#if anyone comes into my space and starts saying shit like 'all people with x disorders are abusive horrible people' I will block them

[razzberrydazz]

Me, realizing one of the many reasons I like Shadowheart and Astarion so much is because they read as having BPD to me, because I am a person with BPD and I project myself the hardest on characters I see myself in. It's MY comfort characters and I'll project on them however much I want 🤡😈

So I broke down the base criteria of BPD symptoms (you only need to tick 5 of the 9 criteria to be able to be diagnosed with BPD) and how both Shadowheart and Astarion can be interpreted as having and expressing the various behavioral criteria.

The main criteria: Fear of Abandonment, Self-Harm and/or Suicidal Thoughts, Chronic feelings of Emptiness and Dissociation, Unstable Self-image and sense of identity, history of unstable relationships, impulsive and self-sabotaging behavior, mood swings, extreme anger, Paranoia and disconnect from reality. It's not explicitly a criteria, but it's incredibly common if not a prerequisite that people with BPD have prolonged past trauma that caused them to have these maladaptive behaviors.

Both Astarion and Shadowheart have the traumatized unstable past to explain their behaviors (Shadowheart DEFINITELY has SEVERE childhood trauma since she got kidnapped and forced into a horribly abusive and manipulative cult, while Astarion has the trauma from Cazador's centuries of abuse and manipulation)

Both of them have SEVERE trust issues (Shadowheart from being in a cult as well as her attempts to pit Tav against Lae'Zel because she's distrustful of her {she has good reason to be when she's carrying a Gith artifact, as well as the Githyanki's long history of brutality and oppressive regimes}, Astarion from being so severely abused by Cazador despite his attempts to please the vampire lord, both of them can latch onto Tav and trust Tav entirely too Much once they're shown a shred of decency)

Both have Extreme fear of abandonment that they deal with in different ways (Shadowheart avoids abandonment by generally pushing people away and keeping them at arm's length so she can't grow attached especially if she stays Sharran, then latches onto the player far more than she should if no longer Sharran because Tav is her last tether of trust and warmth; Astarion avoids abandonment by trying to seduce you and get in your good graces as quickly as possible)

Both have unstable self-image and identity (Astarion doesn't even remember his own face before turning into a vampire, Shadowheart has to double down and recite the Sharran dogma to herself near constantly because she is unsure of her faith and by act 2/3 has QUITE an existential crisis on her relationship with Shar and Selune and cuts her bangs and even dyes her hair if no longer Sharran)

Both have a history of unstable relationships (Shadowheart can't even remember most of her possible past relationships due to the memory wipes, the main relationship she does remember is that of her with her cruel capricious goddess Shar, and if you go Selune route in Shadowheart's personal quest she will latch onto Tav and ask them to be with her forever with the clear implication that she's afraid Tav will leave her; Astarion hadn't been able to maintain a single good relationship in his entire time under Cazador because he had to lure his lovers to his master)

Both have impulsive and self-sabotaging behaviors ESPECIALLY Astarion imo (Astarion's perceived initial hypersexuality and inability to say no to sexual intimacy for most of the game, his want to do the ritual which overall has a far worse outcome for himself and others, his attempt to feed from Tav without their consent and possibly kill them in the process, his approval and encouragement of evil actions that reinforce that Tav is not trustworthy; Shadowheart's attempt to kill Lae'Zel by holding a dagger to her throat while she slept was definitely an impulsive act, and if she throws away the spear of night in act 2 that was Definitely done by impulse and not of active thought, and her cutting and dying her hair was most definitely done on impulse imo)

Both appear to have chronic feelings of emptiness and dissociation (Astarion largely because of the chronic vampiric gnawing hunger as well as him appearing to dissociate during some sex scenes, Shadowheart feeling emptiness largely due to the loss of her memory and mind as well as her dissociating via prayer because Sharrans try to empty themselves of all emotion to feel the emptiness and loss that Shar upholds)

Both of them have appear to have varying anger issues (not as much as other characters at times, as both Karlach and Lae'Zel DEFINITELY have worse anger issues at first glance if you ask me) and different ways they deal with it (Astarion is quite murder happy about it, such as when he can kill the Gur bounty hunter without caring for Tav's input, and Shadowheart's anger and resentment towards Lae'Zel and Selunites causes her to verbally lash out at any mention of Selune while at one point physically threatening Lae'Zel with her dagger and possibly killing her if Tav doesn't intervene or eggs her on, though I think most of Shadowheart's anger is turned inward and turned into her mentally anguishing that she's not a good enough devotee to her goddess)

Both have Extreme paranoia and suspicion of others (Shadowheart is distrustful of others by default and is especially paranoid about Lae'Zel due to her being Gith, Astarion is paranoid of being taken back to Cazador and holds Tav at knifepoint at first accusing them of being the one that kidnapped him before Tav assuages his fears)

Of the BPD criteria, I'd say outright Self-Harm and Suicidal Ideation shows up in both Shart and Astarion the Least (Gale has EVERYONE beat in the suicidality department); they both most definitely want to live, though they both still do Self-Harm usually through their self-sabotaging actions. I wouldn't count Shadowheart's stigmata hand wound as Self-Harm since it was Shar that inflicted that on her and not Shadowheart inflicting it on herself. If anything, it could be argued that Shadowheart purposely doing things she knows Shar would dislike in order to activate the wound is some form of self harm possibly? Shar is her abuser so I still am firm that her wound is not Shadowheart harming herself even if she knowingly does things to activate it because it is the fault of her abuser for hurting her.

As for extreme mood swings, often times those can be pretty well concealed and be mostly internal instead of external if someone is good enough at masking their emotions. Of the party members, Shadowheart and Astarion and Gale mask their emotions the most. Karlach has pretty outward mood swings, she's very expressive, while both Shadowheart and Astarion (and Gale) are typically pretty withdrawn and wear a mask of false smiles. Shadowheart definitely seems to be chronically depressed or otherwise ruminating and not having a good time mentally. If she has mood swings they are likely turned inwards and not outwards. She does have outbursts of anger and panic indicative of rapid mood swings at times, however. Astarion's dramatic catty antics could be read as mood swings judging how he reacts to Tav's various actions. Both he and Shart are very catty.

Overall, both Shadowheart and Astarion can be read as having enough matching behaviors to the BPD criteria for me to confidently say they're coded to have BPD, even if it's not explicitly stated as such.

Sidenote, sometimes people with BPD can experience minor hallucinations especially auditory hallucinations, and Shadowheart most Definitely had auditory hallucinations of Shar judging and shaming her if you ask me. It could have actually been Shar in her head yes, but it could also just as easily have been Shadowheart's own mind tormenting her.

BPD can also possibly predispose people towards Psychosis, black and white thinking, and delusions, though it's not a definite. Astarion's obsession with completing the ritual insisting it will protect him for good could be seen as a possible delusion of grandeur. Shadowheart definitely has black-and-white dogmatic thinking while under Shar's thumb. They need so much healing.

All of this is my interpretation to support my headcanons of course, these also enable my shameless projecting on these two catty characters. I'm a borderline bitch and if I can't get a stable personality myself, store bought is fine!

A lot of stuff is speculative and that's fine with me.

[always-just-red]

hihihi! sylus girlie here. as a college student i often never take breaks whenever im working and often stay up late finishing up assignments. then i stress out but never tell anyone and suffer in silence:’) i was wondering if you could do something similar with sylus x mc where mc often forgets to take breaks at the hunters association and is always the first the volunteer for missions so she could improve.

but then it’s starting to take a toll on her and is so so stressed, but feels bad about venting to someone or saying no to new missions.

maybe one day she’s doing a simple task like cooking herself dinner (or something) but accidentally burns herself and she just ends up breaking down and decides to call sylus and he immediately goes to her. :’)

feel free to decline or change anything! i just like the thought of someone comforting u when ur overworked and stressed bc i wish someone would do that to me lol.

Fast-tracked this one for you, anon! I'm really sorry you're having a tough time right now, and I hope this brings you a bit of comfort- remember, Sylus would want you to take care of yourself! Good luck with all your studies, and feel free to send in another request if ever you need it! 🥰

Technical Difficulties

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Genre: fluff + comfort ft. a very domestic Sylus!

Warnings/Additional tags: stressed reader (has a lil bit of a breakdown!), some swearing, uses of 'kitten' and 'sweetie', Sylus is so soft here he should come with a health warning tbh

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

In the event of a wanderer incursion where evacuation of citizens is obstructed or otherwise not viable, association protocol 32.3-A dictates that you should first… That you should first… What?

Your pen is poised above the blank space where your answer should be. 32.3-A is a general procedure: something to do moving people to the nearest shelter. Or, wait— are you supposed to try to contact support, first?

You drop your pen with a huff and flop face-down onto the mock exam. It’s too much. Too much information, too much responsibility. Open textbooks are spread over your desk and around your head like an unholy halo— stacks of them, filled with codes and procedures. They’re supposed to be helpful, but they’re not; they’re drowning you.

Your phone pings and you glance up. Text from Tara:

Hi! Hate to be a bother, but did you finish glancing over that practice question for me? xx

Shit. You’d completely forgotten. You straighten, reaching for your laptop so you can load up your latest emails. You’ve got time to look over it; the exam isn’t for another two days. Breathe, ok? You have time.

Seven unread emails. What? You scan over them frantically. Two from the Captain: accepting additional mission requests you’d applied for. Were those both this week? One from Nero: you hadn’t sent in that finished report. Three from your colleagues, all scrambling for help with the exam. One from Tara:

Thanks for saying you’d look over this for me! You’re the best at this stuff!

Ok, so: Tara’s practice question. Nero’s report. Your own practice questions. Then… dinner? Maybe that should come first. You’d skipped lunch— had one slice of toast for breakfast. But you don’t wanna cook; cooking takes time, and you’ve got none. None.

Your phone is ringing, snapping you back to reality, and you peek over at it. Sylus?

“Hi,” you greet as you put him on speaker. On your laptop, you’re opening up Tara’s attachment.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Always straight to the point. “Uh… yeah?” you frown as you read through your friend’s work. “Why? What d’you need?”

Sylus sighs through the phone. “That was a test, sweetie. You failed.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, highlighting a sentence with your cursor. “Add it to the list.”

The man doesn’t find that funny. The phone is quiet— too quiet. “Are you alright?” he asks, just as your gaze wanders to check if the call has disconnected.

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Sylus.”

You stare down at your phone. He’s waiting for more, but you won’t give it to him. You’re one word away from slipping, and you can’t let the dam crumble, especially in front of him. He’s smiling from the phone call background: a photo he insisted would ‘ruin’ his image when you took it last week.  

“I need to go, ok?” Your eyes are shining.

“Ok,” he says softly.

There’s a bleep as the call cuts out, and the photo is gone. Waiting beneath it is another text from Tara, and one from Xavier: Nero told me to txt U bout a report??

You swallow the ache in your throat and slump down on your desk again.

…

You wake up with a start, your head ringing. The tangerine sky outside your window’s turned dark— your laptop, too— and light spills from your desk lamp, yellow on white pages. There’s more, and you turn, tracing it back to where it leaks through the crack of your almost closed bedroom door.

You hadn’t left any lights on in your flat. You hadn’t switched on your lamp, either.

Tiredness is dulling your thoughts and your senses, but you know you feel uneasy. There’s something in the air: smoky, but not unpleasant. You can hear something as well. No— two things. A faint, almost imperceptible hiss, and a more obvious humming.

Hunter instincts kick in. You roll open a drawer of your desk, snatching up one of your standard-issue pistols and removing its safety with a click. You stalk up to the door, your trained footsteps near silent. You take a deep breath, clearing your head. One. Two.

Three! You shoulder the door open, leaping through with your gun trained forwards.

At the other end of your sights, Sylus turns, an eyebrow raised. Your kitchen stove seethes behind him, and he gives you a once over as he sluggishly raises both hands. “You flatter me, kitten,” he smirks in surrender, looking between your weapon and his: a spatula.

You lower your gun, your heart still racing. “I could have killed you, Sylus!”

“That’s the spirit.” His hands drop, too.

“How did you even get in here?”

He’s turned back to the stove, and he’s using the spatula to push something around a frying pan. “Hmm…” he muses, then blink— he’s gone. He’s at your fridge a second later, materialising from thin air. “I wonder,” he finishes as he reaches around for something.

Show off. “You know how I feel about you telepor…” No. “Phas…” No. “Magic…king…?” By now he’s watching you over his shoulder. “You know— that thing you do.” You’re twinkling your fingers. “What do you even call that?”

“Magicking, yeah.”

You huff in response and he laughs, walking back over to where he’s cooking two steaks and preparing a salad. You’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s even here, looking... quite frankly ridiculous, because he’s wearing your apron. It’s too small for him. Baby pink. Frilly, too.

“You know how I feel about you magicking into my home,” you mutter distractedly, because actually? He’s kinda pulling it off. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, tight on his arms. “Use the door like a regular person, you psychopath.”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” He sounds smug. Ugh, he must feel your eyes on him; he must know. You think he’s toying with the idea of calling you out, but he doesn’t, and when he does speak, the smugness is gone. “Mephisto saw you were sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded… tired. On the phone.”

Guilt twinges in your chest as you draw up beside him. “Is that why you’re here? Playing housewife?” You pick at a frill on the apron.

“Poke fun all you want,” he sneers. “This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Snob.”

“Ha.” You have to retract your hand as he threatens it with the spatula. “Watch yourself, sweetie. I’ll remember that the next time you ask to ‘borrow’ my card.”

You laugh gently. Now that’s a threat. You’re about to tell him so when you hear a ping from the other room, and your heart sinks. Just a single sound, and you’re back to where you were an hour ago, at your desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you excuse yourself and hurry back to your workspace, snatching up your phone. You missed three calls while you sleeping: all from Xavier. He’s been texting you, too.

Nero’s yelling at me

Wants to talk to U

Can U pick up? Pls?

It’s one report, for gods’ sake. You feel your chest tightening again. You just needed to proofread it, but it’s probably fine, right? You wake your laptop out of standby; you’ll just send it as it is. “I’ll just be a minute, Sy,” you call out. “Need to finish one thing.”

He mumbles something in response, and you imagine it’s for the best you can’t hear it. Your keyboard clacks as you tap out a quick email to Nero, then you surf your files for the report he so desperately wanted. It should be… here. You attach it. Hit send.

Nothing happens.

Huh. You hit send again. Then again— still nothing. You groan, trying to back out of the email. None of your keys are working. Your cursor is stuck. “Oh, come on,” you release on an impatient breath. Switch it off, switch it on again? You hit the off button. The screen goes black.

With a sigh of relief, you wait a moment before switching it on again. The screen stays black.

“No, no, no, no,” you plead quietly, but it doesn’t cooperate. Your phone rings and you snap, hitting more buttons: Answer. Speaker. “What?” you hiss.

“Whoa. Hi…?” Xavier’s voice is cautious. “I don’t know if you saw my texts, but Nero—”

“The report, Xavier! I know! I know!” You try holding down your laptop’s power button. “I’m trying to send it, but my shitty computer won’t—”

“No way!” Tara’s voice comes in on the other line; did they both get the night shift? “Hey you! Did you get a chance to—”

“No, ok?!” you practically cry out. “No! Can you two just back off? Please!”

“Oh, sorry, I…” Tara sounds upset, then distracted. “Wait, Xavier wants to speak to you.”

“Are you ok?” he asks after a second.

Ok? You just want everything to stop. “I’m fine. Shit, tell Tara I’m sorry. I am sorry, Xavier, I just… I just need my laptop to…”

Work. Work! Nothing’s working. Half of your files are on there. How much of it is backed-up? Panic is setting in, gripping your body like ice. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry, the dam is breaking and you can’t stop it. Tears prick at your eyes as you blink at the blank, hopeless screen. Your reflection stares back at you.

You let out a sob, expelling days of frustration and exhaustion. Everywhere you look there’s something you need to do, something you need to learn, something you need to finish. You can’t. You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own cries.

Xavier is speaking— saying something over the phone— but you can’t hear him.

The light changes, and there’s a figure above you, lifting the phone from the desk. “They’ll call you back,” the shadow says. Sylus.

“Wait, who is this?” Xavier.

“That’s Skye!” Tara.

Your friends’ distant voices cut out as Sylus ends the call. He sets the phone down again, nudging your laptop out of view, then lowers himself until all you can see is him: his red eyes, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, guiding your hands over his shoulders.

You understand what he’s asking of you. His arms wrap around you and you hold him tighter, letting him lift you out of your chair. He feels warm, his skin ever so slightly flushed from where he’s been standing over the stove, and he pulls your legs around his waist, letting him carry you with ease.

With your face buried in his shoulder, you can’t tell where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. His shirt is going damp against your cheeks. You want to stop crying, but you can’t with the taste of your tears on your lips. You feel weak. You feel pathetic.

Something solid is behind you, and Sylus is setting you slowly down on the kitchen counter. He’s away from you for a moment— moving the frying pan off of the heat and turning a dial on the stove— but then he’s back, standing between your legs, standing close. You’re looking down until his hand is under your chin, lifting it with the delicate touch one employs when inspecting a flower that might break.

He shushes you without a hint of impatience. “Look at me,” he directs quietly, and when you do, he unrolls his shirtsleeves— drawing the cuffs over his hands so he can use them to wipe your eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You do— you tell him everything. The hunter’s exam. The textbooks. The extra patrols you’ve been signing up for. The work you’ve been doing for your friends. The stupid report. The even more stupid computer.

Sylus listens collectedly, nodding his head and issuing the odd hum of understanding. He listens to all of it, and when you’re done, he pushes your hair back from your face with a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie.” A tendril is tucked behind your ear. “You should have said something.”

“I know.” Your gaze is still shy of his. “But how can I? I need to do this— be this— for everyone.”

His hands are on your cheeks again, drawing back your focus. “You’re just one person,” he says. “You— just you— and that’s all you need to be. You’re stubborn, and strong, but you’re not invincible. Even Linkon’s shiniest hunter is allowed to have limits. Everyone does.”

“Even you?” you snivel, setting him up for a quip.  

Nothing. He smiles. Shrugs. “Even me.”

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves.

Then there’s the way he’s looking at you.

It shifts when you finally look back. He drops his hands from your face and pulls back a little. “You do a lot for your friends,” he continues with confidence, but he’s rubbing his neck, “and they care about you. You should afford them the chance to return the favour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re right.”

“…Good.”

Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve vaguely composed yourself— or the way you’re watching him like you’re seeing something new— but he straightens self-consciously, rolling his shirtsleeves back up as his eyes go sharp: assuming their usual severity.

“You’re too soft, kitten,” he scolds, reaching out to tousle your hair until you’re glaring daggers from behind a curtain of it. “How many times do I have to tell you? You put yourself first. Always. No-one else matters.”

There’s quiet for all of a second. He can’t help correcting: “Well, except me, of course.” The apron’s crooked, and he flattens it with a brush of his hands. “Any time spent with me qualifies as self-care. You really should know that by now, sweetie.”

Your mouth curls, but you haven’t quite got it in you to laugh— not yet. Stretching his neck with two sideways tips of his head, Sylus returns to his post at the oven, where the meal he’s cooking has almost certainly gone cold. You watch as the stove flickers back to life. The man is humming again, and though the food might yet be salvaged, whatever melody he’s attempting is long-past recognition, let alone saving.

You chuckle to yourself.

And you can’t see it, but Sylus is smiling, too.

[hamsterclaw]

Your ex-boyfriend's new song reels you back in.

Pairing: Namjoon x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Idol! Namjoon, smut, angst

Warnings: Sex, swearing, toxic relationship

Word count: 2k

‘The fuck you say about me?’ you demand.

The tall, buzzed blond man looks up, insolent, arrogant, so fucking sexy it hurts you.

He tucks his tongue in his cheek, flicks his hooded eyes over your rigid body.

‘If the shoe fits,’ he drawls, that familiar low voice smooth as silk.

‘You’re an asshole,’ you hiss, angry tears standing in your eyes. You blink and they stream down over your cheeks.

Kim Namjoon, your ex boyfriend, tilts his head. His gaze hasn’t left yours.

‘I miss making you cry,’ he says. His words come out slow, deliberate, every word like a bullet hitting its mark.

His aim’s always been sharp.

‘You never will again,’ you spit out. 

You turn on your heel and yank open his studio door. 

His hand lands on the door above your head, closes it again, caging you between him and the door. All six feet of him, packed with the muscle he’s put on since he started working out again.

He leans down, you can feel his breath on the back of your neck as he whispers, ‘How does it feel to be the one caught off-guard?’

You try to turn around and face him but his large hand lands on your shoulder, pinning you into place.

He’s always been bigger, but he’s never used his strength against you before.

You’re shaking with a rage and hurt so deep you can’t verbalise. You sob, a gulp of air, and try to turn again.

He holds firm, and you can’t move.

‘Stop,’ you say, throwing an elbow back, struggling against his grasp.

Namjoon releases you just enough so you can turn to face him.

There’s a hardness to his expression that you haven’t seen before. 

‘Now you know how it feels,’ he says. 

‘Let me go,’ you scream, right up into his face, so loud your ears ring.

He barely blinks.

