#my soul craves rain

[euesworld]

"Touch me with passion.. drip your fingers along my body like drizzling honey and set me ablaze with desire. Set fire to the rain with your lips on my body, create a fire storm of need within me.."

Touch me, kiss me and never leave so you never miss me - eUë

#touch me #touch my soul #passion #passionate #passionate nights #drizzling honey #honey #fire #fire storm #set fire to my soul #set fire to the rain #desire #kiss me #touches #kisses #kissing #rain #your lips #i want you #i crave you #stormy #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #love quotes #love #love quote life quotes #love quote for her #quoteoftheday #romance

[captainfern]

Hi fernie ☺️

I wanted to request some sweet time waking up next to Price/Gaz after getting back with them… these ex-husband and ex-boyfriend tropes are so bittersweet and I love them but I also crave some solid resolutions 😭 You can make this smut or pure fluff, whatever you want.

Thank you ❤️

ex-husband price, but the “ex” lays on significantly blurred lines now.

fem!reader, 18+ [unprotected piv, etc] — lazy writing/editing + formatting sorry

a/n: i’m so sorry for how late this is !! i’m literally terrible at completing my asks 😭 i hope this is good enough <3

He had come crawling back to you last night.

Amidst the howling wind and the cold, sleeting rain, John appeared on your doorstep like a stray dog— hair wet and clinging to his forehead, his clothes soaked through, his lips quirked into a slightly embarrassed smile.

And then, then he looked at you with those warm eyes, his pupils expanding beneath the weight of his gaze, and you folded.

Of course you folded.

You let him inside, allowed him into the cradle of your very life. A life in which you had built around the absence of him.

The divorce happened a year ago. The constant strain of John being away, and the crippling loneliness his job brought you, was too much to bear. Without him, your home had felt like a shell of itself, so empty and quiet. Separation allowed you to make your own home not-so reliant on him.

And maybe it was hard. Maybe you did cry for him, yearn for him in the penetratingly dark hours of the morning— a want for his body pressed to yours, a need for his heat against your chilled skin.

But you had to move on. You were strong and, once the initial emptiness of your ring finger no longer bothered you, you were set free. The shackles of grief snapped and crumpled and allowed you to spring forth into a fresh life.

Yet, the night he appeared on your front step, cold and white like a wraith against a sea of black, you allowed him entry.

There was no hesitation like you convinced yourself there’d be. There was no sort of what the hell are you doing here, John? You simply sighed, your heart clenching beneath the calloused fingers of your reappearing grief, and stepped aside.

He had thanked you profusely.

And then broke down.

Still in his wet clothes, he hung his head and let tears well in his eyes, his hands balled into fists at his sides as he attempted to control his emotions. You watched him patiently, your own sadness itching tightly at the back of your throat.

He apologised. For everything you knew affected the relationship, and for everything he thought affected the relationship.

Long periods of absence, missing important milestones in your life and holidays, the strained communication when in the field. He apologised for it all, shaking and dripping like the lost dog he was.

When he looked up at you, eyes red and glossy with tears, his cheeks rouged beneath his facial hair and lips bitten from nervousness, you broke too.

Of course I miss you, tumbled from your lips. Of course I still think about you. Of course I haven’t been with anyone else. Of course I want you back—

The two of you broke like a dam, a crack of lightening outside acting as the starting gun, spurring you on as you moved in unison, meeting together in a searing kiss that made you whine out for him. But his groan of pleasure, of relief, was louder than any sound he had ever made before. It made your heart flutter.

That night, he held you so impossibly close to him that you feared you may sink into him— that your souls would intertwine within the heat of him, and you’d be stuck with him forever. But, after a moment, you realised it wasn’t fear. You’d happily seep into the grooves of his soul if he let you.

The next morning, you awoke bundled in his strong, warm arms, the coarse hairs a deliciously familiar juxtaposition against your soft flesh. You moaned quietly as you drifted awake.

John stirred behind you, the arm he had around your midriff moving, his large hand moving to splay across the curve of your bare tummy. He pressed against the warm fat, nose in the crook of your neck, nuzzling you. You whined when he gripped your tummy, but he just chuckled quietly with a kiss to the pulse beneath your ear.

Only now did you realise, against the warmth of the skin above your navel, that John was still wearing his wedding band.

It made your stomach flip.

Last night, while he had your knees to your ears, his cock heavy inside you, he asked about your rings.

“In the drawer— fuck— the bedside table—!” You moaned, his hips snapping forward, his stomach pressed to yours, pinning you to the bed.

He stopped only to lean over and open the drawer. Then, he fished out both your extravagant engagement ring, and the more simply wedding ring. Then, he resumed his thrusts, knocking another moan from your chest.

When you came around his cock with an earth-shattering orgasm, a moan of “Yes, John!” echoing through the room, he slipped the rings back onto your finger. Your sweet moans were a welcome nostalgia, a guilty-pleasure in this very moment. He came inside you after that.

Now, John was kissing the pulse behind your ear, arms around you, his chest to your back as he slotted one of his legs between yours, separating them so he could rut his hardening cock between the plushness of your thighs.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered to you, the leaking tip of his cock rubbing against your wet folds, dipping in and out in a gentle rut with each movement of his hips. “I’ve missed my pretty wife.”

The hand on your stomach snaked down, brushing over your mound and then cupping you there, a finger pressing to the already swollen bud of your clit. He hummed when he began to run circles across it, slow and steady.

You mewled, arse moving backwards to press against him, then moving forward again to buck into his touch. The warmth of his cock between your thighs had your pussy fluttering, leaking.

“John…” You whispered, flexing the muscles of your thighs, the sensation against John’s cock making him groan. You begged, “Please, I need you.”

“Then you’ll have me,” he whispered back, the ruddy tip of his cock finally snagging against your entrance. He slowly, slowly began pushing inside, splitting you open with a soft, wet sound. He moaned against your neck. “You’ll have me forever, sweetheart. Whenever you want me, you’ll have me.”

John bottomed out with one final lazy snap of his hips against your arse. You both moaned, the air around you warm and thick like honey.

His cock reached so deeply inside you, nudging the pliant plug of your cervix with each rut. His movements never left you empty, keeping you stretched open around his girth. Your cunt squeezed him, dribbling along your inner thighs now as he rocked into you, the mattress creaking beneath you both.

The finger in your clit sped up, the circles deepening and quickening in pace, timed with his thrusts as they grew faster and faster, still lazy, but coordinated and intent on dragging you to release.

The pleasure was sickly sweet, parting the veil of sleep with ease. You could taste it on your tongue, the precipice of your orgasm, and the many more to come— sweet and warm against the wintery rain outside. Just like John.

“John…” You whimpered, your body tightening, sweat building along your already-dewy skin.

“That’s it, sweetheart, doing so well for me. My good girl. My pretty wife,” he praised, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you every damn time. He drank in your moans, an elixir he had longed for since the moment you two separated, and continued his thrusts. Kissing your neck, he asked, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes—!” And you came around him, moaning loudly, writhing and spasming as your orgasm wracked through you. It was intense and hot and it had your pussy clenching around John’s cock like a vice.

Your acceptance made him moan, moan your name, and then come deep inside you, painting your slick walls white.

For a long while, he held you to him, cock still inside you, but the two of you weren’t in any hurry to part from one another. You felt sticky all over, skin tacky with sweat and cum, but you couldn’t care less. Wrapped up in your ex— your husband’s arms, was all that mattered.

“I love you,” John said to you. “Always have. Always will.”

#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #captain john price #john price call of duty #captain john price smut #captain price smut #john price smut #cod price #cod smut

[toorurs]

to love is to learn

synopsis: aventurine is still unexposed to the many concepts of this world. but that doesn't mean he won't try to get to know them if it's for you.

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 1.0k | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, insecure aventurine, established relationship, my ass wrote this in an hour and its super late rn i just wanna upload this and my lazy ass did NOT proofread this + im on mobile so hell, kinda HELLA rushed ; ficlet

a/n: just the other day me and azul were talking about what body parts of aven would be sensitive and we got to his collarbone and azul said that he thinks that it'd be super evident so i pointed out that it might be cause he was used to starvation and barely ate even when he got to the ipc/had the chance to do so. SO I JUST HAD TO WRITE SMTH.

tags: @azullumi

aventurine shudders under your touch. your nimble fingers trace across his collarbone, featherlight movements, touch so delicate, it makes him tremble.

the pads of your digits lightly dance across his clavicle, one finger turns into two. your index swiftly slides over the pale skin that separates the bone that lies underneath. while your thumb starts inching closer the neckline of his satin pajama, diving beneath. at that he can't help but flinch.

“oh god.” he laughs out. “someone's being touchy today.” his voice is filled with joy. hearing, seeing, knowing that aventurine has fun around you, makes you crave for more. his laugh is an intoxicating drug. something that you'll always long for, absorbing it until every part of your body is stained with the tantalising essence and puts you to your demise.

you don't stop your actions, instead continuing to glide your fingers along his delicate body. “sorry, for i couldn't help it!” a giggle escapes your mouth.

“i just thought about how pretty it is.” you let out a small hum.

“my collarbone? pretty, how come?” he's confused, what is the beauty you see within his body?

his body is fragile. it's a hollow shell he carries around. ugly and not worthy of your attention even less your admiration, abused and marked in burns. when the digits that he carries around like a sacred body part of his, roughly engraved on his neck, come in contact with any kind of substance, liquid or his own fingers. he's reminded of the mishap his body was or rather is in. how it was abused and dragged through the mud.

putting his calloused fingers around the tattoo, stings. the touch lingers like a nostalgic scent which still remains on an old piece of clothing, one that has never been washed so the smell never fades away. it burns up at the slightest touch. hurting just as much as when it was freshly inflicted onto his young body.

kakavasha doesn't even know what he looks like. the only person he sees in the mirror is aventurine. sure he walked past puddles of dirty rain back in his childhood, reflecting his younger self, but the images are vague and blurry. he doesn't know what kakavasha looks like and he probably never will.

and neither do you. the only thing you have in front of you right now is aventurine. a shattered soul that doesn't know where it belongs. his being consists of a thousand fragments, they're scattered thoughts that are similar to broken mirror shards.

they reflect the tales of his heart and reveal its greatest desire. mirroring those untold stories like the surface of the water. thoughts and wishes that are full of pureness, almost childlike.

the broken pieces that make up the man who's named aventurine long for a haven which he can call a safe space - a home. but on the other hand he thinks that he's not permitted to find such a place, that he's not allowed to stay, undeserving of it.

“no particular reason. i just like the way it stands out, it's easy to find and trace.” the words that roll off your tongue sting. they probably hurt as much as a paper cut you've received as a little kid, but it's not like kakavasha knows or is able to relate - he didn't get to grow up like the other children. but he can't blame you, you're oblivious to his past.

his body has gone through physical and emotional abuse. beat ups, labor or starvation. the reason why his collarbone is so evident, the face you adore is so slim, and his rips slightly poke through his body, is all because kakavashas hunger has never been satisfied and the dryness in his throat has never been quenched.

even after he put on the mask of the man who calls himself aventurine - a wealthy man, who’s a member of the ten stone hearts that makes more money than he spends, he's still reluctant when it comes to eating. of course he could buy all the delicacies that kakavasha never got to try - never even knew, but he hesitates.

the concept of chewing and swallowing the bits is still something aventurine can't befriend himself with. it's unfamiliar - he's not used to it, the feeling of a full stomach, what it's like to be satisfied after a meal. it's something foreign to him, a feeling he's not sure he'll ever get accustomed to.

he doesn't think he deserves to eat. to know what it feels like to be full, the rumbling that comes from his stomach is the one he grew up with is what brought him here. he fears that if he gets too comfortable with something or someone he'll forget who he is.

a lost soul that mourns after the past, but saved itself from the dark abyss, freeing itself. not allowing himself to get too close, always keeping everyone that comes near him at an arm's length. worrying he might grow too attached.

so why is he still here? here with you, chattering happily and conversing freely, he doesn't deserve it - he doesn't deserve you.

but is it wrong to be selfish for once? he knows the answer already: it is. but he can't help it, not when you coax him into this position, one which he can't leave, no matter how hard he tries.

“i love you.” you trace the letters along his neck, over the tattoo that is engraved on his skin.

you don't need a verbal answer to know that he feels the same way. perhaps, he himself hasn't realized it yet but he's conveyed his love for you many times already. just like now as he continues to lie in bed with you.

the both of you are oblivious, but that doesn't mean that either of you will stop in your tracks, turn back and leave. (even though he sometimes wishes to do so)

both satisfaction and love are two unfamiliar concepts for aventurine. but he'll try to get to know them. for the sake of you.

© TOORURS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is not permitted.

#toorurs #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine hsr #hsr aventurine #aventurine imagines #kakavasha x reader #aventurine fluff #kakavasha fluff #aventurine

[idyllcy]

sparkling green eyes, dazzling green lines

word count: 8.8k

summary: "Habibti." The words slip past his tongue naturally as he reads the text on your wrist, and you stare up at him, eyes wide, pupils blown, fascination all over your face— you're in love with him.

حبيبتي.

You trace it on your skin each morning, gentle smile on your face, dumb like a lovesick idiot. It reminds you that you're loved, even if you have never met your soulmate, ever, in your life. Even when you didn't know, you had panicked and asked your friends if they knew what it was, in which the next seven hours after your seventh birthday was spent crowded around a computer on your iPad, trying to imitate the foreign language on your skin.

After seven hours, your mother, bless her, had noted it was in Arabic. Your father returned home shortly after, helping you translate the word.

Habibti. It meant beloved in Arabic.

Your young heart swelled as your friends gushed over it.

Beloved. Your soulmate calls you beloved at first meeting.

You had clung onto it, heart full and spinning. You told yourself that your soulmate must be a romantic just from the fact that he would call you his love first meeting. You had dreams of a fairy tale meeting, falling in front of him in the hallway during school, accidentally bumping into him while out, a stranger offering you an umbrella in the rain, the list goes on. Your friends had gotten tired of you after the second week, all of them off to find their own soulmates. You didn't know anything about him.

But the passion for finding your soulmate wears off just as fast as it had arrived, quickly realizing that you wouldn't be able to find him if you were in a town where you knew everyone. No one would call you that upon first meeting. Even if it was halfway across the world, you stopped dreaming about meeting your soulmate after you started college. If you wanted to meet him, you'd have to travel. You don't know where, but wherever you were allowed, you went. Even if it emptied your pockets and left you desperate in the streets, you had some of the best experiences of your life, all in the name of looking for your soulmate.

Even at graduation, when you're throwing your cap into the sky with your friends, wrist out for the world to see, the characters traced and colored in gold thanks to your friends, the green of the letters shimmering, you're thankful for everything you've poured your soul into. Your soulmate was someone you no longer craved, the world at your fingertips, a job in your pocket, your life set out before you. Fate was strong in your hands, another string in your life. You followed it with fervor, spinning and chasing after it with some childish will in your life.

You push everything related to your soulmate mark back when you step foot into Wayne Enterprises, nodding slowly at the three men as they welcome you to the team. You had expected the older boys, but you didn't complain. Not when Bruce Wayne himself was part of the three men.

"These are my two sons. Tim Drake, he's my third," You shake Tim's hand. "And Damian Wayne. My youngest."

You smile at him too, taking his hand.

"Habibti." The words slip past his tongue naturally as he reads the text on your wrist, and you stare up at him, eyes wide, pupils blown, fascination all over your face. Damian raises a brow at the way you react, breath catching in his throat at how enthralled you are with him, features pulled back, eyes sparkling.

"Woah." You manage, a smile breaking onto your face as the words slip past. Damian does not know you. Hell, he's just met you, yet you were staring at him as if he was your world. You had that lovesick look that he had seen on Dick's face way too many times, and he was getting a little uncomfortable. It must be some sick joke. There's no way his soulmate could look at him like that the first time they meet. Yet, as you stare into his eyes, sun sparkling in your eyes, he finds himself breathless. Shit.

Bruce clears his throat behind the two of you.

"Sorry!" You let go of Damian's hand, the loss of contact knocking the air back into his lungs. "Not many people can read my soulmate mark here in the States. I was just surprised."

"So? Is he your soulmate?" Bruce's lip quirks upward.

Damian lies through his teeth. "No. My words are different."

Tim raises a brow behind Bruce, and Damian gives him a warning look.

"Well, regardless," Bruce hums. "You'll be working closely with my two sons for the next couple of weeks. We're very interested in the medical research you conducted while an undergrad in your major, so we'd like to sponsor your research. Your updates would go to my two sons, and I'll meet with you at the end of the month to see if you need more time."

You nod. "An honor, sir."

"The honor is all ours." Tim smiles, shaking your hand.

"Damian will lead you to the lab."

You follow behind his youngest, eyes still wide, trailing behind him like a lovesick puppy. Even if he wasn't your soulmate, he had called you beloved first meeting. You were enthralled. The two of you step into the elevator, and you wait for the door to close before speaking up.

"Are we really not soulmates?" You blink at him.

He shows you his wrist, your words in brown. "We are."

"Oh." You smile at him again. Damian grimaces at how bright you are. The universe sent him a sun because he was grouchy, didn't it?

"This is the lab you'll be using. It is all yours." He hums. "Requests can be sent through the computer, just type it on the notepad."

You nod, glancing around the room, fidgeting.

"What is it?" He raises a brow.

"You're not big on soulmates, are you?" You smile apologetically.

"Not really."

"Alright. Thank you."

Damian is half expecting you to pester him to the moon and back just based on how you looked at him the first time you met. Instead, you spend most of your time holed up in the lab, desperate to replicate results from your previous study. He can't deny that his heart sours a little at how easily you respect his boundaries, but he asked for it himself, so he finds no reason to complain. Huh, he would have to register the soulmate mark with you.

He knocks on the door to your lab, silence answering him. After a couple of minutes, you open the door.

"Sorry, did I make you wait? I had to put everything back." You blink at him.

"We need to register our soulmate bond."

"Ah. Right." You furrow your brows. "When are you available?"

"Tomorrow after work."

"So like... three?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Should I meet you up at the office?"

"I will come down to find you." He glances at the way none of your hair is visible from the cap.

"Alright." You hum. "See you then."

Damian is grasping at anything he can to try and talk to you. He can't believe he's like this, lovesick like some teenager, desperate to talk to you as if you were the only person that mattered in his life. He feels like Dick. It's awful. He loosens his tie as he stands on the elevator, irritation all over his face.

"You look like shit." Tim clicks his tongue.

"Be quiet, Drake." Damian grumbles.

"Registering your soulmate bond?"

"Yeah." He mumbles. "How did your registration go?"

"Smoothly. I told you."

"If only we had met under better circumstances."

"My soulmate didn't stare at me like I was God." Tim shrugs. "Good afternoon, Mr. Strawn."

The man nods.

The two men shut up as Damian steps off at your floor.

"Hey!" You've taken off all the clothes you wear in the lab, dressed for a date. Damian wonders if he's dressed too formal for this. "I brought all my documents. Do you have yours?"

"The city hall has all of my files on hand."

"Forgot, billionaire and all that." You laugh. "Let's get going."

The two of you hitch the next ride down, Damian taking you to his car, opening your door for you, head racing.

"There is always the possibility of us being platonic soulmates." Damian finds himself speaking up as he fastens his seatbelt.

"Yeah." You purse your lips to think. "Would you be alright with that?"

"We are soulmates. The universe obviously has something planned."

"Then what if we're romantic soulmates?"

"Then I suppose we would have to try." Damian pulls out of the parking garage, handing the guard his ticket, driving off. "Are you against it?"

"Oh, definitely not." You smile. "There is no downside for me."

"Not even the public's eye?"

"I've been scrutinized by my family my whole life." You smile. "I blew all my excess scholarship money on travelling because I wanted to meet my soulmate."

"Where did you go?"

"I went to Palestine, Israel, dropped by at Dubai, Egypt, and then my friends and I drove from Istanbul all the way to Western Europe." You count on your fingers. "I had a lot of people greet us first and then notice the writing on my wrist. The emerald green really stands out. I hadn't expected..." Your voice trails off, eyes staring into his, Damian unable to stare back because of the road. "I hadn't expected your eyes to match so nicely. They're breathtaking."

"Do you speak to everyone like this?"

"No." You hum, looking back outside your window. "But I have been told I have a way with words."

"Yeah?" He stops at the red light, turning to stare at your eyes. "I wonder what your eyes look like under the sun."

"Weren't you staring at them a couple days ago?" You pull out your phone.

"That wasn't directly under the sun." He mumbles, starting the car again.

