#again another useless fact if this turns out right

[star-stilinski]

Hiyaaa! I got a request because it’s literally HAS NOT LEFT MY MIND but can we have stiles getting hard over anything reader does wether it’s cause the icecream she’s eating is slowly melting onto her boobs or litch anythinggg aswll, and she finds out and and yk what 😛😛

IF NOT ITS TOTALLLY FINE !!

yet another ask sent in so long ago (sept 2nd)... had to take a break from a dif ask to pop this out because with those pics of dylan in a black suit with the glasses... i need him carnally

absolutely NOT proofread. do i even have to tell you atp? (18+ below the cut!)

THERE IS UNPROTECTED SEX IN THIS FIC. I DO NOT RECCOMEND. IT'S NOT FOR THE HOTNESS ITS BECAUSE THEY AREN'T EXACTLY HAULING A BOX OF RUBBERS TO THEIR FRIEND'S HOUSE OKAY.

☆

at first, stiles didn't even notice it. the way his heart would race and his cheeks would flush; he was used to having that reaction around you. so used to it, in fact, that he had stopped letting it be a distraction. you'd giggle at his joke or look up at him through your lashes and he'd blush, fidget, move on. like his own little routine.

what got distracting was when he had made the sudden realization one day: you're hot.

the two of you had been friends for so long, crushing for almost that whole time, that by the time stiles looked up and saw you in your bikini, it was too late to turn back. he was a goner.

literally-he was out of lydia's backyard and in her half bathroom downstairs before you could even ask him to help with your sunscreen.

holy shit. he gripped the sink, glaring at his flushed reflection. get yourself together, perv. so she's got nice tits. really, really nice tits and thighs that could suffocate you and jesus her hips-

no! nope, no no no nonono. it is way too early for this. get real. she's seen you recite the entire opening crawl of the force awakens. she is not going to do that with you- woah! or that! get it together. get it together. get it together.

and so stiles marches back out where you and your friends are gathered, playing marco polo. you glance at him and smirk in that way the tells him you're totally cheating, only proven true when allison calls out "marco!" and you slide past her in the water without joining in the choruses of "polo!"s from all over the pool.

stiles stiffens. your goddamn smirk.

this is going to be a loooong day.

☆

and it was. a long day that ended in his right hand wrapped around his cock and a fantasy he wouldn't repeat even if there was a gun to his head.

but that was over, and it was three days later, anyway. the pack was meeting at the movies to see a new romcom, which the girls were excited for, and the guys were... hoping it had a good soundtrack. it's not that they didn't want to go, it's just that their time- well, stiles' time could be better spent on things like useless research and avoiding his homework. that was his mindset walking into the theater.

now, he's about three inches from having no mindset at all. you're sat next to him, too close for him to remember a single detail of the movie, and you're wearing a tank top. low cut. lace trim on the top. prettiest color he's ever seen.

and stiles can see straight down it.

every time he glances over at you, whether it be an excuse of reaching for the popcorn or making a joke or listening to you talk, he has a view down your top right to where your tits are pressed together, rising and falling subtly with each breath. he wonders what the smooth skin of your breasts would look like covered in hickeys. he imagines the sounds you'd make if he had you pinned down, mouth enveloping your pert nipples. he-

he gets up a little too hastily when he rushes out of the theater, into the quiet hall.

"god," he mumbles, tugging his own hair. "fuck."

he has to will his blood to cooperate before he can show his face again.

☆

it's getting worse.

stiles is chewing on the cap of the marker he has in his hand, eyes darting all over his murder board.

"wouldn't they hunt in packs? this fable here, it reads... stiles?"

stiles turns on his heel, watching you now as you sit on his bed. he's been avoiding looking at you lately, since just recently he had a close call when you hit your knee on scott's coffee table and whined a dramatic 'ahh', leaving stiles to imagine that noise, that face you made in other scenarios.

it's been harder (ha, ha, yeah, no pun intended. he's struggling.) when you asked to come over and help with some research he was doing after a meeting with deaton. you sat all pretty and focused on his bed, twirling and tucking and sometimes tugging your hair when you read out of a book he had borrowed (stolen) from the argent's.

so when he looked at you now, it was with great mental strength. especially when you started rattling off a really smart point he didn't think anyone else would notice that he had realized twenty minutes ago, giving him some time to zone out and watch as you gather your hair behind you, tying it up in a ponytail while you look up at him through your lashes. giving him a second to imagine you looking at him like that with your lips wrapped around his cock, letting him guide you by the ponytail-

stilinski! great. mental. strength.

he turns back to the murder board and nods, eyes squeezed shut as he feels the familiar heat spread all over and his jeans get tight. "yeah, that's- i know, that's a good point."

he hears you shift, the way you get noticeably quiet. "stiles, are you... is everything alright? you seem off."

he shrugs, nods, shrugs again. swallows. "yeah. just a bit tired, that's all."

he can feel your disbelief, but he'd rather feel that then disgust. you both sigh at the same time, and the evening moves on.

☆

it's pretty much every time he sees you now. he's a mess, unable to choose between relieving himself and willing his dick to cooperate. you've made a mess of stiles, and he's dying.

you're wearing leggings today, talking to scott while stiles watches from the bench. coach is barking orders at a couple of stray lacrosse boys, and stiles is lucky enough to have dodged his attention this evening.

game night is usually when he's free of the hold you have on him, too busy gnawing on his goalie gloves and tracking scott across the field. but you and allison showed up early (curse scott and his happy relationship), so his pea-sized brain has time to imagine sliding the buttery fabric down your legs, kissing exposed skin as he goes. he'd definitely pay close attention to your thighs- he thinks about those more than he'd care to admit, and he's aware of how idiotically insecure of them you are.

because of his train of thought, he doesn't realize you've caught him staring until it's too late. you're prancing over excitedly and leaving scott to smirk at stiles all knowingly, and stiles resists the urge to flip him off.

"you gonna play, 24?" you nudge his foot teasingly with your own. he looks up at you and feels those telltale signs as he mentally traces the line of your jaw with his finger, both of you panting softly as he coos at you while you whine pathetically. he has to blink away the thought before he can speak.

"um, i hope not. it's an important game." he leans back a bit and you tilt your head, clearly mulling over your next words. he fills the space in the meantime. "but if i do, i'll be sure to keep away from the ball."

it's music to his ears when you laugh. finally, finally he's blushing about something normal, having regular fantasies instead of these hormone fueled pornos that seem to be on repeat in his head lately. he smiles up at you and you take a small step closer to being in between his legs.

"i don't mean to bring it up so randomly..." you avoid his eyes, fiddling with your hands. "but i was just wondering if i've done something to upset you?"

he blinks. "what?"

"it's just that you've been distant and honestly, you're acting kind of like you're allergic to me. if i did something or there's something going on just tell me. it's kinda driving me crazy." you ramble, brows drawn together in discomfort.

stiles' eyes widen and he shakes his head, standing. his heart skips a beat when you have to tilt your chin up a bit to keep his eyes. "no, of course not. i didn't know... i guess i've... it's just-" he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. how is he supposed to explain this? 'oh, hey, girl i've been super into for a pathetically long time, i've been imagining what you'd look like if i pinned you to my bed and drove us both insane from a sex marathon! that's cool, right? not objectifying at all!'

you frown, crossing your arms. "just tired?"

it's bait, he knows it is. the same excuse he used less than a week ago to keep you from figuring him out. you're a clever girl and he's stupid when he's horny, so he has to play his cards right here. if you think he's lying, things will only get worse and there's a hefty chance you'll distance yourself. but if he tells a lie a little too well, you're going to be around him constantly again. either way, he's starting to wonder if he's a masochist from the amount of pain he's going to inflict on himself.

"it's nothing, really. i didn't mean to get distant." he clenches his jaw as he gauges your reaction, which is a less-than-ideal-but-not-terrible pout. he wants to smooth the lines of your forehead with his thumb and make you laugh again, but he has to focus. "let me make it up to you?"

you turn your face away (very, very not good) and huff. "no, don't worry about it."

stiles cringes internally and bites the inside of his cheek. how can he un-dig this hole he's in? "no, no, i want to. i shouldn't have made you worry. that's my fault. i'll pick you up tomorrow, we can get food. my treat."

you turn back to face him, and the way your bottom lip just barely juts out tells him you're playing it up, but he doesn't mind. he's come to realize that you like to feel earned, and he's more than happy to earn you. he takes a breath, eyebrows raised. "what are you thinking?"

you drop the pout (much to his relief, he was just starting to imagine you using that face on him when he makes you tell him exactly what you want him to do to you) and put your hands on your (perfect, sexy) hips. "i'm thinking that if you didn't mean to get distant then it was subconscious, and it's going to be more of an effort to be around me than not."

so clever. god, you're so hot when you use critical thinking skills.

stiles sighs and shuffles a bit. "yeah, okay, i can understand where you're getting that but it's wrong-"

"but it isn't. you've been proving it right all week and-"

"hold on, no i haven't, i've just been-"

"-you definetly lied to me in your room a few days ago-"

"-there's no way you're actually believing-"

"STILINSKI!" coach's voice booms over both of you, halting the beginning of an argument that probably would have only turned stiles on more. he whips his head around to where the entire team is gathered, and realizes he was so wrapped up in you that he tuned out everything around him, including the team rallying together to talk strategy before the game started. he blinks, distantly hearing you mumble a mortified "oh." and skitter off, leaving stiles to be completely embarrassed alone.

"would you like to join us or are you too busy harassing the young ladies in the general area?" coach's tone is strung with impatience, eyes wide.

"ah..." stiles glances to the spot you just stood in and then back to the team. "no, coach, 'm coming."

"fantastic." he drawls, before turning back to the team and continuing his rant. stiles is half-listening, half-daydreaming about 'making it up to you' in many different ways, positions, and places. for many hours.

yeah, he's dead. for sure. you're killing him.

☆

although making it up to you currently involved a lot more clothing and a lot less begging, stiles was having a really good time. sat in his room, arguing about book to movie adaptations, both of you holding your own milkshakes. with all his time spent avoiding you out of... sex-driven fear? he really forgot how much he enjoyed your company.

"you wouldn't get it," you shake your head stubbornly as he stands and sets his milkshake on his desk so he can use the dry erase board in his room. "you don't read books."

"i do-"

"yeah, i don't count the bestiary."

"that's besides the point, anyway. i don't have to read the book to know whether the movie is a good adaptation or not!" he starts writing down movies he knows are heavily based off of books while you crawl across his floor to his desk, sneaking a spoonful of vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. he's too busy to notice that the half-melted treat dribbles off of the spoon and spills above the cut of your tank top (the same one as the movie theater, actually) and onto your exposed thighs.

"fuck." you hiss under your breath. stiles turns to see what caused your quiet outburst, but his brain screeches to a halt at the sight of you.

perched on your knees, you're glaring down at the mess that's been spilled on the top of your tits and thighs, white sliding down to the line where they're pressed together. stiles doesn't even blink, just stares with a slightly open mouth at the sight of you. a small noise leaves his mouth and he can feel the tent in his sweats, but he's a bit frozen.

you look up when he makes the strangled grunt, looking caught with his milkshake in your hand, as if that's his issue right now. "uhh... whoops? i swear, it just flew into my hand! how crazy is that...."

your joke trails off as you really see his face. his eyes are dark and hungry, almost predatory as they sweep over your body, hanging on the spills that you made. his mouth shuts and his jaw clenches. his hands are curled into restrained, white-knuckled fists. and...

he's hard as a fucking rock.

it's easy to tell, with his grey sweatpants, and you feel your mouth water at the sight.

"it's fine." he mumbles, voice dry. you take a second before you realize he's talking about the milkshake. both of you are bright red. you force out a breath and he seems to come to, turning back around quickly. "uh, s-so, harry potter-"

"is that because of me?" you blurt, getting hotter in the cheeks every second.

"is... oh. um, i'm sorry, sorry, fucking hell-" he's not facing you.

"stiles."

stiles quiets, turning to face you finally. your stomach swoops and you shuffle barely closer. his adams apple bobs.

"yeah. it... it is"

that's it. a simple confession, but it feels like a chord being snapped between the two of you. your confidence grows. you made stiles like that.

"are you gonna do something about it?"

his head snaps up, eyes wide as he looks at you. "you want me to?"

"why else would i ask, stiles?" you sound almost exasperated, like he's taking to long. he swallows and drops to his knees in front of you.

stiles. is crawling towards you. on his knees.

"are you... do you really?" he's close, so close now. looking into your eyes like they'll answer for you. like they contain every 'yes' you've been too scared to whisper.

which, honestly, is probably not far from true.

"i do. i really, really, d-"

his lips are on yours before you can finish, one hand cupping the back of your neck to bring you closer. you let out a muffled noise of surprise, mouth opening on it's own accord as stiles takes the kiss deeper, tongue exploring your mouth hotly.

"you're impossible-" stiles gasps, going in for more before he can finish. "-to be around-" his teeth nip your bottom lip. "-when i can't have you."

his lips leave a wet kiss on the corner of your mouth, so passionate that he misses, and he continues that trail onto your neck until he finds the spot that makes you squirm. his hands go to your waist, pulling you closer and knocking your knees together. you feel dizzy with want, barely registering his words.

"what-" you gasp, blinking and leaning into his demanding mouth. "what is that supposed to mean?"

stiles groans against the skin of your neck, kissing lower, closer to the sticky mess you made just minutes ago. "i can't think... can't even... fuckin'... breathe when you're near, look so pretty. j'st wanna make you-"

he interrupts himself again, opting instead to lick the ice cream off the top of your tits like he's starving. you gasp as the feel of his tongue against your skin, pressing your thighs together to try and relieve some of the sudden pressure shooting down your stomach to your core. he's barely making sense and he still has you all foggy brained, swaying just a bit under his touch.

"you-you've thought about this? befo- oh-" you stumble, as he tugs lightly against the low cut to give himself better access to the sweetness melted onto your skin. he laughs, seeming to clear up a bit.

"yeah. you kidding me? i've basically been-" he's kissing back up your neck now, seeming to track a path to your lips. "-perpetually hard for the past three weeks."

you swallow thickly and he captures your lips. stiles tastes like vanilla ice cream and it's the most tempting sin, luring you over the edge. enticing you to do things you'd normally pretend you weren't into. he runs a hand down the side of your body, squeezing your hip lightly. "you're torture, you know that?"

"i could say the same to you."

he smiles at you, like a sap, like a saint. you feel your mind fall into his hands and your heart nestle against his ribcage. you no longer belong to yourself. you never have. and neither does he, it seems, as his eyes wander all over you.

"wanna move to the bed? i can clean up your thighs..." his tone is low, clearly suggestive in a bad-pickup-line way. you nod, giggling girlishly and stiles hauls you up to gently lay you back on his bed, tugging your tank top off on the way. his eyes linger on your chest before moving along, kissing a wet trail down your body as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. "god, look at you. you're gorgeous."

it's not like you're wearing lingerie and sexy makeup- you went to stiles' place to lounge, so you're wearing your lounge bra and some comfy shorts. stiles looks at you, though, as if you invented beauty. he sighs contentedly as he pulls your bottoms off slowly, eyes drinking in your stomach and hips and thighs like you're the first woman to have them. once he's got them far off enough, his hands press your hips back down and his eyes meet yours.

"not to late to back out. well- obviously it's never too late, it's just... okay, this is me asking for consent. i was trying to make it sexy, but it sounded a bit rapey."

you laugh breathlessly and nod at him where he stands, towering above your almost-naked form. "stiles, please stop talking and fulfill both of our fantasies already."

stiles grins and tugs his shirt halfway off before stopping abruptly. "wait, both?"

you roll your eyes. "stiles, why would i be so... so..."

"obedient?" he offers with a cocky smirk. you flush.

"agreeable, if i didn't want this?" you nibble your lip as he pulls his shirt the rest of the way off his body, getting on his knees at the edge of the bed and spreading your legs. your body moves pliantly under his hands. the sight of it all is downright promiscuous.

"well," stiles presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. it would be sweet if not for the sinful way his eyes are preoccupied with the wet spot on your panties. "i heard girls find consent sexy. maybe i screwed that one up a bit. what do you think is sexy?"

he asks in that absent tone that tells you he's storing away information as he kisses further up the inside of your thighs more fervently. you let out a breath that feels too shaky too early and watch as his pink tongue swipes out to lick up some ice cream spill. it makes you clench around nothing.

"any day now." his hand is gently rubbing your thigh as he moves to lick and suck almost crudely at your other thigh.

your eyes narrow slightly. "gimme a second."

he gets closer to where you're literally soaked for him, nibbling lightly at the plush flesh of your inner thigh. you shove down a low whine of impatience to avoid your already growing embarrassment.

"your attention to foreplay is- i like it." you admit softly and he hums, licking a stripe of ice cream out of the way. taking a second to think, you continue. "i like the... the desperation. how you took me without really... um... i like it when you just do what you want, i mean."

it's difficult to form a single thought once stiles presses a kiss against your clothed clit, being sure to add plenty of pressure. almost like a reward. "what if you don't like what i want? will you tell me to stop?"

you nod, chest rising and falling heavily with every breath. you glance down at stiles, and a small sound leaves your lips when your eyes catch his hand down his sweats, slowly stroking himself. he flushes.

"you.... can't i help?"

he lets out a small moan and his eyes flutter as he halts his movements. "i don't- i don't have a condom."

against all better judgement, you shake your head and thread your fingers through his messy hair. "it's okay. just pull out, yeah?"

his brows shoot up, and you wonder for a moment if he's about to cum in his pants. but then he nods and rises, standing in between your legs now. his fingers deftly tug off your panties, pocketing them in his sweats (for safe keeping...) and his lips part silently once you're exposed to him.

your legs begin to close, feeling suddenly too naked and too insecure for his hungry eyes, but his hands catch your knees easily, even giving you a little tap as a sign to scoot further onto the bed.

before you comply, curiosity takes over and you tug at the strings on his sweatpants. "wait, what about you?"

he tilts his head. "what about me?"

you narrow your eyes, fingers dipping under the band. "can i take these off?"

"oh!" his brows shoot up, as if he forgot about himself altogether. "oh, yeah, of course. please."

you waste no time pulling his bottoms off, his cock springing out. it's flushed and leaking, looking properly erotic in the dim lighting of his room. your eyes flutter up to meet his and you wrap your hands around him, pumping twice.

stiles moans, hips twitching into your hands on their own accord. "holy shit."

part of you just wants to finish him that way, positively fucking hooked on the look he has, pleasure pinching his pretty face all tight. he pants and pulls your hands away, eyes squeezing shut for just a moment. "y're gonna make me cum, holy shit."

"i'm sorry, you just..." you fluster, laughing a tad at the both of you. he shakes his head, though, so you fall silent and let him crawl over top of you, kissing you deeply. he unhooks your bra with a bit of struggle and you both have to cooperate to get it off of your body.

"don't be sorry, i've imagined that so many times it should be criminal." he kisses you again and you feel his fingers graze along your stomach. stiles pulls back far enough to see your whole face and you wonder why- then his thumb is circling your clit.

the high-pitched gasp you suck in is not as embarrassing as the louder whine that leaves your lips once he's slid a finger into you, eyes closing for a moment to soak in the bliss. it feels like heaven, for a long moment. but his fingers are slow. too slow. and even when you cant your hips, he doesn't speed up enough to have you seeing stars (like you know he can). instead, he has you writhing impatiently. "you're... stiles, please."

it's whiney and pathetic, but stiles seems to stifle a smirk when he hears it, covering it with a sympathetic pout instead. "i know, pretty girl, i know. you gonna ask nicely?"

and you knew you gave him permission to do whatever he wanted. but you didn't expect to be into it. your lips part and you almost tell him to shut up and fuck you already. but you're hot with embarrassment and something else he can totally feel when your walls clench around his torturous fingers. so instead, you opt for falling right into his hands.

"please, stiles, fuck me already." you whisper, lips brushing against his when you speak. "please."

"there we go." he presses a peck to your lips and slips his fingers out. "such a good girl."

you aren't given any time to process that and the fact that it made you throb like a personal whore- stiles is already swiping his tip through your folds, making you gasp when it catches on your clit. he's panting heavily as he lines himself up, and you're a little surprised when he finds your hand and laces his own against it.

then, he's stretching you open and you're seeing stars, just like you knew he could make you do.

stiles is sweet, but he's not exactly gentle. hips rolling into you and his tongue pressing against your own. a hand pinning you to the bed and keeping him upright, the other tweaking your nipples or teasing your clit. he's all over you, pulling back every once in awhile to watch the way you arch your back and gasp out unintelligible pleas. his moans are about as pathetic as yours and he hisses "fuck" into your ear when you clench around him tightly. your dance goes on like this for a moment, and he's rambling praises constantly.