‘You come into my studio to start shit? What did you expect?’ he hisses.

‘You touch me, I’ll go to the press,’ you say, shoving at his chest.

Namjoon laughs, short. ‘And say what? No one knows we ever fucked.’

His words hang between you.

The tears are still falling, but your composure is returning.

‘I know,’ you say, voice thick. ‘And you know.’

Your words make some of his anger drain away. You can see him visibly easing out of the rigid posture he was in, leaning back so he’s not looming over you.

‘We know,’ he muses. 

‘And now anyone who listens to that track will know,’ you say, looking at him steadily.

He runs a hand through his buzzed hair.

‘They’ll know you fucked me over,’ he says. ‘They’ll know my side.’

He’s not wrong. There are two sides to your tumultuous relationship, and he’s told his side in the way he does best. 

It’s unfortunate for you that he has the platform to reach millions of people. 

You’re standing a foot apart now, bodies still turned to each other.

‘I fucked you over,’ you muse. ‘I fucked you over.’

He’s staring at your mouth and you know exactly what he’s thinking.

For all his emotional intelligence and his intellect, he’s always been a simple man.

‘Come down so I can reach,’ you say.

He leans down and your hand comes up to slap him. He catches your wrist mid-air, grip so strong it’s like steel, and lowers his mouth onto yours.

His kiss is hard, bruising, his tongue delving into your open mouth in a rhythm that makes you shiver.

He tugs you up on tiptoe, and you bring your hands up to keep space between you. He ignores the way you’re pushing at his chest, takes the way you’re kissing him as consent.

You give up.

You melt into his frame, close, arm curling around his neck to hold on as he presses his hot mouth to your neck. His tongue flicks over your skin, his lips form a seal and he sucks, a sensation that has warmth pooling at your core.

He groans, low, his hands already sliding up under your top, cupping your breasts over your bra.

Instead of unhooking, he hooks his finger under the band of your bra and tugs, up, lowering his head to suckle at the tip of your breast. His tongue swirls, and heat pulses between your legs.

‘Take it off,’ he says, eyes hooded, pupils blown. 

You tug your top off, then your bra. You’re not self-conscious about how you look in front of him.

Namjoon’s shown you a million times how much he loves your body.

Sure enough, he’s pushing you back onto the couch, mouth all over your tits, his big hands splayed around your waist, gripping you tight.

You try not to moan but you can’t stop yourself. He knows exactly how to pleasure you, it’s a learned skill from the hundreds of times you’ve fucked.

He laves his tongue over your nipple, and you’re already craving the thick length of his cock inside you.

He’s watching you as he kisses a path down the bare skin of your torso. He gets to the button of your jeans, undoes it deftly and you lift your hips so he can tug them off.

Underneath, your panties are sticking to you. He splays a hand over the curve of your hip, places his hand on you and you close your eyes as he rolls the pad of his thumb over your clit, slow, teasing.

You put a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans, and he tugs it away, rough.

He’s still fully dressed, the lights all blazing above you, and the juxtaposition of how he’s fully in control and how he’s taking you apart under him adds an unwanted intrusion to the haze of pleasure.

Shame.

It’s more about the way you’ve treated him than the way he’s got you spread and almost naked under him.

It’s more about the things you’ve said to this man who you’re supposed to love than the moans of wanton pleasure you’re expressing now.

He’s the one with a finger in your cunt but you think over the years you’ve fucked him just as much.

The tears come again, and Namjoon notices. He’s seen you cry so many times but there’s still a thin thread of decency that makes him lean down and kiss your forehead.

‘If I stop we’ll only feel worse,’ he murmurs, certainty in his tone borne of experience.

‘You know I love how you fuck me,’ you say, softly, speaking like it’s a secret between you and him.

There’s a flash of regret in his eyes but he doesn’t dwell on it. Fucking won’t close the chasm between you but it’ll sure as hell make you both forget for a while.

He gets up, unbuttons, lets his loose jeans slip down and then he’s in his chair, thighs spread, hard dick in his hand.

There’s a smear of pre-cum on his grey tee that’s probably worth more than your car but Namjoon’s never given a fuck about his clothes.

He watches, intent, as you slip your panties down, kick them away. 

He cups your bare bottom as you straddle him, lets your hand cover his around his cock.

You curl your fingers around him, and he huffs out a breath.

More pre-cum slips between your fingers as you position the head of him where you need him.

Namjoon’s dimple flashes, brief, as his lips curve.

‘Take it slow, baby, you know how sore you get.’

There’s a taunt in his low voice but the hands still supporting your ass are gentle.

You take the tip of him inside you, and he clenches his jaw.

His body, underneath you, is tense with holding himself back.

Namjoon can be gentle but he’s not a patient man.

You lower yourself, slow, thighs quivering with effort. 

The slide of his cock is so damn satisfying, every time. 

Namjoon lifts his hips, a push, two, then he’s in all the way.

You both groan.

You rest your forehead against his, fighting to regulate your breathing.

He’s struggling too, his heart thumping against his chest.

‘Fuck, fuck,’ he mutters. ‘Why’s it so good every time?’

He catches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, squeezes your tear streaked face.

‘I want to make it work,’ he vows. ‘Why can’t we make it work?’

He’s squeezing so hard you’re worried he’ll leave fingermarks on your cheeks.

You could give a trite response, a dozen snappy comebacks are in your mouth ready to be said, but instead you close your eyes.

Take in the feel of him inside you, his body around yours. His scent on your skin.

Every time could be the last time.

Then again you’ve been saying that since you met him.

You curl your arms around his broad shoulders, move your hips, pull his head between your breasts.

He comes willingly.

You lift your hips, up so he’s just barely inside, then drop them. The sounds of your joined bodies in the otherwise silent soundproofed studio are obscene and beautiful.

You keep up the rhythm, slowing when you’re close, when your peak’s within reach. 

Namjoon’s looking up at you. 

His dimples flash. 

‘Always did need me to finish you,’ he says. If there’s arrogance in his tone it’s been earned over all the times you’ve fucked.

You press your thumb into his cheek.

‘So do it.’

Namjoon grasps your hips, grinding you onto his pelvis. He fucks up into you, grunting with the effort. His skin gleams with the sweat he’s worked up.

‘Fuck,’ you gasp. 

Namjoon swears. 

‘Gripping me so tight, fuck!’

Namjoon pulls you down, plunges his tongue into your mouth as he fucks you.

You cry his name as you come, words passing from your mouth to his, and he closes his eyes.

His thrusts slow, erratic, as he pumps his release into you. 

You get up, legs wobbly from being fucked so hard and well, totter to the couch and press your face between the joins. You can’t look at him or you’ll cry again and you both hate that.

A moment later you feel the weight of him next to you.

His big palm lands on your ass along with the whole weight of his arm. 

He buries his face in your hair.

You don’t think there’s anything left to say.

***

You’re curled up in Namjoon’s pre-cum stained shirt, knees up and together on his cum-stained couch, watching him flick a lighter on and off.

Without turning he says, ‘Don’t give me that fucking screw face when you’ve got my t-shirt on and my come running down your leg.’

You try to readjust your resting screw face but he turns and catches you.

You have to laugh at how well he knows you.

He’s picked up your panties, twirling them around his finger.

‘You gonna go?’ he asks. He’s looking at you, so you do him the courtesy of meeting his gaze.

‘Yeah.’

He nods. ‘I had the codes changed on all the doors. Your fingerprint won’t work anymore.’

It’s your turn to nod. 

‘I moved,’ you feel the need to tell him.

‘I know,’ he says.

You’re not surprised to hear he looked for you.

It’s the hallmark of the many years of toxic codependency you shared. 

Your friends got married and had babies.

You and Namjoon went up in flames and rose from the ashes. The cycle went on. 

Fuck, cry, repeat.

You get up, start getting dressed.

You’ve got your hand on the door when you turn back to look at him a last time.

He’s already looking at you. 

‘You hungry?’ you ask.

It takes him less than a second to decide.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Three — Azriel x Reader

Summary: It’s not an Illyrian party without at least one person starting a fight. Azriel is a jealous little shit. Y/N wants to put the smile right back on his face.

(I really don’t want to ruin this chapter for u but I finished writing it and all I could hear was Camilla Cabello in my head singing “I’llll be hooome for chwismois” — you’ll see why)

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: Some fiiiilthy language. 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni 🌶️

It’s not that you and the others are trying to take advantage of Rhysand’s mother’s absence. But having an empty property at your disposal definitely comes in handy.

Particularly on nights like these, two weeks later, when the cottage is packed full with more people than it can reasonably host. There’s drinking and conversation and faces you don’t even recognise, and someone has brought Elpys Vine, a herb grown by someone’s sketchy great uncle on the continent that’s supposed to make you hallucinate.

Judging by the empty chair that a male opposite you keeps winking at, you think it’s probably having the desired effect.

The spot next to you dips down as Azriel takes a seat at your side. He hands you a drink, and so naturally, his arm drapes around your shoulders. It’s comforting — and also a relief, to know that things are still normal after what happened on this very couch two weeks earlier. Not a slither of awkwardness.

But your eyes have most definitely been snagging on every unfamiliar female around you and wondering if one of them could be the target of Azriel’s affections. If Kaeda is here tonight, he hasn’t said so.

Part of you wants to ask, and part of you…doesn’t. For whatever reason.

“This is definitely already way out of hand.” Az comments, cocking an eyebrow as he takes in the volume of people packed into the small space. “I thought it was supposed to be a small gathering.”

 “That’s what Cassian told me, too.” You say, and then curiosity gets the better of you. You try to make it seem casual as you study the various females dotted throughout the room. “Is Kaeda here?”

Azriel’s eyes find yours, and he gives a small shake of his head. “No.”

“You didn’t invite her?”

“I didn’t invite anyone. That was Cassian’s job.”

You heave a very dramatic sigh indeed. Sometimes, Azriel is his own worst enemy.

Not that you’ve minded helping him so far — not at all. But surely there must come a point where he directs all he’s learnt at the intended person.

“I will make my move.” He tells you. “I’m just…not quite there yet. Still working on it.”

Fair enough, you suppose. Before you can say anything else, Cassian is suddenly slumping haphazardly into the space at your other side. One of Azriel’s shadows snakes out and clasps your drink before it can slosh down your front.

“Time for a game.” Cassian calls to the room, and you want to groan. Games with Cassian usually ensure chaos. “Let’s play Knife Point.”

There are enough enthusiastic responses that you know your reluctance will be wildly outnumbered. Knife Point is a game that’s used as a ruse to kiss as many people as you like — something you delighted in at fifteen, when kissing was still new to you, but you don’t feel quite the same excitement five years later. It’s pretty simple: a knife is placed in the centre of the table, and the players gather round. One-by-one, everyone takes their turns spinning the knife, and whoever the point settles on when it stops is who the spinner must kiss.

Basic, really. But Cassian loves kissing people.

You and Azriel share a look — one that says he’s no more excited for this than you are. And then you both crack a grin and settle into your seats, because you’ll always go along with Cassian’s shenanigans, even if you complain about them first.

“It seems only fair that the future high lord starts us off,” Cassian says, and slams a dagger down on the coffee table with unguarded enthusiasm. He grins at Rhys, who’s sat in an adjacent armchair with a curvy redhead on his lap. “Rhysand, darling — would you do the honours?”

Rhys flutters thick, dark lashes and gently removes the female from his thigh. “It would be my pleasure.”

The room watches closely as he spins the knife in a sleek way that has a few gazes heating. It spins fast, and then slows, slows, before landing on a female to his right whose name you don’t know. He angles himself towards her, and the smile he gives her most definitely has her falling head-over-heels in love, and the heated kiss he lands on her mouth most definitely has her falling head-over-heels in lust. She looks genuinely heartbroken when it comes to an end.

But then it’s her turn, and she’s kissing Jonan, an ex-fling of yours, and then Jonan is kissing Cassian, and then Cass is spinning the dagger and it’s pointing at you.

Your friend bellows a comical shriek of delight and jumps up so enthusiastically that this time, Az’s shadows can’t stop your drink from spilling. Cass is utterly oblivious as he turns to you with a wicked grin, holding his arms out.

“Come here, sweetpea.” He uses the nickname he’s called you for as long as you can remember. “Come make all my heated dreams come true.”

You snort, handing Az what remains of your drink and pushing to your feet. You intend to deliver a quick peck to Cassian’s lips, but so typically, he clasps your face with enough force to lift you from the floor, and his mouth lands heavily on yours.

Immediately, a chorus of jeers and laughs ring out around the circle. Cassian’s huge hand cups your jaw, and he kisses you like you’ve seen him kiss countless males and females before. It doesn’t matter that you’re his friend, an old comfort blanket — he gives you the exact same energy he gives them. He doesn’t do things by halves.

And the kiss certainly isn’t bad, if not a little strange. You can think of far worse people to be doing this with right now.

It goes on a little longer than necessary, and when you feel it deepen, feel Cassian’s tongue probing yours, you break away. Make a dramatic show of grimacing and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Damn.” Jonan snorts. “You didn’t kiss me like that, Cass.”

Cass smirks. “You’re not half as pretty, nor half as arousing.”

They squabble, and the game continues, and you slump back down by Azriel’s side, already tuning out the noise. You turn to retrieve your drink, only to find Az draining the rest of it.

“Hey.” You knock your arm against his. “I was going to finish that.”

He stares forward, not even looking at you as he quietly replies, “I figured you were too busy.”

Your face creases into a frown as you take in the stiff, rigid set of his body. He’s damn near hunched in that corner of the couch, and it can’t be comfortable with how his wings are a little squished, but it seems almost as if…as if he’s trying to put some space between you.

You try not to think too much about it as you return your attention to the game once more. The knife continues spinning and people continue kissing, and only once does the blade point in Azriel’s direction, to which he tersely announces he was never playing to begin with.

It’s that which makes you realise the reason behind his mood going south. He’s only just started exploring the art of kissing with you, only just started becoming comfortable with it. The last thing he’ll want to do is make a whole song and dance about it and kiss a near stranger in front of a group of people.

Combine that with his natural aversion to huge gatherings, and it makes sense, now, why he’s clutching your empty cup so tightly, and the muscle in his jaw keeps moving.

When everyone else is distracted, you place a hand on his arm.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” You suggest. “Get some fresh air.”

But he barely looks at you. Just keeps staring forward. He shoots a quick, hard look in Cassian’s direction and rips it away just as fast.

“I’m fine here.” He says. “You knock yourself out.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You know Azriel well enough to know when his social tolerance is at an all-time-low, and being at a party is the worst possible thing for him.

He goes more and more into himself, his brooding, and he seems to emanate an invisible signal that warns people to stay far, far away. Not even the drunken, giggling females approach him. The Shadowsinger is in a dangerous mood, and it won’t take much to set him off.

He doesn’t seem all that interested in talking to you, either, given that all your attempts have been met with quiet, one-worded responses. And so, figuring he’ll come to you when he feels like it, you wander off to get yourself another drink, and you sink into the throes of the party.

At some point, you feel a warm touch on your forearm, and you turn to find Jonan there. He’s a damn nice male — for an Illyrian. A little cocky, maybe, but kind. Not the sexist brute that so many of them turn out to be. You and he had been two eighteen-year-olds, excited about exploring each other’s bodies and sex in general. Realistically, it was never going to go anywhere, but you ended things in good spirits, and you’ve very casually fallen into each other’s beds on a few occasions since.

Judging by the way his dark eyes drink you in, you’re sure he’s hoping that tonight will end in the same manner.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” You say as you pull back from the hug he gives you.

His eyes seem to glimmer with flirtation. “Perhaps you haven’t been looking hard enough.”

You snort. “Or perhaps you don’t train close enough for us to run into each other all that often.”

That’s definitely it. The Illyrian males are sorted into different training groups based on a whole host of different things. Unsurprisingly, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel are in the most skilled group. Jonan is in a different one.

And it’s Jonan’s group, you know, that has just got back from a harsh training exercise that takes them away for weeks at a time. Which is the most likely cause of you having not seen him in passing.

Azriel’s group will be the next to go on one last training exercise before everyone breaks for the winter solstice. They’ll be setting off any day now, as soon as they’re called forth by their general. A few weeks without your three closest friends is a thought you don’t want to linger on.

“How was the training exercise?” You ask, genuinely interested. There will always be a part of you that wishes that was you, out there, putting your skills to use.

But you’re female. And females stay behind.

“Fucking brutal.” Jonan answers. “The weather is bad this year, so we were out there a week longer than we were supposed to be. My sleep pattern is still fucked.”

“Sounds like you need to relax.”

“Oh, I do.” His eyes trail down your body. “Perhaps you can help me with that.”

You open your mouth, not entirely sure what you mean to reply. All you know is that you’re not jumping at the offer of easy, mindless sex like you have done in the past.

But before you can respond, Jonan is stumbling forward, into you. Thanks to a huge, muscled body knocking into him.

He whips around to face Azriel, spilled drink forgotten in his hand. You didn’t even see Az‘s approach.

“Watch it, Shadowsinger.” Jonan narrows his eyes at him. “You almost knocked Y/N over.”

Azriel stops and eyes Jonan with clear dismissal. A rare, antagonising expression sits on his flawless features. “Are you talking to me?”

“Do you see any other shadowy fucks around here?”

One side of Azriel’s lips twitch up in satisfaction. So rarely does he waste his time looking for a fight, but he’s looking for one now — and has found one.

“What I see,” he says, and steps closer to Jonan, towering over him considerably, “is an irritating little cunt who’s in my way. Move.”

But Jonan doesn’t move. Like a typical Illyrian, he salivates at the prospect of a punch-up. He looks a little pathetic as he tries to square up against Az.

“Now, now, Azriel,” he sneers. “That’s no way to talk about Y/N, is it?”

And the mention of your name in Jonan’s mouth is all it takes for Azriel to launch himself at him. There’s not nearly enough room for this, and as he grabs Jonan by the front of his tunic and slams him against the wall, all sorts of surrounding objects go flying.

At once, everyone is turning to watch the confrontation. And so fucking typically, of all the people in the room, neither Rhysand nor Cassian are anywhere to be found.

Which means you’re dealing with this alone. Because nobody else will care to break this up.

You curse quietly and jump in just as Jonan goes to land a hit on Azriel’s jaw. He falters as you throw yourself between them as best as you can at the angle. It’s not great, but you manage to wedge an arm between them.

“Hey. Enough.” You snap, and it feels like all the times you’ve reprimanded the camp younglings. “Cut this out right now.”

Jonan scowls. And actually says, “He started it.”

It makes you never want to have sex with him again. Never have you been drier between your thighs.

“I don’t give a shit. It stops now.” You stare between them seriously, and then you’re firmly grasping Azriel’s arm. “Az, we’re leaving. Now.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation, like Azriel really, really does not want to give up the fight. But then he’s letting go of Jonan’s shirt, more or less dropping him to the floor.

“Fine by me.” Az fucking smirks at the male. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

You don’t spare Jonan a single further look as Azriel grabs your hand and pulls you through the thralls of people, all disappointed at a fight not coming to fruition. But their attention is quickly stolen by something else, and you don’t look back as you and Az step out into the cold.

Az begins to walk as though the past minute never even happened. You’re quick to catch up to him and grab hold of his forearm.

“Hey.” Your breath clouds in front of your face in the cold night air. “What was that?”

Azriel shrugs. “It was nothing. He is nothing.”

“You—”

“It’s fucking freezing, Y/N. Can we just go?”

You stare back at him. The urge to pry more, demand an explanation, is a strong one. But it is freezing, and in this frame of mind, you’re not certain he’ll tell you anything, anyway. He’s in a strange mood — probably in anticipation of the upcoming training exercise. Perhaps unwisely, you decide to drop it.

“Go where?” You concede. The biting cold makes the decision to do so much easier.

“Dormitories. You can stay with me tonight.”

Dormitories is a very generous term for the limited accommodation that is offered to each training legion. Most of it sits unused, due to the majority of Illyrians preferring the harsh, toughening dwellings of tents and crumbling old houses in all extreme weathers. But a certain amount of small, draughty rooms are available, and Az tends to make use of his when the cottage begins to feel too crowded, and he needs a break from living on top of Rhys and Cass.

There’s no hammering droves of snow tonight, and you’ve patched up your boots enough to hopefully last you a little longer. A broad expanse of stars glimmers above you, making it a rather pleasant night for a stroll — or it would be, if not for the unavoidable presence of Azriel’s bad mood.

Your attempts at conversation are met with non-committal responses, and by the time you’re kicking through the peeling wooden door to the accommodation, you’re fucking exasperated.

Azriel can be very, very insufferable when he thinks himself into a foul mood.

You could go home, back to your father’s house — you certainly consider it as you follow Az into his cramped dwellings, but…you don’t know. You wouldn’t like to leave him like this. To walk away without seeing him crack a little smile. In nine years of friendship, you’ve never done so before. So you shut and lock the door behind you, and resign yourself to a very silent, very tense night.

You press your back against the door, watching as Azriel perches on the edge of the bed and removes his shoes. Through the walls, you hear the distinct sound of skin slapping against skin, and the building moans of a female close to climax. This miserable building is more often used as a place for a quick fuck than it is to actually sleep in.

