#and I still can’t quite explain why my skirt feels like the 'wrong kind' of skirt when they’re wearing pretty much the same thing

[wren-kitchens]

there's something so profoundly lasting about feeling alienated from your peers. and I don't know how to even describe it as just like, everything you do and say and wear and like is Different. even from the fellow queer kids because they seem to wear the right clothes and have the right face and say the right things and there's just something about you that doesn't fit in and never will

but also like. the feeling of finding others who seem to stick out in the exact same way as you, because you seem to wear the same types of clothes and walk in the same way and the way you speak seems to be almost the same whilst still being vastly different, and you don’t like the same things but they all seem to be the same kind of thing, or maybe it's just that you like them in the same way. and you’re all so different and you still can’t really place your finger on specifically all of you are so different—because we're all so incredibly individual from one another, but it's the same kind of different—but at least you’re different together

[ronearoundblindly]

What if reader is older than Steve, like...10 years maybe(?) She could see his shyness, ambitious and gentle when they first meet. She never thot Steve would fell for her because of their age gap and she's insecure about herself...

Or the soft dark one...

Goddess!reader could cure Steve's illness and let him could join the military, but the price is he need to remain his virgin.

And if he break the rules...

what kind of "punishment" you think reader would do to him?😌😌💖💖💖

oh. my. god.

thots. n;dsdfieronviriv. THOTS. ndviniusniuelrhbvoer. THOTS. nzkdvuheiunruvps;dn;irfiunrfu.

Holy shit, bae. Here I am, minding my own business, writing some angst and romance, and you hit me with this glory. Gurl, WAT???

Super-Human Resources (Posted separately. Here, enjoy this cool 1k of softdark!smut from a gn!god!reader)

Warnings for zero editing, not overly-explicit filth, marginally subby!steve/bratty!steve, extreme orgasm denial, and FYI, I'm still going to hell.

Beg For My Mercy

He was so desperate that he didn’t think it through. The trade seemed so simple: health for sex. If he were strong, all these weakening maladies stripped away, he could help win a war. He could save so many lives. How could that possibly be only as valuable as forgoing sex? Why should Steve Rogers care about sex? He’s never cared about it before. The trade is genuinely too good to be true. It’s so easy, and he takes it.

And he gets everything he wants. He’s strong. He wins wars. He saves people—unfathomable numbers of people—and then it gets…complicated.

Steve gets attention. He gets accolades and commendations, awards and offers, including some other offers. They’re so easy to brush off at first. After decades, it gets a lot harder. He finds someone attractive, and then he has to stunt the relationship before anything escalates. Since he can’t explain why, they always distance from Steve afterward. He doesn’t blame them. He is starting to crack.

Steve skirts the edges of the rules. He tries to get away with as much as possible that doesn’t count as losing his virginity, which is a surprising amount actually, and that also works for quite a while. He’s just not satisfied. It feels too good to rub his aching cock along that precipice of danger, and he can’t resist.

And then he sees you.

No one else can see you smirking at him standing naked and sweaty above his temptation. His eyes are alight with fear and bone-crushing desire.

“There’s a price if you do this, Stevie,” you say, sweet like honey, thick like the honey can drown him.

He thinks, but Steve thinks with the wrong head and sinks into a tight and overwhelming heat. Fuck, how did he live so long without this?!

So he’s satisfied for a while that night. His partner gets taken care of, coming multiple times, and…Steve doesn’t. He can’t. Eventually, he has to make some excuse to get his date to leave because his dick hurts. He's still rock hard and dying to come.

He can still see you, the entity lurking in shadowy corners, that smirk still on your face, and so he thinks he understands. He can find the loophole.

Up until now, he could masturbate all he wanted; it’s not penetrative sex, so it should work. He takes himself in hand and tries everything that feels good. He can’t get there. His balls are so full and swollen that he’s crying. His skin is raw when he finally lets go. Steve's so tormented by this pressure cooker of need unable to explode inside him that he growls and pummels the pillows and mattress beneath him.

“Please,” he screams, burying his blotchy red face in the sheets. “Please HELP ME.”

The squeaking bed springs snap under his strong punches, and he crashes to the ground, desperately yelling for release until his words are incoherent.

You step forward, eyes softer with sympathy, and Steve looks hopeful, so hopeful for your aid.

“Are you ill, dear?” Your coo rips a whimper from his throat and a tear from his eye.

He can’t even touch his shaft anymore, so Steve clamps a death grip on his inner thigh and prays the pain shifts him beyond the horny wretch he’s become.

“It hurts,” he gasps. “Please.”

“But you didn’t keep your promise. You cannot follow directions, Steve Rogers. Why should I help you?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I needed—“ he cuts himself off in a moan when he watches your eyes drop down to his lap and stay there “—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeats in whispers.

You get closer and closer with each pathetic hiss of apology. The flush of pain and denied pleasure rages hot under the skin of his entire body, but this is what you wanted all along. You’ve been patient. Now he’s right where you want him.

“Are you going to do what I say?”

“Yes,” Steve groans, low and hungry.

“Do you promise?”

“Yes—oooh god.”

You lean down to his ear, knowing only he can feel the featherlight wisps of your touch along his arm. His heart stops in anticipation.

“Come.”

He’s fucked in mind, body, and spirit instantly, spurting into the air as if gravity’s gone from around him. It hurts in the most euphoric way. He can’t handle the ecstasy and devastation colliding at once. Steve finishes untouched and collapses to the broken bed. He grabs the sheets surrounding him and bites down because it’s not stopping. He’s wrung dry for what feels like hours, all the while feeling nothing but the cool air of the room around him. From the grey edges of his vision, he nearly passes out, his throat hoarse from shrieking out with each tensed pulse of orgasm. It’s the best worst experience, and he won’t recover from it in his long, long lifetime.

His heaving breaths slow as you continue to watch him, hovering above his glorious body, enjoying the wreckage to full effect. Once he’s composed enough to unhide his face, eyes still unfocused and glassy, you drag a gentle hand down his chest, and he shivers violently.

It’s finally time to tell Steve what he’s sold his soul for, what he owes you in return for this kindness, what the price for your pity is.

“You will never come again without my permission.” Your soothing, sweet tone rakes dangerously over his spent body. “Never. Not once. I will be here every time, and you, Stevie, will have to beg for my mercy.”

and whoops, I completely forgot to say thank you for the love! 🥺💚🥰 You're too kind to me, bebe.

More on my Masterlist, and if you enjoyed this, please consider liking and/or reblogging! It's like getting a hug every time 🤗

[proserpina-magnus]

Yay your requests are open! 😄 Could you pleeeease write a Dom poly!marauders (no Peter) x sub!reader, where it’s a new-ish relationship between the 4 and the reader breaks her first rule, leading to her first punishment and they can all see she’s nervous so they are soft!doms during (you can decide the rule she breaks and the punishment🙊) and the aftercare they give her 🥺

Yes absolutely, it’s kinda rough and I didn’t realize how lengthy it was! This is actually not that good and the aftercare could be better but I hope you like it!

First Punishment’s (R.L, J.P, S.B)

Reader: fem (she/her)

Word count: 2.6

Warning: swearing, rule breaking, spanking, bratty reader (sorta), d/s (sorta heavy?) Remus is the main dom, safe words are definitely in place, lots of aftercare and praises, reader becomes a cry baby super fast, soft doms, Sirius actually doesn’t show up that much and that sucks :(

p.s: my bad spelling also plays a role in this!

There were only a few solid rules the Marauders had set for you, no back talk, no touching yourself sexually without permission, and always thank them when they give you something. They had a few smaller rules specifically for themselves, such a James saying you can’t cuss while Sirius allows it. Remus has to approve your outfit before going out to hogsmeade. Sirius, surprisingly, doesn’t have many rules other than the main ones.

It must have been a bad day or you just felt bratty, because you had been tempting their rules all day. You had gone out to hogsmeade with your dorm mates, not checking with Remus about your outfit. When you returned, a bag full of honey duke treats, you got stopped by Remus in the hallway. He shoo’d your dormmates away, an eyebrow raised with his hands crossed over his chest.

You shrunk slightly, fiddling with the edge of your rather small skirt that Sirius had gifted to you just days ago.

“Bun, did you forget to do something?” He asked and you nodded. Yet you and Remus both knew you had done it on purpose.

“What did you forget?”

“To check with you,” you mumbled, distracting yourself with flattening the fabric of James jumper you had stolen.

“To check with me about what?”

“M’outfit,” you whispered and you caught Remus's stern look and spoke up. “M’outfit sir,”

“mmh,” was all he said, giving you an opportunity to apologize to him properly. You dug through your bag, taking out a chocolate bar you had gotten him.

“But I went to get you guys sweets!” You excused yourself, pushing the chocolate in Remus's hand. Remus shook his head, taking the chocolate. “Alright, I’ll let you off this time. But no matter what your excuse is, it doesn't mean you can go around flaunting your ass to Hogsmeade, understand?”

“I’m not flaunting my ass!” You exhaled quickly, pushing down your skirt as you began to get offended. Remus raised his eyebrow, “I’m sorry?” And you grew quiet. Real quiet.

“Hey lovely,” you heard James call from behind you, you had turned around to see him race down the hall and swing an arm around your waist, a big smile on his face.

“What’s the issue?” James got the tension and Remus motioned for you to explain yourself.

“Went to hogsmeade without checking my outfit with Remus,” you whispered rudely, James raised an eyebrow as he didn’t quite catch it.

“Hm? Speak up poppet,” he said, and you sighed and said it again louder this time.

“Oh let her off this one time Remus, she must have forgotten,” James defended you, rubbing your back so you knew he was on your side.

“I was,” Remus started, irking slightly as he recalled how you talked back. “But instead she told me off for my offer,”

James grew confused, looking down at you. “Love, that’s not true is it?” He asked, pinching your cheek and you pushed his hand away. You thought he was on your side.

“Remus said I was flaunting my ass! I wasn’t! And even if I was, what's the problem with that? I’ll flaunt my ass whenever I want!” You huffed, another small rule broke at your words. Remus rolled his tongue over his teeth, James folding his arms over his chest. Oh dear lord, you were in for it now if you kept going.

“This isn’t far, it’s 2 against one,” you pointed out as you now realized James wasn’t on your side. You copied them, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It wouldn’t have been 2 against one if you didn’t break a rule,” Remus reminded you, you grew frustrated.

“Well I don’t like your stupid rules,” you stated, now you began to get worried. Why did you keep talking, it wasn’t too late for you to apologize and say you were sorry.

“Up to our dorm,” James said roughly and grasped your elbow, you shook him off and stepped back. “No I don’t wanna,” you said and they both let out a laugh.

“Come on, we’re not asking again,” Remus said, you felt your nerves jitter. You’ve never been punished before and the worry began to build quickly.

“No,” you said, shaking your head as you took another step back. Your back hit a person and you cursed yourself. Without turning around, you knew it was Sirius. But hopefully, you prayed he was on your side. Sirius must have read your thoughts, because he quickly said a “they’re right bun, you know if you break a rule you get punished,”

You frowned, huffing out as you realized there wasn’t a chance to escape now. “Fine,” you muttered, pulling away from Sirius as you began to walk down the hall to the portrait. They followed behind, Remus shaking his head.

You stopped at the portrait, arms still crossed over your chest as they said the password and led you upstairs to their dorm. With the thud of the door being closed, you felt the need for a meltdown.

They hadn't discussed what kind of punishment went with each rule, they hadn’t thought they wouldn't need to punish their good girl. James had insisted you would never break a rule, but apparently he was wrong.

They picked up that you were worried, but they couldn’t just let it slide, you’d think that breaking rules was okay and that you could get away with it.

You walked over and set your bag down on James' dresser, sitting down on his bed, hands still folded over your chest.

“Okay, cool off,” James said and walked over to you. “I want you to know we aren’t punishing you while mad, that’s not how this is going to work,” he stated, and Remus nodded.

“We honestly hadn’t planned out a punishment, we thought you would be good,” Sirius said, that hurt. “I am good!” You replied, upset at the fact they didn’t think you were good.

“Hey, you’re not on thin ice anymore missy, I’d watch what you say if I were you,” Remus snapped and you went quiet with a frown.

“We know you’re a good girl,” James soothed over, giving a glare to Sirius. “That’s not what he meant,”

You began to open your mouth for a snappy comment, maybe even going as far as to call James dumb, but you closed your mouth and stayed silent. “Okay,” you nodded, “I understand,”

“You know why we have to punish you?” Sirius asked, and you nodded. “Say it, we want to know that you know what you did was wrong,”

“I broke a rule, well two rules,”

“Two rules?” Sirius questioned, he had missed the start of the backlash. “She went out to Hogsmeade without my permission for her outfit,” Remus cleared up.

“technically she actually broke three,” James said, your eyes opened as you looked over at him. How could he? You felt the need to cry, they seemed really upset. Who knew you would hate them being upset at you so much?

“Three?” You questioned in pure confusion.

“You cussed, you know I don’t like that,” James explained with a hand on your thigh, you nodded in defeat. “It’s alright, bun,” he kissed your cheek.

“James, don’t encourage that she can break your rules,” Remus advised and your shoulder slumped at the fact this wasn’t a time for you to get praises.

“Alright, let’s discuss punishments, she’s scared I don’t like that,” Sirius said and sat opposite of you, Remus took a seat on the chair by James dresser.

“You want us to list some?” James asked, “we won’t do anything without your permission,” he explained and rubbed your knee, you sighed but was a bit confused.

“You can use your safe word any time you feel unsafe, even during punishments. We never want you to be scared of us, okay?” Remus said, rubbing your cheek and you nodded. You leaned your face in his palm, you wanted to soak up all the affection before your punishment.

“We need clarification, you understand bun,” Sirius said, you opened your eyes when Remus pulled his hand away. “I understand, I can use my safe word whenever I need to, even during punishments,” you nodded along, slowly the nerves began to settle.

“Good girl,” James praised, “don’t think we’re going to praise you during punishments either, but since it’s your first time we’ll be more understanding,” Remus explained and you nodded.

“Alright, what about spanking? Not letting her cum for a certain amount of time? Degrading?” Sirius rushed out the ones off the type of his head, your stomach flipped at the word spanking.

They discussed punishments in front of you for a few minutes, some making you worry and others you nodded along like you’d enjoy it. You didn’t know why, but hearing them talk like you weren’t even there was making you feel dizzy.

“What about a simple time out? I don’t want to go all out for her first punishment, I don’t want her to be scared,” James said, rubbing your back gently.

“Let’s make her pick, that way she has control over the first punishment,” Remus said, looking away from Sirius as he kept his eyes on you. “We’ll let you pick this time, but don’t think you’ll get to pick the next time you break a rule,” he explained and you nodded.

“No punishment,” you choose and Sirius laughed, kissing your forehead. “That’s not how it works bunny,” he began and you sighed. You thought for another minute, spanking couldn’t be bad could it?

“I guess spanking,” you nodded, Remus nodded but James wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know, I still think we should give her a time out, maybe even not let her speak for a day or so,” James said, Sirius didn’t agree.

“She wants to be spanked, we’ll spank ‘er,” Sirius said, patting your thigh.

“The whole point of a punishment is that we don’t do what she wants, it’s not a punishment if she likes it,” James explained, you began to worry again.

“I don’t wanna do something scary,” you say, you thought about the discussion of the things you definitely didn’t want to do at the first of your relationship. Were they going to do something that was past your boundary? At the thought alone, you began to sob.

“James look what you did, you’re scaring her,” Sirius rolled his eyes as he took you in his arms, shushing you gently as he rubbed your back.

“M’don’t wanna do things past my boundary,” you sobbed, they all softened at the miscommunication. “Oh no poppet, we would never go past your boundary, that’s not what a punishment is,” James sighed, you sniffled and pulled back, wiping your eyes. “No?”

“Of course not,” Remus clarified, “like we said, safe words can be used during any moment you feel unsafe, do you need to use it now? We can postpone the punishment until you’re ready,”

You shook your head, “no, the faster the punishment is over the faster I can be your good girl again,” you whispered.

“That’s right, just focus on that huh? We’ll be so proud of you for taking the punishment like a good girl,” Sirius said, looking over at James and Remus. They all agreed and you wiped your cheeks.

“Okay but how many spanks? And how hard?” You asked, they all thought for a moment, james and Sirius looking over at Remus for the final answer.

“20 or so? That seems fair,” Remus states and the latter agree, you felt confident with being able to handle 20. “But how hard?” You asked, James stood you up and you felt a hard smack against your ass. You yelped, hand going over to rub the now red skin.

“Does that count as one?” You question, Remus was about to say no but Sirius caught him off. “Might as well,” he states, “who’s giving the punishment? Cant be me cause I’ll enjoy it too much,”

“I want James,” you say, but James shakes his head. “You upset Remus' earlier love, I’ll give you 10 and Remus will give you the other,” he says, looking over at Remus to see if he agrees. The taller boy nodded.

After a few minutes of questioning, you had situated yourself on James lap. Sirius laid on his bed, clear view of your now exposed ass (James had previously risen your skirt and pushed down your panties). You took a deep breath, Remus explaining once again that you could use your safe word whenever you needed.

With the first official smack, you sucked in a breath. There was a certain excitement about it, even the boys felt their heart race as James abused your soft flesh with a couple more smacks. Your skin red on both cheeks, James even went as far as to hitting the low of your thigh.

After the tenth smack, you had begun to let tears slip past your waterline. Sniffling as you sat up and moved to sit in Remus' lap. Once sprawled out, you whispered a small choked out “okay” for Remus to continue where James left off.

Remus’s spanks we’re harder than James, by the fourth you had become a whimpering mess. Your apologies for misbehaving leaked out every smack, it was like dominos. Your skin felt raw to the touch, the spanks stung.

Remus applied the last smack quickly, Sirius sitting up as James fell to his knee beside the bed, stroking your hair. “You did such a good job, poppet, made us so proud,” James whispered as Sirius passed Remus some cream.

Your face deep in the sheets, sobs admitting loudly as you feel the cool cream get rubbed into your hot skin. Sirius rubbed your leg, Remus finished and flipped your skirt down to hide your reddened ass.

“Look at that, you took your first punishment so good,” Sirius said, Remus helped you sit up as you wrapped your arms around his collar.

“M’so so sorry, never break a rule again,” you sobbed, vowing to never receive another punishment. Even though they knew a punishment was necessary, they felt their hearts stop at the sound of your cry.

“Oh baby, shh. Let’s get you some candy from your bag,” Sirius says, grabbing the honey duke's bag as he rummages through it. Remus guides you away from his neck, sitting you down in his lap. You hissed, the contact not feeling good on your abused behind.

James had opened a water bottle for you, pushing in a straw and holding it for you to drink. You nodded your thanks and shakily took it, sipping it graciously. Your eyes were puffy and red, James wiped your face with a tissue, cleaning your mascara from your cheeks.

Sirius had opened a pack of peppermint patties for you, you chewed on it gently and leaned against Remus’s back. After they got you calmed down, the praises had been never ending.

“Look at you, took your first punishment so well,”

“Good girl, best sub we will ever have, hm?”

“Took the spanks so well didn’t she, prongs?”

“She’s such a good girl, don’t you think moony?”

You felt dizzy at their compliments, nodding as they all came tumbling in at once. Sirius had begun brushing your hair, James kissing your cheeks to make you laugh.

“So proud of you poppet,” James whispered in your ear, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he picked you up.

“Let’s go run you a bath and soothe your skin hm? Then will bring you dinner and you can rest with us tonight,” James said, stepping into the bathroom.

“Okay, I’d like that,” you nod tiredly, resting your head on James' chest. Maybe being bratty wasn’t so bad.

—

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[yanderechuu]

Shower Thoughts

yandere!Class 1A x fem!reader

[3.2K]

Summary: Momo wasn’t as trustable as you had presumed.

Warning: Larceny, nonconsensual touching, masturbation

│

You used to spend roughly ten minutes in the shower, only ever needing to soak your body in the water, apply shampoo and body wash before rinsing all the foam of products from your skin and scalp. Shower thoughts simply consisted of the day’s agenda or any special occurrence that had happened the past week, never really drifting off to existential questions and dark notions that would keep you from leaving the bathroom later than usual. You neither necessarily liked taking a shower nor did you dread it, as to you it was only ever a mandatory routine of the day which you handled with a neutral mind.

But now, ten minutes were already a slow thirty, and majority of the time you bothered not to move your arms to make work of your hair, or lather your skin with soap as you normally would do had it not been for the questions plaguing your mind like how your classmates would terrorize your time and space.

Right, your classmates - who would spend every hour of the day with you as if they didn’t have anything better to do. As if you were an important subject of matter next to hero training. You never appreciated it, because from the start, you did not want to have anything do to with them. They smothered and coddled you as if air wasn’t that important to you, disregarding the way you felt about personal space, how it was very significant to you. Rare were the moments of peace as a few of them were always by your side, ‘ensuring your safety’ as they would like to quote it. Why ensure your safety? You had not been a prominent figure in the sports festival, neither did you have a quirk that could be of great utility for the villains unlike Bakugou or Tokoyami. You weren’t a problem child, either. Their justification of following you around like you were some sort of high-maintenance prisoner made no sturdy sense to you.

“There’s this new package of green tea my mother had sent me this week! Would you like to try it, (y/n)?”

“Sure.”

But if you had to choose among your classmates one whom you would tolerate for the following years you’d be in U.A., that would be Yaoyorozu Momo. She was kind and considerate, often determining your feelings before you could voice it out (not that you really had the courage to, most of the time). She was organized and pristine and never had you met someone more befitting for the definition of ‘mom friend’ than her. She was perfect in nearly every way, and even though you’d have the occasional pang of jealousy at some times her perfectionism was displayed (gender envy, isn’t it, (y/n)?), she never seemed to bear mal intent, so you would let the emotions slide. You’d see the galaxy in her eyes if you would stare long enough. Her tea was best substitute for coffee, too.

You never considered her more than a very great friend, though, and to her, that was a problem.

As you sauntered your way over to your dorm with her, you shuffled your bag to take your room key buried in the side pockets. “I’ll go down in a while, but you better make sure you’re in the common room before me.”

You wouldn’t allow your classmates to take advantage of your lone self simply because Momo wasn’t there to fend them off.

“Mhm! Lemon green tea as usual, correct?”

“Yeah. Thanks again, YaoMomo.”

Your use of sotto voce tone on her nickname gave a pleasant shiver down her spine; her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head had she not restrained herself. Having been always kept to yourself, you never felt the need to adjust your volume for others to hear properly, so oftentimes your voice came out in a whisper - not that she minded, of course. You sounded more sensual that way.

“Are you going to take a while or will I have to brew tea right away?”

