#why not pull out that garlic?

[anistarrose]

If you have a lot of dietary restrictions and/or perpetually low spoons that interfere with cooking, then I can't overstate the return on your investment from figuring what spices and seasonings you can eat, and keeping them on hand.

Physical and mental health issues, let alone in combination, can feel like they're consigning us to a depressing, monotonous experience of the same unexciting foods over and over and over again. But giving yourself the tools to be creative, with very little actual effort — just a shake of a shaker — is actually a lifesaver in terms of preserving the joy you get out of eating.

Rehydrated mashed potatoes from the box are usually the platonic ideal of "meh," but if you just put some garlic powder, rosemary, and/or [spice of your choice] on them, they're suddenly a tasty treat. On the other hand, you can sprinkle some cinnamon on fruit, if that makes eating fruit easier — you can even do so after you directly take a bite out of an apple or peach or pear, if you're not able to cut it up.

The same goes for applesauce, instant oatmeal, and the like — you can always kick it up a notch if it's getting monotonous. If by some coincidence, you're exactly like me and you're allergic to every snack food sold in the universe except plain old depressing rice cereal, microwave that bitch with some oil, salt, garlic, and paprika. It's like 10% more effort than the last few things in this post but so worth it.

Anyways, I bring this up now because I remembered a conversation I had with a friend about spices (and spice racks) being a great things to ask for as a gift, whether over the holidays or otherwise — and especially if you can't think of anything else. As long as it's not a super expensive brand, a couple small jars are in a pretty reasonable price range for gifts, and they can go a long way.

Salt, garlic, rosemary, paprika, cinnamon, and allspice are my mainstays. (Just beware allium or nightshade allergies and similar, if applicable.) It takes experimentation to figure out what you like and what works for you, but it's worth it to make those depression meals a little bit less depressing.

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Bro. Tell me why there was a fucking bone fragment in my Kroger™️ brand frozen broccoli????

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

10 Ways to Add Sizzle to Your Boring Writing

Writing that sizzles captures the reader's attention and keeps them engaged from start to finish. Whether you're an experienced writer or just starting out, there are several techniques you can use to make your writing more exciting and dynamic. Here are ten detailed ways to add sizzle to your boring writing:

1. Use Vivid Descriptions

Vivid descriptions bring your writing to life by creating a rich, immersive experience for the reader. Instead of relying on generic or bland language, use specific details that appeal to the senses. Describe how things look, sound, smell, taste, and feel to paint a vivid picture.

In Detail:

Visual Descriptions: Use color, shape, and size to create a mental image. Instead of saying "The car was old," say "The rusty, olive-green car wheezed as it pulled into the driveway."

Sound Descriptions: Incorporate onomatopoeia and detailed sound descriptions. Instead of "The music was loud," say "The bass thumped, and the high notes pierced through the night air."

Smell and Taste Descriptions: Use sensory language. Instead of "The food was good," say "The aroma of roasted garlic and herbs filled the room, and the first bite was a burst of savory flavors."

2. Show, Don't Tell

"Show, don't tell" is a fundamental writing principle that means revealing information through actions, thoughts, dialogue, and sensory details rather than straightforward exposition. This approach makes your writing more engaging and allows readers to experience the story.

In Detail:

Actions Over Exposition: Instead of telling the reader "Jane was scared," show her fear through her actions: "Jane's hands trembled as she fumbled with the lock, her breath coming in shallow gasps."

Dialogue: Use conversations to reveal character traits and emotions. Instead of "John was angry," show his anger through his words and tone: "John's voice was a low growl as he said, 'I can't believe you did this.'"

Internal Thoughts: Reveal characters' inner worlds. Instead of "Emma felt relieved," show her relief: "Emma let out a long breath she didn't realize she was holding and sank into the chair, a smile tugging at her lips."

3. Create Relatable Characters

Relatable characters are crucial for keeping readers invested in your story. Characters should have depth, including strengths, weaknesses, desires, and fears. When readers see aspects of themselves in your characters, they're more likely to care about their journeys.

In Detail:

Character Flaws: Give your characters realistic flaws. A perfect character can be boring and unrelatable. Show how these flaws impact their decisions and relationships.

Character Arcs: Ensure your characters grow and change throughout the story. A well-crafted character arc can turn a good story into a great one.

Background and Motivations: Provide backstories and motivations. Why does your character act the way they do? What drives them? This adds depth and makes them more three-dimensional.

4. Add Dialogue

Dialogue can break up large blocks of text and make your writing more dynamic. It reveals character, advances the plot, and provides opportunities for conflict and resolution. Ensure your dialogue sounds natural and serves a purpose.

In Detail:

Natural Speech: Write dialogue that sounds like real conversation, complete with interruptions, pauses, and colloquial language. Avoid overly formal or stilted speech.

Purposeful Dialogue: Every line of dialogue should have a purpose, whether it's revealing character, advancing the plot, or building tension. Avoid filler conversations that don't add to the story.

Subtext: Use subtext to add depth. Characters might say one thing but mean another, revealing their true feelings through what they don't say directly.

5. Use Strong Verbs

Strong verbs make your writing more vivid and energetic. They convey action and emotion effectively, making your sentences more powerful and engaging.

In Detail:

Action Verbs: Choose verbs that show precise actions. Instead of "She went to the store," say "She dashed to the store."

Avoid Weak Verbs: Replace weak verbs and verb phrases with stronger alternatives. Instead of "He was walking," say "He strode."

Emotionally Charged Verbs: Use verbs that convey specific emotions. Instead of "She was sad," say "She wept."

6. Vary Sentence Structure

Varying sentence structure keeps your writing interesting and prevents it from becoming monotonous. Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more complex ones to create a rhythm that engages readers.

In Detail:

Short Sentences for Impact: Use short sentences to create tension, urgency, or emphasize a point. "He stopped. Listened. Nothing."

Complex Sentences for Detail: Use longer sentences to provide detailed descriptions or explain complex ideas. "As the sun set behind the mountains, the sky transformed into a canvas of oranges, pinks, and purples, casting a warm glow over the serene landscape."

Combine Different Structures: Mix simple, compound, and complex sentences to maintain a natural flow. Avoid repetitive patterns that can make your writing feel flat.

7. Introduce Conflict

Conflict is the driving force of any story. It creates tension and keeps readers invested in the outcome. Without conflict, your story can become stagnant and uninteresting.

In Detail:

Internal Conflict: Characters should struggle with internal dilemmas, fears, and desires. This adds depth and relatability.

External Conflict: Introduce obstacles and challenges that characters must overcome. This can be other characters, societal pressures, or natural forces.

Resolution: Show how conflicts are resolved, leading to character growth and plot progression. Ensure resolutions feel earned and satisfying.

8. Use Metaphors and Similes

Metaphors and similes add creativity and depth to your writing. They help readers understand complex ideas and emotions by comparing them to familiar experiences.

In Detail:

Metaphors: Directly state that one thing is another to highlight similarities. "Time is a thief."

Similes: Use "like" or "as" to make comparisons. "Her smile was like sunshine on a rainy day."

Avoid Clichés: Create original comparisons rather than relying on overused phrases. Instead of "busy as a bee," find a fresh analogy.

9. Create Suspense

Suspense keeps readers on the edge of their seats, eager to find out what happens next. Use foreshadowing, cliffhangers, and unanswered questions to build tension and anticipation.

In Detail:

Foreshadowing: Drop subtle hints about future events. This creates anticipation and a sense of inevitability.

Cliffhangers: End chapters or sections with unresolved tension or unanswered questions to compel readers to keep going.

Pacing: Control the pace of your story to build suspense. Slow down for crucial moments and speed up during action scenes.

10. Edit Ruthlessly

Great writing often emerges during the editing process. Be willing to cut unnecessary words, tighten your prose, and refine your sentences. Editing improves clarity, pace, and overall readability.

In Detail:

Cut Redundancies: Remove unnecessary words and repetitive phrases. "In my opinion, I think" can be reduced to "I think."

Focus on Clarity: Ensure each sentence conveys its intended meaning clearly and concisely.

Proofread: Check for grammar, punctuation, and spelling errors. A polished manuscript reflects professionalism and attention to detail.

[meenaxskz]

when it's getting freaky but you clock out (hyung line) | skz reactions

genre : funny | light smut (so spicy ?) pairing : bf!skz x reader summary: you were feeling needy. Touchy. Flirty. And he was sooo ready. And then YOU FELL ASLEEP mid motion like some kind of sleep deprived gremlin. ✧ hyung line | maknae line

bang chan

The lights are low. His shirt is off. Yours is halfway there. You're straddling his lap and looking fine... in theory. Chan kisses down your neck, voice low and raspy. “You sure you’re up for this, baby?” You hum against his ear. “Mmhmm. I’ve been waiting all day.” He grins, sliding his hands up your thighs. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” you whisper, eyes fluttering. He leans in. “You look kinda tired-” “I’M FINE.” “Okay, okay,” he laughs. “No one said otherwise.” Two minutes later, you’re trying to tug his shirt over his head. Keyword: trying. Your hand just sort of… rests there. Stuck. Your eyes are barely open. “Baby?” he says gently. “…I want you so bad right now,” you slur. “You’re literally falling asleep on my nipple.” You blink slowly, still clutching the hem of his shirt. “I just… need like… a micro nap.” “A what now ?” “Like a… sexy nap.” He stares. “There’s no such thing.” “There could be.” You slump forward. He catches you with one hand and glares at your limp body like it betrayed him personally. “Babe. Hello?” Silence. “…Are you snoring?” He shifts slightly. Your grip on his shirt doesn’t move. Still holding on. Mid-thirst. Mid-sleep “Wow.” He gently lays you down and pulls the blanket over your half-naked body. Mumbles to himself, annoyed but fond. “I lit the nice candles for this. I took a multivitamin in anticipation.” You snore softly in response. “…You’re lucky I love you.” He kisses your forehead and lies beside you, dramatically adjusting the blanket. Because even when you rob him of ass, you’re still his baby.

lee know

You slide onto his lap with a smirk, arms around his neck. He raises an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.” “I was hyping you up in my head,” you mumble, trailing kisses along his jaw. “Oh yeah?” His voice drops, hands already gripping your waist. “And what’d your brain come up with, huh?” You kiss behind his ear. “Lots of things.” He groans. “Tell me ?” “Lemme show you,” you whisper, reaching for the hem of his shirt. It’s going great. In theory. Because once your hand slips under his shirt, it just… stops moving. Dead still. “Uh… kitten?” “Mm?” “You’re holding my ribs like a sleepy raccoon.” “I’m not… tired…” you mumble, head now resting on his shoulder. He looks down at your hand, frozen on his torso. “…You are literally drooling.” He leans back, blinking. “You’re joking.” You blink up at him. “No… no I’m good. Let’s do this.” “Do what, exactly? A nap??” “I’m ready,” you slur, still gripping his shirt. “You look like you got seduced by gravity.” Two minutes later, you are fully asleep. Still straddling him. Still holding his shirt. He stares at the ceiling, dead inside “I shaved for this.” In the dark, he mutters to himself “This is why I have trust issues.” He adjusts your body gently, lying you down while maintaining the last ounce of dignity. “This betrayal will not be forgotten.” You murmur something in your sleep. “…Mince the garlic…” He blinks. “Are you dreaming about cooking?” You snore, adorable and useless. He turns off the light. “Next time I’m charging a cancellation fee.”

Changbin

He closes the bedroom door behind him, licking his lips like a man with a mission. You’re already sitting on the bed, lips glossy, eyes half-lidded, smirking like the problem you are. “You’ve been testing me all day,” he mutters, pulling his shirt off. “I don’t know what you mean,” you say, dragging a finger across his chest. “I was just admiring the pump.” “Baby,” he groans, crawling over you. “You literally whispered ‘bet those arms would hold me down real nice’ while I was doing bench press.” “You did three extra reps after that,” you smirk. “Yeah, and now I want my reward.” It starts strong. He’s over you, one hand on your thigh, the other on your waist, kissing you like you’re air. You’re gripping his sweatpants, breath hitching. Then... Silence. No heavy breathing. No teasing hands. Just… stillness. “…Babe?” You don’t respond. He leans back and looks down. Your hand is still on his waistband. Your face is in his neck. And you’re breathing slow. Peaceful. Blissed out. “…No. No no no.” He gently pokes your arm. “Baby?” Nothing. “You better be joking.” He taps your cheek. “You were just moaning in my ear three seconds ago.” A soft snore answers him. He stares at the ceiling like the universe personally hates him. “I lotioned. I hydrated.” You shift slightly, still asleep, hand twitching like you’re dreaming about undoing his pants. He gasps. “Are you still holding on in your sleep?” You nuzzle into his neck and whisper, “Mm… strong thighs…” He actually chokes. “YOU DON’T DESERVE ME.” He lays you down carefully, pulling the blanket over your body like a man in mourning. “I could’ve been in heaven right now.” You mumble something again. “...love you…” He glares at you. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

hyunjin

Your lips are on his neck. His shirt is on the floor. Your hand? Boldly venturing south. Hyunjin lets out a shuddered breath. “Shit, baby, you’re driving me crazy” You smile against his skin. “I got you.” He moans, eyes fluttering shut, hips lifting to meet your touch. You palm him once...just once. And then? Nothing “…Babe?” Silence. He glances down. Your hand is still gently cupping him -lovingly!-but unmoving. Your eyes? Closed. Breathing? Suspiciously soft. “…You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He stares at you. “Hello? You can’t just park and sleep. That’s illegal.” No response. He gently nudges your shoulder. “You knocked out mid-stroke. MID-STROKE, Y/N.” You snore softly. Hyunjin dramatically slams his head back onto the pillow. Five minutes later, he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, tragically pantsless, cradling your favorite stuffed bunny like it holds answers. “You saw that, right? You saw what she did to me.” The bunny stares, judging him in silence. “Look at me,” he mutters to it. “Do I look like a man who deserves this?” The bunny, of course, says nothing. He nods solemnly “Exactly.” He throws the blanket over you with unnecessary flair. “Don’t even try waking me up tomorrow with morning cuddles. I’m sleeping in spitefully.”

⤷ main m.list

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

[kiwriteswords]

Delayed Gratification [Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader]**

Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 7k|| AN: I've been watching Dharma and Greg and the episode where Dharma suggests to Greg they try to be celibate inspired me. Tags/Warnings: SMUT! MDNI! NSFW!! 18+, female reader, established relationship, bau!reader, pwp, p in v smut, no protection, male masturbation, talks of mutual masturbation, oral sex, no talk about protecting (just assume they’ve got this established!), celibacy, teasing, hotch and reader poke each other's buttons, wet dreams, teasing bau team Summary: You and Hotch try a month without sex to see how long the other can last.

The faint aroma of garlic and basil lingered in the kitchen as you finished wiping down the counters, the quiet hum of the dishwasher providing a gentle backdrop.

Aaron was standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, methodically rinsing the last of the wine glasses. Your eyes traced the curve of his back, the broad set of his shoulders straining slightly against his shirt as he moved.

"Do you ever actually relax?" you teased lightly, stepping closer and leaning against the counter beside him. "We have a dishwasher for a reason, you know."

He shot you a soft glance over his shoulder, amusement sparkling in his dark eyes. "Old habits," he murmured, the rich timbre of his voice vibrating through your chest.

"Mmm," you hummed softly, fingertips reaching out to brush gently along his forearm, tracing the veins beneath his warm skin. "Some habits are worth keeping."

Aaron paused, his movements slowing as your fingers lingered. You felt him tense, his muscles tightening beneath your touch. 

He cleared his throat softly, his voice just a shade rougher as he asked, "Are we still talking about the dishes?"

You laughed quietly, the sound easy and comfortable, yet tinged with a subtle, electric tension. "What else would we be talking about?"

He set the glass down slowly, turning fully toward you. The space between you was barely there, a mere breath apart, and his gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. His voice dropped lower, quieter, and you felt it brush over your skin. 

"You're playing a dangerous game."

"I like a little danger," you whispered playfully, tilting your head up to better hold his gaze. "Keeps things interesting."

Aaron chuckled softly, leaning in until you could feel his breath warming your cheek. Just when you thought he'd close the distance, he paused, lips grazing your ear as he murmured, "Did you have something specific in mind?"

Heat curled low in your belly, and you had to fight to keep your voice steady. "Actually, yes."

"Mmm?" He pulled back just enoughto meet your eyes again; curiosity etched clearly on his face.

"So, you know my friend Taylor, right?” Aaron nodded,”Well, she told me about something she and her husband tried." You hesitated, savoring the confusion now mingling with intrigue in his expression.

"Go on," he encouraged, gently tracing his fingertips along your jaw.

You swallowed, momentarily distracted by the intensity of his gaze, before continuing. "They decided to be celibate for a month."

He stared at you blankly--

Almost looking like his brain was…was malfunctioning. 

Those were not the words he was expecting to come out of your mouth. 

The slightest crease appearing between his brows. "Celibate?"

"Yeah," you laughed softly, your hand flattening against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. "They swore off sex completely, and apparently--"

"Why?" His voice was genuinely baffled, eyebrows lifting slightly as if the concept was utterly foreign.

You grinned at the mild alarm in his eyes. "They said it made everything better. Heightened anticipation, deeper connection, mind-blowing--"

"Our sex life is already fantastic," Aaron interrupted, sounding mildly defensive, his thumb brushing gently across your lower lip.

He was right. It was fantastic. Best sex of your life. Ten-out-of-ten sex--

It could go on a world record list of best. Sex. Ever.

But when your friend Taylor went on and on about how things went on and on…and on between her and her husband, Joey…you were..intrigued.  

"It is," you conceded, leaning subtly into his touch. "But imagine how incredible it could be after a month of waiting."

Aaron let out a slow breath--

Visibly skeptical. 

Yet his eyes darkened slightly at the thought. "You seriously want to do this?"

"It could be fun," you said, voice softening, tone suggestive. "Unless you don’t think you could last…"

He raised an eyebrow, clearly recognizing the challenge in your voice. "You really think I lack self-control?"

"Prove me wrong," you whispered, boldly stepping back from him, the sudden distance leaving him reaching subtly toward you. "Unless you're afraid you'll miss me too much."

A slow, competitive smile spread across his lips, even as his eyes simmered with restrained heat. "Fine. One month."

"One month," you echoed, feeling a delicious shiver race through you at the sheer audacity of your plan.

Aaron moved closer, stopping just short of touching you, his gaze locked firmly onto yours. His voice dropped to a teasing growl, filling the charged silence. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

You smiled knowingly, heart pounding in your chest. "Neither do you."

The first few days of the challenge passed by in a confusing blur of routine and restraint. 

Nights that normally ended tangled together beneath the sheets became filled with quiet--

Slightly strained goodnights…with both of you carefully maintaining space between your bodies. 

The comfortable ease of falling asleep curled into Aaron’s warmth was replaced by cool sheets and a palpable yearning lingering between you.

In the mornings, the casual intimacy of getting ready together was fraught with subtle tension. 

You found yourself deliberately looking away as Aaron buttoned his shirt, though catching glimpses of his bare skin left your pulse quickened and your resolve shaking.

At work, brief moments alone became fraught. A quick brush past each other in the bullpen, a lingering glance across the conference table, and even the simple act of Aaron placing a file on your desk seemed charged with unspoken longing.

One evening, after a particularly taxing case, you found yourself nearly forgetting the rules--

Instinctively reaching out to pull Aaron into an embrace. 

The warmth of his body pressed briefly against yours sent a rush through your veins, but you quickly stepped back--

Eyes wide. 

Breath catching.

Aaron’s gaze burned into yours, a frustrated smile quirking his lips. "Almost forgot yourself, didn’t you?"

"Shut up," you murmured softly, laughing despite the ache building in your chest. "It’s harder than I thought."

His eyes darkened with quiet agreement, voice low as he replied, "You have no idea."

Each passing day tested your limits further, yet neither of you were willing to concede defeat just yet.

About a week later, it was a later afternoon at the BAU, the office buzzing quietly with end-of-the-week energy. 

You sat at your desk, skimming through the paperwork from your last case, distractedly sipping the lukewarm coffee at your side. Your mind drifted--

Attention captured more by thoughts of Aaron than by the bureaucratic jargon in front of you.

You glanced up instinctively toward Aaron’s office. Through the slightly ajar blinds, you saw him sitting at his desk; brow furrowed, his tie loosened just enough to hint at the end of a long week. 

Your heart quickened at the simple sight of him--

Strong fingers flipping through a report, the familiar crease in his forehead deepening slightly.

You missed his touch. Missed feeling his hands on your waist, his lips tracing slowly along your collarbone--

Stop it, you chided yourself silently, turning your attention back to the forms. It’s barely been a few days. Get it together.

You'd been doing well, really. 

Sort of. 

Since starting this little challenge--your self-imposed celibacy experiment--both of you had stuck to the rules. 

Despite the usual pattern of coming home and relieving the day's stress tangled together, you'd both restrained yourselves. 

Each night had become increasingly difficult, awkward glances and lingering touches feeling far more significant than they should have.

You sighed, pressing your forehead into your palm, willing yourself to focus.

A gentle voice interrupted your thoughts. "Rough day?"

You jolted, looking up sharply. Aaron stood beside your desk, arms crossed comfortably over his chest, a half-smile playing at his lips. His dark eyes held yours, humor softening his usually serious gaze.

"Jesus, Aaron, warn a girl," you muttered, recovering your composure as he chuckled softly.

"Sorry." His tone indicated he wasn't particularly sorry at all. He shifted slightly, leaning down so he could lower his voice. "I was thinking--it's Friday. Let's grab dinner later. Just us."

You eyed him warily, sensing an edge beneath the casual suggestion. "Dinner?" You echoed, your lips quirking up. "Is that code for something else?"

"No," he replied innocently, but his eyes darkened slightly, pupils dilating as they settled steadily on you. "Just dinner. Why--are you afraid you can’t handle it?"

Your pulse stuttered at the deliberate challenge. You straightened in your seat, tilting your chin up in defiance. "I think you're projecting. Maybe you're worried you won't behave yourself."

Aaron leaned closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, intended only for you. "Oh, believe me. I know exactly how to behave. Even though I know that you prefer it when I don't."

Your breath caught sharply, heat flooding your cheeks as his words slid smoothly beneath your skin, igniting every nerve ending.

"You know," he continued quietly, utterly composed as he watched your reaction closely, "I keep thinking about last weekend. The way you sounded when my mouth was right--"

You cleared your throat quickly, desperately, cutting him off before anyone could overhear. "Aaron," you warned under your breath, your pulse hammering, the flush blooming redder across your cheeks.

He tilted his head, eyes amused but dark with a challenge. "What? Isn't this your little game?" His voice dripped with restrained heat. "I thought you'd enjoy a little competition."

Your fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the desk, your breathing shallow. "Careful," you muttered, voice strained, "or I might call your bluff."

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, utterly confident and maddeningly attractive. "It wouldn't be bluffing. But if you decide to break your own rules, I'm going to remind you that you're the one who couldn't take it."

Your gaze flashed back to his, bristling with defiance. "You're awfully cocky, Agent Hotchner."

His smile widened faintly, predatory and controlled. "I prefer the word confident."

The air between you was electric-- 

Practically crackling. 

Tension pulsing thickly through each shared breath. 

His eyes roamed over your face, lingering deliberately at your mouth before meeting your gaze again.

He leaned in one last time, whispering low against your ear, breath hot against your neck. "I'll pick you up at eight. We'll see how long your little rules last tonight."

You swallowed hard, shivers cascading down your spine, warmth pooling dangerously low. "Maybe I should reconsider dinner."

He chuckled softly as he straightened, clearly pleased with the effect he'd had. "Too late. I'm not backing out now. I'm not a quitter--especially when I'm enjoying your game so much."

He strode away, perfectly composed, leaving you utterly flustered--

Heart pounding…desire simmering fiercely beneath your carefully held-together composure.

You exhaled shakily, watching him walk back toward his office, knowing perfectly well he’d done that on purpose.

Days later, you leaned against the kitchen counter, idly scrolling through your phone. 

It had taken the entire afternoon--and part of the evening--to regain your composure after Aaron’s little performance at work. But now, days later and comfortably settled at home, you finally had a plan to tip the scales back in your favor.

Aaron sat on the living room couch, legs comfortably crossed, reading glasses perched on his nose as he reviewed yet another set of files. 

The soft glow of the lamp illuminated him gently, shadows accentuating his defined jawline. You nearly lost your resolve right there--

But then you remembered the cocky smirk on his face.

No. 

He wasn’t going to win this easily.

With a calculated sigh, you casually pushed yourself off the counter, phone still in hand.

"Aaron," you called sweetly, sauntering over to stand behind him. You slid your arms over his shoulders, leaning forward so your lips brushed softly against his ear. "Can I borrow you for a second?"

He tilted his head slightly, turning enough so your eyes could meet. His expression was cautious but intrigued. "For what?"

"I did some shopping this week," you murmured, your fingers brushing lightly along his chest. "Online. I thought I could use a little pick-me-up after such a stressful week."

He raised an eyebrow, eyes glimmering with curiosity. "Shopping, huh?"

