#but to this day when i flip a switch a light doesn't turn on i get a jolt of fear

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 5 - Meet The Adams Family

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The first thing you’d done when you woke up, still somehow in the Wayne manor, was pull out not-your phone and check the date. When it tells you that you are not, in fact, in some weird version of a time loop, you feel some measure of relief. The second thing you do is look your own damn name up on Google. There were over 3 million results. You have a Wikipedia page. If that hadn’t made you want to gag, the press from last night had you bumbling your way into the ensuite bathroom and puking into the toilet.

It’s still sitting on the bathroom floor, nauseous and achy and sweaty, your mouth washed out but still tasting foul, that you continue your research.

It’s just as you had suspected, your family was dead. Still dead. Well, shit. In the light of day, you supposed that made more sense. That there was no real reason to assume otherwise. You hadn’t for most of yesterday, but as soon as you’d thought that maybe there was a chance, your hopes had been dashed. Which was good, rip the bandaid off and all.

It was good. Things were good. They were fine, you were fine. You really wish you were a better liar.

Again you wash your mouth out. Root around the cabinets for some medical-grade mouthwash, do it again, and then you throw yourself into the shower. Again. You notice the soap smells like whoever’s clothes you stole. Refreshing and awakening, that mint and earth again. You think you can detect something floral in it too. It’s still masculine, but…

Wow, you are such a freak! You put down the fucking soap and manage to resist the urge to slam your head into the tiles. Your headache was bad enough already.

When you leave the bathroom, you glance at the door, and then down at your towel. Guess you’re stealing some more apparel. You find a Superman shirt, give it a judging glance, and then pick out a black T-shirt with ‘The Beatles’ across the front, and some sweatpants. You have to roll up the pant legs so you don’t trip and fall flat on your face.

One hand scrolling through Twitter and TikTok and Reddit and every single piece of social media you could find, getting the people’s source of news and you get the high overlords’ one when you turn on the huge TV attached to the wall. The remote kind of confuses you at first, but you manage to find the good ol’ Gotham news channel.

Immediately, you’re greeted by your miserable mascara-streaked face. You turn the TV off. You take a deep breath. Turn it back on. Luckily it’s not just you getting your private moment of trauma blasted open in the media. Your party had been filled with Gotham’s elite, after all. You weren’t the only rich idiot left crying by the side of the road.

You weren’t the only one who had to suffer. There had been twenty-eight casualties, in total. A small amount, considering the man behind the deaths. The Joker wasn’t known for his cleanliness. You tell yourself that, and yet still, you can’t make them just numbers. They’d been standing right next to you, after all. All in the same boat, all waiting for the axe to swing, secretly hoping you’re the one who lives to the next day. Only one of the party guests had been shot, and that’s because you think they’d personally pissed off the Joker. That’s what Twitter says, anyway. There were multiple video recordings of the altercation, and it didn’t look like he’d been the smartest banana in the bunch. The TV is a lot sweeter on the dead soul.

You feel sorry for all the dead. You still don’t think this rich heir should be the face you see, though. When you check his name, you find several forgotten assault cases. Assault, rape, just like that disappearing bastard had tried to do to you. That female janitor you’d seen shot had done more for this city than that guy ever had.

Did her family know? Did she have a family? Someone to mourn her? You’d never thought about that before. How many people out there wouldn’t have anyone to even remember them?

It’s none of your business, in the end.

After a whiles more research, you switch the TV off and tuck your cracked phone into the sweatpants. You know where your mother’s grave is, on the west side of the estate. Wikipedia knew all, which was now kind of creepy to you as it knew all about you as well. Really, you couldn’t believe it. Your mother, buried with the Waynes? You’d always thought she should find someone new, someone who’d appreciate her, unlike your father who had dipped as soon as Sam was born.

You couldn’t even remember the guy. Still, you remembered that he’d smelled bad and made your Mum do everything, and was just generally all around the worst choice for a husband.

But, Jesus Christ, Bruce Wayne? Absolute insanity. You had no idea how the two of them would’ve even met. Let alone fall in love and get married. Your mother was one of the loveliest women on earth but… they had absolutely nothing in common, other than having troublesome kids. And you hadn’t seen her getting lovey-dovey with the other PTA mums.

You walk out of the room you’ve borrowed and into the hallway. In the light of day, the Wayne manor is much less creepy, and you can find it in yourself to appreciate the antique space. Warm sunlight falls over dark oak furniture, illuminating your bare feet as you walk along the Persian rug. Your fingers trail along all the tiny little decorations, some annoying part of you demanding you leave traces of yourself behind. Your fingerprints dirty an old clock, a golden candelabra, a lamp and a tiny spinning globe.

You might’ve gotten lost in a place this huge if you couldn’t hear people’s voices floating down the halls. They were too far away for you to be able to tell what they were saying, but you could still hear them. They’re to the west, so you’re definitely going to have to go past them.

You follow the voices and eventually come to a stop in a hallway. You can smell food. Good, real food. The type that makes your instant-ramen-powered body salivate. The people are in the kitchen, right around the corner. You duck your head and quickly sneak past the mostly closed doorway. On the other side, you pause, your curious self unable to leave just yet.

“She needs help,” Bruce says, and you mentally curse. Balls. You didn’t want to hear this. You guess this was instant karma for snooping. Maybe they weren’t talking about you?

Why did that sound very unlikely…

“She went through a lot last night,” he continues, which, well, yes, you did go through a lot, “And he said that she saw a woman get shot right in front of her. It makes sense if she doesn’t want to talk yet.”

He? Who’s he? Who ratted you out? Wait, dumb question, the four other witnesses who saw the janitor get shot. You were still pretty sure the Waynes weren’t supposed to know that, but everybody knew those GCPD pigs were always just a dollar away from whatever you wanted them to do. It’s not surprising that the Waynes know details only the police should know at the moment.

…It is a bit disappointing, though. You chose to have hope in them, that they’d gotten that information legally. Your fatal obsession with the Waynes wasn’t going to disappear after one miserable party. You wished it would.

“She was acting strange before that,” Timothy Jackson Drake’s smooth voice drifts from the kitchen. You were still a little starry-eyed over him, which was… bad, you think. It’d definitely make whatever relationship the two of you had been forced into a whole lot more difficult. It did not need to be any more difficult.

“Are you accusing her of something?” Bruce Thomas Wayne’s voice is gravelly in comparison, angry, maybe. Also, ‘accusing’? What could he even be accusing you of? It was pretty obvious you weren’t capable of anything nefarious, you were far too stupid for that. You were a plastic bag drifting along the Gotham river, barely able to affect which direction you flowed in.

“God no. And I definitely wouldn’t do it with her listening, that’d be rude.”

Your breath hitches, and you push off from the wall. Busted, damn. Your face feels unbelievably hot. As you leave, you can hear Mr Wayne scolding his adopted son. You walk until you can’t hear their voices anymore, and then a little further, finding an exit door.

You stumble out onto a stone staircase, probably a servants’ one in the olden days. You move down it, hand gripping the railing. You’re barely conscious of where you’re going. There’s a path that leads away from the stone manor and further into the estate, and you follow it. When you spot a small gated area, with stone obelisks and angel statues, you veer off the path and onto the grass.

Hissing out a breath, it’s only now you realise you went outside without any shoes on. Your toes curl in the cold, wet grass. It’s a miserable feeling, and you want to walk right back inside. And then you think about the awkward conversation waiting for you, take a breath and keep going. The gates swing open easily under your hand, the golden embossed ‘W’ glinting in the light.

A guardian angel stands before you. Its stone face is disapproving, glaring down at you from above. ‘Interloper,’ it calls you, but you move past it without pausing. It’s pretty obvious which graves are the new ones and which are the old ones. They’re all clean and well-kept, but the ones to the left have dates going back hundreds of years, and the ones to the right only decades. Your eyes follow the rows of graves. Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne…

Your breath whistles out of you, nearly muffled by the grey morning wind.

And your mother. She has a different last name, now another Wayne. Your siblings don’t, which makes sense. You’re surprised to find many of your extended family also in this graveyard. Your grandmother. Your uncle and aunt. A few of your cousins.

It’s cold this morning, and you’re out here with only a thin T-shirt on. Shivering, you rub your palms against your bare arms. It doesn’t do much. Still, you don’t want to go inside yet. Instead, you crouch in front of Sam’s grave, eyes reading the tiny epitaph. It’s not the one you wrote.

‘Beloved Son and Brother.’

Simple, clean-cut, formal… unfamiliar, you suppose. Yours had been much more flowery, ‘All the colour in the world is gone without you’. It was a bit silly, but you’d never said you were a poet. You’d just known you’d wanted something that represented them, if poorly.

Sam was a beloved son and brother. But that wasn’t who he chose to be. He liked colours. He’d change his favourite every other day, so he liked everything rainbow. It made it easier to choose which one he’d like next, he said. You were always buying him more and more coloured pencils because he’d wear them all down to the tips, he dyed the cat a bright red headache, much to your mother’s horror, and considered it his personal job to make every single birthday, christmas, and easter card. He’d paint on the walls in washable markers, and you’d often been the one to volunteer to help him get it all down. In school, he always had the best art project out of the entire class, even if you were slightly biased.

He was a colourful kid. He wasn’t… a plain grey tombstone. Nothing to help remember him, because you were always losing more and more of their precious memories.

The others had similarly impersonal graves. Just what they were, not who. Mother, sister. Nothing that spoke of how they’d lived their lives, what the world had lost when they’d died. It was… you didn’t think it was right. It was a disaster, really. Even when you’d had to rely on the Wanye Foundation donations, you’d managed a better resting place than this.

You suppose you’d never gotten them into the Wayne family’s personal graveyard, though. That was a bit of an upgrade, you guess.

“You need to come back inside. You’re worrying my father.”

“Jesus Christ!” you shriek, leaping backward. Your foot catches on one of the cobblestones, and you end up tipping back farther than you mean to, your ass bruising against the ground. You bump another gravestone, and there’s a horrible moment where it gives a little and you think it’s going to knock over.

It doesn’t. A shining miracle on your day.

From your slightly wet seat on the ground, you look up, finding one such Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. His towering height is the first thing you notice, second his stunning emerald green eyes. Both were incredibly shocking in their own ways, but his height really was almost dizzying. Perfect brown skin and a stylish 'long on the top, short on the sides’ black haircut, paired with the sort of face some European model might have, all come together to make sure you feel as pathetic as possible. His posh-looking outfit doesn’t help.

Neither does the fact he just watches you. He doesn’t even pretend to bend over to help you up. Which you’re sort of grateful for, honestly. It’d just make you more embarrassed. You didn’t know if you could hold the hand of your celebrity crush and… well, be normal. Pretend to be normal. You weren’t doing a very good job of it anyway.

You have to wonder, which was the worst introduction? The drunk, the bloody, or the one where you fell on your ass? God, you really are screwing this all the way up. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to make it even worse. There’s a part of you that desperately doesn’t want to meet any of the other Waynes, even as another part of you is screaming that it needs to.

If they knew they had a fangirl in their graveyard, you’re sure they’d kick you out. That was why you were lying about everything, not because you had intimacy issues.

Stop thinking, you idiot! You’re only making things more difficult for yourself with all your worrying and fretting. And maybe you should get off the ground, you looked stupid. You push to your feet, wiping your dirtied hands on the sweats.

He still doesn’t say anything when you stand, still just staring at you. His open staring is far too intimidating, so you scrounge for something to say.

“Your father? You- Is he alright?” you stammer over your words, giving Damian Wayne an awkward smile. He doesn’t return it, instead canting his head towards one of the windows.

You look toward where Damian Wayne gestured to, find nothing but an empty window frame, and then back to the ridiculously tall man. You swear, the guy had grown like a bean pole. He had to be something ridiculous, like 6’5, or maybe more. You were fairly certain you’d been taller than him at twelve, or thirteen, whenever it was he was first introduced to the world as Damian Wayne. Now, now… not so much.

“There’s nobody in there?” you ask, like you’re questioning your sanity. You are.

“My father’s shy,” He says, coolly shrugging one shoulder.

What. Bruce Wayne? Shy? Was he joking or something?

Damian Wayne stares down at you with narrowed green eyes, and dark brows in a harsh frown. His arms are crossed over his rich kid sweater, shiny black shoes tapping against the cobbles. That’s not the face of someone who makes jokes, you think.

You swallow, mind whirring as you try desperately to fix this conversation, “Right. Okay. I’ll… I’ll come back inside, then. Sorry for bothering you guys.”

He keeps staring at you. He doesn’t seem bothered.

“Sorry for bothering him?” you correct.

Damian gives one slow, cat-like blink of his eyes, and then turns with a tsk and walks away. It takes you a moment to realise you’re meant to follow him. It takes you even longer to actually catch up with him because he’s so fucking tall.

On TV he didn’t look this tall. You feel kind of betrayed, which is weird.

As you’re walking along, getting closer back to the manor, a stick or something pokes you in the foot. You curse, grabbing your foot. Thankfully you don’t start bleeding or something. You’d already be tracking dirt all over the inside of the impeccable space, you didn’t want to bring blood in as well. It takes a moment for you to realise the sound of Damian’s footsteps crunching in the grass has stopped, and you glance up.

He’s staring right at you again. He looks even less impressed with you, raising an eyebrow and mouth ticking downward. You put your foot down and tuck your hands behind your back in a very obvious anxious display.

“You went outside not wearing any shoes?” Damian Wayne asks, incredulous.

“I was… yeah, I forgot to,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Not your best moment, but you weren’t really having any of those today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Maybe you should stop thinking about that, actually.

“That’s disgusting,” The young Wayne sneers, and then turns and gives you his shoulder.

You think your heart maybe cracks a little. Well, they do say to never meet your idols. Maybe whoever wrote that quote had you in mind specifically, because now you were in… this situation. Ex-step-sister. If that was a thing. Your Wikipedia page said that you said that a lot, very insistent that you had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes.

…It didn’t really look like you had nothing to do with the Waynes, from an outsider's perspective. Which obviously didn’t make any sense, since you were… you. You were not an outsider, not anymore.

This was too complicated. You needed a coffee. With like, so much sugar it’ll make you bounce from the walls.

Damian strides up the side entrance’s staircase and through the door, leaving it open for you to follow through. You hesitate at the doorway, looking over your shoulder to the graveyard. The statue calls you names in the distance, and although you feel like a stranger who doesn’t belong here, you manage to step back into the house.

You force yourself to walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, fists clenched tight at your side and your shoulders bunched up to your ears. Bruce Thomas Wayne, Timothy Jackson Drake, and the butler from earlier. Damian Al Ghul Wayne steps around the trio, picking some drink from the counter and moving to sit at the dining table at the edge of the room. There’s an open book on the table that he starts flicking through, and well, apparently that’s the end of your first conversation with the youngest Wayne.

You did… well, alright might be pushing it. You're still going to say you did alright.

Tim Drake gives you a sweet smile, catching your attention. The silky raven hair of his heart-shaped fringe falls over his beautiful, pale face, and for a moment there you totally forget that he’d called you out earlier like that. Which was just, such an odd thing to do. His hand lifts to scratch at the buzz cut under the floppy strands of hair. The movement mesmerises you. You look away from his sky blue eyes, very quickly realising they’re robbing you of the few remaining brain cells you have. And you need those, damn it. Especially because you’d already made the decision to hide from all your problems like a baby. Negative, negative…

“How’re you doing today?” Tim asks you, giving you a friendly greeting. It’s a welcome olive branch.

“I’m good,” you lie like you breathe, eyes glancing around the space. Bruce Wayne has his phone out and a mug of coffee in his hands. He sips from the cup, his focus swallowed by the tiny screen. You glance back over to Damian Wayne. Huh, it really does run in the family.

Your neck prickles, and you glance back at Tim again. You get a brief vision of his tired, unsmiling expression, and then it’s back to the angelic and gentle smile. You smile back at him, a wretched, awful twisting of the lips that you hope doesn’t look like a grimace.

Tim’s smile turns into a grin. It’s really too pretty and makes you shift in your seat uncomfortably. Damn it all, look away!

“Would you like some breakfast, young miss? I’m afraid we’ve run out of pancakes, but I’d be happy to make some more for you,” the butler says in an awfully familiar British accent. You think you know this person, but you can not remember from where. Shit. Your memory was bad on the best of days, much less after… after an event like last night.

Anyway, the food from earlier had been pancakes. Despite the delicious scent, you really didn’t want to make him make any more food for you. You felt like you were intruding as it was.

“Do you have any toast, or… cereal?” you suggest instead, wondering if rich people even bother with cereal. The butler chuckles, and you think, ‘Oh, yeah, probably not’.

“We have both, miss. Master Grayson has a particular fondness for cereal, in fact,” he informs you, which, oh, cool. You did in fact know that, you stalker you. You’d totally forgotten about that weird fact or the weird fact that you knew that weird fact. Dick Grayson has an Instagram where he posts reviews of different cereals, which of course you have notifications on for.

“It’s more of an obsession,” Tim says, resting his palm in his hand as he… continues to stare at you. Nobody else thinks his ogling is strange, so you try to ignore it as well. Try is the choice word.

“I like cereal too. It’s normal,” you say in defence of Dick, a natural and instinctual urge.

And apparently, the fact that you like cereal is fucking shocking, judging from the open-mouth looks the group gives you. Oh no, you’re supposed to hate him, right? You’re supposed to hate them all, actually. What had you called him on your phone? Something about being annoying and a dickhead?

Swallowing your inner scream, you move around the counter and towards the cupboards. Whatever, they’ll have to deal with this new and improved version of you, which didn’t despise everyone in the room. Along with being a terrible liar, you were also pretty bad at keeping secrets.

You don’t want to think about that, so instead you turn to Alfred.

“So,” you start, “Can I see your cereal collection?” you ask, like a totally normal person. Man, this cupboard’s looking pretty head-smashable right now.

This family has more tact than yours did, because they all manage to put their eyes back to what they were doing and pretend you weren’t acting really, really out of character. Rich people. They’re good at overlooking the crazy.

“Of course,” the butler clears his throat, “In here, you’ll find Master Dick’s collection-” score! Not another fan can claim this right, “-and in the fridge a carton of milk. Are you sure I couldn’t serve it for you, miss? I understand you might still be a little…”

His voice trails off. Little what?

He glances at the others and then leans in close like he’s going to tell you a secret. Behind a hand, he whispers, “Hungover.”

Ah. Well, yes, but you were a big girl who could make her cereal, even on hangover days. Kind of embarrassing it was that obvious, though. You were usually better at hiding how much of a mess you were.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” you say, and the butler nods and backs off. You’re pretty sure at this point that he was the one who called you yesterday morning, but you still couldn’t quite recall his name. When you were out of sight, you’d check your phone for his contact information.

See? You could do this. Stealthy.

As you start perusing through the cereal options, Tim gets up from his spot by the counter and comes to stand next to you at the breakfast bar. He heads straight to the coffee machine, and you glance at it longingly.

It’s one of those cafe-quality fancy espresso makers, with an Italian name embossed in silver on the top. Tim manipulates the machine like a master, which you’re very jealous of because it might as well be alien technology to you. You miss your shitty drip coffee, at least that dingy little machine was loyal to you. Better than George.

“Coffee?” Tim Drake offers, glancing at you. Ah, the starry eyes are back. While Damian Wayne had been a mildly disappointing introduction, Mr. Drake was just reinforcing your celebrity worship. And of course, because your brain works against you, his offer reminds you of the daydreams you’d had on your first twenty-first birthday. Coffee shop au real person fiction- a new low, even for you.

Flustered, you look up at the ceiling. The old mansion is decorated in every single available corner, the plaster above spreading across the entire surface with delicate filigree and pretty curling patterns. It’s gorgeous, absolutely entrancing. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

“Please,” you say, your voice just the slightest bit too quiet. He hears you anyway.

