#all staircase without any doors immediately before talking to him

[4giorno]

haters will say if wrio is blind how can he see the bright glowing colorful water in a dimly lit room

[mostly-imagines]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were. 

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you. 

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive. 

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later. 

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost. 

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go. 

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question. 

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you. 

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet. 

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong. 

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours. 

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms. 

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close. 

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want. 

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel. 

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart. 

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you. 

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you. 

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure. 

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger. 

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes. 

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies. 

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch. 

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.  

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.  

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way. 

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak. 

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear. 

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you. 

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to. 

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him. 

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise. 

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important. 

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra. 

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him. 

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked. 

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands. 

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Not right now,” he agrees. 

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides. 

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown. 

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range. 

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff. 

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight. 

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles. 

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing. 

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs. 

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning. 

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you. 

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together. 

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles. 

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage. 

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair. 

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess. 

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you. 

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you. 

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this? 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself. 

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply. 

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck. 

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him. 

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff. 

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again. 

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod. 

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.  

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze. 

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction. 

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him. 

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions. 

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core. 

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry. 

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious. 

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest. 

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him. 

Thankfully, he delivers. 

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl. 

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you. 

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds. 

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second. 

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh. 

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer. 

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit. 

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light. 

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous. 

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning. 

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan. 

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it. 

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection. 

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core. 

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first. 

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

-

part three

[mrs-kodzuken]

listening to you ⟢ tooru o.

synopsis: being the quiet girl had its perks until you were discovered by the only and only Tooru Oikawa. He's made his advances towards you before, to where you shook him off, but this time you both get close. That's when he discovers your huge, loud, adoring family—a complete opposite from you.

other: high school!oikawa x quiet!fem!reader, reader is Matsukawa's little cousin, family gathering, oikawa falls head over heels, fluff, high school love

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in, mentally groaning, preparing yourself because you somehow got the attention of Oikawa yet again. No matter how much effort you tried to blend in, no make up, no differing hairstyles from the other girls, nothing to make you stand out, he always found you.

Before he could reach you, you grabbed your lunch and quickly walked towards the door that led to the staircase of the rooftop.

Students weren’t allowed up there but you were always swift about it, constantly eating lunch up there without anyone knowing. That was the one place you were safe from Oikawa at.

Once you finally settled down on the ground, you were able to enjoy your lunch that your mother always packs you, with a small note of encouragement too. You sighed as the wind blew, wishing Oikawa would just leave you alone.

You had helped him with a homework question once because you had crammed the math equations in your head all summer before school started so you would never fall behind. It was an anxiety thing for you, all your parents could do was encourage you to try your best and say that it would all work out in the end.

However, when you magically solved ‘the hardest question ever’ Oikawa claimed, he tried attaching himself to you since.

Every so often Oikawa would try to ask you out, make little flirty comments, or something of the sort since you apparently ‘saved his life’ with the homework question before it was due. However, it got exhausting trying to avoid this newfound friend, if he’s even that.

You had rejected Oikawa because you knew him, you knew that he was so consumed with volleyball, hence the reason his last girlfriend broke up with him.

Dating Oikawa would not be serious and that went against everything you stood for. You never told him that, you hardly told him anything to be honest. However, that didn’t stop him from constantly pestering you to know more about you.

You groaned when the burning sun got too much for you and made you pack up the empty lunch box and head inside of the building.

You wished you could leave Oikawa out of your head but you simply couldn’t, he never tired—to him, this was like volleyball, you intrigued him and now he won’t stop.

“You know, no students are supposed to be up there, right? I never pegged you to be a bad kid, Y/n-chan.” You didn’t even have to turn around to know who was talking to you. Leave it to Oikawa to know where you were at all of lunch.

And the fact that absolutely no one calls you Y/n-chan either was a dead giveaway—and the fact that he immediately put you on a first name basis.

“Hi, Oikawa.” You curtly said, trying to get around him and head to class, not really wanting to deal with his antics right after lunch.

“Awe, Y/n-chan, spare me a couple more minutes please?” He whined, still following you to your class, which was separate from his too.

“Okay, fine. What?” You had your limits, and Oikawa always tried to push them, it’s been this way for almost an entire month.

“Come with me after school? I have a surprise for you,” He smirked, wanting you to meet his team. You don’t have any extracurricular activities either so it would be perfect.

The bell was about to ring, and for you it made you anxious, you just wanted to be in class and not be late.

“Okay, okay fine. I have to go.” You left him standing in the hallway without any regard to how he was going to be late for class as you rushed into your own.

Oikawa on the other hand didn’t if he was late, you agreed to something he asked for the first time ever. He breesly walked to class, not caring about being late nor the slap he got from Iwaizumi either.

Oikawa knew he wanted to prove to you that he actually likes you, he can always see the skepticism on your face when he asks you out.

Granted, he’s gotten discouraged sometimes and wanted to leave you alone but being your friend was better than nothing to him. And, he has priorities too, he’s not just some aloof guy who had tunnel vision for just volleyball—although he does love it.

After classes were over, Oikawa tried taking your hand in his—to which you in the blink of an eye yanked it away from him—he led you to the gym where he practices. You could hear the volleyballs, the squeaking of shoes, and minimal talking and laughing in the background.

Anxiety spiked in your stomach, “I’m not going in there, you realize that right?” You backed away, a hint of disdain in your voice. After the amount of time he’s been attached to you and didn’t realize that you wouldn’t do that was kind of weird to you.

“What? You don’t want to meet my team?” Oikawa asked, with puppy dog eyes, pleading with his hands together.

“No, Oikawa, I’m not meeting your team—I just, I don’t want to.” You turned away, adjusting your bag and preparing to walk home, not explaining more to him about the why.

You never really gave Oikawa a goodbye when you leave, you realize.

“Wait, Y/n, I won’t make you meet them. Do you have to go, though?” He genuinely asked, devising to ask you to come see something else, wanting more time with you.

“I…No, I don’t have to go, just don’t make me go in there.” You confessed, letting him have more of your time that you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t give him.

“Thank you, follow me, I promise it’s nothing bad.” He half smiled, something genuine instead of the smirks he constantly flashes you.

You reluctantly followed him as he led you around the gym, to the backside of it. It was a surprise when you saw a lot of cherry blossom trees, their petals were everywhere, it looked magical.

“This is where I come to hideout sometimes, I think it’s very calming.” You looked at him in awe, setting your bag to the side once you sat down on the grass. Oikawa knew it was different being with you, you could let Oikawa talk for a while and he would know you were listening because that’s just who you were.

You were different too, you didn’t fawn over him or try to constantly get his attention or make yourself an obstacle in his way when he was in a hurry. Sometimes it was hard to really be himself and keep a facade when he just wanted to be by himself.

He doesn’t get that feeling with you though, that’s why he’s been trying so hard to woo you. He stared at you while you looked around at the trees, probably loving the sight when the wind blew.

It would gently wake up the petals and twirl them around in the air for a small dance before moving them to new spots.

When he settled next to you, being sure not to repeat his mistake from earlier and touch you without your consent, he set his head back onto the tree bark. Being able to talk free of anyone judging him is what he also loved about being with you.

“Yeah, and I take my nephew—his name is Takero—to volleyball classes on Monday’s because that’s when the team takes a break from practice.” Oikawa prattled on, you played with the soft, pink petals that littered the ground underneath the cherry blossom tree.

You never realized that Oikawa actually liked a place like this either. Maybe you put a small stereotype on him when you realized that he was pining for you.

He continued about his parents after finishing telling you about some of his childhood experiences with his older sister, she sounded like a delight.

He left you there to listen to him, which wasn’t a pain as you actually got to hear who the real Oikawa was and that made you smile during some of the stories he told you. Once he was finished opening up, he peered his gaze towards you.

He wanted to know you too, you realized that he created this conversation discussion to also hear about you. That didn’t happen, you both sat in silence that was only awkward on your end.

He watched your face, tracing every bit of it with his eyes, stamping it to his memory.

Oikawa really fancied being here with you, watching your movements of how you apply chapstick, play with the ends of your hair, and other small tid-bits. However, after a few minutes trail by, he realized that neither one of you were speaking and he was just staring at you.

You could see Oikawa getting curious about your reluctance to talk about your family, you genuinely didn’t know where to even start either. You chewed on your lip, which didn’t go unnoticed by him either.

Your family was incredible and they have respected you since the beginning so you never had a reason to be ashamed of them.

Moreso, you were ashamed of the fact that you weren’t like them. You would give anything to not be the oddball of the family, even though they wouldn’t have it any other way.

However, you weren’t about to open up about your deepest insecurities to a third year who didn’t know anything about you. In his mind though, he was curious about your home situation, the thoughts were endless for him.

What if you didn’t get along with your family and he was pushing boundaries he didn’t know were there? Or perhaps you had a single parent, or grandparent, or even an aunt or uncle.

He knew that no matter what it was, he wanted to be respectful to you and your kin. After realizing you preferred the traditional ways of dating, he was piecing together the perfect opportunity to ask your family—or guardian—to date you.

“I want to ask you out the right way Y/n.” Oikawa started, not looking at you anymore but the side of the gym for the fact that he could hear his teammates leaving the gym and realized he skipped an entire practice to be here with you.

“Can I meet your family and ask for permission?” He finished, a caring smile he gave you, only you in that moment. Your heart skipped a beat too, you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to refrain from the blush you could feel coat your cheeks.

You never, ever thought that the Oikawa Tooru would ask you to meet your family in order to ask you out. You figured he would have just gotten bored at that point. You nod, actually allowing it this time. How he figured it out? You have no clue.

You both got up from underneath the cherry blossom tree, you collected some so you could press them later too.

Oikawa made a little stop at the corner store so he could buy flowers for when he asked, it made him nervous when he saw you resisting a giggle as you waited on him.

Seeing you happy like that was something Oikawa never wanted to share with anyone else. He walked a step behind you on the sidewalk to your house because he wanted you to lead the way, obviously not knowing where you lived.

You swiftly pulled out a card from your bag as you both arrived at a pristine white, large gate. You swiped the card through which allowed you to enter, hearing the small creaks from the gate with Oikawa following shortly behind, he was in awe that you lived within an actual gated community.

However, as he followed you, he stared at the sight of quite a large family outside, they were enjoying the weather.

He could tell by the sports that were being played, the smoke from the grill, and small children drawing on the sidewalk.

He smiled at the sight, enjoying the happiness that he got from seeing a family like that. It made him wonder—and get nervous again—about the fact that he was going to actually meet yours within a few short minutes.

Although, imagine Oikawa’s surprise when you turn down that driveway and wave to your little cousins who were chalking very colorful pictures on the sidewalk.

“Wait, Y/n, this is your family?” Oikawa asked, sounding taken aback that this was your family.

You peered behind you as you grabbed the door knob to open the front door, “Yes…?”

His brown eyes stared back in awe, and you half smiled, entering the house. After taking off your shoes, you did your afternoon routine in which he just stood there, waiting for you.

He soaked in all of the pictures on the walls, counters, bookshelves, everything. Seeing pictures of you when you were a kid was something he wanted to so badly coo over but he had to do something before he could.

“Everyone’s outside,” You motioned towards the back, grabbing Oikawas’ attention from the pictures he couldn’t help but to stare at.

“Oh, okay. Let’s go then,” He gathered himself and accidentally tightened his hand on the flowers a bit too tight as he walked with you. When you both stepped outside onto the patio, he got a full view of your family, they were so picture perfect, like that kind family that’s in the movies.

However, he was extra shocked, his jaw slacking basically on the ground when he saw Mattsun there.

“Y/n, is Mattsun a part of your family?” He questioned, pointing at his teammate, knowing it was bad manners but did it anyway. That gathered Mattsukawa’s attention and came closer to talk to his team captain.

“Hey Kawa, didn’t know I’d see you here. You missed practice, Iwaizumi was not happy.” Mattsun smirked, giving you a small side hug, something that you both always gave each other at these family reunions.

“Yeah, yeah,” Oikawa rolled his eyes, “I was busy, why didn’t you say anything about Y/n being a part of your family? You’ve listened to me talk about her for a while!” Oikawa groaned, embarrassed that he was actually whining to his friend who was kin to the girl he likes.

Mattsun chuckled, “I didn’t think it was important, and she would’ve told you if she wanted you to know, isn’t that right?” He looked down at you, making you shimmy out of the side hug.

“Go play ball, I got to find my dad,” You motioned for Mattsun to leave and urged Oikawa to come with you, you swallowed harshly, the excitement that Oikawa was doing this for you never going away.

“There’s my little girl!” Your dad exclaims as you walked towards him, he had on an apron with ‘best cook’ written on it, it was his favorite to use at these reunions. That was mostly to get at his brother—your uncle, Mattsun’s dad.

“Hi dad, I brought someone who wants to meet you.” You smiled, making way for Oikawa. You hoped he was being serious when he said he would do this the traditional way.

“Hi sir, I’m here because I like your daughter and wanted to know if I had your permission to take her on a date?” He swiftly said, handing your father the flowers, glad that the only sign of nervousness was his sweaty palms that he wiped on his school uniform pants.

“Ahh, my wife will love these, thank you. You’re the one who's been bugging my little girl haven't you? Go ahead, it’s okay.” Your dad chuckled, ruffling your hair, he loved to see that his kid—not accepting that you’re almost an adult within a few years—was happy.

“Thank you, sir.” Oikawa smiled brightly, a twinkle in his eyes, and that’s when you saw the little rosiness on his cheeks, he fancied you so much, you realized.

Oikawa then spent the next fifteen minutes speaking with your family, getting to know them, especially your mom—not Mattsun though.

After that, he had asked your mom where you went, “Oh, Y/n’s probably in her room, go see if she’s okay for me.” Your mom winked at him as he waved and went inside.

Once Oikawa finally figured out which room was yours, he gently knocked and went in when a small ‘come in’ was heard.

“Hi Y/n,” He smiled softly, enjoying to see this side of you, hoping that since he’s done this the traditional way, you’d finally take him more seriously. He watched your form put your book down, your window was open, you liked listening to your family, but enjoyed also being by yourself.

To his surprise, you gave him a wide smile, “Hi Tooru,” You said, effectively making his heart skip a beat in response.

Oikawa knew that you were worth the wait to figure out.

a/n: soft oikawa pining for reader jus does smth for me, i hope you like it!! <33 & requests are open!

[fallingdownhell]

Hello!! If your requests are open do you have any plans on writing something similar to genshin men forgetting your birthday but with different characters? :D maybe diluc and/or kaeya for example

Sure can do! Angst will always be my favourite!

Characters Included: Diluc; Kaeya

Content: gender neutral reader; hurt/no comfort; angst; the boys don't realize their mistakes; cursing; not proofread yet

Word count: 1,3k words

Enjoy the heartbreak<3

Diluc

Being with Diluc was exhausting sometimes. And sometimes, it felt like you were in no relationship to begin with. You knew that protecting the city and it's people was important to Diluc, but.. sometimes you just wished to be his number one...