But Az doesn’t seem to notice as he shrugs out of his clothing, quickly slipping on a pair of low-slung cotton sleeping trousers, and sprawls out across the mattress, wings fanning around him.

You’re not sure why you don’t move, at first. Or maybe you are.

Your gaze snags on the toned muscles of Azriel’s torso, and the smattering of dark hair that maps a line from beneath his bellybutton to what sits under his trousers. You’ve seen it countless times before, and yet you can’t stop staring.

Particularly when he stretches his arms above his head, and then drags a hand down his stomach. To him, it’s a subconscious act, but to you—

You can’t stop yourself zeroing in on his hand. The very hand that touched you and bathed you in a pleasure so stunning, so splintering, that you hadn’t dared to try and replicate it yourself since. Such inexperienced fingers had coaxed such expert sensations—

“Are you coming to bed?” Azriel’s voice drags you from your thoughts.

“…Right.” You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

“There’s a shirt for you in the armoire.”

You shuck off your clothes, digging out the tunic you often borrow from Az to sleep in. He barely spares you a glance, his eyes glued to the ceiling. You can’t help heaving a sigh as you pad over and slip beneath the blanket. The faelights wink out, and for a while, you both lie there in silence. It’s you who eventually breaks it.

“Are you going to tell me what that fight with Jonan was about?”

Az slings an arm above his head. “You were there. I’d hardly call it a fight.”

“No, I’d call it an overreaction.”

“Jonan’s an arrogant bastard and everyone knows it.”

He brooks no room for argument. And he’s not exactly wrong, either. You know Jonan gets himself into more brawls than the average person. But Az wasn’t exactly justified tonight.

But before you can think of a response, he says, quietly, “Sorry — if I ruined your night.”

You pause. And then roll onto your side, staring at his outline through the darkness. “You didn’t. I didn’t want to go to the party, anyway.”

There’s a tiny, soft snort. “Me neither.” He agrees. “But going along with Cassian’s ideas is the story of our lives.”

“That it is.”

Az says no more, does no more. And you…you hate it. Because it’s not simply that he’s sleepy and dozing off beside you. He’s just as awake as you are. And his mood is still heavy and tense.

You can’t stand it.

It’s perhaps against your better judgement that you inch closer to him, your mind already made up about how you might lift his spirits. It’s dangerous, because your arrangement has simply been about helping him, and he’s always been the instigator, knowing what he needs and when he needs it. Which he most certainly isn’t doing now.

But you would be helping him…in a way. And you can’t lie and say that it hasn’t bothered you, over the past two weeks, that you didn’t get to return the pleasure he gave you.

It would still be a learning experience. That’s what you tell yourself as you press against his side and drape your arm over his stomach.

Az pauses, but this isn’t unusual for the pair of you. You’ve cuddled like this plenty of times over the years — with your other friends, too. And so there’s no hesitation as he slides an arm beneath you and tugs you closer, his wing tucking you in.

You rest your head on his chest, and you murmur, “I don’t want you to go on the training exercise.”

You really, really don’t.

You always miss your friends when they’re sent away, but it seems…heavier, somehow, this time. Like there’s more between you to miss.

That…that is not a good thought to have.

You banish it from your mind rather than dwelling on it.

Az’s hand presses against your back. “I’ll be home in time for Solstice.”

You hear the unspoken promise in that statement; the one Azriel knows you need to hear. Because this isn’t just about simply missing his company.

Solstice is…hard for you, to say the least. Being holed up with your father, him drinking from the crack of dawn until he collapses in a chair by the fire. His unpredictable, volatile moods and tendency to pick at you over every tiny thing. It’s the time of year you rely on your friends the most, and you spend the entire day waiting for your father to pass out so you can sneak away and forget him for a while.

Azriel’s bare skin is so pleasantly warm, lulling you back to the present. You shelve your worries for the time being, press your cheek against his pectoral, and breathe in his frost-and-cedar scent. His wing drapes over you, cocooning the two of you in your own little world.

And there’s no better place than inside that world to ease some of Azriel’s tension. Bring the smile back to his lips.

“…Az?” You whisper, slowly gliding a hand over his stomach.

His body tenses beneath you. There’s a pause before he answers, “Yes?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing…” He clears his throat. “Nothing much. What are you thinking about?”

The question is an opening for you to stop this right here. You could return a similar, half-assed response, remove your hand from his stomach and go to sleep. Like any sensible, reasonable friend would do.

Or you could be honest.

You could tell Azriel that your close proximity has you thinking all about the magic of his fingers, the sensations he wrought from you. You could admit that it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve thought about it since it happened — not at all. You could tell him that you’re still a little stunned, because besides yourself, nobody has ever made you come that hard.

You could tell him how badly you want — need — to return the favour.

And never one to back down from a situation, however daunting, you do exactly that.

“I’m thinking…” you murmur, and your finger begins to just slightly trace lines over his stomach. Your touch is so light, and yet you feel his body react beneath you. “I’m thinking that there’s more I’d like to teach you about touching.”

A little breath escapes him. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” That finger of yours gets a little bolder, making bigger sweeps over his skin and dancing close to his waistband. “But this time, I want to touch you. You made me feel so good, Azriel. I want to make you feel good as well.”

“You…you don’t have to do that.”

Gods, you know you don’t. You know this situation has never been about him expecting anything from you. Just a friend helping a friend out. No big deal.

But who says you can’t both get something out of it?

“I know I don’t have to.” You answer him. Your hand stops its movements, and you stare up at him, your eyes accustomed enough to the dark to make out certain features. “And I won’t, if you don’t want me to. Do you want me to?”

A tiny, tiny little pause.

And then Azriel rasps, “Yes.”

It’s a guttural, gasping sound, and it’s so delicious that you want to swallow it.

You don’t hesitate in moving your hand up to his face. You angle it towards you. Slant your lips over his.

And you smile. There’s a mulled wine that Azriel far prefers drinking over the piss-poor ale that most males around here favour, and it’s not the first time you’ve tasted it on him. It’s pleasing to explore — the spices and berries and damp heat of his mouth a combination that coaxes you to slide your tongue between his lips.

Az seems pretty well comfortable with his kissing technique, now. He leans into it, not at all tentative, his tongue meeting the strokes of yours. And then he suddenly breaks away.

“I like—this.” He pants heavily, breath fanning your face. “I like doing this.”

The words make something glow inside you, because that is precisely what you want. This isn’t just about teaching him the technicalities of physical touch. It’s about liberating him from the barriers he’s built in his mind, and showing him how much he can enjoy it.

And your friend deserves that.

You plan to really show him.

You slide your hand over his hip and haul him closer, eliminating the tiny little gap that existed between your bodies. An act that makes him suck in a breath.

“If I do anything at all that you don’t like, you need to tell me, Az.” You stare at him. “Okay?”

He nods.

“I need your words. Swear it.”

“Gods, Y/N, I swear it.”

He kisses you this time.

He really does like doing that.

The kiss is hot and hungry, loitering on the precipice of being frenzied. Azriel’s hand slides to the back of your neck, his fingers kneading the skin there. A dim faelight blinks back to life, bathing the two of you in enough warm light to see each other. His tongue pushes past the seam of your lips.

But you don’t give him the chance to stroke at your mouth. There are a million other places you can think of kissing; a million other places you’re just as desperate to get your mouth on.

Your lips glide along Azriel’s jaw with the lightness of a breeze. He goes still, appearing to wait with bated breath to see what you’ll do next, and how it will feel. He’s never been kissed here before.

Nor at his neck. You kiss the skin gently, at first, and smile to yourself at the little breath that hitches in Az’s throat. Something told you he’d be amenable to neck kisses.

Indeed, he is, as you attach your lips to the column of his throat and suck.

It’s a soft ungh, this time, that escapes him. A noise of both surprise and delight. Perhaps he never before considered the sensitivity of the neck, how enjoyable it might be to be kissed there. It’s one of many things you want to be the one to teach him.

You suck and lave at the area until his stomach is caving beneath your hand, and then you’re moving on, dragging your mouth over his collarbone. Down to his pectoral.

His skin is hot but its taste is cold — cold, like his scent. Frost and snow, icy starlight, the whipping winds and thrill of flying. Gods, it’s all delicious, and you close your mouth over his nipple, desperate to taste more.

Azriel starts, his back arching just a little. Your eyes flit up to his as your tongue teases the peaked flesh.

“This okay?” You check, allowing your teeth to graze just a little.

“Yes.” Az breathes. “I never considered that that might feel good for—for a male, too.”

You smile, repeating the action, fastening your lips totally around the nipple and giving a gentle suck. It earns you another quiet sound in response.

But you don’t want quiet. You want to make your friend feel so good that he can’t keep a lid on those sounds. The muscles of his stomach are quivering under your palm, and you decide it’s unfair to make him wait any longer.

So as your tongue circles his nipple, you slip your fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers.

You’re careful, even though you know the sharp intake of breath is a positive one. Nobody’s hands but his own have ever ventured here. You want him to be aware of every touch, every feeling.

Your fingers skate over the dusting of fine, coarse hair. And lower. And then your hand is on his cock.

The mere weight of your touch drags a breathless little noise from Azriel’s throat. And you pause.

Azriel is big, even by Illyrian standards.

From touch alone, you can feel its length, its thickness. You’re not entirely sure you can fit him in your hand, let alone anywhere else.

But gods are you willing to try.

You take your time exploring every detail, starting at the smooth, swollen head — already leaking a droplet of moisture —and circling its rim with your finger. Azriel’s hips jerk, and you smile, removing your mouth from his nipple to kiss further down,

“Still doing okay?” You ask, coasting your lips over his ribs. The pads of your fingers stroke over the head of his cock slowly, casually.

But there is absolutely nothing casual about Az’s voice as he grounds out, “I’m doing great.”

“Want me to keep going—”

“Please.” The word escapes his mouth before you can even finish the sentence. “Please.”

You smile, and you scoot lower down his body, giving yourself the perfect angle to explore the muscles of his abdomen with your mouth, your tongue.

It allows you to feel the exact moment you glide your palm down the length of Azriel’s cock, following the long, jagged vein.

Gods, it feels like it goes on forever.

The skin is velvety, smoothing over every vein, every bump and ridge. You explore it all, as much for your enjoyment as for his. You can’t imagine what it must be like to feel it sliding in and out of you, hitting a spot so deep inside you that you’d have to bite the mattress—

A thought you should not be having. It isn’t going that far.

And there’s a twinge of disappointment at that fact. But now isn’t the time for disappointment.

You trace the length of Azriel’s cock all the way down to his balls, and he’s trembling beneath you. You tug at his trousers, whisper, “Can I pull these down?”

It might be silly to ask, given that your hand is already well beneath the fabric. But you want him to have a choice in everything.

So when he gives a firm nod and lifts his hips for you, you tug the cotton trousers down, peeling them easily from his hips.

Azriel’s cock springs up. And it…it might just be the most perfect cock you’ve ever seen.

You damn near moan at the sight of it.

But before the sound can escape you, you smother it by pressing your lips to Azriel’s stomach. You kiss the skin, lap at it, graze your teeth over it. And your hand returns to his hardened length.

Finally — fucking finally — you wrap your hand around him.

Azriel makes a gasping sound at your touch, his hips canting up into your hand. He’s so responsive to your touch that you have to clench your thighs together to ignore your own arousal. This is about him. Entirely about him.

It’s about him as you slowly begin to pump his shaft, peppering kisses down and down until you’re at his hip. It’s about him as you squeeze gently and hear the hitching of his breath.

“So responsive,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hip.

“Is that—gods—” He hisses between his teeth as you pump a little faster, “—is that a good thing?”

“Very good, Az. I want to know that you’re enjoying it.”

“I am. Fuck, Y/N, I am.”

“Good.” Another kiss lands on his skin. “You’re doing so good for me.”

The praise drags another noise from the depths of his throat — the loudest he’s made so far. You don’t know whether he’s simply gaining in confidence, or whether he’s losing control. Maybe both. Hopefully both.

And you think you might lose control, too. Watch with rapt fascination as the head of his cock leaks, and it’s swelling, thickening in your hand, and you know he’s not going to last much longer.

You really want to taste him before he falls off the edge.

“Holy gods,” Azriel pants, his teeth biting into his lower lip. “Y/N, I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

“Don’t fight it.” You lick your lips. “Can I put my mouth on you?”

The question makes him fucking groan, and he chokes out an affirmative response, his cock rutting into your hand. You know he’s close, and you want him to finish. Preferably on your tongue.

And when you slide your mouth onto his cock, you know that’s going to happen.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking him into your mouth as much as you can.

Azriel shouts, his head falling back, eyes screwed shut. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You suck on him, tongue tracing the length of the vein that’s beginning to throb. He doesn’t seem to be aware of the way he slides his hands into your hair, his hips rolling.

“Y/N,” he pants, your name languid and slurred on his tongue, “m’sofuckingclose.”

You pull your mouth off of him long enough to say, “Look at me. Watch me while you come.”

And then you’re sucking him again, your hand wrapped around the base of his length. You pump and lick him and bob your head in time to Az’s hips canting against you, and you think the sounds he’s making may just be the most beautiful ones you’ve ever heard.

And he watches you so closely, his brow furrowed, his lips parted, his chest heaving. Your gaze collides with his, and you’re hollowing your cheeks and giving a particularly harsh suck.

“Oh, gods, Y/N, fuck!”

Azriel spills into your mouth, shot after shot coating your tongue. You take it all, swallowing greedily, savouring the saltiness and the hint of something else that is just Azriel. It seems endless, and so do his groans, his constant string of curses, the jerking of his hips and the trembles wracking through his entire body.

You damn well suck him dry. Not a drop is spared.

As you finally pull him out of your mouth, wipe your lips with the back of your hand and glimpse his shaking, sated form, you know you’re committing the sight to memory. For when this is all over.

He’s…he’s a vision. Head still tipped back. Stomach and chest still heavily rising and falling. Pleasure still pinching his face. His hands are fisted tightly in the bedsheets.

You leave him to come down from his high. He’s still panting a little when his head lolls forward, and his eyes meet yours.

“That was—” His voice cracks a little. “God’s, Y/N, I don’t have words.”

“It’s okay.” You press a gentle kiss to his stomach, tucking his sensitive length back into his trousers. “Words aren’t necessary. You did so well.”

His arms are suddenly around you, tugging you up and against him, your body slanted slightly over his. All the earlier tension from the night is gone, and it’s just you and him, your love and friendship, your unbreakable bond.

Az holds you tightly, burying into your hair. And you think that this was maybe more than just…you returning a favour. You think this might have been a soul-shifting moment for him. Something that released him from the invisible bindings that have held him back for so long.

And it saddens you a little to think that that might be the end of it. That you’ve done all you can do.

But still, you’re honoured to have helped him this far. To have guided him through it.

“Thank you.” He whispers, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head. He’s still trembling, and he tucks himself in tight as if he’s worried he might break. “Just…thank you.”

You don’t quite know what to say. It feels a little…final, and you don’t like that.

So you simply nestle into his side, and you repeat your earlier truth, your voice a whisper. “I don’t want you to go on the training exercise.”

Because you know you’ll miss him more than you ever have before. It’s going to be far harder this time.

What, exactly, that means…you can’t bear to think of it right now.

And there’s no need to as Az holds you tightly, kisses your head again.

“I’ll be there with you on Solstice.” He says. “I promise.”

azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden

[cherryrainn]

I'LL NEVER LEAVE .

; pairing ; adam x reader

; note ; request i got on wattpad!

; warnings ; manipulation, emotional abuse, gaslighting, deceit, loss of loved ones

adam wouldn't stop asking you to go on a date with him.

he had been asking you incessantly, his golden eyes pleading with you to give him a chance, but something deep within you hesitated.

you knew adam's reputation – his arrogance, his ego. and while there was a part of you that was intrigued by him, another part of you just didn't wanna deal with all of that.

"come on, babe, just one date. that's it!" adam pleaded, his voice carrying a hint of desperation.

you sighed, trying to keep your composure as you declined once again. "i'm not interested."

his golden eyes widened, a mix of disbelief and frustration crossing his face. "not interested? but i'm the first fuckin' man, the perfect one! you won't find anyone better!"

you shook your head, dismissing his claims. "it's not about that, adam. i just need some space."

but adam, fueled by his arrogance, persisted. "space? space? you're in heaven bitch!; you're like surrounded by it! just give me a chance."

every time he asked, you found yourself declining, citing one excuse after another. you couldn't bring yourself to say yes, couldn't bring yourself to take that leap of faith.

defeated by your consistent refusals, adam's expression shifted from desperation to anger. "fine, whatever, whore. if you don't want the perfect date with the perfect dick, your loss," he spat, his words dripping with arrogance.

then he walked off, saying a bunch of stuff like "i don't even fuckin' care" even though he clearly did.

after that, days passed, and the people you loved were starting to vanish. it started small, a friend here, a friend there.

at first you just shrugged it off, thinking they were busy or something.

but soon, it became a mass disappearance. everyone you loved was gone. and strangely, adam was nowhere to be found.

alone and desperate, you wandered the empty halls of heaven, the once celestial glow now replaced by an unsettling void. everyone was still there yes, well. mostly everyone. the people you loved and cherished were still gone. and that made it feel empty.

desperation gnawed at your spirit, driving you to seek solace in the one place you never thought you'd turn to – adam.

he had disappeared along with the others, his absence leaving a void that echoed with unanswered questions. but in your desperation, you sought him out, clinging to the faint hope that he held the answers you so desperately sought.

you found yourself standing outside a familiar door – adam's. hesitant, you knocked, the sound echoing in the empty corridor.

the door creaked open, revealing adam's masked face. there was a calculated innocence in his eyes as he feigned surprise. "well, if it isn't my favorite bi-.. angel! what brings you here?"

your desperation spilled out in a torrent of words. "everyone's gone, adam. i can't take it anymore. i need someone, and you're the only one left."

adam's mask of indifference faltered for a moment, replaced by a calculating gaze. "well... shit! come in," he replied with a mocking smirk, inviting you into his space.

you poured out your frustrations, ranting about the loneliness that had consumed you. "i thought i could handle it, but it's too much. i need someone, adam. i need you. you're the only one that i'm actually acquainted with that's still here." you cried, tears practically waterfalling.

his golden eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he let you vent, the mastermind behind the disappearance of everyone you held dear.

with a gentle sigh, adam allowed you to hug him, relishing in the success of his twisted plan. he held you close, his presence a balm to your wounded soul. "you'll never be alone again, y/n," he whispered, his words a promise wrapped in deceit. "i'll never leave you like those dumbasses did. i'll always be here for you."

and as you buried your face in his chest, you couldn't help but believe him, the echoes of his manipulative words drowning out the whispers of doubt that lingered in the recesses of your mind.

in that moment, you were his – bound to him by the chains of manipulation. and as adam held you in his arms, you knew that you were lost, a pawn in his twisted game of love and betrayal. but, you couldn't bring yourself to care

he would never admit to his sins. he would never confess to the darkness that lurked within his soul, for in your eyes, he was the perfect angel, the first man, and he would never hurt you like everyone else did.

[onlyangel4]

desperate times call for desperate measures. toto wolff.

sugar daddy! toto wolff x reader

you are a struggling artist trying to live instead of just spending every moment worrying about money. toto wolff is the lonliest rich man in the world, when you find each other you are exactly what the other needs.

warnings- 18+, cursing, discussions of financial struggles. sugar daddy relationship. age gap relationship ( reader is around twenty five) there will be a lot of smut in the following parts of this fic. toto in love with someone he hasn’t met. male masturbation. smut. for this toto has been divorced for three years.

part two

your life wasn’t at the point that you hoped it would be by now. art was your biggest passion in the entire world, it was something that you loved and you were incredibly good at, but it was also so difficult to make a break through in the art space. you painted whenever you were inspired but those paintings crowded a storage unit that was worth half your monthly rent. your financials were in the bin, and you were furiously budgeting just to make sure you could afford everything that you needed. this was not living. your friends were constantly going on nights out but you had to say no time and time again just because you knew you would not be able to afford it. you were missing out on so much fun and it was driving you fucking insane.

you were embarrassed by your financial situation, the only person who knew about how much you were struggling was your best friend, anna. anna was the least judgemental person on planet earth, you knew that you were safe to rant to her about everything going on in your life, she didn’t have much more money than you but she did get to go on the trips that you missed out on.

“you know what you need?”, anna mused sat on the bed of your tiny apartment her frame threatening fall off at any moment, “you need a sugar daddy, lou has one and he buys her all sort of shit”, anna spoke and you just rolled your eyes at such an out there suggestion.

“come on anna, those things are just scams”, you spoke and anna was quick to shake her head.

“no, they are legit, lou showed me the app she uses. seeking arrangements, it is all legit. i swear if I wasn’t with tom i would have downloaded it already”, she was actually being serious.

you were going to come back with some snarky comeback for your best friend but you quickly noticed that the phone in her hands was yours and not hers.

“what are you doing with my phone?”

“i am doing you a favour y/n, this could really help you out”

you pondered her words for a moment, the last time you had seen lou she was decked out in all knew jewellery and she was wearing one of the nicest dresses you had ever laid eyes on. maybe this whole thing had worked out well for her. It could be worth a try.

