#need to get the time together to watch it someday...

[f0point5]

Jealous Emilia after they get together plss I am beggingggg cook this for us plssssss 🙏🙏🙏

Not me rewriting this no less than four times and still hating it 😂 but it’s not going to get any better haha. This was hard to write because I actually don’t see Emilia as the jealous type. I kind of drew off a lot of her known insecurities and alluded to her kind of struggling with the “wag” role a bit so it’s not just her reacting poorly to Max being fawned over by a girl because I don’t think that would be true to her character. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

✨Set in Jeddah 2024✨

And I’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

If there’s one thing to be said for the Jeddah paddock, it’s pretty at sunset. You watch people moving through the paddock bathed in golden light. The ground looks like the yellow brick road. Even though it’s getting cooler now as it gets closer to qualifying, you still choose to sit inside Red Bull hospitality. You’re also sitting inside because Max said he wanted to hang out before quail. Even though he’s spent the last forty-five minutes talking to one of the hospitality guests.

Amy, something or other. She races GT cars in some series you’ve never heard of. You’re not sure what connections got her the invite to the garage but Max had been herded away by one of the media reps to take pictures with her so she must be someone’s daughter. They seem to have hit it off, you note. He’s in full maxplaining mode, bending down to the line of his own hand as he illustrates what looks like an apex. Amy isn’t even watching his hands, she’s watching Max. Hazel eyes just sparkling as she memorises every inch of him. Yeah, you know that look well enough.

And it’s not that you mind. He likes to talk racing, he likes racers. It’s not like you know what it feels like to driver a car at top speed, and more importantly you don’t want to know. The hot laps with Max were more than enough. You can’t be everything to him and you don’t need to be. You tell yourself you don’t want to be. It’s good he has other people to talk to, because it’s not like you can ever really understand his competitive streak. The man who knows nothing except how to win will not always be able to relate to the girl who has always been too afraid to lose.

No, it’s not bothering you that Max is talking to her. It’s bothering you that she has the most obvious crush on him since…no, actually, this is the most obvious crush ever. She’s played with her hair so many times you just know karma is going to make her bald someday. You hope you’re there somehow.

“Hey,”

You jump at the sound of Checo’s voice. He sits down at the end of the table, brandishing Kitkat, which he slides over to you.

“Max has made a new friend,” he says, nodding in Max’s direction.

You tear open the wrapper with far too much aggression. “So I see,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“She races, right?”

You nod, biting into the chocolate. “GT, apparently,”

“Lots in common,” Checo says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “You have to watch your back,”

You know he’s joking. You know that in no universe are you in competition with her. And yet, his words sink under your skin under your blood is curdling at the sight of Max laughing at something Amy says.

“I don’t have to watch anything,” you say with shrug, turning towards Checo. “If she can take him she can have him.” You push your hair over one shoulder and run your tongue over your teeth.

“Whoa,” Checo chuckles, throwing his hands up like he’s being faced with a hungry lion. You suppose since he has a wife, he knows the look well enough. “I was joking.” When you don’t react, he shakes his head. “It’s Max,”

You know what he means. It’s Max, not Chuck Leclerc. It’s Max, not Danny Ric. It’s Max, not Checo. But it’s Max. You don’t have to worry he’s going to lose his mind over the actresses or supermodels, but he sure seems to be respectfully admiring his female alter ego.

It’s like he can sense you thinking about him, it’s uncanny, really. Out of the corner of your eye you can see him walking towards your table with Amy in tow.

Fake smile, it’s fine, she’s just a fan.

Max introduces you, and you smile and shake her hand and ask her if she having a nice day, because you’re Max’s girlfriend, so you owe it to him to be polite. She has no such obligation, although you might be imagining her flinch when Max says the word girlfriend.

“I think it’s the best day of my life,” she says in answer to your question. The telltale flicker of her eyes in Max’s direction as they sit down almost making you roll yours.

Max doesn’t notice, he’s more interested in taking your Kitkat out of your hand and taking a bite. He bites it so that all four sticks have the end missing and you wear you’ve never been so disgusted by this man. For a second, you think Amy can have him.

“Amy races GT cars, like the ones we tested in Portugal,” he says to you now, his hand disappearing under the table to rest on your thigh and trace circles with his thumb like it’s a habit. “We are just talking about setting up a test for her with Verstappen com,”

Oh, great. So not only is she utterly bewitched by the ocean eyes, you’re making her dreams come true. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Ah,” is all you say, sharing a look with a smirking Checo.

“That would really be such a dream come true,” Amy says, and you almost laugh. “I’m a big fan of yours, I think it’s so cool that you’re involved with things outside formula one. You should come to a race sometime. I owe you paddock passes,”

You met him three hours ago, and he isn’t even the one who invited you. Do you owe him a blowjob as well, Amy?

“Yeah. Our schedule is a bit hectic but yeah, it would be good to fit that in soon,” Max says, turning to you. “Right?”

What am I? The secretary? Because in case you didn’t notice, she didn’t fucking invite me.

You just shrug.

“GT racing doesn’t exactly draw the influencer crowd,” you are definitely not imagining the way her eyes slide over to you before she looks back at Max to say, “it’s really good racing,”

You zone out right then and there. It’s like your brain short circuits from the energy it’s taking not to reach over, grab this girl by her stringy extensions, and rip. If she and Max keep talking, you don’t hear it. You don’t want to hear it. You notice Checo noticing your discomfort, even as he engages the other two in conversation. For all his quirks, Checo reads human behaviour much better than Max. Though you don’t need to be a body language expert to see how much this girl likes him.

She looking at him like she wants to eat him, hanging on unspoken words, fingers twitching on the table like she’s desperate to touch him. And he’s nodding along, because they’re so aligned that whatever she says he agrees with, and the maxplaining is one-handed now but no less enthusiastic, and you’re about to dig your nails into his skin because he is not going to have one hand almost up your skirt while another woman is flirting with him.

All these thoughts are interrupted by the appearance of one of the Red Bull media managers.

“Amy, we were hoping to get some pictures of you with the car, if you’re free?”

“Yeah, sure, one second,” she says, turning to Max. “Which way is the garage again?” Like she doesn’t have someone who clearly just came from the garage standing right next to her.

“Just through there, keep going straight,” Max says, pointing to the corridor with engineers walking in and out. You give the girl the benefit of the doubt that she’s not that stupid, just desperate.

Reluctantly, she gets to her feet. “So, I’ll give you a call to set up the test?”

“Yeah, sure,” Max says. “Or you can call Raymond. He’ll put your team in touch with the right people,”

“Okay, awesome,” she says, leaning down enough that you can see right down her shirt. “It was really great to meet you. And I meant it about the GT race,” and then, as if remembering she can’t be rude, she glances at Checo. “You guys, too,”

You wave her off, and your smile doesn’t even fall. Because it’s funny. It’s funny that a grown woman would behave like that in front of a man’s girlfriend. It’s funny that a woman gunning for sponsorship would behave like you does regular shifts in something called the “Champagne Room”.

And it’s absolutely hilarious that Max turns to you, without a care in the world, and says, “I’ve got such a headache. I stood up into the cupboard in the garage, it hurt so bad,”

You give him tight smile and pull out your phone to text Lily to see if she’s still with Alex or if she’s free for a catch up.

“What?” You hear Max say above you. You ignore him. “What? She the-“ You look up just in time to see that Checo is mouthing something to Max. “Jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” you snap, leaning back in the your chair to glare at both of them. They give each a mocking grin. “Yeah, very funny,” this sets them off snickering like school kids. “Fuck both of you.”

You get up and stalk through the room and back towards the garage. You don’t even know what you’ll do when you get there since being Max’s girlfriend had put an end to you just wandering down the pitlane and allowed in any garage. Maybe you’ll just try and find GP. If Max doesn’t catch up to you first. You can hear him calling you.

“Leibling, wait,” he’s right behind you now, and you hear him almost stumbling as he leans forward to catch you by the wrist.

You shrug him off, but stop at the door to his driver room and push it open, jerking your head to order him inside. He may be a dick, but he still deserve for the whole team to know his business. He steps into the room, reaching for your waist but you move out of his way and leave him to close the door while you lean against the physio table on the other side of the room.

He sighs when he sees how you’re looking at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I mean, I did. Not at you. I didn’t think Checo was being serious,” he defends, and by the end of his sentence he’s fighting an incredulous smile and you squeeze the edge of the physio bench to stop yourself pulling your hair. Or his.

How can this guy understand complex tyre strategy but not basic human interaction?

“You didn’t think he was serious that I was annoyed by someone flirting with you in front of me?” You ask him, raising an eyebrow. “And that I wouldn’t be annoyed at you making fun of me for it?”

Max scoffs. “She wasn’t flirting with me,”

“Oh, please.” You let out a scoff of your own. “You didn’t notice me flirting with you for three years, do not pretend you’re an expert,”

“I noticed,” Max argues, “I just didn’t take it seriously,”

“Which is why you have no leg to stand on,”

“Right, because I was just supposed to believe that you suddenly-“

“It wasn’t exactly sudden-“

“For God’s sake,” Max groans, an expression of abject confusion twisting his face. “What are we even fighting about?”

“You enjoying Lella Lombardi over there slobber all over you, and enjoying it,” the exasperation gets worse when Max’s eyes widen like this is the first he’s hearing of this entire discussion.

“I’m- she- what?” He splutters, his head shaking in disbelief. “Is this one of those Tiktok pranks?”

“I get that she’s a pilot and that makes her automatically interesting, but until I hear otherwise, you’re still in a relationship,”

Max looks at you like you’ve grown a second head; shock, concern, and a good amount of unadulterated disgust. “You can’t think I was looking at her…like that,”

The way he says it, like he’s afraid to catch cooties, like it’s it’s inconceivable, like you didn’t still have bruises of your hips in the shape of his fingertips, takes all the fight out of you. Checo was right; it’s Max. It’s feels like someone’s let all the air out of a balloon. Your shoulders slump and you sigh.

“Because that would be crazy?” You lift yourself onto the physio bench as you speak. You’re not even really sure what you’re asking. “Max Verstappen, who likes only one thing on earth, that one thing being racing, attracted to another driver rather than his influencer accessory girlfriend?”

“Actually, I like two things,” he says with that boyish smirk that has been making your stomach do backflips for longer than you care to admit.

“Stop laughing at me,” you whine, fighting the urge to smile.

“I’m not. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that she upset you. I’m sorry that I upset you,” he says, taking a careful step closer to you, but he stops there. “Even if I don’t know what I did,”

He really has no idea. He is painfully, adorably clueless.

“Nothing,” you say, because you don’t know either. Sometimes it’s just inexplicably overwhelming being Max Verstappen’s girlfriend. “Just you being you, I guess,”

Max frowns at that. “I didn’t know being myself was so offensive,” he mumbles, and you instantly feel guilty. You of all people shouldn’t make him feel bad for how much space he takes up. You of all people know how much that bothers him.

“No, it’s not that. It’s not-“ you struggle for a way to explain it. Max takes the opportunity to cross the rest of the room and stand in front of you, his expression telling you he’s waiting for you to finish. “It’s not about who you are, but sometimes the way people act around you is just…and you’re so used to it, you don’t even…you just forget who you are sometimes, Max,”

He nods soberly. “Yeah. I do, and I’m sorry,” he says. He hooks his hands under your knees and pulls your legs apart and slots between them as he drags you to the edge of the bench so that you’re pressed against him, leaning back to look up at him. “But I never forget who you are, which is the most important bit,”

You can’t help but smile at him. He’s so simple. And not because he’s unintelligent, but because he’s guileless, because who he is has never scared him. He smiles back, and it’s unguarded and unbridled and you almost forgive that girl because you’ll be damned if you don’t have a crush on him, too.

“Was she really flirting with me?” He asks curiously, looking down as his hands find your and entwine your fingers.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, and he frowns, the wheels working in head as he tries to figure out how he didn’t notice. “Like me at your mum’s on Christmas Eve in 2020 level of obvious,”

“Well,” he says with a huff. “She just blew her chance at a test,”

“You don’t have to-“

“Wait, you were flirting with me at Christmas at my mum’s?”

#max verstappen x reader

[pxuvalentinx]

Woah like imagine talking about having a family with teen kento ‼️ requesting anything on this plsplspls

a/n: i actually kinda really like this idea waowww !! i've been so slow with requests lately :') i'll get to them soon pinky promise. THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST THOUGH !!! tags/warnings: obv teen pregnancy, slight angst, fluff, nanami is a sweetheart, established relationship (lmk if i forgot anything)

Teen Dad! Nanami, who at first wasn't too sure about this. He always tried to be safe with you, but I guess accidents happen. Nanami honestly thought it was a silly prank of yours at first, but when you showed him a picture of the positive pregnancy test, he lost his composure for a second.

Teen Dad! Nanami, who told you that he needed some time to think about it and really realize what's happening. Once the shock was over, he came running to you, telling you that he'd be more than happy to support you and be with you regardless of the situation. Telling you that he'll support both you and your kid to the best of his abilities.

Teen Dad! Nanami, who now would take on more missions to make some extra money to be able to support you through everything and also save up for the future. Since his plan was now to put a ring on your finger someday.

Teen Dad! Nanami, who often came home exhausted, pissed off that he had to work overtime and also that he had less time to spend with you. Regardless of that, he always made sure to get you whatever you craved, to massage you whenever your back hurt too much, and to help with chores around the house. Nanami would also take notes for both of you in class; education is important after all.

Teen Dad! Nanami, who tried to keep as calm as possible when your water broke (he was panicking on the inside). He read somewhere that panicking will only make the pregnant woman panic too. So he kept calm, calling an ambulance as he held you close, grabbing the little hospital bag you two packed together (he also read about that).

Teen Dad! Nanami, who tries his best to even support you during birth, holding your hand. Sadly, he couldn't really bring himself to watch it happen, only ever glancing over. Nanami hoped it was enough for you.

Teen Dad! Nanami, who becomes the best dad ever regardless of how young he is. He'd start taking on a bunch of chores and duties, just to let you rest.

Teen Dad! Nanami, who calls Shoko every day just to ask silly questions that should've been obvious. Shoko answers every question anyway, wanting to support you and him. Nanami always wrote everything down.

Teen Dad! Nanami, who supported your spending addiction when it came to buying toys and outfits for your little one. In the end, he couldn't deny just how adorable it looked in all of those outfits you buy.

Teen Dad! Nanami, who started looking for other jobs he could do after he graduated from high school. He knew he wouldn't be able to do Jujutsu sorcery forever.

Teen Dad! Nanami, who your little one always throws up on. It's like, as soon as he holds your little one, it just gets the urge to throw up. Gojo definitely makes fun of him for that (until he holds the little one and it also throws up on him, earning a teasing smile from Nanami).

Teen Dad! Nanami, who loves you just as much as before, not caring about any of the changes the baby or being pregnant made to your body. If you're insecure about it, he'll reassure you a lot.

Teen Dad! Nanami, who spoils you and your child as soon as he gets the chance to. When your baby grows up, he won't be able to say no to anything they ask for.

#x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami kento fluff #teen nanami #jjk x reader #jjk x you #fluff #nanami headcanons #dad nanami #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #pregnancy #jjk cast #reqs open #writing requests

[heaven-s-black-box]

Vulnerability- Aventurine x male!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: April 29th, 2024

Description: Hello sorry if this is a bad time, but I was wondering if you could make a story where the reader is male and comes from an extremely endangered species that is capable of having a child with a partner of the same gender, and he's kind of like Black Swan's apprentice, and went to Penacony with her but he ends up bumping into his ex Aventurine, the reader left him because he had a couple mental issues he needed to work out but he still cares about Aventurine and just doesn't know what to say to him.

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contributions. I couldn't really work in the "being able to have a child with someone of the same gender" but otherwise I think this came out really well.

Word count: 1 031

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Black Swan is a bitch.

That’s Y/n’s opinion as he catches a glimpse of soft golden hair and a gaudy green suit across the bar. The memokeeper had sent her darling apprentice to get them some drinks. She could feign ignorance, but Y/n watched her look over at the bar before sending him. He knows this was intentional, but he won’t let her lead him like she leads everyone else.

Seriously, he’d been under the impression that memokeepers were simply supposed to observe, why was she so intent on meddling with his life?

“One sweetened mood and one prolonged sunrise, from the man in the green suit,” the bartender nodded over her shoulder before he could ask about the second drink.

Y/n bit their tongue and tried to hold back a scowl.

“Thank you.”

He picked up the sweetened mood and brought it back to Black Swan.

“You forgot your drink,” Black Swan hummed, taking her drink from Y/n.

“I didn’t get one.”

“But he bought you one,” she grinned, taking a sip.

“And if I took it I’d be opening myself up to talk to him, and I have nothing to say to him.”

They both looked over to the bar, finding the man in question talking with a man with purple hair who looked less than thrilled to be there. When Y/n turned back around, Black Swan was watching her drink swirl together– the layers becoming muddled and the vibrant colors becoming one dull shade. He could sense a coming lecture and sighed.

“You want to be a memokeeper to preserve your kind, to leave a record in the wake of your destruction so that maybe someday– if the universe comes to an end– you can be born again.”

“If you’re about to suggest repopulating my kind I’m going to leave.”

Black Swan laughed.

“No, no, that’s a decision only you can make. I’m just saying that you’ve found your purpose now, maybe it’s time to give relationships another chance.”

Y/n frowned.

Black Swan wasn’t wrong. The only reason Y/n had broken up with Aventurine was because he’d felt too dependent on the IPC agent. Aventurine had tried to comfort him by insisting he could depend on him, but that had only made things worse. Neither of them wanted to be taken care of and while Aventurine was in a position where he could take care of Y/n, even if it was only superficially, Y/n was out matched. So he’d left.

Now he just wasn’t sure what to say.

He’d been unsure of what to say for years. He’d had the same conversation with himself every night as he lay in bed, trying to find the words that explained why he left. Trying to explain what exactly ‘you’re too coddling’ actually meant beyond never letting him pay.

---

Y/n felt shifting below him, nudging him awake. He buried himself into his pillow a little more, frowning at how hard it was, before prying his eyes open.

“It’s been awhile,” a groggy voice spoke from above him. 

The apprentice memokeeper sat up, groaning in pain as his back stretched out from the uncomfortably bent position he’d been in. Aventurine laughed, squeezing his hand. Y/n hadn’t even noticed that he was holding it, but he quickly pulled it back and settled his hands in his lap.

“Sorry, must’ve been really tired,” Y/n mumbled, yawning as he pressed himself back into his chair. “I’ll go get a doctor.”

Aventurine grabbed his wrist as he tried to leave.

“Can we talk?”

“You should get checked out, you’ve been out for a while.”

“It’s not like I’m hurt.”

“No,” Y/n sighed, “you were comatose. I’m getting you a doctor, then we can talk.”

He kept his word.

A few minutes after the doctor left the room, Y/n re-entered with a tray of food. He sat back in his seat and set the tray on the bed table before pulling it up to Aventurine.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Y/n said.

Aventurine nodded, staring at the food in front of him as they fell silent.

The small room was filled with the ticking of the clock on the wall and the faint sounds of footsteps outside. They were in the medical area on Penacony; Robin and Sunday were being treated in their rooms but Aventurine was stuck here.

Y/n found himself staring at the food on Aventurine’s tray as well.

“I’m sorry,” they both said. “Why are you-” they continued, stopping when they both turned to look at each other at the same time.