"Mm-hm," you hummed, withdrawing slowly and making your way toward the bedroom. "I’d love your opinion on my new...outfit."

He stared after you for a moment, clearly suspicious, but his interest piqued nonetheless. He finally nodded, setting aside the files and removing his reading glasses.

"Sure," he said cautiously, rising to follow. "Let’s see."

You shot him a dazzling smile. "Give me two minutes," you purred, closing the bathroom door gently behind you.

In reality, it took you closer to five. 

You carefully fastened the delicate clasps of the garter belt, adjusting thigh-high stockings that hugged your legs. The deep, midnight lace of the lingerie contrasted dramatically against your skin, a matching bra accentuating curves you knew Aaron couldn't resist. A pair of sky-high black stilettos completed the ensemble, adding height--and confidence--to your stride.

You glanced in the mirror once more, satisfied with the sight staring back at you, took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door.

Aaron stood near the dresser, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. As the sound of your heels clicked against the floor, he glanced up, completely unprepared for what awaited him.

His mouth fell open slightly--

His phone nearly slipping from his fingers. 

You suppressed a triumphant smirk as you slowly moved toward him, deliberately swaying your hips. 

His gaze roamed shamelessly over you…from the intricate detailing on your bra, to the garter belt hugging you waist, down your stockings and finally to the heels that added an entirely new layer of allure.

"Aaron?" you asked softly, voice dripping with innocence, even though your eyes were anything but. "Thoughts?"

He cleared his throat, visibly swallowing hard, the muscles in his jaw tense as his eyes darkened to something nearly…feral.

"You’re…" He took a slow, shaky breath, clearly fighting for composure. "You’re absolutely killing me."

You stepped closer, fully aware of the power you held at this moment. Your fingers lightly traced along his tie, tugging it playfully.

"That's kind of the idea," you teased gently, lips curving into a satisfied smirk. "I thought it might help your memory. You seemed to have forgotten earlier how easily I can distract you."

Aaron’s breathing was shallow--

Strained. 

He visibly struggled, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, clearly battling an internal war.

"You look…amazing," he admitted finally, voice thick and husky, his eyes darkening even further. "But--"

He paused abruptly, shoulders tensing as he stepped quickly around you, brushing past without another word toward the bathroom.

Stunned, you spun around, staring after him with open disbelief.

"What the hell was that?" you demanded, slightly offended and definitely frustrated.

He paused briefly at the door, hand gripping the frame so tightly his knuckles whitened. He turned just enough to glance over his shoulder, eyes heated but stubbornly resolved.

"That," he answered slowly, voice tense but firm, "was me desperately needing a cold shower. I’m going to stand under freezing water and think about every goddamn file stacked on my desk at the office until I forget what you just did to me."

You scoffed, incredulous, though secretly impressed by his willpower. "Really?"

Aaron’s mouth twitched, his eyes still smoldering but determined. "I told you--I’m not a quitter."

He disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of water immediately drowning out any further protests.

You exhaled sharply, equal parts annoyed and begrudgingly impressed. He was playing tougher than you thought.

Another week (felt like a century) had passed. The team had claimed their usual table at O'Keefe's, a warm, dimly lit pub known for its strong drinks and inviting atmosphere. 

Soft laughter mingled with clinking glasses, blending easily into the background hum of conversation. The evening was supposed to be relaxing--

A time to decompress from another long, difficult week. But for you, relaxation was currently nowhere on the menu.

Not with Aaron’s hand resting firmly--and very intentionally--on your thigh beneath the table.

You glanced sideways at him. Aaron sat perfectly relaxed, chatting casually with Rossi about some old case, his face the picture of composure. 

Anyone else would believe he wasn’t doing a damn thing out of the ordinary. But beneath the wooden table, hidden from the team's view, his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles on the fabric of your pants.

What. The. Fuck. 

You shifted subtly, trying to relieve the fiery pressure building between your thighs. Aaron noticed immediately, and a small, barely perceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His hand slid incrementally higher, the heat of his palm practically scorching your skin.

Emily raised an eyebrow at your slight squirming. "You good over there?"

You coughed lightly, shooting Aaron a brief glare as his thumb paused dangerously close to your inner thigh. "Yeah. Just...hot in here," you lied quickly, taking a deep sip from your drink.

Aaron tilted his head toward you, feigning innocent concern. "Need some water?"

You forced a smile through gritted teeth. "I'm fine."

Penelope studied the two of you with a thoughtful expression. "You sure? You look kind of…flushed."

JJ, sensing the opportunity for humor, nudged Reid playfully. "Uh-oh. Looks like someone might be in trouble."

Reid glanced up cluelessly from his soda. "What do you mean?"

"She means Hotch is in the doghouse," Derek chimed in, eyes gleaming with playful mischief as he leaned back in his chair. "Look at that guilty face."

Aaron lifted an eyebrow at Morgan, hand never budging from your thigh. He remained perfectly composed, even as his fingertips pressed lightly, sending a jolt of electricity straight through your body.

You swallowed hard, struggling to maintain composure as heat flared in your cheeks.

Rossi chuckled knowingly, swirling his scotch glass. "Ah, Aaron, I take it you’re sleeping on the couch tonight?"

Aaron shrugged calmly, eyes glinting as he gave your thigh a subtle squeeze. "Something like that," he answered cryptically, enjoying your barely suppressed reaction.

Your eyes narrowed, frustration and embarrassment mingling with desire. "That makes two of us," you mumbled under your breath, swirling the straw in your cocktail and regretting everything about this little "experiment."

More like…mistake. 

Unfortunately, JJ heard your comment, her eyes lighting up instantly. "Ooh, trouble in paradise goes both ways, huh?"

Emily smirked, tilting her beer bottle toward you both. "You two having some sort of domestic standoff we should know about?"

Aaron shot you an amused, sideways glance, clearly daring you to respond. "Just a little disagreement about…boundaries," he offered smoothly.

Penelope’s eyes widened behind her sparkly frames. "Oh boy. Do I even wanna know?"

Reid shook his head vigorously. "Probably not."

You sighed deeply, feeling Aaron’s hand finally retreat slightly. Relief--and disappointment--washed through you simultaneously. "Trust me, it's better if you don't."

Morgan snorted, elbowing Emily gently. "If they're both suffering, maybe we shouldn’t push our luck."

Emily raised her glass in agreement. "Fair enough."

Rossi chuckled deeply, casting you both a knowing look. "Ah, young love. So complicated."

Aaron leaned back, arm resting comfortably behind your chair, finally giving you space to breathe. But his eyes remained locked on yours, heavy with unspoken promise.

"Complicated," he echoed Rossi softly, just loud enough for you to hear, his voice low and intoxicating. "You have no idea."

Your heart pounded, heat pooling dangerously low. This challenge was spiraling fast, and the boundaries you'd set seemed flimsier by the minute.

Penelope shook her head with mock severity. "All right, whatever weird game you two are playing, keep it at home. This is supposed to be PG."

Aaron’s lips twitched into a faint smile, eyes never leaving yours. "Understood."

You bit your lip, torn between laughter and the ache of frustration. Whatever was left of your resolve was fraying dangerously…dangerously thin.

As the conversation moved on, Aaron leaned toward you, his breath warm against your ear, voice a low murmur that made your pulse quicken.

"Still think you can handle it?"

You turned slowly, meeting his dark gaze with a defiant smirk. "Bring it on."

You both knew you'd regret it later, but at that moment, pride trumped common sense.

At least, until he gently placed his hand back on your thigh, fingers curling possessively, igniting your skin once more.

Yeah.

You were definitely going to lose this battle--

And frankly? You weren't even sure you'd mind anymore.

The next night, the room was cloaked in darkness--

Quiet and still. 

The steady hum of the air conditioning blending with the gentle rustle of sheets. You slept peacefully beside Aaron, tangled comfortably in the blankets, oblivious to the restless energy building beside you.

Aaron shifted slightly in his sleep, brows knitted together, lips parted with shallow breaths. 

His dreams were vivid--

Too vivid--

Images of you swirling through his subconscious, memories, and fantasies intertwining dangerously. 

He could practically feel the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips, the warmth of your breath against his neck, hear the sweet sound of your voice whispering his name.

With a sharp inhale, he startled awake, pulse hammering in his ears. 

He lay motionless for a few long seconds, chest rising and falling heavily as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

God, he needed you. 

This stupid game--

Your little challenge…was becoming ridiculous--

Almost unbearable. 

Every muscle in his body felt taut with frustration, and there was only so much he could take before something had to give.

Glancing carefully at your sleeping form beside him, Aaron let out a slow, measured breath, carefully easing out from beneath the sheets. He shifted gently, positioning himself away from you, back turned just enough that he wouldn't wake you.

He shut his eyes tightly, feeling slightly ridiculous--

Like a teenage boy again--

But the ache between his thighs was relentless. 

He took himself in hand, moving quietly, carefully…desperately trying to find relief without disturbing you.

But a soft, teasing voice quickly shattered his plans.

"Agent Hotchner," you whispered playfully, voice thick with sleep yet undeniably amused, "I do believe that's cheating."

Aaron froze instantly, mortification mixed with frustration creeping along his skin. He turned slightly to face you, flushed and breathing unevenly. You were propped up on one elbow, watching him with a sly grin, eyes sparkling in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds.

"That’s not--" He cleared his throat, voice low and husky. "It's not cheating. It's…a careful work-around."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "Oh, is that what we're calling it now?"

He huffed softly, eyes narrowing at your amused expression, but the embarrassment was fading quickly. "Exactly. No rules broken."

You tilted your head thoughtfully, feigning consideration. "Hmm, I’m not sure about that. This feels suspiciously like cheating."

"Cheating implies two people," he argued, struggling to keep his voice even. "This is purely solo."

"Ah, a loophole." You nodded mock-seriously. "Should've thought of that myself."

Aaron’s eyes darkened at your teasing tone, his embarrassment giving way to renewed confidence. He turned fully toward you now, unabashed despite the vulnerability of the moment, and moved slightly closer.

"You’re welcome to join me if you’d like to ensure fair play," he challenged softly, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

Heat instantly rushed through you, your pulse quickening as you fought to maintain composure. You hesitated, eyes locked onto his, tempted beyond belief--

But pride held firm.

You could so jump on this train. You’re sure it would take less than five minutes to finish. The sheer thought of Aaron’s temptation alone could bring you to orgasm. The sight of him carefully…slowly stroking himself a whole other layer to things that…that honestly was making your throat dry.

But…but you were determined. 

The reward…it would be pure bliss.

"Nope," you replied stubbornly, sinking back into the pillows, fighting the urge to touch him. "Your loophole, your rules."

He stared at you incredulously, clearly not expecting that response. He paused his movements. "You're serious?"

You shrugged lightly, eyes sparkling mischievously in the darkness. "Rules are rules, Aaron."

He exhaled sharply, frustration mounting. "This was your idea."

"Exactly," you said sweetly, snuggling deeper into the covers. "You were just bragging about your self-control yesterday, remember?"

Aaron glowered playfully, finally surrendering with a quiet, reluctant sigh. He collapsed dramatically back against the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling, clearly resigned. "This is torture."

You chuckled softly, secretly sympathizing--

It was torture. 

Though you'd never admit it now. 

"That's the idea."

He turned his head, eyes lingering warmly on your face, frustration melting slightly into tenderness. He frustratedly tucked himself back into his boxer shorts begrudgingly.

"You’re lucky I love you."

You smiled softly, leaning closer to gently brush your lips across his cheek. "Very lucky."

Aaron wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer and sighing deeply into your hair. "Can we at least agree that dreaming doesn't count as cheating?"

You laughed softly, tracing your fingertips over his chest. "Dream away, Agent Hotchner. Just keep your hands to yourself."

He groaned quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before reluctantly settling back against the pillows, pulling you close again. "Remind me never to let you choose our challenges again."

You smiled against his chest, your eyes slipping shut, exhaustion blending with the sweet ache of temptation. "Noted."

Aaron sighed softly, eyes closing in surrender. Tomorrow would be another battle entirely--

But for now, he simply tightened his hold around you, determined to endure.

You both were about two weeks away from the challenge being over. It had felt like years…absolute hell on earth. 

The entire day had been an exercise in patience, one thin thread after another snapping beneath the weight of tension between you and Aaron. 

The case had been exhausting, draining you physically--

Mentally, and--worst of all--emotionally. 

Each moment felt charged, every interaction thick with a palpable intensity neither of you could shake.

And everyone had noticed.

It started that morning. 

You'd slipped into a pencil skirt, one that hugged your curves in all the right ways. You knew exactly what you were doing--

Aaron loved that skirt.

Loved the way it emphasized every subtle movement of your hips. 

He’d practically growled when he saw you at the crime scene, eyes trailing slowly over your figure with barely concealed frustration.

As the day progressed, you found yourself subtly but deliberately pushing his buttons. 

You challenged his orders just enough to make him grit his teeth, raising an eyebrow in quiet defiance whenever his eyes narrowed at you across the precinct.

He'd retaliated by maintaining impossibly strict control over the investigation, projecting authority in a way that made your knees wweak.

It had all boiled over when Aaron interrogated the unsub. 

Watching him from behind the glass had been both thrilling and torturous. His voice had been sharp--

Commanding.

The tension in his shoulders evident as he'd leaned forward, eyes burning with intensity. 

Something primal stirred within you at the sight--

Anger radiating off him. 

Powerful and dominating…

Turning you on more than you'd ever admit.

Afterward, the team exchanged bewildered glances as Aaron strode past you with barely a nod, his jaw clenched tightly. Morgan’s eyes had followed Aaron carefully, a slow smirk spreading over his face.

"What the hell did you do to him?" Morgan whispered, incredulous.

You’d shrugged nonchalantly, heart racing beneath your calm exterior. "What makes you think it was me?"

Emily scoffed, shaking her head. "Please. You two have been off all day."

JJ nodded, smirking knowingly. "Whatever game you're playing, you're clearly both losing."

Now, hours later, you stood frozen outside your hotel room, staring at the closed door, adrenaline racing through your veins. 

You knew Aaron was inside, waiting. 

It was late; the rest of the team had retreated to their own rooms, leaving you both alone to face the inevitable.

Taking a deep breath, you swiped the keycard and stepped inside, the door clicking softly shut behind you.

Aaron stood near the window, staring silently at the darkness outside, tie loosened, jacket already draped over a nearby chair. He didn’t turn around immediately, but the rigid line of his shoulders told you everything you needed to know. His patience had worn razor-thin.

"Aaron--" you started softly, hesitant yet desperate.

He turned sharply, dark eyes flashing dangerously. His gaze swept over you, igniting fires beneath your skin.

"Enough," he said hoarsely, voice low and commanding, eyes blazing with barely contained desire. "This ends now."

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you in three quick strides, capturing your mouth in a heated, possessive kiss. 

Any hesitation vanished instantly, replaced by an overwhelming, urgent need.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as you surrendered fully, completely. 

All rational thought evaporated, drowned beneath the intensity of his kiss, the hard press of his body against yours. 

His strong hands moved urgently over your hips, pressing into the curves he'd been deprived of for far too long.

"You drove me insane today," he murmured roughly against your lips, voice dark with hunger. His teeth grazed along your jawline, sending chills cascading down your spine. "That skirt...that mouth of yours..."

You gasped softly as his hands firmly pushed the fabric of your skirt upward, fingers gripping your hips with bruising urgency. 

You arched into him, breathless. "You weren't exactly innocent either," you whispered back defiantly, pulling his tie free with shaky fingers, swiftly undoing the buttons on his shirt. "Watching you yell at that unsub nearly made me lose my mind."

Aaron groaned, mouth tracing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat, his breath warm against your skin. "God, I’ve missed touching you."

His hands slid beneath your shirt, pulling it swiftly over your head and discarding it without a second thought. Clothing hit the floor piece by piece--

Urgency growing with every passing moment. 

It was frantic. 

Desperate.

Each touch igniting sparks hotter than you'd imagined possible.

When he finally lifted you, effortlessly guiding your legs around his waist, you whimpered against his lips, completely and utterly lost.

Aaron paused for a brief second, breathing harshly against your mouth, eyes dark and intense as they locked onto yours. "You win," he admitted roughly, his voice thick with desire. "I'm done holding back."

You smiled breathlessly, heart racing as you whispered back, fingers threading through his hair, "It's about damn time."

All pretense vanished then, surrendering to the overwhelming need you'd both denied for far too long. Everything else faded away--

Rules, games, even the lingering thoughts of your teammates’ confusion.

Tonight was only about you and Aaron, tangled together in passionate relief, finally letting go.

Because as far as you both were concerned, this was one competition worth losing.

Practically tossing you on the bed, it felt like he was all over you at once. His mouth moving from your jawline to your lips to that spot behind your ear--

The one he knew made you weak in the knees. 

Wet between your legs. 

The effect this man had on you. 

“Are you going to drag this out,” You asked, “Make me beg for you?” 

Your hands tangled with his tie, quickly trying to work his clothing off before he replaced your hands with his own. Taking off the tie swiftly and then working each button, a smirk of mischief fell across his face.

“I could,” Aaron hummed, tossing the shirt and tie on the floor before reaching for his belt. Your eyes darted to them, seeing the tent in his dress pants...waiting--

Asking for you. 

He contemplated for a moment longer, “But it’s been too long, sweetheart,” He saidalmost tenderly. You smiled at him sweetly, “Too long and I’ve missed you.” 

“God,” you sighed, “I’ve missed you too.” 

It was then, the remainder of your clothes were removed. Aaron’s lips were back on you in a moment’s notice. 

Kissing. Licking. Full on attacking your body with his mouth in the best way. 

Kissing his way down your bare skin, he found himself settling between your thighs. He pushed them open without and argument from you. The cool exposure contrasted against your arousal. 

“After my silly game, you’re rewarding me?” You held yourself up on your elbows to look at him seated between your thighs. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Aaron tisked, “This is a reward for me.” He moved closer, licking gently…almost teasingly, at your core, “I said I missed you.” 

Like a parched man, Aaron drank you up. His tongue worked you, bringing you to orgasm within no time. Your back arching off the bed and your hand fisted with his hair. His name like a prayer off of your lips. 

Oh. 

Oh, how you missed this. 

Within no time, his mouth was back on yours. Tongue swiping yours as you breathed into the kiss. You were soft against him, melting into each kiss. You reached between your bodys and stroked him once. Twice. Three times. Before he stopped you. 

“I’m like a revirginized teenager, sweetheart,” He said slightly embarrassed, “You keep that up and I will not last. It’s been almost a month.” 

You kissed him softly, “I’m sorry,” to which he kissed you again, combing his hands through the hair framing your face. “This was a stupid idea.” 

He chuckled, “It…it was.” Kissing you once more on the nose, “But distance makes the heart grow fonder, right?” 

“And the couple grow hornier,” You nodded, causing him to laugh a little before kissing you deeper this time. 

He rolled onto his back and took you with him. You straddled his legs and ran your hands up the planes of his chest, feeling the softness beneath you. 

You grinded your wet center against him, eliciting a deep, guttural groan from Aaron. He hissed your name under his breath, “You’re not playing fair.” 

“You should know that by now,” You lifted your hips and reached for him, positioning him at your entrance. 

Slowly--achingly slow.

You lowered yourself onto him. He hissed between his teeth. You could have sworn he said your name along with a curse, but your ears were buzzing. Too overwhelmed from the fill. 

It had been too long.

Way. Too. Long.

Oh.

Oh, how you missed this. 

Missed him.

With each movement, you realize how much you took your sex life with Aaron for granted. With each thrust, he met you--

Each time,you heard your name fall from his lips like it was the only name he knew. 

You realized you would never take this man or your connection for granted again. 

Had it ever been this way with anyone else? 

Never. 

Not even close. 

The way your bodies felt like they were made for each other. Like there were divots in your hips made for his hands to hold you there and rock you against him. Guiding your hips front and back as you moved on top of him. 

You never had to fake it with Aaron either. With others, you had to pretend you’d cum. Or just simply say you didn’t and pretend like it was okay. 

With Aaron? It was second nature. You couldn’t stop yourself from coming even if you tried. It would hit you like a freight train sometimes. 

Out of nowhere. 

Sometimes it was fast and heavy and overwhelming. 

Other times, it was soft waves that enveloped you for moments upon moments. 

But today…

Oh, today?

It hit you. 

Like a ton of bricks. 

Aaron’s hand found the bundle of nerves between your thighs, rubbing circles against your clit. You felt from the way his thrusts began to stutter. 

Began to become less rhythmic. 

He was close.

You were closer.

You were there.

Your orgasm washed over you. You felt yourself clench around him, milking him of all he had. Like a domino effect, Aaron followed behind you. The noises he made were something you missed--

And again…would never take it for granted again. 

The bruising grip on your hip moved to your back as you fell against his chest. You felt his heavy breathing against you. You peppered lazy kisses along his collarbone.

Your breathing slowly steadied, matching Aaron's rhythmic heartbeat beneath your cheek. The dim glow of the bedside lamp washed warmly over your tangled bodies, casting gentle shadows across the hotel walls. For several minutes neither of you spoke, content to simply exist together, skin pressed to skin, savoring the quiet aftermath.

Eventually, Aaron shifted slightly, his fingers brushing soothing circles against your bare back. You felt his chest vibrate softly as he chuckled beneath his breath.

You lifted your head, glancing up at him, curiosity and amusement sparkling in your eyes. "What's so funny?"

He tilted his head, looking down at you fondly, a rare, relaxed smile lighting up his usually serious features. "I'm just relieved we can finally stop torturing ourselves."

You laughed softly, tracing slow, idle circles on his chest. "Hmm, was it really torture?"

"Absolute torture," he insisted, voice low but playful. His fingertips skimmed gently along your spine, sending pleasant chills through your exhausted limbs. "Though I'll admit, seeing how long you'd last was oddly satisfying."

You propped yourself up on an elbow, raising an eyebrow challengingly. "Funny, because I distinctly recall you being the one who caved first."

Aaron’s eyes glimmered with humor, his lips curving upward just slightly. "Maybe. But as I recall, you didn’t exactly put up much of a fight."

You scoffed lightly, but your eyes softened. "Fair enough."

He reached up, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, expression turning more serious as his gaze softened further. "Honestly, this whole thing was ridiculous. Remind me never to agree to one of your ideas again."

"Oh, please," you teased softly, leaning down to kiss his lips tenderly. "You loved every second of it."

Aaron hummed softly against your mouth, pulling you closer again. "I’ll admit, the payoff was definitely worth it."

You smiled contentedly, resting your forehead against his, feeling completely at ease now that the tension had finally broken. Your fingers traced absent patterns against his skin, the warmth and comfort of the moment soothing your still-sensitive nerves.

"Besides," you murmured quietly, your voice teasing yet tender, "I learned something valuable from all this."

He raised an eyebrow curiously, voice gentle. "What’s that?"

You kissed him once more, a lingering touch filled with affection. "You’re stubborn as hell, Aaron Hotchner—but you're also irresistible when you finally give in."

He laughed softly, a rare, genuine sound that made your heart flutter. "I'll keep that in mind."

You shifted slightly, settling comfortably back into his side, head resting easily against his chest again. The hotel room returned to comfortable silence, the quiet broken only by your synchronized breathing and the faint sounds of the night beyond the window.

After a moment, you heard Aaron exhale deeply, tension fully releasing from his body. "You realize the team’s going to have questions tomorrow."

You smiled lazily against his chest. "Let them. I’m too happy to care."

Aaron’s arms tightened around you, holding you protectively, possessively close. "Good," he murmured softly. "Me too."

Sleep slowly began to pull at both of you, exhaustion settling over your bodies. Just before drifting off, Aaron pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his voice gentle, filled with quiet sincerity.

"But next time," he murmured quietly, lips curving into a teasing smile against your skin, "let’s just skip straight to this part."

You laughed sleepily, closing your eyes and melting against him, finally at peace.

"Deal."

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Ghost Eater

Summary: You don't like exorcists. They don't much like you either.

-----

You’d always thought big restaurants like the Brownie Industry only did well in small, midwestern towns like the one you came from. A year working in LA has taught you that, no matter where you go, people will always love garlic bread and sugar.

It’s your day off which means you’re pulling a double shift. You haven’t had time to wash your hair for the past two weeks so it’s frizzing out of your claw clip and flying wild around your face. The lighting is so dim that you’ve tripped over two black purses already, luckily not while you’re running food. The big dining room sounds like an apiary with the tittering laughter of the later adult crowd that’s filtered in from the theater across the four lane road. The main difference between the Brownie Industry here and the one back home is size. The ceiling soars overhead, supported by a series of concrete pillars separating the dining area into three sections.

Normally it would be three servers per section. Today, it’s just you in yours.

One more hour. That’s what the manager promised you. It might even be true if the host stand quits seating you after the table you’re approaching.

There are three people at the table. A woman whose hair might be light blonde or gray in the light of day, her eyes light and piercing. Her face is soft from age, emphasized by the tight, lace collar of her off-season sweater. She reminds you strongly of your mom’s nemesis on the HOA board. The man couldn’t be more out of place next to her despite their equivalent age. He’s wearing a leather jacket – again, it’s not cold here – and a Norwegian metal shirt underneath. His hair is definitely white, so white it almost glows. He’s frowning at the teenager across the table as if she’s touched his motorcycle without permission.

