#blame the prompt wheel

[snippet-z]

Reposting this here to have it in one place. I also corrected (most of) the spelling errors if you even care

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Prompt: Royalty/Nobility AU

"You shouldn't be here," is what greets him when he comes to a measured halt in front of the iron bars. The sentiment remains incorporeal in the darkness of the cell, the moonless, cloudy night providing not a glimpse of light by sheer luck, or maybe divine intervention.

"Neither should you," he replies to the void, pulling the lockpicks from his pocket. Drugging the guards was easy enough, the old useless drunkards would down anything that smelled of alcohol, but stealing the keys felt a little too much like tempting fate; and he didn't need them anyway.

A scoff acompanies him as he touches at the bars, trying to feel for the lock. "It'll cost me my head if you get caught, you know," the voice sing-songs playfully, and it is so achingly familiar that for a mere moment, he feels like he might break down and cry.

"Your head is at risk either way if this doesn't work, so kindly shut up," he admonishes, but he cannot control how choked he sounds, the ball of dread in his throat swelling and suffocating him more and more with every passing second. He finally finds the lock.

A hand catches his before he can insert the lockpicks into the keyhole, moulding around his palm perfectly, as if the two of them were a matching set. "Edwin," the voice pleas, and that's more than enough to shatter the makeshift dam which was holding his tears at bay up to this point. He contemplates not looking up, but then again, this already feels too much like talking to a ghost -- and he doesn't want to think how close to the reality it is. So he looks up.

He cannot make out more than the silhouette in the darkness, a thin, razor-cut shape in the curtain of night, but he doesn't need light to be able to place all the missing features in right places - the almond-shaped eyes, the slope of the nose, the slight indent of the Cupid's bow which's taste he knows better than that of his favourite wine. No, he doesn't need anything, not when he's able to map out Charles's face with his eyes closed.

"My father won't harm me with Henry still missing in battle, he wouldn't risk losing a possible substitute when the crown prince is absent." The salt running down his face tries to glue his lips shut, but he soldiers on in spite of it, knowing that Charles needs to hear him even when the words escape him like startled songbirds. "I can't watch you die," he finally breathes out, and just like magic, the hold on his palm gives, and he can work the lock open.

It clicks softly when the latches fall in place, and jumps open easily, as if made of butter. He doesn't waste time, pulling at cell door, making sure it doesn't make a sound as Charles slips out. He closes it back, and then purposely drops the lockpicks right by it. He can feel Charles's confused look on him, so he just shrugs, hoping the movement registers in the dark. "For plausible deniability," he explains, entwining their hands together as Charles's knuckles brush his, "One can always blame the guards for not inspecting you thoroughly enough."

Charles snorts softly at that, letting himself be dragged along through the winding staircases and corridors. "You know I would've found the way myself, right? I've been a servant in this castle all my life, I probably still know more secret passages than you," he says at some point, light-hearted, and the tone of his voice makes some of the weight fall off his shoulders. "I know," he confirms, "But I need to make sure you're out safe. For myself."

Instead of taking another step forward, he stumbles back when Charles stops abruptly, pulling him into himself, their lips crashing together before a single thought can cross his mind. He doesn't hesitate to reciprocate, revelling in the way he now has to climb slightly to his tiptoes to better angle himself against Charles. His free hand needs no command as it buries itself in Charles's hair, pressing them impossibly closer together.

He wishes for then and there, just for a moment, that the two of them didn't have to breathe anymore, forever inseparable, living off of each other; but alive lungs burn and demand attention, and he lets go, breathless and flustered, hot breathes mingling in the sudden space between them. "Let's go," he whispers, taking a step back before he can make one more stupid decision under the cover of the night.

The treck under the castle is easy enough, twisting and turning, but quick if you know the way. They climb through the broken sewage crate, something he knows he should let the king know about in case of danger; unfortunately, the crack in the castle's defense keeps proving itself useful.

Marigold neighs softly when she sees them, and he shushes her and pats her flank before untying the reins from the rickety shrub by the passage -- more of a statement than an actual way of holding her down. He passes them to Charles, and in the now dim-light he sees his eyes widen in surprise. "She always liked you better anyway, he says by means of explanation, and kisses his cheek - for good measure, and because he can't help himself.

Charles doesn't protest when he mounts Edwin's horse, throwing his long leg over the saddle with ease, and whispering a greeting into the mare's ear, in a language Edwin knows he knows from his mother. The horse shakes her mane in delight, clacking her teeth and pawing at the ground, ready to go as if she knows she's about to experience freedom the likes of which she never felt before. It seems ridiculous, but Edwin can't help but feel jealous.

He takes the reins by her head, leading them away towards the less-known path through the forest, all the while battling his thoughts on whether he should speak up.

"What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours," Charles asks before he can make up his mind, once again proving that he knows him better than Edwin knows himself. He stops the walk, bracing himself for what he's about to do. When he turns to Charles, his gaze feels both searching and strangely understanding, as if he already knows what's about to happen.

"I know this is a lot to ask of you," he begins hesitantly, forcing himself to maintain the eye contact, "But if you were to find Henry, send him home... If my father gets his Crown Prince back-" his breath hitches again, the teacherous tears silencing him. He's about to turn away in shame, but a hand on his shoulder stops him, and although he can barely see Charles's eyes, the love he feels in them burns brighter than a thousand suns.

"I'll find him," Charles says, and there's confidence in his voice that Edwin doesn't feel himself. "I'll find him, and get him here. And then we'll run."

And oh, isn't this exactly what Edwin wanted to say, what he hoped to hear. He leans against Marigold's side, and Charles bends down to kiss him one last time. It's softer, slower than in the tunnel, as sweet as honey and as bitter as buckwheat, and much to short for the time he knows they'll spend apart. But it cannot last, because the night is coming to an end much too soon. He takes a step away, and Charles takes off without a word, as if any farewells would curse them for the rest of their lives.

Edwin turns around after the horse and the rider disappear in the forest. He can hear the first birds waking up, and he knows he has to hurry if he wants to lay the false tray successfully. So he gets to work, and he tries not to grieve, all the while, against his best wishes, he can still taste the goodbye on his lips.

***

Original post

[gyuswhore]

Sit Down

anniversary event [closed]

kim mingyu x reader

prompt(s): getting aroused by the other's jealousy/obsession with them, "Could he/she/they do it like this?”, “you're sexy when you're angry”

word count: 5.1k

warnings: smut (MINORS DNI), fluff, potter!mingyu, they're married, reader discovers jealousy, oral (m.rec), penetration (unprotected!!!), kissing, breast play, clit stimulation, they're nasty as hell idk what to tell you

synopsis: It isn't your fault that you feel this way, especially as you watch her hands trace over your husband's own.

It isn't your fault that you can barely go on with your day with that cursed image replaying in your mind like a broken record.

And it certainly isn't your fault that you find yourself completely naked on your husband's lap while his clay-clad hands cannot touch you.

[a/n]: @highvern at the scene of the crime as always, we all have to thank her for her service as she betas for me and encourages my tomfoolery. enjoy this and let me know your thoughts in the rbs, comments or send me an ask!!!!!

masterlist

The grip you have on the file is proving to be detrimental to the cheap plastic covering. Not that you could blame yourself as you watch your husband through the window of his pottery studio, leaning over to help a student with her discombobulated salad bowl. 

It was a beautiful morning, the beach across from the boardwalk sparingly occupied with delighted tanners and swimmers, the low buzz of waves reaching the shore sending a calming draft across the area. Envious as you were of Mingyu and his impeccable real estate choices, especially right now as your heel clad feet ache to take a dip in the waters, you couldn’t help but feel all the more irked that this was the background the image inside the studio was sitting against. 

Through the large glass windows, Mingyu is pressing his foot over top of his very pretty student’s on the pedal to force the pottery wheel to spin, hands over her own as he guides her fingers to put pressure on the wet clay. A spiteful part of you pushes a thought in your mind, that your husband was attempting to fix a lost cause, especially when his student seemed quite insistent in her soft smiles and keeping her gaze on the fingers that cover her own, rather than actually fixing the abomination on the pottery wheel. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there by the time he’s done, straightening his back to turn his attention to the other students that make their attempts at their half done projects. Mingyu catches your figure through the window and immediately breaks into a big smile, clay covered hand coming to wave at you. 

Taking it as your cue to walk into the studio, you return neither his gorgeous smile or his occupied wave as you strut through the glass doors. Your husband meets you on the other side of the open space, hands now washed clean as he leans over to place a kiss on your cheek. 

“Hey, you,” he says in greeting, hands drying on a towel. 

All you can think about is if that salad bowl girl can see you, and you thank goodness you wore your nice top today. 

“Here.” You merely push the slightly crumpled file of documents to his chest, jaw set and lips tight. 

“Oh, thanks,” he comments as he grabs the papers pushed towards him, smile dropping a little at your abrupt attitude. “Is everything alright?” 

“Hm? ‘Course,” you answer, adjust the strap of your bag. “I have to get back to work. Be careful about your paperwork next time, I can’t keep making trips across town for this.”

You bite your tongue as soon as you say it, the words tumbling out before you can help it. Can’t keep making trips across town for this? Last time you checked, you were looking for passive excuses to make the trip to your husband’s studio just to see him during the day. 

“Oh.” His brows are furrowed, the frown apparent on his face. “I–I didn’t think you’d be too busy today, you said you’d be done early so—I—nevermind. I’m sorry I pulled you out of work for this, I’ll be careful next time.”

There’s a pang in your heart as you hear him apologise, immediately mad at yourself for going on and ruining his mood. What were you annoyed at? That he was doing his job? 

Your gaze lands behind him where most of his students are occupied with their projects, but just one whose eyes dart between you and Mingyu. 

Taking a step back, you’re about to walk out before you feel him grab your wrist. “D’you wanna have dinner at the new restaurant down the pier after work? We can watch the sunset too, haven’t done that in a while.”

You want to scream yes. Of course you want to watch a beach sunset with your husband. Of course you want to eat at the restaurant you’ve been waiting eagerly for with your husband. And you aren’t entirely sure if this reaction is simply because you’ve been stressed lately, but the sticky feeling is pushing you to make your claim in some way, somehow. 

Biting back another strangely snarky reply, you make an attempt to fix your stoic face and walk back to Mingyu. Leaning up, you kiss the corner of his mouth in what you hope is slightly reassuring. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Kicking off your heels is the first thing you do once you make it back to your desk, taking no time to punch the power on button on your computer. You pull a file from the stack next to you, one that sits at the bottom, with a harder than necessary yank. Bad idea, because as you scramble to stop the pile from tipping over entirely, you can only think of other ways your day could get worse. 

Before the worst of it can hit the floor, you find a second set of hands catching the strewing papers. 

“Thanks, Han,” you say as you attempt to reorganise the documents, taking the extra ones off his hands. 

“Have the laws of physics forsaken you? Or do you just like reorganising paperwork?” Hansol asks, sipping on something from the stupid horse mug Mingyu had made for him in light of his promotion. 

Huffing, you only haphazardly stuff the files to the corner to be done with it, opening the file you need as your computer finally boots up. “Don’t you have manager stuff to do?” 

“Being a manager means I can put off doing manager stuff,” he states. “Besides, I’m taking care of my peers, can you imagine the catastrophe that could’ve been if I didn’t swoop in to save you?”

“Papers on the floor? How catastrophic indeed,” you monotone as you click away at trying to find a particular excel sheet. 

“How was Mingyu?”

Stiffening, you want to curse Hansol at reminding you of the very thing you did not want to think of right now. 

“He was fine.”

“You were back earlier than usual, thought you would’ve had lunch with him.”

That was your plan, but clearly the universe had other ways for you to go about your day. Like thinking about an overly flirty student and her all too oblivious teacher. 

“He…he had a workshop today,” you simply comment. 

“Okay, Elsa, who shoved an ice cube up your ass?” You can hear the sneer in his voice, the judgmental stare. 

Groaning loudly, you can only slam your forehead onto your desk in an all too dramatic fashion. “Can you drop it? Please?”

“Ah,” he drags. “Trouble in paradise. Understood. I will be at my desk if you want to complain about your husband like Margaret from Finance.”

Margaret from Finance. The woman who’s entire catalogue of marital issues would be solved if she and her husband simply spoke to each other once in a while. Perhaps even held hands on occasion. 

You wince as you envision yourself becoming as stuck up and miserable as that, Hansol’s harmless comparison sending you into yet another spiral. It wasn’t that serious, this was all because your brain was stressed, horny and in love. The fact that your husband looked like how he did wasn’t really helping either. 

With a little more aggression than you usually would’ve done with, you attempt to skim through the files as quickly as humanly possible, flicking through the useless filler pages to get to the ones that actually required your attention. 

You send a passive aggressive email to Hansol entailing his job to keep things precise. 

Shoving forkfuls of salad into your mouth, your mouse clicks louder than anyone else in the area, having gone back to change your cursor speed about thrice since you turned your computer on. 

Your phone dings. Closing your eyes, you count to ten before turning to look at the illuminated screen beside you. 

[Gyu <3]: did u have lunch?

[Gyu <3]: i wanted us to get sum together but u zoomed off : (((

[Gyu <3]: im done with my classes for the day. The students were asking ab you earlier when u came in heh

[Gyu <3]: cant wait to see u tonight i looooooveee u <333

God, he makes it hard to stay mad at him. 

Snapping your head back to your monitor, you close your eyes once again as you question the war in your head and chest. Why were you mad at him? There was nothing to be mad about. Did you expect him to go about his day covered in plastic wrap and a neon ‘OFF LIMITS’ sign all day? The ring on his finger was supposed to do the job just fine. 

You sigh as you force yourself to text him back something that wasn’t entirely passive aggressive. Typing and erasing, and typing again and erasing again. A smiley face to seal it into something you were not feeling, and send. 

It’s late in the afternoon by the time you’re done, the sun less blaring as it pours through the office windows. You flick the last file shut, power off your computer and spring up to your feet, immediately gathering your things. Phone, ID, keys, and the last plastic file in your hands, you stalk towards Hansol’s desk and slam the papers next to his computer. 

He nearly chokes on his pocky stick as you spit out your final notes in rapid fire, not caring if you were indecipherable in the slightest. Hansol’s eyebrows remain in the air by the time you’re done, spinning on your heels and walking straight towards the elevators. 

“See you, Monday!” you finally hear him call out and you don’t turn to return his goodbye. Something that might have given you a strike but you could threaten him to take it off all the same. 

Besides, you had somewhere to be, and the idea churning in your brain didn’t seem like it wanted to wait. 

The sun is setting by the time you get to the beach boardwalk, climbing the steps to the line of establishments that overlook the significantly more occupied shore. Everything is perfect. Warm just the right amount, the sunlight forcing everything in its path into an incandescent glow. 

