#* [ prompts. ] how to be a homewrecker!

[fure-dcmk]

comm work from last year!

[thricetailed]

tags part 2.

[quickestgold]

1) Love your writing and cant wait to see more!! 2) For the prompt inspiration, what about something along the lines of Jack's girlfriend, that Dana and Robby don't particularly like, shows up seriously injured at the Pitt?

Someone New: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: After witnessing the fallout from Jack's failed marriage, Dana and Robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. But when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of Jack’s feelings, their perspectives shift.

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma; traffic accident, death, injuries, mentions of a failed marriage, divorce

Word count: 1.9k

A/n: LMFAO guys, most of my requests rn are for injured readers are we okay? Anyway... enjoy xoxo (also, thanks so much for the compliment!! messages/comments like these are super motivating <3)

Mistress. Homewrecker. The Other Woman.

You’ve called yourself worse a thousand times. The guilt over how things started with Jack weighs on you. And though his love feels sweet and pure, it offers little comfort in the face of their judgment.

You wish you’d met under different circumstances. Started things the right way.

But in your heart you know it’s real. Even if they don’t.

The truth is, Jack’s marriage was over long before you came into the picture. They were separated when you met, though the divorce wasn’t final.

So you let others believe that it was your fault. Made little effort to dispel the rumors. To introduce yourself properly.

Maybe you were embarrassed.

Definitely ashamed.

Perhaps they had a point and you destroyed a perfectly good relationship. Or at least got in the way of Jack and his ex trying to salvage what was left.

But it doesn’t matter now. Not anymore. Nothing does.

“Female. 30s. Car vs. pedestrian. In and out of consciousness. Possible head injury. Probable femoral fracture”, the EMT presents.

The cold metal of the gurney beneath you makes you shiver, harsh sterile lights flickering overhead.

“Woah. What happened?” Dana’s voice is laced with concern.

“I’m fine", you murmur, but your voice betrays you, weak and unconvincing. “Just a bit sleepy.”

Why is everything spinning?

“You hit your head?” Robby's voice is sharp and suddenly close, the light of his pen so bright it feels like it’s burning through your skull. He instructs you to follow his finger. You try, but your vision is distorted, like shattered glass. You can barely manage to focus.

“I- I’m not sure”, you confess, struggling to catch your breath, your lungs burning.

“Someone pushed her into oncoming traffic", the EMT continues, calm and clinical, part of his routine. "A bicycle hit her head-on and a car slammed into her hip."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut and your stomach twists with horror.

You can't remember any of it.

You try to move, to sit up, but your body refuses.

Why is your face wet? You beg, pray, it’s just tears. It has to be.

But it’s thick and warm. And the familiar, metallic smell makes your head swim.

“J-Jack… I-“, you plead.

Robby’s movements are faster now. His commands sharp and alert. He gestures to Whittaker, who immediately reacts, moving swiftly, as he rushes out of the room, a quiet urgency in his steps.

Everyone knows about you and Jack. Though it feels like no one approves. Almost no one.

“Y/N, it’s okay. Just keep your eyes open for me, alright?” Collins’ voice is warm, grounding. She takes your hand and squeezes it tightly. You’re thankful. Thankful for her presence. To see a friendly face amidst the chaos.

But you can't shake the quiet fear that maybe... it’s the last one you’ll ever see.

Heather is one of the few who welcomed you, made an effort to get to know you.

You’ve become friends.

You meet up for coffee, chat for hours about the boys. And though her and Robby’s relationship ended, you can tell there is unresolved sadness between them. You wonder if either of them will ever admit it.

“Heather… I-I’m…” Your voice is barely audible now. You're slipping. Slipping fast.

You fight to stay awake. To hold on. Just a little longer. At least until you see Jack.

Until you get to say goodbye.

But your eyes grow heavier by the second, something pulling at you, each blink slower than the last.

You can hear yourself saying something. But it’s far away.

You’re shaking. Why is this hospital so goddamn cold?

Before you can say another word, everything fades to black.

“Male. 20s. Cyclist vs. pedestrian. Unconscious. Blunt force trauma to the head. Multiple fractures", another EMT announces, as they rush the gurney into Trauma Two, the team prepared and ready to work in perfect sync.

Jack's moves are quick, methodical. Driven by one clear, urgent goal: to stabilize the patient first, then assess for further injuries.

“Dr. Abbot?” Whittaker’s voice is tentative, his gaze flicking nervously between Jack and the patient on the table. He hovers just inside the doorframe, not quite sure whether to disturb Jack or not.

Jack glances up briefly, his hands moving over the patient's chest, steady and determined.

Whittaker hesitates, his voice shaky. “We need you in Trauma One.”

“I’m a little busy.” Jack mutters. “Get Robby!” His voice laced with authority. An order, not a suggestion.

He isn’t finished with this patient yet, not ready to be pulled away.

Whittaker hesitates, before he nods and steps back. Jack watches him go, but there's no time to think about what might be waiting in Trauma One.

His focus is here, the young patient's life literally in his hands.

“Abbot?” Robby growls, frustrated at Whittaker’s failed attempt.

Whittaker shakes his head, his expression tense. “He’s treating the cyclist in Trauma Two”, Whittaker answers, almost apologetic.

Robby curses under his breath, his eyes flashing to Dana.

He knows Jack will never forgive them if something happens to you and they didn’t tell him. If Jack doesn't get to you in time.

Dana knows, too. She knows that this isn’t just about the accident. It’s about what they owe Jack and what they owe you.

“Hold compressions.” Jack orders.

Everyone’s eyes are fixated on the monitor, but the flatline continues.

“Okay." Jack’s voice drops. "That’s it.”

“Time of death: 10:35”

Jack takes a minute of silent reflection. He’s been here before. Too many times. But it never gets any easier.

He steps out into the bay, taking a breath. His eyes search the nurse’s station, which is unusually empty.

Javadi almost crashes into him, gripping a blood bag tight to her chest. Jack steps back, putting distance between them.

“Slow down. If you trip and fall you’re no good to anybody.” Always the teacher, calm and collected. “Where’s Robby?”

Javadi stumbles over her words, struggling to catch her breath. “Trauma One, a- a pedestrian got hit.”

“Shit." Jack mutters. "I just called it on the cyclist.” His brows furrow. “Need any help?”

“Not sure… it’s not looking good.” And with that, she rushes back in.

Jack watches her go, making sure she doesn’t run into anyone else. His gaze flicks to the glass doors of Trauma One, catching Robby’s eyes. He's pressing into someone’s chest with practiced ease.

But there’s something else. Panic.

Jack’s alarm bells go off. He moves, quickly.

But before Jack reaches the door, Dana steps into his path. She places her palm against his chest, gently pushing him back.

“Jack”, her voice calm but firm. “You can come in, but we need to do this the right way, honey.” Her eyes soften, full of compassion. “Robby’s doing everything he can.”

In that moment, Jack catches a glimpse of the patient’s face. Your bloodied, gorgeous, beautiful face. The woman he loves.

Multiple hands are on you, your own dangling off the side of the gurney.

His eyes lock on the delicate ring he gave you only a few days ago.

The one that was supposed to be forever.

“What the fuck”, Jack tries to push past Dana, but Langdon and Matteo are already there, hands on his arms, holding him back.

“Dana”, Jack’s voice cracks.

“I know, hon. Take a breath”, she rubs soothing circles on his chest, then steps back. “We’ve got her!”

The sincerity in her voice, comforts him, if only slightly.

The fact that he just called his patient’s death a few minutes ago, tells him everything about the severity of your injuries.

There's a deep ache in Jack’s chest as he follows Dana into the room. He steps to your side, his hand brushing gently over your forehead, the way you like it. The way he’s always calmed you.

“I’m here, baby”, he whispers, his voice raw. “I’m here.”

He watches Robby and the team work, each movement calculated, each second agonizing.

He knows his place. He won’t overstep. His only focus is you.

Like many times before, Jack finds himself on the rooftop. Each inhale of the harsh midnight air a painful reminder of you in that hospital bed, fighting for every breath.

Jack feels someone approaching, doesn’t have to turn around to know who. “Who pushed her?” Jack's voice is low and raw with pain.

“They’re…-" Robby pauses, scratching his neck nervously. "They're still looking.” His tone is soft.

Jack nods, but the corners of his mouth turn downward. “You’ve been too hard on her, man.” He exhales sharply.

“I know, brother.” Robby's words are filled with guilt and regret. He wants to make this right. Needs to.

Jack's gaze hardens. “She was afraid, you know. Felt like you were judging her… more than me.” He huffs out a humorless laugh.

Robby’s remorse is palpable. “We were worried about you. Didn’t want to see you get hurt. We had no idea it was serious between you.”

“Does it matter?” Jack’s voice cracks on the last word.

“I- I suppose not.” Robby shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack nods. He doesn’t need Robby’s apology. You do.

“She gets it. She gets me.” Jack's looking straight at Robby now, barely bringing himself to say the words. “I wish you’d had the chance to get to know her. You would've loved her…” He tries to hold in a strangled sob, but it escapes anyway.

Robby steps closer, placing a hand on Jack's back, voice gentle and reassuring. “I still can… If she’ll let me.” He realizes he needs to carry that hope for both of them right now.

Jack isn’t convinced, but Robby’s belief gives him a moment’s peace.

The door to the rooftop suddenly slams open. Jack and Robby both turn instinctively.

Dana stands in the doorway, her pulse racing. “Jack.”

Jack is terrified to hear what she has to say, assuming the worst.

The midnight air suddenly feels suffocating.

“Jack?” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and tired, the effort of speaking taking all of your energy.

“Hi, gorgeous.” He moves closer to your bed. “Are you in pain?” The concern in his eyes certainly isn't helping, it hurts to see him like this.

You shake your head, but it’s a lie. You know it and Jack knows it too. He doesn’t hesitate, moving swiftly to the IV to adjust the meds with practiced hands.

Warmth floods you and you exhale slowly. The deep physical ache subsides and your thoughts clear. Only now, you can fully appreciate that you’re alive. That Jack’s here.

“I’m here," he repeats, more to himself than to you and for a second you wonder if you said the words out loud.

Jack's hand is gentle against your skin, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Robby and Dana feel badly about how they’ve treated you.” The words heavy with sorrow.

“They shouldn’t.” You're exhausted, but you mean it. “They don’t even know me.” You give him a smile, weak but genuine.

“Maybe it’s time we change that?” Jack leans in gently stroking your forehead, like he always does. Like he always will.

His other hand traces the space where your ring used to rest. You realize it’s no longer there. It was taken off during the chaos of saving you. But Jack knows where it belongs.

With a tender, deliberate touch, he slides the ring back onto your finger, a symbol of the forever he’s promised.

Hahahah aaall the fluff!! It was needed after so many angsty requests lol Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

I saw a post today that made me sit up and go 👀 so for the kiss prompts if ur into it: SalBuckTommy with maybe 18, 36, or whichever sparks the most joy/inspiration <3

~ @wee-fuckin-woo :]

(...as encouragement, ...to give up control)

This is going to be borderline porn, sorry, I can't not with that idea and those men. I fused the two a little.

Sal is an asshole, but he's not a homewrecker. He's especially not going to wreck the home of Tommy, someone who's meant more to him over the years than he's ever been comfortable putting words to.

So when Buck starts giving him those shy little smiles and ducking his head and flushing all pretty and licking his lips when Sal's around, he backs off. He doesn't want to tell Tommy, but he doesn't want Buck to turn around and break the guy's heart by stepping out on him with someone else.

Tommy, bless his heart, seems to be oblivious to the whole thing. He doesn't treat Sal any different, doesn't back off on the hugs or the shoulder and neck squeezes, doesn't stop grinning at him over every little thing. It's the same it's been between them for years, the same easy affection that's sometimes spilled over into something more on lonely nights.

He's having dinner with them one night, and there's more wine than there should be. Sal brought a bottle (he was raised right, despite what some people might say) and Tommy had cracked one open before he arrived, so they're a couple bottles deep and scraping the remnants of dessert into their mouths when Sal feels a foot brush his calf.

They've all got long legs, Buck especially, and the table isn't especially huge. So he writes it off as someone stretching at first, and then it happens again. Sal looks across the table and sees Buck watching him, and he feels heat and anger flare in his chest.

"You're kidding me, right?" he says, nodding toward Tommy. "Does he mean nothing to you, kid?"

"That's not his foot, Salvatore," Tommy says dryly, and Sal's anger freezes in his throat. "But thanks for defending my honor."

Sal looks between them, sees the look they exchange, and understanding dawns on him.

"Oh," he says, brows raising. "So, what are we thinking here?"

"We're thinking," Buck says, getting out of his chair and coming around to Sal's seat, settling easily on his thighs and pressing his hands to Sal's suddenly heaving chest, "that you haven't been picking up any hints."

"For weeks," Tommy adds, swallowing his last mouthful of wine. "Months, actually."

He gets up and kneels next to the two of them, and Sal's struck as always by how pretty Tommy looks on his knees.

"Go ahead," Tommy encourages. "He's been wanting it for months."

Sal looks up at the kid perched on his lap, brings his hands up to cradle his neck and jaw, and draws him into a kiss. Yeah, sue him, he's thought about kissing Buck a whole lot. He's beautiful, he's sweet, he's sharp, he's brave, he's enough of an idiot that he'll put up with Tommy's bullshit. So maybe he'll put up with some of Sal's.

When he feels Tommy's hand curl around the back of his neck, he turns his head and kisses him, too. Fuck it, if he's going to give in to them, he might as well give up any ounce of self-control he's been clinging to while he's been been flirted with for months by these two.

