#I’m determined to get something else done tonight

[nina-ya]

The creative spoons are spooning I finally got around to finishing a killer request and I’m about to take a small break before moving to write something else

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

Whoever requested the Carpenter!Reader fic, the one where she becomes friends with Ethan and they make out and shit and it’s a little angsty and then they hook up, THANK YOUUUU. I’m already at 2k words on it, not even close to being done, but that’s the one that got me lmao. I’ve gotten so many amazing requests that I can’t wait to get to after I finish this one, along with a ton of them that are almost finished and I just needed the inspo. 💕

[xxbirkindoll]

coming back to you

pairings: ex!rafe x ex!reader

warnings: angst, fluff, jealousy

summary: rafe and y/n broke up and after 6 months, reader sees him at a party—except rafe isn’t alone.

words: 2.9k

The sunset over the Outer Banks was a spectacular sight—an explosion of orange and pink hues blending into the purple twilight. But tonight, as you watched the waves crash against the shore, the colors seemed muted, like they were missing something. Much like your life over the past six months.

Six months. It felt like both an eternity and a fleeting moment since Rafe had broken up with you. Even now, the memory of that day still stung, etched into your heart like a scar that refused to heal.

"I just need to work on myself, Y/n," he had said, his voice thick with emotion. "My temper, my… everything. You deserve better than what I can give you right now."

You had stood there, tears blurring your vision as you tried to understand what was happening. Rafe was your world, the one constant in the chaos of your life, and suddenly, he was telling you that you needed to be apart. That you, his Y/n, deserved better than him. It was a noble reason, and you knew he meant well, but it did nothing to soothe the heartbreak that followed.

Rafe was your first love, the person who made you feel alive and safe in a world that often felt too overwhelming. You had been drawn to him, not just for his good looks or his undeniable charm, but for the way he seemed to understand you in a way no one else did. He could be reckless, yes, and his temper was legendary, but beneath it all, you had seen the softer side of him, the side that cared, that loved fiercely and deeply.

You hadn’t expected to be torn away from that side of him. But he had been right, in some ways. Rafe had demons to fight—his addiction, his anger, his own insecurities. And he needed space to do that. You understood that, but it didn’t make the pain of losing him any less real.

For months, you’d been trying to move on, to rebuild your life without him. It was hard. Every corner of the Outer Banks held memories of him. From the beach where you first kissed to the docks where he’d whispered how much he loved you as the sun set. It all haunted you, a constant reminder of what you’d lost.

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were determined to take a step forward, to finally put some distance between you and the past. That’s why you agreed to go to the party with Sarah, despite your initial hesitation.

“You need this, Y/n,” Sarah had insisted earlier that day, her tone firm but gentle. “It’s been too long since you’ve done something fun. And I promise, Rafe won’t be there. He’s… been keeping to himself lately.”

You knew Sarah meant well. As Rafe’s sister, she was caught in a tricky position—being loyal to her brother while also being your best friend. But she had always been there for you, through the highs and the lows, and you trusted her.

And so, you found yourself at the Cameron family’s beach house, the music pounding in your ears and the smell of the ocean mixed with the scent of alcohol filling the air. The party was in full swing, with people dancing, laughing, and losing themselves in the carefree atmosphere.

But as much as you tried to blend in, to lose yourself in the moment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Maybe it was the fact that you were at a place so closely tied to Rafe, or maybe it was the way your heart clenched every time you thought about him. Either way, you felt a knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

“Hey, are you okay?” Sarah’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you turned to find her watching you with concern. She was holding two drinks, one of which she handed to you. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You forced a smile, not wanting to worry her. “I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “I get it. But try to have some fun, okay? You deserve it.”

Taking a sip of the drink, you nodded again, though you weren’t entirely sure you believed your own assurances. You scanned the crowd, trying to distract yourself by observing the people around you. Most were familiar faces, locals you’d grown up with, but one person caught your eye. A girl you didn’t recognize, with short, brown hair and a confident smile.

And then you saw him. Rafe.

He was standing by the pool, laughing at something the girl had said, his hand resting casually on her waist. Your heart stopped, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t just seeing him again that hit you like a punch to the gut—it was how different he looked. His once shaggy hair was now buzzed short, and he had put on muscle, his t-shirt clinging to his toned arms and chest. He looked good, better than you’d seen him in a long time.

He looked like he was doing well. Like he was happy.

You wanted to be happy for him, you really did. But all you could feel was the sharp sting of jealousy and hurt. He had moved on. And you were still here, stuck in the same place, unable to let go of the past.

“Who’s that?” you found yourself asking, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sarah followed your gaze and winced slightly when she saw what—or rather, who—you were looking at. “That’s Sofia,” she said carefully. “She’s new around here. I think she’s just visiting for the summer.”

“Oh.” You swallowed hard, trying to process the information. Rafe was with someone else. Of course he was. You had no right to feel this way, but you couldn’t help it.

“He seems… different,” you murmured, not sure if you were talking to Sarah or just voicing your thoughts out loud.

Sarah sighed, her expression troubled. “He’s been trying, Y/n. He really has. But it’s been hard for him, too, you know? Breaking up with you—it wasn’t easy for him.”

“I know,” you whispered, your eyes still fixed on Rafe. “I just… I didn’t expect this. I thought that if he got better, maybe…”

“Maybe he’d come back to you?” Sarah finished gently.

You nodded, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You blinked them away, not wanting to cry here, not now.

“Y/n, I think—” Sarah started, but before she could finish, someone bumped into you from behind, causing you to spill your drink. You turned, muttering a quick apology, but when you looked back towards the pool, Rafe and Sofia were gone.

The rest of the party passed in a blur. You tried to have fun, to talk and laugh with Sarah and the others, but your heart wasn’t in it. All you could think about was Rafe. You caught glimpses of him throughout the night, but he was always with Sofia, and it hurt too much to keep watching.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed air. You needed to get away.

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” you told Sarah, who looked at you with concern but didn’t try to stop you.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she offered, but you shook your head.

“No, it’s okay. I just need a minute.”

She nodded, squeezing your hand before letting you go. You made your way down to the beach, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heat of the party. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was soothing, and you found a spot on the sand, sitting down and hugging your knees to your chest.

You let the tears fall then, the ones you’d been holding back all night. It wasn’t fair. You had waited, hoping that Rafe would come back to you when he was ready. You had believed in him, in his ability to change. And now, seeing him with someone else, it felt like all your hope had been shattered.

The worst part was, you couldn’t even be angry at him. You knew why he had broken up with you, and you knew it was the right thing for him to do. But that didn’t make it any less painful.

You stayed there for a while, letting the tears flow until there were no more left. When you finally looked up, the party was still in full swing, but you didn’t feel like going back. You just wanted to go home, to curl up in bed and pretend that tonight had never happened.

But as you stood up to leave, you saw a figure walking towards you along the shoreline. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized who it was.

Rafe.

He stopped a few feet away from you, his hands shoved into his pockets as he looked at you with those piercing blue eyes that had always made you weak in the knees.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice carrying over the sound of the waves.

You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself. “Rafe. What are you doing here?”

“I saw you leave,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt you, but another part of you just wanted to fall into his arms and forget everything else.

“I’m fine,” you said instead, though your voice wavered. “You should go back to the party. Sofia’s probably wondering where you are.”

“Sofia’s not important,” he said quickly, and the intensity in his voice made you look up at him in surprise. “She’s just someone I’ve been hanging out with, nothing more,” Rafe continued, his voice edged with urgency. “I’m not with her like that, Y/n. I’m not with anyone. I couldn’t be.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as his words sunk in, but you couldn’t let yourself believe them just yet. “Rafe, it’s been six months,” you said, your voice cracking. “You’ve had time to move on. And that’s okay. I don’t expect you to—”

“I haven’t moved on,” he interrupted, taking a step closer to you. “I haven’t moved on from you. God, Y/n, I’ve tried. I’ve tried to get over you, to pretend that I’m okay without you, but I’m not. I’m really not.”

You stared at him, unable to speak. His words were like a lifeline, something you had desperately needed to hear, but it only made things more confusing.

“Then why did you leave?” you finally whispered, the question that had haunted you for months slipping out. “Why did you break up with me if you still… if you still care?”

Rafe looked down, his jaw clenched tightly, as if he were fighting some internal battle. “I was scared,” he admitted after a long moment. “Scared that I was going to drag you down with me. I was a mess, baby. My temper, my addiction… I didn’t want you to have to deal with that. You deserved better. I needed to get better, for both our sakes.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, but there was still a part of you that couldn’t let go of the pain he had caused. “And now?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Are you better now, Rafe?”

He looked up at you then, and the raw emotion in his eyes nearly broke you. “I’m trying,” he said softly. “I’ve been going to therapy, working out, trying to stay clean. I’m not perfect, and I’ve still got a long way to go, but I’m trying. And the whole time… all I could think about was you.”

The words hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken feelings. You wanted to believe him, wanted to run into his arms and let him hold you like he used to. But you were afraid—afraid of getting hurt again, afraid that he might leave you once more.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” you whispered, your eyes filling with tears. “Rafe, you broke my heart. I thought you didn’t want me anymore, that I wasn’t enough.”

Rafe’s expression crumpled with guilt and regret, and he closed the distance between you, reaching out to gently cup your face in his hands. His touch was warm, familiar, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Y/n, you are everything to me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped wanting you. I didn’t want to hurt you anymore. But I see now that I did anyway, and I hate myself for it. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered. It broke down the walls you had built around your heart. The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, and you let out a shaky breath.

“Rafe…” you began, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. All the pain, the longing, the love you still felt for him—it was all too much.

Before you could stop yourself, you closed the remaining distance between you and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. For a moment, Rafe seemed stunned, but then his arms were around you, holding you tightly against him as if he were afraid you might disappear.

He smelled like salt and the faint scent of his cologne, the combination so achingly familiar that it made your heart ache. You felt his chin rest gently on top of your head, his breath warm against your hair as he held you close.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. “I didn’t want to, but I did. I missed you every single day.”

“I missed you too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”

For a while, neither of you moved, content to just hold each other, to feel the connection that had never really been broken despite everything that had happened. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was the only thing that broke the silence, a calming rhythm that matched the beat of your hearts.

But eventually, reality crept back in, and you pulled away slightly, looking up at Rafe. His face was so close to yours, his blue eyes searching your own with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Rafe,” you began, your voice unsteady, “I don’t know if we can just… go back to how things were. So much has happened.”

“I know,” he said quietly, his hands still resting on your waist. “I know we can’t just pick up where we left off. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again, Y/n. I want to be with you. I’ve never stopped wanting that.”

You searched his eyes, looking for any sign that he might be saying this out of guilt or obligation, but all you saw was the truth. He meant it. He still loved you, despite everything.

“I still love you too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I never stopped.”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and for a moment, you saw the boy you had fallen in love with all this time ago—the boy who had made you laugh, who had held you when you cried, who had loved you with everything he had.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin, the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. And in that moment, you knew that despite everything, you still wanted him. You still wanted to be with him, to try again.

But there was still a part of you that was scared, that didn’t want to go through the pain again.

“I’m scared, Rafe,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “I’m scared that things will go back to how they were.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his expression serious. “I won’t hurt you again, Y/n,” he promised, his voice firm. “I’ve been working so hard to change, to be the person you deserve. I won’t let you down this time. I swear.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to trust him, to let yourself be vulnerable with him again. But trust was something that had to be earned, and you knew it wouldn’t be easy.

“I need time,” you said softly, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. “I need time to trust you again.”

Rafe nodded, his expression understanding. “I’ll give you all the time you need,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through you. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.”

And for the first time in six months, you felt a glimmer of hope. You didn’t know what the future held, but you were willing to take a chance on Rafe, on the love that still burned between you. It wouldn’t be easy, but nothing worth having ever was.

As you stood there on the beach, wrapped in Rafe’s arms, you knew that this was a new beginning. A chance to rebuild what had been broken, to find your way back to each other. And this time, you would do it together.

a/n: i hate this so much! maybe bcs its too long and doesn’t have smut but ill try next time. pls give me requests!!

[p0orbaby]

You’re Tired of Moving, Your Body’s Aching

summary: after a loss, you’re there to ease the pain

warnings: all the feels

a/n: something small and soft

word count: 1k

-

The night is sweltering, a thick humidity hanging in the air like an unwanted guest. Paris, usually dripping with charm, feels oppressive, each winding street and picturesque facade mocking you with their indifference. The Eiffel Tower glows in the distance, a cruel beacon in a night you’ll never forget. It’s as if the city itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make your move.

You’ve spent the past hour navigating bureaucratic labyrinths, slipping through cracks in the system with well-timed smiles and carefully chosen words. Getting into the Olympic Village isn’t easy, especially now, but you’ve managed it. Your heart hammers in your chest as you finally make it to the Spanish team’s floor, your shoes barely making a sound on the polished tiles. It’s too quiet, the kind of quiet that buzzes in your ears and makes your skin prickle.

Alexia’s room is at the end of the hall, a sliver of light spilling out into the corridor like a weak beacon. The door is slightly ajar, and as you push it open gently, it creaks, the sound almost deafening in the stillness. She’s there, sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her kit, her face buried in her hands. Seeing her like this, broken, vulnerable, makes your chest ache. A dull, persistent pain that settles behind your ribs.

“Alexia,” you whisper, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind you. She doesn’t look up, but you know she’s heard you. The room feels too small, the air thick with unspoken grief. You cross the room and kneel in front of her, your fingers trembling as you reach for her hands.

She lifts her head slowly, her eyes red and puffy, tears tracing silent paths down her cheeks. Her face, usually so fierce and determined, is a mask of despair. The sight twists a knife in your gut. You wish you could take her pain and make it yours, to bear the weight she’s carrying.

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping her face in your hands. Her skin is warm and damp, her tears mixing with the sweat of the match. “I’m here”

Her eyes, usually so full of fire, are dull and distant. She leans into your touch, closing her eyes as if trying to shut out the world. You brush away her tears with your thumbs, your heart breaking with every hitch in her breath. The silence between you is heavy, each breath a struggle.

“It’s not fair,” she whispers, voice cracking. “We were so close”

“I know,” you acknowledge, because what else can you say? Words feel inadequate, useless. You slide onto the bed beside her, pulling her into your arms. She comes willingly, burying her face in your neck, her body trembling with sobs.

You hold her tight, fingers threading through her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense into her ear. The room is filled with the sound of her crying, the harsh, ragged breaths that speak of a pain too deep for words. Each sob feels like a blow, a reminder of her shattered dreams.

You’re not allowed to stay in the Village, but you’ve made arrangements to be here tonight. It took some doing, a few favours called in, but it was worth it. You’d have done anything to be here for her. The logistics and politics are nothing compared to the sight of her, broken and needing you.

As the minutes tick by, her sobs begin to subside, her breathing evening out. You press a kiss to her temple, lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against your lips. The taste of her tears lingers, a bitter reminder of her heartbreak.

“I love you,” you whisper, because she needs to hear it, because you need to say it. “I’m so proud of you, Alexia. So, so proud”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching your face. “I let everyone down,” she says, her voice barely more than a breath, laden with self-recrimination.

“No,” you say firmly, shaking your head. “You gave everything you had. You fought with everything in you. That’s not letting anyone down. That’s being a leader. That’s being a champion”

A fresh wave of tears spills over her cheeks, but there’s something else in her eyes now. A spark of the fire you know so well. You lean in and kiss her, softly at first, then deeper, pouring all your love and reassurance into that one kiss. The taste of salt and sorrow mingles with the heat of your desperation to make her feel something other than pain.

When you finally pull back, you rest your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling. “You’re not alone,” you tell her. “You’ve got one match left, and you’re going to win that bronze. I can feel it”

She nods, a small, fragile smile curving her lips. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For being here”

“Always,” you promise, the word a vow that echoes in the quiet room.

You spend the night wrapped around each other, the darkness outside the window a stark contrast to the soft glow of the lamp beside the bed. You talk, you cry, you kiss when she wants to. You hold her as if your very presence can stitch her broken pieces back together. Each touch, each whispered word, is an attempt to rebuild, to heal.

