#and then gives him the cold shoulder for a week

[oceantornadoo]

dubcon, objectification, forced (?) threesome, f!reader

they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

ghost finds you ten months after your divorce, nursing a drink in a shithole of a pub. he doesn’t consider himself a good man, licking the tears on your cheeks when he fucks you for the first time, ignoring your whines of how “it’s been a while” and you’re “too tight.” he doesn’t like to keep birds around longer than a night, but something about how you wrap your leg around him in the morning makes him stay a little longer.

he lets you call him simon after you whine that you “can’t fuck him without knowing his name.” it takes a bit, but you get used to sleeping with someone who isn’t your ex-husband. he calls you bird instead of sweetheart, love instead of darling and after a while, the word honey loses its significance. when simon tells you he’s military, you try to leave his bed, only for him to pull you by the thigh, apologizing with his tongue in your cunt. simon doesn’t date and you aren’t ready for it, content to stay in your respective apartments, living for his occasional half-smiles and usual gruff admonishments. its a bit new to simon - he’s used his camera app more in the past weeks than he has in years. always pictures of you: his cum on your tits, the bruises he leaves on your hips, a rare photo of you sleeping. he even lets you corral him into taking a cheesy mirror picture, his arms dwarfing your waist with his face tucked into your neck, your jawline exposed as you turn to kiss his cheek.

it’s two months later when you promise to cook him a meal for the first time, a sunday roast he hasn’t tasted in years. “better not take too long, bird, ‘m starvin’.” simon murmurs in your ear, hands squeezing your stomach and waist as you fumble with your keys. “i’ve had it slow cooking before i left for yours last night. it’ll put us in a food coma.” you finally put the key in the lock, turning it with force before simon decides to fuck you against the door. he dips to bite your neck, sending you into your apartment giggling, swatting him off you. the weight of your divorce is finally off your shoulders, happy butterflies fluttering in your stomach formed by simon’s continuous presence.

the butterflies die when you see a familiar pair of boots at your door.

“stay here.” you order simon, a change from your usual dynamic. you can’t focus on his reaction, set on edge by the sounds of pots clanging in your kitchen. there’s no point in creeping - he knows you’re here. you turn the corner and there he is - your ex husband. “you’re just in time, sweetheart. nice ‘f you to make a roast.”

john’s standing there like he owns the place, like he knows this kitchen he’s never been in. he’s boiling potatoes on the stove, keeping an eye on the slow cooker timer. he’s even poured himself a fucking drink, a scotch he had to have brought since all you have is wine and simon’s whiskey. all smug and entitled in his civvies, commanding the room like he pays your rent. he's still as handsome as ever, darker eye bags the only indication he's been losing sleep.

“what the fuck are you doing here, john?” john doesn’t answer immediately, instead using a fork to test the potatoes. satisfied, he takes them off the burner and turns to the sink, dumping them out in a prepared strainer. “‘s our anniversary, sweetheart. thought that’s why you made the food.” you can sense simon still in the doorway, his presence unknown to your ex. it gives you strength, a guard dog at your back, and comfort that he’s letting you run this on your own. “our anniversary ended when we signed the papers. i don’t know how you got in here, but you need to leave.” he frowns at you and it almost tugs at your heart strings. your brain conjures images of his coldness and constant distance, and you shut that down real fast. unfortunately, he doesn’t get the memo. john takes a step closer, hands up like he’s approaching a wild animal. “honey, i-“ and that’s when ghost steps out of the darkness.

there’s a long pause. it boosts your ego a bit, showing john you’ve moved on, until the silence is so long that you start to worry. you chance a look at simon’s face and find it confused, not at all the guard dog you thought he was. a glance at john’s reveals the same. you’re about to ask your question when they answer it for you. “captain.” “lieutenant.” “what?”

the transformation happens in an instant. both men straighten to their full heights, wiping any emotion off their faces. their brows furrow as they flex their hands to control their instincts. how could you not see it before? simon only mentioned he was military, but the stamp of the SAS is clear as day. it was in the harsh lines he carried, a companionship with death, not unlike the one john had.

john started first, of course, always having to take control of the situation. “you fuckin’ my lieutenant, sweetheart? miss me that much?” you rolled your eyes at his cruel words, inching closer to simon. “whatever we do doesn’t concern you.” you emphasized the “you”, spitting it out with venom. john hums low, making you nervous. you turn to simon, but he's quiet and calculating, communicating silently with his captain.

"didn't know you had a wife, sir." you answer before john can. "we divorced a year ago." john chimes in. "to the day, actually. she served me on our anniversary." simon looks down at you, the man you thought you knew now gone. his eyes are black pits, targeting you like you're prey. "that's cruel, bird." you sputter, backing into the kitchen cabinets. you walk until your back hits the sink, each man on either side of you. john has his arms crossed and head cocked to the side, like you're about to get chewed out by the school principal. simon looks...no longer human. unrestrained. whatever spark you two had has gone out, replaced by sheer loyalty to his captain. "show the captain what he's been missin', love. y've been starvin' him." he moves at lightning speed, picking you up and dropping you on the island counter, sunday roast long forgotten.

"simon?" he doesn't answer, scarred hands squeezing up and down your body as john watches from behind him, arms crossed and eyes searching. your mind is telling you one thing but your body wants another. some twisted part of your brain reminds you that john came to visit on your anniversary, even though you threw him out a year ago. simon's no better, coaxing your sweater off your torso, leaving you exposed in a lacy bra. your nipples harden and john sees, making a clicking noise with his tongue. "warm 'er up, lieutenant." simon obeys instantly, pulling down the cup of your bra to suck on your nipple. he's ravenous, no sunday roast in sight, and he's decided you're his meal instead. he sucks hard, a calloused hand reaching up to pull your other tit out so you're fully exposed to your two men. he squeezes it with reverence, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he sucks hard on the other one, not minding his own teeth.

it's dirty - watching john watch you. you hadn't fucked in the last months before the divorce. he was always too busy, on base or deployed, and you were so angry you couldn't let him near you. now, your ex-husband moves closer, taking in the sight of his lieutenant feasting. "miss me, sweetheart?" you shake your head on instinct. he sighs at your attitude. you're seated on the corner of the island, perfect for john to come up on your side, one large paw making its way towards your jaw, turning you towards him. "say it." you shake your head again. john sticks a thumb into your mouth, pushing against your teeth. you try to force him out, but simon bites your tit, making you gasp and let john in anyways. you suck his thumb defiantly, gazing at him with all the emotions you can't convey.

you look so pretty like this, john decides. laid out for his lieutenant, taking his orders as well as your emotions will allow. he decides to forgive you for your indiscretions with ghost - at least it was with one of his own men. they're practically an extension of himself. john hooks his thumb into the gap between your tongue and teeth and pulls, forcing you right into his space. "i reckon your cunt's nice an' wet, though. should i check? know she's missed me even if you won't admit it." your eyes go wide, giving him an answer he already knew. simon follows orders well, manhandling you into position by yanking off your jeans. there's a wet spot on the light fabric of your underwear. john can practically see your cunt clinging to it, begging for him to say hello.

"want ya to take 'em off y'self, bird." simon's finally speaking, the glaze in his eyes fading. he looks at you, then his captain, and it makes sense. how you're used to being led but refuse it all the same. how you're desperate for affection but won't date him because he's military. you're scarred from the chains of your marriage, so it only makes sense that he's the one you seek out - the opposite of husband material. more dog than human on his worst days. simon stares at you until you follow his command, meekly lifting up your hips as you take off your underwear. your cunt is sopping, in a way it only does when you’re ovulating, practically begging for it. your ex-husband whistles through his teeth like he’s praising a recruit. “knew she’d be happy to see me. hullo, darling.” you can’t find it in you to cringe. john starts running his fingers through your folds, inspecting, and all you can do is stare. stare at the veins in his forearm. stare at simon behind him, eyes trained on his captain’s movements. stare at the counter where your juices start to gather and wonder how the hell you got into this situation.

“pinch ‘er tit an’ watch ‘er flutter.” simon’s callous with his instructions but john follows them anyway, his unoccupied hand reaching up to pinch your nipple. you can’t help the gasp that escapes you, the way your cunt flutters around john’s fingers. he hums thoughtfully. john decides you’ve been good, if not a bit quiet, and presses his thumb against your clit as a reward. he starts rubbing in that pattern that would get you off without fail during your marriage. he fits one finger into you easily as you grip the counter hard, the sudden sensation overwhelming. simon peers over his shoulder like a fucking scientist. “‘f she gets bratty, i pull back the hood til she screams.” like your cunt’s a machine and they have the two pieces of its manual. john’s movements are making you desperate, hips starting to buck against his fingers. he chuckles and adds another, not hiding a smile when you sigh in relief. simon’s hands come to your waist, helping you fuck yourself on price’s fingers. it feels so wrong, having them barely listen to your pleas, and yet being under their watch is the most right you’ve ever felt in your life. that’s what brings your orgasm - not john’s thick fingers on your cunt, his rough thumb in your clit - but two sets of hungry eyes on you, like you’re their last meal. john fucks you through your orgasm, simon not letting you out of his grasp until tears start to form, the embarrassment of your own wetness coming to the front of your mind. john slowly removes his fingers and brings them to simon’s mouth to taste, not satisfied until his lieutenant hums in agreement. the two men turn to you, naked save for your disheveled bra around your waist, somehow making the scene more depraved.

“‘ow ‘bout that roast, love?” simon murmurs gruffly.

good thing john never signed the divorce papers.

[harrysfolklore]

Hi, I had this idea about actress!reader getting arrested by Sabrina Carpenter instead of her husband!Charles Leclerc like she did to Margaret Qualley and Jack Antonoff

super small thing buut i needed to write something based on this! enjoyyy

After weeks of begging Charles to take you to Sabrina Carpenter's Short and Sweet Tour, here you were, his arm around your waist as you swayed to the music. You'd played the "but I sat through so many F1 races" card, and he'd finally caved, pretending he wasn't secretly excited about it too.

"See? Not so bad, right?" you tease him, and he responds by pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Anything for you, mon coeur," he murmurs against your ear, making you shiver despite the warm arena.

"Oh my god, do I see some hotties in the crowd tonight?" Sabrina's voice rings through the arena as she grabs her pink handcuffs. The big screens start showing different sections of the crowd, and you can feel the excitement building.

You're nestled against Charles' side, his Ferrari jacket draped over your shoulders because you'd been "cold" (really, you just love wearing his things).

"Do I see a cute brunette in Ferrari red?" Sabrina's eyes lands on your section. "Wait… is that Charles Leclerc?" The big screen shows Charles, who gives that devastatingly charming smile of his. The crowd goes absolutely wild.

Charles is blushing now - that adorable pink tinge he gets when he's caught off guard - but he's grinning.

"I'm loving the view from here," you whisper to him, and he smirks, pulling you closer.

"Oh my god, wait! Is that YN?" Sabrina gasps dramatically. "You know what? Change of plans, we have an emergency situation here. Charles is cute but his wife is literally ILLEGAL levels of hot right now!"

The dancers make their way through the crowd, and one of them hands you the pink fuzzy handcuffs as the crowd cheers. Charles watches with amusement, that signature smirk playing on his lips - the one that still makes your knees weak after all this time.

