#my heart is racing and i feel sick and i can’t move i want to go get missy and i can’t

[multimilfs]

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader: The Reigning Game, Chapter (5/?) - Vows Made With Sacred Blades

Summary: With a new threat brought to light and victory on the horizon, what will you do next?

AO3

A/N: Not me showing up 3 years late to my own party...

In all seriousness, this story underwent HEAVY edits. I recommend rereading the whole thing as I added scenes and adjusted old ones. Also, I answered a bunch of questions in my end note on a03, so I'd also read that xoxo

Tag List: @white--lillies @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @thatmacrameisnotgonnahitchitself @thoroughly--confused (apologies if i missed anyone, it has been a while)

Warning(s): Blood, Suicide Mention

(Previous Chapters)

“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away.” P.K. Dick

You don’t remember when Agatha fell to her knees.

The sword catches the light, dripping with thin, bright blood. Agatha’s blood. It startles you that she’s the same inside as you; you had expected corruption to flow through her veins, staining her black from the inside out.

Agatha groans. Barely propped up on her knees, she’s using one hand to support herself while the other glows and fizzles out repeatedly. The sword doesn’t vanish, the wound doesn’t heal.

The wound may not have been by your own hand, but is this… victory? Have you won?

“Coward,” Agatha spits, “stabbing me in the back.”

Your heart races with something strangely like fear, yet a little to the left. With every drop of blood staining the grass the emotion grows. Her winces with every move twist something in you. Revenge is like honey on your tongue—so why do you feel sick?

Let her die.

Lightness sweeps through your limbs. Walking away now would be so easy. It is your turn to have the last word.

“Help me up.” Agatha demands.

Her chest rises, though stutters each time as the pain of her flesh sliding over the blade renews. Under her breath she lets loose a string of obscene curses.

You tilt your head, your own voice sounding far away, “Why should I?”

Agatha freezes. For the first time since falling, she looks at you. You’re struck by the change in circumstances; not long ago it was you kneeling at her feet, begging. You’re seized by the desire to feel her beg.

You want to hold her heart in your hands and squeeze.

“Don’t do this. Not now.”

The laugh comes too easy, “I never took you for a sore loser, Harkness.”

“If you want to win, stab me yourself—don’t profit off of someone else’s fortune.”

You stare at her, hard; the paling of her skin, the way her fingers are clenched in the grass, palm sputtering purple. Her eyes are furious. There’s also something else there you can’t quite place.

“You don’t get it, do you?” You ask, “Being rid of you is winning. How it happens is irrelevant.”

Agatha’s lips pull into a smirk. It lacks the usual strength, but you still find yourself unmoored—fear creeping in where triumph was moments earlier.

Her eyes drag over you. Her own head tilts.

“You’d be beautiful like this—if it was really you.”

You can’t breathe.

“I beg your pardon?”

You stand back—watching, waiting. Her eyes bore into you, the pain in them becoming more evident. You feel sick.

It’s wrong to let her suffer, to watch her bleed out when you can help, but wouldn’t she do the same given the chance? How many battles had you fought, how many thousands cut down just so she could get to you? And she hadn’t allowed you the dignity of dying with your people.

No, she forced you into this circus.

You’re better than her; you’ll grant her the dignity of a swift death.

“You want to be the one responsible, always have.” Agatha says, the hint of a wheeze creeping into her speech. You’re surprised she held out as long as she did. “That’s why you put the poison in my tea, isn’t it?”

She… She knew.

She knew.

“Your death is for the best.” You say.

“She’ll s-slaughter them all. What was it you said—a Queen does what is best, even when it isn’t in her interests?” Agatha laughs, but it's hollow, weak, “Some Queen you are, signing their death warrant.”

You fall to your knees at her side.

Agatha Harkness is the source of all your problems, a tormenter you just cannot escape; but if you kill her now, you undo all you’ve done, and condemn your people to death—or worse. You have to act as a Queen ought. You need her.

“What do I do?” You whisper.

“Get… Get me outside this damn barrier. I’ll handle the rest.”

But hadn’t you already—?

When you stand, you’re barely able to lift Agatha to lean on you. If not for the little remaining strength she has you’d be done for. But you take what you can get and push through the screaming of your body to drag her toward the barrier that wasn’t there a moment ago.

The barrier gleams and twists in place. It's objectively beautiful, but what you’ve witnessed here has dulled your admiration.

You’re steps away when there’s a chuckle on your right, “I have to admit, you surprise me.”

You shove Agatha through before you can think. Without touching the barrier yourself, you turn, and stare into the eyes you’re coming to hate more than the original pair.

The too-wide smile again greets you, “With all that rage I expected you to take my sword and cut her apart.”

“I’m not a monster.”

“Aren’t you?”

“You said I had a fortnight.”

“You do,” She hums, unbothered by your glare, “this is a warning.”

“You think your promises weren’t warning enough? Your intentions were plain.” You snarl.

A distorted, hollow laugh crawls from her mouth, “You know nothing of what I’ll do to you. Your dear, sweet wife went easy on you.”

“You know nothing.”

She had been looking off at some distant marker, only for her head to snap violently to look at you, the crack making you flinch. The once-empty gaze is now full of fury. Behind the blackness, a flame burns bright.

“I know more of her than you’ll ever understand.” She hisses, “And if you were smart, you’d have let her die.”

And she’s gone, as if a product of your imagination.

You reach out and feel yourself pulled back through the barrier.

-- --

“If they never come out of there, what happens?” Darcy whispers.

Lady Darcy always prided herself on an excellent understanding of magic and magical theory; but with every moment spent in the world alongside Agatha Harkness, she grows less sure.

Agatha Harkness is an anomaly; the kind of witch born once in a thousand years. It seems as if magical anomalies follow in her wake, but are they caused by her, or merely drawn out of hiding by her power?

They stand alone in the clearing with their thoughts, Guards and company preparing to take their leave should the two of you return. Hope fades more every moment. 

Lord James looks utterly defeated, “I… I don’t know. They’ve left no heir.”

“Which means The Council will appoint one.”

A look of dread passes between the two.

“We can’t let that happen.”

“How are we going to stop them?” Darcy raises a brow.

Lord James Woo spent his life serving at your side, and proudly; you’ve held tight to propriety, unbent by corruption, guiding with level-headed and clear intent. The tactics in his mind now would never have your approval.

But if you’re dead, he has to look out for the living.

“We lie.”

Darcy blinks.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you properly. We lie?” She hisses.

“What else do you suggest?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, something less stupid!”

James winces.

“We say she appointed an heir prior to… this. Agatha didn’t sign off, but she didn’t speak against it, either. You and I were both witnesses.”

Pacing the small length between them, chewing on her nail, scenarios pass through both of their minds. Scenario one; somehow, the Council accepts the word as fact. Scenario two; they’re disbelieved and exiled at best, executed at worst.

You find lying reprehensible. But your goal has always been to protect the people, to offer them the best; they have to try and do the same.

“Say they buy it; who is her heir?”

The look the question earns her is particularly scathing for James. She smiles sheepishly.

Only one within the kingdom held enough of your trust to be named heir in your place. Only one person you knew would hold up under the weight of expectation and would keep the best interests of the people in mind.

The set up could not be more perfect if they tried. Not only is the woman of royal blood, but her Mother’s House widely acclaimed for their military and strategic prowess. Factor in her closeness to you and it makes the nomination impossible to ignore; far stronger than the minor Lord they would put in her place.

“Alright,” Darcy agrees, “but we’ll give them all the time we can.”

“Right.”

Luckily, or unluckily, they do not wait long.

One moment the space before them is empty, the next there is a heap of woman kneeling on the ground, propped up by a shaking arm. A heap with dark hair and clad in purple.

“Foolish fucking woman.” Agatha bites out loud enough for them to hear.

Darcy notices the sword moments before Agatha straightens, pushing said item out of her body with a long moan. James freezes. Darcy shrieks.

Agatha pays them no mind; slamming her hand onto the barrier that doesn’t allow her to pass, magic crackling at her fingertips and then pulling in, wrapping around the witch as she breathes it in. The wound in her middle knits itself back together before their eyes.

The barrier ripples. You blip into existence.

There is a split second where you blink and make eye contact with Darcy and James. The next, your eyes are drawn to the swirl of magic being pulled from the barrier and turning violet.

“Are you alright?” You demand, gripping her arm, turning her to face you as your eyes roam. Your body screams with exhaustion.

Agatha goes taut. Her theft stops when she turns to glare at you. When her lips pull up in a mighty sneer, you expect the lashing of a century; you had been seconds away from leaving her for dead, after all.

Her body relaxes in your grip, her voice careful, “I’m fine, dear.”

“Swear it?”

“I swear.”

Something inside you relaxes. You’ll live to see another day if she is near to lend her power—and well enough to do so. Your people’s safety is nearly assured.

How, though, to secure a promise of protection from her that isn’t all talk? You can’t bind a witch like her to law, try as you might. She will always have the upper hand of immeasurable power. You need that power bent to your will.

An itch scratches at the back of your mind; a memory long forgotten, a whisper of words once-said that you can’t quite understand.

“What the hell happened in there?!”

Darcy’s voice interrupts your racing thoughts. You hear the borderline panic in the question.

How heavy you feel, how weary. What about you attracts so many threats?

Agatha speaks before you can, “A new adversary has presented itself.”

“And they’re responsible for all… this?” James waves to the barrier.

“More or less.”

A look passes between Darcy and James.

“They’ve given us fourteen days to prepare, as if we need that long,” Agatha scoffs, breezing through, “but you’ll stay here and tell us of any changes. You have ravens?”

“We send word on horseback.” Darcy answers, slowly.

“Horseback? My god, how do you get anything done?”

With a wave of her hand, a metal cage appears with five ravens inside. They’re curiously quiet. Beady eyes look into yours, far more intelligence behind them than you anticipate. Their feathers shift violet in the sun but remain pure black otherwise.

Your Father seldom had the patience for training ravens; though he had attempted on and off throughout your childhood. The experience was rife with highs and lows. He would boast to your Mother, glowing with triumph one day, only to come back sullen the next. Every raven he attempted to train had flown away when it mattered.

Not for the first time, you wonder what had gone wrong; you did not know any creature that would flee permanently if endeared to their owner.

Agatha opens the cage door and holds out a finger. The nearest one steps up, though the others hop forward to nuzzle at her hand.

“Yes, hello,” Agatha coos.

Hand extracted, raven perched obediently on her finger, Agatha sets her shoulders. An air of arrogance surrounds her. She waves her other hand and a blank piece of parchment appears in the space between you.

“Write me a lovely note, darling, and I’ll show you all how to send it.” Agatha’s smile is saccharine.

“Would that I had a quill.”

“You know how to use your fingers, don’t you?”

The low, raspy note of her voice makes you flush.

You draft up a suitably nasty message and sign it with a flourish. Batting your lashes, you fold the letter, and go so far as to press a kiss to the back before handing it over. She smirks.

The kiss on the back raises into a wax seal. Agatha winks.

She beckons you forward with an impatient tilt of her head. You follow, stepping further into her space than you're comfortable with.

“Hold out your hand,” She commands and you do, mimicking her own position, “Repeat after me—Serva.”

“Serva.”

You don’t expect the raven to launch herself from Agatha’s fingers into flight; but when she does, you’re helpless to do anything but watch as she flips and twists in midair. Beside you, Agatha mutters something about showing off.

When the bird pauses and hovers, there is a flash of white light, and the letter is gone from your hands and tied instead around her leg.

Agatha scoffs, “Obedire.”

“Obedire.”

A strong burst of movement brings her back to perch on Agatha, head bowed. You tilt your head. Agatha strokes a finger over the back of the raven's head, scratching lightly.

“To the castle.”

A warble and she’s off, flying North with single-minded focus.

There’s a certain wistfulness in watching her go. What must it be like to fly, to have the freedom of the world laid out before you? Yet, she isn’t truly free; remaining captive to a Mistress who only lets her take to the skies when it suits her. How alike the two of you are.

James is staring at the still-caged ravens. One of his fingers is stuck through the bars and scratching along the raven’s head in a mirror of Agatha. It warbles, shifting closer, but doesn’t take its eyes off of its Mistress.

“It can’t be that easy.” Darcy says, arms crossed.

“Ravens are far more intelligent than horses,” Agatha shrugs, “and easier to care for. Treat them properly and they’ll do whatever you command.”

“They’re so sweet.” James coos, earning affectionate noises from the group, “Oh yes you are.”

One bird has remained on the other side of the cage away from James. Their eyes aren’t wary like you’d expect, just… curious. They sparkle with awareness.

Faintly, you hear Darcy and Agatha bickering over the merits of horses vs ravens, but you pay them little mind. You cross around the large cage to where the lone raven sits. They follow your approach.

You crouch to be eye level. The raven tilts their head.

“Hello,” You murmur, “what are you doing over here all alone?”

As expected they do not talk back. They don’t even warble. Fluttering their wings, you wait for them to cross around to another section of the enclosure blissfully absent of people. Yet, their wings settle and they bow their head.

The pose offers you a closer view under their plumage. You can see the true length of their dark feathers, where they come to connect to hidden flesh. A white protrusion among the plumage brings you pause.

Every glimpse of your Father’s ravens had been from afar; seeing them fly around his office and listening to his curses when they didn’t land at his command, or catching sight of one when they escaped their enclosure and dove through the nearest window. You’re left at a loss when faced with the trust being presented.

Would it be worth attempting to help, or will you only cause harm in your ignorance?

“A pin feather,” Agatha says right beside your ear.

You jump.

Agatha is bent next to your crouched form, propped up by one hand on the trunk where the cage sits. The position puts her face just slightly above your own. When you turn, your eyes unconsciously dart to her lips, before meeting her eyes.

The look on her face is curious. She’s taking you in like one takes in a specimen they’re studying.

“How do I fix it?”

“Pinch gently and roll it between your fingers.”

When you reach in, the raven bows her head again. She is utterly still as you follow Agatha’s instructions to the letter. Her head pops up and shakes—the white covering falling away. She nuzzles your hand sweetly.

“Say ‘thank you,’ Aquila.” Agatha says.

Aquila lets out a sound that is remarkably similar to thank you. You blink.

When you regard Agatha, you catch a glimpse of the expression leveled at Aquila and the other ravens; pure, uninterrupted affection. The emotion softens her features, eyes crinkled at the edges, lips upturned. Her beauty is striking.

Darcy and James watch from your periphery. You shake yourself from the trance you’re in.

“We should go.” You say, hushed.

Agatha turns, looking over your features, and nods. She straightens and offers out a hand. You take it. In a swift turn, she weaves your arm over her own, acting the part of lead. 

Her face is neutral, but beneath her gaze, your companions fidget and shift.

“If you return my ravens in any state less than what they’re in now, I will torture you slowly.” The statement is punctuated by a raised brow.

“We—We’ll take good care of them.” James vows.

Agatha nods. She regards you, waiting.

“Be careful. Send a letter if anything changes, but don’t go searching for anomalies—am I understood?”

Darcy nods. A haunted look passes over James’ face, dimming the usual light in his eyes. Without so much as a glance to his companion he steps forward.

“Your Majesty, may I have a word with you privately?”

You blink, grip on Agatha’s arm tensing unconsciously.

“Of course.”

Agatha releases you with a sideways glance. You focus on your advisor and friend, who at the moment resembles a wilted flower. Grim is the expression he wears; an expression you haven’t seen in a long time.

He leads you until you stand at his side under a half-blackened tree. The bark on one side is perfect, not a divot out of place, while the other side crumbles at a glance. You run your fingers along the dying side and wish for it to one day grow strong again.

Looking back, you see Agatha and Darcy side-by-side, both pointedly ignoring one another; Agatha reading a book without actually handling the pages and Darcy looking around, lips puckered in a whistle.

“Is something wrong, James?” You ask when he comes to a stop.

