#I have at least three cups each morning and three cups at night how else am I supposed to function?

[munsonsmixtapes]

I am in fact gonna request Finnick Odair 🙏🏻 (situation of your choosing)

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

Finnick was always desperate for your attention. If you weren’t speaking to him, he’d at least want you to touch him in some way. Weather is was carding your hands through his hair while his head laid in your lap or simply just holding his hand, it didn’t matter. He was well aware of how needy he sounded, but just wanted to make sure that you were still there. After everything that had happened, he couldn’t stand to lose anyone else, especially not you.

You seemed to be the only peace in his life, the only thing that put the nightmares to a stop when he would shut his eyes. He could now sleep peacefully through the night as he knew that you were on the other side of the bed or wrapped up in his arms.

And he loved rolling over in the morning to see you staring back at him, that warm smile on his face that he had grown to love so much. That look of love in your eyes that seemed to only be for you.

"Good morning," you'd whisper as you scooted closer to each other, noses touching, lips pressing together in a soft kiss.

"Good morning," he'd reply and you'd both then roll out of bed and head into the kitchen. And you both leaned against the counter, giggling and making conversation over cups of coffee that accompanied your breakfast.

Your hands would be joined as you ate, neither of you wanting to let the other go as you went back and forth, squeezing fingers that was your way of saying "I love you" without having to speak. It was always three in a row, one for each to really emphasize the feeling.

And Finnick would pause occasionally just to look at you, to prove to himself that you were actually there and not just a very pretty figment of his imagination. The Games had really fucked with his head and sometimes he just needed the reminder.

You'd look over at him with that same warm smile and he'd wonder to himself how he had gotten so lucky as to have someone as amazing as you. How you made him feel like he was a better version of himself when you were around.

And you'd wonder the same thing, asking that exact question which always seemed to catch him off guard. He'd blush that adorable shade of pink, lowering his head as a sheepish smile spread on his face.

You'd then grab him by the chin, pressing your lips to his before gathering your dishes and bringing them to the sink to rinse them off while he'd stand behind you, his hands on your waist as he'd pepper your cheek with kisses just to hear your little giggles, whining at him to stop.

And the cycle repeated itself. Every day it was the exact same thing and you wouldn't have had it any other way. You loved the continuous loop that you were both living in, your own little bubble that you lived in, not letting anyone disturb it if you could help it. It was always just you and Finnick and that was exactly the way you liked it.

[hazelelel]

I went to the dentist, and for context my dentist is hilarious, super charismatic kinda crazy (all dentist are) and he's in my mouth and inspecting my teeth and the conversation goes as follows:

Him: *Fingers and instruments all up in my mouth* Looks really good! Except for they are SUPER...

Me: aineh?

Him: Yes, 'stained'. Aesthetically they are still fine, but I wonder- I don't see this long term build up often. How'd you do that?

Me: Aye ink ea. (I drink tea).

Him: Run that by me again?

Me: Aye. Ink. Ea.

Him: *fucking with me* hm?

Me: Ea!

Him: *Fingers still in my mouth* Ea? You're going to have to say that a bit loud-

Me: *At the top of my lungs, closing my eyes and screaming* EA!! AYE INK EAAAA!!! EEEAAAAAAAAA!!!

Him: *Now laughing like a maniac* Ea!

Cheeky bastard, he's lucky he's the best dentist I've ever met so he can get away with his tomfoolery.

[wellnessgirlblog]

60 Days Challenge ༉‧₊˚

This is like my own version of the 75 Day Hard Challenge. For the next two months, I will follow these daily rules:

Follow a meal plan.

Drink 8-10 glasses of water.

Exercise daily.

Read 10 pages of any book.

Follow a morning and night routine.

Less than 3 hrs of screen time.

Keep track everyday.

1. Meal Plan:

I will add vegetables or fruits at each meal and fast 16:8 three times a week. I will focus on eating in moderation and adding healthy foods rather than restricting some type of food.

2. Hydration:

In addition to water, I will have two cups of tea (one in the morning and one at night). I won't drink anything else.

3. Exercise:

I will do some form of exercise every day, for at least 30 minutes, and I will stretch for at least 10 minutes. The main goal is to move !!! so I will do whatever suits my day the most.

4. Reading:

I love reading ! The minimum is 10 pages, but I'll try to read as much as possible. This will also be a way of not spending too much time on the phone.

5. Daily routines:

I want to start and end the day the right way. I created my routines based on what was best for me and my schedule. For example, my morning routine is short and simple because I don't have a lot of time, and my night routine is focused on relaxing because otherwise I have a hard time sleeping.

6. Less than 3 hrs of screentime:

This doesn't include time in screens for school. My goal here is to limit the time I spend on social media and spend that time on other activities instead. I will probably only use that time for my duolingo lessons, watch a movie or post on tumblr, and I will set a timer everytime I use a screen.

7. Keep a record:

I will keep a record here of how I feel every day during this challenge. The goal with this is to realize what works and what doesn't, in order to improve. I also think it's easier for me to stay on track if I write it down somewhere.

[zer0wzs]

𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨

[ gn!reader ] "practice it, even once a week," it even works with sleep—especially you have something motivating you. based off of this classic reddit post. wc: 1521

AN: not at all proofread my apologies lol

There have been a couple of changes in your life since the first month that Jason moved in with you.

For one, the little trinkets that were scattered everywhere seemed to be a little more neater, a little more lined up. You’ll find that your small figures were playing out a scene. You don’t know why they’re like that, but Jason seems to know. 

Your apartment’s been plenty more storage-efficient. This was largely to help Jason store his expansive collection of books, but it helped you, too. The drawers, shelves, and cabinets the two of you have thrifted and renovated together make it seem more to both of your liking—rather than it just being yours.

Above these small things, though, you two seem to always never have enough time with each other, even after the move.

Needless to say, time isn’t always in your favor when you’re vigilant or with the Red Hood. Date nights are suddenly postponed or canceled, patrols keep him until the early hours of the morning, and—at worst—missions have you two apart from one another for weeks, maybe even months.

This makes you two take pleasure in the small things. Whatever little thing you two can keep to yourselves, whatever fragment of time is offered to you two, you will selfishly hold onto. It's the only thing you can ever hold onto.

That’s why you always hold onto Saturdays. You can wake up as late as you want and still know that he’s probably there. You’d find him cleaning his guns, cozied on the couch reading a book, watching a cheesy romcom, or cooking you breakfast. That’s how it's always been when you spent time at each other’s apartments, and the same thing has happened until now.

That’s your first thought as you wake—or, well first few thoughts. Checking the time on your phone, you see it’s 11 AM. Earlier than your usual time of waking, but you should still probably get up.

There isn’t much noise ringing through your ears, save for a few footsteps you heard through the ajar room of your bedroom. Still a little drowsy, you made your way to the bathroom to tidy yourself up.

After rinsing your face with soap and getting the grime out of the crevices of your skin, you grabbed your toothbrush and pumped your toothpaste on it. As you brushed your teeth, though, your mind better register a faint humming—no, singing—from down the hallway.

Well, it can’t be anyone else, no?

After freshening yourself up, you go to your living room only to be greeted by tranced Jason—fixated on his slightly worn copy of All The Lovers in the Night. There’s some old dad rock music playing softly by him. You stand there, leaning against the edge of the hallway, before your presence is acknowledged.

“Good morning,” he greeted, using a random receipt he had to bookmark his page before the book aside. “You’re up early.”

“I know.” You hummed, finding a place beside him on the couch and giving him a good morning kiss on the cheek.

You find him smiling at the action, ruffling your hair and pulling you closer by the waist. “Are you up for any particular reason? Miss me?”

“Mmh, sure.” You grab his coffee perched on the table and take a sip. “Ew.”

He laughs. “What do you mean ‘ew’? Baby, that’s always how I’ve made my coffee.”

“I know, I know,” you rolled your eyes. “I thought that was gonna be the new three-in-one packet we got.”

“I don’t like three-in-one,” he hums. “Or at least I’m not in the mood for it.”

“Guess I’ll have to brew a cup for myself. I really wanna try it out.”

“Can I have a sip?” He asked, leaning into your shoulder.

“No.” You half-jokingly replied, snaking your hand up his hair to ruffle it.

“Come on.”

“Let’s see.”

And so that’s how Saturdays would go for you two. Jason would usually start his day at 7, 6, and sometimes even 5 AM, depending on how hectic his workload was. He’d freshen up, brew some coffee, and then usually get to his work.

If he did work, he always took a short breather between 10 to 11, usually spending the time to read. If he didn’t, he’d spend the morning cleaning the apartment or making breakfast.

You find yourself stirring awake. What time is it? It feels too early to be up right now.

You check the time on your phone. 10:42. Never mind.

You stretched out, basking in the sun that escapes through the fabric and small gaps of the translucent curtains. You blink a few times before deciding it's time to get up and freshen up. Grabbing a change of clothes, you head to your bathroom.

As you continued your morning routine, you could hear music ringing softly throughout the apartment. Along with that, you hear Jason singing along to it. With that, you open the door a little wider while you brush your teeth.

Before you can even process that your feet are carrying you outside the bathroom, Jason’s already greeting your presence in the dining area. “Good morning,” You wave in return. “You want anything for breakfast?”

You shake your head in reply and find your place beside him by the table, reading a book. You lean your head on his shoulder, trying to follow whatever he’s reading. The fast reader he is, he flips the page before you can even get a full sentence in.

In the corner of his eye, he can still see how drowsy you were. He checks in. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Still a little sleepy.”

“You know, you can still go to bed if you want. I’m not sure why you’re up earlier than usual.” He pouted, craning his head to look at you. “You’re not pushing yourself for whatever reason, right?”

“No, I just…woke up,” you reply dryly. “Like I woke up and thought, ‘might as well,’ you know?”

“Okay, okay,” he smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead. “You want a coffee?”

“Mmm, sure.”

“Alright,” he nods, kissing your forehead before getting up to heat up some water. “The three-in-one?”

“Yes, please.”

Maybe it's your way of saying that you miss him. Between the night patrols and days-to-months-long missions that he goes on, you find yourself waking up a little earlier. 11 AM turns into 10 AM turns into even 9 and 8 AM on the weekends.

It’s 7:51 AM. Last night may have been hectic, but you got some sleep in. A few weeks ago, you would’ve slept in and woke up at 1 PM, but god doesn’t grant you enough time to hit your napping time and spending-time-with-Jason quotas. You have to sacrifice one, and your body knows which one you’re choosing.

“Morning, babe,” Jason greets from the kitchen, cooking up a breakfast for the two of you.

He doesn’t tease you any more about waking up so early. In fact, he doesn’t even push you to go back to bed anymore. He knows it only really makes you feel bad for getting some sleep. He’s more than picked up these changes in the morning and accommodates you to his schedule with ease. 

You feel more than love. You feel his affection wholeheartedly. It’s almost overwhelming, but you figure you’re never getting enough of it anyway.

“Hello…” You mumble from behind him, sliding your hands up his chest. You smell the spicy scent of seasoning from his cooking. ”Missed you.”

“Missed you too.” He smiles, pulling you to his side. 

You stand in silence for a bit, too sleepy to continue the conversation sensibly and letting only the sound of the searing pan fill the room.

Yet you start. “Are you doing anything or going anywhere today?”

“No, not really,” he answers. “Why? You wanna do something?”

“No, not really,” you copy his tone, not really implying any sort of mocking. “I just wanna spend time with you.”

He laughs a little. “Clingy.”

“Thanks,” you roll your eyes. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Hmm,” he pauses for a split second to think. “Set the table for me, won’t ya? I’m almost done.”

“Alright.”

Warmth is the first thing you feel. A great, weighted warmth encasing you in your sleep. It wasn’t too early, as you felt the bright rays of the sun shine down and pierce through your closed eyes. Clearly, Jason should be more than awake by now.

Eyes closed, you whisper to the big bear of a man holding on to you for dear life. “Mmh, what time is it?”

Nothing from him in return. You lay a few kisses on his arm, hoping to wake him up, even a little.

“Love?” You hummed, reaching out for your phone to check the time. Your phone’s brightness blinds you, but as long as you can sleep in peace after this, you’re fine. “It’s 7:32. Shouldn’t you be up by now?”

You hear him mumble a few things, mostly incoherent, but you can at least make out his little, “Mmh, five more minutes.”

[latenightdaydreams]

Hii!! Just a PS your stories are amazing and I read at least three of them a day. I was wondering if you could maybe do a part two for the vamp reader x König Story? Feel free to ignore.

Thank you!! Absolutely!

König x Vamp!Reader Part 2 (fem)

Part 1

MDNI🔞

Master List✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, vampire, jealousy, p in v, blood

1.4k word count

🧛‍♀️

.

.

König really couldn’t go without you. It’s only been one night and König is already planning on taking a quick trip to see you before he has to report in the morning. A sleepless night is worth just a short while with you. He packs a small bag and walks through the halls of KorTac in a rush to his car. Horangi spots him and smirks under his mask.

“Hey, where are you off to?” He asks now following König.

“Hey- uh. Back to Budapest.”

“Yeah? How did the club go?” Horangi takes long strides to keep up with König’s large steps.

“Good.” He answers shortly, not wanting to waste any time.

“Get bitten by any vampires?” There is a teasing tone in his voice.

“Sold my soul to one.” König turns his head to look down at Horangi. “I met a woman.”

“Oh? Well, have fun and be safe.” Horangi pats his back before backing off.

König sinks into the driver’s seat and speeds towards you. His fingers caress the bite marks that linger on his neck. It’s as if he is touching you and feeling you again. The closer he gets to the club, the more intense the fire in his heart burns with desire.

His car pulls into the parking garage, turning into the first open spot. He grabs the duffle bag from the back and pulls out an outfit to switch into. As he steps outside his car, he looks around to make sure no one sees him as he changes before rushing to the doors of the club.

The bounder looks König up and down, noticing the bite marks on his neck and smirks; stepping aside to let him and two women in. König’s eyes scan the club like a hawk trying to find you in the sea of people. A much taller blonde vampire approaches him, a beautiful man. He cups König’s face and flashes his fangs.

“Hello handsome.”

König gently removes the man’s hand. “I’m looking for y/n.”

“Oh, shame. She’s in the back, room 3.”           

König feels his heart drop when he says that. In a rush he pushes past others to get to the red velvet curtain. Room 3. For a moment he lingers outside of it, wondering what you’re doing on the other side of the door. His hand wraps around the knob and turns, it’s unlocked.

The door swings open and you’re there on the bed with another woman. You’re both naked and wrapped in each other’s arms, legs entangled as you drink from her neck. His stomach drops as he sees you with someone else in such an intimate way. He swallows hard and steps forward, closing the door behind him.         

“Have you come to join?” The woman asks König as she eyes him up and down.

“No, I’m here for her.” König says, his eyes never leaving your body.

You turn to face him with crimson stained lips pulled into a wide smile. Small drops of blood drip down your chin as you pull away from her. You stretch one of your hands out to hold König’s. His mind is a cloudy storm of mixed emotions; anger, rejection…arousal.

“König, you’re back so soon.”

König quickly walks to you and takes your hand. His eyes roam over the other woman’s body before looking back at you. “Who is she?”

“One of my donors.”

“One?” König reaches out to cup your face with his other hand, your gaze almost hypnotizing him.

“A woman has to eat.” You kiss his palm, listening to his heartbeat quicken as you do. “Do you want to join us?”

“No. I only want you.” König looks at the other woman not with lust, but with more of a possessive anger. “Bitte.”

You turn to look at the woman and she gives you a knowing nod as she stands up to get dressed. König’s hand drops from your face as you lean over to grab a tissue from the night stand to wipe the blood from your lips. The second the door closes you can hear his heart beat slow, his thoughts becoming calm.

“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon, König.”

“I can tell.” He says with an attitude as he begins to undress, his eyes roaming over your body with an insatiable hunger. “Do you have sex with all of your donors?”

“Only the hot ones.”

König lets out a soft growl as he stalks closer to the bed with only his boxer briefs on. In his mind, you’re his. He has never been one to share and just because you’re a vampire doesn’t make you an exception.

“I don’t like the idea of other people touching you.” König crawls on to the bed to join you, his erection straining hard against the soft black fabric.

“My kind isn’t known to be monogamous, love.” You roll on to your side, resting your body against his. Your hand runs down his abdomen, caressing the blond hair that covers him.

“I don’t like that…” König says with a deep sigh, your cold hand causing him to shiver. He places his hand on yours and holds it, squeezing it.

“I’ve been around longer than you’ve been alive, and I will be here long after you’re gone. It’s just not realistic.” You say softly, your dark eyes glistening in the low light and your scent lulls König into pure primal lust.

“But while I’m here, I’m yours.” König whispers as he leans in to kiss your lips.

You kiss back, moving your hand from under his to grasp his hard cock. A low hum leaves his lips as you do. He pulls back from the kiss to look down at your hand and then back up at you. Quickly, he pulls his underwear off and tosses them off the bed.

“I want to be on top.” König demands as he mounts you, pushing you back against the lush bedspread. You gaze up at him with a wide smile, exposing your fangs to him as he positions himself between your legs. Seeing you in bed with another person makes him want to claim you.

“I’m usually the one in charge.” You say with a smirk.

“Not tonight.”

He presses the tip of his cock against your entrance, your vagina already slick from your previous encounter. It only added fuel to König’s possessive side. His blue eyes lock with yours as he slips himself inside of you. A soft moan leaves him as his eyelids become heavy with pleasure. Your walls are so incredibly tight around the width of his fat cock, absolutely perfect.

“König, fuck me hard.”

With those words his hips pull back and thrust forward into you harshly, slapping his balls against your ass. Your slick gummy walls on his bare cock cause his head to drop lost in euphoria. He feels your hand caress his face, forcing him to keep eye contact with you.

“Your…so…beautiful.” He pants in between moans.

Only orgasmic sounds of pleasure leave your lips as your hands roam his body. The veins on his arms popping from how fast the blood is flowing through them, his heart pumping from the intensity of his motions. You crave sinking your teeth into him, tasting his candy sweet blood on your tongue.

“God yes, König.” You moan as you slowly grab his arms and lift it to your lips.

Your full lips press against his pulse beating quickly on his wrist. König watches you with an intense look in his eyes as you slowly open your mouth. Your dark eyes turn that mesmerizing red as your teeth sink into his wrist.

“Ah-” König groans as his thrust slows.

The imagery of his blood slowly dripping down the sides of your mouth only adding to this orgasmic experience. Your mouth is filled with his warm blood, the warmth spreading throughout you as it slips down your throat. With your other hand you drag your sharp nails along the skin of his side, his shivers in response.

“I want to be your only one.” He moans.

You pull away from his wrist, licking what continues to drip. “I’d drink you dry.”

“I’d die happily, please.” König’s head drops as another moan escapes him.

Your eyes meet his, you know that he is genuine. He is fully devoted to you, obsessed even. A small smile crosses your lips as you use your strength to dominate him, pushing him back and quickly getting on top. A light laugh leaves his lips, still not use to the strength you possess.

“You really want to be mine forever?” You ask as you begin to kiss along his chest, nipping lightly at his flesh and leaving small red marks behind.

“Please.”

[dameronology]

when it rains (obi-wan x reader)

summary: being in love with obi-wan is great - but it might be less difficult if he knew about it. (commission for @ofmusesandsecrets!)

warnings: language

You were generally quite good at keeping your shit together.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been a threat to that.

On the surface, you were everything a Senator could need to be; an intelligent and well-spoken individual, with a high level of education and a passion for change. You always stood up for what you believed in; always spoke up on issues you were passionate about and always fighting the good fight. These were all things that Obi-Wan had loved about you, and in what felt like the galaxy's cruellest Catch 22, it was that love that threatened your ability to upkeep appearances. One glance at him across the Senate, or a brief moment of eye contact at one of the Galas - more often than not where he was your bodyguard - and you were worried it would all come tumbling down.

