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luveline · 9 days

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Something for hotch? Maybe where reader gets hurt/a concussion on a case and goes to the hospital but refuses to tell him she went until someone else mentions it?? <3 you dont have to do it if you have something similar but i love your writing!

ty for requesting!! <3 —Hotch will look after you, even when you don’t tell him you need him. fem, 1.7k

cw reader has a concussion

Hotch rubs his face when he knows nobody’s watching. Hand over his eyes, thumb and forefinger working against a brewing migraine. It eases a little of the tension there, but he can’t do it like you can. There’s something in your hands that makes him want to call them lovely hands, such a quaint word. You rub the space between his brows with your thumb until his aching is gone or replaced. Fondness with its own heartbeat wakes whenever you’re near.

You’re not near. His head hurts. He wants a cup of coffee and a shower and to call Jack. The cases are never over when they’re over, is the thing, and he can’t keep track of everything. He has to answer questions and patch holes now, before the work follows him home to take up space on his desk.

He talks to police officers, chiefs, victims families and firemen and Penelope, too, anybody who needs to ask him a question. He tells Emily to go back to the hotel because she’s exhausted, and warns Spencer that staying too long will give him another headache. He’s surprised half an hour later when Morgan grabs him by the arm. Hotch assumed he went with Spencer.

“Hotch, what are you still doing here?”

Hotch gives him a strange look. It’s not as though Morgan hasn’t seen Hotch clean up a mess before. “Sorry?”

“I thought you’d be with Y/N.”

He tries very hard to look casual. The team are often better at pretending they haven’t noticed you and Hotch slowly moving together. “She went home.”

“No she didn’t, they took her in an ambulance. She’s at the hospital, nobody told you that?”

Hotch knows Morgan can finish up for him. He doesn’t even say where he’s going or what there is left to do, Morgan is more than capable of handling the unit, and he’s a phone call away. Hotch rushes for an agent with a car and tells them where he needs to go as he punches your speed dial into his phone. Number three, after Penelope and Jess.

You don’t answer, it makes him feel sick. He calls again and JJ picks up. Blessed, amazing JJ.

“Hi Hotch.”

“Is she there? Can I speak to her?”

“She went in for an MRI a half hour ago.”

“JJ, what happened? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“She said she told you.” A dry laugh from down the phone. “You’d think I’d learn not to trust her. I love her, but she’s a liar.”

Hotch could say the same thing. “JJ, what happened? What’s wrong with her?”

“I think she’s embarrassed. When everybody was coming back out, someone stepped on the back of her leg and she slipped down the stairs.”

“Who stepped on her?” Hotch asks.

JJ laughs. Hotch wonders if they’re too far into working together to scold her for unprofessionalism, but then he remembers the Unit would fall apart without her and holds his tongue. He’d fall apart without you, maybe, and he could stand to be a little more defensive.

He’s out of the car and into the hospital in record time. He follows the signs to the Emergency Room, gives your name at the desk, and doesn’t have to flash his badge to get told what room they’ve put you in. He would’ve, and he would’ve threatened legal action. He’s no saint. He’ll abuse the system (in innocuous ways only, of course) if it means he gets to see you.

You’re in a bed but sitting on the side of it rather than laying down. JJ sits in the chair beside you, two contrasting expressions on your faces. You’re smiling. JJ bites her lip.

She turns to Hotch with relief. “Hey, look,” she says gently.

“You took a long time to get here. Was it the moon?”

Hotch understands quite quickly. “Sorry. Nobody told me you got hurt. What happened to the moon, honey?”

You give him a vacant look. Turning back to JJ, your hands vying for her arm, you hold her to your stomach gently and squeeze your eyes closed. “The light.”

Hotch turns to the wall, looking for the light switch. It’s hidden behind other concerning tech, so he’s careful about what he presses. You sigh and draw his attention, wiggling back on the bed to almost fall off the other side.

“Maybe she thought she told me,” he suggests, not scolding JJ, but unhappy nonetheless. You clearly aren’t in a state to make decisions for yourself.

JJ rubs your arm. “She got worse after we got here. That’s why they sent for her MRI so quickly. She’s on and off with it, incoherent and normal again.”

Hotch knows she’s concerned for you, but he can read her restless leg; she hasn’t talked to Will or heard about Henry in hours. “Go back to the hotel, JJ. I have her.”

JJ gives you a hug, to your confusion, and bypasses him fast. He can hear her phone ringing before the doors shut from her departure.

He admires her loyalty, he just wishes she’d called him two hours ago.

You rub your eyes, the loose sleeves of your hospital gown shifting against the loose knot behind your neck, and he genuinely despises the idea that you’d been here, hurt, without him. “Can I tie your gown again?” he asks.

You nod into your rubbing.

“I turned the lights off. It shouldn’t be so bright in here anymore.” He rounds the bed to your back, where a great deal of skin is showing. He smiles though he shouldn’t. You poor girl. “You’re a little… stark.”

“I’m trying to think of some fruit and milk,” you tell him.

“Do you need help?”

“Not for the fruit.”

“But for the milk,” he surmises, bringing the ties of your gown as close as he can without strangling you and tying them in a neat bow.

“I don’t think that’s what I meant to say.”

He puts his hand on your shoulder, his thumb to bare skin. “That’s okay, honey, you’re having a little trouble now, but it’ll go away soon. If there were something wrong, the doctor would be here.”

“You could be a doctor.”

“I couldn’t. I don’t know anything about medicine.”

“A very nice doctor. Big hands.” You breathe out loudly, more animated than he’s ever heard you. “Whoo, I’m cold. I think they made me naked.”

“How about I tuck you in, would you like that?” he asks, leaning over you in hopes of you turning your head.

You stare up at him. “You want to?”

“I’d love to. I want you to be comfortable.”

“My boyfriend might not like it.”

Hotch tries not to sulk at another horrible symptom. You aren’t only incoherent, but amnesiac. And you’ve forgotten who he is, in a way. At least you’ve remembered you have a boyfriend. He hopes it’s him.

“No? Why wouldn’t he like it, honey? I’m just trying to take care of you.”

You visibly fluster. “You’re calling me honey like he does, and he won’t like it ‘cos he takes care of me. He loves to go to places but he doesn’t know where he’s going.”

That second half is gibberish, he’s sure. Hotch puts his hands carefully under your armpits and manoeuvres you back toward the top of the elevated hospital bed.

You put your hand to your tummy as you lean back, and hiss as your head touches the pillows. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“Don’t tell Aaron I got hurt.”

“Why not?”

“I fell down the stairs. He’s never fallen down the stairs.”

“I have, actually. Twice. And it doesn’t matter how you get hurt, I want to know you’re alright, so I need you to tell me.”

He pulls the sheets up to your legs and over your lap. Tucks them tightly behind your back, hands lingering on your hips. He watches you look at him, your cloudy gaze tracking over his eyes, his nose, and his lips. “Aaron?” you ask eventually, lifting your chin.

“Yes?”

You breathe out an unmissable sigh of relief. “You didn’t come with me.”

“I didn’t know you were hurt.” He squeezes your hip softly. “You didn’t tell me. But it’s not your fault, is it? You got hurt.” His voice falls into silk. “Is that warm enough?”

“I’m glad you’re here. I need you to get my shoes.”

“No shoes. Can I have a hug?”

“Why?”

“Just to hug you,” he says softly. “It might make you feel better.”

You raise your hands clumsily like your fingers are full of sand, forcing him to see his arms under them and behind your back. Your cheeks align, his rough with stubble, yours warm with the heat of a flush, perhaps from the injury. Your hands flop down onto his back as he rubs two separate, loving paths on the gown and your skin.

Thank god she’s okay, he thinks.

“Am I stuck like this?” you ask.

“Are you worried?” He taps your back. “I doubt it. We might have to stay here for a while, but it’s okay. Feeling better is the priority.”

“I’d like to go back.”

“Home?”

“For breakfast.”

“Are you hungry? I can find you something to eat.”

“What?” you ask.

You sound so genuinely confused that Hotch laughs into your shoulder, before giving the fabric a soft kiss. “It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna bring that chair over and sit with you, okay? We’ll wait for the doctor together.”

He sits with you for hours, talks to doctors and nurses alike as they come to check your vitals and explain your scans. Your confusion doesn’t lessen until the night time, and even then you act oddly, bringing his hand to your mouth to kiss strange parts of his fingers. The skin shy of his nail. The underside of a knuckle, the curve under the meat of his thumb.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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kentopedia · 4 months

Text

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ BLAME IT ON THE BLACK STAR — hayakawa aki

summary . . . maybe aki’s in the wrong for all the mixed signals he sends you, but it’s your fault for always picking up the phone.

contents . . . f!reader, angst, complicated relationships, smoking, miscommunication, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, ambiguous ending, hurt/comfort i suppose — 5.6k

notes . . . this is my first time writing for aki so pls be nice i’m nervous hdjwjwk <33 i’m not all the way caught up w csm so it might be inaccurate idk

Aki calls you, sometimes, when he’s feeling lonely. You figure, by now, he must have your number memorized, with how frequently your phone ends up ringing.

Of course, you always pick up, knowing you shouldn’t, knowing it’ll just end up hurting. But you can’t help yourself, really. You’re incredibly weak for a man that you know will never commit his life to you. You learned that lesson a long time ago.

Still, you’re a fool who refuses to move on.

Instead, you stand, shivering in the cold in front of Aki’s door, waiting for him to answer it. The lights are off in the apartment — you have no idea where his new roommates are for the evening, but they clearly aren’t there. Aki wouldn’t have called you otherwise; you’re certain he doesn’t want anyone to know about the two of you, save for those that have known since the beginning.

Heavy footsteps pad across the floor, and then the lamp in the hallway flicks on, illuminating the threshold in a beam of yellow. The door unlatches, opening just a crack, as his blue eyes drift down to trail over you.

“You got here faster than I thought.”

“I’m freezing, Aki,” you say, pushing through the door. His palm falls away, rests at his sides. Its only eight o’clock, but he’s already in sweatpants, a loose sweatshirt hanging over his tall frame. Dark hair falls across his cheeks, still damp from his earlier shower.

“Sorry,” he says, shutting the door behind him. “I was in the bathroom.”

You don’t reply, and shrug your coat off instead, hanging it on the rack that is now full of jackets that don’t belong to him. But you’re barely able to get it onto the hook before Aki has a palm around your wrist, tugging you towards him, the smell of his body wash and shampoo lingering in a cloud around him.

A little welp of surprise leaves you as you spin around, nearly falling into his chest. Instead, you collide with his mouth, the heat already settling down on you as heavily as it always does when Aki is around.

He kisses you, long and hard, hungry for the taste of you, his head craned down to meet your height. For a moment, you let him. It’s sweet and familiar, all the things you’ve ever wanted.

In moments like these, you indulge in thoughts of a life where things are different. A life where Aki can greet you at the door, smile when you kiss him, instead of the pensive expression he always wears. A life where Aki doesn’t come home with new scars every few days, where he isn’t hell-bent on a goal you’re not sure he can ever achieve.

That dream of yours won’t ever become a reality, but it doesn’t stop you from savoring the taste of his mouth against your own — how much you’ve missed it, even when you shouldn’t.

When you’ve run out of air to breathe, you push him away, and Aki stands straight, blinking like he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong.

“Not even going to offer to make me dinner?” you ask, keeping him at a distance. Although you meant for it to sound playful, teasing, it comes off full of a bitter resentment. Your face is probably drawn up into a scowl, even if you can’t see it.

Aki blinks, rubbing his forearm. His lips part, then he shuts them, furrowing his eyebrows together. “You said you were cooking — over the phone, you said you’d already eaten.”

“Well, at least you remember that.”

Confusion spreads even further, tighter, stretching to every corner of his expression. Aki’s hands twitch listlessly at his side, just as his mouth does. “Are you upset with me?” he asks, and you know he’s smarter than that, that he might not be the most sensitive to others’ emotions, but he is certainly no fool when it comes to yours. “If you didn’t want to come over tonight, I wasn’t forcing you.”

A laugh almost escapes you — instead, you muster up a cool grimace. Like you aren’t going drop everything for Aki every time he says I don’t want to be alone tonight.

Really, it was laughable how tightly he had you in the palm of his hand, and you can’t fathom that he would think otherwise. You’ve always done whatever he needed; given him whatever he wanted.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in the hospital?” you ask finally, swallowing back your annoyance as you gesture towards the bandage around his arm. It’s wrapped up tight, but the bandages are fresh, still a starched white.

His eyebrows tighten further. The air around him changes, even though his expression doesn’t. “Who told you about that?”

“Himeno.”

Aki purses his lips. “I didn’t realize you two were friends now.”

You did laugh then, shaking your head as you make your way into the living room, looking for any subtle changes in his apartment. There are new pairs of shoes that certainly don’t belong to him, a sweatshirt that looks about two sizes too small.

“I wouldn’t really say we’re friends,” you shrug, not bothering to look at him. The air in the room is somehow off-putting, and you take it in like it’s the first you’d ever seen of the place. “But how else am I supposed to find out if you’re still alive?”

You give him a sad little smile, and slowly, the irritation seeps out of his face, his shoulders slumping. He looks tired, then — far too old for a man that is still so young.

“It wasn’t that serious. I’m fine now, aren’t I?” Aki gestures to his arm, flails it wildly, as if to prove it’s still working properly. “Just a scratch.”

“It is serious. It’s serious to me,” you say, narrowing your eyes, and though his tone is warmer, he doesn’t smile at you, not like he used to. He maintains a vague air of surprise, while dampening any emotion that could cloud over his lack of understanding. It annoys you to no end, that he won’t let you see him.“I’m always worried about you, idiot. Don’t act like you don’t know how I feel about you.”

Aki blinks, then draws his lips together in a thin line, shaking his head. Although you were pointedly avoiding each other’s gazes, you could feel the tension drawing you together like a cord.

God, you missed him every time you were apart. You went to your regular job, thought all day about the man who would never love you like you loved him, wondering if he was okay, if he’d pick up the phone and call you again next week. Or if, one day, it would be Himeno instead, telling you that you’d never see him again — or, god forbid, Makima, with her careless tone of authority. That thought alone haunts you even with your eyes open.

But for now, it’s still Aki who calls you, and every time, you are overwhelming relieved to hear the sound of his voice again. Heavy tears always drop down your cheeks as you dig the phone into your ear, wishing that it was his mouth there instead, and wishing that those pretty blue eyes still looked at you with the same sort of softness they once had.

“I told you…” Aki begins sharply, but then he trails off, finally meeting your gaze. His features pinch once more, melodramatic, as he scans the sadness that you could never hide in your expression. “Damn it.” Car lights flash over his face through the window as someone drives past the apartment complex. The darkness of the room becomes even more evident when they disappear.

“I know,” you say, resigned, as you watch him scrub his hands over his face, and inhale heavily. It’s hard for you to keep your emotions from getting the best of you. “You’ve reminded me — many times. I know this doesn’t mean we’re back together. I know, Aki.”

His jaw parts, lips faltering at the beginning of a phrase. Despite his tall frame, he falters, looking so small, as sadness filters into the eyes that shine a deep navy in the shade of the evening. Beside him his fingers twitch, curling up into his palm, before he takes two long strides towards you.

The mere second it takes him to get there passes without your memory, and your back hits the door to his bedroom, softly, as he looms over you, fingers brushing your cheeks.

A thousand times you’ve been in this position, and it’s so familiar that your hand reaches up instinctively, splaying across his chest. Aki’s breaths leave him, deeply, expanding through his lungs before he exhales them across your cheekbones, oxygen splitting at the bridge of your nose. “What’s wrong?” you ask quietly, blinking up at him from under your lashes.

“That’s not what I meant.” His voice comes out on a hoarse whisper.

“Hm?” You dig your fingers into his sweatshirt, the material thick and warm. “What did you mean?”

Tenderly, his thumb brushes across the hollows of your cheek, the sharp bone that juts out. Aki’s fingertips are so rough and calloused, but that familiarity brings a sob out of you, your hands springing up to grab his wrists. “That I’m not fooling anyone,” Aki says, swallowing, eyes roaming all over your face. “That I can’t stay away from you, no matter how hard I try.”

Your lips part, but your breath is stolen away by another kiss, blanketing your mouth, warm and with an emotion that you’re certain you can taste. It takes you less than a moment for you to close your eyes, to relax into him as always, melt into his familiarity. The taste of the cigarettes he smokes lingers on his tongue, seeping deep into your own lungs.

As he bumps his nose with your own, you reach up, run your fingers through his hair, untangling all the knots that have accumulated since his shower. At the same time, Aki palms at the door behind you, not bothering to look up as he fumbles for the door handle, slipping it open.

Aki always kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever do it, struggling to unglue you from himself. He kisses you like he knows he’s going to leave again, and it might be for the very last time.

It’s a sickening emotion to live with, but you’ve accepted it all the same.

You ignore the feelings that never leave you alone when you’re with Aki, and stumble backwards into the room, feet catching under you. Although you nearly fall, Aki catches you, arms heavy around your waist, large palm spreading across your lower back.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, nearly carrying you to his bed. The two of you latch so tightly onto the other, that you will surely go tumbling down if either of you makes the wrong move. “I’ve never met anyone as pretty as you.”

“Aki,” you mumble, shaking your head. “I don’t want to hear that.”

He stumbles, and you do fall onto the bed, then, his heavy body on top of you, landing with a thud. But he’s careful to catch himself, to tuck his arms into the space beside you, as he kisses across your cheeks, down your neck, to your chest.

“Why?” he asks into your skin, voice low and rough. “You don’t think you’re pretty?” his tone is dry, sarcastic. Aki’s fingers fumble with the zipper on your jeans, slipping your pants off faster than you can inhale a fresh set of air into your lungs. “Want me to prove it to you?”

