#fem!michael gives me life let me HAVE HIM

[allysunny]

Pls pls pls friends to lovers with an ass load of pining!!! I love the trope where literally everyone but her can see that he’s in love with her and they’re basically dating without the title. She’s in love with him too but a little more guarded/scared. They have fun traditions like a book club, and Bruce gives her the princess treatment. Pls pls pls, I’d literally love you forever if you wrote this

Obliviously in Love | Bale!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Words: 15k words

Warnings: Friends to lovers, pining, two idiots in love but way too blind to see it, Alfred being a very sassy butler (I love Michael Cane sm), possibly OOC Bruce (I've never written for him before), some angst, love confessions, Christmas! and mistletoe, eventual romance of course! Not beta, we die like Harvey Dent.

A/N: Hey everyone!!! Sorry for the delay, but as I told you, uni was kicking my ass. I'm back now, and hopefully I'll be able to write a lot!

So, this is my first Bale!Bruce request, and I'm so excited, but at the same time I'm super, super nervous because I've never written for this man in my entire life? I love this trilogy so bad and even rewatched all the movies as I was doing this, because I wanted to make sure I got him right. Sure, he's a vigilante and a billionaire and a supposed playboy, but he's also just a man, and I sort of wanted to explore that.

There's so many layers to this man, it is insane. If there's anything OOC about him, please do let me know. I swear to god I tried my best, and I hope you like the finished result.

This is my longest word so far - I'm so sorry! It was supposed to be kinda short and sweet but I just ran with it! I don't know if it was for the better or worst, but I hope you guys like it nevertheless. Again, I'm sorry if it's somewhat OOC, I tried to get everyone's personalities just right. I'm scared of not doing these movies justice. I also took some liberties with this - Bruce and Rachel don't have feelings for each other, Bruce often goes to charity galas, etc. Small things.

Also, it's set somewhat in between Batman Begins and The Dark Knight!

Anyways, enjoy!

Bruce Wayne was a lonely man.

Not that he minded, really.

Ever since he was a child, he knew most people were after him and his family for the money. Family friends cashing in favours done ages ago, things as small as having once lent his father an umbrella, women pretending to befriend his mother to accompany her whenever she went shopping, kids at school getting closer to him only to get a peek at the famed Wayne Manor and all the wonders it hid inside.

He'd rather be alone than have such leeches around him, surrounding him like vultures, waiting for an opening.

Kids who'd mocked him would apologise profusely days later, having learned about his family, offering their friendship. Once Bruce made it clear he had no intentions of inviting anyone to his place (he was just shy, really), they'd take back their so called “friendship”.

He was better off without such people.

They were few, the people he could trust. And even those he called his “friends”, he didn't trust completely. His childhood best friend, Rachel, had grown up and busied herself at the DA’s office. She reached out to him after he’d returned after all those years in training, but she was a busy woman, and Bruce had found a new passion himself – patrolling the streets of Gotham dressed up as a bat. They would talk often, but it simply wasn’t the same. They were still friends of course – childhood could link two people – but he’d changed, and so had she. No matter how well they got along, they were changed people.

So, he was back to square one, with no people to truly confide in.

There was, after all, a reason only Alfred knew of his secret identity.

No, Bruce Wayne wasn't a stranger to loneliness.

He preferred the peace and quiet of his home office to the loud ambiences of the parties thrown by pretentious people who wanted to pass by as charitable, and found that sometimes, being by himself was a better option.

Bruce Wayne could count with his hands how many “friends” he had, and how many were simply greedy bloodsuckers trying to get to his fortune.

All but you, though.

Never you.

Bruce met you a few years ago, at the bakery you used to work at.

He wasn't a regular - hell, he didn't usually eat at places like those. Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, dined at the best restaurants - a truth universally acknowledged.

But after being stuck in traffic for about thirty minutes (he'd sent Alfred on a makeshift vacation, having miraculously been able to convince the old man to take some time for himself), he decided to exit the cab and go for a stroll.

It'd been a stressing day, with about a hundred reports coming in for him to sign at Wayne Enterprises, the prototypes for his new motorcycle had proved to be a failure, and he was simply exhausted. A walk would do him good, clear his head.

That's when he walked by the bakery, noticing the colourfully decorated cupcakes and pastries on the shelves. The pastel-coloured frostings seemed far too pretty to eat, and curiosity got the best of him, compelling him to go inside and purchase one.

That's when he first saw you.

You took a while to take his order, quickly informing him you were working all by yourself. One of your coworkers was in labour, the other on vacation. You were baking, cleaning and waitressing on your own.

Bruce was surprised, to say the least. You were taking over each station, keeping calm even under pressure and tending to each task diligently.

When asked who baked the frosted treats, you smiled and told him you baked those yourself. Apparently, it was your first time exposing them, the owner of the bakery finally giving you some leeway to try your own cakes and sweets.

“No one's tried them yet, though,” you said, sheepishly. “People don’t really want to try anything new. They’re scared my food is going to suck. I keep telling myself they’re just scared of change, you know. To keep my spirits high.”

“I hear that,” Bruce replied. If he knew anything about people, it was that they were all terrified of the unknown. “It’s Gotham – what can you do? You bump into lunatics every other day. I’ll have the one on the shop window, the one with the pink frosting.”

Your eyes sparkled then, and Bruce swore he’d do anything to see them shine again and again.

“Really?” you asked, a hopeful smile playing in your lips.

“Absolutely. It looks good.”

You gave him an enthusiastic nod and went to retrieve the cupcake, placing it on top of a small place along with a fork. He paid for the treat along with a cup of coffee and sat down on a nearby table.

Unlocking his phone, he found a few messages from Alfred, asking him if he hadn't burnt down the Manor yet. Sure, maybe he couldn't cook nor clean nor take care of himself that well, but that didn't warrant a fire brigade to go check up on him, now did it?

Burned to the ground, he texted back in a joking manner. All that's left are the red slippers I gave to you last Christmas. Hadn't you lost them? It's a miracle.

Alfred replied just as quickly.

Should've let them burn too. Hideous things.

Bruce chuckled, assuring his trusted butler all was well, and locking his phone once again.

If he looked from the corner of his eye, he could see you, nervously chewing on your lip while you looked at his plate expectantly.

Right, he thought. The cupcake.

Bruce tasted the coffee first, deciding it was far better than whatever he was drinking at his office, and slowly cut the cupcake with his fork (because why would he use his hands). HIs eyes widened once he finally bit into it.

It was good, really good. It tasted like strawberries - not that artificial strawberry flavoured crap he was sure was in most of the food out there - actual strawberries.

The frosting was sugary, but not too much that it became nauseous, and the mix of flavours melted in his mouth.

You’d approached him, breath hitched as you awaited his verdict.

“So?” You asked, after a while, giving him an apologetic smile. “How is it?”

“It’s good.”

“Really?” You graced him with the brightest of smiles, holding onto your little notepad. “You think so?”

“I know so.” Way to go, Bruce. Not corny at all. You’re the man.

Pulling the chair next to him, you sighed in relief and sat down.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me. I was so scared no one was gonna like them.”

“The people of Gotham are idiots if they don’t want to try these.” He took another bite of his cupcake and your smile only got bigger.

“Well, you said it. It’s Gotham. Even something as simple as a different coffee order will get their panties in a twist. Look at how everyone reacted to that Bat guy. He takes out a few criminals and cleans the streets, and suddenly he’s the bad guy?” you inquire.

“Bat guy?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know! Bat guy! They’re calling him the Batman. You’ve probably seen him on TV. Black cape, black cowl, black, well, clothes?”

“Ah,” he nodded, “The Batman, yes. I might have heard of him.” Might have. “What’s his deal anyway? I think the police are calling the guy a criminal.”

You scoffed, placing a strand of hair behind your ear. “A criminal? The guy’s doing a better job than most cops. I think they’re just jealous. And pissed that someone’s not up for briberies.”

Bruce nodded, before turning to his cupcake. You thought what Batman did was right. He brimmed with pride.

“I don’t know – he sounds like your typical Arkham resident to me. Dressed like a bat, running around with a black cape?” It was practically wired into his brain by now, the way he attempted to detach his Bruce Wayne persona from his Batman one. Even if he’d just met you, even if you seemed genuine, he couldn’t help but keep up the façade. “They should probably lock him up.”

“That’s nonsense!” you exclaimed. “He’s the only one willing to do something right for this city. The only one who’s not being compensated by turning a blind eye to criminals like half of the GCPD are. The streets are safer with him around.”

So, he made you feel safe.

Well, not him – Batman did.

Bottom line was, he made you feel safe.

And wasn’t that the reason for all of this? To make Gotham a better place? To clean the streets, to give people some hope in amidst all the chaos and darkness? Wasn’t that his goal – to give Gotham citizens their city back to them, and allow them to live unruled by fear? 

“Anyway - I’m sorry, here I am, sitting next to you while you probably want to eat by yourself. Gosh, I’m so sorry. Taking care of the shop by myself makes me feel a tad lonely.” You gave him another apologetic smile (although this one did not reach your eyes), and got up, hurrying behind the counter.

For a few moments, Bruce sat in silence, eating his cupcake, and sipping from his coffee. Good stuff – nothing like the ones Alfred prepared for him, but still good.

When he glanced back up, he watched as you quickly washed some dishes, brow furrowed in concentration. He took you all in, the way you carefully rinsed every dish, ensuring it was stable on the tray nearby before moving onto the next one. Once or twice, you looked up, observing the city through the windows. He saw you sigh softly and get back to work.

To say he was intrigued was an understatement. A big one.

It wasn’t only that you were strikingly beautiful – that helped too, quite a lot – but there was something more to you that Bruce couldn’t really pinpoint and wanted to get to know more of. He was tired of fake people. Of all the fake smiles and fake laughter and fake parties and having to pretend he was someone he simply wasn’t. It was all for the greater good, sure, but hiding behind a mask was draining. No one knew that better than Bruce Wayne.

Before he realised it, he’d stood up, placing his plate and cup on top of the counter. The soft “clack” of it made you turn around and your eyes widened slightly.

“Oh – “ you mumbled. “It’s okay, I usually just do that.”

“Lifting a cup and a plate won’t kill me, I assure you.”

You chuckled and took the dishes, turning to the sink.

“You’re not at all like what people say.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not like they describe you,” you said with a small shrug. A strand of hair fell from behind your ear and Bruce’s hand twitched slightly, perhaps wishing to tuck it back himself.

“So you know who I am?” he asked, a curious smile forming in his lips. He wasn’t expecting to be completely ignorant of him – hell, it’s impossible to be unaware of his existence when you live in Gotham.

“I have a television and friends who love gossip magazines. It’s preposterous to think of a person who hasn’t come across your face, considering it’s slapped in nearly every tabloid ever.” You chuckled, soaking his plate. “And there was the matter of your credit card – I thought American Express was a myth.”

Bruce remained silent, which prompted you to go on.

“Everyone says you’re an arrogant jerk – “ The words come out of your mouth before you can process them, and he chuckles mentally, finding the way you stumbled over your words quite amusing. “I mean, that’s what they say – I’m not saying that you’re one, I just – I’m just repeating what’s been told to me. Anyway, yeah. You don’t seem like that at all.”

“And what makes you say that? We’ve spoken for all but five minutes,” he cocked an eyebrow, eagerly awaiting your answer.

You think for a while, gripping the towel at your hands and shrug again.

“I don’t know.” You turn to him. “Call it intuition, but I just felt like you were being genuine. I mean, you don’t have a bazillion models hanging off your arms – and it looked like you walked all the way here. No fancy sports car like the ones in the magazines either.” Another shrug. “You just seemed like a random guy when you walked in. No fancy titles whatsoever.”

Just a random guy.

Sometimes it felt like such a thing was unattainable for Bruce.

In front of the cameras, he had to be spoiled, rich, reckless playboy Bruce who bought hotels on a whim, hung around with hot models and spent his money on useless luxuries such as cars and yachts. When no one was watching, he had the weight of Gotham in his shoulders as Batman, sacrificing his mind and body every night just to make sure his people were safe.

It was impossible for Bruce to be just a random guy, no matter how much he wanted to.

But the way you said it – like you truly believed it – made him think twice about it.

You weren’t grovelling at his feet. Nor were you pretending not to know him as many others had done, in order to appear mysterious and different, and therefore catch his attention. No, you were just being you – or what he hoped was you. You knew who he was, admitted to seeing his face and knowing of his affairs, but that didn’t stop you from treating him like a normal person.

Just a random guy.

“Or maybe I’m just biased because you liked my cupcakes.” There it was again, that lovely smile of yours.

And you were funny too.

“I’ll admit, that was my tactic all along.” Bruce allowed a hint of playfulness to tint his voice, and your smile widened at that.

“Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Wayne.”

“Please, just Bruce.”

“Alright then. Your secret is safe with me, Bruce.” You smiled and went back to cleaning the counter. (You half expected him to leave without saying a word – why’d a billionaire entertain your company for more than a few minutes? – and were surprised when he stayed.)

“I’m sorry if I’m crossing a line here, but,” he started, “Would you like to join me for lunch one of these days?”

You eyed him curiously and cocked your head to the side, giving him a cheeky smile.

“Me? Really?”

“Exactly you.”

“Why? I don’t exactly belong with your people, Bruce – whoever they might be.”

“I was actually just hoping I’d get some free cupcakes.”

At this, you snorted out loud, covering your mouth with your hand. The other clients in the bakery looked at you with a slightly disgusted face, and it only made you laugh louder.

Once you stopped giggling (and after having wiped some tears from your eyes), you nodded and turned to him.

“Alright, fine. Lunch sounds great. Although – I’m sure you’re followed everywhere. And I don’t really want to be the latest gossip magazine cover.” You crossed your arms. Bruce nodded in understanding. After all, he knew how troublesome the media could be, especially when they were looking for any crumbs that might get them any insight into someone’s life.

(Un)fortunately for him, they couldn’t see past the playboy persona.

“I’ll take care of that – don’t worry.” Was his honest response. “Let’s say it’s easy for me to… become invisible.”

You leaned against the counter, smile ever so present.

“And how are you going to do that? Gonna wear a cap and sunglasses? A wig? Do we get to wear disguises? Maybe you could wear a mask!” Funny.

“I’ll just leave the American Express at home. Do you think that new Pizza place everyone’s been talking about accepts hundreds?” Bruce joked.

Your snort resonated through the bakery again, and the couple that had glanced at you earlier left, shaking their heads and muttering something about “decorum”.

The rest was history.

You and Bruce had become inseparable from that day onward.

Turns out that around you, he could be just a random guy, like he always wanted.

He started going to your bakery more and more, and convinced your boss to let you experiment with your cupcakes however you wanted.

“How the hell did you manage that?” you asked him, mouth open in wonder. “She told me I had full control of the menu! Two weeks ago, she said she didn’t want to try my sweets!”

“I’m very persuasive,” he replied, biting into a banana flavoured muffin – one of your more recent experiments. “It’s a bit chunky. Kind of bland, doesn’t melt on your mouth like the others do.”

“Yeah, I think I went overboard with the flour…” you mumble, writing something down on your notepad. “Anyways, how persuasive can you be? This woman has drunk the same cup of coffee for like, 40 years. She hates change.”

“Let’s just say I worked my regular Wayne charm.”

At that, you rolled your eyes and hit him with your towel but couldn’t hide the smile that graced your lips.

He’d stop by every day after work, eager to try out your new recipes and have a nice chat. It was freeing to have someone he could call his friend, with whom he could have conversations that weren’t about his job, his money, or his other affairs. It felt nice to be able to share things with you, things he couldn’t find it in himself to share with other people.

It took him a while, but he eventually told you things about himself. Slowly.

He told you about his parents, how much he looked up to his father and how he adored his mother. He told you about his childhood, playing in the gardens of his Manor or watching his father fiddle with the stethoscope, hoping one day he could make a difference just like him. He told you how sometimes he would just watch his mother apply makeup in her face, marvelling at how beautiful she looked. Other women of the high society always looked like they had this world and the next worth of makeup on their faces, but his mother was able to enhance all her natural features with a simple eye pencil or some lipstick.

“Makeup shouldn’t be used to turn yourself into something new,” she’d once told him, applying some sort of clear powder on her face. “Just to complement the beauty you already have.”

He found it easy to relate to that. Not the makeup, necessarily, but the whole “turning into a new person”. Batman was no different than him, nor was he someone different. He just brought out Bruce’s biggest desires, to keep Gotham safe.

In return, you told him about your childhood. About your first years in school, your friends and family. You told him about your passions, your wishes. How you wanted to travel the world and read as many books as possible. How you liked to laze around some Saturdays but couldn’t stay home and just had to get up and leave in others.

Bruce found the duality in you quite entrancing.

Some days, you’d be running around the Manor, goofing around with Alfred, and whipping up new recipes with him, the both of you jamming to old jazz that played on the radio – Alfred had been teaching you swing, and you enjoyed spinning around the room with him as lively tunes played.

(In fact, Bruce had walked in on you and him dancing a few times, and couldn’t help but lean against the doorway, watching and you laughed loudly and tried not to fall whenever his butler spun you around.)

It also went without saying that Alfred was over the moon now that his master no longer seemed to be alone. You might only be one person, but the Manor came alive whenever you were in it, and he relished in knowing Bruce finally had someone he could trust besides himself.

At first, Bruce thought of you as a friend. Someone he could confide in, someone to have a good time with and relax. But as weeks turned to months, he found himself developing stronger feelings. It wasn’t about “having fun” and relaxing anymore, it was now about seeing you, making sure you were alright, listening to your every thought and feelings.

He thought it was normal, though. After all, aren’t friends supposed to care for each other and be eager to spend time together? After all, it had been a while since he had friends. At least ones that spoke to him on the regular, that were there for him. This whole thing was new to him. So, he kept these feelings hidden, convinced they were nothing but the norm, enjoying whatever silly activities you engaged in.

You two had, after all, your own little rituals.

You loved reading – always had, and believed to continue doing so until you were dead and buried. And despite not having a lot of time to do so, Bruce did too. So, it wasn’t long before you two created your own little book club along with Alfred.

You would prepare a batch of cookies, Alfred would make some tea, and Bruce would wait by the fireplace in the living room, since there was really nothing he could contribute with but his insight on the books you were reading.

“So, what’d you think?” he asked, taking a sip from his tea, and placing the mug on the coffee table by his feet.

“I think it was terrible.” You replied.

Bruce nearly spat the drink in his mouth.

“Excuse me?!”

“I said what I said – it was a terrible book.”

“I think you’re the first person ever to call The Great Gatsby a ‘terrible book’.” He raised an eyebrow and looked at Alfred, who was intent on hearing whatever you were going to say next. He too was quite curious, but he had an inkling he knew where you were going with this.

You just shrugged your shoulders and brought your legs to your chair, sitting on top of them. You felt at home in Wayne Manor. Bruce had told you to make yourself comfortable after the third time you visited, and you wasted no time in doing so.

“Jay Gatsby is one pretentious motherfucker,” you say.

“Language!” Alfred tutted.

“Sorry – I meant; Jay Gatsby is one pretentious douchebag.” You bowed your head towards Alfred and the butler nodded in acknowledgment.

“Wait – why?”

“Are you kidding me?” All you could do was scoff. “Gatsby is an obsessive narcissist, an egocentric pathological liar who cares about no one else other than himself, and much probably, a psychopath.”

Bruce was perplexed. Very much so.

“I – I – well. I see.”

“And the way he objectifies Daisy throughout the whole book – he doesn’t even love her! He loves the idea of her. He’s a jerk.”

Bruce couldn’t even interrupt you, because you were on a spree, gesticulating with your arms and talking fast.

“But let’s be honest here, it’s not like she loves him either.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Of course not! She’s a shallow, materialistic, spoiled brat and I can’t stand her!” You finished your little speech by taking a bite out of a cookie and crossing your arms.

“Huh. Right.” Bruce said, grabbing his copy of the book. “Well, I thought it was a great book. And I don’t think Gatsby is any of the things you said.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. I think he is a misunderstood soul.”

You scoffed. Again.

“He’s a misunderstood ass – “

“Language – “

“He is Alfred!”

“Yes, but you aren’t, and I would like to keep this household clean, for dear Master and Missus Wayne’s sake.” He replied casually, giving you that look you’d learn to interpret as “do not test me you silly little baker, for I am British and have the high ground”, and to which you just stuck your tongue out.

Bruce ignored the both of you and continued.

“And, well, I think he truly did love Daisy.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, no, and here’s why, he did everything for her.”

“Name one thing.”

“Well, he waited five whole years for her. I think that’s rather romantic. He went great lengths to impress Daisy and win her love. The parties, the money, his whole persona – it wasn’t him, but he did it all for Daisy.” Bruce explained calmly. Alfred looked at him with raised eyebrows and just sipped from his teacup quietly.

“Bruce, the whole thing was a circus.” You reached in front of you to grab another cookie and took a bite out of it, missing the way your friend’s gaze dropped to your lips and then returned to your eyes in just a millisecond. “He was just showing off.”

“Perhaps,” Bruce said, “But perhaps he was just trying to be someone worthy of her. I’m sure love can make people do crazy things.” He wasn’t one to talk. It’s not like he knew what “love” was. He’d crushed on Rachel as kids, but that’s all it was, a silly childhood crush.

Perhaps the love he had for his city could count. He did do crazy things for it. Dressing up as a bat was an example.

You nodded your head a few times, pondering his answer.

“Maybe, yeah. But I don’t think so. If he loved her, he should’ve just said it. There was no need for all the show.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows once again. A very you-ish reply. He was enjoying this immensely.

Bruce replayed her words in his head. He should’ve said it. Surely, it wasn’t that easy. Jay Gatsby wasn’t your average man. He was a mystery. He had secrets and things he needed to hide. It wasn’t as easy as just walking up to Daisy and telling her “I love you”. It wasn’t that simple. “You think so?” he asked.

“Well, yeah! Absolutely – I mean, why complicate things?” you replied. “He should’ve just dropped the luxuries, the parties, he should’ve just stopped with all of the eccentric millionaire thing, looked her in the eyes and say, ‘I love you’. Simple.”

"Absolutely! I mean, why complicate things? Just look someone in the eyes and say, ‘I love you.’ Simple.”

“Simple, huh?”

You nodded, taking another sip from your tea – you drank it sickeningly sweet, with lots of honey, while he preferred one or two spoons of sugar.

“Yeah. Simple. No need for the fancy parties, and mysterious acts. Just be genuine.”

“That’s an interesting perspective,” he mumbled. “But sometimes people have reasons for not saying what’s in their hearts. Sometimes they must hide their feelings.” It was true. You didn’t know he was Batman – you couldn’t. He needed to keep you safe. All you knew was that he worked a lot, plenty of times exhausting himself and arriving home super late. It was for the best.

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, which earned him a curious look from the both of you.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Please, do continue,” he said, gesturing for you to go on.

You gave him a weird look but simply turned to face Bruce once again.

“Reasons? Like what?”

Bruce couldn’t look you in the eye now. He shrugged and got suddenly very interested by the coffee table by his feet.

“Fear, maybe. Fear of what might happen if they open up. Fear of losing someone precious.”

You hummed, “Well, in my book, it’s always better to be honest and take the risk. Life’s too short for illusions. If Gatsby had just said it, maybe things would’ve been different. Who knows? But I still think he was one pompous son of a bitch.” You leaned back in your chair with a smug grin and finished the rest of your tea.

Alfred just excused himself and made his way towards the kitchen.

You certainly did bring some life into this once empty house.

You were lazing around in a Sunday afternoon, mindlessly scrolling your phone as a rerun of a show you liked played on TV. Even after a few years, it could still get some laughs out of you, and you’d look at the screen and smile.

All of a sudden, the couch dipped next to you.

Bruce had jumped over it, and landed next to you, sitting down comfortably, as if parkouring around Wayne Manor was something he did on the regular.

“Shit! Holy – Bruce!” You nearly jumped out of your seat, clutching your chest. Sometimes you wondered if Bruce wasn’t some sort of ninja. Being able to hide himself and be so silent wasn’t normal, and at times, to be frank, a little bit creepy.

He acted as if nothing was wrong and turned to you.

“Friday night, charity gala, you and me,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if he’d simply asked you what the weather was like outside.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, the Carringtons are throwing a big party this Friday. It’s supposed to be this big fundraiser. The profits will go for new police facilities. As if those corrupt idiots needed them…” He sighed. “And clearly, Bruce Wayne must attend. And, as expected, he has to bring someone.”

You whined and threw your head back in frustration. You’d been to a couple of galas with Bruce. Most of them were dreadfully boring, filled with fake people whose only purpose there was to flaunt their money and pretend to care about whatever topics seemed most controversial. You hated them. The fake smiles, the gross men leering on you, the women shamelessly throwing themselves at Bruce (not that you minded. After all, you two were just friends. It just made you uncomfortable that they were so forward about his advances. Clearly, he wasn’t alone. He had you. Could they not see it? But of course, you two were just friends. Which meant you weren’t jealous. You just felt sorry for them, and extremely uncomfortable whenever they looked at, spoke to, or touched him. Duh.)

“I can’t go.”

Bruce grimaced.

“Why?”

“I’m busy. Sorry Bruce, I have plans.” What a liar.

Your friend smirked and nudged his head towards the kitchen.

“Alfred checked your schedule – you’re free for the next two weeks.”

Your jaw dropped and you looked back at the kitchen, where Alfred innocently prepared a few sandwiches.

“Damn him! I swear that man must’ve been a British spy!” you muttered, shaking your head.

“So, are you coming with me?” Bruce pressed on.

“I can’t – I have to return some videotapes.” You replied smugly.

Bruce gave you a dry laugh and threw a pillow in your direction, which you failed to dodge.

“Very funny. I’m serious – I can’t go by myself. Look, I know what this is going to sound like, but the Carringtons are only doing this to show off. They don’t care about the police; they want to show Gotham just how rich their grandfather’s money has made them. They’ve been around for years and never once donated – why now?”

“Just because you have to go, doesn’t mean that I have!” you too threw a pillow at him, but as always, his reflexes were on point, and he managed to catch it mid-air.

“Look, you’d be doing me a huge favour.”

“I have literally nothing to wear.”

Bruce gave you a blank stare – that excuse did not stick anymore, not after he’d bought you a different dress for each party he had taken you to (“Think of it as a thank you gift”, he said).

“Just take a model. Or an actress. Or some other celebrity. You know me Bruce, I don’t belong with those people. They’re not my crowd.” You grabbed another pillow and prepared to throw it at him.

“I can’t stand another night of pretending to spend my free time buying hotels and yachts.” Bruce said your name softly and you let your guard down, lowering your arm. “It’s not me, and you know it.” You looked into those chocolate brown eyes that seemed to have soften – those eyes of his always made you melt, and you often found yourself saying yes to his every whim.

You pondered your choices.

He could take a model or an actress. The headlines would love speculating who the hell was Bruce Wayne messing around with this time. He’d have to pretend to be someone he was not for a whole evening – though you didn’t know why; only that, for some reason, he had a reputation to upkeep – and the next morning you’d wake up and seethe as you watched the shots paparazzi got of your best friend and some random floozy slobbering on top of him.

Or, you could go with him. It’d be a pain in the ass to pretend to like all of those people and to interact with those phony idiots who thought money was worth anything and would try their best to snake their ways in Bruce’s close circle. But you’d spend a nice evening with your friend, wear a pretty dress, drink some expensive champagne and be able to laugh at everyone else with him. There were worse fates than that, you were sure.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll come with you.”

Bruce did a small “yes” gesture with his arm, and then grabbed a nearby pillow. “Now, where were we?”

“Oh – OH don’t you dare, Bruce Wayne!” You lifted your arm once again, but before you could throw the pillow in his direction, he’d grabbed your arm and pulled you to him. You fell on top of his body, hands on either side of his head as they bore the weight of your body. Your face was inches away from his, and all you could do was stare into those brown eyes that had you so weak.

You blinked repeatedly, before quickly getting up. Your cheeks were flaring up and you grabbed your phone, standing up from the couch.

Bruce, on his end, was speechless. He watched as you stood up, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“I – I should go. I need to… yeah, I gotta – I gotta do something. I’ll see you later.” You mumbled, and within seconds, you were out the door.

When you were gone, Alfred left the kitchen and walked towards the couch where Bruce was sitting, still silently staring at the wall.

“Is everything alright, Master Wayne?” he asked, although he didn’t really need an answer. He knew exactly what was going on with him. After all, he’d raised this boy like his own son for years.

“Yes,” Bruce cleared his throat, nodding. “Yes, yes, I am. Everything’s fine. How about those sandwiches you were making?” He tried changing the topic, but it was too late.

As Alfred walked back to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but think that he should probably schedule an optometrist appointment for his master. After all, one can’t help but be concerned when such a smart, capable man was so blind to matters of the heart. Almost as blind as a bat, one could say. He’d keep this joke for later. Bruce would hate it. Even better.

Funnily enough, Alfred wasn’t the only one who thought Bruce was blind to his feelings.

In fact, it seemed like everyone could see how smitten the Wayne billionaire was with you.

When you two went out, he would look at you with this sparkle in his eyes, looking at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

You walked into the party, arm linked with his, and it was as if the whole world stopped to look at you two.

Everyone knew about your existence – it wasn’t the first time you accompanied Bruce to parties – Bruce Wayne and his close friend. Friend. Yeah, sure. If the glances he stole were any indication, the Wayne heir was nothing but completely enamoured with you. In fact, it was incredible how much he’d changed. His whole attitude changed when he was accompanied by you. No longer was he the reckless billionaire who drank too much and humiliated himself, but the elegant man who liked to engage in conversations (as long as the topics were interesting) and had a heart of gold.

Yes, everyone seemed to spot the change in demeanour whenever you two were together.

“Bruce!” A voice could be heard from the distance, and Rachel Dawes made her way towards the both of you. She smiled and spoke your name once she noticed you were the one accompanying her childhood friend, before hugging you. “Oh, it’s so nice to see you here!”

You hugged her back and gave her a genuine smile. You’d met Rachel before more than a few times – she was a lovely young woman with a great sense of justice, and you were sure she was going to do great things for Gotham’s wellbeing. You also enjoyed her company greatly, since she had once told you all of the embarrassing stories about Bruce’s childhood. “I had no idea you were going to be here!”

“Yeah, well,” she looked around and smiled, seemingly looking for someone. “I was just as surprised as you were.”