He fidgets. Meeting your eyes, he gives you a long look. Tilting your head makes him look away. He clears his throat once, then twice.

“Your Majesty, I— Well, you see, we—” James sighs, then blurts, “Have you given any thought to an heir?”

You blink.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Marriages usually bring about heirs to fill the succession, Your Majesty, and with another conflict seeming imminent I believe having something in place is worthwhile. Has there been a discussion between you and your—Her Highness?”

“I’m familiar with the expectations of marriage,” If your voice is a touch frosty, you don’t give it much attention, “and I don’t much appreciate that the topic of conversation in private parlors pertains to my marriage bed.”

“Your Majesty—”

“What is it you suggest, James? Am I to bring a child into what could turn out to be another war?” You snarl.

James flinches. Upon seeing this, regret turns a knife in your chest.

“No,” He says, quietly, “You know I’d never suggest such a thing.”

Anger is rung out of you like water from a towel, you ask, carefully, “What would you suggest I do?”

“Appoint a successor. If you do it, The Council can’t do it for you should you…”

You nod.

“I will consider it.”

“Safe travels, Your Majesty.”

When you walk from the half-dying tree, you walk alone to the carriage. Along the way Agatha falls into step at your side. You cannot find the energy to hate her company.

-- --

You had been a precocious child; at only six, testing the might of your station against the will of those left to care for you. As Crown Princess, your commands had superseded that of your minders the second you drew breath. Once or twice you’d felt guilty about how Celine—your governess—would puff up, only to deflate and bow with a ‘yes, Princess’—but the guilt was washed away by the incentive of whatever you’d wormed your way into.

By seven, your Father had been made wise to your behavior; though you could never figure out how; you had long since commanded all your minders not to speak a word of your commands. But he knew and sought to punish you in a manner that made a lasting impression.

He let you sit in silence.

Silence, he had said, was the best teacher. One cannot ignore their innermost self if they’re forced to face them.

The room he had the servants make up was plain; boasting only a cushioned chair in the center of the space. You were not permitted to drag said chair over to the window. The task of sitting with your thoughts was as simple as the room, and far more boring.

Guards were posted outside the door to see you were not disturbed or harmed. No servants were allowed in otherwise.

You’d thought him a silly old man. In the absence of distractions you had your wild, adventuring mind to keep you busy—you would not fall into whatever trap he believed he’d set.

But two hours turned into four and your head ached with the effort of conjuring up more daydreams. Then you slept. When you woke, there was no more sunlight, and your head no longer hurt. You imagined you were a bird flying through the window and laughing in your Father’s face. It did not satisfy you. You paced the room, then sat back down, then paced again. Despite having rested, your body began to ache with exhaustion and the pain in your head from before returned.

“I hate him.” You’d whispered, then immediately regretted it.

For how busy he was, he still found a sliver of time each week to see you. Sometimes it was something quick like sitting in on one of your lessons, or, on special occasions he’d join you and your Mother for dinner. For how harsh he could be at times, you’d never been anything but excited when he walked in the room. 

The guilt at the words spoken to yourself prompted your mind to spiral. How else had you been cruel, spewing awful words where it was not deserved?

You had been unkind, you’d realized. By commanding the servants in ways you had no right to, you had opened them up to punishments of which they were undeserving. Above all else, you were still a Princess; not yet of the right to command in the ways your Father did.

Guilt was a powerful emotion. And when your governess was permitted to peer in, she found you on the floor before the seat you’d been allowed, knees to chest, shaking with tears.

The moments following had been a blur. You think Celine had tried to usher you to your feet, but it’s a missing piece; all you remember is being carried from the room and falling asleep, waking to your Father standing above you.

“You’ve learned your lesson?”

You nodded.

“Good,” He offered a stilted pat to your head, “Do not forget it.”

The guilt had made you sick for the remainder of the week; everything you ate, save for the smallest portions, found the way back up. Celine was one of your only visitors, with the exception of your Mother and your teachers.

Your Father had been right in the end; silence had been your greatest educator.

You wish you were alone with the silence now, but as of late, everywhere and everything is touched by Agatha. She sits on the other carriage bench, book held magically aloft as she reads.

To say you’ve been through a lot in a day would be selling your experiences short; yet your mind keeps returning to the blood on that sword and the sickening pride of knowing she had no way out. You had, for a moment, tasted victory—revenge. And now you close your eyes against the nausea it brings. How close you’d come to condemning your people, all to satisfy your sickening desire.

She had remembered your goal; but was it only to manipulate you into keeping her alive? In her words there had been a subtle promise of usefulness, of protection. Subtle isn’t what you need.

You’ve no idea how long Agatha’s been alive. The true weight of her power is a mystery to you that you’re not likely to solve alone. Her peers could judge her power, but would any come if you called? You need to bind her power to what serves your people but short of a Witch’s Vow there’s nothing—

A Witch’s Vow.

The forgotten thought itching at the back of your mind is realized. You thrum with satisfaction.

“You made a promise today, to help my people—I want you to swear on it.”

Agatha gazes up, a lazy smile stretching, “Very well, dear. I swear.”

“Make a Witch’s Vow over it.”

She goes still. The smile vanishes and something passes through her eyes. The book that levitates before her dissipates in a pop.

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

“Demanding a Witch’s Vow does not bind me to one.”

“It would protect you.”

“Protect me?” Agatha scoffs.

“You make this vow to me and I’ll pause my attempts in killing you.”

“I’m not afraid of you, dear.”

“Maybe not, but I’m sure you’re afraid of her.” You say, tilting your head. A smug smile stretches over your features, “And what’s to stop her from coming after you again, should I ask?”

“Your shortsightedness is embarrassing, darling, I thought we were past this; if I die, you and your people follow.”

“Given your unwillingness to swear aid, it seems we’ll die either way. I’m simply planning for the outcome with the greatest reward.”

You watch her, she watches you. Her narrowed eyes dart over various planes of your face and for once you have no desire to shrink under the scrutiny. Had she wanted to kill you, you’re confident she’d have done so already; no, she wants you alive, and that can be used to your advantage.

Her eyes glow purple and hands clench in her skirts. Agatha sighs and her eyes return to their normal blue.

“You’re as open a book as they come, it’s a wonder she even needed into your mind.” Agatha rolls her eyes, “We need to work on that.”

You tuck your curiosity away for later, “Will you make the Vow or not?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll make your silly vow. Name your terms.”

“I want you and your magic sworn to the service of the kingdom—and that you will not act against it over the duration of our agreement.”

“No. New terms.”

“Those are my terms.”

“Swearing my magic to the service of your kingdom restricts my use of it for any other purpose. I’m not wasting my time on the same trick.”

“It wouldn’t be forever. You’re only bound until I dissolve the agreement.”

She leans forward, baring her teeth, blackened hands stopping just short of grabbing you. Her nails seem longer, sharper. Should she grab you, you fear for the damage they’d wreak on your flesh.

“I know your manipulative little mind, darling, and I won’t let you chain me to your kingdom until it no longer pleases you.” Agatha snarls, “New. terms.”

Despite the show of force, that sense of calm remains. You see the heart of her, the fear swimming in her eyes over the idea of being chained, restricted. Powerless. Does the fear of losing her own power fuel her joy at taking your own?

You should feel offended that she thinks so little of you—never have you desired to chain someone, to bind them—but the better side of you seldom interacts with her. The idea of her in chains pleases you. You shift as that pleasure makes itself known at the apex of your thighs.

“During the duration of our deal, you’ll act in the best interests of the kingdom. If there are threats, you’ll do what you can to handle them; and if there are people in need, you’ll lend your power to aid them.”

Agatha regards you thoughtfully, “No little clause about not killing you?”

“My death serves no benefit to my people.”

Her eyebrows raise. With a shake of her head she holds out her hand, palm up. You mimic the action.

An artful flick of her fingers and a wisp of violet summon an ornate dagger into her open hand. The hilt is short, silver wrapped in indigo briars that while appearing sharp don’t seem to mar Agatha’s hand. A blade of black metal extends from it, curving to-and-fro, until sharpening to an intense point.

You wince at the sight of it, “Can you not… use magic?”

“You want a sacred Vow, don't you?” Agatha scoffs, “There’s no Vow more sacred than that made with a Coven Blade.”

“You don’t have a coven.”

Agatha scowls, “I am aware. It was inherited.”

“From who?”

“My Mother.”

“If it belongs to her coven, shouldn’t one of her fellowship have it?”

“They would,” She says, turning and holding the blade point-down above her palm, “if they weren’t all dead.”

Without so much as a wince, she carves an X in the center of her palm, flesh parting cleanly. Blood pools in her hand.

“Oh.”

She moves so fast you don’t know to anticipate the pain until it blossoms up your arm. Looking down, you wear a matching X, complete with the ever-growing pool of blood.

Agatha presses her palm to the top of your forearm, just below where it meets the elbow. Blood seeps between her fingers and around the curve of your arm.

“I, Agatha Harkness, swear upon my blood and gifts, that I will act in the best interests of your kingdom. I will destroy any entity that threatens these interests and lend my power to those within your borders that require its support.” As she speaks, she drags her hand down the length of your forearm, leaving a smear of red in its wake. When she clasps your palms together, she looks at you, magic swirling in her eyes, “This is my Vow to you.”

Upon the final word, lavender flame erupts down the length of your arm and her own, burning away the blood left behind. It moves and wedges its way between your interlocked palms. The light that emits, violet and white and so bright it burns, forcing your eyes closed. The flesh of your palm is mended as if nothing happened.

Agatha’s palm still bears the X, though healed.

“So I don’t forget.” She winks.

“If you did, what would happen?”

“For something small, maybe a little zap, some exhaustion.” Agatha shrugs, “Something large… I’m sure the punishment would fit the crime. Eager to see me tortured, are you?”

You do your best to ignore the salacious grin.

“I want to be sure you won’t get off easy, that’s all.”

“Getting off is plenty easy with the right help.”

The roll of your eyes doesn’t hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. She cackles at the sight. You don’t attempt to muster a glare, convinced it would only amuse her further.

“What is your plan for protecting the borders?”

Her eyes still twinkle with amusement. You’re not sure what is so funny.

“Protecting the borders is a little difficult since she’s within them, dear, but I can exclude that section from my wards if it pleases you.”

“How?”

“We do not have time for you to learn the basics of casting.”

“Fine,” You sigh, “but I want the wards handled discreetly.”

“I’m not all explosions and smoke-clouds—that was only to get your attention.” She smirks.

“Is everything a joke to you?”

“Yes.”

Villages faced with the might of Agatha’s forces had once chosen between fighting or fleeing. Though some had made a third choice; hanging themselves from rafters at the whisper of impending invasion.

Monica had gone to pay respects in your place, once. When she returned, she had requested three days leave. The look in her eye she returned with has never gone away.

It’s been weeks since the threat of Agatha was settled; what would the people do if they caught wind of another war on the horizon?

Agatha sighs, as if reading the thoughts on your face, “I will be discreet. Best interests of the kingdom, remember?”

“I want to go with you.”

“That is the opposite of discreet.”

“We’ll go under the cover of night—”

“I know you’re woefully uneducated in the ways of witchcraft, but the weight of transporting two beings and setting wards of the size we’ll require? Too much, even for me.”

“There has to be a way. Please.”

The hard lines of her face soften just so. Her blue eyes are contemplative, seeing more than you would like.

“Two of the sites are on our way. The others I’ll handle alone—a sudden tour of the borders might raise a few suspicions.” 

You deflate. Something within you that had once been ready to argue turns to liquid, slithering around your heart, tugging on all the little strings that make your eyes water.

“Thank you.” You say. 

“Don’t thank me yet.”

[drivemysoul]

i just had the worst nightmare i’ve had in a long fucking time and i feel like sobbing

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

kiss kiss fall in love | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

your hormones have peeked at your five month mark. your belly started to properly show now and your tastebuds were only slightly concerning. at least the morning sickness was gone, top two worst things about pregnancy, second having to give birth.

you lounged on the couch as you watched your daughter and husband playing on the floor, bits of their hair covered their faces in a curtain. spencer was already teaching her the ways of chess, she asked him many questions.

“how come the queen isn’t wearing a gold crown? she’s special.” holding a black chess piece in her small palm. you chuckled at the childish question.

“well she is wearing a crown, but if you want we can paint it gold. she is the most important piece of the game.” spencer agreed with annabeth, ruffling her locks. he stood from the ground, made a quick stop to kiss your cheek and went into the hallway to comeback with the craft supplies box. he pulled out the paint pens, “why don’t you decorate all of them how you want? it’ll be our special set.”

annabeth went quick to work on coloring over the pieces, some covered in swirled and dots while others had hearts or stars. she even drew a couple of happy expressions, then one sad one, “because he’s just a pawn.” you and spencer chuckled at her reasoning.

you rubbed your palm along your swollen stomach, old stretch marks reappearing at the bottom. your cotton shorts and simple tank feeling suffocating even with minimal fabric. “oh!” a tiny yelp from your lips, eyes widening and mouth pursing.

spencer snapped his head your way, “what’s wrong?” hurrying over to you. annabeth stopped her work to watch both of you with her big eyes. you let a smile ease onto your face, “the baby kicked.”

annabeth scrambled over, “can i feel?” tucking her hands into her chest for restraint. “of course, sweets. here,” holding a palm out for her tiny hand to sit and you guided it over to where the kick happened.

“try speaking to them. they like hearing our voices,” whispering to your daughter when the baby didn’t kick right away. little annabeth leaned in close, her lips grazing your ticklish skin, “i can’t wait to meet you. i’m gonna be the best big sister to you.”

it took a moment but then another kick appeared, “kick! i felt a kick!” she squealed, giving a little jump to her body. she looked to spencer, “daddy! daddy feel the baby!” reaching for his hand like you did earlier.

spencer cooed and gasped with annabeth when another kick appeared. “hi little one,” spencer whispered close, “i’m your daddy and your big sister is next to me. we can’t wait to meet you.” another strong kick followed.

“okay, how about we give mommy a rest. cause my organs aren’t feeling happy about being a soccer ball.” ruffling at your daughter hair. annabeth pressed a kiss goodbye to the growing baby and went back to her art project.

spencer joined you on the couch, arm thrown behind your head and resting on your shoulders while you leaned into him. “how are you feeling? need anything?” his rich voice caressing your ear and making your heart race.

you turned to him with a bright smile, “i do actually. i need a thousand kisses from you. haven’t been given my usually attention.” pouting exaggerated.

spencer looked surprised, “a thousand? man i must be really behind.” clicking his teeth. you nodded, “you have mister. better get started.” puckering up with your eyes closed.

spencer’s light giggles filled your soul and then his lips on yours caused a craving. “more,” a quiet demand.

a fast peck, “oh this is gonna take awhile.”

a lingering drawl, “we’re getting somewhere.”

another fast kiss, but you could tell spencer didn’t move far away. his breath tingled your wet lips, “i’m gonna have to call hotch to babysit if you want all those kisses.” a fifth kiss before his weight left the couch and his footsteps disappeared. you thought it was a little funny he was gonna call his boss on an off day so your child and his could have that playdate that’s been in the works.

“bethie,” calling for your daughter with outstretched arms. she worked her way beside you on the couch an wrapped her arms in a side hug, here genetic reid puppy eyes glaring upon you. “would you be okay to have a playdate with jack today?” smoothing a hand over the crown of her head.

“really?” eyes wide with excitement. you nodded, “you have to be a good girl for mr and mrs. hotchner. that’s daddy’s boss and our friend, say please and thank you. and also make sure you’re cleaning up after yourself.”

spencer walked back into the living room, “the hotchners are on their way. and they happily agreed to bethie joining them on their trip to the aquarium.” scooping annabeth up, both of them yelling “aquarium! aquarium!”

