#anxiously drawing as fast as I can

[gt-daboss]

PART 2

awqeqfasdat PART 2 I couldn't help myself. Poor Tiny is okay! But they've been kidnapped and now they're even further away from home. Plus, it was only moments before when the giant was about to eat them, can they really trust her?

Ahhhh tomorrow part 3 I am going to CRAM this minicomic out like my life depends on it!!

Part 1 << >> Part 3

Tagging @writing-forever and @fishtale88 since you both seemed interested earlier

[a-mint-bear]

Comfort Object

Male Yandere x Reader

You see a really weird "job" post online, and the money seems too good to be true. But you aren't really in a position where you can turn it down...

You hope it doesn't get weird.

---

It was a very… concerning “job” posting.

But desperate times, and all that. 

It had shown up about a week ago, and it wasn’t hard to see why no one had taken the poster up on it as of yet. 

Bedmate Needed

● 11 pm to 6 am

● $25/hour up front

● Riverside Motel

● Room 44

● Not a sex thing

The last note seemed tacked on in a later edit, but it was still… not great.

You’d have to be either a gullible idiot or a desperate one to go for a job like this. Unfortunately, you were the latter. Very much so.

You couldn’t take another night on the street. It was getting so cold out. The promise of a warm bed was almost enough to lure you in on its own. But the money… 175 bucks just to sleep in the same bed as some internet creep?

Despite the clarification in the post, this had to be a sex thing, right?

You hadn’t gone that far, despite everything. It’s not like you hadn’t considered it… but the thought was too terrifying. Making yourself completely vulnerable to a stranger that could just decide you were less than a person and do whatever they wanted to you? You had to draw the line somewhere.

But at this point, you weren’t sure that there was a line you weren’t willing to cross anymore. 

. . .

The Motel wasn’t the seediest you’d ever seen around town but it wasn’t a place you would’ve voluntarily stayed at even two months ago. Back when you had options. 

Creepy post guy opened the door after a couple of knocks, with an awkward, pregnant pause between them. He wasn’t quite what you expected for an internet creep, but he was still a sight to see.

Really bad posture and dark, greasy-looking hair, with the darkest circles under his eyes you’d ever seen. He looked like he was about to pass out at any second, but he held it together long enough to gesture you into the room. 

“Hey…” His voice was low but he sounded nervous. And so, so tired. “You’re… You’re a little early. That’s…that’s fine. Uh, come in.”

You felt his eyes on you as you passed him, and it didn’t help your anxiousness. Not one bit. 

“Hey so, I-I really…I uh, need a shower.” He stumbled over his words with a breathy, nervous laugh. “Unless you wanna sleep next to a… fuckin’ sweaty mess all night. Do you wanna go first or…?”

You must’ve looked nervous because his eyes went wider, digging into his pocket.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to… Oh, uh…here.” He nodded, pressing the money into your hand. “Up front, just… just like I said. You just…just seemed like you maybe sorta needed one too.”

Some part of you must’ve still had an ounce of pride left because your whole body felt on fire with shame, embarrassment so consuming that you froze up. It had been a couple of days…

He just looked away, seeming like he was embarrassed himself. 

“I w-wasn’t gonna like… try to join you or peep on you or nothin’!” He tried to assure you, eyes darting in a panic and talking a bit too fast. “If I, like, go first? I won’t get mad if you change your mind and leave… I get it. I’m not gonna like… go after you or call the cops or nothin’ like that. I just…”

He stared at the floor, nails digging into his arm as he seemed like he was having trouble breathing.

“I really… I really need this.” He was so quiet, but his voice was so desperate.

You couldn’t really be considering this, could you?

He seemed more like a weird, awkward, sad guy than a real danger or some kind of pervert.

And you really did need a hot shower. 

It seemed like a safer bet to have him go first, if you were really going through with this. And it would give you a chance to look around the room for a spot to tuck away your pocket knife, just in case.

When he was in the shower, you did just that. The spot between the mattress and bed frame would be easy to grab at if things got hinky.

If things got all touchy-feely, as you suspected they would, him finding that on you or leaving it in your pocket when your clothes got tossed wherever would be really inconvenient. 

Steam rolled out of the bathroom when he stepped out, shirtless but with sweatpants and a towel around his neck. He was thin, almost alarmingly so, but you could still see muscle, enough to pose a problem should he decide to overpower you.

This was your last chance to back out, before you’d be vulnerable to this odd stranger.

But even if you left, the money wouldn’t last long, and it’s not like you had any other options. 

You were so grateful that the motel tub wasn’t disgusting, but you would’ve gotten clean regardless. Two days worth of sweat and funk was washed away and it felt so heavenly… But it was hard to relax when you were trying to stay hyper alert of any noise that could be that man trying to get in or even eavesdrop.

But…

Nothing. 

You finished your shower and brushed your teeth, doing everything you could to feel clean that a motel bathroom could provide. And there was no sign of the guy. 

But you had to go back out there eventually. You supposed you could lock yourself in here and get a full night’s sleep indoors, even if it was on the floor of a motel bathroom with your back against the door, but part of you just said “fuck it” and warily peeked around the doorway into the bedroom.

The lights in the room were dim, but warm. He was sitting on the end of the bed, one knee tucked into his chest, staring at the tv as the bright colors of a nightly talk show reflected in his eyes, but something told you he wasn’t really watching. His eyes met yours and you froze.

“It’s almost eleven…” He mumbled, his head resting awkwardly on his shoulder. His hand ghosted over the spot on the bed next to him. “… Will... will you stay?”

So many thoughts raced through your head. What would happen if you laid down beside him? You could probably deal with sex… even if it felt a bit wrong. But if he wanted to hurt you?

Your brain reminded you:

What do you really have to lose?

When you told him you would stay, sitting next to him, you could see him relax. Just a bit.

“If you still want to leave-”

But you cut him off, almost afraid he would talk you out of it after you’d made up your mind.

Avoiding his stare, you told him you had nowhere to go.

The bed was cold, it might take a bit to warm up with the two of you in it, but it was the least of your concerns at that moment. 

“So it’s...” He’d spoken up so suddenly, you hoped he didn’t see you flinch. He was staring at the ceiling, seeming just a tiny bit calmer. “... it’s fine if you just… lay there or h-hold onto me, or play on your phone or whatever, anything is fine. Just… just don’t leave ‘til mornin’. Okay?”

A worrying pause, but you told him you understood.

And that was that. He laid next to you unmoving for almost an hour before you had the nerve to move at all, shifting slowly to your side to face him.

His eyes were shut, his breathing even, but somehow you knew he was still awake. It was like he was trying to sleep but it just wasn’t coming to him. He looked so worn down, like he could just keel over any second. It definitely made him less intimidating, but you weren’t letting your guard down, no matter how much your body was screaming at you to just let go.

Despite your better judgement, you wondered if he really was being genuine about this not being a sex thing. It was a relief, sure, but it just raised more questions.

Why were you here?

. . .

You’d stopped looking at the bedside clock a while ago. It had to have been hours by then.

Your anxiety and dread somehow felt quieter under the lull of impending sleep. Despite everything, your body was at least grateful for a warm bed and hot shower, and if you didn’t sleep there now, you didn’t know when you’d be able to sleep somewhere warm any time soon. 

Every moment that ticked by, you felt your resolve slipping. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, just to let go… This whole situation was weird, but you just wanted to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He hoped against everything that he would just fall asleep.

Just this once, he didn’t want to have to follow through with it. But he was so damn tired. There was this ache behind his eyes that he could feel in his bones, his mind never stopped racing… 

He could feel your body heat in the bed next to him. You had either been very scared or very considerate, you’d only moved once since you laid down with him. 

He hated that he had to do this. He felt sorry for you, he really did. But it was drowned out by the buzzing in the back of his brain. The constant whispers in his ear. 

There had been so many before now, it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten caught. But this was a huge, dangerous city. Everyone in it was just a blip to anyone paying attention. 

He could feel their skin under his palms buzzing at the back of his brain. How their eyes stared into his, burning with betrayal, fear, helplessness. How he saw them fade away.

How it was the only thing that worked to let him finally sleep. The only thing that quieted the whispers, at least for a little bit. 

Some booked it after getting the money. Some just showed up and straight-up robbed him. Some tried to leave in the middle of the night, thinking he was asleep. But if they stayed and fell asleep, that was that.

He told himself that he gave them all a chance. 

If you managed to stay up all night, you’d be safe. But he really needed this… It was already day three, and he’d never made it past day five without completely losing it. Trying to fight this, it was too hard. The longer he stayed awake, trying to avoid what had to happen, the worse he felt. The louder the voice got. The deeper the ache in his bones. But the more often he did it, the easier it got. And that was worse in a different way. 

It was wrong. He wasn’t so deep in it that he couldn’t see that. The morning after, he always hated himself and what he did. 

But as the days went on, it would all creep back in. And doing it again felt less and less horrifying to him. 

You were scared. He could tell. And you had every reason to be, he told himself. But it just meant it would take you longer to fall asleep. 

He could wait all night. And if you made it the full seven hours, you weren’t what he needed. You’d be free from him, from this. Hopefully you wouldn’t come back, no matter how badly you needed the money.

He wondered what you meant by having nowhere to go.

But he tried not to wonder too much. It would make this harder. 

He could hear your breathing getting slower, your body relaxing into the bed. You wouldn’t last much longer. 

His eyes shot open when he felt you suddenly touch him, tucking your forehead into his shoulder. You weren’t quite asleep, a cuddler? He almost laughed to himself when half-asleep you looked a bit frustrated, like it wasn’t enough.

You muttered something about being cold, lazily scooting your body closer to him up the bed. He felt his breath catch when suddenly, his head was pulled to you, tucked into your chest as your arm circled him. He was suddenly the little spoon, but facing you. He could hear your heartbeat. 

He wanted to say something, wake you up or wriggle free to make what he had to do easier on you when you fell asleep. He felt a hand in his hair, playing with it and idle gentle nails on his scalp. 

It was… nice. Everything felt calm, the buzzing and horrible thoughts were still there but they were being drowned out by the warmth of your skin, the thump of your heart in his ear.

You were mumbling something. He held his breath, trying to hear.

You told him, or whoever you were dreaming about, maybe even no one at all, that he was okay. That he was safe. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Something was different this time. He felt all his control slipping away, and for once, he wasn’t scared. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke to a sunbeam across your face, and the strange man in your arms, sound asleep. According to your phone, it was 10 am. You were grateful for the extra hours in a warm bed, but would he be mad? Did he have somewhere to be?

You couldn’t remember anything past drifting off next to him, but the two of you were tangled together, he seemed so comfortable.

Now that it was over, and your anxieties were much quieter, you really got a good look at the guy. He wasn’t… unattractive, you supposed. He was all elbows and ribs but laying against your chest made him look so soft and harmless. 

Wasn’t the worst way you’d ever made 175 bucks.

You wondered if he’d shell out the extra 100, or if that would be pushing your luck. 

Either way, it would be best to wake him up.

Gently scratching at his scalp, you told him it was getting late.

You watched as his eyes struggled to open, and for a few calm moments, he just laid against you. After a beat, he gasped and jolted up, head swiveling around the room in a panic.

“I…” He seemed really out of it, almost scared. “I actually…”

He stared at you, eyes wide. You told him it was ten in the morning, hoping everything was okay and if it wasn’t, that he wouldn’t take it out on you.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, and for a moment you were sure something bad was going to happen, but somehow, it was even worse.

He was crying.

Breaking down, sobbing hard as he just kept staring at you. Even with the odd night you’d just had, this was somehow the weirdest part. 

Despite yourself, you asked him if he was okay. He pulled himself together and you were startled again when he touched your face, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. It was tender and sweet, and it was freaking you out a little. Just a tad. 

“You… It was you…”

All you could think to ask was if you should get going, maybe trying to make it seem like you had someplace to be, or were at least trying to be considerate of his time. But it didn’t seem like he was taking the hint. 

He grabbed your hands in his, the sudden contact made you jump. He pulled them to his chest, he was too close. The way he was looking at you…

“Can we… Can we do this again? Like tonight? Please?” He was practically begging, the look in his eyes changing. That nervous, achingly tired gaze was hopeful. And so warm.

“You can have the room, if that’s what you need!” he offered, maybe somehow having picked up on your current situation. “I can pay more too. Just p-please…”

He held your palm to his cheek, staring up at you.

“I need you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a bit of a different one from me, but i kind of liked how it turned out

that feeling when your new yandere was totally gonna off you but you were just too comfy

he's never gonna let you go. you're the only thing keepin him from killing again, ya know?

i don't have a ton of yanderes that actually kill, as odd as that seems. but this guy is one of them

he's not supposed to be a huge commentary on any particular mental health conditions, i did a bit of "research" into psychosis induced insomnia (using that term VERY loosely), but like does he hear voices because he can't sleep, or can he not sleep because he hears voices? who can say? certainly not I, the dummy who made him

i wrote this one pretty much right after my last big deadline ended, but it got reworked a bit cause it just needed some tweaks:

the yandere started out as tired but crass, kind of a dick, and when he switched after that good night's sleep it felt off. It felt more interesting if he was a bit pathetic and creepy, it felt like less of a red flag for the reader to stick around

the reader was originally going to be a straight up s*x worker that got hired by the yandere for him to kill, but it didn't really feel like my place to make that commentary on violence against s*x workers or to more or less soften it with a yandere love interest. it just didn't feel right for something so unserious

but ive been having horrible writer's block lately, so i thought i'd finally put this one out. i need to read/play some yandere stuff and get inspired. let me know if you have any recommendations y'all ✌️

[24hlevi]

not sure which characters u write about for arcane!! but if you do male characters, could be anyone of your choice where they don’t get the hint you like them or want to take their relationship further (depends if u wanna do sfw or nsfw!!) :) tyyy!

for male characters i write for jayce, viktor, ekko, and silco! thank you for requesting 🫶

— TAKE A HINT

viktor (arcane) x gn!reader

warnings/tags: oblivious!viktor, confessions, fluff, sfw

you thought you were going mildly insane, having a crush on your friend as his second partner to jayce

to be fair, you kinda were, judging how no matter what you did in attempt to give hints just led nowhere

you tried talking to jayce on a few occasions, trying to get some advice on what to do, but he wasn't much help with relationship stuff as he claimed

you tried over and over again to get viktor to notice you more than just a friend, and every time, he couldn't tell

"hey," you say softly, slowly approaching viktor from behind with a hot cup of tea in your hands.

viktor turns his head as soon as he hears your voice draw him out of his work, and a small smile grows on his face. "good evening, yn," he replies.

"i brought you some tea," you set the cup down carefully next to his papers that were scattered along the table. "have you ate anything yet?"

"thank you," viktor responds, his eyes following your hand as you set the cup down. "i have not," he then shakes his head. "jayce tried asking earlier, but i wasn't quite hungry."

"would you like me to try and make you something?" you ask, looking down at him as you fiddle with your hands anxiously.

"mm," he hums, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "i would prefer your presence here with me. if you don't mind, that is."

"i don't mind," you shake your head, trying to fight the smile forming on your face. "just tell me what you'd like me to do."

"nothing," viktor answers, having you look at him with confusion. "you don't have to do anything, precisely. just your presence is enough."