As dawn begins to break, casting a pale light over the room, Alexia finally falls into a restless sleep, her head on your chest, your fingers still tangled in her hair. You stay awake, watching over her, knowing that this is where you’re meant to be. The early morning light paints her face in soft hues, the remnants of her tears glistening like dewdrops.

In the quiet of the early morning, with the world slowly coming to life outside, you make a silent vow. To stand by her, to lift her up when she falls, to be her rock in the storm. Because love is more than just the good times; it’s the strength to face the bad ones together. You press a final kiss to her forehead, the gesture a silent promise.

[chaotic-birds]

strong for you || j.pt

Jason comes home injured, prepared to patch up and rest with you, but he soon realizes something isn't right.

❤️‍🩹 Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

❤️‍🩹 Genres/AUs: Action, some angst & fluff, established relationship

❤️‍🩹 Warnings: Use of guns, mentions of killing, hostage situation, blood, injuries, reader referred to as girl

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 2.3k

❤️‍🩹 Author's Note: Just felt like writing more Jason 🥰

masterlist

Jason uses the rest of his strength to lift open the window. His panting grows louder after he tumbles inside, feeling a bit safer in his home. He doesn’t have to worry about people hearing him in pain and taking advantage of his weakened state.

He knows you’ll be by his side in a matter of seconds. He hates how he came home injured since it always worries you, but he rather be hurt here than anywhere else.

His eyes shut tightly as he tries to calm down. It’s becoming harder to breathe under his helmet. He feels suffocated. He needs fresh air.

With a shaky hand, he begins to raise it to unlatch his helmet. However, an all too familiar click makes him halt; his eyes open wide and he forces his breathing to slow so he can hear better.

It’s then he realizes you should’ve been tending to him by now. You should be easing him out of his suit as you comfort and scold him simultaneously.

He lowers his arm as slowly as he can, worried whoever it is will act irrationally if he moves too quickly. Maybe if he was somewhere else and not injured, he would’ve leaped up and snatched the weapon from their hand.

But he can’t.

He’s home. He can’t put you in any more danger.

In slow motion, he turns his head to assess the scene.

There are five men in total. Each has a rifle in their hands, accompanied by a handgun on their hips. You’re seated on one of the dining table chairs that’s been moved, hands and feet tied together. You’re staring at him with big eyes—a mix of worry and panic.

Jason curses to himself mentally.

You’re already fearful of being held captive, but now you’re fearful of his wound too.

He already knows what questions are floating in your head: How deep is it? How much blood has he lost already? Are there any more injuries?

Jason hates that he was stupid tonight. He hates how out of all the nights to have fucked up, he fucked up tonight. But that doesn’t stop his determination. He’ll power through the pain if it means you’ll be safe in the end.

You turn your head to the man on your right. He holds himself to a different status than the others. The amount of confidence this man must have makes Jason want to gag.

“I’ll give you the files if you let me tend to his wounds,” you bargain.

Macho Boss smirks down at you before moving his sight to Jason.

“Well, you’re surely an unexpected guest. Didn’t think one of the bats would come to rescue a mere civilian when there are bigger crimes out on the streets,” he observes, then glances at you. “I guess this one’s special, huh?”

Jason suspects that this guy thought he could get away with his act since he’s not committing a big crime, compared to others in Gotham. Illegal activities happen all the time here, right? Jason almost snorts at his bad luck. 

Macho Boss nudges your shoulder with the barrel of his gun. The cold metal touches your bare skin exposed by your cardigan, making you shiver. It must’ve fallen in your scuffle earlier.

Jason narrows his eyes at him even though his glare is hidden by his helmet. He’s grateful he etched a permanent scowl on it now. He wants your captors to know that despite being injured, he’s still got enough strength to incapacitate them.

“Please,” you grab the captor’s attention again. “Let me help him.”

“Why should I let you? His injury means he’s weak. I can’t let him stop us, now can I?” he questions, slightly mockingly.

“You can tie him up after I’m done.”

“Like hell you will,” Jason gruffs and the other person holding a gun to his head jabs him with it.

You send him a glare—signaling it isn’t the time to be snarky. Jason rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything more.

“Do you want the files?” you ask Macho Boss.

“You’re going to give us them whether we let you play nurse or not.”

“Perhaps, but you’re wasting time. Why take the hard way when I’m offering to give them up so easily?”

The man hums in thought. Finally, he nods at the man to your left.

Within seconds, your ropes have been cut. You gesture to the bathroom.

“First aid is in there,” you inform and carefully make your way to the room.

One of the men follows you, gun pointed to your head. You expect nothing less.

If they weren’t here, you’d be rushing to the kit, but any sudden movements will get them trigger-happy.

Your movements are slow as you retrieve the first aid along with a wet washcloth. You make your way to kneel beside Jason. Blood continues to seep through his fingertips, creating a pool of red beneath him. You fight back the worry consuming you.

You gently guide his hand from the wound so you can begin cleaning it.

Jason watches you for a second before shifting his gaze to the others. They’re staring at you both, weapons aimed. They seem impatient and ready to fire.

“You should be making a run for it,” Jason says to you lowly. Though it doesn’t matter the volume of his voice, it’s so quiet that everyone will hear him regardless.

“And get shot in the back? No thanks,” you argue, setting the bloodied rag to the side to start patching him up.

Jason wants to reply he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d have his hands on his guns, shooting everyone before you could get hurt. But he doesn’t want them to know how much he cares about you. Perhaps that’s a fruitless wish since they’ve probably already gauged their affection from their body language.

Jason grunts when you touch a certain area. He’s been trying to keep his cool—for the sake of seeming stronger than he appears to his captors, and for the sake of your sanity.

Your eyes move to his helmet, and there’s a silent “sorry” in your expression. He can tell you’re trying to appear strong, too.

All Jason wants to do is fill these guys’ heads with lead, then snuggle you in bed.

As you continue attending to his wound, he asses his options. He could quickly shield you with his body while he took out the men, but even then, he wouldn’t be able to move and risk the potential of you getting shot. The thought about tossing you out of the window since there’s a fire escape there is strong—get you out of harm’s way so he doesn’t have to worry about you in the crossfire.

Jason’s thoughts get interrupted when you lean in. He watches quietly as you kiss his helmet softly. His lips twitch in an immediate response, but then he feels something slip into his palm.

Clever girl.

With one hand, he slips the small knife you gave him up his sleeve; with the other, he caresses your back. He hopes his action distracts the men from the quick exchange.

You pull away carefully as Macho Boss grits out, “Touching. You done now?”

“Yes,” you reply.

The second the word leaves your lips, a pair of hands are pulling you from Jason roughly.

Jason quickly begins to stand but a heavy boot stomps on his fresh wound, forcing him down again. He breathes in a sharp inhale at the impact, head tilting back and fists clenching.

“Red!” you gasp, struggling against your captor’s hold. More so for his health and safety than yours.

“Relax, love,” Macho Boss coos, but it’s nothing close to soothing. “You can’t expect us to trust your buddy here.”

Then, he turns to the person who’s pinning him down. “Tie him up.”

“You better be treating me to dinner after,” Jason huffs.

Suddenly, Jason’s hauled up and shoved into a nearby chair. His arms get pulled back, forcing a grunt out of him because of his injury. His feet are then secured.

“What a charmer,” Macho Boss scoffs. “Now, the files.”

Your gaze lingers on Jason to make sure he’ll be okay before walking to your bedroom where your laptop is.

“Put me in that room,” Jason demands as he watches you leave.

“Not a chance. You can sit pretty with me right here,” the man behind him says.

Jason clenches his fists as you disappear from view. There are only three of them in the room now. Two went with you.

Easy.

Jason shimmies the blade low enough to reach the rope around his wrists. He waits a few minutes for everyone’s focus to dim before beginning to slice at the material.

“So what’s Red Hood doing in some rando’s apartment, hm?” Capture Two says.

Jason shrugs, subtly cutting the rope as he speaks, “Would you believe me if I said I have a magical power that lets me sense trouble? Because wow… My inner crime detector was blaring.”

Captor Two huffs in annoyance. “Yeah right. You probably got cameras set up around here.”

Jason catches on to the man’s agenda: Find the location of the cameras so they can take them out next time. 

“There’s even one over there,” Jason says with a nod to the left. 

“There is?” the guy questions and turns. 

The second he does, Jason breaks through the rope and disarms and knocks out the man behind him. Gunfire erupts and Jason quickly takes cover in the kitchen nearby. 

“Fucking liar,” Captor Two growls. 

Jason laughs. “Sorry, man. Let me make it up to you.”

Jason peeps around the cabinets and aims with proficient precision. Two down, one to go. 

Upon hearing the scuffling in the living room, you quickly retrieve the gun that’s taped under the desk. For once, you’re grateful for Jason hiding guns around the apartment.

Before you can second guess your actions, you shoot Macho Boss in the kneecap before ducking and shooting the second man in the same place. Once they’re both down, you take away their guns in case they try anything on the ground.

Jason rushes into the room hearing the gunshots, both pistols raised. He pauses in his trek when he sees you—seemingly unharmed—standing between the two men on the ground.

The men are groaning, blood soaking the carpet he vacuumed yesterday.

“Next time come when the carpet is already dirty,” he says before slamming the heel of his gun onto his head—knocking him out. He walks to the second guy and does the same. It’s tough for him to do so since he really just wants to shoot them instead, but he told Bruce he’d attempt his no-killing rule. It’s day four, and he already feels like giving up.

“Nice teamwork,” you comment and place the guns on the desk.

Jason stuffs his pistols in his holsters before he unlatches his helmet. He tosses the item on the bed, then pulls you close until his mouth captures yours in a heated kiss.

You yelp in surprise into his mouth. Jason smiles at the sound and squeezes your body tightly against his armored one.

When you pull back, you’re looking at him with a silly smile.

“Don’t tell me all this is what gets you hot and bothered?” you tease, fingertips gliding down his chest gradually.

Jason grins and pecks your lips with a proud grin. “Can’t help it. You’re sexy when you’re in action.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest until he’s loosening his grip reluctantly. “You’re sexy too.”

Jason can’t resist but lean in again, although this kiss is shorter.

“You okay?” he asks, mood turning serious. He holds you at arm’s length to examine your body.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Nothing but a flesh wound,” he beams.

You shake your head and glance around the untidy room.

“Can you call Dick or someone to clean this up while we go to a safe house?” you plead, too lazy to help with the cleanup. You just want to sleep with Jason next to you.

“We don’t need him. I’ll take care of it,” Jason informs and bends to pick up one of the men.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself more, Jay,” you sigh, words meaningless as he throws the second body over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“I’ll be fine, babe. Give me ten then we can cuddle. I know that’s what you want.” He smiles knowingly.

You roll your eyes playfully at his light tone. He isn’t wrong, but you wish he wouldn’t exert all his energy now when he’s injured.

But this is Jason.

Stubborn ass.

Jason takes two trips to carry the men out. You rest your elbows on the window seal, watching him drag the unconscious men in a small circle with their backs to each other. He takes a chain and secures it tightly around them. You think he’s done but he pulls out a paper. You squint, leaning a little out the window.

Sprawled in black ink is:

BAD GUYS FOR PICK UP

Jason steps back to admire his work, then turns to look at you. Although you can’t see his expression due to his helmet, the two thumbs up he gives you indicate there's a smile adorning his handsome features beneath.

Chuckling, you shake your head playfully and return the thumbs up before nodding to come back inside.

Your gaze follows the tall man as he struts back toward the building. You tuck yourself inside, shutting and locking the window as you stare at the silly paper with his handwriting.

He wouldn’t be your Jason if he wasn’t mischievous. After all, it’s one of his many talents.

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[onekeii]

Would I ever hurt you?

Day 12: Feast Baldur's Gate 3: Astarion x Fem Virgin Reader Warnings/Genre: smut, pet names, blood sucking, oral (f receiving), piv sex, not proof read Word count: 1.6k Summary: You let Astarion drink your blood, but his feast quickly turns into something else. AN: first time posting a full on smut please be gentle ALSO happy new year!

Read on AO3

Letting Astarion drink your blood had become a regular occurrence, one that developed its own routine. He’d let you get comfortable on your bedroll, crawling over your tense body with his sweet touch and even sweeter words encouraging you to relax. Then his fangs puncture the sensitive skin on your neck, pain coursing through your veins as your blood leaves your body. Astarion strokes your hair, runs his hands gently through it, bringing you back to the mortal fold. But you want more.

You want to feel his arms graze your bare skin. You want to feel his fangs on other parts of your body, his tongue lapping at more tender areas… You blink fast as if that would banish such thoughts. It’s scarier, somehow scarier than trusting a vampire to not drink you dry, so you leave it.

Yet Astarion seems to be able to read your mind, for his hands move from your hair to your waist, tracing the outline of your body, they travel first down to your hips and back up to the sides of your breasts. Something ignites within you and you lean into his touch, satiating that yearning in your belly. Then you place a hand on his chest and gently push him away, careful not to use so much force that he might rip your throat out. 

Astarion releases you and pushes himself back onto his knees. He’s towering over you, kneeling between your legs, but his eyes are soft, free from their usual malice or glint of mischief. He sucks in a breath before he speaks, “It seems I’ve crossed a boundary…” he sighs, “I apologise.”

He shifts his weight, moves to stand up, but you sit up with such speed that you nearly knock your forehead against his. Your vision splinters, scattered with sparks and stars as your heart works to pump more blood around your body. Astarion holds you up by the shoulders, taken aback by your foolish and sudden movement, “What are you doing?”

“You didn’t- I, uh, I-” pausing at the mess of words streaming from your mouth, you look down and frown. Why was this so difficult? You bite your tongue, think it through, and look at him again with determination. His eyes, blood red, flicker in the nearby firelight. They’re searching your face for an answer, and you nearly choke on your words again at their beauty, but you push through, “I-I want to, but, you know,” your cheeks were uncomfortably hot now but you refuse to let your eyes wander, “I’ve never done it before.”

Astarion’s eyebrows jump, his eyes blown wide and reflecting your face clearly back at you, “You haven’t?!”

“Um…” This was definitely not the reaction you were expecting, “...No?”

He smiles. A genuine smile; it’s faint and small and disappears in an instant, but it was there. “My darling, you are so beautiful, I thought you would have used it much to your advantage, but…” Astarion leans forward, threatening to push you back into the bedroll if it weren’t for one strong arm wrapped around your back and holding you in place. Your heart stutters at how close his face is to yours now. He continues, “I don’t think I deserve it, but the thought of being your first is exciting. To hear what vulgar sounds might come from your mouth, or how you might react if I touched you elsewhere.”

They were only words, but you could feel his touch already, his cold hands setting your body on fire. You needed him tonight, you were ready, “You do deserve it, but…” there was one small problem, “I’m just, I don’t know, scared?”

“You? Of pain?” he chuckles, his free hand brushing against the fresh wound on your neck still dribbling blood. Astarion brings his now bloodied fingers to his mouth, sucking up the remainders of his feast without breaking eye contact. Then he pulls his fingers away with a pop and says, “Would I ever hurt you, dear?”

When you shake your head - no, you could never hurt me, truly - he pushes you the rest of the way into the bedroll and adjusts the flat pillow behind you, making sure you’re comfortable.

And then his hands slip under your shirt, his ice cold touch sending shivers through your body as he travels further up. One finger traces a circle around your nipple, the other hand cups your breast and plays with it gently. You’re unsure what to do with your hands at first, so you place one at the back of Astarion’s neck and pull him close, kissing him gently.

His hands travel even further up, wrapping around your back and lifting you off the ground for a moment, breaking your kiss to pull your shirt over your head. Before the fabric is even on the ground, your lips are crashing against his again and your tongue is begging to go deeper. Astarion lets you in, and you’re so lost in your kiss that you don’t have time to shy your now bare torso from him. 

When Astarion breaks away again, he makes up for it by leaving a scattered trail of kisses, bruises, and shallow bites down your neck and then your chest. He’s planted his knees either side of one of your legs now, and when he latches onto your nipple with his mouth, he pushes his thigh into you at the same time. You let out a weak groan, but with each swish of his tongue against your tit, Astarion has you whimpering. 

He wants to hear you more, so he drags his tongue further down, his lips meeting the band of your trousers. When he looks up at you through dishevelled white locks, you don’t hesitate to nod your approval. He’s pulling your pants and underwear off in an instant, peeling them from your legs and letting you kick them off your ankles. You freeze up for a moment when you realise that you’re now fully naked and powerless before him, while he remains fully clothed. But there’s nothing you can do or say before he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, pushing the other to the side as he descends upon your needy clit.