You had met Kenobi a few years after he'd become a Jedi Master. You were early on in your career as a politician, working as an apprentice to a higher-level representative. Always on the go, with stacks of paperwork in your arms and a million thoughts brewing in your mind, you'd crossed paths with Obi-Wan one morning during a meeting in the Temple. He'd given you a smile, made a quip about how he'd never seen you not on the go (which confirmed to you that he had seen you before and had stared long enough to notice those details about you).

Five years later, you hadn't been able to look at anyone else.

He was your best friend now, undoubtedly and wholly. You saw each other every day at the least - maybe in meetings and occasionally in passing - but he would come to your apartment every night without fail. Mostly just to catch up, and sometimes just to vent. Even on the days where Anakin had driven him to the point of grey hair, you were still happy to listen.

It was raining tonight in Coruscant. A lot. Lashing down from the sky, putting most of the city to a halt. Your afternoon meeting had been cancelled as a result, which meant you'd been holed up in your apartment all afternoon, a mug of tea in one hand and a stack of paperwork in the other. Obi-Wan's first ever comment to you had always rung true; you were always on the go, even when you were sat still. There was always something on your mind - something to create, something to do, something to debate. Sometimes, it made Obi-Wan want to grab your shoulders, give you a little shake and tell you to slow the fuck down.

He turned up just after 8PM - drenched, as expected, and with a slightly wet coffee cup in hand. In your line of work, you could afford a slow afternoon. For Obi-Wan, your busiest day of work was comparable to one he'd find relaxing. You had no doubt that he'd not long wrapped up for the night, so you wasted no time in stepping aside and letting him into your apartment.

"Long day?" you asked, eyebrows raised.

Obi-Wan glared at you. "Long day. Wet day."

"Right, sorry," you snorted. Taking the coffee cup out his hands, you tossed it into the garbage and headed towards your kitchen. "C'mon, I'll make you a drink that's not half rainwater."

"Thank you, darling," he gave you a small smile, hot on your tail as he followed you through the apartment. "I heard the Senate meeting was called early this afternoon."

"Yeah," you replied. "At like 2PM. Half the people due to come couldn't make it due to the weather. It took me two hours to get home."

"You should have come and found me at the Temple," Obi-Wan said. "You know my room is always available."

You knew. You'd always known, even on the nights when Obi-Wan was present there too. How many times had you stayed over after a long night? Snuck back there after a Gala? Just to sleep three feet apart, both your minds working at a thousand miles an hour, purely to resist the urge to reach out towards him and curl up into his side. The idea of domesticity with Obi-Wan was almost enough to kill you, just as it was right now. Here he was, leant against your kitchen counter. He was throwing his wet cloak into your tumble drier, hands reaching for a tea towel on the side. He was acting like he lived here, like he paid half the rent and maker, you wished he would. You wished that he would come back here every night and just fucking stay. With you, here, forever. No outside world; no politics; no stupid Jedi laws.

"Where did you go?" he asked.

You blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Your mind - it went somewhere," Obi-Wan continued. "What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, uh...just work," you forced a smile. "You know how it is."

"I turn off when I'm done," he replied, hand brushing down your arm. "You never really stop, do you?"

I stop thinking about work, you thought to yourself, but I never stop thinking about you.

"No, I will," you murmured. "Sorry."

"Never be sorry," Obi-Wan said.

You snapped back into action, hands quickly chucking ingredients into a mug in order to produce an acceptable cup of coffee. You knew Obi-Wan's routine with his fancy-ass drip filter and organic beans and locally sourced milk. It was a few levels above the instant coffee you were about to press into his hands, but your actions were still met with a smile.

"How are you going to get back to the Temple later?" you asked. "The storm has half the city at a standstill and I beg you not to say that you're walking."

He smiled. "I realised as soon as I got to your building that I may be trapped for the night."

"Right," you replied, fighting back your own smile. "That's sort of the point I was getting to anyways."

Your eyes met, and you couldn't help but sometimes wonder if he felt it too. If his eyes lingered on yours when you turned away, if you were constantly on his mind every moment that you were apart. Of course, it was different for him; after all, the job he'd dedicated his very life to forbade attachment in any form and this? Well, this was the highest form.

"I have some of my brothers clothes in the hallway closet," you broke the silence. "You're welcome to steal some."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Thank you, darling."

It wasn't really a question between you about where he would be sleeping. You only had one bed and you'd already shared before, so what was the point in overcomplicating it? Well...overcomplicating it even more. Nothing about this was simple, and sharing a bed was not the distance you needed for the situation, but what did you care anymore? You yearned to be around the man all the time, even if it meant doing this weird to-and-fro that you'd had going on for half a decade. Him being in your bed just for tonight was fine. You were both tired. You both needed it.

Obi-Wan picked up his mug, giving your arm another squeeze.

"I'm going to go and shower," he said. "Thank you letting me stay."

You smiled and nodded. "Always."

Putting aside your own half empty coffee, you threw it into the sink - that would be tomorrow's problem, as would all of this - and went through to the bedroom. You could hear the shower running, and your mind again went off to that all too familiar place: home. Not here, but wherever Obi-Wan was. What you wouldn't have given to had this every night; you getting ready for bed, him in the shower, both of you planning to end up in the same bed. It wasn't possible. You knew it wasn't possible, as long as he were still a Jedi and as long as you were still a Senator. Hell, you would have thrown your position aside in seconds if it meant being with him. Maybe that was the difference between the two of you.

Changing into a baggy shirt and sweatpants, you threw aside the covers and climbed into bed. The sheets were cold, as they always were when you first went to bed, but knowing someone else was minutes away from warming them up sent butterflies to your stomach. Maybe not butterflies, so much as they were wasps. Big, anxious wasps, at the idea of being in such close proximity with your best friend. What if this was the night that three foot meant fuck all? Maybe you could actually have his arms around; keep him closer for longer, not just a brief hug or a quick touch. This could be it now.

You heard the water shut off and there was a brief shuffling. A few moments later, Obi-Wan exited the bathroom. He'd opted for sweatpants too, but no shirt. Your instincts said to look away, but you couldn't. Hell, you didn't even care that you looked like a creep, watching him as he crossed the room. Obi-Wan barely even noticed, simply placing his boots by the door and climbing into bed beside you. You could feel the heat off his body beside you, arms just inches from touching.

"Was the shower okay?" you asked, eager to break the silence that had once again formed. "I've been having problems with...with my hot water."

"Why are you nervous?"

You blinked. "I'm not nervous."

"Yes, you are," Obi-Wan replied. "You always ramble when you're nervous, and I've never heard you talk about something as boring as how well your shower is working."

"Right," you murmured. "Sorry."

"That still doesn't answer my question," he pushed. "Why are you nervous? It's me, sweetheart."

"Maybe that's exactly why I'm nervous," you muttered. "I'm not sure. I just...it's weird that you're shirtless in my bed."

"Oh," he seemed surprise. "That's okay. I can sleep on the sofa-"

"- no, no, it's fine," you quickly cut him off. "I just never really know what to do these situations, to be honest. When we've slept together before, I've always tried my best to stay on the other side of the bed but...I'm not so sure I want to do that tonight."

Obi-Wan stared blankly ahead for a moment. Okay, so that had been risky as fuck, and for a moment you felt yourself reeling, waiting for his reaction. To your surprise, there wasn't really one. Even when it was the most forward you'd been - without really being forward at all - he still stayed stoic as always. There was no visible response, just a quick blink and a small shrug.

"We're both cold from the rain," he reasoned. "It makes sense. I see no reason why we have to stay on opposite sides of the bed."

Much to your surprise, he was the one to move first. He shuffled onto his side, a large arm coming around your waist and the other snaking underneath you. He pulled you into him, hand guiding your head into his neck and tucking it below his chin. You were stiff for a second, but quickly relaxed - this felt right. Like it was meant to be.

You could faintly smell the remains of his aftershave, mixed with the smell of your shower gel. His skin was still warm from the shower.

(And maybe it was).

"Are you warmer now?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," you murmured. "Toasty."

He smiled. "Good - now get some sleep."

You knew the morning would come, and that Obi-Wan would have to leave; you knew even more that this might not happen again. Not unless luck was on your side and would happen to lump you together during a storm, or a black out. Or - and the more terrifying option - that you declared your love for him and this would be how every night was.

It was hard to know; hard to tell and predict, just like everything else in the galaxy. Still, you were grateful that Obi-Wan was your best friend, and even more grateful that you had tonight.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Would That I

Pairing: Otto Hightower x f!reader Warnings: Smut, age gap, keeping it in the family. Word count: ~1.1k Summary: Otto makes sure his pretty, young wife has absolutely everything she desires. Based on this request.

She is smitten with Otto the moment she lays eyes on him. Arriving in King’s Landing she anticipates a week of uninteresting jousts and tedious formalities, but as she sits in the stands, thoroughly uninterested by the spectacle of the two knights charging towards each other on horseback, her eye is drawn to the Hand of the King. He is older than her by at least three decades, but he is refined, tall and ruggedly handsome. While the potential suitors within the capital are seemingly endless, none of them compare to Otto Hightower

Using every excuse within her arsenal over the coming days, she seizes all opportunities to see and speak to him, and is delighted to find he is every bit as charming as he is handsome. He titters at her jokes and she is enamoured by the way his eyes crinkle as he smiles, the green of his iris appearing to sparkle as he does so. His voice is deep, yet velvety smooth and she hangs on his every word. He is intelligent, diplomatic and sharp as Valyrian steel.

Her desire for him intensifies as the days press on, and emboldened by one too many cups of Dornish red following a feast one evening, she leans forward and presses her lips to his, her heart fluttering as she feels the warmth of his large palm cup her cheek as he returns the gesture.

“I have not felt like this about a woman in years,” He tells her.

She smiles at his words. She has not felt like this about a man ever.

There is no need for her to leave come the end of the week, King’s Landing is now her home, and after a hastily put together ceremony in the Sept, Otto Hightower is her husband.

He surprises her with his virility on their wedding night, wringing peak after peak from her pliant body, leaving her exhausted but with a satisfying ache between her thighs the following morning. Otto spoils her beyond comprehension, she wants for nothing and has the finest of everything; jewels from Lys, gowns of Myrish silk and lace, wines from the Arbor. He is diligent in keeping her sated in every aspect of their marriage.

It is obvious his daughter, Alicent, does not approve, though she does not say it, and who can blame her? She has to admit that she’d be annoyed too if her father chose to marry someone younger than his own daughter.

It is not Alicent’s silent disapproval that bothers her, however, it is how the ladies of the court love to gossip. It is not unusual in Westeros for men to wed women much younger than themselves, yet she finds herself at the center of all manner of prying questions regarding the nature of her marriage to Otto. She supposes it is because of the responsibility he holds as the King’s Hand.

“What is it you see in him?” One bold lady dares to ask.

She bites her lip, considering her answer. She longs to say that it sends a thrill through her body to wait upon her knees for him, gazing up at him as he presses the head of himself past her lips. Such talk would cause a scandal, however, so she gives a tight smile and says that he is tall.

“Surely that can’t be all?”

“No, he is handsome too,” She says wistfully, thinking about how he gazes up at her from between her thighs, the softness of his beard tickling her soft flesh, the sensation causing her to clench around nothing.

“Is he kind to you?”

“Oh, yes, Otto is extraordinarily generous!” There is a particular necklace that Otto insists she wears, with nothing else to accompany it, whenever they are alone in their marital chambers. It sits tight against her throat, adorned with emeralds that gleam in the same shade of green as the Hightower house colours. It likely cost a small fortune, but in his eyes nothing is too good for her, not when he is buried to the hilt inside of her.

“Is that your favourite quality of his?”

“No,” She muses. “I adore his dedication to his family.”

The combined heat from the fireplace and lit candles that sit upon every surface of the bedchamber make the room stiflingly hot. She feels sweat trickle down her neck, disappearing beneath the emerald choker that sits snugly around her neck, every green gemstone glittering in the dim light as she rolls her hips against Otto’s.

His grip on her waist is vice-like, every sensation heightened by warmth, as the length of him nudges against a spot inside of her that makes her tense with every undulation of her body. She feels taut, pulled tighter than a bow string until it eventually snaps, sending her headlong into oblivion, waves of ecstasy rolling through her as she collapses against her husband’s chest, triggering his own release.

His fingers stroke gently over her dampened skin as he holds her close. Already, renewed desire throbs between her legs.

“Are you satisfied, my dear?” Otto asks softly.

“I will never have enough of you, my love,” Comes her playful response.

“That is not quite what I had in mind.”

“Oh?” She lifts her head, eyeing him curiously.

“I have seen the way that you and Aemond look at each other, I am no fool.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “It is nothing, I can assure you.”

“I do not mind,” He rises from the bed, pulling on a robe. “I wish for my darling wife to be satisfied, to have everything she desires, so I shall make it so.”

He opens the chamber door, uttering “you can come in now” and her eyes widen in disbelief when she sees Otto’s second oldest grandson hovering in the doorway. It seems outrageous to her that he would suggest such a thing, yet she cannot deny the way it makes her pulse race.

“I shall be back in an hour.” Otto informs them both, before leaving.

She is too stunned to speak at first as she takes in the sight of Aemond. He seems stoic and unaffected in his demeanour, until she studies him more carefully. She takes in how his pupil is dilated with lust, the prominent bulge that presses against the lacings of his trousers, and the slight parting of his lips as he struggles to control his excited breaths.

Arranging herself atop the bedspread, she relaxes knowing that he desires her just as much as she desires him. She beckons him to her with a crook of her finger. “Come now, don’t be shy.” He goes to her eagerly.

It is just one of the many perks of being Otto Hightower’s wife. He is nothing if not generous in every aspect of their marriage, and so dedicated to his family.

[dira333]

hii dira !! if im not too late for ur summer game i would like to send in shinsou (heheh) with a deep forest/maybe mountain? vacation and maybe becoming a thing/establishing the relationship? 🥺🧡 thank uuu im sending smooches and snøfle winks ur way 🥰✨ - @alienaiver ✨

Hello there! Absolutely can do!

Into the Woods - Shinsou x Reader

It’s only day two and Hitoshi has already learned a few important things about himself.

One, he’s not made to live in the woods. The amount of times he’s flinched because of a noise or jerked away because he felt the air shift is too high to say out loud. At least you’re not making fun of him for being a scary cat.

Two, he’s definitely addicted to this phone. There’s no cell service here, not to mention the absolute lack of internet connection, and while he never thought himself as bad as Denki, his fingertips are itching to press buttons, to swipe left to right. Hitoshi feels like he’s going to die in the next few minutes if no one presents him with a stupid meme to laugh about.

But, most importantly, number three. He’s in love with you, irrevocably

Does he feel a little silly trailing after you wherever you go? Most definitely. Like a dog, too. 

But you look so lovely in the soft morning light, squinting against the hot midday sun, relaxing in the last embers of the evening light. 

“Let’s go exploring,” you ask, pulling him up from the bed. The bed… he can’t stop thinking about it. There’s only one bed.

And you’ve cuddled before, on his bed or on yours, on the Futon in Denki’s apartment or the massive Couch Shoto got as a gift from his Dad. Everyone knows you’re a cuddler but everyone also knows that you like cuddling him best. You’ve actually said it out loud one time, he’s not making that up.

And now you’re going on a trip together, two weeks of just each other and nothing else. Two weeks of sharing one bed.

-

“Are you really okay with that?” Hitoshi asks as you plan the trip. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be silly,” you argue against it. “You’d probably hurt your back.”

“But-” He starts but doesn’t end the sentence. 

He’s not there yet. Not yet able to say the words that have gotten a whole different meaning. Hitoshi can see them in your eyes though, can hear them in the hushed whispers of his friends when you lean into him on movie nights or sit on his lap when there are not enough chairs. 

In theory, this vacation is like a confession. But it’s something entirely different at the same time too.

Still, he can’t help but ask. Can’t help but make sure you’re really really really okay with that.

“Don’t be silly,” you tell him again, pulling him into bed with you. “I want you here.”

-

He sleeps like a baby the second night. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t slept the night before or the night before that - he knows his sleep cycle is messed up, thank you very much - or because they wandered through a stream that day, fighting to stay upright in the cold water.

Hitoshi can’t remember laughing this much. He’s laughed about flinching away at the sight of a fish, laughed about falling flat on his ass into the water, laughed about the fact that his bottom stayed wet no matter how hard he tried to keep his balance.

Your giggling has swept around him all day, much like the tinkling of the stream. 

Even now, as he dreams, he can hear it.

-

“Morning,” you wake him with a cup of coffee and the faintest brush of your lips across his brow bone. “Slept well?”

“Yeah.” Hitoshi yawns so loud his jaw cracks. “You?”

“Amazing,” there’s a tilt to your lips that teases him, he knows, but he’s not yet ready to ask about it.

“Sit with me?” He asks instead, patting your side of the bed. 

You slip in without a word and it’s only natural, he thinks, that he curls into you like a cat. 

“Don’t fall asleep again,” you tell him, though your hands are already in his hair and how is that fair?

-

“Can we stay here?” Hitoshi asks, breathless for more than one reason.

The hike up was brutal, the air thick with heat and humidity though you’d trudged along without complaint. The view is spectacular, all those shades of green stretching out in front of him, the glittering silver blue of streams and rivers cutting through in some spots, the vibrant grey mountainside in the distance that feels so close he could touch it if only he stretched his arm out far enough.

And then there’s you, warm and close and glistening in the sun, wanting to be here with him even though he oversleeps and kicks in his dreams, lives of black coffee and free Data. 

Maybe you’re the best thing on this hike and maybe you’re not, because how can he separate these things from each other? You’re the experiences he’s made with you just as much as you’re the person he wants to come back to, again and again.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words almost lost in his gasps for air.

But you catch them, like you do with everything him. 

“I love you.” You say and if he’s crying now he’s fully blaming it on the sun shining in his eyes, although you’re not asking about the tears, just leaning into him like you always do.

Because that’s you. Sweaty and warm and heavy, leaning into him because you trust that he’ll be there and saying “I love you” instead of “I love you too”. Because it’s not about reciprocating sometimes, but about the two of them having the same feelings, at the same time, for each other.

-

In a few days, they’ll have to leave and while he’s not yet ready, he knows he will be.

Hitoshi will kiss you here, unrushed, unjudged, undisturbed.

And when he can’t fall asleep in the grey heat of Musutafu’s summer, he’ll think about the tinkling of your giggle, the cold water rushing over his toes, the sunlight loving you at every time of the day.

And he will remember, to come back when it gets too much.

After all, he can always get back into the woods with you.

[fayes-fics]

Atonement

Paring: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Anthony returns home early and catches you breaking his rules.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, light d/s tones, innocence/corruption kink, spanking, fingering, squirting.

Word count: 2.4k. These might as well be subtitled Faye cannot write short Drabbles

Build a blurb prompt: Anthony + 👅 smut + 😇innocence kink + 💦squirting + 🏓 spanking (from @iboopedyournose)

Authors note: Fourth 1k follower celebration fic. Betaed by the fab makaylan. This is for the lovely Emmy as she battles through her finals. I hope you enjoy <3

“Anthony!” you exclaim in shock, rapidly attempting to smooth out the bedding as he strides in, looking very handsome. He’s been away on a trip for three days, less than two weeks into your marriage, and you have missed him terribly.

“Y/n,” he greets, his brow knitting slightly, “not quite the welcome home I was expecting; why did you retire to bed so early?” he asks, obviously expecting to find you downstairs upon his arrival.