Despite your lingering resentment, you crack a smile, shift your hips so he can pull your bottoms off completely. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall in love with me again?” you say off-handedly, running your hands along the edge of his shirt, before slipping cold fingers under it. His skin is hot there, abdomen soft, muscle just as lean as it was last week, but stronger than when you’d first met him.

Aki’s eyes soften. “Why would I be afraid of a thing like that?”

You don’t like the double meaning in his words, and you don’t want to read into it. Instead, you pull Aki back down to your mouth, hoping he’ll take and take from you, even though he’s always one to give. The one who calls you, who needs to be inside of you, but won’t worry about himself until you’ve come apart at least once.

“Feels like it’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” he says, pushing your thighs further apart, muttering the words against your lips. His fingers graze the outside of your panties, as you slowly begin to wet them with desire that burns hot in your stomach. “I missed you.”

You feel his smile curl as he kisses across your chest, around your collarbones, and you sit up far enough to slide your shirt off. Aki does the same — there are fresh scars on his body, healing wounds. You can’t look at them for too long, before grief rises up in you, mourning a man that is not yet dead.

“Whose fault is that?” you ask bitterly, pushing the top of his head to sink him to your thighs. Instead, he takes his time pressing his mouth around your belly, swirling his tongue just past your hips.

A sigh leaves you, and you sink deeper into the mattress, eyes blinking closed. He’s so slow, so deliberate with every movement, like he’s been waiting all of this time just to lose himself in you. Ridiculous, really, considering that he could have you at anytime, and he knows it.

You’d hate him for it, for stringing you along like this, but that would be hypocritical, really. You’re the fool that continues to play the game.

Aki ignores your passing comment, squeezing your thighs as his face drifts down your body. His hair brushes against your bare skin, still a bit damp, but so soft, the scent of his soap so familiar you could pick out the shampoo with your eyes closed.

“Want my fingers or my mouth first?” Aki whispers into the inside of your thigh, kissing the delicate skin there as he looks up at you from under thick, black lashes. They flutter over his cheekbones, the hollows of his eyes, and he’s so pretty… it’s no wonder you’re so far gone for him. “Since you’re in such a mood tonight, I’ll let you choose.”

There’s a tiny smirk on his face, and even though you’re about to answer, Aki takes it upon himself to kiss your cunt through your panties, the fabric sticking to your skin.

“A-aki,” you stutter, caught off-guard, fingers lacing through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. “You didn’t give me a chance to answer.”

He drags his tongue up your clothed cunt, wetting it even further, so you can’t tell if you’re soaked from his spit or your own arousal. “I picked instead. Like the way you moan when my mouth’s on you,” he says off-handedly, and heat rushes to your cheeks as you stare at the ceiling, still so shy when it comes to his dirty mouth. “No one’s here,” Aki continues, words vibrating against the bone, puffs of air drifting around your sensitive area. “Want you to be loud.”

A tiny laugh escapes you, but it is quickly stolen by a whimper as he sucks your clit into his mouth through the cotton of your underwear, an old pair that was anything but sexy. Although, you’ve known Aki for so long, been with him for so long, there’s never any reason to try and impress him.

“Feels good,” you say, closing your eyes as you rest on the pillow. Aki pushes his tongue against your hole, teasing. His fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs, keeping them from locking around his head as you search for more friction. Your chest rises and falls with the heat of your breathing, but Aki doesn’t let you rub yourself against his tongue, doesn’t let you move much, really. “Aki,” you whine, and though there are times when he doesn’t let you get your way, this isn’t one of them.

“So impatient,” he says cheekily, but he slips your panties to the side, your cunt vulnerable to the frigid winter air. You shiver, and he sinks his tongue into you completely, the heat of it warming you as he swirls it inside, spreading you further open with his fingers.

Your body grows hot all over when Aki thrusts his tongue in and out of your aching walls, your juices seeping onto his tongue. He moves slowly, savoring every moment that you’re in his bed, even as you try to arch into him, speed him up so that you can orgasm faster. He’s right: you are impatient, because it’s been days since you’ve last felt him inside of you, and nothing feels as good as Aki’s thick fingers and cock.

His nose bumps your clit as he drags his tongue in a thick stripe up your cunt. A moan leaves you, and without thinking, you jerk your hips up, forcing them towards his face. The sound from your chest is so lewd, and you’ll feel shy about how loud you were later, but all you can think about is his mouth on you.

Aki smiles, kisses the inside of your thigh. When he lifts his head, the ache inside you burns deeper, the sight of him with saliva and fluid dripping down his chin almost too much for you to handle. “Taste so good,” he hums, massaging the skin around your knees, hoisting your calves up over his shoulder blades. “Think you can cum from just my tongue, baby? You’re so pent up, I don’t think you can last much longer.”

You whimper, pressing your heels into his back as Aki’s tongue resumes lapping up your cunt, long and hot, massaging the most sensitive spots inside of you. You can tell he’s hard, aching as he shifts his hips awkwardly, trying not to press them in the bed.

Aki picks up his speed, head bobbing slightly as the heat insides of you builds; normally, you would’ve lasted longer, but you can’t remember the last time you’ve even touched yourself, and your most recent orgasm must have been with Aki.

You don’t tell him when you’re close, but he already knows, sucking harder on your clit as you finally come, body jerking into him, walls spasming. Your eyes squeeze shut, and his name leaves your lips much quieter than he would’ve liked.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Aki says, tugging off his sweatpants, the only layer between you and his cock. His dark hair is slightly mussed from your fingers, the way you’d pulled at him, tried to guide him where you wanted him, even if he already knew. “So easy for you to get me hard, you know that?” His cock is leaking at the tip, desperate for release, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “Just the thought of you spread out like this is enough.”

A desperate whine leaves you, and you reach behind, unclasping the straps of your bra, the last remaining garment between you and Aki. He grins at that, his canines so sharp, teeth a little crooked, but the prettiest smile you’d ever seen because you see it so rarely.

“Gonna play with those pretty tits while I fuck you, baby?”

“Fuck, Aki, please,” you groan, reaching for him, pulling his mouth to your own. You kiss him hard, hoping that he knows you love him, and hoping that he feels guilty about that fact. “Want you inside me. God, I need you so bad.”

He presses his forehead to your own, lining his cock up with your entrance, the head prodding at your gaping walls. You get so sensitive, even from just one orgasm, that you wince a little bit. But the uncomfortable feeling eases as he presses into you, kisses you sweetly.

“Fuck, fuck,” Aki groans, biting down hard on your shoulder. “God, you’re so wet, so warm. You feel so good around my cock, baby. Such a pretty girl for me.”

Your nails dig into his back as he slides, slowly, out of you, before he thrusts back in, still not rough enough for your liking. Aki’s hair falls around his face, his mouth parting just a bit, focus dilating his irises. His biceps flex as he holds himself off the bed, snapping his hips into your aching cunt.

“H-harder,” you mumble, trying not to shout, to moan too loudly into the open air of the evening. Aki’s walls are far too thin, and his neighbors know who you are. The last thing you want is for them to see you as Aki’s fuck-buddy that moans like a bitch in heat. “Please, sweetheart.”

Aki groans, a deep sound that reverberates all the way from his chest down to his stomach. The affectionate name twists something up in him, and Aki thrusts his hips faster, kisses your forehead, your cheeks, any part of your skin that he can get his mouth on. His hair tickles your jaw, nose nudging against your face as he mumbles into your skin, “so needy, aren’t you? I want to take my time with you, and you just want to get off.”

“Can’t help it, Aki,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut tight as you buck your hips upward. “God, you feel so good, I lo—”

You stop the words from leaving your mouth, but Aki already knows. He’s known it for a while now, and you should be embarrassed by the fact that you can’t let him go.

Wide blue eyes stare back at you, full of something you can’t define, but still so soft as he pulls away. He draws you closer, slides your legs around his hips before pinning your own to the bed with large, heavy palms. Aki’s built with all lean muscle, and he’s so tall — so much taller than you that it’s easy to forget because he treats you so gently. Still, he blankets your body, makes you feel small in the nicest way.

Because you know that even though he can never commit his love to you, he’d never let anything — human or devil — lay a finger on you. You love him, you love him, you love him.

Aki follows your wishes, sinks faster inside of you as you exhale heavily. Your nails dig into his back so tightly that you start to worry you’ll break the skin. But Aki loses himself in the feeling of you, panting into your chest as he moves his hips.

“F-fuck,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m not going to last long inside you like this. Maybe I should slow down—”

“No, no, I’m close,” you stumble over your words, meeting Aki’s intense eyes, a thousand emotions relayed in them as he blinks at you. “It’s okay.”

“God,” he mutters, whispers the word between you, even though you’re certain he hasn’t believed in him for a while, and you’re not sure you do either. “I don’t deserve you.”

You wonder if Aki meant to say that at all, so you let it go, let the words exist between you as if they were never there at all.

His palm guides it’s way across your stomach, the touch featherlight, before he reaches for your breast, thumb flicking across your nipple. The nail catches, and you moan, almost there once more. Aki’s cock hitting all the right places, so much better than your own fingers.

“Aki,” you say his name over and over, your mind going numb from thinking about him.

“I know,” Aki mutters against your lips, hot air ghosting across them on his exhale. “You’re okay. Let go for me, baby. Did so good for me, want you to cum on my cock.”

His voice, so deep and rough in your ears, sends you over the edge, and a sound forces its way up your throat as you clench down on him, your cunt spasming from your orgasm. It hits you harder than you’d been anticipating, legs squeezing around Aki’s hips as you dig your toes into the mattress.

“There we go,” Aki wipes your hair away from your face, kissing your temples, so gently that you think you might cry. It’s not fair for him to be so sweet, so loving when you know he’s going to kick you out of his apartment before the night is over. “My pretty girl. Shit,” Aki mumbles, cursing lowly before pulling out of you, quick, and spilling into his palm. It takes him less than a stroke down the length of his cock, the thick cum spurting out, falling onto your hips, beside you on the mattress.

It’s not your mess to clean, though, and you can’t bring yourself to care. Breathing heavily, you watch Aki fumble for something on his nightstand, before he gives up, wiping his wet hand on the already soiled bedsheets. Then, he collapses down onto his side, staring, watching your chest rise and fall.

“Aki,” you say, turning away from his eyes to stare at the ceiling, the cracked plaster, stained from water leaks. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Silence falls across the room, and you can’t bear to look at him, refusing to see the indifference on his face. There’s nothing, he says nothing, before sitting back up, shuffling through the nightstand once more.

The beams of streetlights sway against his silhouette, encased in a beautiful swirl of purple and navy hues. His hair seems an even darker curtain, coiling around his jaw as he hides from you, hides the emotion that was less than evident on his face.

You sigh, and flip back on your side.

Aki takes a few drags of the cigarette, puffing them into the stale air. It reeks, probably, in the tiny bedroom, but all you can smell is the tangy scent of Aki’s soap, the lavender that lingers on his skin, the cleanness of the linens that have been recently washed. This apartment, sometimes, feels more like home than your lonely one does, even though being with Aki is almost like being on your own, sometimes.

“Those things are going to kill you,” you say under your breath, still fascinated by the way the smoke draws deep into his lungs, puffs out in a cloud, relaxes him easily. His veiny palms flex, long, slender fingers holding the cigarette between them.

Aki doesn’t laugh, but it’s close to one, a snort almost, as he breathes again. “Not like I’ll be alive much longer, anyway.”

“You sound like Himeno.”

“Do I?”

You sniff, and scoot up against the wall, sitting beside him. Despite your argument, you take the cigarette from him, smoke it yourself, and place your lips around the exact place where Aki’s had been. He watches with the same rapt fascination, blinking slowly, before staring at the ceiling as you had before.

It’s Himeno he should be with now, really. Another Devil Hunter. A woman he can fuck without getting his feelings all mixed up, someone who probably understands him better than you do. He’s never loved her like he loved you, and she wouldn’t take offense to it either, you think.

But it’s you he calls instead. It’s you who is too weak to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Aki whispers.

“So am I.”

You reach across him, press the cigarette into the ashtray and drop what’s left of it amongst the other ends. Aki’s fingertips dance along your spine as you do so, and you wish he wouldn’t touch you, wish he’d just kick you out of the bed, toss you out of the apartment, spit at you like you weren’t anything but a whore.

Instead, he kisses your shoulder, draws you in close, curls his tall frame around your body, and drags you back down into the bed.

It hurts more than you want to admit, because this is what you want. You’d truly go the rest of your life, never have sex with him again, if he’d always hold you like you meant something to him.

“I need to go home,” you say, remembering that you still haven’t eaten dinner, that you’d left your things in disarray, your clothes unfolded on your bed. There was never a reason to before, because with Aki, you’d always go home, just before the last train. You’d be tucked into your bed that same evening after a nice shower. “Aki…”

“Stay.” He kisses your collarbone and shoulder again, throws his thigh over your own, and traps you against his body. “Please stay. You can wear that T-shirt of mine you like so much. I’ll make you breakfast. You can meet Power and Denji, and then I’ll take you home tomorrow morning.”

You swallow, damning your weak-willed heart for succumbing so easily. Fingers curl around his wrists as you bask in his embrace, how warm he is, despite normally running so cold. “Aki,” you whisper again, tears welling along your eyelashes. “You can’t do this to me. Please don’t do this to me.”

“Do what?” His voice is just as quiet as your own, and he’s still kissing you, holding you like you’re something precious. But he is surely not that stupid about your feelings, to how he has been tearing you apart for the past year, even though you let him.

You sniff, trying not to cry, never wanting to embarrass yourself, even if you have sobbed in his arms on numerous occasions. “You must know that I love you. I’ll never stop loving you. Even if I marry someone after you die, I’m certain your name will still be etched into the chains on my heart. I’m just a stupid, dumb girl.”

He says nothing, and you do cry, then, tears streaming down your face as you twist away, stare out the curtained window, the thin fabric fluttering from the heat that kicks on.

“Please don’t call me anymore. Just let me hurt for awhile, so I can get over you. You’re so selfish, so selfish, why can’t I just move on?” You bury your face in your hands, wipe your tears, try to fight against him as he pulls you into his strong chest, kisses the top of your head. Still, even then, even when you want to hate him, you’re putty in his heads, melting and craving the place in his arms that feels like home.

“I can’t let you go,” Aki says, wiping your tears. “Fuck, I can’t — I need you. Do you understand? I need you, and I know I’m a selfish piece of shit, but I don’t want you to move on.” He frowns, clenching his jaw, twisting his expression up. “I’ll be better.”

“Aki—”

“I’ll love you like you need, honey. I thought,” Aki scrubs his palm over his face, the other still stroking across your back. “I thought it’d make it easier, all this distance between us, to let you go. I can’t put you in danger, but I can’t stop loving you either.”

You inhale sharply, leaning your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, committing the harmony to your memory. Who knows how much longer it will be in there, how much longer Aki will allow it to exist before he destroys himself completely.

“Aki, you’ll never love me like I need, because you’ll always put your work first,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut. “I realized that a long time ago.”

He shifts, pushing you away so you could look each other in the eye, the astounding resoluteness in his irises. How serious he was about trying to be someone he was not. “I can try.”

You sob.

And you wish you could just say no; say no and walk away, forget his name, never answer the phone again, never call Himeno to check up and make sure he’s still breathing.

But you can’t — it’ll never be that easy.

Pushing him away, you rest your head back on the pillow, trying to make yourself comfortable as you turn your back to him. Perhaps, the morning will give you clarity. You’ll stay, but you’re not sure for how long.

“I’m tired.”

Aki curls against you, rests his arm around your hip, kisses your neck, cheek, temple. “Okay,” he relents, holding you close, chest pressed against your spine. “I meant what I said about breakfast. Maybe we can talk about it then?”

You want to say no, but you won’t. He’ll kiss you in the morning, and you’ll kiss him back. Settle on your knees and give him a blowjob while he’s still groggy, before slipping on his T-shirt, chattering off his ear as he makes you breakfast. You’ll probably even curl your arms around his stomach from behind, stand on you tiptoes to reach the space between his shoulder blades.

Power and Denji will come home at some point, and probably say something rude, as Aki says they do to everyone. Then you’ll go home, and you’ll still be in love with him, and Aki will forget the conversation even happened, because he’ll say anything to get you to stay.

Or, maybe, he’s being honest. Maybe he will love you like you want him to.

Less than likely.

“Okay, Aki,” you agree, too tired to argue or acknowledge the emptiness in your stomach. “We’ll talk about it in then.”

reblogs appreciated!! thank you for reading!

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silverhairsimp · 3 months

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who's gonna take care of you? k. bakugou

I am sicker than sick and couldn't sleep last night so here's some bakugou fluff.

Pairing & CW: Bakugou x f!reader. Reader and Bakugou have two kids. Brief mentions of pregnancy from Mitsuki (Reader is not actually pregnant). pure, sickly sweet fluff.

Katsuki looks at the clock hanging above the kitchen sink, 7:24am. Usually you’d have been up for at least a half hour by now, maybe more. The kids have to be to school at 8:30, it’s only a 12 minute drive, but they like to get there early and play with their friends before their day of learning starts. He looks at the two of them sitting at the counter, digging into their fresh pancakes and waffles with a variety of fruits. They were similar in a lot of ways, but your daughter refuses to eat pancakes, the same goes with your son and waffles. And what kind of number one dad would The Bakugou Katsuki be if he didn’t make his brats happy?

“You two stay here and finish eating— gonna go check on your ma’,” he calls out to them before heading down the hall, only to stop with a had on the doorframe to look back at them. “And no eatin’ spoonfuls’a syrup this time! That shi— crap’ll give you diabetes.”

The two of them laugh at their dads empty threat, knowing they’ll at least sneak one or two spoonfuls before he gets back.

He has an office day today, full of paperwork and unfished reports that need to be submitted by the end of the week. He’s been working overtime, which means you have too. Working overtime at your own job and taking care of the kids when he gets home too late or leaves too early for work.

