#they only barely touch each other in like two instances

[grandline-fics]

Can I just say I LOVE your writting? 'cause I do! And I'm so happy requests are open! 🥹 Here I am wondering if you can indulge little old me with a request. I went through your prompts and picked two! If you can combine them, I'd be delighted! If not, it's okay!

Here:

Jealousy fuelled kiss with the sentence:

"Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?"

My request is a Fem reader and I would love to read Ace, Zoro and Law, if you don't mind! Throw in more if you'd like, I always love me some feral Kid, for instance... But whatever tickles your fancy! I just like some jealous boys! 🤭😋

Thank you again for sharing your gift! 🫶🏻❤️

DESCRIPTION: Prompt: Jealousy fuelled kiss w/ “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?”

WARNINGS: jealousy! but nothing else apart from that

CHARACTERS: Ace, Zoro, Law, Kid, Rob Lucci

WORDS: 3,531

A/N: Thank you for this request! I added Kid for you and also did one for Lucci because why not haha. I tried to make each scenario different and interesting and I hope you like what I came up with.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

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ACE

“Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” You looked over in the mirror in front of you to see Ace appear in the doorway, arms folded and pout heavy on his lips. You let out a satisfied laugh and finished getting ready for a night out on the island the Moby Dick had just docked at. As you adjusted your outfit-the one Ace loved you in the most- you noticed how his hands twitched. You could tell he wanted nothing more than to close the distance and do exactly what he’d just confessed and ordinarily you would have let him. However tonight was different and Ace only had himself to blame. Earlier in the evening just before you’d gone to get ready you made a comment about hoping Ace wouldn’t be as flirtatious with the locals this time. He in turn responded with an idle wave of his hand and a comment that. “It’s just harmless babe, you know you’re the only one I want.”

While you knew that was true, the fact that Ace hadn’t even taken a second to consider how you felt was what annoyed you. You weren’t even asking him to stop flirting with others since it sometimes worked in the crew’s favour, you just wanted him to tone it down a little. So after that comment you’d told Ace that from now until you both returned to the ship you were both to pretend you weren’t a couple and you could also flirt with the locals too. Ace had initially grinned and shrugged, happy to play along since it was only flirting and you’d be his again when you both returned to the ship at the end of the night. His grin dropped though when you reminded him that this meant he wasn’t allowed to kiss or touch you at all.

The harsh reality of the situation hit him hard when it was less than hour had passed in the bar and he could barely concentrate on those he was talking to. Try as he might to be laid back as normal he couldn’t help but have his gaze pulled towards you every time the smallest movement occurred in your direction. You’d drawn plenty attention when you’d arrived and he’d expected it. Ace had always counted himself the luckiest man alive you have been the one you chose and jealousy was a foreign feeling to him so to feel it now was unsettling. Over and over he’d reminded himself that it didn’t mean anything. 

Then he heard you laugh and watched when the person talking to you stepped just a little closer. At the same time, the glass in his hand exploded and he looked at his hand engulfed in fire and slight scorch marks on the table. Ace rose and handed money to the barman to cover the cost of the minor damages before stepping out into the cool air to clear his head. He got as far as the fountain in the town-square and sat down, closing his eyes. “Not as easy to be on the watcher’s side is it?”

Ace turned his head sharply to see you sitting down beside him. Immediately he wasted no time in leaning forward. With his fingers pinching your chin and free hand sliding into your hair he claimed your lips, pulling you dizzyingly into one of the most intense and fiery kisses he’d ever given you. Surprised, you managed to recover and return the kiss with equal fervour while letting your boyfriend dictate the pace until you felt you couldn’t breathe. Finally you reluctantly pulled back just enough to catch your breath while Ace pressed more kisses against your jaw and throat. “Lesson learned.” He rasped against your skin, lifting his head to smirk at you. “Jealousy sucks.”

“I dunno…” you laughed, securing your hands on his shoulder and chest. “Has its uses if I get more kisses like that.”

ZORO

Zoro normally has no problem voicing his own thoughts. Someone’s being a moron? He’ll tell them to shut up and get out of his way. Someone fought fiercely and strong enough to earn his praise? He’ll do so and even make it a point to name something specific he witnessed to ensure them he is being genuine. Zoro prided himself in being upfront and unfortunately he had to call himself a fucking coward. Because he just couldn’t bring himself to tell you how he felt and anytime he considered it, he backed out just as fast. Instead he had to subject himself to the self-inflicted torture of being close with you but not in the way he fully wanted while also trying to convince himself that he only sees you as a friend because at the moment that’s all he can see you being with him.

“That drink say something to piss you off or something?” Zoro glanced out of the corner of his good eye to see Nami appear and lean against the railing he was also using to brace himself against. “You’ve been glaring at it instead of drinking it and I got concerned.”

“Nothin’ to bother yourself about.” He answered gruffly, forcing his gaze to look out at the lower section of the deck and sipped his drink as if to prove her worry wrong. Though now he had to look at the one thing he’d been trying to avoid; you talking and laughing with the others.

“You should just tell them how you feel already.” Nami hummed, her knowing smirk hidden by the rim of her glass. “Better do it soon too before your chance disappears.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Zoro tried to sound casual but her second remark had made him tense. “Definitely don’t know what you mean about my chance either.”

“Oh please, most of us know you have a feelings for them, we’re just shocked you never made a move yet.” Nami kept her gaze steady on the swordsman, trying to get him to finally see sense. “But now Sanji’s patience has run out. Says if you’re going to be such a coward about it all he’ll finally do what he’s wanted to for ages.”

“Hah!?” Zoro shouted a little too loudly, even drawing the attention of the group below. You looked up at Zoro curiously, watching as he abruptly looked away from the collective stare to focus on Nami with a harsh stare, turning his body slightly to face her. “What’s that shit cook think he’s planning? When the fuck did he call me a coward? I’m gonna slice his smug face off.”

“Wow…for a second there I’d think you were jealous at the thought of them actually falling for Sanji’s charm.” Zoro scoffed and rolled his eyes. The only charm the cook had in his opinion would barely fill a thimble. There was no way you’d fall for that over the top, dramatic, overused nonsense that he threw at anyone with a pulse. Would you? 

Cautiously Zoro looked down at the scene again and his face contorted in disgust to see Sanji’s arm loosely over your shoulder as the two of you laughed at something Usopp was telling the group. Feeling his stare, Sanji glanced up and smirked at Zoro, lightly squeezing your shoulder in affection to you but in also brazen challenge to Zoro. Sharply Zoro turned on his heel and walked down the small staircase, approaching you silently. You looked up at Zoro with a smile, excited that he was finally going to join you all but your smile lessened and became a look of concern to see how serious he was. You were about to ask if he was okay but he spoke first. “I need to talk to you in private.”

Immediately you got to your feet. You knew Zoro well enough to understand he was a man of few words and if he needed to speak to you in private then it was serious. Silently you followed him below deck, only stopping when he felt he was a safe enough distance away from the nosy crewmates left above. You let the seconds tick by, allowing Zoro take his time in voicing his thoughts but seeing him so tense made you worry. Gently you lay your hand on his arm in a way to reassure him that you were there. A gasp left you as Zoro turned suddenly and pulled you against him. His hand fell to your waist as he stared at your parted lips with growing hunger.

“Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” The words dropped from his mouth barely a whisper but he was so close each syllable lightly grazed your skin. Unable to speak you could only nod in consent and sank headlong into the kiss Zoro secured on your lips.

LAW

When Law was captivated by his research, medical procedures, and all over Captain duties, you had to take it upon yourself to keep yourself busy. Normally that was no issue when you were on the Polar Tang and had your own duties and routine to occupy your mind with. This time was different. After running into the Strawhat crew on Punk Hazard you could only sit back and watch as Law proposed an alliance with the rival crew in order to take down one of the four Emperors. You’d been taken by surprise seeing as your Captain and boyfriend didn’t tend to play well with others who weren’t on his crew. Quickly you saw him begin to regret his offer when events began to unfold and Law found himself being dragged along by Strawhat’s whims rather than his planned course of action. 

Everything had worked out in the end though and now you and Law were on the Thousand Sunny, set for Dressrosa. Even though Law wasn’t on his own ship, he quickly made himself at home in the ship’s library and began to indulge in the large collection of books now at his disposal. Knowing you wouldn’t see him anytime soon you had to explore the ship for something to catch your attention since according to the allied crew you were a guest on board and didn’t need to do chores. It went against your nature. You wanted to help and be useful so you still offered each day you were on board. “Aren’t you tired wearing that all the time?”

You turned at the sound of Nami’s voice and immediately you looked down at your boiler suit. It was your normal clothing for the Polar Tang so you really hadn’t considered wearing anything else. Plus being on another crew’s ship it made you feel more at home, unable to stop yourself from missing the others that you knew you would reunite with at some stage. Casually you shrugged and smiled at the red-haired woman. “It’s comfy.”

Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer because the next thing you knew, Nami had you dragged to her room and was throwing clothes at you to try on while telling you that you were far too good looking to hide everything under so much fabric. Mostly you went along with her whims because it would be a way of taking up your unending free time on the ship. Another part of you also got drawn into how nice some of the clothes felt and looked and it was harmless fun.

Law finally dragged himself from his spot in the library and stretched out his stiff limbs. Despite his medical knowledge, he still ended up sitting in the most unwise positions that would leave his back aching and neck tensed. With a groan he made his way out onto the deck only to stagger to a halt when he saw you wearing something completely different to what he was used to you wearing but he was in no way complaining. He loved how you looked regardless but you were breathtaking. His adoration for you was suddenly soured when he saw the others fawning over you. The cook he had no issue with, but to see the sniper blushing and even the swordsman openly talking to you made him glare. Then Strawhat had to push his luck too. “You’re so great! You know you should stay on my crew!”

Law’s room activated and you were promptly swapped to now be pressed close against Law’s side. Before you could reprimand your boyfriend for being rude you were pulled below deck to the library once more and pushed against the door as it closed. You looked up at Law with widened eyes and quickened heart rate, the look in his eyes making your mouth dry and skin warm.

“It’s bad enough that I see you looking so good. I mean do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” He began lowly and you shuddered slightly. “But then I have to see them trying to get too close to you and Strawhat thinking he’s worthy of having you? Ridiculous.”

Law quickly closed the distance, using his frustration and jealousy to spur him on, kissing you passionately.

KID

Kid had no problem with people looking at you appreciatively. I mean, why wouldn’t they? Look at you. It was clear to anyone with any sense in their skulls that you were one of the hottest people about. For him to see the looks you deserved filled him with a smug sense of pride because you only had eyes for him. He was the lucky bastard that got you all to himself in the ways that it mattered. So they could take their pathetic glimpses and live with the fantasy of picturing what it was like to be with you because he got the real thing. However what he didn’t like was to watch anyone to touch you in a way that wasn’t friendly. 

On this occasion he sat in the darkened corner of a bar having to watch as you were being talked to by some drunken lech. You’d gone to the bar to collect the next round of drinks for the crew when someone approached. At first Kid had shook his head and smirked at the poor fool’s attempt to flirt but then he drew too close to you that Kid disliked. Still he knew you could handle yourself so he just had to grind his teeth and wait for you to expertly disengage yourself like you normally did. However you seemed drawn into the conversation with this man and Kid’s eyes narrowed. 

Immediately he stood with the intent on breaking things up but stopped when you quickly met his gaze. When the drunk turned his head to order another drink you had time to mouth ‘Marine’ to your boyfriend. Kid remained standing and glanced at the man warily, now seeing why you were being careful with him. Slowly he drew closer, making sure his movements were careful and silent while you kept the Marine’s attention effortlessly. Kid knew it was an act but seeing you indulge the man more made his anger grow. Just as Kid stepped behind the Marine, he drunk set his hand on your thigh and squeezed it while leaning closer to your face. “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?”

Kid had planned to just give the bastard one quick hit to knock him out but seeing that and hearing the words spill from his mouth, he snapped. Reeling his metal arm back, he tapped the Marine on the shoulder. When he turned, his hulking fist connected with the man’s face sending him launching off his feet and slamming painfully against the bar’s wall with the impact smashing the glasses and bottles. Seeing the Marine slumped on the floor helped Kid’s pent up rage but it wasn’t enough. Quickly he grinned at you and pulled you into his arms so he could throw you over his shoulder and leave the bar, no longer in the mood to drink. You stayed happily on Kid’s broad shoulder with a growing smirk as you listened to his jealous mutterings the closer you drew to the ship. 

When you were finally set on your feet on the ship you turned in Kid’s hold that he refused to let you out of and smiled up at him expectantly. When Kid got like this you could practically time the sequence of events and this was your favourite part. Kid stooped down and with a low groan kissed you, devouring your taste and consuming your thoughts with only him while letting your magnetic presence and intoxicating touch leave him wanting more. You were the only one for him and by the morning should anyone look your way in appreciation again they’d spot some pretty marks on your neck to admire too.

LUCCI

Lucci was a master of his emotions for the most part. He could adopt a personality and live it perfectly for the purposes of a mission and then discard it when it was finished. He could keep his true nature at bay should he need it but in the freedom of Cipher Pol’s base he can just be himself. With powerful strides he walks down the corridors only to stop outside one of the training rooms in time to see you land a kick against Jabra’s stomach. Quickly he recovered and sent an attack your way. You managed to dodge it in time but Jabra caught you by surprise by sending a followup attack and knocked you to the ground, his hand at your throat to keep you pinned down.

For a moment you let your body go slack in a sign of surrender and the second you felt Jabra’s grip loosen you acted, disentangling out of his hold and attacked, taking advantage of his moment of surprise. Just as you were getting into the rhythm of the fight another agent appeared beside Lucci. “Jabra! We have a mission! Did you forget or something?”

You and Jabra paused your fight and you scowled at your sparring partner. You wouldn't have asked him to train with you had you known he would have to cut it short for a mission that he apparently knew about. Jabra briefly glanced at Lucci and quickly threw his arm around your waist before answering his mission partner. “Nah, didn’t forget. I just got a much better offer.” his wolfish grin spreading when he spotted Lucci’s eyes narrow at the comment. You however rolled your eyes and stepped out of the older agent’s hold. “We’ll pick this up when I get back, right?”

“We’ll see.” You told him dismissively which only earned you a quick wink before he left, leaving you alone in the training room with Lucci who remained leaning against the door, looking at his shoulder in disgust when Jabra had the nerve to brush past him on his exit.

“Didn’t know your standards were so low when picking a sparring partner.” He noted, watching you critically. You tilted your head at him curiously and slowly smirked. 

“I’ll be fighting degenerates and unsavoury people out in the field, I wanted someone as close to that as possible for authentic training purproses.” You explained with a light shrug. “Jabra fits that closely, don't you think?”

Lucci allowed himself a low chuckle and pushed away from the doorframe, while pulling the door closed behind him to grant you both a moment of privacy. Your relationship with Lucci was one ou both didn’t feel like putting a real label on. For now you merely enjoyed the physical and social benefits it brought. You remained still as you watched him approach, your eyes alight with interest and mischief that not even he could find himself immune to. “I can see the logic but I can smell that filthy mutt all over you.”

“Jealous?"

“I don't get jealous.” Lucci growled, his hand setting on your waist, merely a coincidence that his hand covered the precise spot Jabra had touched. Your lips twitched into a disbelieving smile and you playfully nodded, pretending to accept his claim. Lucci’s free hand reached up to skim along your throat, again pure coincidence at the placement before he curled his fingers under your jaw to coax you to tilt your head up. “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now to get rid of that mutt’s stench?”

“Then do it, Chief.” You said stepping a tiny bit closer. “Let Jabra come back and know for sure that I’m a cat person.” 

With a growl Lucci kissed you possessively, hungrily with purpose of doing just as you suggested. His main goal was to wipe any lingering trace of Jabra from your skin and wipe the other man’s name from your mind. He was very aware that you didn’t see the wolf man that way but still it brought out that animalistic conflict in him, the need to be better than him and from your reactions to his kiss he knew for sure that Lucci was the clear winner.

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[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Let There Be Hotel Complaints

Based on a post request by @rayslittlekitten I really hope you like it, I have no idea if it fits but I tried hard.

Title based on: Hozier - Dinner & Diatribes

Contains: Fluff, Ray being Gomez Addams, mentions of periods/period symptoms, smut (fingering, oral sex M and F receiving, P in V, breeding kink, possessive Ray, scents and smells, aftercare) Not beta read.

3.5K words.

Ray's feelings for you are as wide as the ocean, and his love is second only to his desire.

The hand that wrapped around your body felt like hot coals on your already heated skin, and you fought the urge to shrink away from Ray. "Raymond, I've been put in the garden working, can you let me shower before you hug me?" His arms only tightened around as you felt his chest expand against your back as he pressed his nose into your sweat-damped neck. "Ray! I'm covered in sweat."

He checked, and the sound reverberated through your body like the first rumbles of a thunderstorm. "I don't mind, Dear, you smell wonderful." His face moved to the top of your head as he took another breath, admiring how your conditioner mixed with a hard day's work. It drifted into his mind like the reaching of a siren song, slowly bleeding away his other thoughts.

His lips found your neck, and he smirked against your skin as your head tilted to make room for him. A quick glance at the clock let him know you'd have enough time to enjoy each other before the fancy business dinner tonight, and he found himself slowly unlacing from the hug as he brought one hand to your breast.

He gained more access to your skin, and you rested your head back onto his shoulder and pushed yourself into his touch, but he was pulling his hand away a second later when he felt you stiffen as he tightened his grip around your soft flesh. "Sorry, Love."

"It's ok, I'm just a little sore." There was no explanation needed as to why, you knew he knew why, he always seemed to know.

His hand moved lower, rubbing the skin of your ribcage in long, soothing strokes as his lips moved from the dome of your shoulder up your neck. "Allow me to make it up to you?"

The offer was the definition of temptation, but there were things to be done and places to be. "Tonight, if all goes well at the dinner. I have to finish with the garden and then get ready for tonight."

The teeth against your skin were not in retaliation for your conditional refusal but a promise of things to come. "Then let me help you?"

"Of course." Your reason was wholly selfish, motivated by rolled up sleeves and rippling muscles at his instance of lifting heavy bags of soil. You finished your glass of water and went back outside, not missing how Ray's eyes followed your arms as you placed your sun hat back on your head. He smiled at you, it was earnest and filled with warmth. "What do you need me to do, Gorgeous?"

You couldn't help yourself, there was something in his desire to aid you in every need that sparked something in you. "Many things, My Darling, but right now, I need help with the tea roses."

He smiled and took two steps to close the distance between you before brushing his lips on your ear. "Your wish is my command."

****

The rest of the afternoon swam by in a haze for Ray. It was the kind of torture that the training he had received many lifetimes ago could not prepare him for, and with each passing moment, his thoughts grew more debauched until he was waxing poetic in his head like a madman.

As you finished your makeup, he could not get the image of you licking the strawberry juice from your lunchtime dessert off your lips out of his head. Breathing through his nose had become an affliction; top notes of your shower gel and the underneath of you were one thing, but there was the faintest hint of him there that made him want to sink his teeth in your bare skin so many times that the hotel's tofts would look away in shame the moment they saw you.

By the time you slid into the car, pressing your legs to his as Bunny drove you to the hotel, he was afire with need. He laced his hand with yours as the vehicle travelled down from the lush countryside to the bright lights of the city and leaned in close, his nose brushing your temple as he told you more about the guests at the party you were heading to.

There were already people milling around when you arrived, handing their bags off to the Bellhops so they could enjoy their complementary night in luxury. Ray was less willing to relinquish the bags and simply blinked as the hotelier became insistent. Nevertheless, the man still walked to your room on the sixth floor, smiling saccharinely as he told you to enjoy the complimentary champagne before the party started.

The opulence of the room and the expensive champagne sat ignored by you and Ray as he steeled himself for a night of making nice and glad-handing when he would rather be doing something far more enjoyable. He took your hands and drew you to the middle of the room, wrapping his arms around you as his nose returned to your hair for the millionth time that day. "You look beautiful as always."

You smiled and placed your hands on his chest. "And you keep sniffing me like some weirdo."

He took it in stride, chuckling softly as he yanked you to his chest. "I can't help it, you smell exquisite, it's driving me insane."

You sighed, enjoying the warmth of his arms around you. "I know what you're thinking, but we promised Mickey."

He mirrored your sigh as he broke the embrace and extended his hand. "I know. We should head down there now, the sooner we go down and mingle, the sooner we can leave."

His hand found your lower back as you took the lift to the grand hall and stayed there as you met up with Mickey and Rosalind and made introductions with the upper class lucky enough to receive invites. Of course, the reason for your invitations was the massive underground white widow super cheese farm under the hotel's private golf course.

It was painfully dull, standing around making small talk about the weather and wallpaper while eating tiny pies that only served to make you more hungry. Ray stayed stuck to your side, practically dragging you around with him while he did business for his boss.

"Your wife looks lovely tonight." Ray's arm tightened around you as you spun towards the voice.

"She looks lovely every night, Dave." If Dave had plans to say more, they were defeated by Ray's harsh glare as he pulled you away.

He moved to a quiet corner of the room and placed your hand on his ample bicep. "What's gotten into Ray? You've just about ripped the heads off anyone who's talked to me tonight. I get Dave, but the Simon's are nice."

He moved into your space, pressing you against the window as he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger while he leaned in close enough that your noses were brushing. To outsiders, it would have looked like a private moment between lovers, but Ray's eyes were fixed on with a look so lustful it would have made the whore of Babylon blush. "What's gotten into me? I have spent the last two hours watching these pigs look you up and down while acting like I don't want to rip their arms off for even daring to speak to you."

You blinked, he was in a mood tonight. "Well, Dear. How about you stick it out for another hour so we can eat dinner from this stupid menu then, I'm all yours for the night?"

He swallowed and exhaled before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. "Of course Darling." His tone had shifted; it had taken on that gravelly tilt that created a flutter of excitement in your chest, and you eagerly headed back into the fray as Ray finally composed himself.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek as he leaned into your touch. "Thank you, Dear."

****

The dinner was the typical mess of rich people's food that had too many flavours and not enough on the plate, but Ray gave you all his cheese twirls and made sure to pick you the biggest slice of chocolate cake off the platter when dessert came around. All was going well until the tables were cast aside again for the wine course, and you were split from him as one of the tofts Mickey looked after pulled him away to talk about security.

His eye kept drifting over to you, and he grew ever more aggravated as he watched the sommelier try and fail to flirt with you. He dismissed the man he was talking to with the promise to call later, that he was tired and wanted to enjoy his hotel room and all but stormed over to you. "Are you enjoying the wine, Dear?"