You are reluctant to speak the truth. You are not unwell or tired, not even slightly. You retired to bed to think on him, more precisely, to touch yourself and think on him. Even though he asked you not to, expressly saying he wished for you to remain untouched until his return so that you might be mindless for him. Those were the exact words he whispered in your ear as he took you on the morning he left.

He pulls off his jacket and unloops his cravat, looking at you expectantly. Like he is awaiting an answer, or at least for you to get out of bed and greet him. When you do neither, he looks intrigued.

“You seemed to call my name in surprise when I walked in. What exactly did I catch you doing?” his tone is laced with something else you can't put your finger on as he draws closer to the bed.

“Nothing,” you fib, smoothing over the bedding unnecessarily again, the nervous energy and built-up arousal making you fidgety.

“Wife,” he drawls slowly as he reaches the bed. “I know when you are lying to me,” he tuts.

Your cheeks blush hard, but you stay quiet.

“Were you… touching yourself?” Anthony questions, his pitch much lower this time, leaning over and looking deep into your eyes as you instinctually lean further back into the pillows, gripping tightly onto the cover pulled up around your neck.

“You’ve been away for three days, Anthony. I… I… missed you,” you answer honestly but with a hint of a defensive tone, staring up into his eyes.

“Hmmm indeed,” he smirks, lowering his face right over yours so all you see are his beautiful brown eyes blazing at you, making your heart pound in your chest. His gaze falls to your lips briefly, and then his hand rounds behind your neck and cranes you up slightly, your lips meeting. You make a whimper into his mouth as he kisses you fiercely, demanding entry into your mouth and swallowing your little noises. He tastes of cigars and expensive brandy.

“What did I expressly ask you not to do while I was gone?” he questions as he ends the kiss, pulling away slightly with a raised eyebrow and brushing his fingers over your face.

“Touch myself,” you exhale onto his cheek.

“And what did I catch you just doing?” He queries, resting his forehead against yours, licking his lips almost predatory. He knows; you should have guessed.

“You are home earlier than you said you would be,” you whisper, divulging the truth through deflection.

“Indeed. How many times did you touch yourself while I was away? Every night?” His questions are across your lips as you are so close you breathe each other's air, his mouth ghosting over yours as his hands are buried in your hair, holding your head.

You bite your lip.

“More than that?” he intuits. “Dear god, what have I created? I took your innocence a mere two weeks ago, and now you are touching yourself like a harlot. Is that what you are?” Anthony demands, moving to cup your jaw firmly. “Are you a naughty little harlot?” he asks again, his breathing becoming slightly laboured. His pupils dilated. His touch firmer.

“No, husband,” you whisper, this seems to be a new game he wants to play, and you are unsure that is the answer he wants from you. You so desperately want to please him.

“Hmmm, the evidence would suggest otherwise,” he hums and pulls away quickly, yanking back the covers from you.

He gasps raggedly at the sight before him. You are entirely naked save your wedding ring.

“You have been sleeping without a nightgown? Completely nude?” he growls, his eyes finally tearing from ogling your body, returning to your face. His eyes are on fire now.

“Yes, but sometimes… I… sometimes sleep with your shirts; they smell of you,” you confess quickly, lowering your gaze, almost ashamed.

“Wife,” his hand is back on your jaw, tilting your head to look up at him towering over you, standing next to your martial bed. “I think it’s time you learned when I ask you to do so something, you need to obey me. Or there will be consequences,” he warns, his eyes glittering.

You inhale sharply. “What sort of consequences?” you query, something sparking in your belly, a tang in the air that suggests they will be pleasant. His grip on your face tightens, a thumb in the divot under your cheekbone, pressing your cheek against your molar teeth.

“I will need to spank you to atone for your defiance,” he states firmly.

You gasp and stare up at him wide-eyed. You have heard rumours of this from your ladies' maid—husbands who like to provide discipline to their wives via something called ‘spanking’. You only know it as something you experienced as a child as punishment; you assume this must be something different. But you are innocent of what it might entail—yet something hot flares between your legs.

“Turn over,” he says, almost menacing, staring down.

You do as you are told, an oily feeling of fear mingled with suspense low in your belly. A warm hand touches your bare bottom, rubbing a gentle circle.

“What did I tell you not to do, wife?” he challenges his tone a little steely.

“Touch myself,” you breathe against the pillow, craning to look at him over your shoulder.

“That's correct,” his hand moves to your other cheek. “And how many times did you touch yourself while I was away? How many times did you disobey me?”

“Six times,” you exhale.

“Six times in three days?!?” he exclaims. “That is twice a day, my darling little harlot of a wife. Do you know what that means?” he checks, clawing his hand so his fingernails scratch the globe of your bottom.

“No.”

“You get one spank for every time you disobeyed me,” he tuts, “that is six spanks, three on each cheek,” he explains, his tone clipped. He leans down and whispers quickly into your ear. “Should you wish me to stop, dear wife, say red. But I really hope you do not.” As it is muttered, he is back, standing up straight.

You realise he has given you a way to stop the process should you not enjoy it. But an insistent buzz between your legs suggests you at least like the idea.

His hand raises briefly from your skin, then slaps back down, spanking your right cheek.

You squeak in surprise. Your skin tingles where he made contact, and you feel your muscles flex.

“Ohhh,” escapes your lips unsolicited. You realise this is the same action you encountered as a misbehaving child, but this experience is different—something teasing and indeed exciting. Being spanked by your husband naked in bed is a new sensation you find quite intriguing; you definitely don't want him to stop.

“I would like you to count your punishments, wife,” he lectures as his hand gently rubs where the sting fades.

“One,” you reply quickly.

“Good girl,” he compliments, and you feel a flood between your legs at his praise. Nothing brings you more pleasure than pleasing him.

The warmth of his palm is gone again then there is a mirroring smack on your other cheek. The sensation is similar, and you feel a throb at the juncture of your thighs now.

“Two.”

“Excellent. Are you enjoying learning new things, wife?” he buzzes gently, again soothing the sting.

“Yes,” you whisper quietly.

“Mmm, I thought you might.”

Then there is another spank. This one is harder than the last two; back to your other cheek. You jump slightly at the feeling.

“Three.”

Rapidly he repeats the action on the other cheek, hitting the same spot, and you feel warmth spreading there like your skin is blooming a new shade under his attention.

“Four,” you count obediently. This time as Anthony made contact, you pushed your bottom up a fraction, pushed up onto his stroke, and it did not go unnoticed.

“Oh, you are enjoying this, aren't you?” he gloats.

“Yes, husband,” you admit softly, almost ashamed but going with the feeling. He has been the person to teach you that.

“Just two more, then perhaps there is a treat I can give you, seeing as you are doing so very well with your first spanking,” he flatters, his fingers digging into your bottom a fraction as he grips your flesh.

This time you actively jump as his hand slaps onto your cheek with a sound that echoes around the walls of your bed-chamber. You make a noise halfway between a squeal and a groan at the pleasurable pain that radiates from the impact.

“Five,” you choke out.

You puff out a little air to deal with the resulting sting just as you feel his hand slip down between your cheeks and lightly brush your core. You inhale sharply, your legs parting on instinct as you press against his fingers ploughing between your lips and catching against your clit.

“Anthony,” you breathe so, so desperate for him.

“Someone is enjoying their punishment far too much,” he chuckles darkly, bending over and biting your earlobe. “I think you’ll really enjoy what comes next,” is a hot breath against your cheek.

Just as he finishes his promise, he deals your last blow. Again it is loud and on the edge of pain; you feel the sting radiate across your skin as you blow out a breath to lessen the ache.

“Six,” you dutifully end your count with a tremulous exhale.

“Well done,” he lavishes praise, rubbing your sore bottom with soothing strokes as he kisses your shoulder and up your neck to your mouth, your lips meeting in a lingering passionate kiss. “Would you like a little treat for being such a good, dutiful wife?”

Then his hand is slipping between your thighs and forcing them wider apart.

“Keep your head down but bring your knees up, please,” he orders, moving closer to your feet.

You heed his instructions without a second thought. The position feels lewd and vulnerable, your face on the pillow, your hips up high off the bed.

Anthony climbs onto the bed between your legs, and you crane your neck to look around, assuming he will remove his trousers and enter you from behind, as he has done before. You are more than ready for him, aching, in fact, from your enjoyment of the discipline he metered out.

But he does not undress further; instead, he leans over your back and places a kiss there.

“Are you ready to try something new?” he asks gently, his tongue tracing over your spine.

“Yes, husband,” you pant, intrigued.

The fingers of one hand drag across your bottom, then sink between your legs again, teasing your clit, and you gasp and push back against his feather-light touch. As you chase more, he moves, and two fingers slip inside you, sliding deep; you exhale and moan at the sensation. You make a surprised noise as he brushes a particularly sensitive spot, and you feel him chuckle quiet but triumphant against your skin. He shuffles, and suddenly, there is a rocking force on that spot inside.

“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself as much as him, an entirely different sensation blooming.

You feel his fingers moving in and out of you at rapid speed, the squelching noises he is drawing from your body making you blush even as you push back against his actions. You look around to see a handsome smug smile on his face as he pulls upright.

“How is that wife?” he inquires, his voice a touch breathless from continued exertion.

“What the….” your words die out on a long groan as your channel convulses tightly around his fingers, almost trying to push them out.

Your legs start to twitch and spasm, and he has to remind you to focus, stay up on your knees and open for him. All the while, his fingers push hard, jabbing against a place that feels like a shortcut to your clit.

“Ready?” he warns.

“What on earth for?” you wonder, but the answer comes with actions. You start squealing and clawing at the pillow, gripping the headboard above your head for dear life as your body writhes unbidden, an unrelenting pressure building up inside around his fingers. His thumb now catches your clit and flicks against it rapidly. You feel like you are dandling breathlessly over a precipice but scared to release, something foreign feeling so ready to burst.

“Let it go,” he instructs, and you break—a massive release of white-hot pleasure, exhaling a scream instead of fighting your instincts. Your core pulses in strong waves as you bite the pillow, and shudders wrack all of your limbs. You are floating somewhere both routed within and miles away from your overwrought body.

“Well done, darling, that was perfect,” he praises as you return to the room, feeling a wetness dripping down your thighs. You shift your knee, and it lands on a wet patch of bedding.

“What the…?” you whip around to see Anthony has pulled off his white shirt and is wiping his arm. “Anthony, what was that…?” you demand, “What is all this…?” you curl away from the spot, stunned by what you see.

“That is all you, darling,” he crows, gently manoeuvring your legs so he can wipe down your thighs. He chuckles as you spy the dampness on his trousers. “You made such a beautiful mess everywhere; you should not be ashamed of what happened, what I can make your body do. I could not be prouder,” he smiles.

Still not wholly comprehending, you curl up on your side, feeling spent and exhausted, and he spoons around you.

“Although I will have to sleep on your side of the bed with you tonight, wife, as you have made mine unusable. What a terrible shame,” he smiles warmly against your neck.

“What about you, husband?” you ask drowsily, feeling something hard and hot pressed up against your bottom.

“You can wake me up with your mouth on my cock,” he murmurs gently with a yawn.

“Sounds nice,” you hum sleepily.

“Yes, it truly does,” he opines as you both slip into a slumber wrapped together.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld

[player1064]

despite being a very in shape man the amount of times jamie’s ever been seen shirtless (that i’m aware of anyway) is depressingly few and i’ve always hc that it’s because of his stomach scars so maybe some insecure about his scars jamie and gary who just thinks everything about his tall hunk of a man is incredibly sexy

this ended up a lot more 'silly holiday fluff' than 'jamie being insecure' though like. he IS insecure about it u just have to look at his instagram to see it bc honestly WHY ELSE DOES HE ALWAYS WEAR A TSHIRT ON THE BEACHHHHH!!!

---

Despite the break between Premier League seasons being three months long, the reality of punditry (or at least, the reality of punditry as done by Gary Neville) is that you end up getting pulled in to cover the international tournaments, and then the off-season tours, and then the pre-season ramp-ups. Then, of course, there’s all the non-football business admin, always thoughtfully pushed to the summer months so as not to distract from the season, and the podcast is an every-week-of-the-year type of thing, so no breaks there. Which all adds up to allow for a generous two-week – at a stretch – summer holiday each year.

Gary was the winner of this year’s ‘holiday destination’ argument, so he and Jamie are at his house in Malta, spending their precious two week break doing fuck all besides sitting round the pool or wandering down to the beach. A housekeeper comes by every morning to prep their breakfasts and lunch, and they go out for dinner most nights, revelling in their ability to go out on the town unrecognised.

He's even turned off his email notifications. Sure, his assistant is still sending him any important updates, but only because two weeks is an awfully long time to be completely off the grid for, and this is the compromise he and Jamie were able to reach after another couple of hours arguing.

Today, he wakes to sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains and to Jamie, sat on the edge of the bed with a freshly brewed cup of coffee for him.

The first thing he sees when he blinks his eyes open is Jamie smiling at him, leaning down to brush a gentle kiss over Gary’s lips. “Mornin’, lazy bum,” he says, and Gary can’t help but smile back.

“Mornin’, you,” he replies, reaching his arms above his head to stretch with a yawn. “Y’sleep alright?”

“’bout six hours, yeah,” Jamie says, clearly pleased with himself. If it was anyone else, Gary would think he was out of his mind. But it’s Jamie, so he knows he’s out of his mind. And, unfortunately, while a six-hour sleep might leave Gary cranky and exhausted, for Jamie it’s almost luxurious. “Just got back from me run, the sea’s lookin’ gorgeous. Fancy a beach day today?”

Gary hums in agreement, far too preoccupied with the mug of coffee he’s sipping at to contribute much else to the conversation.

“Sound, okay then. Just need a quick shower, then I’m all yours.”

“D’you want company?” Gary offers.

Jamie scrunches his face up. “Ugh, I’m all sweaty ‘n disgustin’ though.”

“’s how I like you, to be fair.”

Jamie rolls his eyes, but he takes Gary’s hand and tugs him out of bed and towards the bathroom.

*

The beach closest to the house is a small one, but it’s only really accessible from the other handful of houses on the street, so it’s blissfully quiet. When they walk down there Gary immediately gets himself set up in a sun lounger with the book he’s been reading, ignoring Jamie’s pleas to come for a swim with him.

“Maybe later, James, leave me in peace fer a bit,” he teases, laughing when Jamie walks down to the water grumbling about what a lazy cunt he is.

This, of course, is a mistake on Gary’s part. Because when Jamie’s done with his swim, he comes over and pushes his way onto Gary’s chair, draping himself all over him while still soaking wet.

Gary screeches.

“My fuckin’ book, Jamie, th’ pages are gonna get all wrinkled now!” he complains, trying to push Jamie away.

Jamie presses closer, nuzzling his cold nose into Gary’s neck.

“You filthy, filthy Scouser,” Gary says, but he’s stopped his attempts at pushing Jamie and has instead let his hands lie still on his torso, fingers curling into the wet fabric of his t-shirt. “You wait until – oi!”

He cuts himself off, frowning at the t-shirt under his hands.

“Oi?” Jamie asks, one eyebrow raised.

“This is mine, you dickhead, now it’s gonna be all stretched out, an’ the saltwater’s gonna fade it… I fuckin’ liked that shirt.”

“Think my wallet can stretch to buy you a new t-shirt, prissy fuck.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

“I’ll buy it from Stone Island.”

Gary should probably take a moment to at least pretend to consider the offer, but he’s on holiday and maybe today that means cutting to the chase and just saying “fine.”

“There we are.”

“But you’re still not wearin’ this one, c’mon, off w’it.”

“Oh my god,” Jamie argues, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t bring down a spare, all mine are in the wash. I can’t be fucked to walk all the way back to house, Gaz, can’t y’just leave it? I’ll buy you two t-shirts, even.”

“It’s thirty degrees, Jamie, not a single cloud in the sky! We’re at the beach! Dunno about you, but I never found the farmer’s tan a particularly sexy look, you’d be better off if y’just went without.”

“Gary…” Jamie sighs.

“I’m serious,” Gary says, tugging at the hem of the t-shirt. “There’s what, two other people on this whole beach? Three? An’ I’m sure they ‘ave better things to look at than you. A mouldy log, maybe. Or what’re them fishes called, the ones with the noses? I bet y’could strip right down naked an’ nobody’d blink an eye.”

“’m not strippin’ down naked in public, lad.”

“I’m not askin’ you to.”

“You’re bein’ awful precious over a t-shirt, considerin’ what you’ve got in the bank.”

“I could give a fuck about the t-shirt,” Gary says quickly. “Now that you’ve ruined my book maybe I need somethin’ nice to look at, t’pass the time.”

Jamie looks away from Gary, a faint red flush to his face. “Find you a mouldy log, then,” he mutters.

They’re on holiday, so Gary decides he can allow himself to spout a bit of sentimental rot. These opportunities only come round once a year, after all. He slips his hand under Jamie’s shirt, rubs his thumb gently over the rough skin underneath.

“Eh, think I’d much rather look at you,” he says, soft and sweet and everything that makes him want to wash his mouth out with soap.

“Clingy, aren’t we?” Jamie says, grinning. He pulls away for a second, tugs the shirt over his head. “Y’only look at me every day of yer fuckin’ life, Christ, maybe I need t’get a restrainin’ order.”

Gary tugs him back down to shut him up the best way he knows how.

[animeniacss]

So Close Yet So Far - Mingyu x Reader - Chapter 17 - Red Means Failure

Synopsis: Your college friend, Kim Mingyu, has had a grip on your heart since the first day you met. Over the past few years, as you acquired more friendships and memories, those feelings only grew. However, recently, Mingyu has seemed a bit more distant, at least when it comes to any ideas of romance. It only gets worse when rumors fly that he's off to Japan to receive a marriage proposal! Unsure what to do, you wonder how you can keep Mingyu by your side without jeopardizing your friendship or your growing feelings. You never expected that waking up one drunken morning next to two hot angels would be your ticket into Mingyu's heart.

Genre: Romance, College!AU, Modern Fantasy, Comedy, Angsty

Length: approx. 6k words

Chapter 17 - Red Means Failure

"There has to be something we can do," Minnie said.

"Like what?" Hoshi asked. Kicking one leg over the other, his sharp eyes scanned the people sitting around your apartment. "We can't do anything."

"We can't let him just get married to her," Minnie said. "She fucked over and tricked all of us. That bi-."

"Hey. Name-calling won't solve anything." Seungkwan called out, and Minnie scowled a bit, the curse word sitting half-uttered behind her lips. He turned towards the two men sitting on the couch. "I think they're somehow taking it the hardest."

"What did she say to you that has you in such a state of shock?" Hoshi asked curiously.

Joshua looked over at the three individuals at the table. His eyes fell over to Jihoon, standing over the coffee machine. His back was turned, hands on his hips as he watched the coffee brew. "She said Mingyu and Mina are getting married by Christmas." He looked at Jeonghan, who seemed just as frazzled about everything as he did. He leaned back, pressing a finger against his lip as he chewed on the nail.

Jeonghan and Joshua had gotten you into your bed in hopes that sleep would calm you down. As you settled into bed, the comfort of the blankets made your body relax. Jeonghan and Joshua watched your eyes close, burying into your pillow. The silence was their cue to leave you be, for now, slowly making their way out of the room. Just as they were about to open the door, you commented:

"Mina heard me the night I told Joshua I loved him, thinking it was Mingyu." Joshua gripped the doorknob, both of them turning to face you. You sat up in bed once again, the blanket your soft shield as it wrapped around your shoulders.

"She heard?" Jeonghan asked softly. You nodded, and Joshua rested his shoulder against the door. Guilt caused him unable to look at you as you spoke, the door acting as support for his body.

"I guess so..." you said softly. "And Mingyu believes her. Even when I said that it wasn't true."

Jeonghan smiled. "He'll come to his senses. I think he's going through a lot, right?" You nodded.