You immediately feel a pressure building in your core, only much more intense than anything you’ve experienced before. You decide you want more and roll your hips forward in an attempt to feel more of him on you. Astarion obliges, parting your already sick folds as he pushes his tongue into you. The feeling is budding, it threatens to spill, wash over you and drown you. Astarion pulls away.

Cool air taunts your aching core, the pleasure you were chasing now regrettably subsiding. You grab at the fabric of Astarion’s shirt in a feeble attempt to pull him closer, and whine “Please…”. But he just smirks at you.

“You were so nervous just moments ago,” he teases, “but you’ve forgotten it all from just a few flicks of my tongue,” he’s toying with you, but he still pulls his shirt over his head and finally reveals himself to you. You get busy roaming his skin with your hands, exploring as much as possible, while he continues to taunt you, “You’re so beautiful when you writhe around underneath me like that.”

His lips are on yours again, his tongue fighting and beating yours in a futile game of dominance. Your face burns even hotter when you realise you can taste yourself on him, but you’re distracted again when you feel Astarion tugging at the drawstrings of his pants and pulling them down just enough that his already hard member springs free. He bites your lower lip playfully and drags it out as he breaks the kiss, shifting his weight to line up his dick with your entrance. It takes all your self-control not to push yourself onto him. 

“Are you ready, my love?” he asks. 

You nod. Astarion holds himself up with his arms either side of your face, eyes trained only on you as he pushes himself into you. You wrap your arms around his neck for support while he watches in admiration as your face twists in pain and pleasure. He stops when you let out a sharp gasp, watching you bite at your lip so hard you taste blood. Astarion stays completely still inside you, giving you time to adjust as he leans down and laps at the traces of blood pooling in your lower lip.

When you finally relax a little - welcoming him - he slips in further, groaning into your ear as he bottoms out in you. And when he begins to move, the feeling is strange at first: the pain of his cock stretching you open sets you on fire and leaves you wanting more, melting into tasteful pleasure. Everytime he pulls out, you moan into his lips, not wanting to lose him from you. 

Sounds tumble from your mouth, spurring Astarion to move faster and harder with each whisper of his name. You feel that tight pressure returning to your stomach, your walls clenching around him and drawing a grunt from him as he continues to thrust into you. He’s chasing his own high still as every part of you crescendos, pleasure crashing through your body in waves. Your body falls limp as you feel Astarion finish, too, inside of you, his cock twitching once, twice, three times in your cunt.

Astarion makes no effort to move, collapsing on top of you and burying his face in your shoulder. After a few moments of silence, punctured only by the dying fireplace and your harmonising and desperate pants, he mumbles into your ear, “You feel amazing.”

@12daysofchristmas

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[fatesundress]

⭑ life of the party. tom riddle x reader

summary. when one game is ruined, another begins.

tags. explicitly fem afab reader, smut with as minimal plot as i can physically allow myself, minors SCRAMMM, loosely implied hogwarts university au as always, flirting via mutually assured jealousy, impeccable communication skills, established relationship, the guy the reader is talking to gets annoyed she doesn’t want him but he doesn’t do anything, religious undertones that might have accidentally become overtones, party setting (background drinking & general degeneracy), probably the meanest tom i’ll ever write and i still tried making him nice because lots of heavy jealousy tropes are misogynistic icks fo me, fingering, piv, a little degradation but that's life, fawwwk the weeknd but the song this is based on is so sexy, etc

note. Me writing this: nightguard: ON, religious themes: RIFE, shame: ABOUNDING. i am so embarrassed by this. have i mentioned smut doesn’t come naturally to me? i don’t even know how i got here. i’m on heelys at the proverbial skatepark and everyone else apprenticed under tony hawk. Do you understand? ok.

word count. 4.5k

request. yes!

He is what he is. Stoic, sacred, silent and then verbose. You knew he had his fixations before you knew him at all — no one made top of every class without a shadow of obsession to contrast the glint of their excellence — but you could not anticipate how that obsession might translate when applied to a person. You’re not sure he had either.

He is what he is. The muggle world taught him religion and in it he learned only the tenor of devotion. When his fingers take your jaw, trace slow at the stripes of your thighs, steady your hips from under you and hold tight, there’s reverence in it. His kisses don’t wane with the months gone by; they soften with purpose. They rouse with hunger. His eyes don’t waver. Should a good man gaze upon his altar? Should he smile like sin when he gets on his knees? 

He does.

Tom Riddle is what he is and you solemnise in equal part.

You don’t come to these things often, taken aback by the sight of the Slytherin common room in ribbons and banners tattered within the first hour of the night. Bottles glow green in the lake-light on every available surface, scattered about the place and spilled in sticky puddles. 

You’re a wallflower tonight, though not for lack of options. You observe from a comfortable distance the drunken antics of new adults, free to carry their liquor in hand rather than hidden away in pockets and pillowcases. There’s something vaguely entertaining about it, intoxicating where someone else might mind their business and actually get intoxicated, but you see no harm done. Whispers fall on your ears before the rumours make their rounds, couples slink away in the darkness where someone in the crowd might not notice, and the night’s first instance of someone hurrying up the stairs in tears comes barrelling right past you. You invent a story for why to keep yourself busy. 

It’s all just buzz.

Now, if you don’t come often, he certainly doesn’t.

Tonight, he has, and for reasons explicable but few, you’ve found yourselves on opposite sides of the room.

It began on the green couch by the window with a chess set spilled across the velvet — a bet you made with him upon arrival; you find wizard’s chess trite, Tom finds it feckless, but it makes for a good challenge. 

What else could convince a man so perpetually controlled to pour himself a drink? And you imagine, from his perspective: what else could convince a woman so determined to outwit him?

It’s for no nefarious reason — to slight him or see him stumble — but because you love the fractions of relief that colour him, soften him, temper him. It’s because he loves you in every shade, in every pliancy, in each and every fervour. But mostly it’s because you love kindly to best him, and he loves mirthfully to best you.

So you play. The game is slow and teasing, hard to see in the ripples of the lake, and toppled over in the final moves (which you’ll insist you were winning) by the same swaying body that spills its drink down the front of your dress. And so you’re up, brushing your index finger over the corner of Tom’s sudden scowl. You whisper like a joke not to kill anyone but he’s so quick to look like he might that you consider repeating yourself with more conviction.

You poke at the spot where his jaw is tense. “I’ll be right back.”

Drying liquor from lace is a matter of precision even with magic, and this is half-gelatinous like someone raided the kitchen’s supply of jelly and steeped it in something offensively alcoholic. You utilise the clearer light of the Slytherin girl’s lavatory, wetting your dress before evaporating the water from it. There’s the matter then of transforming the stained fabric back to its original colour, and you huff in the mirror at having a game you thought you didn’t care much for ruined so close to its end.

You care about Tom, though. The omphalos of your issue resides there.

(It is fair to say most of your issues reside there.)

With only minutes gone by, the common room crowd looks doubled when you return, and though you wade through you’re pushed back like debris caught in a tide, the bodies more stubborn rubble than you. So you retreat, stand flush at the wall with your arms crossed, and wait for Tom’s eyes to land on yours. To, perhaps, open your mind and let him in, tell him exhaustedly from afar that the game is at rest and you’re ready to leave.

But even he’s hard to find in the bodies unified in breath, flux like a big set of lungs —  and nothing about Tom blurs into the background.

So you wait. You wallflower. You pour yourself a drink.

The moment stretches on longer than anticipated, and after many detached observations of the room, someone else finds you instead. He’s tall, blond to Tom's inkwell black, kissed by summer sun even as autumn soothes its blister. Your gaze wavers back to him a few times though his own is uncertain for all its focus. He seems to be waiting for you to stop, perhaps for the silhouette of someone else to slip by and prove you were looking at them instead. When no one else comes, he traverses the crowd with a straightened inch of pride, stepping through new colours until he’s close enough to you that the light settles emerald-black and you can see the great chasm of his beauty up close. 

His freckles are carefully dusted, his structure strong, all squarish, rugged lines and shades of August.

The chasm is not a lack of allure, per se, it’s just a lack of him. One man’s August to your adherent’s December, the intention of his warmth, a thing that does not come to him like everything else but that he makes and makes and mends when it lapses because he does not want to see you cold. The singular reward of a rarity like that.

“Hi," you say, glancing over a broad shoulder.

“Evening," he responds. He takes you in with a look of (unappreciated) appreciation. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t.”

He extends a hand. “Oliver Belby.”

“Pleasure.”

You don't offer much in the way of conversation. He’ll vie for your attention regardless of how much of it you offer. So you lean against the wall where the buzz of sound prickles your hair, let him talk, let his hand come up to rest beside your head, and you find Tom.

He’s right where you left him, a new clearing in the crowd making space for your eyes to meet.

His are ice even at a distance. As if you proselytise — as if you could — kneel for another man or let one kneel before you, all of your trysts together faithless.

They aren’t. He must know they aren’t.

But you put yourself here and standing at the target of his gaze has never been marred by the severity of it.

You decide then; when one game is ruined, another begins.

In truth, you can’t deny the element of theatrics in the way Tom denies everyone but you: his soft, penitent smile, the apologetic cant of his head, how his eyes can find you in any crowd and whoever is clinging onto his every word that night will follow his gaze and deflate when they discover you at the end of it. Sometimes it’s harsh. Final. He lacks the patience of pretence. 

Sometimes, the week is dull. Sometimes, the whoever is undeterred. Sometimes you’ve pushed him here. 

No — You’ve never done that before. This is new.

So it’s one of those weeks, and one of those whoevers, on an anomaly you may as well have directed the encounter yourself, and Tom is half-indulgent as he forces his eyes away and you force yours to stay. 

You watch him from across the room as the woman drapes herself across the arm of his chair. There's a furious blush on her cheeks even in the dark, a pretty disarray to her shoulder-length hair, skirts pleated over knees she faces toward him. She smiles and offers him a glass of something, and you know for certain Tom understands this game because he accepts it, eyes flicking back to you as he swirls the glass in contest. 

To that you take an inappreciable sip of your own.

“ — Which is why no one has even attempted to kill one in decades. And capturing one is another thing entirely. My mother works with the Greeks on occasion, and the nearest she came to a den was in the twenties. If she had gone any nearer I wouldn’t be here.”

“Hm?” You look back at the man in front of you. His lips glisten with having licked them between every phrase.

“The manticores,” he says, undeterred.

“Right. Five-X beasts, aren’t they?”

“That’s what I said. I heard from one of my mother’s colleagues that — ”

The woman is whispering something in Tom’s ear, her hair on his cheek. He’s looking at you as if you had said the words. You don't shy away when Oliver leans in to whisper too. It's a strange, fractured language. Too intimate while too detached. Whispers from across the room, desire from another in the place of desire for each other. But the strangeness should not surprise you anymore. This is Tom: beautiful and wicked and the one you chose.

“ — And Nundus are worse. Deadliest creature there is — ”

She’s laughing about something, the woman. Half-reserved, she’s angled toward the party despite her leaning on his shoulder and the dissipating inches of distance.

“ — They stalk in silence. Think of the size of one, right? They’re apex predators… so commanding and still they could be in front of you one instant and gone the next.”

You engage with detached interest. “Really?”

And now Oliver barricades your view, his other hand coming to rest on your other shoulder.

“Do we have any classes together?”

You blink up at him. “No.”

“No, right,” he says, eyes darting to your lips. “I’d remember you.” 

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you wonder if for some men one-sided discussions of class five beasts qualify as foreplay.

You place a hand on his chest, eyebrows raised and half a startled smile curled. 

“You’re not going to kiss me," you inform him.

His face falls, but with it, at least, does his hand.

“Did you hear me?"

“It’s loud,” he decides suddenly. “Can we go somewhere else?”

You’re not sure you believe that. 

You duck under an arm and search the crowd again. The woman is on the arm of the chair looking thoroughly dismayed, and for good reason —

Tom is gone. 

Your breath is caught.

“This isn’t… You’re not going to…?”

You flash Oliver with a glare. “So you did hear me.”

He makes a pathetically sad face, and you think: it’s a wonder he made it this far when his courtship evidently hinges on the subject of his affection not listening to a word out of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” you say tersely.

“What was that for, then?” he asks, and it comes out practically whined.

“That was talking.”

“But you’re —”

“Belby.”

He is what he is. It shouldn’t surprise you when he appears beside you all fatal rage on a quiet lead, narrowly fixed to you. 

Tom’s cold is his median temperature, yes, but in moments like this it’s as much for you as his handmade warmth. He’d pluck the fingers off a boy like Oliver. The digits would string eaves like icicles.

Oliver is looking between you and Tom like something terrible has dawned on him, hands urged to his pockets to soothe the flames your unveiled ties to a man seemingly singed him with.

“Riddle — Mate, I didn’t… I didn’t know she was…”

Tom’s voice is flat, edged with something that makes his monotony sound merciful. “Pity. If only you knew as much as you talked.”

Oliver’s mouth opens and closes and opens again, but wisely he settles on silence instead of excuses, and wastes no time fleeing slowly into the crowd. 

The instant he's stolen by the wave Tom's eyes are on yours and they’re molten. You move to say something but his patience was for show — he’s dragging you by the arm out of the common room and into one of the dungeon's empty classrooms without giving you the chance.

“Tom —" You start to protest, mouth twisted in a scowl. “Tom, you're being —"

He shuts the door behind you and locks it with such delicacy your breath catches at the question of how badly he's holding himself back right now.

“I'm being what?"

“You're…" It's hard to formulate an answer when he's like this. “It was a game. Don’t pretend you weren’t playing too."

Tom inches in, chest rising with angry breaths. “A game, was it? Did he know that?"

“Did she?” you hiss.

“It certainly became apparent when she was discarded so that I might retrieve you.”

“It was as apparent to Belby, judging by the way he was left gawking.”

“And with great restraint I let him. A mercy I didn’t take his eyes so he was left without the ability.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now I understand; the problem wasn’t the game, it’s that I played it better than you.”

He looks at you for a long time before casting a silencing charm on the room.

Oh.

Oh — your heart barrels off somewhere. You’re without it for a moment, breathless in the wake of the implication of a spell like that.

“Tom," you say politically, “It was hardly a matter of rescuing.”

He nods imperceptibly. “No, it wasn’t.”

“So we’re in agreement.”

He hums a non-answer.

Each step he takes forward, you take back. It's a peculiar way to have a conversation, but part of the game, you suppose.

Interesting he’s still playing.

You still gasp when you inevitably hit the wall, hands going to the carved edge of a windowsill.

“You’re terrible when you win,” he whispers. His lips brush your ear.

You shudder, mouth dry as you press against his shoulder. “You’re worse when you lose.”

His mouth drags down your jaw but he refuses to kiss you, still withholding something, still holding back in some terrible, electrifying way. Instead one of his hands starts to dip down your side. You shiver as he grazes the skin of your breast, exposed by the cut of your dress, and continues down your waist. His mouth traces your bare shoulder as his tongue makes a slow pass, skin beneath leaping at his careful ministrations.

With long, slender fingers he's pulling your dress off button by button, torturously slow, and you feel mocked to have cleaned it earlier. You feel foolish to have left knowing the night would have ended like this regardless.

“Tom,” you say. His name is followed by staggered breaths. Your fingers are clutching the windowsill.

The air is thick as he watches you, flesh exposed by each undone catch. And still he will not kiss you, even as his lips trail along your collarbone and you start to tug instinctively at his belt. He makes the barest sound of disapproval and spins you to face the window, your hands urged on instinct to press against the glass.

“Tom...”

He hikes your dress up your thighs. It clings to your hips, a meagre two buttons left attached to keep it from falling.

Your wand clatters as his fingers work the clasp of your bra and his teeth skim your shoulder, leaving little bites he laves at softly with his tongue. You shudder, arching into him, searching for friction. His touch traverses the shape of you and stops feather-light between your legs.

“Tom —”

“Quiet," he admonishes, a little tut.

Your skin jumps at the caress of his fingers tracing deceptively timid up your thighs, like he hasn’t done this before, like it’s care and not punishment. His favourite oxymoron: the gentlest torture, the cruelest succour.