Then, a very familiar face emerged from the crowd, calling out “Rachel!” and walking to her side.

“There you were – you left so abruptly; I thought something was wrong.” The man said, before turning to look at you and Bruce. You took him in. Dirty blond hair and a familiar cleft chin. You furrowed your eyebrows, before it finally clicked in.

“You’re Harvey Dent – I’ve seen you on TV before,” you said, and he smiled in acknowledgement.

“That would be me, yes.” He put forward his hand, and you shook it, introducing yourself.

Harvey then turned to look at Bruce, extending his hand to him.

“And you must be Bruce Wayne. Rachel talks about you a lot.”

Bruce shook it and nodded.

“Hopefully she hasn’t disclosed everything about me, otherwise I’d be ruined.”

The two men chuckled, and you took that opportunity to look at Rachel. You looked from her to Harvey, opened your mouth and wiggled your eyebrows, earning a laugh from her. Rachel moved to your side as Bruce and Harvey spoke about Gotham and took your arm.

“Well, well, Miss Dawes. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?” you asked in a hushed tone, still wiggling your eyebrows up and down. “How’d you meet?”

“At work. Harvey is running for district attorney. One thing led to another, and…” she trailed off, and you nudged her torso with your arm.

“And now you’re shagging future attorney Harvey Dent. Look at you go!”

Rachel covered her mouth with her hands and supressed a scoff.

“You’re unbelievable, and I never want to hear those words coming from your mouth ever! It’s just a casual thing, we’ve only gone on a few dates. Besides, you’re the one attending a charity gala with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. I think every woman in this room has you on a death list.”

“Pftt,” you waved your hand dismissively, “You know we’re just friends. Nothing for those women to be jealous about.”

“Ah, I see. You’re just friends.” Rachel nodded, feigning seriousness in her voice.

“Yes, we are. Stop with that face!”

“What face?”

“That face you always do,” you motioned towards her face, nearly pouting. “We are! And that’s the end of the discussion! I don’t even know why we’re talking about my non-existent relationship with Bruce when you’re probably going to be First Lady someday – this is huge.”

Rachel swatted you with her purse and returned to Harvey’s side before giving you a cheeky smile – it felt nice to have a girl friend you could talk to in these scenarios. Usually, it was just you and Bruce, which, however pleasant, wasn’t the same thing as having a girl in there. You were happy to catch her off work – Rachel seemed like a different person at the office. While there, she maintained a strong and serious attitude, you were happy to see her when she had no work business to worry about and could simply be a girl with you.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve wasted too much of your time, Mr. Wayne,” Harvey said, shaking Bruce’s hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet Rachel’s oldest friend.” He then turned to you, “And a pleasure to meet you too, Miss.” “Likewise,” you replied.

Bruce nodded.

“Of course. I’ll be sure to send you a nice bottle of Chardonnay when you’re elected district attorney,” he said in his best careless billionaire voice, and nodded at Rachel before the two walked away. “Who would’ve thought,” he muttered to you, beckoning a butler who was carrying a tray of champagne glasses close to him.

“Well, I think they’re lovely together,” you smiled and grabbed a glass, smiling once the liquid hit your lips. Champagne was always welcome.

“Well, you think everyone looks lovely together. You’re a sap.” You laugh at Bruce’s comment and hold onto his arm. He brings you close, absentmindedly, and the two of you walk around the party, occasionally being stopped by the average donor.

After eating some entrees and mingling with the guests, soft music started to play and ring throughout the room. You looked up, pleasantly surprised, and tugged at Bruce’s arm.

“Come on,”

You didn’t have to tell him twice – he was growing tired of pretending to share the same interests as these vile people. He wanted a respite from keeping the charade up, so he gladly took your hand and led you to the middle of what had become the dancefloor. You two weren’t the only ones in there, a couple more pairs having decided to dance.

Bruce gently held your waist and pulled you close to him, his other hand coming to lift yours.

“Thank you,” he spoke, ignoring the way everyone’s eyes glued onto the two of you.

“I could see you were about to actually punch that man right in the face,” you chuckled, looking at the person in question. He was a middle-aged man who could probably stand to lose a few pounds for the sake of his health, who was trying to talk Bruce into introducing him a couple of models. You just had to come to the rescue, because Bruce actually looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. Thankfully, he was a good actor and simply promised the man he would surely hook him up with the woman of his dreams.

“I think it goes without saying I’m not introducing jack shit to him. I’m pretty sure he’s assaulted his female employers. I should have someone investigate it.”

“My, my. Bruce Wayne, ever the White Knight.” You smiled, and you could swear that for some minutes, the entire world faded away as the soft melodies of Camille Saint-Saëns filled the air.

He snorted at that but did not say anything.

The two of you kept dancing. You found looking into his eyes extremely hard, so you avoided his gaze, looking straight ahead at behind his shoulder continuously.

“I still haven’t told you how beautiful you look tonight,” Bruce finally broke the silence between you two, and you returned his gaze. He’d bought you a floor-length black John Galliano gown with delicate lace trim and a bias cut, and you had actually screamed into your pillow once you saw it – it was far too pretty.

“Thank you,” you reply, brushing some invisible dust from his shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Bruce lowered his voice and looked you in the eyes, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“I mean it. You do look stunning.”

The two of you stopped dancing for a few moments, and you were unable to look away from his almost magnetic gaze. Time seemed to stand still, and you gripped his shoulder tighter, to make sure you were real, and he was real, and this whole ordeal was real.

He was just about to speak again, when you were interrupted by a loud, shrill voice.

“Mr. Wayne! Oh, what a pleasure to have you here!”

You quickly pulled away from him as Catherine Carrington, a woman in her mid-40s with long, blonde hair approached the both of you and placed two loud kisses on either side of his cheeks. You looked away, trying to figure out how to properly breathe again, and fanned yourself with your hands.

Harrold Carrington, Catherine’s husband walked to her side and shook Bruce’s hand, far too interested in talking to you. You stifled a laugh – whoever was in charge of his wig had tone a terrible job, because it was clear as day his hairline was receding, and the hair he had on was fake.

“Ah, you must be the mysterious friend everyone has been talking about. We’ve seen you around a few times, haven’t we Miss? But I don’t think we’ve properly met – I’m Harrold Carrington. And may I say, you look splendid this evening.”

None of the Carringtons seemed interested in their spouses. Catherine was fawning over Bruce, and Harrold’s eyes lingered far too long on your exposed collarbone and cleavage. So much so, that you turned from him uncomfortably. Bruce was quick to notice your discomfort, and pulled you next to him once again, wrapping a protective arm around your waist.

“I’d appreciate it if you could keep your eyes on the lady’s face, as opposed to her chest, Mr. Carrington,” he said with a smile that you could only identify as fake, and that smug voice he used when he was feeling particularly cocky.

All of the colour drained from Harrold’s face, and he stuttered, trying to form a coherent sentence – which he failed miserably. “I – I, well – I wasn’t – I would never! I – I was just –“

Bruce faced Catherine once again and gave her another fake smile.

“Lovely party Mrs. Carrington. Very nice of you to raise money for the Gotham Police Department. Very charitable, indeed. And the champagne is just splendid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I heard someone was eating caviar, and it’s not a real party without it, now is it?”

Effortlessly, he brought you away from the couple.

Once you were out of sight, he looked at you with a worried expression.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah – he was just creepy. Shit, I hate galas.”

“Tell me about it,” Bruce sighed, before shaking his head. “How long have we been here for?”

“About two hours.”

“How about we ditch at three? I think it’d be a crime to abandon this party now. Especially when you look this dazzling.”

He was giving you that look once again, the one you couldn’t quite decipher, and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

Bruce, on the other hand, was freaking out. You looked lovely, even more so than usual. He’d been dancing with you, and all was perfect, and then that hag Catherine had to go and ruin everything.

Was it too much to ask for a quiet dance with his friend?

Friend.

The word tasted wrong in his mouth.

No, you weren’t his friend. At least not anymore.

He thought about your dance moments earlier. How you’d held onto him, far too shy to look him in the eye, lips slightly parted and eyes sparkly. He thought of how easily you leaned into his touch and how he liked having you by his side.

He thought of how much he enjoyed spending time with you, how much he laughed in your presence, how free he felt when he was with you. He could be himself, something that he felt he couldn’t be anywhere else. You were his safe haven. You were everything.

It was that night Bruce Wayne realised he was in love with you.

One time the both of you went out to do some Christmas shopping.

(“In November?” Bruce had asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Christmas sales have already started! And I bet everyone’s going to start super soon, so we need to get to it!” Was your reply. Bruce could only sigh and agree, like he always did when it came to you.)

Besides, it was the first Christmas you’d be able to spend together after 2 years of friendship. The last two had Bruce way too busy with his company (at least that’s what he told you. In reality, he had been tracking down a few criminals who’d been wreaking havoc days before.

The main point was: after two years of being friends, you would finally get to spend Christmas together. It’s not that you’d suffered those Christmases without him; you had friends and family. But you wanted to spend the holidays with who you now considered to be your closest friend.

Bruce, however, wanted to spend Christmas with the woman he was in love with. He hadn’t found the courage to tell you – not yet. He was afraid of ruining things, of hurting you. So he kept silent, relishing in the friendship the both of you had.

Approaching the mall, you had a small list in your hand, filled with names of everyone you wanted to buy a gift for. He had around five people in mind, so he did not need all those preparations.

Once you were in the crowded mall, Bruce would hold you close to him, shielding you from everyone who might bump into you. His hand would respectfully be in the small of your back, and if he needed you to get out of someone’s way (people who refused to look up from their phones were the worst), he would slide it to your waist and gently pull you towards him.

You’d stopped at a beauty store, wanting to buy a new skin care package for your closest friend at work – heavens knew how badly you needed her to keep you sane – so you’d asked Bruce for his opinion on a myriad of perfumes.

“See, I like this one, but I think the smell is a bit too strong,” you mumbled, squeezing some of the hand lotion’s sample on your hand and applying it there. “Here,” you reached your hand to him, and nearly all the air was sucked out of your lungs when Bruce carefully reached for it, holding your pulse in his and bringing it to his face. His lips nearly brushed against your skin as he took the smell of the lotion in, and at least a dozen of women who were shopping nearby swooned.

Bruce let go of your hand just as gently and you blinked a few times, trying to wake up from your little trance.

“It is a bit strong, yeah. You mentioned she’s got a sensitive nose, so maybe something less floral?”

You were quick to nod and walk away, afraid he’d notice the way your cheeks heat up and your pupils dilated.

Once you turned away from him, focusing on the other hand lotions, he sighed, still feeling a buzzing sensation in his hand. It was as if he could still feel your skin against his, and he had to shake his head to return to the task at hand. Control yourself.

At a clothing store, you held up different sweatshirts next to him, asking for his opinion on a gift to your father. He gave you his earnest opinion, and insisted on carrying all your bags once you were done.

“Bruce – come on, I can carry them. I’m not a baby,” you’d told him, sighing in exasperation.

“Just allow me. You’re still picking up things left and right, it’s better if I carry these for you.”

You two checked out a jewellery shop – you’d been saving up to buy your mom a pair of earrings, and while you busied yourself looking through rows and rows of pairs, looking for the one you had your eyes on, Bruce quickly excused himself, and turned to a shop helper.

Approaching the counter, he placed the delicate pair of pearl earrings next to the cashier, glancing around just to make sure you weren’t paying attention to him.

“Would you like these to be gift wrapped?” The cashier asked.

“Yes please.”

Bruce continued glancing around. You too were speaking to a shop helper, pointing to the delicate pair of gold earrings you wanted to get.

“A gift for a special someone?” The cashier asked once again with a polite smile. Bruce wasn’t dumb. If he were anyone else, this would be a regular, standard question asked by shop clerks to keep a friendly conversation going. But he’s not just anyone else. He’d noticed the way the woman had glanced him up and down with a wishful expression and could bet all his money that if he were to reveal more than necessary, then she would turn to any gossip magazine as soon as he was out the door and spill whatever nonsense she thought it was going on.

He gave her a curt nod, paid for the earrings (now neatly placed inside of a box and wrapped with a pretty red ribbon), and returned to your side, hiding the box inside his jacket’s pocket.

“Did you find them?” he asked once he got to your side, and if it were anyone else, you would’ve jumped, but by now you were used to Bruce. You seemed to lean into his side and smiled, looking at the pair of hoops the shop helper brought to the counter.

“Yeah – she’s gonna love them! I was super scared they’d be sold out Bruce, I’ve been working my ass off to get these. I’m so proud of myself,” your smile was contagious, and Bruce found himself bringing you closer to him by the waist and giving you one of his super rare smiles. Once again, every woman within a five-mile radio sighed, basically eating him up with their eyes. It was no secret Bruce Wayne was a handsome man – not to mention Gotham’s most eligible bachelor – but to see him act so affectionate in public was a completely different thing, and it was clear more than woman had gotten jealous just looking at you.

(Their boyfriends were not happy with the way said women ogled Bruce up and down.)

“I’m proud of you too.” Bruce replied. It was true. You were a hardworking woman, and he beamed with pride at your accomplishments.

Of course he didn’t tell you he bribed the store to keep the earrings stored until you came along to buy them – he wasn’t about to let someone snatch the thing you’d been working so hard to get – but it didn’t matter. You’d earned it.

You grinned at him and reluctantly broke free from his hold.

“I’m gonna go pay for these, meet me outside?”

He nodded and walked outside of the store, hand coming to pat the box inside of his pocket. They’d look incredible with his mother’s pearl necklace, that’s for sure.

He carried your things to the limo, and upon arriving to the Manor, he distracted you with promises of hot chocolate and marshmallows, before handing Alfred the little white box and telling him to keep it a secret. The rest of the evening was spent with the two of you discussing presents, drinking your hot chocolate, and watching some Christmas movies as the wood in the fireplaced cracked piece by piece, enveloping you both in a cozy warmth.

Later that month, the two of you were sitting at an expensive café, having a few treats, and talking about your Christmas shopping. Although the place was very fancy and its prices had shocked you, so had the quality of their food.

“This is garbage,” you said, eyeing the cupcake on your plate. “Holy shit, who baked these? It feels like I’m chewing on a brick!”

“Yours are much better, yes,” Bruce agreed, taking his own cupcake, and looking at it carefully. “And that’s this awful taste?”

“I think she added lemon juice, but it doesn’t work in this recipe, not at all. You’ll see, it’ll basically nullify the sweetness of it, and the whole thing is just gonna taste like one sour cupcake. Gosh, people pay their rent’s worth of money for these?”

Bruce could listen to you talk for hours on end. The way your eyes lit up when you found a topic you were interested in, and how genuinely passionate you were about your hobbies. Your genuineness was something he praised and found himself looking for more and more. In fact, one of the reasons he’d taken you to this specific café was because he knew the cupcakes sucked – he’d eaten there before. He just wanted to hear you talk about them.

An old woman approached your table, wearing a Santa Claus had on top of her head, and a few Christmas related pins on her waitress apron.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asked with a smile.

“Oh, no thank you, we’re fine.” You replied, returning it «.

“I see. Well, I’d just like to say, it’s a real gift to see such precious young love.” The woman gestured at the both of you, and your cheeks flared up. “This city can be so dark and gloomy sometimes; it warms my heart to know that love still prevails on top of all. You two are such a lovely couple.”

“We’re –“ you coughed, trying to clear your throat. “We’re not – we’re not a couple.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, we’re just – we’re just friends!” you were quick to correct her and refused to meet Bruce in the eye.

Oh, right. Bruce. He was staring at the old woman, completely lost in thought. This woman thought you two were a couple. Did you look like it? And why had you shut her down so quickly? Did you hate the idea that much? Would it be so terrible if the two of you were to date?

“Oh, I am so sorry then, my apologies!” the waitress was quick to apologise. “It’s just – you two look rather lovely together. I’m sorry for the intrusion.” She walked away and you covered your cheeks with your hands, trying to mask the sudden blush that had overcome you.

Bruce, on his end, was still staring at where the woman had been. Did you two look like a couple that much? He wouldn’t mind it. No, not really, he wouldn’t mind being a couple with you. He could finally drop that stupid playboy persona, be one step closer to his real self. He could protect you and always keep you safe and closer to him. He wondered what it would be like to wake up to you every morning and be greeted with that dazzling smile of yours. Would you ask him for five more minutes in bed? Act all grumpy until you had your morning coffee? Would you drag him out of his bedroom to start the day and be productive?

“Shall we go?” you interrupted his thoughts, placing your now empty mug on top of your plate. “It’s gonna get dark soon, and I wanted to see the Christmas lights.” Your voice was lower, still tinted with some nervousness. Bruce snapped out of it and nodded, walking towards the counter to pay the bill.

While he was gone, you made your way to the bathroom and splashed some water on your face, to wake yourself up and hopefully cool down.

Once you were ready, you walked out of the café, strolling the streets of Gotham.

Sometimes it surprised you how pretty your city could be. Sure, there was chaos and corruption, and most of the times it was a fucking shithole, but it was still home, and the tall buildings and bright lights could still take your breath away.

You and Bruce walked side by side. You were still far too nervous to look at him, so you kept your distance. Bruce, respectful as ever, remained by your side, refusing to touch you until you gave him permission. As you were looking at the prettily decorated shop windows and houses, he could see the way your body shivered and trembled.

That’s what you got for refusing to bring a jacket because, “your outfit looked far too pretty to be hidden behind a coat”.

“Cold?” he asked.

“N-no. Not at all. I’m fine. I told you; these tights are really warm.” Your voice was trembling, and your teeth were close to chattering. A part of Bruce wanted to see you fight for your case just a bit longer, while the other just longed to envelop you in his arms and keep the cold away.

“Oh, really? Because I’m pretty sure the tips of your fingers are turning blue.” He said with a smug expression.

“No, I’m fine.” You replied, nodding eagerly. “I told you; I wouldn’t be cold. I’m not.”

Bruce just nodded and kept walking by your side.

After a few minutes, it was far too obvious you were freezing. Your body was trembling, your teeth were chattering, and he was sure he could see your lips becoming a dark shade of purple.

Wordlessly, Bruce began to remove his jacket.

“What are you doing?” you asked, turning to him in confusion.

“Preventing you from catching pneumonia,” he replied, handing it to you.

“N-no, T-that’s not n-necessary, Bruce. I’m fine. I’m n-not cold. I’m f-fine! See? Just p-peachy.”

Bruce had faced criminals and villains and corrupt cops, and they’d all lied to him at one point or another. None was as bad as you.

He gave you one of his “I told you so” looks, and you nearly pouted, spreading your arms as he helped you put the jacket on. Almost instantly, you felt warmth spread through your body and sighed in relief. Bruce also removed his scarf, and carefully wrapped around your neck, hands lingering on your face for longer than necessary when he brushed a few strands away from it.

“Better?” he murmured.

You looked at him through your lashes. He was close. Very close. So close, that you could hear your heartbeat hammering on your chest. You gave him a soft “mhm” and he returned to your side, keeping a respectful distance from you.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked him. It made you feel terrible – it was freezing in Gotham, and you’d taken his only sources of comfort.

“I’m fine – believe me. I’d much rather have you not freezing on me.” He replied.

“Are you sure? It’s very cold.”

“I promise.”

You nodded and continued your silent stroll.

Suddenly, while crossing the street, some careless motorbike showed up out of nowhere. You shrieked in surprise, and froze in your place, closing your eyes in fear. A pair of strong arms pulled you away, and you collided with a strong figure. Bruce was holding you close, cursing the driver under his breath. Once you looked up to you look at him, he turned to you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking all over your face to make sure you were unharmed.

“Yeah – just – that dickhead –“

“I know. It’s like you can’t trust anyone with a license these days.” He muttered. It hurt to part from you. It was like you were made to stand next to him, body slotting perfectly with his. Reluctantly, he pulled away from you, giving you space, but was surprised when you held onto his arm, like you usually do.

You looked at him, silently asking for permission, which he granted. You scooted closer to him, and he smiled.

The two of you continued walking through the streets of Gotham, making comments on the architecture, the lighting, the people. There were small stalls selling all sorts of trinkets and goods, a sort of small Christmas market, and you smiled as you saw kids running around with balloons or cups of hot chocolate. It was dark and gloomy, but once again, Gotham could be so very beautiful.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady?” An old vendor asked, extending a pretty rose in your direction.

“Oh, no thank you – “ you mumbled, shaking your head, but Bruce was quicker.

“Thank you.” He nodded, taking the flower in his hands. He handed the man a bill (and surely a big one at that, because the man’s eyes widened, and he stared at it for quite a while before thanking Bruce profusely.)

Bruce turned to you and handed you the flower.

You weren’t sure if it was from his jacket, or if your whole body had simply decided to set itself on fire. You took the flower and brought it up to your nose, the intoxicating smell of it filling your senses.

“Thank you,” you said, still looking at it. No one had ever bought you flowers.

“A pretty flower for a pretty lady,” he repeated the old man’s words, and continued walking with you by his side, but not without hearing the old man say something about how “beautiful it was to see love bringing people together”. You didn’t seem to have heard it, but Bruce did, and he smiled.

It was Christmas Eve, and you were in Wayne Manor, having dinner with Bruce and Alfred (whom he begged to take a seat at the table with the two of you). There was wine and plenty of food, and the three of you had a great time, sharing funny stories and anecdotes and just enjoying each other’s companies.

You had promised your family to visit them the day after and were dead set on spending the Eve with Bruce.

After dinner, you sat near the fireplace, talking about books, movies, and whatever silly topic that came to mind. You, with your legs comfortably spread on the couch, Alfred on the big chair, and Bruce on the floor, by your feet. To him, that was the closest he had to spending Christmas with his family, and wondered if his parents would’ve enjoyed your company. Of course they’d have, he thought, you’re perfect.

After the three of you had played a few games (Alfred had won at charades, his Batman impression making you laugh for five minutes straight), you stood up announcing that, since it was almost midnight, you wanted everyone to open their gifts. It was more about you giving yours away than opening them, really – you were quite proud of the gifts you’d bought and wanted Bruce’s and Alfred’s reactions as soon as possible.

“Alright, alright, alright, me first! Here – Alfred, these are for you!” You handed him about five different packages, and he looked at you with a fond expression in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to, Miss.”

“Well, but I did. I need to spoil my swing partner, don’t I?”

He smiled at your antics and slowly opened the packages, one by one. Inside, there were a few woollen sweaters with matching-coloured ties.

“They’re really warm, you know. And it’s real wool – the quality of these is amazing! And you can even wear them without the ties, for a more casual look. What do you think? Do you like them?” you asked eagerly, hoping to get the response you wanted.

“I do, Miss. Thank you. These are lovely.”

You beamed and hugged him tightly. “Promise? There’s a receipt somewhere if you don’t like them – but I just thought they looked so cool and they were so pretty and the fabric is so soft, and – “

“Yes, Miss. I promise. Thank you. These are splendid.”

“Well, since we’re spoiling Alfred, I don’t really want to get left out.” Bruce joked, before reaching for an envelope sitting on top of the Christmas tree (decorated by the both of you on the first of December, thank you very much.) He handed his butler the envelope and sat back, awaiting his reply.

“So, you’ve finally decided to get rid of me.” Alfred said, looking at the contents of the envelope intently.

“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s just a few weeks.” Bruce replied smugly. “If anyone deserves a vacation in this house, it’s you.”

When Alfred didn’t reply, Bruce raised an eyebrow, worry starting to pool in his stomach.

“Alfred? Is everything okay?”

Alfred sighed and shook the envelope in his head.

“A ticket to the Maldives, Master Wayne? You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

Bruce grinned, nodding. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do indeed, but, if I may express a tiny complaint…”

“Of course, Alfred. You can always speak your mind.”

“You’re a bit of a cheapskate, Master Wayne.”

You burst out laughing, nodding along with Alfred.

“A cheapskate. I see. And why is that?”

“After all I’ve done for you, three weeks of vacation seems a bit stingy, don’t you think?” Although he was saying this, he had a smile playing in his lips. Clearly none of it was serious.

“It’s not like I can function without you Alfred. Can’t have you enjoying too much time off, now, can we? You might remember just how fantastic life is outside this place and never return. You’ll be here forever. You’ve changed my diapers when I was born, and you’ll change them when I’m old and gray.”

“I knew I should’ve never accepted Thomas Wayne’s job offer back then.” He muttered. But he then turned to Bruce and gave him an earnest smile. “Thank you, sir. This is very thoughtful of you.”

After that, it was his turn to give you your presents. He gave Bruce a (very expensive) bottle of wine, that he expressed “wanted it to be opened on a very special occasion” with a wink – which made Bruce clear his throat and change the subject. You received a burgundy scarf he’d brought from his latest trip to England, from a shop you’ve expressed your admiration for a few times.

“Holy – oh my god! This is incredible, I mean, look at it!” You hugged him tightly and wrapped the scarf around your neck, not caring that it was far too warm inside the Manor for you to require a scarf.

“Well, now, it seems to be getting rather late for me,” he announced, standing up.

“Oh? You don’t wanna stay here until midnight?”

Alfred shook his head.

“I’m afraid not, Miss. I’m quite tired. I’ll be retiring for the night.”

“Alright, Alfred. Goodnight.” Bruce said with a curt nod.

“Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, Miss.”

You’d turned away to investigate your scarf once again, you missed the look Alfred gave his master, which made him sigh and look at you fondly.

“Alright – now it’s my turn! I need to go get your gift, just wait in here!” You were quick to stand up and disappear into the hallway. You’d been gone for a few minutes, so Bruce went after you, wondering if everything was alright. He bumped into you near the grand staircase at the entrance, and you jumped.

“Christ – you need to stop scaring me like that!” you reprimanded him.

Bruce chuckled, and you shook your head.

“Anyway,” you mumbled, presenting him with a small black box. “This is for you. I know it’s not nearly as fancy as the ones you already have but – well, it’s Christmas and it’s the thought that counts, is it not?” There was a certain nervousness in your voice, Bruce could feel it.

He gently took the box from you, and opened it, revealing a fancy looking black Hugo Boss watch. His fingers trailed the screen and the expensive leather strap.

“I know you have a ton of those, but I thought, hey, this one’s special, this one’s from me!” Before you could keep on with your nervous ramblings, Bruce brought you close, hugging you tightly. You smiled against his chest and wrapped your hands around his torso. This was nice. This was comfortable and familiar and nice.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair, and you almost melted at the cadence of his voice.

“You’re welcome.” You replied.

When you two pulled away, something caught his eye. Looking up, he realised the both of you were standing right underneath a few branches of mistletoe. You followed his eyes and blushed furiously, your whole body heating up.

Bruce said your name and you turned to look at him, feeling as light as a feather.

“Look, I – there’s something I would like to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Bruce thought of all you’d been through together. Laughter, tears, giggles, and scowls. You’d had great times, reading books, walking around, spending time together, and bad times, when he blew you off, choosing Gotham city at night over you. He thought of all he told you, all he trusted you with.

“I just wanted to say that I really enjoy spending time with you,” he began.

“I enjoy spending time with you too.” You inched closer to him, hands still on his chest.

“You’re amazing, and I’m so glad to have you in my life. You see through my charade. I can be myself when I’m around you.”

He thought back on the charity gala, on you wearing that lovely black dress, dancing with him. He thought of holding your hand and pulling you close to him to keep you safe. He thought of your sparkly eyes and delicate lips, and how much he could stare into the former and how badly he wanted to kiss the later.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me. I guess what I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about how badly he wanted to always be with you. How much he’d love to wake up next to you, feel your skin against his, be able to shout from the rooftops that you’re his and his alone. He thought about dropping to one knee and seeing you walking down an aisle wearing the prettiest of white dresses. He saw a lifetime with you, side by side.

“What I’m trying to say is…”

He thought about Batman.

How he’d have to cancel date after date after date, prioritising the black suit over your relationship. He thought of you getting worried sick when he got home late, frowning as you looked at his scars and bruises. He could see it vividly, how you’d cry and beg him not to leave you, to choose you over the city for once in his life, and how he’d leave you to cry all of your tears as he put the cowl on.

“Is…”

“Is…?” You pressed further, eyes dropping to his lips.

He saw argument after argument, saw you screaming at him, accusing him of not loving you. He saw nights spent in the couch, because you were far too angry to let him in your bed. He saw your sad eyes welling up with tears in the middle of romantic dates after he’d told you he had to go because the bat signal was shining in the night sky. He thought about someone finding his identity and going after you first and foremost. He saw you tied up in some random chair, mouth gagged and tears running down your streak as some criminal tortured you to get to him.

He saw your lifeless body inside a coffin, skin devoid of colour, eyes closed, to never open again, and how he’d spend the rest of his life hating both himself and his mask.

He thought about Bruce Wayne, and Batman.

And he realised you couldn’t possibly love both.

“Is… You’re a great friend. Thank you.” He squeezed your arms in a comforting manner and walked away, leaving you wide eyed and speechless under the mistletoe.

Later, he’d gift you the first edition of your favourite classic novel and wish you goodnight with a polite nod of his head, going up to his bedroom.

Before he went to sleep, he locked the pearl earrings and his mother’s necklace inside his drawer.

Things were awkward between you two. Your friendship with Bruce was still there, but he was sort of distant. Your weekly book club meetings still happened, and he still dropped by your café to drink coffee and try new cupcake recipes, but everything seemed to have changed after Christmas Eve.

So, you tried to move on with your life.

A few weeks after Christmas, your bakery started to work with a new supplier, and you quickly befriended the delivery guy, Tom. While you started to look forward to his visits more and more, it still did not feel the same as when you were with Bruce, and you felt guilty for hanging out with him.

One day, Bruce came in for his regular cup of coffee and a cupcake and found you smiling and giggling at a guy at the counter. His first reaction was to punch the guy to next Sunday, but thankfully he calmed down and approached you with a polite smile on his face.

“Hey there,” he greeted you, not sparing Tom a single glance.

“Oh! Hey Bruce – this is Tom. He’s the delivery guy from the new supplier.” Tom’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he realised the Bruce Wayne was standing in front of him and tried his best to shake his hand nonchalantly.

“I’ll be right with you,” you told him, and continued your conversation with Tom.

Fucking Tom. Who even was this guy?

And why were you smiling so much? What the fuck did he have that Bruce didn’t?

Most likely, it was what Bruce didn’t have that make a difference – a mask, a secret identity, a promise made to Gotham.