"Do you speak to everyone like this?"

"No." He breathes. "Just to you."

You try to fight the warmth spreading up your neck to your cheeks, failing miserably as you resort to hiding your face in your hand for the rest of the ride.

"Is there any specific thing we need to do?"

"My brothers mentioned that we need our words scanned, but that was it." He hums. "You have your passport and license, correct?"

"Yeah." You hum. "Is that all I need?"

"Yes." He grabs a ticket and drives down to park, the two of you getting out of his car. "Come on." He leads the way, eyes pining down the paparazzi immediately. You glance in the direction he glared, only for him to move to block you from their view. The two of you make it into the building quicker, the elevator door closing behind the two of you.

"That was?"

"Paparazzi." He fishes out his phone, making a call." Yes. May we head up immediately? We will be there."

You blink as he presses the top floor, and for a second, you understand what it's like to live as a billionaire. A single phone call puts you at priority. You shift uncomfortably when the two of you arrive at the top floor, following Damian as he steps into the mayor's room, letting you sit down first.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne." He smiles, and you detect the lack of sincerity on his face immediately. Rather, the fake smile causes you to sit straighter, a smile lacking equal truth making its way onto your face. Damian shakes the mayor's hand, sitting down as well. "What brings you here?"

"Brought my soulmate to get our mark registered." He hums. "You have all my documents, so this should be quick, correct?"

"Of course. We just need both of your words scanned, and then the soulmate's legal documents — You're quite pretty."

You smile at him, laughing lightly. "Thank you. Here's the passport."

"Not a Gotham born, eh?"

"Nope. Moved here for work."

"Do you plan on staying?"

"Well, since my soulmate is here, I don't think moving is that big of a priority right now." You hum.

"May we have your wrist?"

You hold your wrist out, scanner registering the words, and Damian does the same, your words both popping up on the screen.

"What are the characters?"

"Arabic." Your smile turns sweet, bright, even, and the words come tumbling past your lips, like you had been proud to have those as your words your whole life, holding them dear to your heart. Damian's heart stutters in his chest at how enamored you look.

"Was the "woah" first or second?" The mayor turns to ask Damian.

"After. I had read the characters, and the only reaction I was given was "Woah."" Damian hums. "Are we finished?"

"Yes." The mayor laughs. "It's very much a romantic soulmate. Have the two of you..?"

"Not yet." Damian hums, standing up, holding his hand out for you. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor."

"Pleasure's all mine, Mr. Wayne. I hope to see the both of you at the Wayne gala later this year."

Damian leads you back to the elevator, music filling the air as the two of you stand there in silence.

"When would you like our first date to be?" Damian steps to the side, turning to look at you.

"Oh, um." You frown. "I'm not sure. I'd go, but I already submitted my leave for the weekend. My friend and her soulmate are getting married."

Damian raises a brow. "Not here?"

"They're getting married in the Maldives." You laugh awkwardly. "Her soulmate is loaded."

"More than me?" Damian raises a brow playfully.

"Well, loaded in the millionaire way." You smile. "Not billionaire."

"Do you have a date? Should I go with you?"

"Oh." You pause. "I could bring you, huh?" You press your fingers to your lips, pursing them. "I put down a plus one because I was expecting to bring another friend... I suppose it could be you."

"Did you put down a name?"

"No. They do not have a seating chart."

"Mm." He pauses. "is it too fast?"

"No, no!" You smile. "I'll send you the details... via email?" You grimace at how strange it sounds.

"May I have your phone? I can give you my number."

"Yes." You fish it out for him as he hands you his phone. You type your name in, typing habibti under company. You text yourself as he does with himself. The two of you trade phones back, and you send Damian the packing list and details of the wedding immediately. Damian scrolls through the list, pausing.

"Is there a specific invitation I am required to bring?"

"I have both. I will bring them." You smile. "Any other questions?"

The elevator stops at parking, and Damian leads you out. You make a beeline for the car this time, texting your friend to confirm the guest you would be bringing. She asks you if it's your soulmate, and you tell her to check the Gotham Gazette in the morning. She sends you a flurry of texts.

"Will our soulmate bond get leaked?"

"Perhaps by the paparazzi. Why?"

"I'd like for it to be a good photo of me."

"I will let my publicist know."

You check the news the next morning, beaming at how good you look in the photo. Damian looks protective of you, and as you rush to your lab in the morning, your heart is warm. You're glad he has a good eye for that, at the very least. The groupchat explodes with people looking for you, asking if it was true your soulmate was Damian, your friend private texting you to check if your guest was Damian. You only respond to your friend, confirming his attendance. She tells you she expects an expensive gift out of you, and you snort. You joke about relaying her message to Damian.

You tuck everything away as you get back to your experiment.

The end of the day comes quickly, and as you close the lab for the night, you blink when you stare at Damian at the door. You click on your phone, checking to see if you had missed any messages from him, but nothing appears. You raise a brow as you open the door with all of your stuff. "Something wrong, Mr. Wayne?"

"Damian is fine." He nods. "I was wondering what I should bring for your friend's wedding."

"Mm," You frown. "I was going to bring her a nice bottle of wine from one of my travels, but I'm sure you have something much better than that in the winehouse at your place."

"We do. We have a screaming eagle cabernet from the 90s."

"Woah." You blink. "That sounds like a lot. Isn't that like 500k?"

"We have multiple bottles." He insists. "I can bring one."

You grimace. "If you insist."

"It can be our gift. From the both of us."

"The tabloids have already started calling me a gold digger." You laugh.

"My publicist will take care of that. I will have father get you one."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He hums. "Where do you live? I can drive you home."

"Um." You give him your address. It takes him a moment to figure out where you live, and then the two of you are off.

"I will send someone for you tomorrow," He hums. "We can take the private jet. I already got your tickets refunded."

"Oh. Wow." You blink at him in awe. "That's really kind. Thank you."

"No worries." He hums. "You should get used to it."

"Do all your brothers spoil their soulmates like that?"

"Grayson, the eldest," Damian grumbles. "worships the ground his soulmate steps on. Todd does the same, though less obvious about it. Drake's known his soulmate forever so the two of them click too well. Duke and his soulmate are platonic soulmates, but the two of them get along far better than we do as a family. Steph and Cass both have not found their soulmates and father..." he pauses. "father and his soulmate are... an interesting two."

"So your family all spoil their soulmates?"

"There is nothing out of reach with the amount of money we have. It is not spoiling if we are simply letting them get whatever they want because it is not a burden on us financially." Damian takes a turn. "We do not consider it spoiling."

"That's sweet." You smile. "How big were their rings?"

"Grayson's soulmate got the biggest diamond in existence. None of us could believe our eyes." Damian hums. "How big of a diamond would you want?"

"I'd like you to hand make a ring for me." You grin. "Of course, if you don't have time, I want something the color of your eyes to match my soulmate mark."

"Why not both?" He stops at the door to your apartment.

"How about you?" You open the door, tilting your head at him.

"Whatever color your eyes are."

You hate how good he is with his words.

Damian drives home, your words in the back of his mind. A handmade ring. Maybe you'd be willing to wear his name on your skin if he makes you a ring with a gem the color of his eye. Though, he'd be rushing. Even if his skin burned to touch you and his heart raced to be held by you, he did not wish to rush it. Messing up with you was far scarier than getting hurt during patrol.

He texts the family chat that he would be using the jet the next day, to which Dick had asked eagerly where he was going. Damian leaves him on read. He finds you at the door in the morning the next day, taking your suitcase from you as you yawn.

"Did you have breakfast yet?"

You blink at him, rubbing your eyes. "No. Do you have food?"

"You can have some of Grayson's cereal."

You blink harder as he hands you a bowl with the cereal and milk, and you stare at the cereal brand.

"Wow. The amount of sugar in this could kill someone."

"Some days I wish it were enough to kill Grayson."

You pour out a little bit of the cereal, pouring the milk in, and then dig in. You read the ingredients as Damian goes upstairs, pulling his own luggage down the stairs, meeting you back in the kitchen when you finish. You clean the dishes, setting them to the side as Damian comes to get you.

"You did not need to wash the dishes."

"I didn't want to leave a mess." You reason.

"It's fine. We're leaving now. You ready?"

"Yeah." You grin. "Is takeoff rough?"

"It's very smooth." He hums. "I gave the pilot the address and everything already. We land in around three hours."

"Alright." You hum.

The jet, plane, was huge. You blink in surprise at the size as Damian leads you up the steps, and you blink quietly. "Woah."

"Surprised?"

"What's the use of having such a large plane? Isn't the carbon footprint huge?"

"We usually fly first class, but I figured since your friends all wanted to see what kind of a person you were dating, I shouldn't be stingy." Damian hums.

"There's really no need." You laugh.

"Also, more privacy." He hums. "I figured you deserve to know what kind of life I live outside of the tabloids."

You tilt your head at him. "Are you going to tell me you're Batman or something?"

The plane door shuts behind him, and he exhales.

"Robin."

Your eyes widen, lips pursing, surprise on your face.

"Is that too much too quick?"

"No." You pause. "No. That's. That's actually kind of hot."

Damian raises a brow.

"Are you still Robin? Because I think—"

"No," Damian shakes his head. "I run around with another name now, already graduated from the title, but I thought I would tell you since."

"Yeah." You exhale. "What about the weekend?"

"Todd and Drake are here. There is no need to fret."

"So your whole family is in on the business?"

"Yes."

"Wow." You mumble. "That's..."

Damian braces himself for the worst. He doesn't know why, your face is far from disgusted or terrified, but he still does. Maybe you would reject him or tell him to stop. That would be a nightmare.

"And you like doing it?"

"Yes." He raises a brow.

"Um, please don't come back to me dead. Ever. Please." You scratch your cheek. "If you like doing it, then I won't stop you. I'd just prefer you don't die on the job."

"Do not worry. If I were to die, my mother would simply drop me into the Lazarus pit." Damian jokes.

"That's some lore drop there." You blink. "That's real?"

"Yes." He raises a brow. "For the same reason my grandfather is immortal, by the same logic, so would I."

"Woah." You mumble. "I heard rumors of it when I was travelling. I didn't know it existed."

"Fountain of youth."

"Is that why you look so good?"

"No." He shakes his head. "I take care of myself."

"I don't doubt that." You smile.

"And you?"

"I told you I travel." You nod. "Oh, it might be good to tell you about the friend getting married."

You tell him details about how the two of you met, telling him about your other friends at the same time, mumbling about how you thought her soulmate was actually an asshole just from the way he treated her friends, and then casually mentioning his name, Damian blinking.

"Do you know him?"

"Drake has done business with his family before."

"His family's a nightmare. The only reason I'm going is because my friend is an angel. I wouldn't go for any other reason."

Damian finds peace in the way your voice floods his senses, gathering intel on your friends, understanding who he had to avoid and who he could make small talk with. He had a feeling he'd know a couple of the people there from the groom's side, and from the way you talked about him, it wouldn't be pleasant if they found out he was your soulmate. Despite that, he finds that there is no need to worry too much. You were close to the bride's side. That's all that seemed to matter to you. You pause at some point, almost as if you were thinking of something.

"Something wrong?"

"We brought the wine, right?"

"Yes. I had the servants bring it."

"Alright." You mumble. "I'm not looking forward to what the groom has to say to me about you."

"I will stay next to you the whole time. My publicist will deal with everything."

"Speaking of which, who is your publicist?"

Damian smiles. "Grayson's soulmate."

"Ahhh." You laugh. That checks out.

There's not much jetlag when the two of you land, and you stare at the afternoon sun through your shades, hand held up. It's nice and warm, a contrast to the spring weather in Gotham. Damian leads you to the car, making a call as he does, handing you the tablet for you to choose which suite to get upgraded to.

"Are we sharing a bed?" You blink at him.

"We can order a room with two beds if you'd like."

"Would that be rude?"

"Not at all."

Damian finds that you've selected a room with a king bed instead, noticing the way your ears were flushed as you stared out the window. He confirms with the hotel on the call, putting the charge on his father's card. He wondered if you would call this spoiling. His brothers had told him that his soulmate deserved the best treatment, and Damian couldn't really tell what they had meant. He never lived a normal life. He wasn't sure if his normal was their best or if there was something better that he could give them. He opts for staring at your face instead, taking in your features.

"The upgrade." He swallows. "It is alright, right?"

"Yes." You smile at him. "It's more than okay. Thank you, a lot."

"The best, for you." He mumbles.

The two of you settle into the hotel room. Damian glances at the clothes you bring, exhaling quietly to himself when he realizes he brought a decent palette of clothes. The wedding's theme was lavender, and he was starting to get worried that he wouldn't be able to match with you at all, but he's happy to find that you've got colors similar to his.

"Do I need to call you anything?"

"It'd be funny if you call me habibti," You grin. "The bride is a friend from when I first got my soulmate mark. She was there when we tried searching up what the word on my wrist meant."

"Ah. You go back a long time."

"A very long time." You smile. "What was it like for you? Seeing your soulmate mark?"

"My family was in my room at midnight, including my mother, and everyone groaned when I got the most generic word ever. They thought I would never find my soulmate. Todd joked that my soulmate must be blown away by my face." He hums in amusement, noticing you avert your gaze. "I still owe him twenty. Dick's soulmate word was "hello" and only Drake had something remotely entertaining."

"What was it? If you don't mind me asking." You blink at him.

"I quote "We should get married." It was quite the sentence." Damian chuckles.

"That sounds funny." Your lips pull up into a smile. "I had a friend get "we should fuck" as their first sentence. Then I found out my best friend at the time had "Yo." as theirs."

"Did you like your first line?"

"I did." You beam at him, unclasping the clip for your suitcase. "I loved it. When my father told me it meant darling or my love in Arabic, I was elated. I thought my soulmate would be the most romantic man in the world, and I was ecstatic."

"Am I?" Damian raises a brow as you pull out a dress.

"Yes." Your smile stretches impossibly wider. "I'm very happy."

"I'm happy to hear that. What's the dress code for tonight?"

"You brought a polo, right? Rich boy, old money vibes. Polo shirt and khakis."

"Got it." He nods. "What color will you be wearing?"

"Everything I brought is some variation of the color palette for the wedding," You hum. "I'll be wearing this."

"I am sure you'll look dashing in it, habibti." He smiles.

You flush at the word, hiding your face in your dress.

"Is it too much?"

"No." You smile at him. "Just enough. I'll get used to it."

Damian wonders what kind of friends you had at seven. Yet, he finds himself blinking in surprise when the two of you arrive at the event.

"Woah, he's an item..." Your friend's jaw drops, patting your shoulders gently. "Damian Wayne? Pleasure to meet you. I'm your soulmate's best friend."

"No, I am." Another friend butts in.

"You're all wrong." The bride scoffs playfully. "I am."

Damian nods at them.

"We'll bring the gift tomorrow at the wedding." You smile at the bride, rushing off with them as Damian heads over to the side, making small talk with who he assumed the groom was. He finds himself with his eyes on you the whole night, only sparing glances at the people he was talking to when you would stare back at him. You look pretty. He understands why his brothers had clicked with their soulmates so quickly now. He excuses himself at some point, pressing his chest to your back, hand resting on your waist.

"Having fun? That's your second margarita, not to mention your cocktails."

You grin at him, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. "It's actually my fourth."

"I think that is enough." He hums. "There's still a dinner."

"I can hold my alcohol." You mumble, and Damian takes the glass from your hand, downing the whole thing in one gulp. You blink at him, wide-eyed. "Woah."

"Let's get you seated, hm? Dinner starts soon. Cocktail hour is for after the dinner."

"Can I bring a drink to our room later?" You mumble.

"Yes." He excuses the two of you from the bride, settling down where your names were put, and he presses a patch into your skin, rubbing your arm as he waits for the neutralizer to course through your system. He probably should have asked if you were okay with it, but he has one on himself, so it's not like he was actively trying to drug you. You turn your head when you notice him rubbing the patch onto your skin, mind clearing a little.

"What is that?"

"Neutralizer. It helps with filtering alcohol."

"Oh, it works." You grin at him. "Thank you."

"Of course. I have one in my arm too."

"That sure explains why you didn't pass out from the sheer glasses of champagne you were having." You mumble.

"Who's at our table?"

"Two other girls and their soulmates. The two girls that were next to the bride and I earlier."

"Alright." He hums, letting his hand fall down to your side, staring at you as you wave your friends over. "Any exes?"

"Nope. I didn't date anyone that didn't greet me with what was on my wrist. It was pretty easy, considering that most people are ignorant. I also kept a bracelet around my wrist for the most part." You smile. "You?"

"Two. Maybe. I do not know if they count. I hooked up with them while..."

"In costume?"

"yeah."

You shrug, starting a conversation with your friend instead, catching up with her. Damian listens briefly, eyes focused on you instead, enamored with you. He's hopeless, he decides. He has no saving grace from you. He doesn't get to make fun of his brothers anymore, not when he was just like them. Your friends take notice of it, smiling when he notices their gaze. You're loved. Just from the way your friends had smiled at him and then at you, you're loved. He understands why. It'd be hard not to love you.

You excuse yourself early, exhaustion from the plane setting in late, Damian helping you up and leading the two of you back. You let the bride know with a hand on her back, and she shoos you away playfully, mumbling about how you should use protection. You sigh dramatically, telling her you'd make her an aunt on purpose. It was a joke from the way you had said it, but Damian wonders if you'd actually want kids of your own — shit, his brain was moving fast. He barely knows you.

"Were you actually tired?"

"Any longer and you would've seen how embarrassing my friends get when drunk." You mumble. "Embarassing bunch."

"How embarrassing?" He raises a brow. "My brothers are a nightmare when drunk as well."

"They won't shut up." You press your keycard on the lock. "About me."

"They love you a lot."

"They do." You turn to smile at Damian. "And I love them too, even if they don't shut up about my embarrassing stories when drunk. They're probably embarrassing the bride instead though."

"That would make more sense."

"They kept trying to get people to read the writing on my wrist last time." You hum. "That was after grad."

"So recently."

"Yeah. No one was able to read it." You laugh. "And the ones who could, they didn't say it to me. They called my friends habibti."

"You do not say it with an accent." Damian notices. "Habibti."

"Huh?" You pause while rummaging for your sleepwear. "Oh, yeah. I... my parents got me an Arabic teacher for a little while because I wanted to learn when I first got my mark. I've also visited... a lot of the countries? In part it's because I'd repeat the word to myself until I feel asleep until like..." You avert your gaze, going back to your suitcase. Damian notices you start flushing. "end of high school?"

"Ten years?" Damian exhales. "You whispered your word to yourself before bed for ten years?"

"Yeah." You finally find your pajamas in the baggage. "A little bit of a hopeless romantic, huh?"

Damian doesn't answer you, staring into your eyes instead, unmoving, barely blinking.

"Is it that bad?"

Damian breaks from his trance. "No. Not at all. It's..." endearing — but he can't say that, so he offers you a nod instead. He curses himself for the lack of game when it came to you, but as you rush to change in the bathroom, he sighs. It's hopeless. He's enamored. He understands why you had stared up at him with your pupils blown wide and lips parted upon first meeting. He does the same now, staring down at you like you were his everything, even if he knew barely anything about you outside of what you had told him. Well, he could always ask Drake to hack and gather intel on you. But it'd be a breach of privacy that he didn't want to cross with you. Ugh.

He pushes his hair back in frustration, opting for clearing his mind with work instead. Even if he had taken the weekend off with you, he should really do something that isn't thinking of all the ways he'd have your skin pressed to his at night — no, fuck. Damian opens his laptop, clicks on his VPN and the wifi, sorting through the emails from the WE teams instead. He barely notices the sound of the bathroom door opening and you step out with your sleepwear on. At some point, Tim texts him to get off his emails and enjoy the time with you, threatening to bench him. Damian grimaces, wondering how he could get benched in a company situation, but he doesn't argue back. He was trying to avoid talking to you, after all.

You're in bed on your phone, scrolling through something.

"What are you looking at?" Damian settles on his side of the bed.

"I'm watching my friend's wedding tiktoks." You smile, rolling over to show him. "The preparation ones. She's going to make more tomorrow."

Damian hums. "Can I put an arm around your waist? My arm..."

"Yeah." You grin. "You can touch me."

Damian's breath catches in his throat at how straightforward you are, arm wrapping around your torso slowly, resting his chin on your head, glancing down at your phone.

"Do you think about weddings?"

You close your phone, plugging it back in on the strand, settling yourself in Damian's arms. "Sometimes."

"What kind do you want?"

"I want your name on my skin at the wedding," You mumble, eyes already closed.