What you would’ve given for a nice lie on one of the beach chairs to release an entire day’s worth of tense muscles. But alas, you trudge straight down the boardwalk and walk the way to Mingyu’s studio. When you’re nearly there, you see the glass door of the studio open from a distance, immediately recognising the part timer leaving for the day. 

You cross paths as he walks towards you in the opposite direction, lighting up as he recognises you through your work attire. 

“Oh, hi!” Chan chirps, arm raised in a half wave. 

“Hi! Clocking out?” you ask as you stop to greet him. 

“Uh—yeah, Mingyu let me go early.” He’s grinning. 

“Good to hear. You enjoy the rest of your night, alright?” 

“Yeah–uh, you too!” he stutters once again as he continues to smile wide. You think nothing of it and continue your short walk to where the studio doors were. 

Coming round, you find the large glass door and walls have been blocked out with the blinds, the blaring CLOSED sign right at the entrance. 

You stand there in front of the door like a fool, taking a deep breath, eyes closed as you gain your bearings. Grabbing the shiny handle, you push the unlocked glass open. 

The bell at the top jingles, signalling a customer, and you watch your husband sitting at one of the turntables, clearly occupied. The studio is completely empty except for him, the whirr of the spinning table coming to a halt as he turns to tell whoever came in that they were closed for the day. 

It’s revolting. He’s wearing his usual black tee, stained with months of splattered clay, his hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it before he started his project. The sun seeps in through the neglected edges of the top of the glass walls, past the blinds that cover most of them, casting him in an unbelievable light. It’s revolting, he’s done nothing and it’s making your head reel; revolting. 

“We’re—oh, you’re early!” There it is, that stupid smile he can’t help but flash at every last person he sees, directed straight at you laced with nothing but love. 

Reaching behind you, you push the metal lock on the door to click it shut, locking the both of you inside, and the rest of the beach and boardwalk out. Right after, you begin to kick off your heels. 

“I already made the reservations for an hour from now, let me change and wash up so we can go to the beach till—”

“Sit down.”

He was halfway out of his seat as he was talking, ready to leave his half done work on the turntable to leave with you. Your words come out firm, a strange tone like you were giving him a command. 

It works, and the shock has him immediately falling back into his chair. The force pushes the chair away from the turn tables, now half facing you.  

Dropping your bag, you shuck your long coat off and leave it on the floor. Eyeing his hands, they’re covered in wet clay, suspended away from his body so as to not ruin his clothes more than they already are, speckled with dried clay and paint. 

He recovers quickly, confused as he watches you fiddle with the buttons on your bottoms, rising out of his chair once again. 

“What are you—” 

“I said,'' you grunt as you finally push your bottoms down so they hit the floor. “Sit down.” 

The shift in his face makes it obvious it has clicked in his head, staring at you as you walk towards him in just your blouse as the situation escalates faster than he can keep up with. 

“Right now? Can you at least let me—”

Through his blabbering you’ve reached him and swung a leg over his lap, seating yourself on his clothed thighs as he moves his hands away, making sure not to get clay all over your blouse. 

His hands may be occupied in a different sense, but you choose to busy yours in other ways. Taking his face in your hands, you lock your mouths in an open mouthed kiss, rendering him speechless. 

Taking no time to think, nor to let him think, you push your hips down to meet his own in a deep grind, panty clad pussy making contact with the rough of his jeans right over his bulge. The feeling is so sudden, spiking throughout your system as you hear him take a sharp inhale still pressed into your mouth.

That was you. That was you getting that reaction out of him, no matter how small it was. The thought has you gripping the back of his head, fingers making home in the short strands of his hair as you let go from the kiss. 

Wasting no time, you push his head back and stick your tongue out, licking a stripe from the base of his throat right up to his jaw. He shivers beneath you, and it only muddles your mind even more. 

You can feel his bulge beneath you growing larger and larger by the second, pressing into your inner thigh as his breathing grows exponentially heavier in your ear. Locking eyes with him, you trail your other hand down to graze over the front of his shirt, pressing into the bumps and ridges that lie beneath.

Reaching his buckle, you hook your finger underneath the gap and pull at the metal. As you let go, it snaps back into place with a resounding cling! Keeping the eye contact, you drift even lower, your fingers find the growing tent in his jeans as you cup the bulge. Moving your hands in the way you know he likes it, you curb your speed to drag out the feeling for him. 

“Fuck,” you hear him curse lowly. 

It’s becoming impossible for him to keep his composure, especially to keep his hands away from your body that sits on him. He gets close, fingers brushing the white of your blouse in a moment of confusion, instant brown on the surface as his wet, clay hands ruin your shirt. 

“If you really can’t keep your hands to yourself,” you say, halting your movements on his crotch. “I guess this’ll have to go too.”

Not bothering to undo all the buttons, you tug the first couple ones unfastened and pull your blouse over your head, throwing it somewhere behind his head. Quickly, you reach behind and unclasp your bra, flinging it away in the same general area. You’re now almost entirely naked while he remains clothed head to toe. 

Your nipples harden as they meet the air in the studio, Mingyu’s eyes set on your mounds as he takes them in. 

Before he has the opportunity to do anything, you slip off of your seat in his lap, knees slamming the floors in your haste as you kneel before him. Hands flying, you tug at the buckle of his belt, undoing it despite your hurried motions. 

“You’ve been off today, are you sure everything’s alright?” Mingyu asks from, still wide eyed as he watches helplessly as you yank his jeans enough to reveal the final layer of his underwear. It doesn’t take you long to take his entire length out of there too, needing him in front of you.

“Do not ask me about my feelings when I’m trying to fuck you.”

“What on earth–shit!”

You’ve taken his now fully hard length into your hand, licking a strip from the base of his cock up to the bulbous head. The tip of your tongue teases the head ever so lightly, and Mingyu watches as his head and your tongue match in their reds. He watches the way your tongue dips into the pooling white of his precum, pushing into his slit as the tip of your tongue wiggles slightly. 

The fact that he cannot touch only heightens the effects of your teasing, clayed hands balling into fists just to feel something on his fingertips. 

Soon, your lips have wrapped around the head of cock as you let it rub against the beginnings of the inside of your soft mouth. Letting go, you take him in again, this time running your tongue over his slit, feeling his hips twitch beneath you as you continue to take him in and out, only to take him back in again. 

In one motion, you sink your mouth lower onto his dick, feeling the head of his cock run against the roof of your mouth. Mingyu hisses audibly amidst his very loud and heavy breathing. 

When you feel him hit the beginnings of your throat, you pull back, bringing your hand to curve around the base to cover what you couldn’t fit, pumping him up and down as you continue to pull his member in and out of your mouth. 

He’s moaning loud, the echoes resonating off the walls as you hear your name slip from his mouth over, and over, and over again. It only encourages you as you move down deeper, his cock touching the back of your throat in more familiarity than before. 

Everything is wet; the spit and precum turning into a shiny gleam on his cock and on the lower half of your face, the heat between your legs that makes you feel oh so empty. Clenching around nothing, you resist the urge to bring a hand down to relieve yourself. 

“Are you ovulating or something, why are you suddenly…suddenly, fucking hell I don’t know.” 

Releasing him from your mouth with a loud pop, you rear your head to look up at him, the lower half of your face covered in a wet glisten. Your hand continues to pump him as you watch his face remain contorted in pleasure.

In a daze, you don’t realise what you’re saying as you blab. “Could she do it like this?”

“What?”

“Could she do it like this?” you repeat like a mantra, needing to hear his answer. “Could she make you feel like this?”

“What are you talking about?” It’s taking Mingyu every bit of his soul to form coherent words. 

In one swift motion, you’ve hoisted yourself back on your feet, nails digging into his thighs through his pants. 

Hovering over his lap, you take his shaft once again, but this time you push your panties aside with your hand and bring it close to your heat, brushing the head of his cock over your wet folds, using him to feel the pleasure that builds. 

“God, you’re so wet,” he blabs as he throws his head back at the feeling. “I wanna touch you, fuck I need to get this clay off, I need to touch you.”

He’s brought his mouth to latch onto your nipple, evoking a loud gasp from you as feel him circle your nub with his tongue before sucking. Letting go, he sticks his tongue out as his only weapon, flicking it repeatedly as you continue to rub his wet cock over your equally wet cunt. 

Lining him up with your entrance, you sink onto his head as you let out a loud moan, feeling the tip stretch you out in the familiar way you’ve been craving all day. It’s like your brain is buffering as you recover from the bout of pleasure, barely registering that he’s continued to assault your other nipple now. 

Your free hand comes to toy with your relieved tit, twisting your spit covered nipple between your fingers as his dick pushes further and further inside you. 

Fully sheathed, you pull your husband’s face away from your breast as you bring his lips to your own, kissing him deep as you clench around his hard cock.

“Don’t. Do that,” he hisses against your lips, hands suddenly closing in your waist, so close before he realises he can’t. “‘M gonna fucking come, I’m so serious.”

The news is enlightening, especially as it encourages you to lift your hips ever so slightly, and curl back back down in an initial thrust. Again, and again, and again till you’re moving your hips at a swift pace, striking down on his length as you both moan into each other's mouths.

The feeling is electrifying, and the borderline pornographic noises your husband is making is only making it all the more easier to gush around his member, to move your hips faster as you feel the knot in your abdomen tighten and loosen. 

“You feel amazing, so fucking good,” he grunts as he mouths the column of your throat. “My baby, my darling, my wife.”

And when the burn in your thighs becomes more than just a mental battle, your hips slowing despite the mind boggling feeling and the choked sobs that come out of you, you feel Mingyu’s hips lift from the chair he’d been trapped in, pushing into you instead. 

His still dirty hands have taken hold of the top of the back legs of the chair, helping himself push off his seat to thrust into you rapidly. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” he says. “Rub your clit for me.”

Who are you to deny him, one hand on one of his broad shoulders while the other flies down to the mess that’s becoming of your cunt. Rubbing two fingers over your clit, you throw your head back in a loud moan as you feel yourself beginning to close in.

Mingyu is watching the apex of your thighs; the way your fingers work against your swollen clit, the way his dick disappears inside you, a ring of sinful white foaming at the base of his cock. He twitches inside you, a clear indication that he was also close. 

Your breasts are a sight to behold, and the scene before him is enough to make him bust entirely. Bouncing tits that he cannot touch, perfectly red, puffed pussy he cannot touch, the beautiful curves and dips of your waist and thigh, barely illuminated by the setting sun, that he cannot touch. He curses the wretched idea to make a last minute thing on the turntable before you arrived, curses the fact that he should be able to feel all of you. 

He might lose his mind, and he does when your walls clamp down on him like a trap, your moans so loud he’s sure he’ll be hearing them in his ears for weeks. 

“G–Gyu, I’m cumming,” you whimper through the pure brain fog. 

Mingyu fucks you through your orgasm, finally letting himself release his own load into you when he simply can’t take it anymore, dick spasming as he shoots white hot cum into your hole. The added slick makes it easier to slip in and out faster as his orgasm holds out far longer than it usually does, both of your hips twitching like you’d been zapped as you come down from your highs. 

It’s become near impossible to hold up your own weight, slumping against his large frame as you unclench every pinched muscle and joint. Forehead on his shoulder, you take pleasure in the afterglow, breathing in his scent with your nose pressed into the sliver of skin that reveals past his shirt. Sweat, the earthy odour of clay, and the calm familiarity of him.

“I don’t know what I did to have you acting like this,” he breathes into your ear. “But whatever it is, I need to do it more often.”

Sluggishly, you lift your head to look at him. His head is leaned back on the chair, face glowing as you stare into the eyes you fell in love with so long ago. 

“You haven’t done anything,” you sigh. “It was…stupid.”

“That’s the worst thing you could say to me right now.”

You whine, rolling your neck. “What do you want me to tell you?”

He stares. “Who do I need to thank for creating this monster?”

It was a joke, clearly, but you couldn’t help but feel the little pool of pride swell within you anyway. 

“Salad bowl girl.”

“And I’m supposed to know what that means? Do you want a salad bowl? I can make you one.”

“No. The girl in your class this morning with that god awful salad bowl,” you huff. “It looked offensive, she was too busy burning holes into you.”

“Oh no,” he whispers, eyes wide, mouth turning it the beginnings of a hysterical laugh. “My pretty little wife is jealous.”

“If you’re gonna rub it in, I'm getting off.” You try to remove yourself from his lap, slipping his now soft member out of you. 

You’re stopped when you feel the two points of his elbows locking you at the waist, pushing you down. He’s grinning like a fool. “You’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry—”

“Your hello was my dick in your mouth.”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“I’d fire myself in the kiln before I ever say that.” He locks his elbows harder, pulling you closer. “Besides, I think this means I’ve won.”

“Won what?”

“Like you’ve never noticed Chan looking at you like…like he’s got some puppy dog crush on you. I’ve won the battle of composure.” 

You guffaw, “What are you—stop it, he does not!”

He merely leans forward and kisses you, “I don’t blame him. My wife is the most gorgeous thing anyone could ever see.” 

Grabbing him by the elbows, you break free of his hold and get off of his lap, attempting to gather the clothes you’ve scattered across the studio. 

“Can you at least help me put my dick back inside my pants, these are my cleaner jeans!”

Snapping the elastic of your bra back on, pantied adjusted, you walk back to him. He’s looking at you with those stupid stars in his eyes and it makes it hard to focus on readjusting his jeans for him. 

Leaning down, you take in your hands his still wet cock, smothered in your spit and arousal, complete with his own release. You can’t help it when you dip further to take his head into your mouth, the groan coming from above you near automatic. 

“Oh, you’re evil.”

You grin as you wrap your mouth in a harsher suck, feeling him harden slowly, still quicker than you’d thought. Giving him a few more generous sucks, you run your tongue over his slit before moving back. 

He’s breathing heavily, leaning close as you pull his waistband up. “You know, they say you should lay down afterwards if you want to be successful. I think we might have to go again later on a real bed to do the trick.”

“You can stay horny, I’m getting dressed for some real food.” 

“I think we kinda need to be horny to do what we’re trying to do,” he lowtones, moving his face back and forth to meet your drifting eyes. 

You sigh once again, “Why can’t just getting off birth control be enough?”

“Are you not having fun?”

“I’m literally buttoning your pants for you, it was fun until now.”

Mingyu raises his hands in both surrender and pointed regard, the clay now dried and cracking over his hands and forearms. “I digress.”

 It annoys you that he’s right, so you lean in to give him a kiss as a distraction. It works. 

“It’s alright,” he smiles into your kiss. “This is the one thing I won’t mind breaking my back for.”

The giggle escapes you before you can help it, and you feel him kiss at your cheeks, placing one last one on the tip of your nose.

“Now, if my lovely wife will let me wash my hands…?”

“Go,” you chuckle.