Y/n looked tired, and Aventurine looked a little sickly. It was almost funny that they were looking at each other in such vulnerable states. Maybe if they’d been able to see each other like this before, they wouldn’t have broken up. If they’d been able to understand that being able to protect one another was the only way they felt strong.

“I get it,” Aventurine said. “I always understood it… because I felt the same way,” his voice dropped to a whisper as he looked down to his hands in his lap.

“It was just… so hard to feel like I couldn’t do anything for you, like I was useless and maybe if we weren’t us we could have worked through it together but everything you tried to do to make things better made me feel worse.”

They fell silent again, collecting their thoughts and picking their next words.

This was the most open they’d ever been with each other.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Aventurine asked suddenly.

“I did. I’ve been trying to think of how to tell you but it felt weird.”

“Why?” Y/n looked up at him. “Did you want to tell me, I mean.”

“Because I miss you.”

Aventurine nodded, then reached for their hand. He intertwined their fingers.

“Kakavasha. That’s my name.”

A small smile tugged at Y/n’s lips.

“Kakavasha,” he brought the back of the man’s hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss against the worn skin, “I think it’s a beautiful name.”

#researcher s's recovery #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail aventurine #hsr aventurine #hsr kakavasha #aventurine x reader #x reader #male reader #hsr black swan #oneshot #hsr oneshot #angst with a happy ending

[bookdragonideas]

Sokka is a brother

His first memory is meeting Katara. A tiny baby, so weak and squishy. Nothing like the Master Waterbender she would someday be.

"She's your sister." His parents tell him with a smile. And he's too young to fully understand that, but somehow the unsaid message rings in his ears. "Yours to protect."

Katara can make water move without touching it. It's fun, until it isnt. The adults worry, and he learns to worry too.

They play in the snow and get into trouble and some days she's his best friend and other days he wishes she was never born.

His father teaches him to fight. To throw a boomerang and hold a spear. He teaches him how to put on the traditional war paint and tells him the reasons and stories behind it.

Sokka is five.

And five is so old, an entire year older than Katara, half a decade. He runs after his father and begs the older men to spar with him. And he loses his first boomerang when he takes it penguin sledding. He watches his sister play with her water magic and promises to always protect her. And then he puts dead fish in her boots. (She deserved it)

He outgrows his Grangrans stories and insists on patrolling the village with his father. Katara calls him stuck up and meanie and they bite and kick each other until their mother catches them. She forces them to stop and to apologize and he doesn't really mean it (yes he does) and they don't get any treats for a week. And that seems such a harsh punishment and they decide they'll work together, if only to steal some treats from Bato. His mother sighs in exasperation, and makes them do extra chores as punishment this time.

Later his father will tell him that he needs to be responsible and do the right thing, even when he's mad.

Later Katara will apologize for real, and he'll tell her a dumb joke in forgiveness and everything will be alright again.

Later they will play together in the fresh snow, all quarrels forgotten.

And then the snow turns black and everyone will know what that means.

Sokka is eight.

And eight is so old. A whole year older than Katara, and he doesn't run to his mother, he runs to his father. Helping to defend the village like all the other men. He can't do much but throw things. But that seems to be enough. And he can hear Katara crying. He doesn't know yet what that means.

Eight is to old to cry. Men don't cry. Why is his father crying?

Where's his mother?

Sokka is nine.

And nine is so old. Nine is older than eight-year-old-Katara, nine is almost a decade. Nine is old enough to hate.

And he does. He hates the Fire Nation for what they took from them. He hates the North for the aid they never sent. He hates the way Grangran still talks of hope and peace, when there is neither. He hates Katara for not running fast enough. He hates his father for crying in the night. He hates himself for not running to his mother, for not being older and stronger, for not actually doing anything that mattered. Bato takes him hunting. He looks at the old ship, frozen in ice, and feels viscous satisfaction. They fought back once. They will fight back again.

Sokka is ten

And ten is so old. An entire decade, an entire year older than Katara. Katara who has been doing laundry and cooking and cleaning their home. Katara who has stepped into the void their mother left. He doesn't hate her anymore. He doesn't hate his father or his Grangrans stories anymore. Sometimes in the dark of night he still hates himself.

He goes fishing with his dad and spars with the older men. He patrols the village and trys to help with building the defenses. He makes dumb jokes and funny faces and sometimes Katara laughs. He loves it when she laughs. He loves it when his dad laughs. He loves it when his Grangran smiles and Bato chuckles. He loves it when his dad tells him he proud of him. Ten is old enough to love.

Sokka is thirteen.

And thirteen is so old. Older than Katara who's still only twelve, old enough to fight back. Old enough to fight.

His father disagrees. He says that his place is here, with his sister, with their tribe. He tells him he's proud and that he trusts and then he sails away.

And so Sokka protects. He builds defenses and tries to train the young boys. He goes fishing and hunting and sometimes Katara comes and sometimes she doesn't. And he still tries to make her laugh but less and less often. And when they fight he apologizes, because it's what his mother would have told him to do.

He goes fishing and Katara comes and she plays with the water and he gets wet. It's always him who gets wet.

An iceberg cracks (thanks Katara) and they find a boy.

Sokka is fifteen.

And fifteen is so old. Older than starstruck fourteen year old Katara, old enough to leave his home to save the Avatar and the world. Old enough to travel across the Earth Kingdom to their northern cousins. Old enough to know when's somethings wrong with this Jet guy. Old enough to get a job for some money (or fish). Old enough to fight their firey followers who chase them across the world.

Fifteen is old enough to protect his sister. And the Avatar. Who isn't just some kid anymore, he's family now, and Sokka will protect him as much as he'll protect Katara. Even if neither of them need him to protect them.

Katara challenges a Master Waterbender to a fight. She doesn't win of course, buts it's a close thing. Far closer than any of the northerners were expecting. Katara can protect herself now. But he'll keep protecting her all the same.

Fifteen is old enough to fall in love.

And fifteen is old enough to watch a girl his own age die.

The moon dies. And is reborn. And suddenly he understands why his father once cried in the night.

And he does what his father did and keeps moving.

They return to the Earth Kingdoms.

He has two little sister now. And neither of them want him to protect them but he keeps protecting them anyways.

They journey to Ba Sing Se. And he finds Suki. He didn't realize they had affected her so much. He's so happy to see her. He wishes she was back at her own home island.

He has to protect her. (She doesn't need his protection) he has to comfort Aang (Katara handles it before he gets the chance) he has to save Toph (Suki dives into the water with less hesitation than a boy raised in the frigid waters of the south)

They have to get an army from the Earth King. But this place is a maze and there's traps around every corner. But it's okay, because they'll find a way to make it work. They'll find a way to win.

They lose.

Sokka is fifteen.

And fifteen is so young. And fifteen is so old. He's older than Katara and Toph and Aang. He's younger than their fiercest enemy and his father and all the soldiers dying in this ancient war. He's old enough to know they need help. A place to rest. A place to be protected instead of protecting.

They modify his invasion plan. Katara is angry at their father. Sokka makes her laugh for the first time in weeks. He's so relieved he almost cries.

Aang wakes up. They spilt up with the rest of the group and head towards the Fire Nation.

Master Piandao teaches him the way of the sword. It's the first thing he's learned that he's been naturally gifted at. (Except for making his siblings laugh and protecting the worlds last hope and thinking up cool team names, but those don't count)

He learns that not every monster is from the Fire Nation, as he comforts his sobbing sister and finally understands the burden her powers can be.

He's horrible at explaining his own plan. Aang doesn't care.

His father is hurt and he takes the lead. They follow his command and all he can think about is his siblings, as his sisters fight and his brother flies.

He falls for Azula's tricks.

The invasion fails and they have to flee. He fails and he has to leave his father and his tribe behind. Again.

Zuko shows up.

Sokka breaks his dad and Suki out of prison. Azula finds them and they split up again. They watch a truly horrible play. And Aang learns firebending.

Aang disappears.

Only days before the comet comes.

They can't find him, but they'll be there to help if he needs it.

Sokka is sixteen.

And sixteen is so old. Sixteen is old enough to lead Toph and Suki as they desperately try to stop the airships. Old enough to fight and to kill. And maybe some will survive, but he steers the airship as they crash into the others. And he pulls the lever that dumps the crew in the ocean. And he looks at Suki and she looks back and he realizes she knows he did himself so that she wouldn't have to. So that Toph, who is only twelve, wouldn't have to.

And sixteen is old enough to hold Tophs hand. As they dangle high above the ground. He throws boomerang and space sword and he makes a joke to help Toph. (She's crying. Toph never cries. Twelve is to old to cry.)

Sixteen is old enough to know what death looks like when it looms over (or under) you.

Sixteen is to young to die.

Suki agrees. Suki comes back and Toph makes a joke about boomerang, and the sky glows and the comet retreats for another hundred years and they won.

They won.

They won! And Zuko is the Firelord. And Aang took Ozai's bending away. And Suki looks absolutely amazing in war paint.

And his father is proud of him.

And his siblings hug him and laugh at his jokes.

And Master Piandao says they could probably remake space sword. And maybe even make a space boomerang as well.

And the world is at peace for the first time in a century.

Sokka is sixteen.

And sixteen is so old. An entire year older than Katara. And he walks with his father and they talk about the future of their tribe. He sits with Suki and she laughs at all his jokes. He plays pranks on Zuko with Aang and pulls scams with Toph. He travels the world with his siblings, basking in the peace they brought. He makes another sword and is given another boomerang. And he wears both wherever they go.

Because he's sixteen. And he fought in the war. And they might have brought peace but there will always be danger. He's the oldest and its his job to protect the others.

Sokka is sixteen.

And he knows with every bone in his body, that he will always protect his siblings and fight alongside them. His siblings are powerful, dangerous, magical, and skilled. But he's their brother. And he'll never stop protecting them.

Becauss Sokka is sixteen. And Sokka is a brother.

#sokka #atla #avatar the last airbender

[agirlandhermew]

Finale: Epilogue

No tws this time! Only light angst and fluff!

Saber waited by the side of the road. When the car came to a stop and Hanayo stepped out, Saber approached her and nodded.

"Hanayo. How did it go?"

"It went well! I helped her to move on.... and then I came back, of course. Hehe, I guess that I can't stay away for too long!" Hanayo said.

"I knew it." Saber smiled and took Hanayo's hand, and the two of them got back on the bus together. Watching the landscape go by, Saber realized just how much she had craved the peace and quiet of a life without constant danger. And now it was finally happening.

When the bus came to a stop, Saber and Hanayo stepped out immediately and went into the house where Amalia was staying.

Saber hugged Amalia and cried, happy that she was alive, and Hanayo purred and held Amalia's hand.

Next, the two of them went to see Silver. As it turned out, he had survived the attack and was alive, although he would need to stay in bed for a while. Saber fell asleep cuddling him for a while. Silver stroked her hair. Both siblings had tears in their eyes.

After that, Saber and Hanayo went to sit down in the nearby park. They sat back to back on a bench. Neither of them said a word. They didn't need to.

It had been a shock to Saber when Oyamatsumi had turned about to be Hanayo's next "destiny", and the ghost girl had freed Hanayo from her contract. Although it had taken away Hanayo's immortality, both girls were relieved. To know that someday, when it was their time, they would go together.

And after that.... Oyamatsumi had finally let herself move on. At peace with her completed task of protecting Saber, she had decided to stop being a ghost and let herself disappear for good.

The sky was turning orange from the sunset by the time Saber and Hanayo reached their home in Unova. When they went into the forest behind their house while waiting to meet up with Ophelia, Beckett, Master Kagemichi, and Lyra, Hanayo pushed Saber into the river. Saber laughed as the two began splashing each other. They continued until they both grew tired, then lay back in the shallow water, both still giggling.

Saber reached for Hanayo's hand, who took it in hers as they watched the sky above them. Finally Saber stood and helped Hanayo up, and they went to go meet the others. Tonight, there would be an after-battle celebration. After all, everyone who had fought deserved it.

Ophelia laughed as she saw them. "Hey, guys! Guess what? Master Kagemichi's adopting me! And I'm gonna start my career early, too! I'm gonna open up my own little mochi stand!"

Hanayo smiled. "That's great!"

Kagemichi placed his hands on Ophelia's shoulders. "I know she'll be good at it. She can do anything, especially when it comes to making sweets."

Ophelia hugged her new father as Beckett teased her. "If you can run it. You know how you get when you're stressed!"

"Hey!" Ophelia smacked his arm. The two of them began bickering playfully.

Lyra hugged Saber. "I wanna see Silver again. As soon as possible. And to tell him.... how much I love him."

Saber nodded and squeezed Lyra's hands. "And you will. I promise. And.... I think he knows."

Lyra nodded, her eyes shining brightly, and she skipped off to follow Master Kagemichi, who was rolling his eyes as he carefully followed Ophelia and Beckett, who were still yelling and laughing at each other.

For a moment, Saber stayed behind. "Hanayo.... you with me?"

Hanayo nodded firmly, once again taking Saber's hand. "Always. No matter what."

The two girls looked at each other. Not saying a word, but it was clear what was reflected in each of their eyes: I love you.

They must have been staring for a minute, because Ophelia called back at them. "Hey, guys, c'mon! You don't wanna miss the mochi!"

Saber looked at Hanayo, mildly annoyed, and they both laughed.

They held hands as they walked off into the sunset, never for a second doubting their place, either one of them. Because here together, with each other and their found family.... they were finally home.

THE END.

#rotumblr #pokemon irl #pokeblogging #pokemon #pokemon rp #pkmn rp #pkmn irl #pokeblog rp #rotomblr #pokeblog irl #ooc post #finale #epilogue

[emotionalcadaver]

Part 9: Bound in Blood

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: To some, the blood bond is as sacred as marriage.

Word Count: 1,979

Notes: Today (April 29) is Lucy's birthday! This might be the sappiest thing I've ever written. Also, I couldn't find much concrete information on blood bonds, so apologies if I got some of the details wrong or had to fudge any of the real-life aspects of these bonds to accomplish what I intended in this fic. Don't try this at home, kids; blood-born illnesses are a thing. Warnings for depictions of blood, self-inflicted injuries, and smut.

Masterlists: Main • Series

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The knife stung as it bit into the flesh of her left palm. Blood, like red pearls, beaded at the first prick, then rushed from the wound in a small gush as she increased pressure on the blade and it sliced deeper into her flesh. She dragged it across nearly the full length of her palm, leaving a diagonal, bleeding line from the base of her index finger to the heel of her palm opposite the side of her thumb in its wake. 

When Tommy had asked her what she thought about marriage, she had been honest with him. Her feelings were conflicted. All her life, marriage had seemed to be akin to a cage. She’d watched women–not just her mother, though she was certainly the most potent example–have their entire beings almost entirely stripped away, until nothing, not even their name, remained. Nothing but a maid, housekeeper, nanny, and whore all rolled into one.  

Perhaps she was being a bit harsh, but that was the example of marriage she had been exposed to for almost her entire life.

And it did not ultimately matter what Tommy wanted, either. She knew it was never his desire to cage or chain her. But it would not be up to him. Society had a very particular expectation for women who were married. And if he wanted to stand even a miniscule of a chance of being accepted into the circles he longed to be a part of, he could not have an unconventional wife. At least not now. 

Perhaps someday, with the changing times and more modern outlooks…if equal rights for women ever truly properly took off, then maybe. But not right now. 

And she would be a rubbish wife. Bored out of her mind. She detested cleaning, was an absolute disaster when it came to knitting and sewing, and she was certain that sitting at home with the knowledge that her husband and his boys were out enjoying all the action and thrills of the life without her, would eat away at her. 

She never had handled the feeling of being left out very well. 

She’d grow to resent it. Resent her life. Maybe even resent him. And that was not something she was willing to risk. 

He had been startlingly understanding, all things considered, when she explained her feelings to him. He knew her so well, he probably had half been expecting it. He’d just stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head. 

“I don’t need a ring and a certificate to know that I’m going to love you forever,” he’d told her. She’d locked her arms around his neck, stretching up on her toes to touch her forehead to his. 

“I plan to love you forever too,” she’d affirmed. And she meant it. Just because she could not say yes to being his wife, did not mean that they didn’t intend to be together for the rest of their lives.  

“But the door is always open. If you ever decide someday that you do want it,” Tommy had promised. Her brows raised, she’d looked at him with eyes that were only half joking. 

“Really? What if you end up marrying someone else?”

He’d scoffed at the mere suggestion, but must have caught the seriousness behind the teasing tone in her voice, because he’d pulled her closer, fondly kissing her nose. “Doesn’t matter. The promise still stands,”  he’d shrugged as if it were no big deal. “You decide you want me to marry you, and I’m already married, I’ll just get divorced.”

Laughing, she’d shook her head. “I don’t think you can ‘just get divorced,’ love. It would fuck your reputation.”

He shrugged again. “Would be worth it,” her laughter faded at the dead seriousness she saw in his eyes as he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I’d do anything for you.”

There was something about the way he’d said it, the complete and total certainty, that made her nearly want to cry. No one had ever loved her like this before. 

Completely. Passionately. Unconditionally. 

“There’s something else we could do. In the place of an official, legal marriage. If you’re interested,” he’d suggested, voice but a tempting purr in her ear. And when she looked at him, brow raised with intrigue, he smirked devilishly. 

And so here they were, kneeling in front of each other on the rug in the bedroom of her flat, each of them clutching a dagger in one hand, drawing it across their palms. Lucy watched the blood ooze from her cut, slightly flexing her fingers. She set the knife aside, looking from the warm, red gush to see Tommy doing the same, the dark red of his blood striking against the pale white of his skin.

He looked up, sky blue eyes glimmering in the low light of the candles they’d lit. Her eyes traced over the sharp lines of his jaw and cheeks, softened slightly by the freckles dotting his skin. Those eyes that could be as cold as ice or as warm as a sunny sky boring into her. Dark fringe falling over his forehead. When it was less styled, like it was now, he could have almost been described as a little boyish.  

The blood pooling in both of their palms dripped between their fingers. Sticky and warm.

Slowly, being careful so as to not jostle the cuts too much, they pressed their palms flush against each, then, just as slowly, interlaced their fingers.

Lucy gasped quietly at the feeling of his cut kissing hers. Their blood mixing together. Pouring into each other. Running through the other’s veins. 

If they had not already been one being simply split in two before, they certainly were now. Lucy shuddered, Tommy’s free hand going around her waist and pulling her a little closer, keeping their bleeding palms clasped tightly together. She tilted her head up, nose brushing along his neck and jaw as she did. He dipped his head to kiss her, deeply and open mouthed, the slow stroke of his tongue against hers making her moan softly against his plush lips. 

To some, the blood bond was as sacred as marriage. An unbreakable intermixing of the two bloods. The closest thing one could get to entwining their soul with another. Not only was it a symbol of the deepest possible love and trust, but also a silent promise of eternal devotion. A bond that would last as long as the scars remained present on their skin. A permanent mark tying them together for as long as they both lived. 

Of all the scars marking her flesh, faded but never truly to disappear, this was the only one she would ever truly be happy to have.     

His blood ran in her veins, now. He was a part of her. Forever.   

She’d have wanted it no other way.  

She kissed him back hard, the hand not clasped in his landing on his chest, feeling the steady rise of his breathing and the thump of his heart. Their palms squeezed impossibly tighter against each other, the blood coating them slick, smearing all across their palms, impossible to tell which belonged to whom. 