"stiles, 'm close-" you whimper, free hand pulling him closer by the hair. he gasps out and his hips snap roughly.

"yeah, me too. jesus, you're so perfect. look at you." he pushes some of your hair out of the way, eyes meeting yours. "you gonna cum for me?"

you nod, eyebrows turning up as you feel the warmth crawl up your belly. your free hand tugs at his mussed up hair again and his expression matches yours. he speeds up and you gasp and whimper, pliant under his body as he fucks you into his mattress.

"stiles, fuck, stiles, i'm-"

"that's it, there you go, holy fuck." he holds your hips down when you finish, rutting into you with an open mouth. he's got his forehead pressed against your own, swallowing each others desperate moans as he rides you through your orgasm. stiles' moan is sudden and loud when he pulls out in a rush and finishes on your cunt, his tip pressing into your overstimulated clit and making your legs twitch.

you gasp out a breath and sink into the mattress, sighing contentedly. when your eyes flutter open on heavy lids, stiles is gazing at you. he leans down and kisses you, soft and sweet and full of a confession long coming.

"that was..."

"amazing." he finishes dazedly, hands running over your bare skin anywhere he can reach. "want me to use my mouth?"

your brows raise. "stiles, i just came."

"i know." he sighs, playing with some of your hair. "it was so fucking hot."

"you said you've been perpetually hard for three weeks?" you attempt to change the subject, but stiles only grins wider.

"yeah, so i've got plenty more fantasies to play out before i'm out of steam."

you shove him lightly, fighting a flustered smile. "just- give me a second, you dog!"

"awooooo." stiles deadpans an imitation of a howl, nuzzling into your neck. "let me know when you're ready. i'll just be here. naked. on top of you. in the mood to make you pass out from orgasms. willing to learn every kink you have- which, hey, the praise kink was a good guess, right?"

you groan, pushing him off of you. your face is flushed red and you snatch his nearby discarded t-shirt when you sit up. "that was so out of left field."

"yeah, but was it? i mean, you-"

"i'm getting in the shower, stiles." you stand and take a few steps away from him before you turn to gauge his reaction.

his eyebrows shoot up from where he sits on the bed. it makes you bright fucking red when his eyes trail down and he watches a bead of his own cum slide down your inner thigh. he licks his lips.

"i'll come with."

☆

once again, not totally happy with it. but, like, eh. i'm getting to that time of night where my brain is just like 'PUT THE COMPUTER AWAY AND STOP THINKING ABOUT THE WHITE MAN. YOU ARE RUNNING ON FOUR HOURS OF SLEEP.'

anyway, sorry i may or may not have slipped in some personal tastes. i usually try to keep my smut open to anyone into anything, but this was laced with my own ideas.......... whoops. i'm sorry it was so rushed near the end, too!

i promise i'm trying to get around to some lovely lovely asks. don't be shy, pop into my inbox to drop a thought, comment, critique (be nice, i'm sensitive) (actually if you're a stranger idrc) or say hello! love you all!

[ellecdc]

Not Alone

Marauders x fem!reader who is looking for somewhere safe during a zombie apocalypse [no pronouns are used, but gendered monikers are attributed to the reader!] - 1.8k words

part 1 | part 2

CW: mention of losing loved one's/friends in a violent way but not described, reader has injuries, mentions of hopelessness and violence, hurt/comfort

A/N: honestly, I'm not even sure where this idea came from but I needed to write it down lol, so hopefully someone out there enjoys it too!

It felt like the majority of your brain was focused on keeping your breathing even (and more importantly, quiet) than it was at actually finding you somewhere safe to hide. 

You cradled your - now useless - arm to your chest protectively as you fought to keep the disturbing image of your friend being swallowed up by the horde as she told you to run. 

You couldn’t think about that now - couldn’t afford to think about the fact that you had now officially lost everyone who ever meant anything to you, and were completely and utterly alone in this world. 

You couldn’t think about any of that now; you simply had to run. 

You were sure you were only imagining it but you swore your socks felt squishy with the amount of blood accumulating there from the various blisters adorning your feet; you and…. you had been walking for days now in search of anything - any store, any shelter, any body of water - that wasn’t crawling with zombies or hostile survivor encampments.

It had been one bloody thing after another; setting off some security alarm in a pharmacy and having to outrun a horde, having to avoid a camp of survivors who were out for blood, and dislocating your sodding arm simply trying to hop a fence.

And your luck didn’t seem to be coming up any better; the vast abandoned fields ahead of you smelling like nothing but trouble. 

You didn’t want to walk through the unmanned fields, not knowing what could be lurking out of sight in wait for you. 

The only other option was the gravel road, which while leaving you completely vulnerable was undeniably the safer of two options. 

You tried to compartmentalise; you needed water, but to drink water, you needed to take your rucksack off. Taking your rucksack off sounded like a painful endeavour at the moment, so you would need a secure place to do so. If you could find a secure place, you needed to rest.

You needed to pop your bloody shoulder back into its socket.

You needed to take your sodding shoes off.

You needed to sleep.

You wanted to cry.

You needed to cry. 

You’re not sure how long you had been spiralling or how long you had been walking without direction when the blazing sun finally started to set and allowed you some reprieve from its scorching heat. 

And suddenly, you saw it.

A rather dilapidated barn could be seen just peeking through various overgrown shrubs behind a barbed wire fence a mere kilometre or two ahead.

You had no time (nor the wherewithal) to consider whether the building was safe as your feet seemed to head in that direction of their own volition.

You needed water, you needed rest, you needed to take your shoes off. 

You needed to get to that barn.

On autopilot, you crouched behind the rickety fence and listened for any movement. 

You creeped forward and pushed the barn door open, listening once again for any movement. You picked up a stick and lobbed it into the darkness of the barn - still nothing.

Rather desperate at this point, you pushed your way into the barn and took in the space. 

While there was evidence of people having camped out here before - a few sleeping bags, an empty can or two of food, and other survival paraphernalia - there was no way to conclude how long those individuals had been gone for, or if they planned on returning.

But you couldn’t think about that right now.

You turned and shut the doors behind you, using your good arm to pull a bail of hay in front of it as a poor means of blocking the door. 

You fell atop of one of the sleeping bags; your knees screaming in agony at the impact and crying in joy at the relief as you manoeuvred your rucksack off of your good shoulder and sucked in a pained breath as you removed it from the other. 

You pulled out your flask of water; the last remaining bit you had on your person since the other two bottles were with…

This was the last remaining bit of water you had.

You took a tentative sip; knowing you’d love nothing more than to down the rest and then some, opting to ration for now until you were able to get your hands on more.

You kicked your boots off and were happy to see that your socks weren’t as drenched in blood as they certainly felt when you were walking. 

You needed water - check. 

You needed to take your boots off - check. 

You had an obvious issue with your shoulder, but when you went to try to reposition it, you felt bile rise to your throat and hastily pulled your hand away.

You’d worry about that later.

You needed to rest.

You couldn’t worry about the fact that you couldn’t worry about your arm later, seeing as you had no one here to reset it for you.

You had no one here.

You had no one.

But you couldn’t think about that right now, as the adrenaline of the day seeped from your body and exhaustion pulled you further into a strangers sleeping bag where you finally fell unconscious. 

You found that you suddenly missed camping, which was odd seeing as your entire life now could be considered various forms of camping. You missed the bonfires that weren’t merely a form of survival, you missed the light conversation and inside jokes, and you missed the easy laughter one only ever heard in the company of trusted friends.

You could almost hear it from your curled up position in a sleeping bag; the sound of a gentle fire crackling, gentle whispers and subsequent chuckles.

You almost smiled to yourself, that is, until you realised you really could hear those things.

You could smell it, too; the smell of fire, the telltale scent of pine trees from where a door must be propped open.

And you could feel the heat of the fire, and the familiar weight of company.

Your eyes shot open then as you tried to control your breathing.

You could hear someone - multiple someone’s. Maybe two? Three? 

“Good morning.” A deep voice greeted you from near your feet.

You scrambled to a sitting position - painfully ignoring the screaming of your shoulder - and pushed yourself flush against the wall behind you. 

The voice was a man - possibly around your age - dark haired, tattooed, and intimidating as he watched you warily with narrowed silver eyes, opening and closing a switchblade in his hand as if he was having trouble sitting still while he watched you sleep. 

You turned to grab for your gun only to notice that your rucksack was gone - the only one of your possessions that you still had was the flask that you fell asleep cradling in your arms.

“Easy doll.” The bloke said with a smirk. “Your stuff is safe - it was just a precaution, yeah?” He offered as he motioned towards another member of his group who was holding your bag up for your view. 

“You’ll get it all back once we know you’re not here to off us.” A man with glasses and hair that appeared to be a level of wild that could only be natural attempted to placate you. 

“And you?” You finally asked; eyes darting between the three men (that you could see) frantically. “Are you lot here to off me?”

The dark-haired man scoffed. “Don’t you think we would have done that already?”

“You’re sleeping in our bed, princess.” The bespectacled bloke added. 

You felt horribly like the Brothers Grimm version of goldilocks - sleeping soundly in a bear's home only to be mauled to death upon their return.

“Where are your people?” The man holding your rucksack who had been silent up until this point asked you then, moving to stand beside the dark-haired man as he considered you.

He was tall, looking far more like he’d been living through an apocalypse than his two counterparts did with the various scars adorning his face and hands.

You simply shook your head in response to his question. 

His lips pulled together slightly before he looked down at your rucksack. “You don’t have much here.”

You shook your head again.

One of them sighed as the tattooed man continued to scrutinise you.

“Do… do you want something to eat?” The scarred man asked then. 

You quickly shook your head and made to stand, catching yourself awkwardly with your elbow as you teetered into the wall behind you, one arm useless and the other holding it protectively. “Sorry, no. I- thank you, but I’ll leave, I swear it.” 

“What’s wrong with your arm?” The tattooed man asked as he stood from his crouched position.

You let out a shuddering sigh. “I…I don’t- I think it’s dislocated.”

He let out a chuckle through his nose. “You’re not going to get very far like that, dollface.” 

“Do you really have no one?” The man with the glasses asked then as he moved to join the three of you. 

“No one.” You whispered, fighting back the violent image of the last person who meant anything to you being ripped from your grasp.

The three men shared a look; the scarred man shaking his head and walking back towards the fire with your bag still in his hand.

“My name is James.” The bespectacled man announced. “This is Sirius,” He continued, nodding towards the tattooed man, "and Remus over there will help you with your shoulder.”

“And then we’ll get some food in you.” Remus added.

“I…I don’t-”

But the tattooed man - Sirius - scoffed derisively at you. “You are not going back out there.”

“Not alone.” James corrected. 

The two men went and joined Remus at a makeshift camp stove where he was warming up some sort of canned soup, and James pulled up another lawn chair making four seats around their  designated kitchen area.

You didn’t know these men - although they didn’t know you either - but it had been so long.

So long since you met kind strangers, so long since you smelled food that wasn’t preserved fruit or pickled vegetables, and so long since you felt any inkling of hope since the world went to shit before your eyes.��

But you couldn’t think about that right now.

All you could think about was how Remus gently patted your new spot at their table as he explained how he was going to pop your shoulder back into place, watching as James spooned some soup into a bowl for you and Sirius grabbed a brand new bottle of water that you could have cried over and set it on the table in front of you.

So, perhaps against your better judgement, you took a seat and allowed Remus to shove your shoulder back into its rightful place before securing it to your side with what looked to be an old lace curtain, and told them your name.

You didn’t know what might come of this little foursome you suddenly found yourself in - you couldn’t think about that right now - but at least, for now, you wouldn’t have to be alone.

continue to part two here

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 3

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

Stabbing, Azriel unalives somebody that really had it coming, Death by being put on fire

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

*If you keep glaring at Keir like that we are never getting anywhere,* Rhys said into his mind, some amusement bleeding into his voice. 

*I think he’s trying to waste your time on purpose,* Azriel responded with a scowl. 

 The shadows hadn’t picked up anything out of the usual…but that didn’t mean anything…even Keir could manage to hide something if he really wanted to…and he did want to, Azriel thought. 

He wasn’t sure yet what…but there was something. There must be something. 

This meeting was utterly useless, was slowly turning into needless sniping at each other and Azriel didn’t like it…it felt like Keir was just trying to keep them in place for longer. 

The question was just for what? 

It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up like a cat…the feeling that something…something was…not quite right, that he couldn't put his finger on…

He hated that feeling. Azriel much preferred it, when he got all the facts… when he could make plans and plans for his plans…

But he couldn’t…and he was still stuck with being in the Hewn City and not in Velaris.

*Cassian is thinking the same,* Rhys responded with a sigh. *We’ll give it another hour. Don’t worry, we'll be back in Velaris soon enough,* he teased Azriel lightly. Rhys must have caught one of his thoughts. *Give Feyre some time and then you can go get your girl.*

An easy promise given. 

*Not my girl,* Azriel gave back immediately. *Not yet. Not…* Not until she wanted to be. Not until she knew the truth and…

*She won’t turn you down, Az,* Rhys said quietly, sussing out what was really bothering him immediately. 

But what if she did? Eira had every reason in the book to turn him down. Starting with his ill-thought-out pursuit of her actual twin sister to the simple fact of who he was…

She had every reason to tell him to fuck off to the continent because she never wanted to see him again. Granted, he highly doubted she would do that…he had never heard as much as a curse word out of her mouth. 

She had been raised as the daughter of a wealthy merchant, and clearly, that’s how she carried herself, even after everything had happened. 

At least she had clung to that bit of her human life.

*She has every reason to,* Azriel disagreed quietly.  Every reason to turn him down. Regardless of what he wished for…every reason not to be interested. 

What if she wanted to cling to even more of her human life? If the wings that he sprouted from his back were a step too far for her…if the scars that marred his hands were…

Or what if she simply didn’t want him? That would be a valid choice too and he would accept that. 

Of course, he would. 

He never wanted to force her into anything that she didn’t want. 

So what if she hated him? 

*She won't and she doesn't,* Rhys disagreed sharply. *Azriel, Mor was right,” his brother told him pointedly. “Eira has been having a crush on you for years. She’ll probably be ecstatic and immediately start planning your wedding…Maybe Elain can lend her all her wedding binders,” Rhys teased him. 

He bit back a smile at that. Maybe…maybe… He wished for that. He wished that would be…

Whatever she wanted. She wanted a big wedding? He would suffer through that, just for the chance of seeing her happy. Just for her smiling at him…not as painfully polite as she had been last evening but bright and happy and unbridled…He wanted to see that. 

He wanted to see all of that. 

But he pushed that thought away.  

*I am intrigued and terrified by what is actually in these binders,* Azriel admitted drily. *Even you didn’t have that many when you were planning Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony.*

*Helion is overcompensating,* Rhys quipped, though they both knew that it probably was the truth. 

After everything had gone down in Autumn, ending with a dead Beron, High Lord Eris and Lucien Vanserra officially becoming Lucien Spell-Cleaver…well.

*I owe you an apology,* Rhys said at that moment, and Azriel stared at his brother, who was listening to Keir with a bored expression on his face. *I did only want…the best for you that solstice but how I went around it…that wasn’t particularly nice to you.*

*Actually I owe you my gratitude,* Azriel said drily. *I didn’t want to hear it then…but I was…I wasn’t in love with Elain. I was…infatuated,* he admitted. *I was jealous of you and Cassian and that…that clouded my judgement. It could have ended very badly if you didn’t intervene.*

Very badly. A Blood Duel would have been their smallest problem then. 

*It could have,* Rhys agreed. *That’s why I interfered in the first place…But I still hurt you in that moment, and I wish I hadn’t.*

*If I keep behaving like an idiot you have my full permission to call me out on it,* Azriel gave back with a sigh. 

*Then stop thinking like you don’t deserve her,* Rhys said with a mental eye roll. 

*Sure, I’ll stop once you stop thinking the same about Feyre,* he shot back. Rhys would have retorted, but he was beaten to it. 

The shadows came suddenly, in a frenzy whispering in his ear, voices hurried and panicking: Master, Master you need to come NOW!

*What’s wrong?* Rhys demanded, just as that dormant bond in his chest was flooded with pure, undiluted terror.  

The Princeling and our Mate! 

*Eira and Nyx,* he choked out. The shadows already grasped him, before Rhys’ mental order could fully reach him.  

*GO!*

They dragged him out of Hewn City, into Velaris.

The ground he hit was scorched. 

That was the first thing he realised. 

Magic crackled in the air, thick and furious, untrained and uncontrolled…that was the second. 

Nyx had one specific playground he loved…one where Azriel knew members of their family often brought him to…with swings that he adored…

It was a place of happiness…of children laughing…of Velaris at its best…

Now…now it was a scorched wasteland. 

The swings? Gone. The smell of burning human flesh in the air, making his stomach twist, eyes tracking over the carnage. 

At least two dead…difficult to say because their bodies were burned…beyond recognition.

One more dead…mouth open in a silent scream…  One…one male held by his shadows, bearing him down onto the ground…and then, right in the middle of that carnage… in a heap on the ground…

The high-pitched crying of Nyx reached his ears, covered by the unmoving body of Eira. 

Azriel had thought that panic had been burned out of him centuries ago. He was taught something better that morning. Because it was panic that flooded his veins. Panic and Terror and…a thousand other things. 

*I need Mor! And Madja!* he snapped along the mental connection to Rhys, already hurling for both of them…sliding onto his knees as he so very carefully touched Eira’s body, feeling the delicate bones underneath his fingertips, a near unseen tremble, the smell of acrid blood clinging to her, layering over her scent. 

She had always smelled like snowdrops to him. Snowdrops and almonds and a crackling hearth. 

Now the blood…the blood…He turned her around, getting no reaction, finding Nyx safe and sound tucked underneath her, crying, his little face red and splotchy as he sobbed. 

*AZRIEL!?* Rhys demanded. 

*Nyx is fine. Not a scratch.* 

All he managed…as he finally saw the scarlet red dripping down onto Nyx…smeared all over him…and then he saw the handle of that dagger protruding from Eira’s limp form. 

Blood. Her blood. 

“Ra! Ra! Ra!” Nyx gargled, just as he finally managed to slap a patch of his killing power around that knife, keeping it steady. He didn’t pull it out, knowing that that could kill her…even when the blood that oozed out around it was starkly black in places…and he could smell the scent of…something burning in the back of his throat. 

Poison. That knife had been poisoned. 

A curse left his mouth at that. 

That wasn't good. That was everything but good. 

*Eira?* Rhys demanded at that moment. 

*Stabbed.*

The connection went silent, just as the booming sound of Morrigan winnowing went in beside him. 

“Az?”

“She needs Madja. Now,” he bit out. “Take them both.”

Safe. Safe. 

He needed her safe. And then he needed…

He leaned down, picking up one limp hand and pressing a kiss against it, her skin clammy and grey…even when he could feel her pulse thrumming underneath the thin skin on the back of her wrist... He breathed in snowdrops and almonds and sweetness...and then let go, because if he didn't...he never would. He would lie right down next to her, waiting for his demise. 

He grasped Truthteller without even thinking about it, as he stalked across the ground towards the one sole survivor. The shadows jerked him up, and Azriel grabbed hold of his throat. 

“What. Did. You. Do?!” he growled. What had they done to Eira?  To his mate?

“I…we…just the Prince…Grab the Prince. No matter the cost,” the male garbled out, the acrid smell of urine hitting his nostrils and only now Azriel took in the black uniform. 

Darkbringer. 

Court of Nightmares. Keir. 

Suddenly… it all made sense. It came together. The secret Keir had been keeping. It was so clear now. 

“Who hired you?!” Azriel spat out, wanting a verbal answer before…before... 

“The Steward!” 

And that’s all he needed to hear, before he drove Truthteller into him, into the exact same place where they had stabbed Eira…not immediately killing him, but seeing his eyes widen, seeing the realisation set in….the pained scream escaping him. 

“She’s mine,” Azriel whispered. “Mine. And you hurt her. You hunted her.” Like a game. Like an animal. 

She was his. His mate. 

And Azriel hadn’t been there to protect her.  He hadn’t been there for any of this…

“Lightning,” the male choked, blood bubbling on his lips. *She…killed…lightning.”

He didn't care what the male told him. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. 

The only thing that mattered was her. 

He watched as the light dimmed in his eyes, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction that he at least had gotten to do this. At least…

*It was Keir,* Rhys said into his mind, his voice deathly quiet.  *He…He ordered…*

*He wanted Nyx,*  Azriel agreed, pulling Truthteller out of the body, letting the male fall to the ground, wiping the blade on his trousers. 

