#still i love her and her fucked up sense of humour

[selfawxre]

posting separately as to not hijack flowers' post but realising that some of you guys may also not be as into ddlc and not know all the nuances and random tidbits about it and specifically monika. like, for example, the fact that monika's piano playing is a metaphor for her hacking the game/changing the code, the fact that every time one of the girls is acting particularly out of character she isn't present in the room, only to rush back in like "oh what happened? i had nothing to do with this!!", the times where she gets absolutely steamrolled in act 2 by yuri and natsuki and is so clearly taken aback despite the fact she's the one fucking with their codes to make them aggressive enough to do that, etc.

also just, all the lines in act 1 where she's so blatantly talking about her sentience but that you wouldn't pick up on unless you already knew she was sentient. like she is not even trying to hide it from the beginning, you just know when she talks about her "epiphany" she's giggling to herself like "oh they're never gonna believe what i mean by that"

[amourrs]

you're such a fucking tease, you know that? with ellie williams pretty please 😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻

thank you angel!! — one where you wear ellie’s flannel and neither of you actually end up leaving the house (fem!reader, smut 18+, ai audios at the end, 2.2k)

You’re supposed to leave by nine, so of course Ellie gets out of the bathroom at quarter past.

It’s not the first time she’s made the pair of you run late. You’ve learned not to let it bother you like it used to though, because it’s not personal so much as it’s just shitty time management. Anyway, it’s not like you’re going anywhere fancy- just to the local Starbucks because you really want your first pumpkin spice latte of the season- but like, still. Surely everyone knows the rules: obey the timings of the pumpkin spice latte, or get cursed by the latte gods.

The sound of the toilet door clicking shut has you springing off the bed, eyes zeroing in on Ellie’s car keys on the bedside table as she bounds into the room, feet springing with every step.

“Pumpkin spice latte day— can I get a woop woop?”

Truthfully, you both know that Ellie couldn’t really care less about the seasonal drinks at Starbucks. It was more about making you happy- just like all the times she bought an iced brown sugar oatmilk shaken espresso because you were going through the Starbucks drive through and refused to get anything unless Ellie did too, because you “didn’t want to drink alone”, a sentiment she rolled her eyes at but still never challenged (which may have something to do with the fact that she orders her drink in a venti and adds two pumps of vanilla, because she secretly loves the silly little coffee just as much as you do— not that you could torture that information out of her, of course.)

You turn around with a smile, smoothing out your skirt as you look into your girlfriend’s eyes for the first time since she’s entered the room. The checkered black and red button up over your shoulders shifts as you move and you suddenly notice Ellie’s smile drop as her eyebrows arch to the very top of her forehead. Instantly you’re overtaken by a sense of complete bewilderment. That is, until you catch the glint in her eye as she slowly takes in your outfit, an expression of utter lovesickness working its way onto her face.

“Is that my flannel?”

It’s hard to bite back a grin as your girlfriend’s hand comes up to cup your face and she presses a kiss to your forehead, but you manage to do it anyway. You’ve borrowed Ellie’s clothes before— usually sort of ratty t-shirts you tend to sleep in, or oversized hoodies that smell like home— and yet every time she sees you in something that’s hers, it seems to melt her heart into a gooey puddle just as quickly as if it were the first time.

“Yeah, but I can take it off if you want,” you tease, hands sliding down until your arms are looped messily around your girlfriend’s waist and you can tug her in closer for a proper kiss. What starts off slow quickly turns messy as Ellie’s enthusiasm begins to shine through in her technique or lack thereof as the kiss deteriorates into a chaos of tongues and teeth and clashing (not that you mind, of course).

“Eh, maybe you should take it off. Red isn’t really your look,” Ellie jokes, eyes glinting at her own terrible attempt at humour. You go to roll your eyes but you’re caught off guard as an overzealous movement causes her leg to nudge hard into yours and you both fall backwards onto the bed, you trapped underneath her as you try in vain to extricate yourself from the tangled mess of her gangly limbs. Ellie makes no effort to help you— in fact, she seems to relish in the fact that you’re caged in by the lattice of her muscled arms as she gently reaches down to peck you on the lips. That one peck is of course followed by another, and another, and soon Ellie’s peppering kisses all over your face as you squeal and kick your legs.

“El, stop it. Thought we were gonna go to Starbucks and get pumpkin spice lattes,” you rebuke, head twisting until you can see the large clock over the door. You gasp as you catch sight of the long minute hand’s position. “It’s already half past! They’re probably all out of the pumpkin scones—” your complaints are cut off as Ellie returns to kissing your face again, lips smushing against yours in an almost aggressive display of affection.

“Fuck the pumpkin scones.”

Instantly your face takes on a mock-hurt expression that’s really only half a joke— not that Ellie seems to care. Her lips are already back at your temples and she’s smearing a little kiss on each side before she moves to pepper your cheeks.

“Don’t speak against the pumpkin scones. That’s blasphemy, El,” you remind her sternly, although it’s hard to keep your focus when her mouth is slowly sliding past your jawline and leaving little love bites along the column of your neck.

“M’sorry, babe. Let me make up for it, yeah?” Ellie teases, and that’s when you realise that somewhere in the midst of all the kisses Ellie’s hands have ventured under your shirt, running a hungry path from your waist to explore the expanse of your upper back. It’s impossible to contain the whine that’s begging to escape from your throat at the sensation of her warm fingers drawing circles against your skin, so you don’t. It spills into the air and Ellie laughs against your clavicle as she smears a kiss there. There’s something almost holy about the way she makes contact with you, the unbridled affection lathered in every touch as her fingers travel further upwards. You can tell when it registers in her brain that her hands had been able slide smoothly up your back with no obstruction, because she pulls back from where she’s been attacking your neck to let out a groan.

“Fuck, really? You were gonna go out without a bra on— and not tell me?” Mock betrayal saturates her words and you giggle, heart swelling about a trillion sizes as Ellie contorts her expression into a goofy frown. “S’not funny, baby,” your girlfriend complains, petulance colouring her words as she continues to keep up the facade of genuine annoyance, “what if some stranger decided to eye up the girls?”

“Oh my God, Ellie. I told you to stop calling them that.”

“They’re my girls!” she defends, eyes narrowing. “What else am I supposed to call them?”

“Thought I was your girl,” you say loftily, eyes flicking to Ellie’s panicked face.

“You are— I mean, they are— oh, fuck it,” she grumbles, hands coming up to slip the flannel right off your shoulders. There’s a pop as she pulls at the neckline impatiently and a few buttons launch themselves off of the shirt and hit the opposite wall. Your mouth falls open in shock.

“Ellie,” you admonish, “you really shouldn’t— oh, fuck!” A broken moan tears itself from your throat as you look down to see Ellie’s mouth circling your tit. She looks up for a moment in satisfaction at the sound, preening at the little gasps that continue to fall from your lips as you clutch at the sheets for purchase, before she buries her face back into your cleavage. Her hand comes up from your waist to pinch at your nipple as you whine, back arching up as you chase the stimulation.

“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” Ellie groans, head popping up like a jack-in-the-box as her lips chase yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth as you kiss her back with just as much passion. “You know I can’t resist you in my clothes. Think you planned this on purpose, baby. If you wanted me to fuck you, you shoulda just told me, yeah? Don’t have to act like a little slut to get my attention.” The meanness in Ellie’s words has you keening, hips rocking up into her thigh of their own accord as warm arousal kindles in your belly.

“M’sorry,” you practically sob, hips still rolling upwards in desperate search of relief. “Ellie, please.” Your doe-eyed pleading expression clearly has your desired effect because suddenly Ellie’s hands are tightening around your waist and you find your positions flipped. Now the auburn haired girl lies beneath you, your legs wrapped directly around either side of her muscular thigh as she raises her eyebrow expectantly.

“Well, go on then,” she prompts, jolting her leg slightly to send a wave of pleasure through you as the rough denim of her jeans grazes at your clit through your panties. You wriggle your hips around slightly but you can’t find a rhythm that works, your legs growing painfully stiff within about two minutes of moving. “C’mon, babe,” Ellie tuts, hands reaching for your waist. “Tired already?”

“Hurts,” you moan, the puppy dog eyes coming back out in full force again. “El. Need you to help me, Ellie, please, I can’t and—”

You’re cut off by Ellie’s snide laugh. Dragging your eyes up to her face, you notice for the first time just how turned on she really is. Her pupils are blown so wide that her green irises are more like tiny, paper thin borders around the dilated black circles, her hair slightly dampened to her temples by sweat as she continues to chuckle at your dilemma. There’s just something about how fucking desperate you look that gets her going, makes her long to sink her canines into your neck and then tongue gently over the mark left behind, lips peppering up the column of your throat as an apology— and so she does it. It’s a nice juxtaposition to her recent meanness, reminiscent of the earlier affections which got you into this predicament in the first place, the sweetness of it making you let out a little whimper from the hollows of your chest. The sound tugs on Ellie’s heartstrings and she begins to relent, hands sliding down from where they’re snaked around your waist to find a home at the base of your hips instead.

“Okay, pretty girl, I know,” she soothes, mouthing gently at your neck still as you keen in anticipation of her movement, “I know, Ellie’s got ya. Gonna make you feel so good, yeah?” She doesn’t give you a chance to answer before she’s rocking her thigh in even motions, her hands helping your hips to tilt with the movement as your clothed cunt slides back and forth across the muscled surface. A sigh of relief spills from you as the long-awaited friction finally begins to build and you wrap your arms around Ellie’s neck, smushing your lips against hers. A pretty strawberry toned blush creeps up from your girlfriend’s neck to colour her cheeks, freckles highlighted against the surface of her skin as she attempts to hide the dopey smile that wants to make itself known on her face.

“What was that for, huh?”

“Love you,” you pant, Ellie’s hands moving faster as she bounces her thigh now, racing to give you the release you’ve been craving for the past half an hour. You shift your weight slightly and suddenly there’s a delicious pressure on your clit as it catches against the seam of Ellie’s jeans through the soaked fabric of your underwear. You moan out instantly, head tipping forward to crash into the curve between her shoulder and her neck as your hands rake across the rippled expanse of her back.

“Love you too, honey. How much d’you wanna bet that you’ll cum in the next five minutes?” You look back up to glare at her, mock offense painted across your tired features. “Or not,” Ellie rectifies quickly, a guilty look on her face as she tries not to laugh at your (quite frankly ridiculous) expression.

True to Ellie’s suspicions, it only takes you three more minutes to announce that you’re close, nails digging crescent moons into the pale skin of her shoulders.

“Ellie—”

“I know, baby,” comes her strained response, trying her hardest not to come in her pants at the way you’re whining her name. Instead, she settles for dropping her hand down to the point where your pussy drips all over her thigh, deft fingers flipping up your skirt and applying the perfect amount of pressure to your swollen clit. “Gonna cum for me, honey?”

“Oh, fuck—” you’re sobbing as your high crests over you, legs shaking as Ellie’s thumb continues to draw tight circles onto your sensitive bud until you have to physically push her away, body flopping down onto the bed in sheer exhaustion as Ellie leaves the room. You remain in that position until you hear your girlfriend call your name, your head swivelling up to meet her soft smile as she gently begins to clean you with a damp washcloth, taking extra care as you hiss when she bumps against your still overstimulated clit. You can tell there’s something on her mind as she grins to herself, and you can’t help but ask, even though you know you’ll probably regret it. “What’s up with you, weirdo?”

She looks up at you. “Huh?”

“You’re smiling like you just won a contest.” Ellie hums noncommittally and returns to her gentle ministrations with the flannel between your thighs until, finally, the question that she’s been holding back since the second you came spills out of her:

“Bet you’re not thinking about that fucking pumpkin scone now, huh?”

(You were, in fact, thinking about that fucking pumpkin scone. Not that you could torture that information out of you, of course.)

[netegf]

Hate It When You Leave

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. he's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want... including him.

warnings: 18+, best friends to lovers trope, use of Y/N, mentions of alcohol and past drug use, non-graphic references to violence, some angst & jealousy, fluff and smut (public sex, teasing, oral female receiving)

word count: 6.5 k

There are parts about wearing your heart on your sleeve that no one ever talks about.

For instance, that it's hard to fix your face when the threads keeping that heart together feel like they're getting tugged, cut, and re-bunched into an ugly knot. 

The water bottle you're holding hardly has any life left. Even Kelce comments as much when he rounds his kitchen island, limbs swinging and loose thanks to the red Solo cup in his hand. He takes one look at the tight smile on your lips and tilts his head to the side, fingers twitching upward to your chin as he turns your head to face him. 

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, voice a little slurred, but thick with concern.

That was Kelce. Polarizingly good at getting to what someone was hiding underneath. 

But appearances went a long way for him. And he was so agreeable, it made him easy to lie to. Especially when he and Topper had practically begged you to come to this party, his first one since graduating college. Everyone would be there, he'd said.

And he was right, they were. 

"Nothing, Kels, it's just my stomach being a little funny." You tell him with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. You gaze at him warmly and quirk a brow, smiling genuinely. "How do you always know?"

"We've known each other our whole lives!" He barks in a laugh. "There's nothing I don't know about you."

You feel your heart squeeze again, like there's a too-tight belt around it. But you humour him with a sweet giggle and convinced nod, and it's all Kelce needs before he's walking away to mingle with another. 

How shocked he'd be to know that there was something you were hiding. 

You keep the water bottle you're holding close to your body as if it would fall straight out of your hands otherwise. When you watch the brunette seated next to Rafe on the couch squeeze his bicep again, you think it might just fall anyway. 

Some things don't change. 

The sun goes up and down. The moon makes a nightly appearance. Kelce never dresses for the weather. Topper claims everyone else is cheating when he loses. 

You love Rafe Cameron.

"Fucking sucks, doesn't it?" A voice rings next to you.

You slowly turn your head from where you're sitting on the kitchen island to see a familiar face lounging on one of the high-chairs. 

Topper, apparently, had always had an inkling. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Top." You grumble, casting your eyes away from the blonde protagonist of most of your dreams. Some of your nightmares, too. 

You watch as Topper rolls his eyes without so much as glancing at you, a small scoff escaping his lips. He takes a hearty sip from his cup of brown liquid. Tracking his eye-line, you're unsurprised to find that he's staring wistfully at the very same blonde's sister. 

Sarah Cameron is dancing in the corner of the room with John B., her boyfriend. 

A Pogue at a Kook party... the thought still makes you skeptical.

Not because you didn't like John B., or more accurately, like him for Sarah. But because a few short years ago, all this seemed entirely impossible.

Nonetheless, Sarah was important to all of you. 

And, like she'd said, Rafe listened to you better than he did anyone else.

When you explained to him how smitten his sister was with the boy, and considering how their relationship had endured far past those murmurings of 'young love' to, what was at this point, years together, he'd begun to understand that John B. wasn't going anywhere. 

Much to Topper's devastation. 

He promised he was over her, and he dated like it, too. But there were those moments where he had a few drinks in him and it made you think otherwise. 

"Oh, okay. My fault." Topper replies sarcastically, downing what's left in his cup and finally turning away from the couple he's burning holes through. "I thought we were being honest."

"I am being honest."

He glances at you sharply. 

"Uh huh. Hey, don't freak out, but, your nose is like, growing really long. Never seen anything like it before. It's like in that movie! What's it called, again? Puppet boy? No, that can't be right..."

"Very funny, Topper." You say dryly, but the hint of a smile on your lips sells you out and he chuckles next to you. 

"I was thinking Pinocchio." He fake recalls, nudging your elbow. 

This time, you laugh with your chest, and when you lift your head up to take it all in again, your eyes meet familiar blue ones from across Kelce's living room.

By now, you know how to mediate the warmth that blooms at the base of your spine and consumes you completely. 

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you before Topper starts speaking again. 

"You know he would do anything for you, right?" 

You chew on your bottom lip, still holding eye contact with Rafe who gives you a crooked smile. The girl next to him leans in to whisper something in his ear. He keeps looking at you. 

"Yeah, I know." You mumble half-heartedly. "I just feel like I might need to cut my losses at this point." 

Topper frowns for a moment, then stands up from his seat. 

"Well, you suit yourself." He pinches your cheek affectionately. "Because I, for one, want to crash and burn."

You snort at Topper's words and just as quickly watch him round the kitchen counter to grab another drink. 

Preoccupied with the way he extends that gesture to you, fixing some gross concoction of different sodas for you to sip on, a shiver rolls over your skin when it feels like Rafe's smouldering eyes are still lighting a fire on your face. 

Aron Andersen is a douche, but he means well. 

At least, that's the excuse you aways placate Rafe with when Aron inevitably runs his mouth, the blonde's fists tightening nearly every time in conjunction.

Typically, you opt for the pacifist approach because blood is a bitch to clean, Rafe whines when you clean him up with saline, and frankly, Aron isn't worth it.

But tonight, he seems to enjoy testing your threshold for patience like no one else before him. 

You suppose he's not entirely to blame. Kelce makes his drinks strong, and half of Figure 8 is sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

Maybe that was why Rafe had almost swung on John B. only a few minutes prior, claiming the younger man was feeding his sister lies about him. Perhaps it was just one of those nights. 

Still, you sigh when Aron drunkenly makes his way over to your new spot in the backyard, and press your lips tight together when he shoves a beer in your direction.  

"I'm not drinking tonight, Aron." You tell him plainly. 

Aron haphazardly plops down into the lounge chair next to you with his glossy, red eyes narrowing.

He grudgingly pulls the beer back from you and takes a sip that pools around the sides of his mouth, then drains down his throat slow and loud. 

"That sucks. You're more fun when you do." He scoffs.

Your mouth falls open as the words leave his lips, head spinning to meet his annoyed gaze. The faraway look in his eyes makes you gulp.

In no particular mood to be berated, you have half a mind to scoff back and get up to leave. But there's something about the way he speaks completely unadulterated that keeps your body locked in place.

Like you're dying to know what someone really thinks of you.

"Why not?" He presses, gesturing with his finger accusingly. 

"I'm driving."

He continues to stare at you blankly.

"I'm driving." You reiterate, irritation seeping into your tone. "And drunk driving is illegal, Aron. You do know that, right?"

Unintentionally, your eyes flicker to a slightly rowdy and staggering Topper across the room. Aron zeroes in on that and rolls his eyes emphatically. 

"Now it makes sense. You're taking your boyfriends home." He pitches the word in a scornful taunt, squinting over your shoulder. "Where is Cameron, anyway?"

You feel your heartbeat rage in your chest, tongue numb and mind in disarray. 

"Don't be a dick, Aron. They're my friends." You bristle. But he seems unfazed, lazily quirking an eyebrow. 

"Please don't tell me you're that stupid, Y/N. Friends?" He laughs obnoxiously. "I get you're in love with the guy, but you run around for them like a maid. You ask me, the least you should be getting out of it is a good fuck."

Your fingers twitch at your side as you shoot up from your seat, really and truly considering that pouring his beer over his head might be the best option.

Given that Aron routinely takes up two parking spots to park his Range Rover and cheats on his girlfriends, you think it might be a long time coming. 

His words hurt for more than one reason. Of course, because he'd sooner die than recognize that you very much could maintain a healthy, platonic, and meaningful relationship with your friends of over a decade.

But also because, when it came to Rafe, he was goading you with a kind of intimacy you knew you'd never be able to access. At least not in the way you wanted. 

When a firm hand grips Aron's shoulder strongly and whips his body around, you soon realize you don't have to resort to such a physical display. 