"...He might actually love her." You sniffled, shaking your head. "How could I have missed it?" Joshua watched as Jeonghan walked back over to you, gently laying you back down and fixing the blanket at your feet.

"Get some rest. We can figure it out tomorrow." As you were falling asleep, Jeonghan led Joshua out of the room.

Joshua had no idea how to explain this to the others, knowing it would lead to many other questions that he was in no way prepared to answer. He instead shook his head. "She didn't say anything else," he said simply.

Jihoon cut through the tension when he turned towards the group. "Coffee?" he asked. "I feel we all need something to wake ourselves up." Minnie, Seungkwan, and Hoshi lifted their hand in interest, each getting their own cup. He turned to the two on the couch. "What about you guys?"

"Yeah," Jeonghan called, and Joshua nodded. Jihoon walked over and passed them both cups. The steam bubbled up towards their faces, the sensation seemingly soothing their bodies, which were still tense. Their shoulders relaxed, and Joshua immediately put the cup to his lips.

"So, is Mingyu just going to marry her and that's it?" Minnie asked. "That can't be it. Not after everything."

"We can't even get in contact with him," Seungkwan said sadly. "This sucks..." Hoshi nodded in agreement, a pout on his face.

"We can't keep sleeping on this pull-out couch," Joshua said, looking at Jeonghan. "It hurts my back."

"...Wait what?" Minnie asked eyebrow arched at his comment.

Jihoon muttered under his breath: "Oh, for fucks sake." He put his hands on his hips. "Why are all of you the ones down in the dumps? Your friend is in that room crying herself to sleep. She's asleep now, but when she wakes up and remembers that none of this is a dream, she's going to need all of us to have ourselves pulled together!" The pep talk caused a smile to form on Hoshi's face, but he immediately hid it behind the cup of coffee. He watched as Woozi ran a hand through his hair as he turned back to Joshua and Jeonghan, who were still chatting about the pull-out couch. "You guys need to make this right. If you can't do that then maybe you deserve to be stuck here. On the pull-out couch."

Jeonghan looked up at the man standing before them. "We can't break up a marriage, Jihoon." Joshua pointed out. "That actively goes against everything we stand for."

"It does?" Minnie eyed her friends.

"Don't you flirt with her constantly?" Hoshi asked.

Seungkwan added: "Joshua don't you have like a mega crush on her?"

"Who said that?!" Joshua eyed Seungkwan who only offered him an unamused side eye, sipping his drink. "Yeesh...." Joshua turned his head, trying to ignore Jeonghan and Jihoon's stare.

Jihoon sighed. "First off, they're not married yet."

"They're engaged," Jeonghan said.

"I'm starting to understand more why you're stuck here in the first place." Joshua pointed out, cheeks still red. Jihoon scoffed.

Jihoon rubbed his temples to hold back a growing headache. "If you guys don't think you can do that, then allow me to take the lead."

"How?" Jeonghan asked.

"Better question: why?" Joshua added

Jihoon smiled a bit, his long black locks swaying a bit as they grazed his shoulders. "I actually kind of like the both of them." He said simply. "It would suck if he ends up in a miserable marriage."

The sound of you opening your door alerted everyone's attention. You stepped out, eyes still red and puffy from your tidal wave of tears previously. Your face was pale, and you resembled that of a corpse rather than a person.

"Why are you all staring at me?" you asked. Jihoon turned to you and smiled in a way that immediately comforted you.

"We all have to plan outfits for Mingyu's engagement party!"

You were silent for a moment, everyone's breath caught in their throat as they waited for you to respond. "You think I want to go?" You asked softly.

Woozi pursed his lips. "Do you?" He asked.

You looked down at your feet as you thought about the answer. Did you want to see Mina on Mingyu's arm all night, people fawning over their happy future as they remained all smiles? No.

However, you thought back to Mina's statement at the estate: I'm sure he would want you there...

I just want to be with you. Whatever that means, I'll do it.

Mingyu's promise made your heart tighten. You wanted to know if he really meant that now. "...Okay." You said, and Woozi grinned.

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As the group left the apartment, Hoshi found himself lagging. He watched as his friends chatted before him, Minnie and Seungkwan planning to head towards the bus station on their way home, seeming to plan to continue their hang out even after leaving. Among the planning, Hoshi looked to his right, seeing Jihoon put his hands in his pockets. He turned to Minnie, Hoshi, and Seungkwan, smiling. "I'll see you guys, okay?"

"You're not coming, Hyung?" Seungkwan asked. Jihoon shook his head.

"Not this time. Next time, I swear." He looked at Hoshi for just a second, offering a quick wave before he headed down the opposite way. Hoshi's paces slowed, hands in his pockets as he studied Jihoon's back for a moment. A deep breath steadied his body, and he finally turned towards his friends, only to be shocked when they were staring back.

Hoshi's cheeks tinted pink as he scratched the back of his head. "I'm going to."

"Good luck, Hyung." Seungkwan grinned. Hoshi looked at his friends, only to see them motion towards Jihoon, who was heading further and further down the street. Hoshi nodded, turning on his heel and heading towards Jihoon, his pace quickening a bit as they reached the corner.

"Wo-uh." Hoshi stopped himself when Woozi turned in his direction. He looked shocked to hear his name called. "Woozi..." he finally muttered out. He motioned to the street. "Can I walk this way with you?"

"Sure. I can't stop you." Woozi said. Hoshi quickly caught up, the duo standing at the corner as they waited for the light to change from red to green. Hoshi watched the people on the other side of the street. In hopes of hiding his hands, he kept them in tight balls in his pockets. Woozi looked over. "Where are you heading?"

Hoshi shrugged. "I need to run some errands..." he said, looking away. Woozi chuckled a bit, nodding his head.

"Right," he said. Hoshi looked over at him.

"Do you think it will work?" Hoshi asked. "Whatever it is you're going to plan?"

"It should," Woozi said simply. "Mina's one vindictive bone in her body is so weak it's the easiest to break. That's a good thing."

"You're saying we're going to break her bones?"

"No, Hoshi, come on." Woozi shook his head behind a laugh. An embarrassed smile tilted at the corners of his lips as Woozi continued. "All we need to do is show her how miserable her decision will leave Mingyu. That's what she cares about, she just needs to see it."

"What if she doesn't?" Hoshi asked. Woozi looked at him once again, and Hoshi caught glimpses of that same genuine empathy he had known years prior.

"I won't let that happen," he said. "Not to them."

"Mingyu and -."

"Any of them." Woozi quickly clarified. Hoshi felt his entire body relax, releasing a weight that he didn't know was tied to his shoulders.

Hoshi's amused smile dropped when his stomach rumbled. Coffee didn't seem to be enough to settle his stomach. He looked up at the sky as it began darkening, nighttime fast approaching. "Want to get something to eat?" he asked curiously. Woozi looked over at him. "I still know a lot of pretty good places in the area." The light soon turned green, and Hoshi motioned to him. "Come on."

Woozi stood back for a minute, studying the back of Hoshi's head. He put his hands in his pockets, watching as the taller male strolled across the street. His eyes looked up to the street sign, the green sign signaling that it was ok - it was safe - to simply 'GO'. He didn't know in what context that meant in the moment, so his feet were nervous to move ahead. "Come on!" He called again, making Woozi look up. Instinctively, he began moving his legs, at a quick enough pace to reach Hoshi's side. He watched as Hoshi scanned the area, trying to determine what the best place was. "I think there's a few good burger places nearby. Or should we get pizza?"

Woozi couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows together as he listened to Hoshi rattle off ideas. Not because he was trying to think of places, but because their last real conversation from the airport the week prior replayed in his mind.

I'll only talk to you for the sake of our friend group.

Hearing Hoshi go quiet, Woozi looked over, seeing he was waiting for his own suggestions. Woozi shrugged, nodding: "Burgers sound good."

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Woozi stared out the window of the burger joint, watching the world go by before him. He could hear Hoshi at the register, and he finally mustered the strength to turn and face him. Hoshi was digging in his pocket for his wallet, smiling sweetly at the young teen at the counter who was taking their order. He bit his lip, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

I'm regretting this. Woozi thought to himself. He looked over his shoulder again. Maybe I can go while he has his back turned and-. Woozi covered his face. No, bailing is what got you here in the first place, idiot.

"Are you okay?" Woozi looked up, seeing Hoshi settling across from him with a tray of food. He reached for his first, and Woozi hesitantly followed. "I haven't been here in a while. They have great french fries." Woozi watched Hoshi reach for one as he sang its praise, popping one into his mouth. His eyes curled into little crescents and a cat-like smile danced on his face. "Mhm. Still good."

Woozi simply gripped his drink. He was still the exact same, even now.

The duo ate in silence for a few short minutes, Hoshi enjoying his food and Woozi at a loss for what he could even say. He glanced up at Hoshi a few times but looked away when Hoshi threatened to meet his gaze. "Hyung," Hoshi said, and Woozi wanted to curl up and die. He looked over. "How is your uhm..." Hoshi looked around, scanning who was nearby before he finished his question. His arm reached behind him, patting his back. "You know. From the beach."

"Oh." Woozi felt his back throb where his wings lay dormant. "They don't hurt anymore."

"It looks like it hurt when everything happened."

"It did." Woozi bit his burger and covered his mouth. Hoshi set the fry he was about to eat back onto the tray. He leaned forward, studying Woozi.

"Are Shua-Hyung and Jeonghan-Hyung..."

"You know better than to ask me that." Woozi's eyes darted up to him, and Hoshi nodded, biting his lip. It was time to change the topic, and despite Woozi not wanting to open up an old can of worms, it would be easier than sitting within the topic of angels. "I thought you weren't talking to me. Why did you change your mind?"

Hoshi only deepened his frown, pressing his fingers together. "That wasn't nice of me to say..." he said, apologetic eyes staring across the table. Woozi inhaled, shaking his head.

"Nah. I wouldn't blame you." Woozi said simply. "I deserved it with how I handled everything."

"Why did you leave?" Hoshi asked. "I would have understood."

"You saw my wings turn black and start falling off. No sane human would understand."

Hoshi smiled. "You think I'm sane?"

The familiarity of Hoshi's playful comments made Woozi laugh a bit. "Either way, it's not easy to wake up after your wings burn your back and just go 'I fell for a human instead of trying to make a contract with him and just as I was about to confess my feelings was rejected by the same human, therefore damning me out of heaven for eternity and making a complete ass of myself." Hoshi pursed his lips together, the corners turning up a bit.

"You did a pretty good job just now." He said, and Woozi suppressed another laugh. "It was really overwhelming. I didn't know how to handle everything." When he saw Woozi nod, Hoshi only pulled another fry from his container. "But it hurt me more knowing you left, and then never even bothered to contact me again. I thought I did something wrong."

Woozi shook his head. "You didn't. I was the fool." He took a bite of one of his fries, allowing the momentary break of chewing it to keep his mind focused. "This is why I won't let this go to shit. I know what it feels like to fuck up, and I know what it's like to stare the one thing you need to fix it right in the face." Woozi crumpled up his wrapper, turning and tossing it in the nearby trash can. He looked at Hoshi one more time. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you again."

Hoshi's little smile eased some of Woozi's tension in his shoulders, and he allowed them to relax. "I'm sorry I caused you to fuck up everything with my natural charms and cuteness."

"Oh God." Woozi covered his face as he heard Hoshi begin laughing across from him.

"I always knew you were cute, Woozi-Hyung." He said. "Just look at your face."

"Please, stop," Woozi begged, but Hoshi only continued to laugh. Hidden behind his hands, Woozi was unable to control his amused smile. He had found himself tasting heaven once again.

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In the weeks leading up to the engagement party, Mingyu felt more alone than ever. His father and Mina splurged and surprised them with their apartment in the nicest part of Goyang, as it was a nice distance from the school and work while giving the duo some 'privacy'. Mingyu shivered when his father worded his gift like that. He was in the living room, staring up at the ceiling. He could hear Mina in the other room, muffled one-way conversation happening. He couldn't make out what she was saying, but he also could not care less. He knew it was something about their upcoming engagement party. August 27th was closer every day. It felt like a beast, a curse that got closer and closer to him with each day Mina cheerfully checked off the calendar. She had it hung up in the kitchen, and Mingyu was forced to see the date, which she put in a multiple of pink hearts, inch closer and closer every time he woke up.

He had not been able to talk to his friends if they would even want to speak to him after all of this. Mina assured him that they would show up to their party, but he had his doubts. How could they, after their unwavering support for him and you to succeed, smile in his direction with another girl on his arm?

How could he bear to even look at some of them? His mind immediately flashed to the photos Mina had of Joshua and you from the beach house. He could only imagine how the conversation went at the beach house. His fists clenched as the thoughts threatened to come back. An annoyed string of swear words left his lips instead, hoping that would send the thoughts into the air and out of his mind. He closed his eyes, draping one arm over his eyes to keep as much light pollution out of view as possible.

Instead of the beach house, another memory took its place. The campus library is filled with tons of other students walking in and out. In front of him stood Joshua, a bitter and jealous look on his face.

Do you love her or something?!

The face Joshua made right before he collapsed seemed to be answering the same question in real-time. Confusion and shock sat in his widened eyes, lips slightly apart as if to argue something back, yet no words were coming out.

Mingyu did not catch it then, but that expression was all he needed to know that, at the very least, Joshua's feelings for you were 100 percent real. Was every hug, every comment, every playful declaration of love a real attempt at winning your heart?

I should have been more careful. I didn't think I'd end up losing in a love triangle I did not even know I was in. Mingyu covered his face with his hands. Just then, an image of you flashed in his brain, dangling your necklace in your hands just before he reached out to catch it.

Consider it a wedding present.

Mingyu could barely think of your necklace, currently locked in his dresser drawer, without wanting to throw up. I can't believe I ruined everything right after I got it. He thought to himself. Maybe I do deserve to be stuck here. Sitting up, Mingyu looked over at the sound of a door opening. Mina stepped out into view, phone still pressed to his ear. When she turned and caught his gaze, she smiled sweetly. Mingyu nodded his head.

"Perfect. We'll see you then. Thank you so much." She finally hung up on the phone, setting it into her pocket. "I finally got a hold of that pesky flower company. They promised they'll get all of our flowers there on time, and waived the delivery fee for the hassle. Isn't that sweet?"

"Uhm. Yes." Mingyu said simply. He watched as she sat down beside him, letting out an exhausted sigh.

"I can't believe after this we still have an entire wedding to plan for Christmas! I don't think I'll be able to handle it all."

Mingyu fiddled with his fingers, unsure how he wanted to reply if he even should in the first place. Finally, he did. "It'll be here fast."

"I know!" She clasped her hands together. When she finally caught that Mingyu seemed distant, she looked over. "Are you okay?"

Mingyu avoided his gaze. "Yeah." He assured. Mina smiled.

"I was thinking of taking you out for dinner tonight." She said. "My treat, since you've been so upset." Mingyu looked over.

"Do you want me to pretend to be happy? I'll be tired much earlier in the day if I pretend to be happy."

Mina sighed. "Are you still thinking about Joshua and-." Mingyu finally looked at her, serious and still eyes silently encouraging her not to finish her sentence. She pursed her lips together but ultimately decided to continue. "I know it's hard. But I think it's better this way."

"How? My father threatened to expel her because he knows how badly I'm against this." He refused to look at Mina. "Please explain how us being forced into a marriage together because of a threat is the better outcome."

"They'll be happy together and we'll be happy. We have a lot of responsibilities in our companies and they'll only get bigger when we graduate. We're going to help each other in ways only we can."

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair, nodding his head. "You seem to be the only one who thinks that." He finally rose from his seat. Mina got up as well, reaching out and taking Mingyu's hand. He turned to face her, seeing her eyes watering. He sighed, looking away. His free hand reached out and took his other, gently removing her hand from his. He stuck them in his pockets.

"Mina, I'm sorry. I can't feel bad for you anymore. That's what got me stuck here in the first place." Mina sank back on the couch as Mingyu simply walked into his room, closing the door behind him. She looked over to the calendar, staring at the pink hearts decorating their engagement party.

This is what is best. Your father said so. He'll come to his senses. Mina thought to herself, gripping her fists tightly in her hands. Just be patient with him. He has a lot going on, and he'll be grateful when you're still by his side at the end.

August 27th really could not come soon enough.

-----------August 20th, Summer (D-7 Days to the Party) --------------

"So, what's your plan?" Joshua asked. He looked over at Jihoon, who was spinning a beer in his hands. He watched the contents inside spin like a mini twister, before throwing the drink back. Joshua and Jeonghan looked at one another, shaking off the feeling of judgment that flew through their mind before Jihoon spoke.

"Simple." He said. "We make Mina feel guilty."

"...That's it?" Jeonghan asked.

Jihoon rolled his eyes. "No, that's not it." He stated. "She already trusts me, we had a bit of rapport during the vacation on Jeju Island. I know exactly how she feels. I can play to her weaknesses in a way you two won't. Make her feel real guilt over what she's choosing to do."

"...So basically, you're going to act like a devil," Joshua said eyebrows arched in surprise. "Use a human's deepest fear and manipulate them to benefit your own."

Another sip of beer before he spoke. "Is it really that different from what the two of you have been doing?" Woozi grinned when the older angels went silent. "Hehe. See? I knew it."

"It was supposed to be playful." Jeonghan tried to clarify. "Not romantic."

"Doesn't matter," Woozi said. "Not only are you trying to make Mingyu jealous by making him think you two are flirting with her or fighting over her, but it actually kind of happened to end up romantic." Joshua immediately felt guilt wash over him and he covered his face with his hand, groaning into it.

"I'm over it. Please stop bringing it up," he begged.

"I will when you two get back into heaven. Deal?" Woozi poured himself another drink. He watched the duo. "If you want to go on a date with her so badly, take her to the engagement party and make Mingyu think she's moved on." Jeonghan and Joshua stared at their fallen brother for a moment, and he only took this as permission to explain further. "If you take her and make it look like she's moved on, it'll upset Mingyu. If Mina sees him upset, she'll realize he's never going to change his mind. She's not vindictive, she's desperate to prove herself right. She's hurting too, watching the one person she can't have been so close to her yet still out of her reach."

Jeonghan glanced at Joshua when Woozi said this but turned back to the drink in his hands just as quickly to avoid being caught. "So we just need to give her a chance to have a good time."

"Sure."

"What will you do?" Jeonghan asked next.

"If I know the two of them well, Mingyu will probably try to get her alone. We want that. If it happens, I'll try to get Mina to accidentally stumble on them or something. She needs to hear the raw truth from the both of them somehow, and it won't happen if they know she's there."

"You seem pretty confident this will happen the way you think." Jeonghan chuckled. Woozi shrugged.

"If all of this ultimately fails, I'll introduce the two of you to beer." He grinned, and Jeonghan's amused smirk immediately dropped. "Do you think she still has the red dress he loves in her closet?" He asked, throwing yet another drink back.

-------------------April 27th, Summer (Present Day) --------------------

"I'm sweating. Can you tell I'm sweating?" You looked behind you, but a set of hands jerked your head forward again.

"Stop moving while I do your hair," Minnie said. "And no, you can't tell."

Jeonghan handed you perfume anyway, and you thanked him. When you looked at the duo, you watched as they stood to the side, chatting to one another. Jeonghan was wearing a loose white shirt instead of a button-up. It was under a fitted black blazer and pair of black dress pants, and he had a little burgundy corsage pinned to his chest. Joshua's hair was slicked back a bit, a few smaller pieces draped in front of his face. He was dressed in a traditional black suit with a crisp burgundy tie that he was fixing as he looked himself over in the mirror. You had to look away, this being the first time since you met them that you were unable to withstand their charms. They would make a statement at the party. "There." Minnie stepped back, and you looked yourself over. Once again you were in your favorite red dress, your hair curled this time and falling around your shoulders. You brushed some away from your ear to check your silver earrings. "Stunning, as always."

