#I wrote this ages ago and waited until it was perfect

[flo55i]

Lucky Thirteen

(Maxiel drabble. 600 words.)

It’s not a conscious decision to run up to the altar and grab the bouquet out of the bride’s hands. Certainly not a popular one either with the sound of the screams of the other guests resonating throughout the church. And definitely not a sober one— Daniel’s been knocking back the expensive wine like cordial since he got here.

But there’s no doubt that it’s him up there trying to wrestle the once perfectly arranged bunch of pink roses out of Kellie’s hands. It’s him who is trying not to let the lace of her floor length veil get the better of the rubber soles of his shoes or his rage as he fights for something more everlasting and meaningful than those flowers. 

Daniel was fine up until that point— everything was fine. Scotty had made them sit at the back but gave him his hand to squeeze if he felt like it, even a coat sleeve to wipe his nose on. The music was beautiful and classical and so far from what Daniel would have picked that he could almost picture himself anywhere else right now.

And even when Max made his way down the aisle, Daniel had sent him the most sincere smile he could muster that didn’t make him look like the pathetic loser he is with a flask of whiskey stuffed into his jacket pocket. He had even managed to keep his mouth shut during the whole, “speak now or forever hold your peace” thing, biting on his tongue and concentrating on the cracks in the stained glass windows instead of the sight of the best man he’s ever known, in the best suit he’ll ever wear, walking away from him again. 

But when the bride was saying her vows, talking about how lucky they are to have found each other and to then be getting married on this lucky day of all days, Friday the thirteenth– that. That was when  Daniel lost the careful hold he had over his emotions. The threshold Michael refused to believe was even there in the first place when he turned down the invitation to come as Daniel’s plus one to Max’s wedding fearing an ‘incident’ such as this.

Daniel will happily take the ‘I told you so’ for the satisfaction of seeing that smug bitch’s mascara running down her face as he finally tears the dozen or so stems of roses free from her evil clutches. 

Thirteen was their number— one and three, him and Max.  The only time they got to stand side by side beside one another anywhere other than on the grid. The only other place they actually had a relationship at all. Kellie had already taken enough— taken Max, she didn’t need everything else too. 

There are hands on his lapels. Daniel doesn’t know exactly whose they are but there is the distinct smell of cologne and Max and a warmth that was once shared between them and then it all gets a bit fuzzy from there— hands pulling, voices shouting. Both their dreams of happily ever after going up in a cloud of smoke and silk organza as a candle he knocks over sets fire to the bottom of Kellie’s dress.

The next thing Daniel sees is the sight of Nelson Pique’s fist coming towards his face and he goes down hard. But it’s ok though. He’s lying down on the altar, on the remains of his broken heart and at least know he knows he can’t fall any further from down here. Knuckles hurting just as much as the rest of him, it’s a small comfort to know before he passes out that at least Lewis will still be proud of him.

[no-144444]

losing battle- l.stroll

Day 10 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: it's a marriage of convenience that's becoming pretty inconvenient when you start falling for your best friend.

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Lance Stroll was 2 things, powerful, and a mess. His driving was messy, his bedroom was messy, his house was messy, his relationship was messy, but most of all, his entire life was messy. After a very public split with the woman he’d been dating for literal years, he fell deeper and deeper into racing, somehow cleaning up his act and not acting like a paid seat driver. He was good. The car was good. Podiums were a regular thing for both him and Fernando. Wins were becoming a regular thing for Fernando, and Lance had a few more under his belt. Not only that, but they were finally fighting for the championships, and Fernandio had won his third last season, it was Lance’s turn now, and he was making the most of it. Everything was great. 

The only issue? Lance was now boring in the media’s eyes. He had no scandals, no girlfriend, no family drama (well…?), nothing. He was a perfectly polite, perfectly fine, all-round good person. That wasn’t enough for the press. Every race, the same questions got asked; “are you dating anyone?” “who’s the special lady in your life?” “are you hiding a wife from us?”

He wanted it to stop. That’s where you came in. His sweet, kind, best friend since childhood. You’d been to races over the years, you’d been seen with him, you were gorgeous, the fans loved you, most importantly, Lance loved you, as a friend anyway. 

“So I have to marry you?” You gawked at Lance as he set the contracts out in front of you. “And then we act like a couple until…?” “Until the press gets off my back and I can say we amicably divorced and stayed friends,” he explained. 

“And this is a good idea because…?”

“It’s been 4 years since me and ‘she-who-must-not-be-named’ broke up, people wouldn’t just believe me and you got together like 3 years ago and we’re still just ‘together’-”

“And why not?” you questioned.

“I honestly don’t know these were just the points my dad wrote out for me to say,” he shrugged. “Please help me out?”

You sighed, how bad could it be?. “Fine, but you owe me.”

“Excellent!” Lawrence beamed, startling the both of you. “Now, we should talk about certain things- children?”

“No way,” you answered firmly. “No way,” he answered firmly. 

You both burst into fits of laughter and Lawerence ended up leaving, knowing there was no stopping you two. Well, you were a wife now, and a WAG.

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lancestroll

liked by pierregasly, logansargeant, and 3,837,231 others

lancestroll happy anniversary baby :)

comments

fernandoalonso: my favourites!

user45: he kept this REAL quiet

user33: what. the. fuck.

alexandriastleux: can't wait to meet her!

user42: MY CHANCE IS GONE? -> user99: girl what chance he's a billionaire.

georgerussell: I WASN'T INVITED? -> lancestroll: no one was lol. just family -> georgerussell: I CAN BE FAMILY

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It could be very bad. Very, very bad. 

By age 25, you would’ve thought that you’d gotten over your childhood crush on Lance, but no. It was rampant every time he so much as looked in your direction. He was sweet, kind, funny, and so nice. He made an effort to include you in things, invited you to galas and dinners with the team, he’d lean over and kiss you randomly, take your hand, smile at you, kiss you before he got in the car, wink at you from the podium, kiss you when he got out of the car.

He was fucking perfect, for no fucking reason. 

You sat beside Lawrence as he chatted about the race, Canada, Lance’s home race. You listened attentively and didn’t notice Lance coming up behind you, and your brain short-circuited  when he kissed you on the head and wrapped his arms around you, making your eyes widen and your skin heat. It was always like this, any time he touched you, you felt it. Everywhere. 

Lawrence laughed. “You don’t have to pretend here, there’s no cameras.”

Lance’s hands fell away and you immediately missed them. He sat down beside you on the couch and smiled at you, whispering a ‘hello’. 

“Sometimes I think you two aren’t even acting. You’d think you were really in love,” Lawrence chuckled. 

“Alright dad,” Lance scoffed. “What were you two talking about before?”

“Just Canada in general, chatting about the house and stuff,” you shrugged. You and Lance had just bought your first house together and were finally moving in after months of it being renovated. Being ‘married’ to Lance was easy, simple, nice even. It was literally living with your best friend, which worked well for the two of you. 

“Where are we going tonight if you win?” Lawrenece asked, a sly smirk on his face.

“Out,” Lance shrugged with a grin. 

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He’d done it. He’d won his fucking home race. You celebrated with him at the parc fermé and cheered as he stood on the podium, proudly singing along to his national anthem. He’d won.

Once his media duties were done and he was showered and not smelling like champagne, out on the town you went. Clubs, pubs, bars, it didn’t matter, the night flew away from you as the drinks flowed and the energy buzzed. 

It was in some random club where Landio had befriended the DJ when Lance bumped into you again. 

“Hi!” he shouted over the music, clearly drunk. 

“Hi,” you smiled back, a little bit more sober. 

“You look beautiful tonight, y-you look beautiful every night,” he smiled. 

Your heart swelled. “Oh yeah? Even when I have my snoring tape on?” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. “Even then.” 

Suddenly you were very sober, and you had to get out of there. You couldn’t just be fake anymore, it wouldn’t work. You loved him, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you loved him. “I-I’m going to go-”

“Don’t run away from me,” he pleaded. “I want to talk about it- about us.”

“In the middle of the dance floor in a club?” you questioned. “Come with me.”

He nodded and grabbed your hand, leading the way to the exit. Your heart was pounding. Maybe he’d found someone else? Maybe he was done with you? Maybe he hated you? Maybe-

“I love you,” he rushed out. “I love our life together, I love waking up to you, I love eating breakfast, and lunch, and dinner with you. I love cooking with you, I love movie nights with you, I love talking to you, I love being with you. I love kissing you and holding your hand, and being able to touch you whenever I want to. I fucking hate the fact that this all started with something fake, and it makes me feel like shit that our ‘wedding’ was the both of us signing a sheet of paper, but I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You stopped moving, stopped thinking, stopped breathing. This wasn’t real, this was your mind playing tricks on you, this was a joke, this wasn’t- 

“Please respond,” he begged. 

“I love you too,” you instinctively said. “I love all those things too.”

His worried face broke into a soft smile, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. 

Well, so much for fake.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

omg that last slash fic you just wrote..i definitely need a part two where he just goes hard when they finally get to be alone at home or something. to the og person who requested..you a real one. ✨ ( idk if your request open or not, i didn't pay attention jejsjd )

A/n: ik this was from so long ago and I actually forget what fic you were referring to so I hope I got it right but I remember people asking for a part 2 anyway 😋

I’m not sorry for adding angst at the end of all my fics recently either

Warnings: slight angst at the end, smut, age gap, squirting, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Part 1

Slash finished cleaning up the mess you’d made and got himself a glass of water before heading up to bed. He peered into the guest room where you were supposed to be only to find the room abandoned and the door to his room just down the hall slightly ajar.

A smirk tugged at his lips but when he walked in you were already sleeping, one of his pillows tucked between your legs. He didn’t want to wake you so he just crawled into bed behind you, taking the pillow from your legs and pulling you to his side, letting you use his chest as a pillow.

The next morning you woke up back in your bed in the guestroom, Slash's shirt clutched in your hands and held to your chest. You took your time waking up before heading downstairs where London was making breakfast, Slash was helping him the best he could but he didn't know how to cook so he was mostly cleaning the used dishes.

Slash gave you a ride home, his hand on your thigh the whole way and he parked farther away so he could give you a kiss goodbye, promising to see you again, sending sparks through you.

Duff and Susanne could tell you were happier than usual and assumed it had something to do with London. You assured them it wasn't but they still reminded you he had someone already.

You didn't want to tell them it was Slash making you smile, you didn't know how they'd react, you didn't want to ruin this arrangement or their friendships.

You'd be seeing Slash again, he came over to be with Duff, Duff brought you with him to Slash's house because he'd been told a lie that London was there, you'd go into Slash's room and have your fun with his stuff, taking pictures and sending them to him while he spoke with Duff and whoever else was there.

All this time, and you never got to be alone, and Slash did that on purpose. He knew it would be hard to be alone, but he also knew it would drive you insane to not to get touched by him for so long, not after what he did to you. You couldn't make yourself feel like that, no, you needed him.

Finally, he came up with an idea. Technically he thought of it after your first night over, but he finally told you about it.

London would be on tour, Cash was with friends, it would just be Slash alone at home. The perfect chance for the both of you.

"I didn't see London's car in the driveway?" Duff said, looking over his shoulder as Slash welcomed the both of you in.

"Yeah, he's just out getting something, said he'd be back soon." Slash explained, closing the door behind the both of you. He turned to you as you kicked your shoes off. "Why don't you go wait for him?" You paused a moment, more waiting? He was gonna make you go upstairs and wait for him while he sat down here talking?

You couldn't say anything, not in front of Duff. You just nodded with a smile and went upstairs, heading straight for Slash's room to sit on his bed and scroll on your phone until he came to join you.

They had to talk for hours, you didn't care to know what about, all you could think about was how you were going to pay him back when he came up.

Slash waved goodbye to his old friend and closed the door, breathing out a heavy sigh knowing what was about to happen. He made his way up to his room and found you on your phone, you didn't even look up at him as he entered.

"Sweetheart, are you ready?" No response. You were done waiting for him to give you attention, it wasn't good for you, now it was his turn to beg for you. "Come on, don't be like that." He said, making his way onto the bed. He found a spot between your legs and started undoing your jeans.

You wanted to kick him away, make him really beg, but this felt better. He tugged your pants down, you barely lifted your hips to help him. He huffed. "I'm here now, we have all week together, just us." He said, placing a few kisses on your thighs. "Wanna see you make another mess, sweetheart." He was getting nothing from you, you were just staring blankly at your phone.

There was nothing more interesting than Slash looking up at you with those plush lips pursed in a little fake pout, brows knit together to fit the rest of his expression.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, Slash was strong, very strong. You often found ways to cuddle up to his arms, thick logs under your head, making his limbs fall asleep was your way of getting back at him after all he'd put you through. Once you were asleep he refused to move, only making the exception to get you into the guestroom, so if your head was on his arm it was there to stay until the blood flow stopped.

Tonight he was actually using the muscle he had for more than just impressing you, though what he did accomplished that as well.

He wasn't going to waste time getting your jeans down your legs, they were tight and clung to your curves. He hooked his hands on the flaps of your fly and pulled, letting them rip right down the hem, causing you to yelp.

He just chuckled at your reaction. "Knew you couldn't ignore me forever." He said with a grin, your jeans now turned into chaps.

"Those were expensive!" You exclaimed, he just rolled his eyes at you.

"I'll get you new ones." He said, snapping the strings to your pink panties. He spoke up again before you could. "I'll get you more of those, too. Lots more." He started littering kisses over your abdomen, slowly moving down.

You set your phone down when he licked through your already wet folds, seeing him rip through fabric so effortlessly was definitely a turn on.

"Not so distracted now, are you?" He mumbled against you, tongue flicking your clit. You gasped and shook your head, eagerly reaching for him and gripping his hair tightly, pulling him closer.

He chuckled lowly against you, tongue swirling around your sensitive bean, thick finger pushing into you and prodding that spot he knew you loved so much. You bit your lip to silence yourself, every time you did Slash gave you a quick slap on your ass, correcting your behaviour. The house was empty, you didn’t have to be quiet.

It still took some getting used to but soon your moans were bouncing off the walls, two fingers in and then he added a third. He wasn’t moving fast, you knew he would but for now he was going slow, taking his time in prepping you, loving you.

Your back arched off the bed, tugging on his hair as you rode out your high on his face, calling out his name as you came.

He pulled away and moved to lay beside you, letting you get a break. He had all week to fuck you, he prioritized you being comfortable over his own needs.

You caught your breath and moved on top of him, a shiver running down your spine when you felt how big he was, rock hard under you and straining against his jeans. “We should do more.” You said, a grin on your face.

He chuckled and nodded in agreement. “We’ll do more.” His hands went to your hips, guiding you to rock your hips, grinding down on him.

“No, I mean, like…” You chewed your cheek as you thought of a way to say it, your mind still a jumbled mess. You lowered yourself on him till your mouth was right by his ear. “We have the whole house to ourselves.”

He let your words run through his head for a minute. “What exactly are you suggesting, sweetheart?” You smiled widely and moved off the bed, pulling off what was left of your jeans, panties already tossed aside, and you decided to throw your shirt and bra with them, all while Slash stared in awe, a smile spreading over his face.

“We can be anywhere, Slash.” You said, leaning your hands on the bed, letting him eye you shamelessly.

“Anywhere… who?” He asked, eyes flickering to meet yours briefly.

“Anywhere, daddy.” You repeated, wiggling your hips. He inhaled deeply and nodded, getting out of bed and following you through the halls, pulling his clothes off as he went until he was bending you over the kitchen table, hands gripping your hips and holding you in place for him to ram into you, low groans slipping from his lips.

“This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? Wanted daddy’s dick so fucking bad, didn’t you?” He asked, not stopping or even slowing his pace as he waited for you to respond.

“Yes! Yes, daddy, s’all I wanted, just wanted you!” Your body bounced up the table, the cloth covering it saving your body from sticking. You swore the table was moving with how hard he was fucking you, scooting a little further with every harsh thrust from him.

His arm snaked around you, lifting you from the table and holding you to his chest, sucking and nipping at your neck, he was just as starved for your touch as you were for his, he was just better at hiding it. He was fucking you like he was in heat, grunting and panting in your ear while your moans and whines echoed off the walls, every wall.

This was the freedom you’d been craving, to love him in the open even if that was his house, it was big enough to count. Whether or not you’d ever be able to tell the world about your relationship was always at the back of your mind, but not right now, not when you were so close, not when his fingers were on your clit and his tip was hitting your sweet spot.

Your knees buckled under you, Slash was beginning to stumble, hold on you tightening as his breaths got heavier. “Fuck, doing so good for me, sweetheart, taking me so fucking good.” He mumbled, grabbing your tit in his hand, his favourite part of you always was your chest. “C’mon, be a good girl and cum for me, make a mess for daddy.” You could already feel yourself coming undone at his touch, his words only pushing you further.

You had to pull away from him and grab the table as you came, gushing on the hardwood floors and crying out for him.

He took a step closer behind you, finishing himself off and spreading his cum on your ass.

Your high lasted longer than his and he watched in amazement, loving every second of it as he took a seat, bringing his hand to your hip and pulling you into his lap as you came down from it. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.” You melted into him, body weak and twitching.

“I-I think I might go first.” You joked, laughing breathlessly.

He shook his head. “You’re young, not some sixty year old with permanent defibrillator.”

You looked up at him, kissing his scruffy cheek. “Is that why you like me?” You asked, kissing him again and again, wanting his lips on yours. “I’m young and pretty, you think you’re gonna die?”

He snorted. “I don’t think I’m dying soon, just… sooner than you.” He saw where you were going and met your lips with his own. You didn’t let him pull away so fast, aching for more and more still.

