#and What Angel Wakes Me has been playing on repeat in my brain all day

[haunted-xander]

King Titania forever and ever

[hd-wireless]

🎶 HD Wireless 2021 Reveals! 🎶

TAKE A BOW, CREATORS!! 

The day has finally come, and we can’t wait for everyone to see who created all the wonderful Wireless works that we had the privilege to present to you this year!!

Before we do that, the results of our Guessing Game! The winner, with 43 correct guesses (which gave her 260 points - please don’t question our scoring system) was @sweet-s0rr0w!! Kudos to your super-sleuthing and powers of recognition!!

All the wonderful authors, artists and podficcers who took part this year can be found below the cut. As the mods, we want to extend our thanks to every single talented one of them. Please show them all your love and appreciation!!

🎶 H/D Wireless Animatic and Fic 🎶

📻 rather a lover than a fighter [T, 15k] ✒️ Author and Artist: @parkkate & aceveria / @aceveria-art

🎵 Summary: When Harry loses his voice and his magic, it’s up to Healer Draco to save the day.

🎶 H/D Wireless Art 🎶

📻 The Road to Somewhere [T] 🖌️ Artist: @rainsoakedhello 🎵 Art medium: Digital Art

🎵 Summary: In the end, all roads lead home.

📻 Don't care what they say (I would be stupid to be not on it) [Gen] 🖌️ Artist: @digthewriter 🎵 Art medium: Digital. Photoshop.

🎵 Summary: Harry finally has a chance with Draco and he's not gonna let it go.

📻 Start Over Again [Gen] 🖌️ Artist: milkandhoney / @fictional 🎵 Art medium: Digital Art

🎵 Summary: Do you feel like a chainstore? Or in which one is Graham Coxon and one is Damon Albarn.

📻 Down for What You Want [Teen] 🖌️ Artist: @sugareey 🎵 Art medium: Digital

🎵 Summary: After the war, finding refuge in the clubs of Muggle London is easier than dealing with the shambles of the wizarding world. When Harry and Draco keep running into each other at Apollo's every Saturday night though, they follow their gut instincts to get on the dance floor and discover something they both have been craving for a long time.

📻 What do I do? With a Love That Won’t Sit Still [Gen] 🖌️ Artist: @cambiodipolvere 🎵 Art medium: traditional (graphite)

🎵 Summary: Italian Greyhounds are small and fucked up, but Draco is a big fuck up and that requires scaling.

🎶 H/D Wireless Art and Fic 🎶

📻 A Halo of Fairy Orbs [E, 20.6k] 🖌️✒️ Author and Artist: vivi1138 / @penguinanimagus & Fae_vorite / @faevorite-main-blog 🎵 Art medium: digital art

🎵 Summary: Draco Malfoy has been dead for fifteen years, but the Black Family tapestry doesn’t agree. Upon returning from long years abroad, Harry discovers that his old rival might still be alive, and his revived obsession leads him to Malfoy Manor. There’s a mystery to solve, and Harry is chasing a thrill he hasn’t felt since sixth year. He needs to know.

📻 Oh, Sinnerman [E, 40k] 🖌️✒️ Author and Artist: @lou-isfake and @babooshkart 🎵 Art medium: digital

🎵 Summary: “I’m serious, Potter,” Malfoy said quietly. “That was some real bad luck you had, being there last night. They will come after you, and they will kill you—after torturing you for information on my whereabouts.” He pocketed Harry’s wand, but held on to his knife, twirling it between his fingers. Harry was distracted by its movement, the reflections of the bright, dawning sun on polished silver. “I’m not happy about it, either, but you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future.” He watched Malfoy’s face for a long time, in a staring contest he wasn’t sure he’d signed up for. Stuck with Malfoy, for the foreseeable future, on the run from a massive crime syndicate that had infiltrated the Ministry and was out for their blood. It was all very familiar, except for the Malfoy part.  

📻 The Crane Lord of Gringotts [E, 31.1k] 🖌️✒️ Author and Artist: @vukovich and @crazybutgood 🎵 Art medium: Origami, photography

🎵 Summary: Harry is fine. Being an Auror is fine. Living with Ginny is fine. It's all fine. But it used to be a lot better.

📻 The World Is A Violent Sky [E, 60k] 🖌️✒️ Author/Artist: writingsbydestiny / @starlitsilvereyes 🎵 Art medium: Digital Art

🎵 Summary: Harry Potter wants to die; Draco Malfoy wants to live — a story of life and death, everything in between and beyond — in the form of scatters of love and hurt like freckles of stars forming into constellations. — Alternative Summary (And Significantly Less Poetic): Four years after the war, Harry remains grief-stricken. In an attempt to discover the parts of him that haven’t died in the Forbidden Forest, he drops off the face of Scotland to travel the world by himself. Along the way, he finds his old enemy, Draco Malfoy, in a Muggle country, looking positively dashing even with a slash of scar decorating his face. As always, Harry’s curiosity leads him to (un)fortunate places.

📻 The Stars Have Courage [M, 85k] 🖌️✒️ Author/Artist: @fantalf 🎵  Art medium: Digital painting

🎵 Summary: Draco can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move. He can’t hear anything besides the buzzing in his ears. The walls are closing in. The world becomes smaller, narrowing itself to the pain in his chest, and it becomes the only thing that makes sense. He tries to cry. Maybe he is crying, but there are no tears anymore. Luna’s words echo endlessly in his brain. Harry doesn’t remember. Harry doesn’t love Draco. Repeating ceaselessly. Infinite, Harry used to say. No. No. No. Draco can’t lose him again. But he doesn’t know who you are now. He doesn’t love you. He hates you. You are no one. His world turns into an overwhelming pain. And that pain is all that he is. — Draco waited five long years to watch his husband wake up from a coma. He's not ready to meet a Harry with no memory of anything that happened after he died at The Battle of Hogwarts, twelve years ago.

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic Collab 🎶

📻 'Til Your World Burns [E, 25.3k] ✒️ 🖋️Authors: @ladderofyears and @iero0

🎵 Summary: Draco Malfoy is raped and watches as his world falls apart. Harry Potter is the quiet, unassuming wizard who finally listens to him.

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶

📻 Inside These Walls [M, 5.6k] 🖋️ Author: @jackvbriefs

🎵 Summary: The year before Draco moves to Los Angeles, Harry Potter disappears. Draco doesn't mean to find him. He's just doing his job.

📻 Drive a Little Slower [Gen, 1.6k] 🖋️ Author: bluefay / @thesleepiesthufflepuff

🎵 Summary: He silently willed Harry to drive a little slower. To let him pretend a little longer.

📻 Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon [T, 16k] 🖋️ Author: thestarryknight / @the-starryknight

🎵 Summary: The Ministry didn’t turn bad overnight. Harry didn’t suddenly turn rogue either. Between covert Legilimency links and Polyjuice disguises and running and running and running, Draco has forgotten what it is like to have a safe harbor that isn’t a person. If there’s an art to fighting back, then they’ll find it hand in hand.

📻 Two Starts, One Finish [E, 5.5k] 🖋️ Author: @lqtraintracks

🎵 Summary: I feel him before I see him. Nobody stands this close to me while I’m playing, and I’m about to turn to tell him so when he says, “You’re a tough bloke to track down,” and then leans against my baby grand.

📻 Never Gonna Give You Up [E, 5k] 🖋️ Author: InnerLilith

🎵 Summary: Five times Harry rickrolls Draco, and one time Draco gets him back.

📻 Alone Together [T, 3k] 🖋️ Author: @iero0

🎵 Summary: He felt like a spectre, roaming the treeless grounds, the deserted streets of Hogsmeade. It was only the train station—of course it was, Harry thinks—that harboured another sleepless soul that night. They were found as though they had been looking for one another; freezing to the ground at the sight of an unmistakable silhouette in the distance, before wordlessly meeting on the platform. They stood there, side by side, faces to the sky.

📻 Nothing Left to Burn [E, 5,1] 🖋️ Author: skeptique / @skeptiquewrites​

🎵 Summary: Over ten years after their fling crashed and burned, Harry runs into Draco and finds embers still burning bright. Sometimes your ex-lover is (metaphorically) dead. And sometimes it's summertime in Montreal and the past won't let go.

📻 The Isle of Discussion [E, 21.6k] 🖋️ Author: @shealwaysreads

🎵 Summary: Harry and Draco arrive at the shores of Loch Leven to record the magical history of the land. They’re friends now, but up there in the Highlands, amidst the trees and sky and that wild expanse of water their own past is more present than ever; a gap they still can’t bridge. Magic illuminates the truth, but it is Harry and Draco who have to speak it. Happily, it turns out that honesty is, in fact, the best policy.

📻 (You Should Have Been My) High School Lover [T, 3.9k] 🖋️ Authort: @aprofessionalprotagonist

🎵 Summary: After years of carefully avoiding running into Harry Potter, Pansy tricks Draco into attending a party at Grimmauld Place. How is he supposed to deal with a very attractive Potter trying to talk to him?

📻 Both Hands [E, 10.4] 🖋️ Author: @sweet-s0rr0w

🎵 Summary: It’s been over a decade since Draco packed up his belongings and left, and Harry’s doing just fine. Really, he is. So when he spots the For Sale sign outside their old flat, he doesn’t think twice about arranging a viewing. Curiosity is only natural, right? And what harm can come from a quick trip down memory lane?

📻 His favourite piece of art [E, 1.3k] 🖋️ Author: @gnarf

🎵 Summary: Six years after Malfoy had left, Harry suddenly spotted him on the dancefloor of a Muggle club in London. He couldn't let this opportunity slip…

📻 I'll Try to Keep the Walls From Falling Down [M, 14.9k] 🖋️ Author: @drarrelie

🎵 Summary: It’s OK. Love is only meant for some; Harry knows that. Besides, he wouldn’t want to risk this new, amazing friendship he has going on with Draco for anything in the world. Keeping his walls from falling down is the least he can do.

📻 Learn to Fly [T, 11k] 🖋️ Author: @janieohio

🎵 Summary: Harry’s suffocating under all the expectations of the wizarding world, but he’s fascinated at Malfoy’s sudden ability to flaunt his true self to whoever cares to watch. And Harry? He might like to do something more than watch if he can ever get up the nerve.

📻 Restless Dreams (Stay With Me) [T, 5.5k] 🖋️ Author: wanderingeyre

🎵 Summary: At first, Draco thinks the common room is empty, but then he sees Potter sitting on the floor, back to the wall on the far side of the fireplace. His head is thrown back, exposing the brown column of his throat. The curl of his hair looks soft in the firelight. Potter’s glasses are off and there are tracks where tears have wet his cheeks. He looks naked in a way that stabs at Draco, right between the ribs where everything is already bruised.

📻 Letters From Home [T, 1.1k] 🖋️ Author: @articcat621

 🎵 Summary: Writing to each other is all that's getting them through this war.

📻 so lie to me tonight [T, 5.3k] 🖋️ Author: M0stlyVoid / @bonesliketambourines

🎵 Summary: Ginny thought it would be different, after.

📻 Mortal Frame [M, 6.6k] 🖋️ Author: tackytiger / @tackytigerfic

🎵 Summary: Draco’s on a mission, and this time it's personal. But it's not easy to track down something that no one wants to talk about, especially when Harry Potter keeps popping up everywhere Draco goes. Though at least he’s on Draco’s side this time, and if he happens to be useful, and kind, and great in bed—well, Draco’s not exactly complaining. The story of three pubs, one Horcrux, four overpriced sandwiches, and two damaged men just trying to make sure that Bellatrix Lestrange stays dead.

📻 Prologue [T, 4.5k] 🖋️ Author: adavison / @aedwritesfic

🎵 Summary: Ten years after the war, Harry stumbles across Malfoy in a Muggle club. What could have been an awkward encounter might just be a new beginning.

📻 A Care To Fill The Vessel Of Your Heart [M, 2.5k] 🖋️ Author: @onbeinganangel

🎵 Summary: Draco doesn’t care for atonement. Why should he? Forgetting is easier than forgiving. Or it would be, if fate just left him to his own devices. Fate, as per usual, has its own plans.

📻 Like a Dream I Can Reach (but not quite hold) [M, 19.4k] 🖋️ Author: Cassiara / @cassiaratheslytherpuff

🎵 Summary: Harry spends his life waiting for something he isn’t entirely sure he wants, and looking for something he doesn’t know exists. Everything feels ill-fitting until Draco Malfoy enters his life and shows Harry he doesn’t have to want the expected things, and Harry learns happiness doesn't have to look a certain way.

📻 Sun and Rain [M, 4.7k]

🖋️ Author: @isamijoo 

🎵 Summary: Draco Malfoy thinks that being in a relationship with Harry Potter is anything but easy, but then again, what's the sun without the rain?

📻 In Pursuit of Lost Marbles [T, 22k] 🖋️ Author:  Theartfulldodger / @graymatters 

🎵 Summary: Every night after work, Healer Malfoy follows the same routine, beginning with a familiar flight of stairs that leads to the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's. With an air of professionalism, he introduces himself to Harry, his husband of seven years, when a memory curse makes Harry look at him like a stranger. He tries not to flinch when Harry calls him sir, but he smiles when bits of the old Harry emerge. Eventually, Draco leads Harry to the Pensieve where he shows him pieces of the life they've built together, what Harry will come home to, one day, when this is all over. Then, Draco waits. He waits, and he hopes.

📻 Requiem [T, 1.8k] 🖋️ Author: EvAEleanor / @evaeleanor

🎵 Summary: Requiem — A song of mourning composed or performed as a memorial to a dead person.

📻 Changes With The Moon [Gen, 1.6k] 🖋️ Author: @missdrarrydawn

🎵 Summary: Draco takes a stroll to try to settle his turbulent thoughts, plagued by who he was, who he is and who he could be. A friend offers him a whole new world and Draco struggles with the idea, for there is too much at stake, it isn't worth it. Or—is it?

📻 Chasing Dragons [E, 89.9k] 🖋️ Author: The_Sinking_Ship / @the-sinking-ship

🎵 Summary: Draco can think of only one way to outclass his pleat-front-khaki-wearing politician ex, and that’s by making headlines with an obvious upgrade. And who better to upstage the cheating bastard than the Saviour of the World, Harry Potter himself? Sure, Potter is a little rough around the edges in ripped jeans, a rumpled tartan shirt, and a permanent scowl. Draco reckons a haircut and a shave wouldn’t hurt, either. But Potter is also in need of a Healer willing to keep his secrets, and Draco is just the man for the job. It’s a perfectly reasonable exchange. They need only attend a couple parties arm-in-arm, smile nicely for the paparazzi, and tolerate each other long enough to convince everyone they’re smitten. In return, Draco will keep Potter alive and in one piece. But it isn’t long before Draco realises he might be in over his head, because Potter is ten tonnes of trouble packed into a leather jacket, and seems keen on hurtling himself towards death on the back of a flying motorbike. And that says nothing of Potter’s penchant for fire-breathing beasts and things that bite. Ah well, at least they’ll have some fun while it lasts. After all, Draco always did like a bit of danger.

📻 Drive, Draco [M, 2.4k] 🖋️ Author: Erebeus / @erebeus-roxy

🎵 Summary: got my driver’s license today, but you're not around to see. Can't drive past the places we used to go to 'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe

📻 Fire [E, 10k] 🖋️ Author: GallifreyisBurning / @gallifrey1sburning

🎵 Summary: Draco Malfoy has never had trouble getting boyfriends. The problem is getting one that doesn’t leave him feeling cold after the first few months. He’s looking for something specific: passion, excitement, someone to keep him on his toes. He just doesn’t know how to go about finding it. After kicking his latest boyfriend to the curb, Draco’s at a loss for what to do next, until it occurs to him that a relationship with his fiery (and hot) Gryffindor colleague might not burn out so quickly—if he can just convince Harry to try it.

📻 Into the Unknown [M, 4.5k] 🖋️ Author: @drarrelie

🎵 Summary: It’s been echoing within him for months, like an annoying song that gets stuck in your head and refuses to let go. A nagging feeling in his core, telling him to say something, to do something, to go somewhere. Last night it finally happened. He did it. And it felt good; right. “I can’t be sure.” Four words, easy as that. It had been almost impossible to smother the sudden burst of joy rushing through him as that deep-seated urge rejoiced his unexpected act of rebellion. You’d think the Dark Lord’s punishment would’ve taken the exhilaration out of him, but no. Here he is, countless Crucios later, beaten and bruised, and never has the voice sounded this clear. He’s said something. He’s done something. And now he just has to go somewhere. He has no idea where, but he’s certain it will come to him. All he has to do is get out of here, then trust magic to do the rest.

📻 Home is What We Make of It [M, 20.3k] 🖋️ Author: @monsieur-hadrien

🎵 Summary: "There was a blistering draft from the child’s bedroom on the opposite side of the hallway. The door’s handle was icy to the touch as she wrapped her hand around the metal. Unlike the rest of the house, the door gave her resistance in her effort to open it. Unlike the rest of the house, when she opened the door, she couldn’t imagine anyone ever living there. Unlike the rest of the house, there was neither love nor warmth nor any semblance of life that seeped from the rest of the house’s walls. It was cold and hard and chilled her to her bones. She shivered. However, her sense of dread was not just from the cold. Perhaps it was the gaping hole in the wall." Harry and Draco want to start a family, but time loves parallels.

📻 Move, move [M, 9k] 🖋️ Author: @maesterchill

🎵 Summary: She grabbed Harry’s hand, slipping something small into it and pressing his fingers around it. “Dilectio. It’ll cheer you up. Make you feel like dancing.” Harry gaped at her. Drugs. Ginny’s fucking giving me drugs? At Stasis nightclub Ginny does indeed give Harry drugs. But it's all good: Malfoy looks after Harry, and Harry grapples with newfound enlightenments, not to mention a newfound fascination with all things Malfoy—one which persists, even when he finds out what Malfoy's up to.

📻 Euphoria [E, 66k] 🖋️ Author: @iero0

🎵 Summary: Driven by trauma, Harry cuts ties with friends and family. From crowded nightclubs and enthralling live shows, Harry finds himself stumbling into a superficial world where he's lonelier than ever. When even the constant blithe of substance-induced highs can't prevent things from becoming what he ran away from, Draco Malfoy finds Harry. Draco, who’s wearing Muggle jeans and who’s listening to Muggle music and who suggests having a nice little chat on mephedrone. And whose nose crumples beautifully when he laughs. Or: A story about Harry trying to cope with the help of drugs until he finds a new addiction. Draco likes to mend things.

📻 Your House [E, 2.9k] 🖋️ Author: @tontonguetonks

🎵 Summary: Draco tries to serve Harry divorce papers, but Harry isn't home.

📻 Misery Loves Company [E, 22.9k] 🖋️ Author: vivi1138 / @penguinanimagus

🎵 Summary: Stuck in his own head, misunderstood and lonely, Harry would love nothing more than to stay hidden in Grimmauld Place until the end of time. Malfoy won’t let him, and that's just what Harry needs.

📻 You Sexy Thing [E, 10.6k] 🖋️ Author: shortie990

🎵 Summary: As Harry began to tap his foot along to the music, the lights flashed like lightning in the middle of a summer storm, and his eye went straight to the middle of the dance floor. His eyes zoomed in on Draco. The blond looked striking as he moved his slender hips to the soulful beat. Harry watched, captivated as he pressed himself up to Pansy and began to sing to the song.

📻 A Love Story of Less-Than-Epic Proportions [E, 39k] 🖋️ Author: InnerLilith

🎵 Summary: Harry and Draco are just friends. Sure, they work together, and live together, and go to gigs together, and do pretty much everything else together—so what? That’s just what friends do. And Harry has no interest in messing with their friendship. He certainly doesn’t need everyone else constantly meddling, pestering them to just get on with it and get together already. He’s having a hard enough time as it is, trying to come to terms with the fact that he probably isn’t ever going to find love. But who needs love, anyways, when you’ve got a best friend?

📻 Cup of tea, Love? [E, 15.1k] 🖋️ Author: shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony 

🎵 Summary: Things between them are easy, so much easier than Harry expected. The problem is the outside world, which grows increasingly and ridiculously difficult. “We could leave,” Draco suggests. Harry has always wanted to travel.

📻 holemate [E, 18.9k] 🖋️ Author:  @vukovich

🎵 Summary: 'Cause I'm sick of losing soulmates So where do we begin? I can finally see you're as fucked up as me So how do we win?

📻 Home is Wherever I’m With You [Gen, 2.6k] 🖋️ Author: persephoneapple

🎵 Summary: Harry plans on proposing to Draco tonight, but it takes a Prophet article and a conversation between Draco and Pansy to realise how much Draco means to him.

📻 When the remembering is done [E, 24.8k] 🖋️ Author: Sassy3 / @sassy-sassy3

🎵 Summary: “–and we’ll make sure that you can stay at home as long as possible before it will be too hard to manage,” Potter finished. Draco could only blink, trying to make sense of the words he had heard before and after he zoned out. He cleared his throat before speaking. “I’m sorry, Potter. Why wouldn’t she be able to live at home?” Draco Malfoy leads a quiet life. Sure, he doesn’t really like his job, and he never imagined he’d have to move back in with his parents at the manor, but at least he has his lovely son Scorpius to dote on. The only problem is that it gets… a bit lonely. But when his mother starts behaving strange and forgetful, he finds himself in need of help from the one person he never reconciled with after the war.

📻 If you smile at me again, I may do something stupid [M, 6.9k] 🖋️ Author: @emilattes

🎵 Summary: Draco made his peace with Harry Potter and their failed relationship two years ago. He's happy with his new boyfriend, but when Harry becomes the man Draco needed him to be, he finds it's much harder to ignore their history.

📻 smoke break [E, 4.3k] 🖋️ Author: saltwatergarden / @talkingtravesties

🎵 Summary: The first few times, they hovered a bit; Draco offered wine and they sat there and sipped and made small talk, until finally Potter would snap and say, “this is stupid,” and reach out to pull Draco into a kiss. After a while, they fell into a rhythm. Sometimes Potter would be in a rush, and he’d just throw himself at Draco the second he was through the door. Other times, he seemed intent on torturing Draco with his slow and teasing kisses. Potter rarely stayed the night, typically Flooing home after they were done, and they never went out, or, for that matter, met at Potter’s place. Draco was very aware of what he was to Potter—a convenience—and despite his pride, he accepted it, because he knew it was the most he was ever going to get from Potter, and far more than he deserved.

📻 4th Day of the New Show [M, 6.2k] 🖋️ Author: @meandminniemcg

🎵 Summary: Lucius, freshly released from Azkaban, shows up at Draco's show. And Harry has been nervous all day. How does Draco handle the situation?

📻 I Want More? [E, 10.7k] 🖋️ Author: @drarryismymuse

🎵 Summary: Draco had successfully avoided British wizarding society for eight years, until necessity drove him to attend a swanky Ministry event. A chance encounter at that event sparks a passionate affair that just might change the course of Draco’s entire life.

📻 Until It All Comes Undone [E, 38.5k] 🖋️ Author: @mystickitten42 

🎵 Summary: Following his confrontation with Voldemort, Harry returns from King’s Cross Station completely changed. He wakes up at Privet Drive with no memory of his past, the war or magic. Petunia, widowed and suffering from empty nest syndrome, is only too happy to turn Harry into Dudley 2.0. But something’s not quite right. Plagued by recurring nightmares, Harry can’t help but feel something is missing. A bottle of his cousin’s LSD helps him to forget his worries… Magic may not be real, but the hallucinations and the hot blond he meets all feel pretty magical to Harry. Having turned his back on his family, Draco is determined to start over and do the right thing. But he’s never made good decisions when it comes to Harry Potter. When Potter—presumed dead, but very much alive—unexpectedly returns, Draco will do anything for a second chance. Even if it means pretending not to know who he is…

📻 When the Day Met the Night [M, 5.7k] 🖋️ Author: Albuss

🎵 Summary: When the day met the night, all was golden in the sky. In the middle of summer. The Battle of Hogwarts is through, and Harry, somehow, isn't. Draco isn't either. In rebellion against all they have endured, the two embark on a summer of adventure, seeking an ember of hope in the darkness. What they find is unforgettable.

📻 Born to Drown [M, 3.2k] 🖋️ Author: @floydig

🎵 Summary: Draco drives a Knight Bus in the slums of Paris. Sometimes his passengers remind him of Harry. But Harry left years ago. Now, Harry is married to Ginny, and Draco drives a bus. You laugh. “Sorry, I don't know why I’m laughing. It’s really not funny—your dad being dead and shrivelled.” “Fuck off.” I turn to face you. Your eyes are red, your pupils almost blown. Your skin is grey-tinged and sallow, and you're not the one who’s dead. “Merlin, Potter,” I say, hoarse. “How much bloody Dreamless did you shoot up this time?” “Enough for me to live.” You grin wide. “You want me to be alive, don’t you?” Your raw-bitten lips, your chipped teeth, your fucking mouth. I hate all of them, but really I don’t.

📻 Stop And Stare [T, 36.5k] 🖋️ Author: devilishcries

🎵 Summary: After surviving your everyday war-torn childhood, Harry had found a constant rhythm to his life. The thing is, he didn't quite like it. It was repetitive, dull, and he badly wanted to switch it up. So, when he stumbled upon Draco Malfoy on the verge of committing arson in a muggle library, he proposed a deal neither could refuse. (Well, Malfoy was desperately trying to refuse it. But that wasn't the point!) What he failed to factor in was how pretty Malfoy's hands were. One thing led to another, and suddenly, he was obsessed with the idea of holding them.

📻 Wicked Game [E, 20.9k] 🖋️ Author: @cassiopeiasshadow

🎵 Summary: Harry and Draco fall into a spring that allows them to enter into each other’s dreams - but Harry doesn’t quite understand what’s happening, not at first. Why does he keep seeing Draco having kinky sex with a dream version of Harry? And furthermore, why does he like it? Morpheus’ tail twitched irritably. “I warned you away from the poppies. The blame lies with you.” “Me? Potter’s to blame for this, he’s the one who dragged me out to this miserable -” “You would do well not to insult the home of those whom you ask for help,” said Morpheus coolly, though Harry saw a bit of detached amusement in his expression. Malfoy had no self awareness. It’s adorable how stupid he is, Harry thought, and then caught himself thinking Malfoy was adorable and became deeply troubled. “I’m…” Malfoy closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Sorry. Please - I need advice. I can’t keep him out of my dreams.”

📻 Dedication and Desperation [T, 6.1k] 🖋️ Author: meditationsinemergencies / @meditationswrites

🎵 Summary: Diagnosed with a rare and serious illness, Draco has mostly given up until Harry comes to visit.

