#but even today i feel winded just. coloring

[atlasllm]

:(

[wickedghxst]

you know. after rewatching the og ben 10 & batman beyond. i think i’m starting to realize the problem with cartoons today. they’re getting dumber.

[nereidprinc3ss]

strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

series masterlist

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf. 

Stupid scarf, you think. 

Stupid door. 

Stupid wind. 

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient. 

You look at the stack of papers and sigh. 

Stupid Lord Byron. 

Stupid cafe. 

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly. 

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable. 

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust. 

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance. 

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once. 

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café. 

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk. 

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor. 

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here. 

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up. 

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you. 

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that. 

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing. 

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out. 

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles. 

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go. 

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone. 

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot. 

“How did you do that?” 

His cheeks turn slightly pink. 

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack. 

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently. 

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble. 

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look. 

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels. 

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second. 

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself. 

He was totally in love with me. 

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again. 

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while. 

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it. 

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café. 

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout. 

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer. 

Spencer. Spencer. 

It feels important. 

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away. 

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you. 

Spence. 

Reality sets in. 

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk. 

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away. 

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way. 

“Who was that?” 

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in. 

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up. 

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality. 

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character. 

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination. 

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression. 

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

 Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading. 

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more. 

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table. 

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin. 

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real. 

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed. 

Adorable? Get a grip. 

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges. 

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley. 

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents. 

So that’s cool. 

You’re cool with that. 

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer. 

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers. 

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet. 

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again. 

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it. 

Nah. Boys are dumb. 

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it. 

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone. 

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line. 

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it. 

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second. 

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless. 

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long. 

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh. 

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard. 

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid. 

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice. 

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again. 

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible. 

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air. 

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company. 

But his job is important. 

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.   

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present. 

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer. 

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits. 

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly. 

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm. 

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now. 

“I would.” 

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted. 

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair. 

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles. 

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way. 

He says none of that. 

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards. 

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real. 

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair. 

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute. 

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper. 

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird. 

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go. 

-

part four

[wheres-mylove]

ice-cold revelations - modern!cregan stark x fem!velaryon!reader

Summary: You are in a risky secret relationship with your brother's best friend. What happens when Cregan's unexpected injury exposes your feelings? Well, isn't there somebody you forgot to ask?

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Word count: 2.8k

The wind tore through the streets with a biting ferocity, tugging at (Y/N)’s skirt and making her instantly regret both her outfit choice and this entire trip to the bus stop.

“Stupid winter has to be coming,” she muttered, yanking a colorful scarf up to cover her nose. Her phone chimed in her pocket, vibrating with the familiar sound of a new message. She fumbled with one hand to pull it out, her fingers stiff from the cold.

🐺: jace wouldn’t stop bugging me about that earring under my bed

🐺: i convinced him sara must’ve left it when she crashed at our place lmao

(Y/N) raised her eyebrows, her breath fogging the air as she sighed. The last thing she needed was her brother playing the part of a suspicious rom-com wife, finding random jewelry in odd places and jumping to conclusions. At least he hadn’t figured out where he’d seen that earring before.

Jacaerys Velaryon, as much as she adored him, had a habit of being a little too protective. He was always there when she needed him. But he was also the kind of brother who, despite being only a few minutes older, seemed to think that fact gave him full control over her dating life. Any guy who so much as glanced her way was either a potential threat or one of his friends. And friends were off-limits. Too much drama, he’d say. Too awkward if things went south. Even more awkward if things somehow worked out. Conflict of interest. Absolutely not.

Which was precisely why, in the grand scheme of things, the most logical solution was for her to start dating his best friend and his hockey team captain, Cregan Stark.

Cregan was wonderful. The kind of guy who would do anything for her, no questions asked. That's what had brought them to where they were now. Hiding their relationship from her dramatic brother and quite literally gaslighting him.

Did she feel guilty? Absolutely. Did she know it would be a hundred times worse if Jace found out? Also yes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a bus speeding past the stop, tires screeching as it flew by. Her bus. Of course.

With impressive force, she pressed the green phone icon.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?” Cregan answered in three seconds. Her irritation melted a little at the sound of his deep voice. Down bad.

“Hey, did you guys finish practice?”

“Yeah, just now, I couldn’t cut the boys any slack before tomorrow.”

“Any chance the strict captain could give me a ride home? I missed the bus. Or more like the bus missed me.”

“You’re kidding,” Cregan said, sympathy already thick in his voice. “Of course I’ll come get you.” He paused for a beat, then cleared his throat. “Only thing is… Jace wanted a ride too.”

“The gods are punishing me today,” she groaned.

“Call him. It'll be the same ride. Just, you know, he'll think it was his idea,” Cregan suggested.

“Are we bad people, Cregan?” she asked, half-serious now.

“Nah. He’ll find out eventually, just better if I’m in full hockey gear when it happens.”

“Fair enough,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. “Thanks. Love you. Bye.”

She hung up and immediately dialed her brother, requesting the same exact thing.

“Sure, you owe me one though,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t have my car today, so we’ll have to go with Stark. Is that a problem?”

“Nope.” No, her boyfriend wouldn’t be a problem.

(Y/N) Velaryon paced back and forth under the shelter of the bus stop, her boots crunching against the thin layer of frost that had already formed on the pavement. She rubbed her arms, trying to keep the cold at bay, when the familiar growl of a black Jeep Wrangler cut through the quiet. It rolled to a stop near the curb.

She jogged toward the car, her breath puffing out in small clouds, as the driver’s window slid down.

“Your chariot awaits, princess,” Cregan announced with a mock flourish.

“More like a toad,” Jace quipped from the passenger seat, his grin unmistakable.

“One more word and you’ll get my bag to the head. I’ve got half my textbooks in there,” she threatened playfully as she slid into the backseat.

The backseat of this car had witnessed many events, and that was the first thought that crossed her mind. One look at Cregan in the side mirror, and she knew he was thinking the same.

She pretended to be very engrossed in buckling her seatbelt.

“How was practice?” she asked out of politeness.

“Not bad. Stark was all business today, but it was necessary. Big day tomorrow,” Jace replied, fiddling with the radio. Cregan slapped his hand away as he slowed down for a red light.

“Great,” the girl muttered, not trusting her tongue around the two of them together.

An awkward silence fell, broken only by some random song. How long can a red light last?

“So, (Y/N),” Cregan began, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His voice wavered, but Jace was in his own world, watching pedestrians crossing the street. “How’s it going? How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” she replied, playing with the hem of her skirt. “Though the classes dragged on.”

The devil on her shoulder won an uneven fight with the weak angel. She smirked.

“‘M absolutely knackered.”

Cregan inhaled slowly through his nose.

“Dude, it’s green,” Jace informed him, just before the car behind them honked.

“I can see,” Cregan reassured him, finally moving forward. “I’ll need your sister’s address since I’ve never been there before.”

If Jace had one more brain cell, he wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

“Sure thing,” her brother agreed, typing the info into the GPS on his phone. “Hey, kid, are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” (Y/N) asked angrily, kicking his seat. “Baela’s taking me.”

“You know what I think?” Jace started, spreading his arms dramatically. “A girlfriend in the stands is such a power boost. Such a boost… I never play as well as when Baela supports me from the bleachers.”

“You never play well,” His sister muttered under her breath, but Jacaerys was currently listening only to himself.

“Cregan wouldn’t get it,” He patted Cregan on the shoulder in the meantime. “If you combined your skills with that support, if you brought a girl, trust me, your performance would be a hundred times better.”

“Talented people don’t need superstitions to play well, Jace,” (Y/N) chimed in, leaning forward. “Besides, Cregan is single.”

“Because he’s too serious and broody, girls don’t like that,” her brother declared in a know-it-all voice. She gave him a side-eye. “He is afraid of women.”

“Are you afraid of women, Stark?” she asked seriously, barely holding back laughter.

Cregan shot her a look in the mirror, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Terrified,” he deadpanned. “That’s why I’m thinking maybe your sister should be my good luck charm tomorrow. Just as a friend, of course.”

“Eh, it’s not the same,” Jace protested, scrunching his face.

“Don’t you believe in the power of friendship?” the driver asked with full seriousness.

“Can I get a jersey with your number?” (Y/N) batted her lashes playfully at her boyfriend.

A jersey with his number was already hanging in her closet.

“Alright, you’ll see, you need deeper feelings for it to work, otherwise it just won’t…”

Jacaerys continued his monologue all the way to her apartment. The girl sighed with relief once she was back in her room, the familiarity of it a welcome escape from the tension.

Two new messages.

🐺: you looked so pretty today

🐺: but next time wear a damn coat, or you’ll catch a cold!!!

The fluorescent light above (Y/N)’s head flickered ominously, casting creepy shadows across the cramped janitor’s closet. She swore that if the bulb died completely, she'd either pee her pants or spiral into a full-blown claustrophobic meltdown. Leaning back against the wall, she tried to focus on the neatly arranged rows of brooms and mops. Soon, the door creaked open, revealing Cregan in all his glory.

Full hockey gear? Check. Helmet? Tucked under his arm. That goofy, ridiculous smile? Definitely check.

“You look so good,” she admitted, grabby hands already in the air. “Come here.”

Cregan shut the door behind him with a soft click, casting a glance at the flickering light overhead. He sighed, took one of her hands, and kissed her wrist softly. 

“We have to tell your brother,” Stark said, his voice serious as he placed his helmet on the wooden shelf beside them. “It’s not right that my girl has to sneak me a good-luck kiss in a smelly closet. You should be able to strut right into the locker room.”

His girl grinned. “You’ve got your gear on,” she pointed out. “We can tell him after the game. Besides, Baela’s softening him up for us. I asked her to.”

Baela Targaryen was known for sniffing out secrets, and the second she spotted (Y/N) wearing Cregan’s jersey before the game, she didn’t even need to ask. Her knowing look said it all, and within minutes, Velaryon girl spilled the truth, enduring Baela’s delighted squeal that had probably echoed for miles.

“I knew you had high standards, girl. Going straight for the captain!” Baela teased, laughing. “Jace obviously doesn’t know? He hasn’t said anything... and Stark’s still breathing.”

Thankfully, Baela had been more than willing to help, distracting Jace so Cregan could sneak away after the pre-game pep talk. Now, Cregan was looking at (Y/N) with pride, his eyes lingering on the jersey she wore. 

“She’s a real one for that,” he mused. “But seriously, we have to tell him. I want a picture of us on my lock screen, and that asshole keeps looking over my shoulder.”