It’s surprisingly domestic. Of course, you don’t know any of these people past face value and Wired YouTube interviews, but… it’s quite indulgent. This is sort of your dream, isn’t it? A full house of people enjoying their morning together. Peaceful bird song drifting in through open windows. The comfort of being around people you trust, not having to perform or put on a show. Well, you are very much putting on a show right now. It’s the thought that counts, or whatever.

“What would you like in it? We have sugar, milk, oat milk, and I like having a few syrups on hand,” Tim chatters excitedly, listing off the different ingredients he has on offer. Your poor ass stares at his rich one, and you are very rudely reminded these people live in different tax brackets than you.

Who the fuck had coffee syrups in their house? You could barely afford the little treats of caramel syrup you get every couple of months. The disappearance of the middle class was one you had witnessed personally.

You rattle off a very basic, bland order. Tim looks sort of disappointed in you which… well, you could be a coffee snob. You just didn’t have the time, usually. A flat white kept you going through the day, you didn’t need anything else. And so, Tim hands you a very bland coffee, and it is god sent. You can’t imagine how good it would be if you had mustered up your courage and asked for some caramel syrup.

Huh, you could be a coffee snob. You could be anything you wanted, really. And your first thought is being a coffee snob. Good God.

“Are you going to be staying?“ Bruce Wayne asks, immediately putting you on the spot. You weren’t ready for this, you were thinking about the coffees you could buy. Oh no, you really aren’t ready for this.

“At least for now, right?” Tim Drake says, just making it all the more stressful. You let out an awkward chuckle, fingers tight around your drink.

“Oh, I don’t want to be an inconvenience-”

Damian Wayne slams his mug down on the table, so hard a crack splinters up its side. He picks the cup up, strides across the kitchen, narrowed green eyes meeting yours for a second, and then he dumps the cup in a secret rubbish can. He murmurs an apology to the butler and then is out of the room.

Okay, well, you certainly feel like an inconvenience.

The butler clears his throat, and says, “Please forgive young master Damian. He’s been having a difficult time recently, I hope you can understand.”

And you think, ‘bitch, a difficult time?! He’s not the one who almost died last night!’ but what you say is, “Of course, I completely understand. I don’t want to bother him anymore so I’d really like to leave today.”

Mr. Wayne laces his fingers together, blue eyes giving you an assessing look.

“Stay for the day, and you can leave tonight. I want to make sure you’re truly alright,” he eventually says, and the mere presence of the man has you yielding to his commands. Didn’t really matter you were an adult who’d managed to survive this long on your own, you were listening to the big scary guy when he told you what to do.

Well, that’s that! You make your cereal and have a very quiet breakfast. You can’t tell if they’re being quiet because you’re here, or if mornings are usually like this. You hope they’re usually like this. Once you’ve finished your very nice cereal (one of the highest rated on Dick’s Instagram) you place the bowl by the sink. You want to wash it, but when you ask Alfred he gives you a look like you kicked his dog. Okay, you’ll just go then.

You’re about to sneak away, when you realise Tim’s staring at you… again…? But this time he seems quite focused on your clothing. His eyes follow the double lines on the side of your sweatpants, before settling on the Beatles logo on your shirt. He hums at it. Raises his brows.

“I’m sorry, I borrowed this because I didn’t have any other clothes. Is there something wrong with me wearing this?” you ask, and then experience a moment of horror, “This doesn’t belong to you, does it?”

“Hmm?” Tim chirps, “Oh, no, don’t worry. It’s not mine.”

And then he turns away from you in a very clear dismissal. Nice, you really wanted to go hide for an hour or two. With one last awkward wave to Bruce Thomas Wayne, you scurry out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom you’d started thinking of as yours. You need to figure out how you're going to handle all this, and you're going to do it alone. Maybe with some dessert, if you can find it. You wouldn't say you think better with sugar running in your veins, but it definitely makes you more willing to deal with the bullshit that is your life. Hopefully it'd work in your new one, too.

-

Tim listens to your retreating footsteps, waiting till you’re far enough away to begin talking to Bruce. Humans were creatures of habit, so you’d probably be going back to the same room you slept in last night. He thinks Damian and him were the only ones who noticed whose shirt you were wearing, B’s off his game today. You’ve really managed to mess him up, to Tim’s delight.

“See? Dames was totally fine with her being here,” Tim says, cheerily enjoying his youngest sibling’s suffering. Bruce sighs, witheringly, lifting his hand to rub against the headache he always has. He’s probably noticed the excited, slightly fanatic gleam that’s entered into Tim’s eyes.

It was sort of obvious. This was all so exciting! You’d come back, sporting absolutely none of the defensive vitriol you usually have, and ate breakfast together. You took a coffee out of Tim’s hands. You’d willingly spoken to the devil, who everybody in the family knew hated you as much as you hated him, and even more than that-

You’d spoken to Bruce. Tim was sporting the idea that you’d gotten head trauma, at this point in time.

“Okay, fine. You get the mission, but-” Tim has to resist the urge to clap his hands together like a gleeful child “-but no extra cameras. I’m serious, Tim, if I find out you’ve invaded her privacy just after she’s starting to warm up to us again-”

“She wouldn’t know,” Tim complains, cutting the Bat off with a roll of his eyes.

“She’s smarter than you’d think,” Bruce shakes his head. Tim has to disagree, after the catastrophe that was last night. Unless of course, you were just playing with them all. So many options, it’s dizzying.

“We’ll shelve that argument for later. So, I want full control of the case, and in turn, I’ll do another two weeks as CEO,” Tim waves off Bruce’s complaints, going straight into haggling. The CEO position was tossed between the two of them like a hot potato, and it was one of Tim’s favourite bargaining tools.

“I am absolutely not agreeing to that, a month and nothing less.”

“This is why half your children don’t talk to you, but sure, whatever. Chase away your last, loyal loving son-”

“My God, Tim. Three fucking weeks, and if I hear another word I will hand this matter over to Grayson,” Bruce sighs, sounding a bit defeated.

Tim gives an offended gasp, placing his hand against his chest. And then he realises Bruce might actually be serious, and freaks out a bit.

“He’d be bad for it. Far too personally involved. You definitely don’t want to do that,” he says, leg bouncing under the table. Of course, the Bat notices, but he doesn’t mention it. He wouldn’t take this from Tim, they both knew he was getting too frazzled around the edges. He needed something to focus on, to ground him.

You were the perfect project. He loved his projects.

“I am aware. But the girls are out of town, and uncontactable. And I think if I gave Damian this assignment the two of them would kill each other.”

“No Jason option, sir?” Tim says because he’s a shit-stirrer and wants to get to work.

Tim succeeds in chasing Bruce away. He’s left to have his coffee in peace as the old man quickly flees the room at the mention of the son he's on the worst terms with. For the next few hours, Tim taps away on his computer, enjoying his time.

And when the front doors open, his ears prick, and a decidedly evil grin spreads on his face.

“I’m home!” Dick calls out, words travelling through the grand manor.

Tim gets up from his seat and wanders leisurely to the main hall, where Dick stands. He’s got a suitcase by his side, filled with all the things he’s brought up from the Blud. When he spots Tim, Dick’s face spreads in a familiar sunny smile. He quickly rushes to Tim’s side, swallowing the younger brother in a hug. Tim groans at the tight squeezing.

Despite his clinginess, it was good to see him. His tanned skin glowed healthily, and his curly black hair was messy over his brow. Sapphire blue eyes sparkled. He was happy to be home, despite everything that was going on. Dick always looked like he’d just gotten back from a run because he usually had. It was hard to get the guy to sit still for even a minute, much less stop parkouring over every imaginable surface.

“Tim! How’s it been? Ah, it’s so good to be home,” Dick starts, and again, Tim groans. When Dick starts yammering he never stops.

“I’m good, man. We can talk later, you should go put your things away before Alfred does,” Tim reminds Dick, and Dick pouts. It was a general rule that unless it was cooking, the family wasn’t supposed to rely on Alfred for everything.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be down in a minute! I have so much to tell you,” Dick relents, hand lifting to mess with his hair. Tim pushes him off, glaring at the man, and Dick laughs.

Tim gives Dick a tired wave as the gymnast bounds up the stairs to his bedroom. Tim watches him disappear down the hallways, and thinks, ‘I wish I could see this happen.’ He sighs, guess he’ll just have to hear Dick retell the story later. The distant sound of your shrieking voice has him chuckling. Yeah, he’ll hear about it later, he’s sure.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

[jayke0]

Nicotine Lust

Summary: Your attempts to keep your smoking kink under wraps become futile once you're reassured that your boyfriends’ lungs aren't at stake.

A/N: I couldn't stop thinking about @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction 's smoking Steven, so i wanted to do smth from Jake's perspective ❤️.

Also if you know which tiktok lady Jake’s talking about then bonus points to you!

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: smoking, afab reader!, g/n nicknames, I've never smoked so forgive me if literally all of it is wrong, blowjob, face fucking, ‘fucktoy’ nickname, ‘slut’ nickname, Dom!Jake, Sub!Reader, p in v, unmentioned protection, riding, doggy style, creampie, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 4,020 (yeah… I'm pretty sure this is my longest fic yet.😅)

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily. And Fen ofc ofc.

…………………………………......................………….

You hate to admit it, but when Jake smokes, it's like an automatic switch is clicked in your brain; like you're literally being turned on.

It's wrong, so so wrong. You don't want to be getting turned on by something that is ultimately ruining your boyfriend's lungs, all three of your boyfriends’ lungs.

It's only when you mention it to him one day that he settles your worries.

“The suit heals ‘em.”

“What?? For real?”

“ ‘Course! That's the whole point of it.”

You raise a brow. “It's not for you to heal your black lung.”

“Well no, but it's for healin’, ain't it?” He pulls out his packet of tobacco and places it on the windowsill, along with his papers. His fingers work meticulously as he lays out the paper and lines up the tobacco, sprinkling it onto the paper like he's decorating fucking cupcakes with chocolate sprinkles.

“I thought ya liked it anyway.”

You have to drag your eyes away from the man's hands as he rolls the cylinder between his fingers. “What? No... that's weird.”

Your boyfriend cocks an eyebrow at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Really? So that look that ya give me, or the way ya watch my hands ain't got nothin’ to do with ya gettin’ all hot and bothered?” He brings it to his lips, running his tongue along the edge of the paper in a way that makes your cheeks heat up and your arms fold over your chest defensively.

Jake is easily the best at reading you and your body, especially when it comes to your not-so-subtle arousal.

Your eyes move back to his hand, watching him push the filter into the end with his middle finger before rolling the other end shut.

“No, I just find it interesting. It's good for me to know how to roll a cig… I guess.” Your words trail off as you realize how dumb that sounds; there's no way in hell that Jake lockley is going to believe that lie.

“For who? Ya side piece?” He jokes, the smirk turning into a full-grown grin while he brings the now formed cigarette to his lips. It's only when he flips open his lighter and the flame lights up the end that you come to the conclusion there's no point in hiding it… not now that you know they're safe.

“Alright!... I like it, is that what you wanted?”

“Show me.” His lips are pressed together tightly to keep the cigarette in place, but he's learnt how to talk out of the gap in his lips.

“Excuse me?”

“Show me how much ya like it.” The man's voice is deeper now as he pulls the cigarette from his lips and exhales a cloud of smoke, considerately not blowing it in your direction; and fuck if it doesn't make you squirm.

You want to sink to your knees right there, rip his black jeans from his thick thighs and suck him dry, but your stubbornness stops you. “I'm not some kinda fuck toy, Jake!”

“Ya weren't sayin’ that last night, were ya?” The cigarette meets his lips again and his chest expands as he takes in a long drag, not being as considerate with where he blows it this time.

You irritatedly waft the smoke away from your face, but his gaze, oh lord the way his eyes glare at you, a dark stare that pushes you to your knees anyway as if he has the fucking force. Resting your hands on his knees, you part them slowly, keeping your eyes transfixed on his as you slide your hands up his bulky thighs and over his crotch, all while he takes another drag.

“Good fucktoy.” He says with a playful tone as he pets your head condescendingly, the name and gesture ultimately turning you on more while you toy with his belt buckle to pry his jeans open. “Eager, ain't we? I love it when you're this eager, mi vida.”

The smell of the smoke is starting to sting your nostrils, but all worries of second-hand smoke fade when you pull his boxers down his thighs and reveal his half hard cock. “I'm not the only eager one," you raise a brow at him, taking his hardening length in your hand to hear a soft groan from him.

“Oh c'mon, what guy doesn't love gettin’ his dick sucked? Especially from a slut as pretty as you, cariño.” His thumb runs over your cheek, and then your bottom lip. “Now, open up for me, okay?”

His hand replaces yours as you obediently open your mouth and lean forward, wanting to feel him grow hard in the heat of your mouth. His length is heavy on your tongue, the familiar tang of his skin and pre-cum making you hum softly to send vibrations through his cock, resulting in a pleasured grunt from the man.

“Mmm that's good… good angel…”

The calmness in his voice and the way his shoulders drop indicate that even his trusty old cigarettes can't relax him like you can. You always know exactly what makes him tick, what buttons to press to get him coming down your throat in minutes, but despite that, he continues to take drags from his damn deathstick.

Your eyes are fixated on his lips as he brings it to his mouth again, holding it loosely between his two fingers before inhaling the nicotine. He meets your gaze, a shallow thrust from his impatient hips making you pull back with an annoyed squeal; you're not willing to admit how turned on you also get when they're impatient with you, though you're like 90% sure that Jake has caught on anyway, as usual. A string of drool falls from your lips and lands on his head, spreading down the thick, tanned length before your lips follow.

“Thaaat’s it, just like that, darlin’.” He groans, feeling your lips stretch and the warmth of your mouth envelop him. His fingers caress your hair before his large hand eventually comes to rest on the back of your head; an exciting threat that he could push you down on his girth at any point.

Of course, though, he doesn't. He's more patient and collected than the other two, even when you manage to relax your throat and sink all the way down on him.

“Oooh cariño, that's new. Ya been practicin’?” Jake's back arches off of the window, his cigarette back between his lips so his hand can join the other on the back of your head. You pull off with a pant, nodding proudly, “Steven loved letting me practice on him, did you know he's into throat training?”

Your words warrant a growl from your boyfriend as he tightens his grip on your scalp. “C’mooon, stop teasin’ me,” his lip is cocked up in a scowl as he take another drag from his cig and blows it out.

You don't spend any more time fucking around, your own thighs pressing together just from the situation and sight in front of you. You lower your head on him, but don't take him fully, wrapping your hand around what you can't fit in your mouth so you can start bobbing your head. Your tongue glides over his slit each time you almost pull off, with just your lips wrapped around the blunt tip before you dive back down.

“Fuuuck, that's so good. Shit you're so good at that, mi vida.” His praises go straight to your core, making you speed up your actions.

The man tilts his head back and takes the cig out of his mouth, the end now getting dangerously close to his fingers, but he couldn't care less, all he cares about is the wet heat of your mouth already pushing him closer and closer to his orgasm. He takes one last drag and puts out the butt as it reaches his fingers, taking in a sharp inhale when you deepthroat him again just as it burns his finger tips. “Such a good fucktoy, goddamn angel…”

His groans get louder, your head now bobbing up and down on him rhythmically as you twist your fist around his throbbing length in just the right way.

Hand joining the other, he pushes you down once, then twice. “Just a little more darlin’, ya can do it, I know ya can—,” his pants are heavy, low moans cut off by gasps. “Gonna come down that pretty throat, just a little further, sweetheart.” You feel his hips lift off the window sill and towards your face, the gesture making you choke a bit before you take him fully again, fingernails digging into his plump thighs enough to leave marks as your face scrunches up.

It's only a few more seconds and he's coming down your throat, just as he said he would. You can barely taste the saltiness as he moans loudly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat with his back arched enough to feel his tummy on your forehead. You pull off after a few moments with gasps, your chest rising and falling quickly as you take in the air you'd briefly missed out on.

“Ay cariño… ‘m sorry, are ya ok?” Jake's gaze is still lidded and dopey, though a lot softer now, and you feel his thumb run over your cheek.

“Yes,” you say hoarsely, giggling afterwards at the sound of your voice while you wipe the spit from your chin. “It was hot. I liked it, honey, don't worry.”

He sighs, a smile replacing the worried frown his had on his face just seconds before. “Ah, good, angel,” he leans down and kisses you, not caring about the taste of himself on your lips. “You owe me an orgasm though.” You mumble on his lips, feeling the low chuckle rumble in his chest as he joins you on the floor without even pulling away from your plump lips.

”I can do that, cariño.”

+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡+｡+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡

Jake hasn't been out since that morning, and now it's getting to 3 days, and you're worried.

Did your odd little kink freak him out? Maybe the thought that his lover gets off on him damaging his lungs made him uncomfortable.— No, that's not the sexy part, because that WOULD be weird. It's watching him carefully, masterfully, assemble the tobacco. Watching the way he rolls it between his thick digits and runs his tongue over the edge before lighting it. You'd noticed how his eyes close in satisfaction with that first drag, and how his eyelids lower to a more relaxed manner, giving him that deadly lidded gaze that is sure to be the death of you.

The presence creeping up behind you breaks your train of thought, and you sigh contentedly as you feel large, warm hands run over your shoulders tenderly. You drag your eyes away from the tv screen to tilt your head back and look at one of your boyfriends, whichever one it is.

Jake always insisted on growing his facial hair out, but Marc and Steven are so strongly against it that you'd think they have some kind of personal vendetta against it. That being said, it's hard to tell them apart sometimes, especially when you're looking at them upside down.

“Hello, handsome.”

“Hello, angel.”

Blood instantly rushes to your face, and you know Jake notices it, given the way his lips quirk into a grin.

“Took you long enough…” You mumble softly, lifting your head to avoid his burning gaze.

“Ay, I know I know. I ain't really got an excuse.” He gives your shoulder one last pat before moving around to the couch and placing himself down next to you, arm promptly resting on the couch behind your head. “Did ya miss me, though?” His fingers toy with your ear, a gesture that he'd quickly and delightedly learnt annoys you.

Your silence is met by a dark chuckle from the man. “Did ya miss these?” The sound of cardboard rustling grabs your attention, your head slowly turning towards him before your eyes focus on the box of cigarettes in front of you.

“I thought you didn't like ‘pre-rolled bullshit'.” You quote his words with a scoff to hide the excitement already bubbling up inside you.

“I don't, but they come in handy, don't they? ‘Specially if I'm tryna rile ya up again.”

His left leg is crossed over the other in a casual sitting position, body angled towards you invitingly with his arms spread wide enough to make his t-shirt stretch across his toned chest.

“So… you didn't find it weird then?” Voice tentative, you shuffle over to him, having missed his tight bear hugs and calming tone of voice… even if his cockiness does get on your nerves sometimes.

A small frown replaces the grin that almost constantly adorned his face. “No, mi vida, ‘course not.” His hand reaches towards your face, calloused thumb running under your eyes softly. “I'm just as into it as you are, hell, I thought that was obvious.” His low chuckle makes your chest warm and a smile break the pouty look you had plastered across your face, especially when he leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Thank fucking god.”

A deep laugh from your boyfriend only makes your face and body grow warmer, the smile widening before you lean into his lips to place a kiss on them.

“Ya could've spoken to the other two.” He says, hands resting on your waist to pull you closer for a cuddle.

“Didn't wanna worry them.” It's almost remarkable how quickly you melt into their arms, quicker than you have with any other person… ever, really.

Jake's fingers trace your face gently, eyes roaming all over your features and drinking them in as if he hasn't seen you in years. “Ay cariño, you're too kind for ya own good.” He chuckles softly, pressing another, slightly longer kiss on your lips.

That slightly longer turns into much longer, which then turns into you panting into eachothers's mouth, craving one another as if it's integral to your survival.

“Please do it again, honey, wanna see you do it again.”

The friction from your bodies grinding relentlessly together has him dazed, his brain taking a few seconds to compute.

“Oh, angel, so impatient,” he teases as he grabs the box of cigs from the table and pulls one out. He runs it under his nose and takes a big whiff, letting out a loud, pleasured groan afterwards to make you giggle at his silliness, which you do.