When they finally parted for air, foreheads resting against each other, they looked down together at their still clasped, bloody hands. 

It was done. 

Tommy’s arm around her waist tightened, somehow pulling her even closer to him, his lips on her forehead. Lucy closed her eyes. He was so impossibly warm, body large and strong and safe around her. She could have stayed like that forever. 

“I love you more than anything,” he said, and the words left tears brimming in her eyes. The weight of those words was not lost on her. 

“I love you too,” she said, angling her face up to his. “More than anything.” 

He smiled at her softly, head dipping to kiss her one last time before they parted, and his fingers flexed a little around hers. Their mixed blood was starting to run down both of their wrists. 

“We should get bandaged up. Before we both bleed everywhere,” he mumbled. 

“Mm,” she nuzzled at his chest. “Yeah.”

He reached for the gauze and bandages they’d set to the side in preparation. Some of the blood had congealed, half sticking their palms together, and it took a little bit of gentle fidgeting to pull them apart. Lucy hissed as Tommy poured a helping of alcohol over her cut, leaning into the kiss he brushed against her temple in apology. They cleaned and bandaged each other’s cuts with quick, practiced movements, examining their handiwork critically to ensure it was satisfactory and wouldn’t leave the other open to any complications or difficulty in healing.

Once that was done, Tommy was gathering her back up into his arms again, kissing her everywhere he would possibly reach. She giggled, overjoyed at the blatant display of affection, returning it as eagerly as she knew how. Strong arms scooping her up by the back of her thighs, he lifted her up onto his hips, standing in one fluid motion and carrying her towards the bed.  

Still kissing, they collapsed in an entanglement of limbs onto the mattress. Clothes were shed hastily, and then there was just the sounds of pleasure and utterances of love filling the room. Her fingers clenching in his hair as he kissed his way down her body, lips, tongue, and fingers working together once he’d reached his destination to make her cry out, back arching off the bed. 

And then he was over her again, wiping his mouth and looking far too pleased with himself. He grinned when she needily dragged his mouth back to hers, legs wrapping around his waist, eager. They both cried out when he sank into her in one deep thrust, the penetration serving as the second unioning of their bodies that evening. 

The bedframe creaked with the pace of their love making; thrusts steady, slow, and deep. Lucy clutched to him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. Never wanting to have to spend another moment of her life without him. 

She’d given him her soul. And in exchange he’d gifted her his heart. And now, with their blood running through each other’s veins, it was as if the merging of their beings had finally completed. They were one now. No one and nothing could ever tear them apart. 

She cried out his name when his cock hit the spot inside her that made her see stars, his thumb rubbing circles into her clit. Her head tipped back against the pillows, babbling nonsense about how good he always was to her. How he always took care of her. How he knew her more deeply and intimately than anyone else ever could. 

When her walls squeezed around him, Tommy moaned her name like it was a prayer. Like it was the most precious thing in the entire world. And then his lips were at her ear, whispering over and over again how much he loved her. That she felt so good. That he promised to love her for as long as he breathed. Maybe even after that. 

She came with a sob of his name against his lips as he kissed her, felt it as he came with her at the exact same moment, filling her with a groan, hips rolling to a stop to rest inside of her as he emptied while she tightened around him like a vice. For hours, or maybe only minutes, neither of them moved, just laying there, holding each other as tight as they could. 

Later, Tommy laid reclined against the pillows, with Lucy cuddled securely in her spot on his chest. And there, in the dark and quiet of night, they traced each other’s bandaged cuts, and whispered promises of eternal love.

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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Masterlists: Main • Series

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders #lucy winters #lucy winters x tommy shelby #my ocs #my fanfiction

[delicourse]

universe soup🐟🦋✨

#Stone Ocean #JJBA #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jolyne cujoh #Jolyne Kujo #deliart #a little aimless piece since i wanted to try some stuff out!! #confession: i havent wacthed the latest(last) part yet #but ive read the manga so im really curious how they portray certain parts... #need to get the time together to watch it someday... #hope we get some cool alt colors...

[euaphoric]

𝟎𝟏. 🥛 ✶𓏲ּ “ i want to sew all my love into you ” — [ 정국이 ]

he was comfort, security, and need, all in one. it had a name; home <3

pairing ◞⁺⊹ husband!jk x wife!reader genre ◞⁺⊹ married/domestic au, pwp, slight age difference (jk is older by 5 years)

warnings ◞⁺⊹ insane tooth-rotting fluff bc i’m in need of high dopamine levels, cute n soft smut, you’re a clingy wifey, minor mentions of anxious/sad thoughts, o/c is kinda whiny and hella attention/touch-starved, o/c just misses her bby fr, daddy kink, major impreg kink, foreplay, they get all sentimental n mushy gushy at the end agghhh, aftercare bc koo is the literal definition of the perfect husband ^_^ wc ◞⁺⊹ 4.6k

音楽 — eyes locked, hands locked by rv

i’m vv excited to be back and writing again, i missed it sm ;(( i did this poll i few days ago and this idea won but i’ve decided to write them all so this is the first of three !! (〃ﾉωﾉ)ﾟ+°

summer days grew humid, each was hotter than the last. though it isn’t your least favorite season, you prefer to spend most of your time indoors as the heat often makes you feel faint and the air can be suffocating. usually these lazy, torrid afternoons were shared with your lovely husband, either you two would be laid up on the sofa or in bed watching your favorite shows/movies but today went a little off schedule.

you were all alone in your bedroom, feeling a bit sulky as your husband wasn’t around to tend to your needs or give you any affection. it’s not jungkook’s fault though; he’s been toiled away since this morning, offering to help your parents move and rearrange some of the new furniture that arrived today. you decided to stay at your family beach house this summer for a change of scenery, you hadn’t been here since you were seventeen, let alone seen your parents in person since last year. spending some quality time together has been long overdue and you couldn’t be any happier about it.

both your parents absolutely adore jungkook, they thought he was the sweetest, kindest, most generous person they’ve ever met— which says a lot considering they’ve never been a fan of anyone you dated previously. when you introduced him to them a few years ago, they had slightly pre-judged him based off his outward appearance, assuming that he wouldn’t be the type to take relationships seriously or even want to settle down and get married someday. but not even hours later their perceptions of him changed drastically, your parents could tell that he was a genuine soul who loved you unconditionally and would do absolutely anything for you.

that very same day, your mom spoke with you privately to express her virtuous first impressions, saying how much she loves him already and this is who you should’ve been dating from the start. your parents had extremely high standards for your future partner, especially your mom— but jungkook exceeded every single one of their expectations, checking all the boxes off their list. “i can tell just by the glint in his eyes whenever he looks at you… he’s more than in love, he’s infatuated. the way he talks about you as if you’re the most wonderful thing to have ever came into his life— he’s definitely going to be the one you’ll marry.” your mom gets all teary eyed as she spoke those last few words, picturing her one and only daughter all grown up, in a beautiful wedding dress, finally getting to see you live your happily ever after.

not even a couple months after graduating from uni you got engaged to the love of your life, proudly getting your degree you worked your ass off for and becoming a soon to be wife. you had to move across the country for a job offer of a lifetime but it was worth it, jungkook was beyond supportive in any decision you made and was there with you every step of the way, holding your hand through it all.

shortly after moving, you two got married and the rest was history, it was stressful dealing with so many life changing events all within a span of such a short time but you somehow managed. had it not been for jungkook’s constant encouragement and willingness to work/talk things out, you would’ve been a complete trainwreck. he was the balance you needed to keep yourself afloat, you felt so lucky, more than blessed to have a caring, understanding man like him.

the more you daydream about him, the more you wished he was holding you right now. you’re feeling lonely, so empty, and a little sad, his absence fills your mind with restless thoughts, hoping that he’ll come to your rescue soon enough. before jungkook, you were highly independent, never needed anyone to take care of you because you did everything for yourself; he never gave up on gaining your trust and has shown time and time again how dependable he is. you’ll forever admire how much effort he’s put into getting to know you over the years, that no one’s ever came close to making you feel the way he does— so high as if you’re soaring through the sky, living in heaven on earth.

he was the main provider of the household, you didn’t have to worry about anything nor lift a finger, all you did was focus on your career. you had a worry free lifestyle, the perfect job, perfect husband, what was there to possibly complain about? most aren’t so fortunate to be in your position so you never took any of it for granted. you love him more than anything in this world, you couldn’t stand to be away from him for another minute, you miss your hubby so much :( you craved his presence near you, needing him around you physically, wanting his soothing touch to ease your mind.

you wanna feel his sunkissed skin against yours, his warmth, the way his scent clouds your senses as he trails kisses down the curve of your neck, tangling your fingers in his dark, wispy hair. you want to lay your head on his broadened chest while snuggling up into him, hearing the gentle sounds of his heartbeat, intertwining your small hands with his large ones. you desire for him to kiss you everywhere, leaving no surface of you going untouched, pinning your body down between him and the mattress, like a flower pressed into the pages of a book and all that’s written is his name over and over. so many different scenarios play in your head as a means to pass the time, but they can only keep you sane for so long.

you’ve grown desperate for him at this point, finally coming out of your room to see what he might be up to now, searching the entirety of the house. you ended up finding him downstairs in the living room with your mom right beside as verbal assistance, not only did he lift and move most of the furniture but now he’s helping to mount up the new TV without even breaking a sweat in the process. was there anything he couldn’t do? probably not, he was a man of endless talents. your dad was sent out to go grocery shopping so your husband was pretty much doing everything on his own while your mom simply watches in amusement.

she was yet again impressed by your husband’s handy work, “wow jungkook, you’re really strong!” he was indeed. now you’re getting flashbacks to when he’d manhandle you and lift your body with ease in one swift motion to switch positions. his hands needed to be all over you right this second or else you’ll simply die of attention starvation. “mom, are you gonna keep him busy all day? ‘m getting really boreddd.” you childishly whine as if you weren’t a fully grown, married adult. to be fair though, it’s been hours since you’ve seen him and as much as you wanted to give him some space to help out around the house, you still had your needs to. the need in question being him in your bed, immediately.

“why don’t you go sit by the pool or something? you’ve been cooped up in that room since this morning, get some fresh air!” your mom suggests an alternative to wait but you shook your head in an instant, “nuh uh, too hot, i’ll melt like an ice cream cone!” you’d rather stay locked inside your air conditioned room than having to deal with the searing hot sun baking you well done at 450 degrees. “i’m almost done sweetheart, promise.” jungkook quickly reassures before hammering one of the nails into the wall, the way his veins would protrude through his arms as he repeats the action made you mindlessly clench your thighs together. he could make anything look insanely hot, it was almost unfair.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

after another twenty minutes or so he was finally done and now free to go, thrilled to have him all to yourself once again. you practically yanked his arm off as you led him up the staircase but your mom had one more thing to say, “will you be helping us tonight with dinner? i’m making your favorite!” he turns for a second to answer, “uh- yes of course !” that enthusiastic, bunny-like smile of his that you’ve grown to love for so long never fails to make you melt, just so effortlessly pretty without even trying.

but now you realize that you only have a limited amount of time with him, great… you’ll have to wait even longer to have him exactly as you’ve imagined. there’s only so much pent up sexual frustration you can take, you’ve been patient for almost eight hours. that’s probably the longest you two might’ve gone without having sex— okay maybe that��s an exaggeration but you do have a very active sex life with your husband, you try to do it at least twice a day and if you’re both feeling a little friskier it can sometimes go up to 4-5 times~.

your sex drive used to be quite low, never really seeing it as a huge necessity for you— until you met jungkook, of course. there was an immediate sexual attraction that you felt towards him, you’ve never felt so drawn to anyone before, he was irresistible. you’ve had some internal issues with your performance in the bedroom, it took a lot for you to reach your peak but could never get yourself to finish (unless you did it yourself) but with jungkook? that’s a whole different ballgame. you could simply cream in your panties just from kissing those luscious lips of his, he ignites a fire in you that’ll never wither into ashes.

once the door to your room was closed, both his hands found purchase around your waist, caging you into him and pulling you in for a deep kiss, melting right into his hold. your bodies flowing with pure lust and greed for him, not even thinking twice as your hand travels down lower to palm him through his sweats. he let out a breathy chuckle from your sudden actions once he pulled away, “someone’s feelin’ kinda slutty tonight.” he teased, which you took no offense since that’s just your collective humor.

“mhmm, ‘m only the biggest slut for you. now stop neglecting your wifey and gimme all your love.” since he hasn’t been giving you much attention all day you were acting a bit whiny about it, jungkook didn’t like that word though, neglect? that just wasn’t something in his vocabulary when it came to you. “huh? don’t ever say that again, you know i’d never purposefully neglect you, ever.” he made sure to emphasize that, he knows you weren’t being serious but it does hurt a little to know you may secretly feel this way. he loves you and you can feel it without him even needing to say it, that’s how intense it is.

“it was just a joke koo… didn’t mean it like that.” you jut your lip into a tiny pout, leaning in to kiss him again but he turns away, denying you the void of what you wanted most. “a joke is supposed to be funny last time i checked.” he retorts before sneaking off to make a beeline towards the bed, confused when you don’t follow suit after him. “what’re you standing there for? get your little butt over here.” he impatiently demands, patting his lap for you to sit on top. you listen and make your way over to him, straddling his lap with both legs on either side of him as he brings you in closer. he wraps his arms around your waist again, tightly holding you in his grasp, your frame sinks right into his chest.

he locks his lips with yours, kissing you slowly, taking his sweet, sweet time; what’s the rush? you had the rest of the night at your disposal. needy hips languidly rock back and forth against his semi hard-on, the fabric of the pajamas shorts you wore were so thin you could feel his cock throbbing underneath. you audibly gasped when he brushes up against your weak spot, it feels amazing, your panties turned into a sticky puddle from the pleasure; moaning into the kiss as he inhales your sighs. you were more than hungry for him, you were ravenous— only the taste of him could quench your avid thirst. you’re already as close as you can be but you wish to be even closer, if it was impossible you’d crawl into his skin and fuse your bones together to become one, you’re so in love it sickens you.

“need you to touch me,” you whimper for more when his lips drew from yours momentarily, “please.”

jungkook loves seeing you like this, his pretty wife acting all hot and bothered just for him, but he’d lying if he said it wasn’t the same way for you too. “where baby ?” his warm breath against you leaves a shiver to your spine, his voice low and raspy. “everywhere.” you beg in desperation, “just wanna to feel you, need you so bad…” you continued to grind your core onto his clothed erection, becoming even whinier as time passes.

he smirks at that answer, knowing that he’s the only one that can have you in this way. “need you too baby,” his tone is nothing short of a whisper, lazily rutting his hips up to match the pace of your movement, “been thinkin’ about you all day, can’t wait to fuck this little pussy.” his middle and index finds your clit to rub through your pajamas, making you bite your lip so hard it’ll leave a bruise. you’re both so horny and desperate for each other like some hormonal teens, you’re about to explode from how sensitive you are, your whole body feels tingly.

“jungkook!” a familiar voice shouts from a distance, it was muffled but you know that was definitely your mom who just called for him. “come back downstairs, i think something’s wrong with the remote, it’s not working— help !” she sounded a bit overdramatic which is how she usually is most of the time. you groan in annoyance, getting even more frustrated that you had to stop, all you want is some private alone time with your husband but no, the universe said not today! you really wanna curse your mom for being a total cock block right now .. -_-

๑ ๑ ๑

“i’m gonna put a baby in you someday.” your husband casually says while rubbing your stomach, his inked skin splayed across your bare form. “in this cute little tummy right here.” he points near your belly button, planting a small kiss to it. you two were finally alone once again and this time it was for good. after jungkook helped your mom figure out what was wrong with the remote (it wasn’t broken, she just forgot to put a new set of batteries in) and ate dinner with you and your parents, the night was bound to end like this.

this isn’t the first time he’s said something like this and it surely won’t be the last, but you burst into a giggle, “quit kidding around kook.” he’s always playing around but you can count on one hand how many times he’s actually finished inside you, since you’re not on birth control for health reasons you have to be extra careful to not end up getting pregnant. there’s been a handful of times where he’s had to run to the store and get you a morning after pill which you’d just hope for the best and leave it up to the universe. you have noticed that jungkook has been more vocal about wanting children lately, so maybe he’s hinting at finally taking the next step.

“and if i told you i wasn’t?” he shifts slightly, eyes flickering up to stare into your gaze. “would you let me paint your walls ? give you a baby so i can see my stunning wife bear our children?” the thought of you carrying his child pops into his head a lot, probably on an hourly basis— he’s more than ready to start a family, but he’s still not sure where you stand 100% on the idea. there was no pressure on his side, but it’s important to make sure you’re both on the same page.

your hands snake up to his chin, cupping it firmly, ready to make the final say once and for all. “yes koo, i’ll let you do anything to me. i trust you, i trust us.” that’s all you need to withstand through any obstacle(s), trust and trust alone. if that doesn’t exist, the foundation will be sure to crumble— disintegrating into nothing. you’ve never trusted someone as much as you do jungkook, he’s the reason you even get out of bed at times, makes you want to push yourself to become a better person. real love is the refusal to never give up on one another, even through the toughest, most ugliest moments.

what you’ve come to realize is that you have all of him and everything he’s promised to provide is all yours; his heart, his last name, his vow to stay by your side forever— through sickness and health. he’s given every single aspect of himself he has to offer, the only thing left that’s missing is a tiny addition that carries both you and jungkook’s DNA. you’re more than curious to see what the outcome will be, harboring no regrets inside. jungkook’s smile grew wider, feeling faint tears rim his eyes at the thought of you putting all your trust in him. you have no idea just how much that means to him.

his head lowers back to your torso, imprinting a trail of kisses, slowly making his way down further and further. your skin feels as if it’s on fire, boiling hot like the scorching summer heat. he took an ample amount of time to worship your body, leaving wet kisses to your inner thighs, “i’ve wanted this for so long…” he hums against your flesh, insides buzzing with raw passion and desire. “want to finally do this together.” he gently nibbles, a faint bite mark appears to which he repeats on the other side. “your tits are gonna get even bigger, more plump and so full of milk,” he continues, elated with so much enthusiasm, “that pregnancy glow will make you even more gorgeous.” he wasn’t saying all of this for nothing, he truly cannot wait to experience it all, how your belly will grow each month, all the random/weird food cravings you’ll get, and gracefully handle any sudden mood swings.

you were aching for him, you couldn’t even answer back, your heads reeling with too many thoughts— the thought of him stuffing you to the brim with his cock. you were topless but wanted him to take off the rest, wanted him to fuck you until your body physically shakes and you can’t think of anything but him being buried balls deep into your sousing cunt. you had to savour every last bit of this though, etch every little detail in your brain to replay as a supercut one day; remembering the time you two made love to conceive your first child.

jungkook’s slender digits move skillfully to hook around the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down along with your drenched panties. “it’s crazy to me how this is all mine,” he pauses to admire your glistening arousal, scooping it up with his one of his fingers to have a quick taste. saccharine. “i have the prettiest, sexiest, hottest wife in the whole fucking world.” he’ll never not compliment you, even when you’re old and gray he will always remain the same. “stopp~” you toy with your bottom lip, cheeks turning rosy at his constant sweet talk. then you become a pile of mush, simply too absorbed with pleasure as he sunk one of his digits into you, thrusting in and out slowly. “fuck.. feels s’good- please don’t stop.” you beg for this to never end, bidding all concept of time to vanish in hopes of it lasting infinitely.