"C'mon," Buck says, sliding off his lap. "There's a really big, brand new bed in our room."

"I know," Sal snarks. "I moved the fuckin' thing in."

"Yeah, and then you ran off before we could ask you to fuck one of us on it, so let's go," Buck says, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging.

They kiss in every combination they can on their way to the bedroom and even try for one of those three-way kisses, breaking down into buzzed giggles.

"Think we might be too Italian for that," Tommy says, rubbing his nose after he'd smashed it against Sal's.

"You sayin' I got a big nose, Kinard?" Sal teases.

"I'm sayin'," Tommy says, bullying him up against the wall and grinning at him, sly and pretty, "shut the fuck up, Deluca, and show me what you got."

"You know what I got," Sal reminds him, looking over at Buck. "But he doesn't."

"Happy to find out," Buck says, coming at him from the side and kissing his jaw.

It's like being swept up in a riptide and yanked out to sea, having these two all over him, and Sal closes his eyes and gives in.

[whoopsyeahokay]

Wreck It Like A Rumor

summary: prompt fill. Wally saves you from a joke gone terribly wrong the night of the Homecoming dance. what unfolds after is a friendship you desperately cling to as you try to survive the rest of term... what you don't know is that Wally Clark is deader than a doornail until you learn it the hard way. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. AU - canon divergence. CWC (canon what canon). single mention of a mental health slur. attempted assault. protective behavior. angsty themes. hurt/comfort. bullying. HEA.

note: author hasn't watched S2. all knowledge of new content comes exclusively from GIFs on this platform. (i got tired of filtering Wally content. he's my babe. i am weak.)

bon reading, frens

___________________________🐦‍🔥

Wreck It Like A Rumor

They disguised themselves as friends.

You should've known when the one person out of the group you considered a sister—the girl you'd glommed onto in elementary, who'd been by your side through every shitty thing that'd unraveled your life at the time. You know, your real friend—started acting shifty.

Eyes down, nervous laugh, not giving you a straight answer when you asked her if she was okay.

"Help! Anyone, please! Let me out of here!"

You pound your fist against the door, tears streaming down your face. Mascara smudged, nail polish chipped, kicking and banging and screaming until your skin is red and blotchy.

It's Homecoming. You never went to the dances, tend to avoid a lot of high school social events like the plague since everyone in your grade (and others) treats you as if you're contagious.

But it's junior year, and your best friend begged you to join her as her ride or die since she wasn't super comfortable with her new group of friends yet.

You threw caution to the wind and said yes.

For Oli. Olivia Hazelwood. The awkward daughter of Split River's old-money elite couple, Henry and Marion Hazelwood. You and Oli were awkward together. Outsiders who found a home in each other. You shared everything with her and thought she did the same, but now you question how true that was.

Because, along with her new friends—who she insisted were your new friends, too—she'd locked you in the secret fallout shelter in the school basement.

Cruelty packaged as a practical joke.

You heard Travis cackle to the others before calling through the door, "Get comfortable, it'll be a while 'til the janitor comes to get you!"

It's fucking Friday. You don't know Mr. South's schedule—hell, you don't know if he even knows about the fallout shelter—but you assume he won't be back until Monday like the rest of the staff.

Someone will do a walk-through, you tell yourself, gasping for air as you pace around the space. It's dark, the only light coming from the weird dashboard on the clunky equipment lining one wall.

How Travis and the others found out about the fallout shelter isn't a mystery. You told them, stupidly, when you were trying to bond with Elitzia and Marybelle. Split River trivia you'd collected through hyperfixation research. Hours spent diving down rabbit holes after binging Fallout with Oli over a weekend.

Nuclear winter. Chernobyl. Bunkers. The Cold War.

God, why'd you say anything? Should've kept your mouth shut. Should've known that Travis and his friends weren't actually trying to buddy up, because you're still the school pariah.

After all, you gave Jake Tremblay crabs after you rejected him in 9th. You were a homewrecker and forced yourself on Matt Wilson when his girlfriend caught him shoving his unwanted hand up your skirt. You told Claire Zomer last year that you liked to wear diapers and be bottle-fed like a baby as a result of neglectful parents after you refused to do her English homework.

The mill churned out rumor after rumor, and though you tried to fight it at first, it became too much. Like squashing an ant hill. You stopped, people lost interest when you didn't react, but those rumors still circulate.

Sometimes, new ones join the rotation depending on who you piss off just trying to make it to the last bell.

Oli was the only person who stood by you until Elitzia extended her friendship.

Now you're alone. Stuck in the creepy fallout shelter in the dark. Suffocating on shadows as you double back to the door and start banging your palms against it again. Oli knows you're claustrophobic. She was there when you trusted Sarah Thompson in 5th Grade and climbed into her toy chest.

What is so other about you that makes people hate you so much?

You gulp in harsh breaths, sobbing out exhales, losing energy quickly as you smack and bang the door. You can't hear the music, but you know it's still loud, the dance in full swing two floors above.

"Please," You cough, shaking, "Please, let me out..."

‗•‗

Wally sighs. Tonight's been one giant letdown. He doesn't know why he got his hopes up, especially since it's been obvious from the get-go that Maddie isn't ready for the things Wally wants to try with her. Romance. Dates. Hand-holding and affection and inside jokes.

He understands. Of course he does. Maddie's new-dead. She was murdered. She and her best (and very alive) friend are trying to solve the case, to help her remember so she can find closure or whatever.

Why would she want to take a break from that and hang out at a dumb dance with Wally? Who's been trapped in limbo for the last forty years; same four walls, same seven faces to interact with. Same. Same. Same. Same. Fuck.

It's fine. It's totally fine.

As he lies on the grass, staring up at the stars, the quiet outside giving him space to sulk, he hears it. Bang. Help! Bang bang bang. Please!

It's faint, no louder than a breeze, but consistent. Wally gets to his feet and tries to follow the sound. Back into the school, down the steps, along the first-floor hallway to the basement door. It muffles for a moment when he goes the wrong way, toward the janitor's office, so he backtracks and hurries deeper into the bowels of the school.

Despite having the run of the place, no holds barred, he hasn't been this way before. Never saw a reason to go to the boiler room, not even after Maddie took a seat at the Afterlife Support Group.

The sound loudens, banging and muted pleading, someone clearly in distress. Wally slows his steps as he nears a door he's never seen before. It's old, white paint peeling, made of metal. It shakes when whoever's behind it starts slamming their fists again. Renewed vigor, higher-pitched agony, "Please!! Anyone!!?"

Wally scans the outside of the door for a latch or handle and notices the deadbolts attached to the top and bottom of the doorframe. Quickly, he undoes them and yanks the door open, stumbling back when a figure slumps out.

Small. Trembling. A girl whose makeup is stained with tearstreaks and whose eyes are bloodshot, her skin pale from fright. She's breathing heavy, sniffling, rubbing the back of her wrist under her nose as she gradually calms.

"Uh..."

And that's as much as Wally gets out before she's on her feet, arms around her middle, shoulders up. She takes one look at Wally, mumbles a wet thanks, and then charges through the boiler room, down the corridor, and out of the basement.

Wally's stunned. Because he knows for a fact that that girl is alive.

Not only did she look right at Wally, she spoke to him. Like, to his face. Eyeballs met eyeballs. For the first time in a long time, Wally was part of the living world again.

"No freaken way..."

‗•‗

You keep your head down as you walk toward your locker. Headphones on, blaring angry music to quell the crash and surge of emotion inside you. You're embarrassed, humiliated, hateful. Rightfully so, you think, because the last person in the world you trusted betrayed you in the worst way you can imagine.

Oli tried to apologize over the weekend. A novel of a text that repeated several times how sorry she is about what happened. How she didn't know that was the plan. I swear, I thought they were just going to close the door for a minute.

So why didn't you come back?

She never answered. Either ashamed of her non-actions or annoyed that you won't forgive her as easily as you used to, you don't care.

The guy who saved you—tall, handsome, dressed like a silverscreen leading man—looked just like someone that group kept in the middle of their circle-jerk. Which was why you didn't stick around to thank him properly. He was probably just a little less bad; has what amounts to a conscience for those assholes, and decided to cut the joke short out of guilt.

Definitely a senior, you figured, since you didn't recognize him from your class.

Makes things easier. You intend to steer clear of him just like you will the others. You've got enough on your plate, the newest rumor sticky-tacked to your locker when you finally arrive.

Crybaby got herself locked in a room and couldn't get out! Accentuated with photoshopped baby bottles and crying emojis.

It's stupid. Juvenile. But it burns. You tear the paper off your locker, crumple it up, and march to the trash to shove it through the lid. Even through your music, you can hear the chorus of laughter. Some of it nervous, as if going along with it to avoid the same attention Travis and his cronies give you. Some of it hearty and genuine.

You swallow your discomfort and go back to your locker, wrench the lock open, and almost violently swing the door right into someone's face. Thankfully, that someone catches it before it does any damage.

"Whoa there, Helen Sharp, I'm not here to steal your man." The guy chuckles, giving you what you assume is his most charming smile.

It rubs you the wrong way. You glare back, ignoring the comment as you begin to rifle through your things, exchanging last night's homework for the textbook and notes you need for first period. He clears his throat, keeps standing there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and watching you.

"So, you can't hear me," He mutters, and, weirdly, it doesn't sound like a snide question. Rather, his voice is heavily laced with disappointment.

You stop and straighten, staring right at him when you cock your head and say, "I can hear you just fine." Then, "You come to make me thank you again?" Just like Mike Bower earlier this semester, who pinned you to the vending machine after the cafeteria emptied, demanding you show him your gratitude for lending you a pencil during the History test.

The guy swallows and shakes his head, eyes wide and mouth agape. As if you speaking to him is the most astonishing thing that's ever happened to him.

Your glare intensifies.

‗•‗

Wally can't believe it. You can see him. You're talking to him.

Kind of.

You're mostly scowling at him, but that doesn't matter. He'll take what he can get. He knows you're likely still upset about Friday, how you got locked in the fallout shelter somehow. Which, the fallout shelter was a whole discovery on its own that helped unlock some of Maddie's memories over the weekend, so if anyone should be grateful, really, it's Wally.

"N-no," He stutters.

His shock swiftly melts into excitement, big grin sweeping his face, and he giddily follows you toward your first class after you slam your locker closed and start walking.

"So...are you okay? You didn't look so good, last time I saw you."

You heave a sigh, "I'm fine." And it sounds an awful lot like something you've been repeating to yourself until you believe it. Clearly, it isn't working.

"Right. Yeah. Of course you are." Wally nods sagely. "...What's your name?"

You come to an abrupt halt in the hallway and turn to face him, brows furrowed, giving him a slow once-over that makes his heart skip a beat. Now that he can see your face better, he swallows thickly. Jesus, you're beautiful. Even scowly and off-put. Pretty as a peace lily.

"Why?" You ask, and, wow, okay, has no one ever asked you for your name before?

Wally hesitates, not quite understanding why you're being so hostile until he hears it. A couple of students behind him, snickering to each other, commenting on how, the fucking weirdo's lost her mind. She's so fucked up.

Spinning on his heel, Wally faces the students, ready to put them in their place before he remembers that they can't see him...can they? No. They can't. They look right through him at you, snorting and shaking their heads in pity like you're some kind of headcase.

When he turns around again, you're gone.

‗•‗

It takes Wally a few days before he finds you again. Outside, sitting in a patch of sun, eating your bagged lunch alone as you lean against the side of the school. Without preamble, he plops down beside you.

He spent his time doing a little research. Between helping Maddie and Simon investigate, obviously, he's a good person who has his priorities straight. Still, you were always on his mind. The gorgeous living girl who can see him.

You ignore him, bite into your PB&J, and stare into the middle distance as if Wally doesn't exist. That's fine. He understands now. And, holy shit, the things he'd do if he had a body to do them in. He'd fuck every last one of your tormentors up. Break egos before breaking bones. Guy, girl, he doesn't discriminate; he hates what he's heard.

Can't be sure none of it is real, but from the way you shrink when he keeps his attention on you, he doesn't think any of it is.

"You okay?" He ventures again, voice low and kind.

You shrug. No snarky comment, no anger. Just...resignation.

"I, uh, heard what they say about you..."

You snort, "Great. You come to give me words of wisdom, oh wise one? It's just high school, it won't matter when you get out of here," You mock, clearly some bullshit you've been spoon fed before.

Wally shakes his head, "Nah. Nothing like that." He gives you a smile. Cheeky, "High school's all there is. It really does shape your whole life."

You choke on your next bite and then give him a look of horror. When you catch his impish smirk, your eyes narrow.

"You're an asshole."

"You're kind of a grump." Wally shoots back good-naturedly.

"I think I've earned it."

Wally's smile falters slightly, but he makes an effort to remain upbeat. Softly, sincerely, he says, "I'm sorry you have to go through all that."

"It is what it is." You respond, equally as soft, gaze on the ground.

You and Wally sit in silence for a moment. It doesn't feel awkward or tense the way Wally expected it to. Instead, it's peaceful. A welcome change from the mounting drama he's experiencing on Split River High's metaphysical side.

Eventually, you seem to relax. You and he exchange names. He doesn't give you his last name, not quite ready for that conversation, though he's sure you'll figure it out sooner rather than later. His letterman is a dead give away (no pun intended).

"Do you...have any friends?" He asks bluntly after talking around the point for a few minutes.

Tensing, you stop chewing the last bite of your sandwich, gaze distant as your face slackens in what Wally can only describe as hurt.

"I did. But then she helped her new friends lock me in a fallout shelter even though she knows I'm claustrophobic."