While it was true that Rafe's face didn't make him look particularly kind, he'd only been seriously pissed off, to the point that his stomach felt like caving in on itself, a few times. Like in those months right after he'd graduated high school and felt like a big question mark. Every time his dad looked at him disapprovingly, it affirmed that sinking feeling in him, and he learned that he sometimes articulated his sadness in anger.

These days when he's mad, he mulls the feeling over a few times in the interest of scraping for another feeling underneath. 

Now, though, all Rafe feels when he meets Aron's arrogance with an intensity of his own, is unbridled rage. 

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Rafe speaks at a low register that makes your breath quicken. His movements are a little clumsy, blue eyes slightly glazed over, and his dirty blonde hair kisses his forehead that's speckled with sweat. Cheeks dusted red in that way that you love, more prominent when he's inebriated.

His fingers are still pressing harshly into Aron's shoulder, pressure concentrated and steady if the way he winces is any indication. For a second, his eyes flit over to you and the frown on your face, and they begin to soften. But then Aron is sputtering and stealing his attention and he hates him all over again for it. 

"My bad, bro." Aron offers lamely, hands jutting upward in surrender. He attempts to step away, but Rafe keeps him locked there. 

"Yeah, it's your fucking bad, bro." Rafe sneers.

He roughly shoves Aron backwards as he lets go of him and the man quickly scurries away knowing that if he sticks around, Rafe will probably force him through clenched teeth to apologize to you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest for a different reason.

Your mind is trapped in a loop, repeating every word you said to Aron over and over again, wondering how incriminating they were, and debating how much exactly Rafe had heard.

And if he had, if he was coherent enough to either dismiss or believe the accusation that you loved him. No, not love, you shudder... in love. Aron had said, verbatim, that you were in love with him. 

"I would've handled it." You mumble with your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe sighs as he turns his body to face you, rubbing a hand over his jaw, now partially relieved of the tension it was holding. He chews on his bottom lip cautiously, like it'll help break the fall of the words bound to spill out of his mouth, a little too unrestrained in his drunk state for his liking. 

"I know that." He nods slowly. "I just wanted to help to help you... handle it."

He stumbles a little as he moves toward you and you instinctively wrap an arm behind his torso, holding him against your body as a human splint. 

"Plus, I kinda have a reputation going for me. No one's losing their shit if I fight a guy."

"Or two." You say pointedly, thinking about his almost altercation with John B. earlier in the night. 

Rafe buries his head into your shoulder, groaning loudly into the bare skin as it heats up and vibrates. 

"Fuck, not you, too."

He lifts his head up to continue, and you lug his body towards the living room where you spot Topper talking with Kelce and some others. Without speaking, Topper seems to understand what you're saying, nodding then pointing to himself followed by the stairs. 

He'd driven you to Kelce's and you promised to stay sober and drive him back home. But now, it seemed like the plan was going to shift.

Topper would stay the night at Kelce's and take his car back in the morning. You would take Rafe's truck back to his place and walk the rest of the way. You were practically neighbours, anyway. 

"If she wants to talk shit about me to her boyfriend, that's one thing. But him, talking shit about me, to her? What's he trying to do? Turn my own sister against me?" 

"I get it, Rafe. I really do." You nod, an amused smile on your lips as you tug him out of the front door and towards his truck. "But you promised Sarah you'd be nice, remember?"

"I am being nice." He protests with his hands tapping at his chest. "I didn't even fucking touch him."

You scoff lightly as you strap Rafe in his passenger seat, noting the way his eyes begin to flutter shut. Humming softly, you poke a cold finger at his cheek and watch as they blink open again. 

"I'm taking you home, okay?" You murmur gently. 

"No!" He objects, large hand circling your wrist. He rubs his forehead with the other one, trying to remember something. "Got a meeting in the morning. Ward is gonna flip if he thinks I've been out all night fucking around."

You look at him uncertainly, waiting for the thing that you don’t want him to say, but know he will.

"Your house? Please?"

There was a time when sleepovers with Rafe were a common practice. Sometimes, after parties like this, with Kelce and Topper.

Other times when you convinced the boys to binge a new movie or TV series, usually ending with at least two of them falling asleep. Rafe made a habit of grumbling his critiques of the things he watched, but always stayed up with you. 

For a while, when he hit an especially rough patch with his dad and spent more nights than he would've liked getting high out of his mind.

As much as he'd tried not to pull anybody else into it, he found himself seeking comfort in the warmth of your bed. It helped that you always received him with open arms, even when his early morning phone calls were disorienting and he cried silently into your shirt in the hours after. 

Those nights felt so distant, and yet, like you could touch them if you reached out just far enough.

Rafe had girlfriends on and off, and sometimes that version of him felt like a stranger. You felt a strange pity for yourself when you realized that it might've been a good thing. That he was getting better and without falling back on a crutch, even if that crutch was you. Suddenly, him sleeping at your house felt weird and misplaced more than anything else. 

"I don't know, Rafe...," you begin to trail off, but the blue desperation in his eyes makes you reconsider. He's still holding tenderly at your wrist. "Fine. But if you puke on my sheets, you're done. Do you hear me?" 

Whether or not Rafe hears you is unclear, but you take the delirious smile forming on his lips as a non-verbal affirmation. He huffs out a long breath as if he can feel himself finally relaxing. His eyes start to close again, too, as you start his truck and drive the short way to your house. 

"Don't even think about falling asleep on me, Cameron. I am not lugging you up the stairs."

"You're strong." He reasons smoothly, lids still shut as he smirks. "You were about to deck the shit out of Aron Andersen when I found you."

Getting Rafe up to your bedroom goes better than you'd imagined, now with a few years of experience under your belt. 

You get him to sit down on your bed, and he fiddles with the items on your nightstand while you rummage through your armoire for an old pair of his pajamas. He complains when you throw him a pair of sweatpants and a sports t-shirt he used to wear in junior high, claiming that it'd be too tight over his arms and chest.

Plus, he'd added, it was far too hot to be wearing a shirt, anyway. 

"I love these." 

Changing into sweats of your own, you exit the bathroom to find Rafe sitting up in your bed, part of his bare torso obscured by your white sheets. His attention is fixed on a small group of rings on your bedside table, silver and gold hues reflecting under the dull rays of your lamp.

He slowly picks one up.

"Yeah, I'd hope so." You snort, tentatively slipping into bed next to him and painfully aware of the sorry excuse for space between you. "You got them all for me... kook."

Rafe cracks a sleepy smile, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You wouldn't tell me which one you wanted." He shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world. 

He sets the ring back on the table and switches off your lamp, blanketing the room in a stroke of darkness. Rafe lies on his back and you opt to turn to your side, facing the wall.

Looking at his face only a few inches away from yours, when he's about to sleep in your bed, feels like it will be too much. 

"Asking for what you want is weird, Rafe. Nobody likes it."

You chew on your bottom lip in the dark.

"I do." He says in a scoff that turns into a yawn. "How else is anyone gonna know? People don't usually stop you and beg to find out."

You swallow roughly. That was true enough, they didn't.

But Rafe did. He always did. You revered him for it.

There's a long silence between you and all that echoes against the wood framing of your bed are the heavy and sometimes irregular sounds of your and Rafe's breathing.

Against your better judgement, you think he might've fallen asleep and almost turn around to check. 

"Is it me?" He asks quietly, voice scratchy with exhaustion. "... what you want?"

You feel your shaky breath hitch in your throat. 

"Because if it is... you don't have to ask."

His words linger in the air for as long as it takes your wildly beating hard to calm down.

By the time your body regains some feeling, the sound of Rafe's soft snores pierce the oddly crisp air clouding your room, and the choice to unpack what he said right now, or in the morning, is made for you. 

A shiver runs down from the nape of your neck to the tips of yours toes. 

Rafe is gone by the time you wake up.

The harsh but comforting sound of rain clangs against your roof, and you stretch your limbs to the thought of a cloudy and obscure summer day. 

It's better this way, you think. The absence of Rafe's warmth next to you would feel worse if the sun was shining, teasing. 

Your fingers play underneath your comforter to locate your phone. Scrolling through your notifications, you frown seeing that none of them are from Rafe.

In his defense, it was only about 9AM now, and he'd probably just had enough time to take a quick shower, get himself the smallest bit presentable, and still barely make it to his meeting with a client.

The used bathroom towel in your hamper and flannel pajama pants hastily thrown on his side of the bed are compelling indicators. 

In his defense, he was drunk, and there was no telling if he remembered anything about last night. 

Drowsy proclamations of desire and confession, included. 

You wrestle with the idea of calling him and letting it all spill out.

Kissing him on your front lawn, in the rain, with dewy blades of grass nipping at your feet. Hands threading through his wet hair and tugging, hungrily, because you're starving and happy, and these are liberties you can afford in imagination.  

But you settle on seeing him later tonight, in person. It's your dad's charity after all. 

"I just wish you would have told me earlier." Your disappointed words hang in the air for a few moments as you play with the hem of your silky baby blue dress.

Your father had mentioned to you once before that his new business partner had a son about your age, newly graduated from UC Irvine. 

He hadn't mentioned, though, that this mystery guy would be attending the charity tonight, and he'd offered you up as his own personal tour guide.

Your father hadn't used the word date explicitly, but that's what it felt like when you were handed an odd-smelling bouquet of flowers, standing awkwardly next to the brunette who you were apparently to keep the company of all night, though he might as well have been a stranger. 

Daniel was nice enough.

He complimented your dress and your makeup, smiled and pulled out your chair before you sat down at your assigned table.

But it felt weird accepting praise and chivalry from him when your heart was busy beating erratically at the simple thought that your dress matched Rafe's eyes.  

The venue is extravagant like it always is, what with it's elaborate crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and floral center pieces larger than your head. 

At your table, you note your and Daniel's name cards labeling your seats. Next to them, are Topper, Kelce, and Rafe's. There's a sixth seat that has no label and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully, considering that Topper or Kelce must be bringing a date. 

"This place is incredible. Your dad is so impressive." Daniel says in awe from the seat next to you. His eyes trail around the room, wide in amazement, reflecting back all the vibrant lights in the brown of his pupils.

You smile weakly at him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear that always seems to take flight despite your attention to detail.

"Yeah, he's really something. Likes to orchestrate a big show. You should see him at the winter ball. Live doves, and everything." 

Daniel nods, moving on to say something that starts to sound unintelligible when something else piques your interest. Someone else. Multiple someones, entering the banquet hall. 

Craning your neck, you make out Topper and Rafe. And a girl. 

No. Topper... and Rafe and a girl. She has her arm tucked around Rafe's as he escorts her in the direction of your table. He's wearing the grey tux you like, the one he wore to Rose's sister's wedding with the ornate thread detailing. His smile makes the two halves of your heart squeeze together. 

"Hey, you okay? You're squeezing that wine glass pretty tight there."

Daniel likely means well, eyeing the way your fist clenches around the stem of the glass you've yet to take a sip from. You shoot him an embarrassed smile and release your straining fingers.

An emotional support water bottle sounds like it would be really nice right now. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous... my dad always gives a speech at these things." You explain.

As the trio begins to approach, you realize it's Shelley Thompson gripping Rafe's arm, a sweet girl you knew from the Kook Academy.

Even now, she always waves when you run into her at the Island Club, and she has a swing on the golf course like no other.

She's a good match for Rafe. You hate to admit it, but it's true.

When Daniel speaks again, you can barely hear him.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Daniel chuckles. "I have a hard time imagining that your dad would be bad at anything..."

Topper, having heard the tail-end of your conversation, plunks himself down in the chair across from yours and rubs his forehead tiredly. You shudder at the way he smiles empathetically at you. Like there's something to be consoled about. 

"Hangover?" You ask, shoving the shaky feeling down and shooting him a teasing smirk.

He groans loudly and buries his face in his hands.

"That's the understatement of the year. Feels like I'm getting my skull bashed in." He mutters through the skin, then he peels his head away and grimaces at the screechy music being played. If there was one thing your dad was bad it, it was decent music taste. Topper laughs heartily, shaking his head. "Then again, maybe I am." 

The lightheartedness is interrupted for a moment as Rafe and Shelley pull up to the table, taking their seats accordingly. Rafe rakes his eyes over Daniel for a few seconds, but otherwise stays silent and it makes you frown. You look at him, desperately trying to uncover if he remembers any details from last night, but his expression is unreadable.

Shelley, on the other hand, grins at you enthusiastically and starts to chat with you about the time she interned at your dad's company. 

You find yourself glancing at Rafe every so often, each time catching him staring blankly ahead or at his lap, and always fidgeting with his fingers. 

"Who's this?" He asks suddenly, nodding his head at the man next to you. 

"Oh." You swallow. "This is Daniel."

Finding that insufficient, Daniel takes it as an opportunity to formally introduce himself. 

"That's me." Daniel waves sheepishly, gently squeezing your shoulder with his other hand. "Y/N's been showing me around. Well, her and her dad. I really love what Mr. Y/L/N's been doing with his company. He does some incredible work out here. It's not often that you see-,"

Topper snickers when he cuts him off. 

"Maybe he should've been your date."

Daniel laughs it off, blushing slightly and concealing it in a short cough. But you kick Topper under the table in retaliation, ignoring the way he holds his shin and groans out a soft "Ow!". 

After that, Shelley, Topper, and Daniel divulge into conversation, shifting from topic to topic and at some points, sharing boisterous laughs together.

Rafe keeps his lips pressed together and his words concise. While you fiddle with your utensils, you feel his eyes on you, igniting heat under your skin. 

He stares at you hard, like he's waiting for you to say something. Begging, even, with the way his forehead tenses and his brow stays quirked.

But you didn't know what to say.

Or maybe you didn't know how to say it. Especially not here. Especially not when he had a date. 

Rafe rolls his eyes and chews on the inside of his cheek, standing from the table abruptly, the movement making the cutlery tremble.

"Hey, I have an idea." He says while tugging on Shelley's hand. "Let's dance."

You watch as Shelley squeals with excitement, jumping from her seat to follow Rafe towards the center of the large room where the music is playing. 

"Couldn't pay me to get closer to that band." Topper mumbles offhandedly. You're sure he's trying to make it sting less, but some pains don't have a perfect antidote. 

Daniel sends you a look, silently asking if you want to join them. 

"Maybe later." You reply quietly. 

Watching Rafe wrap his arm around Shelley's waist, you feel your heart sink slowly into your stomach.

In the middle of Daniel's rambling and Topper's occasional acknowledging hums, you rise from your seat and stumble into the courtyard for some fresh air.

Surely, your heart would keep sinking if you saw any more, and your heels were too tight to fit anything else. 

The courtyard is a beautiful mix of greenery, fairy lights, and concrete statues, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You sit on a stone bench and try to control your breathing with your head between your knees. 

Though it's turbulent and shallow at best.

"What's wrong?"

You know it's Rafe without looking up. Sighing into the palms of your hand, you slide them down from your face and lift your head up. Surely, your makeup is smudged, and the thought makes you more miserable.

"Nothing." You say more sharply than you intended. "Nothing's wrong. Just go away, Rafe."

He looks at you completely scandalized. 

"Are you... mad at me?"

You let out a deep breathe, averting your gaze to the ground as you collect yourself. "No, I'm not mad. Why would I be mad?"

Rafe scoffs, entirely unconvinced. He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. 

"Well, fuck, if this is 'not mad', then I don't want to see what mad looks like." 

"Can you just drop it? Please, Rafe? Drop it?" You beg, sniffling slightly as you stand. You hadn't noticed when your cheeks started to get wet. Likely too much in denial.

Despite the way it's honoured you in the past, crying was offering no release at this point. It's not like any of this was Rafe's fault. Even if he had gotten your hopes up last night, he wasn't obligated to act on drunken pillow talk. Maybe he hadn't meant it in the first place and was only trying to make you feel better.

"You won't talk to me." He says sadly.

You bite down on every explanation you want to give him. Chest pain heavy and unrelenting.

"Just... go back to Shelley, Rafe. She's probably waiting for you."

Rafe looks puzzled when the words fall weakly out of your mouth.

Then, he nods, like something finally clicks for him. He meets your eyes with fervor as he presses his lips together.

"So, this is about Shelley?" He asks.

Your head hangs and silence intensifies between you. It speaks for itself.

"The same Shelley that's been fucking Kelce on and off for the past two years?"

He watches your mouth fall open and eyebrows furrow, continuing as you stare at him.

"Kelce promised to take her out on a real date, but then he got caught up at work... asked me to keep Shelley company until he showed up. We didn't come here together, together, Y/N. I thought you knew that." 

Your mind buzzes as he speaks, bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

So, he wasn't here with Shelley. And he probably did remember both what he heard and said last night if he could recognize that you were jealous.

Jealous. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling was always two-fold. A person would feel jealous, then humiliated that they had. You don't know which one is worse.

You peak an eye open, chewing through your words. "Why couldn't Topper do it?" 

"Have you met Topper?"

That was a good point. 

Still reeling from the new information, you look down at your lap pensively.

"But you did." Rafe begins after a few beats of silence. When you frown in confusion, he clarifies. "... come here with someone."

You crane your neck up to look at him. There's something you can't place in his eyes, but it's cloudy and all-consuming. His hair is a mess from the way he's been ruffling through it, and his cheeks are flushed and tight.

"What, Daniel? Are you kidding me? I only brought him because my dad ask-," you begin to explain, but Rafe cuts you off. 

"I don’t care why he thinks he can touch you. I just want him to stop.”

Despite the small gust of wind that blows past you both, you feel a warmth at the base of your neck... in the palms of your hands. Maybe it was the beams of light overhead, illuminating your bodies amidst the greenery.

Or, maybe it was just Rafe's words.

The intensity of his gaze. The way he steps towards you as he speaks them, warm hand eventually reaching out to graze over your cheek in a way that makes you gasp in a mixture of shock and excitement. 

For a moment, you think about yourself and the many soul-crushing nights spent watching Rafe talk to and touch and kiss other people, the overlapping visuals making you queasy. 

"I know the feeling." You say quietly, hot breath fanning over his face.

Rafe frowns a little, soaking up the meaning of your words. He nudges his face closer to yours, until your noses are touching and his lips just barely graze over the pair he desperately wants to taste. He draws back suddenly, suspending all the air in your lungs. 

He eyes you cautiously, challenging silently as he licks his lips.

"Not gonna do anything unless you ask." 

You nearly cry out in response. "Rafe, please. I... I want you." Ignoring the way your desperation makes your skin feel tingly and your head spin, you shut your eyes tightly, realizing that only really skimmed the surface. You try again, gulping. "I've always wanted you."

"Fuck." He breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. "Never stop saying that." 

Stifling the sound of another whine from your lips, Rafe kisses you feverishly.

He moves his soft lips in tandem with yours, swallowing each of your breathy moans. One of his hands traces over the swell of your jaw while the other stretches tenderly around your throat. "Know what I wanted to do when I saw you sitting there next to him?" 

You nearly scream in protest when Rafe pulls his lips off yours, but fall silent when he trails kisses down from your jaw to your neck and collarbones, sloppily sucking the skin then laving his tongue over the afflicted areas. Unsatisfied until your pushing his head away from the sensitivity. 

"Wanted to knock his fucking teeth out." He murmurs with his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and leaving searing kisses. "But I don't do that shit anymore. So I'll ruin his night a different way."

Rafe moves your body with his until the backs of your knees hit the concrete bench. Your mouth falls open as he sits you down on it, kneeling in front of you. He presses a ticklish kiss to your knee and his bright blue eyes peer up at you through his lashes. When you nod, he parts your thighs and pulls your panties down in a single unbroken movement, committing every second to memory.

