#i wonder if anyone out there has a list of everything it’s been since the off to become a superhero line | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

surftrips · 9 months

Note

Maybe you could do single dad jj maybank he’s in college and has to do a project with the reader and has to bring the baby with them and they bond and start to hang out a lot then they start to date also maybe she’s a single mom I feel like that would be like a unique thing

thank you so much for this request! i hope you don't mind that i switched it up a bit (and got carried away lol) but reader is the single mom here and her and jj have known each other their whole lives :)

when you know, you know

pairing: jj maybank x reader

summary: y/n needs a babysitter and jj is the only person available.

word count: 3.5k

"Okay, I understand. Thanks, anyway," you sighed, running your hands through your hair and hanging up the phone. Your babysitter had just canceled on you, and the timing could not have been worse.

You had been planning this night for months. Between your classes, a part-time job, and taking care of your 2-year-old Margo, it was nearly impossible to schedule anything. But you desperately needed a night out and your friend Emma had so kindly offered to set you up on a blind date.

You scrolled through your contacts list, looking for anyone that was sober on a Friday night, a seemingly impossible task. Glancing at the time, you realized that you only had an hour left to find a babysitter and get ready.

As panic set in, you received a text from the P4L groupchat.

JJ: Wtw tonight?

Not now JJ, you thought.

Y/N: Trying to find a babysitter, mine just canceled :/

Kie: Oh no, Y/N!! I'm so sorry :(

Cleo: Sorry babes, I totally wouldd but I already lost count of how many drnks I've had 2nite xxx

JJ: Wait, you guys went out already?

Sarah: JJ, we told you it's a girls night.

JJ: In that case, Y/N, I'll watch Margo!

Absolutely not, was your first thought. JJ Maybank was probably the last person you wanted to take care of your child, he was practically one himself.

Besides, since you had Margo, he was always acting weird around you. Before, you two would hang out all the time, but now he only saw you if there was another person there as a buffer. He hardly visited or called, but you were so preoccupied with raising a baby on your own that you hadn't had a chance to talk to him about it.

In the beginning, people assumed it was his baby you were pregnant with, but you never crossed that line because your friendship meant the world to each other. He was the first person you told when you found out you were going to be a mother, and you remember how excited he was for you. It was hard to believe how distant he had become, and you wondered why he had volunteered himself tonight.

You assessed the situation: you hadn't gone out in nearly two years, and who knew when the next opportunity would be? You sighed, hardly believing the words you were about to type on your phone.

Y/N: Ok. How soon can you be here?

Y/N: You better be sober, JJ.

You turned your phone off before the others could protest, knowing that half of them were drunk anyway.

"Uncle JJ is going to come over and watch you tonight, okay? Mommy is going to be gone for just a few hours," you said to your daughter, picking her up and placing her in your eye line so you could do your makeup.

"Jay Jay?" she repeated.

"Yes, honey," you smiled, trying to reassure her, or yourself. Out of all the pogues, Kiara and Sarah babysat Margo the most. She had probably only met JJ a handful of times and you worried about how well she would do with him alone.

As if he could read your mind, your phone began ringing and you looked over to see his face on your screen.

"JJ, please don't tell me you're canceling too."

"What? Oh, no, it's not that. I was just wondering if you needed me to bring anything for Margo?"

"Oh," you relaxed. "Hmmm, I think we have everything we need here. But thank you for asking, JJ."

"Of course," you could hear him smiling on the other line. "You know, thanks for letting me watch Margo. I've been meaning to visit her more."

"JJ, you know you're weren't my first choice," you teased. "But yeah, of course. Thanks, I owe you."

You hung up the phone, thoughts from earlier creeping back into your mind. You always assumed that the baby scared JJ away, but sometimes you couldn't help but wonder if there was something more going on.

However, now was not the time for you to be thinking about this, considering that you now had 30 minutes left until your date showed up and you had yet to pick out a dress.

"Hmmmm, let's see. Any suggestions, Margo?" you asked your daughter, combing through your closet for something appropriate. You settled on a short black dress with a boat neck, and black knee high boots to go along with it.

"What do we think, sweetie?" you smiled at Margo.

"Pretty!" she clapped her small hands together.

"Why, thank you, baby. Come on, let's go see if Uncle JJ is here yet," you picked her up and checked your phone for any notifications.

Blind Date: Be there in 5! :)

Crap, you thought. Where is JJ?

You shot back a confirmation for your date and looked out the window for any sign of JJ. You weren't sure if he was biking over or he had borrowed the Twinkie, but there was no sign of anyone outside.

Growing anxious, you gathered Margo's favorite toys and books into the living room and tidied up your apartment to pass the time.

Exactly 5 minutes later, the doorbell rang. You smoothed down your dress and checked your hair in the mirror one last time. Putting on your best smile, you went to open the door.

"Hi–" you started. "Oh, it's you."

"Come on, that's what I get for dropping everything and saving your ass?" JJ responded.

"Sorry, weren't you the one with no plans on a Friday?"

"You know, I can just turn around right now-"

"Stop!" you pleaded. "Okay, sorry, I've been anxious about this all day and I just want to get back to Margo as fast as I can."

"Relax, Y/N. I'm here now," he took in your appearance. "You look great, by the way."

The last time he saw you remotely dressed up like this was prom night.

You couldn't help but blush, looking around for Margo to hide your face. "Margo, look who it is!"

"Jay Jay!" she babbled.

"Oh my god, she knows my name!" JJ replied, looking a little perplexed.

"You know what, I'm surprised too considering she's only met you, like, four times," you said.

"Alright, you're no fun," he looked at you as you traded your daughter over to his arms. "Miss Margo and I here are going to have the time of our lives. Aren't we?"

He tickled her, causing her to giggle. She seemed so comfortable in his arms, you wondered why you were ever worried in the first place.

"Thanks again for doing this, I know we haven't talked in a while-" you started.

"So, where's the lucky guy?" he interrupted you.

"Uhh," you looked over at the clock. "He said he would be here by now."

"Late to the first date? That's a red flag, Y/N."

"As if you're not a walking red flag, JJ. What did you get here on? Your bike?"

"Hey! I refurbished that bike all on my own! It takes a lot of skill to do that."

Just then, the doorbell rang. You rushed to open the door, a smile plastered on your face again.

"Hey! You must be Emma's friend! I'm Tom." he greeted you with a hug and a bouquet of flowers. "I'm sorry for being late, I went to get these flowers for you and was distracted by the girl scouts selling cookies outside. I had to support them, you know?"

"Oh, no worries! Yes, how can you say no to them?" you laughed softly. You took the flowers from him and went to place them on the table closest to you, beckoning him to come in.

"Tom, this is one of my friends, JJ. He's babysitting my daughter, Margo, while we're gone," you said.

"Ah! What a pleasure," Tom went over to shake JJ's hand and politely wave at your daughter. "I promise not to keep your mom out too late tonight."

"That's right, need her back before midnight," JJ remarked.

You playfully pushed him in response, grabbing your keys. "Alright, you have my number so please call me if you need anything. Bye Margo, mommy loves you!"

With that, you and Tom headed outside and into his car.

On the drive over to the restaurant, you learned that Tom was a psychologist, he liked to cook, and reality TV shows were his guilty pleasure. At the restaurant, which was a higher-end place near the water, he pulled out your chair for you.

"I hope this place is okay, I wasn't sure what kind of food you liked so I thought somewhere nicer would be safe," he said.

"Oh, this is perfect. Don't even worry about it," you smiled. "I haven't had a proper night out in so long, I wouldn't have minded if you took me to a burger joint."

He laughed, "Margo is adorable, by the way. How old is she?"

"She's 2," you said. Then, feeling the need to clarify, "I had her when I was 20, at the beginning of my junior year in college."

"I see, how was that? How did you manage classes?" You were surprised at his demeanor, half-expecting him to judge you or run in the opposite direction any second now, but his inquisition was genuine.

"Well, I could still go to classes during the first trimester, but it got more difficult after that so I took a leave of absence. I'm taking night classes now because I work in the mornings."

"Oh nice, what degree are you going for?"

"English, I want to be a teacher," you explained.

"My mom was a teacher," he smiled. "What age do you want to teach?"

"Oh no way! I want to teach elementary school kids. Everyone always tells me how hard it will be, but raising Margo... I don't love anything more than that."

"That's really sweet, are you close with your family?"

You paused, trying to figure out how to answer the question. "Depends on who you consider my family, I guess," you laughed awkwardly. "I'm not close with my parents, but my friends? Those are the most important people in my life."

He smiled, "I understand. I'm glad you have a support system, being a single mother can be hard."

"Yeah, I'm super grateful. Actually, my babysitter for tonight canceled last-minute and JJ came to the rescue. I don't know what I would've done without him."

Tom's smile faltered for an unnoticeable second. "How long have you known him for?"

"JJ? My whole life, probably. I can't imagine a time when he wasn't by my side. He was there for me throughout my entire pregnancy, but after..." you trailed off.

"After...?"

"Afterwards," you hesitated, not wanting to bad-mouth your friend. "I guess he started to distance himself more, I think Margo scared him away honestly."

"You think it was Margo and nothing else?"

"What do you mean?"

"I just mean," he sighed. "Do you think there could be any other reason why he would be so supportive of you before and not after you had Margo?"

"I-I'm not sure. I haven't had much time to think about it, I guess."

"You want my opinion?" Tom asked. You searched his face for any sign of spitefulness, but came up empty.

"I saw the way he looked at you and Margo, earlier. That boy is not scared of either of you. In fact, all I saw was love. Did you ever think he’s grappling with those feelings?”

"His feelings? For me?" It was not the first time you thought about it, but it was the first time you heard it verbalized.

"Yes, I know I sound crazy, but seriously, Y/N, what other reason could there be to explain his behavior?"

You racked your brain for all the possible explanations. Tom had a point, if JJ had feelings for you at some point in your friendship, or still does, he might feel the need to distance himself to protect you.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"I told you, I'm a psychologist. I notice these things," he smiled.

"Is this how all of your first dates go?" you laughed.

"Not all of them, but I’ll admit, a few are like this. But tell me, am I wrong to assume there was something more going on between you two before you got pregnant?"

You sighed, "No, you're not wrong. Our feelings for each other were a truth that neither of us wanted to confront. We were young, we didn't want to be tied down, it was college. But he was always there, by my side, through everything. Of course, I loved him."

"Well, there you go. There's your answer."

Tom dropped you off around midnight. You assured him that there was no need to walk you to your door, you both knew that you needed to have a conversation with JJ.

"Thank you again for tonight, we seriously need to meet up again," you said, before shutting your door.

"Absolutely, I'll give you the address to my office," he joked.

You turned the key into your door as quietly as possible, in case JJ was also asleep with Margo. Inside, the lights were off and you pulled out your phone flashlight to search for him.

You went into Margo's room first, seeing that she was fast asleep in her crib. "Hi baby," you whispered. "Where's Uncle JJ?"

After making sure she was tucked in properly, you turned to go into your bedroom. Sure enough, there was JJ, fast asleep in your bed.

You couldn't help but smile, recalling memories from high school when you two would have sleepovers. Being sure to keep quiet, you changed into your pajamas and got ready for bed.

Trying your best to not wake up JJ, you pulled open the blanket on your side of the bed and slipped in next to him.

"Goodnight, JJ," you whispered.

—

In the morning, you woke up to the smell of pancakes in the kitchen. For a second, you weren't sure you were even in your apartment, remembering that you live alone with Margo and surely, you weren't asleep long enough for her to know her way around the kitchen.

But then you remembered that JJ was babysitting last night and had fallen asleep in your bed before you got home.

After a long stretch, you got up and went into the kitchen.

"There she is, good morning pretty," JJ smiled at you.

"Morning... When did you learn how to cook?" you questioned.

"What do you mean? I've always known how to make pancakes."

"Okay, that is just a straight up lie. In high school you would have chips for breakfast."

JJ put his hand to his chest, taking mock offense. "If you must know, I started teaching myself how to cook last year when I moved off-campus."

"Wow, I must say, I am impressed, Mr. Maybank."

"Please, that's my father. You can call me JJ," he said, causing you both to laugh.

Were his eyes always this blue? You thought, as you admired his features in the morning light.

After a moment, you broke the silence. "Uh- I better go check on Margo. How was she last night, by the way?"

"Oh, amazing. Best kid ever."

"Really? She didn't give you a hard time at all?"

"Nope, must have remembered me from when she was in the womb."

You smiled, turning around to your daughter's room.

Sure enough, Margo was sleeping like the baby she was. You checked the clock, she wouldn't be up for at least another hour.

"Margo's still in one piece?" JJ asked when you reentered the kitchen.

"Yes, somehow,” you mused.

"Good, want to try these pancakes now?"

"Yes, please, I'm starving," you sat down across from JJ.

"Starving? Your date didn't feed you last night?"

"Very funny, if you want to know about my date, you can just ask."

"Okay, how was your date?" he relented.

"He's a psychologist."

"Cool, anything else?" JJ looked slightly confused.

"He was very normal and nice," you added.

“I would hope so.”

“Yes, and he likes to cook too.”

“That’s great, how was the date itself?”

“Oh the date itself…” you trailed off.

"Y/N, why are you acting weird?"

"Weird? Me? I'm just telling you about my date."

"You're talking about him like he's your therapist."

"Well, in a way, it was like a therapy session."

"So the date went bad?"

"No, it was really nice."

JJ looked around the kitchen, "Did I accidentally put something in the pancake batter to make you act like this or...?"

"These are great, by the way," you said, pointing to the pancakes with your fork.

"Thanks, but can we get back to the date?"

"Oh, yeah, well, basically," you started.

"Y/N." JJ was rarely ever serious, but he was starting to look concerned with you.

"Okay, fine. It started off really well, we got to know each other. Then, he was asking about Margo and my family, and I told him about my parents, you know. Then he asked about you, and I told him I've known you forever, but after Margo, you started distancing yourself and we haven't seen or talked to each other in a while, and then-" you rambled.

"Then what?"

"And then, he told me, or rather he made me realize, that maybe we need to address the feelings we may or may not have had for each other before I got pregnant," you finished in a rush.

JJ was silent, you weren't sure if the expression on his face was scared or bemused.

"JJ, please say something."

"Was that all?"

"More or less."

He sighed, "Y/N, I think one of the reasons why our friendship worked so well was because we both knew that at any moment, we could pursue something more, but we didn't. We both knew that doing that would ruin our friendship, something we've had for nearly twenty years. I thought college was going to be four years of partying and distractions, but instead, I had to face reality”

“Distractions?”

“Everyone that wasn’t you was a distraction, in case that wasn’t clear.”

“Uh, no. It wasn't, actually. JJ, you kept telling me you were trying to meet ‘the one!’”

“Well, I was lying! Okay? You were always the one for me. I just didn’t feel like I was the one for you. So I was stupid and I decided we would be better off as friends, but when you got pregnant…”

“When I got pregnant…?”

“When you told me about Margo, I panicked. I knew you were strong enough to do this on your own, but you shouldn’t have had to. I told myself that I was going to be there for you every step of the way, and I was, until you gave birth. I saw Margo for the first time, and I-I’m sorry. I just couldn’t do it.”

“Do what, JJ? You know I never needed you to be her father.”

“I know, I know. I saw her and I couldn’t imagine hurting her. I didn’t want her to know me, because to know me is to be disappointed by me,” he sighed.

“JJ,” you stood up now to wrap your arms around him. “Are you kidding me? I was never, never disappointed by you. I was just worried, babe, that’s all. You stopped talking to me after that.”

JJ allowed himself to fall into your arms. “I’m sorry, it just felt like too much at the time. I loved- love you and Margo so much, that I didn’t know what to do with all of it. So I thought it was best to give you some space, until I was better.”

You chuckled, “Is that why you taught yourself how to cook?”

“Stop, I was actually starving and had no choice.”

“And are you better now?”

“When I heard you were going on a date, do you want to know what I thought?”

“What?”

“I thought, I let her go again. I let you go a million times in college, and here I am, letting you go again.”

When you didn’t say anything, he continued, “You’re the one for me, Y/N. I came over here tonight to show you that. I’m ready for whatever this is going to be, whatever this friendship evolves into. I spent too much time denying the truth, and I think you have too.”

There were not enough words to describe how you were feeling, so you leaned in to kiss your best friend. JJ held your face with such gentleness, you wondered if this was all in your imagination.

Eventually, you pulled away. “I’m done lying, to myself and to each other. This is real, yes?” you asked.

“Yes, I love you, really.”

“I love you too, Maybank.”

You leaned in for a second time, but not before you heard the familiar cries of Margo in the other room.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” he smiled with that boyish grin of his that you loved so much. That you have always loved.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank imagine #obx #outer banks #obx x reader #obx imagine #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #jj maybank x you

788 notes · View notes

mythicalmaven · 3 days

Note

omg i saw your prompt list and I'm a sucker for oscar lately, so i thought 45 (God, I am so in love with you) with him? fluff please :)

i love your writing btw!

First Kiss - Oscar Piastri (requested)

Masterlist ↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!reader ↳word count: 0.8K ↳summary: In which Oscar wins the Azerbaijan GP & finally kisses you for the first time ↳prompts used: 45 - "God, I am so in love with you"

Oscar had been in love with you for years, a secret he’d kept tucked away in the corners of his heart, afraid of what would happen if he ever let it out. He’d watch you laugh, your eyes sparkling with a light that made everything else fade away, and he’d feel his chest tighten with the words he could never quite say.

You’d been his best friend since forever, the person who knew him better than anyone else. Every victory, every defeat—you were there, cheering him on or comforting him in the quiet moments when the world seemed too much. But as much as he cherished your friendship, he was terrified to risk it by confessing his feelings, convinced that you saw him as nothing more than a friend.

It was a thought that haunted him every time he caught you looking at him with that warm smile, every time your hand brushed against his, sending electric shocks through his body. He couldn’t imagine a life without you in it, so he swallowed down his love, settling for being your best friend even if it meant his heart ached every time you were near.

But everything changed the morning of the Baku race. He was in the paddock, nerves buzzing under his skin as he tried to focus on the upcoming race, terribly failing as he catched himself staring at you once again. But then Lando came up to him with a knowing smile.

“You know she’s in love with you too, right?” Lando said casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on him.

Oscar blinked, his brain struggling to process the words. “What?”

“Yeah,” he continued, oblivious to the way his heart was suddenly racing. “She’s been head over heels for you for ages. Honestly, it’s kind of obvious. I thought you knew.”

He stood there, stunned, his mind spinning as everything he thought he knew shifted. You were in love with him? All those moments he’d dismissed as wishful thinking, the lingering touches, the way you looked at him—had he been blind to it all?

"Are you sure?" Oscar asked, completely dumbfounded. Afraid that Lando might got the wrong signals, that it wasn't what he thought it was.

"Couldn't be more sure" Lando smiled at him, patting his shoulder "Mate, she legit told me, 'I wonder if Oscar has any idea how crazy I am about him.' That clear enough for you?" he chuckled, mocking your love sick tone "Didn't wan't to be the one to spill the beans, but I'm pretty sure the both of you otherwise would have been too shy too ever confess to each other"

His heart soared, hope blossoming in his chest, but there was no time to process it. The call for the race was going out, and he had to get to the grid. He barely remembered the moments that followed, his body moving on autopilot as he climbed into the car, his mind consumed by thoughts of you.

And when he crossed the finish line, his first instinct wasn’t to celebrate the victory—it was to find you, to tell you everything he’d been holding back for so long. Because now he knew. And he wasn’t going to let another moment slip by without you knowing, too.

He glanced around, searching the crowd with an urgency you’d never seen before. When his eyes locked onto yours, a grin split his face. Without a second thought, he handed his helmet to a nearby mechanic and practically sprinted toward you. Your heart leaped into your throat as he reached the barrier, reaching out to lift you over it with ease. His hands found your face, cupping your cheeks with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intense look in his eyes.

“Oscar—” you began, but your words were cut off as he crashed his lips onto yours, his kiss filled with a raw, unspoken longing. You gasped against his mouth, stunned, but the surprise quickly melted into warmth as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

The crowd erupted in cheers, their shouts echoing around you, but it all faded into a blur. It was just the two of you, standing there in the middle of the chaos, wrapped up in each other. The kiss was everything you’d ever dreamed of—soft yet demanding, sweet but full of a simmering passion that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the joy and relief radiating from him, his lips moving against yours with a mix of exhilaration and tenderness that made your legs weak.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and dazed, Oscar rested his forehead against yours, his eyes sparkling with unspoken words. His thumb brushed over your cheek as he searched your gaze, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I love you too, by the way,” he whispered, his voice slightly breathless but steady.

A giggle bubbled up from your chest, pure happiness spilling over as you leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. The cameras were still flashing, the crowd still cheering, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his hands and the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

Oscar’s gaze never left you, his grin widening with each passing moment. Finally, he could hold you the way he’d always longed to. He’d admired you for so long, captivated by your beauty. But now, seeing you up close, you looked even more stunning. He was completely smitten. “God, I am so in love with you.”

Masterlist

342 notes · View notes

cordeliawhohung · 13 days

Text

Touch Me 'Till I Vomit (pet!au) [12]

pet!au | ghoap x fem!reader | tag list

gentle

cw: angst, non-con touching, dub-con sex, smut, hate fucking if you squint

Click. Click. Click.

Johnny won’t stop messing with his pen. Repetitive clicks echo in the small space in his art room as he hunches over his journal, shading away at some image just beyond your view. It’s distracting. That slip of plastic against plastic. It’s not as acidulous as a firing pin striking metal — nor is it nearly as dangerous — but it’s enough to get the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Enough to make you remember the weight of an empty gun biting into the palm of your hand. It’s unforgiving, like a bad dog.

Brain too perforated to properly concentrate, you tap the eraser of your pencil against the notebook in your lap. The scrawlings of a madwoman taint the paper between its faded blue lines. It’s a gift from Johnny. Shoved it into your hands the other day because he said you looked bored. Told you that you fidget too much without something to busy yourself with, and he needs you to sit still in order to draw you properly. It was unusually astute of him to notice something so small about you. You’ve descried something more than just a lowering haze over the sapphire of his eyes, but you’re unable to put it into words.

He’s different these days. You don’t know why.

Either way, you are grateful for the escape. You’ve repurposed this old, fading notebook into a diary of sorts. Some place to pour your thoughts out to something that has no other choice than to listen — something that cannot bite you. For so long you have carried so much inside of you; not just the pain and fear, but the little things, too. You nearly cried when you realized you finally had a place to put it — that weight — down.

It wasn’t until you flipped to the first page that you realized you don’t know what the date is. Your passage of time has been warped again and again. A tablet dissolving in your drink made you lose days. Johnny taking you on the floor while a football game droned in the background made you lose years. You try to count the time in other ways. The length adding to your hair. Golden leaves catching fire on the fringes of the forest. An algid whisper on the wind dancing through the open window. The way summer dies with a sputtering pule.

These days, you measure the turn of the earth by feel. Months. Hours. It doesn’t matter to you how long you have been trapped here; you only care about how much life you have left to live when you escape.

Johnny. John? Soap. Like the bar. Never feels clean. Never makes me feel clean. Scottish. Tattoo on forearm. Coat of arms? Military? Wannabe? Scar on head. Shot? Simon said so. When? Who? Matching scar. No. Never.

Simon. Simon. Just Simon. English. Manchester? Guns. Hunter. Big guns. Fucked up nose. Fucked up everything. Scars. One on ribs. Butcher? Smells like blood. Hate him. Animal. Lots of tattoos. Took me as a pet for Johnny. Mad man. Bad man.

Me. Not Bonnie. Something else. Someone else. Bartender. How old am I? Need haircut.

Miss my jumper.

Miss my mum.

Miss ice cream.

Had an interview before I was taken. What day? Missing since… June. June. Summer. Hot. Did they ever call back? Needed better job. Wonder if they’re looking for me. Is anyone looking for me? Always called mum on Sundays.

Does her phone ring now that I’m gone?

No. Not gone. Not yet. Not ever.

I hope her phone rings.

Scribbles muddle the margins between fractured words and thoughts. You can conjure nothing more than empty, uneven eyes and dried flies lining burnt window sills. What creativity lingers in the fringes of your mind stays in the mess of grey matter; never something to brand the off white paper in your hands. Masterpieces cannot be created in a cage. You save what little energy you have for dreaming. You dream of a day when your teeth grow long enough they don’t whittle down to sand when you try to sharpen them.

“Bonnie?”

Johnny moves quietly. Or, your ears are growing old. Too busy trying to recall sounds you used to love; unable to make sense of the cacophony that constantly surrounds you in this tomb. He’s already eye level with you by the time you look up. Crouched next to your plushy chair, a wide hand sits on the armrest that props your elbow. He’s got his journal in hand, and you are very aware of the way he curiously eyes your own. You slam it shut with the pencil between the pages before setting it aside.

His eyes follow your hands with question, but he says nothing as he turns his journal for you to see. Truly, Johnny has a talent you’ve rarely seen others show off. Meticulously crafted sketches brand the paper, etching your likeness in grey graphite. He captures every curve of your body as you lean in the recliner, eyes narrow with concentration. You’re drawn with a smile on your face, but those muscles in your cheeks have been dormant for so long you’re not sure you could conjure the expression if you tried.

“That looks lovely,” you compliment. It’s not a lie, but it rolls off of your tongue like it is.

“You’re lovely,” he fires back. Playful. Light.

There it is again. That look. Heavy lids threaten to smother the blue hue of his eyes — heavy with a concupiscence so thick it’s palpable in the air that separates you from him. You hope one day it solidifies — turns into some protective barrier — but it never will.

It starts like it always does. The slicing of the threshold, brittle like eggshells and bones. You don’t think about it as he presses his lips to yours. You keep your mind full of other thoughts because if it’s empty, there’s more room for worse things. Bitter things. A man can only stare at a meal for so long before his hunger consumes him. You are liquid. A flowing being molding into the shape of his body as his torso pinches your legs against the recliner. It’s easier to give in. Hurts less. Angers Simon less. Even with that monster gone you behave because the walls have eyes. Dark brown irises that do nothing but stare and smirk.

“Ow!”

But you still have your limits, and your body aches more often than it is numb these days, and Johnny’s hands haven’t grown any softer. He paws at you with claws that can’t retract and you wince. Your breasts are sore from weeks — no, months — of abuse. They’re silent wounds that will not heal and always, always scream.

Then, it stops.

Johnny’s hands retract from your body at the same time as his lips do, leaving you breathlessly dumbfounded. Blinking away the confusion, your eyes settle on Johnny who retreats back to sitting on his haunches. Blue eyes shimmer in the late summer sun as he shifts. For once, you are the one above him instead of the other way around. He looks up at you as if you’re an angel—

—as if he’s begging for forgiveness.

“Did Ah hurt you?” he asks.

“Uh… a-a little bit,” you admit stiffly.

“A’m sorry.”

There’s something in his eyes that unsettle you. You think back to that night when his body thrashed and squirmed next to you on the bed, fear reverberating through the mattress. Panicked and screaming; unable to rip himself from some nightmare. How he screamed about wanting to go home. Your stomach twists at the very thought, and it only gets worse when you realize that — for once — he looks more human than mutt.

“It’s okay. I… I know you didn’t mean it,” you whisper.

“Never. Ah would never hurt you,” he concurs. A breadth of stillness freezes the room and for the longest time you hear nothing but the chatter of birds. Johnny reaches for you with a singular hand, and rests it on top of your leg, heavy and warm. “Bonnie, are ye afraid of me?”

Vocal chords turning to stone, your throat seizes as you attempt to answer. “No,” you lie. Cautious eyes flicker to the walls around you like they’ll crumble at any moment. Something slices through the prostration in your chest, and a strange cogitation flickers in the back of your mind. It’s as strong as it is terrifying, but you find your body executing it before you’re able to stop it. “But… Simon does. He terrifies me.”

Johnny’s mouth fills with well meaning mirth. “He’s scary alright, but he won’t hurt ye. Simon’s not like that.”

“I’m still worried he might,” you admit. A hesitant hand reaches out and rests over Johnny’s. The smile on his face quickly melts away into surprise as he stares up at you with parted lips. “But you wouldn’t let that happen. Right?”

“Never.” His response is quick. Sharp and eager as he leans closer. His other hand comes up to rest upon yours, sandwiching you into a small embrace. “Cannae ever let anythin’ bad happen to ye.”

Something shudders in your chest. Your diaphragm, maybe. It quivers and quakes as if you hold a bird’s nest within yourself. Foreign words begin to scratch at the back of your tongue, tickling your throat. You know well enough to bite them back, but as you stare at Johnny’s smile — lips pulled wide — someone stronger chokes the words out for you.