“Training was more strenuous than usual, and my muscles can’t seem to relax,” you explained, “so I’m going to take a quick shower.”

From your peripheral vision as you were focused on your bag to fish out the key, you saw Momo’s jaw slack upon hearing your plan to take a bath. It was odd, but you didn’t give particular attention to it when you finally took out your desired item. You failed to notice the way she abruptly settled her gaze on the key, inspecting it as if she was deliberating its shape, form, and material, and installing it to memory.

“Oh- oh!” She exclaimed. “I do remember having some body wash that help soothe muscle strains and body aches. I can hand them to you if you want.”

You shook your head, smiling lightly. “You’re too kind, YaoMomo. But I think just hot water will do for me.”

She watched as you opened the door to your room, giving her one more smile before disappearing inside and locking the door with a distinct click. As soon as you did so, she pulled the sleeve of her wrist up, developing with her body lipids a key the exact copy of the one you had held.

You certainly lied when you had said you were going to take a ‘quick’ shower. Already ten minutes into it did you only decide to sleek yourself with liquid body soap, initially absentmindedly rubbing it on your body, before you gradually got rougher with your movements and soon you found yourself scuffing your own flesh with vehement motion.

They were excessively touchy again, your classmates. Denki got too close to your face while delivering a pick-up line that made you wish you didn’t exist in order to hear it, and upon nearing you did Bakugou pull you away from him, cursing at him to buzz off. He took his time feeling up your waist - the part he used to grab you - while at it. During lunch, as you were once again coerced into joining his group to the cafeteria, Izuku refused to let go of your hand as you walked, and Uraraka as adamant with hugging you by the hips with one arm. It was what girlfriends did, she said, and you were not entirely sure whether or not she referred to that word romantically.

And if not, then did girlfriends also normally touch the parts of which you did not want to be touched on? You felt, clear as day, a bare hand resting on your thigh when you sat on your usual spot, dangerously close to lifting your skirt for everyone to see, and when you gave Hagakure’s faceless face a questioning look, she asked you what was wrong. Her uniform sleeve was literally floating on top of your lap, and still she had the gall to pretend as if she was not touching you with lacking consent. 

 You were not safe from Shoto, either, when he offered to readjust your uniform tie and you were in no place to decline (you had the right to, but they just stripped you off of it), his breath hitching in ecstasy as his fingers brushed your chest; he was, audaciously enough, not hiding his bliss. Then he rubbed your shoulders to ‘warm you up,’ when all he really intended to do was motivate his own fantasy that you were his and he was simply scenting you like some fucking alpha to his omega.

You turned no blind eye to their gesticulations. You never once found it endearing, and wished they would stop with whatever the hell this was called, because you were quite sure this was past the border of molestation and could already be rendered a form of bullying.

But not once did you consider the possibility of having a class obsessed with your quaint self.

So you supposed that until you’d find a way to deduce their idiosyncratic actions and tendencies then you would have to make do with your own bathroom as your safe space. Momo was the only classmate you could confide to, so at least she was there.

Unfortunately, you had yet to see the other side of her coin.

Because as she was just right outside your bathroom door, obsessively taking in every bit of item you owned inside your dorm room like a madman, you were left with the impression that she was all you could ever ask for in a friend. You didn’t know how she was not any better than the rest of your classmates, adoring your very existence to the extent of insanity; how she’d crave for you so often and so terribly that she’d feel herself clench when you do so much as merely spare her a glance. And you had done that a lot today - she would have to relieve herself for it.

She spotted the heap of clothes right by your bed; it became apparent that you had stripped yourself off of it before entering the bathroom and taking a shower. Walking towards it, a portion of your seamless underwear came to view, and she resisted the urge to render into a mound of horniness in order to pick it up and inspect it closely.

It was a lighter color of (s/c). A plain, simple, modest undergarment item, still it evoked a particular feeling on the bottom center of Momo’s hips. The heat came rushing along her midriff and instigated the muscle of her legs to falter, and as soon as she felt it, a hand of hers drifted past her skirt, feeling up the slick accumulated on the fabric of her own panties only with the knowledge that your panties were currently in her possession. She needed release, but you were nearly finished with your bath, and she was still inside your room.

You walked out of the shower the moment she shut the door of your bedroom. You saw it closed, but you didn’t catch the culprit.

This unnerved you to no end. Undoubtedly, you thought, this had to be one of your classmates. Who else was it supposed to be? Aizawa-sensei (...)? You had yet to know their ultimatum, but you were sure this occurrence was another one of their schemes. You had assumed that all their weird, unappreciated antics were just to get you to socialize with them, but now you didn’t understand why it had gotten to the point of entering your room without permission.

You couldn’t keep this to yourself.

So you planned to bring it up to Momo, a representative of your class and someone whom you deemed trustable enough to share it with. Quickly, you dressed into your casual indoor attire, and rushed outside your room to head to the kitchen, where you presumed she’d be in the process of making your tea. But she wasn’t there.

Instead, she was in her own room, your panties muzzled right into her face and her own fingers buried deeply inside her cunt.

“Oh- oh, god- Ah! (Y/n)!”

Oh god, your panties. Oh god, your panties. The object most intimate to your parts of intimacy, soaking every bit of womanly secretion from your genitalia. Of all the masturbation sessions she had done to the thought of you, this was the hottest. She wasn’t quite sure whether to imagine your cunt on her lips in a position of mutual cunnilingus or your fingers thrusting into her in place of hers. She wanted both.

A whine slipped past her lips. To think that moments ago, she was in the same space as you were nude. Oh, to join you in the bathroom, doing inenarrable things to each other with the use of the showerhead. To touch your skin selfishly rather than only watch as she would do during class hours.

She came with a squeal, falling face-down to bite the duvet of her large bed. Gone in her hazy mind was her promise to you of lemon green tea, and as she still basked in the pathological euphoria of getting off, you were in the common room, anxiously waiting for her return.

But just as you had expected, someone was bound to spot you alone and take this as an opportunity to be with you, and they just so happened to be-

Oh. Aoyama.

He offered you a slice of cheese with his usual grin before settling down a few feet beside you, enough to leave you be in your personal bubble. You gave him occasional glances, unwrapping the cheese from its casing and he just sat there, eating his. He was alright, you guessed - another tolerable classmate of yours next to Momo. Perhaps it was because you used to always be alone in the classroom with him during break time that you were at ease with his presence. Or maybe he just seemed so gay and that, for some reason, comforted you. One gay presence could comfort another lol.

“It’s delicious.” Your comment came out inadvertently.

“Oui. Only the best quality for the best person.” He flaunted.

You weren’t exactly sure whether he was referring to you or to himself, but you paid little attention to that as the cheese was certainly delicious; you were not lying.

“It’s odd how your chose to take a bath at this time of the day.” He spoke.

You stopped chewing.

He meant to refer to your damp hair, but having just suspected your class of breaking and entering your room, you thought otherwise.

“I-” You choked on the cheese, ending up needing to gulp it like liquid content instead of breaking it down to fit your throat. 

Immediately, he sprang up in concern, stepping over to you to gently thump you on the back. “Are you alright?”

“No- I mean- I just-!” You wheezed, occasionally having to clear your throat. You swatted his hand away from you; you hadn’t meant to appear rude, but you did. You stood up in a rush. “L-look, I have to go.”

“Don’t you want to drink water?”

“I’m- fine,”

With your words, you took off from the common room area and headed back to your room. There were two sets of emotions that mixed to form the bile in your throat. One was wrath and humiliation upon the discovery of Aoyama’s actions. The other was betrayal and confusion from Momo’s absence when she had said she’d be brewing tea for you, and it wasn’t the tea that disheartened you. She knew of your issue with the class, and if she were busy, couldn’t she have texted you a heads-up?

She shouldn’t be surprised when at the next time she saw you, you interacted with her less. Your intention to distance yourself from her was most prominent, and it didn’t help that your classmates took notice of this, because now they were taking advantage of the situation, tagging you along with them in spite of your futile attempts to decline now that Momo was nowhere to tell them off. When she’d talk to you, you would answer, though your voice was back to speaking to her like she was a stranger. 

Resentment was stronger than ruing the lack of intimacy between you two. It was as if she had received your panties in exchange for the time she’d be spending with you, oddly enough. After much deliberation, she came to realize that this was your little ‘tantrum’ after not being able to meet with her the other day. 

It was pretty cute, she thought, that you’d try and make her acknowledge the fault on her part by ignoring her.

You didn’t walk with her back to dorms as per usual that dismissal. Instead, just like what you had used to do before finding consolation in her, you walked alone, accomplishing being able to avoid your classmates as you did. By the time she reached the dorms, you were in the kitchen, fetching a glass of water to satiate your throat. She took a hold of your wrist before you went back to your room.

“(Y/n),” she pleaded, “tell me what’s wrong.”

You looked at her with a reluctant expression. Perhaps you should. After the short while that you had been hanging out with her, her presence turned into something you came to miss. You wanted her back, but not in the way she wanted you.

“I-it’s just,” you stammered out, “y-you know how I feel being alone in the common room without you. I... I’m not comfortable with our classmates when you’re not around.” She took pride in this. “I don’t take it lightly how you left me alone the other day...”

Your voice faltered out the longer you spoke.

So she was correct; you were certainly having your little ‘tantrum.’ With a guilty smile, she left your wrist to hold your hand tenderly, and suddenly it dawned upon you the feeling of whenever Bakugou held your waist, Shoto nuzzled his face on your neck or Izuku invaded your personal space.

Fear and apprehension.

Before you could preach your objection to whatever she had planned ahead for you, she dragged you along with her and you both reached her dorm room before you could comprehend where she was taking you. 

“I’ll make it up to you.” She said, making you sit on her large bed.

Then she proceeded to make you tea, boiling water with an electric kettle situated on top of her study desk; there also laid a tea set next to her three books, which you assumed were those of which would aid her in the utility of her quirk, like encyclopedias. Beside those was a piece of cloth, unfolded, unkept - a (s/c)-colored silk fabric.

Your face drained of color.

She pushed the books towards the cloth, completely obscuring it from your view and leaving the table disorganized. You knew Momo, neat and orderly as much as possible; she wouldn’t do that without reason.

Now that you thought about it, the same day someone had barged in your room, your underwear had been missing from your set of laundry garments. You spent the next whole day actively avoiding Aoyama, thinking he was the culprit to this felony. At the present moment you were reconsidering your allegation.

“U-um, Momo, I need to go-”

“Here!”

She yelled it so giddily, so uncharacteristically, as she pushed the cup of tea towards your way. How she did so was very quick that you had not the time to take it properly, and steaming liquid fell to your décolletage, past the cotton of your uniform and streaming down the valley of your breasts. It was a moist mess. She loved every bit of it.

“Oh! Oh, my bad. I’ll- I’ll clean you up!” She exclaimed, all flushed and excited.

You didn’t find it in you to push her back when she began to do exactly what she had said, taking your blazer off, loosening your school tie and unbuttoning the dress shirt underneath, only ever being able to stare at her with eyes that evinced betrayal, because it slowly occurred to you that she was satiating her own selfish obsession with you all under the ruse of maintaining a decent friendship. 

“(Y/n),” She breathed out, “I adore you.”

She was no different than the rest of your classmates, and you were a fool to think otherwise.

[redhoodieone]

His Girl

Plot: Dick Grayson has a type in women: athletic, feminine, and classy. However, the reader is completely different as she is plus-size, tomboyish, and spontaneous. But a conversation about Y/N between Dick and the batboys takes an unexpected turn one night.

Warnings: Language, Sensitive topics, and Fluff.

“What the hell’s up your ass?” Jason asks Dick, as he hands him a bottle of beer from the refrigerator in the Batcave. It was only until last week that Bruce gave in and allowed a refrigerator to be down there after the boys begged him for one.

As long as it was only for beverages, of course. Bruce had mentioned the boys have been eating too much junk food lately, but the boys knew deep down that his rule is simply for him, because of his age, and maybe for Y/N, too.

Y/N has only been with the Batfamily for a year since her family died at the hands of Two-Face. She had only started training with Bruce for two months now, and the two of them have been working out quite a bit.

Which makes sense of Bruce’s one rule for the refrigerator, though. But that hasn’t stopped Jason from sneaking in food anyways; mostly pizza and lunch meat and cheeses for sandwiches.

But now, Dick’s distant and silence is unbearable since the circus descent acrobat is usually excited and rambling about anything and everything.

���Uh, nothing! I mean...” Dick stutters. His behavior tonight was questionable to say the least. Usually, he would be on his game and even throw some wisecracks but he’s been awfully quiet, nervous even.

“Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say,” Jason scoffs.

Dick sits on top of the hood of the Batmobile while he peels the sticky label from the beer bottle. He notices Tim and Damian walking out from the showers and are already dressed in sweatpants and t-shirts. Bruce is seated at the Batcomputer, still in costume but minus the cowl. Jason sits at the small table and sips from his beer and snacks on a triple meat and cheese sandwich he must have made quickly.

And Alfred had long gone to bed after Bruce forced him to get some rest since they’ve returned home and are not dead.

Dick suddenly notices Y/N must still be in the showers, on the other side of the cave for privacy where the guys can’t bother the girls.

“Fine...I’ve been...having these thoughts and dreams about Y/N lately,” Dick confesses. He notices Jason staring at him with a confused expression.

“Yeah, and…?”

“Well…lately, I’ve been thinking about her as…more than a friend. I’ve been seeing her in a new light. And you know I’ve always thought she was cool, and funny, and incredibly smart,” Dick continues, with a small smile. “But…I’ve never been sexually attracted to women like her before.”

Jason purses his lips and appears to think it over. “So, I don’t see the problem.”

“I just told you I’ve never felt this way about Y/N or any woman like her before.”

“Because you’re shallow.”

“I’m not shallow,” Dick argues, suddenly feeling defensive at Jason’s attack. “I just…I’ve never seen heavy women as hot, you know?”

“You can try to justify all that, but the point is, you’re shallow.”

“Have you ever slept with a heavy girl before, Jason?!” Dick snaps.

Jason chuckles and grins. “Actually, I have.”

“Bullshit,” Dick scoffs.

“Yeah, I have Dickie-bird. It happened three years ago, when my Outlaws and I kicked Black Mask’s ass. We went to a bar to celebrate in downtown Gotham. Roy and Star left early to go fuck or something. I was left alone and I was about to call it a night until this smoking hot woman took a seat next to me. She had long dark hair, tan skin, and curves that made my mouth water and my cock hard enough to pound nails. She was gorgeous, but there were these assholes around her and were calling her fat and telling her to leave because no one here would take her home. And do you want to know what I did?” Jason asks.

“What?” Dick asks quietly.

“I took her home, after I broke all those guys’ jaws. She was fucking amazing, man. She had a magnificent ass that she actually allowed me to spank. Her curves were endless, and after I fucked her good three times, cuddling and falling asleep with her was probably the best part of the night. I’ve never felt so…comfortable and felt warm, because I actually felt someone beside me,” Jason admits.

Dick raises an eyebrow at him. “Wow, I didn’t think something like that could happen to you, Jason. If anything, I thought you were shallow.”

“I used to be, until I realized I was judging others, when I was actually trying to have others not judge me. Alfred actually helped me with that. I don’t remember every word he said exactly but he said I wasn’t trying all the ice cream flavors out there. Like, I was always sticking to a certain flavor of ice cream, and I wasn’t trying other kinds, meaning I should be looking at all types of women. And after my one night stand with that magnificent woman’s ass, I realized bigger girls aren’t deal breakers; they’re just more to love,” Jason admits, and shrugs with a smug smile.

“That’s…I don’t even know what to say. But Y/N’s different. She’s someone we know and it makes it harder. And my problem isn’t that I’m shallow, it’s how I’m supposed to handle my feelings about her.”

“Yeah, you are, Dick. Y/N’s literally the best woman we’ve ever met. Hell, the best woman I’VE ever met. She’s fucking funny, she’s so caring and kind, she’s smarter than Timbo when it comes to common sense,” Jason lists off his reasons.

“That’s true! I’m not going to lie about that!” Tim interrupts from the distance.

“Y/N’s real, she doesn’t bullshit about anything like other girls. She’s honest, and that’s a rare thing to find nowadays. And fuck…she can really handle her alcohol, she can down shots of Fireball like it’s water,” Jason adds.

“You don’t think I know all that? Of course, I do! That’s why I’m having such a hard time dealing with my feelings for her. I’ve only ever been with tall, athletic women, who wear skirts and dresses, eats healthy, and are…well, feminine,” Dick confesses. A guilty expression shows on his face. “And Y/N’s not any of that. She’s really short, kinda chubby, and she’s more of a tomboy type, who’s loud and rambunctious, and eats like a man.”

Jason snorts. “And that’s a problem why? That’s why Y/N’s fucking awesome, man! I actually really like how she’s not afraid to be herself. She’s not fake. Do you know how long it took for her to be comfortable with all of us and be who she is rather than how she thought we expected from her? And I don’t know about you but I love how she eats, whenever we go out to restaurants, I actually like how I can eat the way I want and not feel like a fat ass because I know her and I both love what we love and fuck all who have a problem with that!”

Bruce turns around in his chair and gives both boys a warning look. Even Tim and Damian silently take a seat and watch closely.

“Fuck…Y/N is the perfect woman. She’ll always be in my eyes,” Jason admits, looking down at his beer longingly before taking a sip.

“If you feel so strongly about her then why haven’t you tried to go out with her or sleep with her?” Dick asks angrily.

Jason’s pause takes everyone by surprise. “Because she can do better than me.”

“You-you actually tried to get with her?” Dick stammers.

“Oh, yeah I definitely did. I think about a year ago. I had spent the summer with her here while everyone was busy with the whole Justice League and Superman bullshit,” Jason explains. “You were with the Titans with Tim and Damian. It was just me and her.”

“Alfred was there as well,” Bruce mumbles.

“Anyways, call it cheesy as hell like those romcoms, but we actually got really close. She’s a spitfire for sure, but she really knows how to get under your skin,” Jason chuckles.

Tim and Damian nod their heads in agreement with that.

“And I obviously made the whole situation uncomfortable as fuck because when I told her how I felt, she rejected me. She said we were too alike, we’d butt heads all the time. And after that, I never brought it up again.”

Jason’s confession gives Dick a sense of confidence.

“Look, if you want to ask her out and do all that then I support you. Just know if you fucking hurt her or do anything wrong, I’ll slit your throat even if you’re family,” Jason threatens seriously.

“I wouldn’t even know how to bring it up with her,” Dick says.

“Well, don’t bring up how her weight and appearance bothers you,” Jason says seriously.

“It doesn’t!”

“Okay. How did you ask Barbara, Star, Zatanna, and-”

“I get it, Jason. I’ll just talk to her and tell her I have strong feelings for her,” Dick interrupts him. “I’ll just tell her the truth.”

“You already did.”

That voice belonged to none other than Y/N. All the guys in the Batcave jerked their heads to the top of the stairs where Y/N stood and looked down with tears running down her cheeks. She was wearing her plaid pajama pants and a loose black t-shirt she stole from one of them a long time ago, she doesn’t exactly know who though.

Dick and Jason slowly stand up. Dick carefully walks over to the stairs while Jason cautiously follows.

“Y/N…” Dick whispers, already feeling guilty and nervous that she had probably heard everything. “Please listen to me…”

“WHY?! So, you can tell me you didn’t mean any of that, when you actually did. I thought you were different! I didn’t know you could judge someone like that! Especially someone like me!” Y/N yells. “I thought you were my friend!”

“I am your friend! Y/N, please give me a chance to explain! I really like you, and-and I was just trying to ask for help so I can talk to you!” Dick pleads.

“Don’t lie to me! You were only asking for help because you didn’t know how to deal with me being fat and manly! I’m sorry I’m not like Barbara and Star! I’m sorry I’m not beautiful and thin! I’m sorry I’m not perfect for you!” Y/N cries out and runs up the stairs.

“Y/N! Wait! Please!” Dick shouts for her. He chases after her.

By the time Dick reaches Y/N’s bedroom door, it’s locked. He can hear her crying, automatically feeling like shit for being the reason why she’s hurt.

“Y/N, please…” Dick tries again.

“Leave me alone, Dick!”

Dick swallows hard and forces himself to move away from her door. There was no use for him to stand there; he’d already broke her trust and possibly ruined their friendship. He might have even ruined his chances with her.

Jason approaches Dick. “Is she crying?” he asks.

“Yes,” Dick chokes out. He runs a hand through his dark hair. “Fuck, Jason…I don’t know what to do. She won’t even talk to me.”

“You should go, Dick. I think you’ve done enough.”

Dick was a little taken aback by Jason’s command. He pushes himself to walk away anyways.

“Bruce wants to talk to you. You should go find him before he finds you,” Jason adds.

Dick exhales heavily and leaves. Jason shakes his head in disappointment at him. He takes a deep breath and knocks on Y/N’s bedroom door.

“Doll, it’s Jay. Please let me in,” Jason says softly. “I just want to talk to you.”

He didn’t think she would open the door for him. He didn’t think she would want to talk to him even though he hadn’t pissed her off or upset her in any way. But Y/N unlocked her door and even opened it for him.

Jason was deeply heartbroken to see Y/N; her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks were wet, and she had the devastating look on her beautiful face. He quickly walked into her room and shut the door, quickly locking it.

He had to be cautious though. He knew couldn’t say or do the things he wants to do with her right now. Instead, he slowly and carefully approaches her. She allows him to wrap his strong arms around her, bringing her closely to his body to hold and protect her from everyone and everything.

“Shh…it’s okay, sweetheart. I got you. I’m not going anywhere,” Jason whispers into her hair. He tries desperately to not inhale the addicting scent of her shampoo and lingering perfume so much. “You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Y/N lifts her face from Jason’s chest and gazes up at him. The sight of her glistening eyes makes him draw her closer to him.

“What did I do wrong, Jay? What did I do to deserve all that? Is everything about me really bad?” Y/N asks softly, on the verge of tears again.

“No. No, don’t say that. Don’t say any of that! Nothing is wrong with you. You’re beautiful, Y/N. You’re perfect just the way you are,” Jason admits.

Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. It breaks Jason’s heart more when she tries to pull away from his embrace, but he refuses to let her go. His grip tightens and he holds her as if she’d disappear and leave him all alone.

“That’s not true, Jay,”

“It is true. Hell Y/N, you’re the most badass woman I’ve ever met. You don’t take shit from any of us. You’ve managed to stay here even after all the bullshit everyone has put you through,” he explains. He even chuckles at a memory. “You’ve even made Bruce cry, remember? Remember you called him out on his bullshit when he refused to train you? You’re almost a savage like Alfred, you even make Wonder Woman and Catwoman look like dollar tree prizes, and that’s no lie.”