“You didn’t answer my question.” You said between kisses.

He let out a heavy sigh. “No. I don’t just like you because you’re hot and I want some trophy wife.” You wanted to brush past ‘wife’ but it made you smile, cheeks heating up and he saw it, smiling back at you. “I love you because I love how you are, your personality and your interests, how you treat people… does that answer your question?”

You thought for a moment before nodding, shifting to be more comfortable in his lap. “I love you, Saul.” He kissed you again and lifted you up.

“Go to sleep, love, you’ll need it.”

[lotties-ashwagandha]

how the yellowjackets would react to you being sick (headcanons)

i wrote these forever ago when i had the flu and they got lost in my drafts enjoyyyy gender neutral reader i think but taissa does reference her partner as her wife. also if the pics on this don’t format right (theyre supposed to be 3 in a row and then the header) pls tell me sometimes it fucks up :(

SHAUNA

sees you sneeze once and runs to the store for cold medicine with the fervor of middle aged preppers fist fighting for toilet paper in 2020

she would do or get absolutely anything you wanted, would go and buy takeout food from your favorite restaurants or make sure you’re comfortable wherever you’re situated

will make sure you’re taking whatever medicine you need, whether it’s just over the counter cough medicine or it’s something prescribed by a doctor. you can’t put up a fight with her about it bc you’ll never win. she gets so intense about it but it’s ultimately for your good and you know that

also just likes to hold you. she cancels whatever plans she has and you lay and watch movies together — she might not like everything you pick to watch but she’ll put up with anything to make you feel a bit better. as for the close proximity of holding you, she doesn’t care if she gets sick because she knows you’ll take care of her once you’re better in the same way she cared for you. plus i’d imagine her immune system is of fucking steel after having a baby in the wilderness???? no germs are getting on this woman ok and ykw that probs goes for all of them they probably have some fucked up forest girl immunity or smthn idk im not a doctor don’t come at me

LOTTIE

she’ll never admit it ever but at first she gets kind of excited because she’s been waiting for someone to fall ill so she can try out a new herbal remedy

but then she sees how upset you are and how much discomfort you’re in and feels guilty

anyway rich girl lottie is averse to germs and when you first get sick she handles you a bit like you’re a giant jellyfish someone’s trying to throw at her , she wants to help you but girl has a whole wellness center to run she is not getting sick

until she caves and you’re cuddled in bed together watching movies because she can’t keep away from you

she lets you watch whatever you want while you’re sick , but she does get a bit bored sometimes when you’re asleep so she flips the channel to nature documentaries. she’ll flip it back to whatever you were watching immediately after you wake up tho, and yes of course she was watching your horror movies instead of bird watching shows go back to sleep

she also cooks for you while you’re sick — probably not very well, but she won’t allow anyone else cooking for you because she wants to make sure you’re eating quality food that will help you get better and not just anything you could pick up

she gets very protective over you and over your health in general and won’t allow anyone to come bother you, if you work outside the wellness center she makes sure your bosses aren’t being bitches about you being sick and she ensures everything’s in order to her standards

TAISSA

panics because she has absolutely no idea what to do when you get sick, probably googles “what to do when your wife is sick” and follows the wikihow

she’ll take a few days off work for once to look after you, it doesn’t seem like a big deal but it is to you because she hardly ever takes time off from the campaign

she’s very stereotypical in the way she takes care of you — she’ll make you chicken noodle soup, get you blankets, everything she knows is the “standard” of taking care of someone with a cold but she works so hard to make sure everything’s perfect for you

she knows you’re miserable so she’ll try to make you laugh when you’re sick. telling you stupid jokes, funny stories from work, anything she can think of. your body is down but she won’t let your mental health go down with it especially if you already struggle with mental health

might offer you some dirt and a spot in her tree if you’re lucky

VAN

knows you’re sick before you do it’s some psychic ass shit she just KNOWS

you sneeze once and she’s like “oh I bought you some cold medicine earlier” like ??? girl ok whatever

she usually loves to make you watch her old dvds and tapes but when you’re feeling bad she puts on a marathon of your favorite movies

she buys you a lot of sweets. she’d be one of those “chocolate fixes everything” girls and whenever she would go out to buy you something she would come back with some sort of treat for you

she lets your rant about being sick if you’re one of those people who get grumpy when you get sick, she wants you to trust her and feel safe enough to express your distress

NATALIE

i think we all know natalie isn’t the best person in health and wellness situations but she does make it fun to be sick at least !

raids the vending machine for you

will probably google how to take care of you like taissa , but thinks the instructions are too long and gives up

will probably call misty and make her bring over whatever medicine you’d need because she knows she’ll fuck it up picking it out herself

she’s silent on the bed for an hour and then announces “i made you a spotify playlist” out of the blue. it has like 5 songs on it but they’re all very very very meticulously selected and she’s so proud of it, she knows it cant help you get better physically but hopes it will make you happy

warns you not to get her sick as if it’s something you can control. looks at you so sternly and goes “don’t. don’t get me sick.” it makes you roll your eyes

MISTY

she’s been waiting for this day her whole life tbh not in a creepy way but in a loving “i want to take care of you” way

will do absolutely everything to make sure you’re comfortable when you’re sick, she would kill for you (she would anyway but especially when you’re not feeling well)

knows a bunch of get better health hacks from all the reddit forums she’s stalked over the years and only half of them work but it shows that she cares

tries to search amazon to see if there’s a little covid mask she can get caligula “just in case”

she makes you watch true crime documentaries with her and narrates every episode and then gives you all her hot takes afterwards. you can’t escape and she takes advantage of it

[lennadanvers]

His Home

Johnny Soap MacTavish x Ace!Reader

A/N: I'm a day late to Ace Week, but I really wanted to post this. I'd love to see more ace representation in fanfiction, so I'm doing my part. Plus, this kind of relationship has always been my favorite- there's something about undefined love that makes it perfect. I really like this one, so much that I wrote it while studying for my History exam. I hope you love it too, happy belated Ace Week!

Ghost is the first one to ask about it.

About you.

It’s late, you went to bed an hour ago, and Johnny offered him a beer. They’re looking at the empty front yard, a normal street in a normal neighborhood- a rare sight for soldiers of their kind. The food you and Soap made for the occasion sits warm in their bellies. The air smells of quiet and night.

Simon has known Johnny for a long time- and he has known him well. He didn’t know about this, though. He heard about you, of course. The first time Soap wasn’t sure if he’d make it back home, it was your name he mumbled. Instructions were clear: his dog tags were for you to receive. Along with everything else in his barracks. Ae dinnae care aboot all the rules. Ye gotta take me home tae ‘er.

Ghost knew you weren’t married- he would have seen it in his sergeant’s paperwork. He decided you were his girlfriend, then.

Until someone flirted with Johnny at a bar, and he happily told them he was single. Single. It didn’t lead anywhere, anyway; he came back to base with the rest of the team that night. Maybe he didn’t have a bird at home anymore, thought Simon.

But then there was the roommate. Soap was always talking about the roommate, how she would always leave hairs in the shower, how the laundry detergent smelled like flowers back home. It was said with fondness, the kind of affectionate jab one develops with family or very close friends. Ghost supposed you might be a childhood friend, then. Someone who had always been in Johnny’s life.

Come the end of their last mission, he had nowhere to stay at. His apartment was waiting for him, of course, but it was as empty and cold as any hotel room. His sergeant invited him home- tae meet ma girl. His girl. That was not a relationship status- no friend, no sister or girlfriend. Just girl, his girl.

He had to say yes.

Then there were you. Johnny’s age, bright eyes full of affection when you saw him. Small, soft hands ruffling the mohawk, saying it was getting out of hand. Nodding when he asked for another trim, bonnie, aye?

You hugged him around the neck, face under his chin. Ghost feared you would suffocate his sergeant. But Johnny’s face was pink, relaxed for the first time since before the mission. His arms were at your back, hands rounding your waist- they were used to that place. His nose deep in your hair- Simon felt like he was overstepping, like he wasn’t meant to see that. No one was.

Until you gave a step back- soft smile, soft eyes, soft Johnny- and welcomed him to your home. You called him L.T., like you knew him. Simon suspected you did. You didn’t try to shake his hand or- God forbid- hug him hello. You didn’t even risk a step into his personal space. He didn’t think it was out of fear- you didn’t blink twice at the black surgical mask. You just smiled and gave him a tour of the house.

That was another thing, the house. Tiny and tidy, cozy. Ghost didn’t have much experience with homes, but that’s what it looked like to him. A place lived in, well loved. A place with a past. Even more intriguing, a place with a future. By the way you talked, he gathered you weren’t renting. This place was owned. Something for the long run.

When you got to the hallway, though, you pointed to the last door. That’s my room! You can knock if you need anything, I’m a pretty light sleeper. Then to the one before that: That’s Johnny’s. Then the guest bedroom and the bathroom.

So you don’t sleep together.

Which would have been an answer to his curiosity, if it weren’t for the kitchen. After he left his stuff- a half-empty duffel bag- in the guest room, Simon went back to the small but charming space that is- all in one- your kitchen, living room and dining room. He was still in his soldier headspace, which means his steps were quiet. When he stepped into the kitchen, neither you nor Soap noticed him there.

You were laughing, hand on his bicep, eyes closed. Johnny was smiling. His shoulders down, his face soft. He grabbed your hand and brought you closer in a weird hug. You swayed together, and Simon almost heard the music you were dancing to. It went on for a while. Johnny went to grab a knife and you’d already placed the cutting board in front of him. You grabbed the oven mitt and he opened the oven.

You two are the perfect machine, always knowing where the other is going next. The smiles never falter. For the first time in years, Simon feels like he’s in a home. It’s confusing and startling. How come Soap has this waiting for him? How is he even able to go on deployment, knowing he might not have the chance to dance around you in the kitchen again?

The thought sparks memories. Soap’s sketchbook, a gleaming eye peeking from the page. His tactical jacket, jasmine perfume as they march through a field. A hair tie in the keychain. Gunpowder hands buying a bracelet in a faraway country. Making flower crowns while waiting for the target to show up. Dodging bullets with blue fevered eyes. Take me home tae ‘er.

He cleared his throat, and you handled him the plates to set on the table.

After dinner, you said goodnight. Johnny kissed your cheek; I left some beers in the fridge. Another kiss on the forehead. You waved at Simon, sweet and tired. Soap’s eyes followed you through the hallway.

Out in the cool night air, Simon asks.

“Tha’ ‘er?”

Soap flinches in his seat. The bottle in his hand twinkles under the stars. Doesn’t seem willing to reply. Maybe he doesn’t know how.

“The one from yer drawings?”

The nod is soft.

“Aye.”

Interrogation is an art. Ghost knows many ways to get information out of people. None of them work better on his sergeant than silence. The man has a need to fill empty spaces.

So he waits until Johnny takes the bait.

“A’v always known her.”

Another silence. Simon doesn’t need to ask the question out loud.

“We arenae datin. She isnae ma girlfriend. Or wife,” Jhonny’s voice is warm and liquid. “She's the love o ma life.”

Curiosity bubbles again. How does this life fit with the man out in the field? How come a cozy little house is home to a demolition expert?

“How’s tha’ work?”

Soap’s shoulders tighten, preparing for a defensive stance.

“She doesnae want sex.”

That’s not quite an answer, so Simon waits. Johnny’s back relaxes slowly, as if relieved by the lack of a reaction.

“But ‘a dinnae care aboot all that stuff. She's here whan ‘a come home, an she takes care o’ me. A tak care o’ her. Thare's nothin more than that.”

Nothing more he could ask for. Nothing more he’d ever want. His eyes glow blue, melting ice in the night. Ghost wonders, surprised, how he never saw it. How he didn’t realize.

After that, he doesn’t ask any more questions. There’s nothing else he’d need to know, really. When the bottles are empty and the air a little too cold, they retreat to their rooms.

The next morning, Simon stays in bed a little longer than usual. He listens to your soft steps in the hallway, the little knock on the door and Johnny’s raspy laugh. He hears the sheets and the whispers, the way he tells you stories about their last deployement- some true (only the lighter ones), the rest made up, with a handsome, Scottish hero. He pictures you tucked in Johnny’s side, his hand in your hair, easy smiles lighting up the room. And he understands. Once again, his sergeant’s words sound in his head.

A dinnae care aboot the rules. She’s ma girl, L.T.

[mando-fando]

The Other Man

Okay, here's my FIRST FIC in ages. I wrote it in a very specific style bc of the ~vibe~

Hope you like it!

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Wife!Reader

Words: 3k

Warnings: smut, established relationship, (idk if there's more pls tell me?)

The love story of Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara

OR

You’re Gabriella’s mother and Miguel’s wife. A few weeks ago, things were a little off with your husband; you wrote it off until now…

Your heart pounded in your chest as you set a timer on your phone and waited. You thought of your darling daughter, and her bubbly, beautiful personality. You thought of your family, and how arguably perfect your life was thanks to your husband’s dedication and tenacity. 

You were panicking, on the verge of tears as the timer silently counted down on your phone screen. You thought of your husband. Your real husband. 

13yearsago

Miguel was the first person you’d met at your college orientation. A tall lanky kid who stepped onto the campus tour bus at the last minute and had nowhere to sit but next to you. You felt yourself fall for him instantly when his eyes met your own. 

You both chatted awkwardly like teenagers do; you mentioned your majors (he was genetics and you were communications), you talked about your high schools, your friends, and anything else your distracted minds could come up with. 

You mentioned that science wasn’t your strong suit, and Miguel suggested taking a science class together so he could be your lab partner. You settled on chemistry, and looked forward to starting classes in the fall. 

You exchanged numbers and texted through the rest of the summer. By the time the semester started, you were attached at the hip. 

The week that you moved into the dorms, he brought you a bouquet of carnations (you were allergic to roses) and asked you to be his girlfriend right in front of everyone. You said yes with bright pink cheeks. 

That night, when all the new freshmen were out enjoying welcoming activities, you and Miguel lost your virginities to each other with soft music playing in the background. You’d heard from your friends that the first time was awful, but you two were slow with each other. You knew you’d chosen the right guy, and you couldn’t imagine sharing the experience with anyone else.

It rained on the first day of classes. Torrential downpour, and you walked into the library together soaked and giggling to take a picture in front of your school’s “Welcome Freshmen!” backdrop. 

That photo was framed and hanging above your bed like many others you’d taken over the years. 

The chemistry class was hard. Your hardest class by far, but Miguel was there with you every week. He came over to your dorm after the lab to explain everything in detail as many times as you needed. He’d stay late and you’d share cheap pizza and watch movies. 

Your friends started calling you Mrs. O’Hara long before you were actually married. You two were the one constant couple among them. You and Miguel would go for ice cream with them after every fresh heartbreak. You reminded them that love exists because you two had it. They’d always lick their wounds and get back out there, thanking you both for your encouragement. 

When sophomore year rolled around, your parents offered to rent you an apartment. You begged for them to let Miguel live with you (they loved him of course), and, to your surprise, they said yes.

In between classes, you and Miguel lived in domestic bliss. You had no idea that building furniture, grocery shopping late at night, and decorating could be so fun. He made it so much more enjoyable. 

You learned so much about him, sometimes swearing that you knew him better than you knew yourself. You loved how his brow twitched in his sleep, and you loved how he was considerate enough to cover your face with the blanket before he turned on the bedroom light. He made your heart melt every single day, and you couldn’t imagine loving someone more. 

You stayed up late on Sundays with him and proofread his papers. He was brilliant, but he couldn’t string together a sentence on paper to save his life. 

“Do you even know what a comma is!?” You’d asked as you aggressively hit the backspace button on his laptop. 

“Do you know what an autosome is?” He replied in a sarcastic voice, ruffling your hair. (he always ruffled your hair.) 

You rolled your eyes and finished proofreading his paper. After he submitted it, he closed both of your laptops and bent you over the table. Your pajama pants were around your ankles as you moaned into the cheap veneer. 

Miguel fucked you on every surface in that apartment: the shower, bent over the counters and the table, against the wall, on the floor. It was your space together, and he was ready to claim the 600 sqft and your body for himself. 

God, you missed that apartment. 

A year later, you took your first vacation alone together to Mexico. You’d never been, but he’d gone a few times when he was younger. You felt secure with him as he easily switched between English and Spanish, and you listened intently as he showed you the places that he remembered visiting years prior. 

You walked along the beach, hand in hand watching the sunset. He was explaining something about the tides, and you smiled wide at him and then looked at the pinky-purple sky. 

When you looked back, he was on one knee with a ring box. You swear your heart stopped for a moment. 

“Yes! Are you kidding me!? Yes!” you nearly screeched at the top of your lungs. He swung you around and dipped you into a kiss. It felt like a scene from a movie. (The only thing he hadn’t thought of was a photographer, but some passersby took a few candid photos and sent them to you.) 

A year later, you graduated in May and had your wedding in June. The wedding felt like something out of a fairytale. 

Your mother had been insistent on every last detail being perfect, and you were so grateful for her meticulousness as you walked down the aisle. The sun was beginning to set as you said your vows, and you nearly died of embarrassment when he tore your garter off with his teeth in front of everyone. 

Now, Miguel was your husband.

Your husband whose eyes were brimming with tears as you walked down the aisle.

Your husband who hugged your parents as if they were his own. 

Your husband who looked at you as if you hung the moon. 

Your husband.

A few months later, you started your first job and Miguel started grad school. 

You’d come home in your blazers and slacks and heels, and he’d give you a particular look. 

“What are you looking at?” You asked one day while making dinner. 