You bite your lip, and he puts the stick between his rosy lips, looking up at you hungrily. “This what ya wanted, darlin’? ‘S this what you've been waitin’ for?” His tone is almost condescending, but his words roll off of his tongue in such a smooth way that you're quick to forgive him.

Your hips automatically grind down on him as you nod, biting your lip hard, before you feel his hands land on your waist again, traveling underneath your shirt and over your warm skin until you feel his fingers just brush over your left nipple. The hem of your shirt moves past your face before you can even think about it, your eyes still glued to his pretty mouth as you roll your hips on him to pull those soft grunts from his throat.

“Look at ya, I've barely touched ya and you're all worked up.” He grins as he brings his hand down to the waistband of your sweats to slide them lovingly down your thighs. It's a little mortifying how you don't even question him, how you don't even need anymore working up thanks to a heated make-out session and the sight of the cig hanging from his lips loosely. You lift your ass to help him pull them down, your underwear following suit.

That's when you realize he hasn't even taken his grey t-shirt off, and you're stark naked in his lap.

“This has got to have a name...” You rest your hands on his chest, the feeling of your bare cunt grinding against his jeans making you tilt your head back.

“Hmm?” He asks, undoing his belt buckle and fly.

“Your thing for having me completely naked while you can't even be bothered to take your shirt off.”

He laughs at that. “Maybe, ya should look it up later. See if it's on that woman's TikTok page.” He pulls his twitching cock out of the confines of his boxers, running his thumb over the ruddy tip. The gesture makes you take in a soft inhale, inching your hips closer to him so you can let his cock slide between your folds and through your arousal.

You both groan at the movement, and you watch Jake shuffle in his pocket for his lighter moments later, bringing the small flame to the end of the cig to light it. His chest expands, and then deflates as he blows the smoke away.

“You're so gorgeous, mi vida.” He says softly, two fingers holding the cigarette tightly as he runs them across your flesh to make goosebumps prickle across your arms and your cheeks heat up.

“And you're so handsome, Jakey.” You moan softly as he brings his mouth close to your chest and places kisses all over the expanse of skin, guiding your hand down between your bodies to help him slide inside you.

He pulls away and places the stick between his lips again to take in another drag and admire the picture in front of him. “Such a pretty angel,” he reiterates, feeling your warmth envelop his aching length as you sink down on him.

Your thighs shudder just a little, a pant escaping your lips as your hole stretches around him with ease, used to their girth by now.

“Love the dumb little look on ya face when ya take it, cariño. Ya like havin’ me stretch ya open like this?” Jake's words travel straight to your core, fueling the fire in your tummy as you lift your hips just to sink back down on him.

“Yes, baby, I love the way you stretch me open.”

The moan that comes from his lips is wonderful, and it's followed by another billow of smoke, the cig back in the corner of his mouth so he can guide your hips. You can see him already gritting his teeth around it, taking in sharp inhales as you start a deep rhythm on him.

“Oh baby…” You moan. You desperately want to close your eyes to enjoy the feeling, but the sight of him fucking you with that deathstick between his teeth is too glorious, penance for the time you spent worrying. “Shit, you look so hot, Jake. So fucking sexy…” You groan as he grasps your ass, gripping the flesh and dragging you down on his cock with growls.

“Ya look even better takin’ it, darlin’, ya take it so well; my pretty slut.”

You grip his shoulders, cursing him for being able to push your buttons and make you whine at the most humiliating of names. Your body always tells him different, though, especially as you start bouncing faster on his cock, feeling it hit that fucking sweet spot each time you come down on him.

Jake is panting too now, and he has to hold the cig between his fingers again to stop it from dropping on you. “Ya feel so good squeezin’ me like that, cariño… Fuck this cunt is magical–.” He still has a grip on your hip, and uses it as leverage so that he can start bucking his hips into your wet heat.

Needless to say, you aren't going to last much longer.

“J-ake! Honey… Fuck I'm so close–agh!-.” Your walls clench around him while your hand slips between your legs to circle your clit, eyes opening briefly to get a glimpse at the sight you'd been waiting to see for what felt like weeks.

That's it, that's all you needed as you sink down on him and grind your cunt against your hand, panting and moaning with your head thrown back. Waves of pleasure rush over you and soak through your bones entirely, your toes clenching like your walls.

You release the grip you had on his shoulders, not that he seemed to mind, that is, before leaning forward to kiss him. You don't care about the smokey taste on his tongue because all you want is him, his taste.

“Mmnnn… We ain't done yet, darlin’,” Jake pulls from the kiss and gestures to the half burnt cigarette as he places it back between his lips.

He gropes your waist and pulls you off of his cock with a soft yelp from you, instead pressing you down into the couch, face turned outwards so he can lean down and look at your face. This position always makes you whine, always makes your legs shake as you try to keep yourself up, and Jake never goes easy on you. He likes seeing the way your ass and thighs bounce as he brings you back on him, and loves hearing the filthy noises that are produced in the process.

The feeling of him splitting you open again has you biting on the cushion, your thoughts from before being true as he ruthlessly fucks into you, loud growls and grunts rumbling in his chest and ringing in your ears.

It's hard to ignore how good it makes you feel when he uses you like this. Sure you love the soft and tender moments you get with the three of them, but once you'd felt what they can really do to you, there was no going back.

You're surprised you haven't ripped the cushion cover from how hard you're gripping it, dumb, cock drunk whines and whimpers falling from your lips as the man fucks you closer and closer to another orgasm.

He leans over you, cigarette barely staying between his lips as he watches your eyes screw shut and random gibberish fall from your mouth.

“Ay, my pretty little fucktoy. Ya love it when I'm rough with ya, don't ya?” He pants and strokes his hand down your chest, running all the way down your tummy till he reaches your swollen clit. “Love it when I… when I use ya.”

His strong and composed facade is faltering, just as it usually does when he's getting close, sitting up again to throw his head back and take puffs of his almost completely gone cigarette.

You can see colours dancing behind your eyelids with how tightly they're screwed shut, the way his fingers are rubbing your clit being almost unbearable as you let out cries and pleas to come again.

“Yeah cariño, that's it, cum all over my cock, lemme feel ya twitch.”

An even stronger wave than before crashes over you and wracks your whole body. Your moans get stuck in your throat as you milk Jake of all he has, his own orgasm having hit him after you'd shrieked his name.

Thankfully, he's quick to remove his fingers from your throbbing clit, knowing it gets a little too sensitive after two mind-blowing orgasms.

”AH FUCK-”

Your post-nut bliss is interrupted by a pained yelp from the man, making you crane your neck to look back at him frantically pulling the cigarette butt from his lips and putting it out in the ashtray.

You laugh, albeit sleepily, and watch his dopey gaze drift to yours as he chuckles lowly. “Fuckin’ cigarettes… maybe next time I should get some of those fake ones.” He jokes as he pulls out of you and touches his sore lips.

You giggle and sit up wobbly, turning to wrap your arms around his neck. “I did think when we started that it was a little dangerous.”

“Ay, ya live and ya learn.”

You both laugh and Jake presses his face into your neck, placing soft kisses as he falls back against the couch with a thump, taking you with him.

...........................................................................

Tags 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @ominoose @mynamesstevenwithav @rinverse

#moon knight #moon knight system #moon boys #jake lockley #moon knight smut #jake lockley smut #jake lockley x reader #oscar isaac characters

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (4/?)

Part summary: Getting to know Leigh Shaw comes with some hardships—literally.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 4.600 | Warnings/Tags: Pining | A/N: Still haven't decided how many parts will there be, but for now, enjoy reader's POV as her interest in Leigh grows :)

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Next

-

For some reason, you keep saying yes to Leigh Shaw.

Yes to providing your veterinary services for her.

Yes to divulging the private aspects of your relationship with Matt.

Yes to staying in her yoga class.

Yes to running very early in the morning, with a lung-busting pace that leaves you dehydrated and feeling queasy by the end of it.

As if to add insult to injury, Leigh Shaw doubles back to where you're lagging behind, barely hanging on for dear life. She flashes that cheeky grin, says, “Try to keep up,” and takes off again like it's nothing. You're left gasping for air, your heart screaming in agony as you attempt to match her pace, but Leigh's already a blur ahead. 

She was right—your endurance is really nowhere to be seen. It's in these moments, as you're pushing past what you thought were your limits, that you start to get why Leigh's both a pain and a push that was kind of missing before in your life. 

Leigh eventually vanishes around a corner, and consequently, you lose sight of her. You dig deep, pushing yourself to keep going, refusing to quit out of stubbornness and curiosity of what your body could do. By some miracle, you make it to the finish line, which turns out to be that park you've been to only once before with Matt. He had made it a special day with sandwiches and comics, while you got lost in a book he swore you’d love. You can’t shake off the feeling that this place is significant for Leigh and Matt too.

When you finally stumble in, there's Leigh, chilling on the grass, looking like she's lost in thought, her eyes dark with something you can't quite put your finger on. But then she spots you, and it's like someone flipped a switch. She’s back to the flippant Leigh—easygoing, as if nothing’s amiss.

“Was half expecting to find you passed out somewhere back there,” Leigh smirks up at you.

You can’t help but flop down next to her, letting the sun beat down on your face, feeling every bit of your skin that's exposed soaking up the warmth. Thirst claws at your throat, fierce and unforgiving. Gathering the little energy you have left, you manage to ask, “How long have you been waiting?”

Leigh glances at you, her casual ease belying the brief glimpse of concern you thought you'd seen earlier. “Oh, about five minutes,” she says, her tone light, as if the grueling run was nothing more than a leisurely stroll for her.

You pant out, “Why are you so fast, anyway?” 

Leigh bursts into laughter, finding your question absurdly funny. “Fast? Me? That's hardly competitive speed, you're just... completely out of shape.”

You pout, feeling slightly offended but too exhausted to argue. Stretching out beside her, you let out a series of groans and pops, feeling your muscles protest and then slowly relax. “Feels like I'm a hundred years old,” you mutter with a heavy sigh.

Still chuckling, Leigh shakes her head. “I've been running for three years now. It's more of a hobby, really, but I need to stay active for my job at the Beautiful Beast. Or my mom will fire me.”

“Your family owns that place?”

Leigh corrects you quickly, “Not my family, just my mom. And being the owner's daughter doesn't give me a pass to slack off. I can't afford to be terrible at my job.”

Her distinction between “my family” and “my mom” sticks with you. It seems like a clue into her family dynamics. In the short time you've known her, Leigh comes across as straightforward, genuinely helpful, and yes, perhaps a bit quick-tempered, but overall...she's okay. 

More than okay, actually. She must be incredible to those she truly cares about. So, what went wrong with her and Matt? How could he betray her like that? It’s even more baffling when you remember Leigh saying they were trying for a baby. That detail still turns your stomach, and you're endlessly grateful you never went down that path with him, despite once wishing things had gone differently.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't realize how intently you've been staring at Leigh until she calls you out on it. “What is it?” she asks, her voice pulling you back to the present.

Flustered, you find yourself asking the question that's been simmering in your mind, since you first pulled on your sneakers for that 5k this morning. “Why'd you bring me along for your run? Why are you even helping me?”

Leigh just gives an offhand shrug, says, “Well, you didn't have to show up, so you're actually helping yourself.”

“Fair enough,” you reply, but can't shake off a bit of disappointment. The truth is, you were hoping she'd say something that suggested she was up for being friends, or at least saw you as more than just another client of hers.

It's weird, really, why you keep wanting to be friends with Leigh Shaw.

Suddenly, Leigh glances at her watch and looks up at you. “Ready to go?” she asks, a bit impatiently.

“If I can still walk after this, sure,” you say, half-joking, half-serious, feeling the effects of the run in every muscle.

Leigh laughs at that, a genuine, hearty laugh that lights up her face. It's a sound that's real and unguarded, making you think that maybe, becoming friends with her isn't such a far-fetched idea after all.

-

Yoga sessions with Leigh stick to the script you first stumbled into. She's all business, only really tossing you a nod or a word when your form goes sideways. “Shoulders down, back straight,” she corrects you, her voice firm, yet not unkind. Outside of that, you might as well blend into the walls for all the personal attention she gives, just like anyone else there. Everyone gets the same treatment—tough love, dished out in equal measure.

Despite her imposing presence, there's something else, a depth to her that often seems just out of reach. You catch her sometimes, looking out the window with a distant gaze. But then she blinks, shakes it off, and is back, fully attentive and ready to guide the next pose.

“Focus on your breathing,” Leigh's voice snaps you out of your focus on her. “Inhale deeply, and as you exhale, sink deeper into the pose.”

Determined to excel, you pour all your effort into being the student Leigh doesn’t need to worry about. Ironically, your diligence only seems to make you more invisible to her. As you master the poses with less need for correction, Leigh's interactions with you dwindle further.

After class, you toy with the idea of approaching her. Maybe get some feedback, or even suggest grabbing dinner together so you don't have to eat alone. But as you're putting together what to say, you notice Leigh seems in a hurry. She exchanges a few quick words with another instructor who's just arrived, and before you can decide, she's excusing herself and heading out.

The moment to ask her has slipped away, leaving you to pack your yoga mat with a resigned sigh. 

Another time, then, you think.

-

The next day, without another invite from Leigh for a run, you lace up your shoes and follow the same route you and Leigh took together. Just 20 minutes into the run, the solo effort feels more like a chore than the engaging challenge it was with company. You loop the route four times, hoping maybe to cross paths with Leigh purely by coincidence, but she’s nowhere to be found. 

The studio had announced last night that Leigh’s yoga classes would be temporarily led by a different teacher, with her expected to return next week. This bit of news leaves you mulling about her absence, kind of hoping you might accidentally run into her to find out more. But as the week goes by without any such encounters, you realize you actually know very little about her daily routines or habits. Despite the nagging curiosity, you refrain from texting her, not wanting to intrude or anything.

Admittedly, your motivation to work out dipped slightly without Leigh being part of it.

-

When you finally talk yourself into visiting Matt’s grave, you do so just minutes before it could get really dark. You've chosen this time deliberately, betting on the common fear that keeps most people away from cemeteries as night approaches. 

Your main concern isn't the general public, though; it's just Leigh. Past experiences have shown that encounters with her can happen unexpectedly and in the most random of places—like that night at the club when she ended up getting sick just a few inches away from you. You're not here out of a longing for Matt. Instead, you aim to properly close this chapter of your life, hoping to do so without running into his widow and giving her the wrong impression.

The air holds a chill that wasn't there when you left home, making you wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. It’s quiet, just the sound of your own footsteps crunching softly on the path. Being here as the day turns to night, watching shadows stretch out long and skinny, really gets you thinking about life, death, and everything else in-between. Maybe that's also why people avoid this place—it sort of forces you to face the music, making you curious if all the things you're wrapped up in are actually important or utterly pointless. 

As for you, you haven't quite figured out where you stand on that yet. Lately, you've really come into your own in your career, especially now that you’re seeing the profits steadily rising each month. But that sense of achievement fades each evening as you return to your empty apartment. It's just you, night after night, pushing through the grind, pouring everything into your job. Yet, when you try to envision where you'll be in five years from now, the picture isn't clear. Will you be settling down with someone, or just picking up the pieces from another relationship that’s gone awry?

Finding Matt's grave takes a moment, but when you do, your heart clenches. It’s just a simple stone with his name, the years he was here, and a couple of words(you’re guessing it’s Leigh who wrote them) about him. 

You kneel down, the grass cool and slightly damp beneath you, and lay the flowers you've brought on his grave. They look kind of bright against the dimming light. Like hope.

“Hey Matt,” you say, stepping into a silence that feels like it's hanging around, just waiting for you to fill it. Talking to a dead person feels ridiculous like they do in the movies, but it's not like anyone's around to hear you.

“You know, I met Leigh,” you begin. “Your wife you conveniently forgot to mention when you were busy asking me out.”

There's a sour edge to your voice, airing grievances to a guy who can't throw back excuses anymore. You can't help but chuckle, though it's more bitter than amused. You let your thoughts more freely now, like the barrier between you and Matt has thinned out with the honesty. 

“Leigh is… beautiful, you know? Not in that runway or social media kind of way, but in a manner that's hard to just overlook.” 

You could list a dozen more positive things about Leigh to tell Matt, but he already knew all that, didn't he?

“The first time I met her, I felt small, maybe even insecure. And now?” you shake your head, smiling slightly. “...I still do. But mostly, I'm just left thinking…” You pause. The next thought isn't really for Matt, not anymore. 

It’s for you.

“I just can't wrap my head around why you'd want to be with me when you had her. I feel like the murder weapon that's trying to seek justice for its victim.” You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Not a great spot to be in, honestly. Makes me feel kind of helpless, you know?"

Sitting back, you take a moment, just looking at the headstone, at the name etched into the granite. The conversation, if you can call it that, feels like it's shifted something inside you. Not closure, exactly, but maybe the first step towards understanding—or at least accepting—that some things just don't make sense.

Standing up, you dust off your knees, taking one last look at the grave. “Anyway, Matt, I hope you've found peace. It looks like we're all searching for a little of that ourselves. Thanks for the book suggestions. Though, you might be a bit disappointed to hear Agatha Christie remains my top favorite.”

As you walk away from Matt's grave, it feels as though you're leaving a piece of yourself behind to rest with him. You decide then, as the cemetery gate closes behind you with a gentle click, that you won't let this page in your book define you. Maybe tomorrow, you'll try a new coffee shop, or take a different route to work. Small changes, but important ones.

Maybe you’ll even try that spin class that scares you so.

-

“Since when did you start living at the gym?” Suzie teases you from her spot across the desk, that signature playful, all-knowing arch to her eyebrow.

Suzie, who had originally come on board as a receptionist at your vet clinic with little more than enthusiasm and a genuine love for animals to her name, had quickly become much more than just a staff member. Her lack of relevant experience was initially a concern, but her dedication and the way she connected with both the animals and their owners made it clear she was a perfect fit. Over time, she evolved from being just the receptionist to a friend. 

A friend who seems to enjoy teasing you, though.

“First off, it’s hardly the gym. It’s this fitness class I’ve been trying out—big distinction,” you clarify, eyes glued on your phone. The last half hour has been a slow crawl towards 5 PM, the magical hour when you can finally shut down and head to Leigh’s class at Beautiful Beast.

“Tomatoes, to-mah-toes,” she quips.

“Not the same thing,” you insist, still not fully engaged in the conversation, your focus on a food article you're reading.

Suzie just waves her hand dismissively. “Semantics. But seriously, you've been really into whatever this is. There's gotta be a guy making those sweat sessions worth it.”

You can't help but laugh, the idea so off base it circles back to being hilarious. 

“Trust me, the allure isn't the sweat. It's those endorphins,” you say.

“Yeah, sure,” she drawls, unconvinced. “Come on. Who is it? I know you're not this amped to be all gross and sweaty for nothing.”

“There's no guy, Suzie.” Then, as if the thought just occurred to you, you add, “Or girl. But honestly, there's really no one.”

At that, Suzie's expression shifts from playful teasing to one of pleasant surprise and a touch of mock offense. “Hold up, you might be into girls? And here I was, shooting my shot in the dark this whole time!”

Your ears burn red at her blunt flirtation. “Suzie, come on,” you stammer.

“If I had known that was on the table, I would’ve upped my game ages ago,” she says, her wink sending your face from warm to inferno.

“You’re impossible,” you manage to say as you hurry to collect your things, ready to rush out the door.

“Impossibly into you,” she retorts saucily.

“I’m gonna have to fire you, you know,” you mutter jokingly, glancing at your watch. “Gotta run, bye!”

“Just so we're clear, the offer stands,” she adds, still grinning.

-

You feel a sense of relief seeing Leigh back in class. 

Though the website clearly stated her schedule, you found yourself on edge until you could see Leigh with your own eyes. There's nothing noticeably different about her; Leigh seems just as composed and in control as ever. When she catches you looking, she offers a small, somewhat dismissive smile before turning her attention elsewhere. 

