#seriously speaking without sarcasm.

[huayla]

Hi @ervikirvi! A while back, I read a post of yours asking for recommendations for fics about certain chess pieces. That day, I was inspired and wrote in the comments a little list of some of my favorite fics. Time passes, and I don't know, I loved the works I found so much that I thought you might be interested.

If it's not too much trouble, I'll just copy the comment (with corrections + a new fic I found) I wrote that day:

Listen, my native language is not english and I'm not used to interact on tumblr. But I loved reading your analysis posts about queenie and kinger that led me to know your account. And well, how a person that taked a period of time to search material of this chess couple in ao3 I can tell that there aren't too many to my taste 😅 and in amount. But the ones I found are GOLD (maybe there are so many others to be found but who knows). Of course this is only my opinion with all respect to fanfic writers whose dedication and constancy I appreciate. Below I'm going to write my list (which is short hopefully only for now). I need to clarify that it's not put in order of preference, all of them offer an idea that attracted me above the general I checked.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59808613 -> metamorphosis by beepborpdoodledorp its the longest and I loved reading each letter of it. It's a kinger/queenie fic. "Queenie hasn't been feeling alright lately." is the summary, i will not say no more 😊. (also check the other works of the author, they are so good. I like his Gumigoo!)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59939308 -> Atta Cephalotes by Anonymous. It was a great surprise to find this fic! A Kinger & Pomni fic. It feels like it could easily happen in an episode (But of course that all the fics I love always I want to be happen in a episode). Whoever you are who wrote this I need you to know how marvellous is.

Ok, I admit it, these first two are my favourites, but I also enjoy reading:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55277785 -> First Days by Silvery_Soul. This fic was written when the series was just starting, and it still managed to capture the couple's dynamic and their adaptation within the circus, taking on their roles as leaders. (And an Ragatha & Kinger fic before episode 2!!??? I don't know how common it was at the time, but I cherish its execution.)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59689234 -> Check by LateNightDaydreams (Kinger forgetting things before his wife abstracted? a part of a angst i didn't know i need it after reading this)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63602545/chapters/163010482 -> Kingers Gambit by OhSunnyKnight. Although I support this theory of https://www.tumblr.com/wtpyrofreak/770600255510216704/the-best-thing-to-happen-to-kingers-lower-half?source=share , it´s pleasant and interesting to read an analytical monologue from a grieving Kinger.

Honorific Mentions:

Finding the Queen Piece -> Finding the Queen Piece by Silvery_Soul

my heart aches for you -> my heart aches for you by basedmiser

So, maybe I'm forgetting some others, but there you go, all the fics I keep :D. Sorry if this is long

PS: I need to specify in the notes of "Check" about the forgetful Kinger: To avoid spoilers for some fics, I'll just say that this one in particular does it more drastically. You'll notice it as you read.

*End of the comment copy*

There you have it :D. Although you've probably already read these fics, I decided to post this as well to support these works that I loved and their respective authors.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

I HAD THIS IDEA!!!! Bob being sassy to the whole team and they realize its because he hasn't seen you in a few days and misses you

Summary: Bob’s been moodier than a cat in the rain lately, and the team’s patience is wearing thin. It takes Yelena’s sharp eyes to notice the cause: you’ve been gone for a few days, and Bob’s acting out like a lovesick drama queen

Bob was on a rampage.

Not a dangerous rampage, not physically at least. The tension rolling off of Bob made the type of mood where everyone on the team collectively started to avoid eye contact and speak in whispers. His sarcasm was nuclear, his expressions so exaggerated he looked like a soap opera star, and his mood swings were faster than Ava's phasing.

“Do we have to breathe this loud?” he muttered, stirring his coffee with the kind of fury that made Yelena believe he was going to break the mug. Across the table, Bucky blinked at him. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

“Well, maybe sit quieter, James,” Bob snapped, setting his mug down with an aggressive clink. “I can hear your existential dread from here, and frankly, it’s exhausting I have my own dread thanks for wanting to share yours though.”

John just grunted, scrolling through his phone. “What's crawled up your cape today?”

“My cape is in the laundry, didn't know you'd be so concern,” Bob fired back. “But sure, let’s deflect from the fact that our briefing room smells like expired protein powder and ego.”

John raised a brow. “That one aimed at me or Bucky?”

“Why not both?” Bob smirked. “Two-for-one special. See how efficient I can be."

Yelena leaned back in her chair, eyeing him with the precision of someone who grew up knowing how to spot a lie three days before it happened. “Okay. Enough,” she said plainly. “What is actually going on with you?” “I’m fine,” Bob replied too quickly. “Maybe I just woke up and realized I’m the only one on this team with a functioning personality.”

“That’s definitely news,” John muttered under his breath. Yelena ignored him. “When’s the last time you saw her?”

Bob froze.

The mug hit the table again, this time slower. He didn’t look at her just stared into the last bit of coffee like it had the answers.

“Three days,” he said finally, voice much smaller than before. “Not that I’m counting. Or brooding. Or making dramatic exits from rooms like I’m in a shitty 90s romcom film. Except I am. And I hate it. I hate that she can make me feel like this, that she has this power over me." The room went quiet. Bucky ran a hand down his face. “You’re telling me I've been putting up with you turning your heartbreak into a Broadway audition over three days?”

Bob waved a hand. “It’s not heartbreak. It’s just... I’m used to seeing her. Talking to her. Being near her. I miss that little snort-laugh she does when I say something stupid or how she always gives me the middle of the cinnamon roll or when she texts me dumb memes during boring meetings. And now she’s just—poof. Gone. No cinnamon. No memes. Just... silence.”

“She’s just at her friend's wedding,” Yelena reminded gently. Bob slumped back in his chair. “Her friend lives in Idaho. That’s practically the moon.” Yelena’s expression softened slightly. “You could’ve just said you missed her.”

“Where’s the drama in that?” Bob replied, deadpan. “No one makes me tea or gives me extra hugs just because I say I’m sad. But make when it's everyone’s problem? Instant attention.”

Ava muttered, “You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

“I tolerate you.”

Bob opened his mouth to argue—when his phone buzzed. His expression instantly shifted, eyes lighting up as he read the name on the screen. You. He quickly opened the message and smiled.

[Miss you too. I’ll be home tomorrow night. Don’t sass the team too hard without me.] Bob’s fingers flew across the screen in reply before he stood up, clearing his throat with the air of someone delivering a monologue. “Okay. I’m better now.” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Seriously?”

“What can I say?” Bob grinned. “Love is a powerful mood stabilizer.”

Yelena leaned over to John. “We should get them married. For national security reasons.” John just shook his head. “We need a support group. For us."

<><><><><><><><><><>

That night, Bob camped out on the couch with your favorite blanket, a mug of tea you always somehow made better than he could, and the goofiest smile on his face as he watched old sitcom episodes, he used to make fun of—just because they reminded him of you.

And when you walked through the door the next night? He didn’t say anything at first—just tackled you in a hug, buried his face in your shoulder, and whispered, “You're not allowed to leave me for that long ever again, at least not without a two-week emotional prep notice and a signed cuddle contract.” You grinned against his cheek. “It was just three days.” You muttered against him, smile growing even bigger as you feel him shake his head, tickling you with his hair. "That's a lifetime."

As always if you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open <3

Tagging:

@msfirth

@my-name-is-baby

@metalarmsandmanbuns

@live-love-be-unique

@disillusioniary

@you-bloody-shank

@sarcazzzum

@itsjustisa

[fear-is-truth]

𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳 𝑫𝑨𝑫 .ᐟ

𓂃 ꒰ headcanons.꒱ gn!reader x jason (est. relationship) + fluff ⌗ ( 💌 let’s chat ! ) ⋆ ( m.list ) ࿐ ⸝⸝ ⸝⸝

· ❥ 𝐚/n : very rushed; i was sick when i wrote this

first & foremost, jason todd is girl dad through and through. the moment he holds her for the first time, he recalibrates everything—speech, sleep, temper, priorities—without even realising he’s doing it.

he won’t dilute language for her sake. no sing-song voice, no “whoops-a-daisy!” crap. he speaks to her like a small, reasonably intelligent civilian. when she babbles near-nonsense in response, he nods seriously:

“interesting take. but you’re still not eating crayons.”

when she starts talking, she parrots him with terrifying accuracy. says “bullshit” in perfect context. he side-eyes you like “that might’ve been you” but it was 100% him. he starts substituting in dumb phrases like “holy fork” and “crud nuggets” which somehow sound even more offensive in his voice.

his gut wrenches every time he sees her hurt. no matter how small the injury, how quick the recovery .

“it’s okay to cry, you know.” “m’ not crying.” she sniffles hard, mouth twitching. he takes a breath, carefully brushing dirt from her elbow with the sleeve of his shirt. “…good. because if you did, i might have to start too.” her bottom lip quivers. then she throws her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder while he holds her.

he gives her choices. always. because no one gave him any. ‘pink cardigan or the baby blue one? park or zoo? sandwiches cut into triangles or squares?’ she doesn’t know why the questions matter—not yet—but she answers anyway. and he always listens. even when she changes her mind five seconds later.

when she gets scared of the monster under her bed, jason grabs a crowbar from the hallway closet, locks himself in her room, and puts on a full performance. loud bangs, snarls, curses, all muffled through the door. she waits outside clutching your hand, wide-eyed. when he opens the door, slightly sweaty:

“we’re clear. monster’s in pieces. bedtime.”

absolutely watches disney movies with her. you once catch him mouthing along to i’ll make a man out of you with perfect accuracy.

her room is stocked full of high quality toys: watercolor paint sets, pop-up books, wooden animal figurines, everything he would’ve killed to touch when he was little.

when she gets sick, even the most minor of colds send jason into a tailspin. not outwardly though; outwardly he’s calm & reassuring—but he looking up symptoms and staying up beside her bed with one hand on her forehead, watching the rise and fall of her breath like it might stop at any second.

if you’re out for the day, he sends you hourly photo updates: her sitting in her booster seat, her eating grapes, her mid-nap with a book across her lap.

insists she learn how to throw a punch and memorize your phone number before she enters kindergarten.

she mirrors his sarcasm & sass too well.

you and jason have developed a “tag-team” parenting style—he picks up on your cues instinctively. if you’re too tired to argue with a picky toddler, he just whips up grilled cheese without a word and makes her think it was your idea.

and if she’s crying—inconsolably so—you both sit beside her and jason lets you do the talking. she always opens up eventually, even if it’s just, “i didn’t wan’ the poor banana to break.” (???)

she looooooves curling into him. a six-o kind of love, paired with matter-of-fact trust. she’ll press her forehead to his cheek while holding her sippy cup. tug at his sleeve when she wants to sit in his lap.

her vocabulary is way beyond her age. not just because of books; she mimics his cadence. jason once commented she was “morally opposed” to cauliflower. days later, she informed the pediatrician she was “philosophically anti-broccoli.” this had you laughing uncontrollably.

bedtime isn’t “lights out,” it’s literature hour! jason reads her stories with perfect enunciation and blunt dignity. she grows up on peter rabbit, winne-the-pooh, madeleine, and eventually segues to aesop’s fables, abridged dickens. the sound of pages turning becomes part of her core memories.

as her vocabulary progresses in a rapid fashion, jason still reads to her every night without fail: brontë. shelley. woolf. austen. he edits on the fly when needed, replacing death with long naps and violence with “stern talking-tos.”

four years of age, your little girl is already quoting jane eyre in front of her classmates.

she wins the spelling bee every year!

she told her entire kindergarten class that her daddy is an actual zombie, which resulted in an email from her teacher, regarding “concerns about her vivid imagination.” jason’s only response is, “technically, that’s not inaccurate.”

she loves all of her uncles, but it’s clear that uncle dick is her favourite. she likes him so much it’s borderline treason. jason pretends to be grumpy about it but secretly finds it endearing how much she adores his brother.

he can’t stand the thought of her going hungry. she’s never missed a meal, but he still packs too much in her lunchbox when it’s his turn. carries snacks in his glove compartment, keeps fruit cut up and ready in the fridge, just in case. he remembers what it felt like to open the fridge and find nothing but condensation. his little girl won’t ever know that.

꒰ ⠀· ❥  𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑-𝐈𝐒-𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content. ꕀ

[emmyc0z]

Can you write something for Sephiroth(pre-nibelheim) or Astarion? Your work is absolutely fantastic btw I’m in love with it ❤️❤️❤️

Not So Subtle

pairing : sephiroth x female!reader

summary : you have a teenage girl level crush on him, that you and zack talk (very loudly) about when you think no one can hear. but he does.

a/n : this takes place pre-nibelheim so everyone is happy and well! in honour of ff7 rebirth :)

“Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” You snap your jaw shut, eyes moving to glare at the young, dark haired boy who has decided to break your daydream. 

“It wasn’t even open.” He plops down beside you, shoulder touching yours. 

“Mhm.. and you weren’t drooling over our superior.” 

“Your superior,” you correct, eyebrow lifted with pointed sarcasm. If you could stick your tongue out at him, without it seeming childish to everyone around you, you would.

“Last time I checked, you weren’t a first class soldier either,” He points out, amused. Your elbow makes contact with his arm, and his hand reaches to cover the area as he laughs.

Zack was younger than you, though he certainly never acted like there was an age gap. In his mind, you were the same age as him in some way or another. You had always trained together so you felt much closer in age even though you were at least 3 years older than him. At times, he felt like a younger brother to you.

Even more so when he found out you had a crush on the man he spent everyday training beside. Constant teasing, constant threats to spill your secrets, constant blackmail. You couldn’t even count the amount of times he had used your crush to his advantage on one hand. 

There was a time you had to put your foot down and tell him no more, cause it was wrong of course. But also mostly cause you were running out of money to buy his silence.

“Yeah but I'm older, closer to his age. So I don't have to talk to him like I'm below him, unlike some people.” 

“Can you even talk to him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then why are you sitting here staring..?” 

“He’s training..” 

“Mhm.” The look on his face tells you he’s not convinced. Right now, it was the truth, Sephiroth was swinging his sword in the domed combat simulator, glass walls clear enough for you to see through. So the excuse of not being able to talk to him, out of fear of being sliced in half by his giant sword, was plausible. 

But any other time that you had sat staring at him, making no effort to speak to him, rendered that excuse inapplicable. 

“Shut it..” You push his shoulder with your elbow once more, and he snorts out a laugh. 

“I don’t get why you can’t just talk to him..” 

“Of course you don’t.. because you're obviously blind. Or you’ve been hit in the head one too many times in combat training.” You turn your gaze away from Zack to look back through the glass enclosing Sephiroth. 

His hair is tied up, hanging loosely against his back. It’s a rare sight, so you indulge yourself and stare a second longer than you should. It’s so relaxed, you think, compared to the seriousness of always having it pristinely down. There are stray hairs, flyaways, falling from the hair tie and hanging against his face. It’s unkempt, a nice contrast to his seemingly perfect lifestyle.

He swings his sword with calculated grace, a grace that you (or Zack for that matter) had yet to achieve. The control he held over his blade was impeccable, it never slipped or moved from his hold even when his hands were moving faster than his body could keep up with. Just another thing that had to be perfect in his life.

“How could I ever speak to him and not make a fool out of myself? For one, he’s first class, I'd totally ruin my chances of making first class if I said something totally outrageous. And knowing me, my mind would be so jumbled, I wouldn't even realize the words had left my mouth before he put me on some kind of ‘do not promote’ list.” 

“Oh so.. the only reason you won’t talk to him is because you're worried about making first class? Not.. I don’t know, maybe, the 12-year-old-girl-level crush you have on him.” Your hand slaps over his lips, eyes scanning around you. For the most part, no one looks at the two of you, and you figure the ones that are looking are doing so because of your hand covering Zacks blabbermouth. 

“Would you shut it?” Even with your hand covering his mouth, he manages to laugh at your widened eyes. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are a dead giveaway of his amusement. You remove your hand with a pointed look, one that says ‘keep it down’ in a far more subtle way than a hand over his face. 

“You’re so lucky you’re younger than me.” 

“More like so lucky you don’t want to make your boyfriend angry. Besides, you know I’m stronger than you.” 

“Mhm..” You roll your eyes, and with a sigh, you turn back to face Sephiroth. He stands still now and you realize all of the practice dummies have been broken. From your position, he doesn't even seem to have broken a sweat, even though he’s been in there for over an hour. His sword lies on the ground, thrown without care. 

Even with Zack beside you, and the silent teasing that exudes from his body, your eyes remain trained on Sephiroth. You realize it’s childish, to stare and never approach, but the idea of even standing next to him is enough to intimidate you. 

He runs his hand over his back, pulling the hair tie from his hair, allowing it to fall against his shoulders once more. He turns, presumably to leave the combat simulated, and his eyes meet yours through the glass. You knew your staring wasn’t subtle, it had never been before, but you had never expected to get caught. You had never been caught. 

You turn your head away so fast that Zack almost flinches, probably thinking you were going to hit him again. 

“Jesus,” he looks at you with confusion, “What’s the problem?” 

“He saw me.” 

“What?” 

“He saw me! Through the glass! He totally caught me staring at him..” You stare at Zack with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, before you head falls into your lap in shame.

“Would you relax? I guarantee he doesn’t care or he didn’t even see you. Maybe he was just looking at his reflection.”

You look back towards Sephiroth to see him leaving through the doors of the dome, and then you turn back to Zack with a pitiful whine. 

“This is so pathetic…” 

“I agree,” he smiles when you shoot him a glare, “Just talk to him.” 

“Talk to who?” A deep voice sounds from beside you, higher up than where you sit. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stick up, and Zack's expression is enough to confirm your suspicion about who stands next to you. 

You turn your head to face Sephiroth, and he stares at you expectantly. You think you catch the slightest smirk building on the corner of his lips, but you also think you might just be trying to make yourself feel better. Standing, nowhere close to his height, you hold your hands up. Zack takes this as his sign to stand too. 

“Nobody! Angeal!” You fumble out words, trying to throw out a name before he grows suspicious. 

“Well which is it, nobody? or Angeal?” 

“Angeal. Yeah! Angeal, so.. um.. I should probably go find him.” 

“It just so happens that I have to find Angeal too, allow me to join you.” 

You want to throw the nearest chair at Zack, curse him for speaking so loudly. And you curse yourself for not thinking of an excuse in a reasonable time frame, so you just nod, and excuse yourself from Zack. 

He gives you a pitiful smile, and when you turn to look behind you for support one last time as you walk away he gives you a thumbs up. His face contradicts his hands, and he seems like he’s in a far less teasing mood. 

“Whatever you have to say to him, it must be important.” 

“Hm?” You tilt your head up and to the side to look at Sephiroth, you’ve been walking together for a few minutes now, mostly silently. 

“You're walking fast.” You shrug your shoulders and continue walking. 

At least until your steps are interrupted by him stepping in front of you. 

