#Becoming the Lettered Bottle to the Past

[obxsummer]

leave me again ii // rafe cameron

pairing: rafe cameron x routledge!reader (she/her), ex!jj maybank x reader

summary: you left the cut with nowhere to go. it’s rafe cameron that finds you and shows you the life you deserved to live

warnings: sorry jj lovers, that man does not get our girl back so sad jj and probably ooc rafe but i love it when that man is soft

navigation || part one

--

Six months.

It had been six months since any of the Pogues had seen you. No social media, no sight of you around town, no letters. Nothing.

The past six months left you to do a lot of reevaluations. You’d walked aimlessly after the group had left for the dive with nothing but your backpack and phone, no destination in mind. Until you found one.

“Lost or something?”

“Fuck off, Rafe,” Your response was instant as you continued to walk without sparing him a look. The car shifted into a different gear, you guessed by the noise, before Rafe was hopping out to approach you.

“Are you okay?” When you didn’t answer, he moved in closer and grabbed your shoulder before turning you to face him. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

You stared at him with the knowledge that you probably looked like a mess with the tear streaks across your cheeks. While Rafe had a lot of issues with your friends and brother, he usually stayed clear of you. Whether that was because you were close with Sarah, or what, you didn't know.

Twisting your fingers together, you dropped your gaze as tears started to build again. “You ever watch someone you love choose someone else over you, every single time?”

The question felt like a punch in the gut to Rafe. He had. His whole life he watched his dad choose Sarah. Watched his mom choose another family over him. Watched Wheezie choose another sibling over him.

“Get in, I’ve got somewhere to take you.”

Six months ago, you hopped in Rafe Cameron’s Range Rover and left The Cut behind. You didn’t question the decision, knowing you’d worry about everyone else before taking care of yourself, and that clearly didn’t work in the past. You felt horribly guilty about leaving John B with no indication whether you were okay or not, but you knew if one of them found out, JJ would be busting down the door to Rafe’s bedroom before you had a chance to say no. 

While you weren’t sure what the original intentions had been, Rafe was so different with you after bringing you back to his new house. One he’d bought after selling Tannyhill, free from the haunting of his father and the screams that echoed off the walls, he had turned it into a safe space for himself and anyone he invited in.

Things blossomed quickly and you realized the Rafe in front of you was not the bully, coke-head addict you’d once known. He was such a gentle person, and so much more attentive to you than JJ had ever been. Whether it was making you breakfast in bed before you left for the day, or prepping a warm (actually warm, like hot water you’d hadn’t had in forever) candle lit bath, or popping an expensive bottle of wine just for you to taste, he was there in ways nobody had been. You were his girl, his only girl, and you never once had to question that.

Rafe had even invited you to sit in on his investment meetings and he was slowly pulling your name into his business so you’d have a professional background to grow into. You were steadily becoming an educated little couple in his home, something he was so proud and grateful for. He had someone to lean on for advice and give him fresh eyes on new projects with no judgment or fear of anger. The two of you soaked up your bubble of peace for as long as you could before shit hit the fan. 

Little did you know, on the other side of the island with your brother, there had been absolutely no peace. John B and JJ barely spoke, everything ending in an argument when they did. Pope was sick of playing mediator, and Kie had more of less shut down out of guilt. Sarah was still searching for you, but you’d gone ghost. Cleo was treading lightly with the knowledge that everything would explode eventually. 

So, they did what they could, and dove into treasure hunting. When JJ pulled the amulet out of his pocket in the back of the Twinkie, John B’s emotions were mixed. Sure, he was stoked that he’d found the object the group was looking for, but he wished you were here. It was your birthday, and John B was inches away from losing his shit without you.

“Dude, are you okay?” Pope asked as the group stood in the office area of the house, trying to find more information on the amulet’s inscription.

John B tossed the heavy object on the desk in frustration. “No, I’m not okay! We can find decades old treasure like it’s the easiest thing ever, but we can’t find jack shit about my sister? That’s bullshit, Pope. And you know it.”

Pope knew things would be sensitive today. Even JJ woke up grouchy, which John B told him was deserved since he caused your absence in the first place. The lack of your presence weighed heavy on the group, so Pope suggested going to visit one of your favorite beach spots. 

Little did he know what he was getting himself into.

--

“Rafe!” The house was filled with your laughter as Rafe twirled you in the kitchen lighting, your favorite song playing from the interactive speaker on the counter. The two of you had spent the day together, visiting the country club for lunch before Rafe took you shopping for something to wear tonight.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme love on you, it’s your birthday” He mumbled as he pressed soft kisses into your neck, hands squeezing your hips teasingly. The soft fabric of the dress he’d picked out covered your frame, the color matching your skin perfectly. 

You hummed in content, fingers holding his biceps tightly as if your knees would give out any second. “You loved on me a lot this morning.”

“Can’t help it.” Rafe’s thumb traced your bottom lip before he kissed you softly. “You make it so easy.”

The two of you got lost in each other for a few more moments, soaking up the quiet as the orange sunset started casting through the windows. Today had been the best day you’d had in so long and you were so grateful of Rafe for giving you so much patience and love.

It had taken time for you to adjust to this kind of life. You walked in here with three outfits to your name, a busted cell phone, and a stuffed animal John B won you at the town festival as kids. And Rafe embraced every bit of it, let you keep your Pogue pieces while building you a life around it that was filled with items you needed but would never ask for, all while loving you so gently.

You climbed out of his car (technically the one he’d bought you but you refused to acknowledge that), and stepped down into the soft sand below. This was your spot, the spot you came to whenever you needed to clear your head or take a moment alone. You’d shared it with Rafe shortly after everything changed, and now, it was a shared spot that you both considered special.

Rafe moved around the car to grab your hand and guide you toward the area he had organized for the two of you. A small white table had been set up with your favorite snacks and two glasses of wine, surrounded by the fluffiest blanket and pillows you’d seen. 

“Did you do this?” You squeezed his hand tighter, tears in your eyes at how sweet and thoughtful the gesture was. Your jaw dropped as the two of you walked closer; everything was thought out down to the tiny forks you loved so much being there to pick up the appetizers. 

“Course I did, baby.” Rafe kissed your temple softly and grabbed one of the glasses to hand to you before taking hold of his own. You clinked your glass against his, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply in appreciation.

And then everything went to shit.

“What the fuck?”

Rafe’s hand tightened against your lower back, both of you looking over to see the handful of figures standing a few feet away. Your heart went to your throat went you made eye contact with your brother, whose hand was wrapped in Sarah’s. JJ stood behind him along with Kiara, Pope, and Cleo, all of them looking at you expectantly.

“Shit,” You whispered and took a step back from Rafe, eyes meeting his in dread. His expression had hardened at the sight of JJ, all the anger rushing back when he thought about how you’d been treated in the relationship, how unfair everything had been. You clocked the frustration in his gaze and placed your fingers on his cheek to redirect his focus back to you. “Don’t. I’ll handle it.”

Rafe’s jaw ticked but he didn’t argue as you slipped your wine glass back into his hand and left his side to approach the group standing in front of you. You weren’t even worried about JJ or Kie, you were worried about John B more than anything.

“Hi,” The greeting was so quiet you almost didn’t hear yourself. How do you talk to people you disappeared on six months ago?

John B’s only response was to pull you into the tightest hug he had ever given. You stumbled with the force of his body colliding with you before regaining your balance and returning the embrace. 

“You’re okay,” He repeated the words to himself as if convincing his mind that they were true before stepping back and holding your cheeks in his hands. The smile on his face was huge, and you were so so confused. “Holy shit.”

“Hi,” You laughed quietly, placing your hands on top of his. “I’m so sorry.”

John B shook his head, his thumb brushing the random tear from your cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I told you to take a break, yeah? And you did.”

You glanced back to where Rafe was surprisingly conversing with Sarah with no anger in sight. The pit in your stomach slowly disappeared as you took them in and turned your attention back to John B. “I um… there’s a lot to catch you up on, and I want to tell you. I wanna tell you all of it, JB, but-”

“And I wanna hear it,” He reassured softly. “But someone put a lot of effort into your night and I don’t wanna steal any of it.”

You were so goddamn grateful for your brother. Pulling John B into another hug, you spared the look over his shoulder to see Kiara stomping away from the beach. You tried to keep a smirk off your face but it definitely made its way through. 

Stepping back from John B, you shared hugs with Cleo and Pope, promising that you would see them soon before you were face to face with the reason you made it here in the first place. JJ looked rough. His hair was chaotic, arms thinner than you remembered, and he just looked tired.

“I don’t want your apology,” You spoke as he opened his mouth. “And it looks like you have a girlfriend to go find anyway.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” JJ replied quickly as he stared at you. “Not anymore.”

You pulled your lips in and shrugged. “Okay. I’ll see you around, JJ.”

He reached a hand out toward you when you moved to walk away. You paused just out of his reach and looked back. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

You nodded. “I know. I should be thanking you actually, because if you had said it back to me that day, I wouldn’t have found something so much better.”

And with that, you walked away from JJ and the empty promises he had always given, walked away straight into the arms of someone who would give you the world and more, if you just so much as asked.

--

navigation 

[sailorsoons]

Hush (c.sc)

PAIRING: Incubus!Choi Seungcheol x afab reader

SUMMARY: You can’t seem to sleep, but the strange man in the bar that you can’t seem to stop visiting promises he can help. 

WC: 6,239

AU: Supernatural

GENRE: Smut, PWP

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Mentions of insomnia including side effects like exhaustion, dysfunction, derealization, feeling out of it/in weird headspaces, time is not supposed to feel linear in this and it’s supposed to feel kind of liminal-space in places, reader is often confused/thoughts are a little scattered and feels out of it because of proximity to an entity, there are creepy vibes in this, Seungcheol doesn’t always appear the same/mentions of feeling like in danger or on edge around him instinctually, explicit language, sexually explicit content including unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, a lot of spit and cum, nipple play, reference to subspace or an adjacent, choking, oral (f. and m. receiving) multiple orgasms, biting and scratching, I wouldn’t categorize this as explicit dom/sub dynamics but there are power dynamics in some places, mean Seungcheol in spots, like very light humiliation if you squint in one section, overall just…. Weird ass vibes and recurring scenes/reader not remembering things. 

A/N: This was originally requested for my Haliween writing event by @daechwitatamic on my old blog. Hopefully you all enjoy sleep demon Seungcheol just as much the second time!

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Nothing feels real. Your eyes burn as you stare at the computer screen, the letters and the buttons on your email becoming blurry as they swim out of focus. The dull sounds of your office feel as though they’re several rooms over, faint hums heard through walls of plaster. 

Pushing away from the desk, you head to the break room, in desperate need of coffee. You know drinking caffeine this late in the afternoon will only further exacerbate your insomnia, and yet you need it if you’re going to get through the next three hours at work.

You’ve hit the point in your endless nights of no sleep where everything feels off, like you’re experiencing things in the third person. You’re there but you don’t feel like it, navigating your day knowing that it’s you doing and saying things at work without really registering that you’re doing or saying those things. 

Coffee hisses from the machine into your cup. You stare at it, vision going unfocused again as the smell wafts up to you. Time passes. You stand and stare. 

Someone walks into the room, bringing you back to reality as you look over your shoulder and see your coworker come in to fill up their water bottle. They raise their brows at you as though to ask if you’re okay, and you grin, gesturing to the coffee like that’s some sort of answer.

Really, you’re not okay. You have ventured past the threshold of tired into something else entirely. Something that is lesser than, something base and nearly inhuman. 

Derealization. It’s a word your doctor had used when you described what it was like for you after so many nights without sleep, the disconnected feeling to the world around you. Even as you walk to your desk, it doesn’t feel real. You logically know that it is, that you exist in a specific time and space.

And yet… you remain buoyed in that space, totally untethered from everything around you. Floating. Lost. 

Back at your desk, the words on the computer screen blur again. Come into focus. You type and email. The keyboard makes sounds, but you don’t really register them. 

At some point, the day ends. 

A bright neon sign burns against the darkness of the alleyway. You blink rapidly, holding your hand in front of your eyes to block out some of the light. Looking around, you don’t see anyone else. The sound of the city is muted and far away, but you smell the burning of fuel and the smell of stagnant water under a dripping window air conditioning unit. 

You don’t remember walking here. You lower your hand as your eyes adjust to the burning pink above the door. Looking down at your clothes, you’re at least relieved to discover you put on jeans and a t-shirt before going out on an adventure out on the town.

Police sirens wail in the distance. You pull your phone out of your back pocket, thankful you brought it. 

“Fuck,” you swear, flashing the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning and you know immediately you’ve sleepwalked your way to this strange, unfamiliar alleyway. 

It’s a vicious circle: go days without sleep feeling like you’re a step away from death, or take just enough sleep medication to knock you out but make you sleepwalk. 

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you look back up at the neon sign, reading it for the first time. Hush. A shiver goes down your spine at the name, eyes flicking to the blue crescent moon attached to the pink cursive. 

There’s a magnetism about the sign. Your eyes dropdown to the door under it, a nondescript metal entrance to what you think is a bar. There’s nothing to indicate that it is a bar, just a gut feeling. Your gut feeling is also whispering at you to go inside, to open the door and step into the cool space of Hush. 

Licking your lips, you take one hesitant step forward. The tingling in your spine increases and you feel static in the air. Heart racing, you take another step. Then another. Before you realize it, you’re at the door with your hand on the knob, cool to the touch.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step inside. 

It’s even darker inside than the alleyway. Gentle piano music plays somewhere in the room and you swivel left and right, trying to gain your bearings as your eyes adjust. When they do, you see a very small room with a single piano in the corner, two booths, a bar at the back, and three stools pulled up to its counter.

A single person sits at the bar. You hesitate in the entrance, drinking in the stranger. It appears to be a man in a dark purple suit, his broad shoulders hunched over where he leans against the wooden bar top. You can’t make out much else beyond the wide shape of his shoulders and narrow taper of his waist, but you can see the crimson hair that glows like flame underneath the dull, flickering light above his head.

“You gonna stand there all night?” His voice is soft, a gentle pur. He turns his head to the side, his profile shadowed. “I don’t bite.” You hear the smirk in his voice when he tacks on, “Not often, anyway.” 