He stares longer than he should, groaning at the way your wetness collects on his finger when he traces a finger over your slit, spreading you apart. 

"Can't believe," he moans into your mound, running the flat of his tongue over your center again and again. "... you kept me from this pussy for so long." 

You throw your head back at the sensation, finding nothing but air and Rafe to support you as pulls you closer to his mouth.

"That," you say in a broken moan at the feeling of Rafe's tongue inside you. "That's your fault, remember? I was always here — shit! Waiting for you.”

Rafe hums against your pussy at that, neither agreeing or disagreeing. His nose nudges your clit as he tastes you greedily. You tug at his hair to dissipate some of the energy building inside your core, but it only makes Rafe work harder. 

"Didn't think I deserved you." He admits, pink lips mesmerizing and wet with your slick and his spit. Rafe takes your clit into his mouth and sucks obscenely, the slurping sound sending a flash of heat through you. "Doesn't matter now. I'm good at making up for lost time..."

Your thighs clamp around Rafe's head as he fucks you with his tongue. It's only now, as gasps and high-pitched sounds fall wantonly from your lips that you come to the reality that you're letting Rafe eat you out in the courtyard, and anybody from the party could come here and find you. Still, you moan less controlled than you would have hoped when he suckles at your clit again, drinking at your sopping pussy.

"Hey, have some common decency, huh? There's some very nice people in there trying to enjoy a party." 

Rafe smirks when you pull at his hair even harder, mostly at the thought that you think it could be reprimanding when he likes it so much. His teasing does more to turn you on than you'd care to admit and he can tell with the way you gush around him.

"One of em's your date." He adds, laughing slightly as he curls his tongue inside you. Entranced at the way it makes you whimper and writhe like putty under him. He starts rubbing your clit with his thumb at the same time, chasing the crest of your orgasm. "C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Come all over my tongue." 

Your release makes your back rise off of the slab of cement you're seated on, thighs slotted over Rafe's shoulders as he licks you through your climax.

The pleasure is insurmountable, your mouth falling open and your eyes screwing shut as that familiar feeling completely overwhelms your senses, the burn of your elbows against the cement keeping you anchored to the ground. 

Rafe smiles when you pull him by the belt of his dress pants to capture his mouth in a long and sweet kiss. It helps clean up the residual wetness. 

By the time Kelce makes it your father's charity event, he sighs tiredly into the crown of Shelley's head, pressing a wet kiss there in greeting. On his way in, he got trapped in a conversation with your father and some guy he'd never seen before named Daniel who was more inclined to kiss your dad's ass than he was to breathe.

Finally taking his seat next to a very drunk Topper, he squints his eyes at the sight before him. You and Rafe, unable to keep your hands off each other, giggling at nothing in particular. And when not giggling, kissing.

"Are you seeing this shit?" Kelce asks Topper, gesturing towards his two closest friends shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Shamelessly, at that.

"Dude." Topper groans, sighing like this was no surprise to him. "Where the fuck have you been?"

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

[k-hotchoisan]

7 minutes in heaven (Mingix fem! Reader)

Synopsis: a game of spin the bottle lands on you and Song Mingi for a dare of 7 minutes in heaven.

Right. We all know what’s coming.

Genre/warnings: sexual tension, sex, obviously, unprotected sex, orgasms, hickeys, cream pies, dirty talk, pet names (princess)

Word count: 2.3K

A/n: I just found out like what 7 minutes in heaven meant from my friends and I was instantly like “it’s basically sex???” Bro she was just tired of me at this point.

Also this is pretty fucking filthy. I would love Song fucking Mingi to ruin me like that too. ❤️

Spin the bottle, spin the fucking bottle.

“Oh come on. Just fucking come!” San whines. “You have me there! And Song Mingi is coming!”

“Song Mingi? Why the hell is he going?” You whip your head at San.

“‘Cause he’s Yunho’s friend?” San answers matter-of-factly, scrunching his eyebrows at you. “And he’s your crush?”

“Oh my god, San. Fuck off”, you wave him off in annoyance. As much as he was right, you hated that he was right. You and Mingi’s friendship started through mutual friends, and for some reason, it seemed that you fell for him during the course of the friendship. And you hated that, because the basis of the friendship was just extreme playfulness and constantly getting on each other’s nerves.

On that one time when Yunho teased Mingi about the both of you being a couple, Mingi smacked Yunho, outright denying any ounce of feelings between the both of you.

So now, it was two things—seething hatred and an ugly crush—the biggest paradox of feelings you’ve ever had. You spent the past few weeks lessening your meet ups with Mingi, and he didn’t question why.

And now suddenly a party that he’s gonna be at? No fucking way. San doesn’t relent though, for some reason he was hell-bent on getting you to come, and he wouldn’t tell you exactly why.

“What would it take for you to come?” San questions as he leans into your shoulder, giving you the puppy eyes that could never out-do Yunho’s.

“Five hundred bucks,” you answer, pinching his nose as he winces in pain, slapping your hand away.

“Yeah right”, San rolls his eyes. “I’ll introduce you to someone, okay?”

That isn’t the main point but you sense San’s sincerity, so you decide to humour him.

Little did you know that it would snowball to whatever had happened.

Your arm is hooked around San as the both of you enter Yunho’s spacious apartment, greeting the people as the both of you slither past them to look for the host. San spots Yunho from a distance and waves to him to get his attention. Yunho turns his head and pats the guy beside him to get his attention.

And it was Mingi.

Mingi has an unreadable expression the moment his eyes land on you, noticing your hand around San’s arm. He gives a small smile as the both of you walk over to greet Yunho.

“Hey. I’m glad you made it”, Yunho greets, giving San a hug as San removes himself from you, and then patting your head. Mingi still has his eyes on you, and you pretend not to notice.

“Yeah, I had to hold her at gunpoint for her to come”, San jokes, using your head as an arm rest. You roll your eyes.

“Damn. You really didn’t want to see me that much?” Yunho asks, pressing his palm against his chest, acting heartbroken. You playfully give him a light shove.

“It’s been awhile, y/n. Nice seeing you again”, Mingi chimes in, giving you a smile. You stare back, exchanging a small smile back at him. It had definitely been a couple of weeks since you contacted him, since the bullshit he spout.

“We’re going to play Spin the Bottle now, and you came just in time for that. San, y/n, you wanna join?”

Your gaze holds Mingi’s, almost challenging him and your grip tightens around San’s arm.

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

A circle quickly forms as everyone sits, there is about seven people in the circle, a mix of girls and guys, including you and Mingi, both of you sitting across each other. The game goes on pretty normally in the first hour, but as the drinks started flowing in, the questions and dares starting getting more spicy.

In the fourth round, the bottle spins, and it lands on Mingi.

“Truth”, Mingi says.

San pushes the question, “Have you liked anyone in the friend group before.”

You don’t catch Mingi’s gaze at you because you were too busy whispering something to San.

“Yeah.” A few “ooohs” echo in the room and you purse your lips in curiosity.

A few rounds later, the bottle spins, and it lands on you.

“Truth”, you say.

Yunho rubs his hands. “Is there anyone in the room that you wanna kiss?”

Fuck. The alcohol was definitely kicking in, but not enough for you drunkenly answer right away. You really wanted to lie.

Everyone had their eyes on you, curious of your answer, especially Mingi. He’s quiet, his gaze piercing into you, and you catch wind of it. Your anxiety slowly dissipates as you decide to be smug with that motherfucker. You know he’s gazing at you, and you hold the stare before shifting your gaze to San, who was fighting for his life with the alcohol, before saying, “Yes.”

Considering that your small gaze towards San wasn’t missed out by majority of the players, they laugh and clap their hands, evidently fooled by you. You smile as you sip your alcohol.

The bottle spins. And it lands on Mingi.

“Dare”, he says, almost too confidently.

Hongjoong immediately pushes, “Seven minutes in Heaven, to whoever the bottle lands on.”

Mingi scoffs, feeling confident, as he reaches for the bottle to spin it.

It spins, and it the neck lands on you. Your eyes widen in shock because you really did not expect that. Mingi has that unreadable expression on his face again, before Hongjoong smacks his back, reminding him of his dare. The players roar in excitement and whistles.

Seven minutes of being trapped in a room with each other.

Your mind is racing, but you tell yourself, anything could happen, including non-sexual things. The both of you could just sit alone together, albeit in a little bit of awkwardness, and just wait for the seven minutes to pass. Okay, that doesn’t sound so bad.

You and Mingi stay seated on the bed of a guest room, not saying anything to each other.

Seven minutes start.

“Are you avoiding me?” He asks after long pause.

“No?” You lie too quickly.

“Then why haven’t you been replying to my texts? We used to hang out so much.”

“I was just busy.”

“Liar.”

You glare at him, and he holds the stare.

“You’re finally looking at me properly”, he says, and your heartbeat ups another notch.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

Not really. You couldn’t really blame him, but at the same time, what happened genuinely did make you upset.

“No”, you reply, turning away, only for his fingers grab your chin.

He sighs. “Please stop looking away from me. It’s driving me crazy.”

Good. That’s cause he deserves it. The way his fingers are pressing onto your chin was starting to make you heat up.

“No. It’s mostly a me problem”, you vaguely tell him. “You sure you’re okay with doing this when you have a crush within the friend group?” You ask, as you lie onto the cold sheets.

Mingi doesn’t answer you, but he towers over you, looking at you with some sort of lust and desire—it was looking very dangerous.

“I’ll answer you non-verbally, if I get your consent”, he responds, his breathing getting heavier. You decided to take him on and nod.

He leans in and kisses you, feeling every part of your mouth, as he groans into your mouth. The alcoholic taste lingers, mixed with his saliva, tasted strangely sweet. He pulls your shirt off as you unbuckle his jeans.

The way his wet and leaking cock presses onto his underwear fucking scares you because he was so fucking big. He tugs your bottoms and undergarments off, almost too desperately, then soaking his fingers with his spit as he starts rubbing your clit slowly. Electric pulses through your spine, in pleasure as your back arches, and soft moans are leaving you.

He plunges in both hands when he deems you wet enough and you cry out as his fingers curl into you.

Five minutes.

He continues to fuck you with his fingers and you hands claw his arms, desperate for something more hotter, and bigger.

He pulls out, leaving you clenching at nothing. Mingi’s underwear is removed way too quickly and you gasp at his length and girth. He was not fucking around. He wraps his hands around his cock and pumps it a few times, giving you a small show of his groans and small bucking hips.

Four minutes.

Mingi lift your legs to his shoulder as you lay on your side as he slides his cock into you, before fucking you into the bed, his grunts and moans filling up the room. Fuck. His cock is too fucking big. It’s just dragging against every single nerve in your wall. Your hands were gripping onto the sheets, as you fail to keep your composure, and your moans.

“Fuck. You’re so tight”, Mingi exhales as he pulls out before slamming into you again as he drinks your whimpers and cries. “So fucking good.”

He lets your leg fall, and he fucks you from behind, his hands gripping your hips. Your limbs were starting to feel numb from the pleasure. He stops for a second before grabbing your waist, to put your back to lie against his chest. This only fucks up your sanity because his cock was stuffing your wet and abused cunt from the bottom.

“Mingi, it’s too much—fuck—so fucking big”, you cry out, your mind going hazy as he sucks against the skin on your neck. Your head was lolled back, and your eyes are rolled back too, feeling nothing but the sensation of Mingi’s cock going in and out of your hole, as you cream on his cock. Fuck, it felt like heaven.

“Such a good girl. Keep moaning for me”, Mingi hums as he, himself, also was struggling to form coherent thoughts as you were squeezing him out. His moans were trapped in your head because his lips were close to your ear. His fingers pinching your nipples before slapping your cunt gently, causing you to squeal and tighten around him and his voice goes up and octave.

“We have three more minutes,” Mingi says, his eyes glancing at the small timer facing the both of you. “We should really at least finish it with something good—like this”, he says as pushes into you so deeply and your body becomes paralysed, his cock slightly bulging your abdomen, your mouth is open but no sound is coming out. Your thighs tremble as tears pool at the corner of your eyes. Your pussy flutters around his cock as your orgasm hits you in waves. Mingi thrusts in you shallowly, his full cock still deep in you.

“Y/n, you’re creaming so much. It feels so fucking good. I’m gonna cum too, Princess”, he encourages, rubbing your clit in slow circles, tightening another knot in your abdomen.

Two minutes.

Mingi just wants to continue fucking into you until he’s satisfied, and once you feel his cock twitch in you, you know he’s close.

“So tell me, who was it did you want to kiss between the guys?” He suddenly asks, slowly decelerating his thrusts, and you were about to lose your fucking mind.

“Was it Choi fucking San?” He asks, his fingers cupping your chin to ensure you face him. He smiles, loving how fucked out you looked, ruined by him. “Tell me, princess.”

He pulls out in such a slow and painful speed that your thighs tremble from the way his cock just drags against your walls.

His grip on your cheeks lower to your neck, and he gently squeezes.

“Answer me”, he demands.

One minute.

“Fuck—it’s you. It’s fucking Song Mingi!” You cry out, craving his cock to fill you up like cockslut you were.

His eyes grow wild as he lets go of your throat , his hands slithering to your bottom of your thighs, spreading them even more as he bottoms out in you, slamming his cock right into you until you start seeing fucking stars behind your eyelids.

“Good girl. Take my fucking cum”, he says as he fucks into you one more time, his cock squirting strings of cum right into your pussy as your second orgasm overwhelms you, leaving you whimpering and shaking from the overstimulation as Mingi empties in you.

The timer goes off, the alarm annoyingly loud. Mingi gingerly pulls out of you as you twitch, and lets your head rest on the pillows. Your cunt was still throbbing, as it flutters at nothing while Mingi’s cum leaks out of you. He looks at you and smirks, like you are his favourite masterpiece. He inches forward and presses his lips onto yours as he strokes your hair.

“That’s my princess. I think it’s pretty obvious but I like you. I really, fucking like you”, he confesses. As you were about to reply through half-lidded eyes, the door knocks.

Mingi pulls the sheets over you before answering the door. Yunho had his arms crossed and his eyebrow raised. He spots you heaving softly against the guest bed and immediately puts two and two together.

“She’s not playing anymore,” Mingi answers, blocking his view.

Yunho scoffs. “Took the both of you fucking long enough. The tension was crazy. We’re going to get more drinks so the both of you can continue your own little game.”

Mingi laughs as Yunho leaves, before shutting the door behind him.

He stares at you, curled up in bed, still looking dazed, and walks over to you. He pulls the sheets off, and a mix of his cum and your arousal just dripping past your inner thighs, red flushing your ass and your cheeks.

Mingi licks his lips, suddenly hungry again as he towers over you to spread your legs once more, pushing in a finger way too easily, the sounds of his cum squelching out of your pussy as your eyes roll back again. His fingers cup your chin, forcing you to face his lustful gaze.

“Seven minutes are up but now we’ve got all the time in the world, princess. I’ll show what real heaven feels like.”

[hirukochan]

Can I please request a snape smut fic? The reader and him have been friends since school and she is in love with him only he does not know it or realize his feelings till Sirius is flirting with her and it leads to a fight between them leading to them confessing to their feelings. Maybe some dirty talk biting and rough smut

Sooo...I got a bit carried away with this...definetly not the roughest smut I've written, but I hope you like it anyway.

Severus and his sunshine

Pairing: Severus Snape x fem!reader

warnings: Smut, loss of virginity

Wordcount: 7402 (oops...)

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

“To the youngest Professor in the history of Hogwarts!” You cheer and raise your glass clumsily into the air, spilling half your drink down your arm. “Oops-” You giggle. 

It’s not the first drink of the evening and not the first time you toast to Severus’ new job - and certainly not the last. It bears repeating after all because how fucking awesome is this? You have always known that Severus is the most intelligent and brilliant and ingenious person you’d ever meet! It’s unfair - no, a bloody shame! - how many people never realised it just because Severus’ is a bit awkward and rude and- alright he’s a downright cunt sometimes but he has every bloody right to be with the road his life has taken so far! With a father like that and that awful Potter and his stupid goons!

“We need to cut you off.” He drawls, the corner of his lips curling, and tries to snatch your glass from you. You jump off the chair you're standing on and cradle your drink protectively to your chest, firewhiskey dripping down your arm.

“Try and I’ll bite your finger off!”

“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not.” Severus shakes his head but doesn’t try to get your drink again, instead focusing on his own (the second of the evening - what a bore). The pub is crowded and loud, nobody pays any attention to the two of you sitting at a table in the corner.

You plop back down on your chair and take a sip of your drink. 

Severus’ eyes have gone distant again. That happens a lot lately. Like something is on his mind that he lacks the words to tell you. Social interactions aren’t his strong suit. You’re the ‘Severus-translator’ Lily used to joke when you three were still friends because you always knew what Severus wanted to say but couldn’t. You always made sure he was included in conversations, told others to shut up so he could speak or smooth over his rough edges whenever someone didn’t get Severus’ dry and dark sense of humour. 

One look at him from across the Great Hall during breakfast and you knew whether he was in a good or bad mood. You knew when he had a nightmare the night before and needed a gentler touch or when to bluntly tell him he’s being a cunt.

This you can’t seem to figure out. 

He smiles less these days. Even less than usual. The four years since you finished school have been hard, especially for him, especially with the war. 

Emotions are not Severus’ thing.

His long black hair falls into his face, hiding his grave expression from the world and you. His face has lost its boyish features. His jaw is more prominent, complementing his high cheekbones. His hooked nose suits him. It’s something about the proportions or symmetry of his face - you can’t quite put your finger on it. Most people seem to be put off by his appearance, but to you he has always held something uniquely beautiful.

He taps his finger against his glass repeatedly. His fingernails are still painted black…You made him let you paint them last time he was at your flat. It suits him.

You place your hand over his, stopping his fidgeting. You wish you’d know what’s going on in his head, clearly whatever it is puts him on edge, but you trust he’ll talk to you when he is ready. 

“You’ll be great.” You say. “I have no doubt. You’re a bloody genius, Severus! These kids are so lucky. They can learn so much from you!”

“I am certain they will share your attitude.” He says sardonically and you snort. Severus downs his drink and takes your empty glass to get another round (and probably a glass of water for you because he’s such a mum sometimes). You smirk as you watch him make his way through the crowd. 

He sticks out like a sore thumb in these new robes he got, but you think they too suit him. It’s probably the first time he isn’t wearing hand-me-downs. He’s wearing all black of course. The most colour you ever saw him wear was at Hogwarts in the form of his emerald green school tie. 

Severus looks intimidating. It makes him look older, stronger somehow. It’s such a stark difference to the beat up jeans, the The Cure bandshirt you gifted him one Christmas and the shabby leather jacket.

But not in a bad way.

He looks good. 

Maybe it’s the fact he has grown taller since graduation. He’s a head taller than he used to be and shed his bend over posture. Escaping both Hogwarts and his recently deceased father agrees with him. That and your continued effort of forcing him to eat three whole meals a day, every day.

His wide shoulders and dark hair disappear behind people and you rip your eyes from the spot you last saw him.

So much has changed in the last four years but that little flutter in your heart whenever you look at him has not changed. When it first started in your fourth year you didn’t even realise what it was about. You’d start stammering around him, earning you silent glares and raised eyebrows from Severus at which you’d blush. After an embarrassingly long time you finally accepted that you had developed a crush on your best friend. 

You’re too terrified of losing him as a friend to ever tell him though.

Severus isn’t good with feelings. They are too complicated. Too messy. He doesn’t need messy. His life is messy enough and so you swore to yourself to never tell him.