“okay, but make sure you pick my best pictures”

the rest of that night was spent drinking wine and setting up your seeking arrangements profile together. there were was a good mix of photos on the profile starting with one of you on the beach from two years ago, the last time you could afford a holiday, you were dressed in a striking red one piece and anna swore that you looked like someone out of baywatch. one of you and your beloved black cat, liquorice. one with you next to the last painting you had sold, three months ago, the last time you had been truly proud of yourself. then there were a couple of filler pictures of you and your friends because anna decided that any sugar daddies needed to know that you had people that loved you, just in case they were planning on harming you, a comment that made your eyes roll. once the profile was set up you and anna both fell asleep, anna in your bed and you on the floor in a sleeping bag, because your couch was from a charity shop and probably the most uncomfortable thing to sleep on.

the following week your profile had gotten a little bit of attention from different people but never anyone that properly took your interest. all the first messages were either mentioning how good your tits looked in that one piece or they were guys proper showing off how much money they had something that did not interest you at all.  however, eight days into your profile being up you had gotten one message much more interesting than all the others, “that painting in your third picture looks familiar is that ares del maestrat?” now that message had taken you by surprise. one, because so far in all of the messages you had received no one had actually mentioned your art. and two, he was right, it was ares del maestrat, a place in spain that you happened to stumble upon on your last visit to the country, an area that you had found so stunning you knew you needed to paint it as soon as you got home.

“you are right! It is a gorgeous area, i found it by accident a couple years back, i wish i could visit it again”, you text him back.

“it is beautiful, i visit spain every year, i try to make time in my schedule to go every single year”, oh so this man was RICH rich.

you continued to text the man behind the kind messages about your work for the entire following week. you were quick to learn that his name was toto, his profile was under peter but that was only because he wanted to keep it somewhat private that he had a profile on the app because his career was in the public eye. Once he felt comfortable with you he began telling you what his job entailed, he was a team principle for an f1 team. you told him that you did not really know what that meant because you had never even seen a race. he explained to you his role and you couldn’t help but find the fact that he was so high up in such a career incredibly attractive, you were enjoying talking to him.

toto had downloaded the app due to a mix of loneliness and pure curiosity. He had been single for a few years now and he was getting fed up of both falling asleep and then waking up alone. he had heard about seeking arrangements and after doing a little bit of research on the app he had decided that maybe he did want to be a sugar daddy. he just wanted someone to spoil, someone that he could spend time with. and the idea of helping someone that was struggling with money was also something that interested him, it seemed like a pretty good exchange to him.

one issue though, toto found out that he was incredibly picky when it came to finding someone on the app. he was forever picking holes in all the profiles that he saw, some people had “don’t message me unless you will drop a hundred grand on me”, in their profiles which he just found tacky and others just did not seem like they had much substance behind them. but then he found you. each one of your photos was embellished by a genuine smile on your lips. and he couldn’t help but be taken aback by a picture of you with a painting of his favourite place in spain, now that had to be a sign. that is how you ended up being the first person that toto messaged on the entire app.

he had not been expecting to get on with you as much as he did. he educated you on all things to do with f1 while you sent him multiple voice messages about painting and your creative process. he was so interested you and listening to you go on about how passionate you were about art was something that toto could do forever. you were special and he was going to treat you as such.

after the first week of talking you sent him your number, citing that it was much easier to use that rather than text on the app. And after a couple days of having your number toto called you out of the blue. he spoke to you like you were long lost friends, there was no awkwardness at all. just the two of you talking about your days. you called every day always at the same time and after a week those calls turned into facetimes and toto was sure that he would never get bored of seeing your face flash up on his screen. you became the favourite part of his day. he actually began secretly purchasing your paintings, going through art dealers. making sure that his identity was hidden. every time you sold a painting you sent him a picture of you with the painting and he was so happy to see your smiling face, knowing that he was the reason for it made his heart swell with pride.

you were actually the first one to bring up meeting but you were too much of a pussy to do it over the phone, “so mister f1, when would you be free to meet in person, i like talking to you :)”, you had text him and as soon as toto saw that message his heart started hammering in his chest.

“well we have summer break starting next week, i can fly to London and we can meet there”, he had text back, making you smile brightly.

“i’ll see you then”

“darling, send me your address, i will send a car to pick you up”, you did as you were told, this man way only want you to provide company for him but you felt a need to oblige him. from your messages and times spent calling him you had learnt that he had a very dominant presence, one that never failed to make you go weak at the knees.

your message could not have come at a better time, you were driving toto mad with all your cute pictures and messages but toto had realised that he really needed to see you the moment he found himself with his fist around his cock, one hand looking through the pictures that were on your profile coupled with a few pictures that you had sent him privately when he asked to see more pictures that you had. he was rubbing his cock thinking about a girl that he had never met, a girl that just wanted a sugar daddy but he could not help it, something about you just made him moan your name as his chest heaved up and down, head tilting back slightly. And as he came onto his bed sheets he made a promise to himself. he was going to treat you so good you would not be able to find a reason to leave. and that was the night that you text him about meeting, it was like you could read his mind.

[flippinpancakes64]

Uhm, I was wondering if you could do Cullens x quiet, insomniac! Reader who is silent and ignores people, but when someone makes a single comment about the cullens, they snap? And what would be the cullens reactions?

The Cullens with a reader who defends them

This ask is so cute I love it omg

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy

Edward:

He hears what people think about him and his family all the time

People think his family is weird

They think he's a loner

It's nothing new to him when he hears people whispering at the lunch table next to them

What IS new, though, is you whipping around in your chair to give those two girls an earful

He just sits there stunned as you throw insult after insult at them in HIS name

He is so shocked

And in love

He kisses you right then and there

He tries to tell you that you don't need to do that, but you don't listen obvs

He can tell that you keep defending him from the thoughts he hears from other people

He's not gonna stop you though

He will tell you that he doesn't mind what people think about him

You don't care

Alice:

She doesn't even have an opportunity to get a vision about what's gonna happen

She's chattering on and on in the back of the class as you sit next to her, silently listening

She's talking about the weather, about her new dress, her new shoes, a show she started watching last night, and everything in between

The classroom is mostly silent besides her as everyone completes their work

Suddenly one of the boys sitting directly in front of you two leans over to his friend and says "Damn, does that weirdo Cullen bitch ever shut up?"

You act so quickly she doesn't even have the chance to stop you

You stand up and start yelling at the boys, throwing every insult in the world their way

The teacher has to tell you to stop, and Alice pulls you out of the classroom to calm down

You start apologizing, saying that it must be because you're so sleep deprived

She just smiles and gives you the fattest kiss ever

Going forward, she does not stop you

She just loves that you love her so much you would be willing to step out of your comfort zone for her

Jasper:

You two are split up into different teams in gym class

He's standing across the gym and you can see him doing his deep-breathing exercises to keep himself from hurting anyone

He's staring into space, not really at any one particular thing

A girl leans over to you and whispers "Oh my gosh, look at the Cullen freak over there... he's so weird."

You throw your dodgeball at her face as hard as you can

She has to go down to the nurse, and you get sent to the principal's office, Jasper comes with you

On the way there, he starts asking a million questions

What happened, why did you do that, are you okay

You tell him about what she said, how you just couldn't let her get away with that

He tries so hard and you know that, it wasn't fair of her to make fun of him

He stops and just looks at you, before pulling you into a huge hug

He doesn't say anything for a while, until you hear him whisper a "thank you"

You get suspended for two days

Jasper stays home with you <3

Rosalie:

She doesn't give a shit what people think of her on a personal level

Like genuinely she couldn't care less

And you're always so calm and quiet that she never expected this

She's walking through the hallways with you and she accidentally bumps into someone

Or in her words, someone bumps into her

She shoots them a nasty look and tells them to watch where they're going

And they call her a bitch

And you go off

She doesn't tell you to stop

Eventually a teacher has to pull you away

You are fuming

Rosalie pulls you aside and helps you calm down

"You know, you don't need to defend me.. but that was really hot ;)"

She won't stop you in the future either

She loves this side of you

And she loves that it's because of her

Emmett:

It wasn't particularly directed towards him

Some kid just made a general statement about the Cullens being weird

He heard it but didn't say anything

But then you stood up and angrily told them to mind their own business

They start arguing back, asking why you even care

It's getting heated, so Emmett steps in

He tells them that if they ever insult or argue with his partner again he'll rip their heads off of their bodies <3

He takes you home after that

It doesn't matter if the school day just started

He takes you home to let you cool down

He thinks it's so fun

I feel like he'd love a little firecracker S/O

And again, he doesn't stop you

Esme:

You were out running errands with her

Alice needed her dress picked up and she would be in school until the laundromat closed

So that meant Esme had to go get it

And you went with her obviously

While you two are waiting for the attendant to get the dress, you can hear the two employees talking in the back

"Hey do you have the dress pickup for Alice?"

"Hm... Oh I see it... Alice... Cullen? As in that weird ass family that moved in not too long ago?"

"Yeah, I got two of them up front. A pair of freaks, I tell ya."

You see red

You can tell by Esme's face she can hear them too

The guy comes back with the dress and puts on his best smile, acting as if he wasn't just insulting you and your girlfriend

Just as Esme's about to pay and give him a tip, you take the cash from her hand

You give him the exact amount for the dress and hold on to the remaining money

"This would have been your tip if you hadn't been a dick"

And then you grab Esme, Alice's dress, and storm out

She helps you calm down

In the future, she tries not to let you do that

They don't want to draw attention to themselves

And she's worried you might get yourself hurt one of these days

Carlisle:

He wasn't even there when this happened

You were at the school with the rest of the Cullen children when some jackass started insulting Carlisle

He had been injured a week ago and Carlisle gave him the medication and instructions to make it better, but he wasn't following them

So you went up and punched him in his bad shoulder obviously

He did punch you back, though

Carlisle swore his heart stopped when Alice and Japser ran into his clinic, you being supported by their arms

The guy had clocked you square in the face, a bruise was already forming on your eye and you're 90 percent sure you had a concussion

As you sat in his exam room, getting checked over, he gave you a lecture

He can take care of himself, and you don't need to put yourself in danger to protect him

But he does appreciate the gesture

After he's done patching you up, he gives you a kiss

Vampire! Bella:

She's not completely used to being considered one of the Cullens

So when a kid at school starts talking about that, she doesn't even register that he's talking about her

You do though

You stand up and start yelling at him, telling him to stop talking about your girlfriend like that

Lowkey she joins in on it

"You were talking about me? Mind repeating that?"

She loves that you want to stick up for her

Before she moved to Forks and met Edward there wasn't really anyone who would do that

But she insists that you don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable

She knows that you prefer to keep to yourself

[delicatereader]

I need you (stephen!hayden x reader)

• summary: Stephen is a little rusty in sex and needs some help

• warnings: well smut

• a/n: this is about hayden/stephen not the actual one. I didn't go deep with the smut bc I am just getting the hang of it so yea. enjoy! (btw I haven't proof read it so there are mistakes...

➽────────────────────────────❥

You've had an exhausting day at work, unfortunately you have to work overnight. All you want is a get away from this shit. There were only few others with you left. You peacefully working in your space, reading reports in your spinning chair when Stephen comes in.

He hastily grabs a chair and pulls it next to you to sit. You ignore him because you what was coming, he's gonna rant about how everyone thinks he's gay and no one likes him. You didn't think that way, you've had a cute crush on him for a while but didn't do anything because you worked with him and didn't have the time. You've always liked the way he talks and his glasses (you found them slutty and hot).

"What do you think of me?" he asks

"What do you mean?" you try to confirm, still reading the reports

"What do you think me?"

"You're kind, generous and hard-working!" you reply looking at him

"No like what do you think of me?" he repeats

You let out a harsh sigh annoyed.

"Like physically, do you find me attractive?" he blurts out

"What?" you respond in surprise

"Like am I attractive?" he asks again

"Yeah? why? did someone say anything to you?" you ask him concerned

"No..." he drags

"Spill" you demand

"Ok! It's been a while since you know..." he says

"What? I don't know"

"Since you know!" he looks at his pants and back up (twice)

"Sex?" you answer

"Shhhhh!" he silences you, making you giggle

"Someone will hear you! But yeah since I had sex" he continues

"So you want to start having sex again?" you ask

"Well yeah! It's been a long time" he admits

"How long?" you ask curiously

"Ummm...2 years?"

"What!? 2 years?! omg!" you yell whilst whispering

"I'm a bit rusty..." he says

You scoff as a response, "you will be"

"Oh shut up!" he responds

"Can't belive it! 2 years!" you laugh out loud

"Yep..." he says embarrassed, nodding his head

"Ok I won't laugh! I promise! you speak" you take a deep breath

"So everyone thinks I'm gay, I accidentally let people- no men stick their tongue down my throat and the girls I get run away when they hear the gay rumours" he explains his situation

"Well they just haven't seen your search history! trust me your straight!!" you confirm for him.

He leans back on the chair shocked

"How do you know my search history?"

"The other week you left early and forgot to log out. I did it for you" you smile at him proudly

"Anyways what am I supposed to do about this? I have some friends who might be interested..." you advise resting your head on you palms.

"No" he replies instantly

"Then?" you ask raising your eyebrows waiting for some details

"I need you" he mutters

"What?" you yell in shock

"You. I mean I don't know anyone else better. I'm close to you so it won't be that awkward!" he explains further

"What?! I can't!"

"Yes you can. Nat, Smith and Jade are leaving right now" he says placing a hand on your lap

"What?" as you respond you hear an elevator reach your floor seeing your colleagues leave

"It's just us! please!" he begs. You could see the desperation in his eyes.

"If I agree to this..." you drag

"I'll owe you a million" he offers

"Fine" you shrug even though you've wanted him for so long, you put on a act.

He instantly gets off the chair and kisses you

"Is that ok?" he asks

You nod in response

His kisses get more passionate and confident. His lips are awfully soft. His hands travel from your lap to your cheeks. He starts to kiss your neck, but whilst leaving a trail of kisses from behind your ear to you collarbone you get up and turn so he is in the chair. You're sat on his lap legs on both sides of him. He slips his around your waist and let's them travel your back and slip through your hair.

You pull his dark blonde curls, making him whimper. "You like that?"

The only response you got was a moan.

He starts to unbutton your shirt kissing your chest and around your bra. You follow his actions and pull his shirt off. He takes your bra off and kisses your breasts.

You slowly start to grind on him, making his head fall back in pleasure. "Fuck y/n!"

His breath starts to get heavier. He pulls his hand from your waist to tale off his glasses. Suddenly, you stop him.

"Whay are you doing?"

"Taking of my glasses?"

You lean against his mouth with a smirk

"The glasses stays on" you demand

"You have a thing for glasses?" He asks, locking his lips with a smile and carrying pire lust in his eyes.

"Shut up!" you say rolling your eyes at him whilst giggling

"We'll see who needs to shut up after this" he says with a mischievous smile leaning back in to kiss you

[baldval]

ART DECO PART 2!₊˚⊹♡

characters: valentino x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: cursing, canon!valentino (he doesn't mind vox's bad actions towards other people), insanely angsty.

series masterlist!

You're half awake and disorientated. Valentino got up to find out who was at the door 10 minutes ago, and frankly, you're getting worried.

Against your better judgement, you throw on his shirt from the night before and make your way out of the bedroom.

You enter the living room to be met face to face with Vox.

Shit.

You briefly wonder if you can play it off, fabricate a story, tell him it's not what it looks like!

Apart from, it's exactly what it looks like.

Someone from Vox's assistance team saw you and Val enter his room together after the meeting. And now you're here, in his living room, wearing nothing but his shirt. And your shoes are by the front door. And there's a wine glass abandoned on the counter.

There's no getting out of this one.

Valentino wants to scream, yell at you to go back to his room. He wants to pick you up and throw you out of sight, praying Vox hasn't noticed all the tell tale signs. But it's too late. He has.

"Okay. Uh - what the fuck is going on?"

Vox asks the question while looking between the two of you like some sort of cartoon character doing a double take. It doesn't require a genius to figure it out, but he needs to hear one of you say it out loud.

"Listen, Vox-"

"Vox, don't get mad-"

You both speak at the same time, verbally tripping over each other. You've never actually discussed what you'd do or say if you got found out. You both just always naively assumed it wouldn't happen.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, and look at your boss earnestly.

You had earned his respect with all the years you'd been working for him, creating and animating shows for the Vees.

However, you knew it could all disappear.

It would be a lie to say you didn't see it coming, what was true is that you weren't ready for it.

"Vox, I'm not going to sit here and lie to you. It isn't fair. But you can't get mad when I tell you the truth."

"I'll be the judge of that," he mutters sassily.

"Will you come and sit with me, please? The standing is making me nervous. I feel like I'm on trial."

"You might be. I haven't decided yet."

You can't tell if he's joking. He's certainly not smiling.

Vox moves to sit down next you. Val follows, perching himself on the opposite end to give you space. Close enough if you need him, far enough that it won't upset your boss more.

"Start talking," he commands, still confused.

"It's... well I - we - me and Valentino, we're -"

"Together," Val finishes for you. Vox glares at him, and he decides he'll keep his mouth shut for a while.

"Yeah, we're together," you continue. "We have been for over a year. It isn't just sex, or anything. I'm like- in love with him."

It's weird to finally bear this truth after keeping it a secret for so long. It feels wrong, but also refreshing - like a bitter lemon on a hot day.

Vox is scarily silent.

"You're... kidding, right?" he asks, finally breaking through the quiet.

Your silence is enough answer for you as he looks at you incredulously.

"You're so fuckin' naive." He turns over to Valentino. "How can you sit here and act like this doesn't change anything?"

Val tries to speak, but he continues.

"You lied to me, first off. Both of you. For God knows how long-"

"Vox-"

"Let me fucking finish."

You shrink back into the couch, hoping it would swallow you.

"You both lied to me. You broke my trust... and uh, that fucking hurts, actually. And then there's the business side of things. They work for me, they work for the Vees. And, I don't know if you remember, but you are a Vee. That's a conflict of interest."

Val scoffs at him, but then realises he's deadly serious.

"... A conflict of interest?"

"It's against company policy. How am I going to trust you? How is anyone? Information might get leaked. What if I tell you something, and then you tell them?" He points over to you. "And then they tell whoever friends they have, and they post about it on social media, and all of a sudden nothing is private anymore. I. Can't. Trust. You."

Tears are welling up in your eyes quicker than you can control. You're trying to take deep breaths, begging yourself not to cry in front of Vox.

"You do get this is my life right? I get to choose whoever I date," Val whispers.

"Yeah? Well, it's my life. And they're MY worker. And I get to choose whatever I'll do to them."

A choked sob escapes you, and the floodgates open. Fresh, hot tears sprint down your cheeks, landing in your lap.

Vox doesn't care about your suffering, he just wants to punish Valentino through you.

Val can't stand to sit and watch any longer.

"Okay, Vox, that's enough. This isn't fair."

"What's not fair is that two of people I trust the most both lying to my face for a year. That's what isn't fucking fair."

With that, Vox stands up and strides towards the front door, slamming it behind him as he leaves. The minute he's gone, Valentino is wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

"It's okay, darling," he murmurs, stroking your hair. "He'll come around. We'll be okay. If we stick together, we'll be okay."

His reassurances are only making you cry harder, sobs escaping you uncontrollably. You eventually exhaust yourself, falling into a restless sleep in Val's arms on the couch.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You wake up in bed. You've temporarily forgotten the events of the morning, before it all comes crashing back down around you suddenly. Distantly, you can hear Valentino in the kitchen, talking on the phone. You look around the room, and know what you have to do.

You leave the bedroom with a bag in hand, throwing it onto the ground as you grab your shoes. Val clocks you, and hangs up the phone.

"Can I call you back? Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."

He runs over to where you're slipping your heels on, precariously balanced against the side of the couch.

"Honey, where are you going?" he questions, panic washing over him at your frantic state. "Wait, have you packed a bag?"

He's trying to catch your eyes, but you keep looking away, desperate to avoid his unrelenting gaze.

"I'm going home."

A pause.

"... This is your home."

You knew he'd say that. It hurts just the same.

"No, Valentino, this is your home. My apartment is across town."

"You haven't been there in months. All your stuff is here. Baby, talk to me. What's going on? Did Vox get in your head?"

"He has a point!" you shout, trying to pick up your bag. Val gets there first and grabs it, flinging it behind him, out of your reach.

"About what? He's just in shock, baby! He's confused and he feels betrayed. You don't owe him fuckin' anything. Not after everything that he has put you through."

"But I love my job, Val. I can't lose everything I've worked so hard to achieve!"

"You love that piece of shit job? Yesterday you literally had to get up at 6 am just to get here and get yelled at for an hour and a half. Look- I love Vox but he's not a good boss. Hell! I don't even care about that, I just can't stand to see him abuse you and treat you like you're close to nothing. You're better off without him and you know it. You're just too attatched to what you have."

Subconsciously, you know he's right. You're trying to convince yourself he isn't.

"You don't get it though."

"Except I do. Do you think I don't know about Vox's methods? I understand that it's what he needs to do to get the job done, but... I just can't stand him treating you like that."