“We should name our baby Salad Bowl in this honour.” He’s way at the handwash station by now, water running as he scrubs off all the dried up clay.

“So sad our baby will have to grow up without a father.”

 “I love you,” he yells. 

“I’ll be sure to tell our child.” 

“You’re insufferable,” he says, suddenly behind you as you pull on your blouse. Wet hands grasp your waist and you squeal at the feeling. 

“Mingyu!” 

“I love you,” he drags, spinning you around to face him. 

“I thought I was insufferable.”

Your husband groans, simply pulling you into him with his own two hands to kiss you. 

“I think we’re late for our reservation.”

“You’d better hurry then.” You eye his clay speckled shirt.

“Don’t miss me.” He turns around to find his cleaner shirt, all while you drift over to see the incomplete project still on his table.

A mug still clay-brown and half done, but one that looks suspiciously similar to your favourite one you broke last week. 

[rottingghosty]

The Matriarch | DC X DP (again)

if you ever wonder in the future why most of my ideas come to me at night please let it be known i am a night owl and also i work graveyards and thats when my hamster wheel of a brain starts working. once again there will be errors cause its 2am as usual and i just write these when the idea comes and cannot bother to correct myself. this is an old draft

prompt: Gotham City is a hub where the supernatural gather, only few were allowed to establish a line in the very core of its being. It was notoriously picky about who were allowed, it was here where the Devin family- relatives to the Wayne family had settled briefly before a portion of the family separated from the main family. It was when Danny turns to attend Gotham University where he stumbles upon the who is the matriarch of his bloodline.

Danny couldn’t help but stare at the Dullahan before him, her head was on her neck but held on with ecto fishing line as stitches and a black ribbon tied around to hide them. The Dullahan gave a smile as she tilted her head curiously, a soft laugh escaping her.

“I’m uh Danny. Danny Devin.” He had abandoned the Fenton name quickly enough after he ran away a few years ago after the reveal went wrong, he remembered how his aunt Alicia mentioned that rarely anyone in the family drop the Devin name and that his mother was one of the few was a shock to the others. In Gotham, there were countless Devins— all relatives and non relatives but they took care of each other like it was nothing. He ignored the thought of aunt Alicia being disappointed how quick his m— Maddie had changed her tune about the supernatural.

“I don’t get why your ma changed her mind like that. She could’ve been the best in the family but meeting Jack changed her. She’s not the Mads I knew.” Aunt Alicia told him one night, when he called her to let her know he was okay but he couldn’t go back home.

She accepted, never questioned and its why she was one of the few he kept in contact with. She’d been the one to tell him about their bloodline— how attuned they were with anything involving the veil and how death tended to not keep them down.

“We’re an omen, our very essence is connect to those involved in death. Maddie forgot that.”

“You are one of mine, yes. I can feel it.” The Dullahan said softly as she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, his core releasing a pleasant trill at the affectionate touch. He hadn’t gotten affection like this often, his par— Jack and Maddie would pat his shoulder of give him a hug but it wasn’t enough. Jazz would try her best but she tended to avoid physical contact and he couldn’t blame her— not when the adults in their family were more focused on ectobiology over being there for their kids.

The touch was filled with motherly warmth and if Danny was in ghost form he believed he would’ve been floating off the ground and following the touch like those cartoons of people floating off to follow the scent of pies. It’s like his very core knew he wouldn’t get hurt, that the Dullahan would rather be Ended than cause harm on one of her own.

“My name is Maeve Devin, you can call me grandma or granny. If that feels uncomfortable, aunt Maeve is fine as well. As long as you are in this city, you are under the protection of mine just as the others are. Lady Gotham is a family friend.”

Aunt Maeve said as she brushed his bangs away to take a closer look at his features just as he took in hers as well. Her skin was pale and she had long red hair in loose curls and it stopped at her waist. He could see various streaks of white that peeked out whenever she moved her head. Blue eyes similar to his own, she was a bit shorter than him since he’s been gaining height after finally being able to catch up on the nutrients he needed when he was still in high school.

She wore clothing that was casual, a loose band t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants but he honestly wasn’t surprised cause it is a weekend and he hadn’t planned on visiting his mother’s side of the family yet but he somehow found his way here.

“Oh the Bats will adore you.” Maeve murmurs and Danny was kinda afraid, he doesn’t know what the Bats are but he can definitely hear the capital B in the word. Should he be worried? He wants to be worried but he decides to trust Aunt Maeve because he knows Fae can’t lie.

Oh wow his family are descendants of a Fae. Huh, is that why he’s horrible at lying? He mentally puts a pin on that thought for future Danny to handle.

“Come, the others wish to meet you.” Aunt Maeve tugs him along deeper into the house— it was more of a manor and Danny has a silent crisis over the fact that the Devin family are rich enough to afford a manor as he crosses the threshold of the house.

tldr:

i just like the idea that danny was bound to die at any point because his family is bound to death from maddie’s side and its why he got chosen to be a halfa by the realms when the portal opened and basically killed him enough to bring him back. death’s the grandmother who likes her grandbabies but definitely picks favorites on the ones near death to give them a gift thats basically ✨the very being of death (maeve for example)✨

maddie’s side of the family are heavily connected to the supernatural/death scene but maddie cut ties to that and became very anti supernatural because of jack and its why she’s that way today. alicia’s disappointed but doesnt fight maddie on it because everyone else cut maddie off and alicia worries for her sister yk. phantom reveal gone wrong, alicia called aunt maeve to take danny in and maeve pulled some strings so he has a ride to gotham u.

danny has yet to realize that since maeve is a dullahan, death was always going to come to him because she had visited once because the scent of death on danny was STRONG before his accident and he saw her briefly before it. once he realizes he has many feelings about this and it doesn’t help that the wayne family reek of death.

he’ll settle in the devin manor and claim it as his haunt one day but also danny’s silently like “what the fuck” because his bloodline is fae??? WHO THE FUCK SMASHED A DULLAHAN??? all while bruce gets a surprise visit from maeve who drops danny off to be babysat (despite him being 18) and is like “cousins. play nice, i have to hunt :)”

every supernatural in the devin family were human once before they were blessed (in a fucked up way) by death

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Behind Closed Doors 3

Despite your promise not to sneak behind the team again, you find yourself in a compromising position when you’re forced to ride in the same car as him.

Warnings: (18+, MDNI) Nipple/breast play, dry humping, semi public, dirty talk, and technically this isn’t car sex but everything happens in a car, there’s just no penetration. ~2.5k words (not proofread)

A/n: This wasn’t supposed to be in my WIP but… I blame him for looking so slutty in that shirt. Btw, this is shorter because I already have a lot on my plate but I really wanna squeeze this in, so enjoy! If you’ve been following since the first part, our kinky, slightly exhibitionist duo is back

You liked to think you had a good sense of self control when it came to your sex drive. In your past relationships, you were rarely the one to make the first move. It wasn't that you didn't enjoy sex—far from it, actually—but you didn't see it as the centerpiece of a relationship. Sex was enjoyable, yes, but it wasn’t everything.

At least, that's what you thought until now.

You recently reached a realization that three factors led you to reconsider this long-held belief, and unsurprisingly, they all revolved around Spencer Reid.

The first one was his choice of clothes. It seemed like he had woken up one day and decided that undoing the top buttons of his shirt was the new norm. It was as if he was taunting you, and it was working. The moment you saw him wearing that shirt this morning, all you could think about was dragging him into a storage room and have your dirty, nasty way with him.

The second thing was the way your heart raced when he accidentally brushed his hand against yours as you both reached for the car keys. Emily had asked you both to interview a key witness, and naturally, you assumed you’d be the one driving because Spencer rarely volunteered to take the wheel. But to your surprise, he insisted on driving.

It was strange. You wondered what had prompted this change, but you didn’t protest. In fact, you let him. Happily. Because this set the stage for what became the third significant moment that made you reconsider everything.

Him driving the damn car.

You found yourself unable to keep your eyes off him. The way his hands gripped the wheel, moving with effortless control that hinted at a confidence he rarely displayed. Your gaze traveled up his arm, noting the tension in his muscles, and the way his shirt tightened across his shoulders with each turn.

Then there was his face. Your gaze drifted to his jawline, appreciating the sharp angles and the way it tightened slightly when he was deep in concentration. You had to squeeze your thighs together because watching him drive was enough to make you wet.

It was highly inappropriate, of course. You were both on the job, and there was a witness to interview. So you forced yourself to stay professional. It wasn’t until after you finished, after you and Spencer had informed Emily of what you had found and given her the necessary details over the phone, that your ogling became more prominent on the drive back to the station.

And despite being subtle about it, Spencer seemed to know the effect he had on you.

“Is there something you want to say?” His voice was low, slightly amused, as he spared a quick glance in your direction before focusing back on the road.

You forced yourself to look away from his hands. “What do you mean?”

“You seem… distracted.”

You swallowed, trying to muster up an explanation that wouldn’t give away too much. “Just thinking about the case.”

The corners of his mouth twitched as if he were fighting back a smile. “Really? Because it looked more like you were deep in thought about something else.”

You felt a flush of warmth rise to your cheeks. “Well, maybe the case isn’t the only thing on my mind.”

“Oh? And what else were you thinking about?”

“I don’t know if you’d be interested.”

“Try me.”

You turned your body towards him. “It’s highly inappropriate.”

“Now you’ve really got my attention.”

You hesitated, feeling the car’s warmth envelope you, making the space seem smaller, more intimate. “Okay, but remember, you asked for it,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I was thinking about... how well you handle the steering wheel.”

Spencer laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the car. “Is that your way of saying you like my driving, or something more metaphorical?”

“Maybe a bit of both. I mean, a person’s driving does say a lot about them, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” he agreed. “And what does my driving say about me?”

“That you’re good with your hands.”

Spencer’s eyes met yours briefly, and you squeezed your thighs tighter.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said finally, his voice low. There was a brief pause and you wondered whether you had gone too far, whether this wasn’t the right time or place to flirt so openly, but then he spoke again.

“And since we’re sharing, I was thinking about something a bit inappropriate too.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “Like what?”

“Like how it’s hard to focus on the road when you’re looking at me like that.”

“…how am I looking at you?”

He gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. “Like you want me to pull over to the side of the road and kiss you.”

A silence fell between you, and for a moment, you could hardly breathe. You felt a flush of warmth spread through your body, and you bit your lip, considering his words.

“And what if I do?” You asked softly.

You noticed his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, clearly fighting to maintain his composure.

“Then I’d have to find a quiet place for us.”

Your body responded immediately, a wave of heat coursing through you as your breath quickened. You could feel your pulse thrumming in your veins, an urgent, needy beat that matched the thoughts racing through your mind.

“Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Pull over.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours. Then, without hesitation, he scanned the road for a safe spot. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you watched him steer the car onto a narrow, dark lane shielded by dense shrubs. The path seemed to swallow the sound of the engine as he drove further away from the main road.

The silence that followed was thick as he turned off the engine. You both stared at each other, acutely aware of what you were about to do, about the potential consequences, but everything blurred as you both moved at the same time.

Everything was fast, a rush of motion and emotion as Spencer leaned over the console. His lips met yours with an urgency that left no room for hesitation.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, while you clung to his arm. He kissed you hungrily, desperately, as if trying to communicate every unspoken word through the press of his mouth against yours. The more he kissed you, the more you felt the heat between your thighs and you realized that, in fact, you really had no control over your sex drive.

You then opened your mouth, letting him sink his tongue into you, pressing your body against his. But he was too far away, and you needed more of his heat, more of him. So, you undid your seat belt and did the only thing that felt natural—you climbed onto his lap.

You both moaned when his cock finally pressed against your core, and he found your lips again, his hand cradling the back of your head while the other rested firmly on your hips, urging you to move. The movement was instinctive, a rhythm that was driven by desperation.

You felt his mouth kisses trail from your lips down to your neck, marking a trail of heat that had you burning for more. Your fingers found the buttons of your shirt, and before you could second guess yourself, you undid them one by one.

Spencer’s hands followed the path you created, tracing the newly exposed skin. His large palms moved along your ribs before they rested just beneath your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hard nipples through the fabric of your bra. You gasped, your head falling back in sheer pleasure.

His lips found your neck again, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin. His fingers pulled down your bra, exposing your breasts, and when he quickly sucked on your sensitive nub without warning, you bucked your hips, a strangled moan escaping your lips.

His sound of pleasure vibrated against your skin when you moved your hips at a steady pace, the friction driving you both to new heights. You could feel the material of your underwear sticking between your wet folds, and you wished desperately that there was no barrier between you. But time was ticking, and you both knew you were on the clock.

This had to be enough.

Spencer pulled back slightly, your nipple stretching with him, your supple skin following his movements until he let go with a soft pop. He then turned his attention to your other breast, his tongue teasingly circling your hardened nipple before hungrily engulfing it in his mouth.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, your nails digging in slightly as you arched your back. You felt his hands roaming over your waist, holding you steady, grounding you even as you felt yourself spiraling higher into a state of pure ecstasy.

“Spence,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need. His response was to look up at you with those intense, brown eyes as he continued to suck on your nipple.

His mouth moved with deliberate precision, alternating between gentle licks and firm sucks, driving you completely insane. You could feel your control slipping, your body responding to his every touch, and you found yourself unable to think of anything but him. The way he made you feel, the way his touch ignited every nerve in your body.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, urging him on, lost in the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. His lips left your breast, trailing kisses up your chest and neck until he reached your lips, capturing them in a searing kiss that left you breathless.

The taste of him, the feel of his body against yours, was everything you had been longing for.

“More,” you whispered against his lips, your voice a desperate plea.

“I know, I know,” he murmured back. “I got you.”

You shook your head, breathless. “I wanna feel you.”

He groaned. How he wanted that to happen, but you were both gone long enough and reality was beginning to intrude on your stolen moment.

“We can’t, not here,” he said, his voice strained with desire as he rested his forehead against yours. “We don’t have enough time.”

You bit your lip, trying to push back the disappointment. “I know, but I-I need you.”

“Soon,” he promised. “When we have more time, I’ll give you everything you need.”

Your hips moved faster. “Everything?”

He nodded, his eyes fluttering close when he felt you pressing harder on his cock. “Everything.”

“You’ll finally fuck me?”

His breath hitched at your bold words, his control slipping further.

“Say it. Say you’ll fuck me.”

His self-control wavered, the raw desire in your voice pushed him to the edge as his palms gripped your ass.

“Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you?”

You never thought there would be a time when you’d hear those words from him, and yet here you were, craving for more. You nodded and grinded against him, trying to find that delicious pressure on your clit.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice laced with urgency. “I want you to fuck me hard.”

Spencer groaned, his breath hot against your neck as he leaned in closer. “Then imagine me inside you,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “Think about my cock sliding into you, filling you up completely.”

