#and then everything after that is just muddled and annoying

[bardinthezone]

if i make it through all of moffat's run it'll be an act of god

hell if I make through all of 11's run it'll be an act of god

[silverstonesainz]

ohhh this prompt:

‘i told you not to fall in love with me’

would go so well with like a brothers best friend!carlos situationship

i told you, he told you 𐙚 or the one where things don't quite go according to plan (1k words)

d rambles. . . i hope this was okay, and i hope it was enough. thank u for requesting

Carlos’s fingers comb through your hair to rest at the back of your head, pulling you in to press a kiss against your forehead. “I have to go.” 

You knew why he was doing this. It’s meant to be precautionary, to keep the lines from blurring and muddling the mess of a situation you’re in any further. But what did it matter if you had blurred the lines yourself? What’s the harm then? 

“Why can’t you just spend the night?” You make your voice small, look up at him with wide eyes in hopes that maybe it’d be enough to make him feel guilty. 

Though it isn’t guilt that you see etched into his face. It’s much more stern, maybe even annoyed because he knows you know why. He sighs your name, resigned. Tired. “You know why.”

“There are worse things than spending that night,” You defend, tugging the blanket against your chest as you sit up, “We’ve done worse things.” 

“That’s different.” 

“Still worse.” 

Carlos rolls his eyes, no longer amused by your act. “I don’t wanna have this argument with you.” 

“It’s not an argument, it’s a discussion.” You reach for the shirt sprawled on the bed, slipping it over your bare body as you begin to clamber out of bed after him. 

Carlos collects his belongings, slips on his clothing one by one in haste, like he couldn’t get further from you quick enough. It’s an argument, he refutes as he slides his sweats over his hips, “when you and I disagree, it’s always an argument.” 

“I just don’t understand why you’re so repulsed by the idea of sleeping over.” 

“And I don’t understand why you’re so insistent I stay.”

Your reluctance to give him an answer sits in the heavy silence. Its a brief moment where neither of you move, neither of you gather the guts to answer the questions posed. Instead the mystery brews above you, makes the air thicker and harder to swallow. 

You knew why you were so insistent, but you beckoned to know why he was resistant. 

“We’ve been sleeping with each other for months now and I just can’t wrap my head around—” 

“— Why is it suddenly such a big deal?”

You pause, frozen in the spot you stand in. Your body is rigid, nerves and anxiety holding you tightly. You couldn’t tell him when this became such a big deal to you, even if you wanted to. All you know is one day you looked at him and everything was different. Suddenly every little thing had become a big deal. The playful touches, the knowing smiles across the rooms, the late nights of sneaking over, everything meant more. 

“It’s like you’re scared or something,” You shake your head, turning away from him and walking over to your vanity. You lean on the desk, trying to steady your breathing and calm your nerves, “Scared that it might make all this mean something.”

You stare at the wood of the desk, stained by every attempt to impress, every attempt to make yourself appealing and ideal. Every swipe of a brush, blot of a sponge, just so Carlos could see you as something more. You’re too afraid to meet Carlos’s gaze in the the reflection of your mirror. But you know he’s looking, you feel his bright brown eyes staring at you, studying you, trying to find a flicker of emotion that might be able to tell him what has suddenly gotten into you. Where words fail, your expression compensates. You face the fear anyway, locking eyes with Carlos and staring at him hopelessly. And then it clicks. Like a flick of a light switch, everything begins to come together and the boy is able to make sense of the situation before him. 

He shakes his head. He smiles, but it’s pained— unamused. Your name slips past his lips, every letter despondent in tone. “I told you—”

“—I know what you told me—” “—I told you not to fall in love with me.”

The words, the indignation and resignation bumping into each other— much like dousing a camp fire with more gasoline. Salt to a wound. Twisting the knife when it’s already embedded in your chest.

You push yourself off your vanity, crossing your arms over your chest, “You act like I wanted this to happen. Like I planned to.” 

You didn’t. Falling in love with Carlos was never part of the plan.

Committing his mannerisms and ticks, the crinkles by his eyes and the small dimples above his lip to memory was a complete accident. Finding comfort in the way he touches you, in the way his skin feels against yours, was never the intention. What was meant to be a hot and heavy temporary fix, became an addiction. You never meant to grow this attached to him, never meant for all this to be anything more than what you agreed upon four months ago. Carlos was never meant to be more than the person to entertain you in your boredom, to make nights a little less lonely.

There was no point in denying the obvious, in denying a truth you’ve known for much longer than you would ever admit out loud. Why hide it? Tears skew your vision, drips down your face and forces you to turn away. 

“I should go.” Carlos mumbles behind you. 

You nod, pretend like your ego isn’t wounded and your hear cracked beneath your ribs, “Yeah. Maybe you should.”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence. You hear the hesitation in the breath he takes, the words that are stuck at the top of his throat and held back by the pride he wears so comfortably. It’s the longest second you’ve ever lived through, just waiting— anticipating something you know would never happen. Hoping in the impossible, you were too good at doing that.

Carlos walks out of your room, leaving you to wonder what he wanted to say if it weren’t for the sake of his ego. He shuts your door softly, and then he’s gone. 

‎‧₊˚✧ add to the mix ✧˚₊‧

[0310s]

gently, by your side | jaehyun

members: myung jaehyun x gender neutral reader

genre: college au, angst, comfort, best friends! to ???, more platonic stuff in this one

tags/warnings: extensive discussions of mental health and chronic/mental illness, y/n is not okay. :(

summary: jaehyun finds you after a bad week.

wc: 2.7k

a/n: this fic’s title comes from this lovely song. as someone who’s struggled with both chronic and mental illness, it really takes someone strong and amazing to keep on going, despite everything. most of the dialogue in this comes from my own musings and experiences with mental health. i wrote this for a dear mutual of mine! i hope better days will come for you soon, whenever that may be. meanwhile, i hope this gives you comfort when things are tough! sending lots of love <3 

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

5 days ago 1:28 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

(y/n) we haven’t seen each other in such a loooong time imy :(( i mean i KNOW it’s just been a couple of days since we last hung out but still!!!!!!! when are we seeing each other again !!!! tell me ur schedule QUICK !!!!

4 days ago 6:33 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

heeeeyyyyyyyyy (with the intention to hang out) heeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy heeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy reply to meeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!! tell me when ur free pls i miss u :((

3 days ago 11:58 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

hey i didn’t see u at the party today i thought u said u were going last week!!!  also i asked around and people said they haven’t seen u around recently??? and they don’t know what ur up to

2 days ago 2:05 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

heeeyyyy ?????????? did i do smth?????  or are u just really busy w school and work idk either way pls just let me know :(( i won’t bother u if ur rlllyyy busy

10:35 PM sorry if i’m being annoying btw

Yesterday  11:32 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

ok i thought about it reaaaaaallly hard and i don’t think i’ve done anything to make u mad or upset w me??? well aside from that time last last week that u got mad at me for accidentally messing w ur computer and deleting ur work files WHICH IM LIKE REALLY SORRY FOR but i fixed it!!!!! i thought we were good alrd!!! are u still mad at me 4 that ?

1:00 AM (y/n)?

1:28 AM idk  i thought i was ur best friend :(( did smth change???

2:47 AM pls pls reply :(( i know we can talk this out i don’t want us to not be ok

Today  3:00 PM 🐶 cutie puppy i’m coming over.

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

Sitting up from your bed, your heart thuds in anxiety as you quickly scroll through your chat history with Jaehyun. Your eyes hurt and your brain feels especially foggy, like you’re looking at the world through a particularly cloudy lens. How long did you sleep? The last thing you recall was working on your assignments last night, then choosing to sleep instead when you got overwhelmed. Even then, you slept fitfully. You remember setting an alarm at 9 AM today to continue working, but even as you sat at your desk, you couldn’t type a single sentence on your laptop. Everything felt muddled and it was as if you couldn’t understand anything at all. Even the cups of coffee you drank in desperation was of no use keeping you alert; all it did was make you palpitate.

Then you gave up, went back to bed, and you’re here now. Checking the chat timestamps, you realize you haven’t replied to Jaehyun’s messages in almost a week, which has never happened before—you talk almost everyday, even multiple times a day. Jaehyun’s last message was at 3 PM, when he said he’d come over. One look at your screen shows you it’s already 3:20. If you’ve memorized his schedule right, it takes your best friend thirty minutes to get to your dorm from his Fundamental Maths class. That means you have ten more minutes to get your shit together and clean your mess of a room. 

But right when you’ve mustered the energy to stand up, you hear a series of knocks on your door. That can’t be— “(Y/n), open up, I know you’re in there!” Jaehyun’s voice echoes from outside the door. “I asked your dormmate and she said you haven’t left your room since yesterday, so there’s no use pretending!” Shit, shit, shit! You immediately spring up and hastily fold your blankets and organize your desk, throwing away stray food wrappers and plastic cups. You open your blinds to let some air in, and the bright sunlight makes your head throb even more. 

On your way to the door, you spot yourself in the mirror. There’s no other word for it—you look like utter shit. Your eyebags are dark and prominent, your hair disheveled from tossing and turning in your sleep. You look horrendous, but Jaehyun is persistently knocking on your door, so you have no choice but to fix yourself up as fast as you can. You splash water on your face and smoothen down your hair and open the door—then there’s Jaehyun in all his glory. Your heart clenches seeing him; he looks as handsome as always, his bangs fluffy and soft and his letterman jacket fashionably oversized. He looks nothing like you in your ratty T-shirt with coffee stains and pajama shorts. His hand is halfway raised, positioned to knock at your door (he could and would probably do it all day if he had to). Upon seeing you, he blurts out: “Did I do something?”

Instead of answering him, you open your door wider as an invitation, and Jaehyun takes the hint, stepping into your dorm. Once the door is shut, Jaehyun peers at your messy room and remarks, “Wow. When was the last time you cleaned up? You’re usually not like this.”

You know he didn’t mean it like that, but his comment stings at you all the same. “Sorry, Jaehyun,” you snap, “not everyone can be at 200% energy all the time like you.” At his hurt expression, you backtrack. “Sorry, that was really rude of me.”

“It-It’s fine,” Jaehyun replies confusedly. Then he looks straight at you, eyes pleading. He’s picking at the stray thread hanging from his jacket, a habit you’ve come to known is something he does when he’s nervous. “You know what, I thought about it. For days, really, if I did anything that would make you mad and ignore me. But I couldn’t come up with anything at all. I was really worried when you didn’t reply to me for days on end, especially when we talk everyday. So if I did something, can—can you just tell me? I just want us to be okay.”

Your throat closes up and your heart pounds even faster, making you feel dizzy. You have no idea how to answer him, when all he’s ever seen of you is the perfect student who does everything right, who’s smart and good at what they do without any flaws or exceptions. How would he react if he saw you for who you really were?

The words can’t form in your mouth, and out of frustration at yourself, you tear up. Jaehyun notices this, eyes widening in worry, “(y/n), baby, no, no,” and pulls you into his arms. Almost instantly, the tears cascade down your face and sobs wrack your body. You feel pathetic crying in your best friend’s arms, but Jaehyun just soothes a hand up and down your back as you break down. His other arm is wrapped around your shoulders, and it feels like your anchor when you’re drowning in all your troubles. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says in a hushed tone, “let it all out.” You grip his jacket even tighter as you bury your face in his chest. 

When was the last time you’ve ever been hugged like this? The last time you’ve ever been truly vulnerable to anyone without that mask of perfection you often don? The last time you felt safe just being yourself? You have no idea. All you know that is in the circle of Jaehyun’s arms, you want to be small and imperfect and yourself just this once.

After your cries die down, Jaehyun clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know what it is I did, but I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s not you, Jaehyun,” your voice is muffled by both your sniffles and Jaehyun’s chest. You don’t want Jaehyun to get the wrong idea that he’s hurt you in some way because of how broken he sounds thinking he’s done something to make you sad. “It’s just. Me.”

“You? What do you mean?” Jaehyun leads you into your room from the doorway. He’s holding your hand and doesn’t let go even when you both settle at the edge of your bed. His palm is warm and his grip loose enough in case you want to let go; you don’t. While you muster up the courage to speak, your best friend just sits there, waiting patiently. “It’s okay, whatever you say, I’m not going anywhere.” You don’t know that for sure, but him saying that makes you want to be truthful just this once, damn the consequences.

You take a deep breath, focusing on your intertwined fingers. You’re too scared to look at his face because you don’t want to see his reaction. “Jaehyun, what kind of person do you think people see me as?”

“Well…” He takes a moment to think about it. “Someone smart, talented, and who gets stuff done?”

In turn, you let out an resigned exhale. “Well, that’s the image I project. Of someone who’s perfect… someone who does things effortlessly. People think it comes easy to me. But it doesn’t. When people tell me that I didn’t need much effort to get to where I am now, I feel undermined. When I express I’m having a hard time, people brush it off and think I’m just overreacting. Because they think I’m perfect all the time. But honestly…? That’s the farthest thing from the truth."

Glancing up from your hands, you scan your room—your desk is a mess of papers and assignments that you have yet to get to. You can’t tell when the last time you spent time being actually productive when what you’ve been is fatigued out of your mind. When you try to sit at your desk and work, all you feel is difficulty concentrating and processing work and readings. Sleep has also proven to be elusive—no matter how long you lie in bed, you never feel well-rested. Simple actions and decisions require so much energy from you that you undeniably lack. You also constantly compare yourself to others, whom things like these come natural to them. But you’ve kept these feelings of yours secret for a long time—you’re utterly terrified that you’d be undermined for being useless and overly sensitive.   

“(Y/n)?” Jaehyun squeezes your hand, and you turn to meet his eyes. His eyes are sincere and kind. “I-I know I may not be the most empathic person, but I promise I’ll hear you out without judging you. I want to be here for you… and I hope you’ll let me. Please?” 

At this, you spill everything you’ve been feeling the past weeks—months, even—to Jaehyun. You stumble over your words and your breath gets caught in your throat, but he’s there to pat your back and to encourage you to keep going. Without you knowing, tears make their way down your face once again, and Jaehyun uses his other hand to gently brush them away. “It just gets so hard that I want to just. Give everything up. I don’t know what the use of trying so hard is when I see how other people don’t need this much effort to do even the most basic of tasks. It’s just so… unfair.”

When you’re finished with your rant, you don’t know what to expect from Jaehyun—but you’re stunned to see him crying. He’s sniffling and wiping at his eyes furiously. “Why…” You have no idea what he’s about to say, but you brace yourself for the worst. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he whispers brokenly. “I didn’t know you were having such a difficult time. I feel like such a shitty friend for not even noticing. I’m sorry, (y/n).” Jaehyun’s eyes fill with tears and he starts “I… I thought we were best friends.” The best friends tell each other everything goes unsaid, but you know exactly what he meant.

“I…” You feel awful now for making Jaehyun cry. “You’re just. You just naturally have all this limitless energy. You’re…” Normal. Not like me. “I don’t know how if you were going to take me seriously if I told you what I was going through… There were times I’d see you, and I’d be so disappointed in myself for not being like you. And I was so scared that if I did tell you, I’d be letting you down.”

Jaehyun’s expression grows more miserable at this. “I-I’m sorry, (y/n), I never meant to make you feel unheard. And I never meant for it to feel like you couldn’t tell me about these things.” 

“It-It’s not your fault, Jaehyun,” you protest, but he shakes his head, obviously disappointed in himself.

“No, (y/n), I’m supposed to be your best friend. How stupid can I be if I can’t notice when you’re having a hard time? I didn’t even stop to ask how you’ve been doing because you seemed to be doing fine. But I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have taken things at face value. I’m such an idiot,” Jaehyun berates himself. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

At his sincere apology, you can’t help but admit it to yourself—you desperately needed Jaehyun’s support as your best friend, but you were too scared to ask for it. And honestly? You felt immensely lonely without his words and presence to comfort you. 

“(Y/n), I hope you know that I see how hard you work. I know your sleepless nights and how much effort you put into every single thing you do. Despite everything you’re going through, you’re always trying to be better than the person you were yesterday, and it’s something I truly admire about you. But I hope you know it’s okay to be imperfect and flawed and to not be okay. I want to be here on your good and bad days. I just wish I could’ve been more vocal about this earlier… I’ve really taken you for granted, huh?” Jaehyun sighs wetly, taking your hand in both of his. He’s still crying; you both are, actually. What a silly pair the two of you make. 

“Thank you for trusting me and sharing all of this. It literally means the world to me,” Jaehyun rambles. “I promise I’ll be a better friend to you, someone you feel safe opening up to about anything, whether that be your achievements or your struggles. And (y/n), if it’s not too much to ask… Could I ask you to be more honest with me in the future?” He stares at you imploringly. “I don’t want you to think you have to go through all of this alone. I want to be here for you the same way you’ve always been there for me… Okay?”

“....Okay. Okay, I’ll try,” you respond softly. “Thank you, Jaehyun. I… I’ve never told anyone about this before. But thank you so much for just listening, and not judging, and accepting me for me…” While you appreciate Jaehyun’s presence at this moment, a new wave of fatigue washes over you with all this emotional vulnerability and talking. “Jaehyun… I’m still feeling really tired, so I might go back to sleep. Sorry, I know you came all the way here to see me, but here I am being shit company,” you apologize regretfully.

“Oh! That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jaehyun stands up from your bed to leave. When your fingers slip from each other, you feel an acute loss of warmth—both in your hands and in your heart. He makes his way to the door, slipping on his shoes, and your heart sinks. There’s something you badly want to ask of Jaehyun, but you’re too much of a coward to tell him what you truly want. You don’t want to be on your own right now, but you’d probably be asking too much of him. Accepting your fate, you settle in bed, attempting to take a nap so restless you’re sure will be of no help to your exhaustion.

However, Jaehyun himself stops in the doorway. He turns back around, a distraught look on his face. “(Y/n)... I don’t want to assume, but are you sure you want to be alone right now?” he begins. “I mean, we just had this really heavy talk. Can… Can I keep you company? I promise I’m great at cuddles—that’s what all my other friends say anyway when I annoy them with my hugs.”

When you nod, that’s all it takes for Jaehyun to shuck off his shoes, strip his jacket, and climb into bed with you. With your ear against his steady heartbeat and his comforting arm around you, you’re asleep in no time. It’s the best you’ve ever slept in months.

[eldritch-spouse]

[The results of the poll came in, thenk you for voting! :]. Fem reader. You live in a house for this one. Sorry for the wait, it got longer than anticipated (4.7k).]

TW: Dubious consent (reader is somewhat scared); Altered states of mind; Heat/Rut.

It's the fifth time you've been dumped into this rat's nest today.

Breg is in heat, or rather, the earlier days of such.

You knew trouble was coming when you found the breeder laying on the kitchen tiles this morning, an overheated and overly sweaty body trying desperately to cool itself on freezing ceramic. He had panted like a dog under the blaze of a Summer evening and barely noticed your presence before excusing himself to make undignified noises in the bathroom. Showering, arguing with himself, jerking off? You didn't know, and you didn't care- You just wanted to eat something before any of this madness really kickstarted.