“Is there a problem?”

“What? Of course not!” He practically glares down at you, arms crossed over his muscular chest. You can see the outline of his defined chest muscles through the straps of his top. And you realize you're practically drooling over him, right in front of him so you force your eyes to meet his once more. But his glare is replaced by a smirk, and amusement in his eyes. 

“I see now..” 

“See what?” 

“Really? Do you think you’re subtle?” Your face flushes and once again you want the floor to open up and consume you whole, but you're stuck here. 

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” Step back, you scream at yourself, but he moves closer and it’s impossible to move your feet. They feel like lead underneath you, not even giving way to a small shuffle backwards.

“No?” His hand reaches up to rest on your cheek, it's gentle, far gentler than you would’ve expected. But the way his fingers tense against your skin has you feeling fuzzy, “You think I don’t notice the way you stare? Hm?” 

He stares at you, thumb moving to the other side of your chin, holding your face in his hand. He maneuvers your face, moving it however he likes. You realize he’s examining the flush in your cheeks, the way your lips part like you want to say something. His tongue gives a humiliating click when your lips close, and the words are lost. 

“I hear you, when you talk to Zack,” he stops his movement, stilling your face to look directly at him, “You’ve never been a quiet girl. Why are you so quiet now?” 

When you don’t respond his eyebrows scrunch, its subtle and almost missable because it’s gone in seconds. He’s not satisfied by your silence.

Sephiroth bends his shoulders, moving closer to your face, “Although, I suppose you’ve never been very talkative around me.” He moves closer still, swerving his nose to the side of your face until he’s able to speak in your ear, “That’s not very nice. You might hurt my feelings if you keep ignoring me.” 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out meekly, you're honestly not even sure it’s audible at first but he laughs quietly, breath fanning on your ear. His other hand, the one that doesn’t hold your face, reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before he pulls away. The breath that leaves your body is almost embarrassing. 

“What’re you sorry for, hm?” He stares expectantly down at you, eyes never leaving yours. 

“F…for ignoring you.”

“So you ignore me?” 

“No!”

“So you’re lying?” You shake your head as much as you can within the hold of his fingers, “Then what are you sorry for?” 

“For not talking to you.” 

“And why don’t you talk to me, I'm sure you know it’s rude to stare and never speak to someone.”

“Because..” His grip loosens, hand moving back to your cheek, thumb resting on your cheek bone. 

“Because why? Cmon use your voice, the one you use to talk about me with Zack.” 

You stare up at him pitifully, and the way words fumble from your mouth has you wanting to throw up, “Because I have this stupid crush on you, and I can't talk to you without getting nervous. I know it’s stupid and I should have told you sooner so you could reject me and I could move on and I never meant to offend you or-”

You hadn’t realized he had gotten so close until his nose touches yours, top lip brushing against yours as he tips your chin up towards him. Your words fall flat on your tongue when you meet his eyes, or rather when you see his eyes that are focused on your lips. 

“Offend me.. that’s sweet..” He’s so close to you, that every word has his lips brushing against your own again and again. 

“Sephiroth..?” You suppress the urge to move the tiniest bit forward so your lips can fully meet his. And you're sure your face is impossibly red. 

“You should’ve told me about this ‘stupid’ crush sooner, such a foolish girl. May I?” You're confused, what is he asking for? His eyes flicker up to yours before moving back to your lips. When you realize what he means you nod your head perhaps too eagerly. 

Slowly, to tease, his lips press against yours, palm pressing into the skin of yours to keep you in place. Eyes fluttering closed, your hands find his chest, silently screaming about the position you’ve found yourself in.

His lips overpower yours in every regard, moving languidly against you. His other hand reaches up to the free side of your face, fingers tickling the skin on your neck and thumb resting on your jaw. 

When he pulls away you can only look at him with half lidded eyes, dazed. 

Al he does is chuckle, rubbing your cheek with his thumb and patting your head. One hand holds the back of your head, leaning down to kiss your temple, before stepping behind you, “Don’t be so shy from now on. Maybe we’ll end up here again.”

His steps echo through the empty hall as he walks away.

“Wait… wait.. I thought you had to go see Angeal?” You turn, taking one step in his direction, then stopping yourself in your tracks hesitantly. 

“I didn’t. And I know you didn’t either.” He only turns his cheek towards you to speak and then continues on down the hallway, tall and brooding.

[pomefioredove]

could you write the overblot boys (+ lillia & adeuce) with a reader who is really naïve? like they aren’t dumb by any means (the opposite, actually, they are smart and get amazing grades) but they have a lot of trust in people and sometimes takes things too seriously/at face value (like they don’t understand sarcasm at all, respond to rhetorical questions, etc)

how do you guys keep coming up with the most specific relatable ideas 😭😭 finally, oblivious representation!!!

summary: naive/oblivious reader type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, ace, deuce, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus, lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

for someone who's entire life is structured around decorum, Riddle is unexpectedly lenient with you

he's always had a certain weakness for cute things...

AHEM

he's seen your grades, and he knows you aren't incompetent or dim, you just...

...lack social finesse

fortunately, he says he's an expert at socializing!

...unfortunately, that's not true at all

if you're not careful, he'll have you talking like a sickly Victorian orphan by month two

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

but at least he's not Ace, who finds your naivete VERY entertaining

you and Deuce are a two-man circus to him

tricking you is so easy, it's almost not even fun

almost

he has, on three separate occasions, told you and Deuce that "gullible" is written on the ceiling, and all times, you both looked up

but it's all in good fun, of course

Sevens help anyone else who teases you about it, though. then it isn't so funny anymore

Ace and Deuce are just a little overprotective

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona hasn't said a word about it

not that he hasn't noticed

...not that he's trying not to embarrass you, either

he's just trying to see how long it'll take before you can tell when he's being sarcastic

it's just... entertaining

for someone as smart as you to hang onto his every word...

it's... a bit of a power trip for him

not that he's taking advantage of you for anything other than amusement, of course

besides, you'll need someone around to tell off the idiots who do try to pull the rug out from under you

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

speaking of which...

if not for your friends' intervention, Azul would probably own your soul by now

he's not half as convincing as he thinks he is, but even then, you respond to everything he says in earnest

you actually believe the whole "nice guy" act

and, honestly...

well...

he likes the way you like him

you actually see him as a nice, smart, interesting person. you spend time with him without expecting anything in return

so, he gives up on trying to squeeze a deal out of you

...for now, at least, you're under his protection

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

someone get this poor man a day off

Jamil is tempted to put you and Kalim in a play pen together so he can take a nap

he just... doesn't understand you

he's seen your name in the hall after exams, he's heard the way the professors praise you, and yet you are almost painfully easy to manipulate

he could mold you like clay if he really wanted to

...unfortunately, he cares too much to do that

so, for now, he'll keep trying to trick you into tutoring Kalim so he can have the night off

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is your number one protector

you're smart, you're competent, but you're way too easy to deceive

and knowing the boys at this school...

...of course, Vil has to keep you by his side at all times. he wouldn't trust half the students here with his laundry

he can't sit by and let you get taken advantage of

...not that he never teases you

he does, of course

your earnest responses are just so sweet to him, and you seem to genuinely enjoy complimenting him...

anyway

while Rook teaches you how to pick up on hints and cues, and Epel throws hands with anyone who even looks at you weird, Vil is busy pampering you half to death

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia's initial reaction is something along the lines of "well, at least I'm not that guy,"

(sorry)

but, really; he thinks he has it bad, and then you can't even read a room?

you're like total opposites; an overthinker and an underthinker

you're all... sweet and genuine and cutesy

and he's a lame weird loser...

he assumes that everyone else thinks the same; but then he starts hearing the things other people say about you...

...and the way you get treated when you don't understand a joke or pick up on a cue

maybe you're not so different, after all...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

unfortunately, it looks like you and Malleus are on the same page

one oblivious to social cues, the other awkward from years of isolation

communicating with anyone else is a minefield

but, of course, you have each other

the way you talk to each other is kind of adorable?

Malleus can be quite blunt when he doesn't mean to, though, for you, that's a blessing

but he's also aware that you're a little oblivious, compared to other humans, and he's quite accommodating

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lilia is a little shit

he may act all innocent about it, but he knows very well what he's doing

your naivete was the first thing he noticed about you

he absolutely uses it to his advantage

you're just so easy to prank, how can he resist?

he also enjoys flirting with you

it goes right over your head every time, and it's just the cutest thing he's ever seen

he's trying to see how far he can push it before you realize he's being serious

times he's said "I want you" to your face: 2 and counting!

[starkeynation]

Is it casual now?

Content : angst, a bit similar to the scene where Sofia overheard Rafe saying she’s not his girlfriend, inspired by the song Casual by Chappell Roan (may or may not be accurate)

a/n : sorry in advanced i know Chappell is for the girlies also idk if im proud of this but your likes and reblogs will always be appreciated🤍

Part 2

── ⋆⋅˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋅⋆ ──

It has been exactly 4 months since you met Rafe Cameron, the kook king you never knew you would fall so deeply for. The first time you met him, you were nothing but a blur in his world. A passing figure and a random pogue that was at his party. But Rafe, you saw something in him the moment you met his sparkling blue eyes. You couldn’t exactly tell what it was. Maybe it’s the fact that he looks so handsome even under bad lights, or the way you could listen to him forever every time he speaks. At that moment, you were ready to risk it all.

You made your move that night. The way you charmed him may have made him realize you both were something more than strangers passing through each other’s lives and ever since then, you were both inseparable. Although he said “No attachment,” the first time you both hooked up, you still went along with it, hoping it could be real one day.

Sometimes when you’re hanging out with your friends outside, you would hear some rumors saying you’re just a girl that Rafe bangs on his couch. The pogues call you a loser for still hanging around him but you ignore them and the rumors because most of the time he treats you as if you were someone he couldn’t lose. Just two weeks after knowing each other, he invites you to dinner with his whole family. The way he fucks you in the bathroom while his parents are still at the table, the way he brings you to the country club and shows you off, the way he’s eating you out in the passenger seat, and mostly the way he talks to you, so gently and sweet that got you thinking maybe this isn’t just some dumb love.

You’re at the pub where you agreed to meet Rafe. The sky on the way there was already turning a heavy blue slate, signaling that rain was on the way. You enter the pub and recognize Rafe’s back immediately standing on the other end accompanied by Topper and his foul girlfriend Ruthie. As you are about to approach them, you hear his voice, “She’s not my girlfriend okay, it’s just…casual. No strings attached.”

You freeze. The words land like ice in your chest, sharp and cold. If that isn’t enough you then hear Ruthie say, “You sure about that Rafe? How do your parents feel that you’re living with a pogue,” she smirks, her eyes gleaming with sarcasm.

“I’m not fucking living with a pogue okay,” he says annoyingly.

You have to steady yourself. You could feel your stomach churn as you’re processing what you’re hearing. You can’t believe it. You both never had a “talk” about being exclusive, but you thought you were starting to matter to him and close to making it official.

You hide behind a column in the middle of the pub, trying to decide what to do. Part of you wants to walk away, leave without saying a word, and let him figure out what he’d lost. But you couldn’t just let it go. So you make your way to the table, keeping a neutral face, and try to hold back your tears.

“Hey, there you are,” Rafe smiles, as you approach him.

“Hey,” you say, your voice steady, though it takes everything you have to keep it from shaking. “We need to talk.” Before he could say anything, you grab his hand taking him outside the pub. As you stand outside, it’s already drizzling.

“Whoa, what’s wrong? Can't we talk inside? It’s raining,” he asks, his voice full of confusion.

You let go of his hand and go silent for a moment. He looks at your face that is now about to cry, “Baby what’s wrong?” he says.

“Don’t call me that if you don’t mean it Rafe,” you mutter.

He blinks. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you,” your voice loud now. “Telling them we’re not dating? No strings attached? Seriously Rafe? After these past few months? Is it casual now?”

Rafe’s face shifts, the unease creeping into his features. He clears his throat, trying to smooth over the tension. “Look, I thought we’re on the same page here-“

“Same page? What same page are we talking about?” You cut him off. “I thought you were starting to look at me differently now Rafe.” You fluster. “Oh and not to mention calling me a pogue? I thought we’re WAY past that..”

He sighs, scratching the back of his head. “Ok about that I'm sorry kay’. I didn’t mean to call you a pogue just, you know…Topper and Ruthie, they caught me off guard. And you never really talked about anything more serious, so I figured we’re just not together.”

You could feel the heat rising in your chest. “I never talked about it? Oh so now I’m the one to blame? Are you serious?” Your eyes narrow.

He pauses, trying to find the right thing to say. “I just…I’m happy with the way we are right now. I’m not-“

“Not what? Not ready to be in a relationship? That’s bullshit.” You cut him off again, not wanting to hear any excuses. “How can you stand there and say you’re okay with this? After all the plans we made, the endless nights we spent?” you continue, meeting his gaze that looks unbothered. “You know what…I can’t…yes, I tried to be the chill girl who holds her tongue and gives you space but not anymore. No, I’m done,” you say, trying to walk away.

The rain is getting heavier now, and both of you are soaking wet. “Wait,” he calls out your name. “Just wait okay…I’m sorry I hurt you, yes I would be lying if I said this doesn’t mean something but just give me time okay, I just…I can't do relationships right now,” he says, grabbing your wrist trying to stop you.

“No Rafe,” you shake your head, a tear runs down to your cheek. “I’m done waiting. It’s hard Rafe…It’s hard being casual when my favourite bra lives in your dresser and it’s definitely not casual when I’m always on the phone talking to Wheezie like I’m her sister,” you swallow, biting your inner cheek trying to keep your emotion in check.

He gives a small dismissive wave, like I’m overthinking things. “Well I did warn you no attachment, y/n,” he says, with such cold detachment, as if his words are nothing more than a simple fact, devoid of any emotion.

You look at him with disappointment crawling up to your throat. He isn’t even trying to make it work, not even pretending to care about how you feel. You hate the fact what he said is true, he did warn you not to get attached and you hate yourself even more for dragging this on for so long. You stare at him for a moment longer, “Fuck you, Rafe,” then you turn and walk away to your car. There is no use in arguing with someone who has no intention of changing their mind. If this is how Rafe sees you, then he is not the guy you think he is.

Maybe he is okay with keeping things casual but you deserve more than that. Rafe Cameron can go to hell.

[flaminhotlem0n]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬

genre: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort

wc: less than 1k ig

pairing: hyunjin x reader

cw: arguing, mild injury, mentios of blood, a lot of angst with comfort at the end

not proofread

꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ ꒷

the apartment felt smaller than usual, too tight for two people full of unsaid things.

“you’re not even listening to me, hyunjin”

you stood in the middle of the living room, hands clenched, voice rising as tears threatened to form. “you never do, you always shut down when something matters to me.”

hyunjin scoffed, pacing, eyes sharp.

“and you always find something to complain about, no matter what I do, it’s not enough.”

you blinked, hurt by how fast he turned it into a battle again.

“i’m not saying you’re not enough,” you said, softer now. “I just need you to meet me halfway”

“I’m tired, okay? I’m tired of being blamed all the time.” he said raising his voice again

“I’m not blaming you, I’m begging you to talk to me instead of shutting me out!”

his jaw tightened. “Then stop pushing me, stop making everything such a big deal”

you took a step back, chest tightening. the weight of everything, weeks of miscommunication, of bottling up emotions, of tiptoeing around each other, everything was crashing down. your turned slightly, trying to hold in the tears, and your elbow accidentally hit a glass jar sitting on a nearby shelf.

it was the jar where hyunjin kept some of his paintbrushes, the old ones, the ones with sentimental value.

“seriously?” he said, glaring at the mess. “you’re breaking my stuff now? perfect”

“it was an accident, I-”

“oh sure, it always is,” he cut you off with sarcasm. “you made the mess, clean it”

you swallowed hard. he was being cruel, more than usual. but in silence, you knelt down and began picking up the shards scattered across the floor. That’s when it happened. A sharp, deep cut in the palm of your hand. You let out a small gasp of pain, but said nothing. Ignoring it felt easier than dealing with another blow from his mouth.

“see? serves you right,” Hyunjin muttered without even looking at you. “you’re always so damn careless”

the words hit harder than the glass.

that sentence broke you, not because of the pain, but because of everything that had been building up inside for weeks. His words were the last straw. the tears came fast, hot, silent at first… then turned into sobs.

you stood up with your wounded hand clutched close to your chest, unable to say a word. the pain wasn’t just physical now. your heart felt like it had been cut just as deep. and this time, you didn’t fight back. you simply turned and walked away, tears sliding down your cheeks.

only when you passed him did he finally see you. see the blood dripping down your arm. see the way your lips trembled.

“wait” he reached toward you instinctively “you’re really bleeding?”

you didn’t stop. yo walked into the bathroom and locked the door. you couldn’t speak. the tears wouldn’t stop. your chest ached, and your hand too.

on the other side of the door, his voice came seconds later, softer, more urgent. he tried the doorknob. “y/n open the door please”

you sat on the edge of the tub, cradling your hand, tears falling freely now.

he knocked again. “is it deep? did you cut yourself badly? please talk to me”

silence.

“y/n, please, let me see your hand. it could be serious, open the door”

you stayed quiet.

“cmon baby, I didn’t see… I didn’t know you got hurt. I was just angry, I didn’t mean what I said.” his voice cracked. “God, I didn’t think, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I didn’t mean to say those things”

still, you couldn’t speak. you didn’t want to let him see you like that, falling apart because of him.

“please, open the door, let me take care of you”

still crying, you walked to the door and unlocked it with your free hand. hyunjin was standing right there, eyes glassy. he stepped in slowly, like he was afraid to make it worse. he grabbed the first-aid kit from the cabinet and sat down with you on the cold bathroom floor.

“let me see” he whispered, gently taking your hand. his touch was soft, careful, full of guilt. as he cleaned the cut in silence, lips pressed in guilt, eyes focused and soft.

once it was bandaged, he exhaled shakily.

“I’m an asshole” he whispered. “a total asshole”

you looked at him, tears brimming again, but this time, softer.

“that hurt, hyunjin, and i’m not talking about my hand”

he closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hate the way I talk when I’m mad, I was angry and I took it out on you and that’s not fair”

“I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to say the things I said” you lowered your head, also feeling guilty for everything that was spoken earlier

he moved closer, cupping your face with both hands. warm and careful.

you looked at him, eyes still filled with tears.

“from now on, I’ll listen more. I’ll stop shutting you down. I’ll meet you halfway. I’ll do whatever it takes, because I love you”

your bottom lip trembled.

“can you forgive me?” he whispered

you nodded, and then you were in his arms. his embrace strong and protective, your face buried in his neck. he rocked you gently, as if trying to soothe the storm he helped create. his hands ran slowly up and down your back.

“I’ve got you now” he murmured into your hair. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting go, never”

[pretzel-box]

I love you writing! Could you do something with jealous Sebastian?