Carefully, you approach the bar. There doesn’t appear to be a bartender of any sort or anyone else in the bar, for that matter. You realize that there’s piano music but no pianist, but decide not to focus on it as you enter the man’s line of focus. 

When he looks at you, the world stops. It’s like stepping into a bubble, everything else ceasing to exist. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel your pulse hammer in your throat as you stare at him, unable to take your eyes off him.

He’s beautiful but it’s not that. His eyes are dark, but there is something more there. Something swimming in the depth of the darkness that you cannot place, something ancient and curious and awake. You feel pinned under his gaze, eyes darting to drink in the rest of his features: soft, pouty lips the color of berries, sharp jawline, thick, angular brows. 

Stunning. Dangerous. Alluring. 

“Hi,” he says, mouth stretching into a grin. His teeth aren’t sharp, but you have the distinct feeling that they should be. “You’re a pretty thing.” 

“Um, hi.”

“Can’t sleep?” 

“How can you tell?”

His grin spreads, wicked and cutting. “I have a feeling about those things.” His dark eyes drop to the seat next to him. “Have a seat. Maybe I can help.”

Tentatively, you sit down next to him. “You can help me sleep?” 

“What if I said I can?” 

Sitting next to him is oppressive. His presence weighs down on you, a physical entity that you can’t see. Static buzzes in your mind and your thoughts feel a little sticky, like just being close to him disrupts your frequency. 

He smells like jasmine, immediately soothing. You feel your eyes grow heavy as you blink a few times, settling on the stool as you angle yourself toward him. 

You’d misjudged his size when you walked in. He’d seemed broad when you first walked in, but you don’t think you fully understood the width of him. The weight of him. Or maybe it just feels that way when you look at him, your perception of him flickering like a bad TV signal. 

“Tell me about your sleep problems.”

You shrug. “They’re like any other sleep problems.”

“Not all sleep problems are the same, Pretty.” 

“I suppose that’s true. I don’t really know what causes them. I just… can’t fall asleep and then I start getting worried I won’t sleep, so it makes it worse. I want to sleep so bad but it’s like… wanting to sleep only makes it avoid me more.”

“Mmm. Sleep is a fickle thing, isn’t it?” 

“My doctors give me meds but the normal dose doesn’t work and the stronger dose… makes me walk around.” 

He pouts. “You poor, sweet thing.” 

Something about his sympathy makes you flush. You sulk, looking down at the countertop as you pick absently at the peeling varnish on the wood. “I know,” you murmur. “I just want to be normal.” 

“I can help. If you want it.” 

You glance at him. His eyes are dancing dangerously. Half of you screams yes while the other screams run. You’re only vaguely aware that you’re in a bar alone with a strange man who knows you’re sleep deprived. No one would help you if you screamed. You don’t know where you would run.

His dark eyes seem to read your thoughts and he laughs, shaking his head as he turns to pick up his drink from the bar. “I’m not that sort of creature.”

“How would you help me sleep?”

“Are you accepting my help?”

His question hangs in the air between the two of you. The piano music has stopped, but you don’t remember when it did. Overhead, the light still flickers. On. Off. On. Off. Onoffonoffonoff-

“You’re under no obligation to accept.” His voice is kind. Warm. Soft like your blankets, cozy like your bed. “You’re always free to make your own decision.” 

“I want help,” you agree slowly. “I really do.”

His red mouth curves into a smile and again, you’re struck by the thought that his teeth should be sharp. “Good. I’ll help you, Pretty.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“You can call me Seungcheol.” You give him your name and he tilts his head, drinking you in. “I know.” 

“How are you going to help me sleep?”

Seungcheol finishes his drink. You watch him swallow thickly, suddenly fascinated with the way his throat bobs as he does. The smell of jasmine is overwhelming as he leans in, stopping an inch away from you.

The static increases. You feel your blood buzz pleasantly. 

“Close your eyes for me,” Seungcheol murmurs, looking at you through silky lashes. “I promise everything will be okay.” 

For a moment, you stare at him, the air charged. He doesn’t hurry you along, content to study your face with that same uncanny darkness swimming in his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, you do what Seungcheol says, and you close your eyes. 

Sunlight wakes you up. You roll over in your bed, squinting up at the window. Your blackout curtains are open, letting the morning beam in on where you’re tangled in your comforter and sheets. 

Sighing heavily, you close your eyes again, content to lay in the warm sun. Just as you start to drift to sleep again, you recall a pair of dark eyes and fiery hair. You jolt upright, heart hammering as you remember the exchange. 

Snatching your phone from your nightstand, you open your walking app to look at where the hell you went last night, but there’s nothing there. Frowning, you pull the sheets off your body. You’re in pajamas and fuzzy socks that you don’t remember putting on. 

Hauling yourself out of bed, you lean halfway into the laundry basket to claw through your clothing. None of the things you wore last night are there, so you go to your closet to wrench the doors open and search. 

The shirt from last night and the exact pair of jeans are hanging, completely unworn. Your frown deepens as your confusion rises. Turning away from the closet, you open your phone again and try to get any sort of sense of where you went last night, but there’s no text threads. No signs you used public transportation. Nothing in any of your tracking apps that indicate you left at all. 

“Was it a fucking dream?” you mutter to yourself, perplexed. 

Sitting down on your bed, you try to look up Hush on the internet. You can find nothing in your city that indicates a bar or establishment like the one you discovered Seungcheol in. You even try social media to look him up - Reddit, neighborhood pages, anything to try and find the stranger from last night.

It seems Hush and Seungcheol don’t exist.

And yet… you don’t remember going to sleep last night after he agreed to help you. And you feel rested today. 

Puzzled and a little freaked out, you give up your search. A dream is a dream, and you’re content that you finally feel a little less exhausted and a little more awake. You’ll take the win, getting up to start your day with a little bit of pep in your step. 

By midday, you’ve mostly forgotten about the bar and the man in it, only remembering those dark eyes and that red hair. 

Heat creeps up your spine. You nuzzle against the warmth behind you, the smell of jasmine coaxing you deeper into the embrace. You feel the vibration of laughter against your back, your nerves tingling as you feel feather-light fingers brush up your thighs. 

“Tired?” 

Immediately you know it’s Seungcheol’s deep voice, that same velvet purr whispered right in your ear. You shake your head no, suddenly not wanting to sleep at all. You press into him further, feeling the way his arms tighten around you as he chuckles, mouth pressing chastely against the spot under your ear. 

“Liar,” he teases. 

You pout. It might be true, but he could have the decency to pretend it’s not. You open your eyes and look up at him. His hair is like spilled blood in the dark of your room. The curtains are closed, blocking out all light from the moon and street, but your salt lamp still burns in the corner. 

Seungcheol looks like the devil in the low, orange light. He’s in a black t-shirt, which is somehow more deadly than the fine cut suit. Your stomach flutters and you squeeze your thighs shut when you realize his hands are brushing up and down your thighs, touch slow. 

“Thought you were a dream,” you mumble, words a little thick. “Thought you weren’t real.”

“Dreams can’t be real?” That makes you frown and he laughs, jostling you against his chest. His hands squeeze your thighs and you let out a breathy sound as he nudges you with his nose. “You don’t know anything about dreams, Pretty. Can I show you?” 

More than anything you want him to show you. Suddenly your desire for him outweighs any sort of sleepiness, your nerves sparking and coming to life as you nod helplessly against his chest, trying to lean as close as possible. 

“Needy,” he chides. He presses a wet kiss to your jawline and you preen, your head falling back against his shoulder. “I’ll go easy so you remember this time, alright?” 

“Cheol.” 

The nickname sounds familiar. Intimate. Like you’ve said it before - something tells you that you have said it before. You don’t remember where or when, but it’s with familiarity that you moan the nickname again as he nips at your neck, one hand drifting between your legs to pry them open. 

He murmurs praise against your ear when your legs drift apart, spreading to accommodate his seeking touch. You’re wearing shorts but it feels entirely too hot under the blankets pooled around your waist. You kick at them and whine, managing to get them down to your knees before he huffs and presses forward, temporarily bending you in half to toss them. 

When he settles back against your headboard, you follow him, turning your head to press your mouth to the corner of his. His lips twitch in a smirk, shifting to catch your mouth fully with his. 

Seungcheol kisses you like he knows how you like to be kissed - devouring, consuming, hungry. His tongue brushes against yours as he drinks you in as his hand presses between your leagues, applying pressure to your clothed cunt.

You whine into the kiss and he grins against your mouth. A line of spit connects your lips when you pull away panting, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. His fingers circle your clit gently and your hips buck in his hold against the stimulation. 

“Not enough,” you whisper. You grip his wrist with one hand, the other gripping the sheets to bunch them in your fist. “Cheol, please.”

“Hush,” he scolds, biting your jaw. His free hand comes up to your neck, gripping you under your jaw to angle your mouth back to his. “Kiss me.” 

You melt in Seungcheol’s grip. His tongue tastes sweet, his grip on you making you dizzy. Your thighs squeeze around his wrist as he works you up, his touch teasing and not enough through layers of fabric. 

He knows it’s not enough, content to string you along until you’re writhing against him, back shifting against his chest as you squirm. His kisses drift from your mouth to your jaw, open-mouthed and spit-slicked as his tongue darts out to taste your skin while he goes. 

Seungheol’s grip on your chin slides down toward the base of your neck, his fingers pressed tight against your pulse. You can feel your heartbeat slamming in his grasp as he bends your head away from him, lips attaching to the softness of your throat. 

His name escapes your lips in a whisper. He hums a pleased sound, tongue dragging up your neck to your ear where he nibbles. “So good for me,” he whispers. “I’ll reward you.” 

You follow with an urgent nod, pleased when his hand slides down the waistband of your shorts and underwear. When his fingers brush against the flushed, sticky folds of your cunt, you keen loudly, unable to keep it together.

“So needy.” You can’t tell if it’s an insult or not the way he growls the word against your ear, grip on your throat tightening. “Need my help that bad, huh?” 

“Yes, god.”

“I am not god,” he grinds out, voice dark. For a second, the illusion shatters and you glance up at him. His eyes are endless, an ancient thing looking back at you. You freeze in his hold, a prey caught in a trap. Then he softens, pressing a kiss to your brow. “Tell me what you need, Pretty.” 

“Hands. Need your hands.” 

A bolt of pleasure goes through you when Seungcheol’s middle finger circles your clit. Your nails dig into his wrist, leaving little crescent moons behind. His ministrations are leisurely, giving you what you want but not as fast as you want it. 

That’s Seungcheol’s game. He’ll give you what you want, only when he feels like it. You feel a sense of deja vu, realizing that you’ve been here before. Snatches of memories flash through your mind. They pass through your grip like sand, none of them firm enough to grab onto. 

“Missed you,” you mumble. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“Ah, there it is.” 

Seungcheol is pleased with your recollection. You can tell when he relents his teasing touches, fingers drifting down to press a single digit into your heat. Your stomach flips when he does, relief sweeping through you as he shallowly fucks you with a single finger.

It’s not enough but it’s better. You shiver in his hold, going a little slack in his arms, hips twitching. He’s content to have you like this, working your cunt slowly, watching your reactions as your breathing catches and restarts. 

“Feel good?” 

“So good.” You can barely get the reply out, words faint. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Pretty.” 

His kiss is soft against your cheekbone, at odds with the grip he still has on your throat. You feel his hand like a comforting weight, loving the feel of it resting against your pulse. He doesn’t squeeze or choke you, content just to hold you against him. 

Seungcheol pulls his fingers out, the wet squelch obscene. “Take this shit off for me,” he tells you, pulling at your shorts. 

His heavy hand rests on your collarbone as your hands shoot to your shorts. Hooking your thumbs in them, you shimmy down, lifting your hips with his help to kick them down your thighs and legs to the floor. 

Cool air hits your heat as you settle against his chest again. He nestles against your neck, fingers resuming the task of peeling you apart as he sinks his pointer and ring finger into you. You clench around him, loving the stretch and the feeling of his fingers pressing against your g-spot as he slowly strokes you, breath hot against your ear. 

Being unable to remember your previous encounter with him feels cruel. Seungcheol knows exactly how to work you toward your high. The slick sound of his fingers between your legs accompanied with his lips pressed against your neck drives you insane. 

Unable to keep still, your hips come up off the bed to meet his hand. The hand not fucking you to insanity slides under your shirt. Heat trails his touch. He traces the curve of your breast and your breath stutters, catching in your throat. His nails scrape against sensitive skin, moving higher until he drags his touch over your nipple. 

The heel of Seungcheol’s hand presses firmly into your clit. You mewl, thrashing against him, closer and closer to your peak. His strokes turn harsh, finger-fucking you at a brutal pace while his other hand tweaks your nipple, the pleasure-sting making you quake. 

“Come on,” he urges, voice deep. Sharp teeth scrape against your throat. “Come for me, Pretty.” 

Everything turns to static as you clench around his fingers. You squeeze so tight he can barely continue stroking you through your peak. There’s a high-pitched ring in your ears as you pant through it, vaguely aware that Seungcheol is muttering something against your ear that you don’t understand. 

As your orgasm fades, so do you. The world becomes soft at the edges. You feel Seungcheol’s heartbeat against your back and smell jasmine, but you slowly drift away from him, barely able to catch his growl of remember me next time before you’re gone. 

Cold granite countertop digs into your knees. You barely register the pain, one hand pressed flat to the counter, the other reaching behind you to tangle in Seungcheol’s hair. Your hot breath skates across the surface, the cool stone not enough to combat the heat of your skin. 

Seungcheol’s face is pressed as far as he can go into your cunt, the flat of his tongue dragging from top to bottom. You’re nearly catatonic, eyes rolling behind your eyelids as he fucks you with his tongue. 

He grunts when your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him close as he sucks harshly at you. He’s loud as he eats you out, his hunger something more demonic and fiendish than you’re used to. You don’t care, pressing back into him as he mouths at you. 

His hands firmly pry you open, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. You can feel the bruising way he holds you, uncaring as he works you toward another high, so desperate for it that you’re begging. 

Begging for what, you don’t know. None of the words that fall from your mouth really make sense. You’re a rambling disaster under the mastery of his mouth, and as you tiptoe the line of your high, it feels like you’ll never unscramble your thoughts again.