As you shoved toast in your mouth, slowly but definitely not calmly, you got to see the monster stress himself out, walking between rooms with various items in hand. It was almost funny, if you didn't know exactly what was coming. When his rut starts, Breg always behaves like a bear who forgot to stock food before hibernating. Oh but he didn't forget anything, the cabinets are full, and he learned to buy instant meals for you after the first couple of heats where you tried to explain to his fried brain that you can't just eat dead animals he plops in front of you. Nonetheless, you got to see him strip the couch of its cushions, struggle with dragging your mattress into a corner, fetching all the spare sheets, coats, towels and blankets he could find- For fuck's sake, he ripped the curtains off this time.

All to make a padded, crowded mess of your bedroom. It's always the bedroom with him, it smells like the two of you, so it does make sense, you bitterly suppose... You'd rather this than the uncomfortable bathroom.

You barely got to finish your coffee before a clammy, darkened hand had grasped your arm and you were not so gently tugged into the bedroom, to "evaluate" the mess your eccentric (putting it criminally lightly) boyfriend had made. Having gone through the motions of this charade more than once, you already knew the correct steps to make sure everything went well. Turning towards the muddled breeder, you kissed him and complimented his skills, calling the crime against your sanity he had just committed beautiful before physically stepping into it and sitting down.

Predictably, Breg let out an elated trill from deep within his throat and forced you to lie down, tangling you in a mess of warm fabrics before slotting himself above you protectively. Heavy as he is, the monster's weight was crushing, although you managed to nudge him aside when he dozed off above you. In this phase of his rut, you're not really sure if he's going to try to fuck you or just hold you and fall asleep, so there's some leeway to roam if you're sneaky about it.

It was when you were trapped under the monster's cocoon, sweating yourself into an early grave, that the doorbell rang and you realized something horrific.

You have a package outside.

God fucking damn it.

You were usually so careful with timing things perfectly, having the days where Breg was likely to start a heat jotted down in bright red ink on your calendar so that you'd never make plans for those days. You went as far as to orient a lot of your work life around his cycle, which is annoying, but at the very least possible. To think you were stupid enough to order something and not even care to check the estimated delivery date is pathetic. Maybe you did see it- But it didn't click in your brain what those days were.

Well shit, you had thought at the time, I can't just let it sit there.

And you were right. It was an expensive purchase. Brand new equipment, high-value tech for one of your favorite hobbies. It had been a costly sacrifice, and the specs were a rare find. The package itself isn't small enough to pass by unnoticed, you know one of your scummy neighbors can see if it they look twice at your doorstep. It could be stolen! It will be, if you don't fetch it eventually.

You had tried to stay still, knowing the monster in heat wouldn't take kindly to any perceived "escape attempts", but it was nerve-wracking. You're sure that package will be taken away if you don't get it fast. You can't lose it, can't lose all that money, that effort.

Your first attempt was a blunder, having moved too fast and woken Breg before you could even make it out the bedroom. By the second, you simply got unlucky and he woke by himself, fetching you back in a panic. On the third, you could spot signs of irritation, having been tossed to the nest none too gently and snarled at, fondled and groped and ground at until he had successfully put a gross mark on you. You'll admit the fourth incident was more of an attempt to get his musk off you than a dash for the package, but it got you barked at nonetheless, caught by the living room while Breg tried to slur out warnings, shaking you, hand around your neck while you were lead back into the bedroom. You know you hit a nerve with the fifth because his face disfigured for a moment.

But you can't give up.

This is too important to you. He can't understand it, but you need that fucking thing inside your home.

That's why you're up again, having weaseled out of his clumsy trap of coats. It's impressive he was coherent enough to use the sleeves to tie knots around you, but that's about where his expertise ends in this precarious state. You've played it safer this time, letting the breeder calm down, letting him tongue-bathe you -Gross- Feed you, let him fuck your thighs even. All just so his hormonal brain can forget you even tried to step out the nest. He's sleeping soundly, but you go through the effort of putting a shirt you recently wore next to the monster, hopefully to keep him lulled.

Breg shifts in his sleep, picking up on the scent and making weird murmurs before clutching at the fabric- As if it were you there. Almost cute, if not for the fact that you're really stressed.

Instead of walking across the house, you crawl, slow and measured to make sure not even the sound of your breathing could rise Breg. There's furniture askew, remotes and decorations on the floor from the previous times he fetched you in a hurry. Although you do your best to muffle your nerves, your arms shake with anxiety. Anything could make him stir awake, you can't ever run away from him, he could hurt you.

Perhaps it's because you're sheltered, or maybe you have too much faith in the breeder, you could just be stupid- But you weigh those odds against the pain of losing your expensive purchase and, in the end, decided you'd sooner twist an ankle than let it get stolen by a filthy porch pirate.

Reaching the front door is a milestone you smile brightly at. The problem comes when you glance at the keys. They'll jingle if you're not careful, the front door thankfully never creaks, but you know for a fact it makes a distinct click when it unlocks. Kneeling, arm outstretched, fingertips almost grazing the keys, you hesitate.

Should you...?

Maybe you should head back. Pretend you never left, snuggle up to him and just give it up for today. But then, this is only just the beginning, his instincts are only going to get worse from here on out. If you can't reach the package today, then it's pointless to even try your luck the following days! Right, this is no time to falter, you need to get it now.

With newfound resolve, an inkling of it at least, you hold the keys with both hands. One to make sure the others don't clink and clank, the other doing the actual turning. Slow like molasses, calculated, even the way you inhale and exhale is measured. On the last turn, you apply pressure and keep the grip on the key as firm as you can, trying to nudge the lock open gently enough to avoid that telltale click. Sucess! Soundlessly, you feel the door move, fully unlocked.

Yes!

The hardest part is over. Removing the keys from the door, you take great care when depositing them on the carpet. Specifically the carpet, to muffle any sort of faint jingling.

The weather outside is nice, but you're too preoccupied to consider something as simple as that. No, your eyes are locked onto your prize. There, only a couple of feet away, your package! Untouched, neatly arranged, perfectly fine as it should be. You nearly cry in relief, crawling outside, beyond caring if any of your neighbors see you like this- A disheveled, stinky mess wearing only a top and casual shorts on all fours.

When your hands wrap around the cardboard, it feels as if all is well in the world. You made it. You secured your purchase. You don't have to worry about anything else anymore, you can just head inside and-

VROOM

A car zooms past the street. You hear it before you see it pass. At first, you don't even think about it. After all, what could be meaningful about a stranger driving by in a hurry, right?

And then you realize your "boyfriend" is in a hypersensitive state with notoriously augmented hearing.

Ah.

Once more, you hear it before you see it.

A jarring thump thump thump THUMP. And a shiver crawls up your spine hard enough to make you freeze. Oh God. Clutching the stupid cardboard box like a lifeline, you glance upwards, towards the doorway, seeing none other than who you dread the most right now. Breg.

He's positively fuming. You're surprised there isn't literal steam coming off his body. Hunched, tense, but it's not the size of him that scares you. It's his face. His distorted, stretched out maw- Fully extended, gums visible, pushing those horrid teeth outward as he drools on the ground. You know, in spite of his lack of visible eyes, that Breg is glaring daggers at you, specifically.

A steady hissing fills your ears and you know it's over. You know you fucked up- Not directly, but you did. Because you left the door wide open and didn't account for the noise. You're a fool. The first thing your instincts tell you to do is rise and prepare to sprint, but the moment you sit straighter, Breg releases a chilling snarl, so you opt to fold further into yourself and remain utterly catatonic. Can he understand you still, through the haze of hormones? Would he grasp it if you apologized? Should you speak at all?

The choice is made for you.

You close your eyes the moment the ground shakes with his sprinting, choking on the collar of your shirt as you're physically dragged by it and picked up by the breeder. Where before Breg's hold had been more protective than anything, it's now oppressive, squeezing you to his chest, claws denting your meat. The proximity allows you to feel the bizarre bumps on his raised skin, frigid, yet coated by steaming sweat drops. You don't open your eyes until you're airborne for a very short period, falling face-first on the musk-heavy nest.

Breg slams the door to the bedroom shut and pants harshly, landing a fist to the wall several times. Each pound makes you jump and tense, huddling into yourself with tears in your eyes. Oh God what if he's had enough? What if he does that to you?! He makes an ambiguous roar and seems to slam his own head on the wall, but it doesn't crack or chip the infrastructure like his hand did.

You wonder if he's giving himself a concussion on purpose, for your sake.

" B-Breg? " Scared, gawking eyes plead with the breeder stationed at the wall. You note the attempts he makes at steadying his breathing, fruitless, as his chest continues to heave dramatically. What the fuck is happening anymore.

" Whah... "

Oh. He's trying to speak. Usually, he can still do it in the first day or so, this looks like it's an especially intense rut, because of course it is. That's just your amazing luck shining through. You wait patiently for the monster to come up with something in between his slurring mumbles.

" What isss wrong with you?! "

" H- Huh? " His words and voice are distorted by the shape of his extended jaw, shifting his mouth and tongue to make the proper sounds of the language you both speak becomes a challenge.

" WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! " Breg bellows, turning around to face you properly. You resist the urge to crawl under the the mess of sheets and clothes.

" I- I just wanted to get the package. " You try, voice light and tone pleading, searching his face for any sort of recognition -A miracle epiphany that doesn't seem to be surfacing any moment soon- and finding nothing but growing confusion. Irritation.

" NO! " He shrieks, gesturing wildly as if you're the one missing an obvious point. " OUTSIDE. "

" Don't- Don't scream at me... "

He rolls his head, looking away, then back. " Outside- " He hisses, quieter at least. " Don't. Go. Out. "

It would just take one second. One second to get that box in and it would be over. Is it really that big of a sin? Breg starts moving upsettingly fast towards you, when an arm shoots out, you do what you usually have to when he's deep into his rut. Belly up, hands back, legs spread and neck bared. Good ol' trusty "please don't kill me".

It works.

The breeder's motions halt altogether and he seems to stare at you vapidly for a couple of static seconds. His jaw retracts a chunk, but his maw is still stretched, still that haunting grin. Good, he's distracted.

" ... You know you can't... Go outside. " He drools, to which you nod frantically. " Here is safe... Here is... "

You get to see the exact moment when hormones kill off just about any higher thought process in Breg. The monster shakes his head and crawls atop you, looking mildly bothered by the amount of clothes on your figure before lifting the hem of your shirt and burying his head underneath. Surprised, you can only giggle incredulously, feeling his humid hot breath fanning your stomach and chest. The breeder replies with an instinctual chirp and his breathing finally begins slowing down.

There, you think while slowly stroking his gross back, he's going to settle down, maybe hump a little and then fall asleep. Fool.

The monster stirs after a couple of comfortable moments, muttering something incoherent. He stands much too quickly and begins tugging you up as well, expression creased with what you think might be worry.

" What- What are you doing? " His grip on your wrist is uncomfortable when he starts walking out of the bedroom.

He spends his entire ruts making sure you stay in this room, now he's pulling you out? Geez, how many brain cells did he fry this time?

He only starts speaking after you tap him a couple of times. " Need to move! " He hisses, like you're particularly dumb. " ... Another cave. "

Cave...? Oh, the house. Yes.

You try to stand your ground, but given he's holding onto such a delicate part of you, it's not a good idea to pull. If he dislocates or fractures your wrist while in heat, there's no telling when you'd be able to reach a hospital- You can't risk that damage.

" But what's wrong with this one? " Really, you don't see what's wrong about the house for him to be fussing. You only have a couple of night lights on, the place is warm, there's food, he made his nest, what's missing? Is he getting pickier for no reason now?

" Not safe enough! " You're led to the living room while Breg has his weird freak out fit, glancing at the front door.

He must have shut it as he dragged you in, at least that. Unfortunately, your delivery remains outside. Though, in hindsight, if anyone saw that little stunt between you and the irate breeder, there's a pretty good chance they won't be ballsy enough to come fetch it. You certainly wouldn't be.

When it seems the rutting monster is determined to actually go outside, you start offering minimal resistance. Anything could happen with Breg in that state out and about, he could maim someone, he could force you to God knows where, he could fuck you in the streets openly- The scandal would follow you forever. A thousand yard stare settles on your face.

" B- But I think it is? " You have no cards to play with when dealing with a monster in rut. How can you logically counter his points when he's not thinking logically at all?

" NO. " Finally, he releases your wrist, now pacing restlessly, claws dragging over his own arms. He's clearly distressed and angered, but you don't know how to calm him without seemingly making it worse.

" YOU'LL RUN. " The breeder pauses to snarl pointedly in your direction, returning to barely coherent mumbling and frantic pacing shortly after.

Ah. So that's why he thinks it's not safe. Granted, you know damn well you put yourself in this spot. Now you'll have to weasel out of it.

" I- I won't. " Your shaky, tiny voice is extremely convincing, surely. " I p-promise! It- It's alright. "

Breg stops clawing at his arms, mumbling halted, his pacing ends with the monster right in front of you. His looming, tense figure has you fixed on the spot like an ant. Part of you wants to start bawling for help, another desperately wishes to reach out and soothe him.

" You- You liar... " He seethes, glancing between you and the door as you sweat bullets. " You WILL run! I know you will! YOU'LL LEAVE ME- "

His volume startles you again, beneath the anger he's showing, beneath those drooling teeth waaay too close to your face, there's genuine panic in his tone. Almost wheezing for a second. You're momentarily reminded that it's not just you who's at peril here. When Breg gets really aggravated, the way his metabolism kicks up several notches has consequences for him as well. This isn't good for anyone, and in your blindsided excitement about your purchase, you completely forgot that your failed attempts have only been stressing his already overloaded organism out more. Suddenly, a wave of guilt crushes your spirit.

There's not much time to wallow in it, because you're being grabbed. The lack of reaction must have upset the breeder, who's darkened arms clutch your own. " YOU'LL LEAVE. I can't let you leave- Can't let you go- Mates can't escape- YOU NEED ME. " Each rise in intensity has him jostling you back and forth.

Ooh boy, this is not looking good.

You consider opening your mouth to say something, try to appease him by whatever means necessary, but given all of your attempts have failed so far, what's the use? There's got to be another way...

...

"You need me"... Hm, maybe it's not so hopeless.

Keeping your gaze focused on the breeder, you know trying to slip away from his grasp is useless, but your intent is to reach down enough to grasp the hem of your shorts, quietly shimmying the cloth down. At first, the breeder doesn't realize why you're squirming, growling in warning at your perceived attitude, until he has the wit to glance towards the movement, watching you drop the fabric to your ankles and step out of it. His gaze is wholly fixated on your pussylips, a string of drool oozing from the side of his face to the floor. This secret smirk spreads on your face at the state you have him in, feeling mildly flattered even if you know how volatile he is right now.

In an effort to distract the male just a bit more, you part your legs a little, hearing him very clearly snort grossly, inhaling. His grip lessens ever so slightly, and you take advantage of it to start edging your now tattered shirt off. He barely twitches when his arms drop, squatting on the ground like some frog as he edges closer to your pussy, about to stuff his face on it most likely. His members steadily poke out that engorged slit, already soaked in their own precum, more than ready for anything.

Summoning all the bravery you have to stick to your possibly not very bright plan, you tense on the spot, allowing him but one second of calm, before hauling ass. Your goal is not the outside, not at all, you're actually sprinting the way you came from, teeth grit with nerves.

Predictably, it's a very short dash, Breg darted after you not even a second later, hot on your tail enough to physically crash against you on the way inside the bedroom and effectively throwing you onto the nest. You're getting really tired of landing face-down on this thing... But it's exactly what you wanted. Because when the breeder looms over you, hips instinctively slotted against yours, his hand keeping your head still, you get to turn things on their head before he can bark at you.

Quickly, you bump your bare ass against his cocks, making sure to grind and sway like you're the one in heat. You can feel the startling temperature of them on your skin, spreading their slick and his scent on you in a way that makes shivers ripple through you. The movement apparently startles Breg's already muddled brain into stillness again, you can tell he's probably very confused, ping-ponging between irritation and delight.

" Hah, guess you caught me again... " You bullshit, arching your spine beneath the monster as much as you can and bumping harder against him. Breg shudders. " So, will you do something about it this time, or do I have to keep running until my mate fucks me hard? "

Please buy it please buy it holy shit-

There's a chuff above you, you're positive he understood the words perfectly when he makes an excited crooning trill that tapers off into a chirp. He pushes his dicks onto you in response and you know it worked flawlessly the moment he dips to lick from your neck upwards. Good, this is good. Not optimal, but better than getting tossed outside.

The key to making him forget about your stunts is to convince the breeder it was all a sort of "challenge", and to do such, you'll have to keep up this attitude. Sloppy rutting turns into pushing yourself onto him when Breg poorly lines one of his dribbling cocks against your pussy. Having been through this song and dance before, you don't let him get any ideas regarding his twin length, awkwardly reaching beneath you to grasp and gently stroke at whatever parts you could reach.

He's thrilled, but your taste of control is short-lived as soon as he can sheathe himself inside you. It's a stretch, lord knows it always is with him, but he's excited this time, ramming himself. If he wasn't leaking lubrication like a broken faucet, you probably would have gotten hurt. As is, you only scream in surprise, fisting the sheets and ripped curtains beneath you. He moans, low and loud, a cry of pure animal relief. And, perhaps to your chagrin, fulfills your request.

" Hhrk-! "

Not a single second of mercy is spared your way. Breg doesn't care to build you up, his goal is one thing and one thing only, to fuck his cocktease of a mate full of his hatchlings, a fruitless effort. Not that it's ever stopped him from trying, you often get the feeling he desperately thinks he can will a pregnancy into existence, even outside of heat.

The monster on top of you is fast and ruthless, all self-serving thrusts kissing deep into your cunt while his spare cock twitches and occasionally slaps against your mound. It's a far cry from how he usually behaves, obviously, but the novelty of getting the breath quite literally fucked out of you never seems to wear off. Thighs shaking, you can't muster the composure to buck against him very aptly, body wracked with intense waves of pleasurable heat every time the somewhat more pronounced ridges of his fattened girth drag on that spot -Oh, that little spot- That has you sobbing soundlessly. In reality, Breg isn't making any efforts to offer you much, if any, pleasure, but it'd be impossible not to brush against something nice every now and then with this pace. Being used like a favored, dirty little cocksock, all you can do is grit your teeth and try not to drool as much as the monster making a puddle of your neck and hair.

Apparently, Breg begins to get annoyed by the way you'll bounce forward a little too far for his tastes, rumbling. It's really not your fault there's so much horsepower behind those legs, but you'll admit you don't like getting delicious friction disrupted too much either. The monster readjusts, an arm snakes beneath to grab your neck, grip firm but not squeezing, the other captures your right hand under his, your thighs are nudged closer together to trap his unattended dick and finally- Bold teeth latch onto the skin on the back of your neck.