“Nothing, I just think it’s hot that I’m married to a sexy businesswoman,” he grinned. 

He especially loved when you wore tights and that little black dress. (He usually tore them off of you when you got home and promised to buy you new ones.) 

Six months into your new job, you called in sick. 

“Are you alright?” he sat on your side of the bed and pet your hair gently. 

“I just feel so nauseous. It must be something I ate. Do you feel nauseous?” 

He shook his head. “Do you want me to get you anything? I could stay home from classes to take care of you.” 

“No, school is first. I’ll be okay.” you squeezed his hand. 

He kissed you on the forehead and left you a glass of water on your nightstand. 

After throwing up the contents of your stomach twice over, a thought crossed your mind. 

You ran to the store and picked up two pregnancy tests. 

You practically ripped them out of their boxes in your bathroom. 

You sat and waited, worrying about what your husband would say. 

In both of your minds, kids were still years away. 

The pink plus signs on both tests brought you to the harsh reality that those plans were no longer relevant. 

Your mind flooded with worry. You were a newbie at your job, you hadn’t even been married for a year, Miguel had so much school left. 

You spent the afternoon drowning in your anxiety. 

“Amor, I brought you that soup that you like.” Miguel called from the living room. He found you in your bedroom with a tear-stained, puffy face. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

You turned around and showed him the tests. “What are we going to do?!” you cried. You searched his face, waiting to see his brow crease with worry just like yours. 

Instead, he beamed. His face lit up brighter than the sun, and you felt every awful scenario that you’d tortured yourself with melt away at his excitement. He hugged you without saying a word, one of his amazing bear hugs that he knew always made you feel better. You petted his hair, and you knew everything was going to be just fine. 

He pulled back from you and you saw tears sliding down his face. “This is amazing,” he whispered. 

You kissed his cheek and hugged him again. 

“Yeah, it really is, huh?” you whispered back. 

There was no better word for your pregnancy than miserable. Your morning sickness lasted longer than the first trimester, and despite being young, you experienced health issue after health issue. 

You were bedridden for the last few months of pregnancy, but your husband made it all better. 

Your husband who somehow had boundless energy when you had none. Your husband who nearly tripled his class load to graduate early. 

Your husband who held your hair back as you emptied the breakfast he made you into the toilet. 

Your husband who put on over 100 pounds of muscle so he could ‘be strong enough for the baby.’ 

Your husband whom you somehow fell even more in love with, which you didn’t even think was possible. 

He received his master’s degree in May. You felt enormous, but you begged him to let you take him out to celebrate. 

Your water broke in the restaurant. 

He rushed you out, you’re not even sure if you paid for the food. He drove you to the hospital as you squeezed his hand with all your might and swore at him. 

After making it to the hospital in record time, your doctors looked at you sympathetically. 

Of course, after an extremely rough pregnancy, you were going to have a rough delivery too. 

Hours and hours of labor and deliberating. Hours of worry and discontentment. Hours of pain and exhaustion. 

Everyone eventually decided that a c-section was the way to go. You stared up at the ceiling as your body was being sliced and poked and prodded, and your husband held your hand and gave you words of encouragement. 

A loud cry broke through your anxious thoughts. The entire world stopped.

“Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara, it’s a girl; 10 fingers and 10 toes and a great head of hair!” the doctor plopped her on your chest. 

In that moment, you three were the only ones in the entire universe. Your baby, your husband, and you. Nothing had ever been more perfect. 

Hours later, after you’d gotten some much needed rest and food, you both gazed down at her sleeping face. “We never even had time to talk about names,” Miguel whispered. He ran a gentle finger over her tiny little hand. Your heart swelled for him even more. 

“I was thinking…” you started, “Maybe we could name her Gabriella, after your brother?” 

You heard him gasp quietly. You began to open your mouth to suggest something else. “It’s perfect. She looks like a Gabriella, don’t you think?” he never took his eyes off of her. 

“She looks like an O’Hara,” you chuckled. “Of course, she lived in my body for 9 months and came out looking like you.” 

Despite all the trouble she gave you during your pregnancy, Gabriella was such an easy baby. She slept through the night, she was easy to feed, and she was always content to sit with you. 

Those first few weeks of parenthood were surreal. You and Miguel would simply stare at her for hours, unsure how you made such a precious, perfect thing. She mesmerized the both of you. 

One evening, you were making dinner while Miguel fed her. His phone rang, and you overheard him in the living room. 

“Yes, I’d be happy to accept the offer! You have no idea what this means for my family, thank you so much.” 

He’d gotten a job at Alchemax. A fancy, well-paying job in his field. 

“You know, I’ll be making enough that you can stay home with Gabi if you want,” he said after you’d put her to bed. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with that? I can go back to work when my maternity leave is up - my parents offered to watch her during the day.” 

He pulled you close, “I want you to get to spend time with our daughter. I want you to raise her, no offense to your parents.” 

And so you did. 

The time flew by. You two bought a house close to your parents, he bought you a new car for your birthday, and all of the sudden, your daughter was turning one. 

Your house was filled with friends from college (many now with their own spouses), relatives, and friends from Miguel’s new job and your old one. 

You all watched as Gabriella smashed a white cupcake straight into her thick black hair. You and your husband sat together with your bubbly baby girl and opened present after present, making a mess of the wrapping paper. 

Suddenly, time was moving even faster. Preschool, kindergarten, soccer practice, family vacations. Miguel had the biggest soft spot for your daughter. 

Watching him be a parent made your heart grow ten times bigger. He woke up before the sun rose every day so he could be home to put her to bed every night. 

He read to her, he answered every question she had and never discounted her curiosity. 

He made it to every practice and soccer game, and took the whole team out for ice cream periodically. 

He let you sleep in late on Sundays and made pancakes and coffee. 

He was perfect. There was no other way to describe it. 

Suddenly, your daughter was 8 years old. She was constantly outgrowing her clothes, reading voraciously, and performing well in school. Her teachers and coaches praised your parenting to no end. You and Miguel smiled, “She’s just the most amazing kid.” 

You felt on top of the moon. You couldn’t believe that you’d stressed so much all those years ago in that little apartment when you’d seen the positive pregnancy test. 

Everything seemed right with the world. At least until a few weeks ago. 

Your husband wasn’t home yet. You checked your phone incessantly, but you never received a call or text.  

You got through bedtime with your daughter. She asked  three different times where her father was. 

After she was sound asleep, you began to get worried. You called his phone again and he didn’t answer. 

A sickly feeling bubbled in your gut. Not the churning anxiety that you’d felt so many times before, this was different. This felt like intuition. Something was terribly wrong. 

You texted everyone you knew asking if they had heard from him. You called the businesses that you thought he could be at. No one. It was like he had fallen off the face of the Earth. 

Just after 2am, you considered calling the police. As you began to dial, you heard a key turn in the lock. 

He walked in looking disheveled. You ran over to him and jumped into his arms. 

“I was so worried! Where were you!?” you squeezed him tight around his neck. 

“I’m sorry, we got caught up in a chem testing sequence. I’m not supposed to tell anyone about the project, so that’s why they said I wasn’t there.” He kissed your cheek and squeezed you. 

“You smell weird,” you said. He had such a distinct smell, a combination of the laundry detergent you used, his cologne, and his deodorant. He smelled all wrong for some reason. 

He looked you in the eyes and smiled. You’d never noticed how his smile was just the slightest bit crooked. 

“Let’s take a shower, amor.” He set you back on your feet. “I want to go take a peek at Gabriella, though. I’ll meet you in the bathroom,” he kissed you on the forehead and made his way to her room. 

You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something was off about your husband that evening. At first, you blamed his late night. He claimed that his workload in the lab was increasing, but something still didn’t sit quite right with you. 

You’d stare at him out of the corner of your eye, not sure what you were hoping to see. 

He’d found a new interest in your sex life, as well. He pawed at you in your sleep and pressed your cheek up against the shower door late at night. He seemed like he was learning your body all over again. 

In some ways, he was the man you married. He still threw himself into parenting your daughter. He still made it to every soccer practice and game, still read to her every night. 

But you knew something was wrong. 

Your best guess was that he was cheating, but it seemed so out of character for him. Still, you had nothing else. 

He came home late again and found you sitting in the bedroom with your bedside lamp on. “You’re still up?” he asked. 

“What the hell is going on with you?” You demanded.

His brows knitted together in a confused look, “What do you mean?” 

“Are you cheating on me, Miguel?” 

“Amor, I would ne-”

“Then what is it?” Your voice was low with suspicion. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” He sat next to you and leaned in close. 

“I don’t know what it is, Miguel. But something’s not right. I know you, and I know there’s something you’re not telling me.” You flipped the light off and pulled the covers up. 

“I love you, honey. Nothing’s wrong, I promise,” he said in the darkness. 

“Whatever, Miguel. I’m going to sleep,” you turned away from him and shut your eyes. 

The timer on your phone went off. 

You thought again about your husband. 

Your husband who brought you roses yesterday. 

Your husband who couldn’t remember what size jersey your daughter wears. 

Your husband who’d had a vasectomy 5 years ago. 

You stared at the positive pregnancy test and sobbed. 

[shubblelive]

— HYPOTHETICAL CAT

summary : your first time staying with wilbur since the beginning of your long-distance relationship, and you're already dreading leaving him. luckily for you, you may not have to.

genre : fluff

warnings : slightly dialogue heavy?? not proofread unlike usual but i think we're good

pairing : cc!wilbur soot x cc!fem!reader

pronouns : none (you/yours) BUT wilbur referrs to reader as a girl

featuring : cc! wilbur soot

requested : Could you do a wilbur fic where him and the reader have a long distance relationship? And one day when she comes and visits him, he admits he cant go such long periods of time without seeing her, so he proposes that she moves in with him, the rest is up to you, thank you! xx

word count : 873

note : okay i wrote this all in one day which i never do but it was a struggle. but, i power through for you guys. i hope you enjoy this <33333

No one told you when you started out that your favourite thing about content creation would be the webcam quality. Of course, it was definitely something you could live without, but on nights when it was just you and Wilbur, a video call on your desktop as your sun rose and his set, the fact that you could see him in picture perfect vision was occasionally the only thing holding you together. 

But then suddenly, he was right in front of you.

You and Wilbur had been together for nearly three years, meeting at a creator event ages ago. You’d seen him at a panel and he’d waited in line to meet you just to give you his phone number, asking you to call him, and two weeks later he was calling you darling. 

You’d known at that first meeting that you lived awfully far from each other, but that hadn’t been thought of as a particularly big issue until the two of you started dating, and then it was comparable to torture. You’d have semi-regular meetings where he’d fly to your place and stay with you for a couple of days. This time, though, this was different.

“You have been holding out on me,” your voice was heavy with sleep, your head in Wilbur’s lap as the two of you watched something, some nature documentary that was playing so softly it was almost designed to put you to sleep. “Your couch is so much more comfortable than mine is.”

Wilbur looked down at you fondly. “My bad,” he laughed steadily, careful not to be too loud. “I guess I thought that if you got to experience the wonders of my sofa you’d only wanna come here, I wouldn’t get to come see you as much.”

“I knew you and Mr Gardener had some weird thing going on,” you said, accusatory with a smile draped across your face.

“He makes you bread!” Wilbur defended. “How are you not obsessed with him?”

You cracked one of your eyes open sleepily, hand coming up to reach for his. He took it eagerly, drinking in your figure as you lay on his couch. “I’m pretty sure he’s not the one doing it.”

Wilbur threw his head back to rest against the couch, letting out a puff of air. “Okay, maybe Emily is the one doing the actual baking, but you can’t tell me that Mr Gardener doesn’t add to the experience.”

“I’m sure he does.” You hummed.

“You can not seriously tell me that baking a loaf of bread is not made infinitely better by the presence of a cat.”

You paused. “Okay, okay. It would be.”

Wilbur let out a pleased noise, moving down to run his hands up and down the exposed skin by your collarbone. “We should get a cat,”

His voice was barely loud enough for you to hear it, your eyes closed and his voice heavy with exhaustion. The two of you had been out all day on the first day of your visit, finally taking a moment to rest. 

“Should we?” You mused. “Who gets custody?”

Wilbur made a choking sound like the answer was obvious. “Well- I would, right?”

You forced yourself up, yawning as you brought your knees to your chest. “Why am I jealous of our hypothetical cat right now?”

Wilbur chuckled and reached for you, sitting forward on his knees, gently tugging at your calves until he was resting on your chest. “You don’t have to be,” he pointed out. “I’ve got a very big bed. And an entire section of wardrobe that I’m not using, and-”

“Wilbur,” you chided. “You know it’s not as easy as me simply never going home. Believe me, if I could spend the rest of my life curled into this couch, I would but-”

Wilbur sighed dramatically, pulling himself off you and standing up. “There you go, dream crusher,” he let out an exaggerated groan, taking you by the hand and pulling you up. His cheek was pressed against the side of your face, hands interlocked. “Crushing my dreams all crush-ier and dreamy.”

You let out a giggle as he poked your side. “You think I’m dreamy?”

“So dreamy,” he nodded. “Dream girl material right here, loves me, loves our future cat-”

“Loves your sofa,” you added dreamily. 

“And before I let you two get a room, please just consider moving in with me?” He begged gently. “Come on, wouldn’t it be so nice? Just you and me, I’d even let you name the cat. Please?”

“I’m not doing it for you.” You conceded. “I’m doing it for Rhubarb and all of the future kisses I am going to get from him on my new couch.”

He kissed you on the forehead. “Okay, I’ll leave you guys alone, I see where I’m not wanted.” He pressed another one on the side of your mouth.

“No,” you groaned, trying to drag him back on the couch. “I don’t have our cat yet, I need someone to shower me with affection.”

He huffed as he sat back on the couch, letting you collapse on top of him, revelling in the comfortable weight of you pressed against him. “Fine, fine. If I must.”

[swee7dream]

haii!!! i saw u posted the 127 masterlist im SO excited to see what u write for them (and wayv in the near future)

could u write cg! yuta w a little!f! reader whos regressing around him for the first timr... thatd be cute methinks :3 thank u for ur time and consideration

- @aeriaeri

greetings and introductions cg!yuta x reader

genres agere content, established relationship, fluff warnings i wrote about watching a movie i've never seen before, indirect mention of yuta as an idol dni if you sexualize age regression word count 1802

Yuta has done lots of hard things in his life. Really hard things.

He’s traveled to a foreign country with nothing but a dream and a Japanese-to-Korean dictionary. He’s lived all of his adult life in front of a camera and under the harsh criticisms of the internet. He’s watched his friends (read: Haechan and Taeyong) live-react to his acting projects in person.

But no matter what he’s experienced in the past, it’s always the now that feels the most threatening and terrifying. Now that he’s standing outside of your door, Yuta feels his heart in his throat and his stomach and coming out of his-

The undoing of your lock pulls him out of his thoughts, gulping and clutching the large stuffed animal he ordered a couple of days ago closer to his chest.

He hopes you like him.

“Hey.” You don’t look at him in the eyes when you open the door, only step back for him to come in. “How was the trip?”

“Fine. Good.” He clears his throat into his free hand as he steps in, looking around your place. It’s not as if he hasn’t been here before. He’s come over several times, the number of sleepovers innumerable in his mind. “You?”

It’s a Sunday, you have no reason to be out at all today. Still, you answer, relocking the door as he takes off his shoes and places them next to yours.

“Fine too. Take a seat,” you invite, shuffling your way to the kitchen. “I’m getting a glass of water. You want one?”

“I’ll take a coke if you have any.”

“You got it.”

You take the bottle from the fridge, still as full as the last time your boyfriend came over because you hate how the carbonation bites the inside of your throat when it goes down. You’re careful when pouring it, the light foam takes over more and more of the glass until it nearly overflows, the soda itself filling only about 20% of the glass.

As you wait for the bubbles to fizzle out so you can pour again, Yuta takes a spot on your couch. He’s stiff as a doll, feeling almost strange that his knees didn’t creak when he sat down. This apartment that has your scent and all your belongings, it’s the same but oh so different all at once. He feels almost stupid for not noticing all these little things before.

Under his feet is the fluffy green rug with no table over it, left open for napping and drawing and crafting. It’s an incomplete picture, being able to see your figure in his mind but not any details because… he hasn’t met you yet. Not this side of you that you’ve shown to a number of people you could count on one hand.

“Babe.”

The bottle of Coca-Cola is back in the fridge and you’re standing in front of him now. It’s the first time you meet each other’s eyes today and the anxieties of the past 24 hours seem to flow out through the spaces in his teeth, revealed when he smiles.

Your standing in between his legs gives him the perfect chance to wrap his arms around your torso and pull you close enough for him to rest his chin on your tummy.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I missed you too,” you reply, feeling somewhat cocky at the familiar lovesick look on Yuta’s face. He makes you feel loved and loveable. It’s strange, but you can’t help but want to monopolize that expression to only you like a dragon with its hoard of treasure. “Can you take your soda now? My hand is freezing.”

“Mmm… can’t I just hold you a little longer? Please?” he whines, dropping his nose to tickle your stomach.

“You can hold me on the couch, you big baby.”

You hear mumbles of ‘it’s not the same’ but he relents, taking the glass from you so you can curl up next to him, throwing the blanket folded over the back of the sofa on your lap when you begin feeling cold. The doll Yuta brought is crushed between the couch arm and his side when he scooches over to make room for you to lay next to him.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, cheek on his upper arm.

That gets a hum of confusion from him, echoing out from the glass as he drinks.

“Why?”

“What if I scare you off? What if you’re, like, ‘yeah no, I’m checking out of this freakshow.’?”