“we’re going to create the most beautiful family,” he coos, licking a stripe to your clit, swiping up and down as he continued pumping his fingers in your wetness, “just you and me.” he only came up for air to say those last few lines, diving right back in to drink up your deliciousness. his tongue adds light pressure to your overly sensitive bud, making you twitch and subconsciously jolt up— his free hand forcibly brings your hips back down, locking you in place so you have nowhere to go— forced to take all that he gives you. paradise. that’s what this is. you’re already close to the edge, the broken moans that escaped your lips are like a soft ballad to his ears, cursing under your breath, panting, crying out his name repeatedly.

“ah! s’close… don’t stop, don’t stop..” you plea so pathetically, voice getting shakier as you reach your climax, his face was soaked, fucking drenched. he’ll willingly drown, submerge himself into the flood of you, no other place he’d rather be than between these perfect, plush thighs. he drives you into further insanity when his pace drew more rapid, finding the ultimate sweet spot. the lethal combination of his fingers and his tongue working to give you a mind blowing orgasm, all you could do was utter feeble, plaintive cries, latching onto his fluffy hair as you ride out your sudden high that’s stampeding into you full force. your body goes inert, limbs pliant beneath his embrace. “you did so good for me angel, m’so proud of you.” jungkook briefly pecks both your thighs, giving it a little smack once he comes back up to face you again.

he quickly discards the rest of his clothes, but everything’s moving in slow motion. his movements are frantic yet it still wasn’t quick enough, he needs to feel you so badly. his manhood throbs against your folds, sliding his shaft between the puffy, saturated lips, making such delightful sounds. “quit teasin’,” you whine, not in the mood for prolonging this anymore. he doesn’t say anything, just twisting a smile in response, but he’ll give you exactly what you want. who is he to deny his wife’s orders? so he finally enters you, filling you up little by little, inch by inch; and when he’s fully settled in, your walls clench around his length immediately. “never fails to amaze me how i fuck this little pussy on the daily but you’re still so fuckin’ tight… always squeezin’ me babe.” his breath hitched towards the end, already sounding so pussydrunk from the way you suck in the entirety of him.

your legs hook around each side of his waist, keening at the way his cock drives into you, slow but sensual, moving your hips to match his rhythm. “be good for daddy and wait for me. wanna cum together.” he husks, to which you obediently nod at his request. your jaw slacks open wide from his cock hitting your walls beautifully, each stroke he gave sent you to a further state of delirium. he picks up his speed a little more, his brain empty with no thoughts but this warm, dewy pussy swallowing him up, groaning as you leave scratches along his back. jungkook’s sweet compliments never stop, they only intensify. ‘you’re all mine, and i’m all yours baby’ ‘your face looks so pretty when it’s all fucked out’ ‘love fucking this perfect little cunt’ and ‘i love you so much, my angel baby.’ it brings you to the verge, strings of shattered moans evade your senses.

your hands greedily come up the sides of his face, pulling him in for a frenzied, yet passionate kiss caging him in just in case he has second thoughts, trapping him with no choice but to cum inside. “shit— keep going like that and you’re def getting pregnant tonight.” he groans against your lips, this only made you clench around him tighter, “please daddy- wan’ your cum, put your babies in me..” you want him to paint your walls white, milk him for all he’s worth and some. his strokes get sloppier as his high approaches, squeezing your thighs as he plunges deeper. it doesn’t take much longer for him to shoot a hefty in load inside, planting every bit of his seed as the waves of your second orgasm ripples through you. you’re both heavily panting and gasping for air, when he pulls out you’re left empty again, but at least you were stuffed with his hot cum. he looks down at the mess he’s made, sodden and creamy, picking up some that’s spilled out of your cunt to push back in. “we can’t let any go to waste, right ?” “mm… yea.” you bit your lip, still shaking, electricity flowing through your veins.

he topples over in exhaustion, way too tired to move. well, at least for now— he’ll be able to go again in another hour or so. “you’re going to be such an amazing mom,” he says while snuggling up in the crook of your neck, “remember the day i asked you out? i thought you were gonna say no.” that was random… but also jungkook is known for saying the most unexpected shit at the oddest times. “what ?” you were so confused, firstly this came out of nowhere but also why would he ever think that? it was basically love at first sight with each other. “wasn’t nearly as confident back then, i used to practice in the mirror how i’d do it.” he chuckles at those old memories, in hindsight none of it was necessary because he didn’t say any of the lines he rehearsed. defeated the whole purpose.

“since the day we first met i knew you were the girl i’d spend the rest of eternity with.” his fingers trace down your spine as he spoke, you’re so overfilled with joy that you could cry. you regret absolutely nothing, the only thing you do is all the other men who came before jungkook, all those losers who were wastes of time, but that journey has led you here and this is where you’ll stay for the rest of your life. it still feels like the honeymoon stage with him, a never ending blissful rollercoaster. “i want to sew all my love into you,” his hands danced around your skin, inhaling your natural scent, you feel so soft and smooth. “thread by thread, seam by seam, i’ll tether our intricate souls together.” you hummed to his words, he’s a romantic at heart just like you, he still writes occasional love letters to you and is always doing something to bring a smile to your face— whether it be coming home with your favorite candy, buying you flowers, or taking you out on cute, fun dates. every day is like a new surprise, never knowing what you’re gonna get when it comes to your husband’s spontaneity.

you’re both a little sticky, sweaty, and smell of nothing but pure sex. jungkook ends up carrying you all the way to the bathroom, deciding to run a nice, relaxing bath for the two of you. he adds your favorite lavender bubble bath, making the water extra bubbly and soapy for you which he knows you love. when you're both in the bathtub, your backs facing him as he uses a pink loofah to clean you up, embedding gentle kisses to the nape of your neck and shoulders as he does it. he held you for what seemed like forever, just admiring each other’s company while under the water, almost falling asleep right in his arms.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

let’s make the circle

that’s inside of us.

every day it rotates like that,

color me ☆ 彡

am trying to write longer stufff, i enjoyed writing this story a lot, lmk what you think . ! ! !

to see more chaos click here (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ ♡♡♡ (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jjk smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fic

[r3ynah]

Married in the past, married in the present

To think that the Amity Trio would get dragged by their children (Dan and Dani) into another universe as a form of vacation and to escape the annoying palace councils, was not something to be expected in the Fenton-Nightangle-Foley-Manson family. it was due for a vacation anyways.

But here's the catch, They decided they should atleast take a two month break with each other so they can explore this universe more, but they did agree that every 2 weeks they'll pass the custody of their kids with each other.

It was very eventful to say the least,

Tucker, got adopted. by the one and only Bruce Wayne how?? he doesn't know either, the only thing he can remember was Bruce Wayne shoving a couple of adoption papers in his face, and now he was suddenly a Wayne, he certainly was not complaining he gets to use their advance technologies without it getting corrupted by his partner Danny(he loved the guy, but he needed his daily screen time too.)

He finds out about their secret identities two days in, was not completely surprised to find a cave downstairs, "Every billionare has one, you're not unique." was his words before he went on and explore the cave leaving a very confused batfam. he agreed to help them but if its only for hacking and stuff connected to technology, and to only join them if it's really a life changing scenario.

He was the second one to have Dan and Dani, so when they found out they're dad got adopted by a rich billionaire they were equally disappointed, Tucker tried to defend himself for his poor decision, to say the batfam was shocked once again was an understatement, imagine finding that their new brother had two children and two partners was lnot part of their new years plan. Dan and Dani only took a couple of hours for them to fit in.

Sam, went on and became a vigilante, under Harley Quinn and poison ivy's care, with almost the same powers as Ivy and same humor as Harley the three of them certainly became close friends.

Sam definitely had fun blowing up factories, and proceed to prank cops and officials, she had a run with the infamous batfam a couple of times, mostly Robin, the first time they've met they had a spar with their own weapons ofcourse,but at the same time all Sam could think was: 'the hell's a kid doing vigilante work?'. Eventually they have bonded over different weapons and fighting styles, Batman had atleast tried to recruit Sam who goes by Foliahàrà at some point, but was turned down quite harshly.

She was the first one to take care of their children, Ivy loved Dan's brutality and Harley adored Dani's chaotic self. so they became the fun cool aunts of the two children, they have somepoint asked one peaceful breakfast who the other parents are, But the only thing Sam had said was they'll meet them someday.

Danny becomes a villain, a mad scientist to be exact wondering what'll happen if he follows in his parents footsteps, he also works alongside with Mr.Freeze, and they discuss a cure together for Mr.Freeze's wife,.

He doesn't use his ghost powers in villainy his explanation? Phantom was for the good and peace. While Fenton-Nightangle was for the bad and destruction. it certainly was a shitshow when he first debuted, lets just say Gotham had an early snow day, about 20 meters of snow covered Gotham for a week. The worst part is that the snow doesn't melt. so the only thing they could've do was to sit and watch as only Fenton was able to melt the snow.

Danny was the last to get his kids, so as a responsible parent he let them go crazy, for the whole two weeks as long they keep their identities a secret and to be back at lunch, dinner, curfew and family night. which led to a bunch of rogues getting hunted and tied up by a pair of ghost kids. It was a peaceful quiet two weeks for Gotham.

'this is absolutely hilarious' Tucker known as Codelith mentally chuckled as his bat family including Foliahàrà who was sitting across him also tied up, he knew it was Sam the first moment he laid his eyes on her. no one does eyeliner as thick as Sam. Speaking of Sam she was glaring at him from across the room.

from different audiences it may have look like the two was going to kill eachother, but in reality its just their love language. The batfam looked at them confused.

"Codelit." Sam greeted in a annoyed tone.

"Foliahàrà." Tucker greeted in a more joyful tone.

"You two know eachother?" Duke questioned, as he eyed the two. very confused on why the two of them almost have the same green toxic light surrounding them.

"Ofcourse we do, we're ma-" Sam was cut off, by the sound of someone maniacally laughing. fate seemed to be a bitch because in strolled Joker himself holding a bloodied crowbar.

Tucker can feel Red hood relive his trauma, from where his sitting, he didn't really focused on the Jokers dramatic speech, because all he can think was the safety of his new family he grew comfortable with. thank fuck Dan and Dani aren't here.

"What's this a new birdie? Batman.. you sure like taking in a lot of children, how generous of you." this finally caught tucker's attention when as he saw joker walking towards him, his family stayed quiet but kept watching Joker's movements they looked constipated Tucker almost let out a snort but kept it in.

"Codelith wasn't it, Very unique I wonder why you picked it."Joker asked with a chuckle that made tucker want to puke. "Not talkative ey? well that's alright.

"I don't need you to talk." Joker playfully picked up his crowbar, then placed it on Tucker's shoulder dangerously close to his head."I just need you to scream."

He saw Sam trying to use her powers in the background, which unfortunately wasn't working because she's too used making exaggerated movements when using her plant powers, he remembers her saying that it makes it more easy to manipulate the greens around her, so she definitely had trouble controlling it while tied up, after all there was so little wrist movement to work with.

He sent a warning gaze to his Family and wife. to not make any sudden moves, which made Sam hesitantly stop, It was different with the batfam though they were really trying to be free from the ropes.

He returned his attention to joker, who was still waiting for an answer. "He's coming." was all he said, this only made joker grin, and the Bats confused. While Sam immediately got it.

Joker laughed fucking ugly laugh if Tucker said so himself, the rogue pointed at his new family's direction 'Who's he? can't you see new birdie they're all here no one's going to get you!"

And then Joker lifted his crowbar then struck down at Codelith's head, a awful sound resonated across the building, Fuck that's going to leave a nasty concussion. he felt blood dripping from his nose, as he heard the shouts and screams of the Bats and Sam. Oh Sam, I'm alright, Everything's okay, He can feel Foliahàrà's panic and anger from here.

Its okay, he's okay, because he's here.

Tucker grinned fucking grinned, like a villain type of grin. he looked up at Joker's direction and said:"He's here."

And then the wall blew up, making everyone in the warehouse startled, Here comes in the man itself. Fenton fucking Nightangle. with a smile plastered on his face he strutted in with full confidence, damn that's attractive Sam and Tucker agreed with each other.

"Joker." was all Fenton said, as he looked at the man with no emotion, his gaze landed on Sam then landed on Tucker who's blood was dripping on the floor, the only thing that Danny saw was green.

HURT?/PAIN?/IN DANGER.

"Mr. Fenton! are you also here to watch the show?"Joker grinned teeth showing and all. "It's such a pleasure for you to be her-"

Danny walked passed Joker, Never giving him a chance to finish, he focused his gaze infront of him and went towards Tucker and cupped his face making sure he wasn't hurt that much.

"Ah... ofcourse you would immediately go to them, so silly of me!"Joker laughed.

"What do you mean by that?" Batman asked suspicously, as he made sure the Fenton boy didn't hurt his new son.

"Don't tell me you don't know Batsy! gosh darn am I the one that'll say this so exciting." The irritating man chuckled. "Well if you didnt know Batman, Dr.Fenton, Foliahàrà, and Codelith are all married together!"

The Bats let out a gasp of surprise as they looked at the trio, who remained quiet.

"I know right! such a wonderful love story." Joker wiped a fake tear. "Too bad I have to kill you all, Dr. Fenton you might've taken the town in surprise by your so wonderful inventions, but you are nothing without your gadgets." Joker explained while twirling the crowbar in his hands.

Danny let out a chuckle, his back facing the green haired man. "I see that you've made some research about us Joker."

"Yes, you are quite right, I am married to Codelith and Foliahàrà, But there's something you've missed in your research." Fenton continued, he can hear Red robin in the background saying "I don't believe Codelith can pull two fine people." who was shushed by Nightwing.

"And what would that be? please entertain me Doctor." Joker grinned.

"My Hero name's Phantom." With that Danny made a slashing motion as he swiftly faced the Joker face to face, not even a second later half of the warehouse was engulfed by ice including Joker.

Hair white as now. skin pale as a paper, and eyes green as toxic radiation, he once again faced. The vigilantes with a smile and said:

"Well that was an eventful night, who wants Fudge?"

#dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dpdc #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc fanfic #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #dpxdc fanart #dpxdc #mad scientist Danny #vigilante tucker #vigilante sam #plant powers Sam #Tucker with his sand powers #danny is nonbinary #everlasting trio

[pjsfvs]

breeding kink hc - Mark Lee

paring : husband!mark x afab!reader

warnings/tags : very nsfw, mentions of pregnancy, oral sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, fluff, breeding kink, Mark going AT it

summary : mark will do whatever it takes to get you pregnant.

a/n : this was supposed to be uploaded yesterday on 1/27 but i posted the Sunoo hc instead. Also, if you have any requests, you can leave them in my inbox! and don't leave hate comments for me to see. if you don't like it just block me and leave.

Having a child together was always something Mark and you knew would happen for you. Brushed lightly on the subject, you clearly remember the way Mark’s eyes would light up when you’d mentioned earlier in your relationship, that you wanted children.

Now, married in bliss with your second anniversary approaching, Mark had started to get a little impatient. You both knew you wanted to get pregnant eventually but hadn’t quite decided concretely exactly when just yet.

For Mark, a family always seemed a distant dream. However, when you’d walked into his life, he knew he wanted it with you.

In the beginning of your relationship, you used condoms during sex. It worked at the time, but eventually, after a conversation together, you decided you’d get yourself on birth control. Mark and you were pretty serious, had a solid foundation for your relationship and knew you wanted to be together for the rest of your lives,

And part of you wanted to take that step in your relationship; no matter how minor it may be. Sex was already something so intimate between you two, but to remove the barrier of a condom and really feel each other closer? It felt natural. Felt like something you trusted each other with.

Little did you know, that decision would spark a little something in your man…

For Mark, the first time you’d had sex using birth control, he swore he fell a little further for you [if it was even possible]. To know you trusted him to cum inside, that you weren’t scared, or fearful of anything going wrong meant so much to him.

Often during sex, he’d find himself thinking how much power his seed really had. On birth control, his cum buried deep inside your cunt meant nothing more than the mutual trust you two shared, a symbol of how deep your relationship had gotten.

But if you were off birth control? If the sex was unprotected?

Mark’s cum held great power. He could put a baby in you. Your baby, that you made with the embodiment of love your bodies yield to each other. The thought alone made Mark shiver each time, shuddering with a tingle of anticipation when he’d spill his hot loads inside you each night.

“Mark?” You’d asked one night, after a steamy quickie before bed. You rested your head on his bare chest as he heaves down from his high, a heavy palm rested to the bare skin of your exposed back.

“Yeah, baby?” He returns, kissing the top of your tousled hair softly. His palms are gently soothing over your bare hips, the same hips that would someday, hopefully carry the live of your child.

And that same night, the conversation happened. You’re both ready for a baby, you both want a baby with each other.

Mark is ecstatic, can’t wait to watch your pregnant belly grow as he showers his love on you, taking care of you each step of the way. Mark is already the perfect husband, and you best bet that it would heighten tenfold when you’re pregnant.

You have sex every single day now, sometimes multiple times a day. Sex with Mark was always fantastic, always had you practically on the verge of tears to how well he’d fuck you when he needed to, how well he’d make love to you when he needed to. If anyone knows how to strike the perfect balance, it’s Mark Lee.

“You gonna give me a baby, kitten?” Mark rasps, hastily pounding into your needy cunt from above. His biceps rest on either side of you and they look massive this way, a dark, almost primal darkness in his eyes on some nights like this. You’ve been trying for about a month now, and Mark is growing impatient. Part of him fears deep inside that as always, something will go wrong; deprive him from the life he wants with you. You make sure to assure him, however. Assure him that it’ll happen for you.

“Ye-yes baby, put a baby in me Mark…” You whimper, begging underneath him, soft legs tightly wrapped around his waist to give him optimal access to your deepest parts. Mark’s cock twitches inside you, and you know he’s close. Every single time, you shake and shudder to the feel of being pounded by him, the way his creamy, succulent cum fills up inside you to the brim.

It baffles you the amount of cum the man carries, how much he spills after each fuck. You can definitely feel him fill you up and it turns you on so fucking bad as you desperately pull him close, peppering needy kisses all over his face as he makes you cum as well.

“They say the more orgasms you have, the better the chances of getting pregnant.” Mark whispers, slowly delving between your drenched thighs. He licks a long stride up your aching pussy before circling sloppy, wet circles to your clit. You’re not sure if Mark’s theory is 100% accurate. Nonetheless, you know Mark thrives off making you feel good, he wants you to enjoy the process more than him. After all, you are the one who’s going to be carrying your baby for months on end, bearing all the pain and discomforts that come your way.

It does pull at your heartstrings how much Mark cares, how desperate he is fulfilling the deed of getting you pregnant.

If on your bed, before sex, Mark puts a pillow under your hips to angle them up slightly while he pumps in and out. “Can’t have any drip out,” He smirks, pressing a wet kiss to your lips as his throbbing cock stays positioned inside you, cocooned by your warm, pulsing walls after release.

Cockwarming has become almost a daily occurrence. After he’s came inside you, Mark keeps his girthy member inside your cunt for a couple of minutes as you both come down from your highs. He’ll rest his head in the haven of your breasts, arms wrapping around you as you pull him close, kissing his head to happy dreams of this wonderful, loving man fathering your children someday.

Mark insists that you have sex a couple times a day, and you fear he’ll eventually get sick of having you if you don’t slow down a little

“I’ll never get sick of you,” He whispers into your neck, softly kissing the skin as his arms hold you so dearly tight. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“I do.” You whisper, cupping his cheek. Mark is the sweetest man you know, and you best believe he’s only gotten sweeter since you’ve started trying.