"Fuck..." Wally exhales sharply, "I'm sorry."

"You say that a lot," You accuse, slanting him another suspicious look. "Why are you sorry? Did you know that was the plan? Are you friends with Travis and Marybell and Elitzia?"

Wally tries to keep up with your questions. You must've been thinking those things based on how rapidly you asked them, and it takes Wally aback.

"No," He replies, "I don't know any of those people."

You relax again once you've stared into Wally's fucking skull to see if he's lying. Apparently, you can do that since you give a small nod and settle back against the wall.

"Thank you," You say after another minute of silence. "Really. For...getting me out of there."

"Yeah, of course," Wally says. "I might look like an asshole, but I'm not actually one."

You peek at him, a tiny smile forming on your lips that makes Wally's heart soar, "I'm starting to get that."

‗•‗

Your unconventional friendship with Wally grows from there.

When Wally isn't busy saving the day with Maddie and Charley and Rhonda, he spends his time haunting you. His own little joke, because it appears you haven't figured out how dead he is, and as more days pass, he's more reluctant to reveal that spooky truth.

In the span of weeks, you blossom like a flower for him. He learns how giggly you are when you aren't shielding yourself from the disgusting things your classmates sling at you. It's not often, but it's often enough that Wally never sees you as anything but reserved and quiet when you're between classes.

At this point, he's heard the slew of rumors about you. Gross and inflated, a game of broken telephone that chips away at you a little more every day.

Except when you're with Wally. It's as if his presence is helping you heal, and he can't keep the warm, fuzzy feelings from growing in his chest. Bigger and bigger with every encounter.

You've taken to studying in the library until the very last second you're allowed to stay. Tucked in the back, muffling laughter when Wally tells you about things that happened to him when he was alive. He omits details that might give away the era, but shares everything he can.

God, he loves the sound of your laughter. How your eyes sparkle when you're happy. How your cheeks flush when he sneaks in something flirtatious. How you bite your lip after you say something suggestive in return.

You're not exactly tactile, probably scarred from things that've happened in your past, things that've been said to you, or things that've been done to you. (Wally wants to punch everyone, teachers included.) It makes it easier to hide his deadness. However, it's getting to a point where Wally has a hard time remembering not to reach out and fail at tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear when you stare up at him with those sweet, joyful eyes.

There's always, at the very least, an inch of space between you and Wally. An inch he so desperately wishes he could eradicate. Either way, he can't break that barrier, the energy emitted from a living body preventing him from touching you, even if you did finally welcome it.

You bring him homemade cookies the day you reveal that your parents are rarely around. Break his heart, then heal it with chocolate chip, his favorite. He has to wait for you to turn away before he picks one up, so you don't see how the cookie never actually leaves the container.

When he bites into it, he moans, filthy, sexual, not even exaggerated because, "God damn girl, these are delicious."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Wally takes another bite, moans again, eyes closed as he savors the taste, "Best I've ever had."

You blush, duck your head shyly, "Thanks, Wally." And, fuck, he wants to kiss you. All over your face. Cheeks, nose, forehead. Lips. Deep and slow as he cups your jaw, angles your head just right, pulls you into his lap and—

"Earth to Wally," Your voice breaks through the mist, "You still in there?" Then, to yourself, "What the hell did I put in these?"

Wally blinks himself back to the present, "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"I asked you if you wanted to try the oatmeal-peanut butter ones."

Very seriously, "Yes. And everything else you've made ever, if you don't mind."

He wants to offer to make you banana pancakes or a burrito or anything to show off his skills in the kitchen, but he isn't sure how the food he makes would translate in the living world. His stomach clenches, eyes sad, as he begins to think about all the things he can't do with you. All the things you don't know he can't do with you because he doesn't want to lose you when you learn the truth.

Maddie didn't lose Simon, a part of him thinks, but while that's true, Maddie and Simon are best friends. Have been best friends since fuck knows when. Simon was willing to throw himself behind Maddie being a ghost because of how close they are.

Wally isn't certain you'd react the same way.

‗•‗

Things between you and Wally are...amazing? No, that's too simple a word to describe how his friendship has basically turned your whole high school experience on its head.

He's quickly become the best part of your day. He makes you laugh, helps you with homework when he isn't distracting you from it. He's sweet and compassionate and thoughtful. He remembers everything you tell him, even the mundane, silly shit.

You've never experienced that before. Not even with Oli, who had a knack of steering every conversation back to herself. It wasn't in a rude or self-righteous way, honestly, it stemmed more from insecurity and external processing.

But, yeah, it got old sometimes, especially when you just needed someone to hear you. See you. Know you.

Things with Wally are so incredible that you're even able to ignore the newest rumor about you making the rounds. How you're crazy, talking to yourself like schizo, you need meds, why do they let her near us? Dude, she could be dangerous.

None of it matters anymore. Oli's been fully indoctrinated by her new friends, ignores or avoids you, unable to look you in the eye anymore since dying her hair to look like Chloe's and dressing herself like Kirsten.

Wally has your back. Comforts you with humor or listens when you need to vent. Mostly, it's just bliss. And it's alarming because you've never felt so close to someone like this. You've exposed yourself to him in ways you never let yourself before. Not with Oli, not with your parents, not with anyone.

But he draws it out of you, bit by bit, your personality slowly reestablishing itself after years of being smothered behind the walls you had to build to protect yourself.

He's safe.

And he's hot like burning. Like putting your hand over a lit element.

Another new feeling unlocked; you want to feel his hands on you, even for a moment. Want to feel his lips on yours. Want all of him so wholly and greedily it makes your head spin.

Yes. Everything with Wally is perfect.

Until, one day, he simply...disappears.

‗•‗

It's not Wally's fault. He doesn't mean to do it. He wouldn't have, he promises. Especially not to you. But, Wally has his turn getting stuck in the fallout shelter; Mr. Martin unmasks himself as a bad guy; and Maddie's body is alive out there being used by Janet.

Things go from moderately unhinged to fucking hectic overnight.

He stays away only to help Maddie. Finds out, shit, Yuri Vyarheychyk isn't actually a looper. Discovers a lot of things he never wanted to discover. Wally's lost and despondent, and can't seem to get his head above water long enough to seek you out and apologize for abandoning you for two weeks.

He's relieved when he finally catches sight of you again, a smile on his face as he watches you help put the gym together for his high school reunion.

Just as he's about to approach, he notices you go eerily still, staring at something he can't see from this angle. He steps a little closer, cautious, heart in his throat when he finally gets a glimpse.

"Oh, no."

‗•‗

You were roped into helping set up the space for the class of '84 reunion. You'd reacted vehemently when Travis made a joke at your expense during Math and Mr. Davis immediately issued you detention.

This is how you earn back his respect. Carrying stacks of chairs and fussing over an easel that's to support a picture of that guy the stadium is named after. You're feeling bitter, neglected, alone all over again since Wally hasn't surfaced, and the rumors are starting to pick at vulnerable flesh.

Then, Ms. Monroe clucks at you, hands you the blown-up photo to fit onto the easel. You don't notice at first, and then the shock swoops in and leaves you breathless. Gaping wide-eyed at the face staring back at you.

Wally's smile is exactly how it looks when you say something he calls 'cute'. Charming. Cheerful.

The world fades away, time stands still, and you almost buckle under the realization that you made up a whole person to keep you company. You really are fucking crazy, just like everyone said.

"Hey..." You hear Wally's voice, but it can't be real, pulled from some broken part of your brain that shattered after the fallout shelter.

Slowly, you pan to your right, Wally towering over you, as solid as he was the last time you saw him. You glance back at the photo, then to Wally, rinse, repeat until you have whiplash. A tiny, wrecked sound escapes you and your body shivers, the weight of what this means bubbling inside you like acid.

"Hey, no, it's okay," The figment of Wally Clark, class of '84, dead dead dead, tries to reassure you. "You're not crazy, babe, I'm right here. You can see me."

His words do nothing to calm you down. You need help. Professional help, hard meds, a straitjacket, and a padded room.

Another trembling whimper and you wheeze, "They were right... I'm... I'm insane."

"No!" Wally insists, stumbling after you as you force your feet to move and head for the door.

Ms. Monroe calls out, but you ignore her, not bothering to think up an excuse as you leave.

"Leave me alone," You beg the figment of Wally, covering your ears with your hands to block out his voice as he urges you to believe him, that he's real, he's a ghost, he's been here for forty years, babe, please, stop!

You don't stop. You start running. Out the door, into the parking lot, off school grounds. You run until you get home, where you lock yourself in—parents still in Dubai for one of your dad's conferences, the house empty and cold.

Sliding to the ground, back against the door, you tuck your knees to your chest and cry.

Alone. Again. Always.

‗•‗

Wally's heartbroken after you leave. Never had he ever thought you'd become that important to him until you made it abundantly clear you want nothing to do with him. Because you think he's a figment of your imagination. Some trauma response.

He tries twice to convince you he's real, but it doesn't work. You shrink further into yourself, pale and placid, not even challenging the remarks made behind your back like you'd started doing again.

Unfortunately, shit hits the fan and Wally can't make time, plowing through scars, saving Maddie from herself, encouraging her to run back into her body.

All throughout, he longs for you. Wishes he'd been upfront from the beginning. He'd just wanted to be selfish for a while. To keep you. His own little secret, beautiful and bold, his to indulge in and cherish and...love.

Fuck.

Now, he stands in front of a door, a thick, bright light burning on the other side of it as he holds his key. He stares at the door, feels the warmth beckoning him. There's nothing left for him here. He's done his time, languished within the school for too many years.

Wally takes a step forward.

‗•‗

Without Wally's presence to ground you, you start to unravel. Piece by piece, whittled away to nothing but anger and fear. Right now it's predominantly fear, in large extent due to the empty halls and lack of teachers. There's a commotion outside that drew everyone with any authority out there.

It's well past the last bell, and Travis was leaving the locker rooms when you were headed to the theater to grab a notebook you forgot on one of the seats during Drama. Apparently, despite being fucked in the head, you've been a lot more appealing lately.

"You got a great smile when you aren't being a bitch," Travis leers, crowding you against a wall.

He's big. Huge. Built like a brick shithouse even at seventeen. He's got more muscle on him than you could ever hope for, and the strength of the linebacker he is behind him.

"Get away from me," You demand through clenched teeth, hands shoving uselessly at his chest. He doesn't budge an inch.

"Nah, don't think so, freak." He smirks, massive hand around your throat. Not too tight, just enough to hold you there with the promise of pain if you try to struggle.

That's when you start screaming.

‗•‗

Wally's head shoots up, and he drops the football, takes several long strides toward the exit door. The sound gets louder, clearer, as he nears. It's coming from behind the door. And it's familiar. He knows that scream, heard it weeks ago. The night he rescued you from the fallout shelter.

Without a second thought, Wally kicks the exit door open and barrels through, tripping when gravity hits him for the first time in decades. He gulps in a gasp of air, the taste sharp and bleachy, filling his lungs. Chest expanding, bones and blood and flesh heavy in a way he doesn't remember his living body being.

"Help!" You scream again, the tail-end of the word muffled by the hand of who Wally recognizes as one of your antagonizers.

Travis has you on the floor, his knees on either side of your waist as he grapples to control your arms. Wally fights against gravity, skids forward and then, Stop! Stop it! he charges. Tackles Travis' weight off of you and to the ground.

His knuckles burn as he punches Travis' face in, his lungs burn as he sucks in more air than is probably necessary, his body no longer familiar with the function but quickly getting with the program.

Wally falls back when he's sure Travis isn't getting up. Alive. The guy's alive. Just wrecked and bloodied, groaning as he rolls onto his side and clutches his jaw.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," Wally pants, wiping the sweat from his upper lip.

"W-Wally?"

Your voice is so small, so uncertain, and it gets Wally's attention immediately. He's with you in a flash, hands on your face, holy fuck, he can touch you, and you're so warm, so solid, skin so soft, he doesn't know what sensation to focus on first.

"Y-you're real." You murmur, as shocked as Wally is. "You're..." You lift your hand and place it over his, the touch smarting the cuts he opened on Travis' nose.

"I was always real, baby." He says, chest still rising and falling rapidly, God, he can't take his hands off you.

It happens in the blink of an eye. He can't tell who moves first, who initiates, only that it's pure fucking bliss when he feels your lips against his for the first time. Soft and pillowy and yielding. You taste like Sprite and those chewy watermelons you like to snack on during study sessions.

Wally moans into the kiss, can't help himself, pulls you into him as much as he can just to revel in the feeling of your body against his. Your real, living body against his.

A groan behind you and him reminds Wally that Travis is still there, will likely be found soon, and whoever does the finding will have questions Wally can't answer right now. Possibly not ever.

"Come on, baby, we've gotta go," He says, intending to hide you somewhere else in the school so you and he can talk.

You apparently have other ideas, because you drag him behind you all the way to the bus stop. He tries to tell you, tries to get you to stop before—

"I can't leave school property!" He shouts.

You slow, letting go of his hand to walk a few steps backwards, eyebrow lifting as you stare at his feet.

"But...you are off school property."

When Wally looks down, his jaw drops. He scrambles in a half-circle to measure the distance between himself and the curb. Thoughts flood his brain: He has to tell Rhonda, to tell Charley and Yuri and Quinn. He has to find his friends and tell them about his...what? His aliveness? Is he alive?

"Come on," You urge, grabbing him by the hand again and hauling him away from the school. "We can't be here right now."

You're right, he knows that, but, holy shit! He's off school property. He's breathing oxygen. His heart is pumping, his muscles ache from the exertion of beating Travis to a pulp, his tongue feels too big for his mouth, and his eyes sting from lack of blinking.