📻 Famous [E, 23.9k] 🖋️ Author: fwooshy / @fw00shy

🎵 Summary: It's a couple of years after the war, and Harry's bored of models now, the same way he's bored of Ron's constant nagging, bored of his Weasley monogram knitwear, bored of the same fucking grin that greets him when he hands his fire-truck red Bugatti over to the valet every night. He wants to find—well, he isn't sure what he wants. Anything but models. Harry is in the mood for...messy. And Draco Malfoy's looking like a walking disaster in the making.

📻 stitched and sewn [E, 7.9k] 🖋️ Author: @wheezykat

🎵 Summary: Harry shudders, fingertips pulsing against Draco’s thighs. He can feel the sharp, metal edge of Harry’s wedding band digging into his flesh, knows he’ll have a bruise there in the morning, a small imperfection that only he’d be able to see. It’s one of the only marks he’ll vanish, not wanting to think about its implications; the rest he’ll keep for himself. Slowly, Harry relaxes, shoulders sinking, breaths changing their cadence to a new tempo. Resigned, surrendered to this dance they do.

📻 Watch the Castles Burn [E, 21.3k] 🖋️ Author: @moonflower-rose

🎵 Summary: Draco Malfoy knows better than to get involved with Harry Potter. If only someone would have reminded him of that six months sooner, then maybe he wouldn't be in quite such a large mess.

🎶 H/D Wireless Podfic 🎶

📻 Modern Love [E, 61k, 5h29m] 🎙️ Podficcer: @lastontheboat 🖋️ Author: tackytiger

🎵 tackytiger’s original summary: Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is. And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what’s he doing right, that Harry isn’t? Because things don’t really change, do they? And if Harry can’t be happy, he’ll settle for a good night’s sleep, some posh antiques, and the opportunity to find out what Malfoy has been up to for all these years. And that’s what starts it all.

📻 [Podfic] How Can I Live Without You? [Gen, 2.2k, 15min 29sec] 🎙️ Podficcer: Static_Whisper 🖋️ Author: ununquadius

🎵 ununquadius’ original summary: After Draco's death, Harry wonders how can he live without the one he loves when he's so far away.

📻 [Podfic] Keep Holding On [M, 33.3k, 3hrs 37min] 🎙️ Podficcer: @thunder-of-dragons 🖋️ Author: gnarf

🎵 gnarf’s original summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Draco both fall into their own battles with their mental states. Draco is sent to Azkaban, and Harry turns to drinking, hoping to forget. Months later, Harry visits St Mungo’s new ward on the request of a friend, only to find Draco in a deep vegetative state. Not willing to give him up, Harry stays by his side, while simultaneously dealing with the Ministry's newest grand idea to make everything worse. Making new allies, and losing old ones along the way, will hopefully be worth it in the end.

📻 [Podfic] Kill, Fuck, Marry [E, 12.7k, 1:27:55] 🎙️ Podficcer: @timothysboxers  🖋️ Author: lettersbyelise 

🎵 lettersbyelise’s original summary: Malfoy leans toward him with a baleful look. “I do believe Pansy Parkinson, my best friend, paid you to spend the evening with me. It’s my birthday, Potter. So you’re going to get off your Gryffindor arse, and you’re going to dance with me. I want to dance. I want to win. I want that bloody trophy on my shelf before the end of the night.” Harry and Draco unexpectedly meet again on Draco’s birthday, years after their last encounter.

📻 [Podfic] You Still Look Like a Movie / You Still Sound Like a Song [T, 3.2k, 19:43 min] 🎙️ Podficcer: bluedreaming / @blue--dreaming 🖋️ Author: shilo1364

🎵 shilo1364’s original summary: Harry Potter doesn't want to attend his ten-year Hogwarts Reunion Ball. He doesn't want to dance. And he *definitely* doesn't want to remember his former lover, Draco Malfoy. Of course, his life has never really been dictated by what he wants.

[mediocre-writerr]

don’t let me let you go [katherine pierce]

katherine pierce x fem reader

requested: Hi! Sorry, can I request a Katherine Pierce x Fem!Reader?

Maybe where reader is a powerful being, well since demons are real in that universe, maybe a fallen angel? Or something along those lines, and they met along somewhere where Kat was still on the run, so they like hooked up but Kat promises that they'll meet again soon and makes the reader promise that they should be safe as well?

And then years later they accidentally meet up at a party, started dating and Kat is actually soft when it comes to reader. Elena and the gang barge into Katherine and Reader doing something fluffy because they were actually hunting down Katherine since they think that Reader is her next victim or whatever.

Thank you in advance!

*not my gif*

So you left.

Katerina Petrova was how you knew her. Still know her at least, she hasn’t really left your mind since then.

And that was back in 1764.

You could feel what she was. She wasn’t human and her compelling tricks made no match for you. She was arrogant like most vampires were, but she slipped past all your defenses and fell in love with her, no matter how “wrong” it was back then.

“Lady Katerina Petrova, this is Lady Y/N Y/L/N. She’s the owner of the great estate. Her family actually passed recently in a terrible sunken ship, somehow Y/N survived.” one of your noblemen introduced the two of you, after you sensed she was a vampire.

She eyed you carefully and you just smiled at her. Before whispering a ‘thank you’ to the man. The two of you embarked into a formal conversation until you were the only ones left in the room.

“So what are you?” she asked, bluntly.

You chuckled softly, intrigued by the beautiful brunette, “You don’t skip the niceties now do you?” you asked.

“Niceties aren’t my thing,” she shrugged.

“Neither are they mine.”

You were snapped out of your vivid memory when Stefan waved his hand in front of you. You shook your head and he just laughed at you.

“I think they’re here.” he whispered. You and the rest of the gang were at Mystic Falls Grill waiting for Caroline to come back to introduce you to someone who has been blackmailing and torturing them for a couple years now.

You recently moved to Mystic Falls and Stefan felt how different you were compared to everyone else. So he confronted you just like every other supernatural you’ve met in the past how many years.

From there he introduced you to the rest of the gang: annoyingly arrogant, yet good looking brother Damon, pretty blonde Caroline, supernatural hunter, yet working with supernatural beings Alaric, selfless, doesnt get enough credit witch Bonnie, and lastly, the one who looked like a split image of the one who got away Elena.

They thought you’d be a great asset to them, seeing how you can see how/when someone dies and how any supernatural being can be killed. Just one of the perks of being a fallen angel. You reluctantly agreed to help them and they want to know your take on how to kill this person named Katherine Pierce.

You lifted up your head to see her. It wasn’t Elena, you knew that for a fact. Because Elena has been here the entire time. Her hair was in looser curls nowadays and her wardrobe certainly changed as well. But it suit her, the confident bold woman you knew, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans.

Her eyes landed on yours and she remained her natural composed self, “Katherine, this is Y/N Y/L/N, she just recently moved to Mystic Falls.”

“So what are you?” she asked, bluntly.

You chuckled softly, your first conversation popping back in your brain, “You don’t skip the niceties now do you?”

“Niceties aren’t my thing.” and you could tell she’s fighting back a smile of her own.

“Neither are they mine.”

After the rest of the day of Katherine picking fights with everyone, but you. You excused yourself to the bathroom while they were pressing Katherine for what she really wants here.

Memories flashed into your kind again causing you to become lost in thought as you washed your hands.

“Goodnight Katerina. Sleep well.” you said, formally at her doorway. You were about to turn back around when she called out after you.

“Y/N, come in please,” she said.

You smiled to yourself softly, as you made your way into her room. You closed the door behind you as you sat next to her on the foot of her bed.

“Do you mind helping me take this off? The zipper’s stuck and I suppose my arms don’t reach that far back,” she suggested.

She looked at you with pleading eyes and you nodded softly. Slowly, unzipping her zipper and you did what you thought you’d never do in your life. Be bold.

You kissed the bare skin that became exposed on her back. She turned her head to look back at you and you could see the lust filling her eyes. She stood up and you followed her movement as the dress fell to the floor like a puddle.

And that’s when she turned you around, repeating the same actions you took. The only thing left on the two of you were the corsets. She cupped your cheeks ever so slightly.

“Are you sure about this?” this was probably the first time you’ve ever seen her gently and soft-spoken, “You’re a very beautiful girl Y/N, many more suitors are worthy of your love. Much more better suitors with their name and money.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, savoring in the way she tastes. The way her lips were so soft against yours, “What I’ve learned in my entire lifetime on this Earth and being a fallen angel is that falling in love with someone is falling in love with their soul. Not their money or their name, their soul.”

Yet another comforting kiss was pressed to her lips, “And I never found that. Until you, Katerina.”

You thought you were alone as you watched your hands when you could feel a presence behind you. In the mirror you could see her leaning her back against a bathroom stall.

“It’s been a while,” she spoke up and you nodded.

“A few thousand years, give or take.” you joked and she chuckled along with you.

She took a step closer to you, tucking the hair to behind your ears. You mirrored her images, following a step forward. The two of you only a breath apart.

“You kept your promise?” she asked you, moving her hands to cup your cheek. As if she was trying to memorize every little feature. From the way your eyes lit up at the sight of her or the way you were melting under her touch.

It was the morning after you and Katerina expressed your feelings for one another. In a more untraditional, intimate kind of way.

She was singing you a soft song in another language, which you’re assuming is Bulgarian. And the usual confident girl was playing with your hair, looking at your beautiful sleeping figure. She didn’t want to wake you up, but she was unsure if any of the workers were looking for you.

Then there was the fact that she had to go. She didn’t want to leave you, but earlier that night her insight told her Klaus was coming. She had to get as far away as she possibly could. So she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered up, smiling at the girl in front of you. But then ultimately frowning when you saw the same frown on her face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly.

“I must go Y/N. I’ve done things, things people don’t like. And they’re coming after me, so we must part ways. For my safety and yours.” she said and you look at her with eyebrows furrowed, “I promise you Y/N, the only I want right now is to lay here with you. Compel all these people and live our immortal lives, but I need to go.”

“Katerina, no,” your voice barely above a whisper.

She kissed your forehead, then your cheeks, the top of your nose, and finally your lips, “I promise you, I’ll find you one day. We’ll be together. But you need to promise me to stay safe. I would like you to be alive and well and waiting for me when I return.”

You didn’t know where this path would lead you. Every other path looked so certain, but this one was blurry. Yet, you nodded, “I promise, I’ll wait forever for you.”

“I did. I’d wait forever for you Katerina.”

She wrapped your arms around you and you did the same, holding the slightly taller girl closer to you. Relishing in the feeling of her touch, something you haven’t felt in thousands of years.

She swayed the two of you back and forth, “How about we go to the place I’m staying at?”

“Right now?” youvasked and she just hummed in response, “Let’s go.”

It probably wasn’t the best idea for you to not answer your phone when you left or to give them a heads up that you were heading home. But the gang became worried when you didn’t come back from the bathroom and Katherine disappeared as well.

But you were fine. You were just in a state of bliss. The way the two of you were just cuddled up in bed. Your head resting on her chest as she just held you, playing with the soft strands of your hair.

You began to fall asleep as she sang you the same Bulgarian song she once sang. Your eyes closed as you focused on her heartbeat and soothing voice.

Until someone came barging in through the door. Your eyes shot back open and the gang was standing there waiting to fight. Except for Bonnie who was shocked at what she was witnessing

Katherine groaned, “Can you all just go away? She’s not in any harm, I swear.”

“Wait. How do you know each other?” Alaric asked.

You knew she would handle this so you just continued to keep lying in the spot without saying a word, “We’ve met before, long before the two of you.” she pointed at the two brother.

“So are you two a thing?” Caroline asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

And you finally spoke up, “Yeah. We promised to wait for each other until we could actually meet again.”

“But she’s an actual bitch!” Damon exclaimed.

“Maybe in your eyes, Damon. But Katerina has a strong beautiful soul who has lost many things. I’m very willing to give all my love to her.” you told them.

All of them looked skeptic like she just compelled you. Until Bonnie finally spoke up, “Whatever you do Y/N, we’ll respect your decisions,” she said and you smiled at her gratefully.

Stefan took a few steps closer, “You hurt her in any way, I will not hesitate to stake you in the heart myself.”

Katerina didn’t say anything. All she did was stare right back at Stefan, “Can you guys please go now? You’re making the room smell like some weird stench.” The gang left much to Damon’s hesitation, “Now where were we?”

You got comfortable again in her strong embrace. She smiled at you softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, as she returned to sing the Bulgarian song.

“I love you, my Katerina.” you mumbled, lazily as your eyes fell close.

So you missed the wide smile that formed onto her face and the way her whole eyes were lit up. She hugged you back, tighter than ever, “And I love you, my beautiful soul.”

[let-them-read-fics]

Saranghae

Requested by Anon: “Can i make a request for Blackpink RoséXFem!reader one shot/imagine where y/n always thought she was the one that said I love you first but she realizes rosé said it in korean when y/n was first learning it the first few months they were dating. like rosé says it and y/n is like wait what does that mean? and rosé teases her and doesn't say anything (holy crap this is long, sorry. i hope that makes sense. I asked someone else if they can write it but I dont think they're going to) thank you very much if you do🥺❤️”

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 2,300

Warnings / Misc. -- Fluff, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: To the anon who requested this: Thank you! This is actually a really sweet ask, so hopefully I did it justice. I stuck with the gist of the prompt, but I added a little twist to it. I hope you enjoy; let me know what you think. Happy reading, everyone!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

~~~ Flashback: A Few Months Into Your Relationship ~~~

“Baby, come grab the door, please!” You request, your hands busy holding the two steaming cups of hot cocoa you prepared for Rosé and yourself. At the sound of your voice, she sets down the notebook that she had been writing in, and makes her way to you. She appears in the doorway with a wide smile, her face lighting up when she spots the drinks. 

“How’d you know I wanted some?” She takes her mug from you, being careful not to move too quickly and spill it, and lays a kiss on your cheek -- her way of thanking you.

With a nonchalant shrug, you make your way across the room, saying over your shoulder, “It’s my superpower, duh. We’re just in sync like that.” The giggle that leaves her lips makes your heart flutter, and you can’t help but smile back.

Now armed with your beverages, the two of you sit back down on the floor next to each other, getting prepared for your mini lesson. The fluffy material of the carpet comforts you, and you settle in.

~~~~~~~

Rosé repeats the phrase one more time, slowing it down for you, enunciating the words as clearly as she can. Your gaze is set on her lips, taking note of how they purse and pout with the different syllables. You try again, albeit incredibly slow and choppy, but eventually the words manage to come out intelligible. She celebrates the win, quickly standing and pulling you up along with her for a victory dance; after all, it was a pretty tricky phrase for someone just starting out. She knows how competent you are though, and she wanted to give you a challenge. 

As the two of you stand there, doing a little dorky jig together, she takes a second to think. She is totally smitten with you: these past few months have been some of the happiest times of her life, and she owes a lot of that to you. There’s no one she’d rather have by her side like this, staying up well into the night to teach Korean to. She loves that you’re eager to learn more, and she’s ecstatic to be the one that gets to help you on that journey. It really is a special thing to her, and she doesn’t take it for granted. Time spent with you is heaven, regardless of what the two of you are doing. 

Rosé is pulled from her thoughts by the quiet sound of you yawning. Her heart nearly melts at the sight of your face all scrunched up, paired with the little wiggle that you do. She pulls you in, smiling as you nuzzle your face into her neck sleepily. “Rosé, I’d love to keep practicing, but I’m about to pass out.” Her hand comes up to run through your hair, the other one wrapped around your body to keep you close. “We should be going to bed anyway, babe. We can pick back up tomorrow, if you’d like.” She kisses your forehead tenderly as you just simply nod, your body too tired and brain too fried to do much of anything else. 

Once she’s tucked you in, making sure you’re comfortable and warm, she crouches down next to the bed. The lights are dimmed now, the only source of illumination being the moonlight that glitters in through the blinds, kissing your skin just right. Sitting there, face to face with you, she realizes that you’re her person. The one that she wants to wake up next to every morning and fall asleep wrapped around every night; the one to go on late night drives through the city with, stopping wherever your hearts desire; the one to hold through the bad times and comfort through the sad. You mean the world to her, and she can’t help but declare it.  

“사랑해, Y/N.” 

Despite only being half conscious, you’d never ignore the sound of her voice. “Mmm?” You mumble groggily, the noise making her laugh. She makes a mental note to add that to her list of favorite sounds. “Nothing, angel. Rest now.” With that, she goes to stand, but you catch her wrist before she can go. “No, tell me. Pleaaase?” Your eyes are open now, but just enough for her to see that beautiful sparkle in them. “Tomorrow. Now shhhh.” She leans down, placing a hand on your cheek to caress it, as she presses her lips to yours in an attempt to silence you. Her plan works, and she gives you a few more pecks before going to pick up and organize the books that were still strewn about on the floor. Not even a minute later, the sounds of your soft snores carry over to her ears, and she just shakes her head in amusement. 

~~~ The Next Day ~~~

“Alright, ready baby?”

“Do your worst.”

“Next up is… 사랑해.” Her eyes hold a hint of mischief, and you furrow your brow as you try to place where you’ve heard that. 

“Wait, wait, wait. Have you said this one before? It sounds familiar…” Now, deeply confused, you rack your brain. She plays innocent, though, having no intention of bringing up what happened the night before. With you being none the wiser, she’s content with teasing you for now. 

“Oh, that’s gonna drive me insane. Roseanne! What does it mean?” She chuckles at your frustration and use of her full name, but she doesn’t give in. Clearly, she gets a kick out of this. 

“Just start guessing, babe.”

~~~ Present Day, At The Blackpink Dorm ~~~

“Guys, I have the perfect game for tonight! Somebody was talking about it at the studio today: it’s called the Newlywed Game. I wanna see how well the lovebirds can do.” Lisa informs as she walks through the front door of the dorm, making her way into the living room where you and the girls are sitting. 

“Oh you’re on, Manoban. I know Rosé like the back of my own hand.” A smug expression takes over your features as you smirk at Lisa, standing up and playfully challenging her. 

“Oh yeah? Jennie and I are so gonna beat you.” She matches your energy, coming eye to eye with you, and she struggles to mask her grin. With the way she’s moving her lips to hide it, she kinda looks like a fish. 

Jisoo is next to speak as she goes to stand between the two of you, pretending to hold you back. “Hey, hey, break it up. Save it for the game.” Lisa sticks her tongue out at you, which prompts you to brush past Jisoo and tackle her onto the sofa. Jennie shouts, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” And soon, all of you are piled together in a heap of fake punches and throws, laughing loudly. 

{....} The Game {....}

“It’s neck and neck as our couples head into the final round; whoever wins this, wins the game.” Jisoo announces to no one, gesturing and looking to imaginary cameras around the room. “Contestants, are you ready?” Everyone nods in affirmation, and you give Rosé’s hand a loving squeeze. 

“Who was the first to say, ‘I love you’?”

At the question, you look to Rosé with a cocky expression on your face, absolutely convinced that you’ve got it in the bag. She scribbles her answer down on the white board -- yes, surprisingly, the girls had a few of them laying around the dorm -- and looks up at you with a smile. 

“Reveal your answers in 3...2...1…” Jisoo calls out in her best host voice, successfully creating suspense as she holds onto the numbers, dragging the count down out. 

“Now!”

Everyone flips their board around, and it seems as though time stops for a moment. Lisa and Jennie have the same answer, and you look to see what Rosé put -- despite being confident that you already know. Your jaw nearly drops to the floor as you read her name on the board.

“WHAT??” You exclaim, utter disbelief coursing through you: your whole life is a lie, it’s official. The other team is cackling by now, and you send them a mocking smile. 

Eyes now focused back on your partner, you say, “I totally said it first. Remember, that night after dinner with your parents back in Melbourne?” You hope something will click at that, her memory magically being jogged. Alas, that never happens. Everyone gets comfortable on the couches in preparation for the story she’s about to tell.  

“We hadn’t been dating super long, but it was when I was teaching you Korean back at your place. We cut the lesson short because you got sleepy, so I put you to bed. I couldn’t help myself though; you just looked so cute all cuddled up like that. I hadn’t expected for you to actually hear me, since I thought you had already passed out, but you asked me to tell you what it meant. I was stubborn and didn’t, of course,” You narrow your eyes at her, ready to stick up for your past self, but your heart secretly soars at how precious that story is.

“I love you, a lot, Rosé; but I hardly think that that counts, considering I was practically unconscious,” you say, putting emphasis on the word. The inner gamer in you is on full display, and you’re not ready to admit defeat yet. 

“Nope, we won, fair and square.” Lisa declares, exaggeratedly tossing her hair over her shoulder. You look to Jisoo, hands clasped together, eyes pleading, but she hands the victory to the other team. 

With a roll of your eyes, you tut at the loss; in no time, though, the feeling of Rosé’s arms snaking around you has you abandoning your little pity party, opting instead to smile at her. You pull her in for a kiss -- there’s no one you’d rather lose with, after all. Her lips turn up in a smile, and you can taste the cherry gloss on them. Eventually, the two of you decide to spare the others from your love-fest, and pull away. You keep an arm around her, your other hand busy being held by hers, and she lays her head on your shoulder. 

The playful atmosphere still stands, and Jennie goes to rub it in. “How’s it feel to lose, Y/N?” 

Dramatically, you look off into the distance, pretending to be in deep thought, before looking down at Rosé, and say, “With you, I can never lose; you’re the greatest prize I could ever ask for, Rosé.” The other girls let out a chorus of boos at your cheesy line, and Rosé lets out a little squeal as she scrambles to hide her blushing cheeks. With each laugh that she lets out, her body shakes against you, and you laugh right along with her. 

“Have I told you how adorable you are?” She asks, gazing up at you through her lashes. 

You purse your lips at her own cheesiness, and say, “Once or twice, I think. But tell me again.” 

Over the course of the night, she does just that -- multiple times, might I add -- and the 5 of you revel in each other’s company. Given their busy schedules, the opportunity to spend multiple hours with each other can be pretty rare; so, all of you thoroughly take advantage of the night. Karaoke sessions, Netflix binges, dance battles, food breaks, tickle fights -- anything you can think of, you guys probably did it. 

As things wind down, everyone is nodding off, and you take that as your cue to go. You remove your arms from their position around Rosé, the action drawing a whine from her, and you lay her back against the couch so that you can bid the girls goodnight.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.” Jisoo says, voice laced with exhaustion, as she flips the small pillow in front of her over to the cool side. 

“Night, loser.” Lisa’s grin can be heard through her words, and you lightly smack her as you go by.

“Sleep well, Y/N. We love you.” Jennie is the most awake of any of them, and she reaches up to give you a hug. 

“Goodnight guys, we’ll see you in the morning.” Arms are thrown up into the air as a sign of acknowledgement to your statement, and you make your way back to Rosé.

She’s curled up against the side of the sofa, her hair falling gracefully over the armrest. Not having the heart to wake her up, you opt to scoop her up into your arms, smiling as she drapes hers around your neck. Her skin is warm against your own, and you take comfort in the feeling. Somehow she always manages to be so, so perfect, without even trying. As you make the journey back to her room, you’re careful to not bump into anything. She shifts a bit in your arms, and your heart nearly stops when she lazily mumbles your name in her sleep, a cute smirk on her lips. Nothing feels better than this.

Now in her bedroom, you slowly lean against the door until it shuts, and the soft sound of it latching behind you echoes across the silent space. You lay her down and pull the sheets up on her -- just as she had done that day, all those months ago -- and press a kiss to her cheek. “사랑해, Rosé.” As you climb into bed next to her, she rolls over to face you. A small smile plays on her beautiful lips as she says, “I heard that; I love you, too, baby.” A content sigh leaves your lips as you beam at her and pull her into your embrace. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for reading!!!

[oh-writing-my-writing]

sastiel, 1.2k, fluff ~ for @moostiel ♡

Sam wakes up to a sensation of closeness, warmth, and the unfamiliar feeling of fingers stroking his hair - a combination that would’ve lulled him back to sleep immediately, had a voice not interrupted his gentle reverie.

“Sam,” It’s Cas. Above, under and around him. A strange thing to think, but it feels correct. “Go back to sleep.”

Sam blinks, the haze of sleep fast fading.

“It’s still night.” Cas insists, and Sam can just about make out the indignance in his voice. Sleep-rumpled and bleary, it confuses him. “Four more hours, Sam, please. Go back to sleep.”

This time, his words actually register, and instinctively Sam cranes his neck to look at his alarm clock. It had taken a few months but they’d gotten used to not relying on a sunshiney wakeup call — living underground and all that. No suns knocking on your window and peeping through the drapes to confirm your resident angel’s claims, no sir.

But today, there’s no clock either. Just like there isn’t a bedside table.

Just like this isn’t Sam’s room.

“Dude!” Sam yelps, completely awake the second the shock settles in. (That's just the way it works.)

Wide-eyed, he takes in his surroundings - Cas’s trenchcoat slung over a chair, Cas’s chair, Cas’s chest of (mostly empty) drawers, and what can only be summarized as Cas’s room. And it’s an easy road from making that out, to making it to the source of Cas’s voice — Cas — above him, as earlier bizarrely suspected.

It’s an angle Sam’s never seen Cas from before - the little dimple in his chin as clear as the day-old stubble he wears eternally, black hair sticking out like it’s at war with itself as usual, and a minorly affronted frown tugging on the corners of his lips, wrong side up from where Sam's looking.

It’s — well, it’s kind of a nice angle.

Shit.

And maybe Sam isn’t completely up yet, because he finds himself distracted way too easily by the brand new perspective he gets of Cas’s wonky tie, and Cas's neck, and -

“Sam.” Cas repeats.

With a jolt, Sam’s up, heat rising in his cheeks as he finishes piecing the rest of the picture together. The hand in his hair, the warmth of his pillow, that feeling you get when you're being held, and the way he can see Cas’s Adam's apple bob when he speaks.

Holy shit.

He’d fallen asleep on Cas’s lap.

“C-Cas.” Sam stammers out, blushing furiously now.

Cas, inevitably, makes for a complete contrast to the way he feels right now — severely underdressed in his (still too large) white shirt, and perplexed instead of offended all of a sudden, with that little crease in his forehead that he gets. “I told you to go back to sleep.”

Sam’s eyes flit to Cas’s lap at the reference of sleep, where Cas’s trousers are rumpled - Sam’s fault, holy fuck - and his hand lies on the bed where, a minute ago, Sam had been. “Dude!” He flusters, eyes shooting up immediately, meeting Cas’s. “I can’t just go back to sleep on you! I -” Sam scrubs his face, heart still racing. “I don't even know how I ended up there!”

There’s a magazine in Cas’s hand - wait, that’s the Saturday Evening Post, isn’t it - and Cas immediately shifts all of his focus onto it.

There’s something wrong.

“Hey,” Sam swallows. “What is it? Cas?”

“Well,” Cas looks up. Thankfully it’s not going to take a lot to get the truth out of Cas, because that’s his confessional I-did-what-I-had-to-do look in his eyes. Used more than once professionally, yes, but never in context of just, you know, Cas and him. Them. “You fell asleep on the map table again.”