"oh...okay,"

you still couldn't figure out how to get viktor to realize you had feelings for him, you couldn't believe how oblivious he was

after years of liking the male, he didn't ever seem to appear like he reciprocated those feelings, making you slowly give up as time went by

it wasn't until one early morning, that it all finally fell into place

viktor slowly made his way to the lab. it was early morning, the sun hardly peeking out from over the horizon as he hobbled through the hallway. this morning, he was already thrown a bit off his rocker. for he hadn't seen you yet since he woke up. normally, you would be awake and moving before him and jayce, so it was odd to not see you around as he walked down the hall.

entering the lab, viktor turns on the lights, and then stops in his spot. there you were. your body slouched against the table with papers messily filled with calculations that viktor was doing the day prior, seemingly asleep. slowly, he approaches you and stands behind you, silently looking at you. the sun is shining against your face, and viktor comes to the realization that he never paid attention to how much he liked looking at you. you looked so peaceful like this, and he felt an odd sensation in his chest as he peered down at you.

suddenly, you start stirring around, slowly opening your eyes to see viktor standing above you. "mm? viktor?" you groggily mumble.

seeing you wake up, viktor, as fast as he can, takes a few steps back, his face turning red at possibly being caught. "s-sorry," he stutters.

your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. did he just stutter? you rub your eyes with your hands before blinking a few times to look at him clearer. was he...staring at you while you were asleep? while this would be extremely creepy if it were anyone else, you couldn't help but feel somewhat flattered by his reaction. you take a look around and realize you're in the lab. "oh gosh, i can't believe i fell asleep in here," you drag your hands across your face. "i'm sorry, viktor. i was trying to finish what you were doing yesterday."

"it is alright," viktor says after taking a moment to calm his heartbeat from jumping out of his chest. he then realizes what you said, and his face contorts into confusion, looking at the papers on the table. "you didn't have to. i would have figured it out by this week i'm sure."

"i just wanted to help more," you admit with a short sigh. "ever since you and jayce started this new development for hextech...i feel like i've fallen behind." you look down at all the papers in front of you in shame that you still couldn't figure it out.

viktor's expression changes again, no longer confused but a soft look as he notices the tone in your voice change. you sound almost defeated, clearly upset about this. hesitantly, he places a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up at him. "it is okay, yn," he starts, his tone soft like his expression on his face. "you being here is enough for me. you do not need to prove yourself, for i already know how smart you are. do not worry of hextech if you fear you are falling behind. i appreciate your presence more than anything else."

looking up at him, you slowly nod your head and stand from your seat. you don't know what to say, but thankfully for you, viktor continues speaking.

"i have noticed some...changes in my thoughts recently," he says slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. "while they are primarily filled with ideas of hextech and how we could evolve the future...they are also about you. i want to create something that will help our future, that will help your future. these past couple of weeks...i have thought of you more. i thought it was normal at first...but the more i thought about what i was thinking about i..came to a realization." he sees the way you look at him with subtle confusion on your face, and he hesitates before continuing. "i believe i may have some kind of feelings for you, yn."

your eyes widen in shock, looking at viktor as he explains his thoughts, and you're not sure what to do. "what?" you quietly let out.

"yes, it appears to be that way," viktor nods. "just now, i have confirmed it. i may not have noticed it fast enough, and i sincerely apologize if i am too late now, but i had to get this off my chest before it would ruin me."

"o-oh," you stutter, a fiery blush growing on your face. "you-you're not too late," you say finally. "i've uhm, had feelings for you for a while now," you admit.

hearing this, a smile makes its way onto viktor's face. "really?" he asks.

"yeah," you nod. "i thought you were never going to notice or were purposely ignoring my attempts."

"ah," he lets out. "i would never purposely ignore you, yn," he says, pushing some of your hair out of your face. "let's just say i am a bit slow when it comes to these things. i apologize if i ever gave you the wrong idea."

"it's okay," you reply.

"well then, shall we establish this whilst we finish these calculations?" he has a smile on his face as he speaks, dragging another chair to sit down beside you.

"yeah," you nod, smiling back at him.

"great."

[coco-loco-nut]

007

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: meeting your soulmate in the paddock isn’t unusual for F1 drivers, but oscar’s certainly leans on the unusual side

a/n: sorry if it’s a bit of the mess! i’ve been trying to write my way out of writers block

masterlist part two requests open

_____________

You are crazy, you have to be. At least, that’s what Oscar thought when he watched the mark on his arm change for the third time that day. You put yourself in more danger than he does, and that says a lot. It wasn’t always that way, not until five years ago when it became more and more frequent. The shared talent he gets from you is no help. Analytical and multilingual, you could be anyone. Based on how often you are in danger for long stretches, he is a little sure that you are a mobster. Being able to speak Russian and Italian fluently doesn’t help with the whole mobster thing.

You didn’t know what to think of your soulmate. At first you assumed he was a criminal, the meter on your arm only shifting to danger for a relatively short period of time for a few weeks. However, it has become regular, throwing you off. Maybe a weekend adrenaline junkie? No, probably organized crime. Besides, you are skilled at driving fast, and what adrenaline junkie has a talent for fast driving.

“We have intel that there will be a deal made at the Belgian Grand Prix. Both parties are guests of Sauber as to not draw suspicion. Everything you will need is in this file, a car will pick you up tonight, good luck,” you anxiously sit through your briefing.

You have been tracking a crime ring for the past year and a half, putting yourself in all kinds of compromising positions just to get information. Formula One though, that’s new to you. You have seen some things from former partners who followed it, but you weren’t interested.

It isn’t uncommon for crime groups to use large events for “networking.” It is under the guise of their shell companies. You studied your character ruthlessly, knowing your cover inside and out.

The race approached much quicker than you’d like. The situation isn’t helped by a weird feeling in your stomach. Not nerves, but something else. You shake it off, the mission is what is important. The paddock awaits, and you have a limited striking time.

Oscar was on edge. Something felt off, even though he went through his race routine like always. He did have a questionable pastry, but there wasn’t any mold, so it was okay. He slides his sleeve up, looking at the meter on his arm. Lando doesn’t miss how his teammate’s face paled.

“You okay?” Lando asks, trying to catch a glimpse of the meter on Oscar’s arm.

“Yeah, just realized I forgot to call my sister,” Oscar lies. He’s a little scared for the day he meets you. What kind of mobster commits crime on a Sunday? Maybe you got taken by an enemy, got caught sneaking around. Logan always told him that he was crazy for assuming his soulmate is a criminal, but all signs point to it. Some fresh air is what he needs.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” your target says as you flash a charming smile, anything to get information. It helps that the conversation is in Russian, adding to confidentiality of everything.

You feel a deep pull, like a yearning, as you agree to the walk. You brush it off, the mission is top priority.

“Can you provide some more benefits of the… investment,” you are a little unsure of what to call it. You are keenly aware of the weapons strapped to the side of your target. You weren’t expecting to be meeting with an enforcer, making the job trickier.

“Perhaps. I will if you can answer this question,” you feel your anxiety spike as you keep a calm and cool demeanor. The pull increases and it takes every ounce of will to keep yourself focused. You got most of the information you need, but you need to fish for more. You don’t really notice the target turning you into a quieter part of the paddock.

Oscar lets his feet lead the way, a little out of it. He doesn’t really notice you ahead, tucked in a relatively secluded alley of the paddock. He’s always been able to sneak around, a blessing in times like this.

“Who invited you to the meeting,” he asks, and you internally breathe a sigh of relief. Your team scanned through the information to make sure there was nothing included to trip you up, and this is something that was deemed clear.

“Peter,” you say a little too confidently, and that’s when you notice him reach for the knife on his side. You also notice the civilian looking at his soulmate meter rather than where he is walking, and at that moment it spikes further into the danger. The brief distraction is enough to put you at a disadvantage. You shove the stranger behind you, getting him out of the way as you. Sparks fly as you touch him, but you don’t pay any mind to it. Eyes trained on the target, you do everything you can to avoid being stabbed as you pull out your own knife.

Oscar feels a twinge on his arm and slides up the sleeve, looking at his mark. He feels himself get yanked, and he turns his attention to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He takes a few steps back into safety and watches. Every alarm bell in his mind tells him to run away, but he can’t seem to walk away.

You kick the knife away, quickly working to disarm the target and press him against a wall, your own knife to his throat. You subtly activate your tracker, getting discreet backup.

“Tell me who runs the operation. Now.” you snarl in Russian, slightly putting pressure on his neck with the knife. The target spits beside you, you press further. “I recommend you don’t mess with me if you want to be alive.”

The information you want comes flowing out as you take a little pleasure at the fear in his eyes.

“There, happy? Let me go,” the target says and you smile wickedly. Dropping your act now would only hurt you, so you let him think you are part of a rival crime ring.

“Not quite,” you flip him around so he is facing the wall. You sheathe the knife, using your weight to brace him to the wall. “It’s a shame I couldn’t spill some blood, oh well,” you play your role, speaking in a bored yet maniacal tone. Your backup arrives and takes over for you, arresting the target.

As the adrenaline fades, you remember the guy lurking behind you. You feel the heat of anger flare up. Couldn’t he see you were dealing with something dangerous? Why wouldn’t he turn around and walk away.

Oscar can’t help but feel happy that he finally has your attention, and if the pull he feels and the danger levels that his arm displays is any indication, he just met his soulmate. Plus, you speak multiple languages, who else would he get that from that’s in the immediate vicinity. He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off.

“Are you stupid! What are you doing walking in on that? And sticking around? That was a very dangerous situation, you know,” you fume, not looking at him, too busy firing off angry texts to your commander.

“I was right, my soulmate is a criminal,” Oscar says, a little shocked.

“That guy was your soulmate? Tough luck,” you can’t help but laugh a little. You look at him for the first time and feel your heart beat quicken as every instinct is drawn to him.

“No, you are,” Oscar says as your eyebrow quirks, as if you don’t believe him. And you don’t believe him, it isn’t in your nature.

“Well, I’m not a criminal. Sorry to break it to you. Besides, I know that my soulmate is a criminal, so unless you have a dark side, you aren’t him,” you brush it off, still ignoring the intense pull towards the brunette who is creeping closer to you.

“But-“

“Look, I gotta go,” you quickly take a once over of him, ready to look him up when you are back to safety. You disappear almost into thin air, leaving Oscar confused.

“Oscar? What are you doing here? Is that blood?” Logan stares at his friend.

“I think I just met my soulmate,” Oscar says, a little flabbergasted. Now he knows where his talent for being stealthy comes from. He wonders if you got his driving ability.

“Right. That doesn’t explain blood. You know what, you need to get ready for the drivers parade,” Logan shakes his head, helping his friend get back on track.

Oscar Piastri. That’s who Google tells you that you encountered. He’s handsome, you will admit that. A quick research tells you everything you need. Your soulmate, in fact, was not a criminal. A minor win in your mind.

After your paperwork and evidence submission, you know you can’t return to Sauber, so you choose to walk around instead. A change of clothes and hairstyles helps to hide your identity.

You easily slip into the McLaren motorhome, it is a little sad how easily you have gotten past Formula One’s security. You wait in Oscar’s drivers room for him, feeling uncomfortable and nervous. You don’t like the feeling.

Your job is too dangerous for a soulmate, you’ve seen how devastating it is for those whose soulmate never returns from a mission. You couldn’t do that to someone, so why do you find yourself needing to see Oscar again.

Oscar feels the now familiar tug as he gets out of his car, and he’s never been happier to get P4. He makes his way to his room as quickly as possible, rush in through his post-race procedures.

“You’re here. How are you here?” Oscar sees you leaning against the wall of his drivers room.

“It is embarrassing how easily I can get past the security here,” you have a hint of a smile on your face.

“So, if you aren’t a criminal, who are you?” Oscar swallows, a little nervous. His only knowledge of you is that you are highly dangerous and semifrequently in danger.

“I can’t tell you that. Brilliant race today, maybe I will actually watch one for once,” you walk towards him, and he feels his heart leap in his chest. You slip a card into his hand as you head to the door. “Oh, and thanks for the driving skills. It’s gotten me out of quite a few situations,” you smirk, disappearing once again. Oscar looks down at the card in his hand.

Y/n L/n. Special Services.

In neat penmanship you wrote down a series of numbers, and a note to burn the card after saving the number. Oscar races to the window that overlooks the only exit of the building, but you had already disappeared into the crowd.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Ngl the ask where Stan's s/o got sucked into the portal instead made me cry a bit-

Can we have a part2 where reader comes back? Oh god imagine the emotional tension in the room as they walked in.

- 🦑

Taglist: @amms8f @doggosnoodles12 @c4ss13-bun @lucas1253 @danart501 @cherryblom @marvelous-maniac @repost-account-yall @atseoks @xprntj

Part 1 is right here

Thirty years.

Thirty long years had Stanley been forced to live with the guilt and fear that after everything he and Ford did to put in place for your welcome home would be all for naught if the portal didn’t open, or worse you don’t come through the portal in time. After all there wasn’t a day that went by where Stanley wasn’t reminded of just how helpless and useless he was when you got sucked into the portal, begging for him to help you but couldn’t.

Thirty years had Stanley allowed to let Ford teach him complex maths and physics, even going so far as to teach himself during the nights where he couldn’t sleep without seeing your fearful face, nor the outstretched hand before the portal closed seemingly forever. Which made it a lot harder for him to run the mystery shack during the day as he would be found by Ford, fast asleep at the base of the portal with nothing but a flimsy blanket and a pillow he brought down from your shared his room, holding a framed picture of a younger version of you both mere months before the fiasco that costed Stanley his everything.

During the past three decades did Stanley realised that he’d be more then willing to throw away a large chunk of his life just to have you back. You were his life and without you he couldn’t bare to think about how you’d view him if you could see him now, conning tourists out of their money and just not being a morally perfect person in general, but he knew he couldn’t give up now when he and Ford had come so far already to prepare for the inevitable day that you came home.

‘We’re close Stanley I can feel it.’ Ford had been saying to him for the past week, hoping to uplift his spirit, but one look towards Stanley and Ford could see the plethora of emotions within his eyes that ranged from anxiousness, to sadness, to uncertainty as he looked at a Polaroid picture he kept of you in the breast pocket of his blazer; keeping you close to his heart like he had since the moment you took a chance on him.

‘They’re coming home.’ Ford assures his twin, feeling helpless in helping ease the heartbreak that was obviously still being felt to this day. ‘They’re coming home. You’re going to bring them home Stanley.’ He reaffirms.

‘What if they don’t love me anymore?’ Stanley asked the question that had been lingering on his mind for a long, long time, haunting him constantly that now with the day drawing closer; he couldn’t help but let it out while he had the opportunity to.

Ford sighed as he sat next to Stanley as they looked at the portal. ‘From what I could see from our brief meeting, they love you more than words can describe and would’ve done anything to keep you safe.’ He tells him as while your interactions were brief and not on the greatest of terms, Ford could tell that you were more then willing to risk everything to keep his brother safe and he appreciated you for looking out for his brother and loving him where his family failed to do so on multiple instances.

‘They’re shouldn’t have,’ Stanley said sadly, ‘if they didn’t love me as hard as they did, they’d still be here.’

‘And yet they love you as easily as breathing,’ Ford counters as he rests a hand on his brother’s shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile, ‘and I highly doubt that there is a reality where they didn’t love you as hard as they do.’ Before the twins could continue their conversation, they could hear Dipper and Mabel call for them and they were in silent agreement to continue it on a later date before going to see what the kids wanted them for.

Once the twins left the lab, the portal seemed to slowly spark to life, deciding to bring about your return quicker than Stan and Ford had originally thought. Almost as though whether you were within the multiverse, you were always listening to your Stanley and reacting to his pain as though it was your own.

Dipper and Mabel were more than aware of you due to the stories Stanley told them, he wanted them to know you the way he did in hopes of keeping you alive in some other way other than framed photos and memories that he always revisited in his dreams. They knew you meant a lot to their Grunkle from the way he’d get a distant look in his eyes whenever he sees something that reminded him of you.