“Baby—“ he calls out when he pushes open your bedroom door. Your cheeks are flushed red, your brows are knit together, you’ve got a mound of blankets on you, yet your feet are sticking out from the bottom. “Hey, y’doing okay?” He asks as he gets closer, sitting next to your sleeping form on the bed when he reaches a hand out to cup your cheek, followed by placing the back of his hand to your forehead. “Jesus babe, you’re burnin’ up. Might be running hotter than I normally do…”

His words are laced with concern as he heads to your shared bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with as cold of water he can get before wringing it out. For good measure, he grabs the thermometer and to confirm his suspicions.

“Open up for me, baby.” He brushes his thumb over your cheek and your eyes finally open when you bring your hand up to touch the cold cloth on your forehead. “‘Ts cold…” you mumble and he slips the thermometer underneath your tongue. “Yeah and you’re hot—“ he waits for the thermometer to finish rereading before he adds: “101.9 to be exact.”

You try to sit up, “I’m fine…”but the pressure in your head is too much so you flop back down into the pillows. “I don’t know what year you think I was born, but I know what fine is. And you, are not fine.”

“But the kids— they have school, you have work— I have things to do around the house.” You try to protest in between a fit of coughs, but he plants an arm against the bed, palm down at your side caging you in. “you know the hag— my mom,” he corrects when you give him the glare, “she loves taking them to school. Eijiro too. I could call either one and they’d drop ‘em off. And with work, that’s one of the perks’a bein’ your own boss.”

He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, trying to hide the wince at how warm your skin is. Gods you must feel like shit. “Lemme call my mom—“ he steps out of the room and gently closes the door, calling in a favor to the woman who always saves his ass.

‘Yeah, y/n sick, real sick. Need someone to drop off the beats at school. What? Morning sickness? No she’s not pregnant again. She’s sick sick. Got’a fever of almost 102. Yeah, they ate. Yes, lunches packed. Ugh— what kinda father do you think I— mmgh. Thanks ma. They’ll be ready for ya.’

He comes back in the room slight shake to his head as he thinks back to the conversation he just had with his mom. Your youngest is 6 and she’s been itching for another grand baby, but that’s too bad. She’s got two good ones to love on anyway. “Moms comin’ to pick em up in 15.”

The two of you can hear the padding of feet running down the hall and your two replicas appear in the door frame.

“Mommy what’s wrong? Did you catch a bug?” Your 8 year old son asks you as he pushes his hips to the bed. He may have his fathers eyes but he’s got your color hair and the sweetest personality to match.

“Ew! Why would mommy catch a bug!! That’s so yucky!” Your daughter chimes. She’s got that ash blonde hair to match her fathers and definitely gets his personality.

“Yeah, squirt, mama’s not feeling great so your Gramma Mitsuki is gonna take you to school.”

“Katsuki— you really shouldn’t have asked your mom to come all the way here.”

“You say all the way here like she doesn’t live 8 minutes down the road.” He smirks at you, knowing damn well she wasn’t gonna miss the opportunity to be involved in your kids’ lives.

“Daddy, why can’t we stay and take care of mommy like she takes care of us when we’re sick?” Your boy asks with those gorgeous ruby red eyes peering down at you. “You guys have to stay in school and get good grades. You wanna have your own agency and be the number one hero like your daddy don’t you?” You smile at the two of them and lift your hand off the bed to cup their cheeks one at a time.

Your daughter flexes her little muscles and grits her teeth. “Yeah mommy! We’ll get strong so we can take good care of you some day!”

Each of your kiddos leans in to place a kiss to your cheek, it’s no use trying to stop them either. They’re both stubborn, just like you and Katsuki.

“Go get cleaned up before Gramma gets here— and don’t think I can’t smell the syrup on those sticky fingers, you little shits!”

It’s no use trying to protest the language when you hear the fit of laughter and screams as they run back down the hall.

Katsuki gets up to make sure they’re heading out to wash up and grab their school bags while he makes another call to the agency, letting Mina know he won’t be in.

You’ve nearly fallen back asleep by the time he comes back with a hot bowl of homemade soup, a freshly squeezed cup of orange juice, a ginger shot and two pieces of toast. “They’re right ya know. You’re like super woman to them— and even she needs help sometimes.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and turns on the tv for some back ground noise before he grabs his computer and sits next to you in bed.

“Katsuki. You’re gonna get sick if you stay here—“ you try to protest and he just smiles and puts the cold rag on your forehead. “Yeah… and when super man needs help; I know you’ll be there too..” He lands a fat one right on your lips and smiles. The two of you share everything together. Even the cooties…

#tays sick writes #bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #katsuki fluff #husband bakugour #dad bakugou #sick reader #comfort kat

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marzipanandminutiae · 2 years

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you know how eventually you can cobble together the plot of media you don’t actually engage with from following fans on Tumblr?

that has never happened for me with...god I don’t even know what it’s called. The Locked Tomb? Harrow The Ninth? Death And Gay And Death And Gay And Memes [five-hour guitar solo]? this is the degree to which I genuinely have no fucking clue about this book series: I follow multiple hardcore fans, and I do not even know its proper name

plot? oh you want to know the plot? I could not have less of a clue what the plot is. none of the information I’ve learned- and there’s been a lot of it - has gelled into anything cohesive in my brain

I know there’s necromancy

I know it’s Deeply Really Truly Incredibly Sapphic

I cannot tell if it’s set in alternate universe (because that would make the most sense given the snippets of worldbuilding I’ve seen) or Earth’s future (because Memes apparently???)

I know some people have numbers after their names? but it’s something to do with numbered clans, not their ancestors having the same name?

I know The One Gay Death Lady Is Based On A Barbie From The 80s, Physically

(they are all Gay Death Ladies, it seems)

at this point I refuse to google it, even though I easily could. I have too much fun reading posts like “omg when Sapphia Dodecarius used Alex’s blood for the ritual to raise the dead king after they fucked with a strap made from his rib I couldn’t even” with absolutely zero context

#the locked tomb #tagging even though I don't go here because it seems like this will amuse the fandom #okay I did just look up the name for tagging reasons #they're IN SPACE????#HOW WAS I HITHERTO UNAWARE THAT THEY WERE IN SPACE?#excellent. ideal even #I love learning things about this series that should be blindingly obvious waaaaaay later than I should #given how many fans I follow

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fxrmuladaydreams · 7 months

Text

lucky red bull driver (mv1)

max x reader , george x reader (platonic)

summary: george may have made a mistake when he introduced you to mercedes’ number one rival

notes: george is so dramatic in this, it’s great. i’ll probably write a part 2 to this

next part

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You’re sure there’s a clause somewhere in your contract that says you aren’t allowed to be doing what you’re doing, but you can’t help it.

Being hired as an assistant to Toto Wolff led you into the constant whirlwind of a life in Formula One. You’d gotten to learn a lot about the sport, and a lot about the Mercedes team.

Constantly being by the side of Toto Wolff had it’s perks. You got to travel the world, go to all of the Formula One races, meet and become close friends with Lewis Hamilton and George Russell. You were living the dream of many others.

Then he had to come in and ruin it. He ruined it with his pretty eyes, and his wide grin. He ruined it with his snarky comments, and soft praises. He was a hurricane storming in and you were trapped in the eye.

You could blame the whole thing on George, claim that it was his friendship to Max that had started your romantic endeavors with the Red Bull driver. Whenever Toto didn’t need your help, you were allowed to do whatever you liked, whether that be sightseeing or just relaxing. Recently though, you’d joined George on his paddle outings, which was where you had officially met Max.

George often played with some of the other drivers. Alex, Lando, and Max frequented the group. You had quickly become friends with the others, what with them being close in age to you, and their chaotic and amusing behavior when around one another.

This version of Max wasn’t the version you were used to seeing on the track. That version was serious, a scowl practically glued to his face. He’d gotten into verbal fights with some of the other drivers, George included. But this Max was different. He smiled a lot. He laughed when George and Alex would start bickering like an old married couple. He gave them all a pat on the back whether he won or lost the game.

It was during a game when you first spoke with the Dutch driver. He had tapped out, claiming he needed a break, and sent in someone else that had joined the group for the day. He sat on the bench next to you beside the court, watching the game unfold between the others.

He made quiet conversation with you, just about little things like how you were enjoying your job, your friendship with George. It had gotten to the point where you had stopped paying attention to the paddle game and gave Max your undivided attention.

That is, until a ball came hurtling towards you. You saw it out of the corner of your eye, lifting your arm up and turning your head away so that you wouldn’t get hit. But the ball never came in contact with your head, instead it hit Max’s paddle, which was being held up near your head.

“Watch where you hit the ball!” He shouted to the players on the court.

George looked sheepishly surprised as he jogged over to you. “Are you okay? I swear I didn’t mean to hit it to you-”

“At her. You hit it at her.” Max corrected him.

“I’m sorry Y/n.” George apologized again.

You shake your head. “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

You take a walk with Max afterwards, looking to avoid anymore rouge paddle balls. The two of you refuse to talk about anything that has to do with Mercedes or Red Bull while you walk, knowing that if you did you’d be in serious trouble with your bosses. Instead you talk about your childhoods, about how the two of you actually started your careers in Formula One, and about things that interested you outside of the sport.

You were surprised to hear Max say that he didn’t really excel in any other activities. You were shocked that the three time world champion, the man who was at the top of his sport, admitted that driving was really all he was good at.

You laugh and shake your head as you return to the court. “I don’t believe that for a minute Max.”

“It’s true! Put me in a pool and I’ll drown. On a football field and I’ll fall on my ass more times than you can count.” He grins as you laugh.

“Y/n, ready to head back to the hotel?” George asks making his way over to the two of you. His eyes travel back and forth between you, watching as you’re standing so close to one another that your arms brush against each other.

You clear your throat and take a step away from Max, your eyes refusing to meet George’s. “Yeah, sure.” You turn back to Max. “It was nice talking with you.”

“You too. I hope we can do it again sometime.” He gives you a smile, then leaves you to join Lando.

When you look back at George he’s got his eyebrows raised as if waiting for you to say something. You don’t give him the satisfaction, instead walking back to his car.

You get in the passenger seat of his car silently as he throws his equipment in the backseat. When he gets into the drivers seat he sits quietly for a moment then breaks the silence with a slew of questions.

“Alright, what happened? What is going on with you and Max? Did you tell him anything about Mercedes? Did he tell you anything about Red Bull? Why does he want to see you again?”

You stop the waterfall of questions with a hand on his shoulder.

“We just took a walk. No, neither of us said anything about our teams. And I don’t know George, maybe he wants to see me again because he enjoyed my company.” You last sentence is laced with sarcasm.

George rolls his eyes. “Yes Y/n, you’re an absolute delight. You know Toto will have a conniption if he finds out you’re buddies with Max Verstappen.”

“Well we’re not, so there’s no reason to worry.” You shrug.

You like to believe you kept that up for a while, attempting to avoid the Red Bull areas of the paddock, and running the opposite direction when you saw the navy blue team kit headed your way, but it didn’t take long for you to give into the tugging feeling in your chest whenever you saw him.

Avoiding him turned into brief greetings when passing each other, which turned into longer conversations with each other, which turned into seeking the other out while at work.

There’s no denying what’s going on at this point. Race weekends consist of you sneaking into his hotel room to see him, sharing meals together, and falling asleep wrapped around each other in his bed.

You hide in empty corners and walkways to see each other, sharing rushed kisses and hushed words of affection.

If anyone saw you, with his blue polo, and your white one, chaos would ensue. That’s exactly what happened when you were caught. You were pressed between a wall and his body, your arms wrapped around his neck as his held onto your hips. One of your hands reaches up to tangle itself in his hair, knocking his cap off his head onto the ground.

Even though you’re quite literally wrapped up in him, you still manage to stay aware of your surroundings, listening for anyone who might pass by the dark walkway you currently occupy.

“No one is going to find us liefje.” Max murmurs against your lips. “You don’t need to worry your pretty little head.” He teases you as his kisses start to trail down your neck.

His teeth scrape against your pulse point, causing a light gasp to escape you. You can feel Max smirking into your neck.

“And what if someone does find us? And they see me making out with a Red Bull driver? What will they say?” You lean your head back against the wall behind you.

“Lucky Red Bull driver?” He grins as he pulls away from your neck.

You scoff and hit his chest with your hand. He lets out a loud laugh, slightly stumbling back. You grab onto his shoulder pulling him back towards you and place a finger over his lips.

“Max! You need to be quiet!” You whisper to him.

He leans his forehead against yours as your hand drops from his lips. He looks down at your lips then back up into your eyes.

“I know how you can keep me quiet.” He dives back down to your lips and pressing you into the wall again.

In that moment you’re so consumed by him, by his kisses that become more and more heated, by his tongue that slips into your mouth, by his hands that keep a firm grip on your hips, that you fail to notice the sound of someone approaching.

“Oh god!” A voice rings out.

You’re quick to push the Dutch driver off of you, looking towards where the voice had come from.

George stands about three meters away from you, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth hanging open. His eyes go back and forth between you and Max, who stands next to you, running a hand through his hair.

It’s almost as if the three of you are having a stare down. You’re all searching for the right words to say, but no one can find them.

You take a slow step towards George with a hand lifted in front of you, almost like you’re trying not to scare off an animal.

“George-” you start softly, but that’s all it takes for an endless stream of words to come flowing for the Brit’s mouth.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! You and him?” He points accusingly at Max. “Fucking Max Verstappen? Do you know how bad this is? Toto’s going to kill you!” He points at you now. “He’s going to kill you, then he’s going to kill you!” He points at Max again. “Then he’s going to kill me!” He arm drops back down. “Oh god, we’re all dead!”

You take a few quick steps to stand in front of George, placing your hands on his arms. “No, no one’s going to die, because Toto isn’t going to find out.”

“Because if you tell him I will push you off track.” Max says.

You turn to give him a stern look, then look back at George.

“George, you can’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

“Y/n…” he groans.

“Please George, please don’t tell anyone.” You beg him.

He glances back at Max who’s picked up his hat from the ground and now adjusts it back on his head.

“You really like him? Like you two are together?” George asks looking back at you.

“I mean…” You turn to face Max. You were far too busy sneaking around to actually put a label on what you were.

Max shrugs. “She’s my girlfriend.”

George sighs shaking his head. “Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t you have just dated Lando? Or Charles?”

“Because I like Max, not Lando, and not Charles. Besides, you’re the one who introduced us.”

George groans covering his face with his hands. “I’m dead. I’m gonna be out of a job and dead.”

Not much changes after George finds out. It’s difficult to get him to keep his cool at first, but quickly adjusts to keeping this secret hidden away.

To others he seems closer to Max, the pair occasionally walking together, talking to each other in hushed tones. What was once just an acquaintanceship has seemingly turned into a close friendship.

George, only after being what some may call threatened by Max, now helps you sneak around with the Red Bull driver. He makes up excuses as to why Toto can’t find you while you’re in Max’s driver’s room. He offers to roadtrip with you from track to track so that you can travel with Max.

Everything goes smoothly for a while, until a few photos circulate Twitter.

You and Max were very careful about where you met up. It was usually somewhere secluded, somewhere that others wouldn’t find you or wouldn’t be able to see you.

You really enjoyed being with Max, but the hiding was starting to take a toll on the both of you. You wanted to be able to walk into the paddock hand in hand, and he wanted to be able to sweep you into his arms after winning a race.

It was nearing the day that would mark 4 months with each other, so Max had begged you to do something special. He just wanted to take you out. He promised he would make sure that everything was quiet and no one would catch you.

After reluctantly agreeing Max had called up your favorite restaurant. He paid to make sure the two of you would be the only ones dining there, and that you would have access to any back doors to get in and out.

Surprisingly dinner went off without a hitch. The restaurant was empty when you arrived, allowing you and Max to have a quiet romantic evening with each other somewhere other than between the walls of either of your apartments. You spent the nights smiling and laughing with each other, occasionally stealing food off the other’s plate.

You left the restaurant and headed back to his apartment with your takeout boxes. You spent the night there with Max, cuddled up into his chest as you let sleep overtake you.

The next morning you woke up still pressed against Max. Usually he would stay in bed, stroking your back or your hair softly until you woke up, but now he was sitting up looking at his phone.

His eyebrows were furrowed and a scowl rested on his face.

“What? What’s wrong?” You ask, slowly sitting up.

“I’m sorry liefje…” He hands his phone to you.

He’s got Twitter open, and on it are a few photos. There’s one of you smiling up at Max. You can’t really tell that it’s Max, just a guy in a white shirt. Then one of you kissing the same guy. Then the last is one where you can clearly see Max, his face now turned towards the camera.

Someone took these photos as you were leaving the restaurant. Clearly someone had informed paparazzi that you would be there, sneaking in and out together.

You can feel your heartbeat speed up in your chest. You give Max his phone back and reach over for yours.

You’ve also got a slew of Twitter notifications, as well as a few texts from George.

Are you alright?

I don’t know how the hell that happened.

I’m here if you need me. Either of you.

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. You can feel tears start to well up in your eyes, already picturing what’s going to happen next. You could lose your job, you could be forced to end your relationship with Max, you could be sued for potentially giving Red Bull classified information.

Max sees your eyes become glassy and immediately pulls you into his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Y/n.” He lets you cry into his chest. “It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay. I promise.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

Once you’ve finally got your breathing back to normal you slowly pull away from Max. He gives you a soft smile, then softly kisses you. He kisses you once, then twice, then a third time, until you finally return a smile to him.

You lay with him quietly for a few minutes until you hear you phone buzz.

Your screen lights up with a text notification from Toto.