After you were done chatting with the delivery guy, you placed a cupcake and a cup of coffee in front of Bruce, but instead of sitting down with him, you returned to the counter and resumed your conversation.

Bruce cursed himself mentally.

On Christmas day, after you’d left, Alfred had asked what happened.

Bruce told him everything. How he couldn’t be with you because of Batman, how he couldn’t risk your safety and life, how he pushed you away.

Alfred lectured him, telling his master that his mask was going to be the end of him, but Bruce refused to listen and went to the batcave to busy himself and get his mind off you.

As he looked at you now, radiant and smiling at someone else, he realised that he might’ve made a big, big mistake.

It wasn’t long until you two started dating. It was casual, nothing too serious, but Bruce still seethed on the inside. He found himself staring at you for longer, hands lingering on yours whenever he touched you, and his heart ached more and more whenever he saw you with Tom.

You seemed so happy with him.

Seemed.

Because the truth was, you weren’t doing as well as Bruce thought you were. Tom was a nice man, yeah, but there was something off about the whole thing. He was good looking, yes, and very kind. He listened to you and made you, his priority. He was a dream. But there was just one problem, he wasn’t Bruce.

When you two went out, you often found yourself wishing it was Bruce’s arms wrapped around you. When you two went shopping and you decided to go try on a few hand lotions, Tom simply bent over to sniff your hand, and you were brought back to that time last November when Bruce held you with such gentleness, you nearly melted.

Tom always reminded you to bring a jacket, and you did so diligently, unconsciously put off by the idea of wearing his. He’d once given it to you, and it just wasn’t the same. He didn’t wrap it around you securely, he didn’t brush the hair away from your face, he didn’t look at you the way Bruce did. He was an amazing guy, and you liked him.

But that was it.

Still, you kept your relationship going, hoping your feelings would change.

After all, it’s not like you had ever felt anything for Bruce, right?

He was just a good friend.

You enjoyed spending time with him, sure, but that was it.

So, you looked forward to every time the two of you hung out. And your heartbeat quickened every time he was near. You couldn’t get your eyes off him. You easily got angry or upset whenever other women looked at him, and even more so when he entertained their advances. You longed to have him hold you in your arms.

But that was all normal, right? It just meant you were great friends.

You mind goes back to Christmas Eve, and the way he hugged you. Standing under that mistletoe, there was nothing you wanted more than to kiss him. You remember looking at him and wishing so bad that he would lean down and press his lips against yours. Just friends don’t kiss.

And that’s what you were to him – just a friend. He’d say that himself.

So why were you so heartbroken?

Looking at an empty coffee mug, it suddenly hit you like a train.

You were in love with Bruce Wayne.

And he didn’t love you back.

So there was no need to feel guilty over going out with Tom, right? Even if you didn’t particularly want to kiss him and didn’t want his hands around you when you two went out. Even if you were reluctant to introduce you as “your boyfriend” and had more than once ditched him to stay home and rethink your life decisions.

Even if when the two of you went out on dates, you barely paid any attention to him, focusing on the times you’d sat down with Bruce over a drink and just laughed your asses off and spoke until the crack of dawn.

Even if you didn’t really love Tom.

Yeah. No need at all.

On a lovely April afternoon, you were helping Bruce do some spring cleaning. You were both wearing some casual, old clothes, and helping Alfred to make sure the Manor ended up spotless.

You were currently in charge of the spacious living room, carefully placing picture frames on top of the coffee table so you could clean the fireplace. You looked at the framed memories. Pictures of Bruce as a child, or with his parents. There was one with a young Bruce standing on his father’s shoulders, and another one of him hugging Alfred.

You smiled to yourself. What a cute kid, he was. He seemed so happy.

There were pictures of him with Rachel, knees scraped and clothes dirty from the mud, and some with you. Your gaze lingered on those.

There was one framed selfie with the two of you, faces full of flour and whipped cream. You’d been teaching him how to bake, but the whole ordeal ended up in a small food fight – which he’d won. You chuckled at the memories of trying to teach Mr. “I’m far too rich to cook because I have people to do it for me” how to measure cups of flour, and break eggs. You’d held onto his arms and guided him to make sure he got the measurements just right.

Something inside of you flared up the memory.

The other picture in your hand had been taken at the Carrington gala.

You were wearing your pretty (and extremely expensive) black dress and were smiling at the camera. You were leaning into Bruce’s touch, who was holding you close by the waist. Instead of looking at the camera, he was instead looking at you.

Somehow, tears had clouded your vision.

How you had loved dancing with him. Being held by him as if you were the only person in the world he cared about. Your fingers traced his figure in the picture, and a tear fell down your cheek, falling on top of the glass.

“Hey, are you done with the fireplace?” You jumped at the voice behind you, and dropped the frame, which fell on the floor and broke into a million little pieces.

“Shit!” you mumbled, quick to crouch and try to pick up each glass shard. Bruce was quicker though, and made his way towards you, pulling you away from the soiled floor.

“No, get away from this, you might get hurt. I’ll call Alfred and – “ he looked at you and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Tears were streaming down your face, and you couldn’t look away from the mess you had made. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you choked back a sob. “I’m so sorry – I broke it.”

“No, no. It’s okay, we’ll just get a new frame.” Bruce assured you, hands resting on your shoulders.

“No – fuck ­– it’s not okay! None of this is okay!” You cried, and he pulled you against his chest, running his fingers through your hair.

“It’s just a frame. We’ll get a new one. And we’ll clean the floor.”

You cried in his arms for a while, until your sobs subsided into quiet sniffs. Bruce didn’t really know what to do, so he stood there, holding you tight. He’d never let you go.

After a while, you broke the silence.

“I – “ sniff, “ – I broke up with Tom,” you mumbled.

Bruce’s expression was one of surprise. Really? Why would you though? You two seemed happy.

“I… I don’t really think I liked him…” you continued; voice muffled by his chest. “I think I was dating him simply because I wanted to forget you…”

What?

He looked at you, but you refused to face him, face pressing harder against his chest.

“I’m such an idiot, Bruce… Everything was fine, and then I went and fell for you… And now our friendship is going to be ruined, and I broke your picture frame…”

Bruce held you tighter. You fell for him?

“I’m sorry, Bruce… I’m so sorry – I promise I’ll fix this. I – I’ll stop loving you and we can go back to being friends, and – “

Bruce used his thumb to lift your face up and looked straight into your eyes. There was nowhere to run. You were trapped, and so was he.

“You love me?” he asked, voice as soft as you’d ever heard it.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say those words out loud, so you opted for nodding.

“But – Tom –“

“Tom was a distraction,” you sniffled, “And I feel terrible about it. But I didn’t really like him. I just wanted to forget about you.”

“You love me,” Bruce repeated, using the same thumb to rub circles on the skin of your cheek. His gaze fell on your lips.

He had two choices. He could let you go once again. He could walk away from you, tell you he didn’t love you back. He could watch as you eventually moved on with your life (this time for real) and protect you from having to choose between Bruce Wayne and Batman.

He could give up the love of his life forever.

Or he could kiss you. He could tell you how he felt. He could trust you with that darker side of him, and you two could figure it out along the way. He could take it easy. He could bare his heart and finally tell you how you felt.

Two sides of him fought against each other, but ultimately, one was stronger.

He bent down and took your lips in his, sliding his hands up to your face to cradle it.

You were surprised to say the least, but pleasantly so. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him back with vigour, tears of happiness falling down your cheeks. How you’d wanted this. And now, it was finally happening.

When you two parted for air, Bruce refused to let you go, standing mere inches away from you. His nose nuzzled yours, and he whispered a quiet, “I love you.”

You don’t know wat surprised you more. That he’d say it, or that you said it back.

“I love you too,” you smiled, pressing yourself against him and kissing him once again.

Bruce wrapped his arms around you, attempting to convey all his feelings for you in a simple kiss. All the longing, the love, the desire, the friendship. Everything he couldn’t find the words to say, he poured into that kiss. And you smiled, accepting all his confessions, all his words.

“Well, it was about time, don’t you two think?” Alfred said from across the room.

You jumped and just stared at him, embarrassment overtaking you.

“Yes, I’m talking about you two. Do you know how bothersome it was to see you moping around and sulking because you hadn’t kissed her on Christmas Eve, sir?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I – You wanted to kiss me on Christmas Eve?” you turned to Bruce and gave him a soft smile.

“I did. I really did. I’m so sorry I didn’t.” he replied, before looking at Alfred. “Could you please leave us alone now? I don’t really recall paying you to mind my business.”

“You don’t pay me enough not to, sir.” The butler replied with a cheeky grin and that “I have the high ground, for I am British and old and wise” smug look of his. “I am glad to see the both of you are finally getting along. If you need me, I’ll be cleaning the Manor, since no one in this house does it.”

You laughed and faced Bruce once again, cupping his cheek.

“I thought you didn’t even like me. I mean, on Christmas…”

“I’m sorry about Christmas. I really did want to kiss you, it’s just… There are things about me – things you don’t know. And I’m afraid of telling you because I don’t want you to get hurt.” He replied, hand coming up to touch yours.

“You can tell me anything Bruce, you know it. Right?”

He nodded, and hugged you close one more time.

“I do. And I love you. I really mean it.”

Bruce could hear the smile in your voice when you replied.

“I love you too.”

For once in his life, Bruce Wayne did not feel completely alone. On the next room, he had his trusted butler, who had raised him as his own and acted like a parental figure all these years. And in his arms, he had you. The love of his life, the woman he loved the most in the world.

Holding you close to him, he knew he could trust you, no matter what. He knew you’d accept him, because if anyone would, it was you. And he would cherish that forever.

Later that night, a small white box was taken out of a locked drawer and placed inside of his pocket.

Bruce led you to the same spot you’d been on Christmas Eve, handed you the small box, and after carefully placing the necklace around your neck, finally kissed you.

There was no way he was ever letting go of you.

A/N: And that's it! I hope I was able to do both this trilogy and this request justice, I was really worried about it. I wrote most of it in one sitting, you have no idea, I just kept on writing and writing and writing and when I realised it, it'd gotten kinda long and out of hand.

I also hope this Tom character wasn't useless? I mean, he sorta was, he was just a plot device, but I hope he didn't feel rushed or whatever.

Anyways, I hope you guys liked it! I really do!

Have an amazing day, everyone! <3

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bale!bruce wayne #bale!batman x reader #bale!batman #bale!bruce wayne x reader #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #nolanverse #the dark knight fanfiction #the dark knight fanfic #nolanverse fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader

[lovandr]

Oliver Quick x Fem!Reader

Warning: 18+ MDNI, jealous!Ollie, choking, my terrible grammar 😚

——————————— 💌 ————————————

now we all know that oliver is an obsessive lover. that much is clear. he wants to be with you hell he needs it. it feels like part of him is missing when you’re gone. he can’t stop himself from touching you the minute you walk through his dorm room door. the second you enter the threshold his hands are on you, fingers stroking your cheeks, lips on yours. he just cannot get enough.

if he could crawl inside your ribcage and live by your heart forever he’d do it in a heartbeat. having his thick cock burried deep inside you is the next best thing to him. fucking you raw and deep is intimate in way nothing else is. there’s just something so raw and personal about him being the only person who gets to see you splayed out on his bed, your hands tangled in his hair, your soft eyes looking into the icy blue of his own, all while his cock lays embedded within you.

much like felix, he doesn’t like to share what’s his. he won’t. he likes having you all to himself. and he likes being yours. this causes him to get a little (a lot) jealous when he sees you with other guys. if michael looks at you too long he makes sure to protectively place his hand on your thigh, squeezing ever so gently to let his ‘friend’ know that you’re off limits. does oliver see michael as competition? of course not! but he does know how badly michael wanted to be where he is now, his cock in your tight pussy, ravaging you like it was his birthright. of course he knew that’s how michael felt, because thats how he felt during those first few weeks of university after seeing you for the first time. he felt like a horny high schooler with a crush way out of his league (in his opinion). when you said his named for the first time he could have came in his jeans then and there, you were just so beautiful. so, so beautiful. now you were all his.

i wouldn’t put it past him to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you when you get back to the dorms. it’s not that he doesn’t trust you, god he trusts you with his life. he doesn’t trust everyone else. maybe he’s a little insecure but all that goes out the window when he’s driving himself into you, his hand grasping your throat- not hard enough to bruise but firm enough to get the message across- he cock so hard and thick that it feels like he may break you.

he moves his hand up to your cheek lightly tapping to get your attention watching the way your glassy eyes focus on him and only him. good.

“who do you belong to, hmm?” he asks, his thrusts never faltering, his cock so deep inside you, you were sure you could feel it in your stomach. “you” it was barely above a whisper, tears of pure ecstasy flowing down your soft cheeks. he needed to hear it, he needed to feel it. he ceases his thrusts immediately, smiling devilishly at the whine that escapes your kiss bitten lips. “who do you belong to, sweetheart? don’t make me ask again.” his hand is back round your throat, a tighter grip this time. you can barely breathe but it brings you so close to the edge. “You! Oliver. Im yours all yours.” it comes out almost like a prayer, an act of pure devotion and love. it was true. you didn’t want or need anyone else when you had such a beautiful man to wreck you and put you back together again every time. he gives you a smile of satisfaction, it’s almost condescending, but by god does it stir your stomach.

“there’s my good girl.”

taglist 💌: @sydneyyymayyy

#smut #saltburn smut #saltburn #oliver quick #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #lovie’s stuffs🦈 #lovie’s drabbles🦈

[simpingland]

Hi hello how are ya I'd like to request something

Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co star (fem pronounce) where they're at an interview and goofing off, reader joking about getting sleep while they're putting on wigs for hours and stuff like that, maybe a little more serious talk about their characters

(Readers character is jaces twin and aemonds love interest)

Thank you!

Flirting and sleeping// Ewan Michael x fem!actress.

Summary: playing Aemond's love interest have the perks of giving you a flirty partner during promotion and a comfortable shoulder to sleep on set.

Gif not mine

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last interview of the day, after a whole week of promotion. Always the same questions, always the same answers. Keeping your outfit spotless for a whole day, with your make-up intact and hours of sleep accumulated.

"How is it possible that you are always sleepy?" Your colleague Ewan asked you when he saw you yawning.

"I'm a very reflective person, the night inspires me" you joked, and watched as he shook his head, smiling.

"These things feel like an eternity," he complained.

You were about to agree with him when the new interviewer sat down opposite. She greeted you, and Ewan, as always, was a gentleman, serious and attentive.

You, however, found it hard to pay as much attention. You glanced sideways at Ewan's every gesture, and he seemed to make a great effort to listen. After all this time you had learned to read his expression of feigned listening as well as his real one.

"After so many serious scenes, I suppose you keep your spirits up between scenes...are you bored on set or are you too busy?" The girl looked at the two of you.

"I tend to stay focused. Getting into Aemond's mind is quite complicated..." Ewan's tone amused you. He turned to look at you. "What?"

You let out a laugh, the interviewer looking confused at the scene.

"Sorry honey," you turned to the girl, "but Ewan is lying to you. He was concentrating at the beginning, when he took his job very seriously."

You watched as Ewan leaned back in his chair, hiding a smile and waiting for you to tease him, which he quite enjoyed.

"This guy was scary on the first day."

"It's thanks to the costume and make-up team," he interrupted.

"Oh, no, Ewan, I mean the day of the script reading. That sweatshirt was terrifying." What you said made the interviewer laugh, and Ewan joined in the fake discussion you had formed.

"You speak out of envy," he replied, crossing his legs.

"For this kind of thing, he's very formal. They always put together nice outfits for him, but in real life, it's nothing like that. "

"And what's Ewan like in real life?" Ewan himself asked.

"He's weird... weird and kind of flirty."

He turned red, shaking his head as the interviewer let you speak. You were basically getting more information out for her than she intended to get.

"Yeah, yeah...there's nothing shy about this guy here. He makes all the girls on the set smile with his 'good morning, love'. And they all love to put him his wig in the morning, his patch..."

"Why don't you let the girl do the interview?" Your partner interrupted you with mock seriousness.

"Excuse me, but I'm answering the question. Ewan was very focused at first. No one dared speak to him once he put on that wonderful costume. But as soon as Susan in make-up told him he looked 'sexy'..." you snapped your fingers. "He became a sex symbol on set and enjoys it like nobody's business. He doesn't get bored on set because he spends the hours between scenes practising with his sword, chatting with the crew when he goes to get his coffee..."

"You should tell her how you spend your breaks..." he grinned mischievously. You looked at him, hiding a smile. You mostly spent them with him, but people didn't need to know that.

"You tell her."

"She spends her dead hours asleep or breaking things." The interviewer let out another laugh. "Oh, yes, she's snored through her make-up. I've had to put up with her nodding her head every morning. And the few times she was awake, she would steal my wig to take pictures. Remember what Susan said to you when she caught you?" she looked at you as if to scold you, and you looked ashamed.

"That I was going to mess it up..."

"Exactly! This girl is a mess on legs. The first day of shooting, she tore the fabric of her cape. The first day we shot together, she almost broke the carriage window... and the wine glass. Let's not forget the wine glass on the last day."

"I dented it," you confessed to the girl.

"The whole team was praying you'd fall asleep before you touched any more stuff." Continued your partner looking back at you.

"I've had the broken stuff deducted from my pay, you know."

"Yeah? And how much money have you earned then?"

"Let's just say...I've gone into debt to HBO..."

You laughed at your own joke as Ewan tried to refocus on the poor interviewer. You really had been the clumsiest person on set, and that was in stark contrast to the careful attitude Ewan had had in that same period. Many times, you had led him astray, getting him involved in a game where you both could let off steam while the sets were being set up. He loved to show you his swordsmanship, and of course, he was good at it. He had experience.

But on some other days, when it was anynof your turns to act, Ewan was much more focused, and although you were embarrassed to entertain him at first, he always made a point of sitting next to you. He helped you revise as much as you helped him. And while your gallery was filled with pictures of you making an idiot of yourself with his wig, and Ewan making an idiot of himself with his wig too, Ewan had his gallery filled with pictures of you asleep in the most unlikely places on the set, and pictures of you posing with whatever mess you had made. And Tom had been in charge of recording those occasions when you slept leaning on Ewan's shoulder while he reread his script. That would stay between you two, and you'd been going through the photos before bed for months, unaware that Ewan was doing exactly the same thing, grateful to have an excuse like promotion to be near you all the time.

"The relationship between your characters has been a much-discussed topic on the network and among fans. The girl changed the subject to a more serious one, to the one that really mattered, the series.

"You mean incest?" you asked.

"More like the feud between Blacks and Greens."

"Oh, right..."

"That's the thing with this series," Ewan interrupted. "The incest is the least of your worries."

"Right, silly me," you said wryly.

"It's common sense, of course."

You smiled at each other, admiring each other fondly, perhaps too fondly, as you always did, leaving the girl a bit of an outsider, and were surprised when she asked again.

"The good thing is that you don't look like each other. The relationship you have in the plot is a parallel to Romeo and Juliet. How do you approach this dynamic? Do you want it to be really romantic or something toxic like Rhaenyra and Daemon?"

"That I suppose can always be left to the audience's opinion," reasoned your partner. "For me there's certainly something romantic about it. Aemond is a character that transforms into something perverse but at the beginning he didn't seem to have such a strong quality. The writers wanted to make him that way, evolved. And I think her character is designed not to contrast but to show that there is something good in Aemond." You smiled downward as you listened to him, you had already talked about it during rehearsals. "When we did the casting, the director told me that they were looking for an actress with a sweet aura, well, so that ond couldn't naturally react violently towards her. They introduced me to this arse next to me and... you get a bit attached to her.

"I love working with Ewan, he's always so flattering..."

The girl smiled at you before asking.

"You're okay with the romance?"

"Well..." you thought for a second. Of course, the kiss you two had just rolled around was too passionate for it to be a toxic relationship. You shot the kiss as a very intimate scene, where Aemond approached your character with some fear, and it took you a moment to return the kiss. It was a slow kiss, tense and sweet. But when you return it, it was hard to separate again. Of course, what was left to shoot that day was done with flushed cheeks and dodging glances. Sparks had been flying between you and Ewan since the day you were brought together in that room for the test.

"Yes, I think it's different from Rhaenyra and Daemon. There's a lot more respect and a lot more equality between them. From the very beginning, we were going to treat our plot from the 'first love' trope, and we saw no better way to recite our lines than the longing and desire they have for each other. And how much Ewan and I love each other transcends the screen too much."

You saw how intensely he looked at you, maybe you had said too much. You were silent for too many seconds. You put on that mischievous grin again. "As much as Ewan is a great actor, I don't think anyone can pretend to hate me."

"Wow, that means the next season is going to be very promising for your fans. Thank you so much for this time, and for the tidbits from the set."

"It's been a pleasure, honey," you dismissed her.

"Our pleasure, I love your t-shirt, by the way," said Ewan, the girl was wearing a t-shirt with a poster of Daemon and Aemond on it.

You didn't know how to look at him after that. Had your answer been something of a confession? Maybe the kiss hadn't been that intense for him and you had just made a fool of yourself. Of course it was a bit weird the last ten minutes of your promo day.

You shared a taxi to the hotel, with silly small talk. When you arrived, you were walking up a flight of stairs when your heel broke.

"Oh my God, I can't believe it! My stylist is going to kill me!" You picked up your precious heels, Ewan didn't laugh at you, but he did smile at your desperation.

"Don't worry, we'll ask someone to get us some glue."

"A branded heel fixed with glue?"

"Well, it certainly wasn't made of steel, if it breaks easy it's easy to fix."

You walked all the way up the stairs barefoot. Ewan stopped.

"What are you doing?" You asked as you saw him stand back and pull out his mobile phone.

"Smile and show that heel," he asked. When you did he took the picture and smiled to himself. "For the collection. "

"Thanks to your tip-off they won't get me for period films, you know."

"You started it, I remind you. You've taken away my reputation as a serious, up-and-coming actor."

Ewan grabbed your heels from your hand as he saw you with your hands full with your mobile and wallet.

"The truth is, that poor girl was trying to be professional and we got into a play fight in front of her."

"I think she had fun. Of course, after always answering the same thing, this time I remembered why I like this job so much."

"I hope I didn't offend you, Ewan. You know it was all a joke."

You stopped at his door, yours was just opposite.

"All of it, all of it?"

"What do you mean?"

He licked his lips, thinking about how to phrase the question. You knew what he meant, now came the awkward part. Why the hell did you start talking about love?

"All the weeks since I've known you have been filled with something...special. And you were right when you said that I can't pretend to be repulsed by you, because... I definitely feel the opposite. I like every minute that you are beside me, not only for how talented you are but...how sweet and funny everything is with you. You're also quite gorgeous if I am allawed to say. And no, it's nothing of a method actor if I tell you that I have a crush on your bones just because Aemond would be... I want to make sure this feeling isn't just mine."

"You're telling me you like me?"

"Yeah, basically yes."

"And you're asking me if I like you?" You were clearly in shock.

"It's good to know you understand me...now I need an answer."

Yes, OF COURSE YOU DO. For some reason nothing came out of your mouth, and you could only look at him. Ewan read that silence as a definitive no and, after swallowing his breath, he nodded and gave up without losing his gallantry.

"I'm going to call room service and have them bring some glue."

He turned to open his door as you suddenly became aware of everything. You didn't know what he was babbling about when he opened it, but when he turned again to offer you passage, you jumped on him. You grabbed his face with impetus, and kissed his thin lips again as you had that day on the set. This time there was something even more authentic. Ewan held your waist as he regained his balance. This kiss surpassed the one in the scene, this one felt completely free, completely real and without consequence. Needless to say, you didn't go back to sleep in your room for the rest of the promo tour.

#house of the dragon fanfiction #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd

[ughkat]

hi! could you write calum x reader where calum has a crush on her and ashton exposes his crush on her during a live or something?

pls and thank u

i might do a part two of this idk 😳

-

crush | c.t.h

calum x fem!reader

part two here

got excited writing this sorry ab the lengthiness!

alcohol, swearing

not proofread

"I'm heading over right now."

"We'll be here.".

I finished my phone call to Ashton, who had just minutes ago invited me for a routine hangout with him and the other three boys.

My friendship with Ashton had sprouted prior to his band forming. We were best friends, some would describe as inseparable. Once joining the band, they immediately brought me in as well. Though never having the same connections as I did with Ashton with them, Calum, Luke and Michael never failed to make me feel at home.

Since then, we've grown up and blossomed into larger things in life, yet we still keep our bond close. Routine effortless hangouts and conversations on almost a daily has kept out growing friendships alive.

Recently, I had began to notice a shift in energy with Calum. I tried to think nothing of it, but the conversations began to get shorter, and his words for me grew small. He almost made me feel as if I did something wrong.

I gathered my belongings, checking my outfit before heading outside to my car, shivering at the cold weather. I dressed lazily in a large grey hoodie, along with black leggings and converse. I quickly turned on the heater after starting my car, and pulled put of the driveway.

I drove quietly as my mind wandered about confronting Calum for his change of mood towards me. I knew I was safe to bring up an issue to my friends, but I was concerned this was only a me problem.

My wandering mind passed the time quickly, arriving me to Ashton's apartment. I pulled slowly onto the curb in front of his apartment, sending off a quick "I'm here" text before exiting my car.

"Heyyy!" Ashton cheered goofily, raising his arms as he appeared from the front door. I giggled as I made my way up his driveway towards him. He reached an arm out for a quick hug as he spoke.

"How ya' doing?" He smiled, ushering me inside. I sighed dramatically.

"Could be better." I raised my eyebrows with defeat as I made my way inside. I set my bag and keys down on his kitchen counter which was decorated with various alcoholic beverages and snacks. I turned to the living room, being greeted by Calum, Luke and Michael at the couch. I watched as Calum's eyes quickly met mine, then shot back down to his hands.

"Well..." Ashton began, moving behind me swiftly, "Have a shot." He grinned, I turned to look at Ashton who had presented me with a small glass with a shot of mystery alcohol in it. The three boys from the living room shouted dramatic miscellaneous cheers and encouragements from behind me. I let out a laugh and reached for the drink. I looked at Ashton and shook my head laughing. With a shrug, I tossed my head back, taking my shot quickly. I scrunched my face briefly before frantically searching for a chaser.

"Give me a drink. I need a drink." I mumbled, shaking my head. Luke whistled from the couch with a laugh, holding out a Coke can. I hurried to the open drink and took a large swig.

"You didn't take that shot, that shot took you." Michael joked as I found my seat on the couch. I scoffed with furrowed eyebrows.

"Fuck off." I giggled. I glanced to Calum who had been awfully quiet. He was heavily focused on picking at a loose string on his t-shirt, faking an amused look on his face. I immediately noted his off mood. The boys continued whatever conversation they had before I arrived, laughing and cracking joke's beside me. I watched Calum carefully as he loosely followed their words, more in his own head than present with us. I decided to finally speak up.

"Cal." I chirped, snapping him out of his trance. His head perked up quickly as the room fell silent.

"Hm?" He raised an eyebrow, his eyes darted to everyone in the room nervously, then back to mine. I anxiously slouched back down at the unexpected and unnerving silence before speaking.

"Are you mad at me or something?" I questioned, keeping a cool tone. I watched from my peripheral as the boys eyes flashed to Calum. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he shook his head slowly.

"No..?" He muttered quietly. I bit the inside of me cheek and looked to the other boys, hoping one of them would agree with my observation of Calum's negative mood. Instead, they watched Calum like a bomb.

"You've been so quiet and weird with me lately. I know they see it too." I laughed anxiously, motioning to the boys. I widened my eyes at them, begging for some help. Calum looked to the boys, licking his lips anxiously.

"I-.." He began nervously, "I've just been feeling kinda off recently. I'm sorry." He stuttered nonchalantly, his eyes failing to connect with mine. "Kinda off?" I thought to myself, "Bad excuse.".

"I think he just means in the studio and such. We've all been pretty tired recently." Ashton jumped in quickly, glancing at Calum after speaking.

"Right." I replied, not buying whatever game they were trying to play.

We continued the night many hours into the early morning, as we normally would, we watched a few movies and ordered a bunch of junk food. Calum kept up his unusual behavior, trying his best to fake it, but I never let go of the thought that I would find out what was going on with him.

"You sure you don't wanna spend the night? It's late, and you've been drinking." Ashton offered as we walked to his front door. I gave him a hug and stepped outside.

"No, it's okay." I looked down to my phone, noting the time of 1:45 am. "I have work tomorrow and I'm okay to drive. My last drink was hours ago and all those snacks and fast food have taken over my veins." I groaned dramatically. Ashton giggled before nodding gently.

"I'll see you later." He patted my back and sent me down his driveway, watching me as I entered my car.

On my drive home, I was left unsatisfied with my confrontation with Calum. I thought our closeness would have led him to be more open, but he was so blatantly lying. Ashton obviously covering the lie for him only grew my suspicions more. My mind raced of the possibilities of what could be bothering the boy.

I lazily kicked off my shoes as I entered my apartment, tossing my keys of a small side table beside the door. Filled with junk from Ashton's house, I skipped my kitchen and headed straight for my bedroom.

I slipped out of my black leggings and hoodie, changing into a large shirt and underwear. As I tossed my laundry into the basket, my phone let off a ding on my bed. I flopped onto my bed, reaching for my phone and reading the notification. It read that the boys had started a live stream on twitch. I let out a giggle, amused at the boy's inability to rest. Clicking on the notification, I settled into my bed.

"We just saw each other 20 minutes ago!" Ashton cheered sarcastically from the livestream. I smiled at the faces on the screen.

"Hey, Y/n is here." Ashton chuckled, looking closer at the screen. I watched as the boys talked to the viewers of the stream and to each other, making jokes and messing with filters.

"Calum's sad cause Y/n yelled at him." Michael joked. Calum sent Michael a death glare, earning a chuckle from me.

"She didn't yell at me." Calum scoffed with a forced smile. I rolled my eyes sarcastically at his stubbornness, continuing to tune into the stream.

"He's sad cause he's in love with her." Ashton mumbled looking down to his phone, widening his eyes quickly and looking up at his screen after speaking, realizing what he had said.

"Dude." Calum spoke quietly. I narrowed my eyebrows at his words, him looking just as surprised as me. Ashton turned off his camera, followed by Calum, as if he had said something controversial. I put the speaker to my ear as the live suddenly fell quiet. Incoherent whispers came through before Ashton appeared again.