You shook your head. "I've told the sommelier that I'm not interested in that variety, but he's being very insistent."

The man smiled and turned to Ray. "We have some of the best wine in the country here, your girlfriend…"

If looks could kill, Ray would have ended the man there and then. "My wife isn't interested, and I don't appreciate your tone or your attitude. I will be speaking to your employer in the morning to deal with this in full."

His hand was back on your lower back as he marched towards the lift, and between his puffed chest and his expression, no one dared to join you as the doors opened. The second the doors closed, he was on you, pressing you against the wall as his lips found yours. The grip he had on you was almost painful, his fingers digging firm into your skin as he held you in place for a searing kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

He finally allowed you to breathe when the doors opened on your floor, and he all but dragged you to your room as he shut the door and pressed up against it. His lips were on yours again, and his hands slid around your body until his fingers were curling around the fabric of your evening dress and ripping it open with the pop pop of fancy buttons.

He shoved the dress down, breaking from your lips for a moment to take in the lingerie you were wearing. "Fucking hell y/n." That went next, and his lips didn't give you the chance to admonish him about what he had paid for the now ruined fabric lying at your feet.

He once again broke from you and knelt on the floor, removing your shoes one by one before kissing his way up your legs, swapping legs with each kiss, getting closer and closer to your centre with each one until he slowed at the crease of the thigh. He was once again inhaling like he was suffocating, and you wove your hands into his hair as your frustration grew. "Can you do something instead of sniffing me?"

His teeth sunk into your skin in retaliation, and he was standing up to his full height with eyes full of threat. "Don't rush me." His hand cupped you, his fingers running your rapidly gathering wetness as he all but growled at you. "This cunt is mine, I get to take all the time I want, understand?"

You almost wanted to act out to see what it would make him do, but the poor man already looked pained enough. "Anything you want."

He locked you in another kiss, his teeth smarting at your lip as he made his wants known with a gentle pressure on your shoulders. "Get on your knees."

He kicked your ruined dress under you to soften the ground as you sunk down, and you pulled at his belt to free him. He helped you, shoving his trousers and boxers down in one go just far enough so his cock could spring out and you could grab his perfect ass unencumbered by fabric.

He looked down at you as you kitten licked around the head and felt another rush of this heated primal positiveness that he had been feeling the whole night. A hand found the back of your head as you took him into your mouth, and his free hand shot out to rest on a side table to steady himself as pleasure filled his senses.

He stopped himself from bucking his hips in order to focus on the vision of you sucking him like a lollipop. It was outright pornographic, and all he could think about was that you were all his and his alone. "Fucken 'ell, Love." You moaned around him, and he used every ounce of self-control to pull you off of him and to your feet. "Get on the bed."

His hands were all over you as you made your way to the bed, and he ran his hands up and down your sides while you spun around to face him so you could lay on your back on the plush mattress. You settled on the pillows as his lips met yours, and he finally began to remove his clothes.

Bare skin hit bare skin as his lips started a journey down your body until he was lifting your legs over his strong shoulders and onto his solid back. He kissed the bend of your knee, his lips soft as his beard brushed your skin. He locked eyes with you and smiled softly as he continued his journey upwards, finally arriving with barely there kisses that had you pushing your hips towards him. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours." A hot, wet heat enveloped you as he licked you from the entrance to clit in one firm, wide lick before sealing his lips around your clit. Ray had always been a man who prided himself on his attention to detail, and your bedroom was no different; it was like he had committed precisely what you needed to memory so well that he didn't even need to try, and tonight was no different.

He seemed more desperate tonight; accuracy swapped for the burning desire to consume your whole, and it didn't help that he was moaning against your flesh like he could somehow feel what he was doing to you in his own body. The chorus of his name from your mouth only served to spur him on, and a forearm pressed your hips down so you couldn't move away from him as he used his free hand to slide two fingers inside you.

With his rough fingertips bullying your G-spot, you didn't stand a chance, and he was far too strong for you to twitch away for a reprieve as the waves of an earth-shattering orgasm took you like the undertow of a raging river. Your chest heaved as he pulled away, and he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before bringing his soaked fingers to your lips. You licked him clean only to have him kiss away the taste like you had slighted him by taking him up on his offer, and then he was slotting himself between your spread wide legs and grinding his cock against your sensitive skin. "Tell me me you're mine."

"I'm yours." You marvelled at his self-control, his face buried in your neck as he continued teasing you. "I'm yours, please Ray."

He took his cock in hand and notched it at your entrance. "Who do you belong to?"

"You." Your reply was desperate, your hands on his heated chest with fingers curled in a threat should he persist in his game, but he didn't, and seemly satisfied with your declaration, he slid inside you with one confident push. The fullness of it stole the air from your lungs, and you lifted your hips up to take him in faster as he bottomed out.

His hand found your hip, and his fingers dug in with force as he began to move, taking a steady pace that had the head of his cock brushing your G-spot with each pass. One of your hands wove into his hair while the other clutched at his back, and he pressed his lips to yours in a scalding kiss as he picked up speed. Mercifully, before he suffocated in the air stealing a kiss, his lips moved to your neck, and then his teeth were out, marking your skin like he was trying to prove a point about his ownership over you.

He pulled away for a moment and took in your blissed out face, faltering as the vision brought him teetering to the edge of oblivion far sooner than his ego would allow, so in a mix of the desire to uphold his pride and the need for more skin to mar he pulled out of your for a fleeting moment only to flip you over then slam back home as his teeth found more skin. He was overwhelming at this angle, and your fingers curled around the pillow as he slid a hand between you to rub your clit.

Ray would often tell you that you were good for his ego, that he could walk into a room where all the men would turn their heads to look, and he could smile knowing you were his alone. But this was something different, you writhing under him, stuck between frantic begging and breathless need made him feel like a God with you as his ever willing offering.

He captured you in another kiss as the edge neared, and you shuddered as, with one more precise circle to your clit, you fell over it. His hips didn't slow, and he growled into your mouth like a hungry animal as he chased his own high. "You're mine, I own you, understand?" All you could do was nod as your vision began to grey at the edges, but he must have accepted your answer because he all but roared as he came inside you.

His strength failed as it hit him full force, and the possessive beast inside him was finally satiated, knowing he had marked inside and out. He was mindful not to crush you, but he couldn't find it in himself to move away just yet, he couldn't let his hard work slip from you just yet. His lips were once again gentle as they kissed the marks his teeth had made, and you sighed as he brushed the stray hairs from your face.

His nose found its family home on the back of your neck, and his chest expanded against your back as he inhaled. "You must be intent on trying to kill me, My Dear."

You didn't have a clue what he was talking about, and rather than ask, you kissed him in hopes he would tell you anyway, but he didn't, and the weariness in your bones forced you to speak. "What do you mean?"

He finally rolled off you, and you laid on your sides facing each other as his hand ran up and down your side. "I can't understand how someone can smell so intoxicating, it truly is torture."

You reached up to lay a hand on his cheek, and he tilted his head to press his lips to your palm. "You get like this every month, I thought you'd be used to it by now."

He shook his head, sleepy. "Never, how can someone get used to being on fire."

"I suppose that's fair." There was more you wanted to say, but it was getting hard to keep your eyes open, and he could tell. Despite his own feelings, he was getting up to clean himself up before returning with his arms loaded. He brought you a glass of water and used one of your damp face cloths to cleanse away your makeup before using another damp cloth to remove the mess from between your legs, although he did pause to watch the evidence of your shared sin drip from your body and onto the expensive sheets as another wave of possessive filled him.

With his duty done, he disposed of the unclean fabric in a pile and climbed into bed next to you, wrapping you in his arms as he pulled you to his chest. "I love you y/n."

You relaxed into his arms and dropped a kiss on his chest where his heart lay. "I love you too, Ray."

In the morning, he would awaken you with ginger tea, a heating pad, and ibuprofen before climbing back into bed with you and soothing away your aches and pains until check out finally came. Room service would find no evidence of the mess Ray had left in the aftermath of your coupling, just a pile of towels already in the dirt laundry bin when they collected the cart at the start of their shift. He did, however, get a dirty look and a snide comment from the hotelier about what kind of establishment he was running. As you checked out, Ray took it in stride.

Fin

[moonmeg]

To Robyn from...

It was early evening by now. He closed the door to his room and dropped onto his bed. He stared at he ceiling, his arms above his head as he revisited memories with Micah, searching for clues. Something he's been doing since this morning. He caught himself drifting into those thoughts throughout the day but only now, in the silence of his room could he truly take his time to think.

Oh, it would be wonderful if this once he could rely on his memory. But his mind was all over the place. So many thoughts overlapping and interrupting memories at once. He closed his eyes. Concentrate. Regulated deep breaths. Concentrate. Notice your chest rising with every breath. Concentrate.

This little exercise was worth a try, even though it barely worked.

Unsuccessful in the attempt, he opened his eyes again and turned his head to his windowsill. There was the little glass vase and the Lunaris flower still blossoming. Without the full moon it had lost its glow by now.

Staring at the pink-purple petals he rolled on his side and he began thinking again.

Had there been signs before? He never noticed Micah acting weird around him. Or...?

The longer he thought about it, the more he realized Micah had made attempts at showing him there were feelings much beyond friendship. Subtle but in retrospect so obvious. Reaching for his hand more than usual, his confidence decreasing when they were close, a tint of red in his cheeks every now and then, the look in his eyes whenever their gazes met, the uncomfortable chuckles whenever they talked about romantic relationships...

"You mean so much more than that to me.".

As he recalled all those instances, summoning Micah's face, his voice and touch into his memory, he suddenly realized just how fast his heart started to beat.

Oh, Titan.

Has it always beaten that fast and he never truly noticed? Perhaps it's just the excitement. He brushed the loud drumming within his chest aside.

Remember what mom taught you. Close your eyes, answer the questions. Don't think right and wrong, just speak.

"Do you like Micah?"

Obviously. They've been best friends since they can remember.

"Can you see him in your future?"

Oh, Robyn wished for that. Losing Micah is an unthinkable scenario and he'd do anything to prevent that from happening.

"What is he to you that future?"

Definitely a friend. Next to the obvious there was this little thought that put Micah in the role of his boyfriend. But it didn't end there. It spun further. About ten years from now... exchanging a kiss...as husbands.

That kiss before his inner eye was only imagined, a fabrication of his mind, and yet it made his body jerk together a little upon the skip of beat his heart made. His stomach flipped before a pleasant warmth rushed through his body.

He opened his eyes. His look once again went to the flower in the glass vase. Finally, he gave into the thoughts he used to hide away. Thoughts of Micah and himself in scenes he's read about in stories. Two lovers by a lake, underneath a tree, watching the nightsky, dancing into the night surrounded by warm light or perhaps in the dim moonlight... always holding hands, always exchanging soft looks, always just feeling nothing but pure bliss as long as they are together.

A yearning formed inside him. A yearning the likes of which he's only ever felt it in regards to his late father. This was a different type of yearning though. With his father it was just the wish to get to know him and have him around. This right now was also a yearning for presence but it went far beyond just wanting Micah to be around.

He thought about the time some months ago where they talked about what was and wasn't between him and Vivian. He remembered how they started fooling around, throwing hay at each other before he pinned Micah to the wall and... stared. Admired him. A little part of him wanting to give in... lean in... do something he thought he'd regret.

Back then he brushed it aside (as always). He made no secret of the fact he considered Micah handsome but now he realized where that little part came from. He knew why it was there. And he had ignored it for whatever reason.

He didn't even need to ask himself the last question. He didn't want to kiss Micah.

No, he yearned for it.

Rolling onto his back he grabbed the pillow above his head he brought it to his face to yell into it.

He was mad at himself not only for being oblivious of Micah's feelings but also his own. Because now as he faced the possibility of a romance with Micah, he noticed how much he himself was into Micah and had been for a while.

That night he couldn't close an eye nor put his thoughts to rest. He kept seeing Micah before his eyes whenever he closed them.

His warm, radiant smile.

His beautifully sparkling eyes of amber.

His lovely red curls, always falling perfectly.

His adorable freckles.

His little peach fuzz on his chin when he hasn't shaved it off on time.

His little earring dangling down his right earlobe.

His physique... Robyn wasn't blind to the changes puberty had caused.

His hands and their touch.

His lips and the way his kisses feel.

Latter was again only a product of his imagination but he started wishing it wasn't.

Robyn turned around in his bed. He buried his face in the pillow.

"Idiot", he muttered mainly meaning himself. A part of it, though, was directed at Micah.

Micah who, like Robyn, never said the truth about his feelings for who knows how long. Micah who found the courage now but is unreachable for the rest of the week. A week that felt eternal to Robyn.

It would be the longest week of his life.

[hp-hcs]

yanxidarlings here~ literally screamed when i saw you followed me because your writings were the direct inspiration for my latest post 💖 but im curious to see your take on yandere! poly! mattheo and theodore with m! reader or just more poly headcanons because i am never. going. to. get. enough. of. them

OH MY FUCKING GOD UR KIDDING I WAS THE ANON WHO REQUESTED UR LATEST POST

IM FEELING STARSTRUCK RN 🙇‍♂️👑

requests open, please dear god

Yk, reader is (lovingly) so fucking oblivious

Like, his friends will be like “hey you’re getting pretty close with like, the two most obsessive and violent guys at this school aha”

And reader will be like “lol they’re so silly goofy aren’t they 😌”

Inspired purely by your “you know people think we're gay and dating, right?” “aren't we?” I present:

“you know people think we’re gay and dating, right?” “aren’t we?” — yandere! mattheo riddle x oblivious! male! reader x yandere! theodore nott

completely unedited cause i gotta sprint to my lecture broski

TWs: possessive/obsessive behavior, brief mentions of violence, one instance of slut-shaming (?)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Honestly, you thought nothing of it when you were informed that due to “space issues” you were being moved to room with The Theos™. You just shrugged and followed the very anxious house-elf who had informed you of the switch to your new room.

Your trunk and belongings were there already, waiting to be set up and organized. Mattheo and Theo were hovering in the doorway looking a bit too pleased with the situation for comfort.

You just quietly said “hi” and moved past them, dumping your school bag on your new bed and flopping down next to it.

Theo and Mattheo practically trip over themselves rushing to “befriend” you. (Their words, not mine)

You all share a dorm, so it wasn’t long before they realized the other was obsessed with you.

Then, it’s all out war.

I’m talking mysterious falls down the moving stairs, getting locked out of the dorm all night, randomly being chased by bludgers—even when they aren’t playing.

Random fistfights between them whenever they see each other in the halls.

That all goes out the window, though, when reader is asked out.

Reader comes back to his dorm after a long day and finds The Theos sitting side-by-side on the edge of the his bed.

“When were you going to tell us that you became the class whore?” Mattheo drawled, his lips thinning in disapproval and disgust.

“W-what?” You ask, completely taken aback.

“We heard that little Y/N L/N’s got himself a date to the Yule Ball,” Theodore adds. “Who is it? That Parkinson girl? The Diggory boy?”

“Wh- no. I said no anyways.”

The boys scrutinize you, exuding an air of judgement.

Finally, Theodore pipes up. “Good boy.”

😳

“Aww, what’s this? Look, Riddle. Y/N’s blushing,” Theodore teases.

They make a quick mental note of that 📝

Anyways, they eventually find out who asked you out. They call a ceasefire on their own personal war, and team up to beat the shit out of the poor guy/girl.

After that, babycakes, if they didn’t already know before, everyone at Hogwarts now knows that you are TAKEN. (Even though you don’t.)

They tolerate each other, but just barely. They can really only stand each other when you three all curl up in one of your beds or on the common room couch.

Then, they’re the clingiest mfs you’ve ever met.

They have absolutely no sense of a personal space bubble. One of them is always touching you in some way, whether it be holding your hand, resting a hand on your hip or shoulder, putting their hand on your lower back…

Theodore charmed your chair in History of Magic to be impossible to move, so you can’t scoot away from him.

If you’re relaxing on the couch in the common room, Mattheo will move to sit right next to you (like r i g h t next to you) and put your legs in his lap. He tried once before to get you to just sit in his lap, but you told him no (like an idiot) and avoided him for the rest of the day. That is, until you woke up to him in your bed next to you.

Homeboy was not happy about that.

He is manipulative as fuck and will gaslight you to no end. He uses his shitty childhood and bad father to get you to pity him.

(It works.)

It’s obviously disconcerting for you when your boyos go from ‘actively out for each other’s blood’ to ‘eh, you’re fine, i guess’

You guys were watching a movie in your dorm one night, all piled onto your bed, and they accidentally fell asleep there. They woke to you already gone for breakfast and them with their arms around each other.

“If you ever bring this up again, I’ll kill you.”

“Oh, believe me, they’d never find your body.”

They become way more open about their attraction to you, everything from kissing your cheek, to making you wear their clothes (esp their jerseys with their last name on them), to asking you your ring size.

I completely agree with your headcanon of Mattheo neck kisses 😩🤌

Eventually though, because you are an oblivious gay disaster, you’re just chilling on the couch and you’re like “Hey guys, you know everyone thinks we’re gay right? And like, all dating each other?”

“What, like we aren’t?”

y/n: 😳🤨☺️🏳️‍🌈👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨

[rubra-wav]

You briefly said something in a Vox post about how he gets turned on by his partner being affectionate easily, and it's sometimes not always in private.

Can you do a post that's about having public sex with him when that happens. I am just interested in the idea of public sex/'taking care of that when it happens and how that would work with his image problem. 👉👈

[Entry #12] 'Really? Here?' : Vox x reader smut

(Drabble)

A/N I actually had a brief concept for something like this already planned as I saw that hc I had and was eyeing it off too haha

He'd never have genuine public sex, that would not make him look good and it's too risky, so this is semi-public.

Listen man, I so rarely write stuff where Vox is actually domtop because I strongly believe that dude can only bottom properly but like I'm writing this and i'm kinda 🤭😳

Cw: NSFW/18+ ONLY, gn!reader, semi-public sex, blowjob, rare instance of me writing Vox getting his way

- It had been a long damn couple of days for Vox, to say the least.

- Something had happened to the electronics system in hell after a storm, and he had been working horrendous hours for 3 days straight trying to get everything in order.

- So yeah, when he saw you for the first time in 3 days after just messaging and calling you? Needless to say, he acted up a bit.

- On the day he finally got everything done, he unfortunately had an overlord gala to attend that he couldn't turn down for public image sake.

- Not necessarily due to him needing to attend, but because if he didn't keep Valentino and Velvette in check, their reputation would be utter shit by the morning at such a prestigious event, most likely. Ironic

- And you were of course going with him to it to make sure he didn't lose his shit after not sleeping at all and just staying connected to power and a shit ton of energy drinks (He would never admit that, so he just says something about being able to bring a plus one. You, of course, catch on over the phone but don't mention it.)

- All was well initially. You two met up out front of the giant and overly ornate venue, relieved to finally see each other. (Even with the amount of paparazzi and the heavy atmosphere to perform properly in such high status company)

- You spent the night trying to keep up appearance. Keep a very argumentative Velvette in line from trying to start drama with Carmilla and herding a very drunk, barely upright Valentino out of the building so he'd stop hitting on the servers.

- It truly was a breath of relief when they both left and you two could finally actually semi enjoy the party despite the high power individuals surrounding you two with their own plus ones or family.

- It was during this time enjoying the party that you two made the mistake of actually dancing.

- You laughed quietly as Vox gripped your hand in his claw and spun you with a flourish before dipping you.

- Your heart thudded in your ears as you watched him crack his first real smile of the night seeing you react, and as he pulled you back up to rest on your feet at arms length, you pulled him close and wrapped your hands around his shoulders - practically embracing him as you gently swayed together to the orchestra playing in the background.

- You could see Vox hesitate to let you be close to him like this around the other overlords, fearing for how it made him look to be cuddled by his lover while here.

- But, despite himself, he accepted. Whether it was the drinks he'd had or the time you had spent apart, he wanted to be near you in any way, even in the public eye.

- Vox sighed, relaxing into your touch and returning the embrace, placing his hand on your lower back and pressing you against him as he leaned down to kiss you.

- You smiled against him as lips formed in place of his screen, meeting yours chastely with a slight zap as per the company.

- As much as he wanted to, it's not like he could start making out with you then and there.

- You looked up at him with half lidded eyes, a slight grin on your lips.

- "Try not to look too desperate to leave so we can be alone." You teased him.

- Vox flushed, lips curling slightly as he fought the urge to grin at you, opting to look angry at the teasing rather than showing the fact he actually liked it.

- It didn't matter. You already knew he did

- "I believe that's called projecting, doll." He spoke lowly.

- You snickered, moving your hand to gently pinch the side of his screen. "I'd be lying if I didn't say I was awaiting that as well," you smirked up at him. "It's been 3 days after all." You laughed as you watched his blush brighten, screen flickering a couple of times with quiet zaps.

- Vox breathed deeply, shutting his eyes as he furrowed his brow. "Not in public, (name)." He growled half heartedly.

- You simply hummed, leaning up to press a kiss to his screen again. Making the mistake of gently brushing your fingers over the back of his head as you gently moved your lips against his own, a strange metallic taste entering your mouth as your lips glided across each other's.

- Vox, being tired and wanting nothing more than to be touched, didn't really have the self-awareness to take a step back.

- He groaned lowly as your pointer gently grazed his ports, the gesture sending a strong stab of arousal through him alongside pooling warmth he hadn't been exactly tapped into being right up against you.

- The hand on your lower back pulled you closer against him unconsciously, pleasurable friction only worsening as he spaced out from his actions and growing arousal.

- You pulled away from the kiss, looking at him in disbelief as you could feel something hard poking against your stomach.

- Vox seemed to snap back into reality as you pulled away, looking horrified down at you as he realised the exact... 'position' you two were in. Mainly him.

- "Are you-" Vox cut you off with a shushing noise, stiffening in your embrace (in another way)

- You fight to stop from laughing loudly, but you can't stop the breathy puffs of air and quivering that you do. You watch his embarassed expression worsen as he frowns, eye automatically trying to hypnotise you as he hissed out a: "shut up."

- Which, of course, didn't work with the blue light contacts you had begun wearing a few months into your relationship.

- You felt yourself pinned closer against Vox, who seemed to be desperately trying to both compose himself and also to hide his arousal - using you. You took a deep breath, trying to stop laughing as you just knew he'd be extra pissy if you didn't take the reigns to try gtfo as fast as you could before someone noticed anything was up.

- You looked to the side. There was a doorway leading to a darkened room a few metres away that seemed abandoned.