You come again, feeling the way you flood his mouth. He doesn’t care, growling low in his throat as his mouth becomes more insistent, fingers pressing into you even harder. Something takes over him in that moment, his grip on you so fierce that you think you might break.

But you don’t. You never do. 

“Pretty,” Seungcheol murmurs, cocking his head to the side. Your mouth aches where it’s stretched harshly around his cock, spit leaking from the side of your lips. His thumb brushes across the spilled fluid, grinning as he leisurely pops it into his mouth and sucks. “Such a pretty thing, mouth full of cock.”

You hum around him eagerly, shifting back and forth on your knees. He’s got you on the floor of your bedroom in front of your bed, hands linked obediently behind your back while he stands in front of you. His stomach ripples as he flexes his hips forward, driving himself deeper into your mouth.

Your throat seizes around him again and you feel yourself gag. He pouts and pulls back, letting you gasp for breath. Your mouth is a mess of saliva and cum, wet and sore and battered. You don’t care, looking up at him with watery eyes and sticky lips.

“So important to me,” he whispers, nodding as though to assure you. Your stomach flips and you shuffle toward him eagerly, mouth open. “So perfect for me.” 

Instead of using words, you stick your tongue out, eager. Seungcheol grins and the room darkens. There is a buzz in the back of your mind that you can’t place, ignoring the feeling in favor of watching him slowly slide back in, letting your tongue scrape the bottom of his shaft.

Seungcheol sighs, tilting his head back as he sets a slow pace, using your mouth as he pleases. He’s beautiful like this, all tan skin, heaving chest, sweat sliding down his neck, red hair damp. His eyes are closed but his mouth is open, cherry lips parted sweetly to show his sharp little fangs as he pants. 

So pretty, you think. Even with teeth sharper than they should be.  

You’re standing in front of a bar named Hush. The pink neon burns bright against the gritty night, hurting your eyes. Turning around in a circle, you notice there’s no one else in the alleyway. There’s a certain charge to the air, a hum that you can’t place, but grows stronger when you turn to face the bar again. 

A single door sits under the sign, closed and waiting to be opened. Chewing your bottom lip, you stride toward the door, unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side. 

With a hard yank, you pull the door open and step into the darkness of the room beyond. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the single, flickering light over the bar, but once they do, you see it’s a tiny room. A single piano sits in the corner near two booths, and there’s only one bar top in the back, a few stools in front of it. 

A single man sits at the bar but he’s facing you, leaning back on his elbows as he drinks you in. He’s in a purple suit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, and his red hair is bright enough to light the night like a flame. 

He cocks his head to the side, a wicked smirk on his lips. “Hi,” he greets. “Can’t sleep?”

“How can you tell?” 

“I’m familiar with these things.” 

He looks like a devil. You can’t place your finger on what exactly about his face makes you think so. His eyes are dark as the depths of the ocean and when he smiles, you swear his teeth are sharp. “Need some help?” 

You do need help sleeping. The doctors can’t help you. Therapy doesn’t help you. Something tells you maybe this stranger can help you. 

“Please.”

“It would be my pleasure, Pretty.” 

“Seungcheol,” you gasp, hand flying to his wrist to grip him. “Fuck, holy shit.” 

Fuck is absolutely right. His hand tightens around your throat, placed just right to make it harder for you to breathe. Your thoughts swim as he fucks into you, his sweaty chest sliding against your back as his strokes grow harsher. 

Your knees slide on the bed under the strength of his thrusts. He growls at you to keep up and you whimper, flexing your thighs to remain upright as he drives his cock into you at a pace that sends you hurtling toward your peak. 

“So fucking difficult,” he grunts in your ear. His teeth nip your ear lobe and you whine, intoxicated by the smell of jasmine and the tightening knot in your stomach. “You’re always so difficult.” 

You don’t know what he means by that, but you don’t think it’s the first time you’ve heard something like that from him. Your thoughts turn to liquid you come around him though, feeling the way you grip his cock like a vice, seizing in his hold.

Everything turns to nothing. You can’t hear, see or feel anything but static. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

And then you're gasping for air, lungs burning as you gulp it down. Falling forward, you crash into the sheets and into complete darkness. 

“Why do you come and go so often?” 

Seungcheol lifts his head from the bed to turn and look at you. He’s still naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, crimson hair clinging to his forehead. He’s on his stomach laying opposite of you, his head by your feet. 

Something sparks in his eyes at your question, his heavy brows pulling together, cherry lips downturning. “I only come as often as you let me.” 

“What do you mean?”

His face twitches in what you think might be annoyance. “You have a complicated relationship with me.” 

“We have a relationship?” 

He snorts and turns away from you, resting his chin on his arms as he settles back down, closing his eyes. He reminds you of a cat - a particularly dangerous cat, you think. “I suppose. Most people couldn’t say they have a relationship with me, and yet I keep letting you invite me back.”

“Invite you?” 

“Hush. Stop asking questions.” 

“But I don’t… understand.” 

“Good,” he quips. “Because every time you do, you send me away only to invite me back in.” 

“Come on,” Seungcheol teases. “You wanted it, so do the work.” 

Your thighs ache. A pitiful sound leaves you as you nod, putting your hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders as you lift your hips, legs shaking. You’re exhausted and burned out, but the ache you need filled as you slowly slide up his cock drives you to keep going. 

Dropping back down in his lap, you feel sparks. Your movements are slow. Seungcheol’s hands are tucked behind his head where he leans back on your pillows, fathomless eyes watching you as you ride him, a little uncoordinated and weak from the exertion he’s put you through all evening.

“Cheol, my thighs,” you protest, instead trying to grind into him. He raises a brow and you pout. “Please.”

“No. Come on, Pretty, you can do it. You can fuck yourself on my cock and make yourself come. Come on.” 

“Cheol.”

“No. Do it yourself.” 

Gritting your teeth, you let your annoyance fuel you. Anger burns right alongside pleasure as you find the strength to do exactly as he tells you. Leveraging your hold on his shoulders, you continue to spear yourself on him at a steady pace and slowly, your anger is replaced with bliss.

Seungcheol feels incredible. He’s hard to take, stretching you to the max and at this position, he’s so deep that you swear you can feel him in your stomach. You keep going, nails biting into his skin and drawing blood but you don’t care. 

Fire burns in his eyes as he watches you. You stare right back, seething at the way he’s making you do it yourself, a little bit of humiliation stinging the edges of your pride. You can tell he thrives on this, satisfied that what you want outweighs any sort of desire to be stubborn.

Somehow, he always wins like this. Always manages to get you to do what he wants. He’s sneaky like that, knowing just what button to press to get you where he wants you. 

Sometimes you feel like you’re a puppet whose strings are connected to his fingertips. 

Either way, you manage to drive yourself to an orgasm, shuddering around him as you seat yourself fully in his lap, throbbing around him. He lets out a long groan, eyes fluttering shut as he struggles to keep his composure.

Leaning back against his knees, you catch your breath. He’s still painfully hard inside of you, and when his eyes open, you see his hunger isn’t sated. Your heart lips when he surges forward, fast as an adder. His mouth crashes into yours hungrily and you let him have you, eager at the flutter in your stomach as he shifts, altering the angle. 

“I’m not done,” he mutters, kisses turning into sharp bites. “So hush while I take what’s mine.” 

Something wakes you up from sleep. It’s too dark in your room to see, but your heart is hammering and your hands are quivering. Leaning toward your nightstand, you search for your phone. All you feel is cool wood, no device anywhere.

The dark is oppressive. You don’t remember your room being this dark, the blackout curtains serving as a good device to keep out the city and streetlights, but never so much that you feel swallowed whole. Lost. Devoured.

A tingle buzzes at the back of your neck. You freeze in bed, looking into the never ending darkness. Silence roars in your ears, the outside world completely removed. You can’t even hear your own pulse or breath, the quiet so heavy that panic starts to rise in your throat.

You can’t see but you know you’re not alone - can feel the solid press of something else in the room. 

Too afraid to make noise, you resume the search for your phone, fingers moving slowly across the top of your night stand. You can’t find it. 

Something presses into the mattress at the end of your bed. You feel the dip under its weight but can’t hear the creek of springs. You give up the search for your phone, snatching your hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

It’s a dream, you tell yourself. It’s a dream it’s a dream it’s a dream it’s- 

The thing in your room moves closer. A scream works its way up your throat where it gets stuck, lodged and unmoving. You squeeze your eyes shut harder, fireworks of color exploding behind your eyelids as you do. 

“I know you’re awake, Pretty.” The voice is so low you can barely make out the words. They scrape against you like claws. “You can’t keep doing this,” it says, almost a sigh in its voice. “You know what this is. What I am.” 

“Go away,” you whisper, voice weak. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t do this again.” 

“Go away, Seungcheol.” 

There’s a low growl that you can feel as it vibrates the air. “As you wish.”

The neon sign above the door says Hush. It burns bright and pink against the night sky. You look around, unsure how you got here. Sighing, you pull out your phone to check the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning, which means you’re probably a victim of your sleep walking again. 

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you look up at the sign again. There’s a little blue moon to accompany the pink cursive neon, and though you don’t think you’ve ever seen this bar before, there's a magnetism about it that draws you in. 

Curious, you walk up to the door and go in. The lights are dim and you have trouble seeing at first, but you can make out that there’s a piano in the corner, two booths and a small bar with some stools. A man sits at the bar, his back turned to you. 

“We’re closed,” he grumbles without turning to look at you. You frown, cocking your head as you drink him in. 

The purple suit he wears is an odd choice. His hair is the color of blood, slicked back and a surprisingly nice contrast to the bright color of his suit. A single light flickers above him, painting him in a gold hue.

“What is this place?” you ask, ignoring the fact that it’s closed. 

He doesn’t answer for a second. You think he’s going to ignore you, but finally he says, “Do you have trouble sleeping?” 

You’re surprised by the question. “Yes, actually.” 

“I can help.” 

“Really?” You step further into the bar, watching as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. He is painfully pretty, the kind of beauty that reminds you of old paintings of Lucifer. “How?” 

“Are you accepting my help?” 

Without hesitation you answer, “Yes.” 

His cherry red lips twitch and he shakes his head. Picking up his drink, he polishes it off before standing to turn you fully. The weight of his presence presses down on you like an invisible blanket, weighing you down.

“Of course you do.” He strides toward you and though your instincts tell you to run, something else tells you to stay. He looks down at you with a pair of eyes that threaten to swallow you whole if you let them. His lashes are silky and long, a delicate balance to his heavy gaze. “You always need me, right, Pretty?” 

You nod, a word - a name - buzzing on your tongue as he looms over you. “Please,” you whisper, thoughts a little cottony, a little dizzy. “Seungcheol.”

He grins, revealing sharp teeth. “Hush,” he murmurs. “You’re mine.” 

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[reddesires]

Magnetic

Logan Howlett x Mutant Reader

Summary: There's only one way of satisfying your undying curiosity of finding out whether or not those fridge magnets will stick to the one and only Wolverine, who just happens to have an adamantium skeleton.

A/N: There may or may not be a continuation of this, idk yet.

It first started off as mere curiosity, the fact of knowing Logan's skeleton was enveloped by pure metal on the forefront of your brain.

Your eyes would constantly wander to the fridge that was decorated by various colorful magnets by the students, the cat and and the multicolored alphabet letters, especially catching your attention.

The growing need to know if those magnets would stick to Logan or not was just too irresistible to refuse as you snatch the grumpy cat magnet from the fridge door, examining the narrowed green eyes on the face of black feline. Yeah, it reminded you very much of the rugged mean mugging man who was all too unaware of your devious intentions.

Logan was used to your teasing antics of playing with his tufts of hair whenever you got the chance or somehow discovering all the new hiding places he hides his beer in, just to hide them elsewhere (he thinks it's your sixth sense at this point). He feels as if he's always on his toes when it comes to you, your mutation aiding you in somehow bypassing his enhanced senses, you find great joy in sneaking up on him when he least expects it.

So when you casually walk in the room that he's in with your hands behind your back with a feign, innocent look on your face, his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Oh hey Lo! Didn't expect to see you here!” The lilt in your voice and the sway of your body as you walk over only cause him to tense as he sits up straight, his eyebrow raising in question.

“You know I usually sit here,” his voice trails off as his eyes trail up and down, analyzing your body movement. “You're up to something.” You grin immediately, a laugh bubbling up as you round the table as if you're trying to corner him, and he doesn't waste time standing and quickly rounding the table from you.

“Hey, don't make me spill my beer,” He says warily, holding his beer up by the neck of the bottle. You smile deviously as you slowly trail along the side of the table, still holding the mystery item behind your back and he doesn't like how you're looking at him as he mimics your movements ready to bolt to the exit any second. “Okay, we're playing that game.”

He exhales exasperatedly as he immediately swerves and runs out the door, holding his beer securely as he hears you run after him. “Logan! Get back here!” The laugh in your voice is mischievous and he doesn't trust you as the two of you run past Jean and Ororo, they look after the both of you surprised as they never expected Logan to run away from you of all people.

“Get em, girl!” Ororo cheers as they watch you round the corner after Logan, he's trying to lose you by running in front of innocent students and taking unexpected turns and it isn't long for you to have him cornered.

“Aye, have mercy.” He says your name with defeat as he clutches his beer to his chest, he somehow managed to save it from even spilling a drop during the chase and it makes you giggle as you step forward building the anticipation before getting to him, and he only watches with a close eye as you do. Only when you're within an inch from him, your face almost intimately close to his, do you notice his adam's apple bob up and down with trepidation, his eyes fluttering slightly as he's aware of how close you are to him.

You slap the magnet onto his face.

He blinks once then twice as the magnet sticks securely on to his cheek. You gasp with unadulterated joy, a cheer pulled out of you as your curiosity has finally been fulfilled.

“It does stick! Oh, this is gonna be so fun!” His face falls as he realizes what this concurs. He's become your magnetic plaything as he remembers the millions of magnets that are currently adorned on the fridge door.

“No, don't you think about it.” He grumbles as he pulls the magnet off his cheek, the crabby cat image only intensifying his dismay for your new upcoming hobby. “Oh Wolvie, it's all I can think about.” You tease as you gently squeeze his cheek, walking away feeling rejuvenated.