He's done this before, in controlled settings however. You don't think it's a particularly good idea to let Breg's currently sharpened teeth around your neck for long periods of time, so really, the faster he cums, the less danger you're in. It's difficult to think about much of anything when the rutting breeder's pace resumes, this time not as deep but fast enough to make your vision blur, the smack of skin on skin and frantic shared panting putting you in a trance. God, he fucking stinks like this, you can't escape the smell, ever, it's on you now. He growls and occasionally clips out short moans in response to your helpless flexing around his wet cock, surprising you with another chirp.

Ah, precisely. There's something you can use!

Knowing full well you've never been good at it, you cough to clear your throat before attempting, quite poorly, to imitate the sound. You do it twice for good measure, immediately rewarded with an enthusiastic, hard grind that lifts you ever so slightly off the nest while Breg makes a keening sound that melts into a more complex trill. Your eyes roll and you feel yourself cumming hard around him, grunting at the sudden pleasure. Fuck, how do you make that one? He clearly loves it, you have to at least try. Drunk on the afterglow of your orgasm, you let out a series of vaguely similar whistling clicks, not really sure what you're transmitting to the breeder, or caring really.

The monster's hold of your neck tightens enough to make you wince, though the vibrations of his muffled moaning are shamefully arousing as his next series of hard pounds nearly jostle the few contents of your stomach. You know he's cumming when claws dart to hold your hips perfectly still and his head drops on yours, braying out a shameless noise that devolves into harsh puffing and gasping. Naturally, the cock nestled between your now sticky thighs coats your front and the sheets in a stupid amount of pearly cum, making you whine at the feeling while your womb tries to accommodate as much of the other's load as possible- What it inevitably fails to hold having no choice but to ooze and squeeze out, dripping to your front as well.

Long moments pass, though the shaking of your legs only grows, causing Breg to flip you both on your sides before he ends up crushing you. it's gross, you're laying on a small pool of warm seed while he plugs you happily, glancing up to see him smile happily at you through the haze of hormones. Contented and calm, the ideal state. You don't struggle or react much when the male predictably reaches to start tongue-bathing your upper body, merely grimacing at the scent of excess saliva.

Just to make sure things are even and smoothed out between you, you turn slightly, placing a peck on that long neck and chastely licking him back. There's no way you're going to groom him in this gross state, but it appears to be rewarding enough, his tail swatting around violently.

" ... Angel. " He mumbles, head nuzzling yours lazily. " My angel... "

Crisis averted.

[cinnamostar]

four dates to fall in love

part one. part two. part three. part four (here). part five. part six coming soon.

pairing : hyunjin x gn!reader

summary : after a two year long unspoken hatred, hyunjin and you are forced to be costars in a romantic series, but when it comes to filming any of the romance scenes, you both utterly fail and are unable to get through your lines. the director threatens to take your roles away if you two aren't able to get past this within the next week, which spawns the genius idea from both your managers: can you learn to (fake) fall in love in seven dates and save your careers?

wc : 2.7k

cw : actor!au, enemies to lovers ?!, slowburn , not proofread, blood/knife ments (no injury, theyre just cooking lol), emotional vulnerability

a/n : welcome to part four. the slow burn is absolutely slowburning. things are happening. i dont have much to say other than it being hard for me to write, but pls let me know what you think!!!!!! likes and reblogs appreciated!

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“It went well?” Chan exclaimed in shock over your speakerphone.

You hum in agreement, confusion in the forefront of your mind, “Surprisingly, it went better than I could have ever imagined,” a sigh escapes you, “I don’t know, it’s weird.”

“Well, the fact he even apologized caught me off guard in the first place.”

You laugh lightly, “Oh, trust me, I still am having a hard time believing it. It’s been so long of him being an asshole to me, so seeing him like this was… very different. A little scary, if I’m being honest.”

“Yet it still went well even though it was kinda weird?”

“I mean, it was really awkward at the start which was annoying, but I can’t blame him. He genuinely did look like he felt bad, so it probably was hard to be in his position,” you think aloud, “But it was getting too much and he was putting a damper on the mood, so I tried to make him more comfortable, which worked. Then we started talking, and I don’t really know how to say it, but it felt… really nice? It made me realize that maybe I did miss our friendship.”

“Well, you guys did get along really well before everything happened. To be honest, I thought there was something more going on before then,” Chan recalls, “Though, his sudden change made me realize I was way off.”

Your eyebrows furrow at Chan’s comment, “Something more? Like romantic?”

He chuckles from the other end of the line, “Yeah, I thought something was going on between you two. You guys just seemed to click really well, better than any other costar you’ve had in the past, even to this day. Lowkey thought it was going to be a Tom Holland and Zendaya moment.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, “Definitely not that, I never thought of him that way.”

“You say that, but I remember the heart eyes you used to look at him with,” he teases.

“Oh, shut up. I did not. Besides, that’s not what’s important in the present time!”

He rolls his eyes, even though you couldn’t see it, you could feel it in his tone, “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You’re right though, it is a difficult situation for both of you to be in. Other than it being uncomfortable, how are you feeling about it?”

You let out a heavy sigh, “I mean, part of me is happy to be able to have a normal relationship with him, but… I’m still really mad at him for how he treated me. I don’t think it’s something I can let go of yet.”

“That’s okay. You have time to process all of that, no one is rushing you.”

“I know, but for a moment yesterday, I kinda forgot about all that. I had fun with him, and I want to keep having fun, but then I remember everything and feel so… upset that I am even letting him back into my life, even if it's for a bit.”

“Huh…” Chan muddles over your words for a moment, “That is quite the dilemma. I think you have every right to be upset at him, but I also think it’s okay if you miss your friend. I just think you have to figure out what kind of boundaries you want to set for yourself then. I think you can still have a nice time with him without him earning your forgiveness just yet. He can be a surface level friend or acquaintance until he proves himself trustworthy again.”

“You’re right, but I just didn’t like how easily it slipped my mind. Part of me feels like I should still be more on guard and not as friendly, but he makes that hard too.”

“Y/N, it’ll be okay,” he reassures, “You’ll figure it out, but it’s perfectly fine for you to have fun, while still having boundaries, okay?”

You sigh, still a bit unconvinced by his words, “I guess…”

“I know it’s hard, I can’t imagine what it's like to be in your position, but I promise it will be okay.”

“I’ll believe you just this once!”

“You say that every time, but sure, just this once. Call you tomorrow, alright?”

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It was the next evening, and you were anxiously waiting in your apartment for Hyunjin to arrive. You weren’t sure how today was going to go, and the idea Changbin had for you both today made you nervous, as it felt as a far more intimate setting than the previous dates. Although, you couldn’t entirely argue with his logic. Today, he suggested that you both cooked a simple dinner with each other, the idea being that it would help you both learn how to work together towards a common goal, which was dinner in this case.

Despite you being able to understand the logic behind his idea, it was incredibly intimidating to think about having Hyunjin in your own home, especially considering the sudden change in dynamic in your relationship. Even then, you didn’t just let anyone into your home, as you only ever had your closest friends come over for small hang outs, so this was far outside of your comfort zone, but perhaps that was a good thing. Maybe going out of your comfort zone with Hyunjin would only help you both succeed the next time you found yourselves on set, and perhaps something as intimate as cooking together would help you both ease into your roles.

A knock on the door wakes you from your thoughts, prompting you to shuffle hurriedly towards the door to open it for none other than Hyunjin. He greets you with a gentle smile, bowing his head slightly as you let him in wordlessly. There is an awkwardness that hangs in the atmosphere, indicating that you both were uncomfortable with today’s plans and he, too, was likely struggling to find the right words to say.

You take a deep breath in, almost as if you were catching your breath, “Welcome to my place!” You cringe internally at yourself, unable to handle the intensity of the awkwardness between you two and how poor your attempt was to disperse it.

“It’s really nice!” he compliments, standing in place by the entrance after removing his shoes.

“Thank you,” you respond, “Uhm, just follow me, the kitchen is this way. And all the ingredients are ready for us to use, Changbin had them delivered.”

Hyunjin follows you into the kitchen, his eyes taking in every detail around him, filling him with delight to see how characteristic of you the apartment was, it being a perfect representation of your personality. “What are we making again? I don’t think Changbin filled me in.”

“Oh, we’re just making curry udon! It’s something I’ve made before and it’s not too hard. My bad, I didn’t tell Changbin what we were making which is probably why he didn’t tell you. All I did was send him an ingredient list.”

“I forgot you like cooking,” he replies as he stops in your kitchen, quickly turning to the sink to wash his hands.

You hum in response, washing your hands after him, “I think it can be relaxing, but uh, if you want you can start with chopping the carrots and potatoes? I’ll handle the onion and garlic.” Hyunjin nods and follows your orders without much trouble, or so you think, until you turn around and see him holding the knife in a very precarious and questionable manner. Your eyes widen as you rush towards, “Oh my god, that is not how you should be trying to cut a potato. Have you not chopped a veggie in your entire life?”

He smiles sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders, “Listen, I don’t do this cooking thing often,” a gentle chuckle leaving him as he takes amusement in your concern, his heart thumping over the sudden proximity you both now shared.

“I-,” you sigh with a baffled expression, “Okay, let me just show you because I am not having you accidentally bleeding out all over my counter.” 

“You’re more worried about your counters than me?”

“Shut up,” you suppress a laugh before softly whispering, “Here, just do it like this,” you reach over and lay your hands atop of his without second thought, guiding him on how to position his hands without the risk of injury. Once you’ve become aware of how your bodies are pressed up against each other from the side, you jump away in an instant, “That’s it! That’s all you gotta do.” You’re quick to avoid eye contact with him, turning towards your own cutting board as you chastise yourself for being so careless with him at that moment.

Hyunjin’s face and ears were soon dusted with a soft pink, heat rushing across his body over the interaction that seemed so natural, but manages to mutter out a quiet ‘thank you’ before trying his knife skills out once more. Despite your momentary embarrassment, you are sure to take sneaky peaks at Hyunjin to make sure he was handling himself well. You move on from chopping and turn your attention to seasoning the chicken while Hyunjin was still focused on the vegetables, going at a leisurely place which you much preferred in this case. 

The rest of cooking goes on in silence aside from the occasional instruction or question, small witty jokes, and touches that seemed to linger more than necessary, but perhaps that was your imagination. Once everything was done, you both sat across from each other, admiring the fruits of your shared labor that was now plated in front of you both. 

“It looks really good!” Hyunjin comments enthusiastically, a wide, toothy grin spreading across his face. 

“It does, right? Let’s eat!”

Neither you miss a beat, taking a huge bite of the udon noodles, letting out a delighted groan over just how flavorful the food was. “Woah,” Hyunjin groans out, surprise at how well tonight had gone thus far with the added victory of food, “Holy shit, this is so yummy.”

“Mhmm,” you mumble out between slurping noodles, “This is better than when I make it on my own.”

“It’s the Hyunjin special that you’ve been missing this whole time,” he says matter-of-factly with a smug smile.

“You’re being pretty bold for a guy who just learned how to hold a knife today,” you tease, playfully sticking your tongue out. Your eyes catch each other for a moment between your fits of giggles, time stopping for the briefest second possible before you both avert your eyes out of nerves. What was that? You thought frantically to yourself, suddenly hyper aware of the strange warmth in your stomach that was also accompanied with the feeling of your stomach dropping. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one you didn’t know how to explain or ever experienced before, but you did know you didn’t want that combination of symptoms again for whatever emotion this was. You clear your throat, taking a sip of water as if it would wash away the discomfort, “I guess we are pretty good, huh? Maybe our acting project has hope if we are able to work this well together,” you joke, a very poor, if not disastrous, attempt to alleviate the awkwardness that seemed to follow you everywhere these days.

Your words stab Hyunjin in the heart, the guilt he had once forgotten was knocking at the door of his heart, forcing itself in without his permission. His entire demeanor deflated the moment those words left your lips, his heart writhing at the reminder that the only reason this situation existed was because of him and his blinding stupidity. Yet, here you are, warmly inviting into your home and treating him as if he was an old friend of the past, as if he had never wounded you and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was deserving of any of this. He stood still, gulping down his food before faintly whispering a hushed apology.

“I’m sorry.”

Your head snaps back up, your eyebrows furrowing with worry once you sense the sadness lacing his trembling voice, his head now turned downwards as if he was trying to mask his state. Perhaps the joke was a little too soon, you thought, now it being your turn to feel bad. “Ah, Hyunjin, I’m sorry-” you apologize hurriedly, “It was just a joke, please don’t take it too seriously. I’m sorry.”

He forces a smile, waving his hand as if to tell you to not worry about it, the words at the forefront of his tongue, but caught in his throat due to the heaviness sinking in his chest. Once again, shame paralyzed his body, the warm sensation behind his eyes reminding him to blink, reminding him he shouldn’t be so selfish in his pain when he was the cause of so much discomfort. Was any of this okay? Was any of this right? He wonders to himself, still unable to find forgiveness within himself. 

“Hyunjin,” you speak tenderly, your hand reaching across the table to touch his arm, grounding him back in the present, “I promise, it’s okay.” You knew that last bit was a lie, but it was for his own sake and comfort at this point. His treatment, his behavior, his attitude – none of it was ever okay, but you decided to ignore your own feelings and prioritize his. For the first time in two years, you cared about how he felt, you finally cared how your words harmed him, when before all you ever aimed for was a strike to his heart, but today, you chose to comfort his heart that your words unintentionally wounded. Although, your own heart and conscience briefly argued for a moment, one wanting to tend to his hurt, while the other demanded you let him rot in his misery, insisting he deserved it for what he had put you through. It was a tug-of-war you weren’t enjoying, you had almost wished you two remained in your heated hatred for one another and that nothing ever changed. Despite what your mind screamed at you, you chose to listen to your heart, you chose him over yourself.

He takes a deep breath in, trying to collect himself before speaking, “I just–,” a heavy exhale escapes him, “I’m just sorry. I just feel really, really, really bad for everything, but I also feel like I’m not allowed to feel bad when I was the one to hurt you.”

His eyes met yours, the glassiness of his eyes conveying the depth of his guilt, “Oh, Hyunjin,” you whisper apologetically, “Listen, I won’t lie to you, what you did was shitty. You did hurt me, but that is in the past. You feeling bad about it means you’re a good person, right? It means you’re human and that you care, but I don’t want you to let your guilt overwhelm you either.”

It was a genuine response in a moment of sudden vulnerability, your response taking him aback, but the words temporarily placating his never ending thoughts, “I guess, but… I don’t know if I can forgive myself,” he mumbles.

“You don’t have to yet, but you can learn to eventually,” you reply, “I understand it’s hard, and even I still need more time to do that myself, but I do think you deserve to be kind to yourself.” None of that was a lie, you did truly believe he was deserving of his own compassion, but his culpability helped you see the humanity in him. The spitefulness you once knew him for nowhere to be found, but instead there was only a guilt-ridden man who carried a world of humiliation. “I think I can learn to do so soon, too. Spending time with you helps. Besides, I did miss being friends with you if I’m being honest.”

The last sentence causes him to perk up, a small, satisfied smile playing onto your lips, “Really?” he asks, his ears barely believing your words, but his heart was swelling with hope. His eyes search yours, he can’t help but notice how they glimmer under the soft lowlights of your home, and for some reason, he finds warmth and comfort in them. He knows he can trust you, he knows you are being as candor as possible.

“Really, I mean it.”

“I missed it too.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to learn to trust you again. I’ll learn to forgive you eventually, just for now, it still hurts.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll learn too.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

taglist: @kopikokrunch @icouldntcareless22 @kidrauhlschik @hhwangsmoon @lestayzone @vixensss @cupidcures @sleepyxxhead @pinkpunkdynamite @kaiyaba taglist cut off at 20 people :)

[allieslittlewritings]

*not my gif <3

Baby Girl

Summary: Spencer getting a baby daughter

Set in: Season 13-14

Warnings: Spoilers for seasons 8-13 of Criminal Minds, vague mention of abortion, bad writing, an oc!mom

Word count: 900-1k

A/n: I've never posted a fic before so if this sucks and nobody sees it I'm sorry <3

★

Spencer always thought in an ideal world, he would have children.

He never bothered to think of how many, knowing that would be more up to his future wife than to him.

He'd always just assumed he'd get married before having children one day.

After everything that had happened to him, Maeve dying, going to prison, the shit Cat had pulled, finding out his mom had Altzheimer's, and everything else that was certainly less than ideal, he'd started to think more and more that he simply wasn't meant to be a dad.

When a girl he'd only gone on a few dates with, months ago, told him she needed to talk to him, he was confused.

Emma was a nice girl, they just didn't fit well together so their relationship didn't last long.

She'd asked him to meet her at a random coffee shop.

He had the idea of her being pregnant for one second before he convinced himself that was ridiculous.

He entered the coffee shop Emma had chosen and went to sit accross from her.

Some boring small talk followed about how their careers and lives were going.

"Spencer, I'm pregnant." Emma finaally blurted out, clearly nervous.

Spencer had heard a lot of radicalizing things in his life.

A lot of unexpected things had happened to him.

In his line of work, a lot of things altered his perspective and way of thinking.

This one was different.

"You're..." He trailed off in shock.

"Look, I'm gonna be honest, I don't want the baby, but I'm too far along now to get an abortion. I'm about to start looking for potential adoptive parents, but I thought maybe you'd want input on who it goes to, too."

As muddled and confused as Spencer's brain felt, he immediately replied, "No. I'll take it. I mean, I'll take care of it. Of the baby."

"Are you sure you want to do that? You've already got a lot on your plate..." She pointed out.

"I'm sure." He said softly, without an ounce of hesitation.

★

Spencer was in an odd haze everytime he remembered he was about to become a parent.

He knew it wouldn't be easy, taking care of a child and having such a demanding job.

But he also knew he could never live with the knowledge that he had a child somewhere and they're not with them.

If they're with him, he can keep them safe.

He could make sure his child didn't grow up alone, like he did.

★

Spencer and his baby's mother sat quietly in a waiting room.

Spencer was attending his first ultrasound.

He sat, in thought.

A nearly empty cup of coffee in his right hand.

His lip was being lightly picked at with his left.

He took one last sip of his coffee and went to throw the now empty cup away.

His sweaty hands were starting to annoy him.

The restless feeling wouldn't go away.

Emma's name was called and the pair went into the ultrasound room.

Spencer picked at his fingers as he watched Emma and the ultrasound tech set everything up.

Lost in thought, he didn't hear any of the little things the women talked about.

Everything in him froze when he heard it.

A heartbeat.

His baby's heartbeat.

"So, would you like to know the baby's gender?" The doctor asked.

The women looked at Spencer, waiting for an answer.

He stood dumbfoundedly, staring at the grainy image of his baby on the moniter.

Their heartbeat still the loudest, best thing he'd ever heard.

"Spencer?" Emma gently nudged him.

Spencer finally snapped out of his haze and quickly wiped away a stray tear rolling down his face.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Would you like to know the sex of the baby?" The doctor asked again.

"Uh, no. No, I want it to be a surprise." His eyes remained on the moniter, he couldn't pull his eyes away from it.