Cas lets out a reactionary sigh as Sam freezes. “But that's in the library -”

“I carried you here.”

Jesus, if he was blushing before. “You did what — ?”

“Sam,” Cas looks down at the page, and the back up, and maybe, just maybe, there’s some pink in his cheeks too. “We’ve had this conversation before. I’ve told you it’s not good for your spine -”

“- so you picked me up -”

“- and is one of the prime causes of your sleep deprivation -”

“- and carried me across the bunker -”

“- and you need to get more sleep, so I did what I thought best -”

“- and laid me back to sleep — what, with my head in your lap?” Sam finishes, chest heaving, in disbelief. Cas - he can’t just — goddammit, he can’t just pick Sam up, can he —

“Actually,” Cas licks his lips. “You did that yourself.”

“Well,” Sam’s already begun to say before he can run it through his head a couple billion times like he tends to do with sentences when its just him, and Cas, and the end of the world is not right there. “You were still the one playing with my hair!”

“I," Cas looks truly sheepish at that, and Sam regrets it instantly. “I’m sorry. I just — I thought -”

“Cas.” Sam interrupts, well and truly operating outside of his nervous system’s reach now. His brain sort of malfunctioned at the getting-picked-up-by-Cas part, and refused to really come back. Sam can't blame it - it’s a trainwreck over here. “I didn’t mean — not like that, okay? Don't be sorry. It was — nice.”

“You liked it?”

And the tinge of hope in his tone is all Sam needs to slammed in the face with a reminder of how goddamn smitten he is.

Before he knows it, he’s ducking his head, and rubbing the back of his neck, shy. “Y-yeah. Sure.” He chances a look at Cas again, and there’s a smile there now - full-blown, with the eye crinkles and the everything, and Sam’s insides flutter a little. Butterflies, or something pretending to be them. “People like it when — when other people do that.”

“I think the other people like it too.” Cas says simply. As if Sam’s senses had needed a further push away from coherence.

“Oh.”

Cas smiles again, it’s smaller this time. (God, Cas.)

“I mean, I —” Sam stammers. “I see.”

There’s a moment of silence - or even perhaps two, with Sam staring nervously, excitedly, awkwardly at the bedsheet, and Cas looking — god knows where, but it’s not at his damn animations, and it feels a lot like it’s at Sam, though he has no idea what to do with that.

At the end of it, Cas clears his throat.

“You still need sleep.”

“I just woke up,” Sam argues.

“Sam, I know how long you were asleep. I was there.” Sam flushes at his words. "Trust me, you need more.”

Sam can’t believe he’s actually considering it - but then, he can’t believe most of what’s happening right now, so figures, he reasons - but he finds himself asking, “What about you?”

“I don't need any.” Cas returns, tilting his head.

“I know that.” Sam’s eyes flit to Cas’s again. They twinkle back at him — so, so blue. “I meant, what about you now?”

“Well,” Cas’s eyes crinkle again, and something pulls in Sam’s heart. “If you don't mind, I think I’d like both of us to return to what we were doing.”

“Cas,” Sam says, soft, and that’s all the words he can think of.

And all the words he was looking for.

“I enjoy reading these, and you,” Cas goes on, his eyes back on the magazine, and they stay there for the rest of his sentence. “You have really soft hair.”

And maybe Sam imagines it, but his cheeks are a little pink again.

So Sam bows his head again and laughs, laughs till Cas joins in with that smile of his, and he scoots on the bed until he can be pressed up by Cas's side, their legs sprawled out in front of them, and Cas can resume whatever the hell he was doing that felt so friggin' good when Sam was asleep, and it’s adorable, and it's ridiculous, and it feels exactly like the kind of thing you remember forever.

[cathrrrine]

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 14 - SLUG

"Let's begin with your name."

"You already know my name." I groaned.

"Your real name."

I sighed, "You already know it. My real name is Y/N L/N."

"See? Not so bad." Natasha rolled her eyes as she tilted her head slightly to the left, a mannerism of hers that she often displayed. "Now, your age."

"Oh, that's strictly confidential." I shook my head curtly.

"Y/N..." She warned.

"All I can tell you is that I'm an adult."

She raised an eyebrow in defiance, but she didn't push further. Natasha had brought me to an interrogation room, yet again, but this time it was a different one. It didn't have the big, ugly two-way mirror attached to the wall and instead of hard, uncomfortable chairs, this one had couches. Natasha sat on the one across from me, while I had been instructed to sit on the one with it's back to the wall. The room was annoyingly comfortable, in a way that made me want to vandalise every single object in a room.

It looked like they believed my surrender after all and the change in the way they handled me showed that. For starters, I wasn't in handcuffs. But, to be fair, I guess being in the same room with Romanoff was more than enough security, maybe even more than being cuffed.

Even if I knew I could fight her well.

"I don't need to tell you twice. You lie about anything at all, the deal's off."

It was another interrogation session. Oh my god, I hate that word. I hate even just thinking about it. I've thought about it and said it at least twelve thousand times, and frankly, I've gotten tired of it. If they kept this up, S.H.I.E.L.D would have wrung me dry by the end of the week.

If I wasn't so adamant on surviving, I would've thrown myself off the side of the building by now.

"Don't you think I've been through enough interrogations?" I voiced my thoughts aloud to the redhead in front of me, picking at my nails in boredom.

"There's no such thing as enough interrogations."

"God, you people are scrutinising." That earned me a huff. "And you make me yawn."

"Better safe than sorry, that's the motto." She replied sarcastically. "Next question, how long have you been with Hydra?"

That escalated quickly.

I gulped automatically, not out of fear, but out of habit. "Ever since..." I was born. "For as long as I can remember."

I wasn't lying. But that didn't mean I had to tell the whole truth.

"And you left when?"

"As soon as I could." On my 18th birthday.

"Why?"

"There it is! The hard-hitting question. I've been waiting for that one." This was harder than I thought it would be.

"Why did you leave Hydra?" Natasha repeated the question without a hitch.

"Well, I didn't like it."

"That's all?"

"What do you mean that's all? You don't like something, you leave. Common sense."

She stared at me intently. I've gotta say, she does this thing a whole lot better than Fury. I could technically see the gears in her head turning, calculating every emotion and every word. This woman knew how to play me at my own game. She didn't crack at the silence that ensued. My skin almost crawled at her stare.

Keyword, almost.

"Staring's not going to drag the answer out of my throat, you know." I leaned back on the soft, velvet couch.

They said I had to be honest for them to trust me, but honest hadn't even been in my vocabulary until 12 hours ago. What did they expect me to do? Immediately lose every sense of self-worth and start throwing every single fact about my life, every detail of the trauma that I've endured–to them?

Doing this meant saving my life, but it also meant having to give up at least a sliver of my secrets. Was it worth trading my secrets to these people for my life? Why did the price have to be so goddamn high?

I took a deep breath. "I was 10."

"Pardon?"

"When they first ordered me to kill someone."

I remember the weight of the gun in my small hands, the smell of blood in the air when I shot the man, and the sound of his body thumping on the gravel in the dead of the night.

"I don't remember who it was or why I had to kill him. But I remember enough to know that it was..." I trailed off against my will, the memory getting the best of me. As if the whole situation wasn't already pathetic.

I cleared my throat. "I remember enough to know that it wasn't right. I felt it in my bones."

Natasha stayed silent, willing me to continue. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'm an angel or whatever. As I grew up I understood that I didn't want to be associated with these people. Hydra wasn't exactly a paradise, obviously. But it took me a while to understand that. And once I did, I took off."

"And they've been looking for you, ever since?"

"Yes."

"Does that explain yesterday's events?"

Him. "Unfortunately."

"How long?"

"How long, what?"

"Have you been running from them?"

My mind went blank. How many years has it been? Time looked like one long line for me. I mentally calculated the amount of days, months, years that it took for me to hide.

"6, 7? I don't remember how long it's been." I bit down on my lower lip, hard. "No one's ever asked. I never bothered to keep count either."

She nodded, uncrossing and recrossing her legs and shaking out her hair. The redhead woman seemed to contemplate what she was about to say next. For a second there, I was curious. How unsettling could the question be to make her visibly bothered?

When the words spilled out of her mouth, I wish I never wondered. "This is an important question—are you Enhanced?"

I winced. One question, out of all the other ones, was all it took the break the dam that I've built in my head. Memories came flooding back in, in flashes, in the aches of my muscles, pouring mercilessly into the forefront of my brain.

Muffled voices, bright fluorescent lights shining into my eyes, cold-sweats...my head pounded vigorously. I pinched the bridge of my nose, praying hard that I was hiding my discomposure well from her.

Was it worth it?

"You have to be honest, Y/N. We need to know if we can trust you."

Strenuous hands pulling at me, strapping me down, dilated pupils, the whirring of their monstrous machines...

"Yes, Natasha. I am."

———

SIX HOURS EARLIER

"She can't be trusted."

"She's done nothing that says so, so far."

"How do you know that, Maximoff? She's sly. She's sneaky. This could just be another game of hers."

"We could be very well falling into a trap right now."

"Send me in." Natasha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "I'll get her to tell us what we need."

"I don't doubt your interrogation skills, Nat, but do you really think it's a good idea? I mean, she's a lot like you." Clint remarked.

"That's exactly why I should go." There was an air of mystery to the way she insisted upon it.

They all looked to their Captain for his approval. Steve had both palms on the table, his head slightly bowed. He looked up to his team, eyeing every single one of them before his eyes landed on Natasha's.

"She's right." He stood up straight, mirroring Natasha's pose. "Nat, you bring her to the interrogation room. Do whatever you need to make her talk. Get all the information we need to know about her; her past, her abilities, her name for God's sake."

The redhead nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

"Wanda, I want you to sit in the next room. Read her mind. Make sure she's telling the truth."

"But-"

"Pietro, you go with her, make sure things don't go out of hand. And don't worry, kid. She can't hurt you, especially not when she's basically just waved the white flag."

He paused for awhile before continuing. "If it ultimately goes well...we should let her into the team."

"Are you kidding me?" Tony bit back.

"No. She's an asset. She's got useful information and skills we could put to use."

"Steve. What if she goes rogue, huh? And she decides to wake up one day and kill us all? This is a situation bound to go awry. We can't let a former Hydra agent in just like that." Tony ran a hand across his face before adding another comment. "I made the mistake of giving her the benefit of the doubt before and it only got us in trouble."

Steve pondered upon Tony's opinion for a while before nodding once and announcing his decision. "So, we put her on probation. Let her know that she's not totally off the hook, see where it'll lead."

"Rogers, are you sure about this?" Natasha pursed her lips.

"Yes." He uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips, in true Captain America fashion. "Let her know that she'll be pardoned if she tells the whole truth. Maybe it'll encourage her. I'll inform Fury about this whole thing."

The meeting room was silent for a while before the team began to disperse. Steve was the last one to go, but not before Natasha stopped him.

"Rogers. I need to tell you something."

———

PRESENT TIME

She looked surprised, but not as much as I thought she would be. I was expecting a little bit more than raised eyebrows. Maybe even a gasp. "What can you do?"

I chuckled dryly, "Maybe it's better to show than tell."

It was her turn to chuckle, not an ounce of humour in it. "Now's not the time for your sweet little antics. This isn't a talent show."

"Oh, really? Then what is this? I thought I was auditioning for your makeshift boyband."

"Well, maybe if you talked more and sassed less, you'd make the cut."

I shook my head again, slowly. I had to be careful with what I told them. The walls seemed to look duller and the couch I was on felt like a boulder instead of the plush heaven that it was.

"I'm an Echo."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like. I echo people." My hands trembled slightly at the mention of it. "I absorb other people's powers and I amplify it."

This was as much as I've ever told anyone ever since I ran from Hydra. Genuinely? I'm a little freaked out at the fact that I just did so. But it had to be the right decision. I couldn't afford to make another wrong turn.

Besides, I was in control here. I had the choice to tell them what I wanted to tell them and what I wanted to keep from them. I figured they should know that I had that little something up my sleeve this entire time.

After all; they were my only lifeline at the moment.

"Was that how you beat us the night we caught you?"

I thought back to that night, when I ran as fast as Pietro did and broke through the barriers of the Witch's force field. I shrugged, not bothering to please her with a response.

"Tell me more about your past."

I narrowed my eyes at her, "Really, Romanov? Digging for more? I already gave you enough, don't you think?"

Natasha blinked once, but didn't back down. "I ask, you answer. That was the deal, wasn't it?"

The smile didn't reach my eyes when I jut out a grin at her. "What do you wanna know about my past?"

"The basics. Where you're from, how you're here."

"I'm half-Russian." I shrugged. "And you already know how I got here."

"No. I know how you came to S.H.I.E.L.D. We brought you here. What I need to know is how you got into this whole ordeal."

A scoff escaped me, "Is this a therapy session or an interrogation?"

"Y/N."

"No, seriously, you're asking me about things that don't matter-"

"Y/N." She repeated, more sternly.

I tucked my arms to my chest so I wouldn't flinch as I said the words that haunted me.

The ones I knew haunted her too.

"I was born into it." My tongue felt heavy. "They raised me in the Red Room."

For the first time since we started, Natasha Romanoff gasped. It was barely audible, and it wasn't the show-stopping theatre moment I'd been looking for, but it was a gasp in itself. It's funny, though. I thought I'd be more amused. But the heavy feeling that sat on my chest drained all the humour out of me.

Natasha immediately rose from her seat, staring at me with possessed eyes. Her face had gone white as sheet, her lips pale.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me, Romanov."

She sauntered over to me, one foot stepping in front of the other. "Don't you dare lie to me."

"I'm not." My voice was weaker than I would've liked it to be, barely above a whisper. "I was trained in the Red Room. As soon as I was old enough, they shipped me off to the hands of Hydra."

She wasn't listening as intently anymore. Her eyes were locked on mine, but I could tell she wasn't exactly in the room anymore. Her head's probably off in the same place mine was in just a few minutes ago.

"Is that enough for you?"

Just like that, something snapped within her. "Tell me more."

"I already did."

"You're hiding something!"

I stood up so I was level to her height, my eyebrows knitting in anger. "I gave you what you wanted. I gave you the truth."

"No." She shook her head. "I want the full one."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She trudged towards me, lifting up her shirt so her abdomen was exposed. "Do you know who gave this to me?"

It was a long scar on her hip, positioned slightly to the left of her belly button, the skin raised and bumpy. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"I got this on one of my first missions. I was assigned to escort a nuclear scientist out of Iran." She seethed. "We were ambushed by Hydra at the rendezvous in Odessa. My tires got shot, the car ran off a cliff."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I managed to save us both. But as soon as I did, the assassin who ambushed us open fired. Killed the scientist. Straight through me. Left one hell of a scar." She let go of the hem of her shirt. "A soviet slug."

It was my turn to grow pale. There was only one person who could do that. And I was far from ready to say his name.

"You knew him didn't you? I should've known all along."

"How?" I begged, the somewhat 'calm' demeanour I've tried hard to keep was long gone.

"Does it matter?" Her gaze was threatening. "You were trained by The Winter Soldier, weren't you Y/N L/N?"

[arhvste]

next stop iwa-chan!

“looking for heartbreaks, headaches the doctor says it diagnosed with shit days, mistakes but i’ll be fine, but i’ll be fine, cause you’re my painkiller, when my brain gets bitter, you keep me close, when i been miserable”

“breakfast was okay right?”

“yes haijime, it was perfect.”

“good just checking.”

iwaizumi turned to face his new girlfriend and had a soft smile across his face.

the term ‘girlfriend’ felt different. y/n had practically been his girlfriend for a while now but without the label, but after making things official, iwaizumi found himself quite liking the once disliked term. y/n as his girlfriend just sounded right, it was as if by giving her the title, the whole definition and sentiment of the label had been renewed and rewritten and that was something only y/n could do in iwaizumi’s eyes.

“why’re you smiling you weirdo?” y/n laughed lightly and poked iwaizumi’s cheek to which he blushed.

“s-shut up i’m just thinking.”

“yeah? about what?”

“you.”

y/n scoffed and turned away from the man laying next to her momentarily.

“gross haijime!” she whined giggling before turning back to him, heat rising to her own face.

“you asked, i answered.” he shrugged as he admired y/n’s features.

he’d always insisted that he wasn’t attracted purely by looks, obviously that was a weighing factor because everyone has physical preferences somewhere but, iwaizumi truly felt like he’d just struck lucky with y/n. not only was she the most compatiable girl for him but she was ridiculously pretty in his eyes.

he’d compare her to an angel but he still felt that didn’t do her justice. everything about her felt so perfect right now. the way he was given the gift of getting to have y/n’s sleeping face and tousled hair as his first sight of the day, the way the sun shone down on her only enhancing her ethereal type presence. iwaizumi had never been in a moment where everything felt so in place. this was how things were meant to be and her certainly wanted more moments like these in the future to come.

“god, i love you.”

his voice gruff, sleep still yet to be shaken from it but, a genuine tone still underlined his statement. y/n knew he only said things when he meant it and right now, she knew he really really meant it.

“i love you too haijime.”

“no, no,” he shook his head, bringing his hand up to cup y/n’s cheek.

“i really am in love with you- fuck. you’ve done this to me.” a bright blush dusted over his face as a warm expression graced her face.

she sighed happily and pulled herself in closer to her boyfriend, resting her palm flat against his chest as his hand remained on her cheek.

“i’m happy your friend stalked me at the train station you know.”

“is that so? well, i can’t say i’m exactly mad about it now either.”

“you were mad about it?”

“fuming, you can’t just go around bothering strangers and trick them for personal entertainment.”

y/n snickered and patted iwaizumi’s toned chest.

“i think he meant well, i don’t believe it was for personal entertainment.”

“i bet it was; at first anyway.” he grunted, focus not once leaving the girl in front of him.

“well in that case for personal entertainment, he won’t be invited to our wedding.”

“o-ur what?!”

y/n laughed and buried her face into iwaizumi’s cotton t-shirt.

“you’re so cute haijime, i was kidding!”

she could hear his heartbeat pick up the pace and the quickened speed of his breathing. a moment of silence washed over the pair as they laid there neither uttering a word.

y/n closed her eyes as she focused on the steadying of his heartbeat when she felt a strong arm pull her on top of him.

“you might be kidding, but one day you’re going to be an iwaizumi i’m sure of that.”

it was now y/n’s turn to have a heart race like she’d just run a marathon. the tables had been turned and of course it was always him that had her cornered in her own games.

“shut up! don’t tease me like that!” she whined from on top of him as he wrapped his built arms around her securing her in place.

“i told you i’m not kidding, i wanna wake up like this everyday and besides,” a sly smirk tugged at his lips and he tilted his head closer to y/n’s.

“i like the way y/n iwaizumi sounds, don’t you?”

y/n huffed and shook her head in embarrassment resulting in iwaizumi to raise an eyebrow.

“no? i don’t think you mean that do you princess...”

“haijime! stop! you’re not fair i said i’d be the one flustering you!”

“oh y/n, nobody likes a sore loser.”

iwaizumi snickered under the girls body while she buried her face into the crook of his neck.

“i warned you.” she muttered as she bit his neck causing him to yelp in surprise.

y/n then looked back up at the man below her and sent him a small smile. “that’s what happens when you annoy me.” she murmered as iwaizumi stared at the girl in disbelief.

“you’re unbelievable, i can’t say i don’t like that though.”

“gross.”

iwaizumi laughed and pulled her off of him and back onto her side. even just talking and playing in bed together felt new and exciting. it was as if he was experiencing what a relationship was all over again. like y/n was his first ever girlfriend and this was his first ever encounter with a relationship.

everything felt so natural, so pure, so right with y/n and he knew she was someone he’d want to keep close to him for the rest of his life.

obviously, having only of made y/n his girlfriend last night iwaizumi wasn’t going to get down on one knee just yet. he decided he’d have to wait a while for that. but still, thoughts of living a permanent life with y/n made him feel warm and excited at the same time.

“hey.”

“hm?” y/n hummed and met his eyes.

“i think we should meet your friends.”

y/n raised an eyebrow and stroked his cheek so delicately as if she were scared to break him.

“my friends? you know them briefly already don’t you?”

“i do... but i want to meet them properly you know... as your boyfriend.”

“i love hearing you say that.” y/n sighed and nodded. she was thrilled he was okay at taking things a little further. her friends had been rooting for this since the beginning so of course was was ecstatic about him wanting to introduce himself with his new title.

“you tell me when and i’ll sort it out.”

“today at lunch?”

“today at lunch it is.”

y/n smiled brightly as iwaizumi returned it. while it was only 10:58AM she knew the two would have to get up and dressed soon but still, before meeting her friends she wanted to enjoy the moment just a little longer.

even though there were so many more similar moments to come with iwaizumi.

-

next stop iwa-chan!

masterlist

an - iwaizumi’s search history does include engagement rings but that’s only because oikawa facetimed him and forced him to look and let him judge them

akaashi’s playgroup || two pretty setters and co

part 32 - details

part 33 - morning murmuring

part 34 - comedic duo

PLEASE SEND AN ASK TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST

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[reginamillls]

au in which joe takes nicky out on their first date and by the end of it he gives nicky a ride on his motorcycle 👀👀👀

Nicky shifts again in his seat, inwardly cursing at his damn nerves, and hoped that his date wouldn’t note on his behavior. This had been the first good date he’s had in years and Joe was truly amazing and Nicky had to damn his own luck from the very start. He was exhausted, having pulled a double the night before and the warm atmosphere of the restaurant was lulling him to a gentle sleep. 

In short, he kept yawning, and judging by their waiter giving him the side-eye several times he was coming off as rude. Mentally he was already preparing what he would tell Quynh when she would ask about how her set up had gone, and he could imagine her exasperated sigh followed by the ever familiar “oh Nicolo” which was her way of reminding him that he was a disaster. 

He yawns, again, and winces. 

Why did he only get four hours of sleep again? He can’t even recall what he had done the previous day to warrant such little sleep. Past Nicky was a pain in the ass and he thinks maybe he should have listened to Quynh when she had told him to catch up on his beauty rest. 

“I’m sorry,” Nicky says, when Joe stops in the middle of his tale about the time he had rescued a painting from a burning building, which was possibly one of the most interesting things Nicky has ever half-heard because of how damn tired he was, and gives him a concerned look. “I’m being rude.” 

“It’s okay,” Joe says, smiling so brightly that Nicky feels butterflies in his stomach. He was going to really miss that smile when Joe inevitably never called him again because of what a bust this first date had been. 

“I’m tired,” Nicky says instead of an actual explanation that would explain that he wasn’t normally this terrible on dates, that he could actually keep up with a conversation and the dark bags under his eyes weren’t always there. 

Fuck, he’s really going to regret this one. 

“Let’s get you home,” Joe says, instead of telling Nicky off for wasting his time, which actually shocks Nicky enough to wake himself up some. In a movement that was literally just standing up but Nicky’s sleep-deprived brain had deemed as beautiful, Joe stood from his seat, placed a generous amount of money on the table to pay for their meal, and offered Nicky his hand. 

“Ah-” Nicky stumbles, begging his brain to catch up with what was actually happening in front of him. “I walked here.” 

Smooth, Nicky.

“That’s not a problem,” Joe replies leading them out. Nicky realizes that their hands are still intwined, Joe’s hand is nice, warm witth ink staining his finger tipss. Nicky should probably let go, he doesn’t. “I always travel with a spare.” 

“A spare -” Nicky is about to ask what, but he find his answer as Joe stops them in front of a motorcycle. A very beautiful, very deadly motorcycle.

“I always cary an extra helmet in case the situation calls for me to give a beautiful man a ride home.” Joe looks at him and Nicky’s breath catches as he winks. 

“I’m not beautiful,” Nicky says dumbly. Any successful flirting from him had been abandoned before the date had even started and it seems that he wont be playing catch up anytime soon. 

“As a painter I know beauty when I see it,” Joe responds to Nicky’s blunder, as smooth as ever, and pushes the spare helmet into Nicky’s hands. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

For a moment Nicky almost repeats that he had walked to their date and was in no condition to do any sort of riding, but he keeps his mouth shut. His brain is already chasing aftter several innuendos that he was sure was all in his head anywayss, and Nicky would prefer to not embarass himself any further. He watches as Joe swings a leg over his motorcycle, straddling the seat.

Nicky is suddenly envious of a piece of machinery. 

Maybe Quynh was right when she said he really needed to get laid.

Joe kicks up the brake and balances the bike, steadying it for Nicky to get on. When Nicky does nothing but curse his very existance, Joe helpfully pats the seat behind him. 

“Hop on and hold onto my waist, I’ll go easy for your first time.” Joe is smiling again, but its more gentle than flirtatious and Nicky snaps his helmet into place and does as he’s told, relaxing with Joe’s easy demeanor. “Where to?” 

“Anywhere,” Nicky answers, before his brain catches up with him and he blushes, burying his head in Joe’s leather clad shoulder to hide his embarassment. 

Nicky realizes that if Joe were to ask he really would go anywhere with the other man. 

Joe, the angel that he is, smiles instead of laughs. “Maybe next time, lets start with the adresss to your bed.”

Nicky’s glad he has enough of a brain left to tell Joe where he lives before he holds onto Joe tightly and only screams a little as the motorcycle kicks off into traffic. 

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.2k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, fingering, t h r e e s o m e, cum eating, sloppy seconds kinda?, multiple orgasms, creampie, cumshot, nipple play, tender manhandling, overstimulation, praise, this one has me hot and bothered folks

DAY FOUR

It’s dark when you wake up, still feeling slightly floaty.  Beside you, Taehyung still snores away, naked bar for his pair of boxers and the sheets draped lazily over his torso. He looks peaceful, face angelic and chest rising and falling deeply. The sight of him almost makes you want to fall asleep then and there, but your throat is parched and your mouth is dry.

Perhaps sleeping the day away wasn’t wise, but still you dress in dim silence, padding down the stairs with bare feet and nothing more than Taehyung’s shirt - even more oversized on you - and a fresh pair of panties.

This is the first time you’ve really been out of your room at this hour, and you marvel at the enveloping stillness of the air. No lights, only the creeping moonlight to guide your way to the kitchen, eager to ease your dry mouth. The refrigerator light makes your eyes ache as you pull out a bottle of water, uncapping it with a sigh and leaning back against the countertop, gulping almost a third of it down before your brain starts to pang at the sudden cold.

“Can’t sleep?”

You jump at the sudden voice, glancing up to see the round, pale face of Min Yoongi peeking over the couch. In such deeply–set quiet, you feel the need to speak lowly, just enough for him to hear. “Just woke up, actually.”

He combs through the dyed honey blonde of his hair as his eyes narrow in disbelief. “Is that Taehyung’s shirt from this morning? So that’s where the two of you have been all day. You must’ve really gone at it like rabbits, it’s almost three in the morning.”

“Jesus,” you groan. “I must’ve been asleep more than 12 hours then. I feel like I’ve woken up from a coma or something, I swear.”