“You’re so good to me, Johnny,” you whisper, voice whiny as you scoot forward in the recliner. Slipping your hand out of his grasp, your palms instead reach up to cup his face. His smile fades into parted lips and bated breath as your thumbs rub against abrasive stubble. You don’t think you’ve ever seen his eyes dilate so wide before. “Such a good boy, aren’t you?”

“Ah try tae be,” he swallows.

“I know you do.”

It takes an eternity for your lips to meet his. Just when you think you’ve halved the distance, it only grows, and you’re unsure if it’s because of the scream of betrayal in your chest, or something worse. He groans when your bodies finally reunite, and you play into the fantasy his sick brain is infested with. Precious Bonnie. So supple and pliant in his hands. If only he knew you were this soft because muscles cannot properly tense around broken bones.

You pull Johnny onto the recliner by his collar, but you ensure you’re the one to land on top. Legs spreading wide to accommodate his thighs, your knees squish into the sides of the arm rests, sending journals and pencils flying to the ground. When he paws at your chest again, you bite back the urge to push him away. To slice your nails through the back of his hand. Fingers pressing into tender flesh, he stares up at you like he’s finally able to feel the heart beating beneath his palms.

“You wanna fuck me?” Those words sting on the way out, but you attempt to distract yourself from the pain as you grind down onto Johnny’s lap. He nods, hips pathetically bucking up. “Yeah? Ask me, then.”

Thick brows pinch together as he parts his lips. It’s as if his request is on the tip of his tongue, but his hands have a mind of their own. Wandering. Grabbing. Pinching.

“No,” you chastise. “Use your words, Johnny.”

“Please. Please, Bonnie.” It’s pathetic. He says the words like he’s speaking to Simon.

“Good boy,” you coo. “Gentle now. Gentle, Johnny.”

He fumbles with the fly of his jeans, all too eager. His cock hardly has time to spring free before he’s already making a mess. Precum drips everywhere, staining the band of your shorts as his reddened tip slaps against you. Too worried about keeping your power, you don’t bother to properly remove your clothes. Instead, you move the gusset of your shorts and panties to the side before sinking down onto him. This has to be quick. You promise yourself it will be.

All the while, you remind Johnny to be gentle, gentle, gentle.

Even when you’re in control, it still hurts. There’s that stretch and sting as you split yourself open, but you take it slow. Steady. Unlike Johnny, you allow yourself to adjust. He’s panting beneath you by the time you fully take him. You feel so full of rot it upsets your stomach, but you try to mask your trembling with a gentle rock of your hips. His moan is cacophonous, and your fingers itch to dig into his throat and render his vocal chords useless, but you relent.

Always, always relenting.

There is an intense appetency for blood that itches in the back of your mind. Even as you fake your moans and rock your hips, you want to take your hands and dig. Fingers piercing through flesh, cutting through bone; you wouldn’t stop until Johnny’s heart is in the palm of your hands. Still beating. Still fresh. You could squeeze it for an eternity and it still would only be a fraction of the pain you’ve been made to endure.

You hate him. You hate him like a mother hates her daughter. Like how eyes hate mirrors. How the sun hates flesh.

“Johnny?” you choke out. “Do you love me?”

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, mouth stuck open as he stares up at you. “Aye. So much, Bonnie.”

“Yeah? So you’d do anything for me?” you challenge. You try not to wince as he butts up against your cervix, but you know you can’t afford to stop.

“Aye.”

“Anything I ask?”

“Anythin’ ye ask. Fuck, Bonnie A’m-”

“I love you, Johnny.” It’s acid. Pure bile on your tongue. You nearly choke on the words, but you repeat them again. “I love you so much.”

You hide your face in the crook of his neck when he comes. Thick fingers dig into your hips as you hold still, allowing him to spill his seed inside of you like he always does. His pulse throbs against your lips and you restrain the urge to take the artery into your maw and bite down. There’s nothing in your mouth but pathetic, brittle teeth. You don’t even think you could break through his skin. Still, you dream of it. Running the tips of your fingers along Johnny’s jaw, you yearn for a day when you have the weapons and tools to free yourself. It’s a long, agonizing process. One you’re not sure you have the patience for.

And so, when you lean back to look at him, you stare at his lips. Soak up the way the delicate skin parts as he smiles up at you, allowing you to catch sight of his teeth. You might not have sharp canines, but he does. You know first hand the way they can dig into your lip and draw blood from skin. Fingers twitching, you yearn to pull the canines from his mouth, to wield them for yourself, but you know you’re not strong enough.

But maybe, someday, you can be the guiding hand. Point a finger and say go fetch and have Simon’s head delivered to you. That day is too far over the horizon for you to view, but the vision of it is so clear in your mind that it’s enough for now. Right now, you’ve taken the first step.

“Good boy,” you croon as you thumb over his bottom lip. “Good boy, Johnny.”

You’ll just have to keep walking.

#ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader #pet!au #tmtiv #f!reader #dead dove

345 notes · View notes

velarisdusk · 26 days

Text

Burning Desire

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Series Masterlist Part 4 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 6 - TBD!

word count: 17k (AAAAA?)

content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, BDSM, power dynamics, bondage, gags, sensory deprivation, pain play, spanking, paddling, flogging, begging, degradation, praise | infidelity, emotional infidelity, explicit language, alcohol, drinking, smoking (cigarettes, marijuana), bitches are fake as fuck, bad rebound choices, i.e. casually fucking someone who you KNOW has had an actual crush on you for years and not caring, the Vanserra family is a loving one in this he deserves happiness ]

summary: In a depression following being caught cheating, a troubling phone call brings a harsh revelation. Distraught and in need of comfort, you turn to Eris, who's been trying to reach out since that night. He provides the emotional and physical escape you need.

author's note: oh. my. god. i've been working on this for what feels like a decade i feel like years have been taken off of my life. school has been killer (negative), writing this was killer (positive), and i hope you enjoy >:)

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks of rotting in bed, drowning in self-pity, and starting your days with cigarettes and bottles of rum. Over a week ago, you threw your phone into the drawer of your nightstand, barely resisting the urge to post a pity-filled story for your close friends. Before you essentially vanished, you noticed texts from Feyre and Mor. That was nothing out of the ordinary, but you didn't read them, dreading their content. Were they upset? Angry? What did they think of you? Were the messages even about the situation? You couldn't say if they knew or not.

You also received messages from Az, Eris, and Tarquin. Their concern surprised you, figuring that bro code would have outranked you on the list of priorities. But then, were they even still talking? If you were Cassian, you’d probably cut off all communication.

It was a complicated situation. They all worked together and had for years. They couldn’t just walk away; they were bound by contracts. You wondered how practice was faring if it was even happening. By now, they must have realized that Cassian wasn’t speaking to you. Whether they kept things private or shared the news with Feyre, Mor, or anyone else, you had no idea. You hoped they had the sense not to all come downstairs at once after your departure with Cassian. But even if they were careful, it must have been noticeable when they started reappearing suddenly.

Two weeks of these thoughts hurtling through your mind.

You haven’t told your mother why you showed up disheveled at her door in the night. How could you? You couldn’t bear to face her after admitting what you’ve done.

But as the hours stretch endlessly, a surge of loneliness (only the latest of many) finally drives you to your phone. You respond to the texts from Azriel and Tarquin, reassuring them that you’re as fine as you can be. When you open the text thread with Eris, you’re caught off guard.

Hey, just checking in. How are you holding up?

If you need someone to talk to I’m around. Seriously.

Look, I get that it might seem weird coming from me, but I’m genuinely concerned. No strings, I just want to make sure you’re okay.

I’m not trying to pry, but isolation doesn’t help. If you need a break from everything, my line’s always open.

You sit there, staring at the string of messages, each one making you feel a little more seen, a little more cared for. You aren’t even sure you want to acknowledge that right now. It’s almost too much, the kindness wrapped in Eris’ words, especially when everything else feels like it’s crumbling around you.

But Eris’ texts… they’re a lifeline, a small thread of connection in a sea of isolation. You pick up your phone again, reading through the messages once more, feeling the sincerity behind them. The idea of responding, of reaching out, is both comforting and terrifying. But the thought of facing all of this alone, of letting it continue to eat away at you in silence, is somehow worse.

Your fingers start to move, typing out a response before you can second-guess yourself.

you’re not prying, thanks for checking in. captain morgan’s been keeping me company lmfao

No sooner do you turn your phone off and toss it onto the bed beside you does the screen light up again with a buzz. That was fast.

Sounds like he’s good company, but maybe not the best listener. How about a real conversation instead?

You can almost hear the playful tone in his words, a lightness that cuts through the heavy fog of your thoughts. It’s enough to make you smile, just a little, even as the weight of everything else still hangs over you.

Another buzz and his next message appears.

Seriously, if you want to talk, my door’s open. No pressure, just an offer.

You can tell he’s trying to strike a balance, not pushing it too hard but still getting through your head that he’s there. It’s disarming in a way, and it leaves you wondering if maybe, just maybe, you should take him up on that offer.

thanks eris, i might take you up on that. it’s just… a lot rn, yknow?

There’s a pause, the seconds ticking by as you wait for his reply. You don’t have to wait long, and it’s as straightforward a reply as you expected.

I get it. You didn’t make the mess alone, just wanted you to know you don’t have to deal with it alone. And if you want to get out of your place for a bit, my offer still stands. You can even invite the captain as your plus one if that helps.

You smile at that, a small huff of amusement escaping you. The thought of getting out of your old childhood bedroom, of not being surrounded by the same four walls that have seen you at your lowest, is more appealing than you’d like to admit. Maybe a change of scenery, and the chance to talk things out with someone, would help.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you think about how to respond. Part of you wants to dive in and take him up on the offer right away, but another part of you hesitates, unsure how it would look if Cassian found out. You decide to keep things simple. You don’t respond.

Without paying any mind to the countless social media, text, and call notifications from your other friends, you open your texts with Nesta and make a FaceTime call. The thought of her blunt honesty is a small comfort in your otherwise bleak current existence.

Her face appears on the screen, and though her expression is one of surprise and concern, you can’t help but feel a twinge of relief.

“Where’ve you been? You look…”

She trails off, her eyes narrowing as she takes in your appearance. You glance at yourself in the small window at the top corner of the screen. Your eyes are puffy and red, your face is pale, and the bags under your eyes seem darker than ever.

“Talk to me,” Nesta says, her voice gentle but firm, as if trying to cut through the fog of your despair.

You draw a deep breath, the weight of your emotions pressing heavily on your chest. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice trembling. “Everything feels like it’s falling apart. I’m a fucking mess.”

Nesta’s gaze softens further, her concern palpable. She leans in slightly, her tone soothing yet resolute. “You can tell me whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m here.”

The hesitation is palpable as you search for the right words, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. Finally, you find the courage to confess. “I messed up, Nesta. I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve ruined everything.”

Nesta’s expression tightens, her eyes flicking to something off-screen for a moment before she returns her focus to you. She runs a hand through her hair, a sigh escaping her lips as she gathers her thoughts. “Just... try to explain what happened.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions before asking, “Do you know what’s been going on?”

Nesta’s gaze momentarily shifts away, a flicker of something you can’t quite read passing over her face. “I’ve heard bits and pieces,” she begins, her tone deliberately vague. “But I’d rather hear it from you.”

Sensing her evasiveness, you decide to give her a broad overview. You explain the guilt and confusion you're feeling, how everything seemed to unravel and make the situation worse than you could have imagined. You describe the betrayal and the weight of not knowing how to mend things. By the time you’ve caught her up, your words are coming out through hysterical cries and gasps for air between sobs.

Nesta listens quietly, absorbing the emotional weight of your words. Her expression reflects a mix of sympathy and contemplation as she processes the gravity of what you’ve shared.

“I broke that boundary to hell, Nesta. I ruined everything.” Your voice trembles with the weight of your confession, the words feeling like a leaden anchor pulling you down.

Nesta’s brows knit together, her concern deepening as she tilts her head slightly. “What boundary…?” she asks, her tone gentle yet probing, as if trying to piece together the fragments of your unraveling story.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breath, but a sniffle escapes you. “They’ve all been pretty flirty with me since the beginning, and Cassian and I… we decided early on that we didn’t mind it?” You pause, glancing down at your hands as you fidget with the red scrunchie around your wrist, twisting the fabric between your fingers. “So we’d just let them like… make comments… touch up on me a little–”

A sudden, sharp gasp crackles through the phone speaker, cutting through your words like a knife. Your eyes narrow as you stare at the screen in confusion. That sound hadn’t come from Nesta; you’d been watching her intently this whole time, and her lips hadn’t moved.

You furrow your brows, your heart quickening with unease. “What was that? Is there someone there with you?” you ask, trying to keep the edge of suspicion out of your voice, but failing.

But her face is the image of calm, save for the confusion in her furrowed brows. “Huh? Oh, it was just the TV,” she says, quickly flipping her phone around to show you the screen. The shaky camera reveals a reality show playing in the background, the exaggerated drama of strangers’ lives filling the awkward silence.

But your gut tells you something’s off. The way her hand shook just a little as she moved the phone, the tension still lingering in her posture. It all feels wrong. Despite her attempt to brush it off, the seed of doubt has been planted, taking root in the back of your mind.

Nesta flips the phone back to face her, and her voice is smooth and encouraging as she speaks. “So, what are you going to do? Are you going to talk to him?”

You hesitate, letting out a sigh as you rub your temple. “I don’t know. I’m scared of what he’ll say, or worse... what he won’t say. I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of rejection, Nesta.”

She nods slowly, her expression softening into one of understanding. “You have to do what feels right for you, but running away won’t make it any easier in the long run. I know it’s—and I’m sorry to say this—your fault, but you still deserve to know where things stand, even if it’s hard to face.”

You shift uncomfortably, the weight of her words pressing down on you. “I know, I just... I need time to think. To figure out what I want, what I’ll do.”

Nesta listens patiently, offering her quiet support as you continue to spill your thoughts. The conversation drifts from your immediate fears to the what-ifs. She shares some of her own experiences, her voice a mix of tough love and genuine care, giving you just enough space to feel heard without feeling judged.

The minutes tick by, and soon you find yourself leaning back into the pillows, the exhaustion creeping in. You talk about other things too, and an hour passes before you even realize it, the conversation winding down naturally, both of you running out of things to say. It’s a comfortable silence now, a brief respite from the storm of emotions you’ve been weathering.

“I should let you go,” you finally say, your voice soft. “Thanks for listening, Nes. I... I needed this.”

Nesta smiles, a touch of warmth breaking through her usual stoic demeanor. “Anytime. You know I’m here for you.”

You nod, feeling a little lighter, if only for a moment. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

As you move to end the call, you hear it—faint, but unmistakable. A voice, muffled but clear enough to make out the words: “No way–”

Your heart skips a beat, but before you can react, the call disconnects, leaving you staring at the screen, that single phrase echoing in your mind. The voice wasn’t Nesta’s, and it sure as hell didn’t come from the TV. You know that voice. It’s familiar in a way that makes your stomach churn, your pulse quicken. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

It was Elain’s. You’re sure of it. You sit there for a moment, phone still in hand, your mind racing. But why would she be there hidden from view? Why wouldn’t she just say hello or at least make her presence known? The questions tumble over each other, forming a gnawing pit of unease in your gut.

Then, like pieces of a puzzle snapping together, the thought hits you: Elain was listening in, but she didn’t want you to know she was there. The secrecy, the way Nesta quickly tried to cover it up. It wasn’t just about eavesdropping. No, it felt intentional, like Elain was trying to gain insight into your situation with Cassian. Your breath catches in your throat as the implications sink in. A cold, hard truth begins to crystallize in your mind. She wanted to know the details because it mattered to her. It mattered because she’s involved—because she and Cassian are…

You don’t want to finish the thought, but it’s there, undeniable and ugly. Elain and Cassian. It explains the secrecy, the way Nesta tried to protect her, and the sickening feeling gnawing at your insides.

The weight of it is almost unbearable, pressing down on you as you sit there, phone in hand, processing the cruel truth that’s just come to light. Elain and Cassian. How? Why? You never saw any sign in their interactions before. The bitterness of the revelation is a sharp, relentless edge in your chest — you need to do something, anything, to shake off this feeling.

You push yourself up from the bed with a determined resolve, your mind racing with anger and the need to reclaim some sense of control. First things first: you need to wash off the remnants of the last two weeks, the sweat and guilt that cling to you.

The hot water of the shower is a welcome relief against your skin, and you let the steam envelop you, trying to wash away the emotions churning inside. You lather up, scrubbing away the sweat and liquor and cigarette smoke, letting the water run over you until you feel clean, both physically and mentally. You stand under the spray, letting the water cascade down your body as if it could cleanse the memories away. When you’re done, you run a comb through your hair, detangling the wet strands with care before blow-drying and styling it, every strand perfectly in place and your arms sore by the time you’re done.

You reach for your phone, fingers hovering over the screen as you debate your next move. Finally, with a deep breath, you type out a message to Eris:

you still up for company?

It’s simple, to the point, and carries the weight of everything you’re feeling right now. Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, but you hit send before you can overthink it, nerves and anticipation bubbling in your chest. As you wait for his reply, you glance at yourself in the mirror, taking in the freshly styled hair, and the clean skin. You look entirely different than you did this morning. You’re someone in control, someone who knows what she wants. Your phone buzzes.

Absolutely. I’ll swing by and pick you up.

You weren’t expecting that, but you don’t hesitate before replying with the address. His response is swift.

See you in 15.

Your eyes linger on the screen, absorbing his words as you double-tap and leave a heart his message. Something is grounding about the certainty in his response. No hesitation, no questions, just action. You set your phone down and take one last look in the mirror, a quiet determination settling in your chest. He’ll be here soon, and you have just enough time to get dressed.

You see Eris pulling up through your window, the white Jaguar rolling to a stop, and you take a deep breath before heading toward the door. As you walk down the driveway towards him, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the car’s window. Jean shorts and a hand-cropped t-shirt—casual and understated.

Eris’s eyes meet yours as you approach the car, his expression softening with concern. There’s no sign of the smirk you usually see on his face. Just a steady gaze that feels sincere. He leans over the center console and opens the door for you, a simple gesture, but one that makes your heart feel lighter.

As you settle into the passenger seat, you set your tote bag down in the footwell. It holds a mostly full bottle of Captain Morgan, a pack of Newports, some gum, and a lighter you grabbed on your way out.

Eris’s eyes flick to the neck of the bottle sticking out of the bag before he asks, “Bringing the party with you?”

You shrug, offering a faint smile. “You did say I was allowed a plus one.”

He nods, his tone softening. “That I did... You okay?” he asks, pulling away from the curb.

You glance at him, a bit surprised at the shift from teasing to concern. “Not really,” you admit quietly.

Eris gives a small nod, his eyes still on the road. “Could’ve guessed the answer, huh?” he remarks, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

You offer a wry smile and a quiet “yeah.” You glance out the window as the sunlight reflects off passing buildings. “But I figured getting out of the house might not hurt. What were you thinking of doing?”

Eris keeps his eyes on the road. “I can swing by somewhere if you need to grab something or,” he pauses, a sly grin forming. “Or if you’re up for unwinding a bit…”

You raise an eyebrow, catching the playful glint in his eye. “What are you suggesting?”

He shrugs, one hand gripping the steering wheel casually. “We could stop by my plug’s place and pick something up, if you’re looking to take the edge off. He’s got some good shit.”

You lean back in your seat, considering his offer. The idea of numbing your mind with something other than liquor is very tempting. You glance at Eris, his casual demeanor giving nothing away, but you can sense that beneath the surface, he’s paying close attention to your reaction.

You nod, feeling a sense of resolve settling in. “Let’s do it. I could use a change of pace.”

Eris keeps his eyes on the road, but there’s a flicker of approval in them. “Alright, then,” he says with a grin, shifting lanes smoothly as he changes direction. His hands move with practiced ease, one gripping the steering wheel and the other shifting gears with effortless precision. You glance up from your phone just in time to see him reach into the center console. He pulls out a sleek pack of Dunhills, taps one out, and lights it with a quick flick of his lighter.

The cigarette sits casually between his lips, its ember glowing softly as its smoke curls lazily around him. “Want a cig?” he asks, his tone casual as he cracks his window.

You hesitate for a moment, then nod, reaching out for the cigarette sticking out of the pack. Eris passes it to you with a small knowing smile, his eyes flicking briefly to meet yours before returning to the road and lowering your window for you. You take a drag, the smoke filling your lungs and momentarily dulling the edges of your lingering unease. It’s quite the difference from the menthol kick of your usual Newports. The flavor is richer, with a deep, earthy undertone that’s almost woody. It feels more refined, less about the immediate hit, and more about a lingering, sophisticated aftertaste. You exhale, the smoke curling in the air, and the taste leaves a warmth that’s oddly comforting.

“Helps, doesn’t it?” he glances at you, a touch of curiosity in his gaze.

You exhale slowly, watching the smoke get pulled out the window. “A little… Thanks,” you say, and you both know it isn’t just for the cigarette.

Eris nods, his grin widening slightly. “Anytime. We’ve got a bit of a drive, so just get comfortable. We’ll hit the place soon.”

You settle back as Eris merges onto the highway. The sun is high, casting a warm light over the passing scenery. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the classic rock on the radio make for a relaxing ride. You gaze out the window, watching the landscape shift as the car speeds along. After finishing your cigarette, you hold onto the butt, not willing to litter. Eris is focused on the road, so you just hold onto it, unsure what else to do.

A few minutes later, Eris chuckles and glances over, eyebrow raised. “Were you going to hold onto it the whole ride? Come on, you can’t be serious.”

You give a small laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I wasn’t going to throw it out the window.”

Eris smirks, his eyes flicking to the cigarette butt in your hand. “Just give it to me.”

He reaches over, fingers brushing against your wrist as he tries to take it from you. But you’re quicker, pulling your hand away with a playful glare. “No!” you protest, holding the butt out of his reach. “You’re gonna throw it out the window!”

His grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans closer, making another grab for it. “I won’t, I promise.” And for some reason, you believe him.

He takes the cigarette butt from your fingers and, with a practiced motion, opens the center console and undoes the locking mechanism on a glass jar. He drops it in, the jar already filled with likely a pack’s worth. The jar seals with a soft click, likely why you hadn’t noticed any lingering smell before. He shuts the jar and console, his attention never wavering from the road.

The smell-proof jar, not even considering littering, doing it all while keeping his eyes on the road—it’s the kind of thing that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

The drive stretches on with the radio playing softly in the background. You watch the scenery blur past as the car weaves effortlessly through traffic. With the windows still cracked, you catch a glimpse of Eris’s auburn hair tousled by the breeze. The sun casts long shadows across the highway, and you find a strange comfort in the steady rhythm of the drive. Eventually, Eris slows the car, steering off the main road and into a sleek, gated driveway. The place is an upscale, modern mansion with neatly trimmed hedges. Not what you expected. He parks near the entrance and turns to you with a casual smile.

“I’ll leave the car running,” he says. “Lock up, I’ll be quick.”

You nod, watching as he gets out and heads toward the front door. The gate closes behind him with a gentle click, leaving you alone in the plush interior of the car. After a few minutes, Eris reappears with a small, discreet bag in his pocket. He slips back into the driver’s seat, the bag placed neatly into the center console.

The car pulls out of the driveway, and Eris’s eyes flick toward you as he navigates the streets with practiced ease.

“Any special spots in mind, or are you up for anywhere?” he asks, the hint of a grin in his voice.

You shrug, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Nah, yours is fine.”

He gives a teasing scoff, putting a hand on his chest as he speaks. “My place is special, (y/n), you wound me.”

His words pull a genuine laugh from you. It really wasn’t that funny, but hearing your name on his tongue so casually stirs a nervous flutter in your chest.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Besides the view, or the pool, or the game room?” he pauses for dramatic effect, lowering his voice to a murmur. “Yours, truly.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what makes you so special?”

Eris lets out a soft laugh, his gaze flicking to you before returning to the road. “Well, I’ve been told I’ve got a talent for making things unforgettable.”

“Someone’s got a massive ego.”

He grins, his eyes glinting with confidence. “Guilty as charged. You like it though.”

You roll your eyes at that, unable to keep the smile from creeping onto your face any longer. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Ah, you didn’t deny it. I’ll take it.”

“You’re impossible,” you laugh softly, shaking your head.

As the highway fades into the background, the road before you begins to wind through lush greenery. The towering trees start to crowd in, their canopies forming a dappled, sunlit tunnel. Fields of wildflowers stretch out on either side. The road curves gently, revealing glimpses of a large, elegant house nestled among the trees, its silhouette framed by the tranquil lake shimmering in the late afternoon light.

When you step inside, the first thing you notice is how effortlessly cool the place feels—like it’s been designed with a blend of sophistication and laid-back charm. The living room is spacious and airy, with large windows that let in plenty of natural light, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden floors. The furniture is a mix of sleek modern pieces and cozy, oversized cushions that invite you to sink in and relax.

Eris heads over to a low cabinet and retrieves a small grinder and some neatly rolled-up papers from a hidden drawer. He moves with casual confidence, clearly in his element. You couldn’t help but wonder how many women he’d invited here for a smoke before you, having to remind yourself that this wasn’t that. You’re here as a friend who needs an attentive ear.

“So,” he says, flashing a grin as he begins grinding the weed, “what do you think of the place?”

You settle into the sofa, taking in the room’s ambiance. The walls are adorned with tasteful art, and the scent of cedarwood and something subtly herbal fills the air. It’s inviting.

“Not bad, huh?” Eris continues, leaning against the cabinet and looking down at the papers in his hand.

You chuckle, glancing around. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

His eyes dart up to meet yours, a playful, mock-surprised smile on his face. “Crazy…” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Oh come on, you know it’s a nice place. I'm not gonna shower you with more compliments than you need.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he sits on the couch, starting on the joint. The sound of the grinder and the rustle of the papers are the background to your conversation. “Fair enough. But before we get too cozy with this,” he nods toward his work, “let’s talk. I’d rather hear how you’re really doing.”

You hesitate, feeling a bit vulnerable all of a sudden. “I don’t know if I can get through it all sober.”

Eris looks at you with a soft, reassuring smile, his fingers pausing briefly as they work the paper. “Just try.”

For a moment, you’re silent, the sound of the grinder filling the space between you. You look around the room, at the art on the walls, the low light casting a warm glow over everything. It’s easier to focus on that than on the storm inside your head.

But then you find his gaze again, and the quiet concern in his eyes makes something inside you crack, just a little. "It’s just… everything’s been so overwhelming lately," you begin, your voice soft. "I keep making these choices that… I don't know how to explain it… I’m digging myself into a deep, deep hole. And I don’t know how to get out." You hesitate as you try to find the right words. “It’s just… I don’t even know why I let it happen. I mean, I love Cassian, he’s everything to me. But every time I’m with you,” the words catch in your throat, and you quickly clarify, “with all of you, I mean… I feel like I’m losing myself, like I’m just drifting through all of it without thinking. It’s like I’m not even in control anymore.”

Your voice trembles as the floodgates open, the words spilling out faster than you can stop them. “And the guilt… it’s eating me alive. Every time I’d see Cassian, it was like I was drowning in it. When we went to sleep at night, when he’d kiss me, when we cooked dinner, when he’d tell me he loves me and I said it back with a straight face, knowing what I’ve done… I keep asking myself why I did it, why I kept doing it, but I don’t have an answer. I don’t even know if I’m looking for one or if I’m just trying to justify something that can’t be justified.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of it all is too much. “I thought I could handle it, that I could keep everything separate, but it’s all tangled up now. I’m tangled up. And I don’t know how to fix it, or if I even can.” You pause, swallowing hard as you try to gather your thoughts. Focusing on how methodically he rolls the joint is the only way you can keep from crying. “The past couple of weeks have been a nightmare,” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every day feels like I’m just… going through the motions. I wake up, and for a split second, everything’s fine. But then it all comes crashing back, and I remember what I’ve done. It’s like this constant weight on my chest, and I can’t breathe.”

There’s a heavy silence as you finish, the room feeling almost too quiet. You glance at Eris, the exhaustion in your eyes reflecting your need for a break from the emotional turmoil. “I can’t keep talking about this right now,” you say, your voice wavering slightly. “I just need to… I don’t know.”

Eris nods, a knowing look in his eyes. “Yeah, I got you,” He stands up, moving with a relaxed confidence, and heads towards the kitchen. You watch him, feeling a small flicker of relief at the prospect of a distraction. He returns with two glasses of ice, setting them down on the coffee table before lighting the joint and pointing towards your bag for the rum. When you reach to pour the drinks, he gently takes the bottle from you, pouring them himself.