"You heard what he said! He won't trust you anymore. No one will. Besides, I know it's shitty, but my job is important to me. I can't be forgotten. Known only as an old failed artist."

"Trust me, honey, you're the least likely to be named a failure."

"That's not the point! You're not listening to me. I come from the bottom, I've had to fight for respect every fucking day of my life. I'm finally where I deserve to be. I can't throw it all away for... for love!"

Valentino flinches like you've punched him in the gut. He takes a step back and leans against the kitchen island, trying to keep his balance.

"What happened to 'you and me against the world', huh?" he murmurs.

"I think I got too wrapped up in this - in us. I was stupid to think it could work. We both were."

"I wasn't," he replies defiantly. "I knew exactly what I was getting into. I knew it would be really fucking difficult and I loved you anyway."

"I'm not sorry for loving you," you whisper. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, but never for loving you."

"If you meant that, you wouldn't be giving up."

You turn your head around, unable to look at him any longer.

"This isn't giving up. This is... quitting while we're ahead. If we keep going, we'll just end up having a huge, horrible, public breakup," you stop, and take a deep breath. "I think we were always doomed to fail."

Valentino thinks about the diamond ring that sits in a box in the top drawer of his nightstand. Doomed to fail.

You finally look up at him, and all the air leaves your lungs. You've never seen him look so defeated, so vulnerable. You're the cause of this. And you hate yourself for it.

You pad across the kitchen and pick up your bag from where he threw it, before stopping in front of him.

"I don't regret you, Valentino. I never will."

With that, you stride out of the front door, closing it gently behind you. Val is left, cold and empty, in a room that no longer feels like home.

[adventuringblind]

Oscar the Matchmaker: Chapter Six

Oscar Jack Piastri x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: The media goes crazy over the trio

Warnings: some sexual innuendo

Notes: considering the next chapter to continuation of their steamy encounter at the end. What do y'all think? 🤔

Masterlist

The build-up to the next race was terrible. The media had been swarming her at every opportunity. Even taking liberties to follow her places.

Her PR team had been keeping things as controlled as they could, but the fans are a force to be reckond with.

They left for Hungary early. She had requested they do so. She wanted time to settle down before she had to run around through people. A request which both boys made happen.

Now, she lay wrapped between them in their arms. It's a peaceful place to be. If she never had to leave, then she'd gladly stay here forever.

"Do you think the fans will still like me?" She whispers into Oscar's chest.

"My answer is still the same. Yes, they will still like you."

"If they start saying shit then I'll personally see that it stops." Adds Max. His words vibrate against her back in a soothing way. "The teams know your story. They saw what happened. You have no obligation to share that information if you don't want to."

The fans seem to be divided. Some say she has the money to make it look like she's the victim. Others say it's obvious she's the victim. Some fans are even saying that their relationship is just a massive cover.

Thankfully, her grid friends had come to the rescue. They all posted about her; about them. All of them writing things so kind it made her cry.

~

Media day came around far too soon. The boys make sure to walk her all the way to AlphaTauri, as is routine.

This time, they are joined by Lando, then they pick up Charles and George, and at some point Carlos and Alex.

The group waves her off to the safety of her garage. Watching her meet up with Yuki at the door.

"If any of the vultures ask about it, I will be setting the media pen on fire." Max claims through gritted teeth.

She thought she would be in the safe with the Thursday driver press conference. She was wrong to assume anything. Apparently, drama makes them bring her back.

It gets a little better as she sees that the other two didn't escape it either. They make space in between them for her to sit down. Charles and Pierre are on the far end of the couch chatting before things get started.

All three of them lean in for a hushed conversation.

"Plans for answering unwanted questions?" She asks.

"Sarcasm. Unless you want to answer differently." States Max and Oscar shakes his head in agreement.

They make it through the first part without any odd questions. It's the open floor where things start to get tricky.

"Will Buxton, Skay Sports: question for Max, Oscar, and Y/N." She tries to suppress a groan. Of course it would be him. The one who loves to make Max out to be a villain and her to be a slut. "How does it feel to be out to the world? Could you give us any insights into your relationship and if there is any truth to the rumors?"

Cue an angry Max and stone cold Oscar. She almost wants to laugh at Will and his poor choices.

Max goes first without anyone having to ask. "I personally feel great. It wasn't how we wanted it to happen, but I'm glad that I can hold their hands in public now."

Oscar goes next. Probably to give her time to think. "So me and Y/N have been dating since F2, and Max joined us early this year."

A shock rolls through the crowd. There's one rumor taken care of at least. Now, she can choose to do the rest nicely or sarcastically. She chooses both.

"There are a few rumors going around right now. The one about us being fake is a lie. We've been together for a while now." She looks between her two counterparts for reassurance. They give her warm smiles and encourage her to move forward with whatever she wants to say.

There is definitely a shake in her voice this time as she continues. "The rumor about me being the aggressor is also a lie. I don't need to prove anything to anyone. I've been through enough already and am not keen on reliving it. Oscar and Max can attest to the fact that I will make myself sick trying to talk about it. I order to not cause a scene, I will no longer be speaking about the matter."

She comes out of the press conference and immediately falls onto the ground, clutching her stomach. She's grateful her PR manager is there waiting for her. Otherwise, she probably wouldn't be able to keep going.

Oscar and Max help her up, watch her drink some water, and then return to their own garages.

"Do you want to try and get media over with now? Or do you want to wait a bit?"

She can't help but admire the level headedness of the kind woman beside her as she will be losing her patience with the questions she's been trying so hard to push away.

~

Max wants to scream. Maybe even punch something. Or preferably, someone.

He storms his way through the media pen. Nobody even stops him as he does. His PR manager told him to him to go find Oscar as the Aussie has apparently been getting the brunt of the inappropriate questions since their female counterpart had been escorted away for a break.

The trio and their PR managers have a new group chat for this very reason. The drama of their coming out has made all six need to stay in communication.

So, when he got word, he was released to go help his partner escape the awkwardness of the situation. Because nobody is going to mess with Mad Max and make his partners uncomfortable.

He finds Oscar in the middle of answering a question. A microphone to his mouth and eyes flickering everywhere searching for an answer he doesn't have.

Without any hesitation, Max stands right next to his boyfriend and interjects himself into the conversation.

"Speak of the devil, here is Max right now!" says the interviewer enthusiastically. "I was just asking about the nature of your relationship since you are a world champion and dating not one, but two rookies."

Oh, the nerve. Max has half a mind to ask the interviewer who's dick he had to suck to get his job and see how he likes it. "Not sure what you're implying, Mate?" Max tilts his head in feigned confusion. He can just barely see the two PR managers almost giggling out of the corner of his eye. The Dutch has a way of making the media regrat they ever asked such things.

"Just wondering how things between the three of you work. You know- If you're helping them in their career at all."

He feels about ten seconds away from jamming the microphone into the reporter's skull. But he refrains since his PR manager is even letting him do this.

"I honestly don't think they need any help. If you're implying that they are using me, I'm using them, or this is anything other than our love and respect for one another, then I will kindly ask you to fuck off." Max grabs Oscar's hand and the Aussie tries to give a PR worthy smile. The two walk over to their managers and both are shaking their heads at him.

~

All three of them collapse in a heap on the bed. Media day was absolutely exhausting. The trio had been dragged through a PR nightmare on loop.

"If I never talk to a reporter again, it'll be too soon." Max grumbles. The other two hum I'm agreement.

It took a minute for the two males to make out the small whisper of 'I'm sorry.' The female had been guilty about everything that happened. She has started to constantly apologize for things out of her control.

"I think I know the perfect way to relax and pull your head away schat."

Oscar runs his fingers along her spine. His eyebrows quirk up at Max in curiosity.

~

A bath.

Max's plan is a bath.

She's grateful that the Dutch has a bath bigger than the other two. It's not massive in the way of a hot tub. Yet it's perfect for the three of them.

The water is warm on her skin. Her back rests against Oscar's chest. Max is facing them to make the space more comfortable, but she wishes he were right next to them so she could lean on him too.

Even after everything, they are still here. Something about that thought makes her feel warm and fuzzy inside.

"Have you heard from your family this weekend, Osc?" She asks. The Aussie had been summoned home by his mother and demanded he bring his two partners along with him.

"Pretty sure my family loves you two more than me." He laughs. "What about you, Maxy?"

Max lets out a heavy sigh and sinks further into the water. "Dad has been texting me occasionally, but I've been ignoring him. Mom and Victoria want to meet you both in person soon." A small smile tugs at Max's lips. The Dutch loves his sister and his niece and nephew. "And you Schatz?"

She grimaces at the thought. "A few texts here and there."

"About?"

"How I should come home and pray away my sins." She rolls her eyes. "They think you two should do the same. That all of us need to stop whoring around."

Oscar smirks into her neck. "The only thing I intend on worshipping is you."

She can feel the heat rise in her cheeks at the implications.

Max sits up again and leans closer to her. "Or maybe you want to be on your knees praying to a different alter."

And there is is. Every working brain cell turned into mush. She whines at the thought. Almost shocking herself at the noise.

It's going to be a long night.

[zoe-is-amazingg]

Why Can't You Stop Part 2 (NSFW)

Sociopath!Ethan Landry X Innocent!F!reader

W/C - 1.5 K

Summary - You've started to notice some recent chnges in Ethans behavior towards you and he can't help but watch you from afar.

Warnings - Making out, kinda foreplay but like nothing happens, fluff, kinda smut, angst, stalking, perv ethan, inno but kinda bimbo y/n, blood and gore, underage drinking, mentions of stalking

A/N - I'm open to requests guys!

*first part

*last partt (COMING SOON)

You couldn't deny it, ever since that moment on your porch with Ethan, everything has been awkward, well for you anyways. Ethan hasn't said a word and it's been three weeks since everything happened. You wanted him to talk to you about it.

"Y/N, what's up? you've been awfully quiet today." Tara notes, everyone at the dinner table then looks at you, all the conversation in the dining room coming to a complete stop. You hated how he was just sitting there and having a conversation with anyone but you.

"Nothing, it's just...there's someone on this table who won't even fucking talk to me, and I don't know what the hell I did!" You half yell. Ethan's eyes go wide in shock as he squirms in his chair. You get up and sigh. "I'm tired, I'm going home, bye guys."

"Oh, bye..." Mindy trails off, as you start to leave and start to close the door, someone's doc martins stop the door from fully closing. "Ethan, please, just leave me be." You say and he chuckles.

"You know I could never do that." He says in a dark tone as he starts to walk with you. "Look, about me not taking to you...you're a distraction Y/N, a big one and there's some big shit going on and I can't date you, it'll get in the way of everything."

"You could've told me that two or possibly one week ago, but now! I thought I did something wrong! I thought I fucked up and you hated me! But no, it's because your too worried about some big thing you have going on!" You rant, you didn't even care how selfish that sounded to yourself. He should've told you.

"Look, I know, but let me walk you home." He asks and you nod. You were terrified of New York streets at night, all the alley ways and homeless people who your parents taught you that they'll kidnap you if you're walking on the streets alone at night. Horrible plan really, now your terrified of them in general.

The rest of the walk to your little apartment is silent, until you get to the door. "Shit, I forgot my keys and Chad is staying over at Sam's, can I chill here?" Ethan asks. You slightly grimace at the idea of him staying over. You don't want him to kiss you and never talk to you for ages again. You nod your head and open the door.

Why couldn't Ethan just stay over at Sam's as well? "I was probably just going to watch a movie, if you wanted to join, you could...if you wanted too." You say to Ethan as you shift on your feet, the tension thickening in the air.

"Yeah, sure! Thanks for the offer." Ethan smiles and you smile awkwardly. As you both get settled in on the couch, you play a random movie as you both are on the other ends of the couch, furthest away from each other. "Look, Y/N, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ghosted you and I certainly should've talked to you."

You sigh a little and he moves closer to you on the couch and grabs your hand. He slowly starts to caress the back of your head with his thumb lightly. "You really should've." You squeak. He pouts a little and then shifts his position so he's facing you directly. He then moves his hand up to your cheek, watching you carefully. Unwantedly, butterflies flutter in your stomach making you regret everything about this decision. His face slowly leans in and closes the gap of space between you both and his lips meet yours.

You kiss him back and let the pleasure take over you. He cups the back of your neck, and he slides his tongue across your bottom lip, slowly but surely, earning a light moan from you. You were going insane, he touches you, treats you like a precious piece of stone and then degrades you when he feels like it. And some reason why, you lusted for it, every bit of attention he could give you wanted. As he lightly pulls of his shirt and then starts to unbutton yours, you grab his neck and kiss his jawline.

As your shirt is fully of your body, Tara slams the door open with Chad, Mindy and Anika and she screams "Party time Y/N! Shit- Sorry did I interrupt something?" You and Ethan scurry off each other and just like that, his other side hides away again. You weren't ready for the next moments of the day.

You got ready in your room with Tara and Mindy, Anika was getting snacks in your kitchen. "So, are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?" Mindy says. "Yeah, Ethan's boner." Tara laughs and I stare at her wide eyed. Mindy laughs a little. "When? When did this start? We need details"

"I don't know, a couple weeks ago he came to my apartment and we kissed." You shrug. Mindy looks shocked and Tara looks confused. "Wait- virgin, shy, would never kiss a girl, Ethan?" Mindy asks and I nod. "But he wasn't like that, he was brave, endearing and kind of psychotic."

"That's crazy." Anika says, walking in with a bowl of chips. "No, cause like he doesn't seem like that kind of guy." You smile a little and nod. "He really doesn't." You smile.

You all arrive to the party, everything becoming a blur as a red cup gets placed in your hands and quickly gets switched out for a new one once you've finished.

After a while, you start to notice a blonde guy in the corner, taking a slow interest in you, staring at you, biting his lip when he looks at you and he slowly starts to walk his way over. "Hey, wanna dance?" The guy asks, you shake your head, having a slight feeling that you know how this is going to pan out.

"No thank you, I'm just going to stand here and wait for my boyfriend." You lie, it wasn't a full lie, you were waiting for Ethan, and you wanted to talk to him about what you guys were. Someone's hands crawl around your waist and a pair of lips attach to your neck.

"Hey babyy." Ethan slurs from behind you, "Please don't give my girlfriend anymore trouble bro, or tomorrow morning there'll be an ice pack on your face." The guy puts his hands up in the air defenselessly and walks away. You giggle lightly and turn around and you wrap your arms around Ethan's neck. Your lips meet with Ethan's and you couldn't contain yourself to a slight moan as the alcohol or your reaction to all this fizzles in the pit of your stomach.

You smile as you pull away and smirk, "Want to ditch and go back to my place?" He asks and you shake your head. "Nope, I'm here for Tara and the girls, I am here for them." "Then, meet me up in the first bedroom in ten minutes, there will be a great surprise for you." He winks as he pulls away from you and walks up the stairs.

After about ten minutes of finishing two drinks, you start to walk up the stairs, you also start to realize that you haven't seen the blonde guy ever since that thing between him and Ethan. You open the door to the first bathroom and your eyes open wide in shock.

The blonde was there, you close the door as blood was everywhere, his body was teared apart, and he was eating his own eyes as trails of blood flowed down his face and you can't help but scream. There ghost face was in all his glory and as the mask was removed, you gasp.

The curly haired boy you had just kissed was behind the mask. "E-Ethan, why?" You ask, terrified of all the possibilities of what could happen to you. The knife was still in his hands, and it was same one from that night on the porch, people died that night as well from an infamous ghost face killer.

"Well, baby, let me start from the start." He half slurs. He walks around you and starts playing with strands of your hair. You flinch at him touching you. "When I saw you for the first time, I knew you were the one for me baby, I started watching you, stealing things of yours, then my, what you call them, my co-workers were going on about killing you and we just couldn't have that, you mean way too much to me."

He then places kisses on your neck and traces the knife across your cheek, blood spreading from the blonde that was in front of you. "So, I killed them, it wasn't a part of the plan, baby. But I knew you'd be safe. You're just so trusting and it's sad to see people hit on you and you just fucking stand there, so I killed all of them, it really helped me get rid of my anger."

You sob as you see the dead person in front of you. "Why would you kill people for me?" You ask and Ethan chuckles. "Because...baby...you're like a drug."

🎯 = @idky5 @acornacreacure @nowitsmissing @1950schick

[vodika-vibes]

Something Goes Bump In The Night

Summary: Months after you find Fives on Kamino, you and he start looking for answers as to why he's alive.

Pairing: Wraith! ARC Trooper Fives x F! Twi'lek Reader

Word Count: 3659

Prompts: Fixing each other's clothes, "Shut the kriff up and eat your shitty ration bar." and "You make me feel safe." "You really shouldn't"

Warnings: Violence, Fives attacks the reader without meaning to, the word sex is mentioned twice in regards to the reader doing Spoogle (space google) searches, Reader is described as a blue-skinned twi'lek with ear cones.

A/N: So, this story is brought to you by the many, many, many pictures I've seen of Fives with a y-incision. Also, I played around with wraiths a little bit. Because I wanted to.

In the months that Fives has been living on your ship with you, you’ve come to learn a few things about him. 

A, he’s something of a perfectionist. You’re much more of a “good enough” type of person, especially when planning jobs, but he gets all bent out of shape if you don’t have a whole plan from infiltration to escape.

Ironically, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with improvising if the plan goes wrong, which is more confusing to you than you’d like to admit.

B, he’s messy. Since he was a soldier, you thought he would be a neat freak. But he’s not. He’s careful about ensuring his mess doesn’t get in your way, but you’ll find his datapads and models strewn around your ship rather than consolidated in a single place.

C, he’s clingy.

Look, your ship is small. Tiny. Built for one person and an astromech, maybe. It’s certainly not built for an adult man who is built like a brick wall and another person (namely yourself).

So you quickly sussed out that you and Fives were going to have to share a bed. It was a little weird, that first night. You’ve never shared a bed with anyone before, after all. 

But the following morning you woke up with him curled around you, his arms tight around your waist. Like a giant, clingy blanket. And, despite what you said to him that morning, about him being clingy, you’ve grown to enjoy it.

Your family isn’t really the “touchy” type, and Fives curling around you every night is the closest you’ve had to a hug since you were a child.

Which…is depressing, if you think about it too hard.

So, you don’t.

There are other things you’ve noticed about Fives, things that you make note of in your tablet, but would never mention to him. He has moments of extreme violence, never directed towards you, but towards other people.

He’s fiercely protective of you, to the point of murder.

And he’s afraid.

He’s so, so afraid of finding out what the Kaminoans did to him. 

You rest your chin on the palm of your hand and watch Fives move around the kitchenette with an absent sort of interest. He’s always hungry, Fives. Most of your money is spent on making sure there’s enough food on the ship for him.

“You’re staring,” Fives notes as he sits at the bar across from you.

You shrug, unconcerned, “I’m thinking.”

“Oh, is that why I was smelling smoke?” He teases something unnatural and inhuman glittering in his eyes. It should scare you. It should. But this is Fives.

How could you be afraid of Fives?

“You know me,” You joke back, “My brain is just three tookas on a treadmill—”

He grins at you, a lopsided smile that’s actually insanely attractive. It’s really not fair. How dare the Kaminoans choose Jango Fett as a template and not some ugly bounty hunter?

Wait…you’re getting distracted.

It takes you a moment to put your train of thought back on track, “I’m thinking,” You say as you point your ration bar at Fives, “We should hit up Jedha.”

He pauses, his spoon halfway to his mouth, “Why?”

“They have a collection of weird shit. Maybe they know what’s going on with you.”

Fives lowers his spoon back to his bowl and taps the rim of his bowl thoughtfully, “Are you sure you want to steal from Jedha?”

“Steal?” You press your hand to your chest in mock offense, “Fives! I do not steal! I merely…borrow things.”

He points his spoon at you, “And tell me, moonbeam. Have you ever returned anything you’ve borrowed before.”

“I returned your shirt!”

“Yeah. Because we live together. And you kept the sweatshirt.”

“I look amazing in your clothes.”

“You’re a twi’lek, you’d look amazing in a paper bag.”

You point at him, “That is a harmful stereotype.”

“Uh-huh,” He actually takes a bite of his oatmeal, “Remind me, what did you do for a living before you decided to become a thief?”

“I am a recovery expert—”

He raises a single brow and you huff and cross your arms, “I may have, possibly, been an exotic dancer. At a club that only hired twi’leks.”

“Thank you for making my point for me.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Anyway. I think Jedha will have some of the information we need. Or, if nothing else, they can point us in the right direction.”

“I thought you decided that I’m a zombie.” Fives asks.

“Well, I thought so. But I’ve been doing some research online—”

“Oh boy.”

You glare at him, “I’ve been doing research,” You repeat, “And aside from a, truely concerning, number of people who would be okay with fucking a zombie, I have determined that you can’t be a zombie. Because you’re too smart.”

“Can we rewind to the point where people want to fuck zombies?”

“No. We can’t.”

“Come on, moonbeam,” He grins at you, “What did you see?”

This time, you pout at him, “Shut the kriff up and eat your shitty ration bar.”

“I’m eating oatmeal,” He counters smugly.

You reach across the table to steal his bowl, only for him to smack your hand with his spoon, “Rude!”

