#Have you seen this man shaped being walk?

[syoddeye]

xylaria polymorpha

You pick him. He picks you back. cw: entomophobia, earachnophobia, vomit mention (not depicted), mild body horror, abduction, buried alive (sort of), nonconsensual kiss a/n: AO3

The woods, no matter where you roam, have always felt like a refuge. An escape from your day job and your cramped flat. Far from emails and bills.

The air is cool, laced with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. As you walk, you name the flora around you, half-whispering, half-thinking. Dog's mercury. Lesser celandine. Bursts of foxglove.

The woods are loud in a quiet way. Alive. Wood pigeons cooing, squirrels chittering, a fox slipping through the brush in a blur. You take it all in, breathe it in deeply.

This peace is why you come here. Or part of it, anyway.

Your foraging bag swings at your side, weighted with what you've already found. Oyster mushrooms, chicken of the woods, a single giant puffball. Two dryad's saddles stacked atop one another. Your parents taught you how to hunt and how to identify your finds. You were barely knee-high the first time they took you, holding your hand as you nervously poked at leaves and logs. It's a valuable skill, one you're grateful to have honed. The shelves in your kitchen are full because of it, and on weekends, you sell the excess at the market.

The trees grow taller as you walk, their trunks thick and gnarled. It's darker and colder here, the light barely piercing the canopy. You don't mind, and merely zip your jacket to your chin. The good stuff's always further in.

A few hedgehogs and puffballs later, you see them.

They rise from around the body of a rotting log, black and knotted, their shape unmistakable. You kneel, your heart fluttering with the discovery. You've read about them in books, seen photos online: xylaria polymorpha. Dead man's fingers.

They're inedible, nor are they particularly pleasant to look at, but you reach for your notebook anyway. A sketch and then a picture on your phone. Something to send the parents. But your gaze catches on something else.

In the rear of the cluster, there are five paler growths, different from the others. They stand out, almost glowing against the dark soil. You've never seen anything like them. A mutation, perhaps. Or some kind of bacteria or mold. You edge closer, leaning in, fascinated, and without thinking, you reach out to touch one.

The moment your fingers brush the surface, it moves. And it doesn't just twitch or shift—it grabs.

A cold, wet pressure wraps around your hand. It knocks a violent gasp from your throat, and immediately, you try to pull back, but the grip tightens. Your bag falls, spilling as you twist and yank. The mushrooms clinging to your hands aren't mushrooms anymore. They're fingers—long, sinewy fingers. Pale and filthy, their nails cracked and dark with soil.

You freeze, a scream catching in your chest as the fingers pull harder, dragging your hand downward. Then you see it. The arm . Rising from the earth, covered in moss and mud, thick and muscular. Panic surges up from your belly, burning your throat with its acid. Stomach churning your breakfast as the rest of it emerges. Piece by piece as though being assembled by the woods themselves.

A man. 

And from your knees, he looks enormous.

The body is tall, broad-shouldered, with skin that appears almost translucent in places under the layers of muck and decay. The chest is scarred, torn up, and sewn back together with thin vines and stems. Pocked with keloids and other protrusions that look less natural. Dozens of insects crawl over his skin, falling to the ground or disappearing into the folds of moss that cling to bits of him. One of his ears is a swollen, misshapen thing, his hair shoddily cropped, bits of it stringy and wet, but his eyes lock onto yours—dark, intense, and unblinking.

You can't move. His hand wraps around yours like a root. He towers over you, filling your view, banishing whatever notion of peace you had.

"A woman." He rasps through cracked lips, hoarse. "Were you gonna pick me?"

You try to speak, to say anything, but the words won't come. You're not even sure this is actually happening.

He tilts his head, studying. He squeezes a little, hinting at how he could crush your hand without a thought. Crack you open like a walnut.

The image snaps you back to yourself, your mind clearing with a rush of instinct. You pull, but before you can make any progress, he yanks you forward, then up, like it's nothing. He holds your hand high above your head, and you watch, transfixed, as a spider squeezes itself through the mess of his ear.

You finally find your voice, though you swallow some sick to free it. "What…What are you?"

He doesn't answer right away. His gaze drifts down, then back up again, slow, deliberate. He looks at the overturned bag, his brow twitching just slightly, then returns to your eyes. His free hand lifts, and as it moves, a sludgy drip of mud falls, plopping softly onto the ground. You flinch as he drags two fingers over the curve of your cheek, smearing the mud over your skin.

"These woods belong to me. Everything you've stolen? Mine." His fingers graze you again, feeling the hammering pulse at your neck. "You followin'?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"But you did." His mouth curves slightly. "You touched me. You chose. You thought you were gonna carry me off."

The once-familiar sounds of the forest warp. The birdsong sounds wrong. Off-key and more frantic. The forest closes in. Shadows stretch longer in the periphery.

His hold is what keeps you from collapsing in shock when the ground starts to give way. Slowly, beneath your boots, the earth begins to eat you. Your toes, your ankles, your calves. You pull at his arm, desperate to break his grip, to push yourself free, but he's unmoving, rooted. Then you realize he's sinking with you.

His other hand touches your chin, rough fingers tilting your face toward him. You flinch as his thumb brushes your lower lip, leaving behind the tang of damp soil. The taste makes you gag, and you twist harder, but his hold is unrelenting.

"This is 'ow it works," There is no malice. He speaks as though this is fact. "You don't take without givin' back. Not 'ere, not from me."

The ground rises faster, the earth climbing your thighs. Your breath catches, panic surging. You try to wrest free, but no amount of struggling helps. You're sinking, and he's sinking with you.

"You picked me. This. Made your choice." He repeats, softer this time. 

It's up to your chest. Dozens of tiny legs move beneath the surface, exploring your skin, inspecting you. Welcoming you. Tears blur your vision and slip down your face.

He lets go of your arm now that you're trapped, immobile, and holds either side of your face. He tips your head back up, and just as the world swallows you whole, he plants his mouth over yours.

A week later, the authorities will find your foraging bag beside the log. Its treasures withered to black. They'll call your name and search until dusk, but they won't find you.

You'll be far below them by then, cradled in roots and arms as thick as tree branches, breathing in the forest in a different way. Far beyond their reach, but alive. Thriving. Growing.

[beuxwhoyouare]

Generational Trauma

Jiāháo was an unremarkable man by conventional means. Him and his parents fled to the U.S. when they were younger amid constant turmoil in Taiwan and nearby China. They fled to give him a future but they were still conventional in their values growing up. So Jiāháo grew up with their expectations in mind. Despite an intrigue in both men and women, his parents were quick to shut that down every time the brought up his future. condensing bisexuality to being gay. Making it seem like being bi was no real way to attain a future and the American "dream".

Coasting to make them happy he did what they expected and married the first nice church girl he was introduced to and had 3 kids. But living with other people's expectations is a recipe for disaster.

Despite a mediocre and equally unremarkable marriage, Jiāháo loved his kids. His 2 princesses, Nikki and Nina, were 12 years old, while his son, Noel, was 21 and living the life Jiāháo thought he would have once he got to America. You see, even though Noel never told his father, Jiāháo could tell he took after him in the bisexuality department always flirting with his friends at all ages. Always talking about the idea of boyfriends and girlfriends. Sparking a jealousy in Jiāháo.

That jealousy manifested into a nearly internalized biphobia. Jiāháo found himself hypocritically always at odds with Noel for his openness. As they say generational trauma is a cycle of abuse.

To the plain eye, Noel had a few things nearly anyone would be jealous of in all reality.

Unlike his father, Noel WAS conventionally attractive and had a personality to match. A charismatic energy that so many people gravitated towards, Noel was a star soccer player growing up that allotted him the chance to go to college for it. He studied rehabilitation science to become an occupational therapist and help people recover. A career path that essentially demanded he himself keep in shape if he didn't go pro for soccer.

Brains, brawns, and a face card that was hard to say no to, Noel took advantage growing up. Even if his family didn't always know it, he dated boys and girls his whole life. A long-term girlfriend broke up with him after 3 years of dating at uni, further fueling his drive to get into better shape than ever. Anytime he made his way home his family definitely noticed, Jiāháo being among the most jealous.

Walking around the house in tiny and revealing pieces of clothing illustrated a body earned by years of hard work. Jiāháo thought that should be me.

The family regularly made annual trips to Taiwan to visit the homeland but Jiāháo and his estranged wife did little to actually teach their children Taiwanese mandarin. His wife went out to the markets with their 2 daughters, leaving him and Noel to have a father-son day. Jiāháo wanted to be seen as the cool parent to Noel so much and the two went clothes shopping before Noel began to beg for a tattoo.

Almost as if it was fate a shop appeared around the corner from where the two were walking. A man approached the pair and asked in Mandarin if they were interested in a traditional tattoo for a discount if they both got one. Jiāháo thought it had to be a sign and said yes.

The man told the pair about traditional Paiwan tattoos that represented honor and dignity but told them his work has more meaning and even magic behind it. Of course the whole conversation was taking place in a language Noel didn't understand. He took reaction cues from his father who remained engaged in the whole story. Jiāháo got his tattoo along his back and spine, a rather edgy decision but he knew it'd be easy to hid at work and from his wife. Right as Noel was set to begin his in a similar section, the tattoo artist turned to Jiāháo.

"我知道你想要什麼。我在你的刺青上施了咒語，可以在他身上完成它。如果我這樣做，你就能得到你一直想要的東西。有機會過你應得的生活"

Shocked Jiāháo couldn't believe what he was hearing. What did he mean that he put a spell in his tattoo? What did he mean that he knows what Jiāháo wanted? It felt like time froze as he contemplated all his questions. Almost as if he heard his inner thoughts, the artist spoke looking back and forth at us both.

"我所需要的只是你兒子同意。你?"

Jiāháo froze again, a feeling of sinking setting into his stomach. Almost as if his gutteral response was speaking for itself, Jiāháo answered affirmatively and nodded at his son to do the same. Noel had no clue what was going on and naively said yes.

The session eventually ended and the pair walked away with their newest tattoos. Noel thought his father was the coolest dad ever after the bonding experience, but he couldn't even fathom that his father's selfish desires would soon ruin that perception of him.

A huge storm his the town that night and both men struggled through major pains and aches, both attributing it to major food poisoning. And when the pain felt like it reached a point neither could stomach anymore they both passed out.

The next morning, Jiāháo fumbled out of his bed and clumsily navigated his way to the restroom. He did it all groggily with his eyes nearly shut before grabbing a nearby shacket and walking out to go get a coffee or something to drink.

At the nearby convenience store he got a drink and paid before heading out to come back to the hotel. A young girl passed by and began to ask him for his number because she thought he was so cute. As Jiāháo answered it felt like the reply fumbled out as clumsily as he did flopping out of bed in the morning. Before he could muster out that he was married to the girl he caught his reflection in a nearby window.

Surely he was still sleeping or dreaming? He stopped his reply and ran back to the hotel. Running into the lobby like a mess, he found the closest restroom to find a mirror and confirm what he saw.

Noel's charming and stunning face stared back at him with nearly 80% less enthusiasm than he was currently feeling. He poked, prodded, and finished off by slapping himself across the face. Confirming this was happening. The artist was telling the truth. There was magic in that tattoo ink.

But that magic came with unspoken rules. Jiāháo wanted to check on the real Noel, but everytime he tried to pull his phone out to text him or call he couldn't muster the sentence to come out. Unbeknownst to him, the magic would not let either of them speak about what took place. Neither could say the swap happened or act any more way converse to the way they did before.

Jiāháo walked back into the hotel room to find his family dressed and ready to go out to eat. He saw his old body there ready but also with a hidden panic behind his eyes. It was an uneven trade in reality, Noel lost decades of his life and was forced to go through a miserably mediocre marriage. But Jiāháo got a chance to live the bisexual life he always wanted.

Noel was gutted. The family eventually flew back to the US and Jiāháo was forced to go back to uni and finish his degree as the magic made him, eventually both were forced to also find solace in their new lives. But speculation can only be had as to why a relatively young father like "Jiāháo" died randomly one day. But "Noel" knew the truth, his "father" died from sadness of the life he now lost.

Its another traumatic incident that once again fueled the new Noel to find solace in the gym. Like "he" had so often before, getting fit helped the heartthrob get through major trauma. Maybe generational trauma doesn't have to be a cycle. He picked up his phone and continued to plan his hookup for the night. Thank god for the genes he "inherited" from his ancestors that got him here.

[michuga]

Kaleidoscope

summary: Supposedly, when you turn 19, sometime within that year, you meet a guy who turns your whole life upside down. Your first love, your first heartbreak. One year. 365 days, 5 hours, 49 minutes.

pairing: jeongguk x reader

content: artist reader, tattoo artist jk, use of korean name, overuse of the word 'lover', fluff, their favorite hobby is admiring eachother, angst, angst, then more angst, shared trauma, basically just life happening

warnings: cursing, pregnancy & childbirth, abortion, miscarriage

wc: 6.5k

a/n: bare with me as i try to figure out my writing style ㅠㅠ i almost cried while writing this. or maybe i got some chappell in my eyes, idk. enjoy!

.ılılılllıılılıllllıılılllıllı.

Kaleidoscope - Chappell Roan

0:24 ─●──────── 3:42 ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

It's funny, isn’t it? For someone who had it all figured out at 18, standing here at 23 and watching him pack his bags for the last time, you can’t help but let your mind wander. Somewhere between 18 and 23, you tumbled (on a rock, a Jeongguk shaped rock) and you’ll never be the same.

You had heard stories about “the boy you meet at 19”. Friends, family members, hell, even online communities complained about it. Supposedly, when you turn 19, sometime within that year, you meet a guy who turns your whole life upside down. Your first love, your first heartbreak. One year. 365 days, 5 hours, 49 minutes.

That was all bullshit of course.

Jeongguk was not your first love, nor your first heartbreak. Nevertheless, you know what he was? He was your first clash. Your first storm, the first rain after a long hard year of drought. there’s no other way to explain it. He didn’t sweep you off my feet or visit your house with a boombox on his shoulder begging for you back, but it all turned out just the same.

"This seat taken? All the others are." You hear a voice call out, snapping you out of your creative flow.

You look up to see the most beautiful pair of mahogany orbs you've ever seen.

You look around, most of the seats empty.

Confused, you answer, "Sure?"

He pulls out the chair in front of you, with a huge grin.

"I'm Jeongguk," He says, extending a hand for you to shake.

His t-shirt sleeves strain against his biceps, and you finally notice his inked arms. What you don't notice is holding onto his hand for a few seconds too long, entranced by the stunning artwork.

Letting go with an awkward clear of your throat, you pull your hand back to rest on your laptop's trackpad.

"You are breathtakingly beautiful, and I would've beat myself up for the next two months if I didn't talk to you."

Arriving at the Jazz bar Jimin invited you to, you scan the room to find him.

Locking eyes with him, you make your way across the room to where he's sitting.

You loved being friends with Jimin.

Jimin was charismatic, chic. Always dressed to the nines with his leather jackets and designer boots. He carried around this sense of subtle dominance, deep down he knew he controlled every room he walked in. But most importantly, he was also the gentlest friend you could ask for.

If you ever needed a shoulder to cry on or a pair of hands to hold your hair back when you throw up, Jimin made sure you knew he was always one call away. As were you, when it came to him.

"You made it! Hello, hello, hello!" Jimin chirps, extending his arms out only to engulf you in a bear hug.

"I can't wait to see Tae on stage!" You say, coming out from the hug.

The main event of the night; Taehyung, Jimin's boyfriend, was to perform a song with his band tonight.

"Come! Sit with us." Jimin says, leading you back to his table.

You notice five men already seated. Upon first glance, you didn't notice anything unusual, all of you exchanging greetings. That was until your eyes land on the last man on the far end.

"You again?" You blurt out of surprise.

"Me again. Hi beautiful." The familiar man says with that cheeky grin of his, his eyes having been already fixated on you the minute you walked through the door.

"Wait. You two know each other?" Jimin asks confused, looking back and forth between the two of you.

"You can say that.." You answer meekly, looking away.

Looking back at Jeongguk, Jimin waits for an explanation.

He only gets a shrug from the younger man and another grin from him in response as you move to sit next to him.

"No, you're gonna tell me! I want to know." Jimin complains as he sits down.

As the night went on, you and Jeongguk got to know each other more. You had always longed for the organic in relationships. An organic meeting, organic conversation, and most importantly; organic chemistry. It seemed like the man in front of you checked all your boxes.

It turns out you and Jeongguk were way more similar than either of you initially thought.

You both had this sense of freedom, like no matter what anyone told you. If you had your mind set on something, you'll make it happen, simply because you willed it so.

You carried this sense of carelessness-- no, that's not the right word. Lightness? Ease? navigating the world. Like in the end, nothing really matters. Both of you live life on a whim. You joked about hoping it wouldn't be your downfall, then laughed it off.

"Do you ever look at the stars?" You say, laying on your back, looking up to the sky.

"Do I ever look at the stars?" He slowly repeats, laying on his stomach, admiring the freckles on your face. "Hmm.."

“I don’t need the stars. I have your eyes to look at.” He answers after a few seconds of fake pondering.

“That’s so sappy oh my gooooddd”

“What can I say? You make me sappy baby.” He says with a stupid grin, brushing strands of hair away from your face.

You and Jeongguk had been dating for a month and a few weeks now. Initially scared shitless to open your heart up again, you're glad you've made that decision. You can confidently say you've never been happier.

You continue, "You don't ever like, count them? You know they're actually dead, right?"

"Dead? Whaaat? That's crazy," He says, smiling like a lovestruck idiot.

Finally shifting your focus to the man next to you, you glance sideways, “God, I love you. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

It's your 1-year anniversary with Jeongguk. Both of you were inseparable at this point, where one of you went the other followed. From that point onwards, both your lifestyles tangoed and merged into one. His friend group became yours, your favorite spots became his, and everything else that could be shared, was. It was the most delicate display of intimacy; domesticity.

After taking you out to a nice romantic dinner, both of you ended up at your apartment. One of the many things shared within your relationship was your homes. This, being his second one, wasn't unfamiliar to him.

Gently tracing your curves, Jeongguk lay sideways. His head propped up on his elbow, admiring you. Opposite him, you lay on your side, reading your book.

"Watcha' readin'?" He asks in a silly tone, the very one you'd use to talk to a kid.

With a sly smirk and a brief glance at your lover, you answer him.

"Smut. Steamy, filthy smut. But after the passionate romance, of course."

"Oh? Anything in particular you'd like to recreate?" He takes on a challenging tone, slightly amused.

"Maybe."

"Can I see?"

"Nope. You'll have to figure it out yourself."

"Not even if I ask politely?"

"Nnnnope!"

And just like that, the calm before the storm ended. You had dug your grave and laid in it. All that was left now, was to await your fate-

"You cheeky little minx, come here," He says with a renewed vigor, swiftly getting on top of you and getting straight to work tickling your sides.

"Nooooo, please, please," You say breathlessly in between tickles.

You're not sure if it's physically possible to laugh your way to a six-pack, but it seemed to you that in those 30 seconds it had been made possible.

"Alright, baby please!" You yell, desperately gasping for air.

Finally freeing you from this relentless torture, Jeongguk stops. As the laughter dies down, both of you pant with stupid smiles plastered across your faces. With Jeongguk still on top of you; his weight balanced on both his arms, you stare into each others eyes.

"Y'make me feel so loved, y'know.. You're my person, gguk." You coo, affectionately brushing his hair away from his face with one of your hands.

"Thank you for trusting me enough to be that for you, baby. You make me the happiest man on this damn planet. I mean it."

"Move in with me." You blurt out.

"Okay."

"You spend most of your time here anyway, my apartment can fit both of us, you have clothes everywh- what?"

With a giggle, he repeats, "Okay. I'll move in with you"

"That easy?!" You scoff.

"Who told you it was hard?" Scrunching his nose at you, he continues, "I'd carry the sun aflame; scorching hot and all, with my bare hands for you should you ask. Are you really surprised?"

"Jesus, Shakespeare. You trying to get into my pants or something?"

"Maybe. Is it working?" Flashing you a bunny smile, he leans down to place a soft kiss on your lips.

You roll your eyes, but without an ounce of annoyance.

"For the last fucking time Jeongguk, stop leaving your clothes all over the place!" You let out, irritated.