- You tugged his quivering hand off of your lower back and pulled the coat you wore off, pushing it into his hands. "Here, hold this, darling?" You asked, gesturing to the empty door which stood open.

- The door to the next venue room shut behind you two, locked by you, and Vox immediately began cursing under his breath, pressing his glitching face into his clawed hands next to you.

- That was before he looked up at you, glaring. "How many times do I have to tell you to watch the fucking ports?!" He whisper-yelled.

- You scoffed. "I know the dude who just got a boner in the middle of a room full of overlords after dancing with me like some sort of hormonal teenager is not saying shit right now." You said, looking back at the door with slight concern.

- Vox glitched on what was assuredly a string of expletives directed at you, throwing down your coat on a nearby table and then sitting down next to it as he gripped his head trying to control himself.

- You were right, and it pissed him off. He really was overly pent up. As he calmed down slowly, he looked up again and saw you patiently waiting for him to calm down so he could properly speak again.

- "So what are you gonna do? Whack off in here?" You joked as he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

- He went to bite back at you, but then shut up for a few seconds, clearly thinking about something.

- You raised an eyebrow at him, silently looking you up and down, then watched as a grin spread across his face.

- "Get on your knees."

- Your blinked dumbly as you let out a disbelieving laugh. Ain't no way-

- "Your mouth is awfully big tonight. Maybe you should put it to use if you want to run it so much." He said - more demanded - with a raised brow.

- This motherfu- "Really?" You asked, strain clear in your voice. It was clear you weren't on board and were very much irritated that he was demanding you come suck him off right after he went ahead and blamed you for what was arguably definitely his bad.

- Vox's brow twitched, but despite his annoyance, he sucked it up and dug his claws into the table. "Please." He spat it out like it was disgusting to him.

- You slowly sighed as you watched him cringe, looking to the side as he bounced his leg in clear desperation.

- "Okay. But don't be loud." You wandered over to him, getting on your knees and placing your hands on either one of his thighs to position yourself comfortably. You heard him let out a breathless laugh above you, and looked up.

- His face was flushed and a bead of 'sweat' ran down his face with clear nervousness. "This is a terrible idea." He mumbled, lips twitching into an unsure smile.

- You raised you brow at him with a deadpan look, stopping in place.

- "Don't stop." He said. His heart was absolutely pounding with a mixture of fear, adrenaline and excitement, a dangerous mixture of emotions to feel while there was a party of some of the most high ranking people in Pentagram city in the next room.

- The music distantly echoed through the darkened, empty room. Pretty thick walls, but he wouldn't be taking any chances (or so he told himself).

- You hummed softly, knees already aching on the hard tile floor as you reached for the very obvious dent under Vox's belt, savouring the sharp inhale of breath he gave as you undid his pants.

- Pushing your hair back from your face, you deeply inhaled and then wrapped your lips around the twitching dick being arched into your face by a demon all too greedy for you to pleasure him.

- Really, it felt kind of laughable.

- This guy who constantly talked so much shit about being perfect in public - never displaying PDA, never behaving in a way that would bring shame upon yourself but particularly him - shoving his hard on into your mouth with utter desperation in the room next to an extremely prestigious event after getting a boner in public because you were dancing slightly intimately.

- Your cheeks flushed as he let out a loud groan. His head leaned back: prompting you to hit his clothed thigh to say 'shut the hell up'.

- It didn't take long before Vox was letting out stifled but still loud moans - completely ignoring your attempts to quiet him down, a clawed hand digging into your scalp to guide your mouth further onto him.

- You startled and let out a gargling whine as the toe of Vox's shoe began rubbing your clothed sex. You squinted slightly, brow furrowed as your eyes looked up at him to see his smirking face.

- "Yeah, eyes up here." He purred lowly with a chuckle, relishing the vibrations your voice made on his dick as he more firmly ground his foot against you.

- You looked back down as you began bobbing your head faster as the demon began rutting his hips excitedly into your mouth, you trying and failing to keep up with his messy pace.

- He was too far gone to give a shit as slurred praise slipped from his mouth rapidly.

- "Fucking hell you're so good. You're just perfect like this, doll." He panted.

- A fluttering warmth rocked through you at his words in combination with you grinding your hips against his shoe. It was so embarrassing and stress inducing to be in this position here, but Christ, you were turned on as well.

- You spluttered as his hips began pressing his dick too far in your mouth, the feeling of you choking seemingly only motivating him to go harder as his claw gripped your hair harder.

- This sadistic fucker. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears beading at the corner of your eyes as you were pushed down hard on his dick, hips snapping against your face. Vox let out a loud, animalistic growl, coming so deep inside your throat you didn't even taste it as you instinctively swallowed.

- The claw in your hair slowly let go as Vox panted, satisfied now, relaxing back into his seat.

- You pulled your mouth off of him with a loud pop, gasping in a deep breath of air as you could finally breathe properly.

- You stood up, looking down at him with a rather unhappy look on your face, particularly at the treatment there at the end.

- You'd be lying if this situation wasn't hot as fuck to you too, but that was beside the point-

- "Fuck." Vox huffed as he came down from his high, his hand sliding down his face, looking up at you calmly as he saw your irritated expression atop flustered cheeks.

- "Can we please go home now." You asked, fidgeting slightly. You hadn't exactly gotten your fill.

- "You want me that bad, huh?" He grinned slyly.

- Your eye twitched. "No, because we evacuated abruptly into this room and locked it, and you were moaning out like there wasn't a room full of people on the other side of the door while I blew you." You inwardly smiled as you watched his expression fall to embarrassment again as it dawned on him that he hadn't been much controlling his voice.

- You turned away, looking back at him over your shoulder. "And yes, because I want you. Let's just get the hell out of here. I want to be alone with you properly." You said.

- He laughed at that, but inwardly cursed himself. Did he really lack self-control that badly? Christ.

Masterlist

[runariya]

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 6

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: DDDNE, foul language, denial, a little bit of fluff, drugging, detailed description of r@pe, blo0d, gore, punch!ng, carving, cum, anger issues, shur!ken, kick!ng, f!ghting, realisation, wishing of being d€ad, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 4.2K

a/n: pls don't hate me—hate the characters instead 🙂

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • masterlist • 07

Two weeks go by, and with each passing day, you find yourself and Jungkook drawing nearer, though you had always believed, in the depth of your long friendship, that there was no further closeness to be gained. Yet still, there you are, sharing not just your days but, more often than not, your nights as well. There’s a certain way in which time fades into insignificance when you’re together, and though the light of day holds nearly no barriers for the way he maps your body, it’s the cloak of night that allows you to strip down more than just all of your clothes—it is there, in that twilight intimacy, that you feel you might finally be able to touch the entirety of his soul and him yours. He rearranges you completely in those moments, a cartographer of your flesh and spirit alike.

Taehyung, on the other hand, has had that difficult conversation with you far too many times to count—each instance his eyes filled with that same uncertainty, the struggle not only on his face but yours too as he questions whether telling Jungkook the truth, baring your past and present alike, is truly the right course of action. You’ve known for a long time it isn’t fair to leave Jungkook in the dark, not when this darkness is part of who you are, tethered to you in ways you sometimes wish it weren’t. It’s not easy to admit that parts of you have been moulded by decisions you never wished to make, paths you walked out of necessity rather than real choice. You can almost see how Jungkook might listen, his usual patient, understanding self—but with every moment you imagine his reaction, you also see him turning away, running when the truth becomes too much to bear.

And so, though you know you can’t be selfish in love—especially not when it’s him—each time you try to tell him, the words seem to stick in your throat like glue. You’ve tried so many times, only to falter at the last moment, unable to bear the idea of that carefree, incandescent smile slipping from his face. So, you promise yourself that you’ll tell him tomorrow, or maybe the day after. Always tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow, each new day bringing with it a fresh round of procrastination and a fresh wave of guilt for the secrets you continue to withhold.

Gradually, you convince yourself that your relationship hasn’t yet reached the point where it can withstand such a confession, blinding yourself to the reality that the beginning of love is precisely when such truths should come to light. And yet, deep down, you know you’re deceiving yourself, creating a shelter of denial in which you hide from the storm that must eventually break.

At the same time, you’re beginning to sense that Jungkook too harbours his own secrets. There are nights when he quietly slips away, his reasons vague and evasive. He doesn’t share everything, and you’ve noticed it. Sometimes, he avoids your bed, though he never quite admits why, sidestepping your questions with a soft smile or a gentle touch. It’s something you don’t press him on—those absences leave you with the solitude you need to focus on the darkness you still carry and use to scheme, to map out your next move, like a chess player preparing for the final play that will topple the board eventually.

Those nights, while Jungkook is elsewhere, you roam the shadowed streets and buildings around Dojin’s office, gathering information about him, timing Sangwook’s weakest moments too, plotting when and how both will fall. And sometimes, on those nights, you catch a glimpse of Pulse, who never comes close, but you feel his eyes on you, the burning of his gaze a silent threat to dare make a move. He watches from a distance, still a spectre lingering on the edge of your plans, and his presence haunts you—his gaze lingers on your skin and mind since two weeks ago, like a thorn embedded too deeply to remove.

But when the nights are spent in Jungkook’s arms, curled against his warmth, the world feels different—quieter, almost safe. You listen to his soft, steady breathing as he sleeps beside you, utterly unaware of the poison bubbling inside you. Yet even then, as his embrace cocoons you, your mind remains restless. You lie awake, feeling torn between two worlds, wondering whether the path you’ve chosen is worth the price you might have to pay. Are you wasting precious time revenging your beloved parents? Or are you, in some twisted way, moving closer to the freedom you crave?

You let yourself dream, if only for a moment, that perhaps the happy ending is simply the softening of your being, the ability to remain gentle despite the rough hands life has dealt you. Perhaps it is a calm nervous system, a peacefulness that cannot be threatened. Perhaps the happy ending is you moving on with Jungkook by your side, where you finally reclaim the love you’ve lost, but always wanted back. Perhaps the happy ending is you embracing change, is you going in the direction of the person that grows you and moves you and magnitates your spirit.

But even as you entertain that hopeful vision, a darker force pulls you back. It wraps around you like it’s one with you, refusing to let go, as though with every step you take towards Jungkook, it drags you back three. For every word of love he whispers to you, a thousand doubts rise in your mind. Each time he brings you to the peak of ecstasy, it only pushes you deeper into a chasm you fear you’ll never climb out of.

The silence that followed Chulsoo’s death—the way it was wiped clean from the media, hidden from view so as not to tarnish Dojin’s image—only served to feed the fire of your revenge. That burning desire for justice, or perhaps just for release, is still there, gnawing at you like an unquenchable hunger of thousand starved demons. And so, despite everything, you find yourself returning to your plans, hoping that, in the end, they will finally give you the salvation and freedom to carve out the future you so desperately desire with Jungkook.

And now, two weeks later, it’s all set. Every piece has fallen into place. You called in a favour with one of Seokjin’s IT specialists, a man who owed you a debt for helping his daughter years ago with her SATs. It was a small thing back then, but now, that kindness has ripened into something vital, something almost fated. He fabricated a message, making it seem as though Dojin himself had ordered Sangwook into a night shift at the office. You thought long and hard about how to exact your revenge, and the answer came to you like a whisper in the dark—a plan perfectly devised to balance the scales that tipped over so many years ago. 

So here you stand now, darkness flowing through your veins like it never has before, alive and pulsing and fatal. You’re in Dojin’s office, with Sangwook before you, drugged and unconscious in the chair, his head lolling to one side, bound by the anaesthetic you pilfered from the lab days ago. Everything is ready—the second scene has been set. And the only question that remains is whether, when the final scene comes to an end and all is said and done, will the path truly be cleared for the future you dream of with Jungkook by your side. But you lock that thought away, deliberately procrastinating again until your demon screams ‘action’. 

Sangwook hovers in the haze of barely held consciousness when your boot collides with his side, sending him sprawling to the floor with a graceless thud. His face catches the weight of the fall, and though a pained groan escapes him, you find yourself devoid of sympathy, feeling nothing but the cold resolve that fills the room like silent smoke. The office is as barren as you anticipated, a hollow shell of corporate sterility, its emptiness bearing silent witness to the reckoning about to unfold, a ghost of a place where no one will hear the echoes of what you are about to do.

“You know,” you murmur, your voice a dangerous lull that barely masks the venom beneath, “I saw you smiling while he raped her. Perhaps it’s time you discovered how it feels to be on the other side, hm?” You crouch beside him, your fingers ghosting over his cheek, now wet with drool and slack with stupor. His eyes, bleary and unfocused, swim beneath heavy lids, his breath a sickly rasp that rises and falls in broken stutters.

You kick him again, flipping him from his side to his stomach with the ease of someone handling dead weight. His groans are quieter now, more distant, but you pay them no mind. You’ve come prepared for this moment, the cable ties rigid in your hands as you bind his wrists behind him, securing them with an efficient brutality. Once the ties are tight enough, cutting into his skin with a satisfying snap, you shift his body once more, forcing his hips up so that he kneels with his face pressed into the cold, indifferent floor, his knees scraping against it with a dull sound. 

With a nudge of your foot, you spread his legs apart, widening the space between them as you reach into your hidden pocket and retrieve one of your shuriken. The blade gleams faintly in the low light as you slice through the fabric of his trousers and boxers, leaving his exposed ass an ugly, vulnerable thing that turns your stomach. You swallow the disgust, pushing it down, focusing instead on the cold fury that hums inside you like a living thing.

From another concealed pocket, you pull out an oversized black vibrator, letting it dangle in the air between your fingers like a grotesque trophy. You wave it lazily in front of Sangwook’s face, his glazed eyes flickering with some faint recognition. “Oh no,” you say, voice dripping with a mocking faux-innocence, “I think I forgot the lube.” You pout, a cruel smile twisting your lips that aren’t hidden by your mask. “Looks like history repeats itself more than I thought.”

You move back behind him, your heart beating calmly despite the anticipation of what you have prepared next. And with a force born of all the pent-up rage you’ve carried for so long, you ram the vibrator into his exposed asshole, not bothering with gentleness or care. 

The effect is immediate—Sangwook’s scream tears through the silence of the office, a visceral sound that cuts through the fog of drugs clouding his mind. His body convulses, buckling against the intrusion, but you press your hands into his hips, forcing him to remain in position as you reach for the duct tape from your pocket, securing the vibrator firmly in place. His flesh resists, bleeding around the object, the blood flowing freely, but you push it deeper still, the tape tightening until you’re certain it won’t budge.

The blood, the pain, his broken sobs—all of it comes together to create an image that stirs something dark and primal within you, something that has long been caged but now finally feels liberated. His pitiful sounds mirror the cries you remember, the cries that haunt you from this distant, unbearable night, and for the first time in so long, you feel a strange, twisted sense of peace begin to settle inside you. It’s a perverse kind of satisfaction, seeing him brought low, powerless, humiliated. His sobs fill the room like symphony meant for masses, and with every tear that falls from his face, with every tremor that wracks his body, you feel your breath coming a little easier, feel that demon within you finally soothe itself into something manageable.

You stand back, watching with a detached sense of curiosity as snot and tears pool beneath Sangwook’s face, mixing with the blood that drips steadily from his ass. His humiliation is complete—the blood, the shame, even his unwanted orgasm staining the floor beneath him, the fluids mingling into a sickening mess. He can barely withstand it anymore, and you sense that his endurance is nearing its end, the agony almost enough to make him pass out. Almost.

You step forward and rip the vibrator free from his body with a vicious yank, taking the duct tape with it, peeling away skin and hair in the process. The sound is gruesome, the ripping noise followed by another hoarse scream from Sangwook, his head lolling against the floor. The satisfaction swells inside you, filling the space in your chest that has long been empty, and for a brief, shimmering moment, it feels as though you’ve finally taken something back from the world that once stole everything from you.

But this isn’t the end—not yet. You can’t let this be another act buried by Dojin’s power, another silenced death hidden from the eyes of the world. So you push Sangwook’s slack body back onto the chair, his head rolling from side to side in drugged disorientation. You calculate the dose just right, ensuring that though his body is weakened, his mind remains painfully clear, aware of every agonising second.

“It felt good, didn’t it?” you mock, your laughter low and dripping with menace. You step closer, forcing his face upward until his dulled, tear-filled eyes meet your own, your gaze lifeless as steel. “You remember what happened after, don’t you?” His silence is met with a sneer as you push his face aside and reach for your shuriken once more, the blade glinting in your hand as you rip open his shirt, exposing the heaving rise and fall of his chest, every breath laboured and uneven. Blood still pours from the wounds you’ve already inflicted, but you don’t care. “But first, let me leave a note, yeah?” The blade hovers for a moment over his skin before you press it against him, carving deep, big letters into his chest with more force than necessary.

‘Father, don’t forgive them, for they know what they do.’

The blood spills over your writing, cascading down his body in thick rivulets, pooling once again on the floor beneath him, mingling with the other stains of his disgrace. You step back and admire your handiwork, feeling an odd, almost surreal sense of fulfilment as you gaze upon the wreckage you’ve created.

It feels like freedom—like the release you’ve been chasing for years. You don’t care if anyone else understands it, don’t care if Jungkook would understand. In this moment, the world shrinks to this room, to this man, to this beautifully orchestrated vengeance. And for the first time, you feel as though this is the right path, the only path that could ever set you free. You toss the bloodied shuriken to the ground with a resounding clang, the sound echoing in the hollow space like a final punctuation to this violent symphony.

And then, you strike—fist meeting flesh again and again, until Sangwook’s face is nothing but a pulpy mess of blood and bone beneath your knuckles. Each punch sends a wave of release through you, every hit drawing out the grief that’s lain dormant inside you for so long. Tears blur your vision, and you let them fall, unheeded, as you continue to rain down blow after blow, releasing years of pain in a single, savage outpouring.

But suddenly, the sound of faint movement is heard through your frenzy, and your instinct kicks in. You spin on your heel and release a shuriken in one fluid motion, sending it hurtling towards the intruder behind you. It misses its mark by a hair’s breadth, embedding itself into the wall beside Pulse’s head. He stands there, watching, his eyes wide with shock, his expression stricken. But despite everything, despite the violence, despite the blood, his gaze remains—soft, empathetic, as though he can still see something within you worth saving.

“What the hell do you want?” you scream, voice raw, feeling too close to madness, eyes narrowing at the sight of him standing there, his presence alone an irritant to your senses. The sight of Pulse—of this man, this moron—makes your blood boil with a heat that consumes every rational thought, every shred of patience you might’ve had left.

“You can still stop Stasis,” he says softly, his words slipping through the chaos like a breeze through fire, and there’s something infuriatingly calm in his tone that makes your fists curl tighter. “It’s not too late.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, voice dripping with venom, “I don’t have time for your bullshit.” You spin back to Sangwook, channeling the surge of anger into your fists, striking him again—he groans, barely a sound escaping his bloodied lips, but it’s enough to quell the fire in your veins, if only for a fleeting moment.

“This isn’t the right way,” Pulse insists, his voice still thick with that maddening compassion, that softness you cannot bear to listen to any longer.

“Oh, fuck off!” you spit, turning back towards him, seething. “What the hell do you know about anything?”

“I don’t need to know everything,” he replies, his voice unwavering. “I only need to know that it’s not too late.”

“Not too late?!” you bark, flinging your arms into the air, exasperation dripping from every word. “Do you even hear yourself? Don’t waste my fucking time with this fuckery—go fetch some petty pickpockets if you’re feeling heroic.”

You start to turn away, fed up, ready to pour all your anger back into Sangwook’s trembling body, but Pulse’s voice hooks you mid-step, tugging at something inside you, and despite yourself knowing better, you pause, facing Pulse once more. He stands there, almost pleading with you, a figure so at odds with the carnage around him. “I can help you,” he says, voice much gentler now. “You don’t have to do this.”

A low, biting laugh slips from your throat, raw and empty, more like the growl of something wounded than the echo of any true amusement. “Help me?” you sneer, the corners of your mouth twisting into a cruel smile. “Oh, I’m doing just fine helping myself.”

“That’s not helping,” he says quietly, and there’s a softness to his words that feels like nails on a chalkboard, like he’s trying to pierce through the layers of darkness that have long since engulfed you. “If you could just—”

But you don’t let him finish. You spin around again, but this time something’s different. Something cold and sharp slashes through the air in your mind, halting you in your tracks. Sangwook sits still, the rise and fall of his chest no longer there, his eyes now glassy and fixed on nothing. It’s as though the world shifts beneath your feet. His wounds, they’ve finally claimed him, and you missed it—the exact moment when life left him, when that miserable soul slipped away.

“He’s dead,” you whisper, though the words are nothing more than a breath, laced with an anger so potent it seethes from your pores. The demon inside you roars with a feral intensity, its presence so loud, so overwhelming, you reckon the entire city must hear it. But your blood, it doesn’t run cold—not in the way people speak of fear or regret. No, your blood burns hotter than ever before, an inferno raging through your veins, pushing you beyond the boundaries of reason, of sanity, into a space where you never been before. 

“He’s dead!” you shout, the fury shaking your body and walls, vibrating through every nerve as you reach for your shuriken. One after another, you hurl them towards Pulse with reckless, unrestrained violence, each throw fuelled by the white-hot rage that blinds you to everything else but this freak standing before you. Most of them miss, slicing through the air uselessly, but one grazes his side, drawing blood and a sharp hiss from his lips. You see the pain flash in his eyes, but it’s not enough. “You fucking idiot!” you scream, voice cracking under the weight of your fury. “You had to ruin everything!”

You launch yourself at him, driven by that blinding fury, your body moving faster than your mind can comprehend. The force of your kick catches him squarely in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground, but Pulse—fuck him—manages to scramble back to his feet, dodging and deflecting every punch, every savage blow you aim at him and his stupid face. He’s skilled, a professional, and you can see that now in the way he moves with ease, with a calm that only makes the inferno within you rage hotter, more fiercely.

You land a hit against his face, a sharp crack against his cheekbone, and for a moment, his composure slips. His eyes narrow, the warmth in them replaced by a cold anger, a frustrated irritation that mirrors your own. And then, for the first time, he strikes back. His fist connects with the side of your head that makes your vision blur for a moment, but that’s all it is—a moment. You recover quickly, shaking off the dizziness, your lips curling into a smug smirk as you catch the flicker of disbelief in his gaze.

“Jealous it didn’t faze me?” you taunt, your voice dripping with poison ready to take him down, your breath coming fast and shallow, though you force it to remain steady, to keep the superiority alive.

“As if,” he growls, his tone clipped, though there’s a flicker of frustration behind his words, a crack in that calm façade he wears so well.