You take the glass when he offers it, the alcohol warming your insides and helping to dull the sharp edges of your thoughts. Eris hands you the joint, a small, encouraging smile on his lips. “Here’s to a temporary escape,” he says, his tone lighter now.

You take a slow drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs and the effects of the alcohol and weed start to mingle in your system. The combination is soothing, and you feel the tension begin to ease. As the minutes pass, you can feel the fog of intoxication settling in, and your thoughts become less jagged.

A while later, the room is darker now, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp on the side table. The drinks are empty and the bottle of rum you brought stands proudly, and emptily, in the center of the table. The joint is long finished, and the conversation has shifted from heavy to light. You and Eris are more relaxed on the couch, and the air is filled with more classic rock, the remnants of laughter, and the gentle hum of your voices.

You lean back, feeling pleasantly buzzed, the haze of the alcohol and weed wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth. Eris is sitting right next to you, his leg pressed against yours, his hand resting casually on the cushion next to you. The shared warmth and comfortable silence between you feel natural.

“You know,” you say, your voice slightly slurred but lighthearted, “I didn’t think I’d find myself here tonight, like this. But... I’m glad I did.”

Eris glances over at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sometimes the unexpected turns out to be the best part of the night.”

You chuckle softly, the sound mingling with the music playing in the background. “Yeah, it’s funny how things work out. I definitely needed this more than I realized.”

He nods, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “It’s good to let go now and then. Just don’t forget there’s still shit to unpack when you’re ready.”

You let out a deep sigh, your gaze drifting around the dimly lit room. There’s a moment of hesitation as the weight of your earlier conversation looms on the edge of your thoughts. The alcohol and weed have softened the edges, but the heaviness is still there.

Eris shifts slightly, his hand moving a bit closer in the process. Whether it was intentional or not, you don’t know. “You know,” he says gently, “it’s not every day you find someone willing to listen without judgment. You should take advantage of that.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the pressure build behind your eyes. “Cassian… he’s been nothing but loving, nothing but kind to me. And it kills me, Eris. It kills me to look at him and know that I’ve betrayed him in the worst possible way. Multiple times.” You feel the lump in your throat as you continue, the warmth of the alcohol making it easier to let your words flow. “I keep trying to think of ways to fix it, to find some sort of answer or way to redeem myself. But...” Your eyes search the dim room as if trying to find some clarity in the shadows.

“I keep going over every moment, every decision, wondering where things went so fucking wrong. It’s like replaying a movie where I know the ending is tragic, but I can’t look away. I did this shit to myself…

“The hardest part is that he saw everything. He didn’t even need me to confess; he saw it with his own eyes. And everytime I replay that night, I think about how coldly he looked at me. He’s never looked at me like that before. Not that I don’t deserve it.” You glance at Eris, the weight of your emotions clear in your eyes. “I’m trapped in this cycle of guilt and regret, and it’s suffocating. I don’t even know what I’m looking for anymore—whether it’s forgiveness, understanding, or just a way to get rid of all this guilt. The thought of facing Cass again… God, I can’t…”

Eris’s eyes narrow slightly as he takes it all in, draping an arm across the back of the couch. You aren’t quite close enough for it to wrap around you.

You mentally chastise yourself for wishing you were. Thinking like that is what got you into this mess.

His voice is low but steady when he speaks. “You’re human. You made choices. Bad ones, sure, but it doesn’t make you a monster.” He pauses, his gaze intense. “It’s easy to get lost in guilt. But you’re not doing anyone any favors by going MIA. Especially not Cassian.”

You scoff. “Cass doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“How are you so sure?” he asks, his fingers drumming lightly against the couch, the rhythm steady and patient, unlike the chaos unleashed in your mind by the simple question.

The Facetime with Nesta shoves itself to the forefront of your mind as if your subconscious has been holding it back all this time. You’d heard Elain’s voice in the background, imagined her laughter mingling with Cassian’s, imagined him sharing her breath, his tongue deep in—

The thought hit you like a sucker punch, just as the air had been knocked out of your lungs the moment you’d put the pieces together.

“I’m pretty sure Cassian is fucking Elain,” you blurt out, your voice shaking with the weight of the confession.

Eris’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes sharpen. “Why do you think that?” he asks calmly, though there’s a new edge to his voice.

You swallow hard, the memory still raw. “When I was on a call with Nesta, I heard Elain in the background. She was trying to listen in on me ranting about this all to Nesta… She didn’t even say hi to me, didn’t let me know she was there. Why would she do that unless she was hiding something?”

Eris raises an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but curious. “You might be reading too much into this,” he says, but the sharpness of your gaze makes him backtrack quickly. “Alright, alright, I didn’t mean it like that. Just… how are you so sure they’re involved?”

You exhale sharply, frustration evident. “Cassian is incredibly vindictive in bed,” you say, thinking back to all the times he’d gone hard on you just for catching you making eyes at one of the guys. “I’ve been through his friends, I’d be more shocked if he didn’t try to go through mine.”

Eris’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Most of his friends.” He doesn’t elaborate but the implication is clear. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but it’s not always best to assume the worst.”

A fleeting thought crosses your mind. Eris is right. You and he never crossed that line, despite the heated moments over the years, despite the events the night of Ianthe’s party. If Cassian is dropping you off on your mom’s doorstep just to go after your friends, maybe it’s time for you to stop moping around and start embracing some fun yourself. Why should you sit at home and stew when he’s out there doing who knows what? Who knows who? For all you knew, Nesta had fucked him too. And, honestly, Eris doesn’t look half bad in that black, fitted t-shirt and tailored jeans, the thin silver chain around his neck glinting in the low light. There’s a roguish charm about him, just as there’s always been. It’s something that makes him undeniably tempting.

You look down at your lap with a sigh, a feigned sadness in your eyes, and a playful pout on your lips. “Well, if Cassian’s going to do whatever he wants, maybe I should too.” You look up, letting your gaze linger on him, lowering to his lips before meeting his eyes again.

Eris’s eyes flicker with surprise, but he maintains his cool as he raises a brow. “Is this where we’re headed now? I thought we were in the middle of something a bit more serious.”

You scoot closer to him, close enough for the hand on the back of the couch to rest on your shoulder if he wanted it to. “Maybe I’m tired of pitying myself. Or maybe I’m feeling adventurous.” A glint of mischief sparkles in your eyes before you slip back into your act.

Eris chuckles, a faint smile curling his lips. “A distraction, huh? You know that won’t fix anything.”

You shrug, maintaining your demeanor. “Who says it has to be about fixing anything? Sometimes a little distraction is just what you need,” you level. Tired of the theatrics, you scoot even closer and grab that god-forsaken hand, placing it gently on the back of your neck.

Eris’s fingers linger there, his expression shifting from playful to intrigued before he traces soft patterns on your skin. “Is that right? And here I thought you were just looking for a friendly ear.”

You lean closer, your voice dropping to a softer, more flirtatious tone. “You mean to tell me you didn’t have any other intentions? Not a single fleeting thought?”

Eris’s gaze drops to your lips, his eyes narrowing with intrigue. “So, what are you suggesting? Are we breaking some rules tonight?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, something like that. A night of enjoyment. No strings attached, just...”

Your words trail off as you close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a slow, heated kiss. His hand grips the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. It starts slow, almost exploratory, but quickly deepens as you both lose yourselves in the moment. The taste of liquor lingers on his tongue, a heady mix of rum and something uniquely Eris. You savor it, letting the alcohol-infused warmth of the kiss sweep over you. Your lips move against his with increasing urgency, and you gently tug at his lower lip, pulling him closer.

Eris’s hand tightens around the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair as he angles his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue meets yours with a bold, almost possessive stroke, and you pull back just slightly, your breath mingling with his. Your eyes lock, the heat still palpable between you. “I like the taste of you,” you murmur, a playful glint in your eyes.

He exhales, a low, throaty sound that’s part groan, part sigh, as if you’re unraveling him with every word, every touch. It’s the kind of sound that sends a shiver through you, making you feel like you’ve got him right where you want him. His eyes darken with desire and amusement before he leans back in to capture your lips again. This time, the kiss is more intense, a dance of passion and need. His hands roam to your waist, pulling you even closer. The world outside seems to fade away as you both lose yourselves in each other.

Eris’s lips trail down to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You arch into him, the sensation of his touch making you shiver. You let out a soft moan as he kisses a sensitive spot just below your ear, making your pulse race. You’re left feeling lightheaded from the drinks and the smoke, and every touch, every caress feels electrifying. His hands slide up to your back, pulling you tighter against him, if possible.

His lips return to yours, and this time, the kiss is unrestrained, filled with a raw, urgent need. You can feel the strength in his arms, the way he holds you close, as if afraid that letting go might make this moment slip away. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze smoldering. There’s a breathless pause, the intensity of the moment hanging between you. “You said you were feeling adventurous,” he says, and you shrug. “How adventurous?” His voice is low and his words are laced with an intensity that wasn’t there before.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound almost breathless from the heated kiss. “You’re not planning on taking me out back and murdering me, are you?” you joke, looking out the large windows at the sea of tree silhouettes around you.

Eris’s lips curl into a half-smile. “Well, I hadn’t thought of it, but now that you mention it…”

You nudge him playfully, your smile widening.

Eris’s expression turns serious again, though the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I promise, nothing like that. But I do have something in mind that might be a bit… beyond what you’re used to.”

You look into his eyes, feeling a mix of anticipation and excitement. “I sincerely doubt that,” you say, your voice steady. You’ve had more than your fair share of sexual escapades, indulging in all kinds of experiences in past relationships. And with Cassian, the bedroom was never without a spark—rarely did things stay simple.

Eris’s eyes brighten with satisfaction. “Good to hear.”

He stands and grabs another joint he’d rolled earlier, offering you a hand to help you up. You take it with a playful smile and follow him.

The music fades as you follow Eris down a short flight of steps. The hallway is lined with eclectic art and framed photos. One with Eris surrounded by a bunch of dogs, a grin on his face that’s more genuine than you’ve ever seen. Another with the Vipers, his arm slung casually around Azriel, all of their faces flushed with victory. You have to talk yourself out of paying too much attention to Cassian in that one. There’s even one of him with who you assume is his family, standing in front of a cabin, all smiles and warmth. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before, and it makes you see him in a different light—one that’s more personal, more real.

At the end of the hall, a large bookshelf stands against the wall. Eris pauses, throwing you a sly glance before reaching for one of the books. He pulls it, then pushes the bookshelf open, revealing a short set of steps leading down into a hidden space below. How cliché.

“After you,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to step inside.

You look at him with creased eyebrows, to which he only gestures his arm in again. You find a lounge, set slightly lower than the rest of the house, with five or so steps leading down into it. The room is richly decorated, with dark wood paneling, plush seating, and warm, ambient lighting that adds to the intimate, secluded atmosphere.

Eris follows you inside, closing the bookshelf door behind him. The room is completely private, a hidden sanctuary within his home. He steps closer, holding the joint he rolled earlier between his fingers. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of quiet pride.

You take a moment to absorb the space, your eyes drifting over the rich details—the king-size bed on the far wall, the soft glow of the lighting, the floor-to-ceiling mirror on one wall, the smooth texture of the dark wood, the way the room seems to envelop you in warmth. It's intimate without being suffocating, luxurious without feeling ostentatious. You notice cabinets discreetly integrated into the walls, their contents hidden behind polished doors. A smirk tugs at your lips as you turn to face him. “I can honestly say I wouldn’t have expected this from you, Eris. A sex dungeon? Really?”

Eris arches a brow, looking mildly offended. “Dungeon? That’s what you’d call it?”

You raise an eyebrow in response, your teasing tone unwavering as you gesture around the room. “Isn’t that what it is? Hidden room, dark wood, all the ambiance… seems like a dungeon to me.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Dungeons are cold and grimey. This is a private lounge, a sanctuary, carefully curated for… specific tastes.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing softly in the room. “A curated sanctuary, huh? You really do have a way with words.”

Eris’s lips curve into a smirk as he reaches for your hand. “Words, among other things.”

He lets the words hang in the air, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. You arch an eyebrow, leaning in slightly as if challenging him. “Among other things?” you echo, your tone playful. “Care to elaborate?

He steps closer, his gaze steady and full of intent. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he replies, his voice smooth as silk. “But first, I need to know how far you’re willing to go.”

Your heart skips a beat, not out of fear but from the thrill of the unknown. You’re no stranger to pushing boundaries, and something about Eris’s confident, almost predatory demeanor only heightens your anticipation.

Instead of answering directly, you take a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you. “You really think this kind of thing is—What was it you said? ‘Beyond what I’m used to’, was it?” you tease, your lips curving into a smirk.

Eris’s smile widens, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Alright, alright,” he murmurs before he pulls you in by the small of your back for another heated kiss, and he speaks against your lips. “You have full say in how this goes, I don’t want to go any further than you’re okay with.”

You pull him off by the hair on the nape of his neck, and the muted hiss that escapes him shoots straight to your core. “Oh, well if I’ve got full say,” you say, sarcasm lacing your words. “Give me whatever you think I can take, and then some.” You give him a dazzling smile, but he can only look at you in wonder.

His hands find your waist, giving the flesh there a tight, possessive squeeze. He leans forward, bringing his lips to your ear. “C’mon, pretty girl, strip for me.” His voice is low, almost coaxing, with a soft yet commanding tone that makes your skin tingle.

Though you’re surprised at his suddenness, you don’t hesitate. As you begin to strip away your clothes, Eris steps away, moving toward a large set of deep drawers. He looks back at you as he goes, drinking in your every movement as you peel off each item of clothing. First you shed your shirt, then the shorts, followed by your socks, underwear, and even the scrunchie on your wrist. The air thickens with anticipation as you wait, rather impatiently, to see what he’s looking for.

“Y’know, most guys wouldn’t have their back turned to the beautiful, naked woman in their basement,” you muse, examining your nails as you stand perfectly tall.

“First, it’s not a basement.” He turns to you, black rope in hand, his smirk tinged with an emotion you can’t quite place. “But you’re right, baby. I’m sorry. How about I make it up to you?”

You have to suppress a shiver at his words, or maybe it’s because of the cool air on your bare skin. He takes you in like it’s his first time seeing you, like he didn’t have you practically grinding against the heel of his hand two weeks ago. You’re not sure if it’s the substances in your system or the prospect of doing whatever he can imagine to you, but he feels different today than he had then.

Eris reaches into one of the drawers and pulls out a small, sleek controller. With a quick press of a button, a rig begins to descend from the ceiling, the soft hum of the motor filling the room. He keeps his eyes on you, holding the controller loosely in one hand as the rig stops at around eye level.

His tone is almost casual as he walks back towards you with the rope, the controller goes into his pocket. “Ever use one of these before?” You can only shake your head in response as you walk around the metal hook, thinking for the first time that you may be in over your head. “Good. Go ahead and kneel there for me.”

Eris moves behind you as you kneel, working the rope through the rig and instructing you to place your hands behind your back. The rope isn’t as rough against your skin as you anticipated. His hands work with practiced ease, securing your wrists together. He steps back, watching you with a satisfied expression. Then, with deliberate slowness, he begins to raise the rig, the rope tugging your wrists upward. The position forces you to stand as it continues to rise, his eyes narrowing as you do.

Once you’re in position, bent forward with your arms forced behind you, Eris steps closer again, his fingers tracing the line of your spine. “You look so good like this,” he murmurs against your ear. His fingers skim up your arm, lingering at the nape of your neck. His touch is almost tender, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. “Is it okay if I–”

“Do whatever you want,” you interrupt, your voice steady even as your heart races. “If I don’t like it, I’ll let you know. Just do something, please…” You needed a distraction from your thoughts, and the newness of this all was sobering you up.

A slow, approving smile spreads across his lips as he nods. Without another word, he goes to a cabinet, selecting a few items with deliberate care. When he returns, the scent of him envelops you as he carefully ties a blindfold around your head, plunging you into darkness.

You hear the soft rustle of fabric and the click of something plastic. Before you can dwell on it, the world goes silent as something is placed over your ears. The shift is sudden, disorienting. The subtle hum of the room, even the sound of your own breathing, everything fades away, leaving you in an almost eerie stillness.

The rope tugs uncomfortably, but not painfully, at your wrists, the tension in your arms pulling you taut. Your heart pounds, each beat echoing in your chest, reminding you of the vulnerability you’re allowing yourself. Then you feel it—a gentle tap on your jaw, followed by his thumb brushing against your lower lip, pulling it down slightly. You take the hint, opening your mouth for him. The next thing you feel is cool metal pressing against your lip as he slides a ring gag into place.

“If you need to stop,” he says after raising an ear of the sound-canceling headphones, “shake your head and I’ll check on you. Nod if you understand.”

Just as you do, the pad is back over your ear.

You feel the air shift as he moves around you. Deprived of your sight and sound, your body becomes hypersensitive to every touch, every brush of fabric, every subtle shift in temperature. The tension in the air is palpable, your anticipation growing with each passing second.

A light touch trails down your spine, causing you to shiver involuntarily. The sensation is followed by the warmth of his hand as it settles on your hip, steadying you. You can barely hear your own breath, the sound muffled and distant, heightening the sense of isolation. Then, a gentle tap against your inner thigh. You instinctively spread your legs, the vulnerability of the action sending a rush of heat through your body as his touch lingers, waiting.

Then, without warning, a sharp sting lands across your ass. Your body jerks in response, the sting quickly dissolving into a low, throbbing heat. The unexpected strike pulls a soft whimper from your gagged mouth, but before you can even process it, another comes, and then another, each one precise and measured.

The blows alternate with the soft caress of his hand, the contrast between pleasure and pain pushing you deeper into the headspace he’s crafting for you. The strikes aren’t overwhelming, but each one is enough to remind you of the power he holds in this moment, the control you’ve willingly surrendered.

You lose track of time, each sharp strike followed by soothing touches, the rhythm lulling you into a dazed, almost meditative state. The gag keeps your mouth open, forcing you to focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing, each inhale and exhale carrying a mix of adrenaline and endorphins. The warmth of saliva trickles from the corners of your mouth. The rhythmic stinging across your ass slowly transforms into a heated, throbbing warmth that radiates through your body. Each strike, followed by the soft caress of his hand, leaves you in a heightened state of arousal and anticipation, melding into pain and pleasure that lull you deeper into the experience.

Suddenly, the warmth of his touch disappears, and you’re left in disorienting solitude. The absence of his presence makes you acutely aware of the emptiness left behind, amplifying your anticipation. Without warning, you feel something cool against your inner thigh, followed by the unmistakable sensation of a vibrator pressed against your dripping cunt. It’s startling, and though you can’t hear it, you moan, loud and needy.

His hand is on your hip, steadying you as the vibrations increase in intensity. The buzzing becomes loud and clear as he gently pulls the headphones off, and you hear them thud as they fall somewhere. The sudden reintroduction to sound is jarring as the room’s noises flood back in—the loud hum of the vibrator, the sounds you hadn’t realized you were making, the now husky tone in his voice. Each sound is more vivid than before.

Eris’s voice breaks through this new sensory flood, warm and approving. “You’re doing so well for me, baby,” he murmurs, his tone a soothing balm. After being spanked, then paddled for God knows how long, between his calm, reassuring voice and the relentless vibrations against your cunt, you aren’t sure how long you’ll last.

His fingers replace the vibrator, brushing lightly against your clit. He teases your folds, just enough to drive you wild with need. You squirm against the rope, desperate for more contact, for release.

“You want more, don’t you?” Eris’s voice is low, almost a purr as he leans closer. His breath is warm against your ear. “Tell me what you need.”

He rubs slow circles against you, his fingers like fire against your skin. You try to articulate what you need, but the gag muffles your words into incoherent sounds. The frustration of being so close and unable to finish draws an exasperated groan from you, and he responds with a deep, dark chuckle. Eris’s touch withdraws entirely, leaving you in aching anticipation. The sudden absence of his touch is maddening, your body craving the completion he’s denying you. You can’t see him, but you can feel the warmth of his presence lingering near.

Minutes pass, or maybe just seconds—time has lost all meaning in this swirling haze of sensations. Without warning, you feel the sharp sting of a flogger grazing your inner thighs, just enough to remind you of his control. The flogger’s strikes alternate between gentle taps and more forceful hits, never quite enough to satisfy your growing desperation, but enough to keep you on edge. Each touch pulls you further into the comforting fog he’s woven, and your whimpers morph into sharp yelps of pain, each one more urgent than the last.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, his voice laced with mock sympathy. “Does it hurt, baby?” His tone is tender, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it that promises much more pain.

You groan, the sound a mix of frustration and need, but Eris’s expression hardens. The flogger lands on your skin again, a sharp crack that reverberates through your body. He grips the hair at the nape of your neck tightly, yanking you closer until your breath mingles with his. You can feel the heat of him, the solid presence that’s both terrifying and intoxicating. His lips hover near your ear, his breath raising goosebumps on your skin.

“Do you have something to say?” he asks, his tone noticeably darker and more dangerous. There’s a tense, almost impatient edge to it, a sign that stepping out of line is not an option. “A complaint? Are you ungrateful for what I’m giving you?”

The flogger’s strikes become more deliberate, more vicious. Each one lands with a stinging, biting pain that blossoms across your skin, the sensations mingling with the ache of your muscles straining to hold the position he’s put you in. He’s toying with you, savoring your helplessness, the way your body trembles and arches under his control, the way your breath hitches in anticipation of each new strike.

“Who’s in charge?” he whispers in a slow, deep voice, every word dripping with malice. You try to answer, but the gag in your mouth turns your response into a pathetic, muffled sound. Your eyes squeeze shut in frustration, tears of helplessness welling up and quickly absorbed by the blindfold. You can’t form the words, can’t tell him what he wants to hear, and that only makes it worse.

He clicks his tongue, a sound of feigned disappointment, and tugs your hair again, forcing your head back. “Ah, couldn’t quite catch that,” he sneers, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

You whimper, the sound a pitiful mix of plea and frustration, and he chuckles, a dark, cruel sound that sends a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. He’s enjoying this — enjoying how easily you bend to his will, how every strike of the flogger makes you jerk forward with a cry. He wants to see it all, the way you crumble under his touch, the way you surrender every last shred of control and hand your worries away to him.

“I control how this goes,” he growls. “You said you’d be good for me, baby. Did you lie? Do I need to stop treating you like a good girl? Because I can do that if that’s what you want.” The flogger strikes down in the middle of your back with a crack that feels like it splits you open, and you cry out, the sound desperate. Your body lurches forward, but Eris’s hand is still in your hair, holding you in place, forcing you to stay still, to take every single lash he’s giving you.

“Look at you,” he hisses, his voice dripping with condescension. “So fucking needy. You love this, don’t you? Being my little toy, something I can break however I feel like.”

The words cut deep, the filth of them sending shockwaves through you. You hate how true they feel, how much you crave the pain, the degradation he’s giving you. The flogger strikes again, harder this time, and your knees almost buckle from the force of it. But you don’t fall. He won’t let you.

“Oh, you like when I treat you like this. You like this a lot better than before, I can tell. You’re just a fucking hole, aren’t you?” he continues. “A pretty little slut who’ll do anything to please me. Do you even have any shame left, or do you need me to fuck some sense into you?” The flogger descends again, and again, each strike punctuating his filthy words. “I’m going to break you, baby. Turn you into the perfect little slut who’ll take everything I give and then beg for more. And you’ll love it, won’t you? You’ll love being nothing but my whore, thinking about nothing except wanting my cock.”

Each word, each degrading, filthy word, sinks into your mind, pushing you further into the haze of submission. The pain of the flogger, the sting of his words, they’re all you can think about. Your world narrows to just him — his voice, his hands, the way he’s tearing you apart and building you back up, molding you into what he wants, what you need.

He pauses, the flogger still resting against your skin, the rough leather a reminder of what’s coming next. He drags it slowly down your back, letting it scrape over the welts he’s already raised. The sensation is entirely new, a subtle pleasure and pain that leaves you trembling.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmurs, his tone a bit gentler now, but still laced with that underlying cruelty. The change gives you whiplash. “I can see it. You want to be good for me, don’t you? You want to show me just how perfect you can be.”

The flogger strikes again, and you gasp, the sound a desperate cry. But this time, he doesn’t stop. He strikes again, and again, the rhythm relentless. Each lash pulls you further from the chaos of your thoughts, dragging you into a dark, twisted place where nothing exists but him. The pain and pleasure blend together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

“You’re going to remember this, baby,” he promises. “You’re going to remember how it feels to be mine, to be owned. And you’re going to beg me for it again, aren’t you? You’re going to come crawling back desperate for me to use you, to turn that pretty little mind off and break you all over again.”

He’s right. You can feel it, deep in your bones, in the way your body responds to him, in the way your mind clings to every word he says.

Eris’s eyes never leave your face, his gaze predatory as he watches you fall apart for him, unraveling under the weight of his dominance. You’re exactly where he wants you — lost in the moment, completely detached from anything and everything happening outside these walls. As the flogger comes down one last time, sending a final, searing wave of pain through your body, you know that this is exactly where you need to be tonight.

Finally, when you’re trembling, he lowers the flogger and returns to your clit, the light, teasing touch of his fingers reigniting the fire within you. “You feel that, baby?” he whispers, his tone teasing. “Feel how wet you are for me? You like when I hit you, don’t you?” He drags two fingers up your center, gathering your slickness on them before bringing them up to your open mouth. “How badly do you want to come?”

You nod, desperate to show him how much you need this, but he’s not finished with you yet. “Tongue out,” he purrs, his voice a low, silky command that sends a shiver through your already trembling body. Without a moment’s hesitation, you obey, sticking your tongue through the cold metal of the ring gag. A string of saliva spills out at the motion, glistening in the low light, and you hear a soft, satisfied exhale from him.

Eris drags his fingers down your tongue, cleans them off inside your mouth, pressing them against your tongue. “Can you taste how badly you want it?” His voice is a dark, teasing caress, each word wrapping around your mind, sinking deeper into that place where only his voice and touch matter.

You can’t respond, not even attempt to, but the question is rhetorical anyway. He doesn’t need an answer; he knows. He withdraws his fingers, leaving your mouth empty, yearning for more. The loss makes you whimper, as does the ache in your jaw — a pitiful sound that he savors as he continues, his tone a mix of mockery and care.

“You can taste how good I’m making you feel, how much you love it when I hurt you. You want to taste something better, baby?”

Before you can process what he means, you hear the familiar flick of a lighter, the soft his as the flame catches. Your heart thumps in anticipation. A moment later, the smell of weed fills the air, earthy and heady.

Eris takes a slow, deep drag from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before he leans in close. His lips brush against the edge of the gag as he exhales, blowing the smoke directly into your mouth. It’s so unexpected, so sudden, that you choke, your body convulsing slightly as you try to inhale and cough at the same time.

The thick, pungent smoke fills your lungs, burning them and reigniting your high. You can feel him watching you intently, relishing the way your body reacts.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively gentle. “I want to see how much you can take.”

Your chest heaves as you fight to draw in air through the second cloud of smoke he blows your way. He chuckles, and with an almost casual motion, he reaches up and unfastens the gag, pulling it away from your mouth. The relief is immediate, but it’s laced with the residue of his control, the taste of smoke lingering on your tongue.

“There we go,” he coos, running his thumb over your wet, trembling lips. “Such a good fucking girl, taking what I give you. But we’re not done yet, are we? No, you’re going to give me more, right?”

His thumb presses against your lower lip, parting your mouth slightly, and you instinctively suck on it, the action almost automatic. Your body responds to him without thought, driven purely by the need to please, to submit, to give him everything.

When he finally, finally begins to untie you, his hands are gentle but firm, his touch careful as he releases the ropes one by one. The sensation of freedom is almost overwhelming after being bound for so long. But before you can fully process it, his hands are on you — supporting you and guiding your arms back down slowly and carefully. He pulls the blindfold from your eyes, and you try to readjust to the lighting.

He’s taking another pull, holding the joint between his lips as he takes you in. But that isn’t what stops you in your tracks. At some point during your immobility, he’d rid himself of his shirt, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from taking him in. His hair is tied back into a bun, strands having fallen loose around his face, and his chest is covered in a glistening layer of sweat. Images of Eris spanking you, walking around you and assessing where to land the next blow, of the muscles in his arms flexing as he strikes. The hungry look in his eyes and the tightness of his jeans as he watches you writhe under his touch.

“How do you feel, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity. “Did I get you there? That nice little headspace where it’s just you and me?”

His voice is soft, but there’s an edge of satisfaction in it as if he already knows the answer. “Did it help?” he continues, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Did I get you out of that busy little head of yours?”