Ignoring you, he keeps scrolling through his phone.

"Hey! Did you hear me?" You continue, waving your hands in front of his face.

"Why are you yelling right now? That's really unnecessary."

"So your answer is to ignore me?"

"You know I don't like being yelled at. Speak to me like a normal human being."

"I would, if you were behaving like one."

"Whatever," He says with a tsk.

Jeongguk isn't usually unreasonable, it was just one of those days. Both of you have those days sometimes. Now, more than usual though.

"I asked you to move in with me because I love you. Now stop being a child and pick your damn clothes up." You spit, tossing his shirt that was once sprawled out on the floor, in his face.

A few hours later, both of you head out to meet your friends.

Arriving at the hangout spot, you and Jeongguk take your seats next to your friends.

"There you are, lovebirds!" Hoseok yells out excitedly, standing up to greet you.

The drinks kept coming. You could handle your liquor, but you knew Jeongguk couldn't exactly do the same.

A steady stream of alcohol was maintained. One drink, two drinks, then the next, and the next.. He gulped them down with ease one after the other, until he was slurring his words.

"And then I told him; that can't possibly be right, you're not exactly the brightest" Jimin says, the entire table bursting into laughter at his story.

"How are you guys? Enjoying the domestic life together? Tae asks, slowly sipping his drink next to Jimin.

Silently glancing over to Jeongguk, you brace yourself as you watch him prepare to speak.

"Loooooove this one," He blurts with a lopsided smile, throwing his free arm around your shoulder. "Always has to keep the house all neat and tidy,"

"Baby, you've had a bit too much to drink, yeah? I think we'll head out now guys."

Noticing the awkward shift in the air, the guys agree with you and tell you it's fine, gesturing for you to get up.

"It's not like y-you always pay attention t'me. W-why do you only pay attention when you're- scolding me?" Jeongguk continues, in between hiccups.

"C'mon. Up you go," You say ignoring him, wrapping your hands around his torso to get him up.

With Taehyung's help, you finally manage to lay Jeongguk's (very heavy) body across the backseat of his car.

"Thanks, Tae. God knows I would've ruptured a disc had I attempted that alone."

"It's really no problem, cupcake. Make sure to text us when you get home safe, alright?"

With a sigh and a nod, you get into the driver's seat.

"Why are you being like this?" You murmur, starting the car.

One of your favorite past times with Jeongguk is spending time together doing your own thing. It's the best and most efficient way to get things done while silently supporting the other. It also tells you a lot about how comfortable and safe you make each other feel. You have nurtured this relationship so carefully, and watched it blossom into what you have now. Jeongguk knows this, he knows how at ease you feel during these simple, mundane times.

What you haven't told him though, is you have something you enjoy more.

Secretly admiring him as he works.

Sometimes when he's fully immersed in the task at hand, you secretly stop what you're doing and just stare at him. There were times you even pretended to do something, just so he can get busy and fail to notice your piercing gaze.

You can't help it. In your eyes, he's perfection itself.

So this time, as he was typing up an essay, you grabbed your sketchbook and got to work.

Spilling ink to fill the blacks of his eyes, carving out the beautiful slant of his nose, the little mole under his lip.. His sweet honeyed features come together to breathe life into your drawing.

This isn't the first time you draw him. Time and time again, you've tried to mimic his essence on paper. You're not one to brag, but you'd like to think you're a good artist. Great even, from what your professors have told you; but try as you may, you have never once been successful. No amount of charcoal or white highlights on the canvas in your hands could capture a glimmer of your lover's warmth.

"Is that.. is that me?" You hear a voice say, snapping you from your thoughts.

Whoops.. Guess you got careless and accidentally drowned in his eyes for real this time.

Your cheeks turn a rich shade of crimson as you shyly nod.

Sliding his laptop off his lap and taking his glasses off, he asks, "Can I see?"

Reluctantly, you hand him the sketchbook.

"It's not finished.. I was gonna shade some more and add highlights-"

He flips through the pages, looking at the earlier pages.

"Wait!" Leaning over, you try to grab the sketchbook from his hands. However, he manages to swiftly move his body, lifting the sketchbook out of your reach.

Nevermind that he caught you drawing him, that entire sketchbook was filled with sketches of him.

Finally reaching the first page, his eyes scan the page to read the words written in cursive,

"୨୧ Jeongguk Sketchbook ୨୧"

He stayed silent for a few minutes.

"Baby.. Are you mad at me?" You ask, concerned. With a bite of your lip, you anxiously wait for him to say something.

"I'm gonna marry you one day," He says, looking into your eyes in awe.

"I wish my professors reacted that enthusiastically upon seeing my work," You giggle, relieved. "Also, is that a threat?"

"It's a promise," He says with a roll of his eyes, fighting a grin.

Settling into his accustomed place between your thighs, he gets on top you.

"You have an essay to write. No funny business, mister." You jokingly scold, patting his butt with your foot.

"Okay mom," He says with a smile as he starts kissing all over your face.

"Nooo, why'd you have to say that before kissing meee" You whine, turning your head left and right to avoid his kisses.

Scrolling through your phone, you wait at the tattoo parlor Jeongguk works at for him to be done with his client.

Handing you a bottle of water, Yoongi takes a seat next to you.

"He'll be out in a few. Just wrapping the client's tattoo." He informs you.

"Can I see that?" You gesture to the tattoo book on the table, "Jeongguk" written on the cover.

Handing you the book, he starts, "Quite the talented one, your boyfriend. We have lots of artists, but his work really is a sight for sore eyes. Clients usually go for him."

With a giddy smile, you open the book, "You know when I first met him, his tattoos were the first thing that caught my eye. Not to brag but, I don't doubt any of that for a second."

Chuckling, Yoongi gets up. "I'll be in my office if you need anything."

With an appreciative nod, you thank him.

Feeling the couch take a dip, you smell him before you can see him.

"Hi baby," He takes a seat next to you.

"Hi my love," You lean in to kiss him. "I knew you were talented but holy shit, your hands were kissed by angels."

"The only angel that's ever kissed them is sitting next to me. So you're right, I guess." He says, nodding in agreement.

Tracing the lines in the book, you stare in awe. It seems your lover renders you speechless most of the time you're with him.

"Soo... I did a thing," Jeongguk says as he enters your shared apartment, taking off his shoes.

"Uh-oh."

"No uh-oh. C'mere," He beckons with his hand, buzzing with anticipation.

Turning off the stove, you make your way over to him.

"Close your eyes,"

"Okay, now I'm scared."

"Hurry uuupppp."

Placing your palms over your eyes, you reluctantly obey.

"No, not your hands. Give them to me."

Suspicious, you keep your eyes shut and reach out your hands for him to take.

You hear the sound of fabric shuffling, then feel your fingers touch warm skin.

Warm.. engraved skin?

"You can open them now."

Your jaw hangs open.

"Oh baby, That's beautiful.." You say, your eyes welling up with tears.

Staring back at you is your birth flower, tattooed on Jeongguk's side below his ribs.

"Since you were so in love with my designs, I thought I'd make you one your own."

Chuckling, you reply, "Shouldn't it be on my body then?"

"You make a good point, but my body is yours, so by extension, this tattoo is also yours."

"Okay smarty pants." You say with a smile, wiping away the tears rolling down your face. "Let's go watch a movie."

One kiss. Two kisses.

"Baby.." He says, turning his head away.

"Let me make you feel good. Just relax." You graze your hand along his chest.

With a sigh, he sits up, letting your hands fall.

Frustrated, you get up.

"How much rejection can I take?" Finally fed up, you burst. "How many times are you gonna shut me out?" This hadn't been the first time Jeongguk denied you. He's been mentally withdrawn from you for a few weeks, coming up with one excuse or another.

He rubs at his temples.

"I try and I try and I try. You don't talk to me about what bothers you, you barely touch me anymore.. What am I supposed to do, Jeongguk? You're with me but you're not even here." Desperate for an answer, you plead.

"I already told you. I'm taking more courses this semester, and Yoongi wants me to work extra shifts at the parlor. Not exactly an aphrodisiac for me."

"Baby, stress will always be a part of our lives. You have to lean on me when it gets hard, that's what relationships are for. We're a team now, you can't keep shutting me out like this."

You had always been upfront with Jeongguk about the importance of communication within your relationship. You could handle just about anything, but not this.

Crackle. Pop.

It was New Year's Eve, you heard fireworks go off outside your home.

At almost midnight, you were waiting for your boyfriend to come back.

Sitting under your skylight, you admire the show in the sky. The light illuminates your face as you gaze up.

You feel your phone vibrate in your lap.

J<3: "Working late."

J<3: "Don't wait up."

Life had a funny yet cruel sense of irony. Everyone was out celebrating, while over here, it seemed like your whole life was coming to an end.

After what feels like hours of dreary silence, you hear the front door open. He's home.

Nervously pacing back and forth in your shared bathroom, you wait for him to come into the bedroom.

God, it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

You hear footsteps. Turning around, you meet his eyes.

"I'm pregnant." You say abruptly, with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

At 21, this is the last thing you expected to happen. It seems you had gotten careless. Young and in love.

After a few moments of utter silence, both of you sit side by side on your bathroom floor.

"Fuck. Fuck, okay. Fuck."

You burst into tears for the third time that night.

"I'm not ready.. we're not ready.. Can't believe this is really happening.. ggukie, what are we gonna do? m' so scared"

"Hey, hey, hey.. It's okay. We'll get through this. You hear me, baby? We're gonna be alright. It's okay. I've got you. As long as we both have each other, nothing else matters." He reassures, pulling you both into the bathtub, cradling you into his chest.

"Sure it's happening sooner than we thought, but this was the plan all along angel, wasn't it? hm?" He says softly, wiping away your tears. "We'll get married, once you pop out this little one we can get a house in the suburbs.. My parents can help us out financially.. My love, look at me. Deep breaths."

You calm down, finally catching your breath. You had forgotten you weren't gonna be alone in this. You felt as long as you had Jeongguk, you were ready to face anything.

"What about school?" You ask.

"You can take a gap year. I'll drop some classes and make sure I'm by your side."

"I'm gonna be a dad." He says after a long silence. You feel tears wetting your shirt, unsure whose they were.

And maybe it was going to be alright. Because you were in his arms. Carrying his child, you were going to have your own family. With the man you love.

You finally allow yourself to feel excitement. The joy of becoming a mother. You allow yourself to feel hope, the kind that comes with the promise of a seedling sprouting from the dirt.

One thing you admired about him was his humility. Perhaps one of the most powerful things he does is; at his best and most successful, my baby comes back home and kneels before me. Looking up at me, I see in his eyes everything I ever prayed, could pray, and would ever pray for.

My lover never once forgot me. No matter what it was, he always shared it with me. Not once has he ever treated me as less than.

"Baby! Guess what I gooot!" You hear the front door shut.

Truthfully, things had gotten better after your big news. Remarkably better. Jeongguk had been paying extra attention to you, making sure you’re well tended to, fed, comfortable.. It was almost like how you two were in the beginning. When it was still fresh.

Running into your room excitedly like a little kid, Jeongguk holds up a pair of baby socks.

"Look how adorable!" He exclaims, eye twinkling.

Smiling fondly, you entertain him as you rub your already swollen belly.

"I can't believe they make socks that tiny." You reply with a soft chuckle.

"I know, right? I didn't even know someone's feet can be this tiny!"

At 3 months pregnant, things weren't as bad as you had initially expected. You had taken a gap year, like Jeongguk suggested, and both of you were doing just fine.

Having him by your side made everything so much easier, and you wondered why you ever thought you couldn't do this. Being his lover and the mother of his child was the easiest and most natural thing for you.

Unrequited

/ʌnrɪˈkwʌɪtɪd/

adjective

(of a feeling, especially love) not returned.

Can love be one sided?

A question I'm sure has been passed around for centuries past. After all, I'm sure you're familiar with the term "unrequited love".

So can it be?

Well, I don't think so.

I believe people who claim it, mislabel infatuation. Love can never be one sided. As far as I'm concerned, in order to fall in love, both sides have to have experienced their fair share of vulnerable moments. Human moments. For the word "love" to be spoken and for it to be real, it has to exist tangibly, undeniably, between two people. Love does not shy away and hide, love stands tall and proud; like the biggest elephant any room has seen.

If there really is love on one side, it's mirrored on the other side as well.

Some may argue, the term "unrequited" still stands, because the other person may feel love, but not the romantic kind intended; I beg to differ. Love, no matter its form, will warm you from the inside out. To deny its existence on the other side merely because you don't like how it takes shape and presents itself, is a selfish act of fraud.

As usual, good things don't last.

You like to think the love was there. It really, irrefutably, was. And most days, that's what get helps you get by. After all, the life growing inside you was proof of it. Or was, anyway.

Looking at your bathroom mirror, you see a woman you don't recognize.

You have the same eyes, but hers are weighed down with dark rings. Where you once saw a bright curious girl, stands a woman foreign, burdened with tribulations; the aftermath of adolescence.

Turning to the side, you lift your shirt up to reveal your stomach. You lightly ghost your hand over your abdomen. Pang in your chest, sting in your eyes. Breathe, 1, 2, 3.

You walk into your shared bedroom to find Jeongguk seated on the bed with his phone in hand.

Your steps coming to a halt, you look up at him. With dead eyes, you mumble quietly, "I lost the baby."

"What was that?" He asks, unable to quite make out what you were saying.

"I lost the baby," You repeat, loud enough for him to hear this time.

Frozen in shock, he stares at you with wide eyes.

"..What?" He says with a whisper, tears instantly flooding his eyes.

You stay silent.

"Are you- Are you sure??" He asks with urgency, immediately springing up from the bed to stand infront of you.

With a slow and apprehensive nod you reply, "Just got back from a checkup."

Jeongguk raises his hand to rub his face. You flinch.

Mortified, Jeongguk looks at you with wide eyes.

"Did- baby did you just flinch? What the fuck?" He says, hurt written all over his face.

You slide down the wall behind you, needing anything to stabilize you. Of course you weren't expecting him to hit you. Were you? You don't know anymore. Your body has become foreign to you, and you curse it for always betraying you throughout your years. This time, it had been the biggest betrayal of all.

Jeongguk immediately reaches to grab your weak body, kneeling on the ground with you.

He takes you in his embrace once more, and a cruel, ironic sense of Déjà vu washes over you. Once more, you lie in each others arms. Only last time marked a beginning, this time marked the end.

But the love was there. Right?

If Jeongguk hadn't been touching you as much before, now he really didn't, at all. It's not that he didn't try, he has, a few times. But you really, really can't bring yourself to let him touch you right now. When you shared that with him, he understood, he really did. But after all, how long can someone be understanding, until they finally realize, they've had enough?

"It's been months.. I understand how you feel, and it's no easy thing what we just went through. What you went through. You're so strong, mama. So strong."

Mama. You could almost hear the crack in your heart.

"I don't wanna sound like an asshole, and I'll never, ever force you; so long as I draw breath.. but baby I long for you. I just want to connect with you like we used to.. I ache for your touch. I know it's not easy, but can you please try?"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry," You whisper, averting your gaze to the floor with tears in your eyes.

"I think we should take a break." You blurt out, breaking the silence.

"What?"

"I need a break."

"From me?" He asks, voice coming out more fragile than intended. Jeongguk knew your relationship has become rocky to say the least, but what he wasn't expecting was this.

You stay silent.

"Okay.. If that's what you need." He lets out, defeated.

Getting up, you grab a suitcase and start packing clothes.

"Where are you going?" Alarmed, he instinctively gets up to follow you.

"To Jimin's."

Agonizing silence.

"Do you have to do this?"

"Yes."

You feel suffocated. You've heard of post-miscarriage hormones, and you don't know if that was what was causing your recent irritability, but it seemed like everything and everyone around you annoyed you. Never in your life would you have imagined that would include Jeongguk. You hated yourself for it. You tell your lover everything, but this one secret you were prepared to take to the grave.

"You're welcome to sleep with other people, if you'd like."

"You really need to stop making these decisions all on your own." He says, sounding fed up. "I don't fucking want to be with anyone else. Do you really think it's about the sex for me?"

Angrily stomping over to you, he gently grabs your face, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"Do you really think, all I want is a fucking nut?" Laughing in disbelief, he lets go of your face, ruffling his hair in frustration. "I want you. You."

Biting your lip, you grab your suitcase and make your way to the front door and text Jimin to let him know.

You hear a sigh and footsteps behind you. "Here, let me." Jeongguk says, taking ahold of your suitcase before you can argue.

With a small smile, you follow behind him. Even when he's hurt, he takes care of you.

You get in your car. Adjusting the mirror, you see Jeongguk looking back at you in the reflection. Forcing yourself to look away, you start driving.

Making your way inside Jimin's apartment, both of you take a seat on his couch, setting your suitcase beside you.

"What happened?" Jimin asks hesitatingly, scared to set you off. He knows of everything that happened the past few months, upset with you after realizing you had hid it from him for a while. He wasn't upset with you, but rather the fact that you had endured it alone all this time. But he understood. He could never blame you.

"We had a fight. Well, sort of," You explain with a sigh. "I told him I needed a break."

"Is it okay if I hug you?"

Upon your immediate approval, Jimin leaps into your embrace.

"I don't know where to begin," He starts, voice muffled by your clothes. Slowly pulling away, he catches your eyes.

"You've had it so hard. So hard." Tearing up, he continues, "If a break is what you need, I'll gladly support it. I may not always fully understand what you're going through, but know you always always have my full support regardless."

Seeing your angel of a friend cry, tears are brought to your eyes as well.

"Why are you crying? Aren't I supposed to be the one doing that?" You say, chuckling.

"So I can't cry now? Let me cry, woman!" Matching your energy, he replies.

You would never admit it to the man waiting for you at home, but within the confinements of your best friend's living room, you finally allow yourself to speak it aloud.

"Looking at him reminds me of what happened. He reminds me of her."

With a knowing nod, Jimin takes your hand in his.

"Our baby. God, Jimin, I couldn't stand to be in that room a minute longer."

You're glad you had your best friend alongside you all these years. Seeing you in all your states, he's the one person you can truly call family. Love like this, you were sure of. Love like this, you could never let go of. Love like this, you've learned to truly cherish.

You spent a little over a week at Jimin's.

You and Jeongguk hadn't been talking, and you noticed he was spending longer and longer hours away at night. Tonight you decided, enough is enough.

"Where the fuck have you been?" You spit out like venom, spotting the messy haired man at the front door. After waiting all night for Jeongguk to finally come back home, your voice had gained an edge.

"Does it fucking matter?" He answers, matching your vulgarity. A habit both of you, unfortunately, picked up.

"It's 4 am. You left without a word and now you smell like an entire fucking candy shop. Think I don't know what you get up to?" Because like any human being, despite making it clear you were okay with him sleeping with other people, the very idea broke whatever was left of your heart into tinier fragments.

You continue, "You think the loss of our babygirl hasn't impacted me? It hurt me the most. As I was sitting here, grieving your fucking child, you were out fucking whores. Instead of being with me and helping us get through it, you fucking bailed on me. You abandoned our relationship. You abandoned me."

"Watch your mouth. That's not fair. That is not fair. I have never unfaithful to you. We haven't been fine for a damn long time and you know it."

You knew you weren't being fair. You knew he wouldn't cheat on you, either. But you couldn't stop. You couldn't bring yourself to stop. You had reached the point of no return, and all your anger had come up to the surface to breathe. Claws, sharp edges and all, 'I am here. I am here.' it screamed.

“That doesn’t mean you stay out all night every single day and pretend I don’t fucking exist! If you want to break up, grow a pair and fucking say it to my face.”

"Frankly, that's none of your concern. You lost the right to what I did a long time ago."

If it weren't for the four years you've known this man, you would've missed the slight stutter in his words. You've memorized every freckle, every curve, every dimple.

"Are you drunk?" You ask slowly. Your anger dialing up to 100.

Ignoring you, he makes a beeline for the spare bedroom door. Where he had been sleeping for the past- you can’t even remember how long it’s been.

You don't know when you reached this point. It was all sunshine and rainbows, then it all went downhill. Well, you can't say it was sudden. To tell the truth, you and Jeongguk's relationship has been strained for a long time.