We need to talk. Thursday, 4 o’clock, my office. Bring Verstappen.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #formula one x reader #formula one #mv33 x reader #mv33

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cosettepontmercys · 4 months

Text

“In light of everything that’s happened in the past three months alone, here’s some incredibly valid reasons to be pissed off at Taylor Swift, or simply not like her — as someone who loved her, and loved her music. First and foremost, Taylor Swift is personally burning a hole through the ozone with the amount of CO2 she uses. That’s not even the main point of this video; but this is a graph from 2022 of how much CO2 she produced of her 170 private jet flights, versus the average person. She has spent 70 grand on jet fuel alone. Taylor Swift, alone has used 170 tons of CO2 in the past 3 months. The average person only burns like, 16 tons. That’s not even the main part of this video. The main point of the video is the fact that she has not spoken up about Palestine. And the reason that is so fundamentally frustrating is that Taylor Swift has influence. Quote Brittany Broski, when she also didn’t speak up about Palestine — “if you have a platform, and you have people listening, you have to use it.” It’s criminal to not use it, and Taylor Swift uses it. This is from September 2023. Record-breaking registration numbers from one Instagram post. Literally stating, saying “I’ve been so lucky to see so many of you guys at my US shows recently. I’ve heard you raise your voices, and I know how powerful they are. Make sure you’re ready to use them in our elections this year!” They had a 72(%) increase in 18-year-old registrations. When it comes to Palestine, she’s completely silent. And now that it’s somewhat more socially acceptable to attend Pro-Palestine events, she’s been quietly going with Selena Gomez, but I for one, think that your Instagram is perhaps the best asset you have. If not, money. And I’m sure in a couple months, we’ll learn about how Taylor Swift was quietly setting up foundations for pro-Palestine, and that she was always for the cause and she’s always supported them, but all it takes is one fucking Instagram post. Especially when Israel Palestine is fundamentally a war of narratives. It’s whose story do you believe, despite the mounting evidence that proves that Israel has continuously been doing ethnic cleansing and genocide. They are still maintaining this narrative that they are not doing that. And all Taylor Swift has to do is say “hey, 22 thousand deaths in 3 months? The most in any modern war? This doesn’t seem right.” I don’t even want her to be that leftist or radical, but literally just to ask the question to her largely American audience, when US has bypassed Congress twice to sell millions in arms aid to Israel. Just for her to be like “Should that many kids be dying, perhaps?” The bar is on the floor, but she still refuses to do it. And the reason why Taylor Swift in particular, not because of the influence that she has and not because of the platform that she has, but why her in particular, is because the IDF continues to use her songs. I know it was a public trend, but the fact that so many occupation forces felt comfortable and confident to make like, dance edits to Taylor Swift’s music. I think it’s so important how an artist’s music is used because when the republicans wanted to use Eminem’s 8 mile track, he was like “absolutely fucking not, I do not give you consent to do that, and I do not associate with your politics. Don’t do that.” I feel like she should know that her music is being used as the anthem of the occupation forces as they go and bomb civilians. Her, and other artists like her, like Beyonce, who showed her film in Israel, and they’re all like dancing and singing, and saying “you’re not going to break my soul”, whilst they continue to bomb the shit out of civilians have said nothing. And I hope, as I’ve demonstrated in the video, for the people who are going to be like “What’s Taylor swift going to do? She’s not a politician.” Be serious. Be serious. She has a fucking chokehold on at least a billion people. She could’ve said and done way more than what she’s done, and also the CO2 levels." (from: this tiktok*)

* i tried to transcribe the tiktok since tiktok wasn't showing the captions for me but if i misheard anything please let me know!

#post: music #m: taylor swift #( i'm pretty sure i misheard a word or two but i listened like three times and tried to get this as accurate as i could )#( also her going to a pro-palestine event with selena gomez after selena's ... stuff ... to support a mutual friend ... was interesting ...#ts critical #taylor swift critical #ts criticism #anti taylor swift #(??????)

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augustinewrites · 5 months

Text

[twenty-two minutes to midnight]

hange zoe is a special brand of stupid.

at least that’s what levi thinks as his friend says, stupidly, “if neither of us are kissing anyone at midnight, i guess i’ll have to kiss you, levi.”

levi ackerman makes it his special mission to be as far as possible from his friend before the clock strikes 12. when it comes to hange, his ever-scowling lips are for critical judgment and insults only.

“pass,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes when they pout at him.

“but what about all those times you asked me how to—”

“this conversation is over,” he deadpans, emphasizing his point by walking away.

but levi has learned long ago that there’s no walking away from hange. they drags themselves up and away from the table to follow, throwing a heavy arm around his shoulders. “why not though? are you planning on kissing someone else tonight?”

their tone is teasing, but their eyes give them away. hange’s fishing for a specific answer.

“no,” he answers much too quickly to be nonchalant.

his friend just smirks. “she’s here, you know. erwin said she just got back a few weeks ago.”

“i had no idea.” (he already knew.)

“she’s still single.”

“i don’t care.” (he might care.)

they hum thoughtfully. “so you wouldn’t mind if i kissed her instead?”

levi doesn’t answer this time, shoving his friend’s arm off his shoulder and trying to disappear into the party.

erwin’s parties were always too big, in his opinion. he packed his penthouse apartment to the brim, and how anyone had this many friends, he had no idea. at least the sheer amount of people would allow him the opportunity to slip away, maybe hide in some quiet corner wearing a scowl that could repel the bravest souls.

(and if he hides, there’s no way he’ll run into you, right?)

[twelve minutes to midnight]

by merely thinking of you, levi’s mother would probably say he was tempting fate. his mother was almost always right, loathe as he was to admit it.

because, yeah, it’s barely twenty minutes later when he spots you across the room, sipping champagne while chatting with miche and hange.

you have your back to him, but he knows that it’s you. it’s instinct— the way his eyes linger down the familiar shape of your body. he traces each curve draped in blue silk the way his hands once did.

levi could go over there. he could tell you that you look gorgeous in that dress. he could tell you that he misses you, needs you, loves you…

but then miche would make that face, and hange would fail to bite back that smile, and levi would have to block both their numbers and all their social media accounts again.

he could tell you these things, but he’s never figured out how. levi likes to handle things on his own and refuses to show weakness to anyone.

so he turns on his heel and heads in the opposite direction instead, towards the kitchen to look for a drink. he wasn’t really one for alcohol, but he needed it tonight.

he’s frowning over the various bottles when erwin appears, a knowing grin on his face. he has a habit of materializing out of nowhere when levi’s at his weakest.

“looking for anything in particular?” the blond asks.

“just a beer,” he mutters.

erwin hums, contemplative, then lists various drinks. “let’s see. there are have craft brews, ipa, winter wheat—”

levi makes a face. when the fuck did beer get complicated? “what the hell is a winter wheat?”

“it’s beer, levi,” he chuckles, shooting him an amused look. it lasts a second too long, and is followed by, “you saw her, didn’t you?”

“what does that have to do—”

“are we talking about levi’s love life?”

“no, we’re not,” levi snaps, shooting miche a warning glare that his dumb friend chooses to ignore.

“come on, we’ve known about your crush for years now,” the man continues, judging him slightly. “remember when you got drunk on hange’s birthday?”

“ah, yes,” erwin sighs, as if he’s recalling a particularly fond memory. “when you announced that you sorely missed—”

“oh my god. i hate my life,” levi mutters, turning on his heel and making his escape as the two grown men giggle like schoolgirls. he grabs the most expensive looking bottle of liquor, yanking the cork out and tossing it onto the counter.

“maybe you’ll hate your life less if you get laid!”

levi flips them both off before slipping out onto the balcony, content to hide out here until the countdown is over. the door slowly slides shut behind him, muffling the mellow music and cheery laughter inside.

he sets the bottle he’d swiped on the parapet, looking out at the twinkling city lights. these parties were much too suffocating, full of bright-eyed people that seemed keen on conversing with him no matter how reproachful his gaze.

he doesn’t turn around when he hears the door slide open and shut behind. he already knows who’s followed him outside.

winter here provides a crisp cool, but levi doesn’t mind, slipping his suit jacket off and tossing it onto a patio chair. you don’t seem to mind it either, bare back pressed against the parapet as you smile over at him.

“you didn’t say hello,” you murmur, leaning towards him. levi steals a glance at you, eyes wandering down the column of your neck to the tempting plunge of your neckline.

“hey,” he grunts, holding out the bottle he’d swiped in offering.

you accept it, taking a small sip. your face immediately pinches in displeasure, causing levi’s to crack with a small grin.

“how’s your night?” you ask out of nowhere.

“bored,” he answers stiffly, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the patio. “though i don’t suppose you actually care.”

you chuckle at that, your amusement barely audible over the breeze. you both know that’s not true. “just making conversation.”

“you’re pretty shit at it.”

the air between you both is suddenly hot, but levi shivers at the brush of your fingers against the corded muscle of his arm. your touch burns like fire across his skin as you murmur,

“shut me up then.”

his gaze falls to your mouth, pulse thundering in his ears as he leans forward and closes the distance. levi moves on instinct, locking a hand around your hip and pulling you closer. he swallows your surprised gasp with a kiss, but you don’t pull away.

he kisses you softly at first, each touch and movement of his mouth hesitant as he tests your boundaries. your hands move up his chest, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt collar and somehow pulling him closer, kissing him back with a fervor that makes him dizzy. your insistent mouth parts his lips, sending tremors through his nerves and awakening sensations he wants to feel again. it’s a good kiss. not bad for the first one you share in front of your friends (who are all gathered at the window) announcing your relationship as the clock the strikes midnight.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot x reader #aot fluff #levi ackerman x you

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alphabetboyluvr · 10 months

Text

once the thrill expires | jjk

title credit: cardigan - taylor swift

pairing: college!jungkook x female reader

synopsis:

your housemate-turned-fwb takes another girl home after a night out

warnings: angsty, smutty turmoil. it's not that bad, but it definitely isn't a happy lil number. fingering, oral sex (f receiving), rimming (f receiving), vaginal sex, doggy, protected (!!) sex, lil spanks, jaykay sorta makes out with her ear???, jaykay is a fawk boy who needs to learn self-control, oc is holding out for something that'll never happen, multiple partners in one night (jk), jk calls the reader diz (dizzy)

wordcount: 5.8K

note from holly: virgo boy trauma for you in the form of a jk one shot lmao. it's rare you get virgo boy shit laid this bare but he he i love oversharing on the internet! there's an old paragraph from yet another virgo boy fic hidden in here, too so if you think it looks familiar, that'll be why!!

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

The knock on your en-suite bathroom door comes as a surprise.

The subsequent twist of the lock mechanism from a coin wedged in the bolt on the other side does not.

There’s only one person it would be.

And so you don’t yell. Don’t tell him to go away, even if you do hug your legs into your chest a little tighter.

Sitting on the floor of your shower, dignity is preserved - but with skin as red as the flags that Jungkook freely hands you, and mascara staining your cheeks from the onslaught of piping hot water showering down on you, how dignified can you really be?

No words are spoken as the steam billows from the room, Jungkook not caring to shut the door behind himself. He takes a perch on the closed lid of the toilet, elbows to his knees, tattooed hands clasped beneath his chin. Refuses to look anywhere other than you.

There’s perplexion to his taut jaw - a frown embedded in his brows - but more than anything, there’s an overwhelming sense of confusion in his soft eyes. You’re unaware of the way he’s mirroring your expression back at you; how defeated you look, wet hair sticking to the side of your face, an emptiness in your gaze that is pale in comparison to the void in your chest.

With nothing but the pitter-patter of your shower to fill the space, you’re thankful that he can’t hear the way your heart is beating, or how you’re sniffing back the tears you were freely crying before he arrived.

“Jem messaged me,” he eventually says, quiet beneath the sound of the water. Leaning back, he wipes a palm over his face, then pushes it back into his dishevelled hair. Lets his hand fall between his legs, then shrugs as he looks at you as if to say, 'Don’t look at me like that' or 'It’s not my fault.'

And realistically, you know that it isn’t. Whatever he’s done is within the parameters of what was agreed upon. The way you feel - like Jungkook has stolen the moon and stopped the tides from turning - is not.

It’s not like either of you had ever expected to let things get this far, and definitely not for this long.

What had started as quiet kisses in the corners of clubs when your friends weren’t looking, had catapulted into drunken hook-ups after those aforementioned nights out.

He’d call you Dizzy, ‘cause he was convinced you looked at him like you’d been spinning in circles, all awe-struck and smiley. Pretty. Like a giggle was on the tip of your tongue at all times.

Was easy, back then. Convenient. He was newly single. Not looking for anything.

You’d been quietly harbouring an illicit crush on him from the day you moved into your shared university accommodation. Had been waiting for the stars to align - and once they had, you were certain that soulmates had to exist.

It’s the only way you can explain the small earthquake that happened half the world away at the very time you first met, the tectonic plates shifting to make sure you were perfectly presented to one another.

You didn’t feel the tremors - would have been impossible - but your heart certainly felt something. Adrenaline? Limerence? You’re not sure.

Whatever it was only became more and more prevalent with every tipsy hold of his hand on the way to clubs, or moments stolen in secrecy in the house you now share with six of your friends.

Now in your final year of university, if you spent as much time studying, as you do fretting over Jungkook - what he’s up to, who he’s with - maybe you’d get a first-class degree.

You’re on track for a 2:1.

He’s on track for a first, though.

You choose to believe it’s because he’s naturally more academically inclined (as if you didn’t write an entire paper for him last semester), and not because he spends significantly less time thinking about you.

There’s no need for endless thoughts, though.

The arrangement is simple: You’re friends.

Best friends. Spend all your time together. Are plus ones to events. Fill the void that a partner should fill; at the winter balls, cinema screenings you don't want to see alone, and in the hushed privacy of midnight intimacy. He gets you off when you need it, and you him.

Kisses are never shared between lips - apart from that one summer when he accidentally said he was in love with you, then took it back a week later under the guise of not wanting to ‘ruin’ the friendship.

You don’t speak about that summer.

Hook-ups are in your room, always, ‘cause you’ve only got Jem in the room next door. Jungkook’s room is up on the middle floor, surrounded by all the boys. They’d realise what’s going on far too quickly.

It’s simple - yet excruciatingly complicated when there’s a lack of commitment, and Jungkook looks at you in the way that he does.

His lips are a little deeper than their usual pink this evening, but you put it down to alcohol.

Denial is a wonderful thing, and delusion even greater.

Still, he leans forward to push the shower door open. Leans further still, then knocks the tap off. Lets the water trickle down the drain, the hum of the pipes murmuring like your unspoken grievances.

Rivulets of water chase down your skin. Jungkook watches one race from your knee to your ankle, running straight over the bruises from messy nights out and the small cut at the bottom of your calf from the fountain you’d both traipsed through when you were a little too merry a few nights prior.

He’d given you a piggyback the entire way home, blood staining the white of his shirt; the very essence of you embedded now in the fabric of him.

He’d patched you up after you got home. Showered with you, right here, then carried you the measly five or six steps to your bed. Had told you that you’d definitely get sepsis and die. Kissed it better, then decided he didn’t know any better, and trailed his lips up your leg. Took pity on your impending death and gave you a little, lovely death just to soften the blow.

Funny, how you think sepsis would be preferable over whatever the fuck it is that you’re feeling now.

“Jem messaged me,” he repeats. Presses his lips together, the ring in the corner of his mouth glistening under the white lights of the bathroom. “Said I should check on you. Been in the shower for an hour, apparently.”

Well, you think to yourself, bitterness wrapping around your words like poison ivy. You’ve checked. You can go now.

The words don’t manifest in your throat. Nothing does. Not even the echo of a sob you’ve been holding in since he first stepped foot within your sanctuary.

Instead you’re silent as you get to your feet, not caring for your nakedness. It’s nothing Jungkook hasn’t seen before. Probably knows your body better than his own at this point. Can look at the faded bruise on your chest and know that it was left there by his lips last week. Can pick out which ones of your dainty linework tattoos were there before he met you, and which ones have been acquired since.

It’s a quiet intimacy, the way Jungkook looks at you. There’s no towel in the bathroom - an oversight by your tipsy brain when deciding you needed to wash yourself clean of the man in front of you after arriving home from the club - and Jungkook doesn’t care to offer you one.

Insanity is the product of looking at your body, he thinks. Can’t remember a time he’s ever seen you like this and hasn’t wanted to be inside you. He’s a simple man in pursuit of simple pleasures, and the way you fit him like a glove is the simplest pleasure of them all.

“Hm?” He questions your lack of a response.

His deep black eyes are just like the depths of the ocean floor, and it feels like he’s dragging you right down every single time he looks at you like this. Softly. Tenderly. Sweetly. As if he actually gives a shit.

There’s no room for two in this bathroom. It’s not a space designed to be shared, no matter how many times you’ve both squeezed into the shower under far different circumstances - though now you come to think of it, perhaps they weren’t so dissimilar.

It was always Jungkook’s pursuit of pleasure that put you in that position, just like it put you there tonight.

“Hey,” he says quietly, as you turn to leave, his grip on your waist pulling you between his legs. You don’t look at him. Just keep your head turned to face out of the room - but you make no attempt to leave. Especially when his nose brushes up against the bottom of your ribs right between your breasts, and he husks, “Why are you being like this?”

The softness of his lips as he presses them against your sternum, long lashes splayed across the top of his cheeks, has you spiralling. Kind of feels like he’s twisting a corkscrew through your heart. You know he’ll rip it right out - but maybe you’ll let him, if it means he’ll kiss the wound better.

“Hmm?” He hums. One of your hands rests on his shoulder, the other in his hair, and that’s how Jungkook knows he’s rectified the damage done for a short while. It’s like putting washi tape over holes punched in the walls - useless, and bound to fall off eventually, but ever so pretty in the meantime. Another washi-tape kiss is pressed to your skin, a little higher this time. “We had a good night, didn’t we?”

The tenderness of his voice rewrites the events of the evening. A good night.

Not one with tears, and jealousy, and arguments that people who claim to be just friends have no business having. A night shared together, perhaps, with no one else to intrude.

Didn’t we?

You so prefer this false chain of events - the one where he left the bar with you, and held your hand in the cab ride back just like he’d done in the cab ride there.

“Is she still here?”

