#just a long long day and i could barely comprehend any of it

[torusangel]

hate the sin love the sinner | Choso Kamo

Description: for all of Choso’s life he had believed in a higher being that could save him. As the older brother of 3 brothers orphaned at the church, he always had faith that it was god who saved them and brought them to safety after being alone on the streets. Dutiful to a fault, he would never dare to cross a line of the holy scripture he was taught. That was until a storied family came back to their peaceful community. A minister had moved back with his family and his daughter seemed like a gift from god himself. Beautiful, faithful, kind, and a fellow student of the father. How could he have known she’d be a hurricane set on breaking him completely.

Warnings: 18+, smut, religious themes, just slightly non-con, sub! choso x dom! reader, virgin! choso

A/N: I’ve wanted to write something about religion and corruption for awhile and finally got the motivation to do it. Originally I thought of this with Gojo but when I really thought about it, Choso definitely seemed like the better fit. This is not meant to belittle or demean anyone’s faith, just an idea based in fantasy and kink that I think is pretty hot. Also it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted! It’s so hard for me to actually finish writing something. I come up with the idea and start it but can never seem to find the end so I’m very happy with this. High chance I’ll make another part just because it was so enjoyable to write but I make no promises haha. Enjoy!

It was a busy day at the church with everyone eagerly preparing for the famed minister of the towns arrival. He was famous for his unwavering devotion to the lord and the help he brought to rebuild communities. Finally after his long mission across the country to help those in need, he was returning home with his family to fulfill his position once more. Choso had never met him before as he had only joined after he took his family to spread god’s power to others but he heard many stories of his heroics. How many people he saved with the word of Christ.

Choso diligently helped the older ladies carry the food they brought inside and made sure to clean every spec of dust in the chapel. Most importantly he made sure to drill it into his younger brothers heads that they had to be on their best behavior. Although good kids, they were getting to be the age where mischief was starting to run rampant and Choso could not let their first impression be that they were tricksters or heathens. He made sure to emphasize how important this was for all of them, and though they had pouty expressions, they agreed for the sake of their big bro.

“They’re here!” one of the younger ladies eagerly exclaimed, poking her head in briefly before scurrying off to tell the others.

After quickly giving his brothers one last warning, Choso too, made his was hastily to the front courtyard to welcome the family he’d heard so much about.

He immediately spotted one of the higher ranking priests shaking hands with a very polished looking man. Next to him stood who seemed to be his wife but his eyes were instantly drawn to the young woman who stood behind them. She smiled radiantly in a pretty floral dress that flowed in the calm breeze in sync with her hair. Choso was so enamored that he barely comprehended when your head turned to lock eyes with him. Gorgeous and bright, he felt himself slipping further away into your trance. He almost fell over when he saw the sweet little smile you aimed his way.

‘An angel’ he thought. A beautiful perfect angel who had come to bless him with their presence. Thoughts of how he could court you swirled through his head. Bring you freshly picked flowers for any occasion, politely open each door and take your hand for every stair. Would you look at him like that again? Could he make your cheeks flush? Would your father except him as good enough for his precious daughter?

He was so caught up in his daydreaming that he could barely remember how you ended up on top of him in a basement closet of the church.

This couldn’t be right.

He had to still be in his fantasies because how could it be that you, the shining beauty of his dreams was looking at him with such sultry eyes. How could it be that the ministers exemplary daughter had her dress hiked up to her hips while sitting on his stomach? How could it be that such a perfect angel looked like the embodied of lust.

That was right. Choso started to faintly remember the priest picking him out from the crowd to introduce him. Telling your father of how he was a wonderful student of the lord, completely dedicated and humble to boot. He remembered how your father had earnestly asked him to show you around after all the years you’d been gone. That it wasn’t often you got to interact with other people your age and that it’d be lovely if you could be friends. The angelic soft laugh you gave just to him as he lead you to the basement, mostly used for storage.

Ah yes. The reason he found himself in this position was when you opened the closet like you had never even forgotten the layout and pulled him in along with you.

Before he knew it your hands were cupping his face. Your head was dipping down closer to him and your breath was hot against his skin, “so pretty boy, tell me what you want.” oh heavens above. Every movement was leading him further and further into a depth he would not be able to repent from.

“P-please…. this isn’t right. We’re in the home of the lord, we- we aren’t even married!” careful not to touch you, Choso’s hand flew up to block his face from yours. You were a ministers daughter, there’s no way you wouldn’t know the debauchery you were partaking in right now. Which could only mean you were doing it purposefully, knowingly.

This time, your laugh hit him like a slap in the face. Not the same light and airy giggle from earlier, no. This was much more dark, “do you really think that old book dictates the laws of good and evil?” it couldn’t be, “Choso, was it? I imagine since you’ve never experienced a different path in your whole life you can’t begin to imagine a world where god doesn’t infiltrate your judgement,” his mind was spinning, how could you say such things with such a beautiful mouth?

The worst part was that he couldn’t move. No, that he didn’t want to move. Not when your hands unbuttoned his shirt with a practiced touch, not when your glossy lips kissed his neck, and not when your fingers grazed over his chest just for you to pinch one of his nipples. The forbidden fruit of desire was corrupting him faster than he could react, thoughts swirling so rapidly that he could barely think. Choso wasn’t strong enough to deny you, and his body yearned for your attention.

Too pretty. Too perfect. Too beautiful.

With every tweak, every kiss, his conviction slipped even further from his grasp. He could feel himself aching down there, one all too familiar to him. The same one he’d try his best to just pray away in the mornings and sometimes late at night. A sinful part of him he desperately wanted to ignore, “poor thing. I can feel you rock hard underneath me,” you spoke in a feigned pity. In a tone that reminded him of how mothers tend to their children’s needs, “I can help you. You’ll feel so good I promise.”

God, did he believe you. The way you’d touched him so far set his skin ablaze. Made him pine for more while part of his subconscious was still trying to reject you, “please oh please~” the words came out before he could process them, he barely registered that it was his voice. Never had he spoken so whiny and wantonly.

So you did. You made swift work of his belt and pulled his slacks down to just about his mid thigh. There lied the evidence of his transgressions. The spot on his black briefs that was dampening even more the closer your got. ‘So cute’ was the first thing that came to mind. You had no doubt that Choso was a virgin but seeing how desperately his adorable little cock wanted to be touched made you want to taint him even more.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

That was the only warning he got before your hands were freeing him from his confinement and your mouth was sloppily spitting on his dick. With a flick of your wrist he was coming undone.

If this was so wrong why did he feel like he was ascending to heaven?

‘Lord save me save me save me’ A rush of pleasure he never knew was possible came flooding through him. All he could do was cry your name and squeeze his eyes shut as wave after wave of unholy satisfaction wracked his body. He opened his eyes still in a daze of rapture and depravity. With his senses slowly coming back, he finally found the strength to push himself up to sit but he was instantly greeted with a horrific sight of his own creation.

You smiled sweetly at him once more but his semen had defiled your face,”Please forgive me, I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so-“ with a light press of your index finger to his lips, you stopped his rambling; with the other you collected his cum from your face and stuck out your tongue to make Choso watch you lick it clean.

It was worth it to see his reaction. Flushed red, his hair sticking to his face, and eyes completely glossed over. Not to mention the wrecked state his body was left in. He was still shaking, probably from the shock to his system after such an intense orgasm.

“What a good boy~ shh shh I’ll help you.” and help you did. After grabbing your purse that you had carelessly thrown and finding the small pack of tissues tucked in the side, you gently wiped him down. Not only that, using your mini brush you fixed his hair back into the neat fluffy buns on each side of his head. Choso didn’t talk during the whole ordeal. His mind was elsewhere thinking of the divine punishment that awaited him.

By what means did he have to even be here anymore? After the sacrilegious acts he’d just partaken in he couldn’t think of how he would face anyone knowing what he committed in a place of the lord. He didn’t know how to process it all. The feelings that bubbled up inside finally burst as he broke out into tears, “I’m so terrible,” he sobbed out trying to stifle his cries, “god will never forgive me.”

Immediately you jump into action. Pull him into your chest and gingerly stroke the back of his head, let his tears stain your dress as he tried not to get any snot on you, “breathe, it’s okay. You’re okay. You have nothing to apologize for.” your words are so tender and caring that Choso almost believes you. Almost forgets all the verses that tell him just how much of a degenerate he was. Almost. Still, he just couldn’t rid himself of the guilt he felt. Remorseful for his actions— but even more so because he didn’t regret it.

He was just so helpless against the melodic ring of your voice. The way your hands felt against his skin, leaving him eager for more. You just made him feel so euphoric, never had he felt like he was seeing the gates of heaven when he’d sunk so deep into the pits of hell. There was something about you that he couldn’t deny. Even if a tiny voice in his head was telling him you were big trouble, a sinner, he was incapable of being truly upset with you.

So you sat there with him until his breath steadied. When you tried to pull away though, his arms pulled you back in. He just wanted to listen to the rhythmic beat of your heart a little more. Take in your scent for a little longer. How was it that the source of his grievances also gave him so much solace?

Why did you have to be so compassionate towards him?

[faggling]

you ever have an entire day where literally every word out of anyone's mouth disappears instantly and you're just kinda shambling about and nodding while you use all your brainpower to stay upright

[jijournal]

THE ELEVEN WORD QUESTION | D.M

summary: Draco Malfoy would literally die for you—unfortunately, asking you to the Yule Ball might just kill him first. When he finally gathers the courage to do it, you politely decline… thanks to a spectacular misunderstanding. Now, with his pride bruised and his heart set, Draco is determined to win you over—properly, this time.

wc: 2.6k+

cw: DOWN BAD DRACO! awkward Draco who gets shy around reader, feat. Pansy, Blaise, & Theo as Draco's backup.

A/N: I love shy Draco. I AM SO SORRY THAT I HAVE BEEN INACTIVE LATELY. Aghhh I haven't posted anything in sooo long, I've been busy hihi.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Draco Malfoy was many things: a Slytherin, a menace on the Quidditch pitch, and the heir to one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain—but he had never felt this pathetic before. Not even the time he fell off his broom second year and cried because his wrist bent funny.

No, this was worse. Because he hadn’t just fallen—he’d plummeted, in front of you, with a flower in one hand and all his dignity left wilting somewhere between the Charms and Transfiguration section at the library.

You hadn’t looked back.

Not once.

Not even when he’d called after you, your name barely leaving his mouth before it got stuck in his throat with the taste of regret and disbelief.

He knew what it must’ve looked like. You thought it was a joke. That he was the joke. And for once, he couldn’t even blame you.

This catastrophe had all began the night before.

The Slytherin common room was filled only with the sound of crackling fire and the soft chatter of students with the scratch of quills against their parchment—until their heads turn to a yell that broke the silence.

"DRACO! We've been on this for over an hour now," Pansy sighed as she sat down on the couch between Theo and Blaise. "And for the millionth time, you are not going to DIE asking a girl to the Yule Ball!"

Pansy's "How to Woo a Girl 101" was clearly very hard for Draco to comprehend. Because based on the look on Theo's and Blaise's faces, it was not going well. At all.

Draco dramatically gasped as if he was being accused of murder, he then put a hand over his heart and then started rambling. "She isn't just any girl. She's the most perfect witch to ever exist! Gosh, do you guys even see how beautiful and smart and—" but, before he could continue, he was cut off by Blaise.

"We get it mate! You're bewitched by her." Blaise groaned loudly, throwing his head back and resting it on the backrest of the couch.

Theo sighed, "Mate, look," he said sternly, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You just have to ask her a simple eleven word question, 'Would. you. like. to. go. to. the. Yule. Ball. with. me.?' see? Easier than brewing Felix Felicis!"

Draco was suddenly hot and started to fidget with his fingers all because of that eleven word question. "Easy for you to say, Theo. You don't have a big fat crush o—" he was cut off yet again. This time, by Pansy.

"Alright, Malfoy. We're done," she announced, crossing her arms. "Either you tell her—or we will!" Pansy smirked, now putting her hands on her hips, trying to hide her laugh as she stood up. The two boys beside her started snickering as they followed Pansy towards the dormitories, leaving Draco in a very difficult position.

Theo suddenly stopped in front of Draco, "You better ask her soon or you know what's coming." He teased, then continued to follow Blaise and Pansy.

"Wait! I'll do it!" He stammered, his hand reaching out, a hopeless attempt to let them stay. "But—uh—is 'You looked like a powdered donut and still managed to be gorgeous.' a good compliment? Because the potion she was brewing blew up last week."

All he got in reply was loud groans and sighs as three of his friends continued walking away from him.

"Guys?!"

Silence.

Draco sighed as he looked down at his feet. "Hey! You looked like a powdered donut and still managed to be gorgeous." He quietly muttered to himself.

⸻

The next day, Draco's heart felt like it was going to come out of his chest and his feet felt like rubber as he saw you strolling through the library. This was it. This was the day he's going to ask you the eleven word question.

Naturally, he brought backup—just in case of a stutter, a horrible nosebleed, or, Merlin forbid, passing out. He had to full-on beg them to come with him, since, in Pansy's own words:

“How are you even going to dance with her if you need us just to ask her to the ball? What—are we going to do a group dance in case you pass out?”

She may be right...

But he badly needed emotional support or he'll die of a heart attack before he could even talk to you.

"Alright. I'm going to go up to her, compliment her pretty face, ask her the question, and hope for the best." He whispered, his grip tightening on the stem of your favorite flower.

The four of them were currently formed in a circle at the corner of the library, three pairs of eyes staring at the blonde boy as he told them his plan.

Theo gave him a flat look, unimpressed. “That’s the plan? That’s it?”

“Well, do you have a better one?” Draco snapped, slightly louder than he intended, which earned them all a sharp shhh! from Madam Pince across the room. They all winced and lowered their heads like scolded toddlers.

Blaise leaned in, voice a murmur. “Yes. Literally anything other than blurting out powdered donut compliments in the library.” He rubbed his temples. “Just… try not to be weird, mate.”

“I’m not weird,” Draco muttered, offended.

“Yeah?” Pansy raised a brow. “You practiced your line in the mirror seven times this morning and then gave the flower a pep talk.”

Draco blushed furiously. “It’s her favorite flower. It needs to be… emotionally prepared.”

Theo shook his head, muttering, “We’re emotionally exhausted.”

Still, despite their teasing, the trio gave him nods of encouragement as he squared his shoulders, tucked the flower carefully behind his back, and began the slow, risky walk toward where you sat—cross-legged on the carpet between two shelves, surrounded by a sea of books and parchment, humming softly to yourself as you scribbled into your notes.

He froze halfway.

You were chewing on the end of your quill, a bit of ink on your chin, your eyes narrowed in concentration. You wore a flower crown made of daises again today—different colors if he may add—the yellows, oranges, and whites complimenting your face. Draco thought he might pass out on the spot.

'Gosh how can she be so beautiful while doing nothing.'

"GO!" Pansy whisper yelled as she pushed Draco toward you.

"Wait n—" he stumbled toward you. He was begging his feet to go back to his safe cocoon where he wouldn't get humiliated or possibly pass out, but they were stuck on the ground—unable to move.

"Hey!" he gulped, his cheeks rapidly turning red for being flustered but mostly from embarrassment.

You glanced up at the sudden noise and there he was. He looked... hot.

HOT! as in sweating hot—not the kind of hot where his hair was pushed back after a shower in the quidditch lockers and definitely not the time when—

Stop it!

“Oh! Hello, Draco." You said, offering him a warm smile as you stood, brushing the creases from your skirt to face him properly.

He smiled back—but it wasn’t the kind of smile most people gave. It was lopsided, almost shaky, like it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be confident or terrified. His hands fidgeted behind his back, and then—

"ELEVENWORDQUESTION!" he blurted.

You blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

Draco swallowed hard, his cheeks rapidly turning pink. “What I meant to say is… you look like a powdered donut.”

What.

The.

Hell?

Your smile faltered. You looked down at your shoes, heart sinking a little. Was that… was that supposed to be an insult?

“Oh,” you murmured, suddenly self-conscious. A quiet, uncertain panic started to rise in your chest.

“No, no, no, wait—!” Draco rushed forward, eyes wide. He reached out and placed his hands gently on your shoulders, his voice frantic now. “That came out wrong. I mean—you looked like a powdered donut last week—when the potion exploded—and you still looked… you still looked gorgeous.”

You looked up at him, stunned.

He took a breath, then, with trembling fingers, pulled a flower from behind his back. Your flower. The one he’d somehow remembered you loved.

“Would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?” he asked, quieter now—earnest, vulnerable, the chaos gone from his voice.

And that was when everything seemed to stand still. You stare at him, your mouth agape. You could feel blood rushing through your cheeks.

And then… from behind the nearest shelf came the unmistakable sound of stifled laughter.

You glanced past Draco and saw them—Pansy, Blaise, Theo—all doubled over, failing miserably at hiding. Pansy wiped a tear from her eye. Blaise was wheezing. And Theo was clutching his stomach, trying to breathe.

Oh.

Of course.

It was a dare. A prank. A joke at your expense.

The flower in Draco’s hand suddenly felt like a knife.

Your chest clenched. You took a step back.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady even as your throat tightened. “I… I have to say no.”

His face crumpled in confusion as you turned away, blinking back tears you refused to let fall—not here, not in front of them.

Not when your heart had almost believed him.

⸻

“Mate,” Blaise had said later, tentatively, from the foot of Draco’s bed, where Draco had buried himself under his emerald blanket like a disgraced ghost. “She didn’t even see the part where you were being sincere.”

“She saw enough,” Draco mumbled.

Pansy kicked his mattress. “She saw us laughing, you dolt. She thinks we were laughing at her. Do you know what that does to a girl?” she added sharply, voice rising with frustration and—Draco noticed—genuine guilt. “You’ve got less than a week till the Yule Ball, and if you want any chance of fixing this, you better stop acting like a sad house-elf and do something.”

Draco’s next plan of action was, to put it bluntly, disastrous.

If he couldn’t speak to you like a normal person, then maybe he could… gesture grandly instead. Show, not tell, right?

Wrong. So very wrong.

It began with him walking—strutting—past your table in the courtyard three times in one lunch period, each time pretending he just happened to be passing by. The first time, he loudly commented to Blaise about how some people had “really excellent taste in flower crowns.” The second time, he tripped on a root and faceplanted into a bush. The third time, he tried to recover by dramatically pulling out a textbook and reading upside down while sneakily peeking at you over the pages.

You didn’t look up once.