She laughed, pulling him closer and kissing him hard, savoring the way his rough stubble tickled her skin.

“For now,” she murmured against his lips, “just focus on the game. You’re incredible. An amazing captain. And it’s going to go great. I believe in you.”

Cregan grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe one more kiss. Just to make sure we win.”

“The power of having a girl in the stands,” she teased, poking his chest playfully.

“Jace definitely exaggerated that theory,” Cregan confessed with a chuckle. “But honestly... I’m just glad you’re here.”

With butterflies in her stomach and a grin she couldn’t wipe off her face, (Y/N) found herself in the stands minutes later, sitting next to Baela. Her friend was watching the silent exchange of glances between her and Cregan with thinly veiled amusement.

“I always knew Jace was blind, but this is just tragic,” Baela remarked, elbowing her in the ribs. Jace, oblivious as ever, waved enthusiastically from the rink. Both girls waved back, cheering with the crowd.

“You’ll boo with me when the Dornish Spears come out, right?” (Y/N) asked.

Baela gave her a mock-serious look. “Technically, we shouldn’t. Obviously, I will,” she promised. 

The game was fast, brutal, and nearly deadlocked until the very end. (Y/N) had never yelled so much in her life, though her shouts were lost in the deafening roar of the crowd. Cregan played like a man possessed, commanding the ice with his usual grace. At least twenty times during the match, she found herself holding her breath, her heart leaping into her throat with every risky play. But she knew he had it under control. He always did.

Of course they won.

The victory rippled through the stands like a wave, and (Y/N) screamed herself hoarse as the crowd erupted around her. Cregan pulled off his helmet, his eyes scanning the stands until he found her. His smile—tired and breathtaking—was for her, and her alone. She didn’t regret the ringing in her ears or the scratch in her throat for a second. Moments later, he was swept up in a sea of celebrating teammates.

“Girl, are you crying?” Baela asked, pulling her into a hug.

“I don’t know,” She sniffled. “I’m just emotional. I just like that boy so fucking much, Bae.”

“I know, honey. Come on, they’re heading off the ice. Let’s congratulate them, and then have a crazy party or something. No time for tears.”

Cregan was one of the last players to leave the ice, trailing just behind Jace. But before he could step off, the captain of the opposing team, his face twisted with anger, skated up to him. For a moment, it looked like they might talk it out. But then, it all happened too fast.

The player from Dorne shoved Cregan hard against the wall. Stark, ever the calm one, simply raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

And then he took a fist to the face. The sickening sound of bone cracking echoed across the rink.

“What the hell is going on? Jace!” Baela shouted, holding her friend back as she tried to rush forward.

Jace jumped back onto the ice, but by the time he got there, the other team had pulled their enraged captain away. Cregan stumbled off the ice just as (Y/N) reached him.

“Are you okay? Oh gods, let me see,” she fretted, her hands hovering near his face.

“What a fucking jerk!” Jace nearly screamed, skidding to a stop by the exit. “I called for help, they’ll be here in a second.”

(Y/N) carefully moved Cregan’s hand away, revealing the damage. His face was a swollen mess, his nose clearly broken.

“Do you think they’ll make me lie face-down on the ice?” Cregan joked weakly, leaning on her for support.

“Does it hurt a lot? Maybe you should sit down. Oh shit, I can’t believe—”

“Hey, sweetheart. Calm down,” Cregan murmured, his voice soothing despite the pain. “It hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”

Just then, the medic arrived, momentarily distracting Jace. But despite the chaos, he had clearly heard what Cregan just said. For a moment, Jace stood there, his face pale as the words and the image before him sank in.

“Sweetheart?” he echoed softly, but no one paid him any attention.

“Jace, maybe now’s not the time,” Baela said gently, stepping up beside him.

“I feel physically sick,” Jace muttered, staggering to the railing for support.

The medic handed Cregan an ice pack. “Hold this to your face for a bit. I’ll get you something for the pain right away, but a doctor’s gonna have to set that nose.”

Cregan winced but smiled through it. “You might wanna check on my friend first,” he said, gesturing toward Jace. “I can wait. He looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Jace did, in fact, end up passing out.

Cregan had to take a break from sports after that little adventure. He’d recovered, but now sported a slightly crooked nose—something his girlfriend found oddly hot.

(Y/N) saw his temporary recovery as the perfect chance to manipulate him into watching Teen Wolf with her every evening. After all, the title worked in her favor.

They were nestled on the couch, wrapped together in a soft gray blanket. It was their first time lounging in the living room of the apartment Cregan shared with her brother, rather than hiding behind the securely locked door of his bedroom. 

It would be perfect, really. If it weren’t for Jace’s constant, deliberate trips to the kitchen and bathroom, each one an obvious reminder that he was keeping an eye on them.

“Dear Jacaerys,” (Y/N) said, her patience wearing thin, “you do know we don’t need a chaperone, right?”

Jace barely paused, shooting her a sidelong glance before muttering, “You need someone to knock the stupid ideas out of your heads,” as he slammed the bathroom door.

Cregan chuckled softly, pulling her closer. “Give him some time,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “To be honest, I thought it would be worse. He’ll come around eventually.”

They’d already gone through several long, tension-filled conversations, with Baela stepping in as the voice of reason when things got too heated. They were careful now, avoiding anything that might provoke Jace further.

But Cregan was right—Jace was slowly coming around, even if he was still stubborn. The days of silent treatment had finally passed.

“This is on us for hiding things from him,” (Y/N) sighed, watching her brother embark on yet another purposeful long journey to the kitchen. “No more secrets now.”

“Your brother’s just looking out for you,” Cregan called out, raising his voice slightly so Jace could hear. “He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, and I respect that. I don’t know anyone else who cares like he does.”

Jace stopped, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His lips curved into a sweet, mischievous grin.

“Yeah,” he began, drawing out the word. “So tell me sister, when are you introducing him to Mom?”

[jezebelblues]

slowpoke | h.s

summary: harry passes the lime torch to his son. or in which you teach your son how to ride a bike.

cw: fem!reader, literally sickeningly sweet dadrry. (also unedited)

word count: approx 3.1k

| dadrry never fails to cheer me up fr. i hope everyone’s doing alright in light of today, please take it easy.

— as a dv victim myself, i understand how the news of liam’s passing can be a really conflicting feeling to struggle with if you’ve experienced dv. please know i can be an outlet, and ur not alone. <3 ash

october, 2023 | london

The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of damp leaves and earth, as the soft sounds of autumn filled the neighborhood streets. Fallen leaves crunched beneath shoes, and the occasional gust of wind sent orange and gold spiraling through the air. In the distance, the hum of city life could be heard faintly, but here, in the quiet of their neighborhood, it felt like a peaceful little bubble in the midst of the bustling world.

YN stepped outside, adjusting her scarf that Anne knitted herself for her birthday last year. Harry followed close behind, his eyes shining with excitement, a grin lighting up his face. His curls tussled in the wind, his hand held tight on his son’s hand. His fifth birthday had just passed in May, and Atlas, their boy, was finally ready to take off the training wheels. Harry, ever the doting father, was already emotional prior to this evening—realizing his baby was ready for a big-boy bike already. His dimples crater his cheeks, the other hand gripping the handle of the small lime green bike, just the right size for Atlas’ small frame.

“This is going to be fun, bub.” He grinned, bending down to look into his son’s wide eyes. “Jus’ like Daddy’s bike, yeah?”

Atlas looked up at Harry, a glimmer of excitement mixed with nerves evident in his expression. “It’s the same color!” He mused, his voice tinged with wonder as he examined the bike again. His little fingers ran along the frame, tracing the lime green paint.

YN smiled at the two of them, her heart swelling. Harry had always loved his bike, the one he had ridden around Italy so many times, and now, here he was, passing that same joy to their son. “Do you remember how much daddy rides his bike around?” She asked, squatting down to his level and gently brushing a stray curl away from his face.

The boy nodded, his eyes lighting up. “He goes really fast! Will I go fast too?”

“We’ll take it slow first, mate.” Harry chuckled, a pang in his chest from the boy’s eagerness to grow up so fast. First was the bike, next was his eighteenth birthday. “You’ll be zooming around in no time.” He tossed his wife a wink, and she couldn’t help but grin back at him.

She looked down the street, a perfect place to practice—quiet and lined with trees, the leaves creating a soft, colorful carpet on either side. It was the kind of autumn day that felt timeless, like something out of a painting. The sunlight filtered through the branches, casting golden streaks onto the pavement.

Harry gave the bike a little jostle in his hands and then looked back at Atlas. “Alright, bubba. Let’s get you started—y’ready?”

He hesitated for a moment, chewing on his lip. He glanced up at his mom, seeking reassurance, to which she knelt beside him, her hand on his small shoulder. “You’ve got it, love. One pedal at a time, hm?”

“I don’t want to fall.” he whispered, his little hands gripping the handlebars of the bike as though they were his lifeline.

Harry crouched down beside him, his hand resting over his on the handlebar. “S’alright if you do. I’ve fallen loads of times, but guess what? Every time, I got back up. That’s what makes it fun. Falling down, getting back up, ‘nd trying again.”

She nodded, running small circles into her son’s back. “Daddy won’t let you fall, okay?”

Their boy looked between them, a flicker of courage dancing in his eyes, and nodded. “Okay, m’ready mama.”

Harry helped him position the bike in the middle of the street. He held it straight up for him, looking at him expectantly, but he hesitated.

His dark curls, so much like Harry’s, peeked out from underneath the spider-man helmet that seemed slightly too big for him. The helmet had been Harry’s doing, of course—safety was always the first priority. He tried to talk YN into letting him scour ebay for an old one direction helmet, but she shook her head with a laugh, insisting on either spider-man or luigi, his all time favorite characters.

Eyes that resembled his mother’s stared at Harry wide, his lips parted.

His eyebrows furrowed, lips pulling into a slight frown. “S’wrong Attie?”

He shrugged, casting a nervous glance toward YN who only smiled and sent him a thumbs up. With a deep breath, his fingers traced the handlebars, gazing up at his father. “Will y’show me again, dad?”

Harry grinned, a breathy chuckle falling from his lips as he nodded. He threw his leg over the bike that sat far too low beneath him. Atlas smiled widely as his dad unstrapped the helmet from his mess of curls, placing it on his own. He couldn’t get it to buckle, and it sat loosely upon him, if he were to tip his head it would surely fall off.