Your friendship was already a miracle. You are his polar opposite. You are outgoing and friendly, polite - too polite sometimes - bubbly and optimistic. Severus is - well Severus. He is grumpy and quiet and rude.

You decided to befriend him in your first year. You saw him during the sorting and something about him pulled you in. You really wanted to get to know him and when you heard him talk during your first potions class you made the decision to gain his friendship however long it would take.

You started by sitting at the table next to his in the library. You’d sit there everyday, quietly doing your homework and when he stopped shooting you irritated looks when he thought you weren’t looking, you moved to sitting at his table. You simply smiled at the befuddled Severus and did your work. 

You approached befriending Severus like one might approach gaining the trust of a wild animal. Over the year a truce-kind-of study group had formed between you.

Towards the end of term he asked for your help collecting some things from the forbidden forest - Lily would never break school rules, but you are certain Severus didn’t actually need help, he just didn’t know how to tell you he wanted to spend time with you.

During the summer you send him letters, even after not receiving any back from him and when you saw him by himself in the Hogwarts Express in September you sat down next to him and you’ve been friends since.

You know a romance is even less likely than your friendship was.

“Merlin! I almost didn’t fucking recognise you!” A familiar voice says and you throw up a little in your mouth.

“Black.” You say monotonous. As if he owns the place Black sits down opposite of you on Severus’ currently empty chair.

“You’re hot! How come we never snogged in school?”

“Because whenever I am forced to face the fact that you exist I want to smash my head against a wall.” You say with a honey-sweet tone of voice at which Black’s grin only grows. He doesn’t get the hint. 

“How come you’re drinking alone, gorgeous?” Black continues undeterred, a poised and arrogant grin on his lips.

“I’m not.” His grin wavers ever so slightly but Sirius Black has always believed himself so utterly irresistible that such small details don’t matter to him.

“I don’t see anyone.” He is wearing muggle clothes, trying just a tad too hard to look like a rockstar, but he talks and holds himself like a pureblood still. He might have run away from home but he is still living off of his family’s wealth and he hasn’t changed one bit since school.

Black is (as usual) utterly unaware that he isn’t welcome. Black’s eyes roam over your face and down to your chest like he is appraising you, determining how much effort you are worth putting into seducing you. 

“I think it’s fate we meet like this! You look-” He licks his lips and a shiver of disgust rushes over your arms. “So different. Bet you cut loose that tosser Snivellus. He was clearly dragging you under. A frown on such a pretty face should be considered a fucking crime.” You clench your fists under the table. You have your wand in your boot. It would be so easy to hex him-

“Someone as stunning as you- Oi! I was about to head to this club in Dublin that recently opened to meet Moony and Wormtail - You should join me!” He winks.

“As I said - I am here with someone.”

“But you could be with me!” He laughs as if he just made a joke but you know he is dead serious. He thinks you’d gladly ditched whomever you are here with for the chance of spending time with him. “Bring her too - the more the merrier.” There is a not so subtle suggestive tone to his words and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Come on gorgeous! Someone as sexy as you should not be so uptight! Let’s have some fun, let loose a little - it’ll be worthwhile to you, I swear.”

“What a compelling offer.” Sneers Severus and your heart drops. Great. “I wonder how many you made that promise to, Black, and how many you left disappointed.” Black’s grin falters for a split second.

That’s right.

Severus is different.

He stands taller. He’s fierce and strong and you aren’t at Hogwarts anymore where it’s four against one with the teachers turning a blind eye. You have no doubt Severus would pull out his nastiest curses on Black given the chance.

“Let’s leave, Sev.” 

“Come on, gorgeous!”

“That’s not her name, but one can hardly expect a simpleton like you to care for such fine details as names.”

“Sev.”

“No wonder she looked like somebody was fucking murdered in front of her eyes when I found her - how Lily could bear being close to you for so long I’ll never understand.” Black turns towards you. “Kick this dick to the curb - I’ll buy you a drink, gorgeous.”

“She does not need you for that-”

“I can buy my own drinks.” You hiss and when Severus still makes no move towards leaving, you grab your jacket and storm off. Let them duel like little children if they want, but you won’t get in the middle of that. 

The cold hair of the night hits you while you run down the street. Tears sting in your eyes and you feel so stupid and pathetic for crying. Nothing even happened. You don’t know what’s going on- that’s a lie. Severus sounded like he was about to suggest you’re with him and therefore don’t need Black to buy you drinks which…it’s not wrong. You were at the pub with Severus and you were going to make him pay (he’s a Professor now after all and from what Sev let on the pay isn’t bad) but it wasn’t a date. And Severus suggesting or intending to suggest that hurts. You want it to be a date goddamn! You’ve wanted it for over eight years!

Severus calls your name but you just wrap your arms tighter around yourself and continue down the empty street on the outskirts of London.

“Just wait!” He catches up to you. “What a fucking wanker.” He huffs.

“Mh.”

“What did he say to you? I should have hexed him! I knew it!”

“Drop it.”

“No, I will not drop it! He made you cry- come on tell me what he said and I’ll-”

“What?!” Abruptly you stop walking and spin around to face Severus. He looks at you perplexed, his cloak billowing behind him in the breeze. “You’ll go and start a duel? Why? I told you to drop it.”

“He’s a fucking cavemen! Just the way he looked at you-” Severus grimaces. A muscle in his jaw tenses and he flexes his wand hand.

“Why the fuck do you suddenly feel the need to defend my honour?! You just ignored me in there- nevermind. I’m tired. I want to go home.”

“Don’t let Black ruin our night-”

“You ruined our night! I asked you to leave, you ignored me. I ask you to drop it, you ignore me. I don’t want you to fight Black! We aren’t at school anymore - you’ll get arrested!” Something you have never before seen crosses through Severus’ eyes. Something dark. A cold shiver runs down your spine and you take an involuntary step back.

“I wouldn’t be arrested, Sunshine.” He says, voice low, rumbling like thunder, a muttered promise of destruction and ruin and heat pools in your belly. That he called you by his nickname for you which he uses very sparingly, if ever, doesn’t help the matter. Severus takes a step forward. The heat morphs into a twisting, curling mass that takes your breath away. Severus looms over you, shadows dancing over his pale skin, drawing his cheekbones into an even sharper contrast and you gulp.

“You think Luci is going to come and rescue you?”

“Lucius? I don’t need Lucius for that.”

“Do you even fucking hear yourself?!” Your voice echoes through the empty streets, thrown back off the house.

“He made you cry!”

“Why does it matter?!”

“Because-” He clenches his jaw, his fists shake with suppressed rage. His nostrils flare and for a split second a tingling sensation winds around your heart at the expression in his eyes - the softness in the middle of a raging storm. A lone, untouched, unbothered island in the midst of a roaring ocean. 

Severus exhales. Tension falls off his frame and the expression is gone.

“Fine.” He says quietly. “Let’s go then.” And he walks past you.

“No.” You can hear his steps stop behind you. Tears drip over your cheeks and you stubbornly wipe them away. “Say what you wanted to say.”

“I thought you’re tired.”

“Say it.”

“It’s- it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not moving until you say it.” You cross your arms in front of your chest. Behind you Severus sighs and you can practically hear him pinch the bridge of his nose like he does whenever you annoy him.

“You sound like a spoiled child.”

“Good practice then. You’ll have to deal with a lot of those, Professor.”

“Are you- I have the feeling you’re angry with me.” You spin around and glare at Severus. He’s not good with emotions, sure - but now he’s just being dense.

“What made you think that?” You deadpan. He rolls his eyes and his disregard for your feelings drives you mad. 

“Black’s a bastard-”

“This is Warren all over again!”

“Yeah and I was fucking right about Warren wasn’t I?” A vein on his forehead pulses, but you don’t give a shit. Warren was your first boyfriend and Severus behaved absolutely rotten towards you.

“Warren was a huge mistake, yes - but he was my mistake to make! What- do you actually fucking think I would ever fucking touch Black? Just the thought gives me an STD!” The barest flicker of amusement flashes over Severus’ features. “I just- I don’t get why you overreact like this everytime I talk to a guy. And it’s not like I was engaging Black there! The fucknugget is just to stupid to get a hint!”

“I-”

“There it is again! You did it again! What is it that you can’t tell me? Come on Sev! You can tell me everything. When did you start having secrets from me?” It’s a hit to your ego as much as you don’t like admitting it. 

You have always been Severus’ safespace. 

He told you things he never even told Lily! Something you didn’t know until third year when Lily asked whether Severus’ parents are ‘fighting again’ when you knew Tobias dickward Snape beat Sev with his belt the day before the Hogwarts Express left for the new term. You fucking healed him in you compartment because his ribs were broken and she asked whether they were fighting. 

Why can’t he tell you this?

Another tear slips over your lower lid and slides down your check. Your bottom lip quivers. You suppress a sniffle and nod. 

You have never felt further away from him than you do at this precise moment. It feels like Severus is sand slipping through your fingers and the harder you try to hold onto him, to the way it was before, the faster he slips away. Maybe too much has changed. Maybe he’s too different. Maybe this unlikely friendship was doomed from the beginning.

You know you’re about to start bawling and that’s the last you want Severus to see.

“Alright…I see.” You whisper. “Life’s different now. We’re keeping secrets now…”

“Sunshine-”

“No- no, ‘tis fine-” You roughly wipe your eyes. “See you- see you sometime….congratulations again.” You turn around to find a quiet alleyway to disapparate to your flat and break down there like a pathetic little teen that got her pathetic little heart broken without ever even working up the courage to confess her pathetic feelings. 

Your steps sound horribly loud in the dark, cold night and with every step you take away from Severus you feel like you’re losing him more, every step is another crack, another break, another insurmountable obstacle between you. The cold wind cuts through your clothes with ease and you shiver. 

“I love you.”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your heart skips a beat or two or maybe it forgets how to work entirely. 

Severus’ voice is quiet, uncertain like it has not been since second year when he thought you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore after he lashed out at you.

“Sunshine- I knew Warren would only hurt you. That he’s not good enough for you. He bragged in the Slytherin common room that you showed him your boobs- He said all sorts of awful things and I- I just sat there. I should have said something, defended you, made him shut up but- Warren was two years above us and…” He takes a shuddering breath, dispelling old shame and insecurity from his voice. “Black’s just like that. He never cared for you before and now all of a sudden he is dying to go out with you? You don’t even realise it, Sunshine but- you- you are stunning. You have changed so much since school, you are- fuck I don’t know- words-” He sighs and rubs his hands over his face. 

You feel numb and like you’re on fire at the same time. Of course you knew Warren spread some shit about you around, it’s why you broke up and broke his nose in the process for good measure, earning three weeks detention with McGonagall, but you wished you would have known sooner... 

And- Severus loves you? No- that can’t be right- He’s in love with Lily- it’s always been Lily-

“You’re happier somehow- you- you’re radiant and beautiful and- you’ve grown up so much and- and- I love you. I’ve loved you for years- I want to protect you. I want to guard your happiness and yes I’d go back to knock out every single one of Black’s teeth for talking to you like that. You just have to say the word - sunshine - I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. And I know I’m not bloody good enough for you- I am rude and surly and miserable to be around - I don’t expect you to feel the same…I- fuck I don’t know-”

“You love me?”

“I love you.”

“I thought you love Lily.”

“Lily is- was- still is- I have no goddamn clue- she’s like a sister. I love her. And I think marrying Potter was a huge mistake and that she’ll divorce him in about three years - if she manages to stand him that long and when she does I hope- I hope we can mend our friendship…maybe- but- but I don’t love her like that. Not like I love you.”

Severus loves you.

Has loved you for years.

Severus loves you… You swirl around and before your anxiety can overpower your heart, screaming and aching and thrashing about in your chest you cup his face with your trembling hands and press your lips against his.

Severus stiffens. For a moment you just stand there, on your tiptoes to be able to reach him, holding onto him, feeling his heat against you, your lips exploding with electrifying tingling. Your stomach clenches and twists, flip flops and gives birth to a thousand erratic butterflies and all flutter around in a whirlwind of emotions that are too colourful, too many, too intense to ever find words worthy of describing the sensation.

Cautiously Severus puts his hands on your back and moves his lips against yours. You’re still crying, tears stream over your cheeks and run along the curves of your face to your lips. 

As if woken from an enchanted slumber, Severus drags you against his chest and kisses you fiercely. One arm wrapped around your back and clutching at your waist, and one hand cradling the back of your head, long slender fingers threading through your hair. You grab the front of his robes and cling to him. 

You both stumble a few steps and your back hits the brick wall of a house. Severus licks along the seam of your lips which you happily part for him. Your kiss grows sloppy and desperate. Your tongues meet gingerly at first but soon the slight air of discomfort and wariness at this development vanishes, flies away into the cool air of the night, gone and forgotten, as unimportant as your stupid fight.

Severus is kissing you. You are finally kissing Severus. He loves you. He has loved you for years.

Everything is good.

“Sev-” You whimper against his lips between two kisses. You try to break them, to wrench an inch of air between you but Severus is like a man dying of thirst that finally found a water source and is clenching his burning thirst. “Sev-” You push against his chest. Severus releases your lips, but doesn’t move away, doesn’t let go of you. 

He leans his forehead against yours and blinks back at you, his dark eyes seemingly trying to pervade yours, to find a direct path to your deepest thoughts, a link between you and him that is untouchable by anybody else, that runs deeper than any other connection between two people.

“Don’t you want to invite me back to your place?” You murmur and tug playfully at the button just above his throat. Severus’ eyes darken. A muscle in his jaw jumps. Your cunt clenches around nothing. Needy, desperate, wanting.

He clears his throat and steps back. How the fuck does he still look put together? How can he manage to reign in that storm in his eyes so expertly, so fast and clean while you’re a panting, sweaty, needy mess after just a few damn kisses?

“You won’t like what I’d do then.” He says, voice heavy with what he leaves unsaid. You push yourself off the wall and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You trail a few chaste kisses up the side of his jaw and flick the tip of your tongue over his earlobe. Severus inhales sharply and flexes his hands again.

“I don’t break easy, Sev.” You whisper and press a kiss to his ear. “You should know that.” He takes another shuddering breath and just when you think you’ll have to deal with the aftermath of his kiss on your own while picturing him nestled between your thighs (once again), he pulls you against his chest and holds you in a bone-breaking grip. You feel the familiar pull of side-along apparition and in the next moment you smell the even more familiar, dusty scent of Severus’ house. The smell of books is new, added after Severus renovated the house enough to evict his father’s influences and put his own touch to it - namely by adding a shittone of books.

Severus doesn’t give you time to catch your breath. He grabs your hand and pulls you up the stairs. You giggle and run to keep up with him. He practically kicks the door to his old room open (you know for a fact he has not even touched the door to his parents room since his father died) and crushes his lips against yours as soon as he pulls you over the threshold.

The burn marks from where Severus used to zap flies with his wand are still on the ceiling. The little pencil sketches you made near the baseboards are as well. He replaced his bed though. A brand new double which you are being steered towards now.

“Severus-” You moan against his lips and tear at the buttons of his new robes.

“Is this real?” He whispers back and leans his forehead against yours again, watching you struggle with his clothes. “I’ve pictured this so many times- thought about how I would feel to have you here- is this happening? Or am I sleeping?”

“It’s real.” You say, lips against his recently freed throat. “I’m here.”

“You’re here…”

“Severus-” You hesitate and pause your quest of revealing Severus’ body to your eyes. “I’ve never done this-” Suddenly you feel shaky and overwhelmed.

“Warren-?”

“Is full of shit. He lied- about all of it. Have you-” He nods, but there’s a distant expression in his eyes that tells you it’s not something he wants to talk about. Probably something he’s ashamed of. You know the kind of company Lucius, Mulciber, Rosier and the other’s like to keep and don’t pry further.

“I’ll trust you then.” You murmur and sit down on the bed, pulling Severus down with you.

“I’d never want to hurt you, Sunshine.” You kiss and between kisses scoot up the bed until your head is resting on the soft pillows and Severus’ lean body between your thighs. “I’ll take care of you.” He mutters against the corner of your mouth and kisses your cheek. “Such good care.” He trails down your jaw. “Like Black or Warren never fucking could.”

“I never wanted them.” You moan. Your body moves on its own, knowing precisely what you want and need even if your mind has yet to catch up. Your legs wrap around his hips, your back arches, pressing your breasts to his chest. You thread your fingers through his silky hair. “Only you.”

“Me?”

“Only you. Always you. Whenever I thought about it…when I pictured how it would feel while touching myself I only ever pictured you.”

“Oh sunshine-” He groans and rolls his hips against you.

“Sev-” Severus draws his wand and mutters a quick spell. Something curls in your stomach, it’s the weirdest sensation and for a second you are utterly confused, but then your gaze meets Severus’ and you understand. Contraception spell. You didn’t even think of that. Of course Severus did. You smile. 

He mutters another charm and your clothes vanish. You squeak, blush and hide your face behind your hands.

You can hear the clanking of wood hitting wood as Severus tosses his wand onto the nightstand.

“You- fuck…” Cautiously you peek between your fingers. A faint pink tinge has spread over Severus’ cheeks and nose, down to his now fully exposed neck. He looks cute. Adorable. You take a deep breath and drop your hands. This is Severus. Your Severus. There is nothing to be afraid of with him. “You put to shame all great beauties of the comprehensive history of this world.” His words brush over your skin like a tender caress and make you shiver and burn with embarrassed heat at the same time.

“Severus-”

“It’s true. The old greek masters wish they would have had a model like you sit for their marmour statues. Such beauty has to be preserved for the ages - but you…you are just mine.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my stammering, cute, insecure Severus?” You tease. Severus’ eyes are still pinned to your breasts. He visibly snaps out of his thoughts and looks up to you. There he is. Flashing through his impossibly dark eyes for the flicker of a second before they return to the heavy gaze, consumed by carnal desire that has been ignored for too long and has now broken free with demanding force.

“He knows he’s about to find out how you feel.”

“Come and find out then.” You shoot him a challenging grin. Severus kisses you in response. He kisses you and settles more of his weight on you. His very much hard cock presses against your exposed cunt. You gasp and clutch at Severus.

“Shit- Severus- that won’t fit!”

“It will.”

“You sure?” He chuckles, his eyes lighting up with amusement like they do so rarely and you relax.

“I’m sure.” You trust him. You love him. You want him. He’ll take care of you. 

You let him take control. Severus kisses you more. He seems determined to cover every inch of your body with all the confessions of his love he has missed out on. All the elapsed opportunities. All the kisses you could have shared if you both had had just a little more courage. But it doesn’t matter. You are here now. You are together in his bed, skin pressed against skin, breathing the same air, staring into each other’s eyes longingly while his hand slips between your thighs.

You’re soaked and whimper when his slender fingers gather your slickness, brushing your aching cunt with featherlight touches. He draws gentle, slow circles over your clit. Pressure and heat build in your belly and deep inside your cunt fast. You cling to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin without even noticing.

“I wondered so many times how you’d look…” He murmurs. His lips brush over yours as he speaks. His breath dances across your cheeks.

“...in the throes of pleasure.” Severus’ voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. A smoky rumble that goes straight to your core.

He teases your entrance until you’re squirming and rolling your hips against his touch before finally plunging a finger inside you. “I wondered how you’d sound…how I would feel knowing it was me making you feel like that…” You give him the answer promptly. Moaning and whining, gasping for air.