He’s surprised that you’re mentioning it. Half-expected you to act like it never happened. Like she never happened. Is what you usually do, whenever he goes home with someone that isn’t you.

Still, he just continues to gently stroke your sides. Doesn’t present you with any sort of weakness.

“No.”

“Did you fuck her?”

There’s a little venom to your tone; the poison ivy around your thoughts sprouting now from your throat.

Her. Some inconsequential girl that neither of you will likely ever see again. Looked nothing like you, but a hell of a lot like his ex.

“No, Diz,” he softens the sternness of his tone with a name only he calls you. “I didn’t fuck her.”

You’ve no idea if this is a lie or not.

It’ll be accepted as truth for an hour. Maybe two. Just enough time for you to convince yourself that you’re the one he wants. That he couldn’t bear to fuck anyone else. That he sent her on her way after a kiss or awkward fumble, because he realised no one else could feel as good as you.

You’ll ignore the fact you know he’s here because Jem messaged him.

You’ll ignore the fact he thinks you’ve been in the shower for over an hour, and has no actual knowledge of the events of it all.

You’ll ignore the scratch mark on his back, and in the morning you’ll believe it was you who left there even though your nails are bitten right down.

The lies you’ll tell yourself will be far more grand than the ones Jungkook ever tells you. Nobody can ever hurt you quite like you hurt yourself.

And so, against your better judgement, you let him follow you to your bed.

There's a clang as he tosses his rings down into the ceramic dish beside your bed. It's white, and speckled in tiny black dots, and matches the one Jungkook has in his own bedroom. Not really a surprise. He was the one who bought it for you. Before then, he used to just tuck his rings beneath your pillows - but he kept losing them, and he found it annoying having to rummage around for them whenever he was trying to make a silent exit so as to not wake you.

You tell yourself that small things like this are Jungkook's way of integrating himself into your life; creating permanence. In reality, it's just something that makes it easier for him to leave.

Leaving is the last thing on your mind right now, though, and it will be until he comes.

It used to be different. He used to stay. You convince yourself each and every time that he’ll do what he used to do before things got so confusing. That he’ll stay, and that things will be okay.

You let him kiss your skin, but he’ll never kiss your lips. Let him lay claim to your body, even though you know he’ll never lay claim to your soul.

It’s nice to pretend.

Nice, when he lays you down and rids himself of his shirt. Nice, when he presses your legs apart, and looks at you like you’re the first woman he’s ever laid eyes upon. Nice, when he says shit like, “Such a nice cunt,” and “Let me make you feel good.”

So nice, when he strokes up and down your inner thigh, eyes trained on your pussy.

So, so nice when he slowly drips a little spit between his pursed lips and watches as it trails down your folds.

So fucking nice, when he spreads you with his index and middle finger, groaning at the sight of you.

See, Jungkook can be nice. Can be honest. Can tell you how much he wants you, and you can believe him without having to do mental gymnastics over it all.

As he sinks his middle finger into you - “Shit. So wet for me, aren’t you?” - Jungkook is on his best behaviour. He’ll make you feel so good that you’ll forget he ever made you feel bad, cause he needs this. Needs you.

Not in the life-debilitating, earth-shattering, universe-bending way that you need him, but in a way that isn’t too dissimilar.

You’re his best friend. He loves you in his own, curious way. Would lay his life on the line for you. Just can’t seem to keep his dick in his pants for no other reason than selfish gluttony.

It’s his fatal flaw, but he just thinks everyone has them. That most people are like this.

Of the seven deadly sins, Jungkook wields them all. Too proud to admit his wrongdoings. Greedy in his need to have everything life can offer, and how he refuses to limit himself to just you. His lust and gluttony go hand in hand - yet whenever any one else with similar predispositions look in your direction, he turns green with envy. Green, until he’s red, wrath taking hold.

But he’s lazy, too. Far too settled in how easy it is to have his way with you. Why would he try harder when you never make him?

That’s your cardinal sin: desperation.

It reeks. Spiced vanilla and black cherry. Tarnishes your skin, until Jungkook licks it from you.

And so as his lips press down your legs, wet and wanting, you don’t object. In fact, you don’t really do anything. You just allow it to happen.

Because you are desperate - for him, his approval, his desire. His heart.

You’ll never get it, mind you, for his heart is hollow.

Saw every example of what he considered to be true love crackle and crumble until it fell apart. Parents divorced. High-school sweetheart cheated. Love, as you know it, doesn’t exist in Jungkook’s understanding of life.

You never stood a chance. Not really.

The only times his heart is full is when he steals enough adoration from yours, and cosplays it as his own. Shines it back at you, and tricks you into thinking that maybe he did mean it when he mumbled false declarations into your lips.

But that was three summers ago, now, and Jungkook is a creature of habit. Too stuck in his ways to ever change. Comfortable in this chaos with you.

‘Cause while the other girls are fleeting, and fun, and always very nice, they’re never comfortable. Not like you are.

“I liked your dress tonight,” he whispers, as he pushes a second finger into you. Pumps them gently, palm skywards, coaxing soft little moans from your lips. Curls them just right, just like he always does.

The affection of such a compliment rids you of the haunting way he’d looked at you earlier that evening.

Up, down. No smile. Turned away to change the song coming through the aux at pre-drinks. Didn’t look at you again until he was passing out shots for everyone to take. Just nodded towards your necklace - the one his hobbyist silversmith mother made you for Christmas - and asked, “You like it?”

The pendant is small. Embossed with the letters DJ - the name his mother collectively calls you whenever you spend the summer together at his place. The hammered edge of the pendant matches the ring that wraps around your thumb. Another one of her creations, gifted to you by him for your birthday.

“Of course I do,” you’d said. Seemed silly for him to ask. You wear it most days.

“Good,” he’d nodded, then took his shot and pretended as if he wasn't all too aware that your dress would be attracting good-for-nothing men all night.

See, Jungkook knows you like the necklace. Had just been reminding you of it, and the fact it’s his initial on there with the initial only he calls you. Well, him and his mother. Goes with the territory.

She’s seen you through your formative years. Only ever sees the good parts, because Jungkook orchestrates it that way.

She doesn’t see the moments like these, when he’s crushed your self esteem and tries to fix it in the most idiotic of ways.

The necklace pools around the base of your throat as your head tips back into the pillows, his thumb coming to toy with your clit, gently pressing down.

“Shush, Diz,” he smiles, so pleased to see your body responding in the way that it always does. “You’ll get us in trouble.”

God forbid the people you live with - who’ve all heard the arguments after his illicit encounters with randomers, and seen his face of thunder whenever you’re getting ready for first dates - ever figure out you’re fucking. Not like it’s obvious in the slightest. Not why Jem texted Jungkook, instead of checking on you herself.

Biting onto your wrist, you try and stifle the impact of his touch - ‘cause if they do hear, it will be your fault. You’ll be the reason everyone knows your dirty little secrets. You’ll be the one who ruins it all. Not him. Just you.

He doesn’t mean to condition you in such a way. Doesn’t even really realise he’s doing it.

Nor do you - but your self esteem is shot to shit. You’re good enough to fuck, but not good enough to love, even if Jungkook insists that there’s no one he adores more. It always comes with an add-on of ‘you’re my best friend’, or ‘you wouldn’t wanna date me anyways’.

Maybe he’s right.

But maybe it would have been nice to try.

Shame.

The pace of Jungkook’s fingers pumping into you begins to slow. Leaking around the base of his knuckles, you’re just as wet as you always are with him. Even when the emotional labour of letting him have his way with you feels like a ten tonne weight on your chest, crushing down on your ribs and spoiling you forevermore, your body still wants him. Only him. Always him.

Withdrawing his fingers, Jungkook taps the outer side of your thigh. “On your front for me, Diz. Face down, ass up.”

With anyone else, Jungkook is far more often on the receiving end. It’s a shame, ‘cause his talents go to waste, it’s just what he’s found to be typical of random hook-ups.

He loves pussy. Loves eating it. Loves that you love it, too.

Slow as he spreads your ass with his hands, Jungkook really doesn’t fuck around with wasting time. He dives in without hesitation, burying his tongue between your folds. Cares not for accuracy, nor carefulness. Just wants his tongue all over you.

Your body lurches forward, hands clutching onto the duvet beneath you. He’s always been like this. Hungry. Just as desperate as you so often feel, but better at hiding it than you are.

His tongue laps against you. Sinks into your soaked hole as deep as he can get it. Uses one of his hands to reach around and toy with your clit while he continues to explore somewhere he knows like the back of his hand.

Pulling back a little, Jungkook’s breathing is heavy. You can hear it. Groan, as he grips your ass again. Spanks it softly, then get back to his previous position. Licks a stripe from your clit up to your leaking cunt, then continues. Flicks up against the tight muscle you rarely let him fuck around with.

But you want him to want you. Want him to have you in whichever capacity he so desires.

You reach back. Tangle a hand in his hair, and encourage him to massage your tight hole with his tongue, like you know he loves to do.

It’s kinda cute, in a way. He likes doing it, ‘cause he loves the way it feels whenever your tongue toys with his ass. Assumes other people must love it too. Just wants you to feel good. Wants to right his earlier wrongs.

He continues to trace up and down both your holes, stimulating your entire body in the process. Rubs your clit with his fingers, till you're writhing against the sheets, body pressed flat to the cotton as Jungkook begins to fuck his fingers into your again.

“You gonna cum for me?” He husks, a smile on his wet lips as he watches the tell-tale sign of an orgasm rush over you. Soon, you’ll be looking at him with dizzy eyes once more, and your namesake will make Jungkook feel things he pretends he can’t feel. “That’s it, Diz. All over my fingers. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

There’s a relief that comes with your orgasm for Jungkook. Hope that you’ll stop being mardy with him. He doesn’t like it when you don’t like him. These days, he keeps making choices that make it hard for you to like him.

But you always like him - like him so much - in the comedown of a climax.

He doesn’t give you much time to recover. Wants to coax a second orgasm from you while he still can. Pulls you back into position - face down, ass up - and pushes down his sweats. Cock hard, there’s a small damp patch in his boxers from the precum he’s leaked for you. Lines himself up.

“Let me fuck you,” he begs before he pushes into you.

“Uh-uh,” you full forward a little, preventing him from doing what he so desperately wants to do. Turning to look over your shoulder, you shake your head. “Condom.”

He furrows his brows. Has the audacity to look fucking offended, as if he didn’t bring another girl back to the house you share.

You’re stupid, and you’re desperate, and you make all the wrong choices, but you aren’t naive. Not really. Your delusions and denial are always elevated away from reality, of which you like to think you have a firm grip on.

And so you simply say, “Don’t believe you didn’t fuck her.”

He doesn’t deny it. Shakes his head, not that you can see it. Just reaches to the shelf above your bed, and gets one from the pot you keep them tucked away in. Rarely ever use them. It’s a novelty, more than not, when you use them. Something to make him last a little longer.

It’s different today.

Today, it’s because you don’t know if his cock is fucking clean or not.

It should crush you, but it doesn’t.

Just a fact of life. Jungkook fucked someone else less than three hours ago. Came, probably. For someone else. Over someone else. Inside someone else.

But that desperation of yours is back once more. You want to be the reason why Jungkook loses his mind in temporary bliss. To be better. To be his last memory of the evening.

And so as Jungkook rolls the condom down his thick shaft, you position yourself perfectly for him. Whimper as the tip of his cock kisses your entrance. Whine, as he pushes inside you.

“That’s it,” he husks, gripping your ass cheeks to spread them nice and wide. Looking down to where your bodies meet, Jungkook is reminded of why he enjoys you so much. No one takes him so well. No one. He knows this. Doesn’t know why the fuck he ever feels the need to seek out anyone else. They’re never as good as this. “Fuck. That’s it, baby.”

Your hips roll back, ass bouncing in that hypnotic way he always swears will ruin him. His grip loosens to let you do the hard work, one of his hands stroking up your spine until it’s resting around the base of your throat.

Taking back a little control, he keeps your head pushed into the pillows. Grunts. “Take this cock so fuckin’ well, don’t you?”

The mumble you moan into the sheets isn’t enough for him. He always does this. Asserts control and then realises he actually kinda fuckin’ hates it. Fingers still wrapped around the base of your neck, Jungkook pulls you up.

Chest pressed to your back, Jungkook wastes no time locking you in place with an arm around the front of your waist. His cock continues to pump upwards into you, the movements a little subdued but by no means lacking.

The ridge of his thick head rubs up against your sweet spot. Gets you so fucking needy. Has your hand dipping to your clit to match the pressure.

And when you do? Oh, it’s heaven. You can’t help but whine - so Jungkook uses the hand that isn't on your waist to cover your mouth.

“You only get to cum if you’re quiet,” he tells you. “Be quiet for me, baby.”

But his hips are erratic. The sounds are lewd; skin on skin. It’s wet. Disgusting. Needy. Him, just as much as you. Sweat blossoms on his skin, keeping you both in this clammy haze of hedonism.

Catching his lips on your ear, Jungkook doesn’t care if he isn’t supposed to let kisses linger so close to your lips. Tongue wet, he intrudes. Licks the shell of your ear. Grazes his teeth on your lobe. Whispers, “You looked so pretty tonight,” then drags his tongue across your ear.

Cares not for precision nor accuracy, just the fact that this is an area of the body he doesn’t often explore, and that maybe he should do it more often, given how tightly your pussy is clamping around him.

There’s something about it - the obstruction of one of your senses likely to blame, sound distorted whenever his tongue licks against it - that makes you whine.

You can’t even really do that now. Are too muffled beneath his hand - until he pushes the two fingers that had been inside your pussy earlier into your mouth.

The taste is just the same as it always is whenever he does shit like this. Loves having you taste yourself. Experiencing what he experiences. Wants you to know exactly why he’s incapable of letting you go.

“Slutty little mouth,” he smirks against your ear. “Gonna finish in it.”

“Mhhm?” you mumble against the fingers you’re keeping wet and warm for him.

“Mhmm,” he replies. Presses a kiss to your temple, ‘cause he isn’t really thinking straight. Groans when your cunt clenches from the touch. “God, you want it, don’t you? Want it so bad. Wanna swallow my cum.”

Of course you do. You’ll take what he’ll give you.

Your mumble around his fingers isn’t enough. He wants to hear you say it. Frees your mouth of himself. Grips your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Turns you to face further over your shoulder.

He’s just gonna make you say it. Just make you say something lewd to get him a little closer. Just… Just gonna… Just...- Oh, fuck it. Your lips are just there, and they’re wet, and they’re pouty and - God, forgive me - perfect for him.

His eyes flitter between your eyes and your lips. Is aware you’re doing the same.

“Kook,” you whisper, as if you’re about to reprimand him.

“Please,” he begs. Thinks he needs this just as much as you do. Maybe even more so.

And so somewhere between the overwhelming acknowledgement that this is a catastrophic chain of events, and the promise of a happy ending (of which you know damn well will never reach fruition), you let him sink his lips into yours.

You’re pretty in war, and even prettier in defeat.

Jungkook thinks you’re prettiest when you’re all his.

You think that to be his is to accept an eternal loss.

The breath of his nose is heavy against your cheek as his lips press into yours, brows furrowed. The need for you to be lewd is abandoned, ‘cause Jungkook doesn’t even think he’ll last long enough for it. Thinks that nothing gets him closer than the flavour of your lips.

Hips still jerking up, the sound of his skin hitting your ass echoing around the room, Jungkook fucks himself into you until he can do it no longer. Pulls away. Rips off his condom. Tosses it to the floor. Gets you face down again. Wanks himself to the point of coming undone, hot spurts of cum dripping onto your ass and spilling down to the valley of your spine.

He’s the one moaning now, your body defiled by a boy who you wish would paint you in pretty compliments instead. Still, this is a compliment. Kind of. You’re hot enough to make him cum. That’s nice, you suppose.

“Shit,” he chokes out, breathing all out of sync, heartbeat far too rapid. A light spank is tapped against your ass, then softly stroked. He soothes. Aloe on sunburn. Milk with hot sauce. Pretty kisses in the comedown of a rough fuck.

You won’t get those. Wasn’t a particularly rough fuck, either - and yet it hurts so much when he gets up to leave.

It’s awkward. He doesn’t really say bye. Doesn’t acknowledge the fact he stoked a fire inside you that burned you from the inside out. Ignores the ashes that are scattered around your vessel, as if your soul has been ejected from its home.

He’s warm, when you look at him. That little part of your heart has been stolen once more. He’s just feeding it back to you.

“Sorry,” he says, a hand on your doorknob. “I shouldn’t- I mean, we shouldn’t-”

“It’s fine,” you offer.

That’s the thing about Jungkook. He’ll give you the world, then realise it was never his to give. Always has to ask for it back. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s fucked you, then acted as if was foolish - only to repeat the same mistakes the next evening.

It’s what he’s always done, and is what he’ll always do.

You’ll never learn.

The shirt you chuck on to head downstairs the next morning is his.

Far too big for you, it finishes around your thighs. Television blaring in the room beneath you, it’s obvious your housemates are awake, and even as you’re trudging down the stairs, you’re not quite sure you’re alive.

The headache of an overbearing hangover is threatening your life. You’re certain of it. The fact your housemates have the television set to what must be the maximum volume? Only further sending you to an early grave.

And yet when you see Jungkook sitting by the breakfast bar, hair in all different directions, a bowl of cereal in front of him, and smiling in the direction of whomever else is in the room, you find yourself smiling, too.

“Morning,” you say pleasantly as you walk into the kitchen, ready to flop your forehead down on Jungkook’s shoulder like you so often do.

Ready, until you notice the look in his eyes when he turns to face you.

Ready, until you glance in the direction of his previous smile.

Ready, until you see the girl who looks a lot like his ex-girlfriend and absolutely nothing like you leaning on the other side of the counter. Mug from your trip to Amsterdam together in her hands, and the shirt you got him for his birthday covering her body, she smiles.

You’re drowning.