The boy giggled, running off to stand against his mother’s legs as she combed her fingers through his locks. Harry lowered into the seat, his knees nearly scraping the ground as he pedaled. He kicked off into a circle, wobbling purposely. “See, even y’old man has to practice a bit!” He smiled, making a loop around the ones he loved most in this world. He mocked a clumsiness that he had hoped would ease his son, and it did, as he fell into a fit of giggles. As Harry pedaled back to the start point, YN brushed some of Atlas’s curls from his ear, whispering, “You’re gonna go so much faster than him.”

He nodded enthusiastically, giddily running toward the bike his dad now sat off of. “Such a slowpoke, dad.” He grinned as Harry placed the helmet back onto his head, feigning offense as he buckled it under his chin. “Cheeky boy.” He murmured, gently pinching his cheek and wiggling his hand lightly, which cause his son to smile wider. Harry tugged on the helmet, making sure it was tight before he sat onto the bike. He held it steady as he climbed on, the boy’s legs wobbling as he tried to find balance.

Harry leaned down slightly, peering out toward the empty road in front of them. “Okay, high speed, m’gonna hold on while y’start pedaling. Don’t worry about steering jus yet, okay? I’ve got you.”

He made sure his feet were firmly on the pedals, his small frame looking both tiny and determined on the lime green bike as he nodded. Harry’s hands held the back of the seat steady while Atlas gripped the handlebars, his face scrunched up in concentration.

Atlas took a deep breath and began to push on the pedals, slowly at first, wobbly as he adjusted to the motion. Harry jogged alongside him, his large hands keeping the bike steady as he moved forward.

“Good job, Attie!” YN called from behind, watching as her son started to pick up the rhythm.

The boy smiled, and she could see the edges of his uncertainty melting away, replaced by the sheer joy of it. “M’doing it!” he squealed, the surprise in his voice making Harry chuckle.

“You are, baby!” His mother called back, walking quickly to keep up, her scarf fluttering in the breeze. “Look at you go!”

Harry let out an encouraging laugh as he continued running beside his boy, keeping the bike upright. “That’s it, Atlas! Keep going!”

He was pedaling faster now, but his hands were still shaky on the handlebars. His little body swayed as he tried to balance, but Harry was always right there, keeping him steady, making sure he felt safe.

After a few more feet, Harry spoke again, his tone calm and reassuring. “Alright, bub. M’gonna let go now, just for a second. I’ll be right here if y’need me.”

Atlas’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “Okay, daddy.”

Harry’s hands hovered over the seat for a moment, his steps slowing just slightly as he prepared to release his grip. Then, in a brief but powerful moment, Harry let go.

For a few glorious seconds, Atlas rode on his own. The bike wobbled a bit, but he was moving forward, his little feet pushing the pedals, his body balanced, and his face was lit up with pure delight.

“Faster than you, dad!” He yelled, his voice full of joy, and he could see the pride shining in his eyes.

But before YN could take another step, the inevitable happened. The bike tilted too far to one side, and despite Harry’s quick reflexes to grab it, Atlas tumbled to the ground in a flurry of leaves and laughter.

He was on him in an instant, kneeling beside him and lifting the bike off his small legs. “Y’alright, mate?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Atlas sat up, his cheeks flushed from the excitement and the fall, and for a split second, YN thought he might cry. But instead, he let out a breathless laugh, shaking the leaves from his jacket. “That was fun!”

She breathed out a sigh of relief and walked over to him, kneeling beside Harry. “You did amazing, sweetheart. That was so good!”

Atlas beamed up at his parents, his face full of pride despite the tiny scrape on his knee. “Can I do it again, mama?”

Harry grinned, ruffling his hair. “Of course, you can, buddy. Let’s get you back up.”

With Harry’s help, Atlas was back on the bike in no time, this time with even more determination in his eyes. His little body seemed more confident as he positioned himself, ready to try again. Harry stood beside him, keeping a steady hand on the seat for a few moments before slowly letting go, and this time, Atlas stayed up longer before wobbling.

His mom cheered him on from the side, her heart swelling with pride as she watched their son push past his initial nerves and embrace the thrill of riding. His laughter filled the street, echoing off the nearby houses, blending with the rustling of leaves overhead. It was the kind of sound they wanted to bottle up and keep forever.

Time passed in a blur of laughter, gentle falls, and moments of success. Harry’s patience never wavered, and YN couldn’t help but smile as she watched him guide their son with such care, the two of them bonding over each small victory.

At one point, Harry ran a few steps beside Atlas again, his eyes locked on his baby, a look of pure love and pride on his face. “You’re flying now, Atlas! Look at you!”

His grin stretched from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Just like you, Daddy! Look, m’fast like you!”

YN laughed, catching Harry’s gaze as he beamed back at you, his heart clearly bursting with pride. “He’s got your speed.”She teased. “Maybe more.”

“He’s got more than that,” Harry replied softly, his eyes lingering on Atlas before he fell to a brief stop, waiting on his wife to meet up with his strides. “Maybe a little of you too. I guess.”

And so, they continued—struggles of balance, wobbly starts, and triumphant rides that grew longer with each try. YN watched as Harry guided their son, his patience unwavering, their laughter filling the air, blending with the soft rustling of autumn leaves.

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, Atlas rode one last lap, his helmet askew, his grin wide, leaves swirling in the air behind him. YN stood beside Harry, her heart swelling with love for the life they'd built, for the man beside her and the boy in front of her.

"Givin’ his old man a run for his money," Harry mused, slipping his arm around her waist as Atlas played in a pile of leaves, tossing them into the air with a squeal.

YN smiled, leaning into him, her fingers curling around his. "Got a kink in my back already."

Harry's arms tightened around her as his wife smiles, pulling her closer as they watched Atlas giggle, his small hands sending a flurry of golden leaves into the air. The sound of his laughter danced through the air, mixing with the rustle of the trees and the soft evening breeze.

"Y'know," Harry whispered, his lips brushing her ear, voice low and filled with warmth, "I've been thinking–.." He paused, glancing down at her with a soft, adoring smile before his gaze drifted back to their son. "It's hard to believe our little boy's getting so big."

YN's heart swelled at the tenderness in his voice.

"He's growing up too fast," she murmured, resting her head on his chest as they watched Atlas dart through the leaves, his laughter filling the air.

Harry's hand moved gently to rest on her stomach, a subtle but meaningful gesture. "Maybe it's time we gave him a sibling. What d'ya think?"

Her breath hitched slightly, her heart skipping a beat as she turned her head to look up at him. His green eyes were soft, filled with love and hope, the idea of another little one filling the space between them.

"You want another?" She asked gently, her own smile starting to bloom.

Harry's arms wrapped tighter around her, pulling her against him. "I do. I'd love nothing more than to see him running around with a little brother or sister. Just imagine–..”He trailed off for a moment, his voice taking on that playful tone she loved so much. “‘Nother little Styles running amuck.”

YN let out a soft laugh, butterflies in her belly at the thought. She imagined it—another tiny hand holding onto theirs, another set of wide eyes learning to ride a bike, another burst of giggles filling their home.

Atlas, still playing in the leaves, looked up at them, his cheeks flushed, his energy endless. Harry pressed a kiss to her temple as her lips parted. “Dunno if the world could handle three of you.”

He laughed, nibbling her earlobe as she shook in his grasp from a small giggle. YN felt her heart flutter as she leaned back into him, the thought of growing their little family filling her with joy. She turned in his arms, catching his lips in a soft, lingering kiss, before they both turned their gazes back to Atlas, who was still gleefully tossing leaves into the air. "I think you might be right," she whispered against his lips, feeling the warmth of his embrace as they both imagined the beautiful future ahead-one filled with more laughter, more love, and the promise of another little soul to share it all with.

Harry only drew a sharp inhale as he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, wiggling her into a hug with her feet a few inches off the ground.

Just as they shared a soft, lingering kiss, lost in the tenderness of the moment, they heard the unmistakable sound of their son’s giggles. Harry eased her back onto the ground, as they both turned their heads in the direction of their son, just in time to see Atlas bounding toward them, his small arms full of crisp orange and reddened leaves. His cheeks were flushed pink from the chilly air and his recent excitement, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

His curls bounced with every run forward, his laughter bubbling up as he raced over, his tiny legs moving as fast as they could.

Before they could react, Atlas flung the pile of leaves up into the air with an exaggerated grunt, his tongue between his lips in focus, wanting to toss the leaves up high enough to reach them. A flurry of vibrant colors cascaded down over their heads, the leaves scattered across their shoulders, tangling in Harry’s curls and catching on YN’s scarf, all while Atlas’s laughter rang out loud and clear.

Harry feigned a gasp of shock, dramatically shaking his head to get the leaves out of his hair. “Oi! What’s this then, Attie? Attackin’ us with leaves, are ya?”

YN couldn’t help but laugh, her heart full as she shook off the leaves, her fingers brushing through Harry’s hair to remove a few stubborn ones. “Oh no! We’ve been caught in a leaf storm!” she teased, looking down at Atlas, who was now doubled over with giggles, clearly proud of his ambush.

With a playful growl, Harry lunged toward Atlas, scooping him up into his arms and spinning him around. “Y’think you can get away with that, huh?” he said, his voice filled with laughter as he squealed in delight, wriggling in his arms.

Atlas flailed with laughter, tiny hands grabbing at more leaves as Harry twirled him around. “M’leaves! More!”

YN grinned, quickly gathering a pile of leaves at her feet, and as soon as Harry set Atlas back down, she tossed them gently over both of them. “Got you both this time!”

Harry let out an exaggerated “Oof!” as the leaves fluttered around him and Atlas, catching in their hair and sticking to their coats. The boy’s eyes were wide with delight, and he scrambled to scoop up more leaves in his little hands, tossing them right back at YN. “Mama! Catch!”

Before long, all three of them were knee-deep in leaves, tossing them high into the air and letting them fall down like confetti. Harry knelt down beside Atlas, grabbing fistfuls of leaves and tossing them toward YN with a mischievous grin. “We’ll get her, bub!”

He followed his father’s lead, giggling as they both launched leaves toward YN, who pretended to shield herself, laughing as she stumbled backward, covered in the golden debris.

“Alright, alright! I surrender!” she cried, holding up her hands in mock defeat, but her laughter betrayed her as Harry came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her down into the soft pile of leaves they had created together.

With YN now nestled in Harry’s arms, Atlas climbed onto her lap, still giggling, his cheeks rosy from the crisp autumn air. His small hands grabbed at more leaves, sprinkling them over both his parents as they laughed together, completely lost in the moment.