“Subtle,” Blaise had deadpanned as he helped pick leaves out of Draco’s hair.

Then came the grand gestures. One morning, you opened your Transfiguration book and found—inside it—a single, freshly pressed forget-me-not. The ink on the page was slightly smudged as if someone had fumbled it with nervous fingers. Tucked next to the flower was a piece of parchment with a single line in jagged, uptight handwriting:

I never forgot. - D

The next day? A little paper crane fluttered down onto your lap during Charms. No one else noticed—except you. It unfolded itself midair to reveal another message:

I’d say something. But every time I try, I ruin it.

He was trying. You could feel it, in all his awkward, dramatic glory.

Then, during Care of Magical Creatures, he nearly sacrificed himself trying to separate you from a cranky Murtlap. You didn’t even ask for help, but there he was, sprinting across the paddock like a knight in shining robes, yelling, “DON’T WORRY, I’VE GOT IT!” before the Murtlap turned and promptly bit his wrist.

You rushed forward instinctively, wand already out, muttering a healing charm with a furrow in your brow. And Draco… Draco smiled like he’d just been kissed.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, half-annoyed, half-worried, as he flexed his hand and hissed.

“Worth it,” he said, eyes locked on you.

That night, you found another note tucked into the folds of your Herbology textbook:

Still an idiot. Still hoping. Still not giving up.

You rolled your eyes.

But you smiled.

⸻

It wasn’t until three days before the ball that he finally had a chance to explain.

You were walking back from dinner, your hands tucked into your robes, eyes on the frost glittering across the windows, when you heard it:

“Wait—please.”

Draco’s voice. Real. Sincere. Clear.

You turned, surprised to see him without backup, no Pansy whispering strategies in his ear, no Blaise with the emergency escape plan, no Theo who can tease him to no end.

Just Draco.

Alone.

Face flushed from the cold—or nerves. Maybe both.

You folded your arms. “Going to call me a pastry again?”

He winced. “Gods, no. Never again.” A beat passed. Then: “Well, unless you start working at Honeydukes. Then maybe once. Or twice.”

You didn’t laugh. But the corner of your mouth twitched.

He took that as a good sign.

“I know what you thought,” Draco said, stepping forward. “When they laughed. You thought it was a joke. That I was making fun of you.” His eyes were painfully honest, gray and glinting like wet stone. “But they weren’t laughing at you. They were laughing at me.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because I’d been practicing that line since breakfast. Because I’d stammered like an idiot and spilled ink on my cuff and given a flower a motivational speech. Because I was absolutely pathetic. For you.” He let out a nervous huff.

“You make me stupid.”

Your heart did a little leap.

Draco stepped closer. “And you know what? I don’t care if I look stupid. I’d rather look stupid in front of the entire school than let you go to the Yule Ball without knowing the truth.”

There was a long, breathless pause.

“I like you. I’ve liked you since the first time you made that little dandelion braid and stuck it in your scroll instead of using a bookmark. I like how you hum to yourself when you’re thinking. I like that you stay up after curfew just to stargaze and name constellations like they’re your personal pets. I like that you make everything around you feel… lighter.”

He stepped closer again, now inches from you.

“And if you’ll let me… I want to make you feel that way too.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. For once, you were the one struck speechless.

Draco reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a a bouquet of your favorite flower. Blooming. Vibrant. Alive.

“I grew this,” he said quietly. “Chose the seed, studied the soil, made sure it got the exact right light. It took weeks. But it’s yours.”

He gently held it out.

You stared at the flower. Then up at him.

Finally, your voice found its way back.

“…You didn’t stutter,” you whispered.

Draco smirked. It was slow, confident—flirty.

“No. Not when it really matters.”

And then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he added, “So. Would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

You smiled.

Not just because the flower was perfect.

Not just because his voice was steady.

But because, for the first time, it felt real. No nerves. No games. Just Draco. Asking you.

Properly.

“Yes,” you said, cheeks glowing.

His grin was immediate.

“And I expect a dance,” you added, pretending to be stern. “A real one. No passing out. No backup dancers.”

Draco leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath.

“Only if you promise not to look like a powdered donut this time.”

You laughed—finally, laughed—and shoved his shoulder.

“You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he said smugly, “I’m still your date.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[phantasm-ae]

cw: smut, afab reader x ghost, p in v, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, slight angst

HEADCANON: Simon coming home to his little bird. Making up for all the lost time

PAIRING: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

You're in his shirt. Oversized. Threadbare. Dull and rough. Too teared. Too weared. The material too coarse for your skin.

You're barefoot. Bored. Sulking.

Telly droning in the background -- monotonous. static. a subliminal at this point. forgettable.

A pot simmers on the stove. a half-assed recipe you don't even remember brewing. fuck that. you weren't hungry anyway. you just needed to do something.

you bite your lip before you do it. palming your phone by your side and grasping the hunky and blinking metal in your hands before sliding the lockscreen open. tapping away through apps you keep to feel occupied. Useful. Hopeful. Almost as if your very existence wasn't solely based on him.

Fuck. You were done for, weren't you?

But of course. Every scroll. Swipe. Post. Somehow circles back to Simon.

You catch yourself lingering too long on some shitty video. A military edit. Some faceless bloke moving across their living room just like he usually did when he took over your apartment. Calm. Brooding. Silent. Space and breadth too big to accommodate the mass of him in your tiny living space. Suffocating and claiming. But you never did complain. Never could. Never wanted too.

And suddenly. The kitchen's too quiet. The air is too still. The pot on the stupid stove bubbles like another warning and fuck fuck fuck do you feel it. Sharp. Restless. Tugging. Gnawing. An ache between your ribs and chest.

"only be gone for a couple o'days birdie. don't worry yeah?", he'd said -- like that ever meant anything. Like your body hadn't memorize the precise ache only his presence and absence fills you.

"i know that. doesn't make it hurt any less", you whisper back softly. the breath of your voice tickling his bare chest as you lay there in his arms. Spent. Sated. A few moments of solitude between the two of you after he practically made you boneless and aching after several rounds of trying to make up for what would be lost time again.

Simon scoffed at your words. Hands calloused. Careful. Grip tightening slightly at your hip. He didn't answer. Just lets out another quiet hum like he usually does when he wants to bare something but doesn't quite know how. Emotionally constipated arse of your boyfriend

The memory stings you like a scalding poker through and through. Ache. Ached. Aching. You don't bother stirring anymore after. Letting your phone shut itself off as you stare mindlessly at your reflection in the dark screen. Eyes rimmed red. Fuck were you crying?

And then --

Like summoned --

The door clicks.

Not slams. Doesn't burst open like some grand declaration of returned war. Just... clicks.

Soft.

Deliberate.

Heavy.

Your breathe catches

There's a beat. Two even.

The door creaks open and familiar boots. Muddy. Slow. Tattered and torn. The shoes you constantly made fun of him for moves across the space. Calculating. Hulking. A sigh you'd recognize in the dark. And that scent -- gunpowder. Sweat. Leather. And the faint ghost of whatever godforsaken soap his military base supplies.

You don't move. Don't need to. Never do with him because he was already there. In the doorway to the kitchen. Leaning. Watching with you an almost predatory stupor.

Masked gone. Hair overgrown and messy. Beard thicker. Face almost gaunt. Shoulders tense like he was still carrying the war on his back. But his eyes -- Eyes are only on you. Always was. Always will be.

You blink. Breathless. Drowning

"Thought you said a couple of days", you manage. Voice small. Slightly shaky in what you can't exactly comprehend. Relief. Excitement. Longing? Anticipation?

His lips twitch. Not exactly a smile. Not quite not.

"Couldn't stay away from you birdie"

And then he's striding forward. No warning. No permission. No words.

Tattered fingers and rough hands cupping your jaw. Thumb rough and harsh against your soft cheek. The kiss he drags you in is all teeth and desperation. Hot. Claiming. Not giving you another moment to breath as he slips his tongue in and dominates your mouth. Taking advantage of your gasp and the slight hitch in your breath to devour every bit of your taste and sounds. A promise and an apology all at once.

Only pulling back when he deems it sufficient enough to speak. Not wanting to hear his voice either. Not wanting to show how fucking vulnerable he suddenly feels as he get to quench the initial thirst and ache his mind and body felt for you in weeks.

Breath ragged. Eyes dark.

"Missed you birdie"

Your hand fists in the front of his vest. Grounding yourself. Lip wobbling a bit at that

"You look like hell"

He laughs. Low. Frayed. But... genuine. Something real. Something authentic. Something only ever meant for the sweet little bird he has at home. For you.

"You should see the other guy"

And suddenly -- your kitchen isn't a kitchen anymore.

The floors that he installed, now just tiles and marble beneath your feet. And his hands on your waist. Grip tight. Anticipating. Waiting. Gnawing at you to give him permission. Wraps around you like an unbearable anchor. Pulling, Taut. Reminding you of the need that's been building since the second he left.

You whisper it before you can stop yourself. A plea.

A challenge.

A confession.

Madonna at the edge.

"Use me. I can take it"

You needn't say anything more as the words slip from your tongue. Simon, immediately hoisting you on the counter at that. Wood biting into your skin. Dropping you unceremoniously as the weight of your body rattles the table and makes bits of cutlery and dining ware shake and fall to the ground. Porcelain and glass breaking as he presses into you without another warning.

Nose brushing against yours. Voice dark and raw:

"Came all this way to ruin you. Came all this way to come back to this cunt"

He grinds into you. Once. Hard. A start. A promise of things to come. The pace between the heavy material of his cargos brushing at the soft fabric of your sleep shorts enough to knock the air from your lungs. Core pulsing. Core tightening. Wet between your thighs at that. Pooling. Drawing in. The scent, breath, and touch of him instinctively making you docile and warm. Trained. Invited. Saved for him and him alone.

But then... he stills

A low breath leaves him. Long and ragged. Reining something in. Like he might break you if he doesn't. The pause making you tense up in surprise and confusion as well. Looking up at him in shock and awe. Wondering. Silent. Waiting. The sight of Simon so... vulnerable feels so foreign and obtuse.

His forehead presses to yours as you blink up at him. Doe-eyed. Glossy but coherent. Mouth slightly parted in worry. Grounding. But you can feel it. His pulse thudding under his jaw. The tremble in his hands where they grip your thighs. Legs parting as his hands move to you thighs and then to your waist. Bordering on control. Aching. Tightening but holding back. Wanting to be gentle. But too loose to ever be cruel to his little bird.

"You sure?" he rasps. Voice cracked and wrecked. Almost like he needs to hear it from you again. Starving and parched and you're the only thing keeping him from mauling into a meal like a prayer.

A saint taunting and toying. God birdie just give him the words

"Simon", you whisper. Thighs only tightening around his hips further. Nails finding the meat of his shoulders. "You already knew the answer"

He exhales hard through his nose. A bitter little laugh that tastes like disbelief. Then he kisses you again. Slower this time. Deeper. Tongue sliding past your lips with reverence now. Less like a claim -- more like communion. A way to ground himself. To remember you.

Map you all over again.

You whimper into his mouth, the heat between your legs already too much. His pace, his patience, it’s killing you. Every inch of contact feels deliberate. Worshipful. The drag of his rough fingers under his shirt, up your ribcage, over every bit of skin he missed while he was gone.

Like he’s starving.

Like he’s trying not to inhale you all at once.

And then he’s sinking to his knees.

Wordless.

Controlled.

You barely have time to breathe before he’s mouthing at your inner thigh, teeth grazing just enough to make your hips twitch forward. You gasp, hand fisting in his hair, feeling how damp it is from sweat. He groans like that did something to him. Like he’s the one being touched.

His tongue -- slow, thorough, reverent -- starts to toy through your panties. The fabric dampening in both arousal and his saliva. The hint of his tongue. Moist. Controlled. Slides through your folds. Teasing. Taunting.

His dessert on legs and he's savoring every fucking bite

You choke on a soft whine when his nose nudges against your clothed clit. The friction maddening -- too soft to satisfy, too pointed to ignore.

His palms slide up the backs of your thighs, rough thumbs digging into your flesh just enough to keep you open for him, spread for him, vulnerable. Owned.

"Fuckin’ hell," he mutters, voice half-muffled against the soaked fabric. “You always this sweet when I’m gone, birdie huh?”

You don’t get the chance to answer. He presses a long, open-mouthed kiss directly over your cunt -- wet and unrelenting -- and you jerk, gasping. Eyes wide and glazed, a high-pitched whine crawling out of your throat.

"Didn’t think so," he breathes.

Then he’s hooking his fingers into the hem of your underwear and rips, dragging the ruined and drenched scrap of cotton to the floor. Torn and done for. Just like you will be. The exposure makes you twitch. His eyes flash up to meet yours -- dark, unreadable, devout. And then he’s feasting.

No more teasing. No more mercy.

The first lick is obscene. Broad and slow, flat of his tongue from base to tip, dragging a cry out of you that echoes off the kitchen walls.

He moans into you -- guttural, filthy, like you’ve just given him salvation. Like your taste is the only thing anchoring him back to earth.

And then he does it again. And again. And again.

Your head falls back against the table, eyes rolling, lips parted in a silent plea. Thighs trembling as he works you open, tongue curling and flicking over your clit with clinical precision. He’s not rushing. He’s dismantling. Unmaking you like muscle memory.

“Simon -- nghh oh my god -- Si,” you gasp, fingers digging harder into his scalp.

He groans in response, then sucks -- hard -- right over your clit, and your body jolts like it’s been struck by lightning.

“Fuck please -- don’t stop -- please don’t stop,” you’re babbling now, frantic and breathless.

He doesn't.

He never does.

He flattens his tongue, lets it glide over you like worship, like he’s praying at the altar of your pleasure. His grip tightens on your thighs when you start to shake, hips stuttering as the coil in your gut winds tighter and tighter, on the cusp of snapping --

And then he speaks. Low. Gravelled. The sound inside you as much as it is outside.

“Come on, birdie. Let me taste it. Let me have it all.”

The words shatter something in you.

You come with a cry at that, body seizing, legs clamping around his head. He holds you through it, relentless in his rhythm, sucking and licking until your orgasm crests and crashes, and you're left wrecked on your dining table -- gasping, twitching, drenched.

But he doesn't stop.

He wants the overstimulation. Wants the twitch in your thighs and the desperate tremble in your voice when you try to push him away, only for his hands to clutch you closer. Holding. Clawing. Unrelenting and mean.

"Too much -- too much, Si -- "

"You said you could take it."

His voice is calm. Dangerous. Almost tender.

And then -- he starts again.

Latching onto your pulsing and engorged clit like he’s got all the time in the world to make you come undone again and again. No teasing again this time though. No preamble. Just Simon -- your Simon -- devouring you like he needs the taste to keep going. Doesn't care if fat tears fall from your cheeks and you try to squirm away from his grip.

Doesn’t care that your thighs tremble violently around his ears, or that your fingernails rake through his scalp in desperate protest -- your body a livewire, every nerve screaming -- but he just groans, deep and filthy, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth. Like he’d live here if you let him.

“Stay still,” he growls against your soaked cunt. A warning. Tongue never missing a beat, and it’s so mean, so commanding that your hips jerk toward him instead of away. Obeying. Because of course you do. Because there’s no version of you that doesn’t listen when he speaks like that.

His hands tighten like iron around your thighs, pinning you open like you’re something sacred, something feral. The burn of it all -- the scrape of stubble, the relentless drag of his tongue, the pressure building again despite the ache -- you can't breathe, can’t think, can’t be.

You sob his name.

Not even a plea this time. Just raw sound. A broken thing.

“Simon -- ”

He lifts his eyes then, dark and molten, lashes damp, lips slick and glistening with you.

"You’ll give me another," he rasps, voice so low it rumbles through your bones. “Won’t stop till you're fuckin' ruined for anyone else.”

And then he moans -- like he’s the one overwhelmed -- burying his face between your legs again, tongue stroking, flicking, curling until you feel yourself spiraling.

The edge hits harder this time.

It’s brutal.

Unforgiving.

It doesn’t creep up on you, it slams -- crashing into you like a wave made of heat and white light, and you scream scream scream, legs trembling violently, body writhing in his grip as he holds you down and makes you feel it.

Orgasm tears through you like punishment. Or mercy. Or both.

You’re sobbing now, barely able to breathe, wrecked and open and shaking -- and still he doesn’t stop. His mouth only gentles slightly, dragging your climax out till it feels like it’ll never end.

It’s not until your whole body slumps, twitching and boneless, that he finally pulls back.

Breathless.

Lips red. Chin soaked.

He stands slowly, towering, looming, and you feel small under the weight of him. He leans down, brushing his forehead to yours, voice ragged and reverent.

“Good girl,” he breathes, so soft it barely exists -- just a puff of air against your skin, but it lands like a brand. “Took it all, didn’t you? Gave me everything.”

Your eyes flutter, half-lidded and glazed, mouth parted in a silent moan. You can’t even nod. Your body’s gone -- wrecked and pliant, molded to the heat of his touch, the weight of his words.

His fingers trail down your jaw, calloused pads tracing the trembling line of your throat, your collarbone, until they settle -- possessive -- against your pulse point. He watches it beat. Watches you breathe. Like he’s making sure you’re still here. Still his.

Then, slowly -- almost reverently -- he gathers you into his arms. Lifts you off the table like you’re weightless. Precious.

You sag into him, limp and slick and dazed. Your face pressed against his neck, where sweat and salt and Simon all live. You breathe him in like medicine. Like air.

He murmurs something you can’t quite catch. Something low. Fragile. A confession meant for no one but the shell of your ear. But the way his grip tightens around you -- how his whole body clenches like he's the one barely holding on -- tells you everything you need to know.

You’re not the only one ruined.

But he wears it differently.

Masks it in control.

The shift is sudden.

Your back hits the wall with a thud -- not painful, but jarring. He pins you there, rough hands beneath your thighs, holding you up like it’s nothing. Like you’re nothing but weight for him to wield and use. The air is knocked from your lungs, more from the look in his eyes than the impact.

Dark. Possessive. Starved.

He cages you in -- arms locked, hips pressing flush to yours, the hard line of him undeniable through his gear. Still dressed. Still in uniform. You gasp, the cool of the wall behind you clashing with the heat of his body in front.

“Look at you,” he growls, low and biting, nose brushing your cheek as he presses in closer. “You let me ruin you on the fuckin’ table and now you’re trembling like a good little thing. You like that? Letting me use you like this?”

You can’t speak. Just moan, nodding weakly, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist like your body’s made to be held here. By him. Only him.