“F-Fuck,” you gasped, moving against him rhythmically. Who would’ve thought he’d be good at this?

“Imagine my hands gripping your hips, pulling you down onto me,” he continued, his breath warm against your neck. “You’d feel every inch, deep and perfect.”

Your heart pounded as his fantasy played out in your thoughts. “Yes,” you gasped, finding it hard to keep steady. “Please, keep going.”

“I’d set a rhythm that drives you crazy,” he murmured. “Fast, then slow, teasing you, drawing out every moan and gasp until you’re begging me not to stop.”

“Oh God…” you moaned. “Please…”

He continued, relentless and commanding. “And when you’re close, when you’re right on the edge, I’d look into your eyes, whisper how beautiful you are, how good you feel wrapped around me…”

“Spencer, I—”

“And then I’d thrust harder, deeper,” he cut off your words, his tone intense. He pressed a hand against your lower abdomen as if to illustrate his point. “I’d fill you completely, over and over, until all you can do is cling to me and take it.”

You were practically trembling now, his words and slight touches driving you wild.

“I’m so close,” you managed to breathe out, your movements becoming less rhythmic and more desperate. His hands went back to your hips. His grip tightened, steadying and encouraging your frantic movements as he felt his own orgasm nearing.

“Come with me,” he whispered, pressing himself closer to you.

His words, his grip, his presence overwhelmed you. You felt the buildup, almost unbearable, as if every nerve in your body focused on the impending release. Then, with a final, mutual push, you felt the wave break.

Pleasure surged through you, intense and all-consuming. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you down as he drove himself up, his name spilling from your lips in a cry of release. You felt him tense, heard his own cry muffled against your skin, as he reached his climax with you.

Panting, you both slowed, the car filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the soft hum of the engine in the background. Spencer’s hands softened on your hips, caressing now, soothing the spots where his fingers had pressed.

You ran a hand through his thick hair. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a dirty mouth?”

His grin was both sheepish and proud as he met your gaze. “You’re actually the first person to hear it.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his hands carefully adjusting your clothes. “It seems you have a way of bringing out a side of me I didn’t know I had.”

You watched him, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There was so much you wanted to say, so many feelings swirling inside you, but the words felt too fragile for the moment. Instead, you settled for the silence.

Spencer didn’t seem to mind. He tapped your hip gently, drawing your attention. “Come on, I think we need to drop by the hotel before we go back to the station.”

When he caught the startled look you sent him, he laughed.

“To change my pants. Nothing else.”

“…oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

You blushed, caught off guard by his remark and your own reaction. “No, I just—” you started, then paused, searching for the right words. “I mean, yes, maybe a little.”

His smile widened, pleased by your response. “I’ll tell you what,” he began. “After we finish this case, after we fly back, let’s spend time together. Just you and me.”

Your hands pressed against his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt. You wondered what it would be like to have him pressed against you with nothing between you, to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat directly under your palms.

The thought made you both nervous and excited at the same time.

“Really?”

He leaned in for a kiss. “Really.”

“You promise?”

He smiled against your lips.

“I promise.”

[captain-huggy-bear]

“it’s just me now. you don’t have to pretend anymore- just let me take care of you.” with quinn hughes pls!!!! maybe after the game where they got eliminated from playoffs? completely up to you, though. feel free to write literally whatever you want! your writing is always perfect.

Changed the prompt slightly to work better with the scenario, I hope that's okay! :) 1000 Followers Celly Finished Requests are currently closed while I work through current ones <3 Writing Masterlist

You watch the entire post game interview, how Quinn keeps his voice even, disappointment heavily hidden behind the perfect words. Talking about how proud he is of the team having gotten this far, how he's looking forward to the summer, the time off with his family, his brothers. It's all a falsity, it's the sadness behind his eyes, the little down turn of his lips, the set of his brows that really tells you that he doesn't really mean what he's saying.

Quinn's disappointed that his season is over, he's disappointed that the team didn't make the play offs this season unlike the last, he's disappointed in how many games he missed and how he feels he's failed the team as captain. He doesn't even need to say anything for you to know. You know Quinn better than he knows himself sometimes.

"You okay?" Your hand reaches for his as the two of you walk towards the underground car park, fingers linking as you walk.

"I'm good." Quinn's voice is short, controlled in a way that tells you he's lying. His shoulders are tight and tense but you leave it for the moment. You stay quiet, just holding his hand until he lets you into the car, until you're both sat there for a moment. Quinn's not as quick as normal to turn the car on, to leave. Instead he's just sat there, hands on the wheel, staring forward.

“Hey...it’s just me now. You don’t have to pretend anymore...you can talk to me."

There's a silence, a gap, a moment where the air grows so tense and heavy. You're certain for a moment that he's going to snap at you or maybe just say nothing, keep you in cold silence.

"I feel like a failure." You let him speak, hold your breath like a single sigh might stop him from letting it all out. "I'm the captain...it starts with me and I couldn't even be there for every fucking game and...fuck, I can't even keep the guys from fighting, like what sort captain does that make me?"

"Quinn..."

"We should have fucking made it to playoffs, we should be there right now...fucking bullshit."

"You know you're not the only player on the team, right? Nor the most important...not to...not burst your ego."

He stares at you, just listens, like no one has ever told him that. Like he's only just realising he's not the guy on the team even if he is amazing at what he does. "Sometimes you need to realise that they need to want it too...you can want this as much as possible, more than anyone, but if the rest of the team aren't buying in...that's not your fault and it's not your fault you got hurt this season or that the team didn't quite make it. You guys nearly made it. That counts for something."

"Tell that to the fans." Fuck the fans is what you think....fuck those fans because really, it's a small group of them. The sort that are only happy when the team win and hate them when they lose no matter how hard they tried. The sort of fans that jump ship as soon as things get rocky like any team could win every single game...

"Real fans wouldn't want you beating yourself up over it. Real fans aren't just there when things are sunny and great, y'know? I'm a fan and I don't blame you."

"That doesn't count...you're my girlfriend." He rolls his eyes at you and you reach out and pinch him on the arm, frowning at him because you're more than just his girlfriend and you certainly didn't become a fan because of him.

"I was also a Canucks fan before you, so it counts...c'mon, let's go home. I'll let you pick the takeout."

"Seriously?" He lights up like Christmas tree, shocked because you are almost always the one that picks and he just eats whatever you decided you were craving that day.

"Seriously. I'll even pay."

"Not happening." He laughs and it's his smile, even if it's new and small, a little fragile that brings your own out.

It fucking sucks. It sucks that the team didn't make it to the playoffs, God, it sucked, but at the end of the day what was most important to you was that Quinn was happy...that Quinn had some time off now to recover, to look after himself, to just be Quinn and take some of that pressure off.

[dollyzdaydreamz]

Supernatural Imagine:

Tech savvy Little sister! Reader

Description: After failing to find Dad, you and Dean decide to break into Sam’s apartment and drag him along the search with the two of you.

fluff. just a cute little fic idk.

Warnings: Daddy issues (John, when i catch you, John.), Sibling codependency ( T_T), might have spelling errors

Dean’s hands tapped the steering wheel in rhythm to the static-laced classic rock humming through the Impala’s speakers. He occasionally threw you a sideways glance, maybe to check up on you, before bringing a balled up hand to your mouth to prompt you to sing portions of the song to which you met with a roll of your eyes and a tired mumble of the lyrics,

“You suck,” he mumbled, turning away and roaring the lyrics way too loud for someone whose been driving for three hours.

The leather seat beneath you stuck to your skin from a long day of tracking down dead ends, digging through motel registries, and trying not to lose hope.

You leaned your head against the window, the chilled glass grounding you against the quiet tension hanging between you. The music faded away as Dean sighed,

“I don’t know, Dad wouldn’t just vanish like this.” Dean muttered finally, more to himself than you.

You shifted, curling your fingers into the hem of your coat. “Yeah,” you murmured, looking at him albeit knowingly, “He would.”

Dean glanced at you from the corner of his eye, but didn’t argue. He knew you were right. He just didn’t want to admit it out loud. Sometimes you wondered why he tried so hard to hide you from your dad’s flaws.

John’s absence wasn’t unfamiliar to you. Afterall, it was Dean who witnessed your first steps. Hell, it was some loose variation of his name that tumbled out of your mouth when you uttered your first words.

It was Dean who had to buy you pads and pain killers the first time you woke up with blood pooling into the motel mattress, who boiled a sewing needle clean to pierce your ears with it upon your insistence as Sam reluctantly held the flashlight to your ear with wide eyes.

You huffed at the memory, but still felt a small twinge in your chest at the thought that maybe your first word should’ve been “Dada.” Your first period should’ve been explained to you by the sweet voice of a mother and not two clueless teenage boys, and maybe your ears should’ve been pierced at…Claires or something after Mom told you no.

But life wasn’t that simple, the monsters you saw on the daily had proven that.

“So…” he said after a long pause. “You think Sam still lives in that shoebox apartment?”

Sam. You were devastated when he moved away, but with things being the way they were, you couldn’t blame him. It was tough love for all of you, but somehow you and Sam were always on the receiving end of John’s ridicule.

While you stuffed your frustration down, Sam opted to step in on your behalf to but heads with him while Dean would break them apart and comfort you from the disappointment stirring up inside you later.

“Y/n?”

“What? Yeah, already got his new address.”

Dean shook his head, “Of course you did.”

“Got the floor plan too. Jessica Moore’s name is on the lease. She moved in a year ago.”

“What, you stalkin’ him or something?” Dean glanced at you with a raised brow, “Now don’t tell me you miss our dear old Sammy,” He cooed mockingly.

“As if you don’t,” you scoffed, shrugging away the accusation. Admittedly, you missed Sam. Sure, he did have that perpetual stick up his ass, but you missed having someone lend an ear during your rambles about the latest book you’ve read or gadget you found at some tech store.

“I don’t miss that dork any more than you do. Besides, it took me ten minutes. You asked like four hours too late,” You said.

“Alright, alright. I believe you.” Dean chuckled.

“Wonder how he’s doing,” You sighed, gaze fixated on the trees whirring past.

“Probably has his head stuffed in a book right now. Warding off all the college babes,” Dean gruffed.

In a way, you envied Sam. The way he had the courage to just up and leave like that.

You remember the MIT decision letter you had snuck into your coat a few months back.

After weeks of overthinking and suspicious looks from Dean, you decided to stuff it in your bag and call it a day. You just couldn’t look at it.

What if you didn’t get in?

What if you did?

You were no Sam. You could never stomach facing up to your Dad and leaving your brother

Dean shifted in his seat after a while, sensing your unease,

“You know…it’s alright if you do miss him. Sam. I mean…he is our brother.” he mumbled, checking his mirrors more than he really needed to.

“I know,” You shrugged.

A beat of silence.

“You still got me…the cooler, better-looking older brother,” He added with a smirk.

“You forgot to add graciously humble,” You shook your head, suppressing a yawn.

Dean chuckled, before turning the radio off completely.

“Get some sleep, I'll wake you when we get there.”

You nodded, leaning back and lifting the hood of your fur coat up and over your eyes to get some shut eye.

You and Dean stood just outside the door, crouched in the shadows. The hallway light flickered above like some low-budget horror set.

You huffed as you watched Dean pull out a bent credit card from his pocket with a little smirk.

You crossed your arms, shifting slightly at the idea of breaking into a house so close to a college campus.

He glanced over his shoulder. “You gonna stand there and judge, or are you helping?”

“Stand here and judge.”

The door popped open.

Inside was clean, too clean. Plants in pots. Coasters on the coffee table. You’d bet anything that wasn’t even Jessica’s doing.

Sam was usually the one picking up after you lot, picking up Dean’s clothes, scolding you for leaving half finished mechanical parts on the floor.

You moved silently behind Dean, boots muffled against the hardwood, ears tuned for the sound of movement.

But before you could even get a good look around, a figure launched from the hallway and latched onto Dean.

You jumped, hand already on your gun, but paused when Dean just grunted and twisted out from under him.

“Dean?!” Sam’s voice rang out right before the two of them crashed into the floor.

“Easy, tiger,” Dean chuckled, flipping them over and pinning Sam’s shoulder. “Relax, Sammy. It’s just me.”

Sam shoved him off and stumbled up, panting. “You scared the crap out of me!”

Dean stood, brushing off his jacket. “That’s kinda the point. You’re gettin’ rusty.”

Sam looked between the two of you, eyes narrowing, “You broke into my place?”

Dean shrugged, totally unbothered. “I knocked. Nobody answered.”

“What? With a crowbar?”

Dean held up a bent credit card. “Credit. Give me some credit.”

You snorted, earning a glare from Sam.

Dean looked between the two of you. “I came to get you. Dad he’s missing—”

“We’re not doing this, you’re unbelievable,” Sam said firmly, already folding his arms and turning to you, “And you too.”

“can’t believe you turned down MIT to go ghost hunting,” Sam said suddenly, voice sharp.

You faltered, the comment struck harder than it should’ve. You had called Sam when you finally decided to open the letter a few weeks back. He knew you wouldn’t leave, but tried his best to convince you over the phone nonetheless.

“MIT?” Dean turned to you slowly, brows furrowed.

Sam exhaled, “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did,” you muttered, stepping away and avoiding Dean’s gaze. “But whatever.”

Before the tension could get worse, Jessica padded into the room, rubbing her eyes.

“Sam? What’s going on?”

Dean turned on the charm instantly. “Hey, sorry. We were just talking to Sammy here. Family emergency.”

Jessica blinked at the two of you, confused. “Who…?”

“I’m Y/N,” you said softly, offering a polite smile. “Sam’s sister.”

“Yeah and uh–” Dean stepped in, meeting her gaze with a toothy smile, “I’m Dean, Sam’s older brother.”

“...Oh yeah, y/n and Dean!” Jessica’s brows unfurrowed as she smiled, “Sam always talks about you guys.”

“Yeah, that’s great–you know, I gotta say, you are way out of my brothers league,” Dean chimes in, yet again.

Sam clears his throat, before padding over to Jessica, “Well, we’ll just get back to sleep since the both of you were just about to leave.”

“Actually, we need your help with something.” Dean said.

“With dad,” You look at Sam pointedly as he rolls his eyes at his mention.

“Dad’s on a hunting trip... and he hasn’t been home in a few days.” Dean drawled.

The air shifted. The reluctance drained from Sam’s face, and for the first time in months, you felt that low ache in your chest flare back to life.

The three of you were stuffed into the Impala like some weird dysfunctional family road trip. Instead of visiting the Grand Canyon, you were headed toward a crash site you read about in the newspaper online, Dean supposed it could be a hunt.

You sat in the backseat with Sam, wanting to catch up after all that time apart.

“So,” you said, turning toward Sam. “Jessica seems nice.”

Sam smiled a little. “She is. She’s also doing pre-law.”