The fight escalates, a brutal dance of fists and kicks, bodies slamming into walls and furniture bruising you both more than the actual hits. He throws you around like you weigh nothing, a mere doll, but you hit back with equal force, aiming for his weak spots with precision born from years of knowing where it hurts most. You’re both panting heavily now, bruised and bloodied, but where his strength begins to wane, your twisted advantage of feeling no pain holds firm. 

“Give up Stasis,” Pulse gasps, his voice ragged with exhaustion, but still, there’s that damn plea in his tone, that maddening refusal to break.

“Never,” you spit, a wicked smile twisting your lips as you fling your last shuriken towards him. It grazes the edge of his face mask, slicing through the straps with a clean cut. The mask falls to the floor silently,  in slow motion, leaving his face exposed to the dim, flickering light of the room.

And in that moment, the world stops last. 

The air is sucked from your lungs as you stare at him, your heart plummeting into an abyss that you thought you’d already reached the bottom of. His face—his face is the face you know so well. A face you’ve kissed, a face you’ve held in your hands, a face that, until this moment, you believed belonged to someone pure, someone who hadn’t been touched by the darkness that now consumes you. Jungkook. It’s Jungkook standing before you, bruised, bloodied, and trying to stop you.

You take a step back, your limbs trembling with the force of the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but more than that, they tremble with the force of your breaking heart. “No,” you whisper, barely audible, the word slipping from your lips like a plea to the universe itself. But Jungkook doesn’t hear it, or if he does, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t see the devastation in your eyes, the cracks forming in your soul as the reality of this nightmare sinks in.

“You’ve finally had enough, haven’t you?” he taunts, voice cold, cutting, as he steps towards you, uncaring that his mask has been stripped away. His steps are slow and menacing in a way you’ve never seen from him before.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t seem to make sense of the world anymore. Jungkook—your Jungkook, your friend, your lover, the man who filled your life with light and warmth for years—is standing here as Pulse, the man who’s tried to stop you, to save you, from the path you’ve chosen. It breaks you, fracturing the remaining parts of your soul, and for the first time since your parents died, you feel as though you’re drowning all over again.

There’s nothing left to do, nothing that could possibly fix this, fix you both, nothing that could make the universe undo its cruel joke. So you do the only thing you can think of and what you should have done years ago—you run. You turn and bolt, fleeing from this nightmare, desperate to escape the truth that has gutted you so deeply you wish you had died with your parents. 

You run, hoping the darkness will swallow you whole before the pain can.

prologue • 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • masterlist • 07

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! MBV-Game Part II:

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[maleyanderecafe]

Yandere Killing!! ~When I told my obsessive childhood friend, "I love you too," she shifted to the romantic comedy route~(Manga)

Created by: Toyama Monaka/Kazuichi

Genre: Smut

The continual descent into translating yandere stuff continues. This one only has one chapter out for me to translate so far, so really the only last maybe 10 pages have any semblance of smut. Still though, the artwork for this one is very pretty and I am so happy with the way that I typefaced this one like you will not believe how clean it is compared to other ones I've translated.

The story starts out with a man named Isogi begging in front of Miyoshi to take him back after he cheated on her with another girl. Miyoshi of course bluntly rejects him, stating that the one thing he cannot forgive is cheating to which Isogi is dragged away. After that, her coworkers get worried about her and she continues her work at the coffee shop, only to meet up with another man named Ohara who asks if the two of them will be eating dinner tonight. Ohara and Miyoshi are childhood friends and have a tendency to eat together with her sister Ryoka. Outside, Isogi stalks Miyoshi until Ohara comes to "have a talk with him". At night, it seems Ohara is late and Miyoshi and Ryoka eat together instead, before Ryoka turns in for the night warning Miyoshi to be more careful when it comes to Ohara. Ohara comes over to eat and we see that Miyoshi has had a long time crush on him, however, feels that he has no interest in him because of an event that happened when she was in high school. At work, Tayaka ends up proposing to Miyoshi after she laments about her ex for a bit promising that he will be loyal, however, is interrupted by Ohara. Ohara seems pretty pissed which leads to Miyoshi feeling depressed about this fact as she still has a crush on him. Not wanting this to eat her, she tries to call Ohara so that she can confess to him, even if she feels he won't reciprocate. However, while attempting to do so, her sister ends up calling her instead, warning that Ohara is right behind her before Ohara takes her phone. Ohara is extremely jealous and starts to touch her. talking about how Isogi and Tayaka don't deserve her before basically mating pressing her at the end.

Basically I think that the plot of this smut (I mean most smuts barely have a plot, fair enough) was pretty intriguing until the very end of this chapter where everything escalates way too fast. I guess considering the title states it goes into a comedic route that might be the reason why? Hard to tell with just the first chapter though. Also because we know that the male lead is a yandere at all times, the misunderstanding of her not realizing that Ohara does have a huge crush on him is pretty like...well, the dramatic irony is not lost on me, I suppose. Still, I did think that the entire thing with Sayuki's drive to not try to get back together with someone who cheated is pretty good, although I'm not sure why she feels like that since we don't know if she's actually had problems with cheaters in the past (before Isogi) and I feel (?) like it's pretty standard for people to not get back with someone who has cheated on them if there is not reason to (like having kids or being financially dependent on them for instance). Like I said though, the ending of that is pretty confusing- how did Sayuki's sister Ryoka know that Ohara was right behind her and why did she call in the first place? I mean, I know Ryoka was pretty much the only person who knew the two liked each other, but how did she know he was coming for her? And like. I don't understand why Ohara didn't just try to confess to her in the first place if he likes her so dang much anways, especially since it did seem like the two of them were close. Again though, this is a smut so it's not like the plot is the most important part of this story, there's just a lot of things going on that don't really have an explanation now.

That being said, this artwork is very pretty and it does a good job with the yandere expressions that we did get. Hopefully as more chapters come out that I can translate we can figure out what is going on in this story.

[djarinova]

sfw alphabet

levi ackerman x gn!reader

content - slightly modern au for a couple of the questions, brief mentions of his canon upbringing (not explored) words - 4k

A—‘A’ IS FOR AFFECTION (how affectionate are they?)

At the beginning of your relationship, or any moment before your relationship has started, Levi is not affectionate at all. He tends to keep his distance, only ever offering you a helping hand, or in very rare instances a gentle tap on your shoulder. But once the two of you start dating things are a little different. He keeps most of his affection behind closed doors, always wanting to keep those moments solely between the two of you. But he is definitely more affectionate than people will expect, he loves to hold you in his arms when the two of you are cuddling. Tracing his fingers across your skin is one of his favourite ways to touch you, he loves it because it's so easy for him to do while the two of you are sitting together, he does it so absentmindedly that sometimes he doesn't even realise. And it's the cutest thing ever.

B—‘B’ IS FOR BESTFRIEND (what are they like as a bestie?)

He's a very good friend, he's trustworthy and kind to those he values, but it's hard to get past his tough exterior and into his inner circle as he's very selective on those he befriends, and even those people he likes have a hard time getting to know him at first. It will take a long time for him to open up to you, even if you've known him and been friends for a while, but once you've gained his trust and respect you’ll find that his friendship will become one of the most sturdy and reliable you've ever had.

C—‘C’ IS FOR CUDDLES (how do they like to cuddle?)

He loves to both be held by you, and hold you. There's something about having you locked between his arms that grants him a sense of peace that he cannot get anywhere else. He loves being able to have his arms gripping your body. And even better when you bury your head in his chest, he loves knowing that you can feel his heart beating, and that you're feeling the warmth from his body. When you lock your legs between his, and wrap your arms around his torso it makes him feel like the safest, luckiest man in the world.

D—‘D’ IS FOR DOMESTIC (settling down? how will they be helping out around?)

He never thought he'd get close to settling down with anyone, he never had marriage or relationships on his mind, and he was perfectly content with that. But when he met you, and got to know you, his views began to change. He started to realise that he needed to be with you, for as long as he could manage. He's very good at small, domestic things. He loves helping you cook, even if his preferred meals are on the easy and simple side, and he's very good at keeping things clean and tidy.

E—‘E’ IS FOR ENDING (how would breakups work out?)

I can see this going one of two ways to be honest. It's either going to be a quick, slightly silly breakup—the two of you have a disagreement, and Levi gets scared or worried about the confrontation, choosing to leave instead of sitting and talking it out with you (this is one of those breakups that doesn't last long, you find him after a few hours and force him to talk to you. You know he still loves you, but he hasn't got a lot of experience with the tougher parts of a relationship, and he has a very avoidant personality.) Or, on the sadder side, the two of you will have a really long, drawn out breakup. One of those breakups where you slowly drift apart, refusing to acknowledge the issues you need to work on, just snapping at each other or straight up ignoring each other to the point where you're barely talking for days at a time. 

F—‘F’ IS FOR FIANCÉE (how do they feel about commitment?)

Levi isn't afraid of commitment, I think that once he's in a relationship with you he finds the idea of marriage/a life with you incredibly appealing, and it’s something that he will strive for. He probably won't be open about this, especially to people that aren't you—in fact I think he comes off to other people as a very anti-marriage, anti-commitment type of guy—but once he finds someone that truly understands him, that makes him feel loved and cared for and happy, he’ll want to do everything in his power to keep them as close to him as he can, for as long as he can.

G—‘G’ IS FOR GENTLE (how gentle are they?)

He is extremely gentle, he's constantly aware of you and your comfort, it will always be a priority for him to make you as comfortable as he possibly can. Although his strength is something that is hard to match, his hands are always so soft when he holds you, his grip is never rough or tight, he always traces your skin with the utmost gentleness. I think he's so scared of hurting you, of coming on too strong, or damaging you, that it takes a lot of work to bring him around to the fact that you aren't as delicate as you look, and that you won't break if he holds you just a little bit harder. A lot of that fear stems from his childhood, he's seen what uncaring men can do to people that they deem lesser than themselves, and he never ever wants to treat you like that.

H—‘H’ IS FOR HUGS (do they like hugs?)

Not really, I think Levi is extremely, extremely selective about who he gives hugs to. He doesn't like people in his space like that, he doesn't need their breath that close to his face, he's perfectly content with a handshake, or a verbal show of appreciation. The only people he'd ever consider allowing to hug him are you, and Erwin probably. Sometimes Hange, but they can get a tad over excited when it happens, so it's a very rare occasion.

I—‘I’ IS FOR I LOVE YOU (how long does it take them to say the ‘l word?’)

A long time. I think this is because he would be so unsure whether the feelings he had were truly love that he'd spend ages agonising over every detail, trying to decipher his own feelings. He hasn't had many healthy experiences of love in his life, not even from his family, so there's very few experiences that he can draw from. He wants to make sure that the words are true when he says them, because he knows he cares for you deeply, and he would never want to lie or deceive you, even accidentally.

J—‘J’ IS FOR JEALOUSY (how do they get jealous?)

Levi is a jealous and possessive person—and he doesn't care how it sounds, if you're dating him then you're his, there's no way around that—but he is also very calm in the way he shows it. If someone is talking to you and they're leaning a little bit too close Levi will just stare at them, he'll watch with his eyes narrowed, looking for any indication or flicker on the person's features that they're a threat to you—if he ever thought you were uncomfortable or in danger he would be at the person talking to you and pinning them to the floor like his life depended on it—but if it just looked like they were annoying you then Levi would leave you to it, until he decided too much time had past and he wanted you back for himself. And if you're standing right next to Levi and someone is continually flirting with you as if he's completely invisible, putting their hands on you or asking you if you've got a boyfriend, making you laugh or offering to buy you a drink, then Levi's reaction is a little different. He hates the idea that some guy could even dare to think he'd have a chance at taking you away, his insecurities would eat away at his confidence all night, even though you had shown absolutely no interest in the person flirting with you. Levi would probably be extra quiet for the rest of the day, he wouldn't appear any different to those looking from the outside, but you would be able to tell that something was wrong. Waiting until the two of you are alone would be the best way to confront his cold attitude, he’d be characteristically standoffish towards you, initially refusing to admit what has him so upset. It would take a while to get him to open up about the problem, he wouldn't want to admit that the root cause of his attitude was his jealousy, or that he hated feeling like you deserved better than him. I think he would need lots of reassurance that he is deserving of you, and that those random people flirting with you, or making fun of your relationship, mean nothing. 

K—‘K’ IS FOR KISSES (what's their kissing schedule?)

He is big on good morning and goodnight kisses, he swears that he always sleeps better when the last thing he does before sleeping is kiss you. And he definitely loves kissing you as a form of greeting when the two of you are in private, he loves to hold you by the waist and press a gentle kiss to your lips, always following this by a soft whisper of “hello”. But other than the routine kisses I think that he sometimes forgets to kiss you, he forgets that kisses are something that he can give you at any time of the day, and that they don't have to be for a special reason—kissing you just because is something you’ll have to remind him is okay.

L—‘L’ IS FOR LITTLE ONES (how are they around kids?)

He is great around kids, but he doesn't get the opportunity to be around them very often. For some reason kids—especially toddlers—really like him. It could be to do with his calm, slightly relaxing demeanour, or the fact that the way he speaks is always on the quieter side, never raising his voice. He never disrespects children, and he finds it utterly repulsive that anyone on this earth would ever purposely treat children horribly. He refuses to be a bad influence on children, and when he is around them he never wants to have any sort of negative impact on their lives. He wants them to have as great a life as they can, and so he does his best to answer any questions they have—even if they are on the sillier side. It makes your heart soar when you walk into a room and see him sitting on the floor, surrounded by a circle of children all hanging onto his every word. For some reason children just trust him, and he never understands it, but he always welcomes it, even if it does distract him from whatever dinner party/ meeting/ trip that he is meant to be focusing on.

M—‘M’ IS FOR MORNINGS (how will your mornings go?)

You will very rarely wake up and find Levi still in bed next to you. He wakes up early almost everyday, and he likes to start his days with a quick, cold shower. Sometimes he will workout in the mornings, and he will shower post workout, but he will always have some kind of healthy drink when he wakes, whether it be a smoothie type thing, fresh juice, or even something as simple as a green tea. He will always make you a cup of whatever he makes himself, and he also likes to pour you a cool glass of water with lemon as well—he drinks his before his shower. But on the rare instance you manage to get him to stay in bed with you the two of you like to read together, or, more accurately, Levi props himself up with pillows and reads his book aloud to you, while you snuggle close to his chest, and run your fingernails along his thighs. 

N—‘N’ IS FOR NIGHTS (how will your nights go?)

Nights with Levi are easy, and simple. He is at his most calm during the evening. I think that once he’s back home, able to shed his clothes from the day and see you safe and happy, he gives himself permission to relax. He always takes some time on his own when he comes home, usually ranging within 30-90 minutes, he adores your company and he loves just being with you, but he needs time to recharge at his own pace, with no one bothering or talking to him. He does a variety of things during this time—reading, bathing, resting his eyes (you would call this meditating, but Levi is adamant that it is not). Often he also does mundane, easy chores such as folding laundry or sweeping up. He finds the routine and simplicity of these things enjoyable, and they're able to ground him back to reality when he’s very overwhelmed or stressed. The two of you love to cook together in the evenings, whether one of you sits and observes, making sure the other is following the recipe correctly, or both of you tackling the dish together, it doesn't matter, as long as you are both in the kitchen. The time together is the most important part. Levi also loves to listen to music at night, he usually puts something on around the time the two of you are making dinner, and it typically stays on all night, right up until bedtime, unless you decide to watch something together. On the days when he feels the most happy, he loves to grab your hand and gently sway with you to the music—his equivalent of dancing.

O—‘O’ IS FOR OPEN (when will they tell you about themself?)

It takes a long time for Levi to open up to you, especially about his childhood, and more widely, any moment before he met Erwin. It's hard to tell when Levi is willing to talk about his past, because he will never bring it up first, he waits for you to ask, but the problem with that is that you never want to pry, or seem like you're trying to push him towards being open, so it doesn't always line up easily. As time goes on he will find it easier to tell you things, but he will never want it to be a full blown conversation, he won't want to have the attention on him for that amount of time, he'd rather tell you a couple things really quickly, and then have you sit in silence while thinking about them. Which isn't the most sustainable form of opening up, but with time he will be able to properly, actually, talk to you about his past without feeling like he's being too vulnerable and wanting to run away.

P—‘P’ IS FOR PATIENCE (how patient are they with you?)

He’s extremely patient with you, but I think that also comes from the fact that he’s expecting you to be the same with him too, and of course you are, but his inexperience with romantic relationships makes him constantly worried during the beginning of your relationship that he’s not doing enough, or he’s doing too much, or he’s doing it wrong. So your patience with him during those stages is probably what would make or break your relationship. And if you’re also inexperienced, or you’re nervous to do things with him, he’d always be happy to wait, and to take things as slow as you need to, all he’d ask is that you communicate what you need from him, because he hates having to guess.

Q—‘Q’ IS FOR QUIZZES (how much do they remember about you?)

At the beginning of your relationship he is terrible at remembering things about you, he’s trying his best to get to know you—although if you’ve started dating then it’s likely you’ve been friends for a while before this, so he is familiar with some things about you—but he’s more focused on navigating the changes that come when entering a new relationship. But as he gets more comfortable with you, as he learns and develops as a boyfriend, he’d start to be able to recall the small, silly things that you’ve said to him in passing—the sort of things you say as a joke, or your favourite way to load a dishwasher. As for the bigger stuff, he writes it down. He doesn't want to forget the important stuff, so he makes notes of it—it started with things like your parents names, their birthdays, how many siblings you have, but it worked it’s way towards your favourite ways to be kissed by him, the best way he can show you love, and most recently, the different engagement ring types you've said to him are your favourite.

R—‘R’ IS FOR REMEMBER (what is his favourite moment in your relationship?)

The first time that he put his arm around your waist in public. He doesn't know why, but that moment makes his heart flutter every time he thinks about it. It was only a couple of weeks after you'd started officially dating, the two of you were out with some friends—Erwin, Hange, Petra, and numerous members of Miche’s squad. Levi hadn’t planned on making any sort of big announcement about your relationship, but Hange had taken it upon themselves to make sure everyone knew. Your face had heated up from all the attention, but Levi saw the smile you were trying to hide, and he felt his own face redden too, although all he reacted with was a scoff and a roll of his eyes. It was an hour or so later, the two of you were talking quietly with Erwin, when a large, rather loud, group entered the room you were all in. Levi had felt you tense, and without thinking he wrapped his arm around your waist. He saw Erwin raise his eyebrows, but luckily the blonde said nothing of the affection Levi was giving you. He excused himself, leaving you and Levi alone, and as Levi turned to you, he was about to remove his arm when he saw the smile on your face—this time you were not trying to hide it at all. You placed your hand on top of Levi’s, forcing him to keep his arm in place, and Levi remembers how happy it had made him, knowing that he had helped you to feel safe, and he was surprised to find that he wasn't embarrassed by the pda—although, he was relieved that Hange hadn't gotten a glimpse of it, he dreaded to think of the whistles and yelling that would have taken place had they seen it.

S—‘S’ IS FOR SECURITY (how protective are they of you?)

Extremely protective. Every time the two of you are out together his eyes are peeled for any sort of danger or uncomfortable situation that could occur, he steers you clear of large groups of men, drunk people shouting and any other thing that could make you feel unsafe. He also has a hard time letting others take you away from him, even when he knows you'll be completely fine—if the two of you are hanging out with friends and one of them tries to steal you away from Levi so you can have gossip time/a private catch up, Levi is always hesitant, even though he will still be able to see you. 

T—‘T’ IS FOR TRY (how much effort do they put into dates? special occasions?)

He tries his best, especially on special occasions, but it takes a lot of practice for him to be good at planning dates. That sort of thing usually just slips his mind, he forgets that you might want to go out with him to eat dinner/watch a movie/attend a show etc. But he's a little better with special occasions, although they usually have a slightly negative effect on him—he’ll be so worried and stressed about making sure he has the perfect gift and the perfect plan for you that he gets so tense you have to remind him that it's okay if things aren't perfect, as long as the two of you are together then whatever you do will be amazing. He's just so worried about letting you down, or losing you:(

U—‘U’ IS FOR UGLY (what's a bad habit of theirs?)

He's really picky about his organisation. Even if you are a clean person, and generally keep your space tidy, he will always have something to say about it. He is quite rigid when it comes to this, and it can make him quite hard to live with at first since he will refuse to budge from the way he wants to do things. 

V—‘V’ IS FOR VANITY (how insecure are they?)

He's not insecure with his looks—he's never really given them much thought, and he's never needed too. As long as he looks neat and respectable it doesn't matter to him whether other people consider him attractive. But I do think he’s insecure within your relationship, he's probably so scared during the first few months that he's going to screw up, or lose you in some way and make you hate him, that he's over careful, extra quiet, and refuses to disagree with you—to the point where he’s almost miserable because he’s bottling too much stuff up. He's so insecure of his boyfriend abilities, he thinks his lack of experience is going to cause major issues.

W—‘W’ IS FOR WHOLE (would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes and no. I don't think Levi needs a romantic relationship in order to feel complete. I think he's perfectly content by himself. But once you've penetrated his inner circle, once you've lived with him, shown him the darkest parts of yourself, and not ran from his darkest parts, I think he wouldn't want to be apart from you. He wouldn't want to have his walls broken down for nothing. He wouldn’t want to lose the part of him that you helped nurture and develop.

X—‘X’ IS FOR XTRA (a random headcanon about them?)

Levi loves art. He has sketchbooks filled with small pencil drawings of you, your house, your pets, and silly things like the telephone, cutlery and desk chairs. He doesn't care if anyone thinks he's good or not (although, he is amazing), he just finds it really relaxing, and he likes to be able to have a hobby that doesn't involve screens or anything electronic. He most often works in pencil, but he likes to experiment with pen, and very occasionally he will use acrylic paints when he wants to paint a big scene like a garden, flowers, or anything landscape related. 

Y—‘Y’ IS FOR YUCK (what are some things they dislike?)

Levi dislikes the modernisation of communication—he loves having a landline and being able to just pick up the phone and call someone, but he knows most people won’t answer a call out of the blue (and this is not to say he hates texting, he actually find it quite useful, but there's just something about speaking over the phone that he finds comforting.) He dislikes how many different social medias you’re expected to have just to be able to keep up to date with people—he has a whatsapp account, an instagram that he only uses to like your photos and occasionally scroll through the recommended for you page (his account is empty, you had to change his profile picture yourself because he refused to do it), and a facebook account that has gone unused since it was created because he forgot the password and he doesn't care enough to reset it. He dislikes people invading his personal space, whether they are his friends or complete strangers. He dislikes people shouting to their friends in the street, and he hates going clubbing (too many people, too close together, too loud). He also dislikes overly sweet food, he can barely eat one bite if it's too sugary.