"Looking at the entire thing, I feel that this is a bit inappropriate for an engagement party." Your worries were met by a pat on the back from Minnie.

"Nah. You look fine. It's a party, just focus on having fun. Besides, if Mina says anything, then we can paint it like she's jealous. She knows Mingyu loves you in this dress." You sighed.

"That's malicious." You said, and Minnie grinned. When you checked the clock, you felt your heart speed up. "I need some air." You said, the trio watching as you hurried to the balcony, closing the door behind you. Minnie excused herself to the bathroom to finish getting herself ready, and Jeonghan plopped himself on the couch. He seemed pretty calm despite what was about to happen tonight, resting his chin in his hands.

"You can't look nervous, Joshua," Jeonghan commented, alerting his friend's eyes to him. Jeonghan smiled. "Do you think it won't work?"

Joshua shook his head. "I don't know," he said. He put his hands in his pockets. "This is kind of all my fault."

Jeonghan scoffed. "No, it's not. You didn't tell Mina to get Mingyu's father involved, or set their engagement up."

Joshua didn't seem convinced, and Jeonghan tossed a pillow at his friend. When the cushion hit his shoulder, swaying Joshua a bit in his spot, Jeonghan continued to offer a smile. "Just make sure you have a good time tonight. If we have a good time, she'll have a good time. We can do that." Joshua nodded. Jeonghan looked towards the balcony, watching you pace the length of it. Your lips were moving, but the thick glass and screens made it impossible to make out what you were saying. Jeonghan finally rose from the couch, putting his hands in his pockets. He walked towards Joshua, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll go outside and see if I can catch anyone arriving," he said simply. Joshua watched Jeonghan make his way towards the door before his eyes fell back to you on the balcony. He watched as you rested against the railing, back to his, and eyes cast down at the city below. He inhaled a deep breath as he watched you.

You seemed to have the same thought as Jeonghan, watching the street for your friends to all arrive. The cool summer air tickled your arms and cheeks, and you allowed it to soothe you. The background noise of cars and trains moving along the road was your white noise at this moment, a rhythmic tune to help calm your frantically beating heart.

What am I going to do when I see them? You thought to yourself. How can I allow myself to be happy for them when I'm not? You reached a hand up to your neck, but instead of the cool sensation of a cherry blossom charm and heart gem, you only felt your skin, warmth radiating against your fingers. You looked down, lips tugged into a tight frown. Is this the way it was always meant to be? Maybe I've deluded myself for too long.

A sudden unknown noise came from behind you, a screeching sound, and it pulled you from your temporary thoughts. Joshua stepped out, closing the door behind him. He offered you a little smile as you turned to him. "Hi," you said. "Where's Minnie and Jeonghan?"

"Minnie is finishing herself up and Jeonghan went downstairs to see if anyone else got here yet," he said. You nodded, turning back towards the railing. Joshua felt a footstep forward to approach your side, however, he stopped himself, instead pressing his back against the brick wall exterior of your apartment. He watched you for a minute. "I'm sorry." he finally said

His comment caused you to turn yourself to face him. "Hm?" you frowned. "Why?"

Joshua smiled a hint of sadness in it. "I've caused you a lot of problems when I should have been helping."

"You did not." you tried to assure, but Joshua shook his head.

"I did. I'm much stupider than I look, you know." He pursed his lips together. "I allowed this entire misunderstanding to happen because I was complicit and stupid."

You smiled. "Joshua-."

"I have almost completely ruined everything for all of us. You, Mingyu, Jeonghan, me." He sighed. "I knew being on earth for a long time, I would feel a bit more like a human. But it's scary to see just how much it's affected me." You could see the pain in his eyes as he tried to avoid looking at you. Arms crossed over your chest, and you nodded.

"Humans are scary, I guess." You said simply. "Just look at Seungkwan." Joshua laughed at your successful joke, shaking his head. "You have done a lot to help me. Jeonghan too. You both have done so much for me, I'll never be able to repay you." Joshua glanced up, watching as you tucked some hair behind your ear.

"You look nice," Joshua said. He saw your cheeks turn red and he nodded. "It'll get Mingyu's attention when he sees you. Like always." You smoothed out the dress around your hips and smiled. When Joshua saw that flattered smile fall to a frown, he followed you. "What's wrong?"

You glanced at him. "I'm scared," you said softly. "What if it's already too late? He already doesn't trust me anymore. What if I'm not good enough anymore? If I ever was..."

Joshua finally stepped closer. He pulled the little handkerchief from his chest pocket, handing it to you. "Mingyu is crazy about you. Anyone who knows him knows that." He said. "We'll fix this. I promise." You looked up at him, and he continued to offer you a comforting smile. "I can't use my power to calm you down anymore but-." he extended a hand towards you. You looked down, reaching out and taking it. He only offered one little squeeze before pulling his hand back. "I promise it will be fine. Jeonghan and I will be with you all night, so if you need someone to calm you down, I'll at least try." You laughed a bit to yourself, nodding your head.

The sound of the door caused you both to look back into the apartment. Minnie exited the bathroom and Jeonghan returned from outside. "I guess it's almost time." You said. "We should probably go."

"Right," Joshua said. You both stepped back inside and headed out the door. Before you left, you looked at Jeonghan as he fixed his hair in a mirror one last time, before turning to you.

"Do you think this will work?" you asked him. Jeonghan smiled, patting you on the shoulder.

"If not, we're going to need a place to stay for a while."

🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶So Close Yet So Far🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶🐶

Mingyu watched from the window of his hotel room as cars below emptied tons of guests, all of them flocking into the hotel and towards the hall they had rented out for the party. Mingyu looked himself over in the mirror. Usually wearing a suit and attending a party would make him smile. However, he found himself unable to prop up the corners of his lips, even just a little to pretend he was enjoying himself.

He looked out the window once more, and a sight caught his eye. He saw you and your friends on the other side of the street. Jihoon, Hoshi, and Seungkwan were meeting up with you guys, all of you dressed to the nines for the night. He felt his breath catch in his throat when he saw you arrive, quick to hug Hoshi as you all seemed to compliment one another on your outfits. Mingyu watched Seungkwan take your hand, spinning you around while Hoshi did the same for Minnie, seemingly hyping up the girl's attire to the entire friend group. He smiled a bit, wishing that he was by their side enjoying himself. He could sense the comfort and glee from across the street, despite the situation they were finding themselves in for his selfishness.

God, he felt so selfish.

Mingyu fixed the cuffs of his sleeves as he started towards the door. "Let's get this night over with." Opening the door, he stepped into the hall of the hotel. Down the hall, he could hear Mina's door unlock and looked over to see her step out. For a second, when he couldn't see her face, he allowed himself to exist in a world where another face was waiting to look at him with a lovestruck expression because it was the only way he could provide a halfway decent expression at this moment.

"Are you ready?" She asked, turning to him with a smile.

Mingyu did not know how to respond. 

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[draguta]

.fairytale of new york | three.

pairing: professor!bucky x fem!reader

summary: a semester in new york. a handsome man in a bar. whiskey neat. to the lighthouse. christmas lights. this is the tale of a whirlwind romance. a forbidden fairytale. college au.

chapter word count: 3532

warnings: smut, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, age gap (reader 19, bucky 34), student/teacher relationship

a/n: not me adding in a little smut based on one of my actual fantasies (sex in a library honestly sounds like a dream to me).

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Bucky

Bucky was in an impossible position. His career had always been the most important thing to him, that was why he hadn’t had a relationship in nearly six years. It was the only thing he had ever focused on, always telling himself that everything else can wait. There had never been a point where he’d ever questioned his priority before. But now? Now he had a problem.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. The girl that had fallen into his lap when he had least expected it. The way that their encounter had occurred, the way that the coincidences seemed to simply pile up, made him think that it was something more. He felt drawn to her in a way that he’d never had with any other girl before. Her words spoken in the bar that very first night played on a loop in his brain during his waking hours, and the sight of her face as he brought her to finish on his tongue haunted his dreams each night.

He tried not to think about her, tried to avoid her. He kept himself distracted with work, with his colleagues, but every time he received a piece of work with her name written at the top in curled cursive letters, his mind snapped back to those memories.

He really was in trouble, but not in the way that he had originally thought. Not because there was the chance of them getting caught, but instead because he actually wanted to get to know her. Because he could see himself reading late at night with her cuddled up to his side. Because he could imagine waking her up in the morning with a kiss, making pancakes for her whilst she sat on the counter beside him with a cup of coffee, wearing his t-shirt from the night before.

It made no sense; he barely knew this girl. Sure, they’d had two incredible moments of intimacy together, moments that he would cherish, but he didn’t really know anything about her, besides the fact that she liked to read and that she wanted to be a writer some day. How could he possibly be feeling something for her already, even if it was miniscule.

“James.” The voice pulled Bucky out of his thoughts, and as he glanced up from his morning coffee he found Rhodey, one of the professors that worked under him in the English Department, taking a seat at the table that Bucky had found himself at during his lunch break.

“Rhodey,” he smiled. “Sorry, I was in my own little world there. What can I help you with?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Rhodey explained. “Do you have a student named Y/N?”

Y/N

Days passed by, which quickly turned into weeks. You found yourself getting into the swing of college, the nerves that you had felt upon first arriving now long gone. You had finally met all of your roommates, from the quiet and slightly moody MJ who was studying Biology, eccentric and slightly clumsy Kate who was studying Art, and finally Shuri, who had an incredible mind according to her professor, Professor Stark, Head of Physics.

Ever since that moment in Bucky’s office so many weeks ago you had kept your distance from him. You often found yourself sitting at the very back of the lecture hall for your three lectures per week, hid behind your laptop refusing to make eye contact, and went to Professor Rhodes, another professor in the English department if you had any questions about the material. Whilst Professor Rhodes seemed rather confused as to why you would go to him and not your own professor, he was always happy to help.

You were doing well in your classes, and had become close with Yelena and Wanda, who still remained your favourite people on campus. You did everything that you could to distract yourself from him, but nothing seemed to quell the aching that you had for him. It was like nothing you had experienced for a man before, and there ultimately seemed to be no stopping it.

When you had seen him in line at a coffee shop near campus one afternoon you had rushed out of the door without him even seeing you, trying desperately to swallow down the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. You’d caught him one morning outside of the lecture hall laughing happily with a red-headed professor, one that you recognized from Kate’s course brochure as the head of the Art department, Professor Romanoff. He had his head swung back in raucous laughter at something she had said, and you couldn’t ignore the pang of jealousy that rang through your chest at the sight. You had rushed home and emailed in sick that day.

No problem, Y/N. Are you ok? Do you need anything? Let me know - Bucky.

That had been the only correspondence you’d had with him since that day in his office. He had signed it Bucky, an email from his work address, and a small moment of panic came to you, but passed quickly when you double checked and realised that he had replied from his personal account instead.

Around three days after that you found yourself in the school library. Professor Rhodes had suggested the day before that an extracurricular analysis of one of your favourite books was a great way to hone your skills, so you had taken his advice and begun work on it. He had advised handing it into ‘Professor Barnes’ for extra credit but you couldn’t bear the thought of having to speak to him face-to-face again, even if you knew that it would happen eventually.

‘To the Lighthouse’ is Woolf’s most autobiographical work of fiction, drawing on her own childhood and family experiences in the 1890s and early 1900s.

You wrote quickly and carefully, your fingers running over the keys of your laptop as if it were muscle memory. ‘To the Lighthouse’ your favourite book, the copy on the table beside you the same one you’d had since a child, filled with annotations and highlights.

Note that the title, ‘To the Lighthouse’ could suggest a journey steadily progressing towards an end goal, but what the novel actually gives us is a narrative in which that journey ‘to the lighthouse’ is delayed until the end of the novel.

You took a sip of your tea, still hot from the shop on the corner of campus, checking back to the book to compare your notes to your analysis. It was dark in the library, late in the evening, and quiet, with few students still there studying due to the lateness of the hour. But this was where you were happiest, the most at peace.

In the final section, pointedly titled ‘The Lighthouse’, the preposition is dropped, but has the trip to the lighthouse really been achieved? It has, with the lighthouse simply resembling the goals that the children have for the future, not a tangible lighthouse to visit.

“Still working so late?”

It was a familiar voice that pulled you away from your work, away from the words of Virginia Woolf and back to reality. You swallowed but your throat was already dry from the thought of seeing him. Slowly you turned, coming face-to-face with Bucky. He was wearing a button-up shirt under a dark-blue blazer, a laptop bag draped over his shoulder, a pile of papers in his arms. He looked good - he always did.

“Just some extracurricular work,” you explained with a shrug. “Someone told me that it would be a good way to keep myself on track with my work, and maybe get some extra credit while I’m at it.”

He took a step forward, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Would that someone be Professor Rhodes?”

He slowly moved forward again until he was standing beside you by the desk.

“How did you know about that?” You asked slowly, your thumbs fiddling with each other in your lap awkwardly, nervously.

“We work in the same department, Y/N. You think he wouldn’t tell me that one of my students has been going to him for advice instead of me?” He pointed out, and you had to admit it made a lot of sense. You opened your mouth to speak, but Bucky beat you to it. “I get it, I really do. And if that’s what you have to do to feel more…comfortable, then I’m ok with that.”

You frowned, taking in the words that he had just said, letting their meaning sink in. He thought that you were more comfortable around Professor Rhodes because of everything that had transpired between you and Bucky.

“You think you make me uncomfortable?” You asked slowly, looking up at him. He shuffled awkwardly before finally perching on the seat beside you, planting down the pile of papers in his hand on the desk.

“T-That’s not what I meant,” he stuttered. “But I would understand if you did.”

A light laugh echoed around the library, quickly followed by a ‘shush’ from the librarian at the front desk. Bucky looked at you with a deep frown, clearly thinking you were completely mad.

“I don’t feel uncomfortable around you Bucky,” you explained. You lowered your voice slightly for fear of being overheard, moving closer to him as you spoke. “I was just worried about you getting in trouble.”

It was Bucky’s turn to laugh, a beaming smile on his face. It was nice, knowing that his smile was because of you, not some red-headed professor. “You don’t need to worry about me, doll,” he beamed. “I can look after myself. Now, let me have a look at this analysis you’re working on.”

The two of you sat there for the next few hours, Bucky reading over your shoulder as you wrote, pointing out errors or sentences that he thought could be expanded on. Your mind drifted back to the very first day of your course, his very first rule.

“One: I am here to support you, not do your work for you. I will not push you to the right answer. If you don’t know the answer, listen and study.”

It didn’t seem as though he was following his own rule as the two of you sat in that library. He was giving you hints, edging you in the right direction, even leaning over your shoulder to rewrite an entire sentence for you, which you were certain was completely against the rules that he had created for his class. But you didn’t care. He was with you again, even if it was in an academic sense. You could smell his scent once more, now close enough for it to engulf you again, the paper, the ink, the sandalwood, tobacco, leather, the vanilla, each one filling your nostrils, almost making you forget about the paper entirely. He placed a hand on the small of your back, leaning closer as he discussed a comparison paragraph between two characters, and you could help but clench your thighs at the contact. What you didn’t realise was that Bucky had noticed it, and a small smirk began to play at his lips.

“Out of curiosity,” he said suddenly after a few hours, leaning forward in his seat and leaning against the desk, placing a hand on the cover of your novel. “Why did you choose ‘To the Lighthouse’?”

“I first read it back in middle school, and I found it fascinating how it completely steered away from all of the literature that I’d read before from the same era,” you explained with a shrug. “Woolf used her own personal memories to create a story that is so intimate and poetic, and I just thought that was incredible.”

Bucky nodded slowly, his eyebrows raised in thought. “That’s a very analytic take on it,” he said, looking at you pointedly. “But what is the personal connection?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, leaning back in your chair and taking a sip of your tea, now cold.

“From experience, when someone has a favourite book, it’s usually because there is some kind of personal connection,” he urged. “Something that makes that story, that book, so important to the person. So what’s yours?”

You paused, shooting him a small smile before looking down at the cup in your hands. “Do you really want to know?” You asked quietly, and from the corner of your eye you saw him nod firmly. “That copy there was my grandma’s. It was her favourite book when I was growing up, and she always talked about it. I never read it, but after she died I found her copy.”

You spared a glance in his direction, but he didn’t speak, sitting patiently waiting for you to continue.

“It was filled with annotations that she’d made, and when I read it for the first time, it brought back so many memories,” you explained. “Every time I reached a part that she had talked about, or a paragraph that she had quoted, it felt as though she was with me at that moment. I began adding my own annotations to the same copy, started re-reading it over and over again to get that feeling back. After a while, it simply became my go-to book, the one that I always pick over anything else.”

You looked over at him when you had finished and found that he was smiling at you. It was a soft smile, understanding and perhaps a little sympathetic, and it made those butterflies in your stomach flutter to life once more. You wanted to pull him towards you, to kiss him and tell him how difficult it was to stay away from him. But you knew that you couldn’t - it was too risky.

“You know, this is my favourite book too,” he said eventually, lifting up your copy and flicking through the pages carefully. “It was the very first book that I ever studied, the one that made me find my passion for English and for writing. I owe my entire career to this book.”

You’d never had a conversation like this with him before, but you found that you were actually enjoying it. It was nice to know that he was someone outside of your professor, that you had so much in common with him.

“Looks like I picked a good book to analyse then,” you smiled, turning back to your laptop, trying to push away the smile that was threatening to spread across your face.

He leans forward to look over your shoulder once more, but this time it’s not the small of your back that his hand goes to. Instead, it finds its way to your thigh, squeezing gently at the flesh there as if asking if it was ok. Slowly you dipped your hand under the table, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one was looking, interlacing your fingers with yours.

He leaned in close to you, his voice low, his cheek brushing against your shoulder.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered. “You have no idea what you do to me. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Turning your head slightly you realised just how close you were, close enough that you could smell the coffee on his breath, and if you moved forward even just a few centimetres your lips would be connected.

“If I’m dangerous,” you whispered back, blinking at him slowly. “Then you’re irresistible.”

He twirled his hand around in yours, playing with your fingers, glancing down at your hand intertwined with his before glancing back up at you. You knew what was running through his mind - it was running through yours as well. You nodded, and he smiled back at you, rising to his feet, his hand never leaving yours as he led you away from the desk, leaving your computer and papers behind. He let go of your hand for only a second as you passed by the front desk, with him calling a ‘hello Maria’ to the librarian, before grabbing it again as soon as the pair of you were out of sight. He led you to the corner of the room and up the metal spiral staircase in the corner, one that was rarely used, leading to the section for the older books.

“No one comes up here, don’t worry,” he explained as he pulled you down a corridor, finally finding an aisle to his satisfaction and pulling you down it.

Within a moment he had slammed you against the bookcase, his lips crushing against yours, his hands sliding down to your thighs to help hoist you into the air, your legs wrapping around his waist as if it were habit.

You both knew that you didn’t have long, and so as your hands trailed down to his belt buckle, he did the same, undoing the button of your jeans and hoisting them down your thighs as you pulled his suit pants down to his knees. He was inside you within an instant, and you both groaned at the sensation of being connected once again, his forehead falling to rest on your shoulder as your hand reached out to grab onto the shelves beside you for support.

He began to thrust upwards, rough and quick, his hips snapping against yours in perfect rhythm. His hand tugged at your hair, revealing your throat to him, and he took it upon himself to latch his lips onto the skin just below your jaw, sucking and biting, before kissing it sweetly to null the pain.

“Tell me why I can’t stay away from you?” He mumbled against your skin. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”

“Me too, Bucky,” you whispered, gasping as he readjusted your hips, meaning that he hit your spot perfectly. “T-Think about you all the time.”