★

Spencer prepared for the day Emma gave birth as best he could.

He was actually grateful for his sabbaticals now, it gave him a lot more prep time.

He read about a hundred books on labor and childbirth.

And give or take twice as many on actual parenting and child care.

He did as much research as humanly possible.

But one thing he'd learned over the years, is no matter how much research you do or how many books you read, the actual topic you're researching and preparing for is never quite the same.

★

His anxiety in the last few weeks before the baby came skyrocketed.

Worry overtook him nearly every minute of the day.

What if he hasn't done enough?

What if there's something important that slipped his mind?

What if he'll actually be a terrible father and he'll mess up the best thing to ever happen to him?

What if he-

"It's a girl!" The doctor announced.

Much like when he heard his daughter's heartbeat for the first time, he froze.

A girl.

He had a daughter.

She was here.

He watched as the doctors and nurses scurried around doing things, to make sure his baby was well and healthy.

His baby.

He had a baby.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her.

Covered in blood and vernix, his daughter.

Her loud, very infant-like cries filled the room.

Not a new sound to the doctors, they continued with their routine work.

It was the most grounded Spencer had felt in months.

She was here.

His baby was here and she needed him almost as much he needed her.

★

Spencer tiredly rubbed his eyes, the wide range of emotions from the day catching up to him.

He walked tiredly to the room where Y/N was, a hint of confusion on his face.

The exhaustion was evident in his posture and his droopy eyes.

But now was not the time to sleep, he was walking to go be with his daughter.

He entered the room she was in and sat down in a chair next to the basin his baby lay in.

"Hi," He whispered to her, gently resting his hand on her tiny stomach.

His baby gurgled and looked up at him with big eyes.

A tired smile graced his face as he gently stroked his daughter's head.

He could stay there forever.

Just him and his daughter.

She was the most the beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"We're gonna be okay, aren't we?" He quietly asked her.

His baby gripped his finger with her hand, continuing to quietly make baby noises.

"Yeah. We're gonna be okay."

fin. ♡

[orangekittyenergy]

hi! is it too late to do an ask for the kiss roulette?? if not could you please do rolan with 14? a kiss to the stomach. 👀

Oooooooh 😏 It's never too late my friend!! 🫦 (Kiss asks here)

A Kiss to the Stomach - Rolan x reader (early relationship)

(im in an angsty mood so it came out a little tender)

The first thing you hear is the rustling of pages. The soft scrape of paper on paper. Your newly awake ears immediately feel overwhelmed by it; it sounds like someone is shuffling reams of paper right at your cheek. Before you can get too annoyed, your other senses start to return. You sense bright light just beyond your eyelids. You can smell a soft delicate scent. Flowers? Your mind feels fuzzy. Are you outside?

Your body slowly catches up and you feel plush sheets beneath you. A soft bed is cradling your body. You find yourself blissfully wondering where you are for a moment before the sudden rush of memories and pain comes washing back. A heated battle. A crash down into the water.

Your body jolts back to reality with a lurch and you find yourself trying to move. Your body refuses to comply. Instead, you let out a small groan and feel your eyelids flutter.

"Good morning." A voice approaches swiftly, getting louder as it joins you at your side. You swallow thickly, your tongue heavy. You feel dizzy, confused. Everything is muddled.

"Where...where is everyone?" You mumble through parched lips. Flashes of your companions fill your mind as your brain races to catch up.

"Shhh..this is the first night you've slept all the way through. You might feel a little off from the sleep tonic." You feel a hand gently stroke your hair. Rolan. It was Rolan's voice.

Your eyes snap open and meet his, gazing down at you. A sudden flood of memories fills your brain. The battle in the sky. The parting of ways on the docks. Your first stop had been to come here; to see him. A few fitful nights filled with nightmares later and he had finally convinced you to try a sleep potion.

"Gods." You groan and force one heavy arm up to run a hand across your face. "Why did I let you convince me to try that?"

He smirks at you and lets out a huff of air.

"Well, you needed sleep. Dont cry. You'll be up and feeling much better in no time." He replies, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You turn your head to face him, begrudgingly having to admit to yourself that you are already feeling better and more alert by the second. But, you wouldn't admit that to him.

"Have you ever tried one? Ugh, I feel like I drank a whole barrel of wine last night." You give another groan. He fights away a smile and pushes his lips out in mock concern.

"I guess there's no helping you then. Here I thought I was housing the hero of Baldurs Gate, not a whimpering child."

You chuckle softly and attempt to sit up to be met with a rush of pain in your abdomen. You wince and pull down the covers a touch and raise your nightshirt to find your stomach still covered in bruises. You frown at the sight.

"Ah yes, potions and spells can only do so much. Your body still needs mending. You need r e s t." He says, enunciating each letter as if to prove his point that he was correct about the potion. Your eyes snap back up to his with a heated look.

"I can't just sit around here and let you wait on me." A slight blush crosses your cheek and a slight slip of a bruised ego at the idea of lazing around in bed all day and being tended to. Rolan smiles softly back at you; knowing all too well himself just how bad an ego can be bruised.

"You can and you will. I insist. Despite what others may think, I can be a very good caretaker." His smile fades slightly and his eyes dart away for a moment. "I won't let anything else happen to you." He adds quietly.

After a moment's hesitation, he leans down and plants a careful kiss on the tender skin of your stomach. He lingers there a moment, his breath hot on your skin, avoiding your gaze as he often does when confessing something emotional.

"Let me take care of you. Please?" He breathes out on your stomach.

You squeeze your lips together, the sudden moment of intimacy replacing all feelings of pain. You suddenly feel like you could hop out of bed right then, ready for battle again. Instead, you reach up and gently tuck a few strands of hair behind his ear letting your fingers linger there a moment.

"Fine. Tend to me. I won't argue." You let your body ease back into the bed, resolve gone and pushing away any lingering hints of your ego. Rolan gives one more soft kiss and leans up, pulling your shirt back down for you.

"There. Was that so hard?" He raises an eyebrow at you with a smirk on the corner of his lips, his teasing tone back. "I'll go fetch you breakfast."

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 5

Everything that can go wrong one night, goes wrong, and it's just annoying inconvenience after annoying inconvenience. Jask falls and drags Geralt down with him, Jask gets them kicked out of an inn, Jask spends their last coin, Jask complicates the fight and accidentally gets Geralt injured, etc, etc, and eventually Geralt snaps at Jaskier for getting in the way and making things harder. They get into a big fight over it, and Jaskier even gets a second room to sleep apart. They are still on icy terms after the argument, until Jaskier starts realizing he doesn't.. feel well.. In fact he feels quite awful. Jaskier shortly realizes that he's getting ill. But he's terrified to tell Geralt, in fear of this being the straw that breaks the camel's back. What if Geralt really leaves him after this? What if this is the last thing that Geralt can handle is Jaskier delaying them getting new contracts because he's ailing? So he does what every smart honorable self-respected bard would do. He pretends nothing is wrong and prays it goes away on it's own. It isn't. It's getting way worse. Geralt can smell something off with Jaskier's scent, and is getting worried. He keeps asking Jaskier if he needs breaks or help doing things (Jaskier is convinced Geralt is just proving he can do everything without Jaskier, and that stopping for breaks will show Geralt how shit a travelling companion he is) Geralt just needs to get them to a town so he can pamper Jaskier with his favorite sweets, a warm bath, and a nice bed, and then ask him when he feels most ready to tell. But then Jaskier suddenly just.. Collapses.

He's walking alongside roach like always, only for him to suddenly roll his eyes back and just.. fall to the ground. Geralt is of course, freaking out- Geralt picks up his bard and makes an abrupt camp to check on him. Holding Jaskier so close, he can smell the fragrance of illness, muffled and muddled by Jaskier's soaps and perfumes. His bard is sick. Geralt, loving his bard unconditionally, treats and watches over Jaskier until he awakes. Jaskier, when he finally returns to consciousness, immediately begins begging Geralt not to get rid of him, not to leave him behind, that he's barely even sick, that he can keep going, just keep him, please. Geralt is horrified Jaskier thinks he could ever be left behind by Geralt, and they make up and kiss and say "i love you" idk.. think it'd be kinda gay...

[mondaymelon]

hatefully, never. (yandere!scaramouche x gn!reader)

warnings! yandere scara, enemies to lovers, mean scara, tw kidnapping, tw drugging

(a/n) i had to. please read with caution, as this fanfiction contains many triggering and overall dark themes!

˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"I hate you making me feel this way."

"But now you can't leave me, okay?"

"Never."

"Leave me alone already."

"I could say the same about you," you retorted, returning the male's glare.

He huffed. "You're so annoying..."

"It's not like you're not."

Scaramouche growled, his scowl only deepening. "Why did I have to get stuck with you, of all people?"

"Don't ask me. It wasn't my choice." You scoffed, frowning.

You and Scaramouche always bickered. It was nothing out of the ordinary. It was not like you hated each other, although maybe you two did, but your personalities just clashed. Since the time Scaramouche had ordered you to go fetch something and you had told him, "Why should I?" he had immediately grown to dislike you.

Maybe dislike was too complacent of a word.

Resent would likely fit better.

Still, he hadn't gotten out of his way to hurt you, at least not yet. It was comfort, albeit quite the pathetic one, that you kept shamefully close to your heart.

And now you were stuck with him on a Fatui mission to investigate something that you weren't paying attention to. Great. Even though it was painfully silent on the way there, you only knew it would get more awkward from here on out.

"What are you staring at me for?" Scaramouche caught your gaze and glared at you, violet eyes burning with malice. "What, have you suddenly decided that I've caught your eye?"

"Never in a million years," you hissed instantly, face going a little red at his accusation. "I would rather die."

He only scoffed, rolling his eyes with contempt, then went silent. The rest of the day was just as troublesome, with you trying to start conversations and him just shutting you down every time. Needless to say, you were able to make it through the day with relative... ease. The two of you stopped on the side of the road and made camp, setting up two tents and placing a bonfire in the middle that blazed with curls of orange flame.

"Here." He handed you a cup of violet liquid, expression unreadable. When you sniffed the drink with confusion, he sneered. "It's lavender melon juice, idiot."

You had your doubts about the swirling purple liquid, but he was nice enough to give you something to drink, and you were feeling pretty thirsty after a full day of traveling, so without much of a second thought, you drunk the entire thing in a couple of gulps.

The taste was tangy, semi-sweet, and strangely bitter. It didn't remind you too much of lavender melon, but the flavor still resembled it somewhat. Now that the entire thing had been stomached, you were feeling a bit more comfortable. You gave the man a lopsided smile. "Ah... thanks?"

He didn't say anything from where he sat, not even taking a drink from his own cup, he just sat there and stared at you with a strained gaze that made you confused. "...Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing." Setting aside his untouched cup, he stood and began searching the luggage for something. You watched him awkwardly, not sure what else to do, but you were feeling... uncomfortable. It was a strange sensation, the feeling of something swirling about in your stomach and an unusual warmth spreading about your body. Frantically blinking your eyes in an attempt to stay awake, you could already feel your body swaying underneath you as everything spiraled to black.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

...where...?

where am i?

Blinking open your eyes hazily, you found yourself in a dark space, the only light being the faint glow of a lantern in the far corner of the room. Your head felt... cloudy, your thoughts muddled. Trying to stand up, you realized that you were chained to the wall with iron shackles that burned against your wrists.

"Looks like you're finally awake."

There he was, smirking with upturned lilac eyes, his eyes glimmering with a cruel light. He looked better than he had in a long while, in a deranged way. His clothes were crumpled and stained with a reddish substance that had partly dried, and there were cuts along the fabric. Still, he grinned at you from where he stood over you, his large hat casting a dark shadow over his expression.

"What... Scaramouche...?" You flinched as he took his chin in his hands, examining your face with a sneer. "Where- Why-"

"Clueless as ever, aren't you?" He smiled, an expression that would've made you flustered if it hadn't been so dire of a situation. "This is where you're going to live with me from now on. As for why, maybe you shouldn't have trusted me so easily." Scaramouche laughed, a cold sound that echoed around the chambers. "It certainly did make things easier things for me though."

"You-"

"Yes, yes, I know. You're going to scream and cry and beg for me to take you back." He sighed, feigning a pitiful expression. "Too bad for you, that's not going to happen, dear. You're mine. You're all mine. No one else should be able to lay eyes upon you."

"I thought you hated me...!"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I do. But at the same time, no one else deserves you. Only me. That's why I'll never allow you to leave. Never. Without you, I am nothing. No one else matters more to you than me. Isn't that right, darling?"

"You- You're sick-!"

"Aw, come on now. Don't disrespect my feelings for you."

"After all, you're going to be here for a long time, so you'll have to get used to it."

masterlist ✩

[summerlovingbaby]

Aaron's eating disorder

Aaron handles himself well, in his head he likes to call himself superman, at first it was a childish notion that got him through the day, but soon it developed into a daily mantra. He is nothing short of Superman, he has good grades, a gorgeous girlfriend, a national winning Exy team and was in the gym 6 times a week, the only thing he couldn’t manage to do was eat.

At breakfast he would choke down a few bites of an apple, but it woult turn rock hard in his stomach and sit there making it ache, so for a while it was easier for him to not deal with food. It started with skipping breakfast and dinner, and then the more he thought about it, if he didn’t need breakfast and dinner he didn’t need lunch either. As far as Aaron was concerned his new eating habits were better than his old eating habits. Tilda didn’t grocery shop, and Aaron was already picky eater, even before he got clean. After he got clean for about a year his diet consisted almost exclusively of pickles, almonds, jars of frosting, M and M’s, apple juice and protein shakes.

It didn’t matter how he felt, it only mattered how people saw him. It didn’t matter that he was tired all the time, or how he found himself shivering in 90 degree weather, people only saw you as one thing, and as long as he could pace a mildly impassive expression on his face, and keep his head in his studies people would think he was fine. People only saw you as one thing, and if they saw him as fine he would be left alone. He started only viewing others as one thing. Andrew wasn’t a brother, just a teammate. Neil was just a kid who he would swap rooms with  and a nuisance and Kevin was the idiot lived next door. Nicky was too complicated for his muddled brain to classify so he avoided him as a whole.

He avoided team outings for a week before the team started to pester him about it. He lied and said he was swamped with studying or exams or writing papers, when in all reality he was farther ahead then he had ever been. 

He woke up on Saturday morning, rolling his eyes as he checked the clock, it was another morning practice Kevin insisted was necessary, so he dressed in a hoodie and a long compression shirt. He walked to the court alone, leaving Nicky alone. Nicky had been watching Aaron for weeks and he was obvious with his concerned stare was irritating. He stumbled through pratice with weak footing and a loose grip on his stick, he almost made it completely through pratice before fell over his eyes and he lost sight of the court in a dark haze. The sound of his racket hitting the wood snapped him awake, but he was still confused, as he felt firm fingers unstrap his helmet and take it off his head, and the rush of the cool air on his skin was enough to snap him into full consiouness.

“ You good?” Andrew asked.

Aaron gave him a vague impersonal nod before he was ushered to the bench, he offered little resitance mostly because he didn’t care enough to fight back, and looking his brother in the eye for the first time in weeks and it knocked all the fight out of him. Mostly he was tired, and his head hurt, and he was cold, and vaguely irritated and horribly annoyed.

He sat out for the last hour of pratice, choking down a granola bar at Wymack and Betsys instacne, and drunk an intire gatorade for good measue just to prove the point that he was fine. He had everything under strict control. But that didn’t stop Matt from helping him back to the lockerroom.

“ I don’t need your help,” he said.

“ Well you can barely stand, and I don’t want you to hit your head if you pass out or something,” he said grimly, “ don’t want you to lose your looks of you chip your tooth on the floor or something,” he added hoping to get Aaron to smile, which proved ineffective.

He sat Aaron in front of his locker, offered a prefoctonary smile and went to shower, leaving Aaron alone. Aaron took off his jersey, leaving on his under things, too tired to bother with showering, so shoved his clothes in his locker and walked through the locker room and into the lounge where Coach and Abbey were waiting.

“ You feeling okay?” Abbey said, thumbing through a magazine.

“ Stomach bug,” he lied.

By the way Wymack stared at him, Aaron could tell he wasn’t buying his lie for a second. 

“ Wanna try again?” he suggested.

“ Not really,” Aaron siad.

“ ERC is making monthly physicals madaory again, next one is in two weeks,” Wymack said turning to Abbey who nodded. He waited for Aaron to speak, but when he didn’t, he continued. “ You usually sort your shit out just fine, but if you need help its here.”

“ You don’t have to worry about me,” Aaron said. 

“ Well I’m gonna,” Wymack said, for some reason his typical casual attitude pissed Aaron off more than it should have. “ And for that matter the rest of the team is as well. Andrew and Nicky are… Concerned.”

He didn’t need or want Andrews concern or pity, and he didn’t need it from the rest of the team for that matter. Andrews pity killed his mom.

“ Is that all?” he asked, and when he got no response he left the way he came, and spent the weeked at Katelyns dorm to avoid the foxes, spending most of the night curled up in her little twin mattress. It didn’t matter how many blankets he piled ontop of himself, he hadn’t managed to get warm in a week. He ate the pickles that came with her meal, that she for some reason always ordered even though she hated, but had to return back to his dorm because he had Tuesday classes.

By the time he got there he learned that both of his classes were cancelled so he crawled into bed ignoring the way the pickle churned in his stomach. He was kicked away 3 hours later by Andew who was too busy texting on his phone to even look at him.

“ Get up,” he said bluntly,” team dinner.”

“ Not hungry” Aaron replied rolling over. He really wasn’t hungry, and the last thing he wanted was to sit in a car with them, then poke around at a plate of chicken and commensurate over small talk for 2 hour, if he wasn’t gonna sleep then he should at least study, or do something more productive.

“ Get up and come with us, or I’ll drag you by your hair,” he said.

Aaron could tell by the look of determination on Andews face he was nothing short of serious and put on his shoes before Andrew had an excuse to pull the scalp from his hair. At dinner he ordered a plate of chicken tender, fries and  a coke. He sipped the coke frequently, took a bite of two fries, but didn’t bother with the chicken tenders, spending the whole meal cutting them up into tiny pieces, smiling piolety at the teammates who bothered to talk to him.

The seating arrangement changed, leaving Andrew and Aaron alone. Kevin and Neil was going to the court, and the rest of the team was going fuck knows where, all Aaron wanted to do was go back to the dorm and study for his exam that he had to take in 5 days. His grades were dwindling down to unacceptable and every graded assignment he got back he could only picture his mothers dissatisfied and disappointed face. The car ride back was awkward and uncomfortable, Aarons headache was worse and throbbing, and being trapped in the front seat alone with Andrew bothered him more than he cared to admit. Ever since the trial he handled Andrew with cool composure, but he was really extremely pissed off for a reason that Aaron couldn’t place, nor did he care to. If Andrew wanted to not care, then Aaron would not care either. Aaron didn’t need anyone in his life that didn’t want to be.