His index draws upon the lace of your underwear and tugs it aside with a tenderness that makes you gasp. Is there a way to press harder to the glass without breaking it? Is there ever enough to grab onto when he gets like this — so singularly focused on ruining you? 

One of your hands latches onto the arm half-disappeared in your skirts instead, clinging steadfast to the white of its sleeve, your body swaying as if at sea. He keeps you steady, but this is his crown achievement: that he is all there is that can do it when you’re so singularly focused on being ruined by him.

The sinews of his forearm work imperceptibly under your fingers as he appreciates the newly unfettered flesh, two digits sliding between your legs, and he makes a satisfied sound against your shoulder at the wetness he finds there. 

You’re swallowing air with a moan stuck in your throat; too dry, you realise, and feel like you’re choking when he starts to move, gripping his arm somehow tighter.

As a rule, you know how much he loves this, but it’s tenfold under his jealousy and you think deliriously, probably wrongly, that for how much he enjoys pushing you you enjoy pushing him to get here. You’re his and he’s yours, there’s no doubt in it — but what he can reduce you to — this desperate creature, writhing and panting, trying in vain to satiate herself with a simple finger — this is the translation; the fruition of his fixations put to a person rather than a subject. This is what it is to be his.

Tom’s mouth opens in a smile at your throat, and there it feels more like bared teeth, a smile that is as animal as it is pretty. 

And still he whispers with all the affection of a lover, your name peppered between kisses.

His fingers inch inside you and curl. You’re wedged in the perfect balance of his discrepancy; your disciple and your devil. He worships you in white. He ruins you in it too.

Now his name comes out in a babble, wet, half-drooled. A nip pinches the little space beneath your ear and you clutch impossibly harder to his wrist, your free hand squeaking down the window pane as you grind on his palm. He crooks his fingers against a spot that has you seeing stars, thumb pressed to your clit in a subtle motion, and you feel yourself tip off into an unknown he aquaints you with often. In a blurry, flickering moment, the light gleams somewhere beyond the stained hues of the window. And that should be it. The edge is at your heels and you should be falling. But the sinful press of him at your back commands you to lurch against him, and when you moan for more he pulls his fingers free.

You stumble weakly into his chest, startled.

“What… What?”

“Ask me for it,” he says, his voice hoarse, markedly wanton in spite of himself. But there is hunger and there is greed. There’s a sacrificial lamb and there’s a hunted one— there’s religion and there’s Tom. He invents something that demands greater devotion.

And the sound of leather rasping serge and metal clinking metal reels your conscience in. There are no stars. There’s just him. His belt is coming undone.

“Tom.” You swallow. “I told you —”

“And I want you to ask.” He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb tracing your lower lip. “Nicely.”

Your mouth opens for him and you shiver, pressing further back for contact he doesn’t allow. Instead another small tut is whispered at your neck, relinquished to a kiss.

His finger brushes your teeth when you speak. “I want you.”

You feel him shake his head and you all but whine.

“I want you inside, Tom — need you — please.”

“Please?” he echoes mockingly.

“Please,” you say in an uneven voice, and when your tongue grazes his thumb he eases it further into your mouth with an appeased hum.

And so his zipper comes down and you hold your breath with the weight of your dress at your hips.

He pushes inside you with minimal pause, slow still, to relish the way your little pants hitch, stop, and shudder out in a broken moan; the way your breath is guided by his rhythm, how you’re shaped by him, fitted around him. You careen forward and your palms flatten on the window, trembling at the first thrust. Your fingers quiver down the glass.

Tom pulls you into him on the second, patience abandoned. His lips chase your pulse. His grip on your jaw tightens as his thumb pops free with a string of spit. He nudges deeper at a new angle, your body forced as far as it can lean back, gasping heavenward when your head falls helplessly onto his shoulder.

It’s profane. Your ears almost dull to the sound of his hips snapping against yours, the obscenity of your skin on what he offers of his, but you waver between earth and something else, brought back to him by the torturous sight of the edge he stole you from. Always brought back to him. 

He’s gripping your jaw in one hand as he pushes deeper, and your fingers are lost for purchase on his forearms, trembling to hold onto something.

When he pulls out of you at your brink again, you practically cry out. But you understand when he spins you around again, hiking you up against the windowsill, your shoulders hitting the cool glass with a gasp you barely register in the fog of your desperation. His eyes are dilated to midnight rings. The weight of his desire is frightening. The insistence to claim you better yet.

He wastes no time before slamming into you again, pausing at the hilt to watch your eyebrows wrench together before resuming his pace. When your mouth falls open, he swallows the noise that tries to come out of it.

It doesn’t feel like a kiss. It feels like the prolusion to a bite.

His fervour is all the reminder of how you got here in the first place; the teeth, the force, the grip on your waist. There’s a rough sound he makes in your mouth that you taste more than you hear. The vibration of him is everywhere. You’re too hot and it only occurs to you because your fingers are clawing at fabric instead of skin that he’s fully dressed and your last button has finally snapped, lace pooled on the classroom floor as he fucks you. The thought is consigned to oblivion as quickly as it came. It doesn't matter.

You're clutching at his shoulders, the nape of his neck — trying to kiss him back, but you feel torn in two by the intensity of his ministrations, a low, immolating pressure building in your abdomen. He’s proving something with you, and his is a relentless, unending appetite. You don't really stand a chance. You think you've known that from the start.

Tom is all-consuming. Tom is a force of nature, a whirlwind that sweeps over you. He leaves you breathless and somehow needing more as he wraps his hand around the small of your back and seizes you in place.

Still you find yourself wanting to be held tighter.

“T-Tom —" you sob through the kiss but he doesn't give you enough air to do it. He pushes harder, a rasp at the back of his throat, some carnal thing. He’s not withholding your release now; he’s spurring you towards it.

When he withdraws his lips from yours, his brows are furrowed in concentration. There’s a fine lustre of sweat on his forehead, stray curls pulled across dark, wicked eyes. The sight of him alone is condemnable, but it isn’t for you.

He likes to watch you like this. When your moans dissolve to the torn syllable of his name, again and again. The veneration. Your choked litanies.

You give them to him.

Sleeves drawn up by your body’s baser instinct for skin, you’ve carved a canvas of praise into his arms, marked up to his elbows where your fingers had jerked upward to rake at his back. This time, when you find the cliffside, nothing stops you from teetering off its edge. Flames dance across your skin in an explosion, your collar damp and bitten, your waist in Tom’s vice-like grip. One hard thrust and you’re falling.

The stars are blinding. You decide then they were made by him.

Your head lulls back as shocks of pleasure course through your body, the coil snapped, the hard shape of him inside you demanding impossibly for more. You stumble through the light, vision blurred, praying and praying and praying. His grip comes to find your jaw again.

You keen, addled through the ecstasy, barely conscious of the way his panted breaths hitch at the sight of you in his hands, soft-eyed and puddy.

He always comes apart soon after you, but it happens rarely that your body is so taut on the wire of rapture that his twitching inside you takes you with him. 

This time it does.

You sink against him, thighs numb and wet, one hand slipping dumbly from his figure and swiping across condensation-foggy glass. The second orgasm is an aftershock of the first. It’s slow. It feels like being caught from the last fall. You land in Tom’s arms and they’re holding you through whitened knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, ink-dipped twines of quills, and he steals the shaky sigh from your mouth by pressing it to his.

You kiss lazily and softly. The room feels sheeted in static. The electricity lingers on both of you.

It’s hard not to fall against the window when he slides out of you. You slump on quivering legs into his chest instead, heaving, spend trickling down your legs.

Tom holds you close, adjusting his trousers before sinking down to settle you on his lap. He wipes the sweat from your face and presses his lips to the feverish skin it plastered. Forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, whispers of your name down your jaw like a prayer answered. Your eyelids flutter shut and he kisses you there, too. His lashes tickle.

You love him more than you worship him. You think he likes that more.

He grabs your forsaken dress from the floor and slips it over your bare shoulders, summoning the snapped button back in place before he begins to meticulously clasp the rest together again. His mouth leaves a path at the skin under each one before it closes, and you hum in dizzy gratitude.

“That was,” you say in a very worn voice, “a terrible way to reinforce not making you jealous.”

He glares at you from one of the lowermost buttons and you giggle sleepily, curling a hand into his hair. “Don’t look at me like that. You liked it too.”

He leans back up at that, tipping your chin with his fingers, gaze darting over the wrecked state of you with a pleased gleam in his eyes. “You liked it? What a modest interpretation.”

Now it’s your turn to glare.

He is what he is — pursuit of buttons forgotten as you’re laid down on the moonlit floor to be reminded just how much you liked it.

taglist. @lyis @indimoss @poddzi @esolean @d1anna @maripositanoctruna @mentally-in-northern-italy @ronniemaximoff1234 @moobell55 @jaerang @ramayantika @saltwaterbythesea @acube07 @togenabi @adazito @kitcat334 @blaurghhh @shutupfinn @jaymeeshayden @lilu842 @leaosee @garfunkelworld @definitely-not-captain-america @multiplefandomstan @mangoesareorange [ note: inexplicably, a bunch of my tags aren't working. i tried to fix it but if you didn’t get a notif i’m sorry! ]

[theemporium]

Hey Cece, happy Monday! I'm not sure if you're taking requests right now but if you are I'd (please) love fem driver x Charles or Daniel. Maybe after a race doesn't go so well she barges into the after party (in front of everyone) and demands one of them fuck her right this second 👀 thank you x

it is very much not monday anymore, i am so sorry but thank you for requesting!🖤

.

The tension had been lingering for months before this race weekend.

Everyone knew there was something brewing between you and the Aussie driver. The two of you knew it too and you both constantly toed the line of friends or something more, but there was always something holding you back from making the move.

But this weekend was different. 

It was meant to be a good weekend. Your pace was good. The car felt good. You were setting fast laps for all three practices. You even qualified pretty fucking well on Saturday afternoon in peperation for the race. But the second lights out were called, everything seemed to go to shit. 

Between bad strategy calls and even worse luck with safety cars and pit stops, you had been on edge since the race ended. You were frustrated, pissed and you needed something to take your anger out on—and getting shit-faced wasn’t enough for tonight. 

You needed something more. 

Scratch that—you needed someone. 

You had stormed into the party looking as pretty as death herself in the little black dress you slipped on, the two shots you had before you left your room only fuelling your determination as you strided through the party like it was for you—and not Max who had won the race. 

Your eyes locked on the Aussie driver as you made your way across the cramped club, pushing through the throng of dancing people until you made it to the booth where Daniel was sitting with a few other drivers and Red Bull team members.

You stopped short by the booth, your hands crossed over your chest. 

“Fucking hell, sunshine,” Daniel grinned up at you, shamelessly letting his eyes wander your figure as he took in the sight of you. “You’re looking gorgeous tonight. Is this all for little ol’ me?” 

But you were done with the teasing remarks and the back and forth game. You wanted him and you wanted to know if you were wasting your time. 

“Are you gonna fuck me or not, Ricciardo?” 

Max, who was sitting next to the Aussie driver, had all but choked on his drink as the words left your mouth, smacking his chest as he looked between the two of you with wide eyes. 

Daniel laughed nervously. “What?”

But you didn’t hesitate as you leaned over, one hand leaning on the table and the other placed on the booth just behind his head. “I have had a shit day and I need some help working things off,” you said, your voice a little lower than usual and you didn’t miss the way his eyes fell to your lips. “Now, are you gonna finally stop pissing around and fuck me, or do I need to find someone else to do it?” 

He quickly shook his head. “I’m your man, sunshine.” 

“Good. Then fuck me.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Neither one of you could be bothered waiting for a taxi to head back to the hotel, so Daniel had quickly linked your hands together and guided you towards the bathrooms at the back of the club. You both quickly scampered in, locking the door behind you before your hands were all over each other. 

“I’m gonna fuck every thought out of that pretty head of yours,” Daniel groaned from behind you as he pushed the material of your dress to your hips, tugging your panties to the side before he slid inside you, swearing at how wet and tight you were. 

“Please,” you moaned out, your hands gripping the edge of the sink as you felt him bottom out inside you.

“That’s it, beg for me,” he whispered in your ear, his hands caging you in against the sink as he began to thrust his hips, each one hard and deep. “Beg for me to fuck you dumb.” 

“Fuck me until I can’t think,” you whined to him, your eyes meeting his heated gaze in the mirror as he grinned back at you. 

“Gonna make sure my name is the only thing you remember, sunshine.”

.

[onementally-unstabel-kid]

Safe place

(I have decided that I can no longer wait for the poll to end imma post it rn)

chan x gn reader

Ps: not proof read? There could be some mistakes pls let me know if I missed anything and the gender of the reader

+ idk if its weird yall I don't think I did it right😔😔

warning: alcohol, intoxication,idk the exact term but like the drink get drugged? Idk man English isn't my first language😪 comfort,best friends to lovers,fluff at the end, parties,alcohol consumption,could be triggering to some?

[Y/n] was excited for the party. They had been looking forward to it all week, wanting to let loose after the stress of exams. The invitation came from a classmate they didn’t know too well, but they figured it was a good opportunity to meet new people.

The party was in full swing when they arrived. Music pounded through the walls, and laughter filled the air. [Y/n] grabbed a drink, feeling a bit out of place but determined to have fun. They wandered through the crowd, chatting with a few people, but mostly sticking to the edges.

After a while, they started to feel strange. Their vision blurred, and their legs felt like they were made of lead. The room began to spin, and a wave of dizziness hit them hard. They clung to the wall, trying to steady themselves, but it was no use. Panic surged through them as they realized something was terribly wrong.

They remembered the drink they had and how they had left it unattended for just a moment. A cold dread filled them . They had heard stories about people getting drugged at parties but never thought they would have to experience it first hand.

[Y/n] knew they had to get out. They stumbled through the crowd, their mind foggy, barely able to keep their balance. Faces blurred around them, and voices seemed distant and distorted. They couldn’t think straight, but one thought kept pushing through the haze: Chan. They needed to find Chan.

Chan was their best friend, the one person they could always rely on. They had been inseparable since childhood, and he was always there when [y/n] needed him. [Y/n] didn’t know where else to go, but they knew they could trust him.

With trembling hands, they fumbled for their phone and managed to call him. Their words were slurred, and they struggled to explain what was happening, but Chan didn’t need to hear much. “I’m coming to get you. Stay where you are,” he said, his voice steady and calm, though they could hear the worry in it.

It felt like an eternity before Chan arrived, but when he did, it was like a lifeline. He found them1 leaning against a wall, barely conscious. Without a word, he wrapped his arm around them and guided them to his car.

[Y/n] didn’t remember much of the drive, only the sound of Chan’s voice reassuring them, telling them they were safe. When they finally reached his apartment, Chan carried his best friend inside and laid them on the couch, covering them with a blanket.

He sat beside them, holding their hand, his face filled with concern. “You’re safe now, [y/n]. I’m here,” he whispered.

As the drug slowly wore off, [y/n]’s thoughts became clearer, though the fear still lingered. They looked up at Chan, tears welling in their eyes. “I didn’t know where else to go,” they said, their voice trembling.

Chan squeezed their hand gently. “You came to the right place. I’ll always be here for you.”

In that moment, something shifted between them. [Y/n] had always known Chan cared about them, but tonight, they realized just how deep that care ran. And as they looked into his eyes, they saw something more than just friendship.

“Chan… I was so scared. And all I could think about was you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come.”

He brushed a strand of hair from their face, his touch tender. “[y/n], I would do anything for you. You mean everything to me.”

Their heart skipped a beat at his words. “Chan, I… I think I’ve always felt something more for you, but I was too afraid to say anything.”

He smiled softly, his eyes filled with warmth. “I’ve felt the same way for a long time, [y/n]. I didn’t want to risk our friendship, but after tonight, I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

Tears slipped down their cheeks, but this time they were tears of relief and happiness. “I’m so glad you feel the same way.”

Chan leaned in, their lips brushing a gentle kiss, and all the fear and anxiety of the night melted away. In his arms,[y/n] felt safe, loved, and finally at peace.

They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, knowing that no matter what happened, they would always have each other. And as the first light of dawn broke through the window, they knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful.