"Like bridal henna?"

"Mhm."

Damian struggles to sleep the whole night because of your words. Though, it's not like he's gone without sleep before. Instead, he spends the night matching his breathing to yours, wrapping his arms tighter around you, taking in the scent of your shampoo. At some point his eyes close, body betraying him and falling to the need. He wakes up to you shifting in his arms, turning around to get a look at his face better, lashes blinking on his skin, eyes staring up at him, sun reflecting in them.

Damian's breath hitches, and in his morning stupor, he rests his forehead on yours, staring into your eyes, nose touching yours, the love of the universe in the way he looks at you. His shoulders relax as he continues looking, sure that his pupils have expanded beyond repair, utterly enamored with how you looked in the morning. His arms squeeze around your waist affectionately, moving to bury his head into the crook of your neck, exhaling as he does.

"Good morning." He feels you smile.

"Good morning to you too, habibti." He mumbles back, smile mirroring yours, he's sure.

The wedding moves without too big of an issue, the two of you bring the wine and leave it at the gift table, Damian sits next to you the whole time, watching as you get the bouquet practically launched at you, catching it with a flinch, chasing after the bride with the bouquet as a weapon, messing up your hair in the meantime but getting a laugh out of it. Damian stands to the side, talking only briefly with the groom's family, introducing himself as your soulmate, not Damian Wayne. He was yours first before he was a businessman now. Yours. It rings nicely in his head. He was yours. He would be fine with that — being yours.

At some point you return to Damian's side, sighing with the bouquet in hand.

"When's our wedding?" You joke, putting the bouquet on the table.

"It'll take a while." Damian hums, smoothing out your hair for you. "We still have to date and get engaged."

"I should've dodged."

"You wouldn't have been able to. Your friend did it on purpose." Damian mumbles, finishing with your hair.

"Is it alright?"

"Yes." He presses his lips to your forehead. "You look great, habibti."

You smile at him, the moon behind you this time.

"When do we fly?"

"I booked the plane for tomorrow." Damian hums. "We can sleep in."

"Oh, bless." You grumble. "The shoes are killing me."

"Would you like mine?" He offers. "Or would you like for me to carry you back?"

You pause, glancing at the emptier hall.

"I wouldn't dare let you take off your shoes for me." You smile at him.

"Sit, please," and you do, settling down as Damian gets on a knee, slipping your heels from your feet, holding onto them with one hand, the other hooking under your knees as he tells you to wrap your arms around his neck. You yelp as he does, and you wave bye to the bride as he settles you in his arms bridal style, your arms around his neck for support as he holds onto your shoes.

"Please don't drop me." You mumble.

"I wouldn't dare." He steps toward the elevator, pressing your floor as you pull the room card out from your pocket. (you had shown him before, with a spin, that your dress had pockets. Damian made a note to remember you liked them.)

He sets you on bed, loosening his tie and placing your heels down by your shoes, taking off his blazer to hang up in the closet. He watches you shimmy out of the dress, naked form to his eyes, breath catching in his throat at the way the moonlight illuminates your skin. He doesn't move, watching as you pull the robe from next to him, body on autopilot as you step into the showers. He'd wash up after you, unbuttoning his shirt and ditching his pants, sorting through his own luggage to find a change of clothes.

You open the door to the bathroom, robe on, blinking at his bare back.

"You're built like a wall." You blurt.

"Am I?" Damian hums.

"Does this come with your family or something? All of you are HUGE." You rub the towel through your hair.

"I suppose it does." Damian stands up, change of clothes in hand. "It's also from the training."

"For night?" You try your best to be vague. Damian appreciates it.

"Yes." He nods. "Would you like to see when we get back?"

"Sure." You grin. "Is it big?"

"It's a cave." Damian closes the door to the bathroom.

"Woah." You mumble. "Wild."

You settle yourself in the bed, back on your phone, yawning as you respond to a couple texts, scrolling through your email, checking the CCTV footage of the experiment you were doing. You had someone checking to see if the experiment was working, and from what they had told you, everything had replicated perfectly. You let out a sigh of relief when you found out. It would be fine. You'd finish with it, and then you'd retire somewhere with the money promised you in the contract. You worked hard for the moment.

You feel the bed dip behind you.

"Looking at the updates?"

"The experiment is moving faster than before." You mumble. "I should be able to report to your father in around a week."

"And then?"

You blink. "Not sure. I was thinking of finding a high rise to live in."

"Not with me?" Damian wraps his arms around you, getting comfortable.

"Don't you still live in the manor?"

"It's comfortable there." He mumbles. "I also have an empty apartment of my own. Would you like to move there?"

"Would you move in with me?" You turn to face him, phone on the nightstand.

"If you'd like."

"Yes, please," You grin. "If you'd like."

"Then I'd love to." He mumbles, reaching over you to close the light.

Damian takes you to the Batcave first, having the servants take your stuff to the apartment without asking you, adjusting the grandfather clock and letting you inside the cave, shutting it behind him. The two of you arrive right before patrol, and you get to meet all of his siblings. All of them. Even Nightwing.

"Who's this?"

"Soulmate." Tim doesn't bother looking at you, pressing his mask on. "Showing her around already? And you call us whipped."

"Shut up, Drake." Damian spits.

"Are you on duty tonight?"

"We take turns." Damian hums.

"Are any of these liquids active?" You stare at the tubes.

"Those two are for Ivy when she attacks. Less these days, but she occasionally strikes us with sex pollen for fun. Those are neutralizers. That one's for Scarecrow's fear toxin, and that one—"

You nod along as Damian explains everything to you, waving at his siblings as they head off for patrol.

"Are you tomorrow?"

"Yes." He hums. "Did you want to come along?"

"That's too dangerous." Batman speaks up, and you pause.

"Mr. Wayne." You smile politely. "Didn't peg you to be the type to run around to try and fix crime."

"Desperate times call for desperate situations." He chuckles. "Damian, take care of her. The computer is off limits."

"Yes, father." Damian nods as he disappears too.

"Who's on patrol tomorrow?"

"Father goes every night, and then tomorrow is Spoiler, Orphan, Signal, and I."

"SOS..." You mumble quietly. "Sors. Ross. Ross."

Damian raises a brow.

"Your names." You smile. "You would be team Ross."

"If that makes you happy." He leads you back up the stairs.

"Do you have an intercom?"

"Oracle. She works every night."

"Is she a sibling?"

"No. She used to be Batgirl."

"mm." You nod slowly. "Oh, it's late, huh? I should probably head home."

"You can stay here for the night. I had the servants send your luggage to my apartment. I can drive the two of us to work tomorrow." Damian shuts the clock behind the two of you.

"You have the same hours as us?"

"Yes."

"Speaking of which, how come you and Tim don't go to work together?"

"Tim does not live in the manor. He lives with his soulmate." He leads you to his room. "This is my room. Make yourself comfortable."

You mumble something under your breath about how big the bed is before you head over to the bathroom to wash up. "Are there pajamas I can borrow?" You peek from the door.

"I'll leave them on the bed." He pulls a shirt and clean boxers from his closet, setting them on the bed, settling at his desk, reading through what he would be meeting about the next day. He had hoped Tim would've taken care of the meetings over the weekend, but he supposes he can't avoid everything. It's painfully boring. The meetings are always boring.

"Whatcha looking at?" You come out with a towel in your hair, maneuvering his shirt onto you, putting on his boxers. It's a size too big, and you have to use a hair tie to keep it in place.

"I have a meeting tomorrow."

You shudder. "I don't miss having meetings."

"Did you intern somewhere else?"

"I interned in England for a bit." You lean over his shoulder, staring at the meeting details. "Oh, on the product."

"Yes, the new birth control we're trying to release. The injection."

"It would be helpful. I can't say blocking hormones is good for the body." You mumble. "Does it work on males?"

"We're releasing both versions."

"That's good." You mumble. "It'd be really helpful."

"Dick's soulmate made us read through the entire list of possible side effects of birth control and scared us half to death." Damian hums. "Even father."

"I read through it once."

"Do you take birth control?"

"Nope. Never slept with anyone, didn't plan on sleeping with people." You shrug. "You?"

Damian pauses. "I haven't either."

"Oh, really?" You mumble. "You've dated before."

"Hooked up." He corrects. "I always felt bad after kissing."

You laugh. "That was the universe telling you no."

"Perhaps." He shrugs. "Let's get to bed."

You barely see Damian after that, the two of you busy with your own affairs in the company, busy with moving your stuff into the apartment outside of work. Damian drives you home and helps you with the boxes, but the two of you don't have substantial conversation. Even when you finish the trials and present everything to the board, Damian doesn't get to have a moment with you, invitations to speak at colleges and other locations flooding into your mail. Damian finally catches you as you finish moving into the apartment.

"Habibti." He breathes, arms wrapping around your shoulders, head resting on your head. "I was looking for you."

"You could've called." You smile at him, voice muffled by his chest.

"You were not answering."

"My bad." You wiggle to loosen his arms, smile on your face. "Bruce transferred the money to my account. I'll be taking a break for a bit before I go speak at all those invitations."

"I am going to retire." He grumbles. "I never get to see you."

"We live together." You grin. "You get to see me every day now."

"Not enough." He mumbles. "I will leave Drake to deal with the family business."

"You're needed, you know? They need you for all the charity you guys do now." You pat his chest gently. "All of the animal shelters you volunteer at too."

"Would you like to visit one with me? There's an event tomorrow at the shelter to bring a friend."

"Oh, so I'm just a friend to you?" You tilt your head at him playfully.

"A friend," He presses a kiss to the corner of your left eye. "Habibti," He presses another kiss to the corner of your right eye. "And my soulmate." He rests his forehead on yours, hands on your face, eyes on your lips. "May I?"

You press your lips to his in response.

You're a work of art. Damian finds himself with an arm around your waist much more than he could have ever thought, his own life mingled with yours to the point of no return. You meant so much to him. You were the world to him. Fingers laced with yours at events, lips pressed to your hair in the rays of the morning sun, there was little to complain about and everything to be grateful for. His own little ray of the sun to make his life a little better.

Which is why he finds himself checking for the quality of the diamond, discussing the price of the gem with the dealer, running it through tests just to make sure it was the best. The emeralds he picks are hand-selected too, calling his mother as she teaches him how to discern between the good ones and bad ones. You were still yet to meet her, but for some reason, she had not asked questions, only wishing him luck on the proposal. It would take a while between everything he had on his hands.

"You've been coming back later these days." You hum, resting your head on his chest.

"My apologies, habibti," He mumbles. "I've been busy."

"Even on the nights you don't patrol?"

"Yes." He mumbles. "I am not cheating, if you are worried."

"I wouldn't think of it." You close your eyes. "I trust you."

"I love you, a lot." He whispers, wrapping his fingers around your ring finger.

"I love you too." You mumble back, curling the finger.

Damian struggles with the first two prototypes, fingers too rough against the metal, groaning as he fails again, the jeweler only laughs affectionately, assuring him he would be fine. He tries again and again until the mold comes out how he wants it to look, the gold chosen so that it wouldn't rust. The chances of you wearing your engagement ring while working were rare, but he still wanted to guarantee that it would not rust quickly. You deserved the world, and he'd make sure of it, even in something as simple as the ring he would give you.

On his seventh try, he gets a mold that leaves him satisfied. He had gotten your ring finger fitted before on top of his nightly routine of wrapping his fingers around it, and he was sure it would fit. The gems arrive cut out perfectly, the green diamond compared to his eyes by Dick and his brothers' soulmates a hundred times, assuring him that the color matched his eyes perfectly. Damian almost got his eyes color matched had it not been Bruce himself stepping in, assuring him that it matched his eyes well. The emeralds would match his eyes in different lighting. He was fine. Only then did Damian let the jeweler settle the diamonds into the ring, making sure that the gems wouldn't just tumble out. Not that he didn't trust the jeweler — he was worried it'd fall out on accident — alright, he doesn't trust the jeweler.

On the day the ring was completed, Damian had checked it under the light, mumbling to himself about how he hoped you like it. He had made it by hand as you told him you wanted him to, and the gems were all hand selected and picked to match his eyes. You'd be happy with it no matter what he gives you as an engagement ring, he's sure, but he had held your words close to his heart. You deserved an engagement ring you had dreamed of as a child. On the inside of the band, habibti is written in Arabic, a reminder of your soulmate bond, his heart full.

"You're home on time for once!" You beam, throwing your arms around his neck.

"I missed you, habibti." He mumbles, arms wrapped around your waist.

"I made dinner for us since you promised you'd be home today." You pull him along.

As he follows you, the ring in his back pocket feels lighter, your fingers curled around his, lips pulled into a dazzling smile.

He's yours.

From the known past to the unpredictable future, he was yours, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

#Bro damian reading shoujo manga was not on my bingo card while looking for headers for him I'm kinda laughing at this #damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian x reader #damian wayne imagines #recently I rediscovered the imagines tag that was kinda fun to know #☾.fics

[n3ptoonz]

BEGGING you to make more sub mk men content 😭 they're always dom in all the other hc's and it's refreshing to see something that's my cup of tea lol

oh? like this? throws this post behind me like a bouquet toss earthrealm guys here

mk1 hcs: how the outworld guys react to you riding them

y'all sure do love headcanons LMFAOO

i always try my best for most of the outworld cast cause i'm truly an earthrealm girly, but i got yall. yall really challenge me 😵‍💫

suggestive/mature content below the cut

Shang Tsung

This sly mf. He thought when you suggested riding, he'd be the one watching you writhe, but it's quite the opposite. Little did you know it was all an act. A fib; fairytale. He wants power, of course, but in the bedroom it's entirely different

Nothing will get him to submit fast than treating him like a common harlot. He's in desperate need of hair pulling, degradation, maybe even act like you're trying to kill him. He's into that shit! He's an aggressive man, so he should be treated as such

I'm talking fully dog this man out while you ride him. It'll drive him mad and make him crave it. Hell, slap him around and call him names and his gasps, groans, and deep whimpers will clear the air in no time! If you add small weapons to the mix or like a role play thing it's ON

He's literally the meme "don't bully me i'll cum" so do with that what you will!

Rain

Rain sexy ass...OOF. That smug "i am a demigod" attitude is punted out the window when you ride him. One single stroke of his hair and a caress of the jaw and just like that he's a slut!

Give him praises. He wouldn't handle degradation too well. On the outside he appears to have his shit together and doesn't have a care in the world about anybody else but his studies (and you), but he likes to be taken care of

If you want to be rougher or if he asks you to, really just pull his hair/give him love bites. idk it might just be me but i just wanna bite him sooo we're gonna say he likes bites! He's also super handsy but mostly when he's close

He's not very vocal but when he is i can see him as the kinda man that like...purrs, if that makes sense? If it don't i say he's a grunter and from groan city: population him

Reiko

Reiko has a hard time being submissive, but you just make it a little easier for him. You kinda have to coax him into it before every time you get intimate because he's made it clear he can do both and wants to try submitting more to the person he loves

It was your suggestion after a long time away for a mission. Poor dude was stressed da hell out! He's like Rain, a sucker for praise. Now that i'm really picturing it he'd prob be down to smother his face into your chest cause like, that's hot to him

When he's feeling particularly spicy definitely tie him down so he can't pull free no matter how much brute strength he uses. Hold his face and never break eye contact, he's all yours! If you call him any name that has the word "strong" in it he's like puddy in your hands

Prime grunt man here. He ain't whimpering unless you deny him of something, even then it goes from a coarse tone to soft

General Shao

Siiggghhhh 🙄 Shao likes the riding position the most. That's all thanks for coming to my Ted talk

LOL JUST KIDDING😹 He would appear like he's incapable of submission but like, this is YOU we're talking about. And he'd do anything for you. Literally.

A little birdy told me he loves when you grab his horns. Grab his horns. Grab them and make him look at you. This unbreakable wall of man yearns to be conquered by someone like you. Someone who dared to challenge him and never back down? By the Gods he has a breeding knk whether you can have kids or not. oh yeah, he'd beg. plead. he's gasping for air like pls just don't stop riding him LMAO he needs his mind off taking the throne for a few hours

whimpering little bitch which eventually turn into growls and grunts. takes a bow

Reptile

Syzoth is so subby I literally cannot picture him dominating a soul. Ashrah got that man on hold fr but anyway this about you

Typa dude to tear up when you ride him. You just look so damn good, and you make him feel so damn good. Dizzy eyes that he can barely keep open; I feel like he'd go brain numb from how fast he feels pleasure

I'm talking like because he's not originally human he's more sensitive. Now hear me out guys...two dicks....AHEM. DONT SHOOT THE MESSENGER!! Both his dicks are very sensitive OHHHHHHHHH Reduce him to a sobbing, stuttering, gasping, mess. He needs it, wants it, loves it. It's up to you if you'd ride him in his og form ya nasty. He'd also have a tendency to leave bite marks on you like your chest, neck, and shoulders

Mister whimper over here there's nothing else he does but whimper and cry jesus almighty somebody give this man a HUG (hug him while you fuck him dumb/busts)

Havik

Banging my head against the wall rn lemme tap in...ok we here let's go.

Another kombatant who peruses power, but also very much attracted to it. He definitely likes to be dominated. He'd be into some real kinky shit too i know it. Literally all the above he don't wanna think about SHIT

He would thoroughly enjoy being completely helpless at your disposal as you ride him. He likes degradation more than praises but if you do give him the kind of praise that inflates his already massive ego. shoot down his arrogance while also maintaining it he fucking lives for it. he likes being choked or slapped too keep that in mind

This bitch growls and that's it. bro ain't got the lips to really make different sounds LMAO?? get yo fuckin dog bitch!!!

Baraka

You might be insane but we love that haha...! Monster fucker certificate checked at the door i understand i do

Absolutely no degradation here DO NOT!! Mf might start crying or give a monologue either way, steer clear. Be nice to him!!

He likes to be held, and he likes holding his partner. If this was confident Baraka from the previous timeline I'd say he likes fast and crazy over slow and romantic but that's not the case. Be immersed and in the moment with him, he clings onto the human interactions he got stripped from him 😞

Growls but that's mostly bc he deadass don't have lips either LMFAO😭

a/n: tearing my skin off rn I DID IT GUYS I DID IT TELL ME IM GREAT😎author likes praise too.

#n3ptoonz #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat #smut #mk smut #shang tsung #rain mk #rain mk1 #mk havik #reptile mk #syzoth x reader #general shao #shao khan #mk reiko #baraka x reader #shang tsung x reader #rain x reader

[fangisms]

lady may

A/N: something ab writing for an angry hufflepuff really saved my soul. she is SO valid. maybe i’m her. (also this song eats away at my brain, so i had to write ab it… naturally) gif creds: @frodo-sam

Pairings: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Grumpy!Hufflepuff!Reader

Summary: Well, he’s not the toughest hickory that your axe has ever felled // But he’s a hickory just as well 1.5k words

Warnings: fluff, cursing, two idiots very much in love, pining, angry hufflepuff, dumb/embarassed reader (lovingly), golden retriever cedric, quidditch injury mention

How could you look so beautiful drenched by the pouring rain, hovering ten meters in the air, goggles suctioned to your face, barking orders at the rest of the team like a drill sergeant? It’d always make him wonder. And midgame, that’s a silly thing to do. Which is exactly why he’s doing it.

You’re the angriest girl Cedric’s ever met. World class beater and a great captain, but you’ve got serious anger issues. The guys have started calling you boxer because you’re always on the verge of a scrap. Cedric has seen you chew out almost every position on the team. Except him. You’ve never yelled at him, you barely even look in his direction on a good day. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, he wants you to yell at him.

Well, not entirely inexplicable. Now would be the best time to mention he’s got a huge crush on you. In fact, he’s had a crush on you since you became team captain. You’ve always been pretty, but something about the title and the power really commanded his attention.

Which is precisely why he needs you to yell at him. He craves it. He’s been waiting all year for you to tell him he’s an idiot and that he’s doing everything wrong. But you won’t. And desperate times call for very desperate measures.

He’s barely dodging bludgers, not even trying for the snitch, doing party tricks in front of the stands, anything for you to glance his way. And then he goes and gets knocked off his broom. Luckily, he wasn’t too high in the air and he wasn’t flying too fast. The worst that happened was he got the wind knocked out of him. The best? You marching toward him like a sicced dog.

You kneel at his side, goggles loose around your neck as you coo, “are you okay?”

What? No, this is all wrong, you’re supposed to call him stupid, say that next time he’s off the team. Not ask if he’s okay.

Cedric nods and you help him sit up, signalling to the stadium that he’s alright. A cheer rips through the crowd.