Sometimes, when lounging next to each other, or when he’d come up behind you in a tender hug as you cook breakfast, Mark rests his hands on your belly; dreaming of how heartfelt it would be the day your baby would be in there,

“You’re gonna look so beautiful sweetheart, carrying our baby.” His deep baritone would soothe in your ears as he slams into you, your breasts bouncing to his pace as his hips snap into you hard, senselessly. His balls slam your core so hard each time, and the sounds of skin slapping skin fill the house very often nowadays. “Gonna show you off to the entire world,” He moans, cupping your breasts & kneading them with a firm force, yet cautious not to hurt you, as his mind drifts to the thought of how full they’d look, swollen holding milk

Mark and you have possibly tried every sex position there is at this point. Doggy style? Mark fucks into like a rabbit from behind, cock grinding your cervix to the deepest parts before slipping out entirely, only to plummet back in

Your legs on his shoulders as he fucks into you relentlessly? It’s one of his “trying to conceive” favourites, allows his sperm to take advantage of gravity

Face to face lying beside each other? Mark practically melts each time you do this one. The entry of his cock is so deep this way as you hold each other’s gazes, your leg draped over his waist as his arms pull you closer, rosy skin flushed together with a thin layer of sweat.

From behind as you lay on your stomach? Mark’s eyes roll to the back of his head in this one. He enters you from behind, pounding in as he grinds your g-spot repeatedly, almost always giving you two orgasms before he cums deep, deep inside.

Did I mention how loud Mark is when he cums

He moans, throaty groans fleeing his lips as he practically growls in your ear. The way you clench around him is too much, your pussy is too tight; too warm and he’s far too in love with your body (and all of you, ofc). Far too drunk on thoughts of pounding you pregnant for him.

Sometimes Mark can get so dirty while fucking you.

It surprises you sometimes that your sweet, loving, wholesome husband can say such sinful things

“Gonna make a baby come out of that tight little pussy.” He drips, biting small love marks into your skin as he thrusts, marking your body as his breeding ground.

I mean he is a literal assassin so you do get that he can be a bit brutal sometimes

He tracks your periods and the days you’re most fertile (not that it matters too much since he fucks you into oblivion each day haha) but on days where you’ve ovulating, he makes sure to go deeper, harder, and get in multiple rounds for optimal chances of conceiving.

Mark cumming inside is so special now. You can’t help but shiver each time you feel him explode deep within you, knowing that that load might be the one to do the trick.

You’re an advocating member of the “Make Mark a daddy 2024” campaign.

And when your period is late…you tell Mark with beaming eyes and swear you’d seen a glistening glow in that chocolate gaze, unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You buy multiple tests together, Mark's hand holding yours the entire time. The thought that your baby might be growing inside you, right now, this second as you stand at the checkout counter has his smiling like a goofy idiot.

Your goofy idiot, of course :)

You take the tests together in the master bathroom of your bedroom. Mark is on edge and you have to hold his hand to reassure him, explaining to him that if its only a false alarm, you’ll keep trying because you want this with him. You need this with him.

You want a family and it’s never going to change.

But when all the tests come back positive, Mark is on the brink of tears.

You both are, holding each other tighter than ever as you both cry into each other’s necks, kneeling in a bundle of cuddles on the bathroom floor. Mark kisses each inch of your face, peppers delicate kisses to your tousled hair, offering squeezes to your hand when you let out a soft sniffle at the sheer happiness.

This is a moment that will forever be engrained in your minds.

It was finally happening; you made a baby.

You’ve never seen Mark this happy before, feeling as if everything in his life has finally fallen into place. This is what all the pain, all the hurt, all the sin that lingers in the shadows of his past had been leading up to. A family with you, free of evil, free of any grim that lingers.

A life where the only Mark Lee that the world knows, is the Mark who loves and is loved by his wife, and the Mark who is a father.

The most loving, caring, amazing father he could ever be.

#౨ৎㅤ violet writes #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #mark lee #mark x reader #mark smut #mark fluff #husband!mark #౨ৎㅤ mark

[ssahotchnerr]

speculation - aaron hotchner x reader

aaron confides in you his suspicions haley is cheating on him.

cw: bau!reader, takes place in s3 timeline - before the divorce, angst, mentions of adultery and unfaithfulness, aaron's sad but not really showing it (naturally), light foreshadowing that someday aaron and reader get together <3 wc; 1.2k

aaron's hands gripped the steering wheel and his stare was pointed forward, the atmosphere heavy in the car. grey clouds had been rolling in all morning, and now the rain was just beginning to fall, a light sprinkle pattering on the windshield.

the two of you had just frequented a crime scene, departing after a rather tense situation - one of the investigators had nearly disrupted the crime scene in a lazy wake, and aaron had thoroughly allowed him to know his mistake.

while aaron was always stern, it was... different this time.

"hotch?"

at his name, you managed to pull him from of his thoughts - you could tell by the way his jaw moved, his grip on the wheel ever so lightly loosening.

aaron didn't respond though; figuring he wasn't too keen on sharing whatever was on his mind, you put your focus out the window, watching the rain begin to slowly collect on the road.

"haley's cheating."

your head turned towards him in an instant, a sickening dread beginning to pool in your stomach at the blunt confession. "what?"

"haley's cheating on me." he fought against the brokenness that dared to ache in his voice, remaining solid and firm in his words. he released a breath, as if saying it out loud made it real; the final confirmation he needed himself. "i may just be paranoid, creating something out of nothing. but things have been... strange."

"oh." your shoulders slumped, the back of your head hitting your headrest.

"strange enough it's been noticeable."

"what's been going on?"

"weird phone calls." he bit his lip as he gazed off to the side, as if he were recalling an instance internally, his hold tightening once again. "she's been more distant. uninterested. sometimes, when she comes home, she won't look me in the eye."

ouch. "i'm sorry."

it was rather surprising, in an odd way. to the naked eye, aaron was someone who was well put together; phenomenal at his job, a clear key-in for potential director of the bureau someday. from an outsider perspective, one could infer he lived a perfect life, and therefore had the perfect family to go along with it.

if he wasn't confiding in you, that's what you would've thought.

aaron didn't talk about his personal life - that's one thing you quickly learned upon your addition to the team, a month or two ago. you could recall what penelope had for breakfast, what books spencer had read in a day, what color underwear morgan had currently on.

anything about aaron, nothing.

whether it was because he was your boss, or because he wasn't an openly expressive person, you always went back to the guilty thought - has anyone at least ever asked?

while you all went out for drinks after a long day, aaron never usually attended. but he had a family at home, of course he would go home to them - that's where his priorities laid.

the constant secrecy surrounding him was the reason you've been so intrigued by him since day one - spending so much time with someone you knew nothing about.

and if you learned anything now, he wasn't going home to the home you had previously thought. it was barely a home, he was more so a guest. you were slowly beginning to understand more why he rarely smiled.

aaron hotchner was just as human as anyone else.

even now, he wasn’t showing much emotion. it was evident he was extremely hurt, and had all the emotions one could imagine. but would he distinctly let that on, letting his vulnerability show - no.

aaron opened his mouth to respond, slight hesitation before he spoke. he began to deflect, "but i could just-"

"no. listen to your intuition." you interrupted softly, grounded. "like you said, if you're taking notice, something's going on."

he nodded in agreement, the motion of his head strained. he did force out a chuckle, a terribly sad laugh. "part of me doesn't blame her-"

"don't say that. she's your wife."

"exactly." aaron sighed out, eyeing the wedding ring on his left hand. "there's something i could've done to prevent this. to keep her interested. to solidify i'm still here for her despite the long hours and schedule. instead i'm the husband and father who's never home. and it's difficult to be the husband i want with the possible betrayal."

"she's your wife." you repeated, solemnly. "so she should know you. you're the husband and father who stops at nothing to catch the criminals who walk amongst us. you're this job, and asking for understanding on that isn't wrong. regardless of what you say you're doing wrong, or have done wrong, it doesn't give haley the excuse to... do this."

you didn't want to say cheat. not for his sake - the depth of the word felt harsh and prominent in your chest.

"i appreciate you saying that." his eyes met yours briefly, the tone of his voice genuine. "but i messed up. i guess what they say about getting needs met elsewhere is true."

you quieted.

aaron also added after a moment, in an exasperated near-whisper. "and besides... i don't think she's known me in a while."

silence filled the car once more, and you let out an exhale. you felt for him, and his marriage. you couldn't imagine what it felt like, or how he felt: the person who you thought was your forever slipping through your fingers - like trying to catch smoke. it was there, you just couldn't grasp it.

you hoped you weren't overstepping boundaries with your next question. "does she know..."

"that i know?" aaron asked, and you nodded. he kept his stare forward, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment. "i believe so, yeah."

you waited for him to speak again, while he was confiding in you, you didn't want to pry - none of really this was your business. you at least hoped it was clear you were offering support within the silence.

and you must've, because he continued. "i feel sick to my stomach it could be happening in my house. in my bed. with our son in the next room over." he shook his head angrily with the last sentence, in disbelief as he clicked the windshield wipers on, the rain falling more heavily now. "i lie awake at night when we're gone, just thinking what's going on at the moment."

"i wouldn't do that." you offered quietly, although you knew that advice was nearly impossible to follow. "you will make yourself sick."

aaron vaguely shook his head again, defeated. "i don't know what else to do."

you weren't sure what to say, or exactly why he was telling you all this. again, you didn't know him well. and not only, in a way, he terrified you, in more ways than one. the only way you could describe it - when he looked at you, he really looked at you. you were terrified of what he could make you realize about yourself.

"so, what are you going to do?"

"i don't know."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

[writerquil]

Hi, can I request a one-shot of Jax with a ballerina! reader? 👀, it can be romantic or platonic (she/her pronouns)

Jax x Ballerina Reader (FEM READER)

You'd tried your very hardest to avoid Jax ever since you'd first met him. And it wasn't just because of Ragatha's firm suggestions, it was also because the first time you'd interacted with him he'd smashed your porcelain arm and played it off as an accident.

Caine luckily could fix your arm with just a snap of his fingers but it offended you nevertheless and you'd made a point to stay away from him ever since.

Unfortunately for you, it just intrigued Jax further and egged him on.

He didn't directly approach you anymore and let you distance yourself but conducted mischievous pranks on you from afar instead.

It began with him laying a rat beneath your sheets, so when you uncovered it during night, it left you shrieking and hobbling away from your bed, drawing the attention of many other characters.

You slammed backwards onto the floor, holding out your fragile palms to steady yourself. Luckily nothing on your body had seemingly broke or cracked, but you barely acknowledged it as you jerked your head around the room in an attempt to watch the rat flee.

To your annoyance, the rat had scampered away just as they all peeked in.

Jax, who had joined the gawking characters at the entrance, cocked his head and grinned directly at you, eyeing your fallen position on the floor.

"Wow, rather ungraceful for a ballerina." He quipped smugly.

You glared right back, connecting the dots immediately.

You attempted to explain to the others that he'd planted a rat in your quarters but as Ragatha searched your room alongside you, in search of the pest, she discovered nothing.

"Maybe you just imagined it?" Ragatha guessed.

"You don't believe Jax would do such a thing?" You sighed back, smoothening down your leotard and grimacing.

"Well... he definitely would." Ragatha admitted. "I'm just surprised he's done it to you of all people."

"Why wouldn't he do it to me?" You asked in annoyance, placing your hands on your hips. "He's a prick."

Ragatha shrugged, giving you a slight smile.

"He just hasn't really insulted you much, not even behind your back."

You frowned; but shook it off.

Insults weren't needed when you tormented people instead... as annoying as it was, that was probably Jax's logic.

All you could really do now was prepare yourself for the second prank.

But this one was different.

You strolled through the circus, eyeing the combustion and flurries of colours with wary eyes. It was always overly colourful but these walks tended to help you clear your head and escape from Caine's wretched adventures so you took them anyway.

But of course, all things must come to an end and you reached the edge of the tent pretty quickly. You were preparing to swing back around again when suddenly voices rang out distantly from behind a green block.

You frowned. Who else could possibly be these deep into the tent as you were?

"...Somebody has to tell Caine to stop using Gloinks..." Ragatha grumbled.

"Doubt he will, he loves them." Zooble deadpanned. "Do you think that the newcomer will get swept away by them like me someday? She's really breakable."

You pressed up against the block, resisting the urge to peek.

"Hmm... maybe you guys will go back down to the queens nest together then, killing two birds with one stone." Jax said pleasantly.

Zooble audibly scoffed.

"Whatever. You'd come down to save her anyway. Your stupid little soft spot for her is so obvious!"

Jax's snarky protests were drowned out by Ragatha's giggles and eventually their footsteps echoed away until their voices finally faded completely.

You tried not to feel too special but it was a little difficult to drop the possibility of Jax even caring slightly for you and as you walked back to your quarters, narrowly avoiding gloinks, you could barely suppress the urge to beam or smirk triumphantly.

As you nudged your quarters door open suddenly you heard metal clink from above you and you glanced up to see a can of yellow paint, tipping straight over you.

You tried to avoid it but you were practically a deer caught in headlights at this point and it washed over you, leaving you to spit out paint.

Footsteps breezed by you accompanied by cheerful whistling, no doubt Jax.

But this time, you didn't feel as angry as you were before.

#the amazing digital circus #tadc x reader #tadc jax #tadc #jax #the amazing digital circus jax #jax x reader

[kiwisbell]

helen ; chapter three

the red circle

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the truth.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship (and blasphemy), sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, mentions of rape/SA, cars, bill is here, joel is still a bit of an idiot, childhood/religious trauma, hitman!joel finally hitmans, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST (still unresolved oopsie), we're getting there though, exposition, conflicting emotions, joel's tattoos are sexy but they're also plot-relevant, Sleeping Together, but not like That, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 7.6k a/n: this chapter marks this fic being halfway done already, which is madness. also, can i just say that i'm loving the amount of people who've specifically been watching john wick because of this fic?? this is my agenda!! as always, thank you so fucking much to mya baby @cavillscurls for beta reading this fic and being, idk, generally the loml. i hope you enjoy chapter 3, my friends! i'm sorry it's been such a long time coming, but life lifed, y'know?? prev | next

“How much?”

“Two million. For now, at least. It’s open.”

“Goddammit, Tommy.”

“I told you to be careful, brother. Now look at you. You’re a loose end.”

Joel resisted the urge to toss his phone. The shower continued running in the bathroom, muffled by the closed door. 

He couldn't lose you. He didn't know life without you. Love had no name until he knew you. He'd christened it with that first kiss, maybe even in the first breath he'd shared with you.

If there was a chance Cabrera’s kid could come back for you, even if just to hurt Joel, he needed to see this to its end. There was no choice. 

“He tried to rape my wife,” said Joel. “He's lucky I’m only tryin’ to kill him.”

Tommy only sighed, and the call ended.

I married you, Joel.

I loved you.

You lied to me.

He rests his elbows on his knees as he watches you doze. The sunlight shines neatly through the break in the curtains, and you squint against it in your sleep, turning over with a little huff and bringing the duvet over your head. You’ve always needed total darkness for a half-decent sleep. 

You’ve been crying. The tears leave remnants on your cheeks, a dryness at the outer corners of your eyes, salt seeping moisture from your skin. He’s never known a thing so soft as the drag of his hand down your back. 

I loved you.

You lied to me.

You will never understand. There are reasons—too many to count—that civilians cannot know. He may have gotten you to relative safety in the Continental, but there are a hundred dangerous people in this building who have a long-standing grudge against Joel Miller or the man he worked for. A hundred people who would take you as collateral the moment you stepped outside the grounds. But as long as you remain inside, you’re safe.

He just needs to finish the job. He needs to see it through, and he’ll be out. You’ll realise he’s done it all for you.

I loved you.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he watches the rise and fall of your chest beneath the sheets. He broke your heart last night. He watched you turn in on yourself, your eyes so cold, so far away. He listened to you scream, and inside he pleaded: Keep hitting me, baby. Keep shouting. Be mad. He wanted you loud and furious and spitting fire. If you were angry, you still cared. He could work with that. 

And to see you walk away, the fire frozen over, the fight in your marrow sucked out… 

The anguish of losing your ire still stirs in his chest. The guilt peels him away in layers. Acid. 

She’ll understand, he tells himself, you, anyone who’ll listen. She’ll get it someday—why I did it, why I lied. She’ll forgive me.

Forgive me, baby. Don’t let me live the rest of this life never seeing you smile.

“Stop looking at me,” you grumble, your eyes still closed.

Joel averts his eyes. His throat feels tight. “You sleep okay?”

You haul yourself upright and stretch out your back. Joel studies the curve of your spine and the nape of your neck. You’re the muse painters rave about. The reflections of sunlight on water at dusk. The pond of water lilies. 

“You didn’t. Your sheets haven’t even moved.”

“I can’t sleep without you.”

You give him a heavy look, your eyes bleary with sleep. “You managed all those years before me, Joel. Let’s not do this.”

“What if I want to do this?” he says, dropping to the floor next to your bed and taking your hands in his. You try to pry yourself free, but he drops his head and traps you in his rapt vigil. 

“Joel…” Your voice is still groggy, but there’s agony in the way you say his name.

“You’re my wife,” he says against your skin. “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved. You’re the girl I saw that night in the restaurant with the pretty eyes and you’re the girl I called every night just so I could hear your voice, and you’re always gonna be the only fucking girl for me. You’re my reason for everything, baby. I need you. Please… please just understand. You have to know that.”

You’re silent for a long while, your legs curled under you as your own husband kneels as if in prayer. Your throat burns with more tears you have little energy left to shed. You whisper his name.

He looks up and you find you cannot meet his eyes. So you stare at one of the patches of skin that disrupt the brown-grey of his beard. “That first night at the restaurant,” you say, trepidation colouring your voice blue, “you disappeared after the second course. When you came back, you told me you had to take a call. Was that the truth?”

Joel’s eyes are frantic in their search for an answer. “Don’t,” you snap. “Don’t lie to me again. Was that the truth?”

“There—” His voice cuts off, his eyes shuttering. “There was a target. That’s… why I was there in the first place.”

Your sob dies in your chest. It doesn’t even make a noise. You wrench your hands out of his, and he lets you, still kneeling at your bedside like a lost sinner. “Love has never been the problem. You might love me, but you’ve never told me the truth. Not from the first day.”

One of his hands wraps around your ankle. “I wanted out. I wanted out my whole life, and you’re the one who made me find the way. Cabrera, he… He gave me an impossible task. I completed it. And I gave you this ring.” He brushes his thumb over the knuckles of your third finger where your bands are still secure. “You said yes. You married me. Doesn’t this mean something?”

The sound of your hollow laugh hurts more than any words you could use to cut him. “It did,” you confess, “when I knew exactly who my husband was.”

He shakes his head, his lips parting in another desperate cast, but you’re standing up and crossing the room, gathering your toiletries for the bathroom. “What happens now?” you ask. 

Joel stares at the ring on his finger. “I’m going to talk to the Manager. You have to stay here.”

“Okay,” you say softly. Your back is rigid. “Just tell me something.”

“Anything,” says Joel. 

“If I asked to leave,” you whisper, “would you let me go?”

Joel feels his heart crack in two. He remembers the small outdoor wedding, in the heart of May, when he’d seen you walk down the aisle toward him and struggled to find the words, as he always did, that would be good enough. 