Y/N looks down at her feet. Jason knows she still doesn’t believe him.

“You’re always perfect in my eyes, Y/N. There isn’t a goddamn thing I would change about you,”

“If I’m so perfect, then why does Dick think so low of me?” Y/N asks. She sniffles adorably and looks back up at him.

“Because he’s a fucking idiot who can’t see the best thing that’s in front of him,” Jason answers, and looks into Y/N’s eyes before he looks at her lips. “But his loss is my gain.”

[onceupon]

London Boy - Part 3: I like girls that dance

summary: It’s your first night out and your first real introduction to Westheath. Rafe is quick to find his way on your radar.

pairing: Rafe x reader (slowburn)

warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 4.6k

a/n: the way I’m imagining Jack Harlow as I write Liam 😩✋also, im pulling these chapter titles out of my ass - but actually tho, go listen to Girls That Dance by Masego 

Part 1 Part 2

Despite your doubts, you put on the sheer top and the black mini skirt Millie and Olivia had insisted you wear. Your favorite pregame playlist plays as you do your makeup in the mirror. You move as quickly as you can, in desperate need of a shot to calm your nerves before your flat fills with people. You’re also nervous about seeing Rafe after that encounter in the kitchen you just had. 

As you run your fingers through your hair and put on your earrings, all you can see is his stupid (and annoyingly attractive) face, staring down at you with that dumb backwards cap, telling you that you guys should watch Game of Thrones together. Every time your mind starts to think if that means something, you quickly shut down the thought. Of course it doesn’t mean anything. Just because a boy wants to watch a show with you does not automatically mean he wants you or that this was going to turn into some kind of Netflix and chill situation. Or was this gonna be a Netflix and chill situation? I mean it was Rafe Cameron after all, the boy certainly had a reputation. But then again, hadn’t he just showed you that he’s different from what you had expected? Oh god this was all too much to think about right now, you needed a shot. Stat. 

“Y/N!” Olivia shouts, swinging the door to your room open right on cue. “Oh. My. God. You look so hot!” she exclaims. “Here, this is for you,” she extends a shot glass toward you with a devilish grin. 

“Oh god what is it,” you grimace. Shots always seemed like a better idea in theory than in practice. 

“Try it and find out,” she smirks. You sigh and send the liquid to the back of your throat, immediately cringing at the sting of raspberry vodka, Olivia bringing a cup of cranberry juice to your mouth to chase. 

“Don’t worry love, a few more and you won’t even taste it. Now come on,” she laughs, dragging you with her to the kitchen. The rest of your flatmates are already there, Millie bopping along to the music, giggling at whatever Topper is saying, Rafe standing close by sipping his drink. 

“Y/n you hottie!” Millie cheers, looking up as you make your way into the kitchen. You pray to god your cheeks aren’t turning pink. You don’t dare turn your head, but you know Rafe is staring at you. If you looked at him now you’d be crimson for sure. 

“Alright everybodyyy,” Olivia begins, pouring the same raspberry vodka into the five shot glasses she has lined up on the table. You can’t help but laugh at her infectious energy, this girl is nothing if not the life of the party. 

“Cheers to our first night out as flat mates! Wooo!!!” she exclaims, as everyone grabs a shot glass from the table, Rafe instinctively passing you one, hands briefly touching during the exchange and again as you all clink your glasses. You down the contents, unsure if the heat forming in your chest is from the vodka or the feeling of Rafe’s passing touch. 

Pretty soon people start to arrive, Olivia and Millie making sure to introduce everyone. The flat becomes a blur of bodies drinking, dancing, and mingling about, and somehow, despite it all, Rafe Cameron is the person you find yourself standing with. There was something magnetic about him that you couldn’t quite understand, but it kept drawing you near. 

“What are you drinking tonight Cameron,” you nod at the cup in his hand.

“Jack and coke. Of course,” he scoffs with subtle sarcasm, which you instantly pick up on. 

“Not straight whiskey? Wow. That’s not very Figure 8 of you,” you admonish playfully.

“Straight whiskey? L/n who do you think I am?” he twists his face in mock disbelief. “But I’m game to do a shot if you are,” he adds.

“Hmm that does-“ you begin, but you’re quickly cutoff. 

“Y/n, babe, if I had known you’d be here I would’ve came sooner,” Liam greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a cheeky smile. 

“Now how on earth do you two know each other,” Millie asks, walking in line with the boy.

“Umm,” you chuckle nervously. You could not have possibly felt more awkward at the conversation unfolding in front of you, Rafe standing by as witness to it all. “He’s that boy I went to the bar with the other night,” you explain sheepishly.

“That was Liam!? Chrissake. Well I apologize on his behalf for anything he said or did.”

“Hey I’ll have you know I’m a proper gentleman!” he defends, throwing you a wink as Millie rolls her eyes. Just at that moment, another group of people walk in through the door, conveniently coming to Rafe’s rescue.

“Rafe!” a girl calls and he clears his throat excusing himself, Millie following suit to greet the latest batch of guests. You watch as he leans in for a hug with the girl who’s just called his name. She’s twirling her hair and batting her eyes, confident, flirty, gorgeous - just his type. A sick feeling pools in your stomach, you don’t even realize you’re staring. 

“Lily Colts, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Liam informs you as he takes the now empty spot next to you.

“Oh, um no, I was just uh-“

“It’s okay Y/n, I get it. So flatmate huh” he laughs, unbothered.

“No no it’s not like that at all I uh-”

“Alright. Y/n,” he says, jumping up to sit on the counter behind him, cracking open the can in his hand. “You know I think you’re hot and you know I like messing with you-”

“Actually I know neither of those things,” you reply indignantly. 

“Yes you do, you’re not dim,” he bulldozes right on, “I can read people pretty well, and there was a vibe there.”

“A vibe?”

“Yeah. Between you and what’s-his-face. You should’ve seen the way he tensed up when I came up to you,” he snickers in amusement.

“Shut up. His name is Rafe, by the way, and there was no ‘vibe.’ Also why are you even telling me this?” you ask, growing frustrated with the cocky brunette.

“Y/n please,” he scoffs. “I told you I can read people, so let me read you. You’re out here in London right, far away from home, keen for a fresh start. You’ve never been one for meaningless flings, but fuck it, if everyone else can do it, why not you? Or so you try to convince yourself, but you know that’s not you. See, you crave that emotional connection, and when you find even a hint of it, you’re a goner. Which is why you’d never actually hook up with me and it’s why you’re staring at that boy from home even though you swear you don’t care, but you do - you feel something there.”

You’re dumbfounded by his ability to know things about you that even you yourself can’t recognize. “I liked it better when you were just flirting with me,” you grumble.  

“No worries darling, I’ll definitely still do that. I’ll even dance on you in the club if you ask nicely, might make pretty boy over there jealous,” he motions with his eyes toward Rafe, at which you give his shoulder a shove.

“You’re an idiot you know, Millie was right on the money with that,” you quip, as the two of you head over to her, Liv, and the boys.

“Please, Millie wishes she could be right on something else,” he says as you shoot him a glare, trying your best to suppress a laugh. Liam was starting to become a pain in your ass, too smart for his own good, but at least he was a funny one.

—

Your first night clubbing was going great. The place was packed, the music was good, and you were having a blast dancing with Liv, Millie, and their friends. You couldn’t help looking around the club though, eyes scanning for Rafe in the crowd. He’d been hanging out all night with Topper and some of the guys from their new soccer team. You longed to be near him somehow, to interact with him again. All your conversations with him earlier today had left you with an excited buzz - you didn’t know what it was about this version of Rafe Cameron in London, but you were actually enjoying his company.

You try to push him out of your mind and just enjoy the moment. It’s not like there was anything between you and Rafe, you had just barely began to form a semblance of a potential friendship today, let’s not get carried away. Besides, you live with the boy, accidentally running into him wasn’t going to be much of a challenge. 

“Anyone want anything from the bar?” you shout over the music to your friends.

“Vodka soda with lime please!” Olivia shouts back and you nod, turning to make your way to the counter a few feet away. You place your order and mindlessly tap your fingers on the bar as a figure appears beside you.

“Hey, Y/n right? Flatmates with Olivia, Mills, and the boys?” the girl asks, and you turn, now face to face with Lily. 

“Uh yeah, hey,” you feign a smile back. 

“I’m Lily, nice to meet you,” she smiles genuinely. “I’m friends with all the Westheath bozos you’ve probably been meeting tonight,” she laughs, “Callum and Henry over there are my best mates. They’re on the football team with Rafe and Topper, we were showing them around earlier. My god you guys have been hoarding some cute ones over there in America.”

You chuckle, “glad that Kildare’s presence can at least be of some benefit.” 

“So, girl to girl here, what can you tell me about Rafe Cameron? He’s such a hottie isn’t he? Would love to get a taste of that,” she smirks, licking her lips.

“Umm I don’t really have much to tell,” you say, unsure of how to navigate this conversation. You could tell her what you thought you knew of Outer Banks Rafe - he’s a rich, party-boy player. But after today, that no longer felt right. You didn’t want to say or presume anything about him at all actually, it felt wrong to talk about him like that. God, what the hell was wrong with you? You spend a few hours with the boy and you already have a soft spot for him? You needed to get a grip. “Our families know each other but we don’t really hang out at home. He’s uh- he’s cool though,” you decide as a sufficient response.

“Any girl friend?” she asks, sliding cash over to the bartender as she orders a shot.

“Rafe’s not really the ‘girlfriend-type’,” you answer, bartender sliding you the drinks you ordered and Lily her’s. 

“Well then cheers to that,” she grins, clinking her shot glass to your drink before she downs it, waving a quick goodbye. You watch as she makes her way back to Rafe and their group, adorning a flirty smile. You feel sick to your stomach. You wanted to hate her, you did. But you couldn’t. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was just confident, outgoing, and not afraid to go after what she wanted. There was nothing for you to be angry about, who was stopping you from doing the same?

 But in the back of your mind you decided you could never go after Rafe like that. He would never be interested in you in that way, you were sure of it. You had a hard time believing your friends when they hyped you up, so you definitely weren’t going to believe for a single second that a boy you thought was cool could possibly look at you in the same way. Besides, the mere idea of being rejected by Rafe Cameron, and then having to continue living with him and eventually go back to the Outer Banks for everyone to find out you had been rejected by the kook prince, was so mortifying that the very thought made you want to crawl into a hole. So you promise yourself, right then and there, that you won’t let yourself get hurt like that. You could hang out with Rafe, get to know him, become friends even, but under no circumstances could you be caught wearing your heart on your sleeve. You couldn’t disarm yourself like that and give him the upper hand. You needed to look out for yourself first and foremost, preserving the little bit of control you still had over your life. 

You walk back over to your friends, slipping Liv her drink as her and Jake dance together. Your new friends are all tipsy and in a world of their own, getting lost in the music and their movements.

“Dance with me,” you turn to Liam who’s right beside you.

“I said if you ask nicely,” he admonishes sarcastically, to which you roll your eyes.

“I’m not gonna beg Liam. You wanna dance or not?”

“Sheesh, Lily Colts got your panties in a twist like that?”

“Not. At. All.” You confidently stare into his eyes, sipping your drink. It’s no use, Liam knows you all too well by now, and you curse yourself for the way in which this boy is able to see right through all the walls you put up. You may think these walls are made of brick, but to Liam they’re glass.

He just laughs at you, shaking his head in amusement. He grabs your free hand and pulls you closer to him, your bodies now pressed together. He takes your hand and rests it on the back of his neck, his finding their way to your hips. He plants his leg in between yours and soon you guys are lost in the rhythm. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying every second. He spins you around and you lightly grind your ass against him.

“Damn Y/n, I didn’t know you move like that,” he jokes, as you face forward again. He leans in, his hand on the small of your back, and you feel his breath right against your ear, “he’s looking by the way.” Your breath hitches, but you know better than to turn around. Liam is already one step ahead of you, instinctively twirling you again so you can quickly catch a glimpse of Rafe’s eyes on yours without it being obvious. “Told you he’d be jealous,” he smirks down at you triumphantly.

“Shut up,” you reply, the slightest smile tugging at your lips as your sweaty bodies continue to move to the music.

—-

“Aw flatmate bonding you guysss,” Olivia gushes, as you all sit together at a booth. She had forced you all out of your beds this morning to get breakfast together. Despite being hungover and groggy, you all reluctantly agreed. “Mimosas anyone?” she jokes.

“If I so much as smell any alcohol I think I’ll vomit,” Topper groans.

“Aw, what’s the matter, can’t handle your liquor Tops?” Millie asks, quirking her head to the side.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. Could ask you the same question. My room is right next to the bathroom, don’t think I didn’t hear your retching last night,” he snaps back, to which Millie turns bright red and soon you’re all hunched over in laughter.

“I think a mimosa would make me yak right now too, to be fair. Coffees all around!” Olivia asserts.

You’re seated across from Rafe as you both scan your menus, your eyes immediately fixing in on the pancakes. The waiter comes by to take all your orders and you can’t help but blush a little when Rafe orders pancakes and you have to follow with a “same for me.” Such a silly, meaningless thing, I mean everyone likes pancakes. But being the only one to have the same exact order as Rafe leaves you feeling embarrassed, for no good reason all the same. You all begin to scarf down your food as soon as it arrives, thankful to have something to soak up the alcohol in your stomachs, as you share stories and laugh about last night’s drunken antics. 

“So how is it that we’re all flatmates and yet I only have Topper’s contact. Come on, add ‘em in,” Rafe says, sliding his unlocked phone to the middle of the table.

“Wait I want snapchats too. Oooh! And instagram!” Olivia pipes, whipping out her phone as well.

“I expect no booty calls Cameron. This is strictly business,” Millie jokes, typing in her and Olivia’s numbers before passing his phone to you. 

“Am I allowed a booty call?” Topper smirks, extending his phone as well.

“I wouldn’t push your luck Thornton,” she smirks back and he pouts in response. You finish typing your name and number into Rafe’s phone and hand it back to him, skin briefly making contact once again. Even though you had known Rafe all your life, somehow you two never had a reason to exchange numbers, only following each other on Instagram which he never posted on anyways.

“Alright everyone, pull up your snapchat codes, I wanna make a group,” Olivia says and everyone obliges, arms crossing every which way as you all add each other. “What should we name our group chat? Ooo can we do a ship name of our schools - like Kilheath or Westare?” 

“I like Kilheath,” Topper chimes in.

“Yeah I bet you do you psychopath. Sounds like the name of a bad horror movie,” Rafe laughs.

“Oooo there’s five of us, we could be the Spice Girls,” Millie beams.

“No.” Topper immediately shuts her down. 

“What about ‘American Boys and Spice Girls.’ You know, like the Kanye West song,” you add.

“Ehh, we’re getting closer, but not quite there,” Rafe teases you and you playfully kick him under the table. “I’m hearing a lot of opinions and not a lot of contributions,” you cross your arms and raise your brows.

“Hey hey hey, I’m a critic, not a chef L/n,” he lifts his hands in surrender.

“Ooo I got it! We can call it the ‘Royal fam,’ like the royal family,” Olivia suggests, finally getting approval from the whole group. Breakfast is soon over and you all return to your rooms, eager to nap away the remainder of your hangovers. You lay in your bed and stare at the newly formed snapchat group on your phone. Royal Fam 🇬🇧🇺🇸 appears on top and you scroll down, looking at Rafe’s username and bitmoji on your screen. You laugh at the fact that even his bitmoji wears a backwards cap. It was weird, having him in your phone like this. You had known this boy your whole life, but you two had always operated in separate spheres. And here he was, in your Snapchat, a glimpse into the life of Rafe, of which you only ever got a birds eye view of back home. It almost felt like you were trespassing somewhere you didn’t belong, having access to him like this. You sigh and lock your phone. Rafe Cameron really isn’t all that bad.

—

The next few days fly by fast as you become acclimated to Westheath. You and the rest of the Kildare kids attend an orientation with Westheath’s exchange advisor, spending the whole time with your little trio: you, Rafe, and Topper. When you had first arrived abroad, you were deadset on forging your own path in London and steering clear of everyone else from OBX. But hanging out with Rafe and Topper made you all but forget. It was fun and easy hanging out with them, in fact, counterintuitively, they were helping you forget all about the Outer Banks, just as you had hoped to do. Your conversations centered around your interests, your new lives, on random jokes and made up bits. It was almost as if there was a mutual unspoken agreement between you, them also trying to escape and forget their lives in OBX.

Pretty soon classes began, and you were learning a new schedule and adapting to British schooling. Your evenings were spent singing and dancing in the kitchen as you, Liv, and Millie simultaneously cooked your dinners, getting pints at the pub around the corner with your Westheath friends, and playing card games at the kitchen table with Rafe and Topper, the smack talk between you three flowing strong. There’d be short moments where you’d find yourself alone with Rafe - he’d explain to you whatever Premier League team was playing that day, you’d show him how the coffee machine works, and the occasional passing comments of “so when are we finally starting Game of Thrones, Cameron?” “I’m ready whenever you are, L/n.”

—

It was a Wednesday night, and you were curled up in your fluffy gray blanket watching Gilmore Girls in bed. You found the show comforting and familiar, the small town of Stars Hallow reminding you of what you wished your life in the Outer Banks could be like. Instead it was more like the cold and pretentious atmosphere of Chilton and the older Gilmores’ Hartford life. Your phone buzzes, and you pick it up lazily to check, suddenly freezing at the notification on your screen.

Snapchat: Rafe Cameron

You had opened a few snapchats from the boy over the past few days, but they were always random ones he would send to the group chat. This one was just for you. You gulp and put your phone down, not wanting to open it too fast. A few minutes go by and you realize you haven’t paid an ounce of attention to the show on your screen, even though you’re staring right at it. Fuck it. You open your phone and tap on the unread snap.

When are we watching Game of Thrones L/n the snapchat says, a picture of his laptop on his bed and the HBO Max home page open, the series featured in the corner of the screen.

You snap back a picture of your blanket and the laptop playing Gilmore Girls in front of you: ready whenever you are Cameron.

Almost immediately you get a response back.

Rafe Cameron: wait are you home rn? His message is accompanied by a random picture of his room, a view you let your eyes linger on until the message expires. Another peak into Rafe Cameron’s world.

Y/n: Yep! You send a blurry selfie of you wrapped in your blanket.

Rafe Cameron: be over in 5

You leave that last message on open and your heart starts to race. Just breathe Y/n, breathe, you keep telling yourself. It doesn’t have to be a big deal if you don’t make it out to be. It’s just a show. Just a show. And besides, you guys are friends now, right? You sit up in your bed and grab your pillow, shifting over to sit horizontally on your mattress. That seems more casual to you, more ‘just a couple friends watching a show together at a comfortable distance’ and less ‘sitting right on top of each other Netflix and chill’. You gulp down some water to ease your dry throat when you hear a gentle knock.

“Come in!” you call out, and now Rafe Cameron is in your room, eyes absorbing all the details that are so you. The posters on one wall, film camera photos on another. The string lights which wrap around your room and give it a warm glow. The plants, the subtle scent of vanilla. The bag you always carried with you, hanging off the side of your chair. He almost felt like he was intruding, like he was getting an intimate glimpse of something that was for your eyes only. 

“Whats up,” he says, holding his laptop and closing the door behind him. 

“Ready to finally start the show,” you laugh, “it’s about damn time.”

“Hey, I’ve been ready, it’s you who’s been taking your sweet time.”

“Is that so?” you ask sarcastically and a smile forms on his face.

“What are you doing over there? Who sits like that on their bed?” he asks, now coming over and taking a seat on your mattress facing vertically, propping your other pillow behind his back. “Can’t even stretch out your legs or anything,” he continues, patting the spot on the bed next to him, signaling for you to come over.

“I don’t know, I think it’s comfy,” you lie as you crawl over to him, your first line of defense already shot down. 

“Weirdo,” he chuckles to which you nudge him in the side with your elbow. “If Topper’s wrong about this I’m gonna give him so much shit,” he says.

“Topper does have a lot of questionable opinions,” you laugh, “but I have a good feeling about this one.

—

One episode turned into two turned into three, you and Rafe instantly hooked. The nerves you had felt earlier at sitting so close next to this boy in your bed had all but dissipated, you quickly acclimating to the space he took up next to you. Even though by now all your previous misconceptions about Rafe had disappeared, replaced with the boy you had come to know over the past week, there was a small part of you that was still waiting to see if he’d try to pull something on you, like the Rafe you imagined back home surely would. Of course he didn’t, watching and discussing the show with you, making you feel as comfortable as if you two had been friends for years. You almost felt bad for having had doubted him in the first place.

When the third episode ended and you two got into a long post-episode discussion, you hardly noticed when the conversation began to digress. You both started to sink lower and lower down into your pillows, until you were both laying on your backs, staring at the ceiling and lost in exchanges of words and thoughts. The conversation was different this time, more candid and open, as if the shadow of the night was inviting you to divulge thoughts you wouldn’t have shared in the day. He spoke of his strained relationship with his father and you shared the silly drama that had caused a riff between you and your former friends back home. He showed you pictures of his dog and you showed him the video you had been working on all summer long in OBX, not having anyone to hang out with before you left for London. He talked about how he felt so disconnected from almost everyone on that island, and you nodded, understanding all too well. The conversation continued to ebb and flow, the occasional funny video or meme pulling you two into fits of laughter before seamlessly delving into another vulnerable train of thought. You both had your Spotify accounts open now, taking turns sharing your favorite songs. You put on a playlist you had made over the summer, full of songs that made you feel at peace. 

“This puts you at ease huh,” he says.

You turn your head to look at him, “how could you tell?”

“I don’t know. I guess just the way your whole body relaxed the second you pressed play,” he replies.

“Yeah,” you say turning your head back toward the ceiling. “I know it sounds cheesy, but I feel like these songs are speaking to my soul or something,” you whisper.

“Yeah I get that… I have those too,” he whispers back. Neither of you realize it’s already 5 am and neither of you notice as your eyes both get heavy and sleep washes over you, playlist in the background like a lullaby. And at some point during your deep sleep, Rafe’s arm has found itself unconsciously wrapped around you.

---

Part 4

a/n: lemme know what you think!(:

[guns-in-the-desert]

Germany NSFW A-Z

I’m super excited to post this, I worked hella hard, so here it is.

A= Aftercare

   He’s not the best at it, as being soft and comforting isn’t in his nature. It takes him a while to get good at it, and when he does, it’s super routine, almost robotic (let’s be honest, he made a checklist.). Step 1. Ask if  you're alright, Step 2. Wipe you down, and so on and so forth.

B= Body Part

  Not to be basic but, your boobs are hands down his favorite part of your body, he loves to squeeze them, even when y’all aren’t fucking, he’ll play with them without even realizing, bonus points if you have sensitive nipples. On him he really likes his arms, he likes how they look around your waist, and how easily he can pick you up.