“Can you play?” you huff, patting his back softly. He’s got butterflies.

“Yeah,” he says. When you get him on his feet, he almost wishes you won’t let go. And he suddenly remembers you’re much prettier up close, and his heart nearly gives out.

“Good sport, Diggory,” you tease, hopping back on your broom, “Back to work!”

It’d take a brain injury to get your attention.

The game goes off without a hitch: Cedric goes back to actually trying for the snitch and wins Hufflepuff the game. He’s a little disappointed he hsan’t given you anything else to be upset about. So once the celebration is over, he catches you outside of the locker rooms.

“Why didn’t you get mad at me?” Cedric asks, jogging to catch you as you head back towards the dorms. You don’t respond, but he’s sure you heard him. So he nudges your shoulder. “Come on, boxer, I’ve seen you angry, I’m prepared.”

You stop dead in your tracks, and he slows to a stop just behind you. Then you turn to face him, and he’s never seen your glare so intense.

“Listen, Diggory, you’re smart, you’ve got talent, and I trust you to perform well on this team. So I can’t for the life of me understand why you go out on that field just to dick around.”

You’re serious. Not angry, just serious. You’ve got this calm and collected tone that drives him absolutely up-the-wall insane. But he wants you to yell.

“You have plenty of adoring fans tracking your every move, you don’t have to pull dumb shit to get people to like you. You could’ve gotten yourself hurt or killed, understand? So I advise you put your team and your safety before your reputation,” you say, storming off with your bag slung over your shoulder.

And it gets him kind of worked up because obviously, he wouldn’t have done any of it if it weren’t for you. You and your stupidly selective anger issues. And your stupid smile.

“Hold on,” he hollers, still half drunk on the idea of being subject to your rage, “you think I don’t put this team at the top of all of my lists? Clearly, I love this stupid sport or I wouldn’t put so much damn time and effort into it!”

“If you love this sport, act like it.” Your jaw ticks before you march through the doorway, leaving him flustered in the mist of the courtyard.

…

He’s giving it one last go. If you won’t get angry with him, maybe he ought to just confess his feelings outright. This feels like the most rational he’s ever been. He even combed his hair extra carefully in hopes of you noticing.

Your friends quiet down when he approaches you in the mess hall, small flower pinched between his fingers, grin plastered across his face. You look a little annoyed but he’s pretty sure it’s just shock. And suddenly it feels like grade school when they all burst into giggles.

“This is for you—”

“Diggory.”

He cocks a brow. “Yeah?”

You grab the sleeve of his robes and drag him out into the hall, near slamming him into the stone wall. So much for his combed hair.

“What was that back there?” you hiss, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Well. I brought you a flower. It’s from the field—”

“I can see that!”—you’re frenzied searhcing for any possible explanation other than he has a head injury from falling—“Explain to me why.”

He looks confused and presents the flower again.“Isn’t it obvious?”

You look down at the flower. It’s small and white and looks so delicate in his hand. And you look at him. You suppose his pupils are a little extra dilated. “Are you poisoned? Or drunk?”

“No!”

You finally let go of him to gesture wildly. “Then what, Cedric—Merlin’s beard—What???”

“I brought you a flower,” he coos, tilting his head. You press two fingers to the bridge of your nose.

“Yeah, I got that part—”

“Hold on—hasn’t anyone ever given you something nice because… they like you?” Cedric hums, shuffling closer to you. Your eyes are glued to the tiny flower, but you won’t take it. Then you glare up at him.

“Is this a joke? Did the twins put you up to it?”

“No, just take the flower! I like you!” He sounds dastardly jovial, taking your wrist in one hand and presisng the flower to your palm with the other.

“What?” you scoff. Still staring down at the flower, making him wish his face was made of them so you’d look at him like that.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

And then you look at him. In the eyes. Perplexed, brows knitted, but you’re looking right at him and he could faint. Maybe it is a head injury.

“But I’m not… I’m not like…”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Well, it’s just—I’m confused because… you like pretty girls, and I’m not… that’s not what I do—am. What I am.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” he huffs.

“Cho is pretty,” you state.

“You’re pretty.”

“No, Cedric, I play quidditch. If I was pretty, I’d have a boyfriend,” you reason, shrugging your shoulders and giving him a real run for his money.

“And those things are connected… how?”

You scoff and relax a little when he puts his hands on his hips. So what if he’s incredibly handsome. So what if your friends want to see you together. So what if he’s the one person you don’t want to rip to shreds. It’s not like any of that matters. Right?

“It makes sense!” you say.

“No, it doesn’t. Can I be your boyfriend?”

“Diggory, don’t—”

“Is that a no?”

“Well, no! But you’re being rash! You’ll change your mind, and you’ll want your flower back!”

He shakes his head. “No. I gave you a flower because I think you’re very wonderful and very beautiful and I want to be your boyfriend.”

“But…”—he’s very amused by the fact that he’s made you flustered—“I sweat a lot!”

“So do I,” he chuckles, “we do play quidditch together, I hope you know.”

“Okay, okay, fine. We… argue!” you chirp.

“And you’re almost always right! Problem solved,” he says, “Now, would you be my girlfriend or do I have to get down on my knees?”

“No! I mean, yes! No, no, no knees, just… yes. I will be your girlfriend.”

Cedric smirks, taking the flower from your still open palm and tucking it behind your ear. Yesterday, he could barely say hello to you, and now he’s pulling you closer and tilting your chin up. His heart flutters when you palm his waist, and you smile when he leans a little closer.

“Are you going to kiss me?” you hum. He chuckles.

“Only if you’d like.”

You roll your eyes and smile. “Naturally.”

masterlist

#he fell first AND he fell harder #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x fem!reader #cedric diggory x female reader #cedric diggory fanfiction #cedric diggory fluff #idiots in love #fluff #fanfic #hp universe #x reader #fanfiction #x fem!reader #cedric #Spotify

[unmarlou]

work song.

pairings. percy jackson x fem!reader.

summary. not even tartarus could keep percy from coming home to you.

lacy says. don’t say anything about me using the same middle pic as my last fic. pls.

· · ౨ৎ · ·

it was the longest twelve minutes of percy’s life.

his eyes were sown shut, fearing if he opened them it would all go wrong somehow. percy was always one to think he would screw everything up.

his fingers were blistered so badly he thought there wasn’t a single part of normal skin left, but nevertheless he pressed them against the doors of the death with every bit of strength he could muster. which wasn’t a lot. in the moment of heat he heard the one thing he craved most in the world, your voice.

come back to me, percy. come home.

he was so sure it was all in his head but it didn’t even matter. sweat was beading down his whole body while holding a lunge at the right side door. he held his eyes so tight he began to see stars - or was he just going to pass out?

no. no he couldn’t. he would not.

annabeth’s screams beside him were drowning out. he searched his mind for anything to cling to, to keep him grounded, to keep him going.

he went back to the same memory he replayed every morning and every night and most afternoons- the first time he’d ever seen you. he could see every detail, from the small beads of sweat on your neck from a humid new york summer to the bat of your eye to the ever-so-small wrinkle of your orange shirt. the way you had glanced at him, passively. twelve-year-old-percy’s thoughts came flooding back, she’ll probably never look at me again.

he was so close to throwing up he was thinking of ways to turn his head so he wouldn’t get any on annabeth, while remaining in his position. he grunted viscerally, his arms and legs burning and shaking with work.

you’ve been so brave. you’re so close, percy.

he threw his head back at your voice. he heaved the greatest sigh of relief, which he probably couldn’t afford but truly couldn’t help - this was everything he’d ever wanted to hear, especially from you. the air was so thick and hot it didn’t bring anything other than more pain, scorching his lungs.

in a feeble attempt at aid, he brought himself to a moment two summers ago. he could almost feel the tuft of the beach towel below his arms. yours and his laughter radiated in his ears; he couldn’t remember what was so funny, he guessed even then you two weren’t really sure. it was just the both of you on the long island sound, unable to catch your breaths. you’d grabbed his arm in the midst, holding on with shut eyes and a heaving chest. percy kept talking, adding layers to the joke, in hopes you’d keep laughing and never let go. he knew even the birds could never sing something so sweet.

that horrible song about piña colada’s and getting caught in the rain had started again for the third time. he’d never be able to go to a margaritaville after this. but this also meant they weren’t too far now.

his head came to rest against his arm searching for comfort that couldn’t be found. his body battled between restlessness and exhaustion. all he wanted was to get out of this damn place whilst also wanting to collapse right here and accept a heroes fate.

annabeth’s hand grazed his shoulder and he lifted his head to meet her. her eyes bore into what was left of his soul, her jaw clenched, and brows firmly knit- she’d never looked so serious, “we’ve made it this far, no giving up.” her expression softened ever so slightly at percy’s anguish, “she’s counting on you. no giving up.”

you were counting on him. of course this was a fact he’d known all this time, but when thinking about you down in the pit of hell, he’d only ever thought about collapsing in your arms like a little boy that’d experienced a burnt tongue or scrapped knee for the first time, the worst pain he’d known so far. but hearing the words aloud was promoting this revelation to his forefront.

you were counting on him. just as you had when on that boat, on that island, the middle of the sea to retrieve that gilded ram fleece and take you home. just as you had fighting back to back in that open field as enemies poured in from zeus’ fist, some closing a circle around you two, the thought of a vulnerable backside never crossing either of your minds, in the acts of protecting your home. just as you had on a deserted manhattan, never once sharing your true worries about losing him because you held faith he’d prevail, and when he did, those final moments on mount olympus where he denied sovereignty because you were counting on him to return home with you.

you were counting on him, like you had been this entire year. on a relentless search to find your stolen heart, one finally yours, and bring him home.

there were sudden surges of anger running through his veins at the realization that absolutely everything had been striped from him- he was literally a ghost of his former self just a few seconds ago. he would see you again, so help him gods. and he would take revenge on everyone and everything that separated him from you.

“i will kill gaea,” he muttered. “i will tear her apart with my bare hands.”

with the elevator shaking like the power of the four corners of the earth was working against it, and it was, every feeling he had, both emotional and physical, was bounding to send percy into overdrive.

what came next was simultaneously the fastest and slowest sequence of events he’d ever experienced. he could see every still shot as it happened: the doors shuddered open and almost took his fingers with it, not even gaining his bearings, dusty ancient air smacked him in the face with unexpected velocity, quickly he saw a shot of leo, gods he’d never been so happy to see leo, then the floor became closer, closer, closer, he knew what was coming and the last thing he could tell himself was, think of her, her, her.

“are you even listening to me?”

he was, he promised he was, but your cheek was glistening in the silver light and your arm was just barley grazing his and your scent mixed with the saltwater, not your perfume, just you, was enough to make him lose track of everything.

“yeano.”

you rolled your eyes, the playful way with a ghostly smile on your lips, the way you always did when he said something kind of stupid, and he thanked the gods he frequently said something kind of stupid.

sitting up in the rafters of the argo ll, wind brushed past attempting to take your clothes with it. he was trying his absolute best to contain himself, to maintain an ounce of normalcy in an otherwise very opposite setting. but he’d be lying right through his teeth if he said he didn’t want to be in your back pocket right now, and stay there forever.

“i’ll just never tell you how much i miss you ever again, i guess.” you faux hurt and he knew it.

finding it in himself to touch you without going crazy, he brought you to the crevice between his chest and arm, “i missed you, too. maybe even more.” saying the last part in a hush, fearing his own feelings.

you were recounting the last eight months, telling him about your nonstop search, never deviating from the task, and in the same vein, conveying just how happy you were to be with him, finally. even if it was bittersweet.

your hand played with his, an action that sent tingles from his back down his arms, as your back rested against his side. the silence was enough for him, perfect even. with newly regained memories still weaving their way through his mind, he knew this was a position you two had sat in time and time before, but it didn’t fail to make his heart hammer.

the feeling of your warmth on his was almost nostalgic in a way, like he knew it, he knew he knew it, but it was so distant yet so comforting he felt like it must’ve been from some dream.

“we’ll be back home before you know it. together.”

and then, the scene switched.

it was hot. and humid. he was eternally grateful for the umbrella overhead, shading the table from the unruly italian sun. you were seated opposite him, but you certainly weren’t looking at him. your gaze was far and away, unfixed and slightly unnerving in his opinion.

he kept his fingers under yours regardless, running his thumb over them with ease. the newly empty chair beside you both was borderline antagonizing, he knew, but before he could pick your brain, you confided.

“i have a bad feeling, percy.”

your croak with the use of his name made blood run cold under burnt skin. you didn’t use perseus, but still, you rarely ever said it unless it was serious, an indication to him of severity.

you weren’t nearly this down seeing annabeth off, of course you were upset but this change to anxiety was after her leaving. “i’m not too thrilled about it either but, she’ll be okay. she-”

the shaking of your head cut him off. you still weren’t looking at him, which added to his unease. he tilted slightly in hopes of catching your eyes, but was unsuccessful. he continued his thumb stroke, subliminally signaling he was here.

he watched your lips contort, trying to find the words to fit. selfish as it was in the moment, he thought he could lean over and kiss you, take away any worry and just be one.

your sigh was strenuous, “something bad is going to happen, i don’t know. i just…”

you finally met him back at the small table in the middle of rome. gods you were so pretty. you sat just outside the umbrella, casting half of yourself in bronze, he was amazed how unaware you were, of your beauty in moments like these. he had to kick himself in the leg to stop from blurting it out.

connecting your fingers with his, a search for comfort despite the sweltering heat making it near to impossible, you squeezed, “i just don’t want to lose you again.”

he reciprocated, feeling confident in his answer, “you won’t.”

and then, the scene switched.

your shrill scream was enough to make the angels cry. to make him cry.

in the seconds it took for you to turn around and try to assist frank, leo, and jason, percy had dove over the edge to catch a falling annabeth. although there was absolutely no hesitation on his part, in no world was he going to leave his best friend to fall, he felt an all consuming sickness at the impending outcome.

there must’ve been words shouted and exchanged all around but he couldn’t hear them over the roaring in his ears, all of his strength being put to use in opposite directions. he could see nico, hazel, and most importantly - maybe most disheartening - you, leaning over the edge.

his mind was working a mile a second, thoughts blaring all around despite his inability to really focus on them. he knew what he needed to get out first and foremost, “the other side, nico. we’ll meet you there. understand?”

his arm was shaking so violently and the weight on his other was becoming unbearable. he didn’t want to have more time to think this situation over, “lead them there! promise me!”

“i-i will.”

that was all he needed from him. his vision now settling on you. if you’d told him a goddess had come down to see him off, he would’ve believed you. his thoughts suddenly cleared, if only for a second.

light poured in from the hole above, illuminating your silhouette. you’d never looked so beautiful. percy felt such shame he couldn’t tell you that. from the look on your face, words weren’t really necessary. you understood, he knew you did. he knew you knew he needed to do this. he felt maybe there was even some part of you that encouraged him to, for annabeth was your best friend too, and you both knew if the fates had it be percy who turned around, you would’ve dove after her all the same.

“come back to me.”

“always.”

and as he let his fingers slip, falling into the chasm, all he could do was stare up at your fading imagine, because if there was a last thing he was to see, he needed it to be you.

the ground was dirty.

he could taste it. not that he was one to go around tasting floors but he could tell it was old and dirty. the stench of stale air was an unwelcome accompaniment. his body was throbbing, a constant pulse from the top of his head to his feet, every time feeling like a new stab wound.

his hearing was muffled, just making out a commotion of sorts, seemingly far away. his arms were uncomfortably spread beside him, from falling to the floor, he remembered. they were sore to move but not impossible.

he just barely had a grip on who he was when he felt a hand. a soft hand, a hand pulsing with life, one that had given comfort at every turn. it was shaking his pained shoulder, while another soothed at his connecting forearm.

he could feel the breath on his ear before the words, familiar and warm, and though he swore to be sick of warm for a long time, he’d never be sick of this.

“percy?”

an ache at the core of his being subsided instantly. his eyes shot open, without second thought, without even a first.

it was dark and hazy, his vision greatly distorted with hooded lids. but that didn’t stop the inherent recognition of your presence beside him. he’d know the curve of your face and shoulders, the feel of your hands and breath anywhere, any time, and any place.

because you were home.

and he had done it. he had come home to you.

· · ౨ৎ · ·

#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fic #percy jackson fanfiction #book percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson imagine #heroes of olympus fanfiction #heroes of olympus #house of hades #pjo imagine #pjo fanfic #pjo hoo toa #pjo #fanfic #Spotify

[undercoverpena]

need to see you

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader summary: Things aren't as easy when you both get back to base. Especially trying to keep a professional distance, worsened when you get hurt. an: can be read as a standalone, but does follow had to see you really freaking well :) word count: 4.7k

simon ghost riley masterlist

Keep your distance. 

That’s what you keep telling yourself. Reminding yourself. More so because your eyes keep landing on him—Ghost.

But then, how could you not? How could you even be expected not to?

This secret. The one forged through sweat, sex and showers has to be guarded and protected—even in the moments when every fibre of your being desperately screams out for him. Each time he raises his hand to adjust his gloves, you’re sure you clench your thighs—the same way you do each time he gives you a look. A certain kind of look. One so reminiscent of a time when you’d said you couldn’t come again, and he told you that you could.

Good girl.

Keeping your distance was best.

Even if you want nothing more than to reenact the time when his fist was in your hair. Even if you craved getting new friction burns on your elbows and knees, with him making you come so hard you forget you’re even a soldier.

There’s also the times when your frustration has risen to new heights and you feel less than whole. When you need comfort and kindness and a moment away from orders, killing and fucking sand. 

You decide you should really keep your distance then.

Not because you don’t want him and not because you don’t care for him. But, because he’s your lieutenant. He has a job, a role—as do you.

It’s why you treasure the moments when he’s the one who surrenders. When he finds you. 

You have no idea what you fuckin’ do to me, Rain. 

You try not to think about it—the effect you have on him. But you see it in the moments when he pulls you into dark corners where the two of you steal milliseconds. His hands grasping, you able to steal a rushed kiss and he leaves bruising touches—as if needing to remind himself your real and very much alive.

“Be safe.”  “Always am.”  “No. You’re fuckin’ not." “I try, I promise.”

His words pressed into your shoulders, collarbone and sternum. Your smirk stolen when his hand slid between the two of you when, teasingly spreading you with two fingers as his body pins yours in place.

If your mind ever tried to scrub him from it—you know your body would never forget him.

It hums and fucking sings for him. It aches for his touch. Thankful he never makes you miss him too much, not letting your body forget how delicious it is when he fills you, stretching you when his hips meet yours.

“Lemme hear you. I need to hear you.”

And you hum, chant and fucking sing his name.

“That’s my girl. Fuck—that’s my girl.”

Ensuring his eyes stare into you as he brings you close, your orgasm pending, so close to pushing you over the edge—teasing you, breath dancing over your lips. 

Ghost enjoys making you wait. Torturing you. Ridiculously enjoying the fact that you want his mouth on yours, but won’t surrender, instead choosing to directly sear himself into your soul, as you whimper his name, until it paints itself on the walls of whatever room you two find yourself in.

Between these times—when he orders you to his room or turns up at your door—you could convince yourself it’s a dream. If not for the fact you have one of his t-shirts amongst your stuff, you could have been persuaded you’d made it all up.

But, it’s real. It’s real because of the soft moments between all the others. The innocent things, the soft looks, the nods.

He tries to be near you, making it impossibly difficult to touch him. His body shielding you from the others, unknowingly being protective—more so than he ever was.

If anything, he's closer, but more verbally distant. Only making jokes and normal retorts when you've worn him down, convincing him it's okay.

It's as though he's worried if he doesn't, everyone will know he spent his time off fucking you senseless. That he sought you out when danger knocked.

That he feels something for you. 

“You know, I held your hand after drinks in the mess—and Soap didn’t realise. I think we’re good.” “That’s because you tricked him into doing two shots to your every one. “Exactly. Not the smartest cookies we work with.”

Some days you take the distance better than others. You’ll stand, stiff spine and chin raised, fighting it reaching out. Knowing he needs it.

But, on harder days—like today—your fingers clench and pinch your skin through your trousers so you don’t speak, to afraid you’ll cry. Whispering his name under your breath when he’s pulling you to evac.

His hand lowering from his chest, as if he’s been grasping it, eyes on you as your form begins to crack.

“Can we just… stop for a second… it hurts….“

But, he won't. Even if you're pleading, just needing him. Not even to stroke your cheek or call you sweetheart, to just tell you it'll be okay.