Upon asking him to move in with you, you had thought being in close proximity with your lover would make you grow closer. On the contrary, within the same four walls and under the same roof, you had never felt further from the person you were supposed to love for the rest of your life.

"Iseul."

He stops in his tracks.

"That's the name I had picked out for her. Iseul."

Turning around, Jeongguk looks at you as if you had just slapped him.

"That's a beautiful name," He murmurs.

"She would've been ours. Would've looked just like you, to a T. I bet she would've had your beautiful big eyes."

"She would've had your laugh.." He chokes out, tears flooding.

"We were supposed to get married and grow old together. What has become of us? Since when were we like this?

"Shit baby, I don't know. I don't know." Slowly walking over to you, he pulls your head in his chest. He holds you with the same frailty he used to. Back when you were younger. Back when he loved you. When you loved each other. It seems like nowadays all you do is fight.

Your communication has gone to shit. It was like both of you were speaking a language the other couldn't understand.

"We had something didn't we?" You whisper into his chest, your tears staining his shirt. "We loved each other, at some point, right?"

“Of course we did, baby. Of course we did. What we had, though humble, was real and I would never change it. The love was there."

He continues, "You’re gonna find so much better. you’re gonna have so much greater. We’re not meant for each other. God knows what we went through wasn’t easy. it was fucking hell. We fought tooth and nail to get here, I know your pain. I’ve seen your pain, it is mine too. Maybe it isn't fair to say this, but we need to get out of this bubble. Long as we keep coming back here, we’ll always be reminded of all the hurt and the pain. We both need fresh starts. We deserve it."

"Is this really happening? This is really happening. Oh god. Oh my god." Feeling a panic attack coming on, you try to take deep breaths.

Jeongguk hugs you tighter, gently stroking your back.

"That's it baby, breathe. Breathe, lover, breathe. Nice and slow, just like that. There we go, my love."

It passes, but the heartache doesn't, so you settle for keeping your face nestled into his chest, crying your heart out.

You love him. Oh god, you love him like you breathe air. But he's right, neither of you can live like this.

"I wish I hated you. You asshole, I wish you made me hate you." Weakly punching his chest repeatedly, you sob into his chest. "Would've made things so much easier."

Gently stroking your hair, he softly hums.

"Thank you for making this decision for both of us. God knows I'm not strong enough to leave."

"It's because I love you so much, I can't bare to see you like this. It kills me every waking fucking day."

Stepping away from your embrace, Jeongguk retreats to your bedroom.

Looking at him confused, you sniffle.

"Lovesong" by Adele blares through your apartment.

Stepping back out, he approaches you again.

"Come here, love."

Extending a hand out to you, he invites you to dance.

And so you did.

I hope my lover never forgets me.

Bonus

Silence.

You were once a teenager with loud thoughts. Loud, angry, vengeful. You were so, so angry. Now there's just silence.

Listening to the ocean waves crash against the rocks, you admire the scenery in front of you. Even in their violence, it seems to you that those very waves kiss the surface of the rocks, only to retreat in shyness. How romantic.

Was the ocean always this beautiful?

a/n: please let me know what you think! truthfully, i think i could've added more of my writing (beyond narration, i mean), but i didn't want to leave this rotting in my drafts for too long. if there's one thing i learned about being a creative, hiding your creativity, refusing to share it with the world, or putting it off is not only a waste; but you're denying beautiful, alike souls the pleasure of enjoying your work ♡

[starsfic]

Telemachus, Minor God of Devotion to Mothers- Part 1

A piece to accompany The Perfect Murder, this showing why Telemachus walked back into the palace perfectly fine.

His brother slammed into his chambers like a wild bull.

"APOLLO!"

His fingers slid on his lyre strings, sending a harsh note into the air. Apollo resisted a sigh. Father's dramatics about Athena's little champion had already consumed so much of his time already. He loved Hermes, truly, but he needed some time to himself.

His annoyance died at the drip drip of water.

"Hermes, what on earth-" Apollo turned and felt himself come to a stop. His annoyance was already dead, but now it was replaced by shock and perhaps a bit of horror at the sight of his brother.

No longer did Hermes smirk and smile, the kind of expression that revealed you were being tricked somehow. Instead, he bared his teeth in an angry grimace. The dripping water came from the headless body he held, wrapped in Hermes's own cloak.

"Is that the son?" he asked.

"Can you bring him back?" Hermes said in lieu of an actual answer.

"I mean," Apollo was already moving, guiding Hermes to the hospital wing that had become part of his chambers when he became the god of healing. "Not without the head-"

Hermes set Telemachus's body on the nearest bed and then turned, lifting up a wet cloak that was bundled around something.

Apollo took it and unwrapped it, resisting a shout of shock when Telemachus's green eyes, tears still beaded up in the corners, were revealed. "Bring him back," his little brother said, this time a little more desperate. "Soon, Uncle will notice he has not arrived at the Underworld yet."

"Strip him," he said, the doctor side of him coming out. "I need to see if he has any other wounds."

Apollo turned away to grab needles and his strongest thread- the latter so thin and seemingly delicate that it could hardly be seen by any eyes beyond his own. When he turned back, Hermes had finished stripping the body, throwing Telemachus's blood-stained tunic over his shoulder. The body was littered with cuts and hand and foot-shaped bruises, but the only mortal wound had been the decapitation.

"Now, get the head and position it correctly." Apollo may not have much time, but he refused to do it wrong.

When the torn flesh of the neck met the shoulders, he began to work.

As he worked, Apollo found himself muttering spells and soft poems dedicated to Telemachus's lasting health. A golden glow began to seep from his lips, trickling down to consume the young man's form. Hermes himself did not speak, not out loud, until Apollo needed the body moved, and his brother held his youngest grandchild to his chest, muttering soft words into his reddish curls.

Finally, it was done. It was rougher work than he would usually take pride in, but it was enough. Apollo whispered one last spell, trying to imagine what to bribe Uncle with in order to avoid his fury about raising the dead.

Telemachus gasped for air.

"It worked," Hermes said, delight tinging his words and cutting off Apollo's annoyed response at his lack of trust. He pulled away a bit, but the youth made a noise between a gasp and a whine and he had the honor of watching his brother freeze.

Seems Hermes had a new favorite grandbaby.

[nerdypixel]

I am crying, because I'm laughing so hard. This. Is. Brilliant!

POV you work or live on whickber street, soho london

the A.Z. Fell & Co bookshop is a money laundering scheme (it is never open and nothing is for sale) and a front for the mob (the main visitor is a guy who wears sunglasses at night and drives a million £ car) and Mr. Fell is a sugar daddy (the sunglasses guy has no job but can afford his lux lifestyle plus he just has that vibe) with ties to the criminal underworld (how do they pay rent without ever selling anything and sometimes people in bespoke white suits come by). there was a violent gang war (a scary horde calling themselves 'the demons' attacked the shop) and Mr. Fell killed all of them (there was screaming and booms) and now the shop is a crime scene (there is a cop inside all the time now) and Mr. Fell is either on the run from the law (he has disappeared) or in prison (sunglasses sugar baby is crying)

[banj0possum]

My Lovely Melody

Yandere!Rockstar x GN!Reader

CW: yandere is a playboy before he meets reader, suggestive (creepy) thoughts, minor obsessive behaviour

🎸 Axel's been in many relationships with both men and women alike, but all of his little flings felt nothing more than that, just flings.

🎸 And he was content with it, I mean being a famous rockstar meant lots of people wanting a chance with you and he indulged in that fact.

🎸 He could sleep with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and he wouldn't have to deal with the commitment that comes with dating or any of that messy stuff.

🎸 So why the hell can't stop thinking about you ?!?!?!!

🎸 He scratched his head trying to make sense of it, his messy hair getting even more ruffled as he tries to get the image of your smile out of his head.

🎸 You were in a miscellaneous store full of alt clothing, trinkets and various other stuff when he walked in with his bandmates.

🎸 It was fairly normal when he came in the store. It was dim with some random punk song playing faintly in the background. His friends started exploring, looking at the graphic t-shirts and mugs shaped like skulls and the like.

🎸 He got a bit bored and wandered to the other side of the store. It had posters, candles and..who's that?

🎸 There you were, staring longingly at a plush toy sitting on one of the shelves, just standing there.

🎸 He didn't think much of it, probably just some person baked out of their mind. "Hey buddy, you doin' good?"

🎸 You snap out of your gaze and look at the big hulking man in front of you. You stutter out an apology and explain your little misfortune.

🎸 "So you want this..toy...but you can't afford it..?" He raises a brow at you as you nod, making him chuckle.

🎸 He thought for a moment, looking at the stuffed creature, well it wouldn't hurt to buy it for you, he's pretty well off from all the gigs and concerts he's been in so...

🎸 "How 'bout I buy this thing for ya then? But you owe me~" He winks, thinking he could score some quick sex for being such a 'gentleman'

🎸 But no, instead of a blush or a knowing smirk, you just looked at him with the widest, most innocent eyes he's ever seen, you were practically shaking with joy as he said it.

🎸 You thanked him profusely before listing off things you could do in return, treating him to some food, buying something for him in return, plain paying him back..he was a bit surprised.

🎸 "O-oh...uhm that was a joke heheh, y-you don't have to do all that babe..." He blushes.

🎸 The two of you head to the cashier, his friends spying from behind the aisles as his gaze is locked on the little ball of cuteness beside him.

🎸 Seriously? Did you even know who he was? This has never happened before...most of the time, he would pay for someone's drink or something and they'd be on his dick in seconds, but you, you were so..different...it felt nice..

🎸 You didn't even get it in a bag, you immediately took the plush after it was paid and hugged it close.

🎸 so cute so cute so cute so cute so cute!!!

🎸 "Hey uh..so me and my buds are in a band and uhm..wanna maybe..watch our next gig?" He asks nervously, he's never been so shy towards anyone!!

🎸 You agree, thinking it's the least you could do for what he did for you.

🎸 You take out your phone, Axel can't help but grin at the case, it was cute, like you~..

🎸 "Here's my number if..you need it.." You smile at him, that smile..that damn cute smile...you had his heart wrapped around your finger at this point.

🎸 "Th-thanks sugar..I'll see you there.." He smiles back as you part ways, he heads back to his friends who were bombarding him with questions as he watches you skip out of the store with your new little soft friend.

🎸 That night, he was getting ready for the show when he got a message notification and sees that you sent a picture of the show from one of the seats with some text "Good luck out there!"

🎸 His face was on fire as he realized you were there, he peeks out in the crowd and there you were, your little plush toy in tow.

🎸 You look so out of place from the people in spiky jewelry and dark outfits, you were just in a hoodie and baggy pants, albeit the hoodie had a MCR design on it, but you can tell it was very soft compared to the rest of the audience.

🎸 Finally it was time for the show to begin and it was the most passionate he's been in a while, it seemed as if the words he was singing were dedicated to you and you alone.

🎸 The little glances at you made you giddy, like a friend seeing their bestie perform, you were cheering excitedly for him, not in a fangirly way, but one of genuine support and amazement.

🎸 After the performance, Axel tried finding you, but the crowd was too big and he assumed you must have left already.

🎸 Wait..why is he being so buddy buddy with you? You just met today! It's not like you two were best friends or anything!

🎸 He tried dismissing the thought of you, tried distracting himself by flirting with other people, but he could only think about you, and making you smile like that again..

🎸 no no no! get out of my head!

🎸 Maybe a little fling can ease his mind?

🎸 Even on his bed with some random girl after show, he can still think of you.

🎸 Would your skin be as soft? or maybe softer? How would your hair smell? He bets your moans would sound delicious..

🎸 shit FUCK!!

🎸 Even after his one night stand, he kept thinking of you

🎸 He stares at your messages, you sent a lot of pictures of your plush toy doing goofy things to him, so cute..so silly...he can't help but smile.

🎸 He decides to look you up on social media and..

🎸 Wait a minute...you make music too?

yep this was a bit short but idk man i love making you guys suffer <3 stay tuned for part 2 (i am actually out of ideas guys please request me please please ple-)

[sant-riley]

[Touchy feely] [tf141 headcanons]

(Romantic impied Task force 141 boys x gender neutral!reader headcanons :))

Summary: Being the sweetheart of the task force means the boys are not shy about the fact that they're all simps and always want some sort of contact with you at all times.

Consists of romantic/suggestive headcanons for each of the guys and little things they do with you <3

Words: about 1.5k (this was supposed to be short, whoops)

Warnings/Info: Can be read separately but it is intended that they all harbor feelings for you at the same time, possibly out of character for everyone, some swearing, the guys manhandle you, as always, let me know if I miss something!

Thinking about how each of the boys is so touchy with you, it doesn't matter where you are or who you're with, they're shameless.

Other units and teams who will sometimes share the base with 141 know better than to ask questions or directly say anything to one of the guys or you for that matter. Not that they could anyway, seeing as you always have at least one of them attached to your hip.

Price:

Anyone who walks into Price's office late at night to turn something in is used to seeing you next to the Captain on the little dingy loveseat he has in there.

John is usually smoking a cigar, taking care to not blow smoke your way while your head is resting on his shoulder. Your eyes closed as you hum at his words. It's terribly domestic for a military base.

John likes to gently play with your hair while he speaks about missions he's been on, always somehow trying to braid despite not knowing how to for jack shit, whether it because it's you or just the mindless motion, he's not willing to say.

John will usually walk you back to your room after dinner or time in his office unless he's swamped with work.

A small hand on the small of your back while he leads you. It's always a respectable touch, though he tucks you into his side, nodding at everyone you may pass.

If you're comfortable with it, he likes to press a kiss to your head, smiling that goofy ass smile, and tells you to get a good night's rest.

He lets you help him trim up his beard, he won't let you do all of it but he likes the closeness of it, him sitting down while you gently shape it up, tilting his head up and he tries his best to not stare directly at your chest.

The fact that he's letting you this close to his neck with a razor is a sign of trust, maybe small for others but for a man that doesn't drop his guard and doesn't truly trust others, it speaks volumes.

The first time he let you, you were barely putting any pressure and he grabbed your hand in his and showed you. "You're not gonna hurt me, put more force into it, yeah?"

Don't get me started on going out on walks in London with Price, he wraps you up in his beanie and some big leather jacket he has that dwarves you, helping you move through crowds by once again holding the small of your back, or taking your smaller hand in his. (He doesn't correct anyone if they mistake you as married)

He likes to kiss the back of your hand and laughs when it makes you blush and sputter out that his beard is scratchy.

Ghost:

Ghost is a subtle one, he won't actively reach for you or your hand but he does have some part of him against you most times.

Whether it be his leg, arm, or thigh, anything works. A normal place yall will be seen together is in the dining hall, you've both learned to ignore the stares from everyone else.

Simon never eats there, just sits with you until you're finished and then you both move on to either his quarters or somewhere else so he can peel his mask up to eat a bit.

However, while you're eating and telling him about anything under the sun, he'll lean over and wipe some crumbs off of your mouth with his thumb softly, which again, you're used to so okay whatever but Recruits always are taken aback in their seats.

Ghost's reflexes kick into overdrive with you. His hand going to cover a corner of a table 9/10 times before you completely wreck your shit, but when he does miss (sometimes on purpose).

He'll bring a hand up to rub at your head for you, chuckling under his breath before cooing down at you "That hurt pretty? Sure look like it did."

Whenever you two specifically are paired onto a mission, doesn't matter if any of the guys complain, he will share a cot/tent with you. He claims he runs the hottest (he doesn't, it's Johnny but he will not lose on this) and can keep your body the warmest.

He pretty much lugs you on top of him and wraps his arms around your waist, he'll press a hand against your head if you keep fidgeting, rasping at you to go to sleep. He takes great pride in the fact that you're usually out like a light very shortly.

I've said it once and I'll say it again, Ghost likes to hook a finger into your body straps and pull it really hard and let it smack you to get your attention if you're not actively paying attention to him, he'll soothe the area but he's smirking behind that fucking mask.

On that note, he definitely does the "You got something right here." And points at your chest and immediately pull up to flick your nose hard as fuck, he KNOWS his own strength but sometimes your eyes water and he immediately feels bad.

Ghost rests his head on your chest a lot, he finds your heartbeat to be soothing and reassuring, also grunts if you don't wrap your arms around him in return, bro literally shoves his head into you and groans

This is a grown man but it's cute so you let it slide bc he'll never ask for it outright, he just assumes you'll cradle his head.

Soap:

Johnny is the most shameless motherfucker here, I'm talking about draping himself over you, grabbing at your cheeks, ruffling your hair, kissing you dangerously close to your lips (it drives the others mad), he's the most unapologetic about it and will gloat to the others.

Manhandler #1, isn't above grabbing you by your hips and picking you up to move you somewhere, he's literally gone and grabbed you from some rookies side to come stand next to him with a smile and you're just so used to it that you just shrug and go along with it. (He gets slightly jealous, why would you stand next to some random ass dude and not him??)

Throws you over his shoulder, or likes you to cling to his front or his back and just carries you, he says it's a comfortable weight. If you ever dare say you're too heavy, he's gonna go to the gym and work out even more to PROVE to you that he simply doesn't care, he will carry you.

Extremely bad habit of sneaking into your room to fall asleep with you, Price has come into your room many times to see Soap sprawled on top of you, he's drooling and snoring and you're knocked the fuck out (he's like a glorified weighted blanket).

I've touched on this before but he only wants you to cut his hair for him, yeah he can go to the barber on base but he much prefers you and loves it when you scratch at his scalp. He also likes to just have his head in between your thighs but that's something else for another time-

Soap specifically slings you over his shoulder a lot, especially off base where he truly doesn't have any fucks to give.

You're not going to bed because you have other work?? Too bad, shoulder time you go. You're not willing to get up and make yourself food? Good thing he's here, either pick what you want from the kitchen or throw some clothes on bc he IS dragging you out of the house.

Johnny likes to draw on you a lot, it ranges from scribbles, to sometimes his name if he's feeling cheeky (he's drawn it on your thigh before and you didn't notice until Gaz shot you a look), to intricate drawings of whatever he can think whether it be a landscape or an animal.

He always holds you steady and it isn't uncommon for your limbs to fall asleep but it's worth it, if only to see him smile.

Gaz:

Gaz is probably the most secretly clingy person out of the four, he CAN function without your touch but does he PREFER to? No.

His first instinct in any situation is to grab you and shield you, he's the fastest of the four so his body moves without thinking and it's saved you more times than any of you would like to count.

The one mission where you both fell out of a moving truck, he tucked your body into his despite it costing him his shoulder popping out of the socket, you couldn't help but freak out while Ghost moved to pop it back into place.

"Why the fuck would you do that? Look at your arm!" "It's nothing." "Garrick what the fuck-"

When you're out anywhere off base, he's holding your hand, good luck trying to pull away bc he is not letting go. Too bad so sad, resign to your fate.

I think Gaz is definitely good at dancing, at least with you and when the right music is on, you cannot tell me this man wouldn't twirl you around and shit-fight me on it. He'll even lift you off your feet, laughing when you scramble to grab at his shoulders.

He goes stark still if you rest your head on his shoulder, not because he's nervous but because he's worried about waking you up when he knows you deserve a rest.

He'll usually wrap his arm around your shoulder to hold you in place so the heli ride doesn't jostle you so much, gentleness rubbing his knuckles along your arm to soothe you.

Gaz is the one who holds you when you have nightmares, on rare occasions when Soap isn't in your room and you just need to be held with no talking, you always without thinking find yourself in Kyle's room, his arms wrapped around your waist as he tucks your head under his chin, no questions asked.

He'll maybe hum a tune to help you relax but other than that, he lets you lead the way.