His thrusts became faster, messier. The bookcase rattled behind you, books falling from the shelves with each movement, but neither of you cared. You were simply chasing your highs, edging closer and closer to the fall. You wanted to fall with him, to feel him finish with you, at the same time. You slid your hand down his arm, finding his hand on your thigh, tangling your fingers with his, sweaty hands clasped together as you got closer and closer to ecstasy together.

“Stay with me tonight.” It wasn’t a request or a question, it was a command. He was telling you that you were staying with him even if you didn’t want to. Little did he know that was exactly what you wanted. You wanted to fall asleep on his chest, your skin sticking together, his spend dripping out of you onto his sheets.

The coil in your stomach snapped at the thought, and you leant forward, your teeth digging into his shoulder slightly as you tried desperately to swallow your screams from the bliss that took over your entire body., causing him to hiss at the slight pain. He finished at the same time, just as you had hoped for, the hot seed filling you up, certain to be dripping down your legs on the way back downstairs. He cursed, mumbling your name against your shoulder as he finished, his hips slowing to a stop. You were able to see his face this time, his lips parted slightly, eyes closed as if he were seeing heaven itself. You had never seen a sight more perfect.

The pair of you stayed like that for a moment simply catching your breaths before he finally pulled away, helping you down from your perch on the bookshelf.

“Did you really mean it?” You asked, buttoning up your jeans and looking back over to him as he tucked his shirt back into his trousers.

“What?” He asked with a frown, satisfied with his shirt, and moving on to wipe the fog from his glasses on his sleeve.

“When you asked me to stay with you tonight,” you explained slowly. It was very possible that he had simply said it in the heat of the moment, passion providing clouded judgement. But he paused, looking at you as if you had just said something idiotic.

“Of course I meant it.” He moved closer, placing his hands on your arms, and you took his glasses from him, slowly sliding them back onto his nose with a smile as he looked down at you. “I meant everything that I said. I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s really becoming a problem.”

“So first I’m dangerous, and now I’m a problem,” you laughed, sliding your hands around his neck as he slipped his own around your waist. “I don’t know if I should be insulted, professor.”

Bucky groaned, his eyes squinting and his mouth curling into a smirk, and you raised your eyebrow at the view. “So, you like it when I call you professor, do you?” You asked, wearing a matching smirk. “I’ll have to remember that.”

You reached up onto your tiptoes, and planted a sweet and tender kiss to his lips, before the pair of you made your way back down the staircase, hand-in-hand.

| @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer | @moonlightreader649 |

[gr4vesrot]

artist credit

Roseville, Florida. 1992.

You have always been a Wallflower. Watching everyone's life trickle by like a character perpetually stuck on the sidelines. It was easy to come to the conclusion that you didn't actually exist, not to anyone else outside of your best friend, anyways.

Things don't happen to people like you. People easily forgotten, ignored, brushed off. So how is it that you got his attention.

How, exactly, did Ghostface pick out a wallflower like you?

Ghostface ( Dead by Daylight x Transman!Reader )

Warnings: Mild internalized transphobia, homophobic slur, light gore, 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Your beverage started to get warm in your hands, and that made it all the more painful to drink. The burn from taking one too many Vodka Pineapple shots sat uncomfortably in the back of your throat, and when you rubbed your tongue on the roof of your mouth, the pineapple’s acidity stung a little bit sharper. But, with your vision getting increasingly wobbly, and your mind a little hazy, you thought nothing of it when you threw the remainder of the shot back after sipping on it like a morning cup of tea. 

You mentally chastise yourself when you leave it sitting in your mouth for a second longer than necessary, and your face tightens in a sharp cringe. Besides you, your friend laughs, and it’s amazing that you could hear her over the music and the drunken slur of the crowd. You try to laugh back, but it’s half-hearted, your cheeks quickly coloring when her amusement grabs the attention of different strangers around the both of you.

“Stop drinking them if you don’t like them!” She leans over to speak into your ear, and your stomach does an anxious flip when the taller man standing next to you looks down at the top of her pretty head. Both of your hands come up to grip the edge of the bartop nervously after setting the empty shot glass down, nails digging into the surface before promptly yanking them away as if you got burned. Men don’t close in on themselves, men don’t act skittish. You try to get your shoulders to relax, but it looks more like an awkward slump than anything. The fog wrapping tight around your brain is the only thing that numbs you from assuming the worst. Everyone here thinks you’re an idiot. Or better yet— they don’t know you’re here at all. Alcohol had a funny way of making things more bearable. 

“I like them, I like them!” You manage a grin and wave her off, “there’s just… a lot of vodka in there.” You gesture to the bartender for one more, and your longtime companion groans. You both met fresh out of highschool, the first day of your very first job ( or for her, her third job within a span of three months ), and both of you bonded over being college dropouts. She had confided in you that the stress was too much for her, and with a shitty dorm-mate added on top of it, she had abandoned the idea of college life all together. You, however, tried to stick it out. Did your best to overcome and conquer, but sometimes ritualistic hazing is far stronger than your best could ever do. 

Five years later and you’re still thick as thieves. You both made a point to make time for each other one day a week at the very least. This week, both your availability had lined up on a Saturday night. Which in your friend’s mind, meant club night. She was far more outgoing than you, more willing to dance with strangers, made acquaintances everywhere she went, so bright and pretty. It felt like a cruel joke to even be able to stand next to her, and an even crueler one when your self-deprecating thoughts ( and jealousy ) were proved to be factual each time you went out together.

Something dark twisted in the haze of your mind when the man on your opposite side, the one that had been looking down at Jess when she leaned into you, ignored your presence all together in order to worm himself between you and your best friend. Not the first time it’s happened, and most certainly not the last. You were a wallflower. Watching as everyone’s life flittered by them without so much as sparing you a glance in return. Or when they did, when someone finally noticed you, the only thing they could muster up was confusion, disgust; As if you were a frog to be observed and dissected. The testosterone had helped, your voice deepened, your shoulders just a little more broad, and your curves not as feminine. But it’ll never make you taller, or the softness of your features harden into what was commonly associated as male. Not with the sporadic dosages you were taking; Insurance didn’t cover the injections, and you’ve already exhausted yourself over crying about it. Now, there was only bitter acceptance.

It would have been so much easier if I stayed a g— Your next shot burned extra on the way down, and you gave the bartender a glare when his back was turned. Was he putting way too much vodka in the drink on purpose? Or did he just suck? 

“I’m gonna go dance!” Jess pats your shoulder to grab your attention again, and when you turn, you’re all too aware of how the man who shoved between the two of you doesn’t even look your way. You frown, brows pulling together slightly and you bite your bottom lip out of worry. You weren’t entirely confident that you’d be able to keep an eye on her in the sea of people cluttering the dance floor, and as if reading your mind, she gives you a reassuring grin. “I’ll be back in a bit! I extra promise, okay? Join us when you’re ready!” That grabs the tall stranger's attention, and he looks down at you with a raise of his brows. Curiosity lingers there, his gaze flickering down to your chest for the briefest of seconds only to find nothing of what he was looking for, and back at your face again. The stare makes you entirely self-conscious, and as confident as you were with your binding, you still feel too vulnerable in a room packed with so many people. 

“Okay,” you relent, leaning in to whisper the last part, “if anything happens just come and find me. I’ll stay in the same spot.” Appreciation laces her expression when you pull back, and she laughs when you hold up your seventh empty shot glass. 

“Can’t wait till you get fucking drunk! Then maybe you’ll finally dance with me!” She doesn’t stick around to see your scoff, and the stranger is once again hypnotized as she pulls him along to the dance floor. The thought of being pressed up against that many bodies nearly makes you shudder, and you don’t have it quite in you to explain to her why the thought of dancing with that many people around would be your personal nightmare. You turn back to the bar, blinking when the rows of alcohol bottles and syrups begin swirling together. Yeah, maybe that seventh shot wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was easier to be drunk than sober in a place like this. When the bartender comes back around to pick up your empty glass, you barely register him asking if you’d want another, and you shake your head with a few mumbled “no”’s. The worst hasn’t even hit you yet, you could feel it, and you’d rather cool the flames before making a bigger fire. The earlier patrons have now dispersed and new faces surround you. Taking each of them in one by one, you chuckle to yourself when you have trouble focusing on every individual feature. It goes ignored, either because no one could hear you over the DJ, or they just couldn’t bother with some weirdo ominously laughing to himself. 

The multitude of colors across from you grab your attention again, and you could barely make out the words on the bottles. It’s when you’re struggling to pronounce the name on a bright, cherry red one that two girls immediately fill the empty space at your side, flagging down the bartender to order. 

“Are you sure we should even be out?” One of them says, a nervousness in her tone that you find solidarity in. “You know with… Uh, um.. The murders and all?” 

Your eyes flicker away from the bottle and down at the murky brown bartop. Suddenly, trying to read the names of alcohol bottles wasn’t all that interesting anymore. From Pennsylvania and now to Roseville, Florida, a predator stalked the streets at night. With a new killing seemingly every week, the city of Roseville was in a whirlwind of panic. The murderer, this Ghostface, had been nothing but the talk of the town. Front page of every newspaper since he arrived a month ago, and after the first two weeks of seeing his name and how he murdered his victims plastered on every news story and magazine, you figured it best to not send yourself on that downwards spiral. The last thing you needed was more of a reason to fear going outside. Besides, running into some super psycho serial killer didn’t happen to people like you. 

Not unless this murderer wanted an article titled Ghostface: A Passion for Hate Crimes? In the Roseville Gazette’s new piece about him. The thought of it has an amused smirk tug at the corner of your lips. Funny, in a morbid and should totally not be funny sort of way. 

The nervous woman’s friend sighed, rolling her eyes and popping her gum for dramatic flare. “What’s he gonna do? Come in here and try to kill every single one of us? We’re way safer in a crowd than at home. He gets ya’ at home.” 

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe you wanted to try your hand at being like Jess. Friendly, likable, and sociable Jess. You turn your body slightly, facing the two women’s direction and remembering to make your posture as welcoming as possible. Eye contact, speak from your chest, don’t be afraid. A breath in, a breath out, and you ignore the tightening of your stomach. “I think he just likes the attention,” you voice your opinion, successfully earning the two’s scrutiny. They eye you with guarded looks, the nervous one’s gaze much softer than her friend’s. The one closest to you, the gum chewer, however, drums her nails across the bartop. Your palms become clammy, but you continue. “I mean— it just seems like all the news stories and articles are what's spurring him on. A total attention seeker, just don’t give him any and maybe he’ll leave you alone.” You force a laugh, and it burns much worse than vodka ever could. 

“Fag.” 

The smile is wiped clean from your lips just as quickly as your face colors with embarrassment. Shame is dumped over you like scorching hot tar, filling your throat till you can’t speak, can’t breathe, and the heat numbs your body to the point it feels cold. Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. You’re going to be sick. There’s something heartwrenching forming in your chest that’s familiar. An old friend. Like a dumbbell weighing you down, your movements are slowed when you try to face away from them, fingers curling into the edge of the bartop again with how quickly you were shot down. The more you feel yourself drown, the louder the ringing in your ears gets. You knew it was a mistake coming here. You knew it. And the mean, petty side of you blames Jess for it. If she hadn’t dragged you along, if she knew what it was like.. 

The two women go back to their conversation; As if the word never escaped the gum chewer’s mouth, as if you had never talked to begin with. As if you were never there at all. The alcohol makes it harder to force down the humiliated tears welling in your eyes, and you’re actually thankful they no longer notice you. It’s one thing to be called slurs in public, but to cry about it right after is another brand of shame entirely. Your shoulders are slumped again, arms folding together over your chest as a means to self-soothe. You're angry with yourself for not saying anything back, for immediately losing your voice at the first sign of hostility. Not only could you not stand up for yourself, but you crumpled like a wet napkin. God, what a loser.

Like clockwork, someone comes stumbling up next to you. Too stubborn to look directly ( no way were you going to let anyone see the red rings you know are forming around your eyes ), you can tell it’s the tall guy who went off to dance with Jess by the color and style of his shirt you catch in your peripheral. The ringing was still too loud in your ears to hear what he ordered, but by the sudden shift of his posture, you could tell he was looking at you. 

Please no. God no. 

He says something, but it’s hard to make out over how overwhelmed you were. So instead, you don’t answer, and will yourself to become invisible. Strange how it works, the back and forth between your hopeless desire to be noticed, and to stay in the unacknowledged spot you were all too familiar with. 

The silence between the two of you is almost painful, but he promptly forgets your existence the moment the bartender reappears with his drinks. One you recognize as Jess’s signature order, a Bloody Mary, and the desire to leave hits you like a truck. You need to go home, you need to go and tell Jess what happened so you can both get the fuck out of this shitty night club with a shitty bartender; And away from all these shitty people. Without thinking, you move a little unsteadily on your feet right at the same time Jess’s new dance partner does, colliding into his chest face first. There’s grunts from you both, and the collision has his drinks slip from his hands and toppling down directly on top of you. The gum chewer and her friend shriek in surprise, cursing when some of it splashes against their shoes. The combination of liquids feels like thick sludge running down your hair and to your shoulders, staining the fabric of your shirt a bright red. It drips off the ends of your locks, sliding all the way down to your fingertips and creating a small puddle where you stood. 

Again, you are left speechless. Your drunken daze makes it entirely impossible to think. You slowly lift your chin up, the strong scent of what was Jess’s Bloody Mary becoming that much more powerful when it leaves red trails down the length of your face. Even without the hamster running on his little wheel to get your brain cells working, a small conscious part of you knew this was when the man was supposed to apologize. Ask you for forgiveness so he could still score with your best friend, maybe even go the extra mile and grab you a few napkins so you could wipe yourself off. But when you look up and your eyes manage to focus, he is looking completely past you, mouth babbling apologies towards the two women who were unfortunate enough to be in the splash zone. 

You do not exist.

Serial killer be damned. You’d rather brave the pitchblack streets of Roseville then stay there another second. I don’t exist, the wheel in your brain started turning again, Ghostface won’t even see me out there. Turning in a very dangerous direction.

Like a robot, you stiffly maneuver yourself away from the bar and towards the exit, careful as not to inconvenience anybody. Your promise to Jess would have to be broken for a single night, but you hoped she would understand. You hoped that having two drinks dunked over your head was enough to warrant leaving and never going back. You leave through the front without sparing a single glance at the bouncers, and the humid Florida air only worsened your predicament. Everything felt sticky and cold, disgustingly so. And you hadn’t even realized you were crying until something wet and warm served as a stark contrast to the chill sludge of your now most hated beverage in existence. Your tears dribbled off your chin, and a pitiful whine escaped your throat. Another sob turned into an ugly snort when you tried to stop it halfway. Men don’t cry. Men don’t cry. Men don’t cry. 

You try to exhale, but it comes out in a stutter, and inhaling only has the same result. Your legs move entirely on autopilot to get you home, and though you were stumbling just a tad, you still had the sense to try and determine just how long it would take you to get there. 

Only a few miles. Thirty minutes at least.. It’s okay. It’s okay. Stop crying. Men don’t cry.

You press your lips tightly together to silence yourself, and you focus on the street sign ahead as the club’s music slowly fades out from behind you. Retting LN. it reads, or at least you think it says Retting. You stop for a moment, eyes squinting up at the sign and mouth slightly parted. Left or straight ahead? You couldn’t decide. Trying to get yourself to think was like trying to connect the right wires in a generator, and you definitely weren’t a mechanic. Straight is… longer. You eye the different dimly lit stores and bars down the street ahead, swallowing hard when a group of different figures emerge from a particularly seedy hole-in-the-wall pub. 

Left is shorter. But when you turn, the pitch black that meets you feels all consuming. There’s nothing but a flickering street lamp several blocks away, and porch lights that don’t meet the sidewalk. You’ll be totally blind, minus that one street lamp. But it’s shorter. I feel sick. The chorus of laughter from the group you saw prior was getting louder now, and in a moment of drunken panic, you picked left. 

The group seemed far wiser than you. Carrying on down their path without even sparing a glance towards the horror filled shadows you decided to brave. You sway to the side, catch yourself last minute, and right yourself up again with a few low murmurs. Even you had no idea what you were saying to yourself, and anyone who’d happen to pass you by would surely think you were crazy. But the streets were empty, minus the few cockroaches you were too drunk to notice skittering around your feet. The Ghostface crosses your mind again, his mask flashing in the forefront. You spook yourself when your vivid imagination turns the mask into an actual face, morphed into a perpetual scream and his jaw begins opening wider and wider. Tearing the corners of his mouth as it completely unhinges and threatens to swallow you whole. 

A shiver runs down your spine, and you force yourself to think about something else. The lamp post is coming up quickly, and you’re relieved when its light seems to stretch towards you no matter how dim. Your saving grace, your angel; Its light was a God Send when even your own mind began piecing together horrors beyond what you thought you were capable of conjuring up. The gentle buzz of the lamp as you stood under it was a helpful distraction, and so were the bugs swarming beneath it in chaotic circles. Now, maybe, you can finally understand why the little creepy crawlies were so attracted to the light. Were they also scared of some mass murderer? Afraid his sadism didn’t stop at just humans, and he’d crush them under his boot a little too enthusiastically? It made sense, you concluded with a final nod to yourself, The Ghostface didn’t just strike fear into the hearts of the people of Roseville, but in every living creature that just so happened to be within the city limits. Or maybe, his influence had already reached outside the city limits. 

The rumors stated he had made his way from Pennsylvania to Florida, who knows where he’d go next once he grew tired of this dingy city. 

Having your head tilted back and your eyes fixated on the lamp for too long had you feeling even more dizzy than you already were, and you instantly regretted your mistake. Facing forward again had your world spinning, swaying side to side with a miserable groan. You were never drinking again, you’ve had it with the effects of alcohol. Stumbling when you don’t quite pick your foot up all the way, inches away from the line that divided illumination and the shadows from a moonless sky, there was a loud clatter from behind the picket fence that separated you and the yard it came from. Startled, you curse, the exclamation echoing off the silent streets. It’s followed by a gasp when your foot slips off the curb of the sidewalk, and you finally go tumbling down on your ass for the first time that night. The road’s gravel bites into the skin of your palm and your forearm when you try to catch yourself, and there’s a sharp sting against your thigh when it rubs against a few loose rocks as you try to right yourself too fast. Your mind can’t keep up to your body’s instincts, and your feet don’t seem to work right even when you finally manage to pick yourself up. 

You run with awkward, clumsy movements across the street. Your heart beats heavy in your chest, so hard you can feel it in your throat. It feels like you’re choking again, your arm and palm hurts, your thigh is rubbing uncomfortably against your jeans. But it was all left ignored. You had to escape, you had to run. Run from what? You try to rationalize. It was just a noise. A raccoon, a stray cat. The Ghostface doesn’t care about a nobody like you. 

Though, none of your rationalizing mattered. Your legs had a mind of their own, carrying you down different streets and letting fate be your guide. The dark blinded you, and like a moth to a flame, you began following the flickering lights of the back alleyways subconsciously. A stupid move on your part, wouldn’t it have made more sense to stick to the shadows? It would have made for an easier escape. That is, if you even were being chased by anything. Or anyone. 

You had no idea where you were by the time you stopped, wheezing as you tried to catch your breath. The muscles of your legs ached, and your side cramped with each inhale. If you didn’t feel sick before, you really do now, and a gag bubbles up your throat that turns into a short, dry cough. All that running made you absolutely parched, and your own saliva did nothing to remedy it. Leaning against the alley wall for support, you take this moment to collect yourself. There was nothing but the sound of your own breathing, nobody reaching out from dark corners to drag you into Hell, and certainly no masked killer choosing you as his next victim. Your laugh comes out as an amused sigh, your exhaustion doesn’t allow for anything more. 