You spend the whole session with your energy dialed up, partly because Leigh's presence just does that, and partly because you're already plotting. As soon as she calls time on the session, you're practically springing into action. Your belongings—a water bottle, towel, and the rest—land in a haphazard pile on the floor as you quickly stand up, eager to catch her before she disappears. You make your way toward her, determined not to let her slip away this time.

Leigh's busy packing up her own gear, her back to you as you close the distance. “Hey, Leigh,” you say, and it sounds like you've got this under control, even if your heart's hammering away in your chest. She turns, and there's a flicker of surprise in her expression. You’re hoping it’s the good kind of surprise.

“I'm really glad you're back,” you push on, hoping it doesn't sound as clumsy to her as it does in your head.

She takes a swig from her water bottle, giving you a once-over, and then says, “Thanks. Do you need anything?” There's an expectant look in her eyes, and in that moment, your confidence begins to wane, melting under her gaze. You're on the spot, scrambling for words, any words that don't involve asking her out for dinner, which suddenly seems like an insurmountable task.

“Uh, actually,” you start, your mind racing to find a safe topic, “I was wondering if you had any tips on improving my form?”

Leigh's expression softens, and she nods, setting her water bottle down. “Sure, I can show you a few things. Let's go back to the mats,” she suggests, leading the way. Despite feeling like your tank is on empty and your body crying for hydration, backing down doesn’t feel like an option. 

Not when Leigh is already spreading her mat next to yours. She does so with a sort of blasé authority, and you can't help but think how this is Leigh all over—straight to the point, no fuss. You're tired, sure, and a part of you is suggesting that you're about to make a fool of yourself with your shaky legs and probably even shakier form. But then, Leigh starts talking, pointing out where you're going wrong and how to fix it, and suddenly, you're not thinking about dinner anymore. You’re too distracted now by the smell of her perfume mixed with the scent of her sweat.

The next few minutes turn into what feels like a whole new session under Leigh's watchful eyes. She's on you about everything—the angle of your arm, the set of your shoulders, even the way you're distributing your weight on your feet. Leigh's not mean about it, but she doesn't let anything slide. You're just trying to keep up, watching her move with that easy confidence. It's mesmerizing, really, how she can make something so complex look so simple.

By the time you're done, your muscles are burning, your breath is ragged, and you're pretty sure you've sweated out every last drop of water in your body. As you lie there, staring at the ceiling and asking yourself how a ten-minute guidance turned into an even harder session, you mentally kick yourself for not just admitting you wanted company for dinner. It was right there, and you were too scared to be rejected. 

But why? Considering everything that's happened and the circumstances, Leigh turning you down seems like the more probable outcome anyway.

And then Leigh does something totally offbeat. She glances at the clock, then back at you, and out of nowhere, she's asking, “Want to grab something to eat?”

It's so unexpected, that for a moment, you're sure you misheard her. But Leigh's waiting for an answer, a slight smile playing on her lips, and suddenly, the fatigue feels a little less overwhelming. You sit up, a slow grin spreading across your face as you realize this is it—your chance, handed to you when you least expected it.

“Yeah,” you finally manage to say, almost tripping over your tongue. “Yeah, that'd be great.”

-

When Leigh mentioned grabbing something to eat, you expected a sit-down at some cozy restaurant serving healthy food. Instead, she pulls into the drive-thru of a fast-food joint, orders a mountain of fries and a couple of burgers, and parks the car in a secluded spot overlooking the city. It's laid-back, unpolished, and honestly, pretty perfect.

“So, how long have you been in town?” Leigh asks as she hands you a burger, the city lights twinkling below like a scattered deck of glowing cards.

“Just over a year,” you reply, taking a hearty bite of your burger. “Moved here for the business opportunity, but it’s been... you know, slow on the social front.”

Leigh nods, understandingly. “It can be tough, starting fresh somewhere. This place isn't the friendliest to newcomers.”

Your eyebrow lifts, curious whether she's speaking from her own experiences or perhaps someone else's.

“Yeah, most of my socializing happens online these days. My closest friends are scattered across different states,” you say.

Leigh just hums a bit, not really adding anything else. She doesn't go into details about her own friends, so you're left trying to think of something else to talk about. But everything that comes to mind feels too personal, like asking why she wasn't at the Beautiful Beast for a week, how she's dealing with being a widow, or questions about her family.

Small talk isn't really your thing, so the conversation fizzles out from here. Both of you just end up staring out at the city lights in silence. Leigh seems comfortable with it though, so you decide to just go with it and savor the quiet moment too.

After a while, Leigh breaks the silence. “I didn't think I'd be able to love another dog after Rogue,” she shares, not taking her eyes off the cityscape. “Matt and I had to put her down because she was sick. It was brutal. I swore off dogs after that.”

You look over at her and offer a soft, “I'm sorry.”

But there's no trace of sadness on her face. It’s so nonchalant, almost as if she’s just talking about the weather and not a painful memory.

“But then...I saw Visitor,” she goes on, a small smile cracking through. “I just knew he needed me. And, this might sound odd, but I realized I wanted to feel needed. When Matt—” She stumbles over his name, a rare falter, but she's quick to brush it off. “When he died, nobody needed me. And I struggled with that. Because being needed felt like a purpose.”

The idea of needing to be needed isn't something you've ever considered. Truth is, you've never really needed anyone. You've been a solo act for as long as you can remember, handling things on your own, relying solely on your own capabilities. And so, that also meant you couldn't imagine being on the other side of the spectrum—being needed by someone.

However, there's a part of you, unexpectedly, that feels a twinge of jealousy towards Leigh. To truly experience loss, there first has to be something meaningful to lose. You're not sure you've ever let yourself have that kind of bond with anyone. Not yet, anyway. It's a sobering thought, making you think about what you might be missing out on.

Leigh notices you're not saying much and says, “I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. I'm sorry.”

You shake your head slightly, “It's okay. I just... I don't think I've ever been in your shoes.”

Leigh looks a bit puzzled. “What do you mean? Are you talking about the dog thing, or…?”

“The other thing,” you clarify.

Leigh smirks. “Oh, I wish I was like that.”

You quickly realize how arrogant that must have sounded, so you rush to explain, “No, I'm not trying to brag or anything. It's just, I guess I've never really opened myself up to that kind of bond.”

“Not even with Matt?” she asks, and there it is—the topic of Matt you've been tiptoeing around. You're suddenly aware that Matt's shadow is something you'll have to get used to, just as Leigh apparently has, given the unceremonious way she alludes to your almost-affair with her late husband. 

“No,” you whisper, looking straight into Leigh's eyes, hoping she’ll believe you. “We never needed each other like that.”

Leigh's eyes linger on yours a moment longer before she looks away. Eager to change the subject, you add, “Must've been rough, giving Visitor back to his real family.”

“Yeah. I mean, I shouldn't be, right? But part of me was actually angry at them for letting him get away like that. He could've been hit by a car or worse, all because they weren't careful. But at the end of the day,” she stops, a sigh escaping her, and that smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes comes back as she looks at you again. “He’s not mine.”

“Visitor really snuck into your heart, didn’t he?”

Leigh nods. “I wasn't expecting to care that much, you know?” Then, she offers a small, reflective chuckle. “Makes you think about the connections we allow ourselves to have, and the ones we avoid, doesn't it?”

You try to gauge whether she's still talking about Visitor while also trying to figure out where you stand—the connections she's chosen or the ones she sidesteps?  Before you find the courage to ask, Leigh starts the car and presses down on the clutch, ready to switch gears.

“I need to head back to the studio, so I can only drop you off somewhere on the way,” Leigh says, signaling the end of your time together for now.

You quickly decide that being dropped off at the studio is fine. “The Beautiful Beast works for me,” you reply, hoping to extend the time you have left with her, even if it's just by a few minutes. 

The ride is quiet, the earlier ease replaced by a thoughtful silence. You're watching her, the way she's all eyes on the road but clearly lost in her head. Leigh, as you’ve noticed, is someone hard to get to open up, her walls built high and strong. She's this fortress of a person, but tonight felt different, like she accidentally left a window open and you caught a glimpse inside. 

It just makes you crave for more.

As the studio comes into view, it feels like you've both made some progress with Leigh and yet, somehow, not made any at all. Stepping out of the car, you’re met by Jules, another staff member at the Beautiful Beast whom you've heard Leigh refer to numerous times, approaches. You barely catch her saying, “Danny is waiting for you inside,” to Leigh. You miss the frown on Jules's face or how Leigh instantly seems on edge.

“Thanks for the ride—and for dinner,” you say, feeling a bit out of place now.

“Don't get used to it,” she says, the corners of her lips twisting into a reluctant smile. “Was nice talking, though. Thanks for not making it weird.”

As she's quickly pulled away by whatever's going on inside, you hover for a second, debating if you should go in for a goodbye hug. But before you know it, Leigh is tossing a quick “Bye” in your direction as she strides towards the studio.

You're left there, floating in the aftermath, wondering about everything and nothing all at once.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

[dizzycoffee]

Oh my gosh I love your writing!!! After reading the Vox x Angel Reader I was just "Wow so cute!"

And then I got this idea from it

What if Vox just can't do anything anymore or just say a simple "No" to (Female Angel)Reader without them using there puppy eyes on him ALL of the time even at times they don't do it intentionally

Like we just act a cute puppy once we are getting yelled at we just give our owners a sad puppy eye look and make them do what we want XDD

— Vox / Angel!Fem!Reader; Headcanons Part 2

KSGDHG thank you sm !!! this dynamic is honestly so much fun to write !

for the first post, click here !

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ HEADCANONS ･*:.｡..｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

While Vox is still a bit hesitant to put a label in the relationship, the two of you definitely act like you're in a romantic one

A committed one at that, seeing as how you made it very clear you have no interest in anyone but him

He, on the other hand, makes it clear by the way he never refuses your requests

Usually, he's quite compliant when it comes to you asking for physical things

If you asked for anything, he'll gladly fulfill your needs

You're thirsty? Here's a water. You're cold? He's brought a blanket with him. You're tired? Please, lie down and he'll turn the lights down to make it easier to rest

There are two main instances in which hesitates with your requests...

Vox pulled the blanket over you, smiling to himself as he watched you yawn. "Go ahead and sleep, angel," he whispered. As he began to move away, your hand reached for his. Your touch left him buffering for a second, turning his head to look over at your pleading look. Despite the now darkened room, your eyes still shined amidst the darkness. "Can you stay with me?" you asked in a soft tone. Swallowing thickly, Vox felt himself hesitate for a moment. He obliged, slithering into bed next to you. Naturally, your wings wrapped themselves around him.

When in comes to more emotional / intimate requests, he finds himself a bit reluctant

Not because he doesn't want to— no no, he LOVES to cuddle you and all

It sort of comes back to his inferiority complex and how he doesn't want to end up corrupting you

He loves you, so much he's scared to hurt you in any way

He can't unsee how your hands feel so soft against his claws, the way your angelic wings warm his cold and stiff body

He feels he isn't meant to be loved by an angel like you...

You, on the other hand, don't particularly care whether he's an overlord, a demon, etc.

You don't necessarily hate his hesitance, because you understand that he's still struggling to come to terms that this whole relationship is okay

But you don't fully tolerate it, especially when all you want to do is kiss him

You developed this specific habit for him whenever he starts to hesitate or begin to think negatively

Vox cleared his throat, "You want... more kisses?" You held back a sigh, understanding that he was beginning to overthink things. You looked up at him, letting your eyes widen as your brows twitched into an expression that left him flustered. You pout your lips as you say, "Please, Voxy? For me?" It didn't take more than a second for his lips to be attached onto yours.

Emotional intimacy aside, he also hesitates to fulfill your requests whenever you visit while he works

The way he hardly gets any work done whenever you visit during work hours,,,

A soft hum left his lips as he kissed you, his claws gently caressing your cheek. He couldn't get over this overwhelming warm feeling you gave him. Your hands gently tugged at his shoulders as you peppered his lips with your kisses, his own hands running down to your hips to pull you further into his lap. "Vox?! We have a meeting!" The two of you jump, eyes flashing towards the locked door of Vox's office. "Fucking Val..." Vox mumbled before turning to you. "Sorry, angel. We'll have to cut the visit sho—" "But you promised we'd be together all day..." Like a switch, your previously flustered expression flipped to give him the puppy-eyes. He inhaled sharply, claws beginning to dig into your side. "I'm busy!" Vox yelled back out to Valentino. Ignoring the groans and complaints from behind the door, the two of you returned to your longing kisses.

#vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel vox x reader #vox headcanons #vox x reader #vox x y/n #vox x you

[shalotttower]

Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader Summary: You died and became a ghost. Now you can’t leave Chrollo, but at least there’s satisfaction in taunting him. Notes: yandere!Chrollo, ghost!Reader, past nonconsensual relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

"Do you ever wonder what it's like," you ask, watching Chrollo flip the pages of his book, "to be dead?"

He doesn't reply.

Of course he doesn't, it's simply not possible. Most conversations you have now are one-sided, monologues with occasional questions sprinkled in between which always stay unanswered. Because he can't hear you. Or see you. Or touch you, unless he accidentally walks through you, and it's probably the only time when Chrollo feels something.

Maybe that's why you keep doing it, walking right through him. Just to make his skin crawl like he once made yours.

But Chrollo only closes the window and gets a warm cardigan. Cold drafts are coming in more often these days, since fall is nearing its end.

It annoys you how meticulous he is.

You float above the tub while he brushes his teeth, staring at the faint cracks in the ceiling that weren't present three weeks ago.

"It's chilly here," your fingers sink deep into your thigh, like through butter, and yet it sends no signals down the nervous system to let your brain know. Strange, this body you have now ─ translucent like a jellyfish.

Chrollo rinses his mouth, you push the towel off the hook.

"I could use a cardigan too."

He doesn't get scared. Doesn't get uncomfortable, doesn't...anything, really. All Chrollo does is fix the towel and turn the bathroom lights off.

Fallen things get picked, switched objects ─ put back to their respective places, and doors locked shut. He goes about his day, sometimes drawing two mugs instead of one from the cupboard.

You could leave.

You sit on the balcony railing where Chrollo drinks his tea, and swing your legs in the air. Below your feet, cars move on the pavement like toys lined up in neat rows. People cross busy intersections, and the wind doesn't rustle your hair anymore.

Could. Could leave.

If only you knew how to do that. If only Chrollo wasn't attached to you, like a string tied to your wrist ─ invisible, but still so thick that it tugs you back whenever you try going further than a few blocks away.

You don't know why it's like this, but suspect it might have something to do with unfinished business.

Stuck here, you watch him read and brush his teeth, drink fancy tea and shake the snow globe he stole two weeks ago; the dancing fairy inside looks a tad much like you and you're debating whether pushing it off the shelf would be childish or not.

Sometimes it's frustrating being around him.

But sometimes, sometimes a door creaks and Chrollo stops in the middle of the opulently decorated space. The wallpaper has little fleur de lis printed on it, and heavy red curtains frame large windows.

This is when you go so, so still and stare.

"Dear?" he asks quietly.

There's nothing behind the door.

Just an empty hallway bathed in dim lighting.

You never reply. Because this is why you keep hanging nearby, even when there're many empty rooms in the penthouse, barely there, barely lingering ─ for the greatest and most profound pleasure of making him believe, just once, that perhaps, there's something else besides himself in this furnished apartment.

#shalott imagine #shalott fanfiction #chrollo imagine #yandere #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucifer x reader #yandere chrollo x reader

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

corrupt!Nanami

A/N: For @mozlov. Enjoy! 🫶🏽

corrupt!Nanami shifted personalities like flipping off the light switch on a dark stormy night: Your big soft bear was more savage than ever. "You're not listening. She's not takin time off. And as long as y/n works here, so do I. End of fuckin story." Nanami snarls at Yaga. Rolling and flexing his shoulders like he's getting ready for a fight. He's always so ready to box these days. Especially over you. "Nami, its okay. Let's just go-" You're pulling at his dress shirt, afraid shits bout to go down. But Yaga simply holds up his hand for silence. "If you can control yourself while we figure out your condition.. Y/n can stay, but-" Nanamis already taking a step forward, eyes narrowed. You gotta put yourself in between them to make sure your husband doesn't swing. "We'll allow you on the grounds for visitation but you simply can't teach like this. Not at the moment, Kento." Nanami stares at him coldly for a moment before turning to you. The adoration in his eyes gives you whiplash, but it's relief when he puts away the malevolent beast and returns your loving husband. "Long as she's good, I'm good." Said with too much conviction, slowly rubbing a thumb over your bottom lip, shallowly dippin between your lips to tease the tip of your tongue. You gasp, eyes wide at at how quick Nanami goes through the motions. Fuckin guy is now starin at you like you're his prey. "But she's takin the day off." He quickly pulls you from the room without another word, Yaga starin at Nanami's back in utter disbelief.

corrupt!Nanami turns out to be fuckin elated not to be a teacher anymore and quickly loses his dedication to the cause. He's only interested in the art of slaughter, no longer needing a valid reason to pull out his cleaver. Tries, and often fails, to keep that shit to a minimum. Dont get it twisted, Nanami's a murderous bastard. Isn't limited to just killing curses anymore but anyone that gets in his way. Yet.. he's aware how that fucks with your conscience. Knows he can sleep like a baby after but doesn't fuck with how that shit keeps you up at night. So he hides his bloody clothes after a long day, making sure to shower before coming to bed and scooping you into his arms. Falls asleep peacefully as his mind flashes scenes from his lastest kill.

corrupt!Nanami no longer asks your permission for shit anymore. Bent over to pick somethin up? That ends up with your husband puttin you on all fours, giving you back breaking back shots as your try to crawl away. "Quit that, y/n. Told yo fine ass bout doin that shit, right? Bendin over so just so I can see.. 'S all your fault.. You know I can't help it. Ass is too perfect to ignore." It's worse when you try to work out. Always sneaks up from behind to grab you, accusin you of excersing for hours just to tease him. So you find your self in Nanami's lap, cock warming him as you try to catch your breath from your workout. "Aww.. Poor baby, so tired. Don't worry, won't take long. Dicks been so hard watching this whole time. Help me baby, please. You're the one that did this to me.." Christ you cant even get any sleep round your torturer, most nights waking up to his dick hard between your thighs. This times he's awake, thrusting slowly as he holds you to him tight, growling your name at your ear. "Been waitin for you to get up. Look what you did to me.. Throwing that ass on me in your sleep. Come on, y/n. Lemme fuck. Took everything in me not to fill your sleepy lil pussy. Deserve a reward, huh? Gonna help me out?" Not like he needs it since you already feel his first load starting to dry on your thighs.

corrupt!Nanami doesn't have any more patience for you excuses on why you can't give him a baby. Tired as fuck of talking to you about it. So takes it to the next level and starts to plot on you, replacing your birth control with placebos. Then.. He waits to catch you off guard one pitch black night when you're walking to your car from class. You're energy completely drained, you just don't hear him swiftly comin at you from the side. A huge gloved hand blanketing your lips, trapping your scream. Nanami's snatches your wrist together, brawny body restraining you to the car. You struggle against him, too fuckin weak to curse him due to your overwhelming day. But he knows that already; deceitful ass went through alotta trouble to make sure your itinerary was extra full today. "Shhhh." You ignore him, the familiar voice and planes of his muscled chest against yours back not registering, buckin and tryin with all your might to break free. Fuckin turnin Nanami on watchin you attempting to escape, juicy ass repeatedly trapping his dick between your cheeks as you wiggle wildly against him. He ain't waiting a second longer. Fuck your screams, he'll deal with whoever interrupts him accordingly. Lets go of your mouth to rip at your bottoms like they're paper, making your struggles double. Might as well be laying limp, absolutely no match for the 1st grade. Nanami unsheathes his cock, spitting in his hand generously and lubing up. You're body's tense as fuck when you feel him stab through your opening. Pitiful insides clutching his dick like a dear old friend. "Loosen the fuck up woman.." The fuck? "Nami?!" He let's go of your wrists, slamming his hands on either side of you to trap you further. "I told you to be quiet." Snatches your head back by your hair and thrustin the rest of his dick into you. "Nami!" Shrill cry piercing the air. It's uncomfortable without foreplay to prepare you, still he digs you out without remorse. "Shhhh, y/n.. shhh." Nanami squishes you to the car, molding your body to his. Strokin deep as he can, like he'll never see you again. Literally fuckin loud moans from your throat, so damn good that its not your fault your gettin wet; slick building and forming a white ring around him. "Shhhh. Screamin your fuckin head off, baby.. So you not gone listen? Never do. Just like when I told you I wanted to breed this perfect cunt, make you give me a pretty baby. But you didn't listen then either. Now look what you made me do." So that's what this is? The revelation makes you try to get away again but Nanami's hold on your locks keeps you right where he wants you. Sharp yanks that makes you shriek, scalp stinging. "H-hurts, Nami. 'M sorry. So sorry." You whine to him, body fallin pliant against your car. But your husband rolls his eyes. He aint buyin your BS this time. "Naw, you gonna take this nut. Gonna give me my baby, woman." Pulling you off the car and into his body, your husband pummels your lil puss likes he's in heat. "Ahhh fuck, y/n.. Love you. Love you more than anything, finally gonna show you how much, honey." You're disgusted. At doin something this at the school. At him for startin a family like this. Most importantly, at yourself for still loving him, knowing that this changed nothing between the two of you. Even as he breeds your lil puss without consent. "Here it comes- ohshitohshit! Daaaamn, y/n.. Got so much for you. Mmmm.. So good for me. Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you so fuckin much. Only want a baby with you. Only you, y/n. Always been only you." Youre whining when his hips still, Nanami pressin his dick deep as possible when he finally impregnates you. "Love you so fuckin much, honey." "Love you too, Kento.. Fuckin asshole." He chuckles, pulling out and tucking you into the car. "Let's go home, sweetheart. Gonna make your pretty lil pussy cum before I fill her up again." "Kay, Nami."