“’I’m checking out of this freakshow’?” He smiles and you can’t help but break too. It’s ridiculous for him to say that, especially to you of all people, but it usually takes expressing your anxieties aloud to re-realize that.

“…anyway. Put on something on the TV.” You tap him gently.

“Cirque de Soleil?”

“You’re annoying.”

“Moulin Rouge?”

“If you don’t-”

“Oh, I got it! Dumbo.” He struggles for a moment before pulling the soft plush doll of a gray elephant in his hand. He holds it like an award with a grin so wide you wouldn’t have guessed his heart is nearly beating out of his chest, hoping he didn’t push you when you’re not ready yet.

You glare at him for a good five seconds in silence, the tilt of his head faking innocence.

“Do what you want.” You sigh at his smugness, gently taking the toy into your hands, your thumbs coursing over the fur before holding it close.

“I always do, baby.” Your face is peppered in kisses that taste like coke. “You like it?”

“It’s okay.”

—

The original 1941 motion picture Dumbo is considered one of the studio's shortest animated films at 64 minutes long. It doesn’t take long for the two of you to get comfortable, ten minutes in fact.

Around 20 minutes in, Yuta called for the smart home assistant to turn the lights down and give you a smirk (“What a thoughtful gift! I wonder who was so considerate so as to buy you something like that.”). Around minute 42 is when he notices how quiet you’ve gotten, looking over to see you with your thumb’s nail in between your teeth and a twinkle his mind is trying to help him recall in his memories in your unblinking, focused eyes.

He’s seen it before, when you went to the amusement park, playing carnival games; and the times you’ve gone to the mall, walking past the toy stores.

“You okay, baby?”

“Okay…” you mumble in response.

The person who is not okay is him. Once again he’s stiffened up. The realization that you’ve probably slipped in front of him has his heart in his throat again. It’s not like the other times, this time he knows what’s going through your mind and you don’t have to push down your instincts. He’s not going to mess this up for you, he promised to himself.

—

Yuta doesn’t know how to not mess this up, he realizes a minute later. So he chooses to not do or say anything at all unless you ask him to. It’s a good strategy, he comes to discover.

As the credits roll, you begin to speak, Yuta takes note of its softness, the rhythm your words have different than usual. You’re still you, obviously, but he can’t help but think about how truly different the air around you has become, as if there were another person that you shared a body with and he can’t help but love just as much as he does you.

“Like Dumbo’s mama. ‘s a good mama.”

“…yeah. She sure is, baby.”

“Wish I had a mama like Dumbo’.”

“Why’s that?”

”She just so nice. She beats up all o’ Dumbo’s mean bullies and doesn’ even blame him when she goes to lelephant jail.”

“She is pretty nice,” he agrees, eyes crinkling at your attempt at the word ‘elephant’. “You know what? I want to be like Dumbo’s mama too. I wanna protect you just like she does her baby.”

“Yuta wanna be my mama?”

“Well, I’m a boy, baby.” He laughs, gazing softly at the genuine twinkle in your eyes. “…but I can be your mama. Anytime you want me to.”

“Mean it?”

“Yeah, baby. Of course I mean it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

The moment makes him smile. This is you, the one who manages to console him even though he’s the one who had to cancel your date. The one who brings him coffee at crazy hours when not even the sun is awake. The one he introduced to his family with his chest puffed out and never regretted since.

But it’s also not.

This is a part of you that hasn’t gone through any of those things yet and does not worry about things like gas prices or separating whites from colored. At this moment, when the credits to Dumbo roll on the TV and rain begins to hit the windows of the apartment, you’re a brand new canvas. Right here, right now, it’s as if none of the bad things that you’ve gone through ever happened and he’s able to block them out from happening again for you.

Loosening your grip on the elephant plushie you hold tight to your chest, Yuta slips his hand into yours and locks your pinky fingers. To seal the oath, he brings your hand up to his lips, still connected with his.

“Pinky promise.”

“So nice to me. I love you lots.” You sigh satisfactorily, your turn to rub your nose on him like he did less than two hours ago. “But Yuta not a mama.”

His fingers settle on the top of your head, dark eyebrows raised when he looks down at you, eyes shut with tiredness.

“No?”

“No.” You mumble into his shirt. “Dun’ like it. Want ‘nother name.”

“What if I like Mama?” He whispers, trying not to wake you from this half-submersion you’re in inside Morpheus’ arms. His bottom lip pouts out, trying to replicate just how adorable you look to him, fully aware of how he could never compare.

“No.”

“Aw man. Okay, baby. We’ll figure out another name for me another time okay? Why don’t you close those pretty eyes for me right now?”

“Yuta stay?”

“Yuta’ll stay. I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.”

“T’morrow…”

“Tomorrow…”

author's note this was difficult to execute. age regression from an outsider's point of view is not easy to describe ... still, i hope it was an enjoyable read ! constructive criticism and feedback is appreciated in all my works but especially this one (⸝⸝⸝>﹏<⸝⸝⸝)

[newpathwrites]

I Love it All (Din x f!reader)

“My body is just so…” you closed your eyes, disgusted with yourself. “It’s so… soft… and saggy… literally everywhere…”

He huffed in response, clearly expressing his disagreement. “You mean you’re middle aged…”

Summary: You’re unhappy with your body, and Din is having none of that.

Notes: I don’t know if this is any good - I got this idea and wrote it in a rush instead of working on my WIPs 🤫. It was supposed to be a chaste thing, but for some reason I couldn’t stop it from heading the sexy route. I’m still not very comfortable writing smut, so this is very vague and nondescriptive, and I may have rushed a bit through those parts. This is absolutely not my best work, but I’m trying to follow the advice of all those reassuring Tumblr posts and put it up here, anyway.

Warnings: Non-descriptive sexual content, negative thoughts about one’s body.

Word Count: 1.1k

Read on AO3

Main Masterlist

————————————————————

“Why are you so focused on my worst features?”

Din froze, hand halting its gentle exploration over the skin of your stomach, eyes searching your face.

“What does that mean?” he asked in an unexpectedly dark tone.

Did you really think any of your features were anything less than perfect?  Or did you think he believed so?  That idea was downright offensive.

“It’s just…” you started hesitantly.  “Your hands always seem to gravitate toward the ugliest parts of me…”

“You have no ‘ugly’ parts, Cyar’ika,” he replied quickly.

“We both know I do…”

He looked at you with a mixture of concern and confusion.  “I do not… I think every inch of you is perfect.”

“Well, maybe you only think that because it’s me…”

“Yeah.  Is that not the same thing?”

Stars.  He could be so sweet sometimes without even trying, but he was missing the point.

“You know what I mean, Din,” you sighed, pulling the robe tightly around your body, clearly trying to hide yourself.

“I really don’t, actually.”  His hand snaked around your shoulder to rub your back over the fabric.  “Explain it to me.”

“My body is just so…” you closed your eyes, disgusted with yourself.  “It’s so… soft… and saggy… literally everywhere…”

He huffed in response, clearly expressing his disagreement.  “You mean you’re middle aged…”

You opened your eyes to look at him.  “It’s not attractive.  Don’t try to tell me it is.”

“Alright, look,” he began, pulling your hands away from the fastenings of your robe and exposing your upper half.  “I appreciate the softness…a lot...”  He squeezed once before running his fingers over your breast, thumb passing over your nipple and eliciting a small gasp. “Sure, you look a little different now than fifteen years ago, but… I like that we’ve aged… it means we managed to survive this long together…”

You craned your neck up to kiss him once in agreement.  “That is true, but…”

He cut you off abruptly with his mouth once again on yours.  “Let me finish, Cyare.  I’ve got your whole body to cover here.”

He didn’t wait for a response before adjusting your bodies so that you lay flat on your back below him.  He peeled off your robe entirely and ran his mouth down your neck and chest while gently groping your breasts.

And then he moved on, kissing down your abdomen until he reached the soft rolls of your stomach.  “It makes me happy to see that you’re not skin and bones like you were when we met.  We’ve done well for ourselves - we’ve never gone hungry since, and we should be proud of it.”  He ran his hand softly over your stomach.  “This is evidence that you’re healthy and nourished, and it’s beautiful on you.  I’d like to remind you that I have plenty of this, too.”

He smirked as he laid his lips there, and you allowed a small giggle to escape.  It was true - and you loved that little bit of fat he’d accumulated there.

His mouth continued down until he reached the band of your underwear, eyes looking up at you for permission.

You nodded, and he peeled them down your legs.  “You worry about this, too… don’t you?” he questioned as he ran his fingers through the soft curls of hair there.

You looked mildly but genuinely pained as you responded with mock despair, placing a dramatic hand over your eyes.  “Even my vulva is sagging, Din!”  

He laughed.  At least your mood had improved.  “It’s just aging, Cyar’ika.  A similar part of me is sagging, too.”

Your eyes sparkled with amusement.  “It’s not the same.  Those sag at baseline…”

He laughed again as he lowered himself to the floor at the foot of the bed, kneeling as he pulled your body closer to the edge of the mattress..

“I love all of it exactly as it is.  Okay?”

You nodded.  He’d made his point.

But he was not done.  His fingers had continued to caress the sensitive skin there, heightening your slowly building arousal.  

He placed light kisses on your thighs, purposely focusing on the parts he knew you disliked, hoping to prove to you that he really did care for every part of you, wrinkles and sags and all.

Meanwhile, his thumb found the most sensitive part of you as he reluctantly pulled his mouth away to move back up to the head of bed.

You immediately reached for his face, kissing him deeply through whimpers of pleasure.  “I like your sagging parts, too…”

His chuckle was soon replaced by a low groan as your own hands clumsily reached down into his sleep pants to return the favor.  

Your efforts were uncoordinated as you fought his clothing, but as the waves of your orgasm abated, he took it upon himself to kick off the offending items, readying himself over you.

“Slow,” you told him emphatically as he filled you.  “I want to tell you everything I love about you, too.”

“If you say so…” he huffed with strained humor.

You reached up to run your hands through his curls as you spoke against his mouth, delighting in his slow and gentle movements.  “You’re self-conscious about the gray… and the creases on your forehead… and the patches in your beard, but it all looks so good on you, Din.  You’ve only gotten more handsome with age.”

He could only groan against your lips.  He wasn’t sure he believed that, but stars did he appreciate that you thought so.

“And your scars - they tell your story, and I’ll never tire of tracing them to remember that you came out on the other side to me.”  Your fingers found the well-healed gash on his neck.  He hated that one in particular, but you loved it because he survived.

You were becoming a bit breathless now, too, the pleasure building again as he kept to your instruction to go slow.  It was a wonderful kind of torture.

“And that little roll of fat on your stomach… I’m the only one privileged to even know it exists… and I love that…” you said between small gasps.

He was really straining with effort now, your words having their intended effect.  His forehead pressed against yours as his thrusts became a bit more forceful even at this languid pace.  “I don’t think I can hold back anymore, Cyar’ika…”

“Then don’t, love.”

This was one of your favorite parts of him - the one that allowed himself to lose control with you.

No more words were spoken as you moved together at a more steady rhythm, and the release was that much more incredible because every bit of self-consciousness about your aging bodies had melted away in the process.

“Do you really like my scars?” he whispered against your neck when he finally went slack against you.   Ah, so he was insecure, too.

You pulled back to look at this face, smiling adoringly.  

“I love your scars.”

____________________

Thank you for reading!

[p0orbaby]

Dead Plate

summary: Natasha can’t cook. You love to let her know. She loves to be told.

warnings: suggestive but not explicit, language, slight sub!dom vibes? probably some terribly incorrect cooking terms in there

a/n: someone suggested chef!reader ages ago, so here’s something small

word count: 1.3k

-

“You’re doing that all wrong”

The sound of your voice caused Natasha to jump. So much so that the wooden spoon she was using clattered against the side of the pan and onto the floor.

“Sneaking up on someone in front of an open flame is dangerous, you know”

“Well it’s not as dangerous as what’s going on in that pot” you countered as you looked over her shoulder with a grimace.

“I’ve followed the recipe you wrote down! So if it’s bad then that’s on you”

“Right. Because apparently I said that spoons and whisks where interchangeable”

She was about to answer when she read your now food covered notes, and did in fact find she’d been using the wrong utensil all along.

“You could’ve picked an easier one for your first try. Even the best chefs struggle with a roux from time to time”

All Natasha could do was pout and cross her arms over her chest in defeat.

“Hey, don’t pull that face” you said as you tied your apron around yourself. Getting ready to either salvage the food or start over entirely. “Come over here and help, you can be my sous chef”

“Do I have to?”

“Ah, that’s not what we say now, is it?”

A shiver ran down her spine at your tone. Assertive. Commanding. Sexy as fuck.

“No. Chef”

“That’s what I thought. So come and stand over here and help”

“Yes chef”

Natasha washed her hands in the basin and promptly stood next to you. The few extra inches you had on her had her craning her neck upwards. Waiting patiently to follow any instructions you’d give her.

“You’ve added too much flour. So we need to add more milk. Can you measure two tablespoons and pour them into the pot for me?”

This time selecting the appropriate utensils, she did what you asked. Just as obedient as a trained puppy. Always wanting to impress.

“Perfect. Now we'll turn the heat down slightly, and I want you to stand in front of me at the stove and whisk until there's no lumps”

She wasn’t listening. She was looking at your hands, your forearms. The way they tensed as you turned the gas down.

“Earth to Natasha '' you promoted, smirking at the absent expression on the redhead's face.

“Sorry”

You took her wrist, pressed the whisk into her palm and maneuvered her so her back was touching your front. Caged in. Trapped.

“You know how to whisk, right? Or do you need me to assist you with that too?”

Without a word, Natasha lifted her hand and placed the whisk in the pot and started moving it back and fourth with speed. Bubbles being created in the milk at the repetitive motion.

She felt your hand at her elbow the next second.

“Too fast. Be a little more gentle” you whispered in her ear.

So she slowed her pace. Focusing on your breath against the skin of her neck and the pressure of your hands as they squeezed at her waist.

“Good girl. See how it’s getting thicker? Means you’re doing a perfect job”

“Thank you, Chef,” she breathed.

“Now, what else does the recipe say?” A rhetorical question as you reached around her form and picked up your own notes from the kitchen counter. “Cheese. Did you grate it already?”

She nodded.

“Words, Natasha”

“Yes chef. I left it in the refrigerator”

She missed the feel of your body against hers as soon as you stepped away. And the chill of the air from the fridge made her shiver. Goosebumps appearing on her skin instantly.

“And the macaroni?”

Oh

“I was going to boil that after,” Natasha admitted slowly. Realising her mistake as soon as you mentioned the other key ingredient.

“Oh dear, Natasha. You really did fuck up didn’t you?”

Your voice wasn’t judgemental. Not really. She knew you were playing, but that made the whole thing even more enjoyable. Your normal carefree attitude replaced by one of assertiveness with hints of superiority.

She probably loved it all a little too much.

Loved the way you tutted at her forgetfulness. Loved the way you moved around the kitchen, brushing past her with intent. It was all very calculated. She knew that. But she relished in the attention all the same.

“You need to do better, Natalia. Your job requires you to be well fuelled. And that means learning how to cook. I may not always be around to help you”

Her legs clenched together subconsciously at the insult. How you made her feel so weak she never knew. It was a stark contrast to why she was like outside of the house. Being a criminal lawyer meant she had to be stern, level headed, even ruthless sometimes. That all flies out the window as soon as you call her names, or roll your eyes at her incompetence at simple tasks.

“I can cook” Natasha’s response was merely just for show. She couldn’t cook. Unless you call tv dinners or oven chips cooking. Which you naturally didn’t. Her ex did the cooking and with him gone, she was left to dine on meals that were mainly made up from the colour beige.

Until you, that was.

“Sure you can sweetheart. If you could, I wouldn’t have to hold your hand while you tried and failed to make this now, would I?”

She shook her head. Bashful and innocent as you drained the water from the pot of now cooked macaroni.

Wait. She can’t have been ogling you that long surely?

“Do you need my help to stir it together or are you up to trying not to make a mess?”

She grabbed the spoon you’d held out for her and your response was to slide her between you and the surface once again. Marble digging into her hips deliciously as you lent forward and placed your chin on her shoulder. Fingers kneading softly at her sides.

“See, you can achieve what you want if you use your brain a little” you encouraged softly as she stirred the pasta into the sauce. “Mac and cheese now, beef wellington next”

“I think I’ll leave the cooking to you” she decided as she dipped her finger in the pot and licked the excess off. Moaning in joy at the flavour.

She went to dip her finger back in so you could have a taste, but you grabbed her wrist, nails almost digging into her skin, halting her movements.

“Don’t you dare put your hand back in there. Wash your hands or use a damn spoon”.

Her breath hitched. “Yes, chef”

You moved away from her again, but this time you smacked her behind as she shimmied up to the sink. Your action was relayed by a squeal from and an out of character glare at you from over her shoulder.

All you did in response was lean smuggly against the frame of the door again. Relishing in the fact you could turn her to jelly with a few harsh words.

“That was fun”

“Was it? All you did was insult me”

“All's fair in love and war. And I didn’t hear you complaining. You’re hot when you’re flustered”. There it was again. The heat that ran through her body at your backhanded compliments. “And you’d look even hotter flustered and naked”

She’d play along. “Is that so?”

“Oh I’m positive. Wanna find out?”

“Sure”

“What was that?” You shouted as you turned away from her and started ascending the stairs.

“Yes chef”

“Better”

Natasha almost melted into a puddle on the tile floor beneath her when you caught her gaze and tilted your head in the direction you were headed, prompting her to follow.