A joke too much

words: 1,3k

status: non-proof read

tags: established relationship, sebastian is jealous, random nameless guy to fill in for the plot, comfort & bad diving suit jokes

sebastian might be a bit ooc but that's nothing new lol

Despite all the horrible things that had happened so far in the drastic depths of the Hadal Blackside, you were more certain than ever that hardships are easier to overcome with a group of co-workers—or, in this case, familiar victims of the expendable project that Urbanshade had set up to retrieve a simple crystal.

One of those people was a fellow inmate who shared a punishment similar to yours, which made it easier to bond over the shared misery. Their sarcastic way of lightening up every dark situation was a refreshing change of pace amid all the horrors and violence that usually surrounded your group.

"I would have worked harder on my bikini body if I knew I’d end up here," the fellow prisoner joked, gesturing to the basic diving suit Urbanshade had issued as minimal equipment. The ill-fitting suit clung awkwardly to his frame, adding a touch of absurdity to an otherwise grim situation.

"Ah yes, these diving suits definitely highlight all the right curves," you hummed back in amusement, trying to suppress a grin.

The lighthearted banter continued as you both navigated the dim, foreboding corridors. The small, wholesome moments of connection were a welcome reprieve from the relentless tension. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep the growing dread at bay, if only for a little while.

Eventually, you found yourselves standing before Sebastian's signature vent—a crude entrance that had become all too familiar. With a quick push, the piece of metal flew across the dark floor, clattering noisily. From the other side, Sebastian's disinterested voice echoed in the narrow passage.

"Welcome back, you... and you," he muttered, his tone flat as his ear fins twitched slightly, betraying his annoyance. His gaze flicked to the person next to you, clearly sizing them up. "Another day, another poor selection of team members, huh? Shame I don’t sell good ones either."

His joke, dripping with sarcasm, didn’t go unnoticed, but it didn’t have the desired effect either. You could see the faint lines of irritation on his face when he noticed your unimpressed expression. His usual wit seemed to fall flat in the current circumstances, and even he seemed to sense it.

"Really, Sebastian?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Your new companion stifled a chuckle, but you could tell they were a bit wary of the sea-serpent’s mood.

Sebastian sighed, leaning back slightly as if trying to shake off the tension. "What can I say? The company down here isn’t exactly what I’d call inspiring," he retorted, though there was a hint of resignation in his voice. He glanced between you and your new friend, his irritation giving way to something softer, almost like concern and you didn't missed the way his tail moved, showing how bothered he actually is without speaking it out loud.

“Seriously, who thought it was a good idea to send us down here with nothing but these glorified wetsuits?” Your team mate joked trying to get the comfortable atmosphere from earlier back by continuing his joke, shaking his head in disbelief. “If I knew I’d be stuck in a metal box at the bottom of the ocean, I might’ve packed something a little more comfortable.”

You chuckled, trying to ease the palpable tension. “At least you’re making it work,” you said, playfully nudging him with your foot.

Sebastian’s ear fins twitched at the sound of your laughter, and own claw-like fingers digged themself uncomfortably into his own palm. Without a care, he spoke, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of laughing at this situation.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on Sebastian’s mood. He pushed off the wall and took a step closer to you, a lighthearted smile still on his face. “Hey, we’re all just trying to make the best of it, right? No harm in keeping things a little less... bleak.”

Sebastian finally faced him directly, his eyes locking onto your friend with an intensity that made the room feel even smaller. “If you’re so focused on keeping things light, maybe you should find somewhere else to do it.”

The words were laced with a possessiveness that took both you and your friend by surprise. The room fell into a heavy silence as Sebastian’s gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable. “Or is this how you’d rather spend your time?”

You swallowed hard, sensing the unspoken conflict. “Sebastian, we’re all stuck in this together. We don’t have to turn on each other.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Stuck together, sure. But don’t pretend like this is just another day at the office. We’re not exactly a team, are we?”

Your friend cleared his throat awkwardly, realizing he was caught in the middle of something much deeper than he’d anticipated. “Look, maybe I should just... give you two some space,” he suggested, glancing between you and Sebastian.

Before you could respond, Sebastian stood up and slithered across the room, positioning himself between you and your friend, his tall frame blocking the view. “Yeah, maybe you should,” he said, his tone final, leaving no room for argument.

The air in the room was thick with tension as your friend hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Right. I’ll, uh, catch up with you later,” he mumbled before slipping out of the room by crawling back throug the vent behind him.

Once the two of you were alone, Sebastian didn’t move, standing with his back to you, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You could feel the cold emanating from his body, but there was also something else—a vulnerability he rarely showed.

“Sebastian,” you started softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “What’s going on? Why are you acting like this?”

He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn around either. His voice was low when he finally spoke. “Because I’m tired of watching someone else take care of you when I’ve been the one keeping you alive all this time.”

His words hit you like a wave, and you suddenly understood the depth of his jealousy. It wasn’t just about the other guy—it was about everything you’d been through together, everything he’d done to protect you. He was scared of losing you, of not being enough and being replaced with someone you just met.

You stood up and stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, resting your head against his back. “I know, Sebastian. I know you’ve always been there for me. And I’m grateful for that. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension drained from his body. Slowly, he turned in your arms, his cool hands resting on your shoulders as he looked down at you, his expression softening. “I just... I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m right here.”

Sebastian’s gaze searched yours, and after a moment, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms and tail around you in a protective embrace. The coldness of his body was no longer unsettling; instead, it was a familiar comfort.

For a while, you just stood there, holding each other in the quiet of the room, the earlier tension dissolving into a peaceful silence. Finally, Sebastian pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his breath cool against your skin. “I didn’t mean to get so... possessive.”

You smiled gently, your hands resting on his chest. “It’s okay. Just... remember that we’re in this together. Both of us.“

Sebastian nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Thank you, Sweetheart."

[oopsiedaisydeer]

how to lose a guy in 10 days

slow burn, mutual pining, dual pov, fake dating, angst, comedy, miscommunication, fluff, enemies to lovers (kinda)

day zero one two three four

disclaimer: @whor3ing has an au also inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days which you can check out here!

word count - 1.1k

day three

The lights above the cinema counter are harsh. Unflattering. Her eyes squint against them as she leans into the glass display, fogging it slightly with her breath.

“Salty and sweet,” she says, admiring and breathing deeply in the beautiful scent. “Best of both worlds.”

Matt shifts beside her, arms crossed. “That’s like ordering soup and ice cream at the same time.”

She glances up. “What kind of sociopath wouldn’t want both?”

He tries not to smile. “Pick a side.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

She taps the glass with her finger. “You chose the cinema. I choose snacks. And the film.”

He doesn’t argue, not because he agrees, but because she looks too pleased with herself. Head tilted. Lip caught slightly between her teeth. Annoyingly charming.

He pays before she can reach for her purse. She frowns but doesn’t stop him. Just because this isn’t real, he thinks to himself, doesn’t mean he can’t be a gentleman.

The theatre is mostly empty. She shrugs off her jacket before sitting, arms bare against the faded red seat, then puts it back on, shivering as she does, looking over at him, grinning dumbly. Her skin looks soft in the dim light, cheeks pink, and he fights hard not to keep looking at her.

He shifts beside her, gripping the soda cup tighter than necessary.

“What’d you pick?” he asks, already dreading it.

“Something light.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Funny,” she adds, eyes wide. “Warm. Relatable.”

“Romantic,” he guesses.

She grins. “Maybe.”

The screen flickers to life. She rests her arm on the shared armrest without asking. Her fingers brush his.

She starts talking seven minutes in. Quiet, but not quiet enough.

“Him and her are definitely endgame. The other one has a bad haircut.”

Matt doesn’t respond.

Two minutes later, she continues, desperate to bug him at this point, get his attention, anything. 

“Do you think the rain is a metaphor?”

“Stop,” Matt whispers, biting his tongue as he tries not to laugh. “Seriously.”

“Wait wait, this is the part where he confesses with like. Full chest.”

“Do you want to get kicked out?”

“Do you?”

He stares at her. She's glowing from the screen light and something feral. Matt opens his mouth, probably to say something dumb, but the guy in front of them turns around, annoyed.

“Can you two shut up?”

Matt immediately stiffens. “Sorry.”

He presses his thumb into the side of his drink, determined to ignore her, not wanting to ruin the date just because of her one quirky trait. Red flag. Whatever. 

She gasps at a particularly sappy line and nudges his leg with her knee. “Admit it. You’re enjoying this.”

He turns, the question tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop it, sarcasm laced. “Do you have to talk through the whole thing?”

She blinks. “It’s commentary. Enhances the experience.”

Another nudge a few seconds later, but this time he speaks before she can even open her mouth.

“Okay, seriously,” he mutters, louder this time.

A lady three rows down turns, glaring. “Can you be quiet?”

Matt exhales hard through his nose.

“Relax,” she whispers, now clearly enjoying herself. “We’re just blending in. Being annoying. Totally normal couple behavior.”

He flinches at the word couple.

Someone else hisses “shh” behind them. He shifts in his seat. Then, louder than he means to, he tells her, “It’s not like I asked for the play-by-play.”

She pauses. More glares and shushes are directed at them.

Matt turns halfway in his seat, face flushed. “I’m not the one talking!”

The silence thickens. She looks at the screen, not at him.

The usher appears less than a minute later.

And Matt, sweet, nervous, can’t-cope-with-eye-contact Matt, accidentally gives attitude.

Outside, under the ugly glow of the lobby lights, she doesn’t say anything. They’re both quiet, as they exit on to the sidewalk.

The soda’s gone flat in her cup, straw tilting sideways. Her arms are crossed, hands tucked into her sleeves, shoulders high like she’s trying to disappear into them.

Her voice is calm though, tone still laced with its usual teasing, “Well, so much for movie night.”

Matt adjusts his grip on the popcorn, now half-crushed. “You didn’t have to say we were leaving.”

She shrugs. “Didn’t feel like arguing.”

“You’re not actually mad, are you?”

“No.” Then she looks back up, mumbles, “I just didn’t expect you to yell at me over a romcom.”

He looks at her carefully. “You were being annoying on purpose.”

She doesn’t deny it. Instead, she turns toward him slightly. Her lips press together like she’s holding something in.

He thinks about the last few days. The way she showed up with zero hesitation. The way she always tries to win, even when there’s nothing to win. The way he’s stopped noticing the time when she talks.

“Maybe I’ll try harder next time,” he says.

She meets his eyes. Something unreadable there. “To sit through a movie?”

“To not snap.”

Matt stares at her for a second. Then, very quietly, “…We can watch something at my place instead. If you want.”

She peeks out. “You inviting me over, Sturniolo?”

He flushes. “I just… We’ve already got snacks.”

She pretends to think. Sips her soda. He forgets he’s still holding the popcorn until she reaches over, grabs a handful.

“Sweet and salty,” she says, tossing one in her mouth. “Told you it’s better.”

“Fine,” she says, slipping past him towards his car. “But I pick the movie. And it’s going to be another rom com.”

Matt watches her from the corner of his eye. Wonders why she doesn’t seem that disappointed about getting kicked out. Wonders why he’s not more annoyed. Wonders if he’s supposed to be keeping score.

It’s a bit awkward, sitting on the couch with her, as if his brothers aren’t asleep upstairs. It isn’t made for two people, but they make it work. She’s curled into one corner, nursing a blanket and the rest of the popcorn. He’s scrolling through a movie list.

“Please no more romcoms,” he begs.

She fake gasps. “You’re emotionally stunted. Plus, you pinkie promised.”

“You’re emotionally manipulative.”

She sticks out her tongue.

Eventually they land on some cheesy film with bad lighting and worse dialogue. But it’s quiet, and it’s warm. Halfway through, she stops throwing popcorn at him and lets her head rest against his elbow.

He glances down, ready with another sarcastic comment, but she’s asleep.

Just like that. Deep breath, soft weight, the rise and fall of her chest against him.

He stares at the screen, but the movie blurs. The room feels small and still.

In his head, he tells himself it’s for the bet. Just another point. Another dollar sign he wills behind his eyes, trying to convince himself that’s all it is. All he feels.

But he doesn’t move.

And when her fingers twitch against his sleeve, he pretends not to notice how badly he wants to reach back.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws ꨄ

a/n: this took me so long to write i hope u guys are enjoying this series still though !!

[ltgubler]

Don't let them find out. [lew einstein]

pairing: lew einstein x fem!reader

word count: 4.8k

summary: +18, professor x college student.

warnings: public display of affection, fingering in public, oral sex.

Thursday night at the library, again. Nose buried in your books, no date, no friends, just homework to do and straight A’s to get, same as always since you got into college. Everyone says that you’re just… smart, a nerd probably, but you’re not very social for your own reasons, and between studying and working to pay your tuition, you had no time to go out and experience the college life of a regular girl.

It was a slow night, not many people at the building, but that was better for you, you needed the silence. As you left your things at the table, you went to find a book you needed for an assignment, you searched everywhere, getting to the secluded section known as the “make out section”. And of course, you were the one to catch Professor Einstein humping his latest hook-up on the hallways of the library.

When you saw the girl walking away with teary eyes, blushed cheeks and messy hair, you noticed he saw you there, standing awkwardly, and honestly, a bit disgusted.

“Very classy, don’t you think?” The sarcasm in your voice made him stop on his tracks as he tried to walk away.

“Excuse me?” he looked at you for maybe the first time ever. He noticed your big brown eyes, too judgemental considering how angelic your face looked. “You’re one of my students, aren’t you?” There was a sudden glimpse of amusement creeping in his eyes. “You know… It’s very rude to get your nose in other people’s business.” His comment made you scoff, rolling your eyes, your annoyance awakening something in him.

“Me? Rude?” Your sarcastic tone amused him. “Rude is sticking your tongue in your students’ mouths, especially on campus, but who am I to judge, right?” He laughed at how mean you sounded.

“Oh I'm sticking more than just my tongue.” The repulsion on your face made him laugh. “I’m messing with you. But hey, maybe you can be next, if you're interested.”

A blush creeped on your cheeks, you were too stunned to even say something, and with a pat on your shoulder he walked away, leaving you standing there astonished and… intrigued. His words stayed on your mind for longer than you'd care to admit, not being able to focus as you went back to work on your assignment, laying in front of you as you sat there on that empty table in the silent library.

————

Days passed by and his words were still stuck in your head. *Did he mean that? Was he seriously implying that I could be that easy to get? I’m not an easy girl, right? Well, I don’t really know if I am, no one ever wanted me in that… way.* You shake your head to forget the thought, your own mind getting way ahead of itself.

Around noon you had your second class of the day, his class, and the idea of seeing him after the other night, looking at him in the eyes without making a fool of yourself, felt absurd. A simple sentence had you on edge for days, and being flirty was his normal self, maybe he even forgot about your minor encounter.

“Good morning class, how are we today?” His voice interrupted the murmur of your classmates, getting everyone's attention. His eyes roamed over the room, something he never did before. When he saw your face in the back of the classroom, his gaze lingered over you for a second too long, and pretending he wasn't looking for you, he cleared his throat and continued speaking. “Today is chapter… 6, open your books, your notes, your computers, whatever you have.”

His way of teaching –of interacting with the student body– was fun but effective, something that you picked up since his first class, but now you started to really pay attention to his mannerisms. The way he moved around the classroom, smoothly checking up on everyone, cracking a few jokes here and there, attentive to what was going on around him at all times. From afar he felt your eyes on him, and every few minutes, like clockwork, his own gaze met yours for a second or two. Each time his eyes met yours you weren't able to hold his gaze, looking away every single time. He held back from smiling each time he saw the nervous way you looked away.

The class came to an end and everyone started to leave, you gathered your things and as you started to walk towards the door, he said your name, making every set of eyes in that half full classroom set on you.

“_____, don’t go just yet.” He said without even raising his gaze, leaning over his desk as he read some paperwork. “The rest of you can leave, keep walking people, see you next week if you don’t drop out. I’m joking, don’t drop out.”

Everyone walked away with a smile on their faces, that was the effect he had on his students, a sense of camaraderie no other professor had.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Einstein?” your voice made him look up again, you could feel your own breath getting caught in your throat. When finally the last student left the classroom, he took a breath before speaking, with a smile that could melt anyone, and it surely melted you. “If this is about the other day…” He interrupted before you could finish your sentence.

“Yeah, it is. I’m not gonna apologize or anything. Well, I am gonna apologize for lustful behavior on campus premises, but not about what I was doing exactly.” You rolled your eyes without even realizing. “Ah, that roll of eyes… You shouldn’t do it that much, don't get me wrong, you have beautiful eyes, you could use them to your advantage” Your cheeks were turning red as he kept talking “I know they would work on me.” He confessed in whispers, wanting for you to hear it, but he wouldn’t dare to say it out loud.

You swallowed hard before being able to speak again, he noticed the blush in your cheeks, and the nervous way you were standing in front of him. “Okay, is… Is that it?” he was taken aback by your question, figuring that maybe you weren’t interested in him the way he was about you. “I have other classes today, so…” your words hung in the air for a little longer than expected, while he searched in your eyes for even a glimpse of wanting, of yearning.

“Sure, you’re a very dedicated student.” He straightened up, his tall figure taking your breath away. He noticed the way your gaze dropped to his body, instantly going back to his face, almost if you were afraid to look, to check him up. “See you next week, ____.”

—————

The promise of seeing him next week was broken when you, like never before, went out to a bar with the only two friends you had in college. The place was packed, with barely any room to walk in. Squeezing into the crowd the three of you spotted a table that was just getting available, your friend ran at an amazing speed to get it, pushing away a drunk guy that had the same mission as her. Once settled you took the first trip to the bar, picking mojitos as the first drink of the night.

The music, the alcohol, the lights, the gossip and laughter with your friends, everything felt intoxicating, all your senses were wrecked already, and when some guy took your hand to dance with you, you went with it without hesitation. As he held you by the hips, moving in sync with you and the music, you let yourself get loose for the first time in ages. This guy tried to get further, his lips grazing over your neck, and that repulsed you. Before he could even protest you were back with your friends, and he walked away with a pout on his face.

“Can you believe that guy?” you scoffed as you sipped your drink.

“Men are pigs.” your friend said and the three laughed. “But talking about men… There's a very popular professor over there that couldn't look away from you and that guy…” she said as she pointed surreptitiously to a booth behind her.

“What? Who?” you followed the direction of her finger, and sitting at the booth, there was him, drinking with two friends. “Oh, hell no, I just made a fool of myself in front of him?”

The deep shade of red that covered your face was even more embarrassing than the show you put on in front of your professor. He raised his beer with a cheeky smile, letting you know that he was, in fact, absolutely entertained by you. You couldn't take your eyes away from him, the way his glasses sat flawlessly on the bridge of his perfect nose, the way his curls fell messy and wild on the top of his head, his rosy lips that grinned at you, and God, that smile…

“Girl, focus, get back to us” Your friend snapped her finger in your face, awakening you from your trance. “You should go talk to him, bag him, for shit and giggles you know?” your eyes widened at your friend's words, but you were seriously considering it.