#black reader #black fanfiction #black writer #all readers #all welcome #all women are beautiful #smut #dirty talk #creamp!e #sub reader #submisive and breedable #dub con #dubious consent #nanami kento x black reader #nanami x black!reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami smut #jjk smut

[steddieas-shegoes]

you're not santa

i may or may not be having a small (this is a lie) crisis over liam believing in santa this year? i am 90% certain he doesn't actually believe in santa and just said he does because he thinks the cool gifts come from santa. meanwhile i am just trying to get the vibes on if i need two wrapping papers this year or not for the same amount of gifts. so anyways working through the feelings with putting the idiots in the situation as always, enjoy.

rated t | cw: the mildest innuendo | tags: fluff, modern au, married steddie, steddie dads, the magic of christmas is all of it not just santa etc

🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅

"You better be quieter this year," Steve slapped Eddie's still bare ass as he hurried to throw on his Christmas pajamas. "Almost woke Maddy up last year. You're lucky I was standing by the door."

Eddie rolled his eyes fondly. "Well, maybe if you hadn't turned the-"

"Just go!" Steve laughed, throwing a pillow at him with deadly accuracy.

Eddie threw it back at him with a smirk. "When I get back, I'm giving you your present."

"You already did, Eds."

"No, that was just one of them," Eddie rushed to say before leaving their bedroom and quietly closing the door behind him.

Both bedroom doors were closed across the hall, so he quickly made his way down the stairs to the garage, where all the gifts were hiding since Robin dropped them off earlier that day.

But when Eddie opened the garage door and flipped the light switch, a voice startled him into nearly turning and running.

"I knew it!"

Sammy.

Their oldest son had been acting very suspicious of Santa related discussions for months now, and Steve had warned him that he was getting to an age where a lot of his friends probably didn't believe in Santa anymore.

"Sammy, why aren't you in your bed?" Eddie put his hands on his hips, identical to the way Steve stood when he was about to have a very serious conversation with one of their three kids.

"Because I saw Auntie Rob bring in a big bag earlier and you and Dad were trying to keep us distracted. So I looked out here while you were cleaning up dinner and saw all these presents." Sammy was standing with his hands on his hips, a mirror image to Steve in every way down to the same swoop of hair and freckles across his cheeks. "And all of these say from Santa, but Santa wouldn't have even come here yet because he was in London one hour ago and London is at least four hours from here!"

Eddie bit back a laugh at how Sammy tried to explain his way through the Santa gifts being here.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Eddie asked, dropping his arms and sitting down on the ground, gesturing for Sammy to join him.

"I already know Santa isn't real," Sammy said as he sat, sounding absolutely miserable.

"What do you mean Santa isn't real?" Eddie asked, pretending to be shocked at the revelation.

"Really, pops? You're gonna act like Santa is real?" Sammy got the sass from Steve, too. It was both annoying and adorable. "I'm seeing the evidence that he isn't with my own eyes."

"Look, Sammy, can I call you Sammy?" Eddie smiled when Sammy let out a laugh. "Santa as you know him isn't real, you're right. But there is a Santa. He's just so busy and can't do it all in one night, so he has presents delivered early for some people, like you and your brother and sister. But he can't ruin the magic, so he left them at Auntie Rob's house for safekeeping."

It sounded airtight. Any kid who wanted to believe in Santa would definitely believe that.

"Dad. Seriously." Sammy was giving him The Look. "I'm nine years old. I have straight As. I'm not stupid."

Which was something Eddie knew of course. He was endlessly proud of all of his super smart kids who did a million times better in school than he and Steve ever did.

But he didn't think believing in Santa was a sign of a kid not being smart.

"You're smart enough to learn the truth, which is that Santa gives the parents a lot more control than we let you think. Don't you think it would be harder to get Maddy to do her homework if I said 'Dad will take a present away' instead of 'Santa is watching to make sure you do your homework'?"

Sammy looked out at the garage, the clutter of children's outdoors toys and broken Christmas decorations and bulk snacks for lunchboxes scattered around.

"So he just gives you the toys when he thinks we've been good enough for them?" Sammy asked, still sounding unsure.

"Exactly! And he usually delivers them a couple weeks early so we can make sure they're wrapped and ready for tomorrow."

"So why keep it all a secret?"

Damn Sammy for always being two steps ahead of Eddie.

"It's more fun this way! Olivia was so excited to leave out cookies before bed, remember? If we told her this, she wouldn't even get to be excited about Rudolph eating the carrots, right?"

"So Rudolph is...real?"

"Okay, that one might be a lie," Eddie gave in on that to sell the rest of it. That's what you had to do with Sammy.

"So who eats the carrots?"

"I take bites and spit them in the trash. You know I hate carrots."

"Why don't you make Dad do it?" Sammy leaned against Eddie's side, letting out a long yawn. He was probably sitting out here for the last couple of hours waiting. He had to be exhausted.

"Dad did a lot of that stuff when you were really little. For five whole years before we switched."

"So he sleeps while you bring out all the presents?"

Eddie's face went red as he thought about what Steve was probably doing in their room right now.

"Yep! He did a lot of baking and stuff all day today so I let him rest," Eddie wrapped an arm around Sammy as his weight became heavier against him. "I think you should probably get some rest, too. Santa wouldn't want your Christmas morning ruined because you stayed up all night."

"I guess." Sammy yawned again. "Can I sleep on the couch?"

"You know Dad's rule. Bedrooms only on Christmas."

"Yeah, but that was for the secret. Now I know."

"But Maddy and Olivia don't. We have to keep this a secret from them, okay?" Eddie paused when he heard some footsteps directly above them. His brows furrowed.

"Maybe Santa forgot one?" Sammy asked, perking up.

"Maybe. Better get to your bed so he doesn't see that you're awake," Eddie nudged him.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Sammy was rushing out of the garage and up the stairs to his bedroom.

Eddie looked above him, but no more bumps could be heard.

After setting all the presents under the tree in a mostly organized fashion, Eddie got back to the bedroom, where Steve was fast asleep.

He got into bed carefully, not wanting to wake him up, but Steve's eyes blinked open slowly as he curled up under the comforter.

"Took you too long," Steve whispered.

"Sammy."

"What?" Steve's eyes opened all the way and tears were instantly filling them. "Does he know?"

"Sh," Eddie pulled Steve against his chest and ran his hands through his soft hair. "I'll tell you tomorrow. Sleep, love."

"Eds-"

They heard a small bump on the roof and then silence.

Steve sat up and looked out the bedroom window, then back at Eddie.

"What was that?"

"Must've been Santa," Eddie teased.

Steve rolled his eyes.

They both stayed up for a bit longer to make sure no other noises happened outside, but fell asleep when there was nothing.

🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅

The next morning, all three kids jumped into their bed, yelling about how many presents Santa brought them and how full their stockings were.

Steve and Eddie made their way downstairs, rubbing their eyes as the kids pushed them down on the couch while they started grabbing gifts.

By the end, the kids were so busy playing with new toys, they didn't notice one more present hiding between the fireplace and the tree. Eddie reached over for it, not recognizing the wrapping paper.

"Did Robbie say she was getting them something else?" he asked, holding the gift out to Steve.

"Nope," Steve took it, checked the tag, then handed it back to Eddie with a shrug. "Says it's for you."

Wayne wouldn't be bringing his gifts for everyone over until that afternoon, so who could this one even be from?

He opened it carefully, worried that it was a prank by Steve and the kids. It wouldn't be the first time they managed to pull off a prank gift.

The confusion only increased when he pulled out a small plastic replica of the London Bridge.

"You don't even like London that much. Who got you that?" Steve asked, resting his head on Eddie's shoulder.

"No idea."

Sammy looked up at them over the new book about planets he got and beamed.

"Santa brought you a present!"

Eddie was suddenly reminded of their conversation last night, how Sammy insisted Santa was just in London and couldn't possibly have made it here.

Eddie had seen a lot of weird things in his life, had ignored a lot of them and passed them up to weird coincidence, but this was different.

He set the replica on the table by the couch and wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulders, kissing the top of his head as he leaned further into him.

"Santa?" Steve asked.

"Must've been a good boy this year," Eddie smiled.

"Uh-huh. I'm sure you were," Steve kissed his cheek before turning back to watch their kids playing on the floor.

Maybe Eddie would have to write a letter to Santa next year to thank him for the gift.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie dads #drabble #christmas #fluff

[number1mingyustan]

Habit (part ii.) —k.sy

GIF by chogiwapadada

fuckboy!hoshi x fem!reader

Genre: fwb au, college au, fuckboy au, angst, smut

Warnings: kissing, cursing, oral (m.), unprotected sex, penetrative sex (doggystyle),explicit smut

Word Count: 3.3k

part i. part iii. part iv.

_______________________________________________

(a/n: i was gonna wait like a week to post this but i got impatient 😊)

"Shorty," Soonyoung nudges you.

You, Seokmin, Soonyoung, Nai, and another one of your friends, Joshua, are all out for lunch together. You're all engaged in conversation and enjoying your food when he nudges you.

"Hmm?" you turn your head toward him.

"Can I come to your dorm tomorrow night?" he asks.

"What?" you question.

"Nai and Seokmin have plans involving her coming to our dorm and they're definitely going to kick me out. I thought it would be cool if you and I could hang. If you're busy it's fine though, I'll just ask Akari if–"

"You can come over," you cut him off.

He smiles and thanks you before picking up the conversation with the rest of the group happily. There's a million thoughts lingering in your mind but you choose to push them away.

__

The next night Soonyoug comes over and you end up in the same position you were in four days prior. You're underneath him, only half dressed and panting.

You made it halfway through some stupid movie before he kissed you. The tension had been high since the moment he entered your dorm room. You were only wearing a tank top and some shorts and his eyes had been on you since he stepped through the door. Neither of you was truly paying attention to the movie and it was only a waiting game before his lips were on yours. You kissed him back, of course. Pretty soon your back hit the mattress and the rest is history.

You've tuned out the voices playing on your computer, however the lights in whatever is going on in the movie are illuminating the room. His hands wander as he kisses you, cupping your breasts, playing with the hem of your shorts. His touch is so delicate yet needy.

He hooks his fingers into your shorts and pulls them off, tossing the fabric onto the floor. You decide to push back onto the mattress, flipping the switch and climbing on top of him. He doesn't resist even though he's much stronger than you. You crawl up his body, using one hand to shut your laptop before your lips find his again. You're grinding down on him, the absence of your shorts creating a thin layer between your bodies.

You nudge your noses together before planting a quick kiss on his lips. He reaches his head up for more in hopes of kissing you again, but you have other plans. You allow your nose to brush against his once more, but your lips don't touch. Before he knows it, your head is just above his crotch, hands fiddling with the strings of his sweatpants.

"Wait," he stops you.

You completely freeze, looking up at him. "What?"

"Do you know what you're doing?" he asks.

A beat.

No way this fucker thinks you don't know how to suck a dick.

"Soonyoung, who do you think I am?" you question.

"Shorty, it's not like that. I just wasn't sure how much um... experience you've had with this," he explains.

You glare at him. "You should know by now I’m not some sort of virgin Soonyoung," you reach your hand into his sweatpants. "I told you my problem was that the guys couldn't make me finish, not the other way around."

Matter of fact, you've given head more times than you've actually had sex. Guys tend to be pretty selfish, but in this moment it's actually kind of working in your favor. And oh, were you about to prove him wrong.

You pull off his sweats and his underwear together. He’s already half hard and you waste no time getting to work. You spit on his cock before stroking him in your hand. You start of slow, progressively getting faster as you turn your hand along his length.

You feel his body relax and sink into bed sheets as he sighs out of satisfaction. Bingo.

Seconds later, half his length is down your throat and you continue stroking him. You thrust his cock into your throat with each bob of your head, taking a little bit more of him with each movement.

“Holy fuck Shorty,” he gasps.

You’re moving quickly, allowing his cockhead to nudge against the back of your throat each time you bob your head. His cock is coated with your saliva, easily slipping in and out of your mouth and down your throat.

His body starts to grow tense again.

You’re still stroking his length with what you can’t fit in your mouth. You allow your tongue to run along the underside of his cock every time you bob your head. His breathing grows shaky.

“Shit-yeah that’s good,” he moans as he places his hand on your head and pushes it down.

There’s tears prickling the corners of your eyes as his cock gags you, but you can take it. Your eyes peak up, admiring how beautiful he looks right now, His body is sinking into the bedsheets and his eyes are screwed shut. His lips are parted and you can hear him moaning.

You like it when he makes noise. When he talks to you, moans because of you. He's so responsive, it sends tingles through your body. Fills you up with warmth in more ways than one.

His hand guides you as he continues to push down on your head. Usually, you hate it when guys are selfish and push your head, but with Soonyoung, his hand guiding your head has you completely soaking your panties. You press your thighs together as you take him deeper into your throat to ease the tension. You feel his thighs grow tense and he suddenly pulls your head up. You look up at him with confusion.

He’s panting softly. “Fuck, I was so close. Didn’t wanna cum in your mouth.”

You pout. “I wanted you to.”

He pulls your body back on top of his and kisses your forehead. “Maybe next time Shorty, gotta fuck you properly now for treating me so good.”

He pins you underneath him.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Yeah,” he flips you onto your stomach. “Best fucking head of my life.”

Your ego swells when he confirms what you already knew.

You were only wearing a tank top and panties, making everything much easier for him. He slides the thick clothing over your head and pulls it off. He leaves a trail of kisses down your back until he reaches your ass. He slides your panties down slowly.

“This wet just from sucking me off huh?” he tosses the soaked fabric onto the floor.

“Shut up Soonyoung,” you breathe out.

You don’t even need to look at him to know he’s smirking right now. He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor.

You feel his bare cock press against your ass.

“Soonyoung,” you say.

“Hmm?”

“You’re forgetting something,” you remind him.

“No I’m not,” he presses a kiss on your shoulder.

“Soonyoung,” you warn.

“Shorty you told me you’d let me cum inside next time so I didn’t even bring any condoms,” he lies.

"Soonyoung you always have condoms on you," you remind him.

He sighs. "Okay fine you got me, but you said I could."

He begins peppering your back with gentle kisses. "Please," he whines.

You really shouldn't be considering this. Yes, you told him he could but that was in the heat of the moment. You didn't think he'd actually remember it. You know you trust him and you both know that you're on the pill. And you're really really considering it.

“Fuck,” you breathe out. “You’re lucky I’m on the pill.”

It’s all the permission he needs before he’s sliding his cock into you from behind. You both moan out loud at the feeling. You're so wet, he slides in with ease, filling you up inch by inch.

He regrets not making you cum beforehand because he fears he might not last long. You feel so fucking good, he’s losing his mind.

His hands hold your hips in place as he slams his hips into your backside. He’s mesmerized by the way your ass recoils with each thrust.

His hips pick up in speed, fucking you rougher and faster. Your moans are echoing off the walls and filling the space.

“Holy shit Soonyoung,” you cry out.

You may never want to go back to protected sex. It’s an entirely new feeling, having him stretch you open raw. It feels so fucking good and so very intimate.

He snakes his hand between your though, rubbing quick circles on your clit. He needs you to cum before him, needs to feel you throb around him while he can really feel you.

You’re crying out in pleasure, moaning his name like a chant. He pushes your head into your pillow, muffling your sounds, but giving him better access. With you bent over more, he can pound into you better.

His cock is hitting deep inside of you, dragging out and pushing in at a fast pace. He’s grunting in your head, fingers circling faster as his hips grow erratic.

Your warning is muffled, but he’s close enough to hear you tell him you’re cumming. Your whole body spasms when you cum. Your tears have started to stain your pillow and your legs grow shaky and wobbly.

The throbbing of your cunt sends Soonyoung into overdrive when he cums. He's so caught up in how good you feel, he nearly forgets to pull out. Thankfully he does, slipping his cock out of you and stroking himself quickly until his cum coats your ass.

He lets out a curse before his body collapses on your bed. He runs his hand through his damp hair before placing a kiss on your shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks.

You lay on your bed, face sinking into the soft sheets. “Yeah,” you breathe out.

“Okay good,” he sits up. “Need to get you washed up.”

He disappears into your bathroom, turning on the shower before returning. “C’mon Shorty.”

Huh? He wants to shower with you? Does that mean he’s staying the night?

He helps you out of bed and into the shower where he joins you. He helps to wash your hair and body, sure to get in his few sneaky touches.

“Shorty,” he says, scrubbing into your scalp.

“Hmm?” you hum.

“I want you to come to my show,” he says.

“What show?”

“My dance performance,” he lathers his hands with more shampoo. “It’s a month from tomorrow in the Fallin' Flower Theater and I want you there.”

Soonyoung was a dance major. Dance has been a passion of his since he was little and being able to pursue it in college felt like a dream to him. He even claims that he danced before he walked as a baby.

Why he was in your Economics class while you were a Business major? Simple, his parents.

He told you about it once over lunch. His parents saw dance as a hobby and not something to be taken seriously, especially not as a career path. They signed him up for dance classes when he was 3, and he'd been doing it since then. Jazz, hip-hop, contemporary, and even a little bit of tap. Soonyoung did it all, and he loved it. But they thought he’d grow out of it after high school, and were mortified when he told them he wanted to pursue dance in college.

They told him they wouldn’t pay for his education if he was going to be throwing it away for some ‘stupid hobby.’ Told him he should be studying something that would bring money and value into his life.

But he was able to convince them, as long as he minored in something business-related and maintained at least a 3.5, his parents would support him.

He still hated how they viewed his passion, but remained grateful for the opportunity nonetheless.

“It’s gonna be a really big showcase and an important night for me,” he explains. “So will you come? It’s at 7.”

“Yeah I’ll be there,” you assure him. “I don’t think I’m doing anything anyway. And if something comes up, I’ll cancel.”

“Really?” he beams. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Once he finishes washing you up, he insists that it’s his turn and crouches so you can wash his hair for him.

“I like the blonde on you,” you say as you scrub his hair.