He leans down, his breath tickling your ear. "Maybe we should keep these for later," he murmurs, voice low and teasing. "For… research purposes." His fingers trace lazy patterns on your back as he speaks, making you shiver despite the warm arena.

You feel your cheeks flush as you playfully smack his arm. "Charles!" But you can't help leaning further into his touch, your body naturally gravitating toward his like always.

Sabrina must have caught your reaction because she laughs into the mic. "Looks like someone's already got plans for those handcuffs!"

"She's the criminal here," Charles calls out, grinning. "I'm completely innocent!"

[tetragonia]

Let It Roll

JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

JJ Maybank would give anything, but he won't give up on you. He'd say anything, but not good bye.

warning: uh, angst? they're fighting.

note: I took the title and the summary from Train's song, Let It Roll and Words. would be nice if you take a listen!

words: 1.5k

It had started weeks ago, small things piling up like the sand that collects on a boat until it makes everything feel heavier. JJ had been distant, disappearing without a word and dodging questions when he came back. You’d catch him staring off into the distance, his jaw set, shoulders tense, but whenever you’d ask what was going on, he’d just brush it off with a laugh or say something evasive.

At first, you tried to be understanding. JJ wasn’t the kind of person to open up easily, and you knew he had a lot on his shoulders—too much, really, for someone so young. But as days passed and he kept pulling further away, the frustration grew.

You’d text him, and hours would pass before he’d reply with something vague. You’d make plans, and he’d show up late or sometimes not at all, leaving you with the sense that he was slipping through your fingers, like sand you couldn’t hold onto.

Tonight was supposed to be different. He’d promised to meet you by the docks after sundown, a plan he’d made himself. You were excited, even hopeful, thinking this would be the night he’d finally open up about whatever was weighing on him. But as the sun sank and the stars filled the sky, there was still no sign of JJ. An hour passed, and then another, until you were left alone, hurt gnawing at you as the breeze grew cold.

When he finally showed up, his face flushed and eyes stormy, he mumbled an apology. It was the same routine—vague promises that didn’t really ease the sting of waiting alone. You’d reached your limit, and suddenly, everything you’d been holding back came spilling out.

“You’re here now, but for how long, JJ?” you said, your voice trembling with frustration. “I’ve been waiting for you to let me in, to talk to me instead of shutting me out, but you keep disappearing. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“You’re always doing this, JJ,” you continued, your voice wavering as you tried to keep steady. “Pushing everyone away, saying it’s no big deal, that nothing gets to you—but it does. And I’m just supposed to sit here and watch you pull further and further away?”

JJ ran a hand through his hair, clearly taken aback. “Look, I’m doing my best here, okay? It’s not like you understand this life, this… mess.”

“Then make me understand,” you pleaded. “Tell me what’s going on. I want to help you, but I can’t if you keep pushing me away.”

He looked at you, his jaw clenched tight, and shook his head.

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice rough. “You don’t get it. I’m not good at this—at… needing someone. I don’t know how to just talk it out, alright?”

You took a shaky breath, fighting the ache that had settled in your chest. “I don’t need you to be perfect, JJ. I just need you to be here. With me.”

He looked down, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of everything was pressing down on him all at once. For a moment, he didn’t respond, and the silence between you grew heavy, filled with every unspoken word and missed moment.

"No, I... I can sort this alone."

"There you go again!" you were frustated.

He looked at you, his blue eyes clouded, jaw clenched. “I’m trying, alright? I don’t know how to—how to do this stuff like you do. You know me. I mess up, I get it. But you act like I’m not here, like you’re waiting for me to say it’s over so you don’t have to.”

The accusation stung, but maybe it was true. Maybe you had been waiting for him to let you go.

“I don’t know how to keep this going if it’s always going to feel like this, JJ. I don’t know if you even want me here. I can’t be the only one fighting for this.”

“I don’t want you to fight for it alone!” his voice broke as he took a step forward. “You think I don’t want you here? That I don’t think about you every second of every day? I’d give anything to fix this—anything, alright? Just not… just not this.”

“Not what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not goodbye,” he said, his voice softer now, but his tone stubborn, like he was digging his heels into the ground and refusing to budge. “I can’t say it. I won’t.”

Your heart felt like it was being pulled in two directions. You wanted to let go of the anger, but you couldn’t ignore the hurt.

“JJ, sometimes it’s not enough just to want something. We need… more. I need you to talk to me, to tell me what’s going on inside instead of just running off when things get hard.”

“I don’t run,” he shot back, his gaze steady and filled with something fierce. “I stay because of you. Because I don’t want to let you go. I know I’m not great at the talking part, but I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying to tell you that I’m not giving up, even if you think I should.”

Your eyes stung, and you blinked back tears, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. You wanted so badly to believe him, to trust that he wouldn’t push you away again, but it was hard. You’d been here before—on the edge of leaving, only to be pulled back in by the sheer force of your feelings for him.

He took another step forward, close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“I’ll say anything you need me to say, do whatever it takes to make this right,” he murmured, his voice softer now, pleading. “But I won’t say goodbye. Not to you.”

There was a desperation in his words, a crack in the armor he always wore. JJ was staring at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground, his face tense and unguarded. It was rare for him to let you see him like this—raw, unfiltered, his defenses dropped.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand finding his, your fingers intertwining with his as you tried to breathe through the ache in your chest. You didn’t have the strength to walk away from him, not when he was looking at you with that fierce determination, like he’d rather burn than let you slip away.

“I don’t want to say goodbye, either,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, the silence wrapped around you both. He brought your hand to his chest, letting you feel the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingers.

“Then don’t,” he said softly. “We can figure this out, I promise. I just… I need you to believe in me. In us.”

The air was heavy, filled with unspoken promises, but as you looked at him, really looked at him, you could see it: the way his gaze softened, the way he was holding on to you like you were his lifeline.

Slowly, you nodded, squeezing his hand. You didn’t have the answers, and maybe neither did he. But for now, you were both here, grounded by the weight of everything you’d fought through to get to this moment. And it was enough.

As you stood there together, the tension between you faded into something warmer, something hopeful. Maybe things weren’t perfect, but you knew he was right — you weren’t ready to say goodbye, either. Not tonight. Not yet.

[illbegottenfaith]

lucky pt 2 - theo nott x reader

after the Felix Felicis incident, your relationship with theo has dramatically changed, for better and for worse

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - by popular demand! rip my title tho the best alternative I could come up with was ‘feminine ass-kicking’ but idk if that’s too out there. also I’ve started part 3 too! (which should be the final part) this was kind of inspired by gilmore girls season 6 :)

tropes/warnings - academic rivals to lovers, angst, slow burn, miscommunication

word count - 2.1k

The Felix Felicis incident had given the both of you much to think about. Outwardly, you maintained the appearance that nothing had changed between the two of you, taking snipes at each other every now and then. But every night, before you’d fall asleep, your mind would wander back to that evening at the Astronomy Tower, the sight of Theo and the harsh contours of his face softened by the forgiving setting sun. Every night, he asks if you have anything else to say. Every night, you shake your head.

And as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise, things had changed between you. Theo became more reserved, somehow, less determined to spar with you. Your fights didn’t hold anywhere near the spark they once did. And you hated it. You hated that it bothered you, you hated that it upset you, you hated that it was all you could think about every time you were in the same classroom as him. It just wasn’t fair.

What also wasn’t fair was your entire group falling sick the day before an extremely crucial Potions project was due. They were all more than apologetic, but it didn’t change the fact that months worth of work to complete in one night if you wanted even a semblance of a chance at passing.

Which was how Theodore Nott found you in the library late one night, pouring over five gnarly tomes on Potions from the Medieval era, writing what looked like three essays at once. You flinched when you heard a noise near the bookshelves, and your mood wasn’t much improved when you saw who it was.

“Trying to read every book in one night, L/N?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. After weeks of stunted conversation, now that it was just the two of them, he was suddenly feeling chatty?

“I'm busy. Buzz off.”

Ignoring you, Theo crept closer, tilting his head to read what you were haphazardly scribbling.

“The Potions project? But we started that months ago. And it’s due tomorrow.”

You swept the papers up out of his sight. You were already in a testy mood to begin with and you were in no mood to have him crow over your bad luck.

“What part of ‘buzz off’ don’t you get?”

“Where are your groupmates?”

“Sick.”

“Sick?”

“They all went on some Hogsmeade trip together, the whole lot of them. They all caught it from each other and they’re supposed to be stupidly contagious.”

“But their reports should be fine.”

“They were, until Madam Pomfrey declared them a biohazard.” Your head was beginning to hurt from the bottled-up frustration. You knew it wasn’t their fault for falling sick, but now you had to pull an all-nighter just so you wouldn’t fail. You stood and walked past him to the shelves, pulling out any and every book that remotely looked like it might help. 

You glanced at the clock, mentally calculating how much time you’d need. There was no way you could get it all done by 9 am. Feeling quite proud of yourself for successfully giving Theo the same cold shoulder he had been giving you the past couple of weeks, you walked to the library telephone and started dialing the number to Slughorn’s office. One of the only people who could help you now was Jeeves, Slughorn’s teaching assistant, provided he was in a good enough mood.

“Jeeves, hi. Yes, I know it’s late, but I was wondering if you could delay the Potions project submission by just an hour? I’m sure Slughorn wouldn’t mind. It’s just my entire team fell sick all at once, and Madam Pomfrey threw out everything they’ve touched in the past three days, including their reports. I know it's due 9 am but couldn’t you bend the rule a little, just this once? For me?”

You rubbed your forehead anxiously, an unpleasant expression on your face as you tried to follow whatever Jeeves was yammering about punctuality. When he moved on to the importance of personal accountability, you felt like you were going to combust if you didn’t shut him up soon.

“Y’know, Jeeves,” you interrupted with a dramatic sigh, dropping your voice, “just the other day I was thinking about that one Quidditch match you had played a couple of years back. Yes, that one game you subbed in for the Chaser? I have to say, you’re no slouch yourself out on the pitch. You sure look like you know your way around a broom. Yes, exactly, way better than those oafs on the team. I always thought it was a shame you didn’t make the cut - one hour. Yes, yes, that’s all I need. Thank you, thank you!”

You hung up, already feeling much more hopeful with the one-hour extension. All that was left to do was slave away for the rest of the night, and by morning you’d have a more than acceptable report ready.

“…what was that?”

You started, having nearly forgotten who was with you. “What was what?” You asked, half-distracted, once again absorbed in rearranging the layout of your Potions project.

“That, with the - ‘you look like you know your way around a broom?’ Really?”

You glanced at Theo, frowning. “Well, how do you get what you want?”

You turned your gaze back to the book splayed out in front of you, missing the brief look of longing that passed over Theo’s face. “Hmm. Bribery, mainly.”

“Right,” you said slowly, a hint of sarcasm in your tone underneath the flurry of activity. “That trust fund isn’t going to spend itself, now is it?”

“My trust fund doesn’t kick in ‘til I’m 25, tesoro.”

You wanted to kick yourself when your heart fluttered over the stupidly endearing pet name. You didn’t realise how much you missed it. “Oh, oh, of course. Mr. Moneybags here is just absolutely rolling in it even without his trust fund. How could I forget?”