Not speaking, not stopping, until he can lean you against the truck, Soap quickly wrapping an arm around you—stopping you from falling.

“You’re good, Rain. Alright?”

You’re not.

He knows it too.

Having frozen when he saw your arm in natural light, having ripped your t-shirt with his knife to see what he's dealing with. And since then, he's kept his distance like a complete fucking bastard.

“Johnny, put her arm back in.”

Soap’s head almost cracking with how quick he spins towards him, his arm already holding you up. “Lt, maybe we should wait—“

“Put her arm back in. Now.”

You blame your tears on your arm, not on his coldness. It’s not that you expected him to put it back in himself, but… something, anything.

“Please, Soap… please. Can we wait? It really feels like we should,” you whimper, leaning against the truck.

Pleading and pleading, hearing him whisper, “Sorry, Lass.”

Even if you want to wait, wanting to—

Your scream rips through you.

It burns. It pierces. Your eyes clenching shut, wanting him—needing him. Even something, a look, a touch.

But, when your eyes open, he’s not there. Not even close.

You should get checked out when you return.

Darting out of the truck before any of them can say anything to you.

Instead, you forego food and painting a smile on your face, needing to be alone. Needing to lick your figurative and physical wounds without forcing a front. 

Embarrassment having woven in amongst the anger; the cracks deep within you widening, all of your own demons flowing out.

So you find solace in the shower block. Letting the sound of the running shower drown your hiss and groans as you strip with difficulty, your hand gripping the counter as you pull your top over your head, staring at the various colours of the developing bruises and the swollen nature of your shoulder. 

It’s everything when you step into the burning hot water.

It’s scolding and numbing all at once, a welcomed feeling compared to the dull, constant, throbbing ache due to the dislocation. 

Each action you try to do worsens it, biting your lip until it bleeds as you try to wash your hair—wash the pain, sand and dirt from your skin. You try to wash his ignorance from you too, craving him, needing him.

Realising how wrong that was.

You knew who he was. Knew all he could give you.

It didn’t stop it all from hurting. All of it. Loving him. The missions. Missing him. The last few weeks of chasing phantoms. 

Fuck.

You love him.

It bubbles inside of you, strangling you. Reaching up from deep inside of you, knotting everything as you try to keep a handle on it all.

But it’s too much. And so you sob. 

Silently at first. Body shaking, hand clutching your mouth. And then it ripples through you.

You love him. You love him. You love him.

It makes your chest rise and fall quicker, and quicker. It vibrates through you, your grip on the body wash bottle slipping as it clatters and your spine crashes into the wall. 

As each tear spills, the shower does its best to hide them. Tries to bury them. Keep your secrets as if they’re its own. 

It’s not until the last sud slides down the drain do you begin to replay it.

Your positioned compromised, your feet rushing to the stairs, being thrown off your feet, hand clutching your gun as the dust blocks your vision. You can hear him scream into your radio; it almost sounding like care and panic.

Almost. I have no where to go. Find a way. Copy. Rain? You can do this.

Your body fighting it’s way through. Reading between the lines, Find a way back to me.

So you have to. You have to do something. Get out. To him. Whatever your motivation, you fought. Knife in hand. Gun poised. Clearing each level, glad for the explosion and the dust, working in your favour as you moved silently.

Each turn, you hoped you’d see one of you—needing it.

Almost there. So close. So fucking close until you see them. The one you’re after. His picture burnt into your mind from the amount of briefings you’ve had about it.

So you don’t think. Not as you slam your body into him, knife clattering away from you and him. Your gun swinging back around. Their body made of stone as you both land, their reaction quicker, flipping you, hands around your throat. Your nails scratching, pushing your leg up, something they preempt, before tightening and tightening as your shoulder screams, and your throat hisses for air—

Then, all of a sudden, he’s ripped from on top of you. Blinking, trying to breathe as you clutch your throat. Hearing someone shouting to someone—British, gruff.

Your eyes opening, finding him—Ghost. Simon. His eyes full of fury, wildfire and brimstone—scanning over you, checking you.

You’re not sure what you expect, but him being calm isn’t it.

“You hurt?” “Shoulder. Dislocated, I think.” His hand outstretched, pulling you up by your good one as you wheeze. “I found a way, like you said.” “Fuckin’ Jesus, Rain.”

You’d known it would be hard. The two of you.

But that tone. The way he hissed it at you, it made something knot inside of you.

Knowing deep down the only reason his indifference hurts is because you wanted to bury your head into his chest. You wanted a stolen moment. But you couldn’t, not without letting them all know. The secret festering inside of you, making things horrid and bitter—half-wondering if you can handle much more of this.

Missing him, while knowing why it has to be this way.

It’s why you stay in the shower. No one expects anything from you in here. You can enjoy the sound of nothingness. The emptiness. Fall apart in the complete fucking silence—no one doing anything about it.

Away from him, your brain can’t conjuring what ifs and what could have been. A moments peace from pain as the water scolds to the point it numbs, the silence soothing the rest of the anxious adrenaline.

And then, it’s ruined.

Jumping, heart lurching out your throat when the shower-block door flies open, the sound of two boots shattering it all before the discernable sound of a lock is turned.

You know that gait. Know those boots. 

The gruff voice calling out, “Rain,” confirming it. “Rain?”

Still, the way he says your call name almost makes you smile. It’s laced in worry, in care, hearing his boots stop outside where you are.

Seeing the shadow of him through the curtain. That burly, thick, tall god of a man. The one whose hand dwarfs yours and whose body can shield you from the sun. 

You should speak, almost willing yourself to as you swallow. Running the back of your hand against your face, before turning the water off—removing the background noise and replying without any words that your conscious.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbles, dark and gruff—if only to himself. 

You hear a shuffle before a gloved hand darts through the cream curtain with a towel balled in his grip, “Here.” 

You consider being difficult. 

Forcing him to say whatever he has to communicate through the curtain and not do it with your eyes on him. Because he likes that. He said as much in one of the many times he tried to snap you in half. 

Your eyes are fuckin’ everything, sweetheart. 

You take it from him all the same. Ensuring you don’t touch him as you do. Wrapping it around yourself, not bothering to run it over your hair, not bothering to really dry yourself. Protect, shield, hide. That’s your focus, your only focus—as you open the curtain, the sound of plastic and metal grating as you unveil yourself. 

You’re not sure what you expect, but his mask half-lifted, exposing his lips and lower cheeks, and leaning against the tiles wasn’t it. You expected stiff shoulders, a menacing glare, and a rigid body. 

“I’m not fucking you if that’s why you’ve locked the door,” you say quickly, ensuring your gaze is as sharp as his. 

“I’ve not—bloody hell, Rain. S’not why I’m here.” 

Stepping out, your wet toes against dry tiles make goosebumps dance up your legs. Your eyes focusing on the mirrors above the sink, feeling water dripping down your skin. It falls from your hair to your shoulders, raising your good arm to use your palm to wipe condensation from the mirror—not wanting to look at him directly. 

He’s not moved any of your clothes. Not even the ones you‘ve taken off, the ones covered in blood or the ones you need to put on. Except for your tags. 

Your eyes linger on the one with the clear thumb mark having been brushed over it. Too smooth to not be a gloved thumb, the condensation having been removed, leaving it almost dry and exposing your name to the world. 

Eyes connecting with his, watching him dip his as he sighs.

You’re betting he’d hoped you wouldn’t notice.

Forgetting who you are. How you always notice the smaller things—it’s why you’re good, why you’re needed. It’s also why you’re better on roofs than hand-to-hand—it’s why your shoulder dislocated when you rugby tackled the enemy to the ground. That and the man you took down being double your size. You barely make Ghost move during sparring.

“Rain, c’mon.”

The lump in your throat forms as he says your name again. Finding it quickly fills too much space—cutting off any reply, and almost hindering your breathing.

But, he’s shifted, leaning sideways now to watch you, your eyes lifting from the sink to the mirror and back again. 

I had to see you.

Sighing, you stare at him, softer, more forgiving than you’d have mustered earlier. 

“You’re a piece of shit.” He rolls his lips, looking at you, as if imploring you to continue. “I needed you—“

“—I know—“

“—and you… you passed me to Soap? Like you’re not… like we’re not. Why? I don’t even ask you for anything—but, I needed you, Simon. I tried to spear a man twice my size into the ground and you couldn’t even look at me!”

He stands, and you shake your head, hiding your eyes as you look down at your clothes, hands gripping the counter.

“Deserve better than me, sweetheart.”  “Better than what? You’ve not even asked me what I want.”  “What d’you want?”  “You.” “Dirty girl.” “Ha. Ha. I want all of you. Not just your cock. I want, when you’re ready, all of you. Nothing more. Nothing less. I don’t need a label. I don’t want special treatment. But, if you want me, and only me, then I’m yours. No games. No hiding and running away. It’s us. Until one of us decides it isn’t.” “Yeah?”  “Yes, Simon. Warts and all. Skeletons and masks.”

You understand, on some level. Aware it’s even a little selfish of you to call him out on something you know the reasoning behind.

Because if they find out, it changes things.

Your guard will go down. The two of you fumbling, risking it getting out of the base and onto enemies radars.

And he’s lost so much. Too much, truthfully.

It’s why you both made the stupid promises amongst bedsheets and sweat-slicked bodies that nothing would change when you were here—at work. 

And, he must be replaying the same conversation. His eyes glazed, ever so slightly before they land on you. They’re warmer and kinder.

As kind as Ghost’s eyes can ever be when behind his mask and surrounded by face paint. 

“I couldn’t, that’s why.”

“Because you’re afraid showing me a slither of kindness will tell them all you’re sleeping with me?” you snap.

His hand running over his jaw. “No—and we’re more than that. And y’know that.”

His voice tainted with hurt as you arch your brow.

And he sighs, rolling his jaw. “I couldn’t because I wanted to burn everyone in our path each time I looked at you. And then I couldn’t put your arm back in because I knew it would hurt, and I can’t fuckin’ hurt you, Rain.”

Your head turns, meeting him face on. Surprise falling across your features.

“I can put my finger in your wound, I can hold your head while you’re fuckin’ bleeding. But, sweetheart, your scream… fuck, I wanted to punch Johnny. I wanted to find Price and that fuckin’ man, and rip his head off. Fuck keepin’ him alive. And fuck, the fucking mission.”

It thunders, your pulse. Heart hammering so loud, you’re sure he must hear it.

“You have no idea what I wanted to do when I found you, when I saw where his hands had been,” he adds, his fist clenching at his side, eyes dropping to your neck.

Your ears buzzing from your quickened heart rate. It hammering, thick, heavy and pounding into your ribs and making the anger melt.

Turning back to the mirror, you let your shoulders relax, ever so slightly. Sliding a hand up, moving your hair as best as you can—trying to disguise your hiss and groan as you reach down to pick up your dog tags. 

And he hears it. Ghost hears your pained hiss.

He must have. His feet move, chest coming into contact with your towel-covered back in an instant. The mere knowledge he’s there makes you want to turn on the spot, and curl into him. Even if he stays rigid and doesn’t move.

Because it hurts. It hurts more than you thought it would. Knowing it’s all likely because you’re tired and drained of everything, of keeping a smile on your face, of fighting him and his apparent displeasure at you.

It’s only a dislocation. 

It’s not a bullet. It’s not a knife. You’ve literally survived worse. 

Still, you blink, tears begging to fall—fighting them with all you have. Only then feeling his fingers tap on your elbow, looking through the mirror to you for permission: can I touch you, can I help you?

You nod, tears falling as you whimper a “Please”. It coming out all strangled and strained, barely close to your normal voice. 

He’s gentle, oh so gentle.

Taking the chain from your hand, lifting it, letting the scent you’ve come to know as simply him mixing with the air. Smoke, sweat and wood. The metal chain teasing your skin and neck, gloved fingers tracing your skin.

Your throat thick, your body tense, having needed him close for the last hour—and yet you still hiss when the tags hit your breastbone, the click of it so loud in the built-up silence.

The same silence you expect to be interrupted again when he moves. Keeping your eyes closed, not wanting to watch him do so.

But, Ghost doesn’t move. 

One eye opening, finding him watching you.

Instead, his fingers slide from around the chain down the back of your neck. The fabric rough against your soft skin, watching them descend down, moving to your collarbones—to places he’s nipped and kissed. Your body almost flushes with warmth. Sheer will and determination are the only reason you haven’t let it. 

Something which is harder as his hands slide down the side of the towel, firm grip feeling the way you curve until they land at your waist. 

He’s stiff. Tense. It takes you a second, but you’re sure he’s hugging you. His version of it, anyway. 

Tight and rigid, until his shoulders defriend his ears, and his muscles realise you’re not going to pull away. Not realising you never would. That you’ve wanted this, needed it—and been too afraid to ask.

It’s all you’d wanted since he pulled you up off the ground, your other arm hanging limply. You’d just wanted to be pressed against him, whether it be like this where he kept your spine to his chest or where your chest was to his. 

And from the way he’s holding you, you’re not sure this is just for you. That maybe, like you, you’re sure he wants to be around you. Unprepared—same as you—to delve deeply into the churning emotions which have begun peppering his heart. All of it a confusing array of emotions too complex to be unpacked here, tomorrow or next week. 

Your lips almost whisper thank you, but he silences it with the way he looks at you.

Don’t fucking thank me, Rain. I know I shoulda done this earlier.

His chin comes to rest on the top of your head, affirming the thought you’re sure you can hear, his eyes pinning it in place in your mind. Not wanting you to forget there’s a part of him—the one which had been in your home, in your bed—that is softer and kinder than the man he has been earlier. 

Even if the steam is misting over the parts your fingers brushed away, his eyes prevail. Persevering through condensation and steam.

The look slowly pecking its way through you, the walls you’ve thrown up, the shield you’ve put in place whenever he has to do his job when he has to show no mercy and treat you like the subordinate you are.

“We good?” you ask, needing to.

The thought pecking and pecking.

He shifts his chin, allowing a twitch of his lips to show. “We’re good.”

You blink in relief, leaning back into him—letting him wrap his arms around you a little easier as you relax.

“Simon…”

You rarely say his name, and it forces his eyes up from wherever they’d fallen. Usually only letting yourself taste each letter of it when he tells you to when he’s buried so deep inside of you, and you’re not thinking. 

“It hurts… a lot.” 

He sighs, cool, against your wet hair as he wraps his arms around your front, holding you tighter on the one side of your body that isn’t screaming in agony. 

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

The parts of his face you can see, seem to be turning over something, eyes glancing over your shoulder, one hand lifting, almost ghosting over the developing bruises and inflamed skin. 

His lips part, as if to speak something else

And, then he turns you. Your feet move with ease until you’re face to face with him—lower back pressing against the sink counter. 

A tear falling down your cheek, one quickly followed by another.  

If you hadn't just spoken, you’re sure you could have easily excused it as water from your hair. But, from this position, it doesn’t blend. It stands out, sparkling and shining to the two of you—as he raises a hand to wipe it away with his thumb.

“I like you alive, too.” 

Your eyes meet his, taking a moment until you realise the call back to your words from your bed that first night: I care about you and… I like you alive, Simon.

He dips his head, making it easier to stare into his eyes as he nods. I mean it. I mean them. Believe me. 

Both of your shoulders sink, as if the rest of the unspoken words are heavy on both of you, adding a breath each to the air as he lifts his mask up to his forehead before you raise a hand to touch his lower cheek.

You brace for the flinch—before your hand touches him. The one he always does as soon as you brush his skin with any kindness. The demons inside of him making him think he’s not worth it, all the scars which your eyes cannot see, having made him that way. 

It’s why when your fingers make contact, you don’t change your expression at his wince, holding his stare, so he knows: It's okay, I’ve got you. 

“We good?” you whisper, too afraid to say it any louder.

Watching his eyes fix on you, feeling him curl his head slightly into your palm. “We’re good.”

His own hand beginning to draw the same shapes, as you are on his cheek, on your hip—his forehead slowly pressing against yours.   

And it’s intimate.

More intimate than the two of you have been in some time. A moment growing, blossoming. It stuffing out the silence and making something else in its place.

“Rain...”

“Ghost.” 

“…Sweetheart.”

You smile, not quick enough to retort a baby, darling or a dearest back, because he says your name.

The same one he stroked earlier. Your real one.

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

And it hits you. Silences you. Able to hear the thought. His thought. 

It screams and shouts. Having been stuffed down inside of him for weeks. It almost thrums in the air, having begun as a soft strum of a guitar or the soft lulls of a piano and is now reaching its climax—the part of the song where the key changes, the bridge, and everything shifts on its axis. 

He tears his eyes from you. 

The confirmation damning. 

“Oh, Simon…”

You watch his Adam's apple bob, his jaw tightening even as you try to stroke the tension away—pulling his focus back to you. 

Not saying it with words either, but responding with a similar look.

I do too. 

And you hope he can hear you too.

Hoping he’s in tune with your internal thoughts, as you are with his. That you’re both speaking the same language, even if you’re saying nothing out loud.  

The silence different than before. It’s comforting. Allowing the two of you to have as many milliseconds, seconds and minutes.

“C’mon, you need food.” 

Your eyes dip, rolling your lips together as he drops his hand from your hip, your hand falling from his. Looking up, watching his mask shift back into place 

“Ghost…” 

“Yea?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, sighing. “Could you… I know that it’s not usually what we do, but… could you help me… get dressed?” 

He nods. Brief. Direct. It almost making you laugh.

Unsure how the two of you are more embarrassed about that, than almost saying out loud that you love one another. 

“Lemme know if I hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

Eyes locking with yours, he blinks—once, twice—before his hand reaches past you, and you wonder if he’s smiling.

Wanting to find out, his face so close, but he moves as if reading you, returning to his position clutching your underwear.

You can’t help but watch as he slowly lowers down onto his knee, your hand leveraging your weight on the counter as you raise one leg.

He’s delicate, more than anyone would believe if you ever told this story. Not even looking up when you pull the towel up, even if you’re exposing your bottom half to him.

Ghost being so methodical, tapping your other foot as you slide it through the leg hole. You feel the knot in your stomach tighten as his hands pull the fabric up, moving it past your knees, your thighs and onto your hips. 

His eyes linger on your skin, before flicking to your eyes and then presses a single, masked kiss to the space just above where the bone of your hip is.

The action alone screams the same words he didn’t say earlier. Those three words. 

Ones you don’t require him to say, not needing to hear them. 

You know. 

Have known since he stood opposite you between your opened bedroom doorway. It rolled from him then, just as it is now. Thick, large waves, and you don’t mind if it pulls you under, wishing it would fill your lungs, drown you. 

Because you’re hoping to drown him too. Not even realising you’ve already pulled him under. Having done so months ago, before he’d even shown up at your door.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #ghost cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod mw22 #ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x you

[abbyshands]

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fix you by coldplay makes me think about ex gf!abby anderson criminally speeding down a highway. it’s raining, it’s freezing, and she shouldn’t be doing this, but she is. you were seconds away from saving what you had with her, but too late, it was over, she didn’t want you. then she went home, approached her door, and she saw you. saw the times she picked you up in her muscular arms, kissed you like you’d fade if she didn’t as she dragged you inside. she saw you on her couch when she got into her living room, sprawled across her lap as you rambled to her. tried to sleep it off in her bed, but she didn’t see you this time, she felt you, cuddled up in her arms as she kissed you to sleep. and then she cried, she bawled, because she had lost you. she had been an idiot, because how could she have let you go? then she left the house, got into her car, and fucking sped. rain falling down all around her, battling to get to you as fast as she could. like someone, someone wiser, who would never let you go, would get to you before she could. and she couldn’t allow it, she wouldn’t. you didn’t open the door at first when you heard her knock. you were numb, exhausted, sick. you couldn’t speak to a soul, not when you were like this. not when you had lost the only person who could make you feel what you did for abby. and who could even be here at this hour? but her knocking is deafening, goddamn incessant, and you can’t ignore it. you get up from bed, walk to the door, and your heart drops. it’s her. and your eyes are red. your heart is frigid, vacant. you can’t feel a thing but the cold, rainy wind on your cheeks as soon as you open the door. and abby’s there. blonde braid soaked, face red. she’s been out here for a while, obviously. but she couldn’t leave, not when you were at stake. “abby?” you’d mumble, and she wouldn’t even answer. she cups your face in her hands, pulls you close, kisses you. and when she pulls back? “baby,” she whispers, and it’s sweet, and it’s endearing, and it’s sorrowful, but it’s home. her kiss says sorry. what she calls you only yells it. and when she pulls you into her arms, embracing you like she’ll never let you go again, because she won’t? she doesn’t need words to explain it. “i promise you i will learn from my mistakes.” because she would never make the same one again.

and just to add in this lyric: “tears stream down your face, when you lose something you cannot replace” abby anderson could never replace what was irreplaceable. you were everything to her. you were perfect. all that she wanted. all that she craved, come hell or high water, no matter what happened. and she’d be damned if she ever let you slip from her fingers again.