“Make your own oatmeal! I’m not sharing.”

“I let you sleep in my bed!”

“Our bed Moonbeam.” He wraps an arm around his bowl protectively, “Anyway, you were saying about Jedha.”

You mournfully eye the ration bar in your hand, and then shove it to the side, “I think you’re a spirit of some kind.”

“I’m solid.”

“I don’t know, Fives. This is why we need help!”

He watches you steadily for a moment, and then shrugs lazily, “Alright. We go to Jedha. You want to go set the heading?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You spin on the chair and hop to your feet to head to the cockpit. Then you pause and step around the bar to wrap your arms around Fives from behind. You rest your chin on his shoulder for a moment, “We’ll figure it out, Fives. I promise.”

You see a small smile out of the corner of your eye, and his hand lightly presses against your cheek. I know. I trust you. You’ll figure this out. His touch seems to say, and you tighten your arms around him for a moment, before you release him. 

“Right. Jedha! Hopefully, the Empire hasn’t destroyed it yet. Or, if they did, they didn’t destroy the information.” You mumble to yourself as you leave the room.

Fives scowls as he looks around Jedha. They’re too late.

Nothing is left standing.

He glances at his moonbeam and feels the stirring of rage at the look on her face. She looks crushed.

He swallows the rage with difficulty, there’s no one here to lash out at. There’s no Empire here. No pirates. No Cartels. Just him and his moonbeam. A gentle breeze washes the scent of her over him, and it helps quell his anger enough that he’s able to speak.

“There might still be something left.” He offers.

She turns to look at him, her wide eyes glassy with tears, “How can you say that? There’s nothing left!” She gestures to what was once a bustling city at the foot of the temple. “They…destroyed everything.”

He’s going to kill the Emperor. And all of the Admirals. And probably everyone who’s ever worn an Imperial uniform.

How dare they make her cry.

Fives takes a deep breath and lightly sets his hand on her shoulder, “Don’t give up hope yet. We haven’t actually looked yet, have we?”

She sniffles and wipes her eyes, “Do you really think we’ll find something.”

“Well, if we don’t then all we lost is time.” Fives replies logically. He smiles at her when she turns to look at him, and gently adjusts her headwrap, pulling it down over her earcones. 

A tiny smile lifts her lips, and she presses her hands over his, “I suppose there’s no harm in looking.” She murmurs, she scans his face for a moment and then a small furrow appears on her brow, “I upset you. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, “Not your fault. I’m controlling it.” One of his hands falls so the backs of his fingers brush her cheek. “I suppose this ruins the plan we made.” He gestures to the ruins.

“Well…makes it moot, I suppose.” She replies as she tears her gaze from his face to scan the former city. “...do you think anyone got out alive?”

“I’m sure they did.” He lightly squeezes her shoulder one more time, “It looks like there’s a path through the ruins, shall we?”

“After you,”

He flashes a small smile and starts down the steps with his moonbeam hot on his heels. 

It takes time for them to work their way through the ruins. They have to backtrack several times after stumbling over roadblocks that Fives determines are too unsafe to climb over. 

Eventually, they make it to the former temple.

There are several openings and Fives checks all of them, before bringing her to one in the back, “According to the schematics, the archives used to be on this side of the temple.” He explains, “This opening should be the easiest way to get there.”

“Alright. Are you going first or do you want me to?” She asks.

Fives shoots her a look, “When have I ever let you go first?”

“Never, but there’s a first time for everything.” She grins at him, and he shakes his head before he smooths his hand over her head.

“I’ll go first, you can come after me when I tell you it’s safe.”

And that’s exactly what happens, Fives lowers himself down on the rope and makes sure that the area is safe, before shouting up that she can join him.

She descends the rope much faster than him. But then, his moonbeam is a thief, so she knows ropes a little better than he does. Fives makes sure that she’s secure on her feet before he looks around.

The Temple really is little more than a ruin.

Honestly, he doesn’t expect to find anything useful here, but he has to look. If only to keep her from feeling guilty.

“Alright. So the Archives were that way,” Fives nods at a collapsed hallway, “But I think if we go this way we’ll be able to find a way around.”

“Sounds like a plan,” She replies as she steps towards the opening in the wall that Fives indicated.

He stops her with a hand on her chest, “Why don’t I go first, see what I can see. Make sure that there’s actually a way through before we start poking around.”

“I can help, Fives.”

He chuckles and lightly kisses her forehead, “I know you can. But I’d like you to stay here. Maybe make a map?”

She blinks, “Oh! That’s a great idea!”

“I’m full of them.” He counters with a grin.

“You’re full of something, alright.” Fives’ grin widens. The fact that she’s sassing him means she’s slowly getting over seeing the aftermath of the massacre.

Good.

He hates it when she’s sad.

It should be illegal.

Fives waits until she pulls her headset out of her pocket and slips it under her head wrap, and he doesn’t move until he hears the familiar crackle of her comm coming to life in his ear.

“Alright, moonbeam. I’ll call out directions as I move.”

“And I’ll mark them on my tablet.” She finishes with an agreeable nod as she sits on a rock, “Just be careful. Just because nothing has killed you yet, doesn’t mean nothing will.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

An hour later, his moonbeam’s comm crackles to life, “—Who are you?” And Fives’ blood runs cold. 

He never considered that someone else might still be in the temple. He never considered it, so he didn’t look. 

“Wait, what are you…Hey!” There’s a sharp squealing noise of her comm being destroyed.

And that’s the last thing that Fives remembers.

You try to back away from the men that are slowly circling you.

Try being the keyword here, as there are five of them and only one of you and they have you completely surrounded.

“Who are you?” One of them, the leader most likely, demands as he aims his blaster at you.

“Who are you?” You counter, pulling bravery from…somewhere.

“I asked you first.”

“I was here first.”

“Do you always talk back to people pointing blasters at you?” Another man asks.

“Yeah, Pretty much.” You swallow hard. Fives is coming. You know it. Maybe if you get these men to leave you won’t have to witness the massacre that is Fives lost in a rage. “You should probably go.”

“Is that right?” One of the men, holding a snipe rifle (which seems excessive to you) asks sarcastically.

“My partner—”

“So you are not alone.”

Fuck.

Kriff.

“It’s fine.” The last man says, “We still outnumber them.”

“True.” The first man stares at you through his helmet, “Wrecker, tie her up.”

“Got it, Hunter.”

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Wrecker? Hunter? Those are clone names.

That or really bad call signs.

“...you’re clones?” You yelp as you take a step back.

The men pause, and then helmets come off and they move so that you can see them properly.

“We might be clones,” One of the men, paler than the others with cybernetics on his head, says coldly, “But you’re a graverobber.”

You ignore his words, staring instead at the handprint on his chest plate. “You’re Echo.” You say numbly.

He falters, “How can you possibly know that?”

“Oh Force, you’re Echo.” You whisper. “You! You have to put the weapons down! You have to!” 

“Why should we do that?”

“Fives is going to kill you.” You say bluntly. Matter of factly. 

Echo’s face twists, “My brother is dead.”

“Yeah, he got better.” He doesn’t believe you, and slowly you take a step away from him when you hear, what sounds like, wailing. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and your lekku twist in discomfort. They can’t hear him.

They won’t hear him until it’s too late.

And Fives—

Dear Fives. Sweet Fives. Kind Fives.

He’ll never forgive himself if he kills his brothers.

And so, when the wall bursts open revealing Fives in a deadly rage, his form constrained by his armor, you know what you have to do.

He lunges at Echo, who is closest to you, and is the most obvious threat towards you. And you lunge forward as well, placing yourself between Echo and Fives.

“Fives! STOP!” You shout, spreading your arms wide to shield Echo as best as you can.

He can’t hear you. You know he can’t hear you.

But you have to try.

A strong hand wraps around your throat, and Fives slams you to the ground as if you weigh nothing. Pain blooms across your back and the back of your head.

Something sharp pierces both of your shoulders, and you bite your tongue to stifle your scream of pain. Though there’s no stopping the pained tears rolling down your face. 

You’ve always been a baby about pain, it’s fine.

Slowly, painfully, you reach up and pull Fives’ helmet off, allowing it to fall to the side. His eyes are blank, there’s no recognition in his gaze, and his teeth have grown to the fangs that always appear when he gets like this.

“Fives,” You speak his name calmly and clearly as you reach up and gently press your hands against his icy cheeks, “Fives. It’s just me. It’s just your moonbeam.”

Slowly the wailing subsides to a level that doesn’t make you want to claw your ear cones off, but his hand is still around your neck, and your vision is starting to spot. 

“Fives,” You repeat his name, “You need to let go.”

His grip tightens, and you gasp for breath. It’s getting hard to stay conscious. 

“Fives,” You rasp his name, “Safe. No danger.” Your hands are still pressed against his face, but you’re starting to lose consciousness. Force, you hope he doesn’t kill you. That will destroy him.

Just as you’re about to pass out from lack of oxygen, his grip around your throat loosens and you start coughing. There’s sharp pain as the nails in your shoulders retract, and Fives collapses on you, unconscious and human again.

You wrap your shaky arms around him, “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

“What the fuck?”

Suddenly you’re reminded that you’re not alone, and you blink, hazily, up at Echo. A stricken, horrified, looking Echo. “It’s fine.” You say, “Everything’s fine.” 

It’s a lie. A horrible, awful lie. 

But you have to believe it.

You have to.

Fives wakes up slowly.

His head hurts, his entire body hurts.

It takes a moment for him to remember that someone was threatening his moonbeam and his eyes snap open.

He’s about to sit up when a gentle hand cards through his hair, “Easy there, Fives.”

He blinks at her, twice, and then looks around. They’re on the ship?

“I thought…what happened to Jedha?”

“We’re still on Jedha, just back on the ship.” She says smoothly, though her voice sounds rough. She’s wearing one of her sweaters, though the shoulders look bulkier than normal.

He sits up, slowly wincing in pain. “What happened?”

She opens her mouth to say something and then hesitates. “Nothing important.” She finally says, and Fives knows that she’s lying to him.

Memories flash in front of his eyes, faster than he can keep track of.

But he sees her, tears streaming down her face, his hand around her throat. His name, calm and collected, falling from her lips. 

He reaches out with a shaking hand to lightly grab the collar of her sweater, and he tugs it down.

There, stark on her pale blue skin, wrapped around her throat is a hand-shaped bruise.

His hand.

“What did I do?”

“It was an accident.” She says lightly taking his hand in hers and allowing the material of her sweater to hide the injuries from him, “It was an accident and it wasn’t your fault.”

“I tried to kill you.”

“It was an accident,” She repeats.

“What else did I do?” He demands, “Tell me.”

“I have a few…minor stab wounds.” She says with a sigh.

“Minor? Or all the way through.”

“It’s not you’re fault.” She repeats, “Not any more than any other time. You can’t help what you are.”

“A monster?”

She moves so she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands moving to cup his face, “Fives, I’ve never thought that.”

“You should.”

She sighs and gently strokes his cheeks, “With help from my new friends, we managed to get into the archives, and I found a lead.”

He stares at her, “A lead?” Fives repeats, feeling as numb now as he did the day he woke up on Kamino.

“I think you’re a Wraith. Or a Wraith adjacent.” She explains, “We have to go to Zakuul to learn more.”

“Zakuul.” He feels like Echo, repeating everything that she’s saying. “You should leave me here. Where you’ll be safe.”

“No.” Her answer is immediate, “No. Fives, I’m not afraid of you.” She smiles at him and brushes a curl from his forehead, “You make me feel safe.”

“You really shouldn’t.”

She sighs and leans in to press her forehead against his, “If it helps, someone else will be traveling with us from now on.”

His gaze snaps to hers, and he feels the stirring of jealous possession burning in his gut.

“Don’t be like that,” She chides lightly, “You’ll like this one.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’m hurt, vod.” Fives jolts at the familiar voice and turns his gaze towards the doorway, where Echo is leaning against the frame. He has a small smile on his lips, though there’s something sad in his gaze.

“Echo?”

“Rex told me you died.”

“I saw you die.” Fives counters.

“Yeah well, looks like we both got better.” Echo jokes lightly, “I’m going to be hanging out with you two for a bit.”

“That’s…” Fives pauses, “Because I tried to kill her.”

“It was an accident.” She repeats, and Fives is sure that she’s going to say that a lot in the coming days.

“Because you’re my twin and something is wrong.” Echo walks over and lightly rubs Fives’ head, “Come on, did you think I wouldn’t help my little brother?”

“We were decanted at the same time.”

“And yet, Rex says I’m older.” Echo grins, “Now, baby brother,” He ignores Fives’ glare as if it’s not even there, “You need to rest.”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“Fives,” His moonbeam says his name in a sigh, and Fives frowns at her.

“I’m fine! You’re hurt.”

“You both need rest,” Echo announces, “I am going to do some research on where this Zakuul place is, and then we’re going to comm Rex for a bigger ship—”

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“It’s too small for three people. Hell, it’s too small for two people, and I refuse to share with the pair of you.” Echo says bluntly, “Anyway. You two rest, and I’ll handle everything for a bit.”

And then Echo is gone, allowing the door to snap shut behind him.

The bedroom is silent for a moment, and then Fives jolts when his moonbeam crawls over him and squishes herself between the bulkhead and himself, “There, now we can rest.”

“...you really don’t hate me?”

She releases an explosive sigh and pulls him down so she’s able to wrap herself around him, her head tucking under his chin, “How could I hate you? You’re Fives.”

And somehow, without her saying it, Fives hears exactly what she means.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

How could he not? He feels the same way.

@bad4amficideas

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[gxdsfavgal]

can u write an angst about reader and drew while they fight really hard bc drew think that reader is always too friendly/flirty with new people and its bothering him meanwhile reader doesn’t feel trusted and understood by him so they do a pause but it affect him really much so all the cast organize a forced reunion between them

Just Trust

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Actor!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, arguing, social drinking, healthy communication later on, not edited

A/N: a little different than the request but takes place while filming OBX3

-

-

It was always like this, coming home from a night out with the cast and immediately arguing once the door closed. It was all a facade for our friends and cameras.

Perfect couple! So many headlines came out with that statement when we first became an official couple. Oh were they wrong.

“Again?” Drew yelled out as he aggressively set down the car keys.

“Ugh! Again what Drew?” I rolled my eyes at him as I took off my blistering shoes.

“First you take so many pictures with these touchy fans, then you let the new sound guy buy you a drink?” he crossed his arms as he towered over me.

“I don’t know what you want me to do!” I quickly stood up and moved to the bedroom, trying my hardest to get away from the situation.

“I want you to set boundaries with your fans and not accept drinks from random men!” his finger tapped hard against the wood surface of my vanity, his force shaking it on the wooden legs.

“They are my fans Drew! They are the ones who gave me all of this!” I threw my hands up in the air showing my studio apartment.

“And the drinks? Soon that guy will want more from you on and off set!” he moved to the bed to sit and take off his clothes.

“It’s the same way I buy lunch once a month for the crew! He was just being nice! They’re always just being nice!” I stood up and started to change out of my outside clothes.

“Oh don’t use that bullshit on me again! I let that shit slide once!” he threw his dirty clothes into the hamper with force. “You don’t see how those men look at you!”

“They are just being nice Drew! The fans and everyone! Anyone else can see that but you!” he was closer now, we both can feel the anger radiating off each other.

“You’re too friendly! Always allowing people to give you handouts! You have a fucking boyfriend! You have me! This is just like how it was when you first met Rudy.” his nose flared, his face red.

“Too friendly? -You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! You’re bringing this up again? He is with Elaine! I am with you! God I can’t fucking deal with you!” I stormed off into the bathroom, hoping that doing my skin care routine would calm me down.

“He didn’t seem to care that you were with me, and obviously you didn’t too!” he was behind me in every step, not missing a single beat.

I stood over the bathroom sink, my eyes looking into my reflection just observing myself and what I have been putting myself through. My head drops between my shoulders, head heading low as my hands kept me up on the counter.

All you could hear throughout the apartment when just Drew’s heavy breathing echoing.

“Do you trust me?” I mumbled out into the silence.

I looked up into the mirror to meet his eyes through our reflections. I could tell he knew his answer but didn’t want to say it, scared of the outcome.

“You can go.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore. I immediately began to wash my face, hoping that my tears mixed in with the water.

He didn’t even try to fight me on staying, he just started to pack up his things. Over the loud water, I can hear drawers opening and his feet shuffling on the concrete floor.

As I dry my face with a towel, I hear the front door close.

The next few days and nights were a mess. Waking up with a sore throat and puffy eyes. Hair tangled and fridge stock running low.

This was worst of the worst.

I've been staying in my own safe space, not leaving for anything. Ordering UberEats, and watching movies 24/7. I was scared to check my phone, scared to get a glimpse of Drew living a happy life.

Carlacia and Maddison noticed how I haven't been active, not answering the texts, leaving the group chats, so they decided to spend some time with me.

"How are you babe?" Maddison asked as she plopped onto my couch.

I sighed deeply as I got comfortable across from Maddison while Laci sat on the floor.

"Y'know, I'm the best I can be right now." I gave her a half assed smile.

They both showed me a look that made me want to go back into hiding, the look of pity.

"Be honest with me, how is he?" I looked down at my hands as I toyed with the ring that he gave me for my birthday.

"Not good." Laci's lips were set in a thin line, her eyebrows furrowed.

I nodded silently, crossing my arms over my chest. My lip starting to quiver but I suck in a breath to anchor myself.

"He's been forgetting his lines, even has trouble blocking." Maddie shook her head and brought her knees up to her chest.

Drew and I met on the set of OBX2, I was just a supporting character. I didn’t have many lines, wasn’t in many episodes. When I would be on set, Drew wouldn’t be on set, and so on. There’s no reason for me to stay in North Carolina, but I stayed close to the cast because they’re my best friends.

After talking for a few hours and changing the topics back and forth, they were able to convince me to go out this weekend. They wanted me to finally get some fresh air, just go to brunch and walk around the city for a little with JD tagging along with us.

-

It was now Sunday. It took me a while to get out of bed, but I was excited to finally go out especially with friends.

I did my calming rituals. I took a long warm shower, took my time doing my skincare, and choosing comfortable clothes. I surrounded myself with high vibration music to help with anxiety and more.

We're in the lobby! - Maddison

I got the text and added the finishing touches before leaving to meet them in my apartment lobby.

Once the elevator opened, I was greeted with smiles and open arms. JD hugged me tightly, giving me the tight squeeze needed to release some panic still in me.

We all began to walk towards the restaurant since it was just a few blocks away. While walking we had a few small good conversations, wanting to save the bigger ones for when we settle into our table.

We were stopped a few times by some fans, sweet fans asking to take some pictures. But we were also stopped by a few random paparazzi, their stupid questions trying to start drama.

‘Where’s Drew?’ ‘Will Drew be joining you guys today?’

We finally arrived to the restaurant, trying to calm ourselves down from the long walk.

“Reservation for Maddison Bailey.” Mad’s told the hostess as we all scanned the QR code for the menu.

“If you guys will just follow me.” the hostess said nervously as she grabbed the utensils wrapped in a cloth napkin.

She sat us down in a long table on the covered patio. The walls filled with plants and heaters, the windows giving us a view of the busy but beautiful downtown.

“Hi guys! I’m your waitress Donna, are we still waiting for a few more to join?” a kind older lady came up behind me as she had her note pad out and her pen hanging between her fingers.

“No, it’s ju-“

“They’ll be here soon.” JD interrupted me with a smile to Donna.

She nodded her head as she went to tend to her other tables.

“Who will be here soon?” I leaned over the table with furrowed brows.

I heard clicking of cameras from the entrance of the restaurant we were at. People’s heads turning away from us to focus on the new attention.

The hostess that sat us down came back to us with a smaller group following behind.

She pointed to our table and revealed the trio. Madelyn, Austin, and Drew.

Of course he had to be here.

I stood up to hug Austin and Madelyn as they made their way around the table and to everyone. Drew greeting the others while I was distracted talking to Madelyn.

I avoided eye contact with him as he sat down at the head of the table next to me. My body leaned towards JD that was on the other side of me, my legs turned away from Drew.

“What can I get for you guys to drink?” Donna asked from the other end of the table.

I had only a couple of minutes to decide what to drink before it was my turn to tell my order.

“And you hun?”

I was too focused looking at the menu on my phone to hear that it was my turn. I saw a hand cover my phone screen and looked up at the owner.

I gave Drew a confused face but he just nodded his head towards the waitress behind me. My eyes widened in realization.

“Oh I am so sorry! You guys just have so many options!” I placed my hand over my heart. “But I’ll just have a mimosa with just a little bit of orange juice and three maraschino cherries please.”

She wrote my order on her notepad with a smile and moved onto Drew.

“How’s set?” I asked Madelyn as i stirred the ice water with my straw.

“Same old same old, actually Chip left you a gift in your trailer.” she pulled out her phone and showed the pic of the gift bag set on the vanity.

“Aw cute, i’ll have to get that someday and thank him.”

The conversations stayed on one end of the table, Drew and I just listening in on the rest talking. With our drinks now at the table, it started to get warmer and more laid back.

My shoulders no longer tense, I’m sitting straight now, but still avoiding Drew.

