to defile him, which of course, included Aaron and the team.

He attacks them at Leblanc, completely demolishing the front of the cafe and the alley surrounding it. Aaron was still in a rough state, so his teammates had to juggle dealing with this new foe, while also protecting him. But one by one, they fall, until its just Aaron left.

It's a hard fought battle, but thanks to some help from Akechi (because yeah, he doesn't die in this universe), they manage to finally take him down. Shido is arrested and locked up in a maximum security cell, the whole world knowing everything he'd done. The day was saved.

... except Shido's transformation had strengthened the connection to the Metaverse. Enough so that, while he couldn't cross over on his own, Yaldabaoth could enter the minds of others, just as his shadows had done at the beginning of our story. Except, instead of trying to forcibly control someone, something which could be interrupted if the subject were woken up, he decides to make a deal.

A deal with Shido. All the power he could ever want, another chance to crush the pests who'd taken everything from him, and all he'd have to do is let Yaldabaoth possess his body. Shido happily agrees to this, sealing the fate... of Yaldabaoth.

Yeah, the God of Control can't actually control Shido. His will and desires are far too strong (something that's actually kinda backed up by the game. The reason Yaldabaoth did his whole rehabilitation schtick was to get the Phantom Thieves to take down the Palace Rulers, because they were the only people he couldn't control). So in a major twist, the Eldritch horror is the one who's used as a puppet. Literally. Shido rides around on his head pulling on chains to make him do what he wants.

And Shido, being the pettiest man alive, immediately goes to get even with the team, using his new godlike power to wipe them from existence. But much like the game, they're saved by Lavenza (because yeah, since Yaldy can't get out of the Metaverse, he never splits her in two, because he never begins his game with Igor. He has no reason to)

Lavenza had appeared a few times during the second half of the year, providing guidance and attempting to warn Aaron of the coming threat. He isn't a wild card, nor is he a guest of the Velvet Room, but she'd managed to get her master's permission to provide them some aid, hoping to avoid this situation alltogether.

Sadly, she failed. And because Aaron doesn't possess the wild card, he doesn't have the power needed to take Yaldabaoth out. It seems hopeless.

But while they can't take down the God, they can take out the guy controlling him! See, Shido didn't get a Persona like Aaron did. He just tapped into the Metaverse's power. So he still has a palace, he still has a treasure, and because he is fusing the two worlds together just by bringing Yaldy here, they can change his heart. And if they do that, the resulting change in Shido's cognition would force him and the God apart.

Course, Shido studied cognitive psi-ence. He knows his weakness, and he is guarding it with everything he has. There's absolutely no way they can take him on in a fight. It'd take all of them to even slow him down.

But they don't have to beat him. They just have to take his treasure and get it out of range of his Palace. And because Shido is, again, the pettiest man alive, if there was someone there to distract him, someone he hated greatly, and that person could survive long enough to give the others time to escape, they could pull it off.

Of course, the only person who could do that, is Aaron Amamiya.

But that's ridiculous, right? No way Aaron could survive taking on Shido alone, not while he has the powers of a god.

Well, that's where the symbiotes come in.

See, in a previous adventure, Makoto lent Aaron her symbiote so he could fight Akechi (It's an adaptation of the Red Goblin arc, story for another time), and since symbiotes bond to the Persona of their host as well as the host themselves, he got access to Anat and Johanna as well as all the other tricks a symbiote has up their metaphorical sleeves, albeit temporarily.

Normally, a symbiote can only bond to one Persona at a time. But with the aid of the Velvet Room, the team will be able to lend their powers, their Personas, to aid Aaron in his fight, though it will leave them powerless.

Thankfully, powerless doesn't mean helpless. After all, in between all the Metaverse shenanigans, they fought plenty of tech based villains. Tech which is stored in a secure facility, that Sae Niijima has access to.

None of them like this plan, but it's the only one they got.

So we have a war on two fronts. Aaron wielding the powers of all his teammates, Futaba's Ironheart Armor, Makoto's symbiote, Haru's telekinesis, Yusuke's ice, Ann's flames, ect. in a big climactic battle against a God powered Shido above the clouds, taking heavy inspiration from Super Sonic fights, especially the ones from Sonic Frontiers. (I just imagine Aaron shouting out the names of his friends as he switches between their Personas, finally allowing him to feel like a wild card, it's such a cool idea that makes me smile) But even with all that power, he still can't win this. All he can do is stall for time, grab the attention of Shido and every shadow in his palace.

ALL as a distraction for the rest of the team, wielding the tech of various supervillains they've fought over the year. Haru and Futaba pilot Rhino's armor, Makoto gets Shocker's gantlets and rides up to the Palace in shocking Big Wheel (a visual that I adore btw), and... I honestly don't know what the others would use yet, but it would AWESOME.

Everyone gives it their all, managing to retrieve the treasure and nearly make it all the way to the edge of the Palace. But Shido notices, and having beaten Aaron severely by this point, he's in no condition to stop him. Yes, it's "The All is Lost Moment" time.

But of course, just like in the game, the people of Tokyo cheer him on, and Aaron uses that power to give it one last shot, intercepting Shido and slowing him down just enough to let the team cross the threshold with the treasure. Shido writhes around in pain, Yaldabaoth fades back into the Metaverse, and Aaron returns the powers of his teammates for one final ALL OUT ATTACK!!!

And... yeah, that's how it ends. Aaron doesn't get arrested, since the whole world saw Shido do what he did, though that also means his record never goes away. Unfortunately, due to his heart being bound to Yaldabaoth, his change of heart didn't stick. Shido is still Shido even after all this. And while I don't have those stories worked out yet, Shido will spend the rest of his days trying to either get revenge on the team, or attempt to regain the power he lost.

It's not perfect, like I really want to work Akechi into it more, and there's probably some other stuff I could've done, but I think the core concept is solid. I always wondered what would happen if they stole a treasure without fighting the Palace Ruler, if they just grabbed the thing and booked it to the end, so having that be their only option, because Aaron isn't a wild card, so he can't wield Satanael, is just really cool to me. And I ESPECIALLY love the idea of the big Dragon Ball-esk Shonen anime fight be used as just a distraction, because the fight is just unwinnable.

If you read all this nonsense, thank you. Seriously. It means the world to me that you found the idea interesting enough to read this novel of a post. But please please PLEASE let me know what you think of all this! Shoot me a message, reply to this post, whatever you're comfortable with, because if I ever get around to finishing the fanfic this was all for, I want it to be the best that it can be, so the more feedback the better.

I promise I don't bite. I might take a bit to respond, due to social anxiety, but I really do want feedback on this.

Or if you're not comfortable with any of that for whatever reason, completely understandable, again I have severe social anxiety, just leave a like if you enjoyed my ramblings here. It'd really mean a lot.

Okie, that's it. Bye bye

[reiderwriter]

🩺 Protect and Serve 🩺

Spencer Reid x stripper! Female Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge

Summary: Spencer makes a fool of himself in front of a very pretty nurse. Who turns out to not be a nurse at all, but a stripper.

Warnings: Erotic dance, pole dancing, uniforms, doctor play (?), semi-public sex, fingering, strip tease, nipple play, use of birth control - condoms, penetrative sex (PinV).

A/N: He's protecting, she's serving cunt. That's the pairing dynamic for this fic. I love writing Spencer as dumb because he does canonically lose it around hot people, and we, dear readers, are all hot people. I added the strip tease song below of you want to really get in the mood!

Masterlist || Bingo Board

“Okay, everyone, listen up,” Hotch called out to the masses, the three teams of officers, and his own team who were lined up and ready to receive orders. 

“We're going to do a simple canvass. Ask anyone you spot if they've seen our missing person and if they've seen any suspicious activity around the area in the last month. You have further lines of questioning laid out in your briefs. Also, we have no reason to believe the unsub will be hunting right now, so we're going to be canvassing individually.”

The crowd nodded in a wave of understanding, taking the information as it came before getting ready to receive their areas to work in. 

Spencer had devised the map himself, so he didn't have to wait in line, instead, walking to his corner of the block and getting himself ready for interactions. 

The clock struck 11, and he began, waiting for the usual shaky characters of the night to stroll out onto the streets. After a series of abductions from this area, and the general disrepair of all local CCTV cameras, the BAU knew exactly where their unsub was hunting from, but not the how, the why, or the who. 

In a last ditch effort, they'd turned to goodwill from the public. 

“Excuse me, sir, do you have a few minutes to answer some ques-” 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“Okay, have a great evening.”

For the best part of the first hour, all of his interactions were the same repeat of hostility and general apathy. For long stretches of time, nobody walked by at all, and some were even growing frustrated by being accosted by multiple law enforcement officers within the hour.

He'd almost lost hope for a lead when the clock struck twelve, and you'd ran around the corner, nearly bowling him over as you raced to get to work. 

“Shit, oh, I'm sorry-” you said, realising you'd landed in a soft place, and not on the tarmac you knew from experience was a pain. He'd accidentally broken your fall and was all the more sorry for it. 

“No, it's okay… ah, um, it's not that bad.” 

You stood yourself up, removing yourself from the body of the stranger. The body of the man wearing an FBI jacket, who you now recognised as being with one of the dozen or so cops that had stopped you in your dash from your car (parked further downtown so it wouldn't get stolen) to your place of work. 

“Oh, god, I'm so sorry, officer. I didn't mean to- I'm sorry,” you mumbled again and again as you offered him a hand up. He took it hesitantly, grabbing his papers as he jumped on this opportunity to have a conversation with the first normal looking person he'd come across in an hour. 

If he'd been less eager, less tired, and in all honesty, less immediately attracted to you  he'd have realised that you had a destination in mind. One that, while being above board mostly, still made you weary of cops. 

“It's Agent actually - Doctor, but- anyway, um, could I possibly have a few minutes of your time? We're looking into a recent string of abductions in the area, and we’re asking if you've seen anything out of the ordinary.” 

You stood trapped by his surprisingly wide frame, his height dwarfing you by a few inches and the path being just narrow enough that you either had to decline politely, or just push past him to keep going. 

Unfortunately, you, too found him slightly too attractive than you were willing to admit, attractive enough that you'd gladly miss out on a half hours worth of tips to answer questions you'd honestly already answered before now. You'd always been weak for a man in uniform.

“I-I guess so. This will only be a few minutes, right?” 

“Of course, I wouldn't want to keep you from your work,” he said, gesturing down at your outfit. If it weren't for his totally genuine tone, you'd have thought he was being cruel. 

Usually, you didn't show up for work in your performance clothes, trying not to draw any more attention to yourself on the streets at midnight, but you'd been forced to that day. 

It was Uniform Day at the strip club, and your boss was entirely too cheap to buy the Uniforms himself, and absolutely cruel enough to penalise anyone who showed up without some kind of costume. Your nurse outfit had been in transit and out for delivery since 10 am. that morning, arriving exactly 10 hours later. 

It wasn't exactly a realistic cosplay. Sure there was a cute pen clip, and you were technically wearing scrubs, but they were also skin tight, and you knew for a fact that your nipples were hard and visible through the thin material, because taking a glance down, even you could see them. 

“Do you usually work the night shift?” He asked, bringing his clipboard up to take notes of your answers. 

He absolutely did not know you were a stripper. 

“Yeah. We don't really get many people in during the day. Too embarrassing, not the time for it.”

He nodded and tried to pretend like he was writing something of merit down, but secretly, he was very much enjoying the curves Of your body as the tight material hung off your body. 

The “scrubs” were baby blue  but he had no doubt that if the heavens opened right, then they'd become as see-through as cling film. 

He, too, wanted to cling to you. 

“Have you noticed anyone suspicious in the area recently, anything new or out of the ordinary?” 

“I mean, I couldn't possibly say. You know how this neighbourhood is, it's… well, it's not exactly the safest.” 

He nodded again and acted out sympathy, unaware how the feeling should feel now that he was faced with a woman so perfect that he'd entirely lost the ability to process emotions. 

“Right, right…” 

You stood for another moment or two, waiting for his follow up question, but his eyes raked over you in a way you were entirely familiar with. Unlike your usual clientele though, he snapped himself out of it, and had the wherewithal to look bashful. 

“Ask about victim, no leading questions,” he read quickly, before looking up at you and stammering through a new question. 

“S-so. Are there usually a lot of women walking around this area alone at night?” 

You did your nest to hold off a smile, to stay serious as he made the best of the script he was given.  

“Yeah, a few of the places have staff on hand to protect the girls, but my place is mostly women. We stick together as best as we can, but a client or two gets too attached now and again,” he nodded. 

“Patients can often become infatuated with their care staff,” he said, and he was so earnest that you wanted to take everything back and let him go. You wanted to see how long it would take him to realise there was only one body part you and your colleagues cared for. 

“I did think the industry was becoming more gender inclusive. Are there no men on staff?” 

“Oh, yeah. We have men, too. They're mostly request only, though, so we don't see them every day.” 

“Fascinating! You know, believe it or not, anthropologically, humans are predisposed to view women as more caring and are 9 times out of 10 more likely to ask for women to care for them, the gender of the patient doesn't impact the data.”

“Oh, I can believe it.” 

You smiled at him, and he looked taken aback for a minute or two. He finished by smiling back, and you definitely found this conversation worth as much as you'd lost in tips in the last half hour. You were half tempted to invite him back to the club with you for the night, to thank him for providing you with motivation for the night ahead.  

“Um, so, if you do see anything in the future, you can call the police and here is my number,” he said, scrawling something down quickly on a piece of paper and handing it off to you. 

“Oh. Oh, um, right, number. Uh,” you said, rooting around in your purse for your own business card to hand off to him. Partly because you wanted to resolve his misunderstanding, and partly just because you wanted to see what this overly respectful man would do with it. 

“Candy Cayne,” he read, obviously looking past the body glitter that covered the cars and everything else you owned. 

“Well, my real name is Y/N, but you can't be too safe these days.” 

“Right,” he said, smiling again. 

If these were the FBI agents put on the case of making your city safer, maybe you'd invest in a good taser and some more pepper spray. 

Just in case. 

“Spencer, over here!” One of the other agents you'd already spoken to called out from a block down the street, and hastily, Spencer Reid excused himself and let you finally continue on your way to work. 

You had to convince yourself you weren't disappointed. 

Morgan’s brows were furrowed as Spencer reached him. 

“Why were you interviewing the stripper again, I already got her information when she came by me.”

“Stripper? What stripper?” 

“You gotta be kidding me.” 

Morgan looked at the younger man incredulously before turning him around with a hand on his shoulder and pointing in your direction. 

“That stripper, Spencer.” 

He couldn't help but let his eyes trail down to your ass as you quickly walled off, hips swaying perfectly, showing off your complete assets in the tight outfit. 

“She's a nurse,” he defended, even as the blood drained from his face. 

“Uh-huh, and what's her name?” 

“...Candy Cayne,” he paused for a second before turning back to Morgan with a stricken expression on his face. 

“Oh my god, she's a stripper.” 

Five hours into your shift, and about $800 richer, you found yourself swinging around the pole freely again as your regulars slowly trickled out. 

You kept on dancing, though, knowing that the morning crowd was about to get in, the night-shifters that had to wait the entire night to get off on your dancing delights. 

Truckers you expected, security guards and night watchmen, too. Even the occasional older gentleman who found it hard to sleep in the mornings, so bored by retirement, they dropped in a few times a day. 

What you weren't expecting was Spencer.

You heard the door open, the bell ringing out loudly as all the girls stopped to greet their new target. 

“Hello, baby,” one called, the others chorusing around her. 

“Oh it's free for you, sweetheart.”

“Wanna take a ride?” 

“Aren't you just the cutest.”

Spencer spotted you - and your uniform - very quickly. 

As predicted, with a little bit of water, your uniform had gone see through with the tiniest drop of water, the sweat from your ongoing workout and the body oil the matrons lathered you up in before showing off everything. 

Still, Spencer tried to keep his gaze polite as he stood awkwardly at the edge of the stage and tried to engage you in conversation. 

“Hi,” he said, shouting awkwardly over the music. 

You shot him a confused look as you ground against the bar, still enjoying the tips of the last few stragglers. You gave him a confused look as you wrapped yourself around the pole, lifting yourself up and gripping the bar between your legs, pushing your chest backwards as you tipped your head upside down. 

“Can we talk?” He asked, and you, slowly but surely, let go of the bar, ending on the floor with your legs spread wide as the few men enraptured by you wolf whistled and swore. 

Finally, Spencer's bashful gaze dropped from your face as he stared at your scantily clad cunt. 

The baby blue underwear - though you could barely call it underwear as you were barely wearing it - was most definitely not leaving enough to the imagination. Combined with the very clear view of your boobs, Spencer wasn't surprised when his IQ abandoned him, rushing to his second head to let it make mistakes. 

“I'm sorry, officer,” you said, winking at him as you crawled forward, collecting tips as you went. “If my boss sees me talking to you instead of working, I can get fired. Tell me you've got at least a twenty on you.”

He scrambled for his wallet, pulling out all the cash he had and holding out a few dollars to you as you watched him. 

He looked away again, just as you leaned down to take it, and you pouted again. 

“Come on, sir,” you said, wiggling your ass a little to keep the other men entertained while you wore down at his morals. “You have to stick it down my shirt or something. Make it believable.” 

His eyes snapped back to yours, and then immediately to your chest as you sat back on your knees and began playing with yourself, grabbing your tits and bouncing up and down as you showed off your special ‘skills.’ 

Hesitantly, he reached out a hand, and, hating how slow he was going, you met him halfway, pushing your chest into his open hand. 

Though he was apprehensive, his body seemed able to take advantage quickly, and upon depositing the cash, he let his hand trace down the curve of your breast, squeezing it a little. 