[captn-duck-gremlin]

Like it all started when you and some friends decided to do some urban exploration, visiting a broken abandoned military base. Now while there your friends are of course being dumb, touching things with bare hands, no face coverings to protect them from whatever harmful things could be in the air, respect for the possible dead is on floor level with them. You on the other hand, you got gloves, a face mask just in case, you're apologizing to anything you bump into. You did the research, this place went down from an unexpected attack, so there might be a corpse around somewhere (or lingering spirit). You give a short prayer to anything that looks like a corpse, regardless if you follow in those beliefs or now; you just want to be respectful to the dead. And yes, this place is haunted. Obviously. Now the important part, at one point or another 4 damned souls have clung to you. You dont notice at first, you barely feel that buzz that you're being watched. But the first unnatural thing to happen to you starts in a dream, a weirdly detailed dream. You're a housewife in the 50s. Cute summer dress, lovely home, nice street. But it feels too real, the patterns on the walls stay perfect no matter how long you stare at them, you can read lines from books you've never seen before, you look at your hands and they don't look distorted like they usually are in dreams. Then a man walks through your front door like he owns the place, you don't recognise him. At all. Yet he speaks to you in such a nice rough voice from his cigars, calling you such sweet things. Treating you like his wife. Then after what felt like hours from playing housewife you wake up, confused to hell and back. You brush it off until the next night, where you're sucked into another oddly very detailed dream, but its so different. From housewife in the 50s to maiden in the ye old times. The man is different, instead of tough, friendly bearded husband, you now have dark knight with skull markings. Helmet stays on at all times, but despite the rough and scary armour and vibe, he treats you like you're the finest silk, the sweetest flower, like you'll shatter if he so much as looks at you wrong. And after living through that you wake up once again incredibly confused. Is this what the backrooms feel like? You don't know, you don't want to know. Night rolls around once more which you dread and sure enough another weird dream with a new life. Now, at a farmland on the outskirts of an old styled town, you got chickens, goats, two cows, some ducks and a bulky husband with a silly mohawk. You don't know what year it is, what century you're at, at this point you're just rolling with it. Husband got a nice accent, Scottish you might think it is. He's absolutely spoiling you, treating you like a princess for no reason. Not like you're complaining. After that dream, you wake up contemplating that you might be losing your mind. But no, you're just being haunted by demons who like spending time with you through your dreams. Moving on. 4th weird dream, this feels further up into recent years, maybe 2000s. Cute husband, looks like a sweetheart, is a sweetheart. His skin is darker from the other ones, but not like you could tell with Sir Skull and Bones. He has a smooth voice, could probably sweet talk a bear. Time with him was almost too sweet. You swore his pupils nearly went heart shaped when he looks at you. And like the rest of them, you wake up confused. And thats just how your nights go, things in the day go.. strangely.

Oh and quick reminder, don't run from them.

[dwaekkicidal]

Oh my god I beg for some mean skz smut 😔😔

hmmmm ok but what are we thinking for the hyung line?

is it about meanie channie who snaps after you slut yourself out in the studio when staff was in there- along with the rest of 3racha who you know has a little crush on you hehe. he barely waits for them to walk out the door before shoving you towards the door, forcing you to lock it before shoving his cock into you while you're pushed up against the door- mind you with minimum prep because "You don't deserve it. after that shit." his cock is soooo much thicker like this!!!! >.< and he manages to make his thrusts prove his anger? hips smacking into yours so harshly that it feels like the soundproof door isn't enough to drown any sounds out

what about brat tamer minho who forces you to sit between his legs and watch him jerk himself off? you have a pretty little vibrator thats connect to your clit and your g-spot simultaneously, and he has the controls on his phone that rests in his free hand. he fucks with the controls so much... maybe even teasing u by drawing his full name- in english AND korean- before setting it to the highest setting and leaving it like that until you're cumming at least 3 times.

my sweet binnie who's only mean if you beg him to be or if you reaaaaally push his buttons- maybe throw in a dig or two about how theres another man out there thats better than he is (spoiler: theres literally negative of them). your punishment (reward) is always the same! one of those those sexy ass arms around your neck and squeezing as he fucks into you so roughly that your whole body is jumping forward, your moans cutting off from how aggressive he gives it to you!!!

ok but what about lover boy hyunjin who is actually one of the meanest doms you have ever seen, 99% of the time it being unprompted as well??? the first time you push him to get rough in bed, you're in for ittt~ he ties your wrists up and connects you to the hook in the ceiling, leaving just enough rope for you to be on your tippy toes (also the same hook he previously told you was for painting... yeah, my fucking ass) and speaking of asses, yours is sooo sore from the big handed smacks he leaves there >< he'll always stop if you want it, but otherwise he has no plans to until you submit to him completely <3

whats on the menu for the maknaes today?

definitely munch hannie who ties you up with the most random shit that works- any ties he has laying around, your panties, and sometimes he'll straight up rip his shoelaces out for it?? but it's all so that he can show off the shibari he secretly learned- the main one being a series of knots that tie your arms to a leg each, forcing you wide open for him all the while he eats. and what a messy fucking eater!!! your last 3 orgasms worth of cum dripping down his jaw as he nibbles at your sensitive spots <3

"angel boy" felix me thinks.. who makes you fuck yourself onto him in doggy, refusing to put any effort because he's the "angel" who deserves to be worshipped (yes but...) if you falter even slightly or move to his disliking, you're getting a series of mean smacks- ones that leave a pretty little heart shape in its wake from the pretty pink paddle he insisted on buying (OR HIS INITIALS IF HE GETS A CUSTOM PADDLE OMFFF)

ohhhh but owner seungmin who fucks your brains out with a pretty little collar around your neck <3 (maybe even one also with his initials engraved hehe) he tugs at it to fuck you back onto him, not even need a leash when he slides his finger through one of the loops. huffs and puffs about how tight you are while he actively works to make you tighter, from squeezing your legs together to overstimulating the hell out of you all the while he disallows himself to cum for as long as he can handle, all so when he finally busts theres so much and its all getting fucked right back into you

and god... toy fiend jeongin... the second you let him know you're ok with toys being brought into the bedroom, you're almost regretting everything!!! he's SO fucked up about it >:( he keeps one of those big hands around your throat while the other slides a vibrator as deep into you as it physically can go without causing you pain... and when you squirm around and your legs squeeze together, he's either digging his fingers into your thigh to push them apart or he's biting whatever he's closest to- your thighs, your calf, your shoulder, or (his favorite) your nipples <3

hnnnnng....

Taglist (red=can’t be tagged):

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams

@aeri-skzver

[mywritersmind]

THE BOOTH - LN4

summary : The booth. A notorious club in the heart of london, where y/n and lando met again after two years of silence.

listen up : fewtrell!reader. She sits in his lap. no smut, just hot and suggestive. creepy guy in the beginning! Prob my fav short i’ve written omg

word count : 1732

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“No.” I giggle out of uncomfortableness at the man getting closer to me.

“C’mon, let me buy you a drink.” the man reeks of alcohol and has fucked up teeth. I’ve seen enough. I pull down the bottom of my mini dress as I stand.

“No.” I repeat, pushing past him. The club is crowded and sticky, I see my friends but a hand around my wrist pulls me back.

“Really? Too good for me?” He scoffs in my face but the next thing I know he’s being pushed away from me.

“She is.” The voice comes from the man in front of me, the guy who pushed this dickhead away. “Piss off. She’s with me.”

The guy seems intimidated enough because he gives me a dirty look and leaves. “Thank y-” I pause when the man turns around.

I pause because the man is my childhood crush, brothers best friend, and fucking formula one driver.

“Lando?” I’m genuinely shocked that the britt I haven’t seen in two years is standing in front of me.

“Y/n!?” He looks me up and down, his mouth open, “Fuck… You look good.” I could say the same for him, in a navy button down, jeans, and his jewelry adorning his hands. He’s ridiculously hot.

I laugh, “Careful Lan, my brother could be lurking.” I switch my weight onto one leg as he smirks.

Max loves Lando. Max loves me.

Therefore, Max HATED the thought of us even speaking. We were all friends in childhood but our teens hit and suddenly I was completely off limits. I’m pretty sure he noticed how much I asked about Lando and swore that he would kill both of us if anything happened.

Someone walks behind him, causing him to get closer, his hand brushing against my hip, “Don’t scare me, yeah?”

I bite my lip at the thought, we start walking across the room, Lando’s hand firmly on me now as he ‘guides’ me. “Don’t worry. Idiots in Monaco… which means we have free rein.”

I see his jaw clench, his drink slide onto his lips again, “I’d like to keep my friendship.”

“I’d like to lose my panties.” I’m quick to reply, messing with Lando used to be my favorite thing.

You see, Lando is Max’s best friend. He feels bad lying and this would definitely be considered a betrayal of trust.

But for me… Max is my brother. I can lie and do whatever I want with no remorse. Lando is something I could do easily and as much as it would make me happy to piss off my brother, Norris has always been that one guy in the back of my mind.

“Christ Y/n. Missed your remarks.” We make it to the wall, it’s a bit quieter over here.

“You mean you missed my flirting?” I look up at him, he just bites his lip, hiding his smile.

“I missed you.” He surprises me with this.

“I missed you too.” I push my hand through my hair, “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Really good.” He smiles big and I know it’s because of his racing.

“Watched your win in Zandvoort.” I sigh, “Simply lovely was brutal.” He rolls his eyes, laughing and leaning his head back on the wall.

“Not you too!”

“It was hilarious! I liked it!” I hit his arm and the way he looks at me… it’s like every emotion that I've tucked away and only opened up in the darkness of my bedroom after midnight, comes out then. “I like this too.”

My hand goes to the back of his neck, playing with his curls that shape his baby mullet.

“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head, his eyes cut into me, his voice weak.

“What?” I say innocently.

“You always do this.”

“Do what, Norris?” Lando never was that much taller than me, but something about the two passed years has changed that.

His tongue runs over his teeth, he’s about to say something but two guys appear next to us, “Mate! We’ve been looking for you!” Another British man speaks, Alex Albon to be exact.

“Found a friend?” Carlos sainz eyes me, dressed in all black.

I smile at the drivers, Lando eyes Carlos. “Max’s sister. Y/n.” They both nod and look much too interested in how Lando says it, “Y/n… this is Alex and Carlos.”

“Pleasure.” I smile wide. I am an F1 fan, it’s a bit weird seeing Lando on the grid but I’ll sit and watch with Max almost every weekend that we’re together.

“Pleasures all ours! I’ve always wanted to meet Lando’s childhood crush!” Lando hits Carlos, making him grab his stomach, “Worth it!” The Spanish man chokes out.

Lando scratches the back of his neck, not looking at me. “Are you here with anyone?” Alex asks me, I knew he would be nice.

“Yeah! I’m not sure where they are but…”

“That’s okay. You have us now!” Alex and I end up getting a drink, Lando stays back with Carlos who’s definitely teasing him.

I get a vodka lemonade and four shots. Alex and I are already best friends and laughing so hard that Carlos and Lando won’t stop asking us what’s so funny.

They don’t know that I showed Alex a photo of Lando and I as smurfs when we were five.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

LANDO NORRIS

Describing Y/n is something i’ve done many times. To friends, for context in stories, but if i’d really describe her… I don’t think I would have an ending point.

She’s got long blonde hair. She cut it all off when she was fifteen and I almost fainted when I didn’t recognize her. She loved it.

She’s confident, you can see it in her walk. Her hips sway and the click of her heels is something I'll never forget.

When she talks to you, all attention is on you, her eyes are hazel, appearing brown in the dark but if you get close enough… you’ll see the green.

She never quite had an awkward stage, always been beautiful, probably always will be. I haven’t seen her in years yet she acts like I talked to her yesterday.

Y/n sucks on a lime after her shot, smiling and clapping her hands together, “God, I feel like i’m in highschool!”

I obviously didn’t go to school with her. She’s a year younger and Max would non stop complain about her. She was more popular than him, going out, and was basically friends with everyone.

I remind myself again that Max is the reason why my arm is around the couch and not her waist.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Y/N

“Norris!” I stand, holding out my hand, “Picture time.” I smile as he stands with me.

“What?” Carlos asks.

“Called the booth for a reason, Sainz!” I grin at the boys, gripping Lando’s hand tight and maneuvering us through the crowd.

There’s one photo booth in the back corner of the club. It’s notorious for famous photos and making everyone look good.

I look back at the boys who all look confused. All except Lando.

We came to the booth when Lando was in town from F2, we were 17 and 18. Max had gone off with some girl and we found ourselves in this exact booth.

We swore never to talk about it.

But I’m all for repeating history.

“Fewtrell…” He warns in my ear as we walk to the starred booth.

I glance back, dragging out his name, “Norris.”

He gets in first, unlike us as teens, only one person can fit. I smile and watch Lando’s face drop, I sit down on his lap, “Playing with fire here, love.” he says in my ear.

“I don’t mind getting burned.” He slips two coins in, his hand moving to my waist and holding me steady.

We smile first.

SNAP

I move a bit and give him bunny ears.

SNAP

Lando clears his throat, gripping my skin tighter as he looks at me. I move again, my skirt riding up a bit. “Trying to kill me?”

I smile and kiss his cheek, feeling something hard against me.

SNAP

“Of course.” I look at him, “The memories in here… You remember?”

“I’d be an idiot to forget.”

His hand moves down my hip, closer to my thigh. I look at him again as the photo booth starts up for the second time, “I shouldn’t.” He whispers, my face centimeters from his. I hear the whistles outside.

I shift once more, turning more to him. He groans, his head falling backwards and his eyes closing, “Give me a good reason.”

SNAP

He opens his eyes, meeting mine. I know I've got him. My hand rests on his neck, my rings pressing against his skin. He mumbles something but it’s too loud, “Speak up, Norris.”

“Never spoken.” His eyes flick to my lips, trying to get me to promise this is a secret.

“Never ever.” He leans in closer.

SNAP

“Come on rule breaker… I believe in you.” I whisper in his ear and it breaks him. I’m pulling his head closer to me, his lips on mine, a relief like no other.

He grabs ass, pulling me closer in the tiny space. I slip my tongue in his mouth, whimpering a bit. He bites my lip. I’m melting into him. It’s hot and needy but so much more than I could have ever wanted.

SNAP

Kissing Lando at Seventeen was scandalous and drunken. Kissing Lando at Twenty Three flat out sexy.

“Need you…” He whispers into the kiss which makes me almost come undone right then and there.

Someone bangs on the booth, “Alright Lovebirds!” Lando laughs but I'm the one to pull away.

“I can’t leave this booth.” He says quickly, his face red and sweaty.

“You’ll be fine-” I understand what he’s talking about when I go to leave and something brushes against my leg, “Oh.”

He looks away from me, blushing.

I smile, proud of myself for the boner and his pink cheeks, “Aw come on! I’ll cover you.” I wink and he rolls his eyes, He walks out behind me, his arms firmly on my waist again.

The two drivers grin at us, “You covering a boner?” Carlos starts but gets punched for the second time tonight by Lando. He holds his stomach again, “Still worth it!”

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ mad with need ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ you want him so bad that you feel like you’re going crazy so he indulges you┊3.0k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: smut!! dom logan & sub reader┊x wade wilson too, age gap, dirty fantasies from a horny reader (who is actually insecure about herself), size difference, no prep we’re dying like nicepool, riding & unprotected piv, breeding/creampie, a bit rushed i need this out my wips

➤ author's note: okay so this is actually the very first logan fic i started, but i have no idea why it took me so long to finish it? it’s a bit all over the place, but i hope some people enjoy anyway!

has he realized you were there and simply testing your self-control, or is he just being so effortlessly sexy again that you aren’t sure if you’re in love or jealous? was there any other reason for him to be laid out on the beat-up couch like something to feast on when he was simply holding a bottle of liquor in one hand to sip on and flipping through the channels of a barely-working box television with a remote in the other? why else would he be so delectable around a known pervert(s, wade is just as bad as you are, just more focused on the possible destruction of his home rather than the pansexual panic between you and logan plaguing him) if not to tempt you?

you’re constantly fawning over the sight of him and letting out dreamy sighs which have become more common lately than you would like to admit, swearing that you could gaze upon him for every second of the day and not tire of it. they say “god gives his most difficult battles to his strongest soldiers”, yet the battle assigned to you is restraining yourself from pouncing on him at the very moment and begging to suck his cock. you know that you’re horny most hours of the day and also kinda a brazen whore, but the way he makes you wet in record time should be worthy of a gold olympic medal.

every time his lips wrap around the rim of the glass bottle, you can’t help but imagine them somewhere else. the image of his handsome face between your legs and scruffy facial hair coated in your slick while he ravishes you haunts your mind whenever you try to sleep, yet the phantom sensation of his tongue on you while his nose stimulates your clit helps you rest in the end. you bet that he would be great at eating pussy too, with his sharp tongue and arrogant attitude— god. 

he’s also so jacked that even when he’s resting, his muscles still seem to bulge with prominent veins like a nurse’s wet dream and it has you downright drooling. now that the sleeves of his suit were gone, you could see how beefy his arms were, and seeing any inch of his skin had you acting up like a victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time. he could probably crush your skull like an egg if you ever found yourself head-locked in them (you’ve seen him do it to wade out of irritation, and you’ve never been so jealous).

and not to mention how peggable his shapely ass is, there’s really no limit to all the things you want to try with him if you were given the chance—

“are you finished staring?” his gruff voice brought you back to reality, refocusing your vision as he made a slight gesture to his body with one of his rare smirks, “like what you see?” it’s a rhetorical question, he knows how good he looks despite his age and you have already made your attraction towards him well-established. 

you don’t need to say anything, he can tell what you’re thinking as clearly as day, so you don’t bother making any dirty remarks like usual and just walk out the room. you paced around the house for a minute or two to calm yourself down until you eventually ran into wade. “oh my god,” you cupped your face with your hands, eyes becoming big and round as if you were going to cry, “i want him so bad, i feel like i’m gonna lose my mind if i don’t fuck him!”

“well, why haven’t you? i know for a fact that my presence isn’t enough to stop you from climbing him like a tree, so spill it!”

“uhhhh,” you pointed your fingers together to exaggerate self-consciousness, “what if… what if he doesn’t like me and just sees me as some annoying, excessively horny kid?”

“can you believe this bitch?” he scoffed, looking at the invisible audience that was always watching before grabbing your shoulders and violently shaking you, “listen here missy, he definitely likes you— i have yet to see that man smile at anything else that isn’t your face and comments that rival jjk twitter fans in vulgarity! why are you suddenly getting cold feet now when you’re such a player? you’re suddenly screaming, crying, and throwing up over peanut whom you’ve been hitting on non-stop since we found him?!”

“i don’t know! it’s different, he’s my hero, and— i know it’s hard for you to believe, but he’s not even half the asshole my previous flings were. besides, he so fucking hot—”

“yeah, but he’s also so fucking old— his dick is probably all shriveled up—” the sound of the said man clearing his throat made him jump out of his skin, slowly turning his head to look at the older man before giggling nervously and waving his hands around in some form of awkward greeting. even if he can regenerate and wounds are more like papercuts, the last thing he wanted was to get stabbed in the balls by his adamantium claws again for making such a comment. “ahaha, how much did you hear…?”

“enough,” he grunted, turning his attention to you, “and you’re coming with me.”

“huh—?” there was hardly a moment for you to properly react before he suddenly bent down to grab you by the waist and toss you over his shoulder, “you’re not even gonna ask me to dinner first?!” you must have looked like a fish out of the water with how your mouth was agape with surprise, and you heard him genuinely chuckle in amusement. both from the fact that you didn’t see this coming after all you’ve been saying to him as well as the fact that he could pick you up and throw you around like you weighed nothing.

“well, you didn’t exactly greet me with a ‘hello’ before shamelessly undressing me with your eyes when we first met, now did you?” you couldn’t see if he was smiling or not considering that you were upside-down. the current angle only gave you a close-up view of his perfect ass (not that you were complaining, you need to know his squat routine), unsure if the heat on your face was from the embarrassment of him calling you out or simply from the blood rushing to your head.

“what about me? are you lovebirds really going to leave me all by myself, lonely and yearning for the companionship of another while you two fuck like rabbits?”

“ahh, go fuck yourself.” the grin on his face dissipated the moment he opened his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to ruin his mood as he carried you away to the closest bedroom available, quickly flinging you on the bed without a bother to be careful when handling you since he knew that you could and have taken worse as deadpool’s sidekick. “why are you so nervous? think i don’t want you as much as you want me?”

“wait, actually?” your usually confident facade of the overly forward flirt was faltering more and more by the second.