“Mr. Moneybags? That’s the best you can come up with?”

You huffed without any real annoyance. You walked over to where Theo was lounging as he lazily watched you spin like a top between the bookshelves. He had the decency to sit up slightly as you approached and dumped the stack of papers into his lap.

“Look, Nott, I’m on a time crunch here. So either help me or get out.”

Theo looked up at you without a trace of mockery in his otherwise teasing blue eyes. You willed yourself to not look away. 

“Yes, ma'am.”

You made the mistake of holding his gaze. A beat passed, then two. It seemed that it was surprisingly impossible for either of you to look away. Finally, you snapped out of it, mentally giving yourself a good shake as you hurried out of his magnetic field back to the table. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought you were flirting with him.

“Wha -?”

“Toast. From breakfast.”

You glanced around the room bleary-eyed, seizing Theo’s wrist a little harder than necessary as you blinked the sleep out of your eyes. As much as you hated to admit it, last night had gone better than you could have ever hoped. It helped to have another pair of hands and a brain that was almost as good as yours. Unfortunately, you must have nodded off at some point, 

Cursing as you finally made out the time on his watch, you peeled off the piece of parchment stuck to your face and continued writing, even as every muscle in your palm protested. Theo rolled his eyes and stuck the toast in your mouth, which you mindlessly nibbled on for the next hour or so. 

When you were finally done, you stuck your group’s names on the cover page and the two of you hurried down to Slughorn’s office a little before 10 o clock. Jeeves, good man that he was, was still in. But your relief was short-lived.

Jeeves did an insufferably exaggerated impression of reading the time as you walked in. “It’s 2 past 10. I’m afraid I can’t accept your submission.”

This was it. You reached your limit. You weren’t running on what was at most 2 hours of sleep just for some self-important dimwit of a teaching assistant to refuse your submission.

You grabbed the collar of Jeeves’ shirt, manhandling him with hours' worth of frustration. “Listen here, Jeeves. You will accept my group’s submission if you want to walk out of here with every part of your anatomy intact. You will take these essays I have here and you will accept them graciously, Merlin help you if you don’t.”

“What happened to using your feminine wiles?” asked Theo, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Yeah, well, now I’m more in the mood for a feminine ass-kicking. Jeeves, come on. ”

You only released him when Theo placed a calming hand on your wrist. He reached into his pocket, offering something to a very red-faced and highly affronted Jeeves.

“C’mon, Jeeves. Maybe we could make this more worth your while.”

You hesitated, torn. On the one hand, you were raised better than to bribe people or accept financial aid, especially when you didn’t really need it. On the other hand, this project was worth 40% of your grade and Jeeves was being a little bitch. 

Jeeves mulled over the coins in his palm, taking his sweet time appraising them. Just as it looked like he was about to ask for something a little more, you slammed a hand on his desk.

“Alright, fine, hand it over.”

Once you’d finally successfully submitted your project, the two of you walked out of Slughorn’s office in a daze. Without the stress of the impending deadline to act as a buffer between you, a certain awkwardness started to set in. Theo had his hands in his pockets, rubbing at a scuffed patch on the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you started, but he waved off your protests. Still, no one pulls an all-nighter for just about anyone.

“So how much did you give him?”

Theo sighed. “L/N.”

But you were already pulling out your coin purse. “It can’t have been more than what I have on me now.”

“Y/N.” You stopped counting out your coins. He was looking at you strangely, like he didn’t understand what he was doing either. “Forget it. Really.”

Reluctantly, you pocketed your coin purse. A hysterical sort of giddiness was starting to set in. “We did it.”

“You did it.”

Maybe it was the long night of endless writing or your grumbling stomach. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you now, with a smile so sincere like he was genuinely so proud of you. Whatever it was, you took a step towards him, and then another before throwing your arms around his neck.

It was a little less dignified than you would have hoped, what with you trembling with barely any sleep and the vestiges of caffeine-induced adrenaline and him having the audacity of being a whole head taller than you since sixth year. But he steadied you before you could tip back, his arms resting around your waist. You had never shaken hands, much less hugged each other, but something about it felt so warm, comforting, familiar. The feel of his solid body pressed against yours didn’t feel so terrible.

But as you pulled apart, you caught sight of his expression, and your face fell. He wasn’t smiling like you, not anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, immediately feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. He still wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry either. He looked - you couldn’t tell how he looked. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear almost regretfully, before turning to leave.

“Don’t.”

Theo paused. He didn’t turn to face you.

“Don’t do this, Nott. Don’t be cold. Don’t be distant.”

He adjusted the shoulder strap of his satchel. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was nervous. “I have Charms to get to.” He turned his head slightly but not enough to meet your gaze. “You should get a proper breakfast.”

And then he left, as if he had no idea what you were talking about. As if the last twelve hours hadn’t occurred. As if he hadn’t felt the void festering between you the past couple of weeks.

As if he didn’t care about you.

[thedevilrisen]

Imagine

Jack and yourself sat nestled on the soft sand, a dry wind cut through the air, a shared blanket broke the chill. The quiet gentle waves rippled off the lake, the gentle melodical crash of water was your only company, a soothing rhythm matching the quiet comfort between you. Endlessly the canopy of stars stretched above you, twinkling like scattered diamonds.

"Do you reckon there is another version of us out there, Jacky?" You asked, Jack glanced over and watched the stars glisten in your eyes.

Jack's soft chuckle reverberated against your side, his warm breath fogging out into the cold night. "You mean.. in another galaxy or something?"

"Yeah," you replied, turning your head to face him, smiling softly as Jack's hand reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "Maybe they are mirroring us, sitting on some alien beach and wondering if we exist."

Jack smiled and leaned in to kiss your reddening nose, "Even if they are, my alternate version would never be as lucky as I am."

You swatted at his chest, giving him a slight shove, "That's so cheesy!"

"Cheesy but true," he said, pulling her closer to him, rearranging the blanket to sit better on her shoulders.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world seemingly faded away, leaving only them in each others company cradled by the surrounding sky. Jack shifted slightly, not rousing you as he reached into his back pocket, hesitating for a second, his heart jumping in his chest. He pulled out a small velvet box.

When you caught sight of the simple yet elegant oval shaped ring that sparkled in the starlight, tears caressed your lash line.

"I was going to wait but I have carried this with me waiting for the right moment for weeks now and.. this feels perfect." Jack paused, arranging himself on his knee. "Y/N, will you marry me?"

You strared at him, heart pounding. "Jack.. Yes! Of course, yes!"

You could hear distant cheering as you see Jack's brothers standing with cameras on the bank of the beach, you smiled and waved as Jack slid the ring onto your finger and you grinned from ear to ear.

This was your universes happy ending.

[the-golden-comet]

✨💋Friday Kiss Tag✨💋

✨🎉🎊 Iiiiiiiiiit’s FRIDAY 🎊🎉✨

You know what that means. Smoochin’ (or share) Time! 💋💖

Some extra kudos and love to the following individuals who tagged me this week:

@kaylinalexanderbooks for a heads up seven up tag, @illarian-rambling for an OC deep dive, both @justabigoldnerd and @pippinoftheshire for both WIP Wednesday and Playlist Shuffle tags, @gioiaalbanoart for an open Mixed Fried tag, @ominous-feychild for a silent Saturday tag, @the-inkwell-variable for a Proud Of and Last Line tag, @willtheweaver for a Proud Of Tag, @sableglass , @words-after-midnight , and @tragedycoded for a Pride of Line tag, @noblebs and @illarian-rambling for Find The Word tags, @drchenquill , @tragedycoded , @ceph-the-ghost-writer , @cowboybrunch , and @theink-stainedfolk for a Writing Share Tag! ANNNND the Friday Kiss Tags from @leahnardo-da-veggie and @illarian-rambling !!Wow!! That deserves another smoochin’ gif! Thank you all!!

For everyone else who has tagged me who I may have missed, thank you so much and I always appreciate your tags!! As I wrap up Draft 2 of YWIMC, I will be very busy getting technical editing done and preparing the story for launch, so in the meanwhile I may miss some tags. Please always feel free to tag me, even if I miss them! I love seeing what the community is doing, even if I’ve been a little quieter than usual 💫✨

Now, onto the tag! 💛

Here are the kiss rules 💋✨:

Rules: From your Story/WIP, share a kiss. It can be any kiss, from familial pecks on the cheek, forehead kisses, platonic smooches, to full-blown makeouts.

And if you don’t have a kiss, no worries! You can still participate by treating this post as a writing share! 💚

Rules: Share a snippet of your writing!

I will attempt to fit as many tags this week as possible in this post as I give you this heartbreaking excerpt from YWIMC:

For the music tag, take some Christina Perri’s “Jar of Hearts” to set the stage:

And now, without ANY dialogue, get ready for a gutwrenching scene where Ali and Noah are fighting. I’m putting it underneath the cut because there is a ⚠️ trigger warning for domestic violence. ⚠️ Use discretion.

✨👇Tag list for writing snippets below. DM me if you’d like to be added 👇✨

In one last act of desperation, Noah started to scream. He screamed in pain, anger, sorrow, stress. He screamed a guttural scream that instinctively made Ali flinch and his gut turn. The djinn slapped a hand to Noah’s mouth to muffle the agony as Cauldwell tried pulling his head away, only briefly stopping his distressed cries to jolt out of Ali’s attempt to silence him. And in another attempt to stop the visceral screams, the genie wrapped his arms tightly around his master, and held Noah’s head to the frantic pulse in Ali’s neck.

In his fight or flight, Noah beat closed fists on Ali’s shoulder blades. Frustration, desperation, culminating sorrow bubbled out of his chest as he wailed into Ali’s neck, and onto Ali’s back. Cauldwell’s attempts at kicking were stopped by the genie’s knees pinning his legs down, and in the heat of the struggle Noah’s lenses slid off his face and clattered on the floor….the left lens cracking and the right one remaining whole.

Ali grit his teeth and bore the strikes, yet refused to let go. He held the back of Noah’s head, the face to his nape, and weathered the flagellation. Weaker and weaker the strikes rained, but the tempest would not stop the flood from Noah’s olive eyes. Anger and frustration gave way to despair, until finally Cauldwell crumbled.

Furious, hot screams turned into icy cries and frigid tears. The furious fists flexed their fingers to tightly clench the back of Ali’s collar. Noah’s arms, once trying to push away, pulled around Ali’s neck to bring him closer. The anger stinging Ali’s corneas simmered away as his face softened, washing cold sadness over his somber face.

Ali and Noah naturally slid to sit on the cool vinyl floor as the genie kept his master locked to his chest. Resting at the foot of the couch, Ali let a silent prayer parse his lips, pressing the plump skin to the top of Noah’s head as his eyebrows furrowed in deep contemplation.