Z—‘Z’ IS FOR ZZZ (some of their sleeping habits?)

He's both a night owl and a morning person, since he doesn't need a lot of sleep to be able to function. He usually gets 5-6 hours each night, but he will always sleep in with you when you ask. He doesn't wear pyjamas, he usually just wears a pair of loose boxers and some light shorts, although in the winter sometimes he chooses trousers over shorts. He never wears a t-shirt to bed. He loves to have a cup of tea before bed, usually about an hour before he sleeps, and he likes to read before sleeping. He likes to sleep under a light/medium tog duvet, as he's usually cold when he gets in bed, but he warms up pretty fast and he'd prefer to be cool in bed than too hot. He hates noise when he's trying to sleep, but he doesn't mind light.

[fariesoiree]

( okay I have an idea for a drabble 😭 I kind of got carried away but here goes!! )

Hobie Brown who nevers entertains unwanted attention when you're with him, but can't help when people show interest.

It pisses you off, cause you know people will find him attractive, but it doesn't stop you from feeling jealousy.

Take the wide-eyed girl in the corner for instance, who keeps eyeing Hobie down while you two are at the bar. She stands across from you, making not subtle glances before turning to her friends, the group sharing an obnoxious giggle. you can hear her chat to her friends, making comments about your boyfriend while you're standing right next to him.

So you figure, if she's not being subtle why should you?

mdni or i’ll send a monster under your bed! yk peach, it’s so funny you say this bc i got this magical liddol ask a while ago

‘ve never written it n i don’t know why it reminded me of it but it did 😭 yk i think jealousy n hobie is such an interesting topic to me

i mean, it’s a well known fact that hobie does not get jealous. he doesn’t care who tries to get a peak of your ass when you both stroll by with his arm wrapped around you. he doesn’t care who makes themselves comfortable next to you at a bar to get your attention when he’s stood just arm-length away and listening to the pursuer crack such dry jokes. hobie has seen and experienced it all, especially with such a pretty doll hanging off his arm.

you, on the other hand, are a very different person. you can be a delight all day, a sweetened smile topped with whipped cream for hours on end, but it comes to a screeching halt the moment hobie gets a little too much attention — too many flirtatious giggles in his direction, finger twirls and lingering gazes. you’re not immune to their advances on him. it’s not that you don’t trust hobie. he’s everything to you. there hasn’t been a moment where you’ve had the slightest inkling that he may be up to something nefarious. it’s just that, well to put it simply, he’s not one to ogle at. all the men at the bar to star at and they yours?

in your mind, it can only be expected when you throw back a shot of tito’s and grab a fistful of hobie’s black top. it’s loose on his body and definitely in the more simpler category of all the things he’s ever worn but it’s not even a distant memory in your head when you’re connecting your lips and mixing the bitter bite of the vodka with whatever experimental fruity concoction hobie has been sipping on.

he barely has time to pluck the wooden toothpick he spent the last few minutes gnawing on out his mouth. “careful. wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” his words rumble deep in his chest, akin to the chuckle that follows. hobie’s gentle touch is placed upon the small of your back.

you look just darling in your little two piece, as if handpicked from the tropics and dropped right into his hands. you’re eager, hoping to deter the gaggle of girls just a few feet away. it’s not like hobie hasn’t noticed either. he just doesn’t care. it’s far more amusing to witness you trailing kisses along the column of his throat, planted on the very tips of your toes just to reach him.

in the lowlights, hobie leans against the bar top. a single hand trails up and down your spine, hissing so subtly under his breath each time the edges of your teeth graze your skin. for some, this level of affection is a bit much. for you both, this is a normal wednesday night. “what’s all this fuss about, hm?” his gaze is lazy on you but it doesn’t deter you at all.

you stop on your own volition, curling into his side and offering a doe-eyed look as reparations. your little performance provided the consequence you were hoping for — your stake on hobie has been made known and no longer is he being perceived by the tipsy girls in the corner. “what fuss? what are you talking about?”

“mhm,” he hums just as rumbly as his laughter. this is just another night, just another moment where you’ve felt the need to defend your relationship to someone he couldn’t care less about. if it pleases you, he supposes that’s all that matters. besides, it’s really a win-win anyway. you kept that sparkly blonde from approaching him and you kept that looming man, who managed to stay off your radar might he add, from approaching you.

you’ve managed to do your job and his job in a single blow and that is enough for hobie to justify “celebrating” your victory behind closed doors.

[igncrxntripley]

hi love! i’m here to request again 🫶🏾

can i get a rhea ripley x reader where reader and rhea are friends with benefits and after they get done fucking-reader spills her guts about her hidden feelings and we get a happy ending 😁

friends with benefits

a/n: YESSSSSSS TY FOR THIS - did headcanons bc they're a little easier for me to push out at this point, i hope you like this!!!!

mentions: NSFW 18+, top!rhea, softdom!rhea, bottom!reader, sub!reader, fwb!rheaxreader, fem!reader, fingering, grinding, kissing, heavy makeouts, slight scratching and clawing, break of kayfabe w/ use of rhea's real name, edging, slight overstim

taglist: @thesithdiaries @cassiesgreta @roseheartsworld @theworldofotps @babybatlover @ripleyswhore @auburnwrites​ @obl1vionblackhart @emogoblin-666​ @hereliespumpkinn @blxxdshxteyes @neptune-lover​ @bunnysmyname​ @i-have-issues-lol @ares-athena​ @thatonepansexual2000​ @witcherfromwallachia

by no means was there anything romantic going on between you and demi; this little...'situationship', if you will, is only meant to make the both of you feel good and fill in the spaces where both of you were feeling incredibly empty.

with every new city, you two always finding your way back to one another. it usually begins with demi sending a sneaky text to you and her coming over to your hotel room.

this latest instance would be no different; demi on top of you in bed, both of you just in the bare minimum clothing as you exchanged slow but still heated kisses.

her hands are roaming all over your body, feeling every curve and relishing in having her girl - no, her friend - underneath her gasping and moaning for more.

your hands keep themselves busy as well; one in demi's hair, keeping it away from her face so you can see her beautifully structured facade, while the other is slowly dragging your nails up and down her back.

gasps, whimpers, and moans escape both of your lips as the two of you move against each other's body. demi allows one of her hands to slide between your legs to feel just how badly you need her, and it won't take long for her fingers to begin teasing the needy bundle of nerves that so desperately ached for her.

demi may have this tough outer layer, but the inside of her was so incredibly gentle and was always needing to make sure you're taken care of. this is no different, but the fact that you two weren't an official couple is something that makes it all ache that much worse for her.

every time you two do this, demi is focused on taking care of you. her fingers, her mouth, her thigh - it's all about you and making sure you have what you need. of course you reciprocate it and give demi what she needs as well, but she's so caring and soft that it almost shocks you every time she gets up to leave once you two finish your business.

she'll do this for as long as she pleases; teasing you with her fingers, bringing you so close to the edge but then not letting you finish because she wants to keep it going.

"no no, babygirl. not yet." she'll whisper breathlessly as you whimper and squirm against her, desperately trying to bring yourself closer and release that tension she's been building up within you. "i'm not quite done with you, princess."

eventually she'll resort to slipping her thigh between your legs, allowing you to grind and move against her to make you believe that even for a second you're in control. once again though, that shifts every time you get close because she'll pull her thigh away to remind you she's truly the ringleader.

"demi...fuck, don't be like that?" you'd beg, looking up at her with the same puppy dog eyes that always got you what you wanted. and she'll give in, because even though she's tough and likes to be in charge she can't just not give in when she looks at you like that.

when demi gives into you, it's the same rush of kissing and touching that got you two there in the first place. but this time, each of you bring a hand down to touch the other and allow yourselves to bring the other to her climax.

your legs locked around one another, your lips melting into demi's, and the absolute heat radiating off of the both of you are the only things you register as you both touch one another; the only thing to bring you out of it is the sound of your moans mixing with hers, and eventually the two of you relaxing together on the bed.

usually demi would get up by then; she'd shower, change her clothes and give you one more teasing kiss with her usual "until next time, baby." before leaving the room. but this time, she...stayed there? with you in her arms?

let's be real, you don't mind and you aren't going to tell her to leave. but before you can even ask, demi looks down at you and you';d brush that dark fringe from her face as her words send a shockwave through you.

"i can't do this anymore."

you'll sit up a bit and look at demi in shock, but she sees where your mind has gone and will immediately calm you down; "i can't come over every night and pretend like i'm okay with not admitting how i really feel...because i really, really fuckin' like you."

demi spilling her guts like this makes your own insides twist into knots. "you what?" you'll ask, your cheeks turning bright pink as she sighs in slight embarrassment.

"i like you, y/n! shit, i don't know how else to say it. i've liked you for awhile now, as more than...whatever 'this' is."

demi will look at you expecting the worst, honestly preparing to even get out of bed to leave and pretend none of this ever happened; but you surprise her this time, and hold her beautiful cheeks before planting a kiss on her lips. you look at her with a smirk, and in that moment everything has slowly begun falling into place.

"i like you too, you freak."

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬

Synopsis: Receiving wind that Hydra has successfully managed to awaken another wave of winter soldiers, Captain America appoints his two best avengers, Bucky Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N, for the job. But aside from Bucky’s trepidation at reliving his worst memories, there’s something else rooting him in his place–the fear of inflicting harm on the woman he loves the most. Between her encouraging words and his violent past, what will happen when Y/N is forced to encounter her boyfriend’s alter ego?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Warnings: Angst. Like seriously. Way too much angst.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬  Masterlist | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 construct different iterations of the simple human notion of waking up.

It was primarily described as a flutter of eyelashes—a realm of white that greeted the senses before giving way to a cascade of other colors. Then, there were instances where it was tingling whispers and the slight pressures of one’s touch that evoked the need to open your eyes and welcome consciousness.

When she was young, Y/N tried to find the truth behind those saccharine descriptions. Time and time again, she’d wake up, but whether it was her natural instincts or someone calling for her consciousness, coming to was never as gentle as described. It was an instant action, her mind urging her to open her eyes.

Her lashes would barely flutter before she took in her surroundings. And contrary to the books, the thoughts of the night before never occurred to her. She barely even remembered which side of the bed she had slept on.

But, for some reason, today was different.

Waking up felt less urgent. It was like her body was in a state of purgatory, caught between wanting to indulge in the placidity of unconsciousness and the need to be free from its confines. For the first time, Y/N felt aware of her surroundings before her lashes had left each other’s embrace.

It started with steady thumps, like the ebb and flow of a river, but admittedly, a little sharper. It infiltrated her ears, causing a slight furrow in the middle of her brows. An involuntary twitch of her fingers forced the numbness in her arm to dissipate, the pads of her fingers brushing against soft sheets.

She heard a groan next. She felt it, to be precise, clawing against the walls of her own throat—impersonating the breath she was trying to release. This sensation was different from all the other times she’d woken up. Even when she had taken hits in the past as part of the Avengers Initiative, waking up didn’t feel this jarring.

“Y/N,” she heard a voice, soft and dulcet—juxtaposing the sound she’d released earlier. “Y/N, it’s Steve. Can you hear me, doll?”

Yes, she tried to say, but the word remained a fleeting thought.

The soft sheets beneath her shifted, the bed dipping down. A hand caressed her arm, tethering her to the moment. It wasn’t Steve, as far as she knew. The hand may have been scarred and the fingers calloused, but they still held the daintiness of a female’s hands.

The woman didn’t speak. She only traced Y/N’s forearm, coaxing her mind to wake. It was then that Y/N felt a shift in her surroundings. The touch wasn’t surface-level. It penetrated her cells, echoing within the nucleus of her atoms. The beeping sounds inundated her ears, assaulting her eardrums with their discordance.

The caresses persisted, trailing her entire arm, while the woman behind them spoke, “Y/N, sweetheart, calm down. You’re safe.”

Natasha. The realization hit Y/N with full force. Natasha and Steve were with her, surrounded by these jarring noises and what she predicted to be a sterile room from the scent that wafted around her.

Ever so slowly, her eyelids fluttered, lashes releasing themselves from their confines. It took four spaced blinks for her vision to clear, the haze giving way to the bright blue walls and the medical equipment.

Medical Bay was Y/N’s second thought. But try as she might, her head couldn’t wrap around her reason for being here. Instead, it focused on finding Steve and Natasha, each on one side of her bed.

Natasha smiled down softly at her. Her forest green eyes, which were calculating in nature, softened. “You gave us quite a fright.”

“We’re glad to have you back,” Steve added gently.

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, but she wasn’t sure she could get the words out with how scratchy her throat felt. Steve regarded her carefully, wasting no time reaching over her bedside table and pouring her a glass of water. She accepted the glass with a solemn nod, gulping down the liquid.

While the water wasn’t cold by a long shot, its temperature was cool enough to tame the scalding heat in Y/N’s throat.

“Thank you.” Thankfully, her voice was clearer now, although it didn’t rise above a low hum. “How long was I out?”

Steve and Natasha exchanged a quick look, the former fidgeting with his hands. Maybe it was the question, or the ones they knew would ultimately follow. But something about this whole ordeal weighed a lot heavier than Y/N anticipated.

“Almost three days,” Nataha relayed. Simple and straightforward as she always was.

Y/N took the answer at face value, her mind journeying back to the events she last remembered. It was a bit fuzzy, flashes of her last mission here and there. Fridgidness invaded her senses without prior notice as images of Antarctica filled her head. 

Steve must’ve caught her tremors, possibly mistaking them for anxiousness. He carefully situated himself on the small hospital bed, his blue-green eyes calling for attention. “How much do you remember?”

“Not much,” Y/N admitted. It was like a mental wall had built up in her mind. Her senses seemed to be on overdrive. And for someone gifted with the power of emotional manipulation, she struggled greatly to rein them in.

“We had a mission in Antarctica. SHIELD gathered some intel about… about Hydra. Asked us to investigate.”

"The mission was a trap," Natasha stated with a sharp edge to her tone, casting a pointed glance at Steve. Y/N observed the tension between them Unlike him, Natasha didn't mince her words. "Hydra knew we were coming and set their enhanced soldiers on the loose. Unfortunately, you bore the brunt of it."

“Nat,” Steve reprimanded. His eyebrow arched, eyes wordlessly communicating his thoughts. 

Natasha showed no signs of relenting. “What's your point?”

“She just regained consciousness.”

“Congratulations, Captain Obvious. But in case you haven't noticed, I'm already aware.” 

Steve sighed, “Romanoff, I mean it. Let's not overwhelm her.”

“Coming from the one who started all of this.”

“I was giving her headnotes. Not the gory details you were seconds away from indulging her in.”

“Steve,” Y/N interjected, her tone reflecting her evident wishes.

Knowing he had lost this battle, Steve ruefully nodded. He shifted in his seat while Natasha leaned back on the bed as if offering Steve the floor to speak.

“The mission was meant to be recon,” he began, his words like ripping off a bandaid. He seemed eager to get it over with, to avoid prolonging the discomfort. His discomfort. “We were tasked with infiltrating a Hydra base to gather intel on their new program. SHIELD discovered they were developing enhanced soldiers, still in a dormant phase.”

A spark of recognition lit up in Y/N’s eyes. “The Winter Program,” she declared.

“Yes,” Steve confirmed, his voice tinged with regret. “That’s the one.”

He paused, uncertain whether to proceed or give Y/N space to remember. She wondered what had occurred during the mission to spur his hesitation. She tried to reach out to him, to soothe his compunction, but before she could command her powers, something stirred inside her.

Her powers. The reminder struck her like a crashing wave. Her hands involuntarily retreated to her sides, causing Natasha to jump in alarm. Y/N exchanged a worried glance with Steve, feeling the weight of her emotions swirling inside her.

“They took my powers. An agent from Hydra, Pavel! He took my powers, and he... James!” Y/N nearly bellowed her boyfriend’s name.

Her breathing turned shallow as her mind floundered with images from the last mission. She recalled the anxiety she had felt when she discovered the seventh pod. How her heart plummeted at the sight of the onyx engraving on the plaque—The Fist of Hydra. Her stomach churned at the thought, tears clouding her eyes as she remembered how Bucky had struggled to free himself from the invisible ward that kept him from her. How he fought against Pavel's orders to kill her. 

“Barnes is fine, Y/N,” Natasha reassured her. 

Y/N’s voice cracked. “I don’t remember.” A lonesome tear trailed down the length of her cheek, landing on her chapped lips. “I think he caught me after I fell? I remember a knife. But after that… after that, I don’t remember anything.”

It pained her to feel trapped in the darkness of uncertainty. No matter how much she urged herself to journey back, it was as if her brain was mired in the present, steadfastly refusing to be swayed. She could vividly recount the details of Pavel’s heinous face, the large scar that traversed down his right eye, and the upturned lips that were too sinister to forget. But that’s as far as her memory could take her. 

Steve caressed her hair, his fingers soothingly pressing against her scalp while his thumb traced an arc behind her ear with the slightest bit of pressure. Her tears didn’t cease, yet her breath caught in her throat, a demure whimper almost escaping her lips.

James, she thought. James must’ve taught him that.

“There was static on the end of Bucky’s line. He picked up on it, talking slowly and clearly to let us know you both were in trouble. We rushed as fast as we could, but the soldiers fighting us slowed us down,” Steve explained.

Natasha nodded, adding with a voice so dulcet that no one outside the Avengers could have known she was capable of such gentleness. “He was scared, котенок. Asked you to run and hide from him. By the time we arrived at the lower levels, he was already chasing you.”

“The Hydra agent had a weapon which destabilized our powers,” Steve added. “Tony’s suit malfunctioned, and Clint’s arrows wavered from their original course. One accidentally hit Hulk, and he got so angry, he knocked down the vents.”

Y/N gasped, “I was in there.”

He stared down at his lap, wringing his fingers together. “You were.”

She recalled it then. Her memory wasn’t lucid by a long shot, but her mind paved an avenue and led her across its cobbled path. The way Bucky begged her to run, the silver tears that dimmed his electric blue eyes, and the disassociation he faced when the Winter Soldier clawed his way from the abyss to the surface of James’ consciousness. 

“I told him I loved him,” Y/N admitted. The words were breathless, weightless on her tongue. “I—He tried to slit my throat, but I told him I loved him. He stopped.”

It could’ve been the senses that were now on overdrive, or it could’ve been the force behind the memory itself. But Y/N landed back on her pillow. Her body isolated itself from her surroundings, and her thoughts thrust her back to her past encounter with Bucky. 

Pandemonium hailed around her. The screams of her teammates were deafening, and the fear that gripped her added its own touch of discordance.

Bucky was long gone. There was no sign of the man she had grown to love and understand. 

Y/N felt like a deceiver as she stared down at death, molded in a steely knife and prophesied by a haunted soldier. Just hours before, she assured Bucky that everything would be alright—that they’d both find their way back home, safe and sound. 

She knew Bucky would. There was no way in hell that Steve would allow him to lose himself one more second to Hydra. But how would he feel when he came to be and discovered the gravity of his actions?

‘I don’t want my own violent dispositions to threaten the home that I’ve built with you.’ It echoed in her head. The words he’d used when they addressed his insecurities and concerns about the mission. 

A pained whimper followed the thought, and Y/N had a hard time wrapping her mind around it. Was it the memory of Bucky? Or was it the result of the soldier’s assault on her neck? 

Bucky and the Soldat. She scoffed then, but was it audible? She didn’t know. He had tried to warn her, distinctly describing Hydra’s creation as a menace—a monster from the depths of history’s wintry tales.

But she refused to see him as such. She knew this reaction was triggered by his fears, not by a thirst for destruction or a penchant for mayhem. The weathered dominion that harbored his darkness was not his choice to inhabit. If only Y/N had her powers, she would have rescued him from it.

Her powers. The missing link. The catalyst that would alter the equation. 

Y/N was never one for dependability. She never clung to her powers more than necessary, establishing an identity beyond their grasp. How pitiful did she feel then, having no means to survive but a set of implicit energy bestowed upon her for reasons unknown? 

The soldier grunted then, the edge of his knife sinking beneath her skin. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that Y/N had been denied her powers, or else the pain would have been too crippling.  

Maybe she died before the knife had even touched her. What kind of Avenger was she if she couldn’t survive a hit? As powerful as the Winter Soldier was said to be, was she truly so lamentable that she couldn’t fight her way outside of his grasp without manipulating his emotions?

Emotions. Emotions! That was it!

‘I’m convinced that even without your enhanced abilities, you would still be the only person able to influence my emotions.’

She cried at the memory. Bucky wasn’t fazed in the slightest, muscles rippling as he prepared to deliver the final blow. Y/N caught his wrist then, her knees digging into the dirtied ground.

"James," she implored, but not for the reasons he believed. Apathy marred his face, impatience unmistakably clear. "You’re good. You’re so good, James." He froze, his body still for a second. It was working. Y/N held onto that silver lining, wetting her lips as she hastily continued. "You don’t resemble these people. You’re James Barnes—my James Barnes. And my James is not a monster."

“прекрати.”

“I won’t stop. I can’t. You’re not theirs to control anymore. You don’t belong to them. You belong to yourself. And everything about you is so beautiful. Every part of you is worthy of love.” His knife dug deeper in warming, but Y/N didn’t relent even though her voice started to fade. “I’m not afraid of you. How can I be when I love you? I love you in all your nuances and dispositions. No matter who you are or who you think you ought to be, you'll always be my home.”

She repeated the words she had told him that day, syllables and vowels reverberating in the confined space between their rising chests. Bucky stilled, his frantic gaze hovering over her neck as if he was reining in his emotions and calling for every bit of control meshed in his veins.

His chest rose violently in contrast to Y/N’s shallow breaths. For the first time in a long while, their heartbeats didn’t match. He closed his eyes then, willing composure.

Bucky barred his teeth. He screamed, his fury bellowing across the base. Y/N closed her eyes, the sound assaulting her heart. There was a thud, a yelp, and a handful of chaos before the storm ended, and she found herself drifting against the silent shore.

"The weapon developed by Hydra was some kind of destabilizer. It served to hijack weaponry and intelligent systems. In your and Bucky’s case, it functioned as a neural stimulus."

“Emotional manipulation,” Y/N deduced.

Steve squeezed her hand. “They developed a formula that replicated your powers. When the discs attached, it subdued your abilities. As for Bucky, it had a different effect.”

“How so?”

“Shuri may have erased the trigger words from Bucky’s mind. But even she couldn’t mend his scars.”