The mac and cheese could wait until after she’d worked up an appetite for something that wasn’t you.

[fanfictiongirlie]

A Song of Sun and Snow - Chapter Four

Click here for Masterlist

Parings: Robb Stark x Baratheon Reader

Description: You and Robb Stark hated one another. Always had, always will. As the oldest daughter of Robert Baratheon, you had been engaged to Robb for as long as you could remember. He however had always thought of you as a southern bratty princess, and you had thought him as a arrogant jerk. You had reached your 18th name day a few months ago, and in a few weeks you'd be travelling to Winterfell to marry him.

Rating: Explicit Smut begins in this chapter.

Words: 3,100

P.s: Just something I couldn't get out of my head. No use of Y/N. Only description of 'reader given: the fact that she doesn't look like Joff, Myrcella and Tommen (It's hinted she truly is Robert and Cersei's child) Not much though. Like one line. I wrote this in a different style to my usual style, using 2nd person. Hope it's okay. P.s there will be pregnancy in this, the 'reader' wants to have children. Also the ages are completely different in this fic then they are in the show/book.

Once morning came, you waited until your things were loaded into a carriage, and said goodbye to your family. A short kiss to the cheek from your mother and father, and a long hug from Tommen and Myrcella. Whilst Joff refused to hug you longer than three seconds. 

Once done, you wiped your tears and walked towards the carriage you'd be sharing with Robb on your long journey. Robb watched as you said goodbye to your family, feeling a pang of pain through his chest. He couldn't imagine leaving his family, and yet here you were, doing exactly that. 

"All ready to go, princess?" Robb asked you, holding a hand out to you. 

"Yes" You say sadly as you take his hand, he helps you climb into the carriage and follows you in, he sits closely by your side as the doors shut and the carriage starts to move. 

"Why so sad princess?" He asked. 

"I'm leaving my home, my family" You answer, you had never left Kingslanding before, and now it was unlikely you'd ever see it again. Robb felt a pang of sympathy. He knew you didn't want to do this, to marry him and leave your family behind. He reached out and took your hand in his, hoping to try and comfort you and at the same time, he enjoyed the sensation of touching your skin. 

"I know you're sad, but Winterfell will be your home, that will be your new family" 

"Yes, I know" You answered sadly as you watched Kingslanding fade from view from your window. He squeezed your hand, still holding it. He wanted to lift your mood, make you smile, instead of being sad and quiet. He kept hold of your hand as he spoke in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

"At least you'll have me there, won't you princess?"

You nod, not feeling like answering back with a spiteful comment, you stayed silent and watched the scenery go by outside the carriage. He smiled, he ran a finger over the back of your hand. He spoke again, his tone becoming teasing again as he spoke to you. 

"You're never quiet, I'm starting to miss the anger and the yelling"

"We don't have to talk, you know" You say, not turning to face him. The carriage was small, small enough to have Robb's side pressed against your side. He lets out an exaggerated playful sigh. He wanted to talk. He wanted to tease you and rile you up until you snapped at him. He was bored and this was the only way he could think of to amuse himself. He kept his eyes on you as he spoke again, his tone sounding slightly mocking. 

"Oh come on. We've got a long journey ahead of us, can we really do it in complete silence?"

"Could do" You answer. 

Robb chuckled again, looking at your face and he spoke in a sarcastic tone. 

"What a perfect journey that would be, eh princess? Not talking for hours on end... Sounds like a nightmare. I'd go mad..." He waffles on. 

"What will be my duties...When we are...married?" The last words come out more like a choked word. For once he was serious now, looking at you as you spoke. You hadn't looked at him yet, not since climbing into the carriage. 

"What do you think you're duties will be?" He asks. 

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking" You answer, your tone a little annoyed. He paused for a moment, his eyes studying the side of your face he could see. 

"Well that depends on what you were told about a man's and woman's duties...in a marriage" 

"I know of those...acts" You respond with a scoff. He chuckled softly, he could see your cheeks flush. 

"Oh, do you? How much do you know?" He asks, suddenly very curious. 

"I know how a man should make a woman feel" You answer boldly, finally turning your body away from the window to face him. He was so close, one wrong movement and your noses would touch. Damn these small carriages. 

His eyes met yours and he just studied your face intently. You were being bold and defiant. It was a sight to behold and he loved seeing you confidant. His eyes travelled over your face, drinking it in before moving to your body. He spoke in response. 

"Oh, you do, do you princess?..Tell me exactly a man should make a woman feel"

"This conversation is...indecent" You say quietly, your eyes dropping away from his. He chuckled again, he loved watching the blush creeping over your cheeks. He knew exactly how indecent this conversation was, but that only made him want to continue it. 

"It's only us in here, princess"

"I suppose it is only us who can hear"

Robb smiled that damned sly, arrogant smile of his. He spoke again, his voice low in your ear, his breath against your skin. 

"Exactly. The two of us are the only ones in here. We can talk about anything we want..."

"I suppose so, yes.."

He smiled again, excited for the conversation you were about to have. He leaned in closer, his lips so close to your ear, his voice still low in your ear as he spoke again, his breath sending shivers across your skin.

"Exactly...Which means we can talk about all kinds of things"

"Have you been with other women?" You ask bluntly. He paused for a moment, obviously not expecting that question from you. 

"Why do you want to know, princess?"

"Because I am curious about my soon to be husband"

He paused again, his eyes still on your face. He felt conflicted. The logical part of his brain was telling him to tell you no, a man in his position should never reveal that...but the part of his brain that wanted to rile you up and make you jealous was telling him to tell you different. 

"And what if I have, princess?"

"I'd be disgusted" You answer bluntly. He couldn't help the small smirk that came over his face as you said that. You were so damn adorable. He spoke again, his tone slightly mocking. 

"Why exactly would you be disgusted, princess? It's perfectly normal for a man of my status to have been with other women.." 

"Yet it's not okay for a woman of my status" You mumble annoyed. He chuckled again. 

"Yes, that is a strange little quirk of our society, isn't it? It's accepted for a man to have more than a few partners, but it's not right for a woman of your station to have any..." He spoke, you agreed with his words. 

"So back to my question, have you?" You asked again. He paused again, looking into your eyes, you watched his eyes on you, his perfect blue eyes, you felt dizzy looking into them. 

"Yes princess, I've been with other women..."He said quietly. 

"Oh.." 

He studied your face intently, he felt a little bad. He spoke again, his voice low. 

"Are you upset I've been with other women?"

"No" You say too quickly. 

His eyes narrow at your response and you feel your cheeks redden. You knew you had that that way too quickly, he knew you were lying. It did bother you, not for the reason you believed it to be. 

"Are you sure, princess? Because you don't sound convincing..." He says quietly, his face closer to yours. He had that stupid smirk on his lips again. 

"Did you make them feel good at least? I'd like to know what I've got to look forward too" You ask, your eyes looking away from his gaze. You knew inevitably he'd be touching you, in places you had only touched yourself. 

"Oh, don't you worry about that, princess...I made sure they felt very good" He answers. 

"Are you sure?" You challenge "I know what it feels like you know, I've also read that not all men can do that to a woman" 

He chuckled again, you were taunting him, just as much as he was trying to taunt you. 

"Oh, you have, have you? So you've read about this? You know how to make yourself feel good?" 

"Yes...I know how to make myself feel good" You admitted, you were sure the blush was travelling all over your body now.  He closed the space between you even more, his face right in front of yours. His tone was low, sultry as he spoke. 

"How exactly do you do that, princess?"

"It's not appropriate to speak of" You say quietly. 

"Oh please, I thought we'd agreed that we could talk about anything we wanted, because we're the only ones in the carriage" He argues "You can't just give me that and not give me any detail"

"I touch myself! Is that what you wanted to hear" You finally say, your voice too snappy to be considered shy, or meek. The carriage bumped you both, though Robb still looked at you stunned. He hadn't expected you to actually answer him. 

"Oh yes....yes, that's exactly what I wanted to hear princess.." He spoke, his voice low as he pushing his nose across yours. 

"There you go, now you know" You answer, your voice a little snappy still. He couldn't help the smug look on his face as you answered. 

"Mmmm....thank you princess, I did want to know that" He was as close to you as he could get, pressed up against you, his breath still against your skin. He moved a hand to your knee, he caressed your leg, slowly moving up the outside of your dress. "How does it feel?"

"The best feeling I have ever felt...Don't touch me Stark" You snapped, he didn't move his hand, you didn't stop him as he moved his hand higher up your dress. 

"Why not princess? I'm your fiance after all...What's wrong with a little touching?" Your breathes were heavy as he spoke, his fingers touched the skin of your legs now, his fingers tracing slowly leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

"You're breathing heavily, princess...are you sure you really want me to stop?" He asks quickly, his fingers trailing to your inner thigh. The feeling was overwhelming, no one had touched you this way before, it was additive. 

"No....don't stop" I say, gritting my teeth. He smiled when you said that, he had you exactly where he wanted you. His hand crept even higher up your legs, slowly, he could see the slight hint of frustration on your face as he touched higher, teasing your skin. 

"So I should keep going, is that what you're saying, princess? You want me to keep going?"

"Please?" You ask quietly. 

"You're asking me so nicely princess, how can I say no to you" He whispers, his fingers moving in little patterns against your inner thigh. "You're all worked up darling, I've barely touched you"

"Don't make me change my mind" You snapped, your head snapping back to look at him. You move forward slightly on the carriage chair, opening your legs, leaning back slightly. 

"If you're going to touch me, do it" You snap. He smirked at you, enjoying how frustrated you were. 

"Aww, are you getting impatient princess? Remember your manners. You need to ask nicely for what you want" He spoke quietly, lowly. 

"You need to remember you're speaking to a princess" You sneer. He chuckled again, despite your attitude, he stilled loved the way you reacted to him. You were desperate for him, you never thought you'd want Robb Stark's fingers in between your legs, but you were aching for it. "Look, if you don't know how to make a woman feel good, just admit it"

"Trust me princess...I know how to make a woman feel good..."He spoke in a low tone against your ear. 

"Prove it" You reply darkly. 

"Are you questioning my abilities, princess?"

"That's exactly what I'm doing"

He smirked at your response, he couldn't wait until you were coming undone under his touch. He was enjoying teasing you so much. 

"I'm getting bored, Stark" You snap rolling your eyes "If you don't I'll just do it myself"

"You think I don't know you're bluffing princess? You're too much of a good little princess to do something like that...."

"Am I?" You question, a smirk on your lips as he look at him "Then why is it I touch myself every night?" 

He smiled, he was imagining you in your bed, desperate for release, trying to get yourself off. 

"You touch yourself at night, princess?" He smirked. 

"Every single night...Sometimes more than once" You grinned. As you spoke, Robb's pants started to feel painfully tight. You were so wanton, and you were making such naughty confessions, he never expected you to say things like that. It was so hot, the way you were opening up and telling him these things. 

"Oh princess, you really are being such a naughty girl"

You huffed, you've had enough. You move your hand to his, not moving your eyes from his. And you moved his hand up the skirt of your dress, moving his fingers to the wetness of your core. Robb was so tempted, to just give in and do what you wanted him to do, to give you the release you so clearly wanted...But he liked the way he was driving you mad, and he wasn't going to give in just yet... 

"Oh princess, you're being incredibly naughty" He says again. 

"Do you want to stop?" You asked quietly, the carriage jolted you both slightly. 

"No....no princess, I don't want to stop...I could never stop now I have you" 

"Touch me where I'm wetting then" You whisper. His fingers moved slowly, touching your clit gently. 

"Is that really what you want, princess? You really want me to touch you here?" He asks, his voice no longer mocking, there was sincerity in his words. You nod, your whole body feeling hot as his fingers started moving through your wet folds. 

"Touch me" You whisper. 

"Say please...just once, for me princess"

"Please" You mumble as his fingers tease your hole. He smiled in satisfaction. 

"Good girl..."

His fingers continued to move up and down you slit, spreading the wetness of your pussy all over, you gasped loudly as he dipped the tip of his finger into your hole.     

"Mmm...that feels good, princess? Does it feel good to have my hand on you like this?" He asks, he moved slightly to rest his forehead against the side of your face, your eyes were closed and mouth slightly open and Robb dipps a singular finger deeper into you. He smiled feeling how responsive you were to his touch, he moved his finger all the way out and then dipped it back in passed his knuckle. 

"So good" You whine softly, your hips bucking up against his touch. He couldn't help the soft groan he let out. God, your voice...you sounded so needy, so desperate, pleading. He knew you were aching for more, aching for release and he loved the way he was making you feel. He hoped to the Gods, that the carriage was nowhere near the first inn of the journey. He slowly added another finger and moved faster, fucking your sweet hole with his two fingers. 

"Robb, please...gods, I need it, feels good" You whimper, your words rambling, you felt your usual self crumbling under his touch. 

Robb couldn't take it anymore, he shifted slightly on his seat, readjusting so he was even closer to you, still speaking in that soft, sultry tone against your ear. 

"Mmm I love it when you say my name like that" He thinks that may have been the first time you ever said his name, and he was addicted "It sounds heavenly coming from your mouth" 

"Think it's the first time I've used your name" You say quietly, your breath heavy as he presses a thumb to your clit, his fingers still moving inside of you. 

He chuckled, you were right of course, he had thought so. You hadn't called him by his name until now, it was always Stark, or Lord Stark. But now, as he touched you, you were calling him by his name....it sounded really good to hear it coming from your lips. 

"I like it...say it again, princess...say my name, say it when you plead for me to keep touching you"

"Robb" You moan again feeling yourself clench around his fingers. He groaned again, that moan, it was so beautiful to hear you say his name like that. 

"Mmm...you sound so good when you say my name, tell me what you want, princess...tell me exactly what you want me to do?"

"Want to finish...please...make me come" You whimpered, your hips moving up against his fingers. He was breathing heavily in your ear as his fingers pushing into you faster, the familiar feeling in your belly began, though stronger than usual. You were falling apart under his touch, begging in a soft whimpering voice, wanting so badly for him to make you come. Robb loved it. 

"You're begging so nicely so me, how could I say no to that?" He asked, he moved his other hand to rub against your clit whilst on his other hand his fingers pumped into you. You slapped your hand over your lips moaning loudly as you reached your release.

He felt you come undone under his touch, it was so good, too good, watching you come apart, feeling how your body responded to him. 

"Fuck, princess, you look so good like that" He whispered, his lips touched your ear as he spoke. You felt yourself come down from your high, suddenly feeling very insecure. 

"Yes...well thank you...we should be arriving at the inn soon?" You ask as you push his hands away from your body, you rejusted your dress, flattening it down against your legs. 

"Yeah princess, we'll be there soon" He said smiling at your response. 

The carriage jolted you both as it moved, the sudden jolt brought your bodies together again, Robb couldn't help but notice how good it felt having you so close to him, how to wanted to be even closer to you. 

"I still hate you" You mumble softly as the carriage comes to a halt. He chuckled, despite your words, you'd just given into him, let him touch you, begged for it even, but now you were back to hating him? He could tell your guard was up, but he was certain he was beginning to break through it, just a little bit. 

"Sure you do, princess..."

Taglist:

@quinquinquincy @whatelsecouldgowrong @rheanyraaaa

[juniperss]

Best Friends Brother

Bill Guarnere x Reader Headcanons

A/N: This was originally written on my main account a few years ago but I decided to move it here since I don't change this URL as often and it makes easier to find my writing! Also It's been a while since I wrote these so I'd like to think that I've improved somewhat since then!

-I have a lot of ideas about Bill Guarnere but one of my absolute favorites is based on the fact that Bill has sisters.

•So imagine being one of his sisters classmates closer to (or actually) his age then hers and he has the biggest crush on you! Your someone who comes over after school and helps with dinner when you’re visiting, you always get a hug or a wave from his mother because she likes you

• So cue protective Bill who goes all out to show off (not so) subtly, invites you to go dancing. Is the one who walks you home when you stay late at his house with his sister. He puffs out his chest a little more when you’re around but instantly melts when you smile at him.

•Bill who lives across the street who watches you get picked up for a date, waves at you trying not to look disappointed. He asks his sister a lot of questions about the guy, practically grilling her for information to see what he’s like. His sister sees right through the “just a concerned friend” bit.

•Bill who sees you walking home later the same night crying and he has to fight the urge to run across the street to get you. He waits a whole 40 seconds before dropping the ball he’s tossing around with his friends and crossing the street.

•Bill who sits with you on your front steps as you cry about the fact that the guy you had been dating wasn’t a prince charming at all. Bill who sits with you until you stop crying, his arm brushing against yours. 

•Bill who says goodnight to you and managing to get a smile out of you before he leaves. 

•Bill who has slightly bruised knuckles the next day that seem to be a perfect fit for the black eye that your ex boyfriend is sporting. 

•Bill who writes you letters the entire time he’s training and won’t shut up about you

•Bill “I Don’t Look At Other Girls Even Though Shes Not My Girl” Guarnere

•Bill who exchanges letters even after shipping out. Bill who carries a picture of you and him in the street holding ice cream and smiling. 

•Bill who almost cries when he sees you talking with his mom as he makes his way back home for the first time since the war ended. Bill who proposes the moment your arms are thrown around his neck. 

[guapitas]

The Unwinding (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Chapter Two: A Wizard's Guide to Tarot

Read chapter one here

Rated: Mature

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: You take Draco to The Grove and work on your Divination assignment. (See the overarching summary for the future of this fic, here.)

Warnings: We dabble in foul language

An exasperated set of hands let go of a heavy textbook, until the edges flop out and onto the long, dark table beneath it. The drop echoes throughout your aisle of the library, meeting with the loll of Cedric’s head against the back of his chair. 