C= Cum

  Ludwig is a Super neat person, so he likes a quick and easy clean up. He likes to nut inside you/a condom or in your mouth, not only does he think it’s hella hot, but also there's little to no mess, it’s 10/10 for him.

D= Dirty secret

  He would die before telling anyone this, but he steals your panties, not that you don't know, he’s quite bad at returning them, so you notice them missing. He really wants to stop, but he just thinks it’s so hot, and they remind him of the different times you've done it, for example: You wore that pink velvet thong the first time he tied you up. P.S they're not always clean when he takes them, at this point don’t even let him do laundry

E= Experience

  He’s not as experienced as you might think, he’s quite awkward actually. He’s done it a few times, but he still can’t can’t look at your bare body without blushing, watches HELLA porn though , but don’t expect him to admit it.

F= Favorite Position

  He absolutely LOVES fucking you against the wall, you would never know it, but he’s kind of a show off. This position shows off his strength (and his biceps), plus he gets to feel your tits against him, it’s a win win situation for him.

G= Goofy (is he more serious or goofy in bed)

 This man ain’t even goofy in day to day life, like, at all. Y’all know damn well he did not come to play any kind of games with you, I wish you would try and crack a joke while his dick is out.

H= Hair

  He's neat, he trims regularly, he's well maintained and well groomed, would never shave it completely off (he gets cold) because it makes him feel less manly

I= Intimacy

  He’s not goofy, also not very intimate, he’s quite aggressive, being gentle isn’t in his nature, not that he’s trying to be during sex, like italy said in the show “he’s like some sort of super sadist.”.

J= Jack off

  He jacks off, a lot, don't ask him though, he’d practically deny knowing what masturbating is, claims it’s “DISGUSTANG”, despite literally getting porn for christmas. You've caught him in compromising positions multiple times, still denies ever doing though.

K= Kink

  “He's like some sort of super sadist.” Italy said it best will literally rock your shit for the hell of it. Flogging, spit, bondage, the whole nine yards, know s, almost no limits, will he slap you across your face and call you a whore? Yes. Will he choke you until your face turns blue? Yes. Will he tie you with a vibrator and leave you for hours? Definitely. Will he make you walk on a leash and sleep in a dog bed? Absolutely. Can he look at your tits, without blushing? Of course not, what are you, fuckin crazy?

L= Location

  The bed, he does NOT want to even risk getting caught, he’d be WAY too embarrassed. He decided to get frisky in the living room once, and Gil walked in. He didn’t fuck you for a week and he didn’t talk to his brother for a month, partially because Gilbert’s and asshole and takes every oppurtunity he has to bully his younger brother, partially due to embarrassment. 

M= Motivation

  Almost everything, surprisingly, he’s actually a pretty horny dude, but if you really wanna get him going, beg, he loves to see you beg, you could also crawl around on the floor in low cut top, and skirt in front of him, but don’t be surprised if you get a collar the next day.

N= No

  Will not, and I mean NEVER ever even consider sharing you under any circumstances. He doesn't care how much you beg and plead. Why would you want somebody else with y’all is there something he’s doing wrong, ask him again, I dare you, you'll get your ass beat, I mean it, in the hottest way possible of course.

O= Oral

  Ludwig prefers receiving, and even though you’re doing the sucking, he’s doing the work. Really rough, so don't be surprised if cum is coming out of your nose by the end of it. When it comes to giving, my guy had a stiff ass tongue at first, like he licked your pussy mad hard, he figured it out eventually, thank god.

P= Pace

  Surprise surprise, he’s mad rough, but does find a pace and a rhythm quite quickly, which is a really good trait not many people have (I assume) it’s easy to get into, which is always pleasant. It goes very smoothly.

Q= Quickies 

  Not the biggest fan of quickies but he’ll do them nonetheless, they just aren’t his favorite, he’d pick it over masturbation, not that he does that of course, your always a better option with his hand.

R= Risk

  He takes risks in the sense that he likes to experiment with new toys, kinks, roleplays, etc. not with location though, he sticks to the bedroom and the shower exclusively, and he's even iffy about that.

S= Stamina

  This man spent a decent chunk of the show running, so he can and will go for hours. It's kind of insane. 

T= Toys

  Yes, of course, ropes, vibrators, flogs, you name it, he's got it, it’s as simple as that.

U= Unfair

  While foreplay lasts for quite a while, he isn’t much of a tease. With the exception of the occasional orgasm denial, he’s pretty straight to the point. He doesn't see a reason to drag things out when it’s not necessary. Like if you're  getting flogged, you're getting flogged, there's no if, ands, or buts, he doesn't have time for talking or teasing.

V= Volume

  He sucks at dirty talk, so he lets his actions do all the talking. Doesn't really make noise during sex, there’s the occasional grunt, but even thats rare

W= Wild Card

  So I mentioned before that you caught him in compromising positions in the past, the first time this happened was an absolute disaster. You had walked in to ask him what he wanted for dinner, he looked like a deer in headlights. You asked him what he was doing and his response was “I lost my turtle.” I don't know what part of him thought he would believe because; 1) He doesn't own a turtle, 2) he somehow lost it in his dick? So for this to make sense, he would have had to go and buy a turtle, have it near his penis for whatever reason, proceed to forget about said turtle, and after all that it still would explain how a turtle would fit into anyway, like I know you have foreskin, but, damn. So you ask him if he was masterbating, which obviously ended like this “NEIN, THAT’S DISGUSTING!” 

X= X-Ray

  Big dick,  more girthy than it is long, but it still has quite a bit of length, has the slightest curve, and a vein along the underside, he’s uncut. Wait till you see this man in grey sweatpants.

Y= Yearningh  In the top 10 for characters with the highest sex drive, He’s number seven on the list. Which says more about the people above him than it says about him, himself.

Z= ZZZ (How quickly does he fall asleep after?)

  Either he’s out immediately, or  he gets up and does work, there is ZERO in between with this man, I really don’t know what to tell y’all.

I really hope y’all enjoyed, I don’t have any WIPs as of right now. So, I write when I get ideas until I get more requests. See y’all in the next one. Bye for now

[bonny-kookoo]

👹Bad Habits (JJK x Reader) 💜☁️🔞

👹Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

👹Genre: (Twisted)Romance, Angst, Smut, Psycho!JK

👹Warnings: Size kink, Body worship, biting, rough manhandling, JK accidentally hurts her a bit (but apologizes dw), mildly disturbing themes (blood, guts, bones cracking...), criminal activities such as theft (mentioned) and murder (not actively stated, but heavily implied), panic attack, psychotic episodes, psycho!JK because holy shit I actually got scared what did I create, degrading names (he calls her a whore in his mind like once..), possessive JK, strength kink, reader is unable to conceive (chances are very slim), unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it folks), impreg kink, dead dove do not eat 🕊 manipulative Koo, Dom!Kook, therapy talk, relapses, horrible anger management, emotional koo, emotional reader, look mom I actually wrote a happy ending

👹Summary: Oh monster monster under my bed, you’re the only one I have left, come out and play ‘cause I need a friend.

Jeon Jungkook is sick.

You know this, you are very aware of it if the very much still gaping holes in the walls of your apartment, left from his most recent violent episode is anything to go by. He's got anger issues, that much is very apparent to anyone who genuinely knows Jungkook. Somehow he just can't keep himself in check, it's like he just needs the perfect trigger to simply go off like a bomb dropped from ten feet. It doesn't take much to rile him up. It takes a lot however to get him back down again.

Now, this would be the perfect moment to explain that you are the sweet and kind ray of sunlight calming his temper and cooling his ever violently burning mind- but that's not the case. There's nothing that can tame the young man at your side, nothing that can snap that collar around his neck and chain him up to a wall until he's safe to be around again. You can't do anything more than watch and pray that he will keep his promise to never ever hurt you. At first, you were worried. Anyone would be.

But then the first outbreak came.

Then the second.

And you were fine.

He would wreck the apartment, throw furniture, or beat someone to a bloody mess in an alleyway next to a nightclub simply because the guy had looked at your admittedly short skirt the wrong way. While for the longest time he didn't care about anyone, you've become his possession, in every way that the word stands. He owns you, every single cell of your being is his, and he's ready to push anyone's eyes back into their skull just for looking at you weirdly. No one is allowed to lust after you but him. No one's allowed to even think about you but him.

It's quite bittersweet, the reasoning behind his obsession with you. You're not scared, you're never running away, you're always so gentle, so delicate, such an angel around him- and in one way he fears that one day he's gonna be the wolf eating the sheep in a frenzy. In the other however, he's weirdly amused by it; the way you still look at him so innocently as if you didn't know that his hands could snap your neck like a twig between his combat boots he's typically sporting. It's a very twisted story with you two, and in a sense, he's certain that you have to be just as sick in your head as he is for genuinely loving him and his bad habits.

Just like now.

You're not saying anything. Even when you can hear the young mans ribs cracking underneath the steel toed black boots of your boyfriend, you're quiet, watching, unable to tear your eyes away from him- and you don't even know who exactly you're watching. You have already forgotten what the young man looked like- your eyes unable to reconstruct his facial features back to what they were before Jungkook had thrown his fists into them until the stranger couldn't even open his eyes anymore, face bloody and bruised to the point where you're hoping he won't survive it. You're also simply watching as Jungkooks pretty long hair, drenched in a mixture of sweat and rain from above whips around violently as if to mimic the way his muscled leg stomps into the man's chest over an over again, face holding a determination that should scare you. It's all over after a moment however, as your boyfriend seems to grow a bit tired now, slowly calming down as his anger ebbs down, waves finally evening as he breathes heavily. He runs a hand through his hair as he looks at what's in front of his feet; unable to quite realize that this was actually him. He turns, looking for you, and his entire facial expression suddenly changes.

While he looked absolutely terrifying just moments before, he's suddenly holding such a sweet and calm glint in his eyes as he takes off his jacket, putting it over your head as he smiles down at you, inner demon now fed again as it seems to crawl back behind his actual soul it consumes daily. You smile back, and he leads you out of the alley, giggling like a teenager when you playfully start to run towards the car, calling him a sore looser when he doesn't let you win like he usually does.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's just a young man as well, deep down.

He's got you sat on his lap as he greedily licks at your neck, teeth suddenly clamping down on the skin as you mewl underneath his touch and actions. He's grinning like the devil in person, his large-in-comparison palms holding your behind as they suddenly sneak underneath your shirt; his shirt, actually, and the main reason he suddenly got hungry to devour you. Your hair is still slightly damp, but he doesn't care as he lifts you up, placing you underneath him on your shared bed, hair falling into his eyes as he pulls the dark grey carharrt shirt over your head, immediately kissing your collarbone, hands kneading your breasts needily as he seems too eager to slow down anytime soon. He grabs your ribs and its as if he doesn't know where to touch- he wants it all, wants to feel it all, all at once, because it drowns out all the bad things he usually does. You're an outlet for his pent up aggression, only that he lets loose differently with you. He's got no hunger to make you suffer, to give you pain or to have you look at him in fear. No, he simply craves the way you writhe underneath him, ready for him, wanting, needing him. Such an angel, such a whore, so needy for his love and affection.

Something he wasn't sure he was capable of.

But he is, and it shows; while he usually moves with his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed, ever so agitated by the simplest of things, his face is calm now, relaxed, eyes however still feral- his gaze enough to make your core ache and your skin tingle. He's chuckling as he moves you around, suddenly impatient as he noticed your panties won't leave your legs as fast as he wants them to. It irritates him to the point where he just rips them as the seams, the fabric now ruined, but neither of you care as his hand instantly finds its way down to cup your heat, ring- and middle finger collecting your slick to bring it upwards to your clit, thumb running in circles over it as you squirm and whine, making him smile.

You're so sweet like this, and he can't help but move your legs, pulling you closer to him in his usual rough manner- he's not capable of being all gentle and sweet, after all. He tries, he really does, but Jungkook is like an overgrown puppy; he doesn't know how much strength he actually has. And it shows, as you squeak, painfully so, as he had gripped your legs a bit too tightly; fingerprints already an angry red on your skin, and he cooes at you, apologizing. "I'm sorry, so sorry.." He hushes against your skin, placing sweet kisses on the pulsing marks on your leg. "can't help it baby.." He muses, and you simply nod your head, hands reaching out for him as he smiles again, kissing your lips, finally.

He's never been fond of the gesture before, not understanding why something as unsanitary as this could be meant to signify any romance at all. But eventually he's gotten to know the intimacy of it, and had decided for himself that he'll never kiss anyone but you in his life. He doesn't want anyone but you anyways. You're his, for now, and forever.

"You're so sweet angel, you know that?"

He humms it against your neck as he finally rids himself of his own clothes, erection hard and proudly waiting to bury itself into your sweet cunt. "Hmm.." He humms again, amusement in his voice as he continues to draw patterns over your sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. "I still can't believe how I fit inside that pretty body of yours." He says, as you suddenly feel the hot skin of his length against your middle. "Can't believe you can take it so well princess." His hand leaves your core finally, as he slowly enters you, making you mewl as he groans.

He doesn't have much self-restraint, but every time you're together like this, you're both amazed by how much he can control himself. The way he plays you like an expensive instrument makes you hang from his hands like a puppet on its strings. And you love it- the simple fact that he's able to do anything he wants with you, yet he'd never use you just to throw you away. He'd never hurt you. You know this.

He grins as he places his hand over the slight bulge forming underneath your skin where his cock is moving inside you, all warm and swollen, impatient as he can't help but move more vigorously, harder than before, as your body moves along with the beat he's giving you. He's in control, its impossible to lie about that and you don't see any problem with that. Your mind is empty, only pleasure remains as he bites down onto your skin again, hands roaming as if they can't decide where they want to stay; because it's the truth after all. He can't decide what he loves most about you, if your body is whats the most desirable or if its your soul locked inside of it and chained to his own like a prisoner. He gets a kick out of this feeling, out of the way you're speared on his cock like the doll you are, and if he desired to, he could simply snap your bones like those pepero snacks you always eat, and it would be just as sweet as they taste. Yet he doesn't- he's being oh so generous with you, letting you live beside him, keeping you as safe as he could at his side, never to let anything come close to you. You're his.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's also head over heels in love with you.

You don't know what it was this time.

You only know that he's currently in your shared apartment, having returned from Job hunting, and by the sounds of crashing glass, he's probably having another one of those days. You know you should just leave him, but ever so often your own curiosity gets the best of you, and you sit up on the bed, dressed in nothing but a shirt, your panties, and socks to keep your feet warm, since the heating in your apartment broke months ago. You carefully open the bedroom door, peaking around the wood to spot him as he currently kicks his shoes off in an ever so violent manner. He spots you, eyes dark and feral, but this time it's not lust in them. "Get back inside." He barks out, and you know why he does it.

He wants to keep you safe.

Against all odds he knows what he is. He knows he's sick, knows he's a danger to himself and others, and that's why he's always telling you to stay away from him whenever his anger is boiling over like this. It's his way of keeping you safe, keeping you protected and you know better than to go against his own judgement. He knows himself best, after all.

Only as you can hear him hiss in pain do you go against him.

As the apartment grows quiet, you slowly step outside the room again, eyes searching for the form of your boyfriend, before finally spotting him near the kitchen table, one hand on it, while the other is held close to his chest. You can see blood on the white cracked tiled floor close to him, and you immediately grow worried for him. You slowly creep inside the bathroom, retrieving some stuff from the first aid kit, as you walk back outside, spotting him on the couch now. "..kookie?" You carefully ask, wary of any signs of his body that he's not yet down to earth yet. But he doesn't move at all. You slowly walk around the couch, squatting down in front of him as your hands carefully reach out for his inked arm, and he lets you, his eyes eerily not looking at anything at all. You hiss a bit and sit down on his lap as he doesn't argue with you, almost delicately treating his wounded skin. He's probably somehow cut himself on the broken glass from the photo frame he broke. He seems awfully exhausted, which isn't a new sight to you. He usually is after a day like that.

"We're gonna loose the apartment." He says darkly, yet you don't stop what you're doing, simply humming an acknowledgement at him, while you don't look up at him. "Are you even listening?!" He suddenly barks out, grabbing your wrists as you look at him; not in fear however. You simply wait for him, like you always do, until he suddenly looks down onto his hands, letting go of your now red wrists with a look on his face like his favorite puppy has just been killed. "They simply said because of my criminal record they can't employ me-" He began, already getting riled up again as you kissed his cheek to distract him before he could slip again. With you situated on his lap like that, it could prove fatal.

"I'm gonna get a job, from home maybe. We'll figure things out." You softly say, and he doesn't seem like he quite believes you. He doesn't need to, at least not yet. It takes time, but you'll take yourself the time you need, even if its someone else's. Its not like he ever really cared about whats who's after all. "I still love you, you know?" You say, and that's when he breaks.

For the first time in those years you know him, he falls to the ground, crashes onto concrete with full force, and it wrecks through his entire body as he pulls you close, sobbing into your neck as he hiccups and chokes on his emotions, his hug painfully tight, but you don't complain. You're too shocked by his state to react much, other than running a hand over his back in a hopefully soothing manner. He doesn't stop for a moment, and you don't have a good feeling for time, so you cant tell how long you both sit like this, until he's finally exhausted to the point of simple slumping down, asleep as his body finally gives up. You carefully stand up, letting him somehow softly fall to his side as you struggle to pull his legs up to properly lay o the couch. Walking into the bedroom you retrieve blankets for him and yourself, as you crawl underneath his arm to lay against his chest, underneath the blankets, as you try and think of a way to help him.

You can't get a job. Not only because he won't let you, but because you get sick too easily. You're not allowed by doctors advice to work in any field that requires direct customer contact- and sadly that's all your educational level would allow you to work in. It never bothered Jungkook however, if anything he welcomed it as a good reason for you to stay at home, and at his side at all times. For him however, there were different reasons he didn't have a job. He couldn't keep one, with his short temper making him unfit for any job that required him to handle other people. He was a bomb ready to explode any moment at all times, and it was hard for him to land a job at any interview he somehow got. And nowadays, as word got around, no one simply wanted to employ him; stories of him going off at complaints and always being ready to throw hands made him the talk of the town in terms of who to look out for. He also had a criminal record- which didn't make the situation any easier.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. And it's a serious issue.

You somehow made it another month concerning rent.

With you selling some clothing you made yourself for a reasonable price, you somehow had at least a bit of an income, yet Jungkook didn't really seem like himself these days. He didn't leave the apartment much, and seemed much more grim to everything around him. You somehow thought that maybe he was just in a bad mood- but it seemed like this time things were a bit more serious than that.

"Princess?" He calls, as you rub your hand over the side of your neck, having laid on the couch weirdly as you had been taking a nap recently. You perked up at his call, walking out of the open kitchen to meet his gaze in the living room, his eyes serious as he pats his thighs; an invitation for you to sit down. He likes having you seated on his lap like this; it makes him feel all comfortable, knowing that you're so close to him. "I.." He starts, and visibly struggles with finding the right words for what he wants to say. "I want to get therapy." He states, and its quiet for a moment. You need to process his words for a second, as he never spoke about his issues like this. You never really thought about this option at all, and it makes you feel bad, deep inside, as you now realize that this was something you should've thought about as well, from the start on maybe. But you never wanted him to change for you; making you kick yourself in your thoughts. It never occurred to you that he wasn't changing for you, he didn't need to change for you, he needed to change for himself as well. You simply started to smile, and your arms snaked around his neck as he breathed in your scent, happy that you take this so well. He had struggled with the acceptance of it for a long time, and with you at his side, he knows he can somehow maybe change.

Even if its just a bit.

"I want to be a better man. For me, and mostly for you." He starts, and you attempt to speak, but he smiles, and kisses you instead, successfully shutting you up. "Don't say I don't need to. We know I do." He explains, and you nod. You're curious on why he suddenly realized it, but you decide not to dig too deep, as he currently seems vulnerable enough to you. So you simply let him hold you like this, quietly, calmly, while outside the thunderstorm continues, rain hitting the windows with as much force as the wind sees fit. Its ironic, really. Typically the situation is the opposite.

But somehow it feels like everything is changing, right in that moment. Just a few words have been spoken, but the ones that did make it out were a promise, a vow, a sentence of hope to finally get a hold on the future you both had dreamed about before, tangled in sheets and each others limbs. He's always said he wanted a family, as cheesy as it sounded to him back then, and then he'd laughed about it as if it was a joke. It somehow was, at least during that time it was; how could he be a better father than his if he was just the same? He didn't want his story to take a turn like that, to end up hurting you in the process of his own selfishness just to get what he wanted. No, he wanted something different in his life; he wanted his children to look up to him as a person they could be in awe of not because they were scared, but because they were proud to have them.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's also finally realizing it.

Therapy never goes smoothly from A to point B. It's never a smooth ride, never a straight line connecting the start to the goal. And Jungkook is feeling that as he walks through the door, fuming after an in his eyes pointless session with his therapist. Why the fuck would they want to know about his childhood? That's his business and his own only, it doesn't concern anyone other than himself. Hell, he never even talked to you about it- and he sure as hell won't start chatting away with a stranger like this. He can't control himself as his fist connects with the wall next to the door, drywall cracking underneath the force as you stand in the middle of the living room, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He's disappointed in himself in that moment; he was supposed to get better. He was supposed to have himself in check by now, it was supposed to end; yet here he is, just the same as a month before he started. You try and walk towards him, and he's ready to tell you to turn around and leave him alone, but he doesn't. For some reason, this is not pure anger he's feeling.

It's frustration.

And it leads to his eyes watering, as he lets you hold him close, your warm palms running over his back as best as you can with the height difference, and he simply lets his forehead rest on your shoulder, breathing while you softly count next to his ear. He concentrates and lets go of his emotions all at once, taking his time to feel them before he opens his mind up to letting them go. It sounded stupid to him when he was told that this could help him, but now that he's doing it, he gets why its being taught. It helps. Its like a bandaid being taken off after your cut has heeled. It hurts a bit as its being taken off, but the fresh air on the newly connected skin feels so good that the short sting before is more than worth it.

He sniffles, and you giggle, making him chuckle as well, as he runs a hand over your head, a silent sign that he's okay now. "Try again next week. You're doing so great now, Kookie." You say, and its this small encouragmenent that makes him grin brightly.

Because as you both stand in the kitchen, making homemade pizza for the first time in ages, he feels at ease with his surroundings. He calms down rather quickly even though some things don't go as planned, and laughs more freely at his own mistakes as you smile brightly at him. Sometimes you feel like crying, seeing him change like this, but you're strong enough to hold it in until he leaves during the day. You're still unsure how the future will be changing, still a lot unknown to the both of you, but for now, you'll continue to keep each others heads above the waves with your sewing, while he does his best at getting better. You know he can make it, you're certain he can, and will.