“you’re so busy ogling my body that you haven’t even noticed the way i look at you, huh?” it’s obvious logan was an absolute beast of a man, but when he cages you with his arms between his bulky frame and the mattress, you feel like a little field mouse against a lion. the way your pupils dilate as you look up at him with adorned excitement has him so fucking feral, heat stirring in his stomach and blood rushing to his cock. he traced over your outfit, admiring how the skin-tight leather hugged your curved. “wearing such a slutty little things that leaves nothing to the imagination, and you expected me not to think about pinning you down and fucking you until you pass out?”

you shivered at his words, arousal pooling in your underwear and warmth spreading throughout your body under your skin. this cheeky son of a bitch can smell it too, the sweet smell of desire, sensing how needy you are for his touch and how your pussy is just begging for his attention. 

as much as he wanted to rip your clothing off and pound into you like there was no tomorrow, he wanted to take his time to properly treasure the cute sidekick who has been reminding him how it feels to be a man again, young and unafraid to pursue the woman of his dreams and treat her right the way that countless of others failed to do. (you’re going to laugh hysterically at him later on down the line when you hear him say that, never thinking you could be the object of anyone’s affection past a one-night stand, but the look in his eyes makes you realize he’s telling the truth and you’ll get all flustered over it.) 

you can taste the alcohol from earlier when he kisses you and moan into it, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, all teeth, tongue, and animalistic want. he ran a hand down your torso to reach the zipper of your suit, undoing it in one swift motion, exposing your bare chest to his eager eyes.

“no bra?”

“i don’t need it when the suit— ah!” 

he cut you off, not caring about the intricacies of how the costume supported everything when he would only get distracted, moving his lips to take one of your perk nipples in his mouth and sucking like it was going to give him milk or something while pinching the other one in between his fingers. he’s like a kid on christmas playing with his new toy: palming at your breasts, cupping and squishing them together, and realizing that his large hands could practically cover them entirely.

“fuckk, you’re so pretty, doll,” he drawled, letting go of your teat with a ‘pop’ and kissing your neck before making you gasp by sinking his teeth into your skin. you gasped at the sudden sensation, deep enough to leave a lasting indent but not deep enough to draw blood, as he soothed the fresh wound by licking it with his tongue. everyone was going to know that you were his, especially that motherfucker he knows is listening in on the other side of the door with his cock in his hands.

 “logan…” you rasp, voice barely above a whisper.

“what is it, princess?” it was a nickname he has used plenty of times, yet it felt completely different in such a sexually charged situation, so much more intimate in a way that you feel your heart racing even faster than before and a rush of energy within. 

“need you…” you murmured.

“come on, a little louder, you need to use your words.” 

“fucking hell,” you covered your face with your hands, trying to ignore the way your cheeks burned, “i need you, logan! i’m gonna go crazy if you don’t fuck me right now!”

“hm, is that so?” he had been resting on his side up until now, laying on his back and lifting you up with both hands under your arms. you found yourself sitting pretty in his lap, straddling him, legs on either side of his waist. “why don’t you work for it then? work for what you wanted so badly this entire time?”

you inhaled sharply, looking down at this fine specimen of a mutant under you made of pure muscle and adamantium with a noticeable tent in his pants, a cocky grin gracing his features daring you to continue. only a fool wouldn’t take up his challenge. biting the inside of your mouth, you began to fully strip yourself of all clothing, kicking it off to the side to be forgotten and showing off your beautiful bare body that logan has been dreaming about since the moment he met you. “take your clothes off too,” you huffed, “it’s not fair for me to be the only one naked.”

he hummed in agreement, taking off the upper half of his yellow and blue-detailed suit, revealing his rippling abs and pecs— age has yet to make a dent in his physique, he doesn’t even look real. he’s not going to remove the bottom half though, both because you’re already on top of him and because you still need to “work for it.” 

experimentally, you rolled your hips on his bulge, feeling a twinge of amusement when he visibly had to clench his jaw to prevent a moan from slipping out. he’s just as pent-up as you are, no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it right now. you fiddled with the metal of his zipper for a moment before pulling it down, motions fidgety with nerves yet still determined to see this through. 

your eyes widen at the sight of his fully erect cock, noting instantly that he’s bigger than any other guy you’ve been with, yet still feeling your mouth water at the size and the vein trailing its underbelly. “is it even going to fit?” you manage to breathe out, reaching out to run a finger over the leaking tip and hearing him hiss.

“only one way to find out, but i think you can take it.” 

placing your hands on his shoulders for balance, you put his theory to the test and raised your body to sink yourself onto him, whimpering at the pleasurable stretch when you manage to make it past the tip. you’re so fucking soaked from your own thoughts and the few minutes of foreplay earlier that you didn’t even need his fingers to prep you, just using your slick as a form of natural lube and feeling him slip into you inch by inch.

“that’s it, doll, just like that,” he praised, the words going right to your head, really enjoying the show of you struggling to take all of him.

“mmhh, lo—” his name came out in a more whiny voice than expected with your eyes rolling back and nails raking into his skin. your thighs were aching with the constant repetitive motion of working yourself up and down his cock, taking one step back for two steps forward, more than halfway there yet unsure if you could handle it all when you felt so impossibly full already.

“shhh, i know, i know, sweetheart— just take your time, i’m not going anywhere.” his words are so sweet despite being a complete asshole by laying back and letting you do all the hard work, hands behind his head and everything while watching his cock slowly disappearing between your folds.

you look at him through glossy half-lidded eyes, brain turned to absolute mush, not even realizing that you had finally taken him to the base and was comfortably nestled on his cock. it took a few moments to adjust to his girth, breathing heavily with the swelling feeling of satisfaction developing within you. you have barely even started, and yet it was already so much better than anything else— he was so much better than anyone else. 

“you okay?” he waits for you to blink to process his words before nodding slightly, letting out a soft ‘yeah’ before your eyes went wide when he suddenly grabbed your waist and positioned you under him once again. you didn’t notice because you went dumb with dick (to put it bluntly), but he had been restraining himself from flipping you over to be on top or trying to buck his hips into you before you were ready. 

he then started thrusting into you at a relentless pace, your hands flying up to his biceps and clinging on for dear life to find purchase. there was no frame to go with this mattress you were resting on, but you were sure it would be banging against the wall until it broke if it was there. your eyes were screwed shut with your head thrown back into the pillow, letting out pathetic pitched moans along with stutters of his name as the orgasm in your stomach builds.

“aah, lo-logan!”

“don’t worry, i got you,” he lazily circled your clit with his thumb, feeling you clench even more tightly at the action, “just let yourself go, relax— cum for me, doll.”

you cried out as your climax washed over you, gushing all over his cock and the pants of his suit that neither of you bothered to take off earlier. it’s a shame that you ruined his clothing so soon when he just got this costume, but honestly, he likes it a lot better when the yellow is stained with the evidence of how good he made you feel.

the way your walls spasmed around him made him quickly follow suit, shooting ribbons of his seed into you and painting your insides white. perhaps he would have been able to hold on for a bit longer when he was younger, but he can’t find himself caring in the least when you were looking up at him like he was everything right now.

he leaned down to kiss you, slowly pulling out of you, being careful not to rest on top of you and crush you under his weight, generally being uncharacteristically sweet towards you in stark comparison to how he was rocking your world like you were the last two souls on earth just a minute ago.

“so… do you like me?” it was the tone he grew accustomed to when you and wade were teasing him, feeling you wrap your arms around him with a sigh and snuggling into his chest.

“yeah… i like you a lot more than you think…”

[flowersforbucky]

oil & water

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.8k

prompt - "If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so."

shout out to @ellemj for her encouragement with this ♡

warnings/tags: SMUT, vaginal penetration, oral sex (female receving), face sitting, mentions of violence, description of blood & wounds, no use of y/n, reader is afab, hurt/comfort trope, bickering & banter, friends to lovers, forced close proximity trope. 18 plus only!

“Roll your window up,” Bucky snaps at you as he turns down the music you had just put on moments ago. “The last thing we need is someone noticing the blood caked all over the entire right side of your body.” 

As if the lack of functioning AC in the twenty-something year old getaway car (an early 2000’s model Chevy Aveo is inconspicuous, according to Sam) wasn’t stifling enough in the south Georgia summer, the annoyance radiating from the brooding super soldier sitting next to you adds an extra ten degrees. 

Sure, Sam. Inconspicuous is the right word to describe a six foot, two hundred plus pound man with a metal arm cramped behind the driver’s seat of the equivalent to a clown car. Bright fucking cherry red and all. 

“It’s 103 degrees outside.” You glare at him from the passenger seat, where you’re using a tattered handkerchief found in the glove compartment to put pressure on the knife wound on your shoulder. “I’m going to have a heatstroke.” 

“You’re not going to have a heatstroke,” he rolls his eyes at you. “That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck.” 

“Ha-ha-ha,” you say under your breath, reluctantly rolling up the manual window with your still bleeding arm. “I got the fucking intel, did I not?” 

You remove the USB drive from its secure location in the cup of your bra and flash it at Bucky. “Though we’ll be lucky if this thing still works after being drowned in boob sweat, since you won’t let me keep the window rolled down.” 

“And nearly got yourself killed in the process.” He grabs the flashdrive from you and grimaces. “We’ll be at the safehouse in less than five minutes, if you can please just refrain from stroking out or bleeding out in the meantime.” 

You glance down at the once white handkerchief clutched in your hand. “I’m not making you any guarantees.” 

You're welcome for saving your ass, by the way, you resist adding. 

Jokes aside, the energy exerted in bringing down over a dozen HYDRA agents in combination with the July heat and the substantial blood loss from your shoulder wound has you feeling woozier by the minute. Factor in a few potentially fractured ribs and a dislocated knee and you're in pretty rough shape. 

As promised, just under five minutes later Bucky parks in front of a small trailer just outside the city limits of Valdosta. It's seen better days, but you don't mind as long as it has semi-functioning air conditioning. 

Bucky is opening your car door and offering you a hand up before you can take in your surroundings. You force yourself out of your seat, ignoring his outstretched hand and attempting to stand on your own, doing your best to ignore the borderline blinding pain radiating from your right knee. 

“Thanks, but I think I can–” 

Your vision goes fuzzy as you stumble forward, right into Bucky's chest. Your hand instinctively clutches the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to regain your balance.

“Let me guess. You're capable of stitching up your own shoulder, too?” 

He gently loops his arm around your waist, slowly walking the two of you to the front door of the trailer. You try to focus on keeping pressure on the gash on your shoulder and not the feeling of his toned body pressed against you. How does he smell so good after hand to hand combat and sitting in that sauna of a car? You're sure you probably smell like a wet diaper that's been left in the sun for–

Bucky opens the door and guides you inside. The interior of the safehouse is surprisingly homey and clean. It's still uncomfortably warm, but offers a nice reprieve from the violent mid-day sun. 

Bucky leads you into the small living space before maneuvering you out of his hold, where you all but collapse onto a suede sofa.

“I guess you do have some amount of good luck, after all,” you mumble, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“What are you talking about?” Bucky glances at you from over his shoulder as he flicks on the AC. 

“That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck,” you quote his sarcastic comment from the car ride. 

“Ha-ha-ha,” he fake laughs just as you did. He rummages through a few cabinets and drawers of the small kitchen before finding everything he’s searching for, then makes his way back to where you are on the couch. 

“Drink this.” He hands you a bottle of water that you hadn't even noticed him grab. For once you don't object to his instructions, uncapping the bottle and gulping down the contents as quickly as you can. 

“You're not having a heatstroke,” he assures you. “But you are going to have to let me stitch up this crater on your shoulder and pop your knee back into place.” 

You sit forward, removing the now fully soaked cloth that you've been holding to your shoulder for the last half hour. 

Bucky winces at the sight of it, handing you a dishrag before opening a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “You might want to bite down on–” 

“I know the drill.” You sigh before putting the rag between your teeth. 

He hesitates for a moment before pouring the clear liquid over the wound. You groan against the rag, your eyes squint shut in pain. You've had your fair share of broken bones and black eyes working in this field, but you don't think you'll ever get used to the pain of getting stitches without the comforts of saline solution and anesthesia.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dabbing the cut dry with a paper towel. 

Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. “It's part of the job. I've come out of missions worse than this before,” you shrug, squeezing the dish rag he gave you until your knuckles go white as he makes the first incision. 

“Never because of me.” 

You glance at him, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. His gaze doesn't leave the thread and needle that he's using to close up the gash on your arm - his normally plump pout set into a hard line. 

“You know this isn't your fault, right?” You keep your eyes locked on him. “I saw that guy coming at you out of nowhere and I panicked. I wasn't watching my own back. That's my fault, not yours,” you say earnestly. 

“If you say so.” He glances up for a split second, giving you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes. 

“Is that why you've been such a grouch? You're blaming yourself for me not being careful enough?” 

“Maybe,” he admits quietly. “Or maybe I just hate seeing you covered in blood for any reason.” 

You freeze at the bluntness of his words. You and Bucky have been partners on more missions than you could count at this point - you know that he would have done the same for you if the situation had been reversed; in fact, there had been times where he had taken the brunt of the fight in order to protect you. 

All of those instances suddenly flash through your mind. 

The time he used himself as a human shield when there was a bomb set off during a recon mission at a warehouse in Tokyo. Or when he football tackled you out of the direct line of an incoming dagger during an operation in Portland. Not to mention the time he left a job all the way in Prague unfinished because he merely suspected you had a concussion. 

You had always chalked it up to “that’s what partners do,” but the pained expression on his face as he refuses to meet your eyes has you questioning if there could possibly be more to it. 

No. You’re his partner. He’d do the same for anyone else. He wouldn’t want to see anyone on his team covered in blood if he could prevent it. 

The two of you sit in a thick silence while he finishes stitching you up. 

“There,” he says at last, clipping the excess suture thread with scissors. “Not quite as good as your stitch work, but I think it’ll hold you together.” His voice isn’t as strained as it was moments ago, though you can't help but notice it sounds forced. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed the tiniest bit at his compliment. “Now for the really fun part,” you add, staring at your throbbing knee. 

“You’re in luck,” he says, perking up a bit. “I’ve popped my own knees back into place an embarrassing amount of times, so this should be a breeze.” He repositions himself to have better access to your leg, moving off the couch to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. You attempt to pull the tight fabric of your tactical pants up enough to give him unhindered access to your knee, but it’s too restrictive, immediately causing you to wince in pain. 

“Fuck,” you huff. “I’m going to have to take these off.” You pop the button at the top of your pants and begin to push them down your thighs before insecurity can get the better of you. You try not to think about the fact that Bucky's never seen you in such little clothing - pants now pushed down to your calves, only your underwear and the bra and thin tank top you wore underneath the tactical vest that you took off as soon as you were in the safety of the getaway car left to cover you. 

Hesitation flashes across Bucky’s face for a brief moment before he scoots over slightly, moving directly in front of you so that he can position his hands on either side of your kneecap. You’re painfully aware of the polar opposite feeling of his right and left hand - his flesh hand is warm and so much softer than you’d expect, his metal one icy and smooth. You aren’t sure which causes the visible goosebumps that now litter your skin.

Maybe it’s not his touch at all. Maybe it’s the way his eyes haven’t left your thighs since you exposed them.

Maybe it’s the fact that if you parted your legs just a few inches, he’d be nestled between them. 

Chill out, you berate yourself. He's just relocating your knee for Christ's sake. 

“On the count of three,” he starts and you brace yourself. “One, two–” 

“MOTHERFUCKER.” You yell out at the same moment your knee creates a loud cracking noise that echoes off the walls of the small trailer. “You said count of three!” 

“Would that really have made it less painful?” He shrugs, but doesn't move from where his knees brush against yours. “I think what you mean to say is “thank you, Bucky, you're a lifesaver and I'm now in your debt.” 

“In your fuckin’ dreams,” you scoff. “I'm going to wash all of this blood and sweat off of me.” You move to push yourself off of the couch, tugging your pants back up as you stand. You can feel his eyes trail up your body as you do, making you feel woozy all over again. You turn away from him, heading towards the hallway that the bathroom is likely located down. 

“I could have done that through your pants, by the way.” 

You freeze mid-step, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “What do you mean?” You snap at him. 

“Your knee,” he clarifies, a hint of undeniable mischief in his expression. “I could have popped your knee back into place through your pants. If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so.” 

Just when you thought the safehouse was starting to cool down, your entire body heats up a thousand degrees. You're racking your brain trying to think of a retort when Bucky's ringtone starts blaring from the kitchen countertop. He ignores it, his eyes not leaving yours for what feels like an eternity. 

You finally break the silence. “That's most likely Sam wanting to make sure we're not dead. Should probably answer it.” 

“Probably should,” he smirks, and at last gets up from the coffee table to answer the phone.

You scurry the rest of the way to the bathroom before he can look back at you again, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from your ribcage and the now dull ache that spreads from your knee. 

You turn the water to cold, and don't get out until you've started to shiver. 

— — — — — 

When you exit the bathroom and step back into the connected bedroom in only a towel, you see that Bucky has done you the kindness of bringing in the bags that had been stored in the backseat of the getaway car. 

You dig through your backpack, pulling out a fresh t-shirt and pair of leggings. From the next room, you can smell the aroma of whatever non-perishable food that Bucky has scrounged together. Despite your growing hunger pains, you take your sweet time combing through your freshly rinsed hair. The thought of looking Bucky in the eye after your last interaction nearly makes you lose your appetite. 

What was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn't thinking at all, otherwise I wouldn't have just pushed my fucking pants down right in front of–

“Your five course dinner is getting cold.” Bucky raps his fingers against the bedroom door, startling you from your thoughts. 

“Be right there,” you call back to him, swiping some deodorant under your arms. You take a glance at yourself in the bedroom’s small vanity mirror and immediately wish that you hadn't – you're cleaner than you were by miles, at least no longer covered in your own blood as well as the blood of HYDRA agents – but your cheekbone is lightly bruised, there's a slit on your bottom lip, and the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a month. 

You take a deep breath and then walk back to the one room that makes up the kitchen, dining area and living room. 

“Beef or shrimp ramen?” Bucky asks as you climb onto one of the barstools on the opposite side of the counter from where he's standing. 

“Hm,” you contemplate, not meeting his stare and instead occupying yourself with another bottle of water that he's placed where you now sit. 

Fucker probably wouldn't fluster me so bad if he wasn't being so damn thoughtful.

“I'll go with shrimp,” you answer, remembering that beef is his favorite.

He slides the bowl across the counter and then hands you a fork. You finally get the nerve to look up and meet his stare that feels as if it weighs two tons. 

“So, what did Sam say?” You try to go for light conversation, twisting the fork around your noodles. “Are we free to get out of here once it's dark out?” 

“Not…quite,” he hesitates, now seeming particularly interested in his own food. “The car battery kind of died.” 

“What do you mean the car battery kind of died?” 

“While you were in the shower, I tried to move the car behind the house so that anyone driving by wouldn't immediately know that someone's here. It started fine, but as I was driving it around back it just.. stopped. Had to push it the rest of the way.” 

You let out a dramatic groan as he continues. 

“I called Sam again and he said the earliest they can send someone to get us is in the morning.” 

“Well,” you exhale, blowing a raspberry with your lips. “We can flip a coin to see who gets the bed?” You ask lightheartedly. This isn’t the first time that you and Bucky have had an overnight mission together, but it is the first overnight mission where the two of you haven’t had your own motel rooms or at least a safehouse with two beds.

He looks at you quizzically, furrowing his eyebrows. “You really think there’s a chance of me making you sleep on the couch? In your condition?” 

“My condition?” you laugh. “I’ve got a few stitches, I’m not dying of cancer.” 

“You don’t think I’ve noticed the way it’s uncomfortable for you to inhale and exhale? You’ve probably got a couple fractured ribs with the way you landed on that cement. If not fractured, then at least heavily bruised. You’re not sleeping on the couch.” 

Between his tone and the look on his face, you know it isn’t up for debate. You throw your hands up in faux surrender. 

“Serving me instant ramen and letting me take the king sized bed?” you say teasingly. “Keep it up and I'm going to think that you're soft on me.” 

His gaze on you is heavy as he takes a long sip of water from his own bottle. “Wouldn't that be a shame?” 

— — — — — 

The rest of the afternoon is spent with you lounging in bed, resting your injuries and reading some cheesy western romance novel that you found in the drawer of the bedside table. 

Bucky keeps to the living room, where you hear a violent sounding movie playing from a TV that has to be as old as you are. 