“Sev!” You throw your head back and arch your back. The pressure keeps building and building, beyond anything you ever managed yourself. He adds a second finger and with it a delicious, stinging stretch. He curls his fingers and presses the heel of his palm to your clit. You squirm under Severus’ intense gaze that seems to look right through you, through your skin down to your very soul. He watches every flicker of pleasure and desperation he paints onto your face with utter, devoted, undisturbed attention to you and nothing else. Nothing else matters.

Severus knows you like no other. It feels right to share this with him as well.

He loves you.

You still can’t believe it. 

“Sev!”

“Cum for me, sunshine. Cum on my fingers. I want to know- I’m done wondering. I want to know.” You do. Crying out and panting his name, thrashing about beneath him as waves upon waves of intense pleasure run havoc over you, but it’s fine. You can let go with Severus.

“I need you Sev- please-” You gasp even before your orgasm has released you from its clutches. “Please please please- Sev-” He groans. 

“Fuck and I thought you sounded needy in my head.” Severus mutters and aligns himself with you. He takes his time, giving you time to adjust to his girth, slowly pushing deeper and deeper into your still spasming channel, forcing it to give way to him. He grunts and whispers praise, how tight you are, how good you feel for him, how well you’re taking him. You whimper and hold onto him, leaving red streaks across his back. Severus doesn’t even bat an eye at it.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and savours your every sound, every twitch and throb of your cunt finally, finally gloved around him.

“Sunshine-”

“Severus…” More words aren’t needed. He rests there, deep inside you, his body pressed to your trembling smaller one, shielding you from the cold of his room and the world itself and you know there is a promise in there somewhere.

“I can’t believe it-” He murmurs and kisses your collarbone, down to your sternum. He kisses and licks, sucks, grazes your skin with his teeth. “You feel…incredible…you’re so good for me sunshine-” He kisses your breasts, flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, licks broad strokes and teasingly closes his lips around them.

When Severus finally moves again he does so in slow, measured thrusts. He watches your expression with hidden wariness, watches your every reaction. He can’t hide from you though. He is waiting for you to regret this. To tell him to stop. He’s afraid of letting go, afraid of scaring you off, of losing you.

But he’ll never lose you.

You buck your hips and whine impatiently. “Come on Sev.” You whimper. “Fuck me like you really want to fuck me.”

“It’s your first time I will not-”

“It’s done, Sev. Bye bye virginity! That train of stupid little things society places far too much worth in has left the station indefinitely. Now fuck me.”

“Sun-”

“Severus Snape! Fuck. me. properly.” He groans. His eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fine.” Severus grunts and a rush of excitement pulses through your stomach and drenches his throbbing cock in more fluids. “I warned you.”

The bed creaks dangerously under his thrusts. His hips slap against yours with a wet, fleshy sound that drives you crazy.

“Oh fuck yes- yes- just like that- that’s-” You babble more nonsense, moaning and shredding Severus’ back with your nails. He fucks you mercilessly into the mattress, spearing you open with his cock with each hard thrust. Your entire body trembles under his thorough attention. Your cunt yields to him in wet, fluttering excitement. It cherishes the promise of soreness his thrusts leave behind. 

Any attempt at grasping for and trying to hold onto one of the many thoughts rushing through your fuzzy, hazy mind is a fruitless endeavour.

“Fuck! Ahhh- so good…” Severus mutters against your collarbone and plunges his cock into your drenched cunt again before pulling out almost completely and driving back in with such force he knocks your head against the headboard. You both laugh.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You weave your fingers through his hair and pull him down into a sloppy, passionate kiss. You gasp and moan into the kiss and drink up the way Severus continues to lose the iron grip on his emotions he had cultivated since graduation, revealing more and more of the love-starved, unapologetic, fierce man you know him as. The man that feels so freely, so intensely, so deeply that it hurts him so much.

Every thrust, every kiss, every exploring hand gliding over your sweaty skin, squeezing your breasts in testing, careful motions is a testament to how deep his feelings for you run and have been running for so long. 

It breaks free of him in violent bursts and buries you beneath roaring pleasure. 

Severus is not good with words.

But he will be damned if he doesn’t show you what he can’t figure out how to say.

“Severus-” You moan, joining the creaking bed and his grunts, the symphony of your love. This would not be a pretty, romantic, fairytale like love. You are both messy and broken in your own ways. It will be hard. It will take work and compassion and will seem impossible at moments, especially in the midst of a war, but Severus is worth it.

To you he is worth it.

He always was and will always be.

You whine in protest when Severus pulls out of you but before you have a chance to voice it otherwise or even glare at him, Severus flips you over.

“Put your hands on the headboard.” He rasps in your ear. You are shaking and struggle to keep yourself upright, but Severus’ arms around your waist stabilise you. You hold onto the headboard so tight your knuckles turn white. Severus is kissing your neck, nibbling and sucking, painting his marks onto you as if to say ‘I was here’ or maybe ‘back off’. Maybe both. Maybe more.

He fills you up again, reaching much deeper than before and you gasp at the unfamiliar, intense feeling.

“Your cunt clutches me so hard-” He grunts and bottoms out. “Sucks me in- all soaked and desperate.”

“Sev-”

“Hmm…yes. I’m here…” He sucks the delicate skin on your neck into his mouth and bites down gently, at which a loud, wanton moan breaks free of you and he bites down harder. 

You meet his thrust with your hips, his cockhead hits a spot inside you it previously missed and you fall apart. His grip around your waist turns bruising and Severus pulls you back. Your grip around the headboard goes slack. You melt into his touch, twitching and shivering, whimpering, mind fuzzy with always new, higher, stronger, more intense levels of pleasure.

Severus holds you to his chest, your thighs on either side of his, useless, hands helplessly holding onto his arms, and moves your body up and down his hard shaft. Using you and the fluttering of your cunt as your orgasm continues to coarse through you. He grunts and bites your shoulder, harder than before and a particularly strong spasm shakes your body. You drop your head onto his shoulder, melting further against him.

“Again-” You rasp and present your neck to him. A grin flashes over Severus’ lips. Sweaty strands of hair stick to his forehead, his eyes are glazed over with hazy lust.

“My pleasure.” He coos, but instead of indulging you, he kisses you. One small, chaste peck after another. You squirm against his grip, claw at his arms, painting more red streaks on his pale skin.

“You never told me you got a tattoo-” You murmur. The sight of the jet black snake and skull on Severus’ left inner arm pulls your mind out of its haze and into a brief moment of clarity. Severus hesitates ever so slightly in his thorough, teasing attention he’s paying to your neck. Something about the tattoo unsettles you, though you can’t exactly decide why.

“Must have forgotten. It’s new.”

“Hmm…very metal.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why’d you get it then?”

“I thought I would.” Severus sucks on your neck and that plummets you back into mind-numbing, all-consuming, ecstatic pleasure.

“Maybe we should go to Dublin after.” Severus purrs in your ear. “Show Black all your pretty marks.”

“Idiot.” You giggle.

“I’m going to cum-”

“Cum inside me.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Please, Sev! Cum in me.” Severus pushes you forward and you fall face first into the mattress with a tiny outrages squeal. Severus laughs at you and grips your hips, adjusting them to sit flush with his own. He fucks you roughly into the pillows. You clutch at the sheets. Severus loses more and more of what little composure he still had. He mutters things you can’t make out.

His thrusts are accompanied with lewd, wet noises and the headboard hitting the wall.

“Severus!”

“I’ll fill you up ahh- with my cum- leave you dripping-”

“Yesyesyes-” He moves your hips with each thrust, pulling you back into him as he buries his cock inside you. His balls hit your sensitive cunt. His fingers dig into your skin, sure to be leaving bruises. 

Severus cums with your name on his lips, tumbling over them in a low, reverent, lust-drenched prayer which you join with your own faint, desperate whimpers.

Feeling the hot spurts of cum hit your inner walls violently kicks you over the edge for the third time. Severus slumps above you, pressing his forehead to your back between your shoulder blades, panting and spent.

You stay like that for a while. Both of you trying to catch your breath, relishing in the buzzing glow of your aftershock and the feeling of each other’s love on your skin and warming you from the inside.

Gently Severus pulls his softening cock from you and lies down next to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Sorry.” He murmurs in your hair and presses a tender kiss to the top of your head. “I hurt you.”

“I liked it.” You murmur back and place your hands against his chest, nuzzling your face to his neck. “Why did it take us so bloody long to finally do this?” He chuckles. He tugs a strand of messy hair behind your ear. You look up to meet his gaze. It’s heavy with emotions, a swirling storm of love and care and fear. You reach out to him in a futile attempt of soothing it. The pads of your fingers meet his cheek and he shudders under your touch, before leaning into it. His eyes fall closed and for a brief moment he looks at peace. Content. Home.

“I-” He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it again. His brows pull together into a frown, a deep crease forming between them. His lips go white as he presses them together into a thin line. His jaw tenses. “I’ve made a terrible mistake-” His voice is hoarse from unshed tears and the effort of suppressing them. He loses. One escapes from between his closed lids and slides down his cheek, meeting your fingers. You wipe it away, but more follow. 

“I’m trying to fix it- I am! But I-”

“It’s ok.” You whisper and press a tender kiss to his jaw. 

So he did it…You had your suspicions, of course you did, but a part of you refused to believe Severus capable of those horrible acts committed by the Death Eaters. And you were right. The pain, regret and self-loathing is so evident in his face. He can’t bear to look at you.

“We’ll fix it. Together. It’ll be fine.”

You are there when the Aurors storm his house to arrest him. You were sitting on the threadbare sofa in his arms as he read to you. 

You tell him not to resist, to not tell them anything.

You send an owl to Dumbledore.

You are at the trial, sitting on one of the benches. Severus looks miserable sitting in the middle of the courtroom, deep shadows under his eyes, a tremor in his wand hand. The chains of the chair are wrapped tightly around his arms. He avoids your eyes.

Dumbledore defends him passionately. Recounting Severus’ turning spy for him, reporting you-know-who’s steps to Dumbledore, how invaluable his intel had been. He recounts the dangers Severus was willing to face. He demands he is released. And he is. The Wizengamot clears him of all charges and you walk out of the Ministry with him, holding his still trembling hand in your own.

“Is this real?” He whispers and you bite the inside of your cheek to not start crying. You want to be strong for him.

“Yes.” You kiss his cheek and wrap your arms around his neck. “It’s real. You’re a free man. I’m here. I will always be here. We’ll figure this out.”

“Together?”

“Together. I love you, Severus.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

[luveline]

you did this with Steve and James but I would love a Remus fic where they are play fighting and he accidentally hurts her

for u my love boyfriend!remus x reader

Remus can be intimidating when he wants to be usually, but on top of you like this with a huge smile on his face and his eyes lit with excitement, he's the opposite of scary. 

"I'm gonna make you sorry," he threatens. 

You have your hands joined and held in front of you, pushing him away so he can't kiss you. You never know how you and Remus get into these situations, playfulness bordered by a fierce competitiveness that means neither of you are willing to back down, no matter how badly you'd both like a quick kiss.

"You couldn't make a puppy sorry, Remus," you say, huffing at the strain and effort it takes to hold him up when he's this desperate to reach you. 

He ignores your hands, his fingers squeezing yours brutally in hopes you'll give in, and ducks down into your space anyhow. The bed groans beneath you as your squirm away, pushing your hand (with his still twined into it) against his handsome face. 

"You suck," you trash talk, "and you won't win!"

"I always win," he says, which isn't explicitly true. 

"No! You give me the giggles and I can't fight back, you cheat!" 

Remus presses harder against your palms. "I don't cheat! Dove, I swear to fuck, if you don't let me kiss you–" 

"You'll what?" 

"I'll kiss you!" he warns. 

And there it is, he's making you laugh, and when you laugh you get distracted and your resolve weakens. Your arms shake in his hold as you do. Remus sees an in, pressing forward hard. You startle and he startles at your startling —he tries to back off, but you know he's already falling forward. You flinch and pull your arm up, fingers tangled in his, too late to shield your face as his chin connects with your nose with a loud smack. 

You both curse at the same time. Tears are instantaneous in your eyes, the shock of a whack to the nose inescapable. 

"Ouch," you whine, though you have enough sense to see the humour in the situation. You're a little winded. Remus really did fall smack dab on top of you. "You okay, babe?"

Remus pulls your hair by accident as he pushes himself off of you, and your hiss visibly panics him. The fog of pain clears from his expression, and your sweetheart hurries to check you're alright. 

"I'm fine, are you okay?" he asks, hand on your face, turning your chin up to better see your nose in the light. "I'm so sorry, dovey, I don't know how I– fuck, your nose is bleeding a bit." 

"It is?" you ask. Remus is quick to press his sleeve to your nostril, which feels quite tender, now that he mentions it. 

"Oh, no," he murmurs, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek. His palm is warm, the roughness of his pen-wrought callus familiar against your skin. "Dove, I'm sorry. Don't cry."

You blink hurriedly. "No, I'm not crying. It's just 'cos it hurts." 

You don't mean for it to come out that way, you're trying to explain that your tears are because he's hit you in the face with his face and there are delicately interconnected systems under the surface being disrupted, but Remus takes it for an admission of pain and goes berserk, which is to say he dotes on you as though you've broken something. Soft kisses pressed to your cheek, whispered reassurances. You try to tell him it doesn't matter, that he's being too much, but it's so wildly nice to be cared for that the words get stuck in your throat. 

"It only bled a little," he reassures. "Do you want me to get you an ice pack?" 

You nod silently, enamoured with him, wanting to bask in the warmth of his attention just as long as you can. 

"Okay," he says, climbing off of you to leave and find one. He doubles back before he reaches the door, and when he leans over you, he smiles wryly. "Told you I'd get that kiss, didn't I?" 

You laugh breathlessly and let him kiss you. He's very cautious to avoid your nose. 

[monzamash]

tears and scraped knees — daniel ricciardo

fatherhood is about learning the art of letting go. dad!daniel ricciardo x you | 2k warnings – cute shit, mentions of injuries and swearing. masterlist

She was the light of his life the moment she entered it, screaming the house down and crying her lungs out. Pure love personified. She was the apple of his eye, the most precious gift he had ever been given and simultaneously the reason for the grey hair speckling his dark curls; the ones identical to hers. Like him, she was a firecracker, the joker, and the life of the party everywhere she went; smile bright, eyes warm. A rich chestnut brown, flecked with yellow, charming and stunning just like his.

To Daniel, she was your little twin. Your beauty was reflected in her in different ways – in her long locks and dark sense of humour, her tenacity and moral compass. She was strong like you, stoic in her beliefs and confident in her skin.

Smart, magnetic, a bit book-ish like you.

Sporty, energetic and kind like him.

Looking at your daughter was a daily reminder that he was half him and half you – a beautiful symbol of your love, your miracle.

“How ya doin’ back there kiddo?”

“Fine,” She mumbled under her breath, eyes focused on the perfect distraction from the morning ahead – her phone. 

You and Daniel shared a knowing glance; traffic building at the lights as you waited for the signal. There was no doubt in your mind that your daughter was saving herself from a stirring speech by bottling up her feelings. Her father was basically a glorified inspirational speaker in his retirement and she had been on the receiving end of too many over the years – each one cheesier than the last, she would confess to you whenever he was out of ear shot.

“Does Dad realise that I’m not one of his rookie drivers? Like, I know what I need to do to win.”

Strong in her convictions, just like him. A carbon copy.

“Remember to keep your elbows out today, especially around that Maddy girl. I know her dad and I reckon she’s dirty like him so watch her at the sta – ouch.”

Your fingernails digging into his forearm cut off Daniel’s spiel, his eyebrows furrowed and silently asking, ‘what the fuck was that for’.

“Just have fun out there, sweetheart,” You interrupted, saving your daughter from her father’s pep-talk, “Keep your elbows tucked in, shoulders with the part like you were taught.”

Daniel sighed and turned his attention back to the busy streets of Fremantle, weaving his way through the traffic like he was back in Monaco, living out the glory days. He was the first to admit that he was living vicariously through her and passionate about what the world had in store for his not-so-little girl. He saw so much of himself in her now, sixteen and on the cusp of what could be.

But you saw things differently to him. Her path wasn’t paved so clearly in your eyes and you made sure that she remained open to whatever life had to bring. She had it all in front of her; possibilities endless with opportunity and success but that didn’t have to be racing. Your dreams for her weren’t as rigid as Daniel’s; his plan to move the family back to the UK had been vetoed by you when your daughter came to you in tears, begging to stay in school and graduate with her friends.

“But babe, those friends don’t last. It’s all just in the moment when this could be her chance at getting her foot in the door,” He argued until he was red in the face.

“Says the guy who just had Blake and his wife around last week for dinner? Come on, Dan – it’s only a year away.”

“Realistically we should’ve moved when she showed an interest in bikes…” He grumbled, frustration simmering behind his closed eyes.

“What? When she was four? Baby, she’s only sixteen but still, she has her dreams set on riding and when the time is right, we will do everything we can to help her make that a reality…”

Your voice was soft; calming as you rounded the dining table and nestled into the open arms of your husband, “Just let her take the lead.”

Daniel dropped his head onto the top of yours and sighed, “You’re right.”

“I almost always am.”

That wasn’t the last conversation you and your husband had about Joey’s future, her grandfather and namesake chiming in with what he thought was the best thing for her budding career. She was the pride and joy of the whole family; everyone saw her talent from a young age but that kind of pressure had to be managed and that had become your life’s work. Her youth had been so hyper focussed on honing her craft that sometimes you felt like she had lost her childhood to the trials and tribulations of racing.

So you put your foot down where you could; namely saving your daughter from having to sit through another car ride hearing all about her dad’s accomplishments and mistakes – hoping she would learn from him but you both knew better than that. She was so young and so ready to make her own mistakes to learn from, like it should be.

She was stronger than both you ever were – a perfect amalgamation of your love.

One of hardest part about race day for Daniel was taking a step back. Of course everyone knew who Joey’s dad was and of course she copped shit for it. Your dad’s a flog and the only reason you’re here is because of him, had been a couple of the unsavoury post-race reports your daughter eventually confessed to you – teary eyed while she begged for you not to tell Daniel but you did because if anyone knew the power of harnessing negative energy, it was your husband.

But the hardest part of all for Daniel was controlling his emotions. He had Italian blood coursing through his veins after all, passionate and fiercely protective of both his girls. Once Joey came along, you knew the papa bear within that had been lying dormant would arise and alas, you were right. All of those crazy nights in bars all around the world, fighting off sleazy men had prepared him to be a girl-dad.

That side to him was glorious to you, endlessly sexy and usually rendered you useless when he decided to bust out the dad moves but to his teenage daughter, he was a total embarrassment.

“Racing under number 33 is Joey James Ricciardo.”

“Give ‘em hell, JJ!”

Daniel’s loud woo echoed through the small crowd, heads turning in your direction including your daughters and you could sense her scowl under the helmet – mortified.

“Daniel,” You scolded, smacking your husband gently, “She’ll kill us both.”

“I know I know,” He grimaced, “Fuck, I’m sorry – I can’t help it... That’s our baby girl out there.”

The image of your daughter, barely two years old, always flashed in your memory when he said things like that. It reminded you of the weeks spent teaching her how to walk. She was so small but so tenacious and you could see that same proud glimmer in Daniel’s eyes now as he did watching her take her first steps. It was mixed with the same wash of fear he had when he let go of her bike seat down that old gravelled road for the first time, praying to god she didn’t hurt herself and end up with tears and scraped knees.

And sure, that happened. Many Band-Aids and tubes of antiseptic were applied to her bloodied elbows and knees but she was a kid after all, feeling every bump in the road until she found her strengths and soared above the rest. She was as quick as a whip and even faster on track – destined to be her own hero but always inspired by her first.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Daniel mumbled as the two of you waited for the race to begin, his foot tapping on the dead grass and nails already chewed down to the skin.