[callsigncurse]

in your bones ( jake seresin x reader)

Summary: A disagreement causes tension between you and Jake, and a story is told. What happened the night Jake was turned? Why do you feel such a strong connection to him? You're about to find out.

Warnings: Description of an animal attack. Mentions of child neglect, and depression. Really sad Jake. Words: 5K

Without further adieu, I present to you: Evergreen Falls, part three.

←prev.

The strange feeling doesn’t dissipate when you get inside. In fact, it seems to linger in your bones as you lock the door behind you. The hair is standing on the back of your neck, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. It had to be Jake playing a joke on you, right? How else would he have known to text you at that exact moment? There was no other way for him to have known you were out there; he’d left to go home half an hour ago.

You know he’s still awake, so you shoot off a text in response.

He doesn't respond for a minute, and you lean back against the door while you wait. The bubbles move on your phone, and you stare at it while you wait.

You didn't respond to that. This was all too strange for you. You'd felt an instant connection to him the moment you'd met. The connection only seemed to grow stronger, and today (well, yesterday) it felt like you could feel his emotions—so deeply, as if they were your own. Something beyond weird was happening, and you were determined now to find out what.

In the middle of your quickly derailing train of thought, your phone had started ringing, and you glanced at the screen. Of course he was calling—could he sense that you were freaking out, like you could sense his jealousy earlier? Of course, that thought was frankly ridiculous, but you were starting to think that not everything in this town is what it seems.

“Hello?”

“I told you not to go near the woods; you promised me you wouldn’t. So why did you go out there?”

You were taken aback by the slightly gruff tone he had going on. From the moment you’d met Jake, he’d been so sweet, his voice soft and low when he talked to you. This new tone was… different. Not bad, but definitely different.

“You realize I’m a grown woman, yes? I can make my own decisions.” You realize that mouthing off to him might make the situation worse, but you were always a tad stubborn, and even if he was the sweetest and most good-looking man you’d ever met, you still had free will.

“Well, sure, but you shouldn’t be making bad ones, especially since I took the time to warn you about what would happen if you went out there on your own!” He sounded exasperated, and you could picture him, maybe wearing a t-shirt and PJ pants, his hand pressing his phone to his ear, the other sliding through his already messy blonde hair.

“You’re not my dad.” ‘God, Pep, could you possibly have sounded more juvenile?’ You were actually cringing at yourself. “I didn’t get hurt; whatever it was ran away when my phone chimed because you texted me. Okay? No harm done.” You didn’t want to continue this conversation, in case you opened your mouth and said something else to make yourself sound even more like an idiot.

“We’re going to talk about this tomorrow, Pepper.” He sounded stern, and you rolled your eyes at how schoolmarmish he sounded. “I wasn’t kidding when I said it wasn’t safe, especially not for someone who didn’t grow up here. Imagine if you’d gone further in! You could’ve gotten turned around and lost. Do you realize that you could’ve gone missing tonight? How would Nat and the guys feel if you just up and vanished without a trace? How do you think I would feel, huh?”

“I’m going to bed.” You’d had just about enough of being lectured, and you pulled your phone away from your ear and ended the call. It had been a long day; it was nearing half past midnight, and you were exhausted.

So you marched yourself back up the stairs, turned your phone on Do Not Disturb, and plugged it in. If Jake still wanted to see you tomorrow, he was more than welcome to come over and see you. But until then, you were going to bed. So you turned off your lamp, slipped into bed, and closed your eyes.

The sunlight was coming in at an odd angle when you opened your eyes. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, it took you a second to realize that it wasn’t morning and that the light you were seeing was from a very full moon, and it was so close that it almost didn’t seem right.

And your phone wasn’t there when you went to check the time. In fact, your bedside table was completely barren, and you were so confused because you’d set a glass of water down on the table before bed. Now there was nothing there at all.

You slipped out of bed, heading slowly over to the window. Halfway there, you heard it.

Howling.

This time, you knew it was coming from your yard. And when you got to the window and looked down, it was waiting for you. The creature was huge—bigger than any wolf you’d ever seen. It made the ones at the San Diego Zoo look like chihuahuas.

It was looking at you, and the moon was so bright that you had to squint to see it. The beast’s coloring was so familiar. It was a dark honey color, and even from a distance, it looked soft. You got the sense that this creature was not a threat to you, and you relaxed a little.

And then you heard the movement from behind you.

Turning, your eyes caught sight of yet another creature. This one was equally as big, but its coloring was darker—more an oaky brown, earthy—and its eyes were a startling shade of blue. There was nothing soft or comforting about the color.

They were electric, hypnotizing, and dangerous.

The wolf showed its teeth; they were so long that you knew that even one bite would kill you.

You didn’t have time to even think of an exit strategy because it lunged.

And you didn’t have a chance to scream.

You shot out of bed so fast that you nearly launched yourself right out of it. Your heart was racing, and your pulse was hammering away in your throat. You were covered in sweat, and nausea had your stomach rolling. It took you a full minute to breathe through it.

It had been awhile since you’d had such a bad dream. A few months, at least—you'd had a few after your parents’ deaths—but this one had been different. It was so surreal, like it was something that you’d experienced or were going to experience.

Rubbing a hand over your face, you reached out and grabbed your phone from the bedside table. The time read 8:15 AM, which was a little earlier than you’d wanted to get up on a Sunday morning, but you didn’t think you’d be able to get back to sleep, not after that nightmare.

You had several missed calls from Jake and a few texts from him and the group chat, too. Jake had just griped at you some more, which reminded you that you were annoyed with him. He really had some nerve, calling you up to berate you like that and then continuing to text you about it after you’d hung up on him.

But at the same time, you could understand his concern. The woods around here were huge, and you remember walking on the path with your friends yesterday. Everything looked the same, so you could also understand how people got lost out there. Maybe he had a point.

Well, there was no time like the present to apologize. Kicking the blankets off, you rolled out of bed and headed straight to the bathroom to get ready—you had plenty to do.

About an hour later, you were stepping inside Top Bean. You were dressed in another pair of jean shorts and a t-shirt that fit you rather nicely. Your favorite pair of sneakers and sunglasses perfected the ensemble, and you were really feeling yourself as you walked in and waved to Javy.

“Hey, Pep.” He greeted you happily. “Whatcha up to today?” He looked a hell of a lot more awake than you felt, and you were a tiny bit jealous of that fact. Those bad dreams were no joke.

“Nothing much. I was just gonna pick up some coffee and hang out with Jake. Can I maybe get his usual and an iced Red Eye?” You were already pulling out your wallet and grabbing your card so you could pay. “I’m so tired.”

He rang you up, waving your hand off when you tried to stuff some cash into the tip jar. “Still not sleeping well, huh? I guess getting used to a new environment can screw up your sleep schedule pretty badly for a while. Have you tried tea?” He turned away, working on your order while you hung out by the bar stools.

“You mean like sleepytime tea, or something?” You asked, leaning against the counter. “I’ve never been much of a tea person, but at this point, I’ll try anything.” Which was true; you hadn’t really had a good night’s sleep since you’d left San Diego.

When Javy turns back around, he’s got a little box in his hands. “Sorta. Nat makes her own tea blends, and her most popular is her all-natural sleepy time tea. It’s got real valerian root and chamomile in it. She grows the chamomile herself, and she goes hunting in the woods for the other ingredients. It’s actually pretty tasty, especially if you add a little honey."

He hands you the box, and you turn it over in your hands a few times. “Huh. Interesting. Well, I guess I’ll try it. How much?”

“On the house. That’s just the sample size. Try it tonight, and if you like it, come back for the big box.” He turns back around, sliding over a cardboard holder with two coffees and a bag of baked goods. “And there is your order. Tell Jake I said hey and that it was good to hang out with him again. It’s been too long.”

You wonder what the story is behind that, but you don’t ask. You merely say goodbye to Javy and exit Top Bean. The sun is out from behind the cover of clouds, and you take a moment on the sidewalk to absorb it. You knew it was set to rain later, but that didn’t mean you could enjoy what you had now. 

South Pine Street wasn’t hard to find. It was around the corner from Main Street, and you decided to just leave your Jeep parked on Main and walk over to see Jake. It was nice to walk, you decided. It gave you a chance to observe more of the town, and it was nice to wave and smile at people that you recognized from your first few days in town. There was Maverick and Penny, walking an aging golden retriever, and you could see Mickey in the window of the record store as you passed by. He waved and smiled at you too, and your heart warmed.

Jake’s office was beautiful. It was a red brick building, just as old-fashioned as the rest of the town. On the big window to the left of the door, in red and white paint, a sign read:

Jake’s Carpentry & Woodworking Services.

The calligraphy reminded you of an old 1960s font, and you smiled to yourself as you walked up to the door and popped it open. Just like at Nat’s place, a bell above the door chimed when you entered. You were surprised to see an old man sitting at the front desk, and he looked a little surprised to see you there, too.

“Well hello.” He greeted you, closing the book he’d been reading. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around this town before.” He looked kind—bright blue eyes, a pair of glasses resting on his nose, and a big and friendly smile on his lips. His hair was interesting; it was mostly black, with gray at the temples, even though he had to be well into his eighties, judging by the wrinkles on his face.

“Hi there, I just moved here.” You step in closer, letting the door swing shut behind you. You offer your name with a smile. “But everyone around here calls me Pepper. I was looking for Jake; is he around?”

“I’m Bernard, but everyone calls me Bernie! Or Grandpa B, whichever you’re more comfortable with. Jacob is in the workshop, just through this door to my left.” He waves his hand to indicate where you should go. “So, you’re the girl who’s captured my boy’s attention? Well, he certainly has an eye for beauty.” You felt yourself blush as you thanked him. “You go on in, but don’t sneak up on him, dear. I think he’s using the handsaw.”

You promise that you won’t, giving him another sweet smile as you slip through the door to the workshop.

Jake has his back to you, working on something, and sure enough, you can hear the telltale sounds of a power tool. So you set the coffee and pastries down on the counter beside you and sit down on the chair to watch and wait for him. It doesn’t take very long—you wonder if he can somehow sense you—before he shuts off the handsaw and turns around.

He’s wearing a red t-shirt today, and he seems surprised to see you.

“Pep?” He takes off the safety glasses, tossing them onto the table beside him. “What are you doing here?” You were hoping he’d act a little more happy to see you, but then again, maybe he was still a little annoyed by what had occurred last night. There were still a lot of questions that had yet to be answered, and a little annoyance was left inside you too, so you understood that.

“I brought coffee.” You answer quietly, gesturing with a hand at the treats you’d brought. “And I know we were supposed to hang out later, but I think we really need to talk.” You watch as he leans back against the counter behind him, crossing his thick arms over his chest. Those beautiful green eyes are staring at you, and for a moment, you completely forget about what you want to say to him.

“Okay.” He finally says, and his beautiful voice fills the silence between you. “So talk.” And that little attitude in his voice just woke up your annoyance from last night. For a man who had been nothing but kind and gentle with you, he sure was being such a man right now.

“I think you’re treating me like a child.” Walking closer, you watch as he tries to open his mouth—you know he wants to argue—but you cut him off before he can. “I get it; you’re the protective type, and I love that about you. It’s one of the many, many things that I adore about you, Jake Seresin. You’re kind and gentle, and you’ve made me feel like I really belong in this town. But you can’t call me up and yell at me when I do something you don’t like.”

He sighs in response, one hand swiping down his face. “Look, Pepper.” His eyes are so intense when he looks back at you, and it makes your stomach erupt into butterflies. “I’m not trying to treat you like a child. But there are dangerous things in this world. People, animals, and even the forests around here. That’s why I warned you not to go out there alone, and less than sixteen hours later, you’re breaking the promise you made to me.”

He has a point. “Look, Jake.” You’re standing just a short distance away now, mirroring his stance, your eyes narrowed in a challenge. “I get it; I broke the promise, but wouldn’t you be curious too? I mean, there was a wolf behind my house. And it’s not like they go out of their way to attack people–”

Before you can finish that sentence, warm hands are touching your face, angling your chin upwards so you’re staring into two dark green eyes. “Please, baby. Don’t go back into those woods without me, okay?” His face is so close to yours that you can taste the mint on his breath. He’s so warm and so close that you completely forget that you were even angry with him in the first place. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. Tell me that you understand, sweet girl.”

A shiver drives its way down your spine, and warmth pools in your stomach. It was honestly unfair how attractive he is. “I understand.” You finally say, after a long moment of just staring at this unfairly beautiful man. “I’m sorry.”

“Good girl.” His voice is husky, so deep that you can feel the growl of it from where his chest is pressed against you. “That’s my good girl.”

You hate the fact that this turns you on. But it does. And it’s like he can sense that—you're sure your pupils are blown, because his lips pull into a self-satisfied smile. “You like that, sweet girl? Like being my good girl?” 

You nod quickly—a little too quickly. “Yes.” Your hands come up to rest on his arms; he’s still holding your face in his giant hands, and his thumbs are brushing over the apples of your cheeks. You’re honestly enjoying this a little too much, but you can’t help it. You’re completely infatuated with him.

When he leans in, his lips brush against the corners of your lips, and you whine—it's not enough; you want to feel his lips against yours completely. You want him to devour you, take your breath away, and make you completely forget any other man who has kissed you in the past. “Jake, please.”

“Not here, sweet girl.” He mumbles against your forehead, pressing another kiss there. “I don’t want our first real kiss to be in my workshop. Not exactly the romance you deserve.” Your heart constricts because that’s such a sweet thought—that he wants to make your first kiss together special. “Tonight, when I come to see you, I’ll give you a real kiss.”

You make a disappointed sound, but you understand. “Okay.” You lean into him again, and he wraps those strong arms around your frame and pulls you in so close that you can hear his heartbeat thudding under your ear. It’s a soothing sound, and the scent of him surrounds you. He smells like a man, like cloves and cedarwood, and you bury your face in his chest. “You smell so good.”

That pulls a chuckle out of him, and he kisses the top of your head. “I really do have things I need to work on, sweet girl.” He pulls away slightly, looking down at you with a half-smile. “If I could spend all day with you, I would, but there are people counting on me to finish up their orders.”

You nod, stepping up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He has to lean down to meet you, and your lips press against his bearded cheek. “Okay,” you agree. “I’ll see you tonight though, right?”

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I finish up here, I promise.” One last kiss to your forehead, and he lets you go. You mourn the loss of his touch immediately.

You say goodbye as you grab your bag and your coffee, and you can feel his eyes on you as you leave.

The walk back to your car helps to relax you because your heart is still racing from the vestiges of Jake's touch. You can feel the traces of his work-worn hands on your skin, and you ache for him.

The drive back to your house is short, but it gives you time to think about what you want to do when Jake arrives. You want to tidy up a bit; maybe sweep and put away the many, many books that are piled up. He wants to make dinner for you. He wants to have an intimate date with you, and you could swear on your life that you've never been so excited to see a man before.

Time drags on. You find yourself wandering around the house, straightening things up here and there, dusting windowsills, and making your bed. You wanted everything to be perfect by the time Jake got to your place.

You're curled up in your windowseat in the living room, paging through a book. Just like the weatherman had predicted, it was raining now. It was comforting to hear the sounds of raindrops against your window.

You're relaxed and happy when a knock comes at your door. Before you can get up to answer it, the door pops open, and Jake is slipping through it. In his large hands is a bouquet of wildflowers, and he looks so good. Raindrops drip from his hair, and his green eyes are warm and wide when he smiles at you. "Hey, sweet girl."

Something squeezes in your chest, and you push aside the book and stand, meeting his gaze with soft eyes and an even softer smile. "Hi." You answer shyly, and when he comes to you, you don't move.

Setting aside the flowers, he crowds in on you and leans in.

It seems as though he was as eager for this as you were. His lips were warm when they touched yours, and the feeling that comes with it—it feels as though you're coming back to startling life. You hadn't felt this good in so long, and it felt like you could really breathe again.

His teeth are sharp, and he nips at you. He swallows your gasp and takes the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth, and it's almost like he's trying to make you forget everything but him and his touch, and it's working. For a minute, you forget your own name. When he breaks away, it's only to trail kisses over the curve of your jaw, down the side of your neck, to the space between your neck and shoulder.