“i wanna see the stingrays!” annabeth declared to jack when him and hotch appeared at your door fifteen minutes later. the three of you watched the two chat while you packed her little backpack of supplies, you handed it off to hotch with a grateful smile.

“thank you for accepting on short notice. i just really want to be alone with my husband, im deprived of attention. i’m wilting like a flower.” sighing and aching as you talked to hotch.

the older man smiled and lightly chuckled, you’re one of the few to crack that stone facade spencer says. “jack’s been missing her anyway, he was trying for a sleepover as well tonight.” you raised your brows, “we’ll see how the afternoon goes.”

once you were completely alone, you dragged spencer behind you into your shared bedroom. “more kisses please,” sitting at the foot of the bed.

spencer moved to stand in the space between your spread legs, his hands cupping at your cheeks like you were fine china. your wandering fingers slid under his plain t-shirt, sitting in his waistband and rubbing against his slim stomach. “don’t keep me waiting, pretty boy. i will start getting angry.”

spencer bent in and let his plush lips mesh with yours, his nose tickling at your cheek when he changed angles to broaden the intimate act. a hum sounded from your throat as you opened your mouth wider and let your tongue wonder, desperately needing a french kiss. a moan echoed in the room as spencer moved from your lips to your jaw, further down onto your neck.

“this- this is nice,” letting a hand sink into the ends of his hair. your nails scratching at his scalp as your eyes fluttered and pulse spiked.

“i love you so much,” lips causing a shiver to erupt. you sighed, “i- i love you too. so lucky for- for marrying you.” your hands starting to mess with spencer’s belt and zipper.

“gonna show you how loved you are.”

[yogurtkags]

congrats on the milestone, cid!!! for the event, how about kageyama with YOUR favorite premise/trope? 🫵

❝ STUCK WITH YOU ❞ — kageyama tobio

cw. gn!reader, implied friends to lovers, forced proximity (there is only one bed), mutual pining, comfort, confessions, not beta read. word count. ~ 1.2k synopsis. whispered confessions and hesitant embraces of a boy in love event masterlist

well shit.

“i can take the floor—“ the both of you splutter out at the same time, causing a little giggle to escape your lips and even tobio to crack a tiny crooked smile, both of your cheeks flushing a light pink.

“the floor’s so uncomfortable, it’s going to ruin your back and you’re not going to like it during practice tomorrow.” you pointedly remark, eyebrow quirked and hands on your hips, thinking you’ve won with your argument.

the rain pelts against your bedroom windows, little taps growing progressively louder and faster and as the winds howl and the trees sway, like a ticking clock counting down to a verdict.

you gave him the option to stay over with his best interests in mind, he can’t afford walking home drenched in the rain and getting sick right now with a match in a few days. but the idea of being in such close proximity for a night with the boy who seized your heart causes it to hammer anxiously in your chest, like butterflies emerging from their cocoons. maybe i didn’t think this through.

crossing his arms over his chest with a scoff, he grumbles matter-of-factly, “and let you go through the discomfort instead? no way in hell.”

once he's made up his mind, there's no convincing him otherwise.

he swears that he cares so much for you, he just doesn't know how to express it in words without being a little blunt and sometimes a little mean, but you know he has good intentions. you wouldn't willingly be friends with him if he didn't, at least he hopes that's the case— his stomach threatens to drop at the idea that he had possibly made you feel upset in any sort of way. it might seem dramatic, but he'd rather die than make you feel like you'd have to walk on eggshells around him.

“well if you’re so against it, we can…" you clear your throat nervously, eyes darting across the floorboards and unable to meet his, "...share?"

tobio's cheeks burn with the implication of your words. the two of you, in bed, together, just the thought alone is enough to cause his brain to short-circuit, leaving him in a stuttering mess and avoiding your eyes, suddenly finding the band poster on your wall very interesting.

you would've missed his quiet "okay" if you weren't looking at him and trying to gauge his reaction from the corner of your eye, his voice barely above a whisper, “but i’m pushing you off if you kick me.”

“excuse you, it’s literally my bed?!”

“dumbass.”

with a huff, you turn and crawl into your bed, rolling to the side closer to the window and grabbing part of the blankets, giving him some space if he decides to join you. facing away from him to hide your nerves and expression, you announce, "well i'm turning in now, it's up to you if you want to get in or not."

you try your best to play it off nonchalantly, but everything in your being prays and hopes that he does. every second that you wait, the faster your thoughts race, you worry that he only said yes to appease you, that you made him uncomfortable with your question, that you were getting ahead of yourself. maybe this was a bad idea.

the swirling tornado of thoughts in your mind was interrupted by the feeling of the empty space behind you dip with weight. it doesn't do much to soothe your nerves, but you focus your eyes on the raindrops trailing down your window, letting it still your heart, even if just for a little while.

as the two of you lay in silence, backs facing each other with a little river of a space between your bodies, neither dare to move even an inch. your senses are on high alert, taking note of every single movement, every breath, the fibers of your sheets feeling scratchy for the first time, just waiting, longing for something to happen.

the sudden flash of lightning and loud thundering causes a small yelp to slip out of your lips, flinching as the burst of bright light floods your vision and temporarily illuminates the dark room. your back lightly brushes against tobio's and you're quick to apologise, "i-i'm sorry, i was just shocked by that."

"i know," you told him some time ago that storms make you a little anxious, he remembers every little detail about you, committing it to memory, "are you okay?"

turning his head to look at you over his shoulder, his heart clenches at the way you shake your head with embarrassment, almost trying to make yourself smaller and shrinking your frame against him. you want to dig a hole and bury yourself in it, silently glaring and cursing at the sky and the dark clouds that inhabit it, why did this wretched rain have to make things weird?

with a sharp inhale, he bites the bullet and tests the waters, turning around and reaching for your hand. as his fingers brush over your knuckles, your breath catches in your throat at the delicate motion, the callouses and roughness feeling like light tender scratches on your skin, creating a gentle distraction to your weary soul.

it’s odd. you two were always close, but not like this, yet it feels natural. your hands fit together like pieces of a puzzle, yours cradled in the palm of his larger ones. in your vulnerability, you rest your forehead on his clothed chest, trying to ground yourself and slow your breathing, finding comfort in the rhythm of his heart thrumming against his chest.

tobio hopes that you don’t notice the speed of his pulse, and even if you do, he wishes you won’t bring it up for the sake of his sanity. before this, he longed for the day that he could hold you in his arms, but now that the time has come, he can’t help but wish it was under different circumstances, nonetheless counting his lucky stars for this opportunity to be there for you.

with tremoring hands, he pulls you closer and strokes your hair, running his fingers between the soft strands in a light caress, recalling the days when miwa used to do this for him as a young child riddled with fear. your body melts against his in relief, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding, sinking into his steady hold and letting the rise and fall of his chest slowly lull you in a calm rest.

this feels... nice.

tobio thinks you look beautiful in this light, the faintest glow from the streetlamps below shining in through the sheer curtains and fanning across the apples of your cheeks. he almost gives in to the temptation of brushing his lips against your forehead but decides against it, settling with admiring your delicate features and letting his eyes trail across the fine details of your face.

in the quiet of night when he thinks you're asleep, he plucks the courage to whisper into the crown of your head, three words he's had on his mind for a while now, allowing himself to drift off into slumber with your soft smile pressed into the crook of his neck.

notes. mac my fellow tobio enjoyer, thank you for requesting our beloved blooberi boy and my favourite tropes (you know the way to my heart) ♡ i look forward to more screaming crying thirst sessions with you over mr tobio, much love to you !! (dividers: @/cafekitsune) reblogs & interactions are always appreciated !

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[xiao-come-home]

❝Uncurable disease... or so they say.❞

┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓

✰ Characters: Neuvillette.

✰ Words: 1k.

✰ SFW ; gn!reader, no mentions of pronouns, but neuvillette uses female pet name towards the reader, I think.

Warnings: slight hurt, but then a lot of comfort. neuvi doesnt know how confessing works and does it his own way.

A/N: NEUVILLETTE BRAINROT NEUVILLETTE BRAINROTKORFKKTGOID GRRRRRR it was supposed to short but oh well 1k words hehe shy emoji

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

“You make me ill.”

Neuvillette’s words pierce through your heart like daggers. His orchid eyes stare you down and indicate absolutely nothing; his sudden confession left you in a circle between shock and confusion.

The words spread throughout your body like poison, but in reality you’re only staring back at him. The hurt starts to become visible on your face, but your mouth seems to be unable to let out a noise; yet, the voice in your head yells and begs to know the answer as to why.

You clutch the rainbow rose he brought you close to your chest, being the first to take your eyes off him. You look at the ground, feeling the familiar clump in your throat that starts to form.

Neuvillette has been feeling sick as of late. Or at least, that’s what he thought - well, what else could explain that he feels his temperature rise, his heart beating so fast it could escape his chest, making even his voice tremble? “No, this cannot be-“ Neuvillette thought frantically, massaging his temples, “It’s time for a professional to evaluate.”

Though, as expected - the doctor was of no help. She giggled to herself, “I apologize, monsieur Neuvillette, I’m afraid I can’t help in this case. I can assure you however, you’re perfectly healthy.” The chief of justice felt the uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment, but thanked the doctor and left the room.

After yet another trial where Neuvillette seemed to be somewhere else with his thoughts, Furina confronted him with a tinge of annoyance in her voice. The white haired man could only mutter a thing, that he does not feel well; at the sound of his pathetic excuse, Furina stood up from her seat furiously, throwing her hands in the air, “You aren’t sick, fool! You’re in love!”The hydro archon’s cheeks flushed a slight pink at her own statement, but she was no match for her subordinate; she pushed the sudden bashfulness away, “n-now, do something about it immediately! I will not tolerate it in the courtroom any longer!” Furina crossed her arms and sat down again, furrowing her brows and watching the empty seats below her.

Seeing you divert your eyes away, Neuvillette’s expression softened significantly, his line of sight mimicking yours and shifting to a nearby bench.

“Why?”

Neuvillette blinks quickly, his eyelashes batting at you in surprise, “Come again? What do you mean?”

“Why do you hate me?”

He could feel the boiling hot feeling spreading through his body, although not a pleasant one. His eyes widened at you and his lips parted ever so slightly - but Neuvillette could only hear his heart beating so fast, beating to the rhythm of worry and uncertainty.

Before he could react properly, he saw a small tear dripping down your cheek, onto the cold pavement.

But his body moved without thinking.

He cups your cheeks gently with his gloved hands and moves your head up, just enough so you could look at him. His thumbs wipe your tears off your face, sighing deeply and finally speaking the real deal.

“You… make my heart race. It beats ungodly fast whenever I lay my eyes on you. You’ve been occupying my thoughts for many months, and even if I try to think about anything else - I cannot bring myself to do it, because it all comes back to you. I can’t… stop thinking about you, I can’t stop myself from admiring your ravishing beauty, I want you-“

“Wait!” You yell just enough to make him stop, both of you avoiding each other’s gazes and blushing bright red, but his hands stayed firmly on your face, no longer drying off tears, but caressing the apples of your cheeks he gently, “if that’s how you feel, then why…? Why did you say it like that?” For what it feels like first time in forever, you look into his gorgeous eyes that resemble the finest amethyst.

“I… I apologize, I didn’t want you to misunderstand me,” Neuvillette gasps slightly when he feels your delicate palms on his own hands, “but I truly mean it - I…”

Your breath hitches in your throat; the butterflies in your stomach don’t seem to help, but the anticipation has you almost shaking.

“I love you.”

Neuvillette can’t describe the weight that’s been lifted off his shoulders; but the sinking sensation in his stomach of not knowing what will happen next is making him nervous more than anything. When more tears meet his hands yet again, he fears for the worst.

“It’s alright, please do not shed any more tears because of me. I’m happy enough to have said it,” except, he doesn’t. He feels his heart break in half, getting filled by nothing but a void of emptiness.

The clouds become gloomy - looks like it’s going to rain later.

Just as his hands slide down and he begins to turn away, you reach out for his arm and grab it, causing him to spare you one, last look.

“Wait! I’m sorry, don’t go… I love you too, silly.” You manage to murmur the last few words loud enough that he could hear.

Neuvillette can’t believe it’s actually happening. He appears stunned for a minute, watching you in disbelief, but then a genuine smile graces his lips; his hands play with your fingers and silently ask to be intertwined with yours. When your interlaced hands give him a small squeeze, he gives you the softest, most lovesick look with his eyes that no one could ever imagine.

He places a quick kiss on your forehead and leans against it. Neuvillette’s eyes close for a moment, absorbing the fleeting moment.

It doesn’t take long before the chief of justice pushes your chin up with his fingers, his thumb brushing your lower lip, awaiting for your answer, “Can I, ma chérie?”

It only takes seconds for him to finally lock your lips together, and he wishes to feel that tenderness forever from this day forward.

Neuvillette certainly has to learn a bit more about expressing feelings - now, with your help.

The golden sun returns to adorn the clear skies once more.

[rafesproperty]

you’re the best i ever had, you’re the worst i ever had

Theo Nott x Reader

you and theo used to be close, until one day you weren’t, and he can’t get your attention in any other way than being mean to you

angst, angst, angst

» masterlist

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so fucking sorry

I’ve been playing somebody and it’s helping nobody

And now I’m sick, throwing fists

And I have seen you in my head every fucking day since I left

— 11 minutes, yungblud

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Hey,” you mumbled to him, getting no answer, as per usual, and as always, he wondered if you’d ever stop saying hi to him on a Thursday morning before Potions.

Apparently not.

Draco sat infront of you, and mumbled a “shit!” before turning to you, “Y/N did you finish the assignment?”

“Oh… um, no,” you forgot about all your assignments lately. Theo occupied your mind way too much.

“What did you expect, that her dumb ass did it?” Theo mumbled and shoved his own finished paper at Malfoy. Your heart dropped and even Draco gave him a puzzled look. The friend group knew you and Theo stopped talking, they didn’t know most of the things he said to you tho.

But he shrugged it off, not caring much, and turned around to quickly copy the homework.

You stay quiet, practically not moving an inch, lost in your own head. You hear Theo smirk next to you. “Don’t act so surprised, it’s true,” he whispered.

You ignore him, knowing any word coming out of your mouth would be a stutter. You looked down on your own paper, deciding to at least try finish some of it before the class starts.

You read the first question and don’t even finish reading it, your eyes instead glued on your shaky hand. Theo notices too. “Aww,” he pouts, “don’t tell me you are upset now.”

“Fuck off Theo,” you finally say back, your voice breaking before saying his name. You never thought you’d be saying his name like this. With so much sorrow.

He lets out a silent laugh, “Do you wanna know what the funniest thing is?”

“No.”

“You can’t help but say hi to me every time. You hate me yet you seek me out every chance you get, hoping I’ll talk to you. It’s honestly amusing.” His voice was sharp.

You stay silent for a moment, gathering yourself up, hoping you won’t break. “Maybe I should stop.” You finally say. Not even denying anything he just said. It was the truth. You both knew it was. It just hurt as hell.

He laughs. “Now why would you do that? You would be so lonely without the only human interaction you keep so desperately hoping for. Plus you’d have no one to annoy.”

You don’t answer him. There are thoughts racing through your mind, you want to tell him so badly to go to hell, but you just don’t manage to say anything.

He leans closer to you, and whispers, just a little lower than his previous words, “You sure you don’t wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

“You know,” you say, but don’t look at him, feeling anger gather in you as well, “you talk way too fucking much for someone who’s annoyed by me and wants me out of their life.” This time you do. You glare at him.

He looks you in the eye for a moment, and then smirks. “But I like to annoy you. You’re just too easy to rile up. It’s pathetic.”

You break eye contact with him again. It was the first time in a long time you even looked him in the eye, and you managed to feel tears staining your cheeks. You didn’t want him to see it. And in that very moment, you felt your heart truly break. Your teacher appeared in the door the very second you grabbed your bag and got up.