“Should I, shouldn't I?” you mumbled, your eyes every few seconds going back to him, magnetic.

“Go!” they both said in unison and laughed, almost pushing you in his direction. As you walked to his booth, his friends magically went away to get more drinks, mysteriously leaving him alone.

“What a nice surprise.” he smiled and invited you to sit next to him. He watched you intently as you nervously sat there, your eyes going back between him and your friends that giggled from afar. “I thought of you more like a bookworm, this is different coming from you.” His words hung in the air for a second.

“Well, you don't know me that well, professor.” He smiled, looking down when you called him that outside the classroom.

“I guess not. You're a party girl now?” His mocking tone got a reaction from you, that goddamn roll of eyes, making his heart skip a beat. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“I'm whatever you want me to be.” Your blunt confession made him short-circuit, but even when you said that, you couldn't hold his gaze, and he found that endearing, and extremely captivating. He boosted himself closer to you, his leg pressing against yours.

“Why's that? What makes you think I want you that way?” His hand dropped from the top of the table to your thigh, resting there, cold against your warm skin. You didn't answer. “You already have the perfect grades, the perfect reputation… What’s in it for you?” He kept pushing to know what was on your mind.

“how do you know about my grades and reputation?” you finally looked at him, pure curiosity in those breathtaking eyes, he was going crazy getting lost in them. He shook his head slightly before speaking again.

“I did some digging, not because I'm interested,” he paused, “but let's say I am… interested.” His fingers on your thigh moved in their place, lazily caressing your skin.

Your eyes dropped to his hand, and back to his face. The proximity made you feel drunk, more drunk than any mojito could get you. The mix of beer and his perfume ignited something in you. “About your question… What's in it for me? You.” your words take him by surprise, he narrowed his eyes at your response.

“Like I'm a trophy for you to get? A land to concord?” He asked as he laughed, his hand lightly squeezed your flesh. He knew exactly what he was doing to you with his touch, with all those questions, with his closeness, and you let him do it.

“Does that bother you? That I want you…” you looked around to make sure no one could hear you. “... just to fuck?” He smiled, shaking his head.

“Considering that I want you for the same purposes, no, it doesn’t bother me at all.” His tone was getting lower, and his hand on your thigh was going higher. His fingers hid under the hem of your skirt, closer and closer to where he wanted to be, where he craved to be.

“Here?” you asked in a barely hearable whisper. He smiled, amused.

“Here what, darling?” He asked with an innocent tone, while his hand squeezed your inner thigh. “Use your words… Do you want me to start here? On this bar where anyone can see us?” Your eyes darted towards the crowd out there, no one was paying attention to you two in that dark booth.

“Y-yes.” you mumbled and he pulled your underwear to the side, but not touching you just yet. “I’ll be quiet, I promise.” He was drunk in your desperation.

“Oh no, you can be loud, you can moan and whimper, the music is gonna muffle your cries.” as the words rolled down his tongue, his middle finger started to play with you, so slowly it felt like a punishment. “Are you this wet because of me?”

“Can you blame me?” you smiled with a ragged breath. Two of his fingers were now playing with you, touching you in gentle and soft circles, with the perfect pressure to make you squirm under his touch.

“You're so pretty, letting me feel you, taste you.” With that, he pushed those two fingers inside, making you hide your face in the crook of his neck to stop your moans. “That's it, let me take care of you, you deserve it, don't you?” His hand picked up pace, his finger slightly curled up, like he knows exactly what to do, exactly how you like it. You were overstimulated, the music, the voices, his movements, his praising, the alcohol… A build up of emotions that made you melt against your seat, with him moving his fingers almost all the way out, just to push them deeper, making you lose your mind. The way he was controlling your body with just two fingers, not even a kiss and he already knew how to make you whimper and cry. “Let go for me, darling, don't hold back.”

A high pitched moan rasped your throat as you came undone in his hand, your legs shaking, your hips thrusting forward to meet his touch. “Oh, fuck me…” you breathed out, cursing, your orgasm washing over you.

“Good girl.” he smiled and withdrew his fingers. “And yes, I'm planning to fuck you if you'll have me.” he had a winning smile on his face that made you chuckle, and once again you rolled your eyes. “Stop doing that… I get hard every time you do it.” he confessed as he cleaned the residues of your orgasm with a napkin.

“I'm definitely gonna do it more often, especially considering how much you annoy me.” his eyes shined with amusement at your words, making him laugh.

“Let's get out of here, what do you say?” he asked. You thought about it for a second. “Here's too crowded, there's too much noise, and I deserve to hear you without any ambient sound.” He took your hand in his, fingers entwined. “Don't make me beg, because I will, I'm great at it.”

“Fine, okay, I'll go.”

With excitement he stood up and pulled you out of that booth and out that bar, forgetting about his friends and you forgetting about yours. The cold autumn night chilled your bones the second you stood in the street and he noticed how you crossed your arms, hugging yourself. Without saying a word he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to keep you warm. With a shy “thank you” you wrapped your arm around his waist, letting him guide you to his apartment. Once in his building he led you up the stairs to his flat, opening the door for you.

“What a gentleman, Professor Einstein, I didn’t think you had it in you.” your little tease made him laugh. He closed the door and walked straight to you, towering over you. His fingers gently but firmly grabbed you by the chin, making you look up at him.

“That’s mean, I am a gentleman, do you want me to prove myself?” He leaned closer, his breath brushing against your cold skin. “Because I wouldn’t mind proving myself to you.” His lips grazed over your cheek. You closed your eyes at the feeling.

“Go ahead then, Professor.” You whispered, trying hard to not sound too eager. He smiled before finally giving in to the need to kiss you. His lips moved slowly, tenderly, tasting you for the first time, drawing in the soft sensation of your lips. He buried his hand in your hair, holding you impossibly close, his other hand pulled up your top just a bit for his hand to rest on top of your skin.

His kisses grow more desperate, needy, starting to feel like a drug, a fix you're gonna come back to over and over, addicted to the taste of his lips. A whine escaped your lips the second he stopped kissing you, his mouth trailed up your jawline -leaving a bite here and there, he wasn’t able to resist- and down your neck, getting from you sweet and soft little moans on his wake.

“I like the way you keep calling me Professor…” His voice was muffled by the closeness of his mouth on your neck. The heat of his breath brushing against your skin was intoxicating.

“Oh, so all this is to feed your ego?” The implications of your question plus your heavy breathing made him chuckle. “Is it a power thing? You're capable of ruining my life, is that it?” Your feisty tone only fueled him further, getting him even more worked up.

“Maybe it is, but doesn't that turn you on a little? That your reputation depends on how I feel about you?” His voice was a low murmur, an agonic reminder that –in fact– it did turn you on, his proximity making your heart jump out of your chest.

“It 's scary…” you confessed, slightly throwing your head to the side. His eyes dropped to your pulse point, he wasn't even able to focus on what you were saying. He pulled back a little to meet your eyes, his fingers firmly yet delicately grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

“It is. Scary, I mean. But you like it, _____. Don't you?” As the words rolled down his mouth, his thumb traced over your bottom lip. “The adrenaline, the fear of getting caught.”

He kissed you again, more desperate than before, yearning to take you further, to make you his, to dive and get lost in you. Without breaking the kiss he led you to his bedroom, in the way he bumped with every piece of furniture he had, making you giggle between kisses.

Once in his bedroom, he stopped right beside his bed, he let go of your lips to look you in the eyes, searching for even a glimpse of regret, anything that could make him stop in a heartbeat, but all he found was the same desire he felt. His hands trailed from your hips to your waist, his touch delicate, reverent. Hooking his fingers on the hem of your top, he pulled the piece of fabric up your head, throwing it on his hardwood floor, you mimicked his action, taking off his shirt. His eyes dropped to your bare chest, almost drooling at the sight. With gentle touch he cupped your breasts, his thumbs caressing your nipples. You watched his every move, letting him explore you.

“You are…” he started to say, kissing your neck, going down your collarbone. He knelt in front of you, his breath hot against the delicate skin of your chest. “... so goddamn beautiful.”

His lips trapped one of your nipples, his tongue circling around it, he smiled at the sound of your moan. After a few minutes he kept going down, trailing a path of hot wet kisses down your stomach. He pulled down your skirt, his lips stopping at the edge of your underwear.

“This seems like the perfect moment to ask if you want me to keep going.” He looked up with a cheeky smile, messing with you. “Do you want me to keep going, ___?” He caught you so off guard that it made you laugh.

“Oh, shut up.” At the sight of you rolling your eyes at him again, he took your words as a dare and with a laugh of his own, he threw you on top of his bed, kneeling between your thighs. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him, while he, with ease, removed the last piece of clothing you had on. With his eyes fixed on you and your reaction, he started to kiss up your thigh, sloppy, wet, hungry kisses, and when he finally got to where you wanted him the most, it felt incredible. His tongue moved with expertise, he knew exactly where to kiss, where to lick, where to suck. He took his time to please you, your moans and whines only fueling him further, it was music for his ears, the only thing he wanted to hear tonight.

He noticed your body tensing up, the way you squirmed under his mouth, how your legs wanted to shut close, squeezing his head. He knew how close you were, but he wasn’t gonna let it happen. “Not yet, darling.” he whispered from down there, grinning as you pouted.

He got up from the floor, and as you looked at him with pleading eyes, he took his time to remove his pants, making you more desperate. His boxers were tight, his erection throbbing for you and only you. He removed and kicked them somewhere in his bedroom. His hand stroked his cock as he moved closer, his hips fitting perfectly between your thighs.

“Is this what you want?” he asked with a low murmur, teasing you with the tip. You had no words, nothing came out of your mouth no matter how hard you tried. “Use your words, ____.”

“I want it, please.” your shaky whimper almost made him growl.

The sight of you, naked on his bed, with your hair spread all over his sheets, with those big desperate eyes. His self control was slipping, and when you cried for him, he lost the last bit of restraint he had. After aligning himself, he slowly thrusted forward, burying himself in you. He held himself up with a hand next to your head, reaching down to kiss you as you adjusted yourself to him. He took a second, enjoying the way you felt before starting moving, thrusting at a slow pace to not hurt you.

“I’m not gonna break, Lew.” you whispered against his lips, making him smile.

“I know… I’m just enjoying how good you feel right now.” His lips landed on your neck as he moved painfully slowly, making you squirm under him for more. “You are so eager, aren't you?” he chuckled against your skin and pulled it almost all the way out, just to thrust back in even deeper, setting a new pace, less gentle, more primal.

Your moans echoed on the walls of his room, your nails digging on his back as he took care of you like no one ever did before. His movements became more erratic, his hips slapping against you, the sound of skin on skin flooded your senses, his own low moans and groans each time he thrusted deeper took you to the edge of release. His fingers found your clit as he kept moving, the overstimulation was way too much for you to handle.

“Be a good girl and let go for me.” A loud, animalistic cry tore up your throat as you climaxed. The feeling of you twitching and shaking around him -plus the sound that came out of you- was all he needed to get lost in you, feeling his own orgasm wash over him, he pulled out quickly, relieving himself all over your stomach.

He fell to your side on the bed, his body covered in sweat as he breathed heavily. You both laid there for a while, until your heartbeats got back to normal. He stood up and took you with him, guiding you to the bathroom, turning on the shower. The warm water relaxed you, no words were needed now, his actions spoke louder than anything he could say. With tenderness he shampooed your hair, washed you and himself, and once he was done, he wrapped you in his bathrobe, kissing your forehead.

Taking you back to his bedroom, he helped you get settled in, and he lay next to you. You rested your head on his chest, his fingers caressed the soft skin of your back.

“How can this not affect you at all?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“What do you mean?” he sounded genuinely confused by your question.

“Being with your students, knowing you can lose your job, your reputation.” you looked up at him. “Aren’t you afraid someone is gonna betray your trust?”

“Are you gonna betray my trust?” he didn’t respond to your question, you shook your head saying no. “Then I’m not scared.”

“That’s not really an answer…” your whisper got him all tense.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, ____.” his tone -that moments ago was sweet and gentle- was now sharp and cold.

“Okay, I’m sorry I asked.” you tried to pull back, thinking you did something wrong, but he pulled you back against him.

“No, I’m sorry, your curiosity is valid.” He said as he hugged you, burying his nose on your hair. “I’m not scared of it because all the parties involved have something to lose, not just me, you know?”

“I guess you’re right…” you whispered and yawned, your eyelids falling heavy, your breath getting softer.

“Let’s get some sleep, darling. And if you want we can keep talking about this in the morning, what do you say?” When he got no answer for you, he knew you were already gone to the land of dreams.

______________________

The smell of coffee and the soft sound of music woke you up, it took you a second to recognize where you were, and the flashback of last night came to you in a blur. You got up and walked to the kitchen, his apartment looked so different in the morning light, it had a midcentury vibe, mismatched furniture, a lot of art on his walls, it even surprised you a little.

“Good morning.” your voice distracted him as he was making eggs.

“Hey, I didn’t want to wake you up, you are a very peaceful sleeper.” He looked at you from over his shoulder, his hair was messy, his skin glowed in the morning light.

“That doesn’t make any sense, but thank you?” you chuckled and walked to him, standing beside him, leaning on the kitchen counter.

You observed his mannerisms, watching him move with ease, like he was in his element when he was at home, and it warmed your heart that he let you see this part of him, but that also made you wonder.

“I bet you bring all your dates to your apartment.” your tone was playful, but deep down you wanted more information.

“Uhm, no, not really.” His words were not what you expected. “I don’t really like bringing people back here, it’s my space, and I like to preserve my peace.”

“Then what am I doing here?” His eyes didn’t look at you, like he was shy all of the sudden.

“It felt different with you.” He just said, no explanation, no excuses, nothing. “I just went with my gut.”

You went silent for a second, doubting if he was even telling the truth. “So maybe this can happen again? You and me?” A little smile appeared on his lips, he seemed sincere.

“Don’t get your hopes up, ____.” He joked, calling you by your last name. “But yeah, I guess it can happen again.”

He got you in his kitchen giggling at his jokes, the knowledge that this was wrong sat at the back of your mind and before you even realized, the thing you had with your Professor turned into something more than just a one night stand. Every little gesture he had towards you made you fall deeper into the rabbit hole, you needed to remind yourself that this wasn’t love. This was wrong, you knew that, nothing that is meant to be hidden can be good. But it didn’t matter, there was no going back now.

hi hi hi :) i hope u like this one, or at least i hope u don't hate it lol. Since Lew Einstein doesn't exist yet I took some liberties with his personality, I see him as a good professor, dedicated (sometimes too dedicated with those he wants to f*ck), funny but firm, etc.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Did You Just Whimper? - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

this is pure filth as an apology for not posting yesterday and not posting this until late😭😔

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 7.39k

series masterlist | main masterlist

Peeta opens the door before you can even knock.

“Aweeee,” he says, already beaming. “We get to babysit my sister.”

You blink at him.

Soot shrieks from inside the blanket in your arms.

“She’s not your sister,” you mutter, adjusting the lump of demon kitten currently digging her claws into your shirt. “She’s a baby gremlin who doesn’t understand boundaries.”

“She’s family,” he argues, already reaching for the bundle.

“She’s chaos,” you say, refusing to let go until he uses both hands to support her properly. “And I want it on record that if she knocks anything off a shelf, eats something weird, or screams between the hours of midnight and four a.m., I warned you.”

Peeta just grins. “She’ll be an angel for us.”

Behind him, Katniss snorts.

You glance at her over Peeta’s shoulder. “You’re okay with this?”

Katniss crosses her arms. “She’s quieter than you two when you think you’re being subtle.”

Your ears go hot immediately. “We’re very subtle, thank you.”

Katniss lifts an eyebrow, and you decide it’s not worth defending.

Peeta’s already cradling Soot like she’s the Capitol’s most precious jewel, cooing at her while she flattens her ears and growls.

“She hates that,” you say, trying not to laugh.

“She loves it,” he says confidently, already walking her inside.

You turn back to Katniss. “You really don’t mind? It’s just one night. She won’t sleep unless we leave the door open, and she loses her mind if she can’t see us.”

Katniss shrugs. “It’s fine.”

You squint at her. “Is this real ‘it’s fine,’ or your usual ‘I will suffer in silence until I die’ kind of fine?”

She gives you a look.

“Right. Got it. Real fine.”

You linger a moment longer, awkward and grateful and weirdly anxious, before calling, “Thanks again. Seriously.”

Peeta calls back from inside, “Don’t worry, she’s already our daughter now!”

Soot yowls like she deeply disagrees.

You close the door behind you, turn back toward Haymitch’s house, and feel it settle in your chest.

Silence.

Alone.

A whole day and night with Haymitch.

No tiny creature screaming outside your door. No claws on your thighs. No urgent meows mid-kiss. Just you and him.

You let that thought bloom slowly.

And then you walk home a little faster.

The door clicks shut behind you, and the stillness hits instantly.

No meowing. No claws against wood. No feather-light paws batting at your ankles the second you step out of your shoes.

Just air.

Just quiet.

Haymitch is already leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, watching you with an expression that’s hard to name.

You blink at him.

“What?” you ask.

His voice is low. Even. “We’re actually alone?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. They took her. Overnight.”

He doesn’t say anything.

He just straightens, walks toward you in three steady steps, and takes your hand.

No sarcasm. No smirk. No warning.

He just threads your fingers through his, turns, and tugs you gently toward the stairs.

You follow without question.

He doesn’t speak until you’re halfway up. “Two weeks, honey.”

Your chest stutters.

“I know,” you say softly.

He squeezes your hand. “I’m losing my mind.”

You smile, barely.

When you reach the bedroom, he opens the door without letting go of you. You expect him to pull you into a kiss or make some half-witty comment—but instead, he just leads you to the bed, drops his weight onto it like he’s been holding it in for days, and opens his arms.

You don’t hesitate.

You crawl in beside him, immediately curling into his chest, your face tucked under his chin, your leg draped over his hip like you’re trying to mold your body into his.

His arms wrap around you tight. One hand in your hair. The other splayed over the small of your back.

He doesn’t say anything else.

He doesn’t have to.

You just breathe into each other’s silence, the weight of separation finally sliding off your shoulders.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this safe.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there.

His hand’s been stroking slow along your back for what feels like hours, your fingers resting lightly on his chest. You’re half-asleep but too content to drift off completely. Just breathing, just touching, just here.

Haymitch shifts beneath you slightly. You hear him exhale.

Then—grumbled into your hair, voice raspy with sleep and mild resentment—“I love the damn cat, but she’s really cock-blocking my whole life.”

You snort against his collarbone before you can stop yourself.