The night was full of embarrassment. But at the very least, there was no one to watch you sprint around like a mad man. 

You blink slowly, giving yourself all the time you need in order to process where you are. You’ve already given up on getting home in a timely manner, and instead focus on trying to get home in general. There’ll be no more scaring yourself, no more wild imaginations, and no more brainlessly staring at street lights. Step one, get yourself out of the alleyway. “Yeah.. yeah..” You mutter to yourself, rubbing both your eyes. You’ve forgotten how sticky your face was, and you pull your hands back with a soft “ew.” Most of the alcohol spilled on you had dried, but it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. The top of your head still felt wet, your clothes stained far past salvation, and you smelled awful. You fucking hate Bloody Marys.

Lifting yourself off the wall, you decide to head straight. Might as well finish what you started, and there was a right turn calling your name. Further into the busier part of Roseville, the back alley’s nearly acted as a maze, but you were certain that finding the road again would be much quicker after taking that right. Where you got this confidence from, you weren’t sure. You’d never been the back alley type, not even during your edgier phase in high school. You walk with the certainty of someone who wasn’t seconds away from pissing their pants just moments before, shoulders back and posture straight. You’ve had it up to here on your metaphorical limits chart and the next fixation on your mind was a nice, hot shower. Rinse the day off next to all the red sludge dunked over your head, forget those unfortunate interactions at the bar, and carry on the next few days like nothing happened. Your hand and arm would heal, you’d apologize to Jess for leaving her at the club, and you'd rid yourself from any thoughts about Ghostface. 

You refuse to live your life filled with paranoia. Not again. 

Something strange sounds ahead, just around your chosen right corner. It makes you hesitate, but you swallow that fear and chalk it up to nothing. Nothing! Your self assured pep-talk wasn’t about to go to waste, and the worse it could be was some crazy drunk wandering around the back alleys at night. So someone a lot like you. 

If that was the case, you’d simply turn around and go the other way. 

Your hands balled into fists, determined to see it through. The sounds got louder the more you approached; odd shuffling, was that a… groan? And someone is talking. One person, or two? You couldn’t make sense of it, and now you really, really wish you hadn’t taken so many of those shots. In a desperate attempt to prove yourself, you march faster towards the corner, figuring that as long as you didn’t give yourself time to tuck your tail between your legs and scurry off in the opposite direction, you’d come out accomplished. If you could face this, you could face anything. That’s how it worked, right? The gum chewer woman comes to mind, and you vow that if you could walk past whatever lurked in the shadows of this maze with your head held high, you’d be able to do the same when confronted with people like her. 

You round the corner without giving yourself a moment to think. No time to pause and really listen to what was being said. To what was being done. The heat from the alcohol leaves your body entirely, and what feels like the ice cold body of a snake coils around your limbs to make you immobile. The breath you were holding chokes you, but you can’t even manage a cough. Your hands and legs grow numb, your eyes warming with tears. 

Things like this didn’t happen to people like you. You were a wallflower. A nobody. Hardly visible to anyone outside of Jess and your boss when he needed you to cover someone on your days off. The grotesque wet noises pierce your ears and threaten to draw your attention away from the dark figure standing only a few feet in front of you. A gloved hand wraps tight around the handle of his blade, the other gripping some new, poor victim by the front of their hoodie. One last groan and spurt of blood dribbling past their lips, their legs give out and they slump in the man’s hold. But you can barely register any of this. Not when the ghastly, white mask slowly turns to peek at you from under its hood, locking the hollow of its eyes on you. 

It sees you. 

He sees you. 

Ghostface slips his knife from the fresh corpse with ease. Crimson drips from the tip of it, and he makes no sudden movements. Neither do you. A silent understanding, if you run ( run, run, run—! ) he could easily catch you as you are now. Drunk, fastened to where you stand by fear alone. He moves with such brilliance, the fluidity of a cat, a hunter. The casualness of his regard for you shows the depth of his cockiness. The black holes of his mask suck you in far deeper than the shadows of the path you’ve chosen, and this is the second time in your whole existence that you’ve experienced what true fear is. The frigid bite at your rapidly beating heart, the feeling of T.V. static crawling up your skin and to your horrified expression. You can do nothing but stand there, gaping, as a mass murderer fully turns to look at you. 

He sees you.

Read the rest on AO3 !!

[vampirewritesonweekends]

'self-restraint' - Miguel O'hara X reader NSFW fanfiction

Length: 4.3k

Pairing: Miguel x Reader (I tried to keep it gender neutral)

Rating: 18+ only please, mdni

Summary: Miguel leaves his fight with an insatiable bloodlust still in his system. His options are; destroy half of headquarters in a blind fit of rage, or take this pent up aggression out on a streamy session with reader. Primal/animal instincts.

You felt a weight get up from the other side of the bed. It was still early. Far too early. You grumbled over, feeling for Miguel. ‘Mhm-?’ was all you could really manage in your half-awake effort. ‘Go back to sleep.’ He muttered quietly. He sounded tired already. ‘It’s… so early. It’s still dark out…’ You mumbled. ‘I know. I’ve got some stuff that needs taking care of.’ You felt his hand touch your hair lightly, telling you that he didn’t want to leave either. His hands were always warm. It was that warm touch that betrayed his cold exterior.

‘You need to sleep sometimes too, y’know…’ You leaned your head up into his hand. He was already showered and dressed in his suit. He’d clearly been up a while. ‘If the fate of the Multiverse didn’t depend on me… ’ He started.

‘You lose everyone with that ‘fate of the Multiverse’ spiel, Miguel…’ You laughed, trailing off into a yawn. You felt the warmth of his hand leave and soon heard the bedroom door close afterwards. 

You soon drifted back to sleep, missing Miguel, but ready to enjoy a few hours of having both sides of the bed. 

Miguel hadn’t slept much that night. Well really, he never slept much any night. He’d stayed up staring at the ceiling for long enough, he’d figured he may as well just get up and go to headquarters. If he was going to be awake anyway, he should just do something productive. He’d dragged himself out of the bed, careful not to wake your sleeping form. He couldn’t sleep, but you on the other hand, had no issue sleeping at any given time of day. How he envied you for that, but at least it meant that you hadn’t didn’t have so many things keeping you up at night. He sighed. 

Miguel stepped on to his platform, ‘ Lyla. ’ 

She appeared almost instantly, darting about with far too much energy for Miguel’s liking at that time of the morning. 

‘Mornin’, Miguel!’ She replied, ‘Jeez. You look rough.’ She tried to tease but he ignored her comments. He pulled up several orange screens in front of him, his dark red eyes analysing each one. 

‘How many did we have last night?’ He asked, already typing on various screens. At least his coffee was almost ready.

‘Three. Jess has taken one of them, local spiders are working on the others.’ Lyla replied, sliding different screens over to Miguel to look at.

He took a long sip of the bitter coffee, ‘Do they need back up?’

‘They haven’t called for it yet. I have two spiders on hand ready for if they’re needed.’ Lyla shrugged. They were able to contact for help if needs be, or even if they just summoned her she could send someone out for them right. Miguel went back to the screen he was looking at.

‘Alright.’ He replied.

‘Peter’s sent you 36 pictures of Mayday if you want to see them.’ 

‘Delete them.’ He muttered into his cup. Lyla zipped over to Miguel’s ear.

‘What the magic word?’ She asked, knowing full well that he wasn’t in the mood, ‘Come on… You gotta say it.’

Miguel sighed, his eyes closing for a moment as he pinched the bridge of his nose,  ' Please ...Delete them.' He couldn’t deal with thinking about all of that this morning. 

Lyla swiped the message away on the orange screen in front of her, 'Okay! Done!' She replied with a shit-eating grin. Someone had to put Miguel in his place, and by god if no one else was going to do it, Lyla would.

Miguel went back to the screen that he was working on, staring blankly at the information in front of him. No one would do it if he didn’t, he told himself time and time again. He took a long sip of his coffee, the bitter taste waking him up a bit.

'Miguel? The spider on Earth-832 has just requested back-up. I’ll send one of the two on standby.'

Miguel was already putting the coordinates for the dimension into h is watch. If he wants something done right, he has learned that he should just do it himself, 'No. I'll go.'

'You sure, Miguel? You've only just-' Lyla started but was abruptly cut off by the sound of the portal opening. Miguel walked through it without saying another word. Lyla shrugged, 'Okay.' 

A portal appeared in headquarters, sliced open by a set of bright red spinnerets. Miguel appeared through it, dragging an anomaly tied up with thick cords of red web. Miguel panted hard, dripping blood onto the floor with each step. He was almost on all fours, even after the fight had ended. Talons and teeth still bared.

'Lyla! Lyla!! ' He half-growled. Miguel threw the anomaly onto the ground in front of him, groaning as he launched the weight ahead of him. Lyla appeared, and then promptly moved out of way when the anomaly was thrown, ‘Have someone get this.’ The anomaly seemed as rage-filled as Miguel, angrily fighting against the red webbing that was incapacitating him. It had clearly been one hell of a fight. A disc appeared underneath the anomaly, caging him in a structure of red light. 

Lyla zipped from side to side, clicking on different screens as different devices started scanning Miguel and his vitals. Miguel shooed one of the devices away.

'I’m fine , Lyla.’ He muttered, taking no notice of her concerns.

'You’re losing blood. Miguel, go to the hospital wing.’ She told him, he was always so dramatic.

 Miguel ignored Lyla, already typing in his coordinates onto his watch, 'I'm going home… Contact me only in an emergency.'

'You need medical attention. I'll have someone come here-' She started but was promptly cut off.

'If anyone asks for me, tell them I died.' With that, Miguel disappeared back through the portal that had appeared in headquarters. 

'Okay.' She shrugged nonchalantly. She hovered over the anomaly, zipping around him, guess she was left to clean up his mess as per usual. 

You eventually rolled yourself out of bed at 9.30am. It wasn’t like you had much to do today anyway. You had just planned to give the apartment a clean and sort through some of the stuff you had brought over from your dimension. It had been a difficult thing for Miguel to live with some again, so you didn’t want to rush him all at once.

You thought of Miguel at Headquarters, gripping his coffee and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as another anomaly or stupid prank tested his patience. Miguel struggled to take a joke nowadays, but you couldn’t exactly blame him for it. If you worked all day, everyday with people who thought they were the stand up comedian of the team, you were sure you’d lose it too. 

You’d passed most of the morning doing nothing in particular. The apartment was clean by 12.30pm, since Miguel was pretty good at keeping things tidy in the first place, so there wasn’t much to clean anyway. The only time the tidiness tended to slip was if you were both out of the apartment house for days on end. You didn’t technically live with Miguel yet, but you were in the slow process of moving in, so you liked to try and keep on top of things since he was always out at work.

So you’d run yourself a bath, determined to do nothing else with your day except for maybe watch some TV and cook dinner for the both of you once Miguel had returned home that evening. 

You wondered what sort of day Miguel was having. You pictured him standing in line at the cafeteria around about now, choosing between the lesser of two evils when it came to what he was gonna eat that day. Little did you know, you were also on the menu. 

Just as you were dry and dressed, you heard a portal opening in the living room.

‘Home already?’ You asked, getting up from the bed. You walked into the living room, expecting to see Miguel exhausted on the sofa.

You weren’t quite prepared for the sight before you, Miguel looked like an animal. He was bent over, panting heavily, his eyes bright red, and his fangs bared. One of his hands clawed at his side, which was still dripping blood onto the floor. His head snapped in your direction, and he was immediately towering over you.

‘Oh my god, Miguel! you’re bleedi- Ah! ’ You were cut off by Miguel crashing his lips against yours. He backed you up against the hallway wall, gripping at your jaw to tilt your face up towards him. He wasn’t usually so rough. His hands were grabbing at your hips, your waist, your ass. He could concentrate enough to retract his talons to touch you, which you were very grateful for. You lost yourself in his kiss, literally taking your breath away. Your bottom lip grazed up against his fangs and produced a small bead of blood, a subtle reminder that Miguel wasn’t entirely human. Sometimes that fact escaped you, but you were very aware of it right now. 

He pulled back, letting you gasp for breath. It was the first time you’d gotten a proper look at him. Miguel was��frantic . He was still high on bloodlust, eating away what was remaining of his humanity in that moment. 

‘Miguel! You’re hurt, let me patch you-’ You started, but was promptly cut off.

‘Ignore it.’ He snapped, ‘I need to…’ He half-panted, his breath hot on your neck. He pressed rough kisses against your skin. He scrunched his eyes shut, desperate to continue. Miguel was already so close to giving in to his animal instincts, and you had no intention of stopping him if this was the outlet he needed.

‘I know… It’s okay.’ You nodded. Miguel didn’t wait for further approval. His lips found yours again just as your hands found their way into his hair. You ran your fingers through his dark locks, pulling gently. You traced your hands along his neck, down his shoulders, and along his back, reaching down to palm him through his suit. He was already hard. Miguel bucked his hips against your hand, needing more.

Breaking the kiss, you slid down the wall and dropped to your knees in front of him. You watched as Miguel’s spider-suit dematerialised, freeing his erection. You swallowed at the sight, half-wishing you had been given a chance to flex your jaw before this. You knew Miguel was big , but it still intimidated you to know you needed to take all of him. 

Miguel couldn’t wait any longer, pressing his tip to your lips. You knew how desperate he must have been, since he never usually let himself finish first. He always took care of your needs before his own, so you knew somewhere in his consciousness that he would be feeling pretty selfish to be using you like this. Once again, not that you minded. You opened your mouth for him, taking him one inch at a time. It was no small feat. He pushed his dick all the way into your mouth to the point you were beginning to gag around it, and then held it there for a few seconds. He hissed slightly as he reached the back of your throat.

‘Fuck…’ He groaned. You massaged him with one hand, and held onto his hips with another, guiding him to find a rhythm that you could adjust to.

Miguel started to pick up the pace, throwing his head back as he let out sighs and groans whenever he hit the back of your throat. You gagged around him. It was uncomfortable having his cock in your mouth all at once, but you’d live. Hopefully. Miguel pushed himself into your throat again and again, the back of your head hitting off of the wall with each thrust. Miguel began pushing you away with his hips and then grabbing you by the hair to roughly pull your mouth back onto him. 

‘Ugh… ’ He groaned. It was taking every ounce of his self-restraint to not take you then and there against the wall. He lost all sense of himself and grabbed your own head with both hands, using it to fuck himself with, ‘Yeah… Don’t fucking stop.’  

Soon, the taste of salty pre-cum pooled over your tongue, coupled by the erratic nature of his thrusts, so it was obvious he was starting to get close. You could see the breathlessness on his face as he started to sweat a little. He looked upwards, as though he was praying for something. Miguel’s rabid movements got more aggressive as he started to groan, grabbing your head with both hands so he could fuck your throat more easily. You wiped the spit from your chin and Miguel took the opportunity to grab both of your wrists in his hand, pinning them above your head. 

‘Shit…’ He muttered. Miguel thrust again, and you felt his hot cum slide down your throat. He forced you all the way down onto his shaft as he came, burying himself in you to prolong his high. You looked up at him, his eyes scrunched together in concentration as he rode out his orgasm, still fucking your mouth through it. You choked around him, your jaw aching from the overuse. Miguel pulled out of your throat and you gasped for breath. You breathed heavily, spluttering and wiping the tears from down your cheeks.

Miguel barely gave you a minute to collect yourself before he scooped you up off the floor and threw you over one of his huge shoulders. 

'M-Miguel?' You asked, a bit confused as to what was happening.

'I'm not finished with you.' That was all Miguel said as he carried you through the apartment towards the bedroom. 

Once you were in the bedroom, you were dropped onto the bed unceremoniously. Miguel's large hands were already grabbing at you, eager to relieve you of your clothes. He yanked your bottoms and underwear off, half tearing them in the process. You looked up at the looming figure above you, feeling exactly like a prey animal unable to escape their hunter. In a way, you were his prey. Miguel was still filled with bloodlust, and he had been unable to satiate it any other way than taking it out on you, one way or another. You figured that this was most definitely better than destroying half of headquarters in his rage. 

You reached a hand towards him, to try to touch the bruises and wounds he had gotten in his fight, but he beat you to it and crashed his lips against yours once again. You tasted a little bit of blood on his tongue, it must have been a nasty fight for Miguel to be so banged up. You reminded yourself to scold him later on for not seeing to his injuries before coming to find you. 

He roughly kissed along your jaw, trailing down onto your neck. He left a flutter of violet love-bites in his wake, a physical manifestation of his desperation in that moment. His hand was shaking slightly; trying to find the concentration to keep his claws retracted while touching you. Miguel must have decided that it was too much effort to pull your t-shirt over your head, so ripped straight through it. You were about to complain, but the feeling of his fingers finding their way in between your legs took any coherent thought that you might have had away.

‘Mhm…’ You breathed out, already so willing to melt against him and offer him everything. The sight of him looming over you like that, just like a beast, was almost too much for you to bear. Your thighs were shaking already. All that you cared about in that moment was the feeling of his fingers roughly exploring your folds and rubbing up against your clit, ‘Fuck- Miguel… You feel so good.’ 

Miguel kissed your bare chest, leaving goosebumps wherever he touched. He worked his way down and pushing your legs apart to make enough room for him. You gasped when you felt his lips press against your thighs, and then groaned when you felt his fangs. You waited, breathless in anticipation for when he’d finally touch you again. Surprisingly, you instead felt a sharp pain pierce into your skin.

‘Ah!’ You tried to sit up and see what had happened, but Miguel pushed you back down onto the bed. Immediately, the area started to tingle and numb

‘Just- Just stay still.’ Miguel retracted his fangs into his mouth. You felt his venom crawling from the bite mark and spreading through your leg and upwards through your body. It was fact-acting, and you were damn glad that it wasn’t lethal. Instead of your neck, his mouth now left those same dark love bites on your thighs, holding them in a vice grip on either side of his head so that you couldn’t squirm away from him. Not that you could, even if you wanted to, Miguel had made sure of that. He looked up from between your thighs, a wild look in his eye, daring you to even try to move away.

Miguel grabbed each thigh and began to get worked up again, losing himself to the sight of you spread for him. 

‘Did you fully bite me- Ah!’ but you barely got to the end of the sentence before his tongue was exploring your folds. You made it known whenever he brushed up against your clit, choking out his name in broken sighs until he focused all of his attention on it and sending your oversensitive nerves to heaven and back. He was rough, forceful, and fast, but he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Miguel had always been a gentleman, and made sure that you’d finished first before he fucked you. He was clearly trying to continue that, but it was testing the limits of his self-restraint to not already be inside of you. 

After a few minutes, his fingers entered you pressing up against your walls with the same rhythm he was licking at your clit with and verging on the edge of overstimulation. With concentrated effort, you managed to throw your hands into his hair, grabbing at his dark locks while you needed something to hold onto. You knew it spurred him on to have his hair pulled, even if he complained about it occasionally, but you knew he liked it nonetheless. As if on command, he groaned into you as you pulled his head closer to you. Miguel smothered you with kisses, burying his face exactly where you needed it to be. 

‘A-ah….’ You moaned, craving his fingers to move harder, faster. Miguel knew your body well by that point, and could tell that you were needing more. Miguel’s fingers began to pick up their almost ruthless pace as he busied his mouth with overstimulating you. It didn’t take long for Miguel to drive you right to the edge with the pressure in your abdomen building quickly. He groaned against you, desperate to get you off and already hard again. He could tell how close you were as you started to tighten around his fingers. ‘I’m gonn…’ You moaned,  ‘Fuck…Ah!’ 