His white cap was still pulled down, disguised as a promise to his daughter who wanted him to just blend in. Wishful thinking. But there was a time that she didn’t want him to come to her meets, insisting that her life would be so much easier if her dad wasn’t ‘the Daniel Ricciardo’ but you couldn’t buckle on that one.

“Your dad is a strong man but that would kill him, J.”

“But he yells out and brags to all the parents about me and the other kids bully me for it… He doesn’t understand how hard it is being a Ricciardo.”

“Hey,” Daniel’s soft voice startled you both, heads flying towards your daughter’s bedroom door, “If that’s what you want, honey I can stay home.”

She sighed heavily and clutched the lilac pillow on her lap, “I want you there, Dad but people are so mean to me and I just want to be normal for once.”

The mattress dipped as Daniel sat down beside you and reached out for his daughters hands, “You can be anyone you want to be, darlin’ – just say the word and we’ll make it happen. We can be normal… or try to be normal.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at your husband and give him a teasing nudge, “Try being the operative word.”

Daniel smiled and shrugged, “I’ll even wear a disguise. How about that?”

And here you were, hidden behind a couple of gum trees watching your daughter flying through the air and making her fathers hair greyer with every passing second. She was a force to be reckoned with and karmic retribution for all the years you spent white knuckling in garages across the globe.

“Now you know how I felt back when you were racing. Karma is a bitch, my love.”

“Maybe encouraging her to do this was a bad idea after all…” Daniel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his shaky fingers as you slid an arm around his waist and pulled him close.

“This is sleepover camp all over again. You have to learn how to somehow let her go and spread her wings. That’s all she ever says to me, you know? I wanna be like dad – not afraid, free.”

“I didn’t even realise she felt like that…”

You softly smiled at your husband and pressed a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek, “Don’t tell her I told you.”

my hope for this little story is to build a cute world around it. i have a really nice outline for another part of this story so let me know if that's something you would like. and thank you to @vetteltea for her supportive nudge to post this x

[jtkys]

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 “𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐘“ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 !! ☆

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝: 𝐲𝐞𝐩, 𝐛𝐲 @lovely-btch

𝐂𝐖𝐒/𝐓𝐖𝐒: 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐦𝐚, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐂𝐒 ->

Fucked up mentally beyond belief (I mean considering the things he’s gone through, why wouldn’t he be?)

He’s incredibly unstable despite the fact he’s on medication, and really struggles with his emotions and finding a healthy outlet to express them

In my hcs, he has: C-PTSD, schizophrenia, Tourettes, MDD, bipolar and struggles with psychosis, derealisation and depersonalisation a lot.

Despises his dad even after all these years so he tries his best to not get physical when he’s mad, and he basically isolates himself from everyone and self harms/self destructs

Very frequently will have to be reminded to eat, drink and take good care of himself by Tim or another responsible adult. Especially when he’s in a depressive episode

Ok uhm more positive energy now

He has a pretty good relationship with ej, because he’s super understanding of Toby and his disorders since he was a med student and all. I also see him being good friends with Ben, and having an almost parent like relationship with Tim and Brian

When he does eat, he really likes pasta (I’m self projecting leave me alone) because Lyra used to make it for him all the time when he was younger, and it’s become a soft of comfort for him.

Can run really fucking fast. In my headcanons he’s kinda got a sleeper build, but is pretty tall. Around 5’11-6’1.

NOT A TWINK!!! NOT A CHILD!!! NOT A DEPENDENT UWU SOFT WAFFLE BOY!!!

he does have attachment issues, yes, and he is certainly clingy to the people he cares for in fear of losing them, but he is not a baby. He’s a serial killer. It’s 2023 and im still seeing people baby Toby and treat him like an child, SSSSSTTTTTOPPPPPPPP

his voice isn’t extremely deep, but it’s kinda raspy and definitely more deep than normal.

He’s generally a nice dude if you’re nice to him, but will be the most cruel and uncaring motherfucker if you make fun of his tics, disrespect the people he cares for, etc

And god forbid you call him “ticci Toby” or compare him to his dad because you will end up with your head smashed into a wall

Takes surprisingly good care of his hatchets considering how disorganised the rest of his life is

He doesn’t constantly stutter. Infact most of his tics are motor tics where he gets neck jerks, but the most they do is interrupt his speech. He’ll continue on talking like nothing happened, and he only really gets vocal tics when he’s extremely distressed or angry.

Absolutely despises tight clothing.

Spends a lot of his time outside, because it’s something he has control over. His life is fucked up in general and he lacks control in a lot of areas, so he’s desperate to find something that he can control, because it helps ground him

Really attentive and observant when he needs to be

I’ve said this before but he is genuinely so terrified of furbies. They just freak him out

Has a really dark sense of humour, and will very often make jokes about his past (only he can do that tho) or really brutal things that would make any sane person feel unsafe

gets nightmares a lot, and very often finds it hard to sleep. Sometimes his past and the things that he does keep him up at night.

Very frequently he wonders what Lyra and his mum would think of him now, and it upsets him every time because he knows they would be upset. He tries his best not to think about it most of the time.

Has considered going back to the town he grew up in a few times, wondering if he might be able to see his mum again, even just a quick glance of her

But never goes through with it

He loves animals. His favourites are birds and raccoons, but he sometimes will hide in the forest to watch deer and other animals.

Enjoys Midwest emo music, and listens to the front bottoms, McCafferty, etc

Despises the smell and taste of alcohol and smoke. It brings back too many bad memories and he’s terrified of getting addicted and ending up like his dad

>>>

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬/𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: 𝐧𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. @lovely-btch

[lovelytsunoda]

proud mary // han lue

summary: now living a quiet life with their daughter, han and y/n reflect on how they got there, and all the good moments that are still yet to come.

pairing: han lue x wife! reader

warnings: this is a big one so listen up: mentions of post pregnancy mental illness, mentions of pregnancy and starting a a family, weddings, ignoring tokyo drift canon because I fucking can, (actually I ignored a lot of canon) han is about to activate a shit ton of daddy issues

I left a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day and I never lost one minute of sleeping, I was worrying 'bout the way the things might've been.

big wheel keeps on turning, proud mary keeps on burning. and we’re rolling, rolling, rolling down the river

2009, tokyo, japan.

the garage was dark, lit only by the moonlight and the small lamps atop the workstations. han lue had closed up hours ago, and everyone was gone save for him and his lover.

“han, what are you doing?” y/n laughed, sitting at a table scattered with nail polish bottles and a shellac brisa light. “it looks like a smudge.”

“it’s a drifting car!” han laughed, staring through the large magnifying glass that was allowing him to see the design he was attempting to paint on his lovers thumbnail. “see, there’s the spoiler and those are the headlights!”

friday night manicures had become somewhat of a tradition. y/n hated painting her nails with her non dominant hand, but she also didn’t speak enough japanese to venture out and get her nails professionally done. when she and han started dating, he offered to do it for her, easing the aggravation that sometimes came with doing mail designs yourself.

“well, now that you’ve pointed it out.” she laughed, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you.”

they had been together coming up on two years. two long, wonderful years. she was a mechanic and he was drifter, it was almost meant to be. she stopped him from getting himself killed, and in return, he loved her unconditionally.

they were sympatico like that. she loved his sense of humour, his protectiveness. he loved her smarts and the excited way she talked, animatedly and with hand gestures.

“what do you say we get out of japan for a bit?”

han should have known this question was coming. y/n was a restless spirit, never meant to stay in one place for too long. in a way, han was as well. he could tell that his lover had been more restless than usual, either from missing home or needing a change of scenery.

“a friend of mine, his name is dominic torretto, he’s got this place down in the dominican republic.” han started slowly, unsure of how much he wanted to involved her in. y/n was his whole world, and what dom and mia would be running was far bigger than street racing in shibuya.“he called me the other day wondering if I would run a job with him. but it’s not entirely legal and I don’t blame you if you don’t want any part in it.”

“baby,” she frowned, placing her hand inside the blue light machine. “of course I’ll go with you. I never pass up a chance to go somewhere sunny, and you know that I’d go anywhere with you. what we’re running here with twinkie and sean isn’t exactly legal either, you know. I’m a big girl, seoul-oh. I can handle myself.”

“I know. I just want you to know what you’re getting into. you’re important to me, y/n.”

“I know.” she said softly, running her hand up his arm as she rested her head on his shoulder, gently kissing his neck. “so when does our flight leave?”

“whenever you want it to. I haven’t even bought the tickets yet. are you ready for an adventure?”

“fuck yeah.” y/n smiled, pressing her lips to his. “but you have to paint my other nails first.”

han laughed, the kind of laugh that would always set loose the butterflies in y/n’s chest, the kind that reminded her why she fell in love with him in the first place.

“I don’t think I have it in me to paint another drifting car.”

“then what are you going to paint on my thumbnail?” y/n laughed back, looking down at her nails and realizing that her lover had actually done a very good job painting a drifting car manicure.

“I don’t know,” han shrugged. he would deny it if asked, but he actually loved painting y/n’s nails. he thought it brought them closer together, built up intimacy in their relationship.

they were moments he wouldn’t trade for the world.

“I’ll just do like a checkered flag or something.”

“but you did that on my index finger!”

laughing, y/n turned her head to kiss him. “come on, you big dork. the sooner we get my nails done, she sooner I can model that new lingerie set I bought last weekend.”

“sold!” han laughed, knocking over bottles of gel polish as he searched for the bright pink he had used to paint the car on his girlfriends other hand. “drifting car? f1 car? whatever my gorgeous gorgeous girl wants.”

“I love you, han lue.”

“love you more, pretty girl.”

2010, monte carlo, monaco.

it was set up to be another sleepless night without her lover by her side, and y/n was having none of that as she wandered the deck of the comfortable yacht, looking around at the decorations that the crew had spent the day putting up.

she was just praying that it wasn’t going to rain.

nothing was about to spoil her big day.

she scurried below deck, past a half open door through which she could hear roman pearce’s guttural snores. fingers curled around the door knob, she tried not to make any noise as she eased the door open, slipping into the cabin.

“you couldn’t sleep either?” she laughed, looking at the king size bed where her fiancé lay, phone in his hands as he texted his mother, who the crew was picking up in the harbour in the morning before the ceremony began.

“got a lot on my mind.” han shrugged. “fucking tej won’t shut up about the reception and the playlist and I’ve told him a million times that it’s not going to be some crazy rave kinda thing.” the man sat up, gesturing for his soon-to-be wife to come closer. "it's doing my head in. seriously, he wants to do a club mix of 'i would do anything for love'."

y/n snorted. han thought she looked like an angel in the low cabin light, a halo glowing around her head and shining off her white silk pajamas, the ones with the tiny shorts and 'bride' embroidered on the butt. "how the fuck do you turn the best meat loaf song in existence into a club rave song?"

"the fuck if i know." han shook his head, hands sliding up her thighs as she came to stand in between his legs. "jagi, sarang-hae."

honey, i love you.

"mhm." she hummed, a smile on her lips as she leaned down to kiss him sweetly. "i love it when you speak korean. it's so fucking sexy."

the last year had been stressful. the dominican job had been way more complex than y/n had expected, and it took a while for han's old crew to warm up to her. it took a while, but eventually she managed to crack dom toretto, and two weeks later, han got down on one knee and asked y/n to marry him.

hence why they were on a yacht off the coast of monaco, the entire thing decked out in fairly lights and tulle.

"if you think tej is bad, you try getting in between letty and those large plastic ribbons on the back of the deck chairs." y/n laughed. "who knew letty ortiz was so serious about weddings?"

she was practically sitting on his lap now, head resting comfortably on his shoulder as the boat rocked back and forth.

han seoul-oh was her home. her safe harbour. she always felt safe in his arms, at his side, even when they were plunging into almost certain danger like they had in the dominican.

"i brought you something." y/n hummed, reaching into the pockets of her shorts and withdrawing the small cardboard packet.

"fake nails?"

"help me put them on? for old time's sake." she passed him the glittery white french tips, no doubt chosen to match her dress for the ceremony tomorrow.

"i can't wait to spend my life with you. and believe me, there will be plenty more manicure mondays."

2014, monterrey, california.

"daddy, where's mommy?"

"i don't think she's feeling well, poppy." han lue frowned, looking over at his daughter, who was perched in her little kiddie chair at the kitchen table. "i'm going to go check on her, okay? stay right here."

how do you explain depression to an infant? poppy jae-i han had been one of the best things to have ever happened to han seoul-oh. but in the almost twenty-four months since their bundle of joy had been born, something had felt off about his wife.

everyone hears about the mental health complications that can come with childbirth, but no mother ever thinks it would be her.

every husband fears it, too.

"y/n, jagi?" han tried to keep his voice level as he eased open the bedroom door. the couple had bought a ranch house in monterrey when they learned they were expecting. it was one of the few things they used their ill-gotten gains as a part of dom's crew for. "poppy's asking for you."

it broke his heart to see his wife like this, hair messed and greasy, red splotches under her eyes from where she had been crying.

"am i a bad mother, seoul-oh?" she asked, voice small. she seemed so tiny and fragile underneath the layers of blankets on the queen bed. "she always seems to cry when i'm around, but never with you. poppy loves you more than she loves me."

"what?" it was all han could do to stop himself from crying as he sat on the bed, gently running his fingers through y/n's hair. "sweetheart, what's brought this on? poppy loves you. you're her mom. she needs you."

"mia makes it look so easy." y/n sniffled, pulling herself up to a sitting position. she's lost weight. not a noticeable amount, or even an unhealthy one, but enough that her husband knows. there are many things that you can hide from the man you share your bed with, but han knows. he knows she's not doing well. "and i'm fucking shit at it, han."

"look at me, pretty girl." han encouraged, reaching for her hands. "you are such a good mother. i know you're struggling right now, and i know you're hurting but you need to know that poppy loves you so much. she was asking about you over breakfast, you know."

"i don't know who i am any more. i've lost my sense of self."

han frowned, brushing a few strands of greasy hair away from her forehead before leaning down and gently kissing her hairline.

"listen, i was talking to brian last night-"

"of course you were fucking talking to brian."

"-and he thinks you should talk to mia. they're passing through town today on their way back from dom and letty's, brian and i are going to take the kids out to the zoo or whatever, and you and mia should do something." he suggested, running his hand comfortingly up and down his lover's back. "go to the mall, get a coffee. i think she could really help you. she's been through this before."

y/n inhaled shakily, pulling away from han. "what if something happens to poppy and i'm not there?"

"y/n, everything is going to be okay. i promise. brian will be there, the kids will be in great hands. go do something with mia, darling. find yourself again, yeah?"

"okay." y/n nodded, still clutching his hand like it was her lifeline. "i can do that."

"mommy?" a small voice called. poppy had managed to get herself all the way from the kitchen to the master bedroom, where han had left the door ajar just in case poppy needed them. "are you okay?"

"oh, sweetheart, come here." y/n said, tears beginning to fall.

because how could she ever think that her little bundle of joy didn't love her as much as she did? poppy waddled over to the bed, and han hefted the toddler onto the mattress so that y/n could pull her close.

"you know that mummy loves you, right?"

"yes. i love you too, mommy."

"see." han smiled. "you're going to be okay. we're going to get through this."

2017, monterrey, california.

"i genuinely can't comprehend that roman pearce is getting married."

the family of three was walking down the nail care aisle at walmart, a welcome addition to their weekly shopping trip as y/n scanned the packages on the rack for a set of acrylic nails.

han laughed, one hand around his wife's waist and his chin on her shoulder as he leaned against the shopping cart. "it's not going to last. they may be getting married on saturday but i bet that by christmas roman is going to call and tell us she asked for a divorce."

"don't be so cynical." y/n laughed, kissing her husband softly before holding up a small white box. "do these go with my dress?"

"they'll go with anything, babe." han said, moving to whisper in her ear “they'd look even better wrapped around my c-"

"i want nails like mom's!" poppy han's shout cut him off, the little girl looking at the array of disney princess nails on the lower shelves.

laughing, han knelt down next his daughter, one hand on her shoulder. "which one do you want, princess? do you want frozen, tinker bell? mulan?"

"i want the ariel ones." poppy smiled, reaching for the pack of little mermaid nails. han helped her get them off the hook before lifting her up, carrying the six year old securely against his chest.

"seoul-oh, she's like six, you're spoiling her by carrying her all the time." y/n laughed, dropping both packs of nails in the cart.

"what, she's not heavy, sweetheart." han grins. "besides, i have to stay in shape somehow."

y/n rolls her eyes. "sweetie, it's bold of you to assume that you were ever in shape. but i loved you anyways, didn't i?"

back at home, they settled in the living room, near the large bay window. y/n watched contentedly from the kitchen as han sat at the coffee table across from poppy, delicately brushing nail glue across his daughter's tiny nails, dropping the glittery little mermaid nails on top.

it had taken a while to get to this peaceful, quiet part of their life, but y/n han was so glad that they had made it. that she had seoul-oh and that she had little poppy.

"be careful with your nails, they might come off. now, go get your homework done before we make the pizza, okay?"

poppy scurried off down the hall to her room, and y/n padded across the shag carpet, looping her arms around her husbands neck as she gave him a kiss.

"i'm so lucky, you know that. i'm happy and healthy again, and i have you and poppy. that's everything i could ever ask for." she said softly, resting her head against han's chest as the man tilted his head down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

of course they both missed the good old days. the days of adrenaline and adventure. but brian and mia had left, and then y/n and han, and soon after was letty and dom. they were moving on with their lives, a chapter of glitz and glamour coming to a close.

"i want another one."

y/n froze, pulling back from her husband. "what?"

"i want another baby. and i know what we went through last time, and i fully understand if you're not willing to take that chance again, but god, y/n, i want a big family with you." han explained, holding his wife's hands. "poppy is growing up. soon she's going to be too cool for dear old dad. and then there will be boys-"

"or she'll be like you," y/n cuts him off with a laugh. "in which case there will be lots and lots of girls."

"god help us all. my little girl is going to break a lot of hearts one day."

"and you want another one?"

"honestly? yeah, i do."

"then i guess we'd better start trying. multiplication isn't that hard, so poppy's gonna be looking for us within the next hour." y/n hummed, kissing her lover softly.

han smiled against her lips, hands slipping into her jeans pockets to cop a feel of his wife's ass. "i only need half that."

TAGS:

@libraryofloveletters @magnummagnussen @mignonricciardo @sidcrosbyspuck @cartierre @monzabee @scuderiamh @daydreamingleclerc @diorleclerc @oconso @cl16version

[fourmoony]

I had an idea that is a little specific and it's okay if you don't want to write it. English is not my first language and I come from a big family that likes to talk loudly/likes to party, but I am introverted. I imagined what it would be like for the reader to date James and they are going to spend time with her family, and he sees the reader in her comfort zone (speaking in her first language and with her family) and just discussing silly things (like rules of some game) and it's all very loud and funny. He sees how you make people laugh and even though he doesn't understand anything he has a smile on his face and admires you for getting to know this new side of you even though you’ve been dating for a while

I love your writing and your work is amazing ❤️

thank you for requesting lovely! and thank you so much for your kind words <3

james x f!reader | 720 | masterlist

You're in your element, James thinks.

He's seen you at your happiest, sure. He's seen you necking pints with Sirius and discussing books with Remus, he's seen the aftermath of girl's night with Lily, Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas. He's seen you laugh until your ribs hurt, commandeer your friends into playing your silly drinking games, dancing on tables, singing your heart out. You're a bubbly person, so obviously he's seen a handful of your happiest moments. But James doesn't think he's ever seen you in your element, at your most comfortable, your safest.