“That good, huh?” he says in a teasing tone as you take another sip of water.

“Go upstairs and see for yourself if you’re so curious,” you retort.

Yoongi stays silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is different. Softer. “Come sit.”

You obey silently, a little huff forced out of your lungs when you drop onto the couch beside him, cradling the bottle of water between your knees as you wait for him to say something, explain why he’d asked you over.

The blonde-haired man scoffs softly, nudging your shoulder. “Come on, I’m not telling you off or anything. If you want to go, you can go, but I thought you might like some company.”

The air is warmer here beside him. “I’ll stay,” you answer quietly.

“Three days,” he muses, his voice bringing colour to the dark room. “Why does it feel like weeks?”

You hum, unable to think of a reply that would comfort him. “What would you have been doing if you weren’t here right now?”

Yoongi’s legs are crossed, much like how Jimin always sits, but it gives off a far more casual vibe as he slumps, butt resting almost right on the edge of the cushion. “I’d probably still be up. I’d just be up alone.”

“Night owl?” you question, tucking one foot up under you so you can face him more.

“Lonely,” he answers simply, eyes focused on the table in front of him.

You don’t know what to say. Luckily, it seems like he’s not finished, but just taking a pause to collect his thoughts. You’ve been noticing that Yoongi seems like the type to mean every word he says, and consider each one carefully.

“I thought I‌ was picking a career filled with people,” he elaborates, voice flickering low like a single flame. “I guess in some ways, both health practitioning and teaching are fairly sociable jobs. But I rarely see the same person twice. There was a time when I thought I preferred it like that. I’ve never been a social butterfly like some of the guys here. But after a few years, you just feel so hollowed out by it.”

You let his words sink in for a moment, head resting on the back of the couch. “And now?”

“Now?” he repeats with a frown.

“Are you still lonely now?”

He attempts a smile. “I can’t decide.”

You frown at his sullen tone. “We all love having you here, you know? Seokjin really appreciates your help in the kitchen, the two youngest both adore you, Namjoon respects you so much and I’m pretty sure Hoseok and Jimin would’ve had a catfight in the living room if it wasn’t for your level-headedness.”

Yoongi brightens a little bit, just enough for his lips to twitch, genuinely this time. Slowly, his eyes slide over to meet yours. “And you?”

You slip the tip of your tongue out enough to wet your lips. “I- If it’s okay, I’d rather show you my appreciation.”

His eyes are molten as they search your face for any signs of hesitation. When they find none, he uncrosses his legs, splaying them apart, and leans over to press lightly at your shoulder. “Lean back,” he instructs, the soft tone replaced with a casual roughness that he usually spoke with.

You swallow, letting the water bottle between your legs fall to the floor as you lie back, head resting against the arm of the couch.

Yoongi looks down at you, distaste flitting across his features. Your heart stops for a moment before he reaches out to tug at the hem of your baggy shirt. Tae‘s baggy shirt. “Take this off,” he orders with a grumble.

You ditch it hastily, wanting Yoongi’s hands on you, and shiver at the sudden cold, lying beneath him in nothing but your panties. “Yoongi,” you whisper, back arching as an incentive for him to touch you.

Reverently, a wide hand dips down, fingertips running over your shoulder, your bare chest and stomach, and back up to cup your breast, squeezing just enough to make you sigh, wanting more. As he fondles it, Yoongi adjusts his stance, hooking one leg between you and the back of the couch, propping himself up with his other arm so that he can lean down over you.

Rather than kissing you straight away, he watches your face with a look like hunger, drinking in your every reaction as his fingers slip up to pass over the stiffened peak, thumbing it so it continues to plump up.

You let out a breathy moan, tipping your chin up towards him. The hand on your breast slips up to cup your face, big enough that the tips of his fingers dip into your hair. It’s overwhelming; his legs on either side of you, and your face cradled in his tender grasp, bracketed between the back of the couch and his arm. Finally, his face lowers enough for his lips to brush yours, and your eyes slip closed in bliss.

This close, every breath is lined with his scent, rich yet tangy like mint and caramel, a juxtaposition that suits him perfectly. His lips on yours are like fine silk, brushing so lightly that you tremble at the intimacy of it. Every movement is painfully precise, languid. His fingers gently play with your hair like he can’t quite keep them still, but his lips take their time with you. The two of you are in your own world, alone to savour every delicate touch. No one else is awake, so you let the butterflies in your stomach grow and the flutter on your lips continue, hands wandering lower to where his shirt - a white tee with the letters FG stamped in black on the front - is slightly tucked into a pair of plaid boxer shorts. He sighs heavily onto your lips when your fingers first touch his skin, tracing a line just above the waistband.

“You have no idea,” he confesses in a hush, “how long I’ve waited to feel you.”

You gasp when his head dips lower, lips brushing your ear, your jaw, down your throat to press a trail of chaste kisses along the base of your throat, his tongue darting out to flick kitten licks over your pulse point. “Yoongi,” you sigh, “you don’t have to wait any longer.”

“Y/n?”

Yoongi groans at the distant voice that breaks the silence. “Please just ignore it,” he mutters under his breath. “He’ll be fine.”

You bite your lip, ears straining to work out where Taehyung’s voice came from. It sounds like he’s upstairs, the sound lofty.

There’s only a moment of silence, Yoongi nudging your jaw with his nose to tip it back again, kisses slightly more insistent down the column of your throat, before you hear a thud.

“Y/n?” Taehyung repeats, voice calling out slightly louder into the dark of the house. “Did you go downstairs?”

Yoongi lets out a rushed exhale. “Fuck.” Sitting up off of you, he reaches down to pass you Tae’s shirt off the floor. Yoongi’s jaw ticks as you put it back on. “Just tell him you’re busy.”

You send him a look, before stepping up and out into the kitchen, taking the water bottle with you. “Down here, Tae,” you reply. His response is given in the noisy thuds of him coming down the stairs, and soon enough his face pops around the corner, brightening when he sees you.

“I woke up alone,” he says with a playful pout, hands finding your waist to press your bodies together, rocking the two of you back and forth. “Come back to bed.”

You force yourself not to glance over at the couch, feeling strangely guilty. Instead, you smile at Taehyung. “We slept all day. I feel too awake now.”

“Then let’s try out your bath! I saw some bath bombs there. Or we can make bubbles?”

You think you hear a faint huff in the living room but you ignore it, letting yourself be anchored in the slow swaying, looking up at Taehyung. “I’m sorry, Tae, I’m not really in the mood. You can have one, if you want? I don’t mind.”

“But then that’s not…” You see the wheels turning in Taehyung’s head, an excited smile tugging at his lips. “Are you sure? Thank you, Y/n! Come join me if you want!”

He pulls away from you, and an odd stir of relief stirs in your chest. “Have fun,” you say weakly, and he ducks his head to press a kiss on your forehead before turning back the way he came, jumping noisily up the stairs.

In the living room, Yoongi’s head once again pops up over the back of the couch. “Coast is clear?” he questions in a joking tone, but you can’t muster a smile. Yoongi stands up, brows furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

You sink back against the counter, staring sullenly at the half-empty water bottle in your hands. “Why do I feel like an asshole, Yoongi?”

He’s beside you quicker than you expect, hands gently pressing under your jaw to lift your gaze up to his. “Hey, hey,” he coos gently, eyes warm with reassurance, “what’s going on in that head of yours, hm?”

You hate the way your eyes water, but you can’t help it. His thumbs are on your cheeks, brushing away the tears as they fall, and you tip your head back in an effort to prevent them, taking a shuddering breath. “I‌ feel so bad for them, Yoongi?”

“For who?”

You sniff. “Namjoon and Tae. The other day, Namjoon told me he- that he-”

“Shh, I‌ know, he told us,” Yoongi murmurs, his own eyes glistening at the sight of you in tears. “Keep going, sweetheart.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat, trying to still your thudding heart. “But he likes me and now Tae is… I don’t know, but I’m worried that he might too, and then… Then I’m the asshole for sleeping with seven people at once.” You shrug with a bitter, teary laugh. “How can I act all coupley with Tae or try anything like that with Namjoonie when I know that I‌ can’t promise them anything?”

Yoongi’s lips part, moving silently as he seeks the right words. After a moment, he sighs, cupping your face one last time before lowering his hands, one rubbing at your back, making you sigh at the comfort. “I’ll be honest, Y/n,” he begins slowly, “I know all there is to know about sex physically, but- In this case, I don’t think I’m the right person to give you advice.”

“It’s okay,” you mumble, wiping your eyes and sniffing to clear your nose.

“No, no, I think you should chat with someone about this, and if I’m honest, I could use some advice too.” You give him a frown of confusion, and he grimaces with a sheepish grin. “When Taehyung called out for you, I’ll admit I wanted to beat that brat for interrupting us when he’d already had his turn. But I shouldn’t think of him or you that way, it’s not healthy. I think perhaps you and I should go upstairs and talk to Seokjin-hyung, Y/n. Do you think you’d want that?”

“He’s probably asleep,” you deflect, though you can’t deny that you could do with an expert opinion at a time like this.

“Probably,” Yoongi agrees lightly, pressing on your back to begin guiding you towards the stairs, “but I think he’d much rather you wake him up than agonise over it for hours while he sleeps.”

You take a deep breath. “Yeah. Okay, I’d like to go see him. Thank you, Yoongi.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” His hand slips into yours as he leads you up the stairs, but rather than anything with deeper meaning, it just speaks of comfort, a squeeze of reassurance as he knocks on Jin’s door, across the hall from yours.

Jin answers after the fourth knock, squinting into the hallway with a yawn. “Jungkook, for the last time, I- Oh.” The annoyance on his face drops, eyes widening with concern even as he blinks slowly, still half-asleep. “Is everything okay?”

“Can we come in, hyung?” Yoongi asks instead. “Some emergency midnight counselling?”

“It’s-” Jin breaks off to look back into his room, groaning at the time. You wince, bracing yourself for a scolding. “Almost five in the morning. I once had a baker schedule weekly sessions for three a.m. before he went to work, this is nothing. Come inside and make yourselves comfy.”

Your shoulders go slack with relief, letting yourself be pulled inside by your still-entwined hands.

Jin’s room is tidy but lived in; the floors are clean of stray clothes or other belongings, but the head of his bed is laden with different sized stuffed toys and the sweet smell of french pear fills the air from a diffuser resting on the window sill. You sit cross-legged and lean against the headboard, grabbing a round white plushie to hug for emotional support. Yoongi sits at the foot of the bed, and Jin comes and tugs on a dressing gown, perfectly spaced between the two of you as he takes a seat in the middle, legs stretched out across the width of the bed.

“Now,” Jin begins softly, and with that one word you feel yourself safe under his authority, cared for. His relaxed but introspective posture, the non-judgemental warmth on his face and the inviting guidance of his tone combine together to ease the tension in your chest. You send Yoongi a quick glance of gratitude, and he smiles back. “I want to begin,” Jin continues, “by reassuring the two of you that you’re both safe, and there’s no time pressure here. No emergency. Whatever problems you’re having, let’s work through them together. I’d love to say this is entirely confidential, however-” Jin breaks off to wordlessly gesture at the blinking red light of the camera aimed towards the bed. “But, it will be kept confidential between us and not spread to the other members of the house. Who would like to explain what’s going on?”

You nod your chin at Yoongi, and he laughs softly, sitting up. “Alright then. The issue of jealousy is beginning to rear its ugly head. Y/n is feeling guilty about it, and I admit I’m not completely innocent of feeling a bit jealous myself.”

“Jealous? How so?”

“Well, look where we are,” Yoongi explains rhetorically. “Y/n’s here to have sex with seven different guys in close proximity. It seems some of the others have begun to get intimacy and romance in the equation.”

You pipe up, clutching the soft toy for comfort. “How am I supposed to reciprocate anything like that when I know I’m going to turn around and let six other guys have a go too?”

Yoongi winces at the wording. “Which is where my issue comes into play. I don’t want to think this way, like we’re all taking our turn with Y/n, because she’s not an object, but at the same time it’s hard to not feel that possessiveness.”

Jin nods, mulling it over for a few moments. “If it becomes a bigger problem, I think we’d be better off discussing it as eight, or however many of us are still in the house. It’s entirely natural to feel romantic inclinations, or possessive inclinations, or guilt over dealing with the two,” he directs the latter at you, “but of course conflict and guilt should be avoided, and in this situation we have to be careful that we monitor our emotions well. Y/n; what is your thought process when you begin to feel guilty?”

You bite your lip, leaning your head back against the headboard with a shrug. “I don’t know, it’s like… It feels wrong to act couple-y or seek out anything romantic with any of you guys because I know I can’t be loyal or commit to being exclusive. But I also can’t stop people from feeling that way. So I don’t know what to do. I’m like- I’m quite literally sleeping with the competition.”

“Okay,” Jin responds smoothly, nodding in thought. “Are you worried about feeling romantic inclinations for members in the house?”

“But then it wouldn’t be fair to the rest who are still trying to do their best in the game,” you point out.

The therapist just smiles softly. “That wasn’t the question I asked.”

Cheeks burning, you stare at the blanket underneath you. You can’t look at either of them. “…Not yet,” you admit honestly, “but honestly, yeah, I’m worried I might.” You glance up again, seeking out Jin’s gaze pleadingly, needing advice. “And what if I liked multiple people? Then they’d be directly competing against each other. It’s messy.”

“We don’t-” It’s Yoongi that speaks up, cutting himself off with a sigh. Jin nods at him to continue after he pauses in uncertainty. Yoongi scratches at his neck self-consciously. “I don’t think we’re all taking this insanely seriously and personally. Sometimes I walk in on Taehyung and Jungkook sharing porn, or Jin-hyung and Hoseok giggling away like two scheming toddlers as they try and make pancakes shaped like dicks.” Jin’s ears go flaming red at this, but he doesn’t interrupt. “We’re all well aware of how crazy this is. Yeah, maybe sometimes we feel a bit possessive over you, or competitive, but on a rational level we aren’t acting like we’re at war, you know? We don’t necessarily… have to be in direct competition.”

Jin gives him another moment in case he has anything else to add, before sending him an appreciative smile. “Very well said, Yoongi. I think as long as we’re all communicative when those issues like jealousy do arise, it won’t cause any major conflicts. Does that bring you any comfort, Y/n?”

You realise once he says your name that your eyes have stopped watering and your chest has stopped thudding so sickly. “Yeah,” you answer honestly, “it does. Thank you, guys. Though I guess- Well, even if you aren’t taking it as seriously as the Olympics, you are still competing against each other. Even if it’s just friendly fire, I’m still torn in the middle.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Yoongi shoots back earnestly.

“How does it not?” you question with a frown.

The two older men share a glance, Jin giving the slightest nod before Yoongi turns back to you. “Producer Sejin said it didn’t have to be one-on-one. If you’d like, we could show you that we can work together.”

“If you’d like,” Jin purrs, a hand reaching out to gently clasp your knee, “we could share.”

“Share me?” you ask weakly. The two of them nod, Yoongi looking nervous, Jin at-ease. “Yes, please.”

“So polite,” Jin says with a teasing smile. “Do you want to go give Yoongi a kiss for me, baby?”

Though it’s a command more than a question, you nod, and toss the stuffed toy aside, crawling forward, over Jin’s outstretched legs to where Yoongi sits, cross-legged like you were. A guiding hand wraps around your waist, pulling you in to straddle him, and you feel a thin bolt of excitement run up your core as Yoongi tilts his head back to look up at you, his honeyed locks falling to either side of his head. He’s beautiful, from this angle; lips so delicate and pink like a cherub, but with a blazing need swirling in his blown pupils. And though you can’t see him from this angle, Jin’s eyes feel like a hot brand on your back, making you shudder.

You link your wrists behind his neck and dip your head down, eyes slipping closed as you finally feel the pressure of his lips rising to greet you. Yoongi’s kisses are still soft and gentle, but the third presence in the room has lit a fire under the both of you, and each movement feels deeper, greedier.

Yoongi’s hand finds your ass as you make out, and he presses you in towards him, encouraging you to grind against him. Still in nothing more than Taehyung’s shirt and a pair of panties, you can feel him achingly hot and hard against you, stiff in the confines of his boxers.

Expecting to hear Jin speak up with praise or teasing words, you jump when instead it’s his hand sweeping back your hair that he begins with, collecting it in a handheld ponytail, tugging just slightly and exposing your neck. You let out a breathy moan into Yoongi’s mouth when you feel plush lips against the sensitive skin of your neck, fingers pushing the wide neck of Taehyung’s shirt to one side, exposing a shoulder. Jin methodically, languidly, places a chain of kisses down your throat and the top of your shoulder. Unlike Yoongi’s butterfly kisses, Jin’s touch is all teeth and tongue, making you feel dizzy with desire.

You whimper at the loss of Jin’s mouth on you, followed quickly by Yoongi pulling away, and your head spins. It’s only a moment, though, before you feel a set of hands finding the bottom of your shirt, the other set unlinking your arms from around Yoongi’s neck, holding them up so Jin can pull the fabric up and over your head, discarding it and running his palms on every inch of bare skin he can see.

Your head lolls back and eyes shut in bliss at the feeling of Jin’s slightly-rough palms stroking your hips, back, shoulders, and you feel him shuffle forward on his knees until he’s close enough for you to feel his breath on the nape of your neck. You bite your lip when he grips your hips, holding you steady.

Your breath catches in anticipation, and suddenly there’s a wet heat around your right nipple. You let out a strangled moan at the feeling of Yoongi’s mouth on you, tongue flicking endlessly over the stiffened peak. “Oh- oh god,” you gasp out, trying to grind your hips against him for some friction, but Jin’s hands hold you in place.

Jin shuffles closer again, and you feel a hand slip round to your front, pressing on your lower chest to pull you backwards, and you whine, not wanting to separate from Yoongi’s mouth, but he leans forward with you, sucking and lapping at your nipple as you fall back onto Jin’s chest, that same hand holding you steady against him as the other one traces lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties.

You jump when the tip of his finger first grazes against your clit, eyes opening to look down. Yoongi’s head takes up most of your vision, bobbing obscenely as he lavishes attention on your nipple, taking a moment to wet his fingers so he can flick and rub at your other one. Your chest heaves with his attention, pleasure so sharp it cuts into you. Below that, your legs are spread wide over Yoongi’s lap, your panties bulging with the presence of Jin’s hand. As you watch deliriously, he dips down and slips a finger deep inside you, the angle allowing him to grind the heel of his palm against your clit and stroke your g-spot from inside you at the same time.

You pant, toes curling when Yoongi switches nipples, his mouth enveloping your left peak and leaving the right one glossy with spit and reddened. It’s intoxicating, being between them like this, and you feel your hips begin to jerk against Jin’s hand as an orgasm builds surprisingly fast.

“Are you gonna cum like this?” Jin murmurs, and you nod hastily, choking on your ‘yes’ as Yoongi pulls away slightly, keeping your nipple trapped between his teeth so it’s tugged. “Fuck, she likes that,” Jin comments darkly, and you cry when he yanks at the hair in his hand again, pulling your head to one side so he can descend upon your neck, bites and sucks aggressive enough to make you feel like you’re being devoured.

Being pinned between two relentless sources of pleasure is enough to make your thighs tremble, and your first orgasm is almost silent, given away only by your rushed gasps and the sudden flood of wetness that coats Jin’s hand, the older man cursing as he strokes you harder, letting you ride out the high until you go lax. Post-orgasm, your nipples are too sensitive and you squeak, writhing under Yoongi’s ministrations until Jin pulls the hand from your panties and pushes Yoongi away with it.

Yoongi’s head comes up, and you moan gutturally at the fucked-out look in his eyes. Now that Jin’s hand isn’t in the way, you can again feel Yoongi’s hardness against your clothed core; he must’ve been able to feel Jin’s knuckles rubbing against him with your proximity. Jin’s hand is still hovering in the air between you and, keeping his eyes locked on yours, Yoongi leans in and captures two of Jin’s fingers in his mouth, lips pursed obscenely around the slightly crooked digits as he sucks your arousal off Jin’s hand, the older man groaning behind you as Yoongi thoroughly licks off every finger, swapping his gaze between you and Jin.

“Fuck,” you pant, “you guys are gonna be the death of me.”

Jin chuckles, pressing a final kiss to your neck, which you have no doubt will be covered in vibrant blossoms of colour in a few hours. “Let’s get these panties off, hm? If Yoongi gets any harder, he might run out of blood in his head and pass out on us.”

“Shut up,” the younger man grumbles, but once you get up off his lap he’s flinging his shirt off and pushing down his boxers, no self-consciousness as his flushed cock springs up and smacks against his lower abdomen. Your mouth waters, letting Jin shuck off his own pyjamas before slipping down your panties, a hand lazily swiping over your wet heat.

“Turn around, baby,”‌ Jin commands softly. “Let Yoongi have you first.”

You swallow as you obey, shifting so that you’re facing Jin, back arched to present yourself to Yoongi. He curses lowly, but wastes no time in lining himself up, a palm on your ass to guide you down on his cock, stretching your walls in smooth increments. He gradually thrusts deeper and deeper, slow enough for you to adjust, until you feel him bottom out, less girthy than Jin or Taehyung but more curved inside you, making your mouth hang open.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Yoongi praises. “Fucking finally.”

You giggle at his desperation, but your grin is fucked from your face with a thrust that knocks you forward, face smacking on the mattress, a moan pulled from your lungs as he rolls his hips, grinding deeper.

“Poor baby,” Jin teases. “C’mere.” You whine as Yoongi stills inside of you, giving Jin a chance to lift you up under the arms, wrapping them around his broad shoulders. Upper torso lifted, your hips are now at a different angle and you cry out when Yoongi begins to thrust again, the underside of his cock now dragging against your g-spot with every movement. Jin lets you tuck your face into the crook of his neck, weakly sucking a hickey into his neck to make him groan, his throat vibrating under your lips.

Soon, though, you don’t even have the energy to do that. As Yoongi picks up speed, you’re rocked violently between two hard bodies, drooling onto Jin’s neck as his hand snakes down to thumb at your clit. You cry out, shuddering as much as you can between them.

Yoongi curses and grips your hips when you clench around him, holding you still so he can increase his pace even more, a low moan rumbling in his throat. “I’m not gonna last long,” he warns. “Can I come inside you, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you cry, nails scratching at Jin’s bare shoulders as he swaps his thumb out for three fingers, rubbing them back and forth frantically in an effort to get you to cum. “Yes, fuck, I’m so close, don’t stop!”

This time, when you reach your high, you can’t stop moaning, the sound muffled by Jin’s shoulder as you’re pinned between the two men, Yoongi grunting as he spills, hot inside you.

You’re still riding the high of your orgasm when he pulls out, and your head spins, incoherent as you’re moved around, and before you know it, a thicker cock is being plunged into you, fucking you into oversensitivity.

As your orgasm fades, so does the fog in your mind and you become aware of the fact that the body you’re now propped up against is Yoongi, his hand in your hair and his teeth on your earlobe, tugging lightly and mumbling praises into your ear as Jin takes you from behind, filling the room with the sounds of skin impacting on skin. Unlike Yoongi’s slender, structured dick, Jin’s cock is a blunt instrument, hitting deep enough inside you that you feel him near your cervix.

“Tuh-too much,” you whine as Yoongi’s free hand snakes down, rubbing at your clit in a perfect mirror of your earlier position.

“Jin-hyung wants to feel you cum too, sweetheart,” Yoongi murmurs in your ear, voice dripping with honey, “don’t be selfish now.”

You keen, eyes tearing up at the excess sensation, Jin’s thrusts enough force to push Yoongi slightly too. Your hands curl around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin enough that he winces, but speeds up his fingers nonetheless, making you squeal. “I c-can’t,” you gasp, legs giving out.

Jin groans and you feel his arms snake under your hips, lifting you up and fucking you back onto his cock with every thrust forward. Your weight is held up by the two of them, tears streaming as you’re forcefully brought to your high a third time.

“Do we need to stop?” Yoongi asks lowly, and you feel Jin’s hips slow, Yoongi’s fingers sliding wetly over your lower stomach instead of your clit. The lack of sensation all of a sudden just makes you sob harder, shaking your head.

“Make me cum,” you plead shakily. “Wan- wanna cum for Seokjinnie.”

Behind you, Jin growls, his hands tightening, gripping handfuls of your hips as he starts up again. “Good girl,” he praises gruffly, “cum one more time for us.”

The time they stopped was apparently enough for your body to recover, because as he returns to his prior bruising pace and Yoongi strums roughly at your clit, the sting of overstimulation is gone, replaced by throbbing need. “Close, Yoongi,” you babble, writhing in the boys’ grip.

“That’s it, sweetheart, make a mess all over Jin-hyung’s cock.”

With that, you’re pitched into an orgasm so intense, it’s almost painful. You feel like your nerves are electric, making your limbs convulse. Unable to stop shaking, you clutch at Yoongi as Jin pulls out, giving your tired body reprieve. You whine when Yoongi leans you back, lying you down on the bed softly, and moments later, hot stripes of cum land on your heaving chest, Jin cursing under his breath.

The two of you gasp, unable to suck in enough breath to fill your thirsty lungs, but Yoongi, who came first, is already fully recovered. You shiver, letting out a groan as he leans down with a cat-like grin, lapping at the cum over your breasts.

“You’re fucking filthy,” Jin pants out, but continues to stroke himself slowly, managing to produce a few more drops of cum for Yoongi to lick up.

The blonde-haired boy leaves your nipples for last, grinning around each peak as you whimper, clutching his hair. Finally, once he’s done, he lifts his face up and kisses you once, deeply, so that you can taste yourself and Jin on his tongue.

“Holy fucking shit,” you exclaim breathlessly, “this show is going to kill me.”

Apparently back to his normal self, Jin pats your cheek teasingly. “Don’t be dramatic.”

You roll your head to the side, partly to escape his hand and partly to glance at the clock on his nightstand. Seven in the morning. You swear. “Fine, it may not kill me but it’ll definitely obliterate my sleep schedule.”

Jin considers this. “Fair,” he concedes. “If it helps, I’ll wake you up in a few hours so you can just call it a nap. And then we can all have a shower.”

“I am not waiting a couple hours to have a shower, thank you very much,” Yoongi huffs, pushing himself up to stand. “I have to brush my fucking teeth.”

“Hey!” the two of you cry in unison.

Yoongi rolls his eyes but a grin tugs at his lips nonetheless. “You should just be grateful I cleaned you up.”

Jin stares as Yoongi hastily slips back into his discarded pyjamas. “I’ll be sure to call you over next time I masturbate, then.”

Yoongi shoots him a dirty look. “Thanks for the fuck and the counselling,” he spits before darting out the door, slamming it behind him decisively.

Jin lets out a dramatic exhale, throwing himself on the bed so he’s lying beside you. “Men these days,” he muses sadly. “Lick up your cum once then act like they don’t know you.”