“I came to apologise-” he started, trying to remind himself to stick to the script he created for himself. 

You didn't want to stick to any script. 

“Boss, I've got a private dance!” you shouted out to the bar staff, getting a thumbs up from the manager there and a call back of a room number. 

You grabbed the rest of the cash from his hands and lifted a hand so he could help you down the stage stairs, leading him quickly to a private room and closing the door. 

“T-There’s been a mistake, I just came to apologise for my unnecessary comments earlier, and-” he paused, hands lifting up in surrender as you straddled him. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You can talk, but you paid for a dance. I thought this would be better for you, more private.”

“Oh, yes, thank you, that's very considerate.” 

You nodded and began raking your nails down the front of his shirt, loosening his tie a little as you rose on your knees and gyrated your hips. 

His gaze locked eyes with your chest, and for a moment, you worried he wasn't breathing anymore, his entire body having stilled. Then you rocked your hips down into his lap, and you realised he wasn't still but stiff. 

He was rock fucking hard. 

You grinned, and tried to pick the conversation back up with a casual tone. 

“So how is canvassing going?” 

“Hmm?” He said, unlearning. “Oh, uh. Good. We have a few leads we're going to investigate in the morning.” 

“It is the morning, officer.” 

He nodded and gulped, but his gaze had rested gently against your bare skin again. 

You decided to treat him. 

Standing back up, you grabbed the room control and queued up your favorite track to dance with. The private sances were usually boring, a constant reminding of ‘don't touch the dancers’ dropping from your lips as you half-heartedly rocked back and forth. 

Unsurprisingly, though, you actually wanted this man to touch you. 

Spencer willed his brain to quiet, though as it had taken up residence in his pants, he doubted it could hear any of his requests. 

The opening lines of "I Put a Spell on You" by Annie Lennox played on the quiet room speakers, and you watched his hands clench into his pants. 

You took a step forward, pushing your arms up as you swung your hips left and right. 

“You said something about an apology earlier, right?” 

I put a spell on you. Because you're mine.

“Yes,” he said, restrained to monosyllabic answers as your hands trailed down to your legs, catching the hem of your dress and pulling it up. 

You revelled in the way his eyes widened, the way the veins in his hands popped as he grasped himself harder, the hitch in his breathing. 

You pulled the offending garment up and danced it off your body until you were stood in just panties and stilettos. 

Without flashing him even a hint of your breasts, though, you turned and sat yourself on his lap. 

“W-We could've just talked here, right? You don't have to do this if you don't want to.”

“I know,” you said, grabbing his hands and covering your chest with them. 

“But you were so earnest earlier, I felt a bit bad too. Let's call this even.”

You didn't get an answer from him, but his hands did start touching you, and you couldn't help but feel as though you'd won anyway. 

You better stop the things that you do.

Taking your nipples between his fingers, he squeezed, and your ass pushed down into his cock, back arching as you began rubbing against his legs. You repositioned, letting your knees fall either some of his leg, leaning forward to balance yourself against his knee as you rocked your core into his leg. 

“So, what's your name, officer.”

“Spencer-” he sighed, voice warm in your ear as he leaned closer, trying to hook his head over your shoulder to watch the rest of your body writhe. 

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Oh, how fancy, a Doctor. I've never had a doctor before,” you said, straightening and grabbing his hands again. 

“And what a naughty little nurse I've been,” you giggled. 

I tell you, I ain't lyin’.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” he said, as your hands guided his to your cunt, giving him permission to enter your underwear. 

“And as we've established, I'm not that kind of nurse. But I don't mind.”

He muttered to himself for a second before beginning to pay sweet attention to your clit. As bashful, and shy, and overall clumsy he had seemed outside, he absolutely had the theory of pleasure down to a T. 

The pads of his fingers were rough against your clit, pushing your pleasure buttons roughly as you soaked his pants. 

“That's it, Doctor, that's where the ache was.”

He caught on quickly and kept up his ministrations as you moaned in his lap. 

“Ah, fuck. M-Maybe some medicine would help.me Doctor. A nice big injection.” 

You stood and almost threw a tantrum at the loss of contact, but you returned yourself to his lap quickly. 

He unbuttoned his pants as he stood, and his cock was released and waiting for you when you returned again. 

Before you could get to it, though, his face buried itself in your chest. 

You moaned at the contact, his tongue swirling around your already painfully sensitive nipples. You humped his leg wantonly, giving up the act and becoming the whore he likely thought you were. It was all too much for you, his hot stare, his surprisingly deft fingers. And then he gently bit your nipple, and your cunt clenched around nothing as you twitched and you came. 

“Fuck, cock. Now!” You demanded, as the after waves of your orgasm still rolled through you. You grabbed a condom from the complementary basket nearby and rolled it onto his tip expertly before sinking yourself down on him. 

“D-D you feel better now?” He asked, hands gripping the fat of your thighs as tightly as he'd gripped his pants earlier. 

“Yes, Doctor Reid!” you said, your bounces sloppy as you stretched yourself around his dick. 

He wasn't overly long or ridiculously thick. It was like you'd stumbled into the Goldilock fairy tale, because you'd found the cock that fit you just right. 

Your brain short-circuited after your all too fast orgasm, and you moaned pathetically, almost grumpily as you failed to keep up the stamina. 

You know better, Daddy. I can't stand it ‘cause you put me down.

As if noticing your distress, Spencer stood slightly, using a nearby table to balance out your additional weight, and finally lowered you onto it. You'd taken no notice of it in the past, but you now thanked the heaven that the table was sturdy and roughly cock height, as he began thrusting into you with just the right speed. 

The clock struck six as he licked his fingers again and played with your clit once again, and with a sharp jerk of your hips, your cunt tightened around him and began milking his cock. 

He came with a groan, though admittedly one quieter than your own. 

I put a spell on you.

With a wet pop, his cock exited you, and he quickly went to work discarding the used condom. You tried to sit up quickly, and were surprised you could manage even that much, as you shimmied back into your wet dress. 

“Apology accepted,” you said, as he turned back to you, put together once again. 

You turned to leave, but he caught your waist and spun you back around to him. His lips were on yours in a second. 

His tongue was hot and thick as it opened your mouth, exploring every inch as he forced you to submit once more. When you pulled back, his hand lightly grazed up the side of your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Yeah. You too. Your apology.”

You couldn't help but let out a giggle as he walked you back toward the door, almost pinning you there for a round two. 

“You really thought I was a nurse?”

“It was dark.”

You gave him another peck on the cheek and pulled away, gaining the respectable distance from your customer aa you re-emerged from the private room. 

“I get off at 7,” you whispered yo him finally, before making your way back to the bar. 

Your doctor sat himself down and waited for the clock to strike 7. 

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

GUINEA PIG ───

jonathan crane ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I think we most fully understood each other when once I tried to kill him with a kitchen knife.” — ‘South and West’, Joan Didion

pairing. switch!jonathan crane x professor!reader

summary. you and your dear friend, jonathan crane, have an odd relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. one day, you experiment your aphrodisiac on him.

warnings. swearing, use of aphrodisiac & fear toxin, oral sex (m), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, mention of death, murder, drugs, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink, face fucking, dubcon(?) SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. the enemies to friends to fucking pipeline is sooo real and i love it. BTW! this is really self indulgent and again, i’m a beginner to writing smut so pls don’t judge😭 the beginning is also oddly plotty, so i apologize for that.

You and your colleague, Jonathan Crane, have a harmonious, albeit slightly sick and twisted, relationship. 

Your repertoires, opposite in every way, complete one another like you were made to match. You are messy, frenzied, intimate; he is neat, calculated, distant. He is impatient, histrionic, stubborn. You are tolerant, deadpan, submissive. 

This is an odd, good-cop bad-cop dynamic you’ve built, but it works. Your traits uphold the order you’ve built around yourselves; you allow each other to function. 

Who ever said something so codependent, so parasitic, would fall apart? That it was dangerous, destructive? Everyone, but in your case, it has been anything but. 

These are the simple rules of your relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. This partnership came to bloom when, after years of competing to be the “better” psychology professor at Gotham University, he sent you a gift that sprayed with you with fear toxin, and you baked him a cake that knocked him out for 24 hours following, heart rate so low he could’ve been mistaken as dead. 

“Fucking - hell,” You murmured under your breath, stumbling halfway across Gotham City to locate Crane’s absurdly lavish condo in the Diamond District, barely able to keep yourself upright. 

You were being visually assaulted by dozens of images, all your phobias no matter big or small, dancing across your senses. Spiders crawled all over your body, you saw yourself about to step off a steep, snowy cliff, you felt yourself suffocate as you were buried to death in a casket. It was utter torture, and you would have to endure it until you found Crane. 

You must’ve looked like one of those tweaking drug addicts from down in the Narrows, shivering, sweating, and rubbing all over your body to remove some of the “spiders” taking over your body. The terror was settling into you, into your spine like a terribly malignant disease. 

At last, you found the apartment building, blearily snuck in behind a drunk couple, and scanned the mail boxes until you found J. CRANE: 525. 

You headed up the elevator, grasping at the walls for dear life, feeling that growing, unmistakable sense of dread start to take over your mind. You felt like you were going mad, now, not just afflicted with something that made you look like it. 

When you finally got to his door, it was left open a crack, and you welcomed the small mercy of Crane’s overarching narcissism: he didn’t lock his door, often, because most days he felt more invincible than fucking god. 

“Crane!” You shouted, clutching at your head and staggering into his large apartment. “Crane!” you repeated, this time more desperate, more fearful than anything. 

However, your deepest fear, at the moment, had come true. You stepped into his kitchen, and found the man laying on the floor unresponsive. 

“Fuck me,” you cursed. You’d sent the man home with the cake twelve hours ago, when he took the half-day off from GSU, and you came home from your after-class tutoring hours just moments ago. 

You’d opened the mystery package on your front porch promptly, and you found yourself having been gassed with a compound that made you see every little thing you were afraid of. Immediately, you’d known it was Crane; the man’s pet specialty was fear. 

As for you, you wanted your… gift, to serve a reminder to him that he should not overstep your boundaries, your territory, as the psychology professor who was there first. If knocking him out was a little bit mad, he was bordering insanity for the toxin he poisoned you with. 

Even so, your threat was an empty one. You weren’t counting on the man to even eat the cake - hell, you’d never seen the man consume anything but straight black coffee. 

You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know now, and laid there on the couch of his apartment, waiting for the twelve hours to be over. Waiting for Crane, the fucking madman, to wake the hell up, blaming him for the predicament despite your very obvious involvement in it.

You breathed in and out, harried and rapid fire as you tried to focus, tried to block out the horrific things you were seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting. 

(Your eyes are swarmed, viscerally, by a grotesque hallucination of your family burning to death; you hear them cry out, voices interrupted when they’re fire gets to their lungs; you smell their death, the smell of flesh burning, how the smoke chokes you — you taste their blood on your tongue, how tender a raging fire makes charred flesh. 

Tender, you think on your choice of words again, and almost throw up.

What have you done, you think, and what is going through that fucked up head of yours, Crane?)

You tried to ground yourself, tether your lost mind back to Earth. You’re sitting in a field in Northwestern Ireland, you said to yourself, inhaling. Up ahead is the beach; water is crashing on the rocks. You exhaled, the wind tastes like salt, and it is just you and I, here together. It is only I and you, here, together. 

Like so, 12 hours passed. Not so much passed — that word gave the connotation the hours slipped past you, the way a peaceful stream of water does; no, more accurately, it dragged by, like when an arm slips out of the ambulance cot on its way to the emergency vehicle, and drags on the concrete. The EMT’s don’t notice what’s making their trip so hard, so slow, until the hand is rubbed raw and bloody. 

You repeated that mantra so many times you were starting to get queasy when you thought the words “you’re sitting in a field..” but nonetheless, the string of words kept you sane. 

Sane enough, at least - you weren’t sure you’d be the same blissful person you were yesterday. Sure, you were always a little bit… unorthodox? Petty? Competitive enough to bake so many drugs into a cake your opposing professor knocks out? 

But, with this — this being drugged by Crane — made you feel a piece of yourself break away. There would be no more of your life lived without knowing how fearful, well, fear, is. It's like discovering the Boogeyman and never being able to stop checking under your bed; the paranoia moves into your head and never leaves. 

Crane began stirring, and your eyes opened as soon as you heard the noise. Surprisingly enough, however, you were no longer being hammered with the hallucinations that had been distressing you just half a day ago. 

Had it been the mantra? The near-prayer you now swore was etched on your heart? 

“Fucking…” Crane said, getting up off the floor. He was clutching his head, eyes squinted, body hunched and tense. Looks like spending half a day on the floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but you didn’t give a fuck — atleast he was sleeping. If you had to be mentally destroyed by his toxin, you’d best believe you were taking the couch. 

“Why - why are you here? What the hell did you do to me?” He said after noticing you, voice raspy. He hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in a while, after all. 

“I could say the fucking same for you,” You muttered, giving him a pointed look. “You - what the fuck did you spray me with?”

Immediately, a twisted grin was bared on Crane’s lips, despite his fatigued demeanor. “Did you like it? My fear-toxin,” he preened, like the winning kid at a school science fair.

You rolled your eyes, and before you could control your tendencies, you’d swung back and then socked him straight in the face. 

Crane double-backed, looking terribly affronted, as if he hadn’t sent you the gas knowing how it would affect you. “Ow,” is all he said, face contorting oddly around the pain. 

“Yeah, “ow”. Fuck you, Crane.”

Crane raised a brow. “You’re acting like you didn’t feed me a poisoned cake!” He said incredulously.

“It wasn’t that poisoned,” you bit out, teeth gritted. “Not so poisoned I was hallucinating my family dying for twelve hours straight.”

“Ah, thanatophobia, not really one of my favourites—“ Crane started, like he was losing himself in a romantic daydream, before snapping back to reality. “Did you just say twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours for me. Twenty-four for you.” You said, reveling in how panicked he looked. 

“I — that’s long enough for me to be killed a hundred times over,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the fuck did you put in that cake?”

“I never expected you to eat it, Crane. You’re fucking skin and bones, I thought you’d just throw it out.”

“What did you put in the cake?” he repeated. 

“Ugh,” you sunk into the couch, “some amytal, zolpidem. Some melatonin. I didn’t measure, okay, and again, I wasn’t counting on you eating it.” You didn’t know why you had this urging feeling to respond to him, to humor his jabs, his dumb fucking theatrics, but you did anyway. 

“Some amytal? Some zolpidem? Some melatonin? Jesus fucking christ - is that what you wanted? To kill me?” He was leaning down, face inches away from yours now. 

You pushed him away, disgust on your features clear as day. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not some sociopathic fear-freak like you, Crane. I don’t mix compounds in my creepy little office with the thought of drugging out my fellow professor in mind. It was just an empty threat.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh, “Mixing barbiturates and medications into a cake sounds like an empty threat to you?”

“You know what?” You said brightly, getting up off the couch, “I don’t have to argue with you. I came to get my cure, woke up having cured myself.” Then, you burst out the door, fury rolling off you in waves, and you left.

There was something about the incident, however, that seemed to intrigue Crane to no end. Soon enough, he began entering your office during your breaks, asking to have a chat. Or, he’d walk in during your lessons, forcing you two in the hall alone. Sometimes, he’d even wait for you after school, dozing off in front of your classroom and waiting for you to exit your office. 

You couldn’t tell what was making Crane so interested, but he was hanging off you and your every word like some lovesick puppy.

You, on the other hand, also couldn’t get Crane out of your head. Certainly not for some weird, fucked up reason like his, but because of what he had created. A lot of people doubted his intelligence, mostly because of his obsession on things nobody really cared about, but that obsession made way to the destructive fear-toxin you’d inhaled, and it was seriously unlike anything you’d ever experienced, hell, even read about. It was a brand new creation, and downright deadly. 

Your interest in the man was more so on… keeping him in check. As rivals did. But his was on how you’d breezed past the effects of his toxin in just twelve hours. He’s expected you to go half mad, honestly. Your threat was empty… his was, decidedly, not. 

By the end of the next week following the incident, you two began eating lunch together, asking for joint classes, and spending nights over at each other's places. Not in that way, of course — your way was like a group of scientists having a forever eureka, because your minds fit like perfect puzzle pieces. 

Your intrigue had met his intrigue, and it felt natural, coming to a united front like that. You found you had more in common than you thought, something you should’ve found out about a long time ago, 3 ½ years kind of long time ago. Apart, you two were volatile; angry, spewing threats, attempting murder on the other. Together, however, you were absolute perfection: productive, well-mannered, motivated. 

Now, fast-forward coming on two years since the incident. You and Crane - now, Jonathan, have been inseparable since that time. You two were close, closer than siblings or children and parents or couples; you felt like the same person that had been split into two. Being together was the only thing that felt right, being back at the origin, like being at home. 

Fuck’s sakes, you did have the same home — you’d moved in together. Not to his, nor yours, but to a big house you bought on the outskirts of Gotham, with a big yard and an even bigger lab in the basement. It was like a scientist's amusement park. 

Maybe it - this relationship of yours - was codependency. But maybe it was utter genius: your careers had both never seen so many accomplishments until you and Jonathan came together. Partly because you had a greater inspiration when coupled with the other, but, mostly because you had a body to test on during preliminary trials. 

Creating things, like the fear-toxin, required human testing, and finding a way to get that done always slowed Jonathan down. Since finding you, however, it’d been a breeze. 