Stan’s stories of only stoked the curiosity of Dipper and Mabel as they’d always ask; ‘where are they now?’ Only for Stan to reply with, ‘not here, not anywhere within reach.’

‘Are they dead?’ Dipper asks and could see Stan’s eyes become sharp as steel, his jaw clenched as he inhaled sharply as though he had been doused in cold water.

‘No.’ He said firmly without meaning to. ‘They’re just not here.’

Dipper wanted to press on but stopped when Ford, who had gone back down to the lab, came running into the living room with a wild expression on his face. ‘Stanley! It’s time!’ He cries and without question Stanley got up to his feet and followed after Ford, while Dipper and Mabel naturally followed after him with Soos tailing behind them; wanting to be included in whatever wireless they’d get into without trying.

The moment the family reached the lab, the portal was in full effect, which confused Ford as he swore he didn’t flip any switches to activate the portal and neither did Stanley. It was almost as if the portal had developed sentience but that was impossible to prove as truth as the moment Ford and Stanley realised that Dipper, Mabel and Soos had followed them took presidency over the blaring blue portal that only seemed to get brighter with every passing second.

‘Kids! Go back upstairs now!’ Stanley shouted, something he rarely did unless he thought the kids would be put in genuine danger.

‘No! You and Grunkle Ford have been hiding something from us, only for it to be a portal?’ Dipper exclaims as he looked at both Stan and Ford with confusion akin to the look in yours eyes before you disappeared into the portal against your will. Dipper, being the smart kid he was had a feeling this portal was linked to you in some way, for what would be the reason both of his Grunkles would keep this from him and Mabel unless it had played a major part in your disappearance.

Or the more likely answer being that the portal was the reason for your disappearance.

‘Well explain everything to you soon enough, me and Stanley have very valid reasons.’ Ford says as he eyed the portal as it was practically encasing the entire lab in a blinding light, however when squinting his eyes, Ford could make out a cloaked figure walking towards them with slow, hesitant steps before they picked up their pace as the figure was now breaking out into a sprint, as though coming to a realisation that this was their ticket out of the multiverse.

You were coming home, Ford knew you would as he couldn’t help but smile tearfully, the questions he has for you are endless but he’d much rather you and Stanley have the reunion that has been thirty years in the making.

‘You either tell us or we’re going to shut down the portal!’ Dipper bluffed as he knew the moment he took a single step towards the lever at the end of the lab, he’d be cut off by both his grunkles when he saw how they kept looking towards the mystery figure who was now half of of the portal.

‘We will just please trust us-‘ Stan tried pleading but it fell on deaf ears.

‘Who are they?’ Mabel asked, confused and scared.

‘They’re your great aunt/ uncle y/n!’ Stanley shouted just as you fully stepped out of the portal before it closed behind you for one final time, plunging the room in almost darkness had it not been from the ember coloured gem that hung from your neck. You removed the hood from your head to reveal your aged face and slight hints of silver that streaked your hair permanently.

You looked hardened but soft at the same time, you greeted Mabel, dipper, Ford, Soos with a look that could’ve made them into stone, but the moment you looked at Stanley your eyes widened as a gasp left your lips.

‘Stanley? Honey is that you?’ You asked as you began walking towards him, arms outstretched as though you were worried this was all an illusion from those little fucks from dimension 4.

‘It’s me alright sweetheart, I’m right here, you’re home now and safe.’ Stanley reassured as he greeted you halfway, encasing you in his tight embrace as tears streaked down his face silently as he peppered your face in kisses.

‘Oh Stan! I missed you so much, I thought you would’ve moved on or-‘ you rambled, only to stop when Stan pulled away to look you in the eyes with a serious expression.

‘You’re my one and only doll face, no one else can come close to you sweet pea as all I’ve ever done for the past three decades was try and get you back here, in my arms like your meant to be.’ Stan said as he rested his forehead against your own. ‘I’ve missed you so much, so fucking much that I thought I was going mad without you by my side. I need you and will always need you in my life now and forever.’ He confessed and Mabel gasped at how romantic her Grunkle could be, though then again wasn’t a big surprise considering how highly he talked about you and everything you did that made him fall harder for you.

‘I don’t want to be anywhere but here, with you Stanley Pines.’ You replied as you kissed his lips, weaving your lips against his as you clung on to him in a desperate attempt to familiarise yourself with the man you spent thirty years without. Kissing him felt right, it felt as though your soul was now whole as you melted further into his kiss, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth and softly groan against him before needing to pull away for air as you both looked at each other star struck.

You felt young again with Stanley holding you in his arms as you admired his aged face and silver hair, still finding him attractive as ever. ‘Lost the mullet did you?’ You asked teasingly as Stan could only pinch your side, causing you to jolt at the contact.

‘I thought you liked my mullet?’ He pouted and you couldn’t help but chuckle as you traced your finger across his bottom lip.

‘I did but I think I like this even more.’ You said lowly as you pecked his lip. ‘You look handsome as I remembered and more my beautiful Stanley Pines.’ You cooed, kissing his jawline and feeling the delicious prickle of his stubble/ beard against your lips.

‘So this is our great aunt/ uncle?’ Dipper asked as he watched as you and Stan greeted each other warmly and happily in love. He saw pictures of you but seeing you in the flesh was different entirely as he looked over at Ford who was still smiling at the reunion.

‘Yes dipper, they are your great aunt/ uncle, they were lost to the portal thirty years ago and it hurt Stanley beyond repair. so much so that he dedicated the past three decades trying to get them back.’ Ford explained briefly, happy knowing that the family was whole as it should’ve been from the very beginning.

‘We’ve got so much to catch up on.’ You told Stanley before casting your gaze towards Soos, Mabel and Dipper. ‘And you can start by introducing me to these three colourful characters.’ You add with a smile as you saw Mabel and dipper looking at you in shock and awe.

‘Those little troublesome kids are your Great niece and nephew, dipper and Mabel and that other guy is Soos, my employee.’ Stan began as he interlocked his hand in yours as you chuckled. ‘Twins, runs in the family huh?’ You said with amusement, ready to get to know your family properly this time either no portal to separate you from them ever again.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe toots.’ Stanley then kissed the side of your head, smiling widely as he finally got what he had hoped for, a family, whole and happy.

[eloquentlytired]

18+mdni

— full.

pairing: biker!syverson x fem reader

word count: 4k

warnings: semi public sex, raw, breeding, dirty talk

author's note: wanted to pair it w the gif but it got flagged 🥲 I used an ss of it in the edit (3d icon). it's from a movie called Lorelei and the character reminds me of sy!

you're not invisible but sometimes you're just there. your girlfriends are giggling about things you don’t relate to — about boyfriends. about sex. you suck on your straw, although your milkshake is by far gone, because you're too deep in thought to realize it.

there's silence and then you realize the waiter is standing before you. did they order something else? you release the straw with a faint pop when you realize he's looking at you and suddenly there's another milkshake on the table like the one you had finished drinking moments ago. “he said uhm—” the waiter stutters over his words anxiously and you kind of feel sorry for him. “he said it's a gift to occupy your mouth” and then he's leaving without any other information about whoever it is that treated you.

your girlfriends seem more excited than you do because your interest overpowers all excitement. your eyes scan the bar and take in every possible suspect, it isn't packed since it's not a busy day. everyone seems normal or they're too good at acting nonchalant. until you spot them — a pair of blue eyes watching over your every move possible ever since you entered this establishment. your breath hitches and although you have no clue of who the man is, you just know the tasty gift is from him. his stare forces you to clench your thighs as you take him in — piercing eyes, ungroomed beard and a shaved head. the sleeveless leather he's wearing makes him even more intimidating but it isn't fear that you experience upon exchanging glances with him. the stranger eventually gets up, muttering something to the other men in his table, and walks away. you follow.

“ya’ know, it ain't real kind to leave gifts unattended like that.” you turn so fast that you have to grip the sink behind you to not lose balance. “w-what?” the blue eyed man scans you from head to toe as he takes a step forward, towering over you. “the milkshake. ya didn't drink it.” you aren't sure where to look — his eyes, his lips, that beard. or maybe those large tattooed arms that looked like they're not afraid to handle you. you try to take a step backwards but the sink digs into your waist and you gasp. “i... i’m full.” the man laughs loudly and you realize he's amused while you're utterly taken aback by the situation. “full? have you any idea what it takes to be full?” his gaze darkens and you swallow as your heartbeat reaches your ears. you don't get him but you're about to.

the message in his words becomes obvious when sy’s hand clutches the side of your waist while the other hand lifts your leg to slide it around his body. “there we go. what a sweet girl you are.” he rasps as he slides his cock inside your pussy and all you can do is whimper as your walls wrap around him too tightly because it's been a while. and oh he's so thick. “gonna move now. gonna show ya what full really feels like,yea?” he doesn't wait for your reply as he draws back until only the tip of his cock is breaching your entrance. you stare at him with those wide eyes of yours and he can tell you're excited but also nervous. he lowers his head to supposedly kiss you but brushes his beard against your cheek instead and the action makes you smile. your smile turns into a silent ‘o’ because he's thrusting his cock inside you then, inch by inch, until you've swallowed most of him and his tip is kissing your deepest parts. and gods you get it now because this is what makes you full. this completes you.

your hands grip his leather jacket as he fucks you, feeling every inch of his thick cock splitting you open without any mercy. he’s impatient and he deserves this — he deserves this ever since you've walked into the bar and drawed his attention. “so fucking pretty. so wet too.” he growls and grounds his hips against yours while your pussy flutters around him when he starts pressing wet kisses across your neck. “made my whole day, baby. come here.” you can't even think straight as he presses his lips into yours and kisses you. he fucks you like he hates you but he kisses you like you're his favourite sweet. your mouth parts for him willingly and you let his tongue devour you, the taste of your drink still lingering in your pretty mouth. “please.” you find yourself muttering between open mouthed kisses and deep thrusts that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head. each time the man thrusts his hips forward, his skin slaps against yours painfully. it burns and you enjoy every moment. “please what? use your words baby.” you whine in protest and he rolls his hips punishing slow to make you feel the entire stretch his cock offers to your pussy. “want to come- want to be full-” you say and he smiles because this is good, you're a fast fucking learner. he grins, teeth on full display, as he picks up the pace and slams his cock directly into the spot that clouds all your senses. you arch your back and your breasts are squished against his chest, pebbled nipples brushing on him and making him lose his mind. “you sit so kindly. pretending to be good.” you want to protest and say that you are good but his hand clutches your hip and pushes you down on his cock as he thrusts up. “sipping on your milkshake. so sweet,aren't ya?” it's like you can't think anymore when his other hand slides from your hip to your swollen clit and starts rubbing there deliciously. the drag of his cock is heavenly and his eyes can't help but take a peak between your bodies whereas you're connected. it's difficult to not cum just by the sight of your wetness coating his bare cock but he holds back to care for you first. you cum with a cry around his cock and his fingers stay on your clit, toying around with it until you feel so oversensitive. “no more— can't do more!” you protest but he's silencing you with a kiss again while dragging his cock in and out of you, the sight of your unshed tears bringing him closer to the edge. “course ya can — fuck — come on. one more, baby.” and you really don't want to disappoint this big man as he places both of his hands on your hips and holds you flat on the sink, driving his cock exactly where it should be. you don't know how long it takes you to get there but you're squeezing around him again as you orgasm and this time he doesn't hold back either. his chest crashes against yours as he empties himself inside you, burying his face into your neck, and you can feel his cock faintly pulse within you. you're spent as he pulls his cock out of you and helps you stand properly, his hands still resting on your hips. “thank you.” you mutter almost shyly as you fix yourself and your clothing — just enough to look presentable. he does the same although his eyes never leave yours and you can tell that he has things to say. “ya got a paper on ya?” his question surprises you but you shake your head. “scuse me for this then.” he mumbles as he fishes a marker out of his trousers. you want to question him but you don't need to when he's grabbing your arm gently and writes on your skin with the marker. “in case you want another milkshake.” he says with a wink and he's out the door before you know it.

you stare at your marked arm. then at the phone number. and then at the giant syverson written on your skin.

your week is bound to be full.

[loafysainz]

the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction & remake

next chap

PART 12 I LOVE YOU MOM

Y/N couldn't help but smile as she watched her son, Mattia, excitedly explain their latest project to the family. 

“Oh! You look more and more like your mother every day, Mattia,” his grandfather, said warmly, his voice tinged with nostalgia. 

Matheo grinned, clearly loving the compliment. “Thanks, Grandpa.” 

Y/N, sitting at the other end of the table, raised her glass, asking Martin for a refill of wine. He glanced at the letter on the table—a peculiar one with an intricate drawing of what appeared to be a dog and a hastily scribbled "911" in bold letters. 

Before anyone could notice his curiosity, there was a sudden commotion. Matheo, leaned so far forward in his chair that he tipped it over, landing flat on his back with a loud thud. 

The room went silent in shock

“Mattia! Are you okay, baby?” Y/N was by his side in seconds, her face painted with concern. 

Matheo scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off with an awkward smile. “Yeah, I’m fine, Mom. I just felt a little dizzy, that’s all. No big deal. Mom, can I go out for a while?” 

Y/N frowned but didn’t push further. “Do you want me to come with you?” 

“No, no,” Matheo replied quickly, his voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing. “I’ll just step out for a minute. I’ll be fine, promise!” He grabbed his coat and bolted for the door before anyone could ask another question. 

As the door clicked shut, his grandfather narrowed his eyes. He muttered under his breath, “You’re not fooling me, young man.” 

Matheo rushed through the bustling streets until he found a public phone booth. He slipped inside, closed the door, and fumbled with the phone, his heart racing. He quickly dialed the operator. “Um, could I make a collect call to Madrid, Spain?” 

Meanwhile, in Madrid, Mattia paced the length of his room like a tiger in a cage, glancing anxiously at the phone. When it finally rang, he lunged for it so fast he almost tripped. 

“Hello?” he answered breathlessly. 

“Mattia, what’s going on?” Matheo’s voice came through, laced with worry. 

“God, Matheo, I’m about to collapse,” Mattia blurted out. 

“Okay, chill. Just explain.” 

“Dad,” Mattia said dramatically, pausing for effect. “Dad is getting married.” 

Matheo froze, his jaw dropping. “What?!” 

“I’m serious! The suit and gown, the ceremony, everything. It’s happening in two weeks. If we don’t do something now, it’s game over. The only way to stop him is to reunite him with Mom.” 

Matheo leaned his forehead against the glass of the phone booth, guilt bubbling up. He should’ve listened to Mattia earlier. “Alright. I’ll handle Mom. There’s event tonight, and I’ll drop the news on her tomorrow morning.” 

“Please, Theo. This has to work. And hey... good luck.” 

“Yeah, you too. I’ll call you later.” Matheo hung up, took a deep breath, and opened the door to leave, only to bump straight into someone waiting outside. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see—oh… oh…” he stammered, his heart sinking when he realized who it was. 

His grandfather, stood there with his signature knowing smile. “Uh-huh… oh, oh.” 

“This is not what it looks like,” Matheo blurted out, already feeling the walls closing in. 

His grandfather just looped his arm through his as they began to walk down the park path. “Sweetheart, I may be old, but I notice ‘everything’. Now, spill it. What’s this all about?” 

“It’s... it’s a long story,” he mumbled, desperately trying to come up with an excuse. 

His grandfather patted his arm reassuringly. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve got all the time in the world.” 