He grumbles again. “I’m serious. I haven’t been able to touch you properly in weeks.”

“You’ve touched me,” you mumble, still smiling.

“Not like this. Not without that little demon screaming like we locked her in the basement.”

“She has separation anxiety.”

“She has issues.”

You laugh again, quiet and warm, and tip your head back to look at him.

His eyes are half-lidded, his hair a mess against the pillow, and he’s got that look he only gets when he’s been holding something in too long—not angry. Just aching.

Your smile softens.

“I missed this too,” you say.

He exhales through his nose, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “Thought I was gonna lose my damn mind.”

You press a kiss just below his jaw. “You almost did. You sat on her tail twice.”

“She bit me.”

“She had every right.”

He scoffs.

But he doesn’t argue.

And when you settle back against his chest, you swear he holds you even tighter.

He doesn’t say anything else for a while.

But he doesn’t stop touching you, either.

You shift slightly, tucking your nose in tighter against his neck, and whisper, “We should just move out into the woods.”

He huffs. “And do what, build a cabin?”

“Yeah. Raise chickens. Be feral.”

He snorts. “You’d die in a week.”

“I wouldn’t,” you argue. “You would. You’d get so annoyed with me singing to the chickens and picking flowers instead of actually helping.”

He smirks, mouth pressed to your temple. “That I believe.”

You grin and close your eyes again.

It’s so quiet.

Just the buzz of summer outside the window. The weight of his hand on your back. The lightest press of his leg tangled with yours beneath the blankets.

You whisper, “I really missed this.”

He hums low in his throat. “Yeah. Me too, honey.”

And it’s the way he says it this time—not grumbled or teasing or half-asleep—but there, full and soft and real, that makes your throat tighten just a little.

You don’t say anything else.

But you press your palm to his chest, right over his heart.

And when he covers your hand with his, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you don’t move.

It’s quiet. Still.

You trace a small circle with your thumb just above his collarbone, not thinking much of it.

Then his hand moves—up from your back, over your shoulder, fingers brushing along your jaw.

He tilts your face toward him.

You look up without hesitation.

And he kisses you.

No warning. No pause.

Just the soft press of his mouth to yours, easy and steady like it’s something he needed.

You kiss him back without thinking.

Your hand curls into the front of his shirt.

And for a long, slow moment, that’s all there is—just the warmth of his mouth, the way his thumb brushes your cheek, the way he exhales when you kiss him a little deeper.

His thumb strokes gently along your cheek as his mouth moves with yours—slow, sure, never pulling too far back. Each kiss lingers a little longer than the one before. Like he’s tasting something he’s been missing for weeks and trying not to be greedy about it.

You shift closer, chest pressing against his, one hand sliding up to cup the side of his neck. He breathes out softly through his nose like the touch settles something in him.

He kisses you again.

And again.

And again.

No rush, no tugging, no hungry need—just that slow pull of wanting. Of missing. Of finally.

His hand finds your hip, fingers pressing lightly there like he needs to keep you close even though you’re already tucked into him, already half-draped over his side. His lips part slightly the next time they meet yours, and the kiss deepens—not urgent, but sure. Like he knows exactly where to go, and he’s in no hurry to get there.

You sigh against him, and he kisses you again.

And it’s enough to forget the time. The heat. The quiet stretch of days where you couldn’t have this.

This is all you want right now.

Just his mouth on yours.

Your fingers curl more tightly at the base of his neck.

He kisses you deeper this time—no hesitation, no teasing. Just his mouth warm and open against yours, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to rest at the curve of your waist. His touch is careful. Not uncertain, just… steady. Like he’s not trying to rush anything. Like he just wants to feel you again.

You melt into him, your thigh sliding higher over his hip, chest pressing flush to his. He groans—soft and low in the back of his throat, like the sound slips out before he can stop it.

It goes straight through you.

You kiss him again, slower this time, and his hand moves up your back, under your shirt, dragging gently along your spine until your whole body shivers.

“Missed this,” he murmurs against your mouth, barely a whisper.

“I know,” you breathe.

You shift to straddle him, movements quiet and careful, like you’re both afraid to break the spell. His hands find your hips instantly, and you can feel the way he holds you tighter now—closer. Like he’s afraid to let go again.

You cup his jaw, kiss him with more weight behind it, and he leans up into you like he’s been waiting to feel you like this for days. Weeks. Always.

You pull back just a little, barely enough space between your mouths to breathe. Your forehead rests against his, noses brushing, both of you catching your breath in the quiet.

His hands stay at your hips.

Yours stay cradling his face.

And when he opens his eyes, it knocks the wind right out of you.

Because he looks at you like you’re it.

Like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than right here with you in his lap, legs tucked around him, mouth swollen from kissing you and eyes so full of love it makes your chest ache.

Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to.

“I love you.”

His thumbs stroke along your waist.

“I know,” he says.

Then, quieter—like it’s only for you—“I love you too, honey.”

It’s not dramatic.

Not breathless or shaking or wide-eyed.

It’s just real.

The way he says it like it’s fact. Like it’s never been anything else.

You smile—soft and full and maybe a little overwhelmed.

You kiss him again.

You’re still in his lap, hands buried in his hair, mouths moving slow and deep like you’ve got nowhere else to be.

But then his grip shifts—one hand bracing at your lower back, the other sliding up beneath your shirt, fingers warm and steady against your spine.

“Wanna lay you down,” he murmurs against your mouth.

Your breath catches. You nod.

“You okay with that?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He exhales softly—like he was holding something in.

And then he moves.

Keeps his hands on you the whole time, slow and careful as he eases you onto your back, settling between your legs like that’s where he’s meant to be. He holds himself over you, arms braced beside your head, your thighs snug around his hips.

Your fingers slide down his back, over the curve of his shoulder blades, anchoring yourself to him.

He leans in and kisses you again—slower now, deeper. One of those kisses that makes you forget your own name. One of those kisses that says I missed you. I missed this.

His hand traces up your side, under your shirt, palm spread wide over your ribs. He doesn’t move any further, just stays there, grounding you.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod. “Yes.”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, the edge of your throat.

“Tell me if anything’s too much.”

“It won’t be.”

He exhales again, hand drifting lower, fingers curling just beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“Still okay?”

You nod, more urgently this time. “Yes, Haymitch.”

He hesitates again, even though you can feel the way he’s barely holding himself back—the heat between you, the tension in his arms.

And then you reach up, cradle his face, and whisper, “Please just do whatever you want to me.”

His whole body shudders.

“Honey…”

“I mean it,” you say, voice barely holding together. “You don’t have to be so careful. I trust you. You don’t have to ask. Just—please.”

He groans—low and wrecked and completely gone.

And then he kisses you like he’s starving.

“Okay,” he whispers into your mouth. “Yeah. I will.”

He doesn’t move fast.

Not after that.

Not after what you said.

He just kisses you—over and over, deeper every time, like he’s trying to memorize your mouth again, like he’s still not sure how much of you he gets to have. His hand slides slowly under your shirt, palm warm against your bare skin, gliding up your ribs, over your sides, tracing the shape of you like it’s the first time all over again.

You arch into it.

You can’t help it.

You’re already breathing harder, already aching everywhere he touches and everywhere he hasn’t.

His fingers brush just under the swell of your chest, not quite going further, like he’s letting you feel every second of how slow he wants to take this—even if the rest of him is straining with the effort.

He kisses the corner of your mouth. Your jaw. Down your throat, tongue dragging along the pulse point just to hear you gasp.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough. “Every inch of you.”

Your breath stutters. Your hands clench in his shirt.

He slides his hand higher, finally cupping your breast, thumb brushing lightly over your nipple—and it’s like your whole body lights up.

You gasp, legs tightening around him.

He groans. “Fuck, honey. That good?”

You nod—desperate, eyes fluttering. “Yes. More. Please.”

He grinds down just enough for you to feel him—hard, heavy between your thighs—and you swear you could cry from just that alone.

But all he does is lean in and kiss you again, thumb still brushing, his other hand gripping your waist like he’s trying to stay tethered to the moment.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he breathes. “Just like this. Slow.”

You shiver beneath him, thighs tightening around his hips.

And then—so quiet he almost misses it—“…What if I don’t want it slow?”

He stills.

Pulls back just enough to see your face, eyes dark and wide and glassy with heat.

His breath catches. “Yeah?”

You nod, biting your lip. “I want you to do whatever you want to me, remember?”

His jaw flexes.

One of his hands slides down your thigh, grips it tighter—possessive now, not just steady.

“You sure?”

You nod again. “Please.”

He leans in, mouth grazing yours, and his voice is low and rough and completely gone when he says, “Good. Because I don’t think I can go slow anymore.”

He kisses you again—rougher now, fuller, less patience and more claiming. His hands are already moving, one dragging down your side, slipping beneath your waistband, gripping your hip like he owns it.

“Need these off,” he mutters against your mouth, fingers already working your shorts down.

You lift your hips automatically.

He sits back just enough to tug them past your thighs, your knees, down your legs and off entirely. They hit the floor behind him, forgotten, and he’s already reaching again—already kissing down your stomach like he has to touch you everywhere he can.

His hands find your thighs next.

He spreads them apart slowly, wide enough to make you gasp. And when he looks at you, it’s not a question anymore—it’s hunger.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

Then he leans in and bites—just the softest scrape of teeth against the inside of your thigh. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You whimper. “Haymitch—”

He kisses the spot right after. “Want everyone to know you’re mine.”

He does it again—higher now, closer to where you’re throbbing for him.

Another mark.

Another kiss.

“Gonna leave you covered,” he breathes. “Everywhere I can reach.”

You moan, hips lifting off the bed, fingers clutching the sheets.

He presses one hand to your thigh, pinning you still, and kisses higher.

Then higher again.

And when he finally slides your underwear down, slow and rough, and tosses them aside without looking?

You forget how to breathe entirely.

He doesn’t move fast.

Not now that your legs are bare and open for him, not now that you’ve said please and meant all of it.

He shifts back just a little, eyes dragging up your body—slow, dark, hungry. And then his hands slide under your shirt, palms flat against your ribs, and he sits up just enough to tug it over your head.

You lift your arms wordlessly, letting him pull it off.

It hits the floor behind him, forgotten.

His gaze drops.

And the look on his face—like he’s just been handed something sacred—makes your breath catch hard in your throat.

“Fuck, honey,” he mutters, one hand dragging up your side, thumb brushing just under the curve of your breast. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

You don’t get a chance to respond.

Because he leans down, sinks lower between your thighs again, and bites—just above the spot he knows you want him most.

Not hard.

Just enough to make you gasp.

Then he soothes it with his tongue.

And does it again.

You twist beneath him, fingers clutching at the sheets. “Haymitch—”

“I know,” he murmurs against your skin. “I know, honey. I’ll give it to you.”

But not yet.

His mouth keeps moving up, slow and unhurried, tongue dragging, lips brushing, then—bite.

Higher.

A bruise blooming just where your thigh meets your hip.

“You’re gonna be fuckin’ covered by morning,” he mutters, voice ragged.

You whimper. “Good.”

He groans at that and leans in to mouth at your hip, his hand sliding up to cup the underside of your thigh, squeezing like he can’t stand how soft you are.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he breathes.

You try to respond, but he’s already kissing up your stomach—biting just above your navel, then licking over it, slow and deliberate, leaving wet heat and flushed skin in his wake.

Another mark. Another kiss. Another gasp from you.

He mouths over your ribs, your side, up to the edge of your breast, and grins against your skin when your back arches to meet him.

“Fuck, honey. Look at you,” he mutters, voice shaking.

And then he bites again—higher, right where your breast curves soft and perfect beneath his mouth.

You moan—loud and helpless.

He groans like he’s losing it.

He licks the mark he just left—just under the swell of your breast—then lifts his head, eyes dragging down your body like he still can’t believe he gets to have this.

You’re already breathing hard, chest rising and falling, fingers twisted in the sheets like it’s the only way to keep from flying apart.

His hand slides back down your side. Over your hip. Between your legs.

He groans when he feels how wet you are.

“Jesus fuck, honey,” he mutters, voice cracked open. “You’re soaked.”

You whimper, thighs tensing.

And then he moves.

Fast.

Drops between your legs like he’s starving, hands spreading your thighs wide again as he leans in without hesitation, mouth open, breath hot against your skin.

And when he licks you—one slow, deep drag from your dripping entrance all the way up to your clit—you cry out.

He groans into it. Like the taste of you hits too hard.

“Fuck, honey,” he pants. “Missed this—missed this so much.”

His tongue moves fast, messy, desperate, flattening over your clit, then circling it, then sucking until your hips jerk off the bed.

You gasp, hand flying to his hair, tangling in the messy strands.

“Haymitch—”

“Uh-uh,” he growls, pulling you closer, hands gripping your thighs like he’s anchoring himself there. “Don’t start talkin’. Just let me eat, honey.”

And then he does.

Fucking devours you.

His tongue moves in sharp, slick circles, flicking just right—every time, like he knows the exact rhythm that makes your toes curl. His mouth seals around your clit and he moans against it, the vibrations sending sparks all the way up your spine.

You’re shaking.

You can’t stop.

“God—fuck, Haymitch—”

“That’s it,” he rasps between licks, “that’s it, honey. Come on. Give it to me.”

He doesn’t slow down.

Doesn’t ease up.

Just keeps going, licking and sucking and groaning like he needs this more than air.

Like he’s addicted to the way you taste, the way you move under his mouth, the way you break for him.

And when you do—when you finally come, loud and gasping, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the bed—

He stays there.

Mouth locked on you, tongue still flicking, dragging it out until your whole body trembles and your voice gives out trying to moan his name.

Only then does he pull back.

His lips are wet, his breathing rough, and he looks wrecked.

And proud.

So, so proud.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he whispers, dragging his hand up your thigh, soothing where he held you so tight. “Look at you.”

You try to speak.

Fail.

He grins, smug and breathless.

“Think you can take more?”

You don’t even realize your eyes are closed until the mattress shifts beneath you—just the smallest dip from where he’s still kneeling between your legs.

Your breath is still catching in your chest, thighs trembling where they’ve fallen open again, skin flushed and damp with sweat.

You blink up at the ceiling.

It takes a few seconds before you can focus.

Before your mind catches up to your body.

And when you finally glance down—

He’s just watching you.

Propped on one hand, the other dragging lazy strokes over your thigh, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, lips swollen and glistening. But he’s not cocky anymore. Not smug.

He’s looking at you like you’re something sacred.

Like he can’t believe he gets to look at you like this.

You try to speak—just his name—but your voice catches.

He smirks, soft and crooked. “Don’t strain yourself, honey. I’ve got time.”

His hand keeps moving, slow and reverent, fingers tracing the edge of a bruise he left on your inner thigh like he’s proud of it. Like it means something.

You shift slightly, still breathless, and he leans in just enough to kiss the inside of your knee.

“You’re the prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, barely loud enough to hear.

You exhale shakily, legs still open for him, too undone to close them. Too his to even think about it.

He smiles like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

His hand moves from your thigh to the soft skin just above your knee, slow and warm, dragging lazy lines up and down like he’s got nowhere else to be.

You’re still catching your breath.

Still flushed.

Still half out of your mind.

And he’s grinning like he knows it.

“You look a little wrecked there, honey,” he drawls, voice low and teasing.

You shoot him a look—exhausted, flushed, and still somehow defiant. “You act like that’s not your fault.”

“Oh, it’s definitely my fault.”

His fingers slide a little lower.

“You want me to apologize?”

You hum, stretching under his touch. “Might be nice.”

He leans down, kisses your hip, and murmurs against your skin, “Sorry you look so good when you come.”

You swat at him weakly.

He catches your wrist, brings it to his mouth, kisses your palm, then presses it back to your side like he’s tucking you in.

“You ready for more?” he asks, fingers dragging just a little lower now, dipping between your thighs—but not touching where you want him most.

“Maybe,” you breathe.

“Maybe?”

You roll your eyes, chest still rising and falling. “If you stop talking so much.”

He huffs a laugh and finally slides one finger through your folds, slow and easy.

You shiver.

He groans. “Still so wet for me, baby. I barely did anything.”

“You did something.”

“Did I?” he says innocently, sliding his finger back up, circling your clit with maddening lightness. “Could’ve sworn I was just being polite.”

You let out a sound that’s somewhere between a whimper and a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

His grin turns crooked, voice low and full of heat. “And you’re fuckin’ perfect.”

Then he slips one finger inside you.

Your mouth drops open.

“Still good?” he asks.

You nod—fast.

He kisses your thigh again, adds a second finger, curling them just right, and you arch into his touch instantly.

“God—Haymitch—”

“That’s it, honey,” he murmurs. “Let me hear you.”

And when his thumb brushes your clit again, slow and steady, watching your face the whole time—

You know you’re about to come all over again.

And he knows it too.

His fingers move slow—deep, steady, curling just right like he’s savoring every inch of you. His thumb circles your clit in soft, perfect strokes, and he’s watching your face like it’s his favorite thing he’s ever seen.

You whimper, already trembling.

He leans in closer, voice low and warm. “Already gonna come again, honey?”

You nod helplessly, breath catching. “Yes.”

He grins, all soft affection and quiet smugness. “You’re just so sweet like this, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath. “You’re so annoying.”

He laughs under his breath, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Yeah, but you love me.”

You do.

You don’t say it now, but it’s in the way your hips move under his touch, in the way your hands twist in the sheets like you’re trying to stay grounded, like the sound of his voice is the only thing holding you together.

He strokes deeper, thumb a little firmer, just enough pressure to make your whole body stutter.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Just like that.”

You gasp, mouth falling open, legs starting to shake again.

“That’s it, honey. C’mon. Let go for me.”

Your breath hitches.

And then it crashes over you.

The second orgasm hits harder than the first—full-body, toes curling, heat flooding through you so fast you can’t even get his name out, just a broken moan that could mean anything and only means him.

He keeps his fingers moving, slow and steady, until your hips finally twitch and you try to squirm away.

“Too much?” he whispers.

You nod, barely able to speak.

He kisses your thigh again. “You did so good for me.”

You let out a shaky, breathless laugh. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He smiles against your skin. “You’re not complaining.”

You aren’t.

Not even close.

You’re still gasping, thighs twitching around his hips, arms limp at your sides like your bones forgot how to hold you together.

Haymitch eases his fingers out slowly—carefully, like he’s afraid to break you any more than he already has.

You whimper at the loss.

He shushes you gently, kissing the inside of your knee.

Then your thigh.

Then the soft skin just above your hip, as he crawls up over you again, slow and warm and steady.

You blink up at him, dazed and flushed, lips parted, skin damp with sweat.

He looks at you like you’re everything.

His hand slides up your side, over your ribs, the back of his knuckles brushing your breast as he leans in. You feel his breath on your cheek before you feel the kiss—soft, slow, pressed to the corner of your mouth like he’s asking.