Sometimes, you really wonder how you managed to stay in this relationship for three long years without any issue.. then again, its not like it has always been this way.

The first two years were amazing. Diluc was an attentive lover, always concerned about your well being, that you felt comfortable with him. Only recently did that seem to change. He had less and less time for you, always coming back home in the dead of night and left before you woke up in the morning.

You tried to deal with it somehow, since talking to him about it was apparently no option, seeing as he always pushed you away when you tried approaching the topic with him.

But today... today might just be your last straw..

In all the three years with him, Diluc has always made it a point to make your birthday a most special occaison. Telling you weeks in advance to clear this day up since he wanted to spend it with you. He always planned something different, but you loved it each time.

This year, however, nothing came from him. No notice to keep your calender clean, nothing.

You thought, that when you spotted him in bed next to you this morning, maybe you just thought wrong and he wanted to surprise you.

But when he woke up, no words of gartulations left his mouth. Instead, he simply got up, got dressed and went out again, but not before telling you that he would be back for dinner tonight.. which was a rare occaison as well.

You tried so hard to give him the benefit of the doubt.. going about your day at the mansion, going on a walk in the nice, afternoon soon as people from the Dawn Winery congratulated you for your special day. You thanked them, while trying to keep your composure.

Nothing meant anything to you when the person closest to you didn't remember it themselves...

Night came, and with it came dinner time. Adelinde took the time out of her day to prepare a full on five course meal, all consisting of your favourite dishes. You told her multiple times that this wasn't necessary at all, but she wouldn't have it. So, as fate would have it, you were now enjoying the food... however, alone.

Diluc has yet to show up, but not wanting to let the food get cold, you decided to just start eating.

Later on, you realized that the dissapointment washing over you didn't even face you anymore, having expected this outcome already.

So, you ate quietly, until the door to the mansion opened, revealing the owner of Dawn Winery himself.

"Diluc!", you exlaimed, standing up from your seat, a smile on your lips. He came after all...

But he immediately put a damper on your mood as he raised his hand, a deep sigh escaping him as he threw his coat off.

"Please, not now, (name). I'm exhausted."

With that, he went directly for the staircase, not even acknowloding anything else around him.

"But.. don't you wanna join in for dinner? There's a lot left and-!"

"I said, not now!", he suddenly yelled at you.

You were shocked, looking at him like a deer caught in headlight. Regret briefly washed over him for raising his voice at you, but he chose not to say anything. Instead, he turned around again and made his way up the stairs where he immediately went into his office, looking himself away from you again.

You watched after him, slumping back into your chair as he was out of sight. You tried so desperately to hold back your tears but they came crashing out of you as soon as you saw Adelinde leave the kitchen, a big birthday cake in her hands.

She gave you a weak, sympathetic smile as she sat down next to you on a chair, patting your back gently as you let the dissapointment sink in..

Kaeya

You were maneuvering your way through the many people in your living room, trying to get to your balcony, hoping to get some fresh air and clear your thoughts.

Lisa planned this whole thing perfectly. Keeping you busy the entire day with her while everyone else was preparing your surprise birthday party in your home.

You had not expected anything like that, especially not after the dissapointment you recieved this morning already. Kaeya has never once failed to remember any special day during your relationship. Be it a birthday, an anniversary or anything like that. You never had to remind him, he just always knew and was prepared.

So, naturally, you didn't feel the need to remind him that your birthday was coming up, thinking that he was already aware of that fact.

However, when you woke up this morning, everything was far too normal. He was still sleeping beside you, cuddling with you for a few more minutes, before you both got up and he left for work.

No congratulations, no gift, no nothing. He didn't say anything at all...

You were feeling kinda down after that, slumping around in your home.. That's when Lisa came over and practically forced you out the house. She congratulated you, then took you shopping, to lunch and so on.

She kept you busy the entire day and the incident with you boyfriend went farther and farther to the back of your mind.

That was, until you returned back to your house. Suddenly, the lights switched on before you could even do anything. People jumping out from all around, yelling "Surprise!", at you, while laughing at your flabbergasted reaction.

A surprise party.. now Lisa's behaviour made sense to you. Your mood lightened up, thinking that it must have been Kaeya's doing and planning.

You thanked everyone that came up to congratulate you, making small talk with them while trying to scan the people for your boyfriend. When you didn't see him anywhere, you went to ask Lisa about him, but she said she had no idea where he was..

This dampened your mood again, so you decided to get some fresh air, maybe that would help cool you off again.

As you were outside on the balcony, you saw Kaeya approaching your shared home. Excited, you went inside again to meet him at the front door. But when you opened it, you were met with a seemingly bad mood from your boyfriend.

Before you could ask him what was going on, he already started complaining. "Seriously? Are you for real?"

"What?", you just said, confused on what he meant. But that just seemed to frustrate Kaeya even more.

"So, everyone leaves work, leaving all of it for me to deal with, just because you decided to throw a fucking party? I've had a fucking exhausting day, (name). How do you expect me to relax with this many people here, huh?"

"I-It wasn't my-!"

"Oh, don't give me that crap! Who else if not you would plan such a thing, and in our house as well? You know what, I'm gonna leave. I'll sleep somewhere else for the night!"

And before you could say anything else, he had already turned on his heels and was walking away. You had no idea what this was about and what caused his outburst..

You were so confused about what was going on, but you felt the tears running down your face as you fell on your knees right there at the open front door while the party was still going behind you...

[imsuperhungry]

4 𝙖𝙢

entry 000

(yandere until dawn)

WARNINGS: Bullying, Mild Cussing, Death

WORD COUNT: 990

(9:37 ᴘᴍ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʙɪɴ)

The cabin was warm, the fire gently melting away the cold, raw chill and replacing it with a sense of coziness and comfort.

The storm was intense, making it nearly impossible to see even a little ahead, with snow falling heavily all around.

Josh was slumped at the countertop, his head resting on his folded arms as he slept, an empty beer bottle loosely held in his limp hand. I sat beside him, scrolling through my phone, occasionally glancing over to make sure he was still breathing.

I was giggling at his snoring, while Mike, Jess, Emily, and the others stood around me in a circle. Jess had her head resting on my back, her arms wrapped around my belly.

They were talking about the prank they were about to pull, planning to fool Hannah into believing that Mike liked her, fully aware of her big crush on him.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you did this!" Emily whispered excitedly to Jess. She had been the most eager for this moment, especially since she was Mike's girlfriend and had a reputation for being petty.

"Don't you guys think this is a bit cruel?" Sam asked, clearly not too keen on the idea. It made sense, given that she and Hannah had been friends for a while.

"Oh come on, she deserves it." Jess said from behind me, I could basically hear her rolling her eyes.

"Its not her fault he has a huge crush on Mike-" Sam said trying to defend Hannah

"Hannah's been making moves on him, I'm just looking out for my girl Em." Jess said before directing her attention towards me. "Besides, (y/n) says it'll be okay, right?" She asks, causing me to hesitate.

Sure, it might be somewhat funny, but I've known Hannah, Beth, and Josh for five years now, and I don’t want to hurt any of them.

Still, my opinion didn’t seem to matter, as Jess pulled me up and walked me out of the kitchen and into the living room without waiting for my response.

Emily then starts skipping after us, following us into the room while still talking to Sam. "Just because he's class Prez doesn't mean he belongs to everyone... Mike is my man," she said with a grin.

Mike, trailing behind us, chimed in, "Hey, Em. I'm not anybody's man..." This made Emily giggle as she sang back, "Whatever you say, Darling~!"

We all ascended the creaky staircase and entered the spare bedroom, the scene of everything that was about to happen. Some of us crouched behind the door, while others squeezed into closets. Jess and Emily pulled me under the bed with them, both of them giggling. I could only sit there, hoping this wouldn’t hurt Hannah as much as I was imagining.

“Oh… she’s here! Shh!” Emily whispered as we heard footsteps approaching the room. Then everything went silent when they stopped.

Eventually, the door swung open, and we heard her voice. "Mike?" she said, peeking into the room and scanning the surroundings before spotting the person she was looking for. "It's Hannah," she added as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

"Hey, Hannah." he replied, staring intensely at her.

"I got your note," she said, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, clearly uneasy about being in the room with him. She had always been a bit of a nervous girl.

"I'm glad you could make it." Mike said, grinning, although we all knew he wasn't smiling in Hannah's favor.

It was quiet for a moment; all I could hear was Emily and Jess's breathing on either side of me. Then Mike spoke up again, "Maybe we should start with a little, you know, making out, and see where it goes from there."

Hannah nodded, then began to untie her shirt, prompting Mike to exclaim, "Ohhhh hell yeah."

“Oh my God! She’s taking her shirt off!” Jess squealed, shaking me by the shoulders.

Hannah immediately started covering herself up and looked around, confused. "What!? Oh my God!". She heard Jess's voice.

Everybody then started coming out of there hiding spots, Hannah calls out again. "Matt? What are you doing here!?"

Matt was recording on his phone and everybody was staring at her. I remained under the bed, feeling too bad for Hannah to look at her.

Mike then attempted to apologize to Hannah and explain everything, but Sam opened the door and walked over to Hannah, trying to comfort her. "Hannah, hey, honey... Don’t... It’s just a..." But Hannah ignored her and stormed out of the room.

Sam then turns her attention to everybody else in the room. "You guys are jerks. You know that?" she says, "You even dragged (y/n) into this, knowing she and Hannah were close!" then she swings the door open and calls out Hannah's name, chasing after her.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the room, but eventually, everyone bolted out to chase after Sam and Hannah, leaving me still under the bed.

I tried to steady my breathing, but I was too worried about Hannah to think clearly. Gathering my composure, I crawled out from under the bed and followed the voices of the others, finding them all outside the cabin.

"What happened?" I asked Emily, noticing a figure running away from the cabin, unsure of who it was.

She informed me that Hannah had run into the woods, and then Beth followed her, trying to find her sister. I looked in the direction they had gone, but the thick snow made it impossible to see anything but trees and white.

I kept staring, hoping and praying that Hannah would be okay, even though I knew deep down that it was unlikely.

Mike then nudges my shoulder and asks me "Should we go after her?" 

But Sam replies for me "Y'know I kinda think you're the LAST person she wants to see right now, Mike.", she's obviously annoyed.

They continued to chat among themselves, but I turned away from them and focused on Josh's figure, still sleeping on the countertop.

[seresinhangmanjake]

For the Drabble!

How would Jake react if eve starting only asking for you and would cry if Jake picked her up?

Dad!Jake Seresin x female reader

words: 1250 (this kind of took on a life of its own and expanded way past the ask, but this is where my head went)

Oh Baby series

So I picture this under a very specific circumstance, that being like, Eve is three now and has a decent understanding of stuff. 

She's in preschool and knows all about her parents' jobs and brags to her friends about how her daddy is the coolest because he's a pilot and she's going to be a pilot one day too. Basically believing her dad is the bravest guy and has the most important job in the whole wide world, until Jake and Mama sit her down one day and explain to her that Daddy is going to be gone for a bit, and he'll be missing some important event or something to Eve. Like maybe she believes in half-birthdays and convinced her parents to have a little three-person celebration for being three and a half. But now Jake won't be able to be there and so Eve is devastated and sobs all night, but that sobbing turns into anger because she just can't believe Daddy would leave her and Mama for so long (even though he has no choice).

Jake has a couple days before he has to go and Eve has pretty much been giving him the silent treatment, thinking he certainly wouldn't leave her while she's upset. So she's grumpy and stubborn all the time, especially when Jake tries to pick her up from school or tuck her in at night, and no way will she let him hold her without throwing a fit and asking for Mama instead. 

Then it's like the night before he has to go. Jake's miserable because he thinks his daughter hates him though you tell him that's not true. And he's uncharacteristically terrified that something might happen to him, that he won't ever see Eve with a smile on her face the way he is so used to seeing his baby girl. 

You tell him to go try to talk to Eve one more time, so he goes upstairs to her playroom where she's playing with her toy planes, and he crouches down beside her and says "Baby girl, I'm so sorry." He tries to touch her shoulder but she scoots away and turns her back to him and Jake just sighs, drops his head, and whispers "I love you, baby girl. Always." Then kisses the top of the blond curls, the same honey shade has his own, and leaves to join you again. 

Immediately by the look on his face, you know your little girl did not cut her father any slack. And you're so heartbroken for the both of them (and yourself honestly, because Jake leaving destroys you each time). So you walk him to the door and he kisses you for what feels like forever. And you don't want to let him go but you know you don't have a choice, so you unwrap yourself from around him and let him grab his bag before he starts over to his truck. 

But then you hear little, rapid footsteps, and you turn to see Eve carefully holding the railing of the staircase, moving down as quickly as she can while still keeping in mind Jake's stair safety rules. Then, like a little speed demon, she sprints past you out the door, screams "Daddy!" in such a desperate wail, and runs right into his legs, clinging to him like a koala to a tree. 

Then you start sobbing because she's already sobbing and Jake's got tears on his cheeks as he drops his bag and lifts his daughter into his arms, holding her as tightly as she is him. And he's kissing her cheek and whispering in her ear, likely promises that he'll come back, because there's no way he won't do everything he can to return to his family. 

When he looks at you, you completely lose it, because your husband is leaving, and you and Eve are really going to have to be each other's support to get through the coming months. So you walk over to them and kiss him and hug him so Eve is squished between you. 

But then he has to go. He doesn't have a choice. And trying to remove Eve from him is as hard as prying a drilled in nail from a sturdy wall with only your fingernails. 

When he's gone, Eve pulls on your hand so you can watch his truck drive away. She won't leave until she can no longer see it—not that you would dare leave either—and when you do finally get her inside, you give her the special ice cream you bought in preparation for your hearts hurting. You feed her a big bowl, and you watch her, knowing this is her first true heartbreak; the first of more to come. 

At bedtime, you tuck her in beside you, because you don't want to be alone either. She manages to sleep, fully emotionally exhausted, but you just stare at her little face in the dim glow of the moonlight, and you run your knuckle over her cheek like you've done since she was born, and you promise your girl that you'll make it through this; after all, you'd both done it before, she was just too young to remember. 

Every day. Every single day, Eve mentions her Daddy. Asks about him or tells a story about him or promises that when he gets back she's going to take him to Disneyland "because he should get a surprise present when he comes home." You agree. 

When you get your first video chat with him, Eve is bouncing on your lap, waiting for his face to pop up. She tells him every little thing that's happened at school. Her best friend got a new doll and she wants the same one but only if it can also come with a pilot outfit. The butterflies they'd been taking care of in class were finally released. She tried to name them all after the Daggers but the teacher said the whole class had to agree on the names, which she thought was "stupid." You scold her for her language, but you're chuckling a bit too. Then she says her teacher is having a baby, and "when are you and Mama gonna have another baby?" She wants a brother. 