"Alright we'll see you guys later." Ashton forced a smile and a wave to the livestream before ending it abruptly. I stared at my empty screen in confusion, trying to make sense of Ashton's words. Did I hear him wrong? Was my phone glitching? I decided to play it cool and text Ashton calmly.

"Hey, why'd you end your live?"

I watched the three dots appear and disappear repeatedly before his message appeared.

"You should text Cal.".

#cth #calum hood #5 seconds of summer #5sos fanfiction #5sos #5sos fanfic #calum 5sos #michael clifford #luke hemmings #luke 5sos #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum imagine #calum blurb #calum hood imagine #calum hood smut #5sos calum #calum hood blurb #calum smut #calum hood au #calum hood preference #ashton 5sos #5sos imagine #5 secs of summer #5 second of summer imagines #5 seconds of summer smut #ashton 5 seconds of summer #5sos au

[slasherlouvre]

If this is tmi or weird I totally understand but uh: slashers with an afab fem s/o who gets extremely horny 24/7 like a whole week before her period?? I feel like a bitch in heat or smth & it drives me crazy every single month 🙃 (ty!)

Not at all, nonnie! Idk how common this is, but I 10000% relate, so I know exactly how it can be! 😭 Hope these help you to feel better, sweetheart 💓

Slashers with a fem! AFAB s/o who gets extremely horny before her period (18+)

Included: Thomas Hewitt, Michael Myers, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Bubba Sawyer

Thomas Hewitt 🌻

- lord have mercy, this man can peel a person's face off without feeling a thing, but as soon as you tell him about how your body makes you feel before your period (AND FOR AT LEAST A FULL WEEK???), he is turning 13 different shades of red

- this man is so selfless for you in every way though, so when you warn him beforehand he's already unselfishly deciding to help you through it any way you'd like him to without expecting you to 'return the favor'

- is worried about 'taking advantage' of you in this state even when you assure him you completely want him without a single doubt

- Thomas just feels SO GUILTY about feeling good when he thinks you should be the only one feeling good during this time

- 2 words: body. worship.

- you're his everything, and there's never a time he'll have you doubting how much he adores every part of you, but he is especially adamant about worshipping your body on these weeks

- needs to make sure you know just how overwhelmingly thankful he is you allow someone like him to touch you in the first place

- he's going to eat you out every morning like a man devout to make sure you start the day in bliss

- not really a fan of quickies just because he wants to take his time with you and make you feel special and loved

- however, if you seek him out throughout the day when everyone else is busy/away for a while (and you clearly want him very badly), he could never dream of denying you

- has the patience of a saint with you, so if you like to be a tease when you're in the mood it's pretty amusing to see him try to keep calm if you're around the family

- if you tease him throughout the entire day or playfully refuse to let him touch you until the day's over and you both settle for the night, be prepared for the fuck of your life

- will muffle your moans by either swallowing them with deep kisses, slipping a finger or two past your lips to have you suck, or just completely place one of his large hands over your mouth

- wants to be discreet when having sex, mostly out of respect to you, but he'd also be extremely angry if Hoyt ever heard and made vulgar remarks in your direction the next day

- (even if at that point you're going to feel too drunk on the pleasure coursing through you to even care)

- he knows you rile him up on purpose, and he loves that you find him that desirable to do so in the first place, but he still feels awful the next morning thinking he was too rough with you

- he really only ever wants to treat you tenderly with slow sensual sex, but when you give him that lazy blissed out expression of satisfaction, and tell him you want him all over again he feels his heart swell uncontrollably

- you have this man tied around your little finger and he's not ashamed about it in the slightest

- if you thought his need to perform acts of service for you was immense before, it's triple that once you do get your period

- if he can help it, he's not letting you move a single muscle

- will huff at you to stay in bed and sleep off the pain and exhaustion

- he still feels the weeks prior to your periods are far too favorable for him despite you wanting him to fuck you until he's shooting blanks, so he really wants to take care of you after it all (as if he wasn't already)

- will literally never understand how wonderfully he takes care of you

- overall, he's everything you could want and need, but finding opportunities to be intimate may prove difficult with the other Hewitt's around

OG Michael Myers 🎃

- i'm sorry (y/n), he's completely using it against you

- if you give him special permission during this time to take you whenever and wherever he wants, he's definitely taking advantage of it

- will suddenly bend you over whatever's closest and roughly remove the clothes covering your pussy before he's shoving his cock inside

- likes supporting your weight to fuck you against walls while you cling to him completely at his mercy

- oh, but don't think he's going to make it easy on you either, this is Mikey after all

- Michael's a wild card in the sense that you'll never be sure whether he's going to fuck you stupid or torment you by denying his touch

- he gets this sick thrill at seeing how badly you want and need him and he takes full advantage of that

- will literally watch you desperately finger fuck yourself or hump a pillow for any sort of relief until you're in tears and still not have mercy on you

- completely gets off on knowing he's the only one able to provide you with the deliverance you need so desperately that it has you writhing like a bitch in heat for him

- power plays turn him on like nothing else and you've willingly given him all the power the weeks before your periods

- if he's feeling 'nice' he'll let you cockwarm him on the couch while you watch tv or something, but he's going to have a firm grip on your hips which serves as a warning that if you so much as fidget or roll your hips once he's pulling out

- either makes you ache half the week until he finally fucks you proper, or edges you for several days before he lets you have your first thorough release that week

- when he's being especially heinous he won't let you touch yourself at all because he wants to be the only one able to give you relief (you swear he's jealous of your own hand)

- his methods are cruel to you in the moment of course, but your most pleasure inducing orgasms will be on these weeks after he finally has mercy on you

- don't worry, he riled himself up in the edging process quite a bit too, so he'll make it all up to you in the following days

- you'll be placed in several mating presses as he jackhammers into you like a wild animal to be as deep as physically possible before he's finally cumming inside you

- don't be surprised when you orgasm from feeling him ejaculate alone after all the time he spent making you work for it

- his new committment will be to overstimulate you as much as he can, but considering days prior, it's the opposite of a problem

- he expects you to give him lots of soft affection like kisses and cuddling once you get your period to show your 'gratitude' for all the 'work' he did, but really he just wants an excuse to be softer with you without having to admit it

- plus, your poor pussy is going to need the break after everything Michael put you through

- for the most part, an absolute menace; he may just make the week worse, but it's all worth it in the end

Bo Sinclair 🧢

- immediately has a wolfish grin plastered across his face when you tell him

- having you desperately horny for him for an entire week before your period inflates his ego SO MUCH

- he's a teasing bastard, but not nearly as bad as Michael

- he actually ends up keeping track of your cycle better than you do which is kind of funny

- likes to tease you verbally the most because of how heated his southern drawl gets you

- he’ll lowly say things like, “Does m’pretty doll need t’be filled with my cum again already?” and, “Now darlin’, if I didn’t know better, I’d say y’looked downright flustered right now” against your ear while his brothers are nearby and you have to try to remain unfazed

- if your neck and ears are sensitive, he'll randomly nip at your skin when you least expect it, to try and pull a moan out of you

- gets off to feigning ignorance and making you say exactly what you want from him (especially if it embarrasses you)

- but while he adores riling you up, he can’t hold back from giving you what you so sweetly plead for for very long (especially when it’s exactly what he wants too)

- he loves feeling needed and being the only one able to help you find relief, so begging and shamefully pressing yourself against him has his dick swelling almost immediately

- Bo is extremely turned on by quickies, especially when there’s a potential risk of the two of you being caught by one of his brothers, so he’ll keep you more than satisfied throughout the week

- he doesn’t actually want his brothers seeing what’s so obviously his and his alone, but it still admittedly excites him

- he’s quite talkative during sex too, telling you things like, “When’d such a sweet thing like you turn into such a whore for me, hm?” and “Doin’ so good, gonna give ya exactly what good girls deserve- just a bit more, (y/n)” while you’re nothing but a twitching whiny mess, too fucked dumb to make coherent moans under him anymore

- he makes up for the teasing by overstimulating you every time

- there's just something about having your arms and legs violently tremble as they're tightly wrapped around him that turns him wild

- LOVES seeing your teary blissed out expression and hearing you choke back sobs from feeling so good

- will gently coo at you in a teasing manner as he kisses away the tears, and continues to relentlessly pound into you

- even if the two of you don't want kids, he has a massive breeding kink, and will sleep for the night entirely bottomed out in you if you let him

- there's a 50/50 chance your still fluttering walls are going to make him hard again, though

- once you do get your period, Bo can be pretty easily persuaded to sleep in with you most mornings

- you’re definitely going to need the well deserved rest after fucking like rabbits the entire week

- he spends most of the time you’re taking it slow on your period to catch up on the work you distracted him from all those days, but he does check in on you now and again

- overall, deciding which of the two of you is horniest during the week before your period is highly debatable, but you're guaranteed to be sated

Vincent Sinclair🕯

- when you first told him, he was very glad to be wearing the mask on account of his flushed expression, but he still accidentally dropped one of his tools at the revelation causing him to drop his composure momentarily

- before this point you'd been intimate, but he'd always made love to you

- he still hadn't quite worked up the nerve to take you roughly despite how he may have thought about it,,

- you'll have to ease him into this new side of you, but he's only nervous about disappointing you somehow

- he comes around quite quickly after the first few times, especially with how beautiful you moan and beg for him to manhandle you a bit more

- your sex drive is certainly fervent during the weeks before your periods, but he's always awestruck that he's the one making you feel that way

- no matter how many times you press yourself flush against him and gently bite his neck or reach down to squeeze his dick to signal you need him, his breath hitches at the feeling

- he feels as though he doesn't deserve such a divine privilege bestowed upon him by you, being who he is, so he entirely dedicates himself to your pleasure

- will eat you out for hours and sensually massage your body with his large hands as he does until you practically black out

- cockwarming is one of his favorite ways to delve into both physical touch and quality time together during this time

- he obviously spends quite a while in the basement, so when he finds himself sitting for a long period of time he's more than happy to sink you onto his lap and let you wrap yourself around him/rest your head on his shoulder as he works

- fortunately, Bo doesn't really come down to this part of the house, so you both have plenty of time to give into each other without the added risk

- as you spur his confidence, he becomes increasingly bewitched with this side of you, worshipping every part of your body and intensely memorizing the way your face contorts in pleasure for him

- the artist in him can't help but want to permanently immortalize you this way through wax sculptings, paintings, and sketches

- if you consent, he takes out the camcorder to record you under him in these moments, writhing and panting, taking him so beautifully to the point of tears

- he rewatches these videos often, both for artistic reference, and to shamelessly relive the moments

- despite the fierce sex sessions that leave you with his mark carnally left behind on your skin in intense shades, he's still a complete romantic, and he's adamant about not letting you forget it (as if you could)

- once you get your period, this man is constantly fretting over your comfort, and refusing to let you do a thing until you get after him

- cramps? he's already leaving to get you water and a pain pill. want to get up to take care of something? too late, he's already on it. sad? you're immediately wrapped up in his arms.

- enjoys coaxing you into the bathroom for candlelit baths to soothe your aching body and wash your hair

- he's not put off by the blood in the slightest, so he's more than willing to have period sex if you'd like him to relieve your cramps that way

- Bo gets annoyed with him for 'babying' you so much, but he couldn't care less; why wouldn't he treasure the love of his life who cares for him just as much??

- all in all, he'll have you wishing you got your period more than just once a month

Lester Sinclair 🦝

- Lester is in a perpetual state of bliss

- sure he's a man and has desires, but he never actually thought someone could yearn for him to such an aching extent

- he's turned on of course, but more than anything, he's in awe

- having you come onto him so shamelessly at all hours of the day is something he'll never be able to get used to on these particular weeks; it never fails to catch him off guard, and leave him breathless no matter how many times you do it

- he'll be casually telling you about his day as he fiddles with a task when you suddenly slip your hands under his shirt from behind and languidly run them up his middle to grope at him

- if he's distracted watching tv, his entire face turns red when you swiftly straddle his lap and begin needily rolling your hips against him

- he's dropping everything in seconds after his mind finally catches up to his erratically racing heart

- this man just wants to please you, and he's not looking for you to give him anything in return either

- so when you make a point by spoiling him back for being so good to you, he becomes putty in your hands

- seriously, he's so eager to please you in any way you'd like; he feels good when he makes you feel good

- it's times like these he appreciates not sharing a home with his twin brothers the most, and he loves the fact that you can both be as loud and as unabashed as you want without worrying about others being around

- he'll sometimes still mid thrust within you because he becomes so entranced with your heavenly image sprawled beneath him; your face heated, your skin glistening with a layer of sweat, the desperate way you whine and pant and cry for him. He can't help it, you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and you're his

- he knows you're not completely in control of your libido on these weeks, that it must be frustrating for you at times to be so riled up for so long, but he can't deny how much he loves this side of you

- it's a pleasure for him of course, but most of all, having you in his life and being the one you trust and love enough to be able to take you this way is a privilege he never takes for granted

- he may not have a breeding kink per se, but he can't deny the overwhelming need to stuff you full of his cum to satiate his needy 'sweet pea'

- the type of man to thoroughly eat you out and kiss you full on the lips right after; things like that could never bother him

- unless you specifically request it of him, he will always default to making passionate love to you during this time; he knows you'll be burning for him for at least a week, and he doesn't want to end up overexerting your body that will feel worse once you get your period

- when you do get your period, this man is constantly by your side; he has a stash of your favorite snacks and treats that he always makes sure to prepare beforehand

- he also makes sure to stock up on pain pills and your preferred sanitary products when he goes on a food run so you don't have to worry about it

- he'll let you get up to move around and take care of tasks, but if he thinks he should be doing it instead he's distracting you with a kiss and steering you straight back to bed to relax

- the BIGGEST cuddler; he's seriously perfect if you get cold from losing so much blood because he'll wrap himself entirely around you and keep you warm

- you'll never feel sad with him around either, he has plenty of funny stories and jokes to keep you smiling and laughing

- in conclusion, you cannot go wrong with this man; top tier sex and top tier period care

Jason Voorhees 🪓

- this new side of you terrifies him at the beginning

- he had been very reluctant to touch you at all during this time because he was afraid it was just a feeling you couldn't control, and therefore he didn't want to 'take advantage' of you

- he just isn't used to such sensual desire directed so intensely at him, so you'll have to try to take it slow and understand where he's coming from

- as your relationship progresses, he becomes more comfortable, but don't expect him to fuck you with wild abandon during these particular weeks because he won't

- if you're going to want him inside of you constantly for at least seven whole days, he's making sure he doesn't end up seriously hurting you by the time your period comes around, and you've calmed down enough to start feeling any unnecessary pain that resulted from so many fiercely intimate sessions

- that being said, he's more than happy to indulge you tenderly, but if you begin to get ahead of yourself while riding him or start to uncontrollably whine and beg for him to manhandle you, he'll deny you and maybe even pull out of you altogether in favor of taking you to the lake to cool off and distract you

- you'll be surprised by how good you end up feeling when you're laying down, and he begins to massage your shoulders and back until all of your tension is turned into delightful bliss

- he's not opposed to heavy make out sessions or groping, he's just worried about himself getting carried away when he's actually inside you and you're adamantly working away at his resolve with your overly eager hips

- he just feels like if he gives in to you during this time, he won't be able to control himself the rest of the week you pounce on him

- he'll engulf you with his weight during sex at this time so you have less control of the situation, and he can maintain the deep languid pace he wants to give you

- not enough to hurt you of course, but you'll be satisfyingly trapped beneath him as his cock continuously kisses your cervix with deep, patient thrusts despite your frenzied mewls and thrashing for more

- he makes it up to you after you fully recover from your period, don't worry

- if cockwarming is something you like to do when you settle down to sleep, he'll wrap you up in his arms and bottom out in you; comfortingly running his hands through your hair and across your back in a soothing manner

- once you do get your period, he's fretting over you like a mother hen; don't even bother fighting him on it

- he's not the best with period care, it's all pretty new to him, so he cares for you mostly through acts of service and quality time

- taking care of tasks you normally do, insisting you sleep in on mornings, being extra attentive and protective of you during this time

- even if you explain it helps to ease your cramps, he won't have sex with you on your period

- it's not because he thinks it's gross, he's just genuinely shaken up at the sight of you bloodied; it makes him think of losing you, and his mind isn't kind with the possibilities given his background

- if you become downcast, he'll feel just as crestfallen, he can't help it

- he doesn't know what more to do to help you in this case besides hold you affectionately, but his bear hugs comfort you more than he realizes

- overall, he's a bit inexperienced with period care, and you'll have to forgo rough sex till after your period, but he genuinely cares about you

Bubba Sawyer 🔆

- oh god, you're going to cause his poor heart to give out entirely from how easily flustered he becomes at the sudden lustful intensity directed at him

- he may never get used to the fact that someone genuinely desires him

- unfortunately, he won't be able to indulge you much during the day; he feels badly about it, but he's very committed to his responsibilities and he'd rather not be at the receiving end of Drayton's wrath

- does privacy even exist in the Sawyer household??

- he does, however, let you drag him away in order to take much needed breaks now and then; usually setting you on his lap while you both relax on the swinging bench out front and drink sweet tea in between plenty of kisses

- if you wear dresses long enough to cover your laps, he likes to bounce you on his cock discretely while you pretend to be partaking in nothing more than innocent cuddling

- he can easily tell the difference between your usual kisses and the kisses you press against him on the weeks before your periods because they're much needier, and he swears the heat behind them linger on his skin more noticeably than the Texas sun

- it's easy to rile him up with kisses alone; his libido is normally quite high, and he frequently finds himself wanting to whisk you off your feet to find a secluded area for a while

- so against his better judgement, you can manage to seduce him into a couple of quickies throughout the day

- there's certainly a thrilling aspect that comes with sneaking off, but he's still filled with nervous energy at the prospect of his brothers stumbling upon the both of you

- more than anything, he doesn't want to shame you; he'd never forgive himself if they were to taunt you for being so keen to have him in you, that it coudn't wait till you got to the privacy of your shared room

- he's just not strong enough to resist the alluring way your eyes peak out from beneath your lashes; a look he's learned very well over the course of your relationship, especially when paired with teasing rolls of your hips or playful nips at his neck and ears

- come nightfall, once you're both free to indulge in each other personally, he's all yours

- more than anything, he wants to please you, especially after explaining how frustrating it can be to feel the way you do before your period

- he tries to be gentle, to focus on you receiving rather than him, but it's not uncommon for him to begin powerfully chasing his high once it feels too good (not that you mind of course, it feels amazing for you too)

- when you get your period, he's a bit of a mess in all honesty

- squawking and whining nervously at seeing you in pain, especially if your cramps tend to be on the stronger side

- you'll have to comfort him most likely; assuring him you'll be okay, and coaxing him to settle down and just cuddle you if nothing else

- in these cases, Drayton could be threatening your poor Bubba with a broom to get up and work while his other brothers laugh at him, but he refuses to let go of you until you're at least sound asleep

- will not agree to period sex

- he's not fazed at all by blood and gore of course, but seeing you bloody makes him very upset, even if he knows it's unreasonable because you're not actually injured

- very overprotective of you during this time, and will fuss at you to let him take care of all the things you try to get up for

- and if you cry due to your hormones?? He's crying with you; desperately cupping your face to give you comforting kisses and rocking you back and forth against his chest until you settle and feel better

- in short, he may not be much help while caring for you during your period, but he certainly indulges you when you need it most

#wow i finally posted smth for the first time in 273838 days #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #michael myers #michael myers x reader #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #house of wax #the texas chainsaw massacre #slasher x reader #nwrites #slasher x s/o #x fem!reader #x afab reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher fandom #slasher content #slasher community #x reader #x reader fics #anon #reply post

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Regret

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Tribrid!Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~5.3k

Warnings: major angst, no humanity!reader, forced turned into a vampire and werewolf, feeling betrayed, heartbreak

Request by anon: Hey Jordan can i request a imagine based on No Humanity Hope Mikaelson? Where the reader is a tribrid and half angel daughter of Michael or Lucifer and is dating Dean and Sam and for someone reason she chose to turn off her humanity and her boyfriends trying to she became herself again?

Summary: You're the first of your kind and the only one of your kind. Michael created you to help create new angels without asking if that's what you want to do. In order to make new angels, you have to fully become a tribrid, and you're only a witch. You don't want to turn but Michael makes it so you don't have a choice.

Square Filled: holy oil (2019) for @heavenandhellbingo

Author’s Note: the anon asked for the reader to be dating both sam and dean, but i just made it for sam!

x

Heaven is slowly breaking down and your dad is doing everything he can to prevent it from completely collapsing on itself. After Metatron kicked all the angels out, Michael got out of the cage and took over command. Most of the remaining angels have turned back over to Michael but there have been a handful who want to rebel. He has been tracking every single angel not on his side and getting rid of them.

Michael has one of those angels in Heaven tied up while you’re sitting sideways on your throne with your phone in hand.

“I’m giving you one chance to come clean. All I need are the names of the angels in the rebellion. Do you really want to go down for their mistakes?”

“Michael, please. I don’t know anything. They don’t tell me what they’re doing or who is on their team. I already told you everyone I know.”

“That’s not good enough for me. This is a good teaching moment, Y/N. I’ll show you what happened to angels who don’t deliver.” Michael looks back at you only to see you giggling like a schoolgirl on your phone. “Y/N!”

“What, I’m paying attention,” you say without looking up.

You and Sam Winchester have been dating for a few months and all you want to do is be near him. You’re in the “Honeymoon Phase” of your relationship. If your dad wasn’t such a strict person, you’d be back on Earth with Sam and Dean.

“Y/N!”

“What?” you gasp and finally look at him.

“You need to start paying attention. This is your legacy. This is who you’re meant to be so stop messing around with that Winchester and do what you were made to do.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Michael glares at you and turns to the angel who thought he was going to get off scot-free. Michael grabs the holy oil and covers the angel with it. The lower-level angel pleads for his life but Michael has already lit the match. The angel screams as he burns alive, and your dad turns to you with a deadly glare.

“You knew what you were supposed to do the second you were created.”

Don’t you know it. He tells you all about your responsibilities every second he gets, and it’s pissing you off. You were created by his grace so you’re half angel, but he took the DNA of other monsters to create the perfect tribrid: vampire, witch, and werewolf. Both your werewolf and vampire genes are dormant so you’re only a half-witch, half-angel right now. If you were to die or kill someone, you’d activate the other parts of you.

You refuse to let that happen.

Michael created you this way since you’re meant to be so powerful that you can create other angels. If you don’t activate those other two parts of you, you can’t create new angels.

“You never let me forget it,” you sigh and sit upright.

“I am trying to make Heaven what it used to be. We are running on limited angels and if they all perish, Heaven will cease to exist.”

“Yeah, and the smart choice is to kill off more angels. I see where you’re coming from.”

“I am weeding out the bad so that only the good remains. What good is this place if we have rouge angels running amok here?”

You get up and put your phone in your back pocket.

“I am not interested in killing angels only to make new ones. I am not a killer. I am a witch who never wanted this. If you can figure out a way for me to make new angels without activating my other sides, I am all for that. I am not going to be your puppet in this sick game you’re playing. I can’t care if you’re my dad. I am not activating my other sides to become a full tribrid. Frankly, you can’t make me. Even without those sides, I’m still more powerful than you. Don’t let your arrogance be the death of you.”

You storm out of the room before he has a chance to say anything back to you. You don’t want to be here anymore. There is only one person who can make you feel better and he is on Earth. As soon as you land there, you immediately find him at some high school he and his brother were at while on a case.

Seeing Sam after all this time makes your heart flutter and your worries dissolve.

“Sam!” you grin.

“Y/N!” You run into his arms and cling to him for longer than necessary. “What are you doing here?”

“My dad pissed me off. I had to come see you.”

“We just got done with a case. We’re about to call it a night and head home tomorrow. I can get a separate room for us if you want to talk.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you smile. “Hi, Dean.

“Hey, kid. Don’t wear out Sammy like last time. I kind of need him,” he jokes.

“It’s not like that. Don’t be so crude.”

Dean found a relatively cheap motel to stay the night in but headed to the bar instead of his room. You and Sam got the conjoining room for yourselves, and you sit on the edge of the bed with a tired sigh.

“What’s going on? What did Michael do now?”

“He’s hell-bent on killing any angel who opposes him. Heaven is already struggling with the amount of angels now. He wants to kill off the bad so I can make more for him.”

“Make more? I thought only God could do that.”

“Michael made me with not only his grace but with the DNA of a witch, vampire, and werewolf. If I were to turn full Tribrid, I’d have enough power to create his angels. He wouldn’t need God.”

“What happened up there?” Sam asks and sits next to you.

“He was killing them. He wants me to activate my vampire and werewolf side. I’m not a killer, Sam. I don’t want this. I’ve never wanted this. Michael never cared about me. He only cares about what I can do for him. I don’t want to do this,” you sniffle.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Sam pulls you closer so that you can cry against his chest. He doesn’t care if your tears stain his shirt. “He can’t force you to turn.”

“I’m afraid he might be able to. All I ever wanted was to be normal. I never wanted to hurt people,” you cry.

“You won’t. Look, Dean and I are really good at hiding from angels. We’re branded. Michael can’t find us. Stay with us for a while.” You pull away from him to look into his beautiful hazel eyes. “He won’t be able to find you.”

You don’t tell him that he would be able to find you. Michael is relentless. He will do anything to get what he wants, and that includes hurting Sam and Dean. Still, you don’t see the harm in staying with Sam for the night. 

Michael is seething with anger over your fight. He doesn’t know how to make you see that you need to do this for the greater good. All he ever wants is to remake Heaven into what it was before. He can’t do that without new angels. You’re the only one besides God who can make new angels, and it’s not like his dad is going to show up anytime soon to help.

The mess of the angel’s death has been cleaned from the room that Michael is pacing in. He doesn’t know how to make you see that turning full Tribrid is a good thing. The door to the throne room opens and Lucifer walks in apprehensively.

“Wow. The entirety of Heaven heard your fight.”

“She’s being a child. She’ll come around.”

“Will she? She was pretty adamant on staying out of this one.”

“We need new angels, Lucifer. Dad’s not winning any ‘Father of the Year’ awards. We can’t rely on him to help us.”

“I agree,” Lucifer shrugs.

“Maybe I’ve been too harsh on her.”

“No, don’t give me that sympathy bullshit. She is the only one who can make new angels, right? Force her to turn. Force her to help.”

“She’d hate me.”

“As if she doesn’t already,” Lucifer scoffs. “The way I see it,  you got two options. Force her to turn and help make new angels or kill off the ones who rebel, leaving only a handful of angels to keep Heaven running. One of them gets you what you want.”

Michael stares at his younger brother in thought. You were created for one purpose and one purpose only. He hates to take away your choice but this is more urgent than your precious free will.

“What do I have to do?” Michael asks and Lucifer grins.

Lucifer tells Michael his diabolical plan which the older brother isn’t too fond of but knows it’s necessary.  Both of them go down to Earth to gather what they need. Lucifer gathers two burly humans who want nothing more than to be angels in Heaven while Michael gets two of his most trusted angels.

“What will you have us do, Lucifer?” one of the humans asks.

Lucifer grips the left shoulder of one of the men and the right shoulder of the second man so that their attention is solely on the archangel.

“Stan, you’re going to let Y/N kill you. You’re going to do whatever it takes until she kills you. Elijah, you’re going to kill Y/N and let her feed on you until you die. Only until your missions are completed, you’ll be allowed in Heaven as my brother’s trusted angels.”

Michael doesn’t tell them that he can’t make them into angels. Only you can do that but that’s neither here nor there at this point.

“I won’t let you down,” Stan says.

“I know you won’t.”

“You two,” Michael says to the two angels, “are going to make sure Sam and Dean aren’t going to be in the way. Do what you have to do to make sure they don’t interfere.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the angels nods.

Michael hates it came to this but if this is the only way you’ll have enough power to help, then so be it.

You gave yourself an extra day to be with Sam and Dean before you have to go back to Heaven and face your dad again. You’re hoping this space would have cleared his head a bit. If you work hard, you might come up with a solution that makes you powerful enough to create new angels without activating your other sides.

Sam and Dean stopped at a bar on the way back to the Bunker to hang out and let off steam before channeling through the last portion of the drive. Sam is teaching you how to play pool against Dean who isn’t going easy on you.

“Come on, Dean, can’t you be a bit more easygoing?” Sam asks.

“No, don’t do that. Let him go as hard as he wants. It’ll hurt more when I beat him,” you smirk.

“You got jokes, huh? Alright, bring it on,” Dean smirks and racks the balls.

People come and go from the bar all night until there aren’t a lot of people left. Whoever is still inside are the stragglers who try to get as much alcohol as they can before being kicked out, and those who have nowhere to go.

You two play as much as you can before the manager announces the bar is closing. You three pack up your things and leave the bar, passing by two men who are watching you.

“I told you, Dean. Don’t be too cocky.”

“Yeah, yeah, it won’t happen next time.”

You’re about halfway to the car when you hear someone behind you make a crude comment about you.

“Nice ass, sweetheart.”

You stop and turn to face them.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Come home with us. We’re much more fun.”

Sam is about to step in when you put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I got this,” you smile and turn to the men with the same smile. “I think you’re drunk. Turn around, go home, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

“Now why would I want to do that? Hard to forget someone with an ass like that.”

Sam and Dean are about to step in when two more men show up and grab them. Angels. Your dad must have sent them. Wow, he really doesn’t take no for an answer.

“Okay. I get it. Michael is punking me, right? Testing me to see what I’d do? I’m not doing it. Go home before you get hurt.” You turn to face the angels when Stan grabs your shoulder and yanks you back. You swiftly face Stan and grab his collar in anger. You might be sweet and soft for Sam but you have your dad’s temper. “I said beat it before you get hurt.” You shove Stan off you and turn to the angels with fire in your eyes. “If you knew what was best for you, you’d let go of them.”

Before they have a chance to say anything back, you’re pushed violently to the side. If you didn’t have quick reflexes, you’d be on your ass in seconds. Stan sees the fire in your eyes but doesn’t back down from you.

“What are you going to do about it? A small thing like you is gonna get herself a bruise for talking back like that.”

Okay, now you’re pissed off. You stalk toward him and land a punch to his face, and he goes flying into the side of the nearest car.