Tag List for writing tidbits (lmk if you want + or -)

@autism-purgatory , @talesofsorrowandofruin , @ragin-cajun-fangirl , @wyked-ao3 ,

@glasshouses-and-stones , @alinacapellabooks , @gioiaalbanoart , @tragedycoded , @deanwax ,

@dyrewrites , @honeybewrites , @drchenquill , @paeliae-occasionally , @lychhiker-writes ,

@thatuselesshuman , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @phynewrites , @zackprincebooks , @fantasy-things-and-such ,

@finickyfelix , @billybatsonmylove , @madi-konrad , @houseplantblank , @far-cry-from-finality ,

@froggy-pposto , @fractured-shield , @avaseofpeonies , @topazadine , @thecoolerlucky ,

@theaistired , @somethingclevermahogony , @noxxytocin , @the-inkwell-variable , @seastarblue ,

@leahnardo-da-veggie , @addicted2coke-theothercoke , @illarian-rambling , @mysticstarlightduck , @the-letterbox-archives ,

@ominous-feychild , @saturnine-saturneight , @words-after-midnight , @hemlocks-grove , @cowboybrunch ,

@yourpenpaldee , @moltenwrites , @pixies-love-envy , @davycoquette , @writeahurricane ,

@nczaversnick , @greenfinchwriter , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @lavender-gloom , @smellyrottentrees ,

@aintgonnatakethis , @thecomfywriter , @pluppsauthor , @michellekarnold , @flurrysahin ,

@authorcoledipalo , @jadeglas , @spookyceph , @astramachina , @48lexr ,

@inseasofgreen , @agirlandherquill , @saebasanart , @leatafandom , @justabigoldnerd ,

@pippinoftheshire , @just-emis-blog, @aalinaaaaa , @badscientist , @dearunreliablenarrator ,

@worlds-tallest-fairy , @rhikasa , @eccaiia , @theink-stainedfolk , @theverumproject ,

@theprissythumbelina , @riveriafalll , @revenancy , @inadequatecowboy , @amielbjacobs ,

@patternwelded-quill , @sugarchains , @garthcelyn , @prettytothink-so , @leahnardo-pa-potato ,

@winvyre , @speaknowbuckley , @lamuradex , @wintherlywords , @sharkblizzardblogs ,

@dragoninatrenchcoat , @darekasama , @recklessgirl56 , @kokoass , @ziote ,

@paletteofseaglass , @basketcase1880 , @sableglass , @halfbakedspuds , @notwritinganyflufftoday ,

@twopercentboy , @mxtansy , @menaceofmemory , @unfilteredmoonchild , @blerdsong ,

@iamwhimsy , @beansmakesthings , @birdycage , @tiagems , @narkaholic ,

@irolynn , @petitprincess1 , @macinchiz , @owlsandwich , @stephtuckerauthor,

@sarandipitywrites , @mauvecatfic , @finchwrites , @aurumni-writes , @uiraya ,

@justanotherchangeling , @ahopelessnecromantic , @ryns-ramblings , @oleanderbailey , @365runesofthesystem

[delulu4anime]

ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴛᴀɴ ʙʟᴜʀʙꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ɴɴɴ

⚔︎ 🔞ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ! ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇʟʟʏꜰɪꜱʜ ꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʟᴇᴛʜᴀʟ. ᴇxɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛ ɴᴏᴡ🔞

⚔︎ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ɪɴ ᴀɴ ᴀᴜ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ ᴏʀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴊᴏʙꜱ. ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴋᴀʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ.

⚔︎ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ɪ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍ���ᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ɴɴɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪ ʟᴇᴛ ᴀ ᴡʜᴇᴇʟ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ.

⚔︎ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴍᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴇʟᴇɴᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ꜱᴛᴜᴅɪᴇᴅ.

⚔︎ ᴛᴡ'ꜱ: ᴍᴀɴʜᴀɴᴅʟɪɴɢ, ᴅᴏɢɢʏ, ᴘᴜꜱꜱʏ ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴘᴏɴʏ, ꜱʜᴏᴡᴇʀ ꜱᴇx, ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx, ᴍᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱ, ꜱᴇx ᴛᴏʏꜱ, ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʀɪɴɢ, ꜰᴜʟʟ ɴᴇʟꜱᴏɴ, ꜱɪxᴛʏ-ɴɪɴᴇ, ᴛʜʀᴜᴘᴘʟᴇ, ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ꜱɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ ᴏɴ, ꜱᴄɪꜱꜱᴏʀɪɴɢ.

⚔︎ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀᴍᴀꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴏʟᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ

ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴜʏ’ꜱ

⚔︎ ᴇʀᴇɴ

⇥How long does he last: About two weeks.

⇥Surprisingly resilient that is until you wear his shirt around the house on your days off.

⇥Pops a boner and the thought of taking care of it crosses his mind.

⇥But after what felt like the thousand time of splashing cold water on his face he couldn't do it anymore.

⇥He stormed into the living room where you sat on the couch. Fuck it.

⇥He yanks the thin fabric off of you and manhandles you over the arm of the couch.

⇥He's about to fuck you like he hates you for indirectly teasing him.

⇥Results? Loser.

He has one hand pressed down between your shoulder blades while the other has a bruising grip on your hips. His own snapping repeatedly against you as your ass ricochets off him. The sound of your skin meeting his echoing out throughout your living room. What a stupid bet this was anyways; there's no one in the history of forever that has ever lasted an entire month without touching their significant other. Especially one as pretty as you.

"F-Fuck baby just like that. Keep squeezing around me. You know you've missed this just as much as I have."

⚔︎ ᴀʀᴍɪɴ

⇥How long does he last: To the end.

⇥This precious baby.

⇥Too wrapped up on the fact exams are around the corner.

⇥Doesn't really care about NNN but thinks it's cute that you try to get him to cum before the end of the month.

⇥He's lost count on how many times you've climbed on top of him and rode him until you came.

⇥You really thought you could get him but the moment December 1st hit he spent that time doing what he really wanted to do now that exams and that silly little challenge was over.

⇥Results? Winner.

Your fingers buried in his hair as you arch your back and moan out his name. His hand wrapped around his cock as he stroked his length quickly. His pre-cum started out as lube before he switched hands and his fingertips covered with your slick was used to make it nice and slippery.

"Love making you feel good baby. It's what you deserve. Now lay back and take what I give you okay?"

⚔︎ ᴄᴏɴɴɪᴇ

⇥How long does he last: surprisingly almost till the end.

⇥This stupid bald idiot really was so determined to win this. Jean bet him fifty bucks he wouldn't be able to win and Connie was about to call his bluff.

⇥You were supportive cause hey, money is money. You both agreed. No sex, no revealing clothing, and no provoking media.

⇥It was easy and there was only a few days left before the end of NNN. The money was as good as yours.

⇥Until you both were cuddled up and watching Sex in the City of all things and for some reason he popped a boner.

⇥To be fair the money didn't matter. Not when he was thrusting up into you as you rode him on the couch.

⇥Jean's mocking words in the back of Connie's mind. He had more important things to focus on.

⇥ Results? Loser.

"S-So pretty like this." Connie panted out as he watched your expression. Your hands grasping his shoulders as you moved your hips though it was futile was how he snapped his hips up the way he did. "Pussy feels so good baby. Gonna make it mine over and over again."

⚔︎ ᴊᴇᴀɴ

⇥How long does he last: To the end.

⇥He made a bet with Connie and he didn't think he'd be able to win.

⇥But it turned out to be a busy month for both of you.

⇥Thankfully of course because the way you came in after work, despite being tired, looked so pretty to him.

⇥Especially when you took a shower after work and the urge to stroke his cock to the image of your naked body with water droplets running down your body.

⇥He didn't even get a chance to fuck you until you were a few days into December.

⇥ He ravished your body in the shower after you both got home.

⇥Results? Winner.

The water cascading against his back as he had one of your legs hooked over the bend of his elbow. One hand digging into the flesh of your plush thigh while the other held onto your jaw gently. He wanted to make sure that you looked at him while you came undone for him. His hips snapping against you as you held onto his biceps for dear life. You knew you both were exhausted but for some reason this felt better than it ever had before.

"Shit baby, you're so beautiful. Love seeing you like this. Love feeling you. Gonna cum for me okay? Be a good girl and cum for me."

⚔︎ ᴢᴇᴋᴇ

⇥How long does he last: To the end but barely.

⇥He had to distract himself so many times and you surely didn't make it easy for him.

⇥Seeing you making him breakfast in the morning in nothing but his shirt suddenly had him craving you instead of breakfast.

⇥ You eventually caught on to what he was doing and you started teasing him more. Like walking into his study late at night when he was grading assignments for his students. Leaning down and kissing his pulse point on his neck and running your hands down his chest.

⇥The way his breath hitches as you slowly start to unbuckle his belt only to pull away and have him cursing under his breath.

⇥ It was no surprise the second the clock struck midnight you were woken up by your lover practically ripping your clothes off. 

⇥ Results? Winner.

"You little goddamn tease." He growled in your ear as he gripped your leg tightly. You were on your side and his other arm had snaked around you and was holding you by the throat. Squeezing the sides gently every now and then as he thrusts inside you. "I'll make you think twice about teasing me like that ever again." He grunted as he continued to destroy your poor pussy. His hand that had been holding your leg now letting go and sliding down to rub your clit. "Now you're gonna cum for me again and again. It's the only apology I'll accept."

⚔︎ ᴇʀᴡɪɴ

⇥How long does he last: To the end.

⇥"My love do you know what No Nut-" "November? Yes, I'm well aware of what it is. I'll do it if you'd like but I'm not sure how well I'll do."

⇥Fucker forgets you had even asked him to do that.

⇥He was so wrapped up with his work at the lab trying to test the serum he made to help with chronic back issues to even think of anything else.

⇥ To be fair you were wrapped up in work too so you hadn't even noticed until it was December before you figured you would congratulate him.

⇥ It was a simple kiss that shouldn't have been anything more than that. A simple kiss.

⇥Oh but it turned into so much more.

⇥ Results? Winner.

You cried out in pleasure as he continued to pound into you. He had you folded into a nasty mating press and you watched through teary eyes the white ring around his cock only get messier. You lost track of how many times you had cum and when you look into those sea blue eyes Erwin couldn't help but groan.

"Can't believe I went an entire month without this. Never again. I want to feel you wrapped around me forever."

⚔︎ ʟᴇᴠɪ   

⇥How long does he last: Till the end plus some.

⇥Let's say it all in unison now: sadist. 

⇥Knows allllllll about NNN from all the young interns at the lab. Even his boss, Erwin, knows about it which is saying a lot. 

⇥He's more than happy to entertain you. Goes a whole month and a half actually and you were practically begging him on your hands and knees to fuck you.

⇥Oh and he does. Exactly like you are right now. Kneeled before him with a harsh grip on the leash attached to the collar he has around your neck.

⇥The dildo you're riding wasn't exactly what you were wanting but it was better than nothing. Especially with how much you ached. 

⇥Results? Winner.

Levi gives a harsh tug to the leash causing you to take his cock deeper into your throat. He hums in approval at the way you gag around him.

"Ride it faster." Levi commands and you do as your told and ride the toy faster and he lets out a groan. "There you go my desperate little pet. See how rewarding it can be when you're patient." 

⚔︎ ʀᴇɪɴᴇʀ 

⇥How long does he last: 2 hours and 15 minutes.

⇥This poor touched starved man.

⇥Can you blame him really? I mean he loves you so much. He can't help it.

⇥The moment you brought up NNN he hated it. 

⇥You honestly made him accept the challenge cause you thought it would help with his training. He said he wanted to do resistance training for wrestling anyways so why not?

⇥He was the best on the team and so you figured this would help him. 