When you tell her to go play—really so you can get a few minutes alone with your husband—he asks about that baby boy too, and you promise when he comes home, you'll work on it (after the surprise trip to Disney, of course. Or maybe during). 

You tell him you love him so damn much. He tells you the same. 

You meet him when he comes back, and when Eve spots him, she rushes off, weaving through other families to get to him. You catch up and you're crying because they're stuck together like glue, and that's all you ever wanted for them. He sets his baby girl down for a moment to kiss you in a way that manages to scratch the surface of all the pent-up need you have for each other. Then he picks his baby girl back up, and you go home. 

You watch movies and eat ice cream and when it's bedtime, Jake tucks Eve in after about a half hour of her talking his ear off. He loves it though, because he loves her and he missed her sweet voice so much. 

Then he joins you and you work on releasing all of that pent-up need and desire. And you're just about to fall asleep in each other's arms when you whisper "by the way, Eve is taking us to Disneyland."

---

A/N: this was my manic brain spilling thoughts

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @cinderellasmissingshoe @novagreen04 @multifandomlover4life @mayhemmanaged @memeorydotcom @ryiamarie

[shelby-fangirl00]

Empty Spaces-Part one

Warnings: (MINORS DNI, 18+), age gap, cheating, language, mutual masterbation

Im super excited to make a second part for this one. Please let me know what you think! Its means the world to me to see you guys comment and reblog my work! Enjoy!

Word count: 3055

—-

‘I refuse to let you make me as miserable as you are! Are you even fucking listening to me?!’

The muffled argument between Thomas and his wife became clearer and clearer as you made your way up the winding staircase. You knew that at any moment, one of them would come storming out, but you were admittedly interested in the family you worked for, especially Thomas Shelby. 

Thomas and his wife were constantly bickering at each other like this, it was nothing new. You stared up into the hallway, seeing the glow of their shared bedroom from underneath the door, shadows pacing back and forth rapidly. 

‘For Christ’s sake, then fucking leave!’ his loud demand carried through the hallway, like you were the one being scolded. 

You scurried down the staircase as you heard the door creak open. Before seeing who left the room first, you were already half way down the stairs. 

                                              

‘They’re at it again today. It’s only morning too. That’s a new record!’ Francis whispered from behind you in the kitchen as you were cleaning up after breakfast. 

You turned to give her a hushed giggle. This was a bit of a running joke at the Arrow House between some of the maids.  Everyone who worked here knew all about Mr. and Mrs. Shelby’s arguments. They seemed almost constant for the past few weeks. 

‘Yeh, it’s not stopping anytime soon, I bet, either. I’ll even bet ya it’ll start back up tonight too.’ 

‘Well, that’s not very fair betting, is it dear?’ She smiled in your direction before coming up beside you, helping you dry the wet dishes off. 

‘Francis…what is it that they’re always fighting about anyways?’ You asked reluctantly, still feeling curious of the mysterious and very handsome man you were working for. 

Without looking up from her working hands, she sighed out, furrowing her brows in frustration of the exhausting situation. 

‘Well, from what I can tell…Mr. Shelby is gone quite often, late in the night. And when he is here…well I suppose he tends to…neglect Mrs. Shelby…if ya know what I mean.’ She whispered again.

You tried to hold back a grin. 

‘So, he’s not fucking his wife?’ You blurted out, without thinking. 

Frances hit you playfully on the arm, pressing her finger to her lips to shush you. She couldn’t help but giggle along with you. You held your hands up in defense, stopping yourself from saying any more.

Just then, you both heard the front door shut. Almost as if she had been caught, Francis jumped up, startled. 

‘Would you mind getting his coat, dear?’ 

You gulped harshly and reluctantly sat down the damp dish towel to scurry towards the door. 

Thomas and you had only spoken a few times briefly, when you were first hired. Mostly, you took orders from Francis and Mrs. Shelby. 

‘Good morning, Mr. Shelby.’ You said softly, avoiding his eyes. 

He said nothing as he shrugged his heavy coat off. You took it from him before asking if there was anything he needed, still avoiding his eyes. 

‘That’s the most you’ve said to me since you’ve been here.’ He chuckled under his breath, making your face turn red in embarrassment.

You peered up at him, surprised that he even acknowledged your presence. He was staring back at you, waiting for a reply. 

‘Sorry about that, I’m a bit shy I suppose.’ You laughed softly, looking back down at the embroidered carpet that you both stood on.

‘Shy, eh? I wouldn’t have been able to tell. Not by the way you were talking with Francis.’ He said plainly, placing his hands in his pockets, standing a bit more defensively in your direction. You could’ve sworn his eyes dropped to your chest.  

You stared up, completely dumbfounded. Embarrassment and shame washed over you. You immediately recalled the specific comment you had just made about him not fucking his wife. You felt like crawling into your bed and hiding in the sheets forever. 

How did he hear that? Was he listening in on us secretly? Why was he listening to us?  You thought. 

‘Mr. Shelby I am so sorry. I-I didn’t think you were home and I-

It’s alright, love, doesn’t bother me. My wife on the other hand…I wouldn’t let her catch you talking like that. She’s under the impression that you are a well-behaved girl.’

Girl. 

The way he used the word to describe you was disappointing. You were newly 22 and Mr. Shelby was much, much older than you were, doubling you in age. You were just a girl to him. You secretly wished he didn’t think of you as a child. 

He began to walk towards his office, but the words practically pushed their way out of your mouth before you could think. 

‘Who said I wasn’t a well-behaved girl?’ You asked him, making him stop abruptly, obviously surprised that the help was questioning him. 

He spun around, with a devious grin on his face before he, more obviously this time, dropped his eyes to the curve of your body, letting his pretty blue eyes linger a little longer than expected. Your breath hitched as goosebumps covered your thighs. 

‘You’ve been working in my house for two months now. I know all about the people I choose to work for me. You come from a nice catholic family, right outside of Small Heath. You’ve got an older brother who died at the Somme. Parents still live close by. So don’t think that I haven’t had you figured out.’ He laughed, tilting his head slightly.

So many thoughts swirled around your mind. What the fuck did that mean? Had he been watching me? Did he know about my eavesdropping? He actually knew who you were? Was my attraction and curiosity towards him obvious? What else did he know about me?

Before you could even respond, he turned on his heels and strutted back to this office, obviously satisfied with the flustered state he had left you in.

                                        ----

‘Dear, Mrs. Shelby is leaving for a few weeks to visit family. I need you to help her pack her bags and bring them out to the front room to be loaded in the cars. Make sure she has enough for a month, just in case. 

She was leaving? And maybe for an entire month? This house was going to feel strange without all of the yelling between the two of them. Would Mr. Shelby even be around? Maybe he would be around more.

                                   -----

Over the next week, Mr. Shelby did in fact, spend more time in his home with his wife gone. It seemed eerily quiet though. He was always tucked away in his office. You both exchanged glances when you would pass by him in one way or another. You tried to hide your nervousness around him. 

One night in particular, your nerves were through the roof as Francis told you that Mr. Shelby asked for you in his office. You couldn’t think of why on earth he would want to meet with you, especially this late in the evening, when you were almost off for the night. Was he going to fire you?

You knocked twice lightly on the high doors of his office. 

‘Come in.’ You heard his voice boom through the door. 

With shaky hands, you reached for the handle of the door and pressed down, opening it to the dimly lit room. 

‘You asked for me, sir?’ You practically whispered, not daring to step a foot further into the room. 

‘Shut the door.’ He said lowly, not looking up from whatever he was scribbling down at his desk. Once he was done, he threw his glasses off his face and onto the papers in front of him, standing up. 

‘You drink whiskey?’ He said, walking over to the cart of liquor by his desk. 

‘Uhm…if you’re offering, thank you.’ You said as he was already walking towards you with a glass in hand. 

He extended his hand to give it to you. He watched your eyes as you took the glass and smiled softly. 

You threw back your glass, handing it back to him instinctively. He raised an eyebrow at you and chuckled, a bit surprised by your eagerness. 

‘Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Shelby?’ You said a little more clearly now, the liquid courage creeping through you. 

He studied your face, studied your actual voice without the shyness masking you. You studied him back too, examining his broad shoulders and chest through his button down. 

‘I saw you listening in on me and my wife’s conversation the other night. I came out of the room to see you running down the stairs. I guess I’m just curious as to why you’re so curious.’ He said plainly as he handed you another glass. 

Your stomach dropped as you had been caught. You sank back the drink again, before answering.

‘I-I’m sorry sir, I had no right.’ You whispered, looking down at the floor. 

‘I’ve also seen the way you watch me, like you’re curious about me, too. Are you?’ He asked. 

‘I…I suppose I am, yes.’ You couldn’t stop yourself now.

He closed the space between you both, standing chest to chest. 

‘How old are you?’ He breathed out, lust dripping from his voice. He pushed the hair from your face behind your ear. 

’22.’

He held back a low groan, searching your face.

‘So, what are you curious about? Don’t be shy…I’ll know if you’re lying.’ He sternly said, making your back straighten. 

You were curious about everything. Growing up in Small Heath, you had always known of The Peaky Blinders and the infamous Tommy Shelby (before he became this fancy politician).

But you knew nothing of who he really was. But the question that burned deep down inside of you was the one of his marriage. 

‘Is it true…about you and Mrs. Shelby?’ You let the words fall out, there was no turning back now.

He chuckled lightly, seemingly knowing you would ask.

‘My wife and I haven’t been together in a very long time.’ Confirming your deepest suspicions, he knew exactly what you were asking.

‘Why not?’

His eyes bored through you as he was deep in thought.

‘That is a question that couldn’t be answered in a night.’ Obviously not wanting to talk about it anymore. 

You stood in silence for quite some time. 

‘I think it’s my turn for you to answer a question.’ 

You swallowed harshly, as you decided to pass him to pour yourself a third drink before he asked. He giggled at your nervousness. 

‘Are you a virgin?’ His voice raised in question, hands stuck behind his back. 

You nearly choked on your drink as he asked this. You coughed out as you set down the glass. 

No, you weren’t a virgin, technically. You’d been with one boy back home before and it was disappointing, to say the least. You had never told anyone about it though, nobody had ever asked. 

‘Is that what you think?’ You said sarcastically. 

‘A bit, yeh.’ He smiled shyly.

‘No, I’m not. Some boy from back home said all the right things one night, I suppose.’ You looked down, immediately embarrassed by your honesty.

‘So only once before?’ 

‘Yes.’

‘Hm.’

                                    -------

You excused yourself from the conversation shortly after, practically running to your designated room upstairs. You quickly closed the door behind you, plopping face first into your pillows. He knew exactly what he was doing to you and it was working. He had you so worked up that you had to excuse yourself. You stopped yourself from confessing everything you wanted him to do to you. You thought about his voice, the sinful things he could whisper to you. The image plastered in your head of him undressing you and relieving the built-up tension between your legs. 

You involuntarily let your legs fall open, hiking up your small black dress. 

Your hands fell between your legs as you imagined his beautiful face in the darkness of your room. You moaned out softly as your fingers frantically rubbed the swollen nub that rested above your folds. Your fingers were soaked wet as you collected the slick coming from your tight hole. 

Getting lost in the heat of your thoughts, you pulled the top of your dress down to expose your hardened nipples, squeezing them harshly, drawing a whimper from your mouth. You wished your own hands were Tommy’s.

From the other side of the hall, Tommy walked by your bedroom door, stopping as he heard muffled sounds coming from of the other side. In a childlike way, he pushed his ear up to your door, hearing more clearly the types of moans you were releasing from inside, making it obvious to him what you were doing on the other side of the door.  

He smiled slightly, knowing that he was the reason behind this. His cock hardened from beneath his pants as he listened to you moan out. 

Too lost in your own thoughts and chasing your orgasm, you hadn’t noticed your door creaking open and shut as Tommy had entered the darkness of your room. 

He watched you in your most vulnerable state, palming himself through the fabric of his own pants. Your panting quickened as you became closer to the edge. Your right hand rubbed your clit frantically, legs fully spread open, while your other hand squeezed and pulled at you exposed nipple. 

‘Oh fuck…Thomas please….’ You quietly cried out to yourself, not realizing the one you called out for was standing right in front of you. 

‘Yes?’ Said a low voice from in front of you. 

Your eyes shot open as you jumped up, clenching your legs together and gasping loudly, you frantically covered yourself up. 

‘What the fuck are you doing here?!’ You yelled out, face flushed with embarrassment.

‘Please don’t stop on my account.’ He giggled, coming closer to the bed, you could see his face more clearly now. 

The liquor from earlier became warm in your stomach again as your body filled with excitement. 

‘W-What?’

He stood above you, without saying a word. He slowly unzipped his own pants, slowly releasing his hard cock from his pants. Your mouth fell open in surprise at the length of him. You couldn’t even fathom what was happening. 

‘I said…don’t stop.’ His voice dripped with lust as his eyes searched yours before they fell between your legs, signaling you to open them again. 

Without thinking and caught up in the fuzzy feeling in your head, your legs slowly fell open, exposing your glistening center to him. He groaned in satisfaction as his cock twitched in excitement. 

He came up beside you and held out his open hand in front of your mouth. You looked up at him in confusion. 

‘Spit.’ His thick accent sent a shiver through your spine as he commanded you. 

 You looked up innocently at him as you spit into his large hand. As you did, he licked his lips. ‘Good girl. Now keep rubbing that little pussy for me, ok?’ He said softly from above me. 

You shook your head yes as your hands fell back to your clit as he brought his wet hand down to stroke his own cock, watching the movements you made between your legs.

You looked up at him longingly as he stroked up and down his cock, his head falling to his shoulder to get a better view of you. 

 ‘That’s it Love, just like that.’ He panted out roughly, shooting sudden shocks of pleasure through you.

Feeling more confident from his encouragement, you sat up, pulling your dress above your head, now completely naked. He panted softly as you did. You scooted to the side, spreading your legs open again right in front of him, allowing him to marvel at every inch of your body. 

‘Such a pretty little cunt, all soaking wet for me…’ He sighed as his strokes became more rapid. His knees hit the side of your bed as he loomed over your naked body, your knees rested against his tight stomach. 

Your walls clenched onto nothing, longing for him to fill you up. 

You reached down with your other hand to slowly stick two fingers into your pussy. You pumped them in and out with ease as you continued to work at your clit. You were so close to your release.

‘Fuck Tommy…I’m so close.’ You moaned out, squeezing your eyes shut in pleasure, focusing on that feeling. 

‘I am too…wait for me love. I’ll tell you when to come.’ He instructed, using his other strong hand to grip your warm thigh. 

The contact set your body on fire. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold on. 

‘Shit, Tommy…. Please let me come, please…’ You whimpered as you watched his strokes become sloppy, the tendons in his forearms and biceps flexed as he started to come undone. 

‘I’m gonna come all over you. Come all over this needy cunt of yours, yeh?’ He panted.