You nod, still dazed by the intensity of the experience. You’d felt blissful before, sure, but this was entirely different. This was unadulterated endorphins and adrenaline. He grins, the expression both proud and wicked. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering sensations.

But he doesn’t stop there. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Now, let’s see how long I can keep you floating, yeah? You’re not done yet.” Eris tosses the flogger in the general direction of the shelf it goes on, and guides you with a commanding yet gentle touch to a mat on the other side of the room, placed in front of full-length mirrors. The surface underfoot is soft and inviting, and he helps you kneel in the center, the plush cushioning molding to your knees. He moves behind you, his hands brushing along your arms until they rest on your shoulders, a comforting weight as he leans in close. He hands you the joint, inviting you to take a few hits before handing it back. The smoke in your mouth, in your lungs, it only boosts the floating feeling you have from the experience of this all.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety whisper that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “So beautiful, so ready. But I need you to understand something, sweetheart.” His hands slide down your arms until they reach your wrists, guiding them up to the back of your head. “I need you to be ready to trust me completely. How far I push you now is all about helping you relax, so you can completely lose yourself.”

He pauses, letting his words sink in, his breath warm against your ear. “This isn’t about making things difficult, not for either of us. It’s about you letting me guide you through this. I want you to be my good girl, to follow my lead and take everything I give you.”

His hands rest on your shoulders again, squeezing you lightly. “You’re going to do everything I ask, aren’t you? You’ll be obedient, you’ll let me push you, because you know I’m going to take care of you, don’t you?” His voice is soothing, like honey, and you can’t help but melt into it. “You’re going to give me all of you, every last bit, and in return, I’ll give you everything you need. Remember how you begged for this last time we were together? I want you to be that good girl for me again.”

As his words echo in your mind, you recall the last time you were with him, at Ianthe’s party. The memory is all too vivid — your desperate need, your willingness to surrender completely. You had been so open, so eager, voicing all your desires and pleas. The way you had let go of all inhibitions, the intensity of your submission, and the way your words had spilled out in a fervent, almost frenzied confession. The memory is as intoxicating now as it was then, all things considered.

His words are a gentle invitation, luring you in with a calm confidence that makes it impossible to say anything but yes. You feel hesitant as you consider the depth of your commitment. The tension in your chest tightens for a moment, but then you nod slowly, your voice soft. “Yes,” you murmur, the word barely a whisper but laden with an unspoken promise to embrace whatever he asks of you.

Eris’s fingers brush lightly over your hands, guiding you to interlace your fingers. He steps back to observe you, his eyes raking over your form, taking in every detail. The floor beneath you is hard, unforgiving, but his presence—his authority—keeps you grounded. The anticipation builds as he circles you slowly, like a predator assessing his prey.

“Knees wider," he orders, his voice still soft but with a firm undertone that brooks no disobedience. You adjust, spreading them further apart, feeling the strain as your muscles stretch. You watch him through the mirror, watch how he gives a satisfied smirk as you obey. You finally see how blissed out you look. A dewy sheen of sweat covers your body, your chest rises and falls deliciously with each breath, and your skin is red where you remember him flogging you. You couldn’t imagine what your ass and thighs looked like; red as fire, you imagined, if the lingering, stinging pain was anything to go by.

“Arch your back for me.” His hand is at the small of your back, applying gentle pressure until you curve just the way he wants. The uncomfortable position has you on edge, completely exposed, and yet there’s a strange comfort in the way he controls you, in how thoroughly he’s taking over your body and mind.

Eris takes his time, relishing the sight. “Look at you, already so perfect for me,” he purrs, his hand trailing down your spine in a slow caress that sends shivers through you. “You’re going to stay just like this, sweet girl, you hear me?”

You nod as he runs a hand over your head in a soft caress, trails that hand down your spine. Then, without warning, his touch sharpens—a sudden, firm grip on your hips, followed by the sting of his hand against your ass. The first slap is light, almost playful, but it quickly escalates. The next one lands harder, and he pauses to run his hand over the reddened skin, soothing it briefly before delivering another, even harder.

"Does it hurt, baby?" he teases, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "Or does it just make you want more?" He doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he continues, alternating between sharp spanks and gentle caresses, pushing you to embrace the pain, to find pleasure in the way he’s handling you.

"You’re so good for me," he continues, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "Taking everything I give you. I bet you love it, don’t you? The way I’m making you feel?" He chuckles a bit at your lack of response. “You can speak now, sweetheart, I took the gag off for a reason.”

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath. “Hurts…” you manage to whimper, your muscles shaking. “Hurts really good. I want more.” He spanks you again. Hard.

“Is that how good girls get what they want?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed and you recover from the sting of pain.

“No, I’m sorry,” you rush out, wincing from the pain of the spank, the soreness in your legs and arms. It’s too much. “Please, will you give me more?”

He takes one last, long drag from the joint, finishing it off and throwing the roach towards a bin. He drags his fingers down your back again, only to grip your hips and pull you further back, adjusting your position until you’re even more exposed, your knees straining to hold you up. The discomfort is intense, but the way he’s pushing you has you on the brink of something deeper, something more primal.

Finally, he moves in front of you, his eyes dark with intent. He cups your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. "If you want more you’ll have to work for it, baby.” You nod eagerly and he smiles endearingly. “You’re going to show me just how badly you want me," he says, his voice a mix of tender command and raw desire. "And you’re going to do it the way I like."

He steps closer, guiding your face until your lips hover just in front of the zipper of his jeans. "Open that mouth wide for me," he coaxes, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before pressing it down. "That’s it. Nice and wide."

You obey without hesitation, the need to please him overwhelming everything else. He pulls you into him, his hand resting over your interlaced ones, rubbing your face and mouth into the denim. You feel pride at the way his cock grows stiffer without having taken him into your mouth. You can only imagine how good it must feel to get fucked by that cock, to have it slam into you from below when you ride him, to take it so deep down your throat you can’t even taste his release. A low ‘Now, look at that’ pulls you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t even have to ask you to keep going,” he says, his voice laced with arrogance. Your ears turn red with embarrassment when you realize you’ve been practically nuzzling your face against his cock, but oddly, there’s a twisted sense of contentment mingled with it.

He takes his time undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, mere centimeters from your still-open mouth. No one can make taking jeans off hot. No one except Eris, apparently. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, but not too much—just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. His cock is hard and throbbing, a rich, warm shade of pink with a slight flush at the tip. The girth is impressive, making your mouth water with anticipation. It stands proudly, the pre-cum at the tip glistening slightly under the dim light. You lean in, ready to take him into your mouth. The heat and tension in the air are palpable, and you’re just about to close your lips around him when he gently but firmly grips your hair.

"Not yet,” he murmurs, a playful edge in his voice. “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you? I haven’t given you permission yet.”

You pause, your lips hovering inches away from him. Your eyes flick up to meet his, a mixture of frustration and amusement dancing in your gaze. “You’re cruel, you know that?” You drop your arms, the strain of holding them there finally too much. He notices the shift, but to your relief, he doesn’t say anything, letting it slide.

Eris smirks. “Cruel? I prefer to think of it as… thorough. You wouldn’t want me to rush, would you? A little patience never hurt anyone.”

Your eyes narrow playfully. “Patience, huh? I expect a good reward afterward.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grip on your hair loosening slightly. “Is that so? And what kind of reward are you hoping for, baby?”

“Something a little more satisfying than just this,” you say with a teasing smirk, your wit finally returning after being silenced for so long. “I’m thinking you could make all this worth my while.”

Eris chuckles softly, looking down and relishing the view of his cock hovering over your face. “I will, without a doubt. But you need to be patient,” he repeats. His eyes linger on you as he shifts, rubbing his cock slowly against your cheeks and lips. The touch of his skin is warm and firm, and each movement is calculated, gliding with a teasing pressure. The pre-cum at the tip leaves a subtle, slick trail that only adds to your arousal.

You feel the ridges and veins of his cock brushing against your skin. His touch is firm but purposeful, making sure you feel every bit of his arousal. He takes pleasure in the way your lips part involuntarily, the way your breath hitches with each stroke. Eris’s breathing grows a bit heavier, his gaze intense as he watches your reactions, savoring the build-up and the control he exerts.

As he continues, he lightly traces his cock along your jawline and over your closed eyelids, creating a delicious blend of sensations. The warmth of him mingles with the coolness of the room, heightening the contrast between the two. He pauses occasionally, teasingly pressing his cock against your lips or rubbing it against your forehead, only to shift and start again.

Your need intensifies with each passing moment, the teasing just shy of maddening. You try to keep your composure, but the craving to have him in your mouth is overwhelming. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you whisper, “Please… let me.”

Eris’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk, clearly pleased with your plea. “Now that’s what I like to hear,” he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly in your hair as he guides you closer. “Go on, baby.”

With a soft breath, you lean in, finally closing the small distance between you and him. The moment your lips wrap around the head of his cock, a soft groan escapes him, and it sends a thrill through your body.

Slowly, you take him deeper, your tongue gliding along his length, savoring the warmth and the weight of him. The slickness of his pre-cum makes it easier to slide him into your mouth, and you hollow your cheeks as you move. His fingers thread through your hair, guiding your rhythm, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely contained control he holds over himself.

You focus on the sounds he makes—the low, husky breaths, the occasional hitch in his voice when you find a particularly sensitive spot. Each reaction spurs you on, encouraging you to take him deeper, to push the limits of your own control. Eris’s voice, rougher now with desire, breaks through the haze of your focus. “That’s it, just like that,” he praises, his grip on your hair loosening slightly to let you set the pace.

His hips start to move in time with your motions, a slow, steady thrust that matches the rhythm you’ve established. You relax your throat, taking him in further, feeling the head of his cock brush against the back of your throat. The sensation is overwhelming, yet you revel in it, the sheer intimacy of this act, the way you’re entirely at his mercy, yet completely in control of the pleasure you’re giving him.

Eris’s breathing grows more ragged, the tension coiling tighter within him. He watches you, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust, his usual composure slipping just enough for you to see how much he’s holding back. The knowledge that you’re the one drawing out these reactions from him makes you bolder, urging you to take him deeper, to drive him closer to the edge.

But just as you think he’s about to let go, he pulls back slightly, halting your movements. “Not yet,” he breathes, voice strained but firm. “I’m not done with you.” His words are a promise, and though you’re aching to continue, you obey, releasing him with a mix of anticipation and frustration.

Eris's hand slides from your hair to your cheek, his touch gentle now. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a brief, almost tender kiss before he straightens up. Without a word, he helps you to your feet, his hands steady and reassuring as they guide you toward the bed.

He lowers you onto the soft sheets with care. The roughness from before has melted away, replaced by something softer, almost reverent. As you settle onto the bed, Eris kneels at the edge, his hands gliding over your thighs, spreading them slowly.

He looks up at you, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes your heart stutter. But just as quickly as it appeared, it fades away. He’s silent as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips lingering there for a moment before he continues, trailing soft, slow kisses up your leg. Each touch is feather light, as if he’s savoring every inch of you.

When he reaches your core, he pauses, his warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive spot. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, and you feel a shiver of desire run through you. But instead of diving in, Eris takes his time, pressing a soft kiss just above your clit, then another, slightly lower. His lips are gentle, tender.

Finally, his mouth closes around you, and he begins to work with a slow, deliberate pace, his tongue moving in languid strokes that send waves of pleasure through you. There’s no rush, no urgency—just a steady, sweet rhythm that makes you feel cherished in a way that takes your breath away.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting them slightly as he brings you closer to his mouth, his tongue swirling in a way that’s both gentle and utterly consuming. Each movement is tender, every touch filled with a quiet, unspoken affection. He takes his time, coaxing soft moans from your lips with each delicate flick of his tongue, each gentle suckle.

The pleasure builds slowly, like a tide rising within you, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge, not from overwhelming intensity, but from the sheer tenderness of it all. Eris’s name escapes your lips in a soft, breathy moan, and he hums in response, the vibrations sending a fresh wave of sensation coursing through you.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t rush you to the peak, but lets you linger in the sweet, tender pleasure for as long as possible. It’s only when your body begins to tremble, when you’re right on the brink, that he finally picks up the pace, his tongue moving with a little more pressure, a little more focus, guiding you gently toward the release you’ve been craving.

And when you do fall, it’s into the softest, most blissful release, the kind that leaves you feeling weightless and utterly at peace. Eris stays with you through it all, his mouth never leaving you until the last tremor of pleasure has faded, and then he pulls back, pressing one final, lingering kiss to your trembling thigh. When he does pull away, it’s with a soft, almost reluctant sigh. He moves up your body with the same tender care, his hands trailing lightly over your skin, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. When his eyes meet yours, there’s a softness there.

Eris doesn’t rush. He leans down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours in a way that’s more about comfort than urgency, more about reassurance than demand. His mouth moves slowly, languidly, tasting you as if he has all the time in the world.

Your hands find their way to his back, sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your body arches instinctively toward his. There’s a quiet, almost reverent intensity in the way he touches you, his hands moving to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours.

He shifts slightly, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hooking your leg around his waist as he settles between your thighs. You can feel the hard, insistent press of him against you, the heat of his skin melding with yours, and it sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

“Are you ready?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft.

You nod, breathless, your eyes meeting his with a trust that’s unspoken but absolute.

Eris presses a soft kiss to your forehead before lining himself up with your entrance, and with one slow, deliberate thrust, he fills you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and comfort, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as he begins to move.

He sets a gentle pace, his hips rolling in slow, deep strokes that leave you gasping. There’s no rush, no frantic rhythm — just a steady, measured movement that builds a different kind of tension. Eris’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he watches you, his gaze never leaving yours. Each thrust is accompanied by a whispered word of encouragement, a soft murmur of praise that only heightens the intimacy between you.

Your bodies move together in perfect harmony, each roll of his hips sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The world narrows down to just the two of you, the softness of the sheets beneath you, the warmth of his body above you, and the gentle rhythm of your bodies coming together.

Eris leans down, his forehead pressing gently against yours, his breath warm and ragged as he moves inside you. “You feel so good,” he whispers, his voice husky, laced with a deep sense of awe. “So perfect.” His words send a shiver down your spine, the intensity of the moment wrapping around you both.

He shifts his angle slightly, his hips pressing deeper, and you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The new angle has him hitting just the right spot, each thrust making your toes curl with pleasure. “Eris…” you moan, the sound of his name on your lips seeming to spur him on.

“Right there?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand trails down to grip your hip, holding you in place as he drives into you with slow, deliberate thrusts. “I want to hear you, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s so good,” you gasp, your voice trembling with the intensity of it all. “You’re perfect, Eris, just like that.”

His pace increases slightly, still measured but with a growing urgency that matches the heat building between you. Each thrust is powerful, and precise, and sends waves of pleasure rippling through your entire body. You can feel the sweat starting to slick your skin, your breaths coming out in short, desperate gasps as he brings you closer to the edge with every movement.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, his voice gentle yet firm, and when you do, you find his gaze locked on yours, his amber eyes dark with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart stutter. “I want to see you when you come,” he adds, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek as his other hand slides between your bodies to find your clit.

The moment his fingers touch you, you’re lost. He circles your clit with slow, deliberate strokes that match the rhythm of his thrusts, his gaze never leaving yours, his lips curling into a knowing smile as he watches your reaction.

“Please…” The word slips from your lips before you can stop it, desperate for more, for everything he’s willing to give. Your hips lift to meet his thrusts, your body arching into his touch as the pressure builds inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you feel like you’re about to snap.

“Please, what?” Eris’s voice is teasing, but there’s an edge of intensity there, a deep desire to hear you say it, to have you begging for him. “Tell me what you want, baby. I’ll give you anything.”

“Please, I want to come,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. “I need it, Eris, please.”

His eyes darken with satisfaction, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss as he picks up the pace, his fingers moving faster against your clit. “Then come for me,” he whispers against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

That’s all it takes. The combination of his words, his touch, and the deep, steady thrusts of his cock send you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body clenches around him, your back arching off the bed as you cry out his name, the pleasure so intense it’s almost too much to bear.

Eris doesn’t let up, driving you through the waves of your orgasm with steady, unrelenting thrusts, his fingers never leaving your clit until you’re trembling beneath him, completely spent. He watches you the entire time, his gaze heated and possessive, a soft groan escaping his lips as he feels you come undone around him.

As your orgasm begins to subside, he leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss, his hips still moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. “So fucking perfect.”

You’re barely able to respond, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you manage to whisper his name, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continues to move inside you, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more urgent.

Eris doesn’t hesitate, sensing the way your body melts beneath him, still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. With a smooth, practiced motion, he flips the two of you over, his hands guiding you to straddle his waist. Your limbs feel like jelly, weak and trembling, but he shushes you softly, his hands firm on your hips.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm as he brushes your hair away from your face. “Just lay on me. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”

He pulls you down gently, your chest pressed against his as your head rests on his shoulder. His hands slide up and down your back, grounding you, before they settle on your hips again, holding you steady. You barely have time to catch your breath before he starts moving, his hips thrusting upward with powerful, controlled strokes.

The sensation is overwhelming as he fills you completely, the force of his thrusts sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. You can feel every inch of him, the heat of his skin against yours, the strength of his body beneath you, and the way his cock drives up into you with unrelenting intensity.

“Eris…” you moan, your voice muffled against his neck as your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he takes control.

“Shh, just feel me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, guiding your movements as he continues to thrust up into you, each stroke hitting deeper, harder. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your body responds instinctively, your hips moving in time with his as he drives into you over and over again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your gasps and his low groans, the intensity of it all threatening to unravel you once again.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his pace relentless as he chases your pleasure. His hands roam your body, one sliding up to cradle the back of your head, pressing your face against his neck, while the other grips your waist, pulling you down onto him with every thrust.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice rough with need. “So tight, so perfect. You’re gonna make me come, baby. Just like that.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body clenching around him as you feel yourself spiraling toward another climax. The intensity of his thrusts, the way he holds you so close, the deep, reverent way he whispers your name — it’s all too much.

“Eris, I’m…” you start, but the words dissolve into a moan as he slams up into you with a particularly hard thrust, your vision going white as another orgasm crashes over you, more intense than the last.

“Oh, you giving me another one, sweetheart?” he growls as he feels you tighten around him. “Let me feel you.”

Your body convulses in his arms as you shatter, the pleasure ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. Eris’s grip on you tightens, his own release just seconds behind yours as he thrusts up into you one last time, pulling out as he comes with a low, guttural groan, his cum spilling over your ass in hot, erratic bursts.

He holds you there, both of you trembling, your bodies entwined as you come down from the high together. His hands are gentle now, soothing as they trace patterns on your skin, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

After the intensity of your release subsides, Eris’s touch becomes gentle and soothing. He cradles you in his arms, his fingers brushing tenderly over your back and sides as he presses soft kisses to your forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and filled with concern. “You did so well, you know that?”

You nod, your body still shivering slightly from the aftershocks, but a soft smile plays on your lips. “I’m okay,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

Eris gives you a reassuring smile, his hands moving soothingly up and down your back. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone tender. “I’m here. Just relax, let me take care of you.”

He carefully disentangles himself from you, his movements slow to avoid startling you. As he rises from the bed, he gently helps you shift so that you’re on your stomach, your hips slightly elevated. “Just a second,” he says softly.

Eris heads to a nearby cupboard, opening it to reveal a small, built-in towel warmer. He retrieves a warm, damp towel from inside, the comforting heat emanating from it as he brings it back to you.

He returns to the bed and carefully unfolds the towel, its warmth a welcome sensation. “I’m going to clean you up now, okay?” he asks gently but doesn’t wait for an answer as he begins to dab at your skin. The warmth of the towel is soothing, easing any lingering tension.

His hands are gentle as he tends to you. “You’re doing great,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “Just wanted to make sure you’re all clean and comfortable.”

Once he’s finished, he places the damp towel aside and returns to your side, pulling the comforter over you both. He settles next to you, pulling you close and pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. You snuggle into his embrace, feeling the warmth and safety of his presence. His arms are steady and reassuring around you, and his murmurs of affection make you feel cherished and adored.

You finally find your voice, looking up at him with a tired but content smile. “That was incredible. I didn’t expect to feel so…” So good? So much? So intimate?

Eris grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

You snuggle closer, your head resting against his chest. “I feel like I’m floating. In a good way.” You mentally kick yourself — of course, it was in a good way. Who says floating in a bad way?

Eris wraps his arms around you a little tighter. “You deserve to feel this good. Just know I’m always here for you, not just for things like this, for whatever. Whatever you need, (y/n).”

You sink deeper into Eris’s embrace, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. The comforting weight of his arms and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lull you into a state of serene contentment. The intensity of the earlier moments fades into a gentle afterglow.

As you relax, your thoughts begin to wander, drifting back to the complexities of your life outside this moment. Cassian's name surfaces in your mind, but it's quickly followed by the image of him with Elain. The idea of them together interrupts your peace. It should sting, but somehow, it doesn’t.

Instead, the memory of Cassian and Elain feels distant, almost abstract, overshadowed. You'll deal with it another time.

You shift slightly, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. The world outside, with its complications and unresolved emotions, feels like it’s receding. In this moment, the only thing that matters is the warmth between you, the sense of being cared for, and the gentle hum of satisfaction that lingers from your shared intimacy.

Eris’s soft breathing and the comforting pressure of his touch anchor you, and you let yourself drift in the quiet aftermath, content that you’ve found a moment of peace and connection that you can hold onto.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@blessthepizzaman @celear @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @girl-math-aint-mathing @halo-hanging @julesvanslutta @lilah-asteria @meeperthejeeper @paleidiot @panther-girl-124 @secretlyhers @starlightazriel @scarsandallaz @uncxmfxrtablex @xxemmarldxx

#velarisdusk hockey au #acotar #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x reader smut #eris vanserra smut #eris acotar #acotar smut #acotar reader insert #hockey au #acotar hockey au #as per yoozh if you see typos FUCKING TELL ME PLEASE THATS SO EMBARRASSING

201 notes · View notes

lovecla · 13 days

Text

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter eight:

➴ warnings: none!!

➴ word count: 3.6k

➴ author’s note: don’t you guys love when people kiss and make up?

sophiamontenegro

liked by taylorzakharperez, zendaya, billboard and 2,692,102 others.

sophiamontenegro thanks for having me, new york 🎅🏻

View all 20,672 comments

mtv JAW IS ON THE FLOOR

trevorzegras you should’ve come to anaheim

sophiamontenegro @.trevorzegras and u should fuck off

ilovhockey77 @sophiamontenegro @.trevorzegras I wanna know the beef between them so bad someone put me in soph’s close friends list

saraunyn @ilovhockey77 im pretty sure its just Trevor who doesn’t know how to take a hint…

arianagrande i love you

morgan.grace you’re so fucking hot Sophia the hell

lovssoph PROUD TO SAY THAT I WAS IN THAT CROWD

— ♡

DECEMBER always brought more work than you’d like to have but for the first time since you started working as a singer, you were grateful for it.

You had so many appearances, so many fans to see, so many concerts to do. You were grateful singing was your favorite thing to do because time passed and you didn’t even notice it.

But, now some of the fuss calmed down and you were able to spend time doing things that weren’t related to your career, like;

“Sophia, come on, you’re gonna be late!” Grace shouted from the living room and you laughed, pouring the butter flavored popcorn into a bowl. “Sophia!”

“Jesus, Grace, calm down,” you shouted back, looking for napkins. “It’s not like we have to be there or whatever.”

Today the Devils were playing against the Blackhawks and Grace asked you if you both could watch it at your house.

“We don’t have to if you think it will make you sad, but i really wanted to watch Nico tonight.” Grace smiled, not even trying to hide how she was head over heels for him.

“It’s okay, Grace, I swear. I want to see Nico too,” you smiled, trying to hide the fact that you’d secretly been watching all of their games, desperate to catch a glimpse of Jack’s blue eyes. “We can do a girls night.”

“But you’re losing all the good shit,” she whined. “The Blackhawks players are fine, too. That Bedard kid is a cute, little honeybun.”

You chuckled, walking away from the kitchen and sitting on the couch beside her, putting the bowl on the table.

“He has a girlfriend, y’know. He dates his teammate’s sister, Ellie I think.”

“Oh, I think I saw a picture of them together at a party last month,” she tapped her chin with her index finger. “They do look cute together.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, watching as the commentator introduced the players. “Who do you think is going to win?”

“Girl, I don’t like to tell anyone my predictions because what if I jinx it?” She stared at you, like you were crazy just for asking.

You rolled your eyes. “Ever since you and Nico started fucking you became awfully surpersticious.”

“Sophia Montenegro!” She raised her arms, kicking you with her feet. “You can’t talk to me like that! I’m your sister.”

“Which gives me permission to say that you and Nico are fucking. Who cares?” You kicked her back, starting a kicking fight.

You both just stopped when you were both out of breath and the game was starting. The first period was going surprisingly smooth for the Blackhawks, which made you— secretly— worry.

Jack has probably seen better days. You would always say that he’s the number one player in the team because for you he absolutely is, but even someone who didn’t know anything about Hockey could tell that he was lacking.

You bit your lips and squeezed your thighs because, even after everything, Jack looked so fucking good. Especially with the black Devils uniform. He looked handsome and you knew that he was all of that, and he’d always be.

Sometimes you’d think about how good the sex between the two of you was, and you’d wonder if you’d find anything like that ever again.

At the end of the first period, the scoreboard read 2-1, the Blackhawks winning. You and Grace were in the middle of a discussion about how her ex looked like Shaggy from Scooby Doo when the commentator started showing the celebrities who showed up to the game.

“Who even cares about the celebrities who showed up?” You threw popcorn at the screen. “Or even better, since when do they show celebrities? Aren’t they supposed to be interviewing the players or whatever?”

“You know a lot for someone who doesn’t watch the games,” Grace teased you, and you just pushed a handful of popcorn inside your mouth. “And sorry to say this, sweetie, but if people didn’t care about celebrities, you and I wouldn’t have a job.”

You rolled your eyes, paying attention to the TV again.

“So, tell me, Nat, I’ve heard that we have some pretty famous people here today.” The announcer talked to the reporter who was standing in some kind of expensive room Sophia didn’t know the name of.

The black woman just smiled, nodding her head and bringing the microphone closer to her face.

“That’s right, Shaan. Some well known people blessed us with their presence here today…”

“I hope it's Ariana Grande or some shit like that.” Grace muttered beside you.

“Oh remind me to call her later, I need to visit her next time I’m in LA,” you replied mindlessly, still watching the sports channel.

“…And among all of these people, we have the one and only, Harris Dickinson and his girlfriend, Chloe McGill!”

“What?!” You heard Grace yelling beside you, which confirmed that what you were seeing wasn’t just your head trying to play games with you.

There he stood, in all his glory, with the cocky smirk that once gave you butterflies and was now making you sick, with his arm wrapped around a girl’s waist.

“Am I tripping or that girl looks awfully like you?”

You looked at the scene in front of you, where the reporter was now interviewing Harris with an enthusiastic smile. The girl beside him, Chloe you think, indeed looked a lot like you.

“She… she looks just like how I did when I started dating him,” you concluded, feeling sick all over again. “Even the fucking bangs, Grace.”

She put her hand on your left arm, caressing you. “I’m so sorry, bubba. Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No, ‘course not,” you reassured her, trying to smile. “I’m fine, I was just caught off guard, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Grace whispered. “Okay.”

“…I’m just happy to be here, y’know?” Harris stated, still showing his pearly white teeth. “I’m a huge Devils fan, just like my girl here.”

“That’s the biggest lie he’s ever said,” you laughed, feeling sorry for how pathetic he is. “He deadass couldn’t even stand the thought of Hockey, or any sport for that matter. What the hell is he even saying?”

“Well, apparently that little girlfriend of his, is the daughter of one of the Devils’ coaches,” Grace promptly replied, and you looked at her, ready to ask how the hell she knew that, but seeing the phone in her hand. “They’re like, rich as fuck.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Harris’ type to me.” You mumbled, praying that the second period would come faster.

And maybe God did hear your prayers because not even five minutes later, the Devils and the Blackhawks were back on the ice. The game was nerve wracking, your nails and eardrums long gone from how much you’d bitten them and how loud Grace screamed during the game.

Jack was smooth on ice, the best you’ve seen him playing all season, even before you and him fought. It was satisfying to watch him doing what he loved and you were happy that he was finally getting back on track.

Two hours later, the game ended; the Devils won. Grace cheered and jumped around while you laughed at her, happy to see her happy. Even if you didn’t understand much of hockey and even if you didn’t care about it, you were also thrilled, because you knew Jack would be happy.

You kinda hated your mind for always thinking about him but you couldn’t help it. Not when you saw how handsome he looked and not when you still loved him. A lot.