You offered yourself up readily, given Jonathan would do the same. And, besides, Jonathan had never been worried about you and his toxin very much — after that first time you took the toxin, you could easily find yourself out of its effects. You were the only person he’d ever encountered who could do this, and it was downright fascinating. He wanted to keep you, see how that strong little mind of yours worked overtime to fight his toxin off. 

You, on the other hand, rarely tested anything like that on Jonathan. Your interests lied elsewhere: what smells activate the human mind to recall memories, what are ways to accurately fight off drugs like GHB — all mental stimulation. 

That, however, changed one evening, when you had been brewing up a serum for the past few weeks. You’d gotten to the point in creation where you needed to test on someone, and observe the effects. 

“Jonathan,” you called out, looking down at your notes. The man in question was grading assignments for the psychology class you taught — now, in joint lessons more often than not — sitting at a desk a few metres away from you in the lab. 

“Jonathan!” you repeated louder this time, looking up from your notes. 

“What?” He shouted back, still hunched over on the ungodly amount of assignments he needed to mark. 

“Come here. I need to test something on you.” You said, nonchalant. 

That, however, piqued Jonathan’s interest to no end: you hadn’t tested anything on him in nearly a year. It hurt, a little, to test you endlessly and have nothing to give in return - so this, no matter what it was, Jonathan would take in stride.

Jonathan nodded vehemently, “Okay.” He then dropped all he’d been doing on the desk and made his way over, before sitting in the chair next to you. You made quick work, tying his arms and legs to the chair like he’d done to you so many times before. He watched you work, completely enraptured in how you looked while experimenting. 

“So,” He said, tearing his sticky gaze off of you, “what’re you pumping me full of?”

You sat back in your desk chair and scratched your cheek, a little unsure how to say this. “Well, I created a serum that, once injected, would lower or lose all inhibitions of the victim. They’d be completely malleable, agreeable, if you just, um,” you fanned yourself, feeling a little too close to the man in front of you, room feeling incredibly warm.

“Just what?” He pried, leaning back in his chair. 

You exhaled shakily, “if you just promise to - to provide relief to them. Sexual - relief.”

Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh. “You made a working aphrodisiac?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly — I don’t even know if it works, for sure. If you don’t want to- take it, then you don’t have to.” You offered up weakly. 

“How d’you get it out of the system?” He said instead, ignoring your words and picking up the needle you had ready for him on your worktable, which was filled with a thick, pink liquid. 

You flushed. “You, um, help the victim relieve themselves, until the feeling is gone.” 

Jonathan looked up at you, a sly smirk on his lips. “And you were going to give this to me?” 

You turned away, face red, exasperated. “I told you, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“And let you pleasure some random guy you snatched off the street? No way,” he said, before you heard a familiar prick, small whine leaving Jonathan’s mouth.

You spun back around so fast you thought you got whiplash. “Jonathan, wait—“ you said, alarmed. You were really, seriously, considering not giving the aphrodisiac to him — it would disrupt the careful balance you and he had built over the past years. 

You were afraid that if he took the serum, and let you, for lack of a better word, get him off, you wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering him needy, hot and bothered, calling your name out like it was the only word he knew. 

He’d done it anyway, though. And now, you both just had to get through this… experiment. 

Quickly, you grabbed your pen and notebook, ready to approach this scenario as detached and clinically as possible, ignoring the pulsing need in your insides as you saw Jonathan’s face slowly contort into a warm, heavy-lidded lustful one. 

“How do you feel, Jonathan?” You said, standing further away from him so he couldn’t so much as feel your body heat on him. 

“I…” Jonathan blinked rapidly, licking his lips, looking you up and down. “Warm. I just feel… warm.” He readjusted in the seat, unable to sit still. “And - kind of, tingly? Like I - well, I don’t know…”

You noted his words, as well as some of your own observations: his pupils were dilated, so much so the crystalline blue of his eyes were merely slivers, his lips were pursed, plump, and he was pink all over; pink cheeks, pink ears, pink neck. He was talkative, loose-lipped and a little out of it.

You inhaled, then exhaled, before starting the next phase of the experiment. “Jonathan, how do you feel when I touch you here?” You said, raising the back of your hand to caress his cheek. 

Jonathan was affected almost immediately, eyes shutting tight. “It feels,” he said breathily, leaning into your touch, “ah… nice. Good.”

You nodded, promptly pulling away as soon as he’d finished his sentence. Subject enjoys physical touch. Jonathan then peered up at you, looking slightly… disappointed? 

You shook yourself, getting back on task. “How do you feel now?” You pried, noticing he looked far more affected than before. 

Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, making his wavy brown hair stick to his skin. He was breathing heavily, and, when you had touched him, he was extremely warm, like he had a fever. 

“I’m, I…” Jonathan trailed off, eyes shutting, shaking his head. “Mmm… my head feels — fuzzy,” he bit out raspily. 

“Okay. Good. It's exactly as I thought,” you murmured, continuing to scratch down notes. 

You ignored him for a few minutes, writing up a list of side effects and observed results of the aphrodisiac. Then, your gaze drew back to him, who had been focussing intently on you the whole time. 

“Jonathan?” you called out quietly, seeing his dazed expression. “Talk to me.”

Jonathan shuddered, leaning forward in the chair, head hanging low, “My - my body’s, hnngh… it feels— feels weird.” He bit his lip, face screwed up and tense. “I’m warm all over…”

His shoulders were hunched in, and he was trembling. You lifted a hand up to his head, petting him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“Ah…” Jonathan squeaked out at your touch, face going slack, “I feel like I need you to - to…” he sighed exasperatedly, “I need you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek conflictedly. On one hand, you needed to finish up a few more tests, meaning Jonathan would be teased - or tortured, depending on how fast the aphrodisiac was affecting him - a little longer. On the other hand, he was already a breathy mess, begging for your touch. For you. 

“Fuck,” you murmured, turning away from the man who’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head at the way you tugged at his locks. “No, no,” you fought your internal struggle. You would not give in to his pleas - you would finish this experiment. 

“Okay. Okay.” you said to no-one but yourself, extracting your hand from his velvet soft hair. “Let’s be professional about this. Jonathan, I’m going to take your clothes off, but you can’t move, and you can’t touch me, okay?”

Jonathan’s breathing became more labored as you spoke, and you swore you could see desperate tears filling his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t touch you? But… but why not?” He was practically whining for you.

“Because, Jonathan, it wouldn’t be beneficial to the experiment.” You didn’t look your partner in the eye, because his complete and total change in behavior had you feeling, quite frankly, as warm as him. 

You continued by undoing the restraints on his arms and legs, and his sharp intakes of breath as your fingers brushed past his skin didn’t slip past you. Not at all. 

Firstly, you undid the man’s white button-up shirt slipping it past his flushed torso. Jonathan’s skin was actually pink and warm all over, and he was breathing heavily now, gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were white. 

“Are you okay, Jonathan?” you asked absently, as you began unbuckling his belt and slipping down his fly. 

Jonathan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he didn’t answer you, biting down on his lower lip to stop any desperate moans from escaping him. 

You finally finished undressing your partner, then redid his restraints, before you stepped back to see him fully. Jonathan was shivering, faint tear tracks on his pink cheeks, head cocked back. 

“It’s just - one, or two more tests, Jonathan.” You murmured quietly, kneeling down in front of him. 

Your hands pressed flat on his thighs, rubbing him up and down, grazing your fingers lightly on his feverish skin. You had to regularly ground yourself, stop yourself from inching up to the poor, untouched tent in his boxer shorts. 

Above you, you could hear Jonathan let out a low groan, “Ah, hnng— please,” he called out to no-one in particular.

“Does that - feel good, Jonathan?” You ask, getting back up on your feet. His desperate groans were getting to you now, how needy his little keens were. 

“So - good,” he panted. “Your— you, I want— need, I need…” he trailed off, babbling, lost to the pleasure of your touch. 

“Jonathan, if I… touched you more, would you do anything for me?” You said finally. The invention of the aphrodisiac was intended to sway someone's motivations, make them bend to your will. Sure, there was that added sexual aspect, but it was created with less… pleasurable intentions. 

“Anything, anything at all,” he said deliriously, rolling his head around. “Jus’… just need you to- touch me.”

“Would you give yourself fear-toxin, Jonathan?”

“Yes! Yes, just — please… please! Stop asking me— questions… I need you so fucking bad, ah…”

“Jesus,” you said. Your aphrodisiac was stronger than you thought. You were satisfied, however, with the results of it. The first trial was a success, and you saw how you could use this on anyone - even people in particular positions of power, and get them to do your bidding. Quite helpful, indeed. 

Now, you needed to… get Jonathan out of this state. By, ah, relieving him.

You had decided to do this, to test him, so you had to be responsible and help ease him out of this experiment. Quickly, you stripped your own clothing, even your underwear, before undoing the restraints on his arms and legs. 

Jonathan’s eyes widened as he watched you undress. “Are you - are you… gonna t—touch me? Now? Please?” He practically begged, almost drooling at the sight of your naked body. 

“Mhm,” you said, a tremble in your voice. “Gon’ help you get out of this.”

Then, you climbed onto Jonathan’s lap, shutting your eyes as you felt his hard cock within his boxer shorts slide between your legs deliciously. 

He let out a guttural groan as your weight pressed down on him, feeling your wetness soak his shorts. That measly piece of fabric was all that was keeping him from entering your plush, velvet folds, and he was going practically insane at the feeling. 

“M’god,” Jonathan whined out, leaning his sweaty head on your shoulder. “Y’feel so, a—ah, good…”

You couldn’t help the breezy laugh that made its way out of you. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Jonathan, and you’re already so worked up,” you whispered in his ear, hot breath fanning on his warm skin.

“P-pleeeease,” He begged, slowly grinding into you. Jonathan was barely coherent, mind just focussed on chasing the release he so desperately needed.

You raised a brow, but complied, slipping your warm hands down his boxer shorts and pulling his thick length out. You pumped him lazy, feeling how he writhed under you, tasteful whimpers slipping out of his mouth. 

After another second of you stroking him lightly, your thumb grazing past the tip and collected a decent amount of precum, he actually did come, wet hot load spurting upwards on his chest and your face. “Ah - hnngh, oh my — oh my god,” he drooled, jutting into your hand. 

It dripped down from your cheek onto your lips, and Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the pleasure. You swiped a handful of his cream off your face, before covering his still hard, curved cock with it. 

“You’re not done, aren’t you?” You said to him quietly, his hips stuttering as you artfully smeared his come on himself. Jonathan was arching into your touch, completely putty in your hands. 

“Nuh- no, m’still— still need you, need you so bad.” he whimpered shamefully, hands stuck to your waist.

“Look at you go,” you found yourself cooing, dragging a creamy hand down his equally as creamy chest, your fingernails grazing him. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, you lifted yourself up off his lap, and carefully situated your slit on the tip of his head. “Christ,” you called out as you slid down, “you’re fucking big,” 

Inch by inch, you took him, and Jonathan’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, a string of senseless groans and whines leaving his mouth. “Feels so warm, so so warm,” he choked out at last, looking at you adoringly. 

You started to lift out of him, your cunt stinging slightly at the sheer size of his cock, when you felt a heated liquid shoot through you, Jonathan’s knees buckling under your ass. 

He’d come, again, even before you could get started. You shook your head incredulously at the terribly horny man beneath you, eyes glazed over in the pure ecstasy he was feeling. 

“Stop, fucking — coming,” you scolded, bottoming his cock into you once more, “you’re gonna get me so — ah— fucking - pregnant if you keep coming.”

“Sorry,” Jonathan said sheepishly, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Can’t help it— you feel so — hnngh — feel so good.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, then focussed on getting a good pace of sliding in and out, your hips rolling deeper and deeper into his own. You were bouncing quickly on his cock, dick-riding him like you’d never done before. 

With all other sexual partners you had, they wanted to be all vanilla, always just missionary, going slow until they were close, no sense of creativity or any other wishes that just feeling you. With Jonathan - especially in the state he was in now - you could do whatever you wanted, as long as his cock was in your cunt. 

“Good — god,” you screamed out, when Jonathan suddenly gained control over himself and snapped into you, rough hands pinching the flesh of your hips. He rutted into you, hard and fast, for a moment like that continually, before his control melted once more into nothingness, and all he could do was let you take the reins. 

“Please— how’re you so — ah, how does your pussy feel so good…” he murmured, trailing off into a high-pitched moan when you pulled out, then just as fast sunk down on him. 

Jonathan’s fingers trailed up your body, rubbing at your soft flesh, before they found your breasts, kneading you tenderly. He chanced several licks on both your erect nipples, and you shuddered, tightening around him. Your cunt was sucking him in, devouring his length no matter how big he was, and he could feel how his length was stretching your walls wide open. 

“So fucking big.” You panted, arms wrapping around his neck, “fat fucking cock all needy, just me.”

“Jus’… just for you! All - ah, all for you,” Jonathan repeated with a squeak, lips bitten delicately between his teeth. 

Your hands trailed all over his body, and as the pleasure was getting to you, making your head dizzy and your thoughts foggy, you bounced down on him and your nails scratched up his back, surely leaving small wounds. 

This miniscule amount of pain seemed to amplify Jonathan’s endless pleasure, and you could feel him pumping you full of his come once again, the tip of his dick pressed flush against your cervix. His come made you feel so full, fuller than you already did with his monstrous cock nestled into you, continually rubbing up on the toe-curlingly spongy spot in your cunt every time you pushed him back in. 

“Mmf,” Jonathan groaned, pleasure muffling whatever he was was going to say, “m’gonna… gonna get you pregnant,”

“Yeah?” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut, “Is that what this needy cock wants? To get my wet cunt full and me pregnant?”

“Yes, yes, hnngh, please, wanna come - wanna come more,” Jonathan cried out. 

“‘kay, okay,” you nodded vehemently, “then make this pussy feel good.” 

Then, you slid out with a whimper, two loads worth of come spilling out of your worn-out cunt, turning around so your ass would face him, before you sunk back down on him. You were chasing your own pleasure now, the unmistakable feeling rumbling within your lower stomach. 

Jonathan was completely fucked out, just a shaking, hot and bothered mess on the sticky wooden chair you’d both occupied, but he still welcomed your warm pussy back on him with open arms. Your folds beat any other cunt he’d ever been in, and he knew nothing, not even his own hand, could match up to how addicting you were, how delectably you took him. 

The new angle had you reeling, your hands gripping Jonathan’s thighs for some much-needed support. You were buckling, getting weaker with every bounce, but were still desperate for release. It affected Jonathan too, and he was pressing his face up against your hair, biting down lightly on your shoulder to collect himself despite the earth-shattering pleasure you were inflicting on him. 

Your fleshy cunt met his rock-solid cock every moment perfectly, and soon enough your back was arching, head leaning back on Jonathan’s shoulder. That knot in your stomach was tightening, a fire burning within you and begging you not to stop.

Jonathan’s needy hands were coursing all over your body, rubbing on you in all the right places, and when his calloused fingers began pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples, you saw white. That burning feeling dragged across your entire body, your jaw tensing, and you felt positively fuzzy, pure pleasure destroying all coherent thoughts you’d been having, your mind now focussed on the insane way he made you orgasm. 

There was nothing that could compare to how you felt now, this being the hardest you’d orgasmed in your entire life. There was just something about Jonathan — be it how unbelievably big he was, or perhaps the odd tension that surrounded you two for the past few years — that made this experience ten times, no, a hundred times, better.

It was like his dick had been artfully crafted to stretch you out and stuff you full; that thick cock, made just for you. 

In place of your weakening strength, Jonathan kept his hand tweaking your breast, and his other hand gripped your hip tightly, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. Thus, the pleasure was maximized by his touch, and you rode out your high like that for a few more long moments. 

You stayed there, on his lap panting and drooling, for a few more seconds, before you climbed off of him, grimacing at the loss of his sweet cock in you. 

You stood shakily, feeling his come ooze out of your sticky hole, and you were surprised to see that Jonathan was still hard. He was panting, head leaning against the chair, hands and legs trembling, but his dick could probably still pump out another round of come. 

You did always wondering how he’d taste, and after seeing how long and thick he was, you wanted to know if his dick could make you cry, too. So, you kneeled down on the cold floor, pulling him by the ankles a little further off the chair, so you could get better access to him, and buried your pretty little head between his shaking thighs. 

“What’re you— doing?” Jonathan said blearily, but before he could continue, your soft lips wrapped around him, and your tongue began artfully swiveling his sensitive head.

The loudest moan you’d heard so far was drawn out of Jonathan, and more, similar noises came out of him. It was nonsensical, and unintelligible, but you could tell he was having the time of his life — as if he hadn’t just orgasmed three times prior. 

You started slowly, mouth taking his cock until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, before forcing past that point and making yourself take him to the back of your throat. Tears lined the rims of your eyes, your head swimming from lack of oxygen, but you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to hear him whimper and whine out from how good you were servicing him, his pretty groans reaching your ears like music. 

You pulled his cock out of your mouth when you felt like you were going to pass out, and then you began lapping up at his cock, sucking and curving your tongue around his long length. You sucked him hard and fast, and then, his hands grappled at your hair. 

At this point, you believed the aphrodisiac was wearing off, and Jonathan, now a little more clearheaded, began face fucking you, filling your sweet mouth full with his filthy cock. He couldn’t resist doing so, especially with you looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes, hollowing out your cheeks and gripping his thighs like your life depended on it. 

You gagged on him, several times, but he didn’t care, and with a jolted thrust past your swollen lips, he came, squirting all he had left down your throat. You sucked and swallowed every drop of him into your mouth, loving the taste of his salty liquid. 