“ Matt gave these to me, never been a fan, do you want them?”

Andrew tossed a bag of M&M’s in his lap, and Aaron bust open the package dumping a handful in his hand and popping them in his mouth without a second thought. Andrew turned up to the raido and they drove back to the dorm in silence, while Aaron quietly let the chocolate candies melt in his mouth.

The next day he was rudely woken up by the sound of someone loudly putting away groceries, he rolled his eyes slammed a pillow over his head and went back to sleep shivering.  He was woken by  Nicky 3 hours later, who shoved a plated sandwich in his face. “ Coach said you weren’t feeling well so I made you a sandwich,” he said, Aaron sat up and took a bite of the sandwich and struggled to swallow, ignoring Nickys grimmace. 

When Aaron refused Nicky chewed his cheek and went to play games at his desk.

“ If you’re having food… sensitivities-”

“ Nicky.” Aaron warned.

“ I was gonna say-”

“ I have a headache, you’re not helping.”

“ Aaron,” Nicky insisted.

“ Nicky” Aaron mocked, sitting up. Aaron was idignatnt and stubborn enough to do for hours.

Nicky paused his game and turned to glare, something that bothered Aaron beyond belif, he didn’t need platitudes or pity, and that look that Nicky gave him was a sick mix of both.

“ I’m fine,” he insisted.

Before Nicky could argue the door swung open and Andrew barged his way in. “ You’ve said that word so much in the past month it doesn’t even sound like a word. You look like shit.”

“ Thanks, real confidence booster,” Aaron sighed, wishing Nicky would close the window.

“ Andrew, be nice.” Nicky scolded.

Andrew laughed at the idea, and wordlessly unpacked the grocery bags on his arms, tossing Aaron a jar of dill pickles in the process. When he made no move of opening the jar Andrew took the jar and opened it, fished a pickle spear out with his fingers and put it on a paper plate. When Aaron looked disgusted at the sight of the pickle, with his nose wiggled up, Andrew took the plate, and sliced the pickle, sticking the plastic fork in one of the slices and sitting it in his lap.

He squat down to his level and stared with an expectant look. Aaron was uncomfortable with the weight of it, and clenching his fist was all he could do was not to cry. He hated eating infront of people, and with Andrew looking in front of him made it worse.

“ You have 5 minutes to eat before I hold you down and shove it down your throat.”

Aaron looked at the plate of cut up pickles trying hard not to frown. He knew Andrew would do it, this is the same brother who locked him in the bathroom when he found out about his drug problem. The idea of someone watching him choke down this food made his stomach flip violnetly. And the idea of being force fed made him want to run. He briefly entertained the idea, before he realized that he wouldn’t make it very far. His brother was faster than he was, and who was to say that once he made it to the other side of the door Andrew wouldn’t follow.

“ I need you to not look at me,” Aaron asked.

Andrew stood and went turned and pretended to find interest in Nickys game,and Aaron poked at his food until he put a pickle slice on his tongue, he shivered at the sourness of it, but enjoyed the satisfying crunch enough to eat the rest of them, only stopping when he gave a loud burp.

He looked up to see that Andrew had been staring at him the whole time, he tossed a pack of M&M’s at him, and poured a cup of apple juice which Aaron accepted gladly, the pickle made him thirsty and sparked his appetite.

Aaron looked at the empty plate, he had the distinct feeling that he had been had. Andrew went to the store, bought the only food Aaron would consider touching, not only that but he payed attention to his rather restrictive diet when they were kids, and remembered what he ate. Matt didn’t give Andrew M&M’s, Andrew bought them, along with an obscene amount of almonds, frosting and protein shakes. Andrew cared, hes cared all along. Aaron misinterpeted Andews cold apathey is disintrets, his lingeirng look of  He misinterpereded his lingering looks of concerns one of pity or general disinterest. And even as Andew carefully watched Aaron now, watched as he chewed and swallowed, it was careful and considerate, nothing malicious behind his glare.

“ Can I have some almonds?”

Nicky tossed him the jar, and they watched as Aaron loudly crunched on them by the handful.

Andrew settled himself on the couch, and began texting on his phone. By the chirping of Nickys phone Aaron suspected that they were talking about him.

“ Thanks,” he said without thinking. “ Sorry for-”

“ If you aplologize I will personally break your foot.”

“ Right.” Aaron looked down, with the vague notion that he should be embarrassed. Andrew cared.

“ Listen, having a restricted diet is better than starving yourself, you feel like shit because you weren’t eating at all. You’re allowed to struggle and have problems, but when you do you lean the fuck out and you talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me, just talk to someone before you get to the point of passing out,” Andrew said. “ You have a whole team that only wants whats good for you, you lean the fuck out or I will push you out, and you won’t like how hard I shove you.”

“ Okay” he said, eating another handful of almonds.

[grievous-writes]

"Mimic" - Part One - Ramattra x Reader

Welp, I think this one is gonna be more then a one shot XD

You were one of the most single-handedly annoying Humans Ramattra had to endure, and given all of Humanity was on his knives’ edge, that was saying something. He had his mission, his war, his duty to all Omnic kind, and you as a Talon agent were making this muddled - A Human who was an ally, even if it was hesitantly so. 

Those who worked with the organization were a colorful bunch, some fatalistic and grim, and then others were like you with your flashy attitude and manic personality. Sombra and you were in that same vein, snarky and short, but you were different enough to stand out from the hacker by coming to Ramattra on your downtime. Where Sombra’s RnR was spent on her various data collections and pulling threads behind a monitor, you spent your time pestering the Omnic leader.

Your particular flavor of pestering Ramattra was your vocal mimicry, hence your code name “Mimic”. You loved to use his voice against him.

Ramatraa read your file, he knew it was a Blackwatch raid on your small town that caused you to loathe the sham that was Overwatch, and you had to survive a traumatic childhood by mimicking everything around you. You could be disguised as anything, from a dog limping down the street to a trash bin dumped over on the side of the road, and through this unique skill you would steal food for other orphaned kids in your town … or you’d pilfer heavy munitions for rebel cells. You were a survivor, durable and capable, and slightly insane. You had to be if you kept pestering him so often. 

You caught him several times when he was leaving meetings with the other Talon top-brass, appointed his escort to and from his ship, and would poke and poke and poke:

“So, got any plans to make people suffer as you have suffered today?” You asked with half of your voice being your own, and the other more embolden part being his tone repeated back to him. Uncanny. 

He tried to ignore you, walking onward as you trailed behind; sights set forward to his docked ship. 

“Oh come on, don’t leave me hanging!” Your smile was too wide for his taste.

He growled. “Surely you must have some task other than to bother me, Human.” 

“Oh, ouch, are we back to that sort of name calling, Omnic?” You frowned with a mischievous eye roll. “Come on, give me something to work with besides your broody mode. A laugh, a joke!”

“You are a joke.” Was his quick spitted response, and he felt rather juvenile after letting it out.

“Again, ouch.” You chuckled and he watched from the edge of his vision as your smile faded ever so. “How about this then - When you’re in a better mood, and if you have free time, come find me?”

Ramattra paused in mid step and snapped his head down to look at you. “And why would I seek you out?” 

“Cause I’m charming and fun to be around.” Your smile grew in full force; hands on your hips and head held high.Cocky and confident. 

The Omnic aimed to give another quick retort, a quick bit of his words, but he faltered. That’s what you wanted from him, banter and conversation - You were collecting more of his voice. And for what end? You were using him, just as how he was using you. 

“Enough of you, Mimic.” Ramattra’s tone was deep, level, and it made your stomach churn. His red glowing gaze was intense and you felt your grin falter once more. “Be gone and find your sport elsewhere. I have no interest in mingling with the likes of you.” 

“Likes of me? W-What’s that-?”

“You are an adventitious tool for Talon and nothing more. You are barely subpar above the hacker and sniper, nowhere near important enough to be mentioned by your leaders, and your only real task is playing babysitter to someone who could crush your skull in with a flex of my palm. It is trivial and a token task given to placate someone as desperate as you.” The Omic turned away from you and kept walking to the ramp of his waiting vessel, leaving you in your spot. 

Your feet refused to move and you couldn’t find any words. 

“Keep that in mind when you try to talk to me as if we are equals.” Was Ramattra’s last comment as he ducked out of sight, and you stood frozen as his ship flew away into the early evening’s orange sky. - - -

The last meeting with the Omnic got to the ears of Reaper, with some deck crew tattle-telling on you, and the masked man gave you a mouthful of not so passive threats to back down … and a new assignment that would take you away from Talon’s HQ for sometime. Talon couldn’t risk pissing off Null Sector, not for the amusement of a mid-range agent like yourself.

You were assigned to the ass end of nowhere, at a monitoring station high in the mountains of the western United States, where Talon was piggybacking off official comms channels around the world. You were set in charge of a small team that was meant to monitor air traffic and report anything useful. You were essentially tossed to the side, put in time out, and your skills and true talents left unused for months.

To anyone else, they’d have probably been pissed off and brooding about the new job, but you had been discarded before many times, lonely and forgotten, that this was a walk in the park. You had learned to mimic contentment, to fabricate joy, and masterfully masked your hurt emotions with diligence to your task. This was all first nature to you, with the founding blocks of your skills set by a little kid who had to fake it till they made it. You remembered a time where you had to literally mimic the sound of a dying bunny to lure in a starving cat, a fine meal you caught with your bare hands; just barely above the age of ten. 

You were so alone, so sad, and scared.

In all your bravado and flashy facade, you had thought that maybe Ramattra would understand what it meant to feel alone; given his situation. You couldn’t imagine the weight on his shoulders, his task was unique to him alone, but you could still sympathize. And you dared that maybe, just maybe, you told yourself, if you could make him “smile” there was hope that neither of you would be so lonely.

But alas, he pushed you away. Red tape was laid out and you were officially told to back off.

That didn’t stop you however from using the monitoring station to your own ends.

You had your own hacking subroutines that Sombra didn’t have access to, your own unique flavor of single mimicking, and you easily tapped into Null Sector and Talon communications. You at first used your connection to pinpoint where joint operations were held, then you would figure out who was in command and leading the missions, and eventually you got access to an area’s security system and watched the battles from the comfort of your desk via CCTVs. And unabashedly, you were keen on watching Ramattra work out in the field. 

You watched how dominating Ramattra was on the field, and was fascinated with how precise his attacks were. His defensiveness was calculated, his offense ruthless, and he would annihilate his enemies with efficacy. You couldn’t help but find yourself mimicking his voice and actions in the comfort of your room, playing out fighting along his side and working out in your head how you could aid the Omic in battle. You found yourself roleplaying as well, making fake conversations back and forth with his voice and your own in your throat. Silly things, funny things, a side of Ramattra you were making up in your spare time. 

You imagined him congratulating you on a task well done, complimenting you on your fighting style, and after a few close calls in combat, finally him taking that offer on spending time with you. But in reality, you were talking to yourself, sitting in a barely lit room and dreaming of something that would never come to be. It was pathetic. The solitary time in the mountains was getting to you, and you knew that there was a line between boredom and obsession. 

On the morning you set out to end the little spy network on Ramattra’s missions, you noticed something interesting stirring in the signals codding. The Omnic and a few other Talon agents were set out on a stealth mission to steal a payload out from Overewatch’s nose, and where Sombra was there to hack her way through doors and watch through the building’s cameras, you caught signs of another person’s work doing the same thing you were doing. They were mimicking Sombra’s signal and watching everything she was doing. You watched from a third eye position as Sombra’s attacks were being counter blanched, no doubt by someone in Overwatch, but you couldn’t act - Or else you’d be found out. It was one thing to have a little network insight like you had, and another thing to be found out. 

You could get into real trouble, like the sort that left a bullet in your brain knowing Talon, but as you watched the mission go to shit, as you saw Ramattra’s shield being beaten down again and again, all thoughts for self preservation fell away. 

“Fuck it.” You snarled under your breath and got to work. Your signal turned onto the Overwatch line and began to attack it from the preverbal backdoor in a sparking battle; counter-acting every move it tried to do, by acting as stray code within its own network. You began to cause internal damage into the Overwatch hacker’s routine, mimicking your way in and out of its trappings to have the program destroy its own code.  

The actions caught Sombra’s attention as she was trying to open a door for escape, a weird glare set to her features. “What the-?!”

“Sombra, the door!” Reaper shouted out between shotgun blasts.

“Yeah yeah, I’m getting there - Finally!” She barked back with a sudden smirk as the doors flew open. 

“What took so long?” Widowmaker asked through the commlink, snipping off targets from above.

“Eh, someone in Overwatch was being fancy. But - …” Sombra stood up and dashed through the door; leaving her remark unfinished. The others followed behind her, with Ramattra pulling in the rear as he used his tanky tactics to cover the retreat. 

Reaper hummed and looked to Windowmaker, who had joined the escape from the shadows of a corner and a glare was set to her cold, blue features. 

You watched the interactions going down, heard every word, and both you and Sombra knew that; she knew you were watching and listening now. The hacker was the closest thing you had to a “friend” within Talon, and you knew while she’d try to not toss you under the bus, she might not have the choice; self preservation. But you couldn’t help but feel sudden burning guilt as Reaper and Widowmarker set their eyes onto Sombra. They had their suspicions on her already, you knew that after the failed assassination a few months back, and this could be the perfect opportunity to get her. And by “get”, they could easily kill her if they wanted. 

You couldn’t hide. Your shame of spying on Ramattra was meager compared to seeing Somrba get shot down. Your own self preservation was tossed out the window in a foolish flick of our comm into their joined link. 

“Welcome to Talon Airlines, this is Mimic, and I’ll be your pilot this evening!” Your voice mimicked that of a cherry commercial pilot, masterfull masking your nervousness. The group took a collective halt, stunned for a moment, but none of you had time to talk or argue. “If you could kindly get going? I can’t copy their single for too much longer and Sombra needs to get out of there before the whole compound goes into lock down.” 

Wordlessly the team booked it for the exit, with Sombra leading the way to freedom as you battled on; holding the line. You managed to lock and close doors behind the fleeing troupe, blocking Overwatch agents from getting to them at every turn. You watched as the Talon transporter came flying down to pick up the team, with Ramattra taking a quick glance at a security camera. You watched his crimson glow lingered into the feed, and even as he ducked out of sight and into the safety of the ship, you could feel the red flare burned into your gaze; with no amount of blinking being rid of the speckles in your eyesight. 

You were so fucked.

---

Ramattra stood to one side of the debriefing room, silent and arms crossed, and he was impressed by how you held your ground while Reaper drilled into you. You didn’t flinch, didn’t show emotion. But it couldn’t last; you were only Human, after all. Sombra was brought in as well, the two of you getting an earful, but the masked-man’s ire was majorly on you. Rightfully so, of course. 

You were spying on special operations of some of Talon’s highest ranking agents, and that would've gotten any other soldier a death sentence. Your only saving grace was that you never recovered what you saw. And with Sombra’s input, it was understood your system was nearly flawless. The hacker would have improved things here and there, a few tweaks into your algorithm, but it was enough passive praise to get Reaper to cool down. 

And then there was Doomfist. He was as quiet as Ramattra during the entire interrogation, and only spoke after Reaper had stepped back from your person. Reaper was the gun and Doomfist was the person who could’ve pulled the preverbal trigger.

“Agent Mimic.” Akande began, his baritone voice calm as he was reading over a datapad. Ramattra recognized the passing words on the pad as your personal file, specifically the disciplinary record section. It was a clean slate. 

“Yes, Sir?” You asked at full attention. 

“I shall make this simple.” Doomfist put down the datapad onto a nearby table and began to walk his way around the room, slowly making it to your side. Ramattra was reading your vitals and while you were keeping collected on the outside, your heart rate was steadily rising. “While you have been a loyal soldier to Talon’s cause, and resourceful tool, and have skills I’d hate to see wasted … You’ve made yourself a loose thread, one that has no damaging repercussions if I decide to have you removed. Do you understand?” 

You nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” Doomfist’s large gauntlet, with its golden fingers and heavy metal, was delicately laid upon your thinly padded shoulder. He held firm and Ramattra could see in your hardened stare a small spike of emotion breaking through. 

Fear. 

Ramattra could feel his system whirr alive from within his chest cavity, a fan kicking in to dispel a heat he hadn’t felt till that moment. 

“Very good.” Doomsift gave your shoulder a pat before he moved the heavy hand from your body, and your heart race quickened at the lack of his touch. Silent as the night, the tall Human walked back to the head of the table and sat down in a blackened swivel large chair. He sighed and closed his eyes, thinking. 

Reaper shifted his weight from side to side, waiting.

Sombra’s sharp eyes were fixated on Mimic, then onto Ramattra for a brief moment. 

“Ramattra.” Doomfist spoke and his golden gaze shifted to the Omnic. “If Agent Mimic was in your charge, how would you proceed with discipline?” 

Your eyes shifted to him, your fear growing cold in your once bright eyes that teased him with his own voice months ago, and Ramattra’s fan kicked up a level in intensity. You were breaking, as any Human would do in time. There was something undeniably egotistically uplifting at knowing your fate was dependent on his word; something cruel and bitter. Mondatta’s words of compassion echoed within Ramattra’s mind, a failure of a lesson, and it was one he swore never to head again. 

And yet. 

Ramattra uncrossed his arms and reached for his staff, with long metal fingers curling about the weapon’s shaft as he hummed a thought. “Were this left to me? This tool is still usable, even in such a blunder.” 

Your eyes never moved off Ramattra as he continued. “Agent Sombra has given her account on how Mimic’s network was undetectable, to herself and to Overwatch until the big reveal. With some reworking, and with proper guidance, this tool can be repurposed.”

Doomfist hummed deeply. “To be repurposed, a novel idea. And if I were to offer Mimic into your service?” 

The Omnic didn’t trust Doomfist as far as he could throw him. This was a trick. “I would decline.”

“I see.” Doomfist sighed. The tone was set and Mimic’s fate was sealed.

Unless Ramattra acted quickly. But did he want to? It was no secret you were using your network to watch him, an unspoken thing said in the report and after a quick dissection of your data. Why were you watching him? What did you want? Were you seeking the thrill of an obtuse fetish? Trying to gather information on Ramattra that could bring him down? Were you secretly working on the derivative of Talon? There were too many questions.

And thankfully for you, Ramattra wanted answers. 

“However,” Ramatta took a step forward, using some of his massive form to block you from Doomfist’s gaze. Your heart was accelerating at every passing second and there was a mild thrill for Ramattra in your panic. “If Mimic was to choose to transfer to my retinue, I would see this repurposing done. Personally.” 

“You believe they have a choice?” Doomfist raised a singular handsome brow. 

“I do. They can either accept the transfer,” Ramattra and everyone turned their attention to you, and he watched as you swallowed hard. “Or they die. There is no use in vague threats over their life now. They understand … don’t you, Agent Mimic?”

Your throat was so dry that it burned like a sunburn. You rolled your tongue behind closed teeth, trying to find some saliva for reprieve, but there was none. There was only one answer you could give. 