#do i make a fic outta this? dunno… #rooted in my fear of abandonment :( #a.a. and fix you is so fucking personal #i don’t cry but #this got me #listened to fix you the whole time i wrote this btw #feeling emotional! #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fan fiction #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fic #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson imagines #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson tlou #abby angst #the last of us part two #the last of us angst #tlou #tlou2

[cho-aaacho]

—Sunrise Swish

Masterlist

Tags : Love Bites, Biting, Licking, Kissing, French Kissing, Touching, Fingering, Rainy Day, Living Together, Soft Gojo Satoru.

Summary : Satoru always knew how to make you recall every touch under his fingertips, making you moan his name out of intense delight. Each of his kisses carried the sweetness of sugary marshmallows. Isn't it simply charming?

"Raining..."

"Yeah, quite annoying, isn't it? We had plans for a nice picnic today. Unfortunately, we can't control the weather."

Satoru's approaching, his voice blending with the falling raindrops. There is still a romantic connection between you and him, and you can still feel his warmth in the atmosphere.

You gaze into his eyes, azure, your favorite color since you knew him. Although you are trying to find something delightful in him, you are always falling for his eyes. How could it be so attractive in a very dangerous way? It's so unfair.

You are following his gesture carefully, trying to draw him closer, trying to trap him in your universe. A smile curls on his lips as he glides closer.

"I'm not annoyed; I'm just disappointed." You replied.

"Oh, come on... it's not like the world is over. I'm still here, you know."

He studies your features, then shifts his gaze to the table where two cups of hot chocolate sit. With gentle hums, he carefully sits down, draping a thin blanket over your body. He is hinting that he wants to make you comfortable.

Today is your day off, and it should be his too, but as he mentioned earlier, he can't change the weather, and the rain is so heavy outside. 

It annoys you because you crave so much quality time with your dear boyfriend, and today is the only opportunity to cherish romantic moments together. His job is always hard, and sometimes you are frustrated when you can't help Satoru.

But seeing Satoru's calmness and tender smile softens your anger, and you hesitate to disrupt his serenity. You don't want to ruin his realm.

A sigh of boredom floats in the air as you let Satoru nestle against your shoulder, wrapping himself in a blue blanket while still humming a sweet romantic song. 

Why is he so calm and relaxed? 

He's even gentler than usual. Could it be that he's happy because he couldn't go out with you? But... Satoru isn't that bad. You understand him well.

"Looks like someone is happy because he can't go out, huh?"

"Eh?" He moved away from your shoulder and looked at you in surprise. You could see your reflection in his azure eyes, awaiting your sweet reply.

"No. I mean... I'm just trying to be cheerful in front of you; I don't want to let you down!"

"But... still, I'm sad because I can't go out with you, Satoru-kun."

As you expected, Satoru would say something like this. Because he has never said anything negative when it's about you, he always attempts to hide his feelings, and sometimes you can't always see his true colors.

Where is his red? Is he always covered in blue? Maybe... purple? You never knew. Because everything he shows you is always a bright color. The hues are made in heaven.

"Oh... my dear, I'm so sorry."

You grabbed your phone, hoping to lift your spirits by reading some tweets. Perhaps these could help you escape your negative mood. Satoru is still there too.

And then you find something funny between the tweets. A smile curls on your face as you read those tweets because they were so accurate for your situation.

You show your phone to Satoru, making light from the phone caress his pretty face, and carefully add some humor to your voice.

"Hey, take a look at this. Someone had tweeted this. They said, What will you do in the rain with your partner? It sounds oddly familiar, doesn't it?"

A giggle escapes Satoru's lips; he strokes his chin, and with a mischievous grin, his gaze falls at you. "Hmm, perhaps... I'd do something like this."

He drew near and embraced your soul, unveiling your shadow in his azure eyes. The way he breathes and the way he is touching his lips on yours are melting you in every way.

He delicately grazed your face, touching your cheeks with his palm and whispering love lines between kisses. You already know who is in charge now.

Satoru.

Warmth wrapped you in its love, creating the sensation of tenderness. His lips feel so different this time. There is a sweetness and gentleness left in them. 

With closed eyes, his tongue were already playing their games. Tasting chocolate and the sweetness of marshmallows against your mouth. 

You could taste the sugary marshmallow or the sweetness of chocolate mixed in your mouth, sharing a sensual dance between your tongue and his. Dominating, like a romantic dance between lovers.

Your gaze wanders, scanning him, trying to find any clue in his eyes. But no matter how you try, all you can see are his eyes gazing at you. A canvases blue sky.

Satoru, almost in disbelief, but charmed by your expression. A flush of red graces your features, resembling sweet cherry blossoms blushing in the wake of that kiss.

He groaned while playfully nipping at your earlobe. "I know, baby, I know. I'm right here; just breathe."

"It's alright. I'll stop if you're not in the mood." He whispered, and it almost sounded like a love confession to your ears.

but... you just nodded.

He sealed a kiss on your neck, counting every pore on your skin with his textured lips, exploring each contour with a hint of aggression, and teasing every spot of your sweet skin.

Relentless passion.

Sweet bites.

Slow motion.

Sensual licking.

Repeating. 

Squeezing.

Foggy eyes.

Deep breathing. 

Resonating sigh.

Weak moan.

Crimson cheeks.

Wet lips.

Eyes shut, biting lips. Every move and every bite makes your knees weak. You playfully whined in response, squeezing his biceps, pretending for resistance. 

But... Satoru already knows every spot of your vulnerabilities; he knows each spot that could make you moan his name.

With seductive movement, he glided his fingers between your thighs. Exploring your weak spot relentlessly, rubbing your panties in gently. After enjoying the view, he slipped his finger inside your panties eager to feel how aroused you had become.

Satoru delicately slid his finger inside you, making your head arch in response. All of these transform into ecstasy. And. Honestly. It feels so good. You couldn't help but whisper his name.

He moves his finger slowly and gently; he doesn't want you to get hurt or uncomfortable. Until he finds your most sensitive spot, the sweetest area of your being.

"Are you alright?" Satoru inquired, his gaze revealing concern. "You seem to be grappling with something."

"Oh... I'm okay, Satoru-kun. It's just... I can't shake this feeling. I'm afraid if someone catches us making out on the balcony."

"No. They won't," he assured.

Then, a soft breath carried his whispered words to your ear: "I want to mark you as mine."

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen

[btsgotjams27]

Sweet Tooth ~ JJK | 6

✨ title: sweet tooth | series (ongoing) ✨ pairing: vampire!jungkook x donor f!reader | ✨ rating: m/18+ ✨ genre: vampire!au, supernatural!au, eventual romance, slow build, eventual smut ✨ summary: Bills and rent are piling up, so your roommate suggests you look into a gig she stumbled upon. But it's not what you expect. OR ✨ Jungkook runs a vampire blood bank, and you service clients with your blood. ✨ playlist | ✨ read on AO3 | Wattpad ✨ a/n: hi all! i'm SO SORRY that it's taken me over a year to get out another chapter. i'm a clown thinking I could work on multiple ongoing series at one time. i hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think.

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] | next ~ the 200

✨ chapter 6 ~ the sinner | word count: 7.2k warnings: blood drinking, vampire bites, mentions of dead bodies and blood, kissing, touching

Dreams can bring out one’s deepest desires or darkest fears.

Jungkook couldn't determine if this dream was real or not. The dream had an ominous sense to it, like a dark cloud towering over him, ready to rain on his parade. But there was no sign of the parade. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He rolled onto his stomach, his duvet hardly covering his bottom half. A smile crept on his face as he reveled in dreamland. The feeling of the dream shifted once he got back into the thick of it. Warm. Fluffy. The complete opposite of Jungkook’s nature.

Giggles and kisses filled the room. Limbs entangled, lips swollen, messy hair, and clothes scattered everywhere. The two of you had been like this for days on end.

Jungkook’s arm is draped over you, pulling you as close as he could. Removing your hair, he trails kisses from your shoulder to your nape and finds the most delicate butterfly he’s ever seen. His fingers ghosted over the ink on your skin, making you shudder underneath his touch.

“Jungkook, what are you doing?” More giggles erupt from your lips as you squirm. 

His soft lips press against the butterfly. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” Taking his time, he explores the fragility of it—the fine lines of the wings, even the shading is light-handed and refined. “What else are you hiding?” he asks, fingers trailing down the dips and valleys of your body.

“I’m not hiding anything. Maybe you’re too busy paying attention to other parts of my body.” You smirk, looking over your shoulder. Jungkook’s hand grips your waist, then starts to wander across the expanse of your stomach, down to your core. You pull away from him, protesting that you need something to eat, otherwise, you’ll starve to death.

“Mm–don’t go, please,” he objects, pouting with his doe eyes.

“Jungkook, I know you hear my stomach growling with your supernatural hearing. I need food in my belly or I’m going to become the monster.”

You playfully push him away as he tries to give you another kiss. Grabbing his shirt from the ground, you slipped it on, draping it over your body with nothing underneath. 

He grins, cocking an eyebrow, watching you walk away from him. Swiftly, he brushes past you, arms up, blocking the doorway. The two of you were now having a staring contest.

“I’m hungry too,” he says, his dark eyes raking over you from head to toe. The veins around his eyes protrude, letting you know what he desires.

“You already ate me out earlier,” you remind him, taking a step forward, but he doesn’t budge.

Jungkook’s tongue was playing with the sharp ends of his teeth. His eyes turned into a darkened hue, focusing on the artery alongside your neck.

You blinked at the hungry vampire standing in your way. “You can’t always get what you want, Jungkook.”

He grunts, and then sighs, relaxing his arms, face now unstrained and back to normal. He holds your hands. “Later then?” You nod. “Promise?” he asks with starry-filled eyes.

Shaking your head, you smile. “Promise.”

A deep hunger stirred within Jungkook’s body. It was an insatiable craving, but not for blood, like something was trying to escape from the depths of his soul. In his many years as a vampire, he’s never felt this type of unrest or longing. Perhaps this dream was attempting to awaken a longing within, something that had been buried deep. This sense of yearning he couldn’t ignore if he tried. He couldn’t fathom the feelings and emotions of this dream. At times, it was like déjà vu, like he’d experienced this before, he couldn’t shrug it off like he’s done with others.

He had noticed himself entering your dreams more than usual this week. When it came to others, he often did it out of curiosity and boredom, but to his surprise, your dreams were far more interesting than he could have imagined. Like there was an invisible string pulling him, wanting him to explore these dreams with you. There must be a significance. There must be something in these dreams indicating more than meets the eye.

Jungkook awoke, breathing a deep sigh as he laced his fingers behind his head. He turned his head toward his door when he heard the shuffling of feet down the hallway. One could only assume it was Taehyung and Ji-na again.

There was no one remotely interesting enough these last few years to even want that with, but the corners of his mouth curved up, and his heart wavered, thinking back to the dream of you and him cuddled up with kisses and giggles. He hadn’t found himself smiling like an idiot in a long time.

He sat up, ruffling his dark locks, then removed his duvet, walking toward his disheveled desk, which was littered with paper and candle jars. Unsure what he was looking for, Jungkook shuffled through his sketches and came across the same butterfly that inked on your skin. It must be an odd coincidence.

Jungkook’s brows knitted together thinking how weird it would be of him to try and see if you had this tattoo. He’d have to see it by chance or find a way to weave it into a conversation. And he didn’t know it, but the effect of this butterfly would ripple into something bigger—a long-hidden truth.

A knock and creak from the bedroom door breaks Jungkook out of his reverie. He turns to look at the angelic blonde man standing at the door.

“Jeon Jungkook is smiling? It must be my lucky day,” Jimin teases as he sips his cup of coffee.

“What do you want?” Jungkook covers up the sketches scattered on his desk.

Jimin walks into the room, and his eyes flick to the desk, then to Jungkook. “Just coming by to check on you. Can I get you anything?”

“Nope. Just gonna get some breakfast this morning.” He stands at the corner of the desk, blocking Jimin’s view.

“Still on your diet?” Jimin raises an eyebrow while taking another sip of coffee.

Jungkook tilts his head, clenching his jaw. “I can’t stray from it. You know that.” It’s been years since he’s had a taste of human blood. He’s lost count at this point.

“Okay.” Jimin holds his hands up in protest. “It’s just a question, and I’m a curious being.” He turns around, striding back to the door.

“Don’t you have things to do?” Jungkook asks, stopping Jimin in his tracks.

He turns back, stuffing his hand in his pocket. “Yeah, I’m heading to the blood bank now to confirm appointments with Mrs. Kim.”

Jungkook clears his throat, taking a step forward. “Who’s scheduled tonight?”

Jimin suppresses his smile. In all the years he’s known Jungkook, he’s never seen him so adamant about a donor. “If you’re wondering if ___ is coming tonight–she is. I confirmed with her separately, and she’s also spending the night.”

Two weeks have gone by since Jungkook saw you last. He enjoyed the impromptu trip to Busan, but with all the dream walking he has done lately, it’s like you never left his side.

As Jimin’s ready to leave, Jungkook stops him with another question. “Any new developments in Daegu?”

“Nope, it’s nothing but crickets there.”

“And you’ll tell me if anything comes up?”

“Have I ever been unloyal to you?” Jimin raises an eyebrow, scanning Jungkook from head to toe. He’s appalled by the question.

Jungkook grins. “You know I’ll have your head if you do.”

“How long have we been friends and you still talk to me like that?” Jimin questions, shaking his head. “I’ll be sure to inform you if anything or anyone shows up,” he says, turning around to leave Jungkook to the secrets hidden behind him.

Friday nights are times to make plans and hang out with friends, but it’s your time to work–that is if one could even call donating your blood to vampires ‘work’. The job was simple and unconventional, and you were happy to see your debt decreasing, thanks to these vamps.

In your eyes, Jimin was truly a gem. He was always texting you and making sure this was something you wanted to do. Growing up, you had to look out for yourself, since no one else was around.

When you pulled up to the gate, you didn’t have to ring the buzzer, it automatically opened, letting you in. Like normal, you pulled into the driveway behind an all-black Rolls Royce. Someone must’ve gotten a new car or there’s a possibility of a new client. Either way, none of that was important because you needed to focus on the task at hand: another round of donations.

Before greeting you, Mrs. Kim patted her mouth with her hankie which displayed crimson red from her coffee mug filled with blood–a typical sight at this point. You wondered why she just didn’t drink from a straw to prevent making a mess.

“You’ll be in room 7 today. Your client’s already inside,” she says, going back to reading her book.

From the basket sitting on the corner of her desk, you grab your buzzer. You’ve done this a few times now, but you figured this is something you’d never get used to.

You’re always curious and at times intimidated when it comes to these appointments, only because you never know what type of vampire you’ll come across. Will they be like Lucas? Someone who can’t control themselves? Or will they be like Jin? Gentle and understanding, the perfect balance of kindness and control with some humor thrown in. You quite liked his unorthodox approach.

As the door creaked open, your tense shoulders dropped and your heartbeat returned to normal when you saw Jimin sitting on the couch awaiting your arrival.

“Finally. I’ve been waiting all day,” he teases.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” you comment, sitting beside him, and setting your bag down. “Why are you booking an appointment with me, anyway? You could probably have my blood whenever you want if you ask nicely.”

Jimin grins. “That’s tempting, but I shouldn’t.”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion. “Why not? Afraid you’ll become addicted or something?”

He lets out a chuckle. “Yeah, something like that.”

The two of you quiet down and you realize that you’ve missed being in Jimin’s presence. He has a demeanor that’s quite different. Jimin’s like a safety net, ready and willing to catch you if you fall. His willingness to provide and protect is something you appreciate. And you’re even more thankful for it now that you’re involved in the world of vampires.

“So, pick your poison: neck or wrist?” you ask, meeting Jimin’s gaze, in which he beams a grin, and your eyes focus on the small chip in his front tooth. A part of you thinks he’ll choose neck because you still remember the first meeting with him and JK, where he bit into that woman.

“You decide,” he answers, taking you by surprise.

Your heart races, and you’re sure Jimin can hear the blood pumping through your veins. It’s never your first choice to be bitten into your neck. You found it rather intimate, especially with the other person being so close, their breath all hot and warm against you, and yet they were only going to draw blood from you and nothing else. But curiosity gets the best of you when your eyes drop to Jimin’s lips. Tilting your head, the natural rosy, plush lips are more intriguing than they should be, and you wonder how soft they’d be pressed against the column of your neck.

“Neck,” you reply, glancing at the vampire before you.

Jimin raises an eyebrow at your unexpected answer. “Are you sure?”

Clearing your throat, you squeak out a ‘yes.’ Turning back to Jimin, you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for another blood donation.

His hand reaches out for yours, gently squeezing it. “Hey—if it’s too much, you can tell me to stop. Okay?” Jimin catches your gaze, ensuring you understand, and you nod in agreement.

Inching closer to him, you strain your neck to the side, waiting for him to pierce into you with his sharp fangs, but Jimin takes his time—he doesn’t dive right in.

“Are you scared my blood tastes bad or something?” You tease to lighten the mood.

It’s quite the opposite, he thinks—well, at least that’s what he’s heard through the grapevine. Jimin ignores your question. “Do you want to see what it looks like?”

His question catches you off guard. “What? You feeding on me?”

He hums. “Aren’t you curious?”

The world of vampires was opening up new fascinations, and you’ve only seen what they’ve shown in the movies and from the interaction you’ve had here at JK’s. What’s the harm, you think?

Curiosity tends to get the best of you, so you agree. You’ve seen Jimin feed on someone but you’ve never seen what you look like being fed on. Your mind goes back to the first time with Lucas and nothing could’ve prepared you for it. 

“I know when to stop, unlike Lucas,” he reassures as you’re contemplating his question.

“And if I die?” Which was a possibility. You knew the risk of getting involved with vampires.

“Then I’ll personally put a stake in myself. There’s an option for your wrist too,” he reminds you.

You answer by standing and walking over to the full-length mirror. Is this what the mirrors are for? So vampires can watch themselves? Was this some kind of kink? You suppose there’s a kink for everything.

Jimin stands behind you, catching your gaze in the mirror. He’s been doing this for a long time and can see the concern in your eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asks, gently stroking the side of your neck.

“I trust you,” you reply, elongating your neck so he can have better access. Your breathing slows, but it’s the opposite for your heart rate—it increases when you see Jimin’s eyes turn dark and veins protrude through his delicate skin. His fangs appear and his nose nudges against the nape of your neck. He inhales the soft floral scent you spritzed on before leaving. Your eyes fall to his lips, thinking about how plush and pillowy they must be. 

His lips ghost over your shoulder before meeting your eyes in the mirror again. “Ready?”

You hum in agreement and expel a single breath, and that’s when Jimin takes the plunge, piercing his fangs into your neck. His soft, plush lips mold against you. You’re lost in a trance, forgetting that you opted to see what feeding on you looked like. The sensation is overwhelming, almost euphoric. Having Jimin feed on you was the complete opposite of Lucas. Maybe it’s because you know Jimin, have had an actual conversation, and most importantly, you trust that he won’t hurt you—get carried away.

With your mouth agape, your eyes focus on Jimin as he’s relishing on you, your blood–the one thing that keeps him alive. Your gaze falls in the mirror, watching yourself lean back onto him for support. Your chest is heaving, breaths have fallen short as Jimin continues feeding on you.

He wraps his arm around the front of your waist, steadying your body. His lips are painted scarlet red when he pulls away from you. “Are you okay? We can take a break if you want.”

Your eyes are glazed over, wandering toward the ceiling and then around the room before meeting Jimin’s gaze. Shaking your head no, you tell him to keep going.

Although vampires aren’t mind readers, they’re keen on reading body language and social cues, and he didn’t want you insensible before him.

He pierces his wrist, holding it up to your lips, encouraging you to feed on him. Vampire blood isn’t the tastiest thing in the world, but you know it’ll quicken your recovery. Without hesitation, you consume his blood, sucking his wrist for a few seconds.

Jimin steps away, retrieving a silver Hershey’s kiss from a bowl beside the sofa. He’s asked Mrs. Kim to provide them whenever you’re scheduled for an appointment. Unwrapping the chocolate, he hands it to you, quickly popping it in your mouth. Sugar always speeds up the recovery, at least that’s what you believe.