The teenager might be the first you’ve seen all night who doesn’t have their phone out. She’s decked out in what you consider grandma florals – a t-shirt scattered with daisy chains, a bucket hat made out of nana’s carpet bag, and a hand-crocheted scarf in pastel.  You can’t really see her face under the shadow of her hat and there’s an odd, blurred quality to the way she fiddles with her napkin. You let your eyes skip past her and back to the two adults. Teenagers don’t pay the bill.

“Welcome to Brownie Industry!” you chirp. You’re sweaty and red but the faded yellow light hides that. You’re a service industry pro so none of your exhaustion shows on your face when you ask, “Is this your first-time dining with us?”

If you weren’t so burned out, you’d have noticed before you introduced yourself.

“Are you Grady?” the woman asks. Her voice is more posh than you expected even with her lace collar. “Grady Pace?”

Fuck. There’s a noticeable temperature differential now that you’re close to them. The restaurant is warm from the number of bodies, maybe even warmer than the summer air outside, but stepping up next to their table feels like walking into an ice rink.

“I’m your waitress,” you say. You don’t have time for this conversation. You’ve got five minutes in your cycle to take their order and then you’ve got food to run. “If you need any other services from me, I have a website.”

“We messaged you,” the man says. His lips thin to the point his thick mustache covers them entirely. “You never responded.”

Because you’ve been making more money at the Brownie Industry than your other job. “I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Wait,” the teenager says, sitting upright. She looks from you to the adults and back again. When she smiles, there’s no humor in it. “This is why we drove eight hours to have dinner at the Brownie Industry? For her?”

“Katie, be polite—”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says, “It’s just—I found a priest, you know? An actual exorcist priest and you guys want to trust a waitress over him?”

“Ugh exorcists,” you say. The memory of sour cabbage is so heavy on your tongue that you stick your tongue out in disgust. When you see Katie’s look, you backtrack. “Effective! Definitely effective.”

“Your mistakes have cost us too much already,” the man says, shaking a finger at her. “We are not converting just for an exorcism.”

“I normally don’t agree with your father,” the woman tells Katie, “but in this case I would like to leave conversion as a last resort.”

“We wouldn’t actually convert,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty sure exorcists can tell when you lie,” you tell Katie. When her scowl deepens, you clear your throat. “Did you all need another minute to think about the menu?”

“We need you to help us,” the dad says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re at work and I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”

“We’re desperate,” the mom says. She reaches for her purse. “We’ll pay you. Triple the rate on your website or even quadruple. We need that thing gone by tonight.”

Katie covers her face. “Mom. You’re embarrassing me. Terry isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, he’s bad, young lady,” the dad says sternly. “A bad influence.”

“We caught her trying to perform another séance yesterday,” the mom confesses to you. She leans forward with a pinched expression. “So Terry’s friend Larry could visit too.”

“Interesting,” you say. The food bell rings, but you think you can ignore it for another minute. You study Katie’s blush. “Why did you do that?”

If she was being compelled, she won’t have an answer to your question. You’ve dealt with a lot of ghosts in your time, but so few are sentient enough – or powerful enough – for compulsion.

“Go on,” the dad says, gesturing at you. “Tell her.”

“Leroy, she’s embarrassed enough,” the mom says.

“No, she’s not, Sarah.” The dad – Leroy – gestures to you again. “Tell her.”

Katie huffs, clearly resistant. But when her dad huffs back, she caves. “So,” she says, “I have this YouTube channel—”

“I’m off in an hour,” you interrupt. You don’t care that you’re being rude. Your patience ran out as soon as she said YouTube. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” You turn to go.

“A moment!” Sarah shakes out her menu. “How’s the nicoise salad?”

Of course they’re going to order. They’d better tip too if they want you to help them with their ghost problem.

----.

“You said an hour,” mom Sarah says when you leave out the employee entrance. She’s shivering next to her daughter. Leroy is off smoking behind his motorcycle, parked next to the Tesla Katie is leaning on, but he stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt when you walk up. “It’s been two.”

“I had side work,” you say instead of it would have been one if not for you. You rub your bare arms when the familiar ghost chill washes over you. You want nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of garlic and brownie batter out of your hair. “Was there something wrong with my service?”

“No?”

You try to make your voice light. “I see.”

Sarah frowns at your tone anyway. “Why?”

“You tipped five dollars.”

Katie jolts like a scalded cat. “Mom!”

Leroy scrubs a hand over his face. “Sarah…”

“What?” Sarah throws up her hands. The parking lot lights catch on her Swarovski charm bracelet. “I tipped!”

“Like ten percent,” Katie says. She pulls her bucket hat over her eyes for a beat and then peeks at you from under it. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you, she’s always like this.”

“It was actually a six percent tip,” you say. You’re getting a clearer picture of this little family now. It’s becoming more and more understandable why Katie might have started summoning ghosts. “If you want to be precise.”

Leroy reaches for his back pocket. “Let me.”

Sarah swats at his hand. “We’re about to pay her a lot more than that!”

“For a completely separate job,” Leroy says. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and hands it to you with a grimace. “Sorry, Grady, I should’ve checked.”

“You should’ve paid if you cared so much,” Sarah retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. She taps her cheek and widens her eyes. “Oh wait… you never pay.”

“Sure,” Leroy says. This time it’s his turn to throw his hands in the air. “Sure, Sarah. I don’t pay for anything to do with our daughter’s private school or her dance classes or her health insurance—”

“If the court hadn’t mandated—”

“You make twice as much as me—"

“Guys!” Katie says loudly. Her mouth is a thin line of upset when she says, “Argue about what an expensive burden I am later when we don’t have an audience, okay?”

Her parents speak at the same time.

“You’re twisting my words,” Sarah says. “I never said—"

“Sweetie, you’re not a burden—”

“Can you just get this ghost out of me?” Katie asks you. She goes for nonchalance and falls short. “My parents haven’t been in the same room for the last five years for a reason.” She fakes whispering. “They don’t play nicely with others.”

Sarah bristles. “Katie.”

“God, I know how that is,” you say. The whole interaction is giving you the worst case of sympathy for Katie. Before her parents can say anything else, you change the subject. “How long have you been haunted?”

“Six months,” Katie says. She fiddles with her bucket hat so that you can see her eyes for the first time. They’re brown, like her dad’s, and have heavy bruises underneath. She shrugs. “They only noticed a month ago though.”

“I noticed your behavior had changed,” Sarah defends. Like her daughter, she fidgets. She plays with her bracelet and clears her throat. “I thought it was a teenage thing.”

“What signs did you notice first?” you ask the parents. They glance at each other and then away.

“Let’s just say we noticed different things,” Leroy says dryly. He pulls out his phone.

“Moodiness,” Sarah says. She ticks them off on her fingers. “Laziness. Disrespect. Over-sleeping.”

“Those are just teenager things,” Katie says with an astounding level of self awareness. She shrugs. “I’m a senior now. They’re lucky it didn’t start sooner.”

“I,” Leroy says, “noticed this.” He turns his phone towards you.

“Ah,” Sarah says, “Yes. That.”

You examine the picture. It’s of Katie on a small dirt bike. She’s wearing a helmet in the picture, but you recognize the fashion sense in the floral boots she’s wearing. The scene behind her is of the hills, low scrub brush recognizable to someone who’s lived in LA for the past five years. On the bike behind her is a smudge. It could be a cloud of dirt blown into frame or maybe a camera glitch. It could be if it weren’t for the leering face emerging from the cloud right behind her head.

“I just want to say I did not agree to getting her a motorcycle,” Sarah says.

“Mom, not the point,” Katie says.

“Look how close that creep is to my daughter,” Leroy says. He jabs a finger at Katie’s waist in the photo where you can see a ghostly hand. “I want him gone.”

“Dad, he didn’t mean anything by it!” Katie turns to you earnestly. “Terry never rode a bike before and I thought, like, what if he moved on after he got a chance to? It was a philanthropic effort!”

“Plant a tree if you want to be a philanthropist,” Leroy growls. “I want this guy away from my daughter.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm really,” Katie says. “He would move on if he could! He says he’s stuck to me because of how I summoned him. He’s like, really sorry. He even spelled out Sorry in the bathroom mirror once.”

“What,” Sarah says in a dangerous voice, “was Terry doing in the bathroom with you, Katie?”

Katie splutters. “Mom, don’t be gross!”

The family descends into bickering. You have heard about ghosts being stuck to a person before, but usually that’s when the person has some sort of psychic powers. Katie’s wearing crystal in her ears, but they aren’t charged. She might develop some talent later in life, but right now she’s a normal girl.

The parking lost is nearly empty now. You recognize a few employee cars, but very few customers. The kitchen will be cleaning for another half hour before they’re ready to go home.  The reality is that, if Terry is stuck, you might not be the best way to handle the situation. If he’s not…

Well.

It’s time to talk to Terry.

Opening your ghost sense is hard to describe. Some psychics liken it to a third eye, right in the middle of their forehead. You’ve always thought that sounded really cool like maybe the world gets cast in a blue hue when they do it and the dead appear like they do in movies. You’ve met other psychics who say it’s like a sixth sense. They know where the ghost is and it’s like they download all that information until their minds can just sort of conjure their image.

For you, it’s like letting your body remember it has a second mouth. Cats have an extra sensory organ on the roof of their mouth that lets them detect scents better. Your second mouth is a bit like that. You can still smell brownies and garlic and the city air of LA, but you can also smell/taste something else.

Something like…pepper?

Your eyes water and you sneeze so viciously that your eyes close. When you open them again, four people are staring at you in surprise.

“Gesundheit,” Leroy says.

“You sneeze like Dad does,” Katie says.

“Did no one ever teach you to cover your mouth?” Sarah asks in disgust.

“I wish you would’ve sneezed on her,” Terry says, nodding to Sarah. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” you say. You wipe your nose with the collar of your shirt as you consider Terry. It’s dirty anyway. “Terry. Interesting name for a ghost.”

Terry hasn’t noticed that you can see him yet. He’s floating behind Katie, one arm casually flung over her shoulder. It’s hard to place when he died based on his appearance alone. His hair is chin length, emphasizing the width of his jaw. Squire cuts have been popular for several decades and the bowling shirt he’s wearing could either be a modern fashion statement or a dated uniform. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, sun-kissed and with the air of someone who tells a lot of jokes at the expense of others. His arm around Katie strikes you as possessive, the glare he gives her parents venomous.

“I didn’t name him,” Katie says. “He said it’s short of Torrance.”

You blink. “Wouldn’t he be Torri then?”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Katie and Terry say at the same time. Their cadence is so close that it actually sounds like Terry’s baritone comes out of Katie’s mouth. For a moment, his arm flickers, clipping into her shoulder like a bad animation. When it does, Terry’s form grows brighter, more solid. Then Katie shivers and he’s forced out of her.

You and Terry click your tongues at the same time.

You remember how Katie’s hands seemed to blur at the dinner table. Terry’s not just haunting Katie. He’s trying to possess her. You wonder if that’s why Katie looked up an exorcist rather than a simple spiritual cleansing. Did she know how much danger she was in?

“Okay,” you say. You tear your attention away from Katie and Terry for a moment. Business first. “Sarah. Leroy. Who was it that found my site?��

“I did,” Sarah says. She raises her chin when you can’t hide your surprise. “When Katie was looking up exorcists—”

“She didn’t mean it,” Terry says. He pats Katie’s hat. “Right?”

“—I looked up alternative solutions,” Sarah says, not having heard Terry. Her confidence falters for a moment and she rubs her arm. “I have had some… negative experiences with exorcisms. I don’t want my daughter to go through that.”

Katie’s head whips towards her mother. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Leroy says. For the first time, he reaches out and hugs Sarah with one arm. You don’t know what surprises you more; Leroy hugging Sarah or Sarah leaning into his side. “When Sarah told me, we decided to put our differences aside. I vetted you through some of my contacts and they all agreed you’d be a safe bet.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not bragging either. You’re probably the safest bet in half the western states besides your older sister. “There are some…peculiarities in my method.”

“Charlatan,” Terry whispers in Katie’s ear. He’s grinning now. “Only charlatans are that confident. Look! She can’t even see me!”

Katie looks doubtful.

Usually, you’d try to talk to Terry at this point. Sometimes spirits can be negotiated with. They can be encouraged to move on or to take on a less aggressive form of haunting. Those that are truly stuck can be helped with the right sort of ritual work. But the way Terry’s affecting Katie’s mood and that fucking arm around her shoulders…

You don’t really want to talk to Terry.

“We can ask Terry to move on,” you tell the family.

“Nooooooo,” Terry says and flips you off. “Pass!”

“Sometimes spirits don’t realize how deeply they’re affecting their hosts,” you say.

“You don’t even know how deep I’m about to be,” Terry jeers at you.

“Many ghosts are confused when they’re called to interact with the living,” you say. “It can blur their understanding of death and, as a result, they cling to life. If they stick around long enough, their presence will affect the living like what’s happening to Katie. It’s not always malicious. It can be a symptom of that confusion.”

“Katie, tell her to piss off,” Terry hisses in the teen’s ear. “I’m not confused, I’m bored.” His voice deepens. “Tell her we don’t need her help. Tell her we’re going home.”

Katie opens her mouth robotically. “That’s…” Her brow creases as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. “It seems like we don’t need help then. Terry will move on when he’s ready, like I thought.”

“We aren’t paying you for a ghost therapy session,” Sarah snaps. It’s only because you’re really focusing that you can see the unease under her anger. She’s noticed something wrong with Katie. “Katie, Terry is going away today.”

“Fuck you,” Terry says.

“Fuck you,” Katie says.

Leroy’s head rears back. “Katie, you don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Fuck you too,” Katie and Terry say. The parking lot lights flicker.

“No, fuck you, Terry,” you say, stepping between Katie and her parents. Leroy starts like he’s going to pull you out of the way, but he doesn’t.

“Terry?” Leroy asks. He looks scared. “Terry said that? Is Terry possessing my daughter?”

“Not yet.” You eye Terry’s arm and the way his fingers are sinking into Katie’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” Terry says. He doesn’t look scared. Not yet. Instead, he grins. “You can see me.”

“Not every ghost is malicious,” you tell the parents without taking your eyes off Terry. “But some are.”

“I’m not malicious.” Terry runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. The parking lot lights flicker overhead again. “I care about Katie a lot.”

“Terry’s never hurt me,” Katie says.

You ignore her. She’s not even shaking Terry off now. Her gaze is dull on your face when you say, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m some sort of ghost therapist. However, it’s important to differentiate between malicious and non-malicious hauntings in my practice. My methods are unconventional and, if used indiscriminately, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leroy says. He steps into your periphery. His gaze flicks from you to the spot you’re staring at over Katie’s shoulder. “We want Terry gone.”

“Not a soul,” Sarah promises. She comes up on your other side. “Please help our daughter.”

“Terry,” you say. Your second mouth is yawning wide somewhere in the back of your brain. The taste of pepper isn’t as overwhelming now. “Last chance. Renounce your claim on Katie’s soul and slither back into whatever hole you came out of.”

“We’re soulmates,” Terry says. He bares his teeth at you. “Go on, Charlatan. Call on your God to banish me. I’ve been around for decades and no exorcist has ever been able to put a scratch on me. And when they manage to push me out?” He laughs and the temperature drops another ten degrees. An unholy light flickers in his eyes. “I just come right back.”

“Then I guess I won’t feel guilty,” you say.

“Guilty?” Katie asks.

You walk forward two steps and grab Terry’s face. Terry’s skin is soft and jelly-like. His facial bones undulate like rubber under your grip. “Hi, Terry.”

Now Terry’s afraid. “What the fuck, you can touch—?”

“Bye, Terry.” You drag him towards you. His fingers pop out of Katie’s arm with a wet sucking sound, and he claws at your wrist.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait--”

You eat Terry.

People come from all around to eat at the Brownie Industry. They love the density of the desserts and the heaps of garlic spread over home-baked (shipped frozen) rolls. It’s a treat to know you’re always going to enjoy the meal even if you’re far from home or eating at the same location a hundred times. It’s consistency, sugar and butter. An easy addiction to have.

Eating ghosts is like that for you. They fizz in your second mouth like champagne and melt like fudge. It’s hard to describe and the ephemeral quality of it sends shivers down your spine. Somewhere Terry is screaming in anguish, maybe crying. You think that the family you’re helping is screaming something too, but the sensation of eating is so consuming you can’t hear the words.

Terry is younger than other ghosts you’ve eaten. He doesn’t have the depth of flavor you’d once been addicted to back in Illinois. The best ghost you’ve ever eaten had been like a six-course meal with all the centuries she’d been carrying. In comparison, Terry is like a bag of pepper chips. Interesting, but gone in a moment. Still, he hits the spot.

When you’re done, you burp a purple cloud of ectoplasm into the still night air.

Leroy is the first to speak. His eyes are so wide you can see the whites all around them. “Pay her, Sarah,” he says breathlessly. His hands shake as he reaches for Katie, steadying her on her feet. “Now.”

You smack your lips and graciously accept the wad of cash Sarah hands you. You raise your eyebrows. “This is more than three times my rate.”

“Consider it a tip,” Sarah says. She’s more composed than Leroy, but still pale. She studies you. “That was…revolting.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” you say. You put your money away and then perk up at a sudden thought. “Hey, if you can, can you leave me a review on my site?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to tell anyone?”

You wave your hand. “Secrets are bad for business. Besides, Terry deserved it. I’m sure they’ll understand if you write that in your review.”

“They…?”

You smile and don’t answer.

The family don’t ask many more questions after that. The parents promise to leave a review and Katie just stares at you as if concussed. You assure the parents that she’ll be back to normal as soon as the soul-shock wears off. 

“And if it doesn’t?” Sarah asks.

“Message me,” you say.

“You don’t check your messages,” Leroy says.

“Oh,” you say, patting your stomach, “I’ll be checking them a lot more often now.”

You’re hungry again.

---

(Patreon)

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 5

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter warnings: Sex. Minors DNI. Also, barely proofread, sorry for any mistakes!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 3.8k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: February 1, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Sorry it has taken me a while to get this part out. But I think you’ll like it. *fingers crossed* FULL TAGLIST TO FOLLOW. Sorry, I'm in a rush today. This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. 

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part 4.5 | Part Five | Masterlist

A fancy hotel takeout sits untouched on your kitchen counter, the smell of roasted garlic filling the small space. You glance at the clock—6:47 PM.

Yoongi promised to take you to dinner, but given the circumstances, a quiet night in felt more appropriate. Safer for him. After all, the media has been relentless since the Dispatch scandal dropped close to midnight like Cinderella’s kitten heel at the ball.

You’re kind of pissed, actually. Scratch that—you’re furious. Just when it felt like you finally had Yoongi—finally had the chance to explore whatever this was between you—this bullshit had to rear its ugly head. A photo of his kind of ex leaving his building was enough to set the internet on fire, and now it felt like the flames were creeping dangerously close to your life.

You’ve talked to him once today, and even that conversation was clipped. A text from him at 5 let you know he was about to leave HYBE and swing by his place first. “Be there by 7,” he’d said.

You stare at the pristine takeout containers, willing yourself not to spiral. You’re not that person anymore. You’re not the insecure girl who lets her emotions run wild over things she can’t control. You’ve done too much good work to let this unravel you.

“You’re fine. You’re fucking fine,” you mutter under your breath, pacing the kitchen.

Your phone vibrates on the counter. Namjoon. Always coming to your rescue at the right time.

“Hello?”

“You doin’ okay?” Namjoon asks, his voice calm but laced with concern.

“Define okay,” you quip, though your voice wavers slightly. “It’s been a lot.”

“I figured,” Namjoon says gently. “That’s why I’m calling. Just wanted to check in. Yoongi’s been swamped today, and I know how this stuff can mess with your head.”

You exhale slowly, grateful for the concern but also acutely aware of the simmering emotions just beneath the surface. “I’m trying, Joon. Really, I am. It’s just… exhausting. The waiting, the overthinking, the noise. I just want to know where I stand with him, you know?”

“He’ll tell you,” Namjoon assures you, his voice steady. “Just… don’t let the noise get to you.”

You swallow hard, his words striking a chord. “Thanks, Joon. Really.”

“Anytime,” he says warmly. “And hey, take it easy on him tonight, okay? He’s under a lot of pressure, but trust me, you’re his priority.”

“Will do, dad,” you tease, and for the first time all day, you feel a flicker of lightness.

“Bye.”

You set the phone down, Namjoon’s words lingering in your mind as you glance at the clock again. 

You think about Yoongi and the kind of pressure he must be feeling now. You can take care of him tonight. He deserves it.

You’re rearranging the pillows on the couch, trying not to glance at the clock again for the hundredth time. It’s not even about tidying the place anymore. It’s about occupying your hands, distracting yourself from the swirling mix of emotions in your chest.

Then, the doorbell rings.

7:01pm. 

You take a breath, smoothing your sweater. Calm. Casual. You’re fine.

You open the door.

And there he is. Yoongi stands in the dim light of the hallway, a dark jacket zipped up to his collarbone, a black mask shading his face, somehow directing the focus on the exhaustion in his eyes. But what caught your attention is his hair—slicked back with a little sprout of inky locks on top.

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking bashful at the heat in your gaze.

Christ. He looks good. Criminally.

He steps in. “Hi,” he says softly, his voice carrying that calm rasp you’ve missed.

Your heart clenches. “Hi,” you reply, your tone quieter than intended. You clear your throat, stepping back to let him in. “Come in.”

He steps inside, pausing in the entryway as he glances around. 

You then notice the bouquet in his hand—gorgeous white roses and baby’s breath wrapped in brown paper. 

He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes flick over your face. Something in your expression must’ve softened, because he quickly averts his gaze.

“I brought these,” he says, holding them out a little awkwardly.

Your chest tightens, a strange warmth spreading through you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

When you reach out to take the bouquet, your fingers graze his, and the contact lingers for just a second too long. Impulsively, your free hand rises to cup his cheek. Maybe it’s too much for whatever the hell this is between you, but the moment feels too honest to stop yourself.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

Yoongi freezes under your touch, his dark eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, as if the tension in his shoulders breaks all at once, he leans into your palm, just a fraction, and the smallest, most heartbreaking smile tugs at his lips as his eyes flutter close.

“I am now.”

You head to the kitchen, busying yourself with a vase to give the flowers the best chance to survive. You do not have a green thumb, so you pray to the gods the beautiful arrangement does not wither overnight.

“Hungry?” you ask, not turning around. “I bought chicken, shrimp fried rice, and some random banchan.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Yoongi replies, his voice closer than you expect. You glance back to find him leaning against the counter, watching you with an unreadable expression.

You place the vase on the counter and fold your arms. “So,” you start, forcing lightness into your tone. “Survived the day?”

“Barely,” he admits, a tired smirk tugging at his lips. “Had to dodge more cameras than usual. Sat in meetings for a couple of hours. Si-hyuk personally called Sung Kyung’s agency. They assured me that they will investigate thoroughly. I couldn’t eat. I get home and there’s still press camping out. So yeah, shit day and I almost didn’t make it out alive.”

“That’s the longest response I’ve ever gotten from you.” You tease. “You really must be stressed out.”

Yoongi chuckles and for a moment, it feels like the tension that’s been hanging over you both all day melts away. 

You go around the counter and stand facing him where he’s sitting on your bar stool. He parts his legs and you immediately take that space, crowding him a bit more by placing your hands tentatively on his shoulder.

His eyes, warm like molten chocolate, meet yours. “How about you?”

You hesitate, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “I’m fine,” you say, though the tightness in your chest betrays you. “I mean, it’s not like this is new territory for you, right?”

“Doesn’t mean it’s easy,” Yoongi says quietly. “And I don’t like that you’re sort of affected by it.”

“I can handle it,” you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel, projecting strength since he looks a little broken right now.

Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line, like he’s not entirely convinced. 

“I kinda knew what I was getting into when I knocked in your studio yesterday,” you say softly. “And I’d do it again. For you.”

His eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his face at your admission before it softens into something else. Something deeper. “For me?”

You nod, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Yeah. For you.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Then he straightens up from his slouch, taking one of your hands from his shoulder, pressing his lips softly against your pulse point.

“Dinner first,” he says. 

“Then what?” you challenge.

Yoongi just grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

As you sip the last of your drink, you steel yourself to ask the question that’s been bugging you all day. “So,” you say finally, broaching the topic. “Sung Kyung.”

Yoongi pauses mid-bite, his eyes flicking to yours. He sets his chopsticks down carefully, leaning back in his chair. “What about her?”

You take a steadying breath, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes. “Namjoon told me you’re co-parenting. But I need to hear where you two… stand?”

Yoongi exhales slowly. “Yeah, we’re co-parenting. That’s it. I don’t have any intention of getting back together with her. At all.” His voice is calm but firm, leaving no room for doubt. “I want Haneul to know his biological mom, but she and I—we’re done. That’s been over.”

Relief washes over you, but before you can fully settle into it, you notice the shift in his expression. His jaw tightens, and his eyes dart briefly to the table before returning to yours.