---

And that is how you ended up as the only Human in service of Null Sector, a Talon lesion for Ramattra’s personal use; half hacker and half confidant. Ramattra used your mimicry to every advantage, both in the physical sense and in data collection. You were given quarters deep within the recesses of his primary base, where the sun barely showed and work was grueling. But you were at least alive. You would adapt to your new life (for however long it lasted), as you had so long ago as a child. You swore to yourself to thrive, to make yourself useful, and to survive no matter what suffering the world would toss upon you. 

And of course, you wouldn’t let your flare fade away, not all the way at least. You just had to go about it differently then you had before. The first rule change was to not piss off Ramattra. The second was to not get caught.

So when you felt the need to speak to yourself, you did so in your room. You couldn’t hold back those ticks for sassy conversation. Using his voice, however meager and in private, provided some aspect that you still had free will in your new life. 

“Did you think me forgiving?” You asked yourself in Ramattra’s voice. 

“No, Sir.” You responded with a smile. “I think you are a dick.” 

“You dare?!” Ramatra’’s voice scoffed in your throat. “You’ll pay for that, little one.” 

“Oh, little one~? Don’t make a promise you can’t keep …” You blinked at that and felt your face flush. That came out of nowhere, and it was extremely unhealthy. Creepy and gross, even. You cleared your throat and reached for a cup of water, sipped it to soothe the ache from copying Ramattra’s deeper voice. 

“I’m fucking weird.” You chuckled at yourself nervously and got back to work, typing away at a report.

Meanwhile, from across the base, a solitary Omnic was in his workshop with an array of monitors before him. 

Ramattra knew your first task when setting up your room would be to weed out any listening devices and cameras, all which you found with ease … save one. But it’s location he kept to himself, for now.

You weren’t the only one who was capable of mimicking.

[lowcosmic]

—— jealousy, jealousy . pt . 1 ; kokichi ouma

— 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : kokichi being jealous ( and a little shit )

— 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : angst, fluff in next part

— 𝐜𝐰 : mentions of cheating, cussing, emotional stuff, small; teeny bit of implied saimatsu. you and kokichi ( as well as like the whole cast and whatever ) use a dorm system , gn! reader ( on most parts )

— 𝐚/𝐧 : a sort of imagine, just different formatting . my brain has been a rotting mess lately . not proof read , kinda self indulgent , kinda ooc for some characters . you’ve been warned .

you were with shuichi in the library for a project.

this time around, you actually got to choose your partner. because kokichi looked like he was going to choose someone else other than you, you quickly snatched shuichi before he was taken ; guaranteeing a good grade.

kokichi, actually, was pining for you. but he didn’t wanna seem too desperate, since you’d teased him the day before for being clingy.

after you and shuichi made arrangements, kokichi approached you asking if you were with shuichi already — your answer being yes.

he tried everything from guilt tripping to fake about - to - cry - watery eyes to make you change your partner from shuichi to him. but your decision was final, mostly not wanting shuichi to think you changed your mind because of something he did.

so, kokichi decided to make sure you two weren’t doing anything other than working. so he watched from behind a bookshelf in the little gap between the books.

you and shuichi spoke in hushed tones, working side by side in close proximity.

even worse ( to kokichi at least ), you seemed so happy.

not miffed or annoyed like you were most of the time with kokichi, even if it was just playful.

kokichi felt anger boiling up. especially when shuichi's hand grazed over yours in that annoyingly gentle manner of his.

you both looked like a couple to anyone who passed by, which by the way, wasn’t much since it was sort of late in the day.

probably the only reason why no one caught kokichi being a creep —

anyways, he was pissed. but that pissed off mindset slowly began letting in some other thoughts - mostly of insecurity.

what did he do wrong? why didn’t you ask him first to be partners? is he overthinking? why are you smiling like that? why don’t you smile like that around him? why was he - that stupid, dumb detective - better?

kokichi left with muddled thoughts, as the sound of you and shuichi laughing at something echoed in his ears.

for the next couple of days, kokichi ignored you and went to kaede to hang out. “take out two birds with one stone,” he’d thought to himself.

your expressions of confusion sparked a pang of guilt, but kokichi stomped them down. you could go be with shuichi for all he cared.

you gave up the day after that, going to shuichi for company.

and that went on for half a week, until kokichi decided to confront you.

he knocked on your dorm room and waited. when your face appeared after the door creaked open, you were met with kokichi’s expressionless face.

“can we talk?”

you let him inside, and he cut to the chase.

“are you cheating on me with shuichi?”

you’re just … kind of shocked he would propose that idea. of course, you deny it.

kokichi shrugs. “oh really? well you two are being so awfully mushy with each other i just figured that maybe you both were making out behind my back! or worse!”

“the fu - ” you rolled your eyes, thinking that maybe this was just him seeking attention again or just some prank to make you feel guilty so that he could get something in return.

but another look at his face made you rethink that. this wasn’t a lie. he was really serious.

“kokichi. i would never cheat on you.”

“well, you looked soooo much happier with that bozo! you might as well, go on, go hook up with shuichi! i know you want to!”

you scoffed unintentionally. “you really think that low of me? are you kidding me, kokichi?!”

he raises his voice. then you raise your voice. both sides make ( some ) valid points, yours accusing kokichi of being a crap head and kokichi accusing you of being gushy and kissy over shuichi.

then the more hurtful stuff comes out. things that anger had coated that just come out for no reason, just to be able to hurt the other person and stop the fight for a momentary break.

“i don’t even know why i dated you in the first place, you’re ugly and you have a shitty personality!! even kaede looks better than you!!!”

silence. the most choking sound when applied in certain situations.

kokichi’s eyes widened as he replayed what he’d said.

that big bullshit comment that made the firing stop.

he saw tears forming in your eyes. “so, all those times where you told me i was the most beautiful in your eyes was all a lie, huh?” you said bitterly, shoving back a sob from escaping your mouth. not now. “go … just go away. i don’t wanna see your face ever again.”

please don’t repost , translate , or claim my works as your own.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Earned (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+, explicit sexual content, dom/sub foreplay Word count: 1.8k

Summary: After a bad day at work, Benedict intuits what you need to regain your confidence.

Author's Note: I don't know what this is. It just played out in my head tonight 🤷‍♀️ A little emotional dom filth.

Relief was already seeping in as you skipped up the stairs to his flat. Thank god this was one of your scheduled days. You would have been tempted to send him a desperate text otherwise. Your day had been so shitty, so full of blame and scorn and disappointment that it was making you question your worth in your profession. Though a decade of exceptional experience was there to prove you wrong, one error and one pissed off client was potent enough to nearly topple your self-esteem. You needed connection, release. Above all, you needed someone to value you.

A rapid knock on his door and he swung it open, a glass of whisky in hand, dressed in black with burning eyes. He was some kind of luciferian temptor and you were so grateful to have found him. He beckoned you inside and took your coat. His obnoxiously chic surroundings were bathed in dim light. This was your routine. He’d always be waiting for you in the glow, drink at the ready. It was transactional, but you liked that. No need to muddle through social niceties or feel out when the other person was ready to progress. You both knew precisely what you were there for, though you hadn’t given it a label. 

You had met through a string of acquaintances when someone told him to email you for professional advice. You hadn’t been able to help him but your written banter was so friendly it carried over into texts, then into a meeting where you were nearly paralyzed by how attractive he was. Tall, lean, cocksure with dark hair and sparkling eyes - he was a checklist of everything you found attractive. It was hard to say at what point the text conversations turned dirty. He probably tried to one-up you in a playful sparring match by suddenly issuing commands. All you knew was that your hands started shaking with excitement when you realized he was a dom. You went along eagerly, elated to have found a man, and one as unbelievably handsome as him, that you could play with. The texts soon turned into sessions, the two of you giving over to the full expression of your sexual desires with a freedom you had never experienced before. He made you want him more desperately and come more relentlessly than any predecessor. He was an addiction, a cure-all that soon became a necessary realignment for your brain and body to function normally otherwise.

He snaked a broad hand up the curve of your shoulder, under your hair to your nape and rounded to stand in front of you. His eyes were full of menace but it melted away immediately once he read your face.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly.

Not a commanding opener but truth be told, this was why you adored him so much. He was intuitive, an interpreter of your moods who never failed to give you the precise cocktail of control and praise you needed. You knew you must have looked as awful as you felt.

You closed your eyes, annoyed to feel the hot sting of tears at their edges. “Please, Ben,” you pleaded. And that was all you had to say. You opened your eyes at the sound of his footsteps walking away. He moved to the coffee table in the lounge and set down his drink, then turned to you again. His face was set in that beautiful mask of control you had been longing for all day. All angled shadows and glints of light off his eyes and hair.

“Take off your dress.” He growled. 

Without a moment’s hesitation you unzipped it and pulled it over your head.

“Shoes.”

You stepped out of your heels, now standing in his entryway in nothing but your bra and knickers. 

“Will you do as you’re told?” He arched a brow. It wasn’t a real question, it was a signal. The official start of playtime. Nearly shivering with gratitude, you sank to your knees in a submissive pose, lowering your head until further instruction was given.

Slowly, he traipsed back to tower in front of you. You almost wept when you felt the spread of his massive hand rest gently on the top of your head. He trailed it through your hair and around to cup your chin, lifting your eyes to meet his. 

“Are you a needy little thing tonight?” Set under his stern brow, his eyes lit with concern. It never ceased to amaze you how he could do that, hold multiple expressions simultaneously. He was playing his role, but his attentiveness was undeniable.

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, your voice small.

“Did you do something bad?” There he went, intuiting everything just the way you needed him to. Still holding your chin he slipped his thumb between your lips. You welcomed it into your mouth as he hooked it against your bottom teeth, letting you suckle. It was cool from the ice in his glass. You nodded and looked up at him, eyes begging for absolution.

“So you want forgiveness?” His voice was a soft rumble.

You licked the tip of his finger and pulled back. “I want to please you, sir. I want to know I did a good job.”

He released his hold. “Go get my drink.” 

You started to rise to your feet.

“Did I say you could stand?” He barked and immediately you dropped back to your knees. A shiver curved your spine and broke gooseflesh across your skin as you began to crawl on all fours into the lounge. This was what you needed. Subjugation. Punishment. To be told what to do by someone you actually respected, with the reassurance that you would always be rewarded in the end. This was the realignment necessary to overcome the wretchedness of your day.

You felt his gaze burning into your backside and made sure to crawl as sensually as you could, swaying your hips until you reached the coffee table. You hadn’t realized he was following softly behind you until you picked up the glass of whisky and felt a hand on your waist. You froze, balancing on three limbs while you held the drink in the other. His fingers splayed across your bottom, kneading it as you felt him crowd over you. He was on his knees too, lying across your back and enveloping you with his heat.

“So you want to do a good job?” He murmured in your ear. He was so all-encompassing, his voice so laden with silk and dark promise that you faltered, locking your elbow. “Don’t spill.” He chuckled. Then the hand moved to trace the gusset of your underwear, already damp from his commands alone. You could hear the haughty smile in his voice as he shoved the fabric aside and slid two fingers into your folds. “How about you take all of me in here?” he hummed. “You are so very good at that. Lie back and do a good job just letting me fuck you senseless.” His teeth clamped on the rim of your ear.

His touch instantly clouded your mind, your hips already gyrating to match his movements. But you knew you needed to be more than just a recipient of his attentions that night. You needed to work for your own redemption. 

“Sir…” you slurred as his slender fingers began circling your clit.

“Speak up.” His other hand suddenly tugged your hair, bending your neck until you faced forward.

“I want to…I’d like it to be my actions that bring you pleasure.” You gasped.

Your hair was released but he toyed with your swollen bud for a moment longer. “I see.” With an air of nonchalance he removed his hand and stood. “Turn around and give me my whisky.” You did so, pivoting to kneel before him and offer up the glass with both hands. You felt like a supplicant, bringing offerings to a god in hopes that your soul would be cleansed. 

“Excellent,” he grinned his ruinous crooked smile. “Already you are doing so well.” He lifted the glass from your hands to his lips. You breathed heavily, acutely aware of the slick mess he had caused between your thighs as you watched him down the dark liquor in one swig, his Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously in the center of his strong neck.

With a satisfied sigh he looked back at you and licked his lips. You knew it was more intentional than reflexive, but it worked to make you clench.

“How else do you want to please me?” he asked, his voice the very definition of sin.

You were completely in his thrall, completely uninhibited in sharing your true desires. “I’d like to suck your cock, sir.”

He smirked, bringing a hand to rest on your head. “Oh yes? You want this?” In one fluid motion he guided your face into the seam of his expensive trousers, thrusting his hips lightly so you could feel his stiffening cock through the fine fabric. 

You nuzzled into it, your favorite plaything, practically salivating as the heat and scent of him flooded your senses. “Yes, sir.” 

He continued to grind into your face, his long fingers mussing your hair. “You want to serve me on your knees and choke on my cock until I am satisfied? Until you know you’ve earned my approval because I’m coming down your throat?”

“Yes, sir, very much,” you moaned, ready to start licking him through his clothing. You had been thinking about this all day, craving the taste of Benedict, the fullness of him in your mouth and the encouraging, needy noises he would make as you proved your talent. In the morass of your awful day, all you had wanted was to be the sole focus of someone powerful who would be awed by your abilities and loud with their appreciation.

He pulled back, clearly aroused but not letting his veneer slip. His hand dropped to stroke your cheek and he held your gaze intently. “Alright. How can I refuse? You are so very good at what you do.” He leaned closer, his voice commanding but his eyes carrying that same softness that he could never disguise. “I never want you questioning that, do you understand?”

You whimpered, overcome by a swirling gale of gratitude and lust. With his incredible beauty and predilection for play that was compatible with yours, you were already lucky enough to find Benedict as a partner. You could never have expected that he would bring his kindness into your sessions as well. That he would use his incomparable knack for ferreting out your true needs and fulfill them with his words, his body, or both simultaneously. The events of the day had made you question whether fate was on your side, but looking at Benedict silenced those doubts immediately.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, vowing to obey.

With a smile he straightened and reached for his fly.

No tags, just goofin.

[luxuki-1]

So I just rewatched 'The Ultimate Enemy'...

And I have to know, what do people like about this special?

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love the conflict of Danny's emotional trauma, of him wanting the 'pain' to go away. But there are just so many plot things that get convoluted and logic gets thrown out the window (not like there was much logic to begin with)

But, I will admit, time paradox stories are hard, and are hard to master well. Throwing time into the mix without it already being established almost always seems to bring the entire story down (just from what I've observed from other media)

I think what really annoys me about this episode is the execution of it. Like, how the concept was handled. I am always in favor for the show addressing you know, the trauma this child has. The implication of being dead and alive at the same time, your own parents hunting you, wheather you're even human or not, it really interests me. It just seems like every time the show tries to handle these topics, it just muddles and waters it down, making it honestly a miserable experience to watch.

Now maybe I'm just being dramatic, I only just recently finished watching the entire series, and this was my second time watching The Ultimate Enemy. Maybe I'm missing things or I'm interpreting everything wrong. And I'm probably just having trouble getting my thoughts out on it. The basic sentiment: I am utterly kerfuffled

Please I need to know why people like it, I just want to understand this episode and how other people feel about it.

[Of course these opinions are coming from someone who hasn't yet read A Glitch in Time (but I'm hoping to maybe buy it as a birthday present to myself) so maybe my opinion will change after the fact.]

Also you know Lancer, carrying around the test answers for the most important test in a student's life in a freaking briefcase in plain view... you're honestly just asking someone to take the answers (ghost powers or not)

[thezombieprostitute]

New Moon - Part 2

Summary: You wake up after being attacked and find out werewolves do exist and you're now one of them.

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

A/N2: The tags from the previous chapter indicated Beck was an Omega but I'm retconning that a bit to have him be a Beta.

Warnings: Hospital setting, Implied violence

Part 1 -- Part 3

The next week is a muddle of eating, sleeping, and learning how to live with your improved senses. Hal, Jake and Chris are all very patient with you and very respectful as well. You'd asked about female accompaniment but, apparently, some tropes are real and female werewolves are few and far between. But all three of them were gentlemen and always respected your boundaries, for which you were grateful.

In some ways you felt like a teenager going through puberty again. Your body was building new muscles and you frequently underestimated your strength. Your proprioception was incredibly off. Meanwhile your appetite was off the charts and you had no sense of a circadian rhythm as your body kept deciding to fall asleep at random times for long hours.

Whenever you were awake the guys worked hard to help you adapt to everything. You lost count of how many times Hal had to catch you because you were stumbling over your own two feet. Jake was a big help when it came to relearning scents. And Chris was always quick with an answer to your question of "what's going on?" You'd often cry in frustration and he'd explain to you while Hal held you and purred and Jake held your hand, providing water or food if you needed it. They were quite the effective care team.

The next full moon was coming up quick and you were scared. The last full moon was nothing but pain followed by weeks of, essentially, physical therapy.

"I won't sugar coat it," Chris cautions. "This next full moon will be tough for all of us. You've developed more of that werewolf strength and you're likely to grow full claws and fangs this time around. It's going to be painful for you, of course, but it's also going to be more dangerous for us. So our focus is going to be on keeping you calm and trying to mitigate the pain."

"That's part of the reason we've been doing scent training," Jake adds. "Gotta know which ones aggravate and annoy as opposed to being neutral or calming."

"Why can't you just restrain me for all of it? If it's so dangerous, shouldn't I be shackled to the bed or something?"

Chris shakes his head, "your fight or flight response is going to go into overdrive during all of this. Restraining you with manacles or something will only make it worse. You're much more likely to hurt yourself and then still hurt us."

"But that's a big part of why I'm here," Hal adds. "Young moons, such as yourself, are much more prone to influence from Alphas. Hopefully my purring will be enough but I do have Alpha commands if needed."

"Commands?"

"Both Alphas and Omegas have something," Chris jumps in. "When you were first found, Aisha, an Omega, tried to use her Omega tone to calm you down. They also have a kind of purr as well. Alphas, like Hal here, can bark an order that every fiber of your being will want to obey."

"Do Betas have anything?"

"We have an intelligence bonus," Jake smirks. "Alphas and Omegas both get bonuses to charisma, one for intimidation, the other for persuasion, but Betas get intelligence."

"And werewolves, in general, get a bonus to constitution, strength and wisdom-perception?" Your knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons is limited but you think you know what Jake is talking about.

This is confirmed when his face lights up, "you play D&D?!"

You give a small smile, "just some 5th edition stuff."

Jake grabs you for a hug. "When you're accepted into the pack, you're joining me for game nights!"