He bites you there—not too hard, but enough to leave a mark. And then his lips, tongue, and teeth are worrying at the bruise he's surely leaving, and you can't help the moan that escapes your lips. His answering sound is something akin to a low, gruff growl. The sound makes you shiver, and you lean into him and gasp his name in his ear.

The change is instantaneous—he turns his head, and his teeth are impossibly sharp, longer than any human's had any right to be. His green eyes are darker, so dark that it looks like his pupils have completely taken over. He growls again, and it's longer and deeper than the first one.

You're confused, and then you snap out of your lust-filled haze and scream.

His hands drop away from you immediately, and he moves so fast that he blurs. In the next moment, he's standing on the other side of the room with his hands up, palms toward you, his expression worried. "Baby, don't be scared. Please, don't be scared."

You're pressed against the wall across from him, staring at him with wide eyes. Your chest is moving quickly with rapid breaths; panic is gripping you. "Your teeth. Your eyes. How?" Something about this reminded you of your dream and of the story that he'd told you the night before. Some instinct deep inside you told you that you shouldn't be afraid of him, but self-preservation told you the opposite.

"I'll tell you everything." He takes a step forward but stops when he watches you skitter back away from him. "Please, just let me explain. Pep, I promise I won't hurt you. Don't run." 

You're shaking, but you stay still. "Okay. But you better start explaining, Jake. I'm freaking out here." You don't move closer to him, but you do move to sit back on the window seat. He doesn't move toward you; he just stays where he is.

There's a beat of silence, like he's trying to think of what to say, and then he begins.

"Growing up, my parents fought. A lot." He leans back against the wall behind him, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Most of the time, they were so busy tearing into one another that they never actually paid me much attention." The idea of young Jake being alone in the world made your heart ache, but you didn't say anything. You just listened.

"It got especially bad when I was a teenager. I didn't have anyone besides Bernie. But it's not the same, you know? No kid should have to wonder if his parents actually love them. I spent a lot of time locked in my room, just sleeping. Sleeping meant that I could have peace, that I wouldn't have to deal with them bitching and being passively aggressive toward one another."

His tongue swipes over his lower lip, and he continues. "One night, when I was seventeen, I got tired of it. They'd been arguing all day, well into the night, saying awful things to one another. So I packed a bag and snuck out of my bedroom window. I headed to the one place that seemed like a sanctuary to me. I went to the falls."

You sit up straighter, head cocked to the side, as you listen. "Did they notice you were gone?"

He laughs a humorless laugh. "No, they didn't. It was midnight when I left. I grabbed the two-man tent from the garage and headed up to the falls. It was the night of the full moon, and the whole time I was walking, I felt like I was being watched. I chalked it up to anxiety, you know? I never expected what happened."

"What happened?"

His expression twists into one of pain. "You remember the story from last night, don't you?"

You pause, your eyes meeting his from across the room. "Yeah, of course." You're not really sure where he's going with this, but at the same time, you're pretty sure you know exactly where this is headed.

"Pepper, I was attacked that night." He shudders, as if he's scared of his own memories. "I'd just gotten to the falls and started setting up my tent when he arrived."

You moved to the side, patting the space beside you. He didn't hesitate to cross the room, settling into the window seat gratefully. "What happened to you, Jake?"

"It was huge. It was black, and it had these horrifyingly blue eyes." You don't react to that, even though you know he's about to describe the creature from your nightmare. "It was too big to be any normal wolf. And it was angry, and I wasn't fast enough."

Your hand finds his, your little fingers intertwining with his. "It bit you?"

"It did." He relaxes at your touch, relief coloring his voice. "It tore my arm open. I guess the thing thought I wouldn't survive, because it just left me there. I'd have died that night if Bernie hadn't heard me. He was out camping too, and when he heard my screams, he came running. Scooped me right up and took me to the hospital."

You hadn't noticed any scars, and you can't help but wonder about that. "What happened next?"

"I turned. The wound closed up mere days later, and I turned into a wolf and tore my room apart. "You can feel his eyes on you. "Pepper?"

"I saw him in my dreams. The wolf. He had silver on his muzzle and a scar under his left eye." You tell him, recalling your dream. "I think I saw you too, but he attacked me before I could move."

His hand leaves yours, choosing instead to wrap his arm around your shoulders and drag you to him. "That won't happen. I know he's still out there; that's why I don't want you in the woods alone, especially not at night." There's pressure in your hair, and you know he's kissing you.

"The connection between us—does this have anything to do with the whole werewolf thing?" Any other time, you'd have ditched a guy telling you some crazy story like this. But your instincts told you he wasn't lying, and you'd seen and felt enough to believe him.

"You're my mate, Pep." He murmurs into your hair, "Every wolf has one, usually another wolf. Very rarely does a wolf mate with a human."

You hum at that, and you feel as though you're floating. Most likely in shock, you think. You lean into him, burrowing into the warmth and safety he offers. "I knew there was something between us; when I first saw your eyes, I knew. It was like a chain connecting me to you, like this was always meant to be."

"You know I'd want you no matter what, right?" His warm fingers find your chin, tilting your head up so he can see your eyes. "Fate or not, sweet girl, I know you're the one for me. Hell, I'm still surprised that you like me."

Those gorgeous green eyes take away the rest of the tension in your body. "What's not to like about a kind-hearted, handsome gentleman who works with his hands? This is going to be… strange, trying to figure out this dynamic, but I can't walk away from you, Jake."

His face relaxes, and you're surprised to see tears forming in his eyes. "Thank God," he mumbled, and you watch as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. "I thought I was about to lose you for good. I just… my life is crazy, and I never wanted to involve you, but I couldn't stay away. I had to know you."

Your heart constricts. "It's okay, Jake. I'm not going anywhere, okay? We're going to figure this out together."

He's still shaking when you kiss him, but you can feel his relief when his hands touch your face.

my taglist loves ❤️

@mamachasesmayhem, @sailor-aviator, @roger-that-cap, @yuckosworld, @sky2nd, @nouis-bum, @mycobrakai1972, @book-dragon-90

(some of y'all ain't getting tagged for some reason when i put up your username, so idk what do lol)

add yourself to the taglist here!

[geekfanficwriter]

Rock You Like a Hurricane- Rockstar!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Summary: You go to see your favourite band, Corroded Coffin, play live and the lead singer, Eddie, takes you backstage. Words: 1.9k Warning: SMUT (18+, minor’s DNI), basically PWP, oral (m! Recieving), p in v sex, fuckboi!Eddie, Eddie is kind of a dick.

Author’s Note: I’m back and hopefully I’ll be able to keep writing as I do really enjoy it! This is a reupload as I was shadowbanned when I initially posted this.

You were stood at the front row, rocking out to your favourite band, Corroded Coffin. You had a massive crush on the frontman, Eddie and tonight you were determined to get him to notice you. You were wearing a short leather mini skirt with fishnets and a pair of heeled boots, you just had a lacy bralette on your top half, having taken off your leather jacket due to the heat of the crowd. You felt hot in what you were wearing and hoped Eddie noticed you and felt you were as hot as you felt. He looked perfect up on the stage, his long hair bouncing as his head banged along to the song, his clothes clinging to him perfectly. The aura he gave off was one of complete confidence and it made you want him even more. You screamed along to the lyrics of the song, head banging along. You could hardly take your eyes off Eddie as he performed. He looked out at the crowd and then stared down at you, winking as he did. You feel yourself flush, he can’t have been looking at you there could he? 

Near the end of the concert and you were on a high. The show had been amazing, the energy of the band and the crowd was still radiating around you. You loved listening to Corroded Coffin’s records but seeing them live was a completely different experience. It was as if the music had become a part of you.

‘Excuse me. Can you come with me?’ A security guard came over and asked you during the encore, snapping you out of the daze you were in currently.

‘Why have I done something wrong?’ You panicked, wondering what you could’ve done to get yourself kicked out of the venue.

‘No, the band have asked if you are able to come through the back.’ Your eyes widened. The band? Had Eddie asked you to? You felt butterflies in your stomach as you thought that you might have the chance to sleep with the guy of your dreams.

‘Umm, yeah.’ You nodded. You pushed your way out of the crowd and the security guard met you at the edge of the crowd, leading you through to the backstage area and into a small dressing with a couch and a mirror lining one of the walls. There were cosmetics scattered all over the counter below the mirror, next to a bowl of condoms and a few bottles of alcohol sat on a small table, some full, some empty. 

You sat down on the couch, pulling a cigarette out of your pocket and lighting it. You sat smoking while shaking your leg nervously. Of course, you wanted to fuck Eddie but actually living out your fantasy made you feel terrified. You looked at the bottles on the table and considered taking a drink but decided against it, not wanting to steal someone else’s alcohol. You heard the muffled music that was playing through the walls stop and you knew that soon Eddie would be entering the room, if it even was Eddie. What if one of the others had invited you? It wasn’t that you didn’t find them attractive but you had had your eyes set on Eddie since you first saw him. You heard the door open and you looked over, seeing a sweat-covered Eddie walk in, practically bouncing. He turned around and locked the door, before turning around and smirking at you.

‘Just making sure we have some privacy.’ He walked over and sat down on the couch next to you, lighting his own cigarette. You both smoked in silence for a moment, before he reached over and poured you both a drink. He slid one of the glasses over to you and you thanked him, taking a big gulp. You felt the whiskey burnt your throat on the way down as you looked over at Eddie. Seeing him up close was completely different from the pictures or even watching him on stage. He was even more attractive, the layer of sweat glistening on his skin, his wild hair ruffled and messy.  

‘So, you enjoy the show?’ He asked, taking a drag of the cigarette, looking you up and down like a predator stalking his prey. You had to admit the way he looked at you turned you on, the feeling going straight to your core.

‘Yeah, it was great. I’ve wanted to see you guys live for a while.’ You said, meeting his gaze, not wanting him to know how nervous you really were.

‘Yeah, I noticed you dancing to the music, you looked so fucking hot, especially in that outfit.’ He reached his hand over playing with the hem of your skirt as his eyes focused on your tits. You didn’t respond instead you reached over and stubbed out the butt of your cigarette in the ashtray on the table in front of you. He also reached over, extinguishing his own cigarette. He took a final swig of his drink and then grabbed your hips, pulling you onto his lap and roughly smashing his lips to yours. You moaned slightly, not expecting him to grab you like that but the roughness of it turned you on. You kissed him back, your hands landing on his shoulders, supporting yourself. His hands were rough as they moved from your hips, grabbing your breasts through your shirt. He kneaded them, making you moan into his mouth as you started to grind down on him, feeling his dick against your core. He pulled away from you before pushing you onto the floor so you were kneeling in front of him. He reached down to undo his leather trousers and pulled his semi-hard cock out. You gulped slightly at his size. You heard the rumours about his dick but seeing it in person was a completely different story. He was bigger and thicker than anyone else you’d seen and just thinking about him inside you made the wetness between your thighs grow.

‘Suck.’ He told you grabbing the back of your head. You were shocked and considered getting up and smacking him but his assertiveness turned you on so you let him move your head towards his red, leaking tip. You opened your mouth and took him in, swirling your tongue around him. He let out a groan and pushed your head further down, taking in more of his cock. You gagged slightly but relaxed your throat, bobbing your head up and down. 

‘Fuck, just like that.’ Eddie encouraged you. His words encouraged you and you continued to suck, running your tongue along the base of his dick as your throat pulsed around his dick. He moaned loudly and you could tell he was close to cuming in your mouth. You sucked with more enthusiasm, wanting to feel his cum coat the inside of your throat but before he could cum he pulled you off him. You looked up at him with tears in his eyes as he murmured out a small ‘fuck’ before leaning down and kissing you hard.

‘Lie down on the couch.’ He demanded, pulling away, his voice huskier than before. You obliged as he got up and grabbed a condom from the bowl. He pulled his trousers even further down as he ripped open the packet with his teeth, rolling the condom down his hard cock. He came over, lying on top of you and pressing kisses to your neck, before sucking at the skin, leaving a mark. As you groaned, he moved one hand between your legs, ripping your fishnets at the crotch and pushing your panties to the side. He rubbed you slightly, making you moan and thrust your hips up from the couch, wanting to feel his thick fingers inside you. He rubbed your clit slowly, spreading your wetness around before he pulled his hand away. He positioned himself so his cock was between your legs, rubbing himself along your slit before pushing into you. You moaned loudly as you felt him filling you up.

‘Fuck, you take me so well, baby.’ He moaned out as he pushed all the way into you. He stayed like that for a moment, the feeling of his cock inside you completely filling you up, leaving you in pure bliss. He slowly started to move his hips, thrusting into you, as you let out small moans. As he increased the speed of his thrusts he reached up, pulling down your top and bra so your tits were exposed to him, tweaking your nipples slightly before leaning down and sucking them. He started to thrust into you hard, gripping your hips and picking them up off the couch. You could tell he would leave bruises on your hips from how hard he was gripping them but you didn’t care, you were in complete bliss. 

‘Your pussy feels so good around my cock.’ He moans out, moving his mouth up to the top of your breast and sucking the skin there. You throw your head back, feeling your pussy squeeze around his cock. One of his hands moved down to your clit, rubbing it in circles as he continued to thrust into you hard.

‘Goddamn, Eddie.’ You whine out, feeling your orgasm building. Your words encourage him as he rubs your clit harder.

‘Come on, baby, come around my cock.’ He encouraged you. You let out a final moan, your head snapping to the side as your orgasm came over you, the pleasure almost unbearable. Eddie continued snapping his hips into you hard as your pussy spasmed around him. Soon he let out a loud moan, his cum filling up the condom. He collapsed on top of you, both of you lying there for a moment before pulling out of you, he pulled off the condom and tucked himself back into his trousers as you lay on the sofa for a moment.

Once you felt like you’d recovered, you sat up and adjusted yourself so your clothes we back on you properly. You considered for a moment what to do. You weren’t stupid, you knew this was a one-time thing, that tomorrow Eddie would be in a different city, fucking a different girl and you didn’t want to seem like one of those groupies who acted like they expected a relationship. You made a decision and did the only thing you could think of, getting up and heading towards the door, confidently walking out of the small room. You didn’t bother looking behind you, wanting to seem nonchalant even though your heart was racing. You heard footsteps running behind you, and a hand grabbed your arm, turning you round to face a confused Eddie.

‘Where are you going?’ He asked, the tone of his voice showing his complete confusion.

‘Home. We both got what we wanted so no point in hanging around.’ You shrugged as if it was no big deal.

‘You’re just going to leave like that?’ He was shocked, no girl had ever walked out on him.

‘I’ve got to be up early in the morning.’ You shrugged.

‘Can I at least get your name and number?’ He asked. You tried to hide your shock. He wanted your number?

‘My name is Y/N L/N, but if you want my number you’ll have to look in the phone book.’ You say leaning up and giving him a kiss on the cheek before pulling your arm out of his grasp and walking away, leaving Eddie stood there dumbfounded.

[this-is-what-makes-us-fandoms]

Alliance || Total Drama ||

After finding out Duncan cheated on you with Gwen, Alejandro offers you an alliance as revenge against Duncan. 

Pairing: Duncan x Reader x Alejandro 

Warnings: Cheating (not reader), fem implied reader 

Words: As I’m finally coming out of my writer’s block, I present this! Maybe a little self-indulgent because I like Alejandro and Duncan. Oops—Might make a second part if people like it though.

| Not my GIFs |

Your cheering for Cody ceased when Tyler blurted out the secret he’s been holding back. It took a moment to register in your head, not wanting to believe it. Duncan didn’t actually kiss Gwen, right? Your boyfriend and best friend wouldn’t have done that to you. It had to have been a strategy the other team came up with to throw you off. Pitting you against each other so you’d be distracted during the challenges. 

“Wait, what?” you ask, the distraction immediately working. 

“He said that Duncan kissed G—,” Alejandro repeated. 

You were quick to cut him off before turning to face Gwen. “I heard what he said! Gwen? Is that true?” 

She looked at you with guilt written all over her face that only confirmed it. She took a step back, as if expecting you to fight her. And for a moment you thought about it, anger quick to take over. Except heartbreak was quicker to hit when you fully accepted the situation. Your boyfriend and best friend kissed behind your back. 