*How many did you kill?* Rhys asked. No judgment. He could have slaughtered three dozen and Rhys wouldn’t have cared at that moment. 

*One.*

He could feel Rhys’ surprise. Then: *He said he sent 4.*

*Two were burned beyond recognition,* Azriel explained. *Another is dead, but still recognisable. I do not know how he died. The whole ground is charred. Scorched.*

A second later…Rhys and Cassian appeared, winnowing in from Hewn City. He imagined that Feyre had gone straight to their son.  Cassian took one look around at the ground, the carnage…the…

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Mor took Nyx and Eira?” he asked and Azriel forced a nod, feeling for that golden thread bound around his rib…wished he would get something, anything from her…

“She shielded him with her body,” he said nearly tonelessly. “He was smeared in her blood because she shielded him.”

Even stabbed, even feeling like she was going to die…Eira had done everything to shield her nephew. Had used her own body to keep him safe. Had protected him with her life. 

Azriel had never doubted that she loved him…but it still…she must not have even hesitated. Just done it.

She was a slip of a girl, with no combat training…and she had faced four of the Court of Nightmare's most elite soldiers and laid down her life if that meant that Nyx would be safe. 

He had seen grown Illyrian Warriors that would have tucked tails and run in this situation. 

Outnumbered…Outpowered. And still, she had stood her ground. 

“What happened here?” Cassian asked as he checked the other recognisable body. 

“They must have surprised her,” Rhys said, his voice shaking. “She thought they were safe. We thought they were safe…”

And they hadn’t been. They hadn’t been safe. 

At all. 

Death had been brought right to their doorstep in Velaris. 

“How did he die?” Rhys demanded from Cassian. 

“He was struck by lightning,” Cassian responded drily. “I have seen this before…on a cow though. It would also explain the scorched ground. If lightning hits the ground, it makes a pattern like that.”

What?

Lightning?

He looked up to the sky. It was a beautiful summer’s day. Not a trace of a storm…anywhere. 

“Do you think it was Nyx?” Cassian asked quietly but Rhys shook his head. 

“I have never seen anybody channel lightning,” Rhys answered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Never. I…” Neither had Azriel.  “He’s too young to channel magic like that.”

But was he? In a situation like that? When he had just tried to protect Eira? and himself? Maybe even at 1-year-old Nyx had recognised what…what would happen if he didn’t protect himself. Maybe it had been pure instinct on his part…Maybe he had seen Eira fall and that had been…

Eira. 

He reached for that bond again, feeling it tremble and he hung onto it with all his might, clenching his teeth. 

He…

He had failed her, hadn’t he? It should have never come that far. It should have never…It should have never…

Azriel should have been the one taking that knife to the chest, not her. 

“Clearly not,” Cassian disagreed with a snort. “He’s your son,” Cassian pointed out drily. “He’s Feyre’s son…who knows what he has inherited from her.”

Rhys stayed rooted in one spot, blinking once. 

“Rhys?” Cassian asked immediately. 

“Get Nesta,” he ordered Cassian. “We are needed at the River House.” And then after a second that felt like eternity…“It’s not…It’s not looking good.”

And with one sentence…everything crumbled. 

[luvhughes43]

is it over now? | jack hughes

part two of the beginning

au masterlist⭐️

note: i switched to first person pov for this story just to test it out. Inbox me if you’d want to go back to 3rd person.

warnings: pregnancy, birth

word count: 4.7k

the doctors waiting room is cold and uninviting. i stare up at all the pregnancy posters that litter the walls, and soon my gaze falls to all the mothers and all the fathers. they all sit, talking quietly amongst themselves. the women are gorgeously radiant, and if this were any other time i’d compare their beauty to mine. 

instead, i linger on the way they interact with their husbands, boyfriends, whatever. small touches, whispers, and smiles all burn into my mind like a useless cd. 

“y/n l/n?” a nurse in all blue interrupts my thoughts, she gestures for me to follow her and i do. 

like the waiting room, the small room i’m brought into is cold. i wonder briefly what jacks doing right now. if he had gotten my message or if he’s still asleep. i try to imagine his reaction but i can’t bring myself to conjure up an accurate depiction of him. everything is off - and i fear if i keep trying to imagine this man who’s not my jack, that i’ll somehow forget the real one. 

“we’re just going to do some tests, all very basic things. i need to know your medical history, and i’ll have to do a complete physical assessment,” a doctor walks into the room, clipboard in hand. she doesn’t look at me as she speaks, but I absentmindedly nod to her words anyway. 

“Okay so, is this your first pregnancy?” the doctor asks. 

“Yes” i nod.

“And, do you have any medical history I should be aware of? Past procedures, family history, etc” the doctor looks up from their notes and i pause. 

“Uh, i -” my cell phone buzzes in my purse and i quickly reach for it. Its a notification from sephora, something about how there’s a last minute sale and that i should buy some overpriced body spray. 

“I had my tonsils taken out when I was five, but other than that i’ve had no other procedures” my words come out shaky, as if i’m confused. i turn my phone over again, willing for another notification to pop up. It’s 11:40am, and jack is definitely awake by now. 

the doctor calls a nurse in to prep for the examination. everythings a blur as i lean back. the nurse, short with reddish-blonde hair, has to ask me to lift up the bottom of my shirt twice. 

“And if you look over here, this is where your baby is,” the doctor is confident in her speech as she shifts the little wand around my stomach. 

the appointment was nightmarish. 

the nurse sent me home with a little packet of information sheets, all different colours and all about different things. i don’t want to look at them, so i shove them into the bottom of my purse when i get out of the office. 

⋆ ★

vivienne always made sure to wake up an hour before jack. she liked to make herself a fancy coffee with her espresso machine, and she liked to plan out her events for the day. she had decided that they’d go to the grocery store sometime before noon, hit the mall for an outfit to wear to dinner, and then of course dinner with viviennes friends at 7. 

after her coffee, Vivienne tiptoed her way back into her bedroom. she was proud of the fact that Jack liked to stay here. she made sure her bedding was always fresh and clean when he was over, and she made sure to spray a little bit of her perfume on his pillows so he’d get used to falling asleep to the scent of her. 

Vivienne grabbed a hold of Jack's phone on his nightstand, and slowly slid it off the side of the table and into the palm of her hand. she turned it over, bombarded with the amount of notifications that littered his phone screen. she slid up, quickly typing his passcode. she had to be mindful of her next moves. she didn’t have long to do her routine digging. 

“It’s not really fair for you to be with vivienne if you still have feelings for y/n”

“will you drop it? you were the one who told me to go for viv”

“Jack-”

“No! Dawson, you were the one who begged me to move on. I am. What happened with me and y/n-"Jack cuts himself off. “what happened.. It’s done now. leave me alone” 

Vivienne recalled the conversation she overheard a few weeks ago and she couldn’t shake it from her mind. So, she did what any girlfriend would do and searched the girls username on instagram. 

She hadn’t thought y/n would be any type of problem in hers and Jack's relationship. That was until Jack and Vivienne were laying in bed, with Jack wanting to show Vivienne a picture he had taken a while ago on a roadie. He was scrolling past his photo albums when she saw it. The “it” being a photo album titled “❤️” filled with pictures of jack and y/n at art galleries and whatnot. 

Ynuser: 1 dm request

Accept | Delete

Vivienne clicked onto the dm, and when she saw the words pregnant and yours her blood ran cold. She angled her body away from Jack, and with his reassuring snores clouding her mind, she reread the dm again. 

Jack, I don't even know how to tell you this. It doesn’t feel right. But, I took a pregnancy test and it came back positive. I’ve booked an appointment with my obgyn for tomorrow and they’re going to confirm the test for me. You're the only person that I've been with since we’ve gotten together so it’s for sure yours. If you need a paternity test or anything at all just let me know and we can sort it out. Please reach out and we can talk about this in person. I’m sorry.

“Fuck” Vivienne cursed as she clicked Jacks phone off. She turned around and stared at the man in question while debating her options. 

Letting Jack find the message on his own was the most obvious answer but… would he still want to be with her when he found out about the baby? If it even is his, Vivienne rolled her eyes at the thought. 

The next logical option was to delete the message and block the girl. Jack would never have to know, and Vivienne would just have to be the perfect girlfriend for the next little while. She’d make him his favourite foods, dress extra hot, and do everything in her power to make sure he forgot about his ex. 

Vivienne turned Jack's phone on again, and without a second thought, swiftly declined the message request before blocking the girl. 

To make sure her tracks were completely cleared, she searched the girls name up in his contact list and blocked her there as well. 

And, just as quickly as Vivienne had picked up her boyfriends phone, she had set it back down. 

⋆ ★

After the appointment, I was stuck in meetings for the rest of the day with no opportunities to check my phone. During my appointed bathroom breaks, I was too anxious to check. My hands trembled as I hovered over the instagram app, too nervous to see if he had read the message. 

I thought about the next message that I would send all day. Would I send the doctors confirmation? My next appointment date? The reason why I found out about the pregnancy so late? 

When I got out from work, I decided to walk the 45 minutes home instead of taking the Subway. I hoped that the semi-fresh air would clear my mind. 

By the time I unlocked the front door of my apartment, it was 6:45pm. Jack would have gotten out of practice, and he would probably be at home grilling himself a piece of chicken while his rice cooked. 

I pull my boots off and wander into my bathroom. i shut the door behind me, giving myself some privacy from my own space. When I close my eyes, all the memories of Jack and I flicker through my mind like one of those plastic children's cameras.

I take a deep breath, before finally pulling my phone out of my pocket and turning it on. I click into instagram and my stomach drops. 

jackhughes

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what the fuck was i going to do.

⋆ ★

“Claudia!” my voice was hoarse from crying as I pounded on my best friend's door with my fists. I had run all the way to Claudia's apartment, and luckily someone was walking into her apartment complex so I didn't have to buzz in. 

Claudia's door swung open, and she immediately pulled me inside and into her arms. “What's wrong?” she practically cooed, not a stranger to my breakdowns. 

“J-jack he-” I couldn't stomach the rest.

“Babe, slow down… breathe..” Claudia stressed as she started doing breathing exercises for me to copy. I followed her movements, and when I was deemed calm enough she moved me over to sit on her couch. 

I take a few minutes to recover before explaining what happened. 

“I’m going to kill him” Claudia sneered after I had explained the pregnancy, the message, and how my ex boyfriend-turned-baby daddy had blocked me. 

“What am I going to do?” I was crying again. I was bordering on exhaustion as I leaned my head against the back of Claudia's couch and wailed.  

My hand found its place at the top of my stomach, where the faintest baby bump had begun to form. 

⋆ ★

vivienne just added to their story!

vivienne

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vivienne mr nhl man

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user01 VIVIENNE HAS A BF??

user02 viv baby who is it

user04 vivnation lost

user05 jack and trevor liking ohhh wow…

user06 is it jack?

user07 i thought jack has a gf?

user06 he was seen out with a girl a few times months ago but that was it lol

user08 the nhl girlies lost

⋆ ★

ynuser

liked by claudia, and others

ynuser my baby🤍

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claudia im a proud honorary aunt❤️

user00 congrats!! 

user01 Congratulations on your pregnancy sweetie! We have to get together sometime soon😘❤️

⋆ ★

the pregnancy was lonely. It was all long hours at work, quiet doctor appointments, and late nights binge sessions watching gossip girl with whatever craving plagued my mind. 

I tried my hardest to stay away from social media, my heart cracking a little more every time jack came across my feed with his rumoured new girlfriend. of course, i knew it wasn’t a rumour, which just made everything more miserable. 

“Do you want to know the gender?” the ultrasound tech asked as she shielded the sonogram screen away from my view. 

I nod, “yes, please”

Claudia squeezes my hand. “Are you sure? I can throw you a gender reveal party if you want? Or we can do something with just the two of us?” 

I didn’t want to hurt Claudias feelings, but it wouldn’t be the same without jack. 

I must have took too long to answer though, because the ultrasound tech looked at me with pity filled eyes as she said, “i’ll put the gender info in an envelope for you to take home”

All i could do was nod. 

⋆ ★

“Im sorry, blair.. But you lost the baby”

“where’s chuck?”

“B, he lost a lot of blood, and he never woke up” 

Gossip girl season 5 played in the background as I picked at my newest pregnancy craving, strawberry cupcakes from a bakery off seventh ave. 

i sighed heavily as i continued watching the show. this has got to be the saddest episode… i thought as blair started praying for chucks survival. As the scene went on, tears pricked my own eyes as i thought about the past five months. 

i was almost done with my 2nd trimester, and i was still refusing to acknowledge my pregnancy. I felt as if i were walking through water, i was restricted in all of my movements and my mind was cloudy like i had just spent all day in the michigan summer sun. 

The episode finished, with blair telling chuck that she loved him but that she couldn’t be with him and that she couldnt tell him why. 

When the screen turned black and i was faced with my reflection, i started sobbing. 

Heavy tears rolled down my cheeks and fell onto my duvet, which turned the cream coloured blanket into spots of grey. 

Without thinking, I rolled out of bed and threw on a thick sweater that I found strewn against a chair backing. I wandered out into my entryway, shoving on a pair of my mini uggs as I searched high and low for that stupid little envelope that my tech gave me. 

It was in my purse, hidden behind a hundred other little things. Once the envelope was grasped firmly in my hands, i ripped open my door and rushed down onto the street. 

I didn’t have a lot of time to think this through. If i placed the order now, everything would be okay and fine...

Truth be told, i was afraid that if i didn’t order a gender reveal cupcake that i would be doing my baby a disservice. I promised to myself that i would be able to do this without jacks support, and yet here i was crumbling under the pressure of motherhood. 

The bakery shop chimed with my arrival, and then i was in the small line up to make an order. 

“Hey, what can i get for you tod-”

“Can i get a gender reveal cupcake? Or one of those little cakes?” i ask, thrusting my envelope into the guy at the registers hands. 

He looked taken aback before responding very politely, “i’m sorry, you’re going to have to make an order online” 

“Oh,” my shoulders sag in disappointment. I hadn't thought far enough ahead. 

the guy stared at the crumpled up envelope in his hand, and then back at me. “Why don’t you go sit down and i’ll figure something out for you,” his voice was kind as he noticed my dishevelled state. 

I nod, and then move to an empty seat in the corner of the bakery. Another employee was sweeping the floors, and i realize that the store must be due to close soon. I need to pull myself together… 

About ten minutes later, the guy from before walked over with a little white box in his hand. On top of the box sat my envelope which was now cleanly cut into. 

“It’s not the prettiest thing in the world,” the guy chuckled as he placed the small box in front of me, “but it should work” 

“Thank you,” i stutter, pulling a crisp $10 bill out of my pocket and handing it over to the guy. 

At first he shakes his head in an attempt to decline the money, but I insist he takes it anyway. 

back at home, i get comfy at my kitchen table where i finally open up my box. It was a vanilla cupcake with white vanilla frosting. 

I take a deep breath before taking a small bite, and when i swallow, i see the remaining pink icing that filled the inside of the cupcake. 

“we’re having a little girl,” i whispered, tears sliding down my cheeks as i rub my bump soothingly. 

⋆ ★

Jack Hughes was stuck. He felt bad for Vivienne and he felt bad for himself. It wasn’t Viviennes fault that his attention was elsewhere because on paper, Vivienne Aiden was probably who most would consider his perfect match. 

Vivienne was gorgeous, she had an online career going for her, and her apartment did smell amazing… but something just wasn’t right. 

When she fell asleep beside him, Jack would pull out his phone and scroll through his photo album full of pictures of his ex-girlfriend. He would wonder what she was doing, what new journalist piece she was working on, and most importantly, if she was happy. He couldn’t bear searching her up online, for fear of seeing she had moved on (which, let's be honest, is very hypocritical of him), so Jack settled with his photo album. 

When Jack finally closed his eyes for the night, he imagined the sleeping figure next to him was his y/n. Vanilla scent was swapped with coconut, a windy spring turned into an endless summer, and the lingering emptiness felt like coming home after a long roadie. 

And in the morning, when y/ns lovely green eyes woke him up, he would blink to find Vivienne staring back at him, and whatever relief he had accustomed himself with in sleep came crashing down again. 

⋆ ★

ynuser posted on their story! 

jackhughes posted on their story!

Vivienne posted on their story!

⋆ ★

Vivienne wasn’t an idiot. she could feel the small shifts in Jack's behaviour. He was slowly distancing himself from her and she wouldn't allow that to happen. 

Therefore, she sent him a teasing photo, planned a romantic dinner at her apartment, and took care of business. 

Create an Account

User: user257483475

ynuser

Dm Request

User257483475: how does it feel knowing that you’re going to be a single mom?

User257483475: must be tough knowing that the daddy doesn’t want it

User257483475: if i were you i wouldn’t even try

Read

⋆ ★

“I can’t believe you're having a little girl!” Claudia squealed as she met me at the front of a baby store. I was now 6 months along, and I hadn’t done any of the necessary baby shopping yet. 

We walked into the store, light pinks and blues and purples clouding my vision. “I can't believe it either! A little girl…” I smile, picking up a little onesie. 

Claudia gets a basket, and we start to make our way through the store. “Have you thought of any names yet?” she asks as she holds up what might've been the cutest baby dress i’ve ever seen. 

I placed the dress in the basket. “I’ve been toying with a few names but it just feels strange” I pick up another little dress and put it in the basket as well. “I’m sure once I see the nursery all together it’ll feel a little more real and i’ll be able to pick something out” 

Claudia smiles at me sympathetically before taking the shopping basket out of my hand and guiding me towards the furniture section.

“I was thinking-” my phone buzzes causing me to pause. I pull out my phone, only to see a few instagram notifications. 

User257483475: viviennes so pretty, i bet you're real jealous huh?

User257483475: jack didn't even want to post you publicly and now he wont even acknowledge his baby… he never loved you.

User257483475: i wish you the worst xx

Read

“y/n? What were you thinking?” Claudia asks, immediately noticing my pause. She walks over to me, one hand on my shoulder as she tries to gauge my facial expressions. “Are you okay?”

I don't want to speak, and so I thrust my phone into Claudia's hands. 

She gasps when she reads the first message from a few weeks ago, and I can feel her tense beside me as she lets her hand drop from my shoulder.

“What the fuck!” she seethes as she stares at all the messages littering my phone.

“How do they know the baby’s Jacks? How do they even know I'm pregnant? My account’s private!” I utter as I close my eyes. 

“Who’s Vivienne?” Claudia asks as she switches out of my dms and onto the search page. I watch her type in Vivienne's name.

“She’s Jack’s girlfriend,” I reply just as Claudia presses on her instagram account. The newest picture on her feed was of her and Jack at some cafe… I felt nauseous. 

“Well, she’s obviously the one sending the messages” my best friend states firmly. Great I thought. Could my life get any more fucked up? 

That night at home, I easily verifiy that it was Vivienne behind the account. For all the scheming she liked to do, she wasn’t very good at covering her tracks. 

First, I used my laptop to try and log into her main instagram account. When I got the password wrong, I clicked the option for instagram to send a code for password resetting via email. The email, half unblurred, showed up on screen. Then, i moved onto the account who’s been sending me nasty messages. Repeated the process, and wouldn’t you know! Vivienne Aiden didn’t doesn’t know how to make a fake email for her fake account, that she uses to harass her boyfriend's ex! Nice. 

With that little confirmation, I blocked both her and the account she’s using to send me messages. 

⋆ ★

My baby’s nursery is painted a soft pink. Her crib is a beige wood, and there’s white flowy curtains with a blackout curtain set underneath. flower prints decorate the walls, and my baby’s name is highlighted on a beautiful homemade blanket which was gifted to me by one of my coworkers. 

“Are you ready, baby?” my mom asks to which I nod. I watch her silently as her hands weave between different sets of baby clothes.

She’s helping me get the nursery finished for babygirls birth next month. 

“I’m nervous, but i’m ready,” I smile, waddling over to the blush pink rocking chair that sits in the corner of the room. 

⋆ ★

“i’m not ready! i need jack!” i cry, squeezing my eyes shut tight as pain overtook my body. i could hear the nurses faintly in the background of my own thoughts, shouting something about an excess of blood. 

a group of nurses stand around me, all shouting different orders to one another. “ma’am you’re bleeding-“ 

“i need, i just need-“ 

a sweet looking nurse cut me off. “sweetie, you’re going to be alright. just breathe, i’ll be right here with you this whole time!” she grabs ahold of my hand to which i squeeze tightly. 

the room spins and my whole body feels cold. I could tell that the nurses started going about their business from all the pinching and poking that was going on, but i couldn’t figure out where all the pain was coming from.

⋆ ★

“Mommy?” I whispered. My mom whipped her head in my direction upon my words. 

“Oh sweetie,” she coos, tears lingering in her eyes as she sits on the edge of my hospital bed. she grabs ahold of my hand. 