⇥Spoiler alert...it didn't.

⇥Results? Loser.

He had you in a full nelson and you were already fucked dumb. You grabbed onto his wrists as he thrusted inside of you at a brutal pace. All you could do was take it. You had already cum once and he still was going. You were sure that his stamina was going to be the death of you. The sound filling the room over and over again. You couldn't believe he was still going but you knew you had brought this upon yourself. You had wanted to test his endurance and you were getting just that.

"F-Fuck sweetheart," Reiner moans out. "Taking this cock so well. S-So good...love you too much to ever do that stupid challenge again."

ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʏ’ꜱ

⚔︎ ᴍɪᴋᴀꜱᴀ

⇥How long does she last: To the end.

⇥She had heard of NNN from Eren but never understood the hype.

⇥The only reason she even agreed to it was because you gave her those puppy dog eyes she could never resist. 

⇥The deal was to see who cracked first and unfortunately that was you.

⇥I mean fuck have you seen her working out? 

⇥You never knew cross country needed that much work out and soon you started to wonder if she was doing stuff on purpose.

⇥Anyways it was no wonder you caved before you really wanted to and you tried. You really did but she kept bringing up the fact November wasn't over yet.

⇥To your dismay she goes the entire month without so much as a kiss.

⇥She makes up for it though by pulling you on top of her a few days into December and you happily accepted it since you were practically touch starved.

⇥Results? Winner.

You moaned against her folds as you felt her tongue dive into you again. Your nails digging your nails into her thighs as you dived back into eating a meal you had been deprived of since the beginning of November. You knew Mikasa felt the same way despite making it through the entire month because she been buried in your pussy the moment she stripped you down and pulled you to her face. You could feel your thighs tremble around her head with the way she flicks her tongue the way she did that drove you crazy. You whine against her and you can feel her smile against you.

"C'mon baby. Cum for me. I don't plan on moving from this spot anytime soon."

⚔︎ ꜱᴀꜱʜᴀ

⇥How long does she last: One week

⇥She's actually the one that suggested it to you and Niccolo.

⇥For some reason she was bound and determined to win this.

⇥You and Niccolo took it as a challenge of course and you made a bet between the two of you secretly.

⇥Who was going to break Sasha first?

⇥It was you of course. The way you whined her name that night you all had one too many drinks during Connie and Jean's after party.

⇥She snapped and the moment you touched her thigh.

⇥You looked so pretty in that dress and the way you blinked up at her with that pout lip?

⇥It was no wonder she grabbed you and your shared boyfriend, Niccolo, by the wrists and dragging you both to the first empty room.

⇥Since you won the bet between you and Niccolo, your reward was that he'd fuck you in any position you want.

⇥You had the perfect position in mind.

⇥Did the first empty room really have to be Floch's bedroom?

⇥Oh well it didn't matter. Not when clothes were pushed out of the way and the moans started to come from all of you. 

⇥Results? Loser. 

The way Niccolo snapped his against your arching core caused your tongue to pause its movements against Sasha's pussy often. She whined loudly as her grip on your forearms tightened. The noises you three made were easily drowned out by the music playing throughout the frat house. The full size mattress was barely big enough to fit all three of you and it creaked often under the weight it normally never felt. 

"Stop teasing." Sasha whined out and Niccolo sped up his movements with a moan. 

"Maybe you should've held out longer. You don't get to cum before she does." Niccolo grunted out as he was fixated on the way your tongue started to move against Sasha again.

"H-Hate you guys so much."

⚔︎ ʏᴇʟᴇɴᴀ

⇥ How long does she last: To the end. Easily.

⇥"Let's do No Nut November." "What?" "Do you seriously not know what it is?" "No genius I don't."

⇥Gods why do you always have to explain things like this to her. She's surprisingly so dense when it comes to this kind of stuff.

⇥"Oh yeah I heard about that on Tic Tok. Sounds stupid."

⇥Babe...c'mon.

⇥Agrees to do NNN and you expect something with all the teasing you had done but nope. 

⇥She's like Fort fucking Knox. 

⇥You die though of course. A whole month without the strap? Read your obituary now. 

⇥Need her so bad it makes you look pathetic and that's her favorite.

⇥Results? Winner.

You feel her place a soft kiss between your shoulder blades. Her grip on your wrists, she had pinned behind your back, tightens. Her hips snapping against you and your muffled moans along with the headboard hitting the wall fill the room. She moans softly while her grey eyes darken as she watches you closely.

"So desperate princess. Do you realize how pathetic you look right now? Acting like this all because we went a month without sex. Maybe we should do this more often. You sound so pretty for me right now." 

ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ꜱ

⚔︎ ʜᴀɴɢᴇ 

⇥How long do they last: Technically only lasted three weeks but you give them the win.

⇥Hange has two weaknesses: the constant need for knowledge and you.

⇥When you asked them about NNN they gasp with the most excited look on their face.

⇥"I was hoping you'd ask me! Let's do it! I can do a little experiment on this."

⇥They really thought they'd be able to outlast you easily.

⇥That wasn't the case at all.

⇥You quickly see how clingy they started to get. Wrapping their arms around you and kissing your exposed shoulders

⇥Trying to make out with you whenever you could and putting their hands all over your body.

⇥You could feel how desperate Hange was so you decide to call it.

⇥Results? Semi-winner.

You moan Hanges name as they grind their core against yours. It felt beyond heavenly and you wondered how you were even able to go this long without feeling Hange against you. Hange gazes down at you with lidded eyes as they adjust their hips against you. Your leg over their shoulder as they placed gentle kisses against your ankle.

"That's it sweetheart. Wanna hear you. I did win after all didn't I?"

©ᴅᴇʟᴜʟᴜ4ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ 2024 ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱʜʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴊᴇʟʟʏꜰɪꜱʜ ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛ

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 6

It's Silco's turn to give you an invitation, and you're not quite sure what answer to give him. Then something chases you through the dark corners of the Undercity—and you end up somewhere unexpected...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst || SFW | TW: Stalking | WC: 4.1k

beta reader: @silcoitus <333

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

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Even though you told Silco you’re not painting today, you still have to check on the mural. When you arrive at your worksite, you lift the plastic sheeting and rest your palm gingerly against the wall; the rough stone is cool but dry to the touch. The colors seem a bit dim in the overcast weather, but the paint is still intact. It looks like your protective measures were successful.

The desire to linger persists, though. You extend the scissor lift higher to reach the rooftop, climbing up onto the ledge. You lean forward, kicking your feet against the wall. Staring out into nothing and shivering at the cold air that blows through your clothes.

Silco’s sleepover was already a significant disruption to your usual routine, but that’s not the only reason you feel disoriented. It’s been a while since you’ve made a new friend, and the buzzing excitement is enhanced by how much you have in common with him. 

Unfortunately, it’s tainted by anxiety about the heist. According to the papers, the shipment will be arriving in two weeks. It seems unlikely that you’ll see Silco before then.

Still, you can’t help but wonder. Should you go looking for him? It would be a change of pace if you were the one to initiate contact for once. Would he find that refreshing? Or would he think you’re coming on too strong? 

Something tells you he wouldn’t want to be disturbed during the planning phase of the raid. It’s an important mission, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to prepare for it. Maybe it’s better to leave him alone for now; he knows where to find you if he can make time for a visit.

These thoughts and more circle your mind like Poros chasing each other. You probably would have sat there for even longer, but a light raindrop taps your cheek. When you look up to the sky, the clouds are blotting out the sky, heavy trails of dark blue and gray ink swirling above your head.

As you wipe your face, the back of your neck tingles, goosebumps rising as your hair stands on end. The chill at the base of your skull isn’t caused by the weather.

Someone is standing behind you.

“Silco?” you call out, turning around in surprise.

You almost don’t hear it over your own voice and the rumble of thunder: a mechanical click and whirring, low like a buzzing insect. Simultaneously, a blinding, white flash bursts in your face, burning into your retinas. 

As you squeeze your eyes shut, footsteps patter away; metal clanking echoes in the distance as something jumps onto rooftops. When your eyes readjust, you carefully jump off the ledge onto the roof.

“Who’s there?” you say in a small, quivering voice.

But you’re all alone. Whoever that person was, they’re long gone by now. You pull your jacket tighter around you. You’re just about to leave when you spot something small floating to the ground.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you walk over to the thing and pick it up. It’s thin, glossy, and square, artificially smooth and warm to the touch. There are undefined shapes on it, blurred edges slowly sharpening into focus as the dull gray smears become stained with color.

The shock of what you’re looking at almost makes you drop it.

It’s a picture of you, your face blurred as you’re turning to look over your shoulder. But it has your clothes and your hair color, framed by a cloudy sky.

On instinct, you crumple the picture and stuff it into your pocket. Your body moves on its own, climbing onto the scissor lift and running away.

Stalkers aren’t unusual in Zaun, but their presence is still unnerving. No one’s ever followed you this closely before, and the picture proves that their issue with you is personal. 

Instead of heading home, you make your way Topside. You had meant to go shopping for new art supplies, and now seems as good a time as any. Hopefully you’ll be able to lose them in the streets of Piltover, where there’ll be more scrutinizing eyes. 

This one time, you’re grateful that Pilties are so judgmental of people from the Undercity; if you’re being watched like a hawk, they’ll be able to spot whoever’s stalking you. So you take your time browsing in an art store, not bothering to step away from the shop attendants that shadow your every footstep. It's late and raining hard by the time you finally leave. When you step out and take several careful, cautious steps, the tingling sensation doesn’t come back. You start walking faster to take advantage of your pursuer’s absence. 

On the second full day without rain, you return to the mural. But just as you pry open a can of paint, the feeling strikes you again. This time, your scalp tingles and stings painfully, as the stalker seemingly observes you from the rooftops. You jam the can’s lid back in place and run away again.

For days after, they don’t come back. But those close calls are enough to make you dread going to work. You keep your sessions short just in case you need to flee. The shorter workdays aren’t a problem for now, as you’re still laying down the base coat for the mural. However, longer sessions can’t be avoided when painting the finer details, as they’ll require focus and precision.

The fear of being stalked embeds itself into the very air around you, making you hyperaware of your surroundings. It doesn’t help that your nights have become restless, disturbed by nightmares of faceless figures towering over you and footsteps growing louder and louder as they approach you. 

Still, you’re determined to not let your newfound paranoia get the best of you, especially on the day after the raid. Silco had promised that he would find you, after all, so you steel yourself and head out to the mural.

To your immense relief, Silco is already there waiting for you, a triumphant grin on his face blazing like the sun. All your worries fall away as you rush to the scissor lift, impatiently slamming the button that extends it to the roof. During the ascent, you take a deep breath to calm your hammering heartbeat, hoping to regain some semblance of dignity.

As you pull yourself up and over the ledge, Silco extends a hand out to you. You take it, savoring the feel of his calluses and scars, solid and rough as you find your footing. He lets go of you all too soon to rummage in his backpack. You shove your own hand in your pocket, squeezing reflexively.

“We were right about the shipment,” he says excitedly, pulling a bottle of wine out of his backpack. “Noxian goods were just some of the many illegal imports we found last night. The councilor’s in trouble.”

“Hello to you too, Silco,” you say, laughing with relief. “Are you okay?”