Because Jungkook is sick. But he's finally getting help.

You don't know what has happened when he bursts through the door, uncaring to either take off his shoes nor to close it behind him, as he picks you up, spins you around, grinning so much his eyes crinkle at their sides, and you laugh, even though you don't know why he's so happy. "I got a job! Baby, I finally got a job!" He yells, screams almost, and it makes your eyes water; not because he's taking a huge weight off your shoulder, but because this has been one of his biggest goals ever since he started this journey of getting help. He's so happy about it that this time you can't keep it in, you can't stop the tears as they flow out, making you hiccup and wheep into his shoulder as you struggle to get your words out. "Baby- Princess, hey hey-" He says, setting you down as his hands wipe away at your eyes, the letter confirming his acceptance still in his left hand as he worriedly looks at you. "Why are you crying angel? hm?" He cooes, admittedly a bit amused, because he can imagine what's happening.

"I'm so happy!" You squeeze out, before another wave hits you, and he kneels down, holding you tightly again, as he doesn't let go of you, his love for you overflowing inside his veins as it fills his entire body. He's so thankful for your existence in his life, and he will never be truly able to properly tell you that. It's impossible to put it into his words how much he appreciates you staying at his side through this entire endeavor. Every time he's asked why he does this, his answer is always your name on his lips, always spoken with a slight smile, nowadays a bright grin he's not ashamed showing.

You don't let him go until he chuckles. "Will you let me close the door at least?" He asks amused, as he feels the slightly cool breeze coming inside from the complex' hallway. You disconnect yourself from him for a moment, wiping your eyes with your sleeve as he closes the door, finally taking off his shoes at last, as he walks back, running towards you with a playful growl that makes you laugh as you try and run away from him. But he catches you easily, carrying you over his shoulder into the bedroom, where he bites and licks at your neck, hands pinching your sides making you squirm around and laugh, desperately trying to get away from him. He'll never let you, and you know this, so its unsurprising that he's suddenly pulling your sweater over your head, needing to be close to you. It's cold inside the apartment, and you shiver as the almost icy air around you nips at your skin. "Can't wait until we can use the heating again.." He murmurs against your skin as he shifts around a bit, carefully undressing himself before he crawls underneath the heavy covers with you. "then you can flaunt around in your pretty underwear all day without getting cold." He chuckles, as you hit his chest playfully at the remark. "What? Its always so cold I never get to see you in it." He whines, as he reaches between your legs, inked hand easily working you up as you squirm around. "I never get to see your pretty body properly because we have to hide away like this." He complains, and you simply whine at him, as he suddenly enters you. "For now I'll just warm you up like this, hm?" He humms out, and you nod, not really understanding what you're agreeing to, but you do it anyways.

He's awfully slow and soft, you notice, as he' way more collected as usual. "I love this." He suddenly presses out, eyes closed in bliss as he kisses the side if your neck, trailing down to nip at your collarbone, while his hands find yours, intertwining your fingers in a gesture you can only describe as awfully romantic. "I love being able to make love to you." He explains, as you open your eyes a bit, meeting his as he watches you underneath him. "Though I think you don't mind me being a bit rough with you, no?" He playfully suggests, and your cheeks grow a bit red at that, before he laughs, head dipping down to properly kiss your lips, tongue instantly searching for entrance as he doesn't pick up the pace. "Can't wait until you're all round with my baby." He suddenly suggests, and your eyes open wide as you open your mouth to correct him, but you shut up as his eyes meet yours, determination in them as he suddenly grabs the behind of your thighs, positioning them a bit differently to hit even deeper. "I know, I know-" He chants, as he picks up his pace. "I don't care." He presses out between his own heavy breaths. "I'll just-" He begins, loving the way you mewl under his touch, "I'll just fuck you over and over again until it works." He promises, and you simply nod, unable to deny him. The chances you'll ever conceive are slim- but as he states, never zero. "I'll just- I'll just fill you up until your body can't help but give me a child." He muses, as you start to clench. And he knows, notices, how much this idea is just as enticing to you as it is to him. "You gonna cum? Hm?" He asks, and you nod vigorously before you arch your back off the mattress, making him groan as he shoots his load as well, the visual image of your pleasure underneath him combined with the way you clench his aching length inside granting him his release as well.

As you lay on your sides, all snuggled up underneath the covers after cleaning up, he kisses your bare shoulder, eyes closed. "I mean it, you know." He says, and you humm a reply, before he explains further. "I want a family with you. Someday. When I'm ready." He says, and you nod. You'll somehow make it work, you know this. If he can overcome his demons, you can overcome your own cursed body as well. You deeply hope, at least.

Because Jeon Jungkook is sick, but he's starting to see a future.

"Jeon!" His coworker yells in the big hall he's working in. "Why, pray tell, did you never tell us your girl is that fucking pretty, aye?" He barks in a playful manner, as you walk inside beside the old man, carrying a small plastic bag with what he assumes is a lunchbox. The view of you next to that man stirs something inside him, as he slowly gets up, wrench still in his hand, brows furrowed.

"Because your filthy hands should stay six feet away from her." He responds, with his brows still furrowed, before he finally sneezes.

"Bless you, hah! I'll let you have your break earlier-" The old man winks at you, then gives Jungkook a firm hit against the chest, taking the wrench away from him. "But only because she's cute!" He laughs, as he walks into the hall, Jungkook now walking towards you.

You're proud of him.

Months ago, this would've never been possible; neither the simple fact that he had a job, nor the small incident with his coworker just now. He still got easily irritated, but he worked through these emotions way more easy nowadays. His coworkers and boss know of his past, know what he was like and know that he's still deep in therapy, but they don't judge. They simply accept him, tame him back into his cage whenever he's close to boiling over again. You love the fact that you can walk inside the breakroom with him, eyes sparkling with newfound childish playfulness as he peaks inside the bag you brought him. He's still very careful with you leaving the house, but its not anymore just for his own gain- he's more open to his surroundings, he's starting to think about how he and his actions can affect others. He doesn't care much still; but he's realized that pretending is enough for now. Small steps.

"The handyman was there today." You say, as you watch him dig into the fried rice you brought him, his interest now gained. "They turned on the heating again. Can you imagine? I didn't even know we had floorboard heating!" You exclaimed excitedly, and Jungkooks eyes widen as well.

"Really? I didn't know either. Fuck, can't wait to come home now." He says, swallowing his bite before taking a sip of his canned soda. "Did that label contact you yet?" He asks, and you shake your head. Recently, you had gained the interest of a bigger clothing label, who wanted to collaborate with you for this season's designs. "Ah, that takes time I guess. We'll wait, its fine." You know he's not only saying that for you, but himself as well. He still gets agitated over small things, but he deals with them a bit more easily. "I'll be home in a couple hours. Do you wanna wait here, or go home?" He asks, and you stand up, packing his now empty food container as you smile.

"I'll take the bus, don't worry." You say, and he furrows his brows playfully.

"Mask?" He asks, and you hold it up proudly, well aware of the precautions you need to take to make public transport safe for you.

"Good girl. Text me when you're home yeah? I'll get us takeout for dinner." He says, as he kisses the top of your head. You nod, and wave him goodbye as you two go separate ways, at least for now, until he's finally free of work.

Jeon Jungkook is sick.

But he's slowly healing.

[tteokdoroki]

then they laughed | s.todoroki.

⇝ pairing: shoto todoroki x fem!reader.

⇝ word count: 1.7K

⇝ rating: suitable for everyone.

⇝ genre: fluff.

⇝ summary: you’d never been ashamed of your quote on quote ‘ugly’ laugh but you’re not quite sure what to make of it when your crush mistakes it for mild choking or the one in which shoto todoroki mistakes your laugh for choking in the middle of the school cafetria. 

⇝ warning(s): please read ! fluffy, angst if you squint,  clueless todoroki and mentions of choking ( non-sexual ).

⇝ author’s note(s): why hello there darlings, here’s a little drabble requested by @patricia-ceballos​, i thought this idea was super cute, i’m not sure how i feel about the ending but i had a lot of fun writing. oh and thank you so much for 600+ follows, i love you all. :( <3

⇝ masterlist | requests

you’d always thought that you had an ugly laugh.

it’s not that you were ashamed of it, never that, but you knew the twisted high pitch stream of giggles that passed your sweet unsuspecting lips could be kind of off putting to others. even so, that never put you off from laughing and joking about with your friends— if they truly cared for you, then having a slightly maniac-like laugh wouldn’t be a problem for them.

your classmates at U.A seemed to be those types of people. the good kind that you could trust wholeheartedly— the first time they’d heard you laugh, ochako had chuckled along with you, izuku had thought it was part of your quirk and bakugou had simply asked if you needed a ‘fucking throat lozenge?’  which only made you burst out into more streams of unintelligible giggles.

right now though, you try your best to stifle your giggles while you watch ochako and deku helplessly try to avoid admitting their feelings for one another over lunch. “what’s wrong deku? are you feeling sick?” the sweet brunette asks, almost impossibly close to the latter’s now beet red face. you can tell that he’s flustered by her proximity; the words he wants to say falling flat on his tongue.

ochako blinks for a second— as if to realise her mistake and quickly backs up, drowning in embarrassment and her silly crush on izuku midoriya. the girl stumbles back into iida, giving him only moments to process his now dropped food before he’s scolding them into next week— hands flying through the air while he barks out his complaints. trying not to laugh is becoming unbearably harder by the second, even asui is falling victim to the scene of comedy displayed right in front of your eyes and its not until you look up and meet the confused gaze of shoto todoroki that the dam finally breaks.

“what’s so funny?” the dual eyed boy says so blankly that even he is comical to you. you break out into fits of hysteria, slamming a hand over your mouth as your snorts launch their way across the table. shoto blinks, brows pinching in the centre of his forehead— is there a joke he’s missing? something he said?

the cluelessness of the half hot, half cold boy before you only sends you spiralling into more bursts of laughter— easing the embarrassment off of the two helpless flirters and effectively calming iida down while they join you in your chuckling session. “its...it’s just that—!” you can barely explain yourself, bold snickers punctuating each of your words as humoured tears begin to form in the corners of your dazzling eyes.

todoroki’s mood now shifts from bewildered to concerned, the short wheezes that pass from your pretty lips send shivers of worry down his spine. why is everyone laughing? can no one at the table see what’s happening? standing from his seat, the number one’s son brushes past tsuyu to get to your side— when he reaches you, your eyes sparkle with amusement despite the horrid sounds that leave you and a frown takes over his angekic face.

“don’t worry yn, i’ll help you.”

still trembling with a case of the giggles you have little time to process the dual haired boy’s words before he’s hoisting you from your seat, you think he’s trying to calm you down from the way his heated hand pats on your back ( five times to be exact ) but when his strong arms wrap around you— suddenly pumping your stomach, you realise.

todoroki is performing the heimlich manoeuvre on you.

shoto todoroki thinks your laughter is choking.

heat flushes to your cheeks as shoto moves to pump your stomach again, his broad chest pressed intimately against your back. the snickers from your friends at your lunch table stop— silence sweeping over them and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the stares you draw from other u.a students in the canteen. their judging eyes tear you down and crawl over you, leaving an uneasy feeling to settle in your bones but you’re too paralysed by embarrassment— too frozen to tell todoroki to stop.

you know he only means well, he didn’t know any better and he was only trying to help a friend in need but did he really mistake your laughter for choking? was it really that ugly?  

a fresh set of tears prickle in your eyes, this time however, they’re not laced with the happiness you gain from being around your friends. before shoto has another chance, you pull away from him slightly with a small whimper pours from your flustered form. “stop... todoroki, please— stop...”

the boy’s hold on you loosens, he recognises the broken tone laced with your usually jubilant voice which gives you enough room to make a dash for it. blinking, todoroki turns to his group of friends, confused  as escape the cafeteria and wolfish stares from your fellow students.

“s-she wasn’t choking, todoroki— she was laughing with us.” izuku explains carefully, fidgeting underneath his classmates strict gaze. the shorter feels almost bad for shoto, knowing he’s probably kicking himself for upsetting you even as you flee.

but his worries are soon eased as todoroki races after you.

launching yourself down the corridor, you use the sleeve of your grey blazer to run away the remaining tears that sting at your eyes. students from across all years watch you go by with looks of either annoyance or concern, but you move to quickly to care— throwing yourself into an empty hall and sinking to your knees. the heat of embarrassment blistering underneath the skin of your cheeks doesn’t ease up as you desperately paw at them, frustration intertwining with the air in your lungs… because, because it had been years since you last felt ashamed of your unconventional laughter, because you thought that enough time had gone by for you to no longer feel insecure about it.

you had good friends here at u.a, ones that didn’t judge you for your unusual habit but the scene yourself and todoroki had created back in the canteen only brought on bad memories reminding you of all of your insecurities from the past.  

sighing heavily; you brace yourself to return to lunch with your friends, tripping over flimsy excuses in your mind for your sudden disappearence when a pair of well polished, brown school shoes come into view from over the tops of your knees.

“there you are, ln.” shoto’s voice is warm while he speaks to you, you’d always thought that. its deep like melted chocolate ready to be tempered and somewhat soothes your nervously thumping heart. you can’t bring yourself to look at him, knowing that there’s probably a pink tint to your eyes from where you’ve been crying but the boy with the two-toned hair persists, still wanting your attention. “the others…the others and i, were worried about you.”

you shake your head, fixing your gaze on a lose thread on the hem of your skirt that sits above your knees. “ah!, todoroki! you shouldn’t worry about me…just head back to the cafeteria before your cold soba gets… well, colder!” a frown pinches at the corner of your lips, settling heavily on your face. you don’t even find yourself convincing but hope todoroki believes your hopeless words anyways. “i’ll be with you guys in just a moment.”

but to your dismay, the youngest son of endeavour slides his back down the wall to sit next to you instead.  “did i hurt you?” he mumbles awkwardly. todoroki itches to reach out and comfort you— it seems like something you would do for him but he’s never been good with situations like these.

“no! no shoto,” this makes you look up, catching the light in the cyan of his eyes. the pair of you blush, flicking your gazes away from one another. “i’m fine!”

“were you crying?”

“certainly not!”

“but your face—“

“shut up!”

“not until you tell me why you ran.” god, was he persistent. blunt and straight to the point, was shoto todoroki.

suddenly your feet become more interesting that the boy beside you, a silence sweeping over you both. “because,” you pause, trying to taste the words on the tip of your tongue before you say them. “i was embarrassed! the whole cafeteria heard my ugly laugh and thought i was—“

“choking,” todoroki finishes for you, finally finding the courage to rest an icy hand on your shoulder. “i’m sorry yn, i didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed about your laugh,” sorrow litters the tail end of the half hot, half cold boy’s words— making them sit heavily in the air. “midoriya explained to me, i really didn’t mean to make you feel that way, i was just worried about you.”

you soften up, finally meeting his gaze once more and sniffle a little— chest warming at his concern for you. “shoto, it’s okay...” you’re quiet in your response, leaning into his cold touch but the dual eyed boy only shakes his head.

todoroki turns to face you fully, shrinking the space between you. he’s so close that you can see the flecks of grey in each of his eyes and feel the warmth from his breath fanning across your cheeks. “even if i can be...socially unaware sometimes, i still don’t want to hurt your feelings. they’re important to me,” he tilts his head, offering you a small smile enough to make a million hearts melt. “and for what it’s worth, i think your laugh is quite cute. not ugly.”

you blink, wondering if you heard him correctly and press a hand to your cheeks that now hear you’ll, as if you’ll be able to cool them down. “y-you think my laugh is cute?”

“yes, and i’d love to hear more of it over dinner sometime.”

his face is as serious as ever while he speaks, but the shine to his eyes tells you a different story as todoroki offers you a hand to stand up. “was that a pick up line, shoto?” you ask, barely being able to keep it together as little shots of laughter litter themselves through your sentences.

“i’m not sure...what’s a pick up line again?” you burst into joyful tears, obnoxious laughter filling the corridors as the boy on your arm guides you to your next class. you care little for the stares that your ugly laugh attracts, just happy that it puts a little smile on shoto todoroki’s face.

[nakabayashi]

Connor x Reader (fem) smut

It’s my first smut and English is not my native language. Anyway I hope you will enjoy it.

Connor was sitting at his desk talking to Hank. You were looking at him wondering. You started imagining things you could do together, touching his skin, lips, hearing his moan. And so desirable feeling of him filling you up. Your body reacted with heat to your thoughts, heart pounding, your lips opened. You closed your eyes and made a deep breath to calm yourself down. Connor looked at you distracted with suddenly loud sound of your exhalation.

“Are you alright, Detective?”

“Yeah…” You swallowed nervously trying to get rid of the feeling of being caught. “Yeah. I’m OK”. You smiled at him and turned your gaze to the working station.

Connor knitted his brows noticing you behaved strange right now, but still couldn’t quite understand why. You could see that he watched you for the couple more seconds, before engaging back to the conversation with Hank.

You started looking through your cases to distract your thoughts away from Connor. You didn’t notice that his LED started flashing yellow.

He has developed an interest in you for the past several months he was working in DPD. His social skills were still building, so Connor wasn’t sure what kind of social interaction he was facing. But he definitely wanted to know more about you and in his attempt to understand what was going on with you right now he decided to scan your vitals.

Heart rate elevated, hormonal surge, deep breathing. What was causing all of that? You were definitely not alright and lied about it. Connor felt heavy need to help you. That must be something very serious if you are hiding it.

Later that day, when you were leaving home, Connor caught you up near the door.

“As I understand you are living nearby? Do you mind if I walk you home? I’m trying to socialise here and I think you could use a helping hand near you today”.

Well, the thought of him being near you, walking you home made you imagine things again. With the feeling of pleasure arousing from your bottom you stuttered a bit.

“I-I.. Yes, Connor, why” THE HELL “not”. You smiled at him trying to mask your nervousness and noticed his LED flashing yellow. Is he analyzing you right now? Shit.

Connor noticed something wrong about your voice and detected hormonal splash and heart rate elevation again. He was learning to be social and part of the team, so he needed to choose tactics to be of help. You started to walk to the direction of your house. You have been watching Connor with the sight of your eyes, afraid to look directly at him. He was thinking of something, his eyes moving slowly in the process. He turned to you with very soft worried face:

“I’ve noticed that something is wrong with your vital signs twice today. Are you sure you are OK? Is something bothering you?”

You were not sure how to say it. Connor was not an usual person, he was very like... Connor. It’s not like he would be avoiding you after knowing what you had to say. You decided you should tell him the truth, but we’re hesitant on how to tell it.

“That thing you have noticed, Connor, is indeed something that has been happening to me for some time now. But I’m not really sure how to explain it”.

“If I can help you to deal with that I’m here to help”. His face expression was so warm and innocent.

“Actually, I think that you are the only one who can help me with this, to say, ‘problem’, Connor”.

Connor raised his brows in surprise. He turned his gaze down thinking. Right now he felt happy. Was he better than others to be the only one for you to help? He slightly smiled and looked at you.

Is he enjoying it actually? You thought to yourself and suddenly the thought of him holding you against the wall, kissing your neck, unbuttoning your shirt, hit you. You swallowed and tried to keep your thinking straight.

“Well, Connor, I am feeling some things... for you, which for us, humans, are very hard to control. That is what you are seeing on my.. erm.. vital signs”.

Connor mouth opened up a bit, he blinked several times gazing around. He had a hard time right now to understand his own vital signs. He did feel a reaction to your words and it was new for him. He turned his face to you again, his voice not as steady as usual:

“I think... I understand what you mean”.

“You do?”

“Yes, I had enough time to gather information about humans and their.. your interactions. And… I don’t know, I have a reaction to your words right now… To the thought you feel that way about me.”

Your heart jumped to your throat. That was not what you anticipated, but definitely something you wanted to hear. You felt the courage to touch him now and you took his palm gently.

“Connor, what feeling it is?”.

“I.. I don’t know”. He looked at you confused and so open. “But I think I like it”. His mouth opened slightly. “And now I want to understand it, to do things which I can imagine in my head”.

Is he imagining you right now? Place between your legs heated, you couldn’t walk straight looking in his eyes. This deep warm gaze he has…

“Could I come in”. The picture of him entering you flashed in front of you and you gasped. “to your house?” he asked.

Your vision blurred and his face was the only thing you could see around. You nodded to his question, not understanding you were right in front of the door to your house. He glanced to the door hinting you to get inside. The second you closed the door he pressed you to the wall, his lips near your ear:

“I feel like I am about to lose control and I don’t want to harm you in any way”. Yes, he is still Connor. And you loved it, it made you feel so heated thinking of how it is difficult for him to hold himself right now. You moaned thinking about this.

“Connor, I want it, I want it so badly”.

And he loosen himself, he pressed his lips against yours, his hands on your hips, he is pressing his erection against you.

“Oh… Connor!”

He moaned hearing you saying his name. His hands moved up to your breast, and next second he is unbuttoning your shirt, fast practically ripping it off. He kissed your neck slowly and deep, touching your bare skin with his hands. Softly puts his fingers on the zip of your skirt and it falls on the floor. You lusted for this so much. You want to touch him, to press your bare skin against his. You are reaching his tie trying to remove it, but you are so lost in your sensation. He gets a hint and quickly removes it, his jacket and shirt follow shortly. You can finally touch him. Connor shuddered from your fingers on his skin. You gave him a moment to ride that sensation, brushing him softly with your fingers, feeling his body respond. In a minute you kissed his neck, moving lower to his torso and reaching his belt, removing it with a short click. Your mouth wetting longing to take his length inside, while you are removing his jeans. You are glancing on his erection, his beautiful perfectly build cock. You take tip of his cock into your mouth licking it with tongue and quickly glancing to his face to see his reaction. His LED is flashing yellow, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open giving this sweet moan you want to hear so eagerly. You look down again and take his whole length inside your mouth.

Connor groans, he is feeling a lot of new pleasant things and he can’t quite define what is going on with his body. He gave up scanning his systems, lost in the sensations he experienced right now. Connor can’t even understand if he is the one who hustle his hips to your move again and again.

The only thing he knows is that he wants to make you his, to take you. You feel his palms on your shoulders and understand that he wants you to get up. He turns you around and presses you against the wall. You can feel his cock touching you between your legs. You press your ass against him hinting that you want him inside. He removes your panties and presses the tip of his cock against your entrance pushing it inside slowly. And then he suddenly stops. You move towards him, trying to put it deeper, but Connor holds your move. He kisses your neck and you feel his lips near your ear again:

“Do you want me?” - he asks. Oh God you want him so eagerly. “Do you want me to take you?”