There's no hesitation in the way you speak to the group of your family members who are placed haphazardly around your mother's small kitchen. Even though he doesn't understand a lot of what you're saying, James can tell there's humour and wit, love and chagrin, and a little bit of sass to whatever it is you're saying. The conversation is moving too fast for him to pick up anything, because he's been learning small phrases here and there - it's important to him, and it makes you go all soft and gooey when he surprises you with a new phrase or loving comment. You're standing in the middle of the room, pointing at an older cousin of yours, an accusing look in your eye, but you're trying not to laugh.

It doesn't help that there seems to be eight other conversations happening at once, and James wonders how on earth your family ever get anything accomplished. You've been trying to organise a game of drunk UNO for the last fifteen minutes, but from what James has picked up on, no one can agree on house rules or game rules.

Your mother seems to be talking at you, fast and filled with love and humour and you're listening, but you're still talking at your older cousin, pointing at various people as you go, none of whom are listening, but are involved in their own, loud conversations.

If you weren't in the centre of all this, James would feel overwhelmed. Your family is loud and big and they don't seem to know what inside voices are. But it makes the final puzzle piece of you make sense. James understands, now, why you're always so willing to spend time with his overly large friend group, why you never hesitated or got nervous when you met him. You were born into this, and you handle it well.

He thinks you're beautiful every day, but right now you're ethereal. You're happy and comfortable and loud and obnoxious and James is pretty sure he's in love with you. The way you hold yourself, the way your words come from your mouth, fast and practiced and so fucking hot, it's all too much for James. He feels entranced by you, like you're some sort of sorcerer.

You return a few moments later, to his side, a happy smile on your face as everyone also collectively joins the table. James smiles bright when you press your lips to his cheek, rubbing your lipstick with your thumb. For a family who pick up on everything, James is surprised no one comments on your affection.

"Sorry," You murmur as you deal James his hand of UNO cards, "They can be a lot sometimes."

Your aunt - James thinks it's your aunt, anyway - yells at your youngest cousin, pointing here and there but he really cannot make out what he might be getting into trouble for. Eight conversations are happening around James as you deal the rest of the cards, there's people everywhere, but James wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

"Not at all," He assures you, a gentle hand on your thigh, "Seeing you in your comfort zone, so happy - I think? You were yelling a lot - makes me happy."

You huff a laugh, "He wouldn't admit that he cheats at UNO."

You give a disdainful look to your older cousin, who gives you a finger in return. You share a laugh with him after.

"You cheat at UNO." James reminds you, and while he wasn't aware the entire table was capable of having their own conversations and listening to his at the same time, he shouldn't be surprised.

Everyone erupts into chaos, and James knows he's in for it when he gets home.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

As a history and Mythological lover, I love your works, they are so addictive, and you write so well, and the Minotaur konig fic was such a pleasure to read. I remember when you first uploaded the Roman konig story and I was so ecstatic about it, I remember checking on my break at work, If you’d uploaded another part haha, I mean I still check tumblr on my breaks to see who had uploaded so I know what I can read after I get home lol.

I think you’ve found your niche!

Also if you don’t mind answering what other time periods you’d think konig would fit in? Victorian era?

Nasty, oily and covered in coal, konig is walking home through the streets and bumped into a clean wealthy beautiful young woman, ooh do I love forbidden romances, just like your nun fic lol.

Ahh thank you! Mythology, fairytales and historical au’s are a passion of mine 😭

And puh-leeze, a forbidden romance between a dirty worker and a rich uptown girl? Filthy coal miner König who bumps into this fancy lady dressed in white? How can he ever make up for his clumsiness?? Please don’t have him beaten like the poor bastard he is, he already fucked up today by accidentally destroying boss’s new machinery by showing off his strength...

Tries to steal a peek at her ankles, and under her dress while dusting off her skirts with some napkin that’s hardly much cleaner than his hands. And she’s just giggling at him – great, now he’s hard... How is he going to explain this when he rises from here?? (Rich lady also being protected at all costs from dirty dogs like him! He's soon panting at her door!)

As for other historical au’s and fairytales... >:)

CW: Fear of SA (historical au), wife stealing (yandere fairytale imagine)

Obviously I see König as this dark knight of the Teutonic Order, punishing pagans with his sword somewhere in the wild woods of old Europe. How about another forbidden romance between a cold-hearted crusader & a cute pagan girl who lives in the woods and worships the old gods?

She gets captured during some awful raid, and is pulled into the camp by her hair, angry tears streaming down her face. The soldiers tie her to a thick wooden cross and leave her in the rain, probably to have their way with her later, taking turns with her after they've gambled and had a drink. Then this dark, giant knight happens to walk by, not a regular foot soldier but an actual knight with armor as black as night. She remembers him from the battlefield, wielding a fat morningstar, splitting people’s skulls from atop the huge black destrier he rode...

A terrible beast, dark and silent and big, the rain batters his helmet as he takes one look at the shivering maiden on the cross, her white linen dress glued to her skin in the downpour, and stops.

The soldiers have a crude sense of humour and what’s arousing, but he has seen worse… The knights of the Holy Order are even more perverted when it comes to having “fun” with women. But something pierces his defense when seeing the frightened stare of this pagan girl, her weak body trembling on the cross, the wide dark nipples perked up from cold. He’s seen so much death, his soul is drenched in blood by this point, but somehow, this woman who hasn’t even been broken in is the last straw.

Ends up taking her down, and she attaches herself to him like he’s her saviour, even the cold black armor apparently warmer to her skin than the cold rain. The cruelest of knights feels a moment of pity for this girl and sets her free, pushes her to the woods and waves his hand in a gesture of Get the hell out of here while you still can. (=gtfo before I get hard enough to take you in the mud...)

Months later, she finds him bleeding to death under a tree after a battle. All the other soldiers are screaming and crying for their mothers, but this one is silent, eyes darkening when he recognizes her. He says something, already delusional, and she can’t help but kneel and offer him water…

(and from this point on it would go somewhere in @wordstome s Kosovo maiden territory, perhaps slightly darker? But you get the point!)

And then there’s this old Inuit story that always reminds me of König, it has many variations but it’s basically about this lonely hunter who gets a little too resentful for not having a wife yet. Goes to paddle his boat in these moonlit waters and sees a bunch of maidens dancing in the moonlight on a small little island, notices their seal skins on the ground, and because he’s lonely and in despair, he steals one of them.

One by one, the maidens put their seal skins on and rush back into the water, but one woman can’t find her seal skin no matter how hard she looks for it. The hunter emerges, holding her beautiful skin, saying he’ll give it back to her if she comes to live as his wife for 7 years. She has no other choice but to say yes, and for a while they live happily, they even have a son, but then the seal woman starts to miss her seal skin and the sea...

It’s a tragic tale and the hunter won’t let her leave even if she cries so this would make a wonderful yandere scenario, you could always make a twist and write the woman as some other animal, a deer perhaps, and König as this lonely brooding hunter of the Austrian mountains :)

[kiraman]

vi is so fucking fascinating to me, I am studying her like a bug in a jar

she was a CHILD putting on her father's gauntlets in spite of the fear gathered in her little body, in spite of just witnessing someone she's known all her life die in a HORRIFIC way (benzo), still she rises, still she says I HAVE TO DO THIS still she takes on men three times her size and fucks them up so bad that silco has to send his shimmered up fucked up monster to try to stop her and STILL she persists, indifferent to the worst happening because she’s survived the worst already. furious and unstoppable and determined to do whatever she has to survive and ensure those she loves survive, no matter the cost.

vi under all that debris, bruised, bleeding, screaming, watching her family die, staring at the monkey head in shock and crying because this can't be happening, they were so close...

sobbing in pain until her father saves her just to watch helpless as he dies protecting her. they were so SO CLOSE to surviving, so close to escaping and everything gets ripped away in a second

vi trapped in that prison cell for years and years on end with the ghosts of her family and her guilt for company, drowning in guilt, wondering if her sister's still alive, no doubt thinking about how she LET her slip right through her fingers

the last thing vander said to her was "take care of powder"

she's let the man who's her FATHER and loves more than anything down.

"whatever happens is on you" / "protect the family" / "take care of powder" .... but she can't, not anymore, she's fucked it up and let everyone down (re "I should have been there for you, for everyone") all she can do is sit in that shitty prison cell, on that freezing floor, hungry, bloody, counting the hours until she can somehow rescue powder

Vi is piercings and tats that no doubt got infected, she's a child becoming a woman too fast, she is a danger-zone high-risk disaster area and won't back down, won't give up.

Vi is soft!! self-sacrificing, protective, supportive. ("You wanna talk about today?", "We've all had bad days, but we learn, and we stick together") brave, SMART, witty. she's got a tongue sharp as her fists and a barbed, delicious sense of humour. she gives people nicknames (cupcake, pow pow, pretty boy) and fights with everything that she's got to protect what she loves!!!! she is her father's daughter!!!

she is idealistic and expects the world to see her reason, look at things through her eyes and wanna make a change ( "This is how things are, how they've always been. I was so stupid to think it could change. / "oil and water that's all there is" )

and yes! vi is not flawless. she's obsessive (re sevika. to her eyes she is the last thing standing between her and silco/getting to silco and saving jinx) and complicated, morally ambivalent because she makes mistakes, flies off the handle like a comet crashing through everything in her way, makes reckless choices because she has to. she is selfish when it comes to jinx and would do anything to keep her safe.

also

look at the way she hugs the people she cares about!!!

[lmskitty]

Rewatched all of hidden inventory this morning. Had a few thoughts.

1. Am I a masochist for deciding to do that on a Saturday morning?!? (Yes. Yes I am)

2. THEY WERE SO HAPPY OH MY GOD

3. Still the best anime intro I've seen. The bike scene?!? Shoko healing Haibara while Geto and Gojo get fucking yeeted by Yaga. It's so good.

4. There's been a lot of discussion recently about if Geto is actually nice or pretending to be and how mean he would be as a teacher. Seeing the way he is with Riko cemented for me that he is absolutely nice. Sure he has a sense of humour as much as Gojo and doesn't take kindly to being called weird bangs guy but he cares so much about Riko and Kuroi. He breaks not because he was like this always and his true nature came out but because he cared and felt it was all for nothing. When he speaks to Yuki he says he feels there are two parts of him fighting, one hating non sorcerers and the other knowing this is wrong. Seeing what happened to the twins pushed it over the edge.

5. Similarly Gojo is often portrayed as uncaring in this arc but that's so not the case. He chose to stay another day in Hokkaido for Riko. He pushed himself to the limit to allow her happiness.

6. I think in terms of Geto and Gojo their main issue was communication and pressure. They should have been allowed time to deal with what had happened but they were not. They were teenagers and the higher ups forced them both into mission after mission. The amount of pressure put upon them is insane. I think also if they had had time to really be together they could have communicated how they felt but they didn't get time to.

7. Gojo assumed Geto trusted him enough to talk to him because that's how they had always been. He was blindsided by what happened and still is. To him the Geto he knew would never do that and he's right but that Geto died with all three of them that day.

8. Toji is an outright monster and I will always hate him. "Oh but he thought about Megumi in his final moments!!" That's great did he think about how he was growing up outside of that? He had no qualms killing a child and he abandoned his own. "He loved his wife!!" Yeah well he dishonoured her memory by not protecting their blessing.

[leclerced]

I’m actually a bit obsessed with the idea of shy Lando since I watched that CSD episode with him. Like maybe a girl sees him and Max Fewtrell somewhere and she comes up to them but is like „omg are THE max fewtrell? Can I get an autograph?” And it’s like half serious half for a joke and then she looks at Lando that’s staring at her and jokes about giving him an autograph but that she doubts it’ll be worth anything on eBay. And long story short maybe she actually does give him an autograph with her name and number and somehow it all starts. They go on a date, she’s super open, plays into his sense of humour, asks questions that are actually interesting and he’s a stumbling mumbling mess. He can barely form a sentence and ask sth back and after he apologises but she just tells him it’s cute so when is the next date?

shy lando is so cute. i love the idea of him fumbling to flirt with a pretty girl and she asks for his number or gives him hers. she’d make it her mission to make him nervous, there’s something about the effect she has on him and the way he reacts to her. like, he picks her up for their first date and she puts her hand on his thigh while he’s driving and his palms are fucking sweating.

she can see his hands tighten on the steering wheel and she notices the veins on his arms, revealed by the rolled up sleeves of his button up, and admires him the entire drive to the restaurant. for a moment he thinks there’s something on his face and he’s subtly checking hid reflection in the rearview mirror bc why is she staring? but there’s nothing, he wants to tease her for staring but if she compliments him he might not be able to speak for the rest of the night. just the idea of her saying she’s checking him out has him blushing.

he forgets about his sweaty hands until she wants to hold hands when they walk into the restaurant, he feels hers bump his and he has to wipe it on his palm before clasping hers in his. she can still feel how clammy they are and she’s biting her lip trying not to smile over it.

when they’re making small talk over dinner, she’d bite her lip or bat her lashes at him while nodding along to whatever he’s saying. every little thing she does makes him fumble his words. he’d apologize every time, “sorry, i mean, it’s like-”. his eyes are widening and he’s got a bit of a blush. when she teases him, he gets a twitchy smile before stuttering through a comeback. he thinks he must be annoying her until he’s dropping her off and she leans over and kisses his cheek and says, “we should do this again, cutie.”

he can’t help the grin that takes over as he replies, “yeah.” and he planned on saying more but it came out a higher pitch than he wanted and he was scared the rest would too. she’s out of the car anyways and once he sees her building door close, he's banging his head on the steering wheel, wondering why he's such a fool in front of her and why she likes it

[russellsppttemplates]

One where the drivers teenage daughter is heartbroken for the first time and only wants her dad to comfort her. He loves it because he gets to cuddle the teenager like she was a baby again which she usually hates and her mum is jealous yet proud of how well he comforts her. Can pick any driver you like☺️

Tw: mentions a break up, curse words

"Hey", Celeste greeted quietly as she hung her coat, fumbling with the belt and she tried to keep it from wiping the floor.

"Hey, chérie", Pierre greeted back, "how was your day?", he wondered, not used to her lack of excitement. Even though she was usually shy and kept to herself, even this was weird for her. "It was fine", she croaked out, the tears in her eyes not allowing her sadness to go unnoticed, catching her father's attention and making him get up to check up on her closely.

"Hey, what's the matter? Are you hurt?", he asked, looking at any other signs of distress. Wiping her nose on her sleeve, Celeste was quick to spit out, "My heart is, that stupid bastard stepped all over it and chopped it into tiny pieces", she mumbled, hugging his waist. The greeting was usual, but to have who he still considered his little girl hold onto him like that meant it was serious business and that she needed the comfort.

Awkwardly walking with her still in his arms to the sofa, Pierre sat down and allowed his teenager daughter time before she felt comfortable enough to speak while he brushed her hair with his fingers, "can you believe they had a bet? To see who I'd date first?", she scoffed, tears falling from her eyes along with the anger and sadness in her voice, "apparently I even fucked up the bet because I went for the one they thought less likely", she hiccuped, "sorry for the language".

"They did that?", Pierre recalled, "yes, and apparently a bunch of people knew, it wasn't just that group of sad excuses of boys. Seriously, why are they like this? I swear if Alexandre or Louis are ever related to something like that, I'm beating them up. I'm not a fan of fratricide, but that doesn't mean I won't literally kick some sense into them", she sniffed, snuggling closet to Pierre's chest.

As much as he hated the situation his daughter was in and how he wanted to have a good few words with those boys, he couldn't deny that having her so close to him without her joking about not being a baby and prying away from him was a delight.

"Boys can be the worst, but the one will come along", he offered, "and he will treat you like you deserve to be treated, and you'll know then", he advised, hearing the door closed and your footsteps approaching, "hey guys, everything alright?", you asked, seeing the unusual setting.

"Men are a sad excuse of humans in the world and I'm swearing off of them for a while", she said. Despite her sarcastic remarks, both you and Pierre recognised the way she often used humour to cope with her feelings and emotions, choosing to go up to them and kiss her forehead, "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything".

A while later, you heard Celeste go upstairs and Pierre come to the kitchen, "need any help?", he asked, circling his arms around your waist and kissing your neck, "Oh, so now you're back to hugging me?", you teased.

Chuckling as he grabbed a few things from the pantry, recognising what recipe you were doing, he tapped your butt, "she's going through her first heartbreak, bless her", he noted, knowing she would tell you all the details when she felt okay to do so, "she headed up for a shower to cleanse that asshole away from her soul, her words, not mine. Told her that the one will come, and that she doesn't need a boy to be happy", he handed you the can.

"For all of the times you doubted that you'd be a good father, I wish I could've fast forwarded to now and show younger you that you're the best father to our kids", you mumbled against his lips, kissing them properly before parting.

"Also, Celeste said something about kicking some sense into the boys, so expect her revolt in the middle of all this sadness!".

(Thank you for submitting an ask 🤍)

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part seven

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

tommy takes care of joel as best he can, and you try and make a break for it.

a/n: y’all I am having way too much fun writing this story. part 7 earlier than planned, and tbh I’ll probably post part 8 tomorrow if I can. the inspo is REAL and thank you all for the comments and reblogs and messages and general love and support - you have no idea how happy it makes me!! 🤍

word count: 4.6k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, blood, near-death experiences, questionable decisions on the military’s part

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨

Tommy watches his brother fall apart.

It’s one thing after another, and he can’t blame Joel. The world’s ending; everything else is falling apart, it only makes sense that he would too. But still, it hurts. Watching his big brother — the only constant in his life for as long as he can remember — break down, it makes Tommy hurt in a way he can’t fully comprehend. It’s not fair.

He thinks about the soldier, in the days that follow. He’d come up the ridge just as the gunfire sounded, already looking for his brother and niece, never expecting to find them the way that he did. Joel was pleading, already hurt, his hands in the air, as good a white flag as any, and the soldier just didn’t care. It went against everything in Tommy, but when the soldier lifted the gun again, Tommy fired first.

But then…Sarah.

There was so much blood. He should be used to it, being who he is, seeing what he’s seen. But it’s different, it feels different, it sits in the back of his mind and haunts his every step. She was so young. So bright, so good. And then just, gone.

“Tommy, help me!”

He’d never heard Joel like that, so desperate, so lost. The only moment that rivalled it was when they’d been in the truck, Tommy driving, Joel with his cell phone pressed to his ear. Talking to you, asking where you were, if you were safe.

“It’s everywhere,” Joel had said, and Tommy had felt a distinct feeling of helplessness wash through him. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t just in Austin. He focused on the road, tried not to look too closely at the chaos in the distance. Shit was hitting the fan, in every sense.

He tightened his grip on the wheel as Joel continued talking to you. You were hurt, Joel telling you to patch yourself up. “I’m not hanging up until you do.”

Tommy could hear the ache in his brother’s voice. Joel had never let you go, not completely, and Tommy knew it. He didn’t blame Joel for it; having you around was the happiest he’d seen his brother in a long time. He liked you, too, liked your laugh and your sense of humour, the way you looked at Joel like you were seeing him for the first time, every time.

He had to swerve the truck as another car barrelled down the road in the opposite direction. Joel grabbed for the dashboard, phone still glued to his ear. “I’m gonna find you, you hear me? Just get out of Boston and I swear to you, I’m gonna find you!” A pause, and Joel stared at the phone. Tommy could see his brother’s hands shaking. “It’s dead.”