You turn your head and kiss him properly.

It’s not needy this time.

Just full. Deep. Slow.

The kind of kiss that makes you feel loved.

His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Every fuckin’ inch of you.”

You close your eyes, overwhelmed.

He kisses your cheek.

Your jaw.

Your throat.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever touched,” he murmurs, trailing soft kisses down to your shoulder. “Don’t know what I did to get this lucky.”

Your breath catches.

You reach up, fingers brushing through his hair, and he leans into the touch like it undoes him.

“Haymitch,” you whisper.

He kisses your collarbone, breath still rough against your skin.

“I got you, honey,” he says. “You just breathe. I’m right here.”

His lips trail back up to yours, kissing you slow, open-mouthed, like he’s trying to pour everything he feels straight into your skin.

When he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand finds yours—lacing your fingers together beside your head, grounding both of you.

“You still with me, honey?”

You nod, breath catching. “Yeah. I’m with you.”

He presses his forehead to yours for a second, breathing you in.

Then he shifts his weight, one hand reaching between you. You feel the way he strokes himself, slow and rough, the soft gasp he lets out against your cheek.

And then you feel him press against you—just the tip, just enough to make your legs tense and your breath stutter.

He pauses.

“Still okay?”

You nod again. “Please.”

He exhales, and you can hear how tight his voice is when he whispers, “I’ll go slow.”

And he does.

He pushes in with aching care, inch by inch, every part of him holding still until you’ve taken more—until you’re gasping and arching and shaking underneath him.

You moan as he fills you, and he groans like it hurts to go this slow, like he’s holding back everything in him just to make this right.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel so good. So goddamn perfect.”

You clutch his arm, fingers digging into his bicep. “More,” you whisper. “I want all of you.”

He leans in, mouth brushing your jaw as he sinks the rest of the way in—deep and slow and so careful.

You gasp, overwhelmed, and he moans into your neck.

“Shit—there you go, honey. Just like that.”

He holds there for a moment, buried inside you, both of you shaking with it.

“You okay?” he whispers again.

You nod, eyes wet, voice cracked open. “You feel so good.”

His thumb brushes your cheek.

He starts to move—slow, steady, deep.

Each roll of his hips draws a soft gasp from you, his name slipping out like a prayer you can’t stop saying. His hand finds your waist, the other still laced with yours beside your head, grounding you while his body undoes you piece by piece.

“God, honey,” he breathes, mouth brushing the corner of your jaw. “You take me so good.”

You whimper, tightening your legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer, deeper.

He groans at that—low and rough—and shifts, angling his hips just right so every slow thrust hits perfect.

You cry out.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Right there, huh?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut.

“Feels good?” he whispers.

“So good,” you breathe.

His pace deepens—still slow, still deliberate, but more now. More pressure, more weight, more need. Every movement dragging along your walls, pulling a sound from your throat you don’t even recognize.

“You’re perfect,” he says again, voice breaking around it. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven.”

You grip his shoulder, holding on, your breath stuttering under the weight of him—his body, his words, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

“You’re mine,” he says, kissing your throat. “You know that, right?”

You nod, barely holding it together. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

He groans like that’s the only thing he’s been waiting to hear all night.

And then he thrusts a little harder—still slow, still full of care—but deeper, dragging a broken moan from your mouth as your nails dig into his back.

“Love this,” he murmurs. “Love you. So fuckin’ much.”

And when you look up at him—eyes wide, lips parted, flushed and ruined and his—

He kisses you like it’s the only way he knows how to breathe.

His hips start to move with more purpose now—less restraint, more need. The pace still isn’t fast, but it’s deeper, heavier, full of that sharp, aching hunger he’s been holding back for too long.

You can feel it in every thrust—the way he pushes into you like he’s trying to stay there, like he wants to carve out space inside you and live there.

You moan—loud, wrecked—and he groans right back, forehead pressed to yours, his breath shuddering with every movement.

“Fuck, honey,” he pants. “You feel so good—so fuckin’ tight—I don’t know how I’m holding it together.”

You whimper, hips arching up to meet his. “Don’t.”

His eyes flicker open, finding yours in the low light.

You’re flushed, glassy-eyed, your mouth open, breath catching with every thrust—and you look so gone for him.

He growls, low and broken. “You want it?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “More—please.”

He kisses you hard—no more teasing, no more control—just mouths crashing, breath and teeth and want. One hand grips your thigh, pulling your leg higher over his waist as he thrusts deeper, harder now, the bed creaking under the weight of it.

Every sound from you makes him move rougher.

Every gasp, every moan, every broken little “Haymitch” whispered like you’re trying to hold on.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice shaking as he presses a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “I love you—I fucking love you—”

You cling to him, arms around his shoulders, body trembling under every slow, hard thrust.

“I love you too,” you whisper, breathless. “Always.”

He groans, burying his face in your neck like he can’t take it.

Then he fucks you harder.

Passion in every drag of his hips—every thrust like he’s trying to brand it into you, like he wants you to feel it for days.

You don’t know how long you’ve been moving together like this—bodies flush, skin slick, mouths finding each other between every thrust.

Haymitch presses in deeper with every roll of his hips, dragging those low, full moans from your throat like he’s collecting them. His mouth stays close—your jaw, your throat, your shoulder—all of it kissed and kissed again, like he can’t stop needing you under him.

“You’re so good,” he murmurs against your neck, voice thick and raw. “Always so fuckin’ good for me.”

You arch into him, gasping when he hits that spot again, and he groans like it tears something out of him.

“Feel like you were made for me,” he breathes. “Just—fuck—just like this.”

Your hands slide up into his hair, tugging, anchoring.

“Haymitch,” you whisper, completely gone.

“Yeah, honey,” he says, panting. “I got you.”

His hand finds your face, thumb stroking your cheek as he fucks into you—deep, perfect. His forehead presses to yours.

“Look at me.”

You do.

And it hits you so hard it makes your chest ache.

Because his eyes are blown and desperate, and full of love.

Not lust. Not heat.

Love.

“I never wanted anything like I want you,” he whispers, like it hurts to say.

You make a sound that doesn’t have a name.

His hand slides down, finds your thigh again, pulling you closer, deeper—like he needs more of you even when he’s already buried inside.

You feel the tremble in his arms. The way he’s trying to hold it together because he doesn’t want to let this go yet. Doesn’t want to miss a second of it.

And you don’t either.

Because this—this—is everything.

His thrusts slow, just for a moment, like his body knows what’s coming. Like he needs one more second to hold it in, to stay in this moment where you’re still wrapped around him, still his.

You feel it too.

The trembling in your legs. The tightening in your chest. That pressure rising so fast you can barely breathe.

He leans in again, mouth brushing yours, eyes locked on yours like he’s afraid to blink.

You kiss him slow—like a promise.

And when you pull back, breathless and flushed, you whisper, “Let go with me.”

His eyes flicker, and you feel it—the way those four words knock the last of his control right out of him.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Fuck—yeah, honey. I’m with you.”

He thrusts into you harder, deeper, more desperate now. Your hips meet his in wild, broken rhythm, and the sound of your moans and the bed and the soft, wet drag of skin on skin fills the room like heat.

You come first.

It crashes into you fast and full, pulling a cry from your throat as your body tightens and shakes beneath him, hands clutching at his shoulders, his back, anything you can grab.

And then he follows.

He lets out a rough moan—then a sound he probably didn’t mean to make.

A whimper.

Sharp. High. Completely undone.

You feel him spill inside you with a choked breath and a soft curse into your neck, his hips jerking one last time before he goes still, holding you so tight it’s like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You’re both panting, trembling, still tangled together, sweat-damp and clinging.

You let a beat pass.

Then you murmur, smug and breathless, “Did you just whimper?”

His body tenses against yours.

You can feel the eye roll before you even see it.

“Shut up,” he mutters.

You grin. “No, no, I liked it. Real soft. Real pretty.”

“Gonna smother you with a pillow.”

Your legs are still trembling under the sheet, useless as wet paper. You’re trying to convince yourself to move. To clean up. To do anything other than melt further into the mattress.

Haymitch is still half-draped over you, face pressed into your shoulder like he has no intention of going anywhere.

“Okay,” you breathe, trying to shift your hips. “I should get up.”

He doesn’t move.

You squirm a little. “I need to clean up.”

Still nothing.

“Haymitch.”

A groan into your neck.

You huff, batting weakly at his shoulder. “You got me so messy, I swear to god—”

“Not my fault you asked so nicely,” he mutters, voice hoarse with smug satisfaction.

You shove at him again, but it’s more fond than annoyed. “My legs don’t even work.”

“Then you’re not going anywhere.”

“I need to shower.”

Another groan, more dramatic this time. “Fine. But if you fall over, I’m not catching you.”

“Romantic.”

“Realistic,” he says, finally lifting himself off you with a grunt.

He stands beside the bed, completely naked and not even trying to act like he’s not feeling it in his legs too.

You’re still sprawled there, flushed and ruined and leaking, and you scowl at him. “You could at least help me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You want me to carry you?”

You blink.

Then smirk. “What, you can’t?”

He stares at you like that’s a challenge.

Then sighs, muttering something about “difficult little brat” under his breath before scooping you up bridal style—like it’s nothing.

You yelp, arms flying around his neck. “I was joking—”

“Well I’m not,” he grumbles, walking you toward the bathroom. “Apparently you’re too delicate to walk, and somebody made a mess.”

You snort. “You are the mess.”

He smirks down at you. “Yeah? And you’re full of my mess.”

You gasp. “Haymitch!”

“Just sayin’.”

You laugh, breathless and bright, hiding your face against his shoulder as he nudges open the bathroom door with his foot.

And even though he’s grumbling the whole way, he sets you down so gently on the counter and starts the water with the same hand that held you steady through everything else.

Like he’d carry you every day, if you let him.

And maybe you will.

The water’s hot, steam already curling through the air as Haymitch tests the temperature, adjusting the handle like he’s done it a thousand times—which he probably has, in the exact same distracted, grumbly way.

You sit quietly on the counter, watching him with flushed skin and jelly legs.

“C’mon,” he says, offering a hand once the temperature settles.

You raise an eyebrow. “You gonna hold me the whole time so I don’t collapse dramatically?”

He smirks. “I’ll probably have to, you’re gonna fall the second you get in.”

You roll your eyes, but take his hand anyway.

He helps you in first, his other hand bracing your back like you’re glass. The moment your feet hit the floor, your knees do wobble, and he’s right there—pulling you against him with a smug hum.

“Told you.”

“Shut up.”

“You love it.”

You do.

You press your back to him, head tipped back against his chest as the water runs over both of you—warm and steady, washing away the ache and the sweat and the mess, leaving nothing but skin and closeness.

His hands find your waist.

And then your hips.

And then they don’t stop.

“Haymitch,” you warn, half-laughing as one of his palms drags up your stomach.

“What?” he says innocently, fingers splaying under your breast. “I’m just cleaning.”

“That’s not—you’re not even trying.”

He ducks down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Can’t help it.”

You shiver.

“You’re too perfect,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right here. All mine. What the hell else am I supposed to do?”

You go quiet.

Because there’s no teasing in his voice now.

Just truth.

You turn and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer under the spray, your bodies slick and flushed and steady now, not because the world’s stopped spinning—but because you’re holding each other still.

He kisses you again—slow and deep, like it’s the first time all over again.

His hands don’t stop moving.

Even as the water slides down your back, even as his mouth trails lazy kisses along your shoulder and collarbone, his palms keep exploring—gentle, slow, like he’s still mapping you out, like he hasn’t already memorized every curve.

You lean into him, the warmth of his chest against yours grounding you as much as the tile under your feet.

“Thought this was a shower,” you murmur, lips brushing his throat.

“It is,” he says, running his hands over your hips, then cupping your ass with zero shame. “I’m just thorough.”

You snort, breath catching at the squeeze. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm,” he hums, nose in your hair. “And you’re soft. What a coincidence.”

You laugh into his chest, and his arms tighten around you like he doesn’t want to lose the sound.

Then softer—just a breath above the noise of the water—“Feels nice. Just havin’ you here.”

You blink up at him.

He doesn’t look away.

“You know that?” he says. “Even when you’re bossy and dramatic and make me carry you around like royalty.”

You grin. “You liked that.”

He smirks. “Yeah. I did.”

His thumb strokes over your lower back. “Could get used to this.”

You go quiet, heart thudding.

“Me too,” you say softly.

And then his hands are back on your waist, dragging slow over your sides, fingertips grazing the outer swell of your breasts as he leans in close again, mouth brushing your ear.

“Still gonna give me hell for whimpering?”

You smirk. “Oh, absolutely.”

“Figured.”

He kisses your cheek, all fond exasperation.

You tangle your fingers in the back of his hair, tilting your face up toward his.

And when he kisses you again—warm water, slow hands, full body press—you think maybe you’ll stay in here forever.

Next Part

[drewizz]

THIRD TIME - 08. blunder

pairing ꕀ rafe cameron x reader

WARNINGS: smut (piv unprotected, slight thigh riding + cunnilingus) & toxic relationship (platonic?)

WORD COUNT: 5.4K

TAGLIST: open! comment or send in an ask

series masterlist. previous

blunder. (noun) a stupid or careless mistake

Rafe Cameron does not apologize.

He was currently on the brink of insanity, and he blamed it on you. Sleep had been non-existent; his mind wouldn’t shut off, replaying every word and glance you gave him. Yet here he was, at your front door mustering courage to spit out two simple words to you.

“I’m sorry.”

Nevermind that, at least he was here with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack his ribs. He hated how vulnerable he felt, hated that he was even here. (But for desperate measures, he needed to be here.) 

He raised his hand to knock on the door, hesitated, and then let it fall. What was he even supposed to say?

Hey, I’m sorry for being a complete asshole, but I don’t know how to deal with this. I’m not even sure what the next step is between us. What are we? Do you like me?

Before he could overthink himself into leaving, the door creaked open. Relief mixed with dread until his stomach dropped.

You weren’t the one opening the door.

It was Topper Thornton.

“Top? What the fuck are you doing here?” Rafe blurted before he could stop himself.

Topper looked just as surprised, but his expression quickly morphed into a knowing smirk. “Oh, well speak of the devil. I could ask you the same thing.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. He tried to piece together why the hell Topper would be at your house—early in the morning, no less. His stomach churned with suspicion, his temper already flickering to life.

“Where’s Y/N?” Rafe asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

Topper leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “She’s inside. Why?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He pushed past Topper without waiting for an invitation, his gaze darting around the small entryway.

“Y/N!” he called, his tone clipped.

“What the hell, man?” Topper said, stepping in front of him. “You can’t just barge into her house.”

“So you’re just allowed to be in here?” Rafe snapped as he could feel his anger level again.

“I’m actually a good friend of Y/N,” Topper said, his tone mocking.

The sound of footsteps caught Rafe’s attention, and he turned to see you stepping out of the kitchen, your face a mix of confusion and annoyance.

“Rafe?” you said, voice laced with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you,” he said, his gaze flicking to Topper before settling back on you. “But I guess you’re already busy.”

You frowned, your brows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”

Rafe gestured to Topper, his movements sharp. “Him. Why the fuck is he here?”

“Seriously?” You said, crossing your arms. “He stopped by to drop something off, and now he’s leaving. Why are you even here?”

“I asked why he’s here, didn’t I?” Rafe repeated, his voice rising (and ignoring your question). “You think it’s normal for him to just show up at your house like this?”

“Rafe, you need to calm down,” you said, your tone firm. “I told you, he’s only here to drop something off from a while ago – I haven’t seen him for probably over a year.”

“I’m calm,” he snapped, though his clenched fists and rigid posture said otherwise. “And whatever. I don’t care why he’s here.”

Topper snorted, and Rafe’s head whipped toward him.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Rafe said, stepping closer to Topper. “Just because you came here to drop some shit off doesn’t mean –”

“Doesn’t particularly mean what?” Topper interrupted, his smirk widening. “Unlike you, I actually know how to treat people right, or so I’ve heard.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with anger, his hands flexing at his sides. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think I do,” Topper said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Topper, stop it,” you said while stepping between them.

Rafe’s gaze snapped to you, his expression softening for just a moment before hardening again. “Is this what you do now?” he asked, his voice low and accusatory. “You let him into your house, you hang out with him –

“Are you serious right now?” you interrupted, noting how your voice was rising. “You don’t get to come here and act like this. Especially not after the shit you said last night.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, his eyes darting between you and Topper. “I don’t trust him,” he said, his tone defensive.

“This isn’t about Topper,” you said with evident frustration. “This is about you and the fact that you can’t seem to figure out what exactly you want.”

“I know what I want,” Rafe said, his voice quieter but no less intense.

“Do you?” you shot back, with eyes narrowing. “Because last night you made it pretty damn clear that you didn’t.”

Topper cleared his throat, his presence suddenly feeling intrusive. “You know what? I’ll leave you two to... whatever this is.”

He gave you a mock salute before brushing past Rafe and out the door.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the tension in the room became almost unbearable.

You turned to Rafe, your expression a mix of anger and hurt. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me?” Rafe said, his voice rising. “I’m not the one letting him hang around like he owns the place.”

“He’s just someone I know, Rafe,” you said, your voice cracking. “He needed to give me back something from almost a year ago. I don’t even consider him as an entirely good friend of mine, anyway.”

“Well I don’t think you’re fucking him,” Rafe said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “And I’m also not trying to control you or shit like that.”

“Yes, you are,” you said, your frustration boiling over. “You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either. Do you even hear yourself?”

Rafe opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His hands flexed at his sides, his frustration palpable.

“You can’t have it both ways, Rafe,” you said in a voice much softer now, though no less pained. “You can’t keep pushing me away and then get mad when I try to move on.”

“I’m not trying to push you away,” Rafe said, his voice coming out much harsher than he wanted it to.

“Then what are you doing?” you asked, your eyes searching his.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice softening. “I don’t know how to do this. This thing… between us.”

Your expression softened, but only slightly. “You need to figure it out, Rafe. Because I can’t keep doing this.”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension.

Finally, Rafe took a step back, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Go to the beach with me.”

You looked at him with disbelief written all over your face. “Is that seriously what you’re going to say to me? After all of that?”

“Well I didn’t know that he would be here,” he muttered. “And I was originally going to apologize to you.”

His jaw worked overtime, clenching and unclenching, before he finally groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "Alright," he muttered, not quite meeting your eyes. "I was – whatever. I was out of line earlier, including last night. I was a dick, and you didn’t deserve it. Happy now?"

You raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter with a barely concealed smirk. "That’s your idea of an apology?"

His head snapped up, his glare half-hearted. "What do you want, a parade?"

"A little sincerity wouldn’t kill you," you shot back, crossing your arms as your smirk widened.

Rafe groaned again, the sound low and frustrated. "Fine," he bit out, stepping closer. His voice softened, though the vulnerability seemed to physically pain him. "I shouldn’t have acted like that. Okay? I’m sorry."