You raised a brow. “Wow, I’m almost proud. I mean, how’d you meet someone smart and attractive?”

Dean huffed. “What, you askin’ for dating advice now?”

You shot him a look. “I was talking to Sam.”

Sam grinned, “What?…you still haven’t met anyone?”

You snorted shaking your head,

Sam chuckles, “Come on, you're gonna end up marrying your laptop.”

You jab him on the shoulder, “Would be less work than a guy.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on Dean’s seat, “Speaking of laptops, mine was stuck on BustyAsianBeauties.com for two days last week. Thanks for that.”

Sam’s eyes widened, ducking his head as he clearly suppressed a chuckle.

Dean scoffed.

“That wasn’t me.”

“Sure it wasn’t,” you mumble.

“You don’t need to be talkin’ to guys…” Dean gruffed changing the subject, glancing at you pointedly through the rear view mirror.

“What? Why?” Sam chuckled, “I mean, she has good judgment. You were always telling me to have fun.”

“Well that’s different,” Dean tutted.

“And why’s that?” You ask.

“Cause,” he shrugged, “You’re my little sister, it’s my job to protect you from sleaze bags, you know, men like—“

“Like you?” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Shut up.”

You chuckled as Dean bristled stubbornly.

You figured that overprotectiveness came from the fact that he always had to protect you and Sam from motel creeps growing up, yet another thing Dad wasn’t there for.

But the idea of your Dad was slowly replaced with the thought of how nice it was to have as the three of you together again, just like old times.

The night had cooled, but not enough to be comfortable. The crash smelled like scorched rubber and ozone. Burn marks traced jagged black lines across the pavement, and a twisted car sat gutted beside the road as sheriffs circled the site.

Dean crouched in his seat, rifling through the glove box like it was his personal filing cabinet.

Sam lingered, arms crossed and scowl fully locked in place.

You stood off to the side, fiddling with the EMF.

“Is this even legal?” Sam muttered under his breath, glancing over at the Sheriff’s y’all were about to fool.

You didn’t bother looking up, “Define legal.”

Dean gave a triumphant, “Ha!” and stood, fanning out a neat stack of fake IDs, laminated, precise, complete with official-looking stamps, and your suspiciously youthful looking faces.

Dean handed you one with a smile and nod, “Special Agent Smartass.”

“Screw you,” you mumbled.

Sam frowned as Dean handed him one too. “Where’d these come from?”

Dean notched his head toward you.

You shrugged, sliding yours into your jacket pocket. “Figured Dean would drag you back eventually. Made some extras just in case.”

Sam blinked at the card in his hand, then at you. “You forged FBI credentials for me before I even said yes?”

Dean grinned. “Always prepared.”

“She’s paranoid,” Sam mumbled.

“A thank you would’ve been nice,” you shot back, smacking a hand over the back of his head.

“Ow! You—“

“Ah, I missed this.” Dean mumbled with a dopey smile as the three you of you approached the officers.

“I didn’t.” You and Sam replied in perfect unison, before exchanging a half hearted look.

aaah I hope this was okay.

leave a note, lmk what you think ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

feel free to send in requests!

[daeniradraconis]

i need some angsty am34 in my life so can i please request from the hurt/comfort prompt list number #5 pleasssse

Thanks so much for your request, love! 💞 Sorry it took me a bit, but I needed to get into the right headspace for this. The inspiration for this fic comes from the line: "I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free." I’d definitely recommend listening to the song while reading—it'll set the mood perfectly. Between the Chapters

The drive home is quiet. Too quiet.

Auston’s hands grip the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but you can feel his attention flickering toward you every few minutes. He doesn’t push—not yet—but the tension in the car is thick, the kind that makes it hard to breathe.

You stare out the window, the city lights blurring past as your mind replays the moment over and over again. The way Mitch twirled you around the dance floor, laughter spilling between you. The warmth in his voice when he said, "You know, I knew I was gonna marry Steph seven months in. God, I love her so much!"

Then, he had grinned, nudging your arm playfully. "Next time, it’s you and Auston, right?"

You had laughed, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Because the answer to that question wasn’t simple. And it should be.

Your fingers tighten in your lap as memories surface—memories from five years ago, when Auston first walked into your life. It wasn’t love at first sight. Far from it. He was everything you swore you’d never fall for. Overly confident. Tattooed. Too much muscle for your liking. And worst of all, a hockey player.

As a Toronto native, you knew their kind too well. Hockey boys weren’t built for forever.

But he had been relentless. The first time you met was at your local gym—nothing special, just another Tuesday morning. You were mid-workout when he walked up, all easy confidence and a cocky grin. “Need a spot?” he had asked, nodding toward the weights you were adjusting.

You had barely spared him a glance. “No.”

That should’ve been the end of it. But Auston Matthews wasn’t the type to take no as the final word. Over the next few weeks, he found excuses to strike up conversations—complimenting your form, making jokes, casually mentioning a smoothie place nearby as if he were just waiting for you to ask him to go.

You never did.

Then one day, as you were leaving, your phone buzzed with a new message.

Unknown Number: You should let me take you out sometime. One date. No pressure.

You had frowned down at the screen, already composing a Who is this? text when another message popped up.

Unknown Number: Before you get mad, blame your friend at the front desk. Turns out, I’m very charming when I want to be.

You had groaned, already making a mental note to scold Jacob for giving out your number. But against your better judgment, you had responded.

And that had been the start of everything.

That first date was different. He was different. He charmed you, went beyond what you ever expected, and to your absolute disbelief, you liked him. Enough to say yes to a second date.

And from there, nothing could stop the two of you.

It’s been five years. Five years of love, of happiness. Auston still buys you flowers. Still kisses your forehead every morning before he leaves for practice. You still give him butterflies—he tells you this sometimes, with a sheepish smile, as if he’s confessing a secret.

And yet, despite everything, there’s no ring on your finger.

For the longest time, it didn’t bother you. You were young when you met, and marriage had always felt like something distant. But now, at 28, your perspective has shifted. You want more. And yet, Auston looked perfectly content.

Doubt seeps in like a slow-moving tide. Maybe he loves you, but not in the way that means forever. Maybe you’re not enough. Maybe you never were.

These thoughts have been eating you alive for months. And with Mitch and Steph’s wedding, they’ve only gotten worse.

The car slows as Auston pulls into the driveway, shifting into park. He exhales softly, finally turning to you. His caramel eyes are filled with worry.

"You’ve been quiet."

You hesitate for only a moment before unbuckling your seatbelt. "Just tired."

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either.

Auston doesn’t move as you step out of the car, his gaze following you up the front steps.

The apartment is dark when you step inside, your heels clicking softly against the hardwood. Behind you, Auston shuts the door with a quiet click. Felix, half-asleep, peeks through the open bedroom door, lazily wagging his tail in greeting. You offer a weak smile, stroking his head before making your way to the kitchen for a glass of water—anything to suppress the tightness in your throat.

Auston follows.

"Ok. What’s wrong?"

His voice is soft, cautious, filled with nervousness. This is why you love him. He always knows when something is off. Always sees right through you. But tonight, you wish he wouldn’t. You’re not ready for this conversation.

Still, lying isn’t an option. Not with him.

You take a slow sip of water before setting the glass down. Then, finally, you turn to face him.

"Mitch told me something tonight."

Auston’s brow furrows. "Yeah?"

"He said he knew he was going to marry Steph seven months into their relationship."

Auston’s expression shifts—just for a second—but you catch it. A flicker of something before he schools his face into careful neutrality.

And there it is. He always does this when marriage comes up. Shuts you out.

Your throat tightens. "Did you?"

Auston looks at you — really looks at you — and for a moment, you can see the wheels turning in his head. But he doesn’t answer. The seconds stretch, thick with unspoken thoughts, and you stare down at the counter, your hands gripping the edge, trying to steady yourself. The silence is suffocating, but it’s the kind of silence that comes with an impending storm—the calm before everything changes.

“Why do you keep doing this to me, Auston?” The words come out shakier than you wanted, but at this point, you don’t care. You can’t hold it in anymore.

His expression flickers for a moment, confusion and frustration mixing. He uncrosses his arms slowly, takes a step toward you. “What do you mean?”

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto him. This—this is the moment. The moment when everything cracks open. “You know exactly what I mean,” you snap, taking a step back. “You’ve had years, Auston. Years. You know how much I’ve given you—my time, my heart, my future. I’ve given you everything. And still, it’s not enough. Still, I’m just... waiting. Waiting for you to decide that we matter.”

The words are tumbling out now, faster than you can stop them. You’ve tried to keep it together, tried to be patient, to wait for him to come around, but no more. You can’t keep pretending that you’re okay with the way things are. That your love for him will be enough to bridge the gap.

“I’ve been here with you, Auston. Every step of the way. When the games were long, the seasons brutal. When the media tore you apart, I was here. When you were injured, and your body hurt in ways no one could see, I was the one who held you up. I gave up things—opportunities, parts of my own dreams—to be here for you. To support you. Because I thought we were building something together. And for all of it, I’ve always put you first. I’ve put us first.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of those words settle on your shoulders like bricks.

“But now... I’m 28, Auston. I’ve given you years. I’ve sacrificed things I could never get back. I stepped back from my own career, put my own future on hold to make sure you were okay. I did all of that because I believed in us. But I can’t keep doing it. I can’t keep waiting for something that may never come. I need more, Auston. I need to know if you see this the same way I do. Because right now, it doesn’t feel like we’re in the same page. And I can’t keep building a future with someone who’s still uncertain about theirs.”

The tears you’ve been holding back start to spill, but you don’t wipe them away. This is too important. The weight of it all—the years of support, the sacrifices, the love you’ve given him without hesitation—it’s all too much now. You can’t pretend anymore.

“I feel like I’m just a chapter in your life, Auston. And it breaks me to say it, but I can’t do that anymore. You’ve been my whole damn book. Every page, every chapter, I’ve written with you in mind. I thought that’s what we were building—something we could write together. But right now, it feels like I’m just one part of your story, while I’ve made you my entire life. And that’s not fair to me. That’s not fair to us.”

You shake your head, voice cracking. “I’ve always been here. But I need to know that you’re here too. I can’t be the only one putting everything into this anymore.” You swallow hard, pushing through the emotion, needing to say the words. “I’ve given you my everything, Auston. And I need to know if that’s been enough for you, or if you’re still waiting for something else.”

Auston’s face hardens as your words settle into the air. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but then he pauses, clearly torn. His eyes shift, unable to meet yours for a moment, and the frustration is evident in his clenched jaw.

“I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you,” he starts, his voice quieter now, the weight of your words sinking in. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. You’ve been everything to me. I know what you’ve given up for me, and I don’t take that lightly. You’ve sacrificed your time, your dreams. You’ve been my rock, and I’ve always appreciated it. More than you’ll ever know.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration mounting in his voice.

“But I—I’m just not there yet. I’m not in the place you need me to be. I want to be. God, I do. But hockey, it’s… it’s everything to me right now. And it’s hard, it’s harder than I can explain to you. You don’t know what it’s like to wake up every day with that pressure, knowing that every moment counts, that you have to be perfect every time you step on that ice. And then there’s the schedule, the constant travel… I can’t even count how many times I’ve missed moments, missed your calls, missed seeing you smile because I was stuck in some hotel room or getting ready for a game.”

Auston looks at you, his expression raw, like he’s unraveling inside.

“I’m afraid that if I’m a dad, if we have a family, I won’t be there. I’ll be gone all the time. Always on the road, always focused on the next game, the next season. I’m afraid I’ll be the dad who’s never home, who’s always grumpy, always snapping at everyone because my mind is so deep in the game. And I can’t do that to my kids, Y/N. I can’t be that guy. I don’t want to be the father who can’t enjoy the small moments, the moments that matter, because he’s stuck in his own head, under all that pressure. I know myself enough to know that if I don’t figure this out, I’d be a crappy dad, and I don’t want that. I don’t want that for us.”

His voice cracks, and he steps closer, his eyes pleading with you. “I love you. I love you more than anything. But I’m terrified of being that person. The person who can’t give you and our family the attention they deserve. And I don’t know how to balance that with everything else. I’m just... not ready to be the man you need me to be, not yet. But I don’t want to lose you. So just, please. Don’t go.”

You take a deep breath, but it does little to quiet the ache that’s slowly consuming you. For the first time in a while, you can see the vulnerability in him, the fear he’s been carrying. And as much as you understand him, as much as you appreciate the honesty he’s finally shown, you can’t ignore the ache in your chest.

You look at him, your heart heavy but resolute. "Auston… I get it. I really do. I understand why you’re scared, and I’m grateful that you finally opened up to me. You’ve been carrying all of this inside for so long, and I know it hasn’t been easy for you."

His eyes search yours, still filled with uncertainty, but he doesn’t say anything, just letting you speak.

"But I need to see my future too," you continue, your voice trembling slightly as you try to brush away a few stray tears from your face. "I’ve spent so much of my life putting us first, supporting you, being patient. I’ve always thought we were working toward the same goal, that we were building something together. And Matty, I truly believe you'd be an amazing dad, despite your fears, because you're one of the kindest, most loving person I know. You have so much love to give, and I know you'd share that with our future family. But I also need to be honest with you about what I want. I want to start a family in the near future—not in 5 or 6 years from now. I want that life with you, and I need to see us building that together. I need to feel like you're planning this with me now, not just ‘someday.’ I can't keep waiting, especially if I don’t know whether this is the future you want too."

Auston looks at you, his face paling, confusion and panic starting to cloud his features. His breathing quickens slightly, and his hands twitch, as if he's unsure of what to do next. “I—Y/N, I told you... I do want that, but I’m just not ready yet. I’m not ready to give everything up for it. I can’t be the father I want to be with this career, with this lifestyle. I need more time—"

“I know,” you interrupt softly, your eyes welling with tears. “I understand. But I need more too. And I can’t keep holding on to something that might never come, Auston. I’ve given you everything I can. But I need to think about my own future too. I can’t sacrifice the rest of my life waiting for you to be ready for a future that I’m not sure will happen. I need to save my heart as well.”

Auston’s eyes widen, and his voice cracks, “Y/N, please. Don’t… don’t say that.”

You shake your head, tears now freely falling down your cheeks. “I need clarity, Auston. And I don’t have it. I thought I could wait. I thought we were in this together, but now I’m not sure anymore. I love you. I always will. But I can’t keep living like this. I need more. I need to know that I’m a part of your future, that I’m not just… waiting for you to decide. And I don’t know if I can do that anymore."