“You were saying?”

Stan growls and charges at you, hell-bent on taking complete advantage of you. He’s a much bigger man than you with muscles packed on but he doesn’t have angelic grace running through his veins like you do. You dodge every one of his attempts to hit you, you make sure he doesn’t get a good hit in, all the while you are landing every punch to the side of his face and his stomach.

“I’m warning you now, man, walk away while you still can,” you growl.

“Nah. I’ll have my friends here force your little boyfriend to watch while I take every bit of innocence I know you have swimming in there,” he smirks.

If Michael is behind this, he wants you to get angry but there is something about the disgusting yellow teeth that Stan has that is making you see red. You charge at Stan and slam him into the side of the car as hard as you can, and the sickening crack of his skull is enough to put everyone into silence.

He falls to the ground with blood pooling out of his head, and you stare at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“Let me go!” Sam struggles against the angel.

“No, no, no, no,” you mutter and get on your knees next to Stan. “Don’t be dead. Do not be dead. Please don’t be dead.” Tears are streaming down your face as you check his pulse but it’s clear that Stan is no longer alive. “No! Please wake up!”

Almost immediately, you can feel your body begin changing since your werewolf side is activated. You hunch over Stan’s body and yell out in agonizing pain. It’s not a full moon but your body needs to feel the effects of your werewolf side since your DNA is changing.

“Y/N! Don’t touch her!” Sam cries out.

“You don of a bitch!” Dean struggles.

You look up at Sam with bright yellow eyes that hold so much pain. One little mistake and your entire life is changing. You look back down at the ground and yell out in pain once more, not paying attention to Elijah who is sneaking up on you.

“Y/N! Behind you!”

Sam can barely get the sentence out before Elijah shoves a knife into your back and into your heart. You gasp as the yellow in your eyes dies out. You’re not a vampire but because you had vampire DNA when you were created, you have vampire blood running through your body constantly. If you die with vampire blood in your system, you become one.

Maybe that was the goal all along.

You fall to the ground over Stan’s body. It’s then that the angels let go of Sam and Dean. They’ve fulfilled their mission so they fly out of there as soon as possible so as not to face the Winchester’s wrath. Elijah backs away from your dead body as Sam rushes over to you.

“No, Y/N! What the hell did you do?” Sam yells at Elijah while cradling your body.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean demands to know.

“I’ve fulfilled my mission,” Elijah says in a trance-like state.

“Dean, what do I do? She’s not breathing,” Sam cries and looks up at his older brother with tears in his eyes. 

Dean doesn’t know what to do either. He’s never had to deal with something like this.

“We gotta get her to a hospital. They’ll know what to do. They’ll fix her.”

Sam is about to scoop you into his arms when you wake with a gasp. Elijah walks over to the broken glass from the car that Stan was slammed into and grabs a big piece without no one noticing him.

“Y/N!”

You moan out in pain and roll onto the street so that you’re the only thing holding yourself up. Your breathing is heavy, your stomach is in knots, and your head is pounding.

“God, I’m so hungry,” you groan.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean mutters.

“You two gotta get out of here.”

“No, we’re not leaving you,” Sam says.

“Sam, I’m not joking.” Stan’s blood is making your head spin fast and you're not sure you can hold back any longer. “Get the hell out of here.”

“No. I want to help you. Tell me what will make this better.”

“This will.” Elijah cuts his neck with the broken glass and you look at him with deadly eyes. Fresh blood is so much different than dead blood. “Come on, kill me. Kill me so I can die and be with Michael.”

You’re already on your feet but pause when you hear your dad’s name.

“What did you say?”

“My mission is to kill you only to die by your hand. Michael will accept me as an angel in Heaven.”

His mission? Michael sent them? You knew that much, but he really forced these men to trigger your vampire and werewolf side? The smell of blood is too strong for you to resist so you rush over to him and sink your teeth into his neck. By drinking human blood, you have completed your transition into a vampire, thus turning yourself into a full Tribrid.

You drink every last drop Elijah has to give you and he drops to the ground, dead.

“Y/N?” Sam asks carefully and stands up.

You turn to the brothers with blood dripping down your face and tears in your eyes.

“He forced me to turn. He forced me to be this monster after I told him I wanted nothing to do with this. I never wanted to be this.”

You sob loudly at the fact that your own father betrayed your trust like this. Your emotions are heightened so when you get pissed, you’re in a vengeful rage. When you get sad, your heart breaks. You smash your fist into the window of a parked car but it doesn’t work to get the frustrations out of you.

You go around smashing windows and denting every car you see but that doesn’t make you feel any better.

“Whoa! Y/N, calm down! We’re here to help you but you need to calm down,” Dean tries.

“Baby, I know you’re feeling hurt right now but you need to calm down. Use us. Let us help you,” Sam begs.

“I can’t handle this!” You fall to your knees and cry loudly. “He betrayed me. He took everything from me.”

“I know. I know you’re feeling hurt but I’m right here to help you. Don’t give up hope now. We’ll get Michael but you need to calm down first,” Sam says.

He wants to bring you into his arms but he doesn't know how you’re going to react to that. So for now, he’ll keep his distance.

“I don’t want to feel this way. Please make it stop,” you cry.

You’re not sure how vampires can manipulate their feelings. You’re not sure how one turns off their humanity. Is it a choice? Is it a thought? Does your body choose for you? Being a vampire is so overwhelming that it hurts. The betrayal you’re feeling from your own father hurts you like you’ve never hurt before. He knew you didn’t want to be a full Tribrid. All he wants is to use you for his own gain and nothing else.

Your body does what it needs to survive and makes the decision for you.

“Just come with us back to the Bunker. It’ll be okay.”

“Yes. It will be.” You look up at Sam and Dean with your vampire face--veins underneath your eyes, yellow eyes, and both sets of fangs out. “You just won’t be part of it.”

You use your vampire speed and run over to Sam before biting into his neck. You don’t want to kill him so you take enough to render him unconscious. Dean is no match for you but he tries to fight you off. You give him the same treatment and watch as both boys are knocked out on the street.

There is only one place you want to be and it’s not on Earth.

If your dad wanted to turn you into a tribrid so bad, you’re going to show him what a mistake that was. You’re going to make him regret it.

You step foot into Heaven and immediately know something is off. Michael knows you’re here. He knows Stan and Elijah died. He knows the mission is complete. He knows you’re a tribrid. So where the hell is he?

“Yoo hoo, anybody home? Big bad vampire out here,” you announce loudly.

You walk the halls until you come to the throne room. You slam the doors open with your magic and see Michael and Lucifer standing in the middle of the room. Both of them see the blood on your face. Both of them know you’re a full Tribrid now.

“Y/N, I didn’t hear you come in,” Michael says.

“Cut the bullshit, Michael,” you growl and walk closer to them. Lucifer does the smart thing and backs away. Luckily, you’re not here for him… yet. “You did this to me. You sent those men after me and forced me to turn full Tribrid. Now you have to pay the consequences. I told you I didn’t want to be this way but you didn’t listen. You want a loyal army of angels? You won’t live to see the next sunrise.”

Michael puts some distance between the two of you and begins to beg for his life.

“I only did this because I needed you this way. You can help follow through with my plans--our plans.”

“I never wanted this!” you yell at him. “You forced me into someone I never wanted to be!” He hides behind the throne but you use your magic and shatter it to pieces. “There is nowhere on Heaven, Earth, and Hell where you can hide that I won’t find you! You never loved me! You never wanted me! You only wanted what I could do for you!”

“No, that’s not true.”

You walk over to Michale and grip his throat tightly. He claws at your hand but he’s not strong enough to get you off him.

“Guess what, Dad, turning me was a big mistake. You’re going to die and never see how I rip Heaven apart one angel at a time until I am the only one standing. I’ll make new angels but ones that will stand for everything you don’t.”

You see Lucifer disappear at a moment’s notice out of the corner of your eye. He’s going into hiding but you’ll find him eventually and drain the life out of him like you’re going to do with Michael.

Your eyes shine bright white and allow your magic to fully encase Michael. You’re not even sure how to use your powers but you let your emotions do the talking for you. You let go of Michael but he falls to his knees when your magic starts pulling his life force from him. Grey and white smoke comes from his body to your mouth as you breathe in his power.

“Y/N, please don’t do this,” Michael begs. “I never wanted this for you. I’m so sorry.”

“You should have thought of that before you sent them to kill me.”

“It was Lucifer’s idea!”

Huh, looks like he’s dying next.

“Thanks for the tip. You’re still dying anyway.”

When the last bit of smoke leaves Michael’s body, he drops to the ground, dead. Lucifer is going to be one hard person to track, especially since you don’t have control over your powers yet, but he’ll die at the hands of you eventually.

You’re not finished yet. You were serious when you told him you were going to make an army of angels all on your own. You have to get rid of the current selection first, starting with the rebellion and ending with Castiel.

“Any news on where she might be?” Sam asks his brother and Castiel.

The wound on his neck hasn’t fully healed from when you bit him. Castiel offered to heal it for him like he did Dean but Sam wants it there as a reminder. He saw the look in your eyes. He saw how betrayed you felt through the pain in your eyes. He doesn’t know much about vampires or their humanity, but he knows when you’ve flipped the switch. 

You're such a loving and caring person that he was shocked to see no hope in your eyes.

“If I had to guess, she’s in Louisiana.”

“If you had to guess?”

“She’s killing angels off one by one starting from the east coast and making her way to the west coast. I hear them over angel radio. She’s leaving no angel alive.”

“She’s lost hope,” Dean says.

“No, she’s hurt. Michael betrayed her trust and turned her into something she never wanted to be. Her emotions are heightened and she’s letting her pain guide her. She knows Michael wanted nothing more than to rebuild Heaven with new angels. She’ll make new angels but it won’t be for Michael,” Sam comes to your defense.

“That still doesn’t excuse her slaughtering all angels.”

“I’m not saying it does. All I’m saying is don’t give up on her. She’s under all that hurt and pain. It’s the only thing keeping her going right now.”

“How are we going to find her? She can kill hundreds without us knowing and already be moving onto the next state,” Dean asks.

Castiel is about to answer when he gets a splitting headache. He puts both hands to his head and leans over the desk as he waits for this to pass. Sam and Dean look at each other in confusion but allow the angel to gather himself before questioning him.

Angel radio statics in his ear before he hears a deadly calm voice.

“Prepare the Winchesters or don’t, but I’m coming for you next, Castiel. You're the only angel left standing, and I won’t let the Old World conflict with the New World. Michael and Lucifer are dead. Tell those Winchesters if they don’t want to end up like you, they won’t get in my way.”

“Cas, you okay?” Dean asks.

“I don’t think we need to find Y/N, she’s gonna find us. She’s coming for me,” Castiel sighs.

“What? What did she say?”

“Michael and Lucifer are dead. I’m the only angel left. She wants to start over. She’s coming for me.”

“We’ll be prepared,” Dean says.

“Dean, you don’t get it. She killed Michael and Lucifer, two of Heaven’s most powerful angels.  How am I to protect myself against her?”

“You have us,” Sam says. “We’ll get through to her. We’re not going to let you die.”

The Bunker is the safest place on Earth against monsters but it’s no match for you. Sam and Dean are waiting with Castiel as you expected but they’re outside instead of inside. Maybe they don’t want you destroying their home but you don’t care. You’ll kill Castiel tonight.

“I hope you know I’ll kill you two to get to him,” you state.

“Then you’re going to have to kill us,” Sam declares.

You see the wound on Sam’s neck from where you bit him and you pause. No, you can’t think about that, or else your entire world will come crumbling down. You raise your hands and Sam and Dean go flying halfway across the field. Castiel begins running at you; you have to give him credit for his bravery.

He slides an angel blade out of his coat sleeve and swings at you when he gets to you, and you put your hand up to block the attack. The angel blade slices your palm and you hiss in pain. You blast Castiel back from you and fling the angle blade out of his hands so he can’t use it on you. You produce your own with your magic and stalk toward him like he’s your prey and you’re a deadly predator.

You raise the angel blade to bring down on him but Sam jumps into action before you can.

“No!”

Sam runs to you and fits himself between you and Castiel so that if you were to bring the blade down, it’d strike Sam instead.

“No, Sammy! Don’t do that!” Dean groans.

“Don’t do it, Y/N,” Sam begs. “I know you’re still in there. Where is the woman I love?”

“Get out of my way, Sam, or I will kill you.”

“Then you’re going to have to kill me because I am not moving. This isn’t who you are.” You have a better view of Sam’s neck wound and remember the moment you bit him. You’d never do anything to hurt him. Tears line your eyes and Sam realizes that you didn't turn your humanity off. You’re acting out of hurt and betrayal because you don’t know how to yet control your emotions. “Y/N, look at who you’re about to kill. It’s Cas. He’s family.”

“God, I can’t do this,” you sob and drop the angel blade. “Sam, it hurts. Please make it stop.” Sam immediately brings you into his arms and you collapse onto the ground in a fit of tears. “I can’t do this.”

“You’re not alone, Y/N. I will help you through this. You’re going to be okay.”

“I don’t want to be this person,” you sob.

“I know. You won’t be this person. You’ll do and be better. You’re not alone.”

Sam doesn’t know how to make you feel better in this moment but he does provide a comforting arm around you. Your sobs are heartbreaking and can be heard for miles around you but you know this is the first step in healing.

And that’s all you want to do. Heal.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester angst #sam winchester fiction #sam winchester fan fiction #sam winchester fan fic #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural angst #spn fic #spn #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn angst

[reotheworld]

I love your work so much! If you could, could you make a fem!reader that is Kaiser's little sibling? (Random thought but what if the reader and isagi had something going on it's kinda funny)

you and i another paradise

❝ turn the lights off please, so you can see all of me ❞

➜ being michael kaiser's sister and isagi yoichi having a crush on you

➜ fem!reader

sugar level: 0% & 70%

in your older brother's eyes, you play a big role in his theatrical life, you who is constellated as his sweet little sister, synchronizingly playing a simultaneous role with him of protecting, supporting and caring for each other. and though he sees the majority to be beneath him, you stand along side with him.

as a world class player himself, he had one condition before entering the blue football prison in japan - to let ego have you enter and exit the premise as many times as he pleases. the tall, lanky man in glasses agreed, but countered him back with another condition - whatever you see and hear inside, keep it to yourself.

your first entry inside was merely to support your older brother in a game, germany vs spain. you who stood by the entryway, wearing one of kaiser's jersey's along with a big smile painted on your face. cheering and applauding for your older brother who is doing what he is best at.

hearing someone cheer for kaiser just didn't sit right with isagi. who would cheer for an arrogant person like him? the moment he turned his head to look at your direction, he swore he felt the world around him began to move slowly, a spotlight casting over the top of your head, his eyes meeting yours.

isagi used to believe that such a phrase like love at first sight isn't true until he felt it himself. he felt moved, to say the least. when kaiser noticed that isagi had been staring at you too much, his older brother instincts kicked in, setting a ball in front of his foot and kicking at an angle to hit the back of his head.

"stop ogling at my sister." is what he tells him before taking your wrist, whisking you away from the field.

later that night, as isagi lays down on his bed, he couldn't bat an eye to sleep, head filled with thoughts of you and images of your smile. in one glance, he could already tell you weren't anything like your older brother. before falling asleep, he wished your visit today wouldn't just be a one time thing as he hoped to see you again.

if there ever is a god, isagi would thank them because you were back inside blue lock's premise the following day. catching sight of your figure in the cafeteria with your brother.

he couldn't eat properly that time. for every time he'd take a bite, the bashful smile would paint his lips, disabling him to swallow his food as well.

"are you okay?" he'd hear his other teammates ask out of concern. isagi would just give them a thumbs up while nodding his head, and as he returns his attention back to you, you were already staring at him, chuckling at him and waving a hand to him.

how could you be so cute and perfect at the same time? he just knows that kaiser probably told you to never get close to him, but who is he to listen to your older brother? he'll make kaiser listen to him instead.

"good work today!" he heard a feminine voice speak broken japanese to him from behind, almost dropping the kettle bell he's holding onto inside the training room. turning around to face you, he catches sight of the same sweet smile painted on your lips, hand stretched out to him holding a blue water bottle.

"thanks." isagi responded, a subtle pink tint flushing in his cheeks as he takes the bottle from your hands. "do you know how to speak japanese?"

he watches you blink multiple times before shaking your head with a bit of hesitance.

"i learn...for you." he hears your response.

a wave of glad and joy washes over him. the happiness he feels suddenly fades as he realizes something.

"you're so cute." he blurts out, unable to hear what he has just told you. "why aren't you with your brother?" he asks, his voice and intonation a bit slow for you to understand what he's trying to tell and convey.

"i left my brother to see you!" you responded, the smile never leaving your face. "he doesn't need to know, i lied!"

he lets out a laugh, using the towel draped on his shoulder to wipe the beads of sweat off his skin. "you don't have to push yourself. i'll try to speak your mother tongue for you too." he responded, not missing the tinge of red on your cheeks.

although happy that he can communicate with you, a part of him doesn't want you to rush for him. impressed and flustered at how you two are able to understand each other, isagi forgot the part that he has those earphones that'll enable him to translate your words into japanese, the two buds resting innocently on top of his bed.

#blue lock x reader #blue lock #isagi yoichi #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #isagi fluff #isagi x reader #isagi x you #bllk #yoichi isagi #isagi yoichi x you #isagi yoichi x reader #blue lock isagi #blue lock imagines #blue lock drabbles

[nonclassyparty]

man with the plan (j.wy) - prologue

Summary: "Don't forget Pretty, I'm serving life plus one. So if I get busted for attempted escape, I'll throw in a homicide in there as well with no problem, that’s like a parking ticket to me." When your brother ends up in jail for a murder he didn't commit, the only thing left for you to do is to find a way to break him out. But after a perfect plan is set in motion, you don't expect a romantic variable to get added into the equation.

Pairing: jung wooyoung x fem. reader, jeong yunho x reader (but if u squint)

Status: coming soon (i hope)

Taglist: if you'd like to be added just reply below! c:

A/N: this is very obviously inspired by prison break ( my favorite show on planet earth), y/n will be very much inspired by michael scofield and i (unfortunately) don't own nor the show nor michael scofield. anyways! wooyoung is the love interest (surprise surprise) but the rest of atz will be present. please let me know if this is something you'd be interested in reading. if i do continue writing it, i plan for it to be written in 3 parts each consisting of 7-9 chapters!

MY MAIN MASTERLIST! // AO3

(prologue)

The buzzing of the tattoo machine is the only thing interrupting the silence in the dark parlor as the needle continues prodding at the skin of your shoulder and makes you grip the chair you sit on.

It used to hurt. A lot. Now, the pain is reduced to a light sting as you suppose you've gotten used to it.

"Almost done. Just finishing touches now." Chao comforts from behind you, soft breath hitting your exposed skin as he wipes away the excess ink.

You only nod in response, never having much to say to him despite his best efforts.

"You know, you've been coming here for almost a year and barely said a word." He comments while he works. "Asking me to work after closing hours and everything, I would've expected to at least get to know you better."

You try to hold back an eye roll as you give him a bland look over your shoulder, eyes coasting over the tattoo of a dragon curling around his neck and disappearing behind his long hair.

"That's why I'm paying you almost double." Is your only response as you play with the sleeves of the button up pooling around your waist.

"So, you're telling me that after tonight, you'll just walk out of here and I'll never see you again?"

"Something like that." You murmur and he huffs behind you.

"I've never done a tattoo this big on a girl before." He continues, always keen on talking even if all he gets is quiet 'mhm's and 'ah's in response. "For a first-timer especially. Usually, it's a name of a boyfriend which they later regret or something artsy but shallow, like a butterfly or some shit."

A smirk tugs on your lips as you peek at him over your shoulder again, "Are you really trying to tell me I'm not like the other girls, right now?"

He grins and it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. Chao was fairly attractive, handsome in that bad boy-ish type of way where you know he'll definitely put you through hell but you'd have fun with it.

It's unfortunate that you're not in the mood to think about anything like that anymore. You haven't been for the last eighteen months.

"You never even told me what the tatt was all about..." He trails off, bandaging your shoulder up and your eyes fall to the tiles below your feet. "I mean, look at all of this..."

You presume he means the tattoo starting from your lower back, curling around the shoulders and cascading down your arms, stopping at the wrists. The numbers laid over thin lines, intertwined with thicker ones, curling around letters like a snake and creating a piece that no-one can see.

No-one except for you.

It's about my brother's future, you think to yourself.

"It doesn't mean anything. Just thought it would look cool." You chuckle, sliding your hands through the sleeves of your shirt and working on buttoning yourself up, covering the tattoo from the artist who worked relentlessly to stitch it onto you. You turn to him, pulling your hair out from the collar of the shirt as you smile at him. "I guess I'm like all the other girls as well."

Chao stares at you in wonder before his eyes fall to the wad of cash you pull out from your bag and hold out to him.

"Thank you, Chao. You've done a great job."

He sighs again, "It would've been done a lot sooner if it wasn't for your constant nitpicking."

You grin at him while pulling on your jacket and slinging your bag over your shoulder. "What can I say, I'm a perfectionist."

Giving him one last wave, you disappear from the shop.

-

18 months ago;

The collar of your white button up feels like it's strangling you as the buzzer echoes through the stuffy room and two guards appear through the door, dragging him in and sitting him down in the chair opposite of you, making sure to cuff him to the table.

There is only glass separating you but it feels like he's miles away.

Jongho's eyes are dull when they meet your own, dark circles hanging below them and hair messy.

"Y/N..." You have to look the other way, to stop the ugly tears from falling as your heart constricts at his familiar voice.

You haven't seen him since the trial. Didn't have the courage to step anywhere near these walls.

A facility with maximum level security for the biggest scum that roamed your country and wretched chaos on innocent people, inflicted pain and sorrow, terrorized society in the worst of ways.

And now, your brother was one of them.

The person who raised you, took care of you when no-one else did, was serving a life sentence.

Finally gathering the guts to look at him, you clench your jaw and try to ignore the desperation in his eyes. The dark blue uniform engulfs him and is a deep contrast to his usually tanner skin that turned almost ghastly pale just after a week of being in there.

"Did you do it?" You whisper and Jongho looks at you like you just slapped him. His eyes water and he looks absolutely devastated but you have to know. You have to know.

"No." He answers firmly, voice cracking as he blinks away the tears, he never was much of a crier. "No. Of course not."

Of course not.

He says that like it's unimaginable for him.

It was unimaginable to you as well up until three weeks ago.

With a record of petty crimes and a bad temperament, he had a knack for getting himself into trouble that he always managed to get himself out of one way or another. Except this time.

You always knew Jongho was in some deep shit, hanging around people that were bad for him and barely being able to hold onto an honest job for more than a month. 

But that's all he was. A petty criminal with offences that never went past bar fights and getting into discourses with police officers who stop his car for going over the speed limit, not a murderer.

You can't even stop the tear that slides down your cheek as you huff at an attempt to laugh, it comes out choked.

"What about all the evidence then?" Your voice is hoarse as you speak in a hushed tone, recalling the first time you've seen the tape in court.

"I...Y/N, I don't know...All I can think is that someone set me up because I didn't do it, I swear." Jongho stresses, palms laid against the table, desperate for you to believe him. "He was my boss, for fuck's sake."

"He fired you a month before that." You harshly interrupt and he sighs, eyes falling shut as you continue to sniffle with a crumbled face, "What were you doing at his house?"

"Someone told me to go there- I-I thought he was going to give me my job back..." Jongho stutters, his own tears threatening to fall as he presses his lips together. For his lack of excuse or proper explanation, he really does look sincere.

You both sit in silence for a moment, you can almost feel the time you have with him trickling away.

That's all you'll have with him from now on. One hour per week, for the rest of his life and that's only if your time here isn't shared with Yeosang, if he ever decides to muster up the balls to see him.

You're not sure if you're willing to settle for that.

"Swear to me." You finally say, staring at him dead in the eye as his brows furrow, "Swear to me that you didn't do it."

Without a beat, "I didn't do it." Jongho responds, not breaking eye contact. You keep your gaze planted on his face, observing it for any signs of dishonesty. But you fail to find any. "Y/N, I didn't do it. I swear to you."

You stare at him for a second longer before your gaze flies behind him, there are three guards in total in the room. One behind the counter, two by the door.

Your gaze returns to Jongho, who doesn't move a muscle, still looking at you in desperation and what you can only recognize as fear.

He looks a lot younger now, like the Jongho who used to shake every time you two would be on your way to a new foster family. The Jongho that you know was scared to the bones but never wanted to show it for your sake.

You can't lose your older brother.

"Okay."

-

You throw the keys into the bowl near the front door and with a tired sigh kick off your shoes before walking further into your apartment.

The shoulder Chao just worked on ached like hell but the pain almost felt good, served as a reminder that you can't afford to be tired right now.

So without further ado, you walk into your office that when you first moved into the luxurious skyscraper overlooking Han River, was used for working from home or more like, working after you came home from work. 

Now, the office served a different purpose completely.

Your eyes sweep over the filled out wall and window, both covered in an array of information and yellow post-it notes; a product of your relentless work and research over the last eighteen months.

Your hands twitch, you don't want to get rid of it. What if you missed something? What if you made a mistake somewhere? What if something managed to sneak away unnoticed by you?

But having it here, in plain sight where anyone who walks in and is nosy enough to look can see it, can end up being more dangerous than something unforeseen happening. Heck, you already had Mrs. Kim try to enter despite it being locked a couple of times. 

You needed to lose every trace or connection to that prison and the people inside of it, with the exception of Jongho, before Monday.

Besides, what would be the point of Chao and the reason you almost paid him thirty grand? If you don't get rid of this stuff, it would almost be as if you flushed the money down the toilet.

So you grab an empty garbage bag and with a shaky sigh, start ripping down paper after paper, photo after photo and filling out the plastic bag. Article after article flashes before your eyes as the sound of papers ripping fills the room.

'Chungju Detention Center: Level 1', 'Choi Jongho Final Appeal Denied', 'Choi Jongho Convicted To Serve Life For Murder of-', 'Body of Son Changkyu found in his home-', 'Governor's Son Wins Humanitarian Award', 'Life sentence for Kim Hongjoong', 'Park Ha-ru Myth Still Alive Despite Conviction', 'Killer of VP Brother to Serve a Life Sentence at Chungju-'

Once the window is clean and the wall is bare again, only tiny holes from the tacks left as evidence that anything was ever there in the first place and with three bags worth of garbage, you stuff it into the fireplace and throw a match in right after.

You watch the key to your brother's future turn to ashes.

-

The buzzer makes you look up from your hands and you smile a little bit once your eyes meet Jongho's through the glass but it quickly turns to a frown once you notice the enormous bruise running down his jaw.

"Hey." He greets with a stiff smile as the guard cuffs him to the table and turns to walk away.

"What happened?" You jump to question him immediately and Jongho rolls his eyes with a low groan.

"It's not a big deal."

"They beat you up."

"Hey, maybe I was the one who was beating someone else up." He defends trying to lighten up the situation but the frown on your face doesn't budge and he sighs. "I got in a fight with one of the guys in the yard, it's not a big deal, Y/N, shit like that happens here-"

"It can't happen, Jongho. From now on, it can't happen." Now it's Jongho's turn to frown and you sigh, "You'll get thrown into solitary if it gets any worse and then I won't be able to-"

You stop yourself, eyes fleeting to the guard behind the counter. There are no wires surrounding the visitors area due to the building being so old, you would know, you made sure it was the first thing to check once you got your hands on the blueprints. But you can never be too careful.

"I won't be able to see you if you're in solitary." You say, voice gentle and Jongho's eyes soften before he gives you a nod in response.

"Alright, no fighting back, I'll just let them beat me to a pulp then I guess." He shrugs and you roll your eyes. Typical.

"You know that's not what I meant but that smartass attitude is the thing that might be getting you in trouble in the yard in the first place." You quickly retort with a glare as he huffs.

"How's your cellmate?" You ask and Jongho, as he always does when you ask about his roommate, looks confused but today, it's something else as well.

"Oh, I'm actually getting a new one." You freeze at that, blinking rapidly a couple of times.

"What do you mean?"

"They're moving Jisung to the psych ward after he tried to off himself with his bedsheet." Jongho explains like he's talking about the weather and you gape at him, wondering just what goes on in there on the daily if a man trying to kill himself isn't anything out of the ordinary.

But then again, you're not all that worried about Jisung's mental health either but more for the fact that he's gone and now somebody else will take his place.

You can already see a small tiny piece of your tattoo being considered useless now.

But you can't let that bring you down. It's just a small hitch, nothing else.

"Well, do you know who's coming to take his place?" You ask, ignoring the way Jongho eyes you.

He shakes his head in response and your leg starts bouncing in anxiety.

"No, they're moving him in after lunch."

After lunch.

So, you won't know until...

One of the biggest pieces of the plan and it will be unsure until the said plan is set in motion.

Great.

You clear your throat, leaning closer and on instinct, Jongho copies you, "Listen, I won't be able to visit for awhile."

"Why?" Jongho questions, eyes boring into yours and you let out a small breath. "Are you going somewhere?"

"No." Your eyes stray to the two guards by the door, just a couple of feet away. "I just won't be able to visit you for awhile. Maybe. I'm working on preventing that but just in case I don't come next Friday, I wanted you to know."

Jongho eyes you suspiciously before he leans closer again, nose almost touching the glass. "Y/N, what the hell are you doing?"

You bite back a smile, amused that he just knows you, and that only makes Jongho more frustrated. 

"Y/N, did you get yourself in some shit?" He hisses, looking over his shoulder to check if the guard is still by the door, "If you did, call Yeosang. He'll know what to do."

You scoff, "I'm not you to get myself in some shit. Relax, I got a new job."

"New job?" Jongho goes back to being confused, "Why can't you visit then? It's somewhere far away?"

You stare at him before nodding, "Something like that," You whisper.

"Oh, okay. I mean of course, your job is important." He nods and you feel your heart ache inside your chest at his slightly crestfallen face that he tries to cover up. "You're a structural engineer after all, they probably need you to design another fancy building, huh?"

You wish to tell him that you'll be there. You'll be closer to him than he thinks but you can't do any of that until you're properly inside those walls.

"Yeah." You nod, blinking away the tears. You clear your throat, glancing at the clock behind his head. "Hey, Jongho, remember how we used to talk to each other?"