“Can we talk?” I heard him say from his seat next to me, his hand on my forearm.

I turned my head to see him. The first time I actually examined his face since he arrived. This eyebags are heavy and the lines on his forehead are more prominent.

My heart sunk at the look of him. Sometimes I forgot he has feelings also, forgetting that this affects him too.

“Not here.” I whispered out as I put my hand over his, my thumb rubbing the back of his hand before picking it up and placing his hand away.

After brunch was finished, we all paid and left the restaurant. We all hugged each other and said our ‘see you tomorrow’ and ‘see you soon’.

“Do you want us to walk you back to your apartment?” Laci asked as she stood there waiting with JD and Maddison.

“I got it.” Drew smiled at them and waved them off.

I awkwardly put my hands in my pocket as we started to walk in the direction of my apartment. It was a quiet and short walk, not wanting to talk about person stuff out in public that could possible end in crying or yelling, or both.

Once we reached my apartment, I took off my shoes then making myself comfortable on my couch. So did Drew, sitting next to me and facing me.

“I’m sorry.” he blurted out.

I looked at him blankly. I didn’t know if that’s all he was going to say, he caused so much damage.

“I- I trust you but I just get clouded w-with jealousy.” He rubbed his hand over his shaved head.

“It’s hard to talk to you when you don’t understand where I’m coming from.” I told him. My eyes scanning his face to see what his next reaction could be.

“I don’t want to be controlling. I never want to have that type of relationship, y’know that.” he looked at me with soft eyes, his fingers fidgeting with his signet ring.

“I just want you to understand that I interact with my fans a different way than you do, I have a smaller fan base than you. I kiss their cheeks, we do weird poses. You have to understand that.” I tilted my head down to see his now dropped head.

“I know. It’s just new.” he rubbed the back of his neck.

“And the guy from sound check just wanted to say thank you for me being so considerate of their work.” I scooted closer to him, my hand reaching up to the base of his neck.

“It’s just I’m your boyfriend, seeing you accept free drinks is feels like a stab.” he confessed. My heart ached at how he felt on the situation.

“And I’ll work on that, setting boundaries. I just wanted you to talk to me calmly about these thing.” my fingers feathered the short hairs on his neck. “Trust is a big thing for me. I trust you with my life, and I hope you trust me with yours.”

“This whole thing fucked me up. I fucked up.” He dragged his hands over his face in stress. “so couldn’t even do my job, that’s how bad it was.”

“Baby, it’s okay.” my hands moving form the back of his neck to cradle his jaw.

“I should’ve never not trust you.” he looked into my eyes with heavy eye lids, his lip a a slight pout.

“Drew baby, it’s okay. Just make sure it never happens again, yeah?” I swept my thumb on the apples of his cheeks, his head tilting into my palm.

“I love you.” he whispered out as he moved his face to kiss my palm.

“I love you.” I brought my lips to his.

[jeongintwenty3]

16.25

pairing: bangchan x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: mentions of tears, sadness

author’s note: hello! how’s everyone doing? decided to write this hurt/comfort imagine of chan cause i just cannot accept the fact theres only one chan in the world. pardon for my poor grammar and mispellings if present, other than that, happy reading! <3 remember, it’s just a bad day, not a bad life; it shall pass to. my dms are open if anyone wants to talk ab anything (:

————————————————————————

nobody said marriage life was easy. the day you said yes, the both of you were expecting the ups and downs, the happiness and sadness.

“i’m home!” chris exclaimed as soon as he stepped into the house, one of the few places the both of you feel comfortable enough to call home.

silence from the other side, he was baffled. confused was an understatement, why isn’t his wife scrambling to his arms? you’d usually greet him in ragged breaths, as if you’ve just completed a marathon.

going up, unsettling thoughts clouded his mind. although he knew deep down it will never happen, everyone’s gotta prepare for the worst, right?

wrong.

opening the bedroom door oh so quietly, he managed to make out your figure huddled under the thick comforter. oh, you’re sleeping.

but it’s just 4 in the afternoon?

deciding to kneel so he could be at eye level with you, he froze upon the sight.

chris felt his heart shatter as the seconds passed by, this is never a sight he wants to come home to. why is his favorite person in the world crying?

you’d be lying if you didn’t notice chris entering the room; you tried to play it off by pretending to sleep. but boy, did chris see through you.

he shook you gently, not wanting to invade any further into your personal space. looking up at his pretty eyes, your tears started to well up for the 3rd time this afternoon.

“oh no,” chris started to panic. “what’s wrong babe, hmm? talk to me,” he tried to coax you into reaching out to him.

you covered your face with your 2 hands, not wanting the man that stood beside you see the woman he married.

if chris had to list the top 10 most heartbreaking sights he’s ever encountered in his life, this will be the first. never in his life, he saw you this vulnerable. you always had this strong facade; but even strong people can crumble too. they just decide to not show it.

sitting on the edge of the bed, he guided you onto his lap; he knew, his woman needed his physical affection to ground her.

while patting your head with a few kisses to your temple peppered here and there, he tried to keep his guard up; as much as he wants to cry too, he needs to be strong for his one and only. silently praying the pain in her heart will subside soon, he continued his loving acts.

“deep breaths baby, you can do it,” chris whispered, ensuring the person cradled in his arms is still getting sufficient oxygen. “i’m here now okay? you can rely on me, you can talk about it, you have me,” chris continued, not wanting to aggravate any painful memories.

“i- i’m sorry,” you managed to blurt out while trying to keep your shit together. you knew he was exhausted, visible from the eyebags and the way his shoulders sag. “i know you’re tired, i’m sorry you had to come home to whatever this is,” you continued. “i’ll be better.”

chris wanted to explode; who the hell made his wife feel like this? she’s everything he’s ever dreamt of; kind-hearted, a little clumsy, very dreamy, independent, smart, adora-

his train of thoughts were cut short when he hears your crying started to worsen.

“no,” chris said firmly while still holding your frame. “you, my love, are the definition of an angel. now, before your thoughts get the best of you, let me explain.”

hearing no response from his woman, he let out a small okay, to make sure you were fine with whatever he said and will say — which you were.

“who isn’t tired? we all have our own problems, some we can fight alone, some we need others to help. whatever you’re thinking now, it’s all the exact opposite of what i think of you. you’re perfect, and before you start with your nobody is perfect speech, to me, you are perfect. heck, i often ponder to myself, what did i do in my past life to deserve such a woman?”

responding to what he said, you simply held him tighter and buried your face in his neck. now only hearing sniffles, chris felt relieved you’ve calmed down.

chris had to get to the bottom of this — “is there something you want to tell me?”

after a good 2 minutes, you lifted your face so you could stare into his face and man, nothing ever prepared chris for what his love was about to say next.

“this morning, i went to my pilates class as usual. there were these group of women, i don’t know them at all since they’re new,” you paused, needing a breathe because you felt your throat closing up again.

with a nudge to your side and a kiss to your forehead, chris encouraged you to continue.

“i heard them talking about how they were able to travel around the world with their partners, having the time of their lives, while i’m rarely at home for lengthy times due to work. it’s not that i want to stay away from you, if i could choose i swear i’d choose spending time with you over anything else in the world. i’m sorry, i’ll be home longer, i’ll make you happier.”

a single tear rolled down your cheek, and at the speed of lightning, chris managed to kiss it away.

looking into her eyes with so much adoration one can ever have, chris replied, “you’re enough for me, baby. we have holidays where we can spend time with each other 24/7 and we communicate with each other pretty well. you make me the happiest man alive and don’t change yourself; you’re perfect just the way you are. i understand your feelings, but please don’t ever underestimate yourself, you’re literally my favorite person in the world and i don’t like the person i love the most get hurt because of her thoughts, okay?”

resorting to a nod to respond to his answer, chris felt his heart swell looking at his wife. someone so selfless, she even let her thoughts get the best of her.

“like we agreed, let’s talk about whatever’s bothering each other yeah? no secrets between us, i know you trust me as much as i trust you,” chris concluded, not wanting another wave of sadness wash over his beloved.

“i love you, chris,” you whispered as to not ruin the comfortable atmosphere blanketing the room.

“i love you most, my beautiful wife,” chris replied, with a kiss to your forehead, cheeks, nose and lips.

nobody said marriage life was easy. but one thing you learned was, it’s always the two of you versus the problem, and with the right person, marriage life can feel comforting, like hot chocolate on a snowy day. with chris, you always felt at home.

[youthereader]

Gator catches you.

PAIRING: gator tillman (fargo) x teenage fem!reader

SUMMARY: 2.4k. Gator finds you on the edge of town after he lets you get away.

RATING: e; NONCON, mentions of underage drinking and drug use, reader is an 18 year-old high schooler, unprotected anal sex, vaginal fingering, public sex, gaslighting, angst, dead dove do not eat

A/N: this took a much darker turn than the first part. I didn't plan on writing more for this character but a couple people wanted more. this is a dark fic, so if it's not your jam, turn away now.

Part 1. (Gator blackmails you.)

You sense that your friends are suspicious after Gator Tillman caught you and not them that night. They ask about what happened and you lie, saying you managed to talk your way out of it, he let you go with a warning.

They’re thankful, initially, because you never ratted on them, though they deserved it for ditching you. Then you feel them start to pull away from you, especially after you blow a couple of your male friends at parties. It’s not like you, and that’s the point. You’re chasing a high you can’t get from guys your age. You blow them, and they enjoy it, but what makes you a target from then on is how quickly it happened. Two guys in the space of forty-eight hours.

Rumors start around school and it eventually gets back to you, that you’re a slut now, and random guys that have never spoken to you before ask for your Snapchat and harass you in-between classes about hanging out on weekends. The attention is weird, and so obvious. You’ve never been known for anything before, and now you exist.

The emptiness you feel from hooking up since Gator frustrates you, but nothing is worse than how unsatisfied you feel every time you make yourself come. The relief is so fleeting, that within seconds of finishing you need more. No fantasy is enough, and you’re at it night after night, not sleeping enough.

Your grades aren’t suffering yet but your homeroom teacher asks to see you, expressing their concern. They say you’re not yourself, you don’t seem as happy. Honestly, you’re not. Things felt less complicated before. You used to not search the main road of town for anyone. You used to want to be invisible.

To let off steam, you go to a party with those same shitty friends, but this time some college guys are there with weed and pills. You smoke a little, but drink more, end up under one of them but don’t remember much of it. The next morning, a friend pulls you aside, a smirk barely hidden as she asks:

“You know we heard you begging that guy to choke you, right?”

The humiliation hits you and you shake your head. “Fuck off. I’m not into that weird shit.”

“Your kink’s your kink, dude,” she retorts, shrugging. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Shut the fuck up, because it’s not my kink,” you snarl, and her eyes flash with irritation.

“Whatever.”

The anxiety you used to feel when you thought you might have upset one of your friends doesn’t come on as strong this time. You don’t care if they decide to exclude you, not if they’re going to make fun of how you want to fuck.

All you care about is trying to find a way out of this funk, by any means necessary. You hang around one of the guy friends you blew, doing dumb shit that culminates in some light graffitiing. Not exactly your area of expertise, as it turns out.

You realize too late that you’re caught, your friend yelling to run away. In your defense, you’re a little high from a joint you shared earlier, so when the spray can you’re holding is knocked out of your hand, it plays in slow motion. It clatters across the ground in the alley you still occupy, and you turn around, fingers wrapping around your neck as you’re pulled to your feet.

Gator lifts you up, shoving you against the wall, knocking the wind out of you. You cough, hands going to his wrist. His gloved hand doesn’t budge when you try to scratch him off.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” he hisses, his eyes alight with amusement.

You can’t breathe, feet kicking him, but he’s stock still as he stares back at you, then glances at your handiwork.

“What the fuck,” he adds, sounding a little amazed. “Since when are you doing this petty shit?”

You can’t reply of course, and he pays you no mind, letting you go. You tumble, your knees breaking your fall, as he moves closer to the wall to inspect it. On the ground, you cough and hold your throat, sure you’re going to puke, but you don’t. The world spins regardless, righting itself in time for you to see him stalking you again. You scamper backwards, and Gator stands over you, hands on hips.

“If I find you by yourself again, you’re dead.”

You wonder what he means, because he’s not threatening arrest this time. Your eyes slip down his front and you spy the outline of his erection. Your fear enticed him again. The thrill that runs through you is like no other, and your chest heaves some more, the air not quite filling you enough.

“Gator –”

He walks away, and in a way, you’re grateful because you don’t know what you would have said to him. You lean against the wall, closing your eyes, your neck still aching.

-

You’re past caring. You can be friendless now, it’s not as if they were helping you to begin with. You go to school, you go home. You do nothing on weekends. You get isolated quickly, predictably. It would be sad if you were your younger self.

You walk alone everywhere when your house feels cramped. You don’t want your parents to worry, they’ve never been particularly invested in your social life to begin with. You slip out one afternoon and find yourself walking along the road Gator drove you down.

You think about him almost constantly, like a low hum in the background you can occasionally ignore, but it’s always there. The sun is starting to set later in the afternoon, the worst parts of winter are over. It’s not snowing anymore, but the air still is fresh, making your of your face tingle.

In your own world, it’s no wonder that a car pulls up by you. The road is otherwise empty, and you know who it is before you even look towards it.

Gator rolls down his window, calling out your name. You  glance his way, clutching the strap of your bag a little tighter, your face burning.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you call back, not stopping.

You’ve been waiting for him, for what feels like weeks. Maybe months? Years, if you’re truly honest? You didn’t know you needed him until now. This darkness.

“I told you you’d regret walking alone…”

You stop abruptly at that, glaring at him, and the car rolls to a stop. He gives a grin, takes a long drag of his vape. You say nothing.

“How come I heard you’re fuckin’ random guys for weed?”

“Why would you care?” you throw back. You cringe. “I mean, you’ve got no evidence-”

He smiles again. “I am the law, baby. But I mean if you’re doin’ shit like that, I might need to get checked.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snap, and turn your heel.

You hear him open his door but you walk on, not sure what you want. If he takes you to the station now, your reputation is hardly worth saving at this point. Must have been one of your so-called friends that started the rumor he heard. If he wants to blackmail you again, is there any point fighting him? You miss him, he fucked you up.

You can’t stop the anger that boils over, when he grabs your arm and jerks you back.

“I’m talkin’ to ya-”

He kisses you on the lips and you bite him on the lip, Gator pulling back with a yell, his fingers going to his lips. You freeze, terrified by your own stupid impulse.

“What the fuck? You fuckin’ bit me?!”

He grabs you by the neck and marches you back, shoving you against the hood of his car. His hips meet your ass and you can’t move, he’s way too heavy though you struggle against him. Whatever desire you have for him, when Gator is angry he is fucking terrifying. You have no idea what he’s capable of. He has a gun, for fuck’s sake, and you’re just some kid sister of his friend’s.

His hand is down the back of your pants and you shriek, his gloved fingers invading your cunt without preamble, the tears springing in your eyes. You grip him back, his low chuckle behind you.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs. “You’re over-complicatin’ this…”

You close your eyes, trying to reel it in, the fear… the pleasure beginning to coil in your stomach. You hear the harsh squelches of your cunt being worked, you hear his belt unbuckling–

“Gator, please…”

You blubber, your legs shaking as he yanks your pants down, ridding you of his fingers, only to pin you back down against the cold metal beneath you. He keeps your arms pinned behind you, and you can’t see what he’s doing, you’re forced to listen, to wait.

Everything careens forward as you feel him take a swipe of your juices and move further up, up, up to between your cheeks. You start to sob louder.

“Shh. Shut up!”

“Gator, wait. Wait, please, wait – wait – don’t -!”

He rubs at your puckered hole, the sensation making you whimper and plead. You’re not ready, you’ve never done this before. Your bare ass exposed to him, you’re completely helpless, and you know that’s what gets him off.

“You’re worth freezin’ my balls off,” he whispers, and you know what’s happening next, but you can’t quite believe it.

Not until the first push of the tip of his cock against your asshole, and you tense, whimpering as you squirm beneath him.

“Just relax. Relax!”

You grit your teeth, tears streaming down your face as you feel him push past the first ring of muscle. The pain is like nothing else in your life, and you go still, succumbing to it. He groans, chuckles in awe.

“Holy shit. Holy shit…”

He fills you up, then starts to move back and forth, slow at first. You feel stretched beyond comprehension, like at some point you’ll break. Like he’ll literally tear you open. It burns, until it doesn’t, your body turning lax Gator fucks you hard, but slowly. With each knock of his body against yours, you hear the slap of your skin, your cheek rubbing the hood of his car.

His hand on your ass cheek slips under, and you yelp at the feeling of his hand covering your pussy, brushing the folds as he never stops.

“I gotta-”

He replaces his hand again, having tugged off his glove with his teeth, and he starts to chuckle again, low and a little breathless.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

You don’t bother arguing, because you know you are. There’s no turning back, from how your body just won’t cooperate for you when you need it most. You feel wound tight, Gator on your throbbing clit as his hips smack against your ass.

He unexpectedly tucks his fingers inside your cunt again, the sensation making you tense up again. You wail as he works you, he’s no longer pinning you against the car to stop you from escaping. He dedicates himself to pleasure, yours and his, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he reaches the deepest parts of you.

You feel the sudden urge to pee, panicking. If you struggle, but even with your arms free, you can’t shift his weight, your hands blindly trying to reach behind to shove him off.

You give an almighty shudder and come hard, losing your vision. Your orgasm is long and intense, and like nothing else you’ve managed before. It almost hurts from the intensity of it. You blink back the world as you recover, your empty cunt twitching as Gator wrings his hand.

“Made you squirt…”

He takes hold of your hips and bears down, speeding up his thrusts. He doesn’t stop, and it’s hurting more, with your thighs soaked, his cock working in and out of you without reprieve.

“Can’t get ya pregnant, this was the only way-”

He makes a choked sound and goes still, half falling on top of you, and you know he’s come inside you without checking. You feel him pull out and you wince, and then there’s a trickle down your crack.

He steps back and you take the opportunity to pull your pants up again, panting like he is, leaning on the hood of his car. You’re still in shock, not pulling away when he grabs your chin and kisses you, tongue slipping into your mouth.

A beat later he changes his mind, taking hold of your front and pulls you towards the backseat. He opens it and puts you inside, goes to his door and slips back in.

He takes deep a lungful of air, sighing. You stare at your legs, your damp pants. Everything feels warm and sticky, and you’re sweating.

“You okay?” he asks, and you glance at him in the rearview mirror, perplexed.

“What?”

“You came, right?”

You look away. You know why he’s saying that. It’s to make it seem like he’s not guilty of anything. You swallow hard.

“I would’ve… done those things if you’d asked me to,” you say.

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

You go quiet, and you see he’s driving you home. You can’t believe this happened in broad daylight, thinking that would make a difference at all. Apparently not to Gator.

“Hey, I’ve been followin’ you. It was bound to happen sooner or later to you, since you’re actin’ so dumb and reckless. It’s better it was me than some other guy you don’t know-”

“But I don’t know you,” you retort, your voice hoarse with tears. “I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do. And stop cryin’. It’s a real turn-off.”

“You’re… fucking evil,” you whisper.

He looks at you, turning his head to glare at you through the partition this time.

“Hey, you got off.”

He turns back, and you travel in silence back to your house. There’s no car in the driveway, no-one is home yet. He doesn’t move to get out of the car, your eyes meeting in the mirror.

“You tell anyone, I’ll kill ya.”

You believe him, but you deflate with a kind of weariness instead of turning still with fear like he hoped.

“Yeah, I figured.”

He lets you out, and you walk to your front door without looking back. The kicker is that once he leaves, you take a long time to clean yourself up. You peel off your clothes, smell his come and yours all over you when you stand in the bathroom, the shower running already.

You savor each step of it, seeing pink water in the bottom of the shower. He hurt you, badly, and yet you feel that longing again.

He’s that high you need to chase.

if you're still here, thanks. 🖤 if you want more, hmu.

[imagine-shenanigans]

hey guys i haven't even had a chance to see atsv yet i just know spoilers and i want this man biblically, i'm talking carnally, i want him in a way that hurts feminism, i want to bring the whole damn movement down so i can be his stupid little housewife and raise his damn kids so i can watch him be happy and then also get railed into losing every brain cell i have

anyway here's some abo headcanons, they include spoilers for the movie/his backstory probably because idk what is and isnt a spoiler because i havent seen it yet.

also this one works a bit differently than my normal layout, it goes SFW and then dips NSFW and ends with more SFW but they're all clearly labeled!

Reader is written gender neutral with they/them and the nsfw section has afab and amab sections, but since I'm Nonbinary and AFAB that's probably how it's gonna come off for most of the reading, just to warn you!

Miguel O'Hara x Reader N/SFW ABO Headcanons

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5k words

Content Warnings (tell me if I miss any): Dubcon, ABO, Obsessive Behavior, Toxic behavior, Omega reader, Alpha Miguel

For these headcanons we're gonna exist in a weird liminal space where Gabi is like, five to six or so and he brought her home with him or some shit idk man I just think he's a hot single father anwyay, also this is assuming omega reader because i think it's hot

if anyone wants a version where Miguel follows more canon and he still lost his kid and came back you're free to request that too i love that shit, just for this specific one i wanna raise his damn kids so-

SFW

Alpha, big alpha energies.