Auston steps forward, his voice desperate, cracking under the weight of his own pain. “Please… don’t leave me. I swear, I’ll figure this out. I’ll find a way to make it work. I don’t want to lose you. You’re everything to me. Please don’t walk away…”

You wipe your tears, your heart breaking, but your resolve only grows stronger. “I’m going to stay at my mom’s tonight. I think… I think this is where we end, Matty. I can’t keep pretending anymore,”

Auston looks at you, his eyes filled with pain and confusion, unable to process the enormity of what you’re saying. He takes a step toward you, his hand reaching out as if he could stop you from walking away. “Y/N… I… I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know what to do, but I know I don’t want to lose you. Please, don’t leave me.”

You close your eyes, feeling the sharp sting of finality. The decision is made, yet your heart aches for him in a way you can’t put into words

With a trembling breath, you step forward and gently cup his face, your thumbs brushing away the tears that have started to fall from his eyes. You search his face, seeing the love and the fear, the regret, and the raw emotion.

“I’ll always love you, Auston,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, thick with emotion. "But I can’t keep waiting for you.”

Auston’s eyes plead with you, his hand reaching for yours, his body trembling with emotion. “Please, don’t say goodbye. I’ll do better. I swear. Please, Y/N.”

You take one last deep breath before you step closer, closing the gap between you. Slowly, you lean in, your lips pressing against his for one last kiss—a kiss full of love, of pain, of everything you’ve shared. It’s slow, lingering, as if the kiss itself is trying to hold on to everything that was between you, every promise, every moment, every “what if.”

You pull away from the kiss, but before you can take another step, Auston grabs you, his arms pulling you back into him with a desperate force. His face crumbles, and he’s shaking, tears falling freely as he buries his face into your neck. His hands clutch at you, like he’s trying to hold onto something he knows he’s about to lose.

He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head slowly, his breath ragged with disbelief, as if he can’t comprehend the weight of what’s happening. His entire body trembles against yours. You feel the silent pain pouring from him.

"I’m so sorry," you whisper softly, your voice barely audible as your own tears fall. "I’ll always love you, Auston. And I’ll never forget the way you’ve loved me."

He trembles harder at your words, his hands tightening on you, as if asking for more time, more chances, but you know it’s too late.

With one last kiss on his forehead, you step back, your heart breaking in two. You force yourself to turn, wiping your eyes, and as you walk toward the door, you hear him break down completely behind you.

The door closes softly behind you, but the echo of his cries stays with you.

[pearynice]

Another (late) birthday drabble for @penny00dreadful, because I can’t be on time to save my life, apparently 💗 prompt: protection

Eddie had never wanted Wayne’s protection.

And Wayne didn’t blame him. His boy never got it growing up, when his daddy started taking him on business trips the moment Ed’s hands were big enough to hotwire a car. Didn’t get it when his mama passed away or when his daddy finally pushed the bounds of the law too far, and so by the time Eddie got to him any attempts Wayne made at offering his boy anything more than a place to sleep and food in his belly was met with staunch resistance.

No, he didn’t need Wayne to talk to the teacher about his broken nose. He’d sort it out himself.

No, he didn’t need Wayne to drive him to school. He could walk.

No, he didn’t need Wayne to come with him on visiting day. He could take the bus.

So Wayne had to watch. Had to watch as his boy came home with black eyes and finger-print bruises, came home with stolen lunch money and torn clothes, came home and shrugged off Wayne’s concern.

Wayne loved his nephew. Loved his nephew more than he thought it possible to love anyone or anything. Felt the hurts on his boys skin like they were done tenfold to him, hurting all the worse to know Eddie didn’t want him to do a single thing about it.

But it got better as his boy grew up. Fewer and fewer bigger kids to pick on him, fewer and fewer evenings coming home with bruises on his face and more and more with bruises across his knuckles until Eds was the one protecting others, callin’ them his sheepies, which never made a damn lick of sense but seemed to swell some sort of pride in him, until Wayne could breathe. In and out. Easy, knowing, that for the first time since Eddie came home, he could protect himself.

He should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

Wayne doesn’t think he breathes once on his way to the hospital. Can barely feel his hands on the steering wheel. Can’t hardly read his speedometer and doesn’t think he’d change his speed, even if he could.

Also doesn’t think he’s ever been ruder to anyone in his life than the sweet nurse at the front desk, who he doesn’t give a hello or a goodbye to, just blurts Eddie’s name and bolts off in the direction she points.

And he doesn’t care what Eddie says. Wayne’s gonna lock him up in his room, gonna wrap him up in bubble wrap and chain him to the trailer if that’s what keeps him safe. Because if it keeps Eddie from going missing, from spending night in hospitals, from being plastered across newspapers and god knows what else, Wayne would do anything.

Wayne would do anything.

He thanks a God he hasn’t prayed to since his draft that he at least still has a nephew to protect.

But Wayne nearly doesn’t make it into the room. Someone blocks him. A bloodied, dirty arm swings in front of him before he can get close to Eddie’s bed, words shouted that Wayne only barely catches.

“He’s innocent!”

And—

Wayne recognizes this boy. Harrington, he thinks, although he’s certainly never seen him look like this before. Filthy and bloodied, with a nasty wound wrapped around his neck. He moves like he’s in pain, and Wayne can hear the wet rattle of his breaths.

“He’s innocent.” The boy repeats, and he’s standing between Eddie and Wayne, a guard. Protective.

And Wayne breathes.

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[oncasette]

song lyric prompts : “it’s hard to steer when you’re breathing in my ear but i got both hands on the wheel while you got both hands on my gears.” + jake seresin!! (*kicking my feet and squealing*)

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗟 𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗦 𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗗𝗘

jake seresin x fem!reader

summary: 1k

You can feel the rumble of his voice before he asks, “Whatcha up to, Sugar?”

“Giving you a taste of your own medicine,” you whisper and you revel in the shudder that washes over his body as you bring one of your hands down to rest on his belt buckle. 

or the one where jake works you up enough that you feel the need to retaliate.

warnings: not beta’d, smut, road head (m! recieving), blue balls i guess

masterlist | taglist

You’re two hours into your road trip–a vacation you’d hands planned for months, at this point–when you crack. And it was all Jake’s fault, too. You were going to shoulder exactly zero percent of the blame even if you were the first one to break. 

You’d been huffy since the two of you had left your apartment, arms crossed over your chest and your teeth grinding all the while your boyfriend was showing off all his pearly whites in the biggest, toothiest smile he’d sported since you’d agreed to go out with him for the first time. 

He’d taken your suitcase from you with little more than a delicate pinch at your hip, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth after he got all of your luggage situated in the trunk of the car and moved around to open the passenger door for you. You’d thanked him, of course, but it’d been short and quiet and much less appreciative than it usually sounded when he did those kinds of small acts of kindness for you. 

But it wasn’t your fault, okay, not when he’d been denying you the only thing you’d been asking for all damn morning. He’d started by waking you up from one of your very indulgent dreams about him–a side effect of having a boyfriend that went on missions that sometimes lasted longer than just a couple days–after coming home at 3:30 in the morning. Then, he’d had the gall to work you up with his fingers dipping into the waistband of your sleep shorts moments after you’d been dragged from your sleep, only to leave you high and dry when he opted to take a quick shower instead. Alone. Then, to top it all off, he’d worn the tiniest, itty-bittiest t-shirt known to man. 

Now, here you were, knees and thighs clenched so tight together in the front seat of his truck that you think they were completely stuck together with his right hand pressing into the meat of your leg. 

You can’t take it anymore. Shifting your eyes around your periphery, you make sure the road is deserted enough before you lean onto the center console with the bulk of your weight. He glances over at you for a split second, one eyebrow quirked in question, before he refocuses on the interstate ahead of him. You push up just enough so that your lips are touching the shell of his ear. 

You can feel the rumble of his voice before he asks, “Whatcha up to, Sugar?”

“Giving you a taste of your own medicine,” you whisper and you revel in the shudder that washes over his body as you bring one of your hands down to rest on his belt buckle. 

A very gutteral groan escapes him as you begin to undo it. He brings the hand previously resting on your thigh to white knuckle the wheel. He’s tense. Good. 

Your hand slips in, completely bypassing his briefs, once you’ve got the belt undone enough and the zipper down. You can feel him growing under your touch. Hot and pulsing as you drag your palm over his sensitive skin. 

“Baby?” he asks. Offering him a hum in response, you grip him fully. “Are you sure about this?”

You watch his eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror. 

“Yep.”

He swallows. 

You’re content to stroke his length as he hardens in your grip, beads of his pre-cum pearling at the tip and aiding in your journey up and down his twitching cock. He bucks his hips once and you’re quick to pull your hand out of his pants completely. You swear to god you hear the man whine. 

Despite his previous apprehension, he lifts his hips when you begin tugging his pants and boxer briefs down. Just enough for his dick to spring out, red and angry at the head as it rests against his stomach. You test the waters as you lean down to lick the slit. 

“Eyes on the road, Handsome,” you say when his head falls back against the headrest. His speed had begun to fluctuate significantly, and you’re glad you’d only seen three or so other cars in the last half hour. 

“Fuck,” he grumbles when you take his tip between your lips. One of your hands wraps around his base, gathering the bit of drool already dripping down the sides of him as you begin to shallowly pump what wasn’t in your mouth. God, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get over just how big he was. You hollow out your cheeks as you begin to take him deeper, deep enough that you feel him pressing into the back of your throat. Your tongue lazily grazes against the thick vein running along the underside of his cock. 

“Oh, shit,” he moans. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

The comment has you humming around him, an action that sharply shoots his hips up. Pulling off of him, you use your hand to collect the saliva that had pooled as you raggedly catch your breath. It’s only a few seconds, though, until you’re swirling your tongue around the head again. His hand comes down to rest at the back of your head. Not pushing, or guiding, just following your movements. 

You keep up with your ministrations, your other hand coming in to gently hold onto his thigh, until Jake says, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

It’s only then that you pull away completely, thumb coming up to swipe away the string of spit still connecting you to his dick and you watch with a newfound glint in your eye as his cock twitches helplessly against his stomach. 

“What- Fuck,” he heaves. 

“You started this,” you say, and it takes him a second in his haze, but you can see him recollect the puddle he’d left you in that morning. 

“You’re satan, you know that?” he asks as you tuck him back into his underwear. “Whatever you say, handsome.” You offer him a kiss at the corner of his mouth. 

“Satan,” he says again. “And you are so in for it when we get to the hotel.” “I would hope so,” you say. 

[lnfours]

massive congratulations on 11.8k!!! that is so amazing, so so happy for you!! and thank you so much for such a fun sleepover event💛

🍊 “i don’t think i’ve ever felt the way i do with you with anyone else.” “what does that mean?” “what do you think it means?” with lan🫶🏼 (almost cried reading that prompt actually)

thank u my love 🥺🤍 i also almost cried reading this prompt and then sobbed into my pillow after writing this SO i hope its everything you wanted it to be!

11.8k friends to lovers sleepover

the sound of the door of the hotel room shutting pulled you from your phone, your eyes looking up and meeting the boy dressed in papaya. he tossed his paddock pass, phone and wallet down on the small table in the corner, sighing to himself before kicking off his shoes.

you watched him sadly, not sure of how to start the conversation. you had seen the race, you knew everything people were writing. you say the 'max vs lando fued' headlines reporters were running with. it was hard to not see it, and it was even harder to let him know he had done a good job when he was like this. when he felt that everything he's done wasn't good enough, even if it was. when he blamed every single tiny mistake onto himself. it was hard. hard to see someone you loved and cared for so much beat themself up over something as tiny as a wheel to wheel combat.

so when he turned around, a tired, frustrated and sad look etched onto his face as he looked at you, your only response was to open your arms. and without protest, he climbed onto the edge of the bed and joined you, your arms wrapping around his neck as he laid on top of you, his cheek pressing against your chest, your chin resting on his curls.

"wanna talk about it?" you asked gently.

he shook his head, "tired of talking about it."

you nodded, "then we won't."

he played with the stitching on your shirt, keeping his mind busy from thinking about everything that went wrong. instead, he was thinking about how good it felt to be in your arms. how lucky he was that you'd show up every time he needed you, no questions asked. his heart tightening in his chest as he took in the smell of your perfume, a smell that was once just pleasant now feeling like home.

"i don't think i've ever felt the way i do with you with anyone else." his brain too tired of putting up a fight to filter what his mouth was saying. your eyebrows pulled together as you looked down at him.

"what does that mean?"

"what do you think it means?"

your heart pace skyrocketed and you knew he could hear it, but he didn't mention it. he didn't poke fun of you or say anything about it at all, instead he shifted so he was looking up at you.

"lando,"

"i'm serious," he said, green eyes almost swallowed by how large his pupils were, and now you were wondering how long they've always done that without you noticing, "you're it for me."

you smiled softly, reaching out a brushing his hair back from his forehead, nails scratching his scalp. he smiled back at you, tiredly but you knew the look in his eyes. the look of complete infatuation and love.

"i don't think i've ever felt this way with anyone else either." your voice was barely above a whisper.

that's all he needed to hear before he was cupping the side of your face and pulling you in, his lips meeting yours. a new feeling, but a good one. a feeling that had your body burning and heart racing.

he poured every ounce of pining and love into the kiss as he could as you did the same. pulling away with smiles on both your faces before he started placing kisses all over your face, your cheeks, your nose and your eyelids as you giggled.

[fkinkindagauche]

Brand New Key

This is for @steddiemicrofic January prompt "new". Inspiration taken from the song "Brand New Key", originally by Melanie, but I will admit the version I'm familiar with is Rasputina's.

Rating: T | WC: 517 | CW: None

"That's a nice new ride you've got there."

Eddie's head shot up in surprise, banging against the bottom of the van. He'd been underneath it, getting ready to change the oil. He hadn't even heard anyone walking up.

"Fuck," he muttered, rubbing the knot already forming on his forehead. He looked to the side and saw a pair of bright pink roller skates. Odd, he was pretty sure that had been a man's voice.

He wheeled himself out from beneath the van, feasting his eyes on the glorious man positioned before him. The bright pink roller skates led up to a pair of finely sculpted calves, and then the most delectable thighs he'd ever seen. Short blue shorts and a white crop top completed the ensemble.

Eddie was ashamed at how long it took his eyes to reach the face of the man in question, but, well. He was on the ground. Could he really be blamed?

"I'm Steve," the man announced, face breaking into a smile.

Eddie was dumbstruck. Completely flabbergasted. Pretty sure he'd died and gone to heaven.

"Uh," Steve said after a moment, smile falling. "Sorry, are you deaf?"

He didn't even say it a mean way. He was legitimately asking Eddie if he was deaf.

Eddie shook his head vigorously in an attempt to regain some composure. "No! Not deaf. Sorry. Just - banged my head a little there." He let out a weak chuckle and pushed himself up from the ground.

"I'm Eddie," he said, holding out a hand to this beautiful, god-like creature. This Steve.

Steve took it, giving Eddie's hand a firm shake.