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Akari told me she liked the sliver I had a little while back, was thinking of doing that again.”

Oh.

Akari.

Your heart sinks at the mention of her name. You feel like such an idiot. Of course, he’s still sleeping with her and God knows who. You don’t know how you let yourself forget.

You’re not the only one.

You just let him fuck you raw and now he’s talking about another one of the girls he’s sleeping with. You started to feel special because he stayed and showered with you, but he probably does this with everyone.

How dumb of you.

It's not his fault he's so likable. You don't think he's doing it on purpose, you really hope not. It's your own fault really, you shouldn't get your hopes up so much.

You finish washing up in silence and tell him you’re tired. He takes it at his cue to leave and redresses himself. He even helps to tuck you in and you hate that it makes your heart race.

He promises to text you when he’s home safe even if you’re asleep when he does. It bothers you that you have to hold back a smile at the gesture.

He sees himself out silently and your heart and your mind struggle to understand if you wanted him to leave or to stay.

__

You can't help but wonder if he's always been good at this. It's been two days since you last slept with Soonyoung, yet here is is sitting next to you in Economics telling you about some video game he and Seokmin have been obsessed with recently.

He’s been coming over more often. Just about any time Seokmin and Nai are together, he ends up in your dorm. And you open the door every time.

He usually stays after too, playing board games, watching movies, or just talking to you. He orders food and cuddles with you when you have the time, but it’s so hard for you to read him. You can’t quite figure out what’s going on in his head.

There’s days where he leaves too, cleans you ups and puts his clothes on and leaves after only a few words. It doesn’t happen often, but it hurts more each time it does.

He treats you so well in the bedroom, fucks you good too. He tends to be touchy too, playing with your hair or simply running his fingers along your skin. It drives you crazy, that he can treat you like his girl in the bedroom and like you’re just a friend in class.

It’s infuriating how good he is at this. There’s a million questions running through your mind, but you bite your tongue. Figure you’ll spare yourself the embarrassment.

__

It’s been about a week since the last time you saw Soonyoung outside of class. And now Nai has dragged you to a frat party so she can see her boyfriend. And you know if Seokmin is here, Soonyoung will be too.

Nai disappeared about 30 minutes ago with Seokmin, leaving you to fend for yourself. The music is loud and there’s not enough alcohol in your system to drown it out. You haven’t seen Soonyoung anywhere and you don’t want to be here anymore.

If he is here, he’s probably upstairs fucking someone without you as so much as a thought on his mind. You hate to admit that the only reason Nai was able to convince you to come was because you thought he’d be here.

Oh.

“Shorty!” his voice calls.

You turn around, seeing Soonyoung make his way down the stairs. Leina follows close behind him and you bite back a frown.

You’ve got a good idea of what they were doing upstairs a few short moments ago. You feel your heart twist and tighten at the sight.

This shouldn’t bother you. You and Soonyoung are just friends, and just because you’ve been hooking up, you shouldn’t be getting any ideas. You’re not his, and he’s sure as hell not yours.

He completely ditches her and makes his way toward you. He very drunkenly pulls you in for a hug. He doesn’t let go as quickly as you thought he would, he hold you for a moment and your body grows warm.

“Hi Soonyoung,” you greet him.

“I had no idea you were here,” he frowns, finally releasing you from the hug.

“Yeah, I was just on my way out though,” you tell him.

“What?” he shouts. “You can’t leave!”

“Nai dragged me here and then disappeared with Seokmin like 30 minutes ago and I don’t know anyone else here,” you tell him. “And I have an exam tomorrow and I can’t say I’m in the mood to meet new people.”

He frowns. “I’m here though.”

“True,” you smile. “But you’re also very drunk.”

He huffs. There was no denying that.

“Fine, I’ll walk you home,” he says.

“Oh no—you don’t have to-“

He’s already disappearing back upstairs before you can finish. “Just let me get my jacket!”

He comes back downstairs a few moments later with his jacket and leads you outside. You tell him again that he didn’t have to do this, but he assures you that he doesn’t mind.

The two of you walk at your own pace, engaging in drunken conversation. It’s pleasant, talking to him. Even though you’re both intoxicated, you still have really meaningful talks with him.

"Wait," he stops suddenly, causing you to stand still.

He pulls his jacket off his body and wraps it around your body. "You looked cold."

"I was," you smile at him. "Thank you."

"Of course," he beams at you drunkenly.

"So, Soonyoung," you start.

"Nah Shorty," he interrupts. "Hoshi, call me Hoshi."

"Hoshi?"

Hoshi. It's a nickname that he's had since he was young. He doesn't really remember where it came from, probably his mom. But he rarely lets anyone call him that. It's a nickname that only his family and really close loved ones used.

The people he really cared about and loved.

"Yeah, Hoshi," he smiles. “It’s only fair since I always call you Shorty.”

"What's your show about?" you ask.

"What show?" he questions rather drunkenly.

"Your dance performance?"

"OH!" he giggles to himself. "It's like... a guy who's been shielded pretty much all his life. And so he runs away from home and ends up in this huuuge city. And at first he's scared and he feels out of place, but then he meets like a bunch of other people and goes through this whole journey of self discovery and love and stuff."

"You're telling that story entirely through dance?" you ask.

He nods. "Yeah it's kinda like the nutcracker where you have to rely only on the movement and the music to understand because there's no words."

"Hoshi that's amazing," you beam.

"Thank you Shorty," he grins.

"Is it one of those one man shows?" you ask.

He shakes his head. "No, there's other people in it. It's mostly me though, and I choreographed everything."

"That's so impressive, I can't wait to see it," you tell him.

Your walk has come to an end as you two approach your dorm. You start to slide his jacket off your body, but he stops you. "Keep it, I'll get it back another time." he yawns. "It looks cute on you."

Why is your heart beating so fast right now? Fuck, you really need to get inside. "Thank you for walking me home" you smile.

"Of course, you're good company Shorty," he winks at you.

"Are you sure you'll make it to your dorm okay?" You ask.

He nods, assuring you that the alcohol is starting to wear off and that he's fine. You trust him.

"Goodnight Hoshi."

"Goodnight Shorty."

_______________________________________________

© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

#seventeen smut #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #hoshi kwon #hoshi seventeen #hoshi fanfic #hoshi smut #seventeen hoshi #svt hoshi #kpop

[teabutmakeitazure]

Devil's Advocate

>Yan! Chrollo x Fem! Reader

>Word count: 2.4k

>Warnings: anxiety, bastardly smug Chrollo

>a/n: I actually had to Google what a telephone looks like lol

An unattended telephone and overflowing temptation. Is that lady luck smiling down on you or the man who holds the key to your peace and freedom?

The quiet rumbling of the moving car makes up for the lack of conversation. On the driver's seat sits Chrollo, hands on the steering wheel, while you try your best to not succumb to the midnight silence's lullaby. Your head once again falls against the window, and you flinch awake, sitting upright.

Chrollo briefly glances at you, eyes once again on the road in front of him. When your eyes close for the umpteenth time and head slowly falls onto the window, Chrollo smiles to himself. This time, you don't flinch awake and continue sleeping.

However, a few minutes later, your eyes snap open and you readjust yourself in your seat. A chuckle manages to escape the man next to you, so you direct your sleepy glare to him. The half-hearted glower is acknowledged when he stops at a red light in spite of the empty road and faces you.

The playful smile on his face and your sleep-filled anger makes the situation seem almost ludicrous. Had it not been for Chrollo finding your hostility cute, you would've succeeded long ago in making him listen to you.

"You should get some rest," he requests, amused smile turning into a softer one. "There's still a bit of a ride to the hotel, so there's ample time to take a nap."

"How very thoughtful of you."

He shrugs. "I'm simply asking you to let yourself rest."

The traffic light turns green and the car starts moving again. You, on the other hand, get comfortable by resting your head in the position that is least probable to let your poor skull bang against the glass window. Had there not been loud static on the radio, you would've put on some music to fill the silence instead of having to listen to Chrollo quietly hum to himself with a smile.

The low rumbling of the moving car and quiet hums from the driver seat's occupant slowly soothe your mind into slumber. Your breathing relaxes, body going lax, and Chrollo finds himself slowing the car to be able to turn and look at you every few minutes. On the next red traffic light, he fixes your poor posture with a sigh, mind already replaying your complaints of neck pain.

-

As if a switch has been flipped, you, much to Chrollo's misfortune, wake up right at the moment the car is parked in the hotel's parking lot. The unfortunate man's lips press into a thin line as he watches you rub your eyes and stretch in the space you have available. He finds his luck to be absolutely unbelievable to have such a travesty occur.

You, on the other hand, find your situation to be bothersome rather than unfortunate. Your neck hurts and your entire body is more fatigued than it was before the sleep. Thankfully, Chrollo doesn't find the circumstance fit for conversation and wordlessly exits the car, opening the door for you before you even put your hand on the handle.

A pleased smile is on his face when you get out. The expression remains as he guides you towards the entrance, but the curve of his lips widens when you ask about the luggage.

"I'll get it later. You, my dear, desperately need a bed."

With that, he easily whisks you away to a room on a floor whose number you didn't bother to look at, only satisfied with finally laying on a bed. Hardly minutes after he oh so lovingly tucked you in after gently manoeuvring you to a side so that you don't make him end up sleeping on the couch by starfishing, you see the beginnings of sunlight filter through the curtains.

It's day already. Just how long did the car ride take? Wasn't it dark when you were heading to the lobby?

It doesn't matter. You're here now, on a bed no less. If you could just…

Wait.

The phone.

The hotel room has a telephone!

And Chrollo… he left immediately after tucking you in. Plus, he's gone for the luggage. That ought to take at least ten minutes right?

Slowly, you creep out of bed. If the telephone in here works as it rightfully should, you may be able to contact the authorities! As soon as your feet touch the carpeted floor, your thought process ceases function, body completely running on autopilot as any trace of sleep vanishes.

Adrenaline rushes through your blood, heart beating against your chest as you gingerly tiptoe and exit the bedroom. All the curtains in the main room are drawn, and your eyes utilise the scarce light filtering through the curtains to start the search for the telephone.

A deafening silence hangs in the air, and if you didn’t know any better, you would say that you’re too suspiciously lucky.

One step forward.

The carpet under your feet overwhelms your senses, the friction from it doing a lot more than to just ground you. Your eyes spot what looks like a telephone underneath the mirror on the wall. It temptingly sits on a table in the corner of the main room. Like a siren’s song, it calls to you and you hesitantly heed, taking another step forward.

Under your feet, the carpet brushes against your soles. Another step, and your heart starts thumping in your ears.

Fingers twitch when you’re a few feet away from the device. Eyes locked onto it like predator and prey, you take another daunting step forward.

An unsettled and shaky exhale leaves your lips when you pause in your pursuit. This is too good to be true. The telephone is hardly three feet away from you, and its wires are all intact. The green light signalling that it works is blinking at you while you blink back, but you’re frozen, utterly in disbelief at your luck.

Tilting your head, you crane your neck to see if Chrollo’s shoes are by the door but they aren’t. He really isn’t here yet. Now’s your chance!

Swiftly your feet pad over to the table. You don’t bother so much as to glance at your reflection, already aware of how your tired face will stare back at you. Grabbing the phone, you start recalling emergency services’ numbers.

They’re different for every region right? But some places share the same codes. Nevermind. You’ll just have to try every single one that you know.

Shakily, your finger aims for the dial pad while the phone stays pressed against your ear. As though reaching for an open flame, your finger warily presses 1. Your head whips to look behind you, then to the left and then right but no one's there other than the sound of your own breathing.

An imaginary timer suddenly starts ticking in your head, and you immediately go with pressing the other two digits. The phone slowly starts dialling and you press the phone closer to your ear.

An automated message plays, informing you of the incorrect number. Hastily, you try a different code, pressing the phone to your ear just to hear the same message again.

The timer in your head ticks faster, and you find your heart beating impossibly fast. Tenacity pushes you forward to try again only to fail a third time.

A different code pops into your mind and you scramble to dial it. Pressing the phone to your ear, you breathe a sigh of relief when it dials for longer than it did before.

One buzz.

Then two.

A bead of sweat rolls down your temple, a third buzz making you realise just how time has slowed down for you.

A fourth buzz and you find yourself holding your breath.

By the time you exhale, the phone goes silent. Did no one pick up? But if no one did, a sound signifying the unsuccessful call would have played, so why is it beeping?

When you reach for the dial pad again, you freeze when you see a finger pressing down on the red button.

Body acting against your will, your eyes follow the finger to the hand and consequently to the man standing a step behind you. The sunlight that manages to peek through the gaps hits his back, giving his body an ominous glow.

The expression on his face is nowhere near decipherable, but you know very well that your own is one of absolute horror.

When his finger retreats, you start counting your regrets.

A heavy silence settles between you two. Neither party says anything, the only conversation being between your wildly beating heart and mind screaming at you to start apologising.

His head turns to you, but your mind fails to register any expression on it. You're face to face with a blank canvas, but your mind soon clears up enough to make out his expression.

Blank.

There's no disappointment in his eyes, no anger, no annoyance, nothing. You remain unable to make out any emotion on his face despite the assiduity you practise. He remains standing there as still as a statue, watching you, observing you.

If his gaze held physical weight, you would have been crushed under its sheer intensity.

Minutes pass and you remain frozen standing there, subject to his all consuming eyes. The phone slowly slips from your hand and falls to the floor with a dull clink but your hand remains suspended mid air. When the sound echoes in your mind, you feel that your chest is violently heaving for air.

He continues to stare at you unblinking, and you remain rendered unable to look away.

A firm grip on your hand and he finally moves, breaking the overwhelming eye contact but bringing you with him as you scramble behind him to follow. The door to the bedroom closes quietly after he gently moves you to sit on the edge of the bed.

It's when the lock clicks into place that dread seeps into your being, deep inside your bones. Chrollo sits opposite to you on a chair, face resting on his hands as he continues to stare at you.

You feel like an outsider in your body. No matter how much you may scream at yourself to just say something, repudiate your betrayal or at least move, you don't. You're frozen. Each and every single muscle in your body is on high alert, fight or flight response active.

Chrollo's grey eyes bore into yours, but unlike in the main room, his face is completely visible thanks to it now being day on the other side of the curtains. As your mind clears up, you assiduously go over every feature of his.

The tattoo on his forehead is on full display, but the hair near his face seems a little damp. He's even changed into different clothes - his usual sleepwear. You're still unable to identify any emotion on his face, but you do understand this.

He's observing you, watching your anxiety and how you deal with it.

Seconds pass and your mind clears up with every single one. You gain more and more clarity and you eventually conclude that he's waiting for you to break the silence.

His eyebrows briefly raise when a look of understanding flashes across your face. Despite your transgression, you refuse to let him win. You're aware that either way you will be punished, and now that your anxiety has settled down a bit, you're willing to embrace whatever it is because there is no way out.

Chrollo holds the key to your peace and freedom but still prefers to bring the complete opposite in your life.

Honestly, seeing how you're wide awake, you can't believe that you've hardly slept a few hours in the last 24.

The staring continues but you stay firm in your stance. You attentively watch how Chrollo's lashes delicately flutter against his under eyes when he blinks, grey eyes playing the role of bottomless pits.

His lips part to speak, but he stops himself before a sound can be made. Next, his brows slightly furrow, eyes not breaking away from yours, and he tries again.

"Before we discuss your actions, I want to make this clear. Any sort of capitulation or imploring from your side will only make this situation worse for you. Choose carefully how you respond to me."

That had sufficed to cause you to start nervously fidgeting with your hands.

"What was going on in your head when you rose from bed and headed for the telephone?"

The way he's looking at you is giving you goosebumps. There's no hint of affection in his demeanour anymore. It's almost foreign.

"Well?"

Swallowing nervously, you gather the courage to reply. "I'm not sure. I just wanted to-"

"Concrete answers." Chrollo crosses his arms as an indifferent look stares at you. "I know you, [Name]. You're not a stupid girl. Give me concrete answers. I am not in the mood for your prevarication."

Alright… well he's mad. That's not good.

"I… I thought I would be able to contact the authorities."

He scoffs, an uncharacteristic reaction. "And then? I thought you were smarter. You've had a glimpse of Skill Hunter, yet you still believe measly policemen are of help."

"..."

"Your mind rationalised that normal people with guns or a little authoritative power can compete with a Nen user? Do you perhaps need a refresher?"

"No! No. Please. I'm… I was dumb. I admit my stupidity."

Chrollo leans forward, eyeing you as though studying a painting. His eyes travel across your entire body, and his hand settles on holding your face. If you hadn't known Chrollo, you would miss the way his grip on you seems to be strained as though he's holding himself back.

"You're absolutely foolish," he says. "This is exactly why you need me. You're too naive, too unsophisticated. Your simple-mindedness will be your downfall and of those you care for."

Wait-

"You're very fortunate, [Name]. I was planning on taking you to see the sunset the day after tomorrow, so I'm willing to forgive and forget if you grant me a favour."

You immediately grab his wrist, pleading eyes submitting to him. When his other hand also cups your cheek, he cradles your face in his hands. Thumb caressing your cheekbones, you continue looking at him imploringly, silently telling him that you're ready to appease him so long as he doesn't elaborate on the downfall of those you care about.

A smile stretches on Chrollo's lips at your silent begging. "Quid pro quo, darling. I sincerely hope you remember that you are responsible for the situation you are about to be in."

#yandere hunter x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo lucifer x reader #chrollo x reader

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕱𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕬𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: This poor, poor Space Marine, or us?

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams(Have a treat, for your birf day.), @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗:

Petite rose - Little Rose (French)

Rose douce - Sweet Rose (French)

"Automotivo Bibi Fogosa" by Bibi Babydoll X DJ Brunin XM. This song is… smutty✨

TW // SMUT/NSFW, Google Translation, Language.

'It would be fun' she said

'It would be great' she said.

Yet, nothing about a horny, raving party was fun, at least not to me. I didn't find the satisfaction of being surrounded by sweating bodies, shoving shoulders and getting grinded on by other people which Stacy tried to encourage from the cross the party to involve in such acts. Giving me a thumbs up before turning back to her man that she was hoping to get down with.

Rolling my eyes at her, I sipped on my overly spiked drink, avoiding wobbly and tripping legs that have no idea who they were to grind on.

I huffed, narrowly avoiding another set of pushing bodies on my way out of this disastrous party. If I was going to grind on someone so mindlessly it probably would be my own drink in my hand. This drink deserves it for burning my own throat better than how this party was dancing.

"Wait!" I heard Stacy call my name while I reluctantly stopped to see what kind of thing she would tell me now. To tell me how "good" this party really was.

"Please, do not leave just yet." She heaved, leaning over to clutch her thighs. Preventing her dark blue, glittery dress from sliding up more than it should, and to breathe. "Give this party a chance, yes?"

Taking another sip from my drink. I didn't answer her out right, she'll have to convince me a little more for me to stay for the entire duration that she would be here. I didn't plan on getting that drunk to not drive back home where I craved to be at right now.

"How about," she started, straightening up as she took a little device out of her pockets of her dress. "I give you this toy."

"A toy?" I scoffed, astounded by this random toy she had in her dress of her pocket. Was that thing even clean?

"Yes, this toy." She confirmed, switching the thing on and flipping it in her hands. "It's new, never used it. Just had it just in case."

"Just in case? For what? Why are you just carrying that around?" I asked. I knew Stacy was a wild thing, but not this wild!

She shrugged, turning it back off and tossed the tiny device at me as I unwillingly caught in my hand. "Maybe I needed something to kick things up a notch?"

"What am I supposed to do with this anyway?" I questioned, flipping the toy in my hand. It was way smaller in hand that it was by eye.

"It vibrates." Stacy simply said like it was the most normal thing to utter out in the public world.

So, she expects me to use this for myself pleasure? What kind of deal was that to get me to stay here with all these horny teens and young adults? Offering me toy that I won't use?

Oh, how the universe loved to change fate at random times.