His hands slide under your thighs, rough and firm, hoisting you higher against the wall until your back arches, chest pressing into his. You feel every inch of him, steel and heat, rigid through the fabric that separates you -- and he hasn’t even bothered to take anything off. Not yet.

“You don’t even know what you look like right now,” he mutters, voice thick, almost reverent. “Drunk on it. On me.”

He rolls his hips up once -- slow, brutal -- and it knocks a cry out of you. The friction, the pressure, the weight of him. So so sensitive that the coarse fabric of his cargos meeting your overstimulated cunt ache ache ache … it’s maddening.

You whimper -- high and broken -- head falling forward against his shoulder. Fuck he was relentless. Grinding into you like he knows exactly where it hurts the most, where it makes you come alive again despite the wreckage.

"That’s it, birdie,” he snarls into your hair, breath hot. “Cry for it. I want those sweet little noises every time I move.”

Your fingers claw at the thick collar of his gear, desperate for something to anchor you, to remind you this is real -- this impossible friction, this overstimulation that’s bordering on unbearable.

And still, he doesn’t stop. He likes it like this. Likes the ache. The stretch. The mess.

“You feel that?” he grits, as he pushes his shirt higher above you to reveal your sopping and dripping cunt. Hole pulsing open and close on instinct as the tip of his fingers slowly inches there way in.

His breath shudders out when he looks down and sees it. Pupils dilating at the ravenous and erotic scene at the tip of his fingertips -- the way your cunt clenches around nothing, fluttering and desperate just for the teasing brush of his fingers.

“Fuckin’ hell baby,” he growls, almost to himself. “Look at you. Beggin' without even saying a word.”

He drags the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit -- slow, brutal -- and you jerk, another soft sob ripping out of you.

"Sensitive, yeah?" he mocks, but it’s low, almost affectionate. One thick finger presses in, breaching you just enough to feel the molten heat inside -- and you mewl, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Christ, birdie, you’re fuckin’ dripping,” he mutters, sounding wrecked, sinking the finger in deeper, to the knuckle. You squeeze around him so tight it punches a groan out of his chest.

"You’re gonna take me so good," he rasps, eyes locked to the sight of his finger fucking into you, your slick gushing around him. He adds another without warning -- a thick stretch, a sharp delicious ache -- and your head bangs softly back against the wall as you keen.

“That’s it," he hisses, scissoring them open, slow and punishing. "Stretching you nice and wide for my cock."

You can’t think. Can’t breathe. His fingers fill you, fuck into you with devastating precision, finding that gooey spot inside that makes your whole body seize and buck against him.

"Simon — fuck hic nghhh— I—" you cry, incoherent, and he smiles — cruel and sweet.

"You’ll take it, yeah?," he says, voice a razor across silk. "Every last fuckin' inch baby."

And then -- he pulls his fingers out, slow and filthy, strings of slick clinging to them. He smears it over the head of his cock as he finally frees it from his cargos -- thick, heavy, angry red -- and you sob at the sight, hips chasing him mindlessly.

"Yeah," he grunts, lining himself up. "You’re ready."

He doesn’t push in right away. Just holds you there -- suspended between the wall and the full, raw weight of him. The head of his cock resting against your entrance, twitching, aching.

His gaze stays locked on yours, as if trying to memorize this exact moment. Your blown-out pupils. The flush of your cheeks. The way you tremble even as your arms wrap tighter around his shoulders. Fuck look at that. What a sight you were. All the more reason his fingers ache with the need to kill.

To be brutal. To be mean. To tarnish and maul at his skin with the blood of a fresh kill.

All that. All this. All everything just for the taste and sight of you.

“Ready,” you repeat his words, voice barely there. A confession more than a word. A surrender.

Simon exhales, sharp through his nose like it hurts to hold back. His hands flex on your thighs, grounding himself.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, forehead pressing to yours. “I know baby. I know.”

Then, slowly -- so slowly you feel it in every breath, every nerve ending -- he begins to push forward. Not just his body, but everything. The distance. The ache. The time. All of it crashes into you in that single, intimate act of him coming home to you.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders. You feel the tremor in him. Hear the way his breath shudders out as he starts to bury himself inside you. The girth and familiar width making you softly whine again at the stretch. Rarely ever used to it. To him. To his cock pushing inside of your tiny little cunt like its where it belongs. Where it has always belonged. Where it will always belong.

It’s overwhelming. Not just the stretch or the pressure -- but the intimacy of it. The gravity of being held like this. Claimed like this.

Every inch is a promise: I missed you. I’m back. I’m yours.

When he’s finally seated deep, buried to the hilt, he doesn’t move. Just holds you there, wrapped around him, trembling and gasping, your forehead still pressed together like he’s anchoring the both of you with it.

His thumb brushes under your eye, catching the silent tear that had slipped out from the overwhelming feeling.

"Shhh shhh I know baby. I know", he coos. Mocking. Soft. But with fervor and just as desperate. Jaw clenching as you involuntarily clench again as he subtly shifts to hold you closer against him.

He cradles your face like it’s something sacred, like the salt of your tears means more to him than anything he’s ever earned in blood or bone. His other arm tightens around your waist, steady and unyielding, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“I’ve got you, birdie. Got you yeah?,” he whispers, voice thick and breaking at the edges. “Not going anywhere.”

You nod, or try to. It’s more like a quiver. Because he’s right -- it’s too much. Not just the fullness of him, not just the way your body’s stretched and shaking around him, but him. The weight of what he’s giving you, of what he’s asking without words.

Stay. Hold me. Let me stay.

He pulls back just a little, hips rolling slow, testing, and you shudder as he grits his teeth and whispers a soft fuck -- gasps tangled in each other's mouths. He watches your face, like he’s chasing every shift, every stutter of breath, every half-sob. You feel bare like this -- not naked, but seen. All of you. The need, the ache, the softness you save just for him.

You wrap your arms tighter around his neck and whisper it against his jaw, breath catching:

“I missed you. So much, Si -- ”

He groans like it rips something open inside him, burying his face into the curve of your neck. You feel the heat of his breath, the way his body trembles with restraint -- and then he starts to quicken the pace. Trying to stay slow. Still reverent. But deeper. Purposeful. Like every thrust is a vow:

I’ll make it up to you. I’ll never leave you empty again.

"Bloody hell baby. So tight for me. How are you still so tight for me?"

He grits the words out like they hurt -- like the feeling of you wrapped around him is almost too much, like it’s pulling him apart thread by thread.

His forehead presses against yours again, sweat-slicked and shaking. His breath stutters against your mouth as he rocks into you, quicker now and brutal, dragging every inch of himself through your walls like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you all over again.

Legs dangling at his forearms. Caged. Spread open like velvet on his cock.

You moan something helpless, wrecked, and his hand fists against the wall beside your head as he feels you tighten against him. Your spongy walls hugging his dick tighter like it doesn't want to let him go.

“You’re all mine,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Fuck -- always been mine.”

You nod, gasping, eyes glassy. “Yours, Simon -- always, always yours.”

Something breaks behind his eyes.

He groans like it’s too much, too tight, too perfect, and then he slams his hips up into you with more force that knocks the air from your lungs. Once. Twice. A rhythm that’s no longer careful -- it’s desperate. Relentless. You feel it in your spine, in your ribs, in the heat curling low and fast in your belly. Pushing all the way to the hilt until he feels himself punch his way into a deeper part of you.

The tip of his hard cock hitting your cervix. The sudden and surprising intrusion making you gasp and scream. Nails unconsciously clawing at his arms, back, and chest. Quivering at the sensation as you whine. Eyes rolling at the back of your head at the almost painful feeling.

But that sight. God that sight and feel of you makes him growl and grow even quicker. Unmerciful. Mean. Brutish. Unable to stop as he thrusts again and again into your cervix at a bruising pace. Not caring if your mouth remains half-open in a silent scream at the overwhelming and paralyzing feeling.

The wet slide of him inside you, the sound of skin on skin, his name -- gasped, choked — on your lips over and over like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You feel that?” he growls, one hand gripping your ass, the other splayed over your lower back, holding you in place while he fucks you up higher against the wall. Legs stretched wider in his arms to the point that it aches your thighs. Using your hole like it was nothing more than a fleshlight. “Feel how deep I am? How perfect you are for me, birdie?”

You whimper, head falling back against the wall, letting him take, letting him have.

And still, somehow, it feels like giving.

He grunts, the sound guttural, vibrating against your skin as he drives deeper, harder, chasing something feral between your bodies. His cock drags against every sensitive nerve inside you, thick and hot and relentless -- and you can’t think, can’t breathe -- there’s only Simon, only the rough rhythm of him pounding into you, the overwhelming fullness, the heat building tighter and tighter until you’re right there again, on the knife’s edge.

He feels it -- the way your body clenches around him, desperate and fluttering -- and he snarls, fucking you harder against the wall, like he’s trying to carve his name into your very bones. Punching deeper and deeper into your womb like there was any more space left for him to worm his way into.

“Shhhh I know baby. I know -- fuck -- That’s it, baby -- take it, take all of me,” he pants, forehead pressed hard to yours, sweat dripping from his temples. “You were made for me. Fuckin’ made for me.”

Your legs quake around his hips, nails raking down the broad span of his back, and you sob his name, high and broken, as your orgasm tears through you -- blinding, brutal, endless.

You’re still coming when he continues to thrust again -- deep, possessive -- pulling another cry from your lips that’s more instinct than sound. Groaning lowly as you whimper at the overstimulated feeling.

“Si -- I can’t -- I just -- ”

But he’s already shaking his head, mouth brushing your cheek, your jaw, your lips.

“Yes you can,” he breathes, voice ragged. “You will. Gonna give me everything, birdie. fuck fuck yeah like that -- Every fuckin’ time.”

And he keeps moving, hips grinding into the heat of you, wet and pulsing and too much -- but not enough. Not for him.

Your whole body trembles, wrecked and overstimulated, your fingers digging into his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing left. And maybe they are. Maybe he is.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growls, forehead pressed to yours again, eyes wild and wide. “You squeeze me like you don’t wanna let go. Like you can’t.”

You sob, raw and breathless, head falling back -- and he chases it, kisses your throat like a man starving.

“I’m not stopping,” he whispers against your skin. “Not ‘til I know you feel it. Every part of you. Every breath. Every fuckin’ heartbeat — mine.”

You can only whine, tears starting to fall down your cheeks in both pain and pleasure. Bordering on hurt and the aching feeling to please and feel all of him after so long

"Said you can take it didn't you birdie? -- Yeah fuck -- So you will yeah?"

masterlist

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Meant To Be (2)

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> The day you disappeared from the world.

Disclaimer: This is part two/prequel to Meant To Be. Angst, Fluff, Bucky and Reader having feelings for each other, platonic!Howard Stark, mentions of death, swearing, mourning. Not Proof Read.

You pounded your fist on the front door only to be greeted by Mr Jarvis. 

“Ms Y/l/n.”

“Sorry, Mr Jarvis. I didn’t think you’d be awake yet. Is he here?”

“Still in bed, Ms.”

Jarvis just opened the door wider for you to step inside. “I was just about to take him his morning breakfast.”

“I’m afraid it will have to be on the go this morning, Mr Jarvis.”

“Yes, Ms.”

As you had done for as long as you could remember since meeting Howard Stark, you headed towards his bedroom in order to pull him from his bed. 

“Alright, Stark. Get up.”

Howard just groaned from under the covers. It sounded like he said “Five more minutes,”. 

“Nope. Not this morning. The Colonel has been on my ass all week about you and I’ll be damned,” you pulled the heavy covers from his body. “If I let my ass get reprimanded because of your ass. So, get up.”

Howard groaned again. 

“Mr Jarvis!” You called out behind you. “You wouldn’t happen to have an ice cold pitcher of water by any chance.”

“Why, yes. In fact, I’m just readying Mr Stark one now.”

That got Howard up out of bed. He practically sprang to the other side. “No. You’re not doing that again.”

“Get up when I tell you and I’ll never do it again.”

“I’m up. Are you happy now, sweet cheeks?”

You deadpanned him before throwing the clean washcloth that lay on his bedside table. Howard was known for washing his face first thing before he got out of bed. According to him, it kept him looking “young and attractive,”. 

“Get cleaned up. I’ll be outside.”

Giving Howard a ride into work, you were both greeted with almost all the SSR members hustling around the place. 

“Is something going on today that I’m not aware of?”

“It’s testing day,” Howard told you as he lay his briefcase over the chair in front of him. 

Meanwhile, you were hanging your coat up on the coat rack, taking the space in around you as Howard walked away. But you couldn’t stand comprehending the super soldier in the corner, blushing as Peggy accidentally touched his hand, or the boys everyone knew had lied on their enlistment form but still allowed it anyway, or the ego-centric scientist washing a hand over one of the girl’s asses, for too long. 

Within minutes of you entering the building, Bucky had found you. 

“How long do you think it’ll take today?”

You jumped a little, holding onto your coat on the rack a little tighter. “Jesus- Do you always have to sneak up on me?”

“It’s not my fault you don’t hear me.”

“That’s because you walk as if you’ve got a secret to hide.” Letting go of your coat, you picked your files up from the main desk, Bucky hot on your heels. 

“Not true. Well, maybe a little. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Well, looking at it now…” You and Bucky paused side by side. 

You found that, often when standing together, there was barely an inch of room between you and Bucky. Which, although you were managing to handle, was doing no good for the crush you realised you had slowly developed over the last couple of months. 

He’d just sat there across the desk, looking tired and all kinds of handsome. You’d seen him sitting like that a hundred times or more, but for some reason that night was when your stomach decided to erupt with butterflies. 

But, you were handling it. 

You thought you already had it handled until three days ago when Peggy cornered you in the ladies bathroom. Josie, one of the secretaries, had sauntered her way over looking all perfect and pretty. She’d touched his arm, leaning in close to him. He’s smiled at her and, despite seeing him smile at plenty of girls like that, even recently. For the first time, you’d been jealous. 

It was an ugly emotion and you didn’t like yourself very much for feeling it. Bucky- James. He was your friend. One of your best friends. Someone you could talk to about anything. There wasn’t a single part of you willing to risk that. 

“I’d say we’re a few months away from something actually happening.”

Bucky scoffed. “He’ll ask her out. He just needs a little coaching, that's all.”

“Coaching?” You laughed. “From who? You?”

Bucky seemed a little offended. “I’ve had plenty of successful dates.”

You tried to not let that sting as much as it did. 

“He just needs some confidence.”

You chuckled. “Okay, Romeo. But I know I’m right. And here.”

You pushed a file into his chest. 

“What’s this?” 

You tried to ignore the feeling that erupted inside of you when his hand brushed yours. 

“Your paperwork. I saw you sneak it into my pile last night.”

You continued on walking, Bucky walking a little further behind you.

“You know, if I knew the army contained this much paperwork, I would have had second thoughts.”

You just threw a smile over your shoulder to him, watching as he sat at his desk. 

Steve’s desk was joined onto his, meanwhile, directly diagonal to Bucky was your desk. In front of you was Peggy’s desk. So, although Peggy and Steve would have to turn a little to look at each other, you and Bucky had a direct eyeline to one another. 

Something else that didn’t help the crush you were harbouring on him. 

There was just something…handsome about the way he looked when he was concentrating. In his own little world, flipping and writing between pages. And for a moment, you’d wonder if that is what it would have been like if you’d gone to school together. 

You’d been with him to plenty of museums and tech conventions. You’d seen the true side of Bucky. One that was rarely seen. His nerdy wonder and enjoyment. 

It was barely two hours before Bucky stood and walked over to your desk. He had tried thirty minutes ago but the Colonel had walked by his desk, stopping in front of him since he’d caught him staring at you across the room. 

The Colonel had just hummed, however, before muttering something to himself. 

“Just as bad as the others.”

Bucky had wondered what the Colonel meant, until he followed his next eyeline over to the map desk where Steve was standing with Peggy. 

Then he moved on. 

Bucky knocked on your desk twice to get your attention. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I was wondering if you’d want to come with me on Saturday.”

“Aren’t we working on Saturday?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. We’re both off. There’s a new exhibit being put on at the museum and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”

Bucky had attended plenty of museum and tech conventions alone. But his favourite ones were the ones where you’d attend with him. He got to be closer to you. He’d hear you talk about whatever thing you’d been waiting to talk to him about. He got to hear your laugh and by the end of the night, he got to hold your hand. 

You smiled. “You need me to run the ladies off again?”

Bucky chuckled. “Maybe. Just so long as you stay.”

You looked up at him. This man. 

“Okay.”

Bucky smiled. “Pick you up at four?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

That was when a small alarm sounded and Bucky responded to it. 

“I better go,” he said before running off. But then he came back. “Make sure Peggy doesn’t touch my desk.”

You nodded. “I promise.”

Bucky smiled. “See you soon, doll.”

You smiled, watching him jog down the hall and towards the control room. Meanwhile, Howard appeared around the corner. 

“Y/n?”

You knew that look on his face. He needed your help.

“What have you done?”

Standing up, you left your things at your desk and followed him through the building and towards the basement. 

“I haven’t done anything. Well, not yet.”

You sighed. “Show me.”

Entering the room, it was just yourself, Howard and two of his researchers. “The chemical equation is wrong.”

“Don’t you know how to fix it?”

“It doesn’t need to be fixed.”

You looked at him as you examined his machinery. “I understand you’re incredibly smart, Howard. But you’re not making any sense.”

Howard sighed. “The last time I used it, it worked. My math is never wrong.”

“Then change it.”

“I can’t. Any higher and it won’t just melt the machinery, it’ll melt human skin.”

You grimaced at the thought. “You know, if you boys let women do more of the talking, there is a higher chance that war wouldn’t be taking place.”

“Well, right now there’s a war going on in here. Can you…can you help?”

You took a look at his blackboard. 

“It’s not your math.”

“I know that.”

You shrugged. “Have you tested a model of this size before?”

“That’s what today is for.”

“Uh, Mr Stark?” One of the researchers popped their heads up. “I think I might have found our problem.”

You watched as Howard walked over towards the control panel that had been recently forced open. 

“Well- what is that? Oh, jesus. Is that a bolt? What’s it doing-”

As Howard pulled it out, everyone heard a big clunk!

“Is the building still standing?” You asked after a few minutes of silence. 

Howard looked around at the walls and along the floor. Nothing had cracked the concrete. As far as he was aware; the building was still standing. 

“Yep. Must be one of the inner mechanisms. Hand me that crowbar?”