The three of them lay there in the leaves for a few quiet seconds, the sound of their breathing soft, the laughter having died down into contented smiles. The rustle of the trees above, mixed with the occasional burst of wind, made the world around them feel distant and peaceful. Harry’s arm was wrapped securely around YN, while Atlas sprawled across them both, eyes twinkling with joy.

Atlas suddenly sat up after a beat, throwing a final handful of leaves into the air. “More leaves tomorrow, Mama?”

YN laughed softly, brushing a stray leaf from his curls. “Definitely more leaves tomorrow, Attie.”

Harry grinned, ruffling his son’s hair as Atlas wiggled between them. “But now we gotta help y’mum make dinner, yeah?”

And as the last bit of sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a golden glow over them, they shook themselves of the grass and leaves, trotting into their home with rumbling stomachs and full hearts.

[formulawolff]

sunbathing - t.w.

pairing: reader x dbf!toto wolff

word count: 1.3k

warnings: age gap, highly inappropriate flirting and banter, fingering (f! receiving), alcohol use, some light smut for this fine sunday evening, fyi, the reader is in her early/mid 20s in this!,

a/n: the premise of this one came to me as a request! i just want to clarify that this is a slight au, as toto is not a married man in this! i hope y’all enjoy! <3 (also that gif?? omf. i need him.)

bundles of light cast a shine on the waves, the surrounding air tinged with the salty scent of the sea. the only color in your field of vision is blue, the hues ranging from a vivid cerulean to a rich sapphire. above, seagulls glide, dotting the skyline with tiny white specks.

you bask in the warmth of the sun, your heated skin glowing from your tanning oil. situated on the sun deck, you were in the perfect spot to catch some rays, reapplying tanning oil routinely throughout the afternoon.

"everything going okay up there honey?"

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

the voice was none other than your father's.

your father happened to be peter bonnington, one of the top engineers for the mercedes-amg petronas formula one team. he just so happened to be close to lewis hamilton, eight time world champion.

yet, to your disappointment, lewis was not present today. so much for shooting your shot with the devilishly handsome driver.

when you were offered the chance to spend the day on toto wolff's yacht with your family, how could you have refused?

who else gets to spend the afternoon sunbathing on desk of a yacht as it floats along the mediterranean sea?

springing to your feet, you lean over the rail, picking out your father as he mingles with the group, "i may come down and get some water soon!"

"sounds good love!" your father responds, a wide grin plastered across his face. stifling a giggle, you notice the crimson hue tinging his cheeks, flourishing into his neck.

oh god, he was drunk.

well, you all were. at least, those old enough to drink.

for the start of the summer break in the season, mr. wolff had suggested the mercedes families gather together for a day of relaxation and celebration. to your disappointment, there were not a lot of suitors present.

of course, there were quite a few children, some teenagers.

you had met with a few girls around your age, but they were still significantly younger, approximately three or fours your junior. so, to escape from the small talk and chitchat, you had waltzed up to the sun deck, settling in one of the chairs.

luckily, you had brought a book with you, so it kept you somewhat busy.

and to your satisfaction, no one bothered you. no one at all.

an afternoon alone on the deck of a yacht, where no one would bother you but to bring you a few drinks and some snacks?

it was perfect. absolutely perfect.

you couldn't have envisioned a more perfect afternoon.

a flurry of voices catches your attention, but you ignore them. it almost sounded as if there was playful argument. of course, recognized your father's voice, as it was the loudest.

your mom was one patient woman, that was for sure.

with the sun beating down, and the buzz of the alcohol, you couldn't help but feel your lashes flutter, drowsiness beginning to take ahold.

"ms. bonnington," a voice startles you, thick with a heavy accent, "i figured i would run some water up for you."

sitting up in your chair, you clutch your chest as you make out who is standing beside you, one bottle of water in each hand.

it was none other than toto wolff.

with his significant stature and broad shoulders, he nearly towers over you, donned in a thin linen button up and khaki shorts.

with his fluffy brunette hair, and sharp, chiseled features framed by thick lashes, there was no denying that the team principal was devastatingly handsome. toned muscles rippled underneath his button-up, the wind catching the fabric every so often, exposing a trail hair leading up to his navel.

sure, you may have had a teenage crush on one of your father's best friends and coworkers, but surely you outgrew that long ago.

surely.

you felt your heart skip a beat as he eyed you, prompting you to respond.

"oh my god," you nearly stumble over your words, "i am so sorry if i didn't hear you the first time, mr. wolff. i was falling asleep and i-"

"no need for those formalities around here," a soft chuckle rumbles in his throat, "you can call me toto, you know."

"i-i'm sorry," you mumble, accepting the water bottles from his hands, "i've probably been in the sun a little too long. i'm a little scatterbrained right now."

"have you been having fun, at least?" to your surprise, the team principal sits in a chair beside you, "i apologize if you haven't been able to meet some people your age. i thought there would be more girls for you to get along with."

"i've been fine," you shrug, "i'm a big girl, i know how to occupy myself."

as you lay back down in the chair, toto can't help but drink in the sight of you.

fuck, were you absolutely gorgeous.

he relished the way your hair was pulled into a tight bun, emphasizing the bridge of your nose and the fullness of your lashes. your skin glistens under the sun, toto swallowing thickly as his mind wanders.

it was so wrong to look at you this way. absolutely sinful.

yet, he couldn't. he couldn't look away.

"everything okay, toto?" oh god, the way his name sounded so sweet from those plush lips.

"i'm fine," he waves a hand, "i'm just admiring the view. that's all."

you arch a brow, pursing your lips, "the mountains or my ass?"

ever so slightly, you wiggle your wips, cheeks jiggling in response.

"you want me to be honest or do you want me to lie?"

"hmmm," you hum, "i prefer honesty, mr. wolff."

mr. wolff.

in his shorts, he felt his cock throb. instinctively, he shifts in the seat, praying that you wouldn't notice.

however, it's hard to miss.

especially in those khaki shorts.

"see something you like?" you bat your lashes, the corners of your lips curling into a devious grin.

"yes," he leans over, face merely centimeters from yours, "you."

"not like you can do anything about it," you counter, the tough exterior crumbling as you feel a hand gliding along the back of your thigh, squeezing the curve of your ass.

perhaps you did not outgrow that teenage crush all those years ago.

"i can," he smirks ever so slightly, "no one can see up here. if i would have known you were wearing this little number, i would have ran up with that water hours ago."

"what if someone comes up here?"

"they won't," he shakes his head, "they're all eating right now."

"you don't think my father will come looking for me?"

"do you know how intoxicated your father is right now? he wouldn't even make it up the stairs," fingers hook the strap of your bikini bottoms, snapping it against your skin, "so, schatzi, what shall we do?"

"what's on your mind?"

toto cocks his head, the fingers delving between your thighs. nimbly, they lightly trace along your folds, teasing, "oh, if we were completely alone, it would be a far different story. however, i have limited time, and there's a large gathering down below."

"oh fuck," you clamp down on your tongue as a finger circles your clit, juices beginning to trickle down your soft skin.

"you like that?" toto coos, applying more pressure, "you like how wet i make you? you're a good girl, letting me touch you like this."

"toto!" a voice calls from below, "we need your assistance with the radio!"

"jesus fucking christ," the team principal rolls his eyes.

rising to his feet, fingers grasp you chin, tilting your head upwards.

"you should accompany your father to a grand prix sometime. i would love to see your beautiful face one day in the paddock."

"maybe i will," you murmur, flashing toto with a radiant grin, "would you fuck me in the paddock too?"

"oh schatzi, i would do more than fuck you in the paddock. i would make that little pussy of yours weep."

and just like that, you watch as the team principal strolls over to the stairs, shooting you one final wink before disappearing.

biting your lip, you reach for the water, twisting it open.

perhaps you would lean over that rail one more time.

after all, you were starting to get an appetite.

[draconic-desire]

💥 Take My Whiskey Neat 💥

Yandere Boothill x Reader

Again and again, you find a way to escape, and every time ends with you peering down the barrel of a gun.

Warnings: Yandere behaviors, forced relationship and captivity, implied kidnapping, some suggestive content but mostly sfw. Mild spoilers for his background story; I want to write him both as a super attentive and protective guy but also crazy for you???

You’ve become all too familiar with the sensation of a gun being pointed to your forehead.

“Aw, darlin’, why the long face? Took me two whole days to find ya this round! You should be proud’a yerself. I dare say our time together has taught you well,” he concludes with a wink.

Somehow, his praise feels more like a taunt.

That’s because it is. Obviously you never had a chance at escaping from him, a Galaxy Ranger with a bounty on his head worth more than your life a hundred times over. He was born and raised to hunt, to track, to kill. You’re just the unlucky target.

He leans the gun ever so slightly closer to you, mere inches before it can graze your skin, and waits for your response. Although you know he won’t pull the trigger, the sight of the 9 millimeter colt aimed directly between your eyes still sends goose flesh skittering down your arms.

You grit your teeth and pin him with a withering glare. The last thing you’ll relinquish is your pride—you’re not intimidated by him, and it is impressive that you evaded him for so long, relatively speaking. Your other escape attempts lasted mere hours.

Unfortunately, the fact that the Ranger has always traveled alone doesn’t help your chances—especially when lately, his only occupation has been you.

“What, no clap back today? No, ‘fudge you, ya son of a nice lady’ or ‘fork you, shirtbaggin’ bootlicker’? I’ve gotten so used to yer colorful language that I’m almost disappointed!” Boothill tilts the gun and juts his hips, his bullseye gaze locked on your own.

Ignoring the subtle look of longing, of hurt, within their depths is getting harder and harder. He’s superb at hiding it behind jokes and attempted curses, but you know that look. He’s clinging to you after all that’s been taken from him, seeking love after it was destroyed in flames. If only he still held onto his human emotions and didn’t rely on that neuro chip of his; then he’d know that what he’s showing you isn’t love, but obsession.

You wish you had never extended your kindness to him that fateful day, when he’d burst into your home, sparks flying and wires exposed. One of his arms was barely attached, completely torn through with bullet holes. A shootout, he’d said, and he’d caught wind of a handy ‘machine doctor’—a mechanic, you’d corrected him—in town who could fix him right up.

It had taken a full two weeks for you to get him back up and running functionally. Two weeks of evading IPC grunts knocking on your door in search of him, two weeks of tolerating (and fine, maybe even enjoying) his crude jokes, and two weeks of stories over a glass of whiskey, about your hope to one day travel among the stars and his of finding a companion to do so with.