“I am thoroughly exhausted,” he says and extends his arms upwards, stretching out to wring a pop from his back. 

“Okay, you’re not even halfway through the text–”

“That’s the tragedy of it! I’m already done for.” Cedric drops his demeanor and pulls his head forward again. He leans in until his cheek squishes down against the pages. “Have you gotten anything?”

The textbook in your hands is smaller but thicker than his, filled with the accounts of decades upon decades of wizarding history. Whoever wrote it must love to hear themselves speak– or love to read what they write. A lobotomy might be easier to handle than trying to get through this convoluted mess, though it manages to spare a few sensible lines every now and then. 

And yet, you frown. “Nothing worthwhile.” 

His eyes shut for a moment, in brief meditation, you think, as he takes a deep breath. A hard exhale puffs up his one visible cheek and, when his chest is entirely empty, Cedric sits up again, this time with a new determination on his face. His fingers fly to turn the pages and his eyes scan the words at an almost comical speed– can he really be comprehending all of that, at this rate? He must be– or, for his sake, he better be. And now, rather than his complaints, desperate flips between chapters fill the air. 

You push your book far out onto the table, sick of looking at it. And whilst Cedric gets back into the zone of research, you let your eyes gander around at the surrounding bookcases. The shelf directly adjacent to your end of the table falls under historical genres, with a portion at the bottom specifically devoted to wizardry-related catastrophes and devastations. Cedric has already snagged the most promising one– a deep purple spine that reads Calamity and Mass Hysteria. He had been so excited to pick it up earlier. It was “just dramatic and cryptic enough to have potential!”— That was over an hour ago now, and there haven’t been any breakthroughs.

The library is grand, with thousands— maybe millions— of books. Every row secludes itself with high and cluttered bookshelves, granting privacy at every corner. And on another side of the building, there are aisles and aisles of muggle books, ranging from every different age group and genre. That section is a personal favorite of yours. Many of the novels remind you of your childhood, in which you were no stranger to the muggle world. 

An analog clock ticks along the wall on the other end of the walkway. Isn’t it odd that the longest hand represents minutes, when minutes are shorter than hours? Whatever— because it’s three forty-five, and the dining hall opens for dinner at four. Part of you longs for time to slow down, but the other is itching for it to speed up. 

“Wait— this! This might be it!” Cedric all but jumps out of his seat and shoves his nose down into the ridge of his textbook. “I’ve got it!” 

“And? What is it?” 

You perk up while he pauses to reread the passage. “A nineteenth century illness swept the wizarding nation, perpetuating a panic that spun into madness. Untamable savagery and barbarism… animalistic behavior, until those affected ultimately met the fate of a perpetual state of sleep. Their consciousness was consumed by and lost to the depths of their condition…”

“Well, that’s a tad grim.”

“It’s perfect!” Cedric clasps the book to his chest with a smile– the first you’ve seen since you started this process– until he pulls it back and hones in on it again. The relief on his face fades as his eyes move. “But that’s all it says? Maybe I can find a footnote, or a citation… something…” 

You close up your textbook and push it through the air, until the bookcase accepts and slides it back into its place. In his chair, Cedric mutters nonsense to himself– is there such a thing as method… researching? Like method acting, but instead, Cedric puts himself in the same mad headspace as the victims in his book. Either way, you reassure him. “It sounds like the best topic yet, so keep it up! Definitely weird and vague enough to look into.”

There’s no visible response as you pack up your things. You stand to sling your bag over your shoulder. “I should start heading over to meet Draco, but let me know if you find anything else! I’m happy to help you again– or to be here for moral support.”

His eyes flicker up at that, meeting yours with a hard stare. “Right. The Divination assignment.”

“Right,” you say, and give him a frank smile, rolling along the balls of your feet as you wait for him to finish processing. 

“...Okay. Have fun… hanging out.” 

You move past him with a little scoff, briefly placing a hand on the top of his head and shaking it around. He instantly swats you away with a laugh and half-heartedly shoves you out into the main walkway. 

“It’s just for class! No fun allowed,” you insist, and reach out for his head again, but to no avail against his blocks. 

“Alright, alright– go away now! I’ll see you later.”

You worm your way out of the maze of shelves until you reach the entrance lobby again. The thin, white-haired librarian wishes you a good evening, and the grand door with a stained glass window in it creaks as you leave. 

The University campus isn’t too vast, though the inside of every building seems to be more spacious than its exterior. Everything unrelated to coursework has its own designated lot- the library, dining hall, dorms, miscellaneous shops, etcetera. And while separated, dirt and cement paths connect each of the biggest structures. No walk between any given location is more than fifteen minutes. 

The distance from the library and to the dining hall, for instance, takes you twelve minutes– a couple more than usual, at your leisurely pace. Leisurely, or tentative. You can’t even will yourself to think about Draco Malfoy, or having to spend an uncertain amount of time with him, dragging the conversation along. An ache is already forming at the side of your head, alongside a pit of dread in your stomach– and, shit, you are thinking about him. 

When you arrive at the tall, double door entryway, there are a few familiar faces, however not the one you’re looking for. You give the inside a shot, half regretting not setting an official time in the midst of yesterday’s nerves. A roar of buzzing pushes past the crack of the door as you open it; the chatter of half the school, shoved into one– albeit large– building. 

The hall is flooded with hungry students, crowding every table and food stand. Similarly to a food court, bars and stands line up to serve various types of dishes, organized by region or food class. Where the Chinese food and tea parlors should be, there is a flock of students swarming them, waiting for their orders to be taken. 

You can’t will yourself to go any further inside, ill practiced with the way of the hangry mob. Getting to the hall right as it opens is not a regular occurrence for you. And as you spin around to leave, a voice yells out through the vibration of overlapping conversations. 

“Not lost, are you?”

It’s a loud call, but firm, calm, level. It lines up with the mouth of Draco Malfoy, who steps forward and divides himself from the others in your peripheral vision. In black slacks and a grey jumper- lined with dark green- he waltzes over to your side. A black leather bookbag strap sits neatly across his chest. Before you can get a word in, he pulls out two apples and hands one to you. 

“Hey. You bought me an apple?” 

He shrugs and takes a bite of his own. “I figured we weren’t going to eat beforehand.” 

“Thank you,” you say, cradling the fruit in your palm. There’s a beat of speechlessness as he stares back into your eyes, and when there’s nothing else you can think to say, you nod. “Let’s get going, then.” 

The silence that follows is deafening– though perhaps only to your ears– as you get back outside and lead the way to The Grove. A gentle wind brushes past and the paling sun, still in the sky, graces your skin. Most students have gone off for dinner, so there’s little noise beyond the sway of branches and the occasional bite of Draco’s apple. There’s also the faintest sound of metal clinks coming from right behind you– or beneath you. When you look down, a dainty silver chain hangs long from the left pocket of Draco’s trousers.

From the dining hall, The Grove is nearly a ten minute walk, only slightly off campus in a nearby direction. No words are spoken.

The Draco Malfoy beside you now does not appear as daunting or intense as the one you had once known of. He speaks minimally, but there is no sneer or notable distaste from him. There’s nothing to fear— as silly as that sounds— and yet, you match the reserved energy, with the uneaten gift still in hand. 

You make several attempts at conversation and fail at every one. The words can never leave your lips, getting stuck at the throat and tying up the tongue. Instead, you shut your mouth altogether and pick up your pace. Draco follows in suit, increasing the longevity of his strides, until your destination comes into view. 

“There it is!”

You’re greeted by a familiar, pink-roofed shack and wide entryway, tucked between a field of trees. A large sign stands at the entrance, a matching shade of pink with big, white printed letters for guests and travelers to see. Welcome to The Grove, with small painted butterflies around the words. 

“This..?” Draco finally makes a face unlike his typical, neutral stance. With pinched brows, his gaze lingers upon the beaten up building, then shifts to gape at you sideways. Something is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. 

“It’s The Grove!” You insist, and grin over at his disdain. He doesn’t question you any further, but the look never leaves as you two move onwards. 

And like night and day–like a flipped switch– the entryway teleports you into another realm. Past the paint-chipped wood of the service shed, the shield of trees open up and welcome you into its expansive garden, with bright greenery and splashes of flower petals. The sunshine at this hour– though not at its peak– highlights particles of pixie dust in the air.  

A cobblestone track leads the main and widest way straight down the middle, breaking off several times to give way for alternate routes and locations, deeper into the abundance of undergrowth. At a distance, a couple of visitors play with the myriad of butterflies that swarm across The Grove’s sky. They stick their fingers out and meet the insects as they land, shiny with a sugar water mixture. 

You glance over at Draco with discreteness, gauging a reaction. He’s neutral again, but his eyes are everywhere, trying to take in all of the scenery as your pace increasingly slows. In contentment, you finally take a bite of the apple. 

When Draco gets lost in the flock of wings and specks of color soaring by, a pixie springs out from the forest and whips around his head. He yelps, stumbling backwards whilst the fairy stops you dead in your tracks. 

“You’ve brought a friend,” she says in a high voice, the shine of her tiny wings twinkling as she flutters them. Her shimmery lashes peer through dusty pink bangs. 

“Hello to you too, Flora.” You gesture to the friend in question. “This is Draco.” 

“I’m quite aware.” 

Flora and Draco match each other’s scowls as he flattens out the strays of his messed up hair. She does a little whirl around the two of your heads again, and huffs to a halt. She pierces Draco with a glare, and you intervene before she can burn a hole into him. 

“Is Ivy here? We have an assignment to get to, but I’d love to say hi!”

Finally tearing her eyes away, Flora brightens up. “She’s acorn hunting with some squirrels. I should be helping her out, actually, but you know my distaste for the chittering fuzzballs..” She does a sad little twirl and sighs. 

You sympathize. “They are pretty freaky. Fast too.” 

“Way too fast! One bad day and they could turn on you in an instant!” Flora shivers and furiously shakes her head. “You’ve at least got the size advantage. If they didn’t like Ivy so much, I’d be long gone.” 

“I’m sure the squirrels wouldn’t actually hurt you. The bees, on the other hand…” 

“The bees! I don’t know how she can love those things! If it weren’t for their work in the garden… if I had it my way…” 

While Flora spins off into an animated flurry of frustration, Draco’s pointed look softens over at you. You try to telepathically apologize for the delay. It takes a minute or so, but once she’s calm again, she gives Draco a long stare, then returns her focus to you. 

“Fine, then, I suppose I’ll leave you to it,” she says, and doesn’t leave room for any further discussion as she zips back into the cluster of trees. “See you tomorrow!” 

You smile as she disappears, picking up the steps alongside Draco again. “Sorry about that.” 

“Are all of the pixies… like that?” He’s back to scanning the environment, wary now, with a guard up. 

“No, that’s just Flora. Her and Ivy are really the only ones that bother with us measly humans at all.” 

“Tragic.”

There’s a lull of tranquility as he follows your lead deeper into The Grove. You take a left that directs you to a meadow, with a great field of blooming flowers and a spot in the middle where the sun breaks through the treetops. A family sits on a blanket with a basket at the center. Your two apple cores get tossed into a trash bin. 

“You’re coming back tomorrow?” Draco inquires as you skirt along the edges of the grassy field and turn deeper into the surrounding forest, going along an unofficial trail now. He watches the floor and dodges any rocks or questionable patches of dirt.

“Uh– yeah. I actually work here.” 

He hums, no longer interested in pursuing that route of conversation, you suppose. You approach a crevice of land, a spot in the woods with a small clearing of trees, and where nothing but flowers and a couple of butterflies stray. So deterred from the main path, guests are never in this region without the intention of getting lost. 

A shallow body of water starts and meets the grassy land, divided by a thick string of stones. The pond doesn’t go out very far, and every other side of it is blocked off by the barrage of oaks. But where you and Draco explore, a flat plot of grass gives you space to roam. Up next to bundles of brush, a wooden picnic table waits for you. 

Quick to unpack your necessary belongings, you and Draco sit across from each other. He shuffles through the tarot deck and you keep the guidebook ready at hand. Shiny, textured print on the cover reads Tarot Magic. 

“We could do a three card reading,” you say, pinning down a page at the back of the book that offers examples, “one for the beginning of the semester, one for the journey, and one for the end.” 

Draco agrees wordlessly, concentration aimed down at the cards mixing around in his experienced palms. With movements so fluid, he mimics a casino dealer. And when satisfied, he neatens out the stack and holds it out for you, face down. “Go on and split the deck.” 

You do as he says, careful not to disturb the tidiness of his stable hands with your eagerness. “I hope we get good cards.” 

This elicits a huff of amusement from him as he sets the deck onto the table. He shrugs his shoulders, but lets them rest broad and straight, the posture silently coercing you to fix your own. 

“Well it’s all sort of hogwash, isn’t it?” 

“No way. Literal magic exists, and you’re gonna say there’s no chance that this is real?” 

He only gives a little tilt of his head at that and reaches for the first draw. The Fool. 

“Right. Well that one doesn’t need much of an explanation, does it?” He rolls his eyes as you flip through the guide regardless. 

You find him– the fool– in one of the first few pages, card zero. Matching his physical form, the image of the man wanders along the edge of a cliff with a little creature following alongside him. He’s happy, but clueless. 

“The Fool is representative of new beginnings… going in blind, inexperienced… willing to take chances in the new world… unaware of what the future holds…” you skim through the description’s main ideas and jot down the words on a stray piece of parchment. 

“Lovely.” 

Draco draws the next two cards in rapid succession. The Tower and then Three of Swords. 

“The Tower is sudden change, or collapse…” The analysis makes you slow, processing potential interpretations that don’t result in a dreadful semester. “Or some kind of event that, like, overthrows whatever’s been previously established.”

“And the Three of Swords?”

You purse your lips, speed through the pages, and read the first line. “Gloom permeates the Three of Swords.”

“We’re doomed!” Draco groans and crosses his arms against his chest. “We’re fucking gallivanting to our demise. We have to redraw.” 

“No, we shouldn’t just take back our pulls– can we even do that?”

“We can, because these cards don’t impact our future,” says Draco, defiant, “but our professor might.” 

Pause. “You think she would use magic to make our cards a reality? Just to prove divination is real?”

The two of you share a look as if the other is stupid, but you persist. “Even so, divination is ambiguous! A lot of it is up to interpretation.” 

Draco glances at the cards to give them one last chance and frowns. “Is there any other way to interpret this?”

The mini spread laid out between you doesn’t change. The Fool remains jaunty, The Tower glistens at you, and the Three of Swords has three massive blades piercing through a heart. It’s exactly as Draco put it, despite your pleas for an alternative– positive but realistic– spin. 

“Fine. Shuffle the deck again.”

He wastes no time and mixes the three cards back into the deck with a smug expression. When he sets them down, you pull first this time. Ace of Cups. You pull again but from the middle of the stack, then the bottom. Seven of Swords, then The Sun. 

The guidebook flings open, and Draco only spends a moment on each page before he’s able to give you the gist of each card. 

“The Ace of Cups is a new relationship or connection. It encourages reception, and embracing your emotions, rather than suppressing them. Seven of Swords is deception, or interference from others, or from within.” He scrutinizes the last page for a few moments, until he’s content. “As for The Sun, what lingers in the dark will be revealed. There may be blindness, but enjoy the moment, because good times are ahead.” 

You let his swift recaps register all at once. “Okay, so, for the most part, this reading is pretty much perfect.”

“Pretty much.” 

“Excellent!” You lean forward with giddiness and grab fresh parchment from your notebook. “All we need now is the analysis.” 

In silence, Draco gets to work. He retrieves a portable set of quill and ink from his bag, setting up a miniature station along the plank surface. The spick and span mannerisms– the pure technique of it all– paints a contrast against his background; the typically chaotic and jovial nature of The Grove that you’ve become so accustomed to. You might think there to be a green screen somewhere if the breeze wasn’t provoking one of his stray hairs. It falls away from his gelled comb over and hangs loose down his forehead. 

You aren’t sure what comes over you– besides a thick lull in conversation– but you figure that one partnered assignment is frequently followed by another. With an entire semester ahead of you, and particularly with Draco as your deskmate, there’s no harm in getting to know the guy. 

The ballpoint pen snaps into your grasp when you blindly dig around your backpack for it. While your fingers fiddle with the cap, you peek up over at Draco. “Y’know, I was honestly surprised to see you.”

“In Divination?” His eyes remain fixed down onto the paper as he records the events of your assignment. 

“Well, yes, but also the school in general.”

There’s no immediate acknowledgement as he finishes up a sentence. Eventually, he glances up at you. “I’ve always been here.” 

“I know.” You resist a cringe at your speedy response. “But still.”

He drops again, returning to the task at hand. You fear for a second that you might’ve lost him, but he speaks up once more. “I do have a fine job lined up for me at the Ministry. I simply wanted to take some time for myself, to study alchemy.”

“And divination?”

“It’s only a major requirement.” 

You nod, mindlessly twirling the pen between your indexes and thumbs. “So… you’re taking Alchemy and Advanced Divination. What are your other classes like?” 

The tip of his quill drips as he leans it against its paired ink jar, collecting trickles at the rim. A couple of his fingertips hold his parchment straight and in place. “One is a music class.” 

“Music? No way!” This has your own work briefly forgotten now– regardless of the fact that you haven’t even begun. “What do you do? Is it like an appreciation course, or, do you play…?”

It takes a moment before Draco meets your eyes again, though with an unamused expression that makes you sigh, “Oh, come on.”

“I play the piano,” he says, humoring you. 