“Still not used to this, huh?” He takes a seat and you do the same.

You relish in the rich taste of the milk chocolate and the crunchy almond that’s hidden within. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” you comment, turning to face Jimin. “How’s my neck?” You’re always worried there’s going to be a mark left behind, but you know there won’t be.

“It looks good as new,” he confirms, lightly trailing his finger along your neck. “If you’re tired, you can rest in your room.”

“My room?” You let out a soft chuckle. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You’re not. You’re always welcome here.”

“Do you treat other donors like this?” You raise a brow, wondering if others receive the same treatment.

Jimin shrugs. “It’s different with you.” He stands, playing with the silver chocolate bells in the bowl, avoiding your gaze.

Your eyebrows are knitted, and your lips thinned. “How am I different?”

He clears his throat, regretting the words he’s spoken. “I mean—you’re Ji-na’s friend, so of course, we’re going to treat you like you’re one of us.”

“One of you? You act as if I’m a vampire already.” You wouldn’t be surprised if Ji-na hadn’t been asking Taehyung to turn her already.

“No, no. Let’s keep you human for as long as possible.”

“You say that as if you’re predicting my future.”

Jimin lets out a nervous chuckle. “I might have drained too much blood from you, huh? Should I walk you back to your room?”

Light laughter and chatter fill the hallway as the two of you continue toward your room. Your eyes wander to Jimin’s room and you poke your head in.

“You’re a curious cat, aren’t you?” Jimin asks, standing behind you before walking in.

“Can you blame me?” You shrug with intrigue as you follow him. The world of vampires only existed in film and television—at least until you were introduced to them, all thanks to Ji-na.

Jimin crawls into a reading nook that has been built beside the window. He watches and lets you wander to your heart's content. Your hand lingers from one book to another, seeing if anything catches your interest. One can only assume that being alive for so long can become boring and you’d have to find new hobbies.

“Have you read all these books?” You stop to pull out a modern book cover among the ancient-looking ones. “The Notebook?” With the novel in hand, you turn around to find out Jimin’s answer.

He pushes himself off his seat, strolling over to you. “Why yes, I’ve read all of these—including The Notebook.” He plucks the book out of your hand, returning it to its place. “What’s that phrase? ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’?” Jimin raises a brow and folds his arms across his chest.

You feel bad because you’re only teasing—you quite liked the book and the movie. Avoiding his gaze, you focus on a nameless brown leather-bound journal jammed in between The Great Gatsby and The Alchemist.

“I’m not judging—as you said, I’m just a curious cat,” you reply as your finger stops on the leather-bound book, ready to pull it out, but Jimin places his hand over yours, blocking you from grabbing it. Your head snaps in his direction, your eyes gleaming and your lips curve into a smile. “And what are you hiding?”

His grip becomes tighter as he pulls your hand away. He grabs the book, tucking it behind his back. “I’m not hiding anything. There are some things I want to keep private.”

“I wonder how many years of secrets you have hidden away.” You mirror Jimin, arms folded and your body is leaning against the bookshelf.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He raises a brow and sports a smirk, then he backs away, retreating to his reading nook. The leather-bound book is still hidden from view.

You shouldn’t pry, but you know Jimin isn’t the type of person to feed you a string of bullshit. Taehyung definitely would and as for JK—you’re sure he can’t stand the sight of you.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You take a stride toward him with hands behind your back, trying to seem as innocent as you can.

“Go for it.”

“How did you, Taehyung, and JK all meet?”

Jimin pats the spot next to him. “You should get comfy because it’s a long story.”

1945.

The flickering wrought-iron street lamps illuminate a darkened alleyway. It’s late June, but the intermittent summer rain drenches the pavement along with pockets of puddles.

Five people are in this alleyway—only three are alive.

“What a pity.” The man shakes his head and clicks his tongue at the scene before him.

Jimin and Taehyung look up from enjoying their latest meal, which were two young women they had come across in a bar. They had gotten carried away, taking it further than expected, practically draining every ounce of blood in their bodies.

“You've made such a mess of these poor women.” The man standing before them is unrelenting in his curiosity of the two friends.

“What’s it to you?” Jimin asks, wiping away the blood that has dribbled down his chin.

The man shrugs. “There’s a way to ensure everyone has a good time.”

Jimin and Taehyung both stand, facing the mysterious man of the hour. Most people would be terrified, running for their lives, but not this person—rather, he was giving advice.

Taehyung steps over one of the bodies, strolling towards the man. “You should leave before you get hurt.” He tries his best to intimidate him by standing tall and puffing out his chest, but he recoils when the man doesn’t stand down.

A snicker leaves the man’s lips, placing a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. “I too, was once a young vampire, but hear me when I say you don’t have to live your life like this.”

Taehyung removes his shoulders from the clutches of the mysterious man and swiftly wraps his hand around the man’s neck, pressing him against the brick wall. The veins around Taehyung’s eyes protrude, fangs on display in an attempt to scare the man further.

What Taehyung doesn’t know is that the mystery man has 100 years on him, and could kill him before he could even say a word.

“Taehyung, don’t be stupid,” Jimin scolds his best friend, walking over to the two men.

Taehyung relents, letting go of the man. He adjusts his tie before reaching for something in his back pocket. He pulls out a wallet and plucks a card, which sits between his index and middle finger. Jimin and Taehyung stare at the man and the card then snatch it out of his hand.

The bunny on the card amuses Jimin. He flips the card over and sees the initials ‘JK’ and a phone number.

“Call me,” the man says. “If you want a job.”

Jimin and Taehyung look on as the man walks away, waving a hand and going on his merry way around the corner. The two briskly follow only to find this ‘JK’ person has disappeared without a trace.

Present Day.

“Has JK always been so mysterious?” You wonder if he’s shared more with Jimin and Taehyung since he’s known them longer—he must’ve because they’re practically at his beck and call.

A light chuckle leaves his lips. “Jungkook is…well…”

“Well, go on, spit it out. You can’t keep a girl guessing.”

“He doesn’t like others prying into his past.”

“Why not?” A slip of your tongue and you want to kick yourself.

“Let’s just say that he’s not the same JK you know now.”

Your eyebrows are knitted, mulling over Jimin’s words. You suppose everyone has skeletons in their closet. Things they’d like to keep hidden. Maybe some secrets are better left unsaid. With immortal life, you can only assume they’ve seen things they want to forget, and done things they regret. Could JK be trying to live a better life now because of his past?

“And what about you?” you ask, propping your hands as you lean back. Jimin’s collection of books gave you a small look into the kind of life he’s led, and you hoped that the two of you could become friends. He’s been kind to look after you during this donation process.

The corner of his lips curved into a smile. “What about me? I’m an open book—mostly.”

You lightly tap your feet on the floor, a lopsided grin on your face. “Open book, hm?” It takes everything in you to not blurt out every single question you’ve had listed since this whole vampire charade began. The questions are endless and you wouldn’t want to bore or annoy him. But if you could only ask him about one thing, it would be about what he’s keeping hidden behind his back.

Jimin scans your face. He raises a brow wondering if you’re going to poke the bear, but you don’t. You recede.

Your lips thin into a smile. “I’ll save my questions for another day. I should head to bed, and I’m sure you have more important things to do.” You stand and Jimin does the same. Turning back, you face him, placing your hands on his shoulders, reaching to place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for always taking such good care of me. You don’t know how much it means.”

He’s taken aback by your gesture. If only he could tell you the reasons as to why he feels responsible for you. Maybe your gratefulness would change.

“Have a good night Jimin.” 

Slipping into a pajama set, your mind wanders to tonight’s appointment with Jimin—surprised that he was your client. You figured he would get some perks considering he was in charge of scheduling and keeping the peace within the vampires and their donors. If there was a vampire you’d want to be paired with, it would be Jimin. You can’t pinpoint exactly why you feel connected to him, but you feel as though you have a good friend on your side.

When you slide under the fluffy duvet, the white sheets are cool to the touch—it’s quite pleasing after an appointment. Donation days always brought great anxiety, and even the pep talks on the drive-over became more unconvincing. But once a donation was over with, the adrenaline rushing through your veins was smooth sailing again.

And now you’ve only had more questions to add to your list: What kind of person was JK before you met him? What is Jimin hiding in that book? Should you keep galavanting around with vampires trying to make ends meet? Maybe you’d do a few more months of appointments to save enough and then have Jimin wipe your memories. At least they wouldn’t be all of your memories—just anything about vampires.

But you’ll cross that road when and if that day comes.

So much for saving money because when you had it sitting in your bank account, it looked splendid, especially when there wasn’t a minus sign. Bills? Paid. Spending money? Finally.

You had a few hours to kill before tonight’s appointment and you wanted to check out a candle studio in town. You’ve driven past it many times and always noticed the window display.

The quaint studio was tucked between a coffee shop and a plant store. You made a note to check those out the next time you’re in the area, not realizing this town had such charm.

A bell rang and the door creaked when you pushed it open. Your eyes immediately fell to beautifully decorated shelves with a variety of candles: tapered, pillars, wax melts, and jars. The fresh, clean aroma of the studio filled your nostrils as you analyzed and read through the different labeled candle jars. You whip your head back when you notice a familiar butterfly—it’s almost identical to the one you have tattooed on the nape of your neck. But it’s just a coincidence, right?

“You’ll love the smell of that one—” A woman comments when she sees you eyeing a particular candle. She picks it up, twisting off the black cap, and the scent inhabits your space. Tilting it toward you, she encourages you to smell it.

There’s a soft, sweet floral scent to it. “Mm, you’re right.”

The woman smiles, twisting the cap back on and placing it on the shelf. “I thought you would.”

“Um, I couldn’t help but notice the butterfly on the label. I have a tattoo just like it,” you comment, turning around to point to the nape of your neck.

“Oh.” The woman’s voice falters, and she steps back.

You turn around, watching as her expression changes. “Is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She clears her throat. “No, I apologize. That’s a beautiful tattoo you have. Please let me know if you have any questions about anything.” She runs off, past the counter, and behind a pair of velvet purple curtains.

Confusion sets on your face, and you can’t help but wonder if your tattoo and the butterfly on the label aren’t a coincidence. You chew the inside of your cheek, gazing in the direction of the curtains, unsure what to make of the awkward run-in. There’s not much to do but brush it off, and maybe you’ll check out the other shops next door.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say when you accidentally bump into someone.

Turning around you see a beautiful woman. She looks around the same age as you, with such striking features—her brown almond eyes are dusted with a smoky glam look, and her lips are stained ruby red, her long, dark waves frame her face, as if she walked out of a movie set, even her outfit was sultry and seductive. And you’re sure if she had a partner, they probably worshiped the ground she walked on.

She scans you from head to toe before asking, “Which one do you think my boyfriend will like?” Walking over to you, she picks up the candle the shop owner showed you earlier. “This one or this one?” She picks up another candle next to it.

You can't help but wonder why someone looking like her would be found dead in a place like this—JK's home was far and secluded from observers, and the small town was simply a rest stop. And you’d kill to look like her–especially in a white corset top, black leather wide-leg pants, and heels.

She gives you another look, waiting for an answer, but continues, “My boyfriend is oddly obsessed with candles, and I want to surprise him with something new.” She untwists the lid of the candle with the butterfly label. When she takes a whiff, she ponders, letting the scent invade her nostrils before letting you smell it again.

With another inhale of the candle, you close your eyes, and a faint memory returns–you’re unable to recognize any faces, but you know it’s you and someone else. All you can hear are giggles. All you can feel are arms wrapped around you, and lips giving you kisses on your shoulders.

You open your eyes, taking a step back. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

The woman raises her eyebrows, mouthing, ‘Okay’, brushing off the interaction with you.

Sprinting out of the candle shop, you race to your car, unlocking the door, and slipping into the driver’s seat, your hands gripping the steering wheel. Blood pumps through your veins like you’re on an adrenaline high.

The imprints of memories only started once you involved yourself with vampires. Could this be a side effect? Could someone be doing something to you? Is this what happens when you drink vampire blood? Maybe it’s something you can ask Jimin.

A knock on your window brings you back to reality. You take your hands off the wheel and roll down your window to find the woman from the shop.

“Can I help you?” Maybe she needed some more recommendations.

She crouches down, handing you the candle from earlier. “Can you give this to my boyfriend for me?”

There must be some kind of mix-up because you don’t even know who she is, nor her boyfriend. “I’m sorry. I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

The woman shakes her head and grins. “No, I haven’t.” She holds the candle out further, waiting for you to take it, and you finally do.

“I don’t understand.”

“Tell JK that it’s from Eden and that I’ll be seeing him soon.”

A lightbulb goes off. Is this JK’s girlfriend? Was she a vampire too?

You swallow and peel your hands away from the wheel, your hand trembling as you hold the candle. You sense the same iciness that you've felt too often from vampire encounters with a mere touch of her hand.

“You’re cute—a bit timid. I can’t possibly see the appeal but who am I to judge,” Eden comments as she scans over you. “You have nothing to be scared of. I won’t hurt you—for now at least.”

You turn to place the candle in the passenger seat and press the ignition button. You roll up your window, preparing to bid farewell to this woman named Eden.

As you reverse, she stands—poised, waving her fingers as she watches you drive off. There’s a sense of relief when she’s out of view from your rearview.

First, the weird brush-off from the shop owner, then an interaction with someone from JK’s past. This isn’t a coincidence, is it? Just how deep did this vampire rabbit hole go?

You feel silly. It’s almost comical. Being afraid of a candle. You side-eye in the direction of it, shaking off the ridiculousness that you’ve concocted in your mind. As the car idly sits in JK’s driveway, you’re not ready to face the man of the house yet. Maybe Jimin could be the messenger and give it to him. Though, you’d hate for this Eden woman to find out that you didn’t personally hand it to JK.

“Why do I have to do it?” you mutter to yourself. With an exasperated sigh, you unbuckle, turn off the car, and then swipe the candle into your hand. A string of curses is grumbled as you slam the door shut.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,” JK says, scaring you as he creeps up from behind.

“Jesus Christ!” The hand holding the candle is held against your heart.

“Again, it’s Jungkook—not Jesus Christ.”

You roll your eyes at the cunning vampire standing before you. “Sorry—I can’t help it. You’re always sneaking up on me.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so jumpy,” he says with a snippy attitude as he walks past you.

“Wait—” You sprinted beside him, holding out the candle. He doesn’t say anything, but his pinched expression says it all—like he’s annoyed that you’ve stopped him with this trivial thing. “Someone named Eden wanted me to give this to you, and she said that she’ll see you soon.”

He takes another look at it, then you, ignoring the candle in your hand. “I don’t want it. You can have it.” He walks off without a care in the world like that name didn’t mean anything to him. Maybe things didn’t end well with her and he hates her guts, or it was a toxic relationship and he wants nothing to do with her. JK opens the front door, walking through it, leaving it open for you.

Throwing your hands up, you’re baffled by his dismissal of this supposed gift. You didn’t want it, it wasn’t yours to keep. You trample through the front door and hallway, following him toward his room. Just as you approach, he closes the door, locking it behind him. A puff of air escapes your lips, making a face at the painted black door.

“I’m leaving it out here for you!” You have no clue if he’s heard you, but there was no way you wanted to keep this candle. The fear of this supposed girlfriend was enough for you to not want to be involved. You set it on the ground, and you can see JK’s shadow, pacing around from behind the door.

As if you hadn’t had enough weird interactions today, throw JK’s into the mix too. Were you off your game or was he in a bad mood? Considering the two of you recently spent time together, you thought you chipped away at his hard, mysterious exterior, but perhaps you were wrong.

Tonight’s stroll to the blood bank feels endless. The wind has picked up, and leaves and what seems to be a trail of white daisies are floating and dancing around you. You’ve never seen daisies or flowers being grown around JK’s place, but yet here they were.

It’s quiet when you enter. Normally Mrs. Kim is chatting up a storm with schedule mix-ups but she’s passed out with a book on her chest. Her coffee cup of blood is full and hasn’t been touched. You suppose any job could be boring, even being a receptionist at a vampire blood bank.

There are no other donors except you and you’d get an earful if you decided to wake Mrs. Kim from her slumber. So you lean over, taking a peek at her scribbled calendar to find your name.

___ - Room 2

When you look around the waiting room, there’s something different, almost eerie. A candle on Mrs. Kim’s desk is holding onto its last shred of hope, trying to stay lit. You narrow your eyes to focus on the label—it’s the candle that you left outside of JK’s room. How did it end up here? Maybe Mrs. Kim grabbed it or JK dropped it off.

The fire from the candle danced back and forth but lost its battle and became extinguished. It’s normal, you think, for a candle to die out on its own.

Your hand is ready to turn the knob of Room 2 when your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

Jimin 8:27 PM

All appointments have been canceled for tonight, but you’ll still get compensation. I had to attend to something in Daegu with Taehyung. Feel free to stay the night and leave tomorrow if you’d like.

Turning around, you’re ready to head back to the main house and find something or nothing to do. But white petals from a daisy are littered on the ground and stop you in your tracks. Did you trek them in from outside or did you not notice them from earlier?

Maybe it’s better to go to your room and lock yourself in it until the next morning. You'd drive back home, but you hated how dark it became around here. Plus your sleepy eyes always come at the worst time. So a hot, relaxing bath and curling up in bed seemed like the better option.

Being in a large house shouldn’t be frightening, you think to calm your nerves. Bubbles are plastered onto your skin as you soak in the warm bath. The plinking droplets from the faucet is like white noise distracting you from your thoughts of being alone. With your eyes closed, you’re ready to drift off into dreamland, but you probably shouldn’t fall asleep in the bathtub.

You grasp the chain from the tub stopper and water begins to drain. Water sloshes and splashes as you reach for a towel, and beads of water run down your skin, trickling into it. Your feet press into the tufted coral bath rug which has ‘Let’s get naked’ embroidered in. You giggle at the thought of it because it doesn’t go with any decor in this large house. Maybe someone bought it as a joke—your guess is Taehyung.

The conditions are perfect when you slip under the covers—a fresh set of waffle-patterned pajamas drape your body and fuzzy socks warm your feet. The only thing left is to close your eyes and let your mind drift away.

And you do exactly that.

No one remembers the beginning of a dream. You’re plucked from reality and thrown into the dark abyss of your mind.

Dark clouds loom the expanse of the sky and thunder rumbles with a promise of rain. You’re focused on your shoes and the cherry red that paints it. You look up to see bodies scattered on the ground.

One. Two. Three—No four bodies surrounded by pools of blood in front of you.

There’s a fifth body. Someone is hovering, ravishing its lifeless soul.

The munching and gulping fill your ears as you approach. It’s when you crouch down beside them, you realize who the person is.

“JK?”

He snaps his head in your direction. The veins around his red eyes protrude, and his mouth is stained with his victim’s blood. He tucks his legs and feet as he kneels with his hands in his lap.

“Are you okay?” You knit your eyebrows together, and a trembling hand reaches for his shoulder, but he moves away.

JK shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“Just—come back with me, it’ll be okay.” You attempt to grab his arm but he resists and pushes you away.

“No, it’s not okay. I’m not a good person—look at me. I’m a monster. I can’t stop killing people.”

“JK—please. We’ll figure something out,” you plead.

“It’s cute you think that you can help him.”

You whip your head around to find Eden.

“Come on, baby,” Eden says, pushing you out of the way, and making you fall to the ground. She grabs ahold of JK by the arm, linking hers to his. “You need to get out of this little funk. Who cares if you can’t remember your past? Think of the future we can build together!”

JK reluctantly trails alongside Eden. He looks back with tear-filled eyes. But you have a feeling you shouldn’t try to take on Eden. It would only get you a one-way ticket to the morgue.

You watch as the two disappear into the distance, and the inevitable rain releases its downpour on you. As you turn around, there are piles upon piles of bodies—all drained of their blood. You cover your mouth and your heart’s racing. Did JK kill all of these people? Is this what he meant when he said he’s a monster?

The uneasiness of the dream awakens you. The hair on your body stands frozen by the mental image of the piles of bodies. It’s just a dream, a figment of your imagination, a thought that’s been buried deep and has now resurfaced.

You’re sure that at one point or another JK has killed more than he’s wanted, but it’s in a vampire nature. It’s what they’re meant to do. Maybe the JK you encountered in your dream was full of remorse and regret. At least, that’s what you suspected.

But dreams can bring out one’s deepest desires or darkest fears, and maybe becoming a sinner who couldn’t be brought back to reality was JK’s.