“There’s something else,” he says quietly, the words heavy with hesitation.

Fuck. You don’t like the sound of it, but you ask anyway. “What is it?”

Yoongi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “A few weeks ago… she kissed me.”

Your stomach twists, and the room feels suddenly colder. “What?”

“I put a stop to it immediately,” he says quickly, his tone insistent. “I told her it couldn’t happen again, that if she wanted to keep seeing Han, she had to respect that boundary. And she has. She knows where we stand.”

You don’t respond right away, staring down at your plate as you try to process his words. 

Oh my god. This is so fucked up. You knew Sung Kyung’s reappearance wasn’t as harmless as it seemed, but hearing it confirmed still stings.

“I just thought…” you start, but the words trail off.

Yoongi’s voice is soft but steady. “You have every right to be upset.”

“Do I?” You think out loud. “We’re not…” You nod slowly, pushing your chair back. “I… need a minute.”

When you get to your bathroom, you release a long steadying breath. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, hands gripping the counter tightly. Fuck. You’re okay. This is–

A knock sounds at the door, startling you.

Yoongi’s voice is muffled as he says your name, but it’s gentle as can be. “Can I come in?”

You glance at the lock and realize, too late, that you forgot to turn it. The door creaks open, and there he is, standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and something softer.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him and his arms immediately slide around your waist. The warmth of his touch seeps into you, and you meet his gaze through the mirror.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You lean back against him, the tension in your shoulders easing but just slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to feel about it.”

“That’s fair,” he presses his lips to your temple. 

“But I need you to know–” presses another on your cheek.

“That I don’t want anyone else–” presses the last where your neck and shoulders meet. 

“Just you.”

Your heart clenches at the sincerity in his voice, and when your eyes meet again in the mirror, the tenderness there leaves you so breathless.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you turn in his arms, your hands sliding up to his face as you pull him down for a kiss. His fingers tighten on your waist as he deepens the kiss, pulling you flush against him.

You walk back to your bed, lips fused with his, your fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair. The urgency between you grows as you push him down onto the mattress, his back hitting the sheets with a quiet thud. You follow immediately, straddling him, your body molding against his as you capture his lips again. The kiss is deep, consuming, his hands gripping your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you.

You stay like that for a while, tongues teasing, breaths mingling, drunk in the taste of each other. Then, a sharp pull of his lower lip between your teeth has him groaning into your mouth.

You’re driven by lust, and something else. A possessive demon seems to be overriding your better judgment, thinking you’ve been timid with your feelings for long enough. No woman, not Sung Kyung, even if he is Han’s mom, can take what you and Yoongi have been building up to for so damn long.

“You’re in your head,” Yoongi says, nudging his nose against yours.

“Did she kiss you like this, huh?” The words leave you before you can stop them. Your lips return to his, sucking greedily, staking your claim.

Yoongi’s breath shudders as you pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “No, baby.” His voice is rough, lips pink and swollen.

Your fingers slide under his shirt, pushing the fabric up and over his head, tossing it aside before your hands explore the newly exposed skin. He’s warm, toned beneath your touch, and the way his muscles tense under your fingertips only spurs you further. You lean down, lips dragging along his jawline, open-mouthed kisses trailing down his throat. He tastes sweet, salty, and entirely intoxicating.

“Did you fuck anyone else when I left?” you mumble against his skin, your teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

His breath hitches, “No, shit. No.”

“Good boy.” You hum in satisfaction, your lips venturing lower, your tongue flicking against the hollow of his throat. He groans, head pressing back into the pillow.

“Baby, you’re making me lose my shit right now,” he grits out, his voice strained, desperate. His hands now get braver, sliding underneath your top to fondle your tits. 

Maybe you’re delirious. Maybe you’re too turned on to think straight. Or maybe—maybe this is exactly what you’ve wanted since the moment you saw him again.

Your hand drifts down, fingers tracing the outline of his hard length through his trousers, feeling the way he twitches under your palm. 

“You’re mine, okay?” you whisper, nipping at his bottom plush as your fingers give his dick a squeeze.

He exhales a shaky laugh, his lips curving under yours. “Yours.”

He lets you revel in your greed for a few moments, allowing you to do whatever you pleased as you lose yourself in the heat building between you.

He ruts up towards your hand, grunting slightly. Honestly, he’s so hard, it’d be a mercy to release him from the confines of his jeans. So you do, helping him unbutton, unzip, and undress, until his cock springs free and flops on his stomach.

What a pretty dick. Literally lickable—solid, girthy, veiny, a bead of white pooling at the slit. You take him in your mouth, tracing the tip with your tongue, the taste of pre-cum coating your throat. You let drool cascade down his length, slick fingers pumping his shaft while your mouth suctions his mushroom head.

His hand goes to the back of your neck, guiding you in a bit more. “Mmm… that’s it, baby.” 

Yoongi moans your name as you go faster. You feel him twitching inside your mouth. He’s so hard but you don’t want him to cum yet. You pop him off to lap at the base, before your tongue travels upward to trace the thick veins on the underside of his cock. 

Jaw slack, his eyes are dark, dark as he observes you while propped up on his elbows. “Come up,” he says when you reluctantly pull away. “Wanna eat you out.”

Your clothes are yanked off your body as you take his place on the cushions, not a single piece of fabric now separating your skin. He takes you by the hip and adjusts your position so he can get his face close to your mound. Before you can mentally prepare yourself, he shoves his hot tongue against your folds, locating your clit in 0.001 seconds and you know you’ll be careening off a cliff in no time.

“I—Yoongi, that’s… shit that’s nice.” You can’t help it. It does feel nice.

You reach for the little ponytail on his head, gripping it for dear life. He hums against your bud when you pull, the vibrations only driving you more insane.

“You taste so good baby,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

“I can eat you out for days, make you cum,” he vows, delirious just like you are. “Over and over… my favorite fuckin’ snack.” 

“Oh my god, Yoongi…”

He feasts, and feasts, and soon enough, you’re shuddering in ecstasy, hips bucking in the process, as he slurps all you give him. He wears your cum like a gloss as he comes up for air, a lazy but proud smile on his face.

You reach for the drawer on your nightstand and pull out a new, sealed, and unopened box of condoms shoving it on his chest. He holds it in one hand, nose scrunching as he suppresses a laugh.

“Someone prepared…”

You shrug as he plucks one and unwraps it quickly, “What?”

“Nothing. You’re too cute for me.”

“Shut uppp.”

He rolls the condom on his dick, propping one hand by the side of your face as he uses the other to rub his blunt tip against your entrance. Your pussy is drenched and he slips right in and bottoms out with a grunt against your ear. He’s thick and big against your walls.

A smack against your ass cheeks makes you clench. “Ah, shit.” And another one lands before he soothes it with a gentle massage. 

You’re going crazy but you need him deeper. Sensing your needs, Yoongi pushes the back of your knees higher and snaps his hips with more force, pounding your pussy as your bed creaks against the wall. Your lids are heavy but you keep your eyes open long enough to see how fucked out he looks, cheeks flushed pink with a coat of sheen on his forehead, teeth caging his lower lip.

“You’re so hot. I wanna ride you,” you declare, stuttering a bit from his thrusts.

“Yeah?” He pants, slows the roll of his hips, waiting for your confirmation. 

When you nod, he slips off with a wince and you feel your juices trickle down your skin. You reverse positions, mattress dipping as you shift your knees on each side of his hips. 

“Do your thing, baby,” he urges, lacing his fingers behind his head, elbows bent outward in a relaxed pose.

Your smile is watery as you use his tip to prod against your clit one or twice before you sink him inside your wet heat. You moan in unison when you're fully seated, the feeling of him snug and warm and so full inside you driving you mad.

You tip your head back, palms planted against his chest as you swivel your hips in a slow dance. 

You look down on him, hair cascading over your shoulder, and you think how much you like this view. And how you won't mind this view everyday, actually. Seems the possessive streak from earlier still has not satiated. 

“Shit—you’re so hot like this.” 

You rock against him, clit stimulated deliciously as you ride his cock. He’s got a cocky little grin as you use him. You throw your ass back, and he has a front row seat and VIP access to your bouncing tits, his tongue slack on the side of his lips. He cups your tits with both hands, the wet pads of his thumbs rubbing against your nipples.

“My turn,” he grabs hold of your waist and thrusts upward so roughly your eyes roll back in pleasure.

He pistons into you, finger digging on your skin to keep you in place and a long moan rips from your throat when he jerks up particularly hard.

Your hands slip to his shoulder as your body bounces by the force of his movements, tits sliding against his chest. His thighs must be burning and when he slightly lets up, you dip your head, shamelessly to lick the side of his face, moaning his name against his ear. 

“Baby—” you beg, not really saying what you need, but he knows.

He uses a sweaty hand to guide a tit in his mouth, suckling at it with a bit of teeth. 

Not a moment later, he’s fucking you again from below, deeper, faster, and when rapidly presses into your sweet spot, you’re a goner.

“I’m close, Yoongi. So close…”

“Me too, baby,” his voice is rough as he lets go of your bruised nipple, brows furrowed in concentration like he is fully intent to give you the orgasm of your life. He pushes into your depth relentlessly, 

White hot heat is blooming inside you, and you feel his cock throb, abs tightening, before he spills his seed in the condom, groaning with his eyes shut to savor the intensity of his release. It’s the pure unadulterated pleasure painted on his face and his deep delicious moan that tips you over the edge, too, clenching against his solidness as you slip into the sinful pleasure of your orgasm.

Chest to chest, you rest your full weight against him, softening dick still nestled inside you. You press your lips against his neck, feeling the vibrations of his throaty chuckle. Then he asks, “Was it good?”

“So good.”

“Mm.” He hums, nosing the side of your face so you’d look at him. “Did you really mean what you said earlier?”

“Which one?”

“That you, uh, despite everything, you’d do it again, for me.”

You start to feel a bit shy, but then you remember you’re literally naked. On top of him. And he is still inside you. The point of bashfulness is long past. It’s time for the truth. “Yeah.”

“Bold of you, no?”

“Dumb, too.”

He pushes an errant hair behind your ear, eyes still glazed from the sex, but fond. “You know I really like you, right? If it isn’t painfully obvious.”

“Me too, Yoongi. Since Stan. Maybe even earlier.”

“Will you be my girl, then?”

Yoongi watches you carefully, waiting for your response. The earnest curve of his lips, the slight scrunch of his nose, the way his fingers still rest on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away—it’s all so achingly real.

You study him for a moment, letting yourself take it in. Everything about him—his caring nature, his tenderness, his immense love for Han, his ability to drive you absolutely insane and still make you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

The outside world is still in chaos. The scandal, the noise, the questions that neither of you have all the answers to yet. But here, in your little apartment, wrapped in the warmth of him, none of that feels as important as this.

“I will,” you finally say, voice steady.

His breath catches, just for a second. Then, his lips spread into the softest, gummiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, almost like he’s making sure he heard you right.

You nod, “Yeah.”

Your lips meet for a gentle kiss that feels like a promise and the rest of the world falls away. For now, no matter what comes next, it’s the two of you—finally honest, finally sure, and finally together.

:]

A/N: YASSSS. Our babies have finally figured it out. How do you feel right now? Would love to hear your comments! 

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human! Xo

P.S. Am gunning for 1,000 followers before Yoongi’s birthday. :) I think I’ll get there with your help. Feel free to reblog the story if you like, and that can help more people find our lovely L&L couple.

Love you!~

Permanent Taglist (Part 1)

@wonh0oe @hyukaluve @glossdebut @kiki-zb @kookiewithluv

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

@eve1633455 @baechugff @lilkittenjenjen @wobblewobble822 @coffeedepressionsoup

@futuristicenemychaos @jadestonedaeho7 @granataepfelchen @whoa-jo @annyeongbitch7

@chimmisbae @sexytholland @idkjustlovingbts @kpophosblog @tinyelfperson

@yoongicatagenda @codeinebelle @parapiop7 @diame93 @janeelizabeth1216

@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm @angellekookie

The rest to follow in a reblog.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Call Him 'Mr. Handle It' (Eren Y. x Black!F!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Possessive BF!Eren Yeager x GF!Feader

Synopsis: Eren is unlike any boyfriend you have ever had...and you mean that because no other has been as obsessive and possessive with you as he is. While he isn't controlling, he will definitely let somebody know that you are his. So when he accompanies you to a work dinner and catches the creep at work that you've been complaining about lately, Eren makes it very clear that his baby is NOT to be played with. And despite his best efforts, he'll have to make that known to you too...in private.

Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+ (MINORS DNI), Mild Plug!Eren x Mild Bimbo!Reader, Argument to Sex Pipeline lol, Masturbation, Voyeurism, Exhibitonism, Car Sex, Oral (Giving & Receiving), Blowjob While Driving, Doggy & Missionary on the Car, Dom!Eren x sub!Reader, Tongue Piercing, Deep Dicking, Reader Cums 2x, Mutual O, Creampie, Eren is Possessive, Protective, Obsessive & He is Strapped

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Had this one up in my head after listening to SZA. Hope y'all enjoy! -Jazz

****************

"Eren, baby, just please try to stay calm tonight."

Eren, your boyfriend who will proudly introduce himself to anyone and everyone as just that, gives you a hard side-eye as you walk together into the high-end restaurant for your work-related dinner party.

"Whatchu mean?" he asks. "I'm always calm. You're talkin' to me as if I'm five seconds away from crashin' out, babe."

He cracks a smile to reassure you-his baby, his princess, his everything-and ease your frazzled nerves, but it doesn't do much to soften that anxious look on your face. It does nothing to take away from how goddamn gorgeous you look tonight in your black mini dress, nylon stockings, and heels.

"No, but..." You trail off, looking off to the side at the bar filled with the stereotypically loud and stuffy businessmen that are no doubt the higher-ups in your corporate company. No doubt you're looking out for someone in particular.

And Eren believes he knows just who, but he won't say it until he is sure he has found him for himself. 'Blonde hair, mole on his cheek,' he thinks to himself. Truthfully, this is the only reason he decided to come: to see just who is bothering his girl while she's working hard at work.

When you walked in from work last week, talking about how someone asked you out to your work-related dinner party that you had already texted Eren about, Eren was ready to cut a bitch. You had giggled about it at the time like nothing was wrong. "Yeah, that Rui guy I told you about asked me to the dinner," you said.

"Uh-huh," Eren replied, focusing hard on his cutting skills to avoid jabbing the knife into the counter. He can feel anger pouring through him at the blatant disrespect he was hearing with his own two ears. "And what did you say?"

"Don't worry, boo," you reassured him as you sat your cute ass on the counter beside him. "I told him that you're my date. He didn't know I had a boyfriend, but I never talk about my relationship at work."

Perhaps that is why this Rui guy that Eren has heard so much about kept complimenting your work fits and chatting you up until recently when he finally dropped his "nice guy" act and asked you out. Eren had been slicing garlic for a steak dinner that night, but all he could think about was pulling up to this bozo's house and putting that knife in his....

'No,' he thought, releasing his grip on the knife handle. 'No murder. Remember what is at stake.'

His booming tattoo shop, popular on Twitter, Instagram, and among celebrities like Rihanna. The cozy apartment he shares with you as your roommate and partner. His pit bull puppy Lil' Eren that you adopted for him for Christmas. His amazing friends and work team. His weed side hustle. His motorcycle.

You. Beautiful, adorable, amazing you. Eren has never felt so deeply about another person the way he does you. When he met you in that bar four years ago when you were introduced as a friend of Armin, his childhood friend, it was a done deal.

Once he got a look at those curves, those pretty brown eyes, and that smile, he was obsessed with you and wanted so much to scoop you up, put you in his pocket, and ride off with you on his motorcycle. He learned later on that the feeling was mutual.

As soon as you got a look at the tattoos roping those toned arms, his piercings, pretty smile, and intense, steely eyes, you were hooked. Eren always had a very confident way to him that remains quiet yet vibrant. It's in the way he speaks. It's in his gait. It's in his personality. You can't get enough of it.

And it's especially in the way he protects you. Some would say that Eren is obsessive, and perhaps, he may be, but anyone who sees you would be. As cute and as sweet as you are, how could a man not want to keep you safe?

Eren considers himself possessive over you. He doesn't go overboard telling you where to go or what to wear (he isn't THAT insane), but he does check in with you often and will gladly go anywhere you want to go.

You're going out with friends? He'll drive you there in his Range Rover and hold your tiny purse if you ask with a "Sure, sweetheart" and a kiss. You want to go to the gym and run some errands? He'll be your personal trainer and slice a motherfucker with his eyes checking out your ass in yoga pants. He is your unofficial bodyguard

He would gladly go to work with you too, but alas, he must let his baby be a big girl and a good little employee, and handle her business alone. But that doesn't mean he won't show up when you need him to.

Eren just doesn't like anyone toying with what is his. Like his pretty motorcycle and his pretty car, you are his alone, which means no one can even touch or look at you in a way he perceives as more than friendly. And this Rui guy? Definitely more than friendly.

This flirtatious leech has been irking Eren for quite some time-probably for over a month since you started chatting about him. Whenever you had come home with more news about his many attempts at buttering you up-"He complimented my skirt today!" or "He said I should wear my hair like this more often, tee-hee~"-, Eren patiently and quietly listened, hoping for the chance to see this guy and put his fist in his face.

Unfortunately, in addition to his possessive nature, Eren is also a hothead. He manages to combat it with boxing lessons and much-needed rough sex with you where he tosses your ass around the bed like you weigh nothing, but if someone is working his nerves, like a guy who can't take the hint that you're taken, he can't just keep calm and put his emotions on ice.

Luckily for you, he knows how important this dinner is to you, and will be on his best behavior. "You got nothin' to worry about, mama," he soothingly tells you as he walks you farther into the restaurant. "I'd never embarrass you like you think I would."

"I didn't say that," you protest. "You don't have to. It's all over that pretty face."

"I'm sorry," you whimper. "I just don't like to see you get mad. You'll make yourself sick."

"Always lookin' out fa' me," he dreamily sighs. "Don't worry about me, okay? If I see the guy, I'll just leave him be and let you handle it. I'm sure your boss is around here somewhere."

The plan tonight is for you to "handle your business" and talk to your boss about Rui aka the pervert fuck who keeps harassing you. Initially, you didn't think too much of anything about his compliments and advances being that you never disclosed that you were with someone.

But once you rejected his date to the dinner, Rui changed...or as you stated to Eren, he changed. When you came home this week with your mascara soaking your cheeks, which meant you had been crying, Eren was on about 100 and ready to commit a drive-by on the one who made you cry.

He hung up your pretty pink peacoat for you, took you in his arms, and sat you down in his lap. "What is it?" he gently asked you. "Talk to me, baby. I'm right here." You sobbed your pretty eyes out for a bit, ruining your makeup even more, before you answered him. "I-It's that guy, Rui," you sobbed.

You then proceeded to tell Eren that Rui told you during your shared elevator ride (in which he practically forced by running on and then pressing the pause button) that you led him on and that Eren is lucky to have gotten himself such an 'easy' girl.

Eren felt like wringing someone's neck at the thought of some bum fuck insulting and disrespecting his girl. "What he look like?" he asked. You took notice of his acerbic tone and suspiciously squinted at him. "Why?" you asked. "Eren, please don't do anything stupid."

Your boyfriend completely ignored you, tapping your nose. "You didn't answer my question: what does he look like?" He drilled you with an intense stare that you couldn't ignore or squirm away from. "Short, blonde, and has a mole on his cheek," you reluctantly muttered. "I wanna handle this, Ren. This is my business, and my job! So I should be able to handle it."

He had agreed, but God knows he isn't going to listen. While Eren is proud of you for wanting to do this on your own, he also isn't going to let you. He knows how guys like Rui are and he knows that if he finds out you reported him, he'll make your days at work even more unbearable.

"You trust me, right?" he asks you now. He stares down into your perfect face, beat to perfection with Fenty Beauty makeup. "Of course, I do," you reply, looking up at him with those long, doll-like lashes. "I'll always trust you, Ren." That gives him more happiness than anything else ever could. Your trust is everything to him...but so is your safety.

"Y/N!" someone yells across the room. "Over here! Bring your man too!" You both turn, finding a brunette standing in a purple gown, surrounded by your other coworkers. "Oh, there's Sasha!" you happily squeal. "Oooh, and they've got a chocolate fountain!" Eren chuckles at your cuteness, kissing your forehead. "You go and get yourself some. I'm gonna head to the bar and get some drinks."

"K," you giggle and give his cheek a peck before walking off. As you saunter away, he watches your ass jiggle, shake, and bounce in your dress. "Fuck," he mutters to himself, feeling his cock twitch. How the fuck did he get so lucky?

After shaking off his hard-on and the urge to bend you over in front of your coworkers, boss, and the entire company, Eren walks over to the bar located off to the right side of the room where he is accompanied by others in their best-dressed clothes. After flagging down the bartender and ordering you and your friends mini-margaritas, with a shot of vodka for himself, he is suddenly aware of the couple sitting a stool down from him.

The girlfriend is tall and slender with a red cocktail dress and stripper heels. "Where the hell is this bartender?" she scoffs, slamming one manicured hand down on the bar. "Is the service always this slow here?"

"C'mon, Cheryl, don't," her boyfriend mutters. "It's a fuckin' dinner party...or did you forget that? You were the one who was desperate to come." He sounds so bitter that Eren has to turn around to look...and nearly drops his glass.

Blonde hair. Short. A mole on his neck. So this is the Rui guy that he's heard so much about. He has an even more punchable face than Eren fantasized about. "I was not desperate!" Cheryl hisses, glaring down at him. She is taller than him even when sitting. "Why are you being such a dick to me tonight?"

Rui takes an unbothered shot of his beer which Eren is sure isn't his first or second. "Well, maybe it's because I was almost an hour late 'cause you were too busy with your hair earlier," he hisses back.

Cheryl slinks an arm on his shoulder, squeezing it. "I did that for you," she seductively coos, peering down at him with hooded eyes as she teases her curls with the other. "C'mooon, Rui. You don't think my hair looks good enough to grab?" Eren resists the urge to laugh into his drink. So this man is clearly cuffed, but flirting with other women? What a tool!

"Hey, Rui!" comes a shout. Rui's attention from Cheryl shifts and he looks towards his buddy. "Keni, my boy!" he guffaws. "I was waitin' to see your skinny ass tonight!" The two hug and pat each other on the back while Cheryl sits there, teasing her hair and looking very irritated. Especially since Rui doesn't introduce her, so Keni has to do it himself. "Hi, I'm Keni. I work in Rui's department with him."

"Cheryl," Rui's mystery girlfriend says with a tight smile. "Rui, I'll be right back." She doesn't clarify where she's going and Rui doesn't ask, so she struts off for the exit. Eren hopes she's planning on leaving his sorry ass here.

As the bartender returns with the round for you and your coworkers, Eren perks an ear to listen in on the two businessmen. "Soooo that your new girl?" Keni asks. Rui scoffs, his words slightly slurred. "Oh, please, dude! You know me. She just thinks she's my new girl." The raucous laugh that escapes him pisses Eren off even more.

"So what ever happened to that Y/N girl?" Keni curiously asks. "She's here, y'know." Eren watches as he looks towards you and your sinful red dress. "She looks good."

Rui only spares you a side-eye. "Oh, her," he spits. Eren grips his glass so tight that he is sure he'll break it. "Told me she had a boyfriend last week even though she's been actin' like she's been single this whole time! I mean, why didn't you say anything while I was giving you all of those compliments? Like you think I'm chatting about your hair 'cause I think I'm so interested in what you do to it?"

Eren drains the rest of his vodka before returning to his eavesdrop session. He is silent...and silent Eren isn't good. "So I take it you didn't hit?" his friend chuckles. Rui hums in acknowledgement. "It's for the best. She's easy anyway. You should see the shit she wears to work."

Quickly, Eren takes the round of mini margaritas and hurries away from the bar. If he had murder on his mind before, it is even worse now. He can't escape the images of him slamming Rui's face into the bar after smashing his glass over his fat head. 'Stay calm,' he thinks like he would chant a mantra. 'Stay calm. Stay fuckin' calm.'

When he gets back over to you, you and your bright smile are like a breath of fresh air. "Hey, baby, there you are!" you joyfully exclaim, holding a plate of chocolate, fruit, and pastries. Sasha ogles at the tray Eren holds. "Oooh, he got just drinks!" she giggles. "What a gentleman."

Eren stiffly hands the margaritas out to you and your friends. "Don't mention it," he says, but it sounds forced even to him. Your smile fades and your pretty eyes roam over his face. "What's wrong?" you whisper. God, you know him so well.

Eren's eyes flick across the room to the bar, just in time to see Rui's short stack ass making a beeline to the bathroom. "Nothin', babe, just gotta pee." He pecks you on the cheek, giving you a reassuring wink. "I'll be back. Enjoy yourself."

He leaves before you can ask anymore questions and makes a break from the bathroom, trailing right behind Rui. He cracks his knuckles while he does so. When he gets to the bathroom, Rui is right where Eren wants him: alone and unbothered, pissing in a urinal.