The same reporter from before, Nat, continued to talk, interviewing some of the players from the team. Grace whined about being hungry and you rolled your eyes, getting up to cook for her.

“What do you want?” You asked, opening your cabinets. “I can make pasta for us.”

“Ugh, yes, please,” she fake-moaned and you laughed. “If I’m going to fuck Nico tonight, Imma need all the carbs in the world,”

“You’re disgusting. I hope you know that,” you answered back, putting the water to boil.

“For Nico Hischier? Hell yes I am!”

You cut the onions and garlic, before putting olive oil on a separate pan and adding them. Grace continued to yap about the game, pointing out all the best players and who she liked best, while you just nodded and cooked.

“Ooh, they’re having a fancy celebrating party tonight!” She yelled from the living room, even if you could still see her and the TV because you had an open kitchen, grabbing your attention. “Is it a gala? I hope it is, Hockey players look so fucking good in suits.”

“And they say I’m the horny one…” you mumbled, putting the tomato sauce inside the pan.

“Can this woman give us some information we actually want to hear? I don’t care if they have points or not, I just want to see them in suits!”

“She’s just doing her job, Grace, stop being a whore.”

Moving around the kitchen, you finished Grace’s dinner, and grabbed a plate for her, not after filling up a glass of cold water and grating some cheese.

You went back to the living room, placing everything in front of her, while she hugged you from behind, giving you neck kisses.

“I am going to wife you up, baby!”

You giggled. “Shut up and eat, weirdo,”

She just let you go and sat on the floor, swallowing the pasta like it was her last meal.

You both watched as they showed the party, all of the players there, people laughing and smiling for pictures. Jack wasn’t interacting with the reporters, and you thought it was weird, even if you knew he low-key hated them.

“…so, yeah, I’m definitely happy we won tonight but we still have to work hard—” Mercer suddenly stopped himself mid-sentence, leaving the woman— Nat— beside him confused. He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed. “Is that Jack fighting someone? That’s sick! Film that, baldy!” He asked the cameraman.

You and Grace stopped talking and stared at each other. The camera suddenly changed angles and showed a body you knew way too well on top of another body you, unfortunately, also knew well.

“Jesus, Jack is punching Harris in the face!” Grace announced, like you weren’t watching it yourself.

The angles weren’t good because you’d bet money the cameraman wasn’t expecting to record a fight tonight, but it was still pretty damn clear that Jack was punching Harris’ face repeatedly, while his girlfriend screamed and cried and the other players tried to get him off Harris’ face.

Harris fought back, but even though he tried, he wasn’t used to fighting. Unlike Jack, who threw every punch with force and precision.

“It seems like our number eighty-six, Jack Hughes, is having a fist fight with the actor Harris Dickinson!”

“Stop trying to state the obvious, bitch, film the fucking fight!” Grace yelled.

“Grace, calm down.” you whispered, watching as the camera focused on Jack again, this time him being dragged by Nico and Nathan while he shouted at them to let him go.

This was bad. Like, bad, truly bad. They focused on Harris’ face for just a second, and it was enough— his face was all bloody and he was probably going to have a black eye for a week, with how swollen his eye was. Jack had most likely broken his nose and shit wasn’t looking good.

“Oh my God, why did he do this!” You got up from the couch, pacing around the room. “Fuck, does he know what this is going to do to him? Harris is dating the Coach’s daughter, what the hell!”

Grace was also too stunned to speak, something that did not happen often. You could tell she was just as distressed as you.

“Harris Dickinson is going to the hospital with his girlfriend Chloe and his father-in-law, Coach Ryan McGill.”

“What the fuck, this is bad,” you put your hands on your head, trying to figure out what to do. “I need to do something.”

Grace sighed, loudly. “I should be the brain in our friendship but… yeah. I mean, I know you guys are out of contact right now but this… he definitely did this for you…”

“Yeah, Grace, make me feel worse, go ahead.” You hissed.

“I’m not trying to make you feel worse, baby, you know why he did that!” She raised her arms. “You should talk to him. This obviously isn’t working for any of you.”

“Grace—”

“No, you will hear me now!” She talked on top of you, also getting up. “I’ve watched you put on a fake smile and pretend you’re fine and I didn’t say anything because I knew you had to figure it out yourself, but I can’t do this anymore. You’re drowning yourself in work, you spend half of your time at your studio and the other half at John’s studio. You don’t go out, you don’t live.”

“Grace.” You tried again.

“And usually I’d say something like: ‘get over that fucking asshole’ or ‘he isn’t worth it’!” She walked back and forth. “But the worst part is that Nico told me Jack is just like you!”

That made you stop. “What?”

“He’s not at parties, he’s not hanging out with the team, he’s not goofing around. All he does is sleep, eat and go to practice. And, fuck, Nico doesn’t know what to do because Jack never acted like this before.”

“Grace, what…” you breathed, almost yanking your hoodie with how much force you were holding it. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s so fucking obvious you both love each other yet you won’t do anything!” She lamented, staring at your eyes. “I can’t watch you fall apart like this. You have to tell him that you want to be with him.”

“Grace, I can’t— I can’t do that.” You stuttered, trying your hardest not to cry.

“Sophia,” she whispered, grabbing your hands. “That man loves you. He just punched your ex-boyfriend on national television, with everyone watching. I stand with what I said back at that dreadful Halloween party, I’ve seen how he looks at you. And he loves you. Jack Hughes loves you, Sophia.”

You let her words sink in, nodding once. Grace was bossy, delusional and a bit insane too but she was right. You needed to do something.

“Okay,” you agreed, holding her against your body. “What do I do?”

“Shit, I didn’t think you’d agree with what I was saying… I don’t know?”

“You’re such a dumbass sometimes,” you laughed and she pinched your butt. “I think… I think I’m going to his house.”

“That’s a bald ass move and so right. Want me to go with you?”

“No, I’m good. I don’t even know if he’ll hear me out but I’ll try?” You stepped back, grabbing your car keys and purse.

“Call me if anything goes wrong,” she blinked, going back to the couch. “If you don’t, I’ll call you and risk interrupting your fuck.”

“Like I’d ever pick up,” you joked, leaving the house.

Jack lived thirty minutes away from you, and alongside with that, it was a Friday night in Newark— of course the streets were filled with cars. It took you an hour to get there but even so, Jack’s car wasn’t parked in front of his garage like it used to.

You turned your car off, and waited. You could wait outside but with how cold it was, it was safer for you to wait inside. You couldn’t risk getting sick.

Seconds turned into minutes and when the one hour mark came, you sighed.

“Maybe he isn’t coming home tonight,” you said to no one, tired of waiting. You knew you could call him, but you weren't entirely sure he’d pick up. “Maybe it’s just traffic.”

You decided to wait a little bit more, half an hour. If Jack wasn’t there by the end of it, you’d just come back tomorrow. Fortunately, shortly after that, Jack’s car was parked outside of his house.

You watched as he got out of it, opened the back door and grabbed his duffel bag. Taking a deep breath, you left your car and closed the door silently.

Walking to his porch with fast steps, you called him. “Jack!”

He stopped immediately, turning around to face you. He had a bandage on his eyebrow and one on his cheek. Your heart tugged on your chest.

“Soph?” He asked, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him.

You stepped closer, smiling awkwardly.

“Hi,” you said, softly, putting your hands inside your pockets. “Can we… hum… talk?”

He stared at you for a second, before nodding and turning around again, opening his door and letting you inside the house first. You thanked him and stepped inside, taking in the sight you missed so much, his home.

You both stayed quiet for a while; he put his things away and you stood there, weirdly. You didn’t know how to start the conversation, so you just stared at him. He looked tired, dark circles adorning his face, hair messy and face a bit swollen. Even if he looked hurt, he looked ten thousand times better than Harris, who was probably in the emergency room at the local hospital.

“Jack,” you started, noticing how his body went stiff and he stopped moving. “Why did you do it?”

You didn’t give him a chance to reply, stepping closer and putting your hand on his face, feeling the hotness of it, and realizing you missed him more than you knew.

“Jesus, Jack, do you even realize what you did?” You whispered, moving your thumb up and down. “He’s dating your coach’s daughter. He’s a powerful man, baby.” The pet name slipped out of your tongue, but you didn’t want to take it back.

“Fuck,” he breathed, grabbing your wrist and kissing it. “Say it again, Soph.”

Maybe someone else would need him to clarify it better, explain further. But not you. Not when the love you felt for him ran deep inside your soul.

“Baby,” you whispered again, watching as he closed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Sophia, fuck, what did you do to me?” His voice sounded so tender, you could feel your body wanting nothing more than to melt inside his arms. “I can’t— Fuck.”

“Jack, you need to understand that what you did, baby, it could cost you a lot—”

“I know. Soph, I know that. And I still would break his asshole’s nose again and again.”

“Why did you do it?”

He stepped away, and you immediately wanted him to come back. “Why did I do it? Isn’t it obvious?” He laughed, humorlessly. “Sophia, I am in love with you. I love you.”

You felt your cheeks getting wet, and only then did you realize you were crying.

“I didn’t understand it sooner because, hell, I have never loved a woman before that wasn’t my mom, and even then, it’s not even close to what I feel towards you,” he ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t think being in a relationship was for me, I didn’t even want it. But now I look at you and—” he looked at you, blue eyes brighter than you’d ever seen. “I look at you and I realize you’re all I want.”

You were fully crying now, the tears running down your face like models on a runway. Your hands were shaking, and you wanted to scream at him.

“You’re it for me, baby,” he stepped closer, gently putting his hands on your waist, letting you rest your head on his chest. “I know that you’re upset, and I know this isn’t easy for you. We all got bags full of shit that we don’t want, but I will unpack them for you, baby. Just… just let me.”

“Jack,” you sniffled, trying to stop crying. “I need you to know that I love you, too. But,” you pressed your lips together, organising your thoughts. “You need to know that sometimes it’s going to be hard for me. I don’t trust so easily anymore and I’m sorry for it but that’s just who I am.”

You could swear you could feel his smile, while he held you tighter. “It’s okay, Soph. When I tell you that I want you, I don’t mean only the good parts. I want you whole. I want the bad, the good and the in-between,”

“What if,” you hold him impossibly closer. “I don’t want you to get tired of me.”

“Tired of you?” He chuckled. “I want to marry you.”

You stepped away from his like he was on fire. Frowning, you raised your finger.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Hughes. Besides that, you’re literally twenty-two.”

“I don’t mind you being my old sugar mommy,” he shrugged, smiling.

“Call me old again, Jack Hughes, and I promise you will never hear from me again.” You smiled too, and for the first time in probably two months, it felt real.

“Yes, ma’am,” he stopped smiling, stepping closer to you again. Holding your wrists to his mouth, he kissed the right first before moving onto the next. After he was done, he placed them on his neck, grabbing your waist.

You stood on your toes, trying to stay face to face with him.

“Can I be your boyfriend?”

You smiled. “I guess you can.”

“You guess?” He bickered back, plastering his white teeth for you. “Can I kiss you, baby?” He whispered, kissing your cheeks. Then your nose, then your forehead. Always gentle and steady. “Soph, sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering, you just glued your lips together, moaning because you had missed this so much. His lips felt like the sweetest thing in the world and when he touched your tongue with his, you were sure you had turned into butter and was now melting.

Maybe your forever wasn’t so distant at all.

#jack hughes #jack hughes x you #jack hughes x oc #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x singer!fmc #jack hughes x singer!reader #IYLMLMK

176 notes · View notes

if-loves · 11 days

Text

eyes (on you)

// Yandere Moze

sum: Moze has always been someone trustworthy and kind to you.

wc: 751

warnings: probably OOC moze

a/n: moze would do so well as a closet pervert tbh

likes & reblogs appreciated :)

Lately, you haven’t felt so safe.

You can’t recall exactly when it started, only that when it did, it never stopped. Every time you step into your own home, every moment you spend in your own home, the uneasy feeling of your every move being watched sends shivers down your spine.

You’re constantly afraid of something, always anxious and paranoid. Even outside your home, the eerie feeling of someone’s eyes upon you, following you. How long has it been since you’ve felt safe?

You’ve known Moze since Feixiao first “took him in”, if one could even really call it that. As her assistant in all matters pertaining to paperwork, you’ve had the joy and displeasure of working with all kinds of people. Moze is among those with more… unique circumstances to say the least.

Initially, you were wary of him. Who wouldn’t be, when one of your first impressions of him was attempting to land a killing blow on her? Gradually however, you both started to warm up to each other; even unexpectedly becoming close. He started to appear more often, although hardly speaking, but you didn’t mind. The comfortable silence was enough for you.

So, it was only natural that when everything started to get overwhelming, you confided in him. If there was anyone you could trust, Moze would be at the top of the list.

“Moze, can I… tell you something?” You hesitantly ask, your eyes staring at the official document on your desk. You feel your palms grow sweaty, the pen in your hand all of a sudden weighing a ton.

“…If you want to.” He says simply, but you’ve known him long enough to hear that slight tinge of concern in his voice.

“Recently… I‘ve started feeling watched in my own home.” You confess, laying down your pen. You still dare not to look up to him. “They’re - they’re always watching me. In my kitchen… in my bedroom… even my bathroom… and I don’t know how to stop it. I feel it outside too, only except when I’m at work; but I’m constantly paranoid and anxious, and now I feel tired all the time. Moze, what can I do?”

He’s silent for a while, and just as you start to wonder if you’ve said too much, that he’s uncomfortable with the information dump, you feel his hand on your shoulder in a silent understanding.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to help.” He apologises. “But… I’m always here for you, if you want to talk.”

“Thank you, Moze.” For the first time in months, you feel relief. You feel safe.

Moze is a master at blending into the shadows, and masking his existence. He walks with trained silence, concealing his breath, never making a sound louder than necessary. Moze knows, better than anyone, how easy it can be to intrude into someone’s home.

His violet eyes watch your figure intensely, barely blinking. He wishes not to waste even a fraction of a second looking at anything that isn’t you. You, just coming out of the shower in your nightwear, holding your towel to your chest and anxiously darting your eyes back and forth to find the watchful eyes stalking your every move. It is with the same caution you slip into bed with, twice ensuring your windows were locked and the curtains were tightly drawn closed; but it was to no avail, because the culprit was in your home.

He waits, just like he always does, for your breathing to calm, for you to fall to the temptation of slumber. He hovers over you with a blank expression on his face, the silver guards on his fingers gently caressing your cheek. He wants to kiss you - and so he does, leaning down with his mask lowered, his lips meeting yours in an unreciprocated kiss.

Moze pulls away quickly and places his mask back in place, but even it can’t stop the warmth that pools at his cheeks and the electricity running through his whole body. With a hazy mind, he makes his way over to your clothes, and runs his hands across each fabric. They instinctively stop atop a pair of underwear, soft and delicate, and most of all, smelling like you. This time, he’s unable to stop himself, and pockets the panty. With one last look at your slumbering figure, he takes his leave.

When you run to him in tears the next day, distraught and paranoid, he can’t find it in himself to be guilty.

#yandere #honkai star rail #yandere x reader #hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #moze #yandere moze #moze x reader #yandere moze x reader #yandere hsr x reader #x reader #hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader

255 notes · View notes

bluesidez · 3 months

Note

AHH CMON REQUESTS!! I know the inbox is flooded girl omg.

okay so as a request, i would really love to see a story where black, plus size reader and Miguel take on wedding planning. Reader is happy enjoying cake tastings, dress shopping, venue hunting etc. and groomzilla!miguel is trying to make everything perfect for her. It can be nsfw, but I trust you with whatever the vibe is! Love you down!! ✨✨✨✨

["It’s My Wife’s Day!"]

lab tester: @leoeloo 🩻

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!Reader, black!Reader, PlusSize!reader

summary: No one is going to stop Miguel's fiancé from having the best day of her life, not if Miguel has anything to do with it.

content warning: AAVE (YAY!), sorry to anyone named Elana or Finley, Miguel gets a little mean here (I tried to keep it reasonable but he’s giving Libra Diva DOWN), mentions of food, some cultural (traditional) things from both sides but nothing crazy, there is one scene that could be triggering for my fellow big girls (but it's handled with care I promise), 18+ at the end so MDNI, it's also pretty suggestive throughout

word count: 8,888k EXACTLY (there should be no mistakes for as long as I've been working on it....but hey)

a/n: AHHHH! I was so happy to receive this request! (You have also been very sweet to me since my very first fic and I really appreciate that!!!) I said on my blog that I really love all things weddings, so this was a super fun write. I just love imagining Miguel in this position of making sure that his girl has everything while the girl is in complete bliss. (The mom here was also heavily inspired by my own mom who is much more active than I am in terms of telling people off.) As per our DMs, I did sprinkle in a little GR!Mig mannerisms! And! I added him being super in love with reader…but that’s a given. I do hope you enjoy! Also, I LOVE YOU!

Miguel refers to reader as his wife constantly before they’re actually married.

Also a headcanon for Miguel here that isn’t said explicitly is that his Libra trait of indecisiveness is on at all times.

Miguel could never forget the day you set his heart ablaze when you said those destined words:

“Yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”

He was over the moon. Weeks of him getting you to warm up to him, months of him chasing after you, years of him trying to show you that he’s the right one for you, and finally, your hand was adorned in the rock he’s been planning for you for eons. You were truly his lady, now and forever.

The proposal was quiet and intimate, mostly because Miguel was a bit fearful you would say no, a seed of doubt growing the longer he waited. He steadily reminded you to get your nails done and paid for your hair appointments every now and then. Each time he thought he could do it, he chickened out.

Then, one night under the stars after an unnecessary work event, his feelings just overloaded.

You were so ethereal.

He remembers you laughing over something his drunk coworker had said, eyes sparkling as you retold the story. Your curls were parted to the side, earrings dangling past your jaw. Your legs were swinging over the edge of his trunk, not a care in the world as you talked with vigor.

He thought that he couldn’t live without this. He couldn’t have a life without small moments like this with you. He couldn’t imagine a moment where you weren’t by his side.

So, the words spilled out of him like water. He took your hands in his and poured his heart out. Finally, the ring box that had practically melted a shape into his thigh was being freed.

You cried when you noticed what he was doing, emotions doing a complete 180.

“No wonder you kept giving me extra money for my nails,” you let out a watery laugh as you leaned into him.

Now, here you both were, almost a year later in the middle of wedding planning.

The theme and colors were carefully handpicked, the venue was booked, and almost every week, the two of you had something to look forward to.

Miguel was currently prepping ingredients for tonight’s dinner, listening as you chatted about your great wedding dress search of the day.

“We stopped by one store, but the lady behind the desk immediately turned us down. I didn’t want to ruin such a good vibe, so I left it at that. Ma was ready to hurt her though.”

Miguel felt his nerves tighten at the news, “What?”

“Yeah, as soon as me and my entourage walked in, she ran up to us saying something about a short stock, but we knew she was lying-”

“What’s the name?”

You raise your eyebrows at his abruptness.

“Miggy, it’s really ok. Don’t worry over this,” you got closer to him, taking his face into your hand.

“I’m not. What’s the name?”

You pull his face down to yours, “Nuh uh. I’m not giving you the name. We said we weren’t going to be stressed out over this process, remember?”

Miguel closed his eyes and brought his hands down your body, leaning his forehead against yours, “I remember.” He blew out a breath and squeezed your ass in hopes that it would help calm him down.

“Good. Now, you stay right here and I’ll go get ready for dinner. I wanna tell you about this poor girl whose dad didn’t like a single thing she put on.”

You kiss him three times, the last kiss lingering a little longer with Miguel humming into your lips and lean back with a warm smile. Miguel’s hands clinged to you until you were too far to reach and you walked upstairs to change into your house clothes.

Miguel stood next to the island, tapping his fingers against the granite with a tongue poking into his cheek.

The dress shopping process was the one he was the least involved in, opting to be surprised on the day you walked down the aisle. You wouldn’t even let his family pitch in for the dress, saying something about running up your dad’s pockets.

But how does a dress shop conveniently run out of dresses once his fiancé walks in?

Right as Miguel was considering googling every dress shop in the area, his phone buzzed to life.

Just the person he wanted to hear from.

“Hello?” Miguel turned to toss some butter on a skillet, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear.

“Miguel…”

He stopped in his tracks, knowing the exact tone of voice your mother was using.

“What happened?”

“Today was so beautiful!”

“But?”

“But that one shop on James Street? Terrible.”

Miguel would have usually chuckled at the dramatics, but this situation was no laughing matter to him.

“You should have seen the way the people in there turned they nose up at us! One lady was about to jump out of her skin. All of this for some of the ugliest dresses I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Miguel shifted his position and stood up straight, tossing minced garlic in the sizzling butter, “Did they say anything to you?” His hands were gripping the phone enough to leave indents on his skin.

“Other than telling us how she wouldn’t have anything we would like, no. She didn’t even want us taking a seat in the lobby.”

He moved to grab a pen and a notepad from the drawer, “Do you have the name of the shop?”

“Lady Love. They should call it Lady A Lie.”

Miguel smiled, thankful that he could count on his future mother-in-law to be his partner in crime specifically when it came to making sure that no one brought harm to you. The number one thing that he and your mom had in common was their need to spring into action.

“Thank you. She didn’t want to tell me anything.”

“Trust me, if she hadn’t begged me not to act a fool, I would have cussed that heifer out. She was so nasty and so rude. That ol’ cow.”

“They’ll have a notice from my lawyer by the morning.”

Your mother hummed, “Let me get my iPad out and get to rating they store. It was a bleach blonde butched buffoon named Elana at the front desk. She was the one giving my baby a hard time. Nobody in there was trying to stop her either.”

“I’ll remember that,” Miguel could hear you coming down the stairs, fuzzy slides creating a steady tempo against the floor. “Let me call you back later.”

“She must be coming back. Tell her to bring me back my shoes!”

Miguel chuckled, “Yes ma’am.”

You came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Was that Ma?”

“Yeah,” Miguel reached to place some chicken on the hot skillet, satisfied with the simmered ingredients he added. “She said to give her those shoes back.”

“She’ll get them back! I’m using them right now. What else were you two talking about?”

Miguel turns down the boil of the pasta noodles, shoulders tensing, “She was telling me about Lady Love.”

You clicked your teeth, “I thought I told you not to worry about it.”

“I’m not!” He turned the chicken over while you grumbled into his back. “But she called me with very upsetting news. What am I but a good son? I had to listen.”

“You two are gonna work my nerves.”

“Don’t say that. We’re just not going to sit back and let someone disrespect you like that. What kind of man would I be if I just let somebody not treat you right and I have the means to stop it? So, please. Let me do this.”

You huffed and buried your face into his back, fingers pressing into his skin. His words shut you up.

“Fine.”

“Thank you, cariño. Now, can you get the salad and the wine out of the fridge? This is almost ready.”

“What are you making?”

“Marry Me Chicken and Pasta.”

“So funny.”

“Ah, I know. It must really work, huh?”

Miguel walked hand-in-hand with you down the fancy boutiques in the shopping district.

You both had just gotten done wandering aimlessly as you waited for the cake-tasting appointment. Miguel had to be stopped multiple times from buying everything you complimented.

He was extremely happy to see you giddy about the cake tasting. It was something you’ve been looking forward to since the day you both confirmed a wedding date.

He’s studied your Pinterest boards heavily, the notifications dinging with every pin. He knows you want to go all out for the cake. Something large enough to feed both of your huge families and something grand enough to match the venue and the theme.

He arranged for the best of the best to be trying out today and if that didn’t work, he’ll seek someone else. He’ll even bake the cake if he has to, although you’d push him out of the kitchen.

“I hope they have that Biscoff flavor. I heard it was really good,” you turn to him with a hopeful smile.

Miguel smiled back at you, “I’m sure they will.”

He only lets go of your hand to hold the door open for you, eyes enjoying the view of your body in the flowy dress you were wearing. Earlier, he couldn’t stop kissing over the deep Queen Anne neckline of it, claiming that you smelled too good. You two almost didn’t make it out of the house on time.

“Hello! Welcome in!”

The bakery was bright and homey. The desserts on display were placed on light peach stands and risers and the smell of caramel and cinnamon was strong in the air. Square canvases covered the walls with cute paintings of some of the featured desserts.

“Miguel, look!”

You pull him over to some Miffy-shaped buns filled with different flavored custards.

“That is too adorable to even eat.”

“But I do hope you’d still be willing to give it a taste!”

You both look up to the friendly face behind the counter. They were a lanky figure with a glitter tattoo of a unicorn cupcake planted on their arm and pink gauges in their ears

“You two must be the future Mr. & Mrs. O’Hara. Lovely to meet you all.”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” Miguel reached his hand out to give a firm shake.

“My name is Finley and I’ll be assisting you all today. We have several beautiful flavors for you to try.”

Finely directed you both to a square table booth in the corner of the bakery. Miguel slid next to your right side in order to wrap his arm around with one hand and eat with the other.

“Other than the standard Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry & Cream, Red Velvet, Marble, and ‘Wedding Cake’ flavors that we offer, the samples for you here include Tiramisu, Passionfruit, White Chocolate Raspberry, Lemon Blueberry, Cookies & Cream, aaaand Dulce de Leche!”

Miguel’s eyebrows went up, feeling skeptical but open.

“Woah,” your eyes grew at the neat display of confections before you. “I’m so excited.”

“I’ll be right over here if you guys need me. Enjoy!”

You picked up a fork and dug straight into the Strawberries & Cream.

“That is so freaking good,” you groan out, eyebrows scrunching.

“Let me see,” Miguel turned to you with his mouth open, eyes full of mirth.

“Miguel, please.”

“What? It’s practice for the real deal.”

“When we’re the only ones in here?”

“It’s going to feel like an intimate moment just between us, no?”

You sigh, defeated. He doesn’t even budge when you shove a giant piece of cake in his mouth. He grabs your hand before you can retreat, licking slowly away at the leftover cream.

He focuses on the golden fork, working in between the prongs. Time slows down as you watch the white icing disappear into his mouth. His eyelashes are long and pretty and his lips are plump and a little wet from his tongue.

One more pass of the fork through his mouth and he’s looking up at you with the same fire from this morning.

You clear your throat, “Is that how you’re going to eat the cake?”

“Something like that.”

You two slowly but surely make it through the rest of the flavors with you trying to stay unflustered and Miguel trying to up the ante.

He’s grinning and chuckling at your ruffled state until you get to the Dulce de Leche cake. He harrumphs as you cut into it.

“No, no, you wanna eat cake so bad, so eat it!”

“This isn’t the cake I was talking about-”

“I’m going to shove this fork so far down your throat if you even think of finishing those thoughts out loud.”

“You know I love it when you get that way,” Miguel sighs and reaches to eat from the fork before you can say anything back.

You wait in silence as you watch his face contort from disgusted to neutral to pleased.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah?”

“A little too sweet. Abuela wouldn’t like it.”

“Do you like it, though?”

He paused as he watched you take a bite.

“Maybe.”

“Would you like it as our wedding cake?”

“No….”

You smirked at him, “But you want it as your groom’s cake?”

“…Yes.”

He looks so conflicted about it that you almost feel bad for him.

“Miguel it’s ok if you like it, no one is going hurt you. You know you have a sweet tooth.”

“It is really delicious, like eerily so. It’s not my favorite cake, though.”

“Oh? Was it the Cookies & Cream one?”

“Close.”

You look around the plate, confused as to how fruit flavors have anything to do with sandwich cookies.

Miguel got closer to your ear, lips grazing the top, “My favorite is you.”

You push his face back with your hand while he grins into your palm.

“I see you two lovebirds are enjoying everything,” Finley walks back over to the two of you. “Any standouts?”

Miguel lists off the ones you were enjoying the most with ease.

“We also enjoyed this Dulce de Leche one but we decided it would be best for my cake but before we move on, do you have any Biscoff cake samples that we can try?”

“Of course, let me go get that for you.”

He looks back at you cheesing at him.

“You remembered!”

“Always.”

Finley comes back with a small Biscoff bundt cake.

“Now, unfortunately, we don’t offer this flavor for any tiered cakes.”

You took a bite and almost soared. The flavors were just the right mix of salty and sweet, some caramel coating the top.

Miguel looked from you to Finley, “Can you just do it for one tier?”

“Um, I can ask my boss when she comes back-”

“You can leave her number with me. I would really love to talk with her face-to-face.”

“Y-yes sir.”

“Good,” Miguel reaches over to wipe some salt off of your lips. “My wife wants a pretty grand cake and she has some particular ideas. We want to be really involved in the process for the best result. No surprises.”

“Absolutely. Would you still want to place that order for the groom cake? We have a sale on toppers for them right now.”