You spun around until you saw the workstation and picked up the rusting metal crowbar. 

“Military issue. Not the prettiest thing in the world, but she gets the job done.” Howard explained as he began to yank one of the side panels off. 

“We figure, if we can make this thing industrial size, we’ll be able to fit it on top of a tank. That way, if it fits on one, it can melt one.” Howard continued to talk as he lay on the floor and practically got inside of the machine itself. 

You crouched down on the floor, peering inside. There had to be at least thirty main electrical wires, feeding some kind of blue and green substance into tubes. 

“You become more peculiar the longer I know you, Howard.”

From his space on the floor, he looked at you and smiled. “Thanks. Pass me that thing, will you, toots?”

Rolling your eyes, you moved behind you and reached for the socket wrench that had been laying on the floor. You handed it to him before standing up and looking around the rest of the machine. 

“Do I even wanna know when you came up with this idea?”

“Uhh.”

Howard was stalling. Usually when he stalled it was because he had been in another tryst with a woman who was most definitely off limits. 

“Alright,” you chuckled. 

Howard sighed. “You know what, you’re always on at me about my…friends.”

“That’s what you’re calling them now? Not production assistants?”

“What about you and Bucky, huh? I see the way you two look at each other. You’re really gonna tell me nothing is going on there.”

“We’re just friends, Howard.”

“Friends, my ass.” Howard lifted himself from the ground to peek out of his hiding place to look at you. You were standing with one heel across the other, a hand on your hip, staring down at him like you were his mother scolding him for doing something wrong in school…again. 

“You and I are friends. No matter how many times I try to make it something else.” He muttered that last part to himself but you heard it anyway and chuckled. 

Howard was a flirt. A shameless flirt. It just so happened that, before Peggy, you were one of the first to let the flirting comments fall. 

Howard disappeared back under the machine for a moment. 

“You and Bucky, however, are not.”

“Howard-”

“What are you doing this weekend?”

“Going to a museum.”

“With?” Howard pressed. 

“Bucky.” 

Finally, Howard stood from the ground and looked at you across the console desk. 

“It’s not what you think.”

Howard just smiled. “You and Barnes are going on, yet another, date. You like him. I know, because every time you look at him, you get the same goofy look in your eyes that Mr Jarvis does when he looks at his wife.”

You tried to hide your embarrassment, but it only seemed to come out as annoyance against Howard. 

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. And, I also know,” Howard was moving around the console towards you. “That Bucky has deep feelings for you.” 

Howard was standing in front of you. He didn’t have to raise his voice anymore. 

“He likes you, Y/n. And we’re at war. I don’t like thinking like that, but there’s no escaping the truth. We’re at war and a lot more people are gonna be losing their loved ones. Maybe it’s about time you took a chance with yours.”

You just stared at Howard. He had a point. 

“He’d be lucky to have you.”

You took a breath before turning away. “I thought we were down here to start testing, not discuss my…that.”

Howard smiled. “You know I’m right,” he practically sang as he walked away, wielding his wrench like a conductor. 

Ten minutes later, everything was seemingly ready. 

As one of the other researchers left to go and get the Colonel, Howard started the controls up so everything would be ready by the time people arrived. 

Only, as Howard started flicking buttons, you stood up. 

“Howard.”

Something was beginning to shake in the room. 

“Is it meant to be doing that?”

“No…”

Howard moved around the panels to take a look at the dials. Everything seemed normal. 

Then it started to shake even more. 

It was almost like your washing machine had been set onto a fast spin, but this time you were inside of the rattling machine. 

“Howard!”

“I’m on it.”

“What can I do?”

Howard didn’t answer you, but it didn’t matter. Because within seconds, the arm of the machine started going haywire and as Howard yelled at everyone to get down, you felt the wind get knocked out of you. 

As Howard finally shut down the machine from the inside, tearing at one of the wires, the building stopped shaking and the Colonel, along with Peggy, ran inside. 

“Stark! What the hell is going on?!” The Colonel yelled. 

“I wish I could tell you.” Howard stood, his legs still shaking from the movement in the floor. “Something must have come loose.”

“What the hell is that?” 

Peggy pointed and everyone looked at what it was. A smattering of blue dust and what could only be described as a bullet exit wound, cracking into the concrete wall. 

More people joined, running inside asking questions but fell silent when they saw the damage. 

Cracks along the walls, machinery and different liquids on the floor, and a large crack in place of where you had been standing. 

“Y/n? Where’s Y/n?”

“Stark! Where is my Agent?!”

“I…I don’t…” Howard was in shock. 

Peggy sprang into action. Maybe you hadn’t been hit. Maybe you’d taken cover or not been in the room at all. People started following her orders to find you. 

“Stark, where is my agent?” The Colonel asked as he approached him. “Now, she better not be dead or else I’ll have your neck for this.”

Howard shook his head. “You need a body to be dead.”

They both knew that to be true, but considering the fight they were having with Red Skull and a Super Soldier, it was quite plausible to have a death without a body. 

Meanwhile, down one of the hallways, Peggy ran into both Bucky and Steve. 

“Hey, what the hell was that shaking-”

“Have you seen Y/n?”

“I thought she was with Howard.”

Peggy shook her head. “Something went wrong.”

“What went wrong?”

“We, uh, we don’t know yet. But I just…”

As Steve took Peggy by the shoulder, Bucky made a run for it down to Howard’s lab. He saw the Colonel sat with Howard, but his commander quickly stood up and walked over to him. 

“Barnes-”

“Where is she? What happened to her?”

“We’re still trying to figure that one out.”

In the days that followed, Bucky didn’t know his head from his feet. He’d just spoken to you that morning. You were meant to be meeting him for dinner that evening. He was meant to be taking you out that Saturday. 

Nobody could bring themselves to clear away your desk. It was just how you’d left it. Open files, half finished paperwork, scrap pieces of paper with ideas and things written down. 

But when the Colonel got word someone was coming in to replace you, he went to one person. 

“Son?”

It was after hours and Bucky was yet to leave his desk. Mostly, his eyes had been focused on your desk, where you should have been sitting, scolding him for staying too late because it meant you had to stay late. Then he’d tell you, you didn’t have to stay, to which you tell him you wouldn’t let him work alone. 

Bucky looked up and saw the empty box in his arms. 

“Someone needs to clean out her desk and I think it should be you. They’ve got a replacement coming tomorrow.”

Bucky swallowed down his fear; accepting you were gone for good. And he took the box. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss, son.” The Colonel held his shoulder as he stood up. “I know she meant a lot to you. You meant a lot to her, too.”

The Colonel had seen the red, tearful eyes of Bucky for the last few days. The dejected look each time he looked up and found your desk empty, the bow of his head as he’d hide his face every time someone said your name. 

It had taken both the Colonel and Steve to pull him from Howard’s throat. 

And now he was left to clear out your desk. 

And for a while, he managed to keep his emotions in check. Sweeping away your files, adding them to his pile to finish for you. Clipping all your notes together, cleaning away the ink stains of your fingerprints by the edge of your desk. 

Then taking the pictures from your desk, seeing your smiling face, placing them inside the box. 

Then he found a key. 

Bucky had pulled out your chair and sat down before opening up the locked drawer of your desk. That’s when all control over his emotions left him. 

Inside, along with some more of your personal belongings, was a notepad. Each date had been crossed off, as had the things listed under it. Except for the one that you had started at the beginning of the week. 

It was all the things you wanted to talk to him about; at dinner, walking home, and on Saturday. You made a list so you wouldn’t forget or accidently leave anything out. 

And for a second, he smiled. 

Then he cried. 

You’d never get to talk to him about these things. He’d never hear your voice again. He’d never see you smile or roll your eyes or scoff or hear you yell at him. He’d never hear you laugh again.

It was hours before he left your desk and went home, keeping your box of things under his bed in case you came back. Howard was adamant that you would. The blast wasn’t strong enough to kill, but it was strong enough to melt. But, he hadn’t made it to melt human skin. 

So you shouldn’t have died. 

You couldn’t be dead. 

You had to be alive…somehow. 

And that was the thought, for as much as he wanted to kill Howard, Bucky kept with him. 

That you were still out there, somewhere, and that you’d come home. 

But the longer time went on, the harder that idea was to accept. 

People started to mourn in their own ways. Mr Jarvis and his wife set out your favourite flowers on their dinner table on your birthday. The same flowers Howard started growing in his garden a week after you had disappeared. The Colonel had sent Peggy to make sure the gravestone issued for you was just right. Nothing too fancy; after all, there was still hope you’d come back. Steve, along with the other Howling Commandos, raised a toast in your honour. 

But when the day came that Bucky fell from the train…

Only one thing made him smile. And that was that he’d get to see you again. 

[winkofcharm]

Spinning, Spinning, Spun - Chapter 1

Please help me, this is far longer than I expected it to be lmao.

Batfam x Reader {platonic} [Previous] [next]

Barbara Gordon is simultaneously the first to notice, and the sort-of last to know. 

It begins as most nights do for her, preparing for her shift as Oracle, waiting for you to send over the photos of the day. Scanning through the reports, planning out the routes each Bat would take, keeping an eye on any sort of forum, social media, police report, etc - that might drop a hint for what criminal activities may be planned for the night. It was a familiar pattern, one she had held to for years, even before she joined The Family. 

She’d known for as long as she could remember that she wanted to be in law enforcement, and since she was strictly forbidden from joining the GCPD by her Dad, what better way than this?

 First as Batgirl, fighting along Batman and Robin - being brought into the fold, into the family. She even remembers the first time she was brought into the batcave, and became aware of the men behind the masks; The Bruce Wayne, The Dick Grayson. She was going to work with the legends she modelled herself after. The ones who inspired her to take up a mask, to hit the streets of Gotham, and fulfil her dream. But it wasn’t just the two of them, was it? There was their butler, Alfred Pennyworth, former military, hyper-competent, and a master of what he did. And then…there was you. 

Barely a toddler, not able to comprehend what was going on, even if you wanted to. You were a cute kid, for sure, but she didn’t really know much about kids, and wasn’t interested in learning either. She had more important things to do, and yeah, she felt kind of bad brushing you off whenever she stopped in during the day, but that’s what Bruce told her to do - and at the end of the day, he was your dad, and had the final say. If she ever was curious about who exactly was watching over this child while She, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred were all preoccupied, then it was only a fleeting thought before refocusing on the job at hand. 

She watched you grow in glimpses and glances. Sighing a breath of relief when Bruce told her you were in on the secret, and letting another when he mentioned you wouldn’t be involved. By the time you were told, she was already Oracle, and balancing another vigilante would be stretching herself a little too thin. You learning the secret, also led to her seeing you less and less. And if she were completely honest with herself, it was a solace, a weight off her shoulders - one less person she needed to lie to. 

It became so much easier once you started leaving The Manor, she didn’t need to worry about running into you, and the awkward greetings that would follow. Barbara could get right to work, without needing to censor any discussions or plans. Anytime you were home, you seemed to get the hint quickly and make yourself scarce. The contact was minimal, until Bruce came to her with a request.

You were getting popular on social media, and with that popularity came risk. Risk of people getting too curious, of not just your safety, but the others safety being compromised as well. So a plan was put into motion. 

Every day, at 5pm Gotham time, you would send over any pre-planned posts and pictures, and Barbara would scrub them clean of meta-data. She would cross-reference any details regarding the rest of the family, making sure the timelines of events stayed consistent (though, she admits, you were pretty good at that already - and getting better at covering your own digital tracks. It seemed almost redundant to have her backtrack over everything, but who was Batman without redundancies?). Then, once satisfied, she’d send them back, and you would post at predetermined times. 

For the last five or six years, this system worked. You were always punctual, provided the few times you were late due to scheduling conflicts with the regular time, but even then, you always let her know ahead of time. Until this time, that is. 

5 pm, 18:00, 5 in the evening - came and went, and not a text, or dm, or email in sight. Maybe you were busy, maybe you were sleeping? You were in Hong Kong, possibly on your way elsewhere at the moment, and time zones could be tricky at best - but you never missed the 5pm cutoff. 

And honestly, she may have been the first to discover your disappearance, if she hadn’t been immediately distracted by a new thread on the Gotham subreddit. An unconfirmed source, one she needed to follow up on asap, claiming a grumbling in the underground - a rumour, unsubstantiated, but all rumours regarding any of the rogues needed to be followed up on. 

Thus, your lack of contact went unappreciated, and unheeded. 

The second to notice, and the first to inquire, was one Stephanie Brown. 

Steph - as she insisted to be called - was probably just as active in the realm of social media as you were, even if she wasn’t quite as popular. She never really got the invites to collaborate and create as much branded content as you did, but she didn’t really want that. She was okay with being “Gotham famous”, where people who were chronically online may recognize her out and about, but she wasn’t being hounded. Not like you were, and that was perfectly fine. 

She didn’t want to be as famous as you, hell, from the few times you actually made conversation, you didn’t want to be as famous as you are. The first time Wayne Enterprises pushed for a collab between you and her, you had been so... so…something. 

You had been sat beside her in a boardroom, the company PR team presenting why it would be so great for You, at the time the only known biological Wayne heir, and Steph, at the time girlfriend to their youngest ever CEO, to run a series of posts together online to promote brand engagement and blah-blah-blaaaaaaaaaah. Meanwhile, Bruce and Tim sat opposite her and you, nodding and agreeing with whatever business talk came out of the team's mouth. 

She also remembers nodding along, even if she didn’t understand what they were saying. It wasn’t like either of you were going to turn down the proposal, especially since it was coming directly from Bruce. She “uhuhed” and “okay’d” at all the right times, and you…you just sat there. 

You never even really looked at her, and Steph recalls how angry that made her. How you glanced over her once before looking away (before looking down) and never really looked back at her (never looked back up). She thought you to be stuck up and rude, some bratty kid living rich off their daddy’s money. It wasn’t until later, when you actually were working together for a supposedly “candid” photo opportunity, that she realized you were just quiet and a little awkward. 

In person, you were a complete 180 from how you presented yourself online. Online, you were confident, bold, clever and witty. In person, you shrunk into yourself. Shoulders hunched, eyes looking anywhere but forward - until the camera started rolling and then, then you transformed. Shoulders back, eyes forward, smirk playing on your lips. You went from random nobody, to someone who couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the child of Bruce Wayne.

 It made her curious, and for Stephanie Brown, curiosity was dangerous. 

She started by asking Tim about you, but he couldn’t give any more information than she already had, and even then, some of it seemed to just be about the online you - not the real one. When pushed, he got frustrated, and ended up starting a small argument. 

“Does it matter? All you have to do with them is pose for some pictures - it’s not like they do anything else.” 

And didn’t that set Stephanie off. You were a person, more than an online presence - so she and Tim didn’t speak for a week, until you had left town again, and the reason behind the argument semi-forgotten. 

Then she made the mistake of asking Bruce - and fuck, wasn’t that one of the most terrifying conversations (could it even be called that?) of her life. She tried to play off her questioning as small talk - 

“Man, they’re completely different in person y’know. I expected them to be just a rich kid, but -” 

Bruce cut her off. He hadn’t even been looking at her at first, but the moment he realized she was talking about You, his head had whipped around at her. His eyes hardened, his face twisted into one she’d only seen before aimed at lowlife thugs. Stephanie could feel the fear creeping in, her palms starting to sweat. She had made eye contact for just a moment, before casting her eyes elsewhere. Why had he reacted like this? She just wanted to know more about his kid. She didn’t think that was wrong - how could it be? 

“All you were to do was a job. They’re to be left alone outside of that.” She tried to defend herself, mostly out of surprise, but Bruce wasn’t having it. Anything she spoke was met with a cold and stern:

“Drop it.”

So she did. For a bit. The next time you were in town, and you were asked to work together again, she tried to bring it up again - and Bruce got even angrier. She ended up benched, and if she had to choose between you and Spoiler? 

Well, she didn’t know you that well. And Spoiler, Spoiler was always going to be more important.

Even after she and Tim broke up, you played the part of her digital bestie - and she would catch glimpses of the real you, the you no one else had seen, whenever she could. At one point she realized she knew more about you then the ones purported to be your siblings, and it sent her into a spiral. At best, you were coworkers, and she knew more than the people who were supposed to know everything.  

It helped that you posted several times a day, everyday. And sure, a lot of it was the fake influencer bullshit, but sometimes you’d sneak in the truth. Those were the posts she went out of her way to like and repost. She learned your favourite colour and favourite hot beverage in the same post, and made sure the next time you went out together for content, that it was prepared correctly, in a mug of your favourite colour. 

The small smile that lit up your face was perhaps the first real smile she had seen you make. And if it made her heart flutter, well, she kept that secret close. 

So it became a habit of hers. To scroll through your posts everyday, except today - 

You hadn’t posted anything. Not a thing. Nothing on twitter, on instagram, on snapchat, on tiktok - nothing. She refreshed each one multiple times, just in case, and kept switching between platforms, just in case.  

It set her on edge. Made her stand a little straighter - and then - the panic set in as she recalled - 

You queued everything.

You queued your posts for up to a week out at a time - meaning while there was nothing made public today, you hadn’t posted anything for the last week. 

So Stephanie did the only thing she could think to do, and went to the only person who might know more and be willing to share.

Alfred.

Thus Alfred became the third to notice, and the first to know. 

He remembers when you came to the manor. How little you were, the power of your lungs as you cried out into the world. A cry that would, if he were honest, barely ever be answered. 

Barely two weeks old, and already being forced to learn how cold the world is - he tried to apologize for it, but how could he? Nothing could replace what had been lost, nothing could replace what would never be given. 

Your mother had died in childbirth, or shortly after. The timeline wasn’t quite clear, but she had enough time to list one Bruce Wayne as the father on your birth certificate. Something neither he or Bruce had expected - let alone the call that came from the hospital, requesting someone come pick you up, lest CPS get involved. Bruce eventually relented under that threat, wanting to avoid any sort of government digging, but only if a DNA test proved you to be his child.

The Hospital agreed, and two days later, the results came back positive. You were his, and he was all you had. They refused to allow Alfred to collect you, no matter how hard Bruce pushed - he had to be the one to pick you up. So Bruce brought Alfred with him, and the moment he laid his eyes on you, he was yours. You were, in Alfred’s opinion, the most valuable thing in the world. 

Bruce, his ward, his son in every way but blood, to Alfred’s disappointment, did not agree. There was no time for an infant, not in his crusade. Despite trying his best to care for you and Bruce at the same time, Batman’s schedule made it impossible. 