Whatever Wally is, he's not a ghost anymore.

‗•‗

You take him back to your place. You don't exactly know where else to stash a forty-year-old ghost, which Wally insists he is and is basically proof of that himself. You looked him up after the reunion. When you weren't so overwhelmed, that is.

Number 57, Walter Clark, beloved son and friend. If he is a fake, the likeness is uncanny.

As soon as you and he are through the door, he surges, lifts you into his arms, laughing, unable to believe the changes he's already taken stock of. He twirls you around, holds you like something precious, and gazes at you with sweet, soulful eyes.

"I can touch you," He murmurs, as if that's the most important development. "I can actually feel you. God, baby, I can't stop smiling. And it hurts!" The last part makes you giggle because he says it with so much joy, it tickles the giddiness right out of you.

You sober, soften like butter in his arms as he holds you. "You can...touch me some more, if you want..."

There it is, the bravest thing you've ever done. Hanging in the air between you and Wally as he viscerally registers your offer.

When he finally gets it, his smile turns into a smirk. A cocky thing that makes your belly warm.

"Yeah?" He glances around, sees the couch, then looks back at you.

Wally carries you to the couch like you weigh nothing, easy, muscles bunching and releasing as he sits down and settles you in his lap. His hands roam under your shirt, his hot touch like a brand wherever he holds you, and, slowly, giving you time to reconsider, he leans in and captures your lips in a gentle, sweet kiss.

‗•‗

Wally doesn't have the capacity to process anything outside of this moment, outside of you, right now. He should probably take a minute to figure out what happened to him when he fell through the exit door, should strategize a game plan for his friends to follow, should do a lot of things, but he can't find it in him to stop.

Your weight in his lap is so much more intense now that he can feel it in a real, human body. Your little whimpers and soft mewls as his hands wander under your shirt—fuck, the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers, it's like a dream he never thought would come true.

He undresses you slowly, worshipping every piece of skin revealed with his mouth and hands. Little nips and flicks of tongue, tasting your skin, hearing your sounds, absorbing your warmth as you squirm against him.

"You like how I touch you, baby?" He asks, gazing up at you through his lashes as he gently, so gently, trails his fingertips down your side and to your ass where he grabs. "I wanna make you feel good." He grinds his hips up, cock harder than he's ever felt it, groaning when the friction sends shockwaves of pleasure through him. "You feel that, baby? You feel what you do to me?"

"Wally," You gasp, your head tipping back and eyes closing, savoring the sensation.

You help him out of his jacket, his shirt; grip his chain to draw him into another hot, hungry kiss that leaves him reeling and desperate for more. His fingers dig into your flesh as he bucks against you, can feel the heat of your pussy through his sweatpants and shorts.

Gone in seconds because he can't wait anymore. Has waited enough time to feel anything again, but this, with you, no. God help him, he doesn't have that kind of patience or resolve. He's not strong enough. Not with how you tremble in his arms when he smears two fingers through your folds, dips them in to tease you as he watches the expression of euphoria that twists your features into the most beautiful image he's ever seen.

"You're so wet for me, baby," He purrs, nipping that sensitive spot right below your ear. Fuck, you start to ride his fingers, greedy little thing, the slick squelch of your pussy fucking his index and middle finger echoing in his ears and fogging his brain.

"Wally, please," You beg so pretty, and that's it. Control gone.

He lines himself up and guides you down, Jesus, you take him so perfectly. Stuffed full, tight as a vise, gripping him inside you as he leads you up and down, up and down, getting him as deep as he can be inside you.

"That's it, baby, just like that. So good for me," He pants, feet planted, hips meeting yours, his hands tight on your ass as you move on him. A fucking goddess crafted by heaven just for him. "Fuck," He chokes, "Fuck, yeah," and bites your lower lip, soothes the sting with his tongue before delving it into your mouth.

It feels too quick, but he can't avoid it. It's been so long since anything felt like this. You're not any better, quivering under his hands, thighs spasming when he starts to fuck into you faster, harder, making you bounce on his cock to take what you need.

When you come, he cries out, eyes clenched shut, mouth open, stars exploding. His climax ripped from deep within his core. His cock pulses as he spills inside you, arms fastened around your body to pin you to his chest, kissing you with everything he has.

"God, baby, I love you," Maybe it's too soon to say it (definitely), but who the fuck cares? Give a no-longer-dead-guy a break. He doesn't know how long his earthliness will last. He can't afford to take chances.

And he hiccups an awed breath when you say, "I love you, too, Wally Clark."

You gaze at him in the afterglow, so soft and pliant and perfect he could burst. You and he stay on the couch for a while, basking in each other's presence, in the realness of it. Eventually, taking his hand, you lead him to your room, where he writes poems with his tongue in your pussy, where you spread yourself open and invite him in again and again and again until sunrise.

You give him the weekend.

He knows he has a responsibility to visit Maddie in the hospital and make sure she's where she should be. Must inform Rhonda and Charley and Yuri and Quinn and Janet (can he still see them?!) that he's somehow regained a pulse.

But that can wait until tomorrow.

It's Sunday night, and Wally has every intention of proving to you that you're not alone anymore. That you have him as long as you want to keep him. And that he'll stay, even if you don't.

"Not gonna happen, Wally, you're stuck with me," You tell him in no uncertain terms, snuggled into his chest.

Wally smiles so wide, his cheeks ache for days after.

🐦‍🔥___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you liked this, you may also enjoy Best Friends Club.

smut. you've been Wally's best friend since elementary school. and he's had a thing for you the entire time. it would've stayed a secret if, after a shitty date with someone who wasn't him, things changed.

[xbinksc]

RUMOURS AND REVELATIONS

PT 2

⭒❃.✮:▹Nicholas Alexander Chavez

SUMMARY: singer Y/N and co-star Nicholas face rumors of romance amid their chemistry and rising fame, navigating media scrutiny while strengthening their bond. Where will all this take them?

WARNINGS: real mushy at the end, looooong

A/N: Requests are open! Still can’t figure out how to make a master list rip someone help me…Enjoy🤍

✧༺༻∞

In a surprising turn of events, Monsters star Nicholas Alexander Chavez and singer Y/N were seen enjoying a cozy night out at a popular cafe in Los Angeles last night. The duo, who play alongside each other in the upcoming series Grotesquerie, appeared to be having a great time, laughing and taking pictures with fans, sparking speculation about their off-screen relationship.

Eyewitnesses described the pair as "playful" and "affectionate," with Nicholas even wrapping an arm around Y/N during photos—a move that sent fans into a frenzy!

This public outing comes just days after news broke of Nicholas’s breakup with his ex-girlfriend, prompting fans to wonder if the split was influenced by his growing bond with Y/N. The timing has many fans theorizing that "The Boy Is Mine," Y/N's latest hit song, is a not-so-subtle nod to the love triangle drama.

Sources close to the pair have revealed that they have been spending significant time together both on and off set, which has only added to the swirling rumors. An insider claims, “They have an undeniable connection. It’s clear they enjoy each other's company.”

The pair’s chemistry has been undeniable throughout filming, leading fans to question whether their relationship is purely professional or if there's a budding romance behind the scenes. Social media is buzzing with reactions, with many supporters urging the couple to "just be together already!"

While neither Nicholas nor Y/N has officially commented on their relationship status, their fans are eagerly awaiting any updates. For now, the rumors continue to heat up, leaving everyone wondering: Is it just a friendship, or is there something more?

Stay tuned as we follow this developing story!

INSTAGRAM

@/ynuser: werk ♡

Comments

@/user gorgeous gorgeous girl

@/user I need the next ep of grotesquerie NEOW😵‍💫

@/zaralarsson trying not to say mother

- @/ynuser donatella VERSACE💜

@/user girl please tell me the rumours are true I won’t snitchhhh

@/nicholasalexanderchavez 🤓

-liked by @/ynuser

@/user my new flex is I met Nicholas and y/n last night😛

@/kyliejenner obsessed with u😍

@/user okayyyyy Nicholas I see you👀

- @/user we need a ship name ASAP

- @/user bro they’re so cute I cannot

- @/user not y’all supporting a homewrecker

COMMENTS TURNED OFF

IRL

The night was heavy with a storm, clouds gathering like dark thoughts in the sky. Nicholas sat in his living room, the flickering light of his candles casting dancing shadows on the walls. He stared blankly at the flick of his phone screen, each notification a new reminder of the whirlwind that had enveloped his life. Articles dissected every moment with you, twisting your innocent laughter into scandalous headlines.

A sudden, frantic knock shattered the stillness. His heart skipped as he opened the door, revealing you, your face streaked with tears, vulnerability spilling over in the soft glow of the hallway light.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, pulling you inside and closing the door behind you. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Nicholas,” you gasped, your voice trembling as you sank onto the sofa, burying your face in your hands. “The rumors… they’re unbearable. And I keep thinking about your ex—she must hate me. I don’t want to be the reason for any hurt.”

Nicholas moved to sit beside you, concern etched across his face. “You’re not a homewrecker, Y/N. This isn’t your fault.”

“But I met her. I saw how hurt she was,” you whispered, your eyes brimming with regret. “What if she thinks I came in and ruined everything?”

Nicholas felt a pang of sorrow for both women, caught in a whirlwind of feelings beyond their control. “You didn’t ruin anything. Our relationship had its own complexities. It’s not fair to blame you.”

You looked up, your eyes searching his. “Then why do I feel like I’m drowning? Every article, every rumor, it all makes me feel like I’m stuck in this web. And I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt because of it.”

The tension in the room hung thick, an unspoken truth waiting to be unraveled. Nicholas took a deep breath, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. “Maybe we should talk about where we stand. We can’t keep avoiding it. This anxiety… it’s tearing us apart.”

Your gaze softened, and you nodded slowly. “You’re right. We’ve let this consume us. But where do we even begin?”

“Let’s start with the truth,” he suggested, his heart pounding. “What do we really feel about each other?”

The question lingered in the air, almost fragile in its intensity. You hesitated, your heart racing. “I care about you, Nicholas. More than I thought I could. But I’m scared. Scared of what this means, and how the world will react.”

Nicholas leaned closer, the space between the both of you crackling with a mixture of tension and longing. “I feel the same. You’ve become so important to me. I don’t want to lose you, but the noise outside… it makes everything complicated.”

“Do you think it’s worth it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can we really separate our professional lives from this… whatever this is between us?”

He considered your words, weighing them carefully. “We can try. But we need to be honest with ourselves. We can’t let the pressure of the world dictate our feelings.”

Your expression shifted, a flicker of hope igniting in your eyes. “So, we give it a real shot? Just��� discreetly?”

“Yes,” he replied, a smile breaking through the weight of the moment. “We can keep our lives separate while exploring this connection. I want to see where this can lead us without the distractions.”

The relief washed over you like a balm, and you took his hand, the warmth of his touch igniting something deep within you. “You make me feel seen.”

“You make me feel understood,” he admitted, his heart swelling. “In a world that often feels chaotic, you’re my calm.”

Just as you both began to find your rhythm, the storm of stress outside began to seep in. “But what if people don’t understand? What if they twist our relationship again?” Your voice trembled, a hint of frustration creeping in.

Nicholas felt his own anxiety bubble up. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if we just ignored them. We can’t let every rumor dictate our reality!”

“That’s easy for you to say!” You shot back, your voice rising. “You’re not the one facing the scrutiny every single day!”

“Neither are you! We’re in this together!” he countered, the tension escalating as your emotions collided.

You both paused, the heat of the argument hanging in the air like a taut string ready to snap. You took a shaky breath, your eyes wide. “Wait… are we really mad at each other?”

Nicholas blinked, realization dawning. “No, we’re not. We’re just… stressed. This whole situation is making us take it out on each other.”

You nodded, the tension slowly dissipating. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just all so overwhelming.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. We’re in the same boat, fighting the same storm. Let’s breathe for a second.”

“Let’s breathe,” you echoed, the weight of the moment shifting from confrontation to understanding. You took a few deep breaths together, grounding yourselves in the presence of each other.

“Maybe we should focus on what we can control,” Nicholas suggested softly. “Like how we communicate. We don’t have to let this stress tear us apart.”

“Agreed,” You replied, a small smile breaking through the remnants of tension. “We’ll work through it together.”

You shared a moment of silence, your hands intertwined, the soft rhythm of your breaths echoing in the space between you. Each pulse of your hearts seemed to sync, bridging the gap of uncertainty that had kept you apart.

“Can we just enjoy being together without all the noise?” You asked, your eyes sparkling with a blend of mischief and sincerity.

“Absolutely,” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips. “Let’s find joy in the little things—coffee dates, late-night talks, quiet moments where it’s just us.”

As you spoke, the heaviness of the outside world began to dissolve, replaced by a gentle warmth. Laughter bubbled between you, lightening the mood as you reminisced about your time spent on set, the shared glances and stolen smiles that had made everything feel electric.

Nicholas found himself enchanted by your laughter, a sound that felt like music, lifting them both above the fray. “You know,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “you owe me a karaoke night. I expect a duet.”

“Deal,” you replied, laughing through your tears. “But only if you promise to keep your mic in check. No sudden high notes!”

Your playful banter melted into deeper conversations, the night unfurling like a flower, revealing petals of honesty and vulnerability. You spoke of dreams, aspirations, and fears, each revelation drawing you closer together.

But as the clock ticked on, reality loomed like a specter at the edges of your newfound intimacy. “This isn’t going to be easy,” You said, your expression sobering. “The world won’t stop watching.”