Matheo sighed, realizing there was no escaping him. “Alright, but promise you won’t freak out.” 

“No promises,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

And with that, Matheo began unraveling the tangled web of plans, secrets, and schemes, knowing full well his grandfather was the last person he could ever truly fool. 

*****

Matheo paced nervously, his shoe scuffing the floor as he debated his next move. From the other side of the door, he could hear his mother speaking in rapid French, her voice calm and composed despite the chaos in his chest. Biting his lip, he leaned against the door, just barely cracking it open to peek inside. His mother sat at her desk, phone pressed to her ear, her words flowing effortlessly like music he didn’t understand. 

Behind him, his grandfather, gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t have all day, gentleman,” he said, his tone both firm and loving.

Matheo glanced up at him, hesitant, but he smiled at him, his eyes full of encouragement. “You can do this,” he whispered. 

Taking a deep breath, Matheo pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. His mother, Y/N, was just finishing her call, something about a new design that she had completed and a delicious carbonara pasta she’d been craving. She glanced up, surprised to see her son standing there, and quickly hung up.   

“Mattia, my baby,” she said, setting the phone down.

But before Matheo could say anything, he froze, his courage faltering. Without a word, he dove under the covers beside his mom, pulling the cover over his head. Y/N blinked, her confusion quickly melting into amusement. 

“Mattia?” Y/N called, moving to sit beside the bundle of blankets that was her son. “What are you doing there?” 

From beneath the covers came a muffled response: “I have to go see Mattia!”

Y/N laughed softly, trying to open the cover. "So, where are you supposed to meet ‘Mattia’ ? Tell me, Mattia?"

“Mattia? Sweetheart?” Y/N called his son, she glancing back at her dad, who stood in the doorway with an amused but knowing look. 

“In Madrid. With his father, Carlos Sainz,” Matheo mumbled, his voice trembling slightly. 

At that, Y/N froze. Her face paled, and she shot a look at her Dad, who simply gave a small nod, urging her to listen. Slowly, Y/N pulled the covers back, revealing Matheo’s nervous face. 

“You’re not Mattia, are you?” she asked softly, her voice wavering. 

Matheo shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. “No,” he whispered. 

Y/N heart clenched as the truth began to dawn on her. Her hand reached out, brushing a stray soft hair from his forehead as her eyes filled with emotion. 

“You’re Matheo,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “My Matheo.”

Matheo nodded again, this time letting the tears spill over. “Mattia and I met at camp,” he began, his words tumbling out in a rush. “We figured everything out, about you and Dad, and we decided to switch places. I just... I wanted to meet you so badly. And Mattia wanted to meet Dad. I’m so sorry, Mom. Please don’t be mad. I love you so much, and I just... I just hope someday you’ll love me for me, not because you think I’m Mattia.”

Y/N breath hitched, and she pulled her son into her arms, holding him tightly as if afraid he might disappear. “Oh, my baby,” she whispered. “I’ve loved you your whole life. Always. With all my heart.”     

From the doorway, his grandfather dabbed at his eyes with a tissue, muttering something about how dusty the room had gotten. Meanwhile, Martin, their family butler, stood openly sobbing, his dramatic cries echoing down the hall. The grandfather rolled his eyes and gently shut the door to give Y/N and Matheo some privacy. 

Matheo pulled back slightly, looking up at his mother with a hopeful expression. “Does this mean we have to switch back now?” 

Y/N let out a soft, bittersweet laugh, brushing away her own tears. “Technically, you belong to your dad, and Mattia belongs to me,” she said. ���It’s... complicated.” 

Matheo frowned, his nose scrunching up. “I don’t like this arrangement,” he said firmly. “It’s horrible.” 

Y/N chuckled, her heart swelling with affection for her bold little boy. “You’re right,” she admitted. “It is horrible.” 

“Then let’s go to Madrid,” Matheo said decisively, his small hands gripping hers. “We can talk to Dad and figure this out together.” 

Y/N hesitated for a moment, the thought of seeing Carlos again making her heart tighten. But when she looked into Matheo’s eyes, so full of determination and love, she knew there was no other option. 

“That’s what we’ll do,” she said finally, her voice steady. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll take care of everything.”

The two hugged each other again. Matheo sighed, feeling free from all the weight of the lie he had kept, while Y/N only thought “Oh God I have to see Carlos Sainz again. I'll be struck by lightning right now.”

prev chap

[bucketslutz]

Don't Be Late (Logan Howlett/Fem mutant reader)

Chapter 1

(A/N): btw this takes place in an alternate universe where the x men as a team don't really exist, but the members and mutants obviously still do. readers powers are similar to atom eve from invincible, if you haven't seen that show i highly recommend it, but if not, you don't really need to know any of that to understand readers powers, they'll be explained in more detail later on.

Summary: You've spent your entire academic career trying to hide who you really are, your goal to end up working in a small museum or archive and live the rest of your life going unnoticed. The first day of grad school you meet someone that sparks something deep inside you that you never thought existed. Your history professor, Logan, makes you feel things you've never felt from someone before. Will you keep hiding your feelings, or will you get too close and risk him knowing who you really are?

Warnings: 18+!! explicit sexual content, minors DNI!! pls!!! oral (fem recieving), logan being a munch lowk, oral on the couch, teasing, dirty talking, cursing, logan being an asshole professor, no use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3,208

You anxiously rub your forehead as you struggle to find parking on campus, circling and circling the lot. Finally, someone pulls out and you turn in aggressively, someone in front of you flips you off, probably eyeing the same spot. You’re late. Very late. You have an American Civil War class, it’s an advanced level, with a professor whose name you cannot remember for the life of you. You’ve been preoccupied this summer, and time escaped you before you got the chance to research his credentials. It’s your first day of grad school and you’re late. A long commute, a new college, and shitty parking. You hope to god the professor doesn’t care or notice when you slip in late, as you carry a specific kind of disdain for drawing attention to yourself.

You were 13 when you first noticed something was wrong, walking home alone from school when a stranger tried to pin you down and do god knows what to you, until your eyes glowed a deep fuchsia and you threw him across the alley with a strength you didn’t even know you had. Your veins began glowing the same pink color and pulsating, scaring you shitless. You ran to the woods behind your house, avoiding your family for fear of harming them. With enough practice over the years, you’ve learned to control your abilities. Your eyes only glowing occasionally when you’re especially frustrated or angry. Sometimes even when you’re…taking care of some sexual urges. While you don’t know what causes these powers, you do know the general population’s feelings about mutants enough to understand that no one can know what you are. You don’t keep boyfriends for longer than 3 months, you don’t let friends become closer than you need them to be, and you don’t tell anyone what you are. You just want a normal life.

Your forehead is slick with sweat by the time you arrive at the history building, your breath heavy and labored, not from how fast you were walking to the building, but from anxiety, which is also the source of the excessive sweat on your brow. You cannot recall this courses class size, and you damn yourself for forgetting to check; not knowing if you can slip into the large class quietly or if everyone will be able to see you come in. This isn’t undergrad where people stumble in hungover with 10 minutes left of class, this is a graduate program where people go on to become masters in their fields of study. And you’re going to look like a fool in front of everyone. You approach the door to the classroom and can see through the window that it is, in fact, a small class. Fuck. There are maybe 15 people in there total. You hold your breath as you attempt to quietly push the door open, but it fails you with a loud, obnoxious creak. Every head snaps towards you, including the teacher, and you offer a meek smile to your classmates and turn your head towards the professor to issue a brief apology. You swallow hard when your eyes land on him. his tall frame is leaning against the white board, a little scary looking with muscles that bulge against his crossed arms, peaking out from under his rolled up sleeves. You’re surprised they’re visible even through his plaid button-up. His hair is fluffy, dark, as well as his beard…or actually, you should say mutton-chops, as that would be a more accurate descriptor. He glares at you, and you swear you’ve held his gaze for hours, but realistically it’s only been no more than a few seconds.

“Sorry,” you offer timidly.

The professor nods lightly, his jaw tense, and waves you off as he continues addressing the class. You attempt to quietly maneuver to an empty seat in the back, trying your hardest to not trip over your classmate’s bags and chairs. You feel like it takes forever to get to your seat, hoping no one pays too much attention to how clumsily you scoot past the chairs and over obstacles. You try and settle as quietly as possible, unzipping your shoulder bag and retrieving a pen to take notes. He’s still going over the syllabus, thank god.

“The only homework you’ll have is an essay, every week—every Friday—you have an essay due. Then every 3 weeks you’ll have an exam,” he instructs, rather nonchalantly. “And while I don’t give a shit if you waste your money and don’t come to class,” his eyes suddenly are fixed onto you, you swallow a lump of anxiety lodged in your throat as he continues, “The school cares a helluva lot more so, if you don’t mark your name down on the attendance sheet, you forget, you’re late, or whatever the hell, you’ll be absent. I’m not going back in and fixing shit.”

Noted. He turns his gaze back to the rest of the class and continues talking about the curriculum for the rest of the semester. you try to keep your head down as you scribble notes into your notebook, trying to look busy, when in reality you want to kick yourself in the face. You left your apartment too late, you didn’t anticipate the amount of traffic on the interstate, and you conveniently forgot how terrible parking is on college campuses. You look up to see the professor checking his wristwatch with a furrowed brow, like he’s considering something.

“Alright, that’s all i’ve got today, get out,” he commands, his gravelly voice showing slight indignation.

There’s a general look of confusion around the room at his abrupt dismissal with 45 minutes left of class. As people begin to shove their belongings in bags, you quickly get the memo as you collect your notebook and pen in your hands and stand up, ready to depart from this nightmare as soon as possible. But you’re the last in your row, shoved into a corner. the line of people in front of you have their chairs pushed back to the wall as they slowly collect themselves. It takes an obnoxiously long time for you to get out from behind the the long row of desks, even longer to leave the class as everyone shoves their way past you and out the door. Finally, you find an opening, but before your foot can even reach the threshold, there’s a strong grip on your arm. You turn your head to meet the gaze of your professor. Your heart skips a beat as he maintains eye contact briefly, before he hands you a piece of paper and lets go of your arm.

“Find your name, mark it,” he directs, causing you to scramble for the pen in your hands as you scan the paper for your name.

You try and offer a polite smile to the professor, but he remains stoic and unamused, making you feel even more uncomfortable. Once you find your name, you ungracefully set the paper against your flimsy notebook for structure, and scrawl a shaky check mark next to your name. You offer the paper back to him.

“Here, thank you, um, professor…” you trail off awkwardly, forgetting that you never actually checked what his name was. He takes the attendance sheet from you.

“Logan,” he answers.

“Ah, thank you professor Logan—”

“No,” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand, “just Logan.”

“Logan, right. thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, his tone far from indicating the typical politeness of the statement, and rather literally cautioning you to never bring up this act of kindness again. And with that you turn to leave the class, unsure of why this gruff, sturdy, serious professor bended his own personal rules just for you. But no matter with that, you at least know you’ll never be late to his damn class again.

***

You pull into the driveway of your house with a sigh. It's late, the time you prefer to get home, so you can fully relax and use your powers in peace. Despite living in the middle of nowhere, you still fear someone will mistakenly pull into your driveway and catch you flying into your second story window or creating an apple from nothing. The lack of sound, except that of the chirping crickets and cicadas, puts you at ease. You release the tension in your shoulders and float off of the ground, propelling yourself to the patio on the second story of your house. You unlock the door with a flick of your wrist, the fuchsia energy encasing the doorknob and letting you into your bedroom, you then toss your things down onto the floor. An exhausted groan escapes your lips as you face plant onto your cool, soft bed. Not even coming up for air when you fling your arm up and slam the door shut with a pink, crystalline whoosh. You turn over to face the ceiling, your eyes fluttering shut within the comfort of your bed. Longing to get out of your stuffy jeans and bra, you trail your hands over your body and watch as your clothes dissipate into a pink flash while you manifest some boxer shorts and a loose t-shirt. Finally comfortable, you slide under the covers, wanting to sleep off one of the most stressful days you've had in a while. A morning full of classes, then 5 hours interning at the museum, before finally finishing off your day at the convenience store down the road working a 6 hour shift. While you can create most anything you want with your powers, you cannot create the full nights sleep that you most desperately need right now. 

As you drift, you think about how embarrassing of a morning you had. Stumbling into class like a fawn learning how to walk, Logan directly looking at you when speaking about attendance, Logan shoving the attendance sheet in your face so you mark yourself as present, Logan's strong arms and the way they looked with his sleeves rolled up. Logan's fluffy, dark hair and--No. Shut up. Don't think about that, he's your professor for god's sake. And, more importantly, an asshole. No amount of muscle or sheer sexiness will distract from that fact. You repeat this fact to yourself as you doze off, not wanting to give in to immature thoughts of attraction. Despite falling asleep to the negation of that attraction, your subconscious drifts somewhere you know you shouldn't physically go.

You're in Logan's office, your ass perched on the edge of his desk. Logan's back is to you, locking his door and drawing the blinds. He turns to you, his stance almost primal and animal-like, like he can't wait for the chance to devour you. The thought of that causes your arousal to swirl deep in your stomach. Logan saunters towards you, bearing his lower teeth like a predator ready to take their prey. Your breath hitches in anticipation as he gets closer, causing you to spread your legs, hoping the clear view of what lies beneath your skirt will draw him in closer. It seemingly works as he closes the distance between you two, his waist now flush against your lower stomach. Tingles shoot down your spine at the sudden contact, blood rushing down to your pussy. He pants as he brings his hands to your waist and strokes up and down the sides of your body, then achingly slow up your neck, then finally stopping at your chin. One hand creeps to the nape of your neck where he lays his palm flat while the other pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes flutter shut, anticipating that he's close to having his way with you. He holds you there for a beat, his face so tantalizingly close to yours that you can feel his breath against your skin. You whine gently when his lips teasingly graze your own. The fingers pinching your chin adjust slightly to grip your jaw instead, allowing him better control to tilt your head up towards him. His other hand, at the nape of your neck, travels upward allowing his fingers to gently rake through your hair until he roughly takes a fistful and tugs. A soft moan escapes your throat and you try to satiate the throbbing pressure between your legs by rubbing your thighs together. An amused huff leaves Logan's lips as he looks down at your squirming figure beneath him.

"You gonna be good for me, princess?" he asks in a low, gruff tone as the hand on your chin trails down the side of your neck before landing on your breast. He massages the flesh fervently, finding it harder to hide his own desperate arousal and need from you. You moan into his touch and arch your back into him, your pussy searching for more friction that Logan is expertly avoiding giving you by not allowing his pelvis to meet yours.

"Logan," you gasp.

"C'mon, baby," his voice soothes, like smooth velvet, "tell me you want it."

"I want it," you whisper, desperately seeking any sort of release.

"Good girl."

And with that, Logan removes the hand on your breast so he can aggressively hook an arm under your ass and easily hoist you up with one fell swoop. Your legs wrap around his waist and your arms around his neck, reveling the feel of his palm that covers your asscheek. With a growl Logan spins you around and throws you onto the couch in the corner of his office, barely allowing you a second to recover when he crawls on top of you and captures your lips with his own desperately. The kiss is aggressive and needy, tongues dancing together ungracefully, teeth clashing, hasty lip bites between kisses. His hips grind against yours roughly, causing you to hook both your feet around his ass to keep him there for as long as you can, desperately seeking more friction. His hands alternate with each other between grasping your breasts to gripping your face passionately. Without breaking the kiss, he hooks his arms under you and drives you further up the couch so your upper back lays against the armrest. You whine when his lips leave yours, but it's quickly replaced with a moan as his lips travel down your neck, chest, the stomach he exposes by lifting the hem of your shirt, biting the fabric at the waistband of your skirt. You squirm underneath him, anticipating what's gonna happen next as his face nestles between your legs. He licks, bites, sucks, and kisses the skin of your inner thighs, causing you to gasp with each harsh move of his mouth, before promptly melting into a moan when he alleviates his biting or sucking with a kiss or flick of his tongue. Your clit is throbbing, your pussy aching for him to get closer to your center. So he does. His tongue dances along the edge of your panties, not dipping much further into the fabric, his head alternating between each of your lips. You whine desperately as Logan's mouth hovers above your core, his hot breath teasing you further. He looks up at you and into your eyes as his mouth latches onto your thinly clothed pussy, causing you to squirm and moan underneath him, the already damp fabric from your arousal, getting further soaked from Logan's saliva.