The fire in his eyes diminishes to something softer, a warm hearth as he looks at you properly now with appreciation. But his smile widens as he holds out the wine to you.

“We prevailed thanks to you,” he says proudly. “It isn’t much, but we wanted you to enjoy your share of the spoils.”

“Oh—” you say, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

“Is this not enough? We have much more stashed away—” he asks.

“No, no,” you shake your head, hesitating. “I—I just need to hear you say that you’re okay.”

He doesn’t tell you those exact words, but instead launches into a grand retelling of last night’s events: staking out the warehouse for hours, bribing some of the less disciplined guards, knocking the rest of them out, hurrying away with as much cargo as they could carry, and dumping the rest of it in the harbor. He puts down the wine bottle and pulls a flask out from his pockets, toasting to the Children’s victory.

His tale is probably a very thrilling one, and you’ll have to ask Silco to tell it again someday. 

But right now, your attention is focused on his sleeves; despite the warm weather, he has them pulled almost all the way down to his wrist, bandaging peeking out like a dog sneaking into a dining room for table scraps.

When he holds the flask out for you to take, you instead seize his left wrist, shoving the sleeve up as high as you can. His entire forearm is bandaged past his elbow; it’s not unusual for him to accessorize with unnecessary bindings, but he hisses in pain from your manhandling.

You handle him more carefully now, fingers lightly grazing over the makeshift wrapping. The cloth is gray and dirty, smeared with dirt and coal dust. A tight, stubborn knot in the crook of his elbow refuses to untangle despite your best attempts to press your thumbs into its crevices.

“Dummy,” you say, exasperated. When you let go of him, he pulls his forearm close, rubbing it gingerly. “You broke your promise.”

“What do you mean?” he asks defiantly.

You climb over to your scissor lift and grab your bag, placing it carefully on the ledge. After pulling out a first-aid kit, you wave at him to come closer, scolding him gently, “You promised you’d stay safe.”

“There are always mishaps in battle,” he fires back, but there’s no malice in his voice. “And I’m here in one piece, aren’t I?”

“I’ll be more specific next time.” You roll your eyes and gesture again. “Besides, if you die of infection then that will count as you breaking your promise.”

“My own well-being is of no importance—” he protests.

“Silco…” You glare at him. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

His eyes widen in surprise at the anger in your voice. He’s almost meek when he finally steps forward, extending his forearm out to you. You take the flask from him and put it on the ledge next to your kit.

“What happened?” you ask, pulling out a pair of scissors to cut off the knot. You unwrap the dressing slowly, peeling it away layer by layer. On his arm is a long, jagged cut, almost spanning the entire length of his forearm. Another shorter cut closer to his wrist runs parallel to the first one. Neither are very deep, with dried flecks of blood already crusting at the edges of the wounds. His fingers are cut up as well, with tiny nicks at the joints that have already scabbed over.

“Climbed out of a broken window,” he says dismissively. When you narrow your eyes at him, he says defensively. “Time was of the essence—”

You sigh. “I know.”

Your first-aid kit is an expensive, deluxe product from a Topside pharmacy, stocked for almost every kind of emergency. First, you use a sanitizer on your own hands, making sure to meticulously scrub underneath your fingernails. Then, you carefully pour clean water onto a sterile cloth, just enough to dampen it but not soak it. 

You look up at Silco apologetically. “Sorry, this might hurt a little.”

Carefully, carefully, you dab away at the caked dirt and blood on Silco’s arm and fingers. To his credit, he’s a good patient, enduring your administrations without complaint. He winces when a particularly stubborn scab refuses to chip away, his tendons flexing involuntarily. When it finally does, a tiny droplet of blood oozes out.

“It’s a good thing you don’t need stitches,” you remark as you finish wiping up. You pull out a fresh roll of bandaging and start wrapping his forearm securely, but not too tightly. The cuts on his fingers have healed enough that they don’t need to be covered.

“That’s quite a shame; I would have welcomed the scars,” he jokes.

When you secure the wrapping at his elbow, you slide your hand down his arm, assessing your handiwork. The dressing’s grainy bumpiness gives way to Silco’s rough skin as your hand reaches his palm. 

Reluctantly, you start to pull away, but he squeezes your hand appreciatively, his thumb sweeping across the back of your hand. 

You can’t help but squeeze him back. His palm feels warm against yours, your own skin molding against his calluses.

“I missed you,” he says lightly. But when you look up, his eyes are sincere, turquoise waters as clear as a fountain. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you before the raid. But I would like to ask: did you make any effort to find me?”

You look away, mouth suddenly dry. His intense and earnest gaze has your legs feeling unsteady. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

(Also, you weren’t sure how closely your stalker was following you. You would never forgive yourself if they followed you straight to his doorstep.) 

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” he chuckles.

You purse your lips at him, annoyed; he didn’t deny that a visit from you would be bothersome. You open your mouth to tease him, trying too late to stave off your rising embarrassment. 

But before you can speak, he reaches out with his free hand to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips linger on the shell, tracing the shape of it all the way down to your lobe. His touch is gentle, a soft and tender caress. 

Wild heat blooms under your skin at his touch, no doubt spreading across the rest of your face and neck.

You yank your hand out of his grasp and jerk back, hitting your first-aid kid with your elbow. It falls sideways off the ledge and you catch it just before it hits the ground. Some of the supplies within tumble out, rolling across the roof.

“You’ll—uh—you’ll probably need painkillers for those cuts—I’ll get you some—uh—some pills and stuff later,” you stammer out. You seize the opportunity to look away from him, leaning over the ground to pick up the fallen items. “What about your friends? Are they okay?”

“They’re alright, thank you for asking.” He crouches down to help you pick up a roll of gauze. When he holds it out to you, you swipe it from him, careful to avoid touching him directly. He frowns, a little notch sinking between his eyebrows, but he doesn’t remark on your sudden skittishness. “In fact, they’ve expressed interest in making your acquaintance.”

“Huh?” You were about to grab a container of sterile water when you stop, hand still outstretched in midair.

Silco picks it up for you and puts it away in your kit. “They wish to express their gratitude, as I have mine. Your aid was a monumental factor in the raid’s success.”

After craning his neck around you to look for more medical supplies, he stands up. With the kit fully reassembled, he zips it shut, putting it back inside your bag. You get to your own feet as he turns to face you, leaning casually against the ledge.

“Our preparations were more than adequate due to your intelligence,” he says solemnly, looking straight at you. “I do not mean it lightly when I say you helped save many lives that night.”

“Oh…” You fold your arms, hugging yourself against a sudden breeze. It ruffles Silco’s hair, and he pushes his bangs out of his face. “I just took some pictures, that’s all.”

“All it takes to set off an avalanche is a pebble,” he says. “We struck a single blow against Topside last night. And we’re going to do it again and again until they finally fall at our feet.”

“Don’t call me a pebble just because I’m shorter than you,” you joke.

“We’re all ‘dirty little animals’ living in Topside’s shadow,” he smiles ironically at you. “We ought to stand united because of that. If you ever find yourself at our doors, they will always be open to you.”

“Hmm… The Last Drop is in the Lanes, right?” you ask. The name of the Children’s headquarters is common knowledge, but you’ve never been there yourself.

He nods. “I could lead you there, if you like.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you say quickly. “I’ll think about it.”

Silco grins at your answer. You bite your tongue, unwilling to dampen his mood by voicing your reservations. 

So far, you have no regrets in helping Silco, but opening yourself up to an organization of strangers is a different story. If they learn about your connections to the Council, the other Children might want to exploit them.

What would Silco do in that instance? Would he stand by your choice to remain uninvolved? Or would he also pressure you to officially join their cause? He seemed respectful enough of your decision during the sleepover, but you wonder if his friends would change his mind.

Silco picks up his flask again and unscrews it open. When he offers it to you, you take it automatically, still lost in your own thoughts as you take a sip. Instead of water, the tart taste of the Noxian wine floods your mouth. Caught off-guard by the alcohol, you cough and choke. He laughs and thumps you on the back.

You don’t get any painting done at all today. Instead, you both relax, talking about everything and nothing. Silco shows you some knife tricks, his own smile as sharp and shiny as the blade dancing through the air. You make up more stories about the dark-haired woman you’re painting.

He visits you at least once a week after that. Each time he does, the fear of being stalked fades away. Maybe it’s because the harasser is scared off by his presence, or you just feel safe around Silco. Either way, his visits never fail to cheer you up. You enjoy his company, and you pay polite attention every time he launches into a monologue about the Undercity’s future. His seemingly endless well of ambition means that he always has some new insights to share. At least these conversations distract you from darker thoughts about your stalker.

One day, you tell him that you have errands to run in the Undercity. You try to ask him as casually as possible if he wants to accompany you; you’re just interested in hanging out again later, nothing more and nothing less. When he declines, you let some lighthearted disappointment show, but hide the sinking dread that sinks through your chest and into your stomach. 

But maybe you’ll get lucky. After all, the underground never sleeps, its children traversing the alleys at all hours of the night. They might provide enough cover for you to slip undetected to your destination.

________________________________________

You should have known better than to be optimistic. 

It might be easier to lose your stalker in the crowded streets, but that also means it’s harder to pinpoint what direction they’re coming from.

Every conversation you overhear seems to be about you.

When you sidestep a pair of men wearing long capes and pointy Ionian hats, their sideways glance at you seems to linger unnervingly.

A weapons vendor catches your eye and he smirks at you, licking one of his knives before he stabs his table with it.

Silhouettes in windows point at you before disappearing from view.

As much as you dodge and sneak through the lanes, you can’t outrun the sense of impending doom that chases you.

Your palms are sweaty. 

Your breath is loud and fast in your ears. 

Blood drains from your veins to be replaced by a howling anxiety. 

Your heart beats a rapid and running pace that the whole of the Lanes can hear. 

Colors and noises swirl together in a dizzying and incomprehensible spiral.

When you sidestep into an alleyway around the corner from a fruit stall to catch your breath, you review your options. You could head straight to the elevators, but that still runs the risk of the stalker following you home. If you wait it out at Babette’s, they might charge you a premium for a room, especially if you have no intention of spending time with any of her employees.

You’re forced back onto the streets when the stall’s vendor yells at you to get away from his merchandise unless you’re buying. You swiftly step around him, keeping your gaze locked forward. Even in your compromised state, you can’t afford to look weak.

An unmarked, large, multi-story building at the end of the street seems safe enough. It lies at the junction of three different avenues, and you speedwalk through the open courtyard as fast as you can. The edifice is painted over in flaking shades of orange and brown, revealing rusted gray and turquoise steel underneath. Curlicues of metal pipes encircle the front door artistically, iron vines crawling up the walls reaching up towards the sky.

The establishment seems to be a pub of some kind. Most of the chairs are filled, patrons drinking or lounging at tables and booths. You sidestep a tall woman dragging a babbling man out by the collar. From the muted smack of flesh on steel and squeals of pain, the woman used the man’s face to push open the door. You can’t help but chuckle under your breath as you make a beeline for her recently vacated booth, enticing worn red fabric welcoming you as you scoot in to observe the other customers.