“I know,” Nicholas replied, his voice steady. “But we have to stay true to ourselves and each other. As long as we communicate, we’ll find our way through.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through your heart. “Then let’s take it one step at a time.”

The moment stretched between you, a fragile yet beautiful thread connecting your hearts. “What if it doesn’t work out?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Then we’ll still have this moment,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “This is ours, regardless of what happens later.”

As the night deepened, you shared a quiet moment, eyes locked, the understanding between you solidifying into something undeniable. In the midst of chaos, you had carved out a sanctuary, a bond that felt like the softest whisper against a storm.

When you finally stood to leave, a mix of reluctance and exhilaration coursed through you. “This was… everything I needed. Thank you for being here.”

Nicholas walked you to the door, feeling the glow of possibility surrounding him. “I’ll always be here for you. Remember that.”

With a shared look of promise, you stepped into the night, the world outside still tumultuous but your hearts intertwined in a newfound hope. As Nicholas closed the door behind you, he felt the glow of possibility surrounding him.

[spicycinnabun]

@118dailydrabble for day 29 prompt christmas 𐂂 rated: t ♡ pair: buck/tommy 𐂂 tags: alternate first meeting, au, rudolph the homewrecker

"I blew Santa last night," Buck confessed. "In the supply closet."

Eddie nearly missed his lips when he went to sip his coffee. He took a moment. "…I thought your antlers were crooked when you came to help me with the gifts." He smirked. "How could you do that to Mrs. Claus? And on Christmas?"

"Shut up. Anyway, I meant to ask for his number. Didn't. Guess I'm never going to see what's behind that beard."

He'd only seen piercing blue eyes staring down at him and a commanding voice telling him what a pretty mouth he had and what a good boy he wa—

"Buck, Santa was Tommy from the 217. I can give you his number."

[andcars]

ㅤ [ 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗪𝗘 𝗗𝗢 ]

premise. the media makes twists and turns of everything they see. to be fair, it's not like it's easy to explain your story to them. you just know you're quite satisfied to where you end up at the present

prompt # ㅤdominant carlos sainz, submissive oscar piastri, lLeaked sex tape, body worship, reader is a celebrity, pregnancy, power imbalance, baby fever [ "Wait, you’re famous?" + "Remember your safe word, I’m not fucking stopping" + “You wanted to be seen? You wanted to be caught? You’re so fucking turned on right now” ] tags #ㅤanonymous/masked sex, non-linear story wc #ㅤ 1.6k

ㅤㅤFEEL FREE TO INBOX ME FOR THOUGHTS OR REQUESTS !

| MASTERLIST⠀REQUEST ME⠀TAGLIST⠀PATREON GUIDE⠀AO3

Over a year ago, there were cheating scandals everywhere including the three of you. You cheated on Carlos. Carlos cheated on you—and he’s gay! Oscar is a homewrecker. Oscar is also gay. The whole thing blew up into one explosion only to set off another one. It wasn’t possible if not for Oscar’s greatly dumb ideas that you all thought was funny at the time. Too funny, even.

A YEAR AGO AND A FEW MONTHS AGO

“You’re so fucking wet—” Carlos groaned, your pussy clenching on his cock that rams ruthless inside of you. Both his hands are grasping your tits. His grip is tight and you can feel his nails digging into your skin. “So fucking good for me,  cariño. Your body is so perfect, taking me in—like—this!” 

He was not kind. It was the opposite of the soft kisses trailing on your neck, the caresses on your hips, and the little moans on your skin. Oscar is breathing heavily, acting like he’s the one fucking—or getting fucked, you know he wouldn’t mind—in the situation. He moaned loudly when you do, looking into your eyes as Carlos is going faster and reaches deep inside of you.

The contrast of the two was almost disorienting. Carlos suddenly pulled out and you then noticed you came. “Go on top of Oscar. I want you facing him as I fuck you—Oscar keep your hands to yourself, I don’t want you touching anyone without my permission.”

Oscar nodded because that’s the only thing he’s allowed to do. You’re flipped to your front and lay limp on Oscar. He’s slightly sat against the headboard, your head ending up on his stomach as Carlos pulls you down on your cock. With a too-easy glide in your oversensitive pussy, he continued fucking you. The new position lets Oscar’s cock grind against your tits. He’s moaning and writhing subtly, panting as Carlos’ thrusts were powerful enough to give him the right friction. It didn’t give him release but it give him something.

“Look at the camera, cariño,” Carlos turned your head, “I want everyone to see your face when you cum.” You whined, wanting to look away but the red blinking of the camera got you focused. You almost felt everyone watching you then. “Fuck. Do you know how turned on you are? So wet. So—... you just wanna be fucked by us in front of everyone. So perverted.” He slapped your ass and didn’t stop until he reached his goal.

By the end of the night, you’re an incoherent mess. There’s drool on Oscar’s hips, cum overflowing your pussy and painting your tits, and your head is still too stuck on pleasure to process that it’s over. You’d say it was the best fuck you guys have but that was in Mexico last year. The two of them were on a high back then.

The squelch of your pussy is obscene. Carlos groans as he pulls his cock out, probably watching it drip down until he shoves his fingers to keep it all in. “How was it?” he asked, pretending as if he didn’t know you just fucked him that good. The heavy groan that fell from your mouth was enough for him, it made him laugh. 

“Okay then. With the footage… are we still..?”

Before he could get anything, you pulled Oscar to lay beside you and finally finish him off. He didn’t need to given permission to Carlos. Oscar was caught off guard and came all over your hand—”Shit!” he says, “I’m… Would’ve liked a warning at least.”

“Mhm,” You can barely form a single thought. “Just wanted everyone to be happy.”

“Clean up first, sweetheart,” Carlos kissed your head, patting your shoulders before hoisting you up. “I’m sure it’ll take.”

TWO YEARS AGO, GIVE OR TAKE

In the club, no one actually has a face. It’s like the rule of the place. You’re drawn in to the same masks over and over again though. Every other week, you see someone wear the ghoul and the gargoyle looking masks, all on different bodies and in different companies. However, there was a duo that consists of a ghoul and a gargoyle that caught your attention multiple times before. It seems like you’ve captured theirs as well.

On Mondays, there was a chance you will see them. On Mondays, you get to be fucked by both of them. The gargoyle is more experienced, fucks you with precision, takes the room in his control. Your hare mask was often pulled up just so that he could see the way you drool all over his cock. It should be against the rules but you never found yourself saying no to him

The ghoul, however, hovers above you and waits for permission. He will whisper praises, he will moan alongside you, he will look at the gargoyle and you like that both of you are the only things that give him joy in life. You don’t know how much that’s true.

It’s the seventh time you three meet, the first time that your masks will be taken off. It comes as a whim as the gargoyle takes the ghoul’s mask off—the other was surprised. You were surprised too. He looked… young. He had soft features and doe eyes. He looked nervous when he looked at you, almost as if he was scared that you would run away after looking at his face. He no longer feared anything when you took yours off too, pulling him into a passionate kiss.

“Do you still remember your safe word?” The gargoyle asks, his hands caressing your body. When a sharp thrust fills your pussy in one go, you’re pulled away from the kiss. He looks as if he’s enjoying your face a lot. “Don’t say stop, please, wait, if you think it’s going to do something. Say red or nothing at all, because I won’t fucking stop.”

He keeps his promise. The both of you are at his control, doing anything whatever he wants you to do. It's dizzying. All the demands and the pressure coming from him is something you wanna cherish forever. You can’t imagine anyone else to be experiencing this with. Not with how heavy his hands are, how deep his voice is, how the ghoul moans with even the littlest pleasure to him, how the ghoul grinds himself on your body and fucks your mouth desperately. This was something that was irreplaceable.

The gargoyle wore his mask until the very end. But when you came, he took his off to eat you out. He’s… mesmerizing. His eyes look fiercer without the cover of the mask. His messy long hair curls over his head as you grip on it for some control. He lets you. You’re being fucked on his tongue and all you can do is admire both of their faces for the first time.

It’s funny how you didn’t know they were Formula 1 drivers until you see their faces plastered on a poster. It was not like that mattered anyways. Your face was just across theirs on a concert advertisement. You have a date with the both of them tonight, you can admire their faces up close.

PRESENT TIME

You told the both of them long ago that you make music. They’ve seen the numbers on your Spotify. You don’t know why they’re acting so surprised when they arrive to the stadium. It’s still pretty empty except for the production crew preparing the things. You’re still comfortable in your pyjamas when you arrive with the three. They’re wearing the same comfortable clothes as you but for some reason, they’re acting too shy.

“I feel like I should change,” says Oscar, running a palm over his plain shirt and shorts. “Like I thought it was gonna be like… a more open and smaller venue?”

“Just say you don’t google me and move on, Oscar,” you laugh. He tries to say something but you’re being led down to the tech room. You have to help make sure all the right tracks are going to be played at a decent volume—not too loud but enough to be heard by everyone at a decent . Oscar and Carlos doesn’t seem to be sure of their positions.

This goes on for a few hours. You are dragged away endless times and they’re left following in your heels. Only when you told them to wait in the dressing room did they actually calm a little. Of course, that's until the fans came.

“Did you see how many people are outside?” Carlos asked, just having come back from behind the stage. “It’s completely full. You can still hear them all from here.” They're singing one of your songs, it's pretty clear from here.

“I’m happy that I bought mufflers for the little guy.” Oscar smiles. You smile too. The three of them have absolutely made your year. You look at your son in Oscar's arms, all wrapped around and ears fully covered. You made sure that the volume was all set. This was a bad idea, just like leaking that stupid sex tape just to keep all the journalists off your asses. Who the fuck beings their kid to a concert?

Carlos notices your worry lines. “Don’t worry. If she cries, we'll leave. We just can’t not attend your concert, okay? We know you’ve been busy recovering, so we want you to enjoy. Understood?” He’s kind. He’s kind when he’s not fucking you in bed, at least. It's really nice. Carlos smiles at you and kisses your forehead, patting your back.

When you leave, you briefly hear Oscar asks—”Is it bad that I never actually googled her once?”

Carlos, the saint, says, “She likes that. Same thing why she doesn’t know what a DRS is.”

@Delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @bicchaan

FOOTNOTE ────── first fic of the new year baby! hope ya'll try with me cuz ur boy is actually burning out lol. but this was nice to write n so I hope ya'll still enjoy :3

[serensama]

Thursday Bangers: Dr, Who?

Fourth installment of this prompt based ongoing fic- I'll keep going for as long as I can make the prompts work hahah (not that you're making it easy @woundedsoul12 you wondrous task master you). Ended up writing way more than I thought I would (1.9k) but hey, here we are!

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

This week's prompt:

I'm prepared to sacrifice my life I would gladly do it twice - Mercy by Shawn Mendes

Her lips were softer than he remembered. Plush and smooth as he moved his mouth over hers. He had intended for it to be a long, chaste peck, but then she kissed him back. Tentatively at first, like she was shy, until she felt his tongue lick at the seam between her lips, and she responded in kind. Illario couldn’t believe his luck when her arms linked around his neck, and she stepped closer to him, her hips pressed against his own. 

If he were being completely honest, he had totally forgotten that she-beast Zara was still in the room. That was, of course, until she grew a second head and started screeching out of it. Or at least that's what it sounded like. 

“Illario Dellamorte! Who the hell is she?!” she shrieked, stomping her way closer to them. Much to his surprise, Lilya stepped beside him and held his hand, an action that Zara did not miss, causing even more unpleasant, indignant noises to erupt from her. “How could you do this to me?” 

Lilya looked up at Illario, a wary expression on her face as her eyes darted between him and Zara. “I… I’m not sure what’s going on here. Illario, who is this woman?” 

Seeing as he was probably already going to be killed by Dr de Riva as it was, he didn’t see the problem in dying a second time over if it meant that he’d finally get the crazy ex off his back. Besides- if he was going to hell, he may as well enjoy the descent as much as he could. He hushed her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders protectively, drawing her into his side. His other hand smoothed down her long locks and held her face tenderly, concern playing across his handsome features. 

“Lilya? Mi Amor- are you okay?” 

Oh, he was asking to be kicked in the balls by this woman. When they finally got to speak to each other alone, it would just be two minutes of her just kicking the shit out of him. 

She blinked but recovered quickly and nodded, her small hands curling into the lapels of his navy overcoat as though she were nervous, or possessive, or both. He had to hand it to the doctor; she quickly cottoned on to what he needed from her and played her part well, considering she had only witnessed the brief interaction between him and Zara. Another pang of guilt hit him for being the cause of his cousin’s no longer being able to be treated by her, but it was almost worth it to see Zara almost go full exorcist mode. He only hoped she wouldn’t start puking up pea soup all over the carpet. Caterina had insisted on the white carpet and would be terribly put out to see it stained. 

Zara yelled out his name again, and he ignored her, captivated by the clear green irises that were staring up at him. He’d dreamed of her eyes for weeks, seeing them up close and in the light of day, he knew he’d be dreaming of them for many more. When he continued to disregard her, the woman rifled through her bag and threw her phone at his face. If he hadn’t been eye fucking the pretty doctor in his arms and been in the right state of mind, he might’ve stepped aside - but instead, he was beaned right on the corner of his eye. Say what you would about Zara, the bitch could aim. 

“Fuck. That was meant for you, you homewrecking whore!” 

Then again, maybe not.  

“Hey, ‘Lario, can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?” she asked, her tone serious, with two fingers held up in front of him. He answered, and she smiled, wincing at what she knew was going to be one hell of a shiner. Once she was satisfied that he wasn’t in any immediate danger, she stepped out in front of him, like she was the one protecting him. 