You tell yourself that you're staying in the bedroom because you need to take it easy and relax, but truthfully you feel suffocated by the tension that has been escalating between you and Bucky since you arrived here. 

A certain level of tension had always been there, you knew deep down. From the first time the two of you met almost two years ago. 

Bucky had been formally introduced to the team just a few weeks prior, and it was his first official mission. An undercover mission - just the two of you. 

Posing as an engaged couple at a party thrown at the estate of a notorious crime boss in order to obtain intel. Pretty straight forward - it was far from your first undercover mission. And then it was sprung on you at the last minute that the man who you'd only met once, less than a month ago, was to be your fiancé for the evening. 

The bastard even went as far as to slip the fake engagement ring on your finger himself. 

“Natasha picked this out. She said it needed to be a princess cut, because that's what you like.” 

You chuckled as he went to slide the rock onto your ring finger. “What? You're not going to get down on one knee?” 

The mission went shockingly smooth, you and Bucky were in and out with the needed intel in just a few hours. But those few hours replayed in the back of your mind more often than you care to admit. 

The way his arm stayed wrapped securely around your shoulder or waist the entire hour that you mingled as guests. How he pulled you into a slow dance to discuss the plan for sneaking into the study on an off-limits floor. The musky smell of his aftershave and the spearmint on his breath. 

And especially the way he referred to you as his “bride” when introducing yourselves to people, on more than one occasion throughout the night. 

“And who is this absolutely beautiful young woman on your arm?” an elderly man with eye boogers and booze on his breath asks Bucky. 

“This is my bride,” Bucky introduces you, giving him your undercover name. “She is beautiful, isn’t she? Most beautiful woman here, if I do say so myself.” 

Saying that Bucky played his part well that night would have been an understatement. Saying that he played his part scarily well would be a more accurate assertion. 

After grabbing the intel and fleeing the scene, neither of you ever mentioned that mission again. Not the lingering touches, smoldering stares - not even the way he shoved you up against the wall of a corridor, cupped your face in his large hands, and kissed you senseless for half a minute when you came close to getting caught sneaking into the private office by security at the very end of the evening. 

“Do you think that was believable?” he asks nervously, his hands still clutching your face as he looks around the hallway for any lingering guards. 

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter breathily. “As believable as it possibly could be.” 

There’s a light knock on the partially open bedroom door that draws you back to the reality of the safehouse. You realize that you’ve been staring at the same paragraph in your book for the last half hour. 

"Yeah?” you answer, bringing yourself to a sitting position. 

Bucky peaks his head around the door, opening it further so that you can see what he is carrying. 

“I’m tired of watching old James Bond movies,” he sighs, glancing between you and the stack of board games in his arms. “I found these in the TV stand.” 

“I kicked your ass in Battleship last time we played,” you remind him. “Do you really want a rematch of that?” 

“How about we make a bet?”

— — — — — 

Half an hour later, you've eaten your own words, now owing Bucky a large meat lovers pizza from his favorite parlor in Brooklyn and two weeks worth of laundry duty when you return to the compound. 

“How'd you get so good?” you demand as he makes the winning attack. “You were so lame at this last time.” 

“Maybe I just let you win last time,” he shrugs with a shit-eating grin. 

You just shake your head in defeat, wincing as you stand up from where you had been playing on the shag area rug in the living room. 

“No,” you declare firmly. “No, I don't believe that. There's no way you'd willingly let me win anything. I've learned that the hard way during hand to hand combat training way too many times.”  

Bucky belly laughs from where he still sits on the floor, his gaze trailing after you. 

You walk over to where he has piled the board games on the coffee table, trying to find something you were confident you could win. 

Monopoly isn't fun with only two players, Risk takes too long — 

Your eyes lock onto a card game peeking out from underneath the Sorry! box. 

You pick it up, turning back to face him with a growing smile on your face.

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “I'm over a hundred years old–” 

“What does age have to do with truth or dare?!” You exclaim, sitting back down on the floor once more. 

“I haven't been roped into a game of truth or dare since the 1930's,” he groans. 

“Scared of what you might have to do?” You tease, unboxing the cards. “Or what you might have to admit?” 

He stares at you for a long moment, pursing his lips. The disapproval doesn't quite reach his eyes - you can tell by the way they gleam that he's going to cave. 

“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits. He tousles his fingers through his hair and moves to cross his legs at the ankles. “Fine,” he relents. “One game.” 

You squeal like a kid in a candy store as you shuffle the deck of cards and lay them in a stack between you. 

“Elders first,” you motion to the pile. 

He rolls his eyes, drawing one from the top – dare. 

“Smell another player's armpit,” he deadpans. You're instantly thankful that you remembered to cram a stick of deodorant into your backpack when packing for the mission. 

“Well?” You lift up your arm. “I'm the only other player here and it's not going to sniff itself.” 

Bucky sighs, leaning across the game to put his nose directly next to the opening of your t-shirt sleeve. “Lavender,” he observes after inhaling, giving you an approving nod. “As far as dares go, I got lucky.” 

“Lucky that I showered earlier,” you mumble as you draw your turn, your cheeks warming slightly. 

Truth. 

“Who was your last kiss with and what was it like?” 

Your heart plummets to your stomach as you read the words aloud. Bucky waits impatiently as you fiddle with the piece of paper in your hands. 

“Might I remind you, you are the one who wanted to play this game so desp–” 

You hold up a finger and make a shushing sound, silencing him as he grins menacingly. 

“My last kiss was almost two years ago,” you answer honestly, looking back down at the card to avoid his stare. He can always tell when you're lying, why even try? 

“With a man I barely knew,” you continue. “We had to pretend to be in love for the evening. It was a shockingly easy thing to do. When he pushed me up against a wall and kissed me as a distraction to security guards, I had to remind myself that it was an act. We never spoke about it again. But now two years later, I'm telling him that I think of that kiss often.” 

When you finally look up, you can't decipher the look on his face. Long gone is the mischievous grin from just moments ago, in its place is.. shock? Perplexity? 

“And why exactly have you not kissed anyone else since then?” He asks quietly. 

“Nope,” you say, popping your lips on the p. “That's not how the game works, you don't get to add sub-questions.” 

His eyes don't leave yours as he draws his next card.

His turn for truth. He glances down to read his question.

“Have you ever wanted to have sex with any of the players?” 

Forget your cheeks feeling warm - your entire body feels like it's on fire as you wait for him to answer. 

He chuckles, tossing the card on top of the other two that had already been picked. 

“Every goddamn day since I kissed her almost two years ago.” 

You aren't sure which one of you snaps first. You lunge forward at the same moment that he's leaning across the splay of cards to grasp your face in his hands just like he did in that corridor two years ago. The same hint of spearmint on his breath, a bit more stubble on his jaw, and a sense of desperation that wasn't there before. 

He moves his hands to your lower back, pulling you flush against him as you both sit on your knees. Your own hands find the hem of his shirt, your fingers dancing across the skin of his waistline. 

“I asked you why you haven't kissed anyone since we last kissed,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away, both of you breathless. “You don't have to answer, but that..” his mouth moves to the side of your throat where he trails open-mouth kisses across the sensitive flesh of your pulse point. 

“That's why I haven't kissed anyone else, either.” 

A pathetic, small moan escapes past your lips at his admission. In a split second decision, you take control. You place your hands across his chest, pushing him down onto the shag rug that you'd been playing games on just moments ago. He lets himself fall back, pulling you with him. 

You straddle him, positioning yourself directly on his already evident erection. You drag yourself forwards, and then backwards, desperate for friction - he groans beneath you, jutting upwards. 

The fabric of your pants between you feels like a prison. 

You scoot back a few inches - just far enough to give yourself enough room to unbutton his jeans. 

“Wait, wait,” he stops you as you're about to begin pulling down his pants and underwear. You freeze, petrified that you've crossed a line– 

“I haven't stopped thinking about having your thighs wrapped around my head since I saw them earlier,” he says as he hooks his hands around them and hauls you up to his chest. “Take these off and sit on my face.” He tugs on the waistline of your leggings. 

“If you wanted me to take my pants off for you so badly, you could have just said so,” you echo his earlier teasing. 

“I'm asking you now, sweetheart,” his voice has a strained edge to it. “Don't make me beg.” 

Though the notion of him begging has wetness pooling down your thighs, you're too eager to entertain it. 

You stand up, directly above him as he keeps his position on the floor. You shimmy your leggings down your thighs, this time completely removing them and tossing them somewhere behind you. He tugs his t-shirt over his head and throws it in the general direction of your discarded pants. 

With you still standing above him, he leans forward so that his face brushes against the inside of your thighs. He brings his hands to the band of your underwear, hooking his fingers and slowly pulling them down until they're at your ankles. 

You slip them off as he lays back down on the floor. A bit apprehensively, you sit so that your bare pussy is against his hard chest. 

“Just stop me if it's too uncomfortable or if you can't breathe or any–” 

He cuts you off by all but picking you up and hauling you up to his face.

“I wouldn't worry about that,” his voice vibrates against the flesh of your innermost thighs. He tugs you down just one more inch so that his mouth makes contact with your center. 

You gasp out in pleasure as his tongue begins exploring your folds. There's no restraint about it - he sets a brutal pace, alternating between fucking his tongue into your cunt and sucking on your clit. 

You're writhing above him, grinding your pussy against his mouth. You go to squeeze your breasts, pulling your t-shirt off when you realize it's the one clothing article you've yet to shed. 

When he realizes that you're now completely naked above him, he lets out an animalistic groan as he laps a thick lick up your center. 

The vibration, in addition to him now squeezing your ass with enough pressure that he's bound to leave behind fingertip shaped bruises, is enough to send you spiraling to your climax. 

You involuntarily squeeze your thighs around his cheeks, riding out your orgasm as he continues to wrap his lips around your throbbing clitoris. 

You go still for a moment, aside from your heaving chest, as you come back down to earth. 

You climb off of him, your jellified legs nearly causing you to collapse onto the floor next to him. 

He props himself up with one arm, looking down at you. His face is thoroughly glistening with your juices. 

You can't help but think he's never looked hotter. 

A proud grin begins to form across his features as you pull him down to you by the back of his neck. 

You kiss him with as much feverency as you can muster in your post orgasm haze, tasting the semi-sweet tang of your come on his lips and tongue. 

“It's your turn to get these off,” you demand, drawing back from the kiss to pull at the waistband of his pants. 

“Can I at least take you to the comfy bed before this goes any further?” he bargains. “You are still recovering from multiple injuries, you know.” 

“I can assure you that I've never felt better.” But you let him have his way. He stands before picking you up, lifting you so that you can wrap your legs securely around his midsection. His large hands planted firmly on your ass, he walks the short distance to the bedroom. Your nipples pebble as they press against his bare chest. 

He gently places you on top of the comforter before standing back, at last removing his jeans and boxers. His cock springs forward, slapping against his lower belly. 

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. If it had been a long time since you had been kissed, it had been even longer since you had been fucked. 

He crawls onto the bed, hovering above where you lay. You automatically open your legs to allow him between them. 

His eyes rake up and down your body, pausing on your breasts. 

"You're goddamn stunning.” 

Before you can respond, he's leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Rolling it between his teeth, the sensation has you arching your back into his touch. You can feel the tip of his cock jutting against your core - teasing but not yet entering. 

He starts to line himself up at your hole, his eyes locking onto yours as he pumps himself in his hand. He brings his lips down to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the same moment he nudges his tip past your entrance. 

There's a blissful burn as he cautiously buries himself inside you - you're simultaneously thankful that he's going slow and needing him balls deep. He pushes in, inch by inch, until you're filled to the hilt. When he can't get any deeper, he pulls back - and slams back into you all at once. 

You swear you can feel him in your stomach. You look down at where your bodies connect, the sight of him sliding in and out of you enough to have you on the edge of climaxing again already. 

He brings his metal hand to knead your breast. 

"Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured having you under me like this?” He coos. You gyrate your hips to meet his thrusts, causing his eyes to roll back into his head. 

“How many times I've thought about what your little moans would sound like?” 

Your only answer is a gutteral moan of his name as you wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into the flesh of his back. 

“Your pussy feels even more like heaven than I imagined it would.” 

His praises send you over the edge - you're coming for a second time, clenching around him as his thrusts grow messy. He fucks you through your orgasm before he loses control himself, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he spills into you. 

With you still panting and limp beneath him,  his movements gradually come to a stop but he doesn't pull out - instead he flips you to your side and maneuvers himself into a spooning position behind you. 

He peppers soft kisses along the skin of your shoulder, being careful to avoid your stitches, and relaxes beside you. 

“Remind me to dislocate my knee more often,” you joke, processing everything that just happened. 

He snorts, then tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “Remind me to play truth or dare with you more often.” He captures your lips in his, this kiss slower than any of the ones before. 

“I guess it would be weird to make you do my laundry for two weeks now, huh?” He teases, earning a laugh from you.

“You do still owe me a pizza, but I'll be happy to share it with you.” 

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

[manhandlememando]

i’ll beg whatever gods i need to. | cregan stark

cregan stark x f!wife!reader

format: one-shot

tw: MDNI warning (oh boy here we go) in depth descriptions of gore and bodily injury, blood, ANGST, cregan crying and in pain, mentions of religion and praying, hurt/comfort, more angst, angry cregan, insecure!cregan, unprotected piv, oral (both receiving), face riding, cowgirl, breeding kink (duh he’s a stark), uncut cregan. (written in 3rd person POV) (she/ her pronouns)

word count: 5,539

excerpt: Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging anyone who could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

- or -

cregan gets mauled by a direwolf.

song inspirations: youth by Daughter, human by Daughter, i gave you all by Mumford & Sons, heavy in your arms by Florence and The Machine, i found by Amber Run, roslyn by Bon Iver and St. Vincent, work song by Hozier, family tree by Ethel Cain, in the woods somewhere by Hozier, glory by Dermot Kennedy

The hour of the owl came passing over Castle Black, and still Cregan had not returned from his patrol of the Wall. Her worry had grown tenfold, the knot in her stomach was now a heavy stone. She knew something was amiss. Moving from their shared chambers to the corridors of the small castle, she decided a short walk may alleviate some of her anxiety, allowing her to clear her head.

However after only several minutes of beginning to wander, she heard commotion coming from the direction of the courtyard. Yelling and shrieking, men could be heard barking orders at each other, calls for the maester were loud, but the one thing that rose above it all was the most blood curdling roar she’d ever heard. Not wasting any time, she ran through the narrow hallways towards the source of the noise, only to come to a dead stop, the beating of her heart doing the same.

There he lay on a gurney in the middle of the courtyard, thrashing against the hands trying to hold him still. Crying out in agony as the maester tried his best to assess the situation at hand.

“Oh gods…” she gasped when the source of his pain became clear to her. His armor was covered in deep crimson streaks of blood, the leather ripped to shreds revealing the metal beneath. His face, contorted in pain, bore two long gashes from above his right eyebrow and trailing down his temple into his hairline. It seemed as if a deep crimson curtain had been pulled over half of his face as the blood seeped from the deep, jagged cuts. However the worst of his injuries were to his left shoulder, which seemed to be attached only by the grace of the gods. It was so gruesome she began to feel ill. The bone of his upper bicep was exposed, the flesh hanging from it. Blood seeping profusely from the wounds, teeth marks littered his forearm and hands. The fabric of his pants torn and she could see more crescent shaped puncture wounds littered across his legs, and his right ankle was bent at a sickening angle. They were large, belonging to something much bigger than anything she had seen in the North. A direwolf.

A young knight was holding the Stark ancestral sword, Ice, which was now covered tip to hilt in blood. Another man standing next to the knight who bore her husbands sword, stepped towards her.

“My Lady you mustn’t be here, you should not witness this,” he said, trying to block her view of her husband.

“No! No, I must be with him,” she rushed forward, only to be stopped by the strong arms of the guard holding her back.

“Please! He’s my husband, I have to -,” she began to plead with the man keeping her in her place before Cregan’s loud yell stopped her sentence short. The maester and his assistant were beginning to pack his wounds with whatever clean cloth the other men could find, Cregan seemed as if he was trying to pull away. Arching at the contact to his arm and shoulder, neck straining and face red as another scream erupting from deep within him. Tears were streaming down his face as it crumpled into an expression she never thought she’d see from him; fear.

It took two full grown men to hold him still, even in his weakened state, as they began to move him from the damp ground. Although, consequently the motion caused his body to shift and in turn sent him into another fit of agony.

At the sounds of his screams getting even more broken and strangled, her knees fell weak, slumping into the man’s hold as the air left her lungs.

He could die, the thought crossed her mind when she caught a glimpse of the expanse of blood leftover on the muddy ground.

————————————————————————

They had placed him in their bedchamber and the maester had since given Cregan milk of the poppy to calm him. He had been cleaned up and mended as best as the maester and his assistant could manage. They had also taken measures to prevent infection, although they informed her that it wasn’t fail safe and to be prepared for any outcome.

“He will have an incredibly long recovery period… if he survives,” the maester said to her as he wiped his hands of her husbands blood, his voice lowering as he spoke of his Lord’s possible death. She only nodded, eyes wide, feeling as if she was submerged in water. All the words being said to her were muffled and distorted. Some of the men from the Watch had tried to pull her from the bedchambers when they had first begun to work on him, whispering false reassurances and pleading with her to not witness this.

She couldn’t look away from his limp form laying on their shared bed, smothered in white bandages that were slowly blossoming red. However, his torso was somewhat unmarked by the direwolf’s teeth and claws (save for several deep purple bruises beginning to show their full form) due to the steel armored chest piece he had adorned upon her request, just before leaving for his patrol.

This might be his deathbed, she thought to herself. Tears beginning to pool on her lashes.

“I shall leave you. I will return in several hours to replenish the milk of the poppy… if he wakes again,” the maester looked down at the floor in despair. Exiting the room, the maester bid his condolences.

Nearing the bed, she knelt down and lightly took his hand in hers, brushing her lips over his bandaged knuckles and letting out a shaky breath.

“Please, my love you must wake up. Heal well and return to me, do not leave me in this world without you,” she pleaded with the unmoving form in front of her. The tears beginning to fall as she placed her head upon the bed next to their interlocked hands.

She did not pray, she never had found an interest in paying much attention to the new gods or the old. But in this moment she found herself reaching out for guidance as she called upon the gods to help him. Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging any god that could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

————————————————————————

The night dragged on, as if time had been weighed down by the gravity of the situation, and on its continued trek forward it somehow had slowed.

The maester had come and gone twice before, but Cregan had not woken yet. She refused to move from his side the entire time, having wept for hours she now felt empty and void of anything at all.

“My Lady you must eat,” a guard had come in, trying his best to persuade his Lady of the North to eat something or else she would fall ill.

“I am not hungry,” she flatly responded to the young man, whose face fell as he nodded and exited the room.

It was several more hours before Cregan awoke, he was still deep within the fog of the poppy’s milk but he was whispering something. His mouth barely moving, the sound coming out more like a silent prayer than a word.

He spoke her name, breathed it more like. But still, through all the hell he had been through in the last several hours, his mind only fell upon her.

“My love,” she said softly, lifting his hand to her lips once more. “My love, can you hear me?” She asked, but was met with nothing. Cregan drifting back into sleep, leaving her in the silence once again.

He woke like this periodically over the next several days, the maesters visiting every couple of hours to assess his wounds and change his bandages. Still all the while providing him with an ample amount of milk of the poppy to ward off his pain. They were somehow successful in warding off any major infections to the wounds, which was nothing short of a miracle. They had spent hours on different herbal remedies to help the Lord of the North heal without a fever.

As the days passed, she still refused to leave his side. Six days had passed by the time Cregan finally gained enough consciousness to express his pain level.

She had been napping in a chair next to the bed where he lay. Waking suddenly to the sound of a loud, pained groan.

“Cregan!” She gasped, his eyes opened just slightly, and she saw they were bloodshot but open nonetheless. He hissed in pain as she touched his hand.

“What’s happened?” He asks weakly, looking down at the bandages still covering most of his body.

“There was an incident beyond the Wall when you went to patrol the perimeter several days ago. They say you and the men were attacked by a direwolf.” She explains softly. His face drops, his eyes going wide at the memory. With some effort he tried to look down at his left shoulder, and when met with the sight of layers and layers of white bandages, he grimaced.