I vow to love you, he'd said, his hands trembling as he took yours. I vow to be your partner in all things. I vow to show you every piece of my soul, the way you've given me yours, and to be gentle with your heart. 

I vow to be the man you want, the man you need, and the man you love. 

He’s failed. He knows that. But you smiled at him that day, your eyes brimming with tears that turned black from your mascara, and you kissed him before the officiant said the words. 

I loved you.

“I’d do anything you asked me to,” he says, “but not that.”

Joel made a stop at the Continental Tailor before he went to find the Manager in the lounge. He paid the Tailor a bit too much for the new suit, he realises now, the sleeves a bit too tight, the pants not quite tapered. He was dressing a different body than the one he knew all those years ago. 

Joel weaves through the darkness as a crooning voice sings something about evil men up on the stage. The band is playing along, a smooth jazz tune, and the bodies around him smell of expensive cologne and perfume and vodka. He remembers with a start why he hated this place so much. 

Adjusting his jacket, he finds the Manager sitting in the VIP section on a long curved booth upholstered in crimson velvet, sipping a dry martini. 

“Joel,” he says, lifting his glass in toast. 

“Bill.”

The Manager doesn't look particularly thrilled. “You know there’s an open contract on your head. Who did you have to kill to end up back here?”

“Just a couple people.” Joel sits opposite him. “I need information.”

“And you're here on more business. Does your consort have anything to say about that?”

Joel curls his fingers into a fist atop the table. “I’m invoking my guest privileges. And she is my wife.”

Bill sniffs in amusement. “So, you did end up marrying the gal. Good for you, Joel. She's a stunner.”

“Fuck you, Bill.”

A short, booming laugh. “Nobody will so much as look her way. You have my word and all it means.”

“Doesn't mean much,” says Joel. “I’m just visiting.”

“Don't be the idiot I know you aren’t,” says Bill, leaning forward and setting his glass aside. “You dip so much as a pinky back in this pond, and you won’t get out so easy. Sometime, somewhere, someone’s going to come to you with another impossible task.”

“And I’ll complete it,” says Joel. “Emiliano Cabrera. Where is he?”

“You really wanna do this, Joel?”

“Yeah.”

“Your wife may be safe now, but she won’t be forever.”

“That’s why I’m going to finish it. That’s why I’m going to kill him.”

The Manager sighs, polishing off his martini. “You know damn well business will not be conducted on Continental grounds, Joel. You may as well go have a drink at the bar, take a load off. I can’t tell you anything while you’re inside my hotel.” 

Joel suspected as much. “Then tell me something you can.”

Bill’s nostrils flare and Joel feels some satisfaction knowing he can still push the old man’s buttons. “I’ll tell you what: the game has changed since you left it. Your only chance is to get out now, while you still can. What could possibly warrant the Boogeyman reentering the fold?”

Joel licks his teeth. Your eyes blurring with tears as your skull connected with the ground, your body going limp as he stood above you. The clink of a belt buckle echoes still in his head. If he hadn’t been fast enough—

“It’s personal.”

Bill’s gaze dips. “Well,” he says, “then, unofficially, I wish you the best of luck. But, as a former friend”—Joel snorts —“let me give you a piece of advice. Take your wife home and forget about all of this. I like you, Joel, but for her sake and yours, I’d rather never see you again.”

Joel doesn’t take it personally. “Tell Frank I said hello.”

Bill grabs a full glass from a passing server. “Fuck you, Joel.”

He nods his head, closing the lapels of his jacket and slipping the first button through the opposite slit. As the singer on the stage transitions into the next song, Joel orders a glass of bourbon and watches the bartender slide his drink over on a pristine white napkin. 

“On the house, per the Manager’s request,” says the bartender. “Welcome back, Mr. Miller.”

Pristine—save for the small red circle drawn with marker on the centre. Across the bar, Bill raises his glass in another toast, and Joel leaves the lounge, his drink untouched. 

It’s a Tuesday night, and the Red Circle is lined up around the corner. One must know someone to get inside, and that someone must be a paying member. Joel had a membership by default, being contracted under Cabrera, but it was revoked along with his other privileges once he had completed his task. 

You would hate this place. It’s throbbing bass and flashing neon lights and sweat-slick bodies rubbing up against one another. It’s brick and industrial metal and glass and the people don’t mix, either. 

Maybe part of him is hedonistic, too. He doesn’t think he ever used to be. The job gave him wealth to spend that he never cared to; when he met you, he began to understand the pleasure of material things. Gold shone when it hung around your neck and wrapped around your fingers. Diamonds glittered like the jewels in a crown when you wore them on your ears. And when he pulled you close to him for the first time, undressing you slowly, hooking his fingers in the lace panties he’d bought for you and bringing his mouth to the heat between your legs, Joel began to understand the draw of pleasure. 

It isn’t that he’d never had sex before you. He’d just… never been interested before you. Bodies always felt… too cold. They were complex. They were things to be followed, things to be killed. They were names on a piece of paper. They would bleed all their warmth and light into his palms and he would return, limping, to a house he never cared about and absolve himself of red. He’d never known the thrill of a body until he tucked his hand under the soft swell of your naked breast and put his mouth on yours and felt your heartbeat bleed into his hands. He never wanted to wash it off. 

If I asked to leave, would you let me go?

After the orphanage, Joel visited a church only once. 

He hadn’t meant to find it. He’d heard an organ humming from within. The cathedral was taller than it was wide, built for a small gathering. He’d slipped inside during a sermon, delivered by a pastor with white hair and a pair of wilting hands. Joel watched the tremors pass through his face, the agonising pulse of the vein in his throat, the way he would gulp down mouthfuls of water. He spoke with rhythm, with melody, and when he was finished, he grasped the edges of the pulpit, his head bowed in silent prayer. Joel thought he had never seen a more devoted man in his life. 

When the sermon was over, he waited his turn to speak with the pastor. He did not know why. He hadn’t felt a stirring in his chest at the word of God; he never had.

I’ve never seen you in here before, my son.

Joel shook his head, frowning at the ground. I… left the faith, in a way. When I was young. I’m… sorry.

Devotion is a choice, said the pastor, taking Joel’s hands in his own. They were wrinkled, speckled with age spots. Joel lifted his gaze to find the pastor smiling. As with all things in life. Devotion, my son, is not a birthright. We must find it. Though it may not be His word, you will know someone’s word. And you’ll find it will move you enough that you choose to follow it. To whatever end. 

Joel has been slashed, burned, drowned, whipped, beaten, strangled. He could count the telltale black spots in his eyes like dreamers count sheep. He developed a reputation because he was good at what he did. He was efficient, fast, lethal. He once killed three men in a bar with a pencil, they whispered. A fucking pencil. Word in the Underworld spread of a boogeyman who would take your life in your sleep if you wronged the wrong person, if you were just an unlucky bastard.

Their word never mattered. He’d never knelt in the blood of a victim and prayed for absolution. He would never find it, anyway. His soul was black. 

If I asked to leave, would you let me go?

No word has ever cut so deep as yours. How could he wake up every single day next to the love of his life and lie so easily to your face? How could he put a ring on your finger knowing damn well he’d betrayed your trust every second of your time together and you never even knew about it?

How could he wear the mask of your husband and dream of blood on the very same hands that touched you each night?

Joel checks his watch. It’s one o'clock in the morning. You’ve been sleeping since breakfast. You won’t sleep a wink tonight if this keeps up, but it seems you’d rather do anything in the world than speak with him. 

He doesn’t blame you.

He found his word that night in the restaurant. He’d followed it, followed you, wherever you took him. And he will follow you, his almighty word, beyond the grave, to whatever end you decide. 

He will not abandon his faith. His purpose. He will not throw up his hands and let you walk away. He’s made mistakes he cannot mend. He can’t go back to the day you met and tell you all he should have, rules be fucked. He cannot fix what he’s already broken. You cannot put a piece of tape over fractured glass, a bloodied hand over wounded skin. 

He made his fucking vows. It’s time he lived up to them.

Across the street, Joel watches, turning over the knife in his pocket by the hilt. Emiliano Cabrera and his lackeys step out of Joel’s Mustang and toss the keys to the valet. They skip the line, smacking one another around and jeering at the ladies in line, and Joel feels the hunger pull at his teeth. 

His first target is posted by the east entrance. Joel takes the alley, stepping aside trash bags brimming with used needles and slipping the Glock from the lining of his jacket. The weight of it is formidable in his hand. Under the cover of dark, he slides into a second skin, black as the names they call him. Bringing the gun to the back of the guard’s head, he watches those huge shoulders stiffen.

“Francis,” he says politely.

“Joel,” says the guard. 

“Workin’ late?”

“Why?” says Francis. “You want in?”

“Yeah,” says Joel, “I do. You lost weight.”

“Twenty-seven pounds, if you’ll believe it.”

Fuck. 

Twenty-seven guards tasked with protecting the little shit. Joel may have a reputation, but it’s been years. He was ambushed in his own home last night. And after it all, he’d let the bastard slip between his fingers. 

“Why don’t you take the night off?”

Francis lowers one meaty hand to the piece in his ear and takes it out. Turning his head, he says, “Can you at least lower the gun?”

Joel does. “Wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

“Word’s going around. They say you’re back.”

“I’m just passin’ through.” 

“Sure, Joel.” Francis offers his hand, and Joel shakes. “You better make it quick. I don’t feel like getting fired.”

“Understood.” Joel slips inside, letting the door click shut behind him. 

Even from afar, the music lives in his chest, a writhing thing that seeks departure by way of his throat. He tries to swallow and it wriggles back up again. The bass throbs hard against his ribs. 

There’s a bathroom on the VIP floor. As he sneaks by the frosted glass partition that separates him from the public, Joel hears the squeak of locker doors. He puts his palm on the door and pushes inside.

Did you see the tits on that girl? says one man in Spanish. Emil got a pretty one.

Another lets out a booming laugh. Shut the fuck up, man. Good pussy and you tuck your tail and run.

Yeah? And you're in here because you scored? 

I’m in here because bitches prefer to choke on clean dick. What's your excuse?

Neither feels the breeze of the shadow slipping behind them. Neither of them sees the man in black lock his arm around one of their necks and squeeze until there's no air left. By the time the other has turned on the porcelain sink and begun to splash his face, the boogeyman has him by the scruff of his neck, fisting the collar of his fluffy white bathrobe. The sink continues running, and he’s choking on the warm water as Joel holds him down.

“Jesus! Fuck!”

“Where is Emiliano?”

“Vete a la mierda,” he splutters. “Let go of me, motherfucker!”

Joel takes one of the man’s fingers and bends it all the way back. His screams are muffled by Joel’s hand.

“Where is Emiliano?”

“The bathhouse, downstairs,” he groans. “Fuck, let me go, pendejo!”

Joel bares his teeth, breaks the man’s neck, and leaves him slumped over the sink, the water still running. 

The bathhouse is doused in red and blue. The water is illuminated from within, and the whites in his victim’s eyes glow where he stands half-submerged, toasting a bottle of champagne to his rowdy friends. Joel flattens himself to the wall, listening for the tread of dress shoes. The music pounds too loudly for him to hear, but he can see the shadow before he sees its owner. 

“Clear,” says the voice. 

When he rounds the corner, Joel drives his knife into the man’s throat and silences his gurgling moans by clamping a hand over his mouth. He slides down the wall, and Joel holds his gaze while the light slowly dims in his eyes. 

One. 

Two more men are waiting behind the partition, hands folded in front of them. Joel does not recognise them. Their suits are pressed, Italian; it seems Cabrera has made some alliances. Joel lies his first victim on the ground and prowls toward his next two. 

They go easily: unsuspecting, they bleed out under his blade, choking on their blood, and he leaves them lying by the foggy partition. Three. 

The music is dreamy, the crooning of two voices set to a throbbing track. In the bathhouse, he hears the sloshing of water and the singing of a group of men nearby. They're singing an old folk song, Joel realises. A song about a ghost. 

Hurry, fall asleep, or the Boogeyman will come for you…

They don't sound particularly frightened by the spectre haunting them. Joel watches them toast their bottles of champagne and grab the waitresses’ asses. It's Emiliano and his friends, all right. Joel spots another five guards around the waist-deep water and another two by the doors upstairs. 

There's a childlike self-assuredness about him—this kid. He thinks he's protected, safe, almighty as God. He sings about Joel and smiles. 

A guard leans over him and sneers. “You need to stop drinking.”

“Are you scared of the fucking boogeyman?” jeers the kid. “I’m not! Hijo de puta.”

The guard plucks the bottle from his hand and passes it off. “You wanna vomit while you run away? Or would you just prefer to get shot in the head?”

Emiliano’s haughty sniff makes Joel wonder if a bullet in the head is retribution enough. “Get me another fucking bottle!” he says to his friend. 

Joel picks up a bottle of complimentary cologne and tosses it. The glass shatters, potent liquid pooling on the shiny floor. Three guards flank the partition. The music is too loud to let the sounds of his blade in flesh seep through. 

Six. 

On the other side of the glass, coloured blue and red and slick with humidity, the singing continues. 

From the swamp he will come…

He feels the wet splash of blood on his face. 

… and take the children that don't behave. 

Another man rounds the corner as Joel is tearing the knife from the last guard’s throat. He doesn't have enough time to slash his throat, so he pulls the handgun from his holster and shoots. He crumples to the floor, but Joel’s cover is blown. 

“He’s here! Miller’s here!”

The partition explodes. Glass rains on him as he rolls to evade the gunfire, raising his barrel to strike at the remaining guards. 

Seven. Eight. 

The men by the stairs are shouting some Spanish, some Italian. The music carries on, but the song they're singing has ended. 

Joel finds the man he's been looking for: hiding behind a petrified waitress, Emiliano Cabrera looks like a goddamn child. He's wrapped himself hastily in a bath towel around his waist, and his eyes are wide as saucers. Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m going to enjoy this a little. 

He locks eyes with Emiliano for only a moment. The guards at the top of the stairs begin to fire at Joel. He ducks behind the wall as shots chip brick from the wall or plunk uselessly in the water. By the time he flanks them around the other side of the wall and brings them tumbling down the stairs—ten—the kid has already run. Joel growls at the loss of the kill and follows him into the club. 

With an eruption of deafening music, Joel bursts into the crowd. Behind him, a gigantic LED screen is illuminated with spirals in red and blue and white. Women dance in elevated cages while the crowd below becomes a sea of skin and sequins and sweat. Joel reloads, checks the clip, and resumes his hunt. 

Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Joel feels the punch of the barrel into their chests as he fires, again and again and again. The commotion is lost in the din of the music and dancing. Bodies connect and grind and Joel kills. 

Fourteen. A guard by the wall. Fifteen. Another lurking by the LED spirals. Sixteen, seventeen—two men rushing him in an attempt to ambush, eyes wild with rage and a bit of fear. Joel puts them down like sick dogs and continues to push through the crowd, his eyes locked on the retreating Emiliano, who's waving a gun about like a white flag. 

But it's no surrender. It's a beacon, a sign that the deer is spooked. Joel feels his lip curl. So frightened, he thinks. 

Eighteen, nineteen…

Your bleary eyes, blinking through the pain, limbs limp and helpless as he unbuckled his belt above you. A cut on your face, barely bleeding. The red still consumes him. 

You were so afraid that night. 

Twenty. 

Twenty-one. 

He's getting closer. The crowd parts down the centre as Joel marches toward his goal. But the music is loud and he does not hear the approach from behind. 

The gunshot grazes his shoulder, but he feels the flare of pain ooze its way down his arm. Joel grunts, knocked askew from his path, and turns to forge at his assailant. 

The man is fast, though, and rushes him. The tackle brings him down to the ground, winding him just enough to briefly stun, to send his Glock spinning along the floor. He’s taller, broader, madder. 

But he shoots one-handed. 

Joel knocks the gun aside and it misfires into the gap in the crowd. In the dispersing, he sees more guards closing in his periphery. The only protection he has is the hulking body on top of him. So Joel uses it, bringing his elbow to the man’s throat and bunching the lapel of his jacket in his fist. The guard attempts to reach for the blade in his thigh holster, but Joel reaches down and bends his arm backward until the crunch crackles in his ear. The man howls, and Joel grasps the hilt of the knife. 

Twenty-two. 

He picks up his gun and fires a shot into each of the three approaching guards, but Emiliano has fled to the first floor. Joel grimaces as he stands, blood on his fingertips where he's prodded the wound in his arm. “Goddammit,” he mutters, following his target upstairs. 

The air is dizzying. Hot. Joel never liked clubs. He hated the closeness and the bodies in cages and the way skin felt so sticky, too tight, like he needed to step outside of it. He hated the feeling of being suffocated by strangers, as if any of them could be lurking low in the darkness, waiting to strike. 

He didn't understand the lure of the scantily-clad body until he saw you wrapped in a tight black dress. He didn't know the pleasure of dancing until you took his hand one night, his old vinyl player crackling out Frank Sinatra, and lay your head on his shoulder. It felt like stepping over the threshold into consecrated territory. He should not be touching you. But you were touching him. 

Joel spots Emiliano running for the back entrance, shoving another guard in Joel’s path. 

Twenty-six. 

The final man, approaching Joel from the lounge, pulls his gun in time to shoot, but not in time for Joel to notice. The bullet shatters a glass of wine and topples a waiter’s tray. Joel fires. 

One to go. 

He has no choice but to lunge for the kid before he can run out into the street. Joel’s heart is pounding in his chest, his blood electrified. The take-down is sloppy and his ankle rolls, but Emiliano Cabrera is pinned beneath him and yelping like a kicked dog. 

“My father will kill you,” he gasps, his cheek pressed to the floor.

“Your father knows exactly why I’m here,” says Joel, “and he knows how stupid you are.”

“Hijo de puta, it was just a fucking car,” he spits. “I was just going to have some fun with your bitch. I would've given her back.”

Joel isn't quite satisfied. He turns the kid onto his back and grasps him by the jaw, forcing him to meet Joel’s incendiary gaze. 

“Everything has a price.”

The knife goes in smoothly, the flat of the blade glinting in his gaping mouth. No light flees his eyes. There is nothing but cold slate-grey. And although Joel feels no happiness feeling the pulse slow to a crawl beneath his palm, he does not pull the knife out. 

Your body, sacred, helpless, lying on the floor. A predator’s gaze. The clink of a belt buckle. Joel steps over the body and leaves, limping to the valet and slipping him a golden coin. He slips back inside his Mustang, turns on the engine, and drives back to the hotel. 

You’re tucked in the alcove by the window, staring out at the moonlit night. Your chin rests on your knees as you hug yourself close. The lamp between your respective beds colours the room orange. 

“You’re limping.” 

You haven’t even turned to face him.

“How—”

“I know how you sound when you walk.” Your temple is cool where it rests on the windowpane, your breath frosting the glass. Joel staggers to the small table and braces himself on the back of a chair as he watches you. 

You’re as warm and bright as the day he found you that night in the restaurant. Your eyes may be a little older, but the glow is the same. He folds his bleeding hands around the back of the chair. Everything around you curls in, darkens, and wilts when it confronts your beauty. 

“I’m all right.” He doesn’t deserve your concern. He’ll swallow any bullet to keep you from worrying.

You stand at last and cross the room to face him. His heart jumps like it’s the first time you asked him on a date. Like the first time he kissed you, his chest taut with tension and nerves and the assumption that you’d reject him. 