“Ah, miss Y/N—“

“Sorry,” your voice broke as you walked past the teacher.

“That’s a shame, she didn’t finish the paper,” the teacher mumbled as he was taking all the papers from his students.

“She left it here,” Theo said and gave him the paper Draco managed to sneak back to him a second ago.

“Hm. And your paper, Mr. Nott?”

“I forgot about it… sorry.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Something Theo told you this morning broke you. You’ve slowly been breaking for the last few months, whenever he’d ignore you, look away from you, not answer you or use cruel words, a little bit of you died. And there was nothing left after today.

You cried in your room for hours, thinking about when it all got so fucked up. You used to be close friends, taking classes together, going to the Forbidden forest together, he liked you enough to introduce you to his friends, even. One time he even got in a fight for you when some ass from Gryffindor tried to touch you.

Eventually you ended up kissing a few times, and stealing touches, and before you knew it he spent a few nights in your room, keeping you warm and whispering sweet promises that meant absolutely nothing now.

And then it stopped. Just like that. At first he ignored you, and then the cruel words came in, and it kept getting worse, all up until today.

Who knows how you even ended up here, in the middle of a Slytherin party, drowning in yet another drink.

“Hey, don’t you wanna calm down with that?” Draco laughed next to you and grabbed the cup from your hands. You gave him a quick look and reached for a new cup, and almost drank the whole thing again. “Nope.”

“Right. My guess is it’s to do with Nott?”

“Who?”

“Very funny,” he rolled his eyes and grabbed your back to stop you from falling. “Well, if you are over him, Cormac has been asking about you.” Theo almost broke his nose when he asked him, but Draco didn’t tell you that. It would be to no good.

“I can put a word in for myself, thank you,” Cormac suddenly appeared by your side and snuck his arm around your waist. Draco rolled his eyes and disappeared.

“What the fuck was that?!” Theo jumped in front of him and shoved him without thinking.

“Calm down,” Draco shrugged him off and took another sip from the cup he confiscated earlier. “It’s at least gonna be funny,” he nodded to Cormac leaning over your body and mumbling something to you.

“No the fuck it won’t,” Theo growled at him. He looked at you again, and the way Cormac was practically all over you… didn’t you mind?

Gosh, you were so infuriating, did you know that?

He noticed the way your hand brushed over Cormacs, and suddenly he felt sick to his stomach as well.

He noticed the way he kept telling you some bullshit and the way you giggled. And he thought to himself don’t you dare kiss him.

He swore he saw you look at him for just a second, like your eyes searched for him in the crowd, but before he could even process that, you were the one pulling Cormac in for a kiss.

You kissed Cormac. And it felt… wrong. Every single second of that kiss you were just thinking that he’s not Theo. How kissing Theo felt right, and how wrong this feels. You felt his hands on your hips and you felt like crying and breaking down again at the thought of Theo. Why couldn’t it be him?

You felt your eyes water again, but before you could pull back, someone pulled Cormac back so roughly he turned around immediately, and you just saw Theo slam his arm down on Cormacs face. And keep beating and kicking him until his friends dragged him away.

You felt furious. You grabbed his shoulder and turned him to you. “What the fuck Theo?!”

“You kissed him! I fucking—“

“And why the FUCK DO YOU CARE?!” You yelled at him, screaming in frustration. You saw him freeze in his spot for a moment.

He gathered his breath. “Because… you’re mine.”

This time you were the one to laugh at him. For the first time in months he heard your laugh and it didn’t sound as pretty as it used to. At all. “No, I’m fucking not. You keep hurting me, the only thing you do is hurt me and laugh at me, I don’t want to be yours. I wanted to, I really did…” you looked him in the eye, and found your voice breaking again, “but you pushed me away.”

He grabbed your arm, squeezing it in desperation, “You wouldn’t have kissed Cormac, would you? Tell me, why did you kiss him?”

“I don’t know…”

He raised his voice at you. “Don’t lie to me!”

You felt your eyes tearing up again. You tried to get away from his grip, all you wanted to do right now was to get away from him. You never wanted to feel this way. “Leave me alone.”

His grip only tightened as his voice got louder. “The truth, Y/N. Did you kiss him to make me mad?”

You looked at him in disbelief. “And why would me kissing someone even fucking matter?! You hate me, remember?”

He grew angry, he stepped closer to you, staring into your eyes. “Answer me. Did you do it to spite me or did you do it because you are attracted to him?”

“I did it to forget about you Theo.” You say, and his grip on you becomes loose, for the first time in so long you see an expression on his face. “Because you are in my head every fucking day since you left. And it hurts so much. You hurt me so much.”

He wanted to get closer to you, to say something, but you shook your head. “It’s your turn to answer the question. Why would you care if I kiss some random guy?”

“I don’t want some asshole hanging over you. I want you to myself…” he whispered.

“Then why do you treat me the way you do?”

He avoided eye contact with you, his body was shaking, he was fucked up, and it was the first time you saw him like this. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how else to keep your attention, how to tell you how I feel. Do you understand?”

You were staring at him. Did he realise how ridiculous he sounded? “No, I don’t understand Theo. Just leave me alone.” You pulled away from his grip and turned around to walk away.

“Wait,” he chased after you and turned you around to him. “You still care about me?”

You looked down. Breaking at how pathetic you’re gonna sound now. “I will always care about you Theo… even if you don’t.”

He bites down on his lip in frustration, “Listen to me, I do care, okay? I do care, and I’m sorry,” he picked your chin up and looked you in the eye. And you saw in his eyes that this was still your Theo.

“Please understand. I don’t know how to show how I feel. How can you even stand me after the way I acted?”

You watch him and feel a tear, you quickly wipe it, afraid you’re gonna look dumb, ridiculous, pathetic, and all those other stuff he called you. “I don’t know.”

He gently wiped your cheek with his thumb and pressed a kiss on the spot. “I’ll get better, I promise. Just… give me another chance. Please.”

You go quiet for a moment. “Okay…” you give him a small nod. His eyes lit up, but before he can say anything, you continue, “one chance Theo. One. If you mess it up I’m gone forever.”

He gives you a small sad smile. “I’ll be good. I promise, just don’t leave me. I don’t know what I would do if you were gone. You don’t wanna know what I would do if you were gone.”

“Okay…” you mumble and give him a quick kiss, then pull him in for a hug. Theo wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close to him, letting out a deep breath.

He kissed the top of your head first, and then grabbed your chin again to force you to look at him. “Can I?” He leaned closer.

You gave him a quick nod. “Please…”

And he kissed you. Properly. Deeply. Hoping you’ll know how he feels if his words can’t tell you. You kiss him back, and it feels okay.

“Let’s get out of here…”

[lasciviouspoison]

my first full length smut fic! this shit took weeks to edit ngl, but it was worth it. with that being said, there are probably still some mistakes so excuse those, lol. tw: breeding, eren calls himself “daddy”, word “mommy” is used, reader and eren are extremely (heavy emphasis on extremely) frustrated. not a tw, but like i always say, this is for my chubby black women, but all are free to read <3

eren has loved you for an extremely long time. he’s spoiled u, fed u, he’s even dressed you head to toe while you were sick.

yet, all of this spoiling and caring for u, does not warrant your brattiness right now.

he’s been studying tirelessly for his midterm for about 2 weeks now, finally on his last day of review before his test in a couple of days. yet, he can’t seem to focus because you keep coming in and out of your shared study every three seconds.

“‘ren, where are the extra washcloths?”

he looks up from his textbook, glasses falling off his nose a bit. you’re even dressed like a brat, skimpy little white tank top and baby pink panties. it makes his head hurt worse than the passage he’s read over 4 times now.

“there’s no way you’re asking me where fucking washcloths are right now. there’s no way.” he says with some bite to his voice. he just needs to finish these last two pages and the longer it takes him, the more it kills him.

your arms cross over your chest, pushing your bra-less chest up and exposing a bit of your chubby stomach. “does it look like i’m joking with you? where are they?”

he clenches his jaw and in a very clipped tone, he responds that they’re under the sink. you scoff slightly and walk out, making an effort to slam the door a bit harder than necessary.

he sits back in his chair and throws off his glasses, big tattooed hands wiping his face. eren knows he’s been neglecting you, and it’s killing him just as much as you. he’s tired of coming home from class too tired to touch you. he’s tired of you having to tell him to go lay down after his head rocked one too many times over his dinner plate.

he’s tired, but he’s not gonna let you act like a bitch just to get what you want. simply because it’s fucking working.

he pushes up from his desk and walks out of the study. he hears the bathroom cabinets opening, so he does everything but sprint to get there.

you peer over your shoulder at him and roll your eyes, “they weren’t under the sink. in fact, they’re all dirty cause, you know, you act like you can’t help with laundry anymore-“

erens grabbed you by the nape of your neck and brought your body close to his. you can hear his semi-heavy breathing despite still being bent over, which caused your heart to race a little. although you knew eren would never hurt you, it doesn’t mean that his pent up energy won’t go to waste.

“a couple things: one, don’t talk to me like i’m a fucking child. two, i do still help with laundry, there’s a whole basket full of folded shirts sitting on the bedroom floor that i didn’t get the chance to put away. and finally, you that cock hungry, or are you genuinely mad at me?” he finishes with a finger running up your spine, back arching at the feeling. he knows this rills you up, which is perfect for him. you don’t get to frustrate him and remain unscathed.

your eyes widened a bit, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop eren’s hand from moving. you could feel just how hard he was and it made you think that he almost had it worse than you. however, that doesn’t mean your just gonna lay here and take it.

“get the fuck off me eren” you said through tight lips. his hands now steadily making their way under your top, with you making no advances to stop him.

he bent down towards your ear as his body almost covers yours entirely, with his fingers now gently pulling at your nipples.. “you know what’s funny? you can act mad at me all you want, but this pretty pussy is never ever mad at me. maybe i should gag you and let her do the talking, at least she’s not a fucking liar” at this point, eren’s hands feel like hot coals against your body. while they slowly make their descent back down your body, you can feel your resolve slowly melting away under his touch.

before you could reply, his fingers begin to softly move along your covered slit, causing your breath to hitch. you push your hips back a little and eren gives you a breathless laugh in return.

“i know i’ve neglected you pretty baby. daddy’s really sorry, just let me make it up to you. i promise, you can have me all night if you just tell me what you really want”. sometimes, you swore that you could hear the smirk on eren’s lips.

you shook your head no and felt a soft slap to your pussy. you wanted to scream at him and tell him just how badly you missed him, but your mouth refused to open. you bit your lip once he began touching you again, attempting to coax a confession from your pretty lips.

you felt him bend over once again, this time to place small kisses behind your ear, kisses that started to travel down your neck and onto your back. the entirety of his ministrations were torture, but it was when he stopped kissing you and replaced his lips with his tongue to lick a stripe up your back that you really wanted to cave.

eren’s middle finger finally found your bare clit, the initial contact causing you to jump hard against his body. small whimpers leaving your lips as you tried to maneuver on his fingers before he stilled your movements.

“m’not doin anything more till you tell me the truth. what do you want from me baby? tell me and i’ll give it you ya”.

you try to grind against his fingers once again before a hard smack to your ass forces you to stop. his grip on your hips tightening, letting u know that he’s really gonna deprive you until you speak.

“want you to touch me ren! wan’ you to fuck me so fucking bad!” you finally scream out.

every gives you a small chuckle before his middle and index finger burry themselves into your cunt. his body almost shakes at warmth you provide. blood rushing straight to his dick, making him indescribably hard.

“that’s it baby, that’s all i wanted to hear.” he sounds breathless, almost like he’s the one that’s been getting teased.

he’s pumping his fingers in and out of you, a small squelching sound coming from your sopping pussy. your grip on the cold marble counter top has your knuckles turning white. at this point, you’re so desperate for more that your meeting his fingers half way.

with tears threatening to run down your chubby cheeks, you make pleas for more. “ren please, please gimme more. i’ll be good i promise!”

he feels so bad. you’ve never acted like this, even when the two of you were still forced to live separately on campus. the desperation in your voice is surprising him just as much as it’s surprising you.

because he knows you like it when he fucks you with his hair down, he pulls his hair from his already loosening bun and all but rips his sweats off. dick hitting his bare stomach with a heavy thud.

he takes his fingers out of you and rips those pretty pink panties off, he makes a mental note to buy you another pair.

he rubs himself between your sticky folds till his cock is shiny, hitting your clit a couple of times in the process, drawing more whines from you. all he can do is look down in awe. it’s amazing to him just how wet you get from just a couple of fingers, but who can blame u? his dick’s been throbbing for four days straight.

he finally anchors himself and spits, emitting a soft puh before he smiles. you’re such a mess underneath him and he can’t wait to make it even worse. he finally starts to push in, but your tight little cunny won’t let him in no matter how gentle he tries to be.

“lemme in baby… please lemme in” his voice is so strained it’s making u gush even more.

“i’m tryin!” you say with a pout, tears running down your face.

eren knows you’ve always been big on eye contact when the two of you fuck, it’s almost necessary… so, he hooks his fingers into the side of your mouth and forces your head to lift. finally you were able to see that tattooed chest and pretty face, and he was able to see those pretty eyes and beautiful tear stained face.

almost immediately do you loosen up and he accidentally on purpose pushes all the way in, causing the both of you to moan loudly.

“there you go baby, take it for me ya spoiled fuckin brat”. his hands have found purchase on the fatness of your hips, his grip so tight that you think he’ll bruise you. not that you’ve ever cared.

“fuckfuckfuck” is all you can say as you watch his facial expressions through the mirror. his hair is down and there’s tiny beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. he’s gone slack jawed while stroking you, a relaxed expression gracing his pretty face. no matter how many times he’s buried himself in your warm walls, he’s never gotten used to how good u feel. once his green eyes make contact with yours and that smirk graces his face, it makes u realize just how in control he is no matter how gentle he may look.

“squeezin’ me so tight baby.. u miss me that much?” he says with a breathless laugh, voice dripping with sarcasm. the both of you know that going this long without touch was both odd and frustrating. it caused the both of you to miss each other equally, hence why this could be categorized as some of the best sex you’ve ever had.

at this point, he knows you’re gonna cum soon, he can feel your walls pulsing and eren feels like his dick is gonna pop.

“g’nna cum rennie, g’nna make a mess on yo- ugh fuck!” your little hands balling into fists as he hits that spongey spot in you. you can hear just how hard he’s thrusting into you, each stroke sounding more sticky than the last. it’s making your eyes cross and toes curl.

your convinced he’s gonna kill you with that horse dick of his one day.

“let it out baby, i’ll clean it up the mess, wanna feel you cum on me.” even he’s getting whiny now, so it’s only a matter of time before you-

“-ohmygod eren!” you cum so hard that your body’s shaking and your knees are buckling. thankfully, eren’s always there to catch you.

despite chasing his own nut, he desperately wants to see you ride out your orgasm. he’s so desperate that he’s picking you up by your hips, forcing you to do small circles against his waist cause he knows it drives you crazy.

however, it doesn’t take long before he’s digging deep into you again, the force of his thrusts causing your head to bounce a little harder than intended.

“god i’m gonna cum so hard in this pretty pussy. i’m so fucking sorry i neglected you baby.. never again, god i’ll never do it again baby i promise. gonna fill you up okay? awe, you like the sound of that yeah? make you the prettiest mommy for me. promise i’ll take care of you forever. god i love you”. he’s rambling and his voice is getting rough. it’s only a matter of time before he cums.

after finding some strength, you finally look back and smile at him and that’s all it takes for eren to cum. his face screws up and his warm hands slide up your back to make you arch a little deeper. you wish you could run your fingers through his hair so badly, but you couldn’t ask for a better view of your beautiful boyfriend.

after a few moments of silence, eren finally comes down from his high with a big huff of air. gently, he spins you around so you face him. he moves your curls from out of your eyes and gives you a slow kiss on the lips, hands resting gently on your chubby, tear stained cheeks.

after a few moments of silence, he starts to speak, “i meant what i said. i’m sorry i left you alone for so long baby. i just gotta pass this test.” his eyes full of remorse.