“Is…” I start to ask about my daughter but a cry falls from my lips. 

My mom grabs my hand tighter and brushes my hair out of my face. “She’s in the NICU, but the nurses say she’s doing well” 

“Can I see her?” my voice is hoarse. My mom jumps up from the bed and fills an empty paper cup with water. She passes the cup to me, and I gratefully drink its contents. 

“I’ll go get a nurse, okay? She’ll tell you everything you need to know”

I had been asleep for roughly ten hours after my daughters birth. The doctor told me that the pain I woke up to last night was from blood clots, which is the reason behind all the blood and the premature birth. Luckily though, I was pretty close to full term, and I got to the hospital at the perfect time therefore babygirl would only have to stay at the NICU for a few short weeks to monitor her development. 

“what’s her name, sweetheart?” my mom whispered softly to me while her hand ghosted across hairline.

“Leighton Rowe LN,” I replied sleepily as I stared at my baby in my arms. Leightons sweet face suddenly made all the pain worth it.

my mom brushed my damp hair out of my face. “that’s beautiful,” she cooed, and when she gestured towards the baby I tiredly nodded.

as my mom took my baby out of my arms to coddle, i let my eyes close and then i softly drifted off to sleep.

⋆ ★

It was a few months later when it happened. claudia was at my apartment, watching leighton while i ran around the city to get some much needed errands done. i stop at my favourite coffee shop, a place that i hadn’t been to since jack and i broke up. 

i order my usual, a mocha to go, and when i turn to leave jack had just opened the door. I stumble back, not prepared to see jack in the flesh. He looks familiar and yet completely different. 

“y/n,” he greets me, his tone uncertain as he takes a step towards me. How dare he.

“If your girlfriend sends me one more fucking text i swear i’ll ruin her life” i start, my words threatening as i let the weight of viviennes words fall onto my shoulders. for months shes been creating new accounts and messaging me, and despite hitting the "block all and future accounts" feature she still managed to harass me.

“I get that you don’t want to have a baby, but she’s here, and I'm capable of doing it without you. I have been doing it without you. So get your girlfriend to stop harassing me or i’ll press charges,” i spit out, pushing past a shell-shocked jack and storming out onto the street. 

⋆ ★

“I have a baby!” jack shouts angrily, kicking one of vivienne's wooden dinning room chairs. “You hid my baby from me!” 

Vivienne stares, glassy eyed as she watches her boyfriend stomp around her apartment. “Jack, i didn’t mean for it to go this far i-”

“You what? What was the plan here?” he shouts again, running a hand frustratingly through his hair. Jack stops, whipping around to face vivienne again. “Show me the messages.”

“What?” she cries. 

“y/n said you were sending her messages. Show me them” jack repeats, causing vivienne to jump up in alarm. If he saw even half of the things she sent…

Jack storms up to vivienne who immediately pulls her phone out of her pocket. She switches onto one of her many burner accounts used to send y/n messages. 

Jack sat on the couch, hunched over while he read through every single message. He felt sick. 

he hates you

It must suck knowing that your child's dad doesn't want her

Jacks going to be the best daddy to our future baby… its too bad he didn’t want that for you. 

“Jack we can fix this, i swear i’ll do better and-”

Jack stood up abruptly, letting viviennes phone tumble to the ground with a loud thud. “We’re- we’re past done. I don't even know what to say to you,” jack stutters, tears falling steadily down his cheeks. 

“Baby, i’m so sorry” vivienne cries. she tries to reach out to jack, be he swats her hands away. 

Jack backs away, and without another word he leaves viviennes apartment with the slam of a door.  he had to make this right to y/n and his... baby.

-

part three

[caws5749]

Useless in A Good Way

A/N: oh, another fic where she writes a pregnant reader… YES IM SORRY but I’ve dreamt of being pregnant since I was little and it’s my biggest dream so here we go again 😭I’m working on requests as well but this just popped into my head. I felt very... out of practice with the last few pieces but writing this... I feel good again.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head at some inappropriate joke Tony made after Clint won the round of whatever card game they were playing. Natasha’s hand rested on your thigh, squeezing accidentally while she laughed. The music played in the background, barely heard over the nearly hundred voices that filled the main room of the compound for the latest party Tony had deemed necessary.

You turned your head towards your wife to admire her for a moment. Nat caught your eye, sending you an admiring smile that she reserved only for you.

“You look radiant,” she murmured, leaning in closer to press a chaste kiss to your lips. You blushed, loving the red that still tainted your cheeks after four years of marriage.

"You look like home," you replied quietly, just barely loud enough for her- and Steve (curse that super soldier's hearing)- to hear.

She really did look like home. Her dress was long sleeve and snug, ending just below her knees and made of the softest cashmere. It was cozy and warm and loving, just like her, just like home.

The smile she let show threatened to overtake her lips, so she ducked her head as she always did. Perhaps even more so, considering the amount of alcohol she'd ingested.

You were the only one not drinking, which probably had something to do with the fact that you were seven months pregnant... with twins. You felt like you could hardly move and you the thought of two more months made you simultaneously groan and smile. Not to mention, you hadn't used your powers in a few months; the pregnancy hormones had affected your abilities in a questionable way, and the last time you had tried to let the familiar cool water flow from your hands, nothing had happened. It simply seemed that they had.. petered out. And you were warned by Dr. Cho to avoid trying to use them too much anyway.

"I should probably go check on the intelligence report," you said, sighing. Given that you were the only completely sober being present, it was your task to check on the latest intelligence report currently running after some curious and daunting messages of late.

Natasha nearly pouted, before standing and gripping your forearms with the gentle strength that only your wife could perfect. You groaned, all of your muscles giving maximum effort to stand from a seated position, your large abdomen giving you little room to move.

"God, I have two more months of that," you muttered.

"And it's only going to get harder," Clint chimed in, chuckling sympathetically. You sent him a mock glare.

"I'll go with you," Nat stated, a hand falling to your back. She hardly let you go anywhere alone, not that you minded. Living in the Avengers compound was one of the safest places there was, but it also was a target.

"Sit, I'll go," Steve said, "I've got to check on Bucky anyway."

"Finally, Natasha, it is your turn to lose so one money," Tony grinned, shuffling the deck of cards. Your wife retook her seat, rolling her eyes.

Steve met you next to the couch, offering an arm, which you took gladly. The team had been nothing but supportive after finding out about the pregnancy. They were all in agreement regarding your safety and protection. It was automatic at this point for them to watch over you, something that warmed your heart daily.

"How is Bucky?" you questioned.

"He misses being able to walk," Steve chuckled. "That's what he gets for fighting on a torn knee."

"It's been a week since surgery, right?"

He nodded. "And another week before he'll be able to get up and walk on it."

You hummed sympathetically. It was what all of you hated the most- feeling useless, being unable to be an Avenger. You had grown quite accustomed to the feeling.

Your friend, reached out with his other hand to open the door for you, following you inside the intelligence room, curious what the report would say too.

You studied the screen and briefly leafed through some papers, stopping at another odd message printed. Your brow furrowed.

"What is it?" Steve asked.

"It's a date. Today," you answered, looking up to read his expression.

You'd seen the confusion and slight nervousness in his face before glass shattered in the not-so-far distance. Steve looked at you, panicked.

"We need to get you to the bunker."

"We don't even know what's-"

"It doesn't matter," he interrupted. Shouting then could be heard, growing closer in a split second. "Now."

You moved as quickly as you could, exiting only after Steve cleared the hallway. The two of you moved with expertise, albeit a bit slower than normal, towards the stairs. He helped you down the stairs, hurrying you along without rushing you. When you turned down the hallway that held the bunker, several beings masked in dark leather suits and glowing face shields awaited you.

"Stay back," Steve commanded, not even waiting for a response before running toward them at full speed. He pulled a knife from his pocket and set to work. You felt utterly useless, powerless, as you watched them swarm him. A few tried to sneak past to you, but he wouldn't let them come even close. You stood, anxious, barely breathing. Two swift hits to the stomach and knees had Steve knocked on the ground, stumbling for his footing. On instinct, you stepped forward, hands out in front of you.

You had no thoughts as you summoned the familiar tingle of your powers, forgetting completely that they may not even work for you. When coolness flowed through your fingertips, you only then realized you hadn't been able to do that for a while, and you probably shouldn't be doing it now.

But it didn't matter, there were enemies at hand, and you were an Avenger.

So you let a wave hit the men with everything you had. It was nowhere what you had attempted to do, but it worked nonetheless. It gave Steve the opportunity he needed to jump up and take them out quickly.

He took the remaining problems out with ease and then ran back to you.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, you?"

"You shouldn't have used your powers," he said aloud, more a fact and realization at what you had done rather than a scolding.

"I know."

"Bunker," he stated, gently pushing you towards the door. "Stay inside until you get the 'all clear."

You nodded, finding the hidden keypad and locking yourself inside.

++++++

When Steve returned back up to the party, he found several similar bodies strewn about and a few slightly out of breath Avengers.

"Y/N?" Natasha demanded.

"In the bunker, safe and unharmed."

She nodded, a thanks to her good friend.

"Anybody know what the hell is going on?" Clint asked, setting his bow and arrow down.

"Just today's date written down in a message, we just saw it in the report but couldn't piece anything together," Steve answered.

Natasha heard that and knew there was nothing to answer for now, so she started towards the hallway.

"Nat, she used her powers."

Your wife turned on her heel at that, whipping in the soldier's direction faster than lightning.

"Call Cho," was all she said.

++++++

"Natasha is entering," JARVIS announced, causing you to sit upright, eyes glued to the door.

"Oh, thank god," your wife muttered, seeing you sitting unscathed. "Are you alright?" She rushed over to you, kneeling in front of you, eyes scanning your form, hand coming to rest against your cheek after she found nothing.

"I'm fine. Are you?" You turned to plant a kiss to her palm.

"Fine. You used your powers."

"Well, somewhat. They didn't work exactly right," you responded, frowning.

"What happened?"

You told her how you had saved Steve, well only by giving him a slight edge.

"What's wrong?" Natasha asked gently, picking up on your rather displeased tone.

"I feel useless," you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes as you shifted your gaze downward. Gentle fingers tugged your chin upwards until you were forced to meet those familiar emerald eyes.

"You are growing two human beings. That is not useless. I know you aren't avenging right now, but you did just save Steve, even if your powers were limited. Just because you can't do what you normally used to doesn't mean you aren't doing other things that aren't just as amazing, baby."

The corners of your lips twitched upwards, your mood already lifting.

"That's my girl. Now let's go upstairs, Cho is going to check you out."

"Natasha, I'm-"

"I don't care if you're fine," she tutted. "I'm not taking any chances."

With that, she kissed you softly and helped you upright.

++++++

BONUS

"And you know what she said?" Steve asked, a hand placed over his heart as he sat next to Bucky in bed. "You look like home." He sighed softly, as he thought of his two friends who were so beyond perfect for one another.

"How is that supposed to make my knee better?"

[angelfic]

Heyyy

I don't know if your still doing this but if you are, I would LOVE a Mattheo Riddle, mutual pining, prompt 1. Love you so much.

ask and you shall receive😚💌

mattheo riddle x reader + mutual pining + “who did this to you?”

➺ part of my 2k milestone writing game

The castle is silent when you make your way to the Astronomy tower. Over the last week, you’ve figured out the best possible route to get there after curfew without bumping into Peeves or the Baron while avoiding any particularly loud portraits.

Ever since Hermione started pacing around the dorm while knitting, the Muffliato charm has been rendered useless and the clicking of the needles has driven you crazy. Combined with Fred and George’s experiments in the common room until early hours of the morning, the Astronomy tower is the only place you can get a moment’s peace.

Your footsteps into the tower become hesitant though, when you spot a wisp of smoke coming from behind one of the pillars. After taking a few tentative steps further, you realise with a jolt that it’s none other than Mattheo Riddle sat there, cigarette loosely held between his fingers. You recognise him from the barely visible angle pretty quickly, owing to the fact you’ve found yourself staring at him from afar more times than you’d care to admit.

He doesn’t turn around, flicking at his cigarette and when you shuffle, making a noise, he lets his head fall back to rest against the pillar. “Enzo, if you’re here to pester me again, you can fuck off.”

“Er, not Lorenzo,” you reply, voice quiet in the echoing tower. Mattheo sits up straight immediately, twisting around to look at you with wide eyes. “Sorry…”

“It’s fine,” he says quickly, giving you a hint of a smile. He nods over to a spot near him. “You can come sit if you want.”

You contemplate politely refusing since you probably won’t get any work done with Mattheo right in front of you, but another glance at him has your feet moving of their own accord.

Once he comes into full view, you notice in the moonlight that Mattheo’s nose shows the remnants of dried blood, there’s a bruise blossoming on his cheekbone and his knuckles are split open. It isn’t an unusual sight and you’ve often seen him around the castle either in the middle of a fight or with cuts and bruises as a result of one, yet you still find yourself staring.

Mattheo raises an eyebrow and smirks, despite the cut on his lip. “What, have I got something on my face?”

You blink, silent for a couple beats before clearing your throat. “Who, uhm, who did… this… to you?”

He shrugs, bringing the cigarette back to his lips to inhale. “Some Ravenclaw prick this morning.”

“How come you haven’t healed yourself?” you ask, tilting your head in curiosity. “You normally do by this point.”

Mattheo’s lips quirk up in sort of a pleased smile, his eyes crinkling. “You pay attention to me, do you?”

“No, I- It’s just,” you stammer, fiddling with the corner of your planner and avoiding his gaze. You most definitely do pay attention to him, but you’d much rather jump off the Astronomy tower than admit to it. “You’re always getting into fights. It’s kind of hard not to.”

It isn’t clear if he believes you or not, since his face still displays an unwavering smile, but he nods slowly before answering your previous question. “Enzo usually does it. The healing spells.”

You consider this and hesitate for a few seconds, biting your bottom lip in nervous habit before abruptly standing up and walking over to the Slytherin. Plopping down next to him, you take your wand out of your pocket, which he eyes warily.

“I know some healing spells,” you explain. Raising your eyebrows in question, you point your wand at his face and wait for his consent, which he gives in the form of a nod. Starting with his lip, you mutter “Episkey.” The cut seals itself up, so you do the same with his knuckles before using ‘Tergeo’ to siphon off the dried blood around his hands and nose.

“Back to looking flawless?” he asks with a cheeky grin and you choke out a laugh, surprised at how relaxed he’s being with you. Mattheo isn’t as brooding as the rest of his friends, but he certainly isn’t all sunshine and giggles with people he isn’t close with. And it’s not like the two of you have ever conversed before, so you’re a little more than puzzled. Not that you’re complaining. “What’s had you so exhausted this week?”

“Hermione’s been staying up knitting and I can’t sleep through it like the others,” you sigh, moving back to sit against the pillar like Mattheo is. This is your first night coming to the Astronomy Tower though, so you furrow your brows and turn to Mattheo to tell him exactly that. “How do you-”

“You’ve been nodding off at breakfast,” he says, matter-of-fact. You don’t know how to respond, opening your mouth but not having anything to say. Mattheo notices your loss for words and swallows, suddenly sheepish. The tips of his ears have turned a light pink and he shuffles, making your shoulders touch slightly. “I pay attention to you too.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, heart about to burst out of your chest. You look down to where his hand is on the floor next to yours and in a brave move, you move your own so your pinkies are touching.

Mattheo is silent when he interlocks your fingers, meeting your eyes. His smile reappears, one that feels reserved for you. You’ve never seen him look more gentle before, and when he finally reaches over to kiss you in the quiet, moonlit tower surrounded by the stars, you begin wishing you’d started losing sleep weeks ago.

[stargirlsmooch]

*:･ﾟ✧reader shows abby what she's missing

warnings: pussy eating, dom!reader, inexperienced abby?, mentions of owen, ass eating, dirty makeout with abbys pussy from behind basically, abby is a part of the cream team and squirt squad

you had been in a weird mood all day: distracted, absent and frankly, engrossed in an image of abby with her legs spread and her head thrown back in pleasure.

to be fair to you, it had been a while since you had seen any action, and the conversation you and abby were currently having was almost as satisfying as sex itself.

you would never admit it to yourself (or anyone) but you were in love with abby- she was perfect. from her thick corded muscles to her long blonde hair... she was faultless.

then the thought of her asshat boyfriend popped into your mind and you were reminded of why you couldn't make a move.

"yeah...", abby started again quietly, provoking you out of your daze, "I mean, i don't cum every time but that's like okay, right?"

her head was angled down, looking at her hands as she played with her fingers, the shame and embarrassment was plain on her face.

"abs... you know that's not your fault. you've been with owen for years, he should know what you like and make sure you finish every time." you said, making sure that no one else in the cafeteria could overhear what you were saying before you bit into your apple.

abby's eyes flashed up to yours briefly before she looked back down and moved her empty plate to the side, laying her hands flat on the wooden surface of the table. "he can't help it though, sometimes I just can't cum."

you rolled your eyes and let out an irritated sigh before returning your attention back to your apple, trying to hold back the stream of insults that were about to fall out of your mouth- you hate owen.

"what? you disagree with me? you think it's his fault?" abby asked, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning on the table, briefly drawing your eyes to her bulging biceps.

"of course i disagree with you. owen seems as useless in bed as he is in the field." you said with a slight laugh, watching abby carefully as she dropped her head with a little smile.

"okay, he isn't that bad. like i said... i cum sometimes."

"abby... every time i have sex i make sure she cums... it's not that hard." you said, giving your eyes another slight roll as abby tried not to squeeze her thighs together at the thought of your naked body writhing with another faceless woman's.

"a woman making another woman finish has got to be easier though..." abby says, watching your face turn from a joking smile to an unimpressed frown.

"does owen have fingers?" you say, abby nods, "does he have a tongue?" abby nods again," then he can make you cum every time, honey."

abby shivers a little, rubbing her arms to hide the goosebumps as she again imagines you with a woman: your tongue swirling around a swollen throbbing clit whilst your fingers curl inside a creamy little pussy.

"he doesn't really use his tongue, honestly." abby admits quietly, her hands coming up to cover her eyes, hiding the humiliation of her abysmal sex life.

"he doesn't eat you out?" you say, unintentionally at a high volume, slamming your palm down on the wood and drawing the attention of a few passersby.

"shush," abby whispers, her eyes wide as you shrink back into your chair, realising your mistake, "and no, he doesn't, he says it's gross."

you try not to roll your eyes for a third time, but you're seething with anger, and can't help it. you can't help the growl that escapes your throat at the thought of abby's pouty upset face as she hears owen insult her.

"abby, sweetie. eating pussy is not gross," you start, grabbing her hands and holding them in your soft grasp, "in fact, its the opposite. it's intimate and it's satisfying and i love it, you know why?"

it takes a second but abby shakes her head, albeit hesitantly.

"because it feels good," you whisper, rubbing your thumbs across abby's knuckles. "whether im getting mine ate or im the one doing the eating... it feels so fucking good."

abby bites her lip and keeps her eyes locked on your eyes, unable to stop her mind from wandering again- instead, the faceless woman you're with is now her.

her thick thighs hug your head as you drive into her neglected pussy; licking and sucking at the perfect times and places, not leaving an inch of wet skin unloved.

"makes me sad that you don't know what it feels like, honey."

"can you show me?"

---

"oh baby, you've just been dying for this, haven't you?" you ask, landing a soft smack on abby's ass as she bends over for you, letting you continue eating it from the back.

her sweet pink cunt is on display, dripping thick white cream from such a perfect tight hole that you can't help but dip your tongue in again and start swirling.

your movements are met with a quiet whine as abby arches her back further, pushing her needy pussy into your mouth another inch. you use your hands to part her plump asscheeks before dragging your tongue all the way from one hole to the other then all the way down to her clit.

"both your holes taste good, just as i thought."

abby can't do anything but moan as she feels your tongue flick her clit harshly, before sucking the juices from it and spitting them back onto her sloppy folds.

you moan from the feeling of her clit throbbing on your tongue, and you apply a little more pressure and slide a finger into her pussy, feeling the tight clench and moaning again.

"such a good girl taking this, baby. you wanna cum for me?" you ask, briefly neglecting her cunt to talk before diving back in, moving your mouth from side to side, trying to suck everything into your mouth and maximise her pleasure. you release her clit with a light pop before returning to suckle on her pussy from top to bottom.

the throb on your tongue intensifies, and you can tell she is getting closer. you inch another finger inside her pretty hole and lick her clit faster, then abby is squirting on your tongue.

you try to catch as much of it as you can, swallowing quickly before going back in. at the end, your shirt and the sheets are soaked through, and you give abby a little bite on the ass... to which she yelps.