[munsster]

hey girl!! so i was rewatching season 3 and saw the part where max and eleven are playing the spin the bottle and spying on people and had an idea! what if the reader is babysitting them and the girls drag her in to play and they spin in on steve, so she’s like “alright that’s enough” bc she doesn’t want to invade on her friends privacy but she sits through it anyway, and she hears him talking to robin about how much he likes her and wants to ask her out. IDK i thought that was cute :))

don’t hate the game

A/N: UR SO RIGHT THIS IS SO CUTE. I’m so glad i FINALLYYY found motivation to tackle it <3 (gif creds: @buckysbarnes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: The girls convince you to play an embarrassing party game from your past. It’s nothing like you remember. 2.4k words

Warnings: pet names (sweetheart, honey), ‘like’, overthinking, implied bullying, stupid pining, insecurity

It's a Friday night in the middle of summer, and you're wondering how you got here. Well, actually you're in your living room, so it's not that great of a mystery, but more confusing than that, you're letting two adolescent girls teach you how to play spin the bottle. If someone had told you at graduation that this is where you'd end up, you'd laugh right in their face.

Who's laughing now.

"But!" Max says, "if you hadn't noticed, none of these people are in the room, so how would we kiss them?"

You fight the urge to sink into your seat, blithely nodding and avoiding anything that might alienate you from your younger counterparts. You're almost sorry you surrendered your night to babysit two capable teens, but you promised El's dad who promised to pay you handsomely. Plus, they seem to like you enough to find you cool. Enough to tell you teenage secrets and complain about their boyfriends.

As they're explaining the rules, a memory creeps in of the first time you ever played this godforsaken party game. On Steve Harrington's floor in eighth grade. The cheers dying off as the mouth of the bottle slowed to a stop in your direction. No one expected him to actually lean over and kiss you. Or that you'd stay good friends despite his high school career soaring into stardom while yours sort of... didn't.

"We don't kiss them!" El chirps with an excited glint in her eye. The girls lean in like it's the first time they're hearing the rules but you're almost certain they made them up.

"Right. Instead, El here becomes our spy. I'm not exactly sure how it works, but she can see into their conversations or something. It's wicked." Max looks to El with something like admiration.

Intrigued, you glance down at the post-it notes arranged in a circle, scribbled with assorted names from yearbooks and yellow pages. A few you recognize: Mike and Lucas, one of the Hawkins Middle math teachers, even Will’s mom wasn’t safe from their antics.

But among the many names, you're most drawn to Steve. The way the letters loop and curl into his name, you go a little dizzy imagining that you really were playing the game. That he was seated across from you now. That he might lean over like he did the first time while your mind raced with a thousand possibilities. It's a prank or a dare or his wholehearted commitment to the game, anything other than his own free will.

You blink out of your silly, nostalgia-fueled trance when Max presses the cold glass bottle to your palm.

"You first."

They giggle and fall into each other when you half-twist the bottle. You're still in disbelief that you agreed to this as you watch the bottle spin, ticking off names as it loses momentum.

"Who is that?" you ask, leaning closer as if you'd read the yellow post-it wrong.

"Oh," El says. She cringes away from the board and crosses her arms over her chest in defiance.

"That bitch from P.E.," Max grumbles, and you have half a mind to scold her if you hand’t found universal bitch-aversion endlessly amusing. "You can spin again, she's not worth the trouble anyway."

You imagine your dream game once again. The bottle flies in the other direction at your fingertips, haywire and picking up a new gravity. It draws a wild, fiery line beneath your stare as you consider the possibility of Steve. It slows and slows until it's spinning almost at the same pace as Earth from a distance. Listening to the roaring sound of the universe as the bottle turns. Turns and turns and turns. Your eyes light up.

The girls giggle.

"No," you say sternly, regretting all your daydreams and fantasies in the face of cold, hard reality. "No, not Steve."

"Please!" they whine.

"Ladies, that's enough. He's a good friend, we're not spying on him."

They act like kicked puppies, though you know they're tricking you as they pout and bat their eyes. You know they know more than they should. About you. You and your feelings towards Steve Harrington. Something they discovered through a quiz in some teeny bopper magazine or other. Those magazines that somehow hold the secrets of the universe and the answers to every haircare question.

“Come on, I’ll make us popcorn and we can start a movie. A horror, if you really want.”

They seem satisfied enough, springing to the couch and settling into the cushions there.

The stove heats slowly. You fish through your cabinet for the last pan of Jiffy Pop, peeling back the thin cardboard cover when you hear snickering from the other room.

“What’s he saying?” Max whispers. You strain to hear her with your back pressed to the wall, just out of sight.

You shouldn’t be eavesdropping. You know better. You’re not a prepubescent girl anymore, you’re the babysitter with responsibilities. Like a job. Yet, you can’t seem to pull yourself away from the doorway. Every time you hear his name, your heart soars with what-ifs. You feel your eyes slip closed as El speaks.

“Steve is speaking to someone. I see her”—Your heart sinks—“Robin!”

You selfishly let out a breath. You’re mostly thankful he’s not spending his evening alone, but you also knew his friendship with Robin was strictly platonic. Robin had sworn by it without you even having to raise the question. You didn’t have to, she said, she could see it in your face. You wondered if Steve found you that transparent.

“He’s talking about… A girl. Her eyes. A smile. And he’s smiling, too. Oh, wait, now he’s frowning because Robin flicked him,” she says with a playful lilt.

She gasps.

“What?” Max yelps, shifting closer on the squeaky couch.

“Steve wants to confess his feelings. Big feelings, he says. Like-like.”

You not sure if that’s El’s paraphrase of Steve’s so-called big feelings or if the term like-like came from his own mouth. Neither option would surprise you. What does surprise you is that you’d never heard any of this from Steve before. You liked to think you were friends, even one of his best friends. He was surely one of yours. You told each other almost everything because you can’t exactly discuss complex relationships and sex with middle schoolers.

But you’d never heard of Steve’s seemingly new, mystery like-liker lover.

“He’s thinking of asking her out. Robin told him he might as well, it’s obvious that the girl he’s talking about likes him back. He doesn’t agree,” El says, her brows furrowed beneath the thick black blindfold, “Robin’s shouting. Steve looks sad.”

“What’s she saying?” Max whispers.

“Shh! ‘You like her so much, you might as well tell her and let her react. But I’ll say this, she’s going to say yes. That girl has been in love with you since the eighth grade’. He’s thinking.”

“Think faster, hair-brain!”

El giggles, her face suddenly falling serious. “‘Really?’” You stifle a laugh at the deeper voice she affects.

“‘She’s never said anything to me about it’. Robin looks angry. ‘Obviously, dingus! Do you go around telling people you’re in love with them?’”

“She has a point,” Max says. “Who’s he talking about?”

“I don’t know—Oh! Here we go,” El huffs, fists clenched eagerly, “He’s making a plan to ask her out, he’s going to call her. He’s getting up—”

Just then, the popcorn bursts from its aluminum confines with a bang. You let out a strangled noise between a yelp and a grumble, annoyed at the rude and very loud interruption. As you set the burner knob in place, you consider the fact that Steve has very real feelings for someone else. Someone who’s just not you. And as you shake the popcorn into a ceramic bowl, the landline rings.

“Will someone get that?” you call, grabbing a few small packages of sweets stashed in the cabinet. You hear the girls spring from the couch, and you shuffle into the living room to a giddy scene huddled around the receiver.

“Yes, she’s here!” El squeals. There’s a muffled response from the other line, and they share a conspiratorial glance.

“It’s for you,” Max says, handing you the phone with a smirk.

“Thank you. Go pick a movie while the popcorn’s hot.” You clear your throat, preparing yourself for the worst. Maybe your boss firing you or a repo man taking your TV. “Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to interrupt girl’s night, I can call back later,” Steve’s gentle voice filters clear through the speaker. In the silence, static hums, and you press the phone closer to your ear.

Trying to listen for what he might be thinking. He sounds like rain. Like Sunday and a lack of pressure. He sounds inviting and warm like that big green sweater he’s always wearing. If only you knew he wears it because you adore it. You tell him every time; why would he ever stop.

“No!” you chirp, “no, perfect timing actually, we were just about to start a movie.”

“Oh! That sounds fun,” he says. You fidget with the springy cord, facing away from the living room and from the attention of the two flittering girls.

“Yeah,” you say, hoping he doesn’t recognize the disappointment coloring your tone. “So, how’d it go?”

He chokes a little. “How’d… what? Go?” There’s a soft snicker from the other line at his incidental voice crack.

“Your… I mean, did you have something you wanted to tell me?”

The line dips, but you hadn’t heard the telltale plastic clatter of a hang up. Just soft shuffling and a curse from under his breath. You curdle at the near silence.

“What did Robin tell you?” he grumbles.

“What? Nothing. Was she supposed to?”

“Well, no! I just called to tell you—”

He goes silent, and this time you’re actually convinced he hung up. There’s no sound at all, and you double check your receiver to make sure the problem’s not on your end.

“Stevie?”

“Yep, sorry. Just… feel silly.”

“Okay, you’re starting to scare me a little,” you hum, clutching onto the handheld.

“No! Sorry, not trying to scare you, honey, I just need to get something off my chest. But it’s not scary. Or, well, I guess it could be taken that way, and that would be okay. A little sad, but yeah, no hard feelings—”

At this point, you’re sure he’s talking about his prospective date. He knows you have a stupid, obvious crush on him, and he’s trying to soften the blow of new romantic conquest. Of course, introducing his new girlfriend to you would be terrifying, but you’d always put on a brave face for Steve. He knows that. He’d do the same for you.

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“Just get it over with,” you sigh, leaning your head against the wall and bracing for heartache.

“Right. Not trying to waste your time. Here goes.”

I’ve got a new, smoking hot girlfriend who just agreed to go on a date with me. And she’s got beautiful eyes and a gorgeous smile, and I’ve been in love with her since I can remember, and we’re gonna run away together forever and get married and have perfect babies.

“I like you,” he huffs.

“Well, duh, I like you, too, you’re only my closest friend,” you say. You’re tense, waiting for the other shoe to come hurling through the skylight. “Now, tell me.”

“No, sweetheart, I like-like you. Have since I was nine. Miss Boyd’s class, if I’m not mistaken.” There’s a soft thud like his forehead colliding with the wall beside his phone.

You inhale a shaky breath. He’s kidding, and it’s a prank. Your heart races, and you want to curse him out for picking on you. He should know better. Right?

“Steve,” you warble, “please tell me you’re joking.”

There’s more shuffling, muffled voices, and you think you’ve just exposed one long drawn out joke. You’re about to hang up with what’s left of your dignity when he says:

“Are you rejecting me?”

He sounds almost mad. Hair ruffled, skin on edge. How you imagine his father might sound just before one of his awful fits. But there’s something much softer to Steve, more understanding. Hurt like a child.

Still, you can’t help your suspicion.

“Quit it. I know it’s a joke, don’t drag it out.”

“Hey, wait a second,” he urges, “It’s not a joke. I like you. A lot.” He says it so softly, your heart just might believe him. As if all the stars have aligned, and he’s actually confessing his feelings for you. You didn’t think the stars did that. Not really, anyway.

There’s a new tune to his voice you’d almost name teasing, “c’mon, don’t leave me hangin’.”

And just like that, he’s back in school again, fawning over you from a distance, finding any excuse to tag you during recess only to avoid you in class so you wouldn’t see him blush. He’s back to whispered secrets through the phone at midnight so his parents wouldn’t catch him. He only ever told you what wouldn’t give him away. He’s back to not letting you pay for your ice cream and shrugging it off with a smile. He’s back, and he might just be yours.

“I—Sorry, you like me? Like like-like, like enough to ask me on a real date?” you huff. He chuckles.

“Well, that last part kinda depends on whether or not you like me back. But yes, I like-like like like-like you.”

You spin to face the living room only to be confronted by an empty popcorn bowl and two fidgety, blushing, wide-eyed teens. They urge you for answers, gesturing wildly and wiggling towards you across the floor.

“Of course, I like you. I thought you knew.”

“Everyone keeps saying that. I guess I was too distracted,” he admits.

“I guess we both were,” you say, unable to keep a grin from your face, succumbing to joy as your fingers dance along the telephone cord.

“So, how about that date?” It escapes him barely above a whisper. He can’t believe he’s actually saying it after all this time. The only thing that convinces him it even came out is your soft laughter.

“Sounds wonderful!”

“Good!” he coos.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Great, yeah. That’s… I can’t wait.” He’s earnest until his cheeks hurt, and Robin teases him for it.

“Tomorrow, it is,” you purr, nearly in tune with the low hum of the receiver, “I’ll call you later.”

“Bye, sweetheart. Don’t forget: I like-like you.”

You smile, slotting the phone back into its place. A chorus of giggles erupts at your feet. Spin the bottle had been a good idea, after all.

stranger things masterlist

[megalomaniacz]

Heyy, I love your stories! Could you do a Caitlyn kiramman from arcane x fem reader? It can be about whatever

CAITLYN “KILLSHOT” KIRAMMAN 🏀 PT1

basketball caitlyn x cheerleader reader

pt 2

you were now sulking, feeling like the most hated human on campus, and almost none of it was your fault.

you cheered on the court before they played. giggled on the side with your friends. sat comfortably forgetting there was an ongoing prank war between your mates. felt something crawling on your head, and you got up screaming causing caitlyn “i never miss” kiramman to become distracted and lose her shot.

not only was the crowd silent, but every single person was eyeing you so cruelly, you were sure their gazes were hot enough to make you explode. you hid in the locker room bathroom until the game was over, tieing and untying your shoes, when the team came in.

“well that was certainly a game.” one team member breaks the defining silence. “kiramman never misses a shot.”

“and i still haven’t. that idiotic cheerleader was an unnecessary distraction, screaming and babbling like a bird. that doesn’t count, not in my book.” you began to bite your lip, unsure of how to face her. “i’m an excellent player and today doesn’t change that.”