He cocks his head in confusion.

"When we were kids, how we used to talk to each other. For example, when Soyoung was around and we didn't want her to understand." 

Jongho's eyes gain some recognition but the confusion still remains on his face. Hesitantly, he bobs his head, "Yeah."

"Good," You nod, mouth perking up, "You might want to brush up on that."

Jongho opens his mouth to say something more but you're already waving over the guard.

You lean closer to him one more time, staring at his confused face through the glass to whisper;

"See you on Monday."

#wooyoung x reader #ateez imagine #ateez angst #ateez x reader #wooyoung imagine #wooyoung scenarios

[holylulusworld]

Caged Bird

Pairing: Michael!Dean x fem!Reader; Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Genre: angst

Written for @little-diable’s 15k celebration.

My sentence (#79): "There is no law that gods must be fair" from The Song of Achilles.  

Warnings: blood, angst, mentions of characters death, imprisonment, being locked in a cage, mentions of starving someone, implied torture, Michael Dean is the worst, a hint of hope and fluff

Words: 1k+

Your world lies in ruins. Only dust and burned ground are left. Blood is soaking the battleground. Feeding it with the red nectar from the fallen ones.

The leader stands over your broken body. Your hope and wings ripped from your dying body. He smiles down at you, his eyes still the same, but so much colder now.

“Why did you have to do this?” He cocks his head to watch you take your last breaths. “A mere human becoming an angel. This has to end badly.”

“He promised that I’ll be able to defeat you if I give up my human form,” you choke on your blood as your hand reaches out for the man who used to be the love of your life. He swats it away, sneering as a single tear runs down your cheek.

“Father lied,” he stares back at you. His eyes are blue and sparkling now. “God is a good player, isn’t he?”

“Why would he do such a thing? Why would he lie to me?” You whimper as the pain gets unbearable. Your insides feel like your body is on fire while you are shaking from the cold. “God is supposed to be the good guy.”

Michael crouches down next to you to run his hand over your hair. He almost acts like he regrets piercing your heart with his archangel blade. 

“There is no law that gods must be fair," he wraps his hand around the sword in your chest. “Your God is a worse monster than all the things you were hunting all your life.”

“A monster,” you choke on your blood. “Just like you.” Your eyes flutter shut. There is no fight left in you. It’s over, and you succumb to the darkness wanting to drag you away.

“I’m not a monster, but your God. A better one,” his fingertips stroke your cheek, and you feel a spark touch your skin. “I’ll make you my perfect little puppet on a string. Dean will be so happy having you around. Won’t he?”

You dare not open your eyes when he removes the sword from your chest. The pain is excruciating. Images of your family, friends, and lastly Dean and you fill your mind. 

“So many memories, little human,” he coos and touches your chest. Another spark runs through your body, making you cry out in pain. “I’ll keep you to torture Dean with every single kiss you remember. Maybe I’ll put you in a cage only to let him watch you wither away like a flower.”

You wake up in pain, like most days. Your body is not used to being locked in a small cage. On the other hand, no human being is used to being caged like some animal.

“Look at my favorite pet, Dean,” the monster wearing Dean’s body for prom waltzes into the room, his eyes trained on you in the cage. 

You’re too weak to even give him a snarky comment. He didn’t give you food for a few days. Michael likes to test how long you’ll survive without food.

“Sweetheart,” he uses the pet name on purpose, “don’t you want to greet the man you love? Hmm…he has missed you. Right now, he tries to claw his way to the front, but he won’t succeed.”

Michael crouches down in front of the cage. He wants to watch you flinch away, but you won’t give him the satisfaction today. Whatever he has in mind today, you’re too tired and weak to feel the pain.

“Aw, did I finally break you?” Michael unlocks the cage. He reaches out for you to stroke your cheek. The monster smiles as a single tear rolls down your cheek. “I promise, this is not the end.”

You wish his words weren’t true. Every beat of your heart tells you he’s not lying.

“Dean dreams of holding you in his arms again,” Michael easily gets you out of the cage and lifts you into his arms. Your head lolls back, and you hope you’ll lose consciousness before he starts with whatever he planned for you. “I’ll fulfill his wish tonight.”

“Please just kill me,” you breathe against his shoulder. “Please. I can’t…please.” Michael broke the strong woman in you. He won but refuses to show mercy and redeem you.

“I won’t let you go, little bird. It’s so much fun feeling Dean despair every day more…”

Michael smiles widely as you lie on the soft sheets, looking like an angel covered in red.

Your body is littered with cuts from his archangel blade. You can’t whimper or move. He made sure of it.

His hand slides over your torn body to heal the damage he did to you tonight.

“Beautiful yet so broken. Do you want to feel her, Dean?” Michael leans over your body to brush his lips over yours. “I could break her neck or rip her heart out and you cannot stop me. Give in, and I’ll end her life painless and fast.”

“Do it! Kill me,” your eyes snap open, and you grab Michael’s hand on your cheek. “Stop toying with me.”

“There she is,” Michael coos and brushes his thumb over your cheek. “I knew there was still fight left in you. Dean would be so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“You’re a fucking creep,” you spit in his face. “Dean would rip your ass open, you sonofabitch!”

You can’t see it, but Dean stopped fighting Michael’s grip on him for a moment to chuckle at your response. “I’ll get out of here, sweetheart,” he says before fighting Michael again.

“You’re nothing but insects!” You can hear Michael yell outside your prison. There’s a commotion, and then the door flies open. You can see a young woman pierce Michael’s upper arm, and then blinding light fills the room.

“Y/N,” the last thing you recognize is Sam’s voice and the worry in his eyes as he steps toward the cage. “Fuck, Cas, Rowena I need your help.”

Waking up feels different this time. You’re not in pain, and someone gently runs his hand over your hair. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Dean—” you croak as you struggle to open your eyes. “What a pleasant dream. Please don’t leave me. Stay with me.”

“I’ll stay with you,” he moves closer to press his lips to your temple, “until the very end. I promise to make him suffer for what he’s done to you…” 

Tags in reblog.

#dean winchester #michael!dean x reader #michael!dean #angst #tw: imprisonment #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #caged bird

[peterman-spideyparker]

Milk (Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Well, everyone, I don’t know how I got this idea, but I got it when I was on a work trip in Dallas and I wrote this when I had some time to breathe while I was down there. I’m not doing Kinktober (and I know that’s there’s a different prompt list for what it’s supposed to be each day, I think) but this was very kinky and, well, I felt it needed to be shared. Also, Matt gives of big dad vibes in this flannel, and it just had to be done, my friends. Enjoy! :)

Summary: After basking in the glow, ups, and downs of new parenthood, Matt attends to his partner in an effort to relief some of their pain.

Warnings: Fluff (Matt and Reader being all cute and happy saps and new parents), postpartum feelings (nothing negative, acknowledgement of mood swings/being tired, what the taco feels like after vaginal birth, sore boobs - *disclaimer: I have never been pregnant*), smut (Matt and Reader being horny for one another, mommy/daddy kink, milking kink, praise kink, blowjob)

Other Characters: None 

Word Count: 1,799

Matt hasn’t stopped smiling for six days. 

“I can believe we made her,” he whispers into your hair before kissing your temple. “She’s absolutely perfect.”

“You can say that again,” you giggle. “No lie, I’ve never seen a cuter baby. The nurse agreed.”

“I know—she told me. Actually, what she really said was ‘I haven’t seen a baby come out looking that good in three years. Trust me, honey, I’d tell you if your baby was ugly.’”

You can help but smile and turn your body into Matt’s. “Yeah, she isn’t wrinkly at all.”

“How’s my other non-wrinkly cutie doing?” he hums, kissing the top of your head. If he thought he loved you before, this proved how much more he was infatuated with you—how you choose him every time and give him the best things in his life. 

“I’m okay,” you admit. “It’s just weird, all the mood swings I’m going through and the hormones. And then there’s the frozen diapers I have to wear, and I can’t get used to how sore my boobs are.”

“It hurts that bad when she nurses, huh?”

“Well, yeah, but she’s being fed and happy, so I can’t complain too much, can it? And I mean, pumping isn’t a joyride either. It just keeps coming! They’re heavy all the time.”

“I’m sorry, angel,” he hums kisses pressing down from you cheek to the column of your neck. 

“Matt, the rule is no sex for six weeks, not six days,” you breathe, feeling goosebumps all over your skin, not wanting him to stop.

“I know, sweetheart. I just want to kiss my wife, that’s all. She did just give me the best, most precious gift in the world, after all.”

“Hm, Matthew Michael Murdock: Corniest and Hornist in all of Hell’s Kitchen,” you smile, cradling the side of his face and bringing his lips up to yours to kiss. 

“Alliteration and rhyme?”

“You presented it on a silver platter, baby.”

Matt takes your hands in his, moving your bodies away from the bassinet and into your room, letting his kisses roam all over from your lips to your chest. He pulls up your shirt and unlatches your bra, sliding the fabric down your arms and off your body, pressing kisses to your sternum that have you sit down on the mattress and lean back. 

“Matt—.”

“Let me help,” he breathes as he kisses over the swollen breast. “Which hurts more—this one or the other?”

“This one,” you concede, knowing Matt won’t take no for an answer on this. 

Like he has done many times before, he captures your nipple with his lips, sucking at the flesh. It doesn’t hurt in the same way that it does when your baby feeds, but the sheer over-use of your breasts creates a tingle. Matt must be able to sense it, because he alters his suckling motions slightly, allowing a tingly, warm feeling to spread throughout your breast and into your body. You let out a sigh of pleasure as the tightness in your breast begins to lessen as Matt drinks the milk. A blush burns up your neck and face—out of everything Matt and you have done to one another, this feels the dirtiest. But when Matt moans, a gentle hand resting on your waist as he continues, you can’t help but scrunch up his hair in your fingers. 

“Matty,” you moan. “Oh, Matty, wow. So nice.”

Matt opens his eyes slightly, moving his gaze up toward you to meet your face the best that he can. 

“So good for me, Matty,” you breathe, scratching gentle circles into his scalp. With a few more sucks, Matt gently releases your nipple from his mouth before peppering wet kisses all over your chest, but not before you catch a glance of a little dribble of milk falling from his lips and into his scruff. 

“You taste so good, angel,” he hums. “Please let me do the other breast. Please. Let me help you feel good, sweetheart.”

“You’re gonna get full, Matty,” you coo as you play with his hair and scratch his scalp, having him purr and nuzzle into your chest. “Gonna get milkdrunk.”

“Mm, but I’m helping you, sweetheart,” he moans as he kisses the fleshy underside of your breast.

“How Catholic of you, helping others, being such a good boy,” you moan as Matt holds onto your waist, trailing his kisses carefully over your tender stomach. “Such a good boy, Matty. Such a good role model for our little girl.”

“Can I angel?”

“Yeah, Matty.” The sentence isn’t even out of your mouth when Matt’s lips latch onto your other nipple, suckling and working the flesh as he just had with the other. While the motion is still gentle, there’s a bit more urgency with his actions, needing the milk out of your breast like life-sustaining nectar. His hand gently grazes up your side to cup your breast, gently squeezing as he sucks to get more milk out of you and into him.

“Good boy, Matty,” you whine. “So good for me, like that. I love feeling you like that, sucking on my tit, draining my milk for me to make me feel better. Good boy, so good.”

Matt releases your breast, gasping for air before he reattaches them to your mouth, kissing you deeply and letting you taste yourself in a new way on his lips. 

“So good, mommy,” he hums. The way the name rolls off his tongue sends a shiver all over my body. You started to get into the habit of calling one another “mommy” and “daddy” the closer we came to the due date, and have been since she was born, but hearing the timbre of the word in such a context drives you wild. “Mommy takes such good care of daddy, doesn’t she?” he drawls, his lips brushing up the column of your neck as he kisses the skin. “So good to daddy.”

You whimper into his lips, simultaneously needing him and hating how he started something you can’t finish—and he can’t finish either, judging by how hard he feels. “What can daddy do to make you feel better, mommy? Tell me, angel.”

“Let me make you feel good, Matty.”

“You just made me feel all kinds of good, sweetheart.”

“But I can make you feel better,” you breathe as you grab him though his pants. “Let me get you off, baby. Let me suck your cock, please.”

A smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “And that will make you feel better, angel?”

“Yeah,” you assure with a kiss. 

Moving off of the bed, he quickly rids his pants off his waist, kissing you tenderly before straddling your shoulders, positing himself in a way that won’t hurt or exert your recovering body.

“You need me to stop, you just tell me, promise?” Matt instructs, holding his hard cock by the base, just up and away from your face enough to be out of your reach.

“Promise.”

“That’s my good girl.”

And with that praise, he lowers his cock into your mouth, a hiss escaping his lips as he slowly pushes deeper into you. Matt grips the headboard with one hand and brushes the top of your hair with the other, careful to set a gentle pace that will still let him get off and relieve his rock-hard cock. You gag as he hits the back of your throat, and your hand carefully snakes up to fondle his balls. The whimpers and moans that fall from his lips makes your face grow warm and goosebumps pop up on your skin. Drool gradually begins to dribble out of your mouth, your eyes watering as he gives you more and more of him. You hum as his length pumps in and out of you, letting you taste the intoxicating flavor of just him.

The sloppy sound of Matt in your mouth is nothing short of lewd and erotic. All you want is him, more and more. Matt is like a drug, and you’re hooked on him—just as much as he is you. He lets out a shaky breath, moving one hand from his grip on the headboard down to the top of your head, lovingly caressing your hair. You look up at him, feeling like you could come just from his blissed-out expression, his eyes closed and his plush lips parted. As his thrusts become more intense, he moves back to grip the headboard to try and control himself. Between the movement, hums, your tongue, you feel the little tell-tale signs that he’s close. With a few more of your joint movements, he grunts and stills, unloading in your mouth. You gasp as he pulls his cock out after he’s done, leaving you to swallow his cum and place a kiss on his upper thigh, feeling the smooth skin just before his leg hair become prominent. “I love you,” you breathe into his skin with another kiss. Adjusting himself, he slides next to you on the mattress, kissing the skin of your arm and shoulder, up to your throat, and then your cheek.

“You okay, angel?”

“Yeah,” you swallow. “I’m good. I made my man feel good.” You peck a kiss to his nose, running your fingers through his hair as he holds his face above yours. 

“We really probably shouldn’t have done that,” he smirks. 

“But we did,” you smirk right back. “Besides, my husband started the whole thing trying to take care of me. How can I deny him that?”

His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes as he places a gentle hand on your stomach. “And you’re sure that you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m sure, Matthew.”

“I thought it was daddy?”

You roll your eyes as you feel your face burn. “Ugh, did I unlock a kink or two?”

The biggest shit-eating smirk you have ever seen spreads across his face. “Maybe, but not just for me, angel. I heard how your heart rate increased when we called each other those names and when I was sucking on your boobs. It’s all very hot.”

“I’m glad my heart could turn you on.”

“It has from the moment I heard it.” Matt brings his lips to yours in a gentle, tender kiss filled with nothing but love.

“Sap,” you giggle against his lips, only prompting him to kiss you more. “I love you.”

“I love you too, (Y/N).”

Cuddling into one another, you slowly begin to drift off before you hear the whines and whimpers coming from your daughter’s crib.

“I’ve got her,” he whispers with a kiss to your forehead. “Rest, sweetheart. And keep your fingers crossed that she’s not hungry.”

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop@itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother @hellskitchens-whore​ @dpaccione

#matt murdock #matt mudock x reader #Matt Murdock x fem!reader #Matt Murdock fluff #matt Murdock smut #Matt Murdock x reader fluff #Matt Murdock x reader smut #Matt Murdock x fem!reader fluff #Matt Murdock x fem!reader smut #Matt Murdock fanfic #Matt Murdock fanfiction #Matt Murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil fluff #daredevil x reader fluff #daredevil x reader smut #daredevil x fem!reader #daredevil x fem!reader smut #daredevil x fem!reader fluff #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #dad!matt #dad!matt murdock #dad!Matt Murdock x mom!reader

[bella-goths-wife]

Slashers kinks (NSFW)

Michael Myers

I could see Michael as someone who has to always be in control- even in the bedroom

He would need to you to submit to him and would always want to be in a dominant position because of the power he holds over you in that moment

I do think he has a power play kink

He would love to use his pure strength on you

Not too much obviously because that would kill you, and I don’t know about you but being killed really puts me out the mood y’know

He’d love to use you like a personal rag doll to throw and use whenever he wants to

Definitely would hold you up by your neck and choke you so yep add a choking kink to the list

Overall i think he would be open to new things in the bedroom as long as he’s in control

Bo Sinclair

Big daddy kink

No I mean huge, to the point you would have to call it him to get his attention some days

He has a thing for roleplay

He likes it when you play a helpless victim, and he plays the killer who spares your life for a favour (wink wink)

He also likes to play the role of the mechanic working on your car and you play the clueless bimbo/himbo who forgot their credit card

Would be open to doing it in public places but only in Ambrose so you’ve practically got a lot of privacy considering the chances of someone actually catching you is very slim

Could see him having a biting kink but more because he likes to mark you up

Vincent Sinclair

I think Vincent would love a dominant partner

If you are a fem Dom I could imagine him either calling you mommy or mistress

If you are a masc Dom then it would be either daddy or master

Has a huge thing about going down on you, just seeing how much pleasure it brings you is enough to make him cum in his pants

Enjoys being ordered around

Loves it when you kiss his neck or just behind his ear

Is a total sub but could occasionally be a Dom if you asked for it specifically but would always end with you dominating because he just doesn’t know what to do

Thomas Hewitt

He would have to have a romantic setting

Like candles, music, the whole shebang

Definitely a soft Dom

Loves gentle, slow, loving sex and adores it when he can look in your eyes and see every pleasure filled look you give him

He loves it when he can control the pace

Like let’s say he lets you ride him, he’ll have his hands on your hips the entire time guiding you in a loving gentle way

Definitely prefers having sex in the dark because of his insecurities about his face

Would love it if you had sex in the basement one time but he’s too scared holt, or god forbid Luda May, would walk in

Also has a bit of a breeding kink for any gender, doesn’t matter

Asa Emory

Obviously he wants to have a masochistic sub for a sexual partner

Will never ever under any circumstances give you any ounce of control

Is very possessive over you so he would love to mark you up

Giant knife kink

Wants to carve his name into your body with his favourite knife while also being balls deep inside of you

Very into you cockwarming him while he does his work for his day job

If you squirm even a bit too much for his liking he will edge you until tears are streaming down your face

VERY into edging and punishment

You will be in a sub Dom relationship

Rules and all

He will be called master, no ifs, ands or buts

Overall your always sore

And I mean always

Tiffany valentine

Mommy? Sorry. Mommy?

Yes Tiffany has a massive mommy kink

Adores it when your tied up in black or red ropes

Has a bit of a gun kink

Has a fantasy of you two fucking which her holding a gun to your head with you doing the same to her

She’d see it as the ultimate act of devotion if your willing to risk your life while giving her immense pleasure and love

Likes to dress you up in gothic lingerie

Especially wants to get you a collar with mommas girl/boy/pet in glitter on the front

I do believe that she would enjoy spanking you as a form of punishment

Otis driftwood

Massive brat tamer

Would love a bratty sub S/O

Likes the power of putting you in your place over and over again until you submit

Massive blood kink

Like bite down on his shoulder until he bleeds and get some of that blood in your mouth and on your teeth?

This man would kiss you the hardest he ever has before because of how aroused it made him

Probably give you the odd spank on the ass during sex buy nothing too major

Quickies in public places hold a special place in his heart

Sex with clothes on turns him on

Major fan of hair pulling on himself

Bit of a masochist

Baby firefly

Massive brat

Wants a switch partner so that they can put her in her place when she wants it but she can also turn the tables and turn you into a whimpering mess of a human

Loves to humiliate you and degrade you until she can have you fully submit to her

Enjoys it when you ride her thigh just so she can call you a “poor little puppy” and call you pathetic for humping on her leg like a little mutt in heat

But she also enjoys it when she’s the submissive one and you gently or roughly praise her

You two are like the ying-Yang of doms

Likes it when you call her sweetie or honey in a gentle voice because it makes her feel safe and loved

Adores eye contact

#asa emory x reader #bo sinclair x reader #michael myers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #Vincent Sinclair x reader smut #bo Sinclair x reader smut #michael myers x reader smut #asa Emory x reader smut #tiffany valentine #Tiffany valentine x reader #Tiffany valentine x reader smut #otis driftwood x reader #baby firefly x reader #Otis driftwood #Otis driftwood x reader smut #baby firefly #baby firefly x reader smut #gender neutral reader #smut #michael myers #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #asa emory #thomas hewitt x reader smut #Thomas Hewitt

[slasherhoe87]

Good Morning Honey🥰

I hope you have a good rest of the week🖤🥺

I was wondering Dark! Stepdad Michael x f| reader where Michael has been dating your mother for months and a year he's moved in with you two he starts a relationship with you while mother goes out for work or a trip away for work and something happens, I love your blog <3

Thanks Megan, you as well 😊😉

Man, did this idea make me smirk. I'll give it my best shot - hope you'll like it!

Dark!Stepdad OG Michael Myers (set in modern day) x Fem Reader

Warnings: Cheating / Age Gap: Michael is 38 and Reader is 19

NSFW / MDNI

You looked down into the back yard through your bedroom window with utter dread. Your mom had invited a bunch of her friends and some select few family members for a Saturday afternoon bbq and you were not looking forward to mingling with them.

You knew the same questions would be fired at you, such as have you found work yet? have you met anyone special? i hope you help your mom around the house? when last have you seen your dad? Then they'll go back to ignoring you and carry on with their insipid conversations about their marriages and work life. As always. Leaving you to sit there like a stooge with no one to talk to.

You at least managed to get out of the first hour or so of the bbq by lying to your mom that you had a headache and that you just wanted to take a pill and have a bit of a sleep so that the medication could work before you join everyone for lunch. She believed you, to your own surprise, as the 'ol headache excuse was one of the oldest in the book.

Michael of course was not so lucky. He could not escape the dull chore of domestic entertainment and socializing that was a bbq this time around. Usually the moment mom mentioned the words 'friends', 'family' and 'coming over' Michael would disappear for a day or two and your mom had to make up stories as to his whereabouts.

You had a giggle to yourself as you spied Michael standing with the men around the grill, an apple cider in hand and a 'dear god please kill me now' expression on his usually stoic face.

You looked at him for a bit longer, admiring how the navy tshirt he wore stretched across his broad chest and shoulders, how his black jeans hugged his shapely thighs and ass.

You always felt guilty when you looked at and thought about Michael in any way other than platonic. The Shape of Haddonfield was your mother's boyfriend after all. Lusting after the serial killer seemed wrong for so many reasons.

But you simply couldn't help it. He was too compelling, too darkly alluring, too physically attractive. He reminded you of a jungle cat - beautiful and svelte, dexterous and strong and so very enchanting to gaze upon. But he was also deadly and dangerous, an apex predator. Death in human form - the boogeyman. And that made him all the more alluring for you. Your mom obviously felt the same, otherwise she'd have run for the hills by now.

Michael must have felt eyes on him as you jerked slightly when you again looked at his face and found him staring up and right at you. His usual blank expression was back in place but his eyes always held so much emotion that he didn't need to use any expressions.

His head tilted a bit to the left as if asking why you weren't down there suffering alongside him. You took pity on the murderous man and decided that you had hidden away in your bedroom for long enough.

Let's just get this started and over with

You looked at Michael one last time before you left your bedroom and made your way downstairs, passing a gaggle of your mom's friends who were gossiping and giggling about who-know's-what. You gave them a quick hello and a wave and rolled your eyes as you exited out of the living room's sliding door and out into the back garden.

You were immediately accosted by your two overbearing aunts with their obedient and wimpy husbands trailing after them. They of course bombarded you with the usual questions, judgement in their eyes and fake interest and sincerity dripping from their tongues. All they wanted was gossip fodder and you were glad your life was relatively boring and free of anything to gossip over.

Realizing this, your aunts quickly ended the "conversation" and stalked off to a couple of your mom's friends. You huffed and walked over to the grill, intending to save Michael from his torment.

Before you could take another step forward your mom intercepted you and blocked your view of the handsome man with the butterscotch curls and intense stormy blue eyes.

"y/n sweetie, Angela is driving me crazy with her tales of her and Peter's trip to the UK - she's expecting me back to hear about their casino trip disaster asap. God I just can't get away. Please go to the kitchen and finish making the potato salad - I just managed to cut them into cubes before she found me and dragged me away" your mom huffed and rubbed her temples.

You chuckled and nodded before gesturing to your aunts. "Try sending her and Peter to aunt Yvette and aunt Miranda - they'll keep each other busy for hours with their gossip mongering"

"Good idea!" exclaimed your mom as she pecked you on the cheek before begrudgingly trekking back to her friends Angela and Peter.

You turn back to look over at the grill and see Michael staring intently at you again. You blush and clear your throat before you walk up to the intimidating killer.

"Sorry boys but I need help in the kitchen and I'll be taking Michael along with me" you say as you gently grasp Michael's wrist.

The men barely heard you over their own boisterous laughter and storytelling with you only receiving a few half-hearted grunts and "no problems" in return.

Of course they wouldn't miss Michael, he was practically a piece of garden furniture standing beside them. Silent and still as a statue.

Michael let you drag him through the throngs of guests before the both of you stopped in the now empty kitchen with everyone else enjoying the music and sunshine outside.

"Next time you're taking me with you to wherever you disappear to when mom has one of these get-togethers, ok?" you say as you get a spoon out of the drawer and reach for the ground salt and pepper.

Naturally you were met with silence but you weren't fazed. Despite his stillness you knew he was taking in your every word and movement. Which was both comforting and disconcerting at the same time.

To your surprise Michael went to the fridge and pulled out the onions, green and red peppers, chives and mayonnaise and handed them to you before silently moving to your side again. You smiled up at him and mouthed a thanks before you began the task of dicing up the veggies to add to the potatoes.

Your concentration on your task was at level zero with how close Michael was standing next to you. His presence was larger than life, engulfing you in a sort of tangible energy that threatened to swallow you whole if you allowed it.

You felt his eyes raking over your form and your heart began thrumming wildly within your chest. Your eyes were glued to the cutting board but at this point, with the atmosphere Michael was setting you were simply working on auto pilot.

Ever so gently - which was a miracle in of itself coming from Michael - he ghosted his fingertips along your forearm, circling your elbow before moving up your bare upper arm. Goosebumps formed on your flesh, the fine hairs on your body stood to attention and your nipples hardened and pebbled beneath your sundress.

You didn't know what in the hell had gotten into Michael but your body didn't want him stop. And stop he didn't. Your nerves felt like they were set on fire as the tall man moved to stand flush behind you, both of his hands softly caressing your ribs on either side, his lips gently brushing over where your neck meets your shoulder.

You let out a small gasp, your eyes closed and you stopped cutting the veggies. This was wrong, so so wrong. You shouldn't give in to this, you should yell and push him away and march to your mom and tell her what her boyfriend just pulled in the kitchen. But you don't listen to your head. You fall into your body's desire and succumb to the ministrations Michael is performing on your flushed skin.

"Michael this is wrong" you try and tell him but your words lack conviction and are instead laced with lust. "We can't do this" you try once more but your eyes shoot open and a loud breath leaves you as Michael lowers himself to his knees, lifts the hem of your dress and drags his index finger along your cotton clothed slit.

Little jolts of electricity bounce to every nerve and cell of your body as Michael repeats the motion while his soft lips press chaste kisses against your bare bottom. You nervously look out through the empty living room and into the garden where you can see the guests drinking and chatting away, none the wiser of what's happening in the kitchen with their friend's daughter and her boyfriend.

Michael moves to sit on the kitchen floor, his back against the kitchen cabinets and his face right in line with your now dripping pussy. A wanton moan escapes you as he pulls your cotton thong down to your knees and grips your throbbing clit with his lips, giving it a deep pull, his teeth gently scraping against the sensitive flesh.

"Michael!" you gasp as your hands drop the red pepper and knife and instead grip the curls atop his head as Michael continues to caress your clit with his lips and tongue. You find yourself grinding against his face at the pleasure wracking through your heated body as Michael's large hands grip each one of your ass cheeks, firmly squeezing and massaging them.

Eventually you feel the blazing tightening deep in your core as your orgasm fast approaches. "Michael... I'm gonna..." you can't form coherent sentences with how good the serial killer's mouth is abusing your pulsing clit. Michael gives your ass cheek a firm, hard slap - his way of commanding you to cum for him.

That hard slap sent a pleasurable jolt through to your pussy which pushed you over the edge. Your hands flew to your mouth to cover your euphoric cry as the orgasm which wracked your body was the most intense you had ever felt - your own fingers had never and most likely could never bring such an orgasm about.

You panted and gripped the counter while trying to steady your breathing as you came down from your high. You looked down onto Michael who was staring back up at you. The bottom half of his face was glistening with your juices, and while his features showed no emotion, his eyes were smoldering with satisfaction and something else you couldn't identify... something dark.

🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

A few weeks had passed since your and Michael's initial escapade in the kitchen and since then the two of you had been indulging in one another and simply spending more time with each other whenever you could - you of course enjoyed the carnal pleasure that Michael brought you but more than that you found you really enjoyed his company. His mere presence calmed your otherwise natural nervous disposition and you found you shared a lot of things in common such as your music, movie and even food tastes among some other things and interests. You were never the one to initiate though, you were far too shy and guilt-ridden for that.

You couldn't believe what you were doing to your mom. She loved Michael but Michael clearly didn't love her. So why was he in a relationship with her? Was it perhaps one out of convenience? A roof over his head, food, a body to keep him warm and satisfied? You could imagine his barren old childhood home didn't offer much of anything, not like your and your mom's home could.

You didn't really know how to feel about that. If that was the case then he was simply using your mom while she in return was giving her resources, time, heart and body to someone who held no true feelings for her.

With an aggravated huff you pushed those ruminations to the back of your mind, where you had been trying to keep them caged and out of sight so that the guilt didn't eat you up while you fell deep and hard into the Michael abyss - you were treading dangerous terrain with Michael and you were afraid to where it would lead to.

"You seem deep in thought y/n" you jumped, startled by your mom's voice as you sat on the sofa, with you only partially paying attention to The Last of Us showing on the tv.