You tilted your head, feigning deep thought. "Well that sounded half-assed, no?"

“Fine. I’m incredibly sorry I was acting like a complete asshole to you, and you don’t deserve it.”

“Did you say that to just shut me up or to actually apologize?”

"Both," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Now go to the beach with me.”

“Fine. But only because I have no plans for the rest of the day.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

The short ride to the beach was quite peaceful. There weren’t any words exchanged between you two, as Rafe’s eyes were focused on the road and yours settled on the scenery passing outside the window.

“You’re oddly quiet.” 

You rolled your eyes as you wiped your sweaty palms on your legs. (You weren’t even sure why your palms were sweaty in the first place.) “There’s just nothing to talk about.”

In return, all you got was a quiet hum of acknowledgment from him.

As he drove, the tension between you softened into something more tolerable. Rafe tapped the steering wheel, glancing at you occasionally like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to start. The road stretched ahead of you two, winding toward the coast where the scent of salt and sea promised a reprieve from your usual turmoil.

“And we’re here, princess.”

The sun was still high in the sky when he parked the car near the sand, the salty breeze rolling in as you opened the door. Something about stepping out onto the warm sand with Rafe beside you felt surreal.

“This feels normal,” you said, grabbing your bag from the backseat. “Oddly.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow as he shut his door. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not bad,” you replied, walking next to him. “Just unexpected. First you come and argue with Topper. Then, you’re apologizing and asking me to go to the beach with you. Now here we are.”

“I’m certainly exceptional at surprises.”

His smirk was enough to make you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

You made your way down the sandy path, weaving between families with umbrellas and couples sprawled out on towels. The ocean stretched endlessly before you two, the waves crashing in a rhythm that was both calming and wild.

You dropped your bag near a quieter spot and slipped off your sandals. The sand was warm beneath your feet, the kind of heat that made you want to run straight into the cool water.

“Race you,” Rafe said suddenly, already tugging off his shirt. 

You blinked at him whilst shamelessly staring at his topless form. “What?”

“Come on, Y/N.” He was already taking off toward the water, his laugh carried by the wind.

“Cheater!” you shouted, chasing after him.

By the time you reached the shoreline, he was already waist-deep in the water, grinning like he’d just won a gold medal.

“You’re the worst,” you panted, stepping into the surf.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, splashing you playfully.

The cold water hit your body, and you gasped. “Rafe!”

“What? Thought you needed to cool off.”

You didn’t hesitate, scooping up water with your hands and throwing it at him. The splash hit his chest, and he feigned a dramatic gasp, clutching his heart.

“Oh, it’s on now,” he said, advancing toward you.

“No, wait–”

But it was too late. He scooped you up in one swift motion, carrying you further into the water.

“Rafe! Put me down!” you shrieked, laughing despite yourself.

“As you wish,” he said, and before you could protest, he dropped you into the waves.

The water enveloped you, cool and refreshing against the heat of the day. You surfaced quickly, sputtering and wiping your face, only to see Rafe doubled over in laughter.

“You’re dead,” you said, lunging at him.

The two of you spent the next several minutes splashing and dunking each other, laughter blending with the sound of the waves. It was chaotic and silly, the kind of unguarded fun you didn’t realize that you needed for a long time.

At some point, both of you stopped, panting and standing waist-deep in the water. Rafe ran a hand through his wet hair, the sun catching on the droplets clinging to his skin.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” he said, nodding toward you.

“Good at what?”

“Keeping up with me.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing at his shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Wading back toward the shore, the sun was drying both of your soaked skins, as you two found your spots on the sand. Rafe pulled a towel from your bag and tossed it at you.

“Thanks,” you said, wrapping it around your shoulders. 

Sitting in silence for a moment, watching the waves crash and retreat, you smiled to yourself. You liked this. The peace. Having comfort by you. Him.

“This is nice,” you said softly.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice unusually quiet. “But I still wanna know why Top was at your house.”

“Topper’s just someone I know. We have history, not like that but – he’s someone I know. He’s not even considered a close friend of mine.”

“So he was just at your house? When you two aren’t even close friends?”

You felt your own eyes warily turn to Rafe, letting out a sigh. “Rafe, I already told you. He needed to drop something off that I forgot I even had, after an entire year. That’s all.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Another cue of serenity passed between you two.

After a few long minutes, you glanced at him, surprised to find him looking at you. There was something unreadable in his expression, something you couldn’t quite place.

“What?” you asked, suddenly getting self-conscious.

“Nothing.” He looked away quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just never seen you so happy.”

You smiled faintly, staring out at the horizon. “I guess I am.”

For a while, both of you just sat there, the sun beginning its descent and casting a golden glow over the beach. It was peaceful in a way that felt fragile, like it could break at any moment.

“You like ice cream?” Rafe asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “There’s a nice ice cream shop around here we can head to, before head back.”

“Depends on the flavor,” you replied, standing and brushing the sand off your legs. “But an ice cream sounds perfect for right now.”

After the (unfortunately) short moment at the beach – Rafe rolled his truck to a stop in front of the small ice cream shop. He never took girls out for ice cream, much less to hang out with in the public (that was apart from fucking). And here he was today, apologizing to you. Taking you to the beach. Driving you to buy ice cream. So many things he’s never done over the past years, but all done in a single day – just for you.

The faint hum of conversation and laughter spilled out as you both stepped inside the shop, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the cozy atmosphere.

Rafe made a beeline for the counter. “Two small salted caramels, please,” he told the cashier without hesitation.

“Hold on,” you interrupted, pulling his arm back. “You don’t get to decide my order. And really, salted caramel?”

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Oh, and here I thought we would have the same favorite ice cream flavor in mind, too. If salted caramels that terrible of a flavor, what’re you going to get?”

You stepped closer to the menu (miserably failing to stop the smile creeping onto your face), scanning the options with mock seriousness. “Something simple. Like vanilla.”

“You’re impossible,” Rafe said, shaking his head but grinning nonetheless. 

Finally ordering (after a small bicker), the two of you headed back outside, finding a quiet bench under a streetlamp.

You took a slow lick of your cone, savoring the sweetness, while Rafe leaned back, his legs stretched out and his cone melting slightly in his hand.

“Vanilla? Really?” he teased.

“Some of us appreciate the classics,” you shot back, holding your cone up in mock defense. “And really, salted caramel?”

He gestured toward his cone, feigning offense. “Hey! It’s the perfect combination. Salty and sweet, not to forget how it’s a little unexpected of flavors… like me.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin etching your face. “If by ‘unexpected’ you mean ‘annoying,’ then sure.”

Rafe chuckled, and for a moment, the banter was light and easy, the earlier tension melting like the ice cream in both of your hands.

But then his gaze lingered, catching on a streak of ice cream at the corner of your mouth.

“You’ve got…” He gestured vaguely at your face.

You frowned, swiping at your lip with your hand. “Here?”

“No.” He leaned closer, the amusement fading into something heavier. “Let me.”

Before you could protest, his thumb brushed against your lip, his touch warm and deliberate. The motion was slow, almost agonizing, and you froze, your breath catching.

Then he did it. He brought his thumb to his mouth, licking off the ice cream with a small, deliberate flick of his tongue. “Hm. Tastes sweet.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “That was unnecessary.”

“Was it?” Rafe’s voice was low, and the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth was downright dangerous.

You tried to form a coherent response, but your mind felt like a jumbled mess of emotions.  Rafe leaned back, clearly pleased with your reaction.

“You’re such a jerk,” you muttered, but your voice lacked any real bite.

“Yeah, but I’m the jerk you agreed to come to the beach with,” he replied, his smirk widening.

You groaned, focusing on your cone and refusing to look at him, afraid of what he might see written all over your face.

Both of you sat there in peace for a while longer, the quiet night wrapping around. 

“You know,” Rafe started off. “I just noticed your parents are never home. You don’t live with them?”

Touchy subject. But you didn’t want to talk about it right now, not while everything was going well. It would ruin the mood. So instead, you just shrugged. “I don’t really talk to them anymore. It’s been awhile, so yeah. I just live alone.”

Rafe glanced over, promptly nodding without asking any further questions.

The stillness stretched over you two, once again, before you sighed. “We should get home now, it’s getting dark. Drive me back home, please?”

“Anything for you.”

The drive back to your house was quiet, the air between both of you charged with a tension that seemed to grow heavier with every passing mile. When Rafe finally pulled into your driveway, you hesitated before getting out, glancing at him.

“Today was really nice,” you said softly.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice just as quiet. “It was.”

Inside, the house was dimly lit, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound as you set your bag down and went to get you two some water. When you turned back, Rafe was standing closer than you expected, his expression unreadable.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, but his eyes betrayed him, filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

“You’re staring,” you said, trying to inject some levity into the moment. This was exactly the feeling you felt the last time he was inside your house. In the kitchen. Standing less than 1 foot away from you.

“Maybe I can’t help it,” he replied, his voice low and rough.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, your lips met.

The kiss was hesitant at first, a question of which neither of you were sure how to answer. But it deepened quickly, all the emotions you two had been suppressing were now spilling over into the way yours mouths moved against each other.

When both of you finally broke apart, breathless, foreheads resting together.

“You can’t just do that,” you started off. “This is what happened last time… and you know.”

Rafe quirked a teasing eyebrow at you. “What? Is this your way of subtly asking to reenact it?”

You felt your face ablaze, strongly gripping the counter behind you. “No, I wasn’t,” you squeaked as you heard him chuckle. “I was just… telling you.”

“Princess, you can always just ask for it.”

You were not going to be making the same mistake again. But impulse came before forethoughts of your heady actions. You gripped his shirt, pressing your lips against his – hopeful that he would reiterate with the same desire.

And thankfully, he did. His hands were suddenly wandering everywhere on your body. Searching around, finding its spot – one gently (but needily) cradling your head, while the other skimming your waistline.

“Bedroom,” you hoarsely muttered against his lips. “Not here.”

Lips reuniting with a desperate hunger, a collision of breath and need that sent a shiver through both of you. His hands were roaming more instinctively – grasping, pulling, holding – as you two stumbled back, movements uncoordinated but full of urgency.

Rafe tangled his fingers in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss, mouths moving in perfect chaos. You gasped against him, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer as you bumped into the corner of the hallway. A half-laugh, half-groan escaped as he steadied you, his grip firm at your waist.

You didn’t bother turning on the lights; the faint glow from the horizon outside was streaming through the windows, enough to guide you two.

The kisses were relentless, punctuated by whispers of names and breathless laughter. His hands slyly sliding under your shirt, warm against your skin, as you were pressed against the bedroom door. You fumbled with the handle, breaking the kiss just long enough to look up at him, your eyes glazed and lips swollen.

“Here,” you whispered, barely audible, but he didn’t need words. His answer was the way his lips returned to yours, softening for a moment before pulling you inside. As if he was waiting for this very moment, lost in action. 

Every step was a tangle of limbs and stolen touches, the urgency was pacing and being matched. Crashing onto the bed, everything was becoming hazy. The desire was just about everywhere, scouring through your body.

You could feel how strategically slow he was moving against your body. His lips glided across your lips, down to your chest (which was still frustratingly clothed).

Everything was too slow for your liking. It was becoming too agonizingly slow. You were splayed on the bed, between his knees and his hands were still actively roaming around everywhere. Soft kisses planted on every inch of your skin that was bare. 

Both of your clothes were coming off, one by one, with an exchange of a soft kiss on your skin. His hands were just about everywhere, on the heat of your thighs, to your soft abdomen. The cool air hit your breasts which were pleasantly pert, and nipples unthinkably hard.

Soft moans were spilling out of you, with a trail of heavy breathing, as his tongue was swirling on the junctions of your skin, next to your sopping heat.

“Rafe,” you weren’t even thinking straight. “Stop teasing, you’re gonna kill me here.”

All you got in response was a soft chuckle and a teasing kiss to your clit. He was softly licking at your cunt, and you were only dripping in response. Your sweetness dripped on his tongue, down his throat – now he was impossibly stiff.

Quickly climbing onto the bed, as his back hit the headboard of the bed, sitting up up-right on his thigh. He sat you up right on his thigh, enclosing his hand full of your hair, bringing his lips down to your ear. “Princess, you’re soaked.”

You felt your face turn more red (if that was even possible), starting to slowly grind against his thigh. Your arousal was slowly spreading, as your clit was deliciously colliding with muscle-taut thighs. “Feels too good,” you whined.

Rafe was in absolute euphoria as he felt what was happening right now. You were here, on top of him on your bed, getting off from his own thigh – whining and moaning in his ear. He felt your fingers trace his arms up to his pecs, leading to goosebumps to arise, making him shiver and shut his eyes.

He felt your cunt moving from his thigh to his hard cock, as your hips were hugging him. He could imagine behind his closed eyes, a glistening trail of your arousal dripping all over him – and this made him harder. Painfully.

Next thing he felt was your warm cunt enveloping his cock, as you sank down on him. Eyes rolling back into his head, his teeth were gritting against each other. “Oh my fuck,” he managed to get out, he’s not sure of what he’s saying, anyways. “I didn’t put on a condom.”

He’s in complete bliss, trying not to thrust up harder, as he hears you mewl in his ear. 

“It’s okay, ‘m on the pill.” 

You were so fucking tight and warm, clamping down on his cock like how he clamped his sweaty fingers deep in your hips – mentally apologizing if it left a small bruise the next morning. 

The way you rolled your hips in such a fluid motion was keeping him insane. A rhythm that was built, drawing him too close to the edge that he’s even thinking about shoving you away. He can hold himself, just a bit more.

Next thing is that he feels you shudder, both your pelvis and your breath, against him. He can feel your fingers digging into the expanse of his shoulders, as you’re writhing in a flowing motion. You’re coming undone against him, on him, with him inside of you.

“Oh my God. Rafe.”

Hearing his name sweetly cry out of your mouth, with your succulent voice while your sweaty body collides with his, only causes him to roll you over onto your back. He wants more, and he can sense that you also want more.

“Can I…?” he muttered against your lips. He’s seeking your approval, that this is okay. Everything’s okay. It’s not just him. It’s both of you. You both want it. To fuck. Or was it love? 

Or maybe, each other?

Nevermind that, he’s inwardly grinning as he sees you manage to spread your legs even wider, whining out a response, knowing that this is surely mutual. Right?

“Please,” you manage to whine out. “Yes.”

He notes your confirmation as he holds you down, hands gripping your thighs. Both of your bodies meet together like a puzzle piece, like the two of you have always done this with such… love.

He grazes your slick-covered heat with his cock, sliding into you with such ease. The pleasure that’s thrumming beneath his hips is driving him mad, eyes rolling back due to the immense surge that went straight to his body.

Moving at an incredulously slow pace, he can feel your finger grasping at him – a sign to go faster. And so he does. Picking up his pace, his thrusts are going at a faster tempo, he leans closer to your face to give you a kiss. He murmurs sweet nothings into your ear, he’s not even sure of what he’s promising you at this rate.

All he feels is your hips attempting to meet his hips at the delicious pace, cunt clenching as his fingers reach down to your attention-seeking clit. He feels you tug at his hair, at his back – your hands are everywhere. He loves it.

He’s not sure of what you’re saying, but he hears your high-pitched whines and mewls, as your hips are erratically twitching and your soaked cunt clenching him tightly. Pulling out, he lets go on your stomach, feeling a groan rip through his throat. Everything is hazy.

A long moment of silence is passed through between the two of you, only deep breathing and pants to be heard. He hears you ask him to help carry you to the bathroom, and so he does.

He cleans up in the guest bathroom, and after a few long minutes you two reunite again in the bedroom the two of you just fucked in.

“Lay down with me,” you muster out, grabbing his arm and tugging him down on the floor. “The bed’s all sweaty now, just lay down on the ground with me.”

So he does, and he likes it. He’s not really sure what to do next. He’s never done this before. He usually fucks and leaves. He’s not used to staying after a session of fucking. Then he hears your sweet, timid voice which catches him off-guard. A question he’s been dreading to be asked.

“So, what does this make us? What even are we?”

“Uh,” Rafe clears his throat. “Friends.”

You sit upright, staring down at him. “Friends?”

He doesn’t like this. He’s not sure why you’re furrowing your brows at him, in a questioning tone. They’re friends now, right? So all he musters out is a blunt response. “Yeah?”

You stare at him warily and confused. You were sure that the reason he took you to the beach and got ice cream, him pulling you in for a kiss – it was more than just saying the word ‘friends’. It was like the night, all over again. “You’re joking, right?”

He looks away, sighing. “I already told you I don’t do relationships, Y/N.” He can’t tell you that he’s never been in a relationship before, he thinks it’ll ruin his image for you. A boy who’s never been in a relationship before.

You feel as if he just stabbed you, once again. “So this whole time,” you started off carefully, trying to get only the facts straight. “You fucked me as a friend?”

“Yeah.”

To be honest, he wasn’t sure what he felt of you. Were you a friend? More than a friend? No, he couldn’t think you were more than a friend. He felt that dating was a meticulous chore.

“Get out.”

He hears your voice, but it sounds pained. Why? Did you seriously want to be more than friends? He told you plenty of times that he didn't do relationships, why was this being turned onto him?

“What?”

You’re sniffling, and you’re not sure if you should necessarily be crying over him (again). “I said get out of my house.”

“I already told you I can’t, and don’t, do relationships.” He’s not sure why he says that in a questioning manner. It’s how he feels, right?

“Rafe, will you just get out?”

He stands up, and suddenly he feels angry. He’s not sure why, but he feels mad. Livid, even. He told you multiple times that he’s not a relationship type guy, and now it’s his fault? The next few words he spits at you is from complete impulse. “You can’t fucking make it seem like it’s just my fault when you were also the one rubbing yourself all over me. I even told you I don’t do relationships.” He snaps his mouth closed as he sees your pained face, washed by vulnerability.

“Get out.” Your voice betrays you, slipping out the tremble.

“Fine.”

He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to apologize. He wants to hold you tight to his body and apologize, with genuinity. Telling you he’s never done this. He can be better for you. But he can’t hurt his pride. He walks to the front door and turns back to ask you (with some kind of audacity). “Can I have your number, at least?”

You shove him out the door, and before slamming it shut on his face, you mutter with such vile. “You won’t need it since this is the last time we’ll see each other.”

He blankly stares at your front door that’s been slammed at his face. He feels sorry, but he’s not sure how to express it. Is he sorry? He’s not sure. But he feels guilt, in some way. 

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Well, not as he originally planned. He wanted to build a truce between you and him. Not a complete shut out. He sighs, angrily running his hand through his hair. He walks to his truck and he’s confused. Did he like you? Or did he just enjoy the utmost interesting attention you gave him?

He decides on the latter, and he drives off. Something is oddly nagging at his heart, but he (attempted to) brush it off instead.