That’s when he’d seemed the most human. Voice tinged with sorrow, yes, but lips curved into a morose smile, eyes looking up at the stars. Reminiscing about when he was still fully human, nothing but a cowboy on a seemingly insignificant planet, surrounded by his adopted parents and siblings, and even that little girl whom he never got to see grow up.

After he’d shared his story, you’d felt the sudden urge to be close to him. Without thinking, you’d brought your hand up to his cheek, wiping an invisible tear despite the fact that he lost his tear ducts long ago.

He’d sucked in a breath and gone deadly still; thinking you misjudged the situation and overstepped a boundary, you’d quickly started to jerk your hand back, only for him to lock it firmly against his face with his metal palm.

His voice, normally loud and clear through the synthesized distortion, had been quiet, low, wavering. “I—please, don’t stop. That feels…nice.”

You were sad to see him go after those two weeks. You honestly expected to never see him again—he was a Galaxy Ranger, after all, the definition of a lone wolf—but to your surprise, his visits didn’t end there. He kept returning again and again, and not just for repairs. Sometimes he’d bring you gifts or tell you stories of his hunt, and you’d cherish those moments when the galaxy felt just a bit less lonely with him.

Then the visits started to increase in their frequency—and intensity. He’d show up while you were working with a client and brazenly threaten them to leave so he could occupy your time instead, or he’d appear on your doorstep in the middle of the night with your favorite bottle of liquor, winking at the sight of your embarrassed form, still in your nightclothes. Your world suddenly seemed to revolve around the gunslinging cyborg.

You’d had to put your foot down—as much as you did enjoy his company, you wouldn’t allow him to interfere with your career. You’d worked hard to gain your skills, and even though you were barely scraping by and living in a tiny, modest home by yourself, you were still proud of what you’d achieved on your own.

His initial reaction was an uncharacteristic and frightening bout of silence, his pupils blown wide, locked onto yours. Just as quickly, his typical smirk returned as he laughed it off. “Just watch out, lil cutie, ‘cause I know you’ll be missin’ me soon.”

Apparently, soon was imminent, immediate. You were pouring yourself a drink after a long week of work when he finally kicked down your door and announced you’d be coming with him.

“I’ve been waiting a long while now to claim you, darlin’.”

“And if I refuse?”

That was the first time you witnessed his gun trained on you.

Now, Boothill drags you along everywhere, hopping from one planet or system to the next, living together as nomads. What you believed to be a serendipitous friendship, he thought was the start of your romance and life together.

It would be thrilling in any other circumstance, treading the path of The Hunt, evading the law, tracking down the IPC members who destroyed his family…except the cyborg transferred that need to protect, to save someone, onto you. You have no choice but to be his now, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets you go.

“You just want to hear me curse because you can’t,” you growl. What a stupid argument to be having with a pistol to your head. Yet you can’t help but siphon all of your anger into this dumb little game of cat and mouse, of shark and minnow, of hunter and bird.

He forgets you’re not the only one armed.

You flash him the most vulgar gesture you can make. “Go fuck yourself, Boothill.”

The cowboy throws his head back in a laugh. “Haha! There she is. Wild as a newborn colt.” He grins, flashing those shark teeth you’d groan to loathe. You’ve lost count of the number of puncture marks and scars they’ve littered across your flesh.

That’s something he can’t seem to get enough of—the feel of your warm, organic, human skin against his cold, steel shell.

“Lan shoot me with an arrow, do you ever shut the fuck up?” you grumble, looking up as if the Aeon will give you an answer.

“Think ya already know the answer to that,” he replies, lowering his weapon to sling his opposite arm around your shoulders. The gun hangs languidly from his other hand, as if he’s not the deadliest shot in the galaxy.

His breath brushes your neck as he leans in and nips at your ear. “Now, how ‘bout we take this back home, eh cutie? Two days without you has got me pretty…” His voice drops an octave. “…pent up, if ya know what I mean.”

The tooth marks along your skin flare. Oh, you know all too well.

~*~

Trying to find the solution to your imprisonment at the bottom of a bottle seems like a really clever idea, at least until the room starts spinning.

The empty glass cracks against the wooden table again as brown liquor burns down your throat. What did he call it? Rocket fuel? Damn right, and you’d lost count of the number of shots you’d taken.

Boothill’s normal smirk is contorted into a small frown. “Darlin’, I know it’s been a long couple’a days away for you, but I think we should retire the whiskey for the time being—”

“Shyut up!” you slur, jabbing a finger at the Ranger, your neck still throbbing from all the love bites and hickeys he’d given you. “Thiz is your fault.”

He reaches for the bottle, but you snatch it away and instead start to take pulls directly from it. A deep sigh reverberates behind you as you stand and begin to spin around, hands extended. “Aren’t we celebrating you catching me again? You got what you wanted, you…you mudder…fuuuu…” You sway and just barely catch yourself before you tumble—wait, no, that’s him steadying your shoulders.

“(Y/n).” You blink out of your haze momentarily; only on rare occasions does he use your name and not things like darling or cutie. His face is controlled, mouth tilted downward. “Put the bottle down. I know the feelin’ of wanting to drown in liquor, but it ain’t right.”

“I’m only like this because you took me from my life!”

He bares his teeth, and you know you hit a nerve. “That little shack you called a home? Was that really livin’? All those nights we talked, you said how you wanted grand adventure and risk! To travel and see the stars! To be with me!”

“I didn’t ask for you to put me in a moving cage,” you spit back, trying to shake out of his iron-clad grip. “But you never asked what I wanted, did you?”

“Why’s this all so hard for you to accept?” One hand moves to grab your chin, tilting your face towards his tall form. “It could be just us, ridin’ through the galaxy for all time.” His lips brush lightly against your own, and you feel a tinge of warmth run down your spine. “Just be mine.”

In your drunken stupor, your anger morphs into something else, something more carnal. He wants to be the predator? Well, even the hunted fight back sometimes.

The bottle drops from your hand, shattering against the floor, as you hook an arm around his neck and kiss him fervently, your tongue running along the edges of his pointed canines.

Before he can kiss you back, you pull away, wiping the back of your mouth with your forearm. “That’s what could have been if you hadn’t kidnapped me. If you’d asked me first.” Skipping over the remnants of the whiskey bottle, you flip him the finger over your shoulder as you walk away. “Too bad that’s all you’ll get. Fork you, Boothill.”

As soon as you leave the room, Boothill raises a metal digit to his lips, savoring the sensation of your warm mouth against his. So that’s what your willing kiss feels like. The true passion he knows is hidden deep in your soul, buried beneath the dirt like an unmarked grave. He releases a breathy laugh.

Well fork him sideways, but he wants more.

Taking his hat off, he sets it on the table and moves to pour himself a glass of sherry. He’s nearly positive he’ll find you passed out in bed if he goes to you now, and knows he shouldn’t, can’t be in the same room with you when his self control is so near to breaking. Better to let you sleep it off and tease you about the kiss in the morning.

Boothill kicks his feet up and takes a long sip. So, it turns out your drunken self may actually be harboring some attraction for him. Yeah, he can use that.

“I’ll have you someday,” he whispers, a promise to both you and himself. “Whiskey ain’t the only thing that’ll be on your lips, darlin’.”

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Paring Eddie Munson x Reader 

Summary In the wake of a storm, you seek out Eddie because he gives the best hugs and may be the only person in Hawkins who has the answers you need [fluff, 2.1k]

A/N Eddie didn’t come back wrong. Not in the way you’re thinking, at least. But he does hear things from time to time…

The sweet scent of wet earth lingers inescapably as you pedal, bike wheels whirring softly as they weave around potholes filled with rain. The familiar stillness that follows every storm has settled over Hawkins. Cool droplets fall from tree branches onto your skin, contrasting the warm fall air. With the wind at your face, the heaviness in your chest begins to lift as you travel further from home. 

When you arrive, rain drips from the Forest Hills entrance sign. The old, chipped wood has survived years of vandalism and wear. Puddles of water have collected on the gravel road, and colorful toys have sunken into muddy portions of front yards. The closer you get to Eddie’s trailer, the more you hear muffled music permeating from within the four walls. 

The lights are on, visible through the curtains. It isn’t until you’re close enough to dismount your ride that you realize you’re hearing Ozzy Osbourne. Eddie’s voice passionately joins in as the chorus circles back around, a smile pulling at your lips as you rest your bike against his trailer. 

The moment you knock on the door, he quiets. There’s brief shuffling, then purposeful footsteps until he’s finally swinging it open. The way his eyebrows shoot up at the sight of you is comical. A guitar solo pours out to greet you as well. 

His curly hair is pulled back in a low, messy bun and a black pair of pajama pants ride his hips. Every time you see him, there seem to be more designs inked across his pale skin. They’re down his arms, splayed across his chest. The dragon was your favorite of them all. Snaked along the side of his rib cage with its mouth bared, shielding a splotch of scars. 

“You’re goin’ off the rails, huh?” There’s a playful lilt to your voice as you quote the lyrics back to him, tilting your head. 

His cheeks flush as he opens the door wider for you, your perfume wafting as you walk in. “Every day of my life—fuck me, I can’t believe you heard all that,” he groans, running a hand down his face. 

After shutting the door, he turns off the stereo. You sigh as you toe off your vans and take a relaxed look around the small space. With Crazy Train having come to an end, you can hear the TV quietly droning about the possibility of more rain. 

For as much as there was that changed in the world, this place seldom did. With its warm lamplight and eternal coziness. The air smelled of pine, underscored with smoke. Even the mug shelves and baseball caps hanging on the walls have stood the test of time. 

When your eyes meet again, he offers a boyish grin that settles under your skin. “Wasn’t expecting your pretty face today.” He tucks some wispy flyaways behind his ears. 

“Sorry I didn’t call first,” you say. “I just needed to get out of the house...needed to see you.” Eddie doesn’t miss the brief shadow that flickers in your eyes, as though another thought is protesting from a cage in the back of your mind. 

As much as he’s tempted, he doesn’t coax it out. “Nothing wrong with a good ol’ change of scenery.” He lifts his brows in that charming way of his. “Not that this is the Four Seasons or anything—” 

Before he knows it, your arms are around him. A hum vibrates through his chest as you tuck your nose into the warmth of his skin. As he hugs you in return, the remaining tension melts right from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Once he’s sure you’re feeling better, he starts rocking from side to side until your smile slips through. 

You try to pull away, but he only squeezes tighter. “Eddie,” you whine through a giddy laugh. 

“Nope, you’ve gotta commit now,” he quips. “I don’t make the rules, angel.” Hearing that, you relax into him, exhaling at the playfulness and familiarity of his embrace. 

“How do you do it?” You murmur into him like he’s some sort of magic. 