Steve didn't continue, but the tension in his jaw and the sharpness in his voice conveyed what he didn't say.

“Is James back?” Y/N’s eyes were contoured silver as she quietly asked the question.

“No,” Natasha stated bluntly, her words piercing Y/N’s heart like daggers. “Not yet.”

“How so?” Y/N pressed further, watching the silent exchange between Steve and Natasha.

Natasha spoke first. “We're not entirely sure.” How unhelpful.

“You said something to him before you passed out,” Steve supplied. His shoulders hunched as he recalled the events of the days that had passed. “The only reason he went into Winter Soldier mode was the false environment that disc placed him in. But you altered his emotional response somehow. He charged at the Hydra agent and almost killed him had Tony and I not interfered.”

“What happened after?”

“He rushed to your side and stripped the top half of his suit to warm you up. You were bloody, bruised, and cold to the touch. He didn’t waste a second transporting you to the Quinjet.” 

“James?” Wistfulness filled Y/N’s voice. 

Steve’s lips thinned, extinguishing her hope. “More like Bucky and the Soldat.”  

It was silent for a while, Y/N contemplating Steve’s words. She bit on her lower lip, concentration etched on her features. Eventually, she shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Both you and the Hydra agent manipulated Barnes’ emotional wireframe, almost at the same time. His two personalities clashed, bringing both of them to the forefront of his mind,” Natasha explained. 

“Couldn’t no one fix this?” Y/N paused, fumbling with all of the questions she wanted to ask. “Not Bruce or Dr. Cho? Tony?”

Natasha offered a sympathetic smile. "They would have if he had allowed them to."

A surge of pain jolted through Y/N's mind, causing her to whimper involuntarily. She slumped back in her seat, arms shielding her eyes from the sudden onslaught. A burning sensation in her heart clashed with the prickling in her brain, intensifying her discomfort. Natasha and Steve stiffened beside her, clearly alarmed by her abrupt distress.

"Could you please give it to me like it is?" Y/N lowered her arms, her eyes reflecting raw irritation. "There's an excruciating pain in my head that even Dr. Cho's medications can't seem to alleviate. So, please. I'm barely holding onto enough energy to speak, and I can't keep demanding answers for three days’ worth of questions. What happened after I passed out?"

A tense silence followed her outburst. Despite her claim of exhaustion, Y/N delivered her impassioned plea without faltering. She narrowed her eyes at Natasha and Steve, silently willing her powers to extend beyond her body. While she typically refrained from such actions, reserving her powers for missions or with prior consent, the waiting was becoming unbearable.

Fortunately, the Super Soldier Serum did little to conceal emotions from her perception. However, what Y/N both appreciated and resented about it was its amplification of human emotions.

Pain, guilt, and anxiety flooded her senses, instantly discernible. She tugged at these emotions, using them to articulate her own discomfort.

Though Steve disapproved of her actions, evident in his hands-on-hips stance, he relented nonetheless. “Bucky wouldn’t allow anyone to touch you. He was feral. Unpredictable. The moment Bruce reached out to check your pulse, Bucky lunged at him. It took all of us to pry him off so Sam could examine you. You suffered a lot of injuries, Y/N. The twenty-hour flight was unbearable. And—”

Captain America was known for his resilience. It was widely recognized that even in the face of adversity, he would bend but never break. Yet, in this instance, that wasn’t the case. Steve clenched his fists, his teeth biting into his skin. Y/N’s own hands clutched the fibers of her hospital gown tightly. Through the emotional connection she had opened between herself and Steve, a wave of anguish swept over her. Raw and scorching, it consumed her from the inside out.

Steve, ever perceptive, noticed her distress. He let out a long breath, gently rubbing Y/N’s arms.

“I’m sorry, I–”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “I should have waited a while before using my powers.”

Steve nodded subtly, taking a full minute to compose himself before resuming. “You weren’t breathing, hanging onto life by a thread. You coded, Y/N. Twice. Bucky… he nearly tore the entire jet apart in a fit of rage. Your heart rate disconcerting, and every shallow breath you took was followed by Bucky’s wails or the Soldat’s furious cries. It went on like that for grueling hours, and I never wished more for Doctor Strange to be on speed dial.”

“We had Cho on speed dial, though,” Natasha added. Despite her composed tone, Y/N sensed an underlying tension. “She said you wouldn’t make it.”

“But I did.”

“By some miracle, you did,” Natasha smiled wearily.

It was hard to fathom how much could unfold in just three days. Skipping a day at SHIELD Academy seemed trivial compared to skipping a day in the life of the Avengers. Y/N's chest tightened as she drew in a deep breath. Tears welled up in her eyes this time, filled with her own sorrow and sadness. She reached out for Steve’s hand, seeking physical comfort. He gladly obliged.

“James?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. It was her final question, her last plea, before succumbing to her overwhelming emotions.

“Unconsolable.” So it was as she feared. “When Cho told us you wouldn’t make it, he almost pried the jet’s latch from its hinges. We… I had to knock him out. By some miracle, your body fought tooth and nail until we arrived and Cho put you in the cradle. When Bucky woke up, a part of him was still the Soldat. We tried to get him help, but he refused. Called it his retribution for your pain. Your pain and your absence were already leading him to the brink of insanity. So, if you wouldn’t be the one to bring him back, then he’d rather stay broken the way that he deserves to be.”

“His words?” Y/N asked. Steve nodded solemnly. “Where is he now?”

“Solitary confinement,” Natasha supplied. 

“Why?”

“You already know.”

“Can I see him? Please?” Y/N implored.

Steve and Natasha understood that denying her request was not an option. They both relented, with Steve giving her hand one final squeeze and Natasha planting a kiss on the crown of her head. Moving in sync, they headed toward the door. Aware of their keen senses, Y/N didn’t care to hide her feelings any longer. They had barely crossed the threshold when she let out a piercing shriek, unleashing all of her pent-up emotions.

She could feel her restrained powers clawing at her soul, the agony and pain twisting within her muscles. Most of all, she sensed Bucky, confined in his cell, grappling with his demons. She cursed Hydra for their atrocities, past and present. And she reluctantly admitted that a part of her cursed her own abilities too because, just this once, Y/N wished she didn’t feel so deeply.

Hi witchlings! Ramadan Mubarak to all my fellow Muslims observing these blissful days! I'm sorry it took me so long to post this, but I was not in the right headspace to write. I hope I made it up with a nice angsty chapter. On a brighter note, this series is getting one more chapter before it's finished. I hope you're excited for it!🩷

All-Works Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @ye0nvibezzn @justafangir1

Series Taglist: @msoldier @kandis-mom @nobodycanknoww

: ̗̀➛Read Chapter 5 -TRUTHS - here!!

[dks-smut]

Somebody… Part 1

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Pairing: Kyungsoo x female reader

Rating: Mature, Explicit af

Word Count: 9,290 (I edited it down)

Genre: Smut, Romance, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers

Warnings: Too many to name. Alcohol, name calling, fucking, choking.

________

Wanting to give in to temptation; your self-control ran out the back door under the flickering exit sign. Your thoughts are fuzzy as you throw your head back drinking in another abysmally overpriced whiskey sour.

At first, you only came out to listen to a new jazz collective that was stopping by your city. Then, as your tab reaches new heights, a mysterious man comes up to the bar and orders a vodka soda. You roll your eyes as you spot the serious and dark figure turn around and glance at his watch.

The bartender places a napkin down and gently sets his order on the splintered oak counter. He never flinches and purposely turns and clasps his slender fingers around the already dripping glass. Your head starts to get fuzzier as you secretly watch from your periphery, this mysterious figure glancing at his watch yet again.

You huff out at how ridiculous this man looks in this shithole of a bar in the bad part of town. He definitely stuck out like a sore thumb, but in this instance, he too seemed to have a darker wanton side.

He grabs onto your wrist as you set your glass down. Your eyes meet when his other hand, after placing his glass down, lightly traces up your thigh. He smirks, his head tilting low. His eyes release a yearning hunger. His fingertips then travel higher to where you are throbbing and his chest deflates letting out a deep but barely there moan.

You try your hardest to stand and pull your wrist from this mysteriously handsome stranger. His dark fitted suit matching his hair that was pushed back reveals his brown almond-shaped eyes. You twist your torso to try and gain momentum to pull your wrist back again. He pulls harder and you spin back around facing him, his large dark eyes making your thighs press together.

As you stand paralyzed, he leans into your neck; his plump wet lips meet your earlobe. You’re weak and drunk from the night’s previous events which had you getting ditched by coworkers going to see a different local band at another bar nearby. You preferred the quiet and this bar was just that. And yet the stranger whose hand was still up your skirt was the complete opposite, loud. Loud in your head, loud to your eyes, and loud to your pussy.

He whispers, “I bet I can make you come with just my hands.” He wraps his other arm around your nape, his fingers sliding through your hair. Goosebumps form on your arms and scalp; you shiver.

He sees your reaction even under dim lighting. The bartender tries not to notice how close you two have become even though you haven’t spoken a word to each other until seconds prior. You’re strangers, and now his hand slides up farther, barely touching his fingertips to your inner thigh. And higher he goes. His fingers meet your underwear and he ghosts a fingertip over your slit.

He brings his face closer to you, maybe for a kiss but then moves closer to your ear and relishes in seeing the way your breath has been stolen from your lungs. His hand moves out from under your skirt. Your eyes roll back and you blink. You feel as if you could fall into his deep dark eyes. He whispers again, in his baritone voice, “I told you.”

He never backs away from you until the bar starts getting crowded. The table closest to you was vacant, but is now seating six people. You’re feeling exposed now, still standing by the stools at the bar. You are obviously unable to move with his hand still on your nape and his mouth close to your ear.

You hear the patrons pulling out their metal chairs which are scrapped across the uneven planks below. Voices started to rise and the din got louder. And now the bar was no longer quiet, neither was your mind.

The abruptness of the noise startled you causing you jump which in turn caused his hand to lose his grip on your neck. You’re shaking, your knees are weak, and yes, your pussy is dripping. Finally falling into his deep eyes, you grab his wrist toward the exit sign. He moves away from his barstool, grabbing your arm and interlocking it with his. He steps slowly out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. It was now raining, but neither of you had an umbrella.

/////

You both walk quickly down the block until you find an awning in front of a hardware store. There is an awkward silence. You don’t know where this is going, but right now, you couldn’t go anywhere. The rain had you both trapped. Now was as good a time as any to ask his name. His serious, dour, and brooding features made you a little uneasy. The alcohol coursing through your body made you feel a bit safer but standing on a dark, wet street block with hardly any pedestrians next to a stranger was still perilous.

You glance over at him and at the same time his head turns towards you. The night has a slight chill and with the rain, you brush off the drops and shiver slightly. He stares you down and follows your every movement. He starts removing his suit jacket and silently places it around your shoulders. You nod politely and then hesitantly say, “Thank you, sir.” His plump lips turn to a smirk and he says, “Call me Kyungsoo. And it’s a pleasure.”

You’re unable to tell if he can see the pink tint spread across your cheeks. He’s still smirking and staring you in the face as you turn to look down at the sidewalk in embarrassment. It wasn’t just from now knowing his name, a beautiful name, but how his voice rang out deeply afterwards … It's a pleasure.

To shake the feeling you grasp at your purse out of nervousness and shuffle around inside for your cigarettes. You take out the pack, open the flap and take a cigarette from it. While closing it, you hold up the pack towards Kyungsoo and ask, “I know it’s an awful habit. Would you like one?” Smoking while drunk is one of the best feelings other than smoking after a meal or having sex. He nods and expertly grabs one from your pack. While placing the cigarette pack inside your purse, you start rummaging around for a lighter. Kyungsoo notices your frustration and places his hand in his pocket retrieving his lighter. He flips the zippo top and flicks it, the spark igniting into a flame. This noise surprises you and you look toward him with the cigarette dangling from your lips. You lean in while he holds his lighter closer and it’s successfully lit after two drags. He does the same for himself.

You speak after finally inhaling the nicotine, letting the stillness and calm overtake you, “I guess this is where I tell you my name.” Kyungsoo’s eyes grow wide then hooded. He tilts his head back and exhales smoke with his strong jaw jutting out. You're transported back to the reverie of what happened at the bar. You wonder if those thoughts are swimming around in his head as well.

Breaking free of self-consciousness, you tell him your name. His head turns and starts to smile, making a heart shape. He then licks his plump lips to say, “Do you want to go somewhere?” At that moment the rain finally lets up, not completely but enough to see where this night leads.

Still drunk and not sure of how to reply to his question, you stumble against the hardware store window, slipping a bit. The streetlights start to blur creating beautiful patterns that look like fireworks. You almost collapse to the sidewalk. Kyungsoo immediately places his hand above your elbow saving you from ruining your skirt on the dirty sidewalk. He backs away from you while still holding your arm and asks, “Are you all right?” His eyes are tracing you up and down just to be sure you’re not going to tumble forward.

You eventually balance yourself and take another heavy drag from your cigarette. You throw the rest into the gutter on the street. You sigh and reply, “Yes, I am fine. Still a bit drunk. Wanna grab a bite? Maybe to help sober up?” His face is delighted. His eyes turn bright and wide. Again, you both link arms with him taking the lead. Not sure of where he had in mind to eat.

He ends up stepping to the curb and with his free hand, waves to hail a cab. Within a handful of seconds, you see a yellow taxi pull up and stop. Kyungsoo opens the door for you and you step forward and duck into the backseat. He goes around to the other side and slips in next to you. He speaks to the driver in his deep tone expelling a name and address that you didn’t recognize. He slips back into the seat and the car takes off.

You look out your window feeling nervous. You’re not sure why you’ve become so trusting of a complete stranger. Again, not completely strange since he had touched your most intimate area. You’ve maybe spoken a couple dozen words to each at this point, but you felt a longing and a need to be longed for. There was a mysteriousness within Kyungsoo, and you could only presume you were alike and needed companionship. Or just to be in the same space as another human being.

You finally speak up, taking your gaze away from the passing traffic lights that were still blurry due to your drunkenness and the raindrops dotting the window, “Where are we headed?” He peeks over at you, but it’s hard to tell how he takes your question since the car’s interior is quite dark. He slowly lets out, “A diner just not too far away.” It’s barely loud enough to hear even while sitting so close to him.

He then rests his hand on the empty space between you two, and you can slightly feel his fingertips make contact with your thigh. The ride is bumpy, so you are unsure if this is intentional or not. You feel warm and gutsy, so you place your hand on your thigh and slide it down to meet the top of his hand. Such games were usually reserved for nervous teens, but you did not care one bit. You wanted to get closer, closer to him, closer so you could smell him.

/////

Finally arriving at said diner, you both hop out opposite sides of the cab. He places his hand on your lower back to usher you towards the entrance. You both scan the diner; it’s quite empty, but the atmosphere is perfect and intimate. You find a table for two, and take a seat. You have your back to the entrance, while his back is facing a wall. The server comes to greet you two, and asks for drink orders. “Water and coffee, please,” you say out loud while he looks up from the menu and says, “I’ll have the same.” The server nods and says, “Coming right up,” and she walks away.

Alone again, you gaze intently into his eyes trying so hard to understand what he sees in you, a drunken stranger. He matches your gaze until he finally speaks, “Your eyes are the most vivid green I have ever seen. Has anyone told you that?” He never looks away, still with his sharp, round eyes piercing into you. “Is this what you tell all of the women whose skirts are short enough to get your hand under?” You ask him, breaking your stare to see the server walk up to your table with the drinks.

Once the server places your drinks down, she takes your food order. Once she disappears again, he replies to your question, “Really, I don’t normally act this way. I am not the type of person you think I am.” This is the most words he has spoken to you all at once since meeting. You are just falling more and more for him.

His chesty, deep tone is such a turn on and it helps that the voice does not seem to belong to him just by his looks. “So what type are you then?” you ask him in your quiet, but honest tone. “Just a lonely person trying not to feel lonely anymore. Honestly, when I saw you sitting at the bar alone, I wanted to buy you a drink, but that seemed too forward and a bit cliche.”

Your eyes grow large at this confession and you say in reply, “And sticking your hand up my skirt wasn’t too forward? What made you think that was okay and not offering to buy me a drink?” He responds without hesitation, “That’s not what I meant. Really. I’m sorry if I came off too strong and assaulted you. I know you’re a person with feelings and not an object to feel up.” You sit back and in your chair while sipping your coffee. Once you swallow you say, “Thank you. I accept your apology. And by thank you, I mean for doing what you did to me. This has never happened to me before, and to be frank, I really liked it.” A smirk adorns his face almost instantly once he hears your reply.

“So, since you’re still here, sitting with me and having dinner at 1:30am, I am going to say that you like me.”

“Well, that is quite presumptuous.” you say with an air of disgust. “And I assume the feeling is mutual?” you say to qualify your previous statement as not to come off as too angry.

“It is. I like being with you,” he simply replies while taking a sip of coffee. “I’m glad you’re here, and I’m glad you’re still here.” You smile and start to blush. You wipe your mouth and place the napkin on the table and say, “Me too. Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom. Be right back.”

He nods and continues eating. He wantonly watches as you walk toward the bathroom and notices the way your skirt sways in opposition to your hips. Oh god, I am enamored by this woman. I can’t help but think of what her breathy moans sound like, especially in ecstasy. I want to hear her say my name in between whines and exhales, thinking to himself.

He clears his throat and takes a sip of coffee to shake his thoughts. He didn’t want you to come back and see him this way.

As you reach the bathroom, you shut the door and lock it. You rest your hands on the counter and look at yourself in the mirror, trying to catch your breath. I can’t believe this is happening. He chose me. How is this happening? you think while splashing cool water on your cheeks. I wonder why he kept glancing at his watch. Did he get stood up and think I was the next best thing to get his dick wet on? You dry your hands and shake those thoughts, straighten your outfit, and walk out.

Just in time, he straightens himself out and starts to unbutton his cuffs to roll his sleeves up, you saunter back to your seat. You notice his precise movement; his sinewy arms make you force your thighs together. You had just finished freshening up, but the sight of his bare forearms will cause another mess to clean up.

You perk up and say to him, “Something on your mind?” he responds with just a nod, so you press further, “Well, you wanna share?” He repeats the same question back to you which causes you to lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Maybe there is. I’m not sure how to say this. It's quite embarrassing.” you say, careful so other patrons cannot hear. “Try me,” he stated. His eyes never budged from your stare. “I am completely turned on by you. I’ve always wanted somebody…” you trailed off. “Somebody who?” he responds, waiting for you to continue your thought. You are unable to finish and just asked, “You ready? I’m full and feeling sleepy now.”

He nods and says, “Sure. Let’s go. Where do you live?”

“Very close actually. I’m surprised I never noticed this diner before. I have to be at work pretty early. I can walk,” you hinted. “Would you like for me to walk you home?” he offers with concern in his eyes, not ready for this night to end. “Please, that would be wonderful.” you reply, eyes sparkling. He smiles his beautiful smile, his lips shifting into a heart.

/////

You both make your way down the damp sidewalk toward your apartment. You offer his suit jacket back, and he says, “No, please keep it. I hope to get it back when I see you again,” smirking again. Nearing closer and closer to your building, you sigh, which he notices immediately. “God, it’s been such a long yet surprising night,” you mumble as you search for your keys.

“It’s been a night to remember,” he concurred. He follows you up the stairs to the lobby door. You turn away from him and start to enter the passcode when he suddenly places his hand over yours to bring it to his chest. You spin around suddenly facing him. He brings your hand up to his full, plump lips to place a kiss on your palm. You are swooning and step closer to him.

He releases your hand, but you don’t want this to end. You fill the empty space between you two and just stare into his beautiful eyes. He leans in closer and places his lips onto your cheek, then lower onto your neck. You gasp from his surprising movement, and a moan escapes your throat. You can then feel his lips turn to a smile moving lower from your neck to your collarbone. He is definitely enjoying this, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t.

You separate and he takes his phone out then asks for yours. You trade phones, and type your number into his. You name your contact with just a heart emoji. You swap phones and see he names his contact in your phone as, ‘Somebody…’.

“I hope we can see each other soon,” you blurt out and quickly enter your passcode and disappear behind the double doors. You try your hardest not to look back as you wait for the elevator.

/////

Once you enter your dark and quiet apartment, you collapse against the wall adjoining your bedroom. You think to yourself, how is this possible? Who was this man? I cannot believe this just happened. How can I know this is real?

After a shower, you fall into bed ready for your dreams to overtake you. You remember his suit jacket, and go and grab it from the kitchen counter where you threw your purse. You place it on your face and inhale deeply. God, he smells so good. Just as you are about to actually fall asleep, hugging his jacket, you hear your phone vibrate. A text from Kyungsoo reads, “I hope you sleep well,” then another text with just a heart emoji.

You awake the next morning and before climbing out of bed, you suddenly remember the past night’s events, thinking it was all a dream. You go about your daily routine at work. Not a moment goes by without thoughts of his beautiful round eyes, plump lips, and amazing smile. You take a peek at his text to you from last night. Each time, a smile forms and you become lost in a reverie.

You think to send a text back at that moment saying, “I hope you’re having a lovely day.” You press send, then start typing another message, “I cannot stop thinking about last night.” Once you send that text, you immediately see that he is typing a response. You anxiously await while tapping your foot on the ground. Finally, you read it, “Likewise. I cannot wait until my lips are back on you.” You look up from your phone and blush, hoping your coworkers don’t notice.

You see him typing another message, “Can we see each other tonight?” Just then your boss comes over to ask about an assignment, you quickly place your phone face down on your desk. The day gets away from you since it has been pretty hectic at work. You realize you never responded to Kyungsoo. While walking out at the end of the work day, you hurriedly type a reply to his question, “I am so sorry, work was crazy today. Yes, please. Let’s meet up tonight. My place? Nine o’clock?” You press send.

Once you get to your place, you start to feel nervous but excited. You remember the way he smells just then and your knees get weak. You snap out of it, yet again, and let the warm water of your shower wash over you. Your mind starts to churn with all the thoughts of what tonight may hold.

You’re twiddling your thumbs, sitting on your couch, when your phone buzzes. You see it’s Kyungsoo calling. You take a deep breath and answer, “Hey you.” Your tone is bright, but not too bright. You don’t want to seem too excited or eager. He responds with a bass laden voice, “Hey you, too. Is it okay if I come by soon? And I really wanted to hear your voice.”

A huge smile covers your face, “Please do. I love hearing your voice too. It’s so fucking hot.” Thinking you said too much he chuckles and it deeply resonates, going straight to your throbbing pussy. “I’m glad you think so. Be there soon, sweetie.” He hangs up and you place your phone down. His using a term of endearment furthers your anxiousness.