“You can lie to me about lots of things, Joel, but I know this face.” The pad of your thumb ghosts over the crease between his brows. “I’ve painted it a hundred times. It doesn't lie.”

It's the first time you've touched him in days. Joel closes his eyes. Part of him, the part that jolts back to life under the tender weight of your soft skin, means it when he says, “I’m okay.”

You seem to ponder him for a moment. “This wouldn't be the first time I patched you up,” you say, as if resigned. “Go on. Bathroom.”

He winces. “You don't have to—”

“Go. And afterward, you can tell me everything.”

The pads of your fingers memorise the ridges on the gold coin. The time is close to dawn. 

He’s no longer bleeding, and although you have nothing close to the Doctor’s prowess, you’ve managed to disinfect and wrap the wound in his arm. You can’t do anything about his ankle, but it’s a sprain; he’ll heal in time. The mangled black and blue on his tender skin reminds you of a night sky without the stars. It doesn’t seem to pain him. It only makes you wonder what sorts of agonies he’s faced—ones you never knew about.

The hurt has festered in your time away from him. He’s an open wound in the shape of a hand on your back, searing cold through to your heart. The hand sports a golden band, and it reflects in the one you still wear. You don't quite know what to make of it now. 

He looks exactly like the man you knew. Not a part of him has changed—he's still scruffy, still tired, still jaggedly gorgeous. You paint him with blurred edges, with blues and greys. Your heart still pulls when you look at him. Your chest still gapes wide open, and he digs his thumbs into the bruises. He lied to you. He broke your trust. And there's still so much of your Joel in him, from the skin to the bones. 

“It’s beautiful,” you muse, turning the coin over. 

“Technically, it’s not money,” Joel says. “It is currency. They can be exchanged for favours, information, relationships.”

“A hotel room,” you add. “Good to know I don’t have to move any savings around. Where have you been keeping these?”

“There’s a safe in the basement,” he says, “under the floorboards. When I left, I buried all of it. Weapons, coins, contacts, anything I had from the Underworld.”

The Underworld. A fitting name, if you’ve made any sense of it at all. “Do the police know about all of this?”

“Most of them are in the pockets of High Table members. Those are the ones who control how it all works. Rules and consequences,” says Joel, “is how they operate. They're what separate us from the animals.”

You lift your brows. “And who sits at this High Table?”

“Twelve leaders. They're the ones who run most of the major crime families and organisations. They control police, politicians, banks—”

Your shuddering sigh makes him stop in his tracks. He watches you lean back in the chair and bends forward slightly, as if tied to you by an invisible thread. 

“So… the girl who serves me coffee on the corner by my office could be part of it.” You frown at the coin in your hand. “She could be a witness, a runner, a messenger. She could be like you.”

“She isn't,” says Joel, “but that is the general idea.”

“But civilians are immune.”

“More or less,” says Joel. “There are… heavy penalties for harming them.”

“Penalties like death.”

“Most of the time,” he says. “And there are rules here, too. No business can be conducted on the grounds of any Continental hotel.”

“Any? You mean—”

“There's a Continental in every major city in the world. It's where we go to remind ourselves we’re civilised.”

“Civilised,” you scoff. “Civilised murder, sure. I’m buying it. And now that you’re back—”

“Visiting.”

You just glare at him, and he ducks his head. 

“—there's a contract on your head.”

Joel nods. “Two million.”

You curl your fingers over the coin in your palm as your stomach bottoms out. “That's a lot of incentive to put a bullet in your brain.”

“They won't,” he says. “Cabrera holds the contract, and he only opened it because of Emiliano. He’d pull it the second I agreed to stop looking for his son. He doesn't want me owing him.”

“I don't know if I’d call that a debt.”

“Considering everything I did for him,” says Joel, a bite to his voice, “anything short of killin' his kid is a favour.”

Despite yourself, you open your hand and slide the coin toward him. “Tell me what you did.”

His head shoots up, his brows knitted together. “What?”

“Tell me what you did to get out. Tell me about this ‘impossible task.’”

“Baby, that’s…” He rubs his hand across his jaw, and it strikes you then how deep those half-circles colour the space beneath his eyes. 

“Stop,” you whisper. It never used to hurt when he called you baby. “Tell me how much blood you thought I was worth.”

Joel’s jaw ticks. His knees barely touch yours under the table. “You don't wanna hear the answer to that.”

“Then start here. What did you do, Joel?”

The sigh he releases feels heavy. “I came to Cabrera, asking him to release me from my contract. He told me he'd let me out, no strings attached… if I hunted down his enemies.” 

Your mouth drops. “Which enemies?”

He picks up the coin and turns it over in his palm. The silence drops an anchor on the ground. Your belly churns with the movement of the golden piece as it catches the light. 

“All of them,” says Joel. “All of ‘em, in one night. That was his impossible task.”

The scrape of your chair legs across the floor is grating. But you stand anyway, your head vaguely stirring with the beginnings of a headache. 

“Oh my God.” 

You barely feel your own hand on your cheek, barely smell the iron tang of blood on him, barely see the red cutting through his pressed white shirt. “How many people?”

Joel shakes his head, his shy eyes lowered, still as the paintings you've made of him. “I… I don't know.” 

I lost count, he means. There were too many, he means. 

Your throat is just wide enough to let your breath escape. The air you take in feels poisonous. He killed every single one of them. All because he wanted to marry you. 

All because he wanted peace. 

“Is there anyone in the Underworld who doesn’t know your name?”

Joel’s repentant silence, head ducked as if in prayer, is all the answer you need.

“How did this happen?” Your voice is uniquely quiet. 

“When I was a kid,” he says, and your heart sinks, “I lived on the streets. Lived like a rat, mostly, but I survived. You know that much.”

You nod solemnly, lowering yourself into the chair once more. “The Sisters reunited you with your brother.”

His dark eyes reflect the lamplight and it resembles a flame igniting in the depths of the iris. “Found me on Canal Street, runnin’ drugs for a mobster I don't even remember. Tommy was only five, but he must've told them about me. They took me to the orphanage and started my training.”

You swallow, your temples pounding. Deep in your gut, something wild and dry begins to kindle. “They were the ones who taught you all of this?”

“They teach the word of God above everythin’ else, but yeah. They train children to thrive in the Underworld. We were taught knives, guns, hand-to-hand. Hell, they even taught us how to dance—how to move faster than the opponent. I knew how to kill someone before I could read.” Joel chuckles, and part of you thinks he actually thinks it's funny. “Probably why I’m so slow.”

You aren't slow, you want to say. You've never been slow, not from the first day. 

The kindling curls and you can feel your mouth pull at the corners. He had only been a child. An orphan. A child had no way to choose, to resist how they were raised. He hadn’t been given a choice—his life in exchange for a roof over his head. 

“Those fucking bastards.”

Joel’s laugh is mirthless. “It was a long time ago. I’ve made my peace with it.”

You angrily swipe the tears that warm your cheeks. “No adult should have that power. They should nurture and comfort and protect, not—” Your breath hitches. “You were a child. You didn't deserve that.”

Your fingers have curled into a fist atop the table. With both hands, he gently lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. You expect it to feel foreign, wrong. It just feels like Joel. 

“The Sisters were cruel,” he says softly. “But I made myself into a weapon. It was the only way I would survive.” He reaches out as if for a wounded deer and brushes his thumb over your jaw. “They never made me believe, sweetheart. That was all you.”

You sniffle, your head bobbing absently. You don't know what to think. You don't know how to feel. Your own husband has been through the seven circles and crawled back out only to teeter back over the pit once more. There’s an ancient weariness in the black of his eyes, an old hurt, a mansion slowly crumbling at the edges. 

“You hid this all from me, and never told anyone,” you say, the ache widening. You find you want to assume, consume, even a modicum of the pain that he's felt. 

One of his shoulders lifts in a mild shrug. “I wanted to forget all of it. I wanted to make something of the new life I’d killed for.” He meets your gaze and you swear part of the open wound in his pupils has sealed. “I didn't want any of it to touch you.”

And you remember lying in bed with him that first night, after that first time, tracing a scar on his back. White and ridged, it spread like lightning feelers from the middle of his spine to the dimples in his lower back. 

You'd put your mouth to his shoulder blade and felt him melt into you. 

What happened? 

The silence that followed could have heard the brush of a feather over skin. 

I was raised in an orphanage. In a church. They weren't kind. 

And that was that. You'd prodded and fussed and he'd said I’m fine. It was a long time ago. 

“But that's what you do, Joel,” you tell him. “You hide your hurt and you bury your feelings and you do it all because you're afraid it'll make everyone leave you.” 

Sometimes he would wake in a cold sweat, heaving, tossing aside the sheets, but he would never make a sound. You'd see him, pretending to sleep, and place your hand over his chest. His fingers would grasp yours as if marooned on the water, seeking driftwood, his hand suffocating yours. He'd keep it pressed to his heart until the beats slowed. 

You regret those times you never pressed. In a way, you were afraid, too. If you opened your eyes, if you asked him to confess, he would close the lattice and turn his back to you. You didn't want to lose him, either. 

But you did. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it doesn't hold the weight you want it to. It doesn't blow out the candles in the cathedral. It doesn't pluck the scared little boy from the streets or give him a warm bed. It doesn't stop the beatings and the lashings and the pain. 

It does not pry the pain from his heart and bury the shrapnel in your chest instead. It is something he bears, as he always has, and must. It is something you cannot take from him. And you feel more helpless than you ever have. 

He shakes his head. “I know we can't go back,” he says, tracing one of the little daisy charms on your bracelet. “But it feels… good. It feels good to finally tell you. Even if we were too late.”

The sound of his voice breaking shakes your heart loose from your rib cage. 

“Come to bed.” Your voice is raw and used. “Just… come to bed, and sleep.” 

He doesn't dare look hopeful, though you can see the tremor that courses through his hand. He wants to take yours, the way he did the day he proposed, dropping to one knee with your palms flush. 

He looked a little hopeful that day, too. With rapt attention, he'd taken hold of you and said, I love you. I love you more than anything. You’re my best friend. Will you marry me? Will you let me be your husband?

You realise now why he'd let himself hope. He'd gotten out. He'd started his new life. With you. 

You can see his old scars, even in the dark. You think, in all your time together, you've learned his body as you learn the earth you tread upon. The praying hands of Dürer lie beneath the name inked in small black lettering. 

Your name. 

You gingerly reach out and place your hand on his back. Joel shudders. He does not turn to face you where you both lie on your sides. 

“If you bleed on the bed sheets,” you say to the darkness, “will management make us pay?”

He chuckles. “Strongly worded phone call at best. I’ll take the hit.”

You frown, ghosting your fingers over the tender skin around the makeshift patch job on his shoulder. “Does it still hurt?” 

“No,” he says, leaning into your touch, “not anymore.”

“You never told me about this scar on your back.” You touch the edges of the puckered skin. “I never stopped wondering. But I should never have stopped asking.”

“Don't,” he says quietly. “Don’t say any of that like it's your fault.”

The silence bleeds as viscous as an open gash into the dry air. His watch broke the day of your wedding. He told you it was all right, that we've got all the time in the world, and you'd kissed him and laughed. He’d replaced the battery since then, but sometimes the little hand lags behind, as if afraid to chug forward. Afraid to let time, of all silly, trivial things, consume your world. 

“Do you remember your vows?” you ask him. 

“‘Course I do.” 

“Do you remember mine?”

His head bows slightly on the pillow. “‘I vow to be your partner in all things,’” he recites. “‘I vow to protect your heart like it's my own. I vow to take your pain, and to shoulder it so you don't have to.’” 

The tears saturate the pillowcase beneath your cheek. You fall asleep with your arm around his waist, your hand next to his, not touching, but nearly. 

#fic: helen #kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller au #joel miller fic #john wick au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader

[myhappylittlesideblog]

See You When You Get Back

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Shane's a big jerk in this

Summary: Checking in with those going on a supply run creates some drama within the crew. (Season 1 ish)

A/N: My first Daryl piece! Needed some soft Daryl in my life lol. I haven't finished the show yet, currently in the middle of S.6 and it's been a long time since I watched season 1&2, so sorry for any inaccuracies.

Runs weren’t your thing. Not right now. Maybe in a few months you’d be able to stomach it- going out amidst walkers and even more twisted survivors to find food. And toothpaste. God, you needed toothpaste. But even with the protectors of the group on your side, watching your back, you knew you wouldn’t make it back to camp. Not right now. Maybe someday. 

Everybody was clear on that. The “not right now.” So those going out on the supply run would check in with you, ask if you needed anything special and then leave you be to do their laundry or clean the little dishware you had all collected.

They collected. The ones who could collect things- those going on the runs. You just cleaned. For now. 

“Hey.” It sounded more like a grunt than a word. 

Daryl pulled you from your thoughts. Like a hand dipping into the waves to yank you up into the clear air to breathe. 

“Need anythin'?” He asked once you looked at him. 

You smiled. A lips pressed together - thanks for thinking of me - smile. 

“The usual. Diamonds, meth, whatever you can find.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. 

“And toothpaste if you can find it. But I let Andrea know that.”

He gave a curt nod. “Kay.” 

“See you when you get back,” you said to him. 

A laughing hiss came from behind you. “Damn, girl, tell 'im how you really feel.”

Shane stood behind you. Snarky. Smirking. Shaking his head. 

Though Rick was the one who found you on his way out of the hospital, it was Shane who let you join the group. At least, that’s how he saw it. You were grateful to him, he protected you, provided for you like he did the others. When you had no place to stay and no tent of your own, he let you share his. It was a generous gesture that was starting to come back to bite you each time Shane acted like he had a say in everything you did. Even more than the others in the group, that is. 

“What?” you said. 

His fingers dug into the belt loops in his jeans as he leaned to one hip. “Everybody else gets a pat on the shoulder or a hug. 'Be safe, keep safe,’” he said, imitating a whiny voice that wasn't quite yours. He shrugged. “Guess she couldn’t care less ‘bout you, Dixon.”

You heard the distinct click and jangle of Daryl putting his crossbow over his shoulder, ready to move out. Your jaw clenched at the thought of him leaving with Shane’s words in his head. 

“Why would you even say somethin' like that?” You shot at Shane. “I would never-“

“Ya don’ haf’ta explain yerself,” Daryl mumbled to you. 

“What was that?” Shane called. 

“I said she doesn’ haf’ta explain herself to you,” Daryl said, taking a step toward you, but angling himself toward Shane. Ready. 

“I think I know her better than you do, Dixon,” Shane said. “We share a goddamn tent-“

“You-“

“If you think,” you interrupted both of them, “that I’d say such a thing about any one of us, then you don’t know me at all. But Daryl’s right. I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

Shane’s eyes went narrow. He crossed the open space between you, the span of two tents, in just a few long strides. You felt Daryl stiffen at your side as Shane stuck his face near yours. 

“You be careful who you align yourself with, (Y/N). If I were you-“

“Yer not.” Daryl said. 

Shane didn’t take his eyes off you. “If I were you, I’d choose better than a redneck with a few arrows.”

Even with his harsh words, his gaze softened toward you. Then he turned away and made his way back to his tent. 

Once he disappeared, you sighed, hoping the tension in your chest would dissipate with the air, but it didn’t. 

“Dick,” Daryl mumbled. 

A dry chuckle left you as you turned to him. His cheeks were pink with anger but his face was calm now. 

“Daryl, when I said- I just meant that-“

“I know what ya mean when ya say it.” His arm snaked around your neck, pulling you into him. Fast, hard, and unexpected. “I’ll see ya when I get back.”

He spoke into your hair. You felt his lips and breath move against your skin. And then he let go, gone as fast as he appeared, and you watched him saunter toward the rest of the group going on the run, his crossbow fit to his back. 

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

A/N: A part two may come! I can't just leave you in a tent with Shane after all that, can I?

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fluff #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl #daryl x reader #daryl twd #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl

[boldlyvoid]

Falling For You.

[REQUEST] spencer reid x BAU!reader but they're in a secret relationship, and basically she gets him to watch all these romcoms, so when he makes a reference to something like Notting Hill or You've Got Mail and then the whole secret is blown.

warnings: mentions of lila archer, spoilers for 90s/2000s rom-coms, co-workers to lovers, love confessions, implied smut, secret relationships.

word count: 2.4k

It was no secret that the newest team member had a thing for romantic comedies. From the little jokes she made with Penelope to the quote from Pretty Woman on her travel mug, she was a walking Rom-Com reference.

Hotch understood some of the references, JJ would talk her ear off about her favourites, and even Emily and Derek would jokingly re-enact that scene from When Harry Met Sally every time they had a team lunch. It was only Spencer who didn’t get the jokes, and after having to explain them all to him 1 too many times, she finally invited him over to watch some. 

The first one they watched together was Can’t Buy Me Love. Patrick Dempsey, a loveable nerd has been saving up all summer to buy the telescope of his dreams when the girl next door accidentally ruins her mom's favourite dress and needs to buy a replacement… he ends up buying it for her on the condition that she pretends to date him so his Senior Year can be his best year yet. Spencer likes the movie overall, he wishes someone in his high school took enough pity on him to make him popular. But his favourite scene is when they go to the abandoned airplane graveyard and watch the stars in his homemade telescope. 

“I can make one of those,” Spencer whispers to her. 

“Really?” 

He nods, “It would be pretty easy… maybe we could go star gazing someday too?” He asks, biting the bullet and making this movie date the first of many dates they’d go on. 

—

The next movie they watch is Never Been Kissed. Drew Barrymore is a nerdy reporter who goes undercover at a high school and gets to relive her teen years while falling in love for the first time. Spencer likes this one because he can relate, he never had his first kiss until well into his 20s… and she was an actress, too. When he explains that to Y/N she can’t believe it, but he has the magazine photos of them saying goodbye after the case to prove it. 

“Have you kissed many people since then?” She asks, wishing he’d move a little closer to her and steal one. 

He nods, “a few.” 

“anyone good?” 

He shakes his head, “no, I’m saving the best kiss for last.” 

She looks puzzled? “What?” 

“My best kiss will be from the girl I end up marrying,” he gives her a smile and moves his hand over to hold hers. 

“Oh,” she bites back a smile and looks down at their interlocked fingers. “Have you at least met her yet?” 

“I think so…” 

“Well, then shouldn’t you kiss her to find out if she’s the right one?” She teases, leaning into his space even more. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he teases, he cups her face with his free hand and rubs his thumb over her cheek, “are you sure you’re okay with this?” 

She nods and leans in all the way this time. Effectively pressing their lips together. And even for a first kiss, it sure does feel different. It feels like her last first kiss ever. 

—

Keeping it a secret at work is hard when all they want to do is stare at each other with googly-eyes, they’ve fallen head over heels for each other and not told a single soul. No one knows about their movie dates or their real dates either. No one knows they’ve spent a whole night kissing or that they really, really, don’t mind sharing the hotel room with the two queen beds. And they definitely don’t know that they only slept in the one. Together. The whole week they were away. 

After the case ends, they head back to her apartment for their mandated 48 hours off with the pan to watch as many movies as they can. 

The third movie they watch is You’ve Got Mail. 

“Rival bookstore owners hate each other in real life, yet on the internet manage to fall madly in love with one another. Based on an older movie called The Shop Around The Corner, it’s a beloved story brought to life once again by the one and only Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.” 

She explains every movie like this before they put it on. He’s honestly only watching them because he loves listening to her talk about them. 

“You see, they both have partners in real life but they email each other every day, as friends… but you know what it's like in movies like these,” she smirks. “Best friends who have a lot in common find it easy to fall in love.” 