Now, you were both fucked out, beyond tired, the strain on your muscles settling in. Your core had been properly exercised, what with how many times you rutted into Jonathan, and he, similarly, had a strained back with how much he arched into your touch, his aphrodisiac-clouded mind wanting nothing more but to be touched by you. 

“Good god, woman,” Jonathan said, collapsing into the wooden chair, which was sticky with sweat, come and your cunt’s soaking wetness. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck,”

You panted, dropping down onto the cold floor beneath you and wincing. “We’re — we were, just friends.”

He waved away your words, “We live together, darling. Not quite sure if that's “just” friends.”

You looked up at him, before laughing agreeably. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” A smug grin made its way on your lips, remembering how submissive Jonathan had been, how desperate he’d been just for the slightest bit of touch. 

“Amazing,” he said exasperatedly. “But next time, you’re not topping.”

“Next time, huh?” You said brightly, shakily getting up. Jonathan helped you, both of you limping exhaustedly up the stairs to your actual house, where you really should’ve been fucking, instead of the clinical environment of your large basement lab.

Jonathan’s hands found your ass, pulling you flush against him and kneading the flesh roughly. “Why not? Don’t you wanna know how I fuck?” he whispered suggestively into your ear, nibbling at the lobe. 

“I think, you’ve still got some aphrodisiac in you, Jon.” you said, laughing breezily. 

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[babyleostuff]

up. and down

𝜗𝜚 angst, established relationship 𝜗𝜚 idol!seungcheol x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 wc: 818 warnings: mentions of mental health issues, depression, oldest daughter syndrome

natalia's note: this is something very self indulgent, and as much as i'm kind of afraid to post it (partially because it's shitty as hell, and not proofread) writing it was a bit healing. whoever is struggling out there as well - i just want you to know that you're a fucking badass

everyone has their better and worse days. life is just a constant sinusoid of going up and down, up and down. 

up. and down. 

this was definitely one of your downs. but it was also one of those where you couldn’t explain why you were feeling so down. so numb. so washed out of everything. nothing bad really happened that day - you didn’t oversleep, no one spilled coffee on you, everyone you encountered was nice and polite. maybe the weather was a bit gloomy, but you knew it had nothing to do with the way you were feeling. 

yet, as you were walking up the stairs to your apartment, all you could focus on was the emptiness in your chest, the heart that was beating way too fast for it to be normal, the tears threatening to spill, and your shaky hands that were clutching the door keys for dear life.  

and you felt so guilty for that. you didn’t know why, but you did. 

you tried telling yourself that you weren’t weak, that it was valid for you to have a worse day, and not feel guilty about it - but you just couldn’t. nothing happened for god’s sake, you didn’t have a single reason for the tears that were pooling in your eyes, so how could you call yourself anything but weak?   

“hey, honey. you’re home early,” you looked up to see your boyfriend standing in the hallway, with a big smile on his face. the exact one that could usually turn the shittiest days into the best ones. but not today. 

it made you feel even worse. seungcheol was one of the best things that could ever happen in your life. he was caring, loving, he’d move the mountains for you if he had to. he was the most hardworking man you’d ever met, and he never complained, no matter how hard it got. 

you didn’t want him to see you like this. ever. you didn’t want to show the light of your life your ugly side, the one that could rot in bed for days because it had no energy to get up and take a shower. the one that cried for hours for no reason. the one that sometimes felt like giving up was the only solution. 

you cleared your throat, trying to push everything away for the sake of your boyfriend. “hey, baby. what are you doing here, shouldn’t you be at work?” 

“yeah, but,” he narrowed his eyes, and took in your form, “they let us go early today,” he said after a quick pause. of course in that split of a second he sensed that something wasn’t right. as if you could ever hide anything from him. “what’s wrong?” 

“nothing,” you wanted to scream. nothing happened, except that your lungs didn’t let you breathe, and your heart was too heavy to beat properly. 

“i don’t know,” you finally admitted, and shrugged your shoulders. that’s when the first tear fell. “i don’t know what’s wrong, cheol,” your voice broke. 

seungcheol didn’t say anything else, he just walked up to you, and put his arms around you, caging you in an embrace that you knew so well. everything was so familiar - his gentle yet firm touch, the smell of his cologne, his slightly chapped lips resting against your temple - and still you felt like an intruder. like you didn’t deserve it. 

“you know i love you, right?” though his voice was quiet, you could hear it was slightly shaky. “your friends love you,” he said, and slid one of his hands from your back up to your head, cupping it. “and kkuma loves you. very much.” 

you choked on a sob, and hid your face further up seungcheol’s neck.

“i know you don’t see yourself like that,” you could feel something wet sliding down your neck, and for some reason you knew that the tears weren’t only your own, “but you’re so strong. you really are.” 

by now you were gripping onto cheol’s shirt like it was the last thing that could keep you afloat. you didn’t care about the tears anymore. you didn’t care about the broken cries. you just wanted to stay like this forever. 

“why am i like this? why can’t my mind just leave me alone?” you cried, your shoulders shaking. 

“i don’t know, baby. i don’t know.” 

and so you stood in the hallway of your apartment, with a very confused white fluff ball at your feet, till you had no more tears left to cry.

life is just a constant sinusoid of going up and down, up and down. 

up. and down. 

even though your down may seem like a dark path with no way out, like a never ending circle of tears and pain, you have to keep fighting, because you have people worth fighting for. 

and most importantly - you have to keep fighting for yourself.

[lixzey]

sincerely yours

luke castellan x athena!reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: none, i guess? just some good old fashioned capture the flag shit

a/n: i'm so sorry this took so long! yeah, i know i promised i'd post this yesterday, but my daughter is sick. we just got back from the ER a little over an hour ago bcs she was vomiting like crazy. so, i do hope y'all understand that i have a child to tend to, even though i already finished school.

anyway, this shall be my official early apology for lovelorn part two, which is titled “you're losing me,”

i'm gonna try my best to get that out as soon as i can, but please, do not rush me! thank you!

special thanks to my girl @jennapancake my wonderful bestie @lilmaymayy

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

“There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, it's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender,”

Dear Luke, 

I bumped into you today. Gods, you looked so majestic from my point of view. I got lost in your eyes, again. Pretty sure if I stared just a little bit longer in your beautiful eyes, all the molecules in my body would combust.

There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.

“For the love of Ares, write your damn letter after we get the flag!” Clarisse groaned, her electric spear sparking slightly, snapping you out of your lovesick daze.

“Why not? It’s not like the other team’s here,” You shrugged, crossing your legs over the  other. “I have plenty of time to write.”

“It’s not like the other team’s here,” Clarisse mimicked the tone of your voice, rolling her dark eyes. “We are at battle, Y/n! Write the damn letter after we win!”

“Let the girl write, Clarisse,” Silena chuckled, sitting beside you with a soft smile. “She’s just so in love with pretty boy, Luke.”

“Silena!” You shushed, craning your neck to glance around if someone was nearby. “Someone could’ve heard you! He could’ve heard you!”

“Relax, lover girl,” Silena smirked, flicking her long dark hair over her shoulder. “No one’s here, no one would dare to approach this side as long as Clar is here.”

Clarissed bobbed her head to the side. “What she said.”

“Shut up,” You grumbled, folding the paper and stuffing inside the back pocket of your shorts along with your pen. “Someone from our team still could’ve passed by.” you huffed, folding your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, so shut up about your pretty boy.” Clarisse rolled her eyes. “Not everyone wants to hear how beautiful his eyes are.”

“Can’t blame her, though,” Silena shrugged her tan shoulders. “He’s so pretty, a sight for sore eyes.”

“He’s a sight for my sore eyes,” You sighed dreamily, resting your chin on your hands.

“Ugh,” Clarisse scrunched her nose. “Are you sure you’re not a daughter of Aphrodite wrongly claimed by Athena? Or at least a legacy of the love goddess?”

“If she was a daughter of love, I would know.” Silena answered, picking up a pebble and throwing it gracefully into the creek right in front of the three of you. “She's definitely not a legacy either. Just an Athena kid in love with a son of Hermes, stupidly in love with said son of Hermes.”

“Hey! I am not stupidly in love-” 

“You aren’t?” Clarisse raised a brow. “You were literally just babbling about bumping into him ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but-”

“And, you were blushing when you found us.” Silena added, smirking. “Oh, Sil, Clar, I bumped into Lukey! He smells so good, oh gods I love him so bad!”

A blush crept onto your cheeks, the shade of strawberries down at the patch invading your face despite trying against it.

“Aw, you look like a strawberry,” Silena giggled, pinching one of your cheeks.

Before you could utter a word, you heard the sound of rustling leaves and branches snapping to your left.

Clarisse’s head whipped to the side, most likely hearing the intruding sounds. “Get ready,” she muttered, lifting her spear in fight mode.

You nodded, quickly rising up to your feet, grabbing your shield that was sitting unused on the forest floor as well as your celestial bronze sword at the ready. Silena stood beside you, red and pink armor shining in the sun as she held her sword in one hand and shield in the other. She looked so effortlessly beautiful, making you slightly jealous.

Silena was your best friend, and has been since you first arrived at camp. But you couldn’t help but wish you were as pretty as her. She had long gorgeous hair, striking eyes, and angelic features, the look you wish you had. Maybe, if you were as pretty as her, Luke would give you his full attention like how boys did with Silena or any daughter of Aphrodite.

“Oh, hey guys,” A voice you knew oh so well brought you back to reality. Your eyes snapped upward, meeting the eyes of Luke Castellan.

Shit.

You look at Silena and she’s already grinning at you. Clarisse, matching Silena’s with crossed arms. 

“Hi, Luke,” Silena greets him with a smile, a slight teasing tone in her voice directed at you.

“What’cha girls up to?” Luke asks, leaning against a tree. Even when he’s sweaty, gods, he’s handsome.

“Nothing!” You quickly answer, averting your gaze away from him, the blush you had earlier still not leaving.

“Where’s the flag?” Clarisse asked, peeking behind the counselor of cabin eleven.

“It’s with Annabeth, don’t worry,” Luke assured with a chuckle. “She isn’t letting the flag out of her sight, won’t even let me touch it.”

“The other team’s flag?” Clarisse raised a brow expectantly. 

“The Stolls are on it, Chris too.” Luke answers, running a hand over his chocolate curls, making you gulp. Fuck, he’s too damn hot.

Silena cleared her throat, noticing how nervous you are. “Hey, Clar? Let’s help the boys.” 

Clarisse looks at her incredulously, but Silena raises a brow at her. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

“Luke, you okay with keeping Y/n company for a bit?” Silena asks with a smirk, fixing up her armor.

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” Luke smiles, oblivious to the fact that you are blushing like a ripe red fruit in season.

Shit, shit, shit. You thought, watching the teasing looks of your friends as you stood there obviously frazzled. “No, no, I’m uh, coming with you!” You stammered, nearly stumbling forward. “I’m gonna help!” your voice sounded a little squeaky, making you visibly cringe.

Clarisse snorted, slamming the end of her spear onto the forest floor, the tip sparking like fireworks on the fourth of July. “You stay here, smartass,” she says with a teasing grin. “He's got you covered, right Castellan?”

Luke nodded, a lopsided grin on his handsome face. “I got ‘er, don’t worry,” he chuckles, walking towards you, slinging his muscular arm around your shoulders, pulling you slightly closer to his armored chest. “Wouldn’t want to get maimed by three cabin heads.”

“You’ve got Annabeth, Clarisse, and me to deal with if she gets hurt.” Silena says, pink glossed lips curling into a smirk.

You scowl, folding your arms over your chest. “I can fend for myself, thank you very much.”

“You wouldn’t mind if Lukey here protects you?” Silena chuckled, flicking her long hair over her shoulder, her eyes changing to the shade of Luke’s—chocolate brown, amber in the sunlight.

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at your best friends. “I’m perfectly fine without a man,” you grumbled, trying your best to sound nonchalant.

“Uh huh,” Clarisse smirks at you. “Say, Luke, you wouldn’t mind saving our smart ass friend, would you?”

“Not at all,” Luke replies, his lips mirroring Clarisse’s. “What’dya say pretty girl? Y’ mind if I save you?” he continues, nudging you slightly with the arm along your shoulders.

Silena and Clarisse snort at Luke Castellan calling you pretty girl. You were a hundred percent sure that Silena would be teasing you relentlessly after the match because of it. 

You narrow your eyes at your ridiculously annoying friends, before slowly averting your gaze towards Luke. Good lord, does this light do him good. “N-No, I don’t mind…” You trail off, your face becoming a little too hot as Luke's perfectly handsome face just inches away.

You feel your heart beating loudly in your chest, making you wonder if the decibels of said beating were audible enough for the boy who’s causing your heart to beat so rapidly.

“That settles it!” Silena clapped her hands together, snapping you back to reality. You quickly push Luke’s arm off of your shoulder, taking a step back away from him as if he had some sort of deadly disease.

I can’t risk him knowing I have a crush on him!

“See you later, pretty girl!” Silena chuckles before grabbing Clarisse’s arm, pulling the daughter of Ares along with her.

As soon as your friends faded from your view, you immediately scramble towards the log you had been sitting on a while ago. You were desperate to hide the fact that you had feelings for the boy standing just meters away. You had to act all tough and calculating, just like your little sister.

“You know,” Luke started, walking in your direction, sheathing his sword in its holster. “From this angle, you look like Annabeth.”

You look up at him, raising a brow, hoping you looked at least intimidating. “How so?”

Luke hummed, taking a seat beside you, placing his shield down on the forest floor. “You had your lower lip out in a pout, just like Annabeth when she’s in deep thought.”

“Who says I’m in deep thought?”

Luke smiles, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I just assumed, since Annabeth is my sister-” he cuts himself off momentarily, looking at you like he had offended you. “I mean, she’s your sister, not mine, you know? Godly parent wise.”

“It’s fine, Luke,” You laugh, giving him an assuring smile. “You have been Annabeth’s family since she was seven. We all know that no one, and I mean no one, can ever replace you as Annie’s big brother.”

Luke sighed a breath of relief. “For a minute there I thought you were going to get mad at me.”

“I mean, there is nothing to be mad about.” You smile, before suddenly remembering the unfinished letter you had sitting in your back pocket. 

Shit.

You quickly whipped your head around to see if the letter had fallen out of your pocket, before reaching in your back pocket to check. Thank gods, it’s still here. You push it down deeper in your pocket, if that was still even possible. It's better to be safe rather than sorry.

“You know, you and Annabeth have a lot in common.” Luke says, leaning slightly to the side, looking you up and down, causing you to feel a little shy.

“Yeah?” You squeak out, your eyes visibly widening like stormy gray drachmas before quickly clearing your throat like nothing happened despite the pink tint on your cheeks. “What makes Annabeth and I so similar?”

“Well, for starters, you’re both smart and wise. I mean, yeah, it’s already given because your mom is Athena.”

You playfully raise a brow at him. “What else?” you ask, the corner of your lips twitching into a small smile.

If you were being honest, you were liking this. Just you and Luke, alone—well, not technically—in the woods just chatting about the similarities between you and your younger sister. Personally, you’d prefer something else as a topic. Although, Luke pointing out the similarities between you and Annabeth would mean that he looks at you like you do with him.

It wouldn’t be wrong to assume, would it? Since he had just implied that you and Annabeth had a lot in common. Perhaps even in ways you don’t even notice.

Does this make you delusional? Maybe. But there’s no wrong with that, right?

“You both zone out,” Luke chuckles, wiping off the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. “Usually, during mornings. Annabeth, she says that it’s because of lack of sleep from reading all night.”

You stifle a laugh, fully knowing that Annabeth spends a lot of time reading during the night. She says that it’s the only time she has during her day, since she prefers getting all of her chores done before getting into leisure activities. You often wonder how on earth does she manage to function with only three to five hours of sleep, when a child her age is supposed to have more than eight hours of rest.

“Well, that’s an acceptable reason to zone out.” You chuckle, pushing back strands of your hair behind your ear, simultaneously wiping off sweat on your brow bone. “I stay up most of the time too, but I don’t overdo it like our little sister. Quite frankly, I do get cranky if I get little to no sleep.”

“I’ve noticed,” Luke snorts, giving you a teasing smile. “You won’t talk to anyone until you’ve gotten your morning tea. A cup of hot peppermint tea with two slices of lemon, a drizzle of honey, and sometimes you add sprigs of mint you ask Katie to grow for you.”

“You know how I take my tea?” You ask, confusion in your features. “I mean, why do you know how I take my tea?”

“It’s kinda hard not to memorize your tea preference when I hear it every time I pick up Annabeth for training.” Luke answers, causing heat to rise up to your cheeks which you hoped that Luke would not notice.

“Oh,” you mumble, realization kicking in. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“Also, you don’t drink it right away. You wait at least two to three minutes—at least from what I see from my table—before taking a sip.”

You suddenly feel butterflies inside your stomach, your cheeks felt like they were getting hotter by the second. You hoped so badly that Luke wouldn’t notice how you were blushing profusely like a teenager in love—which you are, obviously, unless Luke was utterly oblivious to see right through your facade.

Before you could answer, you hear leaves rustling along with heavy footsteps heading towards you and Luke. You quickly rise to your feet, grabbing your sword at shield in defense.

“Enemy team, nine o’clock,” You simply say, the gears in your head moving around to come up with proper battle strategies. 

Luke laughs at you as he stands up. He had his sword still in its holster. “Let me guess,” he chuckles, placing his hands on his waist. Gods, he is so fucking slutty. “Calculating ways to beat their asses?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Obviously.” Luke Castellan was the love of your life, but you were not going to lose a game of capture the flag because of him. “Why aren’t you in position?”