Despite your bone-deep exhaustion, you snicker along with him, feeling lighter than a cloud. “Thank you,” you say after the laughter dies down.

“For the…the sex or the counselling?”

You turn your head, glancing at him sidelong. “Would it be bad if I said just the sex?”

“Hey!”

“For both, Seokjinnie,” you say with a smile. “And for everything else, too.”

“Like what?” he asks suspiciously, chest puffing in anticipation of praise.

You hum happily, wriggling until you feel comfortable and your eyes slip shut. “Thank you for letting me nap in your bed.”

Jin huffs, but after a few moments, you feel him shift, leaning over you so he can flip the bottom edge of the duvet up and cover you. “Sleep well, little one.”

—

True to word, Jin wakes you shortly before midday, and makes sure the coast is clear so you can stumble across the hall to your room. Taehyung has luckily left by then, though a pool of bubbles rest in the tub. You try not to let the pang in your heart get to you, choosing to shower instead.

With Jin having kept you company, it’s Yoongi who’s manning the kitchen, running it like a military camp. 

Taking mercy on your exhausted body, Yoongi lets you sit on the couch, watching their antics from the comfort of the soft leather. 

“What the fuck are you doing with that grater, Namjoon?”

You grin at the bewildered look on Namjoon’s face as he looks up at his elder, holding a box grater with both hands as a potato wobbles on the bench beneath it. “You said to grate the potato,” the academic defends weakly.

“You- I-” Yoongi splutters, abandoning the pan he’s heating up to go snatch the metal contraption off Namjoon. “You rest it on the table like this, and then grate the potato against it. Please hurry; we need three big ones to go into the batter mix for the pancakes.”

To the left, both Jungkook and Taehyung are on drink duty, hovering over a sleek shiny machine on the countertop like apes discovering fire. 

“Woah, hyung, the water comes from there,” Jungkook gasps, poking at a canister behind the machine. “And then you put the pod in and it becomes coffee. Isn’t that magic?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, leaning in so his face is directly in front of the machine, where a steady stream of coffee fills a cup below. “But how did it get the coffee out of the pod? Does the machine open it?”

“Maybe it dissolves,” Jungkook muses, and the two coo at it, staring in wonder as the stream tapers off. 

“Let’s do another,” Taehyung cheers excitedly, the two boys jumping in unison when Yoongi calls out.

“You’ve made ten cups,” Yoongi snaps, wrist flicking gracefully as he flips a small potato-and-zucchini pancake in the pan. “There are only eight of us, and you don’t even know who likes to drink coffee.”

“I’ll drink them, Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook pouts, eyes wide like a doe.

“You’re one of the ones that doesn’t drink- Nevermind, fine, go ahead.” He turns back to his pan, slipping the pancake out onto a paper towel and pours more batter in. 

Amongst the chaos, almost blending into the stainless steel refrigerator with his steel grey sweater, Jimin watches a pot of ramen with a desolate expression. 

By the time Jin comes down and Hoseok returns from his stint in the confessional booth, the rest of you are at the table, fingers itching from the urge to dig in. They wash their hands quickly and join you at the table, allowing the food to be doled out onto plates and the conversation to flow again. 

Sitting between Jungkook and Jimin, you take a sip of your second cup of coffee, courtesy of the drinks crew. Since most of them had gone cold by the time the coffee-drinkers finished their first cup, Jimin had taken the initiative to add ice and some milk to one, enjoying it as a cafe au lait, and you’d all followed suit, enjoying a refreshing drink with a hot lunch. 

“How’s your week been going?” Jimin asks, and you’d be shocked at the small talk were it not for the intense look in his eyes. He’s feeling you out, appraising you just like yesterday with Taehyung.

You sit your drink back on its coaster, leaning back and letting your eyes wander over the other participants. “Eventful,” you say rhetorically, sending a grin over at him as his mouth twitches down, unimpressed. “Sorry, that’s a no-brainer. A lot of them so far have really surprised me.”

“Who?” he questions, and you can’t help but hold back a sigh. He frowns, surprised at your sullen reaction. 

“Listen, Jimin,” you say slowly, appreciating the bubbly chatter that keeps your conversation private, “I appreciate your dedication to this, but we don’t always have to talk sex and competition, you know? Can we have a genuine conversation? I really want to get to know you.”

His eyes drop, face falling. It’s the first sign of what’s behind the facade, and you want to see more. When he looks up again, he’s sporting a rueful smile and you marvel at how boyish his face looks, how innocent. “Sorry. Work-mode. I think I’m… I’m starting to realise that I maybe don’t have to be on all the time. At least, not around you guys.” His eye twinkles. “I’m sure I’ll slip up from time to time and go back into it. Feel free to tell me if I’m being an asshole.”

You mock-pout, letting out a whine. “Well, I can’t say it now, because you’re not being an asshole.”

“Save it for a rainy day, then,” he remarks coolly, and you’d think he was back in his persona again were it not for the grin still on his face.

“Looks like we’ll be getting one soon enough,” you muse. “Namjoon says it’s raining all weekend.”

Jimin laughs, and the sound is like the tinkling of wind-chimes, airy and melodic. “I’m sure Namjoon isn’t too happy about that.”

“No, he seemed pretty-” You cut yourself off, staring hard at Jimin. “Why do you say it like that? Is his prompt the pool or something?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Well, you better hurry up, then,” you quip, “because Yoongi just plead the fourth.”

Jimin’s mouth drops open. “Normally I’m the one making clever entendres. I’m impressed.”

“So was he.”

When Jimin laughs this time, it’s loud enough to catch the attention of the table, everyone’s conversation halts, six sets of wide eyes on the intimidating Park Jimin, cheeks plumped and eyes crinkled as he positively giggles, freezing once he notices the attention.

“Goodness,” Jin remarks, “four days in and you’ve already broken him. He’ll be a sub by Week Three.”

Like a switch had been pulled, Jimin straightens his spine, head tilting to the side so he can level a piercing stare at his elder. “If I were you, I wouldn’t assume you’d still be there to see it.”

The table goes quiet in shock, waiting for Jin’s reaction. He simply shrugs and laughs softly, unruffled by the peacock show. “If I get voted off I can easily watch from home, Jimin. Maybe send in a question for the confessional. I bet you’d miss me.”

Like he’s realised Jin isn’t going to attack him, Jimin relaxes, a hesitant smile gracing his lips. “I’m not sure about you, but I’d definitely miss your excellent cooking.”

Jin’s ears go pink with the praise but from the head of the table, Yoongi’s mouth drops open, chopsticks going slack in his grasp. “Hey, you little brat, I’m the one that made this lunch for you all. Aren’t you gonna miss me?”

“Oh, that’s because you won’t go home before Week 3,” Jimin answers without missing the beat, a sugar-sweet smile on his rosy lips.

Yoongi’s mouth moves, but he has nothing to grumble about. Jimin 1, Yoongi 0. “Of course, I won’t,” he huffs quietly, stuffing his face with a chunk of fried pancake. 

The conversation trickles back in, then, and Taehyung pulls you and Jimin into a discussion about a stray dog he’d seen wandering around, and as the eight of you sit around the table chatting long after your plates are empty, your chest feels lighter than ever.

TAGLIST

Due to problems tagging people in the main post, all the tags will be in the comments of the post. 

[glowingspence]

Extended Family

"What if Cat had Spencer's child and Spencer is left to take care of it? At least he has an old friend to help him.”

Chapter 2

Summary: Savannah and Derek take them back to their house.

Word count: 1854

Warnings: Self-harm

Ao3

Chapter 2:

"He seems to like driving in the car" Spencer assumes when his son falls asleep quickly after driving off. He sits next to him on the backseat, facing him and having one hand on his stomach. "Where will he sleep?"

"We still have the crip we used for Hank in our bedroom we never came around to put it away"

"I wanna sleep next to him."

"You can, pretty boy. You can sleep in our bed for the night and tomorrow we will rearrange stuff okay?" Derek offers and takes the next turn. "How long has he been with you?"

"This morning"

"And he drank the bottle?" Savannah questions.

"Yes, the nurses at the hospital taught me what to do and JJ was with me."

"That's good, where is Cat now?"

"Hospital and then back to prison."

"Did you see her?"

"Yes, she didn't even cry when they took him away from her." Spencer tells them. "She would have gotten sick of him pretty quickly."

"He has you so that won't happen."

"What do I do when he becomes like her?"

"That won't happen. I know you will make sure of it."

"What if he becomes like me?"

"That's a good thing don't you think?"

"No, I mean what if he is autistic to. And what if- what if schizophrenia passed onto him-"

"When he is autistic, he is lucky to be growing up with you. If someone would understand him then that's you." Savannah assures him. "And for the schizophrenia, you would know the signs and get him help but these are huge things to worry about for a one week old child, right now he seems perfectly healthy and everything else we will see."

There is silence for a few minutes. Morgan after some time recognizes what it's about. "Spencer, you won't become your father. You aren't capable. You won't hurt him on purpose I know that,kid."

"You don't know that"

"I know you, that's enough."

"He is smiling in his sleep" Spencer exclaims seconds later, flapping his hands in excitement. "Look he is smiling"

"My mom would now say that he is flirting with the angels." Savannah tells him. "Hank would do it all the time."

"You do too, pretty boy" Morgan adds. "You talk and you have strong facial expressions when you dream."

"Really?"

"Yes, sometimes I would wake up to you just bubbling in your sleep."

"You never told me that." Spencer states with a frown not taking his eyes off Theo. "I never said anything embarrassing right?"

"Of course not." There are actually a lot of moments that Morgan recalls to just have laughed at. "Maybe I should trade stories with Luke once in a while."

"No please don't make fun of me. We aren't there yet again." Hesitant Spencer touches Theo's face, let's his finger run over the tiny nose. "He is so small"

"Be aware you close your eyes once and you already feel like he grew again. Can't believe Hank can walk and talk already."

"Do you think he is going to be smart?" Spencer questions, not taking his eyes off him.

"Cat may be a bitch but she is smart as hell not even talking about your brain. I doubt that that didn't pass down on him." Morgan comments. "Besides, even if he isn't, he is gonna be one boy to fool with that father of his."

"I am gonna protect you" Spencer whispers. "Your mom isn't gonna get to you,you will always be safe"

"Come on in" Morgan opens the door to their cozy home. A light burning in the living room. "Mrs Sanchez watched Hank for the evening" He explains when the elderly woman walks into the hallway.

"Thank you again for doing this."

"Everything for that boy" She lives next to them, her grandchildren play with Hank when they are over and by now the Morgan's are invited to the family celebrations over there as well. "Oh look at that." Mrs Sanchez walks towards Spencer but he turns away facing the corner between door and wall and using himself as a protection for the kid.

Apologetic Savannah smiles at her when she takes a step back and Derek approaches Spencer putting one arm around him, making sure he isn't panicking. "It was a long night, I am sure he will love to introduce you two another day"

"Of course, call me if you need anything."

"We will, thank you again. We owe you a lovely dinner and some wine."

"I will come back to that." She responds with a wink and leaves through the door.

"Spencer, why don't you go upstairs with Derek and take a shower and I get Theo to his crip?" Savannah offers with a warm smile.

"No"

"You can trust her" Derek tries encouraging him and wipes his hair back behind his ear, it's greasy from the days he spent at the hospital, fearing that Cat is gonna hurt their child. "It's okay, give him to her. She is gonna make sure he feels safe okay?"

"No"

"Okay, we can show you how to do that? Is that okay? Can we get him to bed together?" Savannah offers.

"Yes"

"Then we need to go upstairs okay?" Concerned Derek looks at him, his whole body is shaking, his pale face isn't helping his imagine. He is pretty sure Spencer has done nothing to make sure he is okay himself over the last few days. He can't imagine the terror Spencer must have gone through while staying at the hospital, a place he hates with every cell of his body. "Do you want Savannah to carry him upstairs?"

"Please"

"Alright she is gonna take him from you."

"But give him back." Spencer pleads not letting go.

"Of course, we are just gonna get upstairs okay?"

"Yes" Sceptical he let's Savannah take him.

"Spencer I need to ask you this-" Derek starts and gently turns him towards him holding both of his arms. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I want to follow Savannah"

"We can, just give your attention to me for a moment because you don't look very healthy right now."

"I need to get to my baby"

"Spencer!" Derek calls out louder, making him flinch and finally look at him. "When was the last time you took your medication?"

"Don't take them anymore. Stopped a while ago."

"Is this discussed with your therapist?"

"Hate her, don't wanna go back there." Spencer starts rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Kid-"

"Don't wanna take them again."

"How long have you been of them?"

"Since prison." He admits and looks at the stairs waiting for Derek to allow him to follow his baby.

"I think they would help you right now. I think they would help a lot."

"I am not taking them again! And I am not going back to her she doesn't understand." Spencer steps back with force and starts hitting his head against the wall. "She doesn't understand. No one understands. No one understands. Only Garcia understands."

"What do we not understand?"

"Don't understand." He repeats and keeps on hitting his head while Morgan holds onto him. "Garcia understands."

"Okay do you want me to call Garcia?"

"No, Garcia understands."

"You mean your autism?"

"Dr Preece wanted to fix me. Don't wanna be fixed. Luke said she shouldn’t be a therapist. Luke said not to listen to everything she says. Don't wanna be fixed like that."

"I know, I am not fixing you I promise come on, you are safe. You are safe here, kid. We aren't doing anything with you you don't want. We are gonna keep you two safe. I promise you, it's okay." He wraps his arms around him, pulling him close and pushing his hand between his head and wall. "I've got you. I've got you, you are safe with me."

Spencer struggles for a moment longer until quiet barks ring through the room and Spencer stops dead I tracks. "We have a puppy" interested Spencer looks in the direction of the sound. “You wanna see her?”

"Puppy"

"Come with me. Her name is Patch"

"Does she bite?"

"No she doesn't." Morgan leads Spencer through their kitchen holding his hand and then steps into the dining room that is the closest room to the backyard and turns on the light. "She is in a cage. We can get her out if you want."

"We can get her out if you want"

"Alright" Derek crouches down next to the cage and opens it, while Spencer kneels down. "Come here sweetie we got a guest who likes to meet you."

"Come here." Hesitantly Spencer hits the floor with his palm. "Do you have any treats?"

"Sure"

"Can I have some to feed to her?"

"If course give me a second." He hears Theo crying when he walks into the kitchen to get them and just hopes Spencer doesn't. "There you go"

He hands Spencer the small bag with treats and crouches down behind him, steadying himself with one arm at Spencer's waist, feeling him flinch away first.

"Come here" Spencer holds the treat out and Peach slowly pats towards her. "Good girl."

"If it were up to Hank she would be fed all day with this"

"I always sneak in snacks for Roxy"

"Who is Roxy?"

"Roxy is Luke's dog. Sometimes he brings her in for office days and I can have her at my desk all day." He tells him while patting the puppy.

"That must be nice"

"It is" He watches Spencer lean down and cuddle his cheek against his fur and sighting comfortably and Derek wants to slap himself for not thinking about taking Clooney to the office back then. It's obvious that it seems like dogs have a calming effect on him. "She is very adorable."

"I love her too." Derek carefully pats her and is positive that Spencer at this point ignores the crying from Theo. If it's on purpose or not he can't tell. "What do you think about getting to bed? We can do everything else tomorrow okay? Slowly."

"With Peach?"

"We are gonna leave her downstairs but tomorrow she will walk around in the house the cage just for overnight and for when we aren't here until she is old enough."

"Alright" Spencer pats her one last time and then places her into the cage. "Sleep tight, I will see you tomorrow."

"Let's get you to bed too." He leads him upstairs and into their bedroom where Theo is laying in the crip, whines coming from him while Savannah tries comforting him and Spencer passes by them, sitting down on the bed his back turned towards him. "Alright, here is something you can change into okay?"

"Thank you" Tired he starts unbuttoning his shirt and slips into Morgan's shirt while he ignores the scratches over his chest and then changes into sweatpants before laying down on the bed letting Morgan tuck him in.

"Just sleep we are gonna take care of him."

"I never wanted him."

"I know we will figure this out."

[nowoyas]

As Long As You’re Here (I Will Live Like This)

A/N: day 14 of @birds-have-teeth​‘s Izumonth collab. little incoherent rn last editing pass probably missed something pls be nice to me. title references the song Twelve Feet Deep by The Front Bottoms.

Summary: Your boyfriend comes to your house one day bleeding profusely. You pick up the pieces and chat about the future. (vigilante!Izuku x reader)

Warnings: some blood/wounds, a non-explicit level of injury + the ensuing first aid

Word count: 2700+

Logically speaking, you know Izuku is up to something when he's not with you. He's accident prone beyond the limits of accident prone. You honestly can't recall the last time you saw him where you didn't notice a new bruise or cut on him. The bruises can be explained easily—he's told you before he takes martial arts classes, he's taught you plenty a thing about self-defense so that's easy to believe, but the cuts?

You have to wonder whether his martial arts classes involve disarming each other with real knives.

The first time you noticed how deep his propensity to injury really went, he had a poorly-bandaged cut over his eyebrow that, sure, scarred up prettily (you'd be lying if you said it didn't make him ten times hotter), but was deep enough that you know it should've gotten stitches, even if he insisted on having just your help in the matter.

That was somewhere in the realm of eighteen months ago.

Tonight, he comes to see you after one of his classes and promptly almost collapses in your doorway, which is infinitely less concerning in light of the fact that he's bleeding all over your fucking carpet. Honestly, at first you don't recognize him. He's got on a hoodie you've never seen him wear before, a cheap mask tied around his eyes, and you almost call the cops before you recognize the tufts of green hair poking out of his hood and then the hoodie itself.

"Holy shit, Izuku" leaves your mouth somewhat before your brain catches up to the fact that you're not just looking at your boyfriend of looking at the vigilante Jackrabbit that's been giving both cops and local pro heroes hell for ages, not to mention the villains. No one could ever seem to figure out his quirk, either, so they couldn't track down the vigilante via the quirk registry, which makes a hell of a lot of sense when compared with that fact that your boyfriend is quirkless.

"S-sorry," he coughs, flashing you a brilliant smile as you pull his hands away from his abdomen. "My base was a bit too far. Didn't mean for you to find out like this. C-can I ask you for some first aid?"

"Okay, okay, okay, just... come on, let me get you to my bathroom so you don't bleed on absolutely everything. Can you walk a bit further for me?"

He nods, biting his lip, and you loop his arm over your shoulder to support him on his way, kicking your door shut behind him.

"Take your hoodie and shirt off and hold this to the wound while I get ready," you order, sitting him down on your toilet and shoving a random towel at him. You rifle through your cabinets for your first aid kit, muttering mostly to yourself. "Honestly, you're lucky I've got a healing quirk and I love you."

"I love you too," he groans, shifting in his seat.

"Stop talking. We can talk about your 'martial arts classes' when I'm done saving your life."

He pointedly shuts his mouth, peeling his hoodie and shirt off in one go in a way that might be sexy if not for the way his blood is smeared across his side.

"What happened?" you ask quickly, kneeling in front of him and pressing the towel back against the wound.

He winces. "Thought you didn't want me talking, angel."

You roll your eyes. "Oh my god, can you stop joking around when you're literally bleeding all over my bathroom?"

"Sorry, sorry. I got, uh, I got shot." He admits this meekly, as if it's not something horrifically concerning. He's got one hand over his face the way he does when he's trying to hide his blush from you after you've teased him and he’s too embarrassed to look at you. 

"Shot," you repeat calmly, gingerly pulling the towel away and preparing to properly clean the wound. "So there's a bullet and-or shrapnel in here, and I can't go straight to disinfecting or using my quirk."

"Probably."

You release a heavy sigh, forcing yourself to stay as calm as possible. "Alright. This is probably going to hurt. I'm sorry I can't hold your hand while I do this, baby."

He nods, biting his lip as you set about cleaning out his wound. When everything's good and clean, you take a few deep breaths and focus your quirk, not letting up until you're sure the wound is completely closed. You're still gentle as you wipe the blood away, though whatever pain he's still in is probably nothing compared to the way he felt before. The spot where he'd been shot is completely healed over, the only signs that it ever happened being the slightest scarring.

When you're certain that he's not losing any more blood and that everything is okay, you finally release a proper breath, dropping your head forward to rest on his lap. "You did a good job," you breathe against his thigh. "You should–you should get cleaned up. Take a s-shower."

"Are you okay?" he asks, like he didn't get shot tonight. Like your adoring boyfriend hasn't been moonlighting as a vigilante for god only knows how long. Like he couldn't have died if you hadn't had a healing quirk, like he couldn't get arrested and go to jail like his life isn't in danger–

"I will be," you say clearly, except it's too fast and shaky and not clear at all.

"Hey. Love. Look at me?" His hand rests on your head, grounding you, and you shift to rest your chin on his leg. He frowns at the sight, tugging you up and leaning over so he can bring you into a hug. "I'm okay," he whispers. "You don't need to cry."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"I... [Name], I'm sorry. I never meant to keep this from you." He's slow, careful in his words and the way his hands attempt to soothe you. "There wasn't... When we first started out, I didn't know if I should, and then I wanted to, but it was never the right time, so I..."

You sniffle, desperately trying to rein in your tears. "Izuku, you could have died."

"I saved someone's life today, though. I-I can't say I regret it."

You pull away to look him in the eye. "Please be careful. I don't want people I love getting hurt."

He nods, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'll try."

You peck his nose, intertwining your fingers with his. "We need to wash the rest of the blood off you. How are you feeling? Dizzy?"

"No, I feel fine. Got a bit of a stomachache, though."

You roll your eyes. "Huh, I wonder what could have caused that. Strip and get in the bath, idiot."

He lets out a bark of laughter. "Will you join me?"

You pause. You were going to go soak his clothes to get the blood out and maybe order some Chinese, but... "Give me five minutes and I will. I'm going to make sure the blood comes out of your shirt and your hoodie first."

He mock-salutes as you stand, and you leave the room on unsteady feet, Izuku's top and jacket in hand.

You soak them in the kitchen sink, the red of the water making you cringe. That's Izuku's blood. Izuku. Your Izuku. You plug the sink, shut off the water, and return to where Izuku is splashing water over the spots of blood he can find.

He doesn't notice your return just yet. Carefully, you slip out of your clothes, kneeling next to the bath to dip a hand in the water and run it across his back soothingly.

His back muscles jump beneath your touch, his head turning just slightly to look at you. "Everything settled?"

"For now," you hum, eyes trained on his back and the various scars and bruises there. Panic bubbles in your chest at the sight–how many near death experiences has he had that he's been shaking off? "I was gonna order Chinese, but I don't wanna be away from you right now."

"Want me to spend the night?"

"Please," you answer too quickly. "I just... I'll worry if I can't see you." You stand, carefully slipping into the water with him to help him rinse away the blood.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, resting his lips there as he murmurs. "Guess I should just move in so I don't have to worry you, huh?"

"Guess you should," you retort. Your hands roam his body, partially under the pretense of helping him clean off what little blood remains, but mostly because you're searching. "It's a shame, too. Must be a real hassle for you." A bruise under his rib cage. You heal it right away.

Izuku smiles against you. "As if I could ever complain about waking up with you every morning."

"As if you will," you snort. "Move in with me so I can make you sleep on the couch for a week for scaring me like you did."

"Surely there's some other way I could apologize," he declares with a dramatic gasp, one hand clapping over his bare chest.

"Start by laying back and not moving around so much, you'll splash water everywhere and I already have to get your blood out of my carpet."

He reaches for a shampoo bottle as he complies. You lightly slap his hand away with a playful glare. "No, you just got shot. You're not doing anything. Let me take care of you, Izu honey."

"But [name]–"

You cut him off with a soft kiss, capping the shampoo and beginning to massage his scalp. Now that you're at this stage, you're sure he has no willpower left to object. You snuggle up against him, shampooing his hair one-handed as you rest your head on his chest.

"I was serious, you know."

"About?" he borderline purrs, pressing his head into your touch.

"A lot of things, but mostly the scaring the shit out of me and the moving in with me parts. You don't have to, but I'd feel a lot better if you at least came back here after any patrols you do or fights you get into so I can heal you up."

"Won't that tire you out?" he protests. Everything sounds weaker when you're playing with his hair, but he does have a solid point.

"Using my quirk a lot will make me tired, but I get better rest when I'm sleeping in your arms anyway. More importantly, if I can keep you alive and well, I want to do it."

"I'm surprised you haven't said anything about me stopping the whole vigilante thing yet."

Your fingers still in his hair. Sure, you'd love it if he stopped. Nothing makes you feel worse than the thought that Izuku could be risking his life, but... "As much as I love you and want you to be safe, I want you to be happy, too," you admit. "If... If being Jackrabbit and giving all the local heroes and villains hell makes you happy, then I want to support that. Even if I'm really scared for you."

"Oh my god, marry me," he breathes, so fast and so faint you scarcely catch it.

"I'll marry you, but only if you buy me steak first," you hum. 

"Deal. A steak dinner, and a ring. I'll try to swing that."

"You better, idiot. I want to spend my life with you."

It's his turn to go still now, freezing as you tactically drip water on his head to rinse his hair. "I-if you're serious, then..."

Cheeks heat up in tandem. "Of course I'm serious. I love you. I never want to lose you. The days I wake up with you are the best days of my life. I'd adore being married to you."

Strong arms wrap around you and pull you tight. "I-I don't really think I'm good enough to marry you just yet," he says. Firm kisses pepper the top of your head, mixed with a few hot tears, before he continues. "But someday, when I can... When I can be confident enough to not worry you, I swear we'll get married, if you'll still have me then."

You frown. "Izuku baby, it'll be a cold day in hell before I stop worrying about your cute, reckless ass."

"Hell freezes over every year, actually. It's a little town in the United States. Gets ice a lot."

"You would know that, nerd."

"I thought I was an idiot?" 

"You can be both," you say with a pout. He chuckles and plants a few more kisses on top of your head.

The water is lukewarm when you both decide to get out of the bath. Standing before Izuku, you grab the fluffy towel before he can and begin patting him dry, pressing soft kisses against every scar and bruise that litters his skin. Soon, you move to kissing his freckles, too, and before long, you're kissing him indiscriminately as he laughs and tries to towel you off.

You're maybe halfway through kissing every inch of him when he uses the towel to pull you up and meet his lips. His arms are back around you in an instant. "I love you," he huffs. "I love you so much."

"Mm, love you more."

"No," he pouts. "You don't get to make that decision."

"What are you gonna do, stop me?" You punctuate your sentence with another quick peck to his lips, attempting to wriggle out of his vice grip. "Lemme go, cutie, I've gotta order dinner."

"Not until you admit that I love you more."

"Noooo," you protest, “I can’t make myself lie to youuu.”

Several loud knocks sound from your front door, causing both you and Izuku to freeze up. You glance at him with a worried look. "You wait in here, just in case."