An infant needed around the clock care, and if he was in the Batcave watching over Bruce and Dick (who hadn’t even been told about you - didn’t even know you were there in the manor, having been put in the nursery wing at the far end, where your cries were only to be heard by a nanny no one had bothered to hire), then there was no way for him to watch over you -  there was more than one morning you woke covered in your own mess. 

Alfred at least got Bruce to agree to hire a Nanny after the second week. He refused to have the Nanny in the main house, however. And how was that supposed to work anyway? Another person, poking around Wayne Manor with all its secrets? Bruce would never stand it. 

The solution broke Alfred’s heart, even if he agreed it was for the best. 

A country house, unused since the days of Thomas and Martha Wayne, and a Nanny, paid an ungodly sum and handpicked by Alfred himself for her silence and skill. Off you went, nearly two hours away, out of the grasp of Gotham and its shadows. The Nanny they had hired was instructed to send reports every week - written and verbal. The written reports went to Bruce’s desk, with any requests for new furniture, clothing, toys and other expenses were signed off on and sent back. The verbal reports? Those were Alfreds. 

He was kept up to date with every milestone, from learning to turn yourself over, to your first words and steps. The Nanny mentioned more than once she was worried about how quiet you were, how hesitant to ask for anything, from physical needs to emotional ones - and it hurt him to hear. You were a Wayne, the world would be at your fingertips, nothing should be out of reach - except, perhaps, your own family's affection. 

He assured the poor woman that the quiet was normal, that Bruce himself had been a quiet baby before exploding into a vibrant child (until reverting back after the alley). He did insist, as you grew older, that you would be brought into the phone calls. How delightful it was to hear you, even if it was just a few scattered words. 

Years passed like this, until suddenly you were at the cusp of puberty. And Bruce had no choice but to bring you back into the main house. The Nanny who had raised you, who you clung to for all your needs, was ready to retire. Alfred was the one to convince him to let you back, Dick was leaving, and he couldn’t imagine the Manor without some sort of childish light. Perhaps you could even get to know your father, grow close to him, and never be sent away again. 

How futile a wish. 

You never stood a chance. 

Alfred went himself, to collect you. Your sparse belongings had been sent ahead, having arrived in the Manor two days before you had - and had been placed once again in the nursery (though the crib had been removed, and replaced with a large four poster bed - curtains in your current favourite colour, and ready to be replaced when you changed it). 

You were polite and proper in your greetings, exactly as you were raised and taught to be. A firm handshake, your tiny hand in his - something you should have learned from your father, but was taught by a stranger. You remained silent the entire way home, looking out the window as the countryside changed. And Alfred couldn’t help but look back in the mirrors, and try his hardest to memorize everything about you. 

He should have known better. He spoke to you, as you approached the grounds, how your father was waiting to meet you (and held back on speaking about Dick, if only to ease the blow on how your father would rather raise a child that wasn’t you). He had thought Bruce would do the right thing and be waiting to greet you, as he had been raised to do whenever family arrived, so when he finally pulled up to the front doors and Bruce wasn’t there, he felt ashamed. He apologized for your fathers faux pas, and you just brushed it off - claiming you understood how busy he was. 

He would later find Bruce in the Batcave, with Jason Todd in tow. He would scold Bruce privately later, for doing all the things he had expected him to do with you, with Jason instead. A tour of the manor, showing you your room, introducing you to the history of your great family - all things Alfred had done instead. 

It was Alfred who helped you adjust, who prepared you for your new role as a Wayne heir. It was Alfred who introduced you to Jason, upon escorting you to the library and catching him there as well. And it was Alfred who went and yelled at Bruce for allowing you to assume you were like the others, an orphan taken in by a wealthy patron. 

It was an innocent question on Jason’s behalf, one he apologized for immediately after - 

“Did Bruce take you in too?”

And you turned to Alfred, unsure how to answer - he could see the words of affirmation forming in your mouth, the questioning furrow of your brow, before he cut you off - 

“Young Master is Master Bruce’s child by birth, sir.”

“Oh! Sorry! I’m really sorry, he just didn’t mention anything and I just assumed, and I’m rambling, I’m sorry.”  The embarrassed blush that bled onto Jason’s cheeks was probably the only thing that saved him from a scolding for asking such a question, along with your own response:

“It’s okay, you didn’t know - “ and thus your introduction was awkward and stilted, but at least you might finally have someone else by your side. 

He should have known better. 

He told Bruce of your meeting Jason, of the conversation you’d had, and how for a moment (perhaps much longer) you had thought yourself another ward, hadn’t been assured that the Wayne family was, in fact, your family. And While Bruce never addressed your feeling of lack of belonging - he did stress that you and Jason were to be kept separate, as much as could possibly be done. 

 Alfred verbally agreed, and mentally decided to make sure you and Jason spent as much time together as possible without Bruce noticing. Which proceeded to blow up in his face when Jason, in the midst of a visit from Dick, inadvertently blew the whole secret sky high. 

You never told him of what happened that night. Never looked at him again with trust in your eyes. Never reached out to Jason, or Dick, or even Tim when he arrived. You locked yourself further away, kept to your room outside of meals and school. And Alfred, if he ever heard you crying to yourself, pulled back; never acknowledged the damage done. How could he? In supporting the others, he had failed you. 

You lived as a ghost, and when you started leaving the manor more and more, he hoped you would move on. That you would grow into a person all your own, without the shadow of your family. But you never completely broke away - how could you? When they started finally pulling you in, in a grotesque semblance of a relationship that was never really real. It made him sick to his stomach, seeing you on the cover of Teen Vogue , purporting an interview about how great your siblings were. Siblings you hadn’t spoken to in months, hadn’t seen in even longer. 

Then Stephanie Brown took an interest, and Alfred, remembering how badly things had gone before when Jason had taken an interest, kept it to himself. Passed on what he could recall of your likes and dislikes, of your habits and rituals. So it wasn’t necessarily surprising when she called to ask about you. He paid no mind to Stephanie pushing for him to call you, gave the excuse of wondering when you’d next be in town, and that she’d tried to text you but had gotten no response. So he did. No answer, straight to voicemail - your phone was apparently turned off. 

“Please leave a message after the beep - “ 

Generic, he was hoping you had changed it by now, but clearly, he’d have to remind you again. But before the beep could go off, his blood chilled. 

A laugh. 

Not a laugh, a cackle. 

Familiar, and cruel - on your voicemail message, on your private phone, and one all too recognizable. 

The Joker

--------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @holybatflapexpert @electricgg @xoyumiqls @holderoflostmemories @sleeptimes @galaxypurplerose @sassam

(apologies if the tag didn't work, i'm new to this ;3; )

[manicmanuscription]

The Wait

SJM x Reader Week Day Five @sjmxreaderweek

Prompt: Heirs / Lords / Ladies

Pairing: Rhysand / Reader

Summary: Reader didn't expect carrying the future heir of the Night Court to be so anxiety inducing.

Tags: separation anxiety, possessive rhysand, hormonal reader, nothing but pregnancy fluff! not proofread oh also making out -light

Word Count: 1085

A/N: Sorry if this is bad y'all, I forgot to prepare something for today and then I nearly forgot to post it so it's super rushed smhhh 🤦‍♀️

SJM x Reader Week | Acotar Masterlist

I stood up from my chair once again, putting the book I’d skimmed through back on the bookshelf that was the fourth one that had bored me. I read a few titles but not comprehending any of them. This is fine, I’m fine. 

I waddled over to the next bookshelf, none of the titles really standing out to me and I nervously chewed on my lip as my mind wandered to mate once again. 

I was seven months pregnant, Rhysand had barely left my side and the last time I ventured outside the gardens of my own home was making the announcement of our Heir to the Hewn City. Then my mate and I had practically become shut-ins. Rhys even going so far as to lessen monthly dinners with our own family which had already become scarce with everyone's busy schedules.

He would’ve banned them from this house completely after Cassian had given me a congratulatory hug but I told him I would go crazy and skin him alive if I didn’t at least interact with our own friends.

It had been surprisingly nice, we had taken long needed breaks from work except for emergencies and the house was quite large so I didn’t feel too stir-crazy. 

Except for when my mate left me alone. 

This was only the third time he’d been called away for court duties, the trips usually lasting a few hours but each time felt a sentence worse than death. 

Madja had told me the heightened anxiety was due to having such an attentive mate, my pregnancy brain becoming so used to his constant presence that even when he walked down to the bakery to fetch my cravings my brain told me he would get terribly injured and never return to my side again. 

Who knew such a blessing could be such a curse?

I paced in front of the bookshelves, barely looking at the spines. I could handle a few hours without my mate, this had been an emergency with Keir and I didn’t want him to worry about me he already had enough on his plate. 

I already felt guilty enough for needing him so much, I wouldn’t feel guilty for cutting his meeting short as well. 

“You need to stop pacing.” The shadowsinger spoke from the couches.

“I’m not pacing.” I snapped harshly grabbing yet another book, the weight of my belly making my back hurt all day and I waddled to Rhysand’s favorite reading chair taking a few minutes to get comfortable. 

“I’m sorry for being short with you.” I murmured as I adjusted the knitted blanket for the second time. I just couldn’t relax, all of my instinct’s aware of every noise that went on in this house. My nerves like a frayed wire and the thought of how I’d spoken to my friend like that had me on the verge of tears. 

Gods these hormones were going to fucking kill me.

“It’s alright.” He brushed off turning the page in his book. 

I sniffled, blinking back tears and opened the book, skipping over every other line. After a few minutes I couldn’t take it anymore and stood up again. Everything felt wrong, the chair, my blanket, even the clothes on my skin. My mind couldn't help but wander...what if something bad had happened? Or if someone had gotten hurt?

I set the book back trying to take deep breath’s Azriel had already assured me everything was fine, multiple times in fact and nearly every time I’d bitten his head off. I was on the hunt for another book when darkness flickered in the room and the scent of my mate washed over me. Instantly settling all my nerves. 

I turned around to face him and he smiled. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be gone for another few hours?” I asked even as a grin graced my face. 

Rhysand didn’t even look at Azriel who’d been preparing to leave, unbeknownst to me the spymaster had only been following his job description and reporting my state back to my mate. Well your mood swings may scare him, a deeply powerful male with a pregnant wife at him and his instinct’s all haywire scared him even more. 

“It wasn’t a big deal, able to end the meeting early.” He shrugged and I hugged him, the belly bump slightly in the way but not enough that his scent didn’t intensity at proximity and make the bond hum in happiness. I was too happy he was home to consider if he was lying even though he was it didn’t matter Rhysand wanted to be with you just as badly, his own nerves calming seeing you safe and sound.

“Leave.” Rhysand ordered and before the last syllable left his mouth Azriel was already gone, disappearing to wherever. “How are you doing my love?” He asked me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Better now.” I murmured, tapping my lips indicating I wanted a kiss. He was quite tall and with the baby I couldn’t reach up on my tippy toes anymore. 

He smiled, settling his hands on my lower back and tugging my close. Giving me a quick peck on the lips before pulling away. “Uhm, what was that?” 

“What was what?” He cocked his head to the side, feigning innocence and if it weren't for this baby my feelings wouldn’t be hurt, but they were. I turned away from him crossing my arms, fine. Two could play at that game. 

“C’mon don’t be mad darling.” His voice dropped and a shiver ran down my spine. Bastard doing that to me on purpose. He stood behind me, sliding his hands underneath the baby bump and taking the weight off my feet and I let out a loud moan. 

Fluttering my eyes shut at the heavenly sensation, his early transgression almost completely forgot about until he brought it up again. “Let me make it up to you.” He whispered in my ear, pressing long kisses to the juncture of my throat before tilting my head and giving my lips a proper claiming. 

His tongue dominated my own and I lost all sense of time, breathless when he finally pulled away. “What are you reading there love?”

I had forgotten about the book in my hand and with a quick glance at the title I realized it was one of my favorites, a book of fables and mini stories with usually dark or mysterious endings. 

“Can you read to me?”

“Of course I can, darling.” He settled himself on the reading chair, tugging my into his lap and pulling the blanket over the both of us. It felt so much cozier than before and I nuzzled my head into his neck, sinking further into him as he began reading to me, all my earlier anxiety completly gone.

[dragonakito360]

Hello bestie ;33 HEHDHEHJW

Anyways, i wish for a doflamingo x fem!reader smut. Reader is the favorite toy (if u can say) that doffy wants to play with, like the other ladies that are in the palace he doesn’t want them, only the reader. Maybe some soft doffy (im a sucker 👉👈)

Also with a hint of misuse of devil fruit, aka bondage🥰

Laced up Nice and Pretty

{ THIS IS AN 18+ NSFW WORK, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT }

⋆｡°✩ Pairing: Donquixote Doflamingo x Reader

⋆｡°✩ Summary: Doflamingo finds his favourite toy all dolled up for him, and he couldn’t resist the urge to take her.

⋆｡°✩ Content Tags: P in V sex, bondage, improper use of Devil Fruit Ability, Possessive!Doffy, a bit of dacryphilia, spanking, degradation, Soft!Doffy and a bit of aftercare at the end

⋆｡°✩ Word Count: 1,350 Words

⋆｡°✩ Lorekeeper's Notes: Thank you for the request! I am in love with that blond man too 🫶 I have not written smut in a long while, hope you guys still enjoy the story regardless!

It was no secret among the Donquixote Pirates that Doflamingo had women in the castle that he favoured. They were his toys, ready to attend to his carnal pleasures whenever he desired. He used them however he pleased, chasing after his own high and leaving the women to care for themselves in the aftermath. But it was no secret either that he had a clear favourite, and it was you. It hadn’t been long since you came to work under him, yet everyone knew of his attraction to you. He sought your company far more than he did the others, gifting dresses that he would tear off your body, and he would take the time to attend to you once the act was over.

Doflamingo walked down the castle halls, heading out to the garden for fresh air. That was when he spotted you, dressed in the new clothes he had gifted. It was a tight outfit, hugging your body just right as lace frills accented the piece, leaving nothing to the imagination. It was more similar to lingerie than any actual dress. He licked his lips, grinning as he watched you lean up to clean the decor of the palace. He snuck up from behind, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you against him.

“What a pleasure it is to see you, doll.” Doflamingo whispered in your ear. “Did you dress yourself up all for me? I gifted this just the other day, it’s a shame for me to rip it so soon.”

“Young master, I-” You try to speak, only for Doflamingo to cut you off.

“The chores can wait, I need you now.” He placed emphasis on the last word, making you understand that there was no room for argument. Not that you would have, you were always so willing to please him. He could feel your body give in, his laugh echoing slightly in the sparse hall. “That’s a good girl.”

Doflamingo brought you to his room, sitting on the lavish couch as you stood in front of him. You felt like a prey watched by a predator, his lustful gaze watching your every move, every squirm of your body as you stared back, trying to read his expression. But all you could see was that mischievous grin as leaned back in his seat, gesturing towards you.

“Go on, put on a show for your king, doll. Show me that body of yours, before I rip that dress off myself.” You nodded at his words and unzipped the dress, letting it cascade off your shoulders. You held it up, giving Doflamingo just a peek of your breasts. He watched with anticipation as the dress fell to the floor, leaving you bare, save for the thin, lace undergarments. You approached him, letting your hips sway and running your hands down your body, accentuating your body.

Suddenly, you feel a pull tug your body. Before you could comprehend what had happened, your body had become suspended in the air by Doflamingo’s strings. You were face down, wrists tied above your head, back arched and legs spread, leaving room for Doflamingo to step between them. The man laughed as he tore your underwear with his strings, eyes focused on your pussy as it clenched on air, begging for his touch. He came up behind you, leaning over your body as you turned to face him.

“Please, please Doffy.” You begged, wanting him to just take you then and there. Doflamingo laughed once more, grabbing your chin.

“Making demands of me, darling? You should know your place.” His free hand slapped your ass, rubbing it soothingly as you squirmed. “I saw you and Diamante earlier today. Did you like spending time with him, hm? Did you think I wouldn’t know you were whoring yourself for him? And now you want me to fuck you on my cock? You filthy slut.” He slapped your rear again, rubbing the red, sore spot. “Did you forget who you belong to?”

“N-No, Doffy, I swear. I wasn’t doing anything with Diamante.” You pleaded, trying to convince him of your innocence. And truthfully, he knew you had nothing to hide. But he wanted to play with you for a while longer. He pulled on your body, lifting it upward and pressing your back flat against his chest. he freed his hard cock out his pants, shoving the garment down and kicking it aside. He rubbed it against your pussy, the tip teasing your clit. You let out a soft, shaky breath as he chuckled.

“I think I need to remind you of who you belong to, who this pussy belongs to.” He grinned and thrusted up into your cunt, the tip of his cock pushing in. You let out a loud, strained moan as he continued to push in. “Fuck, your pussy’s so tight! Relax for me, doll. You’re taking me all the way in.”

Doflamingo pulled your body down onto his cock, one hand caressing your breasts and the other on your clit, making delicious moans spill from your mouth. Once he was fully sheathed inside of you, he took a moment to admire the view, your hips flushed against his as your body trembled. Only you could take in all of him, unlike the other women. It was like your cunt was made for him. He thrusted slowly, teasingly, keeping what you both desire just barely out of reach. He then rutted into you at an animalistic pace, laughing between his grunts as he felt the bulge at your stomach.

“Feel that, darling? No other man can make you feel this satisfied.” He held onto your hips, as he thrusted hard into you, grip bruising your skin. He smirked as he felt your warm walls clench on his cock, and he started to slow down to bring you to the brink of orgasm, only to stop.

“Doffy, Doffy p-please.” You begged, trying to move back into him as tears pooled in your eyes. His grin widened, cock twitching at the sight of your plight.

“Aw, does my darling want to cum? Then beg for it. Tell me how much you want my dick.” He grinned mischievously as he held you firmly in place.

“P-Please, Doffy! Let me cum! Only you can make me feel this good!” You cried, hoping it was enough to convince him. Thankfully, it was. Doflamingo snapped his hips against yours, bringing you to the edge once again.

“That’s right, only I can make you feel this good.” He chuckled under his breath. “This is my pussy, do you understand? No one’s allowed to fuck you except for me.”

“Yours, Doffy! Yours!” You felt his cock twitch and your walls tighten its grip. With a pleasured cry, you came undone, your juices all over his cock and balls. He came not long after, spilling his warm seed into your cunt. After rutting in a few more times he pulled out, admiring the view of your hole and his cum dripping out.