“I remember,” he whispers. His eyes closing as he inhales deeply, wincing again at the movement. When he opens his eyes again she can see the tears gathered within them.

“I - I cannot feel my hand,” he said, his voice breaking as he looked down at his left hand once again, his dominant hand.

“I will fetch the maester, it must just be a symptom of the damage caused. They will mend it though, as they have everything else,” she reassured him and stood to leave and get the maester, but they both know her reassurance was empty of any fact.

Worry gripped at her stomach again as the maesters words rang within her ears; “he will have an incredibly long recovery period”.

But what if there was no recovering fully from this? What if he would never be able to wield a sword again? Or walk properly? The thoughts swam in her mind, each drowning out the other.

She returned shortly with the maester, who breathed a sign of relief at the sight of Cregan fully awake.

He tried to offer Cregan more milk of the poppy before he began assessing the healing progression of his injuries, but Cregan refused.

“My Lord, I do not wish to see you in pain. But I must remove the bandages -,” the older man tried to explain, but Cregan cut him off curtly.

“Then do it,” he said, his face stern.

“Cregan, please listen to the maester, this is going to be more painful than you think,” she tried to reason with him, but his jaw was set and so was his mind.

“As you wish, my Lord,” the old healer nodded solemnly, moving to remove the first bandage. Upon contact with his arm Cregan did not grimace or contort in pain, his brows furrowed as if confused.

“I cannot feel it,” he said, his voice sounding far away, as if was in shock at the realization finally setting in.

“What, my love?” She inquired, looking at his arm as the maester began to unwrap more of the white fabric. The stitches were surrounded by bruised skin, what couldn’t be stitched back together was healing under a protective salve the maester had prepared. It will scar badly, but it didn’t matter, they were able to save his arm when she was more than certain he would lose it. As the maester lifted his arm Cregan had no reaction, just staring blankly into space. She was sure he must be in pain but he wasn’t reacting to what the maester was doing whatsoever.

“My darling, are you alright?” She asked him quietly, placing a hand under his chin to turn him to face her.

“I cannot feel anything,” he said, still his voice was hollow.

“What do you mean?” She questioned, not fully understanding what he meant by that.

“In my arm, it does not hurt because I cannot feel it,” he explained finally meeting her eyes. That was where she saw the flicker of fear again come across his face, worry painting his features.

“This is my dominant hand, I must be able to use it whenever necessary. It is the hand with which I wield Ice. But now I am not even able to move it. I am no longer a sufficient warrior… or man,” he said, his voice shaking as tears came to his eyes. The maester gave Cregan a pitiful look that just upset the Lord more.

“No, no that is not true my love,” she rushed to comfort him, cradling his face, making sure to avoid the stitches on his brow and temple.

“Do not do this to yourself, my darling. Do you understand what you have survived? You were attacked by a direwolf, Cregan… and you survived. That is next to impossible, but here you are,” she said, her voice soft and dripping in empathy. Brushing a tear from just under his eye as it began to fall. He shifted his gaze away from her, his eyes hardening again.

“But what good is survival if I am no longer able to live how I am meant to?” He said, still not meeting her eyes.

“It will take some adjustment, but we will get through this. You will get through this,” she assured him.

“Cregan… look at me,” she says quietly, trying to get him to connect with her again and not sink deeper into his darkening thoughts.

“Look at me, now,” she commanded in a more firm tone, which caused him to finally look at her once more, a sheepish expression in his eyes.

“Stop this at once,” she said, still holding her firm tone. He nodded and sighed, knowing he would not win this one. But as he cast his eyes downwards and frowned slightly, she knew he couldn’t be swayed in this moment from the doubt that was consuming him.

This will be a long recovery indeed, she thought to herself.

————————————————————————

About thirteen moons after Cregan had been nearly killed by the direworf, the head of which now hung in the council room, he had recovered quite well by what the maesters had told her.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell had since moved back from their residence at Castle Black when Cregan was finally well enough to travel. Although his body was healing well with time, his mind only sunk deeper into the belief he was now not worthy of his station as Warden of The North and the Lord of Winterfell. He had become easily irritated and many days she wished to not spend time with him, however she understood this too shall pass. She had sworn to him in her marriage vows to be by his side through sickness and in health, and she had no intention of breaking those vows in her lifetime.

As the Winter continued on, and as Cregan's strength grew back and the feeling began to make its way back into his limb, he was insistent on beginning his sword work training. She understood his urgency, finally having hope after such a long time of uncertainty was an addicting sort of feeling. It was hard for Cregan to accept that he would have to relearn how to use a sword with this new complication, and not train as he once did, as if nothing had happened.

Once the maester overseeing the Lord's care had cleared him to begin his lessons, she asked him if she would be able to accompany him. He agreed instantaneously, he was going to ask her anyways, feeling much better in her presence than anyone elses.

She busied herself with a book, perching upon several barrels of wine that sat on the edge of the courtyard, waiting to be taken to the cellars. Cregan had begun his lessons, and within minutes was already frustrated at the difficulty he had with even just handling the sword, let alone swinging it. She watched from the distance with a frown painting her face as he continued to struggle and bark at the knight he was sparring when he would try to offer his help. After much protest, Cregan finally gave into the offers to get him a wooden sword to wield instead. It was easier for him to handle, however his skill had rusted over with time and lack of use. His frustration became paramount when the young man bested him again, Cregan threw down his sword and stepped forward, grabbing his opponent by the collar.

"Do you wish to humiliate your Liege Lord?! Get out of my sight at once!" he roared in the mans face, causing him to stumble back and retreat from Cregan as quickly as possible.

She sat watching the scene as her own anger began to surface, standing and coming towards Cregan once he'd let the other man go, still breathing heavily and fuming.

"Come with me, now," she growled as she wrapped a firm hand around his good wrist, pulling him along behind her like a toddler being scolded and hauled off for punishment. She thought it best to bring him to their bedchambers as the conversation they needed to have was private.

Once they had entered their shared chambers Cregan immediately started in on his defense, to which she put up a silent palm in his direction, causing his sentence to halt before it finished.

"I can not do this anymore," she said softly, trying to keep her voice level, but to no avail. Placing a hand over her mouth as she began to silently weep, still refusing to look at him.

He softened immediately at the sight of her tears, hating desperately to make her upset. He took a step forward and brought his hand to her cheek, getting her to turn to him. She did not lift her gaze from the floor, sniffling lightly and trying to keep her tears from cascading and overflowing.

"You cannot do what anymore, love?" Cregan asked gently, moving his right hand to place at the back of her neck, and the other moving under her chin. His fingers intertwined into her hair at the back of her head as he tipped her head back slightly using the finger beneath her chin to raise her face to his. Taking another step closer to her he engulfed her in his size, pressed against her body, in complete control. Cradling her head completely in his hands, he moves the hand below her chin to place on her cheek once more.

"What was it, hmm?" he hummed to her, bringing his lips to brush against hers. She had become putty to mold as he wished, letting out a small sigh as he continued to tease the possibility of a kiss.

But in that moment she remembered her anger and could not let the lust for her husband overpower something that was becoming a serious issue between him and the rest of the world. She pushes away suddenly, putting space between them again. Cregan lets out an exasperated sigh as his hands fall to his sides.

"I can not possibly understand the stress you are under, and the constant unease you must feel within yourself. But I can understand how that affects me, and how that has affected our staff and those on your court. You were not slain, Cregan! You still have so much to live for, even if it means you cannot see battle again. That is what your army is for. Your value lies more in your character and not your physical form. Allowing that of which keeps you on solid ground to be the demise of what lies within your head, when you are so intelligent, and kind, and humorous. That is a sin, and the more treacherous of fates to befall a Warden of the North, even more so than a direwolf." She said, silence filled the room as Cregan realized he had no rebuttal. She was right after all, he could have been killed, and the fact he is allowing his mind to destroy what a direwolf couldn't, well it just seemed downright mad.

"I am so sorry, I never saw it that way," he responded softly, his heart feeling some what heavy in his chest as he felt the onslaught of emotion begin to creep up his throat. He had repressed so much in wanting to keep a certain image, and with his own wife being able to see through his facade so clearly, he realized how much pain he was really holding in. With that thought the dam broke as he let out a choked sob, leaning on the back of a chair closest to him he began to fall weak to his emotions.

At the sound of his whimper she turned around again, seeing him holding the bridge of his nose as he wept uncontrollably. Barely keeping himself upright with the back of the chair next to him.

"Oh, my darling," she went to him, quickly gathering him into her arms and bringing him down to kneel on the ground as she sat in the chair he was using for support. With his head tucked to her breast and his arms tightly wound around her body, hands finding purchase in her hair, he finally began to rack with sobs. She just let him collapse into her, stroking the hair from his face, tracing the scar on his temple and kissing his hairline. All the while cooing sweet reassurances into his ear.

"I have you my love, I have you," she whispered into his hair as he began to regain his breath. Not letting her go in the slightest, but relaxing nonetheless, Cregan began to breathe normally again, silent tears still coming from his eyes every now and then.

But he knew he was safe, and above all, he knew he was loved unconditionally.

————————————————————————

“Cregan, we cannot you aren’t healed properly yet,” she breathed out in a sigh as his lips traced the column of her throat.

“Your shoulder… and your ankle, it is too risky,” she tried to protest but the affect he had over her was undeniable.

“I am fine, my love. I am in need of my wife. It has been many moons and I cannot refrain any longer, injuries be damned,” he said, scoffing at the last part of his statement. Her skin was set alight with his touch as she leaned into him more. Laying in their bed, beneath a mountain of furs, he began to move atop of her, but she stopped him.

“If we are to do this, you will not lift a finger, is that clear?” She said firmly, and Cregan’s eyebrows rose in surprise at his wife’s sudden dominance, his cock twitching within his small clothes. He nodded quickly as he moved to lay back against the many pillows, eyes darkening as she rose from the bed to lean back on her heals. Very slowly she removed her shift, revealing the whole of her body to him.

“It is as if you are a goddess yourself, there is no need for religion when you are the alter I pray at, and the deity I pray to,” he whispered as he took in the sight. His mind putting to memory every curve, every inch of skin he laid his eyes on. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before, but after such restraint it is like they are newlyweds once again. With her help he removed his tunic and small clothes, breath shaky as he looked down upon her naked form crawling up his body.

She was gentle with her touch, ghosting it over the small scars that now cover each of his legs. He shivers at the contact but does not pull away, allowing the sensitivity to wash over him and settle within his groin. He reaches with his good arm to touch her face, but she retracts to his disappointment.

“No touching,” she said with a small smirk forming at the corner of her lips. The mischievous look in her eyes was enough for him to understand it would be better to not protest. Leaning down she places soft kisses across his thighs, moving closer to his stiff member, his hips buck involuntarily as she finally takes his tip into her mouth. Swirling her tongue around the top just before pulling down his foreskin to lick at his sensitive slit.

A groan erupted from deep within his chest, wavering at the end as he gasped and sputtered. She had taken him fully into her mouth at this point, beginning to move up and down his length in a rhythmic motion.

His chest flexed as he threw his head back, his right hand hovering just next to her jaw. Knowing she would stop if he disobeyed her direct instructions, he held himself back from caressing her face. Broken gasps and whimpers were falling unabashedly from the Warden of the North’s lips, his strong, muscled body molding into putty in her hands.

Suddenly she rose and removed her mouth from him, to his disappointment. Breathing hard he kept his eyes on hers as she began to move even further up his body. His brows knitting into one another as he wondered what exactly she was doing, until it clicked, and the biggest smile graced his handsome features. He understood and shifted himself to be fully lying down, moving down the bed slightly to give her room as she moved to take her rightful place on his face. He hummed happily at the sweet taste of her on his tongue once again, having not indulged in his most favorite delicacy in far too long. She let out a sharp gasp as his lips wrapped themselves around her sensitive pearl, sucking lightly before exploring her deeper. She looked down to see his eyes closed and the most blissfully content look upon his face as he continued to ravage her with just tongue. Switching between broad strokes of his tongue along her cunt to small kitten licks upon her clit that had her panting and grinding her hips down onto him. The scruff on his unshaven face added to the sensational feeling against her as he sank his tongue within her finally. Moaning uncontrollably and quite loudly, she found herself leaning against the headboard for support as her body began to give into the pleasure he was bringing her.

“That’s it, my darling. Fall apart for me, I have you,” he coaxed, breath hitting her clit, causing her to groan, which shortly turned into the most obscenely moan. He hooked his left arm around her waist and continued to guide her to completion. With his tongue in her cunt and his nose teasing her clit, she came apart with nothing short of a scream of his name. Throwing her head back as she felt her muscles go limp from the intensity of her orgasm.

“So perfect for me,” he whispers to her, kissing the inside of her thighs softly.

She smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief as she had been just as pent up as he’s been, and finally getting some form of release was euphoric to say the least.

As she moved from his face she could see the way his lips shown with the remnants of her. She looked down to see his cock almost impossibly bigger than when she had first taken him into her mouth. She couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could he. Grabbing ahold of her hips he quickly shifts her down his body back to his waist. The tip catching at her entrance ever so slightly and they both moaned loudly in unison.

With his right hand having an iron grip on her hip, he helped her position her on top of him. As she began to sink down on his length it was as if all the air in the room had suddenly been removed. The sensation punching the air out of her lungs.

Cregan thought he was seeing the gods, his vision almost going completely white as he feels her tight, hot cunt envelope him. Arching his spine while his eyes roll to the back of his head as soon as she is fully seated on him. Staying still for a second to give them both a minute to catch their breath, she regains her strength and begins to shift her hips.

“Touch me,” she commanded softly, he didn’t need to be told twice. He moved to sit up, his forehead resting on her sternum, placing open mouthed kisses between the valley of her breasts before taking one into his mouth. His left arm secures her hips in his hold while the other hand snakes its way into her hair. Grabbing at the roots he tugs her head back to expose more of her neck to him. Laying hot, wet kisses upon any expanse of skin he could reach. As his grip around her waist tightened slightly, he kept guiding her to ride his cock slowly, thrusting up every so often causing her to choke on a moan.

“Cregan…,” she moaned his name, groans continuing to slip from her mouth as he moved to suck on her other breast. Gently lapping at the nipple as she whimpered.

“So gorgeous, my love. So good for me. Taking me so - nnnggh - well,” he grunted out, groaning when she squeezed him as his words sent a shock wave to her core. She threaded her fingers into his chocolate strands, pulling slightly earning another pleased noise from her husband.

“I’ve missed this, I’ve missed us,” she pants, looking down at his face. As he looks up, her breath catches at the sight of her fucked-out husband and his pink cheeks and kiss swollen lips.

“I know, me too,” he responds breathlessly, she cups his face and brings her lips to his. It’s messy, he crushes his mouth to hers and suddenly begins thrusting upwards, hitting that one spot deep within her.

Her gasp causes him to pull away from the kiss, but not from her. Their mouths still close, breathing in each others air as he continues to thrust into her. Tipping his head back as his face scrunches in pleasure and groaning loudly, he then ducks his head into the curve of her neck as his thrusts get more and more sloppy. His right arm still snaked up her back and his hand tangled in her hair to keep her close. She was reaching the precipice of heaven for the second time that evening, and he could tell. The way she began to squeeze him, how she fluttered around him, he knew.

“I know, my love. Give yourself to me,” he begged, whispering the pleas in her ear before kissing the shell of it. With several more thrusts she was coming undone around him, moaning and gasping as she collapses into him. With only several more thrust he too was coming undone in the most beautiful way. Flushed and groaning, he is the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Only moments afterwards, still basking in their post-coital glow, he lays back against the pillows once more. Placing a hand directly over her womb, he mutters something about “seeing her round with child in several moons” and she felt his cock jump within her as he continues to cradle his hands around her lower stomach.

“I can’t wait for you to bare my children, my love,” he states, looking into her eyes with such adoration. Resting her hands atop his she nods.

“I can’t wait to be the mother of your children, I’m sure I will be soon,” she responds, equal adoration radiating off her.

————————————————————————

She missed her moon’s blood the following month, and he was the happiest he had been in a very long time.

Although the feeling never fully returned in his left arm and hand, he had re-learned how to wield Ice with just as much skill as he did before the incident. His ankle and legs did recover after more than a year of rehabilitation, but eventually he no longer walked with a limp.

The gratitude which he felt was immeasurable. Thinking about how many ways his life could have been different if he didn’t have her to keep him sane through the most difficult thing he had ever faced; losing his physical strength and health. Most days feeling as if he couldn’t go on, but then she would be at his side to aid him in whatever he needed. Never wavering in her love or loyalty to him.

He woke every day from then on thanking the old gods and the new for sparing one of their angels to be his wife.

[lavenderspence]

her possessive trigger | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader | Word Count: 1.5K

Content warning: professor!spencer, jealousy, a lil bit of possessiveness, cuteness at the end

Summary: they could look at him all they wanted, but they needed to know he was yours. or the reader announces to spencer's students that he's taken

A/N: this was actually written back in june and i’m just now coming around to posting it. But lavenderspence writing for her husband spencer is back. Heavily inspired by my love for professor!reid and my desire to slap all of his student fangirlies and proclaim him as my own in a heavily possessive manner. you too? Oh, enjoy then🤭

masterlist

The auditorium was dark when you first walked in. His voice rang around the space, successfully gathering the attention of everyone present. Words like “victimology”, “modus operandi” and “signature”, the same ones you’d used for years, left him in quick succession, as did their explanation and usage in your profession.

He was captivating, an educator’s role suited him just right, but that was hardly new information. You’d seen him thrive on sharing his knowledge for years, be it as an FBI agent, or as a guest lecturer over the years. 

When he’d been offered to take on a class for the semester, alongside his work with the BAU, he’d been more than happy to. 

He loved it, and he told you as much regularly. And even if he didn’t, you’d still be able to tell. He loved challenging young minds, hopefully shaping the next generation of BAU profilers. 

His students loved him too, that much was evident in the way they hung onto his every word and explanation. Their hands raised with questions, taking part in the discussion, and diligently taking notes. They were dedicated to their studies, and to the subject Spencer taught. 

Or, most of them were. 

The other part, multiple young women it seemed, were far more dedicated to checking him out, than the class itself. 

You didn’t need it spelled out for you, you didn’t even need to see their faces. The art of reading people from a distance was deeply engraved into your being after years of working with the best. And then another part of it was your love for the man at the front. 

Your eyes ran around the room, the profiler in you working over time. 

Two brunettes sat near the front, third row, right side of the auditorium. Both their bodies turned towards the center of the room, following along with Spencer’s movement. One was casually leaning back in her seat, trying her hardest to mask her interest in her professor, and for anyone less vigilant, she might have been successful.

The girl next to her twirled a piece of hair around her finger, head moving left and right, but judging by the lift of her cheek, you could tell she was smiling, probably a little shily. It wouldn’t surprise you if her eyelashes fluttered too. 

A row in front of them sat a blond, hand constantly touching her hair, or her face, even fanning it. It was mid-March, the room wasn’t hot, but quite the contrary, a bit chilly. 

And then there was a girl, a few places to the left of the blond, whose hand was constantly in the air. Her voice was smoky, with questions that hardly contributed to the topic at hand, but Spencer let her ask them anyway. He even went so far as to answer as he would any other question.

Even though you knew he’d long ago picked up on her behavior, much like you had, he still indulged her, just like any good educator would. She looked just a tad too interested in the class, but maybe far more interested in him. If you had to guess, she had it bad, judging by the way she readjusted in her seat, every time her eyes met Spencer’s, even for a second. 

You knew Spencer was handsome, maybe even more so than that. He was beautiful in ways you found hard to explain sometimes. His curls, soft and golden-looking in the sun, the barely there scruff you could still feel against your palms and lips as you kissed him goodbye this morning. The suit, and how well it fit him, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and the cardigan vest that made him look soft, when you knew he was anything but when needed. 

But there was so much more beauty on the inside, just as long as you wanted to see it. A heart that spans miles, big, always ready to give, but rarely willing to take. A godfather, proud to be one, and a smile that could light up whole skies, out of happiness, out of love. Your own little search engine in a body, facts, and statistics, as long as you wanted to listen, and you always did. 