"One moment, please!" you shout, scurrying into your bathroom. You quickly yank yourself into a pair of Izuku's sweatpants and a loose top, not bothering with underwear for the time being. Your worst fears are confirmed when you open your front door to find a pair of cops standing on your doorstep.

"Oh! Good evening, officers." You're suddenly very glad for your acting classes when you were still in school. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"We've received reports of the vigilante Jackrabbit being spotted running around this apartment complex," the taller man answers, producing a picture of your boyfriend from above, his face obscured by his hood. "We're asking if you know anything about his whereabouts."

You frown, putting on your best worried expression. "Isn't that dangerous? I can't say I know anything about it, though, officer."

The shorter man peers at your floor, then back to you with a worried look. "Do you mind telling us why your carpet's covered in blood?"

Oh shit. "Oh, that?" Your face goes blank as you try to think of an explanation. "Nothing serious, no need to worry. I cut myself super badly while playing with a pocketknife earlier, but I've got a healing quirk, so it's not an issue! I was more interested in cleaning the wound and getting into not-bloody clothes, so I haven't gotten around to dealing with my carpet yet!"

"Well, glad to hear you're alright, then. Be safe, and be more careful with knives goin' forward."

You nod, forcing a grateful smile. "Right! Thank you, officers. Sorry I couldn't be of any real help."

"You know, I hear that Coca-Cola's great for gettin' out bloodstains. Might help with your carpet, there."

"Oh! Great! I'll look into that."

"Give the station a call if you find any information about that vigilante, alright?"

You nod enthusiastically. "Of course! Anything to keep the peace. You both have yourselves a lovely evening while I try to get all this blood out of my carpet."

You wave the officers a good night, and slowly close your door, listening as their footsteps trail away to the next door in your building. 

You find Izuku standing nervously in your bedroom, anxious eyes searching your face as if he didn't listen in to the whole conversation. Slowly, you press the top of your head to his chest. "We need to set some ground rules for your Jackrabbit hoodie if you're gonna live here."

He nods. "Talk about it over Chinese food? I ordered while you spoke with the cops."

"Yeah. We'll talk about it over dinner."

Tags: @tooloudarts​ @sapid-rose​ @xxangelpridexx​ @birds-have-teeth​ @icythotsenpai​ @warmchoccymilk​ @wesparklebitch​ @izoodles​ @fujimoribaby​ @my-bnha-things​ @denise-the-death-goddess​ @themerpenguin​ @sincerebubbles​ @themmmelissa @fudobaby​

[waitimcomingtoo]

So Quiet Here

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter Parker has fallen out of love

A/n: this is like a mix of Already Gone, Missing You, Stone Cold, and So Cold and those are all great songs you should listen too

Masterlist

He didn’t know when it happened, but it did.

You didn’t excite Peter the way you used too. He stopped looking for more ways to see you and started making excuses to get out of seeing you. He was a college graduate now and wanted to see more of the world than just Queens. And even though he didn’t want to admit it, he wanted to see other people. He started dating you senior year of high school. After five years, the magic was gone. What he uses to find endearing about you, he now found irritating. He sat outside your apartment for ten minutes, dragging out the time until he had to see you. He hadn’t seen you in nearly two months after an emergency mission with the Avengers. You’d think he’d be jumping at the chance to see you again. Instead, he was dreading having to go into your apartment and play the part of a happy boyfriend. But he knew he had to, so he did.

~

“You changed your lock screen.” You commented when Peters phone lit up with a text. Where a photo of you and Peter used to be was now a picture you’d never seen before of Peter, Ned, and Flash with their arms around each other.

“Oh, yeah.” Peter looked at the screen as if for the first time. “It’s just me and the boys from last month.”

“Where was this?” You asked upon hearing the time frame.

“Some club a few minutes from here.” Peter shrugged as he began to text someone.

“From here?” You asked for clarification.

“Yeah.” Peter said, growing annoyed with you.

“You were here?” You finally asked and Peter froze. He had told you he was on a mission last month with the rest of the Avengers. It was partly true. He had been in a mission, for the first week at least. The mission ended earlier than he thought so he stayed at the Avengers tower for the remainder of the time.

“I-“ Peter tried to think of a way out of his lie.

“And you didn’t tell me?” You asked, the hurt evident in your tone.

“It must’ve slipped my mind.” Peter said lamely. He looked at you to gage your reaction, and you were already looking at him. You had a funny look on your face that Peter had never seen before, and it sent a chill down his spine.

“I’m not really sure how that fact that you have a girlfriend can slip your mind.” You said quietly. You weren’t reproachful, just speaking honestly.

“I forget things easily. I got a lot on my mind.” Peter defended himself.

“But not me.” You shrugged sadly with a half amused laugh. “I’m not on your mind.”

Peter stopped texting but continued to stare at his phone. An awkward silence filled the room and Peter found himself feeling uncomfortable.

“Do you love me?” You asked after a beat of silence.

“What?” Peter laughed nervously.

“Do you love me?” You repeated as you toyed with the strings of your hoodie.

“Yes.” Peter said with brief hesitation.

“Are you in love with me?” You looked up at him. Your expression told him you were not to be played with.

“Y/n-“ He began to formulate an excuse.

“Just tell me.” You sighed in defeat.

“I don’t know.” Peter said honestly.

“If you don’t know, then I would say you aren’t.” You pointed out.

“I’m sorry.” Peter offered weakly.

“That apology would’ve been a lot more effective two months ago when you first fell out of love with me.” You said passively as you looked away.

“That’s not true.” Peter was annoyed again.

“Peter. Don’t lie to me. Not now.” You looked at him with a stone cold expression that made him shrink into his seat.

“How did you even know that?” He asked curiously.

“How could I not?” You asked him right back. “You stopped coming home, stopped holding me at night, stopped kissing me. I’m not dumb, Peter. I was dumb enough to let it go on as long as I did, but not dumb enough to not realize what was happening.”

“Even I didn’t know what was happening.” He bartered.

“You fell out of love.” You told him simply. “It happens, even when you think it can’t. Even when you think it could never. It still happens.”

“I guess we’re proof of that, huh?” He looked down at his fingers, feeling ashamed all of the sudden.

“You used to lie so close to me.” You whispered as you stared off into the distance with tear filled eyes. “And one day you just…stopped.”

“I loved you so much.” Peter promised you, the guilt flooding his body out of nowhere.

“And now?” You wondered.

“I still love you.” He confirmed.

“Just not the way I love you.” You said it as a statement, not a question.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry, angel.” Peter began to get emotional. He wanted to relationship to end for a while, but now that it was, it was hurting him.

“You can’t call me that anymore, Peter.” You set something ground rules. “And I don’t want your apologies. We can’t help what we don’t feel.”

“I wish I still felt it.” He told you.

“I wish I cared.” You replied without looking his way.

“Don’t be cold.” He said when he heard your response.

“You’re asking me not to be cold when you’ve been freezing?” You let out a short laugh that turned into a deep frown.

“I didn’t do this on purpose, okay? I never see you. It’s hard to be in love with someone you never see.” Peter put his defense back up.

“It can’t be that hard because I’m still plenty in love with you.” You shot back. Peter knew you were right and swallowed thickly.

“What do you want me to say? Tell me, and I’ll say it.” He pleaded.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you what to say! You should know!” You raised your voice at him.

“Well I don’t! I wish I had answers for you but I don’t. I don’t love you. I just don’t.” He said as a tear rolled down his cheek. “I used to feel a fire inside me when I looked at you and it’s burned out. I keep trying to remember everything I love about you and ignite it but I can’t. It won’t light up. It’s just logs now.“

“So that’s why you’ve been so cold to me? Your fire is out?” You sassed him and he calmed down.

“Our fire.” He corrected.

“I see.” You nodded curtly.

“Can we still be friends?” Peter asked after a moment.

“Not for a while.” You said honestly. “Maybe not ever.”

“Why?” Peter furrowed his brows. He didn’t want to be your boyfriend, but he still wanted to be in your life.

“Peter, as much as I know this isn’t your fault,” you sighed, “I will always hate you for it.”

“Hate me?” He sat up a little out of fear. He never wanted you to hate him.

“If the roles were reversed, you’d hate me too. Trust me.” You said in such a sad way that Peters heart broke all over again.

“I guess I’ll take your word for it, then.” Peter said, but knowing what else to say.

“Was it me? Is this my fault?” You asked abruptly.

“No, darling- ah, Y/n.” He sighed as he corrected himself. “It’s not your fault. You were perfect. You couldn’t have loved me better.”

“Then is there someone else?” You looked for a reason, any reason you could get.

“There were times when I wished for someone else, but I never cheated. I’d never do that.” Peter told you.

“You’d just break my heart.” You reminded him.

“Y/n.” He said sternly when you stopped being civil.

“Peter.” You said in the same tone to mock him. “I’m allowed to be dramatic, cause I’m not the one hurting you, am I?” You said sarcastically and wiped your nose. “You’re acting like you’re just telling me now that you’re leaving. You’re not. You left a long time ago. This is just the first time you’re admitting it to yourself.”

“That’s not true.” He tried to defend.

“Sure it is.” You snapped.

“Y/n-“ He tried again.

“I think you should go.” You cut him off, already having made up your mind.

“I don’t want to leave you like this.” He suddenly wanted to stay.

“Yeah, and I wanted to marry you.” You looked him dead in the eyes and let it sink in. “We don’t always get what we want.”

Peter got up and went to the door before you could see his tears falling. He looked at you one last time before he left.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out.

“Just shut up.” You whispered and he walked out your door.

~

A year later, you caught Peters eye at a party at Flash’s house. Your hair was shorter, a little lighter. You were practically glowing as you talked to some girls Peter didn’t recognize. It was a sharp contrast from the night he last saw you, broken and glazed over with tears. The girl he was looking at now wasn’t broken. She looked even better than she did when he was dating her. The sight of you made Peters heart pound a little harder than normal. He felt a certain sadness at how fine you seemed. Peter walked up to you without thinking it through and you noticed him. You waved goodbye to the other girls and took a sip of your drink, swallowing before giving him a small smile.

“Hey.” Peter said brightly.

“Hi.” You took another sip.

“You look amazing.” Peter looked at your outfit, a dress he’d never seen before that for you nicely.

“Thanks.�� You nodded and looked to the side. Peter pursed his lips as he realized he’d have to carry the conversation.

“I didn’t know you and Flash were still friends.” He tried to make small talk. The thought of making small talk with the girl he used to wake up next to blew his mind, but he did it anyway.

“Yeah, we kept in touch. He’s in New York a lot so…” You shrugged and took another sip of your drink.

“Right.” Peter said awkwardly. “Um, how you been?”

“Really good, actually.” You finally smiled. “And you?”

“Hanging in there.” He answered honestly. The year without you hadn’t been easy. He never knew how integrated you were in his life until you stopped being a part of it. There were times he’d look over at you to see if you were feeling what he was, and you just weren’t there.

“Cool, cool.” You nodded.

“Your hair is different.” Peter looked for anything he could talk about to lengthen the conversation.

“I cut it.” You told him as you brushed a strand behind your ear.

“It looks nice.” He complimented. “Really nice.”

“Thanks.” You went back to one word answers.

“So uh-“ Peter tacked his brain for something to say.

“There you are.” A sandy haired boy came up behind you and put his arm around your waist. Peter clocked the action, also clocking your change in body language as you smiled at the boy and leaned into his touch.

“Hi, Eds.” You rested your arm on his back as he beamed at you.

“Hi, beautiful.” He said to you before looking at Peter. “Who’s this?”

“This is Peter.” You told the boy and his face fell as he reassessed Peter. Peter stood their awkwardly as the boy looked at him.

“Peter?” The boy asked, as if to confirm.

“Mm hm.” You said through tight lips.

“Nice to meet you.” Peter held out his hand and was met with a firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Eddie, Y/n’s boyfriend.” Eddie grinned and Peter felt his heart stop.

“Oh?” He squeaked.

“Yeah. She didn’t tell you?” Eddie tilted his head.

“Peter and I don’t talk anymore.” You told Eddie. Every word of the interaction was a blow to Peter.

“Yeah, I’m really busy with work.” Peter tried to make up an excuse for why you didn’t talk.

“That, and I don’t message you.” You laughed shortly, and Eddie laughed back. Peter let out an awkward chuckle.

“Haha, yeah.” He agreed, suddenly feeling like he wanted to cry.

“Well Harry said something about boofing and I’m a little too scared to google what it means, so I’m gonna stop him before I find out.” Eddie said before kissing your cheek, to which Peter quickly looked away from. “Nice talking to you, Peter.”

“You too.” Peter nodded.

“See you soon, babe.” You said as Eddie walked away. As soon as he left, the awkward silence returned.

“Can we talk?” Peter asked as he scratched his ear.

“We are talking.” You said and Peter was beginning to see how much you wished you weren’t.

“Somewhere private, I mean.” He requested. You blew out a breath and reluctantly nodded.

“Fine.” You agreed with a tight smile and followed him into the hallway.

“I see you found your other half.” Peter tried to make a joke but it came out as more of a sad realization.

“Eddie isn’t my other half. I don’t need anyone to complete me. I was born whole.” You told Peter and he smiled a little. Maybe he didn’t get to love you, but at least you were loving you.

“You used to tell me I completed you.” He remembered with a sad smile.

“I thought you did, but you didn’t. You just added to me. I was always complete, I just didn’t know it.” You said proudly, something Peter admired.

“That’s…amazing.” Peter told you honestly. “You complete me, though. I wasn’t born whole. I was meant to be with someone.”

“You mean completed. I completed you.” You corrected him when he didn’t use past tense.

“You know, it’s funny.” Peter shook his head to disagree with you. “I broke up with you because I thought I wanted to see other people. I thought I could find someone else that ignited that fire inside me. But in reality, I have not been with a single girl since the day I left you because no one in this world compares to you. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and it’s made me realize something.”

“Realize what?” You leaned against the wall and gazed at him.

“You weren’t the fire inside me. You were the whole campground.” He professed. You smiled a little before looking down at your shoes.

“It’s a little late to realize that.” You told him. You appreciated his words, but you needed to hear them a long time ago.

“I know. But better late than never, right?” He tried to laugh.

“I don’t know.” You sighed.

“Y/n, I only came to this party because I knew you’d be here. I needed to see you. This whole year has been one miserable day after the other. I can’t miss you anymore. I don’t want too.” Peter stepped closer to you and your breath hitched.

“You should’ve thought of that before.” You stayed strong, no matter how much you missed him back.

“You’re absolutely right. I was stupid and I didn’t realize how good I had it, but now I do. I love you, Y/n. You and I not being together does not make sense to me.” He put a finger under your chin and made you look at him. “I promise, I can do better than before. I can be better. I’ll put you first. I’ll make you my wife, even.” He said desperately. “Anything you want. Just please, take me back. I will be the boyfriend you deserve if you just give me a second chance.”

“What am I supposed to tell Eddie? ‘Sorry, I know you’ve been nothing but good to me for the past 6 months, but my ex who broke my heart said he wanted me back. Oh, don’t worry. He’s not gonna break my heart again. How do I know? Because he said so.’ Is that good, Peter? Does that sound reasonable?” You asked, moving your face out if his touch.

“How into this guy could you possibly be?” Peter said, dripping with jealousy.

“Into him enough to walk away from this conversation.” You pushed past Peter and walked back towards the party.

“Y/n. Wait.” He called after you.

“What Peter?” You said in exhaustion.

“That’s it? We’re over for good?” He feared.

“Are you surprised? You’re the one who ended it.” You reminded him.

“But I made a mistake.” He pleaded.

“Yeah, you did.” You agreed. “Now learn from it and do better for the next girl.”

“I don’t want a “next” girl. I just want you.” He cried.

“You had me. And then you lost me. If you regret that, that’s on you.” You shot back.

“I didn’t know how much I needed you.” Peter said.

“Did you expect me to wait around until you figured it out?” You laughed sharply.

“No, I just always thought you’d be there.” Peter frowned.

“And that’s exactly how you lost me.” You told him.

“Please don’t walk away.” He called again.

“I have to find my boyfriend.” You disappeared behind a wall.

“I-“ Peter tried to say something more, but you were already gone. He turned around and began to walk down the hall, rushing to get to a bathroom before anyone saw him cry.

“Hey, Parker.” Your voice came from behind him and he turned around in a flash.

“You really want me back?” You asked him and a fire started in his heart.

“With all my heart.” He said confidently.

“Then you gotta fight for me.” You sized him up and he smiled a little. You smirked and walked away again.

“There’s something you should know.” He called after you before you were fully out of view.

“What’s that?” You cocked your hip.

“I fight a lot of bad guys.” Peter quipped.

“Uh huh.” You waited for him to get to the point. “And?”

“I always win.” He winked.

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona​ @foreverxholland​ @writing-for-hours-on-end​ @lavender-writer​ @captainmandeestudent17​ @whatareyouhidingpeter​ @takenbyheartstrings​ @ultrunning​ @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ @theolwebshooter​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @guksmyfav​ @waiting-to-be-myself​ @letsloveimagines​ @peterparkoure​ @a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @justcallmehitgirl​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @jackiehollanderr​ @tiny-friggin-human​ @celestial-skylines​ @loveat2am​ @mara-twins​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @delicately-important-trash​ @spideygirl2003​ @the-crazy-fanfictionist​ @maryjanee23​ @spacebitch2​ @queenhollander​ @geeksareunique​ @emmamarshmellow​ @jillanaholland​ @unbelievableholland​ @rebekkah4766​ @flixndchill​ @sovereignparker​ @wendaiii​ @thisisthebiplace​ @spideydobrik​ @every-marveler-ever​

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

The Death of a Playboy

Summary: Based on that early concept of Mammon being a ladies man.

You both knew that the sex meant nothing beyond scratching an itch. The heat of his hands on your waist, the warmth your lingering kiss on his cheek, the smiles he gives you on the morning, your sweet good byes at every phone call.

It was all part of a game both of you played.

Tags: Fuck Buddies, Friends with Benefits, No Strings Attached Sex UNTIL BOTH OF YOU CAUGHT FEELINGS, OPEN HAPPY ENDING, implied Simeon x Reader, Diavolo x Reader sex.

A/N: I'M SO GLAD THAT EARLY CONCEPT REMAINED A CONCEPT BECAUSE ALL OF US MAMMON STANS WOULD BE READING DIFFERENT KINDS OF FICS, I KNOW HOW FANDOM WORKS AND WE ALL WANT THAT SORT OF ANGST so im here to deliver.

Wrote this with EXO's Playboy on repeat.

--

From the moment you heard his voice on the phone, you knew he was dangerous. The sort of danger that could leave your heart broken into pieces if you weren't careful. And you were right, Mammon was a dangerous sort of beauty.

Someone meant to be admired from a far. A safe distance. His words and countenance was alluring and had you been naive you would have believed him so easily. Such a friendly demon, your Mammon.

But he wasn't yours beyond the pact, beyond The Unspoken Agreement, beyond the doors of the House of Lamentation. He was a stray cat that was loved by everyone but loved no one. He came and went as he pleased.

Collecting hearts that meant nothing beyond feeding his greed.

And you had no desire to be part of his collection. You had your pride, and you were used to the emptiness of playing this game. So even as you leave his room, with your lipstick stains on his white sheets, and a kiss good bye on his smile...it all meant nothing to you.

Because at the end of the day, you didn't mean anything to Mammon either.

--

From the moment Mammon had seen you, he had put his guard up. He knew, in the same way he used to know things as an Angel, that you would be the death of him.

A human, with stormy eyes that made his tar-filled heart beat faster. You were dangerous, in the same sort of way Celestial Weapons were dangerous. Beautiful, bright, and deceptively harmless. Mammon had grown used to the empty flattering and praises of demons, he was used to hearing words of love uttered without a care.

He had learned his lesson.

Love was not for demons and humans were just the same. Even if he hadn't interacted with any for a long time now. So he treated you in the same way he treated everyone else, a charming smile here and there, a playful wink at times, voice soft and just so inviting that even Asmo would be fooled occasionally.

And then there was the whole mess with Levi, and he didn't appreciate his younger brother muddying the waters of your relationship with him. Fuck Buddies or not, you were his pact master.

And Levi had no claim on you. One thing led to another and before he knew it, the loneliness of his days were gone. He used to not care if you left or stayed after a whole night of sex but then somewhere between Levi and then Beel breaking your room, he'd started having you sleep next to him.

He made you stay longer and longer until you naturally began sleeping next to him only to leave in the morning. The morning kisses stopped being a way to say good bye and became a prelude to another round of sex or a make out. His hands lingered on your waist because he wanted to, not because he was driving Levi away.

He had slowly stopped hanging out with his other 'friends' and 'lovers' in favor of you. And Mammon's worst fear had happened.

You were already living in his heart.

And yet both of you were still playing a game he wanted out. But he was to weak to let you go, not when you'd smile at him in the corridor as if sharing a secret with him. Not when you'd play with his hair as he laid on your chest or the way your voice would say his name with a fond tone you've only ever used on him.

Mammon thought how laughable it was that Lucifer had warned you of him but no one ever thought to place a warning label on you. Mammon knew he wasn't the only demon you were fucking.

That beyond the walls of the House of Lamentation, beyond the pact that you formed with him...you had no shortage of partners and not even Simeon had been safe from your charms.

And as he watched the empty space beside him, he wondered whose bed you were staying at tonight.

--

'Diavolo' you decided as he fucked you hard into the mattress, 'is an excellent lover.'

You were grasping his black sheets as he repeatedly hit your g-spot, his thrusts wonderfully timed to bring you just on the edge of cumming before he slows down and starts playing with the rest of your sensitive body. You couldn't remember which round this one was with the way his kiss leaves your brain into a puddle of sensations as his dick languidly fucked you.

"Diavolo..." You moaned helplessly as you clenched if only to make his dick stay and properly make you come.

He smirks at you, and in the dim and sensual red lights of his room, he looked utterly delectable. Intoxicating. A man who knew exactly what he wanted and cocky.

"Needy aren't we?"

"It's because you fuck me good, your highness" You teased him with cocky grin and lick of your lips.

You get rewarded with a sharp thrust and almost came.

"You quite a mouth on you" He said as if he hadn't known that from the moment you had casually enraged Lucifer with your arrangement with Mammon.

And you laugh softly amidst the fucking, enjoying the slow and almost lazy way Diavolo was fucking you. You smile at him,

"How long do you plan to keep me on your bed, your highness?" You asked as you wrapped your legs on his waist and Diavolo smirks at you, all sharp teeth and answered,

"Until morning."

You reached out for him and Diavolo lets himself be held by you as he brings you to a new high. Diavolo was the perfect lover who knew how to give and take, and you let yourself to drown in his sweetness.

You moan his name unabashed. You cling hard to him, nails scraping his back, when he fucks you hard and makes you cum at the same time as him. You don't let yourself think of another demon with tanned skin, of white sheets that you've started to sleep in more than your own bed.

And when morning arrives, you don't kiss Diavolo to wake him up. Instead you take his morning erection in your mouth and start sucking until his eyes open and he gives you a lazy smile.

"Insatiable human" He called you as he petted your hair.

And then very suddenly grips it tight just right that makes you moan. Diavolo had seen your body illuminated by the moonlight but he appreciates the way it looked as you rode his dick and chased after your own orgasm.

"You truly are a sight to behold."

You say nothing to that but instead glanced at your mother's painting of you displayed in the center of his wall.

Diavolo comes inside you at the same time as you do. He praises you for a job well done as he fondles your chest and admires the hickeys he left on your neck.

"Let me send you back, Darling."

And as you enter the House of Lamentation, you ignore the looks they give you. Particularly Lucifer's and Mammon's, you don't look at anyone as you moved past them to head to the stairs that was nearest to your room.

You didn't see the tight clench of Mammon's hands or the glare he gave Diavolo.

--

Lucifer calls you to his office the next morning. Collects you from your room that you rarely slept in since sleeping around with demons that caught your fancy. You only bother to wear the white fur jacket left on your table on top of your sleepwear, and then head out to Lucifer's office.

You sat on the sofa across his, still sleepy and uncaring of whatever lecture he has prepared. And lecture you, he does.

"I hadn't said anything about your activities with demons and even those from purgatory hall," he says sharply "but I draw the line with you fucking Diavolo."

You laugh to his face and made yourself comfortable on his sofa.

"Bold of you to assume that Diavolo wasn't the one fucking me."

He glared at you which only served to make you laugh harder.

"He is the future ruler of Devildom."

"And I have no interest with being Queen" you decided to get it out in the open, "Lucifer, its all just fun and games between me and my bed partners."

"Perhaps..." Lucifer acquiesces and both of you ease up, you smile at him fondly and Lucifer looked away.

It had taken time and a couple of threats from both of you to each other before the two of you had found this equilibrium. Where Lucifer would lecture and you'd listen for a while before dragging things out in the open.

"You do have to be careful," He warned you "Mammon can only do so much."

He sits beside your feet and puts in on his lap. The easy intimacy between friends had always been your comfort but Levi's envy and twisted love had sort of ruined that. And though Mammon was indeed your friend the lined had been blurred between you two and you hadn't allowed yourself of that.

And so to Lucifer it went. An unlikely friend who could match your moments of brilliance and could follow your flights of fancy easily. The lovely intimacy between friends who understood each other in the most naked way.

Lucifer knew your hang ups and fears, and you knew the secrets and pains he kept.

"I'll be careful" You promised him.

He smiles at you softly and the two of you just simply existed in that moment. Enjoying the rare moment of peace.

--

Mammon waited for you to come out of Lucifer's office, he stood at the side of the door. Leaning casually on the wall as he strained his ear to eavesdrop he could hear your muffled laughter until it tapered off into silence. He closed his eyes and wondered if there was any way to stop this game.

He wanted you all to himself, wanted to be the one you came home to at the end of the day. He wanted the things beyond the pact, beyond the doors of the House of Lamentation. The sex was no longer just what he wanted from you.

And Mammon knew, as you stepped out of the room and met his eyes, that you probably wanted the same.

"I missed you, Master~❤" he greeted you sweetly, arms already wrapped around you and whisking you away.

Mammon kept his feral smile. And he could hear your heart speed up and the smell of your arousal.

"Master, let's spend time together all day long~"

He feels your arm wrapped against his and he accepts your kisses as he pinned you against his bedroom door. Cold metal against your skin as his hands deftly undressed you in the privacy of his room. He plays with your nipples as he kissed you deeply.

'This isn't love' Mammon thought as he carried you in his arms.

'This isn't love but it could be.'

And that was the thought that scared him the most. Demons don't love the way humans and angels do. And Mammon already knew what form his love would take.

Greedy and selfish. He wouldn't care about anyone else but you, repercussions and consequences wouldn't matter to him once you were involved. And he didn't want that.

That kind of love he knew you'd abhor.

"Mammon?"

He sinks into your warm embrace and whatever passion between you two was now gone.