"ah, fuck."

abby flops onto the bed, the mattress gently bouncing you.

"so, what do you say?" you ask, pinching the bite mark on her behind jokingly.

"thank you."

"and who do you come to the next time you wanna cum?"

"you."

[neouture]

Senses

Pairing: Haechan x Reader

Words: 4,146

Genre: Smut (18+), angst if you squint

Includes: Fem!Reader, established relationship. Haechan is jealous and somewhat possesive bc of a silly little hug drunk Renjun gave you. Arguing, silent treatment, make up sex. Smut warnings under the cut !

Author's note: Possesive Haechan lives in my mind rent free. This story might not be for everyone because it includes very specific kinks that not everyone is into, but I had a lot of fun with this. If you like it, please leave a comment/ask. I also now have a ko-fi account, the link it's in my pinned post, in case anyone is interested in leaving a tip ! That's totally up to you tho, my stories are free for everyone. It's just another way to support (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) I'm reposting this bc I posted it yesterday but it wasn't showing up in the tags so hopefully they work now!

Smut warnings: I feel like this is the time to reveal I have an impregnation kink so bear with it. Dirty talk, teasing, you're somewhat turned on by Haechan's possesiveness in all honesty. Oral sex (f. receiving), mentions and fantasies of impregnation, impregnation kink, unprotected sex (stay safe ! ), creampie.

If looks could kill, Renjun would've had a fatal ending.

Way more fatal than the fate you are transiting right now, sitting in the passenger seat while Haechan's gaze shoots darts into the road as if it’s a target, surrounded by an overwhelming silence that not even the street sounds and the city’s bustling can ease.

If looks could kill, Renjun would’ve collapsed next to you the second he decided to wrap one of his arms around you in a warm, brotherly hug. One that, seemingly so innocent, was misinterpreted by your boyfriend from afar.

“Haechan,” you sigh, but it’s useless yet again. No matter how many times you’ve said his name on the way back home, it seems as though you're speaking to a wall. A stubborn wall that doesn't listen, in which your words bounce back and are interiorized with shame and embarrassment when you realize that all you’re left with is the palpable tension inside his car.

You can see said tension in the prominent veins of his arms, his clenched jaw and the way he is just staring at the horizon, not daring to look at you. You can feel it every time you call out his name and his body stiffens a little. You can hear it in his heavy heartbeats and rapid breathing. You can smell it on your clothes, impregnated with alcohol and cigarette smoke.

But you can’t taste it. You can’t taste the tension when your mouth is dry, and your throat is aching with words gathered at the lump in your throat, threatening to spill out at any moment in an attempt to know what's going on in his mind.

“Look he didn’t mean it that way,” you murmur, trying to ignore the stinging tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. “He just- he just put his arm around me. It wasn’t- it didn’t mean anything”.

“Of course it didn’t,” it’s the only response you get, right when his car takes the street of the complex you two live in.

Whether it's because of the sound of his voice, or the fact that you're really close to knowing your true fate tonight, you feel somewhat relieved.

“He was tipsy,” you continue, resting your head against the cold, glass window.

“You weren’t,” Haechan cuts you short right when he enters the underground parking lot. The car becomes illuminated by a dim, warm light, just enough to catch a better glimpse of your boyfriend, but he still doesn’t look at you. “And you still let him put his hands on you”.

“Come on, Haechan!” you groan, frustrated.

His jealousy always gets the best out of you, but somehow it also manages for the worst of you to show through. It's a complicated situation you always find yourself in, when something like such happens. You don't really like that side of him, the jealous and possessive one, the one that feels entitled to you as a person. But at the same time, you really can't begin to hate it either.

It’s enticing.

“Get out,” he says while unbuckling his seat belt. He does so with a swift movement, only to turn around the car just to open the door for you.

He is upset, and pissed, and really angry, but he can’t get himself to stop being a gentleman to you. What happened tonight it's not your fault, anyways, but he secretly wishes you'd pushed Renjun away.

In a way, Haechan thinks it’s your fault. Even when it isn’t.

But you still follow his orders to a t, getting out of the vehicle while he holds the door for you, closing it right behind you with a loud sound that makes you feel startled for a bit.

You know Haechan would never hurt you, but this side of him it's such a scary contrast to his usual personality. It’s somewhat unsettling, to say the least, but it is never frightening.

“You’re going to give me the silent treatment?”

After a minute or two, the lack of response gives you a one. You follow him defeated through the elevator doors that take you to the lobby complex, and lose all hope in getting him to talk.

Plus, it’s getting late, and you’re tired, so if Haechan doesn’t want to talk now, you’re not going to push him further anymore —it’s probably best to deal with all this tomorrow morning, after a good night of sleep.

You stop trying to get his attention when the doors of the lobby's elevator close, and just opt to stand right beside him in silence —you've said so much already, from the minute he dragged you out of the bar you and your friends were attending to celebrate Jaemin's birthday, to the final moments in his car; if he didn’t say anything then, he is probably not going to say anything now.

So you accept the silent treatment, walking alongside with him to your apartment door. He pulls out his keys, opens it for you and gets inside without even sending a look your way. You close the door behind you and watch as he throws his jacket to the living room couch, standing awkwardly while he figures out exactly what to say.

“Why did you-”.

“I’m tired,” you cut him short, passing by him through the living room and into your bedroom. “I’m going to bed”.

Like him, you pass by without sparing him a glance. Without even acknowledging his presence there, like you’re just announcing another part of your routine to no one in particular.

“You’re not,” it’s when you feel his hand wrapping around your wrist, and stopping you from leaving the scene, that you turn around to face him —you can still see the tension, in his knitted eyebrows and that gaze of regret he holds. “Let’s talk”.

“I wanted to talk,” you murmur, getting yourself out of his grip. “I spent all the ride back home trying to talk, but you weren’t even looking at me”.

“I was just trying to find the right ti-”.

“What even is the right time?” there’s annoyance in your voice, and a part of you wishes your emotions hadn't escalated too quickly. But if there's one thing that pisses you off, is how things are always done the way he wants them, when he wants them. “When you feel like talking?”

“Listen to me-”.

“No, Haechan, you listen to me,” you sigh, leaving your purse on the couch, right next to his jacket. “Renjun just put his arm around me, he wasn’t- it wasn’t even an actual hug. And yeah- he was tipsy, but he just- he wasn’t hitting on me or anything, God!”

The more you speak, the more stressed you become. Now that the words are falling from your lips, and you’re revisiting the facts, you realize how unprovoked Haechan’s anger truly is.

“You say he's one of your best friends, but you can't even trust him,” your hands travel all the way to your hair, pushing it back and away from your face. The despair is making your body feel warm, and you can even feel a thin layer of sweat gathering on your forehead and nape. “You say you love me, but you can’t even trust me”.

“I trust him,” Haechan murmurs, “and I trust you”.

“Then what is your problem?”

“I am the fucking problem,” the black-haired groans, imitating your previous actions by pushing his hair away from his face. It’s not usual for him to raise his voice, let alone sound this frustrated —the unexpected loud tone makes you swallow thickly. “I know it’s not your fault but I can’t help it”.

“It is not my fault,” you repeat in a whisper, trying to give some echo to his own words. “If it’s not my fault, then why are you acting like it is?”

Haechan goes quiet. Not because he wants to give you the silent treatment again, but because he doesn't know what to say.

Is there anything to say, anyway? You're right, and he feels like an asshole.

“Because,” he begins, all worked up because he believes the answer is rather obvious. Isn’t it? He’s acting like this because you’re his. Because no other man has the right to touch you, or even look your way. You’re his, and he doesn’t like to share. “Because you’re only mine”.

The sudden response makes your heart skip a beat or two. Is it wrong to feel something just by seeing him this angry? Is it wrong to feel proud of hearing him say something so possessive like that?

You feel conflicted —you’re enjoying this when you’re not supposed to.

“Yours?” you ask, with an eyebrow slightly cocked.

“Yes, mine,” you're not quite sure when it happened, but your bodies are now facing each other. You can smell the tension in his cologne, along with the remains of cigarette smoke and the alcoholic beverage Renjun threw Haechan’s way at the club.

“You’re so entitled,” you let out a soft scoff, one that does nothing to ease Haechan's sharp gestures. “Yes, you’re my boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean I belong to you”.

It's, perhaps, the frustration talking. You know what he means, but it's your anger the one to make the first move.

However, you're not expecting him to laugh.

You expected him to counter attack, to get even angrier.

You expected him to raise his voice, or be silent at all.

But you weren't expecting to see the corners of his lips rising in a half smile, one as mischievous at the comment you just made.

“What?”

“Do I need to remind you how mouthy you get when I'm fucking you?”

You stare at him for what feels like ages, not daring to blink or break eye contact. He is also staring at you, but far from looking angry or frustrated, he looks amused. It's like the roles have been reversed, and it's you now who doesn't know what to say.

“What- does that have to do with this?”

“You say you don’t belong to me,” Haechan sighs, the tip of his tongue poking just slightly through his cheek. “But you never seemed reluctant about me owning you when we're in our bed”.

You can feel your cheeks getting warmer, and a weird tension in your lower abdomen you’ve grown to be familiar with over the past years. It’s probably not the greatest time to get aroused, but you can’t control yourself when it comes to him.

Just like he can’t control himself when it’s about you.

“That’s- it’s different,” you weakly attack.

“Is it?”

Haechan can tell you're getting nervous. By the way your shoulders are moving at a faster rate, and you seem to be struggling to look at him, he knows he has hit a nail. Perhaps this is a way to make a point —the one he has been wanting to make all night long.

“How so?”

The words get caught up in your throat again, and the fact that you don't have an actual response makes you feel uneasy.

“If it's any different, then that means you're a liar,” he says, guiding one of his hands to your chin whilst lifting it up. You can hear the tension in the nuances of his voice, those who seem mocking and provocative. Those looking to make you lose a game you didn't even know you were playing, “so when are you lying?”.

His hand strokes the sides of your face, and then places a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is enough to make you gulp, but it’s a nice contrast to his harsh and filthy words.

“Are you lying to me when you say you belong to me, and that you’re mine?” Haechan asks, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. “Or are you lying to me right now, just to rile me up and get what you want?”.

That wasn't precisely a conscious plan, but now that he says so it seems that all your efforts to get him all worked up were to end up just like this.

“I just- Haechan”.

“What?” he asks you. The hand that was caressing your cheek is now placed at your waist, pulling him closer to his body.

You can feel the tension when his bulge brushes against your abdomen, hard and throbbing, pressing against you. It’s too tempting to stop, too inviting to know what he has to say without using no words.

So you allow him to touch you, to press his body against yours to make you feel how much he needs you. There is really no point in resisting, because you’ve wanted this all night long.

“Pervert,” you whisper, panting when you feel his rough grip on your ass. “I bet you were thinking about this on the way back home”.

“And you weren’t?” Haechan scoffs, quietly. “I could see your thighs squeezing together every time you looked at me”.

Embarrassingly enough, he is not that far from the truth.

“I can’t help it,” you wrap your arms around his neck in an attempt to be closer to him. “I’m sorry”.

“Save your apologies for later,” his lips are dangerously close to yours, and you squirm between his arms when you feel his breath caressing your chin and jaw. “You’re going to need them for being such a liar”.

And, finally, you can taste the tension —it tastes like alcohol, cherries, and rage. Like mint and something else.

“Fuck,” you whisper in between kisses when you feel his teeth sinking on your lower lip, “Haechan”.

It doesn’t take him long to guide you to the bedroom, managing to walk the small, dark hallway with his hands all over your body and his eyes closed.

“Haechan,” you voice once again when he lays you down in the mattress, his skillful hands looking for the hems of your jeans and underwear to pull them off in one go. Truth be told, you’ve never seen him this desperate; his lips are all over your thighs and legs, kissing them sloppy while he caresses the sides of them. He’s sucking and nibbling at the sensitive flesh, marking you every now and then in places he knows he’s the only one entitled to see.

Everything is happening too fast, but you don’t want him to slow down —you’re just as desperate as he is.

“You’re fucking dripping,” Haechan groans when he catches a glimpse of your sticky folds, all glistening with your arousal, “shit”.

He doesn’t hesitate before hooking both of his arms under and around your thighs, keeping you still in place while his lips approach your throbbing cunt.

“You think Renjun could get you this wet?” Haechan hums against your thigh, his intimidating gaze looking up at you while you struggle to support your upper body weight with your arms. For an unknown reason, you feel your body melting and going numb at such comments.

“N-no,” you shake your head.

“Do you think your body would react to him like it does with me?” The soft and teasing kisses are killing you; his lips are licking and sucking everywhere but where you want them.

“No, Haechan!” The cries in your voice makes him grind his hips against the mattress, hoping to get even the slightest friction.

He wishes he could keep on teasing you, drive you insane just like you did to him back there at the club. But, truth be told, he can't spend another minute without feeling you, in all the sense of the word.

“Apologize, then,” Haechan says, brushing the tip of his nose against your throbbing clit. That single touch is enough to earn a whimper from you, and it is also enough to make you lose all logic and rationality within you —not that you have any whenever you're underneath him in your bed to begin with.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, clenching around thin air every time the word falls from your lips. “Fuck, I’m sorry Haechan. I’m sorry”.

“Sorry for what?” the dark-haired asks again, acting oblivious to the situation. “What are you apologizing for?”

Whether it's mercy or pure neediness, his tongue unexpectedly laps at your wetness. He licks your slit and toys with your clit, just enough to provide you with some pleasure but without distracting you from your task.

“For- shit, for letting him touch me,” you sigh, kicking your head back. You’re not quite sure what exactly you’re sorry for, but you’re willing to say anything just to feel him. “For letting him- put his arm around me, fuck”.

Haechan smiles against your pussy. A genuine smile, one that can only indicate he’s feeling proud.

“See how easy it is?” he coos, continuing his ministrations on your clit, “you tell me what I want to hear, and I give you anything you want”.

Despite Haechan’s early accusations of you being a liar, you mean everything you say when you’re in bed. In fact, you're only brutally honest when he's deep inside you. When you've lost all your senses and sanity, and when all you are left with is pure bliss.

“I’m sorry,” you keep on chanting, latching your fingers against his dark locks in an attempt to bring him closer to you.

You know you're seconds away from coming, and he knows this too, so he allows you to manhandle him against you as much as you want. He hisses when you grip his hair particularly harsher, but he doesn’t stop; instead, he licks you ardently, looking forward to your orgasm.

“Show me how sorry you are, then,” he murmurs against you, his nose and chin shining with your own wetness. “Come”.

It’s the sight of him between your legs, along with his crude words and pretty eyes that pushes you to the edge. Your hands clasp the bed sheets beneath you, and your thighs threaten to close around him but he is quick to keep them apart with his hands.

“You’re getting shy now?” he teases you while you overcome your high, writhing underneath his hold. “Keep them open for me pretty, I want to lick you clean”.

Much against your body’s will, Haechan manages to keep you in place while he helps you through your orgasm, causing waves of overstimulation to wreak havoc inside you from your head to the tip of your toes.

“Haechan!,” you gasp when you feel him pulling away from your body, the sudden loss of contact making you feel somewhat relieved after the pinches of pain caused by the overstimulation.

His lips are bright peachy and swollen, all covered in your own orgasm.

“Too much?” Haechan asks, unbuckling his belt while getting rid of his clothes. You imitate him and do the same, discarding your blouse and bra somewhere along the room.

“No,” you shake your head, inviting him between your legs.

He positions himself in the middle, and the sight makes you clench around thin air yet again. His cock is hard and reddened, throbbing almost visibly in front of your eyes.

“You still think you can take me?” he asks yet again, trying to make sure you’re not sore from how aggressive his early ministrations were.

“I’ve been wanting you all night long, Haechan,” you murmur, wrapping your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “Don’t care about anything, I just want you to fuck me”.

He kisses your forehead, and then your chin. The tip of his cock is pressing against your clit and, at times, against your entrance, but he is still nowhere near being inside you.

“See,” Haechan whispers with his lips against your jaw. “I know you’ve apologized, but I still need to make sure everyone knows you’re mine”.

His words make you let out a quiet scoff.

“How come, exactly?”

“What if I came inside you?” Even the idea makes you gasp —half a gasp, that ends up sounding more like a moan, “hm?”

For this, he needs to feel you. So he loses no time pushing himself inside you until he bottoms out. You dig your fingernails into his biceps when you feel the tip of his cock brushing against a sensitive spot inside you, and it’s only then when he continues to tell you, perhaps, his filthiest fantasy.

“What if I got you pregnant?” It’s crazy, the rational part of you acknowledges. But the aroused one, the one that lacks logic, only gets even more turned on at his words. “That way, everyone will know what we do when we’re alone”.

“Shit,” you cry, clenching around his cock.

He smiles when he feels it.

“You’d like that, don’t you?” After a couple of slow, delicate thrusts, he begins to acquire a faster pace when you get used to having him inside you. “You're squeezing my cock so hard”.

“You want to- get me pregnant?”

Even the words falling from your lips make you clench around him yet again, and it takes him a lot of effort not to come just by those gestures alone.

“That way everyone would know you’re mine,” Haechan sighs, pistoning deeper inside you. “Everyone would know that I’m the one who fucks you good, the one you allow to come inside that pretty pussy of yours”.

You whimper at his words, nibbling on your lower lip while trying to contain every lewd sound that threatens to escape your lips.

“I bet you’d- look so pretty like that,” the more aroused he gets, the less he cares about what he says —it seems as though he’s not having any inhibitions, and you love it. “Fuck”.

It's a wild fantasy, but you two seem to share it. You’d be lying if you say that the mere thought of carrying his child is not appealing to you, because it is.

“Yeah?” you ask, feeling him losing all pace and rhythm of his hips. “Why don’t you get me pregnant, then?”

The dirty talk does wonders to him, because the minute you start voicing his thoughts it’s the minute his movements become sloppier, rushed, and faster. He wants to come, he desperately needs it.

But he wants you to come first.

“I will,” he groans through gritted teeth. “If that’s what you want, then I will”.

Your heart feels fuzzy, and the tension on your lower abdomen starts increasing with each thrust. It’s not going to be long before you come around him, for the second time in a row, and as much as you’d like to savor this moment, you’re too desperate to take your time.

“Fuck,” Haechan curses under his breath, feeling his arms going numb —the pleasure is too overwhelming for him to maintain a steady pace, but he makes an effort. “Make me come, baby. Squeeze my cock until I come inside you”.

The dirty talk, combined with his gaze and the future promise of offering you that something only he can give it to you, makes you reach your orgasm again.

“Coming,” you cry quietly, wrapping your legs even tighter around his hips. You arch your back against him, and he hugs you tightly in place while he continues fucking your pussy, just as much as your grip allows him too.

“That’s it,” he praises, leaving wet kisses on your forehead and cheeks while you overcome your high. “Are you going to let me come inside you tonight? Fill you up with my cum?”

“Yes!” it’s all you manage to say in the midst of such a devastating arousal. “Yes, yes, Haechan”.

He buries his face on the crook of your neck, and keeps on fucking your swollen pussy until he achieves his orgasm too.

A hot, sticky feeling is quick to flood your tummy, as well as your inner thighs. He continues fucking you slowly and gently, even after coming, to prevent his arousal to leak out of you.

“Shit,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his neck so that he plops down on top of your body, “I can feel you”.

He hugs you into his embrace, while still inside you, and attempts to stabilize himself before leaving the bed to provide you with some wet towels and water. Truth be told, he wishes to stay like this forever, with your naked body underneath him, and his leaking cock inside you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, leaving a quick kiss on your lips. “I know it’s-”

“Hey,” you cut him short, cooing softly. “We can talk about it tomorrow morning”.

He gets the sense that you're comfortable right now, despite the early fight, so he follows your plea compliantly.

“I’m an asshole,” Haechan jokes.

“Sometimes,” you scoff softly, finding his hazy gaze in the midst of the dim lights. “I’m glad you can acknowledge it”.

“And I’m glad you still keep up with it”.

[yesimwriting]

okay but after the whole lucy gray thing we know coryo was done with “love” and everything BUT what if during the following year of thg he ends up falling in love with another tribute also from district 12 and he’s just going through it bad (again) however he somehow ends up actually getting the girl in the end, maybe even buying her way into the capitol

A/n I've been thinking about a very specific part of this since i first read it but i told myself no more fic writing until i finished at least one of my essays for finals seasons 😭

also ik in the book (and it's implied in the movie) that after the events of the book he lives with the plinths, but let's pretend he lives on his own with access to the plinth fortune for privacy

ik that makes it sound like it's smutty, but it's not lol

----

Proximity aggravates distance. The closer you are to something, the more damage any remaining space causes.