Low music leaks out of a brightly lit jukebox by the entrance. The furniture looks handmade, all made of sturdy wood with metal trimmings at the joints. Tables of mismatched sizes and shapes are spread unevenly throughout the room, seemingly moved around at the patrons’ whims. Exposed lightbulbs cast warm, yellow light, illuminating assorted portraits and posters on the walls. Worn brick peeks out from underneath peeling wallpaper. Wooden barrels sit in quiet corners.

A tall, burly man stands behind a counter, wiping it down. A wide selection of various alcoholic drinks occupies a glass shelf above him.

In a more peaceful world, this place could be… cozy. Some patrons allow themselves to slouch in their chairs, even though their hands never stray too far from belted knives. One man has fallen asleep in his cups, but nobody bothers him or his pockets. A group of rowdy friends laugh and encourage each other at one of the pool tables.

“Hey.” The tall woman you walked past steps in front of you, blocking your view of the bar. She’s muscular and tough, a bright red poncho draped proudly around her shoulders. Her short dark hair is tied neatly back in a half up-do, almost girlish except for the dark scowl carved into her face. “You’re in my seat.”

You finally glance down at the table, only just now noticing an almost-empty glass of orange alcohol and a half-full ashtray in front of you, still warm from recent use.

“Sorry,” you say hastily.

You slide out of the booth as quickly as you can, scanning for an empty table. The woman’s energy tells you that she could have just as easily picked you up and thrown you to the floor, and you’re thankful that she opted to evict you more politely.

She raises an appraising eyebrow at you. You draw your hood lower over your eyes, avoiding her gaze.

 “If you grab me a drink, I’ll let you sit here.” She takes a seat in the booth, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, still staring at you. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, relieved.

“Tell him Sevika wants her usual,” the woman says, jerking her head at the barman.

You make your way to the counter, leaning against it. When you place your hands on its edge, it’s cool to the touch, polished to a brilliant shine. You crane your neck to look for the bartender; he’s at the far end of the counter, finishing up with another customer. 

Just as you raise your hand to catch his attention, he spots you. He slaps a towel over his shoulder and saunters over to you.

“Never seen you ‘round here before, miss,” he says, curious. The glass he picks up looks tiny in his massive, boulder-like hands. He holds it out to you flirtatiously, his wink as shiny as the spotless glassware.  

“It’s my first time here,” you say politely, taking the glass from him. You put it down carefully in front of you. “Can I get Sevika’s usual, please?”

He nods, a slow grin spreading across his wide cheeks. He pushes his short brown hair out of his face before he grabs a second cup. When as he grabs a bottle of orange liquor from a shelf, you belatedly realize that you have no idea how much drinks cost here.

“Does she have a tab?” You pat down your pockets, groaning internally at your carelessness.

The bartender ignores your question, instead pouring both glasses half-full with a flourish.

“Oh, nothing for me, thanks,” you protest.

“It’s on the house, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully. “Welcome to The Last Drop.” 

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[sugahbunni]

jake as your bfs best friend except jake reallly likes you.

jake knows its just so wrong of him as heeseungs best friend, to have a crush on his gf. but how could he not? your blushing red cheeks, pouty lips and shiny eyes and perfect hair. its been months and he cant seem to get over you. he wonders how your hair feels, how your skin feels and how your lips would feel against his. when heeseung introduced you to jake, jake swears his heart flips. your puffy cheeks painted in a faint red from the cold weather. your innocent eyes flickering everywhere, and your delicate hand shaking his hand. and your voice seemed to be laced with honey. "i'm yn, nice to meet you!". jake nervously smiles, your hair distracting him. its so shiny and soft, he wonders how it must feel to tou- "right jake, ill see you around" heeseung pats jake on the shoulder, walking off with you holding his hand. "r-right" jake stutters, watching you stride away. "shes perfect".

you and jake had one class together, to his surprise you came up to him and asked if you could sit with him. "you're heeseungs friend, right?! oh my gosh im so glad i know someone here, can i sit here?". to which jake gladly says yes to. a few days in and jake realizes how this is a very distracting situation. your knee often scratches against jakes, a soft "sorry" coming from you. he can't help but feel butterflies when your elbow brushes against his. he seriosly cannot focus on anything but how close you are to him. god, this isnt helping his small crush on you.

you and jake have gotten closer over the last few weeks, cracking jokes and hanging around campus. heeseung doesnt mind, in his words "yn is completely tied to me" which jake hated to hear but what could he do?. jake often brings your favorite snacks, he loves how your face brightens up when he gives them to you. "thanks jakey" you smile at him softly. jake feels his cheeks heat up a bit, holding back a huge smile. "y-you're welcome".

jake cant seem to get over you, he managed to get a picture of you (dont ask how hes already creeped out by himself). in the picture, you're wearing a white babydoll sweater and a matching skirt. with your glittery makeup again. "fuck" jake mutters, staring at your picture and running his hand through his hair. "be mine" he groans out of frustration, placing his hands in his hands. he then goes on insta and goes to your profile, tapping through your highlight named "me!!:3". he scans your selfies throughly, a grin plastered across his face. "yns so pretty, shit" he curses. hes examining your outfits, he really likes how you wear skirts even in this cold weather. he sets his phone down and picks up the picture of you. "can't get over you".

during the end of the class, jake is distracted once again by your overall appearance. he notices you're wearing glitter in the corner of your eyes. "nice shimmer" jake comments, and you immediately reply with a thank you. "oh thank you! haha not even heeseung noticed when i wore it yesterday..". jake scrunches his nose up, he knows his best friend is not exactly the best guy to commit yourself to. he wonders if you know heeseungs long history of dating girls. how could a sweet girl like you become one of them? "i'll see you tonight? dont forget you invited me to pizza!" you pout jokingly, patting jakes shoulder. "right! tonight" he replies, watching you walk off. "tonight ..".

jake knows heeseung is not exactly the best bf. so now that you're both close, you're often calling up jake. asking where heeseung is, why heeseung isnt answering your calls and why heeseung seems distant. taking advantage of this everytime, jake invites you to his place where you ramble with snot coming out of your nose. "i swear he has something to do with this girl named karina, he said they're just friends but.." you sniffle, jake placing a napkin under your runny nose. "its ok yn, maybe you should find someone who could you treat better". he knows hes throwing heeseung under the bus for saying this but honestly? he doesnt care. he hates how heeseung treats you as an afterthought. you spend the night at jakes. and once you knocked out, jake couldn't help but stare at you in your sleeping state. your small breaths, your twitching lips and your messy hair. you looked perfect. jake carefully brushes the hair out of your face. "please be mine, yn".

you, heeseung, and jake decided to go to a cafe. you and heeseung got there before jake. so when jake came into the cafe and saw you giggling uncontrollably at whatever heeseung said, he sighed in defeat. you were leaning against heeseung, your hand intertwined with his. jake sighs again, watching you both from afar.

"i just cant come between them" jake thinks to himself. "yn is completely in love with him".

he quite literally feels nervous, he decides to just go home. he often gets stomachaches from thinking about how you're his best friends gf. and how he cant have you. it gets so had that he gets anxious from thinking about it too much. is it that serious ? yes, yes it is. like sometimes when jake passes by the libeary, he sees you and heeseung. jakes heart flushes down to his stomach when he sees you smiling brightly at heeseung. he quite literally feels sick to his stomach knowing you'll never be his.

jake lays out in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. he has your picture in his hand, rubbing his finger against your face. he gives it a soft kiss, cringing at himself for doing so but thats what you do when you like someone. jake thinks he likes you a little bit too much now, your personality is absolutely electric in his eyes. its been five months since he met you, and five months since you and heeseung have been dating.

will jake ever get over you? as long as you and heeseung are dating, he dont think he ever will.

like ever.

[tellyouily]

maybe stay here forever

dnf - couch cuddles - 1.4k words

george likes dream's sweater and patches seems to like it too

There is this sweater that Dream wears sometimes, a dark blue half-zip fleece with leather patches on the elbows and deep, warm pockets, that George is a little bit obsessed with.

Of course, the pockets are mostly there to be used by whoever is wearing the sweater, not by his best friend slash boyfriend who constantly has cold hands, but it’s a nice benefit. Not to mention that Dream also happens to look especially great in it, all broad and soft and rugged—especially with a few days worth of stubble on his face and his curls a little messy.

Which has been the case for most of the time these recent weeks, much to George’s contentment.

If someone were to ask him about it, though, he would maintain that he likes the blue sweater a normal amount. Give or take. And he might bring himself to admit that it’s the person wearing it who he likes more than just a little. An abnormal amount, you could say. A ludicrous amount.

He’ll admit that happily.

After searching high and low for the past ten minutes, he finally finds Dream in the guest house, of all places. He’s on the couch with his legs outstretched and his laptop—surprise, surprise—perched on his lap. Somehow, Patches has fit herself on his chest, too, fast asleep with her head on his shoulder like a baby. She must have ventured in here looking for him, too.

And she must have taken one look at the dark blue sweater Dream is wearing and deemed it a nice place to take a nap.

George doesn’t appreciate that she succeeded on that quest before he did.

“Hey you,” he says, announcing his presence. He leans his back on the door to close it.

Dream looks up and stretches, lifting a hand to the back of his head. His screen casts a soft glow on his face, and George would bet good money that either gmail dot com or his editing software is currently filling it. Or both. Dream likes the split-screen function.

“Hey you,” Dream echoes, making George smile as he nudges past the coffee table to join him.

This is really not a couch that can fit two people lying down, it can barely fit one if he’s honest, but Dream scooches closer to the back pillow and lifts his arm as a wordless invitation.

George does not need to be asked twice, climbing into position. He feels like he’s precariously close to the edge, but then Dream wraps his arm around his waist and pulls him close, and he relaxes like he’s been given a sedative.

Patches stirs ever so slightly at the commotion, giving George what he’s sure is a pointed look.

“She took my spot,” he mumbles, frowning at her and watching her simply close her eyes again and let out a sigh.

Dream’s hand comes to rest near the waistline of George’s sweatpants, his fingers grazing the sliver of skin where his hoodie has ridden up.

“There’s two spots,” he says gently.

And he’s right, of course. And really, George thinks it’s a good sign that Patches has chosen this as her desired nap location. She’s a smart cat and if this is the safest, warmest place she could think of, then he trusts her judgment wholeheartedly.

He would probably do the same if he was a cat. He’s even doing it now, as a human.

Only now does the laptop screen in front of him come into focus, showing something entirely different from what he was willing to bet money on. It’s a sports game of some kind—football? Or is that rugby?

All he knows is that each team is wearing a different color and that they are both running around on the field trying to win. And that Dream might be a furnace in disguise with how warm he is. Mostly the last thing.

“What are you watching?” George asks.

“Football game,” he answers, followed by a soft huff of amusement. “That you don’t care about.”

“I care a lot, actually.”

“Uh huh.” His smile is audible. “I’m sure it’s so interesting to you.”

George nods into the folds of the fleecy fabric. “It is. I love it,” he lies, making Dream laugh.

The game on screen seems to go on some kind of break and the camera pans to the players standing around, leaning on their knees, out of breath, and to the crowd and muted discussion between the referee and who George assumes is one of the team captains. Dream sighs and presses a kiss on the top of George’s head.

“If it was soccer you’d care,” he says. “ Actually care.”