“i know eren, i just wanted some attention… it’s really easy to miss you, even if we live together”. small smiles find both of your faces and eren finally pulls out to run the two of you a warm bath.

he strips you out of your tank top and carries you over to the tub, where he holds you tightly.

after some comfortable silence, you can’t help but look over your shoulder and ask the question that’s been plaguing your mind, “you really wanna get me pregnant?”

he looks towards the ceiling and let’s out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “i mean, eventually yes. right now? fuck no”

the two of you fell into laughter while the smell of lavender filled your noses and achy bones were finally allowed to rest.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Hey could I get an Angsty fic with wife Olivia Benson/Emily Prentiss (which ever you want) where the reader is a detective/profiler and gets hurt badly and Emily/olivia are the ones to find them and they have to keep them awake until the paramedics get there?

You can pick the injury

Hey @yanginginthere! 😊 It's been a minute since I wrote for Olivia, so that's what I did here! Hope you enjoy! –illdowhatiwantthanks

Eyes Open

Olivia Benson x fem!reader Warnings: MAJOR BIG HUGE WARNINGS for gun violence/school shootings, blood, death, etc., medical emergencies, near-death situation, hospitals, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.0k

Summary: When the rest of the squad is hesitant to enter the scene of a school shooting, you make one of the rashest decisions of your life--one you might not come back from. Your wife, Olivia, races to get to you in time.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you thought as you watched blood pour from your abdomen. You were on the ground before you knew what was happening, before you could evaluate the situation. You pressed your hands over the gunshot wound, trying not to think about how much blood was seeping between your fingers.

You glanced around the room, panicked, nearly sick to your stomach. The racetrack rug, the little cubbies, the bodies. You wretched and vomited before collapsing onto your back. Your partner, Mendoza, lay on the opposite side of the room, pale, wide-eyed, still. Dead. He was dead. You swallowed back tears. Now was not the time to cry.

The shooter’s blood had sprayed across the bookshelves when you shot him. You couldn’t get close enough to feel for a pulse, but he wasn’t moving. So he was at least incapacitated. What you needed was to call for backup, to get the rest of the cowards from the NYPD–the ones who sat outside to wait for backup while you could hear children screaming–to get their asses in here and help. You and Mendoza had gone in against orders, had ignored a direct command from a superior officer to wait for backup. And, god knows, you’d both paid for it, but if even one child made it out that wouldn’t have otherwise, it would be worth it.

You felt for your radio at your side and groaned when you realized it had been shot by the same bullet that was now lodged inside of you. Your vision was starting to grow fuzzy; it was only a matter of time until you passed out. And who knew how long until backup finally decided to enter the elementary school?

You heard movement and jerked your head to the side to see the very top of a small head poking out from the supply closet.

“Hey!” you shouted, crying out in relief. The child shrank back, and you called, “No, no, no, it’s okay! It’s okay. I know it’s scary. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m a police officer. I’m here to help you. That man with the gun, he can’t hurt you anymore. But I need your help. Do you think you could come out here and help me?”

The boy poked his head out again, a little bit farther, and you could see that his face was tear-stained, covered in snot. Your heart broke for him. You wanted to cry. You hated to traumatize him further, but you also knew that if you didn’t get backup and EMTs in here as soon as possible, more people were going to lose their lives–including you.

“Hi, honey,” you said as he stared at you, wide-eyed. “My name’s Y/N. What’s yours?”

He sucked in a breath, then shakily replied, “Arturo.”

You nodded. “Arturo. That’s a nice name. You’re being really brave, sweetheart. Is there anyone else in there with you?”

He nodded his head.

“How many people?”

Arturo held up five fingers.

“Five?” you asked, trying to focus your eyes.

He nodded.

“Are there any grown-ups?”

His face screwed up, like he was about to cry, and he shook his head.

“Okay, honey. That’s okay. Listen. Arturo, we need to call for help so the other police officers and the ambulance drivers can get in here and help everybody. Okay?”

He didn’t respond. You pointed to your busted radio. “My walkie talkie broke, but my partner’s should still work. He’s right over there… just–” You shuddered. God, you were having a child grab a device from a dead body. This poor kid. All these poor kids. But you didn’t know what else to do. “Just don’t look at his face or anything,” you told him. “The walkie talkie on his belt, that’s what we need. Can you do that for me, Arturo?”

He shook as he stood, and you could tell he’d wet himself in fear. Tears sprang to your eyes as you watched him wobble toward Mendoza’s body. “You’ve already been so brave, buddy, I just need you to be brave a little bit longer.”

You closed your eyes briefly, trying to fight the dizziness that swam inside your head.

“It’s stuck,” Arturo whimpered, and you snapped your eyes open.

“Okay, buddy,” you said, wracking your brain for a solution. “That’s alright. Umm… there’s a little button on the side, do you see that?”

Arturo nodded, his fingers wet with Mendoza’s blood.

“Alright, just press the button and hold it down, and then repeat what I say. Okay, Arturo?”

“Okay,” he whimpered, holding his little hand against the radio.

You exhaled sharply, as the pain in your abdomen surged. “Say, This is Officer Y/L/N.”

He repeated it, looking at you with wide, scared eyes.

“Badge number 11227.”

You gulped as your vision blurred, trying to be as concise as possible.

“Shooter is down. Officers down. Requesting immediate backup and medical assistance.”

You could feel your body falling out of consciousness, could hear Arturo talking to the other officers through the radio, but it was far away, as if you were in a tunnel.

“Please help,” he cried, fresh tears running down his cheeks. “She’s not talking anymore.”

The last thought you had before blacking out was that your wife would kill you if you died.

“Clear!” Olivia shouted, moving from classroom to classroom at PS 717, gun at the ready. The rest of the officers stopped as needed to help evacuate children and school staff, to give first aid as needed, but she and Elliot were single-minded. They had one job, and she had insisted it be theirs as the NYPD prepared to enter the scene: find the shooter and confirm that he was down.

The last person they had heard from was you. Well, a little boy who had your name and badge number and said all the right things and, therefore, was presumably with you. She was furious with you, furious that you’d gone in without backup, furious that you were so goddamned good and brave, that you would be willing to sacrifice your life for these kids, even though it was one of the things she loved most about you. And, truthfully, underneath all that fury was just plain fear. Absolute terror. Where were you?! Obviously you were hurt if you couldn’t call in yourself. And, from the sound of it, it had been you who took down the shooter.

“Liv!” Elliot yelled from a classroom down, and she sprinted toward him, her heart in her throat. Elliot was already on the radio: “We need medical here stat! East wing of the school, fourth classroom on the right. We’ve got two officers down, shooter down, multiple civilian casualties.”

Olivia burst into the classroom, her eyes quickly taking in the damage: Mendoza down, shooter down, kids crying in the corner, civilians down, and you. Her heart was in her throat as she holstered her gun and dropped to your side.

“No, no, no, baby,” she cried, cradling your limp head and feeling for a pulse. “Stay with me, sweetheart. You are too damn stubborn to go out like this.” Your pulse was thready and weak, as was your breath. She brushed your hair out of your face, trying hard to keep herself breathing, to not fall apart, not yet. She smacked you lightly on the face until you coughed and blinked your eyes open.

Olivia let out a sob of relief and caressed your face, pressing her free hand on top of yours to stifle your bleeding.

“Liv?” you groaned. Then weakly pointed in the direction of the shooter. “Is he…”

“He’s down, baby, he’s dead. You got him.”

You coughed again and winced, your body shaking with cold or trauma or both. “Arturo?” you asked, glancing around for him.

“The little boy?” she clarified. You nodded. “He’s safe, he’s okay. He’s with Elliot.”

Your body started to shake more violently and it was if, finally, the terror of the day had caught up with you. Tears streamed down your face. Your skin was clammy and your breath came in short huffs. You weren’t stupid. You knew what they meant, all the signs in your body: hypovolemic shock. You’d lost too much blood. You were dying.

You’d like to say that, in what you assumed were your dying moments, your life flashed before your eyes, that you thought of everything you’d experienced and everything you’d not yet been able to. But, honestly, you were just scared. And sad to leave Olivia.

“I love you,” you choked out as your eyelids fluttered between open and shut.

“No, no,” Olivia protested, grasping your face in her hands. “Don’t you fucking say goodbye to me, Y/N. This is not fucking goodbye! You keep your eyes open, Officer. That’s a direct order!”

And you really did try. You really did fight to keep Olivia’s face in front of you, her terrified, tear-stained face. You just couldn’t bear to leave her, not like this.

When you finally lost consciousness, Olivia yelling your name was the last thing you heard.

You woke up god knows how much later in a hospital bed, with several wires attached to you and an ungodly amount of pain in your abdomen, not to mention a mouth so dry it felt like your tongue had been left to dehydrate.

Before you knew what was happening, Olivia’s lips were on yours, her hands grasping the side of your face so tightly you thought there was a good chance she might never let you go.

“You fucking asshole,” she cried, her tears wet against your skin. “You almost died!”

She kissed you a few more times for good measure, then leaned back to look at you, your own tears streaming now. She sniffled and wiped your eyes, smiling even as she cried. “Why do you have to be so goddamned brave, huh?”

You shrugged, then winced. “No, no, don’t move!” she exclaimed. “Just… let yourself rest, okay?” She shook her head. “You really scared me.”

“I’m sorry, love,” you croaked out. You blinked tears away and looked at the ceiling, trying hard to banish the mental images of Mendoza, of the blood, of the civilians. “I just… I couldn’t…”

“I know,” she said, taking your hand. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

You coughed and frowned at her. “You better fucking not.”

She pointed to the table next to your hospital bed, stacked with cards and flowers. “You’ve got quite a lot of fans now.”

You shook your head. You didn’t deserve fans. If anyone deserved the recognition, it was Mendoza. You tried not to think of him, knew you’d start crying if you did.

“Here,” Olivia said, holding out a folded sheet of paper. “Read this one. It’s good.”

There was a stick-figure drawing of you as a superhero and a messy, misspelled note:

Dear Ofiser Y/L/N, thak you so much for helpig me be brav and for gettig the bad gy. Yor my heero. Arturo Guerrero.

Your eyes were swimming by the time you finished reading it. You should be the one thanking him.

“The NYPD’s giving you a Medal of Honor, too, when you’re well enough. You’re a hero, honey,” Olivia said, tracing your cheekbone with her thumb. “A dumb, brave idiot of a hero. But my hero, all the same.”

You didn’t know how you felt about this hero business, didn’t feel like you deserved it. You’d just done your job. And your job required a bit more of you this time around.

“Liv,” you ventured, uncomfortable.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please don’t call me that.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “A hero?”

You nodded.

“What should we call you then?”

You smiled wryly. “Just Y/N.”

Olivia leaned forward to brush your hair out of your face, staring lovingly at you. “How about love of my life?”

You smiled and squeezed her hand. “Yeah. That’ll do.”

[stepintothelimelight]

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ HASN’T EVERY LITTLE CHRISTMAS WISH BEEN SENT?

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　° I hope the holiday

will find you well… ✧ ⁺

PART 2 of the Spitfire Saga

TRAILER: A blue Christmas in Monaco

(Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader (platonic), Sebastian Vettel x fem!driver!reader (platonic), 2017!f1 grid x fem!driver!reader)(SMAU + written work)

For more Spitfire content go to my account and it’s my pinned post since tumblr hates me and won’t let me link anything :)

WARNINGS: ANGST, family issues, mentions of death/ mourning, language maybe? fluff (a little), google translate french, sexism, slut shaming, complicated family relationships

fc: pinterest girls

Aaaaannnnd ACTION!

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

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Caption: [skiing w my favs 🩶]

Replies:

yourbestfriend1: With the boys? yourusername: with the team!! 😜😜 yourbestfriend1: Oh right I forgot you’re a pro driver now and go on free ski trips with LEWIS HAMILTON yourusername: Lewis isn’t here ☹️ yourusername: i think he’s a little salty about merc replacing Bottas so soon yourbestfriend1: did he expect them to race a driver down? yourusername: 🤷‍♀️

charles_leclerc: Why no invite for me? yourusername: sorry i don’t associate with rookies charles_leclerc: you’re a rookie as well Chérie. yourusername: sorry i don’t associate with non race winners charles_leclerc: f1 changed you 😞 yourusername: i don’t mean it charlie 🫶 yourusername: next time me n u n artie can go 👍 charles_leclerc: liked a message

lewishamilton: Sorry I couldn’t make it. Hope you had fun! yourusername: I did! See you in Feb for preseason! 🩶

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▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

You cradle your phone in both hands and stare down at the little red heart. Double tapping your own mother’s message should not make you feel this gross and torn apart inside.

You stare at your instagram chat with her for a few more minutes than you’d like to admit, then shut off the phone altogether and lay it facedown on the bed next to you. 

You’re somewhere in the Swiss alps with your performance team, taking a few days to ski before the holidays. You, luckily, have your own room in the little hotel that is somehow associated with Mercedes as a whole. 

There’s a gnawing in your chest. Should you have responded to you mom with actual words? 

Things at home have been rocky lately. 

It started the week of Abu Dhabi. Since you were already F2 world champion, you had planned to pay the fine and skip the final race of the season, since it was thanksgiving.

In all honesty, you didn’t decide that. Your mother and father did, then held an hour long screaming match with you, which ended with your mother storming out and you in tears. 

“Don’t you love us? Don’t you want to be with your family?”

“No, of course not. To her, we’re nothing.”

They’re not nothing. You wish they were nothing, that what they thought didn’t mean anything to you.

But they aren’t nothing, and you still would move heaven and earth for your family’s approval, so you had decided to stay home for Thanksgiving, whether it jeopardized your career in motorsport or not. 

Until you got the call, they had won. You were going to miss the last race of the season, possibly the last race of your career for a family dinner. 

And then Toto called and you sprinted out of Calc, turned your car on and sped to the nearest airport, shooting a text to your mom on the way.

She had not been pleased.

A voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like Seb’s tells you that there shouldn’t be a world in which you make yourself sick worrying about what you mother is going to scream at you when you get home. 

You wish you could text him. Call him, tell him what’s wrong, but you can’t, or you won’t.

You don’t want to bother him, and you already have one set of parents that hate you, you don’t need him and Hanna to get fed up with you, too. 

You can’t, however, stomach yet another family dinner when your mother, father, aunt and uncle are all ragging on you for following you dream and being a little too busy. You know they all wish you were normal.

It’s not worth it, you decide. Going home is not worth it.

So you pick up your phone and tap on Charles’s contact, realizing only belatedly that your presence at their home would be an intrusion on their mourning.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Christmas in Monaco is … everything you remember your childhood christmas to be. Unconditional love, laughter, light.

There are times, of course, that you all feel the lingering hole that is the absence of Herve, who was the patriarch of the family. 

Pascale, bless her soul, she does her best, and seems genuinely glad that you’ve come to celebrate with them. 

“Y/n, mon amor!” she exclaims as you walk through the door, Mercedes duffel bag thrown over your shoulder. “I was so happy when Charles told me that you were spending Christmas with us!”

She wraps you in a hug and you freeze up, willing the tears that are stinging your eyes away and easing into the embrace. There is t a time in your recent memory that your own mother hugged you like this.

Pascale snaps her fingers at Charles. 

“Charles, monte son sac dans la chambre.”

He sighs and takes your duffel over one shoulder, ascending the stairs to the bedroom you will be sharing with him.

“Come,” Pascale orders you in English. “You must be starving!”

it’s a flush of hugs and chatter and drinks flowing, sitting around this table with the Leclercs. Enzo and Arthur don’t question your presence. You assume that Charles has told them you are constantly having issues with your family. 