“I am not a homewrecking whore. You are just a woman who can’t come to grips with reality. This man does not want you-” 

“You’re wrong!” 

“I assure you, I am not.” 

“Illario isn’t seeing anyone. He’s just doing this to make me feel bad for the rough patch we’ve had-” 

Lilya scoffed, a cold, heartless noise he would have never thought would come out of her. He almost got hard just thinking about her being so ruthless. Fuck… maybe he really did need to see a therapist. Who the hell in their right mind got off on that? 

“My dear Miss… Zara, was it?” Lilya asked, knowing full well what the woman’s name was. “You said that throw was for me; I suggest you leave with the kind security guards heading our way now- lest I show you the damage proper aim can do. And trust me, I never miss a target.” 

Yep. He was hard. He was going to go to hell with an erection and a stupid grin on his face, and he didn’t even care. He pulled Lilya back and held her waist from behind, placing a kiss to her temple as he kept his eyes on Zara, the security doing their best not to manhandle the irate woman, knowing who she was. 

“I told you, Zara,” he began, curling his arms around her in a full embrace, “I’ve moved on. We’re over. You have no business with me, her or the company, so you must leave the premises. If you are seen here again, without express invitation from me or my family, I will press charges. Do you understand?” 

The woman stood still, her shoulders heaving up and down from her heavy breaths and glared at him. If he didn’t know better, it felt like he was being hexed by her stare alone. She didn’t answer him; instead, she pulled her arms free from the guards’ loose hold and walked out of the office, security following closely to ensure she was escorted from the building. 

Illario sighed deeply once Fletcher confirmed they had gone into the elevators, and the rest of the office returned to their business as normal, only a few people shooting him and the random woman curious glances as they continued working.  Lilya turned around and tenderly touched the reddened area around his eye socket, flinching empathetically when he did. She went to his EA’s desk and kindly asked if it was possible to get some ice and ibuprofen for him, and then led him into his own office. After surveying the layout, she determined that the couch was the best place for him to sit and gently helped him to it - not that he was unable to do so himself, but he found that he didn’t mind being led or cared for. It had been years since anyone who wasn’t Lucanis had looked out for him. 

...Had anyone apart from Lucanis ever looked out for him? 

He was lost in thought when a cold punch hit him in the face, and he exclaimed, shaken free from his downward spiral. 

“Oh, stop being such a baby, it’s only ice,” she soothed, a wry smile playing at her lips. Right. Those lips. Sinful, pouting, pliant - “So, I’m going to assume that was your ex? Clingy? Unable to understand that you’re broken up? Obsessive? She needed to see you with another woman to move on, so you used someone she didn’t know in the heat of the moment to get your point across, which just so happened to be me. Am I close?” 

“Yes, yes. You’re a genius and a good judge of character…” he grinned, grimacing for a second when his eye smarted. To her credit, she only smiled briefly at his pain and continued icing his injury. “Correct, Mr. Dellamorte, on all fronts,” she whispered, holding his gaze. “So that begs the question you should be asking…” “And what is that, Doc?” he chuckled, ignoring the pain in his cheek. It was easy to do so when he could easily smell the perfume that had long faded from his bedsheets, warming the air around him. 

“What does my impeccable judgement tell me about you?”  His smile faded. Hers grew. 

“I’m not going to like what you say next, am I?” he groaned playfully, taking over the icing duties, instantly mourning the loss of her touch. She sat back on the couch and laid her hands on top of each other on her lap, the woman he held in his arms retreating behind her professional facade once more. Suddenly, his attraction to her ability to smoothly switch to callousness dimmed when it was focused on him. 

“Probably not, no. I think now that… the debacle outside has played out… it is time I take those two minutes you promised me.” “Well, you’ve certainly earned them.” “Well done, me,” she retorted with a smile so sharp it could cut him in two. “You need to stop calling my office. My poor assistant, Bellara, has threatened to quit if she hears your voice on the other end of the phone one more time.” Illario raised his left hand in surrender. “Scouts honour, no more calls to your office.” 

“You’re meant to raise your right hand for that,” she clicked her tongue with faux disappointment, a shadow of the warm smile he could look at for hours playing across her mouth. 

“I’m injured, take pity,” he pouted, earning him an earnest laugh. She motioned for him to remove the ice pack, and she leaned in to inspect his face, so close he could just kiss her again, but she retreated as quickly as she came. 

“Hmm... shan't. For it is my expert opinion that you will, in fact, live. Congratulations, Mr. Dellamorte, you can continue being the best-dressed rake this side of town.” “Ouch. That one hurt, Doc. Isn’t your first rule to do no harm?” “Helping you take your ego down a peg or two is not doing harm. It’s a kindness to the rest of the world. I should get a medal,” she stated audaciously. “So now that we’ve confirmed that you are, in fact, not dying, and you’ve promised that you will no longer politely harangue my assistant, I shall bid you a good day. I leave with the sincere recommendation for you to please get examined by a doctor, especially if your symptoms get worse.” 

Illario cleared his throat, his grin already telling Lilya exactly what he was going to say next. 

“You’re a doctor. Please feel free to examine me once again, as thoroughly as needed. Doctor’s orders and all that.” 

She laughed again, her head thrown back like she hadn’t laughed in years. 

“You know what, sure. I could do that,” Lilya positioned herself between his legs and bent down until they were face to face, her hand supporting his chin, thumb unconsciously caressing his freshly shaved jaw. “Hmm, you’re right, you do need a follow-up. You should call my office and… oh wait… You can’t. What a shame. Good day, Mr. Dellamorte.” 

She tipped his chin back gently with a wide grin and sauntered off, completely aware that he was watching each step she took out of his office, and what she assumed was out of his life. But if there was one thing Illario Dellamorte knew, it was whether a deal would be worth the risk and effort it took to pursue, and Lilya de Riva was exactly the kind of risk he wanted to take.  

Gentle no pressure tagging: @rookamell @jenn2d2 @nyx-de-riva @pixiedurango @ofcrowsanddragons @thedissonantverses @hightowerqueen @himluv @kabsey @introvertedfangrl @davrinsleftpectoral @cocoboots @trash-nerd @apothe-cary @nimblefox66 @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @seaglassmelody @brennacedria @hedwigoprah @mythals-whore and anyone else who wants to play! :)

[wholelottaprompts]

ᡣ𐭩 Emails I Can't Send Prompts ᡣ𐭩

from the album Emails I Can't Send, by Sabrina Carpenter

"And I still make excuses for you constantly."

"Sorry that I pulled the 'it's not you, it's me.'"

"You're not my friend, and baby, you never were."

"It's times like these I wish I had a time machine."

"Whatever, you're a waste of time."

“Oh, so you do have a type."

"Where else can we go?"

"I hate the way you left me dry."

"Give me a second to forget I ever really meant it."

"Don't say sorry now."

"One day, I'll make sure you get a real apology."

"I tried to look for the best in the worst."

"Oh, so you can reply."

"I'm so tired."

"You want me? I'm done."

"I wonder how many things you think about before you get to me."

"You're lucky I'm a private person."

"I'm over that son of a bitch."

"Don't make me cuss you out."

"You're so vicious."

"Nobody gets my jokes, everyone here thinks I'm fucking rude."

"Why were you somewhere else when you were next to me?"

"I can't help it, it's a habit."

"You act like a bitch."

"I never saw him and we never kissed."

"There's nothing left here to decode."

"Were you lying to me and the family?"

"If you wanted brown eyes, I could have got contacts."

"You don't feel remorse."

"That never made too much sense to me."

"I can't read your mind."

"Why'd you let me down?"

"You knew I would see that."

"Looking at you got me thinking nonsense."

"Bet you wanna love me now."

"How do you do this to me?"

"Tell me what's gonna happen."

"You knew I would notice."

"I'll drive you home."

"I don't even know, I'm talking nonsense."

"I want you there sometimes."

"She looks nothing like me."

"Your signals are mixed."

"Everything reminds me of you."

"I know you know it keeps me up."

"You drive me crazy."

"Chase me."

"Did you even give a fuck?"

"You disgust me."

"Now I'm a homewrecker. I'm a slut."

"Tell me I was more than just a decent opportunity."

"Why do you look so happy?"

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thanks to you, I can't love right."

"I know now even if I tried to change that somehow, you'd end up with her anyway."

"You fit every stereotype."

"Does she step out of the spotlight so you bathe in it?"

"Now I can't even look at you."

"You said I'm too late to be your first love, but I'll always be your favorite."

"I know what you're about to say."

"Does she get up on top of you more than I would?"

"He had it coming."

"I deserve my own consideration."

"I look up from my phone and think there's no chance it's you, but it is."

"He's good for my heart, but he's bad for business."

"I've got death threats filling up semi trucks."

"How am I supposed to close the door when I still need the closure?"

"All my friends think I've gone crazy."

"I care, but I don't."

"Please fucking fix this."

"Tell me that you miss me in your life."

"It feels so good not caring where you are tonight."

"You were all I looked up to."

"Was I being lied to?"

"I got ways to find you anywhere."

"You miss me? No duh."

"Maybe we should do this on purpose sometime."

"It was all so innocent."

"What the fuck is patience?"

"I can't even stomach loving someone else."

"God, I love you, but you're such a dipshit."

"You're good at impersonating someone who cares."

"I bet your house is where my other sock is."

[graceisinthelibrary]

It’s my first time ever asking but since I love your writing so much I’m giving it a go! I’d like 15, 26 and 27 please!!😘

Here's the last one. Thanks for the amazing choice of prompts! The prompt was "There's a letter on the table waiting for you".

Siegfried operated on the apple with meticulous precision. He peeled, sliced, and dissected. He was a surgeon after all. He cut things for a living. 

The truth was, he concentrated on the apple at hand, because he couldn’t rip open the letter on the kitchen table. Lately the Royal Mail had become his nemesis. The telegram from Tristan and its vague announcement that had left him in a dark limbo between hope and despair for over twelve horrible hours. Edward’s Christmas Card, well intended, but a cruel tease that had caused more agony for days for Mrs Hall and everyone else who loved her. 

And now this. Again the letter was addressed to her and the sender happened to be an old friend. This case case “friend” was an euphemism for “Gerald”. As far as he was aware the chap hadn’t written to her in ages. Why now? 

By now the apple was cut in enough pieces to be used to cook apples sauce. With the harvest being good this year, his housekeeper had cooked a lot of it, because she didn’t want it to waste. She was ever so resourceful in everything she did. 

The backdoor opened and she came in, a basket over her arm and Dash at his leash. 

“Afternoon,” she greeted him, visibly pleased to see him. “You’re back early!” 

“Oh well…” He shrugged. “How was it in the shops? Anything left for us?” He asked, pointing at her basket. It was fuller than usual, which was a good sign. 

“For once I got everything I need,” she said, beaming with accomplished pride. “But it’s grim for some people out there.” 

“I know.” Only too aware how much the rationing and the ongoing fear for the life of the many soldiers were nagging at people, he hesitated to feed Dash with a piece of the apple, but eventually he did. The little beggar was just as lovely as his mistress, who was now taking off her jacket, revealing her grey short sleeved sweater. 

“There’s a letter on the table waiting for you.” 

He gave Dash another piece of the apple and the spaniel leaned against his leg, grateful and keen for more. He patted his side, marvelling how soft his fur was. 

“Oh…” She leaned over and took a look at it. “Oh,” she repeated when she noticed who had written it. There was no nervous flush, no sign of unease or joy. Just surprise mixed with a mild curiosity. He relaxed a bit. So she hadn’t been anticipating a message from him. Good. 

He watched her as she stored away the groceries and ate his apple, sharing every second bit with Dash. Then she put the kettle on and sat down. To his surprise she opened the letter in front of him and began to read. Another good sign. Whatever the homewrecker - that’s what he silently called him - wrote wasn’t a secret, at least not to her. 

As the next “Oh” reached his ear, he furrowed his brows. 

“Any news?” He asked as casually as possible, pretending not to know who the letter was from. 

“Kind of. He got married…” 

“Oh… Who?” 

Her eyes shot up, aiming at him. Her amusement was obvious and he blushed, caught red-handed. Why could he never lie to her? 

“Gerald,” she explained and made sure he knew that she knew. She just made her point silently and stabbed him with it. He should know by now that nothing escaped her notice. “He met an old flame of his. Ruth.” 

“Good for him.” Siegfried cleared his throat. 

“That’s what I think. Though…” She shrugged and he didn’t dare to ask why she had wrinkled her flawless forehead. 

“Don’t you think this sounds a bit petty?...” She leaned in a little and began to read, “I won’t say it was love at the first sight, but we know and understand each other. She’s a marvel and she likes Lilian a lot. It’s nice to come home to someone in the evening without wondering whether they will be waiting or not. I hope you will find whatever you’re looking for. Someone’s told me you’re a warden now and I wonder how little time you have left to put up your feet. Life here at the Lakes is a bit slower…” She broke off and Siegfried figured it took her a lot of willpower not to roll her eyes. She had always been very much in control when it came to the homewr… banker. As if she had never dared to be her true self in his presence. Maybe that was what he had hated mostly about the bloke. 

“I have everything I need!” 

“He sounds… wounded,” Siegfried said, trying to sound neutral. 

“Petty,” she repeated. The kettle whistled and Siegfried noticed that she spooned more leaves into the pot than the rationing allowed. 

“I think we deserve a little treat.” Feeding Dash the last piece of the apple, he rose and returned with a bottle of sherry. Dash, sensing, there were no more treats left, climbed into his basket and curled up for a well-deserved afternoon nap. 

“Let’s put up our feet,” Siegfried suggested upon his return. He poured them two glasses and placed them neatly next to their saucers. She chuckled. “Not exactly an ottoman, but thank you.” 