Eren decides to go for the one next to him. He only gives the dickhead a friendly nod when he unzips his pants and takes his dick out to do his business. They are silent, the only sounds being the muffled music from the dinner party and their piss hitting the porcelain urinals.

As soon as Rui is done, he zips up his slacks and moves to the sinks, whistling to himself. Eren follows after several seconds later, not wanting to seem too suspicious but also wanting to grab this chance by the horns. They both run hot water, the sound filling the tense air between them.

As Eren lathers his hands, he risks a chance at conversation: "Crazy out there, ain't it?" he asks. Rui is more than happy (and drunk) to engage. "Oh, yeah," he agrees with a laugh. "I'm only three drinks in and I need more. These kinda events get so borin' though."

Eren hums in agreement. "I would think if you didn't have a date and came alone." Rui pauses and turns to him, tapping a finger on his stubbly chin. "Say...do you know someone here? I don't think I've ever seen you before."

Eren's brows raise in question, wondering if the guy is serious. Didn't he see him walk in with you earlier? "You don't know who I am," he realizes. Rui's eyebrows knit in confusion. "Uh...no? Am I supposed to? You work in one of the departments?"

Eren bites his lip, choosing his next words carefully to reel Rui in. "No, I just know a...mutual coworker," he decides. "Someone you know quite well." He stops the water from running and silence ensues.

Rui blinks at him and gives him a humored smile. "Uh...okay? I know a lot of people well." He laughs to himself, trying in vain to ease the tension. It doesn't work.

"From the looks of it, yeah," Eren deadpans, "if you're talkin' to someone who's taken while you're dating somebody else...oh, excuse me. I meant fucking, not dating."

Now Rui's annoying, sloppy smile fades, replaced with an offended expression. "Excuse me?" he scoffs.

"Yeah, excuse you," Eren replies without missing a single beat. He turns to look at Rui fully, no doubt intimidating him with his size difference. "So you got a thing for my girl, is that right? Oh, yeah, you probably have no idea who I mean because you flirt with everything that walks and has a skirt. Does Y/N ring a bell to you?"

Rui blinks once and suddenly, his eyes grow big with fear. "Yeah, that's my girlfriend," Eren continues, his voice getting steelier. "Emphasis on 'my'. She's mine and I don't like anybody playin' with what's mine. 'Specially someone who makes her uncomfortable and can't take a fuckin' hint."

He doesn't go any deeper than that. He knows that Rui knows exactly what he means. "L-Listen, I don't want no trouble," he stammers.

"I know you don't, so allow me to give you a word of advice from me to your sorry ass." Eren leans his arm on the sink and leans in towards Rui who instantly leans back, wanting to get away from the taller, tattooed man.

"If you ever come near Y/N, if you ever talk to her, if you even so much as look her way, and I find out about it, you're gonna have to deal with me. Not her or your boss. Me." He tenses his jaw and narrows his eyes. "And let me tell you: you don't wanna deal with me," he whispers. "You don't want none of this."

Click.

Rui's eyes flick down at the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking in Eren's pocket. He sees it and Eren's thumb grazing the trigger. "How'd you get that in here?" he asks, his voice wavering with fear.

Eren passively shrugs. "I got my ways. None of 'em you need to worry about. What you need to worry about is those slacks." He nods down at Rui's crotch that has gone wet. The man peed himself! Eren resists the urge to laugh.

Your boyfriend smirks as Rui shakes his boots, terrified and traumatized. "So I can trust that I'm not gonna hear about you trappin' her in an elevator or askin' her out again, am I?" he asks, his voice low and menacing.

Rui is so afraid that it takes him several seconds to speak. "Yeah," he chokes out. "I-I mean, no. No, you won't. R-Right!" Eren takes his hand off of his gun and gives him a smile. "Good!" he chirps. Nice meetin' you, Rui! I'll see you out there!"

He then turns and leaves Rui standing there in a puddle of his own mess, open-mouthed, and shaking. When he returns to the party, you have finished your margarita and are standing by the bathroom waiting for him. "Hey, I was looking for you. Is everything okay?"

He smiles into your big, doe-like eyes and wraps a secure arm around you. "Better than okay, baby," he murmurs, nuzzling your cheek. "Where's your crew?" You lean your head into him the way he likes. "They went out to smoke, but you know me: I don't like cigarettes. I was trying to look for my boss to talk about-"

"Don't worry 'bout it," Eren interjects. You pause, taken aback by his words. Then a light flickers behind those eyes. "Did you...say something to him?" you carefully ask, and then your eyes narrow. You're mad. "Eren, I told you that I'd handle it."

"And you did, mama," he reassures you. All I did was see the guy in the bathroom and-"

You toss your arm off of him, enraged. "And what? You threatened him, didn't you?" Eren stays quiet, knowing better than to speak. "Ugh, I can't believe you! You never listen to me!" You begin to storm off, but Eren grabs your hand to stop you. "Hey, hold up," he growls.

But you once again toss his hand off of you, stinging him. "I don't wanna hold up. I wanna go home." So what do you do? You pull your phone out and tap-tap-tap away with those acrylic nails.

Eren forcefully takes your phone, holding it out of reach of you. "No, the fuck you're not orderin' an Uber right in front of me," he growls, looking at your screen. You look away from him, somewhere off to the side. "I don't wanna be around you right now, Eren."

But your boyfriend isn't having none of that. "Too fuckin' bad. And if you keep pushin' me, I'll tear that ass up right here. You know I'm serious, Y/N." At the steely gaze on his face, you begin to flush and cross your arms over your ample bosom. Bratty and defiant but quiet.

"C'mon before people start staring and I really embarrass you," Eren mutters. He takes your hand again. You don't shake it off this time.

************

On the car ride home, you say nothing.

You are completely silent. Even the soft music playing from Eren's AUX doesn't help to ease the tension. You are about fifteen minutes from home when Eren finally speaks. "So are we gonna talk or are you just gonna keep quiet the whole time?" he pushes.

You say nothing, still sitting there like the very angry passenger princess you are with your arms crossed and eyes locked on the world rushing by you out of the window.

Eren drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other on his lap. He wants so desperately to have it on your thigh instead. "Y/N, baby, I'm sorry," he sighs. "It's not that I didn't trust you to handle it. I just-"

"You just what, Eren?" you snap. He is taken aback by your sudden explosion. "You just couldn't help yourself? What a shock! You couldn't even keep your anger in check for ONE NIGHT!"

You have just opened Pandora's box for a guy like Eren. He grips the wheel so tight that his knuckles turn white. "Listen, I'm not likin' the way you're talkin' about me. I'm not a gasket ready to blow all the fuckin' time, Y/N, but you know how I feel about you. I told you from the jump that I'm very protective over what's mine."

You squint accusingly at him. "What's yours?" you scoff.

"Yes, mine," he replies, and his tone is final. Firm. Not to be argued with. "Da fuck? You got no problem with me callin' you that in bed, so why are you trippin' now?"

"Don't talk to me like that!" you bark, raising your voice now. "I'm not a car or a pet or a child, Eren! I can make my own decisions and handle situations myself! I didn't need your help!"

Your boyfriend scoffs, smiling dryly at the road. At this point, he is going 50 on a 30 speed-limited road. "So what? Now I'm the bad guy because I wanted to protect my girlfriend and make sure she's safe?"

Though the tension ebbs, it is still there hanging in the air. "Don't do that," you argue, but your voice grows soft. "Don't make me feel guilty."

"Yeah, you should!" he snaps. Now it's his turn to raise his voice and it makes you visibly flinch. "You should feel fuckin' stupid for even fighting with me about this! You tried to handle it once and that pervert didn't take the hint, so I drilled it in his head. Trust that he won't bother you anymore. No one is going to make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe while I'm here, Y/N, and maybe you need to get that drilled in your head too."

"Eren," you softly exhale. But he doesn't let you finish.

"I'm mad as fuck at you right now," he seethes, "but not enough to not make you see that I love you. I'm fuckin' crazy about you. Crazy enough to kill anybody that makes you frown? Yes. Crazy enough to tie you up and keep you in our apartment forever just to keep you safe? Hell yes. But you love your job, so the least I can do is make sure you're straight and no motherfucker tries you. You deserve better than that."

"Eren," you whimper. Your sweet voice manages to calm him down a smidge and he loosens his grip on the wheel. "We can talk more when we get home," he mutters. "And you're welcome, by the way."

You are silent, barely even giving him a little mewl of acknowledgment. He looks over and his eyes nearly pop out of his skull. "What are you doing?" he hisses. "Are you fuckin' touchin' yourself?"

Sure enough, there you are in the passenger seat, your thighs speed and your hand trailed down between them, gently rubbing yourself through your panties. Eren stares in shock as your manicured fingers toy with your pussy only covered by the thin layer of cloth. "Were you wet the entire time I said all of that?" he asks, curious. Your eyes flicker down at his pants, obviously aching for his cock.

"And don't lie," he growls. "You know I can tell when you're lyin' to me." Your eyes flick back up to him as your hand continues to rub yourself. "Y-Yes," you stammer.

Eren's cock springs to life in his pants, chubbing against his slacks. The tension before has vanished, but it is now replaced with something more sexual. "Ohhh, so it turns you on to see your man like this, hm? What ever happened to all that BS you were spewin' at the dinner?"

"Eren, please," you sigh. Your soft voice is an aphrodisiac to him as well as his kryptonite. No matter how much you piss him off, you never fail to turn him on and make him forget why he was even angry at you in the first place. You're a vixen the way you toy with your pussy and tease your breast at the same time, using one hand to pop both of your titties out for him to see.

Eren has never been the one to speed, but he is pressing hard on the gas now, weaving between cars and getting some honks in return. "You wanna put that hand somewhere, put it right here." He uses his free hand to slide it down to his crotch, gripping his semi-hard cock that is quickly pulsing and throbbing from the sight of you.

And like a fiend in need of her next fix, you unbuckle your seat belt, fully trusting Eren's driving skills, and switch position so you're kneeling in your seat. You then lean over his lap and proceed to rub him through his pants, sliding your palm up and down his hard-on. "Ah," he sighs, his head leaning back against his seat. "Fuck."

Feeling your soft hand applying pressure to his cock is making it so much harder to focus on the road. And when you finally unzip his pants and take his dick out so he can feel your soft, pretty hand wrap around him, he nearly swerves into another car trying to hop into a closer empty spot.

He raises a hand as an apology to the angered driver, but he isn't as apologetic when you begin gathering the pre-cum pooling at the head of his cock to slide down his shaft. A shuddery moan leaves his lips as you ogle at his cock, your eyes widening in excitement from the way it continues to harden and throb in your palm.

You're so excited that you begin to litter Eren's cock in kisses, adding some long licks along the vein that trails from his heavy balls to the dripping, bulbous tip. Eren chuckles, feeling ticklish from your kitten kisses along his dick. "What are you...oh, shit!"

He loudly gasps and grips the wheel with both hands as you begin to suck on his cock. The perfect grip you have on his shaft stroking him up and down combined with your soft lips, wet tongue, and heavenly throat gripping him tight are all enough to make him bust. "You little pervert," he chuckles. "You're so eager fa' me. Jesus, babe, you drive me fuckin' crazy, you know that?"

His hand slides along the back of your head as you suck away at him, hollowing out your cheeks to make your mouth vacuum-tight for him. He groans at the feeling, tiny vibrations of pleasure making his entire body shiver. When he stops at a red light, you slide your wet mouth off of him and stare up at him with hooded, lustful eyes. "M'sorry, Daddy," you murmur against his cock.

Eren has never wanted to fuck you more than right now, seeing his dick pressed against your soft cheek. "Prove it."

That is all he needs to say to you. Immediately, you go back to giving him your sloppy, tight throat as the red light turns green. He hits the gas immediately, speeding off so fast that his tires squeal. To anyone watching through their cars, they would only see your head bobbing up and down as you suck off your boyfriend like your life depends on it.

Eren soon grows feral, his hand curling in your hair and pushing you down deeper. "Deeper, babe," he growls. "Take me deeper. I know you can do it." You gag around his cock, the lewd sound making him throb. One of your hands press into his lap, stopping you from taking too much.

"You let me worry 'bout drivin', okay?" he breathlessly hisses. "You just worry about takin' this cock." You do as you're told, continuing to sloppily suck off your man, causing saliva to dribble down your chin and onto Eren's balls and the leather seats. Neither one of you care. Not when Eren's moans sound so fucking hot to you and your mouth feels so fucking good to him.

Curiosity gets the better of him and he takes his hand out of your hair to instead occupy underneath your dress. He smiles as you moan around his cock as his fingers glide between your thighs to move your panties to the side. Sure enough, when his index and middle fingers glide along your puffy, soft slit, his fingertips become sticky.

"Fuck, you're wet!" he hisses. "You're such a little slut, makin' me this mad just to get me off." His thighs quiver and shake when you begin to suck him off faster, your hand stroking what your mouth can't take, desperate to make him bust.

But not yet. Not in here. He's so glad that he manages to get off the highway before quickly switching lanes and getting on a route that isn't for home. A sharp left turn makes you squeak, his cock slipping out of your mouth. "W-What are you doing?" you gasp.

He silences you by pushing your head back down towards his cock. "Don't worry about it," he growls. "And don't stop suckin' till I stop this fuckin' car."

Once again, you do as he orders and keep sloppily and wetly blowing him as he drives like a maniac. When he manages to scout out an empty hospital building with an open, empty garage, he just about praises God. Sssssskrt goes the tires when Eren literally Akira slides into the empty parking garage.

And like a good girl, you finally stop sucking. You sit up, your eyes big and your mouth wet, all of your lipgloss gone. "Get out," he finally demands. He doesn't even look at you when he says it. "What?" you dumbly ask. He turns to you and from the way your breath hitches, he knows that you know that you're in trouble. "I didn't stutter. Get out the car."

With some hesitation, you wipe the spit off of your mouth and open the door to get out of the car. Your dress is hiked up to show off your panties that Eren realizes is a thong from the way your asscheeks eat it up. He smacks your ass on your way out before he slides out of the driver's seat, dick still out and slamming the door shut.

He meets you around the front of his car and stands behind you, your ass pressed against his cock still dripping in your spit. He groans in your ear as the cool air makes him shiver and his naked cock twitch. You whimper as you feel him, trapped with nowhere to escape.

"You wanna be a slut, this is what sluts get," he cooly says. "Hands on the hood. Bend that ass over fa' me." Slowly, you do as you're told, pressing your hands against the car hood. Eren watches your ass with interest, loving how your thong sinks deeper between your asscrack. "A thong, baby?" he tsks. "Oh, you we're hopin' to get fucked later tonight."

Thwap, thwap, thwap!

You let out a soft, slutty moan when you feel his cock slap each of your asscheeks before gliding down to tease your hole. "E-Eren, baby, wait," you weakly protest. "Someone could see us."

Eren sucks his teeth, unashamed and unbothered by these other people. "I don't give a fuck," he growls. "Should've thought about that before you started playin' with that pussy in my car. Now do you wanna get my mouth or not?"

At the prospect of not receiving his tongue on your needy pussy, you bite your lip and turn to stare at him over your shoulder. "I do," you confess. "Please, Daddy. I'm sorry." He smirks at you and presses a kiss to your ass as he kneels down behind you. "You will be."

You realize just how serious he is moments later when he has you arching your ass into him as he sloppily and greedily eats your cunt over the hood of his Range Rover, his tongue piercing sliding along your slippery clit as his hands grip and spank your ass.

You slip and slid along the hood, your tits nearly spilling out of your dress and pushing against the cool metal. “Oh, my God!” you moan. “Eren!” You can't keep quiet. Your body refuses to as your man tongues your pussy like his life depends on it.

He pulls away to grin up at you, prying your asscheeks apart with his hands to admire the way his saliva drips from there down to your glistening pussy. “Yeah?” he teases. “Does my baby like that piercing?”

He teases you with his tongue again, making sure to slide his metal stud against your needy button while he uses one thumb to gently rim your asshole. Your moans and whimpers grow louder, echoing throughout the empty lot. “Yes, fuck, Daddy, keep going!”

Hearing your sweet voice grow ragged with need and pleasure makes Eren go feral. How he loves being the man to feast on your cunt. How he loves being your boyfriend and your Daddy, using you when he wants and pleasing you when you need. His tongue sinks into your pussy, filling you up and making you nearly moan your voice box out. “So good,” he mutters into your hole. “All for me.”

He continues to lick and slurp away at everything you give him, making your thighs quiver and your ass bounce against him as you begin to fuck his tongue. Finally, with a desperate "Fuck, Ren, I'm gonna cum!", you finally flood Eren's tongue with all of your sweet honey, drenching his mouth and chin in your cream.

Hearing your moans and tasting your cum makes Eren take one hand off of your ass to stroke his hard, throbbing cock, fucking his fist at the sound of you. After he finishes up licking you clean and pressing kisses along your pussy to make you twitch, Eren finally stands with his dick swinging between his thighs and leans over to see you.

You are pressed against the hood, breathing heavy and looking like an absolute slut with your ass and pussy hanging out of your dress hiked up over your hips. He gently lifts you up and turns you around to face him, growing harder at the sight of your messy mascara and ruined lipgloss. "Now do you get the message?" he asks, gripping your chin in his palm. "Or do you need a better persuasion?"

You gulp, looking like a fish out of water. "I...I want..." He smiles, watching your pretty brain leave your head. "Huh?" he teasingly asks. "You want what? C'mon, use your words. Tell me what my baby wants."

He takes his cock and taps it against your clit, making you whimper and grip his shoulders as if you're scared he will disappear. "You," you gasp out. "Please, Daddy! I need you in me now!" And as you turn back around and assume the position, Eren feels himself falling more in love with you. "That's a good girl," he whispers. "Always so eager...so needy fa' me."

He begins to kiss along your spine and gently massage your ass, earning soft moans and giggles in response to his ministrations. "Tap me twice if it's too much. You got it?" He taps his cock against your ass before sliding it down to your slit, gently pressing the head against the entrance of your pussy. "Yes, Daddy," you obediently reply. "I won't forget."

But it never is too much for you. Not when Eren's thick cock is stretching you out in the best way possible as he fucks you doggystyle against his car. Your moans and the sound of his thighs repeatedly clapping against your ass echo throughout the empty lot, creating a symphony of sex.

To anyone walking by all they would see is you, his beautiful girl getting her pussy filled and her tits massaged by her semi-naked boyfriend, his pants down and his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his toned torso and tattoos. “Oh!” you moan. “Oh, fuuuuck yes!”

Eren fucks you harder and rougher the more he watches you bounce around his cock like a good little bunny, your ass shaking and quivering so enticingly for him. “Now do you see how you make me feel?” he growls. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy, baby. You and this fuckin’ body.”

SPANK!

You wail out as his hand smacks your ass hard, so loud that one would think that it was a gunshot. “Only I get you this way. No other man could compare to me.”

SPANK!

“Ain’t that right, baby?” he growls in your ear, leaning over to sink his cock in deeper. “Say it! Let me hear you!” Despite your whimpering and sobbing in pleasure, you manage to reply to him despite how illegally good you're feeling on his cock. “Y-Yes!” you whine. “Harder, Daddy, please!”

Eren forces you to straighten your back and lean against him so your back is flush against his front. He fondles one of your tits with one hand while he palms your ass with the other, still pistoning into your tight, wet heat with abandon. “Like this, babe?” he asks. “You want it like this?”

He grins at your blissful, slutted-out expression, your mouth open and eyebrows knitted in ecstasy. “Yes, yes, Eren, fuck me!” you cry out. “Faster! Please!” He pecks your cheek, laughing in your ear at your pleas. “Damn, already? Just a needy thing.”

He begins to slow down his thrusts until he pulls his cock out of you, earning a whine of protest. He then swirls you around and picks you up, his hands under your ass as your legs and arms wrap around his body. “I’ve gotchu, sweetie. You just hang on, okay?”

You nod, giving him the sweetest smile that makes him want to kiss you stupid and cum all over your face all at the same time. He shares a passionate kiss with you as he sits you down on the car hood and proceeds to give you long, deep, slow strokes that steal your breath away.

The way you grip his shoulders and stare deep into his eyes makes Eren fuck you faster until finally, you're bouncing on his cock once more. Only this time, he gets a great view of your pretty titties and gorgeous face. “Oh, fuck, oh, oh, oh!” At this point, you’re a singing canary for him, loud and proud.

Eren loves every moment of it. He loves it when you get so lost in the pleasure that your pretty, brown eyes fill with tears and you allow him to spread your thighs wide so he can get his cock deeper inside of you. “God, look at you,” he groans. “How are you this fine? This fuckin’ pretty?"

So enchanted by you, your messy hair, and your glassy eyes, he brings you in for a sloppy tongue kiss where your moans are shared and you gently suck on his tongue, making him want to bust. No other woman has been able to arouse him as much as you do.

He would die for you. He would kill for you. He doesn't care which. Anyone that lays a hand on his baby will feel his wrath, including that stupid creep at your job.

When you pull away, you gasp and he feels your pussy clench around him. “Eren,” you sob. He smirks at you, keeping up the same perfect pace as you begin to frantically rub your clit, desperate to cum. “Yes, baby? What’s up? You wanna cum?”

“Mmm-hmm!” you pitifully hum, nodding as fast as a bobblehead. Eren grips your throat, tightening his fingers around your neck just the way you like. “Then keep sayin’ my name. Tell me who the fuck you belong to and you’d better mean it.”

Faster. Harder. Rougher. He fucks you until you are shouting, your voice echoing throughout the empty lot, giving everyone and anyone a listen to the good sex and dick you're getting right now. “You!” you shout. “You, you, Daddy, always you! Fuck, Eren, m’close!”

Eren grunts at the feeling of your cunt tightening around him, squeezing and stroking his nut out of him. “Me too,” he groans. “Cum with me right now. Give it to me, baby. Fuck, I love you so much.”

His face nuzzles yours, your nose brushing against each other's, lips barely touching. “I love you too,” you gasp before his lips cover yours. The two of you kiss and kiss and kiss as Eren fucks and fucks and fucks you until finally-

“Fuck!” Eren groans as his orgasm draws every ounce of cum out of his shaft. He tightly grips you to him as he unloads his spunk into your quivering pussy as you cum all around his cock, adorable moans and sweet whimpers escaping you as your orgasm takes you sky high. Eren can feel your mixed cum dripping down to his balls, soaking them. Maybe he'll let you suck it all off at home.

But for now, he needs to tend to you. After his aftershocks subside and you have tightly embraced each other for some time, he finally pulls away to look into your eyes. “You good, mama?” he pants. You give him a dazzling, joyful smile, an afterglow glazing your skin and face. “Yeah,” you giggle. “I’m perfect, Daddy.”

‘I know you are,' is all Eren thinks.

When you tight your inner thighs around him, keeping him there, he laughs. "Y'know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you like the way I handle shit." He presses a kiss to your forehead, his fingers gliding along your sweat-soaked skin.

"I do," you giggle, nuzzling his neck. "I'm sorry about earlier. I hate it when we fight." He gently shushes you, stroking your hair. "M'sorry, too. I just love you too much."

"I love you too, Ren," you whisper. "You're the only one for me."

Words cannot express how happy that makes your boyfriend...and also how horny it makes him too. You squeal when you feel his cock throb inside of you, signaling his returned arousal. "Eren!" you gasp.

He shrugs, giving you a smirk. "What? You turn me on, you know that." He possessively grips your ass, pawing at the soft globe. "You up for another round?"

Your eyes swish from right to left, obviously nervous but an excited smile appears on your lips. "Out here?" you whisper.

Eren raises an eyebrow of interest at you and your freakiness. "I meant back at home...but if you want it out here, we can do that too. I could even take you on a ride on my motorcycle and do you there. I like this freaky side of you."

He presses a kiss to your neck, earning a moan as he begins to roll his hips against you, once again stimulating your sensitive pussy. "Only a real man can handle that," he chuckles. "That asshole wouldn't know what to do with you. And not to body shame, but his dick is fuckin' ugly."

"Shut up," you groan.

"Just sayin'."

THE END.

[terriblesoup]

Passing through

A/N: I was watching pride and prejudice because of course I was, and I wanted to write this because of one specific line.

as always, fluff.

Sylus wasn’t supposed to stay this long.

It had started with something simple, an excuse, really. He had meant to return a book he borrowed, just a quick visit, nothing more. But she had smiled when she saw him at the door, eyes bright with that soft kind of happiness that made his chest feel strange, and somehow, that quick visit had stretched into hours.

The afternoon had been slow and golden, the kind of day that felt suspended in time.

She had been making tea when he arrived, the scent of honey and citrus lingering in the air, wrapping around him like a welcome. Her apartment was small but warm, cluttered in a way that made it feel lived-in. There was a blanket draped over the couch, a stack of books precariously leaning against a windowsill, a mug left half-forgotten on the kitchen counter.

He liked it here. More than he should.

It was raining by the time she pulled him into the kitchen, insisting he help with lunch. Sylus didn’t argue, though his version of “helping” mostly involved watching her move around the space with practiced ease, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned loosely.

She told him stories while she cooked, unprompted, effortless, like it was second nature.

"Did I ever tell you about my upstairs neighbor?" she asked at one point, slicing through a bell pepper.