They place a pamphlet on the counter with countless toppers of grooms in pure agony. Some are being dragged by their wives and others are running away. Miguel turns his lip up and moves his eyes to Finely without lifting his head up.

“These are very tacky and senseless, so no. We’ll place the order for it at the same time as the main cake.”

Finely moves to remove the pamphlet, face red and eyes wet, “I apologize. A lot of the future husbands enjoy them.”

“Do I look like the other husbands that come through here?”

“N-no sir! Not at all.”

“Tell you what, give me your boss’s number and your business card. We’ll circle back. Thank you for today’s tasting.”

“L-let me at least give you some extra dessert before you leave. Free of charge!”

Miguel helps you stand as Finley hops around the store grabbing any and everything.

“I really hope you consider choosing us for the wedding.”

“The wedding?”

“Your! Your wedding!”

“Hmph.”

Miguel grabs the box from Finley’s shaking hands and promptly leaves the store with you on his arm. You turn back to Finley with an apologetic look and a quiet sorry leaving your lips, though you’re sure they’re still shocked by Miguel’s behavior.

“I’m going to set up more appointments. We need a backup cake,” he says as he guides you back to the car.

“You loved those cakes and you scared that poor person to death.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just me eating these cakes. And those were some of the most horrible toppers I’ve seen yet. Who does that?”

“You would be shocked to know that not every man is willing to celebrate and proudly love their partner.”

Miguel turned the car on and let the cool AC hit his face.

“But, if you still want to look at more bakeries, we can. More cake for me.”

You turn his face to yours and kiss his lips gently.

“Now what’s all this about eating me-flavored cake?”

He shifts the gear into reverse, “Let’s get home and you’ll find out.”

When you said you wanted creative and unique pre-wedding photoshoots, Miguel didn’t hesitate to make sure he could pull it together for you. Now he’s starting to regret it.

You walked out into the studio apartment with an oversized button-down that looked like it could be his, some thigh-high stockings squeezing at your thick thighs, and some black lingerie peeking through the thin shirt material. Your makeup was simple but jaw-dropping with glossy lips and a lovely blush that brought out a glow to your skin. Your hair was in a blowout style, curls bouncing with every step closer to him.

This specific photographer that you had mentioned in awed passing was known for her eye for romantic detail. Her pictures truly captured the love between couples in raw form. When you showed Miguel the pictures on her website, he was quick to get in touch with her to set up a decent amount of photoshoots. What he didn’t expect was for her to have an influx of assistants and protégés to have wandering eyes.

“Are you going to move the lights or are you going to keep gawking at my wife like an idiot?”

The one assistant who clearly didn’t understand what Miguel’s death stares meant jumped at his voice and rushed to move things within the set, the entire back of his neck beet-red.

“Baby, don’t be like that, he might just be nervous,” you slid your hands up his chest, straightening out his “work” shirt. “Don’t fuss at him.”

“He should do his job then,” Miguel shifted his gaze from the scrambling boy to you, voice getting quieter as he peered down at your excited face. “You do look beautiful, though. Can’t blame him.”

“You like it?” There was a spark in your eye. It was something that Miguel knew all too well.

He glided his fingers down your back, feeling the heat of your skin through the shirt. Your eyes never left his lips as he drew closer. You could feel his breath covering your skin.

The flash of a strobe light caused you to jump.

“These are going to make such stunning outtakes,” Xina gasped as she moved her camera back up to her face again. “Sorry to scare you. Please continue this and we can do the original plan in a second.”

You laughed as Miguel pulled you even closer, pressing kisses against your neck to avoid ruining your makeup.

The original idea of the shoot was to have Miguel look like he’s coming home from work and walking in on you dancing around in his clothes. The idea was cute, domestic, a little sexy, and true to life. While it wasn’t the set of photos going out with your wedding invitations, it was something fun for your socials.

As the scene played out, Miguel didn’t expect you to open up your shirt even more as he came back through the entryway. It made for a nice expression when he looked up to see you passionately dancing around the couch.

You urged him toward you with your finger, hips moving to the music blasting over the speakers Xina had behind the equipment. Miguel grinned and headed your way.

With Xina’s direction, the both of you were able to get out lively photos as if it were just a normal day in the soon-to-be O’Hara home.

By the time you all were finished, Miguel was only in a tucked-in tank top with his hair tossed and turned. You still looked perfect on his lap, grinning down at him as he mischievously bit his loose necktie that you placed on your shoulders.

“Perfect!” Xina smiled behind the camera. “Now, one little thing I like to do at the end of each shoot is have the couple face me with their faces together for one final picture.”

You kiss Miguel on the corner of his mouth and lay his tie on top of his head before turning to Xina. Miguel follows with a lazy grin on his face.

It would have all been so well if that same assistant wasn’t still staring at you like he’s never seen a beautiful woman before when Xina started to wrap up.

He met Miguel’s eyes and almost turned blue in the face trying to look busy.

There were so many more photoshoots to go in the near future. He’s not sure how he’ll make it through the next ones without making a scene.

“Miguel! The invitation samples are here,” you knocked on his office door, giddy with excitement.

Miguel rolls back from his desk, glasses perched on his nose, “C’mon, let me see.”

You stride eagerly to his seat and he’s waiting with the same energy, pulling you into his lap once you’re within arms reach. You make a noise of excitement as run your finger under the envelope flap. Miguel leans his head on your shoulder waiting to finally see the design you so meticulously planned.

You slid the cardstock out, gasping as you saw the paperdoll drawings of you and Miguel on the page. The artists did a fantastic job of designing you both in such a stylistic, yet recognizable way.

“Oh my god, look at the little outfits!”

You panned through the cut-out clothes, one with you all’s work outfits, another with casual outfits, and the last one with a wedding dress and a tux. You brought the papers up to cover your mouth as you laughed again. Miguel’s heart soared at the charming way you reacted.

“Look! They even captured your cute nose right!”

“You love my nose, huh?”

“Stop,” you snicker as you pull out the last picture. It’s one from a more recent photoshoot with you both in formal, dressy attire with scissors and measuring tapes in your hands and paper hearts everywhere to match the paperdoll invitation.

Miguel took the invitations from your hands, wanting to get a better look. It really was one of a kind, something you both would be able to look back fondly at.

He ran his thumb across the words, really taking in the fact that you’ll be walking down the aisle right into his arms. He read the words once more.

Save the date…

2025…

Miguel &…

“How the hell did they spell your name wrong?”

You looked up from the picture in your hand with a frown, “What?”

“We waited this long for samples and they spell your name fucking wrong.”

You read over the invitation again and let out a groan, “Of course. Let me call the company-”

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure? You looked busy when I knocked, I don’t want you to get sidetracked.”

“Making sure that my wife’s name is spelled correctly on our wedding invitations isn’t getting sidetracked. I’ll handle it.”

You felt your shoulders drop, a tension you didn’t realize you were carrying releasing from your body.

“Thank you so much, baby,” you sent him the number with a small smile on your face.

Miguel gave your lips a peck, “Anything for you. Don’t worry your head about it.”

You stood up to leave, but not before he gave your thighs a squeeze.

When he was sure you rounded the corner, he immediately pressed the number, blowing slowly through his mouth.

He was about to work his way to free invitations and a year's worth of service once he was finished.

Miguel laughed at the video you sent him. You were practically glowing with the turquoise waves in the background and braids in your hair. A giant plumeria was tucked behind your ear and you held a big fruity drink in your hand.

You were out on your bachelorette’s trip, enjoying the waves in the sand as you caught up with your bridesmaids. He hadn’t seen any annoyed texts yet, so he assumed that the trip was not falling to pieces.

He could hear your friends in the background bickering about how they had to take your phone away sometimes to stop you from texting him.

“She got a few more months of being a hoe!”

“Will you shut up?! I’m making a video.”

“It’s true, though! We’re about to go get drunk as fuck. Don’t worry, Miguel, we got her!”

You just rolled your eyes and smiled at their antics before the video ends.

The mood of the video contrasted your texts entirely. They really did get you drunk.

“i miss you alreadyyyyyy”

“I miss you too but you need to have fun”

“I’ll see you soon. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport in just a few days.”

“good”

“you better be waiting for me”

“i wont you”

“shit”

“want you”

“you and your dick”

“gonna sing to him”

“Him?”

“yeah him”

“he’s mine”

“gonna love on him”

“and you”

“miss you so baaaaad”

“the bed is empty without you :((((“

“I hope you remember all of this when you see me baby”

“my name is mrssss oharaaaa”

“idk who baby is”

“Ok well Mrs. O’Hara you need to go to sleep”

“i will go to sleep mr ohara”

“gonna dream of you”

“and my big dick”

“You do that”

“Send me a pic when you wake up”

The night could have ended perfectly. He knew you had fun and crashed safely in your room. There were no problems with the resort or the reservations. You were constantly flooding his phone with pictures without talking because of the “No Miguel” rule he was sure your friends set.

Miguel wanted to close his eyes in peace.

So when his assistant sent him the picture of one of the most crucial parts of your wedding, he could feel his neck tightening. He called Ben instantly.

“What the fuck am I looking at?”

“The broom! They had a lot of them at the store but this one was plain and white, so I feel like it’s perfect for the wedding.”

Miguel pinched his forehead in an attempt to keep his eyebrows from molding together, “Do you have a schedule for when you’re this stupid, or is it only reserved for me?”

Ben was silent for a second, “I don’t understand, I thought you said you needed a broom? Is that not what this is?”

“A broom to jump over Reily. For weddings. I told you to check with Jess about it because I knew you weren’t going to have the slightest idea what I was talking about. Imagine if I brought this home to my wife. She would be offended.”

“W-what’s the difference?”

He might find out the difference once Miguel hits him over the head with it.

“I’m going to fire you.”

Miguel wasn’t really. He was just so tired.

“Return the broom. I’ll take care of this in the morning.”

Ben was stuttering and blubbering as Miguel smacked the red button. He needed to look at the pictures you sent again. He didn’t need to fall asleep in such a bad mood.

Miguel was certain that if he were a celebrity, this would be the wedding of the century with the way the bill was racking up.

Not that it really mattered, because it was his wife’s day. Anything you wanted, he was going to get it.

You both agreed on a buffet-style dinner for the reception with different stations and servers to accommodate your huge families.

Currently, you both were tasting the traditional foods that the caterer had to offer and it was looking less than desirable.

The greens were a bit bland, the catfish was ok, and the mac & cheese was delicious.

The pork was a bit dry, the wedding cookies could have been better, and the mole was missing something.

“I think,” Miguel pushed his food around the plate. “It’s missing banana.”

“Really? I’ve never thought to add that before.”

“For future reference, it’ll really make the difference.”

You wiped your fingers above the plate, “I think this might be a sign to leave the traditional stuff to our dessert table. Some of these are great but I’m sure both of our families will be up in arms with complaints. And maybe this is for the better! Tradition is too on the nose.”

Miguel admires your positivity because this is probably the sixth caterer you both have tested out.

“We know you’re popular from your page, so what is it that you’re most confident in?”

The woman before you all smiled, “Since you're both looking for a pretty ambitious spread, I think things like a pizza bar or build-your-own stations should be the way to go.”

Through another round of dishes, you and Miguel were amazed by the specialties that the chef had to offer from the customization to the endless amount of options.

After a long Q&A trial between the chef and Miguel:

“Do you have simpler options for the kiddos?”

“Is it possible to do this station and this station right next to each other?”

“Should I hire more help for you?”

“Do you sell this mac & cheese separately?”

“Can you try this mole one more time?”

You both settled on five different stations with food ranging from BBQ to fries to candy. No one will be able to say that they went home hungry.

“Are you satisfied?” you rub Miguel’s chest on the way out to the car.

“Completely. I think it’s going to be great.”

The big day was getting closer and closer with finalizations being made and arrangements galore. The cake flavors were chosen, your dress was being edited to perfection, makeup and hair appointments were already made, and Miguel’s suit was tailored like no other. The bridesmaids and groomsmen were all fitted, especially after Miguel’s constant trips to Lyla’s shop. He was there for nearly every snip, tuck, and seam.

The time was really winding down and you both could really feel that as you walked into the reception venue.

Miguel woke up that day to a phone call claiming that the venue had been overbooked and was seeking him out to cancel his event. He’s never called people faster in his life. The threats that were made was not something he was proud of, but he’s glad he didn’t wake you up.

Now he has the pleasure of watching you glide around the tables in awe.

“Miguel! Look at the plates! The silverware! The centerpieces!”

It truly was magical watching your vision come to light.

Miguel followed after you with a grin painting his lips, checking every table for faults. The wedding planner was also next to him, waiting with bated breath for direction from Miguel.

“This should be here,” Miguel pointed to a lone party favor in the middle of a plate.

The planner moves it with ease, used to Miguel’s demands at this point in the process.

Miguel kept walking towards the tables closest to where you and he would be sitting.

“I thought I said that these two weren’t supposed to be next to each other? We don’t have time for arguments that night,” Miguel picks up two placeholders. “I don’t want to have to carry our aunts out of here myself. Fix it.”

The wedding planner grabbed them and made a note on their clipboard.

“And where’s the centerpiece for our table?” Miguel checks his watch. “It was supposed to be here yesterday.”

“There was a delay in the flowers. They were the wrong shade, remember? They should be here first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll have the final touches to it.”

“And you’ll have the pictures sent to me?”

“Of course.”

“Miguel!” you were on the other side of the hall by the dessert table. “The lights over here are shaped like hearts! How cute is that!”

Miguel’s arms unfolded, demeanor shifting as he watched you get excited by the different labels. His chest rose up and the scowl on his mouth disappeared.

“You really love her.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“This is a toast to everyone who has been with us on this long, long journey.”

Your closest friends and family laughed at Miguel’s words.

Who’s to say that Miguel essentially blacked out making sure that everyone walked down the aisle correctly just a few hours earlier? No one brave enough to bring it to his face.

“You guys have been here from the start. From the moment I decided to pursue this angel of a woman, you guys were right there cheering me on. Now we’re here years later about to take on one of the biggest days of our lives.”

The table was a mix of happiness and nostalgia, excitement and fondness.

“I can’t thank you all enough for being a part of our bridal party. I can’t even thank you guys enough for encouraging us as a couple. The love in this room truly knows no bounds.’

Miguel lifts his glass up with one hand and squeezes your hand with another.

“So here’s to the present and the future. To family and friends. To us, your future O’Hara’s.”

The table clinks their glasses together with a cheer, watching as Miguel kisses you with so much adoration.

Tomorrow was going to be whimsical.

Today was starting out obnoxious.

Anything that could go wrong was going wrong for Miguel.

First, woke up almost an hour late due to playing stupid games all night with his groomsmen. He would have preferred one my night with you before the “I do’s,” but apparently that was bad luck. Instead, he got an extensive game night with a couple of beers. Nothing to have him over the edge, but definitely something to make him feel like he was in college again.

Second, he couldn’t find his cufflinks that he had made specifically for this day. They were custom with your initials and your birthstone on them. The room looked like a whirlwind after he searched top to bottom only for Gabriel to have them the whole time and tell him almost forty minutes later.

He wanted to strangle him.

“Miguel, I have the rings too. There’s no way you think that Peter B. is a better ringkeeper than I am.”

“If you lose them, I swear to god I’m going to-”

“Yeah, yeah. Death, Grim Ripper, stabbing, big whoop. Go calm down.”

Third, for some reason, Peter B. had Mayday in the hotel suite when the only children that were supposed to hit the aisle were his niece and your nephew.

“Why is that baby here?” Miguel tried to keep his voice level because it’s not Mayday who ran in here, it was Peter who’s constantly doing what he wanted. She was walking around and chatting with the groomsmen who were kind enough to keep up her conversations. Four-year-olds had a lot to say.

“Ah, she’s just here until her grandma comes by to pick her up!”

“Peter, if I pass out before I see my wife today, you’re going to be the first reason.”

Lastly, when everything was finally settled and he was ready to go to the ceremony venue, Gabriel came running in and almost gave Miguel a heart attack. Something about you and crying and Miguel almost broke the door down trying to get out.

“Miguel, don’t look at her!” Gabriel ran after him as he made his way to your suite.

“I’m not, damn it, I just need to make sure she’s ok.”

He was on your floor in a flash, your friends waiting outside the door.

“Where is she?”

“She’s inside. We calmed her down for the most part, but her aunt got up here somehow and started to talk shit.”

“Miguel, if Jess and her mom weren't able to remove her, it would have been bad. She kept saying things about how you’re being tricked. She kept telling her that she wasn’t worthy enough to be a bride.”

“What?” Miguel walked towards the door. “Let me in.”

“Let us make sure you can’t see her, first.”

“I really don’t give a-”

“Miguel.”

He turned to Gabriel who pushed his hands down in a pressing motion, “Ya relájate, yeah? She’s not going to be centered if you aren’t centered.”

With that in mind, Miguel waited at the door until he was allowed in. Your friends said you were in the bathroom with the door cracked. He walked over and turned his back to the door, tapping in a light rhythm so as not to startle you.

“You ok, baby?”

He could hear your sniffles and it took everything within him not to take the hinges off the door just to get to you.

“No, not really. I, I’m terrified.”

“Honestly, me too.”

The door moved a bit, and your voice sounded closer, “What if I’m not the woman you need?

He scoffed, “And what if I’m not the man you need?”

You were quiet for just a moment, “You are more than what any man has ever been for me. I don’t think there’s been even a day where I could fix my lips to say that I haven’t felt your love and your heart. You’re…you’re everything to me.”

“So how do you think I feel when someone has convinced you that you aren’t enough for me?” Miguel turned his head to the crack. “No woman has opened my eyes like you have. No person has stolen my heart and cared for it the way that you have. I can’t even begin to describe the ways in which you’ve changed me for the better. You are my world.”

“Miguel,” your voice was watery as you took a deep breath.

“If you want to call this entire thing off and go to the Justice of the Peace, that’s fine with me. We can send our family straight to the reception. I don’t care, as long as I have you.”

“No, I want to still have this ceremony. I still want to present our love. I’m just overwhelmed right now.”

Miguel moves to slide his wrist through the door, “Give me your hand.”

You laugh as you take his hand in yours, careful not to lean on the door and smoosh it.

“You are worthy to me and this is only a new chapter in the foundation that we’ve built. No jealous aunt nor any other family member is taking what we have away. I chose you, you chose me, ok?”

“Ok,” you squeeze his hand as rubs the top of yours with his thumb. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Miguel’s heart was hammering in his chest like a hummingbird fluttering around nectar.

He stood at the end of the aisle with his one hand grasping one wrist and a knot in his throat. The seats were filled with waiting people, but he didn't think anyone was more ready than him. Gabriel had patted him on the back once he was down the aisle, now he stood with his daughter at his side making sure Miguel really didn’t pass out.

Miguel’s tunnel vision shifted as everyone got up to watch you come around the corner. Miguel’s breath stopped.

You really were his world.

Your smile was blinding as you stepped towards him, your father’s arm wrapped tightly around yours. The closer you got, the more Miguel could feel the air coming back into his lungs.

As he waited for your father to put your hands in his, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He was so lucky, he couldn’t believe it.

As he held his hands out, he had to will himself to relax.

You stepped closer to him, your warm palms bringing life back to his.

“You’re shaking.”

He looked to his hands and they did have a faint tremor to them, “I’m excited.”

With eyes for only each other, you both made it through your vows. Miguel damn near brought the audience to tears with his imagery of a lost younger version of himself and you finding him in his aimless pursuit of living. How you opened up to him like a waterfall behind thick vines. How you wrapped your arms around him. How you upgraded his life.

You almost brought him to tears when you spoke about how he loved you. How he stood tall between all that was against you and guided you to better days. How he never went a day without showering you in some form of love, even when he was feeling like shit. How he made you want to grow old with him and walk through life together.

To the shock of no one, you both said “I do” with ease, no objection to be heard.

When he kissed you, the world stopped for only a second and came back down with the celebration from your guests. His hands on your jaw brought you closer to him and one swipe of the tongue before he pulled away had you excited for later.

One more kiss and you both turned to the crowd ecstatically. The broom was placed in front of you both and with three taps on your hand you both took a huge jump over it. Your family and friends cheered even louder.

Walking down the aisle to the doors, Miguel could actually pay attention to the crowd. So many people were smiling and wiping tears from their faces. It only solidified the love that he had for you.

You both laugh as flower petals fill the air around you on the way to the car.

It was really a joyous occasion.

Miguel was so happy, he didn’t care what anyone else did.

Ok so, he did stop one of his baby cousins from sticking their entire head in the fondue machine, but other than that, he was so relieved.

The DJ announcing you two as Mr. & Mrs. Miguel O’Hara elevated his mood and the trip to the dance floor for the first dance had his spirits high.

The two of you had a sexy number, with his hands barely leaving your hips and his fingers sliding up the slit of the sparkly dress you changed into.

After that, it was hard for him to keep his hands off of you. He tried to distract himself with catching up with family, grabbing food from each station, having dance competitions, laying sleeping kids more comfortably in chairs, anything to stop himself from just dragging you to your reserved hotel room.

When you two stood near the cake feeding each other bites with hearts in your eyes, he couldn’t help but to lean into your ear and whisper, “Still the second best flavor.”

You hit his chest with one hand and covered your cake-filled mouth with the other.

By the time you drove off with ribbons and flowers trailing the back of the car, Miguel was practically buzzing getting you all to himself.

He made that known by carrying you bridal style to the room without a care in the world and you laughing into his neck.

You kissed his neck as he refused to let you, even for the elevator, “You’re so silly.”

“The better to make you laugh, Mrs. O’Hara.”

“I love it when you call me that. Say it again.”

“Mrs. O’Hara. My beautiful bride today, my beautiful wife for life.”

He passes through the door after you reach to scan the keycard. As soon as he closes it you’re on his face kissing all over.

“My husband,” you say in between the passes of his lips against yours. “Mr. O’Hara. Will you put me down?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Then how will we finish off our night with a bang? C’mon, baby, I have a surprise for you.”

“Fine,” four more kisses and Miguel let you go.

“Just go sit on the bed and I’ll be right back.”

Miguel laid his jacket on a chair and walked over to the bed. He started to unbutton his shirt carefully, not wanting to tear the expensive material. He slid his shoes off carefully too, sliding into the fluffy slippers the hotel provided.

He would say he wishes he could have done more for tonight, but the two of you will be enjoying the fresh air of a foreign country in about two weeks time.

He sat on the bed as he waited for you to come out of the bathroom. There was no telling what you had in store, and he can’t wait to find out.

“Close your eyes!”

Miguel obeyed, curious as to what you had in store. He could hear the padding of your heels on the carpet getting closer.

You took his hands and guided them to your ass and with muscle memory, he took a handful.

“I’m already sold,” he said, feeling some light fabric hit his wrists.

You chuckled at his face, seeing his tongue poked out to the corner and his hands feeling and kneading your body.

“Ok, open ‘em.”

Miguel parted his eyes to see you in beautiful white lingerie. A white open lace see-through babydoll set hugged your tits tight. Panning down, he could see your thin panty with the string pulled over your hips and the curve of your body on display. Going further down, on your left leg, there was a garter digging into your skin that read “Miguel’s Wife” in bold, red cursive letters.

“You like it?”

Miguel looked up to you with a tinier veil adorning your hair.

“This garter might be the only thing that makes it out unscathed.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm hm,” he leans forward to plant kisses along the top of your chest, pulling your thick thighs around him. “We’re gonna get a complaint.”

“Good,” you raked your nails down his nape, earning a groan from Miguel as you continued to his back. “I want you to make love to me.”

You start to grind along him, feeling the bulge in his suit pants grow. Miguel hummed and started to remove your top. It looked gorgeous on you, but it was useless to him at the moment. Your skin was sparkling all the way down to your nipples and it only made Miguel want to devour you more.

You gasp as he smacks your ass and hikes you up, his mouth latching onto your areola like it’s fruit from the chocolate fondue today.

“I’ve been wanting this all night,” Miguel mumbles into your skin. “You looked so amazing today.”

“So did you,” you tilt his chin up to look at his face. “I saw you looking at me all night. You’re not very discreet.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

He got up with you in his arms and flipped you over, “Everybody there should know how I feel about you by now.”

You were a vision. Smooth skin contrasting with the stark white of the panty and garter, veil sprawled out behind you like a halo. Miguel bent down to kiss you again, truly in awe that this was who he had as a spouse.

“I want you to know how I feel about you too,” you whisper against his lips.

You guide his hand from your face to your breast to your panties. You part your legs, thighs shaking in anticipation. Miguel's eyes get wider as he sees your lips through the peek-a-boo hole of your underwear. One swipe and your essence is on his fingertips.

Miguel brings his eyes back to you as he takes his fingers and brings it to his lips, sucking it off with a pop.

You bite your lip watching him lick his fingers and unbuckle his pants.

The air is tight and heated, with you open and waiting and Miguel watching and wanting.

He leans back and pulls his pants down. You look down hoping to see a peek of what’s about to rock your world.

At the sight of your name and “MIC” in bold black letters across the band you bust out in giggles.

You sit up as he comes around to the side of the bed, “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I’ll never forget it.”

You laugh even more when you see it up close.

“Help me take this off,” he turns around to show your name and “Husband” printed on the back.

You lean into his back in a fit of giggles, shocked but giddy.

“We really are soulmates,” you say as you pull the briefs by the leg. “Meant to be.”

Miguel turns back around, bending to slide your mouth with his, “Forever and ever.”

True to his word, it really felt like you were his favorite flavor with the amount of marks he left on your skin before he got back in between your legs. You were so wound tight that with one lick from your hole to your clit, you were already trapping his head there.

Miguel hummed and hiked your hips up, mouth moving to kiss your lips as if he were making out with the ones on your face. It was absurd how loud it sounded. His tongue kept swirling along your walls while the tip of his nose rubbed against your clit.

You didn’t know where to keep your hands, but it did look good with your ring dazzling on your finger as you brought your hands to his head buried deep in your pussy.

“Don’t stop,” you cried as he started to nod his face along your flower.

Just when you could feel yourself ride to the edge, he took his middle and ring finger and spread you open. You shouted his name as you felt the cool touch of the ring slide in and out alongside the heat of his tongue.

You don’t remember when you came down, but you remember Miguel’s drenched face kissing along your shaking thighs.

“No Dulce de Leche is beating that, Mrs. O’Hara,” he reached to pull the soaking lace off, careful not to move the garter.

“C’mere,” you hold your hands out, wanting to feel him on you. “I’m glad you like it so much.”

Miguel groans into your mouth, grinding his dick along your wet folds. He finds your hands and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“I love you,” he sighs into your mouth. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

One sweet session later, he had you on your stomach, back arched, and yelling into the pillows as he pounded into you.

You could see stars as his hips smacked loudly against your ass. The headboard was knocking against the wall with every push.

Miguel was really feeling the wedding attire as he had one hand gripping your veil by your back and the other pulling at garter.

When you came around his cock, he was diving in right after, letting go into your sea. The shudders of you afterwards had him moving a little more and turning your face to the side to kiss your panting lips.

By the time you two finished, you were sure the sun was soon to rise.

Your hair was a mess, the veil was somewhere across the room, and you both were tangled up in the sheets.

You laid your head on Miguel’s chest, content to listen to his heartbeat to lull you to sleep. He’s rubbing your arm and kissing the top of your head.

“Thank you so much for stepping up and making this day so magical for me,” you look up at him. “Words can’t explain how appreciative I am.”

Miguel looked back at you, eyes warm, “I just want to see you smile. Thank you for giving me space to handle things.”

You pucker your lips and he reaches to comply.

“Now, we need to get some sleep. Gotta regain some energy.”

“You’re absolutely right,” you say as you tilt your eyes down to the sheets. “Because I’ve got a show to put on when we wake up.”

Miguel just laughs as he pulls you onto his chest.

The birds chirping were a nice background noise to you all’s slumber.

I went through several episodes of Kitchen Nightmares in order to finish this. BUT! I am happy with the result. As always, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and COMMENT!

359 notes · View notes

httpsdana · 26 days

Note

heyyy

i saw your last post and i have an idea, what about the reader having a bad past with birthdays and she didn't have birthdays since 12yo ( or anything anyway :))) ) then pablo will do to her a birthday surprise after he knew it...

20 Presents for 20th Birthday~Pablo Gavi

*Pictures are from Pinterest*

this was actually so cute to write I hope you enjoy <3

request from here

master list

players/drivers I write for

Birthdays were never y/n's favorite events. Especially not her own birthday. She hadn't celebrated her birthday since she was 12. Her parents always celebrated her birthday, until her father died, and her mother never spoke to her after that, never even telling her happy birthday.

So ever since she turned 12,she had lived with her aunt, who also made sure to not celebrate her niece's birthday.