"Logan," you whine fervently. "Please."

His mouth leaves your pussy, just barely hovering above it now.

"I gotta make you want it, princess, it's no fun unless you're begging for me to taste you," he breathed against your pussy, his voice low and syrupy. He quickly resumes the hold his mouth had on your pussy, making your back arch off the couch with a moan.

"Okay, I'm officially begging, please, Logan, please," you whimper, not sure how much longer you're able to take his teasing.

"Atta girl," he rasps against your pussy. Like nothing, his fingers hook around the fabric of your panties and he rips it off of you with an experienced strength, leaving your pussy now exposed to Logan, and your torn lace panties on the floor.

"So wet for me, huh?" Logan teases through a cocky smile. You squirm more underneath him, causing his hands to move to your hips to hold them down. Logan stares hungrily at your cunt, removing one hand from your hip and bringing it to your pussy lips to rub it tantalizingly slow with his fingers. Flicking his eyes up to meet yours, he finally brings his tongue to your folds and licks up to your clit. You moan throatily and bring your hands to his hair to give it a tug of appreciation. He groans enthusiastically into your pussy, eating at it like your core is the forbidden fruit dripping in molten pleasure. He's animalistic in his movements and noises, lapping at your clit with groans and grunts in pleasure, almost growling even. He brings his fingers to your core, tracing the hole before shoving two digits inside of you. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them with each push inside. The noises are lewd and wet with each drive of his fingers. Your moans grow more desperate and needy as you climb towards your climax, the death grip you have on his hair growing stronger and stronger. The hand holding your hip down crawls up to your breast, grasping desperately at your flesh, hastily circling your nipples with his thumb. Your breaths quicken, your eyes flutter shut as he continues the steady onslaught of your pussy with his mouth and fingers. 

"Logan, I'm so close, don't stop...please..." you trail off, beginning to lose yourself in your pleasure. Logan responds with needy moans against your clit and the continuous pumping of his fingers in and out of you. His grip on your breast loosens to grasp your side, slinking down to your waist, definitely leaving a mark with how rough he grabs at you. As his lips and tongue continue lapping you up, you can feel your arousal swirling in your stomach more and more. Your moans grow louder, your hips begin bucking. Logan groans into you, desperate to feel your release around his fingers. White hot pressure forms around your clit as you teeter on the edge of your orgasm, you look down at Logan and lock eyes with him just as you feel yourself dropping off.

The feeling of hot pink fire pricking your eyeballs jerks you awake, mid-orgasm, your eyes glow a pulsating fuchsia. You pant heavily, your orgasm ending unceremoniously against your fingertips. Leaving you disappointed. You huff in annoyance, wishing you could plunge yourself back into the wet dream that ended in a rather mediocre way. No, wait, that was your professor. You shouldn't be feeling, or thinking, this way at all. You feel disappointed in yourself for having such lewd thoughts about another person, especially a person of authority. You catch your breath, turn your head to face the clock on your nightstand and gasp when you see the time.

"Shit, shit, shit," you curse, hastily throwing yourself out of bed. "Please don't be late today."

(A/N): and that's that!! i hope people enjoy! this concept popped into my head earlier today so i've spent my sunday working on this, if people are interested to see where this goes, please leave a kudos or comment!!! TYYY🫶🏻🙈 i also posted this onto my ao3 here if you would like to view it there and keep up with it there as well!

[morgana-ren]

I have Dark Urge, Gortash and Astarion jealousy brain rot after that youtube video of them bickering. This is not related to the bickering but I keep thinking it!!!

"I don't remember," You hiss, fighting back the sudden lump in your throat. "I don't remember you, I don't even remember me."

"Still so quick to anger, " Gortash sounds amused as he reaches out, and for some reason you don't make any move to stop him. You don't fear him, in fact deep down there's an almost longing for his touch.

There's a slight flicker of surprise across his face as he cups your chin lightly, slowly stroking his thumb over your bottom lip, his gaze flicking quickly over your shoulder. You don't fight him, but you do fight the sudden urge to lean in to his touch, to open your mouth and brush the tip of your tongue over his thumb. You’re not sure if the shiver down your spine is your own confused arousal or the pulse of jealous anger from Astarion you can feel whispering through your tadpole. Gortash' lips quirk, there's a tiny hint of a smile as he leans in close and that burning pulse in your head turns into liquid fire through your veins. It's overwhelming, and so so confusing. Astarion's thoughts mixing with your own until you feel like you're going to drown in a haze of anger and lust. 

Gortash gaze slips over your shoulder again and you feel a pang of anxiousness at his inattention, but its gone just as fast as he lowers his head and you raise your own instinctively, losing yourself in the need to press your mouth to his. 

"You may not remember me, sweet thing," his nose brushes against yours as his voice drops to a whisper. "But your body does."

Malformed, foggy memories flashbang your brain as he stands so closely that you can smell the brandy and exotic spice on his skin, tugging your heartstrings from some unfathomably deep level within you. It hammers incessantly on the protective shield your mind has placed over your memories of your old life, drawing on something overwhelming and instinctive within you, though you cannot recall what.

It is an urge that makes your heart pound, but unlike the insatiable bloodlust that plagues your every thought, this one demands not only acquiescence, but obedience. Like a dog brought to heel by the call of its master, your breath stoppers in your throat as he leans in, lips brushing sensitive skin, your body anticipating the next move even as you do not consciously recognize what it might be. You salivate as a wolf over carrion, hands trembling in their need to reach forward, to pull him to you with such a force that it topples you both--

"Surely you're aware that not everything the body remembers is a good memory," Astarion speaks from behind you, his voice almost enough to shock you out of the lust-induced spell Gortash has placed you under with unnerving ease. His lips curl upward in a mimic of a smile, and yet it looks all too much like an animalistic snarl: far too much fang to be genuine.

"True that may be, but I'm sure you can feel for yourself that isn't the case here," Gortash offers him a quick and easy grin, bloodshot eyes narrowing only slightly.

Deep shame at the realization that Astarion is privy to the bombardment of desire bubbling within your core. Even as you try to hide it, your legs still quiver, heart rabbiting behind your ribs, trying to lock out the scent that cloys up your nostrils to nestle in your brain to stir up memories better left abandoned.

"Oh, I don't know about that. It seems markedly unpleasant to me."

There is a tense insecurity emanating from him, but buried beneath it, there is anger and the vicious snap of jealousy. It's all terribly foreign to him in the way that even the worm has difficulty translating, and it only makes the situation all the more awkward. You haplessly look back at him in a wordless apology, unable to even find the words to properly convey your feelings.

His eyes don't meet yours, but his hand slithers around your waist, tugging you back towards his chest in a territorial show of dominance, and as he does, there is a subtle flash to Gortash's eyes. Astarion does not let you go, and Gortash does not step back. Neither looks at you any further, but rather at each other.

It's a look you recognize; a hunter sizing up his mark.

"Funny. I remember her being capable of speaking for herself." "She's capable of a lot more than that." "Oh, I remember," Gortash cocks his head, and another pang of lust damn near drags you to your knees. Something burrows through your brain, trying to claw its way out. A half-formed memory, dark and lined in velvet; a gold-laden hand curling around your throat, hips rolling against yours so deeply it hurts, the cry of his name from your lips.

You feel Astarion recoil, his face unmoving as iron but his hand clenching enough to pain. Whatever it was, he saw it.

"Yes, well, all in the past, hmm?"

"The future is yet to be written," Gortash arches a brow, his gaze once again drawn down to yours. "Personally, I prefer an authoring hand in my own destiny."

[imawreck]

Lean On Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky notices you’ve been struggling recently, and he can’t help but try and make you feel better.

Author’s Note: I have not dealt with depression myself, but I have been around many who have. I tried to write this story based on some of the ways they have described the feeling to be in order to make it as accurate as I could. This is for the lovely individual who reached out to me for a request! I hope this gives you the comfort you need, and I send all my best wishes to you <3

Warnings: This fic deals with depression, so if that is a triggering topic for you please be wary and read with caution. Also like one use of y/n.

Word Count: 1,975

It was happening again.

That sinking, hollow feeling had begun to creep into your chest and draw open the doors in your mind that hid all those viscous thoughts you desperately tried to escape.

The self loathing, guilt, and the constant sorrow that seemed to follow you with no cause at all.

And Bucky could tell.

It was in the way you had gone from holding yourself tall while walking through the halls or talking to the team members. It was in the way your voice didn’t carry as happily, choosing to make yourself known less and less. He had watched your shoulders cave inwards and your head bow instead as you shuffled around the tower in the recent weeks or even chose to stay in your room all day.

He knew something was wrong.

Bucky had been your friend ever since you had joined the team. He had been taken with you from the start, drawn to your kindness and your down to earth attitude. You were a splash of color in his otherwise dull and colorless life.

It had taken him a while to gather the courage to talk to you that first time in the training area, to walk up to your confident form and smiling face and attempt to introduce himself without scaring you away. It had been easier than he’d thought. You had smiled at him, showed him equal kindness despite his rather bleak and bloody past, and even continued to seek him out for talks in your free time.

He had grown rather accustomed to you. Gravitated around you, even.

So when you’d started to dull, the brightness fading from your smile and the life in your eyes dimming, he had to do something about it.

He rapped his metal knuckles on your door, his ears listening intently for your melodic voice to beckon him inside. When it doesn’t, he eases the door open a crack, keeping his eyes on the floor just in case you’re indecent.

“Y/N?” His hushed voice calls into the room, and he hears a rustle and a concerning sniffle in return. It spurs him to open the door wider, “Can I come in, Doll?”

There’s a moment of silence before he hears the covers of your bed shift and your soft voice call to him, “Come in.”

He shuffles inside, quietly shutting the door behind him. It takes him a moment to adjust to your dark room, blinking several times before he’s able to take in the outline of your small form on the bed.

You sit against the headboard, knees pulled to your chest and eyes downcast. This wasn’t normal behavior for you, especially when he’d come to visit you. Normally, you’d have yanked the door open and welcomed him with one of your famous hugs. He’d swing you around like he always did, and he’d soak in that wonderful little laugh you’d let out.

But this, this sent alarm bells off in his head and made his heart squeeze anxiously. “Hey, dollface,” he kept his voice low, soothing. “I didn’t see you at dinner and everyone was wondering if you were sick or something. Wanted to come check on you.”

Bucky eased himself onto the side of the bed, his weight dipping the bed slightly. You kept your eyes down, fiddling with your fingers anxiously. It wasn’t something you did often, and Bucky picked up on it pretty fast.

You pulled your lip between your teeth, “No, I’m not sick. I just felt tired, that’s all.”

He knew it was a lie, at least partially. He could faintly see the dark circles under your eyes in the dim light streaming in from your window. He might’ve missed it if the moon hadn’t been out.

“Doll,” he frowned, giving you that ‘we both know that’s bullshit’ look, “you can’t lie to me.”

You knew he was right, knew your pathetic excuse was as see through as glass. Bucky could read you like a book, knew you better than anyone else did. Even when you had first met, he could tell when your mood would change the slightest bit. He was just that in tune to you.

Bucky watched as you worried your lip some more, and tears began to well in your eyes. It broke his heart to see you like this, to see you struggle to talk to him, to trust him with whatever was making you wither like this.

He wanted to reach out to you, to comfort you any way he could, but he needed you to come to him. He didn’t want to push you, to accidentally make you feel trapped.

The next words you spoke made his heart shatter.

“I don’t want you to think I’m weak.”

You had mumbled it, barely above a whisper, but he could hear the tremble of your voice. The fear in your tone, like you were afraid that just speaking it would shatter you.

Bucky thought the world of you. You were smart, kind, selfless. Always helping him and the others, always being someone they could all trust and talk to freely. But you had always been especially kind to Bucky. You always understood when he needed space, or knew how to comfort him best when he was having one of those darker days. You knew about his nightmares, helped him through them even. You were his rock when he felt his world would crash down in the blink of an eye, always bringing him back from the edge.

And Bucky had realized that even though you were always there for the others, you had never truly asked to talk about your own issues. You’d never let on when something was wrong or asked for help.

With his heart tearing in his chest, he threw caution to the wind. His arms circled around you, pulling your curled form into his lap. “Doll, I have never— could never—think you were weak.”

You buried your head in his neck, clenching your teeth to try and keep the tears from falling. “But I am, Bucky. I’m weak and useless, I don’t even know why I’m here.”

Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest, threatening to burst. He had never felt this kind of torment before. Not even when he had been in the clutches of Hydra.

“Hey— hey. You are the strongest person I have ever known. Even stronger than Stevie.” He couldn’t bare to hear you talk about yourself like this, to see you so low.

Bucky pulled you tighter against him, curling his metal arm around you to press you closer to his chest. Maybe, if he held you close enough, he could protect you from whatever dark thoughts had taken hold of you. “Talk to me, Babydoll, please. Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty head.”

You didn’t want to confess to him, didn’t want anyone to know about your struggling. It was yours to handle, your own responsibility to deal with, not anyone else’s.

But as he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world, your resolve began to crumble. Tears began to leak from your eyes, soaking the neckline of his sweatshirt. Your chest felt tight as you muffled the sobs wracking your body.

Bucky felt all of this, the tremble of your body, the dampness collecting on his clothes from your tears, and just held you tighter. Any more, and he might crush you.

“I struggle with depression.”

There, it was out there. He knew, and now he’d think less of you. He’d treat you differently like everyone else always did, and eventually it would be too much for him.

You tensed up, preparing for whatever words came out of him. For his pity or a lecture like most gave you. To tell you it’s all in your head.

Instead, Bucky’s flesh hand began rubbing your back. The gentle motions soothed the tension in your spine, comforting you without words.

His soft lips pressed against your temple, and he mumbled into your hair, “Have you ever thought less of be because of the things I struggle with? My nightmares, fears, all of that?”

You frowned against his neck, sniffling and shaking your head. “No, I haven’t. Not ever.”

“Then why would I think you were weak just because you struggle sometimes with how you feel?” He asked, still gently rubbing your back.

“Because you have a reason, Bucky. You were tortured for decades.” You mumble, another rush of tears following the tightness in your chest at the thought. “I haven’t suffered like that, there’s no reason for me to feel this way.”

“Just because you haven’t been through something traumatic doesn’t make how you feel or your struggles less important.” Bucky pulled away from you just enough to hold your eyes, “Feelings are hard, Doll, for everyone. Avenger, or not. Hero, or not. Everyone struggles with something. It doesn’t make them weak, or lessen their value as a person. It just makes them human.”

At his words, the final walls you’d put up came crashing down. Sobs wracked your body, and the tears streamed down your face. Bucky let you cling to him, let you cry as he placed gentle kisses to your temple and held you tightly.

After a while, your tears subsided and your sobs had dwindled to an occasional sniffle. Still, he held you close.