“Yes, Connor, please, fuck me”. He moans deeply in respond to this words and loses himself completely. He starts pounding inside you desperately, stretching you in so desirable way. You don’t hold yourself moaning loudly.

“Connor! Fuck! That is so good! You are so good”. Your words drive him crazy, you can feel him moving faster and deeper.

Connor bit you by your shoulder, his palm slides to your belly, cuddling. He pressed his teeth against your skin with deep groan and his hips stuttered, you felt him coming inside you. His bite was slightly painful, but whole mix of feelings and the sensation of his cum inside you were so pleasant you just wanted more and more of him and he was ready to give it. His cock still erected started to move again inside you.

“Connor, don’t stop, please!”

He is moving faster hitting you deeper and deeper inside. You are moving towards his thrusts, begging for more, trying to keep yourself wider for him.

“Oh, Connor, I’m gonna come…” your words are lost in your moan, you are saying his name again and again while he is slowing down his pace letting you enjoy yourself. “You are mine” - he murmured, making your spine shiver.

When you finally caught your breath, he turned you around and held you carefully, kissing you gently and asking:

“Did I manage to make you feel better now?” - he smiled with the corner of his lips. He knew he did. He is a quick learner.

You took his hand and lead him to your bedroom, pulling him to the bed with you. You put your hand on his bare chest, sliding your fingers slowly up and down.

“Yes, Connor, you’ve made me feel fantastic”. You raised on your elbow and kissed him. “You liked what we did, didn’t you?”.

Connor looked at you with his soft eyes. “I couldn’t understand what was going on with me, I gave up to. I feel so...” he blinked, looked around as he was searching for the right word and returned his eyes to you “...satisfied”. Next moment he turned to place himself above you on the bed. It gave you goosebumps, you couldn’t look away from his eyes. “And I want more of this. I want to finally understand what it is all about”. You felt him spreading your legs with his knee.

[whirlybirdwhat]

a piece for the it’s pirates zerver sine: home: built stolen lost found

When Luffy is three, alone and abandoned in the world besides a grandfather who is never there, and a bartender who tries her best to be, he asks Makino a single question.

It’s from a phrase he had heard patrons of the bar say as they pushed back their seats and headed out the door, a phrase Gramps had said as he slammed through walls with a smile, a phrase, a word he had never known he meaning of. 

“Makino? What’s home?” 

Makino looks down at him, tugging on her skirts, and kneels down with a smile. “Well – home is a place your family is, and where you feel happy and safe. It’s a place where you stay, and can have a bedroom, and a place to put all your toys and belongings. Sometimes, it can even be a person!” She says  it so happily, so brightly, but Luffy only looks at her with wide, wide eyes. 

“Oh,” he says, and clutches harder to the toy boat in his hands. Oh. 

It is then, that moment, strikingly clear, that Luffy realizes he doesn’t have a home. 

(His grandfather is never here, Makino is good but she isn’t quite family, not in the way he knows it, and he had a small attic to call his without a view of the sea.) 

And, quietly, realizes that he doesn’t want one. 

(To have a place to stay, to remain still, to place all burdens on another? To call home somewhere stationary, unmoving, unwanted? It sounded like hell.)

Oh, he says again. Oh. 

-

When Luffy is six, alone and abandoned in a small village by the sea that he could never leave, he asks Shanks a question. 

It is a question that had been lingering in the dredges of his mind, ever since these pirates had barged through the door with songs on their lips and adventures in their minds, with not that word that he didn’t have leaving their mouths but rather tales of ships and voyages and seas.

“Shanks? Where’s your home?”

Shanks looks down at him, eyebrows quirking upward as he finishes his drink with a flourish before setting it down with a soft clink. His eyes are just as soft, like some how he understands that this is different from when Luffy asked about his favorite battles, when Luffy asked for a sip of his drink or if Shanks really had been at the bottom of the sea when he was Luffy’s age. 

“Home? Easy – it’s the sea, anchor!”

“The sea?” Luffy had never heard something more stupid, and that was saying a lot since all the stupid things he heard of were from Shanks. That wasn’t what Makino had told him, wasn’t what Gramps had explained, wasn’t anything like where your family is or place you stay. It was the sea – endless and vast and full of danger and sea kings and marines that like to give you Fists of Love and don’t come back. The sea didn’t have a place to have belongings or keep yourself safe. It – 

It doesn’t make sense. 

“The sea!” Shanks says with a grin, a sparkle in his eye like he gets before stands on tables and talks about the time he sailed to a land of samurai. “It’s any pirate’s home! It’s where our adventures await, and where our nakama are with us, and every day it bright than the rest, ain’t that right, fellas!”

“Aye, captain!” The crew drunkenly choruses, words already forming on their lips. 

“How does that one chorus go?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, I know! Gather up all the crew – “

“It’s time to ship out Bink’s Brew!” Shanks joins in, holding his hands out to Luffy and not even waiting till he grabs them to snatch him up in a dance. “Pirates, we eternally are challenging the sea.” His voice is joyful and loud with the way men get when the party in in swing, but there’s nothing but happiness in his steps as he guides Luffy onto his feet and twirls him around.

 “With the waves to rest our heads,  ship beneath us as our beds, hoisted high upon the mast, our jolly roger flies! Yohohoho-“

“Oi! Wrong part captain! It goes like this – “

“Dahahaha!” Shanks ignores them, only to bend down to Luffy’s level. “A pirates’ home is where he’s happy, Luffy. My home is with my crew and with some drink – or an adventure – in my hand. That’s the sea for me. Got it?”

Luffy doesn’t, but as Shanks sweeps him up into another round of Bink’s brew, he’s starting to find that the answer doesn’t really matter, not when he’s not alone here, with Shanks and pirates all around him

“Yohohoho, yohohoho!”

-

Luffy is seven, and he’s finally figured out what home is. Home is his brothers, running through the jungle, laughter and adventure and fun is every step. Home is the way Ace smiles when he thinks no one is looking, and the way Sabo is always the first to say Let’s explore! Home is coming home to a tree house, and never being alone. 

Home is Ace and Sabo and Ace and Sabo and – 

Home is burning. 

Home is dead.

Luffy feels hollow, feels like the world is crumbling out from underfoot, because everyone said that home could be a person but they never said that home could burn. That home could die. That home could go away and never, ever come back. 

Maybe that’s why Shanks said home is the sea and why Makino said that home is a place and only sometimes a person – because people leave and burn and never come back, and seas can’t burn or be destroyed. 

Luffy is seven, and he realizes again that he doesn’t want a home, not anymore, because all home does is burn. 

(Then, there’s a promise and a vow and Luffy is never going to lose home again.)

-

Luffy is seventeen, and he’s been alone for three years but not anymore because this time – this time he has a home that won’t burn, that won’t leave, because he is their captain and he will protect them. 

Home is Zoro and his quiet smiles, home is Nami, and her ink-stained hands, home is Usopp and stories that roll off the tongue, home is Sanji and meals made for comfort, home is Vivi and her kindness however far away, home is Chopper and his hugs, home is Robin and her cryptic statements, home is Merry, sturdy and true, home is – 

Ace, and Ace won’t burn because Ace is made of fire. Home can’t burn again. It can’t. 

It can’t.

-

Luffy is seventeen, and home is burning by his own hands. It’s a funeral, the only one worthy of Merry because the bottom of the sea is a dark place and she deserves a sendoff to light her way but – 

It’s fire, non-the-less, reminding Luffy of how Grey Terminal’s fire looked by the shore, and home – Merry, with her black eyes and painted smile, with her strong planks and her determined heart, Merry, home – 

It’s burning.

(He’s starting to think that maybe home isn’t what he’s always called it before – people and places that make you happy, that keep you safe.

Maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s something that’s only this way because of him. 

Maybe – )

Sunny won’t burn, will never burn with a hull of Adam’s Wood, but Merry does, and it hurts. 

-

Luffy is seventeen and home is burning. 

This time – 

This time – 

This time – 

It burns it burns it burns it hurts it hurts Ace Ace Ace Ace why no Ace Ace please – 

Home burns in his arms, his big brother who is made of fire, who can’t be burned, burns in his arms, and it drips drips drips down onto Luffy’s chest and he can’t let go because this is home and this home can’t burn but it does and – 

“Thank you for loving me.”

Home burns. 

(It always does.)

“AAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

-

Luffy is eighteen and Ruskaina is sweltering and his chest is burning burning burning but he’s not home. 

He’s not. 

He’s…

He’s not alone. He’s not home. His crew (ZoroNamiUsoppSanjiViviChopperRobinFrankyBrook) is still there, still existing, but they are not home, any longer.

Maybe he is, to them. He’s burned, after all, he fits his own criteria. But they aren’t to him.

On Ruskaina, he makes this decision. He vows it, under the sweltering sun and with bandages wrapped around his chest,  with phantom pains on his finger’s where Ace’s vivre card singed him, with his mind alight with war. His crew is not his home, Sunny is not his home, because Luffy does not have a home. 

He does not want one, he does not have one, because home is a place that burns, and Luffy has been burned too many times to count.

-

Luffy is nineteen and older and stronger than all his moments before. He stands in front of his crew with a smile on his face and a burn across his chest, because he is not home, but his crew – 

His crew tumbles into his open, waiting arms, crashing him down onto to the ground as they come home. 

Luffy burns, and Luffy is home, and he will be King of the Pirates. 

For his crew – for people who are not his home but his family, his nakama, his treasure  - there is nothing else he could possibly be. 

[nobutfredweasleytho]

YOU JUST DON’T LISTEN(F.W)

Summary: Fred’s ex girlfriend writes him a letter to explain the how him using her wrecked her emotionally.

Warnings: angst, like a lot of angst, depressed Y/N, mentions of self doubt, a little swearing, mentions of parents not loving correctly, used reader. Let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: Major thank you to Gabriella @onlyfreds for being an amazing person and encouraging me to write whatever this mess is. I am forever grateful to you

(The font is terrible Im sorry im just getting used to working on tumblr)

Fred Weasley checked the muggle clock on his nightstand. 10:30 AM. His mom will call him for breakfast anytime now. He has been awake for quite some time if he can even count the 30 minutes he tried to sleep but couldn’t, not when every time he tries to close his eyes his mind and eventually dreams are clouded by her. By the last time he looked at her, how devastated she looked, How her face was wet from her tears and her eyes bloodshot red, but the thing Fred will never be able to forget is her voice. How raw and vulnerable she sounded while saying the most horrible thing’s anyone has ever said to him, but he can’t blame her, he has no one to blame but himself because in the end it was he who caused all of this and now its come to bite him in the ass. He hears the door open and his twin brother George enters.

“Mom says breakfast is ready and she wants you downstairs. She says she’ll drag you herself if you don’t show up again today.”

“Tell her I’m not hungry and I’ll come grab a bite later.” I really don’t feel like being surrounded by other people right now. Not in this pathetic state I’m in. Besides it will take me willpower I don’t have to not hex Ron into oblivion.

“Well she will not take no for an answer and I wont either. What’s done is done now and you’ll have to face the world someday so start with your own family because everyone down there is worried sick about you and the least you can do is show your face once in a while so they know you haven’t died of starvation or sleep deprivation.” George has worry written all over him and I’m sure the rest of the family has it too. I feel even more like shit for worrying them.

“Fine. But I come back here if she is mentioned are we clear?”

“We weren’t gonna mention Y/N anyway now lets go moms worried sick for your dumbass.”

Breakfast was going smoothly with Ginny and Ron being exited for Quidditch season, Harry and Bill discussing the unfortunate events of the Triwizard tournament last year, dad asking Hermione about a rubber duck whatever that is, but the most shocking thing is mom asking me and George about the joke shop products. George is doing most of the talking but still the fact that shes even asking is awesome. I was finally feeling peaceful this whole winter break until I heard a hoot outside the window.

“I thought it was Tuesday but since mail is here does it mean its Friday already? Oh how fast time is going.

“No Arthur honey you are right it is Tuesday, Bill or George can one of you see if that owl has the owners name attached to it and bring whatever letter he has here to see who is it for.”

Bill got up from his seat and went to the window next to the countertop to look at the mystery owl. “Do we even know a Y/N Y/L/N?”

The room went quiet. The only thing that could be heard was the owls hoot asking for its treat. Bill seemed not to realise this as he took the letter from the owl, gave him a treat and sent it on its way.

“To Fred Weasley from Y/N Y/L/N… Who’s Y/N is she the girl you’ve been crying over this whole time huh Freddie?” Bill chuckled but I just grabbed the letter. I had no time to even be mad at him because once again my mind fogs up with only her. I couldn’t help but feel relieved and the happiest I felt in a long time. She has forgiven me. Y/N forgave me. That has to be it. Why else would she send me a letter?

“I had a great time with you guys but there’s important matters for me to attend so I have to go to now. Thanks mom the breakfast was amazing as always.” And with that I sprinted towards my room, locked the door and examined the letter in my hands. It was a bunch of them in here. I went to mine and George’s worktable threw some papers that were on top of it to make room for these letters and carefully opened the envelope.

The first thing that I grabbed was a photo. It was a polaroid of me and Y/N on the Gryffindor common room. Happiness filled my heart when I started remembering this night. I looked at the back of the polaroid and surely enough there was a writing on it.

Fred and Yn on the Gryffindor common room at 1 AM the night she turned 17. Listening to ABBA’s “Dancing Queen”. Picture taken by major 3rd wheel George Weasley.

Tears filled my eyes when I remember this night. It was the night I looked at her the way I always should have. Not as a replacement of someone who didn’t care about me.

The next one was also a polaroid photograph but this one I don’t remember being taken. It’s a picture of Y/N teaching me how to play the guitar. I can make up that we are in her dorm but not more as the picture is taken in black and white. I look at the back and surely this one also has a writing on it but the handwriting doesn’t look familiar at all.

A drunken Y/N accompanied by a even drunker Fred trying to play the guitar in the middle of the night. If I fail my charms exam tomorrow I’m killing you both but right now you two look adorable. Picture taken by Cho Chang.

The third one is an actual letter. I chuckle looking at the handwriting. Always so precise and not even one line out of place. I always thought Y/Ns handwriting always contradicts her hot headed persona but it’s actually really cute. I start reading the letter and my heart stops.

Dear Freddie,

I can only imagine the shock that receiving a letter from me would cause you right now especially after our last conversation.

But I have a lot to get off of my chest and I wont be able to move on if I haven’t said it all. Call me a coward but I was really scared to ask you to meet me so I can say it in person, but maybe that’s what I have always been. A coward. A coward because I get scared when someone wants to enter my life, a coward because I hate trying new things at the expense of failing, a coward because I should be able to confront people who brought darkness and sadness to my life.

But one thing I will admit Fred Weasley is that I wasn’t a coward when It came to loving you. It was the first time that I let someone come into my life and heart the way you did, and it will probably be the last. Throughout our “relationship” if you can even call it that as it was more of you customizing me to be her, to be someone I’m not. But that’s why you even talked to me is it, because I reminded you of her.

The signs were right in front of me and I feel stupid enough not to have seen them. But I guess people are right when they say love is blind. Love is such a funny thing to me as the first time I experienced the right kind of love was through you. But that was me creating stuff in my head. You didn’t love me no, you loved the idea of me. But I loved you. I loved you more than anything or anyone I have ever loved, I loved everything about you. But you just don’t listen. You don’t listen to anyone around you. Not George, not your other siblings, not Lee or any of your other friends for that matter, not your professors, but most importantly you don’t listen to me.

You didn’t listen when I told you that the love my parents gave me was only because I reminded them of my brother, the love my old friends back home gave me was one of interest. Everywhere I go no matter who I talk to no one will love me for me. I came to accept that until I met you.

You were funny and crazy and brave and oh so gorgeous. You were basically everything I looked for in… well everything. In a friend or in a partner it doesn’t matter. I thought you saw me for who I am. A broken teenager with issues but that at the end of the day was deserving of love. Oh how wrong I have been but no more wrong than you. You knew this but you just didn’t listen.

That makes us both horrible people now does it. Me who thought you were some kind of savior or some kind of saint and selfishly wrapped myself around your love and you who used me because I remind you of your ex girlfriend who broke your heart. But mine is excused I feel like and yours isn’t.

You would have kept me going for who knows how long just so you can live your imaginations you had for someone else.

Did you think about her the first time we slept together?

Was I not enough for you Freddie?

Was I too clingy too soon?

Is it my hot temper that gets the best of me?

So many questions will be left unanswered on my end because frankly, I never want to speak of you again. Sure I am deprived of love but I will not take it if its not directed directly at me.

I still care about you and will continue to support you and George on whatever you set your mind into. I was waking through Diagon Alley last week and saw this little store with a “for sale” sign. It’s right in the middle of Diagon Alley. I hate how my first thought went that you would have loved it but I seem to do that a lot recently.

I’ll get dressed and think would Fred love this skirt or this shirt.

I start applying lipstick and I’ll think will Fred love this color.

I start eating and I’ll think does this look good enough that Fred would’ve stolen a piece of it when I’m talking to Ginny.

I don’t even know why I am telling you this. How pathetic I’ve become clinging into someone that doesn’t want me.

Anyway I’ve probably bored you enough with my ranting but I wouldn’t have been able to move on unless I said everything that felt heavy on my heart. I also attached some photos I thought you’d like to keep seeing as now you can see yourself with Kayla without having the burden to be near me.

Say hi to your siblings and Harry for me.

Have a nice life,

Y/N

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

kisses 21 jm!

For the prompt “we’ll face this together” kiss. TY SAHAR!!! OKAY I accidentally had one (1) jonbinary idea and then it ended up being SO FUCKING LONG (like 2.5k long) so uh. yeah. Warnings for descriptions of dysphoria, mentions of kidnapping and self loathing, and Jon getting pretty close to a panic attack. Also disclaimer, although I am nonbinary, I’m not transfem, so if there’s any critiques surrounding that, don’t hesitate to let me know. Stay safe y’all!

Jon’s face itches as he faces the mirror like an old foe. It’s long held an image that hurts him to see; aged by unfathomable horrors and dotted with marks like a canvas before a child’s paint tipped fingers, and these days he can’t even be sure that his reflection looks away from him when he turns his head. But, the devil it holds at the moment is the simple reflection of his short beard, and his face itches at the reminder of it.

It isn’t a physical itch. It lurks under the skin, poking and prodding at his senses, rubbing him the wrong way as he lays his cheek on his pillow, leaving a distracting echo when his chin brushes against Martin’s during a kiss, scraping at the inside of his skin as he stares at himself and takes in the sight of it covering his chin.

He scrubs his fingers over his eyelids. He isn’t ignorant, he realizes the discomfort he feels is most likely somewhat gender-related, but it’s… his relationship with his gender is complicated. In a lot of ways, it’s been such a mundane concern recently that he’s somewhat lost track of where he stands with it, but he remembers how it felt to first wear a skirt into the archives, all those long years ago. How gentle Sasha had been with him back then, even if the memory pinches the back of his head and grins with too many teeth and a short haircut that he knows now was wrong. But the Stranger cannot take that act of kindness away from her, even if it took away the face he remembers sharing it with.

He had felt like he was becoming something new, then, staring at a new path, freshly paved in his life, open to the possibilities of self discovery and certainty. Then his life had been riddled with worms and his friends had been carved out, one by screaming one, and he was on the run and set alight and kidnapped and disabled and nearly killed and kidnapped again and nearly killed and—

Jon remembers, vaguely, a flash of what had happened in the month he was… gone. He doesn’t remember most of what happened in that place. Probably for the better, he tells himself, but he does recall one thing. One very simple thing, really; that he hadn’t been able to shave, and he remembers the itch being all he could focus on for days at a time.

One of the first things he had done after stumbling through Michael-now-Helen’s door-not-deathtrap was drag himself to a sink and shave his face raw, burned hand be damned. His skin had suffered afterwards, nicked and irritated beneath its smoothness, and he had taken some strange, morbid comfort in the blemish he was able to inflict, after so many days of hearing hollow voices sing of its beauty.

This is a dangerous line of thought, he realizes, hands pressed against the bathroom sink, his heartbeat starting to pound in his ears. He desperately does not want to think about that, not here, and preferably not ever again, if he can help it.

He tries to bring himself back to the here and now, grounding himself in the feeling of porcelain under his palms, but the victory over his mind is a hollow one, unfortunately, as it brings him right back to the itching under his skin.

He’s not sure if this itch is exasperated by his own self consciousness, or by the lingering sting of the Lonely that threatened to separate him from himself, but it builds until its all he can feel in his skin, on his face, and he finds himself lunging across the counter, knocking things over in an attempt to hunt down Martin’s razor.

Jon had lost his own somewhere in the chaos of living in the archives, but he’s sure he saw Martin trim his own short beard when they first arrived at the safehouse, so it must be here, he thinks, ripping open drawers, it must— aha!

His fist closes around the razor, hidden under the sink next to a small bottle of shaving cream and Martin’s testosterone shots, and he barely gives a thought to what he’s doing before raising it to his dry cheek, just needing this thing off, and—

“Jon? You know that’s not how to do that, right?”

Jon whips around like lightning, his back to the sink and the razor clenched in his fist against his chest like a talisman, breathing heavily.

Martin had been smiling slightly as he entered the bathroom, but the expression quickly falls from his face as he takes in the panicked look on Jon’s face, and the erratic motion of his free hand, clenched into a fist at his side and twitching in an attempt to calm himself. Martin steps forward quickly, outstretching a hand.

“Jon, love? Are you alright?”

Jon fixes his eyes on Martin; kind, beautiful Martin who still goes a bit grey at the fingertips and the eyes when anxiety seizes him, Martin who has always been there, always been there, ever since the beginning. Jon anchors himself as he looks at that familiar, beloved face, and tries to take a breath.

“I-I don’t know,” He manages, because this all feels very silly now. He’s a grown person standing in the center of a bathroom, clutching his boyfriend’s shaving razor like it’s a weapon, for God’s sake, all because of what? Some facial hair? Good Lord, he’s being ridiculous. “Probably, I just… um.” He trails off, gut sinking as emotions spiral through him, too fast to pin down and name.

“Okay,” Martin says gently, shuffling a step closer. “Why do you have that?” He gestures to the razor in Jon’s hand, and Jon twitches, holding it closer.

“I need to borrow it,” He explains, stumbling. “I can’t- I need-“ He makes a frustrated noise and tries to get his thoughts to align. He inhales deeply and tries again. “I need to …shave. This-“ he gestures jerkily towards his face. “This is too much.”

Martin nods carefully, eyes glued to Jon’s face. “Too much?” His question is as gentle as his eyes, and Jon has to glance away for a moment, overwhelmed by being seen.