Your walls clenched down and your back arched up as you came hard around your fingers. Your insides filled with a warmness that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Just as you did so, Tommy came all over you, ropes of his hot liquid splattered across your heated mound and your bare tummy. He marveled at the sight of himself covering you in his release. His mouth hung open and his eyes never left your body. 

You sat up on your elbows, watching as he did so. 

His hand reach down to collect some of the mess onto his large finger, bringing it to your mouth. You sucked and tongued at his finger, making him groan again and his cock twitch once more before softening. 

‘You did such a good job for me.’ He whispered into your ear and he leant down to kiss your exposed neck, sending a shiver through you again. He pecked at your skin lightly before pulling away. 

He adjusted himself into his pants plainly as you laid there, still naked and covered in cum. You were too stunned to move.

He smiled down at you, studying your eyes and the state he had left you in once more before reaching for your door knob. 

‘I’ll see you in the morning, love.’ He exclaimed with a wink before shutting the door behind him. 

[honeymoonblues]

Crash!

Remus Lupin x Professor!Reader

Summary: You're the new History of Magic professor. (Gender neutral reader).

Word count: 882

A/N: This is completely self-indulgent. Let me know if there are any spelling errors, English is not my first language.

Not every first meeting was interesting. Truth to be told, most weren’t. And Remus Lupin has never considered himself to be an interesting person, either.Getting to know you, however, felt like crashing against a wall. Because that’s exactly what happened the first time he met you.

In his defense, he got distracted while being a true gentleman, showing you the way to your classroom.He understood first-hand the nerves that came with the first day as a professor, after all, it was only his second year teaching at Hogwarts.

When you approached him, a radiant smile on your lips and asking directions, he suddenly he remembered what Minerva mentioned on one of her letters she sent him. ‘The new History professor!’ he thought.

Remus had never imagined he’d seen the day when professor Binns decided to stop teaching, but it had happened, and in the middle of last year, too. Binns had died while sleeping in the staff room more than a hundred years before, and he was already old when that happened! But his ghost just showed up to the next class like nothing happened, and he didn’t intend to stop teaching for a long, long time.

So, when Minerva said they had finally found a substitute for him, Remus assumed they would be an alive version of old Binns, or even another boring ghost. It was more than a pleasant surprise when you showed up. Young, colorful and full of energy.

He thought he was doing a fantastic first impression. He introduced himself, not stuttering once, walking alongside you and giving you a brief tour. He was captivated by the fact that you were not from the UK. Are there no history professor in the country? He wondered. But he was definitely not complaining. You had a distinct accent, and a sparkling way of talking, as if you were vibrating with enthusiasm.

“It’ll do the students a great good, you know.” He smiled at you. “Learning a little history, I mean.”

“But... I thought there was another professor before me, that’s what i was told!” You looked at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“Oh yes, yes. But you see, professor Binns was, uh...” He shook his hand slightly, gesturing ‘so-so’. “Old.”

You mouthed a little ‘oh’ and nodded, understanding that an old-school teacher could get a little boring to the kids.

After showing you around the great hall, the staff room, the main hallways, and spending a good few minutes trying to help you figure out the moving staircases, you were finally on the way to your classroom and office. You two were talking non-stop the whole time, and he was glad to find you were quite the chatterbox.

It had been a long time since Remus had the opportunity to meet someone new, a potential friend, and he felt full of energy for once.

That’s when it happened. He was already leaving your classroom, after he’d been assured a few times that yes, you would be fine to move in without help, and no, you didn’t need anything else, thanks. He kept walking forward, but looking back at you, saying that he’ll see you at dinner. He felt pretty confident he was directed straight to the open door, but when he looked straight ahead, his nose was directly met with the door frame. Missing the exit for a few good centimeters.

You had the good grace not to laugh at Remus when he squeaked at the impact, but in the haste of getting close to help him, you stumbled and almost crashed into him. That got a fantastic laugh out of you, and he started giggling almost immediately, still covering his nose with his hand, his embarrassment slowly subduing. You both had to take a moment to recover after that.

Trying to quit grinning, you approached him.

“Goodness, do you feel alright?”

“Yes, of course! Don’t you worry... See? It was just a little bump.” He uncovered his nose to show it to you, bloodless and seemingly normal. “I had worse, I promise.” And he smiled brilliantly.

‘Of course you did.’ You thought, admiring his smile and the scars that littered his face. Trying to appease the curiosity that you felt bubbling up inside you. You beamed at him. Realizing, at that same moment, that you truly wanted to know more about this man.

Remus finally left your classroom, he said goodbye one more time, assuring you that yes, his nose was completely fine, and no, he didn’t need any help, thanks. Then, he walked all the way to his own office smiling, forgetting about the pain almost without realizing it.

Oh, how long had it been since he felt like this?

You too, even occupied with unpacking and organizing, couldn’t help but giggle at the memories of the morning. Most of the nervousness you were feeling earlier was smoothed, and the only thing left in you was excitement. It was definitely a great start.

Even when your first meeting hadn’t been all that eventful (if not quite embarrassing), and while Remus still considered himself a boring person, he was sure none of you would would forget the first impression of each other. (He was also incredibly glad he had the whole year to get to know you.)

[hearts4hughes]

#5 “stop being ridiculous!” “i’m not! he was all over you.” with jack hughes :)

jealous boy - jack hughes

jack hughes x fem! reader

100 followers celly

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, lmk if i missed anything

a/n: this was very rushed and not proofread. sorry for any mistakes. other than that, hope you enjoy reading!!!

gif is not mine

what started off as a fun night out for nico’s birthday, ended short after jack stormed out of the bar with me trailing him.

while i was getting refills for our drinks at the bar, a tall blonde boy approached me. he was around my age, maybe a year older and was cute. we only chatted about hockey -after i mentioned i was dating jack- and jobs. i made it very clear that i had a boyfriend and he backed off with the flirting after i did, but i guess jack didn’t seem to catch that part. he stormed up to the bar and started yelling.

“dude what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” jack’s angry as he pushes the blonde boy’s shoulder.

“i was just talking-” he begins to speak, but jack cuts him off.

“you weren’t doing anything. so stop trying to make a move on my girlfriend, douche.”

the boy scurries off, not wanting to get involved with jack anymore than he has already.

i stand there in shock and finally open my mouth, “jack, he wasn’t doing anything. we were just talking.”

jack turns around, an annoyed look paints his face. “oh so you’re defending him now?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “why don’t you just go over there and ‘talk’ more with him.”

now i’m mad.

“stop being ridiculous!” i raise my voice.

“i’m not, he was all over you!” he defends, throwing his hands up in the air like he was the victim.

“no he wasn’t!” jack doesn’t even listen to my full sentence before he heads straight out of the bar.

i send sympathetic looks towards nico and mouth a ‘happy birthday’ before following him.

now i’m struggling to catch up with jack as he storms out to his car. he throws open the car door and barely waits for me to get in before peeling out of the parking lot.

“jack-”

“i don’t want to talk about it.” he interrupts before i can even finish. i want to yell at him, but i bite my tongue. he’s had plenty enough to drink tonight for something like that to set him over the edge.

even though the car ride was about 10 minutes, it felt like forever due to the tension. i wanted to tell jack about what really happened before he so rudely stomped over and made a huge scene, but i just keep my mouth shut.

it was quiet obvious jack was pissed off. his face was filled with stern and frustrated expressions, but what was he mad at? was he mad that i stopped him from going ballistic on someone who didn’t deserve it?

replaying the interactions in my head over and over again, i begin to get more mad at jack.

he didn’t even let me explain before he took out his anger on us.

when he puts the car in park, i almost immediately jump out of the car. i was being suffocated by all the angry tension filling the car. jack follows behind me as i open the front door to our home and walk in.

the second i swing the door open, i stomp up the staircase and go into our room. angry tears fill my eyes as i grab pillows, a blanket, and chuck them just outside our bedroom door.

if he wants to act like a little bitch and have a temper tantrum, then he can have it.

i didn’t realize i was asleep until i heard the bedroom door slowly creak open. i didn’t have to open my eyes to know who was sneaking back into our room. my eyes finally peel open after the covers are removed from the upper half of my body, so jack can slip in next to me.

his heavy arm goes around my waist and pulls me close to his chest. i try to wiggle out of his strong hold, but it’s no help.

“i’m so sorry,” he begins, “i lashed out at you and that dude without even knowing what the true story was.” his face nuzzles into my back and i slowly turn my body around to face him. his eyes are bloodshot and his hair is messy, but i can’t expect that i look any better.

“it’s okay, but i don’t understand why you did that. i mean he wasn’t even close to me and he didn’t say anything flirtatious. i made it very clear i had a boyfriend.”

he pauses to think, “i don’t know why i did that either. i just saw a good looking guy standing next to you and making you laugh. it just made me jealous and insecure.” he admits, hiding his face in slight embarrassment.

“awe jack,” i cup his face with my hands, “you have nothing to be insecure or jealous about, my love. you are the only person i’m in love with. the only person i want to fall asleep and wake up next to. nothing can change that because i’m so obsessed and in love with you.”

a big smile tugs at his lips and he pulls me into his chest. i smell the scent of his cologne and body wash and get an immediate sense of comfort.

“i love you more than you can imagine.” he whispers in reply.

[gregorovitch-adler]

Sock

"John this is ridiculous."

"I know! But it's fun, so let's go for it."

"Aren't we supposed to put the notes in some Christmas stockings?"

"Forgot to buy them," said John, closing his eyes momentarily. "Let's just use a pair of socks instead. They're perfectly clean."

"D'you think Father Christmas is real?" asked Sherlock, picking up a fresh, lone sock from the coffee table. "You think he'd fulfill my wish if I just wrote it on a paper and placed it in this stupid sock?"

"I don't! I realised long ago during my childhood that he isn't real. But Harry and I used to do it anyway. It just became a habitual thing," said John as he tore off a piece of paper from a small notebook and scribbled something on it. He folded that paper and placed it in the other sock - which was of the same pair as Sherlock's.

He looked up at Sherlock with expectation, who was just sitting there on his armchair, looking at the floor with his lips pressed together.

"Go on," said John and passed another piece of paper and a pen to Sherlock across the coffee table.

"If you know your wish isn't going to come true, this whole thing is a waste of time," Sherlock said and picked up the pen paper to write something anyway.

"It's not! Think of it as a type of manifestation." John stretched his legs and yawned.

They didn't have elaborate Christmas celebrations in 221 B, but John was still happy about tomorrow. Any special occasion spent at home - with Sherlock - was a day well spent.

"I don't believe in all that. Whatever's going to happen will happen. No matter how much you manifest."

John shook his head and sighed. "All right. Suit yourself then. I'm off to bed."

John got up from his armchair with the sock in his hand. He walked across the room to the fireplace and hung the sock over it.

His note inside it was short and simple: My Current Life.

He knew it was not a wish, technically, but he did not want any external factors to take Sherlock and his life at 221 B away from him. Again.

He'd had a deep and long talk with Sherlock about the staged suicide, and why Sherlock had to do it. John had finally started to see that incident from Sherlock's perspective too, and he really wished to keep his current life forever.

Besides, John knew that his feelings for Sherlock were unrequited, and things between them were going to be that way. It was not as though he could ask for Sherlock as his partner. He would rather keep his manifestations realistic.

With these thoughts, John went to the staircase leading to his room and started to climb up.

He entered his bedroom, closed the door behind him, and hopped onto the bed immediately. It didn't take him long to doze off.

John's eyes fluttered open in the middle of the night. He was thirsty. He got up and dropped his feet on the floor. After stretching his limbs, he got off the bed and stepped out of the bedroom to go downstairs.

John stopped in the middle of the staircase to take in the whole sitting room. They had decorated the Christmas tree a day before, and despite Sherlock's complaining now and then, it had been a pleasant time.

John noticed a pair of socks hanging above the fireplace - not just his own. He smiled. Sherlock had participated in something just because John had asked him to.

John went to the kitchen to grab a glass from one of the cabinets. He took it to the sink and opened the tap to fill it.

As he began to drink, leaning against the counter, John stared at the socks in the sitting room again.

He and Sherlock were not too dissimilar from a pair of socks, were they? Each completed the other; both were useless on their own.

He did not know about Sherlock, but John knew he was pretty much useless without him.

John closed his eyes and shook his head to get these thoughts out of his head again. He sighed. If only Sherlock felt the same.

Finishing the glass of water, he put it in the sink and wondered: What had Sherlock written in the note inside his sock?

John went to the sitting room and walked to the fireplace to reach for the other sock. He knew he shouldn't be looking into someone else's note - it was prying, and it defeated the purpose - but for some reason, he could not stop himself from doing it that night.

After all, what was it that Sherlock wanted in his life so much that he ended up hanging the sock with the note - when he didn't even believe in things like that? John felt like he needed to know.

John ran his fingers over the fabric of that sock, feeling the piece of paper from the outside.

John looked over his shoulder before finally taking out the paper. He swallowed as his heart began to race. He opened the paper carefully with his fingers, and his jaw dropped when he saw what the note said.

John.

Was he dreaming? Had Sherlock written that to mess with John? But no... he wouldn't have expected John to read the note. No, it was real!

Sherlock had wished for John this Christmas. It sounded unrealistic, so John turned around the note this way and that to see if there was more to it.

Nothing. Sherlock had actually wanted John, and that was it. Nothing else.

John couldn't control the huge grin forming on his face. But that grin quickly turned into a rueful smile. If only he had known about it sooner. Then again, John had not done a great job communicating about his feelings to Sherlock either.

Anyway, as he folded the paper to place it back in the sock, John made a decision.

The moment he faced Sherlock again in the morning, he was going to discuss this with him finally. No more misunderstandings. John was going to put an end to this pining tomorrow.

But tonight, he was going to sleep fine - cherishing the memory of Sherlock's note in that sock.

Tagging: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @missdeliadili @lookingforlifeoutthere @peanitbear @a-victorian-girl @calaisreno @kettykika78

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Prisoner: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Now that Charlie is out of the way, you're getting your kids whether they want it or not. You're not asking this time. If they don't hand them over by sundown, Y/N won't be coming for them. The Scarlet Witch will, and they won't like what happens if she does.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

The first thing Dean and Sam did was set up a hunter's funeral for Charlie near the Bunker. No words need to be said as they both work to set up the pyre with long wooden posts. Dean locks in the last log before looking at Sam. He has Charlie's body wrapped in a white cloth in his arms. With Dean's help, they place her in the middle of the pyre and set it on fire. As much as they love her, they'd hate it if she came back as a ghost.

"Charlie, we're going to miss you," Sam says with tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry this happened to you. You were truly one of the best."

Dean stares at the note you wrote to them with hatred in his eyes.

"Either her soul is ready now or I'm putting her down," Dean says and crumples up the paper.

"You're going to kill your wife?"

Dean turns to Sam with fire in his eyes. He is so pissed that blue magic starts pouring out of his fists.