You turned to look at Duncan who gave you a just as equally guilty look. You had hoped that by looking at him he’d shut down Tyler’s rumor. But when he looked away, you knew it was all true. Your heart cracked in your chest, and everyone was silent, waiting to see what you’d do. Both Duncan and Gwen watched you closely and you could see the fear on their faces. You never got mad or raised your voice, you were one of the few reasonable contestants on this show. It’s what made you so likable and kind of scary with everyone wondering if you’d ever snap. Today might just be the day. 

You turned to look at Cody who hadn’t moved yet, he was watching to see what happens next. No doubt scared that you might do something to Gwen. You kind of felt bad for him, he was sort of betrayed too. It can’t be fun knowing the girl you’ve been pining over kissed someone else. 

“Cody, start flying if you want to win this. Otherwise, if we lose, we’ll be voting Gwen off tonight,” you tell him. 

Your voice is eerily calm but it’s enough to set Cody flapping his poorly made wings. Your words made him determined to win, more so with his team agreeing with you. The Amazons won the challenge in the end which meant Gwen was safe for now. It also meant that Duncan had a chance to be voted off and although you were heartbroken, you didn’t want to see him go yet. 

Once your team is back in first class, you're left alone with your thoughts. And everyone wants to know what you’ll do to Gwen. Courtney is immediately giving you ideas, completely on your side. She had a crush on Duncan, but when he admitted he felt the same for you, she became your number one supporter. Which meant she was the embodiment of your anger now. 

“Hey, can we talk?” Gwen asks, approaching you with a guilty look on her face. 

“She has nothing to say to you!” Courtney exclaimed, standing in front of you. 

Gwen took a step back but looked over at you, nonetheless, silently pleading with you. Courtney looked at you too, arms crossed over her chest with a scowl on her face. You knew you should talk to her about this, but you didn’t want to. Not right now. 

“You heard her, I don’t have anything to say,” you repeat. 

She sighs heavily and walks away with a defeated look on her face. As much as she liked the kiss with Duncan, nothing could get rid of the guilt she felt. She hadn’t meant to betray you like that, it just sort of happened. At least, that’s how she likes to remember it. 

“We can so vote her off in the next challenge,” Courtney says once she’s gone. 

You shake your head, a defeated and broken look on your face. “It won’t change anything.” 

“No, but it’ll make you feel better. And it gives me an excuse to boot her out,” Courtney offers, trying to cheer you up. 

She liked you, which is rare for her, especially given the circumstances. This wasn’t exactly the place to make friends, but she became friends with you. You were the only person she’d deemed worthy enough to make it to the final two. Which is why she was angry for you. And maybe something else that she’d never admit. 

You offer a smile, strained but good enough to seem cheery. “I’d still rather play fair. If we happen to lose a challenge then whatever happens, happens.” 

That was enough for her, deciding to make your team purposely lose. People would suspect it from you but not from her. She could even get Sierra and Heather in on it. 

You wanted to be alone after, sneaking away from first class. You found a corner hidden away from everyone and sank down. Being alone meant you finally felt everything that just happened. Your boyfriend really kissed your best friend. You felt your heart crack inside your chest and the dam finally burst. 

You sobbed into your hands, using them to muffle whatever noises left you. It almost worked, had a certain someone not been snooping around. Alejandro found you in your corner crying your heart out. It’s exactly as he had hoped for. To get you alone and charm his way into your trust. Except standing in front of you now, he wasn’t so sure of his plan. 

“May I offer some comfort?” he asks, sitting beside you. 

You stop crying immediately and wipe your tear stained cheeks. You clear your throat and look away. “No, I’m fine. Completely fine.” 

“Of course, I didn’t mean to insinuate you weren’t,” he says, giving you a charming and gentle smile. 

You furrow your brows and stare at him, seeing straight through him. You didn’t trust Alejandro, from the beginning of this season. You saw what he did to Bridgette and LeShawna. You weren’t going to let him get to you the same way. 

“What do you want?” you ask. 

“My, I didn’t expect such a beautiful lady to be so harsh,” he places a hand over his heart and feigns being hurt. 

It makes you roll your eyes and cross your arms. “Listen, you may have everyone fooled but not me. And I’m not in the mood right now.” 

“I know,” he smiles again, this time showing his true intentions behind it. You were too smart for your own good and there was no point pretending. “But I figured now was as good a time as any.” 

“For?” 

“I propose an alliance between the two of us.” 

“You want an alliance with me? Why?” your eyes narrow and you’re even more weary of him. 

He was quiet for a moment, unsure of how to answer. What excuse could he say without giving away how he really felt? He didn’t want to admit that he actually felt bad and angered. No one should have ever broken your heart, much less someone like Duncan. But saying that out loud would mean having to admit how he felt. He wouldn’t. In a competition like this, feelings were a weakness. 

“To get back at Duncan, of course,” he answers. “If he sees us working together, it’ll irk him. Seeing you move on will definitely be a punch to the gut.” 

“Oh right, it’ll definitely be a punch to the gut when he’s making out with Gwen,” your voice cracks at the end, vision blurring. 

Alejandro’s heart wrenches at your sadness and anger bubbles in his chest. Duncan didn’t deserve you, not for a second. He abandoned you at the beginning of the competition and you just accepted him like it was nothing when he came back. He hated it and he hated you a little bit for it. Except now was his chance to get you to see him and forget about Duncan. 

He wraps an arm around your shoulders without thinking about it. Your pulled closer to him, facing him only inches away. “No offense, but you’re not exactly my type.” 

He laughs and gives you an ever so charming smile. “Don’t worry, that’s not my intention,” he lies. 

“And what are your intentions?” 

“It’s like I said, an alliance with you. Not only will it be revenge on Duncan but I’ll take you to the final two with me.” 

“Oh really? Why would you take me to the final two? I would’ve imagined you’d want someone like Heather.” 

“Heather? While she is lovely, she’s not my type. And I happen to like someone else,” he says, looking at you earnestly. 

Your heart skips a beat and you blame it on your bundled feelings. You push him away, making space between the two of you. Honestly, his deal sounded nice even if he ended up double crossing you. At least you could distract yourself from what Duncan and Gwen did. 

“Okay, on one condition. If you stab me in the back at any point, you vote yourself off.” 

He doesn’t even hesitate as he answers, all that matters is that he’s got you on his side. “Deal.” 

[shadowdaddies]

Queer request 💗 Femmes have my heart - make it as smutty/fluffy as you want 💅🏻

Female Reader is a regular at Rita’s and has been wanting to approach Mor for a while. Reader finally gets the courage and Mor had been feeling the same.

Would not oppose to Feyre catching them or something (don’t wanna out our Queen)

YES MOR LFG ❤️ this is pretty much just fluff, I'm happy to write smut with Mor but this is what came out of the keyboard today. I'm just feeling soft and I want to cuddle with her tbh

It Happened One Night

Mor x f!Reader

Warnings: canon typical homophobia, otherwise this is so sweet

It was a Friday night at Rita’s, and you scanned the crowd for the one face you could count on to be here tonight. You were determined to finally approach Morrigan, the stunning blonde who lit up every room she entered. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw her standing at the bar, but as you approached you noticed her there with another female. Freezing in your tracks, you realized, that wasn’t just any female. Mor was there with your High Lady. 

You panicked as you rushed back to your table, planning to give up for the evening when you looked over your shoulder to see Feyre staring at you with a curious look. She whispered something to Mor, who turned around to look at you. They knew. You’d never felt so embarrassed, and planned to sneak out and leave for the night when you saw Mor moving towards you.

She arrived at your table, tossing her wavy blonde hair over her shoulder as she flashed you a smile that made your knees weak. Leaning over the table towards you, Mor gave you a perfect view of her ample cleavage pouring out of her tight red dress. You weren’t sure you were still breathing when she introduced herself, offering to buy you a drink. 

The two of you sat and talked for awhile. You were surprised by how much you had in common, which complicated things in your mind. Your crush had developed into real feelings in just one evening. Surely Mor wouldn’t be into you that way. She was one of the leaders of the Night Court, and the most beautiful fae you’d ever seen. Your heart stumbled in your chest as you decided you should leave before you get hurt.

When Mor returned to the bar to chat with Feyre, you left, throwing the doors open as you rushed into the cold winter air to trek home. You didn’t make it far before you felt a warm presence and the sweetest voice ask, “where are you going?” You turned to see Mor holding herself, trying to stay warm. She held out a mug of mulled wine towards you. “I was bringing this to you and saw that you’d left. I’m sorry if I got the wrong impression from you, I was foolish to think there was something more-“ You cut her off with a kiss, drawing back in shock when you realized what you’d done. Did you misinterpret what Mor was saying? Females have been hanged in Prythian for less. 

Before you could pull away, Mor tugged you close, weaving her hands through your hair as she kissed you deeply, pulling away only when you were both gasping for air. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you in Rita’s two years ago,” she whispered. Your eyes watered as you felt accepted for the first time in your long life. A burden lifted as you realized not only did someone else understand you for who you were, but she cared about you in that way. 

Mor grabbed your hand, stroking her thumb across the back of it as she leaned her forehead against yours. “I would love to continue to get to know you, if you would let me.” You kissed her softly in reply, nodding as you led her back to your apartment where you stayed up talking until you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

[angelasscribbles]

All That She Wants Chapter 3: Let's Talk

Series: All That She Wants

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for this chapter: Riley x Drake

Word Count: 1,264

Rating: M

Warnings for this chapter: tiny flakes of lemon

My other stuff: Master List.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, matting his hair and dripping onto the glistening skin of the woman writhing underneath him.

It had been a month since Drake had taken Riley back to his room and done all the things he’d fantasized about for so long. She’d come back the next day and the day after that.

And then she’d gone back to being friendly and polite, but nothing more.

Until tonight.

Though he had been determined to demand a conversation, all his resolve had crumbled the moment he’d opened his door to find her standing on the other side.

He had given in to her so easily, and now her legs were wrapped around his waist, her nails sunk into the tanned flesh of his shoulder blades, and his cock was buried deep inside her.

His name fell from her lips as she shuddered beneath him, and he slammed into her one last time, sending streams of milky hot liquid erupting into her.

He nuzzled into the side of her neck as he caught his breath, unwilling to move off her just yet.

He wasn’t ready for this to be over.

He breathed in the scent of lilac and lavender mingled with sweat and sex. His tongue and lips trailed down her supple skin, the taste salty and sweet.

She made approving noises at first, but then she pushed at him to get him to roll off her. “It’s hot and you’re sweaty.”

“So are you.” He countered, but he complied by dropping his body onto the mattress next to her.

“Yes, I know. I need to borrow your shower.”

The unspoken part hung in the air between them. She couldn’t go back to her husband reeking of sex.

They lay side by side for several long minutes; him searching her face for something he couldn’t quite find.

Part of him was afraid of scaring her away, but a bigger part needed to know what was going on. He couldn’t face the prospect of her leaving and him not knowing if or when he’d see her again. “Listen, Riley. We need to talk.”

“About?”

“What we’re doing here.”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Haha. Seriously. Listen. I know I have a reputation, Riley, but—”

She cut him off with an incredulous laugh. “You say that like it’s not a well-deserved reputation. You’ve been with a lot of women!”

He blew out a breath of frustration. “I have been with a lot of women, but—”

“It’s okay, Drake. You’re safe.” She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I know you don’t do relationships, and I’m not asking you for one. I get it.”

“No, you don’t!” He shot upright, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back. “I want a relationship, Riley!”

She gave him a puzzled look as she shifted her body into the same cross-legged sitting position he had settled into. “No, you don’t. In the entire time I’ve known you, you’ve never dated the same woman for more than a few weeks. And it’s not for lack of opportunity. They throw themselves at you. I’ve seen it.”

His eyes searched her face for any trace of jealousy. “Does that bother you?”

Her brows furrowed momentarily. “What?”

“The women, Riley!” He exploded. “Do you care, even a little, when you see me with someone else?”

He read nothing but confusion in her eyes as she shook her head, “Why would you think—”

“Because it fucking kills me every time I see you with Liam, that’s why! I thought it was just me, all one-sided, but then you… this happened…” he gestured between them.

“What are you saying, Drake?”

“I’m saying that I want a fucking relationship, Riley, but the woman I want it with married my best friend!”

“I…I didn’t know…” she looked stricken.

His voice went quiet as he asked, “Is that why you didn’t give me the courtesy of a heads-up before you got engaged?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh my god, Drake! I had no idea that you ever had feelings like that for anyone, much less for me!”

“Yeah, well, I am in ample possession of plenty of feelings… I just don’t see the point of sharing them with most people.”

“I don’t know what to say. I never knew you felt that way.”

“Why did you think that night happened?”

“Um…. Because you’re Drake Walker and you sleep with anyone and everyone?”

“I do not!”

She arched her eyebrows.

“Okay, I have been around the block a time or two, but do you really think I would have slept with someone Liam was interested in if I didn’t have genuine feelings for them?”

She twirled a loose strand of hair around a fingertip as she considered that. “I mean…we had been drinking, so I chalked it up to that.”

“Would it have made a difference if I’d told you how I felt?”

“Back then? No.” She had been too in love with Liam to give serious consideration to anyone else.

“And now?”

“Drake…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything. I assumed this was just fun and games for you. You know I love Liam. I married him!”

His eyes squeezed shut, pain swirling through him. His voice was clipped as he bit out, “Then why are you here?”

Her gaze drank him in as she considered whether or not to confide in him. One look into his misery-filled eyes convinced her that he was never going to use anything she told him against her.

She could trust him.

Her eyes were trained on her fingers as they twisted the edge of the sheet. Drawing a shaky breath, she admitted, “I can’t remember the last time Liam touched me.”

Drake went still as a soft, “Ah.” slipped from his lips.

She looked up, stunned at the tone she detected in his voice. “You’re not surprised.”

He sighed, unwilling to divulge Liam’s secrets no matter how in love he was with Riley. He hadn’t known they weren’t sleeping together, but in light of the information, he did know exactly why.

Seeing a possible way out without lying, he opted for a truth that wasn’t the whole truth. “I didn’t realize that you two weren’t…. I mean…” a crimson flush crawled up his neck and spread across his face as he stumbled over his words.

For the first time since they started this serious conversation, Riley laughed. It was a short, ironic laugh. She reached for his hand. “Geeze, Drake, after what we just did, are you really afraid to use words like sleeping together? Having sex?” She leaned closer with a hint of provocation lacing her voice. “Fucking?”

The flush went a shade deeper. “Riley!”

Her eyes traced across his face in pleased astonishment. Drake Walker, a known lothario, had somehow regressed into a skittish schoolboy because of her.

She couldn’t repress the smile or the soft laugh that burst out of her at the realization. Her fingers flew to her lips to try to cover it, but he noticed.

“Fuck!” He dropped his face into his hands to hide it from her. “I’m sorry for acting like an idiot.”

“No,” she reached out and gently pried his hands away from his face. “I like this new side of you.”

“Really?” He lifted his head and gazed at her with such tender hope and tortured longing that her heart stuttered in her chest, and butterflies exploded through her.

Well, shit.

That hadn’t been part of the plan.

[fairilia]

Chapter 3 | Unlikely Allies ⛓️🔥

Pairing: Mafia!San x fem!reader

Genre: Mafia AU, enemies to lovers, angst, romance

Warning: fem bodied reader, swearing, light smut in future chapters so mdni

Undercover Sparks.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦

The days following y/n’s successful mission are a blur of clandestine meetings and whispered plans. Choi San’s approval has earned her a place in his inner circle, but it also means that the stakes are higher than ever. Every move, every word, has to be calculated. Trust is a fragile commodity in San’s world, and y/n is determined to maintain it.

Tonight, San has requested a private meeting. Y/N finds herself standing outside an upscale bar that San uses as a front for his operations. The neon lights cast a vibrant glow on the wet pavement as y/n enters, her senses immediately assaulted by the scent of expensive liquor and the low hum of conversation.

A discreet nod from the bartender directs y/n to a private room at the back. Taking a deep breath, she pushes open the door to find San waiting. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow from the lamps creating an intimate atmosphere. San looks up, a slow smile spreading across his face as Y/N enters.

"Y/n" San greets, his voice smooth and inviting. "Please, have a seat."

Y/N complies, settling into the plush chair opposite San. The tension in the room is palpable, but it is layered with something else—an undercurrent of unspoken interest that neither can ignore.