The few feet dividing the two of you have no right to jab at something inside of him the way it does. It's bad enough that instead of going to bed after a long night of fulfilling his apprenticeship duties under Volumnia's watchful eye, he stopped by your apartment. Only one floor away from his.

For months, the only thing holding the two of you together had been memories of those few nights before the Games.

Coriolanus's attempt to remain indifferent towards you had quickly failed, and his backup plan of learning to loathe you had proven to be just as useless. So he settled on letting you unabashedly take his hand whenever fear overwhelmed you and committing the way your kind eyes watched him to memory.

You're looking around the room--his room--openly, eyes darting from the mahogany surface of his desk to the details elegantly carved into his bed frame.

His fingertips itch with the uncertain desire to reach for you. You've only been in the Capitol for about a day and a half. Less than 48 hours. But the move, the beginning of a program for certain, qualifying victors and their families, had been planned for months.

You shouldn't feel like a phantom that'll vanish if he lets go for too long. "What are you thinking about?"

The question grounds you the same way it did last time he asked. You do your best to hide it, but you're still adjusting, still surprised that he managed to find a way to bring you together again. Just like he promised. Your doubt isn't personal, a fact he has to remind himself of.

"I'm just..." You tilt your head slightly, gaze retreating from the royal blue wallpaper and silver trim of his bedroom walls, "Analyzing."

The comment is followed by an easygoing smile that pinches at something in his chest. His new apartment, the penthouse of one of the largest buildings in the city, another gift from the ever flowing well that is the Plinth fortune, still reeks of former poverty. The few things that hint at the personal are hidden behind layers of desperate wealth so thick the items might as well be standard.

A lifetime spent in 12 means that there's no way you can read between the lines. He can't decide if your perspective will make this room look worse or better. It's a nice bedroom, definitely grander than any bedroom you've stood in before...but it's understated. Maybe even disappointing to someone like you.

"Analyzing?"

You turn fully, "A bedroom says a lot about a person."

"You might get more out of analyzing my study," an oddly school boy worthy partial truth slips out before he can stop himself, "I think I've been spending more time there than here recently."

You shake your head once, eyes landing on the crimson red vase filed with crisp white roses his grandma'am had gifted him on his last visit. Her pride and joy now more than ever. "I'm seeing all I need."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's the most genuine expression that's slipped past him in weeks. When he first worked out a way to bring you here, some doubting part of him wondered if the draw he felt towards you would still exist in person.

Less than two weeks after your victorious departure from the Capitol, he had searched through your files and found your address. He had written the letter in a moment of weakness and only sent it after deciding that writing a letter to never be sent is the only thing more pathetic than writing to you in the first place. He had spent the week following that wallowing in self loathing until an age-stained envelope arrived at his door.

"And what are you seeing?" He keeps his tone light. This is ridiculous. He dragged himself and his family out of a gutter clogged by the casualties of war. Coriolanus is stronger than fleeting emotion now. Your opinions on his room can't possibly affect him.

If he were to simplify what brought you here, to the Capitol, to him, he could blame it on his bedroom. The urge to see you, to figure out some way the two of you closer together before your undeserving district could swallow you whole in an attempt to make you like them, would flare up whenever he received one of your letters.

Those urges, however, had never burned him. Not until you wrote about wanting to see him out of the most curious nostalgia you'd ever felt. You wanted to see him in a way that'd let you know what his room looked like, in a way that'd let you guess at his favorite color.

He takes a few steps forward, making the conscious decision to not reach for you. You've never rejected his advances, not even when he instinctually intertwined your fingers after picking you and your family up from the train station. You had scolded him after, telling him that you'd hear no end of it from your mother. It took a lot of focus for Coriolanus to not smile at that. You spoke of it like it would've never occurred to you to just pull your hand away.

Your eyes shift from end of the room to the other. Coriolanus moves carefully, passing you before sitting at the edge of his crisply made bed.

"Before you make your decision..." You turn instinctually, expression so polite and expecting he almost doesn't know how to bear it. His hand briefly pats the space beside him in a silent invitation. "So you can see it from all perspectives."

Your head tilts slightly, and for a moment, Coriolanus can practically feel your rejection. Then you move, sock clad feet treading over smooth white-gray marble. You sit next to him so assuredly, anyone else would have taken the way you neatly fold your hands in your lap as politeness instead of a display of nerves.

Your family's presence makes you less pliable. It's a factor he's willing to work around considering that you would've never left them to come to the Capitol. And even if he had managed to talk you into it, your nostalgia and homesickness would've made you more of a ghost to him than before.

At least the position your family's in is uncertain enough to allow for some leeway in the social norms that you cling to. However, every once in awhile it hits you that at the end of the day, he's still a boy that you're close to, which means that it's your duty to create the distance necessary to keep everything proper. Leaving your bedroom in the middle of the night because said boy knocked at your door and then entering his room in his empty penthouse is something you would've done under normal circumstances.

But your connection isn't that black and white. If it was something so simple, he would have been able to sever it the night before your Games.

"It makes all the difference," you agree warmly, and only somewhat sarcastically. You give yourself another second to take in the space, "I like it."

He can tell that you mean it. "I haven't fully settled in yet."

You shrug, paying him little mind, "There's something about it that just feels like you."

Coriolanus shifts his focus to the ground. You can't possibly mean it in the way that he sees the room, as a reminder that he still doesn't fully fit into who he's become.

"I've been meaning to pick up a few things," he says, "Tomorrow, after my classes, I was thinking about browsing some paintings." Another half truth. He had been meaning to. Mrs. Plinth had instructed him to visit her art dealer whenever he had enough free time to pick out a few pieces to demonstrate his taste. He'd been putting it off as a dismissable task, but it feels like a safe way to give you your first taste of life in the Capitol. "If you'd like to help me pick some out."

You smile, eyebrows pinching together in a way that's just barely noticeable. You're as interested as you are puzzled. "I'd like that." Relaxing enough to let your hand rest between the two of you, you beam, "I don't know if I'd be much help, but I'd like that."

He'd be willing to get anything that caught your eye. Paintings and vases already with such an exclusive art dealer hold more or less the same level of standing, anyway.

Coriolanus moves his hand slowly, careful not to startle you before his fingers can settle against your own. You instinctually turn over your palm, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You stare at him with wide, understanding eyes. Sometimes when you look at him, really look at him, Coriolanus is struck with the feeling that you can see right through him. It's an irrational feeling, that every good action and cruel deed is reflected in his eyes. Moments like this make it hard to be near you. They also, however, make the thought of adding distance between the two of you unbearable.

"I have an early class."

You dip your chin forward in an attempt to accept what you're considering a dismissal. "Right, you must be tired." The words sit between you for a long moment.

Your free hand presses into the silk of your still new pajamas. You shift like you're going to stand. His hold on your hand tightens before you can move away. You still.

He's being ridiculous. There's nothing about this situation that warrants his inability to look at you. "Stay here." His thumb runs across your knuckles. "With me."

The words are soft enough to be a request, but there's not enough space between them for questioning. He cautiously lifts his head enough to take in your reaction.

"What?" It's a display of shock more than an actual question. Coriolanus squeezes your hand even tighter. You don't try to get him to let go, but you do shift away just enough to create the reminder of distance. "You know I can't."

His other hand reaches forward, settling against your wrist. "Why not?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come off as raspy, as desperate as it does.

You swallow, attempting to straighten your spine in an attempt to offset the instinctual urge to hide your face. This isn't a topic you're even comfortable implying. "My mother would kill me if she so much as found out that I came up here so late, let alone..." You trail off, head dropping to your lap. "Stayed here."

He envelops your hand between both of his. "She knows we're friendly."

You look up just long enough to imply a pointed not that friendly. "It's--" You blink, eyes darting from to your joint hands and then finally to the ground. "You know it's..."

Coriolanus leans forward. The shift is small, just enough for his knee to brush against yours. "It's what?" He keeps his voice low, a barely there whisper that comes off as so innocent it nearly circles back to anything but.

You glance up, so wide eyed and flighty he's reminded of a rabbit. The level of precaution you're exuding can't just be about your mother's opinions, can it? He studies your expression openly, taking in the set of your eyebrows and the way you steadily press your lips together to avoid speaking without thinking. At least some part of you believes in your mother's concerns.

The realization strike shim so quickly he has to focus on keeping his expression neutral. Your bond is so much more than just coming together on a random night where exhaustion's already clouding his focus.

It will happen between the two of you. Eventually. But not yet. You've barely entered the Capitol and every aspect of your life has become vastly different than what you're accustomed to. If he were to attempt to cement any relationship between the two of you like that now, you'd be too overwhelmed or you might think that that's the only reason he brought you here.

He learned early on that it's best to introduce adjustments to you slowly, giving you enough time to hold onto ideas before enacting them. Anything of that nature would work that way too.

"I haven't been able to see much of you." He focuses on your hand, still resting safely between both of his. The words came out too quickly, a flash of some genuine sort of emotion that claw at him on the way out. With you, sometimes a glimpse of feeling works wonders.

Your thumb draws gentle patterns against the side of his hand. "You're busy." He relaxes his hand, turning over his palm. You place his hand on your knee, fingers tracing the natural creases etched into his skin. "You're important."

The way that last word comes out makes an uncertain warmth crawl up his neck. "I--I've wanted to see you more." Another thing he means so much it turns his stomach to admit it.

Your nail drags down a line that cuts across the length of his hand. "Me too."

He bends his fingers slowly, moving in until he's trapped your pointer finger against his palm. "Then stay." You twist your finger enough to express some lighthearted irritation, but not enough to count as a real attempt at escaping. "If your mother says anything, I'll explain it to her." You glare at him without any true aggression. "She likes me, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus already knows the answer. She credits your survival to him. You had mentioned that in a letter once, telling him that she insisted you pass along her gratitude after discovering that the two of you had started to correspond regularly.

He also saw the way she reacted to realizing that she had made it to the Capitol. Your mother's family had once been part of the wealthier side of 12. You're part of a recently fallen line of mine owners, a fact that your mother has only pretended to let go of. He saw a hunger behind her eyes that reminded him of a warped version of his own.

Coriolanus gave her back the pride the war had stolen from her family name tenfold. He owes her this much.

"She'd trade me for you in a heartbeat." He hears the grin in your voice more than he sees it. Your family means the world to you, which means he's subjected himself to seeking your mother's validation and winning over your two younger sisters.

It's not the way he'd choose to spend his limited free time, especially with you standing right there, but he's endured worse for less of a pay off. "Then she'd be a fool."

You fight to hold his gaze. "I doubt that."

Your eyes are pools of honest, unfiltered affection. The care that you're watching him with makes it hard to swallow. The instinct to press, to dig and claw and tear anything that could be hiding an ulterior motive into shreds makes it hard to take a full breath. You've always worn your heart on your sleeve. You're not a flighty songbird that uses its charm to distract its prey from its fang-like talons.

"Stay." Again. So breathless he almost doesn't recognize the word as his own.

The deliberation is transparent behind your eyes. You're considering it, but you're still not convinced. The hesitation stings in a way he doesn't understand. "I don't want to give her a reason to not like you."

So softly spoken he's shocked by the way the words manage to feel like a nail being hammered into his chest.

"She's let you stay with other people before." The response is too sharp, too sudden. He should refocus and think through what he's about to say. Coriolanus knows that it's easier to get you to agree to something through the use of honey sweetened words and displays of patience. "You wrote about him."

The confusion that briefly etches its way into your expression threatens to quell the uncomfortable swell of jealousy tightening his chest. "Warren?" The name makes tints the air between you with something acidic. "That was--different."

Your explanation adds an edge to the pressure in his chest. "Why?"

"We weren't--" You cut yourself off, the instinct to placate him and your desire to not start a conversation you can't finish battling each other oddly. "We were never alone." You squeeze his hand as best as you can. "He's a family friend and I only stayed over when my mom had to work late and I was too young to be alone for so long, so I haven't stayed over in years. And--and he shared a room with three of his siblings and his parents checked on us constantly."

He frowns, unconvinced. The lack of approval has you clinging to him, adjusting your hold on his hand as you gently trail your knuckles against the inside of his wrist. "I do miss you." You stare at your hands. "I know it's weird because we're--y'know--closer than before, but I-I do miss you."

The expanding wave of tension in his chest begins to deflate. You're good at that, at redirecting and soothing without even realizing it. A talent that had contributed to his original desire to loathe you. "I understand that." He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Things aren't going to get less busy. That's why I want to use all the time we have."

You nod slowly, a hint of understanding making its appearance in the set of your brow. "I know."

"What you wrote," he begins, too aware of how much he means the question that follows, "Did you mean it."

"Of course I did." Not an ounce of hesitation, of uncertainty.

He turns your hand over before shifting his fingers up the inside of your wrist. "You wrote about wanting to see me."

"I did..." The pad of his thumb gently makes its way up your forearm. Your even breathing falters. "I do."

Coriolanus lets himself look up just enough to take in your expression. "Then stay." He swallows, too aware of the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Please."

You glance up at him through your lashes. There's a softness there that jabs at him. "Okay."

He lifts the back of your hand, carefully brushing his lips against your skin. "You mentioned wanting to see a library."

You wrote about it once. A brief mention in one of your letters of the small room in your school's office that served as a sort of communal study space with a few books stacked on a small shelf. Your longing had been clear.

Nodding curiously, you agree, "Yeah?"

"I could leave for my classes a little earlier tomorrow, you could come with me." The proposal comes out slowly, his own suggestion taking him by surprise. "My driver could bring you back, that'll give you time to meet the tutor that's being sent over for your sisters, and then when I get back we'll look at the paintings."

You immediately grin, "Really?"

He finds himself smiling back, pulling your arm closer. "Whatever you want."

You beam. "I'd really like that."

"Good," he affirms with a nod of his head that's a touch too forward. He regrets it almost immediately. "If you like it, I might be able to get your own tutor to meet you at a library."

Part of the still uncertain victor program relies on setting up the victor and their family with a new life. Education plays a role in that. Placing any one of you in an actual Capitol run institution is far out of the question. For everyone's sake. Even if the thought of sharing a classroom with someone from 12 didn't horrify the Capitol parents, you and your siblings wouldn't be able to just jump in. It's not that he views you as unintelligent, but District 12's education system isn't exactly on par with the Capitol's.

"That sounds nice," you sit up a little straighter, excited by the prospect, "A part of me kind of misses school."

Another aspect of your personality that he had learned about after your Games. You like school for the sake of it. "I'll check on the arrangements tomorrow."

He clears his throat before you can do more than just nod, "It's getting late."

Coriolanus carefully sets your hand down on the comforter. You awkwardly shift, now more aware of what you agreed to than ever. "Right," you push yourself to stand, "You need your sleep."

He pulls back his sheets before you can think about it even further. You crawl into the provided space without looking at anything in particular. He's quick to join you beneath the safety of plush bedding before leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness floods the space. There's something about the absence of light that makes things feel heavier. The potential intimacy of the situation sneaks up on him with no warning.

This isn't a loss of control. It can't be. It was his idea, he had pushed and convinced you to stay here. He's aware of everything that's led up to this moment, but that's not enough to stop him from wondering if this is something than he should have known better than to embrace. He had accepted the familiar, fickle knotting of his stomach once before.

Steady warmth presses itself against his arm. He blinks, head turning a second too quickly. Your hand has found his. Coriolanus relaxes, allowing himself to fully relax against his pillow. You pick up on his shift, reflecting it by laying down as well.

For someone that had been so hesitant, you seem to know what to do better than he does. You pull his arm towards you, gently trailing your fingers against the exposed skin. Heat crawls up his neck.

"Goodnight," you mumble, voice already drowsy.

Coriolanus lets out a long breath. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his lips before settling back into the position the two of you were in before. "Goodnight."

[eyelessfaces]

okay, being mad at poe for pulling crazy stunts and getting hurt blablabla but have you tried considering it the other way around??

drabble under the cut

“What was that? Seriously,” your feet just reached the ground, the force of your faint jump recoiling to your knees and reminding you that you should try to go easy on them for a while. You turn to Poe at the sound of his voice, his brows furrowed and his jaw tense from all the stress you brought him in such a short time.

You hate to upset him, you hate just the mere idea that you could disappoint him.

He takes a step towards you. “Look I’m sorry,” you start, ready to defend yourself for your actions and for the reasons you took the decisions you took on this mission; if this happened to not be sufficient, you could always throw at his face that he’s usually the one to act so reckless all the time, and hopefully this conversation could be over with. You weren’t exactly in the mood to argue with him, not when your ribs were hurting so much, not when you could feel your nose could start bleeding again at any moment, without prior notice.

He stares at your face with that look you hate, the professional one, the one that dismisses what you have when it’s not all about the Resistance.

The rooted feeling of utter frustration in his eyes, something that doesn’t even require him to speak to let you know you’ve upset him, disappointed him by pulling the same dodgy stunts he often pulls on his own General. 

But it’s not the same here; it’s not the same because there’s another layer of trust between you, something you assume to have broken now. 

His mouth gapes slightly, like he’s speechless, and when you eventually expect him to snap at you, he just releases a breath even he doesn’t realize he had been holding, and pulls you near to hug you tight. Your state of confusion washes away as quickly as it appeared, your forehead pressing against his chest. His arms wrap painfully against your ribs, but you’re not sure you want him to let go. Not when you nearly danced with death. The familiar press of him, the warmth of his embrace, it all reminds you what you’re fighting for. 

When you look back at him, his hands frame your face, his thumb underlining the fresh, slightly swollen cut over your cheekbone. 

“Close call huh?” his voice has a teasing edge, but his gaze is soft, worried. His eyes flicker over your face, taking in the dirt, the grime, the gashes and blood there. He gathers you into his embrace again, your arm wrapping around his neck, holding him close.

“I’m sorry, Poe” you apologize in a mumble to his ear, your voice weak, filled with regret. He feels it deep inside him. Holding grudges is useless when so much worse could have happened, when he could have lost you. 

“That was impressive, actually.” he huffs out, the optimistic side of him allowing him to see the good in every situation. “But don’t do that ever again. Promise me” he demands, clutching you firmly. His hand sprawls over the small of your back, rubbing up and down your spine, relishing in the fact that despite everything, you’re here, standing right in front of him, still breathing, heart still beating.

His head buries against your shoulder as his eyes clench tight, as he breathes you in. 

He knows you can’t promise you’ll always come back, neither of you can, but getting to hold you here, it’s enough for now.

[spamgyu]

COLLEGE!Mingyu drabble - hairties and phone numbers

another installation to the college!mingyu au no bc college!mingyu as someone who lives down the hall from your dorm and you always run into him doing something questionable

kind of obsessed with the thought of oc's dad loving mingyu and wanting them together.

Her and her roommate rarely locked their door.

In fact, most on their floor rarely did as well — some even leaving their dorm room door wide open a majority of the time, allowing for guests to come in and out when they please.

They put way too much trust on one another...

"You got a hair tie?" He barged in, making a bee-line to her desk.

Looking up from her laptop, she watched as he rummaged through her belongings as she sat on her bed. He had a habit of making himself feel quite at home in her and her roommate's shared space.

"Hi, Mingyu. Hello, I'm doing fine. Thanks for asking" She rolled her eyes.

She had given up telling him off, opting to use sarcasm instead.

She had invited him in one time... One damn time, to help him with his paper and since then, he had made himself a regular in her room. Most of the time, he stopped by for useless reasons.

Just the other day, he had come in whilst she was busy plucking her eyebrows, only to turn off the lamp and scurrying away with a mischievous giggle.

He was always up to no good.

"Hi y/n." He paused his search with a sigh, as if she was the one bothering him. "Do you have a hair tie?"

Holding her arm up, he zeroed in on the black elastic around her wrist. "Thanks!" Mingyu smiled, slipping it off of her.

He pulled half of his hair up atop his head, securing it with the newly borrowed hair tie. "Looks okay?" He faced her.

Y/n snorted, grabbing her phone and pointing at him. "Smile."

Mingyu forced a smile out, like a five year old who just learned how to show off their teeth.

"You look like a toddler." She laughed, showing him the image she had just taken.

Mingyu chuckled, tucking the other strands he wasn't able to gather, behind his ears. "Send this to me."

Within seconds, the phone in his pocket buzzed – pulling it out to save the image. "Instagram dm's fucked up the quality." He frowned.

"Give me your number."

"You want my number?" He wiggled his brows.

"To send it, doofus." Y/n countered, giving him a look.

"I knew you always had the hots for me."

"I need you to look in the mirror and say that again."

Craning his neck to catch a glimpse of himself on the mirror hanging by her door, Mingyu let out a laugh. He looked absolutely ridiculous; wearing faded sweats, an ill-fitting puffer vest that he had stolen from his dad closet, and socks with his Birkenstock clogs.