“I want you to know,” he said softly, “that you are important to this team, to all of us. To me.” The cool fingers of his metal hand gently nudged your chin, beckoning you out of the juncture of his shoulder. “I want you to know that I don’t think less of you, that my opinion of you hasn’t changed a bit. And I want you to know that you’re not alone, Doll, that you’re never alone. That I will always be here for you. No matter what.”

There was no doubt on his face as he said it, and he held your gaze as he brushed a gentle thumb across your chin. “This team loves you, and they think the world of you. I know that each of them would tell you exactly that. I know that they wouldn’t want you to suffer all by yourself. You let us all share our problems with you, so share this with us. Let us help you.”

His brows pinched as his voice got a little quieter, leaning his forehead against yours. “Or at least let me help you, if you’re not ready for that yet.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and a fresh wave of tears welled up. But it was a good kind, the relieved kind. “Okay,” you whispered, “okay.”

He smiled then, a small encouraging one. A little blush appearing on his cheeks, “I love you.”

Your eyes widened, and you blinked up at him. “What?”

“I love you, Doll.”

You knew he did and he knew you did too and had for a while. Neither or you had said it though, stuck in some sort of limbo.

To hear him say it, even after what you had confessed, lifted your heart a bit more.

You knew that your struggle was going to be hard, and that it would have its ups and downs. Some days would be worse, and some would be better. Bucky knew that feeling better than anyone, you realized.

You smiled then, that beautiful bright one that was near blinding. The one Bucky loved the most.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

He kissed you then, soft and gentle, with the fingers of his flesh hand curled into your hair. You knew then and there that Bucky would always have your back. That you could always trust and confide in him without judgment.

And you knew that you’d be okay.

—————

Authors Note:

For those of you who struggle with depression, please know that you are never alone. You are loved and cared for and valued, no matter what. No struggle is less than another, no matter what you come from or what experiences you’ve had or haven’t had. <3

— Ayden

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

you're not in the dark; but far from the light pt. 1

fandom: The Mandalorian

pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

summary: After a bounty hunt gone wrong, Din must take care of your wounds and watch over your recovery. Things get dicey, buckle up!

tags/warnings: angst, injury, blood, fevers, hallucinations, hurt/comfort

word count: 2848

a/n: i've been writing on ao3 and suddenly remembered i have a tumblr. here you go.

That whole thing about your life flashing before your eyes before you die is bullshit.

You didn’t think you’d ever be in a position to make that conclusion, but considering you were working with the most fearsome bounty hunter in the galaxy, it wasn’t too far-fetched.

It was foolish to think that the two of you would get off scot-free, with the fact that the quarry you were hunting was a bounty hunter herself. Despite the considerable skill shared between you and Din, she’d managed to get the drop on you and now had you running on a wild goose chase around the galaxy. In fact, it had gotten to the point where even Din was wondering if she was worth it.

But then, just as it seemed you’d be chasing her around until the Empire came back to power, she holed up in a remote corner of a remote planet hardly occupied by anyone else. Part of you sensed that it may be a trap, but you were so eager to get this over with that you didn’t voice your concerns to Din. Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

Now, Din is crouched behind a large boulder with you, engaged in what seems to be a never-ending exchange of blaster shots.

“We can’t do this forever,” you shout to him over the noise.

Din lets out a grunt of agreement as he rises to fire off another shot. “Any ideas?”

You breathe out a heavy rush of air and rack your mind. “Alright,” you start, tapping a finger against your blaster anxiously, “I’m gonna run out there and draw her fire. After that, you go around and get an angle behind her. Hopefully she won’t notice you with me distracting her.”

Din shakes his head. “Absolutely not,” he insists, his voice as harsh as it can be through his helmet’s modulator. “If anyone’s running into the line of fire, it’s going to be me.”

“I’m a smaller target,” you counter, trying to match his persistence. You rise to fire off a few quick shots in the direction of the quarry before sinking down again. “I’m faster and I can get to cover more easily.”

Din is silent as he considers this. He knows you’re right; he just doesn’t want to admit it. Finally, he gives you the briefest of nods. “You get to cover as fast as you can, okay?” Is that a hint of worry tinting his voice?

You nod back. You have no desire to be shot today. “On my count,” you say back. “One, two, three!”

If perhaps you had been listening instead of discussing your plans with Din, you would’ve noticed that the opposing blaster fire had stopped in the middle of your conversation. Or if you’d waited another few seconds, the quarry would’ve come right to your hiding spot as she’d been planning to do. If you hadn’t been distracting Din with your talk of strategy, maybe he would’ve heard the approaching footsteps.

Instead, you stand and race out into the open clearing, only to come face-to-face with your quarry. Before you can even be surprised, she’s drawn a long blade from a sheath on her thigh and sunk it into your abdomen.

Your knees have hardly hit the ground before Din fires off three shots into the quarry’s chest. In tandem, both you and the quarry fall to the ground limply. The blade is still embedded in your torso, blood leaking sluggishly from around it. Your breath comes out in quick, short bursts.

The adrenaline stops you from feeling most of the pain, but it still hurts like hell. Now is when you imagine life might flash before your eyes, since it really does feel like you’re dying.

Instead, you find yourself watching the sky disappear behind Din’s helmet. The sun bounces off the shiny metal and nearly blinds you.

“Y/N?” Din’s voice is panicked and rushed as he slides to his knees next to you.

You say his name in a small whimper, hands grasping for anything to hold on to. Eventually they find purchase on a bit of fabric under his chestplate, and you try desperately to pull him closer to you.

“Dank farrik,” Din murmurs as he notes the blade still sticking out of you. “I’m so sorry, cyar’ika, this is going to hurt.”

You don’t even have time to ask what he means before Din’s hands are on you, applying heavy pressure around the wound. You let out a gut-wrenching cry as you see stars, the pain suddenly overwhelming. Your head spins as you weakly scrabble against his hands, trying to relieve the pressure.

“Ni ceta, ni ceta,” Din’s voice is broken but you hardly hear him over the ringing in your ears.

You beg for him to stop, the pain overpowering your rationality. If you were lucid and comfortable, you would’ve understood how vital his actions were. Right now, though, all you know is that what he’s doing is hurting you, and you want it to stop.

Din is hardly holding it together as it is, but hearing your agonized cries is almost enough to do him in. On the one hand, he desperately hopes that you remain conscious so he could assure himself of your survival. On the other, he wants nothing more than for you to pass out so he doesn’t have to hear you beg anymore.

 “Cyar’ika, I need you to hold pressure for me,” Din says, trying to pull himself together.

“No, please,” you plead, “it hurts.”

“I know, my love, I know. But I need to stabilize the wound so we can get back to the ship. I can’t do that with my hands here.” Din looks at you intently from under the visor, hoping to convey his desperation even to your pain-addled mind.

“Can’t you just take it out?” You whimper.

Din shakes his head as a wave of anxiety consumes him. Usually, you’re good with this type of thing, injuries and the like. It isn’t like you to consider taking out a penetrating object without the proper supplies. He knows the pain must be affecting you more than he initially thought. “You’d bleed out. We have to wait to get back to the Crest.”

His words seem to get through to you because eventually you suck in as deep a breath you can muster and lay your hands over his.

“Hold tight, I know it hurts. But you need to hold it as hard as you can.”

You nod and press down, suppressing another strangled cry.

“Good girl,” Din whispers as he reaches for the medpack in his bag. He opens it and is grateful he doesn’t have to hide the disappointment on his face when he notices its sparseness. Fortunately, there’s just enough gauze that he can stabilize the knife, and he knows there is more aboard the Crest.

Instructing you to remove your hands, he pads the sides of the blade with rolls of gauze before wrapping around them with another. He tries to dissociate from your pained cries as he manipulates your torso to wrap the gauze.

“Time to go, love,” he says, cupping your cheek with a gloved hand. Your eyes are half-lidded and Din knows that you’re running out of time. He needs to get this blade out and close the wound fast.

With his heart in his throat, Din reaches under you to cradle you in his arms. You let out the most heartrending scream yet as he lifts you. With each quick step Din takes, the pain blossoms throughout your abdomen.

“Stay with me, cyar’ika,” Din murmurs as he finally approaches the ramp to the Crest.

“’M right here,” you slur, blood loss making you feel lightheaded and airy.

“Good, that’s good,” Din reassures, more to himself than to you. He sets you down on your cot in the cargo hold, being careful not to jostle your wound more than necessary. He tries not to feel so anxious when you hardly make a noise to register the movement. “I’m just going to get some supplies; you hang in there.”

“M’kay,” you murmur, barely even recognizing what you’re agreeing to. Your eyes slip closed for a moment before you remember that you’re supposed to be awake. Wait, are you supposed to be awake? It would be so nice to sleep… But Din. Where’s Din? “Din?” You call out, eyes suddenly wide with panic. “Din!” you cry and the pain reappears in your abdomen.

Heavy footsteps approach you quickly and you try to turn to see who’s coming but the pain prevents movement. “What is it?” Din’s voice is a welcome relief.

You let out a long rush of breath. “I thought you left me,” you whisper.

“I told you I was getting supplies,” Din says, doing his best to keep the worry out of his voice at your forgetfulness.

“Right,” you nod slightly, the memory slowly coming back to you. “Din?”

“Yes?” Din replies as he sets up supplies to remove the blade from your abdomen.

“Did we get the quarry?”

“Yes, love,” Din takes a moment to cradle your cheek in his hand again, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. You notice he’s removed his gloves and can’t help but lean into his soft touch just a bit. “Don’t worry about that anymore. Let’s just focus on you.”

You nod your agreement as best you can.

Din talks to you in a gentle voice as he goes about ensuring he has everything he needs: more gauze, bacta spray, antiseptic, water for you to drink. He sets the cauterizer aside just in case, but prays that his own less-than-stellar suturing skills will satisfy. With slow and careful movements, he snips through the gauze around your abdomen to clear the field.  Once he can no longer delay the inevitable, he looks at you through the visor of his helmet. “I need to remove the blade now, my love.”

You nod again, watching as his hands settle around the handle of the knife. “I trust you,” you murmur, meeting the approximate location of his eyes behind the helmet.

Nothing could have prepared Din for the blood-curdling scream you release as he extracts the blade. He works quickly to pack the wound, which now rushes with fresh blood. Before he’s even finished, your head lolls and your eyes drift shut.

Din panics for a brief moment, reaching with one hand to wrap around your wrist and feels for your pulse. It’s weak, but there, and Din goes back to treating your wound.

…

You wake only a few minutes later to find Din applying a bacta spray to your now barely bleeding abdomen. The feeling is warm and tingly as your frayed cells attempt to knit themselves together. “Din,” you mumble, eyes still half closed.

Din’s head shoots up and he puts the spray aside. “Y/N,” he breathes, your name like a prayer on his lips. “I stitched you up. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply honestly. The pain is diminished now, and you feel grateful that you’ve missed the suturing, as it’s always made you uncomfortable.

“Good.” Din’s shoulders relax as some of the tension leaves his body. You’re nowhere near out of the woods yet, but at least you’re not bleeding out anymore. “It looks like the knife missed anything vital but it’s still a fairly sizeable wound. I’ll need to keep a close eye on it.”

You reach up toward him but with the confusion and the blood loss, you have no sense of direction. Din senses your desire though and captures your hand in his own. Your fingers are cold in his warm palms. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Din leans down and rests his helmet against your forehead. “Sleep now, cyar’ika. I’m right here.”

…

The next time you wake, it’s to Din holding a cup of broth beside you. He helps you sit up and gently coaxes you to take a few sips, insisting that you need to regain your strength. You manage to swallow down a bit, but the pain prevents you from staying upright for long. He reassures you that you can try again later.

The next three days pass in quick flashes of wakefulness. Each time, Din is there, changing your dressings or offering you more broth. By the morning of the third day, you almost feel a bit of your strength returning, and even manage to finish the whole cup of broth.

Unfortunately, when it rains, it pours.

…

It’s unbearably cold when you wake in the middle of the fourth night. Your entire body is wracked with shivers and your teeth chatter against each other uncomfortably.

Din is by your side in an instant, pressing a bare hand to your forehead. “Dank farrik,” he grumbles, rushing to retrieve the medpack.

“Din,” you slur as he returns. “’M so cold.”

“I know,” Din replies, hastily ripping open the medpack. “You have a fever. I’m guessing your wound is infected.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage to reply before you drift back off into a restless sleep.

…

When you come to again there are voices in the ship. One sounds vaguely like your mother. She’s urging you to wake up.

“I’m awake,” you grumble, trying to swat away the bees that are crawling around your face. “Leave me ‘lone. Wan’ sleep.”

“Cyar’ika,” your mother says, “you’re dreaming. You’re safe. I’m here.”

You never knew your mother could speak Mando’a.

For a while, the bees don’t let you fall back asleep. You want to reach out and swat them away but someone holds a firm grip on your wrists.

“Get the bees ‘way,” you whine, pulling weakly against their hold.

“Shh,” your mother reassures. “You were hurting yourself. I have you.”

 The other voices are all jumbled and you can’t make out anything in particular. Everything feels hazy and unfamiliar. The only thing that comes through semi-clearly is the burning ache in your stomach.

…

A while later, something cold rests on your forehead and you reach to remove it. It’s uncomfortable and you’re already cold enough.

“Leave that,” one of the voices murmurs. You think it may be your mother again, but she sounds like a man. Your hand falls from your face and you drift off again.

…

There is an ocean in your head and in your ears and behind your eyes and you think it might be nice to go take a swim in it. It would be so nice and cool.

…

When lucidity finally claims you again, it is with the sudden realization that you’re hardly dressed. You’re still clothed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, but it’s definitely not what you wore when you were injured. You feel reassured by the fact that there is a thin blanket covering you, but you question the change of dress anyway.

“Y/N?” Din’s voice comes from close beside you. “Are you with me?”

“Why am I naked?” you mumble by way of response.

“You had a very high fever from the infection. I had to cool you off quickly.”

You peek open your eyes slightly to see the Mandalorian sitting next to you on the floor of the cargo hold. “Am I gonna be okay?” you whisper.

Din squeezes your hand in his. “Yes, my love. Your fever broke last night and the infection seems to be calming down.”

“How long was I out?”

Din is silent for a long moment. You figure it must have been bad if he’s like this. “Three days,” he finally replies. You can hear the tiredness in his voice.

Silence stretches between you, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “Have you slept?” you ask.

Din huffs out a laugh. Leave it to you to be concerned about his wellbeing while you’re recovering from a stab wound. “I’m okay, cyar’ika. I can sleep now knowing you are on the mend.”

You hesitate to speak as he moves to rise from your side, but the feeling of his hand leaving yours is too much to bear. “Lay with me?” you ask shyly.

Din looks down at you and, not for the first time, you wish you could see his expression. Before you can apologize or overthink your request, he crouches back down. “Not here,” he murmurs, before reaching under you to carry you to his own bunk. You nuzzle yourself against his chest and notice the absence of his beskar armor.

He lays you down gently on the bed first, leaving enough room for himself. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs and you comply. You hear the familiar hissing sound of his helmet releasing, before the warmth of his body is behind you. He fits snugly around you, one arm resting across your waist but being careful to avoid your wound.

You let out a sigh of satisfaction, feeling secure in his hold.

“Rest, cyar’ika,” he says, chest rumbling against your back. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

>>>

part 2

[sea-lanterns]

Part of me wants to say it's the Liyue crew, mainly for the scenario of Siren!Reader and Pirate!Beidou recognizing each other from when kid!Siren!Reader saved kid!Beidou from drowning.