Sylus, leaning against the counter, shook his head.

"Oh, you're going to love this one." She grinned. "They once blew up their kitchen trying to impress someone."

His eyebrows raised slightly. "Blew it up?"

"Not literally. But close enough. They wanted to cook a romantic dinner, except they didn’t actually know how to cook, so they ordered takeout and tried to make it look homemade."

Sylus smirked. "And?"

She set down the knife, already laughing. "They thought the meal needed a little something extra to seem authentic. So they put some garlic in a pan, except they had no idea what they were doing. Somehow, they managed to set the entire thing on fire."

Sylus huffed a quiet laugh. "Rookie mistake."

"Oh, it gets worse. They panicked and threw water on it. You can imagine how that went."

He could. The flames must have shot up, smoke billowing out of the windows.

"Something actually flew out of their apartment," she continued. "A toaster. Out the window. Just-gone."

Sylus blinked. "Why would a toaster-"

"I have no idea!" She grinned, shaking her head. "To this day, it remains a mystery."

She turned back to the stove, stirring something in the pan. He watched her for a moment, the way she smiled to herself, the way she enjoyed telling these stories.

She made the simplest things feel full.

And Sylus, who was never one to linger, who always had one foot out the door, found himself staying.

The rain turned heavier in the afternoon, hammering against the windows, washing the city into a watercolor blur.

She made a space for them on the couch, piling blankets and insisting that bad weather was an excuse to be cozy. Sylus had rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.

They played chess. Well...Tried to.

She got distracted halfway through, stacking the pieces instead of making actual moves.

"You realize this isn't the goal, right?" Sylus asked dryly, watching as she carefully balanced a knight on top of a bishop.

"It's my goal," she countered, fully focused. The tower wobbled dangerously.

Sylus smirked and very deliberately nudged the table.

The pieces toppled. She gasped in betrayal. "Sylus!"

He leaned back, satisfied.

She huffed, nudging his arm. "You're terrible."

"You were asking for it."

"That’s debatable," she muttered, but she was smiling as she started picking up the fallen pieces.

The hours stretched. The rain softened.

She read aloud to him, voice lilting, warm. He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until she nudged him with her foot. "Are you falling asleep?"

"No."

She laughed softly, not calling him out on the lie.

The world outside faded.

Inside, it was quiet.

Inside, it was safe.

By the time Sylus finally stood to leave, it was late.

The rain had stopped hours ago. The city beyond her window was quiet, the streets slick with silver light. He reached for his coat, draping it over his arm, turning toward the door.

And then-

"So soon?"

He turned back.

She was still curled up on the couch, knees tucked under her, book resting in her lap. The glow from the nearby lamp cast her in gold. She wasn’t pleading, wasn’t even really asking. Just looking at him with wide, expectant eyes.

As if he had never really planned to leave.

Sylus swallowed, fingers tightening slightly on the doorknob.

He was good at leaving. It was second nature, slipping away before things became too real, before anyone could ask him to stay.

But she wasn’t asking.

She was just waiting.

She tilted her head. "Stay."

Not a demand. Not a request. Just a truth.

Like she had already decided he belonged here.

Sylus hesitated.

Then his grip on the doorknob loosened. His coat slipped from his arm, landing in a quiet heap on the chair beside him.

She smiled, soft, knowing. And without another word, she patted the empty space beside her.

He sat down.

Just for a little longer.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

A/n: I feel like I should do a pride and prejudice au for a fic, a bit long maybe.

[3amfanfiction]

Picture Perfect pt 1

Lieutenant MacTavish confiscated your suggestive, racy photo when your then-boyfriend was waving it around, showing all his army buddies. If he then studied your picture and used it as wanking material for the next year, complete with a few domestic fantasies, that was nobody's business but his own; he wasn't hurting anyone. The picture was tucked away in a drawer, completely forgotten about until the day he came back from deployment as a captain with a nasty bullet graze and spotty memory. Cleaning out his desk, he found your photo again. He couldn't remember your name but he knew what you sounded like moaning his name. He didn't remember where you'd met but he knew he slipped a ring on your finger the night you both went out searching for the best garlic bread in the city. He wasn't sure if you had family but he knew what the silken clench of your cunt felt like around his fingers and cock. With all his unexpected free-time maybe he should track down his wayward wife. It had been too long since he'd seen you and he wasn't one to let things slip through his fingers. Whatever caused your separation would be dealt with, he wasn't going to lose you again.

3k words about Captain MacTavish finding his wife who he needs to re-woo. Nothing too serious, just a little scene.

His head ached as he cleaned out his desk, at least half due to his clenched jaw, muscles corded and knotted along the sharp jut of bone. Who did the brass think they were, putting him on indefinite leave just because of a bit of spotty memory. He remembered everything important! Everything that mattered was highlighted neon bright in his brain—the things that would keep his men alive, the pressure points of informants needed to complete the job. It was only the finer details that seemed to slip through his fingers like sand. What school he went to, when he'd graduated boot camp. A snarl crept across his face he gathered up everything in his desk drawer and threw it into a box. Talk about bullshit.

Slamming the drawer shut he turned to the next, scooping up handfuls of papers and knickknacks alike to be thrown haphazardly together, ready to be toted off home. He'd given up his life for the military and this was how they wanted to treat him? The first sign of something not going their way and they wanted to ship him off like trash. Like he couldn't do his job better than everyone on this goddamned base. Who had the longest streak of missions without a casualty? That's right, it was him.

Reaching into the back of the drawer he swiped around heatedly, looking for any remaining items he might have missed with his first pass. A smooth, glossy material met his fingertips and he pulled it out with an annoyed huff, turning to throw it into the box with the rest before taking in what was in his hand.

It was a picture.

A very pretty picture.

You were sat on the bed, suggestively posing for the camera, perched on your heels with a warm smile directed towards the lens. Eyes staring into his soul.

He knew this picture. He'd helped you take it, hadn't he? Or maybe you'd sent it to him? He couldn't quite remember the particulars but he remembered the photo. His pretty wife, all dolled up just for him in his favorite color. You'd sent it to help him through a deployment now that he was thinking about it. Something to remember you by while he was away.

As if he could forget you.

He slumped back into his chair holding the picture up to study it. Tilting it to keep the reflective shine off your face. Where was his wife at now? He knew he hadn't seen you for a while, but why? Why didn't you live together?

His head gave a particularly nasty throb and he tucked the thought away, refocusing. It didn't matter why you weren't together. He would find you and bring you home. He didn't believe in divorce and it was time to work through this separation. Plus, he had a plethora of unexpected free time suddenly staring him down. What better way to use it than to find an errant spouse.

Tucking the picture into his pocket, he started making plans to reach out to a few old friends. A name would be helpful but he was nothing if not resourceful.

\\\

You had just put the finishing touches on your dinner, aromatic herbs scenting the air when the doorbell rang. Wondering who would show up this late in the evening unannounced, you wiped your hands before heading to see. What greeted you was a mountain of a man with a flinty look on his face. A grown-out mohawk and bright blue eyes, weathered and creased, met your gaze before a slow smile broke out across his sternly handsome face.

"There you are, bonnie lass. No need to worry any longer, I'm home."

Without waiting for your response he ducked down to press a kiss to your cheek, his scruff scratching your skin before he pushed his way inside, letting a hand drag along your hip in passing. You shivered and shifted away, your mouth dropping open in shock.

"Wait—you can't come in," you spluttered, trying to place if you'd ever seen this man before. You followed him hesitantly to the kitchen where you saw he had found your silverware drawer and was taking a bite of your food hunched over the stovetop.

Watching him shovel the food into his mouth you observed the stranger, keeping a healthy distance between the two of you. You took in his disheveled hairstyle all the way down to his well-worn boots which he hadn't bothered to remove at the door. Asshole. He was already rude for storming in like he owned the place but to not have the common courtesy to pull his filthy shoes off before he tracked dirt all over your clean floors was beyond the pale.

"Better than I remember, hen."

Your eyes grew wide as you stared in shock at his audacity. "You can't just push your way into a strangers home and eat their food. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" You mentally smacked yourself, pulling yourself back to heel quickly. Your mouth was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Ach, it's been a while since I'm talked with my mam. I hope you've been keeping in contact with her." Great blue eyes turned to pin you to your place, "It would break her heart if she stopped hearing from you."

You weren't going to even touch the double standards of that statement. Maybe if you were feeling a bit more sure of yourself but you felt firmly on the back foot right now.

"Why are you here?" you tried again, getting your thoughts back on track. "What is it you want?" Direct. To the point. You'd knows the man for less than a minute but you got the feeling he would steamroll right over the slightest hint of hesitancy from you. A wrecking ball in human form.

He paused, his hand halfway to his mouth loaded with another bite and gave you an obscure look, eyes glinting with something you couldn't make out.

"I'm here to bring my wife home, of course."

Of course. So simple. And it explained exactly nothing.

"Okay," you hedged, frowning at him. "I don't have her tucked away in a closet so what's that have to do with me?"

The stranger gave a mysterious smile before going back to your food. It was already halfway gone with the way he was inhaling it. A spark of annoyance traveled up your spine to sit with your shock and unease. You'd spent a good chunk of time making that and now you wouldn't even be able to enjoy it.

You'd really been looking forward to it too.

"Well?" you tried again. "Why are you in my house if you're looking for your wife? I certainly haven't seen her," and you wouldn't tell him even if you had. There was a indisputable manic glow coming from behind his eyes that made you wary. Some hind brain part of you perking up with a flashing 'danger' sign when you looked at this man who had commandeered your kitchen.

Scooping up the final bite, he dropped his spoon into the sink with a swallow and came over to you, reaching up to cup your face, thumbs rasping gently along your cheekbones. The way his fingers curved over the back of your skull kept his hands in place when you tried to pull away. "Just look at you, prettier than I remembered."

He did seem awfully entranced with you now that the food was gone. Eyes roving your face and trailing down to your stockinged feet before locking with yours once more. A small hint of a smile peeked through his sternness, a hint at brighter depths hidden behind the stone wall of his stoic expression.

Whether that brightness equaled kindness was still up for debate.

"I still don't know who you are or why you're in my house," you stammered, him finally relaxing enough to allow you to pull back out of his grasp. You took a shaky step backwards to put some distance back between the two of you.

"Gonna play it that way, are we?" he rumbled, his deep voice holding a bit of a growl. "All right. If I wooed you once I can woo you again, aye? I'm not above a bit of groveling to get you back where you belong." You were annoyed at the flutter you felt when he smiled charmingly down at you. Clearly a well-practiced expression on him. "Although you acting like you don't remember your husband's name is pretty hurtful. Are you a spiteful lass, then?" His smile changed to a there-and-gone smirk hiking up one side of his mouth, "I always did like them with a bit of bite."

You swallowed nervously.

"I think you need to leave," you tried, gesturing towards the front door. "I'm not your wife and there's no one else here so I'd appreciate it if you left." You tried to steel yourself, puffing up your chest to make yourself seem bigger and more self-assured. Hoping to dissuade him.

"We'll take it slow, I know better than to rush these things," he stated, dropping down to press a there-and-gone kiss to your forehead. "I'll be by tomorrow to fix that dripping faucet and then we can go for lunch."

Pulling your thoughts back into line you gaped at him. "Do not show back up at my house tomorrow," you told him, ire barely concealing the pleading lining every word but he wasn't listening. With a mockingly cheerful whistle he headed back towards the door, breezing out just as easily as he had breezed in.

You were left with a rumbling stomach and a quiet house, feeling like you'd just been sucker-punched. What just happened?

\\\

You weren't going to answer the door no matter how hard he knocked. You weren't home. Nobody was home so he should just leave.

Fretting on the couch, you glared at your entryway in outrage and uncertainty in equal measure. How long was he going to beat on your door? It already felt like it'd been going on for ages. You could barely hear yourself think with the way his hammering blows rattled the wood. You knew it wasn't the most secure and you were half worried he was going to take it off its hinges if this kept up.

You still weren't sure what happened last night.

After he left you scrounged up some dinner. Nothing like what you'd originally made but needs must. By the time you were finished you were beyond exhausted, the day's events draining you of every spec of energy. Deciding that you would deal with everything tomorrow you went to bed, certain that things would look different in the morning light.

What you hadn't counted on was tossing and turning all night, mind running a thousand miles an hour as you thought about your self-proclaimed 'husband' in all his glory. Why had he picked you to barge in on?

The only way you saw it was he was trying to con you out of or into something.

This whole 'wife' shtick could be a ploy he used with other unsuspecting people until he got whatever he wanted from them. This would hold a lot of weight if you had anything of value. Beyond a few pricey electronics there wasn't a whole lot you had.

And if he was trying to con you into something, well good luck to him. You were nothing if not stubborn and knowing someone was trying to pull a fast one on you ahead of time? You'd be able to dig your feet in until the problem went away.

But now it was noon and the problem was back at your house with no true plan in sight.

You didn't have a whole lot of options past hoping he went away. You'd rather not get the cops involved though you would if he seemed at all violent. You didn't have anyone who could come scare him away or talk to him for you. You were stuck hoping that he would get tired and leave. Hoping that he decided you were too much effort for whatever prank or ill plan he had hatched with you as the victim.

While your thoughts slowly spiraled you never noticed the pounding quieting before there was a rustle of bags and a scraping sound coming from the handle. What you did notice was your door suddenly swinging open, the stranger from last night standing back up to full height from where he'd been crouched, pocketing something in a swift movement.

"Salty lass, not letting your husband in when he's knocking at the door," he groused before brushing it aside, moving back towards the kitchen to deposit the bags he was holding on the table. "I brought lunch with so we could eat here and get to know each other again rather than going out. I don't much care for the stares," he gestured to his temple and the mass of scar tissue that furrowed from his brow back towards his skull. "There's a fantastic little deli not too far from my house. I couldn't remember what you liked so I got a few different options."

You could only stand and watch in dismay as he worked to pull food from the bags he brought, a well-worn tool bag set off to the side showed he planned to make true to his word from yesterday.

With the daylight and an absence of shock you were able to take him in, from his broad shoulders pulling at the cotton covering them—seams straining against his bulk as he moved around your kitchen pulling out plates and cups—down to his thick thighs, rounded and looking quite capable of running anyone down. You watched him do a double-take at the kitschy collection of mugs you owned before continuing on. In no time flat the table was set and he looked at you expectantly.

"Did you just pick the lock on my front door?" you finally gathered yourself enough to ask, still staring at him, not making a move towards the table. You kind of thought that only happened in tv shows and books, not in real life.

The stranger brushed it off with a wave of his hand, "Don't worry about all that, although we need to see about getting you some better security. You'll move into mine, of course. It's much more secure."

You did a double take at his presumption.

"You're joking. If anything I need better security from you."

This was ridiculous. What was the bit? What was he hoping to swindle from you with all of this? You didn't have spare cash—everything went straight to bills. Your apartment was decorated with items from the thrift shop, nothing he could hock. You had half a mind to let this play out—see it through to its end just to watch his mounting frustration.

"That's hurtful, hen. I know I've changed a bit over the years—got a few more scars than you probably remember—but I'm still me, aye? Still just Johnny, even though I'm a captain now." His chest puffed up on the word captain, clearly something he took pride in. You couldn't help the sardonic congratulations you shot his way, looking to stick a pin in his inflating ego.

He didn't seem to hear the tone you used and for the first time you saw a full, true smile break out over his face, nothing like the earlier smirks and half-hearted grins. It was shocking how much it changed his whole demeanor. Suddenly this stern, stoic man turned into a kid being complimented on their artwork.

For a split second you felt ashamed at yourself, that you could be cruel to someone like that, even if it was slight and mostly in your own head. Only for a moment though. You quickly remembered that he was in your house after picking the lock no less. It was annoying how easily he seemed to derail your thoughts and feelings.

He stepped closer to you as if he were about to sweep you into a hug, a loved one to share in a celebration with. You darted around the table instead, keeping it firmly between the two of you, wanting all the distance you could get from this handsome stranger.

You cleared your throat, "I'm sure your wife misses you," maybe you could redirect him? "You should go find her."

"Does she?" he asked with a quizzical smile, as if you were in on a joke together and he was playing along.

"Without a doubt."

"Well, I'll have to do everything I can to make sure she takes me back." With a jarring slap to his thigh he changed the subject. "Come sit down, it's time to eat."

You watched him warily for a moment, ensuring he wasn't going to lunge for another hug before hesitantly taking a seat. Looking at the food spread out in front of you, your mouth started watering like a traitor. You would be ecstatic at the offering if it wasn't your insistent pseudo-husband who brought it.

Pulling a dish towards you with a fleeting thought about poison, you let your mind wander to the sounds of chewing. What were you going to do? He clearly wasn't going to leave just because you told him to. He acted like you'd known each other for years

Maybe it was best to play along. You could act like a separated spouse and give him a to-do list a mile long to scare him away. You couldn't see another way out of this past being so odious and leaning into stereotypes hard enough that he got bored and stopped playing this unusual routine. And in the back of your mind you were worried about what would happen if you upset him by insisting too strongly that you weren't his spouse.

You looked at him, observing as he demolished his lunch. Hopefully it would wear the shine off of this spouse routine quickly. If he was picking the locks to get inside it wasn't like you could keep him out. Instead you'd wear him down, make him see that this wasn't really what he wanted and then he'd go on his way. Breeze out of your life the same way he'd breezed in.

With a plan firmly in place you took the time to enjoy your lunch. Might as well milk it for everything he'd give you while you were doing this and the food truly was delicious. He'd managed to get a little bit of everything so it was practically buffet style at your table. In no time flat you were stuffed.

Finishing your last bite you turned to look at him. Time to get started.

"You said something about fixing the sink?"

Part Two

[kirbmey]

— stepdad!sylus x reader ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

synopsis: sylus becomes the daddy you never had.

tw: smut yaaay, stepcest, age gap, abandonment trauma, slightly inspired on ‘lolita’ and ‘the virgin suicides’, mentions of death, usage of ‘daddy’, kinda long ig, cheating, daddy issues, virginity loss, etc.

your mom marrying one of the most influential and rich man that society has ever seen was not on your life’s plans, not even the passing of your father.

as the oldest sister out of four you always had an eye on your parents relationship, having to be the one arbitraging their stupid fights and ordering them to stop bickering around when your siblings were asleep.

many would feel sorry for you when they found out about the responsibilities you had on your shoulders since such a young age, acknowledging the reason why you seemed so grown and mature; in reality it was all a facade to protect your sisters.

when you father fell ill you didn’t even flinch, and when he passed away a few months later you didn’t even cry. sure, you appreciated him but farther from the truth, he was just there.

you viewed him as a man you happened to live with, not a member of your family.

on the contrary, you looked up to your mother, being aware of the hard work she put to raise and provide to you and your sisters.

you tenderly recall the nights sitting on her vanity before going to bed as she detangled and oiled your hair, giving her advice as if she was your best friend.

the love for your mom was undeniable and you would always support every decision she’d make.

so when she invited her new boyfriend over to dinner you were as supportive as always, ordering your sisters to behave in his presence as you did their make up and advised them on their clothes.

but what you weren’t expecting when you walked downstairs was a tall and broad figure taking sit in the chair your father used to occupy, his white and lavish hair the only thing you could see from where you stood.

your siblings rushed to sit next to him, eager to form the stupidest questions ever made, as you walked towards the kitchen to help you mother with the rest of the preparations for dinner, coexisting in silence.

you weren’t blind, even as her daughter you could tell your mother was a beautiful woman. living her middle years after four pregnancies and keeping up a stunning figure and fancy features, carrying herself around as the elegant woman she always aspired to be.

⠀⠀　　“this one was unexpected, mom.” you spoke under your breath as your pulled out the plate from the oven, taking off the gloves and apron to gaze her way.

⠀⠀　　“you didn’t even speak to him yet, baby, give him a chance.” she stated, leaving the kitchen to place the utensils on the dining table.

and so you did. gave him a chance. your mom had some hookups along the passing months, nothing decent or closely acceptable.

you thought that’s what this was, a hookup. good sex that was invited to dinner a random night to then be dumped because he made the girls uneasy.

but you could tell this was not the case.

sylus was the name of the scary man sitting in front of you. the white hair you saw before put together neatly, thick eyebrows that dressed a pair of cat-like orbs, colored crimson.

you noticed as you ate the baked potatoes how his clothes were clearly too expensive for you to even think about, his perfume reaching your nostrils to the point you could almost taste it mixing with the garlic.

if your widowed mother was going to take advantage of the (you assumed) rich man you weren’t going to complain. because his money would be your mom’s, and your mom’s money would be yours.

later on you’d find out who sylus was, what was his place in the world. he’d mention companies you knew to be his, and you couldn't believe your luck.

⠀⠀　　“so, if you live in such a high end environment, how’d you two meet?” you questioned after sipping on some water, crossing your arms.

⠀⠀　　“we simply bumped into each other at one of my restaurants. your mother was the waitress and spilled some whine on my shirt.” he lightly answered with a deep voice that got stuck in your head for the rest of the day.

sylus seemed to adore your mom, and you were happy for her, really.

he started to come over your humble home more and more often, and your sisters couldn’t stop talking about him and yearn to spend time together.

‘have you seen his hands?’, ‘today his pants were tighter than usual.’, ‘his lips look so kisseable.’ blah blah blah.

they were fixated on this stupid tradition your mom started, friday movie night. the man would come home and stay the night after watching movies together as a big and happy family.

an excuse to fuck your mother, you thought. you seemingly knew it all, you knew everybody’s mind.

but as smart as you thought you were, you couldn’t acknowledge sylus’ admiration for you, the oldest sister. he’d stare at you and wonder if this yearning was even moral.

he would fixate his red eyes on you when nobody else was watching, would take in how you munched on the popcorn he prepared and how your glasses framed your perfectly structured face. the mere thought of you was chasing him around every second of the day, even when he was with your mom, his fiancée.

the imagine of your started to replace your mom’s, he started to imagine you were the one he was pounding so hard into. started to fantasize about taking you out to these fancy dinners instead of your her.

he even sneaked into your room after fucking and waiting for her to fall asleep, just to sit next to you in your bed and caress your hair with his knuckles, going down until his hand cupped your cheeks and your oh-so-desirable lips formed a pout.

it was all wrong, he knew that.

taking advantage of your innocence? he knew you were the most mature amongst your sisters, but you were very naive still. sylus loved showing you things you didn’t know about, talking of countries you never heard of and teaching you random facts about anything.

he knew how to make you desire him as much as he desired you. you both started to spend more time together in an organic way you couldn’t notice, him being more and more present in your every day life.

he started taking you and your sisters to class, you being the last one he kissed on the cheek goodbye, closer to your lips than he did to your siblings. he sat next to you every chance he got, his big palm wrapping around your thigh when nobody else was looking, arriving home with gifts for you and you only, taking you out on secret dates.

and so you did, you fell in love with him, with the way his voice pronounced your name, the warmth of his honey like skin… everything about him seemed to be divine to your eyes.

it was all wrong, but it was bearable. until it wasn’t.

until his desires started to grow bigger in his chest and his expensive pants. you’d become more confident around him and started wearing skimpier clothes inside the house, leaving little to imagination.

you didn’t do this on purpose, you raised yourself around women, and this was what you were accustomed to. you didn’t know the reason why sylus had to excuse himself mid conversation was because of the half of your ass showing outside those stupidly small shorts, and you didn’t know he rushed to the bathroom to jerk off with both hands like a horny teenager.

⠀⠀　　“sy, you okay?” you asked after knocking on the bathroom door. great, that’s the last thing he needed.

⠀⠀　　“all good, princess, i just felt a little nauseous. it’s all good.” the last sentence was said as a whisper, trying to convince himself to stop massaging his foreskin as he spoke to you and dress up and act like a decent person.

⠀⠀　　“are you sure, can i help you with anything?” you insisted with a sweet voice. fuck, that voice drive him crazy. his hand sped up, faster, harder.

he went silent for half a minute and you started to worry, knocking on the door again, pressing an ear against the wood to hear squelching and huffs on the other side.

was he…? no, he couldn’t be doing that... right?

your thighs pressed together in an attempt to ignore your clit throbbing against your cotton panties. you were getting ahead of yourself.

on the other hand, sylus was losing it. it was too much for him to hold back. the way your nipples craved through your tank top, the way you sucked on the damn spoon and licked your lips after each sip, the way you were so goddamn concerned about his wellbeing.

you were about to knock again as a curious cat would before gasping at the sudden grasp on your wrist, pulling you inside the bathroom.

sylus’ pants were undone, zipper down and boxers misplaced, trying to hide and obvious problem.

he cornered you against the tiled wall, placing both hands next to your head as he reached down, his nose caressing yours as he spoke with an almost trembling voice, trying to hold himself back, just a little bit longer.

⠀⠀　　“of course you can help, my dear. you actually caused the problem in the first place.” he whispered against your lips while pressing his knee between your closed legs, feeling warmth leaving your body and earning a low chuckle.