✨ next chapter ~ the 200

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts x reader

[403tarot]

HELLO 🙋I saw you talking about the seventeen ranking and now I'm curious to know: who are the most romantic idols you've done readings for? any from BTS? 👀

hi-ing 🍀 to be honest i didn't take many readings for BTS members and the ones i took were generally pretty bad (lol). but if i had to make a general ranking of the most romantic idols in my opinion (based on relationship readings i did for them) it would be:

1. wonwoo - this man came out of a romantic comedy movie i swear, he just wants to get married, have two children and a dog

2. seonghwa - he wants a love that consumes his soul. i don't think it's that easy to have compatibility with him, but when you do, the reading result is heart-melting.

3. scoups - just like seonghwa, he wants a love that makes his heart burn. he is loving and understanding, strives to make the other person happy and is willing to change if necessary.

4. san - the perfect one if you want to feel like a princess every day for the rest of your life. every time i read for him, he becomes a little more mature. a man to be proud of.

5. bangchan - lefts home at 2 in the morning in the middle of the rain just to go to the grocery shop because his babe is craving sweets. the kind of man more than worthy to be followed as an example.

i've done readings for many idols, some good and others not so depending on the person. there are others i know who can be very romantic (yeosang, jay, jooheon, etc), but the ones that are more frequent and align more with my romantic style are the ones i've included in this ranking. 😅

#— duckie notes ⪩♡⪨ #ateez tarot #seventeen tarot #stray kids tarot #seonghwa #san #scoups #wonwoo #bangchan #kpop tarot #kpop readings #kpop astrology

[collapsedglasshouses]

Can you write mutual pining and jealousy with Noah please? I don’t know how to elaborate but may be one of them got hit on or something

A/N: Of course! Thank you for requesting! This had been sitting in my drafts for a while now, I apologize, but sometimes finding the right words is hard and I don't want you to receive something half-hearted! ♡ I hope you enjoy! ♡

Heartfelt Secrets [Noah Sebastian x Reader]

SUMMARY: When you get hit on by a weird stranger at a bar, Noah finds himself unable to contain his feelings any longer.

WARNINGS: mutual pining, jealousy, FLUFF, ...

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Laughing, you ran with your best friend, Noah, through the late summer rain, your destination the bar about 200 meters in front of you.

“Wait!” You shouted after him as he sprinted away. “I can’t keep up with you, giraffe!”

“Did you just call me giraffe?” He wanted to know. He held his chest as if you had shot him with your words.

You were still laughing when you finally came to a stop in front of the bar. You leaned your head against his chest as you tried to contain your breaths and laughter, totally forgetting about the rain around you.

You hadn’t seen Noah in a while, since he was away for tour for almost three months. When you first met years ago at a small concert of his band, you were basically attached at the hip as soon as he came home from tour. In fact, it was so bad that your friends started calling you an old married couple.

At first you laughed it off but as soon as you really put your mind into it, you started to see it too. You were acting like an old married couple. You in fact did almost everything that would make people think you are a couple, except of the physical aspects like kissing or been intimate.

So, when you stepped inside the bar you chose for tonight, it wasn’t weird that he held your hand as he guided you to a free table.

You sat side by side at the table, your bodies almost touching, but not quite. The space between you felt charged with energy, but neither of you dared to acknowledge it. The air was thick with desire, the longing in your hearts growing stronger with each passing moment.

As the evening unfolded, you couldn't help but steal glances at Noah when he wasn't looking. His dark hair framed his handsome face, and his eyes, like twin pools of endless depth, held a hint of something he hadn't yet expressed. You admired the way his lips curved when he smiled, the way his laughter resonated in your soul. Every stolen look, every accidental touch, only fueled the growing fire inside you.

Noah, too, was trapped in a whirlwind of emotions. He couldn't concentrate on anything but you. The way your eyes sparkled with mischief, the softness of your voice when you spoke, and the way you laughed as if the world had no hold on you—it all consumed him. He found himself longing for something more, something he couldn't quite put into words and also didn’t dare to even try for the risk of your friendship.

He loved your company. In fact, he loved it so much that he almost started to crave it when he was away. “Coming home” started to become “coming back to you” for him.

The night carried on, and the tension between you continued to build. You both enjoyed having each other around again. The air felt electric, charged with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires.

Than something, or better someone, distraught you little bubble of happiness and closeness. When Noah went to the bathroom, a stranger sauntered up to the table you were seated at. The stranger’s eyes fixated on you, causing to form an unpleasant goose bumps on your body. The guy’s grin was flirtatious as he struck up a conversation. Since you did not know how you’d get rid of him, you engaged in polite small talk, trying to let the stranger's innuendos fly over your head.

When Noah made his way back to your table, his heart twisted painfully as he watched this stranger invade his personal space with you. Noah felt how this fierce and possessive emotion crept up inside of him, even though he knew he had no right to feel that way. You could do whatever you wanted. You weren’t his girlfriend. But in situations like this, he wished you were. He couldn't stand the thought of someone else capturing your attention, of someone else making you smile and laugh.

Driven by an impulse he couldn't contain, Noah slid his arm around your waist while sitting down even closer next to you, pulling you to him. You felt how your cheeks heated up. His touch was possessive, a silent declaration to the stranger that you were off-limits. He shot a glare at the intruder, his voice low and laced with a hint of warning. "Sorry, but they're with me."

You turned to look at Noah, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in your eyes. The stranger, unimpressed by Noah's presence, attempted to continue his advances. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, his tone dripping with charm. "A pretty thing like you deserves someone who can show you a good time."

You felt how Noah’s grip on your waist tightened and he spoke with a hint of irritation. "I don't think they're interested. You should probably find someone else to bother."

You were taken aback by the protective edge in Noah's voice. The stranger, finally getting the hint, backing away reluctantly and leaving the two of you alone once more.

Noah's heart still raced as he met your gaze, his eyes revealing vulnerability he'd never shown before. "I couldn't stand seeing someone else hit on you," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly when he saw your surprised look.

A warmth spread through your chest as you realized the depth of Noah's feelings. "Noah," you whispered and laid a hand on his chest as he turned to face you better, your heart pounding in your chest. "I couldn't stand it either."

You noticed how his eyes flickered to your lips for a second. You felt like you were on fire when you gathered your courage and leaned a bit towards him, inviting him.  

With that, the barriers between you crumbled, and you both leaned in, closing the gap between your lips. The kiss was electric, a culmination of years of pent-up emotions and unspoken desires. You felt light-headed when he grasped your face and pulled you even closer. When you finally pulled away, breathless, you smiled at each other, a shared understanding passing between you.

In that moment, you both understood that your friendship had transformed into something deeper and more profound way before this event. You were no longer just friends; you were two souls hopelessly in love, ready to explore the unknown territory of your relationship.

No one spoke a word as you smiled like idiots and held hands, continuing to enjoy your night. You couldn’t help but think that under some rare exceptional circumstances jealousy maybe had its perks. It had pushed you both to finally admit what had been feeling in your hearts all along, and now, you were free to explore the love that had been waiting for you all this time.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens rpf #collapsedglasshouseswrites

[atamascolily]

I keep seeing people saying variations on "Gosh, I can't wait to see Madoka fight Homura in Walpurgis no Kaiten!" and while far be it from me to rain on anybody's parade (the id wants what it wants), I can't help doing a double-take every time this comes up, because it's so dramatically different from my own viewing experience and perception of the characters.

Apart from the inherent assumption that violence is the only possible method of conflict resolution, you're telling me that Madoka Kaname, who wants all magical girls to be friends and team up together to fight witches, who repeatedly throws herself in between angry combatants who could break her like a twig, who tosses her best friend's soul off a bridge to break up a fight, who faces down a witch on the faint hope of getting said friend back, who sacrifices herself so magical girls don't have to suffer anymore, and whose reaction to finding that her best friend has become a big scary monster in Rebellion is to rush over and hold her hand--is going to fight Homura, of all people?!

Let's just say I'll believe it when I see it.

It's not that Madoka isn't capable of violence--she made that abundantly clear when she shot Mami at point-blank range to save Homura--but to say it's not her preferred solution is a vast understatement. Being forced to kill both Mami and Sayaka in quick succession devastates her--and if Homura hadn't been present, there was a very real chance of Madoka becoming a witch herself in that moment. When we do see Madoka fight, she tends to win in a single shot, as in later timelines against Walpurgisnacht. Maybe Devil!Homura is the only one strong enough to stand against her--but that assumes that Madoka would ever choose to fight her in the first place, no matter how angry/hurt/betrayed she feels, and no matter what Homura has done.

Madoka is not only the show's title character, she is its moral center, and the literal heart (there's even one on her magical girl outfit to drive the point home); the goddess she becomes, while still bearing death, is guided by compassion and mercy, not aggression and cruelty. Even if she were to fight Homura, it would be very much a "I'll kick your ass to bring you back to reality" kind of fight rather than one to kill.

Homua might well see herself as Madoka's enemy, but I don't think Madoka sees Homura as hers. Their conflict is real and deserves to finally be addressed, but ultimately it be can only be resolved by honest communication with each other. You know, that one thing Homura simultaneously craves and shies away from in equal measures, so it isn't like this is going to be easy! True emotional openness and vulnerability requires far more courage than blowing stuff up and always has.

It's tempting to see Homura and Madoka's reification as two opposite and opposing forces to be the primary conflict moving forward, but I think that will ultimately prove to be a false dichotomy. If the two are truly on the same level, the yin to the other's yang, neither can win against the other in the end; the only true ending involves them united as equals.

Instead, I see Homura vs. herself to be the ultimate conflict, with "self" taking a wide variety of externally manifesting forms thanks to previously established worldbuilding. The key visual for Walpurgis no Kaiten appears to support this premise, with Homura facing off against another Homura, while Madoka hovers in the background. It's not that I think Madoka isn't important, but the framing here certainly does not suggest that a violent struggle between her and Homua will be a large part of the plot.

And sure, trailers and promotional materials can be misleading--but like Kyubey, they generally do so by putting the truth in plain sight and trusting the audience to mislead themselves.

#puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica #pmmm analysis #walpurgis no kaiten #walpurgisnacht rising #madoka kaname #homura akemi

[poetatorturadaa]

Have my back, everyday, fels like home.

jason todd x fem!reader, light angst?, hopeful ending. soeees, I had this saved in notes for a long time, it doesn't have an exact beginning and nor an end, but I wanted to share it. English is not my first language, so let me know If I missed something, I hope you like it. <3

Jason looks at her and his eyes soften with something else, something like tenderness as he watches her take the strawberry from the bowl and chew on it. It's strange for him to think that she was ever interested in romance. It's not that he thinks romance doesn't suit her—he's seen her living with his siblings, she's a sweet, warm presence who can bring out the best in anyone. Hell, even Damian's. But she always plays the role of friend, of platonic confidant. No one seems to be able to see past her pretty face and realize how alone she feels.

Jason is not a poet, nor does his training as a vigilante offer many insights into romance. But he can see that there is something in her that craves attention, to feel loved. It's not Jason's place to fill that void, or at least, he's not supposed to. He then looks away and continues cleaning his motorcycle.

A weight floats in the air. Y/n doesn't recognize it, but the silence becomes too pronounced. It's almost as if even the cartoon on her phone knows there shouldn't be such an absence of words.

Jason's gaze moves back to Y/n's face, who remains focused on the screen. It's like it's easier to pretend that a cartoon is more interesting than whatever else is happening in the room. There's a strange electric hum in the air and her skin tingles when his gaze meets hers. There are so many different possible futures, each of them tugging at her heart in a thousand different ways.

He couldn't say anything, let the energy dissipate and pretend it never happened. He might give in and confess a secret that could turn everything upside down. He could engage in a monologue about the state of his soul.

Instead, he speaks plainly, as if none of these things were possible or even worth mentioning. "Do you want another strawberry?"

Y/n looks at Jason and feels a strange kind of kinship with the silence that hangs between them, even if he's doing her job, making the sound of metal scraping against stone. Still, she can't let herself get comfortable with the silence between her and Jason, and her thumb flicks across her phone to change the cartoon episode she'd just finished. "Yes, of course," she begins, looking at Jason, "So...what were you saying about Dick?"

"Dick seems to think you're keeping me balanced," he says quietly, taking a couple of seconds to extend the now half-full bowl of strawberries toward Y/n. There's a subtle change in her tone, a slight drop in sharpness. It's subtle, but is there anyway. "He thinks you... tame me or something." He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh, though that's completely accurate to her relationship with Dick.

In Jason's eyes, Y/n could only be described as the sunsets that seem to be longer in summer, a cup of coffee with the perfect amount of sugar on a winter night, and the sweet, pungent aroma before the rain. She is able to bring a strange feeling of calm to anyone who crosses her path. And as a close friend of the Bat-family, she is one of the few entities capable of talking reason to them. Y/n has the unique gift of being able to keep all of their tempers in check.

She lets out a small giggle at Jason's words, amused by the way Dick perceives her, oblivious to the fact that Jason actually thinks of her the same way too. "He must know something to think that." She scoffs, her voice as reserved as ever as she turns off her phone and puts it in her back pocket, turning around and placing her chin on the back of the couch to now look at Jason as her hand goes to grab another strawberry from the bowl he's holding. He extended it to her.

"He has this idea that you... calm me down" Jason continues, looking at her now. His expression has softened. "He has told me more than once that as long as you are in the game, I will be fine. That you will keep me in line and make me less destructive."

He pauses, turning his gaze to the metal of the motorcycle, which is now in perfect condition to be used again. "It's actually a little insulting," he says, his voice thick with sarcasm. Y/n brings out the best in everyone, but it seems like no one believes she might be the one who needs to let her guard down.

Y/n discovers that she admires Jason more than she should. Maybe just a second longer, but Y/n is detail oriented. And that extra second was incredibly countable. The vigilante, and his gray-green eyes, tired and constantly expressive, in which she felt that if he looked for a second too long she would get lost again. Distracting hands. His expression was so different and complicated to put into words.

"I think we all need someone to take care of us." She responded softly, expressing between the lines her inner desire to have someone to take care of her too.

Jason's expression changes again. It is something so subtle that it cannot be pinpointed. But the weight is still there. And it's almost as if an entire novel has been written since his last words.

He looks up again and again his expression is hard to read. "I doubt anyone has ever taken care of you." His tone is soft, almost calm. It may seem like a shot to the heart, and maybe it is. But he says it sincerely, he knows that even though he and the rest of his siblings, even Bruce, or many other superheroes, are always there, she doesn't have a person to take care of her like she wants to be taken care of. And she deserves more than that.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #dc comics #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd fic #it's nice to have a friend #you're find me in my tallest tiptoes #jason todd oneshot #reader mirrorball #dick grayson #batfam #batfamily #light angst #angst #hopeful ending

[ravenssilver]

Phantom/Aeon waking up from a nightmare while rolling with someone and craves comfort but is too scared to ask for it?

mmm aeon angst.. my favorite👹

1k words of aeon having a reoccurring nightmare and being too nervous to outright ask for comfort.

cw: nightmare of the Pit, detailed summoning process from aeon’s pov, aeon continues to be traumatized, more of my aeon lore and a bit of how i see the pit :)

under the cut if you please<3

Darkness.

Deep, deep darkness.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

It was all he remembered before he felt it.

Cold. He felt extremely cold. His feet planted on something every time he stepped forward. The ground was almost soft, but it made him sick every time his felt his feet sink into it.

He tripped after a few minutes of wandering, looking behind him and down at the ground, only to see a bone.

A sickly feeling bubbled in his throat as he looked a few feet to the right, squinting through the darkness just to seeing bits and pieces of the skeleton that the bone was a part of.

He quickly turned around again and began running, trying to ignore the dizziness in his skull as he felt a sharp, painful tug in his soul.

He ran and ran and ran, eventually falling to his knees and sobbing when the pain in his chest was too much to bear.

Then, he was choking, like all the little oxygen in the Pit had been sucked away. He clawed at his throat, coughing and heaving in the dust of the wasteland around him into his lungs.

He felt the ice cold wind suddenly be evaporated into steam as his skin burned with the heat of a thousand suns, Aeon choking out a cry of agony as he planted a hand on the flesh-like material under him. Sweat escaped his pores, dripping off of his nose as he trembled and tried to heave in the oxygen that was absent from his surroundings.

His eyes rolled back after an excruciating minute and a half, his body going limp and collapsing onto the sickly soft ground.

His consciousness faded. Though, not before he felt a sudden grab of his ankle as he was yanked-

Aeon gasped as he jolted awake, a choked sound of surprise leaving him as he fell off the edge of his bed. He grunted as he hit the cold floor of his room, still tied up in his blankets.

His lilac eyes darted around the room for a moment before he slowly sat up, feeling the fear and adrenaline coursing through his system as he thought about the nightmare he had just woken up from.

Then the tears started.

Aeon didn’t want to go back to the Pit. He didn’t even want to think about it. He had a life with his new pack. He was happy.

So why couldn’t he shake that damn dream?

Aeon slowly rose to his feet after fighting to get free from the blankets. His legs shook as he tried to get his wits about him, holding back his whimpers and cries so only his shadow casted by the moon would hear.

He laid back down in his cold bed, curling up into himself with a shaky sigh as he closed his eyes, only to snap them open again as he was met with the vision of the Pit.

Aeon swallowed harshly and rolled onto his back, staring up at his ceiling.

He wanted someone from his pack. Dewdrop, Mountain, Aurora would’ve been just fine. But no.. he wanted Swiss.

Of course, wanting was what got him to that damn wasteland in the first place. Constantly searching, finding, and taking things that he simply wanted in his human life was what got him under Mammon’s control.

That is until Copia saved him.

With that damned summoning ritual.

Aeon shivered as he thought about the air that had been stolen from his lungs, which he learned was courtesy of Cirrus and Cumulus providing their element to Copia’s ritual.

He remembered how he got a preview of Dew’s anger and initial hatred for him when he felt heat that only fire could bring spreading over him. Heat that was prosperous on earth. Fire that Aeon once longed for in the barren wasteland. The sweat that only Rain’s element of water could provide in Limbo. The way his body went stiff like the bark of a tree, Mountain’s element tied with Rain and Dewdrop’s.

Aeon wanted Swiss. Badly.

The multi was the only one who hadn’t participated in Aeon’s trauma. He didn’t help with the ritual that quite literally killed him again before dragging him kicking and screaming Topside.

Swiss was his safety when he could finally open his half-blinded eyes again.

But he didn’t want to be seen as weak.

All the other ghouls got over their summoning. Aurora was over it to the best of Aeon’s knowledge, so why wasn’t Aeon over his own?

Aeon shook his head and got out of bed, walking on wobbly legs out of his room and to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Though, as he walked into the kitchen, he saw Swiss standing there on his phone as the microwave hummed. Aeon froze dead in his tracks, his bloodshot eyes widening as he saw a slightly blurry outline of Swiss.

“Hey, honeybat,” Swiss smiled as he glanced at Aeon, only to do a quick double take. “Woah… are you okay?” Swiss asked, setting his phone down on the island counter and walking over to Aeon. Aeon sighed shakily, knowing he couldn’t lie to Swiss no matter how badly he wanted to.

The smaller ghoul shook his head, keeping his eyes set on Swiss’ chest as to avoid eye contact.

“Nightmare?” Swiss asked, gently cupping Aeon’s jaw and lifting his head so he could look into Aeon’s lilac eyes. Aeon sniffled and nodded. “The same one.” He muttered.

Swiss frowned and pulled Aeon into a hug.

“You floaty?” Swiss asked softly, knowing Aeon sometimes got in his own head and went back to the Pit mentally. “I was for a minute. I’m okay now.” Aeon mumbled, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Swiss’ neck.

Swiss nodded, slipping his clawed fingers into Aeon’s shaggy hair and gently massaging. Swiss began breathing deeply, silently instructing Aeon to follow his actions and breathe with him.

Aeon subconsciously followed his actions, lulling himself into an almost half-asleep state. Swiss kissed at the base of Aeon’s horn.

“You’re here with me, honeybat. You’re warm, you’re breathing just fine. You’re here.” Swiss whispered, squeezing Aeon just the slightest bit more to help ground him in the moment.

Aeon sighed in relief and relaxed even more in Swiss’ hold, finding his eyes slipping shut as Swiss held him in a way that was nothing but loving and protective.

He was there. Aeon was standing there, in the kitchen with Swiss.

He’s okay.

#ghost band #aeon ghoul #the band ghost #ghost the band #phantom ghoul #ravenssilver writes #swiss ghoul #nameless ghouls #swiss x aeon #swiss x phantom #aeon’s a sin of greed #i will die on this hill #raven’s responses