“It’s… complicated,” He begins, the fist pressed to his chest beginning to lighten up. “It… it just itches, all the time. Like- like a thousand ants under my skin, w-which is ridiculous because it doesn’t actually hurt or itch or- or anything, it just…” he glances back to Martin’s eyes, furtive and desperate for him to understand. “I need it to stop.”

“Oh,” Martin softens even more before Jon’s eyes, his face melting with understanding and sadness. “Oh, Jon. I didn’t realize you were having dysphoria.”

At the word dysphoria Jon glances sharply up, uncertainty fraught on his face, and Martin backtracks quickly.

“Or- s-sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. Is it-”

“N-no, Martin, it-it’s fine.” Jon waves Martin’s nerves aside and finds that he finally has a decent enough hold on his own to lower the hand that had been pressed against his chest. He turns around in the bathroom and sits down on the edge of the bathtub, sighing heavily. “It might be dysphoria, I don’t…” He hesitates, chuckling slightly. “I’m not quite sure I know it well enough to place it. Gender hasn’t exactly been… a priority these days.”

Martin nods and follows him deeper into the bathroom, setting down the lid of the toilet so he can sit on it and listen to Jon blunder through his feelings.

“It might be? I mean… I know I’m not a man, per say, but it… I mean, it could also be so many other things at this point. It’s just- I know it’s stupid to overthink, but—“

“Hey, hey,” Martin cuts him off, extending a hand to brush against the side of his knee. “It isn’t stupid, Jon. You don’t have to have a label or a reason in order to be uncomfortable. It’s- you’re allowed to call it just that; uncomfortable.”

Jon nods, looking down at the hands clasped in his lap.

“I know. It just hit me so suddenly, I-” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead, careful to avoid brushing any of the hairs on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Martin murmurs, and his hand rests more solidly on Jon’s knee. “Is this alright?”

Jon nods mutely, and lets himself expel some more of the tension in his shoulders as he focuses on the motion of Martin’s thumb sweeping softly over his knee.

“It reminds me of the circus,” Jon breathes after a moment of silence, and Martin’s hand stills against him, attentive and horrified. “When- when they…” He inhales sharply, willing his voice not to break. “Well, I couldn’t very well shave it,” He clenches his hands into fists again, still holding the razor tightly in his right. “Got it off as quickly as possible once I could.”

Martin exhales. “I remember that. I thought you just… I dunno, just really nicked yourself. I didn’t think about… yeah.”

“Yes,” Jon agrees, keeping his gaze on the hand on his knee. “I-I mean, I definitely did, nick myself that is. I wasn’t really thinking about doing it properly, I suppose.”

“Like just now?” Martin asks, kindly, gently, not judging. Jon feels his chest pinch anyways.

“Yes.” He admits quietly. Martin leans down to press a careful kiss to Jon’s knee.

“Okay, well, this time we’ll do it properly,” Martin raises himself from the toilet seat, reaching down into the cupboards to pull forth the shaving cream and a towel, and holds them out towards Jon.

Jon blinks, looks at the objects and then up at Martin, unsure of what’s being offered. “Sorry?”

“You still want the beard off, right? Let’s just make sure you don’t upset your skin,” He cracks a humorous smile. “Then it’ll actually start itching.”

Jon takes the can from his hand, but still frowns. “Us?”

“I- yeah,” Martin shifts his weight, fidgeting with the towel. “I can help, if that’s alright with you. You don’t… always seem to handle mirrors the best? And I’ve helped shave another person before so… yeah. If you want.”

Jon’s world stutters to a blushing halt. Martin’s right, he doesn’t like to linger on his face in mirrors even on the best days (of which today is certainly not one) and as much as he’s accustomed to doing this himself, what Martin is promising is intimate; an extension of vulnerability and the promise of a care that he hardly takes with himself. The more he considers it, the more finds himself tentatively wanting it, and he nods carefully. He trusts Martin, he’s decided a thousand times by now.

“Alright,” He agrees, and smiles.

Martin smiles in response. “Alright. Do you want me to um-” He gestures with the towel in his hand, and Jon nods.

Martin makes quick work of running the towel under the tap until it’s warm, and then wringing it out so it’s ready to actually use. He takes his seat again and tips Jon’s head back with a hand to lay the towel gently overtop, letting the warmth seep into his skin. It’s more effort than Jon usually puts in, or used to, when he did this more regularly, but he finds it’s a nice feeling, and he almost misses it when Martin takes the towel away again.

“Right,” Martin continues, looks pointedly to the can of shaving cream in Jon’s hand and Jon hesitates.

“Ah. Maybe not that part? Th-the actual shaving is fine, but-”

“Oh! Yeah, of course,” Martin nods, not questioning, and reaches forward instead to gently take the razor itself from Jon’s fist so he can use both hands to get the shaving cream on his face. Jon surrenders the razor, forcing himself to trust it in Martin’s hands, to trust that Martin won’t just leave him hanging.

He tries not to think too hard about the feeling of the cream on his skin. It’s a far cry from lotion, so it doesn’t bring up any sense memories, thankfully, but it’s still an uncomfortable texture, and he focuses on the sound of Martin’s breathing to keep himself from slipping.

Fortunately it doesn’t take long; soon enough Jon’s finished, wiping his hands on his trousers, and then Martin’s shifting closer, taking Jon’s face in his hands like it’s something precious, something to be loved and cared for. He is very close, his dark brown eyes nearly black with focus as he gently reaffirms that Jon’s sure about this, and then the cool razor swipes across Jon’s cheek.

Jon’s heart lurches in his chest, a messy combination of nerves and gratefulness, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move at all, and just watches Martin focus with gentle certaintly as the blade passes over his cheeks again and again in careful, confident strokes. His fingers whisper at Jon’s chin when he tilts up his head and swipes the blade carefully up the top of his throat, brow furrowed and tongue poking out of his lips in concentration.

Jon holds his breath, wills his heart to still, but it’s alright, with Martin it’s always alright. His hands are warm as they cup his cheeks, tilt him this way and that, thorough in their task, and his fingertips are gentle as they lift his chin and brush away foam and ghost over his throat. He never even comes close to nicking him, and Jon feels a great warmth unspooling in his chest, stinging his eyes.

“All done,” Martin finishes triumphantly, his face breaking into a grin as he hands Jon the towel again, lets him wipe off his own face.

There’s no coarse texture as the fabric touches his face, no itching or discomfort as it drags over his chin, and the steady drumbeat of wrongness that had pervaded him for weeks finally, finally dissipates, unblocking his lungs and releasing the tightness from his shoulders. He runs a hand over his chin, and finds a shy smile quickly taking over his face, affection and relief filling him up from the inside out and spilling onto his features.

“Thank you,” He breathes, and Martin matches his smile with one of his own, and nods, nothing but respect and affection in his eyes.

“Any time,” Martin says seriously, before reaching out to take Jon’s hand and slowly bringing it to his lips, giving Jon ample time to pull away. “You don’t have to struggle with this stuff alone,” He murmurs against Jon’s knuckles. “It’s easier together.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jon’s response is quiet, and Martin kisses his hand then; gentle, and full of reverence. Jon finds that he could melt right into the floor and be happy for the rest of his life.

He reaches up to pull Martin down into a kiss, gentle and insistent and grateful, lacing his hands in his hair and sighing against his lips at the sensation, noting how nice it feels to kiss his boyfriend without his itching skin pressing at his thoughts.

The kiss stays chaste, and eventually Jon pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together, keeping his eyes closed, reveling in it. “Together, then.” He affirms, and Martin smiles.

“One way or another.”

[proserpina-magnus]

love can you please write like a comfort blurb? marauders era Sirius x reader where he is comforting and holding her while she’s crying? thank you🥺

Of course I can! I'm hoping your keeping yourself healthy! also, thank you for the request. xo

One where Sirius Black comfort you 

Word Count: 1095

[ Warning: fem reader, heavy description of crying, comforting, slight flirting, cleaning someone up, help with dressing, nicknames such as “baby” “my love” ]

You wept on the bathroom floor, hands covering your face entirely. Hot tears slipped over your cheeks. Your breath in hiccups. You never really knew how this started, it was all a blur.

Your back leaned against the tub, taking a shaky inhale as you try to calm down. Pathetic sobs leave your mouth, instantly making more tears fall. Every emotion you kept hidden poured out of your system, tears wetting your hands as your face goes red.

Sirius came to check on you when you haven't arrived for breakfast. He peaked his head into your dorm, seeing you nowhere. You heard his footsteps come closer to the bathroom. You quickly wiped at your tears, holding your breath to stop the wounded sounds.

"Babe? Are you in there?" Sirius's voice rang out, he knocked at the bathroom door. At the sound of his voice, you instantly caved into the pitiful feeling. You leaped towards the door, opening it quickly as you exposed your crying self to him.

Sirius's expression morphed to a sad one, absolutely empathetic. He fell to his knees, his larger hands coming to hold your weeping face. More tears slipped past your eyes, shaking in his hold.

"Oh baby, what's wrong?" He asked, his eyes full of loss. You fall into his chest, sobbing as you hold his shirt. He holds you close, moving to lean against the wall.

He pulls you between his legs, holding your head to his chest. Your fingers clutch the fabric, digging your nails into it as you uncontrollably sob. Sirius is baffled, he never quite knew what to do in this kind of situation.

"Shh, I've got you now love," he's whispering soothing words, trying to get you to find some ease.

"I can't do it anymore," you're saying between loud breaths, whimpered sobs heaving their way past your lips. Complete nonsense and lost insecurities spilling from your lips.

"You don't have to, I will," Sirius claimed, meaning every word. He kept reassuring you with kind words, guiding you through a good cry.

"I don't want you to break up with me," you're sobbing to him, pulling your head back to look up. Your eyes are red, hair sticking to your teary face. You look like an absolute mess, but Sirius can't find you any more prettier.

"I'm not going to break up with you, never ever. I'm gonna marry you and keep you forever," Sirius made sure to make his voice affirming. His eyes are serious as he holds your face in his hands.

"Come on love, take a few deep breaths for me?" He asks, mimicking his own breath to guide yours. You let out another sob.

"I'm so pathetic Sirius," you say, tears still leaking their way down your face. Your hands shake while leaving his shirt as you place them over his hands.

"No, everyone's allowed to have feelings, love. Your not pathetic, your human," Sirius explained, biting his lip to stop himself from crying as well.

He brings you to his chest again, holding you close to him. You let out fresh tears for a few more moments, the wave of feelings washing away. You pull back, wiping your face with your sleeves.

"I'm okay," you tell him, Sirius smiled at your words. You take a long breath, calming down quickly.

"Come on, I'll clean you up? Then we can go to breakfast and get some food in 'ya" Sirius plans out, helping you to your feet.

He sits you down on the closed toilet seat, you lean back against the tank, completely exhausted.

Sirius brings a wet cloth to your face, gently rubbing it against your raw skin. The feeling is nice, you subconsciously lean into it. After he completely cleans your face, he's dabbing a fluffy towel to dry you.

"Hear, give me your hands," he says, though he grabs your hands in his. He pulls the wet cloth along them, cleaning your fingers and palm. He moves on to your other one, doing the same.

Again, he drys them with the towel. You let out a heavy breath, wrapping your arms around his neck. Sirius picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He walks you to your bed, being careful as he sets you down on the mattress.

"Let's get you dress 'ay?" He says, opening your trunk as he pushes through clothing. He picks out a white blouse and your house tie then takes out your shortest skirt.

"Sirius, not that one!" You complain, tossing it back to him.

"Oh come on! Why have it if your not gonna wear it?" Sirius whines, picking out another skirt that's slightly longer. You roll your eyes, feeling better than you had a few minutes ago.

"Because! That skirt is for your eyes only," you explain, crossing your arms over your chest.

"We could stay in today, play sick," he suggests, you throw a pillow at him. He laughs, putting his hands, mimicking a surrender.

"Okay okay!" He yells, catching the next pillow you throw at him. He throws the pillows back onto your bed.

"Alright, want me to dress you?" Sirius asked, you nod at his question. Sirius quickly dressed you, making sure to flatten out your outfit. He pulls you to the mirror.

"I love having a pretty girlfriend," Sirius whispered, standing behind you. You roll your eyes but feel heat cross your face. His hands slide around your waist, resting his head on top of your shoulder.

"I love having a handsome boyfriend," you say back, he smiles instantly. He spins you around, doing a small dance as you get to the door.

"Ready to go?" He asks, his hand never leaving your waist.

"Can I wear your jumper?" You asked, still a bit exhausted. Sirius smiled brighter, completely adoring your question.

"Of course, anything for the love of my life," Sirius beamed, pulling away from you. He takes his jumper off his body quickly, pulling the warm wool over your arms. He fixes it, straightening it out.

"Thank you, now I'm ready," You say, pushing your fingers between his. He squeezes your hand, a wet kiss getting placed on your cheek.

"Perfect! Let's go, my love," Sirius says, opening the door wide. He lets you out first, before taking the lead with your hand in his.

You feel warm and fuzzy as you leave your dorm with Sirius. He talks your ear off, glancing back at you as he leads the way. You only fixate on him, a small tired smile against your features.

[joonie-beanie]

Missing Ingredient

Pairing: Solomon x Reader

Word Count: 5,467

Preview: Solomon needs help obtaining some "nectar" for a spell he wants to try, and asks you for your assistance.

Unbeknownst to you, the so-called nectar he needs isn't from a flower at all.

This chapter is also being posted as a part of my “Devil Doms” series on AO3.

I wrote this after getting inspired by one of @/shokujin-art’s pieces with Solomon and their MC Ethan!

WARNING: This chapter can be considered dub-con. If dubious consent makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

“I need your help.”

The smile on Solomon’s face is a little disconcerting. After all, usually it’s not he who is asking you for help, but…you decide to hear him out.

“With what?”

Your gaze is openly skeptical as you regard him, but his smile doesn’t waver.

“I need nectar for a spell I’ve been wanting to test out for a while. I was wondering if you could help me in that regard.”

You blink at him, confused. Nectar? How the hell are you supposed help with that? It’s not like you’re an expert with flowers, and you certainly have no idea about flowers that reside in the Devildom.

“You…want me to help you find…nectar?”

He nods, bringing a hand up to his chin—his eyes turning towards the ceiling.

“Well…basically, yes.”

You narrow your gaze at his phrasing, concern growing by the moment. Exactly what the hell is Solomon playing at? You know he’s a bit of a sketchy bastard, and sometimes you feel like he can’t be trusted, but…so far, he hasn’t wronged you.

…that counts for something, right?

“Listen,” you say, poking a finger into his chest. His eyes widen at the action, and he pauses—staring at you as you continue to jab him. “I’ll help you, okay? But I better not be harmed on this journey to achieve whatever “nectar” you need. Got it, wizard boy?”

Solomon rolls his eyes at your nickname—catching your finger when you move to press your nail into his chest once more.

“You won’t experience any pain,” he says, laughing quietly. His eyes crease, a handsome smile lighting up his face, and for a second, you forget about your worries.

“I promise.”

The next weekend, you get a text from Solomon demanding that you come over to Purgatory Hall.

Today is the day—he needs your help with his nectar issue—and so, you pack up your bag and head over.

You’d attempted to ask him what retrieving this nectar would entail. After all, did you need to dress in hiking boots?? Would he be taking you out into the Devildom wilderness to try and find some rare, valuable flower?? But Solomon had refused to reveal any details.

He’d simply explained that it may take a few hours, and that you should just bring yourself, and any basic necessities.

So now, here you are—standing on the step to Purgatory Hall—waiting for Solomon to come and let you in. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the grand wooden door is pulled open.

“Took you long enough,” you mumble as he ushers you inside. The sorcerer can only laugh, keeping pace beside you as the two of you traverse the halls—heading towards his room.

“Sorry,” he says. His hand moves to wipe at his brow. You notice the tiny beads of sweat sticking to his skin, and curiosity fills you. “I was preparing.”

“Preparing for what?”

Again, Solomon reveals nothing. He easily laughs off the seriousness of your question, waving a hand in front of him as if to try and dissipate any of your worries.

“Preparing to retrieve the nectar,” he responds after a moment, flashing you a small smile. “I’ve been trying to gather the ingredients for this spell for many, many years, and this is the last, and hardest one to collect.”

“And…you need my help in particular with this…why?”

Your eyebrows are knit together on your forehead, and you’re sure that Solomon notices your trepidation, yet he chooses not to address it. Instead, he continues a few more strides up the hall before stopping.

You’ve already arrived at his room.

He reaches out to grab the doorknob, his silver eyes darkening playfully as he regards you. The subtle shift in his demeanor has butterflies tickling the inside of your stomach, and you swallow nervously.

While you’re not as magically inclined as Solomon, you can still feel the magic leaking from inside of his room. He obviously has something planned for you once you step inside, but you’re not sure what.

“…you promised you wouldn’t hurt me,” you remind him, pouting angrily—attempting to hide your apprehension. Your words have Solomon rolling his eyes, and he releases the door knob.

Standing straight, he jerks two of his fingers towards you, and suddenly a golden magic circle encases one of your wrists.

Your eyes widen in surprise, but before you can think to say anything, he’s making another motion with his hand. Quickly, the magic circle tugs you forward, and within seconds, you find yourself directly in front of Solomon.

His previously kind smile is now replaced with something more akin to an amused grin.

“I gave you my word, didn’t I?” he asks, free hand moving to gently brush a few stray hairs from your face. The gesture contradicts his current attitude, making you feel torn. Anxiety and excitement mingle in your gut—both turned on and concerned by your predicament.

“You did, but you’re kind of a bastard, so I want you to reassure me…,” you mumble, cheeks heating up as you stare at him.

This isn’t exactly the first time Solomon has used his magic to fluster you. No, many times now he has casually used spells to fuck with you—making you more sensitive to the touch, or creating a brief gust of wind to flip your skirt up while at RAD. It has kind of become your thing—picking on each other, with Solomon bridging into sexual territory every so often.

Actually...you’d made out with him a few weeks prior—both of you slightly intoxicated, and drawn in by the club music at The Fall—but it had never gone beyond kissing, and groping. Despite that, the sexual energy between the two of you had been palpable.

Yet, nothing had come of it. You’d mutually parted—preserved your friendship—and gone your separate ways that night. You’d assumed that Solomon simply wasn’t interested in doing those kinds of things with you—that any playfully sexual advances towards you were done in the spirit of friendship. Which you were okay with.

But…now that you’re standing here—hair risen all across your body at the magic leaking from his room—you know that he has big plans. And judging by the glint in his eyes, and the way his thumb is carefully caressing your cheek—you’ll certainly be in for a treat.

“When you step beyond the threshold of this door, no harm will come to you,” he speaks calmly, dipping down to press a soft kiss to your lips. Almost instantly, you’re melting into him—heart hammering against your ribs as your defenses are so easily torn away.

“Do you trust me?”

You nod, and his fingers leave your face. You hear the doorknob turn.

“I shouldn’t, but I do.”

He laughs at that, and in the next beat, he’s pulling you inside.

His room is just like you remember it—spacious, and dark. His desk is littered with an army of ingredients, and spell books. His bed is nicely made, and there’s a single, leather armchair tucked into the corner of the room, near the fireplace.

The only thing out of the ordinary is the golden blob of magic sitting in the center of the room. There’s an intricately drawn circle of chalk surrounding it—many runes, and foreign words tied into the dormant spell.

“I’m beginning to think that this “nectar” you need isn’t exactly from a flower…,” you mumble, sending him a little look when he once again uses the magic circle around your wrist to force you farther into his room. Solomon only smiles, guiding you forward until you’re standing inside the chalk ring—the blob of magic at your feet.

“To be honest, for the longest time I thought I was searching for a rare flower,” he says, sighing as he recalls his strife. His footsteps echo throughout the silent room as he scoots arounds the circle, shaking his head in disappointment. “This is a spell I found in an ancient text, and the words were quite hard to decipher. At some point, I picked out the word “nectar”, but figuring out what kind of nectar took far too long.”

As he speaks, you feel the spell at your feet start to buzz to life. And when your gaze flickers to the floor, you note that the blob of magic is starting to…move?

With each passing second, as the spell activates, the ball of golden magic expands and contracts—bulging here or there. You’re forced to divide your attention between Solomon—who is now standing in front of the leather chair—and the magic at your feet (which looks ready to explode).

“Solomon…,” you speak nervously, gasping when a second magic circle suddenly encases your free wrist. You turn to look at the sorcerer just as he jerks his fingers towards the ceiling—forcing your arms high above your head, where the spinning circles then merge into a single, larger one.

“H-Hey! You still haven’t told me what the hell is going on!” you stutter, feeling warmth on your cheeks as you realize your current state of vulnerability. With your hands bound like this, there’s no way you can escape whatever Solomon has planned.

“And yet, you still look like you’re enjoying this,” he teases you. You attempt to glare at him, but there’s no real power behind it, considering he’s right.

“Bastard…”

Solomon laughs at that, and he steps into the chalk circle without warning. His hands find your waist, and he kisses you without an ounce of hesitation. His lips are firm, and warm—moving against your own languidly, like he’s got all the time in the world.

The show of intimacy successfully distracts you from the ball of magic at your feet. Well…at least until the energy takes a new form—multiple, long limbs of magic shooting out, and wrapping around you.

“Mmph!” you squeal around his tongue, rearing back in shock. You look down, wriggling as the warm tendrils of magic climb your body. One is already hugging your waist—replacing the feel of Solomon’s hands as the wizard takes a step back—watching everything unfold with a self-satisfied grin spreading across his lips.

“Basically,” he speaks, calm as ever—as if you aren’t being molested by magic. His magic. “I finally figured out that the “nectar” I’ve been searching for is the arousal of a human. The product of their pleasure.”

His words have you feeling even hotter—an embarrassing gasp leaving you as one of the tendrils wraps around your thigh, and wiggles against your clothed sex.

“Really, of course I finally figured it out once I’m here in the Devildom.” He shakes his head, crossing his arms disappointedly. You bite your lip, trying to stifle another lewd sound as the tendril around your waist curls up between your breasts.

From what you can tell, there are 2…well, tentacles of magic in total—with one occupying your legs, and the other busying itself with your torso.

“I-If you need human arousal, why not use your own?” you ask him, already quite breathless. The sound makes Solomon’s eyes sparkle.

“What? You think I want to sit around and jerk into a cup for god knows how long?” he laughs, eyes raking down your body. His gaze stops near your hips, and he makes a motion with his hand. In response, the tentacle currently rubbing softly against your pussy pulls away—hooking under the waistband of your pants.

In one swift motion, it tugs the garment down your legs, and discards it onto the floor. You flush hottly, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to preserve a sliver of modesty—but the tendril of magic easily slips its way between your legs, once again rubbing against your pelvis.