Of course. No other instrument would be so fitting. You can imagine Draco, young and preened, taking piano lessons with the finest instructors money might buy. And when he met his own expectations, he was probably thrilled to perform for his parents– back straightened, hair gelled, and thin fingers sprawled all over the grand keys. A big, toothy grin plastered on his face when he was done. 

You don’t know anything other than rumors and assumptions when it comes to Draco’s upbringing, but you can’t help doubting that any level of accuracy or perfection was enough to achieve his family’s standards. 

“Okay, not to boost your ego or anything, but that’s actually insanely cool.”

He looks away again, and with the edge of his mouth quirking upwards, he almost scoffs. The skin of his cheeks are pale and pinked, falling victim to the air’s oncoming chill. As he succumbs to an apparent lack of words, you push. 

“Seriously! You must play for me sometime. That’d be so sick. Learning the piano is actually on my bucket list, fun fact.” 

Despite shaking his head, he flashes a small, undeniably pleased smile that vanishes as quickly as it appears. He picks up his quill again. “Right, then, have you begun the written portion?” 

With an exhale that puffs out your lips, you twiddle the pen around one-handedly now. You admit defeat with an exasperated, “No.” 

He actually comes close to laughing at that and eyes your writing utensil. 

“Firstly, you can stop doing… whatever it is that you’re doing with that thing, and get down the lot we pulled.” 

You’re thrown into focus and find success in interpreting the reading with Draco. It’s fairly simple to construct a general prediction of events, and to note the advice of your cards. As he takes the lead, you wonder if his aptitude extends towards all of his academic endeavors. 

By the time you leave The Grove, the sun dwindles downwards, overtaking cloudy blues with shades of pink and orange and purple. Butterflies flutter away to their resting zones, fairies hole themselves up, and every other diurnal creature of the woodlands calls it a night. The venture back to the campus and Slytherin dormitories is livelier than before. 

“The first game of the season is this weekend. Are you going?” You ask once you step foot in the common room. There’s only a stray student or two hanging around in the corners, studying, no doubt. 

“Certainly. I’m playing in it.” 

“Oh! Really?” That shouldn’t quite be a shock, so you aren’t sure why it is. Has he always been on the team with Marla? Unlikely. She would’ve mentioned it. So… has he just joined? 

He chuckles short at your surprise, affirmative. “Are you going?” 

“Of course, I love a good quidditch game. And it’s Marla against Cedric— may the best player win.” 

“Which’ll be us, naturally.” His shoulders lean back, boastful, as he stalls his strides. Your departure nears, coming up on the stairwell that directs to the dorms. 

“Naturally. But I suppose I’ll still go, even if I already know the outcome.” 

The strap of Draco’s bag rests in the clutch of his hand, stilling as you two loiter around by the staircase. A beat ticks by before the nerves eat at you, and you will yourself to bid him farewell. You offer him good luck on the game. 

“I’ll see you there,” he all but promises. His casual voice does not resonate with the weird twist in your tummy. 

Going your separate ways and rushing up to your bedroom, you not only relish in the prosperity of the day– the progress you’ve made in both schoolwork and perhaps companionship– but also perturb yourself with the thought of what you could possibly wear to the game. It hadn’t been such an occasion before, but now, with the potential interaction with a new acquaintance, you find it fret-worthy. 

[sheikahwarriork]

prompt for childhood enemies dimileth!!!

When Byleth was 6 years old, and Jeralt left her in the care of an inkeeper while he was doing merc jobs, a traveling caravan of rich people arrived to the inn, and she heard an ugly rich bowlcut blonde baby say his dad was the strongest and could beat anybody's dad and she choose violence.

Someone had to put the bowlcut in his place and make him understand Jeralt was the strongest.

Dimitri didn't want to fight back for his crest until Byleth called him a wussy... which is a word the mercs used around her and she didn't know what it meant.

(she fondly recalls this story as the first time she won a fight)

(dimitri still has bite scars from the incident and was very scared of girls for a long time)

(gustave was worried sick a commoner kid got the crown prince rabbies)

(they haven't connected the dots)

(This is the same anon who hates Dimitri's hair)

(hello dear dimitri's hair hater anon, i loved this prompt a lot! i changed some little points in the narration, but the main plotis the one you wrote. i really hope you'll like this :3)

wordcount: 1.2k

Byleth was extremely bored. Jeralt— no, he said to call him dad— Dad ­­went to do some cool mercenary stuff he said were 'too dangerous' for Byleth to attend. How silly! She was perfectly capable of taking care of enemies. She had the best teacher in the world, after all; the Blade Breaker’s abilities were well known along all Fodlan.

Of course, she was still only six, while her father was… How many years old was Jeralt again? She realised she didn’t know exactly. Probably the same age all dads were. Like three-hundred years old or something like that.

Byleth frowned. Did she need to wait three-hundred years to become as powerful as Jeralt? No, it was too far away from now! The little girl stood up. She needed to go training now.

She went out the little inn where Jeralt— Dad left her some days ago, heading for that nice spot she found out the day before to train with her new super powerful sword. (Well, wood sword. After the last time Byleth tried to train by herself, she almost chopped her own leg, so Jeralt took precautions by giving her a weapon that 'woudn’t hurt his precious little girl'. How melodramatic! But he chose it precisely for her. It was special. She wasn’t gonna break it!)

Her wandering gaze stopped when she noticed some people a few meters from her. She frowned. A tall guy with dark hair and a younger blonde boy with an ugly bowlcut were talking under a tree, the very tree of her perfect nice training spot.

She frowned again. As people said, Byleth wasn’t… the best at social interactions. She didn’t like talking to people, especially strangers. And she hated when she had to. Like this moment. She needed those two to get out of her new special training spot. She needed to train! To become more powerful! Like, right now!

The urge to train was bigger than her despise for talking to strangers, so she got closer to the tree, holding hard her sword. Byleth repeated in her mind Jeralt— Dad’s lessons about how ‘not to be too scary with other people’. She had to act nice.

“Hi. Get out of my training spot”.

A greeting! Super nice. ‘Good job, me’, she thought, pleased with herself.

The taller boy looked at her with surprise, but his expression quickly changed in a smile. “Hello, you fellow warrior”, he said in a condescending tone, winking.

Ugh. That was one of the thing Byleth hated the most: grown-ups treating her like she was just a little child!

“Get out, I said! I need to train”, she said, pointing at her sword.

Bowlcut boy frowned. “But you’re too young to train by your own!”

“What?!” Byleth exclaimed to him, annoyed.

“Yes! My dad says children shouldn’t fight until they grow up. And you look almost my age! So, you can’t train”, Bowlcut boy explained, nodding.

Byleth crossed her arms. “It doesn’t make sense! My dad helps me train since I was… younger than you!”

Bowlcut boy looked troubled. “Why does you dad train you?”

“Because I want to become strong, and he’s the strongest mercenary of all Fodlan!”, Byleth said with a hint of pride.

Now Bowlcut boy looked annoyed. “That’s not true! My dad is the strongest one! Glenn, tell her!” he added, looking at the taller annoying guy.

Tall-annoying guy was watching at them holding a hand over his mouth as if he wanted to hide it, slightly shaking. Then he proceeded to burst into laughter, hitting the ground with his fist, without saying a thing.

Byleth frowned. What a weird guy.

Bowlcut boy frowned too, but apparently he decided to let the matter drop, as he looked at Byleth again. “My dad is stronger! He has big muscles, and he’s the only one that can use a super uper big powerful spear!” Then he looked down at Tall-annoying guy, who was still on the floor. “Glenn! Tell her!”

The guy tried to stop laughing, but miserably failed. “So… sorry, Dimitri… you’ll have to… deal with her yourself… PUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Byleth crossed her arms; then, she got an idea. “Let’s settle this with a fight. However wins, has the strongest dad!”

Bowlcut boy’s eyes widened. “N… no! I can’t! I’ll hurt you!”

Byleth was really annoyed now: how dared that little brat imply he could beat her?!

She lifted her sword, pointing at Bowlcut boy. “Prepare yourself!”

“Oh, fuck!” Tall-annoying guy stopped laughing and stood up between them. “Ok, party’s over. Let’s try to get along, shall we?”

Bowlcut boy sighed in relief. Byleth sticked her tongue out, looking at him. “Your dad’s just a… wussy!”

Byleth really liked the word ‘wussy’. The way it sounded was funny. She didn’t exactly know the meaning, but Jeralt’s mercenaries often used it when someone was arguing (usually when drinking that weird ‘grown-ups fruit juice’) with some other of the band, getting the latter very angry. And Byleth wanted to make Bowlcut boy angry.

And she succeded! Bowlcut boy’s eyes widened, and he proceeded to run towards her. Byleth was ready, and promptly dodged the boy. She grabbed his arm, and sinked her teeth in it.

The boy screamed in pain until Tall-annoying boy managed to pull him away. “Shit shit shit! What the hell is wrong with you two?!” he said in a high-pitched tone. Bowlcut boy started crying.

‘Pathetic’, Byleth thought.

“Okay, little girl, we’re leaving, but promise me you’ll stay away from Dimitri!” Tall-annoying guy said, while taking Bowlcut boy in his arms. “We’re leaving soon anyway, so forget about this and do not tell anyone!” he added, going inside the inn, without waiting for Byleth to respond. “Shit! I did tell Gustave I’m not a good babysitter…” she heard him muttering, while Bowlcut boy was still crying.

She looked at the now closed door for a few seconds more, then turned around. “Okay. Melee training for day: done. I should practice with my sword now…”

“You did what?!” Jeralt—Dad screamed in shock.

Byleth crossed her arms. “I bit him, I told you! He was saying some crap about you!”

Dad looked at her in disbelief, and then bursted into laughter.

‘Why is everyone laughing at me today?!’

“You… you bit him… you bit the… freaking… AHAHAHAHAHA!” Dad was laughing so hard he didn’t finish the phrase.

Byleth shrugged, deciding to let him be. ‘It’s not like I’m gonna ever see Bowlcut boy again…’

15 years later

Byleth didn’t know if she was getting better at reading people, or if Jeralt was acting strange more than usual. Since she told him she chose to lead the Blue Lion House, her father started to make a soft giggle everytime she mentioned the house-leader, Dimitri. It was getting annoying.

“Are you going to tell me why do you make that sound everytime I mention Dimitri, dad?!” she finally said one afternoon, while her and Jeralt were having tea in her room.

Jeralt smiled. “Ah! Never. But maybe, you’ll have your answer if you’ll ever see his arm… Summer is starting, after all…”

[darkdemeter]

Dem Hi! I'm back with a bit of an unhinged ask here:

Im sure this doodle gives you an idea where this is going. I was just making myself some tea, and I was thinking about Lovers In Eden (i was going to listen to a song called Eastward of Eden by Amelia Day,hence the association). And Since I am a film student, a writer and i took script classes as my subject las trimester, i offer you this unhinged recap of my conspiracy theory. So LIE (Lover in Eden) introduces us to the idea that Strife killed Y/N after a bloodlust outburst,right? Well, at first i didnt think too much of it, but then the chapter ends with the four on earth, which felt a little disembodied from the prologue. Which brings me to the hipothesis which is: Strife's lover is on earth,reborn without their memories. My proof for this theory is this: 1) We know that in the darksiders universe there is such thing as a well of souls, we know they go through the kingdom of the dead to repent and then be reborn through the well. 2) you wouldntve put the line "Love slayer" if it wasnt relevant to the plot. (Writing often times includes phrasing things a certain way to hint at other things). 3) Why would you close the chapter where you did? What relevance does the fact that the four are now on earth have? Simple, Strife will find a reborn,survivor Y/N and will fall in love with them (and have a crisis once he realizes its a whole like soulmates finding eachother again situation) 4) and last (which came to me as i wrote this) if you were to center the story only on Strife and the reader without the reader being reborn, you wouldve just started it from the medieval age/wherever strife met the reader and not end with the four on earth. Of course dont gotta tell me if im right,dont want to spoil the whole fic anyways. But I felt the need to share this with you. (I genuienly felt like the pepe silvia meme). And yeah, one offshoot of all this is that maybe the reader isnt a reborn soulmate, and that the prologue could just set up this inherit guilt and fear towards love that Strife has. Until we get the next chapter, i lay in wait...scheming/lhj/hj Have a nice rest of your day and i hope you've enjoyed my unhinged ramble. -Jer. PD: i feel so silly for sending this whole thing but as a fellow writer i know theres nothing we love more than ppl theorizing about our stuff. So here you go. I hope it doest read as overbearing,i just genuienly love your stuff.

First off, I love your pepe doodle! It’s so perfect. In fact I find it so funny that I made this a little bit ago myself... (As much as I'd love to rant and such about my AUs' lore and headcanons, I made this for shits and gigs)

I absolutely adore hearing theories readers have about my fics. (Sorry this has taken FOR-EV-ER to respond to, I'm terrible with replying at times)

I also fucking LOVE that you're a film student, I think that makes this whole theory situation even better because I do tend to have a very movie-esque thought process when writing. (Blooper reel and BTS footage rent free in my head)

And I think I've got the mind stewing a bit with that recent post, Flowers From My Lover. Without hopefully giving away anything, you do have some valid and interesting points in your theories and has me going, "Oh Jer is good little detective." You get a cookie for your theory skills!

There are indeed certain key details and clues I put in on purpose and it's so interesting to see what readers pick up on. And yes, the well of souls is involved to some extent in this plotline, but not in the way you might think...

I also find your choice of the word "reborn" interesting. Very obviously and right out the gates, I will say that yes, reader is alive in this story. But it's the manner in which reader's alive and again, the reborn theory is interesting and again, possibly not in a way you're expecting. Though it seems rather simple, I will tease that there is... quite a bit more to it than what's at face value.

And I wanna tease this little clue too because it is one of my favourites: It's interesting how the fic's title has a double meaning in plain sight...

[merv606]

TIG in The Secret of Giving is so handsome and charming and scruffy I literally cannot. We always see him clean shaven and sleek so this is a very nice change. I really like the messy hair too. My mind zoomed into Silverusso overdrive…!! This charming Terry with some sort of spoiled brat Daniel hehe. Or even a skittish little omega!Daniel promised to this hunter!Alpha. Sighhhh. The possibilities!!

Someone had suggested a mountain man au in an ask before based on pics of him from this.

In that one i imagined he was maybe lost in the woods and Terry finds him but I wrote a puritan ABO au for that scenario (link at end of story).

So maybe we’ll go with a promised to the hunter AU 😉

Daniel stands at the altar, waiting for the alpha he was promised to.

He has yet to meet him but less than a fortnight ago had learned that the church did not have the resources for him to stay once he turned of mating age. The benefactor whose generosity he had been living off since he first arrived as an orphaned omega a few years prior had recently passed. Unbeknownst to Daniel until now, the benefactor had been an older alpha, in need of heirs, and the agreement with the church had been that he would stay there, safe and untouched at the church until the alpha was able to come and collect him, at which time he would be ferreted off to the alpha’s compound to provide those heirs.

As such, Daniel is now simply being ferreted off to another alpha instead, one Terry Silver.

Long and NSFW

Even though Terry lived on the outskirts of town, beyond the woods, deep in the trees, he was well known by the locals as a hunter whose skills no one could come close to touching. He kept the more dangerous animals away and helped the villagers when it was required. As such, when he came in for any supplies he was unable to obtain himself, all his needs were provided for, a sort of fee for all he did.

This mutually beneficial situation that had been ongoing for years.

In a case of perfect timing, the hunter had come along, enquiring about obtaining an omega before returning to his house in the woods.

Daniel had been offered up right away, and with no other options, he had agreed without meeting the alpha - not so much as even looking upon him.

The Alpha, to his understanding, was seeking an omega to help with the household chores - someone to do the washing, cooking, mending - and for other duties suited to an omega.

Daniel is glad, at least, that this alpha is not that much older than him - about a decade or so he is told - although no one knows for certain his real age. He would be a good provider, he was told, and that was all that mattered. Daniel knew he had no other options.

He only found all of this out on the morning of turning mating age - now a viable candidate for an alpha’s breeding. At least he is not given much time to fret, being told Terry should be arriving in sort order to collect him.

It is early, the sun just up, as Daniel’s chores start then, and he is told Terry should be arriving within the hour.

So Daniel has a little time to wonder, as he’s packing up his meger possessions in anticipation of the alpha’s arrival, but what shows up is not what Daniel is expecting. The alpha is handsome, very handsome, and also large, very large. The sheer size of him, larger than anyone in the village.

He must stand an entire foot taller than Daniel, and much broader - the width of his shoulders would be at least two of Daniel’s.

“Hello Alpha Sir,” Daniel bows his head, remembering his manners and what he has been taught, but unsure of which honorific the alpha will prefer and require him to use.

The priests go by Father and the nuns by Ma’am. He doesn’t know many alphas - nor has he ever been called on by any suitors.

“Terry is fine little one. What is your name?”

“Daniel,” he hesitates before adding, “Terry,” glancing up at the alpha but quickly looking away.

“Very good, little one,” Terry praises, already pleased at how well the omega listens. The life he is about to be introduced to, the skills Terry will teach him about the forest, he will need to be able to listen and not question the alpha.

He can see the blush this causes on the fine bones of the omega’s delicate cheeks.

“We shall be leaving shortly. We have a few hours to travel before we reach our new home and I wish to be there before night fall.”

Winter is here, although the thick of it won’t be for a few weeks, but the days are short as a result.

There are a few things to finalize between the alpha and the priest who heads this church, so Daniel uses this time to say his goodbyes, after making sure this is amenable with his new alpha.

“He is suitable?” The priest asks.