San pours two glasses of whiskey, sliding one across the table to y/n. "You did well on the last mission. I’m impressed."

Y/N accepts the glass, her fingers brushing against San’s for a brief moment. "Thank you. I just did what needed to be done."

San leans back, studying y/n with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. "You’re different from the others who have worked for me. You’re confident, resourceful, and you don’t flinch in the face of danger."

Y/N takes a sip of the whiskey, the warmth spreading through her chest. "I’ve had a lot of practice. You don’t survive in this line of work without learning to adapt."

San’s gaze lingers on y/n, the intensity of his stare sending a shiver down her spine. "Adaptation is crucial, but there’s more to it than that. You have a spark, something that sets you apart. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s there."

Y/N feels a flush rise to her cheeks, a mixture of pride and something more. The way San looks at her, with such focused attention, is both thrilling and unsettling. "I’m just doing my job."

San’s smile widens, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Perhaps, but you do it exceptionally well. Tell me, what motivates you, y/n? What drives you to take such risks?"

Y/N hesitates, choosing her words carefully. "I believe in making a difference, in standing up to those who think they’re untouchable. It’s not just about the job; it’s about justice."

San’s expression softens, a flicker of something deeper passing through his eyes. "Justice can be a dangerous pursuit. It often blurs the lines between right and wrong."

Y/N meets his gaze, the suggestive tension between them becoming more pronounced. "And what about you, San? What drives you to be who you are?"

San’s smile fades, replaced by a contemplative look. "Power, control, and a desire to protect what’s mine. I’ve seen too many people get hurt by trusting the wrong individuals. In my world, you have to be strong, or you get destroyed."

The air between them crackles with intensity, the unspoken attraction growing stronger. Y/N can’t deny the magnetic pull she feels toward San, despite knowing the danger it poses. And San, for all his calculated demeanor, seems equally drawn to y/n.

San leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You intrigue me, y/n. You’re a puzzle I want to solve."

Y/N’s breath catches, the proximity of San’s presence sending her pulse racing. "And what happens when you solve the puzzle?”

San’s eyes darken, his gaze locked onto y/n’s. "I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?"

The room feels smaller, the air thicker, as the suggestive tension between them reaches a fever pitch. Y/N knows they are playing with fire, but the allure of San’s attention is impossible to resist. For a moment, the mission, the danger, and the lies all fade away, leaving only the electrifying connection between them.

San reaches out, his fingers lightly grazing y/n’s hand. "Be careful, y/n. In my world, desire can be as dangerous as any enemy."

Y/N’s heart pounds, the heat of San’s touch igniting a spark that she can’t ignore. "I’ll keep that in mind."

San’s eyes soften for a moment, and he reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a single white rose. He hands it to her, the petals glowing softly in the dim light. "A small token of my appreciation. White roses symbolize new beginnings and respect. I think it suits you."

Y/N takes the rose, feeling a strange mix of emotions. The gesture is unexpected, tender even, and it deepens the complex feelings she has for San. "Thank you, San. It’s beautiful."

As she leaves the bar that night, the boundaries between ally and adversary blur further. The game they are playing is perilous, but the stakes have never felt higher. And as y/n walks away, she can’t help but wonder how much longer she can resist the magnetic pull of Choi San.

To be continued….

I have something special for the reader! 😋

Please read this to know san’s perspective on y/n 🤍

San’s perspective

—

💌: hehe i thought it might be nice to know san’a perspective too! So i prepared them for you guys~

[graciegoeskrazy]

Instead of living in your head

ross Macdonald + daughter!r

warnings: angst, lil bit of yelling, crying, r has dyslexia, uncle matty lolz, r is 11, tall ross with lil y/n oh my hearttttttt, barely proof read, idk what else

a/n: told ya i’d get this done tnt! Thank you tot he anon who requested this i ran right to the computer after getting the request.

“Why must the parent-teacher conference be tonight? And why are you so stubborn about going to all of them? You already know I’m doing fine in school.” You groaned from the back seat.

Ross kept his eyes on the road, not giving into your antics, as cute as they might be. “Oh, how terrible. God forbid I care for my daughter and help her during her school years.”

You smiled. “You really don’t have to go, you see my grades, they’re good.” You told him you just wanted to spend a quiet night with your father, which wasn’t a lie technically, but there was a bigger part that you didn’t want to tell your father.

You knew you were struggling. You knew this ‘issue’ was getting worse. For years, you were able to get by in school. Your grade wasn’t the best compared to your other stellar grades, but you kept it up. Until now. It wasn’t that you weren’t trying. If anything you were trying your hardest. It’s just as time went on and you got older, the harder it got. But you were determined to continue on as if nothing was wrong.

“I’ll only be gone for a few hours. Plus you don’t have to go with me, you get to stay with your uncle.” You smiled only a little bit. You figured that there could be a chance the topic won’t come up.

In complete honesty, Ross forgot this parent teacher conference was happening, which led him to texting Matty last minute.

ross | What are you doing tonight?

matty | getting drunk and crunk and making love to my wife

ross | Do you think you could add watching y/n for a few hours somewhere in between all that?

matty | oh for sure

matty | of course she calls upon her favorite uncle in her time of need

ross | George was unavailable…

matty | ffs

ross | Be there at 5.

The front door opened with a whirl as soon as you stepped out of the car door. Matty stepped out with his arms opened wide. You ran to him. “Uncle Matty!”

He scooped you up and lifted you in his arms. “Hey, angel! There’s my favorite niece!”

You looked at him with a pointed look. “I’m your only niece.”

His smile never faltered, “Which means you’re my favorite!”

Ross walked up by this time. “Thanks for doing this last minute. I should only be a couple of hours.”

“No worries. Say bye to your father.” Matty said, then gentured to you.

“Bye Daddy.” You said hugging his legs.

He kissed your head. “Bye, my love. Be good for your uncle.”

“Always.” You said with a smirk. Making both men smile.

—-------

Ross truly thought he had nothing to worry about. You were a well rounded girl all things considered. And not a single teacher had a complaint in the past. Sure, he was completely biased, but you were a great student. Not every kid can be perfect, but he was convinced you were the closest any girl could get. But again - he’s biased.

Someone had called his name from a hallway that was filled to the brim with anxious parents. They led him into a classroom. He was met with a woman, y/n’s teacher he heard about, standing over a table organizing files and papers. She was younger than he expected, but seemed nicer than the other teachers you’ve had, gentler.

“Mr. Macdonald! Please, come have a seat.”

She introduced herself, told her about the class, what they learned, etc. It all seemed very normal yet, there was still something that didn’t make sense.

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the grades she brings home are phenomenal.” He nodded, a small smile gracing his face. “It’s no surprise to me or any other teachers here that you have a very bright child. She’s the first to raise her hand, the first to help others, she has every quality of a great leader.”

He kept nodding, obviously agreeing but too shy to verbally admit it. Too proud to admit you were smarter than he ever was at this age.

Suddenly she took a pause. She read over her notes. When she looked back up her eyes wandered, looking anywhere else but Ross. “I have noticed a few grades have been dropping in the reading area?”

His head tilted. “Really?”

“Well, her last few grades have I’ve noticed have been getting lower and lower. Now her overall grade, although lower than the rest, I’m confident we can bring it back up to where it was.” She shifted, and Ross took notice. “When preparing for this meeting I discussed this pattern with our principal, and she thinks it’s possible that y/n has Dyslexia or another learning disability.”

Ross didn’t expect it.

“We have many resources right here in our school. If you want to get her officially tested we can help with that. That’s what we’re here for.”

He finally regained his thoughts, “To be honest, I haven’t even noticed. In her quiz grades? The ones she brings home?”

She let out a soft, sad sigh. “Yes. At first we thought it was some form of test anxiety? But, it’s mainly happening in the reading subject.”

Ross felt a tightness in his chest, the weight of guilt settling in as the teacher's words lingered in the air. He replayed the moments when y/n had shrugged off his questions about school, offering vague reassurances that everything was fine. He had wanted to believe her, and in his busyness, he’d let himself. But now, hearing this, it became clear—she hadn’t been fine at all. She had been drowning in silence, hiding the truth about her grades, her struggles, and maybe even her feelings. He hadn’t seen the signs. The late nights, the way she’d avoid reading out loud, her tendency to brush off doing her homework with a fleeting excuse, but then catching her doing it in silence in the confines of her room. It all added up now, and the realization hit him hard.

He felt a deep pang of regret, mixed with anger—anger at himself for not seeing it sooner, anger at the school for not catching it earlier. Dyslexia. It was a word he wasn’t familiar with in a personal way, but he knew enough to understand that you must have been feeling overwhelmed. He couldn’t help but imagine the frustration she must’ve experienced in class, surrounded by kids who seemed to grasp what was on the page while she struggled to make sense of it. It pained him to think of y/n, his only child. someone so bright and full of potential, being weighed down by something out of her control. 

His mind raced with questions. How long had she been struggling like this? Why hadn’t she come to him? And how was he going to help her now? He realized this wasn’t just about grades; this was about understanding her on a deeper level, about being the kind of father who didn’t miss the subtle cries for help. He nodded to the teacher, forcing himself to stay composed, but inside, he felt a swirl of emotions. This was just one layer of what you had been dealing with on her own. 

—-------

You ran out the door to your dad’s car, but not before giving Matty a big hug and telling him bye.

You greeted your dad with a kiss to the cheek, like you always did, as you got in the car. “Matty got me Mcdonalds.” You said, tone cheeky.

“Nice. What’d you buy me?” He said, only for a second forgetting the news he just learned.

You gave him a look. “Funny.” He smiled and you continued. “How’d it go?”

He shrugged, “Went alright.”

You mentally sighed, maybe they didn’t talk about it after all?

When you got home you told your dad you were going to shower. He nodded and let you be. It was getting late for you after all. He thought to himself as he watched you walk up the stairs. How am I going to ask her? He hadn’t a clue how he was going to address this.

—-------

He heard the water running from the bathroom that was connected to your room. Once he slowly and quietly opened the door, he made his way to your desk.

Compared to other kids your age, your room was pretty tidy for an 11 year old - another point that Ross made when bragging to others about how great you were. The bottom side drawer of your desk was filled with old test papers and worksheets that you brought home. You had always kept them in there, but not before proudly showing them off to your dad first.

It wasn’t the most organized, but the marking in red at the top of certain pages led him to the ones he needed. The first couple of papers weren’t awful, but definitely concerning knowing your usual grades. The more pages he picked up the lower the number at the top of the page. They were littered with correction marks and notes in red ink. His heart sank knowing the truth. The truth was you lied to him. He tried to stop himself from getting too angry but admittedly it was hard. You told him everything, and he was proud of that fact. He knew that as you got older there might be a day where you held some secrets to yourself, but never did he think it would happen now or at this age.

To entranced in the papers and the grades staring back at him, he didn’t notice the water stop or you walking out of the bathroom, towel in hand drying your hair, dressed in your pj shorts and one of your dad’s old t-shirts that, although large on your small frame, always seemed to look just right. “What are you doing?” You said, your voice small, curious. That curiosity only grew when you noticed the pile of papers on the desk and the ones you never wanted your father to see lying in his hands. “Why are you going through my stuff?” You said, stepping forward, only a hint of anger seeping through.

He looked at the papers in his hand, then back at you. “What’s this?” He asked.

You crossed your arms. “Answer my question first.”

He just continued. “Why haven’t you shown me any of your English class grades?”

“So that’s not answering my question actually.”

God, she can be like her mother sometimes. “y/n Macdonald, answer me.” He said, sternly. A sight you can’t recall the last time you saw.

You immediately got shy, shrinking in on yourself once you heard your fathers tone. “...I have-”

“No, you have not.” He said. He took a few steps forward. “I’ve never seen these papers or grades in my life. Why didn’t you show me? You show me everything like this.”

Your stomach flips as he holds up the stack of wrinkled papers, his face twisted with a mix of confusion and hurt. The sight of them makes your heart race faster. You never meant for him to find those, but here they are, crumpled in his hands.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, eyes darting down to the floor as your hands start picking at the edge of your shirt. “I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Ross’s voice sharpens, and you hear the disbelief clear in his words. He kneels down so he’s closer to your height, his face stern but not unkind. “These grades, y/n…why would you keep these from me?” His voice softens toward the end, almost like he’s afraid of the answer.

You stay silent, fighting the tears that sting behind your eyes. You’re not sure how to explain it, how to make him understand why the sight of those red marks on the papers made your chest feel heavy, why handing them over felt like admitting you were broken in some way. “I didn’t want you to be mad,” you whisper, feeling small under the weight of it all.

He lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not mad. I just—” He stops himself, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “I’m not mad, Y/N. I’m just… sad that you felt like you couldn’t tell me. That you thought you had to hide this.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing you could disappear, wishing you could take it all back. “I didn’t want you to think I was dumb,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ross’s face softens at your words, and he gets down on one knee on the floor in front of you, his eyes searching yours. “You’re not dumb,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re so smart, Y/N. Way smarter than I was at your age. You just… you need a little extra help with this, that’s all. And that’s okay.”

He grabbed the sides of your arms, shifting the tone of the conversation as he spoke.

“Baby, do you know what Dyslexia is?”

You slowly lifted your head to meet his eyes. Softly shaking your head and letting out a meak “No.”

He swallowed and moved some of the pieces stuck to your face from crying away and behind your ear. “It’s a learning disorder that people have. All kinds of people, kids, adults. It could be anyone.”

He saw your eyes look up at him with curiosity. “Is it bad?”

“No, no. No, It’s not bad. Not at all.” He took your hands in his, “It just means some people need more help than others. Sometimes they need to be taught in a different way.” You looked down again, “Honey, some of your teachers at school think you have Dyslexia. They think that’s why you’re getting these grades.” You were trying so hard to keep the tears at bay. “Do things sometimes look different than what the other kids are saying they see? Or are you slow at reading? Are things like that getting harder?” He tried to search your eyes for something. A feeling or an answer, but all he was met with were tears.

His words make something crack inside you, and before you can stop it, the tears are spilling down your cheeks. You’re not sure if it’s from the relief or the guilt or the sheer exhaustion of trying to hide everything for so long, but you can’t hold it in anymore. Ross reaches out, pulling you into a hug, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it, into the warmth and safety of his arms.

“I’m sorry,” you manage through your sobs, clutching his shirt.

“I know, kiddo,” he murmurs into your hair, holding you tighter.  “Why didn’t you tell me this was happening?”

You continued to sob, “I didn’t want you to get mad at my grades. I didn’t understand what was happening. I just thought I was dumb and if I kept trying it would get better, but it didn’t.” You said, pulling away slightly.

“Y/n.” He said, semi-sternly. “You should never be afraid to tell me something. I could’ve helped you-”

“How?!” You said, anger seeping through, knowing that the truth was he wouldn’t know how to help you.

He sighed, “I-...i don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

“We would’ve figured it out, we would’ve gotten the help sooner.” He took your head in his hands, “I’m not angry about your grades, baby. I’m angry you lied.”

You shrugged through your sniffles. “Can you blame me?”

He gave you a weak somber smile, “No. I can’t.” You fell into his arms again, cries continuing to wet his shirt but settling down with the comfort of your Dad. “But you don’t ever have to be scared to tell me. No matter what. We’ll figure this out together, okay?” 

You nod against his chest, the weight of the secret you’ve been carrying finally starting to lift. 

You were still angry—not at your father, of course—but at the situation, at how unfair it all felt. You'd spent so long believing you were just slower than everyone else, that something about you was fundamentally wrong, and now, suddenly, you had a name for it. However it didn’t erase the years of frustration or the moments when you felt completely lost, watching your classmates breeze through what felt impossible to you. But at least it was something—a reason. You weren’t broken, and knowing that eased a small part of the heaviness in your chest. 

Still, the anger lingered, mixing with relief in a confusing knot of emotions. Maybe you could get the help you needed and not have to hide behind excuses or crumpled papers anymore. And maybe, for the first time in what felt like forever, you could let yourself believe that it wasn’t your fault. You weren’t alone in this, and though the road ahead looked uncertain, at least you weren’t walking it by yourself.

You glanced up at your dad, who was still holding you close, and a small, tired smile tugged at your lips. Whatever came next, he was ready to help you through it all, and you were ready to face it together.