He settled down and looked at her, his eyes steady and beaming. “You’re a marvel. You keep us fed, you hold the fort, and you make us safe at night. Don’t let anyone tell you, that’s not enough or unheard of.”

Audrey, never able to accept a compliment, lowered her eyelashes. Now a tender flush built up in her cheeks. The silence became a bit embarrassing and she sipped her tea, and then from her sherry. 

“I love me life and me home,” she said, her voice steady. “I see no reason to change anything about it. And I’m not looking for anything…” 

“Brava.” He smiled, but felt a little sting in a corner of his heart. There was something he wanted to change about her life, about them. He ached to tell her that he loved her, more than the banker ever had. That he would never belittle her for caring for others or wanting to make a difference to their community. That his home was her home and that she had built it for them. There were so many things he wanted to admit but felt he wasn’t allowed to. 

“You’re making a difference every day,” he finally said. “Especially to me.” Three little words. He knew his voice had sounded shaky, even squeaky. 

Her eyes, right over the rim of her sherry glass, widened and then she smiled. Almost coy, she put down the glass and reached out. He took her hand without hesitation. Her fingers, so warm, a bit rough from the hard work, yet so well cared for, interlaced with his. “It means a lot to me to hear that.” 

In a moment of boldness he later described to himself as madness, he led her hands towards his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles. 

From the way she stared at him, he thought for a moment she would faint. He didn’t know how many men had kissed her hand before, but he had the feeling the banker had never done it. So he did it again. 

“You’re daft,” she breathed, her eyes fixed on the place where his mouth had touched her skin. 

“No, my dearest. I’m in love. Quite a difference.” 

[thepixelelf]

Oh Baby, You Part 43 - Your Everything

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I'm Orion's father.

The words don't just shake you. It's like a cold, stone-cut fist digs its way into your chest and pries away each rib just so it can wrap its icy fingers around your heart.

Cruel, cruel Wonwoo. Could he even know how hearing those words on his lips makes you feel? That was your short-lived dream, three years ago. That was the small sliver of hope in the hours after you decided to keep Orion as your own. The thought that maybe, just maybe, Wonwoo and you could’ve started a family, even if it wasn’t in the most conventional way. 

If things were different, he could say I’m Orion’s father, and it wouldn’t be a lie.

“Father.” Seungcheol’s expression leavens with a look you can’t read. You haven’t known him for very long. “You.”

Wonwoo, though— you know Wonwoo. His face shutters over as he solidifies the decision he just made. His jaw clenches. “Yes.”

“And just where have you been all this time?”

“...I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Seungcheol seems to hold in a scoff, and he tilts his head to glance at you before he returns Wonwoo’s glare. “I should think it is. Never fashioned myself a homewrecker.”

“We’re not together,” you blurt out, grasping to the only bit of truth within reach.

And then Wonwoo looks at you, and the fist around your heart lets go. A fire fills your lungs.

How dare he look hurt. How dare he show up out of nowhere, lie about the one thing you wished with your whole heart was true, then look hurt when you tell the actual truth. 

Seungcheol opens his mouth, but you leave him no room to speak. “You.” Wonwoo startles a bit when you jab your finger in his direction, then towards your apartment entryway. “Inside. You.” Your eyes meet Seungcheol’s. “Go home.”

A sizzling silence settles in the air.

Wonwoo’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh, and to your surprise, he walks into your apartment without another word. Seungcheol, though, makes no move to walk away. God, you just want him to walk away.

Fine. “I’ll call you.”

At your white flag, Seungcheol’s eyes brighten with a slight smile. He holds out the flowers he brought. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Yeah. Okay. Bye.” You snatch the bouquet and close the door between you two.

When you step back into your apartment, Wonwoo is standing just past the coat tree, one hand in his pants pocket, a solemn face on as he studies the pattern of your flooring. For the first time, you notice a small bundle of blue flowers in his other hand. He looks up at you, but he waits for you to speak.

“What was that?”

He shrugs. “I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Wonwoo, that was ridiculous! It was impulsive, stupid— I don’t even know why you would claim something like that, or what you’re even doing here—”

“The broken pot.” Wonwoo crosses his arms, the forget-me-nots half disappearing behind his elbow. “Minghao gave it to me, but that was you, wasn’t it?”

He phrases it like a question, but you know it’s not one. Something like an answer bubbles up your throat, but you choke it down. “You’re changing the subject.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“The pot,” he emphasizes, followed by your name. So simple, to hear your own name, but from his mouth, it almost hurts.

Exasperated, you lift your hands in the air only to drop them by your sides. “Why does it matter?”

“Because if you did it for the reason I think you did, then…”

“Then what?” you prompt when he trails off.

“Then you still care about me.”

His words hang uncomfortably in the air. You open your mouth, shut it, then cross your own arms. He just keeps his eyes on you, making you unable to look away.

You sigh. “And what of it?”

His eyes flash at your unspoken confirmation, and he takes a step closer. Slowly, he pulls the bouquet of tulips from you and replaces it with the forget-me-nots, putting his hands over yours to curl your fingers around the stems and delicate white ribbon. “I care about you too. I never stopped.”

You stare down at the flowers. “Wonwoo…”

“I want to apologize.” He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. “For so much… but mostly for failing you. You wanted my help and I— I abandoned you. I didn’t trust you.” Releasing a long breath, he drops his head. “This isn’t an excuse, and it’s worse because I never told you, but I was so… insecure. I’d moved away, and I was so, so scared that I made a mistake. It felt like I did— I missed you so much. And I was scared you’d realize it one day, realize that I fucked up and I didn’t deserve you and you deserved someone who would stay in the country for you because you deserved everything, but if I went home then the time I’d already spent there — the time I spent without you — would be for nothing. And then I heard you did find someone better. Or… fuck, I thought you found someone better. I just broke. I’m sorry.” He raises his hand to lift your chin with one finger. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes are watering. When did that happen?

“I still want to apologize, and keep apologizing,” he continues. “I want you to know how sorry I am for doing that to you.”

“I…”

“And if that’s ever enough, after everything I’ve done…” He glances down at your lips, then meets your eyes again. “...I want to go back to how we were. Before. When things were good.” He leans closer. “Better than good…”

Your eyes flutter shut.

“Mama?”

Alert in a matter of nanoseconds, you shove Wonwoo away and turn towards your son, who’s emerged from nap time, pyjamas askew. He’s dragged the large, green dinosaur plush along with him. That darn thing— he found it soon after his birthday and has hardly let it go since.

“Orion.” After placing the blue flowers on the counter, you go to him and scoop him up into your arms, soothing a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry baby, did we wake you up?”

“Mama,” he says again, then cups both his hands around your ear to whisper in the way a child does. Which is to say, not at all. “Bad guy is here.”

You pull your head back. “Bad guy?”

He nods, looks over at Wonwoo, then wraps his arms behind your neck and hides his face in your shoulder. Following your son’s example, you look at Wonwoo as well. The weight sinks in.

Orion’s getting bigger every day. At some point, you won’t be able to just carry him like this. He’ll never be as small as he was, and you’ll never be who you were before he came into your life.

“I’m sorry too, Wonwoo.” You hug Orion close. He’s already drifting back to sleep in your arms, so you speak softly. “But don’t you see? We can’t go back to things as they were. My life will never be like before.”

Wonwoo inhales. Exhales. Says nothing.

You don’t let his grim expression deter you. “I have a son now, and I’m— I’m not the same person you knew. If you want to go back to how we were… I’m sorry. I’m not that person anymore. I’m a parent.”

“I…”

“Whatever I’m a part of, Orion’s going to be part of it too. You understand, right?”

When Wonwoo stays silent, you release a resigned breath. Even though it’s reasonable, you still feel the ache of disappointment. Of course Wonwoo wouldn’t want to be the father of another man’s child. Of course you’re not worth it. Of course.

You pat Orion’s back. “Let’s get you back to bed, baby.”

Walking deeper into your apartment, you decide you don’t want to be around to watch Wonwoo leave. Better to save yourself the heartbreak. Once Orion’s tucked in with his stuffed dino, you busy yourself with picking his toys up off the floor and putting them in their respective bins.

You come out of the room with your eyes on the floor, but your head snaps up when he says your name.

“Wonwoo?” What are you still doing here?

He stands exactly where you left him; he didn’t move an inch.

“If…” he starts, nervously tapping his finger on his leg but keeping his eyes on yours with the determination of a soldier. “Would it be foolish to say I want everything?”

“Everything?”

“Your everything.”

The breath in your lungs hitches, and your hand rises to your chest, hovering over where your heart has paused in anticipation. “Even…?”

“Everything,” he says again. 

You gulp down the hope that rises like bile up your throat. “I think… I think it would be a little foolish.” Your voice wavers. “I don’t have much to offer anymore.”

At that admission, Wonwoo strides up to you and cups your cheek, his fingertips brushing your ear. You shiver as he presses a warm kiss to your forehead. “Don’t say that.”

“I…” Your heart hammers against your ribs. His kisses have always been your weakness, but the memory of his lips upon your skin is a stark reminder of the years since the last time you thought he loved you. “...I still haven’t forgiven you.” There. The last shield you have the strength to put up today.

Wonwoo backs away, but his hand runs down your arm to tangle your fingers with his. “I know,” he says with a sad smile. “I don’t deserve it yet.”

“Yet?”

He moves to grasp your hand firmly. “Will you let me try? To deserve it?”

“It’s not that simple,” you whisper.

“Maybe not.” Tilting his head, he roams his eyes over your face, the way he used to years ago. “But I still want to try.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. One last, flimsy barrier. “Alright, then.” Deep, dark eyes meet yours. “Try.”

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oby tagging 1, 50/50: @shiningstar-byulxx @shuabby-woowoo @90s-belladonna @xavi-in-kpopland @kachren @xmessaroundx @chwevernonlover @kwanisms @dalamjisung @1ntaktak @crazywittysassy @butterfliesinthenightsky @ddaengpotate @dorrysstuff @ckline35 @vanishingboots @potatofrieswithketchup @minhwa @oncecaratorbit @sugacookees @royal9 @doodlelibrary @myjaeyunn @yksthings @jundundun @amosmortese @jaeskz @seungmintree @woozarts @my-chaos-in-stars @yoonychoik @ksywoo @kellesvt @candidupped @sharkipoonis @wooahaeproductions @capsiclesworld @hellodefthings @sunshineshouchan @calumsfringe @caratinluv @pinkysinnerbaby @winterwallacehenderson @jvhoons @woo8hao @sxftiell @wondering-out-loud

[kinardnatural]

I try to look ahead, sometimes I look back instead part 2

PART 1

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

READ ON AO3

He lasted for about thirty minutes before he decided to leave the group. 

It had been going fine at first. Buck had even asked Cole some question and learned that he was working as a high-rise window cleaner. He also learned that he and Tommy had met through a mutual friend years ago and had reconnected, and before he got into details on how that had happened, Buck had asked him more about his job. 

“Isn't it scary? Getting up there, knowing that you can fall any moment?”

“Probably not as scary as firefighting. Or flying through a hurricane.” 

Buck threw Tommy a quick glance and ducked his head. “He, uh… told you about that, huh?” 

“More like prompted it out of him. I saw his medal-” 

The medal Buck knew was hanging inside Tommy's bedroom. He started to feel nauseous. 

“-and had to ask about it. That must have been something.” 

“Yeah. It… was an unforgettable experience,” Buck agreed. “That's when I first met Tommy, actually,” he felt the need to add. 

“Really? I thought you all worked at the same station?” 

“That was before Buckaroo’s time,” Chimney mentioned. 

“Evan was actually my replacement at the 118,” Tommy chimed in. “And it took us seven years to meet.” 

“Evan? I thought your name was Buck.” 

“Yeah, most people call me Buck.” He felt his face flush and took a huge gulp from his beer in hope to conceal it before anyone took notice. 

They continued to chat, and as much as Buck wanted to hate on Cole, he quickly found that he couldn't. He was nice. Very easy to engage in conversations with and indulged in every topic with great interest. 

Tommy had found a great guy, and it was killing him. 

He had finally had enough and called it a night. He said his goodbyes, uttered them a lot more coldly to Chim than the others, and left.

—

“I'm really sorry, Buck.”

“I heard you the first few times, Chim.” There was only so many times Buck could ignore his pleading brother-in-law their following shift. “It still doesn't change anything.” 

“I know you have every right to be mad at me–” 

Buck scoffed.

“I may not have thought the whole thing through–”

“You deliberately withheld vital information, Chim,” Hen interjected with a glance up at the pair from her phone. “How did you think this was gonna go?”

“Look, I thought… I wasn't lying about Tommy asking about you. He does that a lot. I figured that if I can get you two together for a gathering that it might ignite some old sparks.”

“You wanted to turn me into a homewrecker in the process? That makes it so much better, Chim.” 

“No! No, God no! That wasn't-”

“I don't care what you thought or what your intentions were. You knew I wasn’t over him and you knew he would bring his shiny new boyfriend. H-how would you have felt, if I did the same to you, with Maddie? How great would you feel?” 

A pause. 

“Not very great.” 

Buck scoffed again and shook his head.

“Now, I'm gonna be mad at you for a while, so let me be that. Just… no more meddling. Please.” 

“No more meddling! Crossing my heart.” 

If only Buck could believe that.

—

“He seemed nice.” 

Tommy looked up from his breakfast burrito and glanced at Cole, who seemed very interested in picking on his croissant. It was their typical brunch date, them sitting outside a cafeteria enjoying the lovely weather. 

“The barista?”

“No, silly. Buck.” 