“More than,” Terry agrees. The omega is a beauty, so much so that Terry had been taken aback - such a precious gem hidden out here all these years. While a bit on the thin side, Terry will see to it that he is fattened up with pup in short order.

A quick ceremony is preformed, Daniel given by the church to the alpha, pronounced his lawful wedded omega under god.

A thick silver band slipped on his finger that is brought to the alpha’s mouth and kissed.

Terry wears the same, although it looks much smaller on his own finger.

He directs Terry to his room, his small swaddle of possessions.

“Is this all?” the alpha asks and Daniel nods.

“I am sorry if I cannot offer you more ….”

“You misunderstand. I simply wish to make sure you have everything that could bring you some comfort as you settle into your new home. This is better for us now. To travel light.” The alpha steps forward and Daniel trembles, the alpha looming over him, but then he drops down to one knee. “It is you I sought out, little one. You I want, and you are more than enough.”

They all go outside with him to see them off, his alpha lifting him up on the horse before mounting it himself, just behind Daniel, a strong arm around him as he whispers, “hold on tight.”

The log house is bigger than Daniel has expected, although it doesn’t take long to be shown everything. He notices that, while there are several rooms, there seems to be only one with a bed. He wonders where he will be sleeping.

“I know this must be hard,” the alpha starts, which is an understatement, but he’s remiss of anything else to say really, as they stand in the kitchen, the last part of the house Terry had to show.

Not even half a day has gone by and a strange alpha had shown up and taken Daniel from the only home he has known these last few years, gained a new one, which is also far away from everything he knows, and on top of that, he’s a wedded omega.

A wedded omega.

Meaning.

He has a mate.

He is someone’s mate now.

And he has no idea what that means.

Daniel has never even been on a date and now he is to have a husband.

Has a husband he says to himself. Is a husband. The dying rays of the day glint off the silver band marking him as owned.

“There shall be a period of adjustment,” Terry continues, scenting the mild distress coming off the omega, the events of the day must be catching up to him now that they have finally stilled and it is quiet. “I shall show you everything you will need to know, do not worry. You will also be well taken care of. In all regards.”

Daniel nods, unsure really of what it all means.

“Well, I shall allow you to freshen up and rest. You must be tired.”

The log cabin has a generator, so the water is thankfully warm when Daniel steps into the bathtub. The shower head hangs from the ceiling, the water spilling down like rain, and Daniel lets it wash his tears away.

He remembers the day he was brought to the church, recently orphaned with nothing left and nothing to look forward too, terrified and sad. As always, he shall adapt to this too.

When he emerges, it’s in a shirt too big for him, an old one belonging to the alpha, and the scent of the older man is heavy on it.

They had picked up some new clothes for him, after leaving the church, before departing the town, but the alpha had laid this out in the hopes it would familiarize Daniel with his scent and that that would help him.

Terry stops when Daniel enters the room, his alpha already able to sense that something is wrong with his mate.

Freshly scrubbed but there is a sadness clinging to him, and his eyes look like he had been crying.

Terry knows the day has been a lot on the omega. So many life altering changes, far away from home with a virtual stranger.

His alpha already knows this little mate is his - not just in the legal sense but that Daniel is his true mate - HIS omega. That what Terry thought was only to be a marriage of convenience - which he still had hoped would be happy and love would come in time - will now be so much more because now he knows that Daniel is his destiny. Terry had long since set aside the fairytales fed to him of true mates but now, looking at the his little one in front of him - he knows without a doubt - everything his Mama told him was true.

The shock of the day is preventing Daniel from sensing their bond and maybe it’s also a lack of experience. He’s had a lot to deal with in such a short time and no knowledge of these matter to draw on.

“Come here.”

In the middle of the table is a cake with a single candle.

“Happy birthday,” Terry says.

He had picked the cake up from the local baker before going to collect his new mate, hoping it would help to make a good impression. An omega Terry may have needed but he wanted this to work before he even met Daniel - wanted his omega to be happy. Terry had been wanting for companionship. The loneliness grating on him with each passing year. He would never give up this life but, a mate and some pups under foot, that is what he wished to fill his life and this house. Will fill his life and this house.

Daniel steps forward, a small smile the alpha’s reward, and the delicious scent of suddenly happy omega as he blows it out. Terry cuts off a slice for them both, although the one he hands to Daniel is much bigger.

When they finish it is Daniel who insists on washing up, and it doesn’t take him long to have everything tidy, Terry showing him where things go.

Despite the ride, and not having really eaten all day except the cake, Daniel finds that he isn’t hungry, even when Terry offers some suggestions for their supper. It may be his nerves that holds his hunger, that and, despite the rest on the couch before his shower he yawns loudly, and Terry decides it is better to retire early.

He’ll see the omega starts his day with a big breakfast.

“Where will I be sleeping?” Daniel asks quietly, remembering only seeing the one bed.

Terry places a hand on the small of Daniel’s back, guiding him to their bedroom, misunderstanding the little omega, thinking he simply cannot remember where their bedroom is.

“Is this not your room?” Daniel asks as the alpha leads him inside, confusion clear in his voice.

“It was, but it is yours now as well.”

If his little omega wishes to pick another room, he is free to do so. Maybe it will be symbolic to him, a fresh start to their new life. Omegas see these differently than alphas. Whatever the reason, if this room does not satisfy him, then Terry has no issues to moving their things to another one. He would build on an entirely new one if the little omega wishes. Already the aloha knows, he would do whatever to satisfy his mate; to keep the delicious scent of happy omega.

“I cannot take your room.”

“We will be sharing it,” Terry answers, a bit confused now himself.

“But there is only one bed.”

“Yes, why wouldn’t we share a bed, little one?”

Big brown eyes, wide with shock turn to him.

“This is what married alphas and omegas do?”

Oh, Terry thinks. He’s been looking at this all wrong. He wants to laugh. His boy has no idea how these things work.

He knew the omega was untouched in these regards and would be naive to certain things. The pious ones usually are - but they have some general idea of what goes on after marriage - what is required of them upon their marital bed. His sweet mate though doesn’t even seem to have that. Terry shouldn’t be surprised, given what he was told about the omega. Daniel had been raised for the last several years in the church, away from the alphas and betas, away from temptation and gaining any sort of experience in these matters. The priest had told Terry the omega was a virgin although Terry had declined the priest’s offer of an exam to verify this claim of purity, saying it was not needed. He knew the omega was in full possession of his virtue but, it seems, he has no idea of what is about to happen. Of what marriage will entail.

“Do you know of what happens between omegas and alphas … of my husbandly rights?” He says it gently - already knowing the answer - he just wants to hear it from his mate’s lips.

Daniel looks away. Before leaving this morning he had been told to do as his alpha said - in ALL regards - to please him and that his marital duties would involve him lying down and receiving his alpha.

He had no idea what that meant.

Just that is was apparently one of the most important duties as an omega for him to fulfill - these relations. Or was stressed that Daniel was to please his husband in this regard especially.

A hand on his chin, gentle but insistent forces him to look up at said husband.

“And what do you know of your marital duties? Anything at all?”

“Just that I am to perform them but I am unsure of how to do that ….” he trails off. “I am sorry,” he apologies, truly meaning it, hoping his ignorance is not a disappointment to his husband.

Will Terry get rid of him? He has nowhere to go.

The alpha however, smiles down at him, taking his hand in his, rubbing a thumb along the soft skin.

Because the alpha is overjoyed. Although not a requirement - Terry had simply been looking for an omega to get with pup - so much has changed now, and knowing that no one but him will every have his true mate in this way, pleases the alpha greatly.

Still, with everything that has happened, how overwhelmed Daniel must be, and the fact his mate is clearly nervous even if he has no idea what is to transpire, no, Terry will not have the omega’s lessons in love start off on such a foot.

“There is no need for apologies.”

Daniel relaxes slightly.

“I shall not, however, take my husbandly rights until you are more settled. Until then,” he bends low, bringing the hand cradled in his the rest of the way up to meet his lips, pressing a kiss to it. “I bid you a good night.”

Terry sleeps on the couch that night. And the night after that, and after that.

A week goes by.

The alpha is so kind and gentle with him. Is so patient as he shows Daniel the skills he will need for their life together. Generous too - providing him this warm shelter and more food than he had at the church. Not that his food portions weren’t over abundant - they were due to his benefactor - but there was so many mouths to fed and he would never let the younger pups go without, so he often gave up his to them.

But, his husband is all those things and sometimes, Daniel can’t breathe when he looks upon him he is so handsome.

He feels something he can’t quite put a finger on - much more than fondness.

Then there is the other issue.

Whenever his husband places a hand on him, he feels things. At night, he remembers the feel of his husband’s mouth upon his hand and it makes him squeeze his legs together tight.

Daniel feels he is getting so much and giving so little in return.

His husband deserves much more.

He starts to worry.

Is he not pleasing to his husband?

What will people think? An omega who does not even sleep in the same bed as their husband. An omega who then clearly does not do their marital duties promised to their alpha - promised to their alpha under god!!!

Now what this duties are though …. That is still a mystery. He was told it was the alpha���s right and duty to show him those. He was told that the alpha would not be long showing him, but still, the alpha has not rid Daniel of his ignorance on these matters.

That night in the kitchen, as Daniel prepares supper, Terry cleaning up from the hunt earlier, a soft song playing on the radio, he feels a large hand in his waist, and warm breath on his ear as his husband bends down to ask.

“May I have this dance?”

“Of course,” Daniel smiles, turning to face his husband, wiping his hands on his apron, before placing his hand in the larger one, the two of them waltzing around the kitchen, Terry leading the way.

The flushed look on the omega’s face and how happy he is when the sound ends- Terry leans down and places a chaste kiss to his lips.

Daniel blushes, that feeling deep in his stomach rising up.

They dance well into the night, Daniel being carried to bed, he’s so exhausted.

That night, when he’s in between sleep and waking, Daniel feels a sort of heat between his legs, a wetness when he thinks of his husband’s plush mouth upon his; tracing the outline of his lips with the tips of his fingers, remembering the feel of Terry’s lips pressed to him.

He puts hand to the empty side of the bed, wishing his husband were here filling it.

The next night Daniel takes matters into his own hands, surging up on tip toes, pressing their lips together. This time though, the alpha’s hand on the small of his back presses their bodies together. Daniel gasps when he feels something hard against his belly, Terry taking the opportunity to slip his tongue inside.

The little moan that follows, and the smell of aroused omega has Terry’s alpha roaring, screaming to take the omega

To have what was made his by divine right.

But the little omega does not know what he’s asking for.

Terry steps away and the scent of sorrow fills the room.

Before he can ask, he hears a quiet, “it is alright. I know you do not want me,” Daniel smiles as if to reassure the alpha all is right?!

“Do not want you?!” He repeats, dumbfounded.

Terry wants nothing more.

“Little one, how could you think ….”

“I do not know much but I know an alpha is to lay with their omega in bed and show them things and you have not ….. I wish nothing but to be a good mate and return your generosity …”

Terry growls, and the omega should fill with fear at the sound but he doesn’t. He does shivers at the sound though, the now damp feeling in his underwear becoming familiar.

“You have no idea how much I want you …. How hard it had been not to go in every night and have you … how I can smell your cunt constantly … how ripe it is for the taking … how much it needs an alpha inside filling it …”

Daniel whimpers. The omega inside him responding to the alpha’s tone even if Daniel doesn’t grasp the meaning of the words.

“Do you even know what that means?! To receive an alpha’s love?!” He growls, advancing on his tasty little morsel.

“Will it mean more kisses? I …. l like those,” he says, watching as the alpha approaches him, every hair on the back of his neck and arms standing up, yet he doesn’t feel in danger.

Terry takes Daniel’s hand, placing it on the bulge in his pants.

“That is what it means to receive your alpha’s love.”

He’s picked up now, wrapping his legs around Terry’s waist, ankles crossed at the back, the alpha’s mouth on him practically devouring him.

The throbbing between his legs in unbearable now and he feels so wet down there. Unable to stop himself, body going on instinct, he starts to rubs himself against the alpha’s hard body.

The alphas lips at his neck now and he cries out, his omega place tingling - that hard bulge against where he is throbbing … his omega pleading for something …. And then Terry is gone.

Daniel opens his eyes to see his husband hastily taking herbs he picks and dries from his garden out of various containers, mixing them into a glass of water before handing it to Daniel.

“Drink this first.”

It will prevent conception. Terry wishes selfishly now to have his omega all to himself for a little bit - before getting him with their first pup. He has many fertile years ahead of him, so there is no rush. There may also be something to help him relax, which will only help Terry give him what he’s asking for, even if he doesn’t realize what that is.

No sooner is it finished then the glass is plucked from him, and he’s back in his husband’s arms, being carried to their room.

His husband is unlike anything he has witnessed in their short time together - like a man possessed as he lays Daniel out on the bed, covering his body with his.

The kissing he loves so much, as his leg is pressed up higher against his husband’s side, a large hand practically wrapped around his thigh holding it up.

Terry sits up, removing his shirt and Daniel marvels at the muscle there, how broad his husband is, how small Daniel feels in comparison.

A hand touching his alpha shyly, a large hand over his encouraging him.

They lock eyes, the little omega wetting his lips, a pink tongue on an equally pink mouth.

Daniel’s pants, held up by drawstring are pulled loose, and pulled off on quick succession.

His husband wrapping his arms around his narrow back, lifting him up off the bed slightly, his face pressed to his tummy as he kisses down. His mouth hovering over the omega’s most special place, still covered by his underwear, before leaning down to lick at the damp spot there.

“Alpha,” he moans, bringing his knees up on either side of Terry’s head, his hands grasping long dark hair. Arms wrap around his thighs to keep him in place as his husband eats him out through his underwear. Terry wants to taste bare skin but is too frantic to think straight. Daniel is no better, a stranger to these sensations his husband is inspiring in him. He arches up and the hold on him tightens, crying out as his husband sucks the hard nib of his rosebud pressing against his wet underwear into his mouth.

Sobbing now, a hand pressing against his husband’s broad shoulder, but the alpha growls, pinning the thin arm above Daniel’s head with a hand that wraps easily around the equally slim wrist.

The sound of his underwear being ripped off him, then large hands on his inner thighs holding him open, a finger tracing his seam before spreading his slick folds.

Terry gathers the slick there, easily coating his finger. There’s so much, his little mate so responsive to the slightest touch.

That thick finger gently presses against his entrance.

Terry leans back over, kissing him, distracting him as the finger slips inside. Daniel’s eyes fly open, blunt nails digging into the alpha’s broad back.

Thin chest heaving, hips circling around the thick digit as his husband licks down his throat.

Daniel takes Terry’s face in his hands, kissing him, if only to stop the sinful noises he’s making.

“That’s it. Relax,” Terry whispers against his lips when the kiss breaks, finally able to move his finger in an out, careful not to let the penetration go too deep, away that his omega is more than likely in possession of his precious maidenhead.

Another moan, more drawn out and then a scream as his husband’s thumb finds his rosebud.

Daniel knows now, why they were told never to touch there themselves.

He claws at the bed sheets, something in him mounting …. Something in him ….

He screams, slick erupting out of his omega place, his husband’s bare chest covered in his juices, more squirting out as his husband keeps rubbing his swollen bud, Daniel trying to close his legs, but his alpha denying him.

Finally Terry stops, removing that wicked finger, and Daniel feels his face heat as he comes back to himself, realizing … has he soiled himself in front of his alpha?!

“What?! What was that?”

“That was an orgasm, my love. One of many.”

Terry brings his finger to his mouth, lapping up the juices from his mate’s release, so much that is drips down his hand and wrist down his arm.

“God I Knew your cunt would taste as good as it smells,” Terry growls, and later he’ll sample from the source, but for now, his own needs have to be attended to, now that he has seen to his little mate’s pleasure.

Everything is inviting, the wet glint of his mouth, to his still twitching cunt, and he’ll have it all - take his omega in all the ways he can - but for now, Terry wishes to consumate the marriage - to satisfy his lust and have his omega like that for their first time.

Kissing up the slender body, he balances on one arm, undoing his own pants, drawing his cock out.

Covering Daniel again, his hard length rubbing between where he’s still tingling.

“Alpha,” Daniel questions, more curious than anything

“An omega was made to fit an alpha.”

A finger back inside to test how relaxed he is after his orgasm. The thick finger inside him so welcome, the thumb rubbing his rosebud again, before Terry leans down, sucking it into his mouth, and it’s too much as he comes again, his toes curling, eyes squeezing shut, cunt convulsing around the finger, prolonging the orgasm, his body having something to squeeze around.

The alpha is over him, covering him entirely, Daniel’s legs on either side of him, his body inviting and open.

Terry positions his cock again his mate’s virgin entrance, as wet and as ready as it will ever be to receive him.

“There shall be some discomfort as you are in possession of your virtue, however I shall endeaver to minimize that.”

Daniel realizes then, what they meant by receive your alpha.

He may not have seen his husband’s manhood but he had felt it.

“Alpha …”

“You were made for this. Just relax,” his husband soothes him.

The blunt head kisses the entrance before Terry presses it inside, the fat head stretching the entrance to the omega’s body so that each inch of the thick shaft can slide in, opening the omega up for the first time.

“That’s it open up for your alpha.” Terry rocks his hips gently, cock moving within him, the lithe body easily accepting and moving with the strong thrusts. “Let me have you.”

Daniel does, receiving the alpha deep inside, and the gift of his seed although, there will be no pup, not yet.

He takes to being loved like this beautifully and Terry knows, when the time comes, he will take to being bred just as well.

The other recent mountain man ask