“That they do,” he agrees. 

He raises his arm over the back of the couch and she sits back, leaning into his side just as his hand lands on her shoulder. They snuggle up close, she hits play and he watches with glee, not knowing this was going to become his favourite movie by the time it’s over. 

His favourite line is when two cars honk at each other and their drivers get out to argue, followed by Meg Ryan saying “Don’t you love New York in the fall?” Which is something Tom Hanks says to her in an email earlier that morning.

He loves the way the old man recalls a woman of his past and called her “enchanting” because what a wonderful thing to say about a woman.

He giggles when Tom Hanks tosses aside Pride and Prejudice cause he just doesn’t get it the way Meg's character does. But ultimately, he picks it back up because he wants to get to know her through her reading history. 

“I sympathize with Frank,” Spencer whispers as he brings out a typewriter when they have a perfectly good computer at her house. 

“I know,” she laughs. “I love the tablets at work, I can’t believe you still have Penny paint the files out for you.” 

You are a lone reed standing tall, waving boldly in the curet sands of commerce. Frank compliments Kathleen, or at least he tries to. 

Spencer giggles again. “I remember what it was like being a lone Reid,” he whispers before pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

She gets all flustered, so madly in love with him that she wants to scream it from the rooftops but it feels way too soon. They’re only 3 movies into their relationship. Maybe at 10, she’ll tell him. Till then, she looks over at him and steals a real kiss. 

Kathleen is so passionate about her books in the same way that Y/N loves her movies. Spencer sees so many similarities between them that it’s really no wonder that Tom Hanks’ character falls in love with her. Passionate, kind, beautiful women will always have a place in Spencer's heart. 

Their 4th movie is another Meg Ryan classic; When Harry Met Sally, and now Spencer understands why Derek pretends to have an orgasm when he eats a good salad… 

Their 5th movie is Notting Hill and Y/N can tell he doesn’t like it very much because unlike William Tucker, the actress who kissed Spencer never talked to him again after that. 

Their 6th movie, however, is Pretty Woman. And while they shared a bed all through the last case, they’ve never really slept together. So watching a movie all about sex and falling in love really didn’t help the frustration they were both feelings. By the time the movie ended, it was almost midnight and they should’ve been getting ready for bed. 

She gets up and heads to her room, expecting him to follow but he just stands in her doorway, watching with a bit of anxiety in his gut. 

“So…” Spencer asks. “What happens after he climbs up and rescues her?” 

She stills, her heart fills with love and she quickly makes his way to him. She cups his face in her hands, staring up at him. “She rescues him right back.” 

“Indeed you have,” he leans in and presses a quick kiss to her lips. “You know what all these movies have in common?” 

“What?” She has no idea where he’s going with this.

“They all fell in love pretty quickly, I mean just look at Vivian and Edward, it took them less than a week,” he explains. “So I don’t feel too crazy when I say… I love you, Y/N. I love you so very much.” 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she whispers between kisses. 

They kiss and kiss and he walks with her, leading her toward the bed where they fall in and make love for the first time. It's hot and close and emotional. It's slow and steady and perfect. It’s everything both of them have dreamed of when they finally met the one. 

— 

On their second day off they watch How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, 13 Going On 30, 50 First Dates, A Walk to Remember, 10 Things I Hate About You, and The Holiday. They would’ve gotten to more if they weren’t so wrapped up in one another. By the time they go back to work, they’ve gotten through half of her list of favourite movies. 

He’s not sure if it’s luck or coincidence or what… but their next case happens to be in New York. 

When they land, they get into their Bureau-issued SUVs and weave in and out of traffic on their way to the scene. They’re honked at multiple times and Spencer just smirks to himself. It’s not until they get out and they’re honked at once again, with some guy yelling at them to get out of his way, that Spencer turns to her and says. “Don’t you love New York in the fall?” 

She giggles and shoves him, “Shut up.” 

“It’s not the fall?” JJ remarks, not knowing why he’d say such a thing or why she’d react like that. 

“Hey, isn’t that…” Emily thinks it over for a second. “That’s a line from you’ve got mail!” 

“How would Spencer know that movie?” JJ laughs it off. 

Spencer turns to beat red with embarrassment. “I’ve seen it…” 

“You’ve seen you’ve got mail?” Derek even rides him for this slip-up. “And when do you have time to watch rom-coms?” 

“I’ve seen the original,” he lies. “It’s based on The Shop Around The Corner. My mom liked it before she got sick.” 

“Okay,” they drop it there. 

Thankfully. 

And by the time the case ends, 3 days have passed, the unsub has been booked into Jail at 9am and they’re free to go home. If they want to. Derek suggests they all go out for breakfast, and Hotch says he rather go home and sleep. JJ wants to go shopping and Emily’s right there with her. 

Spencer on the other hand, he opens his phone and sends Y/N a message. 

“There’s a place in Riverside Park at 91st street where the path curves and there’s a garden. I’ll be waiting there for you.” 

She digs her phone out of her pocket seconds later and smiles, a small sigh leaves her as her shoulders slump. She’s so in love with him it's unreal. 

“What about you, Y/N?” Emily asks her. “Do you want to come with us?” 

“No… no, I have a friend in town I want to meet up with.” 

“Looks like it’s just me and you for breakfast, pretty boy,” Derek teased, wrapping his arm around Spencer. 

He shakes his head, “Actually, I was thinking about going on a little sightseeing adventure, you know I only come to new york for work.” 

“Fine then,” Derek drops it and he, Emily and JJ watch as Spencer and Y/N head off, out of the precinct and in different directions. “I bet you ten bucks they’re meeting up.” 

“Hold on,” JJ says as she calls up Penelope. “Hey, yeah, can you tell me where Spencer and Y/N’s GPS pings in 20 minutes?” 

“I can… why?” Penny asks nervously. 

“No reason. Just a hunch.” 

When Penelope eventually calls her back all she has to say is Riverside Park at 91st Street and they know. 

—

Y/N gets there first, she’s never seen this place in person before. The flowers are even more vibrant than in the movie. There are bees dancing around every other flower, couples walking around hand in hand, people on dog walks and moms with their strollers. It’s just an average early morning in New York. 

And then she sees him. He comes rounding the corner, he’s carrying a bouquet of flowers wrapped in newspaper… at least she thinks they’re flowers. 

What they don’t notice is their friends on the other side of the garden, watching them get closer and closer until they’re chest to chest. He wraps his free hand around her waist, she cups his face in her own hands, and she stares up at him like he hung the stars just for her.  

“I wanted it to be you,” Spencer whispers what was originally Meg Ryan's line. “I wanted it to be you so badly.” 

“You sure did save the best for last,” she knows exactly what he means. 

Just as they lean in to kiss, as his lips meet hers, they hear it. Someone is playing “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” just for them. They smile into the kiss, shocked that their life is playing out like a perfectly written movie and then they see them.

It’s their own friends who played it. They’re clapping in the distance, “Woo!!” Emily cheers.

“We knew this would happen!” Derek throws in for good measure. 

They can’t help but laugh, Spencer pulls her in for another kiss, a longer, more hearty kiss. He loves her and he wants everyone to know. 

When she pulls back, she looks as though she could cry, so he extends the bouquet to her. It’s a bunch of yellow, newly sharpened number 2 pencils tied up with string. 

“Don’t you love New York in the fall?” 

“Not as much as I love you,” she says as she takes them, gladly. “Not even close.” 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @babybisexual @marsmunson86

#Spencer reid #Spencer reid smut #Spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer reid fanfic #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid x y/n #Spencer reid x you #Spencer reid self insert #Spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

[doremimosasol]

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 - 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ⟡

warnings: suggestive, sharp blade, blood, a bit toxic but kinda sweet too at certain times

word count: 2,8 k

summary: Tom Riddle, the hardworking student, fascinated by you

Tom Riddle, known for his driven mindset but passionate behind closed doors.

It was hard to really get to know the real him, to break through those walls he built around himself. He had always told himself lovers and even friends would distract him from his goal to always over-succeed. He needed to be the best, he needed to know everything they taught at school. He needed to know more.

As a person, like yourself, who studied a lot, it wasn't hard to see him regularly. Tom practically lived in the library, often pulling an all-nighter at any given opportunity. He had his way of tricking Filch into thinking the library was empty and not being able to find him. He often spent time in the restricted section but that didn't give him a chance to analyze the behavior of people around him. So he only visited that part of the library if he really needed to. He didn’t like being around people but the library was the perfect place to really get to know a person.

It may looked like he didn't care about people at Hogwarts, but he was a watcher. In his opinion, watching people study was the best way for him to draw out their personalities. He was intelligent but plain enough to only link people's self-worth to their dedication to their studies.

People sleeping in the library. Those were the ones that didn't have their 8 hours of sleep during the night. Not because of the endless hours studying but because of their weak-minded behavior to party at any given time. They were often Gryffindors, but his own house succeeded in making him disappointed too. It's the reason for him to stay in the library so often, the parties in the common room giving him a headache. Mornings after parties weren’t better for him either. Hungover people all around the place, hoping someday Professor Snape might find them in this state. He’d love to see them get detention.

Ravenclaws. Always putting on the act of the perfect student, while he knew well enough that half of them didn't even study for desire for knowledge. Some of them lived under a lot of pressure, making him almost sympathize with them — no — that was not possible. They were always trying to confirm the expectations of the others. It wasn't a gift. They pained themselves to prove their worth through their grades. But he was always the one they couldn't pass.

Students not using the library for proper end-goals. The kissing in the library drove him mad. There were enough places for one to eat one another's face but they always seemed to decide to do it in the library. What about a room? Anyway, he had his proper way of handling these kinds of students. A way that may or may not make them end up in the hospital wing. Nothing serious, just gluing their lips together with a simple spell. It wasn't pleasant but certainly made them leave. And he didn't have to listen to the awful noises.

Loud students. Same consequences as the kissing students but this time their own lips shut together. It wasn’t a hard spell to reverse. Poor them for not knowing the counter spell, should’ve paid some more attention in class.

You. You were different, always driven to reach the top of the class. Your determination almost — ALMOST — made him feel bad for you not succeeding. Because no one would ever reach the top place as long as he was in school.

You were often the person sitting there too at night. He analyzed your behavior every night. You were different, you took your studies seriously too, and seemed to enjoy it just as much he did.

It seems as if DADA was your favorite subject, noticing the small smile on your face when you had your nose in those textbooks. It was intriguing to him, to see how passionate you were while studying. And especially passionate about his favorite subject too.

This was the first time he'd ever been interested in another student. He wasn't experienced in relationships at all, whether they were romantically or just a friendship. He soon fell into an obsessive spiral, wishing you'd be in the library too when he was there. Figuring out your schedule just by sight of your direction in the hallways. It was unhealthy but you never left his mind, it almost made his grades drop by some percent.

You also noticed him in the library, intrigued by him yourself. He was elegant and charming and the way he spoke made your heart flutter. The guy just radiated intelligence. You caught yourself staring at him quite some times in the library, hoping he’d never notice. Silly you, of course, he did.

It took him weeks to build up the courage to even make the slightest move. He left a small note between the pages of your book while you were gone to get another one. From his seat, he waited for your reaction, even dropping his work just to not miss the smile that formed on your face when you opened the pages it lay in between.

"If a certain someone is on your mind while reading this, take the risk.

-TR"

The moment you lifted your eyes from the small note, yours met his. Tom Riddle. Drawn to the darkness and mystery that surrounded him.

The strange desire that flowed through both your veins reflected in each other's eyes. Neither of you saying anything. When he stood up to leave the library, you immediately picked up his intentions. He wanted you to follow him. A few seconds after he left, you stood up too, following closely behind him.

He stood still in the hallway, his back facing you as you stopped a few meters behind him. The tension was palpable, the only sound in the corridor being both of your breaths. A pace of breathing that quickened every passing second.

"Follow me." His voice echoed through the hallway, it was alluring…

You were contemplating whether to do as he told, but something in you was so damn drawn to him. You were pulled to him like a magnet, your feet following without listening to the signals your brain was giving to you.

He then stopped in front of a wall...?

Suddenly a large door appeared in it and he looked back at you with that typical smirk of his, he was proud of showing this discovery to you. He extended his hand out to the door, it opened magically. "Ladies first, of course."

He looked down at you and behind the darkness that filled his eyes, you could sense a small light flickering behind them. Like a small fire in a deep obscure cave, pulling you closer into the cave. Like a moth to a flame, drawn to the light in the cave.

As you entered the door, your eyes almost fell out of your sockets. Has this always been hidden in the castle? You looked back at him, the surprise on your face was obvious.

"You like it?" He walked closer to you, your heart beating faster at every step he took.

When he was right in front of you, he leaned his head closer to your ear. His breath was warm against the side of your face, a shiver going down your spine at the sensation. "You can keep a secret, right?"

He leaned his head back again, his eyes tracing all your features, pupils dilating. His fingers came into contact with your cheeks, dragging them down slowly until he reached the top of your shirt. Gently he loosened your tie, still looking at you like you were his own personal art piece. "You fascinate me."

"What is it that interests you in Dark Magic?" He slowly traced your collarbone, waiting for a response from you. "Mhmm?"

"I don't know... The secrets and mystery draw me towards it." You didn’t know how to explain it, just keeping it to some simple words. He raised his brows slightly at your confession.

"Is that so? I can give you just as many secrets Dark Magic holds..." He pushed a lock of hair in your face behind your ear. "Even more."

"Are you interested in finding out?"

You probably shouldn't have been…

It was since that day, that Tom and you had these secret meetings. He often took you back to the Room of Requirement during several nights. He taught you new things, in more ways than you could imagine. It seemed as if he was experienced in everything. Everything except love.

As the year progressed, you woke up more times in that room than in your own dorm room. Waking up in his warm arms as he traced his fingers over your bare back. It was a habit of his. He traced every single mole he could find on you, worshipping your body as if it were his reason to live.

His reason to love...

Love.

Love wasn't always that convenient in a relationship with Tom Riddle. The kisses barely weighed out the tears you had spilled during only those few months. They were heavy but he was worth it.

It was the toxic kind of love.

But he was sweet, in a way Tom could ever be sweet.

Nights with Tom were rough, wild, and passionate. The aftermath coloring your body the day after and some even weeks after. He was rough but he knew how to fix you after he almost ruined you. He'd lie if he didn't like to see you in that state. Satisfied by the way he was able to feel unimaginable things again and again. Nothing pleased him more than him pleasing you. Your face was at its most beautiful when you reached the edge. The look of it haunts his mind every single day. Gosh, he believed you were the most beautiful person in the whole school, in the whole world. Your hair spread out on the mattress, your face left with an afterglow, your chest sweaty, and your neck covered in his love.

But there was always something missing, something that made you his. Something that screamed his name. Something that could remind everyone whom you belonged to. Something that would stay with you forever. Something that would bind you to him in a way that was unbreakable…

It was when you two were studying alone in his room that it came to his mind. His eyes averted to the blade that lay on his desk. It was richly decorated with small emerald stones, a snake hugging the handle. It was one of the objects that clearly displayed his heirloom. One of the only things from his heritage that he kept close to him.

He looked back at you, sitting on his bed. You looked so precious in that moment, your eyes tracing the words on the paper of the book you were reading. It was a book he gave to you. It gave an in-depth study of the unforgivable curses: their past, present, and future. His future...

"Darling?" You looked up at him with sparkling eyes, his stomach twisting at the sight of you.

"What is it, Tom?" You straightened yourself on the bed and put down your book, noticing he seemed serious about something. It was a look you knew oh so well. Either you’d be lectured and crying yourself to sleep or tears would stream down your face due to something completely different.

"Do you trust me?"

It was something he asked often but only during closer intimacy, it was weird for him to ask you just out of nowhere. Your heart felt heavy, anticipating something bad.

"Of course, Tom. Always.”

At those words, he got up from behind his desk and took the blade in his hand. The metal made a soft clicking noise against the rings around his long fingers. You had always loved his rings, they were his trademark. He wouldn’t look the same without them. Your eyes followed his actions, not diverting from the blade in his hand.

He pulled your legs so that you got pulled down into a laying position. You gasp softly at the sudden movement. He traced the blade with its blunt side over your legs, passing your knees and slowly reaching your thighs. The cold metal sent shivers down your spine, it was pleasant in a way even though you wouldn't admit it.

He trapped your body, clenching his legs around each side of your body. He looked down at you, seeing your flustered face. It ignited a fire within him and only encouraged him even more to continue. He unbuttoned your shirt slowly, not losing eye contact. He wanted to see your every reaction, the anticipation in your eyes growing.

You didn't say anything, you let him... Surprisingly, you trusted him. You always trusted him. How harsh he could be, he had never hurt you ever. Emotionally maybe but never physically. He’d hurt himself if it meant that you would be untouched by pain.

He pushed the shirt to the side, your chest now exposed to him. You collarbone to his reach, his goal was uncovered. He licked his lips and moved them close to your right collarbone, the one on the side of your heart. He traced them with his lips, soon covering them with his saliva. His tongue left a small wet trail, it glistened in the moonlight coming through the curtains.

He moved his mouth to your neck, up to your jaw until he reached the side of your lips. The teasing made you whimper softly and you put your fingers into his locks. They were soft in between your fingers, a feeling you craved every day.

"You're beautiful." The words hit your lips and you look up into his eyes as he stares back into yours. It's like he's looking into your soul, you feel completely naked in front of him though clothed half.

He dragged the blade across your collarbone, slightly pressing it into your skin to make you get used to the sensation. He looked back at your face to see your reaction. You were calm, and it surprised him. The amount of trust you put into him made his heart skip a beat, it was like falling in love with you all over.

"Can I try something, love?"

Words left your mind and all you could do was nod, You had a feeling about what he was about to do but just waited for him to confirm your thoughts. He traced his thumb across your cheek in the shape of a 'T', the same shape that was now forming right below your collarbone.

It felt cold, it felt warm, you didn't know what it felt like. It almost felt like the same feeling his thumb was making on your cheek like he somehow transferred that soft feeling to your collarbone. It was weird, the pain was almost nonexistent. Little did you know that he put a spell on it, the blade replicating the feeling of his thumb. Like you said, he would never hurt you...

'R'. The next letter now shaped in your skin too, forming his initials in the end. He brushed his fingers over it, immediately closing the wound and causing it to scar. He was making sure it'd stay there forever, like a tattoo.

"T... R..." You looked up at him as he moved his face above yours again.

"That's right, yours. Always and forever yours. Say it.”

“You’re mine and I’m yours, Tom…”

He connected both of your lips as he switched positions into the kiss and put you on top of him now. He pulled away and pulled his shirt over his head, putting the blade in the palm of your hand.

"Your turn now."

Your breath hitched in your throat as he said those words, your turn to do what...?

"Come on, mark me. Own me. Make me yours like you just said" He caressed your cheek and pulled you closer. His eyes were almost demanding, a look you were all too familiar with. He really wanted you to carve your own initials in him too. It was kind of thrilling honestly.

You couldn't deny his wish so you pressed the blade softly against his collarbone with a small sigh. You were focused on the shape, your first letter now leaving a red trace just below his collarbone.

"Good girl..."

Little did you know that this was as close as a blood pact he could get. It'd connect the both of you forever. The letters would turn into a wound again at only the thought of betrayal or disloyalty. You should've known better, for Tom had put another spell on you. Marked by his obsession, marked by his love.

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