"What's wrong?" You asked him so carefully.

And Mammon could almost let himself believe that you love him. Instead of letting himself sink into a new type of loneliness he just clutches you tighter and wishes fervently that you'd never leave him anymore.

You stare at him and his shaking frame. You wouldn't mind if anyone else would be the collateral but Mammon had been different. He wasn't in the same category as your bed partners that you'd leave without good bye or an easy meaningless smile.

Being with Mammon felt like staring at a mirror that revealed all of your flaws. Your greedy and ambitious self that wanted without giving. He had easily and cleverly went through your defenses without your notice. Mammon had made you care for him in the same way, the little prince cared for the fox and his rose.

You began to care for him like he was the stray cat that began living in your home after feeding it for few days. He had carved a space in between the broken pieces of your heart and remade you anew. And so, in the same sort of destructive way you always went, you clung into the routine of sleeping around.

Pretending that you weren't comparing each bed partner to Mammon. Pretending as if you weren't sleeping with him most of the time. You liked to believe that you never played favorites among your low and mid level demons, that Mammon got away with alot of things when compared to the trouble Asmo, Beel, and Levi would bring. You were careful to ensure that no one would look twice at the fact that Mammon was the only high level demon you had on your pacts.

You gave him power over your other pacts and gave him power over you. You hide your wry smile and, hope, as you lull him to restful sleep that he doesn't realize how far you'd fallen.

You still had your pride after all.

--

What breaks isn't Lucifer's trust on you nor your pride but the bond between you and Mammon. And losing him, the very feeling of a pact breaking hurt you more than anything else.

You had your pride and you've won your gambit but as you see Mammon walk away from you his composure in tact, it felt like you've won nothing at all. And whatever joy you had on having Diavolo's pact mark on you had long since faded.

Even so, you don't let yourself break or cry or show any negative emotion. You keep your smile plastered and iron out the details for Belphie's clemency. There were so many things to be done and your greed and ambition had yet to be fully satiated.

And as his accusations and hateful glare rang inside your mind, you reminded yourself that you would never beg anyone to remain.

Mammon fucks his heartbreak away through half of the entirety of devildom. And the occasional witch that would willingly offer themselves to him. He doesn't let himself feel the pain of your betrayal and broken promises.

You were living your best life and he wasn't part of it. He was a fool to think you'd be different. That he would always be the only one, he should have known when you let Diavolo bring you back that things were changing.

He couldn't keep you because you never stayed unless he asked.

He relearns how he was before you came, resharpens the edges you blunted and flirts more than ever, and leaves hearts broken more than Asmo. He doesn't bring anyone home because even at his worst, the thought of hurting you directly or indirectly was something the couldn't do.

He loved you to the point of losing himself.

--

In chess, Promotion by rule meant that the moment a pawn reaches the 8th rank it would be replaced by a player's choice of Rook, Bishop, Knight or a Queen of the same color. Imagine this then:

Two players. God plays White and Diavolo plays Black. God plays the King's Gambit as his opening move and Diavolo declines it. Changing the game in his favor but still loses.

A new player arrives and plays Black. The game continues from where it left off. A losing game but a miracle occurs. Somehow the new player manages to do a Promotion.

A pawn is turned into a Queen.

Black wins. It was nothing short of a miracle but the win came with the cost of sacrificing the promoted Queen.

It wasn't the way you wanted to win. But you were desperate. Even so, that greedy part of you never wanted to lose Mammon.

But the empty space where his pact used to be is a stark reminder of what you had done. You wondered if there was still a chance to change things for a better.

You hear Diavolo call for you and you go to him and you begin pretending again.

'Maybe this time I can actually believe you meant nothing to me...'

Like always, you don't notice the way Mammon looks at you.

-

This is how you surrender:

At a party held in your honor.In the dark empty underground gallery of the castle, Mammon has you pinned against the cold brick wall and you're desperately kissing him back. His grip on you tight and the desperate, you grind against him for the friction and heat you crave. In the dark you could pretend that this was one of your games.

Heated kisses in hidden places. Risking the chance to be caught if only to bring out in the open what shouldn't. You had always known that Mammon was beautiful and it wasn't just his physical appearance. It was his genuine care for you, the intimacy that went beyond the platonic and the romantic. It was him seeing you at your absolute worst and loving you still.

It was the way he held you right now. Tight but still incredibly careful, always thinking about your inherent human fragility. It was in his kisses that stole your breath away, the ardent adoration in his eyes as you repeatedly called his name in between your near silent moans. That his hands still knew your body so well, that every gentle caress and grip of his hand was always sure. Never faltering nor second guessing the actions that would arouse you.

"Mammon" You begged, said his name like a whispered prayer in the nights you missed his embrace.

A single name that encompassed what you wanted to say but couldn't.

Forgive me.

I'm sorry.

Come back to me.

I love you.

He fucks you against the wall. Rough and desperate and taking out all of his frustrations at your expense. And even then, he fucks you just the way you like it. Ensuring that you would love every moment that he thrusts his dick in you. He whispers his hatred in your ears with every thrust and mixes his love for you.

He shows you his absolute worst. This love of his that only takes and takes. A twisted love that would never let you be as free as you are now.

"Master, you must really think I'm pathetic" He whispered brokenly, "I'm here still wanting you, still doing what you want even without the pact."

You moan his name.

"But even then I can't hate you with everything I have. I'm Mammon, the Avatar of Greed and you've reduced me to this."

You looked at him, eyes daze and brain still muddled from his expertise. Despite that you see his broken and lost look and can't help but coddle him. Make promises of fixing things and your heart breaks with his hollow laugh.

"Forgive me" You whisper as you hold onto him tight, his pace relentless as he hits that one spot again and again.

"You promised" He said as he held you tight enough to leave bruises.

"I'm sorry."

"Why do ya always leave? Even when I want you to stay you never really stay! Master!"

You feel his tears fall on your face and taste its salty flavor as he kisses you again. You feel your insides clench as you come and Mammon follows right after. Both of you breathe heavily, Mammon leans on you and you hug him.

"I didn't want to fall for you," You answered as you clutched his jacket tightly "From the moment we met I knew that it was inevitable but I still tried."

You relish at the perverted way you two were still connected and wondered how far could you take this before something broke beyond repair. But that was how far you were willing to go, always wondering but never for a single moment considering to do it.

"Mammon, my only beloved demon loving you was something I could never escape from."

He looked at you and saw the helplessness in your eyes and as you looked at him you put down your pride. Your demon whom you've tamed and in turn tamed you.

"I surrender myself to you."

It was too soon for an 'I love you' with wounds still raw and problems needed to be addressed. There were still secrets needed to be talked about and countless little things to be done. But in this moment, where Mammon sees you at your most honest, he spoke

"I accept."

And he kisses you softly, sweetly in the way he always imagined if you were his lover. It isn't love but it could be and this time both of you would let it be.

[yoonjinkooked]

CHEMISTRY | Run (2)

PART 2 - RUN

SERIES MASTERLIST

DRABBLE SERIES, TONS OF SHORT LITTLE CHAPTERS. WILL BE UPDATED OFTEN CAUSE HOSEOK IS THE #1 SOURCE OF MY PAIN

Pairing: Hoseok / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: FWB, university AU

Warnings: cursing, avoiding emotions and responsibility, future smut, Hoseok just makes a cameo in this one

Word count for this part:��2K

Summary: After a few years of being immune to Jung Hoseok’s charms, you suddenly fall into them, head first. All it takes is one night, too much alcohol and a lot of balls.

“Rise and shine, you drunk idiot,” are the words with which Seokjin greets you. The massive headache that you are suffering makes his voice sound 20 times louder than it really is, which is not your favorite way of starting hangover Sundays. Despite knowing that he won’t be deterred from waking you up, you still keep your eyes closed, hoping that today is a day of miracles and Seokjin decides to give you a break. He doesn’t - instead he grabs a hold of the ankle of your left foot and starts shaking it left to right, trying to shake you awake. “Come on, you’ve been out the whole day, I was scared you were dead. Get your ass up, take an aspirin and be an adult.”

“That sounds like a plan,” your voice is worn out, a tell-tale sign that you had spent last night yelling into someone’s ear. “God, why did you let me drink this much? You should have forced water down my throat,” you grunt as you struggle to get yourself into a seated position - you don’t fall back and the room is not spinning. So far, so good. 

“Oh, I was planning on doing that,” Seokjin grins down at you, not looking the least bit hungover - genes, he’d tell you with a proud look on his face. “But by the time I returned from the kitchen, you already had Hoseok’s tongue down your throat.”

And then, you remember. Boy oh boy, do you remember. Seokjin laughs at you, amused by your expression as realization sets in. You’ve hooked up with Hoseok. You’ve made out with Hoseok. And you did, in fact, sit on his dick, just like you’ve wanted to. Luckily for you, you were both fully clothed. Seriously, lucky you - if you remember anything in detail, it’s that you weren’t alone. 

“Everyone saw us last night, didn’t they?” you ask, sighing when Seokjin nods immediately. 

“Everyone. I mean, you were hardly being shy about it, jumping his bones in the middle of the living room,” Seokjin reminds you how straightforward, perhaps even pushy, you were with Hoseok. Both before and after the kissing had started. “For what it’s worth, he wasn’t complaining.”

“I have no idea what had gotten into me,” you admit, trying to recall when, if ever, you’ve thought of Hoseok as more than a friend. And you did not - he was always a friend, that good looking friend that you wouldn’t even consider as a possible hook up option. Your brain had short-circuited last night, and although surprising, it isn’t completely unfounded. 

“Well, Hoseok did not, I can assure you,” Seokjin is laughing his ass, his expression softening a bit when he notices just how uncomfortable you are with his teasing. “Come on Y/N, don’t overthink this. You’re both single and hot. You were horny and he was stoned and happy to help. Making out with him once won’t change your friendship, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

“Yeah, in theory,” you mumble, knowing already that the next time you see Hoseok, you will feel very awkward. Maybe he won’t and that saves the day? It’s a possibility, but you’re not almighty and situations like these tend to turn you into an awkward mess of a person. 

“You’ve made out with Jimin before and you’re still close,” Seokjin shrugs. 

“Yeah, but that’s different. That’s Jimin. We did it jokingly, more than anything else,” you shake your head, knowing, remembering  that whatever last night was, it was different. “I have no clue what happened. One second he was there, dancing, minding his own business and the next I just… had this strong urge to kiss him.”

“Well, at least you’re a go-getter,” Seokjin laughs at your glare, still refusing to accept this as a possible issue in the making. “Come on, I didn’t walk all the way to your place for therapy hour. You’re nursing a hangover and we need coffee. When you have enough caffeine in your system, you’ll remember that Hobi is the chillest guy on the planet and that your worries are completely baseless. It can be awkward for a week or two but you’re both grown adults, right?”

“Right,” you agree, choosing to hold onto that thought. You’re not kids or horny teens - it’ll be okay. A few inside jokes, a couple of days of awkwardness and a lifetime of teasing from your mutual friends - nothing you can’t handle. No harm, no foul. It’ll all be hilarious in a week or two. 

“You’re acting weird,” Jungkook’s statement makes you freeze, the breakfast burrito in your hands inches away from your mouth. After years of being friends with him, it shouldn’t be a surprise when Jungkook says the most random things at the most random times, but somehow, it still is. 

“No, I’m not,” you deny. 

“You are,” Jungkook nods, as if he is confirming it with himself. “You’re all jumpy. If I didn’t know you any better, I’d think you’re on the run from the law,” he laughs at his own joke, before suddenly stopping to fix you with a suspicious look. “You’re not on the run, right?” 

“No Jungkook, I’m not hiding from the cops. I’m not even halfway through my first coffee.”

“She’s just hiding from Hobi.”

You glare at Namjoon from across the table. First of all, his assumption is rude. Second of all, it is absolutely correct. Well, you weren’t exactly actively avoiding Hoseok, but you also weren’t volunteering to spend time at places where you knew he’d be. Instead, you have spent the past few days occupying yourself with random and not so random tasks and obligations, all while trying not to think about how he’s a good kisser. Or how good he smells. Or how firmly his hands gripped your waist that night. Nope. Not going to think about it. 

“Why would she hide from Hobi?” Jungkook is confused. 

“I’m not hiding from Hobi,” you tell him, before turning to give Namjoon a pointed look. “I’m not hiding from Hobi,” you repeat in a warning tone - it’s clear that you don’t want to talk about it. 

“Perfect,” Namjoon offers you an angelic smile. “Then you won’t have a problem with him joining us? I mean, he’s already walking our way,” he adds, looking over your shoulder. 

Your knee jerk reaction is very literal - a sudden movement leads to a loud bang, a whine and you clutching onto your right knee that you’ve just hit against the table in a lame attempt of making a run for it. Panicked, you turn around to check if Hoseok had seen this, only to realize that he is nowhere to be seen. The shit eating grin on Namjoon’s face when you look back at him is confirmation enough. “I hate you,” you deadpan as he keeps on laughing at you. 

“Why are you like this,” Jungkook asks you as you rub your knee, still very much in pain. “Is it because you made out last weekend?” he interrogates you before chugging on his yogurt. 

“Maybe,” you reluctantly admit, since you were so obvious there was no use in denying it. “I know it doesn’t make much sense but it’s just… weird.” 

“You’re being overdramatic, as usual,” Namjoon chuckles. In moments like these, you wonder why you’re still friends with the guy. Sure, he can be charming, nice and helpful, but he can also be a smartass and act all high and mighty, just like he is doing now. “Not that you would know, since you’re hiding from the guy, but Hoseok is not avoiding you. The situation isn’t weird - you are.” 

“If I wanted therapy, I’d pay for a professional,” you snap. 

“I’m on Y/N’s side here,” Jungkook pauses to swallow his food before continuing. “We can tease and joke, we always do that but we shouldn’t invalidate her feelings. If she is feeling awkward, she has every right to feel that way. Don’t invalidate her feelings, Joon,” he ends his speech with a little worried pout, making himself look at least 5 years younger. 

“Have you been watching Dr. Phil again?” Namjoon asks him. 

“Hey!” you jump in Jungkook’s defense immediately. “Don’t be an ass - he has a point and he is being nice. I didn’t ask for your opinion, which you generously offered anyways. Hoseok’s feelings about this have no affect on me - I’m feeling awkward and I’d rather push said awkwardness under the rug for the time being.” 

“Unlike Mr. Smarty Pants Architect who actually does watch Dr. Phil, I’m the only psych major sitting at this table,” Jungkook starts and you laugh at the not so subtle drag directed at Joon. “It’s my duty as your friend and a future therapist to say that the tactic you’re turning to is not healthy and will likely cause more trouble. But,” he emphasizes, noticing that you have already opened your mouth to complain. “It’s your choice. You know what you’re doing and why you’re doing it.”

“Oh, so you’re saying that her acting like the two of them have divorced after 20 years of marriage instead of… exchanging saliva is valid?”

“Stop!” you glare at Namjoon. “You’ve heard Jungkook – my feelings are valid.”

“You’re a coward and you know it,” Namjoon laughs at you. He’s not completely wrong – you are a coward, but you also have your reasons. “You were making out – it’s not the end of the world.” 

“Yes, but it’s not a random dude we’re talking about here!  It’s... Hoseok!” you whisper his name, as if someone other than the two of them could actually hear you say his name in the crowded and incredibly noisy university cafeteria. 

“All the more,” Joon widens his arms in exasperation. “Hobi is not an ass. He’s not going to make it worse, he’ll probably laugh about it, but seeing as you’ve been playing hide and seek, you won’t have a chance to. The longer you wait, the harder it will be once you can no longer avoid him. And honestly, the time is around the corner because I have no idea how you plan on skipping Yoongi’s birthday party.”

As if you needed a reminder of that. There is no way in hell that you can make up an excuse big enough to avoid going to Yoongi’s party - a family emergency wouldn’t work, not when this is your closest group of friends. You’ll have to be there, Hoseok will absolutely be there and you have three whole days to get your shit together. 

“I’ll do my shit at my own time,” you conclude proudly, knowing that you will figure it out and it won’t be because of Namjoon’s impromptu intervention. 

“Um… Y/N,” Jungkook lets out a nervous laughter. “I’m not so sure about that. Hobi’s walking towards us, right now.”

“I’m not falling for that again,” you wave your hand in dismissal, the pain that you are still feeling in your right knee reminding you of Joon’s failed attempts to trick you. 

“He’s really not lying,” Namjoon sips on his coffee sassily, the slurping sound coming from his straw making you want to throw something at him. But there’s something about the cocky look on his face that makes you realize that he’s not joking this time. Not to mention that Jungkook, unlike Joon, is an actual sweetheart of a person who would not lie to you just to spite you. Gulping, you decide to risk and check. 

And sure enough, as you turn around you can see Hoseok just a few tables away, smiling at the three of you – ripped jeans, white shirt, green snapback and that stupid, blinding smile. For a second, only for a second, your eyes meet and before either one of you can make a face or react in any way, you are standing up and this time around, your knees are safe. 

“I have to go,” you grab your bag and phone and speed walk before anyone can tell you anything. You can hear Jungkook yell after you, but you’re already a few tables away from them, walking towards safety as fast as you can. 

Was it stupid? Yeah, probably. Was it obvious? Painfully. But fight or flight kicked in and up up and away you went. 

[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 03

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: none really

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

prev. || next

“Well, whatever it says, we’re gonna have to wait until Cas and Dean get back before we can decipher it.”

You huff, sparing a glance to the angel huddled in the corner, resting his head against the drawers beside his bed. It’s been a few days since you’d first come back and you wish you could say you’ve had all sorts of good progress with Gabriel, but the truth is that you haven’t. He has receded so far into himself that a part of you is actually worried the archangel you knew is gone completely.

“I’m a bit worried,” you admit quietly to Sam after a moment. He turns his gaze to you and you hold it. “He’s… he’s worse than I thought.”

And, put bluntly, you’d thought he was bad.

Sam doesn’t say anything, merely releases your gaze and turns to survey the room once more; the walls are plastered in a scrambled mess of what you can only guess is enochian. You’re not sure when Gabriel had the chance to do it, but you know that earlier you’d visited him to offer him a portion of his grace back and he’d refused, so you’d left and when you returned some time later the walls were like this.

“Did Dean say when they were going to be getting back?” you ask, wringing your hands.

“He didn’t respond to my text, so I can only assume he’s driving.” Sam huffed a laugh. “Cas forgot to charge his phone again so I can’t reach him either.”

You purse your lips, trying not to smile. Of course, it is the little things that Castiel forgets. Like that wireless technology needs charging, that Beyonce is too well known to be used as a cover name, and those straws that don’t always come with fast food drinks.

You’re about to speak when the faint sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the bunker, heavy footsteps on steel stairs following suit.

“Well, I guess that saves us asking,” you say, patting Sam on the arm as you move past. The two of you depart Gabriel’s room, sparing him one last concerned glance before you close the door behind you.

“I’m home! And I brought food!”

Yeah, that’s definitely Dean. You just hope Castiel came in with him so he can see his brother and read the scribble on the walls.

x     x

 The scribble, as Castiel informed you, is a thrilling account of Gabriel’s Story, so to speak. What happened to him after his so-called ‘death’, and you tuned out for a fair amount of it (mostly during the detailed recount of time spent with porn-stars in Monte Carlo) but heard the important bits, like how he was traded in to Asmodeus and what the Prince of Hell then proceeded to do to him for the years following.

It saddened you, despite it being largely something you already suspected if not knew.

After listening to Castiel read the enochian on the walls, you’d had to leave. Uncharacteristic of you, and Dean had given you an odd look as you passed him in the hallway, but you couldn’t spend another minute in there. You felt bile rising to the back of your throat.

You really don’t have an explanation for why you’re reacting so strongly, so viscerally, to everything that has to do with Gabriel. Like you’d affirmed earlier, you only really met and interacted with him a handful of times! You aren’t close with him, haven’t known him extensively—

So why do you have this gaping pit of loss and grief in your stomach, like you’ve lost a limb?

It doesn’t make sense, and you’re not sure if you can make it make sense, honestly. You’d like to be able to put it on the backburner too, but every time you try it just creeps its way back to the forefront of your mind. In a bid to distract yourself, you hole yourself up in your room for the rest of the day, marathoning whatever dumb show is on TV. If you’re lucky, the entertainment channel might have old reruns of Neighbours. That never fails to make you laugh with its exaggerated soapy drama.

To your disappointment, the only thing playing in a marathon fashion is Family Guy, and with a sigh you bundle up in your covers and resign yourself to the afternoon. Well, if you wanted to numb your brain then this result isn’t so bad after all.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in your room, and pass out at some indiscernible hour. When you wake next, it’s a ridiculously early hour of the next morning and the TV is still running. You have a cramp in your neck from your odd sleeping position, and you rub it with a scowl as you emerge from the blankets and turn off the TV. You slept way too long, and there’s no way you can get back to sleep now.

Begrudgingly, you slip from your bed and into a standing position, relishing in the stretch you feel as you lengthen your tight, tense limbs. The floor is cold against your feet but you’re too lazy to search for the slippers that came with your room and instead just go on your way. Destination: kitchen.

You feel like a ghost, wandering the silent halls of the bunker. Dean is most definitely passed out by this point, and Sam… well he’s probably asleep, but you wouldn’t bet on it. That psychopath could also be out jogging. You’re so zoned out that you don’t even realise you’ve reached the kitchen until you stub your toe on the doorframe.

“FUCK!” you curse, managing to restrain yourself from howling like a lunatic just barely, at the last second. You double over, heaving in a big breath. Of course it had to be the little toe—

“y/n? Are you alright?”

The low, gravelly tone that brushes your ears is familiar and always welcome. You stick your thumb up so Castiel doesn’t worry while you grasp your bearings. When you find your voice, you follow up the gesture with a squeaky, “Fine! Peachy.”

“I would remind you that I can tell when you are lying, but I don’t think you aimed to be very believable.”

You straighten, throwing Castiel a bright smile despite the pain still throbbing in your foot. You should have looked for the slippers—this is your hubris catching you slipping.

“Sorry Cas, I shouldn’t be sarcastic. I’m fine, but I think one of these days I’m gonna break my toe for real on that stupid doorframe.”

Unfortunately, this isn’t your first run-in with the doorway. If anyone asked, you would tell them that the design of the hallway is atrocious and that door is not where it’s meant to be. Well, it’s not where you expect it to be every time you come to the kitchen, and is clearly an obvious design flaw.

The angel lets out a soft noise of understanding, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. You don’t seem to have very good luck with doorframes.”

“Nope, I definitely do not,” you respond, shaking your foot out before moving over to the fridge and checking to see if Dean bought strawberries. A noise of delight escapes you as you find what you’re looking for, several punnets stacked in the back corner. Ah, and they say old dogs can’t learn new tricks—Dean is a very good learner with the proper motivation!

(Pavlov would be proud of you.)

Castiel has a smile on his face as he watches you remove one of the punnets, hopping up onto the bench facing him and flicking the plastic open. He approaches, movements fluid and calm, and for a few moments you sit in comfortable silence. He is the first to break it.

“y/n… are you alright?” At his repeated question you give him a confused look, and he hurries to elaborate. “I mean… with everything. With Gabriel. I noticed how you left, yesterday.”

Ah. Well, you knew that you hadn’t been subtle, but you hadn’t been sure whether anyone was going to question you on it. You munch on a berry as you think, gaze flicking to the side. You wouldn’t dream of telling Sam or Dean about the odd sensations you’d been feeling, despite the fact they knew how you’d reacted to the news of Gabriel’s death, but Castiel… you felt comfortable confiding this in him.

“Well… yes, and no.” You drop the top of the strawberry into the lid of the punnet and reach for another. “To be honest, I don’t really understand what is going on with me. It’s like… super overactive empathy. It just hurts, to see him that way. And it makes me sad, knowing what he went through. Painfully so.”

Castiel nods, light eyes on you as he listens attentively and with care. You chew through another two berries before continuing. “Hearing it straight from him—well, as straight from him as it could be, I suppose—it just got to be a bit much for me. I had to leave. It just… made me feel a bit sick, is all.”

The look on the angel’s face is pensive, and it’s as though you can see his mind whirring a mile a minute behind the sky of his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs, gaze flicking to the side as he thinks. “Well, you are a very kind soul, so I am not surprised by your empathy. Though, if it is affecting you so strongly…”

He pauses, eyes finding your own again. “If you feel ill again, come find me. I’ll help as much as I can.”

You smile at him, every moment as sincere as you’ve ever been. “Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate it.”

x     x

Sam must have done or said something to Gabriel while you were locked up in your room, because there seemed to be a sudden change in his progress.

For the better, you think. Well, you hope.

He was a little less withdrawn, a little less manic and fidgety. He still doesn’t really speak, and doesn’t react well to loud noises or sudden movements, but Sam told you he had spoken last night.

To correct him about calling the Monte Carlo porn-stars ‘hookers’, of course. You’d wanted to slam your head into the tile wall when you’d heard that.

The day passed quickly after your encounter with Castiel, and you spent it cleaning and polishing your weapons—you don’t want to go down as that one stupid hunter whose greatest folly was improper upkeep of her arsenal. Only when you’d polished your machete to a gleaming shine did you admit that it was likely time for a break. You thought it had only been a few hours, so when you wandered out and found that it was actually almost dinner time, you’d been pretty surprised.

Sam had run into you in the hallway and filled you in, and afterwards had insisted on accompanying you to the kitchen. It seems you spend a lot of your time there, now you think about it.

The large, industrial-feeling space is where you find yourself now, making a lazy stir-fry from pre-packaged vegetables and beef. You’d tasked Sam with cooking the rice since he’d insisted on lingering for conversation, and since you trust that he’s more capable than his brother you don’t bother checking on his progress.

“Castiel was worried when he first saw Gabriel, but after seeing the writing he’s happy because it means the Gabriel we know is still in there, somewhere.” Sam updates you from your side, sniffing and peering into the wok before you in mild interest. “That smells good. You sharing?”

“Maybe,” you answer him, giving him a sly look. “Depends… you got any of that guilt-free ice cream hiding in the freezer?”

Sam peers around to make sure his brother isn’t listening before nodding, “Back corner, behind the frozen berries. We got a deal?”

“Pleasure doing business with you, young Winchester,” you answer with a shake of his hand, putting on an accent for his benefit. He snorts, moving away to grab two bowls—good timing, you have to note, since the stir-fry is almost done. “Kind of sad you still have to hide it from Dean, though.”

“Are you kidding? He has a nose like a bloodhound for sweets,” Sam says, coming back with porcelain in tow. “Did I ever tell you about the time he found an industrial-size bag of Hershey’s kisses I bought? I hid it in the vents in the dustiest corner of the library, and he still found it. That was meant to last me months and he tore through it in a week.”

You blink, mildly impressed. You knew he had a sweet tooth but you didn’t know it was that bad. “Dude, get your brother some therapy.”