"Not a lot of people our age around here with their own car," Steve said, eyes raking over Eddie's van. "All I've got are these skates." He motioned down to his legs. As if Eddie needed to be reminded they were there. He'd never forget those legs. They were seared onto his retinas. He'd see them every time he closed his eyes, for the rest of his life.

"Yeah?" Eddie asked, somehow finding his voice. "You got places you need to go?"

Steve honest to god batted his eyelashes at Eddie. "A few. What've you got in the back?"

This was definitely heaven. "Not much. Some blankets. A little weed. Wanna see?"

"Yeah," Steve said, voice breathy. A little pink tongue darted out as he licked his lips.

Holy shit. Eddie scrambled around to the back of the van, wiping his engine grease- covered hands on his jeans. He opened the doors and crawled in. Steve clambered in after him, skates thunking heavily on the metal, and pulled the doors shut after him.

"Alright, I've got weed here somewhere," Eddie muttered to himself, rifling through the blankets.

Steve grabbed one of his wrists, stopping his frantic scrambling. "Not really here for the weed, Eddie."

He crawled into Eddie's lap, pressing him against the side of the van. "I've got this brand new pair of roller skates," Steve said, lips almost pressing against Eddie's. "But I've been looking for a different kind of ride for a long time."

Heaven.

[propertyofwicked]

SECRETS part 3 - LN

lando x fewtrell!reader

no content warnings for this part ! :) (there is more fluff in this part, finally)

p.s i wrote half of this on a train that smelt so bad so if its bad we blame thameslink <3

previous part -> next part

masterlist the playlist

max decided he’d talk to his sister later, right now, he needed to focus on being there for lando. right now, they were sat in the mclaren garage, qualifiers underway and lando doing so well. even y/n started to believe she was a lucky charm. and indeed, lando now believed she was 100% his lucky charm.

the moment his post-qualifying responsibilities ended, he came bounding over to y/n and max, first taking max into what y/n could only describe as a bro hug, ending when he swiftly moved to embrace her, mumbling a chant of ‘thank yous’ in her ear. he caught max in an awkward stare, prompting him to let go of y/n.

“thank me? what for? that was all you lan,” she said, smiling up at him as she moved her arms to cross over her chest.

“thanks to my lucky charm,” he said to both of them, but smirking at y/n, “im starting 2nd on the grid tomorrow. strong start means a strong race,” he finished, still beaming from ear to ear.

“me and y/n are going out for some food in a bit if you wanna join mate,” max said, smiling back at his friend.

“yeah sounds good. ive got to shower, but i’ll swing by and pick you both up from your hotel at 5?”

“perfect, see you there mate.”

the drive back to the hotel was silent, y/n assumed her brother was tired, her brother was in fact thinking. more specifically, thinking about his sister and where she had been the night before. he tried to stop his mind wandering further and yet, images of his sister and best friend infiltrated his thoughts. max’s brain couldn’t stop dwelling on the way lando embraced his sister, how his hands gripped at her waist, and then he thought back to that night in monaco. the way his best friend stood behind y/n, his hands on her waist, her head rolled back onto his shoulder as they danced to the music. before he knew it, the fear and anger he thought had dissipated months ago, was bubbling back inside of him, his hands gripping the steering wheel to ground him from the feeling.

y/n noticed. of course she did. spending 20 years of your life around someone tends to give you the ability to read their every emotion - and this one was one that y/n was not too familiar with. max usually held his anger and sadness well, so the only times she’d seen this was in his earlier driving career when races didn’t go his way. she hoped so desperately he wasn’t angry with her, after all, nothing had happened, and as far as she was aware, nothing would happen.

by the time 5 o’clock came around, max had returned to his normal self, conversing with y/n normally. that’s a good sign, y/n thought to herself. and now, he was chatting to lando as he drove them to a restaurant outside of the town they were staying in. it was all going so well, max was calm, y/n and lando were friends again and nothing could ruin this moment.

“y/n, why is your lip balm in lando’s centre console?”

shit.

“oh i think it fell out the top of my bag when i climbed in the back,” she said panicked, her eyes quickly darting to lando, who was suddenly very interested in the road ahead. max seemed ok with her answer, humming with a quick nod before continuing his conversation with lando. y/n, however, was filled with a new wave of anxiety. why did she feel like this? she hadn’t even done anything? and yet, her mind was now plagued with guilt.

her hands came together, playing with her fingers and twisting her rings around to calm the anxious thoughts, a trait she’d had since childhood. lando glanced at her in his rear view mirror, seeing her facial expressions - her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth falling into a natural frown. he then spotted her hands. he tried to join her into the conversation, tried to distract her, but soon enough they were parked and walking into the restaurant. max chose to sit opposite his sister, leaving lando and y/n pushed together in the booth.

her foot tapped the floor, shaking her whole leg, as the boys talked, y/n chiming in occasionally.

“mum and dad are coming up tonight for the race tomorrow,” lando said to max, but his hand came to brush the side of y/n’s bouncing leg, his finger drawing small circles on her thigh, “they’re staying in your hotel i think.”

“good thing you did well today then isn’t it,” max replied, laughing slightly, “i can drive them to the track tomorrow morning if they want?”

“i’ll ask, im sure they’ll be glad. dad hates driving before my races, gets to nervous and forgets to indicate,” lando responds, joining max in laughing at the thought of adam norris forgetting how to drive.

“i’m just gonna run to the toilet, do either of you want a drink whilst im up?” max asked, pushing his chair back under the table as he stands. y/n nods, asking for another diet coke whilst lando declines, holding up his half full glass.

the moment max disappears from sight, lando takes y/n's hand in his, brushing his thumb up and down the back, her leg slowing its bouncing.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, quietly, sad eyes coming to meet hers.

“my lip balm lando. i don’t want to know the conclusions max will jump to, and i don’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger.”

“it’ll be fine, i promise. he’s got nothing to be angry about, we’ve done nothing wrong.”

“you didn’t see him earlier. i thought he was going to rip the steering wheel off.”

“we’ve done nothing wrong,” he repeats, “besides, you’re a grown woman who makes her own life decisions. fuck it if he has a problem.” y/n nodded in response. he had a point. she was a strong independent woman, she didn’t need her brothers permission to do anything.

for the rest of the evening, she re-joined conversations, feeling a new sense of confidence in herself that she had been lacking all weekend.

-

race day had approached quickly, y/n found herself sat in lando’s drivers room. max and lando’s parents had gone for a walk to grab some food, leaving the two of them alone. lando was pacing, his pre race nerves grew stronger every minute. quite frankly, y/n was sick of it - she sat back on the sofa, her eyes darting back and forth like the audience at a tennis match as she followed lando’s strides back and forth across the small room.

“lan?” she asked him, but he didn’t stop moving, and barely grunted to acknowledge that she’d spoken.

“lando? can you stop pacing? you’re making me dizzy,” she said with a sigh, and he finally came to a stop, and turned to look at her.

“sorry,” he said, smiling at her, as she stood up and walked towards him.

similar to last night, she took both of his hands in hers, pulling them to rest at the top of her chest. her eyes found his, staring directly into them.

“you nervous?”

“how could you tell?” he said, laughing slightly.

“you don’t need to be, you smashed qualis and you’ll smash this. besides, your lucky charm is here to save the day,” y/n said, adding a grin at the end of her sentence. the room fell into silence as he mulled her words over in his head. she was still looking at him, and he tried not to break the eye contact, but his eyes gradually dropped to look at her lips. she was still smiling at him, trying to calm him down the only way y/n knew how to. and she was still smiling at him when he leant down slightly, closing the gap between them even more.

“can i kiss you?” he asked slowly, as if to test the waters, the tension between them rising more than it ever had.

“i think that would be ok,” she said. he didn’t wait to join their lips together finally, pressing a soft kiss to her lips as his hands dropped from hers to fall and grip her waist softly. y/n’s hands moved to rest on the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, his tongue swiping her lower lip as her mouth parted to deepen the kiss.

he could’ve stayed in that moment forever, and he would’ve if a knock hadn’t interrupted the moment - y/n tensed up at the sound.

“lando are you ready? it’s time to get in the car.”

“uhh, yea. just give me a second,” he said, glancing down, first at y/n, panic leaving her shoulders as she established it wasn’t max, and then down to his fireproofs, readjusting the rest of his suit around his waist.

“we need you now, lando,” the voice said again, staying behind the door.

“we’ll continue this later,” he said pressing another kiss to her lips and her forehead, before walking to the door.

she grabbed her phone, her best friend was the only person she could trust to advise her now.

“well done lando, that’s p2,” lando’s race engineer announced through the radio, cheers erupting in the garage. y/n moved to cisca’s embrace, celebrating his win, after spending the entire race on the edge of their seats. the group, consisting of max, y/n and lando’s parents moved round to where lando’s car would pull in, excited to celebrate his podium with him.

when he was finally free from the cockpit, he moved to push his visor up, eyes darting around the crowd in hopes of spotting a familiar face. he spotted his mum first, and then the girl stood next to her. her smile could outshine the sun, he had thought to himself as he made great strides towards the group. lando reached over the low fencing, grabbing his mum into a tight embrace, her hand rubbing up and down his back supportively. when he stepped back and looked to his right, he saw y/n again. still smiling up at him. he would never get tired of seeing her smile.

his hands moved to her face, holding her jaw, eyes staring into hers. she couldn’t see his smile through his helmet, but she knew he was beaming. her own hands had risen to hold the sides of his helmet. he stared for a second longer before moving to pull her into an embrace tighter than his mums.

“my lucky charm,” he said to her, loud enough for a few people around her to hear.

“go get weighed and finish up. ill see you after,” she said as he pulled back, him nodding at her. just as he turned to celebrate with the rest of the team, she pulled him back.

“oh, and lando - im proud of you.” with that he left.

y/n turned to her side, looking at cisca, who was still smiling, an odd glint to her eyes. she then turned behind her, expecting to see her brother. but he wasn’t there.

“adam? where’s max?” she asked the man who had been stood next to max.

“he, um, he just left. didn’t say anything to me. he just kind of, walked off?” lando’s dad responded, looking as confused as she did.

this was not good. in fact, this was very bad.

★ ☆ ✦ ✧ ✩ ✶

tag list: @harrysdimple05 @scopeiguess @hiireadstuff @landosgirlxoxo @natt9598 @phantomxoxo @val-writes @secretgal66 @ririyulife @littlehoneyfreak @leclercdream

[unlosts]

is it casual now?

prompt: “i’ve never noticed how nice your voice sounds up close.”

1.5k words

_

There are many things you shouldn’t do in the BAU, you shouldn’t talk to Spencer about astrology unless you want a 46 (yes counted) minute lecture on the impossibility of the stars to predict your personality (funnily enough what a Virgo going through his Saturn return would do, but you thought it best to keep that one to yourself). 

You shouldn’t ignore JJ when she’s showing you cute Herny pictures even though she has in fact shown you those exact same ones about 4 times before. 

You shouldn’t invite Hotch to go for drink after a case, but that’s mostly because thats’s been - statistically speaking - a waste of everyone's time.

And above all you should not go drink for drink with Emily Prentiss, no matter how much she dares you to. 

But seeing as you were able to read Spencer his horoscope, JJ kept it to only two pictures today and Hotch did, in fact, agree to go out with all of you. You decided that it was a good enough night to tempt fate. 

Like Icarus you flew too close to the sun only to crash and burn. 

Only you crashed and burned into the back of your boss's car.

The five Cuba Libres you drank sat heavy on you, but at that moment you thought that the thing really making you dizzy was Hotch sitting next to you. His profile illuminated by the passing lights, occasionally tinted red by the streetlights. You wanted to reach out and touch his face, see if the color bleed into your hands. 

Old movie star handsome turned technicolor. 

You rested your head back in the passenger seat, closing your eyes for one moment only to feel his hand on your leg softly shaking you awake. 

“C’mon, don’t fall asleep yet, we’re almost there” Despite his words he spoke softly, and you couldn’t help but think that he never sounds like this at work. 

“I’ve never noticed how nice your voice sounds up close.” It seemed your words took him by surprise as much as they did you because he kept his hand right there on your thigh as he drove.  

But a lot of things could be blamed on your blood-alcohol level so there was not much to lose now. 

“Yeah you usually sound very strict but that’s the voice you use when you talk to Jack, it’s nice, a little less deep but … soft yknow?” 

“I..” He seemed caught between looking at the road and wanting to keep looking at you “I never thought about that” 

“That’s okay” you said right before a yawn cut you off “I notice you plenty for the both of us” 

“You do?” He asks tentatively as he pulls into your apartment complex. 

“Oh yeah” You reply smiling back at him, daring him to ask for more. 

“Like what?” His tone is hushed, a little shy in a way you only dreamed of hearing. 

“hmmm” you pretend to think, if only to extend the moment, and also quite distracted by his hands on the steering wheel as he parked, the loss of his hand on your leg a minor price to pay. 

“You always take your coffee black but that’s only because it’s easier when in reality you like it better with a splash of milk and two sugars “

As you spoke you both leaned closer and closer to each other.   

“You pretend you don’t have time to hear Pen describe in detail each episode of the Bachelor, but you take an abnormally long time heating up your lunch every time she’s doing it” 

“Oh” you whisper “and you wanna kiss me real bad right now”

“I do?” he asked just as hushed, as if afraid that if he speaks any louder you’ll realize what you’re saying and stop.

“Oh yeah, actually ever since my like fifth case when I told that detective to fuck off and you preteneded to be mad at me for it” 

“Well, It seems profiling is your calling after all” 

“You do only hire the best of the best” Right as you’re done speaking he leans over and kisses you. 

The bubbles from the rum and coke just as fizzy on your tongue, and making you feel just as drunk. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer, crowding yourself against the passengers side door. His hands roaming your back and messing up your hair. 

The feeling of him above you all encompassing, the cedar and vetiver smell of his cologne and the warm strong muscles of his shoulders under your hands moving as one of his hands reached up to the back of your neck making you dizzy. 

You wanted to live right in this moment as long as you could. 

“Wait” Hotch said as he pulled away for a moment, panting and out of breath, lips red and tie askew making you want to pull him back “I didn’t want to do it like this” while he spoke you pressed one kiss against the side of his neck which seemed to render him speechless for a moment, his eyes closed before he kept going.  

“I wanted to ask you out and kiss you at the end of the night, in your doorstep, not“ he said pointedly, bringing back his unit chief voice ”the car.” 

“Well” you sighed “if you insist on cutting the night short” 

“I do, but just this once” He replied with a small crooked smile. 

“Fine, but quit smiling like that or we’ll be here a while” 

“Duly noted” 

He still insisted on walking you to your door, all the way up to the third floor. His coat over your shoulders at his insistence to keep the chill away gave you the chance to press the collar. 

At your door you took off his jacket to give back but when you extended it to him he just kept his hands in his pockets, instead of taking it. 