That marked the first checkpoint between Rafe and Y/N. Strangers to enemies, with an inclusion of two fucks and an unsolicited "date." In other terms, the first “try” between the two of them, after two weeks of their first encounter at a party, with unsupervised whiskey.

NOTES. hey... it's been awhile 😅 (but yay! we finally ended the first part) we're going to get that topper and yn's parents backstory in the second part.. (the upcoming few chapters 🤫) meanwhile.. thank you for all those asks and love you've been all sending :') truly love all of you

TAGS. check settings if you aren't properly tagged. @urbrunettebombshell @rafesfavouritegirl @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @percysley @wtfdudesblog @fratbrochrisgf @rrosiitas @powpowjinxlife @ltristessedureratoujours @ditzyzombiesblog @honeyluvsatj

[astroyongie]

Hello 🌤 Can you do Jake as a boyfriend plzz 💖💖

｡𖦹°‧ Jake as a Boyfriend ｡𖦹°‧

note -> Astrology based

Once Jake commits, he’s all in.

I have said several times that this man might be quite traditional but he is very loyal

Yet at the beginning of the relationship he would love the whole hard to get game

He’ll protect and stand by you no matter what, even if it means holding grudges on your behalf.

He doesn’t open up easily even with his partner

Speaking of this, he has a fiery temper, but he never holds onto anger for long

When he’s mad, he prefers to cool off alone before coming back to talk. Trying to push him to talk immediately will only make him more frustrated.

plus his libra mars, makes him know exactly how to say the right things to get what he wants, whether it’s winning an argument or getting your attention.

Although, his sarcasm and wit can be sharp so you need to look out for that

He won’t say it outright, but he gets jealous easily.

If someone flirts with you, he’ll definitely give them an intimidating stare.

This makes me think about the scorpio in mercury. He communicates a lot through his eyes. either positively or negatively

He’ll step in if he sees someone bothering you, no hesitation.

Even if it’s just someone slightly raising their voice. If you are his, he takes that very seriously

Jake would keep all the affection in private.

He might put you through little “loyalty tests” (without telling you) just to make sure you’re worthy of his love.

But his venus placements also suggest that he is the type to when it comes to touches, they aren’t just affectionate

they mean something. Even a simple hand on your back will feel electrifying.

Inside the bedroom he is a lover that knows how to switch

He will provide pleasure as long as his partner plays their part too

He is all about "giving - giving" type of relationship

Perhaps not the most experienced lover or the most attentive but he makes it up with his emotional intensity

[thedraculacat]

Way Too Seriously ೃ⁀⤵

adam warlock x reader

masterlist

synopsis: a collection of moments where adam overhears things you say and takes them entirely the wrong way- because sarcasm, flirting, and dramatic one-liners just arent part of his programming. (he's learning... slowly... and falling for you way faster than he should)

w/c: 1k

1. "I'd let you ruin my life."

w/c: 670

You're sitting on your knees on the floor of the medbay, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged across your cheek as you try to rewire one of the medbots Cosmo said went haywire after a power surge.

"Bet it's just a fried regulator," you mutter, wrist-deep in tangled wires. "Again."

Next to you, a stranger- tall, charming smile, definitely not from around here- is leaning against the wall, watching you work with an amused sort of interest.

"You always this good with your hands?" he asks.

You scoff without looking up. "Buy me dinner first."

He laughs, warm and easy, and it catches you off guard. "Sure thing."

You then glance up, and for a split second, he looks... intrigued. "You know, I might just let you ruin my life," you joke, teasingly. "Honestly, you've got the face for it."

It's stupid, lighthearted, the kind of thing people say when the work is boring and someone's flirting just enough to make the afternoon go by faster.

You don't mean it. Obviously.

But someone else hears it.

You don't notice Adam in the doorway until the other guy glances past you and stiffens slightly. You turn, wires still in hand, and see him standing there- quiet, golden, unreadable.

Your breath catches.

"Adam? You okay?"

He doesn't speak for a moment. But then he steps forward, a little too tense. "I was looking for you."

The stranger shifts, clearly picking up on the change in the air. "She's a bit busy, mate."

Adam's eyes flick to him briefly. "She's always busy... mate," he replies, too soft to be rude, but too pointed to be polite.

You hold back a laugh at his attempt of using the word 'mate'. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"

"I just needed to ask you someting," he says, but there's a strange undercurrent in his voice. "But I think I should wait. Since you're... making life decisions."

"Huh?"

He then looks at you, really looks. Like he's not just hearing the words you said but carrying them, weighing them, turning them over until they've become something way heavier than you had ever meant them to be.

"You said you'd let him ruin your life."

"Adam," you blink. "It was a joke."

"It didn't sound funny."

"People say stuff like that all the time," you say, setting the wires down and pushing yourself to your feet. "It's not serious. It doesn't mean anything."

He watches you carefully.

You sigh, brushing your hands on your pants. "It's just flirting."

"I see."

The stranger clearly feels the awkward tension and slips out with a quick "I'll come back later," leaving you and Adam alone in the medbay's quiet.

You look up at him. "You're not mad, are you?"

"No," he says. Then, after a moment, "I would never ruin your life... Just so you know."

You stare at him, your heart stalling a little.

"But if I did," he continues quietly, "it would be by accident. And I'd fix it."

You don't know what to say. The way he says it- it's not a pickup line. It's not a joke. It's not even flirtation.

It's a promise.

He stands there, golden and sincere, and you suddenly realize that the kind of love Adam offers isn't loud or messy or dramatic. It's quiet, carefully, steady. The kind of love that lingers in doorways and pays attention when no one else is looking.

You step closer.

"I wouldn't let anyone ruin my life," you say softly. "Unless it was you."

His brow creases. "But I just said-"

"I know," you interrupt gently. "And that's exactly why."

He exhales slowly, shoulders relaxing just a little.

You smile. "Hey, you wanna help me fix this bot?"

He blinks. "I might ruin it if I do."

You laugh, tugging him down to sit next to you.

"It'll be fine," you say. "But let's start with you just holding the flashlight."

He beams like it's the greatest honor in the galaxy.

And maybe, in some sort of way, it is.

2. "Buy me a drink and I'll love you forever."

w/c: 430

You say it so easily.

One hand on the bar, your chin resting in the other, grinning lazily at the guy beside you. Your voice lifts over the crowd and straight into Adam's ears like it belongs there.

"Buy me a drink and I'll love you forever."

Adam is startled.

He was walking by. That's all. Just passing through, minding his own business, and then bam- those words. That voice. You.

His chest goes tight.

You'll love him... forever? For buying you a drink?

He stops walking. Turns around. Eyes locked on you now. You're still talking to the guy, while the bartender laughs and says, "You always say that."

Adam's frown deepens. Always?

He walks over without thinking.

You see him out of the corner of your eye. "Oh, hey, Adam."

He's already reaching into his pocket.

"Do you want one?" you ask, gesturing to the bar. "I was just getting another-"

"I'll buy it," he says, placing a few Units on the counter. "What do you want?"

You blink. "You don't have to-"

You said if someone bought you a drink, you'll love them forever."

You choke on your own saliva.

"Wait, what?"

He looks down at the credits. "You said it. I heard you, that was the agreement."

"That wasn't an agreement, Adam. It was a joke."

He looks genuinely confused. "But... you said it out loud. In public. With conviction."

You try not to laugh because he's being so serious, and it's honestly kind of adorable.

"I was flirting," you admit softly. "Sort of. But it's just a thing people say when they want a free drink."

Adam tilts his head. "So you don't mean it?"

"Not literally, no."

He goes quiet for a second. "Would you... ever say it to me?"

You blink. "Would I try to get a free drink from you?"

He shrugs, suddenly shy. "Would you ever say that to me? Even if it is not true?"

Your heart stutters in your chest.

You glance at the glowing drink the bartender just set down in front of you. Then back up at Adam, golden and wide-eyed and way too genuine. You notice now that the guy you had been flirting with is long gone- moved on to someone else.

"Only if you let me buy you a drink back," you smile softly.

He immediately slides another handful of Units across the bar.

The bartender raises an eyebrow. "You already paid-"

Adam nods. "One for me as well," he says as he takes the seat beside you. You can't help but smile back.

3. "If I make out with you, will you pretend to be my boyfriend?"

w/c: 280

You're standing in line for boarding at a sketchy shuttle port on a backwater moon, dodging the attention of a very persistent ex who's just spotted you across the terminal.

"Crap. I told him I never wanted to see him again," you hiss under your breath as he waves from the other side of the checkpoint.

Adam looks between you and the guy. "Do you know him?"

"Ugh. Unfortunately." You glance around quickly, then turn to Adam. "Okay, I need a favor."

Adam perks up. "Of course."

"If I make out with you, will you pretend to be my boyfriend?"

He goes very still.

"You want to... create something with me?"

"What? No- make out. Like, kissing. A lot of it. Now."

He frowns. "I'm not quite sure I understand what's required of me, but- if it will help, yes."

You don't have time to explain. Your ex is coming closer. You grab Adam's face and press your mouth to his, and he makes the most surprised noise into your lips like you've just handed him a baby raccoon seeing his first spaceship.

But then-

He leans in, hands gently settling at your waist like he's afraid you might evaporate, and suddenly you're kissing Adam Warlock in a spaceport and he's very good at it for someone who doesn't even know what 'make out' means.

After a moment, he pulls back, blinking down at you. "So... this is pretending?"

"Yep," you say breathlessly, looking away to hide the flustered look on your face.

He pauses. "I don't think I liked that."

You stiffen. "Oh."

"I don't want it to be pretend," he clarifies, completely serious.

Oh.

And now you're the one who's afraid that you might evaporate.

3. "I was in love with you yesterday."

w/c: 320

You're brushing dust off your boots when Adam walks into the same room as you on the ship with his usual golden glow, fresh from some skirmish with the Guardians but not a scratch on him.

"Lookin' good, Warlock," you call, grinning.

He tilts his head. "I was wearing the same thing yesterday."

"Yeah, and I was in love with you yesterday, too. Consistency."

He stumbles over his next words. "You... were?"

You laugh, standing up and patting him on the shoulder. "Relax. I'm kidding. Kinda."

"Kinda?"

You shrug. "Look, I'd sell my soul to be like you."

Adam freezes. Like, full body stillness, eyes wide, soul leaving his own body kind of freeze.

"What?" he says, his voice in a whisper.

You pause, confused. "It's just a saying, Goldie."

"But why would you... give away something sacred? Something eternal? To be like me?"

You blink. "Because you're strong and nice and sweet and also ripped? I mean, come on."

He stares at you like you've just offered to hand him the sun.

"But your soul?" He says, completely shocked.

"Adam." You step closer. "It's not literal."

"Oh." He seems to process this for a moment, then. "Still. Don't say things like that. Not even as a joke."

You look at him softer. "Why not?"

"Because you don't have to give anything up. I'll always be with you. You don't have to trade your soul. I'd love you without you changing a thing. I already do."

Your heart skips like a scratched record. "You... do?"

He nods, eyes still wide and a little unsure. "I think so. And I don't want anything from you except you."

Your lips curve. "Well in that case, I'll keep my soul."

Adam smiles. "Good."

Then he adds, just a little shyly. "Though if you ever wanted to give me your heart, I would be honored."

You grin. "If that's allowed."

And just like that, you're ruined- in the best way.

[wifeofnatasharomanoff]

could i request a mob nat oneshot from that universe seeing nat as a mom to her kid? it says we have a kid and it doesn’t need to be overly fluffy or anything… just curious what this badass mob boss looks like as a mom

HAPPINESS

WARNINGS: a bit of violence, gunshots, cute family moments, brief angst, fluff

RELATIONSHIP: natasha romanoff x f!reader

a/n: lol me after not posting for months 😅

AU: Darkest Nights

You wake up to the sounds of laughter in the bedroom, turning, you notice the side beside yours on the bed is empty. Where were the noises coming from? You sat up on the bed to see Natasha on the floor, a batman action figure in her hand and a toy car in the other. Her red hair was up in a loose braid and you could barely see the front of her face properly, but the one face you did see was a baby boy. Well – not really a baby more like a toddler. Except he wasn’t turning two for another few months. His chubby, rose-tinted cheeks were puffed up and small but loud giggles erupted from him. Natasha heard rustling from the bedsheets and looked up at you to see that you were already up. “Did we wake you up, babe?” she asked, her eyes were on you but she still kept her focus on the baby, making sure he wasn’t putting anything he wasn’t supposed to in his mouth. Some toys they make for babies are too small, Alex was teething and liked chewing on his toys sometimes. 

The corners of your lips curled into a smile, “No,” you chuckled, moving your hair strands away from your face. “It’s past 10, I was bound to wake up by now.” You reassure her. “Oh, good – I mean, it’s just you looked peaceful. For once.” you narrow your eyes as you throw the blanket that was draped over your body off yourself. “And who’s fault is it that I’m never at peace?” you retorted, getting up from the bed. She winced, “sorry, krasivaya.” you laughed at the sarcasm that lied beneath her words and lightly threw a smaller pillow from the bed towards her. “Jerk.” she caught the pillow and set it next to her, “c’mere, baby.” her arms were long enough to reach up to your hips while you were folding the blankets. Alex squealed, his stubby little hands moved up and down in agreement. “See, even our son wants mommy to play with us.” Natasha said, her hands grabbed onto your hips and pulled you to the carpet on the floor. “Natasha!” you shouted, playfully shoving her hand away, as she burst out laughing, the baby didn’t know any better and laughed along with her. 

“You’re unbelievable. I hope you know that.” she smirked at what you had said before responding, “I think I’m believable enough, how else is–” you interrupt her, “whatever you’re going to say, don’t say it. I’m positive it isn’t appropriate.” Natasha’s hand rested on your shoulder, “Okay, I’m not that bad.” she paused, “maybe.” 

“Momyy!!” Alex mustered up a word, sliding his mini spiderman toy over to you. “You want mommy and mama to play with you, lovebug?” you smile, grabbing the toy and giving it back to him. He nodded. “Alright, you can be little spiderman, mama will be batman and –” you turn to Natasha, “what will I be?” you ask. “And mommy’s barbie!” she excitedly says to the boy as she hands you a barbie doll. “A happy family, aren’t we?” she cupped your face before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I’m barbie? Seriously?” she grinned without a thought, “no, you’re prettier than barbie, baby.” 

“You’re such a sweet talker, darling.” you turned your attention back to Alex, dramatically gasping before speaking once more. “Oh my goodness, where's spiderman’s car?” the baby gasped as if he was missing a car, “oh look! There it is!” you gave the car to Natasha before Alex got the chance to grab it from you. 

“Oh, no! Batman stole your car, spiderman. Go steal it back from him!” you accused Natasha and pointed at her, immediately, Alex crawled over to her and started to lightly punch her, in a poor attempt to get his car back. Which of course, didn’t do much to her at all. “You can’t have this car, it’s mine now, spiderman!” Natasha took the car in her hand and raised it up in the air to where the boy couldn’t reach. 

The sound of glass shattering pulled both you and Natasha away from playtime. “Natasha, wh—” you heard it again, except this time you saw the window beside your nightstand break. “Get the gun under the bed and take Alex.” her voice was stern, as if she was ordering you. Your eyes widened as fear crept up your spine, “Natasha, what was that?” you heard it again, but this time there wasn’t any glass to stop the noise, it was clear that it was a gunshot. You pulled a box from under the bed and took a pistol out, grabbing Alex into your arms, you slowly stood up to not gain attention from movement in the bedroom. “Darling, I– where will we go?” unshed tears pooled in your eyes as your bottom lip quivered, “as of now, go to the bar. Look for Yelena, and she’ll know where to take you.” 

You gently touched her arm, “Are you not coming with us?” she shook her head, “it’ll cause too much commotion, they’ll know you’re with me. I’ll find you. I’ll find you both. Don’t worry, baby.” you blinked back the tears to stop them from dropping, “Nat. you said this wouldn’t happen, you promised that they weren’t going to find us… I thought we were finally getting back to our normal lives!” she pulled the both of you close, kissing your forehead, cheeks, the top of the baby’s head. “I know, I’m sorry, baby, I’ll fix this. I’m so sorry, I love you both, so much. Trust me, I’ll deal with them and we’ll come back together before you can blink, krasivaya.” Natasha kissed your lips once more, “I love you.” she wiped away your tears, “don’t die.” the smile you had faltered for a moment when you said that, knowing that there could be a possibility that for an instance something could go completely, and terribly wrong. “I won’t. C’mon, you know me better than that, baby.” you let out a dry chuckle at her trying to lighten the mood. “Go. I’ll be back.” Natasha’s protective hold was gone, you simply nodded. Another gunshot could be heard from the other side of the house, you didn’t want Alex to cry so you covered his ears. “I love you too.”

[wrathkitty]

Short Debts Make Long Friends - Chapter 24

Din nods and starts to write. A minute or two elapses in companionable silence as you work together, trading the datapad back and forth, adding in emotions square-by-square. Frustrated. Anxious. Peaceful. Critical nuances between angry, sad, or happy. 

It’s a sight that is perfect comic strip fodder: The Mandalorian, on his hands and knees, playing with sidewalk chalk. All that’s missing is a little boy at his side, chattering nonsensically and gnawing on the art supplies. 

You steal a furtive look from beneath your lashes, eyeing the pouch at Din's waist. Grogu’s ball had a companion now, a red-and-white knot of fabric, safely tucked alongside within. Both trinkets had tumbled out the other morning when you picked up Din’s belt from where it had fallen onto the floor. He was still sound asleep in bed, and did not stir as you had silently examined the raw-edged bundle of…something. If you had to venture a guess, it was a gift for Grogu, but you weren’t a snoop, and you weren’t going to ask. Ball and bag went back into the pouch, you glumly hung up the belt on its hook and spent the rest of the morning feeling like a hypocrite. Would there ever be a day without secrets?

Din finishes writing ‘Confident,’ and casually selects a fresh piece of chalk, swapping green for blue. “Is there a reason you haven’t mentioned the headaches?”

Your hand jerks, sending the L in calm veering off in the wrong direction. Astonishment sweeps over you, rapidly hardening to angry suspicion. 

What. The. Hell.

Buying yourself time, you meticulously write out the remaining characters and do not reply until you are confident that sarcasm can carry you throughout the remainder of this conversation, regardless of whatever wretched way it ends. 

Lifting your chin, you coolly fix Din with a scowl and speak. “How do you know about the headaches?”

“Aelin told me,” he says simply. 

Your jaw tightens. You are too old to accuse a child of being a tattletale. That doesn’t mean you aren’t immature enough to seriously entertain the thought.

Chapter 24: I get knocked down/But I get up again/You're never gonna keep me down

Link to main fic: Short Debts Make Long Friends - An over-educated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

(BRIBE ALERT: Reblog and get your own snippet from the next chapter)

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