A moment later, the radio — which had been spewing news reports since Joel had picked Tommy up — went silent. Joel tossed his phone onto the truck floor, slammed his fist into the dash a moment later.

“Fuck!”

“She okay?” Tommy asked, and Joel scrubbed a hand over his face. “Joel?”

“Boyfriend attacked her,” Joel grumbled, rubbing his forehead again. “Tried to fuckin’ bite her. She said he’s dead.”

Tommy had balked. “She did that?”

“Dunno,” Joel had replied, and huffed a humourless laugh, the noise almost flat. “Is it fucked up if I say I hope she did?”

Tommy had pressed the gas a little harder, the truck speeding down the road. “Everything’s fucked up, seems like.” Silence hung over them only for a moment, punctuated a moment later by the loud whoosh of flames as a car down the road collided with a telephone pole. Joel cursed under his breath, Tommy kept on driving. “What are we gonna do, Joel?”

“We get Sarah, and we go,” his brother replied, and despite the waver in his voice, he sounded sure. Surer than Tommy felt. “East.”

East, Tommy thought. Boston. You. Like he’d expected anything different. “You really think you can find her?”

“I can sure as hell try.”

The conversation feels like a year ago, instead of the handful of days it has been. Maybe a week; he’s starting to lose track, already. They’ve been holed up for a few hours now, tucked in the garage of an abandoned house. They crossed the state line a few hours back, and so far, Arkansas looks the same as Texas: fucking ravaged. Joel sits on the floor, knees up to his chest, face buried in his arms. Tommy feels antsy.

“I’m gonna go look inside, see if there’s anything worth taking. You good?”

“Yeah.”

Seems like every neighbourhood they come across has been evacuated, the houses all empty. They have guns; he already had his own, and he’d swiped the rifle from the soldier that had attacked Joel and Sarah. Though he was quick to give Joel his, take the soldier’s for himself. Something about Joel touching the weapon that had killed Sarah made Tommy’s gut twist. He didn’t like it either, but it was out of necessity.

The house has obviously been picked through, toppled furniture and broken glass as far as he can tell, but they get lucky: a first aid kit, a mostly full bottle of whiskey, and some cans of beans. Tommy grabs it all, heads up the stairs. Clearly an older couple, but there’s a few men’s jackets in one of the closets, a pair of work boots, plain t-shirts. He takes the lot, offering the boots to Joel when he gets back to the garage. “These your size?”

His brother takes the boots with a flat expression, pulling the laces to peer at the sole. “About there, yeah. Don’t need ‘em though.”

“Take ‘em with us, for when you do,” Tommy counters, offering Joel one of the t-shirts next. “You should change.”

“M’fine.”

Tommy hooks the gun over his head, setting it on the ground beside him as he crouches in front of Joel. “You’re covered in blood,” he says, and his brother snatches the t-shirt. “Need to change your bandage, too.”

“And what exactly do you want me to—” Joel starts, but shuts up when Tommy tosses the first aid kit to him.

“Need help?” he asks as Joel gets to his feet, pulls his stained t-shirt off, tosses it aside. They’d found a half empty kit in a cafe back in Austin, dressed Joel’s wound before they took off completely. Joel was lucky, just a graze, but Tommy knows it must hurt like hell, and it’ll leave a scar, a reminder of that night, of what was lost.

Joel winces as he pulls of the old bandage, tossing it in the same direction as the t-shirt. “Don’t suppose you found any water in there?” He digs through the first aid kit. “No antiseptic.”

“No water,” Tommy confirms, but holds up the bottle of whiskey. “Just this.”

It’s not ideal, using the alcohol to clean the graze — and Joel nearly puts his fist through the wall despite the healthy sip he takes before Tommy wipes a piece of gauze damp with the whiskey over the wound — but it’ll work. They have to make do.

Joel sinks back onto the concrete floor once the wound is redressed, the new t-shirt pulled over his head. He takes the whiskey with him, and Tommy sits beside his brother, both of them with rifles in their laps. They sip the bottle in turn, and Tommy savours the burn as it slides down his throat, warmth spreading through his chest. It loosens his tongue, makes him regret the question the second it’s out of his mouth.

“You think she made it?” He knows he doesn’t have to call you by name. Not now.

“I have to,” is his brother’s only response.

+

They stop you at the gate.

You don’t know what you’re thinking, but after staking out the giant metal fence for a few hours, you at least know that trying to sneak over is only going to result in a bullet finding a home somewhere it shouldn’t. The soldiers were firing at anything that made a break for the gate, and running full-force didn’t make you brave, it made you stupid. It made you look like one of them. Infected. Mindless. Blood-thirsty. A few have come sprinting up to the post you’ve been watching, and the soldiers have put them down without batting an eye.

As you’ve watched, a few groups of people have approached the post. All the same, their hands in the air, desperation in their voices, carried to you on the smoke-tinged breeze. Please help us. You’ve watched them get directed away from the post, towards a still-standing building a few yards from the gate, where a military-issue tent is set up. Some of them walk back out, are directed towards an armoured truck parked along the gate, and then the truck disappears, only for a new one to reappear in its stead a few minutes later. It’s like clockwork, but only some end up in the trucks.

Others are carried out the back of the tent, bodies dumped into one of the pits left by the bombing. It makes your skin crawl.

It takes a while, lacking the confidence to put yourself in the line of fire when you could just keep hiding in the city. The soldiers might find you eventually — if the Infected didn’t find you first — but if you could just keep going, maybe there was a break in the fence somewhere, a way out besides what lies ahead of you. But finally, after a few hours of squatting in the rubble, your limbs aching from staying pressed against brick, you step out of the alley, and put your hands in the air. You’ve pulled down the sleeves of the hoodie you’re wearing, letting it cover the bandage around your arm, and you grip the cuffs with your fingers as you raise your arms.

“I’m not infected!”

A flash of movement, and the barrels of at least ten rifles are pointed directly at you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, bile rising in the back of your throat. A suitable reaction, you think, and you swallow back the fear that makes you want to run. It’ll only get you killed that much faster.

“Name!” one of the soldier’s shouts. You can’t tell who; they’re all wearing helmets, visors covering their faces, turning it into a sea of darkness staring back at you. Your fingers flex, and you call you name back.

“I need to leave.”

One of them starts laughing. Another two look at each other, sharing a look you can’t suss out. A few lower their guns, and the prickle along your spine fizzles slightly. A visor lifts, revealing a soot-streaked face, a grim expression. “Why on earth would you wanna do that?”

“My family is in Texas,” you say, your voice surprisingly strong, if not a little thready from the smoke. “I have to go find them.”

“You’re gonna walk halfway across the country,” a faceless voice asks, “with a baseball bat? Girl, you don’t have a hope in hell.”

“Beats sitting around here, waiting to die,” you throw back, and the soldier that had lifted his visor lifts his brow. “Let me pass.”

“Can’t do that,” he replies, and steps up in front of you. He’s got a strange face, eyes a little too dark, hair hidden by the helmet, a scar on his mouth. Something about him reminds you of Dean, but a much harder version, his face more angular, the voice slightly deeper. “No one gets out of the city, we have orders.”

“You can’t hold me hostage here,” you start, stepping towards him. Your hands are still in the air. “My family is out there, I need to—”

“No one gets out,” another soldier interrupts. “FEDRA’s orders.”

Your brow creases. “FEDRA?”

“Federal Disaster Response Agency,” the strange-faced soldier answers.

“So the military is taking over?”

“I never said that.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Just let me go, please? I can’t stay here, my family—”

“Is in Texas,” the soldier replies, nodding along. He hefts his gun slightly, adjusting his grip, and you don’t miss the meaning, the silent threat behind it. “And you’re here, in Boston. Now you don’t have a car, or any real weapons, and we have orders. You’re not going anywhere.”

You bite back the protest that crawls up your throat. If you’re getting out, it’s not through here. “Then where am I supposed to go?”

“There’s a shelter,” he tells you, “in the mall. There’s food, water, beds. It’s temporary, but it’s safe.”

“Temporary, like the gate?”

He gives you a long look, then gestures towards the tent you’ve been watching them shuffle people through. “Let’s get you checked out, and then we’ll get you there.”

You match his stare, setting your jaw, digging your heels in slightly. The muzzle of his rifle dips just slightly, and his eyes pinch, narrowing at you.

“I’ll only ask nicely once.”

Heart in your throat, you drop your hands, and when he gestures towards the tent again, you go. Every single part of you is shaking as you head for the canvas structure, and once you’re inside, it’s no different. It’s shockingly clean, a metal table in the middle, a smaller one to the side. “Put your bag there,” the soldier orders, that familiar stern military tone, pointing to the bigger table. “The bat, too.”

You do as you’re told, seeing from the corner of your eye that he’s still got both hands on his gun. “I’m keeping the bat,” you say over your shoulder, pulling it out from where you’d slid it between the straps of the bag, resting against your lower back. The metal rings when you set it on the table. “For the record.”

“Never said you couldn’t keep it, did I?”

“You want me to go to that shelter in the mall,” you say, sliding the bag off your shoulders, placing it next to the bat, and then turning back to the soldier, “with every other terrified person in this city, and you expect me to believe you’re gonna let me walk in with a weapon?”

The soldier’s jaw goes tight, eyes even tighter. “Strip.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take your clothes off,” he says, clearly getting exasperated. “I might let you keep the bat, but there’s no way I’m letting you into the mall shelter knowing you’ve been bitten. Strip.”

“Bitten?” you repeat, your mind sparking at the new information. “Is that how this is spreading?” To appease him, hoping he’ll give you a bit more information, you pull the hoodie off, disentangling your arms slowly. “That’s what’s turning people into those—”

The hoodie comes off, revealing your bandaged shoulder and forearm, and the gun is pointed back in your face again, a soft click reaching your ears. “You’re injured.”

“Y’know, I usually like to at least know a guy’s name before he sees me half-naked.”

He ignores you. “You’re injured.”

You heave a breath, tucking the edge of the gauze around your arm back into place. “You dropped bombs on this city. I dare you to find someone out there who isn’t injured.”

The soldier just stares at you. You just stare back.

“Take the bandages off,” he orders, and your hands curl into fists. “I need to see.”

“Tell me your name first,” you counter, still holding his gaze.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“I’m aware; you’re the one holding the gun. But I also know you’ve been taking bodies out of this tent more than you’ve been sending people to the shelter. So, again, tell me your name.”

He leans back slightly, takes a deep breath, eyes darting to the side before meeting yours again. “Corporal Nicholas Cowan, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” you repeat, almost laughing. “That’s a bit much, but—”

“The bandages.”

“Okay, okay.”

Carefully, you peel back the gauze on your shoulder. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches or anything, and you’d slathered it with some kind of ointment in the first aid kit. It still looks pretty awful, and the tape along the edge of the bandage has left little indents in your skin, but it’s definitely healing. Your arm is next, that wound fresher, and it starts to bleed as soon as you pull the gauze away. Cowan gives you a new piece of gauze a moment later, tossing it onto the table between you rather than handing it right to you. “What happened?”

“I was in the bookstore, down on South Street, when you all decided to start dropping bombs. Fucking lucky a bookshelf didn’t fall on my head.”

He still has the gun pointed at you, though the grip is slightly more relaxed, and he circles you slowly, eyes glued to your shoulder. “Those look like claw marks.”

“That’s because they are.”

“So that happened before the bombs.”

“It did.”

“I’m supposed to shoot, the moment I see anything like that. I have orders.”

“It’s not a bite.”

“I know that.” He swallows so hard you can see his throat bob. “They haven’t figured it all out. The bite seems to make it happen faster, but I don’t know if—”

“I’ll tell you what, Corporal,” you interrupt, reaching for your bag, pulling the first aid kit out and fishing out new bandages, “I start to turn into one of those things, and I give you my full permission to blow my fucking brains out.” Cowan balks, his eyes widening for a moment as he stares back at you. “But for the record, it’s been seven days, and I’m still here, faculties intact. So, politely, go fuck yourself, and just let me through the gate.”

+

He doesn’t.

Cowan lets you redress, once your bandages have been hastily rewrapped; you’d protested and he told you they’d give you proper treatment at the shelter. Once that was done, you grabbed your pack — and the bat, which Cowan barely seemed to notice — and he grabbed you roughly by the arm, dragging you out of the tent and steering you towards one of the armoured trucks parked at the fence.

You’re all but stuffed inside, and Cowan gets into the passenger’s seat, a masked soldier behind the wheel. “The mall,” he says simply, and the soldier just nods, and the engine rumbles to life, pulling away from the chain link and heading back into the city.

You keep the bat in your lap as they drive, your eyes glued to the window, to the mess that now only partially resembles Boston. You’d seen enough of the destruction running through the streets, but the truck takes a few pathways you hadn’t. Some roads aren’t as destroyed, obviously not targeted by the bombs, and the asphalt is even, still intact. There’s no getting past the bodies, however, and that pulls your eyes away, staring down at your bruised and dirty hands, wrapped around the bat.

When the truck stops outside the mall, the driver doesn’t get out. You lift your head then, taking in the space around you. It’s more of the same, but the mall looks mostly undisturbed, except for the broken windows, the burned displays. Cowan slides out of the passenger’s side, pulls open your door a moment later. “Let’s go.”

There are three more soldiers standing at the entrance, and as Cowan starts to lead you through, one of them stops you, lifting a hand. “You can’t take that in there,” the soldier says, pointing to the bat. “Give it here.”

“No.”

Cowan sighs, turning back to you, waving off the soldier. “C’mon, just—”

“No,” you say again, your voice harder. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m walking around this city without it.”

“You’re safe in the mall,” Cowan says, nearly rolling his eyes at you, but you just lift a brow. “It’s a shelter, and we’re patrolling from the outside.” He points over his shoulder, and sure enough, you see a few more armoured trucks rolling across the street, armed soldiers trailing behind it. Like it makes a difference.

You almost laugh. “Nowhere is safe anymore.” You tighten your grip on the bat. “You really think your chain link fence is gonna save us from those things?”

He gives you another one of those hard stares, but relents, waving off the other soldiers and grabbing the handle on your bag, all but dragging you through the entrance. “If she attacks someone, it’s on you, Cowan!” one of the soldier’s shouts, and he just grumbles under his breath.

“Do me a favour,” he says to you as he releases you, making you stumble a step before he falls into step beside you, “don’t be more trouble than you’re worth.”

“And what am I worth, Corporal?”

“You’re alive, and you’re not one of them,” he says, and you don’t miss the thread of…is that hope, in his voice? “So that makes you worth something.”

He’s quiet, the rest of the way. There’s no electricity, the overhead fluorescents dark, and Cowan clicks on a flashlight, lighting your path deeper into the mall. There’s the whir of generators, as you get closer, big lights that looks like they were taken from construction sites. You see the food court has been turned into a makeshift hospital, and Cowan tells you the big department store on the main level is where you’ll sleep, for the time being.

There aren’t that many people, which makes your throat go a little thick. How many people have died, how many have turned, how many made it out of Boston before they put up the fence?

Cowan takes your arm again as you walk towards the food court, calling for someone as you get closer. “Deanna! I got one for you.”

An older lady, maybe late fifties, pokes her head out from behind one of the triage curtains. Her face is both kind and harsh at the same time, bright green eyes, grey-streaked hair pulled into a long ponytail, blood-stained scrubs and a tool belt around her waist that’s filled with medical instruments instead of actual tools. It almost makes you laugh.

“Must be special,” she says, her voice a little gravelly as she approaches you, wiping her hands on her pants. “You don’t usually escort them all the way down here, Nicky.” Her eyes drop to the bat in your hands and her brows raise. “Or let them come in armed.”

Once she’s close enough, Cowan releases you and takes Deanna by the arm, steering her off to the side. You stand there awkwardly, the bat banging against your leg. Your forearm is a little sore, and you’re half-sure it’s soaked through the bandages you’d haphazardly retied after Cowan’s inspection. You glance over at the pair a few times, seeing them both shooting you looks before turning back to each other. Deanna looks confused, then upset, then almost forgiving. You can’t quite figure out Cowan’s expression.

After a few minutes, she just nods, and Cowan turns on his heel, heading back in the direction you came, leaving you alone. Deanna gives you a once-over as she walks towards you again, putting a warm hand on your back and starting to steer you towards one of the curtains. “Let’s get you cleaned up, honey.”

She leads you behind one of the curtains, then another, and once you’re in the little makeshift room, she pulls another curtain into place. “Nicky said we need to be quick about this,” she says, leaning up on her toes to peer over the curtains, assumedly to see if anyone is coming. “And quiet.”

“Okay.”

You let her take your bag, set it on the chair that’s set to the side. You’re reluctant to let go of the bat, but when you finally let her take it, she puts it beside you on the cot. “You’ve been out there this whole time?” she asks, her voice just above a whisper. You nod. “Even the bombs?” Another nod. “Show me where you’re hurt.”

You hold your breath as you peel off the hoodie. You were right, your arm has bled through the bandage, and your shoulder aches with the movement. Deanna doesn’t say a word at first, her brow furrowed as she looks you over.

She tends to your arm first, wiping the blood from your skin, using some sort of glue to close the wound before she wraps it in fresh gauze. She circles you slowly, just like Cowan had, and you hear her sharp inhale when she sees your shoulder. “What have we here?” She wipes at more of the blood, and the sting makes you tense, your hand twitching towards the bat at your side. “What did that?”

“…boyfriend.”

You look over your shoulder to see her staring at you, a look that toes the line between sympathy and fear on her face. “Was he…”

You give a slight nod. “He was.”

“And is he…?”

“Not anymore.”

Her brows raise. “You did that?”

Another nod. “I did that.”

She blows out a breath, shaking her head side to side. “Damn, girl. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

It’s the first time you’ve actually laughed since your birthday.

They give you some clothes, stuff that actually fits, pilfered from one of the stores. Toiletries even, and you spend far too much time brushing your teeth. No showers, unfortunately, but the pack of baby wipes you’re offered instead makes up for it. It nearly makes you cry to see your skin clean of the dust and ash and blood.

They give you food, too. A grocery bag filled with non-perishables, more granola bars and cans of soup and whatnot. You try not to chug an entire bottle of water when they give you a second bag filled with drinks; not just water, but sports drinks, random cans of pop, clearly raided from the mall vending machines. And a hot meal, courtesy of one of the food court hot plates. It’s some kind of stew, noodles and meat and veggies, and for a moment, all you can think about is the Thai food that was waiting on your kitchen counter.

Feels like a lifetime ago.

Deanna walks you to the department store, gives your name to one of the soldier’s standing guard. He points you in the right direction, and she goes with you, a steady hand on your back, until you find the cot you’ve been assigned, tucked in the corner of the section where all the towels would have been, the displays still up on the walls. “We took them all already,” she tells you, giving you a half-grin as she picks up the blanket on your cot, unfolding the fabric. “Those extra-plush suckers make great bandages.”

You’re quiet, tucking your bag and your food and clothing under the cot. They’d refilled your first aid kit, too. Your knees are almost shaking as you lower yourself onto the edge of the bed, and the relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming. Tears spring in your eyes, but you don’t have the energy to wipe them away.

“Get some sleep, honey,” she tells you, and puts a soft hand on your shoulder as you slip sideways, collapsing onto the pillow. “You’ll be safe. Sleep as much as you need.”

She pulls the blankets over you, and it’s silly, but you clutch the bat to your chest. You’d wiped it down, too, cleaned the blood and dirt from the metal. Sleep takes hold as soon as you let your eyes close, and you pray no nightmares follow.

PREV | NEXT