“Oh,” you say, not looking at him. Only her. “I didn’t realise we had company.”

“Is she still here?”

“No.”

She’s awkward as she nods. “Sorry, hey. I crashed here last night - hope you don’t mind? It’s just you know what it’s like getting an uber at that time-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod. Smile. Jungkook thinks you look pretty - but of course he does. You look defeated. “Totally.”

“Did you fuck her?

“No, Diz. I didn't fuck her.”

“Jungkook said you were feeling unwell last night?” She tries to make conversation. She needn’t. You feel far more unwell now than you ever did last night - and that’s before you notice the pretty purple bruise forming on her neck. “How are you feeling now?”

Her care is kind. Considerate. Wholly wasted on you because you’re gonna lie, and say that you’re fine, even though it feels as if your lungs have been filled with venom spat by a lover who is incapable of loving.

Still, you don’t look at Jungkook. Just make your excuses. Leave.

And even though he knows that he should, Jungkook doesn’t chase after you.

He lets you go, because he knows you’ll always come back. You always do.

But if you don't?

Well, he’ll go back to you, and you’ll let him. Again, you always do.

From the kitchen, Jungkook can hear your showering starting up. Appetite lost, he isn’t listening to the girl in front of him. Isn’t even really sure of her name.

All that he’s sure of is that the fall out of this is not gonna be pretty.

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook masterlist #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook smut #bts fanfic #byholly #angst #smut #jungkook x y/n #fuckboy!jungkook #college!jungkook #college au

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mahtharula · 11 months

Text

✧･ﾟ— nailtech!connie headcanons

starring: nail tech!connie x black!fem!reader wc: 627 cw: purely fluff 🫶🏾

nailtech!connie was the tech all of the girls wanted to book with. yeah, he knew how to get your hands right, but everyone wanted to book simply to get a closer look of the man. from his dyed buzz cut head that always had a different design every time you came into the shop, to his tall, to the tattoos that decorated his arms and hands perfectly and his eyes. oh his hazel eyes is what gets them.. but most importantly, his nails!

nailtech!connie is both a great listener and conversationalist! Honestly, he should add being a therapist to his qualifications because the amount of advice he has given his clients is insane. most of the time, they complain about their man and his line is, “you too pretty to be dealing with that.” (which have the girls swooning out of their minds).

nailtech!connie who definitely plays music during his appointments. of course, he caters to his clients preference of music and rocks from there, but baby if you give him the aux you will be far from disappointed. his music is so diverse, it ranges from partynextdoor to bossa nova, depending on his mood. his main goal is to make the client comfortable, so when booking with him he has a section where he asks if you want a talkative or silent session.

nailtech!connie who learned to do nails after watching his aunt do it for some time. at first, he only learned to expand his creativity as an artist since he dabbled in many mediums, but once he got the hang of it he was hooked. as he continued perfecting the craft and posting his work, two years and a half later he had enough money to rent out a studio and widen his client intake.

nailtech!connie because of the overwhelming number of clients who began booking with him since the opening, trying to squeeze in new clients was a tricky task. most times, connie would be booked for weeks making it hard to even get a taste of his talent on your nails. so when his homegirl was begging for him to do her best friend's nails, all he had to say was that she was lucky one of his regulars canceled.

nailtech!connie was absolutely floored when you walked into his studio. of course, he catered to many women due to his career, but something about you just had him stuck. from your smooth, dark skin to your locs that ended at the middle of your back, your plump lips that revealed a pearly white, gem decorated smile. you were like a dream personified. As you were explaining your vision for your nails to connie, he was trying his very best to focus but your scent of shea butter and florals was distracting him, “you paying attention, con?” “huh? yeah, yeah, i am!”

nailtech!connie trying to learn everything about you. from your favorite foods to what you do as a career, all of it. when he found out you were a rapper, he only wanted to go harder pulling out some exclusive charms he was saving. something he did love was how despite giving him an idea of what you wanted, you basically gave him freedom to present your idea into his vision, which he absolutely loved.

nailtech!connie who kept refusing to take the full payment and insisted on giving you a discount (because he can). after a few times, you finally convinced him to take the payment, but asked if you could become a regular because his work was so good. it only took a flutter of your lashed extensions for the man to fold, but he only had one rule: don’t cheat on him.

✧･ﾟ— author’s note • hey y’all!! i hope this was good, i’m super proud of it but please give me feedback 🙏🏾. do y’all want more nailtech!connie? do ya’ll want more connie & y/n 😗? let me know and i appreciate y’all, until next time 🖤

tags : @yourrfavzxri , @theemrsjaeger , @hqkalon , @1h3artm3

#✧･ﾟ—mahwrotethis #nailtech!connie #nailtech!connie headcanons #connie x black reader #connie x black y/n #aot x black reader #aot connie #connie imagine #connie fluff

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sykostyles · 15 days

Text

melodies | 1.1

summary: he's the most powerful & ruthless mafia boss in the city, and she's just a music store owner. but once he hears her singing voice, he wants nothing more than to hear it for the rest of his life..and she's not so sure about that.. he'll do anything to change that. wc: 4.5k

warnings: fluff, suggestive?, cursing I think

a/n: hi babies! thank you all so much for the love on part one! I'm thrilled you're all enjoying melodies! I can't wait to bring you some more! i'm always working on this story so updates will come as they're completed! <3

Ellie offered to close for you so you could go home earlier and take your time getting ready. The only thing Harry told you was to dress comfortably. He said he wants to show off his cooking skills instead of someone elses, and this way he can make sure nobody is around that shouldnt be around.

Lately Harry had been dealing with a problem, but he wasn’t about to be telling you that. He already knew your apprehension towards dating him because of his status, he didn’t want to chance scaring you off before he had a proper chance of making you happy.

Someone had been trying to get close to Harry, trying to learn information and sell it to his number one enemy, Scott Jones; another prominent mafia boss in the area. He wanted Harry’s contacts, warehouses and secrets. Everyone wanted Harry’s contacts. Everyone wanted his status. They wanted the power. Harry had it all. The money, the loyal men, the status, the everything. The only thing he didn’t have, was the girl. But oh did he find one, and oh was he obsessed with her. But she wanted very little to do with him.

Until now.

He picked you up at six on the dot, nevermind how he got your address. You’ll just have to thank Ellie later. She’s also the one who slipped him your phone number, but she refuses to admit it.

“You look lovely. I love the matching sweatpants.” Harry grins down at you, taking your hand in his and offering a kiss to your knuckles, just as he did yesterday.

“You told me to wear something comfortable, and it doesn't get much more comfortable than sweatpants and a hoodie.”

“No, no. I’m not complaining,” he rushes out. “I said comfortable, and you–.”

“Calm down, Styles. You didn’t offend me,” you chuckle at his anxiousness. It’s a little surprising to you.

“Oh. I know,” he half laughs. “Are you ready?” you nod in response, and he opens the car door. You don’t miss the line of cars behind his as you get into the front seat.

The drive to Harry’s estate doesnt take super long. A couple of winding roads, a gate with guards, and a long driveway later and you're there.

His kitchen is set up with the best of the best; every tool and gadget you could ever need. “I was thinking we could make something together. Ellie told me your favorite thing to make is pancakes, and those happen to be my specialty,” he says, guiding you into his home.

Tall black cabinets adorned with gold hardware and a black marble countertop. Everything is so sleek, and elegant and perfect you're almost afraid to exist in the space. But it’s so warm and cozy and inviting at the same time. He’s got candles burning on the counter top and on the coffee table in the living room; which also has black furniture and dark walls.

“Did she now? What else did she tell you?” you ask, leaning across the kitchen island looking up at him on the other side.

“I guess that will be revealed in due time, my love,” Harry smiles over at you. He pulls the ingredients from the cabinet, and the fridge. “She said to make sure strawberries were involved or to not even bother,” he chuckles softly, placing a carton of fresh berries on the counter.

“That’s a little dramatic, but strawberries are the best topping for pancakes,” you take the knife as he passes it to you, softly rolling your eyes at his “Careful, it’s sharp.” and you don't miss the way he clenches his jaw when you say “Ok, dad”, in response.

“So, what made you say yes to ‘Mr. Big Mafia man’ after all my months of pining for you?”

“First of all, you were mostly pining for my piano. Second of all, I got some advice telling me to live a little and here I am doing that,” you pop a strawberry into your mouth after cutting the top off. Harry opens his mouth leaning down next to you, silently asking for a berry. You slice the top off another one, raising it to his lips for him to take. He smiles as he chews it, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time; making your skin heat up in silent anticipation.

“Sweet,” he mumbles, licking his lips after he swallows, “Very.. sweet,” his eyes flicker down to your lips, but he snaps out of it at the sound of you clearing your throat. He clears his in response, “Right, I wanted the piano. But you were the real prize,” he says, trying to regain his composure.

“Just because you heard me sing?” you effortlessly cut the strawberries into slices, setting them to the side as you spoke with him. Harry was on your right, mixing the batter together, plus the dash of cinnamon you threw in–“That’s my secret,”--you blush over at him as he eyes you.

“Nah. I was interested in you before that. Your “playing hard to get” attitude feels like a challenge.” His words make you scoff. “The singing voice is just a plus.”

“I’m not playing hard to get. I am hard to get. And I think if anything, the last year is evidence of that.” you’re grinning to yourself as you continue your task.

“Sure is,” he mumbles to himself, but loud enough for you to hear, making you grin. “But that’s okay, I like a challenge.” He turns away from the counter, leaning to turn the stove on.

“You certainly are the most persistent person I've ever met.” leaves you in the form of a chuckle. You hate to admit how flattered he make you feel by being so adamant in trying to know you

“I don't know, you were pretty persistent on not letting me take you on a date. And about that piano of yours.” He starts dripping the mix onto the surface, creating perfect circles.

Of course.

Insert eye roll here.

“Hey, you agreed to not bring up my piano if i sang for you,” you watch him work effortlessly.

“I agreed to stop trying to buy it. I still intend to tease you about it. Although I would appreciate some help in finding a piano that’s as nice as that one.”

You’re startled by a voice that isn't Harry’s. “Sir, there’s been developments.” Harry’s demeanor changes in front of your eyes. His gaze finds the man near the entrance of the kitchen and immediately hardens.

“I said, no interruptions. Are you aware of what that means?” his tone makes your blood run cold. You’ve never seen him this way before. He’s always been goofy and kind to you, sure he demands his men’s respect and can get them to do whatever he wants with the snap of his fingers, but this is different,

“Y-yes, sir, but this is impo–”

“Enough, Liam. Take it to Niall and Mitch,” Harry demands. “I’ll decide what to do with you later. Now leave us.”

“Yes, Har–Sir. Yes, sir.” the man says, leaving in a rush.

“He’s new if you couldn't tell,” Harry jokes, demeanor switching back in an instant.

“You don’t have to talk to him like that, you know,” you toss a strawberry into your mouth.

“In my line of work, I do. But let's not focus on that, I know you don’t really care for that side of me and that’s okay.”

“Yes, please just keep me in the dark on all of that,” you chuckle, “I don’t need anything else on my conscience,” your words make him laugh. But you also notice the look of worry laced behind his eyes.

“So does that mean there will be a next time?”

“Mm, too early to tell Mr. Mafia man. But I am enjoying this so far.” you offer him a soft smile.

The two of you continue to move effortlessly throughout his space together, as if you were meant to be a part of it all along. He flashes you that award winning smile any chance he gets. After the pancakes are done and topped with the strawberries, he leads you to his patio where he has a large projector screen set up with a sea of blankets and pillows for you two to sit on.

“I hear you enjoy the Harry Potter movies, and I happen to be a fan as well. So i figured we could have a little marathon while we got to know each other,”

“Har–” you notice the way his eyes glimmer with a sliver of hope, but that was a mess up,--”Styles, that sounds perfect,” you whisper. His face slightly drops at your correction, but he’s deterred none. Shaking it off, he smiles over at you, helping you take a seat on the blanketed area.

“You strike me as a slytherin with that attitude of yours,” he jokes with you. “I’m a Gryffindor myself.”

“Mm, I would have thought you to be a Hufflepuff,”

“Those are fighting words,” he says as he leans over and grabs a pillow. Swiftly catching on, you immediately grab one as well and strike first; landing a blow to the side of his head. He chuckles, “You’re going to regret that, Birdie,” his threat makes you giggle.

You burst with laughter as he takes hold of one of your ankles, and pulls you towards him, making you tumble back from the sudden movement; the pillows breaking the short fall from your sitting position. His pillow begins making repeated contact with your upper body, your arms shoot up in an attempt to cover your head. His light blows of the pillow make both of your laughs fill the air.

“God, Styles at–whack–least pretend to–whack–-let me win,” you giggle out.

He pauses his movements for a split second, smiling at you from above deviously. He takes hold of both of your hands in one of his, slightly pulling you into a sitting position.

“No,” and he whacks you again lightly upside your head, sending you backwards into the pillows below again

“Rude,” you huff, making him laugh.

“Had enough?”

“Mhm,” you pout. Putting your hand out, you silently ask for help, but keep hold of your pillow with the other hand. He pulls you to sit, but is surprised to feel your pillow collide with the side of his face, sending him backwards this time. You take the opportunity to straddle his hips, and repeatedly whack him with the pillow. Lightly of course.”How do you like it? Hm?” you tease from above. Harry has that permanent grin all over his face. His hands find your hips, giving them a light squeeze before he switches your positions so he's hovering over you again. You go silent, but have a huge smile etched onto your lips.

“What’s wrong, Birdie?” he gloats, “Got no defense now?” Low laughs fall from his lips as he watches you swallow in anticipation, You look up to his lips, also forming a grin. “Whatcha lookin at? Hm?”

“Do you want to kiss me as bad as I want to kiss you right now?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you from the moment you first told me ‘No’ when I asked to buy your piano, and then even more when you told me to get out of your store.”

“Why haven’t you then?” you ask breathlessly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I wanted you to be comfortable with the idea before I made my move,” he says, connecting your lips together for the first time.

You’ve never felt so comforted yet nervous by someone's touch before. He feels of danger and darkness, but comfort and safety at the same time. He could give you the best of both worlds, if you’d let him of course. Deepening the kiss he feels your hands snake under his shirt, learning the defined muscles across the area. Harry caresses the side of your face in his left hand, bracing himself near your head on the right.

He pulls away, looking at the blown look in your eyes and chuckles softly. “As much as I would love for this to continue, I want to do this right with you and make sure this is really what you want.”

Harry’s admission makes your hardened heart soften just a little bit. “Ever the gentleman, Styles.”

“Still just Styles after that?” he teases.

“The night is not over yet,” you sit up, shoving him backwards.

“Indeed it is not.”

“I can’t believe you’d be offended to be a hufflepuff. Don’t you know they say every Slytherin needs a Hufflepuff?”

Harry ponders for a moment, a look on his face that makes you think he’s actually mulling over a serious thought inside his big ass head. “If you’re guaranteed to be my Slytherin then I'd consider the change.”

“You’d change your Hogwarts house for me?” you look down to your hands sitting in your lap, a grin formed on your lips as you speak.

“I’d try to change the world for you,” Harry whispers. Your head snaps up, looking into his eyes.

“That.. has to be the cheesiest thing i've ever heard on a first date,” you chuckle, making him laugh with you.

“Please, you were eating that up Birdie.” he attempts to play it off.

“Would you really though?”

“Of course,” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Any chance we’ll do this again? Or am I banned?” Harry asks, pulling your hand up to kiss your knuckles. Giggles leave your lips.

Leaning up, you give him a kiss. “What do you think, Styles?” you whisper. Harry’s skin heats up, his face turning a light tinge of pink

“How about this friday?”

“That’s literally tomorrow,” you chuckle.

“Okay?” he questions, unsure where your worry is coming from. He'll ease all of your worries if you’d let him. He’d give you everything if you’d let him.

So what? He thinks

You pretend to mull it over in your head for a moment, “Okay.” you finally agree.

“Okay?” He seems almost puzzled.

“Okay. But no labels. And nothing extravagant.”

“Okay,” he smiles at you, offering one more kiss and a “See you tomorrow, Birdie.” Harry leaves you standing in the doorway to your apartment, a light blush evident all over your cheeks.

Heading inside you immediately call Ellie to thank her for being so thorough in telling Harry everything about you. She was adamant she didn't know what you were talking about but said you’re welcome anyways. “Now, about Mitch” you start telling her the details about the double bunned man.

A slew of dates followed the first one. He was determined to change your mind about no labels… and about not wanting anything extravagant. Harry wanted to show you the world of opportunities he offered you by saying yes to being his. The second date he took you one was to the restaurant he owned at the marina. Some of the finest dining you’d ever seen. A complete turn around from the pancakes you’d had the night before. When you’d asked him what to wear this time, he’d told you not to worry, that something would show up for you soon. A sleek, black satin dress with a scoop neckline showed up at your store before your date, earning a genuine eye roll from you.

“I said nothing extravagant, Styles,” you scolded him as you stepped into the car.

“The smile you’re attempting to hide from me betrays your words, Birdie,” he gloats from his seat next to you. “You look wonderful.”

“Just because I like playing dress up does not mean I'm not mad at you.”

Harry grabs your hand, raising it to his lips to place a soft kiss on the back. The gesture never failing to make you blush. “Whatever you say, darling.”

“Sir, Scott Jones has just arrived at the restaurant. Should we change locations?” Suguru questions from the front seat.

“No, this is my turf…” he begins speaking, his grip on your hand almost feels tighter as the words leave him. “...I won’t be made a fool of in my own establishment.”

“Scott Jones?” you whisper to Harry who’s got a vice grip on his cellphone, typing angrily. Your hand comes to rest on his leg.

The stiffness in Harry’s stature eased at the sound of your voice and the feeling of your touch. He wonders just where you’ve been all of his life. Your ability to make the darkness not seem so dark inside his mind makes him feel like there might be a point to all of this.