Unexpectedly, a space marine came out of nowhere. Scaring the soul right out of me as I jumped. Clearly not expecting a Space Marine to be out here in all of the places they could have gone to. The small toy flying through the air towards the purple armor of the Space Marine and bouncing off his chestplate.

Me and Stacy could only watch with horror as the tiny toy slowly slide right between his armor plates near his hips. His form hunching over the next second.

Oh my god, did I accidently turn the stupid thing on too?

I looked quickly towards Stacy for help, but suddenly now she doesn't want to help me. Putting her hands up in surrender and backed away slowly, fading into the bouncing crowds of people.

I yelped when I felt the gauntlet of the Space Marine pulled me to him. His grip nearly crushing my arm, tightening then lighting up again.

"Vous. (You.)" The Marine spoke in a language I didn't understand, but I sure as hell can hear that grace of growled French in there and that rose the hairs on my arm in a good way. "Vous, vous allez m'aider avec ça. (You, you will help me with this.)”

I don’t know what the f*ck he said and I was very tempted to book it out of here, leave him to wither, but I know that tone was either a threat or a promise, maybe both?

“Wait, wait, wait-” I rambled, trying to pull away from the withering Astartes while he managed to get back up on his two feet. His gauntlet still on my arm pulling me closer to him as he threw me over his pauldron, a squeak leaving me.

“Calme-toi, petite rose.(Calm down, little rose.)” The Astartes’ rumbles, briefly stopping on his way of kidnapping me. “Je ne mordrai pas... beaucoup.(I won’t bite… much.)”

“I don’t know what the f*ck you are saying. I just hope you are not kidnapping me.” I say out loud, sitting myself up on his shoulder as some people cheer out at my predicament.

“Merde? Oui.(F*ck? Yes.)” The purple Astartes responds, rounding a corner and towards an exit “Enlèvement? Peut-être. (Kidnapping? Maybe.)”

“Please, speak some form of English.” I groan, wiggling in his hold.

“Oh, mais tu aimes la petite rose. (Oh, but you like it little rose.)” The Astartes purrs. His helmet pressing up against my leg, squeezing my thigh a little tighter, getting another squeak. “Je peux le sentir.(I can smell it.)”

“Listen, I’ll make you a much better deal than what my friend Stacy offered me.” I huffed, tracing his insignia of the ‘Emperors children’ on his pauldron as we made it outside of the building and into the cold night.

I mean, what else was I supposed to do? “Escape?”

I little ‘huh’ left me as he placed me down on the sidewalk. Not even considering that he would hear me out or even know my language for that matter, but so far so good.

“Qu'avez-vous à offrir? (What do you have to offer?)” He voices, gesturing with his gauntlet.

“I take that toy out of your armor and…” I trailed not thinking I would get this far with an Astartes.

“J'ai l'air de te mettre à la clame. (I get to claim you.)” He “suggests” tilting his head for more effect.

“Yes, that. Whatever that means.” I say, mumbling that last part and coming forward to inspect his armor more.

Yet, he picks me up bridal-style instead??? Did he want to do it in a more disclosed place, but he was just shaking seconds ago?

“Une rose si douce. (Such a sweet rose.)” The Astartes purrs, nuzzling the top of my head as I blinked.

What the hell did I get myself into?

To answer that quickly, I got myself into his f*cking nest. His nest! Quite literally!

At first, I was very reluctant with doing sexual acts with the Astartes. I didn’t even know him! I met him by just dropping a toy in his armor, accidentally.

Now he thinks i’m his mate or something? It’s clearly he wants to do. Purring, cooing, and whispering in my ear with that French of his. His hands tracing and tugging at my clothing. A little impatient, but never pushed it.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for his French and pretty looks he wouldn’t be eating me out like I was his last meal or would have his c*ck so far up in my core, touching spots I didn’t know I had before, that I was seeing the next world over.

“Ambrosius.” He suddenly rumbles, not stopping his pace as his hands squish, and thumb my naked waist. The smoothness of him astonishing my lust clouded mind.

“W-What?” I managed to huff out between my moans. Confused at the sudden change of accent. Trying to stay on this world to hear him.

“Je veux que tu le pleures. (I want you to cry it.)” He croons, thrusting up in my core. Hitting that deep, sweet spot inside of me as I cried out. “Pleure mon nom. (Cry my name.)”

Was it something he wanted me to know?

“Pleure-le! (Cry it!)” He roars, abusing that spot over and over again.

“F*ck! Ambrosius!” I cry out, tears rolling down my cheeks. My hands desperately wanting to grab at him, but I settled on the nesting material underneath. The softness of it dragging me in as I brought some up to nuzzle it.

The Astartes purrs loudly, leaning over me and snapping his hips against mine at a much quicker pace. Huffs escaping his lips, painting my skin with heat as his teeth nibbled the side of my neck. His tongue catching my pleasure filled tears.

“A-Ambrosius!” I whine, turning to look up at the Marine above me, feeling that knot tightening quickly, almost unexpectedly.

“Juste un moment de plus, petite rose. (Just a moment longer, little rose.)” He huffs quickly, his forehead coming down to press out against mine. “Juste un peu plus longtemps.(Just a little longer.)”

My back arches as my toes curl. My hands shooting out to pull the Astartes down to my lips, muffling his groan with my tongue. His c*ck twitching inside my gummy walls, staining them with his warm seed. No doubt leaking onto his nest.

“Oh, douce, douce rose. (Oh, sweet, sweet rose.)” He murmurs, moving his lips down my neck. My eyes going heavy with exhaustion. “Comme tu es belle comme ça. (How beautiful you are like this.)”

“Dors, petite rose. Je m'en occuperai. (Sleep, little rose. I’ll take care of it.)” He whispers, rolling his hips. His soft kisses lulling me to sleep.

Waking back up was a mission. I couldn’t simply get up and go. I had to test my legs like a toddler learning how to walk. I was surprised I didn’t wake up the Astartes in all my effort of regaining my nerves back into my legs.

Quietly putting my clothes back on. I made sure to check up on the nested Astartes every once in a while before finding something that remotely looks like some paper and wrote on it with a quill and ink that I found on a old desk.

‘Hope that sealed the deal, sleep well Ambrosius.’ I simply put wrote the note and left his nest from what I vaguely remember of coming from. I had to find out if Stacy was alright before I got d*cked down by the Astartes.

When Ambrosius woke up himself, he expected his petite rose to still be in his nest, but all she left was a faint scent of her presence and a f*cking note.

Him being pissed was an understatement.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #space marine #space marine x reader #adeptus astartes #adeptus astartes x reader #oc: ambrosius #emperors children #tw: smut #step one on acquiring a mate #tease them with a toy lol #ha bros pissed

[lemonflavoreddishsoap]

Hello there!! Idk if I have already sent something in, but if I haven’t, I would love to request! May I please have the LS members’ (separate) reactions to a new member with “soulless” or “dead” eyes (basically like the anime eyes that have no shine in them), who always seems rather closed off, but at some point the members do something nice to them, and the reader blushes and their eyes just light up like the brightest stars? Sorry if this request is a lot! If it is you can ignore! But thank you so much! (I loved the housewife s/o HCs you wrote btw, they were lovely!) ❤️❤️

Ghiaccio pfp twinsies...woag- also i like this idea a lot!! this reader sounds absolutely wonderful <33 fair warning I wrote most of these while incredibly sleepy so if they're ooc that's probably why im so sorry-

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

La Squadra with a reader who has soulless eyes (that light up when they're happy/flustered)

Formaggio

When he first saw you, he wasn't sure exactly how alive you were.

I mean, those empty eyes and the way you barely talked to anyone definitely had him raising an eyebrow at first.

But he quickly got used to it. Nothing was wrong with responding to a joke with a tiny smile instead of a hearty laugh.

In fact, with enough time, he grows rather comfortable around that blank stare of yours. He gives you your space, but whenever you do talk to him, he's more than happy to get the chance to hear your voice and chat.

One day, before you went out for a mission, Formaggio noticed you nearly forgot to bring something vital. He managed to catch up to you and give you the item before you left, but before he could say anything, he noticed your expression.

The color spread across your cheeks, and your eyes -Oh god, your EYES. It was like someone finally flipped on a light switch in them. They were full of life for once, and the sight had him speechless.

But- shit, right, you had to leave. With an absent-minded nod and pat on the shoulder, he began to walk away.

"No need to thank me," he shouted to you before he was out of sight - and it was true. The look on your face had been thanks enough.

Illuso

Definitely made fun of your empty eyes often. Like Formaggio he probably compares you to a zombie, but he is willing to say it out loud.

He tries to guess what your thinking and feeling all the time if you tend to not show emotion. Like he'd say things like "I bet you're pissed about that too, you just don't wanna show it."

But like. In an annoying way if that makes sense.

I'll be honest I can't think of what kind of nice thing he would do for you. This dude's section has haunted me for days, y'all.

But in the event of him doing nice for you, he notices your expression right away. boy is he surprised by it. and boy is he LOUD about it.

"Holy SHIT! You're actually alive! I managed to break that moody façade of yours?"

You might wanna walk away or hide your face before he calls the rest of the gang over to look.

Afterwards he's weirdly a bit nicer to you? He obviously wants to see your adorable expression again, but his exact intentions are unknown...

Prosciutto

Doesn't care in much of a usual way. If anything I think he would comment on how your hard to read expressions and closed off nature makes you good for the job.

So he never really bothers to think you may be any other way.

The two of you were set to go on a mission together, and he insisted you work on a concrete plan beforehand. It turns out his idea for the plan relies VERY heavily on your abilities/stand.

When you ask about it, he begins to talk about how strong your abilities are, and how perfect you would be for the job, how he has faith that you can pull it all off.

Your heart flutters at his words and with every compliment you feel heat rush to your face.

When he stops talking and notices how your eyes lit up, he's....genuinely unsure what to think.

It was all true, you were strong and the right person for the job, but we all know how he gets when he's working with someone he feels is a bit too vulnerable cough cough pesci

He doesn't worry about it for the time being - it's a one time thing after all - but he keeps an eye out for if it happens again.

Pesci

I think he is used to people thinking he looks strange/creepy, so even it might creep him out a bit, he tries to be nice about your soulless face.

Gives you your space, but this boy is sweet, it won't take long for him to do something that makes the darkness in your eyes fade away.

idk why my first thought for the moment is him baking something new and asking you to try it. You have a taste and quickly nod in approval, it's delicious.

Relieved, Pesci proceeds to let you know he made it because he remembered you mentioning [insert flavor here] was your favorite flavor. Yep, that'll do it.

He's incredibly caught off guard, seeing your eyes twinkle with appreciation - for a second he thinks you're about to cry! He stands there, unsure what to do, until either the interaction ends or you say something to him.

Is so overwhelmed afterwards no matter what happens - was that really the real you? That sweet face was really yours?

Melone

It literally doesn't matter to him - he can see right through your dead look. It's uncanny.

You could be completely stone-faced and he would find some way to be able to tell exactly how you feel about something. He'll tell you his predictions too to see if their right.

I imagine it's one of these moments that actually leads to him seeing that cute expression of yours.

It started with "you found that hilarious, didn't you?"

He was playing his guessing game again, and like every time before, he was right. You didn't even have to answer.

"You know, you're so interesting to read. You have all these little tells for every small thought, and I think you subconsciously change them a bit every time I take notice of them!" He suddenly began explaining to you.

But it didn't stop there, he began to tell you all about how he picked apart your body language, how he noticed changes in your emotions over the entire time he's known you. "You're.... fascinating to watch."

It's not until he finishes talking that you both realize you've been staring at him with a completely uncharacteristically bright look of wonder. Then it's his turn for his face to light up, pointing at the blush on your cheeks.

"So you do like how I watch you! I knew it."

Ghiaccio

"The hell are you giving me that look for!?"

Of COURSE he takes it personally a lot - especially if you're supposed to be listening to his rambling. He isn't exactly thinking straight, so he just thinks your blank stare is some kind of insult.

But beyond that, it's rare he'll get on your ass about it.

Over time, I think he might even find you a reliable person to spew all his ranting at, if you don't complain at him or cause a fuss.

Maybe even at some point, perhaps if you've been getting picked on especially hard by Illuso, he'll ask if you have any ranting to do.

"What!? That prick has got to be getting on your nerves, doesn't that make you- WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GIVING ME THAT FACE FOR!?"

You're gonna have to end up explaining yourself or else he won't stop asking you. When you do, he'll scoff, saying he barely did anything. At least you won't have him blabbing about it to the others, you both know it would get real annoying real quick.

If you specifically ask him to keep it secret, he'll nod, and you swear you see him smile at you.

Risotto

This man also looks pretty damn unapproachable (love him tho <3). He has the least amount of problems with how you are.

Like Prosciutto, he thinks your closed off nature is good for the job. But he never brings up that sometimes he wishes you were a little more open.

One day you return from a mission. It went smoothly. Enough. Okay, you had managed to get the deed done, but you had gotten injured in the process. In order to not endure lecturing from any of your teammates, you quickly dismissed everyone's questions about the mission and looked for things to treat your wound with, hiding it from everyone else.

In the middle of hastily wrapping up the bloody injury, you felt a hand on your shoulder, and soon after you head Risotto's voice. He warned you that you weren't treating the wound carefully enough.

He didn't scold you- a scolding wasn't going to help the sting and the crimson staining your skin. No, he asked if he could take care of the wound for you.

You felt your face heat up as he helped you, but although you were sure he noticed the look on your face, he made no mention of it. Just tended to your wound, and told you to tell him about any issues with a mission next time.

Afterwards you two agreed you would give him specifics later. You thanked him and that was that.

Walking away from you, Risotto replayed your expression in his mind....how cute.

#i am being serious about the illuso bit btw. #main reason this request took me so much longer than I had hoped #it was driving me insane. i was seeing him everywhere. if i have to write for him again ill go insane /j #im fine im fine keep sending in requests including illuso as much as you like #just be aware i may get haunted for several days /j #also i wrote several of those at like 11 pm gahh #the grind...never stops...zzz... #formaggio x reader #illuso x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #melone x reader #ghiaccio x reader #risotto x reader #jjba x reader #la squadra #la squadra x reader

[nebulousbrainsoup]

Hello~ it's me ^-^

Okay, so!

Imagine sleepy Joongie. He's tired and hasn't seen you in a few days bc of schedules. And despite him being very tired he's also very needy and skinship-y because he's missed you so so so much. Would love it if you softly trail your fingertips over his neck, arms (tattoo), face, etc. Might fall asleep like that but not before soft kisses, soft touches, soft sex? 😭😭😭😭

Unless, ofc, you push him too much and he goes into demon mode...

ughhhhh the paris vlog has us all so delulu 😭😭 sleepy joongie has been living rent free in my brain for the past week and i'm simply. obsessed with him.

mdni; nsfw under the cut; kim hongjoong x gn!reader

contains: sleepy morning sex, fingering, penetration, hair pulling, switch!joong, switch!reader, dom/sub undertones

waking up next to him would be the nicest thing frfr 🥺🥺 i bet he makes so many cute lil sleepy boy sounds while his brain is coming online for the day. he’d be the type to bury his face in his pillow and reach for you blindly from the other side of the bed. the second he makes contact, he’d practically purr, smile into the sheets, and relax back into dream land.

unless, that is, you can get him a little bit riled up before he passes back out. he melts under your touch easily when he’s wide awake, but something about drowsy joongie makes it about 10 times easier.

he very rarely realizes just how worked up your soft little touches get him in the mornings. you’re barely touching him, after all, fingers feather light as they card into his hair, trail down his jawline, trace over the curve of his cupid's bow. the arousal always hits him all at once, his eyes blinking only halfway open and pupils already lust-blown, a throaty moan leaving him.

you grin and drag your hand further down his body, dancing over his defined chest and down to the ink peeking from under his sleeve as his arm drapes over you. a shudder lights down his spine and he seals your lips, pulling you flush against him. he’s rolling on top of you in one fluid motion and pressing slicked fingers into you, working you open lazily to take his thick cock.

he pauses briefly when you finish clenching around him, gasping and whining as you shudder through the aftershocks of your first orgasm. his smile against your skin has you chuckling quietly, and the moment he hears it, he’s grinding against your hip and pressing kisses into your skin.

it’s your turn to put in work, he thinks, flipping you over to straddle him and gripping your hips for you to sink down onto his length. you both moan together as he fills you to the brim, and you slowly lower yourself back to his neck, pressing kisses to the skin.

it doesn't take long before his waiting gets too much for him; he starts squirming and whimpering under you, hips canting up into your own in a search for friction. he’s too distracted by his own arousal to register your quiet, mischievous laughter for a moment, but when he does, you can feel the tension in the air shift.

his jaw clenches and he breathes a sigh through his nose, slowly carding a hand into your hair.

you’ve just begun to lose yourself in his scratching at your scalp when his grip tightens and he yanks, quickly bucking up into you to pin you to the mattress. it’s your turn to whine as he slams into you once, deep, eyes narrowed as his desperation is molded into domination. when you start squirming under him, grasping at his shoulders, he smirks.

“not so fun, is it? c’mon, darling. beg.”

masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee?

© November 2023 nebulousbrainsoup | all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my work.

#i'm fucking obsessed with this #it's so insane #i want him like this so badly #UGH #it thinks 😈 #hongjoong hard thoughts #hongjoong hard hours #kim hongjoong hard thoughts #kim hongjoong hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #kim hongjoong x reader #neb.moot <3 #sky ☄️ #twinnies

[mercurygray]

Hii Merc, could I please request #11. "the lover in the sky" for Fred and Brady? Thank you <3 — @shoshiwrites

Thanks for letting me take my time on this one, @shoshiwrites! I hope you don't mind Fred's having...a bit of a crisis.

There was a shiver in the air.

Fred hefted the empty coffee thermos into the back of the jeep, grateful that it had been a busy day and the thing was mostly empty. She was glad she'd thought to bring her tanker jacket, earlier - the warm one with the good zipper that fit nicely over her uniform coat. Summer was still cool, and night out on the tarmac cooler still. She'd left Ken and his crews with fresh coffee, the last of the day, and now it was time for home, and bath, and bed.

"Fred!" Lieutenant Brady's voice came up out of the rising dark. "What brings you out here?"

"Passing out the rest of the coffee. Ken said it was going to be a long night." She paused, and followed his eyes in the direction of the plane, Brady's Crash Wagon in large friendly letters on the side. (Everyone had heard that story, about how he'd brought the thing in from Greenland on no wheels, and they'd renamed it shortly after.) "I could ask you the same thing."

"Checking in on her," he said with a smile. "Looks pretty good, doesn't she?"

"I wouldn't know," Fred admitted with a good-natured shrug. "I've never been inside one." Not even for a little barnstorm, she wanted to add, before someone starting laughing about the absurdity of working at at airbase and never having actually been inside a plane. City girls don't take plane rides at county fairs - and Clubmobile women take boats to Europe.

Brady, however, wasn't laughing. "Do you want to?" he asked, sincere as anything. She snorted, and then realized he was serious, and shrugged in assent. "Are your fellows all done inside, Herb?" Brady asked, shouting under the belly towards the mechanic and his box of tools.

"It's your ship, Lieutenant," Herb said. "I'll leave the stairs out, for when you both need to come back down. You got a flashlight? It's getting mighty dark out here."

Brady waved his and Herb nodded and let them be, Brady steering her towards the tail of the plane and the hatch with its folded down stairs. "Here, you'd better take this," he said, handing over the flashlight, warm from his pocket. "Once you get up top, go along the gangway and watch your feet."

"Don't you want to go first?"

He shook his head. "Ladies first," he said, and waved her on forward.

It was dark, here in the tail of the fort, the only light the two large panels in the sides with their machine guns standing at the ready. She fumbled for a moment with the flashlight until it finally turned on, the small beam casting here and there over the inside of the plane. It felt like being inside the attic of an old house, seeing the ribs of the aircraft jutting out of the walls at regular intervals, the panel of the floor creaking as she made her way around the guns and the bubble of the turret and its enormous oxygen tank, carefully passing by a chair and radio to an even smaller gangway, and passing between an enormous empty space. "Bomb bay," she heard Brady say behind her. "Careful there, there's a step up past the turret. Go left once you're up there."