“Keep it and give it back to me tomorrow”

“Tomorrow?” 

“Yes, tomorrow at dinner, after you’ve had the chance to sleep off the hangover I’m going to pick you up and take you to dinner” 

“Couldn’t resist waiting another day huh?” 

Hotch just laughed a little and looked back at you. He lingered on your doorstep looking at you and you decided to cut it short before he had to take you out for breakfast instead. 

“See you tomorrow Hotchner” 

[beanarie]

21 hours

i just kept rolling around the moment from my last fic when tommy said "i turn into the unabomber when i get scared, just ask hen and howie" and i wondered, what could possibly be scarier than thinking he might lose buck right after getting him back. (tw: panic attacks)

~

Hen's feelings on Tommy Kinard are... malleable. He was trash when they met, and for a solid few months after that. They remained on the same crew, struggling and bleeding and getting each other out of scrapes. That built a measure of trust. After Gerrard and the worst of his minions vanished, he changed. Became almost sweet. He and Chimney, who had always been okay, hit it off like a house on, you know. Hen liked this new version of her teammate, who seemed to be finding his feet after losing some seriously bad influences. She enjoyed their group hangouts. Maybe a year after his transfer to Air Ops, her friend Casey shared that Tommy was gay and out to his new unit, which, good for him.

She never forgot the asshole who helped make her feel like she would never belong, but he got smaller over time, easily overtaken by whoever Tommy felt like showing her.

The call today was going fine until it all went to hell, another unwelcome similarity to the night Buck got struck by lightning. The victims were alert and on their feet, ambulating on their own power right ahead of him, when he saw the heavy mahogany shelving unit lose its moorings and shoved the family out of the way just in time. That of course put him right in its path.

For a long, terrible minute while he was pinned she and Chim thought they didn't have a pulse. But it was there. They found it eventually. And he made it to the hospital without crashing.

Having heard a little about Buck's efforts to rekindle their relationship (along with his feeble arguments that they were strictly platonic), Hen isn't shocked when Tommy shows up at the waiting room. But she wasn't expecting the asshole.

Chimney eyes her, asking if she's seeing what he is. They recognize this man. The linebacker set of the shoulders, the distancing lift to his chin. Bobby asks him if he wants coffee, and he simply wrinkles his nose.

He's pissed. Maybe he blames them for letting Buck get hurt.

"Enough," Eddie says, flinging himself out of the chair. "We're taking a walk."

"Don't speak for me," Tommy spits out.

"Now," he growls.

Surprisingly, Tommy goes, but Hen isn't sure that's a good thing. Eddie has a history of making problems worse with his fists. Chim is on the phone with Maddie, figuring out the logistics of two scared parents who can't be in two places at the same time. He's no help. Hen considers asking Bobby if they're gonna let Buck's sort of ex and his best friend lay each other out while he's in emergency surgery. But he's never really up for mediating nonsense when one of them is badly hurt, especially not when it's Buck.

The surgeon comes out and speaks for a moment. Hen now has a compelling reason to intervene. She turns a corner and soon finds them. Eddie leaning in, glaring, while Tommy cuts him off and stalks away a few paces.

"You're not even trying," Eddie says tightly.

"Shut up." Tommy whirls back the way he came, breathing hard.

"Three things. Chim's baby could do it and he can't even sit up by himself."

"One day, Eddie. One. Are you fucking kidding me?"

Hen blinks. Tommy sounds like he's holding back tears.

"Tommy, man, come on. If you pass out and end up in the bed right next to Buck, he'll 100 percent blame me. Get it together."

The dots connect themselves. The pacing. The irregular breathing. Eddie prompting him to list three things. Tommy is having a panic attack.

"Guys?" Hen says. Tommy's head snaps up. Their eyes meet and if she wasn't already sure, this would do it. That isn't anger. That's pure terror. "Surgery went well. They're wheeling Buck into recovery. They said someone can go be with him when they bring him around."

"Tommy's going," Eddie announces. "If he can remember how to breathe."

Tommy has a hand on his own chest. "Dickhead."

"Hen, can you walk him over?" Eddie raises one shaking hand. "I need to sit for a minute."

Tommy's eyes widen. "Shit, Eddie, I didn't even ask." Tommy comes close to invading Eddie's space, stopping only when Eddie holds him off.

Eddie gives him a half-smile. "I'm fine, Tom. The rest of us are all fine. It's just an adrenaline dump. I'm gonna call my kid and let him bitch about organic chemistry and the school musical until my heart stops pounding." He squeezes Tommy's shoulder and gives him a shove. "Go on."

All the way down the hall, Tommy mutters to himself, trying to do what Eddie asked and regulate his breathing, but it doesn't seem to be working.

"What happened yesterday?" Hen asks curiously, stuck on his earlier comment.

He's so surprised his lungs stutter to a complete stop. He looks down at her, blinking hard, and he shakes himself. "We agreed to try again," he says.

"Damn," she blurts out, and almost apologizes before he lets out a humorless little laugh.

"I know!"

She doesn't tell him how it felt to watch her son coding not two weeks after they got her daughter back. She's not sure how to say this is just their lives, that the only reason they get through it is because they have each other. He's spent enough time observing them.

They've reached the recovery room. Tommy cracks his neck and straightens his spine. "Hen?" he asks, tentatively, pausing with one hand on the double doors. "Do you need to go home? Karen-"

"Isn't expecting anything but updates from me until morning," Hen says. This isn't a regular day.

He nods. "Can you stick around? Some of these doctors suck at communicating and- and I want to make sure I'm ready for whatever he's gonna need."

So maybe he has figured it out. "No problem, Tommy. I'll be right here."

"Thank you." He takes a deep breath and pushes the doors open. Through the split second sliver before they swing shut again, she catches a glimpse of Buck on the gurney, his face mottled with purple from the books that flew off the top shelf (an encyclopedia, like they used to keep in the '90s). He looks terrible. When he wakes up for real, he's gonna feel even worse. But she's pretty sure he'll be just fine.

[captain-huggy-bear]

I was watching the video where the Utah team were asked their Karaoke song, Clayton's being Wagon Wheel. Then I listened to it and then I realised that I think he'd call you mama when you're pregnant (tbh I think he'd sometimes call you it even if you're not pregnant or a mum) Also I'm less than 200 away from 1000, should I do a celebration? Maybe prompt lists or something idk? Let me know what you think baring in mind it'll probably take me 500 years to write everything anyway lol Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

You feel like a very sick, very achy whale. That's really the only way to explain how being 7 months pregnant felt. You were dealing with feeling sick every day, baby deciding she wanted to twist and turn at all hours and kick you at every opportunity. She was heavy as well causing your back to ache, your ankles to swell and your entire body to hurt.

You're just trying to grab something to eat but have to stop halfway to the kitchen, hands pressing to your back, leaning in such away that your bump presses out further. You're starting to get fed up with this pregnancy stuff and Clay hates watching you feel so wrong in your skin every day...even as he thinks you look the most beautiful you ever have, carrying his baby.

Hands are sliding over your lower back, long sturdy fingers pressing into the tense muscle there as Clay presses his chin to your shoulder, having spotted your discomfort a mile off. He knows this pregnancy is being rough on you and he's trying his best to be attentive, supportive even when he's away on a roadie.

"How you doin', mama?" Even as you're annoyed at him for getting you pregnant and putting you in this position, you can't help but relax into him, shoulders pressing back against his chest as his hands move around to your belly, rubbing across the taut fabric of your t-shirt there. The moment you found out you were pregnant Clay had started calling you mama more than he called you baby, a shift that melted you ever single time. Even when you were irrationally and hormonally angry at him.

"Everything hurts and your baby is making me sick." You moan at him, huffing and annoyed even as your body relaxes into him, putting your weight back on him. He just huffs out a laugh at you, knowing you're not actually upset with him and that even if you were he has no right to be upset about that. Not when you're dealing with all the aches and pains of giving him a baby.

"My baby? Mama, you cannot blame me entirely for her actions." He says this even as she kicks you under his palms as if she knows exactly where his hands are and aims for them. You're almost certain she'd be a penalty box baby.

"You put me in this position."

"I know...I know." He hushes you, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He feels bad on some level for how uncomfortable you are, even as he's happy you're having his baby, "What's hurting the most right now?"

"My back, your baby is a fucking giant. Big ass head." It's ridiculous you think, that he's only 5ft 10 and yet his baby feels like a giant. You can't even begin to contemplate how large she'd be if he'd been someone like Michael...it makes you shudder in dread. God help his future partner if she decides to have a baby with him.

"C'mere, mama." He's pulling you back against him even as you start to resist his movements, trying to pull away from him unsure what he's about to do and overly suspicious of his motives. You don't want any of his hairbrained schemes right now, you're too uncomfortable for it.

"Clay..?"

"Come here. Trust me, baby." You stop resisting until he's pressed flat against your back, hands sliding over your bump and underneath with a softness, a gentleness that always surprises you. For a man who can shoot a puck at 90mph he can be astoundingly gentle.

It's almost a shock, the good kind, how Clay's large hands cup your belly from underneath and lift until he's taking the brunt of the 10lbs you're certain your baby is going to end up being.

"Oh..." You sigh back into him, relaxing so completely that you're almost jelly. Head leaning back onto his shoulder, eyes closing. It's instant relief from some of the back pain and the aches, all of that weight lifted from you by his hands so easily because to him the weight is nothing, but then he's not carrying it all day, every day.

"That feel better, mama?" He mumbles it against your temple, pressing intermittent kisses there as he watches the way you ease into him, the smile of relief on your face. You're his baby too, his first baby, and you're important, as important if not more than his baby baby. Taking some of the pressure off you, helping you feel good? That's more important than anything else.

"Mmmmm...yeah, much better." You're so soft against him, pliable, boneless. Clay feels a certain sort of pride at the fact he's able to help like this, that he can take some of that pain and pressure away even for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry she's being mean to you..." God, he can't wait to meet her, but he also hopes she's not as difficult once she's here. Terrified she's going to be a hellion that has him pulling his hair out from stress. All she's done is spend the pregnancy kicking you, keeping you awake at night and making you vomit while making you crave food you hate and be unable to stomach foods you love. If anyone should get an award for patience and resilience it's you.

"She's going to be a handful...but I love her anyway." You smile as he kisses your temple again, firm enough you can feel it, but not too rough that it'll jar you.

"You're going to be the best mama, baby."

"I hope so..." You mumble as he eases your belly back down. Pulling you to lay on the couch with your swollen ankles in his lap. Fingers massaging against the swollen skin as you lean back into the couch pillows.

"You worried?" He watches you, assessing you as he works his fingers into the arch of your heel, pressing at tense little spots. You're biting your lip worriedly as you watch him, gone into that spot in your head you go to sometimes, even as your hand strokes across your belly in an attempt to sooth the baby who's started kicking you again.

"Mmm, just get scared sometimes that she might hate me," There's this part of you that's terrified you won't bond with your baby, that no matter how hard you try she won't love you back...or worse that you'll mess up, do something that makes her hate you.

Clay's hand smooths up your calf to the back of your knee, his eyes impossibly soft as he looks at you. A gentle reassuring smile pulling at his lips.

"Not possible, mama. Promise she's going to love you as much as I do."

And you believe him. In that moment, it's hard to imagine that Clayton's wrong. He knows you better than anyone else, the only other person who knows your baby almost as well as you do. Knows what makes her kick, how best to get her to settle so you can sleep and what foods stop her making you vomit. In that moment you can't imagine that he could possible be wrong and it makes you want to cry because all you want is to be a good mum to your baby, to be a good partner to Clay, to have it all work out.

"...thank you."

"Anytime, mama."

[forgeofthenine]

How do you think things would play out if insecure human Tav had feelings for Dammon, but she mistakenly thought he was hitting on Karlach all those times he helped her with her heart? With Tav being oblivious and mistakes that it’s because she is human and that Karlach is a tiefling that he has no interest in her, but in reality he does. How do you think Dammon would respond if there’s a little comment like: “I know it’s Karlach you were hoping to see.”

I'm not sure if I leaned too into the insecure descriptor in the prompt, especially after not doing any writing for so long, but I hope everyone's able to enjoy. I missed my main man so much <3

She isn't you

"I know it's Karlach you were hoping to see."

You can see the whites of Dammons eyes grow as soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, shock washing over him. It's something you'd tiptoed around for months. The way Dammon looks at Karlach, how he gravitates towards her, how that kills you inside. No one could blame you for falling for the sweet blacksmith with his easy smile and firm confidence.

He'd spent these past months giving your companion the gift of touch back, laughing at her raunchy remarks and looking at her like she'd hung the moon and stars. Hours were spent in his forge fixing her heart, idle chatter between the three of you the only real entertainment. Hours of inadvertently third wheeling them all because of your own unrequited crush. Karlach was your friend though, and if they were happy then you weren't going to interfere.

His lips part slowly. Beautiful, chapped lips you so desperately want to kiss but know you never will. Soon, Dammon finds his voice again. He seems so genuinely confused, as if he can't understand where you got that idea.

"Why would I want Karlach when you're here?"

A long tail flicks behind him, nearly taking out a table leg. A concerned look covers the blacksmiths face as he leans in, hands spreading over his workbench. "Not that Karlach isn't lovely, she is, but I'd prefer to have you here." Dammon clarifies carefully.

It's your own turn to gawk now, looking at the teifling standing there in the firelight. You'd never expected this, to have him so quickly disagree with something you were so certain of. "But... Aren't you and Karlach..." You trail off, unsure of how to word things, picking at your nails.

"Aren't we... what? Seeing each other?" Dammon asks, rounding his work bench with a small chuckle, the wooden floor creaking under steady steps. "Is that assumption what's held you back?" His calloused hand takes yours, smoothing a thumb over your skin as the tiefling draws in your gaze. Blue eyes crinkle at the corners with a small grin, a teasing smile appearing on the blacksmiths face.

"Well, isn't it true?" You gape, gripping his hand. The new brazenness draws a full laugh from the tiefling, topped off with a shake of his head. It's a dumbfounding revelation, after months of near torture watching the two of them only to find out none of your assumptions were true. "Stop laughing, I'm being serious-" You insist, a small frown growing on your face.

Dammon calms himself, still grinning down at your pout. "I know, and I'm sorry." His voice is lower now, missing that teasing lilt you love so much. "There's nothing happening between Karlach and I, promise. I did ask her for some advice, though." He adds, gently squeezing the hand enveloped in his.

You cock your head, wondering whatever advice he could've gotten from Karlach. Something to do with Avernus or leaving the hells? Something tiefling related? The visible confusion almost makes Dammon laugh again, but he contains himself. Instead, a firm tail snakes it's way around your leg, winding around you with a firm pressure.

"I wanted to know how best to ask one of her friends out."