“He’s just a contact. Nothing for you to worry about, Birdie,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

Harry loved taking photos. His camera roll was full of his favorite things to look at. Whether it was a nicely decorated room or a view he’d seen on a business trip. But now, his camera roll was full of one thing and one thing only; you. Photos of you from your first date, lying peacefully in the blanket fort with pillows surrounding your serene looking frame. He thought you looked beautiful when you were all dressed up, but he thought you looked your best when you were dressed down. Harry just loved having reminders of your pretty face.

He had other photos of you; sitting at your piano, or laying in his bed. Photos of you on every date he’d taken you on. So many videos of you singing along with the radio. Any song could come on when he was visiting you and you were able to match the tempo perfectly on the keys. Your voice always sounded sweet like honey in his ears. His favorite photo was the one you took with him, a selfie of you kissing his cheek. He felt like a teenage boy freaking out over his highschool crush when he spent almost an hour just grinning to himself while looking at the picture.

You were still hesitant to say you were fully in a relationship with him, even all these months later. He’d visit you every day in your store, telling you he’d be ready whenever you were. You were it for him, he was just waiting for you to be on the same page.

Harry smiled down at you laying on his chest. He’d rented a cabana at the beach and planned a day with you just to relax and be with each other. Talking of everything big and small. After you mentioned that you loved being around water, it seemed like every date had a water undertone to it. A dinner date at the marina. A trip to the aquarium. Day dates on his yacht, which often turned into sunset cruises. Multiple beach dates. This beach date started to remind you of Pretty Woman since Harry offered to read your book to you while you rested your eyes.

As he read the words off the page all you could think about was how hard you’d fallen for this man without even being aware of it. You can't even pinpoint when it happened. What you do know is that looking up at him in this moment as he reads your book back to you, you’re head over heels for him.

“This reminds me of Pretty Woman so much,” you chuckle, sitting up out of his hold.

“When he was reading to her under the tree?”

“You’ve seen it?” you look at him with shock in your eyes. You’d never have thought in a million years Mr. Mafia man would have seen such a chick flick.

“I hadn't before, but you’ve mentioned it so much I wanted to see what you were referring to,” Harry admitted, closing the book with a thud. He sits up next to you, and caresses the side of your face. Leaning into his touch, you smile softly at him.

“You’re really determined, you know that?” you whisper.

Harry rubs his thumb over the apple of your cheek, eyeing your mouth as he speaks. “Took you long enough to notice,” he places a soft kiss to your lips and feels you smile against his mouth.

“Who knew the big mafia boss had a soft side.” you chuckle, kissing him back.

“Only for you, darling. When are you gonna let me make it official and call you mine?” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.

“I--" you start to think of what to say. You want to try this with him. He’s more than proved himself, but you still have reservations. Mostly because of who, or what he is. His life eats, sleeps and breathes danger. You just want to run your little music store in the middle of downtown. He’s making it easy to forget that life you had planned for yourself.” –I don't know. I’m scared.”

“I know you are, but I'm here when you’re ready.” His fingers thread their way into your hair as he lulls your head to the side and pressing his lips to your neck. “I have a question for you though,” he whispers against the surface. Harry pulls back to gauge your reaction

Your eyes look glazed over and blown out, so he continues. Your hands find his shoulders in an attempt to hold yourself upright on the cabana bed.

“Well, more of a request,” he hums. “I have an event tomorrow evening I need a date for. Would you be interested in accompanying me?

“Is it something fun?” you pull his head to be level with yours, looking directly at his lips with lust behind your gaze.

“Have I asked you to do anything so far that hasn't been fun?”

“No,” you shake your head at him and kiss him. Pushing him to lay back, your leg hikes up around his hip. “I would love to accompany you to your event tomorrow, Styles.”

“Still just Styles, huh? Even when you’re trying to get into my trunks?” His teasing words make you retract your touch from his body, fully sitting up again. “Nuh uh, you get back here,” he laughs, pulling you back down with him making you giggle. Harry gives you an onslaught of kisses all over your face, pulling more and more laughs from you; his second favorite thing to hear. He knows all of his favorite sounds will get outranked one day… he just has to wait for that day to come. Harry slides his hands down your sides and digs his fingertips into your sides, making you squeal.

“S-stop! I’m ticklish!” you whine.

“Oh, and that’s supposed to make me want to stop?” He continues his playful assault, laughing along with you. You manage to get one up on him, swinging your leg over his hips so you’re straddling him. Taking hold of his wrists in your hands, you pin them on either side of his head, smirking down at him. “Mm, what’s your plan now, Birdie?” he shows off that million dollar smile. You cover his lips with yours, tasting the salt from the ocean on his skin. Harry offers you a hum of approval at the feeling of your mouth on his, making you smile. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, making you gasp. Letting go of the grip on his wrists, your hands tangle into the chestnut tufts of his hair. Harry cups your jaw with both hands as he pulls you off of him. “We can't,” he whispers against your lips before you’re attaching your lips again. “Birdie,” he says, pulling you off again.

“What?” you ask, a grin plastered on your face. “Why can't we?”

“Well, number one we’re in public,” he motions to all the other couples scattered around the various surrounding cabanas. “And two, Mitch and Niall are not going to be getting an eyeful of what's mine,” he growls, taking your lips with his once more. You groan once he pulls away.

“I never said I was yours,” you tease, letting him sit up with you.

“You’ve always been mine…” he says, caressing the side of your face in one hand, “...ever since I stepped into your store for the first time.”

You clear your throat, “Right, about tomorrow though?”

Ellie won't let you see the dress you’re wearing; the only thing she’ll tell you is that it's red and beautiful. You decided to close up early since she’d offered to help you get ready. Harry said he was going to take care of everything, but you at least asked if you could get ready yourself. Having strangers mess with your appearance wasn’t at the top of your ideal things to do today list.

Harry told you to be ready by seven, he’d pick you up on the dot. You were sitting in the sink of your bathroom as you put your makeup on, paying extra close attention to the details today. Ellie stands behind you with the curling iron as you two argue over Harry. You’re still adamant on not being ready, but Ellie keeps calling your bluff.

“Why wont you just let yourself be happy?” Ellie asks as she helps you curl your hair.

“You date a Mafia boss and tell me you're not terrified at the end of the day,” you chuckle, sweeping your blush brush across your cheeks.

“So you’re telling me you dont like him?”

“That’s not what I said, I said I was scared.”

“So you do like him?” she asks excitedly.

You do, and that’s what scares you. This was supposed to be just something fun for you. You never envisioned feeling this way.

You nod slowly, “Probably too much,” the admission feeling like a weight off of your shoulders. “Think I’ll tell him tonight, if it goes as well as I'm hoping it does.” Ellie is bubbling with excitement at your words. She’s probably already planning your wedding.

“You’ve been leading him on for months now, just give in and see where it takes you!”

Ellie was kinda right. But in reality, you don’t owe him anything and you know that. But you do really want to see where this could possibly take you. You already feel so much for this man, but who knows what else could happen.

Harry picked you up exactly when he said he would, knocking on your door at seven sharp. You open the door, and you’re met with your handsome date for the evening in a black on black suit with a red boutonniere on the left hand side that matches your dress impeccably well.

“You look… wow.”

A light blush forms on your cheeks at his words. “You look pretty wow yourself, Harry.”

He takes your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the silky material of the gloves that stop just below your elbow. “You look fantastic, not just wow.” he smiles at you, placing a kiss on your cheek. “I have one more surprise,” he pulls a box from his jacket pocket.

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“Well, I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

taglist: @freedomfireflies @harrysonlylover @daydreamingofmatilda @triski73 @evie-119

@vamprry @howling-wolf97

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry edward styles #harry edward style #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x fem!reader

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letoasai · 1 year

Text

dp x dc 2 Mother Gotham

I had... zero intention of continuing this.... and i still.. have zero intention of continuing... lol i don’t know how this part 2 happened XD Please enjoy or feel free to take it ~

Part 1 Master List Constantine stared.

He’d had very, very little time to learn everything he thought he needed to know about the Ghost King through his contacts and as an adult, he didn’t like what he’d heard so far. He might not be the most responsible bloke but damn it, he wasn’t okay with a fourteen year old taking on so much pressure after what was likely a traumatic death.

He learned very little other than how young he was, how well liked he was, and how he’d not only earned the respect of many ancients, but befriended them. A good section of his contacts refused to answer any questions about him at all, stating at they didn’t want to cause trouble for the king.

It was commendable but fucking frustrating. He had to find his boy and his sister and take them to both Lady Gotham and Batman. He’d had a headache all night.

Constantine wasn’t a stranger to the occult, not by a long shot. He was rather the Justice League’s resident expert, but his lack of knowledge surrounding Amity Park was inexcusable. He had no idea how an entire town went unnoticed but he was going to find out.

The amount of liminals in one place was ridiculous but he’d have to actually go there to gather more information on these teenagers. As things were, he was waiting at the Gotham welcome Center at the appointed time and was always startled by the amount of activity there. People coming and going. Gothamites were unfazed by the gloom of the city and newcomers were often transfixed by their first taste of a city that harbored so many curses.

Few were able to understand that it was Lady Gotham stretching her non-corporeal limbs.

He’d only been there an hour, and he had no description of these teenagers. He should have just asked Bruce. The man had probably somehow already tracked down everything on these kid right down to their favorite colors, but he hadn’t honestly thought he’d need anything like that. Turns out... he was right.

Constantine had just lit another cigarette when the room got cold. He glanced around the room, eyes zeroing in on a hooded figure, a NASA logo printed across the front. He slid up to a vending machine, pushing a dollar in and punching in the numbers for whatever snack he wanted.

The kid was so unassuming. He could have been any random teenager. The strangest thing about him was that he had a thermos dangling off his belt and stars had been drawn on his shoes in what looked like marker.

He bent to pick up his snack, but when he turned, he was already pinning Constantine with a stare.

He wasn’t used to a kid being the one to pick him out in a crowd, but this one…well… Constantine wasn’t about to question his qualifications as royalty. When Constantine did nothing, the teens head cocked to the side in confusion. It was a far too long moment where they did nothing but stare at one another from across the room.

The staring contest was broken when a red headed young woman exited the nearby bathroom and slid up behind her brother, a hand on his shoulder and a question on her lips. She was definitely liminal, and not as human as they both likely had been once. Not that that mattered to him. It was just one more piece of information to file away for later. The Ghost King silently nodded in his direction, and now there were two piercing gazes in his direction.

There was something about the sister he couldn’t put his finger on but it would be a bloody cold day in hell before he purposely pissed her off. She was definitely the type to be her brothers keeper, and someone with that kind of sway over the Ghost King was no one to fuck around with.

He inhaled once more, enjoying the smoke filling his lungs before he hauled himself off the bench he’d been occupying to head towards them.

“Welcome to Gotham. I’m your one man welcoming committee.” He greeted.

“Who sent you?” The redhead asked.

“Got a name?” The Ghost King asked right after.

They were paranoid, but he didn’t blame them for that. Whatever had them running likely wasn’t friendly. The boy's eyes were rimmed with dark circles and there were bruises along his jaw and neck. His sister wasn’t injury free either. She was holding one of her arms to her chest. Possibly a dislocated shoulder or elbow. “John Constantine. Member of the Justice League Dark.”

He never would have introduced himself like that normally but he was dealing with a King and well... spooked kids.

“Dark?” The brother and sister exchanged a look.

Constantine grunted. “We deal with the magical nasties and what not. I was summoned to Gotham to greet you, Majesty.”

The Ghost King didn’t wince, but there was a tick to his jaw. “Danny.” He corrected. “This is my sister, Jazz.”

“Who was it who summoned you?” Jazz asked, her good arm wrapped around one of her brother’s.

Constantine nodded to Danny. “His mother. Dunno your full story, but i was led to believe this was your actual mother.”

Danny’s lips pinched. “That is what Clockwork said…” He muttered to his sister who nodded, though she didn’t look overly trusting.

“And you have no connection to the GIW?” She bulldozed right through.

Constantine’s eyes narrowed. “Bloody fuck is that?”

They exchanged another look. “The Ghost Investigation Ward.”

“The fuck?” He inhaled again, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth. “What’s their problem?”

Danny’s brows lowered, a soft, quiet, and mostly certainly deadly sort of anger in that look. “Hunting and experimenting on my people for sport.”

Constantine tsked, but it did nothing to truly betray how pissed off that made him. “Sounds like a couple of pretenders messing around in my neck of the woods. Thanks for the tip. I’ll be looking into that.” He paused to pull out his cell phone and make a note of them. “No, I’m a right bastard for sure but meddling with the Infinite Realm is a major no-no.”

The Ghost King’s ire lessened somewhat, but the faint glow to Jazz’s eyes hadn’t yet waned. “Why were you picked to escort us?”

“Probably because i’m one of few around that could hear the call. Your mother has been making arrangements for the both of you. I’ll take you to her first and then to where you’ll be living.” They weren’t a very trusting pair, but he had to assume they had every reason to be cautious.

Danny finally heaved a sigh and took his sister’s hand. “Fine. It’s a leap but only a lunatic would claim to be in the Justice League when they weren’t.”

Constantine didn’t react to that, he didn’t want to worry the kid about how many lunatics there actually were. The laugh he’d have over this kid looking like Wayne adoption bait would have to wait.

“Besides, one wail will take out a good chunk of Gotham, so i’m sure you won’t do anything stupid.” Danny continued.

“Noted…” Constantine said dryly. He was getting shitfaced tonight.

Danny rather liked Gotham. Sure he’d barely seen any of it but the ambient ectoplasm was more than enough to sustain him. There weren’t many people who could say that kind of thing energized them but Danny sure could. Jazz could to a lesser extent. It was almost like home, except hopefully less volatile.

Constantine showed them to his car that smelled like alcohol, cigarettes and magic and took off with them. He didn’t even seem to mind Danny opening and eating his bag of chips. He knew Jazz wasn’t in a trusting mood. He wasn’t either but Clockwork had told him bits about his mother. Had told him to follow his core and he’d find his mother. So far… he was satisfied with the direction they were headed.

He stifled a yawn but tired tears sprung to his eyes anyway. He had no idea what time it was anymore. Gotham was so dark but there were people out on the street. It could have been noon or midnight and he was too lazy to even pull out his phone and check. It didn’t matter when his master plan was to get himself and Jazz somewhere safe and then sleep for hours.

When Constantine finally pulled his car to a stop and got out, it had started to drizzle just a little. It wasn’t enough rain to even really get them wet, it was just vaguely annoying. The streets were startlingly vacant compared to the ones they’ve driven passed before and this was obviously an older section of the city.

Having just arrived, Danny and Jazz didn’t know all the districts in Gotham yet but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that this wasn’t main street. Constantine headed towards an old bridge, pieces of it having crumbled away from age but the architecture had obviously once been top tier.

“Where are we?” Jazz asked, keeping close to Danny, her voice only just above a whisper but Constantine heard her.

“The meeting point.”

Danny frowned, but he held out an arm to keep his sister behind him. His core fluttered in his chest, and he recognized that something was coming. He tried to pinpoint exactly what it was but the feeling was something altogether new though it reminded him of Clockwork or Pandora.

With a gentle wave of power, she appeared. A woman, cloaked with gargoyle like features. She could have been made of stone but she approached them cautiously. “Daneil.” She whispered, and he felt her voice wash over him with emotion. Pride. Pride. Pride. Regret. Pain. Joy.

Confused. Relaxed. “Was that my name?” he asked. He’d been so terribly small when the Fenton’s had caught him but he could see how his name could have gotten twisted around at some point. “Are you…?”

Welcome. Welcome. Welcome.

“This is Lady Gotham.” Constantine said, probably for Jazz and Danny’s benefit.

She moved, fazing in and out of existence and stopping just out of reach. “Son…” she whispered, the emotion nearly dropping him to his knees. All of her attention was on him. When was the last time he’d had that from a parental figure?

Danny stared back at her, her green eyes so familiar. He reached up to touch his cheek under his own blue eyes. It was a wonder she could even recognize him. Sure he felt the same but he was half human. Half alive. That didn’t matter to her?

Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter.

Danny exhaled shakily, falling into his shift. The rings of light circled around his middle before spreading out and revealing his ghost half. White hair topped with a black crown and green eyes matching the spirits.

Constantine cursed softly under his breath, taking several steps away.

“Oh, don’t be a wuss.” Jazz chuckled. “He’s not after you.”

“Not taking any chances with all that,” he said.

Danny couldn’t help his faint smile at that. “Daneil.” Lady Gotham reached out slowly, cupping his face. She didn’t feel like stone for all she looked like it. She was cool to the touch and he wondered what her core was. She felt familiar. Like he’d met her before. That made sense if she were his mother but after all this time, there was this connection that clicked into place.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Lost you. Lost you.

Here now. Here now. “It’s okay.” Danny muttered, barely even registering that the bruises on his face were disappearing. “It’s not your fault.” He dared to move, stepping into her space to hug her. She trilled in affection, holding him tightly while Danny chirped his automatic response. When was the last time Maddie had hugged him?

Jazz could make him purr or chirp in affection but had his parents ever? He’d known Lady Gotham for all of a handful of minutes and already he felt safe in her haunt. It was far safer than his in Amity.

Welcome. Welcome. Missed you. Missed you. “Daneil.” She said his name like a prayer. Voice quiet but filled with affection.

“Guess i’m staying here for a while.” He muttered, his core humming. He pulled away from the hug, silently wondering if he’d ever grow horns or something like Lady Gotham when he glanced back over at his sister. She was waiting patiently, still cradling her arm. He’d managed to pop it back into it’s socket but it was terribly tender. “What do you think?”

“I’m staying if you’re staying.” Jazz said simply.

“Good child.” Lady Gotham whispered. She vanished from in front of Danny and reappeared next to Jazz. Thank you, Thank you. Thank you.

Jazz couldn’t always make out the words in emotions but she felt them all the same. Her smile was warm. “He’s my little brother. I love him. I had to come along.”