Miguel is the type of guy who's pretty obsessive with what he claims as his, I would honestly say borderline yandere vibes without fully delving into it - his mental state in this au/situation is also a lot better since he still has his daughter, so he's genuinely a lot less "feral" than he tends to get without her, even though in this we'll say he did almost lose her.

So when he claims someone, he's going to be damn sure he means it.

This ones a bit of a general headcanon but he doesn't really have a type when it comes to the people he likes, other than he needs someone who's interesting to him. Whether it's because you're hotheaded, or even keeled, whether you're snarky or sweet, he just needs something for his brain to latch onto.

Not a love at first sight guy but he is an "obsession I can't place" kind of guy.

Miguel has really enhanced senses when it comes to scenting, so it takes some damn strong suppressants and scent blockers to completely block him out... which if we're pretending reader here is falling with the abo trope of "hiding being an omega" (which we are because I love tropes) is just what gets him obsessed. Clothing and perfume that masks your scent, suppressants and scent blockers, and a confident attitude are all enough to throw most people off the (forgive my pun) scent.

But not Miguel.

His spider DNA has the animalistic side to it that fucks with his hormones regardless, makes it easier for him to pick up on the pheromones that even most attentive alphas can't, he's damn near a personal lie detector with how smart he is and how attuned he is to what his nose and instincts tell him, even when he's using serums to keep the more feral urges at bay.

He can only get a whiff of you, fainter than most betas, and it drives him fucking insane knowing he can smell something but he can't figure it out. He can't place it, and it nags at his brain. He can smell a whiff of flowers, or sugar, or something undeniably citrus (depending on what you headcanon your own smell to be) but he can't place it and he hates that shit.

Ends up pulling some traditional alpha shit and he can't even help it, starts trying to crowd you until you kick him in the shin or Peter B or Jess shoos him away. He has to figure out what it is, he has to know.

It only gets worse when he brings Gabi in (a babysitter fell through) and you end up butting your way in to play with Gabi and Mayday, delighting in watching them for the day instead of whatever you were supposed to be doing. They're both so cute and sweet.

Gabi smells primarily like cinnamon and a bit like dewey grass - she's not old enough to have presented yet, but her basic scent, unaffected by the secondary gender hormones, is simple and sweet, reminds you of a summer morning.

She takes after her father in that regard - Miguel smells *warm* and a bit musky, like trees and cinnamon and, a bit like a camp fire. A small tinge of oil, when you pick it apart, and you can't tell if its from the lingering scent on his skin after fixing a broken machine nobody else could, or if that's part of his natural scent.

(Mayday smells like marshmallows, and carmel, funnily enough)

When you take care of Gabi and Mayday, your scent lingers on their skin, mixes and twists in a way that Peter B can't notice but Miguel can. It's all he can do not to be a damn freak and pick his baby girl up and sniff her hair to try and figure out why she smells like that (not in a creepy way, to clarify because there are some freaks on here, but in the same way a dog gets baffled by smelling you use a new perfume, or in the way of when you pick your kid up and go "WHY DO I SMELL CANDLES ON YOU WHAT WERE YOU DOING")

He almost can't stand how his head swims when he watches you pick Gabi up and gently throw her up in the air a bit, watching you let her climb onto you while you're distracted just like Mayday does. Soothe her tears when she accidentally breaks a toy because she's still learning to control her super strength.

He doesn't know that he wants you either, not until long after he's already manifested feelings. Doesn't realize how protective he is, doesn't realize how differently he treats you. He doesn't realize he's lingering in your area just long enough to make sure he can fill his nose with the faint scent you give off.

He assumes you're a beta - not that it mattered to him, really. Miguel would just as soon marry another alpha as he would a beta or an omega, as long as it's you.

He doesn't realize what he's doing until he's got a piece of your clothing in his hands, holding it in the dead of night up to his nose. A scarf or a glove or a jacket you'd leant to Gabi during the day and she'd spilled her juice on it and he'd taken it home to wash it.

He can smell his daughter's scent, louder than life, so familiar he could have a handful of pepper thrown at him and he'd still be able to wrap his arms around her and move her out of harm's way in the direst of straits.

And then there's yours, linger, mingling with his daughter's scent, and it's the parent of his child.

It's not, it's not the woman who birthed Gabi, it's not the woman who contributed to making her. It's you, the only other person he ever wants near his child in that capacity. And it's intoxicating. It's infuriating. It's overwhelming because the full breadth of his own emotions is so strong as he realizes what he's been doing. And he can't even tell you because he holds himself to a specific standard, a specific code of ethics, and even though he wants to risk it all just so his hindbrain (both alpha and spider and his own human instincts all mingling in one) can have his little loves all wrapped up in his arms, safe where he can protect them.

He only just has the strength to wash the piece of cloth and return it. It takes everything he has not to cling to it, to make a pretty little nest to protect his family in, webs and pillows and fabric, a basis of protection so you can properly make it your own and -

He controls himself, and returns the scarf the next day, leaving it on your desk because he can't bear to look you in the eyes.

The days struggle by, a stark contrast to his normal snark, to lingering in your space and snorting and rolling his eyes. To being by your side more than he normally is. It's disheartening, it makes you feel rejected, and he knows it.

But he doesn't stop, this tension that can cut through the air lingering. Even Gabi and May notice it, the older girl frowning and the younger fussing when the two of you are in the room together.

And then your heat happens.

(brief bullet point break because there's a limit to how much you can have in one bulleted section on tumblr and I don't remember what it is but I'd rather just break here)

You've been on suppressants and scent blockers for years now. Being in your line of work (whether you headcanon this as a spiderperson version of you, or a different kind of superhero, or a civillian all working in the society) it's necessary. Omegas aren't rare but they're not the majority of the population like betas are. In Nueva York, it's a coin toss if you'll be fought over in the streets like some prize to be won, or if you'll be coddled like a child who can't figure out what's best for them.

It's half safety half preference at this point, from your original universe's standard (before it had burnt to cinders before you), and this one's. Your suit, your meds, and your behavior, they're all meant to mask and confuse.

But you can only make it so long on the prescription you've got, the long-lasting shots that were more reliable than a pill. The scent blockers go first - not by design, but by chance. You'd been giving yourself lower doses since you'd wound up in Nueva York, supplementing it with deodorants and lotions swiped from stores and hospitals that could afford to spare the supplies when you can't buy it covertly. But you'd still been low in comparison to your suppressants.

You shower more frequently, lather yourself with soaps and deodorants and lotions of different scents and ones that have blocking effects, and for the most part it works. You can't quite fool Gabi - too smart, too tuned in to your emotions like her father could be. She's got a sharp nose, and she wrinkles it when she can smell how confusing your scent is. She asks questions, and you can't lie your way out of it, but you are able to bribe her so she's distracted long enough that she forgets the question. Miguel notices, when he picks up Gabi, but he can't quite figure out exactly what's wrong, and you leave so fast (he assumes with the tension that lingers between the two of you) that he can't figure it out.

You're so certain you're in the clear.

But then your shots run out, and even you can't get more without a prescription. And while your health information would never go through Miguel, you know that the medispiders have to go through him or Lyla for any heavy duty things like suppressants, because they have to be resourced more carefully.

And your last doctor, although wildly shady, and incompetent, and operating out of an apartment, was right about one thing - suppressants will rot you from the inside out if you're not careful. If you don't let a natural heat occur, it will only be worse in the long run. (Although you suppose he probably had a greasier, grosser reason for telling you that.)

And rot you from the inside they have - all your natural reactions to a heat, all your normal bodily functions don't work properly, when confronted with something they haven't seen in years. You know within seconds of your suppressants flushing out of your system what's going on. You're still in the pre-heat phase of things, and you feel like you're dying. You aren't, and you know you aren't, but you feel nauseous and feverish and incoherent within an hour tops. Only long enough to let you panic and send a text to Miguel that you can't watch Gabi like you'd planned. That you're going out ad you won't be back awhile. You leave your phone in your room, when you pack your bag and head for the nearest somewhat reputable hotel that you can afford. You brace the door with the dresser, explicit instructions left for the front desk to, under no circumstances, contact you for the next week.

You get an order of pre-made meals to slap into the fridge, water and juice and all sorts of drinks and things shoved haphazardly inside once the bot brings it in through the window. You're barely coherent enough to retain control to crush the landline, rendering it inoperable, before you barricade the rest of the room.

You're definitely not in control when you nest, blankets and pillows and clothing all thrown haphazardly around as you go fully out of your gourd.

You're damn well out of your mind by the time you would have normally realized the card you were using was in Miguel's name.

(another very brief line break in this portion for drama but also so I don't hit any limits)

Miguel is pissed when you leave so suddenly.

Sure, he's been avoiding you, and sure, you aren't actually together, but you're his damn it. You don't know it, and sure, he's not going to acknowledge it out loud until something happens, but you can't just leave him and your child and his child who loves you high and dry like that!

It's laughably easy to find you, to find the hotel you've checked into. He doesn't even wait to figure out the reason you left, he's so quick on his honestly kinda toxic bs.

Gabi is left with Peter B and Jess for a bit, and Miguel is honestly so smug that he finds you so fast. You were so sloppy about it. So quick to leave that even though you left your phone behind, in a moment of clarity, you barely bothered to take back streets. You used his own damn card he'd given you to pay for the hotel for two weeks, and to order food.

If he weren't half out of his mind with concern and anger about how quickly you left, he'd be angry you used the card without asking like you normally did.

(His hind brain purrs with it though, knowing he's provided for you)

He doesn't know what did it. Miguel genuinely doesn't know what he did to earn your ire in such a way, but he can guess. He doesn't think it's how cold he was, in the beginning, but he isn't sure that it's not how he'd warmed up to you. How, when he'd let his guard down without realizing it, that he'd flirted with you. Had that made you uncomfortable? Had every 'innocent' brush against you turned you against him? Certainly, it could be his absence, his sudden coolness and stonewalling. It could be how he refused to look at you, when you were in the room. Tried to hold his breath after he'd realized what he was doing.

He doesn't really listen to Lyla when she tries telling him things. He heard where you where, found out the room, and swiped a key before Lyla could finish talking about vital signs and behaviors. She knows to set his alerts to emergency only for the foreseeable future, because she's figured it out much quicker than he has, and she figures she'll at least spare herself the trouble. Gets Gabi set up with Jess for the night, and is on her way so she doesn't have to deal with what's about to go down.

He's surprised by the dresser in front of the door, when he tries to get in the first time. It's easy for him to move - he just lowers his center of gravity and pushes his way into the room, slamming the door shut before he can inhale.

The hotel room is nice, with a kitchenette and a small entry area with a couch and a television. The bedroom is just tucked out of sight. Exactly what he expected when he'd heard the hotel's name - he'd never been, but he recognized it.

And it's when he inhales, that he realizes why.

Your scent hits him hard and fast, chokingly sweet in the back of his throat in a way that makes his hindbrain roar. His pupils blow wide, and if he didn't have such a strong self control, he'd have torn the damn door off its hinges looking for you.

He remembers, in that moment, why he recognized the hotel. It was one that was best known for its handling of customers in heat and rut.

NSFW INTERLUDE

(We're gonna start with general headcanons and go back into the specifics of the scenario in a sec but it's all relevant fjasdkl;)

Miguel is a Dom-leaning switch, he prefers to be in control as often as possible, regardless of whether he's topping or bottoming. Nine times out of ten, he wants to fuck his partner until they're an incoherent, babbling mess, because he enjoys the power and control it gives him, enjoys the dynamic of it.

As he gets more comfortable with a partner, he's more willing to accept the idea of subbing, enjoying it more when he has someone he trusts behind the wheel, so to speak.

(Because yes, Alphas can be subs too - that's a whole thing I could get into and might if someone asks)

And Miguel, even normally, is already a possessive guy. He's needy, and stakes his claim, and when we're talking about abo Miguel?

Sheeeeeesh

The moment he scents you in the air, the moment it clicks in his brain that you're going through a rut or a heat, it goes straight to his dick.

He damn near loses it, fighting not to tear the door off its hinges as he stalks to your room. Your scent is so strong in the air that even though he knows he should turn around, he still at the very least wants to make sure you're okay. So the sight of you, face down, ass up, fingers pressing into yourself, he almost loses his damn mind.

His pretty little wife/husband/spouse coworker, his crush, is an omega. It's almost too good to be true, and he can feel his fucking fangs extend, his mouth watering as he stares at you. You're too blissed out to even realize he's there, slick dripping down your thighs like a fucking faucet... and his name is on your lips.

He could cum untouched, could die a happy, happy man after seeing this.

He has dignity, and self control though, even as the force of your hit heats him. He's genuinely concerned, a moment later, his instinct to breed to claim tampered down by his need to care.

You cling to him, hazy, feverish, and incoherent. You beg him to claim you, to mark you, to fuck you. Miguel wants to, he does... but he instead kicks his shoes off but otherwise stays fully clothed, his cock so hard it hurts as he grabs the closest bottle of water, and an ice pack, and climbs into your haphazard nest with you. He probably should have left by now, but instead he seats you against him, your back pressed to his chest, and he presses the ice pack to your forehead, ordering you to keep it there as he makes you drink water, sip by sip.

You whine, and beg, and squirm, but you obey.

He fucks you on his fingers, once he's gotten some water into you. Hard and fast, leaving you breathless, tense, until you cum all over his fingers, oversensitive as he fingerfucks you into another one, and another, arms like steel wrapped around your waist as one hand pounds into you, the other wrapped around your dick or circling hard on your clit. It's not enough to genuinely sate your heat, but it's enough to help. And he doesn't trust himself to put his own mouth to use - barely trusts himself to speak, even though most of what he growls into your ear is, strictly speaking, complete and utter nonsense as he's caught in the moment. Every time you cum, he praises you, telling you how good you are for it. How sweet you look, with tears streaming down your face, cumming so well for him.

When there's enough coherency for you to have a conversation (but not coherent enough to be mortified), Miguel is able to get the rough gist of the situation. He really can only piece together that the heat is going to be a strong one, that it came fast, and that you had panicked. There's a confession, to be had there. He agrees to help you through your heat, but only under the condition that you're his.

It's toxic, and of dubious consent at best, but he'll pull as many orgasms out of you as needed to keep you coherent enough to talk to him. He's helped an omega through a heat or two, and he knows what he's doing. He's not exactly clearheaded himself, in making the decision - but he does make sure that this is truly what you want before he proceeds.

When he's sure that it's not just the heat speaking, that you truly do care for him, that you want him to stay even after your heat has subsided, he allows himself to indulge.

Sympathy ruts are common, and it builds slowly inside of him as he indulges in his instincts. Holding you, kissing you, pressing his fingers inside of you over and over and over again until you pass out. He keeps you wrapped up in the nest, adding his shirt to the mix while you sleep, but not trusting himself to completely strip quite yet.

Miguel is an attentive alpha.

(While you sleep, he excuses himself from the nest to call his daughter, to assure her everything will be okay, and he just explains simply that you'd gotten sick, that you needed him for a bit, and that he'd be back once you were feeling better. He promises to call every night, and he works out a schedule with Peter B and Jess in the meantime.)

(When you overhear him, voice so soft, so protective, so gentle, it half makes you want to swoon, and half want to climb on his lap and fuck yourself stupid on his cock until he fills you up so you can give his daughter a sibling.)

This man is going to spend a good majority of his time pre-sympathy rut fucking you open on his fingers and his mouth. He wants to make sure you're ready, wants to make sure he can enjoy this for as long as possible.

By the end of it, he makes sure to fuck you, nice and steady, a hand on your throat and his lips on yours. He makes sure you're nice and coherent for it. He wants to make sure you remember it, when he claims you. When his (fucking horse cock, the dude's packing like ten to twelve inches which is great for my chubby bitches like me) dick fills you up so full that you're almost certain you'll break, hiccupping and sobbing as you keen and wail, the nest below you soaked as he fills you up. His fangs sink into your neck and you cum, right then, his hands grabbing your thighs so hard he's sure it will bruise. He fucks you through your orgasm, knot catching until it slips inside. He rubs your clit/tugs on your dick as he finally knots you, making sure you cum just one more time for me, cariño.

normal Miguel definitely has a claiming and breeding kink, so it's fucking intensified by ten when he's omegaverse Miguel... let alone when the man's subject to his rut. You'll be covered in scratches and bites and hickies by the time you're both coherent enough to function properly again.

Which... for Miguel, is a solid few hours of coherency at a time.

For you? You're only ever coherent in short bursts, and it's like the peak of your heat constantly for almost the full week.

This next bit just mostly borders on nsfw/has some nsfw parts so i'll put it at the end here before going back to sfw

Like I mentioned before, Miguel is a very attentive alpha.

He's going to fuck you seven different ways in an hour with his superhuman stamina, but he's also going to make sure to actually take care of you.

He makes sure you drink electrolytes and water in equal measure, makes sure you eat, and sleep, and he bathes you himself, carrying you into the shower and keeping you pressed against him as he massages your muscles and washes your hair and body with a soft cloth, using completely unscented soaps and shampoos so it doesn't overwhelm you. Presses bandages to your scrapes and bites so you'll heal faster. Cool cloths and ice packs and fever reducing medicine.

He finds he has to bribe you, during this time, even for the most basic tasks like eating and drinking, and he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy having to plug you up with his cock just to get you to eat wasn't hot as hell. The fact that you need him so badly you'd rather forgo basic necessities... it's addicting. Granted, he doesn't actually let you - he's got enough control that he can make sure you're taken care of in all regards.

Back to SFW time!

After your heat itself passes, you're subject to the suppressant sickness that comes with it. Your fever has broken, but you're still nauseous and dizzy and fatigued as your body flushes everything out of your system.

Miguel is beyond pissed when he finds out why you're still sick.

It's reckless to not even have a natural heat once every six months, let alone taking your suppressants so solidly that you hadn't had one in years. If he'd known, he'd have said consequences be damned and would have bitten you the moment he walked through the door, and taken you to the hospital.

He doesn't care how embarrassed you are, when he packs all of your things back up into the sealable bags, and dresses you in his own clothing. He's almost out of his mind when he takes both of you back to HQ - only just remembering to take back corridors to the medic so they can check you over properly.

You've then got two spider people who are pissed, as the medic rants about how dangerous that was, how stupid it was that you did that, instead of just swallowing your pride and letting them help you control things. They order you on house arrest for a full month, to make sure your body can recover properly. No suppressants, no scent blockers (at least the medical kind) for a couple years, and only medicine that's medically necessary, and even then it has to be monitored more carefully.

Miguel lets the Medispider tear you a new one for a moment while he steps into the hallway, giving you privacy and space to figure things out with the doctor while he catches up with Gabi.

When you're done with the Medispider, it's not a question on if you're staying with Miguel or not - you really don't have a choice in the matter, he tells you. When you're recovered, you can decide if you want to move in or not, but until then he was going to personally keep an eye on you.

Gabi, who lacks the complete understanding of the why and the how behind it all, is just glad that the person they've been trying to scheme their father into confessing to is actually going to live with them. (Even if only for about a month.) She grins smugly when she realizes you smell like her dad.

Miguel lets you have pick of the house, when he carries you back to his beautiful, cozy suburban home. He leaves the proper tour up to Gabi, as he carries you both, letting Gabi tell you about everything excitedly. You stay in his bed (you two had claimed each other, and although Miguel does give you the option of your own room... you'd rather die than lose the comfort that comes with being around your mate.)

Miguel cooks properly for you while you stay with him and Gabi.

No more prepackaged meals, he sneers, instead making you chicken noodle soup from scratch, with bone broth and lots of vegetables. Breakfast every morning before he takes Gabi to school, tucks you in to sleep while he pops into the HQ to check on things. He's out of commission from missions while he cares for you, but he still makes sure things go smoothly. He's home by lunch, sometimes bringing you fast food instead of cooking so you can have your fill of a greasy burger or fries or something to sate the part of you that needs something unhealthy and indulgent. Holds you in his lap while you both eat, watching TV on the couch.

He finishes his work and goes on emergency-only mode when it's time to pick up Gabi from school. He tucks you into the passenger seat if you feel up to it, buckling you up himself and pressing a kiss to your lips, even though he doesn't need to. He knows you can buckle yourself up, and lets you do so when you insist, but it makes him happy to know he's taking measures to keep you safe.

He does force you to take a blanket with you, just in case though.

When all three of you get home, he makes dinner, sometimes with Gabi helping him, sometimes you, sometimes just himself. He has a pretty wide range of foods he ends up making, but it's primarily because they're foods he likes, or Gabi likes, and he learned to make them. He's a good cook, overall.

It's the best work-life balance he's had in a long time.

When you're better, he all but begs you to stay.

And god, how could you say no to him?

(Also for those who it matters for, if you do end up pregnant from the Heat Adventures he obviously loves kids and would love one with you, but if you don't feel ready/don't want to have kids other than Gabi, he absolutely respects it, and will talk about options with you. Granted, he'll be disappointed, but at the end of the day it's not something he CAN'T move past. Discusses birth control options with you almost immediately when the two of you get intimate again.)