“Relax, pretty girl,” Luke waves a hand dismissively as he smirks at you. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You glare at him, a scowl on your lips. “I can protect myself, thank you very much.”

“Eh, humor me,” Luke nudges your shoulder, a lopsided grin on stupidly handsome face. “It’ll be fun.”

“If you weren’t-” you tried to retort, only to be cut off by Lee Fletcher’s voice. 

“Where’s the flag, Castellan?” Lee demands, moving closer towards you and Luke, his siblings following closely behind, ready for a fight.

You wanted to laugh so badly. It was like they were still new to the game. It made you wonder whether they were purposely forgetting the fact that Luke Castellan is the best swordsman camp has seen in the past three hundred years or they’ve never learned their lessons.

“You’re not getting it, Lee. You’d have to get through me first. If you happen to get through me, which I highly doubt, then you’d have to get through Luke—which I can guarantee will not be good.” You taunted, sword at the ready. You then turned to Luke, who was smiling at you. “What?”

“Didn’t know you think so highly of me,” Luke grinned, pulling his sword out of its holster. “Careful, that might get to my head.”

“Whatever,” You roll your eyes at him, trying your hardest not to blush and fall in love with him even more—if that was even possible at this point. You then turn your attention back to the enemy team. “Let’s get this done and over with.”

“Done flirting?” Michael Yew teases from behind Lee, a smirk plastered on his lips.

You scowled, heat rising to your cheeks for the nth time this day. “We weren’t flirting.”

“Eh, looks like it,” Lee snorts, causing his siblings to erupt in laughter. 

You glared at Lee, but before you could say anything, Luke charged at Lee—instantly disarming him without even breaking a sweat, the tip of his sword just below the son of Apollo’s chin and his sword in Luke’s hand.

“What she said,” Luke growled, glaring at him as he pushed his sword forward, grazing Lee’s neck.

Lee whimpered at Luke’s mercy, his eyes closed shut as his siblings stood behind him like scared little kids—well, most of them were. 

“Luke, stop,” You gently placed your hand on his shoulder, feeling a thousand sparks coursing through your veins. When he didn’t budge, you sighed. “Come on, Luke, he’s not worth it.”

It took a minute, but Luke moved his sword away from Lee, though he was still glaring at the son of Apollo. “Get out of my face before I-”

“Luke,” You sighed, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the side before casting a glance at the son of Apollo. “Go, if you know what’s good for you—all of you—go.”

You then turned your full attention back to Luke, his eyes meeting yours with just a few inches separating your faces from another. You felt his breath hot on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Oh gods, help me.

“No can do,” Lee mutters under his breath, pulling his sword out from its holster. “Attack!” he yelled, charging towards you and Luke.

Acting on your instincts, you immediately grabbed your sword, blocking Lee’s attack, maneuvering your sword, putting your whole weight into a downward thrust. Lee’s sword rattled against the stones, the tip of your sword poking his armor. You then pushed him back with the flat of your blade, causing him to stumble back over a rock, falling on his ass.

You whipped your head around to find Luke disarming Michael Yew with ease, he then grabbed the son of Apollo’s arm, twisting it before shoving him to the side. “You should’ve used arrows.” he taunted the younger boy, a smirk on his lips.

To the side, you saw another child of Apollo—Dawn, you think her name was—sneaking up on Luke, aiming her sword just above his jugular vein.

You quickly ran towards Luke, sliding under his legs, causing Dawn to trip and land face first in a pile of leaves—well, you hoped it was more than just leaves.

“Wrong move,” you laughed deviously, blowing strands of your hair away from your face. 

“Thanks,” Luke chuckled, helping you back on your feet. He then rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh, before jerking his head behind you, only to find Lee charging towards you.

Luke immediately passed you a shield, which you quickly slid on the ground in Lee’s way, causing him to trip and his sword to fly out his hand and fall just below your feet.

You quickly knelt down, picking the sword up and passing it to Luke with a grin. “Nice save, Luke.”

“You flatter me too much.” Luke chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I should be flattering you! By the gods, you looked like a warrior princess!”

“I did not,” You laugh nervously, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “I simply did what I was trained to do.”

“Yeah, well- stay down!” Luke pointed his sword at Lee, causing the boy to sigh heavily. 

“Fine, we surrender!”

Luke turned his attention back to you, giving you a lopsided grin. “Where was I?”

Before you could utter a reply, loud cheers and laughter rang out from the distance, making its way closer to where you and Luke were standing. You see the Stoll brothers along with Chris Rodriguez waving the enemy team’s flag in the air as Clarisse waved your team’s flag in victory. 

“We won!” Clarisse laughed heartily, smiling victoriously as she slung her arm around Chris’ shoulders. “Wave it in their faces, Rodriguez!”

“We won!” You squealed, looking at Luke, your hair bouncing in the air as you jumped up and down. “We won! We actually won!”

All of a sudden, Luke picked you up by the waist, twirling you around like a princess in those movies you watched as a child.

“We won!” Luke laughed as he spun you around like you didn’t weigh anything, causing you to erupt in a fit of giggles. “I knew we’d win this!”

“Victory!” You laughed as Luke stopped twirling you, your stormy eyes meeting his chocolate ones as you felt the world pause around you, their cheers fading as Luke smiled at you—that annoyingly handsome smile you’ve come to love—as you felt your heart beat like a bass drum.

You sighed contentedly, yours and Luke’s faces just a few inches away from each other.  “We won,”

“Yeah, pretty girl, we did,” Luke grinned, you could’ve sworn you felt his hold on you tighten as if he was bringing you in closer, but you didn’t want to be delusional so you just laughed it off.

“You guys done flirting?” Clarisse’s voice snapped you and Luke out of your little world. Your eyes widened drastically, your cheeks reddening like a tomato as Luke placed you back down on your feet. You then quickly scrambled towards Silena, Annabeth, and Clarisse, looking embarrassed as ever.

“We..we weren’t flirting!” You quickly told your friends and younger sister, as you reached into your back pockets for some extra hair ties you kept to tie your hair up.

“Uh huh,” Silena teased, smirking at the way your cheeks reddened up. “Whatever you say, pretty girl,”

“Shut up,” You grumbled, tying your hair up when the realization settled in.

The letter was gone.

Oh fuck. 

“Oh shit, fuck, god damnit!” You immediately started looking around for the crumpled paper hoping no one had noticed it yet, unfortunately there were still a lot of campers around, and one must have seen it already.

“What is it?” Annabeth asked, raising a brow at you as she slipped her dagger in its holster. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fuckin’ fantastic!” You say frantically, still scanning the area for any sign of your unfinished letter. You mentally pleaded to your mother to help you find the letter, desperate measures require desperate solutions. Hell, you even started praying to the goddess Aphrodite for help.

Mom, come on, if you love me, help me find my love letter!

Aphrodite, oh goddess, help me in the name of love!

“Oh fuck, you have got to be fucking kidding me.” You say, finally spotting the letter.

In Luke Castellan’s hands.

“Motherfu-”

taglist: @ma1dita @m00ng4z3r @woodlandwrites @sflame15-blog @the-sylver-dragon @ceruleansx @evsolostheuniverse @patitotodd @emryb @onecojg @caramelandvenus @yourfavoritereader @fennecswife @lynbubble @scarletsapphic @lvrgirl6999 @harrysnovia @nyxikae @mxtokko @sc4rl3ttdafoxx

[milkywaydrabbles]

8- Virginity with Alucard x virgin reader, please? I don't know if it has already been ordered. Thank you!

A/N: Tyyy for the req I haven't done this one yet! Got a little carried away with this I think, but very fun to write! Hope you like it! Mwuah

CW: Vriginity loss, pet names, that's it i think lol

Virginity x Alucard

It had been months of soft touches, sweet kisses, and promises of a loving life between you and your newfound love, Adrian Tepes. Meeting him seemed like a dream, the way he would always hold doors open for you, smile at you so lovingly, make sure you were comfortable. You’d open up to him as much as he did to you, learning each others’ deepest intimate secrets. One of which was the admittance of still being a virgin at your age. You were always nervous to divulge that information, feeling men think you prude. You just...hadn’t been interested. And all the men you’ve had the (dis)pleasure of meeting were, well, gross. Which is why when Adrian had asked to court you, you thought it was a joke. You laughed it off, giving him a ‘that’s funny, Adrian!’ before realizing he was being serious. You swore your heart stopped.

The months of courting had been the most perfect months of your life, and you were ready to take it to the next step with him. You wanted him to be your lover. “Adrian..” You found him in the study, looking at him through your lashes, bashful. He smiled that gorgeous smile at you, reaching a hand in your direction that you gladly took, guiding you to the chair next to his. “Yes, my dear? What is it?” So attentive. You steadied yourself before continuing. “I want...I want to make love.” Your red face now matched his, dropping the quill onto the desk. “That’s a big decision, giving me your virginity. Are you sure? We don’t have to discuss this now if you’re uncomfortable.” 

You took his concern as unwillingness, pout on your lips. Did he not want to...? Of course, the past he’s endured of course he wouldn’t want to. You gasped, suddenly feeling guilty. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry! I should have thought first, oh Adrian I’m--” He hushed you, taking both hands in his. “Darling, I’m more than willing to lay with you. Please make no mistake.” God, how can he just say things like that? “I want to make sure this is what you want. That you’re not doing this for me.” You squeezed his hands, “I’m sure, Adrian. I’ve never been more sure.”

So hours later, you’re underneath the Dhampir, writhing in pleasure as he suckles at your clit with a slender finger fucking into your virgin hole. “Haah, fuck. Feels so good, Adrian. B-better than my, aah, fingers” You admit to him, tugging at his hair when he sucks harder. “Hmm, how bold.” He smirks, looking up at you nosing your clit. “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” You nod, mouth open and eyes hazy as he slips another finger into your pussy, stretching you out. You looked like a goddess to him, he couldn’t believe you were gifting him something so precious as your virginity. “You’re so tight around my fingers, beloved. Relax, I’ll make you feel good.” You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding onto, looking down at him as he continued to lick around your pussy and clit, scissoring his fingers inside of you to help stretch you for what’s to come.  “Let me hear your pretty voice, what do you think of when you finger yourself?” 

You diverted your gaze with flushed cheeks, “I-I think of you t-taking me, aah, in your bed, mmh! In your study, too, on the desk.” He waited, expectantly, working you closer to your high. He could feel it, the way you started clenching on his fingers. “In different positions! Fuck, Adrian I want to try different positions!” You couldn’t help but get louder, the way he fucked into you with his fingers felt so fucking good. You couldn’t continue speaking, only babbling how good he felt before the feeling in your tummy snapped and you came around his fingers, your cunt drooling on his digits. He slowed, letting you ride out your high and seeing that cute little hole spasm around him. “Mmm, we will darling. Later. I want to take you like you deserve right now.” He couldn’t help himself, Alucard scooped up your juices and sucked his fingers into his mouth, moaning at the delicious, sweet taste of your pussy. He could do this for hours, but that would wait too. “Are you okay, sweetheart.” You nodded, blissed out smile plastered on your face. “Mhm, keep going Adrian.” He chuckled at your impatience, “insatiable and you’ve only just gotten a taste. I’ll have my hands full with you.”

Alucard lined his cock at your hole, waiting for your approval to continue, (he thought your neck would snap at how rapidly you were nodding, eager.) “Just breathe, sweetheart, I’ll go slow.” He pushed in, so painfully slow, his breath hitching as you gasped, trying to keep a steady breath. The stretch was uncomfortable, but not painful. He’d stretched you out so nicely with his fingers that it was bearable. He paused, waiting for you to give him the okay. As kind, patient, and caring Alucard was he was losing his mind with how tight you felt around him. So warm, and wet, and eager to swallow him whole. You urged him to continue, and he didn’t take a second thought before pushing in the rest of the way, feeling how you tightened around him just by taking his entire dick. Your back arched, nails digging into his biceps with pleasure. “Adrian, please.” You whined, not sure what you were begging for. He smirked, coming down to cover your body with his and leaning on his forearms, “Whatever you want, darling.” 

Adrian pulled out to the tip, seeing you squirm before shoving his cock back into you, hearing those beautiful cries. His pace quickened, white ring forming around the base of his cock as he continued to fuck into you. Your pretty little cunt felt so good, so good that Alucard doesn’t know how he held out for so long. He feels so grateful to have you, grateful that you trust him enough for this, grateful to be buried balls deep in the tightest, sloppiest little hole. “Doing so good for me, honey, does it feel good?” He borderline teased, Adrian knew what he was doing. You nodded, frantic, tears pooling at the corner of your eyes. “Yes! Yes, s’good Adrian, so good!” You babbled on, repeating how good he felt inside of you, how big he felt, to keep going. A hand came down to rub at your clit, helping you get to your second orgasm of the night. You pulled him down by the back of his neck, wanting to kiss him as you came on his cock for the first time. You wanted him to invade all of your senses, the feeling pure euphoria as he squirmed and spasmed around his length, Alucard pounding into you now. You whined into his mouth, bucking your hips through your high. 

He stuttered, pulling out at the last second and spilling himself over your stomach. The two of you stayed still as you caught your breath, Adrian slowly pulling out and moving to get you cleaned up. You stayed in his arms, peppering kisses on his face with a smile. “Thank you Adrian, it felt so good.” He sighed, relishing in your praises. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Another pause.

“Can you...not pull out next time?” You were the absolute death of him.

[thecapricunt1616]

Strawberry - (c.b. one-shot)

𝓢𝓷𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓽 (𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓑𝓣𝓒): He took his arm back, pushing you back into the bed, your cheek flush against the mattress. “Lost that fuckin privilege since you can’t keep y’teeth in y’mouth. Wanna act like an animal you’ll get fucked like an animal sweetheart” he spread your cheeks, one of them stinging from his rough assault on it as he continued to pound you, watching as your cunt gushed around him in awe. 

♡ One-shot Inspo: Strawberries Attract success, good fortune, and favorable circumstances. Served as a love food. Leaves are carried for luck. ♡ Summary: Carmy fucks you nearly to heaven from the back, enjoy! Inspired by the filthy wonderful beautiful perfect inspiring big juicy brained @carmenberzattosgf <3 love u mami ♡ W/C: 1,616 ;) ♡ Posted Date: 06/05/2024 ♡ A/N:  HELLO!!! To the folks that have asks rotting away in my inbox I stg they're getting written- but that task is made near impossible when my little filthy olive martini @carmenberzattosgf posts something SO good that it takes up my entire brain and I have to write something inspired by it. Please by god go read this my pussy was screaming by the end like - I think she woke up the neighbors. Anywhore, enjoy this filthy-mouthed Carmen, no D words to be found here folks so for those of you who hate it you're in luck! And to those that will miss it...you'll see Carmy is still daddy af. ENJOY my friends xoxo ♡ Warnings for BTC: Smut smut , fem!reader, Black!Reader friendly (pics are pure vibes), unprotected sex, swearing, fluffy aftercare, domestic bliss

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭�� ♡

Deep. 

So, so fucking deep. You could hardly even think. 

Short squeak-like moans were leaving your lips with each snap of Carmys hips. The headboard was only lightly tapping the wall thanks to the stoppers he’d with quickness got on Amazon and by the grace of god and 24 hour delivery they had came a day after the first time his neighbor came by and slammed on the door, telling you both to ‘shut the fuck up or get a hotel’ 

You could barely register the light tap on the wall and the squeak of the mattress because Carmy would not. shut. up. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Pussy has me in a vice baby you like this, mm? Feels so good f’you, huh? Yeah I can fuckin tell- god y’sound so pretty”  he rambled on. When he fucked you from behind, he usually got really chatty. You weren’t sure if it was because he got bored since he couldn’t watch you with his big blue owl-like eyes, or if his confidence was just boosted because you weren’t watching him while he spoke so less anxiety - but you loved it.

“Yes- yes- Carmy- shit - oh fuck” you whimper as he hauled you up by your upper arms, wrapping his strong bicep around your neck, messily kissing your sweat-sticky neck and groaning into your skin as your core squeezed around him hard causing a wet schlick-schlick-schlick to fill the room

“Yeah? Yeah baby? Say it again tell me how much you fuckin love it hmm? That you love when I fill this pussy up. You love it when I make sure you can feel me t’morrow huh?” He squeezed your neck with his muscular arm and dear god were you glad he couldn’t see your face because you lost all control, practically shaking as he held you up, his cock so deep inside that his tip was giving your cervix a gentle little kiss with each thrust. 

“I’m fucking cumming” you manage out, holding his arm and squeezing tight, head falling back and body going slack against him. He used his other hand to press right above your mound, the added pleasure causing tears to seep from your eyes down your neck. 

“Look at you pretty girl takin me so well- so fuckin well. Jus’ a little longer huh? Wan’me to fill you up still baby?” He said hotly in your ear, taking your diamond earring he had bought you from Tiffany’s last week that was adorning your lobe and sucking on it gently, nose gently nudging the side of your face. 

“So- so good so good” you echo him, not even thinking with your head anymore. When you opened your eyes your vision was hazy with tears, in your peripheral you could see the edges of blonde curls. 

“Yeah?” He chuckled a bit, going harder as he chased his own high “so fuckin good f’me. That’s why I take care’you so good mm princess?” He loosened up is grip on your throat lightly and held your shoulder, sweetly kissing your cheek. Your mouth dropped in pleasure, practically drooling at how good he was making you feel. 

“Y-yes. Yes. God Carmy- god I fuckin love you” you mewled. You weren’t sure what came over you exactly, but you turned your face, giving his bicep a chaste kiss before biting down. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to bruise. He hissed In pain, before taking his hand from your stomach and cupping your cheek, fucking up into you with a near punishing pace. 