"Oh! Uhm, yeah.. sorry. Just thinking about the interview yesterday. I hope I get the job" you lie nervously as you look up at your mom.

"Don't worry hun, you'll get it. That job is perfect for you, Mr. Jenkins would be a fool to let you slip through his fingers. You would be so happy in that little bookstore. Just you, your boss and a ton of books. I know you'd hate to work in a large office building with hundreds of people, bright lighting and loud constant noise like myself"

You blow out a small breath as you rake your fingers through your hair. "I don't know how you manage that, I would never be able to get any work done and I think half the time I'd just hide away in the bathroom"

Your mom chuckles and pats your head before grabbing a chocolate covered pretzel from the bowl in front of you. "By the way, I just came to let you know that I'll be leaving for a couple of days with Don. Some seminar in Seattle and he wanted me to tag along"

Your eyes narrowed as your mom carried on speaking about the business trip, though Don was more on her tongue than the actual details of the trip itself. She raved about his big house and red Porsche, and how many new business ventures he was wading into. She had stars in her eyes and a dusting of pink on her cheeks as she practically gushed about her wealthy boss and all his possessions.

You couldn't believe it. Was your mom really feeling some type of way about Don the Douchebag? You hated that guy - you'd never met anyone more smug, self-important, materialistic and pretentious as that man. You had to be wrong about this, you just had to.

Michael was 100 times more of a man than Don could ever hope to be! Sure, Michael didn't have any material possessions or financial resources but he outshone Don in all other ways.

Michael was handsome, he was strong, capable, had an indomitable will, he had an endless pool of determination and conviction. He was sure in and of himself and let nothing stand in his path. His skill as a lover was to your limited knowledge, skilled perfection. He was smart and had a subtle humour that resonated with you which often left the two of you snickering while your mom stood there not understanding the joke.

When you felt down he would sit close by you, he never spoke but his presence comforted you - he had even allowed you to hug him on occasion when you had had a rough day at school and you needed physical affection - your mom was always working of course and you were often left at home with Michael. Sometimes you'd come home to a sandwich having been made for you by him, which always softened your heart to the ruthless killer.

He wa-- you stopped your inner defense and monologue of Michael and realized you sounded just the same as your mom who was raving about Don. You paused and alarmingly wondered where all those thoughts and praises came from - and they came so quickly too.

As your inner self had spoken so vehemently about Michael a warmth had spread throughout your chest that set your heart racing. Spooked at this, you quickly shut that train of thought down and focused back on the now retreating form of your mom who was informing you that she'd be up in her bedroom packing for the business trip.

You felt eyes on you and looked to the doorway that lead to the garage. Michael stood there in his coveralls and mask, a shiver ran down your spine as those two empty black voids of the mask bored right through you. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding when he turned around and went back into the garage.

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Michael had been a bit distant from you and scarce from the house since your mom had been away, only showing up for dinner and two lunches. You worried at this change. Did you do something to upset him? Was he angry at you for some reason?

You didn't quite understand it, but you felt hurt by his absence and distance. You shouldn't though, he's not your boyfriend - he belongs to your mom. So why is that fact starting to hurt too?

You were lying flat on your stomach on your bed doodling in your sketchbook the night before your mom was due to arrive back from the seminar. Your thoughts were everywhere except on your drawings.

These past few weeks had unlocked something within you which had perhaps been there for a long time and only now after certain events had been transpiring was it bubbling to the surface.

That something was Michael.... and your feelings for the masked killer. You knew you shouldn't feel the things you did for him - he was a serial killer, an escaped patient... or inmate? Honestly you felt he was a bit of both. He was way older than you and most importantly he was your mom's lover... not yours.

But you had crossed that line already, had you not? None of those burdensome thoughts crossed your lusty little mind when his mouth and tongue were attached to your wet little pussy, when his long dextrous fingers were inside of your tight hole or when your lips were wrapped around his lengthy, girthy cock. You had no right to bemoan your issues with Michael and your feelings when they meant so little during your desire filled hazes.

Suddenly you felt a dip in your bed from behind you. Your eyes grew wide and your heartbeat sped up. You felt a large body lean over you, caging you between their legs and arms - the white tip nose of the familiar latex mask brushed up against your cheek and down the column of your neck inhaling your scent.

Heat and moisture immediately pooled between your legs as Michael ground his groin against your ass. You could feel his hard length through his coveralls and your thin lacy panties. A small whimper escaped you as Michael moved his hand between your legs and palmed your clothed pussy. He grunted at the warm moisture which had soaked right through the thin material and now coated his calloused skin.

A startled gasp left you as Michael flipped you with ease onto your back - that expressionless sinister mask staring down at your prone form. You noticed his coveralls were stained with darkened splotches here and there and then you spied a little bit of crimson close to the left ear of his mask - he had just come back from a kill... or killings, no doubt. A sickening thrill shot through you and to your core at the thought, your breathing visibly picked up and your pussy clenched.

You should be disgusted and ashamed with yourself at the fact that his killing actually turned you on so much or at all, but as usual, as The Shape lifted your short nightie up your body and shimmied it up over your shoulders and off your head your reservations and warnings fell to the wayside.

You stared up at the killer in eager anticipation as his large, calloused hands began to roam your soft, warm body. You sighed contentedly as his fingertips gently ran down over your ribs, beneath your breasts, down the center of your belly and over your hipbones only stop atop your soft pubic mound.

Your eyes bored into the two shadowed holes of his mask, feelings you didn't understand and maybe didn't want to understand swam at the forefront of your mind as Michael worshipped your body with a sensuality and gentleness you didn't think him capable of. But should you really be shocked? Michael had been surprising you for the last 3 years by proving all the preconceived notions about him wrong. Even your mom took him at face value and never delved deeper into the man behind the mask.

You smirked not so innocently inside your mind, this was something you had of Michael that she didn't. Michael showed you and you alone the real him, the man beyond the one dimensional aspect of the serial killer, the true Michael Audrey Myers and you would savour this for as long as you could.

Michael then trailed his warm hands back up your body to your breasts, cupping them in his hands and giving them a firm squeeze before his fingers began rolling and pinching your pebbled nipples.

You mewled and squirmed at the sensation as his ministrations on your nipples sent small jolts of electricity down to your aching clit.

Michael then took his right hand and brought his fingers to your mouth, pushing his middle and index fingers past your lips for you to suckle and lave with your tongue. You stared up at him again, your half lidded eyes making contact with his own as he finger fucked your mouth. Your ears perked up as you heard the faintest of moans from behind his mask - you smirked to yourself as you found that there were few things sexier than a man who was vocal during sex, even if it were on the softer side. Not that you had been with other men to personally know and hear them moan, as you were a virgin - but you did watch porn.

Him removing his fingers from your mouth broke your chain of thought as you watched him move his hand down to your pussy where he then inserted his wet fingers into your clenching, eager hole.

You squirmed and mewled as he began pumping his long thick digits in and out of your slick pussy, his other hand was rubbing circles around your throbbing clit.

The pleasurable sensations made you tweak and pinch at your nipples which sent you over the edge. With a cry your orgasm shot through your body, your pussy spasmed and clenched around Michael's fingers, your clit pulsated and you sighed in satisfaction with your head hitting your pillow as you came down from your orgasm.

You watched lazily and contentedly as Michael removed his fingers and made to unzip his coveralls. You admired his fit form as more and more skin was revealed the lower his zipper went.

Once his coveralls had pooled below his hips and his throbbing, red tipped member was released you assumed he was after a blowjob as the two of you had not had actual sex with one another yet.

Your eyes widened when Michael brought the head of his large cock to your slick pussy and dragged it up your slit before circling it over and around your sensitive clit.

Was he planning to-- was this the night!? And with Michael Myers??

Your heartbeat sped up again and your chest visibly rose and fell. Michael looked towards you and tilted his head, seeing your sudden nervousness.

He reached for his mask and pulled it off, tossing it on the floor before returning his attention on you. His stormy blue eyes were darkened with lust yet held a softness to them that you were unused to as he gazed into your own e/c eyes.

Your breath hitched as bent forwards and placed a chaste kiss to your lips. You closed your eyes and felt his tongue slide across your bottom lip asking for entrance. You obliged and opened your mouth, allowing his tongue access. The kiss, at least from your end was sloppy and amateurish as you had never kissed anyone before this. Michael didn't seem to care as he moaned into your mouth. His bare chest was now flushed against yours, his hold on both sides of your head became firmer as the kiss deepened and became more desperate.

You raked your fingernails across his back and gasped into the kiss as you felt the tip of his cock poke at your entrance. Michael pulled away from the kiss leaving you panting and smiling up at him. Never did you ever think a kiss could be so good.

You looked down to where Michael's length was gently resting atop your pubic mound and wondered if you were ready to lose your virginity... to your mom's boyfriend.

The easy reply was yes, a thousand times yes. You wanted this so fucking badly and with nobody else but Michael. And before the other voice in your head could list all the reasons of why you shouldn't do this and why it was wrong you pushed it to the very back of your mind and smiled up at Michael once more before spreading your legs a little wider - your permission for him to continue. For the both of you to go through with this. For Michael Myers to take your virginity.

Michael dragged his nails along your hips and along your thighs before he gripped them and pushed them as wide apart as he could. The cool air hit your moist pussy causing you to whimper. Taking his cock in his hand he ran the head up your slit before rubbing small circles over your clit, you moaned and cupped your breasts. You had never wanted anything more than this before. This is feeling was so unfamiliar, so strange and yet felt so right, so good.

"Michael, please... I need you.. now" you whined as you tweaked your nipples and ran your hands down your flushed body.

Needing no more confirmation Michael aligned the head of his cock with your entrance before carefully pushing inside. You gasped and whimpered at the burning and stinging stretch, gripping Michael's forearms tightly as they rested on either side of you.

Tears welled in your eyes at the painful sensation and looking down at your now joined bodies you knew that Michael's impressive girth was not helping.

Michael began moving in and out of you at a steady pace and slow rhythm, giving you time to adjust to the new sensations.

Soon the sting and burn began to dissipate and pleasure washed over you. You moved your hips forward to meet his thrusts which had now picked up pace and strength.

"Yes Michael... harder.. faster!" you moaned louder as Michael obliged. His pace became thunderous, your hips and thighs visibly rippling as his pelvis slammed against your sweaty, heated skin again and again and again.

Your nails scratched at his back, your toes curled. You never would have thought sex could actually feel this fucking good. The stretch of Michael within you was overwhelming as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with each deep thrust causing you to let out obscene moans of intense pleasure.

As the both of you chased your orgasms, Michael too became more vocal. His low, throaty grunts and moans sent thrills down your spine, hastening the euphoria that was fast approaching.

Michael leaned down for another desperate kiss as his fingers lavished your clit with needed attention.

The kiss broke as Michael let out a pornographic moan at his orgasm, thick ropes of warm sticky cum coated your fluttering walls and with a cry your own orgasm assaulted you at hearing Michael. Your pussy clenched and gripped his shaft, milking it of everything it had to offer.

Michael collapsed on top of you, his weight and him still sheathed inside of you comforted you in a way you didn't know you needed.

You brought your hand up and began running your fingers through his curly sandy blond hair, a content smile gracing your lips. You didn't want to speak to ruin this peaceful moment, so you closed your eyes and continued your ministrations on Michael's head as he hummed in sleepy approval.

There were so so so many things to contemplate on now and to consider going forward but as sleep began to take you, you would worry about everything tomorrow.

If only you had heard the key being slotted into the front door downstairs....

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Megan, girl, sorry lol I got carried away with this one - its way longer than I anticipated. Hope you don't mind 😄

#michael myers #og michael myers #michael myers x y/n #michael myers x reader #halloween #halloween 1978 #slasher #slasher smut #slasher fic #slasher fucker #slasher lover #slasher fandom #slasher community

[toxicanonymity]

You Should Give In

4.5k | Corey Cunningham x Fem!Reader | NSFW

“You’re sorry you didn’t recognize me?” He smiles disturbingly.  His voice gives you butterflies between your legs and takes you right back to that motel room two years ago.  His throat bobs as he takes another sip from the tiny-looking bottle.   “And I’m sorry I didn’t text you back," you add. 

You accidentally break Corey's heart pre-Michael. After his killing spree, he comes back. Smut with both Coreys.

Amazing art by @cordelium 💚💚 commission info

corey tags: @ethanhoewke @wolvesandvampires @rebel-blue @kuromi2005. thx @dark-scape

cw: alcohol, dub-con, kinda darkish?

December 2020 

After his manslaughter trial, Corey took a bus out of Haddonfield one weekend to get away from it all, and he ended up where you live.  It's barely a scattering of a town, but it has a truck stop and a bus stop, so it gets enough traffic to have a motel and bar, which are in the same parking lot.  You work at the bar. 

The night you met, he was already at the bar when you clocked in.  The first thing you noticed was his enormous hand dwarfing his drink, making it look like an airplane bottle.  There was something so hot about his knuckles and the way he held the bottle.  He caught you looking and smiled shyly.  That's when you started noticing his beautiful face.  His strong nose.  The pain behind his glasses.  There was an intensity about him, too. All his gloom and cowering. 

Corey didn't really drink much of his beer.  He mostly played with the label.  You offered to get him something else, and he asked for chocolate milk.  You thought he was joking, but when you giggled, he looked at you earnestly with big dairy cow eyes magnified by his glasses.  Your heart melted.  When you said you didn't have any chocolate milk, he was dejected. "Yeah, I figured."   

When you saw that sad look in his eyes, you suddenly recognized him.  He was much hotter and bigger in person than he was on the news.  Face to face with him, there was no doubt in your mind that Jeremy's death was an accident.  You felt awful for Corey. You just wanted to give him a hug.  You took him under your wing. 

You offered to make him a mudslide on the house instead of chocolate milk. You promised he'd like it.  You made it with extra chocolate syrup, and he loved it.  He perked up.  It was a slow night, so you chatted with him.  Got to know him a little bit.  You egged him on to take an oatmeal cookie shot with you, not realizing he was a total lightweight.  It really didn't take more than that before he was giggling and slurring, flirting with you one minute, then getting emotional the next.  He never talked about the accident, but he talked about his home life and it didn't sound good.  He played early Modest Mouse on the jukebox.  You didn't let him leave your sight.   His drunkenness was your doing, after all. 

-

He had a room at the motel.  When you got off work, you walked him back there to make sure he was safe.  He invited you in, and you thought you'd stay just long enough to let him get settled.   He didn't ask in a seductive way.  It was somewhere between lonely and friendly.  You were enjoying his company, anyway.   But when he started removing his multiple layers of clothing and you saw what was underneath, there was no going back for you.  Holy shit, he was solid. He took off his henley, revealing thick arms and strong pecs.    And he kept stripping, too.  No inhibitions.  

While you were quietly distracted by his body, his mood darkened a little.  He laid down on the bed and said he never wanted to go back home.  His lip was quivering.  By that point, he was in just his briefs and glasses, with a plaid blanket he brought from home draped haphazardly across half his body.  You told him you understood and offered to make him lunch at the bar the next day if he wanted to talk more about it.   He asked you not to leave.  

You put Ghost Adventurers quietly on the TV and laid on the bed with him. There was something pathetic about him being in underwear and glasses and you being fully dressed.  So when spread out his blanket and invited you under it,  you took off your pants first.  Then, you cozied up to him and stroked his hair comfortingly as he nuzzled into the hollow of your neck.    

He looked at you affectionately and you kissed him on the head.  Then, he lifted his head and looked at you longingly, and you kissed him on the mouth.  You held him and kissed him, and he kissed you, as you half-watched the show.  Soon enough, you were kissing more than watching.  You abandoned the show completely as you made out and things heated up.  He kissed you like you were an oasis in the desert. You probably were. 

You nestled a leg between his meaty thighs and palmed his chest.  His body took your breath away.  A hardness in his briefs started poking your thigh.  By the time you grabbed his cock, he was rock hard and whimpering for you.  The moment you held his naked girth in your hand, you gasped softly as butterflies swarmed in your chest and core.  You badly, badly needed him.  

“I want to be with you,” he whispered. “I want you so bad.”  He moaned and whimpered as you moved the skin on his thick shaft.  

You couldn't think it through.  You couldn't think at all.  All your blood had rushed somewhere else. 

Corey fumbled at your bra.  There was something on his face, like he could hardly believe it was happening.  He struck you as almost virginal.  You took the lead and put a condom on him, then mounted him.  He let out a low, breathy groan as you sank onto his impressive cock with a moan of your own.  It felt so right, filling yourself with his cock.  It was the perfect stretch.  You rode him and his hips lifted into you desperately.  You leaned into him for friction as you rolled into him.  His massive hands held your thighs and he'd say things in his low, sexy voice like "You feel so good" and "God, you're beautiful." 

He came pretty fast, but you were close.  You finished yourself off and he was eager to help and learn.  You fell asleep in bed with him.  

-

You woke up before dawn with Corey spooning you, his arms holding you tight, both of you nude.   His morning wood was upright and dug into your lower back and crack until you gently shifted it between your thighs.  He rutted against your slick seam in his sleep.  Before long, you were desperate for a second round.  You put his huge hand on your hard nipple and traced the veins from his wrist to his fingers.  

You were too desperate to be smart, but at least you were on the pill.  As soon as he stirred awake and kissed your neck, you reached down between your legs and guided his cock just inside you.  The moan that erupted from his mouth set you on fire.  Your whole body felt like it could burst at any moment.  He buried himself inside you, holding your breast, breathing heavily in your ear.  He kissed your neck, moaning, sighing, rolling his hips, filling you with his thick, hard cock, lasting longer this time.  As soon as you came, he pulled out, then you felt his hot cum on the small of your back.      

You cuddled for a while after that and fell back asleep.   When you next woke up, sticky with his cum between you, you rolled over and faced Corey.  He was affectionate, looking deep into your eyes, stroking your hair, telling you how much he liked you.  You kept thinking, he hardly knew you.  You didn't know if he would like you as much if he did.  Those days, you didn't want to let anyone get close enough to find out.  You had gone through a rough patch of your own and your self worth hadn't yet recovered.  

-

You went home to shower before work and you brought a bottle of chocolate milk back to the bar with you.  You knew Corey would come for lunch and hoped it would cheer him up if he was feeling blue again.  When you gave him the chocolate milk that you brought just for him. . . he looked at you like he was in love with you.  That moment gave you more than an inkling you were leading him on.  You didn't mean to – you really liked him – you were just afraid and dealing with your own issues at the time.  

Your affection for him began to get drowned out by discomfort.  Your kindness alone might not have been construed as anything more than that.  But you fucked him twice . . . And you wondered if you were his first.   Every nice gesture after that would only bond him to you more.  

Corey stayed at the bar all day, not really drinking much.  While you were busy, he poorly played pool and darts.  When it was slow, he talked to you, but it wasn't the same fun, casual banter you enjoyed the night before.  There was a puppy dog vibe, like you owned him and he was lost without you. That scared you because you didn't want to hurt him more than he'd already been hurt in the past year.   You didn't want to get his hopes up for something more and have the whole thing become another disappointment. 

You shut down and told him you had to go somewhere after work.   As much as your body wanted to go back to his motel room, your gut was telling you that you didn't have the capacity to nurture him the way he needed.  He was clearly upset when he left but tried not to show it.  He said he was going back to Haddonfield but hoped to see you again.  There must have been hell to pay when he got back, from what he shared with you about his mother.

-

After he went back to Haddonfield, he texted you piningly as if you were dating.  He was trying to make plans for when to see each other again.  He even mused about getting a job in your town.  You told him you weren't ready for a relationship and needed to spend some time alone. 

He tried to convince you.  Eventually, he left you alone, but you always wondered if he'd be back one day.  You actually missed him.  You thought about him over the next year or two as you got yourself together.  He was a good guy.  You started to realize maybe you shouldn't have sabotaged yourself.  You were as worthy and deserving of love as anyone else.  But it was too late, you thought. 

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

Present Day :  November 2022

You’re closing the bar tonight. It’s slow, with just a couple of regulars slumped over the bar exchanging occasional words. Given the recent carnage in nearby Haddonfield, people haven't been going out as much.  There might as well be a curfew.  Some people still don't believe Michael is dead.  Others speculate about him having a partner still at large. The regulars have been walking you to your car every night just in case.  

You’re restocking the liquor and eavesdropping on the latest gossip between the regulars when a burly, dark shape walks in alone.  He sits down at the bar and orders a beer.  You give it to him without fully  meeting his eyes and don’t recognize him until you see those hands dwarfing the bottle and do a double take.  Sure enough, he has the same pinky ring.  No glasses or jacket.  Blue button-up shirt with the collar popped.  Blue khakis.  His hair is dark, and his curls are wild.   His face is banged up.  A fresh cut bridges his nose.  He’s muscular, imposing.  His presence is intimidating.  He's like a different man. 

You realize you’re staring.  “Corey,” you say.  “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

There’s a long moment of silence, like he’s waiting for you to say something more.  He looks at the bottle in his hand and takes a sip. 

“You’re sorry you didn’t recognize me?” He smiles disturbingly.  His voice gives you butterflies between your legs and takes you right back to that motel room two years ago.  His throat bobs as he takes another sip from the tiny-looking bottle.  

“And I’m sorry I didn’t text you back," you add. 

“Yeah,” he says, raising a brow.  He holds eye contact and his jaw clenches. "You know, you also took something from me."  Your heart sinks.  His virginity?  You always suspected it. 

“I shouldn't have," you say. 

"Oh, you regret it?" He challenges you. You're squirming, and he seems to be enjoying it. 

"Of course not. Just, I wasn’t in a place where I could handle–"

"-me," he sighs. 

"I'm sorry.”  

He shrugs.  "Apology accepted,” he says unconvincingly.   “What place are you in now?” 

"Um, good question."  You look around and decide not to answer.  His erect collar catches your eye again, drawing attention to his facial injuries.   God, he looks hot.  

He smirks as he notices you checking him out.  

“You look good,” you say, wiping the bar with a rag.  “I’ll be back.”  You pour the regulars a round.  Corey keeps his eyes on you like a hawk.   You’re wearing a skirt and fishnet stockings – better tips that way.   

When you come back, you ask Corey what brings him into town.  He tells you he’s on his way out of the area for good.  "And I'm taking you with me," he adds matter-of-factly. 

You're stunned. Your lips part but you don't know how to react.  

He rolls his eyes and adds, "If you want, of course." 

You ask him what he’s going to do.  He looks around and answers obtusely, “Maybe I’ll practice my pool game.”  His gravelly voice really does something to you.  Your butterflies aren't fading, they're multiplying. 

You get the triangle of pool balls from under the bar and hand it to him, forcing a smile.  His large hand wraps around yours as he takes it and there’s a spark between you.  He holds your gaze then walks back to the billiards.  He racks the balls and rolls up his sleeves.  You forget to blink. He must have put on at least 15 kg of muscle, and he was already built before.  He grabs a cue stick off the wall and comes around the table so his ass is facing you.  He bends over and looks back at you before he takes the break shot.  You look away and start cleaning the counter again, but your eyes keep returning to him.   

-

You bring him his drink and he thanks you.  

You linger and ask,“How'd you get so good?"

He looks you up and down and shrugs.  “Grab a cue.  I’ll show you.” 

You look at the bar and it’s still those regulars.  You know they’ll be there until closing.  You grab a stick off the wall.

Corey crosses his toned arms and says, “Show me what you’ve got.”   His eyes are dark.  Part of you finds his presence unnerving, but the warm, wet part of you is grateful for the excuse to bend over in front of him. 

You lean over the pool table and Corey crowds you.  You don't mind the cliche when he gets all the way up against you to show you how it’s done.  He puts both his huge hands over yours.  His hands are as scratched up as his face.  His chin rests on your shoulder, and his body leans into yours.  

He says, "First lesson."  A hardness swells against your skirt, then his lips brush your ear.  “Don’t start something you can't finish,” he whispers. You swallow.  His hand on yours takes the shot, and a ball rolls into a pocket.  

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you begin to stand upright.  You turn your head and try to turn your body, but he has you pinned to the table.

“Or someone will have to finish it for you,” he adds, then his lips barely brush the skin below your ear.  Your ass subtly pushes back into him before you can stop it.  He takes the cue and places the stick on the table.  His massive hands feel up the sides of your thighs, sliding up under your skirt.  His breath is hot on your cheek as he grinds his arousal into you.   Your breath hitches and all your blood rushes to your loins.  He gives you space to turn around.    

“Closing time, right?,” Corey says, looking at the clock behind you.  He reaches around you and picks up the bottle to take a sip of his beer.   

Your heart flutters.“Yeah, it’s just a few minutes-”

He slams his empty bottle down and walks over to the jukebox and puts on Nine Inch Nails. 

You straighten your skirt and compose yourself to go close out the regulars.  

One of them asks if you’re good and you say yes.  He yells over to Corey telling him to walk you to your car.  

Corey gives him a thumbs up and a smile that sends a chill down your spine.  The regulars leave.  

Your face is warm as you look at Corey and come back out from behind the bar.  

“Should I go?” He booms from the billiards table over the music.  The last thing you want is for him to leave.  You know you shouldn’t let him stick his crazy in you, but you’re thinking with the wrong head.  

“It's okay. I still have some clean-up,” you say.  You wipe down the other end of the bar as he plays pool.  You start stacking chairs on top of tables, and you get to the one that’s closest to him.  You watch him with your heart racing.  You're getting wetter and wetter as he clears all the balls and puts the cue sticks back on the wall. 

He leans his ass and both hands against the pool table and crosses his ankles.  His jaw clenches.  

"Here's the deal. I'll leave if you want.  But if I stay. . . you're really mine this time."  He looks you dead in the eye.  

You don't say anything.  You step closer and start to grab the empty bottle beside him, but before you touch it, he intercepts you with a large, veiny hand on your wrist.  He brings your hand to the bulge in his pants and his lips part as he stares at you darkly.  Your palm meets the hardness in his pants, and it sends a tingling rush through your body.  The cut on the bridge of his nose intensifies the darkness of his gaze.   

“So, what's it going to be?” Corey asks. The vein on his neck bulges.

You swallow.  You can’t form words.  You remember to blink, and your eyelashes flutter.  

He lets go of your hand, but you leave it on his pants.  He subtly thrusts into your palm and your fingers involuntarily cradle his girth.  You find your body gravitating closer.  His eyes look back and forth between yours.  Your eyelids are getting heavy as you look back at him.

He presses you for an answer.  "Should I leave?"

Your eyes close and you take a deep breath.  “No,” you whisper.   

“Are you sure?”  He lightly strokes your temple with his thumb as he searches your eyes.  “Because once you're mine, I’m not letting go.”  His dark eyes smile.  

This is bad.  You know better.  You know *so much* better.  Tell him to leave.  Tell him to never come back.  You beg your legs to walk away, but they don’t.  

His face gets closer, and his hands come to your hips.  His nose brushes yours and your mouth hungrily accepts his perfect  lips.  He swells harder into your hand.  His lips move from your mouth to your neck, and he kisses, then licks, then marks you as though to illustrate his point.  

-

He steps out from between you and the pool table and your hand falls empty as he gets behind you again like he was earlier with the cue stick.  He grinds his thick arousal into you and his hands rove your thighs.  He lifts up your skirt so the bulge of his pants is against your stockings and he sighs. His khakis are smooth and soft and his bulge is hard and warm.  You're absolutely aching for him.  

It doesn't help that the song “Closer" is starting to play. Your primitive self is taking over. 

"You should give in," he says in a low voice. "But I'm not going to make you. Say the word and I'm gone" 

For a moment, he allows a couple of inches of space between your ass and his pants, and you ache for him closer again.  

"Don't go," your cock-blind mouth whispers.  

He closes the gap and chews on the nape of your neck as he grinds into you.  One of his hands comes between the two of you.  His large knuckles graze your ass.  You hear his zipper, and a wave of arousal floods your body.  

"Really? Think you can handle it?" He asks.  

He's not talking about his cock, but it's the only thing on your mind.  You barely nod. 

After a few seconds of rustling, his warm, stiff arousal smashes into the nook at the bottom of your ass, his skin on your skin through the soft diamonds of your stockings.  Corey's arm hooks around you and nestles between your breasts as his large hand wraps around your neck as he inhales the crown of your head.  His huge fingers apply light pressure to your neck and his forearm flexes,  making your knees weak with desire.  He could probably strangle you with that one big hand.  You don't flinch.  The pressure intensifies briefly before abruptly turning into a caress.  Then, he sucks the hell out of your neck. The pain puckers your nipples, and goosebumps prickle across your body.

His other hand slides around your waist, under your shirt, under your bra, and cups your breast, palming your hard nipple while he grinds his hardness into your ass and kisses the nape of your neck.  He crosses both hands in front of you and you let him take off your shirt.  Then, he expertly removes your bra.  He gropes your breasts and stomach and breathes heavily into your ear, his hardness thickening against you.  

-

He turns you around to face him.  His chest rises and falls as he looks at you.  His hard girth presses into your front.  He hikes your skirt up all the way over your ass, wraps his arms around you, and grabs your ass with both of his hands.   One hand slides down your crack, the heel of his palm pressing down on your stockings between your cheeks, then creeps between your legs.  Two of his thick digits run lightly - unbearably lightly - over your clit, then he slips them inside the soaked crotch of your stockings and your ample wetness meets his meaty fingers.  

"Fuck," he says. Your hips roll into him and tension coils tightly in your core.   His other hand massages you from the front.  You're engulfed by both his large hands, one from the back and one from the front.  Meanwhile, his nose drags across your neck and shoulder inhaling your scent.  

The thick fingers from each hand meet at a single diamond hole in the stockings, and he rips them wide open.  Your thighs tremble.  You want him so bad, he can take you anywhere he wants.

You practically jump up onto the pool table and lift your knees as he spreads them.  One huge hand on the small of your back steadies you there while his other hand holds his hard cock.  He looks down at himself then up at you as he thumbs the tip where precum is beading.  

"Last chance to back out," he whispers gruffly with a snarl.  Your legs wrap around him before you can think. You can't speak.  You just barely shake your head no.

He drags his swollen tip along your dripping cunt and leaves it nestled at your entrance.  Both his hands come behind you and he teases your warm, wet hole with short thrusts.  Not even the head is fully penetrating you. The tension deep inside you coils tighter and warmer.  Your whole body is dizzy with need for him. 

"You really want it that bad," he breathes, looking at you with black eyes.  "Bad enough to give up everything." 