"That is not my wife. My wife is stuck inside my head. If killing Y/N means I can only see her in my dreams then so be it."

"Dean, the plan is to disarm her. How do you expect to kill the Scarlet Witch?"

"Brutally," he says without emotion.

Both brothers wait until the fire dies out before going back into the Bunker. Dean is so pissed that he doesn't know whether to drown his sorrows in alcohol or if he needs to kill something. Cas walks in with a sorrowful look on his face.

"Where's Rowena?"

"Locked up tight. I had to come here to make sure you're both okay."

"No, I'm not okay, Cas. Charlie is dead!!" Dean yells. "Y/N wasn't alone last night which means she's been making friends with the Stynes. I gotta take them down because I can't take down that witch!"

"Is that you or the Mark talking?" Sam asks.

"Does it matter?"

The metal front door opens and closes, and someone walks down the metal staircase.

"Lucy, I'm home," you sing. Dean sees red at hearing your voice. Not even Cas can stop him from storming into the war room. He takes out his gun and aims it at you with tears in his eyes. "What are you going to do with that?"

"You killed Charlie."

Sam and Cas walk into the room from behind him. Neither of them is stopping Dean from potentially shooting you.

"She was a lesson that needed to be taught. I told you what was going to happen if you didn't listen. If I don't carry out my threats, how will you ever take me seriously?"

"I'm going to kill you," he says, his voice shaking with rage.

"With what gun?" you laugh. Immediately, the gun in Dean's hands disappears. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I never laid a hand on Charlie. She did it all herself. I'd know." You grin. "I watched."

"Why are you here?" Sam asks, trying not to choke up. "What do you want?"

"You know what I want. Where are my children?" Sam and Dean refuse to say anything so you have no choice but to read their minds. Both of them try really hard to block you out but it's clear they don't know. You look at Cas but he's a lot stronger than they are. You can't get past his walls. "I know you know something."

"So, what if we do? You're not going to get it."

"That's where you're wrong. I realize that I'm not going to get what I want if I resort to violence. So, I'm going to offer you a deal and be nice just this once. I'm giving you three until sundown tonight to hand over my kids, and then you'll never see me again."

"They're my kids, too," Dean glares.

"I know, but they'll be with the better parent. I already told you, you're a shitty dad. Like father, like son, right?"

Dean closes his eyes as he remembers the words the real you said to him.

"I want you to know something, Dean." You grab his cheeks and make him look at you. "No matter what she says or what she does, just remember I love you so much. You are my best friend, my husband, the love of my life, and the father of my children. There is nothing that I wouldn't do for you. I'd trade the whole world for a minute of your time. You are strong and brave and caring. I don't know what she said to you but just know my love for you is stronger than her magic. Please don't forget that."

No, he's not going to forget that.

"Great, so we're all in agreement. Turn them over by sundown tonight."

You turn to leave but Sam's words stop you.

"What if we don't?"

You turn your head so that all they're seeing is your side profile. You smirk.

"Then it won't be Y/N that comes for you. It'll be the Scarlet Witch."

As soon as you're gone, Dean yells out in anger. He sends a ball of blue magic into the wall so hard that it cracks and makes a huge dent. Dean turns to Cas with tears in his eyes.

"Please tell me her soul is ready," he begs.

Cas raises his hand and looks inside Dean's mind. Pleased at what he sees, he removes his hand with a smile.

"It is ready. It's pure now. I know if she gets it back now, she will be okay."

"Great. Look, she gave us until sundown but if she wants my kids, she'll have to do it over my dead body. You two come up with a plan. I have to avenge Charlie's death. This is the one thing I can control so please, give me this."

"Are you sure, Dean?"

"I need this, Sammy."

"Alright, we'll come up with a plan."

"Great."

Dean leaves Sam and Cas alone to deal with that while he goes back to the scene of the crime. He got the motel manager to hand over the security footage of last night and sent it over to a hunter he trusts. He can definitely kill the Stynes but no matter what, he can't kill you. He told Sam that he would but there is a chance of saving you now. He can't do it.

"Rudy. I just sent you some security camera footage of a black sedan. I need you to run the plates."

"Yeah can do, just give me a second here." A moment passes. "Weird. Uh, the vehicle's registered to Eldon Styne out of Newton, Kansas but there's no street address. Does this guy have something to hide?"

"Yeah, big time. I'll fill you in later, thanks."

"Yeah sure, but isn't that what Sam's for?"

"He's busy."

Dean gets into the car and starts the two-and-a-half-hour trip to Newton. Sam and Cas head back to the church where Rowena is to fill her in on what happened.

"Well about bloody time," she glares at them. "Where's Charlie?"

"She's dead."

"What happened?"

"Y/N happened. She killed her. She'll come after you, too if you're not careful."

"Well, what now?" Cas asks.

"I don't care what Dean says. He wants to avenge Charlie's death, that's fine. He's going to push himself over the edge. I low-jacked the Impala a few weeks ago so we should be able to track him."

Sam pulls out his phone and pulls up Dean's location. Seconds later, Sam gets a notification that he got an email from Charlie. He frowns and opens it, gasping when he sees Charlie's notes. She might have done it. She might have cracked the code before she was killed. He stalks over to Rowena and hands her the phone.

"Is this what I think it is?"

"Oh, that little minx. She's cracked the code," Rowena smirks.

"Can you read the Book of the Damned with this?"

"Every last word. We can cure the Mark of Cain."

"Okay, Cas, go find Dean and make sure he doesn't go over the edge, okay? I'll stay here and we'll figure out how to cure Dean and Y/N."

"Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, Charlie died because of this and we didn't even use any spells from it."

"Cas, I have to do this. I've been the one to be out there alone and scared, and Dean and Y/N brought me back. They saved me multiple times! If we don't remove this thing from Y/N, she will kill us. She will be too powerful to stop, and those were your words. We have the power to stop them once and for all."

"Fine," Cas sighs. "You need to come up with a plan about Y/N, though."

"I know, I'm working on it."

Cas leaves once Sam sends him Dean's location, and Rowena sits down with a smirk.

"Oooh, I do love a bit of intrigue."

"Right, less talk, more translating. Go."

"About that. I said I could read the book, I never said I would."

"We had a deal!"

"We did--we do, and it's time you held up your end. I want my son dead!"

"After--"

"Now," she cuts him off. "Once I cast the spell--and you need me to cast that spell--who knows what'll happen."

Sam slams his hand down angrily on the table.

"I don't have time for this!"

"You're right, you don't! Your brother and his wife are a walking fucking time bomb, and the clock is ticking. So, you will kill my son, and you will do it my way, now!"

Sam leaves in a puff of anger. While on the road, Dean is stopped by police officers. He pulls over on the side of the road and fishes for his registration. He pulls out a fake ID and shrugs thinking it's good enough to get him out of this one. One officer approaches Dean's window while the other officer stays at the back.

"What's the problem, officer?"

"License and reg."

"Yep."

He hands it over and, and the officer chuckles when he sees Dean's name on the ID.

"Ashley J. Williams, huh?"

"You can call me Ash."

"Out of the car, Ashley."

Dean complies and steps out to confront the two officers.

"Well, I wasn't speeding, I'm sober--mostly sober--so what's this about?"

"Blinker's out." The second officer takes his nightstick and smashes one of the taillights on the Impala. "That's a violation." The officer walks to the other taillight and Dean glares at him. He smashes it just like he did with the first one. "Two lights out."

"Son of a bitch!"

Dean lunges for the officer but the first one grabs him and shoves him face-first into the side of the car.

"Now we've got an attempted assault of a police officer. Looks like we're taking you down to the station, boy."

The officer handcuffs him and Dean willingly goes with them. He would easily beat their asses but things just got interesting because he knows this town is infested with Stynes.

"Oh, I ain't your boy, Cletus."

"Right now you are, so you best settle or you're gonna get an ass-whupping instead of a phone call."

Both officers take Dean and his car back to the station. The one who smashed Dean's taillights keeps him chained to his desk while the other one goes into his office to make a phone call. Deputy Boulton goes through all of Dean's fake IDs, reading off each of the names he's given himself.

"Ozzy Osbourne, Lemmy Kilmister, and Freddy Mercury. Damn. I mean, they said you were a pro, but--"

"Who said that?"

"I'll ask the questions here. For example, you've got seventeen fake IDs and a trunk full of guns, knives, fucking ninja stars. I mean, who are you, man?"

"I'm the guy that's gonna get out of here in about thirty seconds."

"Yeah, right," Boulton scoffs.

There is a cup full of pens that Dean slowly knocks onto the ground like a cat would with a water bottle.

"Real mature," Boulton rolls his eyes.

Boulton gets up and rounds the table to pick up the mess when Dean grabs his arm and punches him in the face. He throws Boulton onto the ground, holding him tightly by his strong bow legs.

"Keys! Now!"

Boulton immediately gives them up and Dean kicks his face, knocking him out cold. He uses the keys to free himself before searching for the other office. He finds him in his office on the phone, staring out the window with his back to Dean.

"Yeah, he was driving a '67 Impala, just like you said. ... Sure, can do."

"Who are you talking to?"

Sheriff Landels turns around and pales when he sees the gun in Dean's hand.

"Nobody."

"Really?" Dean marches over to the sheriff and hits him in the face with his gun. "That's for lying to me." He hits him again. "That's for my baby." Dean, with all his strength, grabs the sheriff and heaves him onto his desk. He shoves his gun into his face, not caring if the sheriff looks like he is going to piss himself. "Who were you talking to?"

"Monroe Styne. He said if I saw you I was supposed to bring you in, and then call him."

"Any relation to Eldon?"

"That's his Daddy."

"Where can I find him?"

"You can't take on the Stynes. They own this town. They're practically Gods around here."

"I kill Gods."

x

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[mostly-imagines]

Who Needs Heaven? : The Drop-In

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason meets his daughters

warnings: it’s not specific if the kids are bio or adopted — this probably doesn’t make sense on multiple fronts but i DON’T CARE

see for: the vibes

His body jolts like he’s snapping out of sleep. The first thing he processes is loud conversations echoing, the sound of young girls talking over each other. He surveys over a book in his hands that he’s never heard of, though it’s opened more than halfway through and considerably worn. He drops the book to the side, coming to a stand and scanning over the environment. 

He looks around the adorned living room, taking in details rapidly. He doesn’t recognize the house he’s in but he can tell it’s somewhere he definitely does not belong. The room is filled with books on shelves and picture frames are littered in every free spot in between. The lights are warm and the furniture is colorful with pillows and blankets strewn all over. It’s a stark contrast to the refined stoic Manor he’s so used to; there’s a distinct feeling of homeliness and warmth that seeps through the walls.

He creeps into the front entryway to the house as quietly as he can, peering up the staircase to the landing above for any signs of familiarity or danger. From his right, a girl comes darting into the space, running face first into Jason. He immediately reaches out to steady her but she shows no sign of disruption. She makes a point of holding the wrapped popsicle in her hand away, keeping it safe. She blinks up at him before taking off past him, calling out, “Sorry, dad!”

Dad?

“Anna, I swear to God—” Another girl of similar age runs past, paying him no mind.

He gapes after her, thoroughly confused. Where the hell is he?

“Daddy?” He turns around and looks down to a younger girl who looks about six at most. She stares up at him with wide eyes and freckled cheeks. “Are you okay?”  

He can’t think.

This isn’t…this can’t be real. It can’t be. This is a dream. He got knocked out. He’s hallucinating. He’s dying.

He tries to keep his breath steady as this little girl peers up at him with curious eyes. “Daddy?”

He opens his mouth, struggling to find words, let alone get them out. “Where…where’s your mom?” He can barely make out his own voice.

“She’s in your room,” she tells him, looking up the stairs. 

He treds up the stairs slowly, the chatter downstairs barely getting any quieter. The second floor seems deserted in terms of the presence of children. If, if this were real (or more likely, a dream) you’ll be here somewhere. There’s no scenario where he’d ever imagine a life in a big house with a big family without you—subconsciously or otherwise. 

Several doors line the wide hallway, most of them open. He peers in the room closest to the top of the staircase, finding a heartily decorated bedroom with two twin beds. Polaroids and movie posters litter the walls and clothes are strewn across on top of the bed covers and in a few small piles on the floor. An orange lava lamp illuminates the room from a desk, shining off the glossy cover of magazines. Above, sports medals dangle off the wall against a white board, a scribbled on game of hangman midway through. A full-length mirror covered in stickers along the edges reflects a bookshelf across the room, dozens of books stuffed on each shelf. He blinks vacantly, pulling back from the doorway and continuing on.

He continues on down the right side of the hallway, passing up a bathroom and a closet before peering into the next room. It also has two beds, but it’s filled with remnants of young children. A small table with a tea set laid out on top sits in the middle of the room with various princess dresses draped across the short chairs. Pink bed sheets and butterfly-filled curtains joined by toy cars lined against the wall and strings of pink starry lights hanging from the ceiling. Both beds have stuffed animals arranged in thoughtful piles. It takes Jason a moment to notice the tattered, worn elephant with the green polka dot tie on the bed with the Cinderella comforter. Pickles. It was his when he was a kid. It’s placed delicately at the top of the pile, like he’s the king of the crop. A grand dollhouse sticks out against one of the walls, the dolls all lying asleep in their makeshift beds. Fluffy bubblegum and fuschia rugs scatter the floor just enough that you could jump across the room without ever touching the hardwood.

He turns to the last room, a door directly across that’s just cracked open. He can hear light music coming from inside and the almost inaudible shuffle of movement. He pushes the door open cautiously and takes in the sight of a woman, back to the door, folding laundry on the bed. He doesn’t even need to see your whole figure to know that it’s you.

“Sweetheart?” He sounds like he’s out of breath. 

“Yeah?” You turn around with your same kind eyes and gentle disposition. You look older, not much older but your face is more mature. You even hold yourself a little differently. You quickly notice the way he scans you with a look of bewilderment on his face and jump into concern. “What’s wrong?” You drop the shirt that you’re folding on the bed, approaching him with soft steps. Everything feels fuzzy.

“This—this is…” His voice seems far away, this body feels further. “This isn’t real…”

“What? Jay, what are you talking about?” You’re so genuinely concerned about him it makes his heart hurt and does nothing to help clear his head.

His breathing starts to stutter and his eyes can’t pick something to focus on. Everything is telling him that this is a false sense of security, he’s not safe, you’re not safe, everything’s wrong—

“Woah, hey, hey. It’s okay.” You take his face in your hands the way you know tends to ground him. “Catch me up.”

He tries to focus on the sliding clasp of the necklace around your neck. “I…I think this is…” He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up only to wake up in a few seconds and find that it was all pretend. Instead, he’ll settle for, “...This hasn’t happened…”

You frown at that, tilting your head. “What do you mean?”

He breathes out heavy, “I think I’m dreaming.” 

“What are you dreaming of?” You walk along this train of thought with him, though he has no idea why you would entertain it. This really must be pretend.