“You did so good for me, doll. You always do.” He cooed, releasing the strings that held you. He tossed you onto the bed, his touch gentle and warm. As you laid on your back to get comfortable, he called for a maid to bring over a towel. He wiped off your sweat, kissing your body and the marks left behind from the last time you both had sex. He was pleased to see them, still visible, showing everyone you’re his. “You’re gorgeous, doll.” He praised softly and kissed your lips. He tossed the towel aside and got off the bed, tidying himself up in the mirror and putting on his pants. “Get yourself dressed, you still have work to do.”

“Yes, young master.” You responded weakly, throat hoarse from your cries. Despite the command, you knew he wouldn’t mind if you took some time to rest. He looked at you with a grin, placing a kiss to your lips before leaving.

[hirsheyskisses]

When You're Sober.

RORONOA ZORO x READER (short)

Summary: Being Roronoa's childhood friend, he's declared for the world to hear how one day, he's going to make you his wife. As adults, you had assumed he moved on, but as it stands..

A/N: I've had this in my head for AHH so long. So I'm writing it before I go back to requests 🤣

"..are you going to stay this time?"

Child Zoro questioned you. You sighed softly, seeing the tears pricking at his eyes pulled your heart strings in ways the young swordsman couldn't even begin to comprehend. Kuina's funeral had just ended, and Zoro had immediately sought you out. You were a slightly older swordsman pupil, by 2 years to be exact, and Zoro had latched onto you recently, with Kuina jokingly teasing you of how much he liked you. Sure, 11 and 13 weren't too big, but to a kid, it was all the difference. Still though, you couldn't help but care for him.

"..no. I'll be staying at the dojo." You replied, watching him smile, just a bit. You were both still sad after Kuina's death, and you weren't about to leave the mossball all on his lonesome- and you'd grown to like this dojo, as had your father. You were certain you could convince him to stay, rather than travel to another.

"Good! 'Cause I'm gonna marry you one day, so I can't have you leaving!" Zoro declared tearfully, through his shit eating grin, and you quickly angled your head away and growled, "we're not getting married!"

It didn't matter how many times you defended yourself, he wouldn't let up. If flustered and enraged you to no end. No matter how many battles you raged against him, no matter how many times you had him panting and defeated, holding your wooden sword to his throat, no, none of it scared Zoro.

"I'm gonna marry you one day, (Name)!"

Sometimes, Zoro would even sneak into your bed. You realized they were mostly driven by nightmares. You'd hear him slowly open the door, sniffling from tears, and walk over to you. He'd prod your side before diving under the covers with you, snuggling as close to your side as possible. "I know.. you're awake." He'd mumble, wrapping his arms around you. You'd give in, wrapping one around him. "Yeah. Hard not to when ya sneak into my bed." Zoro snuggled a bit closer. "Wanna be close. That's all." You knew it was more. He trusted you. He even began to tell you about the nightmares, and despite yourself, You'd comfort him. Hold him until he fell asleep.

It grew increasingly difficult for you to be mad at him, especially not seeing as it had become almost a game- plus his wholesome and innocent smile was so damn adorable. You figured he'd grow out of it eventually, popping out of nowhere to declare his undying love. Until then, you grew accustomed to him popping out of closets, around trees and doors, and through windows and met his confessions through the clashes of your blades.

As it turns out, Zoro did grow out of it. The two of you had long since left the dojo together, became bounty hunters, and then became pirates on Luffy's crew. Around 16, and you being 18 is when Zoro had began to stop asking, the questions growing less and less often until they had halted altogether, his mind set on fulfilling his promise to Kuina, to become the world's strongest and carry his name to the heavens, where yours was to find the world's wonders, and the blades of your dreams. In fact, the last time he'd done so..

..Zoro had grown. He knew that, you knew that. He'd never let you live down that you're shorter than him, much to your dismay. You both had barely left the dojo, and Zoro had decided the first thing he wanted to do was drink for the first time. So that's what he did. You chose to stay sober, just in case.

What you hasn't anticipated was just how clingy he'd get when he was wasted.

"Hey.." you were leading him back to the hotel, when without any warning, he'd pulled you into an alley and pushed you gently against the wall. Zoro stared intently into your eyes and pressed himself a bit closer, you could smell the alcohol from his breath. "Fuckin- Zoro! What're ya doin?!"

"So cute.." he'd lean in and smell your hair, his earrings glinting in the moonlight, arms keeping you caged against the wall. "I've waited.. s'long. M' even of age now."

He pulled back a bit, towering over you, and you could feel yourself becoming a furious, blushing mess. Zoro himself was flushed, panting softly, lips parted ever so slightly.

"Wanna marry ya. Wanna marry ya s'bad.."

He slurred, and you flushed a deeper shade of red. His hand reached up to tuck some hair behind your ear, and you were frozen for a long moment. Until you finally came back to your senses.

Shoving his face away, you grabbed his arm and began storming to the hotel,

"Stupid mossball! Ask me again when you're sober!"

He never did.

Sometimes you missed it, how close you and Zoro used to be. Sure, you still had complete trust in one another, and always had each other's backs in battle, but it was as though you'd both spoken so much, that you no longer spoke. You'd still train, sometimes even nap in the others presence, but words had become rarer, instead communicating through looks more often than not, quick and brief. You were beginning to miss his voice.

"(Nameeeeeee).. hey. 'chu doin' all alone?"

Speaking of Zoro- he'd joined you on the rail of the Sunny. On the beach, the rest of the straw hats were celebrating with the locals, and said locals had given Zoro an alcohol like no other. Zoro, believing his tolerance was high enough to take it, decided to drink it during a drinking contest. For the first time in a long while, he was wasted. Again.

"Relaxing. It was quite the battle today." You responded, smiling at the swordsman. His swords rested at his side, and your two rested st your side.

"It was.. f'sure." Zoro agreed, leaning against the railing, "you handled yerself good out there." He placed a hand at the small of your back, smiling at you. "Saw the new technique.. should use it against me sometime."

You awkwardly moved away from his hand, laughing softly. "Yeah, sure, when you're sober." His smile fell ever so slightly, and you tilted your head in confusion. "Ya good there, Zoro?"

"No. I'm not."

He responded, and with little warning, he had you in his arms, practically squishing you against him in a fiercsome hug. "Ack! Zoro! Can't breathe!" You yelped, laughing breathily as you struggled to escape his wrath, deciding to worry about him after you could breathe again.

"....why ya talk ta Sanji s'much?"

Zoro growled, loosening his grip and grabbing you by your shoulders, suddenly pushing you away but still holding you, at arms length. "HAH? Fuck you mean?" "It means.. exactly what I'm askin'. You even ditched training the other day.. ta' talk to that damn cook. Why?" He sounded hurt, and you grew even more confused. "'Cause he's my friend? Plus, I've been taking some cooking lessons from him to help out." Zoro scowled, clenching his teeth and flat glaring at you. His grip was tightening to the point it hurt, and you tried not to wince, instead meeting his glare with one of your own. "What's your problem, Roronoa?! They put angry juice in your damn booze?" You placed emphasis on his last name, which only caused his grip to tighten more. You watched as he opened his mouth, then closed it again, struggling to find the right words to say.

"My problem is, is I wanna fuckin' marry ya, and seein ya with that damn cook pisses me off."

His voice was low, and he loosened his grip, instead opting to massage your shoulders. Yet again, you'd frozen, watching Zoro's glare turn into a pout as he dropped his head.

"I know I know.. ya dont feel the same.. but.. damn it, atleast choose someone better than him."

To say you were shocked was an understatement. You'd never seen Zoro look so defeated, watching him turn his head away. He hasn't given up, but he was about to. Your heart shattered in more ways than one. As his hands dropped from your shoulders, you knew one thing: it was now or never.. but what if these were just..

You reached out and grabbed his hand, staring at the ground. You couldn't look at him- not when he looked like a kicked puppy. "Zoro.."

"...yea?"

"Ask me again. When you're sober. I'll answer you."

Then, you jumped over the edge of the ship, landing on the beach, and ran to join the others, face beet red and guilt boiling deep in your gut.

He didn't. The next day you both went on as if nothing happened. However, after breakfast, Zoro vanished off the ship, alongside Nami. You'd decided to think nothing of it, however, part of you wished, so badly, that you'd just told him. But you had also decided that if Zoro couldn't tell you when he was sober, then it just wouldn't work.

I've loved him for years.. I thought he'd forgotten. God.. I wish I could turn back time, and accept him. I'm a fool.

"(Name)-chan? You're looking gloomy. That damn Marimo do something to you?! I swear I'll-"

Sanji had approached you, and you cut him off with a wave of your hand. "Its.. just a childhood subject came up. It's touchy." You responded, finally removing your gaze from the table to meet his gaze. Sanji sat across from you, "Wanna talk about it?"

"...not sure what good it'll do." You huffed, fidgeting with your hands. For a long moment, Sanji was silent. Which was odd, seeing as he was usually swooning over you, or whisking you away to teach you a new cooking technique.

"..things will work out between you two. Don't worry. He may be a lumbering fool, but he isn't a total idiot." Sanji said, a twinkle in his eyes. You glanced at him, "whatddya mean by that?" "I mean exactly what I said, darling."

You spent the rest of the day wondering what Sanji could've possibly meant. Working around the ship and making sure everything was ready to set sail in the morning, Chopper dancing around your feet as he helped and rambled about medical knowledge.

As time rolled around for dinner, you were moving to the kitchen with the others, laughing with Usopp at Luffy's antics, when all of a sudden,

"(NAME)! hol.. hold on." Zoro came running up behind you, with something held in his hands. Nami wasn't far behind, but she maneuvered around the two of you to stand with the others.

"Fuck.. never doin that again." He grumbled, dropping to one knee and staring up at you, chest heaving, as he pulled out a small box.

"..zoro?-"

"You.. you told me to ask again when I'm sober. So I am."

"Marry me."

He opened the box to reveal a beautiful black and gold ring. You froze, staring at it, and then at the swordsman, who was staring up at you, just as still as you.

He..

"...fuckin' hell Zoro. Yes, I'll marry you."

The grin that erupted on Zoro's face was beautiful as tears spilled from your eye, and your crewmates cheered behind you both as Zoro pulled you into his arms, slipping the ring on your finger.

"SUPPPPER! finally!" "Yohohohoho! I should play some music!" "Damn marimo.. You'd better take care of her!" Their congratulations fell on deaf ears as Zoro held you, burying his face into your shoulder. The growing wet feeling on your shoulder told you one thing: he was crying, too.

"..I love you. So much.. please, stay at my side for the rest of eternity." He whispered, voice raspy, and you melted into his hold,

"Always, and forever. I've always been yours, Zoro."

[ryzheling]

sfw, fluff, bicep biting, mention of suggestive themes, loosely based on this, kinda goofy don't take me seriously guys ( ~700 wc )

It’s sitting right there. Right in front of your face.

On any other day it would’ve been easier to hold back, as they’d always be covered and usually out of your sight. But during times like this – particularly in the mornings where the sun is up and high above your head, when no blood is to be spilled and the bed is meant to be occupied by two naked bodies tangled in the sheets together – your impulse is being tested like no other.

Alas, you’re just another human being with desires and itches meant to be scratched.

“Would it be weird if I say I’ve been wanting to bite your arm?”

Nagumo pauses. One of his hands hangs midair above the printed pages full of table lines and empty boxes, his eyes blinking curiously at the numbers as if trying to comprehend what you’d just said.

"Nope." He then turns to you with his head cutely tilted to the side, “Do you think it’d be weird?”

His reply doesn’t surprise you, to say the least, and if anything, you’d expected him to say that much. Though what you didn’t expect was for him to direct the question back to you, causing you to take a second too long to respond.

“Well, I mean…” your eyes drift back to his tattooed arm, cursing at the lack of clothes that he’s sporting. Nagumo’s leisurely sitting back against the headboard, the blankets that you have pulled up to your shoulders pooling around his waist and hiding all the lower part of his body, much to your dismay relief.

Then again, you can’t really blame him because last night was… something.

The little sudoku book is long forgotten on his lap, and the pencil is idly being twirled between his lithe fingers. His lips curve into a smile – always so keen to indulge you – then the next thing you know Nagumo’s already shoving his arm in your face with a low murmur, “Go on.”

(You’re exaggerating. He’s just holding it out closer towards you but what could you possibly do in that situation, really? Lay there and pretend to be normal about it?)

You wanted to do it. God, you really do want to do it. But he’s looking down at you, his big round eyes so soft yet so sharp in the way his gaze is solely focused on every reaction you’re about to offer.

Gritting your teeth, you reach out a hand to smack over his perusing eyes. “Stop looking! You’re the one making this weird now.”

His chipper laugh rolls over you like gentle waves on a morning tide, “Okay, okay! I won’t, I promise.”

(He’s lying, that menace. He’s going to take a peek out of the corner of his eye.)

It takes a few moments for you to eventually be convinced that his sight is directed somewhere else, and when you do, you’re all the more eager to get this over with.

Your hand loosely grips the side of his bicep (the sheer thickness of it sends you down into a little spiral, but you’re not gonna let him know that) before you finally bite down, teeth gently digging over the swirls of dark ink on the firm muscle.

“Ow, ow–”

You immediately pull away, guilty and maybe a little worried. “Shit, sorry! Did that hu–”

“Kidding! You bite like a little kitten, you know? It’s adorable!” Instead of a pained expression, his eye smile and grinning lips greet you.

Your jaw drops for a second before irritation comes over you, resulting in your fist punching him right on the spot where you’d bitten. “I thought you were really hurt, dumbass!”

Chuckling, Nagumo pulls you to lay on his chest and back into his arms like how you were sleeping the night before, like how you were meant to be. “All these muscles would’ve been useless if I couldn’t handle a little chomp from you, sweets. But look, you still managed to leave a mark! Ain’t that fancy, hm?”

“I’m seriously going to bite a chunk of your flesh off one of these days, I swear to god,” you grumble under your breath, nuzzling closer to the heat radiating off his bare chest.

“Yeah? One day for sure, but for now, it’s my turn!”

“What do you– OW, YOU LITTLE –!”

He goes straight for your neck.

©ryzheling. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else!

[princesseilish]

QUIET GRIEF

Billie Eilish x Fem!Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, like just fully coated angst

Synopsis: Billie lost the love of her life but, Rosie lost her mommy

A/N: my last draft, yay mee !!

It had only been a month since Y/N’s sudden passing. A month that felt like years. Billie’s world had shattered into a million pieces, and the weight of that loss was something she still couldn’t comprehend. The love of her life, gone. Just like that. And now, she had to navigate this new life as a single mother to Rosie, their bright, beautiful little girl.

Billie postponed her tour—there was no question about it. Music was important, yes, but nothing was more important than being there for Rosie. She didn’t even know how to grieve properly. She couldn’t. Not while Rosie still needed her, needed her strength, even when Billie didn’t have any of her own to give.

In the first few days, everything felt like a blur. The funeral, the calls, the arrangements. And then the silence. The empty space where Y/N’s laughter and presence used to be. Rosie had been clinging to her mother since the moment they told her the news. The little girl had barely left Billie’s side, as if she couldn’t process it either.

But as the days dragged on, things started to settle into a new normal. A quiet one.

There were nights, though, when sleep wouldn’t come. Billie would lie awake, the empty side of the bed beside her mocking her. And Rosie—Rosie would often sneak into Billie’s room, needing to be close. Sometimes, they’d sit in the living room, trying to distract themselves with a movie, but it never worked. The silence in the house was too loud. They both missed Y/N. They missed her more than words could express.

One night, the silence was especially heavy. Rosie was sitting next to Billie on the couch, her tiny body curled up against her mother’s side. The TV flickered quietly in the background, some animated movie that neither of them was really paying attention to.

“I miss… I miss Mommy,” Rosie’s small voice broke the quiet, her words more fragile than she knew.

Billie’s heart cracked. Her little girl was still so young, and yet she was carrying so much weight. It was unfair. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Billie pulled Rosie closer, wrapping her arms around her tight. She didn’t have the words to fix this. She didn’t know how to make it better. But she had to be there. For Rosie. Because this little girl was everything Y/N had wanted. Everything they both had wanted. And now, Billie would have to fulfill that tsunami sized hole y/n left in Rosie and her hearts, all while still trying to heal from the brokenness inside.

“I miss her too, baby,” Billie whispered, pressing a kiss into Rosie’s hair, trying to steady her breath. She didn’t want Rosie to see her break. But the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable.

“I want her back,” Rosie whispered, her voice cracking as she nestled closer into Billie’s chest.

“I know, sweetheart,” Billie said, her voice shaking. She ran her fingers through Rosie’s hair, trying to find some comfort in the action. Trying to find a way to reassure her that it would be okay, even though she didn’t believe it herself. “I want her back too.”

The house was silent except for the soft sound of Billie’s voice and the occasional sniffle from Rosie. They didn’t speak for a while. There was nothing left to say. What could you say to a child who had lost her mother, who didn’t understand why this had happened? What could you say to yourself when you couldn’t even understand it?

Billie watched as Rosie’s eyes fluttered, the exhaustion from the day catching up with her. Slowly, the little girl drifted off to sleep in her arms, her tiny breath steady and peaceful against Billie’s chest. Billie wasn’t sure how long she sat there, just holding her daughter, the weight of everything pressing down on her.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed Y/N’s presence in their home until now. There had always been so much noise, so much love. Now, there was only silence.

Billie wanted to scream. She wanted to ask why. But the house was too quiet, too still. Rosie shifted in her sleep, her little hands clutching at Billie’s shirt, and Billie fought to hold back more tears. She had to be strong. For Rosie. For Y/N. She couldn’t fall apart in front of her daughter.

“I love you, Bug,” Billie whispered into the stillness of the night, even though Rosie was already asleep. “I’ll always love you.”

And as Billie sat there, the weight of grief on her shoulders, she knew that the pain would never go away. But in the quiet of the night, with Rosie in her arms, she promised herself one thing: she would keep going. She would keep fighting for Rosie. For Y/N. For their family.

The nights might be long, and the silence may never feel the same, but Billie wasn’t alone. She had Rosie. And somehow, that had to be enough.

[authorhjk1]

Hey could you do BP members react first time cum inside

Jisoo

"Jisoo..."

You try to warn her. But the woman underneath you just moans louder. Her ankles are crossed on your back, her hands locked together behind your neck. The two of you are almost one body.

You can't hold it in any longer. Jisoo's body, especially her tight pussy, leaves you breathless. You're too weak to fight against her own fading strength.

"Jisoo..."