“i thought you would be red in the face about it, i mean we’ve never seen you freeze up like that.” another player interferes.

caitlyn rolls her eyes, drinking from her water bottle. “and the world kept spinning.”

it took you a total of 72 hours to prepare everything for your apology to the team, especially caitlyn. you baked them cupcakes to enjoy after their next practice, scolded your fellow cheermates for the spider attack, declared the prank war over, wrote up a long apology letter and bought flowers for caitlyn.

you were now delivering them wearing your best sweater and your nicest skirt. she was loaded, got her own fancy off campus apartment and everything. you put in extra work trying to get her address.

when you knock on the door, a tall rough looking man wearing a pit stained shirt open it. he scratches his beard before looking you up and down. “are those for me?” he asks, pointing to the flowers.

you take a deep breath, internally cursing the dumbass kid in your psych class that gave you the address. $20 down the drain. you clear your throat and look up at him with a smile. “uh, no i was looking for someone named caitlyn. blue hair, a bit taller than me. does she live in this building?”

he crosses his arms. “now why the hell would i tell you? you some kind of stalker fan freak? the one writing lavender scented love letters?”

a laugh gets caught in your throat, then you realize that you do indeed look like one of her stalker fans. the kiramman “cuties” as they call themselves. caitlyn has been recognized recently for her skills as a player, and the obvious reason, her attractiveness. shes always stopped for pictures on campus, and was even on the news once.

“i promise i’m not a stalker. i’m here to apologize to her for-“

he huffs. “stalking. i’ve had enough of you and your collective. don’t you have any hobbies? you should be taking medicine for this, you freaks.”

before you can defend yourself, caitlyn opens the door next to his, and steps out. “relax jayce, this is the cheerleader i told you about. the screamer.”

the man, jayce, laughs then goes back inside. “good luck with that, kid.”

you’re left awkwardly staring at caitlyn. eyes looking everywhere but hers, biting your lips. “i uh, brought these for you. and there’s an apology letter in there-“

“do you want to come in?” she interrupts you.

you nod, looking her up and down. she was wearing a pleated skirt with blue tights and a white polo shirt. her hair was up in a bun, held together by a small flower clip. mary jane’s on her feet and you could smell her perfume as you walk past her into her apartment. a mix of wood and cinnamon hitting your nose.

her apartment looks like it’s right out of a magazine. fancy lamps, samsung fridge, an entire bookshelf in the living room filled with books. you take your shoes off and place them by the door, then you walk around admiring her place.

“this is beautiful.” you say, a glimmer in your eyes. you hear her laugh from behind your, then you turn around to see there’s a gun in her hand. panic ensues and you fall to the ground behind her large dining room table. “i’m sorry i made you miss your shot! pleasedontkillmeplease i have concert tickets for next month and i really want to go!” you beg, heart beating so fast you can hear it in your ears.

caitlyn laughs and you feel like you’re going to piss yourself when you hear her place the weapon down. “relax, i’m not going to kill you. i was just cleaning it. you can come out, promise i’m not gonna hurt you.”

you carefully stand up, then scurry across the room to give her the now crumbled letter and messy flowers. “i just wanna give you this. i’m so sorry about the other day there’s this prank war thing- it’s so stupid- but it’s over now and i’m sorry.” you breath, finally looking her in the eyes.

her face is stoic at first, then she smiles, taking her hair out of her bun and sitting on the couch. “thank you. this is all very sweet of you, but i’m always getting flowers and letters. how about you do me a favor?” she pats the spot on the couch next to her. you take a seat, feeling a swell of anxiety.

“be my date to this party my friend is throwing?”

[johnbrand]

Win-Win

“For starters, the shirt must always be tucked in.”

I did not dare move as he approached me. My tormentor, my nemesis, the man I had swore to defeat all these years. I could do nothing as he stepped closer and hooked his fingers into the waistband of the briefs and properly folded the shirt in. I remained frozen as he bent over and from my ankles and carried the trousers past my naked legs. They were his briefs that he was tucking the shirt into, his trousers that he was hoisting higher and zipping up.

“That’s it, son,” Mr. Richardson stepped back. “Now fasten your side adjusters.”

I instinctively followed his command, feeling a pleasurable shiver run along my spine as my hands mechanically obeyed his orders. They pulled at the fabric on my trousers, securing the clasps and the waist tight against the briefs. Mr. Richardson said only briefs could provide both the support and dignity for a proper man.

“Good, make sure it’s tight and rigid,” Mr. Richardson instructed. “That stiff quality is what makes the traditional man.”

His words made me feel weightless, pliable. It was almost as if my free will had become a clay that Mr. Richardson was able to mold in his own palms. 

“And you wish to be a traditional man, don’t you son?”

I could have never, ever expected my answer to have come so quickly. “Yes.”

His smirk should have riled the anger residing deep inside of me, but instead all I felt was pleasure. Pleasure from Mr. Richardson’s approval. Approval of my obedience.

“Now that you are tucked and tidy, let’s find you a tie.” Mr. Richardson searched through a drawer filled with more ties than I could count. And yet out of all the fanciful colors and patterns, he chose a simple black latticed piece to hand to me.

I looped the tie deftly around my collar, not even noticing that the full Windsor I had created was almost identical to his own. He glanced down at the knot before instructing me to tighten it. A puff of ecstasy released from my throat as I drew the fabric tight against my Adam’s apple.

“You’re beginning to look just like me when I was your age, son.” Mr. Richardson’s comment brought a pleasant smile to my lips as he squirted an obnoxious amount of clear gel into his hand. He then brutally forced the product into my hair, the harsh parting sporting an undeniable sheen. I said nothing. It felt good to say nothing. It felt good to let Mr. Richardson take control.

“Doesn’t it suit you better? To look like me?” He took a seat back behind his desk before handing me his bottle of cologne. “Would you like to smell like me too?”

“I would very much like to, Sir.” Never once had I given this man respect, and now I had bequeathed him with a title where one could hear its capital letter at the front. I took the precious item from him and applied the ostentatious, yet comforting cologne to my pulse points.

The scent I had once reviled now surrounded me, pulsing out my own bloodstream proudly. Mr. Richardson’s nostrils flared to appreciate his own aphrodisiac. I felt my own nose do the same.

“If you are to be a traditional man, like you said you’d wished to be,” Mr. Richardson asserted. “Then you ought to be like me too, son. Am I correct?”

My eyes shifted momentarily, falling down over what I had become before retaking it in through an older reflection. I knew Mr. Richardson was mocking me, offering me a way out. All I had to do was take it. Say he was wrong and he would let me free. I would never become what he desired. All I had to do was say no.

“Yes Sir, you are always correct. I ought to be like you too.” But why would I say no to Mr. Richardson. I wanted this to be my future. I wanted to be a classic, proper, traditional man. I wanted, no, I had always wanted to be like Mr. Richardson.

“Very good, son.” His low voice held confidence and maturity. “Now, put on your jacket and then we can get started.”

I took his word and secured the final portion of my suit over my shoulders. Mr. Richardson’s smile was smug with victory. My face quickly came to match his, as it had been both of us who had won.

[moosesarecute]

December 6th

December Masterlist

Masterlist

Azriel’s letters to Y/N:

I think therapy is helping a little.

I thought about you yesterday without crying. Do you remember our first dance? Not our first as a couple, but our first one ever?

Sneaking around in the woods behind Windhaven and dancing to the song from the shadows swirling around us. Our feet making the snow crunch beneath us.

If only the bond had snapped earlier or if I was just a little braver. I would have danced with you every moment I could.

Annette waited, and waited, and then waited a little longer. She needed to know everyone had gone to bed.

After it had gone 30 minutes since the last member of her family went to bed, she decided to go for it.

She had been anxiously wating the entire day. She had been planning what to bring, but other than that, it was a poorly planned adventure.

Making sure to be as quiet as possible, she packed a small backpack she had found in the bottom of her closet. In it she put a thick sweater, some snacks and a bottle of water. She made sure to dress up in all her warm clothes and made her way to the library.

Before she went on her adventure she put two books in her backpack. The one about the Winter Lights and the one about the different kinds of fae that stood right before the doorknob.

Knowing the door would squeak, she decided to open it quickly to make the noise last as shortly as possible. Once more her face was hit by fresh air and the smell of ocean. It felt like it lightened her entire head. It felt so refreshing. Annette couldn’t find any other word to explain it by than safe. It was comforting and safe to be outside.

She took a deep breath as she walked to the first of the three stone steps and closed the door behind her. She walked down the next two steps and as she heard almost frozen gras crunching beneath her feet.

Annette saw ocean in the distance, she saw trees and mountains. Even though it was mostly dark, the light from the moon showed her a path. It was guiding her, and she went where it wanted her to go.

Without looking back, Annette walked further into the forest.

Annette felt like she had walked forever, but she wasn’t tired. She felt good. The tiredness in her legs felt nice. She had stopped and sat down on a tree stump to eat her snacks and drink some water.

She had touched every tree she walked past and said hi to every bird or stone or river she saw. Everything felt so alive. It impressed her.

She had walked through the entire night and as the sun started to rise in the horizon, she realized she ought to make her way back to her family before they realized she was gone.

She turned around, but the moonlit path she had been walking until now, suddenly seemed gone. It was like they didn’t want her to go back. She pushed back the feeling that something was wrong and started to make her way back.

That’s when it started. The pain.

Cramps spread through her chest. The further she walked, the worse and more often they became.

Annette started to become afraid as she realized that she hadn’t taken her medicine the last couple of days.

She felt so stupid. How could she leave the house, without permission and not remember to take her medicine? If something went wrong now, they definitely would not let her out again.

However, she didn’t manage to think long about it before the pain became too unbearable. It was like something in her chest was screaming. Screaming for her to come back. To come home.

Where did it want her to go?

Annette sat down on the ground and not even seconds later, her body slumped, and she ended up passing out in the middle of the forest.

 “I’m not doing that,” Azriel told Jonathan.

This was going too far. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He didn’t want to.

“Writing about her in past tense might help your mind understand that she’s truly gone.”

Jonathan had read his letters and pointed out the fact that he sometimes wrote about you in the present tense. Wrote as if you were here with him.

Azriel shook his head. He couldn’t admit that you were gone. You weren’t gone. Not to him. You were still alive. In his heart, you were still alive.

“Taking these steps in the beginning is very hard,” Jonathan said. “However, after a while it becomes easier and easier. Eventually, you’ll take just as big steps on a daily basis, without it feeling too hard.”

“I can’t,” Azriel said.

“What if we write one together?” Jonathan suggested.

Azriel only shook his head once more. It felt like the only thing he could to. The suggestion left him almost paralyzed.

“That’s okay. We’ll try again another day.”

Azriel stood up from the sofa and made his way out of the room. As he walked out, snow and wind were the first to greet him.

He flew up to the House of Wind and went straight to the training ring.

This was the first time he left therapy feeling heavier than when he entered. He felt like he needed a hug. He needed someone to say that everything would be okay. To explain to him that the pain would go over.

He punched the dummy.

You were the person that always held and comforted him. You would hold him and stroke his face.

He punched it once more.

You would kiss his forehead and his hands.

Azriel didn’t notice his shadows covering him and the training ring in blackness. He didn’t feel the difference. His entire mind and soul felt heavy and black.

He kicked the dummy, and he then slumped down onto the ground.

“Please,” he cried out. Tears were streaming down his face. “Please, Y/N. Just come back to me.”

He did however notice when his shadows abruptly stopped moving. He felt it in his entire body.

“Azriel?” he heard a voice. It sounded like it was far away.

But he couldn’t care less about the voice. He only cared about the feeling in his chest. The extreme feeling that filled his entire chest.

He let out a shaky breath.

The feeling was so overwhelming it almost felt painful. It was painful, but at the same time not. It was screaming at him.

“Get her home,” it told him.

It was the bond. He was sure of it.

But then it disappeared and Azriel has never felt as empty as he did in that moment.

His ears started to ring and just as Cassian sat down beside him, he passed out.

Taglist: @prettylittlewrites @hailqueenconquer @onebadassunicorn

Let me know if you want to be added!

Dividers by @issysh3ll

[kindaasrikal]

I like to think that sometimes the ninja have elemental accidents that makes them deal with the wrath of Wu. I also like to think that sometimes those accidents actually help them.

Kai: starts to uncontrollably shoot fire from his mouth, and in a mission where they need to light a bunch of pedestals near the same time, it really comes in handy.

Zane: can’t help but freeze things each time he touches it, and in summer best believe everyone is clinging onto him for that refreshing ice to cover their skin.

Nya: When tied up and captured with the release button behind her, Nya is awfully thankful that for the past week her hair has been incredibly heavy with water and will not dry, since now its heavy enough for her smack the button with.

Cole: keeps making rocks float in the air, and has found a new past time making them spin around someone’s head each time they get a concussion. He likes shaping them into dumb stuff too. He also specifically does it around villains, so when they realise them in their confusion he can throw the floating rocks directly at their foreheads.

Jay: becoming a lightning rod is one thing, Jay being really worried as he shakes Lloyd who is slowly dying before accidentally electrocuting him, getting yelled at for doing it, only for Lloyd to shoot up and start breathing again is another.

Lloyd: When Lloyd can’t stop glowing green, he becomes an oversized flashlight when they have to go on a mission in a deep, dark cave. Lloyd is terrified like a lil baby since he has to lead and keeps screeching each time any noise is made. No Lloyd that wasn’t your father it was a rat.

Bonus+

Wu: once kept creating things out of his hands and couldn’t stop. Mystake and the Fsm loved it since he kept making tea cups out of his hands. Mystake swears that that was the first time she had gotten so much business.

Garmadon: kept shooting destruction beams out of his hands when he was younger and would have to keep his hands as fists so the Fsm wouldn’t realise. After being sent on an errand to the town they regularly visit, he accidentally opens his hand and shoots a beam at a house. Instead of getting yelled at by the people surrounding it, the people with yellow hats turned out to be construction workers who were tasked to break down the house for a new one to be built. They were literally just complaining about how long it would take when Garmadon shot it down to dust. The Fsm got ten letters the next day asking for Garmadon’s help.