Warmth rushes your face.  You nod and your eyes water at your lack of restraint. The swollen head of his cock begins to breach your entrance.  The stretch makes you gasp.  You don’t remember it being like this.  He plunges into you, parting your insides, filling you to the brim.  His hips rock into you, fucking you slowly and smoothly at first, but soon he begins to bury himself inside you more forcefully.  The coil in your core pulses and threatens to spring you open.   

Each thrust fills you with something you can't even describe.  You've never felt anything like this, not even when you fucked him before. Your whole body feels electrified.  An energy you don't understand is pouring out of him and into you as your bodies become one.  His cock makes you physically complete.  You start to miss it even while it's still inside you.  The thought of even an inch of air between you stings your eyes.  You never want to be apart. 

He feels so fucking good, and the way he glides so firm and full inside you, the way he holds you, it's all so perfect.  You think, why not? Why not go with him? His pace quickens with his arms tight around you, using the edge of the pool table for balance as he thrusts into you.  

He grunts softly into your ear, and you know you can’t hold off much longer.   "Fuck, you feel good," he growls.  "You were made for me."  The sound of his voice sends you.  You moan as the rush floods your body in waves.  You flutter around his cock and his big hands grip your ass.  He pulls you even tighter into him and grunts with each of your contractions.  He erupts  inside you in enormous pulses, filling you up with his hot seed.  

As he catches his breath, he takes your hands in his and closes his eyes.  When he opens his eyes, they're watery.  "I've wanted this for so long," he says.  "I thought about you so much." His arms engulf you as you sit on the table.  

“Meet Your Master” starts playing. 

"I thought about you, too," you say into his chest. 

"No," he says confidently.  He slowly adds, "You have no idea how much I've thought about you.  How many times and ways."  He kisses your head then your lips, and the kiss becomes passionate.  He pulls back and looks at you, reading your face like a book.  His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "You've been mine all along."  He strokes your hair.  "And I won't ever let you go again." 

Your stomach turns a little, but he kisses you hard, and it drowns out the doubt for now.

His eyes darken to black, and his voice deepens.  "Because if I can't have you, no one will." 

-

BONUS: Alternate/deleted sexual position (lol)

#toxicanonymity ☠️ #corey cunningham x reader #dark!corey cunningham #shape!corey cunningham #corey cunningham smut #corey cunningham x you #corey cunningham #meowmeow!corey cunningham #cordeliart

[siampie]

Finding You||Chapter 2

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3 k

Warnings/tags: pinning, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome, mention of emotional abuse.

A/N: Enjoy this chapter, you guys. I don’t have much to say about this chapter. Apart from the fact that there’s some set up for Reader’s own story.  

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Tag list: @marytheweefrenchie, @sunflowersandsapphires, @schneeflocky, @danzer8705, @shouldbestudying41,

@beezusvreeland

Dividers by @cafekitsune

I have to talk to you, call me.

That was all what your sister;Mary;had texted you. She had sent it last night while you were sleeping. You couldn’t call her that morning. Not being in the same time zone made communication between you difficult but not impossible. It had also triggered your anxiety. What did she want to talk about? Maybe it was nothing too important. You were trying to convince yourself. A feeble attempt to calm your nerves.

Still, you were anxious. You usually called one another on the week-ends. And you never asked to call. It was never a thing. That she went out of her way to ask you to call was strange and worrisome. So being in a different time zone than your sister, you waited for your lunch break to call her.

“So, how’s life in Dublin?” You sister asked you once she picked up the call. You stood outside of the building. Your sister was finishing feeding her son his breakfast as you were calling her.

“Good.” You answered quickly. “How’s the little one?” You knew what she was doing, she was stalling. Whatever she had to say must be really bad if she felt the need to stall. So, you played into it. But the fact that she was stalling only spiked your anxiety levels.

“He’s growing up.” She said, you could hear the smile in her voice. Your sister had always wanted to be a mother and after years of trying with her partner, she became one to a healthy little boy. You were happy for her. “But it always seems like he’s trying to get himself killed.”

You snorted. “It seems like he’s failing so far.” You heard the clatter of utensils on the line. “Why did you want me to call?”

“Oh, boy!” You sister let out a long breath. “It’s about mom.”

“What about her?” You let out a shaky breath.

“Dave may have told her where you live. Giving her your address and everything.” Mary told you.

Dave was your brother. You did not have a good relationship with him. You didn’t hate him but he had failed to show up anytime you asked for his help. While you showed up each and every single time. And he sometimes had the audacity to blame you for being ungrateful for all that he was doing for you. You could not be grateful for something he had never done or that he done once in a blue moon. Whereas he failed to see all the times you had helped him.

He had not been in favor of your moving away. Judging that the money that your father had left you, should be shared amongst you. Because that was what your father would have wanted; for you to share the money equally. But you had refused. You were going to but the fact he suggested the idea. No, not suggested. Demanded that you do it, had made you decide otherwise. You chose to enjoy the money your father had left for you. Mary and Matthew had found it natural that your father would leave that money to you. You had earned it for all the sacrifices you had made for them.

After all, your sacrifices had allowed them to move out, to live their lives. It had allowed them to fall in love and build their own home and family. While you remained behind, taking care of your father, and maybe wasting your life away. They knew what you had done for them. And all they wanted was for you to finally be happy. This money was your reward. And you could do with it as you pleased.

You felt your anger flared up in your veins. You took a deep breath before you spoke. Trying to leave the anger out of your tone. Your sister was not the one who betrayed your trust. She was only the messenger. And you didn’t want to yell at her. Not at your sister.

“What the hell did he do that for?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “All he said was that mom asked and he saw no reason not to tell her.”

“Look, I get why all of you want a relationship with her. I do. But I told you, I don’t want to have a relationship with the woman.” You reminded her.

“I know that.” Mary reassured you. “And Matt knows that. And so does Dave. And honestly, I don’t know why he did that. But you’re in Ireland. She’s not gonna show up on your doorstep. You really think she’s gonna waste money on you?”

“No, I don’t think she will.” You replied, leaning on the wall behind you. “Still, I don’t want her to know where I am. She’s still with that prick, isn’t she?”

“They’ve been together for twenty years. And there’s no sign of a separation. They are more in love than ever.”

You scoffed. “Of course they are.”

“Listen, I don’t think they are gonna come and find you in Ireland. And why would they?” Mary tried to comfort you.

“To stir shit up.” You replied.

“I think she genuinely wants to have a relationship with you. And I know, you don’t. And Dave was wrong to give her your address.” Mary kept on. “I don’t think she’s going to show up, I just needed you to know.”

That gave you pause. “You don’t think she’s going to show up. But you needed me to know that she knew where I was?”

“Yeah—just in case.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Just in case. Yeah, she’s definitely showing up. With her boyfriend.”

“Husband.” Your sister corrected you.

“Fantastic.” You said dryly. “Remind me again why I decided not to go no contact with Dave?”

“Your goddaughter.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Of course.” Your sister breathed out. “What kind of sister would I be if I didn’t?”

“The bad kind.” You joked softly. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Say it back.” You frowned up.

“Talk to you later.” And she hung up. You immediately texted back a middle finger emoji.

You laughed when she texted it back to you. You dropped your head back against the wall.

Your mother had left when you were a child. And immediately after leaving your father, she had found love in the arms of her new husband. After years of emotional abuse, and manipulation on her part, of constant walking in and out of your life, you put a stop to it. You couldn’t go through this anymore. It was too painful. Plus, you hated her new husband. He was—he was not good. You had tried to accept him. You wanted to. But something about him, the way he behaved around you, made you afraid and unsafe. You couldn’t have that in your life. You didn’t want to feel that way anytime you were around your mother. You stopped any attempt at having a relationship with her. You no longer wanted her in your life.

Hopefully, your sister was right, your mother would not make the journey to Ireland. You were hoping for it at least. Your life was finally getting together. You were at peace here in Ireland and you wanted it to stay that way.

As soon as you got home, you discarded your shoes by the door, dropped your bags by the couch and fell into it. That day had turned out to be a long one. You loved hearing from your sister but you had regretted to call her at all. Especially with the bit of news she had given you. You should have stayed in bed this morning. Although, if you had—you would not have met your quite handsome neighbor.

Your mind flashed back to his soft hazel eyes, and the lone dimple that appeared under his beard when he smiled. Quite handsome, indeed.

“Damn it!” You cussed. “He’s a criminal. A drug lord and a murderer. You can’t find him attractive.”

You shouldn't and you wouldn't. He was a Kinsella and they were dangerous people. You needed to stay away from him.

Dressed in grey leggings and a large hoodie, you were enjoying your small diner in front of mind-numbing TV. When the red and blue lights flashed through your front windows. The Garda were down your streets. Shortly after they arrived, you heard the heart wrenching wail of a woman down the street. You slowly put your plate down. What had happened? You knew by the sound of that scream that terrible news had just been delivered.

The flashes of blue and red had vanished a while after that. You were lying in bed, hopelessly trying to fall asleep. But your thoughts could not just stop swirling around in your mind. Jimmy and Amanda had lost their son; Jamie Kinsella. The local news had broadcasted the news on their websites. It was brief and they didn’t have much information. But all of them relayed the same information over and over again. Jamie Kinsella had been shot and died on the scene.

You couldn’t help the sadness that taken over you when you read the news.  He was barely seventeen. Too young to die. He was just a child. You knew how it felt to lose a parent. It was painful and heartbreaking. In your case, you had time to say goodbye and come to terms with it. It was a loss; it was painful but not in the way the world perceived it. You had known it was coming. And you had already mourned your father before it ever happened. You had expected it.

As for Jamie, it was unexpected. It was so sudden and brutal. How did one prepare for such a death? How did one prepare for the loss of a child? It was not the natural order of things. That was not how it was supposed to go. A parent should never have to bury a child. And yet, it happened.

Why were you affected by it? Yes, it was sad. A young life had just ended but you barely knew him. It shouldn’t bother you that much. It shouldn’t affect you as it did. Your thoughts inevitably drifted to your neighbor next door. How was he feeling? How was he coping with the loss? Was he over at his brother’s to bring his support? Or was he alone in his home dealing with the loss on his own? No one should be alone when dealing with a loss. You knew how terrible it was to receive no comfort. To just stew in your own pain, alone.

Seeing as you couldn’t sleep, you had moved downstairs. You quietly made your way into your kitchen, looking for something that may help you fall asleep. The gold door light of your neighbor was filtering through your large window. Against the dimmed light, you could make out the silhouette of a woman walking away from Michael’s house. It was too dark out for you to be able to tell who it was. You watched as she disappeared behind the brick wall.

It must have been hard on all of them. Especially after they had all celebrated Michael’s release from prison. And now this. The tragic loss of a child. You could only imagine how Jimmy and Amanda were feeling. And Michael—

You took a deep breath and grabbed your keys off of the hook. You stepped out of the front door, in the chill air of the night. After you locked your door, you hugged yourself to keep warm and made your way to your neighbor’s door. You two had just met and this was probably bold of you to assume. But you thought that he might not want to be alone to face this. And maybe you were wrong. Maybe Michael did not mind being alone. That thought alone made you hesitate. Still, you made your way over to his doorstep. Your fist hovered for a few seconds. Hesitating. With another deep breath, you knocked three times. And you waited. You were growing more nervous as the seconds went by. You hugged yourself tighter. The door swung open revealing Michael behind it.

“Michael, hey.” You greeted him. Shoulders slumped, eyes red from crying, Michael looked tired and pained. Although, he tried and failed to hide it all behind a mask. “I saw the Guards earlier—” You went for the direct approach. And mentally slapped yourself for it.

“So, ya know about Jamie?” He nodded solemnly.

“I do.” You nodded. “I just came to see if you were—how you were doing?”

He scoffed, his sorrowful gaze dropping to the ground. “Not great.”

You puffed out a shaky breath. “I don’t mean to intrude or—” You trailed off. “Do you want to be alone?” You questioned him. His eyes snapped up at you. His brows scrunched up in confusion. His eyes roamed your face, studying you. “I know what it’s like to be alone when you lose someone.” You blurted out. “It’s not great but—if you’d rather be alone—” You trailed off.

His sorrowful eyes scanned you over. Studying you. You had surprised him. He clearly did not expect his neighbor that he barely met, to come to him in the middle of the night. Especially not to offer him comfort. Comfort that he desperately needed. Birdy had told him that he needed to be there for Jimmy and Amanda. Amanda had asked him what were Jamie’s last moments like. And for all of them, he had shown a brave face. He had stood strong but he was there too. He had seen it all. And no one had stopped to ask how he was feeling—except for you. His gaze roamed your face, he noticed how you tightened your arms around your middle.

He cleared his throat. “D’ya—want to come in?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. Michael stepped to the side to let you in.

So much for staying away from the criminal next door. There you were, in his home in the middle of night. The layout of his home was almost identical to yours for the most part, kitchen by the front door. The hallway that led to the living room. You left your slippers by the front door and followed Michael to the sitting room. He sat down in his couch as you stood by the doorway. Putting a semblance of distance between you.

“I was there,” Michael said after a few minutes of silence.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words before your eyes fell shut. Pained to hear that he had seen it happened. He looked up at you, grief etched into every line of his face.

“He was laughin’, messin’ around and then—he was just gone.” Michael said quietly. His face crumpled as a set of fresh tears fell down his face. His hand quickly wiped away any traces of them.

“I’m so sorry you had to see it.” You said quietly, tears pressing against your eyes.

“He was just a boy.” Michael continued quietly.

“I know.” You were itching to reach over and just pull him into your embrace. Would he even allow it?

“Birdy told me I need to be there for Jimmy and Amanda.” His voice cracked. “Losin’ their son and everythin’. But—I—I lost him too.” He buried his face into his hands. “Jamie was—” His voice muffled by his hands. You waited for him to finish his thought but it never came as a sob racked his body.

You quickly wiped away a stray tear from your face. You moved to go sit down next to him. Your arms slowly and gently wrapped around him. And pulled him into you. His hands went up to your forearm, around his neck. You leaned your cheek on the top of his head. Whispering words of comfort as he wept. You probably had overstepped boundaries here. But what were you supposed to do? This was the only way you knew how to bring comfort.

Your ran your hand on his back in a soothing circle. When he seemed to have calm down, he pulled gently away from you. Your arms fell back at your sides. He ran his hand over his face, erasing the tears that had fallen there.

“Sorry.” He apologized as he did so.

“Don’t be.” You shook your head. “It’s okay.” You started to run your hands on your thighs, in a nervous manner. “I just—I’m so sorry about Jamie.”

Michael nodded solemnly; his eyes red from crying. He rested his hand on your knee. Your breath hitched in your throat at the gesture. Your eyes went to his face. He was staring at you, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Thank you,” He said. “For askin’ and for—bein’ here.”

“Ah.” You nodded, smiling softly. “I have no merit. I was just doing my neighborly duties.”

“Is that it?” Michael retorted his voice still thick with emotions. He cleared his throat. “Is that why you here?”

You shrugged. “Like I said, I know how it feels like to lose someone and have no one there with you; to comfort you. When you desperately need it. It feels very—”

“Lonely.” He finished for you.

“Yeah.” You stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds. “And should you need a shoulder to cry on again—I’m right next door. Whenever you need.”  

He squeezed your knee gently, as tears welled back up in his eyes. A warm smile made its way onto his face. You had meant it. You probably shouldn’t have offered but you couldn’t help yourself. Michael Kinsella had looked so broken and so pained; it was hard to not offer comfort when he needed it. You knew too well, what it was like to not receive any when you needed it. And Michael needed it.

You just really hoped you had helped a little.

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#michael kinsella fic #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x fem! reader #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella #comfort #kin rte #kin amc #kin bbc

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part eighteen - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: talk of killing/kill for hire job

Even though she left an extensive note to Michael detailing what happened, she decides to follow it up with a text. 

Hey, sorry about the wet marks on the couch and rug.

I’m worried about you. Is leather jacket man always going to come crawling to you when he gets beat up?

I’m a bad roommate.

Nah, you’re just ❤️in ❤️ Also, a letter taped to the fridge? I feel like I’m in the 1800s. Had to read that shit by candlelight to make it really authentic.

She smiles, laughs out loud, then frowns, puts her phone down and rubs her face, attempting to massage some reality back into her brain to replace the vivid delusion she’s been entertaining.

A knock on the door of their hotel room makes her suspicious. After all, John said: “don’t open the door”, “don’t leave the room”, “pick up the phone if it rings”.

But surely not answering the door doesn’t apply if it’s hotel manager on the other end.

Winston’s rich voice is a salve to chafed nerves, and she’s scurrying eagerly to let him in.

“May I come in?” He looks as tired as she feels, even with the kind smile on his face.

He sits in the swivel leather desk chair while she folds her legs up on the bed and listens to what he has to say.

“Do you know what they call him?”

“Who? John?”

Winston nods. “They call him Baba Yaga, the Boogeyman. A terrifying monster. The thing that lurks under your bed, if you will.”

“Why?” She asks this because she knows it’s what he wants her to inquire.

“Once he wants someone dead, whether it be for professional or personal reasons, their fate is sealed. No one he’s hunted has ever lived .”

Spiders ballroom waltz down her spine. “He’s dangerous,” she summarizes.

“He’s lethal. And I’ve never, ever seen him like this.”

She picks the skin on her fingers, which Winston notices and scolds her for. “That can cause bad infections, you know.” He’s not mad, though; still, with a gentle smile, he offers to have a variety of stress balls sent to the room instead.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to accommodate me,” she admits, blood hot on her neck and jaw.

“My dear child, I do not have to do anything. I want to make you as comfortable as possible.”

She blanches a little bit at the term of endearment from him, reminded of a wise old uncle lost at sea, here to give her advice in her time of need.

He drops that topic for now. “It’s not my place to say, but he’s in love with you.”

She’s grateful for his patience as she chokes on this information.

“And while Johnathan is dear to me,” Winston says, leveling her like C4 does to a skyscraper, “It would be, forgive my wording, fucked up , if I didn’t try to help you get away from this life while you still can.” He pauses for a moment, and in his silence she hears the ending to that trailing sentence: “ if you still can.”

“You really think he’s that.. bad?”

Winston gives her a puzzled look. “No, not at all.” He shakes his head. “You misunderstand. I think the opposite. Johnathan has always been truculent, capricious, and implacable, but he has never been capable of being bad . The problem is not what he will do to you, it’s what he will do to protect you. And the hold over him someone could acquire by obtaining you…”

He keeps trailing off, which makes her think that he’s constantly trying not to say something. “Like, kill me?” She clarifies.

“Or worse.”

Oh.

“I just want you to know you have options. It’s very easy to feel stuck.” His contemplative expression denotes that he’s been on the receiving end of that statement once or twice.

“Mr. Scott,” she says, “you’re really, really nice… thank you for being that way.”

“Please,” he holds up a hand, smile gentle, “call me Winston. A friend of Johnathan’s is a friend of mine.”

Once he leaves, she takes a big breath and screams into a pillow a couple times. Then, she engages it in a boxing match it didn’t consent to.

John clears his throat, and the image of her turning around, one hand strangling the pillow and the other raised to hit it, little mouth popped open in an O of surprise, makes him laugh.

“Uh.. the pillow started it.”

The fact that he’s quiet enough to open the door, shut the door, and then get halfway into the room with a cloth bag and a dinner tray balanced in his arms is unsettling. Only because it means he can get away from her too easily as well.

He unloads his arms onto the desk. “I’m sure it did. You want me to kick its ass?”

“Nah, I don’t think we’ll have too many problems with it anymore.” She places the crumpled pillow back in its nesting place on the bed.

“I got turkey sandwiches,” he says, pointing to the tray. He sees the untidy office chair and tilts his head. “Was someone in here?”

She could lie, but he’d see right through it. “Winston came up.”

His smile immediately drops a little, but he doesn’t press the issue . “Com’ere, eat.”

He bought four different bags of chips from the dining hall, three kinds of soda bottles, and two ice cream cakes in styrofoam containers.

The sandwich is delicious, probably because she’s eaten nothing but peanut butter toast and strawberries in the past 24 hours.

“I took our clothes to dry cleaning,” he tells her, “they’ll be done and at the door in the morning.”

She looks up at him, hair mussed and static-y, a big bite of sandwich in her cheek, sleepy bags under her eyes, red puffy robe so pretty on her skin tone - god, the color suits her - shoulder slipping down because she wanted one two sizes too big.

She says something to him after she swallows. Maybe thank you. He’s too busy kissing her to hear the words, slipping his knuckles into her hair to grip the base of her skull.

He’s desperate with tongue and lips, like she’s going to slip through his hands into the floor and fall to the core of the earth. He traps her thighs in his own, grabs the bottom of her chair and drags her closer and tries to pull her into his lap.

Both of them don’t fit in the office chair comfortably, not with the way he wants to hold her, so he picks her up around the waist and takes her to bed.

When will this stop being surprising? The fact that he can just fold her up and cradle her like she’s made of clouds instead of meat and fat and bone.

The entire time, he manages to keep kissing her, too. Like a scene from one of those sickly romance movies she tends to shy away from.

“Were you done eating?” He asks, kissing her cheeks and forehead. The tip of her nose.

She pushes her arms around his neck, pulls him so that she can land a big, wet kiss right on his forehead, and he swears to god she must’ve left an imprint because of the residual feeling; the heat that spreads from her mouth onto his cheeks. His eyes go all soft and melted chocolate for her, big strong shoulders caving and slack. He curls around her like a heated, weighted blanket, covers and shelters her and makes her feel….

There’s a word for it.

Safe . From everything but him.

“John,” she giggles, his adorable little pet - thinking back to a classical childhood cartoon, he grins - the young girl squeezing the life out of her new pet ducky, going on about how she wants to hug him and hold him and hug him and hold him forever because he’s so cute -

“S’your fault,” he murmurs into her ear, inhales her. She smells like his soap. “You taught me how to cuddle.”

She can’t argue with him, and she doesn’t want to.

He overkills the heat and wraps a blanket around them, but she doesn’t mind sweating a bit. Not if it means she gets to stay clinging on him.

He plans to slip his devil fingers under this robe and give her some clit petting stress relief - rub her into a slow, beautiful mess before his mouth replaces his hand and gets a taste of what it’s been salivating for - but her eyes are closing and she’s getting softer and her breath is evening out through her chest. She settles into sleep like walking into one room from the next, determined grip still tight around his robe collar. Eyelashes soft and tickling her cherub cheeks.

He kisses her head, brushes hair out of her face. My human , he thinks, almost absently, like the thought just organically appeared and has been here all along.

Mine

#john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x plus size reader

[blerb-f1]

This one goes out to @leclerking and their lovely anon! I saw that ask and suddenly felt compelled to write my first FF in like 10 years. Hope it ain't too bad because golly gee i haven't written since it was actually 2011. I also don't know how to do this Tumblr thing so i hope it works lol. Also, i kinda ignored parts of the prompt but not like purposely but i really can't do that because that isn't my personality and your girl is struggling. Anyway, enough rambling. I hope this is fine still.

RBR!Sebastian Vettel x Ferrari!Fem!Reader

Y/N stood in front of the hotel rooms mirror, desperately trying to force her hair into some kind of suitable hairstyle. Something that wouldn't make her look like an absolute buffoon. Something that would convince her team that she was a viable member coming into the future.

Currently, life sucked. Ferrari was rethinking her staff contract quoting "Cost Cutting Measures". Cost Cutting her ass, more like saving money for the execs to waste on vacations or something. Additionally, her mother had started jumping on the whole "Married by 22, kids by 25 train" and started calling her a withering vegetable that no one would like. Telling yourself that you, you're a cool rock and nothing hurts you is one thing, but having your mother repeat mean thoughts iis different. That shit sticks. Couldn't a Gal enjoy her life for a moment before settling down?

Y/N finally gave up, resorting to her hair just staying loose with some spray on glitter on top. That stuff would stick everywhere but nothing would be able to worsen this day by now. Her dress already almost entirely covered in glitter, she felt like it almost was a wall against all the outside forces, which were ready to fight her. Especially that walking, lovable, hateable nuisance called Sebastian Vettel with his cursed curly hair.

One last breath. Air in, air out. 'You got this', she muttered while checking her appearance one last time.

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

As it turned out, she didn't got this. Seeing her Ferrari Coworkers all happily dancing, enjoying her life, while her great F1 Dreams were sitting on a knife's edge drove her mad. Sebastian had sent her a wink along with a cheeky expression coming from the Red Bull table. Normally she'd be ready to throw hands at him. Maybe steal a touch then and there. But not today. She was about to follow her dream of working for her Idols Team.

She sat in the darker part of the stage, eyes still focused on Sebastian as she saw movement at the Mercedes Table. Michael Schumacher had gotten up and walked towards Sebastian. Seeing those two together always irked her weirdly. Schumacher was her Idol, Sebastian was the rude thought that woke her up at night.

________________________

"ANOTHER WIN FOR VETTEL!" the announcer screamed loudly, his voice penetrating Y/Ns Ears badly. She pressed her hands on top of her ears as she saw her favourite Nuisance approaching, not that she'd ever let him know. His smug grin practically made her blood boil.

He stared into her eyes, savouring the defeating expression she showed.

"Well, Schatz, what do you say now, huh? Need me to show your Team how to drive a car?"

She sighed. He always called her Schatz which grated her nerves badly.

"Oh Honey, don't need you to do that. But you'd better go ahead and give your car the stroking she deserves. Kinky Kylie has the only ass you'll ever get close to and she deserves it after carrying you to victory"

Y/N crossed her arms, giving him a disapproving expression. Sebastian's Eyes widened for a short second before returning to his usual smug grin. "At least Kylie runs well. Never seen a Shitbox like yours." He turned around to leave before facing her one last time : "You know, your ass could be the next one if you'd like?"

Y/N scoffed. "In your dreams, Vettel."

—------------

Michael seemed to talk to him about something. Important Driver things propably. Weirdly though, he kept glancing in her direction as if telling Sebastian something related to her? Did he hear about her getting axed? Telling him that this Nuisance would be gone? 'No, unlikely 'Y/N thought.' Michael Schumacher wouldn't do something like that. Not to a staff member.' Nonetheless, her thoughts kept spiraling and tears started threatening to spill out of her eyes.

She quickly collected her purse and rushed to a side hallway, sinking down on the cold ground as large shimmering droplets started spilling down her face.

Life sucked. What was she supposed to do? She left school and started working for Ferrari. She didn't have any other plans, this goddam Team was her Dream!

The woman leaned against the wall, the cold surging through her thin dress as a cold stream of air hit her shoulders. She opened her teary eyes and glanced in the direction of the cold stream. Of course, he had to appear. Sebastian Vettel in the Flesh. He quickly stepped towards her with an almost concerned expression on his face. Concerned? He? For her? Y/N tried to bite on her lip to stop the tears from spilling but-

"Don't". His voice being so much much gentler than usual. "That only hurts but doesn't stop the tears"

She scoffed. "Why do you care?"

Sebastian slid onto the ground next to her. "Because I can't stand seeing a pretty girl like you crying. Who made you cry like that?" he asked before turning towards her. His face returned into his usual cheeky grin. "Or are you crying because you can't have me?"

"Shut up Vettel" she managed to mutter in between sniffles before grabbing a tissue to wipe her tears.

Sebastian relaxed against the wall, staring at Y/N. "Tell me what's going on. Crying won't do shit, you know. Gotta tackle those issues before they blow up more than they already do."

She just stared at him again. "Why" punctuating each word. "Do you care?"

"MaybeIDontWantToSeeYouCry" he quickly answered.

"Weren't you happy to see me cry after a race?"

"That's different. So, What's up? Talk or I'm telling Michael to solve this." He gestured widly.

Y/N blew her nose before finally giving up. No chance of winning today. She stumbled over her words for a second before finally speaking.

"Ferrari wants to axe me. And mom threatens to disown me if I don't get married soon."

"Oh"

Of course. He wouldn't give her a real answer. This stupid-

"Oh Schatz." Sebastian spoke. "That's a tough situation you got there. I don't know why Ferrari would want to let you go but honestly, their strategies are sometimes stupid as fuck so I'm not surprised. And you, getting disowned, because you aren't married yet?"

Y/N stared at him wide-eyed. ".. Yeah"

Thoughts seemed to rattle in his brain as he noticed Y/N starting to shiver in the cold room. Slipping out of his jacket before draping it over her shoulder which gained him a bewildered expression.

"That's more like the Y/N I like, you know. No tears."

".. You like me?"

"I uhh" he blushed. "I never said that! But I can't have you gone from F1, that won't be the same without you. I could talk to Christian. If you'd be fine with Red Bull of course?"

Y/N still was bewildered. He…actually liked her? Enough to talk Christian Horner into letting her join? She felt her stomach churn at the thought of leaving the Ferrari and joining Red Bull of all Places. But somehow the idea of staying with him sounded nice. Very nice.

"You mean it?" she asked, pulling the jacket tighter.

"I do." Sebastians Expression was very serious. She'd never seen him like that before. Not smug or teasing but honest. This was enough to convince her to give in. She let herself sink onto his shoulder, hands falling into these damned soft looking curles as her face laid against his neck. He only felt his neck heat up more before letting his hands rest on her waist.

"Does that mean Yes?" he asked, almost shyly.

She learned forward and pressed a Kiss against his Lips, Hands locking into his hair. "Is that enough of an answer?" His brain was long gone, melted. Flirting was great. He was great at it but Y/N made his Thoughts go wild. Kind words turned into teasing mean remarks but that somehow worked out well didn't it? As his own hands slid through her glittery hair, Y/N asked a Question:" What were you and Michael talking about there?"

The difficult one. Mean question.

"He noticed you looking down and asked me to check on you, quoting you'd be embarrassed by someone older doing it or something"

She hummed against his chest, reveling in the warmth that his body provided. "I guess the Marriage Issue is also solved."

—-------

After almost one long hour Sebastian and Y/N emerged from the corridor, looking noticeably more disheveled / covered in glitter than before while stealthily trying to return to their seats. Corinna, who said next to her Husband, sent him a warm smile." See? I was right about them. You know, Was sich liebt, das neckt sich."

—---------

TL:

'Was dich liebt, das neckt sich.' German proverb meaning people who love another tease another

#Sebastian Vettel x Reader #Sebastian vettel imagine #Sebastian Vettel #blerb writes