Part 1 -- Part 3

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

The Prettiest Star

i started writing this last night but finished it today so it’s kind of both Song-fic Saturday and Smutty Sunday for my 250 Followers Writing Event

Song-fic Saturday 🎶 song: The Prettiest Star by David Bowie

pairing: Sirius Black x plus size! reader 

tags / warnings: NSFW (minors do not interact!), smut, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, oral, p in v (unprotected — use condoms y’all, this is fantasy), fem!reader, plus size! reader, reader insecurities about her weight, body positivity, non-magical au (couldn’t have them just apparating out of the rain, right?)

notes: i’m a huge music fan and love Bowie and have been listening to Aladdin Sane a lot because it’s just had its 50th anniversary, so hence the song inspiration (“The Prettiest Star”)

word count: 8.1k (yike, please enjoy)

“Does this look too tight?” you ask Lily as you look at your reflection in your favourite jumper, tugging it down repeatedly. You’ve never been particularly thin, but you’d gained a noticeable amount recently, and it was increasingly making getting dressed the worst part of your day. “It looks fine, Y/N,” she says, a bit dismissively, then catches herself (and the look on your face), and adds, “Really. You look beautiful. Don’t ever let the scale tell you different,” giving you a warm smile. It was the “right” thing to say, perhaps, and you were grateful for what a sweet friend she always was to you, truly, but it didn’t make you feel any better. And… if you were brutally honest, it kind of annoyed you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, and the feeling made you feel guilty on top of everything else. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong; in fact, she was just genuinely trying to help, or perhaps even just genuine in what she said. But somehow, when it came to any comments on your body — especially specifically about your weight, negative or positive, you grew irritable even more than uncomfortable. You felt as if no one understood the mix of self-consciousness and self-confidence that you felt. As if everyone projected either how they felt about themselves or how they assumed all fat people felt onto you. Worse, you felt that you could never express your true feelings to anyone. Even when you tried, things came out muddled, or things you said were directly contradictory — yet equally true. It couldn’t possibly be that no one else felt contradictory things about themselves, about their bodies, could it? Were you just shit at articulating your feelings, or were your feelings that atypical? 

You opt to keep the jumper on even though it hugged your chest a bit more tightly than usual. A twinge of regret went through you at the thought that usually winter was your favourite time in terms of fashion in general and your wardrobe specifically. You loved your winter clothes and winter aesthetics overall. You really didn’t want to let a little weight gain get in the way of that, but it had a way of making itself known no matter how much you tried to avoid it. 

On cue, it whispers in your head, “You probably only like winter clothes more because they cover more of you. None of those pretty sundresses Lily, Marlene, Mary, or Dorcas wear ever fit you. Not to mention any summer outfit that involves no bra or a visible bralette - not a chance.”  You shake your head at yourself, trying to convince yourself that comfort was a complicated thing, that you didn’t have to overanalyze everything in such an accusatory way.  

You finish getting ready and head to the pub with Lily to meet the others. Remus and James greet you, and James can’t say enough times how lovely Lily looks. It makes you happy for them, two of your best friends so in love, but you can’t help but feel a little funny, a little longing at the lack of those comments ever made about you. 

The thing is, you didn’t dislike yourself. In fact, there were many times you genuinely thought you were beautiful, or that you wouldn’t trade yourself for anyone else. But those thoughts came more easily when you were alone, and not wanting to be anyone else did not include not wanting to be yourself, minus a bit here or there. 

You feel a pair of arms come around your middle from behind you, and there’s no time to be freaked out because you immediately know who it is. It’s like a sixth sense. Sure, you recognize his intoxicating smell, can feel and hear the texture of his characteristic leather jacket, but there’s more to it. Before you even consciously register these things or hear him whisper in your ear, you know it’s him. Sirius. Your best friend in the entire world. “Hello, darling girl,” he greets.  “How is my finest friend on this finest of evenings?” 

“Hi, Siri,” you smile, leaning back into him. “I’m alright; you?” You turn your head up to look at him. “Just alright? Oh, we need to remedy that, love. Urgently.” He looks around a bit, registering your other friends, sharing greetings here and there. “D’you have a drink yet? Let’s go get one, yeah?” he asks, unwinding his arms from his hug but leaving one around your shoulders, where it stays as you walk over to the bar together. 

“You’re good then?” you ask again, giggling a bit - sometimes it was as if you couldn’t help it; his presence made you giddy. “Me? Oh, I’m wonderful. I’ve been having the greatest hair day, which is truly saying something, and now I’m with you,” he squeezes your shoulder a bit, “What else could I possibly ask for?” 

You roll your eyes, your smile never fading, wrap your arm around his waist, and say, “Two rum and cokes, maybe?” You nod toward the bartender. “You always have better luck getting their attention than I do. It’s like they only see the attractive girls, honestly.” 

Comments like these came easily to you when you were around people you trusted. It was strange; they weren’t really intended as self-deprecating. And you weren’t fishing for compliments either, especially not with your closest friends. Part of you wanted to be able to make comments like that freely, to not have to censor your thoughts and feelings when it came to your appearance, thinking that such things really shouldn’t be taboo in the first place, and especially not with people you loved. The other part, well, you weren’t so sure what the other part wanted. 

“You’re attractive,” Sirius responds, matter-of-factly, your heart rushing a little at the sound of it. You knew you had feelings for him, had for ages and had no use in denying it, but there was also the lack of pity in his comment. He never treated you as fragile; his voice never took on the tone of a motivational poster. “Maybe not to everyone,” he adds candidly, “but no one is attractive to everyone. And,” he pauses, looking down at you conspiratorially, “a lot of people have shit taste anyway.” He pauses again, considering you intently. Then something shifts in his expression, and he adds, speaking more quickly than before, “I mean, not everyone likes Bowie, for example. Bowie, Y/N, Bowie. Why should we ever put stock in what other people think if some of those people can’t see - or hear or whatever - beauty when it’s right in front of them?”

You grin but shoot back, “You’re attractive to everyone.”

Raising his eyebrows, looking straight into your eyes, he responds, “Does that include you then?” A careless group of girls bumping into you saves you from having to decide how much of a joking tone to put on your response. You didn’t find Sirius attractive. You found Sirius the most beautiful person you’d ever met, in senses that went far beyond his impeccable hair, his striking grey eyes, his pronounced cheekbones. 

He holds you closer protectively at the jostling crowd, turns to ask for your drinks, and begins absentmindedly stroking your shoulder as he does so. 

“No wonder you always wear this,” he says, pinching your jumper, “It’s so bloody soft.” 

You had no idea he ever remembered or even noticed what you wore. Marlene, sure. Marlene was making a statement every time she stepped out of the house. And her face and body punctuated that statement with a big exclamation mark. But you? You hardly ever got that kind of attention. Maybe a “nice shirt” when you wore a particularly fun pattern, but that was about it. 

You notice him looking at your torso as he says this and swear his eyes linger on your chest. You’re worrying he can tell it’s tighter than usual, so you tug at the hem, but when he looks quickly away, you try not to make too much of it. 

You’re having loads of fun with your friends, swapping stories, sharing shots, occasionally shouting the lyrics to the good songs that come on. You and Sirius — who’s standing next you, his arm perpetually around you, much to the dismay of the many girls and few guys who come flirting — have a habit of turning to each other every time a new song comes on, deciding in unison whether it’s a good or bad one. The very occasional disagreement yields the most fun arguments, always along the lines of “You think this isn’t rubbish? You’re making me question our entire friendship here, love. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.” (Sirius) or “Oh, come on.  This sounds exactly like every other song in the genre but mediocre. Not everything has to be original, but it’d be nice if it weren’t typical and trash.” (You) 

Then some new Bowie comes on. And Sirius looks as though he’s just received the greatest news of his life. 

Cold fire, you’ve got everything but cold fire / You will be my rest and peace child, rings out Bowie’s electric voice. “Come dance with me!” Sirius bursts at you, hardly asking, dragging you by the hand to where a few (mostly quite drunk) people were dancing. He’s holding both your hands, and you’re moving together organically, falling into a languid rhythm with each other and the song. By the next line, Sirius is singing along, and as he sings with Bowie, “I moved up to take a place… Near you,” he shuffles closer to you seductively, looking nowhere but into your eyes as he places your hand on his shoulder and moves his own to your hip.

He’s theatrical with every lyric, each of which he knows by heart; “So tired,” he swoons; “It’s the sky that makes you feel tried,” he belts looking up toward the ceiling; “It’s a trick to make you see wide,” his eyes come back to yours, open wide and full of mirth; “It can all but break your heart…,” he steps closer to you again;  “… In pieces,” he swoons again, this time onto your shoulder, leaning on you and holding you close. You’re too busy laughing both with and at him to be able to sing along yourself.

“Staying back in your memory… Are the movies in the past,” he continues, acting less and dancing smoothly with you, spinning you around and catching you close afterward.

He’s staring into your eyes, his face very close to yours as he sings, much more softly now, swaying slowly more than dancing, “How you moved is all it takes… to sing a song of when I loved… the prettiest star.” His hands squeeze you as he says those last three words. 

He gives you another playful spin and goes on, “One day… though it might as well be someday… you and I will rise up all the way… all because of what you are…” Then, for the first time in the whole song, he and Bowie don’t synchronize. As Bowie finishes the line over the speakers, “the prettiest star,” you distinctly hear — and see, since his lips are so close to you after all — Sirius finish, “my prettiest star.” 

The rest of the world has all melted away by this point; all that’s left is Sirius; all you can hear is the song, his voice, your frantic heartbeat in your ears. His hand comes to your face, caressing your cheek then resting there.

You have no idea how to react. Sirius flirted with you often. But Sirius flirted with everyone often. It was just a quirk of his personality. And Sirius touched you often. But it was never this gentle, this intimate. You don’t want to get your hopes up. Because as much as — or perhaps because of how much — you love him, you can’t really believe he’d see you that way. You’ve let yourself entertain the idea many times, sure, even suspected from time to time over the years of your friendship that maybe just maybe your desire was mutual, but ultimately, your fears and doubts — doubled every time a girl half your size who could so easily be on any billboard flirted with Sirius — would win out and push those thoughts and feelings down. 

Your rhythmic swaying, your prolonged eye contact, your bursting heart and muddled mind continued through the end of the song. Though you knew it must have been about a minute and a half, it had felt like hours, time expanded by both bliss and trepidation, by the time the music changed and you broke apart. As you do, Sirius just watches you, as if searching for something. 

You’re fidgeting with the sleeves of your jumper when you whisper, “That was fun,” and give him a quick hug, not letting yourself linger and pulling back before his arms were comfortably around you.

You have plans with Sirius the next day, and as you’re getting ready, you can’t help but remember back to his comment on your jumper last night, more worried at your appearance now that you think he noticed it more than you did before. You’re standing in your room in just your underwear stressing out over what to wear. You’ve put on your best bra, the one that does the most to help your figure without being too uncomfortable, and you’ve made a mess of your knickers drawer looking for a clean pair of high-waisted ones. 

There was a time you would’ve avoided looking in the mirror at this stage, but now, you stand in front of it and give yourself a serious look. You suck your stomach in, and pull a bit with your hands on your hips, then let it all go, contemplating the difference. You turn to your profile, admiring the curves of your chest and your arse, but wishing there was less of your thighs immediately after. Arching your back and grabbing your arse, you wonder whether anyone — you close your eyes and admit to yourself: no, not anyone, Sirius — whether Sirius would find this, would find you attractive. As you take a deep breath, you lament how thinking of others’ opinions always made it so much harder to look at yourself with loving eyes. You didn’t hate your body, but your frequent worries that others would brought you down on more days than you wanted to admit. 

You put on your favorite jeans, but as you go to choose a top, you remember one you’d borrowed from Lily a few months ago that had looked good. It was quite loose on her and a bit tight on you, but you each pulled it off differently. You ask her for it, and she happily obliges, but when you put it on, a knot turns in your stomach. It’s way too tight. The pattern is stretched; your boobs look huge; it somehow brings out rather than covers the fat on your sides. Taking it off in a hurry, you have to take another long, calming breath to keep tears of frustration at bay. 

After finally finding something of yours that worked, giving the top back to Lily with a quick “Thanks, but it didn’t look as good as last time,” and giving yourself too many “final” glances in the mirror, you bundle up as you head into the windy afternoon.

You meet Sirius at the record shop near his flat. You see him before he sees you. He’s browsing the racks, and per usual, he looks effortlessly cool and unreasonably attractive. His long fingers are accentuated by his several silver rings as he flips through the records. He pushes his long hair out of his eyes in a careless gesture, and you’re almost angry at how it falls so perfectly he might as well have just spent an hour in front of a mirror. 

You’re approaching him when a cute girl in a hot crop top walks up to him. She steps closer to him than any normal interaction would warrant. “Anything I can help you find, handsome?” she asks, and you wonder whether you’re imagining the twinge of a double meaning in the question. Maybe she’s just a flirty person doing her job. “We have a few special ones in the stock room I could show you…” Nope, not just doing her job. “Thanks, sweetheart, but I’m waiting for someone.” As he looks away from her back toward the records, he catches you in his peripherals. He smiles a beaming smile at you and gestures you over. 

“You’re not going to believe what I found,” he begins enthusiastically. You hug; it lingers, and he squeezes you lovingly. “Mm, you smell nice,” he adds, as if it’s a normal thing to say. Is it a normal thing to say? Maybe it is. Maybe you’re overthinking, especially after the moment you shared last night.

“Thanks, new shampoo. What’d you find?” You look toward the records to ease the tension you were probably creating. 

“Check this out.” If he noticed any awkwardness, he definitely doesn’t show it. He pulls out a record you had recently had a long conversation about. 

“Brilliant!” you react, snatching it from him and turning it over in your hands, reading its contents eagerly. 

He chuckles at you, and if you’d been looking at him instead of the record, you might have seen the accompanying adoring look. 

“I know. It’s our lucky day.” 

You browse around the shop together, chatting easily, both about music and all sorts of random things that came to mind. Talking to Sirius is always easy, always gives you more than the contents of the conversation to hold onto, to fill you up. 

You go to pay, and the girl from earlier is working the till. Sirius goes to the loo, so it’s just you and her when you hand her a couple of records to ring up. 

“Cool choices.” “Thanks.” “Is that your boyfriend?” she asks, nodding behind her toward the toilets. 

“Oh, um,” you stutter. You��re not exactly sure why “no” doesn’t just easily come to your mouth. “I don’t know how you managed it. Lucky bitch,” she half laughs. You’re mortified; you can’t tell for sure, but you think she is trying to be friendly, just in a very strange record-shop-employee, rock and roll kind of way. 

Sirius comes back around, and you hope to hell he hasn’t heard anything. 

“All good, darling?” he asks, putting his arm around you. This wasn’t unusual for him, the nickname, the contact. But you’re already in an uncomfortable headspace, and your first thought is that you hope he isn’t doing it as an act for her benefit. You don’t even know if he’d heard, and your anxiety is taking over anyway. You keep running the woman’s words over in your head. How had she meant it? Did she mean she couldn’t believe you had managed it? As in specific, chubby, you? Or was she just making girly conversation? Would she have said the same to any woman, no matter how attractive, who had come into the shop with Sirius?  

“You alright?” Sirius’s voice breaks you out of your spiraling. You look over at him, and his gaze is gentle but concerned. 

“Yeah, fine, sorry,” you reply quickly. “It’s all good,” he smiles comfortingly at you. 

Once outside the shop, you debate your next move. Normally on weekends when you’d get records, you’d then go eat, then go to his and listen to some of them, sometimes sharing a blunt, sometimes just getting high on the music. 

You’re both looking up into the newly drizzling sky when Sirius says, “How about, we get take-away somewhere close, then just eat at mine? It looks like it’ll get worse soon, but I reckon we can make it before it really starts up.”

“Yeah, great.”

You’ve made it only a few blocks, though, when the rain pours down in sudden torrents. 

“Oh, shit!” he laughingly yells, protecting the records, taking your hand, and sprinting to the nearest protective awning. By the time you make it, you’re both already extremely wet, and the weather is so windy the cover hardly helps in keeping it from getting even worse. 

You’re squeezing as close to the wall as possible, standing chest to chest, the records between you, his arm around your waist, your faces close enough for you to see each individual drop as it travels down his face. His eyes match the sky behind him, and you silently marvel at his beauty. He looks up for a second then is overtaken by heartfelt laughter. 

“Didn’t quite gauge that one right, I guess,” he chuckles. You’re laughing with him when a particularly strong gust blows freezing water forcefully at you, making you gasp and stiffen. 

“Shit,” he laughs. “Let’s make a run for it.” He takes your hand again, and you both jog the few blocks to his flat. 

You’re both still giggly when you step inside, leaving a puddle in the doorway where you stand. You take off your shoes and outer layers, but you’re drenched all the way through. 

“Bloody hell, it’s freezing,” he amusedly complains, stripping down to only his jeans, leaving his clothes in a pile by the door. He hugs himself and rubs his arms, trying to warm up, and you’re glad your soaked demeanour is already such a mess he probably can’t tell how flustered you are by how attractive — and bare — he is. He reaches over to you and rubs your arms like he had been doing his. “Fuck, you’re freezing too. Come to my room, and I’ll lend you something to wear.” Your giddy mood dissipates immediately. There was no way in hell his clothes would fit you. He was obviously leaner than you, and your hips and thighs hadn’t gotten along well with men’s clothes even in your thinnest of states. He’s halfway to his room already, and you’re frozen by the door. “Y/N?” 

You look over. You hope he doesn’t notice your eyes quickly travel his bare torso. “You coming or what?” he keeps on casually. When you get to his room, he’s bringing some towels out of the bathroom and throws you one. You start drying your hair as he rummages in his drawers. “Um,” you start. You sound more nervous than you mean to. He clearly notices because he immediately turns back to look at you to see what’s going on. “What is it?”

 You hate worrying him like this, especially over something so stupid. Why did you always have to make things uncomfortable? Or better yet, why couldn’t you just be a girl who would fit in his clothes. “Hey, what is it?” he repeats, gentler this time, coming over to rest his hands on your shoulders. Your self-deprecating, cruel inner monologue is clearly showing more than you’d hope. “You alright, love?” “Yeah, no, I’m fine, sorry,” you try to laugh it off. “Don’t apologise.” It’s gentle, not scolding. “Just talk to me.” His hands continue rubbing your shoulders lovingly. “Just that I think I’m fine like this is all. Don’t worry about finding stuff for me,” you try. “Don’t be ridiculous; you’ll freeze to death. It’s fine; I don’t mind.” He goes back toward his dresser.

Ugh, how do you say “It’s not about your minding, actually. It’s about my stretching and ruining anything you could possibly lend me” without sounding weird and embarrassing? 

“Thanks. Um, I’m not quite sure anything of yours would fit me though.” “We’ll find something,” he says relaxedly, opening another drawer. “Here, this one is really warm and comfy, and it’ll definitely fit,” he says, tossing you a sweatshirt. You recognize it, have seen him wearing it before. He only ever wore it while lounging at home, and it was quite big on him, so maybe it would be okay. 

“And… uh,” he rummages, “try these. They’re a bit small, but they’re stretchy.” He hands you a pair of sweatpants. You’ve never seen him wear these. They would probably be too big on him. He grabs his towel and some clothes for himself. 