⠀⠀　　“sylus, what are you—” you tried to pull away as an instinct. this was wrong. you knew what he wanted, you wanted it too. but it was wrong.

he didn’t allow you to finish that pointless question, losing every bit of self control when he saw the way you looked up at him with those big eyes he loved to stare at, attacking your cherry lips effusively.

you whined against his mouth, the hands you had placed on his chest to pull him away now pulling him closer, grinding yourself against his knee.

no more self control, even if it was wrong.

he grabbed both your hips to shortly walk you both towards the bathroom counter, refusing to break the wet and nasty kiss he so desperately wanted for so long.

⠀⠀　　“gonna be a good girl and take me, doll? gonna take everything I’ve been keeping for you and only you?” he asked you while he bended you over the flat surface, steeping behind you.

⠀⠀　　“mhfm, daddy, I’ll take it all, please, please.” you started to cry. god this was twisted and plain disgusting. he knew about your daddy issues, about the longing for a fatherly figure. he should’ve felt repulsed by the nickname, his dick should’ve just go soft instantly. but it was a shock to his body, an impulse that added to the need for you, to be inside you.

he just loved hearing the new name roll out your sinful mouth.

⠀⠀　　“that’s right, princess, daddy’s gonna fuck you stupid, hmm? want that? of course you do.” he stated while adverting down, seeing how your ass swayed from side to side against his erection, your face full of tears and your nipples sensitive against the cold marble.

your hands reached out, grabbing both your asscheeks to spread them apart and give him a view of the curve of your pussy against the cottony material of your shorts, tracing the wet line with a manicured finger.

⠀⠀　　“fucking god, doll, when did you become so nasty, uh?” he was in awe, slapping the fat of your butt before tearing those damned shorts apart along with your annoying panties, tracing your bare pussy with a thumb.

you tried reaching for his erection, your cries making it impossible to answer anything. from his point of view you seemed pathetic, if he yearned you as a madman, you yearned him as a pathetic bitch in heat. sylus couldn’t believe the sweet and reserved girl he fell in love with was acting like this right before his eyes.

⠀⠀　　“shh, angel, I’ll give it to you, quit crying.” he lied, he didn’t want you to stop crying, actually. he pulled out his aching cock, pumping it a few times before pushing himself inside you way too wet cunt.

you just couldn’t hold back your moans, the squelching sound of both your arousals and the tapping of his balls against your wet skin making you feel dizzy.

blood showed up not a lot long after, an evidence of the loss of your innocence. he didn’t even think of that, didn’t even consider the possibility of you being completely untouched.

⠀⠀　　“fuck, princess, I’m corrupting you entirely, am I? daddy’s claiming you as a woman.” he said between thrust, loving how your ass jiggled against his pelvis. you could only nod and moan as a response. the connection you two were having too carnal, too raw.

it didn’t take long for him to cum white stripes inside your bloody cunt, followed up by you creaming his cock entirely, holding himself to the counter as he kept on thrusting, slower each time until he stopped.

you were fucked out, your brain mush as you tried to understand your environment and the situation, feeling both your releases drip to the tile flooring.

⠀⠀　　“daddy? sylus?” you cried out, trying to turn around to reach for your stepdad as you started to cry once more, scared of being left behind again. “please daddy, don’t leave me again, please, I’ll be good I promise.” you kept on rumbling.

⠀⠀　　“it’s okay, babydoll, I’m here. I’m here.” he reassured you, pulling out as his arms wrapped your body and brought you against his chest to hug you, his hands caressing your hair as he kissed your forehead, carrying you bridal style towards your bedroom after a little while.

he would change your clothes into new and fresh ones, clean up the mess he made while he pampered kisses all over your face, tuck you both in your bed while he caressed your long hair, staring at your angel like face while clarity hit him.

he didn’t care about the consequences he had to face in the morning. the pandora box was already open, he had a taste of you and he couldn’t let you go, not now.

sylus thought of all the ways he could escape, run away with you. he would leave your mom behind if it meant another night next to you, sleeping in his chest as you were doing now.

you were his little girl, you trusted him.

and he was going to take care of you as good daddies do.

a/n: I love daddy sylus guys u don’t understand (◞‸◟；)

— masterlist.

[luminatricky]

Vampire? In Gotham! (part 3)

Summary: the batfam have a meeting, Constantine got a little too lost in the sauce when crafting Danny's sob story, and we find out what Dracula's been up to all these years. Oh and the DC version of Vlad is fully dead? More at 9

Relationships: the batfam

on god I spent too much time thinking about danny's vampsona. he's got two outfits so far. no I didn't make a concept board. no I didn't make a picrew. I don't know what you're talking about

(sorry if this is all horribly ooc I struggled a bit with making this intelligible)

Red Hood doesn't usually leave Crime Alley. That's a known fact. But Batman doesn't usually call a meeting that includes Red Hood. The old man learned years ago not to involve him unless it's important with a capitol I.

Pulling into the Batcave, Jason slows to a stop on his motorcycle. He follows the voices of his family to the Batcomputer. Everyone is in full gear, but not everyone is fully present.

Dickhead was ransacking the medical room for...blood bags? Barbie and Replacement carved out a corner to the right of the main computer. They'd set up a foldable table for their personal laptops, sitting side by side as they quietly schemed together. Damian was working hard on some sort of artwork with a similar table to the left. He stuck his tongue out in concentration. Adorable.

Bruce was pulling up a very old case file in the central system. It looked to be a string of serial disappearances.

Jason wasn't the last to arrive for once. The elevator to the manor dings behind him. Alfred and the rest of the brood step out into the cave, carrying weapons and gadgets by the armful. Old looking Batarangs, glorified flashlights, cases upon cases of the anti-toxin epipens filled with unfamiliar blue formula. And wooden stakes.

Like a good grandson he steps up to help lighten Alfred's load, but he only gets two steps in before the old butler gives him a very disapproving eyebrow raise. Jason retreats with his hands up. He turns back to Bruce.

"This better be a bloodsucker apocalypse or you won't see me til Christmas."

Bruce pulls up a detailed list of the weapons and their uses on screen. Everyone stops what their doing and takes a picture with their phones. Garlic Batarangs, flashlights with artificial sunlight, a cure for vampirism. Wooden stakes need no introduction or explanation, except for why his dad - who is very against killing to put it fucking gently - would be giving them a vamp equivalent of a gun.

"Potentially," Bruce says. "We need to draw up new contingencies. But we also need to debrief so we have all the facts to do so."

Surprisingly, both Duke AND Tim groan. Jason understands Duke. The teen does not have the patience - ahem, attention - to learn all the contingencies at once. Which Bruce recently subjected him to from what he's gleaned from the sibling group chat.

But Tim? Making and learning ridiculous lists is the guy's bread and butter, the freak. So why -

"C'mon Bruce. What we know so far about the guy makes it seem he might be genuine. We do not have to plan a murder yet. Murder is messy - and wrong, definitely wrong." Tim tacks the last part on way too quickly for anyone here to believe that's what he actually feels. Hah. Another one straying off the path of the No Kill Rule. He can't wait to hear the details when one of their siblings interrogates him about it later.

Bruce exhales through his nose. He puts the previous topic away in favor of pulling up a picture of a middle-aged man with glacial blue eyes. His face is long and angular, and he wears old style European clothes that screams 'I'm an old rich vampire, come stake me'. Jason snorts - something about his face is so punchable.

"Dr. Alucard seemed genuine at first, too." He pulls up a picture of the same man, but this time with sunken in cheek bones. His salt and pepper hair is fully bleached, and his eyes glow unnervingly. It's a candid of him mid-fight in the Batcave, a furious snarl on his lips, baring some wicked fangs at a young Batman. "Or should I say, Dracula." He's answered with a round of gasps.

Jason's starting to see how every single one of them ended up as (melo)dramatic little shits.

He puts the pictures away. "Around the time when I was first starting out, the Penguin accidentally freed him from where he was sealed in Gotham's cemetery." Bruce begins. Jason wonders with a tight chest just what was wrong with that place. Why do the dead keep coming back to life there?

If he had a nickel...

Bruce pulls up the headlines of the 'Lost Ones' case. Jason opens his mouth to comment, but Dick beats him to it. "They seriously thought it was Batman? C'mon! How incompetent is the GCPD?"

Jason scoffs. "Says the fucking cop."

"Ex-cop, thank you. And I worked in Bludhaven before I figured out they were just as corrupted and rooting that out from the inside was a terrible plan."

"Anyone coulda told you that," Duke snarks. Jason backs him up. "Your problem is you always want to give people the benefit of the doubt when you shouldn't."

"Boys." Bruce interrupts. They all stop at the tone he uses. Alfred clears his throat, and answers Dick's rhetorical question from earlier. "That was unfortunately a common occurrence when Master B was a young bat. It would do you all well to be mindful of keeping your reputations positive amidst suspicion."

Jason doesn't laugh out of respect for Alfred - he was so not talking about him. He needs to do the opposite of spit rainbows out his ass to be effective.

"Oh my God is that why Bruce keeps gatekeeping everyone he meets? He's hazing them like a vigilante initiation ritual?" Steph whispers to Cass. He hears her softly laugh in response as she nods.

"I agree with Grayson. The GCPD are fools to think that if Father were a serial killer or trafficker that they'd ever even know. He is better than that." The demon brat brags.

Bruce huffs fondly. "It's a good thing I'm not." He gestures to the weapons. "We fought. He'd started turning people left and right, making them mind controlled vampire pawns. The Joker got turned-"

Jason's vision floods green. "And you didn't fucking stake him? Even more fucking dangerous -"

"-and I managed to capture him at a blood bank before he could do more than destruction of private property." Bruce raises his voice over him. Jason clenches and unclenches his fists. He itches to shoot something, to break something, to get relief to this God forsaken green-flavored, rage-filled pressure starting to boil over in his chest at the reminder of his murderer.

Blessedly everyone shuts the fuck up as he tries to not blow his top. Bruce should've staked him. He had the perfect excuse all lined up, and the opportunity, and goddamit Barbara wouldn't be in a wheelchair and Duke's parents would be fine and Jason wouldn't have come back evil -

Bruce isn't and wasn't evil, he reminds himself. Not like Jason is. And it's not helpful to blame him for his nature right now when they need to fucking debrief. Woulda-coulda-shoulda's are for chumps.

When he blinks back the green, shoved it down to where it's there but managed, his family haven't moved an inch from where they had been. It's a small but meaningful relief to see that they hadn't taken defensive positions like they would've in the past. They just untensed as Jason's arms stopped trembling from supernatural rage.

No one calls attention to his near-episode further, and he's grateful. "I took him back to the cave. With his blood samples I managed to create a cure for the thralls. They all went back to their everyday lives without any memories of what happened. Joker is no exception."

Which is code for, 'I found a reason to bypass normal ethics and experiment on the Joker for the greater good and yes I still remember which cell he was in. It was the highlight of that week.' It makes him feel marginally better and worse in equal measure. Where the fuck was that energy when he kicked the bucket? (Superman, was where. They already had this conversation)

"At that time Wayne Enterprises had been taking it's first steps into solar energy. When Dracula invaded the cave, we were able to survive due to the stored sunlight that the proto-type gathered."

"Wait. No, wait. Hold on. The urn on the fireplace? Please tell me that's a grandma we don't talk about." Duke pleads. "Please. It's not Kentucky Fried Vampire. Please."

When Bruce doesn't say anything for way too long, Steph nearly chokes on trying to hold back her laughter. Alfred clears his throat. "Batman was rather hurt after the altercation. And Dr. Alucard was rather rude in how he barged in - uninvited! I found it suitable that if he insisted on destroying the decorations, that he should contribute."

Steph full out cannot stop once it begins. Everyone else stares dumbfounded either at Bruce or Alfred. Dick looks like he's about to have an aneurysm. Duke is regretting his life decisions, probably the ones about joining this family. Damian is not comprehending the issue with any of this, expecting a follow up anytime soon. Cass shakes her head, but Jason hears a quiet "grandma dracula is disappointed".

He doesn't know how to feel other than dear Lord please he cannot laugh. No matter how absurd this is. He sounds ridiculous in his helmet.

"...leaving the ashes unattended would spell disaster in the wrong hands," Bruce clarifies once the giggles fall away, "Dracula kidnapped Vicky Vale to use her soul in resurrecting his wife from her ashes. Letting Alfred hide it in plain sight didn't sound like a bad enough idea to try to stop him."

"Precisely, Master Bruce." The butler approves.

"Damn. That's just cold." Dick remarks. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his free arm. "I would ask what the hell he deserved that for but he's literally an ancient evil vampire, so." His older brother jostles the blood bags he's cradling. "Hopefully this guy's an unrelated friendly."

Duke whines in the back of his throat. Jason squeezes his shoulder in sympathy.

"Tonight?" Cass redirects.

"Tonight I came across the unknown on our usual route. I had Robin stay back when I spotted him a distance away. He'd been running across rooftops, watching the people below. I followed for half a block before he walked down the side of a building and into an alley right on the border of Park Row."

"Crime Alley." Jason corrects.

"Crime Alley," Bruce amends. "Once there, he paused for a moment, searching the crowds for something. He took out a clear canister filled with a dark red liquid. It had the same viscosity as blood."

"Where's he getting the blood from? There hasn't been anymore blood bank robberies, attempted or otherwise. And no one's turned up with weird wounds, dead or alive." Steph pipes up. Babs lifts her hand up as she adds her two cents. "Unlessss, mystery teeth here is using the same tactic Drac did. If he's just arriving then we shouldn't be noticing anything just yet."

Bruce holds up a gloved finger in a 'I wasn't done' gesture. "When I approached, the unknown claimed that the canister was a synthesizer when asked. I couldn't detect any lie in his body language or voice. He then introduced himself as 'Dante Nightingale', but asked to be called Danny, which either means he's a modern vampire or an old one who is familiar with the times. I then confronted him about stalking humans from an alleyway. He revealed intel that will be worrying if confirmed."

Jason hums. "Sounds like this guy might not be the supernatural flavor of creep, at least," he mutters under his breath.

Tim raises his hand next. "From what B told me earlier, Danny said that there was some weird ghostly-doppelganger-vampire activity that our suspect hasn't seen before. The behavior, not the creatures." Tim pushes up his blue light glasses as he takes a breath. "Anyways. The info on Shades checks out. The JLD records told me all about them. Show of hands if anyone's seen Appalachia Tik Tok?"

Oh Jason doesn't like where this is going. Alfred (surprisingly), Cass, Dick, Babs, Steph, and Duke all put their hands up too.

Tim goes on. "The mimics? Shades are like that, but with a life force sucking aspect. They're basically ghosts who never were alive and didn't form right, so they eat human emotions until they become fully sentient ghosts called Specters. In a really creepy 'I'm going to replace you' way. So. Bad stuff."

Jason shivers when Bruce nods. "Nightingale claims that they're walking the streets in unusual numbers. That he had just arrived and in Gotham and that he was exploring tonight when he noticed something off."

"Ohhhhkay! Just what we needed, yeah? Invisible monsters in Gotham!" Dick says. "Quick, scratch that off the bingo."

Tim rolls his eyes. "Do we have a description? Power set, background check? I need everything I can to narrow down which type of vamp in the database." He's tapping away at his laptop again, not looking up as he types.

Bruce motions for Damian to come closer. The demon brat hands off the artwork he'd been quietly working on as they talked. Bruce observes it, before nodding at where Damian stands at attention like a good little soldier. Damian preens.

Jason blinks away the green.

Their dad scans the sheet with a device, and the image pops up on the main computer. The man in the portrait has pale skin - obviously. Fangs - no duh. Although notably shaped differently from Drac's. Claws a good few inches long and white in color. Jason spies an interesting ring. It's crown shaped and encased in fake(?) ice. Freckles on his rounder face, framed by wispy-looking stark white hair. Skeleton earrings, black turtleneck, a white blouse with a ridiculously low vee neck tucked into green pants. A delicate chain in the shape of a spiderweb wraps around his covered throat in a pleasing contrast.

The man's eyes are a hauntingly familiar shade of green. He sees it often.

The pupils glow a lighter hue of lazarus, shaped like four-pointed stars. Jason would say the guy looks more like a fae took a dip in the Pits than bloodsucker. But what does he know? Guy didn't deny the blood drinking accusations for fuck's sake.

Babs jumps in again. "We had B give Robin a description because apparently his presence is a hell of an EMP. Video feed and coms went down as soon as Batman joined him in the alley. So a few feet away." She clicks a few things on her own screen, and then starts reading down some sort of list she typed up for herself.

"Dante Nightingale, aged nineteen. A farm boy from Illinois. Parents Robert and Jane Nightingale. No other relatives. Totally normal until he was struck by lightning at thirteen and his metagene activated, giving him minor power over ice and sensitivity to heat." She taps something on her computer and a young Danny Nightingale jumps next to Damian's portrait. The black haired boy has a big goofy grin on his even rounder face, splattered with freckles. In this picture, it's obvious that although he's trying to look happy for picture day, the kid had serious bags under his eyes, and a look in those clear blues that just screamed that Danny had seen some awful things. "Then at fourteen, the whole family got into a car crash. Robert and Jane died on scene, while Dante lasted three days in the hospital before going missing entirely."

Babs pushes up her glasses and takes a deep steadying breath. "The nurses on duty reported a change in hair and eye color, as well as strange dental elongation in the canines. Paired with uncontrollable ice stronger than recorded earlier, this led them to believe that Danny's metagene strained under the new trauma and started causing physical mutations alongside the modifications to his original ability. But I think we all know what was actually happening to him."

"...What else do we know about the kid?" Dick asks. Anyone who didn't know him would say that Dick was relaxed, but Jason and anyone else who knew him could clearly see that Danny's story hit a little too close to home. Dead parents in an 'accident' where the kid was there to see. Yeah.

Heh. This looks like a classic meta trafficking case, the more he follows that thought. Not the casual kind most parents have to fear - pick a kid off the street just 'cause they were there, someone will pay for 'em no matter if they're pretty or not.

No. This was targeted. Planned out weeks, months, years in advance. Someone wanted this kid for something specific - enough to murder his parents for and make it look like an accident. Likely, it was to have an ice meta under mind control, considering what Bruce said about Dracula and his thralls. If he's right, Jason might have to go all Buffy Summers and deal with them.

Jason reaches out to catch Duke by the shoulder again and this time he doesn't let go. His newest brother looks at him, big brown eyes wide and fearful. It could've been him, easy. They both think it. They both know it. Fuck, Danny was just a few years younger than he is now.

Jason squeezes. He whispers low to him. "I'd shoot them in the balls for you. Won't let 'em take you. End bloodlines if I have to, to get you back." Duke gulps, and nods. The teen squeezes his eyes shut and Jason pretends he doesn't see him quickly wipe his eyes.

"...Recently, he got legally un-declared dead, and opened a bank account. Looks like one very dead Vlad Masters left his fortune to him sometime earlier. Man owned a goddamn castle. They found a secret lab in his basement with strange equipment when they went looking for evidence. And. Oh. Oh that's not good."

"What is it?" He asked, not wanting to know the answer already.

"Police found a mystery green liquid they couldn't identify but put the composition on file. I just ran it through our systems. 70% match to lazarus water. What's more, there were blood packs close by that were heavily contaminated with the same substance." She looks like she was ready to throw up at the dots they were all connecting.

He might as well. "Alright. Meta kid's trafficked at fourteen and turned into a vampire. Spends the next five years caught by mad scientist vampires who poked and prodded at him like a rat. Then, he murders the assholes, runs off with their money, and moves to Gotham. Fuck's sake." Jason sums up.

Bruce makes a 'I'm not disagreeing with you but I have an opinion' grunt. "That's one possibility. The most likely one from what we know right now."

"But?" Someone prompts.

"But. He mentioned a term called 'Fraid'. He said that someone told him that myself and 'my Fraid' were good people. Nightingale claimed it was a cultural term for found family," Bruce explained. The man's mouth twitches into a frown. "If he was being held hostage all that time, would they have bothered to teach him that? And if they did, experimentation wouldn't be all they had wanted from him. No one would bother to teach someone disposable."

Tim stopped typing for a second, eyes widening and then blanking quick as a whip. Swallowed. Went back in with a vigor.

"So. Either. He got away from his kidnappers, and there's some found family out there somewhere. Or he never got away from them, but he was not expendable. His kidnappers may have forced him into their family." Steph reasoned out.

"Man. This is fucked up." Duke mutters. "You're telling me, kid." Jason whispers back.

Damian bristles. "Father. We have to interrogate him. Nightingale may have connections to the League of Assassins, or a similar organization run by vampires. The lazarus water is damning. We must make sure." The demon brat demands. Which. Fair. More unknown lazarus pits are just asking for evil to pull up with some friends.

Bruce makes an 'I agree with you but I'm thinking' grunt. But before he can respond, Tim cuts in. "So Fraid is definitely what he says it means. But according to the records, only the dead or undead use it. Obviously I did a little digging. Vampires don't count as either of those, even though some sleep in coffins and stuff. No, most vampires count as something called 'death touched'. Meaning they're still alive, albeit really in tune with the other side." Tim shifts, chugging a quick bit of cold coffee. "Only one match came up when I searched for undead vampire. The thing is, it exists, but the file is on the JLD's red tape section."

Which is code for 'don't fucking touch this dimwits if you value your life, call us for fucks sake'. Pleasant.

"Yes Father. If Drake is not once again wildly incorrect and foolish, Nightingale is undead. And it's obvious how." Damian presses.

"I will make the call. Red Robin, keep looking. I'll type up the rest of the abilities and send them to you all. Everyone working with me officially, no one goes on patrol alone. We work in pairs until further notice. Everyone bring with them the anti-vampire precautions we have until we have better options." Batman commands to the group. He zeroes in on Jason, and Jason gears up to rip Bruce a new one for treating him like he's still one his birds.

But that's not what happens. "And Red Hood. Just...be careful."

Instead of acknowledging the icky ooey gooey feelings, Jason snorts derisively. "I'll tell my guys and girls to keep a lookout. If anyone goes missing I'd bet ya a thousand it'll be one of mine. Everyone knows no one's gonna call the cops." He turns around and stuffs his pockets with the gadgets, and Dick threw him a blood bag. "Later assholes."

Jason revs his bike. Tonight, he'll make his rounds, doing what said he would. And hey. Probably hit up that rage room in Bristol he goes to in civvies. Crime's been real quiet recently, and he knows it's likely purposeful.

That pisses him off that they think they can hide from him forever in his own territory.

Tonight's been bad, too. He'd rather go beat up some stupid garbage than risk a pit rage on some numb nut that at most only needs a couple slices to catch his drift. Heh. He's gonna see if they'd let him tape a pic of Dracula to a TV so he can cave his face in post-mortem.

[ijustwannabecool]

Come Home With Me

Lewis Hamilton x Wife!Reader

Summary... After a chaotic race weekend, Lewis skips the afterparty for something better: a quiet café, a shared vegan wrap, and your thighs brushing under the table. You’re just trying to be normal for one night—but nothing about being with Lewis Hamilton is ever really normal. And maybe that’s the best part.

trigger warnings: fluff, swearing, brief fan interaction, stress mentions, post-race tiredness, domesticity, casual fame realism, pure husband energy.

--

The hoodie he gave you this morning is way too big, and that’s exactly why you love it. It still smells like champagne and his cologne, even after a full day in it.

“Come on, babe,” Lewis grumbles, tugging your hand as you pass a narrow stone street near the marina. “Let’s duck in here. M’starving.”

He’s right. He is starving. And not in the dramatic, I-forgot-to-eat-my-snack-bar way. He’s just raced for two hours in 90-degree heat and skipped the afterparty entirely.

So now it’s just you and him, tucked into a corner booth at a sleepy café that smells like garlic and fresh bread.

His curls are tucked under a cap, hoodie zipped halfway, fingers intertwined with yours under the table like he has no plans of letting go—even to eat.

“Falafel wrap, sweet potato fries, ginger ale,” he says confidently when the waiter comes by. “Extra tahini.”

You blink. “You knew my order?”

He smirks, nudging your foot under the table. “I know everything about you. Try me.”

You shoot him a playful look. “Okay. What was the name of the cat I had in uni?”

“Mochi,” he answers without hesitation, popping a fry into your mouth. “Used to sit in the window waiting for you, even when you were out all night studying. You cried for three days when she passed.”

You melt. In the booth. Fully liquify.

But just as you're about to tease him back, you spot a girl in the next booth. She's trying not to stare. There's a phone in her lap, barely tilted your way.

Lewis squeezes your hand tighter and leans in close, whispering, “Just me and you tonight. Eyes on me, baby.”

--

POV – Sofia (18), café worker in Monaco I almost died when he walked in. Like actually had to go into the back for a second to collect myself. Lewis Hamilton. In our café. With his girl. Sharing fries.

But what got me was how normal they were. Laughing. Teasing. She fed him a bite of her wrap and he literally kissed her palm after.

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t post anything.

Not every moment is for the world. Some are just for them.

--

You barely make it back to the hotel before he’s all over you.

The second the door clicks, Lewis’s hands are on your waist, mouth at your neck.

“I didn’t say it earlier,” he murmurs, pulling the hoodie over your head, “but you looked so good today. Could barely focus on the damn race.”

You giggle, but it turns breathy when he lifts you onto the bathroom counter, his hips slotting between your thighs.

“You’re gonna let me thank you properly, yeah?” he whispers, voice rough with want.