He damn near choke on his burrito. 

“Uh-huh,” he managed, all too casually.

“He is so into you.” The tone was teasing and Tommy shifted on his seat. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“The way he looked at you? The way he blushed when you called him Even.” 

“Evan,” Tommy corrected. 

“Evan. Why do you call him that?”

“It's his name.” He swallowed. “I call Chimney by his name too.” 

Cole seemed to accept the answer. “Cool.” He leaned back and Tommy relaxed, thinking the conversation was over for a moment when silence hit. Unfortunately, that was not the case. 

“So have you thought about it?”

“Thought about what?” 

“Buck. And you. Hooking up?”

“Cole.” 

“What? I'm curious. He's hot. Like. Really hot. I wouldn't mind being squeezed in between the two of yo–”

“All right, Cole.” That was an image Tommy definitely didn't want imprinted inside his head. The thought of someone else touching Evan was more unwelcoming than not. 

“I'm just saying. It would be hot.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Am I not hot enough for you?” He smirked, switching gears. 

That seemed to do the trick. 

– 

[branchclangen]

if it is alright to ask: how does surrogacy work in your game?

I normally have "pregnancy ignores biology" turned on. For two cats that are afab I assume they found a loner or an amab cat to be the father of the litter.

For two amab cats, I'd either see if there's an afab cat in the clan who can carry for them, or I'll create an entirely new afab cat to join the clan temporarily to carry and nurse the kits. They can stay if they want or leave once the kits are weaned. Sadly that hasn't happened yet because there are no gay couples in BranchClan rn. There's not enough boys. :(

In the case of Wren and Thistle it was technically one of the cheating prompts, but I don't think Thistle is the type to willingly go into an affair like that. He's not too bright, doesn't understand social cues, and some cats call him weird...But he's not a homewrecker.

Sorry for rambling...I get very passionate about these cats. <3

[mothiir]

out of all primarchs, who do you think is most likely to be a homewrecker for their sons?

is konrad stealing you from shang and making him watch? sanguinius stealing you from dante?

This is a GREAT prompt.

Konrad: Shang was one of the few who was loyal to Konrad himself -- one of the few sons that Curze didn’t actually hate. However, Konrad poisons everything he touches, and everything he cares for (though the word ‘cares’ may be a stretch here). Maybe one day he sees Shang’s scared little serf being a little less scared around Shang; maybe he smells how content Shang is after taking you to bed. Maybe it is when the teeth of madness have started to close around Konrad’s throat, and he is reaching desperately for something -- anything -- to stop the horror of his visions. Whatever reason its for, the end result is the same: Shang’s girl vanishes from his quarters, leaving behind no trace she was even there. He rips apart the ship in a panic, trying to find you; he ends up grabbing Sevatar by the throat, lifting him off the ground, blaming him -- but the other Night Lord is strangely gentle as he says that maybe he should just forget about you. There are plenty of other humans aboard, after all. Shang casts him aside and goes to the one place he has yet to check, and of course that is where he finds you, underneath Konrad, weeping into a pillow as his genefather fucks you. Konrad hears him enter, but doesn’t stop -- just looks up and meets his eyes and smiles, showing every one of his teeth, his hips still rolling lazily against your arse. “I can see why you like her,” he purrs. “Don’t worry -- I’ll give her back when I’m done.”

Angron: Angron never liked his sons, and their attempts to endear themselves to him only made him hate them more. He thinks they’re poor substitutes for his long-dead friends. Even their name -- world eater -- seems like a sick joke. When he sees you carding your fingers through Kharn’s hair, murmuring to him, an idea strikes -- how he can finally stop their mewling attempts to get him to love them. He fucks you in Kharn’s bed, fucks you bloody and leaves you there, dripping his seed. He makes it very clear to Kharn that he’s going to keep doing this -- whenever he likes, as often as he likes. Isn’t that the right of a genefather?

Sanguinius: this is actually a little softer. Dante loves you very much, and he loves his father very much, and he hates to see Sanguinius suffer. He suggests his idea to you, and you need very little convincing -- you, like everyone else, adore the Angel, despite the gruesome nature of his appetites. It starts off with Sanguinius drinking in deep grateful draughts from your thigh, while Dante strokes his hair, and ends up with you trying your best to get Dante’s cock down your throat while Sanguinius fucks you from behind, his wings surrounding the three of you in a proprietary, feathery shield. 

Perturabo: Like Angron, Perturabo has no love for his sons. Unlike Angron, there is little deliberate malice in how he takes you from Kyodomor Forrix: it’s all pragmatism. He notices that his optimal functioning is slipping, and that Kyodomor is able to keep his morale up despite consistent disappointment. It does not take a genius to realise that the only thing Kyodomor has which Perturabo does not is you. Once he’s cum down your throat, he’s astonished by the change in himself: the red mist lifts, if only a little, and the world seems a little brighter. He informs Kyodomor of your reassignment while you suck him off under the desk. After all, Perturabo is a great believer in multitasking. 

Leman Russ: Going to be honest, this does not count as cucking, since Bjorn is watching the entire time, cheering his jarl on. It’s an honour for his father to take an interest in his woman, and the pack shares everything between them. After Leman Russ has his fill, Bjorn takes over, sliding his cock through the mess his Primarch made of your cunt, fucking you until you’re not sure which cum leaking down your thighs belongs to who -- not that it matters. The pair trade you back and forth until you literally collapse, and then sleep in a happy (slightly smelly) huddle with you. You’ll wake up sticky, sore, and utterly content. 

Alpharius/Omegon: They routinely swap places with Ingo Pech, with his full knowledge and consent -- everyone is Alpharius, which means that when one Alpharius is fucking you they all can. Which makes sense to them, if not so much to you. You have no idea how many different Alpha Legionnaires have actually bedded you by this point -- or, indeed, if you’ve actually been bedded by the First Captain at all, or just a variety of his brothers/fathers pretending to be him. 

[fairlyang]

Obsessed: All Mine 🕷️

how obsessed can you and miguel get over one another?

w/c: 1.8K

pairing: possessive!miguel x possessivef!reader

tags: 18+ smut. teasing, sm jealousy, toy usage, blowjob, exhibitionism

notes: was thinking of all mine by kali uchis 🫶🏼

part one — part three — part four

Jealousy sometimes has a mind of its own and although you both trusted each other deeply, that didn't mean you could trust others to not try and break you up or attempt to be little homewreckers.

Which would happen unsurprisingly often.

You were both very attractive individuals and when you'd go out together (outside of the spider society), people would tend to have a wandering eye. Especially when you first started going out together.

At first Miguel would joke around and say "can you blame them?"

You were at a fancy restaurant only like two months into dating and the water boy was giving you eyes. He felt almost instant rage deep in his stomach and his hands balled into fists. How was he already starting to feel jealous?

He had no idea how far his jealousy over you would go.

After the first year and a half together it'd just piss him off every time. That was until you both started showing the world you were taken with love bites and lipstick stains.

But after another six months Miguel felt like that wasn't enough so when you weren't looking he hid a controlled vibrator inside your purse.

He just put it in a corner and hoped you wouldn't see it.

You didn't.

And because you wore a bodycon that fit every inch of you to perfection, he knew someone would end up looking at you as if they wanna undress you that very second.

And he was right.

It ended up being the waiter you got that evening. He couldn't keep his eyes to himself and kept staring at your cleavage not even your lips at least.

So as soon as he walked away Miguel knew what he had to do. Since you were sat in a circular booth, he simply pulled you closer to him and kissed your cheek. "I've got a little surprise for you." He whispered and you turned to face him.

"What'd you do now?" You ask in a sigh before he just grinned and held your hand that was on your lap.

"I put something in your purse and I'm gonna need you to be a good girl for me and put it on." He whispered making you gulp and shake your head in disbelief.

"You're insane-"

"Only for you my love." He says and his eyes were practically sparkling looking at you.

"Give me your purse." He mutters and you turn grabbing it then passing it to him.

He then pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened your purse before going through it and grabbed the toy. He pressed a button then connected his phone to it before letting it go and closing it back up, handing it back to you. "Go on."

You chuckle and playfully roll your eyes at him, "only because of some stares?" You teased and stood up to walk off anyway.

Your response only prompted him to smack your ass before you walked away from him. You grinned on your way to the bathroom while he patiently waited.

You made it to the bathroom and quickly realized as you entered a stall how badly it turned you on when he got like this.

He thinks he's so subtle with his jealousy on occasions like this as if it doesn't look like smoke is gonna fire straight out of his ears.

You thought he looked hot like this, just so possessive over his girl. So it wasn't exactly a surprise to you when you pulled your dress up only to find your panties soaked.

You quickly opened your purse and grabbed the vibrator. You bit your lip as you moved your panties to the side and carefully slid it inside you, which was an easy task to do considering how drenched you were.

You slid it as deep as it can go and left out only the thin piece (that's meant to pull the whole toy out). You fixed your panties then pulled your dress down. You then walked out of the stall and looked at yourself in the mirror.

Can you really blame the waiter?

You closed your purse and made your way back to Miguel and that was when you realized how far off your table was from the kitchen and bathrooms.

Maybe this was his idea all along.

As soon as Miguel's eyes locked onto you finally coming back he started moving the little circle on his phone screen up and down slowly. It sent small vibrations straight your cunt as you walked towards him. You squeeze your legs together and stop for a second needing to control your breathing as he went faster.

You closed your eyes taking a deep breath before opening them, straightening yourself up then walking straight to your table as Miguel smirks up at you the whole time.

You tried to walk as normally as you could but he was only making it go faster. You finally made it to him and you just glared at him as you sat down next to him.

"You're so annoying." You mutter and sigh as he finally stopped.

"You know you love it baby." He says and pecks your lips softly.

He pulls away and you're both met with your waiter leaving your plates of food in front of you. Steak in front of you and some pasta in front of Miguel.

The waiter then tries to make small talk only with you but Miguel wasn't having it. And almost as if a punishment he started swiping his finger along his phone, having it under the table with low brightness so this annoying prick wouldn't see.

The toy vibrated inside you mid sentence so you let out a cough then cleared your throat before asking the waiter if you could have more bread to which he quickly ran off to get without a question.

And that began a little game between Miguel and the wanderer's intentions through the rest of the night.

He didn't expect for that piece of shit to still try, he was aware of his own physique which confused him as to why this kid had the audacity to openly flirt with his girl.

You had a more... direct approach.

After deciding to eat at the same restaurant after a few weeks since the last time, (and because you were on your period and craving it) you went back.

This time you were in the hot seat and it really didn't take much for you to almost openly explode.

The waitress asked for your drinks and when she came back with them two buttons were open. The only tip she'd get is the tip of your knuckles straight up her ja-

You shook your head and pretended to be nice, already having a brilliant plan in your head.

At this restaurant all the tables and booths had a white overlay that spilled to the floor. It couldn't get more perfect for you.

As soon as she came back with your food and she walked away with more swing to her hip, you rolled your eyes and went under the table ignoring Miguel's hushed pleas for you to not do it but you got down there anyway.

You pulled on his legs to sit closer to the table and he just groaned, not at all agreeing with what you were about to pull, but moved up anyway.

You grabbed the fabric and move it up so you could get between Miguel's legs and he could grab it in case someone came by to hide you.

You eagerly undid his pants and took his already hard cock out of his boxers. His tip was leaking and the shaft twitched as you gently started stroking it.

You loved how obsessed you were with each other that you'd go to extremes like those to show you only have eyes for each other. And no one else. Ever.

The second you take his tip in your mouth his hands go down to move your head and making you take all of him. You did it with no complaint and closed your eyes, hollowing your cheeks as you took all of him in your mouth.

You pulled back then went straight back down making sure you gagged so if that bitch came back she'd know she stood no fucking chance and that your man isn't even batting an eye at her direction.

You were barely able to hear his quiet moans as you moved your head faster taking as much of him as you could and stroking his shaft because you wanted him to cum fast.

You pull out and stroke him fast with both hands then murmur under your breath, "all mine."

His breath was getting heavier and this entire situation was driving him insane. And you just looked so fucking pretty down there sucking on his cock because you got a little jealous.

When you both know damn well she couldn't keep him even if you gave him to her. He wouldn't leave you even for the world's most famous models let alone some waitress whose trying way too fucking hard.

He felt his heart racing as he watched waiters pass by a couple tables down, they wouldn't be able to see you but he was more scared that he'd be the one to make it more obvious in case he let out too loud of a moan.

It was all just so exhilarating and his heart was pumping loud as you continued taking him so fucking well like always.

Another reason he'd never ever think of leaving you, you were the best he's ever had in more ways than he could count. But your ability to take him down your throat and always, always making him cum had to be top three.

Suddenly he felt his orgasm approach fast, as you took all of him faster and deeper, softly massaging his balls at the same time which only made him grip the fabric as his legs began shaking.

He kept his mouth closed, in a tight line as he somehow fought the urge to groan and moan dirty nothings just for you.

But you understood perfectly and already knew what he was thinking. He pulled the fabric up and watched as you took all of him and just the sight of your big eyes already looking up at him as well as your lips wrapped around him was his last straw and he came hard into your mouth.

You swallowed all of it and looked up at him with those pretty little doe eyes you made for him and then gave him a sweet little smile.

You quickly got up and sat down next to him as he fixed his pants and you twirled your fork into your pasta. Just then the waitress finally made her way back but first gave you a look of disgust, "you have sauce on the side of your lip."

You chuckle and grab it with the tip of your finger before sucking it off as Miguel watched with wide eyes, "just some alfredo sauce." You said rolling your eyes knowing full well it wasn't no alfredo.