“Jesus - fuck - how the fuck m’I supposed to explain that at work tomorrow? Mm? I tell em my girl can’t keep her mouth shut er’ to ‘erself?” He teased, smacking down on your ass with his palm, hard enough for there to be a pretty red mark in the shape of his hand - and hard enough for you to yelp, releasing the bit of muscle you’d held hostage. 

He took his arm back, pushing you back into the bed, your cheek flush against the mattress. “Lost that fuckin privilege since you can’t keep y’teeth in y’mouth. Wanna act like an animal you’ll get fucked like an animal sweetheart” he spread your cheeks, one of them stinging from his rough assault on it as he continued to pound you, watching as your cunt gushed around him in awe. 

You whimper, back arching more for him and your next orgasm riding the tails of the last. “Close” you said, voice raw and horse and utterly fucked out. 

“Me too, Angel- shit- gonna fuckin fill you up, stuff this pretty pussy with my cum huh?” He essentially laid over you, thrusts that were more like firm rolling of his hips at this point getting sloppier and the feeling of his weight firmly pushing you into the bed was making you dizzy in the best way. You felt his chain brush your back, the feeling was like ice on your damp sweat slicked skin. 

His breathing had become more of a quick, hot pants. His back was starting to hurt, his shoulder killed from bearing both your weights for so long - but he was fully blissed out. He was also frankly quite impressed with himself, in this position he usually couldn’t last even 10 minutes, but you two were teetering on half an hour now. 

This was thanks to his new little trick he had taught himself, whenever he got too close he thought about his boss from NOMA screaming in his face about never amounting to anything, and it backed him right off that ledge. Worked like a charm really. 

“Please - please fill me up bear” you whined out, and with a grunt he buried himself to the hilt, your hips flush with his as he stilled and shot rope after rope of milky white cum inside of you painting your walls with him. He sighed in relief, pulling out and patting your ass gently before plopping down next to you on his back to catch his breath. 

“Fuck y’so amazing baby. I wasn’t too hard, was i? Y’good?” He rubbed your back gently. You were too exhausted for much else, so you just throw him a thumbs up causing him to chuckle. “Alright so water f’you. And Cream f’this poor poor little ass of yours” he rubbed the tender skin carefully and got up, heading to the bathroom first. 

You stretched out, feeling the proof of his love leaking down your thighs as you laid there for a moment before getting up when you heard the toilet flush. You padded to the bathroom and nudge the door open to see him washing his hands. Your eyes found the deep red bruise on his arm, it would probably be purple by the end of tomorrow. 

“I sorry” you said sweetly and gently kiss over the mark. “You’re just so yummy I wanted a bite” you said and he flicked the remaining water off his hands before shutting off the faucet and grabbing the hand towel 

“Mmm thought you didn’t like Italian” he teased, heading out to the kitchen to fill your Stanley cup with fresh ice water. 

“You’re right I don’t like it I love it. Especially when it’s a sexy Italian with a thick cock” you chide as you made a neat little square of toilet paper to wipe with and you heard him laugh to himself 

“She’s back! That’s my mouthy princess, was afraid I lost you back there babe you got all quiet on me” he teased causing you to giggle to yourself as you flush and stood to wash your hands - legs still feeling a bit like jelly beneath you. 

“It’s hard to talk when you’re rearranging my insides” you head back to bed and lay on your belly, crossing your ankles. He came back, bearing gifts of course. He comes over to the bed and drops off the cooling lotion that he kept in the fridge for you and gently nudged you with the cup. You looked over, sitting up slightly and taking a sip. 

“Ooo-“ you said when you realized he was holding a plate 

“Mmhmm. Always you and y’sweet snacks after we fuck, open” he said. You opened your mouth obediently and he placed half of a chocolate strawberry on your tongue after taking a bite out of it, making the perfect mouthful for you. You hummed, resting your cheek on your forearm as you chew and your eyes fluttering shut. 

“Love you pretty” he smooched your forehead, setting the plate on your shared nightstand and started to massage the cold lotion into your skin. “You did really good f’me t’night.” He added and kissed your shoulder blade as he continued to squeeze and kneed tender flesh. 

“So good I can get a present?” You asked sweetly and he chuckled, rubbing over your hips as well that were sore from being spread wide for so long and you groaned a bit, arching into his touch 

“I think I’m spoiling you rotten lately, you got a new phone yesterday and you’re already ready f’another good girl gift, huh?” He went over to your dresser since he was all done rubbing you down and grabbed a pair of your comfiest panties and came back over, carefully slipping them up to your thighs before you lift your hips for him and he pulled them up the rest of the way, placing a gentle kiss on your mound “it’s you  who deserves the present” he said, before going to grab his own boxers so he wasn’t helicoptering it in front of your plate of strawberries. 

You giggled, rolling your eyes.  “I love you, dork.”

[winwintea]

stop posting about BALLER - zhong chenle

PAIRING ↬ boyfriend!zhong chenle x reader

GENRES ↬ pure crack idk... fluff, romance, some angst if you look in between the lines, chenle loves basketball more than you. unfortunately.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ↬ inspired by a fic i read on ao3, a tiktok i watched where op got mad at their boyfriend for having headphones in while making out, plus my post here. and also chenle's recent fanboying activity in la. ignore the title its a placeholder for now, in honor of my dear friend @syatchy london stop writing for chenle challenge

WORD COUNT ↬ 1.3K

Everyone had their hobbies. You knew your boyfriend liked basketball, you just didn’t realize he liked it that much. 

Making it your life’s goal to win over the heart of Zhong Chenle, you spent countless hours studying quizlet flashcards, watching a couple of basketball games, even trying to learn the sport as well. Although you were surprised when it didn’t take more than a few dates for you to begin dating. 

Your best friend Ning Yizhuo, on the other hand, had other ideas. 

“I just think he’s a big red flag. Who the hell puts “I’m always ballin’” as their twitter bio?” She’s sprawled across your bed, mindlessly stalking your boyfriend’s social media accounts. “What if your man loves another man more than he loves you?” 

You’re paying her no mind, working on a basketball basics test on your laptop. Eight teams from each of the league's two conferences qualify for the playoffs. The top two teams play each other in the conference finals, to determine the Conference Champions from each side. The winners then play in the NBA Finals. 

Yizhuo suddenly stands up, “Hello? Earth to Y/N? Are you ignoring me?” You’re about to answer your next question, until she starts waving her hands in your face.

“What the hell, Yizhuo?” You turn around annoyed. “I was locked in!”

“Studying for basketball is crazy… Just warning you Y/N. Don’t come crying to me when your boyfriend calls you Stephen Curry’s name instead of your own.” 

You punch her in the shoulder, “I swear to god-” 

But Yizhuo seemed unfazed by your attacks, continuing on, “I’m just saying from experience hon. Sports guys like him will never love you as much as he loves his balls.”

“Um.. that’s what she said.”

—

Despite Yizhuo’s warnings and what she seemed so sure of, you and Chenle clicked in a way that none of your exes ever did. If he invited you to the gym, you’d show up with a yoga mat, pretending to do Pilates while sneaking glances at him bench pressing. If Chenle said he was hungry, you’d learn how do use a frying pan, determined to whip up something edible. And if he asked you to come over, you’d throw on your best outfit, adding an extra touch of appeal, and never forget to bring a treat for Daegal.

Spending time with Chenle was easy. It seemed almost too easy, that you began to slightly question why everything seemed so perfect. 

If there were any red flags like Yizhuo pointed out, it was probably too small to see in the mix of fun times you spent together.

Times spent together usually and often ended with the two of you cuddling or making out on his couch. 

Unsurprisingly, Chenle was a really good kisser. Plus, he was good at cuddling. You had no doubts in that moment you laid eyes on him, but everything was certainly up to expectations. He knew exactly how to hold you in his arms and make you feel like you were on top of the whole damn world. 

As you leaned in closer for another this time, your hands running through his hair, you took notice of his features. His incredibly sharp jawline (mewing tutorial when?), the flushed pink splashed across his collarbones up to his cheeks, and now that he grew out his hair longer, it was much harder to see the shape of his ears-

Hold on.

You blink and then squint your eyes for a couple of seconds, hoping you’re just imagining things.

“Chenle. Are those Airpods?”

Chenle immediately pushes you off of him and then freezes.

You see every single emotion flash through Chenle’s eyes, but he’s still speechless. You’d honestly thought you’d been through the entire spectrum of men in your life, from guys who had memes tattooed on their chest to guys who brought their mother to dates to guys with an extremely interesting savior complex, but nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Relax. You still had your dignity to protect. “What… are you listening to?” Maybe he was into listening to music while making out, maybe some relaxing sounds people used to cope with traumatic intimate experiences??? You were thinking of anything at this point, trying to brace yourself for the absolute worse. 

“Highlights” Chenle begins, looking at you nervously, “For uh, for the Warriors game.” Before you can even process the info, Chenle rambles on, “We’re so so close to a wild card spot and I wanted to turn the game on earlier, but you were talking about your project you were working on and I really wanted to listen, and right now it’s not like we’re talking about anything important, so I figured it might be alright if I-“

what the fuck… yeah shut the hell up right now please, you think as he keeps rambling, and turn around to grab a pillow behind to smack this big headed shit right in the head. 

“Ow-“ Chenle throws his hands up in defense, trying to block the pillow that comes crashing down. “What? Hey!”

“Zhong Chenle. I’m going to chop your fucking dick off.”

—

In the end, Chenle’s dick remains intact. 

After letting himself get beaten up by a pillow, he manages to get you to calm down, taking the airpods out, which makes you a little bit happier than you were before. 

Chenle leaves you on the couch to take a shower, allowing you to ponder for a bit. Were you being too restricting this way? Chenle seemed to still care about you, and didn’t want to take away time from your own interests as well. I mean… maybe you needed to get into basketball as well to fully understand. 

As you lounge on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through Pinterest, you hear the faint sound of the shower turning off. Before you know it, Chenle slips onto the couch beside you, his presence warm and comforting. In one smooth motion, he curls himself around you, arms gently wrapping around your waist as his head nestles into the crook of your neck. The familiar scent of the shampoo you gifted him lingers in the air, blending with the soft warmth of his skin. 

Your mind's racing, caught between conflicting emotions. And damn, Chenle smells incredible, which really isn’t helping right now.

A minute of silence passes before he finally speaks, his voice soft but serious. “Look, I get if you’re uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to push any boundaries. If that was too much, I won’t do it again. And if this is something that’s going to be a dealbreaker for us, I get it—we can end things here.”

“No, wait—no,” you cut in, setting your phone aside to face him. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Okay, it was weird. You’ll give him that. Maybe his “casual” obsession with basketball wasn’t as casual as you thought. And sure, that might be a red flag for some.

But Yizhuo’s wrong. Maybe Chenle’s got a deeper connection with his basketballs than you or whoever she’s comparing him to, but at least he’s never moaned or called you Stephen Curry in the heat of the moment.

That’s gotta count for something, right?

Yeah, maybe this wasn’t so bad. You could get used to this. Besides, he already promised he wouldn’t do it again.

Your thoughts bounce back and forth, but after a while, you break the silence with a quiet, “Did you win?”

His head lifts from your shoulder instantly, excitement buzzing in his voice. “Yeah, we did! Secured our spot in the conference finals.”

Conference finals. Oh, right. You recognize that term—studied it on Quizlet like the good, supportive partner you are.

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself, swallowing down the nervous lump in your throat. Chenle might be a bit obsessed with the sport, but he was supportive of your own goals and actually a really nice boyfriend. 

“Tell me about it.”

PERM TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @ldh0000

[mrsbarnesblog]

Hi dear ☺️ could I ask for an imagine with Bucky where you can't sleep, so you walk around through the compound enjoying the silence. Just as you find a wide awake Bucky as well. You then just talk about senseless stuff till you find yourself in each other's embrace on the couch where he finally gets the guts to kiss you and tell you how much you mean to him. Eventually you fall asleep and the others find you both tangled together the next morning and are very happy for you 🙊

night

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: just fluff

Author's note: thank you for the request, love. this is my first attempt to write it, so I hope you'll be satisfied with it💘

Walking around the quiet and empty compound in the middle of the night was satisfying. No arguing, no screams, no laughter—just long corridors and free common rooms that gave you a place to distance yourself from thoughts and feelings. 

You have done it a lot lately. Since the missions were always unexpected and not always easy, your whole sleep routine got quickly ruined, and now you couldn't fall asleep at a proper time. 

Your feet in fluffy socks softly tapped on a cold floor when you headed towards the connected kitchen and living room, where the Avengers spend more of their free time. Humming some song that you heard earlier, you turned on the low lights and opened a fridge for an ice cream, too lost in your head to notice a figure sitting on the couch. 

You found your favorite one and scooped the whole spoon, quietly moaning at the flavor on your tongue. Still with a spoon in your mouth, you turned around and almost choked when you saw Bucky sitting a few feet away from you and intently looking at you. 

“Oh my god, Bucky! I almost had a heart attack!” Your free hand flew to the left side of your chest, trying to calm down your heartbeat. “What are you doing here?” You smiled at him, noticing that he was sitting in complete darkness and looked exhausted.  

“Nightmare.” He gave you a sad smile and moved to the side. “Wanna sit with me? I see you’re far from being asleep too, doll.” His nickname made redness creep onto your cheeks. You took another spoon and sat by his right side. 

“Yeah, my whole night routine is messed up, and my eyes won't even close.” You chuckled, not missing how Bucky’s eyes studied your face. He saw that you had caught him and quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in the pint of ice cream in your hands. “I– um, do you want to talk about your nightmare? You know I’m always here if you need me, Buck.” 

Before you could even think, your hand covered his in a supportive gesture. Bucky was slightly taken aback, but the warm feeling at the fact that you had always been so nice and open to him blossomed in his chest. He slowly turned his hand over so your fingers slipped in between his, and gave you a soft squeeze. 

"No. We can talk about anything except for this. But thank you, doll.” He looked at you again with those soft blue eyes and a little smile on his lips. 

You were talking for at least an hour, discussing news in the compound and the book that Bucky had read recently. The ice cream pin was almost finished. You moved closer to Bucky, starting to feel sleepy, and put your head on his shoulder. He smelled so good and basically radiated that comfortable warmth, so you wanted to burry yourself in him. His low and muffled voice above your head worked as a lullaby on you, but you tried everything to stay awake and finally spend as much time together as you could. 

“Doll, you’re barely staying awake.” He couldn’t resist himself and placed a soft kiss on your hair. “You’re ready for bed.” The moment he started moving to stand up, you gripped his forearm, not letting him go. 

“No, Bucky, can we stay here for a few more minutes? Please? I really like talking to you.” You mumbled against his shirt. Bucky looked down at you, surprised and happy at the same time. 

“You do?” His lips curled into a smile, which he really tried to control but completely failed. You just slightly nodded, still holding eye contact with him. 

You both were silent for a few seconds, suddenly too lost in each other’s eyes, until Bucky couldn’t hold back any more and looked at your soft lips. You were so close to him, all sleepy and cute, that it was impossible to deny the fact that he had been hiding his feelings for you for too long. He could ruin everything, but it felt right to do so in that moment, so he just gave in. 

Your eyes instantly closed at the feeling of Bucky’s lips on yours. Pint had fallen somewhere on the floor when you emptied your hand to place it on his stubble cheek. The kiss was slow and sweet, as if Bucky tried to savor you as much as he could. His metal hand held the side of your neck, slightly moving you closer to him. 

You had never gotten butterflies from a simple kiss. It was exactly what you needed—what you craved for so long. You felt secure in Bucky’s presence, feeling like your body was flowing when he slowly moved his lips against yours. 

“Fuck.” He slightly pulled away and connected your foreheads. It was so intimate, like you two were in a bubble in your own world. “I wanted to do that for so long.” 

“Mhm.” You hummed with still closed eyes. Bucky’s thumb gently rubbed your cheek, and you leaned closer to his touch. “Me too, Buck. I thought about it more times than I can admit.” 

“You’re amazing, so pretty, and cute, and kind... Gosh, I don’t remember the last time I felt this way. Will you go on a date with me? If you don’t want to, it’s o–" 

“I want. I really do. I wish other people saw this side of you. You are so sweet.” You bit your lip, and now, without hiding it, you studied his face. Then, without a warning, he just hugged you, as if he were holding himself back from doing it. Your body melted into his, and you let out a satisfied sight, feeling so warm and secure. The sleepiness started to crawl back again, and your eyelids became too heavy to keep them open.

Still holding you in his arms, Bucky laid back on the couch and covered your bodies with a soft blanket that was nearby. You nuzzled into his neck, enjoying that overwhelming scent, and wrapped your arms around Bucky’s torso. 

“G’night, Bucky. I'm happy to be here with you.”

“Me too. Sleep well, doll.” He placed another kiss on your forehead, but you had already fallen asleep. 

Bucky felt happy. The aching feeling in his chest had finally calmed down, and he held the girl of his dreams right near him. 

He didn’t think that he would fall asleep—not after that horrifying nightmare, but the grounding weight of your hands and legs on top of him, your soft breathing, and the whole feeling of calmness that you had always surrounded him with made it’s job. Just in a span of a few minutes, Bucky was sleeping, holding you even tighter than before. 

“Am I seeing it right?” Tony froze in the doorframe, looking at the picture in front of him.

“What do you m–” Steve stood near him, true shock and disbelief written on his face. “How did that happen? Did they– oh my god.” He whispered not to wake either of you up.

“Don’t tell me that you didn’t know about their feelings for each other.” Natasha gave him a cocky smile and snached a cereal box out of Sam’s hands.