You say her name once more. But this time it's a sigh of defeat. You empty your load deep inside of her, making Jisoo moan in response.

"Oh god..."

She sighs, her whole body tensing as she feels your warmth. Usually, you cum somewhere on her body, maybe even in her mouth, but never inside. Why has she waited so long for this? It feels amazing.

Jennie

"You gonna give it to me? You gonna fill up my little pussy?"

Jennie looks over her shoulder at you, her tight body pressed against the cold wall.

"Yeah."

You groan into her ear, unable to say much else. You met her barely 20 minutes ago and Jennie is already telling you to dump your cum in her.

"Put your load in me. Right where it belongs. In my needy little cunt."

You groan her name, pin her further against the wall, and finally you orgasm inside of her. Jennie's breath hitches as she feels your cum inside her pussy.

"Damn, I feel so full. I'm gonna have your cum leak out of me for the rest of the day."

Rosé

"C-Can you please cum inside this time?"

You look down at your girlfriend. On her stomach, black dress hiked up enough so you can fuck her tight pussy, her hands bound together by your tie.

"Sure."

You leat out a relieved sigh. It's always such a struggle to pull out early. And a condom just doesn't compare. It just feels like heaven, whenever you fuck your girlfriend raw.

"Jennie said, she got creampied by some stranger the other night. And I want to feel that too."

Her already weak voice tells you that Rosé is reaching her own limit as well. The thought of Jennie, letting a random dude cum inside, makes you fuck your girlfriend a little harder.

"Oh, yes there. Jennie is such a slut. I'm surprised she hasn't tried to make you cheat on me yet."

You quiet your girlfriend by giving her harder thrusts, trying not to think about Jennie while you fuck her.

But it's already too late. Rosé's snug and wet pussy and your mental image of Jennie make you you cum inside your girlfriend earlier than you expected.

"Oh, god. It feels amazing."

Rosé can barely get those words out, before she orgasms herself. You feel her draining your for everything you have. Her already sloppy pussy now needy for more of this newfound feeling.

Lisa

You still can't believe that Blackpink's Lisa is riding you. Inside her own hotel room. Her hands rest on your shoulder, yours on her waist. She didn't even bother getting rid off her dress. She just told you to follow her upstairs, when she caught you staring at her in the lobby.

You could've sworn there were rumours about a boyfriend or something. Either they're not true, or she is doing something really bad right now.

The idea of being able to have sex with Lisa already drives you mad. A dream come true. But is she actually doing this while being in a relationship?

"Damn, your cock feels amazing."

Lisa leans down to give you a deep kiss. A kiss that pushes your further to the point of no return.

She must have felt what you're thinking, because she pulled away and is now looking down on you as she keeps riding you.

"Don't worry, he doesn't mind. Actually, he finds it hotter when I let guys like you cum inside."

"What?"

You're barely able to comprehend what she just said, the fog in your brain already limiting your ability to think.

"It's okay, baby."

Lisa picks up the pace a little, which is deadly for your self control. She leans down, so her mouth is right next to your ear.

"Just think of me as a one time cumdump."

"Fuck."

You groan as you close your eyes, which makes you miss Lisa's knowing smirk. You dig your fingers into her hips as you thrust upwards, cuming deep inside of her.

"Fuck, yes."

Lisa moans, a satisfied smile on her lips. She grinds her hips back and forth. Trying to get as much out of you as possible.

[dollyfiles]

cherub!reader helping older!rafe to relieve some stress

cherub!reader mlist

cw: smut, handjob, innocent reader, praise, guidance, emotional manipulation, religious themes

the door of your boyfriend’s apartment clicked shut behind you, and rafe exhaled hard through his nose, his shoulders tense and his jaw tight. it had been a long and rough day. the kind that turned his mind messy and restless, and made him impatient with everything and everyone.

and of course you noticed immediately. you were always watching him, like a little hawk with big eyes, eager to help. so before he could even sit down on the couch, you were at his side, hands barely brushing his arm, voice delicate.

“are you okay, ray?” he didn’t answer at first, just dropped onto the couch with another heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face. you stood there beside him, fidgeting, uncertain, wanting to help but just not knowing how. “i just…” rafe shook his head. “it’s been a shit day, sweetie.”

and seeing him like that, all worn out and stressed, was all it took for you to fold. you immediately kneeled in front of him, still in your flowy skirt and soft cardigan, like you had come straight from church, while your fingers toyed with the hem nervously.

“is there… something i can do?” you asked innocently, brows drawn in worry. “to make you feel better?” rafe looked down at you, the stress in his face softening just slightly. you were so sweet, always so eager to fix things, even things you didn’t understand.

he leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “ya’ really wanna help me, angel?” you nodded without thinking, you really were too easy. he smiled, the kind that always made your stomach twist in a weird way. “good girls take care of their boyfriends when they’re feeling like this, ya’ know?”

“really? how? i wanna know please, ray.” you wiggled in ur seat, eyes all big and full of anticipation, and totally unaware of the direction this was going in. rafe pushed his tongue into his cheek, trying to see behind your eyes and into your innocent little head. were you really ready for this? was he gonna push it too far?

he wasn’t sure, but the fire within him wasn’t going to burn out by itself. so he tried. “well.. ray has been feelin’ very very achy down there lately.” he cooed, motioning to his growing bulge, already straining against his jeans. “think ya’ could help me out?”

your face flushed instantly. “i—i never.. i don’t know how…” you stuttered, unsure eyes falling onto his crotch area. “it’s okay,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “i will show you.” you bit your lip, heart pounding. your mind raced with guilt and hesitation.

this wasn’t the kind of thing girls like you were supposed to do. it almost felt like something from a world you weren’t part of, and yet here you were, pulled into it by the boy you couldn’t say no to.

“i don’t know if i’ll be any good,” you whispered, barely audible. rafe leaned back against the cushions and nodded slowly. “just try for me. that’s all i’m asking. ya’ want to be good, right?” and so you did. rafe couldn’t hide his cheesie smile as he pulled down his jeans, followed by his boxers.

he didn’t even bother taking them off completely as they sat rested around his ankles. your eyes grew wide at the sight. this was all so new and unfamiliar and the sickening feeling in your stomach became more prominent as you saw his raging hard-on press against his lower stomach.

before you could fully comprehend what was happening, rafe took your palm and placed it on his cock, making you squeal in uncertainty, followed by a big string of his saliva.

“need you to move it up n’ down.. just like that.” he guided your small fingers underneath his own. with trembling hands and flushed cheeks, every move fragile, every glance upward searching for reassurance, you followed his movements.

your mind fluttered with a thousand thoughts about what was right, about what your parents would say, about what god would think, but none of them were louder than rafe’s praise. “that’s it, sweetie,” he murmured, voice hushed, fingers gently stroking your hair.

“you’re doing so perfect for ray.” it didn’t feel perfect to you though. your hands felt too small, too unsure. your fingers trembled no matter how carefully you tried to steady them, and every motion felt like it didn’t belong to you.

you weren’t even sure if you were doing it right, there were no lessons for this in church, no whispered guidance from your mother, no soft, reassuring verses to fall back on. you just continued to do what your boyfriend had taught you a few minutes ago, stroking his shaft in a smooth and rapid motion, watching the way his muscles tensed every time you twisted your wrist.

you told yourself it was because rafe needed you. because he was tired. because good girlfriends helped when their boyfriends were hurting. that’s what he said, and rafe was older, more experienced, wiser.

he wouldn’t ask you for something wrong… right?

still, your heart beat a little too fast, and there was a tightness in your chest you couldn’t quite breathe around. guilt mixed with a little bit of curiosity. you felt wrong, but not entirely bad, more like you were standing on the edge of something you didn’t understand yet, part terrified and part fascinated. and above all, you just wanted to make him happy.

rafe watched you, already trying desperately not to cum, but the way you were stuck staring at his leaking cock, your innocent brain trying to make sense of anything that was happening right now, was driving him batshit crazy.

"like that, ray?" you choked out, trying to swallow the big lump in your throat and just focusing on his words while your hand moved faster now. he nodded, "exactly like this, angel.”

he watched you with pure satisfaction, head tilted slightly as if studying something fragile and rare. you, on your knees, hesitant and pink-cheeked, hands moving clumsily. it was a picture he didn’t know he needed until it was right in front of him. the sight was almost laughable. he knew exactly what he was doing.

he’d known from the first time you looked up at him like he hung the stars. it had been easy to o guide you here. a few soft words, a little well-placed guilt, a reassurance whispered in the tone you craved. he told you good girlfriends did this to make their men happy. and you believed him. of course you did.

that was the thing about you, you wanted to believe. you wanted to be good, so desperately, and you wanted him to think you were good. you would do anything for him, betray everything you claimed to believe in, just to hear him say you’d done well. you didn’t even realize how far you’d already fallen.

rafe’s hips began to move almost on their own, meeting your rhythm and thrusting into your shaking hand. "shit-that’s it.. keep goin' sweetie, don't stop-“ you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d crossed some invisible line.

if your father would know just by looking at you or if your mother would be disappointed. but rafe didn’t seem disappointed at all. he seemed to be more than pleased, so you held onto that.

his thrusts began to stutter, hands clutching onto the soft cushions as he felt himself unravel, grunting as his warm seed spilled all over your untrained hand. when it was over, the silence in the room felt too loud. rafe was panting, slouched against the sofa while you just blinked at him.

you didn’t know what you were supposed to feel, only that your chest felt tight and your skin prickled like it didn’t quite belong to you anymore. rafe was still leaning back against the sofa, breathing still a little heaviy, eyes half-lidded. but even he noticed the way you weren’t smiling, the way you averted your gaze when his eyes found yours.

“hey,” he murmured reaching out to you, voice dipping low and smooth again, like it always did when he needed you soft and obedient. “c’mere angel.” yet you didn’t dare to move. “y/n.” your name was coaxing, almost sweet from his lips.

you blinked quickly, as if waking up, and turned toward him with wide, watery eyes. his expression shifted immediately, more like worry, thinking that he may have went too far, too soon. he was quick to get dressed before reaching for you again, pulling you gently into his lap.

“you okay?” he whispered, brushing a thumb under your eye where a tear had started to slip down. “you didn’t do anything wrong. you were perfect.” you shook your head a little, not sure if you were agreeing or trying to undo something that had already happened.

rafe pressed a kiss to your temple. “i’ts just between us, alright? just our little secret.”you nodded, slowly. but inside, a quiet ache bloomed. you weren’t sure what it was though.

all you knew was that you didn’t feel like yourself right now..

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @isasweetie @rafessecret @littlelamy @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @bluemerakis @nemesyaaa @rafekisser @deansbeer @ditzyrafe @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lacyydollette @drewsephrry @angvl3tears @rotapathetic

[blackcat-star]

[Married] Beautiful In white.

Husband!Jinwoo x Wife!Reader

« Tears | First night »

_________________________

Jinwoo's POV

Your elegant aisle walk mesmerized me so deeply that I could barely comprehend the enchanting scene in front of me. Your wedding dress appeared like freshly fallen winter snow to showcase your gentle personality. Unspoken emotions flowed through your eyes as tears remained unshed while you revealed your deep feelings. Then there was your smile, that very same radiant smile that had always been able to trap my heart, now all yours and pointed straight at me, in that unforgettable moment, all yours and only mine.

I heard my heart pounding in my chest. I, Sung Jinwoo - who had faced so many death doors, so many of the most terrifying monsters in life - and now, just one look from you made me tremble.

You were the first person I loved... and I wanted to be the last person you loved.

I think I've never been so sure of anything as I am now.

I stood at the end of the road, waiting for you to come. Every step you took was a slow-motion film of the years that had passed. From the days of school, the seasons of royal poinciana flowers falling all over the schoolyard, to the afternoons of parting when no one dared to say anything clearly, everything seemed like it was just yesterday.

I stood before you, my hands trembling slightly. You held my hand, so gently, as if if you was just a little stronger, this moment would disappear like morning dew.

No matter how poor, stormy, or hurtful, I am always here. 

We grow old together, with each other.

You are the sunshine of a naive youth.

Just a moment of your smile, and I knew I was done for. My heart at that time, did not understand what love was, only knew that every time you smiled, my heart skipped a beat.

I am not the type of person who speaks flowery words. In fact, back then, I did not dare to look at you for too long. Every time you turned around, I quickly looked away, pretending to be buried in my books, even though I could not read anything.

We were still friends at that time. But I only dared to keep that feeling in my heart.

I yearned for your company and wanted you near me yet my fear of revealing my real emotions stopped me from sharing my inner thoughts. My fear of showing emotions led me to worry that revealing my feelings would endanger our bond while potentially creating separation which would make us drift apart.

I feared that you would leave if I revealed how I truly felt. Afraid that you would no longer smile at me like before. So I chose to remain silent, just to be with you - even if it was as friends.

And then time passed. Each spring, summer, and autumn passed, we grew up. But I still could not forget the feeling when I first held your hand. I still clearly remember your hesitant eyes when our hands first touched. I thought I would forget. But how could I forget?

The first time we held hands seemed like it was just yesterday. I could not believe that my first love, my childhood dream,...

Now in pure white.

I see your parents, I see old friends, I see people who have witnessed our journey. I think about everything we have gone through to get to where we are today.

After so many years - in the blink of an eye - you are now my wife. I feel myself to be the luckiest person on Earth because I have no doubt about my good fortune.

Your palm's gentle warmth remains in my grip as I hold your hand tightly while a reassuring bond wraps around me.

We vowed to each other a permanent bond which excluded any casual or momentary promises because we promised to support our marriage until death.

"I dedicate myself to loving you forever as I swear this eternal promise not only for your sake but also as a holy vow made before heaven."

Your future brings no worries because I will stay by your side holding your hand at every moment including your tired times and times of need. Your presence is always available to me whenever you need rest or comfort. Your silence does not hide the ways I will make you smile because I will always find creative ways to brighten your day. Just a look, a squeeze of your hand, I will understand what you need.

_______________________

Time flies again - this time in the blink of an eye, ten years.

We are no longer just two people. Now, there is another little creature that calls us mom and dad.

I still remember clearly the moment you first held your child in your arms. You cried - not because of pain, but because of happiness. I stood beside you, unable to hold back my tears. I never thought I would have a family - but now, we have everything.

"Now we have another family. Happiness with another member."

We watched our child grow up every day. Every babble, every step, every time he called 'dad' - all became precious memories.

We both taught our child how to love - the way you and I have loved each other over the years.

And we promised to love our child forever, a sacred promise we made to the heavens. No matter how sick or poor or how much trouble come, mom and dad will always be here.

________________

One day, our hair will turn white. Our hands will shake, our eyes will dim. But when you look back, I want you to know that.

I am still the boy that year, silently looking at you and smiling. I am still the man standing in the wedding hall, waiting for you to step forward. I am still the father holding his child in his arms, promising to protect you and your child for life.

And...

I am still the person who will always be by your side - Until the very end.

We grow old together, with each other.

___________________

Part of LIFE WITH YOU.

___________________

This was supposed to be a long one.

But I realize I already wrote a section about the wedding, but I didn't want to delete this, so consider this an added section.

tag: @soft-dots

[thebluediner]

HIIIII... anyways this is my first time requesting a fic so I hope this makes sense and if it doesn't just try and bare with me . okay so let's say reader and Billie are dating but media doesn't know about it until like the Met Gala where reader and Billie are kinda matching outfits ( maybe Billie's met gala outfit from 2023 and Emma Chamberlain met gala outfit from 2024 idk they looked a little similar in my head ) and like Billie gets taken to do an interview at the met gala and like gives subtle hints that her and reader might be dating and you can do whatever else you want with the rest of the fic ( also you can make the met gala whatever year you want it to be )

a/n: hiiiii baby, I hope you like it (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) finished this up just in time with the met gala this year. I know you waited so long lovie but I hope you love it

𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙢 #𝟱

𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨, 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙚𝙮𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙤'𝙨 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙮 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙩, 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙪𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙬𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠. 𝘼𝙡𝙨𝙤, 𝙬𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙘𝙤𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙢𝙚.

time: the day of the met gala

you stood in the middle of the hotel room your hands intertwined and placed on your front looking over at the window at the sunny blue skied day. it's was quiet and stunning you always liked weather like that it's made you feel safe. it reassured you how you could wear anything without covering it up with a jacket or something for reasons like " just in case it rains" that made you feel free. your eyes blinked when a sharp pain pierced your skin.

someone muttered an apology before their hand pats over the hurting part of your body reminding you were you were. the tranquil space you thought you were in suddenly disappeared and replaced with reality.

you were in a luxurious five star hotel located in new york that carried probably every other guest of the met gala. there was chaos around you.

one of your many hairstylists took control of the assessing the type of hairstyle you would go for because by the looks of it the others didn't know how to deal with your type of hair. so that resulted in gel , combs , small brushes , water , extensions and much more than you could comprehend being brought over.

your dress finally found its way right in front of your eyes. your doe brown orbs traced the material inspecting it of any faults that would appear in the lens of the many cameras that would be surround you later that day. originally it had a pink lace under-top that it went with but it didn't speak to you so you got it removed.

when you look at this dress you don't regret it because it's the most beautiful thing you've seen but the moment the thought passes blue ocean eyes with the perfect eyelashes , pretty button nose and the most kissable lip come to mind and you wasted no time in rethinking your judgement. the thought brings an uncontrollable smile and blush to your face.

the stylist smiles at you with some kind of knowing eyes but instead of teasing you or anything she hands the dress over to you so you could wear it. the material lands in your hands and you swear a huff escapes your lips because you didn't expect it to be that heavy. the people around you giggle at your wide eyes reacting to your stylist.

she leads you to another room to get changed but she stays outside in case you need anything from her. you felt like a little girl when you slipped your phone to try and send some kind of text to her.

-billie my dress is so heavy wtf

-okay that was totally an excuse to talk to you

-but anyways I miss you already

-man my dress is so tight

-I had a feeling about that but I miss you too my love

-I'm gonna try and not pounce on you when I see you tonight

you giggled reading the message which you instantly regretted forgetting your stylist was waiting for you a couple of feet away. you eyes look at the dress you've placed on the bed knowing time isn't going to be your friend if you keep being a lovesick puppy. you groan a bit before typing in some words to billie.