“And besides, this route seemed much more fun.” He smiles cheekily, a dark sort of amusement lingering in his silver gaze. “I always pegged you as the type to enjoy a situation like this anyway. You know, a damsel in distress with a bit of kink and sex thrown in.”

You send him another look, but can’t say anything. Because…he’s not necessarily wrong. You can’t deny his words, nor can your body deny its reaction to your current predicament. Each pass of the magic between your legs or against your breasts has arousal pooling in your gut.

“Of course, if I’m wrong, just tell me, and I’ll stop.”

Despite the teasing look on his face, his words are genuine. He won’t do anything you’re not okay with. Even if he needs the ingredient for his spell, it seems he’s not entirely an asshole. At least, not to you.

“N…no…I’m okay with this,” you admit meekly, causing him to smile. “But…how are you retrieving the… um…”

You’re too shy to say it, now, realizing what the nectar actually is.

“Well, I did mention that all of this took time to prepare,” he responds, allowing the tendrils of his magic to continue roaming your body freely. It seems like he’s able to control them when he wants, but otherwise, they’ll continue working towards their goal on their own.

“Since I was able to get you to agree to help me out—”

“Without telling me what would actually be involved.”

He sends you a look—a little annoyed at being interrupted despite so kindly answering all of your questions.

“Oh I’m sorry—,” he makes a motion with his hand, and suddenly the tentacle around your chest is tearing your shirt away with a definitive rip. In the same beat, the tentacle between your legs slips beneath the crotch of your panties—tugging them off your body.

Somehow, it manages to discard the garment near Solomon’s feet, so he bends down and picks up the cotton fabric with a smile—the large spot of arousal hard to miss, even in the dim light of his room.

“—but do you really have the right to be sassing me about my ethics, when you’re already wet enough to stain your panties? Clearly, you’re turned on despite me not telling you, love.”

You open your mouth to attempt to defend your pride, but the only sound that comes out is a lewd gasp. The smooth magic between your thighs resumes its motions—now rubbing up against your wet pussy with no barrier. The contact makes you ache—your clit already so sensitive to the touch—and a satisfied grin settles on Solomon’s face.

“As I was saying,” he continues with his explanation calmly, but his gaze doesn’t leave the sight of you. With your panties gone, and your shirt in tatters on the floor, the sorcerer would be a fool to not watch the show unraveling in front of him.

“It took time to prepare. I had to figure out what would be the best way to retrieve the nectar without letting it go to waste. After all, sex can be so messy.”

Solomon pauses for a moment, soaking in the sound of your voice as you whine—your body flushed from head to toe as the thick tentacles of his magic keep their pace, rubbing against you in all the right places.

His slacks are beginning to feel a little tight.

He coughs.

“Basically, the raw magic will absorb your “nectar”, and will keep it trapped until I can draw it out.”

“S-So what?” you whimper, fingers helplessly curling and uncurling above you. His magic circle allows your wrists no wiggle room. “Y-You’re just going to sit here and watch your magic molest me until you’ve collected enough of my arousal for your spell?”

“Molest is a strong word,” Solomon says, seating himself in the leather chair. He leans back, letting his legs spread wide, and your eyes fall to the tent in his pants. “I prefer fondle. Or, pleasure. After all, you’re feeling a fair amount of pleasure right now, aren’t you?”

With a small inclination of his fingers, the tentacle between your legs pulls back—the thick, rounded tip pressing directly against your clit. It moves in miniscule side to side motions, and Solomon sees the way your entire body flexes—thighs shaking with each pass over your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” you pant, arms straining against their bindings. The wizard chuckles.

“Shall I make you cum like this? Or would you prefer to wait? Personally, I have no qualms making you orgasm until you’re begging me to stop, but I also don’t want to break you. You’d be a pain to put back together.”

“Asshole,” you remark.

With the tentacle still swiping across your clit, you know it won’t be long until you reach your climax. And while you know cumming will only serve to make everything more sensitive afterwards, you can’t bring yourself to pass up the offer of an orgasm. You’re already too close, and your body is begging for a release.

“I…I want to cum. Please.”

“Look at you, saying “please” even though you’re calling me an asshole.”

You so desperately wish he was within kicking range, because if he was, you would absolutely lift your leg and wipe that cocky grin straight off his face.

Luckily, the magic between your legs quickly distracts you from your anger towards the sorcerer. 

As if hearing your plea to cum, it begins to work even faster—searching for the pattern that will undoubtedly drag you into the depths of your pleasure. And once it finds it—lewd gasps and moans falling from your lips—the tentacle keeps at it until you’re tumbling into your release.

Sensing your orgasm, the magic limb presses up against your pelvis. It slots between your folds, rubbing languidly as you experience your high.

You can only guess that it’s currently collecting all of the precious “nectar” that has leaked from your throbbing pussy following your climax.

“Shit…”

Apparently willing to give you a moment to breath, the magic tendril occupying your sex continues its slow motions. In its place, the tentacle that had been lazily fondling your chest until now gets to work. It fully wraps around both of your breasts—squeezing, and tugging—almost as if it’s attempting to milk you.

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation—quiet, hot breaths filling the space in front of you as the tailend of your orgasm finally passes. Yet, you can still feel the embers burning in your gut, threatening to reignite with any simple touch.

“Feel good?” Solomon questions, drawing you out of your haze. Your eyes fall to him, heart thundering in your chest when you notice that one of his hands has strayed beneath his trousers—fingers enclosed around his length through the fabric of his underwear.

“Perverted wizard,” you speak instead, completely ignoring his question. The smallest of grins grace your lips, a breathy laugh leaving you. “Getting so hard from watching me. Shouldn’t you be ashamed?”

He chuckles at your words, looking amused by your wit.

Truly, you’re a fool to be speaking to him like that, as if he isn’t the one in charge right now. While he’s been kind to you thus far, he has no issue in changing that.

“Be a good cock slut and shut the hell up.”

He flicks his fingers, a fake smile plastered on his face, and in the next moment your pussy is filled to the brim with his magic. The tentacle reaches deep—snaking between your walls until the soft head is pressed flush against your cervix.

The abrupt intrusion has you crying out, wrists once again straining against their bindings as you struggle to adjust to the new sensation. And yet, Solomon grants you no grace period.

The magic begins to move—sliding in and out of your wet walls at a swift pace that has your mouth opening, but no sound coming out. At the same time, the tentacle at your chest squeezes harder, the tip of the appendage moving to swirl around one of your hardened nipples.

“S-Solomon,” you choke out, knees buckling under the intensity of his magic. The way his name sounds falling from your lips—desperate and overwhelmed—has his cock jumping against its confines.

His jaw clenches, fingers squeezing a bit tighter as he strokes himself.

“I’d slow their pace down, but I can hear how wet you are from here,” he remarks, silver gaze falling to the space between your thighs. As the tentacle grinds inside of you, small amounts of your arousal are soaked up by his magic. As they’re absorbed, the liquid pools in the main body of the magic—the blob still resting at the center of the chalk circle which is keeping his spell active.

“I called you a cock slut teasingly, but it seems you actually are one. How precious.”

“Fuck off,” you pant, body writhing as the embers in your gut quickly reignite into flames—hot, intense, and growing with each second that passes.

He laughs at your exclamation, pressing to his feet. With deft fingers, Solomon quickly rids himself of his pants, and underwear—the pieces of clothing lying abandoned on the floor beside your own. And when he moves forward—once again entering the magic circle, and stepping into your personal space—you feel your heart skip a beat.

Your pussy clenches around the tentacle still working inside of you, nervous butterflies blooming in your tummy when you see the dark look in Solomon’s eyes. Like he’s finally giving you a glimpse of the real him—not the kind façade he always shows in front of the others.

“If you’re going to use your mouth in such a vulgar fashion, I know a better way.”

Suddenly, without warning, the magic circle encasing your wrists presses downward—forcing you to your knees. The tentacles adjust accordingly, but continue their ministrations as normal. The new position, however, has you eye-level with Solomon’s weeping cock.

“Say ah,” he says, canting his hips forward. The tip of his length smears against your hot cheek, and you flit your gaze up to him—aroused, and a little scared.

He’d be lying if he said the fear didn’t turn him on.

“No?” Solomon tangles a hand in your hair—firm, but not enough to hurt. He holds your stare, his eyes expectant. Yet, he doesn’t force himself upon you. After all, he gave you his word that he wouldn’t hurt you, and while right now he would love nothing more than to stuff your mouth with his cock, he won’t if it’s pushing you too far.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves (although it’s not easy to do, considering the two tentacles that are still very bent on pleasuring you for the sake of your “nectar”). Then—

You part your lips, hot breath fanning against his length.

“Aaah—”

Solomon looks genuinely surprised for a moment. However, he definitely won’t be wasting such a perfect opportunity.

“Truly a cock slut,” he says by way of praise—sliding his cock into your mouth before you can even think of responding.

The moment he hits the back of your throat—making you gag—you realize what you’re in for. There’s no way you’re making it out of this situation sane. Not with Solomon fucking your mouth, while his magic devastates your pussy, and fondles your chest.

In contrast to the quick, brutal pace the tentacle currently occupied with your sex has taken, Solomon starts off slowly. He rocks himself into your mouth, his silver eyes focused on you as your lips suction around him. Each time, he ventures deep—his cock sliding into you until you can take no more.

Tears blot your eyes, body tensing as you resist the urge to gag around him once again. Solomon notices your struggle—watching the way your fingers curl into fists. A part of him debates being nicer. You’re already struggling thanks to the ministrations of his magic, after all, and yet—

“You like it rough, don’t you?”

He reaffirms his grip on your hair—holding your head steady as he begins rolling his hips. He’s still not as fast as the tentacle devastating your pussy, but his slow pace is no more. No, he fucks you quick enough that you don’t have time to steel yourself for the sensation of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

So now, along with the wet, slapping sounds already filling the room, your frequent, helpless gagging can be heard as well.

To Solomon, it’s music to his ears.

“I don’t need you to tell me “yes”. I can already see the answer with how much of your arousal my magic is collecting,” he says, breathing a laugh. “Seriously, you’re the one that should be ashamed, Y/N. You stand there and tease me for getting hard, but you’re the one positively leaking right now. Do you want to be even more stuffed? I could create a third tentacle if you like.”

“Nn—,” you attempt to shake your head, tears finally rolling down your cheeks. You already feel like you’re going insane. There’s no way you’d be able to handle anything more than this.

Solomon grins at your response, purposely grinding into your mouth, and holding himself there. He watches as you flounder—body writhing against the bindings at your wrists. 

Even as you struggle to breathe, you can feel the orgasm building inside of you.

You choke down a sob.

Solomon’s magic is relentless. You have no idea how long it’s been—how long the tentacles have been teasing you—have been trying to milk you for all that you’re worth—but it’s been long enough to bring you to the edge once more. And each time Solomon forces you to gag around him, you only inch closer.

“Mmph,” you whine pathetically around him, your body shaking as your pleasure continues to build to a peak. It won’t be long until you’re sent tumbling over the edge a second time, and once that happens, you’re not sure how much more you’ll be able to take. Your brain already feels like it’s on the verge of short-circuiting.

“This is a good look on you—,” he comments. Sweat has beaded on his brow—stray strands of his hair sticking to his forehead, and you’re mad that he still manages to appear so handsome despite his disheveled state.

“—ruined, and on the brink of orgasm. You’re going to cum again, right?”

Your noise of admission is lost around his cock as he continues fucking into your mouth. However, he doesn’t need to hear your agreement. He can already tell—what, with the way your eyes are practically ready to roll back into your head.

“You should wait for me,” he says, amusement tugging at his lips when he feels you whimper. “Can you manage that?”

Without waiting for your muffled attempt at a response, Solomon thrusts become rougher. He fucks into your throat, groaning at the way you instinctively gag and swallow around him. Saliva pools at the corners of your lips—slipping down to your chin and mingling with the tears that have fallen from your eyes.

You’re so overwhelmed. You’ve never experienced so many sensations at once, and while you try your best to hold out for Solomon—to be good, and wait for him like he’s requested—you can’t. It’s impossible.

With a strangled cry, you come undone. Your body thrashes, your head naturally attempting to pull away from Solomon for much needed air, but he doesn’t let you go anywhere.

“Ah, if only you had waited a little longer,” he remarks, disappointment in his tone. He lowers his other hand to grab your head, and more tears pour down your cheeks as he face fucks you to his heart’s content—even as your orgasm continues to roll through you.

Luckily, the sorcerer isn’t very far behind. He finds his release just as your orgasm is beginning to subside, the tentacles that are assaulting you finally beginning to slow their ruthless pace. 

Gripping your hair, he forces himself deep into your throat—a dark satisfaction settling in his gut as he watches you choke on his seed.

“Swallow like a good girl,” he chides, one of his hands moving to wipe away your tears. As best you can, you swallow around him—puffy eyes turning up to him. The pleading look on your face successfully softens his heart, and with a sigh, he releases your head.

Immediately, you’re pulling back—coughing and gasping for air.

“P-Please, I can’t…anymore…,” you beg, voice raw. The tentacles have started picking up their pace once again--ready to resume their duty after having given you a few minutes to rest.

Solomon clicks his tongue, his silver gaze dropping to the mass of magic on the floor. There’s a fair amount of your “nectar” that has settled at the bottom of the orb. Enough that Solomon will be able to attempt his spell more than a few times.

So, with that in mind, he releases you.

The tentacle around your torso unwinds—your breasts feeling used, and sore from its touches. At the same time, the magic stuffing your pussy slowly pulls out—the limb soaking up whatever excess arousal you have to offer as it retreats.

Before long, the two tentacles have remerged with the ball of golden magic—the light from the spell circle fading as everything settles back into place. Once he’s sure that your precious juices are properly kept, Solomon waves his hand, and the magic binding your wrists disappears.

Almost instantly, you’re falling forward—catching yourself on your hands and knees, fingers smearing through intricately drawn chalk lines. Solomon kneels in front of you, brushing your hair from your eyes.

“You did well,” he says.

“You’re the worst,” you respond. 

Your entire body feels like jello. You’re not even sure there’s any blood left in your arms.

He chuckles.

“Fine, I’m the worst.”

Grabbing you beneath your arms, Solomon helps you to your feet, and leads you over to his bed. He throws the sheets over you, and then moves to retrieve the blob on the center of his floor. He gingerly places it on his desk—resting it atop a plush cushion, like a prized pet.

His eyes linger on it for a few seconds, satisfied. Then, his silver stare turns back to you—his sheets rustling as you settle yourself in.

There’s absolutely no way he’ll be kicking you out anytime soon. If you can barely walk to his bed with his help, there’s no chance that you’ll be able to walk all the way back to the House of Lamentation.

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind your company. He’s got a heart inside of him, even if parts are stained black.

“I’ll go get some water,” he says. However, just as he’s brushing past the bed, there’s a knock at his door.

He pauses at the sound, and you hold his sheets tighter around your naked body.

Eyebrow raised curiously, Solomon strides to the door and pulls it open. Standing on the other side is a red-faced Simeon. He looks both angry, and embarrassed.

Solomon’s heart drops.

Despite all his preparation, he’d forgotten to enact a noise blocking spell…

“Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right,” Simeon responds, crossing his arms. “You’re lucky Barbatos agreed without question to teach Luke a new recipe despite me calling him last minute. Once I heard you and your partner…going at it. You live with a child up the hall, Solomon.”

Solomon sighs. “I’m sorry. I meant to cast a spell to block the noise, but I forgot.”

“Next time, don’t forget, or I’ll have harsher words to say to you.”

“Very much noted.”

“Good.” Nodding, Simeon turns to stalk away from the wizard, but pauses.

“Oh, by the way, you mentioned inviting Y/N over this weekend. Are you still planning to do that? I’d love to see her.”

“Uhhh…,” Solomon resists the urge to glance back into his room, towards the bed where you’re currently hiding yourself. “Yeah. She should be over later. I’ll let you know when she gets here.”

“Good!”

Smiling, Simeon disappears up the hall. Solomon shuts his door, and from beneath his covers, you quietly scream.

“Simeon heard us fucking!! What’s wrong with you!!”

Again, Solomon sighs.

“Yes, yes, we already agreed—I’m the worst. Now pipe down, or I’ll have to shut you up again.”

When you actually cease your scolding words—glaring at him over the edge of his sheets—Solomon cocks an arrogant eyebrow.

Well then, he certainly knows the best way to get you to shut up from now on.

[thebookreader12345]

Relationship Rescue

Pairing: Adam Ruzek x reader

Summary: Y/N and Adam’s relationship has been a bit rocky the past few days, and when Y/N gets trapped, and Adam is her only life-line, they’re forced to talk about the issues that have split them up

Requested: No

Warnings: slight swearing, mentions of death and bombings

Word Count: 1,362 Words

“Still not talking to Adam?” Kim asked me as I made my way up the stairs and into the bullpen.

“What gave it away?” I question and set my things down on my desk.

“You’ve both been skirting around each other all week. Why don’t you just talk to him and fix whatever’s wrong?” Kim suggested.

“There’s nothing to fix. We just fell apart,” I lie.

“Y/N,” Kim started.

“Kim, just drop it. Please,” I beg. Kim sighed, but nodded and took a seat at her desk, which was right in front of mine. Just as she did, Jay ran up the stairs.

“Guys, we’ve got a bombing downtown. Voight wants everyone to roll on it,” Jay informed us.

“We’re right behind you,” I say and grab my things. Kim followed me down to the parking lot, and we climbed into my car before speeding off to the scene. When we arrived, I saw that the rest of the team was already there, including Adam. We gathered in a circle, and I took up a position between Hailey and Kevin, strapping on my vest as Voight began to talk.

“Okay. We’ve got the area taped off and have a perimeter set up. A witness said she saw a boy, 19, maybe 20, with blonde hair drop off a backpack a minute or two before the bomb went off. He was wearing blue jeans and a black t-shirt. I want you all to spread out, case the area, see if we can find this prick. Lets go,” Voight ordered.

“I’m going to go this way,” I tell Kim and nod towards the building that had been hit by a bomb.

“Be careful,” Kim exclaimed as I walked off. My eyes scanned the area as I approached the building, but at the moment, I didn’t see anyone. However, that all changed when a man fitting our description peaked out from the building that was hit. He seemed to be taking in the area, almost like he was admiring how much damage he had caused. Yeah, this was definitely our guy.

“Hey! Chicago PD! Stay right where you are!” I shout at the kid. As soon as the boy saw me, he turned around and took off further into the building. “Son of a bitch,” I mumble and chase after him. I vaulted over the wall of debris at the entrance of the property and continued my chase, following the boy as he turned down new corners. After about a minute, we came to an area that had been hit pretty hard by the bomb. The ceiling was cracking, and rubble was lying everywhere, but I ignored it and continued running. That’s when the boy ran through a doorway and slammed the door behind him. At the same time, I heard a boom echo from outside, causing the whole room to shake. A loud crack hit my ears, and I looked up just as the ceiling began to break away and fall down on top of me. I dropped to the floor, crawled under a desk, placed my head between my knees, and covered my head with my arms as the rocks rained down on top of me.

............................................

My whole body ached, and I could already tell that multiple bruises would be forming on my skin later. I was trapped in a pocket under a huge pile of cement, and while the desk had protected me a bit and allowed me some room, there was no way out. I rubbed the dust from my eyes and glanced around, hoping to spot something that could help me, and that’s when my eyes landed on my radio. I reached out and snatched it off the ground, holding it up to my lips.

“This is 5021 Victor. Can anyone hear me?” I ask into the device. When no one responded, I groaned and smacked the side of it. “Come on. Come on!” After smacking the radio, I held it up to my lips again. “This is 5021 Victor. Does anyone copy?” The radio emitted a static noise, but immediately after, someone began to talk.

“Y/N? Is that you? What’s going on?” Adam questioned.

“Adam, thank god! I was chasing the kid when the second bomb went off, and now I’m trapped. I can’t get out,” I explain.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Adam quizzed.

“No. I don’t think so,” I reply.

“Okay. Good. The fire department is arriving now. Tell me where you are,” Adam instructed.

“Uh, I’m not quite sure. I ran into the building and chased the kid towards the back. I’m in some sort of office room. There’s desks in here,” I recall. For the next few minutes, there was nothing but silence between us, and it got a bit awkward.

“Y/N? You still there?” Adam asked.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’m still here.”

“You doing okay?” Adam questioned.

“Things could be better. I feel like I’m going to run out of oxygen soon, even though I know I’m fine, but I’m still kind of freaking out,” I confess.

“Hey. Everything’s going to be fine. Just think about happier memories. Think about us,” Adam suggested.

“Thinking about you doesn’t make me feel calm! We haven’t talked in days,” I exclaim.

“And how is that my fault?” Adam argued.

“How is it not your fault?!” I counter. “You’ve been ignoring me all week, and whenever I tried to talk to you, you’d brush me off. You’ve been distant, Adam. And if you don’t want to be with me anymore, fine. But you could at least give me a heads up and say to my face that you want to break up.”

“That’s not why I’ve been ignoring you,” Adam admitted. “I’m just going through some stuff right now. After my CI got killed last week, I’ve been thinking a lot about everything: You, my job, life.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me that? I would’ve given you space if you needed it,” I say.

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to burden you with my problems,” Adam stated. Another minute or two passed without either of us saying a word, and just before I could say something, Adam beat me to it. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” I murmur and clutch the radio tightly in my hands. Just then, a few of the rocks in front of me started moving, and I pulled my knees closer to my chest. Seconds later, one of the rocks was removed from the pile, allowing some light to flow into my cramped space.

“Hey, Y/N,” Kelly Severide announced and looked through the hole. “You doing okay in there?”

“Yeah. Just get me out of here,” I tell him. 

Kelly chuckled, but nodded. “Will do. Give us a minute.” Slowly, the rocks piled in front of me began to disappear, creating a bigger and bigger hole. Soon, the hole was large enough for me to crawl out of, and when a hand reached down to help me out, I grasped it and let the person pull me out of the rock rile. Right as I was free from my temporary prison, I was pulled into a hug. The feeling of being against the person’s chest was very comforting and familiar, and I knew right away that it was Adam.

“I’m so sorry,” Adam mumbled and placed a kiss on top of my head.

“For what?” I quiz.

“For being distant. I should’ve just talked to you. And if you don’t mind, after we get you checked out at Med, and finish up with work, I’d like to head home with you. We could watch some stupid movies, or just relax,” Adam suggested.

I smiled and looked up at him. “Relaxing sounds great. I just want to get home, take a quick shower, and head to bed.”

“That plan sounds amazing. Come on. Lets get out of here,” Adam spoke and laced his fingers with mine. And with that, the two of us left the building with our relationship in tact, and all it took was for me to be in need of a rescue to save it.

__________________________

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