He smooths his palm up your back, gently massaging at the base of your neck. “Do what?” 

“Make everything better,” you whisper, feeling the rest of your worries dissolve under his touch. 

A weak chuckle rumbles through his chest as he pulls back to look at you. The honesty in your eyes makes him feel like he’s an imposter. Like he’s somehow got you fooled. “I don’t know about everything...” 

Life has been different since the Upside Down. There were scars from that day that were never going to fade, engraved beyond skin deep. It was the voices from before, the rumors and taunts, that made him feel like he was that same punk teenager who corrupted everything he touched. Like being himself was innately wrong. 

It was hard to believe that someone like you genuinely enjoyed his company, found him helpful, thought he was good. But he was getting better about it because he didn’t make it this far for those old voices to hold the same power. These days, new voices echoed around him, not confined to memories but strikingly real, intimately near. Never unkind, just disembodied and drifting through the in-between. 

They didn’t scare him anymore. He learned when to listen and when to tune them out. Something was bound to follow after he crawled his way back to the land of the living. Nevertheless, he’s grateful for a second chance at life. If things had ended any differently, he never would’ve seen how much better things could get—or cross paths with you. 

You think for a moment before speaking up again, “Then we’ll agree to disagree.” 

Eddie takes your chin between his forefinger and thumb, eyes flitting over your face in awe. You grow shy under his gaze, and that’s when he leans in to kiss you, his plush lips soft and slow. A satisfied sound rises in your throat as you trail your hands along his waist, feeling the different textures of his scarred skin beneath your fingertips. 

Caught up in the warmth of your mouth and the pleasant stirring in his gut, he doesn’t feel you pull the elastic from his hair, letting it cascade down over his shoulders. However, he smiles at the feeling of your fingertips gently scratching his scalp. 

“I got something for you,” he eventually whispers, pecking your lips one last time before heading to his bedroom. 

Butterflies dance in your stomach as you trail after him, toying with the hem of your shirt. You take a seat on the foot of his bed, watching him saunter to his nightstand, humming under his breath. Your eyes drift to the dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades, the blade descending a short way down his spine. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, turning back around with something hidden behind his back. Eddie snickers as he approaches, your eyes adorably shut. It’s a contagious sound. The bed dips as he takes a seat, his thigh pressing against yours. 

He taps your nose with something soft, prompting you to open your eyes. 

It’s a small stuffed ghost with two black buttons for eyes, and an even smaller one for a mouth. You’re quiet as you take it from him, thoughtfully turning it over in your hands. Shaped like a comma, it has two adorable arms raised up from the sides. Faint stitching is visible along the perimeter like it was homemade. Eddie shifts and scratches the back of his neck, unsure how to interpret your silence.

A smile finally breaks across your face. “He’s adorable. Where’d you get him?” 

Eddie runs a relieved hand through his hair. “You’re not gonna believe me, but Wayne and I went to visit Ruth in the nursing home the other day. You remember her? The lady who used to live a couple trailers down.” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “They happened to be having one of those activity days where someone comes in to lead a craft or whatever…“

“And you stayed?”

He kisses your cheek. “Bingo.” Then his voice grows fond. “All I could think about was making one for you.”

Warmth spreads throughout your chest. “I’m gonna name him Ghostie.“

The distant sound of a car door shutting makes you jump and look towards the window. Eddie almost laughs, but stops himself at the way your shoulders slump in dejection. Like you’re upset at yourself for reacting.  

He leans in, talking carefully, “You alright?” You shake your head in dismissal, but his attentiveness doubles down. “Talk to me, Goose.” 

The reference makes you smile, and you nudge him for it. “I’ve just been a little on edge.” There’s something else you want to add, but don’t. Eddie’s ready to prod it out this time around, but you’re quick to tap his nose with the stuffed ghost. “I might just be going off the rails like you and Ozzy.” 

He huffs an amused breath. “Not gonna let that go, huh?” 

“Never.” 

•••

The rain starts back up again. Slowly, before pattering down harsher against the roof. By then, you’ve already eaten dinner and settled on the couch for Beetlejuice, the sun long set. Eddie’s arm rests over your shoulders as you lay asleep in his lap, Ghostie tucked into the crook of your elbow. He had a feeling things would end up this way.

When he shakes with a chuckle at yet another wacky scene, you stir. He doesn’t realize until you shift with a soft hum. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he practically coos, squeezing your shoulder. 

“How dare you laugh and be amused.” Your voice is soft and groggy in that way he adores.

“I know, I’m awful,” he agrees with feigned gravity. “Gotta go turn myself in. Tell the kids I love them.” You snort as you sit up, snuggling into his side with Ghostie in your lap. 

The lights flicker as a strong gust of wind blows outside. A concerned furrow forms between his brows at the way you gasp and stiffen. This jumpiness is unlike you. He rubs your arm in hopes of loosening you up, but darkness promptly envelopes the room. You can hardly see aside from mere outlines. 

The sides of the trailer creak as the wind continues, a bit fiercer than before. Eddie curses under his breath at the inconvenience, while you’ve grown even more rigid and silent. There’s a false glimmer of hope when the lights briefly flicker, but darkness soon prevails again.

“It’s okay,” Eddie assures, pulling you closer. “Wind’s just disturbing the lines. They’ll be back on in a second.” The lights flicker before dying out again. 

Tears well in your eyes. Your voice wavers as you speak, “Eddie?” 

“I’m here,” he assures. “I’ll go grab a flash—”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” 

Now it's his turn to still. It’s not a foreign question, not by a longshot. It’s one that was peppered throughout his childhood, and always returned in the later half of every year when the nights began to grow a little longer. It’s the sound of your voice that sets it apart this time around. You’re not seeking an answer for fun or on a whim. You’re searching for a second opinion. Deep down you knew, out of every other soul in Hawkins, he’d have one to give. No one came back from the Upside Down without a few ties that lingered. 

He’s quiet for a while, the sound of wind and rain filling the space between you. 

“It’s not a matter of belief,” he finally says, swallowing hard. “If something’s real—God, Satan, ghosts, whatever…” he pauses. “It’ll keep existing whether you believe it does or not.” 

“So do you think…are ghosts real?” He can’t see your attentiveness, but he can hear it. 

He chuckles humorlessly, blindly taking your hand in his so you know he’s not making fun of you or messing around. 

The two of you start talking at the same time, “I—” 

“Can feel them,” you breathe. “At my house. It started a few days ago after you left.” 

Like he may have left them behind.

The lights stutter back on as the TV bursts back to life, somehow picking right back up. Eddie reaches for the remote and turns it off, his finger lingering on the button. When his attention settles back on you, there’s a sense of disbelief in his dark eyes, like he’s looking into a mirror for the first time in a while. 

“Feel them?” he slowly repeats, searching your gaze for more. 

“Hear their voices... like soft whispers,” you continue. “So I know they’re real.” 

There’s a thoughtful beat of silence.

“Me too.” 

- 

Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think. 

MORE

[marysfics]

Against the Wind

Your profession is more dangerous than your girlfriend's.

Fluff

The gentle hum of the Spanish countryside was a peaceful backdrop as you adjusted the straps on your helmet, the familiar weight of it a comfort before what would be another intense downhill training session. You stood by your bike, the sleek lines and custom colors gleaming in the soft sunlight, while the rugged mountain trail stretched ahead, steep and unforgiving.

Behind you, you heard the light sound of footsteps. You didn't need to turn to know who it was; the familiar energy made your heart quicken. Alexia Putellas was watching you, as she always did before a big ride—quiet but present, her support unwavering, though today there was something more behind her eyes.

"Are you sure about this one?" she asked softly, her voice holding a gentle note of concern.

You turned, meeting her gaze. The sunlight hit her perfectly, casting a halo around her golden-brown hair, but it was her expression that caught your attention. Alexia was strong, focused, a force on and off the pitch, but when it came to your career—the steep drops, the high speeds, the unforgiving terrain—there was always a flicker of worry in her eyes.

You smiled, walking over to where she stood by your gear bag. "You ask me that every time, Ale." You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering on her skin. "But yes, I’m sure. It’s just another practice run."

Her lips quirked into a smile, but the concern didn’t fade completely. "I know, but this trail is… different. Steeper, more dangerous."

You glanced back at the path, its jagged edges and unpredictable turns thrilling you in the way only a true downhill racer could understand. It was the same thrill that Alexia felt on the pitch, that need to push boundaries, to test your limits. But you understood her worry—downhill biking was unpredictable. One mistake could lead to serious injury, or worse.

Turning back to her, you reached for her hand. "I get it. I know you worry about me, but I love this just like you love football. The adrenaline, the challenge… it’s who I am."

Her fingers tightened around yours, a sigh escaping her lips. "And I love who you are. That’s why I worry."

Your heart warmed at her words, and you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Alexia returned it, her free hand resting against your cheek as if grounding herself in the moment, in you.

When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours. "I’m proud of you, you know. Always. For chasing your dreams, for being fearless."

You smiled, a flicker of pride and love swelling in your chest. "I’m proud of you too. You’re unstoppable out there, Ale. And you’re always there for me. I couldn’t do this without you."

Alexia’s expression softened, but the shadow of concern still lingered. "Just… be careful, okay?"

You nodded, your smile reassuring. "Always." You squeezed her hand before pulling back, grabbing your bike and rolling it to the trail’s edge. You could feel her eyes on you as you mounted the bike, the weight of her emotions following you like a second shadow.

As you positioned yourself, the familiar excitement bubbled up. The trail was daunting, with its sharp bends and sudden drops, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. Still, Alexia's presence, her constant support and care, gave you a new sense of responsibility. You wanted to be at your best—for her, for the future you both saw together.

"Ready?" you called back over your shoulder, your voice light, trying to ease the tension.

Alexia’s arms were crossed, but there was a glint of pride in her eyes now. "Always."

With that, you pushed off, the wind immediately rushing past you as your bike soared down the first steep incline. The world around you blurred, the trees and rocks becoming mere flashes in your peripheral vision as you focused on the path ahead. Each turn demanded your full attention, every dip and jump testing your reflexes.

But even in the midst of the high-speed descent, you thought of Alexia. Her love, her concern—it wasn’t a weight, but rather a reminder of what waited for you at the bottom of the mountain. You weren’t just racing for the thrill of it anymore; you were racing for her, for the life you were building together.

The final stretch approached, and with one last burst of speed, you flew across the finish, coming to a skidding stop. Your heart pounded, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but it was the sound of Alexia’s approaching footsteps that grounded you.