-fuck okay wait I need to actually get dressed

-I'll see you later sexy

-I love you and good luck out there

you threw your phone on the bed before hurrying to get into the dress. it took a few grunt and yelps before you were able to slip into it. you opened the door for the stylist to hook on the ribbons and pull them as tight as possible to define your waists more. a scream escaped your lips causing a couple of eyes to peak and see the commotion all for them to laugh at the realisation.

you knew you liked the dress and hopefully the media will too but more importantly you hoped billie would love it. you weren't going to the carpet together but separately so you would meet later inside the venue.

time flew the sunny days turned into a sunset and by that time your hair was done and you felt like a member of a royal family. glasses of champagne were served around the room just to ease the nerves and celebrate the work done so far. soo enough you were being escorted out of the room through the hallways which was way too small for the puff of your dress which caused shuffling sounds throughout the long pathway. getting into the elevator was worse since you discovered only one other person could fit in with you.

once you reached the lobby you wet met with a bunch of men in tuxedos carrying wildly decorated umbrellas from the early ages. you turned back to your assistant and stylist in question at the random men. your assistant instantly froe realisation she forgot to mention the last minute planning but your manager saved the day when she quickly briefed you on the plan. upon explanation these men where going to surround you i attempt to hide you and the dress from the cameras outside the hotel.

it was definitely fun hearing the screaming around when you wet outside covered in ruffled lacy parasols matching your dress just to be kept a secret until the very red carpet leading up the stairs though it was obvious sitting down the car seats was harder than you thought so you more so slouched.

''do not rush into that building without spending at-least twenty minute on the carpet'' you manger instructs you as if she could read your mind and knew the plan.

''excuse me... I was not going to do that'' you huff rolling your eyes but then silence enveloped the scene. your eyes traced back to the women accompanying you in the car.

''no really I was not...'' yet they still gave you questionable glances making you sigh in defeat.

''okay yeah maybe but I won't any more promise'' you say with a foolish smile being caught guilty. you picked up the tiny model of a pink hat placing it on your head before turning to them to ask an opinion. with their thumbs up you pace it to be a bit more firm so it won't fall out

when you arrived at the events there were people all around the venue screaming it's was crazy. the moment your vans door slid open you were gently guided down paying great mind to your shoes and the mobility the dress provided. from the other van the men assembled in front of you pulling our the matching parasols acting as your companions more than bodyguard. it was funny and definitely a concept to play into.

the moment people around got a glimpse of you the screams roared and pierced through the venue. people were shouting your name for recognition, some yelling over to compliment you and some purely for your existence. the dress cascaded over your feet brushing onto the carpet as it flowed onto the ground leading you onto the main carpet. when you got there you realised so many other celebrities have entered way before you as some were already headed towards the doors.

you didn't see her but she definitely felt the air switch when you entered. billie was way above the stairs standing tall on her platform heels and tight corset pushing her breast up she looked to die but you hadn't seen that yet. she was busy with her interview with a journalist from a big media company but somehow billie couldn't hear anything she said the moment she saw your figure down the stairs. the camera totally caught the moment of total loserism she just displayed but with a little pat from the journalist she seem to find a way out of the trance.

''sorry... it's so busy it's easy to get distracted'''billie muttered an excuse for her behaviour but there was a reason this journalist was from a big company she was the best, maybe a little too much.

'' you know we've realised you like being associated with her'' the woman didn't have to mention your name and that made billie feel a bit too excited. so of-course that cheeky lip bite and a flashing smile slipped

'' who wouldn't she's a very beautiful and talented woman'' billie says her eyes always finding you just like the cameras flashing each second.

'' that's really kind of you billie, you wouldn't mind us relaying that to her when she comes up the stars would you ''

''not at all let my girl know how pretty I think she is'' that was a total slip up but billie didn't let it show though it shocked her as well. with a quick smile and her eyes scanning were you were for the millionth time before she accepted finneas's hand to guide her up the stairs joining the main event.

not later than a couple of minutes later you found yourself in the palms of the same journalist. you exchange pleasantries and a few girly screams at each others outfits.

'' whatever this is I love it girl way to fit in into the theme'' she says pointing to the men that surrounded you with parasols covering you at every angle possible.

'' ah! thank you babes the creative directors knew the vision very well''

'' you know who else saw your vision?'' she said teasing with her cameraman even laughing along with her.

'' girl who?'' you asked throwing a skeptical look at her not knowing what's coming in next.

''billie eilish was here a couple of minutes ago and asked me to really her message of how beautiful and talented her girl is''

you weren't aware of the look on your face but the camera picked up the way the corners of your lips twitched into a bigger smile at the mention of billie alone with some shy laughs which you covered with your hands hovering above your face trying to hide it.

'' she's very sweet can't wait to see her inside'' the way your heart pounded against your chest at the thought of her made you grow a little impatient.

'' you two are sure excited to see each other'' she said in a way that made you think she knew something you didn't

''pretty girl are always my favourite you know that'' you admitted even though you might've been revealing a little too much. after the interview you gave her a playfully curtsy before you and your companions rised up the stairs.

when you arrived up the stairs you were met with your assistant and manager once again. they quickly thanked the men around you which you did the same without a fail to mention the fun you had with them before they drifted away in polite smile leaving you alone. with a few words of encouragement and warnings to not get carried away with the drinks in there they pushed you into the gala.

yours eyes didn't even bother to look around and admire the interior design and the archived designs you were after one person. your eyes searched frantically around the room to no avail well until you felt a hand on your exposed shoulder. when you turned you eyes turned to lighter ones leaving you with a rushing of excitement.

'' oh my lady way to bless us with your beauty this evening'' billie said with a copy of the english accent trying to fit the role as she complimented you in awe going as far as throwing in a curtsy.

'' well thank you my lady though I see more beauty in you this fine evening'' you gave her her own set of compliments your hands squeezing hers in excitement with a giggle at her antics

the night was going to be long but at-least you were going to be with her from here on, even for the after party.

[clairewritesfanfics]

No Goggles!Mark Grayson Origin Part 2

Pairing: No Goggles!Invincible x Older!Reader

Part 1

The past three months were unbearable. Your daily life has been so intimately intertwined with Mark’s that even one day apart was difficult to comprehend. 

To be frank, when you met him three years ago, you didn’t think your relationship would last for so long.

It was two in the morning, and your very first day as a clerk was as hellish as expected. You couldn’t answer any of the questions your resident asked you, you were cursed with several horrible patients, your seniors were assholes who ordered you to go fetch them coffee but then refused to pay, and one of the attendings kept giving you weird looks all day. After your shift was over, you opted to climb up the roof. 

The sky was really pretty. You couldn’t remember the last time you looked at the stars.

You shut your eyes and inhaled the crisp air.

“You’re not going to jump, are you?”

If you weren’t so exhausted you would’ve screamed at the unexpected visitor.

Leaning over the rooftop’s protective parapet was the city’s second favorite hero, Invincible. 

“If I did, will you save me?”

“I kinda have to, ‘cause y’know–” he gestured over his uniform.

Judging from his physique and speech, he was likely in his early twenties.

“Right.” You looked back at the sky. 

“You do realize I can’t just leave a flight risk.”

You chuckled. “I wasn’t going to jump. I just needed some fresh air.”

“That’s what a lot of jumpers say.”

“Really?”

“Well, maybe not a lot, I don’t have the exact numbers, but judging from experience, a lot of… at risk people like to make excuses and say they’re fine.”

“Mm.”

He quieted down and turned to the stars. “There was a meteor shower a few hours ago.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It was okay for a meteor shower. I’d give it a five out of ten.”

“Is that so.”

“Yup, it was barely anything–”

“Hey,” you interrupted him, smiling softly. “I really did come up for air.”

He was silent for a moment. He put his hands behind his back and awkwardly said, “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” 

He coughed and you could faintly see his cheeks turn pink under the moonlight.

“I guess I shouldn’t disturb a doctor during their break. Thanks for your service, er, no wait… that doesn’t sound right. Um… bye.” He looked just about ready to explode.

“Hey.”

“Y-yeah?” He seemed super reluctant to look you in the eye.

“Thanks,” you said.

He finally glanced over his shoulder and beamed.

When he left you looked at the stars one more time before taking a deep breath and going home for some much needed rest.

Patients are always told to get six hours of sleep at least, with the best being eight, but medical students and doctors are the worst at taking their own advice.

You couldn’t afford to sleep for more than four hours, and even then those few hours were already a luxury. You had to study, meet with patients and deal with their families, study, write the mandatory research papers, fill in the paperwork, study, receive lab reports, speak with consultants and residents, and study.

“Fresh air?” Invincible appeared again from behind the roof railings, floating like a ghost in yellow and blue. 

“Yeah. Plus I’m making it a habit to appreciate the little things more.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“Are you calling me old?”

He raises his hands placatingly. “No, I’m saying it’s good. Mom used to tell me to always appreciate everything, even the small moments. It’s one of the few things I remember about her.” He paused. “She died when I was eight.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, thanks, I didn’t mean to make it weird. I don’t know why I said that, actually.”

“Sounds like she was a great woman.”

“Dad thought so–I mean, yeah, she was.” 

You chuckled. “Shouldn’t you be patrolling the streets or something?”

“I was actually on my way home. My da–Omni-Man’s got everything covered.”

“That’s good.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “A-anyway, I gotta go now. You take care.”

“Mm. Oh, by the way, kid.”

“Huh?”

You smiled. “Thank you for your service.”

He seemed to freeze in mid-air. His ears turned red and he quickly babbled something incoherent before flying away at breakneck speed.

You burst out laughing.

You really needed that.

You had just found out that a patient you really liked, a feisty and vibrant old lady who wouldn’t be out of place in an episode of the Golden Girls, passed away. She was no spring chicken, but she had a healthy heart and the only reason she was at the hospital was because she broke her leg during a jog. She was an avid jogger, a great cook and had just taken up gardening. No history of any cardiovascular diseases, or hypertension, or even arthritis. She was healthy, for all intents and purposes, and had maybe five more years.

Then she just died.

All those years of ruthless studying could have never prepared you for the heartbreak of seeing someone die.

After witnessing a resident announce her time of death, you had to run up here to breathe. You almost thought of quitting.

But you felt much better now.

You met Invincible on a near nightly basis. He talked a lot, and sometimes not on purpose. He seemed uncomfortable with silence, resulting in slip-ups like his age and birth month, his love for Seance Dog, and his dislike of his peers, to name a few.

“I’ve never been close to anyone,” he confessed, sitting cross-legged on the rooftop floor right next to you. “In fact, I used to be outright bullied. I broke a girl’s nose and another boy’s arm.”

“Why?”

“I don’t remember. It was probably because of something stupid. Dad was super mad when he came to pick me up. He said I should learn to fit in better.”

“Did you?”

He shrugged. “After I transferred schools I learned how to be more well-liked. I smiled more, talked to everyone, and I mean, everyone. I stopped fights and did my best to impress my teachers. I became super popular, even when I got to college.”

“Not to mention super humble.”

He laughed and hunched forward, eyes glazed over. “But you know, looking back at it now, I didn’t actually have anyone I could call my friend. Everyone loved me but no one was ever mine.”

He then flinched and swayed his face towards you, brown eyes bulging. 

You raised your arms in the air. “Sorry, I…” You cleared your throat. “I’m sorry for touching your head, you looked like you wanted someone to comfort.”

“No, I was just…surprised.” He then leaned forward, offering his head. “Can you do that again?”

You hesitated a bit, but ultimately did as he requested.

You gently ran your fingers through his hair and lightly scratched his scalp. “Good?”

“Mm.”

You giggled. “Good.”

Headpats became a sort of ritual between the two of you. It was nice. Until one night, he didn’t show. 

No big deal–should’ve been what you thought when you realized that daw was close and there was not a glimpse of that familiar yellow and blue suit.

To be honest, you liked the nightly rendezvous with him. In fact, you might’ve developed a small crush on him. 

But he was a young guy, a superhero to boot, so he probably got bored. 

You were no different in the past. You would get super interested in one thing for a few weeks then move on to the newest hyperfixation. 

You understood. Still, you couldn’t help but be disappointed as you dragged your legs towards the house you rented three blocks from the hospital. A short walk, but a woman walking alone in the city at 3:49 a.m. could never be too careful, that’s why you started running the moment you felt like you were being watched.

When you tripped on a crack on the sidewalk, you swung your bag–heavy with all your study materials and medical equipment–to stop the body rushing towards you.

“Hey, wait, wait! It’s me!”

You stopped. 

Your “attacker” was none other than Invincible. His clothes were torn and soaked with blood. He reeked of death. Fortunately, you’ve grown accustomed to it. 

“You scared me.” You said calmly, pulling your bag back. Using it as an improvised weapon ripped up one of its zippers though, causing some of your stuff to spill.

“I figured. Sorry about that.” He knelt down, picking up stray pens, a hand sanitizer, a compact powder and a handful of candies. He raised to his feet and gently put the things inside the main compartment. “I didn’t mean to scare you. When I got to the roof you weren’t there, so I figured you might’ve gone home, but I got worried and decided to fly over but then I saw you here and well, you know the rest,” he explained rapidly, hands waving all over cartoonishly.

You reached for his chin, the touch shutting him up instantly. You examined his face. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you injured. I didn’t think it was even possible for you to get hurt considering…”

“It’s usually hard to hurt me actually. I had to fight off a couple of exceptionally strong bad guys today.”

“I see. All right.” You pulled back.

“Are you mad?”

“Why would I be? You’re the one who looks like hell.”

“Ouch. Now that hurt.”

“Follow me.”

“Huh?”

“I have a first aid kit at my house, though if you prefer the hospital–”

“No! I mean, your house is closer so we should go there.” He then offered his hand.

You stared at it, then you cocked a brow at him.

He grinned sheepishly. “Your bag looks heavy.”

“Ah. Thanks.” You gave it to him, your own shoulders thanking you. “I’m sorry for hitting you.”

“It’s okay, I’m glad you can defend yourself.” He started walking. “The way to your place is really dark, you know, the streets could really use some more lamps.”

He talked a lot for a man with cut lips, not that you minded. 

“Oh.” He stopped in front of an old house with peeling paint. “We’re here.”

“You can set my bag down in the living room. Take a seat.” You opened the door and motioned for him to come inside. “I don’t have any housemates so you don’t have to worry.” This rundown house was cheaper than the apartments near the hospital. 

You went to get the first aid kit and rejoined your visitor on the couch. “This may sting.” You prepared to clean his wounds.

“Thanks for your help.”

“It’s no problem.”

You both fell into a rare silence. You could hardly focus with his eyes on you. 

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” you spoke, bandaging his arm, “Have you always been following me home?”

His muscles stiffened. “What?” 

“You knew the way to my house.” Tonight wasn’t the first time you felt like you were being watched either.

“That… um…” 

You looked at him. He flinched and quickly bowed his head.

“I’m sorry. I swear it’s nothing creepy! I just wanted to make sure you were safe. You told me you walked home and your shift always ends right before dawn.”

“Then why didn’t you just talk to me?”

“I…I don’t know. I didn’t want to insult you.”

You laughed.

“Y-you’re not mad?”

“Nah. I mean, it would’ve been better if you just asked me that you wanted to walk me home, would’ve saved years of my life. I swear I thought I was going crazy, I thought maybe I was being stalked the past few weeks. But I can understand why you didn’t.” He may have learned how to charm his schoolmates and teachers but deep inside, he was an awkward guy. “Thanks for looking after me.”

He seemed taken aback as he didn’t say anything while you finished. 

“I cleaned up the wounds on your face the best I could, but there’s not much I can do because of the mask. I’ll get you some ice.”

You stood up but he tugged on your scrubs. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Honestly?”

He nodded.

“No.”

He looked utterly heartbroken. “Most people would’ve asked me to take me off.”

“Don’t look so offended. It’s just that… well, it sounds like a pain.”

“You’re not good at comforting me right now.”

“I think what we have right now is fine.” In a way, not knowing each other truly meant there were less expectations and few disappointments. That’s right. It was fine. This was fine.

“You want us to stay as strangers?”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, and he didn’t give you any time to think, because he quickly added, “Because I don’t. I like you and I don’t just want to be Invincible to you.”

Oh. 

“One date. Just one date and if you still think we can’t work out we can just pretend that nothing happened. We’ll go back to being perpetual strangers,” he offered, almost desperate.

You blinked. “Okay.”

“Seriously?”

You nodded. “One date and we’ll see how it goes.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I should warn you though, I don’t always have control over my own schedule and when I’m free I’m usually studying or asleep, so be prepared for any rescheduling conflicts.”

“Wow… I can’t believe you actually agreed. Shit–I-I mean, uh, sorry.”

You smiled. 

“I should probably show you my face.”

“Well, you don’t have to do it right now–”

He pulled off his mask, revealing a handsome face. Of course. 

“Call me Mark.”

Mark.

He was always so sweet and understanding. You “warned” him about your job’s demands and you were prepared for his, but he never complained and it was always you who had to reschedule. It got so ridiculous that your “first date” was eating takeout at your place while watching Seance Dog’s movie adaptation. You felt guilty but Mark looked happy enough. In fact, he learned to cook so you could eat together in your rented house, and eventually, in your apartment, and then, in the condo he surprised you with. 

As beautiful as that unit was, it was too big now that Mark was gone. 

You wondered if he finally got tired of you after months apart. When he decides to break things off for real, you’ll give him back the condo. It didn’t feel right to be living in the place he bought you.

“You’ve been sighing a lot lately.” It was one of your co-workers. He was a new hire, and a friendly enough guy, but you weren’t close. “Everything all right?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you said curtly. You paused and sighed again. “Sorry.”

He chuckled. “I get it, things are tough. Haven’t been seeing your little boy toy lately. Did you guys break up? He did seem a tad bit immature.”

Asshole.

You finished the rest of your coffee and threw the can in the trash. “I gotta go.”

“If you wanna drown your sorrows, we’re gonna grab a drink later.”

Another doctor arrived and interrupted him, “It’s pointless to ask. She never goes anywhere unless it’s mandatory.”

“Wait, what?”

“It’s true.” You nodded. “I don’t drink that much in the first place.”

“Then you can order something else–”

“I told you, it’s pointless. I’ve been asking her to join me for a girls’ night out for what, a year now? This one is a strict professional who keeps business and pleasure separate, unlike you.” 

“That’s a bit boring–”

“Anyway, take care on your way home,” she cut him off.

Your savior. “Thanks.”

And with that you packed up and prepared to go home. 

Today was the deadline but Mark hasn’t sent you a single text. Maybe he was pissed and decided to ghost you.

…nah. Mark wasn’t like that.

He’d break up with you properly. 

But since this was your idea, you should be the one to reach out to him first.

You stared at his name on your phone. 

This ends tonight.

Part 3