Morro: once saw someone struggling to breath and panicked, cover their mouth, and after the the past week of accidentally making the wind stronger or weaker where the training grounds was destroyed multiple times and Wu had to tie everything floatable down, Morro accidentally became an oxygen mask as he pushed and pulled the air from the person periodically. After the person began to breathe properly again, Morro burst into tears because he thought they were struggling to breathe because of him. Wu had to sit him down and explain exactly what had happened. Now, in the present, Morro likes to make people shut up by taking away their breath for a second.

Euphrasia: once couldn’t stop making everything float before she got dragged into helping people move stuff around since she made it easier. She keeps having old grandmas asking her to carry stuff around and help renovate homes. She’s gotten sick of hearing ‘a little to the left- ohhh no more to the right!’.

Sora: kept accidentally breaking things and once broke some rich guys toaster. She then proceeded to try fix it only for her powers to go haywire and make a toaster deluxe 5000 when it can fry, grill, and toast bread to perfection with added on butter. She had to block the guy five times after he kept asking for her fix his microwave.

Wyldfyre: she became super sweaty after over using her element only for Kai to realise that the only reason his fire was able to make the bottle he was holding blow up was because it was coated in sweat from Wyldfyre’s hand. They tested it out and whilst Wyldfyre’s flames and normal ones can’t make it blow (if her flames did she’d be blowing up 24/7 and normal flames aren’t strong enough), Kai is perfectly capable of making her sweat into bombs. Ghost Wu is not amused when he sees his monastery on fire.

Pixal and Arin begin to not only be sick of all the elemental accidents, but also appreciate them for their usefulness, since Arin likes to use Kai’s flaming mouth to help bake pies.

[pearlfeline]

truth or dare

pairing: draco malfoy x female reader

word count: 1,228

summary: slytherins throw a party and play truth or dare. draco can't seem to play correctly when it comes to you, blaise becomes a wingman, and to pansy, you're a sleepy nerd.

a/n: ughhh i don't really like this because a party just seems so unrealistic to me lol. every time i see those scenarios it doesn't seem convincing to me at all. i didn't add copious amounts of drinks and partying to this because i truly think despite them being who they are, the most they would do is share a bottle together as a small group and not throw a party because they dislike mostly everyone. also, they're still kids. sorry if that ruins the entire thing and this sucks!!! although, i really liked the idea of draco not being able to bring himself to give you a mean dare like he would to the rest of his friends. enjoy.

Your nose was deep in a book when you heard a faint jingling.

“Mrrph..”

You look behind you and see your cat swatting at the window. Your owl was here.

“Oh, Pluto leave that poor bird alone.” You get up and take the parchment from your owl’s beak.

“Thank you, Buttons.”

Buttons blinks once before flying out swiftly.

Once you unravel the parchment, you recognize the handwriting instantly.

“Small party in the common room tomorrow night. Don’t tell the stupid Gryffindors and just come downstairs for once. P.S. Don’t sleep right after dinner like an old crone and attend. I’m tired of talking to the same buffoons every day.”

You roll your eyes. Of course, he sends a letter over something he could’ve told you in passing.

“Wanker.” You mumbled, tossing the letter on your bed.

Of course, you’ll attend but there’s no reason to act giddy about it. At least on the outside. How you feel on the inside is nobody’s business surely.

The next day, you expect to walk into the common room with a circle of a few people, but you were met with bottles scattered across the floor.

Draco’s platinum hair stands out immediately despite the lights being dimmed.

“So you took my advice and stayed awake until curfew! Must be a new record for the old miss.” Draco chuckles to himself.

“Quite the dramatic invitation.” You look around and see scared first years peering through the steps.

“Is this your idea of a small party?”

Draco shrugged. “It’s just Slytherins. Whoever chooses to come is invited.”

“Obviously they’re going to show. Everybody who’s here loves to kiss up to the famous Draco Malfoy.”

Draco smirked.

“Not everybody” Blaise comes out of nowhere, sipping whatever from his cup.

“Do you not see how bad of an idea this is? The first years are trying to sleep.”

Blaise nods. “I didn’t want it to be this big either… or this loud.”

Draco rolls his eyes, giving a firm slap to Blaise’s shoulder. “Lighten up Zabini. It’s just a little over thirty people. Not my fault that’s twice as many people you know.”

Blaise takes that as his cue to get another drink and shakes his head before breaking away.

“Pansy is whining about playing truth or dare. Are you coming or not?” Draco’s eyes flick to the dorms.

“You threw a party just so we could all go upstairs and ignore it?”

“Somebody had to bring the drinks.” Draco walks past you, ironically slipping a bit on the steps. The younger kids move out of the way, scurrying back to their own rooms, trying to avoid a lecture out of fear.

You reluctantly follow Draco to his dorm room. Pansy and everyone else were already comfortably lounging, laughing about someone’s misfortune if you had to guess. Blaise followed quickly behind you, shutting the door.

“What happened?” He sits down near Pansy, who was obviously tipsy already.

“Truth or dare Zabini..” She giggles.

Blaise sighs. “Truth.”

You settle down on the corner of Draco’s bed, admittedly excited about the outcome of Blaise’s choice.

Draco sits on the floor, not before putting his sweater where he wanted to sit.

“…Boring… But fine.” Pansy, previously laying on her stomach, sits up and ponders a good question before smiling mischievously.

“Who in this room would you most likely snog..?”

Blaise pauses for a brief moment. “Pansy if you wanted to you should’ve just asked me.”

Pansy face-plants into her hands, groaning. Though, you had a feeling she was smiling under there.

After a few turns, it was eventually Draco’s turn.

“Y/L/N. Pick one.”

“Dare.”

Draco smiles at your answer but it soon fades as he thinks of what to say next.

“You should..”

The circle exchanges looks with one another.

“I dare you to…” Draco’s eyes dart around the room.

“Chug your drink…” Draco muttered.

“I.. I never got a drink.” You replied.

Blaise gives Draco a sympathetic look, before handing you his cup. “Here.”

You hesitantly take the cup.

Goyle furrows his eyebrows. “Malfoy, you just made me sneak outside and bang on Gryffindor’s entryway, why is her dare so-“

“Shut up.” He snapped.

You start to sip an already half-drunken cup, grimacing at the taste.

You hold it all in your cheeks, shaking your head in pain.

“You’ve got to swallow it eventually love.” Blaise takes back the cup cautiously.

You could only manage a squeak in response before forcing it down in an excruciating gulp.

“Not a fan?” Pansy laughed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be…”

Draco purses his lips to hide his smile, suddenly finding that looking down at his shoes and playing with the laces was worth occupying his time. Despite looking forward to this very scenario all day, he couldn’t bring himself to give you a humiliating dare.

“I don’t know how you all drink that stuff so often.” You smack your lips, still tasting the remnants of whatever drink it was.

“Was that your first drink?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Of course it was. I don’t have access to these… alcohols…” You shrink slightly at how inexperienced and awkward you sounded.

Draco only scoffs. “We’ll, no wonder you couldn’t even chug.”

You glare at him, shoving him lightly. “There wasn’t even enough for me to possibly do that.”

“You looked like a newborn deer trying to drink from its first puddle.” Pansy let out a cackle before covering her mouth.

You close your eyes before rolling back into the bed, grabbing a pillow to shove into your face. It took you a moment to realize you weren’t in your own bed.

Draco’s smell of shampoo seeps through the pillow and into your nose. You flinch slightly but keep the pillow there, wanting to still hide from everyone. Though the mixed smell of fresh laundry and rosewood was an added bonus.

Pansy slaps the foot hanging off Draco’s bed.

“Ow!” You muffle through the pillow.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired already!”

Honestly, you were getting tiresome. You rarely stay up and sinking back into a bed didn’t help. You didn’t respond and just closed your eyes.

Blaise looks over at Draco, trying to basically have a telepathic conversation. They both somehow understood each other perfectly.

“Pansy I think we should go to your room and finish where we left off.” Blaise holds his cup with his teeth, one hand pulling her away and the other opening the door.

Draco’s other minions just stared blankly, completely oblivious to what he was implying.

“Get out.” Draco quietly hissed, making them jump and rush out, almost squeezing into Blaise and Pansy between the door frame. All mumble incoherently trying to push each other.

In between this time, you actually did doze off. Draco turns back around to hear your breathing slightly get heavier as if you were on the verge of snoring. He sighs, lifting the pillow off your face and placing it under your head.

“I bet Dumbledore sleeps later than you.” He mumbled.

Draco pulls the blanket from under you and tucks you in. He could’ve almost burst out laughing by how you sleep so easily, but he decides against waking you up after Blaise basically gave him two favors tonight. Draco slumps onto Blaise’s bed, staying up as long as he could, making sure you were able to sleep uninterruptedly throughout the night.

[wildrangers]

This Town is Fake, But You're the Real Thing // Matt Smith

This is based on an anon ask from a few weeks ago requesting a story with Matt and a HOTD costar with an age gap. For context, reader is just shy of 30 to Matt's 41. It ended up being longer than expected but that's not shocking🙂

Tropes & Topics: miscommunication, mutual pining, will they/won't they, age gap, resolved angst, fluffy end

Word Count: 2.8K

You’d been dreading and anticipating this filming day for weeks now. You’d been cast as Alys in Season 2 of House of the Dragon and anxiety has been your primary emotion since you received the news. On the obvious side, the show’s massive and will ideally propel your career forward with dizzying speed after toiling away for a decade on small projects. A less obvious, more personal element of the matter is your equally long crush on Matt Smith. You’d first seen him as Doctor Who when you were a teen and you’d become madly infatuated. You nearly drove yourself mad while waiting for filming to start, trying to get your emotions under control before stepping on set. It helped and hurt that he’s such a lovely person in real life.

Within a week of signing your contract, a beautiful gift basket had arrived at your door. You’d curiously brought it inside and nearly dropped the champagne bottle when you found the note: Cheers to being scene partners soon! Can’t wait, Matt. Your first course of action was to tear into the chocolate covered strawberries and your second was to frantically call your manager to yell at her for hiding this surprise from you. You’d sent back a thank you note, which is how, somehow, you two became pen pals in the months leading up to filming. 

In your letters, you two discussed the show and your ideas for your character’s relationship dynamics all while Matt kindly provided guidance when you shared your anxieties about joining such a well-respected and beloved show. By the time you arrived on set, you felt more settled–Matt would be a professional support and colleague, your childish crush left in the past. After all, you’d had feelings for your teenage self’s idea of who Matt Smith was. This Matt is real, kind, your coworker, and 12 years your senior. 

All of this logic dissipated when you heard his painfully familiar voice calling your name across the set you were exploring before filming began. He quickly approached you, grinning broadly as he pulled you into a warm hug. You, thankfully, recovered your senses swiftly, returning his hug before somehow carrying on a normal conversation with him. Several months into filming now, that first day is a blur but you’d left a good enough first impression that you two became close throughout shooting. 

You clung to your logic, desperately fighting back the crush that was rapidly developing into actual feelings throughout this time. Your chemistry on set was palpable and mercurial but in your trailers or sharing a drink after work, your relationship was filled with laughter, stimulating conversation, and affection. You’d bonded over your love for horror movies, jokingly plotting one to star in together in the future. You respected him, this project, and yourself too much to risk all that you’d built for a relic from your teenagedom.

Or, at least that’s what you repeat in your mind as you pace nervously in your trailer, practicing your lines quietly to yourself. Today’s scene is the last for you two to shoot and it’s by far the most daunting for you mentally. Alys and Daemon have a tense relationship, clearly drawn together despite Daemon’s suspicions and Alys’ blurry intentions. This scene is the culmination of that tension and while nothing physically occurs between them, an emotional vulnerability is needed for it to be satisfying for the viewers. 

You hear a knock on your door as the PA summons you to set. You take a deep, steadying breath before following her onto the lot. Harrenhal’s lot is constantly damp and by the time you’re on the actual set, your dress is clinging uncomfortably to you. 

“There she is! How are you feeling, love?” Matt questions, squeezing your shoulders soothingly. 

“Nervous, you?” you admit and his smile turns downward.

“What’s making you nervous? How can I help?”

“It just feels like a big scene, that’s all.” 

“Darling, we’ve done so many big scenes. What else is going on?” he pushes and you sigh, nervously fidgeting with the ends of your wig. 

“I guess it’s weird this is it, you know? It’s been months of us working together and after today we’re basically done. It’s daunting, I want to make sure the relationship feels right at its conclusion for the season.”

“It will, I promise. You’re brilliant and we’ve worked so hard to cultivate this dynamic–we know exactly what to do together, yeah?”

“But do we?” you question and immediately regret it. His brows furrowed as you kick yourself for letting your confused personal feelings get in the way of the work. “Never mind, I’m just psyching myself out. You’re right, as always.”

Matt opens his mouth to reply but the director calls you to your marks and all you can do is squeeze his hand before going to your spot, closing your eyes and banishing yourself from your mind–you are Alys, he is Daemon, you two are fighting because tensions are coming to a head. 

You two do several takes but something feels off. You’re both hitting your lines and your marks but there’s something missing, which you’re obsessively trying to solve as shooting’s paused for lunch. As you finish up your smorgasbord of snacks, your favorite craft service meal, Matt approaches, his eyes focused on you. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his eyes tunneling into yours with an intensity you’ve never seen from him off camera. 

“Of course” you reply without hesitation and he nods. 

“I’m doing a slight improv, will you follow my lead?” 

“Of course” you repeat, just as the director calls you back to set. 

Your nerves have returned but you’re eager to see Matt’s idea play out–you’ve both improved different moments over the course of filming and they often lead to your best takes. 

The director calls action and your lines repeat as they have all day long. You’re lost in the moment, noting Matt approaching you much more closely than previously. This must be it–he wants more physical tension in the scene and you kick yourself for not thinking of it yourself. Suddenly, Matt’s hands roughly grab your arms pulling your chests flush together. 

Your gasp is real, as is the way your own hands rise to grip his shoulders as he towers over you. Your Alys brain kicks in and you switch to struggling against him, eager to get away from this man who could easily overpower you. 

“Don’t leave” he breathes out quietly, a line not in the script, his eyes earnest and glossy with emotion.

“You know as well as I why I must, no matter what we may…sense in one another” you ad-lib and though it fits Alys’ intentions, your own desires easily bleed through. 

“And what is it you sense in me?” 