How he was with you, his love like no other, and his eyes lighting, the green in them even more prominent, just with you in the room. How calm he was, whenever in your presence. Patient, even when you couldn’t be, and he could bring you back down from any ledge you found yourself stuck on, or whatever worry sat heavily on your mind. 

He brought out the best in you, and you let the best of him out too. 

And even knowing him as well as you did, and loving him as much as your heart allowed you to, and knowing how he loved you, with everything he could, there was a part, if small at that, that couldn’t help, but feel taken aback by this behavior. 

Maybe taken aback wasn’t the right word, but jealous felt more appropriate. 

There was no need for those feelings to arise, insecurities that bore no weight. Your relationship was as secure as the sun was bright if the stunning rock on your finger was anything to go by. 

But maybe it wasn’t really jealousy either, but the desire to protect, maybe even to possess. 

It sounded ridiculous, to an extent, because Spencer could protect himself just fine. He wasn’t an object that could be picked up from a shelf, and owned. 

He was your equal, in every way that counted, your other half, your best friend, your closest confidant. 

And maybe that’s where that protectiveness stemmed from.  

Because as you looked around, women, without knowing him, and who he was beyond his looks, and as deep as you and your BAU family knew him, sat there, gawking. 

And as the lecture was coming to a close, the desire to cement the fact that Spencer Reid was happily in love, and soon to be much more than just a boyfriend, arose. It was petty, very much so, but at that moment, pettiness won over. Because the man in front, the same one those students were thirsting over, was very much your own, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

“Before we end today’s lecture, any questions?” 

No hands rose at the question, except one, your own. 

He pointed at you, giving you permission to ask the question, and his hand reached for the light switch. 

Just as you started speaking, the room was illuminated in light, and his eyes focused on yours, and you winked.

“Uhm, Dr. Reid, I was wondering, do you happen to have a girlfriend?” A silence so defeating followed, as every head turned in your direction as you stood from your seat. Spencer, the dork smiled big, and then he laughed, surprised, and maybe a little bit proud at that moment. His laugh was rich, attracting a part of the attention back to him, as you started walking in his direction. 

“Wasn’t expecting a guest lecturer today,” He raised a brow just as you reached him, and you just shrugged, smiling. “Class, this is Supervisory Special Agent Y/L/N” Spencer introduced you, as you looked on over his class. 

“Soon to be SSA Y/L/N - Reid” You added, looking at his students sitting in multiple stages of processing the information. He laughed, and instead of looking shy or even embarrassed by the display, he just looked happy, and proud. Maybe it was the knowledge of the fact that you were his, and his desire for everyone to know. 

Soon after that, he dismissed the class and you watched as the auditorium emptied, students turning to look at you both as you pulled him into a big hug, followed by a gentle kiss. 

When you separated, he looked at you with a huge smile, lifting a brow, “You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He picked your hand, bringing it to his lips to lay a kiss right on your ring before he rubbed it with his thumb. 

“No, no I couldn’t. They were looking at you like you were a piece of meat on a platter.” Your reply was swift, a smile just as big.

“Is that jealousy I detect, and a bit of possessiveness?” He was amused by the fact that you wanted to stake some kind of claim on him in front of his students, but secretly, he felt happy you loved him enough to do it

“Noooo…” You didn’t meet his eyes, playing stupid, but you knew he saw right through you.

“Wait until I tell Morgan about this,” He said as he picked up his satchel. 

“Aww, that’s just mean, Dr. Reid.” He pulled you towards the exit, arm wrapped around your waist, possessively. You may have seen the girls looking at him, but he saw the boys checking you out just the same. 

Maybe that was why he felt happiness when you stated you weren’t just a colleague, but rather his soon-to-be wife.

“Don’t I know it, Mrs. Reid.” And then he pulled you into another kiss, this time, a little more urgent, and very much possessive.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[lazycats-stuff]

Batfam at a gala with the reader being dubbed the "hearttrob", the reader is really handsome and nearly everybody wants to get into his pants. However, the reader is actually a really innocent and the family is always on a mission to stop anyone from talking to the reader who just wants to get him into their bed. They're like "nuh uh he only deserves the best"

Oh God, chaos is about to ensue lol. Just everyone being, nope.

Summary: The fam protects their handsome brother.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, people trying to get into (Y/N)'s pants, protective family...

Out of the 5 sons that Bruce has, both adopted and biological, all of them were handsome in their own way. But (Y/N) was the most handsome one, even more handsome than Damian, who was a second contender to the title. Bruce has never ever made any of them feel bad about it.

Besides, none of them really cared about that title anyway. It was bullshit according to them, but... They had agreed that (Y/N) was the most handsome one. That was something that they couldn't deny in the slightest. They all have agreed that if they weren't brothers, they would try and date him.

Of course, that's what a lot of people tried to do and (Y/N) was called a heartthrob for it. He was often in magazines, gossip ones whilst wearing something nice or casual and the internet would simply explode. It has happened a few times before and it was amusing and Jason nearly died from laughing every single time it happened.

God forbid he gets an Instagram or anything like that.

Internet would not survive in any way, shape or form.

Galas were more often that not insane to deal with. (Y/N) was always a genuine person who would really want to love someone, someone who wouldn't use him for like bragging rights or anything similar. When (Y/N) loves, he loves.

That's something that his brothers knew, alongside Bruce of course. So, being a protective they are, they made a pact to protect (Y/N) from people who would only want to sleep with him. There were many douchebags like that, who only want to get in (Y/N)'s pants.

It was nuts.

The same thing was happening tonight, at a gala for some charity. It was for the homeless people of Gotham city. (Y/N) was dressed sharply, in a classic black suit with a white shirt. Of course, he finished his look with a black tie. He moved around the room to talk to people, avoiding the knows reporters. He wasn't interested in them.

He was more interested in something else and that was his bed. Just two more hours.

However, the others noticed people looking at him, eyeing him like he was a piece of meat for them. A prize. Prey. A trophy. It didn't sit well with any of the family members. (Y/N) deserves nothing more than the best partner he could get.

Only the best.

Jason was eyeing a man who was looking at his brother and has made a move. He started walking towards his brother, but Jason was one step ahead. They were all wearing earpieces, just like on patrol. Jason lifted his glass of wine. " A man is on the move. Tim, he is in your line of sight. " Jason murmured, hiding his mouth with his glass of wine.

Tim turned his head from a man he was talking to and excused himself, quickly making his way to his brother before the douchebag could even reach him.

" Hey (Y/N), Jason wanted to talk to you. " Tim said as he patted his shoulder and (Y/N) nodded, leaving to find Jason, who heard it all and was now trying to figure out a reason to talk to (Y/N).

Tim turned his head to look at the man, who was glaring at Tim. Tim was thoroughly unimpressed.

" I know exactly what you want with my brother. I have seen it time and time before. It won't happen. " Tim said coldly and turned around, leaving the angry man behind.

Damian and Dick smirked from their spots. It was amazing to see it. Truly amazing.

And (Y/N) always turned a blind eye to it. It was either for the reason that he didn't want to deal with people or he simply didn't know. He always played dumb for it, but they all suspected that he knew.

Either way, it soothed the protective urge in them. Bruce knew what they were doing and he was doing absolutely nothing to stop his boys. Only if it was physical. Only then he would step in.

And Alfred? Alfred was the silent watcher, listening and waiting. He listened because most men like that brag about things and are bound to uncover something about themselves. And Alfred is never wrong. He always saw right through them.

As Jason and (Y/N) were talking, the others remained vigilant. It was far more interesting this way. More fun at this gala. Not just this one, but the others too. Far more interesting.

(Y/N) got himself some whiskey and just sipped it slowly. It was a nice evening. Damian moved around, seeing a man walking in the general direction of (Y/N). Damian moved through the crowd of people, watching the man like a hawk.

There was something way off about him. Something was way off. Damian couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew that he couldn't ignore the feeling. If there is one thing that Damian was taught, it was to never ignore his gut feeling about people.

He kept following the man, seeing a lustful gaze in his eyes. That bastard. Damian's eyes narrowed at the man, especially when (Y/N) left to go to the bathroom. Damian's mind went into overdrive, knowing that (Y/N) would be vulnerable there.

" I'm moving to the bathroom. " Damian murmured as he approached the bathroom, making sure to keep some distance. He smudged his shirt a bit to have an excuse to go to the bathroom. He entered it, seeing someone chatting up (Y/N).

Damian cleared his throat as he approached the sinks. " (Y/N), father wants to talk to you. Says it's important. " Damian said and Bruce chuckled through the earpiece.

" Thanks Dames. " (Y/N) said with a smile and excused himself from the conversation he was having with a polite smile. The man kept up a polite smile until (Y/N) left and turned to Damian with a scowl. Damian had to control an urge to not laugh in his face.

" Listen kid, don't ruin this for me. " The man said and Damian kept his cool.

" I know who you are. Your father is a business partner of WE. And Bruce Wayne is protective of his sons so don't make me tell him what you said. " Damian said coldly, but Bruce already heard it. But of course, will keep it quiet as long as the man is somewhat respectful.

Now, the last sentence alone made the man scared. It was a well known fact that Bruce Wayne doesn't take any disrespect about his sons. Of any kind. Damian smirked as he saw that the man has paled.

Damian left without a word and saw Dick who smirked too. " Good job Damian. " Dick said as he high fived Damian in passing, composing himself quickly as the man hurried out of the bathroom, clearly distressed.

The two smirked, making Tim snort from where he watched them with Connor. Bruce subtly rolled his eyes at that, but was happy that Damian took control.

And (Y/N)? He simply remained unbothered, chatting away with Alfred, who was happy to stop for a good chat with his grandson.

[v4mp-re]

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲

SUMMARY: When your childhood best friend Theodore Nott sleeps with you one night, your feelings for him over complicate the delicacy of the situation. ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ: childhood bestfriend! Theodore Nott x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

T.W: Angst, mentions of lost of parental figure (mother), commitment issues, implications of sex, mentions of the word "porn", mentions of smoking, drinking and promiscuity, the word "fat" used with slight negative connotation, google translated Italian. ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ: @cafekitsune

It was as if all hell broke loose.

Ever since you've been young, your memories have been stained with that of the presence of your best friend, Theodore Nott. Influential pureblood families had to stick together, that and it just so happened that your mothers were good friends. You were about 5 when news of his mother's death came around, still remembering the tear stained cheeks belonging to none other than him.

That was the only time you'd seen him cry before.

The two did everything together, from getting their Hogwarts acceptance letters to getting sorted into the same house and forming a friend group of their own.

The group worked as sort of a combination of both your close friend groups, yours consisting of Pansy and Astoria and his of Mattheo and Lorenzo. It was just the 6 of them for a while until Pansy introduced Draco, who brought Blaise with him, and eventually joined the group as well.

Things changed in 5th year.

What at first seemed like Theodore reconnecting with his mother's death and coming to terms with it, turned into smoking, obsessive drinking and even whoring around. It wasn't something you necessarily expected either, growing up, he was always that chubby kid that you'd befriend but always depised when it came his turn to sit on the swing. Now however, he was different. He had grown, obviously, but puberty laced with Mattheo's influence, shaped him into the man he is today. And as much as you hated to admit it, he was gorgeous.

Theodore Nott. The very boy you grew up with, was now this tall, rich, Italian pureblood, slytherin boy that every girl wanted to get with, far from the ''fat geeky kid'' he used to be.

So what else could he do other than to embrace it?He had never gotten this much attention before and it wasn't as if the girls of Hogwarts were all a pain to look at, plus, Mattheo had showed him enough porn to know what to do, right?

His inexperience wasn't known to you. Surely you thought he had slept with you with the intention of wanting to get together, afterall he was your bestfriend and you both knew each other practically your whole lives. So you took his drunken kiss as a confession, the way his hands slid into your hair, how his tongue slid itself into your mouth, down to the way he looked at you as you laid there bare for him for the first time.

You should have known better.

By the time you woke up, he was gone. His presence almost non existent, except for the faint smell of him still lingering in the air, the only indicator that what happened last night wasn't a wild dream of yours. You thought nothing much of it, getting ready when the sight of your skin littered with hickeys made you freeze. You weren't drunk but you weren't necessarily sober last night either, for it being both your first times, it surely didn't felt like it. Your bodies felt like they were made for each other, and in a way you were conviced you were too.

You got ready, making sure to cover up the bruises claiming your neck as you walked to the great hall. You had been friends long enough to know that Lorenzo's love for the school's food had rubbed off on the others as well. You knew exactly where to look.

Though the sight you were greeted with wasn't necessarily pleasant.

Sitting at where you usually did, was Daphne Greengrass, a gorgeous blonde slytherin that just so happened to be the same year as you guys. Theodore's arm drapped right across her shoulder.

Mattheo, whom was previously in a conversation with Theodore, spots you almost instantly. He smiles that charming grin he always carried, one that you grew to adore, before calling you over. Theodore doesn't even glance.

With your original seat currently occupied by a girl, of which none if them had ever talked to prior, you sat beside the spare spot near Mattheo, who immediately pulls you closer to him by your hips. A gesture you normally would pull away from, yet the sight of Theodore being so cozy with another girl after the night you too had together was a new kind of pain you wish you never knew.

The insistent giggles coming from Daphne felt like a knife getting plunged deeper and deeper into your chest, knowing that the reason for said giggles was the man beside her, so carelessly whispering in her ear as his hand played with her hair.

''You're awfully quiet.'' A voice that unmistakably belonged to no other than Lorenzo. His eyes ever so slightly flickering to the way Mattheo's hand was still snaked around your waist, in which his fingers were carefully drawing patterns against the fabric of your skirt.

''I'm just tired'' You spoke, a slight smile gracing your features though your words carried a certain innuendo to it, one only Theodore could pick up, one which he ignored so openly.

Mattheo's low chuckle unmistakable, his arms moving to wrap around your waist, head nuzzled in the spot between your neck and shoulder. His breath ghosting against the surface of your neck.

Your eyes flickered to Theo, who, would once immediately tell Mattheo off, now sat occupied with the pretty blonde. His eyes fixed on hers like she was the only person that mattered. The glimpses of the night prior, the way he looked at you, how he treated you with such care, now a fleeting memory.

You felt used. Like Theodore had taken advantage of your friendship together and used it as a cheap way to test out what he already knew. Toying with a lot more than you had let on.

It was then on that you decided to distance from the Italian, something he had barely noticed until he strolled into the potions classroom, after flirting with random girls throughout the whole duration of the morning, to an empty spot which you normally occupied.

It was abnormal to him, you were his potions partner, his seat mate that allowed him to copy off you on tests, the one person who could help him pass the class, yet there you were, sitting with Mattheo instead of him.

It wasn't as if finding a new seatmate was hard, almost immediately, a brunette ravenclaw sat beside him, her friends giggling from the seat behind her, but she wasn't you.

As the class went on, Theodore found himself looking your way. His eyes would linger on the way you ever so carefully measured the ingredients and placed them to the side, a gesture that his current partner didn't care to do. How you laughed when Mattheo so dropped the eye of newt in an attempt to flirt with you.

It infuriated Theodore, but god was he too stubborn to admit it.

The smell of alcohol reeked the common room, the blasting of the music through the speakers weighing heavily on the countless of sweaty, intoxicated teenagers present, all of which, unbothered by it.

Draco had thrown possibly the 4th party in the past 4 months, all of which, you had previously attended on Theodore's insistence. This time, it was on someone's insistence, though not his.

Heels clicking with every step, you weaved towards the familiar green leather couch situated in front of the fireplace. Spotting your usual friend group, all of which slightly drunk and possibly high.

Mattheo, ever the observant, spots you almost immediately.

''For a second there I thought you wouldn't show'' His voice laced with amusement, it was clear he had probably been drinking prior, the scent of alcohol lingering with every breath he took.

He doesn't await a response before wrapping his arm around your waist, an action that doesn't go unnoticed by Theodore Nott, who in turn, pushes off the slytherin girl who was previously seated on his lap, before abruptly standing up.

You knew better than to follow after him, that Theodore Nott was no longer any of your business, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't care about him anymore.

Moving out of Mattheo's grasp under the excuse of wanting a drink, you made your way to the one place you knew Theo would be.

Theodore knew you'd come after him, you always have. The clicking of your heels an echoing reminder of your fleeting friendship. The once obnoxiously loud music now muted by the glass of the common room balcony.

You knew he'd be there, he always was. "Why are you doing this to me?" He spoke, his gaze fixed on the moonlight that reflected off the black lake, now even darker. The only flicker of light coming from his lighter as he brings it to the cigarette hanging off his lips.

"Doing what Theodore?" You spoke, your tone unconsciously laced with irritation and an air of indifference to his dishriveled appearance.

He pulls the cigarette away from his mouth, letting out a trail of smoke in it's path.

"Cazzo. (fuck) You know what I mean! You and Mattheo! Mio Dio, mi sta facendo impazzire!" (My God, it's driving me crazy) He turns to face you and for the first time tonight, you catch a glimpse of his expression.

It's been years since you've seen Theodore Nott cry, and yet here he was.

He moves towards the lounge chair, sitting at the edge, cigarette long forgotten. His shoulders shake with the kind of sorrow that you've only ever saw once in your life, his face buried in his hands.

"È come se ti stessi perdendo." (It's like I'm losing you) He mumbles ever so slightly, looking up for the first time as his gaze catches yours.

You knew there was no turning back. With your resolved crumbling at the seams, you moved to sit beside him on the chair. "I can't lose you, né a Matteo, né a nessuno" (not to Mattheo, not to anyone)

His cheeks were tear-stained as he stared out toward the lake. The party music in the background had grown faint, almost as if the world itself had narrowed to just the two of you.

But you weren’t having it.

"This isn't fair. You can't just sleep with me and then act like nothing happened! You can't just toss me aside like I was nothing and then get mad when Mattheo suddenly takes interest in me!"

"I don't get why you're bringing up that night we slept together. non è stato un grosso problema." (it wasn't a big deal)

"It was a big deal!" Your voice cracked, the weight of your emotions pouring out with every word.

"And why’s that?!" he snapped back, his voice sharp and defensive, but there was something else there—something unspoken, trembling beneath his anger.

"Because I love you!" The confession tore from your chest like a wound finally bursting open, raw and unfiltered. For a moment, the world seemed to still, the air between you heavy with the gravity of what you’d just said.

He froze, his breath hitching as his eyes searched yours. You could see it—the flicker of vulnerability in the depths of his gaze, the way his jaw tightened as if trying to hold back a storm of emotions.

"You love me?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now, as though the words were too fragile to say out loud.

"Yeah," your voice trembling but resolute. "I have loved you ever since first year, and it's killing me that you're pushing me away and acting like nothing happened!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I’m pushing you away because I don’t know how to stop myself from destroying everything good in my life!" he snapped, his voice breaking. He stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair as he paced in frustration. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t hate myself every second for the way I treat you?"

"Then stop doing it!" you cried, standing as well, your voice trembling with anger and pain. "Stop acting like you’re some broken thing that can’t be fixed. I see you, Theo. I’ve always seen you. And you’re not broken—you’re scared. But so am I!"

He stopped pacing, his back to you, his shoulders tense. "You don’t understand," he muttered, his voice low.

"Then make me understand!" you pleaded, stepping closer, your heart hammering in your chest. "Tell me why it’s so hard for you to believe that I love you. I’ve seen the parts of you you’re too scared to show anyone else. And I’m still here, aren’t I?"

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his own self-loathing was finally too much to carry. "I’m scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m scared of what happens if I let myself believe it—believe you. Because what if I lose you? What if I ruin it?"

"You’re already losing me," you said softly, tears slipping down your cheeks now. "Every time you push me away, every time you act like this—like we don’t matter—you’re losing me a little more."

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on the ground. Then, slowly, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I don’t want to lose you," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession.

"Then stop pushing me away," you pleaded, taking another step closer. "Stop pretending you don’t feel this too."

He hesitated, his lips parting as if to argue, but then he closed the distance between you in one swift, desperate motion. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself break in your embrace.

"I’m sorry," he murmured against your shoulder, his voice muffled but filled with raw sincerity. "I’m so sorry."

And as you held him, feeling the tension slowly leave his body, you knew that this was the beginning—not an easy one, but one where neither of you would have to carry the weight alone anymore.