The step up was over a large opening that must have led to the nose - the light was slightly better down there. Fred hoisted herself up and tried not to move anything, flipping the flashlight off to appreciate the scene in the last bit of light from the sunset. All of this to put a piece of metal in the sky.

Brady climbed up into the right-hand seat, pleased as anything. "How on earth do you manage all of this all at once?" Fred said, trying to make sense of the buttons and switches, each with a name and label more arcane than the last.

"It's just practice," he offered, "A lot of flight hours. And there's a checklist we go through when we start - fuel levels, pumps, ignition switches. Then we pump and prime the engines and start them one by one. Put your hand here," he said, gesturing to the handle between the two seats. "When we're ready on the runway for takeoff, you'd push this forward -" his hand closed around hers on the double-handled throttle - "and away she goes."

She felt strangely powerful, her hand gripping the bar of the throttle, empowered by the feeling of his hand on top of hers. "So," he said. "What do you think?"

Fred looked out the windows once more. Around them the airfield was deep orange and purple, the sun nearly finished setting over the distant tops of the trees. They weren't all that high up, here in the cockpit, but it was still somehow both wonderful and strange to see the field from this height, and pick out the lights just starting to come on in the distance, the pairs of headlights winking and swerving out of the gates.

"Amazing," she said, her voice full of emotions she didn't know she had. All of this could go up into the sky, and fly and fight and come back down again. Day after day, week after week. Hundreds of men, in hundreds of planes, all of it part of one vast, uncountable effort, beautiful and yet terrible in its beauty.

She looked over at Brady, sitting sideways in the copilot's seat, one foot dangling over the door below, and didn't even have time to think about what was happening before he'd leaned over and kissed her right in the middle of her laughing lips.

Time stopped for a moment, and for a bare second it was only the two of them in the dark, breathing together, lips warm.

"You look so pretty now," he offered, almost breathless. And then his smile fell, and the light went out of his eyes. "Fred, please, say something."

There was pressure behind her temples, a high whine between her ears, a magneto that wasn't powering on. Words failed to connect. "…I think I need to leave."

She didn't quite know where she was going - she'd left the flashlight up front with him. She stumbled down out of the cockpit, taking the easiest route out and launching herself out of the pilot's door onto the dark ground below, the asphalt jarring her knees and eating into her hands.

Somewhere behind her she heard him call her name in the dark, but she was starting the jeep and fumbling it into first, hands shaking against the wheel and feeling like her whole heart was about to burst in her chest the same way she had in the cockpit, filled to the brim with the thought of all that love and all those lovers in the sky.

Her heart was still pounding when she parked and made her way back to the Clubmobile, leaning her forehead against its smooth, safe metal side. It's against the rules. This is against the rules. He kissed me. John Brady kissed me.

And the loudest, strongest thought of all - no one told us at training what to do when you don't know if you don't mind.

#asked and answered #shoshiwrites #tds cinematic universe #freda torvaldsen #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #john brady x oc #masters of the air oc

[manicplank]

The Color Pink (Part 6)

This fic is going to go on forever I love noisecouple so much.

Hazel's alarm went off in the morning. She turned it off without hesitation as opposed to her usual grumpiness. She had an extra pep in her step. She brushed her teeth and swished mouthwash before spitting it out. She hummed as she washed her face and applied moisturizer. She brushed her hair before she added a slight upward curl to the ends. She dressed up in her usual uniform.

She strutted down to the cafe with no fear. She couldn't seem to wipe the smile off her face. She unlocked the door, the bell above it rang as she walked in. Before she reached halfway to the counter, the bell rang again. She turned around. It was The Vigilante. He seemed to be disturbed. "Oh, hi Vi-"

"HAZEL!" He interrupted her. "YOU'RE ALIVE!"

"What? Of course I'm alive. I'm more alive than I've ever been in my entire life!" She twirled and giggled.

"So... he didn't try to kill ya?"

"Who?"

"The Noise!"

"Nope! In fact, our date went incredibly well! He actually asked if I would be willing to go on another date!"

"Really?!"

"Yep! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get the coffee started."

"Well, I'll see ya at the counter."

The Vigilante got up on a stool as Hazel walked behind the counter. She didn't close well the night before, so she had a bit of extra work to do. It didn't bother her, though. It was worth it considering she had an amazing date. She put the pots on and filled the tanks with water. She poured ground coffee into the filters and began the brew cycle. She grabbed the dishes from the night before from the drying rack and put them away. The Vigilante pulled out a newspaper and opened it up. As he read it, Hazel placed a mug in front of him and filled it with fresh, hot black coffee. "Thank you, dear," he smiled.

"So, when are you gonna admit it?"

"Huh? Admit what?"

"That you were wrong." Hazel tilted her head with a smug smile.

The Vigilante sighed. "I won't admit anything just yet. It's too early. Just wait 'til he shows his true colors. It'll take some time, but it'll happen."

Hazel rolled her eyes. "Why are you so negative? Why can't you let me make my own mistakes?"

"I'm just trying to protect you."

"I don't need your protection! I appreciate it your concern, but I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"Well, you did."

-

Theodore went in to work that day with a different attitude. He didn't seem as stoic and crabby as he usually was. It could be felt in the air. He walked into set and saw everything in the right place. He headed over to his dressing room. A sweet woman from the Gnome Forest knocked and walked in. "Mornin', Mr. Noise!"

"Mornin', love."

"Well, someone's spry today!"

"Yeah. I'm feeling good."

She pulled out some concealer and foundation as well as a blending sponge. She also pulled out some skin colored powder and a nude color palette. The Noise sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. She flipped a switch, and the lights around the mirror lit up. "So," she spoke, "what's got you so happy?"

"Uhh, it's kind of personal."

She pulled back and gave him a look.

He laughed, "Don't look at me like that! It's nothing dirty."

She chuckled. "I'm just giving you sass. It's okay if you don't want to tell me. As long as you're happy, I'm pleased."

"Of course, you are. Makes your job easier, doesn't it, Mary?"

"It sure does!" She grabbed a concealer that was a few shades lighter than his skin. She applied it around his eyes and blended it with the sponge. "Still got those dark circles, though."

He sighed. "Always and forever."

Mary applied powder from the palette to set the concealer. "Now I'm curious as to what's making you so happy."

"What? I can't just have a good day?"

She giggled. She applied foundation all around his face with a brush. She took the sponge and began to blend it in. "Well, after you acting so strange all week... I can't help but wonder what's going on with you." She stopped. "Oh, no..."

The Noise opened his eyes and furrowed his brow. "What?"

"Are you... doing okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Please, honey, tell me this isn't the surge."

"The surge?"

"When some people are depressed or sick, they get a surge of energy and joy, before..."

"Oh! Oh, no no no no no!"

Mary sighed with relief. "Oh, thank goodness. My heart sank." She dipped a small pad in the powdered foundation and pat it all over his face.

"No, I have something to look forward to, especially lately."

"Is it a woman?"

His eyes widened, and he cleared his throat. "Um..."

"It is!"

"Shhh! Don't say anything! I don't want that getting leaked into the media!"

"Your secret is safe with me. So... Tell me all about her."

"It's a little early... We just went on our first date yesterday."

"And?"

"It went well. I mean, at least I think it did."

She blew on his face, and all the excess powder was off. "If this is the mood that one date put you in, then my fingers are crossed that it lasts."

"Just please don't say anything. I don't want the paparazzi swarming her and scaring her away. I want to take things slow."

"You like her," Mary teased.

"Shush!"

She laughed again and pat him on the shoulder. "You're all set. I'll leave you to get changed."

Theodore looked in the mirror as Mary left the room. He couldn't believe he just admitted to someone that he liked her... He got into his costume one leg at a time. He was flexible enough to zip the zipper on his back. He tied the cape around his shoulders. He sighed again as he grabbed his mask and put it over his head. "Alright," he aired, "let's do this."

-

"Cut," the director Noisy shouted. "Great job, everyone! Noise, you were incredible today! Much better than you were the other day." The Noise smiled and shrugged. "No, seriously," the director continued, "I think that was one of your best performances yet! Keep that up, and this movie's gonna be great!" Mary looked over at him and winked. His eyes grew wide, and he blushed. While the others went over to mingle, Theodore headed back to his dressing room. He took off his mask and untied the cape. He grabbed a pack of cleansing wipes from one of the drawers and cleaned the makeup off his face. He thought about her all day. He acted as if she was there watching him. He couldn't shake the idea of what she would think of him. For some reason, he wanted to impress her. He unzipped his costume and let it fall. He changed into sweatpants and a hoodie. As he made his way out of the building, a few people tried to stop and talk to him. "Sorry," he said, "I'm tired. I wanna go home and catch a nap."

Theodore took out a cigarette as he walked home. It was only a short walk, but sometimes it was nagging. He thought that he might head to the cafe and grab a coffee since he felt a bit groggy after work, but he didn't want to seem desperate or clingy. Though, he did want to see her again. He shrugged it off and continued walking as he smoked. He walked through his door and locked it behind him. He suddenly felt super lethargic. He yawned as he dragged himself to his bed. He laid down and closed his eyes. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

He woke up to his phone ringing beside him. He checked the number, but he didn't recognize it. He answered it tiredly, "Hello...?"

"Hey, it's me!"

"Who???"

"Hazel."

"Oh!" He sat up. "Sorry, I still haven't saved your number in my contacts. I probably should, huh."

She snickered. "Were you sleeping? You sound tired."

"Yeah, I was napping."

"Theodore..."

"What?"

"It's seven o'clock at night."

"Is it really?!" He looked over at his alarm clock. "Oh shit, it is."

She laughed again. "How long have you been asleep?"

"Well, I got off of work at three, probably got home and laid down at around three fifteen..."

"That's almost four hours!"

"Yeah..."

"Naps are supposed to be like... thirty minutes to an hour."

"Not for me." He lay back down and rested one of his ankles on his bent knee. "My naps can last anywhere from an hour to six hours."

"Sheesh... Was it a rough day at work or something?"

"No, it was actually a great day. Everything went smoothly."

"That's good!"

"How about your day?"

"It was alright. A bit boring. Business at the cafe was slow as usual. The Vigilante came in, but he can be annoying sometimes."

"I don't really care for that guy. He's too uptight."

"Yeah, he uh... doesn't really like you, either."

"That doesn't surprise me."

Hazel lay in her bed on her stomach, kicking her legs back and forth like a little schoolgirl. "Yeah, he sort of chewed me out for going out with you."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He said he was scared you were going to hurt me. He's just being paranoid."

"That's why I don't like him much. I swear, he's got it out for me."

"He thinks you're a criminal."

"Well... He's not entirely wrong."

"Oh, I know. I've seen you on the news. I remember when you were on that Cops show."

He laughed. "Which time?"

"When you broke out of the cuffs and stole the same cop car twice in one night."

He laughed again but harder. "And that doesn't scare you?"

"I'm not a cop."

"Sounds like something a cop would say."

She giggled. "Oh, shut up. You know, between the two of us... I have a criminal record, too."

He gasped and sat up super quickly. "You're shitting me!"

"Nope."

"What did you do?"

"Assault and battery."

"No way. I don't believe you."

"It happened. Some girl was pushing me around and screaming in my face. She slapped me and uh... I sort of lost my temper. I punched her in the nose, and I just kept throwing punches."

"Oh, my god, that is HILARIOUS!"

"I mean, I'm not necessarily proud of it, but..."

"She had to be completely out of line to piss you off that much."

"Yeah. I don't take shit. I have a good temper, but eventually enough is enough."

"I can't believe it. I never would've guessed that coming from you. You're so sweet..."

"Aww, stop. You're the sweet one."

"Only to you."

They laughed together. "Anyways," she continued, "I'm not afraid of you. I don't think you'd do anything to hurt me."

"Of course, not. I don't put my hands on women."

"I could take you."

Theodore cackled. "You what?"

"I could take you in a fight."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yuh-huh!"

"Because I'd let you win."

"Mmm, no, I'd whoop your butt."

"No way."

"Yes way."

"You wouldn't be able to do anything if I picked you up."

"Yes, I would! I'd bite you!"

"Well, just know that I bite back. Hard."

Hazel blushed and giggled. "That wouldn't surprise me. Didn't you get in trouble for biting somebody?"

"Yes, several times."

"I remember seeing something about that. They had to get stitches."

"Mhm. You sure you want to get into a bite fight with me, now?"

"Try me."

"Oh, oh, okay, relax. Someone's got her claws out."

"I guess The Vigilante is just paranoid. He's unusually protective of me. I get where he's coming from, and I appreciate it, but I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. I don't need him to hold my hand. I'd rather that be you."

Theo blushed and giggled. "Oh, stop."

"What? Did I make you bluuush?" She teased.

"Maaaybe."

She giggled again then yawned. "Oh gosh, I can't believe it's already nine!"

"Seriously?! It feels like it's been two minutes..."

"I know. I should get to bed. I have to be up early for the cafe."

"I get it. Your business comes first."

"Goodnight, Theodore."

"Goodnight."

The Noise lay on his back with a grin from ear to ear. His nose and cheeks were pink. He really liked her, he finally was starting to accept it. They had an undeniable chemistry. Something about her made him feel like a teenager again, but it felt good. He stared at the ceiling as he thought about her; her laugh, her smile. He couldn't believe how comfortable she was with him already... and how comfortable he was with her. He was so excited to see her and talk to her again. He wished he had her beside him in his bed as he closed his eyes and drifted off back to sleep.

#pizza tower #noise #the noise #noisette #pizza tower fanfic #fanfic #pink fic

[eveandtheturtles]

In my Memory

Ship: Raph x Reader

Summary/Warning: Angst. There was an accident and love makes people hang on when they should let go.

By default - Aged Up (18+) Bayverse Turtles, Reblogs are MUCH appreciated! Comments too! My askbox is open for all sorts of messages and requests! (currently taking Raph aligned ones)

@madammuffins @leosgirl82 @turtle-babe83 @sharpwindow @pheradream15 @thelaundrybitch @m1dnyt3-w0lf @dilucsflame33

(this might be the last angst for a while. We'll see... Anyone who wishes to be on the list let me knoooooow)

"You smell something?" You looked up from your spot on Raph's bed. "Something's burning."

Raph paused his push-up reps. "Probably Leo got to the toaster again," he snickered. "Donnie gonna have his head."

You smiled. "Yeah, most likely," you said. "Are you coming to bed?"

"Yeah, I think I am done here." He got up and stretched a little.

You snickered and stretched your arms to him. "C'mere you big brute."

He didn't let you wait long. He was right there next to you, wrapping his big arms around you, holding you close and safe.

~~~~~~

"Do you think Donnie can fix my phone?" You asked the next day.

You were lounging on top of your boyfriend watching him pay Animal Crossing. It was a secret just between the two of you.

"He should be, I'll pop by his lab and ask how's it going," Raph replied. "Get. Out. Stupid. Duck." His little avatar was smacking Gloria in the head. "It's been long enough, like couple weeks, no?"

"Yeah, something like that." You stroked his arm. "Am I not too heavy to lay on top of you like this?"

"I've told you before, you're light as a feather," he replied and kissed your head. "Finally!" he exclaimed when Gloria announced she's moving out.

"Why did you have her in the first place?" You giggled.

"Mikey. He got my Switch and decided to prank me," he grumbled.

"That's Mikey for you."

~~~~~~

You stood on the roof, enjoying the morning breeze and the sunrise. Pros of dating a ninja turtle your daily schedule was kinda off, allowing such things more frequently than not. The light breeze went right through your hair as you watched Raphael parkour his way over the roofs to you. The gravity meant nothing for him.

He had always been there for you. The great, red protector. Ready to sacrifice himself.

As he got closer you could tell he was annoyed. He landed next to you. He was buzzying as his irritation just radiated off of him. You smiled and sat down on the edge of the roof. This was going to be one of those Leo rants.

"-and he doesn't listen! Like I wasn't even there!! He always does that! If he just listened-," he grumbled stomping about, trying to walk off the energy.

You walked up to him, stood on your tippy toes and hugged him tight. "Shh," you tried to sooth him. "But the mission was successful?"

"Yeah, it was..." he admitted reluctantly. His arms were around you.

"Then for now that's good, you should really talk to him, you know? Really tell him how you feel," you said softly.

"Have you been watching any weird shows with Mikey again?" He snorted, nuzzling his forehead to yours.

"No, I didn't," you laughed a little. "You know that."

You stayed close, just basking in each other. "I need to go home soon," You said after a while.

"I know but... this with you is good for now," he replied.

"Okay."

~~~~~~

When you walked into the lair everything was so quiet. Splinter was sitting by the kitchen table, stroking the scarf Raph knitted him once. There was Leo, mindlessly going through his practice. Donnie by his monitors, watching one in particular, as if frozen in place. The atmosphere was strangely heavy.

You noted the rough shape everyone was in.

"Where's Mikey?" You asked.

"He's in the Needle Room," Raph replied quietly, squeezing your hand a little. You noted the tension in him. The clenched jaw, eyes fixed on the entrance to the Needle Room.

"Raph?" You turned to him. "It's okay."

"No, it's-"

Suddenly he got cut off when Donnie grabbed the edge of his desk and flipped it over. He yelled loudly and everyone stared at him in anticipation.

He slumped into the chair, hiding his face in his hands. Leo stopped his work-out and ran to his brother. Their father approached them and the three hugged pressing their head together.

"You have to be strong my sons," Splinter said softly. "The worst hasn't happened yet."

You turned to Raph. He was biting his lower lip, eyes shut and shivering as his tears slowly went down his face.

"Babe," you sighed and stroked his cheeks. "Let's go see Mikey."

"What if I don't want to?" He looked to the side. Not wanting for you to see him.

"But you do," you said. "He needs you."

You hugged him tightly. "I need you," he whispered into your ear.

"I won't be going anywhere," you promised.

Slowly, you both headed towards the Needle Room.

~~~~~

Raph's entire being screamed to not go. The sounds around him were muted aside of this constant high pitched noise from somewhere. The closer the two of you got to the room the stronger the smell of burning got. The heat licked over his scales and sank through into his bones.

Raph could swear his heartbeat was so loud he could hear it coming from the outside. His feet were dragging. Each step thundering over the metal flooring. Finally, both of you were there. At the mouth of the Needle Room.

He looked at you. Swallowed heavily. His hand trembled in yours.

"It's okay, you're almost there," you assured him.

He reached toward your face and pushed the hair covering half of it out of the way. He sucked the air in.

His mouth dried. You smiled.

"I am so sorry," he said, his voice becoming hoarse, wet. "I am so sorry." He felt to his knees.

"It's okay, I don't blame you," you spoke softly, hugging him to your middle. "You got me out. My hero."

You stroked his head, holding him close as a terrible sob broke through.

"I need you to do something for me," you spoke.

"No." He shook his head.

"I need you to go back to your brothers."

"No, no," he repeated. His eyes were bloodshot, he could feel his throat closing up. How could it be closing up, it wasn't even real!

He desperately clung to you. The scraps your clothes became as reality started to seep through.

"Please, please," he begged, desperately sucking in air between the sobs.

"They need you more than I do, you saw it."

He wept on the floor, your broken hero. Failed saviour. He was so cruel to himself.

"You did your best."

You pulled him up. It was so easy now, despite your form slowly crumbling up.

"please, come with me," he begged you but you shook your head. Your hair spreading embers.

"it's not how it works." Gently you pulled yourself out of his grip.

"I will be so lost without you, Mikey will miss you! Donnie, dad, even Leo!"

You placed the last ghost of a kiss on his lips. Then you pushed him inside.

"No!" He cried out and gasped for air as his eyes opened up.

His throat hurt, his eyes burned and he couldn't move. He saw Mikey, with his arm on a sling ran out of the Needle Room.

Raph was alive.

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