After Pablo found out about her bad experience with birthdays, he wanted to make sure her 20th birthday is one to remember.

y/n woke up in the morning, remembering that she had turned 20. As usual, she didn't expect anyone to remember her birthday. She opened her phone, only for the messages to come flooding. She was surprised, but smiled at the thoughtfulness of Gavi's friends, who are her only friends

Pedri : happy birthday y/n! have an amazing day 💖

Fermin: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIL SIS. I HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR DAY 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Lamine Yamal: happy birthday mom 🫶🏼

Alejandro Balde: happy birthday little one! enjoy your day to the max 🥳

Aurora💋: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEAUTIFUL. I CANT WAIT TO SEE YOU AGAIN ❤️😍 MOM AND DAD SAY HI 😁

She felt her eyes tearing up at the sweet messages from her friends. They already made her day better when she was in a gloomy mood at the thought of that day. That's when she came across the message that made her cry.

Pablito❤️: happy birthday to my sweet beautiful girlfriend. I'm gonna make sure you have the best day ever. I love you so so so much baby. now get ready to receive your 20 gifts for your 20th birthday ❤️❤️

She replied to all the messages, smiling gratefully at the friends she has gained because of her boyfriend. After that, she got up and entered the bathroom pf her bedroom. She was met with a sticky note on her mirror.

Your skin deserves as much love and care as you give to everyone around you. I hope this helps keep your glow as radiant as your smile.

She smiled, looking at the cute box that was on the bathroom counter. She opened it and saw all the skin care products that were there. All the expensive things she had put on her wishlist previously.

After doing her skin care routine, she changed out of her PJs and left to the kitchen.

A chocolate box was waiting for her on the kitchen counter. She smiled as she read the note on it.

Each piece in this box is as rich and delightful as the moments we share. I hope you enjoy every bite my love

She felt herself blushing at his sweetness, opening the box to see all the cute chocolate bites that were there. She ate a few pieces as she drank her coffee and wondered what Pablo had also planned out. She still couldn't believe he got her 20 gifts.

She walked to the living room to continue her tour around the house, and was met with a brand new stylish handbag on the coffee table. She admired the bag, then opened it to see it's inside, only to notice a designer perfume inside, a luxury fragrance she's been wanting. With also another note.

Just like this bag carries all your essentials, may this perfume add a touch of elegance to your every day. Enjoy both as a little reminder of how much you mean to me.

She shook her head with a smile, already feeling bad and how much all this must've costed him.

y/n thought that maybe the gifts in her apartment were over, only for her to receive a message from Pablo.

Pablito❤️: you've got a few more gifts at your apartment, before Pedri picks you up for your next destination

She smiled at the message replying with a thank you for everything he had gotten her and saying he didn't have to. She went to her closet to get ready. She didn't know what to wear, but when she opened the closet, she was met with the new barca jersey, the number 6 on the back and her name printed out on the top.

Wear this jersey with pride and remember that I'm always cheering you on, no matter where you go. Can't wait to see you in it.

She grinned happily, admiring the beautiful jersey in front on her. She was always a barca fan, so receiving a jersey that has her name and Pablo's number meant the world to her.

She paired the jersey up with some wide jeans. After getting ready, she received a message from Pedri saying that he's gonna be outside her door in a few minutes.

As she was putting on her choose, something on the small table, where they put their keys, caught her attention.

Her jaw dropped when she saw the polaroid camera there, also with a note.

Capture every special moment of this day with this camera and let each photo be a snapshot of our beautiful memories together.

She beamed at the sweet message, putting the camera in her bag and heading out. She saw Pedri in his car there, a smile on his face.

She got in the car next to him and he greeted her.

"hey you. happy birthday" he said sweetly, making her smile

"thank you Pedri. now where are we going?" she asked, putting on her seatbelt.

"we are going to the stadium now" he said, starting the car.

"oh and before we move, make sure to wear these sunglasses so the sun doesn't burn your eyes" Pedri gave her a small bag.

She opened it, seeing the beautiful sunglasses inside. She smiled and put them on, before Pedri started his drive.

The drive was silent, and when they arrived y/n was about to open the door, before Pedri stopped her.

He gave her a small paper, and when she looked at it she saw that it was a voucher, for her favorite spa.

"make sure to enjoy your day at the spa whenever you want. it's available for the next two weeks" he smile.

"thank you Pedri" she said genuinely making him smile

"it's not me who you should thank. plus it's your birthday. now go don't be late" he ushered her out of his car.

She got out of the car and made her way inside the stadium.

As she started her walk, one of the staff member came by her side. She gave her a big bouquet of roses, her favorite flowers, and told her to follow her.

She walked behind her, the bouquet still in her hand. At the beginning of the hallway, she was met by Lamine.

"y/n! happy birthday" he exclaimed, giving her a small hug.

"thank you son" she joked, making him laugh.

Suddenly, he pulled a small bag from behind him, giving it to y/n

"from gavi" he said. She smiled gratefully, handing him the bouquet so she can open it.

She saw a box in the bag, seemingly a jewelry box. She opened it, and was met with some of her all time favorite lyrics.

I want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck not because he owns me, but cause he really knows me

She giggled silently, removing the paper, and seeing the gorgeous gold necklace, that had the letter P on it.

Lamine helped her put her necklace on, before handing her the bouquet. She continued her walk with the staff member.

Until she was then met by Fermin.

"here's the birthday girl. how has your day been?" he asked, giving her a hug.

"it's been amazing." she answered.

He also pulled a back from behind him, giving it to y/n. She opened the box inside, and saw a gorgeous bracelet. It had her initial on it, but when she looked at the back of it, she noticed the date of hers and Pablo's anniversary on the back.

"that's adorable" she mumbled, putting the gold bracelet on.

"you gotta go now. I'll see you tonight" Fermin waved at her, before leaving her and the staff

tonight? that's weird

They walked more down the hallway, and finally they reached the pitch. The staff told y/n to walk a bit and she'll know what to do next.

y/n walked alone on the pitch, until she saw a familiar figure standing there. When she noticed it was Pablo, she placed the bouquet on the grass and ran into his arms.

She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, while he lifted her of the ground by hugging her waist.

"I love you so much" she mumbled into his neck. He placed her down on the floor, holding her face in his hands

"did you like my gifts?" he asked softly, his voice holding adoration and love

"like them? I loved them Pablo. you shouldn't have done all that" she said, feeling guilty once again about the money he spent

He shook his head nonchalantly.

"don't be silly. that's the least I could do to make up all the birthdays of the past." he said, making her smile.

She leaned in and connected their lips into a passionate kiss, that they only pulled away from when they needed some air.

"come on you still have, how many gifts? nine?" he said, making her laugh

"20 gifts is a lot Gavi. you really shouldn't have" she said, making him sigh.

"just shut up. if it makes you better, I didn't pay for all of them yet" he said, making her confused.

"well I haven't payed for the restaurant we're having dinner at tomorrow. I haven't booked our trip to Greece yet. Also we haven't gotten our outfits for the Taylor Swift concert in Miami-" he was interrupted by her squeal

"we're gonna see Taylor Swift?!" she almost screamed making him laugh

"yes we are" he nodded, making her jump again into his arms

"I love you so so so much" she said quickly, while he kissed her temple

"I love you more, now come on we have to go shopping for your birthday party tonight" he said.

144 notes · View notes

a-dauntless-daffodil · 3 months

Note

The year charlie stops being goth. Vaggie almost drops her cause, she looks really cute in that suit, and now she's kinda bubbly and sweet and omg

well now look what you did

Charlie: "Okay, new year, new me, same old pick up line. It's.... TRUST FALL TIIIIIME!" (yeets self) "WHEEE!!"

Vaggie: (swooping as usual) "Charlie!?"

Charlie: "Huggles!"

Vaggie: "What- you-"

Charlie: "You said my naaaaamee~"

Vaggie: "I- I almost didn't who'd climbed the clocktower this year- You, seem different?"

Charlie: "Yep! It's the suit!"

Vaggie: "That's, that's not what I-"

Charlie: "I started wearing them after last extermination!"

Vaggie: "-why-?"

Charlie: "Because I like it. Do YOU like it?"

Vaggie: "I’m, more wondering about the rest of you. You’re, smiling.”

Charlie: “I’ve smiled before!”

Vaggie: “But you’re happy smiling?”

Charlie: “Of course I am! I’m happy to see you.”

Vaggie: “….”

Charlie: (giggles) "Are you blushing under your mask?"

Vaggie: "No!"

Charlie: "Caaaaan I steal your mask for a second and check~?"

Vaggie: "No."

Charlie: "Aw. But I've MISSED you."

Vaggie: "... princess… how many times have you fallen off of the tower today."

Charlie: (twining arms around vaggie and kicking up her heels) "Only this once, don't worry."

Vaggie: "I wasn't-"

Charlie: "I only jump when I know you'll be there to catch me!"

Vaggie: "No you don't. That first year you didn't even know I existed, and you still threw yourself off the roof. Pointlessly."

Charlie: "To be fair it would've been pretty pointy if I'd landed on the spiked railing ten floors down..."

Vaggie: "And you would've gotten back up from that with only bruises, miss Morningstar, it would have made a mess and hurt a little and that's it. Pointless."

Charlie: "I know~"

Vaggie: "It’s a waste of my time AND yours.”

Charlie: “I don’t think so? You could never be a waste of my t-”

Vaggie: “It is a waste! These stupid stunts are just you publicly protesting the extermination by trying to catch the eye of someone up in heaven!"

Charlie: "And I did, didn't I?"

Vaggie: "No you didn't and you never will-"

Charlie: "I caught you."

Vaggie: "..."

Charlie: "…everything you just said? I finally realized it last year. Took a while but, it finally clicked and, it kinda changed everything for me. You know?"

Vaggie: "No." (lands on clocktower) "I should go."

Charlie: (playing with vaggie's mask) "Why'd you catch me that first year, scary lady exorcist?"

Vaggie: "That's not my name."

Charlie: "You knew who I was. The fall wouldn't kill me."

Vaggie: "Do you want me to drop you."

Charlie: "Why did you care?"

Vaggie: "I don't care- I just didn't let you fall."

Charlie: "Why?"

Vaggie: "What do you mean why? I'm an exorcist, an angel not a demon. I'm here to punish the souls of sinners, not to- not to BE like them."

Charlie: "But you haven't been punishing them for years."

Vaggie: "Yes I have. By keeping you out of the way of my sisters-"

Charlie: "I looked you up in the registers of heaven since last time. They're public records, did you know? Anyone in hell can check how many sinners an angel's killed. It's a warning I guess, and you... You're one of the best killers the exorcists have, aren't you?"

Vaggie: "How could you look me up. You don't have my name and THOSE are most certainly NOT listed in hell."

Charlie: "The "winner's streak" tally board has a mug shot of each of you on it, along with your kill count. Finding you wasn't hard. Every exorcist's mask looks a little bit different and I've doodled yours often enough."

Vaggie: "You what?"

Charlie: "ARE you one of the best exorcists?"

Vaggie: "Yes. I average five hundred per cleansing. Clearly hunting down sinful souls isn't a problem for me."

Charlie: "Right. And how many sinners do you think I save every year?"

Vaggie: "I don't know."

Charlie: "If it was enough to matter, or even just ONE, do you think I would have stopped doing it long enough to have climbed heaven's tower in the first place?"

Vaggie: "What does that matter."

Charlie: "You aren't helping anyone kill sinners when you keep an eye on me like this."

Vaggie: "I would be out there with my sisters right now if it wasn't for you."

Charlie: "But you're not."

Vaggie: "And who's fault is that?"

Charlie: "Yours."

Vaggie: "Your highness, this is stupid-"

Charlie: "You don't like killing people, do you?"

Vaggie: "Like it? No. Who could… But sinners have earned it."

Charlie: "I don't think so. I don't you did either."

Vaggie: "Don't group me with them. I'm nothing like them and not suffering down here in hell."

Charlie: "You're in hell right now though."

Vaggie: "For ONE day and only out of duty, to protect heaven. Your dashing new bowtie is tied on too tight, princess, it's constructing the blood flow to your head."

Charlie: "No other angels ever come here, only exorcists."

Vaggie: "Of course no one else comes here why would anyone-"

Charlie: "So what did you do to land yourself the job murdering souls for all eternity?"

Vaggie: ".... I chose duty."

Charlie: "That's what I thought, but." (whispering) "You've been ignoring that duty and your spear the whole time we've been talking..."

Vaggie: (sighs) "What does any of that have do to with you putting on suit and bowtie, princess?"

Charlie: "A lot." (smiling) "You like talking with me. You like me."

Vaggie: "The new suit factors in here somewhere I'm sure."

Charlie: "It makes me feel more me!"

Vaggie: "Congratulations."

Charlie: "Like it?"

Vaggie: "There is no way that one well-fitted suit made you turn this happy."

Charlie: "Ohhhh, well-fitted huh?"

Vaggie: "I can see that much. Everyone can see that much."

Charlie: "But I don’t care and aren’t asking them! Do you like what I did with my hair too? Look, I can smooth it back now all suave- Aw don't look away! You really are blushing under there!"

Vaggie: "You're infuriating."

Charlie: (laughs) "Well! That's says more about YOU and YOUR taste in women than it does about me!"

Vaggie: "My taste in w- My WHAT?"

Charlie: "I think you're very tasty too, bi the way~"

Vaggie: "I- I'm setting you down now."

Charlie: "Emphasis on the BI!"

Vaggie: "Please stop clinging to me, princess, you've always been head and shoulders taller than me, this looks ridiculous-"

Charlie: "Ridiculous? I think we're cuuuuuuuute."

Vaggie: "My lieutenant won't think so if she sees me like this!"

Charlie: "Um, uh- If by lieutenant you mean that one extra angry exorcist with the fancy officer's sword who was glaring at us a while ago-"

Vaggie: "SHE WAS WHAT!?"

Charlie: "Thennnnn I think you're about fifteen minutes of demon princess cuddling to late to worry about it!"

Vaggie: "Shit!"

Charlie: "Don't worry about it! At least we have each other." (snuggles)

Vaggie: "No." (lets go)

Charlie: (still dangling off of her) "...did I mention I've got good upper body and core strength too? I mean, I don't USE it much, but-"

Vaggie: (SIGHS) (crosses arms hugging spear) (sits down)

Charlie: "-OH I'm in your lap now that's- Wow!!!"

Vaggie: "I’m not talking with you."

Charlie: "That's okay! You're more the cool and quiet type, I can talk for both of us!"

Vaggie: "Please. Don't."

Charlie: "If you meant that then you wouldn't have kept on catching and listening to me, year after year, even when I was being all goth and emo and snarky about it!"

Vaggie: "I was not listening."

Charlie: "What's the names of my goat childhood buddies slash demon plushies slash part time bodyguards?"

Vaggie: "You mean Razzle and Dazzle..?"

Charlie: "And their fav food??"

Vaggie: "Doughnuts."

Charlie: "HEH. You call THAT not listening?"

Vaggie: "Ugh."

Charlie: "Now let's see- You have a VERY nice lap but, can we move spear a liiiittle bit? It makes it kinda hard to cuddle-"

Vaggie: "No."

Charlie: "Skill issue, gotcha. I'll figure something out!"

Vaggie: (groans) (does absolutely nothing else to stop the cuddling)

#hazbin hotel #chaggie #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie early meeting au #incorrect quotes #fluff #charlie doesn't twirl a strand of her hair in this but emotionally that's all she's doing whenever she's looking at this exorcist lady #vaggie is a softie and stupidly gay

200 notes · View notes

writethrough · 6 months

Note

Can I request a morpheus x reader where his s/o has curly/wavy hair? Or just reader being obsessed with touching his hair and he absolutely love it and he likes to do the same

Mid-Afternoon Dream

(Morpheus x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Synopsis: Morpheus enjoys his moment of peace with you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 430

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me! I went with the second half of your idea since I like to try and keep Reader as up-to-interpretation as possible. I hope you enjoy!

You were lying on your couch, music playing softly from your record player. Spring was slowly shifting into summer, enough that you had opened your windows to feel the breeze drift through your home.

The early afternoon rays filtered in, and everything seemed brighter and newer in that way only the warm weather brought. For this moment, everything was peaceful.

Even Morpheus couldn’t find fault in it. Not when his head rested on your chest, and you were carding through his hair to the base of his neck. Your nails gently dragging down his scalp to the ends of his strands would’ve made him shiver if he were human.

You’ve been like this for some time now, relaxing in each other's arms. It was a rare moment for the Dream King. He couldn’t recall the last time he had felt this content. Though, it’d been happening more frequently since he’d met you.

When he’s working, his mind often wondered to you, what you were doing, when he would see you, it’d become ever the distraction—be it a welcomed one.

He hummed as your nails traced his neck, and you giggled lightly. He squeezed your side in return.

Never had he thought he’d let anyone see him like this, not after all those years in that cage. But there was something in you that called him. He could let his guard down around you. And it was easier than he thought.

You opened your arms to him and all he had to do was step closer.

You placed a kiss on the top of his head, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Have I put the Sandman to sleep?” you teased.

He answered with his eyes closed. “You are the only creature capable of such a feat.”

“You deserve some rest.” He could hear your smile, but there was seriousness, too. It made him lift to his elbow to look at you.

You stared at one another a few moments until you reached out a hand to cup his cheek. Your thumb grazed his skin reverently, seemingly amazed that he was before you now.

The corner of your lips ticked up as you took him in. This otherworldly being that wasn’t really a being at all. He was too perfect. It only made sense that he was a concept, one that provided all with the ability to escape, to wrap themselves in imagination, to set themselves free.

“My Dream,” you whispered, almost like you hadn’t meant to.

His eyes softened. His own hand reached up to caress your hair.

“My heart.”

Tags: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline, @fictional-hooman, @steph-speaks, @ladyredstar1991, @secretdreamlandmentality, @ababycake, @morpheuss1mp, @boofy1998, @alice-the-nerd, @herfantasyworldd, @poemfreak306, @tronnily, @commanderfreethatdust

Let me know if you want to be added to the list!

375 notes · View notes

jasmineoolongtea · 3 months

Note

hihiiii i hope ur doing amazing rn may i req megumi or yuji with a s/o who acts like jade west? you can make it hcs or a one shot idm

a/n: hiiiii anon i hope you're doing well too!! when you say a reader who acts like jade west (man victorious was a trip thinking back on it fdjfjhs) i assume that you're talking about her personality traits and etc so i hope i do your request justice for both of them ☆ ～('▽^人)

fushiguro megumi

okay, imagine you put two prickly hedgehogs with each other and that's kinda you and megumi's relationship

overall, you guys together exude a very intimidating atmosphere, especially with your shared affinity for wearing dark colours

gojo, yuji and nobara like to joke that you're the resident class emos (much to megumi's chagrin)

you and megumi are similar yet so different because it's like you're the more outspoken version of him in a way

like you and megumi have quite prickly personalities but it's just that you're much more willing to just blatantly push people away verbally

one thing megumi loves about is your rebellious spirit and he thinks that it's deeply admirable that you're so willing to push forward on your own way despite what cards you might have been given or what other people think you should do

both of you are petty people, just one of you is more vocal about it than the other, and this is awful for basically anyone who isn't the two of you but you two could honestly care less for the most part

megumi knows it's bad and that he probably should be better than this but he doesn't really do much to help de-escalate any conflicts you might find yourself in, rather he quietly cheers for you from the sidelines and even steps in to help you if you need it (it's his middle school past that's speaking to him through you)

he's the only person to truly understand you and your fears and insecurities which is part of the reason for why you're so possessive of him and megumi gets this so that's why he doesn't think it's reasonable to give you such a hard time about it

when it's just you and him behind closed doors, you're definitely much more open with your affections and self with him and he loves these quiet moments with you since he feels much more comfortable with expressing himself as well

no one believes that there could be anyone who could rival your sassiness but honestly, megumi could give you a run for your money with his own sassy off-handed comments (except for gojo, that poor man has had first-hand experience with megumi's sassy side from young)

megumi's always there to be your rock and bring you back down whenever your ego gets a bit too much or it just seems like everything is intent on making you angry or more annoyed and ticked off than usual

very few people are aware of this but you have a soft spot for kids and megumi is glad that he's able to witness this side of you

if your friends and all the people who knew you were to rank what they thought were unlikely combinations of things together, you and kids would definitely be somewhere high on that list. unless you were megumi since his opinion strongly differed from everyone else's stance. well, it also helped that he had insider knowledge on this one that everyone else lacked.

you and megumi were out on a date at an amusement park since you both won free tickets from a lucky draw, with you insisting that this was the only reason that you were here and totally not because of anything else, when you suddenly felt a tug coming from the bottom of your pants leg.

looking down to find the source of the sudden disturbance, you notice that two little hands are hanging onto the fabric of your pants for dear life as a small snot-nosed and teary-eyed girl, probably no older than the age of 6, tries her best to get your attention. you and megumi exchange a look of confusion and slight concern as you both wonder what could possibly be the cause of this young kid's distress.

you let of megumi's hand in order to kneel down to the girl's height as you quickly examine her in an attempt to find any obvious cuts or bruises that might need attention. when that angle fails, you decide to just outright ask her, "what's wrong little one?" compared to your usual tone of voice which is biting and aggressive, your question comes off much more careful and gentle as you try your best to offer her some comfort.

"c-can you help me?" the child chokes out, clearly trying her best to articulate her words despite her wobbly lip and red eyes that look like they're about to burst out in tears at any second.

you nod calmly at her, even offering her a small smile to encourage her to keep speaking. she visibly relaxes at your demeanour and tries to compose herself as she mumbles something under her breath, slightly too soft to the point where you're struggling to hear her.

"hmm? you've gotta speak up, sweetheart." you remark softly and she shys away slightly, as if embarrassed that you couldn't hear her. slowly reaching out to her, you gently take her much smaller hand in yours and give it a reassuring squeeze to nudge her to try again, just a little bit louder this time.

she uses her other free hand to wipe away the tears running down her pillowy cheeks before looking back at you with a renewed sense of determination. "c-can you help me find my parents? i-i think i lost them somewhere here."

"of course we can, hon." you reply and you stand up back to your usual height. you make an 'up' motion to her to ask if you can pick her up. she nods and you scoop her up in your arms as you introduce her to megumi, even getting her to laugh a little bit when he lets her play with his hair for a bit, before the two, or well three of you, make your way around the park in the search for her parents.

unbeknownst to you, while you were occupied with the little girl, you had a secret admirer in the form of megumi as he quietly watched on from the sidelines, unable to fight off a smile and look of fondness as he saw firsthand another side of you that only he and a few other people were privileged to find out about, something he deeply cherishes.

itadori yuji

okay total sunshine x grumpy dynamic or even black cat x golden retriever here

honestly, when people see you guys together out and about there's a lot of confusion from them about how you two even got together in the first place since you seem like such polar opposites

it was kinda a shock for megumi and nobara a bit as well at the beginning of your relationship but as time passed, they eventually began to see how you guys ultimately complement each other

you guys bond over your love for movies, specifically horror movies and surprisingly, you also enjoy watching human earthworm (but you make yuji swear to never reveal this to anyone as it's basically a guilty pleasure of yours)

one thing about you that yuji loves is your unapologetic confident attitude and how you never shy away from most things which is something he admires about you

he's also your no. 1 public defender, ready to come to your defence at any second (even if you might be in the wrong but that's for a very nice convo for only behind closed doors), and this forever warms your heart and helps to quell many of your insecurities

he makes it a point to always reassure you about your relationship since he knows how you can struggle with jealousy alongside the fact that you're scared of losing one of the few people who actually see you for who you are

you're used to people writing you off as one thing, even going so far as to do the complete opposite to spite them, but yuji sees past your initial front and knows how sensitive and hard-working you can be deep down

it's a known fact that you are not a fan of physical touch, even from your close friends, but yuji is the exception to this rule as he can just throw himself onto you at any time and you're completely fine with it (even fighting off a small smile which you swear is just a hallucination on their part)

yuji is one of the very few people able to calm you down when someone or something just ends up inevitably annoying you and puts you in a bad mood

like the effect he has on you is almost instantaneous that it gives whiplash to most people who are there to witness it

out of all the days that the universe chooses to ruin, of course, it has to be the day where you're just trying to enjoy a nice day out with your boyfriend, yuji.

you're sitting on a bench, waiting for yuji who went to buy you and him some drinks from the nearby vending machine, as you attempt to soak in the nice afternoon breeze when a random passerby suddenly bumps into your knees on their walk.

an accidental, or not-so-accidental, bump might have been kinda excusable if the other party had decided to make a deeply regretful apology but a scoff and mumbled 'whatever' was definitely not an apology in any sense of the word. it was as if they were trying to intentionally piss you off or something.

it would almost be an insult to you as a person if you were going to let this go and let it be water under the bridge or whatever other stupid saying they have for situations like this. you stand up from your seated position, arms crossed in front of your chest as you make your way towards the perpetrator.

"you want to say that to my face?" you ask, though your voice is more demanding than anything.

any retort that the other person might have thrown your way is instantly thrown out of the window when they notice your deadly expression and gaze, almost as if you're daring them to even say anything. they try to take a step back in an attempt to escape the situation but you don't let them have such an easy out as you take a step forward in return.

they meekly mumble something under their breath. you raise a brow at them. pathetic, you think to yourself, can't even have the guts to back themselves up.

but before you can get right in their face, a head of pink hair magically appears by your side from somewhere in your peripheral vision. there's a familiar weight on your shoulder as you quickly realise that it's yuji and it's like a switch has been flipped inside of you as you jump right into his arms, to which he happily returns your affection tenfolds.

the other person is simply left bewildered at your sudden change in attitude within the span of what feels like less than 5 seconds as their face is twisted into an almost comical look of confusion. you pay them no mind thought for now, simply relishing in the feeling of yuji's arms around your waist as he presses sporadic kisses around your face.

he stops for a moment to glance at the other person before looking back at you and asking "who's that?"

you brush off his question with ease. "no one important." you reply and yuji nods as if your answer is simply a fact.

a sigh escapes you as you glance sideways at the other person. "you're so lucky my boyfriend is here." you mutter pointedly at them, gritting your teeth whilst you do so. you mouth to them 'count your days', with an exaggerated knife to the throat motion to seal the deal, from over your shoulder as you and yuji walk away together, hand in hand.

162 notes · View notes

devilfic · 4 months

Text

❝right place, right time❞

VIII. whatever keeps you around.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce has a proposal for you. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief discussion of slight suicidal ideation/martyrdom, drug (and the injection of drugs) mentions, you will not guess what trope I managed to include in here. words: 6.9k. a/n: plotting this series makes me feel like charlie day pointing at a wall of red string

“…You won’t like it.”

It's clear what you have to do. You'd realized it when Gordon came to you, so of course Bruce did too. If you were going to make this right, you would have to face this head on. "I know what I have to do," you start, "I need to lure him out."

Bruce's expression shifts. Whatever you've said seems to be the wrong answer, "That... won't be necessary."

"What? What else can I do?"

"What did Gordon tell you about Dimitri?"

Your head throbs as you recall the memory, "Uh... he said he believes I'm next on Dimitri's hit list. He also said Dimitri hadn't anticipated me being at the house."

"Right, because Russo didn't want anyone knowing where he was." Bruce turns to his computer and brings up Russo's file, "After his divorce and the death of his son, he holed up and started erasing himself from the internet. As far as his neighbors know, he was constantly alone. You already know how hard it was to find him on your own, and unless Dimitri knew someone keeping tabs, it doesn't stand to reason that he found him any easier. But you, on the other hand," Bruce opens a search engine and types in your name. You're unsettled when the screen fills with results, most of them news articles from the night you'd been held hostage, "your name and face was everywhere after the gang war."

When the reporters had shoved cameras in your face and begged for you to tell them about Batman's heroic rescue, you hadn't thought twice about it, still fresh from the throes of gore and violence in the ER. Friends, family, coworkers: almost everyone you knew had seen it.

It clicks for you then, "If Dimitri planned on killing us both and I was easiest to find, why didn't he come for me first? I mean... it was me and Alex who ruined his life. If he wanted anyone dead more, wouldn't it be me?"

"I wondered the same thing. With the know-how and the right connections, anyone could find where you live just by name alone. Russo, on the other hand, is almost anonymous. It doesn't make sense why Dimitri would target Russo first."

"Do you think maybe it was a warning? Maybe he wanted to scare me."

"If he wanted to warn you, he wouldn't kill the guy in his house where no one checks up on him. Days would've passed before anyone noticed the flies in the windows."

"I don't get it."

"Do you remember how long it's been since you were taken hostage?"

Your mind lands on a weak estimate, "I don't know, a week and a half?"