“Hey! Give it back to me, Romanoff!” Sam tried to take it back, but after receiving that look from Nat, he just sat back in his place. “He looked at Y/N like a kicked puppy every time she wasn’t paying attention. Barnes finally made a smart decision.” 

“Can all of you just shut up and let us sleep?” Bucky covered your ears with a blanket and hissed at the people who were bothering you. 

“Sorry, buddy. I’m happy for you.” Steve whispered back with the biggest and brightest smile on his face, pushing his friends out of the room. 

“You’re m’ hero.” You mumbled from under the blanket, still mostly asleep. Bucky smiled, laying back in his place and wrapping his hands around you.

“Always for you, doll.”

[reiderwriter]

hi! I just wanted to say I think your writing is so good and you seem like a lovely person 🥰 I’m hoping to request a post prison Spencer smut. Basically it’s when he’s just been released and he’s so touch starved and possessive over you? I’m such a sucker for prison Reid I can’t 😅

A/N: Nothing hotter than a man who looks like he has been through hell, and dear GOD, is post-Prison Spencer DELECTABLE. Thank you for your request!

Warnings: 18+, minors dni. Penetrative sex, creampie, slight dom/sub themes, use of pet names, spoilers for s12 of Criminal Minds, mentions of prison, mentions of blood/ wounds and injuries sustained in prison.

The seconds ticked down as you waited for the key to be pushed into the lock, the door to swing open and for your life to be put back together. 84 days and you were on edge, almost three months without him.

Your leg shook as you waited, heard the footsteps coming up the hall. You stood, wiping the sweat off your hands and taking a deep breath.

You hadn't been allowed to visit Spencer in prison, his teammates taking priority as they worked to keep him safe, to get him out. You hadn't seen him in three months, though you'd moved yourself into his house to be able to wrap yourself in his scent, haunt yourself with his presence.

He wasn't a ghost anymore, as he opened the door and you found your eyes on Spencer Reid for the first time in too long.

“Spencer,” you voice was pathetically small, as if you didn't trust him to be real anymore. You supposed that was probably justified. Your entire body was on edge as you looked him up and down.

Before, he'd keep himself clean shaved, but you found yourself greatly appreciative of the stubble framing his face. He'd never been the best at taking care of his hair, and now it looked perfectly ready for you to run your hands through. His clothes were still messy and by god did you want to grab the lapels of his jacket and pull him back into you.

“You're still here,” his voice was nearly as weak as your own, as if he'd not used it for nearly as much as it should've been used. “I know they said you were but… god I'm so happy you're still here.”

He took a step closer to you and pulled you towards him. You weren't used to Spencer initiating physical contact like this, his hands strong and certain on your hips as he grabbed you, one hand coming up to the back of your head to cradle it and push you further into him.

You melted into the touch, finally feeling warm after the coldest spring of your life.

“You can't get rid of me that easily, Spencer.”

“Good,” he said, tilting your head up and not hesitating even one beat before he pushed his lips against yours. His grip was hot as you let out a soft moan into his mouth, taken aback by his sudden affection.

Before prison, you'd been quietly intimate. A soft kiss here and there, and some awkward and tender sex. While you didn't mind your earlier boundaries, you certainly weren't mourning them now, gripping his shirt tighter as his tongue began exploring you. You'd been happy just to be in his presence before, but now you needed to be so close that you could no longer find where his body stopped and yours started.

When you lifted your leg, he instantly took your hint and pulled you up, holding you in his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Not breaking from your kiss for longer than a breath, he dropped everything to carry you back to the bedroom.

“84 days.” You gasped between kisses as he dropped you on the bed, falling down with you as he moved his attention to your neck, your chest, your bared throat.

A growl was all the reply he had to that, knowing instantly what you were talking about, but needing to feel you more, to pull comfort from the warmth of your body.

“84 days and I thought with each of them that I would never do it again. You're never leaving me again, I wouldn't survive. I'd refuse.”

“84 days, 7 hours, 23 minutes. Every lone moment thinking about this and you, and being here again,” he said, pulling back again to stare directly at your bared soul.

“I need to feel you now, Y/N. Please, be a good girl and let me.”

If you could will your own clothes away, you would've at that moment, already aware of the mounting pleasure pooling between your legs.

Instead, Spencer handled it for you, tearing where he couldn't unbutton fast enough, divesting you of shirt and skirt and beginning to work your underwear slowly down your legs. At the same time, you pushed yourself up, scrambling to unbutton his own shirt, moaning in frustration as you struggled to get it pushed off his shoulders.

“Spencer, clothes off, now,” you begged, and he finally paused for a second.

“I'm different. Not a lot, but there are some…wounds. Don't be alarmed.”

“Spencer, if you think a few cuts and bruises are going to dampen the absolute desire I have burning for you, you are dumber than I thought.” Taking his momentary surprise to your advantage, you pushed him up and straddled his lap, sitting together with him as you rid him of his clothes.

You traced hands over every ridge of his skin, trying to document every change and appreciate every line. Tracing your way downward, you let your hand disappear into his lap as you looked up at him again, catching his eye as your fingers unbuttoned his pants.

His hand stroked lazily across your cunt but his eyes locked with yours and you found yourself aching with a need for him.

Before, he'd been thorough about foreplay, making sure you were absolutely ready for him, ensuring your pleasure and bringing you to climax before he even palmed himself through his pants.

It was generous, and everything you didn't want right now. You needed him to get everything he'd missed, needed to see him relaxed, pleasured, sunk deep inside of you and losing himself with each stroke.

You softly pressed a kiss to his lips, releasing him from his pants. A few strokes was enough to have him at full mast, and in another moment you were pushing yourself up on your knees and sinking back down.

Three months and you'd almost forgotten how perfectly he filled you, steadying yourself with hands on his shoulders as you bit back a whorish moan.

“Good girl, just like I remember…” his words came out slurred, as of he were drunk on the feeling of you, intoxicated as you began rocking your hips up and down his length.

“I'm better than you remembered,” you mumbled, stroking the small soft curls at the base of his neck. It was ridiculous being jealous of your past self, but god did you want to grab the you of January and shake her within an inch of her life.

You'd tell her to grab Spencer Reid and never let him go, to make him spend his entire life filling you up, to pleasure him until he hadn't a single thought of going anywhere.

You kept up your pace, riding him at an even pace, making sure to lower yourself down as far as you could manage without becoming a moaning mess, but soon the pleasure became overwhelming.

Spencer kept one hand working over your clit, and you had to resist falling apart in his hands, determined to pleasure him before you thought of taking that same ecstasy for yourself.

“It's okay, Y/N, you can let go. I know how long you've waited for this,” his words were soft but his tone was demanding, ordering you to cum on his cock. He lifted his hips slightly, grabbing your hips in his hand as he took charge of the pace and strength of your thrusts, going harder and faster than you'd been able to manage.

You loathed to give up control, bit your body betrayed you, thighs shaking as you gave into his wishes, cumt clenching around him as you rode out your orgasm.

“That's it, nice and tight for me.” He grunted the words into your ear as he really took control. Tipping you until you were again flat on your back, he lifted his hips up and let his pace speed up, rutting into you deeply as he breathed in your scent, head buried in your hair, arms tight around your waist.

You moaned for him, knowing he loved every sound that passed your lips, knowing that he craved the knowledge of your pleasure.

He, too, didn't hold back. His voice filled your ear, filling your brain with every fantasy, every memory of you that had kept him alive for 84 days of hell.

Each story was lustier than the last, your mouth dropping open in a moan as you, too, imagined him in each of the scenarios he'd spent time on in prison.

You across his desk, his head between your legs in the morning, you in his cell, him inside you in public, the red scratches your nails dragged against his skin that had been commented on in the showers.

You'd guided his through 84 days of hell, and you were finally embracing him on the other side.

“Y/N, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna- shit.”

To your surprise, he didn't pull out as he usually would, but instead slammed himself deeper as he began releasing string after string of his sperm into you.

“Shit. I'm sorry I should've asked if that was…”

“I don't care. Just next time, make sure you do that again.” The feeling of his cum inside you was enough to push your body over the edge once again, and you panted as the aftershocks continued milking his cock.

“I missed you.” He whispered, pushing a few stray hairs behind your ear as he stared at you with all the love in the world.

“I missed you more.” You whispered back, and you meant it.

[alottanothing]

This is for @twola, who, about a week ago was having a bad day and wanted someone to write a snip of Arthur beating the shit out of someone who made the reader cry; with the addition of some smutty goodness, of course.

Well, this is the first time I've written publically for our dear cowboy Arthur Morgan. And I simply cannot write anything considered a 'snip'. So here's what my brain calls a snip; over 5k words just for you, twola. I hope this makes up for the bad say you had last week. :)

And shout out to my partner in writing crime, @itswormtrain, for making this readable!

Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!reader receiving)

The sun was beginning to set over the peaceful hills and sprawling trees of Cumberland Forest. Those lingering traces of daylight caress the rugged terrain with whimsy, casting shadows that dance over the dirt path under the hooves of your young stallion. Nature seemed to pause in reverence as the sun gracefully lowered itself behind the distant mountains; the only sound was that of your horse's steady walk and the murmuring babble of the Dakota River in the distance.

It had been too long since you’d enveloped yourself in such tranquility, seemingly always at the receiving end of Miss Grimshaw’s scalding. Any anticipation of exploring the wilderness or going on jobs with the guys was always overshadowed by the necessity of chores.

When you’d joined the ranks of the Van der Linde Gang, you had hoped you’d garner a little more excitement than a seemingly endless cycle of laundry, cooking, and mending. Sure, the mess in Black Water and the threat of the law constantly at everyone’s heels was a form of excitement, concerning, but still excitement. Though, things had died down since all that, and Horseshoe Overlook was truly an awe-inspiring place to call home for the time being. Even so, camp chores remained deeply understimulating.

In truth, you were just antsy; you always were when Arthur was away for more than a couple of days. Your mind always thought the worst, despite knowing your handsome outlaw was more than capable of handling himself on jobs and in the wilds. But that nagging concern never ceases to occupy your mind. His absence at camp was never more cumbersome than when Grimshaw was barking out instructions, or when Uncle’s drunken singing was so off-key, it scraped against your brain like a rusty old knife. You simply couldn’t stand it anymore; you needed peace and quiet—something to scratch that itching thought in the back of your head.

Admittedly, you hadn’t planned to venture so far from camp, or any sort of civilization for that matter. The towering ramparts of Fort Wallace were in your sights before you decided to turn back. Were it not for the shotgun secured in its holster on your saddle, the late hour would have left you feeling considerably more anxious. Arthur had taught you well, and instilled in you enough confidence not to worry as you trot down the dirt path toward Valentine.

There wasn’t a single soul to be seen for the majority of your journey; your only company that of your horse and Mother Nature’s comforting embrace. You almost hated the far-off glow of a town in the distance, over the crest of a hill. Soon you’d be back at camp with nothing to do but laundry and fret over your lover's absence.

“Pardon me, miss.” You nearly jump from your saddle hearing the strange man’s voice. “Thank god for you, would you mind – too terribly – giving me a ride back to town?”

Your heart skips a warning in your chest as you look around, where did he come from? The question dances in your head as you fight to form the words you want. This was O’Driscoll country—a notion you were suddenly very aware of, and your eyes glance at the rifle still tucked securely in the holster on your saddle.

“I was thrown from my horse, ya see—wild beast took off without me. ‘Fraid I hurt my ankle when I fell.” He explained, garnering a wave of sympathy that clouded the caution in your gut.

The stranger wasn’t dressed in the usual black and green of Colm’s gang: just simple trousers and a dirty work shirt and boots. What could it hurt?

“Yeah, alright,” you said, giving the man a faint smile.

“Oh, bless you, miss. Bless you,” the look of relief on his features did well to settle the remainder of the apprehension swirling in your stomach.

With a firm grip, you steadied your horse so the man could climb on, offering your hand to help him up.

And that act of kindness was your mistake.

His grip on your wrist was like a vice, painful, as he yanks you from your horse's saddle, your boots nearly getting hung on the stirrups. A sinister laugh echoes through the tall trees, splitting the serenity with the jagged sound of malice. Your stallion rears and cries, spooked by the abrupt movement, but the stranger is quick to steady him, forcing your horse into a full gallop toward the glow of Valentine leaving you where you fell.

When the shock wears off, you aren’t sure which was stronger, the wave of anger that envelopes you, or the sudden fear of solitude that brings forth the steady stream of tears down your cheeks. Both feelings were justified, you figure. That, and how utterly foolish you feel for trusting a stranger.

You knew better. Your time with the Van der Lindes taught you not to trust anyone, at least not someone on the side of the road pretending to be hurt. That was the oldest trick in the book. One you’d used several times to con someone out of something. Now, you were out a horse and a shotgun.

When the landscape grew darker as night fell, those shadows that you once looked on with awe and majesty, now loom sinisterly.

Stupid! You scolded yourself, more tears searing down your face. It would be dawn before you made it back to camp on foot; if you made it back to camp at all.

Without the security of your shotgun at hand, your confidence in making it home unscathed was growing short. Animals lurked in the trees around you; monsters both beast and man would undoubtedly set their teeth on you if they found you alone and without the means to protect yourself.

A shiver surges through you, a combination of the onslaught of fear and the chill from the mud you’d landed in. If you’d been riding with Arthur, no one would have the gall to steal from him. And if they did, they surely wouldn’t live long enough to get far out of reach.

You wipe the mud from your hands to your skirts before swiping at the tears staining your face. Maybe someone from camp would notice you hadn’t returned yet and send someone looking for you. Why hadn’t you asked someone to ride along with you, Mary-Beth would have, and she would have appreciated the quiet you wanted. But no, all you needed was the shotgun… How foolish you were.

With a sigh, you work yourself to your feet, boots, and skirts caked with mud and dirt. Even with the weight of self-pity beckoning you to stay planted on the side of the road, the rage put fire in your steps. You would make it back to camp, feet surely blistered, if only to lessen the embarrassment of being robbed.

Anger proves to be a useful motivator as you trek down the road before you, lit only by the white light of the moon. The tears had stopped, but they threaten to spill again simply from how much your feet hurt. That glow seemed to have tricked you; Valentine wasn’t close at all. All there was was trees and rocks and dirt in every direction. You were utterly alone; lost in the wilderness with only thoughts of your naivety to keep you company.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth resonates through the stillness of the wood, sending shivers down your spine and provoking a new wave of tears. With every nearer beat of the rider’s approach, anxiety constricts your heart, sending a whirlwind of possibilities into your mind. Images of dark strangers conjure in your thoughts, each with a fiendish smile and a revolver on their hip, a green bandana tied around their neck. All your anger drains, as you feel fear creep deeper into your being. You wish you still had your shotgun.

“You need a ride, miss?”

Relief crashes into you like a wave against stone; you know that voice, deep and comforting—kind (to you, at least). This time, it was joy bringing tears to your eyes.

“Y/N?” The look of surprise was to be expected on Arthur’s face as he beholds the sight of you, muddy, with tears staining your face. “Darlin’, whattaya doin’ out here?”

Immediately he jumps from his horse, warm hands gently holding the tops of your arms as he gets a better look at the state you’re in. All traces of his hard exterior are swept away, leaving the softer, more compassionate man you fell in love with.

“Camp was driving me crazy without you. I just wanted to take a ride, but some asshole stole my horse—yanked me off my saddle an’ everything. S’why my skirts are all muddy.” You explain, fighting more tears.

Some of the softness fades, still, his voice is gentle when he speaks again.

“Did he hurt ya?”

You shake your head, “no.”

The pad of his thumb dances over your cheek tenderly as he tilts your chin to look at him.

“Darlin’, ya been cryin’.”

“’M just cryin’ at my own stupidity, is all.” You tell him. “Should’a known better than to trust a man alone in the woods.” 

Arthur takes a deep breath through his nose, nodding.

“D’ja at least get a good look at ‘im?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you nod. “He took off towards Valentine.”

Arthur glanced south and nodded too, “Then I reckon that’s where we’ll find him.”

He places you on the saddle and mounts just behind you, drawing you close to his chest as he gives his loyal mare a gentle kick to urge her back onto the road.

With Arthur's arms around you, the darkness of the forest shifts back into the realm of tranquility. The menacing silhouettes of the towering trees became that of gentle giants, swaying gracefully in the night breeze. No longer did the whisper of rustling leaves hold a feeling of foreboding. The forest, in the ethereal silver glow of the moon, was a picture of peace and beauty once more.

Despite what had happened, even Arthur was a beacon of serenity. He hums as you both ride. It’s the same tune Uncle was singing when you left, only Arthur’s melody instills you with a sense of calm while Uncle’s attempt had you on the verge of threatening to remove his tongue. Every so often you feel his lips press to your scalp, leaving soft kisses in your hair and each one helps to remedy every sour thought plaguing you. It never ceases to amaze you just how tender your outlaw could be. To the civilized world, he was quite literally the poster of cruelty and evil, but for you, he was your knight in shining armor.

Valentine was quiet when the hooves of Arthur's horse turn down the main thoroughfare. The muddy roads, churned up by hooves and wagons, were dimly lit by the flicker of oil lamps. In the distance the stirring of livestock in their pens echoes through the stillness of the air, the only other sound coming from the saloon in the middle of town.

Smithfield’s always seemed to clamor no matter what time of night it was. Debauchery never slept, you guessed. The clinking of glasses and the lofty tune of the piano can be heard as you pass the sheriff’s office, a symphony of merriment in the still night air that lent such disregard to the tired citizens of Valentine.