"I think I look fine." He shrugged, going back to looking down on his phone.

hi it's mingyu

Y/n looked at the message from the unknown number, snorting. "You have my number?"

"Your dad gave it to me."

"Of course he did."

Her dad had hounded her numerously in regards to her finding a boyfriend, claiming that it was another man's turn to spoil her and treat her well.

And he knew just the right guy for the job.

He was not giving up on his dreams of making Mingyu a part of their family.

[gg-pedro]

spin worlds - joel miller x reader oneshot

masterlist

summary: strings attached are easy enough to ignore when you're only trying to survive. when joel gets hurt, the world stops spinning, and you realize that you matter more to each other than you ever let yourselves believe.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, post outbreak!joel, boston!era, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, protective!joel, implied age gap, non-established relationship, set a few years before tlou hbo, hurt/comfort, non-gratuitous descriptions of a wound, hurt!joel, unprotected piv, fingering, end of the world sex, rough!joel, heavy on the petnames, drug/alcohol use, lots of feelings, its boston QZ joel so, angst with a happy ending, angst with fluff

words: 3.6k

a/n: is this what i really think the people want? maybe! is this what I want? absolutely yes!!!!!!!!!

-

Hundreds of nights spent with Joel since you’d been in Boston. Thousands of hours, words spoken to each other, yearning to stay in his arms longer and say more. 

The time you had with each other used to feel fleeting. Always after dark, sneaking around the QZ like you were teenagers together. It was a strictly private thing. It was almost like the two of you kept it a secret to feel a kind of thrill again, something from a past life, as if there was still right and wrong in the world and a little bit of something wrong was all you had left. 

That thrill wore off eventually, and you were with Joel for more than just the adrenaline hit. He made things more bearable and cut you deeper all at the same time. 

Flattened on his bed for yet another night, you got the feeling that something was bothering him. 

The sensation of cotton sheets was rough against your skin, acting as a futile means to abate the cold that was swirling through the apartment and raising the hairs on your arms. Your view was of his back, and the long, jagged scar that ran close to his spine. You reached your hand out to touch him and he flinched away.

“‘M goin’ out tomorrow. Without you,” he said, before you even had to ask. “Too many close calls lately.”

His voice was quiet and rough, sore from the dry air. You tried your luck at smoothing a hand across his shoulder, and this time he let himself lean into it.

“Doesn’t seem like that means you should go alone.” You pressed a kiss against his shoulder blade.

He turned his head to the side, not far enough to look you in the eye but far enough to confirm that you were there and not some twisted hallucination that he had dreamed up. “I’ll come back fine. I always do.”

Joel had this talent of convincing others that his word was his bond. He hardly had to try. When he spoke, it was like everyone sensed that they were in the presence of a kind of profit, and that he was privy to some knowledge or confidence that could keep people alive.

It didn’t help that he seemed to hold all of the knowledge in the world– knowledge about the important things. He could fix the leaky faucet in your bathroom blindfolded. Always knew what direction he was going in. Knew how to tie a million useless knots. Could look up to the night sky and point to Polaris like he was pointing to a map of Austin, showing you his old favorite diner that he went to every Saturday. I’ll come back fine. I always do. 

But Joel didn’t know anything. You’d been close enough to see that. He was just as frightened as you. But now more than ever, you wanted to trust him. Turn your back and fall, bet on the fact that he would stop the world from spinning to be there in time to catch you. 

Perhaps you were too easy, too willing to take what he gave. It was still heaven. Heaven, in a crumbling apartment building, sometimes with your restless mind placated by downers, draped across his silhouette. Sometimes you wondered, between the two of you, who deserved this life less. When you thought about it for too long, the answer was always Joel.

“Who are you meeting?”

He rubbed his palm against his forehead in slow circles. “One of my guys. Said he wasn’t gonna smuggle into the QZ anymore, son of a bitch.”

You only hummed in response, working your thumb into the knot in his shoulder. “And you trust him?”

“No.” He turned fully this time, his big hands roaming to the small of your waist and his lips to your jawline. “Sure as fuckin’ hell not enough to bring you out there this time.”

You grinned and smoothed his hair back off his forehead when he looked at you again. “Don’t have any faith in me, Miller?”

“You know that ain’t it, baby doll,” he whispered. “Don’t wanna take any chances with you.”

“Oh, yeah?” You laughed as he pulled you up onto his lap, looking deep in thought as he deliberated over where to plant kisses across your face and neck. “As if you’re ever careful with me.”

“I could be,” he said. “If you wanted.”

“Mmh, I don’t think I do.”

You looped your arms around his neck and he took your face fully into his hands. You felt almost engulfed as he kissed you. There was a fire blazing between you, and it felt like your clothes had melted away rather than been taken off with how quickly they disappeared. Your skin buzzed with desire, blood flowing to your most sensitive points. You felt limp like putty, lying in wait to be sculpted with the rough smearing of his hands across your body.

He was unrestrained in the way that he removed your roaming hands and pinned both arms above your head against the bed. “Y’think this isn’t gentle, princess? Yeah, let me show you rough.”

He split your legs apart, hand traveling to your warmed and wet entrance like a magnet. Three of his fingers were pumping short rhythms into you before you could even breathe, and your vision nearly went white. You writhed, helpless to the desperate moaning that was slipping past your lips until Joel pressed his hand against your mouth.

It all hurt so good. The sparking pleasure came and went so quickly with his movements that it felt like a continuous wave of ecstasy, even if he was stretching you close to your limit. 

He wouldn’t stop murmuring things in your ear throughout. “Think I’m gonna let you out there? Get you hurt? No, baby. I only hurt you ‘cause y’let me. Don’t you, hm? Can’t have you screaming, not with the neighbors.”

Despite his best efforts, he was only muffling the litany of sounds that you were producing as he finger fucked you raw.

After he could tell that he had brought you close to your tipping point, rough hands grabbed your waist and forced you to flip over. He pulled you up on your knees, and he turned your head to the side before forcing it down against the bed.

With one hand he fumbled with his belt, cursing in desperation as he struggled with it for a few moments. He went silent for a beat before white hot pleasure shot through your, and all you could hear was the rough slapping of your bare bodies connecting with each other. 

He was not gentle. It was clear that his pace and frequent position changes were to fulfill only his desires, and your own intense satisfaction was just a byproduct. You couldn’t complain. In fact, it would be foolish to complain. If this is what he was offering, then you would take all that he would give. 

He came quickly. He always did on nights like these, when you had given him some sort of permission to just use you for a while. You stared out to your left, looking for Orion in the cluster of stars outside his apartment’s window. You felt warm liquid spill into you and begin to drip onto your thighs as he continued thrusting. Tears blurred your vision as you followed suit, unraveling into a perfect little mess beneath him. 

“Knew you could take it, honey. You feel okay?”

“Mhm,” you said in a high-pitched tone, biting back tears as he sat you up.

He gathered your naked form into his arms and held you there for a while. He kissed the top of your head, and you wished you could’ve watched the starlight reflecting in his eyes for a little while longer.

“C’mon, I’ll get you cleaned up. Shower,” he said, more of a command than anything.

You followed his directions without responding. It wasn’t him that hurt you, not really. It wasn’t the vulnerability that stung you too deep. It was just the reminder that your relationship with Joel was far from merciful, cut from desperation and an utter decimation of the people you used to be. In another life, you knew that this wasn’t the way you could’ve loved each other.

After a luke-warm shower and a poor attempt of washing yourself clean of sin, you sat at the kitchen table in nothing but one of Joel’s denim flannels. Your hair was heavy and wet with water, leaving dark blue trails down the back of the button-up.

He smoothed an errant strand back from your forehead as he sat in the chair across from you, pouring whiskey from his decanter into two glasses. You suspected he had been drinking before you came over, but you never said anything.

You took a long drink before speaking. “When’re you planning on leaving?”

“Early.” You watched him pop a few white pills in his mouth and down the entirety of his glass. “Back before dark.”

“Could’ve just used water,” you mused. “Do you want me here when you get back?”

He looked over at you fully, that lazy smile and those sweltering brown eyes. “Hard times, darlin’. Hard times.” He removed his gaze to shake a couple more pills out of the cloudy plastic bag, leaning over the table to drop them next to your half-empty cup. “And yeah, I do. Stay.”

You stared blankly at what was in front of you, shaking your head. “Let me come, Joel.”

“You can’t negotiate with me on this. It’s a hard no.”

“Just don’t be an idiot. Please,” you bargained. “This doesn’t feel right.”

You watched him stand and walk over to you, resting a large hand on your upper back. “I’ll be back before dark,” he said again.

You looked up at him. “And if not?”

“I’ll be back.” He leaned down to kiss your temple. “I will be.”

You nodded. “I’ll be here.”

“Good,” he all but whispered. “Good, that’s all I want.”

-

True to his word, Joel was out early. 

Doubly true, with blood and sweat dripping from his hairline and into his eyes, Joel dragged himself forward as the sun set over the harbor.

November in Boston. Brutal, wintery wind whipped past his face and stung the open wounds that had been hashed into his skin. His vision swam, and he brought his sleeve up to his head again to try and stop some of the bleeding coming from the left side of his head.

You were right. Always right about nearly everything, you were. It was a trap. Maybe he could’ve taken the three guys that met him at the deal site if you had been there too, but he razed each one alone and hardly made it out alive.

You. He would’ve stopped a few miles ago if it weren’t for you. In the moment he could’ve cursed your name and damned you to hell for what you drove him to do. He could’ve sat on the curb, rested his aching back against that old lamppost with moss and flora to cushion his injured head. Shut his eyes and die already, a death that would’ve been so easy, one that he begged for a million times.

You. He stared up to the sky, praying to something that his directions were right as his eyes landed on the north star. A mile or two east, and he’d be at the QZ. His blurred vision made the light astigmatic, so he could only hope.

The pistol in his back pocket felt red hot as he stumbled eastward. The only force driving him forward was the thought of putting a bullet through the head of anyone that touched you.

This was his fault, afterall. He should’ve taken someone. Maybe it was your fault then, for mattering so much to him that nothing could bring him to put you in even the slightest bit of danger. No, none of it was your fault. Nothing was. You deserved a whole world that Joel couldn’t give you.

He’d get to you. He would.

-

Making good on his promise, you woke up cold in his empty bed.

You could’ve sworn you saw your own breath freeze in the air, through sunlight that shone through the infinite planes of the apartment. You reached a bare arm up towards the ceiling, trying to catch some of the warmth that it gave.

You had an entire day of work ahead of you, likely doing maintenance on the water system or making house calls to troubleshoot issues with the electricity. Life here had made you more useful and skilled than you had ever been before, and sometimes work felt like a welcome distraction. 

You got yourself up and dressed, picking up around his place before you made it out the door. The discarded pills on the kitchen table swirled down the sink along with yesterday morning’s coffee.

You knew how to take care of yourself more than he did. You weren’t sure why Joel fought you so hard on some things.

On the return trip to his apartment far past dinner time, you were smeared with dried sweat and soot. Your eyes passed the stars, and you repeated a silent prayer to yourself that Joel had already beat you home. 

Scaling the stairs to the third floor, you saw that fate had cruelly twisted your own wishes.

“... My fucking god, J– what happened? Hey, hey, look up at me, please–”

You were crouched before Joel’s slumped figure, barely aware enough to respond to your voice or your touch. His flannel shirt was torn, exposing a bloodied white undershirt rising and falling along with his rapid breathing.

He had a hand almost glued to this side of his head, stained with dried blood. He made a strained groaning noise as you pried it away to reveal a nasty gash to the area. You could’ve screamed yourself at the mere sight of the state he was in.

It was clear that he only had the strength to drag himself to his own front door because you had been idiotic to lock it before you’d left that morning. A stupid force of habit left over from a lifetime where locked doors and tidied apartments actually mattered. 

“Don’t… don’t, m’hurt, just…” his voice trailed off as his glassy gaze passed over your face. He was still trying to catalog you, ensure that you were still in one piece even while he was in stitches.

“I know, I know… you have to get up with me, Joel. Give me something here, fucking hell– on three, okay?”

You managed to get him to his feet as you jammed the key into the door and shoved it open. You were shouldering most of his body weight as you helped him to the first available chair at the kitchen table. Aside from his head, there was no other major injury to his body– it was mostly fine grazes and blossoming bruises on his chest and arms. You filled a glass with water and poured it over the wound on the left hemisphere of his head, trying to clear away some of the dried blood that had matted down his curls.

He writhed in his seat and you tried to soothe him with gentle words and touch as often as you could. It was deep, as if he’d been hit with something dull, but not deep enough to be fatal itself. You exhaled at that conclusion and begged to the ceiling that you were correct about it. 

You sterilized the area with whiskey poured onto a kitchen rag and bit your lip as Joel hissed and swore in response. You made him hold the cloth there as you scavenged the apartment for something, anything that could be considered proper to wrap the area with.

“Bad deal… it went bad, baby, I tried… thought they were gonna hurt you here…” he mumbled to you once you returned with a t-shirt you had begun to shred into ribbons.

“Hurt me? I’m fine, and god, you aren’t. I’m fine. Nobody’s gonna hurt me. Us,” you added quietly, slowly removing his hand from his head again.

“Mkay… ow, you’re killin’ me, darlin’, s’fine, you don’t gotta do all that,” he said weakly.

You said nothing as you tried wrapping the makeshift gauze tightly enough to still apply pressure around his head. Realistically, he needed stitches, or at the very least some sort of proper medical assessment. Curfew had already passed and doctors were few and far between to begin with, so you could only hope that this would be enough to stop the bleeding. Keep him awake and alive.

When you were finished, you slumped down in the chair next to him, your hand still gripping tightly onto his shoulder. “What’s your birthday?”

“Why’re you–”

“–Answer me, Joel, I swear to god–”

He squeezed your hand limply. “September 26th. It’s November now, ‘18, I think? What, you want me to say my ABC’s too, or…”

Your laugh cut him off, shaky and very nearly turning into a sob. “I hate you. I hate you so much, you know that? I told you not to be an idiot, and you…” your voice trailed off, and he took both of your hands into his.

“I know. Hate you too, baby… can’t believe you patched me up.”

You couldn’t believe it either, or the fact that he cared enough about you to drag himself from the city back to the QZ out of fear that whoever had hurt him was going to hurt you, too. If that wasn’t the closest thing to love you’d ever been shown, you didn’t know what was.

He slept very carefully in your arms for a few hours that night, after you had gently washed the rest of his body and cleaned some more of the noticeable wounds. You couldn’t sleep at all, kept awake by a compulsion to check the bleeding on his head and make sure that he was still breathing through all of it. 

Despite it all, the two of you didn’t feel fragile. Something unspoken was heavy in the air, something that said you both cared for each other so deeply that no circumstance could stop you from taking care of each other. Joel would do it for you, too. In the meantime, you were glad he didn’t have to.

-

In the morning Joel explained how he’d been jumped by his supplier and a few of his friends, and how he’d lost both the ammunition he was trading and the opiates and cigarettes. You thought that was a small price to pay for escaping with his life, but his stubbornness fought you on that point. 

You paid a sort of friend of yours– a former nurse– all of your ration cards from the last week to stitch up his head the following afternoon, much to Joel’s utter dismay and protest.

“It’s already done. I already paid,” you had told him, staring into his eyes with a hand cupped to his cheek. “Please just let him. Please.”

For you, your words said. For you, I would. 

He said nothing, but he sat for the few minutes of what must’ve white-knuckling pain to let the wound be sewn shut. I would, too, he echoed back. For you. You held his hand through it, even if that comfort was more for you than it was for him.

You forced him to just rest with you for the rest of the afternoon, hoping that the expired antibiotics you had been saving would nip the traces of the fever he had started to run. If that didn’t work, you promised him you would look for something that did.

Staring up at you in bed, he tucked your hair behind your ears and looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. “You didn’t have to do all this, y’know. It was my own fault.”

“I did, though,” you replied as you smoothed your thumb across his cheek. “I  couldn’t do all of this without you.”

He cracked a smile. “Don’t flatter me just ‘cause I’m dyin’ over here. You’re better than me at ‘all of this’.”

You had hoped that your effort to keep him alive would’ve told him that you did in fact need him, almost more than anything, but in the moment it was fine. You would show him a million times over if that's what it took.

Instead, you rolled your eyes. “You aren’t dying. Don’t be an asshole. I do need you. How else would I spend my time if I didn’t have you to worry about?”

“Don’t know.” He grinned up at you. “You’d be a hell of a lot richer, I think. Not wasting all your rations on some old man.”

“Mmh, maybe, but I like to spoil you,” you said through a smile.

He pulled you down next to him with a soft c’mere, and you laughed as he tucked you in close to him and he buried his face in the space between your neck and shoulder. You could tell the wear on his body was making him achy when he tensed before having to let you go.

You smoothed his hair off his forehead, your fingers brushing against the clean bandages wrapped around his head. “I’ll run you a bath, if you want.”

He shut his eyes against the cool touch of your hand and nodded. “That’d be nice, honey. Real nice.”

That’s all he would ever have to say. Even less and you’d still do anything for him. He would never even have to ask.

-

[honey-milk-depresso]

“Slip of the tongue, Is no fault of the mind..?” TWST First Years accidentally confess to you

It’s all in the title-MY HANDS REALLY TYPED T*EY CLOVER THINKING THIS IS HEARTSLABYUL AND NOT FIRST YEARS 💀 short scenario write up. Trying a new format shjsjsjdj

**TW: One cuss word from Epel

Ace Trappola

“Argh, you’re so infuriating sometimes, you know that?!” You exclaimed, frustrated with the ginger haired boy in front of you who scowled. “Whatever…” he mumbled, turning away from you as he rolled his eyes.

You flared. “ ‘Whatever’?! Ace, you imbecile, you literally took a blast from that delinquent when we could’ve told a professor! Now you’re stuck in the infirmary! And daring to fight him? How reckless can you get?!” you chided Ace, who once again rolled his eyes and turned away. Yet, his eyes lingered to your form with a lace of guilt in his seemingly annoyed frown. Why do you even worry about him? You always troubled yourself for him when he definitely wasn’t the best guy around.

Why would you still look out for someone as troublesome as he is? And worry about him and stay with him and… care for him? Why?

“What were you thinking when you did that?” Your angry voice rang into his ear. Something in him made him snapped in frustration, his control broken into half. He swiftly turned to face you with an enraged look on his face, making you flinch slightly. But the next thing he said made you feel as if time had stop.

“Because I like you okay?! Do you think I want you to take the hit?” Your breath hitched. Ace softened his frown to become shock, realising he accidentally confessed to you.

“I-I-” Ace tried to come up with an excuse before you cut him off.

“You idiot… I-if you really liked me, then you wouldn’t get hurt for me! Obviously I care about you!” You shouted, a frown etched on your face with a blush burning as red as his own blush…

Deuce Spade

Deuce didn’t expect himself to end up with bandaged knuckles over his callous (and currently bruised) hands in the infirmary.

“Deuce, you punched that punk, obviously it ended with a fight!” You knocked sense into the boy who just looked down while sulking, biting his cheek.

“Why did you even punched him anyway? Just because he upset you doesn’t give you the right to retaliate with violence, I told you that before, right?! Not for his sake, but for your sake that you don’t get into trouble!” you reasoned with a frustrated look on your face.

Never did Deuce expected for you to be the first one rushing to him in the infirmary with a flurry of questions about his well-being and what happened. His heart warmed to the fact you cared for him again. Time and time again, you cared for a delinquent like himself. Even if the past is the past, he couldn’t let go of his sins in history.

When that Savanaclaw delinquent called you a useless student with no magic, he felt that the punch he sent across that punk’s way was to make up for what he was back then, but also because he loved you. He always had.

“Deuce! Listen to me! Why did you punch him?” You asked again, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked at you with a slight frown, mumbling about how they insulted you.

You sighed. “I could have dealt with them you know.” Deuce didn’t know why or what made him say his thoughts out loud. Maybe he wanted to justify himself? Or was it out of impulse? Whatever the case, he just did.

“Well I love you obviously, why would I let him get away with it when he’s right there for me to stop him? What he says isn’t true about you! You’re an amazing, beautiful and-” Deuce stopped to catch on what he was saying, blushing along with your speechless form. “I- I mean-!” You cut him off when you kissed him just as impulsively as he was…

Jack Howl

You were the only one who got to water his cacti. After teaching you the basics, the two of you just never seem to separate from one another. Jack was watering a cactus when you called for him.

“Hey Jack!” You called for him excitedly as he hummed in response.

“You’re looking pretty… sharp with your cacti~” He halted. Did you really just say that?

“Also, hope your Alchemy Assignment doesn’t succ!” You grinned mischievously at him when he turned around with a puckered face.