George hums in a way that means yes. Real football, you mean , he would have said if he wasn’t so comfortable that he is tempted to let sleep overtake him. Take a page out of Patches’ book.

He’s surrounded by the kind of warmth that reminds him of his childhood. Of coming back inside from playing in the snow and getting to sit by the fireplace and watch cartoons to get the feeling back in his fingers. It’s more than enough to make him want to succumb to sleep.

Dream’s palm coming to rest fully on his bare stomach makes him blink. On screen, the game has started back up and so has the faint sound of cheering coming from the speakers.

With some difficulty, he retrieves his phone from his pocket. If he is to keep himself awake while lying here, watching American football is not the way to do it.

He uses Dream’s chest to prop up his phone and lets his thumb swipe past X and over to Reddit instead. 

Some of the posts are worth reading, others he scrolls past. It doesn’t take long for Dream’s attention to inevitably get pulled to his screen, as well, abandoning the game. George doesn’t blame him. He can tell that he’s reading, concentrating, by the way his hand starts drawing mindless shapes on his hip. He tries to move as little as possible in hopes that Dream won’t realize that he’s doing it and possibly stop.

They’re halfway through a particularly technical post about the motion detection system they’ve set up for the titan when a message from Sapnap pops up at the top of his screen.

Something stupid, of course. So stupid he might have just ignored it had it not been for the way he feels Dream smile against his temple.

George snorts. “What an idiot.”

He swipes down and types an even more stupid reply, making Dream turn his head away to laugh. Really laugh.

George grins. He knew that would get him. He’s much funnier than Sapnap could ever dream of being. “What’s so funny?”

Dream answers by burrowing his face into the back of his neck, his quiet laughter getting muffled by the hood of his hoodie. He’s in that kind of mood, George thinks; the one where he could say anything and Dream would find it funny.

It’s his favorite Dream-mood by far. He would know—he has them all cataloged.

“I should be a comedian,” he says, if only to prove his point—which it does.

“No, your guys’ humor is like, fucked,” Dream says, clearing his throat.

George sighs and clicks his phone off, moving his head back so he can see Dream’s face.

“You like it though,” he counters, running his hand over the stubble along his jaw.

Just then, Patches’s ears start to twitch and they both glance over at her, watching as she opens her eyes and stretches out her paws so far that they poke against George’s bottom lip.

“Oh no,” Dream says softly, petting her head with his free hand.

“Good riddance,” George mumbles, feeling a sense of smugness at the look of discontent he is sure that she gives him.

It’s not like they’re in a competition for Dream’s attention—except that they are, and he won it the second he walked into the room.

Dream shakes his head at his comment, but his amused-by-everything-George-says-smile hasn’t left. Patches stands up and hops onto the back of the couch, and then onto the floor, going off to somewhere quieter.

Good riddance.

“Guess she’s not a football fan,” Dream says.

George presses closer just because he can, hitching his leg up higher across Dream’s.

“Good thing I am,” he says, closing his eyes.

Dream shakes his head, his hand finding his thigh. “You’re an idiot, is what you are”

And George might like Dream’s sweater, but he thinks he likes making him laugh even more.

[monkshooded]

So sick of the "independent and feisty" hermione characterisation... this is a woman who smells her crush in love potions, sees him in magical mirrors of desire, calms down at his scent, and threatens to kill him if he even considers divorce

[youngpettyqueen]

I just wanna know what camp atmosphere was like after the events of Period of Adjustment

[allylikethecat]

January OTP Prompts

I think this might be my least favorite one I've written so far, but I actually wrote it so I'm calling it a win anyway.

Warnings for mention / descriptions of blood (Fictional!Matty accidentally cuts himself chopping vegetables) and a reference made to a past suicide attempt

4. Bright red

“Fuck!” Matty swore. He dropped the paring knife, and it clattered to the counter, then slipped off the cutting board and landed with a clang on the hardwood floor. “Shit,” he continued, tears welling in his eyes as he tucked his bleeding hand to his chest. He didn’t care that he was staining his white tee shirt with the fresh bright red blood that welled from the slice in the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“What’s wrong?” George asked, spinning around from the stove, his eyes widening at the commotion, at the bright red splatters on Matty’s white quartz countertop.

“I nicked myself,” Matty said, purposely not looking at the blood on the counter, he knew it wasn’t a bad cut but the shock of the sting had caused him to recoil in pain and surprise. Matty had always been squeamish and now even just looking at his own blood was making him feel light headed. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on breathing, a steady inhale and exhale. His hand felt like it had a pulse of its own now, throbbing painfully as his heart pumped more and more blood out of his body. 

“Let me see,” said George, stepping into Matty’s space and carefully pulling his hand away from his body, wincing at the blood staining his shirt, dripping down Matty’s hand. “Fuck,” said George, grabbing a wad of paper towels and pressing down on the cut, trying to stop the bleeding. 

“Is it bad? I didn’t think it was that bad?! Is it bad?!” Matty asked, the pain making him feel frantic, he didn’t want to look, he couldn’t look for himself. He tried to focus on the counter behind George, instead of the bright red splotch growing larger on the paper towel as he continued to bleed. They were going to have to throw away the bell pepper he had been slicing for the stir fry he thought hysterically, he had bled all over the vegetable. 

“It looked pretty deep,” said George, his voice sounding far away as Matty’s vision tunneled. He was no longer thirty four years old, standing in the kitchen with the love of his life, but sixteen in the bathtub, hands shaking as he tried and failed to end it all, bright red staining the white porcelain. His parents hard ripped out the tile in the bathroom after, replacing the bathtub with just a shower. 

“What does that fucking mean?” Matty asked, he needed to stop looking at the blood on the counter, but his vision felt spotty, and George’s worried face wasn’t providing any sort of comfort. 

“It means you might need stitches,” George said, “or to have it glued back together or something, I’m not sure I’m not a doctor.” 

“What about dinner?” Matty asked, his voice wavering. 

“We’ll get takeaway on the way back,” said George softly, putting his hand on Matty’s lower back to shepard him to the car. He paused, leaving Matty standing in the hallway to run back to the kitchen and turn off the stove.

“I’m sorry,” said Matty, still feeling woozy as he climbed into the passenger seat of his Audi. George pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“Accidents happen love,” he said softly, “let's just go get you all patched up.” 

Day: 1 | 2 | 3

[shikanji]

i think I'll go insane if I keep seeing this guy's face at work everyday. we drunk made out at our office party more than a month ago and people are still talking about it now bc he had to announce it to everyone right after. asshole can't even talk to me but will talk about me to everyone else instead. what if i killed him actually.

[coloursofaparadox]

i had to take Lucas to the vet yesterday for his ears and it ended up being a full day affair because the first time, he wouldn't even let the vet LOOK in his ears without throwing his wiggly body around like a worm and climbing all over me (he's 80lbs btw)

they gave me fucking sedatives told me to come back in 2 hours and i did them one better and took him for a 30 minute doggy playdate sprinting around the backyard, THEN gave him sedatives THEN took him in. he did not give a fuck he was supposed to be sedated. the vet tech looked at him and was like 'this is you sedated???' and as someone who lives with him 24/7 i have to agree with the fear in his voice

it still took 4 people to let the vet do his ears 🙃

[shotmrmiller]

your superior finding out about the secret praise kink you didn't know had a name because you'd always been called an over achiever, a goody two shoes. never gave anyone any trouble, nose burrowed in a book since you had knobby knees and a library card.

you'd thought it normal that the apples of your cheeks burned when praised after giving your teacher the drawing you'd made for them the night before. that heat spread from the center of your chest up when your first boyfriend/girlfriend whistled at the sight of you outside of uniform. that warmth settles in your belly when you get a pat on the back from your platoon leader firm enough to force the air out of your lungs because you'd disassembled and cleaned a glock with the ease of a professional.

apparently it wasn't.

after weeks of training with the fabled task force, weeks of sharing elbow room with the team, weeks of soaking up the dizzying praise from the captain ("did real good out there, eh? can always count on you." you didn't question the throb betwixt your thighs, taking care of it with a cute little bullet like you've always done since joining the military)

you're confronted by the worst of the lot. ghost catches you in a break room, your back to him, hands clutching a cup of coffee that's more sludge than liquid, its warmth barely seeping through the styrofoam.

his figure fills the doorway, shoulders nearly brushing the frame. your first thought is that his brows aren't twisted together and he lacks that cold, blank look in his eyes so your death isn't in the nearest of futures. the second is that when he's not fully covering his face, the outline of his jaw is quite visible, looking sharp enough to cut.

then he crosses his sculpted arms over his chest, seams straining against the expanse of his muscles, head tipped to the side.

he moves with the keen curiosity of a predator sniffing around a newborn fawn, gaze intense yet inquisitive, assessing your every detail with a menacing interest.

"you ever gonna tell me you've a praise kink, bird?" the question sends a chill through your veins before turning into a fiery rush as it races at twice the normal speed.

praise kink? no. surely not. doesn't everyone like to receive compliments?

"sure. i don't mind gettin' told i've an impressive cock but that's bed talk. you look ready to bend over 'nd show us how slick tha' pretty cunt can get over a rufflin' of hair and a couple of empty words."

that has you positively reeling, fingertips cracking the cup in your hands, pulse on your neck fluttering. you feel a cornered, skittish animal, ready to flee lest your life come to an end in his maws.

but as usual, the cruel man more creature than person, twists the knife he's dug into you with a certain ruthlessness only he can muster.

"so be good for me, eh? love your praise? earn it."

you've always been an over achiever, proven once again by the way you take him to the root in one long, broad stroke with any complaints at the sheer size of him resting firmly behind your clenched teeth.

"tight little thing, spread open over me like you were meant for it. for me." he runs a gloved thumb over your swollen bottom lip. "there's tha' look. drivin' me bloody insane when you gave kyle tha' molten gaze. none o' tha' now, yeah?"

he creeps his ungloved hand down to circle your pearl with the spit-slick pads of his fingers, drawing in a sharp breath when your walls flutter and constrict around his cock at the feel of something other than your toy giving you the relief you need after a hard day's work.

"bloody fuckin' 'ell."

ghost claims a fistful of hair, pulling you closer to him, his breath warming the stinging, throbbing mark he bit onto the delicate skin of your neck. the shuffling of feet right outside the door snap you out of your daze, fingernails sinking into the bulging muscle of his chest but he has none of it.

he uses your hair to direct your focus back onto him and even though he'd only given you a leading tug you felt some strands of your hair come off with a pop.

"easy. can't see your pretty face when i'm fuckin' ya if your lookin' away."

your expression twists into what you hope is bliss when he bucks his hips, your whimper drowning out his groan when he hits on something new.

something you want him to keep hitting.

"exactly like i'd thought."

everything else blurs together after that, and only when you're back in your room using a warm cloth to clean yourself up do you remember the other things he'd rumbled.

(inside o' ya, make you mine-)

(-get 'bout bein' with anyone else-)

(-ll to myself-)

you touch your tender pussy with gentle fingers at what he'd said in the end.

(leave tha' f'me, he swipes your hand away, i'll get ya there, pet.)

if price's compliments take a nose dive off a cliff you don't notice because you're getting your daily fill of them and ghost after dinner every night. kyle keeps them to one word and soap likes to tempt fate as always.