A few men stand outside, bottles in hand as they lament lost love and glory, belching and hiccupping into the cool air. Horses tied to the hitching post whinny and jerk at reins keeping them in place, and there among them was your stolen stallion.

Arthur steers his mare to the front of the saloon, his heavy boots landing with a squelch in the mud as he dismounted. He helps you down, strong hands circling your waist and steadying you in the soft earth.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” he says and tips his head toward your horse. “Get yer boy, Imma go take care of some business inside.”

Before you can utter a word he stomps up the stairs of the saloon, his frame taking on the posture of The Enforcer as he pushes through the swinging doors.

His face wasn’t unknown here, it was only a couple of weeks ago he and a few of the other men from camp had gotten into some trouble. You weren’t there to see the fight, but you’d heard all about Arthur’s trip through the window—now boarded up and waiting to be repaired. This time, you hoped it wasn’t your handsome outlaw cast through the pane of glass.

While Arthur is inside, you deftly untangle your horse's reins from the post, gently stroking his mane to soothe his soft whinnying. You smile when he nuzzles you back, happy, it seems, to be back in your care.

“Was that awful man mean to you?” you ask softly, rubbing the coarse fur of his strong neck. “Arthur will handle it, don’t you worry.”

As if on cue, the jovial commotion in the saloon ends; the happy voices now holding anger or shock. The piano playing is lost to the disgruntled sounds inside and a moment later, the man who nearly ruined your night is thrown through the doors.

His bruised form topples down each step before landing in the mud. You watch, unable to quell the sense of pride that surges through you as you watch Arthur swagger through the saloon doors and down the steps, spurs jingling. The confidence he holds as he looms over the thief settles over you warmly. This act of violence was in the name of chivalry; the man deserved whatever justice Arthur planned to dish out.

“Didn’t need ya to point him out after all, darlin’.” Arthur's words fell from his lips with the ghost of a grin, pleased with the opportunity to put your attacker in his place. “This feller was inside boastin’ to the whoooole saloon ‘bout the horse he stole from a helpless young woman just outside of town.”

Arthur kicks the man as he tries to stand, the thief falling back into the mud with a groan. Folks begin to gather on the wooden porch of Smithfield’s, their faces twisting in looks of both concern and excitement as they watch your handsome outlaw and the man who’d stolen your horse.

“See, normally I don’t waste my time dealin’ with dim-witted horse thieves. Hell, on occasion, I am one. But you see, that weren’t just any helpless young woman ya stole a horse from… that was my woman.” Arthur deals him another kick to his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs a second time as he tries to stand.

“An’ if it ain’t clear already,” Arthur says reaching to pull the man from the ground and holding him by the lapels of his jacket. “I don’t take kindly to anyone hurtin’ my woman in any way. Ya understand?”

The deep timbre of Arthur’s voice works over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. He looks so fierce in the flickering light of the oil lamps, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from you, though you know they were cold, focused on the man in his grasp.

No coherent words fall from the thief's mouth as Arthur holds him nearly off the ground, only a moan of anguish, surely from the two kicks he’d suffered.

“Nod if ya understand,” Arthur demands with a shake.

Anger churns on the thief’s face, but he nods, slow, jaw clenching as he musters the gall to fight back.

“Fortunately for you, all I’m lookin’ for is an apology…” Arthur tips his hat in your direction. “…to the lady.”

The man’s dark eyes glance your way and he sneers, shaking his head with a mirthless chorttle.

“I ain’t apologizin’ for nothin’, especially when your woman is stupid enough ta get her horse stole in the first place.” 

If you cared even slightly about the fate of the man who’d stolen your horse, hearing those words escape his mouth would have caused your stomach to drop knowing the sort of fire he just ignited. But, you want nothing more than for Arthur to beat him into a bloody pulp.

To your surprise, however, Arthur remains steadfast, but his voice is increasingly more sinister when he speaks.

“Maybe ya didn’t hear me. An apology. Now.”

“No.” The thief spat, a fiendish smile turning his lips.

With lightning speed and unyielding force, Arthur’s fist collides with the man’s jaw, unleashing a thunderous crack that has the onlookers gasping. The sudden impact propels the thief backward, his body crashing into the cold mud for a third time.

You expect him to stay there, really if the man had any wits about him, he would have. However, despite the two kicks and the blow to his face, the thief rose from the mud, foolish determination etched onto his bloodied features. Arthur almost scoffs and wastes no time proving the extent of his strength. He strikes him again, obliterating the remnants of the man's fractured jaw, the sound resonating with a deafening crack.

No one rushes to the man's aid when he falls to the muddy earth for a fourth time, wailing in anguish at his shattered jaw. Arthur stands over him, tall and formidable, his presence almost challenging the man to get back up, your outlaw more than prepared to deal out more justice.

“Should’a apologized…” Arthur chides. “If ya had, maybe ya’d have use of that jaw’a yours right now.” 

The man groans in agony, writing on the ground as he holds his broken jaw. 

“But I had ta keep ya from speakin’ ill’a my woman like that. I certainly don’t appreciate when slimy fellers like you use her kindness against her.” Arthur slowly circles the man like a fierce wolf circles their prey. “Then ya had ta go leavin’ her out in them woods, faaar from any sort of civilization, all alone. An’ well. I ain’t takin’ no apologies for that.” 

He stops, one leg on each side of the thief before dropping to his knees, fist poised high over the old leather hat on his head. Arthur didn’t leave your attacker with only one more punch; the man under his weight had committed the ultimate sin in your lovers eyes. He’d hurt you, a crime that warranted the ultimate punishment.

The sound of each punch reverberates through the air as Arthur’s fury drives him to deliver decisive blows. As you watch, pride swelling in your breast, you swear each hit lands with such intensity the ground beneath you trembles. All the folks gathered to watch pass whispers while looks of shock mold their features. Come the morning, the town would be talking again about the stranger who liked to stir up trouble in the sleepy city of Valentine. 

When Arthur finally stands, flexing his surely aching knuckles, the man beneath him is unrecognizable. Blood and bruises distort his face, teeth missing from his gaping mouth. His limp body is unmoving in the mud and you haven’t a care whether he was dead or alive. 

There is a hint of shame on his expression when he drew himself back into your orbit, the coldness in his eyes warming in your presence.

“’M sorry, darlin’.” He says refusing to look you in the eye. In an instant, the Enforcer was gone, leaving only your kind knight in shining armor standing before you, his knuckles red and bloodied from dealing out justice.

“For what?” you say taking his injured hand in yours, wiping the blood from the cuts with a clean section of your skirt.

“For what I done.”

You shake your head and tilt the brim of his hat, looking to meet his lowered gaze. “All you done, Mister Morgan, is protect your woman. Ain’t a lick of shame in that.”

He grins softly, gently caressing your chin and cheek with his clean hand. His expression meets yours completely.

“’M just glad I happened upon ya when I did.” He murmurs and you step closer to him.

His gentle eyes, painted in a delicate watercolor palette of blue and green, softly convey the deep love he possessed for you, along with the ever-lingering fear of losing you. The exquisite blend of tenderness and vulnerability was something seldom seen by anyone other than you. And each time those meticulously built walls of his came down,  you were honored to behold the part of him he kept hidden from everyone else.

“Me too,” you whisper, hoping the look you give him in return conveys the same sentiment.

The lives you lived held no real guarantees apart from a bullet or a hanging rope. You learned quickly to never take for granted a single moment, and this one you certainly weren’t.

“You ready to get back to camp now, darlin’?” he asks, fixing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Camp… you almost grimace at the thought of returning to the mediocrity of it all.

“Actually.” Your eyes glance over to the hotel across the way, mischief coating your smile. “Was thinkin’ I should reward my rescuer.”

His brows furrow following your glance, oblivious to your meaning.

Before he can open his mouth to form a question, you kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck, stretching on your tiptoes to gain the fullness of his kiss. As if on instinct his arms weave around your waist, your feet coming off the ground as he pulls you in closer to deepen the draw of your joined lips. It’s slow and lazy and perfect, his mouth undemanding but firm against yours, making you melt into his very being.

Your head is spinning when he pulls away, placing your feet gently back into the mud, and you can’t fight the smile unfurling over your wet lips.

“I’ll buy us a room at the inn,” you say, batting your eyes coyly. “S’ the least I can do for my knight in shining armor.”

Arthur laughed, heartily. There is an undeniable charm to the sound of his chuckle, as it cascades through the air, enveloping you with an infectious happiness each and every time you hear it. As his eyes hold yours, a playful glimmer twinkles behind them as he swiftly deciphers your not-so-cleverly veiled plan.

“A knight, hmm?” his brow lifts onto his forehead in a deep arch, his smirk firm on his lips.

You nod, “In shining armor.”

He chuckles again shaking his head before scooping you into his arms with ease. You gasp at the swiftness, and laugh too, draping your arms around his neck before planting a kiss on his bearded cheek.

“Well, then, I reckon I should play the part, shouldn’t I, sweetheart?” he says as he steps around your fallen, broken-jawed adversary on his way to the Saint’s Hotel. “Ain’t never been a knight before, just a dirty ol’ outlaw.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. 

He whistles as he trudges through the soft earth for his horse to follow and his loyal mare falls in close on his heel. Your horse follows too, nearly as inseparable from his horse as you were with Arthur.

“Ya ain't old, and ya ain’t dirty…need I remind you who's got mud all over their clothes?” you say kicking up your soiled skirts to get his attention. He just laughs.

“Maybe ya forgot already, but I was on my knees in the mud beating the life outta that fool who robbed you. That makes me just as dirty as you. ‘Sides, I reckon neither of us will be wearin’ them for much longer anyhow.”

His comment, and accompanying bravado surges through you like more wildfire, adding to the flames he’d already been fanning since throwing your attacker through the saloon doors. Arthur’s confidence in his ability to have you swooning with only the low smokey sound of voice and the words he spoke had grown exponentially. Which was both something of a blessing and a curse. You enjoyed the days of flirting and seeing him grow red in the face from your flattery. Now he made you putty in his hands with a few words and a coupling smile.

For that moment, however, you decide it’s a blessing; he’s your Savior in Spurs—a cowboy casanova.

You toss a coin to the innkeeper from the pocket of your skirts and he casts you a key that you manage to catch as Arthur wastes no time making his way upstairs.

In truth, the Saint’s Hotel was no paradise; with its meager accommodations and thin walls, it was hardly a place to find rest. However, that night, that illusion of privacy might as well have been nirvana. You could hardly recall the last time the two of you had a chance to make use of actual walls instead of the canvas flaps of Arthur’s tent. Here, the neighbors were strangers who wouldn’t be casting you looks over the fire the next morning, knowing far too much about what you and Arthur had gotten up to in his tent. You were going to savor every tiny detail unabashedly while you could.

The fire was already burning brightly in the fireplace, warming the room from the cool mountain air outside the windows, adorned with sun-rotted lace curtains. The wooden floor creaked under each step as if to voice its displeasure at the neglect it had suffered over the years. The faded wallpaper, once bursting with colorful patterns, now barely clung to the walls, faded and dusty. The bed, while made with threadbare quilts and pillows, appeared sturdy enough not to break under both your weights, and that was all you truly cared about.

Your boots are the first to come off once Arthur places you back on your feet, discarded with a couple of eager kicks before his hands reach for the fastenings of your skirts. Yours wind around his neck, burying your fingers in his honey-brown hair as you kiss his soft lips.

For all the violence they inflicted mere moments ago, Arthur's hands were so very gentle, plucking at the ties holding your skirts in place, and again as his deft fingers loosened every button of your blouse with practiced ease, leaving you in just your chemise. Despite the warmth of the fire burning in the room, a chill works through you and you sigh, more gooseflesh prickling your skin as Arthur moves his hand to the globe of your breast, thumb sweeping over the covered peak of your nipple.

His featherlight touches make your mind a dizzying vortex of desire. This man, who uses his hands to deal out death sentences, only ever uses them to worship you. His mouth, which often spits out sarcasm and cruelty, paints your skin with tender presses and undeniable words of adoration.

Your hands snake from their place in his hair to the buttons of his blue work shirt, loosening only a few before he swats your hands away gently causing a whine to sound in the back of your throat. He meets your furrowed brow with smirk and a quick peck on your lips before moving your hands back where they were. 

“Feels good, you doin’ that,” he tells you. 

You gently scratch the hair at the nape of his neck. “This?”

“Mhm…” he leans to kiss you again, a slow, worshipful act as though he is trying to memorize every detail of your mouth against his. 

Desire thrums through you ever hotter. You need him. 

“Arthur…” you breathe in weak protest as his lips scour down the column of your neck, his hands pulling your chemise from you. “…I’m s’posed to be rewardin’ you.”

You feel him smile and shake his head as his kisses venture further across your collarbone. When he relieves you of your bloomers, you shiver and moan at the feeling.

��Don’t need no reward, darlin’.” He whispers against your skin between kisses. “Think its you that needs taken care of after whatcha been through.”

Calloused fingers spray over the small of your back as he brings you against him, the hardness in his trousers pressing against your bare form. You feel your own arousal coating your thighs, warm and wet, and begging for the feel of him inside of you.

“Will ya let me do that darlin’? Take care of ya?” his hands explore as he speaks, trailing down your spine before cupping your back side with a little squeeze. 

Your head falls back with a ragged sigh, fingers tugging at this hair. As much as you want to tease and dote on him and show him how grateful you were for his timing, you can’t think when he has you like this: naked and vulnerable to his touch, mind cloudy with desire. 

“Yes, Arthur. Always.” You murmur, lost in the blissfulness of his touches. 

As if you weigh nothing, he takes you in his arms again, hoisting you aloft, and carrying you to the bed where he lays you so tenderly over the threadbare coverings.

You watch, heart pounding against the cage of your ribs as he quickly sheds each of his layers. It is a show you have seen a dozen times and helped with a dozen more, still, your lust-blown eyes gauge him with reverence and awe.

He is truly magnificent, your handsome outlaw; strong shoulders and wide chest dusted with coarse hair your fingers yearned to comb through. Warmth drifts through your body as you drink in every inch of him, eyes landing where his cock juts from dark curls proudly and your cunt clenches in anticipation.

“C’mere, sir knight…” you say stretching across the mattress, smiling, and batting your lashes. “…come an’ claim yer prize.”

Arthur chuckles heartily as he climbs into bed, and you welcome the press of his weight with a happy sigh. He teases your lips with his own, soft kisses that leave you wanting before the press of his tongue coaxes your mouth open. You reciprocate, drinking from his mouth with hungry groans.

Heat pools lower and lower where you want him most; feeling the long pulsing line of him against your thigh was like torture, causing another whine to escape your busy lips.

“Please…” you sigh, a slow undulation taking your hips in search of some form of stimulation.

Once more he obeys, his mouth laying a hot trail down your sternum, stopping to draw your nipple between his lips before traveling further down. The sensation of familiar, calloused palms gliding down the stack of your ribs as his kisses continue their way down, squeezing the swell of your hips and kneading the softness of your thighs have your quiet moans echoing through the room.

Arthur dips his mouth to your center abruptly and draws his tongue up through your slick folds, tasting just how much you need him, and he groans.

“Mmmm, darlin’,” he murmurs before swirling his tongue over the bud nestled at the apex of your cunt. “I don’t do this enough…”

You gasp, a flash of heat pulsing through your center, head rolling against the pillow. He didn’t do this enough, then again, the two of you rarely found yourselves so alone together. And there was barely enough room for the two of you on Arthur’s cot anyway, let alone room to explore other methods of pleasure.

He intensifies his exploration, drawing his tongue over you in wide flat strokes, while your thighs come to moor on his shoulders, heels digging into his back. You feel his shoulders roll as he dedicates himself fully to his task, thrusting his tongue into you, filling you with warm velvet before abandoning your core for the silky nub crowning it. Arthur's tongue curls against it until you shiver and gasp.

“A-Arthur…” your breath hitches, hooking your fingers into his hair.

A low purr rumbles through him as you press against his face, hips rolling in rhythm with his ministrations. Your lover sweeps his tongue over and around your clit repeatedly. Sensation swells low in your belly, feeling yourself nearing the ultimate peak and you tug his hair ruthlessly wanting more. Needing more than just his mouth. His truly wonderful mouth... 

“C’mon, darlin’,” he mutters against your dripping cunt, the gust of his breath billowing over your heated center causing you to shutter.

Without fanfare a wide finger dips into your core, then another, making your back arch and a loud moan spill from your lips at the delightful stretch. For only a moment, your cry reminds you of the paper mache walls surrounding you; no doubt everyone in the Saint's Hotel knows what the two of you are up to, but you cared little with Arthur between your legs eating you out like he was made to do so.

Stars dance in your eyes as you skirt the edge of your undoing. He growls encouragingly when you flutter in warning against his lips and around his fingers.

“That’s it…” he murmurs, voice low and utterly sinful. You can even feel his proud, smirking lips against your center, the image alone snapping the spring coiled low in your belly.

Ecstasy hits you like white-hot heat, tunneling your vision as you jerk against his face, heels digging into his back. His name falls sloppily from your mouth in a flurry of mixed vowels and sounds that hold no cohesive meaning, each one melding into throaty moans.

“That’s my girl…” He grins, removing his fingers to lap up all the juices of your arousal as you ride out your orgasm against his face.

Slowly you come back to yourself, the tremors of aftershock fading as your breath and vision catch up to you. Arthur remains content between your legs, gently kissing the soft skin of your thighs, once more humming the tune he’d serenaded you with on your way into town.

When he smiles at you, lips and chin shining with your nectar, love burning behind his blue-green eyes, you pet his hair, holding that gaze with the same reverence. Slowly a smirk unfurls on your lips.

“Like I said, knight in shining armor.”