Now slightly drunk on thoughts of him, you decide to pour yourself a glass of red wine. You grab another glass in preparation for his arrival. When is ‘soon’? I hope it’s sooner than now.

After taking a couple of sips from your glass, sitting in the silence of your apartment, you hear a ding from the intercom system. You buzz him up. You start to pace around, from your couch to the front door and back.

You hear three knocks on your door. You take a deep breath and open it. He’s wearing something more casual than yesterday, a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. He looks delicious. Black is definitely his color, it matches his tan skin tone so well. The outline of his pecs through his shirt is something to behold as he steps inside.

“Miss me?” he chuckles while walking toward your couch. You point to the empty glass sitting on the coffee table. He nods and you sidle between the coffee table and couch to sit next to him. You pop the cork off the bottle while he holds up the glass for you to start pouring.

“It would be a lie if I said I didn’t,” you say cautiously while bringing the glass to your lips. You place your knees to your chest and rest your feet on the couch, getting quite comfortable and facing his direction, an empty space between you two. Kyungsoo turns his torso to match your direction. He sips his wine and his lips turn burgundy. He sets the glass down on the table and says shyly, “I definitely missed you even though it hasn’t even been 24 hours since we first met. You have such a hold on me. Shall we get to know each other?”

“Yes, I would love that. What would you like to know?” you ask and then he abruptly speaks without room for silence, “I want you to finish the sentence you started last night at the diner. You know, when you said ‘somebody…’ and started to trail off. Please elaborate.”

“Well, I wanted to say what was on my mind but felt that since we were strangers, I had to have a bit of self preservation. I’m scared. Us meeting in the bar the way we did scares the hell out of me. I don’t want to get hurt and broken.”

“Why would you think I’d hurt you?” he asks quixotically.

“Every time I’ve put myself out there, I’ve been burned and had my heart smashed,” you say, “You must understand. Every heart that’s been loved has been broken in one way or another. I wanted to save myself from that,” you say, and guzzle the rest of your wine down.

“Please tell me. I’m here and I’m listening,” he quickly responds. He fills your glass up and tops his off.

“I’ve always wanted somebody to love me for me. With all of my faults, idiosyncrasies, and ugliness. Wanted isn’t the correct word. I need somebody. I am willing to do the same. I am looking for a missing puzzle piece, I suppose,” finally responding to the question that has apparently been eating at him since last night.

He closes in the distance between you two on the couch and his hand rests gently on your shoulder. Your head drops to the side nuzzling his hand and you’re finally touching. You have longed to be in his presence since departing last night, and your wish has come true. You feel safe and warm (not the wine talking) being near him. Now it’s time for you to ask him questions. “Tell me about yourself. I want to know every thought that went through your head when you first saw me in the bar.”

Removing his hand from your shoulder, he sits up, preparing to bare his inner thoughts. “I felt a connection before I even saw your face. There was a loneliness, like I said before, that I was feeling and could tell there was a somewhat hidden melancholy about you too,” he finally says. “I’m sorry if that doesn’t make sense, but it’s something I’ve never felt in another’s presence. I felt like we needed each other, to lean on, to talk to, to count on.” he says. He laid his soul bare, and likewise with yours. You start getting closer and closer to one another on the couch. You both tip your glasses back and finish off the rest of the wine; the bottle is empty.

You’re about to get up from the couch and ask if he’d like for you to open another bottle, but he puts a hand on your leg and shakes his head. “I want to remember everything.” he says in a hushed tone. His smooth yet husky tone rang in your ears. You coyly smirk at him and nod.

You gather your courage and reach over to him and place both arms around his neck, resting on his shoulders. “I do too,” you respond quietly. You’re both gazing into each other's eyes again, because god, his eyes are so clear, but dark, and wide, it’s so easy to get lost. You finally embrace passionately, lips meeting at long last. He starts to bite your lower lip which causes you to moan out, a little surprised but mostly turned on. He opens his eyes for a moment only for you to close the gap this time and press your lips to his, continuing at a fevered pace. Neither of you are able to contain the excitement, and his tongue swirls around your lips wanting to meet yours. You oblige and exhale a quiet whine which causes him to lower your back down on the couch.

Both of you break apart just long enough to catch your breath, and then he’s hovering over you again. His large, plush lips glide down your neck to your sternum. Your legs are pressing together to gain some friction in the area you need most. He is balancing himself on his hands with his legs on either side of yours. His lips are back on your neck and his hand reaches for your waist, and slides his fingertips beneath your shirt.

His slender fingers rest on your ribs and stop. His hot tongue pressing more passionately within your mouth while also groaning when you twitch from his hand going higher to meet your breast over your bra. Your arms wrap around his neck pulling him even closer. Then you drop your hands and reach behind his back to start lifting his black tee up. The air becomes stifling, the atmosphere suffocating.

He rises to his knees, and lifts his shirt up and off himself, throwing it on the floor. You’re still lying there, staring in awe at his physique, toned but not muscular. He’s honestly perfect. His eyes grow wide at you staring up at him. You love the expression on his face, half surprise and half mirth.

He kneels down toward your body again and places more and more soft kisses across your neck and back to your lips. While doing so you breathlessly ask, “Why did you keep looking at your watch last night? Were you expecting someone?” Your fingers are freely able to feel his warm, naked skin.

More moans escape your throat and he starts to grunt when your hips rise to meet his. Showing him how eager you are to continue, he lifts your shirt up which causes you two to disconnect from the fevered wet kisses. In the next moment, you’re back on each other like ravenous animals.

Feeling like your breath is being taken from you like drowning, you push up on his chest. He stops immediately and says, “Are you okay? Do you want to continue? Please tell me if I’m hurting you.” Thankful for his reaction, you pant, “Yes, I’m more than fine. I just need a minute to catch my breath. Please don’t worry. Will you answer my question?” You sit up which causes him to move farther upwards. He is still hovering over you, knees on either side of your legs. You feel bereft, wishing how you could do without oxygen if it meant being as close as possible to him.

He finally provides an answer to your question, “I was expecting my friend to show up, but he never did. I thought I was reading the time wrong. He always ditches me.” You frown, “I’m sorry, but luckily he did because we wouldn’t have met.” He smiles down at you with the loveliest gaze.

The break had lasted long enough, when you began to kiss his stomach, which was at your eye level. He twitches, then groans enthusiastically. His stern voice rattles, “You really have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?” He then starts to grin and his thick dark eyebrows furrow; angry he’s not closer to you.

Your arms move around his waist as you leave wet trails down his stomach and closer to the top of his pants. You begin to unbutton his jeans, unzipping them as well. You slowly slide your hands down his hips into his pants to lower them. You are still kissing his toned stomach while he moans, causing you to smirk, hearing your effect on him.

Your eyes are staring at his bulge straining in his jeans. His eyes watch you watching him. He quietly asks, “What are you thinking about?” You perk up and lift your chin to make eye contact with him. Your gaze is heavy as you mutter, “I’m scared to say. It’s kind of embarrassing,” and look back down at the outline of his dick in his jeans.

“Come on. Tell me, please,” he begs while tilting your chin back up. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.” you move your legs from in between him and sit up. You walk over to your counter and grab another bottle of wine. When you return, you realize you’re only in a bra and sweatpants. You start to cover yourself with your arms, and sit back on the couch.

He has moved from kneeling to a sitting position, head tilted back on the sofa. He exhales and groans quietly to himself, maybe out of frustration. His pants are still unbuttoned and unzipped but just below his hips; you can see the band of his black boxer briefs. He moves his head up away from the back of the sofa, and runs his hand through his hair in the sexiest way you’ve ever seen. You watch him from your periphery while pouring you both another glass of wine. Your pussy starts to throb again so you chug your glass down and pour another. This is all starting to become too much but you want to continue but are so afraid at the same time.

You have real feelings for this man, but once you’ve fucked, he may disappear forever. You hate being stuck in between, almost as if after having sex, he’ll fall into a black hole and never return. What if you’re not good enough? Not sexy enough? Bad at sex? What if he hates your body or the way you laugh or pick through your food? Pondering these questions while your pussy leaks and throbs is difficult. It’s even more difficult as the room starts to spin with your drunkenness. How do you proceed? I guess you could answer his question by not saying the things you are thinking.

“Hey, easy there,” he says after you down another glass. “It’s okay. I want to remember this. And I want you to remember me. Remember us,” he continues. It’s all becoming so much that your eyes start to well up and a tear drips down your cheek toward the corner of your mouth. “I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,” you finally say without him trying to notice the words getting caught in your throat.

He sits up, lifts your chin so you’re looking at him. He leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth where your tear disappeared, tasting its saltiness. He kisses you with more passion while his thumb wipes the wetness from your cheek. Your hot tongues meet again and then a beautiful groan vibrates from his throat. You move your lips away from his as you grab his wrist that was stroking your face. “I want you to fuck me so hard but I’m afraid this will be the last time,” you whimpered. “I want to see you again. I want to know you. I want to taste you and feel you,” you say with more conviction thanks to the alcohol.

His eyes are intensely focused on you as you say this, pupils dilating. He speaks without breaking eye contact, “It won’t be the last time. I am so taken by you, your personality, your laughter, your face, the taste of your lips and your tears.” His other hand, the one you aren’t holding, reaches behind your neck to suddenly pull you closer to him until your foreheads meet. “I mean it. It’s not the alcohol talking or my dick. Even though you make me so hard,” he says as his deep voice cracks.

You place your other hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat erratically. Your heads separate and you both face forward toward the coffee table. You both take a few more sips from your glasses. Your thighs rub together, still feeling aroused. You’re staring off in the distance not knowing what to say or do next. He speaks up with a deeper tone this time, “I thought about you last night when we parted at your building; after I kissed your neck. I wanted to feel your lips on mine so badly but didn’t want to overstep.”

Your haziness is broken by his voice when you turn to face him, again you cover your chest, feeling exposed. “I wanted to call you and hear your voice before I went to sleep. You made me so fucking hard when I left. I jerked off thinking about how my name would sound coming from your lips. How you would look under me and how amazing your pussy would taste on my tongue. I’ve never had those thoughts about someone I’ve known for only a couple of hours. Then I had a wet dream about you moaning on top of me with my name on your lips. I can’t get you out of my mind.”

You jaw all but hits the floor while he’s still explaining in detail how he jerked off thinking about you. And then dreaming about you. What are you supposed to say in reply? Your head was still spinning but now from his words and less from the wine.

You slide towards him and whine out, “I wanted to kiss you so badly last night once you kissed my neck. Your lips looked so soft and irresistible. I couldn’t stop thinking about your hand up my thigh in the bar; my pussy has been aching ever since. I went to bed thinking about you and woke up, went to work still thinking about you. Your face, your voice, those plump lips on my skin. I thought about your fingers in my cunt. I was so wet when I woke up this morning. I want to kiss and suck your cock until you can’t breathe.” Now his mouth is agape and he’s aghast at you telling him your dark secrets. His head is tilted down but his eyes are up still looking at you, now with hunger.

He suddenly grabs you by both of your bare shoulders and kisses you hard, with fervor, with want. His kisses are electrifying and delicious. He forces his tongue into your mouth and saliva starts your drip from the corners of your mouth. He bites down on your bottom lip hard, pulls it, and goes back to devouring you. Your hands are around his neck and you reach up and tug his hair, running your nails through his scalp. At this, he shudders and groans. He unwillingly leaves your lips for your neck, and down to your collarbone again, which reminds you of last night’s goodbye. You whimper his name while gliding your hands down his shoulder blades, lighting scratching.

While continuing down your chest, he moves your left bra strap down your shoulder, exposing your breast. His wet, warm lips suck your nipple and he starts to bite and pull it, like your bottom lip. This makes you moan his name loud, louder than he’s ever heard you. “Fuck, that’s what I imagined you sounded like. You are so fucking hot,” he says after he releases your tit. Before he can say anything else, you grab his face and kiss him, pushing your weight into him.

As soon as his back falls onto the couch, you hear a boom of thunder and flashes of lightning outside your window. Rain starts to beat down, dripping down your window, like your pussy right now. The lights inside start to flicker, once, then twice, then out completely. The both of you stare out the window, then you fumble off of him in the darkness.

You feel around for your phone, and in the process your hand touches his dick straining through his jeans. He moans and grabs your hand as you reach away and places it back on his bulge. With your phone in your other hand, you can see his expression in the glow; wonton, with crazy and dark eyes that turns you on so much. “Please, I want to see you. Let me find some candles,” you plead. He huffs and helps you sit up.

You fix your bra strap and cover your breast and hop up carefully and go into the kitchen. You shine your phone light as you find a lighter and candles. You shakily light them, and thunder booms again outside. God, this storm and power outage has the worst timing, you say to yourself. You can feel wetness between your legs and you place the candles around, creating a romantic ambiance in your apartment. You can now see him in the flickering shadows still sitting on your couch, legs spread wide, looking very frustrated that you’re not next to him.

“That’s better,” you say as you sit down next to him. “Yes, it is. Fuck, come here. I need you. You’re so beautiful,” he whispers and grabs you. He forces you down onto your back and hovers over you once again. You spread your legs open which gives him room to settle in between. You lift your hips to grind onto his dick which makes him lose it. He presses himself into your center thrusting to meet your movements. With your eagerness showing, he starts leaving marks on your neck behind your ear and moves down, nipping at your skin and sucking.

You are so overwhelmed at this point and cannot take it anymore. You need him inside of you now. But again, your thoughts of him leaving after the deed is done swims in your mind. Contrary to what your body is telling him, you say, “Please go slow. I want this to last. I don’t want this to end.”

“Oh, baby, I will. I want this to last forever. I hope I can make it without coming in my pants first,” he stutters as he’s still kissing down your neck. He comes back up to devour your lips.

The shadows on the wall mirror your movements on the couch with him. The only noises are the rain pattering at your window, the thunder, his groans, and your whines. He smells so good. His hair, his clothes, everything. His scent turns you on even more and you start grinding into him again like before the power went out. He presses harder into your core and the feeling of his hard dick makes you see stars.

His hand goes back to your bra strap and forces it down and it snaps against your arm. You can tell he is getting more and more desperate by the deep grunts he’s making. “God, I need more,” you whimper. He takes that as a sign and places his hand behind your back and unclips your bra. He yanks it off your chest, down your arms and throws it into the darkness not illuminated by the candles.

He kneels and sits back on his heels in awe, in a daze. This makes your skin hot and your cheeks red. You ask him, “What is it? Are you okay?” His deep stare is not waning, eyes darting from your breasts up to your lips, then eyes, and back down again to your chest. When you reach out to touch his forearms, he shivers and says, “Oh my god, yes. You are so beautiful. I’m trying so hard not to come.”

Just then, he starts to touch your breasts and you smile up at him. He pinches and fondles both of your nipples while moving down toward you. His lips are on one nipple and his hand rubs the other. Each pinch and touch causes you to grind into him with more fervor. Your hands grab at his thick black hair and then slide down his back.

His tongue goes lower toward your navel then to the top of your sweatpants. You lift your hips and he grabs the elastic and pulls them off. Now you’re just in your black cotton underwear while he’s only wearing his unbuttoned and unzipped jeans. He places more kisses above the seam of your underwear and darts his tongue out. You yelp, “Please more! More! I’m so wet!” His dark eyes turn up at you quickly while still swirling his tongue around. “I can smell you, it’s so fucking hot,” he says in a deep whisper.

He sticks his fingers into the seam of your underwear on your hips and starts to slide them down. His movements are slow and calculated and his fingernails graze your thighs on the way down. Now, completely naked, he goes into his lost gaze again in awe of your body. You buck your hips up toward him letting him know you’re so eager for his hands and mouth to make contact with you again. He takes the hint and grabs the back of your knees and pushes them on your chest, open wide so he can see you properly.

He places soft kisses on your inner thigh very close to your core. Your legs go over his shoulders and he starts to rub your labia. He moans in your core, “You are so wet, holy shit. I love it. Fuuuck.” He finally places his tongue between your slit and you arch your back in ecstasy. Your muscles tense up and your thighs squeeze around his neck. He groans into your core in response and begins to suck on your clit. You completely lose it when he does this, finally where you want him, after all this build up.

Just then, the lights flicker on and then back off, then on again. The lights stay on now, just your lamp in the living room and the stove hood light are on. You look down on him in surprise at the sudden appearance of his features. He bends his head away from your pussy to look at you. His lips are swollen, his cheeks are flushed, and your wetness covers his mouth down to his chin.

“This is better, I can see all of you. Do you want to move to your room, or is this fine?” he asks while gasping for air. “I don’t want you to stop, please, I need you,” you whimper in reply. “Please do whatever you want to me. I just want to be close to you,” you add, then he nods and dives back into your pussy. Continuing to suck on your clit while pinching your nipples.

You arch up just enough to hold the sides of his face and gasp out, “Please, take off your pants. I want your cock.”

“Patience, babe. In time. I feel like I will come as soon as you touch my dick,” he says, eyes glazed over. You smirk, “Yeah, but we can fuck more.” He nods, consigned to what’s about to happen, inhaling hard. He takes your legs off him and starts to strip out of his pants and his underwear. His cock slaps up against his stomach and he moans. You can see his tip is swollen and wet.

“Holy shit, you are fucking sexy. So thick,” you whimper out. He breaks eye contact, embarrassed at the compliment, blushing. “You are so hot when you talk nasty like that. Are you a slut?” he asks, looking back up to you, an eyebrow flicking up, creating wrinkles in his forehead.

Your eyes widen in shock at his question. Then you smirk because you really are, but never felt comfortable enough to be dirty. “I am a slut. Just your slut. Fuck me hard until I can’t see. Please baby,” you whine to him, never breaking eye contact, hoping he can feel the weight behind your words.

“Shit, you are bad. I will do whatever you want me to,” he groans deeply exhaling loudly, obviously affecting him to the core.” Your head still spins from the alcohol but his stare is making you drunker. “I love when you call me baby,” he says and grabs your throat to pin you back down onto the couch. He feels your pulse, your blood coursing through your veins. “Oh my god, yes! Please more,” you yell out.

His grip on your throat is making your eyes roll back and close. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life. You’ve only slept with one other person. He broke your heart. He cheated and you felt lost, deciding to never get this close to anyone again. That was years ago and since then you’ve longed for someone to take control of you, use you, doing whatever they pleased, whenever.

“Use me. Control me. Please,” you coo and plead. “Tell me if it’s too much. I don’t want to hurt you in any way,” he rasped, still unsure if he could hold his load any longer. While still pressing into your neck, he reaches down to stroke your clit. Then he takes his soaked fingers and wraps them around his engorged cock, lubricating it. He does this back and forth a few times while trying to control his breathing. Suddenly, he asks, “Do you want to use a condom?” You shake your head immediately, just saying, “I’m on the pill. Give it to me.”

He runs his tip up and down your slit, smirking because he gets to feel all of you. He smacks his dick against it a few times which causes a voracious moan to emit from your chest. Your nipples are hard, he’s choking you, all the while teasing you and himself. Your eyes shut tight, unsure of how painful this will be since it has been years since you’ve been fucked. He places his tip closer to your entrance and pauses, “Open your eyes. I want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

It takes a lot of strength to finally open your eyes. You meet his gaze and his hand releases a bit of pressure from your throat to rub your cheek. “That’s better,” he says and starts to press on your neck again. You can feel the head of his dick against you. He’s thick and you’re not sure if it will be a smooth fit. It will take some adjustments and patience.

He slowly presses his tip in and stops when he hears you squeal and sees your eyebrows furrow in pain. He slides out and asks, “Are you all right? Do you want me to stop?” Again, you shake your head then confess, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex. I’ve only been with one other person. It may take a bit to make it comfortable. Plus you’re very thick. It’s bigger than I’ve ever taken.” He cannot believe someone as beautiful and kind has only been with one other person sexually. “I will be careful. I’m sorry. How can men not want to fuck you?” He groans and lines up to try again.

Even though you are sopping wet, he tries eagerly to press back into you. His tip pops in again which makes you wince. Gathering yourself, you hold his arm and say, “Please it’s okay. It feels so good but go easy and slow.” You open your eyes to match his sultry gaze. He slips a bit more in but slowly removes his dick inhaling every time trying not to bust.

Working just the tip in back and forth, he bites his bottom lip and groans each time. It is the sexiest, deepest sound you’ve ever heard. He is wincing every time he enters you because you’re so tight on his cock. You finally say, “Fuck me! I don’t care if it hurts! Do it!” He hesitantly listens and fucks into your cunt all the way. He stops once he’s buried to the hilt. The feeling is overwhelming. A mix between pain and pleasure. You both moan at the same time, still deeply gazing into each other’s eyes. “Fuck you’re pussy is gripping me so tight!” he yells, and looks down to where his dick disappears into your cunt.

Holding your legs open and back to get a better view, he starts to thrust all the way out, then back in forcefully. You whine as he uses one hand to rub circles on your clit, still fucking you with urgency. You moan out, “Shit, I’m so close! You’re gonna make me come!” He exhales heavily and responds, “I am too. Can I come inside you?” You choke a ‘yes’ as you’re starting to hit your peak. You start shaking and grinding to meet his thrusts. You can feel his dick throb inside you, getting bigger. “I want to feel you come on my cock, please,” he mumbles out, his hair falling in his face. His words make you yell out, “I’m coming!” while repeating his name over and over as your pussy constricts around his dick.

You can tell he is very close and you’re shivering, sensitive from your climax. He never lets up fucking into you which prolongs your orgasm. He grunts and moans and empties himself into you. You can feel every spurt of his come as he’s still thrusting, giving you everything he has. His loud moans give way to quiet exhales as he’s still reeling. He leans down toward your lips and starts kissing you hard, still lightly thrusting, never wanting this to end. The feeling of your wet pussy, dripping with his come, is almost too much for him to continue being inside of you.

He ravenously swirls his tongue inside your mouth, dripping with saliva. He leans up again to look into your beautiful eyes. You cannot believe this happened and whimper, “You are amazing. That was so good.” He smiles wide and nods, “Your pussy was made for me. You feel so fucking amazing.” He’s still lightly thrusting into you, getting hard again. He finally pulls out completely and his cum drips down your ass and onto the couch. “Hang on, let me get a tissue.” He raises himself off of you and walks toward the kitchen. Your legs collapse down on the couch and you sigh, still breathing heavily.