"It's been over two weeks. According to the wardens, Dimitri stopped being a problem for them after the first few years. Friends with a rough crowd but he rarely got caught up in anything. Didn't have the heart to. So why, after 17 years, does he break out?"

Your stomach drops, "He saw me."

"And realized that while he was rotting away with nothing to live for, you were a hero," the word sickens you to hear, "on the front lines, saving lives, being saved. Your life went back to normal."

You grip the side of Bruce's desk with the sudden urge to vomit up everything you'd eaten today, which, frankly, wouldn't add up to much more than water and crackers.

You'd said it yourself: you'd gotten to live a life that Natalie, Dimitri, and Alex never would. Of course he wanted you dead. "So then I have to lure him out."

"And put yourself in danger? No."

"I’m already in danger, Bruce. What if he goes after the others? My parents? My coworkers? The other cops at the shootout? We have to end it now."

"This isn't the only way."

"It's the best way."

"Last time he had a knife, you could defend yourself. Barely. What if next time, he has a gun?"

"So what, you just want to do nothing?"

Bruce turns away from you. He gnaws on his lower lip, "No, I want to bide our time. Look into him more. I need to know if he's working with the Vipers again."

You watch him as he begins typing away at his computer, but you can't process what he's looking for through the haze of anger that washes over you. You lean on the desk, craning your neck up at his face to make him look at you, to understand how ridiculous he sounds, "We don't have time for that. His grudge is with me. I should meet him now and end this... either he gets what he wants or- or..."

Or what? Your stubbornness peters out. You don't know what. You see yourself standing face-to-face with Dimitri, his knife raised, ready to bury itself into the cushion of your chest. And nothing.

The you in this vision has no weapon.

"You don't think you're going to survive this." Coming out of your mind, Bruce is now looking at you, brows furrowed. He looks... mortified.

You scramble to cover your tracks, "That's not true. I'd have you there."

"But you don't want me there. You want to go alone. You think you deserve it."

"God, what are you? My therapist?" Your words flit out of your mouth in a rush, tongue nearly slipping up to defend yourself. You push away from the desk when you start feeling overexposed.

Bruce follows you, "You're not 16 anymore, this isn't some gang fight where you throw all your chips in because you can't see a year ahead of you. You've made a life. You've got people to lose, you said so yourself. I know what it's like... the survivor's guilt. You relive that day over and over-"

His words are making you feel sick to your stomach again and you lurch forward, finger in his face, "Don't you fucking preach to me-"

Almost as immediately as you'd raised your finger, Bruce snatches your wrist in his hand, yanking you close enough to be imposing, staring down at you with the same power that the Batman had used. It was so sudden that you quickly fall slack, wrist going limp in his grip.

It had completely sobered you of your tantrum, and for better or for worse, you were forced to listen to him, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think. You see this ending with you dead because you want to make up for the shit you did. You think that's what Alex wants? For you to bleed out in an alley like she did?" And just like that, the fire roars in you once more, but your other hand can't slap him across the face before he's caught that one too, "No future? What about all the people you've saved? Could still save? Face it now because you may not get another chance: you're alive. Do you want to be or not?"

You want to hurt him, turn his skin red and give it a place among the other bruises that glitter and glare down his torso, and as your hand shakes in his hold, you are forced to understand that you are angry because he is right.

You'd felt this same anger before. When your parents told you Alex was a bad influence on you. When Russo looked you in the eye and told you that you didn't have it in you to pull the trigger. It was maddening. He had clocked your suicide mission before even you had, had seen you in his mind's eye the way you saw yourself: disarmed, a lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice for the greater good, a speedbump.

You could see Batman tackling him to the ground over your dying body. You couldn't see yourself getting up the next day.

After the frustration leaves Bruce's eyes, he's looking at you with something softer. You feel known, uncomfortably so, as he waits for you to meet him there.

And when you do, you hate how you collapse into him. Even more, you hate that he takes you up into his arms, holding you steadfast, as understanding as you needed him to be with all your fear of admitting it. The solidness of his body reminds you of the night he'd first held you, and that just makes you cry harder.

It feels different from last time. Where there was armor is now warm skin, the likes of which you hadn't felt in a while. If you had told your past self you'd one day be standing in Batman's cave, hugging Bruce Wayne and crying over the permanence of your mistakes, you might have diagnosed yourself with head trauma.

You screw your eyes shut in a vain attempt to put the tears to rest, your freed hands practically clawing at Bruce's warm back for some purchase, some stability. He doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you closer.

After a few minutes, you force yourself to speak, sniffling away the last remaining tears you'd allow yourself to shed, "You said I wouldn't like it. Your plan. What is it?"

"To disappear."

You wrench yourself back. Bruce is dead serious. "What?"

"I've considered it from all angles-"

"What do you mean, 'disappear'?"

"All but one of the prisoners Dimitri broke out with are still missing. How do we know they're not all working together? How do we know that you luring him out won't draw them out too? You were the easiest target before, not anymore."

"Say what you mean, Bruce. What do you want me to do?"

"I want to hide you here," he winces as he says this, as if aware of his words only now that they're out in the open, "with me."

"You're shitting me."

After a while, Bruce's face hardens, "I told you you wouldn't like it."

Liking it or not liking it was nothing. You'd advanced past "like". You were firmly out of your depth here.

You slip out of Bruce's hold and he lets you, standing rather awkwardly as you rub a hand across your mouth. Despite earlier, it now feels uncomfortably dry. You glance at Bruce and then at his screen, the tab with your name and face plastered all over it hovering in the background. "You want me to disappear off the face of the earth while you track him down. Leave my home, leave the people I care about, abandon my job. You want me to hide."

"I don't know how else to protect you. Not until we figure out what we're up against." Bruce watches you spin away, scoffing into the air, "You noticed it when you fought him off, didn't you? Something was really wrong with him."

You see flashes of Dimitri's feral stare, the way he staggered and swung. He was like a rabid animal in a cage. "Of course there was, he was trying to kill me."

"Beyond that," Bruce insists, "he wasn't right. I've seen it before. He was on something."

"Most people are these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd... I don't know, gotten his hands on drops or something-"

"It wasn't drops. Gordon told me."

"The detective?"

"He said they found a syringe with traces of venom in it. Dimitri's shooting up. That's why he was so strong."

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, "Venom? Great. Somehow worse than Drops."

"If he's on that drug, he's definitely addicted. It also means you won't stand a chance against him. This is why I'm telling you to stay here," Bruce steps forward, eyes imploring yours. You're dumbstruck by the heavy earnestness there, "stay in the tower. Hide here for a few days. Let me handle this."

"If he's on venom, it means he doesn't think he can handle you on his own," you wring your hands, flitting through images of the Dimitri you remember, "he was always really small. Even at fourteen, he hadn't really sprung up. He was scrawny and small and couldn't defend himself. Suddenly Gordon's saying he's almost twice the size of what I remember. Have you ever fought someone on venom?"

"Once or twice, somewhere between fixes. Why?"

"General has this kind of... sedative that we use when we get patients dealing with the effects. It's not perfect, but it does help calm them down enough to help them. Maybe we can use it to help him."

"The strain is constantly changing," Bruce watches you deflate and clears his throat, "but if I can get that sedative, I can use it as a base to make a new one."

"You need clearance to get your hands on that stuff. I'm going with you."

"What part of disappear do you not understand?"

"One, I never agreed to do that, and two, if Batman gets caught stealing from a hospital, that'll make you public enemy number one. You need my help, so let me help you."

Bruce is looking away, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth even as you zero in on him. You're getting flashbacks of that same Bruce from when you'd first met him here in this tower. All tender-eyed, even as he tries to put on a face for you, "And I need a drink," you rub your temple next, catching a glimpse of Bruce watching you from his peripheral, "You've got those, don't you?"

It turns out Bruce has plenty. There's a whole cellar full of them, the kinds you see in MTV Cribs with the low recessed lighting and mahogany shelves gleaming with polish. It makes sense for him to have it, but less so when he tells you he doesn't actually drink any of it.

"You weren't drinking at the party, either. Even though everyone else thought you were." You brush your hand along the shelves, careful not to knock any bottles loose. "Is that a trick to keep people spilling secrets? Or to keep from spilling your own?"

Bruce hovers near the entrance with his arms folded and back pressed to the wall, carefully watching you peruse his selection, "Maybe I don't like the taste."

"That's good. Men in Gotham die from alcoholism at a higher rate than any other city in the state."

"Really?"

"Really. You don't smoke either." Bruce blinks at you, "Just get shot at. And stabbed."

He says nothing.

Your hand lands on a red aged older than your mother and you stand to the side, looking expectantly at him. You're afraid that if you try to pick it up, you might knock down the whole row.

Slowly, Bruce pushes himself off the wall and glides over to you, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and looking to you for approval. You try not to shrink yourself when you nod.

You follow him out of the cellar, flinching when the lights dim behind you and the door rolls shut all on its own. He guides you to the kitchen where night still hangs over Gotham outside the window, but the time on the stove clock warns of early morning soon.

Bruce pulls out two glasses and fills yours with wine and his with cranberry juice from the fridge. You could almost laugh at the pairing.

Once he slides your glass to you, you take a seat at the island and take a sip, "I need to ask you something. I get now why you refused me at the station, but then you came back. Why did you change your mind? I mean, neither of us knew Russo would be dead when we got there. Were you just going to let me hate you?"

"Yes." His simple response draws a quick, stifled laugh out of you.

"Are you always this... chaotic?"

Bruce leans his elbows on the countertop, hunching in on himself, "I always meant to tell you who I was. I just didn't know when. And I didn't mind if you hated Bruce Wayne, but... you trusted Batman. I didn't want to break that trust. Even if it meant telling you earlier than I planned, I wanted to give you some closure."

You think about the fear that had paralyzed you back then, thinking that Bruce Wayne was some big, bad criminal hiding behind polite society. Then you think about the real man, hiding behind a mask. You fidget uncomfortably, struggling with feeling somewhere between grateful and nauseous. Your eyes catch the stitches on his shoulder and you itch to wipe away the dried blood that had dribbled from the cut, "You said you were looking for Dimitri when you got that. Did you..."

Bruce catches your eye when you fail to finish your question. "No," he answers solemnly, "which is only part of our problem." He stands to his full height, flexing bruised knuckles against the counter, "I ran into one of the guys that broke out with Dimitri tonight. That's who gave me this. Dimitri isn't working alone."

You frown, "Is he trying to shake you? Why leave clues at all?"

"Because these people want me dead. The guy from tonight? I booked him a year ago for trafficking women. Earlier led me to a fringe group of Falcone's."

"You've been looking for Dimitri all day?"

"I haven't stopped since we found Russo. I couldn't."

You rub your arms, feeling the room grow chiller by the second, "So... so he's leaving clues to people who hate you. To keep you occupied." Bruce nods. "So he can get to me?"

"After last night, he knows the Batman is on your side."

"Dimitri wasn't out when you got on the scene. Do you think maybe he's taking venom because these guys warned him about you?"

Bruce smirks, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his glass, "As a precaution, sure. And now he has reason to believe I know you. If he's going to go after you, he's going to shoot up each time."

"That stuff is nasty. You're big and scary when you're on it but as soon as the effects wear off-"

"You deflate like a balloon. It's also stupid expensive, so he's either got real generous prison pals or he's being used. It's why I need to know if he's working with the Vipers. They might be supplying him."

How you'd gone from an ordinary surgeon to a detective in the span of mere weeks was beyond you. You're beyond just treading water. You're diving into the abyss.

Your brain struggles to make real what is before you. Bruce, still shirtless, drinking delicately from a glass as he watches the night sky shimmer from the kitchen window. And you, sitting across from him, cracking open one of his family's expensive bottles that, frankly, puts your pantry vinos to shame. Playing vigilantes like schoolchildren. Except the blood on you both is very real.

Your arm throbs at being remembered for once tonight. Bruce notices you touch it, "You need to get some rest."

You know he's right, and you're not arguing for the sake of arguing when you say, "I can't sleep yet." But he can tell there's more on your mind as he waits silently, almost egging you on to lay yourself bare. You swear you're not arguing just for the sake of arguing, "And I don't want to disappear. I want to be alive."

Bruce says nothing. The silence isn't humiliating like you'd think it be, even if the first few seconds leave you feeling just as laid bare as you thought you would. No. It feels acknowledging. Understanding, even.

For the first time, you look at Bruce and feel like you understand him. If he was really Batman, then he would know better than anyone why you would want to put yourself in danger. But beneath that, with the meager knowledge of who Bruce Wayne is, you also think you understand him too.

He'd mentioned the survivor's guilt. While he'd played a much more innocent role in the whole ordeal, you couldn't imagine the weight on one's chest knowing that two people you love didn't get to go on but you did. It's a lot to ask of a child barely coming to understand the mortality of one's own keepers.

The choice to be alive for someone like that is a deliberate choice. Constantly made every morning.

"There is another way," Bruce muses, "but you'll like it even less."

"Don't leave me hanging."

"We could go public."

"What?"

"You said disappearing would mean abandoning your life. And it would. No one could know where you went, who you were with, but there's always the chance someone might slip up. It's the safest option but it's not what you want. So don't hide." Bruce's eye contact is deep and unwavering. Compared to earlier, he seems to trust you're willing to listen this time, "Be mine."

For the nth time tonight, you are rendered nearly speechless. Nearly. "Are you fucking with me?"

Bruce's eyes narrow, "No."

"Did you just... proposition me?"

"I made a proposal."

"You're asking me to date you."

"Publicly. Batman has more enemies than allies, but Bruce Wayne has the people. If you and I are publicly linked, it tells everyone looking for you that the world is watching. It makes you more visible, as well as anyone who comes after you."

"You haven't slept," you reason, "clearly. And you're delirious."

"I haven't slept, no." But he looks fairly sober for someone who hasn't slept in a day. He is a different breed, this Bruce Wayne.

You peer out the kitchen window and see the black sky dipping into a blue horizon, "Then sleep on it and come up with something better."

Bruce rounds the island until he's standing beside you, looking down at your barely touched wine, "There's some spare rooms upstairs. You can take your pick." It dawns on you that you may not be going back home any time soon. "You know your way around."

You suppose you deserve that dig.

Then he's leaving you, glasses abandoned, home for you to explore. You don't realize how thick the air had gotten with him right next to you until he's gone.

You half-expect Alfred to pop up somewhere nearby, but there's nothing. This far up, there is no city to listen for, no neighbors slamming doors. You are in a cold house all alone. You suddenly wish he'd stayed to keep you company, even if the weight of it was beginning to take its toll on you. Left alone, you only had the sunrise.

You watch until the sky has all but chased the night away, and then you head upstairs.

You didn't think you'd get much sleep in a stranger's bed, but you're being roused by a sharp, successive rapping at your door several hours later. It jolts you awake, kick-starting your heart, and you clumsily tumble out of the million thread count sheets to open the door.

Alfred stands there fully dressed for the day, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other still raised to knock. Upon seeing you, he lowers his fist, "Morning," he starts, looking away as soon as he meets your eyes, "breakfast is ready. Come get it before it's cold."

He does not give you a choice in the matter. He's already limping toward the staircase without another word.

After you get your heart to settle down, you follow after him, preening yourself as you pass hallway mirrors and portraits of the Wayne family through the generations. You hadn't come down this hallway when you'd found the terminus elevator, so you stumble to a stop in front of a portrait of a young Bruce grinning ear to ear.

It startles you. His eyes are soft, a gentle humming blue untouched by wrinkle or darkness. He must've been especially young here. Glancing at a nearby portrait of his parents, you find him the spitting image of his father. You look around and realize there are no portraits of Bruce at this age.

Bruce. He might be at breakfast, and the mere thought of having to discuss what occurred last night almost turns you right back around to the guest room, but your stomach rumbling begs you not to. You still walk quietly, peering around corners in case your stomach changed its mind.

You find you're cautious for naught when the only person standing in the kitchen is Alfred, chopping up fresh fruit.

"I hope you don't mind that I moved your things," he gestures with his paring knife to your surgical tools neatly congregated on the counter, "I cleaned them too."

"Oh. You didn't need to do that."

"There was blood, so I'm afraid I did." Alfred places a bit of pressure on "blood", and you quickly take note of his short tone.

Still, all the same, he then gestures to the island and implores you take a seat in front of an empty plate. Without asking, he begins pushing steaming hot food onto your plate, "Tea or coffee?" He asks, barely looking up at you.

"Uh, coffee is fine. Thanks." You watch Alfred pour you a mug and wonder if the awkwardness with him is any more preferable to the awkwardness with Bruce. Alfred is passive-aggressive, Bruce is... aggressive. You remember how the latter had left off your night together and find yourself feeling warmer toward Alfred. "How long have you been up?"

"Since 6, although I woke a few times through the night."

You wince, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I did think Bruce had invited you over under different circumstances, so... not as alarming, all things considered." Your grip on your fork slips and it clatters to the marble. Alfred barely reacts.

"He needed stitches." Is all you can get out.

"Yes, I'm well aware."

You glance up at him, "You saw?"

"When he first arrived home, yes. I was the one who helped stop the bleeding."

You stare at the coffee sweating in your cup, recalling something Bruce had mentioned last night, "Bruce said you were the one who used to stitch him up."

"Yes."

"If you were there, why-"

"It's what he pays you for, isn't it?" Alfred almost snaps back at you, slicing a strawberry into quarters with more edge than needed.

You recall something else next. The softness in Alfred's face the day you first came here, arguing with Bruce in the very room next door. You'd wondered what it had all been about.

"I've done alright, haven't I?"

"He said something else too," you start, careful as you choose your next words, "about how much you worry about him." You fiddle with your mug, pretending not to feel the heat of Alfred's eyes on you, "I think the reason he hired me is because he was worried about you."

You just catch the tail-end of Alfred's frown, "Worried about me? Why?"

You probably aren't close enough to either of these two to laugh about this, but you do anyway, "Isn't it kind of obvious?"

"Nonsense. We always discussed... if it would come to it, that if he were to pursue this life further, that he would recruit professionals who might aid him in his work. It was the natural thing to do."

"Maybe, yeah. But would he have really needed me if you weren't already doing everything else for him? You've taken good care of him this long. I mean, the aftercare you gave his bullet wound was exceptional. I accused him of talking to other doctors."

Alfred busies himself with scraping his strawberry halves into a bowl, "It's basic knowledge. You learn that kind of thing in the service."

"Or when you invited me to watch you two spar. You know his body probably better than he does. You're fantastic, Alfred." You couldn't say you weren't also trying to butter him up to better his feelings toward you, but you were speaking truth all the same.

In a very British way, he rebuts your compliments and spoons some fruit into a glass, beginning to layer some yogurt over top them, "Regardless of reason, you are here now, and I'll have you know that every part of your contract covers this. Wayne Enterprises will exhaust every possible legal tool at our leisure if you speak of any—any—of this to anyone. Master Bruce's identity is safely guarded, and regardless of his trust in you, I will not hesitate-"

"Whoa, whoa, hey. I would never tell anyone. Not after all Batman has done for me." You press a hand over your heart for emphasis, "He is just as much my patient as Bruce Wayne is, and he didn't have to pay me to take care of him."

Alfred still stares you down like a guard dog, paring knife still clutched in his fingers. After a moment, he looks away from you and points at your plate, "Eat. It's getting cold."

So you do. It's good so you say as much, counting any point toward his affection as a good thing. If you could get Alfred to trust you, you'd call that a win.

The tension in the air dissipates over time, and after you've licked your plate clean, you and Alfred are sharing coffee together. "Bruce isn't joining us?"

"I've stopped expecting him to be awake this early." You glance at the clock that reads 10:12. "He has adopted a near-fully nocturnal lifestyle."

"The night that he crawled through my window, he was there at the hospital the next morning like nothing happened. He doesn't do that often?"

"Before last year, it was a rare occurrence. While he's dedicated himself to his role more recently, if he can avoid it, he will."

You think back to what knowledge you do have on Bruce's charity work and his friendship with the Mayor. You'd worked shifts just as long, but you couldn't imagine showing up to work mere hours after getting shot in the stomach and having to put on a brave face about it. You almost feel bad for calling him out on it in front of everyone.

But then again, if you hadn't, would you even be sitting here?

You swirl the last vestiges of coffee in your cup, trying to picture a world in which you'd gone and found that empty office to nap in instead of toddling behind Rudy and Em and Alfred and Batman. The Batman.

The novelty of it brings a fresh wave of dizziness over you. You had been exposed to so much information over the course of the last 12 hours that it hadn't fully settled in on you what Bruce was. You didn't think that your brain would process it even if he was standing in cowl and cape right in front of you.

"I suppose you'll be staying with us for the near future, if Bruce has anything to say about it," Alfred stands from his chair beside you and puts your dishes in the sink, "shall I inform your security detail or would you like to?"

You don't know what to say to that. "I'm... I think I should talk this over with Bruce first. It may not need to come to that."

The butler shrugs. "I'll be attending to some house duties for the rest of the morning. Should you stay for lunch, let Dory know, hm?" You give him a weak nod and watch as he makes his way from the sink and heads down another hallway out of sight.

Not too long after Alfred leaves you, you hear the doorbell ring. Bruce hadn't mentioned to you that any guests would be here today, but then again, the two of you had had more important things to discuss last night. You check your reflection in the glass of the kitchen window, wondering if there were any hidden doors in the bookcases that could hide you from whatever Wayne Enterprises exec that was coming to talk business, but you wouldn't trust yourself not to break something in the process.

You hear two pairs of footsteps approaching from the elevator and turn to see who it might be. You first recognize Dory, fluttering between frantic small talk and making sure not to trip in her kitten heels as she guides her guest into the living room. You stiffen as soon as you see him.

Detective Gordon catches your eyes instantly, his own widening. Dory says something about going to fetch Bruce before she quickly ascends the stairs, leaving you and James staring at each other across the distance. In one hand is a notepad and pencil, and the other fixes his tie, almost as if at a loss for words. He greets you, hesitantly leaving where Dory had left him to approach you, "I saw the boys out front but... I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither." You reply. "Is everything okay?"

James glances up at the stairs as he passes underneath, "That depends. I followed up on your request."

Shit. Of course a cop would do their job when you least expect it. You slip out of your chair and rush to meet him halfway into the kitchen, "Did... did you find something?"

"I can't say much right now. I'd like to talk to Mr. Wayne, but-" The sound of Dory's heels clacking against the wooden stairs makes James lower his voice, "-you being here complicates things."

Bruce is wearing a shirt this time, thankfully, though you're not expecting him to look as put together this early after what Alfred had said. He towers behind Dory's much smaller frame in a pair of loose black pants and a matching turtleneck, looking in a fashionable state of undress as he pads barefoot into the room. With hair slicked back and stubble freshly shaved, he doesn't look like someone caught unaware. He's fixing the sleeve of his sweater when he extends a hand to Detective Gordon, bright smile and all, "Detective James Gordon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. If this is a bad time, I can come back." James gestures to you.

Bruce's look at you is empty, devoid of any detectable emotion or thought. It strikes you as unsettling, the same way a cashier at the end of their shift isn't really looking at you, "Oh, no. I was just on my way to work when I felt unwell. I called my doctor over but it was nothing to worry about. A little stomach bug, is all."

You do look like you'd just come over in a rush. You're still in your lounge clothes from the night before, and your medical supplies are still in the kitchen where Alfred had left them. James seems to notice, but he doesn't look any more relaxed. "That's good to hear. I don't want to keep you too long, but truth is, I have some questions I'd like to ask you if you have the time."

"Is something wrong?" James glances between you and Bruce, something the latter doesn't miss, "is it sensitive?"

"It's about the party you threw here the other night, Mr. Wayne. For Mayor Reál. I hear you invited quite a few Gotham politicians to celebrate the passing of the mayor's new bill, correct?"

"That's correct."

"And I understand you're quite invested in Gotham politics in general, much like your father."

"I am. My mother and father were very interested in the city, and Mayor Reál breathed new life into that for me after the election. I do what I can to support the cause."

"And that cause is...?"

Bruce takes the skeptical tone on the chin, smiling wider, "A safer, fairer Gotham. For everyone."

This Bruce was nothing like the Bruce you had all to yourself. He taps into that persona from the party with ease. Watching him is like watching a performance. "That's good, good. I notice you try to make an effort with charities in the city, donations and the like. You recently donated a new wing to Gotham General."

"I did. Increasing access to medical care for the citizens is important to me. My doctor, a talented surgeon at General, knows this well." You flash a timid smile when both Bruce and James look to you.

"And you also financially support politicians in Gotham."

"Occasionally. Anyone I feel has Gotham's best interests in mind."

"And have you found members of Gotham's political parties to be unusually forward in requesting your support, Mr. Wayne? Perhaps a little too pushy, maybe."

Bruce wears confusion well, "Not necessarily. I'm not easily pressured into doing things I have no interest in."

"Of course. How about any attempts to win over your support? Publicly or otherwise."

"I'm not sure what you're asking, detective. I'd love to help, but I don't think I have the information you're looking for."

James nods, holding his chin high, "My apologies. I should've been clear from the beginning. My question is: have any politicians or members of law enforcement offered you anything in exchange for your financial or public support? I have reason to believe there may be someone with high clearance exchanging confidential information with civilians. Especially ones who can pay. I'm just looking for a lead."

James frames his question well, even though any fat cat familiar with the cops could see the hidden question. Bruce frowns, tilts his head, shaking it slowly, "That's awful. I don't currently know of anyone doing such a thing, to me or anyone else. But I can keep an eye out. I can only imagine how dangerous that might be."

"Exactly. We'd like to nip it in the bud as soon as possible."

"Of course. Do you have a card? Perhaps I can contact you if I hear anything."

James fishes out his card and hands it over, "I don't want to put you in a bad position, only pass along what you know if you feel safe enough to do so."

You notice Bruce is flicking the business card between his fingers as a fidget, though he keeps his attention respectfully on the detective. "Absolutely. Thank you, detective. Dory can show you to the door."

The detective nods and follows Dory out of the room. As soon as the two are out of earshot, Bruce's expression softens as he presses his back into the counter. You wish you could sink into the floor. "To be fair," you begin, "I didn't think he'd find anything."

Bruce side-eyes you, "That was you?"

"I thought my criminal boss was going to blackmail me to keep his secrets."

"Criminal boss." You think he's trying to mock you, but his eyes are surprisingly guilty when he looks at you, "Alfred wasn't kidding. I really didn't handle this well."

"No, not really." You don't mean to kick him while he's down, but you can't lie either. Even now, you were still making meaning out of this whole thing.

By all means, you've gone from knowing nothing about him, to understanding even less, to fearing him, to this. With Batman on the other hand, you'd felt nothing but loyalty and trust in him up until the very last second. Now they were both the same person, and the meager hours of sleep you'd gotten hadn't cleared all that up just yet.

You wonder who you're supposed to see now. Batman or Bruce Wayne? Why was the line separating them blurring the more you thought of them?

"So, did you ever come up with a better idea?"

Bruce does not offer one. You'd dreaded that.

"You already know what I think. No matter how we go about this, there's going to be something. So what do you want to do?" Bruce's eyes follow your ever minute expression, laser-focused on you. "Whatever you choose, I will keep you safe. I promise you."

He feels so staunchly Batman in this moment, even with the soft voice of Bruce, watching over you. Through all your uncertainty, this you believe him on.

And you're exhausted, you find. Your arm is beginning to throb again. You crave the reprieve of a bed but not your own, to your surprise.

"I'm going to trust you, Bruce," your voice wobbles as you say it out loud, "I'm going to trust you like I trust Batman."

Bruce holds eye contact with you for a few moments, "Okay."

"Can I ask... why are you dressed so nice?"

"We're going to get the sedative."

"You're going as Bruce?"

"It's the middle of the day. Yes, I'm going as Bruce. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You fluster, suddenly reconsidering this entire plan. You'd pictured Batman skulking on the rooftop while you Mission Impossible'd your way into the medicine cabinets for what you needed. Walking in with him—the real him—would draw attention you didn't need, "You're only going to make me look suspicious."

"I'm your patient, and more importantly, I'm a donor."

"You will stick out like a sore thumb."

"That means when people are looking at me, they're not looking at you." You open your mouth to argue but he's already cutting you off, "Do you want me to drop you off at your place or do you want me to send someone to get your things?"

You're aware of what he's really asking.

You heave a sigh, "Drop me off. I can't promise Judith won't hurt someone if she finds a stranger in my house."

a/n: mj stop having the reader move in with bruce when their life is put in imminent danger challenge impossible

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman fic #batman angst #batman fluff #the batman #battinson x reader #battinson #dc #mjwrites #bw; rprt

182 notes · View notes