Another part wants to go Inazuma crew. Because what if Pirate!Kokomi has this secret "conservation cove" that she uses to hide species by World Government!Celestia and criminal organizations' overheating from their malicious intentions?

Maybe the Fontaine crew would have a similar thing as well?

Hmmmmmm, decisions decisions 🤔

I left the crew that kidnapped you ambiguous so that you could imagine your favorite region being the one to kidnap you, but I really like the idea of Liyue being the first to snatch you, solely because of Captain Beidou recognizing you from childhood 😳

I feel like while staring at you swimming anxiously in the tank, Beidou starts to feel pangs of recognition jostle in her memories. She swears she’s seen you before, and that mysterious draw to you is enough incentive for Beidou to command all her crew members to snatch you up and run to their ship as fast as they can. Who knows would other pirates might do to you if Beidou didn’t win the bid? So she figures you’d be much safer in her hands.

Of course, with the other pirate crews however, they’re all thinking the same thing as everyone just wants to protect you in some way and keep you out of greedy hands. It’d certainly be quite the chase to track you down and steal you back from various other ships 😅 especially Pirate! Kokomi and her crew, since Kokomi having a whole preservation cove dedicated to rare species is something Kokomi would definitely do.

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 1,672

Warnings | +18, bullying, attempted sexual harassment, panic attack

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | I'm back with the second chapter of Happy Ending, I hope you can enjoy it 🥰❤

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

Toward the end of class, some had already turned in their drawings, others had yet to finish, and Jungkook intimated that they should bring them the next time they saw each other. Y/N shakily got up from her seat, sent down too much saliva as she came within a few steps of the boy, who lifted his face in her direction, giving her a warm smile. "Y/N! Are you done?" The girl nodded, unable to verbalize her thoughts, so she placed the drawing on the desk, bending down a bit, this gave Jungkook a chance to get a better peek at how she was dressed that day, drinking in the sight of her legs and imagining how soft and creamy they might be in his adoring hands. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the most unruly strands back, and Y/N froze, following his movements with her eyes.

"Wow, Y/N...great job, as always," he complimented, proud that his good girl had done such a detailed job of depicting the disembodied cloud with shapeless, skeletal hands-that to her was bullying, something no adult could see, but which managed to trap its victims in a spiral of suffering and muteness. The girl blushed at his words, bowing slightly before reaching her seat. Behind her back she sensed a slight snort that caused her to stiffen. Jungkook had to leave the command to another colleague, stared disgruntled at the girl, but vowed to do something for her, or rather, for both of them. He would not let that terrible pattern continue, Y/N deserved better, in his arms he would be able to give her the happiness and love she lacked, as he could clearly see.

And so the day continued, until it was time to return home.

Y/N hurriedly packed her things, the threat of Yoozu loomed over her, and anxiously walked out of the classroom. She didn't greet anyone, and no one greeted her, she looked fearfully at every corner of the corridors, a hustle and bustle of students and teachers did not allow her to increase her pace, she found herself pushing through the crowd almost in desperation, she wanted anything but to be in the jaws of her classmate. Oh, if only she had known... "So, beggar!" someone brutally grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to him right outside the university, Yoozu stared at her with anger concealed behind a fake smile, "We still haven't discussed the slap you so kindly printed on my face," he growled.

Y/N felt herself dying, she tried to wriggle out of her companion's firm grip, but it proved utterly useless, the boy's icy fingers pressed on her tender skin without restraint. "Let go of me! Let go of me, Yoozu!" she exclaimed in panic, her breathing shorter and her heartbeat faster, but he if possible painfully increased his grip on her wrist, painful bruises would appear shortly. "Not so fast, first you have to pay me back for the shit you made me look like today," he hissed, dragging her toward a more secluded alley, Y/N grabbed the mirror of a car parked nearby in a desperate attempt to save herself, but Yoozu was much stronger than she was, "Be good, I'll only need your mouth, then I'll let you go for today." Those words were the straw, the girl began to scream and call for help, Yoozu immediately plugged her mouth but it was too late. Someone had heard her, and that someone was smoking with rage.

"What the hell is going on here?" The quiet but unusually dangerous voice made the boy pale, and he suddenly let go of his grip on the girl. Y/N fell to the ground with momentum, right at the feet of someone she knew. She lifted her gaze and caught the icy expression on Jungkook's handsome face; she also seemed to catch a glimpse of murderous fury in his irises, but in fact she could not be one hundred percent certain. "I... nothing, I just wanted to apologize to Y/N for today," Yoozu dared to say, but Jungkook did not buy that pathetic excuse. "Is that so? It would seem anything but to me." Jungkook had seen the whole scene, had even managed to hear those vulgar words that had screwed up his self-control. "Professor, it really went like this! But Y/N didn't understand, she thought that-" a sob interrupted his absurd explanations, Jungkook's heart clenched, as did his eyes. "Kang Yoozu, you are expelled." "Wait, what! You can't do that! You are not the principal, and on the basis of what then?!" Yoozu panicked, Jungkook found it disgusting. "I'm not the principal, but I'm on good terms with him, as for the motivation...how does attempted rape sound to you?" he asked wryly, making the boy gasp. No, with such a charge no other university would have accepted him and his parents would have sent him to some godforsaken place in shame. "Professor, can we talk about this? Please, this will ruin my life," he prayed agitatedly, admitting his real intentions that way. "The more I listen to you, the more I want to ruin something else too! Get out of my sight, Kang!" he shouted furiously, Yoozu at first seemed not to understand, then casting a glance at Y/N's kneeling figure he took a step back and began to run.

Jungkook inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself somehow, he couldn't believe what had happened before his own eyes, he turned to the girl and felt only immense pain, she was on her knees on the icy asphalt wet with rain, she kept holding her head in her hands, trying to stifle her sobs. He lowered himself in her direction, god, she was beautiful even with her face overflowing with tears. He brought two fingers under her chin, gently forcing her to lift her face to his, chaining their eyes together. "Hey, Y/N..." he gently blew on her, gathering the tears that ran down her full cheeks with his thumbs, "Are you okay?"

If possible, Y/N exploded into more sobs, throwing herself on her professor. She pushed into his chest seeking comfort, Jungkook was frozen for a moment, he did not expect such a reaction from the girl, his heartstrings tugged filling with warmth, he returned the embrace immediately, holding that tender body to him. "It will never end," she cried into his neck, breathing hard between sobs and bathing the boy's skin with warm salt water, "It will always be like this." Jungkook stroked her hair, imprinting the sweet scent of her on his mind, mentally whispering to her that no, it would not be like this anymore, that he would protect her. "No, Y/N... I'll talk to the principal, they won't hurt you anymore, trust me," he said instead continuing to gently caress her back, having her like this was like a dream just realized, he didn't even know how long he had wanted it, "Can you trust me, Y/N?" He moved her face away from his chest, seeking a clear answer from her, he wanted to be sure she wanted his help. Y/N let a trembling sigh escape, nodding. Jungkook's eyes were so sincere and crystal clear that it was natural for her to trust him, although her body still trembled at the mere thought of what Yoozu wanted to do to her. "Yes, I can," she murmured, Jungkook felt the need to kiss her just then, she was so polite and tender his little girl, who knows if she would have said the same begging him to give her more.

"I'll drive you home, Y/N, I have my car right next door, okay?" the young woman nodded without thinking much about it, her mind still too shocked by recent events to really think. Jungkook helped her up, escorting her to his car as if she had been a little doll in his hands. They both climbed into the vehicle and Jungkook got directions to find their way, cast a glance at the younger woman's legs, his hand itching to touch them, but he forced himself not to go too far for the moment. Rather, he focused on the magnificent smell of his favorite student, but the closer he got to his destination, the more he found himself turning up his nose. He didn't like that neighborhood; it was one of the most dangerous in the fucking city. Every day on the news there were reports of robberies, or worse. He cast a sidelong glance at the girl, wondering how she had survived in that place so far. Knowing her in that bad place upset him in no small part, and when they reached the apartment building Jungkook's gaze grew hard-they could all get to those windows, they were pretty old, too.

"Well, I live here, professor! Thank you for the ride and... for the help," she found herself saying impishly, Jungkook melted into yet another smile that day, the real and sincere ones were all for her, she just didn't know it yet. "Just ask, Y/N...and I'll be here for you," he said earnestly, the girl nodded, unable to respond and opened the door to get out of the car, gave one last wave and then ran inside. Leaving behind the eager gaze of her teacher. She closed the door to her apartment behind her back, a deep warm throbbing did not hint at leaving her anytime soon.

Jungkook's presence was all she could think about, she let herself slide against the surface of the door, in her mind were imprinted images of the man holding the steering wheel firmly in his strong hands, his muscular arms still uncovered and damp with rain, seemed strong enough to carry her without any effort at all, not to mention how he had defended her without too much trouble, quietly defying the economic power of Yoozu's parents, she clutched her legs to her chest, hiding her red face between them. Damn, she was really in love.

[dreamsofminnie]

“Ethereal Paintings”

25~ Do not perceive my impending doom☔️

Scaramouche X reader smau | word count: 1,632

Anxiously they all huddle around a single lit-up home screen, occasionally murmuring to each other to shove over cause they can't see.

The wait for the ding of the following message took up seconds they couldn't bear to sit still for.

“How can a single message be an excruciating pain to wait for.”

“Maybe they got old fingers to type fast.”

“Okay, zoomer. Have you ever SEEN them??!? They are in their prime!! And still go on dates!!!”

“The ideal parents…”

“Okay but still…what’s taking so long??”

“I bet the other two aren’t even there yet.”

“Expected though. He probably needed a few dozen pep talks.”

“....and how was Ayato the one to do that and go with him??”

“Probably so Scara isn’t forced out….Ayato has a third key just in case…”

An unrelevant message popped up from scara on Kazuha’s phone. He reads it out loud.

“Do not perceive my impending doom. I’m likely to get shut out.”

Layla frowns and she shakes her head. “Her parents will warm her up first.”

“As long as they tell us they got in though…it’s been a while—”

*DING*

The phone lit up and the awaited message popped up. The blue-haired Kamisato grabbed her phone fast and opened it up for all 8 pairs of eyes to see.

“They’re in!!”

☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️

The door creaked open afraid to startle the resident and make a mess of the situation.

That was proved to be unnecessary as the pair peered past the dark and dimly lit studio. She wouldn’t have noticed at all. Only two large white eyes stared up at the intruders, its tail swishing as it sat over the resident like a gargoyle.

The woman’s lips frowned and eyebrows furrowed in apprehension and anguish. She waves her hand and the man gets her message.

The flutter of thick curtains draws open loudly, the room now getting beat with the rays of moonlight and the twinkling of the city underneath the building's height.

The noise couldn’t even wake the slumbering resident. Too drawled out in her vicious unhealthy cycle of mourning from an act of betrayal.

“Honey….” The woman’s voice was laced with worried concern for the view of her daughter sprawled across the carpeted floor.

But now that light is in the large studio did they see what lay beneath her was actually a canvas she scrawled all over in dark purple.

illumi darted away as her mother approached her body. Father looked at the cat and dug through his pocket, bending down he poured the cat treats into a bowl on the ground.

“Courtesy from your owner.” He smiled as he watched the cat eat happily and he scratched her head before joining his wife beside their main concern.

Father picked y/n up and the three of them headed to the bedroom upstairs. The only place that seemed untouched by her crazed despair.

Concern grew as they saw how rigid her body was in his arms. “She’s much lighter than her average weight…”

“...I saw convenience store snacks in the kitchen. Oh, my baby…” He lays his daughter down on the bed as the couple sits beside her next to each other.

Mother touched Y/n’s forehead and sighed in relief. “No fever at least. I’m betting on large migraines instead.”

“How should we wake our little darling artist?” Father grunts out as he watches y/n furrow her face restlessly.

Mother smiles nostalgically, Father gets the memo and they both place their palm on either of y/n’s cheeks stroking her face, she bristles and her face relaxes.

Deep bagged eyes blearily open in a daze. Her night terrors had dissolved from a familiar warmth as she took moments to recover her awakening.

“Our go-to way of waking you up when a nightmare consumes you. Better than getting terrified awake.” Mother giggles as she softens her voice and eyes. Leaning in she kisses her forehead which astonishingly melts the throbbing migraine, somewhat.

“Mom…dad…’m so tired. And numb…” Y/n struggled to sit up as her parents helped her up.

“Darling, you have no energy at all. Drink this, hot rejuvenating soup. 100% mother-made and she had the whole pot put in containers for you to save for later on.”

Father passes a thermos while the three get comfy and close to hold each other. Y/n sat in the middle.

Mother watched her gulp down the warm soup and waited till she was halfway done. Make sure she has enough nutrients for the heavy topic.

“Now…y/n. Why are you destroying yourself… Are you tryingg to have a more rough love story than ours?” She lightly teased to try and pry a smile from your sunken lips.

Having no energy to move a muscle and only lying on their shoulders, her lips mumble.

“I don’t...love him. He’s my enemy. Stole from me…my life’s passion. Didn’t consent to a.i feeding…Falsified his affection and…broke my heart.”

“Darling, have you ever gotten his viewpoint–“ Father got smacked on the head lightly as mother cut him off.

“We’ve chatted with the boy, albeit over text buutt, I can see him trying desperately to get you back. This is no story like ours, but I do think it’s time to return and face him once again.” Her words provided an unfounded warmth.

“You don’t have to accept any apologies, answer him, or force him to conform, just listen to his story. How else would you be able to debate with him?” Mother gives her a secure pat to go forth and face it.

“If I knew from the beginning I would've asked Papa to sue him...making a mess of art’s history…” Y/n whimpers and keeps her head down, he eyes puffy from lack of sleep and the sinking spirals of despair.

Mother quirks an eyebrow, curious and suspecting the real motive of all this. “My little artist…do you think you have to hold up the grandiose history of the art world I had a part in? All alone?”

Father's eyes understood but y/n scrunched up her face and body. She thought about it too much subconsciously that it was her job to parade around history like it was her legacy to maintain.

The berating thought of sheltering the traditional art from the wrongful social norms, she took it on herself. Building herself around a castle she wanted to protect, her walls having a gaping hole from a purple wrecking ball caused a collapse.

The wall feels lacking in her way of protection and slowly rebuilds. Her art castle is her only safe space and requires all her attention. The cracking walls tremble in another collapse, begging to open up the castle.

“And the walls have chipped y/n…I never asked you to uphold my reputation in history, nor will I ever carry such a weight. Sure I was important, but it’s the past now, oh my sweet color child.”

Tears welled up in y/n’s eyes. She couldn't let it go. Her mother was her idol, her inspiration. To let others mindlessly trample her past work was horrifying.

“Fear of A.I art covering up traces of the beautiful art I’ve founded, your fear drives hatred, dear. You’ve let it consume you. And you’ve let it destroy you.” Mother pulled your trembling body close and sighed lightly as she latched onto her.

“Do you hate how he tempted you, what he used against you, or the sinking feeling that he’s left the morals you silently pleaded him to follow?” She placed a kiss on her head while holding father’s hand behind her as she bawls.

Father ruffled her hair and followed mother to kiss her head as well.

“Let me tell you my view of our story. When your mother went off the radar, I was restless and worried. I didn’t dare ask one of her friends the whereabouts of her. I cared and soon enough my mind raced so often with missing her. Then I thought of a possibility of me driving her away permanently because of my ignorant bickering and debating. I didn’t want to be her cause of giving up and destroying her foundation.”

Father’s mouth curls bitterly following with a softer voice.