“The future…this is…is this the future?” He’s whispering, he’s not even sure if he’s asking you or himself or maybe even God. 

You’re quiet for a minute before you speak again. “Oh,” you say contemplatively, not nearly as alarmed as you should be. You should probably be calling him crazy, right? “This is—you told me about this. Yeah, it had something to do with that clock guy—”

He blinks a few times, “The Clock King?” That does sound…familiar. Was he—he was with Bruce wasn’t he? Or maybe Dick. Both?

You nod, “Yeah, yeah. You said you ‘time traveled’ for a minute...but that was in, like…”

He fills in the blank with the year as he remembers it and your eyes go wide. “Well, this would be a bit of a surprise then.”

“We have kids?”

You laugh, brushing his hair back gently, “Yes. Yes, we definitely do. Five girls.”

“Five?” He breathes.

“Yeah. Wasn’t the plan but…” you shrug easily, “Here we are.” 

He barely stops his next question from coming out of his mouth and replaces it. “Is this something I should be hearing?”

“What?” You tilt your head for a second before realization flashes across your face. “Oh, you don’t end up remembering any of this.” You shrug, mouth scrunched up to the side, “So why not?”

He does really want to hear about them. “Please.” He whispers faintly. 

You nod reposefully, “Okay, well…” you pause, eyes on the ceiling. “Oh, wait.” You dart over to the bookshelf against the wall and pull a book from the second shelf from the top, a large pink photo album.

You shuffle back, guiding him to the bed and sitting thigh to thigh with him and placing the album on your laps. You flip it open to the first page, which displays an array of photos of who must be his daughter.

“This is Mia—Miriam—she’s the oldest. She’s thirteen now, she’s very smart and a sort of a perfectionist. Really a perfectionist.” A couple of her baby pictures were taken in your apartment and it makes his heart absolutely melt to see you as he left you, holding a baby—his baby—with a glowing smile on your face. There’s another photo of her, kindergarten aged, dressed up as Spoiler for halloween. One shows her on a bike with shimmery handlebar streams, Jason holding her steady as she learns. He’s wearing the brightest smile he’s ever seen on his own face.

“Then there’s the twins,” you continue, flipping to the next page. You laugh when his breath hitches at that. “I know. It’s not as scary as it sounds. Well, not now that they’re older. Ryan and Anna.” You point to them as you say their names, and he recognizes them quickly as the two girls that had run past the stairs. The twins look identical, the only discernible difference found in that Ryan is grinning in every picture with a glint in her eyes and Anna nearly always has a stoic look on her face. 

“Ryan is her father’s daughter. She thinks she’s very clever and even more funny, and she is but don’t tell her that, it goes straight to her head.”

There’s a picture that has to be a couple of years old by now of the two of them dressed in what looks like brand new soccer gear. Another depicts one of them chasing Tim with a firework sparkler at dusk. He sees one of Ryan covered in dirt and tiny cuts, smiling big, helmet crooked on her head.

“Anna’s a happy kid, she is. Don’t let her attitude trick you—she just likes to keep her feelings to herself.” Anna’s pictures remind him of Damian in some ways. The very intentional lack of a smile but the happiness still seeps through anyways. One of her pictures has her cuddling with two rottweiler puppies in classic Damian style. Another one shows her a bit older, on Jason’s shoulders, surveying the land.  

You turn to the next page, “And Laine, uh, Elaine,” you smile, “She’s a bit eccentric. She lives in her own world but she’ll bring you into it with her. She likes magic and glitter and offbeat things.” Laine’s pictures leave a particular warmth in his heart. She has the absolute widest smile and the brightest eyes he’s ever seen. One photo shows her having a picnic with several stuffed animals, another has her drawing a rainbow with sidewalk chalk. One picture towards the bottom of the page grabs his eye, one of Laine happily braiding Cass’ short hair at what appears to be the Manor.

“And then the little one is Aurora—Rory,” You turn to a page full of pictures of the wide-eyed girl, who has the sweetest baby face. He can tell from the pictures alone that she has your personality. You point to a picture of her giggling with bubbles all in her hair as you explain, “She’s still small but she has a big heart and a very sensitive soul already.” Jason’s practically staring a hole in the picture of Rory as a newborn in the hospital, held delicately by Bruce.

You play with the hair at the nape of his neck as he processes quietly, letting him take his time.

“They’re happy?” He asks in a whisper.

“We’re happy.” You say affirmingly. He looks you in the eyes and you see a specific vulnerability in his that you haven’t seen in a long time. “You are a good dad, Jay.”

He’s still surprised that you can read him like a book, even though at this point you’d have been together for at least fifteen-some years. His eyes burn and he’s not sure he can keep it together. But you dig the knife in all the same, “They love you. A lot. We couldn’t live without you.”

You flip through until you find a page later in the book, plopping it back open fully. The first picture he takes note of shows him outside with picked flowers scattered in his hair wherever they’ll stay put, Laine and Rory trying to straighten them out. Another is of Anna hesitantly feeding a horse an apple, Jason crouched next to her, reassuring her. On the other page, Rory is mid-air being thrown into an absolutely massive leaf pile, glee adorning her face. He turns the page to find one of the girls with a red hoodie pulled over her head and a makeshift mask made from a red plastic plate with holes cut out for the eyes. One has Mia resting against his back, passed out, as he helps Ryan tie off a friendship bracelet on her wrist.

This isn’t—he doesn’t deserve this. This can’t be true, this is more than a happy ending and he’d never even expected you to love him this long, let alone give him the world and then some. He stares at the page for a while, trying to burn every detail into his head. 

You tear your gaze away from his face to glance at the clock on the side table, muttering, “Oh shit. Hang on.”

His eyes follow you as you stand from the bed and walk across the room to the door, cracking it open a few inches before shouting out, “Bed!”

There’s a brief delay before a clamor starts towards them, all five girls thumping up the stairs.  

You turn back to him, heedfully, “You can stay in here if you want. They’re a little…a lot.” You say tentatively. Well, if there’s anything he’s accustomed to it’s big families with bigger personalities.

Jason lingers behind you as you enter the hallway, looking like a little kid in an unfamiliar place. Whatever conversations were going on downstairs have simply moved location, no urgency present whatsoever to continue on with the progression of the night. You’re trying to verbally corral them towards their respective bedrooms, but it’s a tough job with two clear headed parents on a good day.

He stands frozen in the midst of the clutter of them as they rattle off to you and to each other. He’s scared to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. He doesn’t want to upset or alarm them. But because he is their father, they don’t need him to do anything strange to realize that he’s being strange.

Ryan squints up at him, “What’s wrong with you?”

The question grabs Laine’s attention and she looks to you with wide eyes, “What’s wrong with Dad?”

You shake your head, “Nothing’s—”

“He’s not having a stroke already, is he?” Anna faints, no alarm in her words. Mia thumps the back of her head for that with no returning acknowledgement given by Anna.

Ryan is looking at him like she’s sizing him up. Something you did not get a chance to tell him about Ryan is that she can smell blood in the water like a shark. So it’s not surprising to you that she picks up on Jason’s disoriented state.

“Father?” She calls out sweetly.

You sigh, “Ryan—”

“No, it’s okay. I want to ask dad specifically.” She turns him away from you with a smile. She doesn’t know what’s going on and she doesn’t need to. She’s an opportunist like that. “Could I have the last popsicle?”

Anna cuts in harshly, “You better n—”

“Hey Annie, few notes for ya,” Ryan says with widened eyes and a pointed finger, “One, you shouldn’t interrupt your father, it’s disrespectful,” Anna’s face contorts at that, and she’s about to bite back but she’s cut off quickly by Ryan’s dedication to dishing out her hypocritical sermon. “Two, you shouldn’t interrupt me because it’s potentially the single greatest sin you’ll ever—”

Alright, you gave her a chance to turn it around, she’s done now. “No, you’re all going to bed now and if you’re lucky that popsicle is still there when you get home from school tomorrow.” You tell Ryan with a pointed look. She gives you a half-hearted glare, absolutely nothing compared to her real one. 

“Mom, you said—” Mia throws her hands up as she recounts a promise that you may or may not have given her, it’s anyone’s guess. 

Then Anna starts up, “That’s not fair, I called—”

Rory pipes up from behind you. “We’re supposed to read our story first.”

You inhale sharply, turning to face her, “Oh—” you crouch down to her level, holding her waist. “How about I read it tonight, Rory?”

She frowns, “Daddy always reads it.”

Ryan taps on Jason’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Dad, listen,” she says lowly, like she’s trying to get him in on the deal of the century. “Anna doesn’t deserve it, she’s rooting for you to stroke out—”

You frown at Rory with repentance, “I know sweetheart, but—”

Laine looks quite contemplative as she announces, “It’s unholy to break tradition.”

You scrunch up your face and swivel your head to her, “What?”

This declaration does enough to break Ryan away from her scheme. She turns to her and says flatly, “You haven’t said anything that makes sense in like two weeks.” 

Jason’s mind is going a mile a minute, trying to process the fifteen things that are going on all at once and take in the fact that these are his children. His daughters and they’re so loud and opinionated and bold and he loves it. He thinks this is the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. Hell, he’d take this over heaven a million times over.

“Mom. Mom!” Mia urges, “Can you help me?”

Your head stutters between your daughters, “I—yeah. Rory, just—”

“I can do it.” He says quietly.

“Yeah?” You look up at him, hopefully, genuinely delighted that he wants to jump into this mess without the twelve years of prep that you’re dependent on. 

“Yeah.” He nods, determined and you and Rory smile up at him. Mia all but yanks you up from the floor, pulling you to her room and you can just barely make out Ryan’s hushed murmur of, “I’m getting the popsicle…”

Rory takes Jason’s hand, drowning her own in his. She leads him to the pink bedroom with all the toys, and climbs onto the unicorn bed, shoving all but a few of the stuffed animals onto the floor. Elaine follows close behind and does the same with her own bed, though the only one she keeps is Pickles.

He stands next to the bed a bit awkwardly as she pulls a book off the table next to her, the length of the book easily taking up half her arms. It takes her looking up at him expectantly for him to get the hint, shuffling to squeeze in next to her on the small bed. 

She hands him the book and he regards it with a smile. Little Women. He pauses as he starts to open it, “Where, um…where did we leave off?”

She looks at him funny, smiling like he’s messing with her. She flips the book open a little more than halfway through and stops on chapter fifteen. She presses her pointer finger down to the start of the chapter with a thump. “Right here.”

Jason takes a steadying breath and begins reading in the same soft voice he reads to you in, and it seems to appease both girls. He’s not processing what he’s saying as he sits there with his littlest daughter tucked into his side and hanging on to every last word. He can feel her breathing in and out softly and it all feels so surreal now. 

““I don't think you'll blame me, for I only sold what was my own." As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for all her abundant hair was cut short.” Rory giggles as Laine gasps, and Jason can feel the rhythm of his heart fluttering in a new way. 

He reads to the end of the chapter and returns the book to its place on the side table, and reluctantly pulls away from Rory, standing up again. He tucks her nicely, if not inexperienced, into the sheets and kisses her forehead. She immediately holds out her toy bear, silently requesting the same treatment for him. Jason kisses the bear too, happily. He does the same for Laine, taking particular note of the way she hugs Pickles to her chest tightly. 

He starts towards the door, but is quickly put to a halt. “Wait,” Laine calls out. He turns back to her wide-eyed, terrified he did something wrong. “The lights,” she says, looking up to the ceiling at the dangling stars. Oh, right. She watches him skeptically as he innocently looks around for the switch, and Rory tilts her head at him, not sure what he’s playing at. 

“It’s right there,” Rory points with a mildly sullen look to where the mechanism dangles near the outlet. Jason quickly flicks the lights on, the soft orange-pink glow of stars illuminating against the walls. Rory’s pleased enough and adjusts to get more comfortable in her bed. 

Laine however, hisses out a, “Hey,” gesturing him towards her. He sidesteps the tea table and comes around to her side of the room, kneeling down by her bed attentively. She glances over at Rory before asking in a hushed voice, “Are you an alien?” 

That, he wasn’t expecting. “...What?” 

She shakes her head reassuringly, “It’s okay, I won’t tell. But um…I would like my dad back eventually please. If that’s okay.”  

His breath stutters and he forces out an, “O—okay.”

She holds out her pinky and it takes him a second to register what she’s asking. He wordlessly pinky promises her and she smiles big, pleased with the agreement.

He stands again, feeling light headed as he heads for the door. 

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Rory murmurs against the pillow, watching him leave.

His gaze flickers back and forth from them to make sure they like having the door closed, Rory watches him bemusedly and Laine nods at him slyly with a twinkle in her eyes. “Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight,” He exhales, not as loud as he meant to. He clicks the door shut softly and there’s a warmth in his chest that he could get addicted to.

He wanders down the hall towards the sound of your voice, passing Anna and Ryan climbing under their covers and murmuring something to each other, half eaten popsicle in the ladders hand. He passes the staircase, peering his head into the next room over. His eyes immediately land on you and Mia stood in front of an armoire, shuffling through clothes having an exchange of considerative words.

Mia’s room is very neat and put together, everything is placed with much more intention than in the other girls rooms. Her room has more mellow colors too, largely white with soft shades of pastels throughout. There’s a desk with organized notebooks and multiple vases of flowers, with bundles of yarn placed nicely in a basket in the corner. A tall bookshelf is filled with fifty-some books with a violin case leaning up against it. Nail polishes rest beside a jewelry box on the side table next to her bed. She also has picture frames across the walls, some containing photos of flora, others of the family, and a few of what appears to be her own sketches.

“—worried it’s too showy, you know?”

You hum, “I don’t think so, I mean, not for picture day.” 

Mia turns to Jason, shirt held up against her body. “What do you think?”

He takes a second to bounce back from the surprise of being asked the question, “I, uh…I like it.”

You smile at him as Mia faces you again, “Okay, so this with that flowy lilac skirt?”

“The lilac…yeah, that would be cute.”

She nods pleased, draping the shirt over the back of the armchair in the corner.

You and Jason head out of the room, closing the door on your way out so she can change into her pajamas. 

“Goodnight!” she calls out through the crack in the door. You and Jason return it in sync, clicking the door closed. You hold his hand as you walk past the twins' open door, giving them the same sentiment with Jason’s own following quickly after. They call it out back, louder than necessary, and you close your bedroom door behind the two of you.

You rest against the door and he leans his head back against the wall next to you, glancing over at you. “I won’t remember any of this?” He seems dejected at the idea, not happy to have been handed the world and then having it swiped from his memory immediately after.

You consider it for a second, shaking your head, “I don’t think so.”

He’s quiet for a bit, thinking. “Do you have a marker?”

“A marker?” You look around casually, “Uh, yeah.” You unclip a sharpie from the mini calendar pinned against the wall, tossing it to him. You watch curiously as he holds his forearm out in front of him, popping the lid off with his mouth.