The shower is running by the time he gets you both undressed. Your back hits the cool tile while his mouth is hot on your skin.

“You take such good care of me,” he mutters as he sinks to his knees. “Let me take care of you.”

He’s curled around you afterward, both of you in robes, tangled on the couch with a half-eaten bag of kettle chips between you.

His eyes are half-lidded. Tired. Soft. At peace.

“You know,” you murmur, “someone in that café definitely clocked us.”

Lewis hums. “Let ‘em talk. You’re mine. Always have been.”

And when the news alerts start to roll in—grainy photos, blurry sightings—he just laughs.

“They didn’t even get my good side.”

--

🌤️ The Next Morning

The sun slips through the sheer hotel curtains, casting golden stripes across the bed.

You're still half asleep when Lewis props himself up on one elbow, kisses your cheek, and murmurs, “You awake?”

“No,” you mumble, shifting closer.

He chuckles. “Wanna come with me to the paddock today? Just for a bit. Say hi to the engineers. Wear your hoodie.”

You yawn into his chest. “Only if you promise to feed me waffles first.”

“Done.”

You open one eye. “And kiss me like you did in the shower.”

His grin is lazy and smug. “Oh, that’s definitely done.”

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Hear me out

Batsis baking something for them just because shes bored but shes horrible at baking (or she would just sabotage it idk put some peppers on the cake)would they just eat it?

Yandere Batfamily x reader

The kitchen smelled like war. Not the type fought with fists and weapons but the kind fought with flour, sugar, and an oven’s unrelenting heat. You stood in the middle of the chaos, apron smeared with batter and the counter coated in the powdered remnants of your efforts. You weren’t a baker—hell, you barely knew how to fry an egg—but boredom had a cruel way of twisting your decisions.

So here you were, baking for the people who had stolen you away under the guise of "family."

Not that you called them that.

Still, the silence of the manor grated on your nerves, and after hours of sulking and dodging their hovering presence, you thought, Why not? Maybe the mess would annoy them. Maybe the smell would be enough to break through their obsession-induced fog and remind them you weren’t playing along with their delusions.

The cupcakes you pulled from the oven looked… edible. Kind of. Half were lopsided, and a few were slightly charred. You dumped a ridiculous amount of frosting on top in an attempt to salvage them, but the end result was a tray of pastel blobs with vaguely cake-like shapes.

“Perfect,” you muttered sarcastically, swiping frosting from the counter with a finger.

Before you could second-guess your plan, the sound of footsteps approached. Slow, calculated. Bruce. You didn’t need to see him to know it was him—the weight of his presence filled the room like a stormcloud.

“Baking?” His voice was calm, laced with a hint of curiosity that made your skin crawl.

“Yeah,” you replied shortly, not looking at him. You started stacking the cupcakes onto a plate, pretending you didn’t care that he was watching. “Got bored.”

Bruce stepped closer, the faint rustle of his coat as deliberate as everything else he did. You hated how easily he could unsettle you. “It’s nice to see you trying something new,” he said, his tone gentle—fatherly, even.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the plate and shoving it toward him. “Here. You can have them.”

Bruce took the plate without hesitation, his gloved hands looking out of place against the childish swirls of frosting. “Thank you,” he said, as though you’d gifted him something precious. “The others will appreciate this.”

As if summoned, the rest of the Batfamily began to trickle in.

Dick was the first to arrive, his easy smile faltering only slightly when he saw the cupcakes. “Did you make these, [Name]?” he asked, grabbing one before you could answer.

“Yep,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “Don’t expect much.”

He took a bite. For a moment, his face betrayed nothing, but then his expression twisted into something that could only be described as polite horror. “Wow,” he managed, forcing a swallow. “These are… unique.”

Jason snorted as he sauntered in, the smell having lured him from whatever dark corner he’d been brooding in. “What’s this?” he asked, swiping a cupcake from the plate Bruce held. “Looks like someone murdered a unicorn.”

“Eat it and find out,” you snapped.

Jason raised an eyebrow but took a bite anyway. His reaction was less subtle than Dick’s—he gagged dramatically, spitting the mouthful into a napkin. “What the hell, kid? Did you put salt instead of sugar?”

“I don’t know, maybe!” you shot back, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Tim appeared next, looking bleary-eyed and clutching a mug of coffee. He grabbed a cupcake without a word and took a bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he coughed. “Is this… is this cinnamon?”

“Possibly.”

“Cinnamon and… garlic?”

You frowned. “I didn’t put garlic in there.”

Damian was the last to enter, his nose wrinkling at the plate as though it offended him on a personal level. “What is this monstrosity?” he asked, glaring at the cupcakes.

“Dessert,” you said dryly. “Take it or leave it.”

To your surprise, he picked one up, inspecting it like it was a puzzle he intended to solve. He took a cautious bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Tolerable,” he declared, setting the half-eaten cupcake down with a disdainful sniff.

“See? Tolerable,” you said, pointing at Damian as though his judgment absolved you.

Jason groaned. “Tolerable isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.”

Bruce, who hadn’t taken a bite yet, finally broke his silence. “It’s the effort that matters,” he said, his gaze settling on you with unnerving intensity.

You glared back at him, hating the way he spoke as though you’d done this out of love rather than sheer boredom. “Don’t read into it,” you said sharply. “It’s not like I had anything better to do.”

Bruce didn’t respond, but the faint smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t believe you.

Despite the disaster your cupcakes turned out to be, they ate them—or tried to. Even Jason, after some grumbling, finished his. Maybe they thought it would please you. Maybe it was another way to force their twisted idea of “family” on you.

Or maybe, you realized with a pang of unease, they just couldn’t say no to you.

The thought was more unsettling than anything else.

[starcandybby]

say don’t go | pjs

now playing: Say Don’t Go (Taylor’s Version) (From the Vault) by Taylor Swift

minors DNI - 18+ only

jay x reader, friends with benefits, angst, suggestive

summary: You want more, and Jay doesn't. It's as simple as that. Except, it's not so simple when your heart aches to be with him. When you decide to cut Jay off, he does not take kindly to your actions and a confrontation ensues.

warnings: mentions of sex, suggestive scenes, like they make out two times?!, reader is DOWN BAD, jay has commitment issues, swearing, they have an argument, jay is a dick. typos probably

wc: 3.7k

(a/n: jay’s part is here!! im pretty proud of this not gonna lie heheheh, reblog, likes and comments are always appreciated :p)

You always tell yourself that the last time will be the last time. Everytime Jay undos the undressing from a few hours before, disappointment weighs so heavy on your heart that it convinces you- it can never happen again.

But it always does.

One word, one call from him. And, you’re always saying yes. For some reason, the small flicker of hope in your chest never dies. It convinces you that one day, he will ask you to stay. That he’ll say, “Don’t go.”

You’re never surprised, but always disappointed.

Tonight is no different. Jay calls you up and asks if you can come over. You say, yes. You always do. Before you know it, you’ve left your apartment, enroute to Jay’s home. 

All you’ve brought with you is your phone, wallet, keys, and water; adorned on your body is your comfiest clothes. You and Jay are long past trying to impress each other. You never stay the night so the least you can do for yourself is dress comfortably. 

You’ve memorized the way to his house, from every time he’s called you over. You’ve never felt like a booty-call, not by the way he treats you after you knock on his front door. And, you never wondered why you don’t indulge each other in your own home. This is always how it’s been. 

You climb up the familiar steps and lift your fist to knock on his door. You never hesitate, not once in all your late night rendezvous. Your heart seems to forget all the heartbreak Jay’s caused you and all the disappointment that fills you when you walk out the same door hours later.

The door swings open, and there is your Jay, dressed in perfect domesticity. “Finally, you’re here.” He sighs in relief and gently pulls you into his home. But, not without a peck to your forehead. 

“You act like I kept you waiting for hours.” You roll your eyes playfully.

“Well it felt like hours.” Jay shot back, matching your energy.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” you quip. “It smells good in here.” Now that you’ve stepped into Jay’s home, you notice the aroma that fills the air- a mixture of seasonings- garlic and onion you’re sure. You smile to yourself. It’s one of the many things you admire about Jay, his love for cooking. And, he’s good at it. You’ve shared his meals countless times and they never disappoint. Excitement, mixed with hunger, brews in your stomach at the thought of eating some of Jay’s food. 

“Thanks doll. Felt like cooking up something before you came over.” Jay replies. Placing a hand on your lower back, he guides you to the kitchen, as if this is your first time at his place. You bet you’ve memorized the steps to his kitchen and bedroom by now. 

“What’d you make this time?” You question carries genuine curiosity, as Jay has cooked an array of dishes.

“Lemon pepper chicken with green beans and rice. I’ve been wanting to try this recipe for a while because I’ve never cooked with lemon pepper before and I thought why not…” Jay’s voice trails off. You don’t mean to tune Jay out- it only happened because you’re entirely focused on admiring Jay and how he floats around the kitchen so naturally, tending to the food on the stove. He owns the space; his confidence and naturalness only adds to your desire for him, to have him in every way. 

You stop yourself before you spiral into a mood of longingness. You’re determined to not bring down the mood tonight, not until you and Jay have your usual…routine. 

Once the food is ready, Jay prepares your plate for you, insisting it will taste better if he does it. Typical Jay, ever the gentleman. You chat through the meal, recapping your day and week, providing updates on your mutual friends, and everything in between. It feels so domestic, and right. It reminds you that you and Jay could have this. Home-cooked meals, the intimacy of sitting at the dining table, getting ready for bed together, and holding each other close when the day comes to a close. 

At least, that’s what you imagine life with Jay would be like. 

You help him clean the kitchen, dancing around each other in a perfect rhythm.

Once you finish drying the last dish, you turn around, only to find Jay had caged you between himself and the kitchen counter. 

“Oh! You scared me.” You giggle, from both surprise and nervousness at Jay’s proximity. 

He says nothing, only smirking and capturing your lips in a kiss. It stops time for you- whenever he kisses you, it always feels that way. It’s firm and slow- but that’s how Jay teases you. His patience is unmatched, opposing your urgency. Don’t misunderstand, Jay feels a similar urgency to have you, but he quite enjoys teasing you first.

You respond with such fervor, starting to feel desperate. Jay’s hands move from the counter to the waist and press you into him.

Right before you invite your tongue to tangle with Jay’s, he pulls back for a breath. He leans his forehead against yours and gasps for air. “Let’s move this to my room yeah?” He asks cooly, but you detect a hint of desperation in his voice. It makes you proud to know that he’s as desperate for you as you are for him. 

You nod quickly and follow him to his bedroom. You know where the night is headed and the sadness you’ll feel when you leave Jay’s embrace is guaranteed. But, even though you want Jay in every way, only one way is enough for now.

-

You still feel warm from your high an hour ago. But, Jay always makes you feel that way. Your afterglow remains long after whenever you’re with him. You’re in the perfect position to fall asleep, head on Jay’s chest while his fingers trailing rhythmically up and down your bare back, relaxing you. But, you know you can’t fall asleep. In a few minutes, when Jay feels it’s socially acceptable to kick you out, you will get dressed and leave. You savor these moments while they’re here.

Time passes and you’re still here. Hope blooms in your chest; he’s never let you stay this long. It must be way past midnight at this point, usually you’re home by now. This hope encourages you to open your godforsaken mouth and rehash a conversation with Jay that you’ve had over and over.

A part of you knows that even if you bring up the topic again, nothing will change. But, damnnit, there’s hope!

You sit up and reach for your discarded shirt on the floor. Covering one part of your vulnerability will help unveil another. 

Jay gives you a look that questions why you moved from such a comfortable position. 

“Hey, Jay.” Your voice shakes ever so slightly, but you’re blaming it on your exertion from before, not on your nervousness.

The boy only hums in response, however it’s encouragement enough for you to continue. 

“I was wondering if you thought any more about what I said all those months ago? About us? I just…I want more for us and I think we would be really good together. I really really like you. I want everything- all of it- with youl.” You spit out your words like they’re fire, rambling through your thoughts. You don’t even look Jay in the eye, too embarrassed that you’re clinging to the impossible.

There’s a moment of silence which allows you to bask in your humiliation. Then, a sigh from Jay. 

“Do we really have to talk about this again? My answer is the same. I just can’t commit like that right now.” His voice is soft, but firm- as if he knows your fragility but needs to make his words heard.

Your frown deepens, and Jay unfortunately notices. 

“Come here,” He pulls you back to him, “You know it’s not because of you, right? I really really like you too. But, I know you deserve more than I can give you right now.”

You nod, despite not understanding. You try to make sense of Jay’s words but they weren’t adding up at all. 

You don’t understand- if he really really liked you, why couldn’t he commit? Why wouldn’t he take you out on a proper date? If he liked you, didn’t he want the same things you did?

Him making dinner, being obsessively caring during your intimate moments, and offering the best aftercare, it was all twisting the knife he had dug into your back. 

Okay, maybe it wasn’t in your back, because you knew where this was going, or you should’ve known. This was no betrayal. It was all inevitable.

It doesn’t make the pain of him leaving you in the dark bleeding, hurt any less. 

It’s time for you to go. You pushed his limits and now tension mixes with the smell of sex in the room. Despite Jay holding you close, you feel so far from him. So, you need to go before you say something stupid. 

You sit up and try to muster up your most sheepish smile, trying to not give away any disappointment in Jay’s answer. You’ve shown enough vulnerability for one night. 

“I think I’m going to go home for the night- I’ve got, you know, an early morning.” You lie through your teeth. It’s a Saturday night (or early Sunday morning at this point). 

Jay nods slowly, as if he knows you’re lying (he does). He follows your movements, sitting up and searching the room for his disregarded clothes. 

“I’ll walk you out.”

You only nod in response. Your voice seemed to die along with your hope. You lead yourself and Jay to his front door. Opening it, you turn to bid him goodbye. 

You’re almost caught off guard by the look in Jay’s eyes. He looks disappointed- in who, you’re not sure. His eyes hold a hint of sadness too.

He leans forward, but you panic. Thinking on your feet, you go for the awkward side hug. You swear you can almost hear Jay grimace. 

“Text me when you get home.”

“Sure, yeah. Goodnight Jay.” 

With that, you walk out the door.

-

By the time you’re home, you have made a major decision. 

Well, it feels major to you. 

You decide you’re gonna distance yourself from Jay for a while. And this time, you’re serious about it. You need some time away from him. From the home-cooked meals. From the fluid conversation. From the softness. 

You need to get your heart in order before you see him again. You predict you will either lose feelings for Jay, and continue your affair, or you’ll learn to live without him. 

You’re not looking forward to either outcome, but it needs to happen. You can’t anticipate the same heartbreak every time you see him. The longing, the desperation, the hope. You can’t do it anymore. 

-

Four days have passed since you saw Jay. Not seeing him in person over the week wasn’t out of the ordinary. You both have full-time jobs, so it’s normal to not see him until the weekend. 

What was unusual was the lack of communication entirely. You and Jay wouldn’t go a day or two without texting each other, or having a quick phone call. 

You were honestly proud of yourself for not contacting him. However, you feel a bit disappointed that he hasn't contacted you at all. You sound hypocritical- the way you want him to simultaneously let you be and pine after you. Feelings are confusing. 

The first weekend without Jay is the worst. You take extra measures to avoid Jay- seeing him, confronting him, even thinking about him. Your phone is turned off and placed across the room where you can’t reach. Your best girlfriends come over for a movie night, providing some much needed girl time. By the time they leave, you have completely forgotten where your weekend usually leads you. 

So, you busy yourself by cleaning the kitchen from earlier in the evening, disposing of popcorn bags and leftover candies. 

For a second, your memory betrays you. You imagine a few months ago when Jay invited you over for a ‘movie’ night. Popcorn and snacks were prepared, but soon forgotten. You two didn’t even make it half through the movie before you were on top of each other. Jay had pulled you onto his lap as you started to make out, each kiss intensifying. Your bodies begin to move against each other on their own and before you know it-

You shake your head from the daydream. Jay does not deserve to take up that kind of space in your mind. You won’t allow him. 

You continue to straighten up your apartment, before you retire to your bed. It’s almost like your body doesn’t know what to do with itself when you’re not in Jay’s apartment on a Saturday night. It’s sad, and it’s precisely why you need space from him. Your heart is growing too dependent on him. 

Picking up your phone, you see a particular notification(s) that makes your sore heart stutter. 

One missed call and four messages from Jay. 

Jay <3: I called to see what you’re up to tonight. You can come over if you’re free.

Jay <3: I made kimchi jjigae. I think I finally got the recipe down.

Jay <3: Just realized it’s been a minute since we talked. 

Jay <3: Missing you right now.

The last message was sent only 30 minutes ago. You glance at the clock, it’s only 11:30- not even that late. Jay is probably still up, and if you leave your apartment now you could probably make it before-

The better part of you stops yourself before you can impulsively see the one person you’re trying to avoid. That’s Jay though- so addicting it makes you go against your better judgment. 

You sigh and turn your phone off. The determination for space is strong, motivated by the ache in your heart.

-

Jay feels like he’s going crazy. His 7 text messages and two missed calls have gone unanswered by you.

Why the hell were you ignoring him? Were you okay? If Jay hadn’t seen your activity on your socials, he would’ve thought you were dead. He’s not trying to be dramatic, he swears. But, during the months and months that you’ve known each other, you’ve never ghosted him. 

Jay racks his brain for the reason you’re ignoring him right now. 

It surely can’t be because of your last conversation right? You both have had that talk multiple times and it never resulted in completely ceased communication. So, Jay concludes that’s not it. 

What if you met someone new? Surely you would have told Jay about them. And, why would you confess your feelings and then find someone new days later? Were you sick? Depressed? Maybe, you were out of town and forgot to mention. 

Jay continues to spiral over throughout the week. He decides that, if by the weekend, you still haven’t responded, he’s going to take matters into his own hands. 

-

You got through a second week without talking to Jay. It gets easier every day you think. Your heart still hurts to ignore his messages and calls- your feelings for him haven’t just disappeared. But, you have to cut him off completely or the heartache you feel will continue to crush you. 

The weekend has come again, but this time you find yourself alone in your apartment. You hadn’t realized how much you needed a weekend to yourself. Spending time with yourself is a skill you’re learning to cultivate, especially now that you don’t have a weekend partner to rendezvous with anymore.

That doesn’t mean you don’t think about him. You think about Jay all the time, and it hurts that you won’t get the intimacy of his bedroom, cooking meals, and the domesticity with him anymore. But, it is still easier to cope without that than it was. 

You’ve settled in the comfiest spot in your living room, book in hand and lights dimmed. A warm cup of tea close by, you’re looking forward to a peaceful night. 

Not even two chapters in your book, you hear a knock at the door. You freeze for a moment, certainly startled as you weren’t expecting anyone tonight. 

You don’t move, praying that whoever is at your door will just go away. It’s 10pm for god sake. 

A knock echoes through your home again, but this time it’s followed by a voice you know all too well. 

“Y/N! Please open the door.” Jay’s voice resonates through your apartment walls and through your heart. You try to keep your cool but your racing heart betrays you. It takes your entire willpower to stop your hands from shaking. You cannot let him see how much his mere presence affects you.

With a deep breath, you open the door and plaster on your most nonchalant expression.

“Oh hey! What’s up?”

Jay huffs and has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Oh good, you’re alive.”

His sarcasm is not lost on you as he pushes his way into your apartment, as if it’s his own. You can count on one hand how many times he’s invaded your space. 

“What’s that supposed to-”

“Why haven’t you answered my texts, or called me back?” Jay cuts you off. 

Adjusting to the shock of his arrival and looking at the man clearly now, you can see how upset he is. You’ve become an expert on his body language- furrowed eyebrows, tense shoulders, confused and pained look in his eyes- you could see it all. 

“I don’t know, I guess I’ve been busy and I don’t know, I just…” You ramblings weren’t helping your case. In fact, you were sure they were only making things worse. You weren’t used to Jay being so straightforward. Usually, you felt like you were always the confrontational one in your dynamic. 

“You were busy? Really?” Jay knew you too well to know your bullshit answer when he hears it. 

“Yeah, well you know, life gets busy.”

Jay scoffs at your attitude. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t even send me a quick text to let me know what’s going on?”

You shake your head, “It must’ve slipped my mind.”

“This is such bullshit. You can’t just ghost me and then tell me it’s because you’re busy.”

“Actually I can.” You weren’t about to let Jay tell you what you can and can’t do. Especially when he continued to break your heart over the past few months. Though the past two weeks were hard, you believe the distance gave you a backbone of some sort. 

“Grow up, I thought you were more mature than this. My god.” Jay snaps. 

He didn’t mean to, but god he was so frustrated at the moment. His mind is clouded, failing to allow him to think clearly. Jay had never snapped at you that way before, ever.

This newfound behavior from the man dulled your senses for a moment. 

Then, you found yourself growing angry. Angry at him, his hypocrisy, and the entire situation.

“I need to grow up? Seriously? You’re the one who needs to grow up. You’re the one who can’t commit. You’re the one who keeps leading me on.”

Jay’s bewildered expression makes you think your feelings are completely news to him. 

“How am I leading you on? I’ve told you over and over again that I don’t want a relationship- I just want to fuck you!”

Jay’s crudeness was an absolute shock to you. Though you’ve never had such a heated confrontation with him before, you never imagined the thoughtful, deliberate man could say such a thing. 

His words anger you even more. How could he not see how his actions were saying something completely different? He may have said he didn’t want a relationship, but all the moments he shared with you had you holding your breath just a little longer, waiting for him. You can’t believe you were so naive. 

“That’s not fair. You did more than just fuck me. You cooked me dinners; we had movie nights; you text me and call me all the time. That’s the basics to being in a relationship, Jay. It twists the knife to do all those things with you and not be able to be with you.” Your monologue began at a raised voice and, to your dismay, ended with a whimper as you trailed off. 

You tried to be strong, determined not to cry in front of Jay. But, the reality of the situation was setting in for you. 

“It’s not my fault you took it the wrong way. I was trying to be nice. I would do it for any friend.” Jay snaps.

You try to look at Jay, but your tears cloud your vision. You don’t even know who the man standing in front of you is. How could he be so cruel? Why was he being so defensive? Though your vision was blurry, it became clear to you that Jay’s comments were intended to hurt you. Whether it was spur of the moment or out of rage, it did not matter. It hurts you either way.

“Get out.” Your stern, level voice sounded through your apartment.

“What?” 

When Jay decided to confront you tonight, he never once thought it would end with him being kicked out of your apartment.

“Jay. Please leave.” You repeat, much softer than before. One could mistake it for a plea if they listen closely enough. 

Jay’s shoulders drop. Gone is the anger in his body language, replaced by a defeated posture. He’s hesitant to leave; he knows you both should hash it out some more. Nothing was solved. 

Nevertheless, he heads toward your front door. It’s a wonder he manages to make it through the thick tension in the air. 

Jay looks back at you once more before opening your front door and stepping out of it. You don’t meet his gaze- you can’t. You’ll break and ask him to stay, to let him please you one last time. It would be the last time.

You were even holding out hope for Jay to turn around and ask you to let him stay, to not go. 

But he didn’t. 

There was no resounding knock on your front door. No Jay asking you to open the door. No confessions and pleads to stay. Just silence.

disclaimer: This is purely fiction- nothing in these works reflect real of these people. Additionally, I don't own any of the inspired songs.

[demonic0angel]

Vampire Cass x Danny?

“Do you need something?" Danny asked.

Cass seemed rather fidgety tonight, which was out of character for the usually calm vampire. However, she still refused to say anything. She narrowed her eyes and stared at his neck, which laid bare with his v-neck shirt.

Danny could only guess what was bothering her and floated down to her. "If you really want to try my blood, I'll let you. But I taste bad. It's the death and the life in me. Makes me taste like spoiled milk."

Cass shook her head. She looked sullenly on the ground.

Danny tilted his head. “Is that not it? What do you want?”

“… dad wants me to marry.”

Danny’s eyes widened. “Seriously?"

"Not Bruce," she shook her head. "David."

Danny nodded. That made more sense. Bruce would've rather thrown himself onto a stake and then let himself be roasted alive with garlic flavoring than let any of his precious children marry someone they didn't like. But David was Cass' sire, and if he wanted her to do something, there wasn't much she could do to resist, especially with vampiric laws on his side.

He tilted his head. Wait a second...

"Do you... want to marry me?"

Cass nodded. "Yes." Then she smirked, lifting a hand. "Where's my ring?"

Danny blushed green. "Wait—! That doesn't—! I mean! I-I!"

Cass practically beamed. "I'll tell dad that I found a husband. You'll meet my family tomorrow, 'kay?"

Danny flapped his hands. "But! But! I didn't give you a proper proposal!" He turned emerald from his flustered state. Vampires were all finicky about permission and rules, so why was Cass suddenly so careless?!

Cass snickered and then she pulled him down to give him a peck on the lips. Danny could've been mistaken as a statue at this very moment.

Cass pulled back and smirked. "You can give me a proper proposal later."

Then she dashed off, leaving Danny agape on the roof of a building before he sighed, patting his cold cheeks that were blushing bright green.

Ancients, now he had to tell his own family that he was getting married too.