She hadn’t. She could have lived a normal life. She could have left him behind. She didn’t have to act as his shield when their parents found out about him. She didn’t have to but she did. She’d never abandoned him.

Welcome.

“We’ll figure it out, Jazz. Promise.”

Lady Gotham reached slowly, taking Jazz’s hands. Thank you. Her immense power shifted again and Jazz gasped in surprise. Danny raised a brow but grinned at the drop of Gotham’s power that flowed into his sister. It sped her healing up, taking away the ache in her arm. He guessed Jazz would become a stronger liminal than she already was.

Constantine cursed again. “This just doesn’t happen…” he muttered.

Danny could tell though, his mother was amused.

“Jasna.” Lady Gotham spoke clearly, pleased with herself.

“Wait… what?” Jazz looked confused, trying to read the emotions that were being sent to her. It was a mouthful, and amounted to… The sister of my son is also mine.

“Renamed by an ancient…” Constantine was shaking his head, pulling out a flask from his jacket pocket. Names were powerful… you couldn’t just hand them out… But he was not about to argue with Lady Gotham.

Danny snickered. “You can still keep your nickname, Jazz.” He felt… calm. He was happy to be here. He liked Gotham because it was safe and his mother was here and everything suddenly felt like it would be okay after all. He and Jazz could start over.

“Jasna…” Jazz repeated, testing it out. “Thank you.” After everything that had happened.., she could use a mother figure.

Lady Gotham seemed so satisfied. She turned back to Danny, hugging him again, even the wings on her arms fluttered with delight to have her child back.

My son. My son.

Danny smiled, wondering if it was like this for all ghost children when their parents were near. He’d have to call Ellie and have her swing by to see if she felt the same way he did. “We’ll figure everything out…” He paused and looked back at Constantine. “You were taking us somewhere else too?”

“Yeah.” He was flicking his lighter on and off, likely considering another smoke. “Lady Gotham is entrusting you to someone who will also have a hand in keeping you safe. She hand picked him and everything.”

“We just need an apartment… and…” Jazz frowned a little. They’d talked about it a little and Danny had hated the idea of his sister giving up on school for even a week.

“Not necessary.” Constantine said dryly. “You’ll be fine.”

“Where…are we going exactly?” Danny asked, looking at his mother again. He was so strangely pleased that they had the same eyes.

She laughed, actually laughed. He felt her excitement in her bones. She pointed up into the air and only a few beats later, the bat signal was spread across the sky, glowing against the smog and clouds.

“That’s…” Jazz blinked, who could have planned for this?

“No way.” Danny stared at the glowing signal. Everyone knew what that meant. He looked to Constantine again who only nodded his confirmation. His mother was still laughing, enjoying the moment. “We’re staying with Batman!?” ~~ ~~

I really didn’t intend to continue this, i’m not sure it’ll happen again. I have no confidence in writing for the Batfam. If anyone is interested, go for it.

Tag list.

@meira-3919 @choppedphantomsweets @kisatamao @thewondersoflebanon @emergentpanda-blog @epilepticnerd @paroovian @blep-23 @addie-lover-of-stories @phoenixdemonqueen @bianca-hooks123 @crystallicedart @observethevoid @jaytriesstuff @skulld3mort-1fan @icedbluesoul @rosecinnamonbun @nixthenerd @oterion @lexdamo @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair @villian-lover7899

#dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #ghost king danny #Danny's the son of an Ancient #That Ancient became Lady Gotham #Lady Gotham said Jazz is hers now #new name #Constantine needs a drink

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edenfenixblogs · 6 months

Text

Thank Your Jewish Friends Trying to Educate You Right Now

If you’re a leftist, and you have had a Jewish friend reach out to you to try and tell you that you’ve said something alarming or harmful or antisemitic: listen to them, learn, and say thank you.

I am VERY lucky in that all the friends I’ve personally reached out to have taken the opportunity to learn and grow and adjust their behavior. I have never told them that they should not advocate for Palestine. I have told them I want to advocate for Palestine WITH them, but I need to feel safe in order to do so. I need to feel like the people I’m advocating with don’t want me and my loved ones dead. Thank HaShem that they have listened to me. From the bottom of my heart, my friends are a blessing.

But I’ve seen an incredibly disheartening number of fellow Jews who have had the opposite experiences—being expelled from their queer communities and activist communities and book clubs and any space they once found community. This is horrid but it’s especially horrid for Jews. It’s a reminder that we are only accepted if we conform. We are only accepted if we accept abuse. Our presence is always tolerated, never wanted. Our views are not to be trusted. Our opinions are always suspect. Our motives are always sinister. Our acceptance is always conditional. And I think that hurts even more for us than you’d imagine, because our own spaces are no longer safe. We are already in diaspora. And now our synagogues and homes and other community buildings are being vandalized and attack. We are cut off from our own cultural community and now many of us are being cut off from our personal communities as well. It is a loneliness that most people outside of a diaspora will never know.

Im willing to bet that if you have/had a Jewish friend who you considered close but who seems to have disappeared from your life, it’s because you either didn’t reach out to them after 10/7 or you have failed to acknowledge the stochastic threat to Jews or the Jewish connection to Israel. Why is it important that you do this? Because we are your friends and loved ones. And when friends and loved ones tell you they are hurting, you should listen. When you say you care about someone, you should be willing to listen to them when they say you’re hurting them and then you should apologize. It is more hurtful than you can possibly imagine to watch people you thought cared about you decide to listen to people across the world who they have never met rather than simply have a conversation with a friend, because they assume that friend will dismiss the pain of Palestinians.

Many of you are assuming what your friends are feeling about Israel and Palestine, but you haven’t actually asked them. Many of you think that expressing sorrow for Israel or jews in the world, that means we cannot care about or want a better future for Palestine.

If you are lucky enough to have a friend who has tried to reach out to you, that means they are willing to forgive you for neglecting them in this time. They are willing to talk with you and try to explain their emotions in good faith. They want to find a way to advocate for progress with you. They want to keep you in their lives. They want you to understand our culture and history—not at the exclusion of anyone else’s culture and history—just at the inclusion of our own.

Because here’s the other thing: they won’t forget that you denied them understanding and respect and the benefit of the doubt. That’s not a threat. That’s a cultural feature of Judaism. We have famously long cultural memories. We remember the people and places we can trust and those who refused to give us peace and safety and basic kindness. We remember the people who targeted us, your friends and loved ones, simply because other Jews who we have never met behaved in ways you don’t understand and of which you don’t approve. You are blaming the sins of others on people you claim to love.

If someone is giving you the chance to undo the damage you have done on this, you should take it. And if you have expelled Jews from a space you once shared or failed to acknowledge their pain in this time—find them and apologize.

I am not Muslim, but I wouldn’t doubt that something similar is happening in Muslim spaces. Islamophobia and antisemitism are at terrifyingly high levels right now. And if you think you can’t support Jews without condemning Muslims or you can’t support Muslims without condemning Jews, you’re not only part of the problem—you’re the biggest part of the problem.

What we all need right now is unity, peace, solidarity, understanding, and education above all else.

#jumblr #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #islamophobia #jewish muslim solidarity

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gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

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very surprised that the lovefool AU didn't have König spanking the reader while making her count every hit in German, starting over everytime she messes up 😵‍💫

GERMAN LESSONS

Your kidnapper decided to refresh your knowledge of German numbers. Unfortunately for you, Konig doesn't appreciate failure. TW and tags: Spanking, non-con, kidnapping, power imbalance, controlling yandere Konig, size difference, fingering

You messed up.

At this point, you’re not even sure what set König – your kidnapper, as you learned to never forget – off. It might have been some slightly bratty comment, maybe your smile wasn’t cute and girlfriendly enough, maybe you were sleeping a bit too tight and refused to give him hug as he always made you do. It’s hard to predict him, with his mood swings going from almost being a loving boyfriend with an affinity for making you warm and nice for him up to a torturer who wants nothing but to punish your holes as harshly as possible.

You messed up, and you don’t even remember how – perhaps, this is what made your punishment even worse. König has a desire to make you answer to his every whim, and when you’re as much as resisting even one small thing…

— Fucking brat. I was too soft on you, ja?

He drags you to his lap, but it’s far from his regular affection. You could have expected kisses, maybe something else soft and pretty, maybe his hands hugging you firmly – but he drops you on his thighs like a dead weight, harsh hand pressing between your shoulder blades to make you lat flat. Ass up in the air, little clothes you had – only his shirt, of course, König fucking hated seeing his little captive girlfriend in actual clothes and not another of his sexual fantasies.

You sob, you whimper, and you’re trembling because this is the first time he is like this. Violent and cruel in the bedroom – yes, he was kinda beating you up in his basement, but you thought that he wouldn’t drag this to your shared bed. You hoped that the worst punishment you could take is his dick up your ass or a very violent mouth fucking – not this. You hoped for a punishment to be sex, not pain.

Not his huge hands striking you across your ass like you’re a bratty kid in need of a lesson.

— I thought you could be a proper girl for me, Schatz. I trusted you.

You’d say he sounds hurt, but you can recognize the sadistic gleam in his voice. König doesn’t even bother with preparing your skin first, he strikes as hard as he can – and you cry every freaking time because, oh god, it feels horrible, and you’re going to be sick, and you don’t know what to do except for crying your eyes out with every harsh slap across the plush flesh of your ass. Your skin jiggles with every strike, and his cruel laugh almost feels as painful as his hands.

— I’m sorry! Pl…please, don’t…god…

You whimper, crying, just a dumb girl for big bad König, who has all the power over you now. Giant hands enveloping your asscheeks only to strike harder, to land blows equally on both sides of your ass. There is nothing sexy about it – you only feel a burning sensation and sweet numbness every time they hit lands somewhere new, not tearing already exhausted flesh with new pain.

It’s like your bottom has been set on fire – he is preparing you for something far worse, you know, not even counting each strike.

He drags his hand all across the redness of your ass, making you whimper from pain. He chuckles, knowing just how utterly pathetic you look right now – poor girl, can barely even think about getting your mind in place as you can’t even try to think about his hands doing all of this. You want him to fucking stop touching you, but you know that the chances are slim. Non-existing even.

— Now, Schatz, it wasn’t that bad. Just a preparation.

If that was a preparation, you don’t want to know what a real one will feel like. You whimper, trying to get up from his lap – maybe, if you cry loud and long enough, he will think about stopping hurting you. Maybe, if you’re pathetic enough, you’ll have the chance for mercy. Maybe, if you’re able to distract him from hurting you, he will think of other options for your body.

Your hands are trying to reach his crotch – you don’t want to fuck him, but his dick is a far better punishment than his hands. You feel dirty when your hands are trying to hold onto his pants, taking them off as if you’re nothing but a depraved slut in need of a good pounding. Each ounce of dignity gets washed away as your hands softly palm his erection through his pants. Bastard is hard – you knew he was getting off from your pain, but being reminded of this so explicitly…

Only but he is striking you again, harsh palm against already swollen flesh. You yelp. You squirm. You cry.

Of course, he doesn’t really care.

— Being a slut won’t help you, dumb thing.

You sob, hands retracting back to being awkwardly placed in front of your face. Your position on his lap makes your cheeks burn – both of them, which is even more embarrassing. At this point, you aren’t even sure if you’d prefer him cutting your limbs off. Maybe it would at least feel less humiliating.

— I’m s…sorry, König, I…

He places a hand on your ass again. Softer this time, if only for a bit – your skin still stings as he continues to stroke your aching skin in a feeble attempt at reassuring. His hands are burning, and you don’t want to be touched like this, but even the slight human interaction is probably the only thing that will keep you sane right now. It might be pathetic, but just like a cat, you are crawling to meet the hand that has the power to softly cradle you. Like a domestic pet König made you to be, you hide your claws and present your rear to his touches. Maybe, he had enough. Maybe, this is over.

His hard-on pressing in your tummy tells you another story.

— Let’s do it this way, Schatzi.

His other hand goes to dig in your hair, holding your head high enough to make sure you’re listening. You whimper from pain pulsating in your scalp but don’t make a sound – terrified of making this moment of kindness short-lived.

— W-what?

You give him the answer because you’re a good pet, a trained one, because your captor expects nothing but perfect obedience, and you would do anything to make the pain stop. Too bad that your “anything” isn’t even nearly enough.

— Let’s teach you how to count, ja?

He tried teaching you German, bit by bit. Dragged you a bunch of kid's books, the simplest expression took you days to learn because every mistake would mean an even rougher round of fucking, and every perfectly pronounced word would mean yet another round of “lovemaking” – soon, you learned to stagger your progress perfectly, being the most mediocre captive student this country has ever saw. You might be dumb, but…ah, no, judging by König’s standards, that’s it.

You lick your lips, preparing for the worst. He is rubbing your ass softly, gently, but his touches aren’t bringing you relaxation – you can only wait for his to continue, to make you suffer more like he didn’t kiss you like a lover just a few days before, softly cradling your head on his chest and promising to bring you very nice cake if you’d continue to be a good girl and warm his dick with your pussy.

— For every strike, I expect you to count. If you mess up, we will start over.

— H…how many times?

— Let’s start with ten, ja? You don’t look too strong right now, Katzen.

You never looked strong, this is the sole reason why you’re even here. Not a proper soldier, not actually a fighter, just a fucking domestic girlfriend for a bastard like König, who has nothing but his ego and a rank that made you sick from how much power he had – people like him shouldn’t be in charge, even if he is a merc and not an actual commander. Even if he is nothing but a bloodthirsty hound, he still has way too much power over little ol’ you.

You nod, but that’s not good enough. You grunt in acknowledgment, but it doesn’t satisfy him either.

— I…I understand. Sir.

— What are we saying to be polite, Katzen?

— Please? S…spank me. Bitte. I promise I will count.

You can feel his fingers twitching, trembling. He doesn’t like this little game either, it probably feels too artificial and awkward – you’d rather just be beat up by him, but alas, if he needs to take off some steam at the expense of your body…you aren’t exactly fine with that, but it’s not like you really have an opinion on the matter. At least it’s not needles and knives in your sensitive places – just his hands and your sore bottom.

Then he strikes.

First time, it felt like the worst pain in the world. Your ass, already sore and bruised, was heated up again – you cut down your scream because you know that he doesn’t want anything but counting. Nothing but your obedience, your pain, you might not want to be a spectacle for someone like König, but you don’t have even an illusion of choice here. You yelp, the only thing you allow yourself to do.

You start counting.

— E..ein.

— Good girl.

His fingers suddenly slip down to find your pussy, already wet and fucking messy for him. You can’t help it, it felt too wrong and too right at the same time – his hands on your body, his voice praising you like he didn’t just [unished you for as much as fucking existing. You whine, your body trembling with fear as he launches at you again – another harsh smack forcing you to remember all the numbers like your life depended on it. In some way, it really did.

You lick your lips, biting into soft flesh to suppress your little cries. You can be stronger than this, you need to be stronger than this.

König strikes your ass quickly, second and third time – you are keeping up as much as you can. Sobbing when he drags his hand lower, his fingers landing somewhere between our cheeks. There is still a lot of clean skin to uncover to reveal new pain – you’re sobbing between rounds, only allowing yourself to breathe when he pushes his fingers down your folds and plays with your core.

It’s somehow worse than normal spanking. The pain was numbing, allowing you to slip into some other dimension. The pleasure is overweening, fucking with your brain like you should be thanking König for being so nice and stroking your clit between the rounds of punishment.

You moan as he pushes a finger in, quickly forcing another slap on your already swollen ass. You don’t miss counting, but you do feel like your head is going to explode. Mind isn’t working enough to actually produce something meaningful – only pathetic chants of numbers and his name mixed properly. You feel like you’re going to suffocate.

König appreciates the view – his darling, precious girlfriend, he never knew you could be any more beautiful but here you are, laying on his lap like a good kitten you are. With his hands bruising you, he should have punished you sooner – you have become so bratty lately, forgetting your place and who is wearing pants around here. He should have brought you across his thighs way sooner, maybe turn this into a regular thing and have you moan his name as you’re pathetically sobbing and begging for him to stop.

He strikes you a few times more, his other hand two knuckle-deep in the wetness of your cunt. Such a slut for your boyfriend, you shouldn’t get off this kind of punishment – but of course, he can’t really blame his precious girl for being this fucking needy. He appreciated moving you from the basement, it’s much easier to be with his girl when you’re not rotting on some old mattress – yet, he feel that you started to get out of line as he allowed you too much over and over again.

It’s a good thing he will be able to punish you even more.

— It’s the fifth one, Liebling. Want a break?

You consider your options, he can see your adorable face scrunching in, not understanding if he is for real or not. You’re pretty, too pretty to be this alone, small, and scared – he can’t help but lift your head again, hearing you groaning from pain as he strains your hair just so he can press his mask against your forehead. Mockery of a kiss, but he doesn’t want to face you right now.

This whole fucking thing wasn’t comfortable enough for him. If only he could, he would just make you obedient through less awkward ways – but you’re so fucking bratty, it really is impossible. König smiles, pushing two of his fingers deep into your hole, stroking your folds as gently as possible. He is weak – he can’t stay mad at his favorite girl for long, no matter how much he wants to try and stand his ground this time. God, you’re too fucking adorable to resist.

— Please? You’re so cute, he might as well let you get out of your punishment. It’s not like him to be this soft, but he already turned your ass into a bruised mess, and if he comes any further, you might actually start to bleed – oh well, he doesn’t want this. Oh well, you will pay for this later – on your back, ass high in the air. Maybe he will try your ass today, just so he could have a nice and tight hole around him. A good way to make you shut up, for sure.

You whimper when he is holding you close, soothing you like a desperate kitten – you cling onto him, all the brattiness going out of your body, just like he intended. So, so pretty for him, he doesn’t know what he will do with you later.

He spanks you one last time just to hear your precious whimpers.

God, just how much he fucking adores you.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #yandere cod #konig mw2 #reader insert #lovefool!au

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