The light in the room starts to dim dramatically until his vision is completely dark. The pull of gravity on his body feels wrong and a pang of fire shoots against the side of his head.   

“Hood.” He hears in the darkness, “Hood.” The commanding voice startles him awake once again. “Are you alright?” 

He blinks up at Batman blearily, feeling like he’s just gotten hit over the head with a chair. “What…what—”

“The Clock King. He threw some sort of device at you. It knocked you out for a few minutes. Are you alright?”

He feels dizzy. “Uh…yeah.”

He cranes his head to glance over at where the Clock King is hunched over on the ground, handcuffed, inspecting the cartridge of his device closely. “Damn it, I knew it wasn’t right. Meant to knock him into the past.” He tells Nightwing like it’s some common mistake they can bond over. 

Nightwing moues at him “I don’t care?”

Knock him into the—did he go to the future? He can’t get his thoughts in order, let alone summon memories from the future. Frankly, it doesn’t matter that much to him right now—he’s sore and wants to just fall asleep next to you. 

He sits up slowly, grimacing as the pain in his head sharpens for a moment. Batman clasps his hand on his shoulder, holding him steady. “Can you stand?”

Hood grunts and pushes himself up, anchoring his weight against the ground. “Fuck. I’m going home.”

Batman says nothing to protest, instead joining Nightwing and pulling The Clock King up from the ground. Jason stumbles away towards his bike, thankful that he’s only a couple miles away from your apartment. Jesus, the future? You’re not going to believe that shit.

He climbs onto the bike with a groan, pushing up his sleeves as he prepares to start the bike. He doesn’t notice it until he revs it, but when he looks down at his left arm, he sees scribbled on his arm in sharpie:

WE’RE HAPPY

vote: do you have a favorite daughter?

❤️ REBLOGGING = SUPPORTING ❤️

[wonopia]

SUMMER TROUBLES | 006. WORTH IT

[WC] . 1200 prev ! mlist ! next

it had been one week since the party incident, also the last time he talked with his friends, and the last time he'd talk with yujin. the last thing he said was "aren't you a guy?" how embarrassing.

that's almost all he'd been thinking about- how much he regretted it, how there were millions of other responses he could've said, how rude he must've sounded in her point of view and of course he wouldn't want that.

he'd been in his room with maeumi doing his summer reading but he'd finished them by now. he even debated on rereading them. of course he didn't, he wasn't that insane.

he decided to go to one of his friends house so he bundled up the courage to go ask his mom who was downstairs watching her show. he carried maeumi until they reached the last step of his staircase, putting her down carefully.

he trudged over beside the couch, "hey mom, can i go to tae's house? we planned to meet up a long time ago so we could start on his summer reading together," his moms series talking loudly over him.

"mhm yeah, go ahead, don’t be home late," she told him, leaning forward into her show.

"oh okay, thanks mom," he thanked, going upstairs to change before leaving to go to tae’s house.

they had never planned anything so jungwon was just hoping that tae was home although this whole time he'd been so busy. at the same time, the boy would rather stay home. it wouldn't hurt to stop by for a while.

so jungwon took the public bus to his place. by the time he reached tae's house, he was gasping for air because of how humid it was. the hot wind was doing nothing.

he heavily knocked on his best friends door. he squeezed his eyes shut when he didn’t hear anything coming from inside the house. getting impatient, he rang the doorbell. he started to fan his face due to the heat and could feel the drips of sweat forming around his face.

he wiped his face using his sleeve as he waited impatiently. he knocked a couple more times before gulping down his regret, what was this worth for?

"after all this time," he breathed out, basically gasping for air in his dry mouth, "gosh tae, where the hell are you?!"

he turned around before running with his hand over his eyes to cover himself from the sun as he sprinted to a nearby house, heeseungs.

"heeseung hyung!" he yelled as he approached the abode, "please, please, please be home.." he whispered among himself.

he knocked on the wooden door, leaning onto the frame, out of breath. in minutes, someone opened the door. it was tae.

"now you! i have mad beef with you!" he exaggerated, welcoming himself in heeseungs house without any acceptance. 

"i thought you were grounded," he ignored his side comment.

"she said i could go to your house because we're working on your summer reading essays."

"which reminds me, we have to work on that," taehyun mumbled, taking a note of it in his head before walking up the stairs to heeseungs room.

 jungwon followed up behind him out of breath. as they walked in, heeseung was lying down on his stomach on his phone.

"what happened to you?" he questioned, "dont tell me vernons dog got loose again.."

taehyun laughed at the thought before jumping onto the bed beside hee. jungwon dropped onto the floor, "gosh my back hurts. you guys live so far."

"you walked here?"

"no shit," jungwon retorted out of tiredness that turned into moodiness.

"why did you stop by anyways?" heeseung asked.

"because i cant handle being at home any longer without my phone!"

"ohh which reminds me.." heeseung started, getting up while pulling something up on his phone, "someone messaged me a day after the bonfire incident."

heeseung held the phone above jungwon’s face, his eyes widening at the screen and attempting to reach for it- before it dropped onto his nose.

"ah shit.." jungwon hissed, immediately getting up to massage his nose.

"oh my god!" hee exclaimed, " i thought you were gonna catch it!"

"what.. what the fuck.."  jungwon cursed, looking at his hand to see blood, "did you break my nose?"

"no way," tae gasped walking over to him before leading jungwon up and to the bathroom, "gosh heeseung, that's one way to treat a guest."

meanwhile hee was kneeled down on the floor, he peeked over to his phone to see some blood smeared on it before cringing, "eww! jungwon, your blood got on my screen!"

it had been a while since won got punched by hee's phone and won was now messaging yujin on it.

"took her long enough to respond," hee commented while waiting for her reply.

"what'd she say?" tae asked.

"uhhh," jungwon slowly started to grin before covering his mouth with his extra hand as he processed what she said.

he flipped the phone around so they could see the message, they were both in front of him laying on their stomachs as won was sitting against hee's headboard.

heeseung scoffed as taehyun nodded, "this soobin guy got some nice friends. we're not friends with any girls, why's that?"

"you guys aren’t, i am," wonnie told them, gesturing to the phone.

"friends?" taehyun wondered, "yeah sure."

"i mean she’s gotta be into you a little bit."

"why do you say that?" won asked.

"probably because she messaged me about what was up with you the day after you didnt reply to her," heeseung told him, "and look at how she’s messaging you. she was asking all kinds of questions, she want’s to talk with you."

"thats how a conversation works, dumb."

"yeah but wonnie, you have to think about it from her perspective," tae jumped in, "i mean.. she said she's been waiting for your message or something, now that has got to mean something."

the phone buzzed in his hand, "guys, she asked what we're doing?"

"well.. what are we doing?" tae asked.

"you can’t actually say what you're doing," heeseung told tae.

"and whys that?" tae and won asked at the same time.

hee sighed, "do i have to do everything? no wonder we dont have girl best friends," he rolled his eyes, "just say we're all doing our own things on our phones."

"he's literally using your phone, dumbass."

"so much for doing everything," they retorted. 

jungwon typed in that they were just talking about how the bonfire party had gone and that they were waiting for sunoo to arrive, which was partly what they were doing.

"now why would you say that?!" they both exclaimed.

note: i love where everything is headed. pls comment your thoughts freely, i love to hear people theories etc.

© wonopia 2024

open TAGLIST: @nodiotter @ilovejungwonandhaechan @sol3chu

[strawbrry-vamp]

Your Highness~

III/Fem! Reader

Summary :: III and you meet at a ball, things ensue ;]

TW :: Suggestive

Or read on AO3

[thank you for the request, @frogfrog557 <3]

III walked through the palace door in the best attire he could find. He scans the ballroom, his eyes landing on you as you talk with your parents at the top of the winding staircase. III’s heart beats slightly faster as a smirk forms on his face. He needs to talk to you. III walks around the ballroom for a while, waiting for you to come down so he can have the chance to talk to you, many have tried to stray his attention from you but he always looks back to make sure he hasn’t missed his chance. 

Finally, after what feels like forever, you gracefully walk down the wide winding staircase, your ballgown flowing behind you, hundreds of eyes seem to be on you as you descend. As you make it to the bottom many people come up to you, asking to dance, even for a kiss. You decline the dances and the odd requests for a kiss, not finding any pleasure in dancing at the moment, just wanting to get away from the crowd, never seeming to enjoy it as much as your family does. III seems to notice and he comes over, taking your hand, and standing tall as he announces, “The princess needs space” and he leads you out of the palace over towards the royal garden despite protests from the people.

 As he leads you, you look at him curiously. “What’s your name?” you ask softly once he takes a seat on a nearby bench. He looks up at you with a grin bowing slightly, “My name is III, Your Highness” You smile, finding the name intriguing, everything about III is intriguing to you. He grins and pats the bench, urging you to sit next to him, and you do. “Do you ever get tired of it? Of the attention?” He asks. You laugh a little and he almost immediately falls in love with it. “Yea” you breathe out, “All the time, it’s not my favorite, but I do it for my family, even if I don’t like them very much.” III looks at you with admiration, “Yea,..I get that” he says, his eyes focusing on your lips. You smile softly, taking his chin in your hand, making him look into your eyes instead, a slightly mischievous look in your eyes and he feels something inside him stir. “Hey, my eyes are up here pretty boy~” you say cheekily. III’s smile widens and he bites his lip a little, “Well, your lips shouldn't be looking at me like that” he teases back. After a moment he leans in a little more and looks at you, desire clear in his gaze. “May I?” III whispers. You nod without a second thought and he leans in all the way, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. You separate after a few seconds and you look at him in the eyes and ask, “Want to take this to my room?” III is stunned slightly but is turned on by your confidence and he nods.

You grab his hand, leading him around to a hidden part of the palace, III is surprised to see a makeshift ladder leaving up to a window. You start to climb up the ladder, urging him to follow. As he starts up the ladder and looks up, he immediately looks away, cheeks red as he unintentionally looks up your dress at your underwear. As you both climb in through the window, he realizes it’s your bedroom. III looks back over to you to find you already lying on your bed in nothing but your bra and panties. The red and black pattern was mesmerizing to him. “Well…are you going to come and help me out of these?” you say, raising an eyebrow at him. III grins and nods, almost crushing you as he crawls on top of you, his breathing heavy as he stares at you. “Beautiful..” he mumbles before capturing your lips in a kiss. This one is much more passionate than the one you shared in the garden. His right hand rests on your hip, stroking the fabric of your underwear. He starts to trail his kisses down your chin to your neck, his hand slowly pulling your underwear down. The further he pulls them down the harder he sucks and nibbles on your neck harder, making you moan and writhe under him. He finally pulls them all the way off and he pulls away from your neck, liking his lips as he looks down at you. “You ready princess?” he purrs out. 

You lay there, chest heaving as III comes in with a wet rag, slowly and softly wiping away the cum splattered on your thighs. He whispers sweet nothings to you as he does. “You did so good princess, I got you.” III tosses the rag aside and lays next to you, placing his hand on your stomach softly, the contact making you shiver and you roll over to cuddle against him. III smiled wide, slinging his arm around you and kissing your forehead. “Stay here, please” you mumble against his chest, arms around his torso and your legs tangled with his. III laughs softly and nods, his eyes closing as he lays back against your bed. “It would be my pleasure to stay princess” 

[braveclementine]

Chapter 5

Warnings: None, Readers under 18 can read this book. It is solely fluff- nothing sexual

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

.❤️.

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖔𝖗 𝖜𝖆𝖘 opened immediately by a tall, thin woman wearing emerald-green robes. She was beautiful, in a sense. She had black hair that was pulled up into a tight bun and wore square spectacles pushed tightly up on her nose. Though no one had said her name nor had she introduced herself, I knew that she was Professor McGonagall and could turn into a cat because she's an Animagus. I'm not particularly sure how I knew that but it was the least of my concerns at the moment.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," The man said.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

The man who's name was Hagrid shuffled off to the side, leaving us with Professor McGonagall. I barely knew her and I already admired her greatly. She just gave off that. . .energy I suppose is the closest word.

The doors were opened even wider to show the entrance hall. It was enormous. I think it would've fit our house perhaps twenty-two times inside of it. The décor was much like those of other wizarding places in our communities. The walls lit with flaming torches and marble staircases. We liked flair.

Professor McGonagall led us to a separate chamber hall from the rest of the school. I could hear the older students laughing and talking nearby. I was suddenly conscious of everyone standing much closer together. I found myself once again, next to Hermione, who was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Harry was two people over. My stomach turned and my skin tingled with nerves.

He was quite handsome and he looked so much like dad it was ridiculous. Even his black hair was sticking out everywhere just like dad's was in every picture Lupin had of him. He pushed his glasses up on his nose again. I wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder and say, "Hi, I'm Elizabeth Potter", but I refrained from doing so. Now wasn't the time.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." Professor McGonagall said and I tore my attention away from Harry once again. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin." She said the last house with a faint air of distaste. I grinned, I liked her a lot already. "Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rules-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

I was begging inside my head for Gryffindor. I could tell she was the Gryffindor house head. Plus literally my entire family, James, Lily, Remus, and Sirius had been in Gryffindor. I had to be in that house. It was like a need.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." She paused for a moment to give the words effect. I saw Harry flatten his hair out of the corner of my eyes. "I shall return when we are ready for you, Please wait quietly."

She turned and left the chamber. Hermione started speaking under her breath. At first, I thought it was nonsense and then I realized that she was repeating spells under her breath.

"What are you doing?" I asked her, confused.

"Well I don't know exactly which spells I will need to perform in front of the school so I'm just trying to remember everything that I know." She said nervously.

I laughed quietly. "No, it's nothing like that. They don't expect us to know any magic yet. There's this thing called a sorting hat. We just put it on our head and then it decides which house will be the best fit for us."

"Oh." Hermione said, her shoulders relaxing. "Well that makes it all a bit more better now, doesn't it?"

I nodded. Then several people screamed, making both Hermione and I jump in the air. I looked around in a hurry, sure we were being attacked by a magical beast from the Forbidden Forest.

About twenty or so ghosts had floated through the wall and were arguing with each other. I listened in delight.

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost- I say, what are you all doing here?" Said a ghost with a ruff and tights. Nearly Headless Nick. Now how in the world had I known that?

I mean, of course, my father had told me all about the different ghosts at Hogwarts and Peeves the poltergeist. Perhaps I had remembered more than I thought I had.

Nobody answered. I guess they were all to nervous to talk to ghosts.

"We're about to be sorted." I said, rather calmly for meeting a ghost for the first time, I thought. "We're first years."

People muttered around me. I guess they were shocked that someone had answered. To be fair, I was a little shocked myself. I was normally quite shy.

"Hope to see you all in Hufflepuff." Said a larger ghost, the Fat Friar. "My old house you know."

"Move along now, the Sorting Ceremony's about to start." Professor McGonagall said, marching back into the room. I watched the ghosts float through the walls without saying another word. Hermione was staring at me in awe. I blushed and looked down at the floor.