Sam snorts, muttering something about how it would be easier to herd cats and juggle at the same time. You’re distracted for the moment by an errant thought that filters across your mind at the mention of chocolates.

Gabriel, in his time spent as a trickster, developed quite the soft spot for them… could it…?

You stir the food before you once more before taking the wok off the heat, moving it to the wooden chopping board on the bench; Sam takes initiative and turns off the stove behind you, something you’re thankful for.

You’ll have to test your theory after dinner.

x     x

The chocolates and candies you’d left for Gabriel after you’d had your dinner are, to your delight, gone the next time you see him.

You’d placed them on a tray for him outside the room and knocked, letting him know you had left him something. Of course, after that no matter how much you wished to stay you forced yourself to be on your merry way so he could retrieve them in peace. The rest of the night had been spent arguing with Dean about the proper name a werewolf-vampire hybrid should be called—not because you have an important opinion on the matter, of course, but because Dean gets very fired up about the subject and it’s very funny to behold.

Back to the point, when you’d returned on your trip past Gabriel’s room this morning (on your way to the kitchen, as anyone would expect), the tray had been placed neatly to the side with the wrappers twisted into the shape of a big, shiny bow. Kind of impressive, especially since you have no idea how he got them to stay stuck together like that.

It made you happy, though, that he’d eaten them. Angels don’t need to eat, of course, but he’d seemed to develop a taste for them ever since adopting the mask of Loki so you thought it might help make him feel a little more like himself.

You try not to think about it too much because it actually makes you a bit embarrassed— why are you so invested? You don’t quite want to know.

Currently, you’re settled in the library with your legs crossed and a tome on celestial beings in your lap. By your side is a plate of celery and a jar of peanut butter, and Dean, who is seated at the oak table with Castiel across from him, is giving you periodic looks of disgust and twisted curiosity. He’d started off attempting to read up on some monster—you suspected it was Werepires, after last night’s argument—while Sam popped off to the store for groceries, since Mary and Jack were meant to be returning tonight. The keyword to note here is attempting; each crunch of celery between your teeth yanks his gaze from the book to you and you can tell its wearing on him. Castiel says nothing, having discovered candy crush on his phone earlier, and merely glances between the two of you every now and then with a faint look of amusement.

“Alright,” He finally breaks after your third stick of celery, giving it a look like it personally offends him. “How can you eat that? Just use a spoon if you like peanut butter so much.”

“What the fuck, ew,” you comment, chomping loudly before dipping the stick into the jar for another coating. “I hate peanut butter.”

“You’re sitting there practically eating it out of the jar!”

“I get cravings sometimes, Dean!” you throw back, somewhat defensively. “It’s like when people eat vegemite—no one likes it, but you get cravings for it, you know?”

“What—ew, no, I don’t know!” Dean’s face has now crumpled into a complete look of disgust at the mention of that particular spread, and he shudders as he regards you. “Every time you leave I almost forget what a freak you are, and then you come back and I’m reminded all over again.”

The way he says it has no bite whatsoever, and you flash him a grin. You don’t realise Castiel has even been paying attention until he speaks, the humour lacing his deadpan tone the only give-away that he’s teasing.

“That wasn’t very nice, Dean. You eat some weird things for a human yourself—like that greasy, fried dessert from the stall in the food festival we drove through.”

Dean at first looks like he wants to argue, but at Castiel’s example a flush of green instead washes over his features. “Ugh, god that was gross. Don’t ever let me buy before I try at a food market again, Cas.”

Castiel snorts softly, turning back to his phone, “You have my word.”

Dean seems to have forgotten he was shaming you for your celery topping, his attention now directed back to the book before him. His face is still kind of pale and you assume he is now adequately distracted enough for you to continue eating in peace. After consuming the rest of the celery in your hold, you go to turn back to your own book. It isn’t meant to be, though, because in the next second the familiar sound of the heavy metal bunker door creaking open splits the air and Sam’s bright voice follows after.

“We’re back! We brought fried chicken.”

You slam the lid back on the peanut butter, putting it on the plate with the celery and launching to your feet in record time, the book unfortunate collateral. It’s like you’re possessed as you zoom into the kitchen, stomach alive and stirring at the mention of chicken despite the fact you’d already been eating.

Upon entry to the kitchen, you’re faced with two new people you have yet to be introduced to—considering you’re familiar with most of Sam and Dean’s other contacts by this point in your friendship, you presume that these two must be Jack and Mary, the Nephilim and the Winchester brother’s resurrected mother, respectively.

“Hello!” you greet, darting forward to help Sam with the food. He gives you a look that tells you he knows exactly why you’d come to help and gives you the bag full of groceries instead of the one with chicken, just to spite you. Your face falls into a pout but your voice is still cheery as you continue, “I’m y/n, I hunt with Dean off and on.”

Both of their faces light in recognition, and you realise that your reputation has preceded you. Exactly which reputation depends on which brother mentioned you—you imagine Dean would have had some very interesting comments to add.

“Hello,” the woman, Mary, speaks, and you’re taken aback by how soft-spoken she seems in contrast with the badass aura and get-up she’s got going on. You’re a little surprised to see her, considering she’s the same age as you presume she would have been when Sam was a baby. “I’m Mary, I’m sure you’ve heard about me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and… thank you for looking after my boys over the years.”

You beam a grin and it must come across as a very shit-eating one because you hear Dean groan from the next room over as he ambles to join the crowd in the kitchen.

“Don’t encourage her,” he says gruffly as he enters the kitchen, hugging his mother and ruffling Jack’s hair before following his nose to the bag with the chicken in it. “She’ll never let it go.”

“I’m Jack!” Your attention is torn from the previous interaction and redirected to the youthful blonde man next to Mary, grinning at you brightly. “I’ve heard so much about you—it’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Oh, you’ve heard about me?” you can’t help yourself from asking, and you hear Dean’s groan echo behind you. “All good things, I hope.”

It’s a little unfair of you to be fishing in the Jack pond for little tidbits you can use to bully Dean later, considering he’s literally barely a year old and doesn’t really know better to keep his mouth shut, but it is what it is. The question left you out of habit more than anything.

“Oh, definitely,” Jack answers, going to help Mary the second he sees her struggle with a bag from the corner of his eyes, “Well, mostly. Dean—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Dean interrupted loudly and pointedly, not-so-subtly holding his finger to his mouth to tell Jack to shut it. “Dinner time! Everyone into the library, we have a lot to catch up on.”

Begrudgingly you let it go and follow his directions. He has a point; there is definitely a lot of informing to be done, especially regarding the archangel in the room down the hall.

You take a seat and wait for your meal to be served. The night passes quickly from that point on, the brothers cracking out some beer and Dean snickering when you turn your nose up at it (bad experience, better not to remember it). You get to know Mary Winchester and Jack Kline a little better, and now with all of your heads put together you hope you can come up with a solution to the issues around Gabriel and his recovery.

Well, that and you’re going to see if you can get some good material out of Mary to tease the brothers with. When in Rome, after all!

prev. || next.

[lady-divine-writes]

A Dish Best Served Cold - A Prince of Omens Inspired One-shot (Rated NC17)

Summary: Starmakers rarely Fall. Crowley was the first. But every time one does, Crowley feels it, like razor sharp thorns throughout his body. When the latest one does, Aziraphale offers to accompany Crowley to Hell to make certain they're all right. But while they're there, Aziraphale decides to settle a score on his husband's behalf. (3689 words)

Notes: All right, I said I wasn't going to do this again, but I couldn't help myself. So this is inspired by @whiteleyfoster 'Omens of Egypt' mini comic 'Down' about Crowley's Fall from Heaven, along with their Bastille torture implied pic, which you can see here . I know there's a contest going on. This isn't about that. There's better writers for that. It's just something I've been working on since the end of 'Down'. I needed some BAMF Aziraphale sticking up for his demon husband against his former managers, so to speak. Warning for angst and mention of torture (not explicit).

Read on AO3.

“N-no … s-stop … I … I didn’t … I didn’t do … anything wrong … I … I’ll stop! I … swear!”

Aziraphale closes his book and sets it aside, then rolls on his hip to face his husband grabbing at the sheets covering his body, gripping so hard his knuckles have begun to turn white.

“Dearest?” Aziraphale whispers, brushing aside strands of hair from Crowley’s face with careful fingertips. “Wake up, dearest. Please wake up. You’re safe, my love. You’re all right …”

“N-no … no, you can’t … p-please …”

“Crowley? Dear? Can you hear me?”

“N-no … no, please …”

Aziraphale sighs as his husband continues to whimper. He rests a hand over one of his to anchor him, give him something tangible and familiar to hold on to, even in sleep.

An anchor is all Aziraphale can offer because there is no consoling him.

Crowley had once confided to Aziraphale that as much as he loved sleep, he had nightmares pretty on the regular, and they got worse as time went on. They’re rarer now that angel and demon sleep together, but they still crop up from time to time.

Unfortunately, Aziraphale can’t always tell which torture he’s reliving - being tossed out of Heaven into a steaming pit of sulfur, or the various punishments he endured the second he became a demon.

Having the down torn from his wings over the sin of being vain and naive.

Or having symbols of degradation burned into his skin with hot irons for the treachery of rescuing an angel.

Aziraphale didn’t even know that was a possibility until he’d discovered them.

The burns had faded, but the malevolent power that created them remained, its vile signature seared into Crowley’s skin. Aziraphale stumbled across them one night while they were making love, when they were close together, mouth to chest, with Crowley sitting in Aziraphale’s lap, riding him. Aziraphale blew hot air across Crowley’s chest and there they were.

Aziraphale’s divinity had brought them to light.

The way Crowley covered them, the shame in his expression when he confessed what he’d gotten them for, speared Aziraphale to the depths of his soul.

For that, and for a hundred other things (including blessing that blasted Thermos of water) Aziraphale has never forgiven himself. Crowley tells Aziraphale there’s nothing to forgive, especially when they’re in the throes of passionate embraces and a single puff of breath from Aziraphale’s lips brings those marks to the surface. Despite the consequences of his decisions, they were Crowley’s decisions, and the ones pertaining to Aziraphale’s health and safety, he’d repeat a thousand times.

Yet, the nightmares continue.

“Sleep easy, my love.” Aziraphale leans over and lays feather-light kisses on his demon’s sweaty forehead. “Sleep, and dream about whatever you like best.”

Crowley’s breathing slows. The furrows in his brow smooth away. His hands begin to loosen, let go of their vice hold. He melts into the sheets, eyelids fluttering slowly.

A small smile even manages to tilt up the corners of his mouth.

“That’s it. Relax. Be calm … at peace. I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you alone.”

Crowley hums behind his lips, finally happy in his dreaming.

Aziraphale exhales with relief. It worked … thank God.

…

But for only about a minute.

Aziraphale goes back to his book, but a second later, Crowley jerks, jarring the bed as if the mattress had saved him from a terrible tumble. He sits bolt up, fist clutching his chest over the shadow of one particularly gruesome burn, his eyes wide and unblinking like those of a frightened foal.

“No!” he gasps, staring straight ahead, the remainder of his nightmare fading where Aziraphale can’t see.

“No what, dearest?” Aziraphale asks, careful not to speak too loudly in case it takes Crowley a moment to remember where he is, and that he’s not alone. “Which nightmare was it this time?”

“A … an angel … will Fall,” Crowley reveals in a voice that trembles. “A … a Starmaker.”

His answer stuns Aziraphale into closing his book and setting it on the table beside the bed without saving his place first. “Is that … will that really happen?”

Crowley swallows hard. “Yes.” He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, on the verge of tears. “Yes, I … I feel it. I could see it. It’s happening now. Tonight.” His eyelids pinch shut. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the image from his brain, but Aziraphale knows it will be difficult to erase.

Starmakers rarely Fall. Maybe one in a thousand years. Crowley was the first, and for some reason, he can feel when another does. It rips through him like shards of ice, makes the return trip like tongues of fire, and haunts him for days after.

Aziraphale has often wondered if Hell did that on purpose - found a way to curse him with that foresight as one of their many forms of discipline.

Or perhaps it was Heaven’s doing.

Aziraphale wouldn’t be surprised either way. It seems like something they would both come up with.

“Do you have any idea when they will …?”

“Any second now,” Crowley says on a single breath, eager to push the knowledge from his mouth.

“Well then …” Aziraphale lifts the comforter off his legs and makes to get out of bed “… would you like to accompany me to Hell? Make sure they’re all right?”

Crowley’s eyelids snap open, blown pupils finding Aziraphale’s smiling face. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve traveled to Hell together. Crowley looks like he might jump at the offer, but something holds him back.

Things are different now. They’re different now. They’re free agents. Crowley doesn’t answer to Hell anymore. As for Aziraphale, it’s not like Hell welcomed angels too freely downstairs with open arms before the Nope-ageddon. Angels’ visits to Hell have always been procedural, planned ahead, with paperwork involved. Heaven holds the keys to the bottomless pit, after all. It’s their job to tend to the prisoners there.

What Aziraphale is recommending they do is more than a little unprecedented.

If Aziraphale gets himself in a tight spot, Heaven more than likely won’t help him.

Is one Starmaker worth that chance? Worth the Guardians of the Gates treating Aziraphale the way they treated Crowley?

No, Crowley decides. For all it does to break his heart, it’s not worth putting his angel in danger.

“I’m … I’m probably overreacting,” he says, forcing himself to calm down. “There’s … there’s no reason to drag you down there. They’ll be fine. They … they don’t need me.” He closes his eyes again. Aziraphale can see the pain on his face, the memory of that poor angel’s Fall, or maybe his own, playing behind his eyes.

The harsh reality is that those angels that Fall need to learn the hard way that Hell is a terrible place. No one is waiting in the wings (so to speak) to rescue them.

No matter how slight their sin.

But this is important to Crowley. Aziraphale knows it is.

And Crowley means the world to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale puts a hand beneath his husband’s chin, coaxes his eyes open with kisses to his lips. “It never hurts to check, my dear. I’ll go get my coat.”

***

Hard-packed dirt where very little grows.

Thick clouds of black, acrid smoke.

Yellow-orange sulfur seeping from the earth, super-heated and bubbling, popping, releasing noxious gas into the air.

Aziraphale pops the collar of his coat, holds the ends tight over his nose.

He hates the smell of Hell.

The pools of sulfur fallen angels nosedive into are located right outside the gates, so they’re still far from the mildew infested basement that is Hell’s head office.

But this outdoor landing pad is probably worse: surrounded by air that burns the sinuses with every breath, the breeze swirling around them hot and oppressive instead of cool and refreshing.

Looking up and seeing a Heaven that no longer welcomes you, stars you will never touch again.

He envisions Crowley here - scared, confused, emerging from the pits for the first time to see his beautiful, snowy-white wings blackened and singed, covered in this foul-smelling ooze.

All alone.

Consigned here by those he loved.

Aziraphale feels a long-building contempt for Heaven rise up in his chest and does everything to keep it at bay. This isn’t him, he reminds himself. Not really. It’s Hell’s influence. It’s too easy to surrender to anger here, which is why the Almighty sends the Archangels to conduct Heaven’s business in Hell.

They’re more immune to the air here.

“There they are!” Crowley says, rushing towards a pit about fifty feet from where they materialized, where a drenched and bedraggled set of wings sits atop an orange mess, attached to an angel … a demon … lying underneath the surface.

Aziraphale doesn’t rush to help. Best to let Crowley lead that charge. Instead, he keeps watch. He’s only been here a handful of times, but that’s definitely enough.

One time in particular, he could do without.

Aziraphale peers through the black smoke, trying to decipher their bearings. Crowley snapped them here. It’s the easiest way to come. Which means that Hell should know they’re there. Every time Crowley performs a miracle, they receive a fax. So there’s a fifty-fifty chance a welcoming committee of some sort might arrive.

The wind blows.

The smoke shifts.

Vacant mold-gray eyes catch his.

Bingo.

As the smoke continues to clear, Aziraphale gets a better view, and he smiles.

Luck, oddly, seems to be on his side.

“You stay here, my dear,” he says, not bothering to raise his voice since he knows Crowley will hear him. “I’ll take care of this.”

Aziraphale isn’t a vengeful angel. His job is to inspire humanity, to spread love.

Wrath is normally reserved for Archangels.

But as in most things, Aziraphale doesn’t feel they’ve done their jobs right for close to a millennium.

And besides, this is personal.

Aziraphale strolls up to the demon hopping through the sulfur pits in his direction.

“You’re Dagon, right?” he asks.

The demon slows, approaches warily, not expecting to meet Aziraphale (of all entities) after the memo they received.

Not expecting to see an angel flash a smile that is eerily at home here in Hell.

“What’s it to you?” Dagon asks.

“Come on. Let me preen these for you,” Aziraphale hears Crowley say to the new demon he’s helping out of the sulfur. “And take my advice … learn to do it for yourself. You don’t want to ask anyone down here for help.”

“Nothing, my dear.” Aziraphale steps to the right, blocking Dagon when they try to blow past. “I just like to know whom I’m addressing. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Aziraphale sashays left - another block that leaves Dagon gnashing their teeth in frustration. “Crowley says you’re a rather creative demon … when it comes to cruelty and violence.”

Dagon squashes their plan to leap around the angel and grins proudly at that remark. “Did he now?”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale returns, the words as dry as the ground beneath his feet. “In fact, he told me that from the first day he Fell you couldn’t keep your hands off him. I almost got jealous … until he elaborated.”

Dagon’s face falls, their eyes blank, but they snicker when they catch on.

Every time Dagon tore at Crowley’s wings.

Every time they put a hot iron to Crowley’s skin, tied him up and whipped him for his treachery.

Or worse …

That’s what the angel is referring to.

Dagon can’t help noticing the loathing in Aziraphale’s eyes, the undeniable rage.

And Dagon smiles.

Anger feeds demons like well-roasted mutton. It intoxicates them like wine.

And the anger of an angel?

That’s about the finest vintage any demon can find on earth.

Hence why calling off the war disappointed them so.

It makes Dagon long to stab Crowley in the back with their claws to see how angry this angel can get.

What Dagon might be able to convince him to do.

Dagon tries to dash past again, but Aziraphale is surprisingly quick. This time, Dagon walks straight into Aziraphale’s chest and stops short.

It’s like walking into a brick wall.

Dagon sniffs. They refuse to be intimidated by an angel. Especially a plump and useless little Principality like this one. Dagon remembers Ligur talking about what the Archangels think of him, how they have no respect for him.

Thinking of Ligur reminds Dagon that that demon is gone. Gone at the hands of Crowley, who doused them with Holy Water.

Holy Water he got from this angel.

The only angel in Heaven that can withstand Hellfire, pudgy or not.

Dagon’s face goes pale. They swallow hard. Those memories of torturing Crowley, the times they’d been so proud of, flood their mind with vivid sound and color.

Staring at this angel’s cold, hard expression, they begin to regret every single one.

“You look parched,” Aziraphale says with an unexpectedly warm smile.

“Yeah, well, it’s hot down here,” Dagon growls suspiciously. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be Hell.”

“True, true. That’s why I brought this.” Aziraphale reaches into his inside coat pocket and pulls out a tartan Thermos. Dagon stiffens at the reveal, but they’re too curious to back away.

It’s just a Thermos. How much damage could Aziraphale possibly do with a Thermos?

“It’s … it’s a Thermos,” the demon points out.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says in a condescending tone. “Very good. And what do you think it’s filled with?” He pulls off the cup and puts it in his pocket, then unscrews the cap. “I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count.”

Dagon scoffs. “How the Heaven should I …?” Their eyes blow wide as context melds together in one harrowing spark of realization. “That wouldn’t be … Holy Water? W-would it?” Dagon takes a step back, but Aziraphale’s hand shoots out, grabs the demon by the wrist. Thick, sausage fingers wrap tightly around, solid as stone.

“You know,” Aziraphale says in a low, gravelly voice to match, “I don’t like the way you’ve treated my husband.”

Dagon pulls, trying to break free, but Aziraphale has a grip like iron. “We’re … we’re demons! It’s what we do! Wot did you expect?”

“Doesn’t matter what I expect. It matters what I’ll tolerate.” Aziraphale lifts the Thermos to his mouth and takes a drink. Dagon stares as Aziraphale gulps the blessed liquid, licking his lips when he’s done. But from the sound of sloshing, there seems to be plenty left. “Oh! How rude of me,” Aziraphale says, holding the Thermos out to his captive. “Fancy a sip?”

Dagon’s eyes nearly pop out of their head. “You … you wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t I?” Aziraphale lifts the Thermos over Dagon’s wrist where it’s caught in the angel’s fist. “By the way, I wouldn’t tug too hard if I were you. I am clumsy. I might slip. It only takes one drop to dissolve a demon.” On cue, a single drop begins to form on the silver lip of the container. Angel and demon watch it grow, dangle like a trapeze artist lowering themselves down the rung of their swing, preparing to jump. Aziraphale looks on in amusement; Dagon in utter horror. The drop lengthens, heaves, the tenuous connection thinning as it threatens to break.

“N … n-no! “ Dagon stutters, lurching backward, but Aziraphale holds on impossibly tighter.

“What was that you said?” Aziraphale asks, taking his eyes away from the precarious drop, not caring a whit for its fate.

“It … it’s going to fall!”

Aziraphale shakes his head, inadvertently shaking the Thermos as well. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t quite …”  

Aziraphale doesn’t finish his sentence.

He sticks out his tongue and catches the drop seconds before it falls.

Dagon makes a strangled sound as they struggle to recoil.

Aziraphale watches the demon flail in his grasp and laughs. “Phew! Will you look at that? That was a close one!”

“You’ll … you’ll start a war!” Dagon cries, utilizing this momentary reprieve since the Thermos is still there, held aloft by the angel, his loathing brewing into a full-fledged flame. “A war between demons and angels! You didn’t want that, re-remember?”

Aziraphale shrugs. “Perhaps I’ve changed my mind. You wanted a war, didn’t you? Well, now you’ll get your wish, provided doing away with you is impetus enough to start one. Pity you won’t be around to join in. I’ve heard you give some rousing pep talks.”

“N-now, listen to reason, angel …”

Aziraphale’s grip around Dagon’s wrist ratchets from tight to bone-crushing, almost bringing Dagon to their knees. They lose their footing, but Aziraphale drags them closer, holds them upright by that one thin and straining joint.

“You … don’t get to call me that!”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I …”

“Aziraphale …” Crowley’s voice creeps into Aziraphale’s ear. It sounds distant for the pounding in Aziraphale’s head, but it’s mere inches away “… don’t ...”

Aziraphale doesn’t turn to look at his husband, the full force of his anger trained on this one pathetic demon, ready to turn them into dust with the weight of that alone. But Aziraphale pictures Crowley’s amber eyes in his mind - doe wide and pleading.

Begging for no more.

“Are you sure, my dear?”

“Yes.” A hand finds Aziraphale’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “I’m sure. Don’t do this. For me?”

Aziraphale shudders. He would do anything for Crowley, give him anything he wanted … but he can’t seem to do this. For all his posturing, all of his simply wanting to put the fear of God into this demon for everything Crowley said they’ve done, he can’t just let go. With his Thermos poised over the green-gray and fetid skin of their arm, he’s so ready to pour.

And it would feel good.

It would feel like righting a wrong.

The wrong of Aziraphale not being around to protect Crowley when he truly needed protecting.

But the kneading of his shoulder muscles loosens his grip ever so slightly. A kiss on the crown of his head loosens it more.

“Angel,” Crowley whispers against his scalp, his cheek pressing there to enjoy the softness of his hair, “please?”

“Urgh! All right!” Aziraphale grumbles, releasing his grip. He’d been holding on so tight, it takes a few seconds for his corporal form to actually detach, sending Dagon stumbling back, landing undignified on their tailbone in the sulfur. “But just you remember, Dagon,” Aziraphale adds, straightening his waistcoat, “the next time you get it in your empty head to try and do something … anything … to my husband, that he’s the only reason you’re not a puddle right now. Yes?”

“Y-yes,” the demon stutters. “I-I’ll remember.”

“In that case, I do believe some appreciation is in order.”

Dagon shoots a glare Crowley’s way. Not an inch of conceit can they see on Crowley’s face, only concern for his angel. And that makes Dagon furious. Despite themselves, Dagon scowls. But seeing as Aziraphale has put no cover on his Thermos and could always change his mind (that’s what Dagon would do) Dagon has little choice. “Thank you,” they grind through pointed teeth.

“Thank you what?” Aziraphale stresses.

If Aziraphale weren’t both immune to Hellfire and carrying a Thermos of Holy Water, Dagon would bolt out of that pool of sulfur and rip him to shreds.

At least, that’s what they tell themselves.

“Thank you … sir.”

“Better. Now run along. My compassion only lasts so long in this place, and it’s getting rather hot out here.” Aziraphale swirls the Thermos in Dagon’s direction, taking another drink as the demon scurries away, mumbling under their breath. The sulfur pits become tensely quiet, thicker and heavier than the black smoke stinging their eyes.

“Aziraphale …?”

“How’s the fallen Starmaker?” Aziraphale asks before Crowley can finish. Whether he intended on thanking Aziraphale or lecturing him, Aziraphale isn’t ready to hear it.

Crowley sighs. “As good as can be expected.”

“Well, that’s the best we can hope for, I suppose,” Aziraphale says with a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t you think that was going a little too far?” Crowley asks, lowering his voice and gesturing toward a sulking Dagon with his chin.

“Not at all. In fact … would you like to make your friend Dagon over there lose their bowels, so to speak?”

“Only always.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Without question.”

“Take a nice long swig out of that, my dear,” Aziraphale says, handing off the Thermos.

Crowley knows this Thermos. Knows it well. He pauses when Aziraphale offers it to him. Touching it gives him a jolt, fills his brain with the echoes of Ligur’s screams, but he can’t betray fear for one second. He’s supposed to be the demon who can withstand Holy Water, after all.

Plus he trusts Aziraphale … more than anything.

He brings the Thermos to his lips and throws his head back, taking the biggest mouthful he can before his survival instincts can force him to stop and spit it out. He hears Dagon curse from across the sulfur pits, and Crowley almost sputters. His eyelids squeeze, preparing for the burn of the righteous.

It burns, all right, but it doesn’t dissolve him into the dirt.

“It’s … it’s not Holy Water,” Crowley comments only loud enough for Aziraphale to hear, helping himself to another hefty mouthful. “It’s not water at all! It’s vodka!”

“Oh dear. Look at that,” Aziraphale says in a dry, sarcastic tone. “I brought the wrong Thermos. I’ll be more aware of how I pack next time.”

Crowley shakes his head, wrapping his arms around his angel’s body and holding him tight. “You know, you’re pretty sexy when you’re being all guardian angel and stuff.”

“Yes, well, it’s only for you, my love,” Aziraphale says, resting his head against Crowley’s chest and hugging him back, more than ready for his husband to snap them back home. “Only for you.”