Charles sits to your right. Pascale heads the table and Lorenzo sits across from Charles with Arthur to his right. Lorenzo asks you and Charles about the upcoming season, congratulates you in your win. 

“Charles will not stop talking about it!”

“It’s impressive!” Charles defends, his ears pinking. “She’s the youngest to ever win!”

You pat Charles’s shoulder. 

“It’s ok, Charlie. I know I’m just so amazing.”

He mutters something in French that you don’t catch, but Pascale slaps his shoulder.

“Do not use those words at my table!”

The entire table erupts in laughter and you look around. This is the first time in a long time that a family dinner has actually felt like family.

There is a mattress in Charles’s closet that you’ve slept on for hundreds of nights throughout your lifetime. It’s a little lumpy, but the trick is to lay down a comforter under the bottom sheet and that smooths out all the bumps. 

You’ve showered and changed into your pajamas while Charles makes up the makeshift bed at the foot of his own. 

He casts a dirty look at your black Mercedes t-shirt. 

“This is a Ferrari-only household,” he scolds you with no actual bite. 

“I don’t see you driving for Ferrari.”

He rolls his eyes at you and takes one of his pillows and sets it at the head of your bed. He’s pulled the sheets tight, just like he always used to.

“When was the last time you slept here?” He asks you, breaking the weird silence you’ve fallen into. 

“Um,” You set your clothes next to your duffel. “2015? I came and stayed to watch your first home F3 race?”

He was seventeen, you fifteen, and you’d been in the height of your awkwardness, and to make matter worse, he still hadn’t discovered deodorant. Altogether, not a fond experience.

He makes an affirming noise and lays down on his bed. 

You pull back your covers and he shuts off the light, and for a while it’s just the two of you breathing. He always tries to match your inhales and exhales.

“Your family,” he blurts into the dark. “Why aren’t you with them?”

Your heart squeezes. 

“I think they think I think I’m too good for them.”

He pauses.

“Repeat? slower?”

You laugh softly. Sometimes you forget his English isn’t the greatest. 

“They think that I think that I’m better than them. My mom, especially. When she was growing up I think she idolized her parents and I don’t idolize her in the same way. She’s really scared that she can’t control me like they controlled her.”

Charles mulls that over,

“And your father? “

You sigh into the darkness. 

“I don’t know. He’s always working and he doesn’t like that I have my own opinions and stuff, because he’s very … he needs to be right. 

“And then my brother, we get along when our parents are being crazy, but it’s not like we’re close. I was gone for most of our childhood and now he’s in school.”

There’s a shifting in Charles’s bed, the you hear his feet pattering on the floor. The mattress beside you dips, then he’s laying next to you, his shoulder touching yours.

“This is very uncomfortable.”

You scoff out a laugh.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is. My bed is much more comfortable.”

“Then go back and sleep there!” 

He shifts next to you, rolling on his side then back to his back. Lying here, next to him, it’s hot. You scoot over an inch so you can still feel him but you’re not touching. 

His breaths become slower and deeper.

“I’m sorry,” He tells you just as you’re drifting off to sleep. “That you feel like your family doesn’t want you, but… “

His hand pats yours three times. 

“I’m glad you’re here. Makes it more bearable.”

You fall asleep then, and wake up with you back to him. You sit up as the cold light streams through the blinds and look over at him. His face is smushed and a bead of drool pools on his pillow. 

“Charlie,” You whisper. “Charlie, wake up.”

He sits up like you just ran an electric shock through him. His hair is smashed to the side and he used the back of his hand to wipe the drool.

You giggle.

“C’mon, I smell breakfast.”

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twitter:

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charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: A bittersweet Christmas celebration. Will be missing you forever, Papa. x

tagged: arthur_leclerc, yourusername, lorenzotl

liked by max33verstappen and 56370 others 

view 72891 comments:

user1: Merry christmas, charles! 

user2: Repose en paix, Herve ❤️❤️

user3: The fact that Y/n spend Christmas with the Leclercs is 🤨🤨

↳ user4: fr i knew she and charles were close but … girl… he has a gf …

↳user5: Oh I bet his GF HATES her

↳user77: Yeah, AND it’s the Christmas right after they lost his father, like intruder who?

yourusername: ❤️❤️❤️

♡ by creator

↳ user65: HOMEWRECKER

↳user66: She’s actually such a skank. I don’t know why people put up with her.

user6: I know it’s been debunked a bunch of times but CharY/n would be so 😍😍

↳user7: he has a girlfriend and she’s always said he’s like a brother to her

↳ user6: if my bf had a friend as close as her I would end it

↳user7: the thing is that she has been seen out and about with Giada. They’re good friends 😳

user8: Doesn’t Y/n have her own family to spend Xmas with?

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As soon as you say ‘It’s fine’ you know you’re done for. ‘Fine’ is never fine.

He calls you, you try to avoid the question, but then he hits you with -

“Y/n.” In his disappointed/worried voice. And it works like it always does. You tell him everything - from when it started when you were in F3 to now, how you’ve driven your family away. He listens. He’s a good listener when he wants to be.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks at the end. You take a shaking breath.

Because I didn’t want you to realize I’m no good. Because you would leave me, too. Because I can’t not love them and I don’t know why.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going home for the new year?”

You’ve been waiting on a text from your mom. That’s how it goes. Fight, spend a week in the silent treatment, one of you reaches out, you make up, then you fight again. You promised yourself that you’re not going to be the one to reach out this time.

“I don’t know.”

“If not, come to my house. We’re having a party.”

Your words catch in your throat.

“I don’t want to intrude-“

“You’re never intruding,” he assures you. “I’m your mentor, remember? I have to look out for you.”

My parents are supposed to look out for me.

“Okay,” you breathe out. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Seb.”

“Merry Christmas, Spitfire.”

Your mom texts you. She grovels. You get on a plane an hour later and go back home.

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yourusername

yourusername: gettin ready 💪💪

F1 2018 and last semester of hs here i come

liked by mercedesamgf1, yourbestfriend1 and 817279 others 

view 5389 comments

yourbestfriend1: okay miss influencer 😍

♡ by creator

user10: Y/n on twt: 😃👹🤡😼🧌 Y/n on insta: 🩵🌃🎹🫧⭐️🪞

↳yourusername: it’s called duality babes 💋

↳user10: OMG

↳user16: her addiction to memes though 🤣 she can’t even do an aesthetic post without one

gg_giada_gianni: jolie fille

↳yourusername: c’est tout toi ❤️

↳user80: Y/n and giada saw the romance rumors and said hold my beer

user20: Why didn’t you spend Christmas with your family??

leclerc_pascale: Wonderful to spend Christmas with you, darling

↳yourusername: awwww thanks for letting me crash your xmas 🫶🫶

↳arthur_leclerc: Don’t worry, she likes you more than she likes any of her actual children

↳ charles_leclerc: Sadly true

user11: Still can’t get over the fact that she’s still in school

user12: U don’t deserve that seat

susie_wolff: Such an inspiring young woman, Y/n!

↳yourusername: Hi susie 😚

yourmominsta: So proud of you, ladybug!

↳ yourusername: ❤️

user13: why would they let a woman in the car?

↳ user14: she’s already driven it

↳ user15: and won her debut race ?

max33verstappen: Merry Christmas! I wouldn’t train too hard, since you’ll never beat me again! 😸

↳yourusername: 😺😺😾🔪

user17: I didn’t know she played piano?

↳user18: she plays off and on. Her youtube has a few videos of songs she’s covered and written

↳ user17: multitalented queen 👑

user19: Oh, to be eighteen and already signed to a top F1 team

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✧ ⁺ ⁺ oh, noel

oh, noel ┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

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Aaannnnnnddd scene!

DIRECTOR’S CUT: a little short and bittersweet holiday special (in august 👻)

Want to join the taglist? drop a comment below or message my inbox

🏷️: @octavikravecell218

[daistea]

Hello dais! I’ve been binge reading all of your content recently and first of all I have to say I’m obsessed with all of your writing, it has changed how I look at character from Dungeon Meshi entirely. and second of all, I’ve been thinking about Mithrun with a tall-man reader, or just any short-lived race really and how he would react after they had passed away? I don’t know how you feel about angst really but I’m a sucker for pain and can’t stop thinking about this. Sorry if this seems messy, I’m just thinking too many thoughts about Mithrun right now.

Thank you so much friend!!! Sorry for the late response! This was a good prompt, something close to my heart.

Mithrun x gn, short-lived Reader

tw death, loss, angst

»»-------¤-------««

Mithrun would not do well. 

When he loves, he loves deeply. He wasn’t always so loyal, but after the demon and after working so hard to cultivate desires, Mithrun would attach himself to those he cares about. He isn’t clingy in a traditional sense, but he’s intense. To you, even more so. 

He’d always known it would happen; you started moving slower. You started aging. He didn’t care how you looked. He was aging as well, though at a different rate. Mithrun had never cared for the sentiment of ‘growing old’ with someone. He didn’t understand it, mainly because he truly believed he’d die once the demon was gone. 

Yet, there he was, in his mid-200s. He had you. He couldn’t let you go. When you slowed down, complained of joint pain and laughed at your gray hairs, he’d always brush you off. There was time. There was always time. 

 Awareness did not equal acceptance. Simply because something was a fact of life did not mean it deserved to exist in peace. Most facts of life had negative contexts, but people spoke of them as if they expected Mithrun to be content, to lower his fists, to stop fighting. 

 He knew the day would come. No amount of preparation made it easier. 

 “You’re 252 years old, Captain,” Lycion murmured. 

 Mithrun wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. He glanced up at the ex-Canary, though the look in Lycion’s eyes immediately made his blood run hot. He forced himself to look away simply to keep from breaking something. 

 “And?”

 “You still have around half your life left,” Lycion continued with that tone that had become all too familiar— insistent, worried, pitying. He should’ve known better than to use it on Mithrun. 

 “And?” “And you still have time to move on.”

 Unacceptable. There was anger, of course, there was always anger swirling within him. But lately, Mithrun had become more sensitive to dread. His stomach churned and sickness crawled up his throat. Move on? As if that was an option. 

The sight of your body haunts him. 

Your skin was cold. Everything was wrong. He couldn’t stop feeling, so much more than he’d felt in ages. All he wanted was for it to stop. When he closed his eyes, he saw you. When he tried to sleep, he heard you. He recalled the lilt of your voice and it refused to leave his brain. Despite how desperately he craved peace, he didn’t want to forget you. He held onto the memories for as long as his imperfect brain would allow. 

Mithrun doesn’t leave his house. 

He only eats because he knows you’d be mad at him if he didn’t. 

He changes nothing about the decor. If you left a sweater on the floor before you died, it will stay there for years. 

Things start changing. If you caught bugs and released them, he’d start doing that as well, despite how he just squished them in the past. If you seasoned food a certain way, he’d do it too, no matter how salty or spicy it is. 

Truly, Mithrun hangs onto every tiny detail of you. He’s never been a detail oriented person, but he knows you. Perhaps now, he knows you better than ever. 

At first, he’ll be doing a chore and, without a second thought, call out for you. He needs your opinion on how to separate this laundry. There’s a sale on veggies he knows you’d be interested in. But right as he says your name, he realizes the truth. You’re not there. He won’t hear your footsteps cross the house, or see your smile as you ask him to repeat himself, or see you roll your eyes at the dumb laundry question. 

It’s a huge change. Mithrun can’t sleep for a bit. His body eventually forces him to sleep. 

He’s lost people before. He’s lost friends, people who helped build Melini. It’s different with you. He isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. 

Mithrun returns to what he did when first regaining his desires— he busies himself with hobbies and work. His universe is falling apart, but he’s getting very good at making noodles. (He’d like you to try them.)

 “I’m not moving on,” Mithrun says. 

 “They were just a—”

 “And you’re just an idiot,” he retorts. 

 Cithis’s jaw sets, tense. She looks at the wall over Mithrun’s shoulder instead, as if looking him in the eye was too tempting, as if she was ready to strangle him. “You know what I mean.”

 He didn’t. He didn’t know much of anything these days. 

 “You’re not usually this concerned,” Mithrun mused as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Bored of your own problems?”

 It was cruel, he had enough wherewithal to know that. Cithis may have lacked general empathy, though she cared about her friends to a certain extent. If only she was better at comfort. If only Mithrun wanted comfort. 

 Her gaze finally shifted to land on him, “You’ll have to start living again at some point.”

It takes Mithrun around 50 years to realize that life continues. Your death felt like the end of a world— in a way, it was the end of a world. He can’t forget you. He won’t ever stop grieving. He’s so angry sometimes because you dared to leave him, even though it wasn’t your fault. 

Yet, Mithrun is an expert at restarting. 

 “I know,” Marcille murmured. Her voice was thick with emotions Mithrun didn’t bother to identify. He simply glanced at her, his good eye wide. 

 “What?” He asked. 

 “I know how it is,” she explained. She had her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels in an almost childish manner, despite her age. He supposed that for her, the early 100’s was still shockingly young. He’d never understand how a half-elf’s mindset worked. But he knew she’d lost someone. Everyone. 

 “You couldn’t possibly,” Mithrun told her despite how much of a blatant lie his words were. 

 Marcille rolled her eyes. She looked nearly done with him, and he wouldn’t blame her for that. Still, she managed to send him a half-glare, “It gets slightly easier. You’ll still do stuff and think ‘wow, I wish they were here to see this.’ You’ll still crave their company and attention and touch. You’ll still dream of them.”

 He knew that. “What part of this is supposed to be comforting?”

 Marcille scoffed, “I’m not trying to be comforting. I’m just telling you the truth, as someone who's gone through it too. They’re still there, with you. But life gets easier.”

 What a simple phrase. It wasn’t as if everyone in Melini hadn’t already told him that a hundred times over. 

 Mithrun looked away. Marcille grumbled to herself about useless attempts and arrogant Canaries.

 Perhaps he was arrogant. Perhaps he was angry. Perhaps he wanted to sink his fingers into the fabric of the universe and tear it to shreds for daring to take you. 

 But there was no time for that. He had laundry to do.

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Wondered If I Could Come Home (Astarion x F! pregnant reader) (Part 3)

Synopsis: A hag has set her eyes on you and Eowyn- Astarion is determined to kill the damn thing.

CW: Mentions of child loss

Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are much appreciated!!!!

Picture does not belong to me! Please reach out to me if it is yours!

P.s. lightly edited

Month 8 has been blissful and going into your last month- you actually feel stronger than you have the entire time.

You sit on a bench, reading another book about babies (you save the Dhampir books for locations with less eyes), as Astarion throws a ball with Scratch and Wide Eyes (Karlach thought her name for the Owlbear was clever) in the local park. Astarion had been fed up with their zoomie shenanigans since they began earlier this morning. You wanted to go outside anyway- so it was perfect!

Eowyn kicks every so often to let you know that she is still there and doesn’t intend on leaving anytime soon, but overall, it’s been a really easy day. It’s fun to be able to watch Astarion enjoy such mundane life activities and it makes you realize how many simple things in your life that you have taken for granted.

You smile to yourself as you continue to read your book and you finally feel hungry enough to begin munching on the pastry Astarion bought you.

It was an apple cupcake and it was surprisingly very very yummy.

“My, my,” a scratchy voice says, “aren’t you a pretty little bred thing.”

You feel the hairs on your neck stand up and you turn very slowly to look at the elderly woman who stares at you with a look of hunger in her eyes. Oh- it’s the woman Astarion bought the cupcake from. She looked… friendlier earlier?

You don’t know why you feel like you are in danger all of a sudden, but your arms go over your stomach protectively- one of them ready to fire a cantrip if needed. The energy around her feels familiar, but different- you’ve been in the presence of this type of magic before, but you can’t remember when.

“You are that pretty girl that lives in the house with the dark curtains,” she steps closer, “you come and buy those herbs with your little Cleric friend!”