“I’ll go change in the living room. Just come out when you’re ready. Grab whatever you want.” His tone is friendly, at ease. Unlike your feelings. You are freaking out. As soon as he closes the door, you strip down to your knickers, which thankfully aren’t very wet, at top speed, thinking you should hurry in case it takes you time to figure out the clothes. You don’t want to take too long and make things awkward. You towel yourself off and slip on the sweatshirt. It fits fine. It isn’t loose like it is on him, but it doesn’t look too weird. And it is indeed warm and comfy. Now for the more concerning part: you try pulling the pants on, a repeating “please, please, please” playing in your head. Fuck. No luck. They stop a bit above your mid-thigh, and there is no way you’d be able to pull them all the way up. You think of putting your jeans back on, but they are drenched, and it would’ve been like trying to get back into a heavy straight-jacket. You start panicking, unsure what to do, already worrying you are taking too long to come out. You look through his drawers, but all his other bottoms look even smaller. You try just wrapping the towel around your hips, but you look quite strange in the mirror. 

You’re pacing in his room when he knocks. “Y/N? You alright? No rush, really, just making sure everything’s okay?”

You brace yourself, go to the door, and crack it open, hiding your body behind it, just popping your head around. He’s standing there, his wet hair half tied up, a dry t-shirt and sweats on. 

“Um… the sweatpants don’t fit,” you whisper, embarrassed. 

“Oh. Uh, that’s okay. Um, how about…,” he looks around, as if bigger pants would magically materialise somewhere in his living room. “Oh, perfect.” What could possibly be perfect right now? “Your favourite blanket is already on the sofa. How about I turn around, and you can just go get under it, and I’ll hang your trousers on my heater.” 

You nod timidly, the warmth in your cheeks from your embarrassment blazing even hotter at the thought of how sweet he always is to you. 

“Great. Uh, ok,” he chuckles, awkwardly turning around. You scamper to his sofa in your underwear, quickly covering your legs with his big cosy blanket. 

“Ok,” you let out softly. He turns around and looks you over. You can’t tell what’s in his eyes as he does so, but there is an intensity there that you’re not used to. He blinks quickly and gives you a strange, strained smile. He disappears into his room, and you hear him sorting your clothes out to dry. 

You’re fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweatshirt when he returns. 

“You alright? Comfortable?” he asks, seemingly back to normal.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, I didn’t meat to, uh, well, sorry I’m a bit difficult,” you reply a bit awkwardly, not knowing what exactly to apologise for but feeling the need to. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. You have nothing to be sorry for. Really. If you’re okay like this, then we’re all good, right?” You can’t help but worry what will happen as soon as you have to get up. Would you wrap the blanket around yourself like a weirdo?  As if reading your thoughts, Sirius goes on playfully, “I’ll wait on you like royalty so you don’t even have to get up.”  You make an odd half laugh, half relieved exhale sound in response, and he just chuckles. “Starting with…” he fast walks over to the door, grabs the bag of records and brings it back over to the sofa, sitting next to you but not getting under the same blanket like he usually does. “Which do you want to listen to first?” he asks, bringing them all out to look at together. 

As soon as you started discussing it, it’s like waking up from a nightmare, realising all is well and returning to a calm normality. You debate and joke, decide on a record, and he gets up to put it on and make some tea, still chatting casually to you throughout. 

When he’s back on the sofa with you, he looks down, smiles, and says, “Looks better on you than on me.” You tug on the sweatshirt self-consciously, smiling shyly at him.  You fall into your easy rhythm, listening, talking, laughing, and before you knew it, the whole record’s played. Sirius gets up, walking toward his collection rather than the small stack of new records on the table. He picks one easily, and puts it on. The quirky piano of Bowie’s “Time” begins, and your heart speeds up. You love this album. So does Sirius. But this isn’t the first track. It’s the first track on the B-side, and the next song after this, you remember, is “The Prettiest Star,” the song you and Sirius danced to just last night. He doesn’t say anything until he’s seated next to you again. “I know we usually listen from the beginning, but the B-side is better on this one, and I didn’t feel like being patient.” His tone is playful, but there’s a heaviness to it. He glances away from you and leans toward the table to take a sip of his tea. 

“What’s your favourite track?” you ask, smiling. You’ve asked him this question innumerable times over the years, but you’ve never been as excited for his answer as this time, and you have a feeling you know what it’ll be. 

“‘The Prettiest Star,’” he replies immediately, looking toward you again. As quickly as he had, he looks away again as he adds, “Because it reminds me of you… even before last night…” After a beat, he ventures a glance toward you, that same searching look from last night taking over his beautiful features.

Unlike last night, you don’t feel panicked — nervous, sure, but more than that, loved. “Last night felt pretty special,” you say. “Yeah?” He seems hopeful. “Yeah, it was.” His voice is serene, like he’s contemplating something utterly peaceful. “It’s funny, though,” you say, and he looks at you, his eyebrow quirked. “It’s really about you, isn’t it? Not me.” You laugh. He looks like he wants to laugh with you, a twinkle in his eye, clearly happy that you are happy, but confusion holds his expression. You explain, “Well, you’re ‘the prettiest star,’ aren’t you? You’re obviously prettier, the prettiest… and the brightest in the night sky in fact… ‘Sirius.’” You say his name with all the love you feel for him.

He leans toward you, taking your hand. He’s smiling, but there’s a sadness to it. 

“You might not be named for a star, but you’re my prettiest star, Y/N.” He looks into your eyes. “You’re so beautiful.”  His eyes scan your face. “It’s almost too bright to bear sometimes, to be honest, your beauty,” he adds, smiling more vividly now. He brings his other hand to your face, just as he did last night. But this time, his fingertips begin by taking their time tracing your features: your eyebrow first, your nose, your cheekbone, down to your jaw. His thumb grazes your lip, barely touching it but lingering there, before moving to caress you cheek. “You’re so beautiful, my prettiest star,” he repeats, as the song begins in the background. 

“Sirius,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. 

“Darling girl,” he responds, moving closer to you until your foreheads meet. Your nose nuzzles his, and you stay like this for several seconds. You bring your hand to the crook of his neck, and holding him, you lean forward. The song goes silent, the intro ending, the anticipation built, and right as Bowie’s voice comes in, your lips meet. 

Sirius’s hand slips from the side of your face to the back of your head, holding you firmly, leaning into you hungrily. His hand holding yours goes to your waist, pulling you close to him until your chest is flush with his. You wrap your arms around his neck and slip your fingers into his hair. 

He moans into your mouth, and you deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue with yours, breaching into his mouth. He lets you, and as you explore him, he pulls your body until you find yourself kneeling on the sofa in front of him, the blanket fallen to the floor. 

You pull back momentarily, and he stills his movements, watching you, waiting for your cue for what to do next. His eyes are lidded, his pupils blown, his lips parted, but you know that if you sat back down and told him you just wanted to listen to the record, that’s exactly what he’d do. But that’s not what you want. So, you lean forward and pick up your exploration right where you left it. He groans appreciatively and sucks on your tongue in his mouth, before pulling you on top of him. 

You’re straddling him, and you’re so attracted to him you’re drowning in it, but even still, your nerves are there. You feel heavy. Too heavy to be sitting on top of him like this. He keeps his hands on your waist and strokes your back, not venturing any further down, pulling back to look at you. You shift clumsily, trying to put more of your weight on your knees on the sofa, but not being able to without spreading awkwardly wider or ending up lopsided. He holds you firmly, centering you again, hugging you close. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you whisper, trying to explain what he’s already figured out. 

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him before he says, “Trust me, darling, I’m about as far form uncomfortable as a person can be right now.” He squeezes you lovingly, clearly careful to squeeze all of you and not just any specific place, which might make you uncomfortable. “I’ve been going absolutely mental this whole time just knowing you weren’t wearing anything but your knickers under that blanket.” 

“You have?” you ask, surprised, your eyes wide, your voice soft. He giggles again, always adoring, never mocking. “Fuck, how can someone be so adorable and so sexy at the same time?” It baffles you how someone can say the word “sexy” so seriously and not sound silly at all, give it so much confidence that it just sounds so, well, so sexy. He pecks your lips. “You’re going to kill me, woman.” Now you laugh. 

“Oh?” “Mm,” he groans affirmatively as he runs his hands up your sides and back and kisses you ardently. He moves to your jaw, kissing languidly down to your ear, where he nips playfully and sucks on your neck another moment before looking into your eyes again and saying, “Fuck, Y/N, tell me you want this too.” A kiss. “I’m desperate for you.” Another kiss. “But only if you want me too.” Another kiss, longer this time. “I want to make you feel good, darling. Fuck, I can make you feel so so good.” Your hips grind down on his at his words, and he throws his head back in a lustful groan, and his hands squeeze you tightly where they hold you. He recovers, stroking your back again and resting his forehead on yours as he asks, “Can I touch you, Y/N? I’ll stop anytime you say so, but I’m dying to worship you.” You kiss him deeply, holding him close, grinding your hips down again. “I want you to touch me, Siri.” At this, his mouth immediately devours yours, and his hands come down to squeeze your arse. He kneads it roughly, pulling you into him with each motion, inadvertently pushing his hips up a bit each time to meet yours. You feel the hard, evident bulge in his pants underneath you, and it turns you on even more to feel wanted in such a visceral way. There is no missing how much his body wants yours, and that surprises but arouses you to no end.

His hands come down to your thighs, and you gasp and stiffen a bit. He stops but leaves his hand there, stroking you cautiously. 

“Y/N?” He bumps your nose with his. “I…” You peck his lips. “You really don’t mind my body?” you ask, your voice small. 

“Darling,” he breaks a little. “Mind it? I adore it. Can’t you feel what you do to me?” he half jokes, thrusting up into you. You close your eyes and bite your lower lip at the addictive friction. “Y/N. Look at me, love,” he whispers. You do. “I think you are the most gorgeous, sexiest woman in the world. Of course it’s all intertwined with how much I love you, but that just makes it even better. God, you have no idea how much you turn me on.” He kisses you short but hard. “I never want to tell you how to feel, love, but I just wish you knew how beautiful you are, how you are the most beautiful to me.” You kiss him again and become immersed in it fully. Your tongues are dancing with each other, your hips, your hands, moving in tandem with each other, melting into each other in a perfect push and pull. 

His hands slip under his sweatshirt, and he whispers, “Can I?” You don’t hesitate, entrusting yourself to him, and detaching yourself from him only enough for him to slip it over your head. His hands come to your breasts, and you hear him say “fuck” again as he kneads them and keeps kissing you. His hands keep massaging as his mouth moves down your jaw wetly. He takes his time moving down your body, sucking your neck, licking across your sternum, kissing delicately down to between your breasts. He buries his face there and moans, and it’s so hot you pull him to you and scratch his scalp where you’re holding him by his hair. He kisses there again then his fingers move to pinch your nipples. He mixes pulling it with massaging your whole breast with one hand, but the other just grips your tit as his mouth wraps around your nipple. His tongue licks around it a few times before he sucks on it, and his groan is drowned out by your pleasured yell. 

“Fuck, Sirius,” you say, your voice a rasp. 

“Mmm,” he responds, not letting up, switching breasts after sucking a bit harder. Once he’s satisfied (for now) and your nipples are hard and sore, he grips your tits again with his hands and licks into your mouth. 

“Fuck, baby, you have the most incredible tits.” He squeezes them. “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of taking your shirt off and touching you.” He goes back down and gives each a quick but delicious suck. “Let’s go to my bed, yeah?” You nod heatedly. 

You’re a bit self-conscious as you move to get off of him, more aware of your body beyond the pleasure again though you had been so lost in it just a moment ago you’d forgotten about everything else. Sirius helps you off and up, his hands on your hips, and he pulls you into him as you both stand, making out with you before squeezing your arse as he pulls away to walk to his bedroom. You wrap your arms around yourself  as you walk with him, but when you’re standing in front of the bed, he takes each of your hands in his and kisses you while holding them, bringing his body flush with yours. You break the contact to pull on his shirt, and he eagerly obliges, removing it and tossing it aside. 

He guides you onto the bed, his body following on top of yours, your mouths connected the whole time. You shuffle up the bed then tug his sweats down when you’re settled. He helps you, shimmying out of them. They get caught on one of his ankles, and you both laugh as he curses and contorts awkwardly to pull them all the way off. 

You’re both left only in your underwear as he starts kissing you again, slowly making his way down your body. He spends a lingering amount of time on your tits again as he goes down then keeps kissing down your stomach to the waistband of your knickers. He looks up at you for any hesitation, but you just bite your lip and lift your hips. He smirks in excitement as he pulls your panties off of you. He does it slowly, teasingly, and he licks down your thigh tracing where the fabric passes. Once they’re off, he pushes your knees a bit further apart and starts kissing and licking his way back up. He sucks at the top of your thigh, and it makes a pop as he separates from you. 

Kneeling between your legs, massaging your thighs on either side of him, he says, “You drive me mad, Y/N. You’re so fucking delicious, I could spend eternity between these thighs.” You squirm at his graphic words, already exceptionally strung out. He chuckles lowly down at you and kisses you quickly before adjusting himself with his head between your thighs. 

“Today really is my lucky day,” he says, face lined up with your cunt. “This is the second time I see you drenched today, and I fucking love being the cause of it this time.” Without further ado, he licks a sopping stripe from your entrance up to your clit.  Even this first motion sounds wet. You’re sure you’ve never been so wet in your life. 

Sirius buries his face in your cunt, groaning as he licks into you then sucks on your lips. He goes back and forth between sucking on you and fucking you with his tongue. He keeps playing with you until you’re squirming before bringing his mouth directly to your clit. He’d grazed it as he licked you before now, bumped you with his nose, teasing you, but now he gives it his full attention. He’s licking and sucking, moaning all the while like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten, moving his whole body with the passion of it, and it takes very little more for you to start cumming on his mouth. You make a yelping sound you’ve never made before in your ecstasy, and with your eyes closed, you feel as if the world is a million miles away; all you feel is your body and where it is connected to Sirius’s.  He keeps up his motions and fervor until your pleasured squirming turns into overstimulation squirming. He gives you one last lick and suck then shuffles up your body, kissing it intermittently as he does, until he’s face to face with you, smiling a smile you’ve never seen before. 

“Hello, darling,” he says, clearly satisfied with himself, kissing you.

“Hi,” you sigh, sounding completely fucked out. He giggles at you and kisses you again. 

“Feel good?” 

“Mmhhmm.” You stretch underneath him and languidly wrap your arms around him, licking his lips slowly before kissing him again. 

“Fuck,” he responds. 

“Yes, please.” Your voice is high, blissful. You rut up into him. He chuckles at you and strokes your hairline, kissing your forehead. 

“You want to? You’re alright?” “Of course, Siri. I’m brilliant.” “That you are, my love,” he beams at you then pushes his pants off. “My prettiest star,” he says, as he pecks your lips then your nose then lines himself up with your entrance. 

His eyes penetrate yours as he pushes into you. You moan in unison, and his mouth lingers just above yours, grazing your lips, your foreheads touching, as he slowly pushes deeper and deeper. When he bottoms out, he kisses you eagerly, stroking his tongue into your mouth as his cock ruts deep inside you. Your hands grip his back. His hands come down to your thighs one at a time, squeezing passionately before pushing your legs up and out, wrapping them around his waist. 

Normally, you’d feel self-conscious in this position. Almost bent in half, your stomach protrudes between the two of you. Your thighs are thick at his sides. But the look on his face, the feel of the movements of his body is all love and adoration and ardor. 

He kisses you as he thrusts a bit harder, keeping it slow at first but vigorously punctuating each thrust. One of his hands rests beside you, holding him up, but the other stayed on your leg, stroking your thigh and gripping your arse or hip bruisingly with each forceful motion of his hips.  

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, “You’re fucking perfect.” He thrusts hard, a gentle kiss on your forehead contrasting it seductively, then begins picking up his pace. He rests his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking on it as he pounds repeatedly into you. 

You’re gripping him tightly to stay in position, your arms and legs tense around him. You can’t move much, but his movements are enough for the both of you, especially as he brings his knees up a bit to get a new angle. He’s hitting your spot with almost every thrust, and you’re whining in pleasure in time with each. You squeeze hard around him, not just your arms and legs but the soft walls around his cock as well, and he groans animalistically into your skin. His hips stutter in response, but a moment later he’s pounding rhythmically again. 

His breathing gets heavier, his muscles tighter, and with a broken gasp, he shifts sideways a bit to snake his hand between you to where you’re connected. He rubs harshly on your clit, not bothering to start slow, clearly aware he doesn’t have time for that. His hips piston even faster; his hand presses harder, and a few seconds later, you feel fit to burst. You let out a yell as you release around him, the most intense orgasm of your life making you see white stars. 

“Sirius,” you half yell, half sigh. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Fuck, fuck. Where do you want me to?” he rushes out, his hips still moving fast in and out of you. You tighten your legs around him, and clench your cunt, pulling him into you. “Inside, Siri. Cum in me.” His immediate groan sounds strangled as you feel the warmth of him inside you. The words “cold fire” play in your mind. He thrusts a few more times then goes limp on top of you, panting loudly, kissing your neck and cheek between heavy breaths. 

He rolls off but stays close, never fully breaking contact with you, and he wraps his arm around your waist, lightly stroking your back, as you both lie on your sides facing each other. You feel the urge to cover yourself up but resist it, trying to melt into the vulnerability. The utter adoration in his eyes when you look into them helps. 

“I love you,” you whisper. He smiles a smile that makes his stormy eyes shine, leans in, and kisses you tenderly. 

“And I love you,” he says matter-of-factly, his voice smooth and sappy. 

You pause, contemplating, reveling in the joy of the moment but unable to ignore a tug in your stomach. “I’m sorry I was too… I don’t know, scared? to really show you before.”

“Don’t be, darling. I’m sorry I waited so long to really show you too, but I’m even more sorry if I ever made you doubt how much I do, how loved you are.” “You didn’t.” You shake your head then nuzzle his nose with yours. “I just sometimes didn’t understand. It’s confusing, how someone like you can love someone like me so much.” “Darling. It’s the least confusing thing in the world. You’re the most beautiful person I know. In all kinds of ways. And I’ll show you every day you’ll have me; you’ll see it clearly too; I’m sure of it. I’m just worried when you do, you’ll realise the real wonder is you loving me.” He laughs a bit, but you can hear the truth to his concern, his own insecurities surfacing. 

You stroke his cheek, kiss him, and say, “We’ll both keep showing each other then. For always.” His smile is subtle, full of love. 

He nods, kisses you again, pulls you into his body, and, hugging you close, repeats, “For always.” 

P.S. notes: I try to keep my reader character inclusive, and this is a bit more specific than I usually do. I just want to acknowledge that everyone relates to their bodies, especially if they’re bigger, in different ways, and I in no way think of anything I write as a generalized take on being plus sized (or any other experience really). These are just things that I have felt in my life, and it has always meant a lot to me to see and hear stories about bigger characters, both when attention is brought to that specific aspect about them and when it isn’t. So, this is my way of adding to that and to write something for myself in that vein.