He comes back in seconds and you can see his dick is still hard, standing at attention. At the sight, you moan and look from his cock up to his face. He smirks and furrows his brows, “You want me to fuck you again? I fucking need more. I cannot get enough.” You spread your legs as he's cleaning his come off of you and the couch. While doing so, you say, “I need a fucking cigarette. I’ve never come so hard and so long before in my life.”

You’re still naked as you walk toward your bedroom to grab your cigarettes. You smile as you see a joint you rolled days ago but never got around to smoking. An idea forms. Kyungsoo is still sitting stark naked on your couch, curious what’s taking you so long, he gets up and peeks around your door frame. He sees your plump ass bending down to your bedside table, he becomes insatiable. Just then, you turn around and ask, “Wanna share this joint with me? Do you smoke weed?”

“Yes, please. You turn me on more and more,” he responds. “How is this possible? That you’ve only ever been with one other man?” he adds, still in disbelief that you’re with him right now and no one else. You sit on your bed and light a cigarette and offer him one. He walks over to you to sit next to you on the edge of your bed. You’re trying hard not to stare at his hard cock as it starts to sway with each step toward you. Once the bed sinks with his weight, you light his cigarette. When doing so, the light flickers across your chest and you see him lose it at the sight of your small, perky tits, nipples hard. The red marks on your throat from him choking you and the little bruises he sucked onto your skin.

____

To be continued. Let me know if you’re horny enough for more.

[vigilskeep]

ok here's the ostagar ambient dialogues i was talking about for anyone who didn't stop by to hear them all! i was having trouble uploading video so i've just written transcripts real quick :)

briefings

Look carefully, men. This wretched thing is a darkspawn. They're strong and cunning and smart, but don't listen to those old wives' tales. They can be killed. Stick them with your sword enough, and they go down. Their blood is black as sin and poisonous. Don't even touch it. You get tainted with that blood and you may as well slit your throat. We've lost many dogs already, had to muzzle them to keep them from biting. It's a long and painful way to die.

There are lots of darkspawn, different kinds. We're getting reports of things we've never even heard of. Our short friend here for instance is something called a genlock. They're pretty common in the horde, but we've seen others much larger. We don't know where these new darkspawn are coming from, or what they can do. All I can say is to use caution. There aren't any we've seen that won't die once they bleed enough.

I want this nonsense talk stopped immediately. What are you? A bunch of nattering fishwives, spreading gossip until you brown your smallclothes out of terror? We've seen nothing to suggest that the darkspawn drag our people underground to eat them. And I want this talk about darkspawn enslaving survivors to stop immediately. Keep your minds focused on the battle, you fight for Ferelden, and for your king. Remember that.

two soldiers conversations

Female Soldier: This is supposed to be the battle that sends these darkspawn back underground. You believe that?

Male Soldier: I don't know what to believe. We've won every battle, but there's more of them each time.

FS: Makes you wonder if them Grey Wardens are right.

MS: I don't want to think about that.

FS: [sigh] Sounds like the perfect time to get drunk, if you ask me.

*

FS: The last scouting party made it back last night. Barely.

MS: What do you mean?

FS: Only two of them made it. And one was minus a leg. Said they encountered some darkspawn that was ten feet tall, with horns as long as your arm. The injured one died last night. They said his blood was already turning black.

MS: Maker's breath! Where are they all coming from?

*

FS: So there's supposed to be more of these Grey Wardens coming, I hear.

MS: Petran said they were Orlesians, coming with a whole army of them fancy Orlesian knights.

FS: If my pa wasn't already in his grave, that'd put him there.

MS: You think they'll leave once this is done, if we ask them nice?

FS: If they don't, then we keep on fighting, I guess.

MS: I'd rather fight them painted fops than the darkspawn. That howling of theirs... gives me nightmares, it does.

sermons

We stand here in this hour, good folk of Ferelden, and we contemplate the death that may await. Death is no failure, my friends. Should it find you, you will not have failed your king. You will have served your Maker. Die in this battle and when you stand before the Maker in the land beyond the Fade, he will not find you wanting. Go not into death gladly, but with the knowledge that evil has been held at bay by your spilled blood. And if you go to stand beside the Maker, go with our blessing. For you shall not be forgotten. My friends, let us bow our heads and remember those who have fallen and those who have yet to fall.

Maker above, hear the prayers of your sons and daughters. We who betrayed your prophet Andraste now beg your forgiveness. Do not abandon us in our darkest hour. Watch over the valiant king Cailan and guide him as he faces this terrible evil. Watch over Teyrn Loghain and give him the wisdom to bring us victory against the scourge of shadow. Watch over Ferelden, the homeland of Holy Andraste. Keep her people safe from the darkspawn. Let us bow our heads and offer prayers to the Maker, that he might find us worthy.

Soldiers of Ferelden, my sisters and gentle folk, we stand here on the eve of battle. Let us consider the evil before us. In their pride, the mages of the ancient Tevinter Imperium sought to open a portal into the heavenly Golden City itself. They tainted it with their sin and they were cast back into our world as darkspawn. They are man's sins made flesh, an evil that spreads like an illness across our land. To face them, we must first face the evil within ourselves. Let us bow our heads and beg the Maker's forgiveness. Let us not be proud, so we may take courage against the darkness.

[busyskin]

Twinges

Day Three for @bruclarkweek (Day One - Day Two)

Word Count: 2737

Warnings: mild descriptions of violence/injury, mention of scars, swearing

Description: where soulmates feel each other’s pain

Clark always knew he had a human soulmate. The bruising and somewhat frequent paper cuts he felt throughout his adolescence were enough confirmation of that; he was immune to receiving such ailments himself, and they didn’t show on his skin the way a human’s might, but they meant all the more to him for that. It was the regular twinges until his twenties, and Clark was grateful to his soulmate for making him feel just that little bit more normal, that little bit more connected to his family and his Earth. There was the occasional strikes of grief that ripped through his chest, the same he felt when he looked up into the vast expanse of space for too long, but Clark only rarely needed his Ma’s comforting embrace to get him through them. It was all a perfectly regular soulmate experience; his Ma and Pa said so, the internet said so, all the books and friends and teachers said so. And Clark was content with it. Happy to wait in quiet excitement for the day when he would find his soulmate. Sometimes - especially in the first couple months of moving to Metropolis, when everything was shiny and unfamiliar - the small twangs of pain would be a guilty comfort, a reminder that he was never truly alone.

Until the night, when Clark felt beyond feeling, a pain so raw and intense and encompassing that he truly thought his soulmate had died and was dragging him with them. Clark was terrified. Beneath the horror, his brain fought to hold onto consciousness as every nerve he had underneath his bulletproof skin stung like it had been branded with a white-hot poker, before being submerged in artic water until even his eyes were numb, only to be hoisted out and branded again. He clawed at his cheap duvet as the cycle continued to drag him through and under. His mind felt like paper being unfolded, and he could only half register the pain subsiding before he passed out on top of the bedsheets, ripped in two.

It was with panic in his voice and lungs that Clark recounted the events to his mother the following day. And it was with wide eyes that she went to him while he was running words from his mouth like water from a tap, and reached up to touch his neck. He instinctively crouched down, even while he descended into incoherent sobs, and Ma pushed back his untamed curls from the space behind his ear.

She sagged in relief. “It’s still there, darling.” She whispered softly, and Clark, for all his super-hearing, could barely comprehend it. “Your soulmark’s still there.”

Clark was dizzy. He rested his head on his Ma’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of flour on her apron and hay in her hair. He collapsed into her embrace without any weight.

-

In the years since, there had been a steady stream of agony from his soulmate. Less grief perhaps, or maybe now it was just inseparable from the other hurts. Clark struggled to sleep for the first however many times of feeling his soulmate in so much pain, and he flew back to Kansas just to break down in front of Ma more times than he’d care to admit, even to himself. But his soulmark was always there; an unbroken circle raised like a scar, hidden behind his left ear and ink-black curls. For a long time, his hand would wander to the mark, the tips of his fingers tracing it round and round, ensuring it was still there, that his soulmate was still alive. He reassured himself in this way so much that his colleagues at the Planet began joking about how it was a wonder he could get so much work done when his hand was apparently glued to his neck.

It became something of a distraction, the worry. And beyond the anxiety that came with feeling so much injury coming from someone you knew you’d one day love so much - already did love, intensely, in Clark’s case - the consistency of the instances and the fact that pains kept coming meant his soulmate was alive, and apparently pretty strong if they could take such thorough beatings. Clark reasoned that maybe they were a boxer or a martial artist or something like that. The regularity checked out, and a lot of the wounds felt like punches and kicks as far as Clark could tell.

It was only when more superheroes started cropping up - on the streets, in the news - that the idea occurred to Clark that his soulmate might be more suited to him than he could’ve hoped.

…

Bruce Wayne didn’t have a soulmate. He had a soulmark, of course, but it was long since interjected by all the other markings and scars that criss-crossed his chest, hidden like a needle in a haystack. It was a fluke. A cosmic mistake. Not once in his life had Bruce ever felt even a flicker of pain from his supposed soulmate; not a scrape, not a headache, not even a paper cut. He’d been through his share of semi-frantic research sessions on people who’s soulmates have paralysis or other forms of numbness, other reasons for loss of sensation, lack of feeling, but they could still feel pains that were inflicted on their soulmate, whether their soulmate felt them or not - there had been some very extensive but utterly inhumane studies done by an English scientist in the eighties. Bruce, however, had never felt any hurt that wasn’t his own.

So he didn’t have a soulmate. And that was suitable. Brucie Wayne got to be a ditzy, debonair playboy without worrying about getting caught up in accidental attachments. Batman got to go out every night and protect his city without having to worry that someone else was feeling every attack on his body. And Bruce, he had Alfred, since always and through everything. And then he had Dick too, who was bright and quick and brought smiles in bundles. After him, there was Jason, who was so full of life and intensity. And then Jason was gone, and he took a bit of Bruce with him to the grave. And Tim was observant and put what was left back together as best he could. And then Jason was back, and he was changed, and he was pissed, but he was back, his boy was back, and Batman had a problem with his methods but Bruce had his son alive again, so he could do the fighting and the rage and the disappointment because his son wasn’t in a coffin anymore.

And it was enough. He’d made himself a family: a proper family. One that fell apart every once in a while, like it ought to; but mended itself in clumsy seams, like it ought to. When the grief hit him out of the blue, mourning for his parents - and sometimes someone he’d never known, while the stars smirked down at him, like they were playing a joke, like they knew something he didn’t - he could deal with it. Not just shove it aside and throw himself fist-first into a fight. Not just pull on a fancy tux and devil-may-care smile and wreck a bed that didn’t belong to him. No, he could deal with it in a vaguely normal way. He could wander down to the living room with the biggest tv and find at least one of his children there, and they could watch a movie together and not talk as much as they should; which was apparently the average way to engage with family, so that was reassuring. And then, undoubtedly, more of the flock would gather, and interrupt, and leave more things unsaid that really ought to be said, but it wasn’t the right time, and it would never be - and it was perfect.

Brucie didn’t want a soulmate. Batman couldn’t have a soulmate. And Bruce didn’t need a soulmate.

-

It was a Thursday night and a Friday morning, and the fog had rolled in from Gotham’s docks. Some gang had made a spot of the chain of alleys that ran down to the southern port. They’d dragged a handful of bankers out of their cars and had them kneeling in the wet cracks of tarmac, trying to intimidate them into some heist by pointing guns at their heads. Crouched on a warehouse roof, Batman readied his grapple. Beside him, Robin did the same.

“There’s more of them than I was expecting.” The boy muttered as he shifted his position on the wet, corrugated steel. His eyes squinted behind his domino mask. “Seems like multiple gangs from the area have collaborated for this. They’re being led by someone.”

Batman grunted his agreement before taking off towards the ground, landing between the guns and the victims. Disarm. Kick. Disarm. Punch. Kick. Swipe. Disarm. Robin’s getting the hostages out. Kick. Kick. Kick. Knife coming from the left. Dodge. Punch. Duck. Punch. Elbow. Swipe. Kick. Two thirds of them incapacitated. Punch. Robin’s back. Kick. Kick. Swipe. Tired. Punch. Not tired, weak. And sore. Kick. Missed. Fuck. Dodge. Dodge. Fuck. Sprained wrist. Swipe. Duck. Dizzy. “Batman?” Aching. Last man hits the ground. “Batman, can you hear me?” Tim. Stars.

-

Bruce woke up fully coherent. “Gleurgh beurgle.”

“Mm, indeed.” Dr. Thompkins’ face peered down at him, white hair reluctantly confined in a tight bun. Her eyes were gently assessing as she sat by his bed. In his room. Bruce’s room. He sat up. Why wasn’t he in the cave’s medical bay?

Leslie read the furrow of his brow. “Alfred insisted, I’m afraid. After I told him the only physical harm was a sprain, and that your bloods came out fine, he was adamant on you resting in your own bed.”

Bruce closed his eyes in mild frustration before fixing Leslie with a questioning look. “My bloods were normal last night?” He could hardly believe it; the pure exhaustion he had felt, the draining of all his strength, it was like he had been drugged, drunk in the worst possible way.

“Mhm.” Leslie regarded him attentively, but with more interest than concern. She had a hypothesis. Bruce sighed as he flexed his wrist. The pain flared up his arm, shooting through odd corners in his bones. That wasn’t the worrying part. What scared him was how he’d got into such a state to let a mistake like that happen at all. And Leslie was looking at him like she could see through him. If she was going to suggest he was overworked-

“I reckon last night must’ve been rough for your soulmate.”

Bruce’s eyes widened minutely, expression unguarded as it could only be in his own home. He flicked his gaze to the doctor, but she was lost in thought at a point just below his collarbone, pursing her lips at his soulmark.

He stared resolutely out the window behind her. The fog was only just dissipating, and the light still had a grey quality. His voice was empty. “You know I don’t have one.”

Leslie hummed like she didn’t know anything of the sort.

…

Batman and Diana were stood talking at the farthest end of the steel table when Superman entered the Watchtower. Well, Diana was talking; Batman was sort of just making assenting grunts. Clark half-smiled and shook his head in familiarity - for a second, the stresses of the past week became minuscule. Diana turned to face him fully in greeting, whereas Batman only flicked his eyes over Clark. Rao, his eyes were so pretty, the lashes so delicate even smudged with that black industrial strength face paint. Clark suppressed a shiver.

“Superman.” Diana’s voice was always strong, and it carried to every corner of the wide room. Her smile was strong and carrying too. “Are you well?”

Clark was about to ramble off the same Midwestern script response that he always gave to that question, force of habit as opposed to any desire for privacy, when Batman cut him off.

“No. He’s not.”

Clark turned to face him in question. He didn’t know exactly why he gave the dark figure a puzzled look. Even all the impenetrabilities of his body couldn’t hide a hair out of place from the cowled man, it was no wonder he’d noticed whatever he had; maybe a tightness of expression, or a heaviness in feet. They stared at each other. Clark could see Diana looking him over discerningly and trying to pick out any injuries with a worried crease between her brow. Batman’s eyes were hard and boring and still so pretty. Clark folded.

“Kryptonite.” He sighed, rejecting his sight to a far corner. Continuing, ignoring the slowly pulsing pain in his wrist. “A few days ago. I’ve had a good few shots of sunlight since, so I’m A-OK now.” He turned back to his comrades with a winning smile, before it turned mildly teasing. “I was going to tell you myself but-“

“That’s not all.” Batman finished his sentence completely in the opposite direction Clark was intending. His wrist twinged and his heart skipped a beat. If Batman knew - no, the trio had never talked about their soulmates, not even Diana, who was the most open of them by a mile; the only one to have shared her identity so far. It was entirely possible that Batman knew about Clark’s; he’d made no indication thus far, but Clark wouldn’t be surprised. But he trusted Batman implicitly. Except, right now, Clark felt so vulnerable to the man contained in Kevlar; if he could he would’ve willed the lead lining of the suit to cease existing, just so he could finally see him beyond his eyes, and so he could have any chance to protect himself and his soulmate if it came to that.

In the first time of Clark’s knowing him, the Batman broke eye contact first. Maybe he saw the terror in Clark.

“I know what you look like when your soulmate’s hurt.” It was startlingly honest and entirely too revealing to have been said by Batman. And yet it was. Clark stood in jittery awe; he would’ve looked the pinnacle of strength to anyone other than those currently in the room. Or his Ma. As it was, his colleagues knew him too well, and Diana, after an unwavering glance between the two of them, put an unarguable end to the conversation.

“The other members of the League attending today will be here shortly. I have an upcoming - mercifully short - period of unavailability that I’d like to discuss. Superman, debrief as far as you believe is needed on the circumstances surrounding your recent encounter with the Kryptonite. As far as the other members…”

Clark kept half his hearing on Diana, and half tuned in - as it always was - to the rest of the world. But neither had his focus nor attention. As he took his seat at the table next to Wonder Woman, his thoughts were consumed by the man on her other side. His eyes avoided Clark’s throughout the meeting, and even given the situation Clark was saddened by the deprivation of such a sight. Batman’s mouth stayed the hard line it always was; he’d forever look more unbreakable than Superman. A solid stone gargoyle. Clark’s thoughts had calmed slightly; Batman knew his soulmate was hurt - apparently knew every time his soulmate had been hurt - but he didn’t have any desire to use that information vindictively. Of course he didn’t, Clark reminded himself. He’s a good man.

It was when Batman was using the table’s projector to highlight a network of jaded supervillains that Clark noticed something. Batman was holding the clicker in his right hand. Nothing unusual there, that was his preferred hand - though Clark was fairly sure he was ambidextrous - and straying from such an innocuous preference might arouse suspicion in a room full of people as observant as them. Might alert them to an injury, give away a momentary weakness. So Batman used the same hand he always used, and kept the same blank expression he always kept, so that none of them could know of the sprain he harboured. But Clark did, and it made something flip in his chest. Because every time Batman pressed the clicker, a tiny flicker of pain settled in Clark’s right wrist.

[bullet-prooflove]

Valentine's Day Bingo: Bold - Damien Powell x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thiashazzywriting @soultrysworld @a-noni-love

Hitting the Champagne Kisses Bingo Square

You’re the first woman that Damien’s kissed in years. He can still taste the champagne on your lips from the sip you had taken only a few moments before. He doesn’t plan it, it’s just you look so beautiful in the moonlight, head tilted up towards the sky as you stand on the balcony that overlooks the street. Everyone else is inside the office, celebrating the retrieval of that nuclear warhead, but he notices when you slip away, he notices a lot of things about you.

There’s a chill in the air when he joins you. You’re wearing a green silk blouse that clings to your skin, the sleeves rolled up to you elbows. He can see the goose bumps on your forearms, the tension in your shoulders so he strips off his leather jacket and drapes it around your shoulders. You tilt your head towards him, a small smile gracing your lips and he finds himself smiling back shyly.

Besides Scott, you are the only other person who sees him for who he is. You cut past the persona he puts up, the bravo and you see him and he can’t express how much he values that.

He’s only been with the Fly Team a couple of months but already it feels like home. He knows part of that is because of you. The two of you balance each other out, you curb his wilder impulses and he brings an element of spontaneity to your life that he knows you enjoy.

His elbows come to rest on the railing alongside yours, the fabric of your clothes rustling. The scent of your perfume floods his senses, something light and floral. It reminds him of Amsterdam in the springtime, of tulips and sunny mornings. He wonders what it would be like to wake up next to you, tangled up in the sheets, the light filtering in through the window and across your bare skin.

There have been a few close calls between the two of you recently, instances of proximity. He can’t express how badly he wants to reach out and touch you, to show you how he really feels but something always holds him back because he doesn’t think he has anything to give you. He gets in his own head, he tells himself he’s a broken man, that years of being undercover has ruined him but tonight he doesn’t feel like that.

Tonight he’s bold because technically the two of you helped save America from nuclear attack and he’s still riding that high.

When he kisses you, it’s tentative and soft, a simple brush of the lips but to Damien it’s everything. It’s the first time he’s allowed himself to be emotionally vulnerable, to give a part of himself to someone else. There wasn’t space for that when he was undercover. He kept all those of parts of himself locked away because he had to be hard, there was no room for weakness with the Norseman Brotherhood, it would have seen him dead.

He loses himself in the moment because the press of your body against his, your soft curves tucked against his firm form…

Christ, he’s had dreams about this and they always end up with him in the shower, your name on his lips as he comes.

 “Damien…” You murmur. He loves the way you say his name, it sounds like poetry rolling off your tongue as your hands tangle in his shirt, pulling him back towards you. “Kiss me again.”

Love Damien? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

All fire emblem stories suck actually, it's a combination of the characters interacting and the gameplay giving characters weight that makes them fun. When people say a story sucks for FE, they mean that they don't like the characters or how they're characterized

FH is consistently rated for having a good story because the environment is the most conductive for interesting character interactions, and thus characters have the most dimension in a FE game. It allows a ton of characters to bounce off of each other in different ways, depending on the route you take. the story matters only in the context that it allows characters to interact, so while FH is successful in allowing that, the story in a writing sense is not that much better than other FE games, it just better facilitates characterization. FH doesn't have the best story in FE, but it does have the story that involves the most characterization opportunities. So in a stupid pedantic way, it's the best story for a FE game to do its thing with.

Engage is said to have a bad story not because it's worse than any other FE story, but because FH's story allows characters to bounce off of each other so efficiently, going back feels like going straight to hell if you liked what FH did

however, despite characters being FE's greatest writing strength, it ignores character development completely in most situations. At best, you go through an arc to get recruited, and that's it. lords are exempt from this as, obviously, the player always has to use them and therefore will always care about them to some extent. There are other exceptions as well, but they're mostly characters who aren't units and thus the writers know that each player will have the same amount of experience with them.

This fact is shown best by how supports are implemented - they rarely result in character development, but rather bounce the characterization of two characters off of each other in an isolated instance. Supports don't change characters at all, they just let you know more about them, which may result in you liking the character(s).

This is missed potential because it's an entire dimension of character writing that FE barely touches, and it is often integral to character based writing. Nobody really gets to change, they're either predisposed to good and join the good guys or predisposed to evil and eventually die. Thus because characters cannot change or develop, their personalities either suck and thus you don't care, or they're good and you like them.

This writing style is a consequence of the fact that units are rarely force deployed for your entire game, and thus mileage varies like crazy on whenever a player cares about the character and is cheering for their development, or just has them permanently sitting on the bench and is going "Who the fuck are you, you're not fighting with me" when they get all dramatic in cutscenes.

Permadeath contributed to this problem, but ultimately permadeath is just a forced method of benching a character, and so long as there are many units to choose from, character development won't be as present in FE, and thus FE will continue to fall short of other character basted stories, even if its characterization is often very good.