Oh- maybe that’s why I recognize her more? I’ve seen her more than I’ve realized?

“You know, Droplet, I could take that little one off your hands.”

Your whole body freezes at the statement and her already wicked smile becomes even more menacing and even intimidating.

“You do look close to death as is- you don’t really want to birth a child you won’t survive having do you? Especially not a bloodthirsty Dhampir!”

You feel your heart racing, a deep sadness and fear is coursing through you.

Eowyn, my sweet girl, you are not going anywhere.

That relieves some of the uncomfortable emotions stirring within you, but this woman has you in a trance. You can’t look away from her and you don’t feel like you can move.

“I- I don’t know you,” you say shakily, “I- you need to walk away, please. I’m not interested and I don’t know what you are talking about.”

You don’t even sound convincing to yourself. You begin to feel really sleepy all of a sudden and your eyes are becoming harder to keep open. Something is wrong and as much as you want to call out to Astarion- your mouth feels heavy.

“Oh, Droplet,” the woman tuts, “it will be okay- you’ll wake up and it will all be bet-“

“What in the hells do you think you are doing?”

Whatever spell the woman had tried to put you under broke when she jumped at Astarion’s voice. You look over at the father of your child and you almost begin to sob. You have never been more grateful for how menacing Astarion can look when he wants to.

“Oh, hello!” she recovers her composure, “I know this young, adorably pregnant girl from the market. I was just offering to… adopt.”

“Oh yes,” Astarion snarls, “because Hags are known for their kind hearted souls and their selfless adoption of children.”

You feel sick to your stomach. Scratch is up on the bench and standing between you and the Hag- his hackles are raised and a long, low growl is released from his throat while Wide Eyes stands right next to you as close as he can get.

The Hag looks at you, then Astarion, then Scratch, and lastly, Wide Eyes before she returns her gaze back to yours. She gives you one last wide grin.

“I will see you later, Droplet. You should know that I always get what I want.”

You turn to Astarion who is pushing past the Owlbear- your face is in between his hands in an instant and he’s frantically searching over you- looking for signs of maltreatment..

Astarion pulls out an antidote from his pocket and makes you drink it- just in case the woman had intentionally poisoned the cupcake. It didn’t make the intense sleepiness you feel go away, but at least you know you aren’t dying.

It doesn’t matter to him though- Astarion is quick to pull you up and support you while you walk home. You can tell Astarion wants to just pick you up and run back home to Shadowheart, but you both know how crazy that might look considering normal men who have Astarion’s physique can’t carry pregnant women.

The park is only a block away, but it felt like it took hours. The world is hazy and you shift in and out of focus as Shadowheart begins to check on you.

“Wh-when did Shaodowww smart get here?”

“Will you please figure out what’s wrong already, CLERIC!?”

Astarion yells and your jumbled brain jumps- tears come falling out of your eyes.

“I-I’m sorry,” you sob, “I- I didn’t- I shouldn’t-“

“Shhhhhhhh, my Darling,” Astarion is sitting next to you in an instant as you begin to tilt over, “it’s okay- this is not your fault.”

“You….. sur…..”

Your question dies on your lips as you give into the exhaustion and fall asleep with your head on Astarion’s shoulder.

***********************

Astarion’s chest loosens when Jaheira, Minsc, Gale, and Halsin arrive. At least now he can go and kill the hag without worrying about dying in the process. He almost left after you had fallen asleep- the muffin he had bought you had in fact been laced with a sleeping potion. Astarion felt like a complete idiot, but Gale reassured him that he couldn’t have possibly known.

You are laying peacefully asleep in your bed and Astarion finds himself putting his hand against your belly to make sure Eowyn is okay- her kicks give him instant relief from the anxiety he is feeling.

He almost lost both of you and that thought is still enough to make Astarion homicidal. He will not let another evil individual take his life, his happiness- his home- ever again.

“S-star?”

Your eyes are staring at him lazily as you try to blink away the sleepiness. Astarion gently grasps your hand and brushes the stray hairs out of your face.

“I’m right here, my Love,” Astarion whispers, “I’m not going to let anything happen to either of you. I promise.”

You whimper and sniffle at Astarion’s words- your bottom lip trembling. Astarion climbs into the bed behind you and holds you to him- you burst into tears.

“I al-almost lost-“ you say through sobs, “Eow-“

“Shhhh Darling, it’s okay. She’s okay,” he soothes, “I’m going with the others to kill the Hag. Jaheira and Shadowheart are going to stay here with you- okay?”

“Don’t go,” you turn awkwardly to look at him, your face is grief stricken, “I don’t want to lose you- please don’t go.”

“Darling…”

“Please.”

Right as Astarion responds- Gale is knocking on the door.

“Would it be alright if I came in?”

“Yes,” you both say in unison.

Gale smiles at Astarion sadly after he looks at you. Astarion didn’t think about the fact that it was hard for your friends to see you in this emotional state until he moved in. Shadowheart cries after leaving the room when you’ve had a particularly scary vomiting episode or false contraction. She is terrified for you and it made him realize he had been wrong about her as well. Shadowheart is a selfless person for the right people.

“Minsc and Halsin are about ready to go, Astarion,” Gale looks between the two of you- noticing how the comment created some tension, “Tav- he will come back alive. We all will. We fought Auntie Ethel as a group of total strangers with no battle experience together and won. This will be a breeze, my Friend.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

You take a deep, inhale in and with one last sniff you agree to not put up a fight about Astarion going. Astarion can’t believe that you would trust Gale’s opinion on the matter more, but he does understand the sentiment. It’s how he feels about Jaheira and Shadowheart staying behind.

He leaves a chaste kiss on your forehead and whispers promises of seeing you soon- promises he intends on keeping.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

I HAVE A REQUEST THAT HAS BEEN HAUNTING MY DREAMS (in a good way.)

Luke Castellan sleeping with (and lowkey manipulating) Chris’s gf so she’ll join them on the princess andromeda. (Chris would def not be able to convince anyone to do anything without Luke’s help tbh)

omg I LUV THISSS ?? all characters r 18 + 💗 💗

𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸ℯ𝓈𝓈 𝒜𝓃𝒹𝓇ℴ𝓂ℯ𝒹𝒶

Warnings: mentions of hooking up, manipulation, dark!luke

A million thoughts ran in your head as you laid down next to him, you shook your head to yourself. This was bad.

You slept with your boyfriends half brother, who was also a traitor to the camp you were currently in. It wasn’t looking good for you at all.

You pulled the covers over your body, not even wanting to look at Luke. You’ve known him for a while now, and you’d admit it, you had a crush on him when you were younger.

But now you were with Chris.

“Luke-“ you began, turning to look at him. He was already looking at you when you turned.

“I want you to know something about Chris.” He told you, interrupting you before you could talk.

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“He’s a spy. For me. I mean, why do you think he’s been avoiding you for a little now?”

Your jaw dropped, you didn’t know how to reply. That made so much more sense.

His face contorted into a sick smile, his head leaning against the pillows. “I want you to join us.”

“No, Luke.” You immediately stood up, shaking your head as you looked around from your clothes. “I told you once, and I’ll tell you again, I can’t.”

He stood up as well, putting on his boxers before standing in front of the door that you were about to reach for.

“Move, Luke.”

“Come with us.” He repeated, his hand going to your jaw, lightly tracing over your skin. His touch was soft, gentle, as if you were glass he would break.

You shook your head, heart racing as you stared up at the boy. “No.”

He still had a smile on his face, his thumb moved towards the center of your face, his skin pulling down your bottom lip. You trembled in fear at the man in front of you.

“You can be free. Away from the restraints of the gods and the camp. You can be with us.”

“I don’t want to be, Luke.” You said his name shakily.

“Think about it,” he spoke, pulling his hand away for your face, squinting his eyes as he walked closer towards you. “No siblings, no kids, you’ll be on the winning side of the war. It’ll just be me, and you.”

“Does Chris know about this?”

“He’s the one who suggested we recruit you. He didn’t say how.” He shrugged.

You let out a shaky exhale.

“C’mon… you know you want to.”

He had you backed up into the wall now, your legs feeling like they were gonna give out.

“Who are the ones who always mistreated you? Huh?” He questioned. “Who are the ones who never helped you or anyone else? Who are the ones that,” he laughed, “when you were in the infirmary, on your death bed, didn’t help? Who, y/n?”

“The gods.” You said, your voice a whisper as you came to the realization, you looked down at your shoes.

“Exactly. Now you’re getting it. Y/n, do you really want to be on their side? No. Kronos- he’ll give you anything you could possibly fuckin’ want.”

You swallowed the lump you had in your throat, he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.

“So, what’s it gonna be, y/n?” He was playing with your feelings. He knew you liked him, and he used that to his advantage. Of course you didn’t need to know that.

“I’ll join you.” You told him quietly, he smiled again, leaning in to kiss you.

[sweettofuki]

You were making out with Hoshina when he wants to take it further. 18+ Hoshina x f!reader mature content ahead! Slight jealousy

Hands were everywhere, a frenzy of movement as you couldn’t decide where to place them. All you knew was that you needed to get closer, deeper into your Vice-Captain’s mouth.

Everyone knew that you and Hoshina were dating, so it wasn’t unusual to see you wandering down the corridor to his room late at night.

Before you knew it, simple conversations about our day turned into cuddling, and cuddling led to you on top of him, making out passionately.

“This outfit is driving me insane. Did you really have to wear it? What if other guys caught you walking to my room in it?” Hoshina said, his voice frantic.

“Baby, don’t make it sound like I was dressed like a hooker. It’s just a tank top and sweatpants. Relax.” you replied, rolled your eyes playfully.

“Don’t tell me to relax when you basically are?? Do you know how sexy you look right now? Your pants are at your waist, your top is so low-cut that your boobs are spilling out, and oh yeah. You’re not wearing a bra?” he exclaimed.

“Why? Don’t you like them without a bra?” you pout at him, looking up with doe eyes.

“Well, yeah but—” Hoshina’s words were abruptly cut off by a groan.

A sudden jolt of pleasure coursed through him as he looked down, watching you grind your hips against his crotch. Seizing the moment, you pressed your lips back onto his.

“Mmm…” he moaned against your soft lips, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Ya lips taste like heaven...”

He gently brushes the hair away from your face and tucks the strands behind your ears

What started as pecks on his lips soon evolved into soft kisses, growing more passionate as each kiss lingered longer and longer.

The harder he kisses you, the tighter his grip on your hips, as if squeezing your waist could keep him grounded. Slowly, his hands trail from your hips to the hem of your pants, slipping them off you until you’re left in your black thongs.

His fingers slide under the delicate fabric. You felt a shiver tingled down your spine as you felt a brush of his fingers on your asshole. He played off groping your ass as if the perfectly placed finger was an accident. Curse his slender, long fingers! (not)

With a firmer grip, he pulls the thin fabric on either side of your waist, the friction of your skimpy excuse of an underwear against your folds made your nipples harden, which he felt through your tank top.

“Fuck baby, I take it all back. You should definitely wear this more often when you come to see me. I can fight,” Hoshina said.

You let out a small giggle as his face lit up with a smile. He’s so sick in love with you that your light laughter sounded like melodies to his ear. He pulled you back into a passionate kiss, the intensity of it making your heart race.

The heat of the passionate kiss clouded his mind, and before he knew it, he was rolling his hips into you. The feeling of his hard cock pressing against your sensitive clit through the thin material earned a loud moan out of you. He groaned deeply, finally releasing some of the pent-up pressure in him, pre-cum leaking out of his tip. Any longer, and he would have come in his pants.

“I’m sorry doll. I can’t take it any longer. I need to be inside ya,” he whined, he could barely keep it together.

He spreads your leg by the knees from below. He took off his military cargo pants with an obvious tent at his groin. His erection springs out, standing with precum oozing out. He taps his flushed tip at your entrance, before pushing it in slowly. Your eyes roll up as he stretches you out. When his cock was pushed to the hilt, his hips started to move.

[’’’]

In the next moment, both of your clothes found purchased next to each other on the floor.

You rolled your hips as you rode his length, eyes trained onto the sight of his girth desperately swallowed into your greedy tight cunt. It must have been three… five orgasms? You couldn’t keep track, but you were still going at it. Your eyelids drooped like curtains, hands pressing against his chest as you lifted yourself, back arching while you bounced on his cock. Teeth sank into his bottom lip as both you and Hoshina panted heavily, his groans sound sinful to listen to.

His hair was disheveled, eyes closed in concentration as he tried not to come inside you again. He desperately fought to hold himself back, but the way your warm pussy walls hugged his dick and his overly sensitive tip nudged your cervix relentlessly made it impossible. He couldn’t help but feel that knot twisting itself loose in his stomach.

“I’m…fuck….I’m sorry baby. I’m gonna move you, okay?” he groaned

Too fucked out to fully comprehend his words, you felt his strong grip on the flesh of your ass. His feet dug into the bed as he lifted his hips.

For a split second, you welcomed the well-needed rest, letting your upper body fall onto his chest, your palms laid flat on his pecs.

It didn’t last long. He began rutting into you wildly, his hips pounding against you and hitting all your sweet spots with vigorous precision. His biceps bulged as he held you up.

“A-AH, mmm…fuck,” you whined. “Slow down, Hoshina, please!”

“Hah…I know you can take it. Mmmph…Just hold onto me, yeah? Let me do all the work, you just relax. You’re doing so well for me baby,” he cooed.

His cock rammed into your swollen cervix vigorously, continuously, and consecutively…

You couldn’t think of any other words to describe how hard and fast he was pounding into you at that moment.

“Good girl. You’re hah holding up well— mmmph Wanna feel you come around me,” he grunted.

Your breath came out in shaky gasps. He could tell you were close just by the way your walls clenched tight around him. Your breath hitched with his every brutal thrust, and you creamed around the base of his shaft, mixing in with previous fluids. His heavy balls, coated in a mix of saliva, his and your cum, slapped loudly and vulgarly against your ass.

“Shit….! No matter how many times I watch—fuck— you cum on my cock, you look so fucking hot every time,” he smirked up at you in a teasing manner, barely holding it in himself as well.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest, resonating through you.

“I-I’m close too.” he muttered into your hair.

With a few more powerful thrusts, fucking through his own orgasm, staining your walls with his cum.

With his softening cock still inside you, he collapsed, his arms instinctively wrapping around you.

“Are you okay, baby? Was I too rough?” He whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“My abdomen hurts, Soshiro,” you groaned, burying your head into his shoulder.

Upon hearing that, he began to tenderly rub your lower abdomen as his eyes filled with worry.

“I’m so sorry, baby. You just felt so good that I lost control,” he said, rubbing his hand over your back in comfort. “I promise I will be gentler next time,”

“It’s okay, baby. You felt incredible too. I just won’t be getting up in a while.” you reassured him.

“Damn, I was that good huh?” he teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You slapped his cheek lightly, causing him to laugh.

“Careful, sweetheart. Any harder and you’re gonna make me hard again,” he smirked at you through his tousled bangs.

[theemporium]

Can’t stop thinking about going on holiday with best friend mick with the other drivers and wags bc you’re basically extended family and lots of mutual pining with everyone else seeing how oblivious you both are and trying their best to push you guys to confess. Maybe one bed trope omg I can’t

this is so fucking soft i can't even!! thank you for requesting!🖤

.

“So, they’re together, right?” was the most common question on everyone’s mind whenever they saw you and Mick together.

And, in their defence, it was easy to understand why. Not only with the amount of time you spent together and the lingering gazes that would follow each other around, but just in the way you acted with one another. You two were insistent that you were just friends, best friends in fact. 

But best friends didn’t act the way you did. 

Because how could people believe you were just friends when the second Mick would jump out of his car after a race, he was running towards you? 

Because how could people believe you were just friends when he would always have a hand touching you in some way, shape or form?

Because how could people believe you were just friends when it was an undeniable fact that you two were in love with each other? 