Before you could even dismount, she was there, her arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. "You did it," she whispered into your ear, her voice filled with pride, relief, and something deeper—love.

You grinned, pulling off your helmet and resting your forehead against hers. "I did. And I’m still in one piece."

Alexia chuckled softly, her breath warm against your skin. "Thank God."

For a moment, the world around you disappeared, and it was just the two of you, standing at the edge of that mountain, together against the wind.

And as long as you had Alexia by your side, you knew you could face any challenge, any race—because she made you feel invincible, even in the face of danger.

"I love you," you murmured, brushing a kiss against her temple.

"I love you too," she replied, her arms tightening around you. "But next time, I’m picking a trail that’s a little less... life-threatening."

You laughed, the sound echoing through the valley below, and in that moment, you knew you’d never trade this life for anything—not the risk, not the thrill, and certainly not the woman who stood with you through it all.

[kissitbttr]

“my baby” you murmur softly against his skin. hands cradling both side of his face gently. “my sweet, sweet baby”

toji hates to admit how that makes his heart tremble with pure love, and how the simple act is the sole reason for the crimson color risen within his cheeks,

“that, i am” he mutters with a small smile playing on his lips, tugging you close by the waist. “you love me?”

a small gasp escapes your lips, as if you’re offended by that question. “i can’t believe you have to ask! of course i do” another kiss presses against his temple and down to his cheek bone,

he suppresses a cute giggle from it, not wanting to be embarrassed if you ever caught him letting out such sound. it’s quite fascinating how you are the only person who has a way to make him feeling flustered. as if you’re looking at a teenage boy who finally scored a date with his first high school crush,

“just making sure” toji finds comfort against your naked chest, feeling himself melt under your touch while your fingers toy with his raven haired. he frowns and lets out a boyish groan when you pull away,

“noo, noo” he whines, taking your hand before plopping it back down on top of his hair. “don’t stop. keep playing it”

a confused yet amused frown make its way towards your face, a small giggle heaves out of your mouth,

“look at you. my big boy” the nickname just sends shivers down his spine, causing his grip around your waist to tighten. he loves it when you call him that. “touchy today aren’t you?”

he responds with a hum, letting his eyes close for a while as you continue to play with his loose strands of hair. he’s so comfortable like this. being with you is his favorite place. no large house nor king sized bed could ever compare if there’s no you in it.

he’s dreamed of this for far too long. when his wife was taken away from him years ago, he didn’t think that he could find a solace in someone else’s arm anymore. he had given up on love and pour his frustrations out in a very toxic way. drowning himself in alcohol and getting into fights was his way of coping.

then you came a long,

with your pretty smile, pretty aura, pretty hair, pretty voice… pretty everything. knocked the wind out of the man, he couldn’t even form the right words when you stood in front of him.

‘s-shit—wh-what were you saying?’ he laughed nervously when he realized he was staring at you for far too long,

it was an adorable sight. you really did have some sort of power to make men weak in their knees

his heart bloomed when he heard you giggle, ‘i said… did you come here with someone?’

‘oh! n-no! not at all’ he scratched the back of his neck while looking down on his drink, ‘all alone’

‘oh—well then’ you took a seat beside him at the bar, his eyes didn’t move an inch from you. ‘guess we can be alone together’

“my sweet big boy—wouldn’t even dreamed about leaving you”

and that’s enough to make him feel at ease. to let go of the fears he had been holding back. to let go of the past that had corrupted him in more ways than one. to finally say goodbye to his long gone wife and say thank you to you instead for being here. for being so patient. for being so stubborn despite the times he had pushed you away. for not backing down because he knew how much he needed you, he just didn’t have the guts to tell you.

what’s that saying about the song you had shown him? if life is a movie, then you’re the best part?

yeah. that’s the one. but he knows deep down that you’re better than a movie.

because after all these years, toji fushiguro had finally found you peace,

and may lord helps anyone to those who will try to take you away from him,

maybe toji will remove fushiguro from his last name and take yours instead in the near future

[pedroscowgirl]

maybe i’m a bit desilusional but…

what abt fem, young!reader taking care of hugh jackman’s kids? and he being so stunned at how caring she is he just wants to bread her and fucks her in a rude way??

if u dont like this, just ignore it complately ♡

hugh jackman x fem!reader

warnings: smut! minors DNI breeding kink, creampie, p in v, age gap (reader is 20 ish and hugh is 55) wc: 3,4k

a/n: ugh yes i love daddy hugh and i'm sure he loves being a dad aswell and he just can't wait to make u a mother. (and yes im aware his kids are older now but lets just ignore that for this story) i hope u like this tho!

You had never expected babysitting to become such an integral part of your life, but when the opportunity arose to look after Hugh Jackman's children, you couldn’t turn it down. What started as a part-time gig quickly became something much more meaningful. His kids, with their curious eyes and endless energy, pulled you into their world with ease. You were young, fresh out of college, and ready to tackle whatever life threw your way, but you hadn’t anticipated how attached you’d grow to this family.

Today was one of those quiet afternoons where the house felt like a peaceful bubble. Hugh had been out filming all day, and you were in the living room with his youngest, a mess of paints and construction paper scattered on the floor. You were helping them create a hand-painted masterpiece, your fingers gently guiding theirs as they carefully brushed color onto the page.

“You’re doing so well!” you encourage, a soft laugh escaping your lips as the child beams up at you, proud of their work.

Unbeknownst to you, Hugh had arrived home. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching in silence. The sight of you, so gentle, so patient, made something stir inside him. His children were the most important part of his life, and to see them so comfortable and happy in your presence was nothing short of remarkable. It was more than that, though. It was the way you smiled, the way you listened when they talked, as if every word they said mattered.

You hadn’t noticed Hugh yet, too focused on the child in front of you. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow across the room. The image was almost too perfect, and for a second, Hugh felt like an outsider looking in on something beautiful, something he hadn't realized he wanted.

Finally, you glanced up and caught his eye. You flashed him that warm, inviting smile, completely unaware of the effect it had on him.

“Hey, Hugh,” you greeted casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to see him standing there. “We’re making some masterpieces here. You want to join?”

He chuckled, his voice slightly deeper, though there was an unfamiliar warmth in his eyes. “I think I’ll leave the artistic side to you two. You’re really good with them.”

You shrugged, still smiling as you turned your attention back to the child beside you. “They make it easy,” you said, your voice soft but genuine.

But to Hugh, it was clear that wasn’t true. There was something special about the way you connected with his kids, and it went beyond just being "good" with them. You seemed to understand them in a way that made him feel like he was seeing his own family through new eyes.

As the evening unfolded, the kids eventually grew tired, their energy winding down after hours of play. You took your time, making sure they were comfortable, tucked into bed with their favorite stuffed animals by their side. Hugh watched from the doorway, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame, an unreadable expression on his face. There was something undeniably attractive about the way you cared for them, how natural and effortless it seemed.

When you finally closed the door to the kids’ room, you turned and found him standing there, still watching you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t sure why, but the air felt different. Charged.

“They’re out like lights,” you whispered with a soft laugh, breaking the silence, but Hugh didn’t respond immediately. He was looking at you in a way that made you feel suddenly self-conscious, but not uncomfortable. It was a quiet admiration, almost as if he were seeing you for the first time.

“You’re incredible with them,” he said after a beat, his voice low. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them this happy. It’s like… you’re part of the family already.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you smiled, a little unsure of how to respond. “I’ve really grown attached to them,” you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “They’re great kids.”

Hugh nodded, stepping a little closer. You could feel the weight of his gaze, his presence somehow more intense than it had ever been before. “I’ve noticed,” he said, his tone shifting to something more personal, more intimate. “You’re amazing with them, but… I’ve also noticed how kind and caring you are. It’s not just them you look after.”

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the compliment. “I just want to help,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. There was something different in the way he looked at you now. Something deeper.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The house was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the wind outside. You were suddenly acutely aware of how close he was standing. His gaze softened, but there was a certain weight to it, like he was wrestling with something unspoken.

“Hugh?” you asked softly, feeling the tension in the air shift.

He seemed to snap out of whatever thought had held him captive, and he smiled, genuine, but with an edge of something more. “I’m just… grateful. For everything you’ve done. For being here.”

His words were laced with something deeper than gratitude, though. There was a sincerity that tugged at your heart, something that hinted at emotions he wasn’t sure how to express. You felt it too,this connection, the way he seemed to see you differently now.

“I love being here,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

He took another step forward, close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. His eyes never left yours, searching, wondering. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world disappeared, leaving just the two of you standing there in the quiet of the house.

“I think I���ve been blind to something,” Hugh finally admitted, his voice low and a little rough, like he was struggling to put his feelings into words. “You’ve become more than just someone who helps out around here. You’ve become… important.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, and the intensity in his gaze made your heart race. “Hugh, I—”

But before you could finish, he stepped even closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, almost hesitant, but the tenderness in that small gesture sent shivers down your spine.

“I didn’t expect to feel this way,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. “But I can’t ignore it anymore.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know,he felt it too, this connection that had grown between you. It was more than just admiration for how you cared for his children. It was something deeper, something neither of you could deny anymore.

Hugh’s hand trembled slightly as it reached for your face, his fingers brushing against your skin with a softness that contrasted the fire in his eyes. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, lingering just below your ear as if savoring the sensation of touching you. Your breath hitched in your throat, heart hammering in your chest, and in that split second, you could see everything he was feeling—years of restraint and unspoken emotions flooding to the surface.

Before you could process it, he surged forward, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. His lips crashed into yours with a hunger that left you breathless, the kiss urgent and all-consuming. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just pure, raw need. His hands tightened their hold on your face, thumbs gently stroking your cheeks as his mouth moved against yours, desperately seeking more.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up to grip his shirt as if anchoring yourself to the moment. His kiss was intense, filled with a yearning that had been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long. He tasted of warmth, of something familiar yet electrifying, and every brush of his lips sent waves of heat coursing through your body.

Hugh let out a low, primal sound from deep within his chest, a sound that only made the fire between you burn hotter. In one swift movement, his hands slid down to your waist, and without breaking the kiss, he lifted you off the ground as if you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your arms looping around his neck for support, and you could feel the strength of him beneath your fingertips—solid, unyielding, desperate.

With practiced ease, he carried you to the kitchen counter, the cold surface a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from both of your bodies. He set you down, his lips never leaving yours, his mouth moving with a hunger that made your head spin. His hands roamed your back, fingers gripping your hips, pulling you closer, as if the space between you was unbearable.