Sometimes, you just pester him with overly lame puns anyone would grimace at. But even when he does so, you never fail to cheer him up, brighten his day like the sunshine you are.

Maybe that’s why he fell for you.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you revised. After all, cactus makes perfect!” You giggled. His pretend frown on his face slowly contorted into a burst of laughter, the fam that finally broke the unleashed his bright smile and laugh that made you laugh too.

“Sevens, that was so lame…” he chuckled as he calmed down a little. You smiled too, but immediately open your mouth agape when he said the following.

“I love you so much.”

He smiled to himself, facing a burning red you as he looked baffled. “Are you sick…” he trailed off, finally realising what he said before his cheeks grew red, unsure of what he should say.

“Well, I, um…” he stuttered. “Really?” You finally asked him, his voice stuck in his throat.

Looks like his “cact-I” is turning into a “cact-US”~

Epel Felmier

The petite and small-framed boy hurried over to your dorm, a look of excitement on his face. He felt overjoyed when he smelt the scent of boiling spicy noodles that came from the kitchen and he found you preparing two bowls of it.

“The instant noodles are ready!” You smiled at him. Epel blushed a faint pink, smiling back at you. You’ve always treated him with kindness, you even called him “a man”, something he always wanted to hear. You even said it with sincerity and genuineness that it makes him smile stupidly to himself all the time when he recalled that moment.

It was no mystery to everyone else that he liked you.

Everyone else but you that is.

“Epel, do you like it,” you asked the boy beside you who was slurping the warm, comfort noodles. He never could eat instant noodles in Pomefiore without Vil reprimanding him that it’s unhealthy for his skin. “Yah! Thanks’a Y/n!”

“I’m glad you like them.”

“You always cook them, y/n, of course they’d be fuckin’ great!” He grinned from ear to ear, making you laugh at his rowdy antics showing. He faltered back. “Oh, er, sorry I mean-”

“Don’t worry, I get what you mean. And no I won’t tell Vil,” you giggled.

“Man, I seriously am in love with you.”

You froze, the noodles you were chewing were cut clean into half by your teeth, the noodles that fell out from your mouth splashed back into the hot soup. Epel didn’t thought much when he said that, let alone so confidently without plan after all the times he’s planned a confession for you before never uttering a word out.

You blushed a crimson red, and so does he. He swallowed the lump in his throat, carefully thinking of what his next words should say. “I- I er-” He completely flunked it.

Epel sighed, looking to the ground in shame. “I’m sorry… I really do but if ya don’t-”

“I love you, too.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek wasn’t someone lovey-dovey, or flowery with his language. He told his peers who discuss about love if he were to be in love, he’d just say it to their face with no hesitation.

…He said that before he met you.

Sebek couldn’t comprehend why he couldn’t just say it the moment he caught feelings, and it frustrates him. He planned and planned, but never could carry it out when he faces you.

“Sebek!” His heart raced, swiftly turning to your voice with a scowl on his face. “What is it, human?” he grumbled, secretly joyful about your arrival.

“I er… actually came to you for some advice…” you whispered, leaning closer to his ear as he shivered when he felt your hot breath tickle his ear. Sebek sighed. “What now?”

Honestly, of all the people in your gang he felt a bit lucky you chose him first (although I’m intrigued you did but eh- I would ask him how to make a protein shake-).

“There’s this guy who gave me a letter and… I think it’s a confession letter! He said he wanted to see me outside the gate..! W-what should I do?” He immediately furrowed his pale green brows. Of all things, why this? “Human, do you think I’m an expert in the foolish?” You turned away as you tapped your fingers together. “Well erm, you’ve always been straightforward… I wanted to tell him I’m not really sure if I want to be with that guy but it also gets my point across.”

Without thought, Sebek snatched the letter from your hands and dumped it in the trash can right next to him. “H-hey! Wha-!” And with really no rational thoughts going through him he exclaimed and cut you off, “Tell him you love me because I love you!”

He was furious about it. Unreasonably, yes, but to him it was. How did he accurately feel… what’s that word…? Ah yes.

He was definitely jealous.

A pink hue slowly bloomed to your cheeks, and upon realising what he shouted a red blush soon crept up his cheeks, too.

“H-human, I didn’t-”

“Did you meant it?” You asked as you bit your lip. The way you looked at him… in his head he felt as if you wanted him to say “yes”.

And he hopes he isn’t wrong.

Reblogs help! ^^

[stirthewaters]

Too Sharp to Touch pt. 1

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: slight language

Summary: After getting into another fight, Wednesday has no choice but to come and get you.

Pairing: Wednesday x Reader

It was the second time this month, and you had somehow gotten into another fight?

At this point, Wednesday was beginning to think that you wanted another detention.

She had been on her way to drop off her botany assignment, finished early as usual, stopped by a familiar tap on the shoulder from Thing. 

Her eyes flicked to her shoulder, voice hinting at irritation

“What is it now?”

Thing signed a couple times, and Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, a frustrated sigh escaping her.

“Y/N is fighting…again?”

Thing responded with a couple more taps, and she closed her eyes, summoning what patience she’d be able to have for you right now.

“She isn’t my problem, Thing. I have more important matters than deterring yet another trivial dogfight.”

Thing tapped again, growing impatient, almost tumbling from her shoulder when she halted abruptly.

“I do not care for Y/N, Thing, I merely keep Enid from going hysterical over her well-deserved wounds due to her lack of fighting skills.” -she fixed the hand with a cold glare - “Suggest something like that again and I will be locking you out of the dorm again.”

The hand stubbornly continued to sign, causing the raven’s eyes to narrow.

“I agree that Y/N lacks self-control but that does not mean I shall be taking responsibility for it.”

Wednesday began walking again, trying to ignore the ever-frequent tapping on her shoulder, that of which was becoming harder and more insistent.

You couldn’t be that hurt yet. You were tough (though she’d never admit it to you or anyone else). Despite this…she couldn’t ignore the fact that your abysmal fighting skills would indefinitely cause yet another concussion. She knew that you’d never let her or anyone else hear the end of it if you were walking around for the next couple of weeks with a head injury, complaining and whining annoyingly as you always did, and she did not have the patience to go through that again. 

Wednesday also knew, irritatingly, that you would not listen to Enid, no matter what her roommate attempted to persuade you with; as close as you two were you tended to be infuriatingly stubborn at times, and now seemed to be one of them.

She turned and glared darkly at Thing, who was still tapping away insistently.

“This is the last time, and I will be doing it solely keep our sanity intact. Say otherwise and I will not hesitate to follow through on my threats.”

She was most certainly not doing this because she was concerned for your safety, which you obviously had no personal regard for. 

If she was lucky she’d at least get to see some bloodshed.

As expected, upon entering the quad, there you were, beside the fountain, locked in a fight with a boy almost twice your size; obviously another werewolf by the size of him, and the untamed hair that nearly every male werewolf possessed.

Enid was among the couple of students watching, glaring at you as she looked for an opportunity to step in and pull you away; not that Wednesday thought you’d listen to her.

Wednesday noted disapprovingly that your hits were clumsy; surely this wasn’t the best you could do? She continued to watch as you swung left when you should’ve swung right, and caught a blow to the side of your stomach, rolling her eyes in disgust.

other students looked on with concern, worry, or perhaps exasperation, whereas Wednesday watched as her roommate tried desperately to pull you away from her opponent, the blonde’s eyebrows furrowing with frustration as her attempts were repeatedly proved useless, the faintest of smirks hinting at Wednesday’s lips as she watched her try and persuade you away from the fight, even though your eyes were alive with adrenaline, and what she thought to be a hint of sadism, blood dripping from your nose, and a wonderfully nasty bruise beginning to form on your cheek. Blood could look good on anyone, she observed, somehow even on you.

After about five minutes of what was clearly a pathetic attempt at fighting on your end, she let out a sigh of frustration and swiftly began moving through the quad toward you, muttering under her breath. With one hand she neatly grabbed your wrist and with enough force neatly yanked you backward, placing her heel firmly behind yours, which caused you to trip backward and onto the ground.

Ignoring your look of indignance and surprise, she stepped forward and dodged a swipe from your opponent, kicking out into his stomach and sending him reeling backward, glaring at him so fiercely that he didn’t dare try and fight back.

Turning to you, she fixed you with an equally cold glare, grabbing your wrist once more and pulling you up to your feet. Her eyes darted to the blood dripping from your nose, and the growing bruise on your face, and an irritated sigh escaped her. “What was it this time?”

“He wolf-whistled me,” your response was breathless through your pants, as the faint animalistic glow began to leave your eyes, signaling you were beginning to calm down.

“So you decided to fight him?” the raven raised an eyebrow, annoyed - “The least you could do is fight decently.”

You frowned slightly and began to respond before you were interrupted by Enid approaching, a visible frown of exasperation, annoyance, and concern on her face. Wednesday released your wrist, fixing you with that same cold glare before leaving you with Enid and exiting the quad, returning to her original task.

It was about ten or fifteen minutes later when Wednesday returned from the greenhouse, and when she opened the door to her dorm found you on Enid’s bed, with Enid tending to your wounds..

Ignoring both of you, she sat down at her desk, placing a sheet of paper in her typewriter. As she began typing, her eyes remained locked on the words being type, although unfortunately she couldn’t drown out your occasional grumbles or huffs. 

*Smack*

“Ow! Enid, what the hell?!”

“Stop squirming!”

Wednesday continued typing, but the sound of your well-deserved little smack from Enid did bring a slightly sadistic hint of a smirk to her lips as she worked, though your already irritating little complaints were becoming more and more annoying.

“Silence would be appreciated,” she remarked coldly, still typing. 

“You’re not going to pay any attention to me?” your voice came out slightly congested; clearly the bloody nose was catching up to you.

*smack*

“I said hold still!”

Wednesday couldn’t help rolling her eyes, continuing to type. The steady hum of her typewriter became more of her focus as she honed in on the sound of it rather than your grumbles; although she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed hearing your soft winces of pain every now and then.

As she tore one of the finished pages carefully from the typewriter and aligning it in the box containing her novel, you complained.

“You’re taking too long on purpose.”

Enid responded with a hint of impatience.

“Then stop wriggling so much! It’s like I’m bandaging a child instead of a damn werewolf.”

“I can do it myself, you know.”

“No, you can’t. If you were in charge here you’d just “let it heal on it’s own” and do nothing. Now shut up and let me work, I’m almost done.”

Wednesday exhaled through her nose; she most definitely did not want to help, but she needed you out of the room so she could focus, and Enid was taking a ridiculously long amount of time to finish what could’ve been done in five minutes.

Standing stiffly and pushing away from her desk, she walked over to Enid’s side, approaching you on the bed; upon closer examination, the bruise on your cheek was beginning to swell, though luckily the bleeding in your nose had stopped. Rolling her eyes, she glanced at Enid, raising an eyebrow.

“You didn’t consider getting an icepack?”

The blonde looked back up at her with a small, indignant frown - “it took me this long just to get Y/N’s nose to stop bleeding.”

Wednesday gazed over at you, eyes narrowing slightly as she sighed

“Thing, go retrieve an icepack from the cafeteria.”

The faint scuttling of the hand obeying her command gave her the confirmation to move on, and she reached out, touching your bruise firmly but carefully, causing you to wince and pull away.

“Stop moving, you’re acting like a child. Even Enid is tougher than you,” she remarked, causing a huff of annoyance from the blonde. “If you hadn’t been fighting in the first place this wouldn’t even be happening.”

Her eyes briefly flicked up from your bruise to your eyes as you responded

“It’s not my fault. He started it.”

“Do I even have to ask?” She muttered, eyes returning to examining the bruise, which, although it was swollen didn’t look too serious. “He was nearly three sizes bigger than you; the least you could do is choose an appropriate opponent.”

“I’d call it brave, taking on a guy that size and leaving him with the marks that I did.”

“Foolish, more like.”

You rolled your eyes, and her lip curled into the faintest of smirks. Thing returned promptly, balancing an icepack on top of him as he hopped atop the bed. Nodding once in thanks, she took it and wrapped it in a handtowel that Enid had prepared, handing it to you and watching with another sigh as you pressed it your cheek.

“Y/N, you gotta stop getting into these fights. Learn to control yourself,” Enid said with a disapproving frown, causing you to scrunch up your eyes with indignance,

“I do control myself.”

“Wrong.” Wednesday glared at you. “You’re impulsive.”

You glared right back up at her. Bold of you. “So are you.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly, “I’m starting to believe you want to become a rug.”

“I would make a lovely rug,” you muttered, eyes darting away. Good. 

You got to your feet, still holding the icepack in your hand, and looked down at Enid. 

“Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll try and ‘control myself’, better in the future, okay?”

Enid looked back up at you and her expression softened, as usual. She couldn’t stay mad at you for long. “Good. I don’t want you dying on me. Wolves gotta stick together, y’know?”

Wednesday could feel herself getting nauseous at the horrible cliche, and she frowned, eyes narrowing. “Just leave; I have work to do.”

You turned, a small smirk on your face as you mock-saluted, turning on your heel. “See you later, Dr. Addams.”

Rolling her eyes, Wednesday stared at the door for a moment, arms folded, before she noticed Enid with a huge smirk on her face, similar to yours. Raising an eyebrow, she frowned slightly, “what?”

“Nothing,” she said in her dreadfully sing-song tone, which the raven chose to ignore as she sat back down at her desk, returning to her novel, eyebrows furled in annoyance as it took her a moment to wipe the image of you covered in both your and your opponent’s blood from her mind. Odd. Blood really did look good on anyone.

—————

pt.2 here!

[zoropookie]

SWEET MELODY

☆ chapter five — tricky plans & schemes (🎂)

"I'm not going to make it out of here alive if I see him."

The simple, yet harrowing sentence repeated constantly in your mind. It held you like an anchor while you were preparing the multiple long tables with sweets you baked last night purely with anxiety running through your body. It was a surprise that you haven't succumbed to a heart attack yet.

It was wide in the air with your freshly baked pastries, a soft mix of vanilla, cinnamon, and chocolate wafting through the air conditioned room. Each of the tables you filled was adorned with lacey and delicate cloths, each sweet arranged with your care. Rows of colorful tiny cakes and intricately designed cookies.

Your hands trembled placing the final touches on the tiny treats, exhaling once it was finally all done. You stepped back to admire your work, but you didn't know what it was about it that made you feel slightly bitter.

Behind your weaker smile, your eyes betrayed you with how much resentment was behind your eyes. Which turned into a small sadness for the fact; you didn't want to do this. It was a blessing that Ei could see how uncomfortable you were being in her wedding as an 'addition to the family', because you definitely weren't par to Kunikuzushi by any means.

Nor did you deserve to be beside anyone other than Kazuha. And even at the thought that something harrowing happened to him, you cracked under pressure to keep your mind from overthinking. That would mean that you'd forget about him entirely. You couldn't be happier about anything, extreme emotions would betray your memories of him.

Or...lack thereof?

Your jaw clenched, tears brimming your eyes which you quickly wiped away. There was nothing behind your eyes except the worry that all of this baking you were doing was for nothing. You didn't feel particularly excited to bake anymore, nor show anyone. It was like the spark that Kazuha gave you was missing, along with him.

A small sound broke through your thoughts, your eyes half-lidded as you slowly turned to see the only person you wish you didn't, following by a few other male voices fading and their tricky plans and schemes. His piercing eyes met yours, and for a moment, his unreadable expression almost made it seem like he was taking a moment to think before he speaks.

But your own expectations failed you once he scoffed, expression hardening. "Fucking hell, you're a disaster." He couldn't help but laugh, but purely from the misery he felt as he turned his back towards you to walk out.

But as soon as he was about to head out again, another visitor came through the door. This time in a stunning white dress, and in a frazzled state according to her expression. It was Yae Miko herself, presence a relief from the harrowing tension.

"Wow. Reunion, or what?" Yae asked, tilting her head, before giving a wave to you. "Hi, darling~"

You hesitantly waved back. "Hi! H..ow are you?"

The pink haired woman examined the room before she said anything else, and even the most braindead person in the world could see that there was nothing here except aversion. You awkwardly shimmied behind the table filled with sweets to keep your distance.

As Kuni was about to reply, Yae held her hand up. "Nope. Don't want to know. This is my day, I'll be back in business in four weeks."

His eyes dulled, patience clearly wearing thin. "You shouldn't even be here."

"Yeah, I shouldn't, right?" Yae crossed her arms over her chest. "But it'd be too much to ask for one peaceful day. Listen," She leaned in, closing the door behind her. "The cake is still at the shop. Our extremely useless deliverer quit before the wedding."

Your eyes perked up. "What?" You blurted out.

"It's my fault for relying on people outside of my own family to pick up a cake. Mind you, the cake isn't even ten minutes away." Yae's eyes rolled. "Typical for this country, full of dimwits. Can you two go get it?"

"Don't really feel like hearing your little political tirades right now. I'll get it, but they're for fucking sure not coming with me." Kuni pointed towards you, which made you flinch. "I'd rather die."

Yae could only sigh dramatically at his incessant whining. "You are both adults now; you can handle a simple task without killing someone."

"Easy for you to say on your wedding day, I don't ever plan on being pleasant to a rat," He snarled. "Fine. But don't expect it to be brought back in one piece with them in the car."

"Sorry. I'll... try my best." You said in a low tone, avoiding eye contact with either of the very confident figure.

Yae looked in between you and Kuni again before lifting her lips up to give a small look of bewilderment. "I guess it's too much to ask for some chivalry from you, Kuzu," She sighed before handing you the details. "Here's the address and a copy of the order. Just tell them I sent you, I'll be getting everything ready still."

previous ☆ masterlist ☆ next

THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "incident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

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@sketcheeee @st4r4ngel @xionri @scaradooche @lightyagamifan

@pwushizz @alatusorrow @eutopiastar @magica-ren @slu7

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@franaby @vicslz @kamiboo @thegalaxyisunfolding @morgyyyyyyy

@feikyuu @tamikahoshiko @kissingkzuha

[nostalgicmiscellaneous]

I'm quite honest when i say this: No, Season 3 didn't have much angst. In fact, Polin fans were lucky because even their angst had moments of the characters clearly showing love. Their main issues start at the end of Ep6, so it only truly reflected starting on Ep7. They have the fight, some hurtful words, but then they meet on the streets and have a great conversation, they have a moment evidently showing their love for each other. Later that night, Colin basically confirms that all the issues he has with trust because of LW, when he talks to Kate, are not enough to truly taint his love for her. We get to the wedding, and it's full of love, tenderness and Colin unable to hide the depth of his feelings. The Queen barging in and his concern, his worry for her safety and his family as well is triggered again. He can't yet truly grasp that LW is a fundamental part of her and he reacts as something that is above her love and care for him and his family + his insecurities. As we all know, he feels useless, unloved, unworthy, ''less than". We get Colin sleeping right outside their bedroom. Again, his feelings are eating him up. He also feels guilty that his family might be at risk because he chose Pen and yet he knows he would do it again and again. He doesn't feel too little, he feels too much and that's his problem. He doesn't know what to do and how to do things. Over and over again he tries to protect her and show her his love. Oh, but he didn't sleep with her that night? GOOD! Yes, you heard it. Good, he shouldn't have. In fact, i'd feel bad if he had. I'd feel like at that moment he just used her to placate his desires. As long as he was still struggling - and he had the right and it make perfect sense for him to be -, with his feelings about the situation, his concerns, i'm glad that he wasn't just, 'hey, i'm feeling horny, you're gorgeous and i love you and ofc seeing you in your sexy nightgown turns me on so i'm going to fuck you, even if i'm still struggling because i'm a man and men can't be sensitive and need time, complete connection and trust to make love to someone they value and love, they gotta fuck". For real, people? For real? It's a drama, a romantic drama. They make everything right in the same episode, they confess and declare their regrets and love, their hopes and their trust, they make love - and no, it's not porn, we don't need to be shown more than we were in Eps4 and 5 -, they have a beautiful baby, they are are working on their their dreams ( writing) and taking care of their families, they are happy and in love with complete trust and admiration. There was little angst. Now, if you wanted one more conversation between them, another one where they could share their feelings and have intimacy ( not even talking about sex), sure, i would've loved too. But it is not enough for the over the top dramatics some of you make it out to be, the exaggerated complaints. I wont change my mind over the mind and feelings of someone else, i feel this season is very good, a solid one with good chemistry romance between the leads. I enjoyed and like more everytime i watch. I always think about what i wanted more and what i wanted differently when i watch shows/movies, but i also never allow it to cloud the things i did get and that i love it, because when i weight it all, i love more things in it than otherwise, in this case. Wanting more is good, means Nicola and Luke did a good job making you want to see them, and you'll in S4.