“Danger…lust” you sigh, eyes instinctually dropping to his mouth. Your heart’s in your throat, this is the most you two have leaned into the characters’ sexual tension. “And what do you see within me?”

“Temptation…damnation” he replies fervently. You two hold each other’s gaze and you feel your eyes growing misty as are Matt’s before you. He begins to lean in and as much as you desperately want to give in, Alys would never, so you forcefully push your hands into his chest until a few feet separate you. 

Your breathing is labored, your face feels flushed, and you nearly forget the final scripted line that concludes the scene, “I told you you’d die in this castle, Daemon…I refuse to die with you.” 

A single tear escapes Daemon’s eyes and you turn on your heels, head high as you leave the room before the director yells “Cut! Holy shit you two, thank god we had coverage on both of you. That was perfect. I’m going to call Ryan to review the changes but that was brilliant. Hang tight for a few minutes, okay?” 

You nod, dizzy with emotion. You can’t force yourself to look in Matt’s direction, the vulnerability and intensity of the scene making you feel exposed. Instead, you stumble over to craft services asking for a mug of tea to settle your nerves. You take a deep swig and feel some of the tension leave your shoulders but the butterflies in your stomach refuse to follow their lead. You hear someone approaching and know before you hear his deep voice saying your name that it’s Matt. 

“Are you okay? Was that too much?” he questions and you force yourself to turn around.

“I’m fine, it was brilliant.”

“Then why do you look so shaken?” he questions, hands going to rest on your shoulders, as they have countless times over the last few months. You find yourself stepping out of his hold, feeling too raw to stomach being touched right now. Your thoughts are racing and your heart is pounding and being this close to him is too much. 

“It was just intense, that’s all.” 

“It was, wasn’t it?” he agrees, his eyes boring into your face despite your refusal to meet his gaze. You simply nod, taking another sip of tea. 

“It felt real” you breath out and immediately regret it. “Sorry, that’s silly, I didn’t mean…” you trail off, unsure how to express all that you’re thinking and feeling right now. 

“I don’t think it’s silly” he replies quietly and you shut your eyes. You have to be imagining things, he can’t possibly be admitting to feeling similarly to you; it’s impossible, for countless reasons. You’re saved from responding by the director calling you back to set and you quickly walk past Matt, mug firmly in your grip as you try to steady yourself to appear professional.

“Ryan loved it guys, that’s a wrap on Daemon and Alys at Harrenhal for season two!” he cheers and the crew bursts into claps and whistles. You force a smile and express your gratitude towards the director and crew before quickly excusing yourself to your trailer, not waiting around to see what Matt has to say to everyone. 

Your team must feel your anxious energy because they get you out of costuming, hair, and makeup in record time. You say your farewells, frantically getting into one of the waiting cars that will whisk you away to your hotel. You regret, on some level, not saying goodbye to Matt but you promise yourself you’ll text him in the morning and meet for breakfast. 

As the elevator rises you text Emma, Hey, crazy day, room service together tonight?

You toss your phone on the bed without waiting for a reply, peeling off your clothes and jumping in the shower. You just need to wash this day away. Once you feel yourself fully reinhabiting your body again, you turn off the water, dry yourself, and do your skincare before changing into sweats. A knock sounds from your door and you feel more tension leaving your body as you go to answer it, assuming you’ll find Emma on the other side. 

Your heart stutters when you’re instead met by Matt’s anxious gaze, his hands feverishly running through his hair. “Matt?” 

“You just left” he replies, voice tight with an emotion you can’t place.

“I…I was tired, I just wanted to unwind” you say, offering this half truth. His intense stare makes you fear you aren’t convincing him. 

“Can I come in, please? Just for a moment. I can’t help but feel like I did something wrong.” 

You nod shallowly, stepping to the side before closing the door behind him. An awkward silence descends and you perch nervously on the foot of your bed. Your phone buzzes beside you and you glance over to see their reply Can’t sorry, I’ve got a night shoot–tomorrow?

“Do you need to get that?” Matt’s voice draws you back to the moment in front of you and you watch as he paces the floor.

“No, Matt, but can you please sit down? You’re making me nervous.” 

“I’m sorry, I just…I keep replaying that final take and what you said afterwards and how you disappeared and I can’t help but feel like I’ve crossed a line or upset you.”

“Matt, you heard the director, it was a brilliant move. It worked beautifully, why would that upset me?” 

“Because it felt real” he replies and you freeze at your own words repeated back to you. “But it couldn’t have been, could it? We were both in wigs and calling each other different names.” 

You don’t know what to say so Matt plows ahead, “Not when we’re friends and colleagues and I’m old enough to be your father.”

You're surprised by the snort that erupts from you, “Matt, that’s a little dramatic. You are not old enough to be my father for Christ’s sake.”

“Well I’m certainly too old to be your partner” he replies quietly, finally stopping his pacing with his back to you. “Far too old to kid myself into thinking you’d be interested in me that way.” 

You freeze, your breath stolen from your chest at his words. “Matt?” you question tentatively, rising to place a gentle hand on his shoulder blade but he moves from your touch. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry. See? I knew this was stupid and unprofessional and putting you in an uncomfortable position and I value our friendship but still went ahead and blew it up and–”

“Matt” you say firmly and he turns at the stern tone of your voice. His eyes are sad as they meet yours and the slump of his shoulders is so un-Matt-like that it breaks your heart a little. You step forward and place your hand to his cheek, a thrill racing through you as he closes his eyes, nuzzling into your touch. You stay like that for a moment, each of you seemingly nervous to break this fragile moment. Finally, he releases a deep breath and his hands land on your hips as his eyes open again. “This isn’t a good idea.” 

“Why?” he questions, stepping closer until your bodies are flush together.

You raise your other hand, gently moving a strand of hair out of his face, “Because I’m just…me and you’re…you’re you, Matt, and you’ll realize that quickly. You’ll also realize that even though I seem to have my life together, I’m ultimately just shy of 30 and still trying to figure shit out. You’re settled, you know who you are and what you want. I can’t offer you the same in return and that’s unfair.” 

Your admission hangs in the air between you for a long moment, “But you’d want to? If I told you I’m not remotely concerned about anything you just said?” 

“I would but only if you believe me when I tell you I think what you said before is bullshit too.” 

He smiles fondly at you, his calloused thumb rising to skim your cheekbone down to your chin, before raising to faintly trace the shape of your mouth. Your heart’s in your throat as you rise on your toes slightly, offering your parted lips to him in offering. His hand curls into your hair as he painstakingly slowly joins your lips together. 

Your heart settles at the rightness of the kiss, the care with which he handles you. He allows you to lead the way, your mouths learning the feel of each other before you brush your tongue against his mouth which he gladly opens to you. As your tongues twine, you surrender to the moment, fully leaning your weight into him as you pull him as close as humanly possible. He returns your eagerness with his own and you’re pleased at the soft groan that falls from his lips into yours. When you finally pull away, he drops his forehead to yours as you catch your breaths that mingle in the air between you. 

The peaceful moment stretches onward, neither of you wanting to end it. However, your stomach finally does as it rumbles loudly causing Matt to laugh. “I always tell you, just snacking all day is not enough, darling.”

“It’s not snacking, it’s a personalized charcuterie board” you protest, chuckling at this long-standing disagreement. 

“Room service? I can’t bear the thought of not being within two feet of you the rest of the night” he says and you nod, chuckling at his admission. 

“First Omen?” you question and he scoffs, pulling you onto the bed with him as he grabs the remote.

“Absolutely not, we’re watching the original first” he insists and you hum your assent, curling into his side and you’re struck by how natural it feels. “Youth, these days” he sighs, jokingly. 

“You really know how to ruin a moment, don’t you Matthew?” 

His only response is to giggle and place a soft kiss to your temple before picking up the phone to order you both a feast.

Matt taglist (message or comment to be added!): @slayraxes-blogs @littlehorrorlover @decaffeinatedparadisepost

Side note: Part Three of my ongoing Matt series is written, I'm just editing and planning what comes next before posting

[zablife]

Listen Carefully

Summary: Danny falls in love with Johnny's girl during his interviews.

Warnings: slightly nsfw, angst

Danny leans one elbow forward on his trembling knee, extending the microphone closer as a way to bridge the gap between your bodies. He listens carefully as you confide the secrets of the club. Though he doubts it's anything Johny hasn't told you to say, he's still mesmerized by your every movement, so much so he's barely moved in the past twenty minutes. Cigarette between his lips all but forgotten, he finds he can barely breathe in your presence, let alone smoke. He only becomes aware of the impediment when you dip forward to tug ever so gently at his cigarette, glossy lips parted as though you might replace it with a kiss.

Despite his best efforts to stay cool and detached, the corners of his mouth turn upward in a goofy grin. The heart of a rabbit beating within his chest when you gaze back at him, smile bathing his entire body in honey coated warmth. You twirl a lock of your hair as you hold him under your spell and the effect is instantaneous. His palm lands on the ground, fingers tangling in the tall grass to keep the world from spinning as all the blood rushes to his crotch. Your head cocks to the side as you take notice, eyes flicking downward momentarily, diverting to the tape recorder at the last moment as you ask sweetly, "Do you need anything else, Danny?"

The sound of his name on your tongue could make him cum on the spot, but the loud roar of a motor cycle engine behind him reminds him you're not alone. His hand shifts to the front of his trousers, clearing his throat in a poor attempt to hide his discomfort. "Maybe a few more questions..." he grunts.

Benny cuts his eyes at Danny from across the lawn before taking a swig of whisky. “You believe this guy?” he asks Johnny, hackles up even though you haven't been touched. He stands, ready to charge, but Johnny places a hand to his chest.

“Wait a second. Got a better idea,” he chuckles, stamping out his cigarette. Sauntering over to the patch of ground Danny occupies, Johnny settles behind you, tickling the spot beneath your ribs he knows will produce the most delicious, impish giggle.

"Hi baby," you simper, turning your head to capture his face in between your palms. He doesn't hesitate staking his claim, kissing you with heated passion. Then he turns your chin back toward Danny, urging you to concentrate on the questions the young man is struggling to ask.

And though his brain is foggy, Danny presses on with Johnny bearing down on him, Johnny relishing the thought that he's throwing the kid off his game. As Danny stutters out the next question, Johnny's large hand caresses your stomach, your shirt billowing in the breeze to reveal a slight swell. Wait until he finds out she's pregnant, Johnny thinks with a mischievous smirk, but keeps that part to himself as he accepts a cool beer from Cal.

Then another devilish thought comes to mind. Let's give him one more souvenir to take back to that fancy college of his. Running the icy cool beer bottle between your exposed shoulder blades, Johnny feels you jump between his legs and you gasp out a deep, raspy breath that sounds so wanton and orgasmic, Johnny feels his own cock twitch at the sound. He's sure he catches Danny gulp too.

"That's...that's all I need," Danny admits soon after, excusing himself to somewhere unknown and Johnny can't help but toss his head back and laugh. Little does he know the damage that's been done to the poor kid's psyche.

He'll go home and replay that tape until the ribbon is threadbare, ticking ominously in the recorder late one night as he's jerking himself off to the now familiar sound of your high pitched whimper, despairing as the reel snaps in half just before his favorite part... "Hi baby."

He hadn't wanted to accept Brucie's letter until now, the cold hard truth that you're having Johnny's baby, but that's when he has to admit you'll never be his. This recording was the tether to his sanity, the last moment he'd allowed himself to dream of something more. He pitches forward in the darkness to mourn, part of him wishing he'd never known you so he might never have felt such sorrow.

[polarspaz]

Carrion AU Updated Tidbits

So here's a HUGE info dump for the AU, and some minor adjustments to the lore.

-When Tim was a child, he was severely neglected by his parents. They had no interest in him and let the nannies do all of the care taking, and sadly, Tim was fine with that, until he started getting sick.

The nannies that took care of him were suddenly gone, and his parents became obsessed with him eating all of his food, especially dinner, but the more he ate, the worst he got, and Tim wasn't an idiot.

He knew the food was the real reason he was becoming so ill, so when his parents left the house, he studied. He researched poisons, searched through the house for information and clues, and finally found the truth.

The insurance plan filed under his name, the threatening letters from the mob, and even the bottle of poison his parents were using to coat his meals, all pointed to one single truth. His parents were going to kill him. They needed money from the insurance company to pay off the mob and his death would give them just that.

A few night's later, Tim secretly watched his mother make dinner and saw her pour a deadly amount of poison into his meal. Tim's tiny heart hammered against his chest, and one resounding thought echoed in his 7 year old mind, I don't want to die.

So he crept past his mother and towards the wine glasses, pulled out a small vile and dumped it's contents into both drinks. He then went to the dinning table and sat down quietly, his hands shaking the entire time.

Five minutes later and he was still there, trembling. Both his of parents were dead on the floor.

-----

Gotham is divided into two parts, The Gilded Square, and the Chaos Circle. The Gilded Square is the upper center part of Gotham, where Batman and the police force have complete control. This is were the majority of citizens live and where Wayne Tower and Manor are located.

The Chaos Circle covers the entire area outside the Gilded Square and encompasses most of Gotham. Here, there is no law, criminals run wild and their numbers are immense. The worst felons from all over the country are sent here, and psychopaths like the Joker rule the streets.

-Batman does not like killing, but he will do it if he has to. The sheer amount of chaos he has to fight against has brought him to this point. Still, it's a last resort option, and he still won't use guns.

-The rest of the Batfamily try to follow this rule but there are times when it's broken. Jason likes to use guns and has no problem with offing more people than necessary. Dick gets extremely violent when he finds hurt kids. Damian meanwhile thinks torture should be implemented into their cause. Stephanie likes shoving fireworks into unethical places, like eyeballs, and then there's Tim.

-Tim, who likes to make drugs that cause people to claw into their skin so they can dig out the spiders hiding inside their veins. To say Bruce has his hands full in this AU, is an understatement.

[socialkid]

Imagine…

It’s a casual Saturday afternoon in the middle of June. The sun is out with mild wind, it was the perfect weather. And when the weather is nice like this, everyone knows to watch out for you. Because around this time, you’re shopping. Shopping, shopping, shopping. You run from store to store buying everything in sight. Most of the time with your money, which makes your boyfriend mad. He likes to pay for you.