He feared he was the problem, that his stubborn rebuttals caused her to get tired of him. He hated how he was like that. But he couldn't help it. It was in his nature.

Is that what Scara’s feeling…?

“So when I saw her again, all shining in that much deserved spotlight and passion, I knew I loved her creative spark with each time I've ever thought about her in the 3 years she's been gone.”

He didn't want to leave that spotlight where she was the star. She shone to him in a way he knows he’ll never get to experience again if he lets her go.

Y/n listened, just like all the times she’d pay clear attention to their stories.

This time was no different, no matter how the tale was meant to free her, she wanted to be guided by her parents she loved so dearly.

So she opened her heart and head to these experiences; a gateway to guide her own turmoil.

But… How does he feel? Was I like a shining light to him…?

That thought made your heart wrench.

“She came back, with much more vigor than the last time I saw her. And it filled my soul. It meant I didn’t crush her spirit, and she thanked me for pushing her past her limits.”

“I was her revelation.”

“Her reason to start again."

“You are your mother’s daughter Y/n, pursue that soulful feeling again."

Now… did I have a right to go back to him after anguishing him as he did to my unwarranted goal.

Would he still. . . Pursue me with this obstacle i made. . .

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Synopsis{3}-> Scara decided to stop his a.i art creations when he realized that you are really his fav artist—as long as you were the one to teach him how to paint and draw. Facing multitudes of slip of the tongue from your friends; you figured out that he was your mortal nemesis; hatred brewed and twisted your view on him.

Lmaoo, i write Scaramouche’s name so much it autocorrected

Yayyy done, now to the fun part😚

Male POV🤤🤤

//Taglist//

@akagism2 @pokidot @feiherp @kyouzki @rmiyuki @infe-risk0 @sakurapeach @bluebelony @kichiyoshi @mikctp @kur44pika @cupids-chamber @crucnhice @neigesprincess @scaramoo @gojoandelsalovechilde @childeslegstrap @sakiimeo @d4y-dr3am3r-blog @m3gitsune @scarletttcroww @sashiette @beriiov @rizakari @xiaossocksniffer @lxry-chxn @bryai003 @eunchaeluvr @goj0h @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @sketcheeee @ozzierenato @ohmyfinggod @kiyomi-hoku @ynverse @featuredtofu @reinoodle @angeilix @keizuk @sayokeshii @liuaneee @scarasbaby @peaceindreams @samyayaya

[sugudollz]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Thinking about Suguru with a virgin s/o <3

MDNI!! Virginity loss (from reader obv). Soft I guess??. Fingering as foreplay. AFAB reader + he calls you “doll”, “sweet girl”, “pretty”, and I think princess idk I can’t remember. Can you tell I got lazy past the third paragraph. I forgot to write Suguru’s um yk but let’s just say that’s because he didn’t want to make the situation about him :3. So half-assed this got boring really fast. Is it too obvious I rushed the ending. Not proofread.

“Sugu, I want you to be my first time.” You declare—or you would have if it weren’t for the nervousness laced in your tone. Suguru’s eyes shift to meet your nervous figure the moment you utter those words, caught off guard and his eyes watch you in shock.

“Repeat that for me, doll?” Suguru’s voice is sweet and calm, however a hint of disbelief plays in it. A smile crosses his lips as he eyes you affectionately and you’re clearing your throat while playing with the hem of your skirt.

“I said I want you to be my first time, Sugu.” You repeat, only this time it’s firmer and louder. Suguru laughs softly and shakes his head playfully, walking up to you and taking your hand just before rising it up to press a sweet kiss to your flesh.

“Yeah? What makes you so sure?” He asks and slowly moved your hand away from his lips, only to lace your fingers with his and squeeze your hand once they’re intertwined.

“Well… ‘s jus’… I dunno, I just trust you and y’know…” you murmur, a timid demeanor washing over you and you sink your teeth into your lower lip almost anxiously. Suguru observes your movements and body language; the way you look away causing you to come off as bashful.

“That right?” An affectionate, yet teasing, smile tugs at Suguru’s lips. “You sure?” In response, you nod, a quiet but loud enough “yeah,” following after.

And that’s how you ended up here—gently laid on your shared bed with Suguru sliding his fingers in and out of your tight cunt slowly. Your skirt has been discarded beside the bed, your blouse unbuttoned and exposing your clothed chest. One hand is covering your mouth in a vain attempt to muffle your moans, the other pulling at the bedsheets.

“Feeling good, sweet girl?” Suguru coos as he looks up at you from between your legs, strands of his hair escaping his bun. You hum, nodding, cheeks flushing as your eyebrows knit together. “That’s my girl…” he murmurs just before taking his thumb and pressing it against your clit, drawing hearts on it but you’re too distracted by the new feeling to notice it.

You squeeze your legs together, but Suguru is quick to take one of his hands and grab your thigh, preventing you from doing so. “Princess,” he speaks softly, “keep your legs open f’me, ‘Kay? Need them open if you wanna do this.” He tells you and you whine.

When Suguru sees you nod, he smiles lovingly and proceeds with his work. His two fingers slide in and out easily thanks to how wet you already were beforehand. Suguru watches the way your pussy sucks his fingers in, as if mesmerized by it.

After a few more pumps of his fingers, you feel your tummy tie into knots, a whimper falling out your parted lips. Your walls squeeze his fingers like a vice, coming off as timid with the way you’re so shy about the situation.

“Doll, I’m gonna pull my fingers out, ‘Kay? Only cuz I need you to cum on my cock.” Suguru tells you. You pout and huff, but agree anyways, making your acknowledgment known when you utter a soft, “okay, Sugu,”.

With that, Suguru carefully pulls out before pulling his sweats down, exposing his skin and boxers to you. He reaches one hand down to caress your cheek affectionately, a delicate smile crossing his features.

Then, he leans down to press his lips to yours, making sure it’s slow and gentle to ease you into the atmosphere. Suguru pulls down his briefs and takes his aching cock in one hand, stroking it a few times just before lining it up with your entrance.

Your mouth moves in sync with his, absorbing one another’s love as his and your eyes flutter shut. You moan, feeling Suguru’s tongue slip past your lips. It’s pleasureful, but he pulls away and gazes passionately into your beautiful eyes.

“I’m gonna go in now, okay? Is that alright? You ready?” The voice Suguru takes on is so comforting, despite the lewd intentions behind them.

“Mhm, yeah…” you mumble. After you grant him permission, Suguru carefully and thoughtfully slides his cock inside of you. He’s peppering your face with kisses, one hand caressing you, words of assurance being whispered by him against your skin.

“You can take it, yeah? I know you can. ‘S my girl, mhmm…” Suguru breathes, his warm breath fanning your skin. You’re whining and whimpering, sinking your nails into the flesh of Suguru’s broad shoulders, doing your best to keep your legs open. The stretch is new, something you’ve never felt before—in fact, it’s something you couldn’t even dream of feeling before.

The feeling of Suguru’s dick being inserted into your tight, untouched cunt is so good, yet almost painful. Not in a way that suggests he’s being too rough or mean, no, more like it’s different.

You’re already squeezing around his length and it’s only been a few seconds. You’re squirming, head being tossed side to side, failing to hold back any potentially embarrassing noises. You throw your legs around his waist, the heels of your feet pressing down on Suguru’s lower back and causing him to unintentionally push deeper into you.

You gasp and your eyes fly open. Your jaw drops, saliva spilling out from your mouth, along with a few sobs and mewls.

“Sugu, ‘s too big!” You cry and in response Suguru plays a pout of sympathy on his lips, looking down at you with fond and doting eyes.

“I know, princess, but you can take it, yeah? Take it for me, m’kay? Yeah, that’s a good girl,” Suguru utters with nothing short of adoration laced in his tone. He stays still in your tight pussy, allowing both you and him to get used to the feeling. After a few moments, Suguru inhales, “I’m gonna start moving now, ‘Kay, pretty?”

“Mkay, Sugu,” you cling onto Suguru for dear life, grounding yourself to earth the best you can even when you know he won’t and doesn’t plan on going rough with you.

Suguru steadily begins to move his hips, pushing his cock in inch by inch and inhales deeply before unhurriedly rocking his hips back and forth. You’re moving around and squirming at this new but exciting feeling. Even with how gentle he’s being, you can already feel the head of his dick hitting a sweet spot inside of you.

“Feels good, yeah?” Suguru murmurs and you can feel his warm breath fan against your skin. He’s holding onto your hips with a tight grip, doing everything to hold back from digging his fingers in too deeply into your flesh but deep enough to secure his balance.

“Uh-huh,” you answer and it’s practically a whimper that you didn’t expect to even utter. The feeling of his big dick stretching out your walls is sending you to the moon and back but the burn also makes you release a broken sob from your throat. “Kind of hurts.” You tell Suguru, and he looks at you as a sympathetic frown plays at his lips.

“ ‘m sorry, doll,” he whispers and buries his head in the crook of your neck, where he plants kisses everywhere and anywhere as an attempt to ease the burn. He continues to work his hips to slip his cock into you. In the process, hums and sighs and whines and moans are elicited from your mouth.

He’s mumbling words of reassurance and soft-spoken affectionate statements and that only makes you squeeze him tighter. Your juices paint his cock, your nails sinking into his flesh but he ignores it.

Your legs are wrapped around his waist as he carefully pushes his length into you, taking great thought as to not hurt you.

Your tummy is feeling butterflies fly around it, knots being tied and it’s something you’ve never felt before.

“Sugu… I think ‘m gonna cum,” you say quietly and Suguru smiles—you can even feel it against your skin, but it’s a loving and kind smile.

“Yeah? Cum for me, princess—let go for me, you can do it, c’mon,” Suguru ushers you into your orgasm, talking to you more sweetly than anyone has ever talked to you before. Only within a matter of seconds, you’re releasing all over his dick, moaning during the whole thing and not really paying any mind to the thought that someone can or may hear you. “Yeahhh, that’s my girl,” he quietly utters.

Suguru watched your face in awe, admiring the way your face is contorting into expressions he’s never seen you muster before. He brings his hand to your clit before circling hearts on it, only adding to the stimulation—he’s caressing your hips and thighs with his other hand as if to soothe the overwhelming sensation.

After coming down from your high, Suguru pulls out and he tosses his body right beside yours and wraps his arms around your figure, handling you with extra caution.

“You okay? ‘M sorry if it hurt too bad,” and the way he whispers it in your neck makes you smile, however still feeling a little too weak from the release.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “thank you.”

“I should be thanking you,” Suguru laughs playfully. “I’ve been waiting so long for this.” And he seals that with a sweet kiss to your lips.

© 2023 sugudollz only on Tumblr — do not copy, repost, translate, or steal.

[just-a-casual-newtasaur]

It’s all my fault

It’s all my fault (Newt x Reader)

Word Count: 1074 words

Warnings: kissing, violence, injury, mentions of Newt’s incident, blood

Summary: when you break your ankle in the maze, you notice something in Newt’s eyes

the clicking of a griever sounds from behind you and you run as fast as you can away from it. glancing over your shoulder you see the creature crawling after you. you know you can’t run away from it forever.

taking a deep breath you look towards the wall of ivy. you grip a particularly thick one, pull on it and then begin to climb.

the clicking keeps sounding as you climb higher and higher. you climb and climb. that is until your arm slips out of the grip of a string of ivy. you let out a small gasp as you feel your feet slip and tangle in the leaves.

and then you’re falling. you swing on the vines, attached by your ankle before hitting your head hard on the ground, noticing as you did so, the sky darkening. you won’t make it back before the doors close. you won’t make it back at all.

the griever was getting closer. closing your eyes you try and block out the dull ringing in your head.

someone is running towards you, a boy, you think. he gets closer and closer, until your blurred vision can finally make him out.

Minho runs as fast as he can towards you, finally reaching you and grabbing you. he drags you to your feet and hauls you along after him as he runs.

your feet bump along the floor as he keeps dragging you. shouts from a distance, quiet clicking and small grunts from Minho are the only thing you hear.

finally, you turn a corner and see the gladers, crowded around a rapidly closing door. they shout as they spot Minho and you see through your blurred vision, Newt’s face momentarily split into joy then fills with horror as he sees Minho dragging you.

he bounces on the balls of his feet as the two of you stumble towards the group. shouts fight to rise above each other, “hurry!”

“come on, you can do it”

“leave her Minho, save yourself!” you’re almost certain that one was Gally.

then a huge gasp escapes the gladers and you look back to see what had happened. your heart drops into your stomach as you see Newt break free of the crowd and limp as fast as he could towards you.

he reaches you and gently helps Minho carry you. running in a three, you’re arms draped around both Newt and Minho’s shoulders, you race towards the opening.

the loud screeching of the doors closing pierces the air.

Newt unhook your arms from his shoulder and pushes you and Minho in front of him, through the gap. he jumps through after you, only just snatching his leg out the way before it was crushed.

you slump onto the ground and Minho bends down, examining you for any injuries. “I don’t see why you didn’t just leave her Minho.” Gally’s voice murmurs from somewhere behind you.

a loud thump sounds and you turn to see Gally clutching a bleeding nose and Newt, fist splattered with blood and face contorted into a snarl. he moves forwards, and draws his fist back again, “say that again you bloody shank, say it again and see what happens.”

Minho straightens and puts a hand on his shoulder, talking in his ear. Newt shoots a glare at Gally and turns to you, dropping down beside you.

“What happened y/n”

your voice comes out slightly hoarse as you say, “I was being caused by a griever so I climbed the ivy but I fell and hit my head”

you see Newt’s face drain of colour and he looks like he’s going to faint. something is flashing in his eyes, and Minho is looking at his friend anxiously.

he touches his friends arm and Newt grasps at his wrist still looking faint. sucking in a deep breath of forced calm, he looks back at you. you notice his eyes flitting to your ankle.

“y/n, what happened to your ankle”

“My foot got tangled in the ivy as I fell, I think I might have twisted it”

Newt looks at Minho questioningly. Minho looks closer at the ankle, at the sharp bend in it. he holds onto Newts shoulder, takes a breath and says, “y/n, I think it might be broken”

Newt rises to his feet and sprints off towards the wood, stumbling more than usual. Gally looks sniffly after him, muttering darkly.

you look confused at Minho and he sighs, “has Newt never told you how he broke his leg”

you shake your head.

“It was in an accident,” he stresses that word, “similar to yours.” you can tell he is deliberately keeping something out of the story but don’t press him.

“Do I need to see a medjack”

“Their dealing with Ben at the moment and I doubt there is much a medjack can do for you, it’s not bleeding, and we can’t heal it, all I can do is straighten it”

“I saw them do it to Newt’s leg.” he adds at your skeptical look.

after an excruciating few moments, Minho lets you go to ‘rest’, but you have other motives. you limp towards the trees looking for, there.

a boy huddles up against a tree, shaking, either with sobs or shock. you limp closer, calling out his name.

his head jerks towards you and as soon as he notices your ankle, and you limping he rushes towards you, pulling you into a hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault”

“What are you talking about”

“I said I’d protect you, I promised. I never wanted anyone else, not even Gally, to end up like me.”

you hold his cheeks in your hands, tears streaming down his face and sobs shaking his body. looking into his watery eyes you say, “Newt, I love you how you are, you’re the strongest one of all of us, why would I care if I end up like you”

he opens his mouth to reply but before he can, you pull him into you pressing your lips against his.

you finally break apart and look at him, “understand me?”

“Yeah” he answers quietly.

“Good.”

you pull him back into you, with him kissing you back this time, putting your arms around his neck and him holding your waist. you spin on the spot.

“I love you, you know, I really do”

you smile against his lips, “I know”