The pressure that had been building so quickly inside of you suddenly snapped. Overwhelming sensation wracked your body as Miguel continued to pleasure you through your high.You threw your arms back onto the bed, panting. You tried to move away from Miguel’s face, the overstimulation continuing all the way through your orgasm. However, you found that Miguel’s venom was still affecting your legs so you couldn’t get away from his mouth; resulting in you being completely at Miguel’s mercy while his pace had not slowed down. He didn’t torture you like this for too long thankfully, he needed to be inside of you again as quickly as you needed him to be. He pulled his fingers out of you and at once you mourned the loss of them.  

Miguel leaned over you, as breathless as you were. He held your legs and wrapped them around his waist, then lined his tip up against your entrance. Your legs were slightly too numb to use on your own, but you’d mastered use of your arms again; they’d just tingle slightly for a while. You cupped his jaw with both hands, gazing into his hungry face. There was undeniably lust in his eyes, but also a prominent need to hunt his prey and find an outlet for the animal instincts that had taken over him. 

‘You’re… so difficult to restrain myself around, mi vida.’ He sighed, his breathing ragged and desperate. 

‘Then don’t…’ You whispered in his ear, pulling him closer. Miguel couldn’t wait any longer and started to thrust slowly into you. He tried to be as patient as possible since he knew it wasn’t easy to take his length. His wild lips found yours in an instant, distracting you from the slight wince of pain as you adjusted to his size. You nodded when you were ready for him to start moving, and Miguel did not waste a single moment after that. 

He started slower to let you get used to him and quickly picked up the pace. Miguel’s fingers were nothing in comparison to his cock. He pushed yout thighs further apart so that he could thrust harder.

This position let him hit you at a different, deeper angle and it made you entirely unable to process anything other than letting out cries and moans after every thrust. He pounded into you again and again, it was clear that Miguel was getting closer because his pace was growing uneven and frantic, desperate to find his own orgasm inside you.

Hearing him groan so loudly was wonderful, it felt like a drug, with him being able to lose control like that pushed you closer and closer to your own high. You heard each time his breath caught in his throat, and how he would hiss whenever he would hit you at a new angle.

He was an animal, wild and erratic. You figured you ought to be lucky that his DNA wasn't crossed with one of those spiders that eat their mate after fucking them.You knew that Miguel didn’t like completely losing himself, letting those primal instincts take over any remaining logical part of his brain. He’d probably beat himself up afterwards for using you like this but at this point, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop even if he tried. 

‘¿Te gusta eso? Beg me for it. ’ He teased, watching for your reactions.

‘Please…’ You muttered, trying to piece a coherent thought together as he pounded into you again and again and pushed you closer to the edge once more.

‘ Louder.’ He growled, something raw from deep in his throat. It barely sounded like the  Miguel you knew at that point.

‘Please… Miguel-’ You cried, utterly mindless for anything except for the sensation of him inside of you. It didn’t take much of this before the pressure inside you snapped and you cried out his name in pleasure. Of course, Miguel didn’t stop and continued to fuck you all the way though your orgasm because he hadn’t cum yet and was still a wild animal chasing his own satisfaction. The way your walls were squeezing and fluttering drove him feral and nearly made him finish inside of you, but he wasn’t ready to let go just yet, he needed more of you. He was struggling to hold himself together and you heard his talons tear into the fabric of your bedsheets, unable to concentrate on retracting them. He managed to hold on to his own orgasm until yours  had finished, and then he continued fucking you.

Miguel continued groaning as he got closer, relishing in the remnants of your high. He threw his head back, gazing down at you. He wanted to look at your face before he came inside of you.

‘F-Fuck! ’ He choked out, ‘Dios mío-!’ Miguel leaned down to kiss you as he came, moaning into your mouth and filling you instantly. You felt his fangs graze against your bottom lip, threatening to pierce the soft skin. You didn’t care. You didn’t care about anything other than the ruthless thrusting of the man between your legs. 

 A litany of broken Spanish mumbled into your ear, Miguel too lost in his high to remember a single word of English. His muttering then eventually turned into soft whimpers as he came down from climax. Miguel pulled out of you and collapsed down onto the bed, sighing as he caught his breath. You rolled over to lay on his chest, panting beside him.

Your legs would need a little bit of time to recover before you could go and get cleaned up, but you knew Miguel would at least help you to the bathroom since it was his fault that you couldn’t really walk in the first place. It was quiet for a moment, the only sound in the room was the sound of laboured breathing.

‘Feel better?’ You laughed, seeing how much he had calmed down now that he had released that pent up aggression. 

‘Are you… hurt?’ Miguel asked eventually, not wanting to look at the bruised bite mark that he had made on your inner thigh. He should have had more self-restraint than that, he didn’t like losing himself like that. His eyes fell onto your arms, where he hadn’t realised he was squeezing so tight, or how dark the love-bites on your neck were. If he had been able to hold himself back even a fraction , you wouldn’t have been bitten and bruised. You pressed a kiss onto his shoulder and reached a shaky hand up to his face. 

‘I love all of you, Miguel, don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m fine.’ You leaned up to press a chaste kiss onto the corner of his mouth. You knew he was sorry about it, even though you didn’t really need him to say it. You had thoroughly enjoyed yourself. You poked a bruise that had formed on his abdomen, ‘Come on, you need bandaging up.’

[kining-the-evil]

A Little Bit Crazy

(Jason Dean x Sawyer!reader)

Summary: Y/n finally gets the chance to speak to the infamous Jason Dean, and finds they have quite a bit in common.

Warnings: the use of a gun, lack of guilt, cursing, smoking, no active killing but you see the aftermath of a kill.

‘Fuck my life,’ you thought to yourself while standing in the empty diner. It was almost 1 in the morning, and you couldn’t close until 3. One fuck up and your parents had you working at a local diner for the foreseeable future, which was bullshit. Veronica was lucky you hadn’t snitched on every mistake she made to make her suffer along with you.

“Get off your ass Sawyer!” The cook in the back yelled at you. He was an old man who always worked these shifts, and he seemed to go out of his way to make you uncomfortable.

“Fuck off Mike!” You yelled back while flipping him off. You continued to mess with your nails until the familiar sound of the doors bell rang out.

When you glanced up you saw the new kid from school, James Dean. You had never spoken to him, but your sister and her friends had talked to him. Veronica had even gone on a date with him, but according to her diary, he was a phyco.

You were intrigued to say the least.

Once he sat down at the counter you got up and walked over to him.

“Well, nice to meet the famous Jason Dean,” you spoke while pulling out the note book and pen.

“Famous? Never heard that one before.” He flashed you a smile, an eyebrow raised at your words.

“Famous enough to get multiple pages in my sisters diary,” you informed him with your own smirk.

He stared at you for a moment before seeming to place who you are. “You’re the other Sawyer.”

“Story of my life,” you chuckled. “Anyways, what can I get you?”

“What are you working here for?” He ignored your question for his own, which you didn’t judge him for. You’re parents were struggling, and you didn’t have the responsibility of others. You were a stoner who hated everyone, not a kind waitress.

“This is my parents attempt to teach me ‘responsibility.’” You put air quotes around the word responsibility, earning you a small chuckle. “Coffee?” You held up the pot, grabbing a cup when he nodded.

He never bought anything else that night, but he sat there for two hours until the diner closed and you closed up. Mike never stayed to help.

Once outside he offered you a cigarette, which you took. Once between your lips, he lit it before lightning his own.

“How do you get home?” He questioned, but once he did a car pulled up.

“Your lookin at it,” you mumbled. The car was being driven by Veronica, and had all three Heathers were in there.

“Well, I suppose I’ll leave you to it,” he gave an exaggerated bow as well as a wave to the car before he went to get on his bike.

You watched him while taking a drag from your cigarette.

“Y/n! Come on!” Veronica yelled. You rolled your eyes and walked over to pull the car door open, sitting next to Duke.

During the next few days you and Jd never approached each other at school, but every night he would show up at the diner, order a coffee, and talk to you. You found yourself waiting until 1, excited to speak to him. You both found that you agreed on a lot of things. Society, others at school, and all of the bullshit with it.

“They are, exactly the same,” you spoke while whipping down a table. They in question were the Heathers. “And Veronica is on her way to being just like that.”

“I thought she was the good one?” He was sprawled out on one of the booths. His feet were propped up, cup of untouched coffee next to him, and that damn trench coat still on despite the high temperature.

You snorted at his comment, shaking your head. “She’s Just another bitchy, popular girl. She can pretend to be as nice as she wants, but I know her.” You vented, scrubbing harder at the table. You couldn’t help the hate for your sister, she was smart enough to see through the bullshit and yet she became a part of it.

Jd just watched you as you continued to wipe the same spot over and over. You both got so caught up in your heads that you didn’t realize people were here until the small bell rang.

You glanced up and openly cringed at the group. All three Heathers, Kurt Kelly, and Ram came in, and you were surprised by the lack of Veronica.

You made a face at Jd before walking over to them. You simply stared at them, note pad out.

“You know, a waitress is meant to be helpful,” Chandler commented. You forced a smile at the five of them.

“How can I help you all?” You spat at them. You could smell the alcohol on their breath, and they had obviously came from a party.

“A plate of fries,” Ram finally told you, and you wrote it down.

“Anything else?”

“Cofffee,” Duke added. You nodded and walked away. You hand the order to Mike before grabbing a cup and the pot of coffee. You quickly sat the cup down and filled it for her, and luckily they didn’t say anything else to you.

You held the pot up when walking past jd, but he waved you off. Once the pot was back in its spot and you checked on Mike you went back to where jd was. You didn’t talk nearly as much but you both gave each other little looks, causing small chuckles.

“…ya, he went on one date with Veronica. It was a mess.” The two of you tensed a bit, hearing the slightly louder conversation. “I guess he went crawling to the easy Sawyer.”

“Can you blame him? I’d hit that too,” Kurt commented.

“Order!” Mike called, and you were thankful to go grab it.

Once at the groups table you practically threw it down. “Enjoy.” You put on a exaggerated smile before turning away. “Bitch.”

“What did you say?”

You turned back around, leaning down to get in Chandler face.

“I. Said. Bitch,” you said each word slowly. You stood back up, and finally walked away. But once again, you stoped when you felt something hit the back of your head. You glanced down, seeing a fry that had been thrown at you.

You spun around, ready to beat the shit out of someone, but you felt an arm grab your waist.

“Ladies, ladies. Let’s all calm down here.” Jd spoke over your shoulder, looking at the people in front of you.

“Look at you two, the bitch and her freak,” Chandler joked.

With jd so close to you, you could feel his arm slid into his trench coat. He seemed to find something, and you felt something metal against your back. A gun.

Chandler noticed what he pulled out, glaring at him. “Are you going to try and scare us with a couple of blanks?”

“Maybe,” he pointed the gun at the ground by their feet and pulled the trigger. You jumped lightly, your eyes wide at the spot where a bullet had ricocheted off of the floor. It had been loaded.

He The pointed the gun towards them. “Did that scare you?”

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” one of them snapped while getting up. They were quick to leave, and once the door closed Mike came out from the back.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Go home Mike, I’ll close up.” You didn’t Look back at him, still stuck at the spot on the floor.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” And with that the man was gone.

You turned to look at jd, seeing him scratching his head with the gun.

“Holy shit,” You mumbled, running a hand through your hair. “Holy shit!” You had a smile on your face, and you couldn’t help but laugh. The adrenaline felt addictive, like you would do anything to feel like that.

“That was fun,” He smiled himself while running his tongue over his bottom lip.

You figured it was the adrenaline, but you thought ‘what the hell’ and grabbed his jacket to pull him into a kiss. Without missing a beat, he returned the gesture. His own hand, without the gun, went to your hip as he kissed you.

Eventually you pulled away, the need to breath to strong. “This,” your hand ran up to grip his with the gun. “Is too fucking hot.” You didn’t think he could smile any larger at your words. “Should have shot this bitch in the head.” You chuckled.

“I agree.” He stated, completely serious.

“You sound a Little to serious,” You glanced questioningly at him.

“I’ve got a question.” He didn’t seem to react to your words. “How are you at copping people’s handwriting like your sister?”

——————

You couldn’t believe it, Heather Chandler lay at your feet. Dead. The note sat on her nightstand you had spent the night working on.

“How do you feel?” Jd looked over your shoulder at the body, his hands on your hips.

“I feel fucking great.”



[whumpsmith-participates]

Medwhump May 2024

Day 16 - Coma / Self-inflicted

TW: Self-harm, eating disorder, minor whumpee (17), vomit, throwing up, intrusive thoughts, compulsions

@medwhumpmay

Erick wasn't always a picky eater. There was a time in his life where he didn't put any thought into what he ate, so long as it was tasty. As he grew older, his relationship with food got more complicated, to the point that it impacted his health. Erick didn't remember much about that time of his life, only when it came back to haunt him...

"Are you sure you don't want anything more to eat, dear?"

"No, thanks, Ethel, I'm stuffed," Erick said, shielding his plate so she couldn't try to give him more food.

Sometimes Fetch left on a job without Erick, leaving their landlady and downstairs neighbour to look after the teen — which happened to be her favourite activity.

She invited him over for dinner each evening, cooking all his favourites and then some. He didn't get to eat as much with Fetch, his meals were simpler and...well, bland. Meanwhile Ethel happily spent all afternoon in the kitchen to make large meals from scratch and somehow managing to avoid foods that Erick couldn't eat.

He didn't have allergies, but he couldn't eat certain foods. Having been sick too often when he was younger, scar tissue in his throat made it harder to swallow certain textures, and Ethel did her best to memorise most of them.

So Erick ate a lot more when Ethel cooked for him, and after about three days of eating her dinners, he couldn't take it anymore. He didn't even know why, he didn't know last time either, but he couldn't bear the thought of eating anymore. However, he couldn't say no to Ethel either.

So he ate his fill, growing more and more anxious with each bite, managing to excuse himself before dessert by saying he was tired, and quickly fleeing back up to Fetch's apartment. Once he was alone, he collapsed, easily succumbing to the pressure of intrusive thoughts and the anxiety to act on them.

Erick hated throwing up. The pain in his throat was unbearable and the inability to breathe as his whole body convulsed with each heave had him clinging to the toilet for dear life — But he had to do it. Even if he stayed up all night as a result, wrecked with guilt that he tried to ignore by distracting himself with the fine art of cleaning.

Come morning he was exhausted. With no sleep, an empty stomach and a full head, he tried his best to get ready for the day, yet when he opened the door for Ethel so they could have a cup of coffee together, she could tell right away that something was amiss.

"Oh dear! You look as pale as a sheet, Erick!"

"I do? I-I mean...yeah, I've been a bit sick last night, so I didn't get much sleep," Erick said.

"Oh you poor thing!" Ethel said, "do you want me to make you some soup, dear?"

"No, thanks," Erick quickly said, "I-I'm still queasy. The thought of food alone...might get me started."

"Well at least let me make you some tea! It's important to stay hydrated!" Ethel said, "you should go lay down too, what are you doing out of bed?"

"Fetch should be coming home today, I should tidy up and get some things from the store—"

"You'll do none of that!" Ethel said sternly, "go lay down."

Erick couldn't say no to her. He felt guilty laying on the couch and doing nothing while Ethel brought him tea and dusted the apartment a little. She even went to the store and got them some supplies, before leaving him to rest before Fetch would return.

Of course Erick didn't rest after she left. He had to at least look busy when Fetch got back, else he'd be accused of being lazy and ungrateful, and he was anything but!

Luckily Fetch didn't care much about what Erick had been up to when he got home. All he cared about was a cup of fresh coffee and a shower. Then he looked through the fridge, trying to think of something to make for dinner.

"Since when do we have so many fresh vegetables?" he asked.

"Ethel," Erick just said.

"Why am I not surprised..." Fetch sighed, "How about a stir-fry?"

"I'm not really hungry," Erick said.

"Your loss," Fetch just said, "at least help me out and chop this carrot for me."

Erick stepped over towards the kitchen counter, taking the carrot Fetch handed him and putting it on a cutting board, before finding a knife and beginning to dice the carrot just the way Fetch liked it.

"How come you're not hungry anyway?" Fetch asked, "late lunch?"

"I dunno," Erick said with a shrug.

He did know, though, but Fetch would never understand. Erick wasn't even entirely sure he understood. He only knew there was a chance he would throw up again if he ate a meal, and he hated throwing up. So to avoid that, it was easier to just avoid eating.

And Fetch let him get away with it.

This wasn't the first time Erick avoided eating for no reason whatsoever. (At least in Fetch's eyes). But he usually snapped out of it after a day or so, when the misery of starvation got too much for him.

But this time he seemed to be holding on for a bit longer. Fetch knew he was prone. The episodes he'd seen before, his inability to swallow some foods. It wasn't hard to put one and one together, but he wasn't sure what to do with the answer.

He also couldn't help but to be curious. After everything the teen had been through, why would he even consider choosing to do this to himself? Though, logically, Fetch knew he wasn't doing it just for the kick. He wasn't that dense. He knew compulsive behaviour was inherently irrational — But it still made him wonder. What happened in his childhood that started this whole cycle in the first place?

Enough was enough, though. He knew to put an end to it when the starvation was beginning to impact the teen's health. It had been three days, though Fetch wasn't sure whether it started the day he arrived home or perhaps even sooner, but for him it had been three days.

Erick was helping Fetch carry some groceries inside, when he suddenly collapsed about halfway up the stairs. He'd already been feeling sluggish all morning, had tried to compensate with an extra strong cup of coffee, but he still ended up feeling faint. Something about making the turn from grabbing a bag from the van to walking up the stairs got him dizzy, and he nearly fell, so he opted to sit down instead. His heart was pounding painfully against his chest, the dizziness gave him a headache, and the headache made him nauseous.

"What are you doing?"

Erick looked up, squinting a bit as the bright sky hurt his eyes. Fetch was standing at the top of the stairs, having come out as Erick was taking longer than usual to make it upstairs and inside.

"I-I don't feel so good, sir..." Erick admitted.

"Ya think?" Fetch just said.

Erick winced. Fetch usually softened up a bit when he got unwell, but today he seemed to harden instead.

"What, were you expecting pity?" Fetch said, "you did this to yourself, kid."

"W-what do you mean?" Erick asked.

"You know what I mean," Fetch said, "come on up, I'll make you something to eat. And you're going to eat all of it."

Erick gulped, taking a second to compose himself before pulling himself back to his feet and heading upstairs. Fetch sat him down at the kitchen table taking the grocery bag from him and pulling out some canned food.

"You want spaghettios or chowder?"

"I-I don't..."

"Erick you gotta eat something," Fetch said sternly, "why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

"...I don't know," Erick said quietly, "I-I just don't wanna throw up..."

"Why would you throw up? You sick?"

"I don't know," Erick said, "but I hate it..."

"So you just don't eat 'til you pass out just to avoid throwing up?" Fetch asked.

"I...I-I guess..."

"And what makes you throw up?" Fetch asked, "an allergy? The texture thing?"

Erick looked down at the table, fumbling with the hem of his shirt. He didn't answer quick enough in his hesitation, so Fetch slammed his fist on the table, making the teen flinch.

"Answer me!"

Erick gasped, blinking back tears, still hesitating.

"I...I do..." he said quietly, "I-I do it to myself..."

"Why?"

"I don't know!"

"Fucking hell— I don't have time for this," Fetch said, before slamming an unopened can of spaghettios on the tabpe, "eat these, and if you try to throw up after, I'll stop you."

"But—"

"Don't."

"...y-yes, sir..."

"And drink some water, and you're going to bed early. You'll need some rest to regain your strength," Fetch continued, turning back to the counter to put away the rest of the groceries.

Erick slowly pulled the can on the table closer to himself, beginning to try and pry the lid open while listening to the rest of Fetch's rant.

"Y-yes, sir..."

I really struggled with this one, because it's hard to portray this flavour of self-harm that ties in with the medical setting sadfa (also hard for personal reasons haha) — please let me know if I should add more TW's

If you or a loved one are struggling, please research local support options. 🙏

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