You boyfriend: Bakugou who knows you love shopping. The days when you have free time, what are you doing? Shopping. The nights where Bakugou’s pacing up and down your apartment because you won’t answer the phone then suddenly, you come bursting through the front door with a bunch of shopping bags. He knows. If anyone knows it’s him.

This morning Bakugou had gotten a call and he was reminded that he had a day off from the agency he worked at. So when he woke you up to ask what you wanted to do today, he wondered why he asked, already knowing your answer.

Now you and Bakugou were walking through the strip mall, him holding two of your bags in one hand and his other holding yours.

“Are we done yet? I wanna take you dinner and we can’t be here all day.” Bakugou asked, grunting as he readjusted your bags.

“Not even close babe,” you said with a quickness as he groaned, “Besides, it’s only two o’clock. You don’t want to just sit around till dinner do you?” You asked him.

“Yea yeah.” He said.

You looked through the windows of the stores as they went by. Preppy, pink and frilly stores, tomboy stores, casual clothing stores, toy stores, and so much more.

“Where we goin’ next huh?” Bakugou asked, looking through some of the bags he was holding. “Hmmm probably Spencer’s, then we could hit up the food court for Auntie Anne’s, and then Foreve-” you stopped in your tracks at a merch store. The window displayed, shirts and hats of merchandise by well known creators.

Bakugou looked at you as you made googly eyes at the coryxkenshien merch, worn by a mannequin. “Y/n…don’t start-” your boyfriend was interrupted by you squealing and jumping. “Just go in the damn store already.” Bakugou sighed as you rushed in. Bakugou made his way in behind you slowly after. Not even 15 seconds later and he had already lost you.

He made his way around the store looking for you, and calling your name every once in a while. He got the idea to check by the Cory section. No sign of you. He checked the sections of your favorite artists and creators, still no sign of you.

He had actually started to become a little panicky. “Y/n? Where are you?” He raised his voice. He knew you were smart, the complete opposite of vulnerable. You could help yourself if you needed to. Even without using your quirk, you can handle anyone. But still, Bakugou wanted to make sure you were safe.

Bakugou had checked almost every area of the store and he had continued to worry. Before resorting to shouting your name he saw a section under a sign that wrote “Heroes”.

As soon as he entered, your voice began to fade in, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my goshhh!” Bakugou walked past all the merchandise: Earser Head, Red Riot, Chargebolt, and more. He finally stopped when he saw you gazing at a triple layered table, sitting under a sign labeled “Dynamite”.

There on the table was a clear representation of Katsuki himself. The black and orange shirts and pants, hoodies labeled ‘Dynamite’ in black and orange letters, and miniature sized Dynamite plushies.

Bakugou couldn’t help but grin a little bit when you turned around to face him, already wearing a baseball cap with his named labeled onto it. “Babe! Look! It’s you! Everywhere! Oh my gosh!” You said smiling from ear to ear. “I can see that y/n.” He said sarcastically, chuckling a bit, “Calm down, you can get what you want I’ll pay for it.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You picked up everything that had his name on it. Hoodies, tank tops, hats, water bottles, stuffed plushies, fake tattoos, etc. You also stashed a few items by Shoto, Red Riot, and even one or two Deku items.

You were so excited for your items. So excited you didn’t pay attention to the shocked face of the cashier ringing up all the Dynamite merchandise, as she looked at Dynamite behind you.

After that nothing else in the mall seemed interesting. At this point you were ready to go home before dinner and check out your man’s merch.

After that day, you made sure to put your items to use. You were always flaunting your boyfriend and you made sure everybody knew it.

One night your boyfriend had called you up and asked if he could sleepover at your apartment. And when he arrived he was meet with you, wearing an oversized Dynamite shirt. He couldn’t help his intentions that night. And when everything was done, you cuddled up next to your Dynamite plushie and your life sized Dynamite.

“You love me don’t you?” Bakugou asked, you could practically hear his grin.

“Yup, both of you.”

[iiapplemouse]

Words Pierced with Love, S.Hanta

@ gn!reader, late valentines special ¡ not proofread

masterlist

it was a week before valentines day, the class had agreed to plan on an activity that they could do together as a whole. mina was mostly the one who took the initiative, knowingly she's worked up for this kind of stuff. long story short, the majority collectively voted for your idea, which is to give handwritten letters for your friends and loved ones.

it would be your 3rd year by now, everyone had become close with one another. you've seen each and one of their strengths and weaknesses, their best and worst days. they've become an extended branch of your family, and it's nature shows itself as well, making sure no one gets left behind.

surprisingly, no one has gotten together with anyone. most are likely yet to confess, trying to wait for the right time. you, on the other hand, there was a special someone who had caught your attention since the start. one who you considered to be your best friend and life time, partner in crime. sero was your rock, the one who had been there for you these past years. something about him had just lured you in even further down the rabbit hole, not that you're complaining. you wouldn't have it any other way.

you were in your room, a blank sheet of paper staring right back at you. the other letters written were already folded into their individual envelopes. finally writing for your best friend, you're now stuck brainstorming on what to say.

"do i confess right here, right now or do I keep it casual?" are the questions that keep running through your mind. god knows on what would even happen if it would ruin your friendship, but a part of you was telling you to fuck everything and spill your guts out onto that sheet of paper that was likely getting impatient if it had a life of its own.

it ended up being longer than you'd expect it to, now tucking it safely into its envelope. signing it off by adding the name of the person it was dedicated to.

you can only hope it doesn't become awkward after that, but right now, you feel as if you can't bottle up the feelings you've had for him anymore.

you wonder if it was because the thought of finally having a valentine after all these years was the reason for finally confessing. that is if the feelings were mutual of course. you can’t think anymore, 'let's deal with this tomorrow' you think.

-

on the other line, sero had plans of making a move on you. he couldn't imagine himself being with someone else, someone that isn't you. sure, he had written letters for his best bros, but he wanted to make yours more personal and intimate. from all his insecurties, you had made him feel like he was his own person by the time being spent with you.

thoughts were running through his mind, about how much he would love and cherish you if he were yours. god he was down bad.

by the time he had finished writing his letter, he started preparing the other gifts he had wanted to deliver to you. which was a box contained with your favourite snacks, products, and personalized items. he planned to give them after the event, hoping you would accept his confession.

-

hearts day arrived, the school was decorated in hearts and pink streamers. everyone was gathered in the classroom, the lights were all off, and the only light source that bounces off were from the windows. you were sat beside sero, and the rest of the group. all of the letters were given to mina, so she could arrange all and distribute them.

the time you receive your bunch had your chest burning in warmth, happy that these amount of people thought of writing you a letter. reading through each and one of them, sweet words after another. getting sentimental as each were written in their handwriting was the genuine thoughts they would want to speak through the piece of paper.

you can hear the commotion from the other groups, some had started crying from these heart-felt messages. earning you a small laugh as you get back to reading. reaching out to an envelope that had a nice shade of your favourite colour; to what you can only assume was perfume sprayed onto it, a scent that you like. you scan the name it was written from, eyes widening that it was from sero. can't be more obvious by a familiar tape keeping the envelope together. carefully opening it, unfolding the letter it contains.

-

"to my partner in crime,

hopefully, this letter doesn’t catch you off guard. i've been wanting to put my thoughts into words for a while now, and i'm honestly glad that the others had organized this, especially you since this activity was your own idea.

i've been thinking about how much you mean to me. looking back, i realize just how lucky i am to have met you. from all the laughs we’ve shared, hardships through training and from the battlefield, to the quiet moments when just being together was enough, I cherish every memory. you’ve been my constant, my comfort, and my favourite person.

i don’t think i’ve ever properly thanked you for all the times you were there for me. when things got rough, your support kept me going. when i was at my happiest, you were the first person i wanted to share it with. creating our own inside jokes, relaxing in each others dorms, and spending time outside of school. all of those, and you make it even better, just by being you.

and honestly? somewhere along the way, my feelings grew into something more. i tried to ignore it at first, the question "what if it's just infatuation" held me back. also worried about ruining what we have. but the more time I spend with you, the harder it becomes to keep this to myself. shit, even denki and kirishima know how down bad i got. called me out before i even realized my own feelings.

i’ve fallen for you. not just because of how amazing you are but because of how you make me feel seen, understood, and cared for. you make my days brighter, and I can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you might feel the same.

no matter what your answer is, I want you to know that our friendship means everything to me. I value it more than anything, and nothing could ever change that. I just couldn’t keep this to myself any longer. i have something else to give you after this, so let's stop by my dorm once it's over.

regardless, thank you for being such an important part of my life. With all my heart, hanta"

-

you can feel the heat rush through your heart upon finding out that your feelings were returned. you turned your head around to look at sero; seeing that he was already staring at you, holding your letter in hand. a sweet grin crosses his face, who could ever say no to that?

@iiapplemouse : do not copy/repost my work on other platforms !

[soupbtch]

Ed notices Stede tucking flowers through his powdered wig in the captain’s cabin as they get ready together. He grows quietly fascinated watching Stede’s fingers as they sort through the flowers scattered on the desk, picking the smallest, brightest ones to loop gently into his wig. He’s never seen anyone handle anything so delicately before.

He steps closer, and Stede looks up and asks, “Would you like some in your hair, as well?”

Ed’s eyes widen at the question before he remembers he’s not attending the party tonight as Blackbeard. He can be anyone he wants. He can be someone who wears flowers in his hair. He might even like it.

“Yeah, sure,” he huffs in a small voice, and Stede gestures for him to take a seat.

Stede reaches around to pluck a flower from the pile. “May I?”

In the past, Ed has never liked people touching his hair; and though he barely knows Stede, he finds himself trusting him anyway.

Stede begins gently placing flowers in Ed’s hair, weaving the stems through his waves. No one has ever touched Ed so tenderly, with such great care as if he were reverent and beautiful and delicate. He feels himself melting into the soft press of Stede’s fingertips against his scalp.

“There,” Stede says quietly. “Go have a look.” He doesn’t need to find a mirror to see how he looks – he can read it on Stede’s face.

From then on, trusting Stede becomes an easier decision to make. Then something natural and instinctual, like breathing. Ed trusts Stede again later that night as he slips the red silk from his fingers, and once more a few days later when he asks Stede to run him through on the deck of the ship. Inhale. He trusts Stede with the next ten years of his life. And still, as he waits at dawn with his feet dangling over the edge of the dock. Exhale.

His vision tunnels. He’s cold. Suffocating.

“Like treading water,” Ed had said a lifetime ago. “Waiting to drown.”

Miraculously, he breaks through the surface. He has to force the air back into his lungs, will them to deflate and hope his body remembers how to fill them back up again.

“Breathing the same air,” Stede says to him. And it’s painful, and he hiccups and chokes, but slowly, gradually, it gets easier. He whispers his goodbye to Blackbeard as Stede lays him gently down on the bed. But his breathing is still jagged, irregular; one step forward before stumbling back.

He’s sputtering on salt water again when he finds a letter in a bottle. He finds the man who wrote it. He’s wielding a sword, and Ed trusts he won’t get gutted this time as he sprints towards him from across the beach. He inhales automatically as they intertwine, pressing their promises to each other's lips.

“Almost ready? Want me to put the flowers in your hair?” Frenchie asks.

“No thanks,” Ed exhales. “It may be our wedding day, but I trust Stede will be here any second now to do it himself.”

[amuseoffyre]

Things worth remembering:

All Stede knows about Ed's breakdown is that it was because of him (You broke him/he took my leg cos I mentioned your name), He doesn't know about Ed's other trauma aside from his dad and while he knows Ed is disillusioned with pirating, he doesn't know the specifics about why.

Ed tends to speak in metaphors and while Stede tries to understand them, it's clear that sometimes he's missing the mark. Sometimes Ed isn't even sure of the metaphors himself, but once he has them, he holds onto them - the fish thing has got him especially.

And the thing is that Ed's only just learned to sit with himself in episode 5 and it's overwhelming him. At the beginning of 6, he's the stillest and quietest we've seen him and is gazing out to sea while having flashbacks to things he's done and people he's hurt (hello 1x09 callback).

And the thing is he's okay at the start of 7. He's made a decision about shedding the Blackbeard stuff. He doesn't say anything to anyone and he's ok until Jackie points out Stede is the rising star just when Ed wants out

He doesn't begrudge Stede being excited and happy with his new fame. He is afraid of what his presence has led Stede to: the conversation with Jackie is very much his "you defile beautiful things" moment, especially his presence brought Ned to Stede ("It's me you want").

He also doesn't understand why Stede killed Ned because Stede bottled up his trauma like his love letters. He doesn't even know why Stede a) became a pirate or b) went back to Mary, especially since Stede never actually told him where he'd been directly. He had to hear it from Anne - and Stede is betrayed by that as well ("I told you that in confidence")

Right now, he's feeling unmoored by his own identity and now Stede has taken a step that has fully changed him as a person too and dragged him straight back into the heart of piracy. He tells Jackie he wants out and she asks if Stede knows that and Ed's face just drops and he whispers "shit".

And he spends of the rest of the day thinking and quiet and realises that to process any of this mess, he needs to be away from the pirate world for a bit so he can get his head on straight because now it's roaring back in for him. He sits, he thinks, he realises he needs that space - he should speak to Stede but he tried that the day before and Stede still killed Ned.

Stede also lashes out, which definitely doesn't help. He's right. Ed is panicking, but Stede is also missing so many little clues. Ed never told him about dropping his leathers and Stede just sees him as Ed in other clothes. He doesn't understand the significance, even when everyone around them realises something is off. If even the Swede picks up on it, you know it's an obvious flag.

They both need to use their words and explain wtf is happening with both of them, but they are also both ridiculously traumatised by their past experience. Ed is afraid he's unlovable and now Stede is talking down his coping mechanism, so maybe he's right and Ed-as-Ed is unlovable, while Stede has been told his entire life he isn't enough, so becoming the ultimate pirate should be the win he's been looking for, only Ed isn't happy and Ed is leaving him, so maybe it's him that isn't enough after all.

They are both tangled up so much in their own histories and don't know enough about each others and that's why they keep lashing out and hurting each other so much - they each don't realise what they're saying is a different kind of weapon to the other.