"Now, form a line." Professor McGonagall said sharply. "And follow me."

Hermione got in line behind the orange haired boy and I got behind her. We walked through the doors into the Great Hall. I felt my cheeks flush red. Everything my father had told me about the Sorting Ceremony hadn't prepared me for the feeling of hundreds of students eyes on me.

I looked up at the ceiling. I heard Hermione whisper in front of me, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

I wanted to immediately talk to her about the book. I'd read that book when I was seven and read it multiple times a year. I wanted to know her opinion about everything in it. The legends and myths and history and founders. But I kept my mouth shut.

We stopped in front of the teachers, the Sorting hat sitting on a wooden stool two stairs up. Professor McGonagall was standing to the side with a roll of parchment. All the students in the hall were staring at the hat, and everyone I was standing with was staring at the hat as well. I knew it was about to sing and I waited, amused. I wondered what it sounded like.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty But don't judge on what you see I'll eat myself if you can find A smarter hat than me. You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall, For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat And I can cap them all. There's nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can't see, So try me on and I will tell you  Where you ought to be You might belong to Gryffindor,  Where dwell the brave at heart, Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindor apart; You might belong in Hufflepuff, Where they are just and loyal, Those patient Hufflepuffs are true And unafraid of toil; Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, If you've a ready mind, Where those of wit and learning, Will always find their kind; Or perhaps in Slytherin You'll make your real friends, Those cunning folk use any means To achieve their ends. So put me on! Don't be afraid! And don't get in a flap You're in safe hands (though I have none) For I'm the thinking cap!"

The entire hall burst into applause. It bowed to the four tables and became still again, waiting for students to put it on. I felt a nervous twist in my stomach. I was no longer worried about which house I would be in. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff- as long as I wasn't in Slytherin. No, now I was worried that the hat would see the images in my head. What would it say? What would it think? Did it matter?

I scanned the table, because I knew I would find the man in the purple turban up there. Indeed, he was sitting next to a tall man with shoulder length-black hair and black eyes. Professor Quirrell. Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Evil and fake. Talking to Professor Snape. Potions. The person who looked like a villian but was really a hero.

Evil and fake? Villians and heroes? Why had I let those characteristics define Professor Quirrell and Professor Snape? Growing up with a werewolf as a dad had led me to make judgements after knowing the person, not before. So why had I jumped to such hasty conclusions?

I let my thoughts die down as Professor McGonagall opened up the roll of parchment to start calling names.

"Abbot, Hannah!"

A pale, yet pink faced girl with blonde pigtails walked out of line, stumbling over a boy's leg. I heard a small laugh behind me and I spun around to see a pale blond boy standing between two fat boys smirking. I turned back around with a roll of my eyes. Bet he was going to be in Slytherin.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right clapped and Hannah went to sit with them. Hannah looked like a nice girl and so did the rest of the Hufflepuff table.

"Bones, Susan!"

I watched a darker haired girl climb up the steps and sit on the stool. The hat fit just over her eyes.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat shouted again.

"Boot, Terry!" A dark haired boy crept out of the line and went to sit on the stool this time.

"RAVENCLAW!" The table on the left clapped and multiple Ravenclaw students shook hands with Terry as he sat down. I wouldn't mind being in that house either. My nerves went down a notch again.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Brown, Lavender." This was a skinny and tall girl with golden brown curly hair. She had blue eyes and wore a bandana in her hair.

"GRYFFINDOR" The hat shouted. The table on the far left clapped. I looked over to see that table and laughed out-loud, quickly stifling it. Fred and George Weasley were cat-calling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent." A thick, dark girl with stringy black hair was called up. I wrinkled my nose. What was with me today? Perhaps I was sick. Mentally sick. Was that a thing?

"SLYTHERIN." the hat shouted. The last table exploded into cheers. I didn't even look at them. That table wasn't an option for me.

"Crabbe, Vincent."

The thick guy that had been standing next to the pale blond boy pushed past me to get up to the stairs.

"Could've said excuse me." I muttered under my breath so no one could hear me.

"SLYTHERIN."

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Finnigan, Seamus," A sandy-haired boy walked up calmly to sit on the stool. The hat stayed on his head for nearly a full minute.

"GRYFFINDOR"

"Granger, Hermione."

Her name gave me a start and I watched as Hermione eagerly ran up the steps and grabbed the hat from Professor McGonagall. She jammed it on her head. The Sorting Hat took about twenty seconds to decide that she was going to end up in Gryffindor. For some reason, my heart sank.

"Goyle, Gregory."

The second thick boy stomped up the stairs and sat on the stool. I wondered if his weight would break the stool legs.

"SLYTHERIN"

"Kane, Elizabeth."

My heart leapt into my throat and I walked as calmly as possible up the stone steps and sat down on the stool. The hat was placed on my head and slipped down past my eyes.

There was a small voice that seemed to be talking directly into my ear. "Yes, you are a difficult case, aren't you. You have plenty of courage and you have great talent and smarts. . .hmmm. . . but you're futuristic thoughts. . .that could prove to be a problem."

Futuristic thoughts?

"Yes, those flashes of memories are the future. You should use those smartly and sharpen your skill. I believe you could make a wonderful seer. . .I dearly wish to put you in Gryffindor, but that doesn't seem right."

The Sorting Hat seemed to be talking more to itself than to me. Why not Gryffindor? I thought defiantly. Especially if it's where you believe I belong.

"It all leads back to those futuristic thoughts, Elizabeth Potter, though I never said that Gryffindor was where you belonged." The name gave me a start.

You know who I am? The real me, I mean.

"Of course, I'm the Sorting Hat. I believe that, though you could possibly belong in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, they are to dangerous for you. So is Slytherin. Like I said, you'll figure it out in due time. Sharpen those skills. . .besides, you were already sorted in Hufflepuff long before you came here."

Before I could even think dismally about Hufflepuff and argue to be in Gryffindor, the sorting hat had shouted. "HUFFLEPUFF!"

I lifted the hat off of my head and handed it to Professor McGonagall. I wondered exactly how long I had sat there. Surely, longer than a minute. Hannah shook my hand as I sat down and Susan Bones smiled at me.

I smiled back, sort of out of it. I didn't notice Neville Longbottom as he tripped over himself on the way to the stool. The hat took forever with Neville as well. But I didn't notice.

Futuristic thoughts? I looked up at the teachers table. Professor Snape was looking down at me. I stared back. Multiple flashes happened in my mind, looking at him. A bloody leg, a flash of him and my mum on a wedding day, and him and Quirrell in the forest.

"Potter, Harry"

I jerked my head towards Harry. Whispers immediately arose through the tables. Hannah and Susan looked wide-eyed at each other. Albus Dumbledore, who had been sitting back in his chair, looking bored, suddenly sat straight up and forward, all eyes on Harry.

Harry had the hat on his head for twenty-three seconds before the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR"

He received the loudest cheers yet. Fred and George were yelling "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Another red head with glasses, a prefect if that was what his badge was for, shook Harry's hand. I felt like crying. I'd never felt so far away from my brother as I did now. Perhaps because we were in such close proximity and others were meeting him before I was.

"Thomas, Dean." Was a good-looking black boy, much taller than most of the other boys our age. He was sorted into Gryffindor as well. I looked on gloomily.

"Turpin, Lisa."

"RAVENCLAW!"

The red haired boy that Harry had been talking too, Weasley, Ronald, was also sorted into Gryffindor. I supposed the entire family was probably in Gryffindor. I would've been there too, if the stinking Sorting Hat hadn't put me in Hufflepuff. Well. . .no. . .no, maybe it wouldn't have. I was trying to blame the hat for something that wasn't it's fault. If it believed me to be a Hufflepuff. . . wasn't I a Hufflepuff? Why was I fighting this decision so hard?

"Zabini, Blaise." was sorted into Slytherin.

I stared down at my plate. No, this didn't mean anything. After all, the Patil twins had been separated. Parvati was in Gryffindor and Padma was in Ravenclaw. Harry and I could still be brother and sister, even if we were in separate houses and yet. . .

If the sorting hat thought it was dangerous for me to be in the same house with my brother. . . and my parents didn't want anyone to know that I existed. . .then should Harry know? I mean, when exactly were my parents going to show that I was Harry's twin brother? What if I never was meant to be known by anyone except my family. My family that was now only Lupin since Lily and James and Sirius were all gone. . .

And though the decision hurt, that was when I decided not to tell Harry I was his sister. Friends, and that was it if I was lucky. Until I got some sort of sign or learned more about my parents secrets or somehow managed to wear the sorting hat again and find out more, I wouldn't tell anybody about my secret. And that now included Harry.

Dumbledore stood at that moment and I was glad to be torn from my thoughts. Professor Snape was staring at me again and I thought about the vision I'd seen with him and my mum. That certainly wasn't in the future. And it certainly couldn't be possible because my father was James.

"Welcome!" Dumbledore said and I looked away from Professor Snape. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

I laughed and clapped with the others as food appeared on our table. Now that I was resigned in my decision, I felt that I could relax. . .for the time being anyways. I didn't eat much since I preferred dessert over everything else. But I did eat a small piece of steak while waiting.

Hannah, Susan, Leanne, and I all talked while we ate. All three of them were Half-bloods like me. They were extremely interested to find out I was adopted though I steered clear of names and specific details.

I stopped talking to eat ice cream and a slice of cake. I know, I'm an eleven year old with a sweet tooth. I didn't have any flashes while eating. I wondered if that was the key to not having flashes- Eating.

Eventually the food went away and Dumbledore stood up again. He's going to deliver some strange news, I thought randomly and then wondered if that was just knowing that Dumbledore was sort've eccentric or if I was predicting the future. Perhaps a bit of both.

"Ahem- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

I noticed that his eyes flashed to the Gryffindor door table and to Fred and George Weasley in particular. Yes, those were my kind of guys.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

Maybe next year I would buy a decent broom and try out for the team. Or maybe I would buy the broom if I made the team.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Some people laughed, but I did not. This was serious. A flash happened in my mind and I saw the three-headed dog again. Okay, that was a pretty legitimate reason not to go down that corridor. I would rather not be a dog chew toy. I didn't like dogs. I was scared of them.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore said, becoming more excited than he had the entire speech. I looked at the other teachers. All except Professor Flitwick, the charms Professor, looked like they'd rather take a sip of Skele-grow which is a disgusting medicine I had to take once at St. Mungo's when I broke my arm doing Muggle ice- skating.

Everyone stood on their feet as words twisted themselves into the air, having erupted from the tip of Dumbledore's wand. I tried numbly to think of how I was going to sing this. I hated singing with a passion (in public)- I was no good at it. I became faintly aware of Professor Snape's' eyes on me again. What was his deal?

The school suddenly started singing and I blushed, still unable to think of a way to sing this song.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts Teach us something please, Whether we be old and bald or young with scabby knees Our heads could do with filling With some interesting stuff For now they're bare and full of air, Dead flies and bits of fluff, So teach us things worth knowing, Bring back what we've forgot, Just do your best, we'll do the rest, and learn until our brains all rot."

I was never going to forget anything I learned here, I thought, looking up at the ceiling. I was going to learn and I was going to be the smartest witch of my class. I was going to prove something to myself and to everyone else- I just wasn't sure what yet.

Dumbledore clapped loudly when everyone was done singing (The Weasley twins had sung as slowly as possible, almost making me laugh). "Ah music," he said, as he wiped his eyes. I wondered if he was legitimately crying. Like I said- eccentric. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

I followed Susan one our way to our common room. Leading the way was our prefect, Gabriel Truman. We followed him to where the kitchen was. I knew it was behind the fruit painting though no one else gave it a second look. It was disconcerting really, knowing so much about a place I hadn't even spent four hours in.

Gabriel stopped in front of a bunch of barrels and said, "Gather around and look very closely. Our common room is the only one with intruder-repelling devices and unless you fancy smelling like vinegar for a couple days, I suggest you pay attention."

He showed us that we had to pick barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, and tap on it in the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff'. He demonstrated it and we all entered the common room. My mouth dropped in surprise.

Even though we couldn't have possibly been on ground floor, there were round windows near the top of the walls that let in light. Of course, it was night now so they weren't lit. Instead, the lamps on tables were lit.

The common room was a large, earthy, round room, with a low ceiling. Everything about the room was circular.

The décor was probably meant to emphasize the earthy-feel of the room. There were many plants hanging or sitting around the room. There was a dancing plant near the window. Ivy crept around the fireplace and on the walls.

The furniture was all yellow and black patterned and was made up of rounded sofas and chairs. They were furnished with copper touchings. The tables were made of pine, oak, and cypress and were also round.

There were two, large round doors on either side of the common room, opposite the entry door. They led to the boy and girl dormitories.

The entire common room gave me a hobbit like feeling. I wondered if this was how J.R.R. Tolkien pictured Frodo Baggins home. Or maybe like a cabin in the middle of the woods.

Gabriel told us to retire to our rooms and I followed the other girls to the large wooden door on the right side of the room.

The other girls got ready for bed immediately and soon, they were all sound asleep in their beds. I didn't go to bed right away, too jittery to try and sleep.

I went to my trunk, pulling out a sheaf of parchment. Lighting a candle, I grabbed my Muggle pen. I wrote a letter to my dad. Perhaps it was the feeling of disappointment, but I wanted him to tell me everything was all right. I just wanted to feel his strong arms around me again. I wanted to hear him call me his daughter- just like the night of the robber.

I wrote quickly:

Dear Dad, I'm not entirely sure how I feel right now. A lot has happened since I got on that train. I keep seeing visions of random stuff. A red stone, a three headed dog, and a bunch of other objects, places or people. Sometimes Harry is in the visions too. The sorting hat could see those visions inside my head and told me that it wasn't safe for me to be in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or even Slytherin. He said they were futuristic visions and I needed to hone my skills. He said that being in Hufflepuff was a safe house. I'm not really sure what's going on though. I guess that brings me to my next point: Harry. I don't think I can tell him who I am. My parents obviously thought I should be a secret and the Sorting Hat seems to think so too. He knew my true name- he called me Elizabeth Potter though only I could hear. I also keep seeing visions of Professor Snape which is weird and when I look at the teachers and some of the students, I already know their names even thought I've never met or heard their names before. Do you think that's part of the visions? I'd be lying if I said I was fine. In reality, I'm scared. I mean, I'm going to tough it out- I'm not your daughter for nothing. I do feel like I let you down by not being in Gryffindor but the sorting hat did say that if it wasn't for my visions, I would've ended up there. . .well maybe. He didn't really say that. He just said I could've belonged in Gryffindor. I don't know if that's really the same thing or if I'm just trying to will it to be the same thing. He also said something about me being sorted into Hufflepuff a long time ago. I don't know what he's talking about. I miss you already. I hope you don't get to worried when you read this, I don't want to worry you. Hopefully my classes go well tomorrow. A lot of love, Elizabeth 

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