The general public and members of the paddock weren’t the only people that assumed as much. The other drivers thought the same, and if they were being completely honest, they were sick and tired of watching you two pine after each other and do nothing about it. 

So, they concocted a plan.

The trip was planned by a few of the drivers during the winter break, all under the ruse to relax after the gruelling season and enjoy a week lost in the snowy mountains. Half the grid was there, most of them with their significant others and the ones that weren’t were already bunking together, so it only made sense that you and Mick had to share a room. 

A room with only one bed in it.

“I mean, we’ve shared a bed before,” you said, shrugging your shoulders as you tried to remain casual.

And that much was true. You and Mick had shared a bed multiple times over the years you have been friends. It shouldn’t have been a problem, despite the lingering feelings you both held towards each other. 

Except, it did become a problem when you got ready for bed, only to realise the heater in your room was broken and the Swiss Alps were very, very fucking cold. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Y-Yeah.” 

“Schatz,” the concern was clear in Mick’s voice and you could feel him shuffling around on his side of bed. You almost jumped when you felt his hand reach for yours under the duvet, only to wince. “You’re freezing.”

“Just a little,” you murmured, your teeth chattering as you did. You tried to pull the duvet tighter around you, but it was useless. 

“C’mere,” he murmured, but he didn’t give you a chance to even move before his arms were wrapped around you and tugging you towards him. 

Your body instantly fit against his with your legs tangled together and your hands slipping under his shirt (despite the small wince he let out, he didn’t stop you). Your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck and he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Mick?”

“Yes, schatz?” 

“Your heart is beating really fast.”

There were a few beats of silence before he spoke. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, clearing his throat a little. “You tend to have that reaction on me.” 

You pretended like your own heart didn’t want to beat out of your chest. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he whispered. 

“You make my heart beat fast as well,” you whispered and you risked lifting your head to look at him, only to find he was already staring at you. 

“Can I do something?” He asked, his blue eyes searching for even a glimpse of discomfort in your face. 

But you nodded and Mick couldn’t resist the urge to lean down and press his lips against yours. It was soft and hesitant, like you both knew you were crossing a line you didn’t know how to navigate. But it was still telling, it still whispered the words both of you were terrified to say. 

“Mick?”

“Yes, schatz?” 

“What does this mean?” 

“I don’t know,” he murmured, his nose brushing against yours. “Let’s talk about it in the morning, when you’re not dying of hypothermia.” 

You laughed softly and something in his chest eased as you nuzzled yourself back against him, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours. 

It wasn’t until hours later, when your bodies were still tangled under the sheets and pressed up against each other, when the others peaked through the door to see the best friends in bed together. 

“Told you breaking the heater would work,” Lando muttered with a grin.  

“Wait, you actually did that?” Carlos muttered. 

“Mate, what about the deposit?” Charles questioned. 

“Shhh, I gave him permission!” Daniel waved them off, grinning. “He did it for love!” 

.

[twice-inamillion]

Love At First Sight 

Fluff (falling in love, first date)

2,192 Words 

(Minji’s partner cancels on her last minute. OC steps in for the person and falls for Minji.)

“Hi, Minji. Sorry to message you late, but I got sick and can’t attend practice. I’m really sorry. I asked someone I know if they would step in for me, and they said they could. Sorry again 👏🏼.” 

Minji reads the message, turns off the phone, and heads to sleep.

———-

You wake up early in the morning and get ready for a dance session at a local studio. Your friend messaged you early yesterday and begged you to fill in for her since she’s got sick with the flu. You tried to decline, but she said that she’d owe you a huge favor whenever you’d want and hesitantly agreed.

Minji is at the dance studio and nervously awaits her substitute dance partner's arrival. She looked towards the door every time it opened. 

“Alright, everyone, gather up. Most of you are here early and have a few minutes before we start. If you could all pair up and sit somewhere together,” says the dance instructor.

You walk towards the door and open it in a rush, causing everyone to turn towards your direction. “Sorry, I’m late. I’m the one that messaged earlier.” 

The instructor walks towards you and looks at your phone. “Come on, you’ll meet your partner for today.” You follow the instructor toward the end of the room and see her talking to a girl in training pants and a white t-shirt. 

“This is the partner you’re going to have for today,” she points at you. “And this is Kim Minji, the girl you’ll dance with today. ” 

You approach her and introduce yourself, “I’ll be your partner today. I really hope we get along.” 

Minji shakes your hand and says shyly, “Nice to… to meet you. Please take care of me.” You find her English quite cute and smile at her. 

“Alright, everyone, quiet down. Since everyone is here, we will do some stretches before we start. After that, I will show you what we will do for today.” 

The class stretches for about five minutes before moving to the main event. “Good job everyone. Now that we are warmed up, I will show you the dance we will practice today. She calls her partner, “Today we’ll dance to some Latin music, Salsa.” Everyone looks around, surprised, but the instructor mentions the importance of learning dances outside someone's comfort. 

Minji watches as the instructor and her partner get in position and dance. She can’t help but notice the amount of touching there is and gets a bit shy with having someone she just met have their hand around her waist. 

She looks at you and gives you a nervous smile, to which you return. You can’t help but find her a bit cute of her nervousness, but you obviously can’t tell her that. 

After the dance, the instructor asked the whole room to stand up before their partners. “Alright, pick amongst yourselves who is going to be the leader in the group since you’ll be in charge of your partner.”

You stand in front of Minji, and she says, “I’ve never danced to this type of music before; I’m kind of nervous.” 

“I’ve danced it once when I was younger but don’t remember how exactly it went. My friends and I were just messing around. If you want you, I can take the lead.”

“I’d like that,” says Minji with a relieved expression. 

The instructor slowly demonstrates the moves the “leader” would need to do. You see the instructor grab the person’s hand and place the other hand on their waist. You do the same and grab Minji’s hand, which startles her, “eh.”

“Sorry, I was just copying what she was doing.” 

“Ohh… okay, I was just a bit surprised.” 

“Haha. Is it okay if…” Minji cuts you short and nods before you finish your sentence. 

“Yeah, I don’t mind.”

She watches you as you interlock your hands with hers and place your hands on her hip. She can’t help but feel her heart begin to race. It’s her first time holding hands with someone of the opposite gender. She feels your firm but caring grip on her, making her a bit more nervous.

The instructor shows the class the moves and asks for everyone to copy them. You slowly move around the studio, leading Minji around. You can’t help but stare at her cute but shy expression. Minji catches your eye and turns red. She accidentally takes a wrong step and loses her balance, which makes her slip. 

Unfortunately, you catch her by getting a firmer grip on her waist. “Are you okay?”

She freezes up and turns completely red, “you okay, Minji?” Her heart beats faster and faster as she is confused by your embrace. You help her get back up and try to catch up to the instructor. 

“Alright, good job everyone. Let’s start over.” The two of you start the dance all over again.

After dancing for what feels like an hour, the instructor ends the class. “Good job, people! You all did better than I thought, especially the unexpected couple,” she said as she looked at Minji and you. 

You see Minji blush when the instructor calls the two of you a couple. “You look cute when you blush.”

“Ehh,” says Minji as she turns even more red. Her mind is all over the place, trying to come up with a response, “I… thank you.”

“Actually… you seem pretty chill. Would you like to hang out sometime?”

Her mind immediately thinks of the word, date. A date with a boy. “Does… does right now work?”

“Yeah, I’m free right now.”

“Okay, can you wait for me outside? I’ll be out in a bit; I just need to do something.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you outside then.” You turn around to leave. She grabs your hand midway, “Wait, let me get your number first.” 

“Sure,” she says, and she takes out her phone. You put in your number, “say cheese,” as you catch her off guard, take an unexpected selfie with her, and put it as her contact picture. You then text yourself and save her number on yours, put “Minji <3” and show it to her. 

Minji chokes up as she walks towards the back of the studio. You gather your belongings and wait for her outside. 

You pull out your phone and text her, “I’m outside,” and take a picture of the studio with a random dog in the background. You only need to wait a couple of minutes for Minji to come out of the studio.

“Thanks for waiting for me. Where do you want to go?”

“I’m down for some ice cream. It’s been a while since I had some.” 

“Omg… I love ice cream. Let’s go.” 

The two of you begin to walk toward a popular cream shop. Minji asks, “Okay, choose between the two, mint or no mint?”

“I love me some mint chocolate.” She stops and says, “Really?”

“Haha, no, I'm just kidding.”

“Haha, you really had me there. I actually thought you liked mint.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it tastes like toothpaste. It’s not my thing. My choices are between chocolate for ice cream and mango for gelato.”

“Omg, I love chocolate, and you’re right, mint tastes like toothpaste. We should definitely get chocolate.” 

The two of you continue to walk to the ice cream place and talk over the practice. When you arrive, you open the door for Minji and walk towards the counter. “Good afternoon; how may I help you.” 

“Hmm, we could like one chocolate and own mint for her,” as you point at Minji. “Wait… I…” Minji doesn’t finish her comment when you say, “Just kidding, two chocolates, please.”

“Haha, your boyfriend is funny,” says the attendant. 

Minji gets embarrassed and says, “he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Not yet,” you reply. The attendant laughs and gives you a thumbs-up. He serves your order and takes it to the outside seating area. 

“Here’s your mint chocolate,” you say as you hand Minji her ice cream.

“Haha, stop.” 

“Just kidding, it's just regular chocolate.”

“Okay, don’t be a meany,” she pouts.

“Cute.” 

“What?”

“Oh… nothing.”

“Anyways, thank you for being my partner today.”

“No problem. I think I owe your ex-partner a thanks.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to thank them for introducing me to you.”

Minji can’t help but blush again and says, “You’re really something else, huh.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you flirt with all the girls like that.”

“Oh, no, just the ones I like.” 

She chokes on her ice cream as she sees your genuine smile. “Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“But we just met.”

“Don’t think that matters.”

“But I don’t know anything about you.”

“Ask away; I’ll answer any of your questions.”

Minji hesitates at first as she tries to think of a question. “Are you from around here?”

“You mean, if I live around the area?”

“Yeah.”

“I live within a fifteen-minute walk from here.”

“Do you go to school?”

“Yeah, I go to uni here.”

“Uni? You’re older?”

“No, just skipped a few grades a few years back.”

“What are you studying?”

“Hmm… I like games, so I decided on game systems and engineering.”

“Ohh, what do your parents think?”

“They said that as long as I like it then they are fine with it.”

“Oh, your parents seen pretty lenient.”

“You could say that.”

“Do you live with them?”

“Oh no, they are back in the States.”

“Then you live alone?”

“Yes, I have an apartment.”

“You must bring a lot of friends over,” says Minji as she tries to insinuate something.

“Just to play video games. Anyway, what about you? 

“What do you want to know?”

“Why are you learning how to dance salsa?”

“Haha, it's not like I wanted to. It was just the instructor that chose it for this month’s dance. We do a lot of different genres of dancing.”

“Oh, so are you a dancer?”

“Hmm, sort of. I dance, sing, and perform.”

“Thank seems like fun.”

“At times, my teammates and I are preparing for a stage in a few months. So we need to practice really well.”

“That sounds cool. Hopefully, it goes great.”

“Thanks, I hope it goes well too.”

“What’s the name of the group?”

“Umm, New Jeans. The name is kind of weird, isn’t it.”

“No, I like it, sounds catchy.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, for sure, you’ll get a lot of attention.”

The two of you continue to enjoy our ice cream and engage in small talk. You both realize you have things in common, which surprises you both. 

After finishing your ice cream, she asks you, “Are you planning on coming back for another class?”

“Hmm… I don’t know. Maybe,” as you try to tease her.

“You should, you’re a good dancer.”

“If you ask me personally, I’ll be willing to go.”

“Haha, I was just saying. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“You’re right. But I might want to go since I met someone I might like.” 

Her ears perk up, “Oh really?”

“Yeah, they caught my attention at first sight. I really want to get to know them better.”

“Then you should come, and you can talk to them.”

“Hmm, but I don’t just want to see them there. I want to go on a date with them,” as you look at her.

“Why are you looking at me for?”

“Because you’re pretty.”

“Ehh?” 

“I said you’re pretty.”

“Eh?” In a cute voice. 

“I like you.”

“You… you like me?”

“How about going on a date?”

Minji instinctively pulls out her phone and says, “I’m running late; I need to meet up with my group mates for practice.” 

“Can I walk you there?”

“Yeah…” 

The two of you walk alongside each other. Minji's heart is racing a thousand miles a minute with the idea of a boy walking with her to practice. She looks at you and tries to hide her smile. You walk closer to her, where your fingers rub against each other. 

Minji’s small finger wraps around your own, making you skip a beat as well. You take a leap and interlock your hands with hers. She doesn’t reject your actions and instead seems comfortable with you. 

You continue to walk on the sidewalk until she stops, “We’re here.” You look up and see a huge building, “it’s huge.” 

She lets go of your hand and races with the steps to return and say, “Thank you,” and gives you a kiss on the cheek.

You hold your hand against your cheek and see her enter the building and turn around once more to wave goodbye.

You walk back towards your apartment and feel a sudden vibration in your pocket. You pull out your phone and see a message from Miji.

“Thank you for the ice cream. It was delicious. 

Also, I would love to go on a date with you. 🐻

[skzimagines]

Hide & Seek

“What are you doing? You can’t hide here!” I whisper-shout, trying to push Minho out of the closet I am currently taking shelter in.

Being in our 20’s and playing hide and seek, from the outside… it looks absolutely ridiculous, but to all of us.. it was just another way to bypass time.

“What do you mean? You can’t just take ownership over a friken closet.” He says, pushing my hand away and shutting the door. Its pitch black and the only sound heard is our slow breathing. “If I get found, I’m going to kill you.” I whisper. “You wouldn’t,” he states. “Oh.. yes I would.”

“You want nothing more than to be alone with me y/n.. I’m not dumb.” He says. My heart sinks at his words. I’m thanking the gods above that we cannot see each other, or he would be making fun of the redness appearing on my face. “Don’t think so highly of yourself Minho.” I spit back. He lets out a low chuckle. “Even in the dark, you suck at lying.” He states. “You’re the absolute worst, do you know that? Why must you be so insufferable… all of the time! Don’t you ever get sick of being sarcastic constant-” My rant is silenced by Minhos hand covering my mouth. “Quiet, they’re right outside the door.” He whispers, so close to my ear I swear I feel his lips graze my lobe. Goosebumps form on my skin at the feeling. His hand is still gently placed over my mouth.

Through the crack of the door I heard footsteps and the dark shadow of Changbin pass by the crack of the door, who’s been chosen to be the seeker throughout half of the game. “Are you done complaining about me now?” Minho whispers into my ear once again. The feeling of his soft, slim fingers lightly clasped around my mouth, and the feeling of his chest pressed against my shoulder is enough to send me into a firing pit of euphoria. I nod my head slowly. His hand moves from my mouth, dropping down to my knee, where it rests. His touch is so gentle.

“Don’t make a sound.” His thumb rubs circles slowly, making his way up my thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “I see the way you look at me… all that love in your eyes y/n…” My heart races as his hand leaves my thigh and rests on my cheek. He gently presses, moving my face towards his. “Do you see the way I look at you?” He asks. My words are caught in my throat, it’s gone completely dry at this point. My nerves have left my body completely. “Do you know how much I want you?” His face inches close to mine. His thumb rubs small circles on my cheek.

“Cat got your tongue?” He smirks, bringing his face closer to mine, not taking his eyes off of my lips. I slowly move mine toward him.

Our lips just barely touch, before the closet door slams open. “Found you!” Changbin yells with a laugh. Minho and I quickly pull away, each of us letting out a nervous laugh. “Come on, gotta find the others still!” Changbin says excitedly, jogging through the rest of the house.

“We’re not finished with this conversation..” Minho whispers before catching up with Changbin.