You were both lost in the moment, a whirlwind of passion and need. Clothing became an afterthought, your hands fumbling with buttons and zippers as you tried to remove the barriers that kept you from feeling every inch of him. His shirt was the first to go, discarded hastily onto the floor, followed by yours as he tore it from your body in a frenzied rush.

Hugh’s lips found yours again, more fevered now, as if he were a starving man and you were the only thing that could sate him. His kiss was desperate, full of longing, and his hands followed suit, exploring your body with a reverence that made your skin tingle. He was everywhere—his mouth on your neck, your collarbone, tasting the warmth of your skin as if memorizing every inch of you.

You gasped as his lips trailed lower, the sensation of his breath against your skin sending shivers down your spine. He kissed the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his teeth grazing lightly as you arched into him. His hands fumbled with the button of your jeans, and in a hurried, clumsy motion, he pulled them down your legs. You helped him along, your body trembling with anticipation, until you were both stripped down to nothing, the cool air doing nothing to quench the heat between you.

His body pressed against yours, skin on skin, the sensation overwhelming as his hands explored every curve, every dip. His touch was insistent, possessive, but there was a tenderness beneath the intensity that made your heart flutter. Hugh pulled you impossibly closer, his lips returning to yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a slow, deliberate sweep that left you breathless.

He kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to taste every inch of your mouth, his hands gripping your waist as if afraid you might disappear. You moaned into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer still. The need between you was palpable, an electric charge that sparked with every touch, every kiss.

Hugh pulled back for a brief moment, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily. His eyes, dark and full of desire, locked onto yours, searching for something—confirmation, permission, anything to let him know you wanted this just as much as he did.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice hoarse, almost ragged from restraint.

You nodded, your lips swollen and tingling from his kisses. “Yes,” you breathed, and that was all he needed to hear.

With a low growl, he captured your lips again, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulled you flush against him. The kiss deepened, more desperate now, filled with the weight of all the emotions you both had kept hidden for so long. He kissed you like he was starving, like the feel of you was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

His hands slid up your back, fingers tracing every curve, and then he was lifting you again, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. His body pressed against yours, every inch of him firm and warm as he kissed you with a hunger that made your toes curl.

The air around you felt electric, charged with a desire neither of you could control. His mouth moved against yours with the same urgency that echoed through your veins, each kiss leaving you gasping for more. Hugh was relentless, his lips, his hands, his body, all of him, devouring you, like he had waited an eternity to finally taste you.

Hugh’s eyes darkened with desire as he lined himself up with your entrance, his breath coming out in short, ragged bursts. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he pushed into you with ease, your slick warmth welcoming him effortlessly. The deep, guttural groan that escaped his throat filled the air, sending shivers down your spine.

“Fuck…” His voice was low and husky, filled with raw need. “This is all for me?” he asked, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of admiration and lust.

You nodded, a soft hum of pleasure escaping your lips as your body adjusted to the sensation of him inside you. The fullness, the heat, it was overwhelming in the best possible way. Hugh’s gaze never wavered, his pupils blown wide as he watched your reaction, revelling in the way you responded to him.

“Such a naughty girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he began to move, his thrusts slow but deliberate, like he was savoring every moment. Each roll of his hips sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, your head falling back slightly as you let yourself melt into the feeling.

His breath was hot against your neck, and then his voice, low, dangerous sent a thrill straight to your core. “I’m gonna breed this fucking pussy so bad.”

The words were filthy, but the way he said them, the pure desire laced into every syllable, made your stomach flip with arousal. Your walls tightened instinctively around him, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the thought of it, of him filling you up, marking you as his.

“Are you on birth control?” he asked, his voice rough and demanding.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus through the haze of pleasure that clouded your mind. “Uh-huh,” you managed to say, your breath hitching as he rocked deeper into you, “but I… I keep forgetting to take it. It probably doesn’t work anymore.”

“Good,” he growled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. The single word was laced with approval, his hips moving faster now, each thrust more insistent than the last. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the heavy breaths and soft moans that escaped you both.

Hugh was relentless, his movements precise and unyielding. He could feel the way your body was responding to him, the way your walls clenched tighter with each thrust, your breath coming faster, your moans growing louder. You were close, so close, and he knew it. He could feel it in the way your body trembled, in the way you gripped onto the counter behind you for support.

But just as the pleasure began to crest, just as you were teetering on the edge, he stopped abruptly. The sudden emptiness made you whine, your body crying out for release.

“Sorry, babygirl,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “I need to fuck you from behind.”

Before you could respond, he lifted you off the counter with ease, turning you around so your back was facing him. His strong hands guided you, pressing your chest down onto the cold surface of the counter, your legs spread wide and trembling with anticipation.

Without warning, he entered you again, burying himself to the hilt in one swift, powerful thrust and slapped your ass. You gasped, your body arching back instinctively at the sudden intrusion. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he began to move with an intensity that left you breathless. Each thrust was deep, hard, and unrelenting, his body slamming into yours with a force that made you see stars.

Hugh’s grip tightened as he pulled you back onto him, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the pleasure. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick and desperate. “You’d be such a great mom… I can’t wait to see you pregnant, to watch your tits swell with my baby. You're such a slut for me”

His words sent a shock of arousal through you, your mind reeling at the thought of it. The idea of being filled by him, of carrying his child, was driving you crazy, and your body responded in kind, your walls tightening around him, milking him for everything he had.

“And the nasty looks on everyone’s faces,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper, “when they see us walking around together, hand in hand. Such a young thing getting fucked by an old man like me. You like that huh?"

The filthy words, the possessiveness in his voice, it was too much. Your body trembled beneath him, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter as you neared the edge once again. He could feel it, too, the way your walls clenched around him, the way your breath hitched in your throat.

“Yes… good girl,” he growled, his hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. “Turn your head for me.”

You did as he commanded, turning your head just enough for his lips to crash into yours. The kiss was messy, desperate, your tongues tangling together as you both chased the release that was so close, so inevitable. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he lost control, the pleasure too overwhelming to hold back any longer.

You moaned into his mouth as your body finally gave in, your walls clenching around him in a violent wave of pleasure. Your legs shook, your body trembling as your orgasm washed over you, and Hugh followed close behind, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside you with a guttural groan.

The kiss muffled both of your moans as you came undone together, the intensity of the moment leaving you both breathless. When he finally pulled away, you were spent, your body trembling, your legs barely able to hold you up. His hands were still on your hips, holding you steady as he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

But before you could fully catch your breath, Hugh stepped back, his eyes darkening once again as he watched his cum begin to drip out of you, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Fuck, I can’t let that go to waste,” he muttered.

Without warning, he slid two fingers inside you, pushing his cum back in with a slow, deliberate motion. You gasped at the sensation, your overstimulated body trembling beneath his touch. His fingers moved with precision, curling inside you as he held your hips in place, ensuring that every drop stayed where it belonged.

Satisfied, he quickly reached for your panties, pulling them back up over your hips to keep his seed inside you. The feeling of the fabric pressing against your sensitive skin sent a shiver down your spine, the intimacy of the gesture making your heart race.

“There we go, babygirl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as he wrapped his arms around you from behind. “Gotta keep it all in, just in case.”

You nodded, too breathless to speak, your body still trembling from the intensity of what had just happened. Hugh’s arms tightened around you, pulling you close as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other’s warmth.. Your legs were still shaking, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of pleasure.

“I meant what I said,” Hugh murmured against your skin, his voice low and serious. “I can’t wait to see you pregnant.”

His words made your heart skip a beat, the weight of them settling in your chest as you turned your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in his gaze—just pure, unfiltered desire.

And in that moment, you knew he meant every word.

taglist (dm if u wanna be added): @ermlady @elloredef @haytchee @melaninjoys @megangovier @blue2jay @hearts4suri @narniabusinessbitch @jadenlyday25 @getmeoutofhell @rockytheluver @stark-ironman @shellbilee @kurcoswife @ru-kru @corvusmorte

[novaursa]

Good evening love

I was thinking about that last night!

When Daemon and Rhaenyra goes to brothel they sleep together and obviously she’s pregnant and coz it’s just before her wedding (we will says it just before) everyone thing it’s Leanor.

She gave birth to a little girl all Targaryen looks. They’re was always some rumors but since she looks like every targ it’s easier for her. Harwin played dad role for her and she’s really protective of her brother.

more time passed and everyone can clearly see that she looked exactly like daemon physically and mentally.

And it’s finally during the funeral of her aunt, Daemon see her and he understand that she is his. She’s everything he want and have a special bound with her (first child, heir of the throne, powerful dragon)

Fire in Her Veins

- Summary: During Laena’s funeral, Daemon recognizes you as his own blood. 

- Paring: (daughter) targ!reader/(father) Daemon Targaryen (platonic)

- Note: The reader is the firstborn child and only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. The reader is also bonded to Vermithor.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sea air on Driftmark is filled with salt and sorrow, the crashing waves of the Narrow Sea providing a mournful backdrop to the solemn gathering. You stand with your brothers on the stone cliffs of the island, your hands clasped tightly together in front of you as the funeral procession moves solemnly forward. Lady Laena’s casket is adorned with pearls and driftwood, her body wrapped in the traditional Velaryon colors, and you can feel the weight of your family’s grief pressing heavily upon your shoulders.

The mood is somber, the sky above gray and heavy, as if even the gods mourn the loss of Laena Velaryon. The Velaryon banners flap in the wind, and from where you stand, you see the faces of the royal family—Alicent and her children, all clustered together, keeping their distance from you and your brothers. Their green dresses stand out like bright flames against the dark ocean and black mourning attire. 

You feel a familiar pang of protectiveness as you glance toward your brothers, who are standing just to your right, their small faces grim and pale. You notice how Jacaerys keeps his head down, avoiding the stern gazes from across the gathering. You recognize the unspoken tension between the two halves of the family, an invisible line that divides you all.

Behind you, you hear the murmurs of the court, soft whispers that seem to follow you wherever you go. They speak of many things—the death of Lady Laena, the grief of her husband Daemon, and the unspoken truth that seems to hang in the air around you. The truth of who you are. 

"She looks more like him every day," you overhear a noblewoman whisper, though she thinks she is being quiet enough to go unnoticed.

And you know who they mean. Not Laenor Velaryon, who raised you as his own. Not Harwin Strong, who shielded you when you were small, his fierce protectiveness marking him as a father figure in your life. But Daemon.

Your eyes, so like his—stormy, burning with fire—scan the crowd until they land on him.

Daemon Targaryen stands just beyond the gathering of mourners, his face half-hidden beneath his hood, his silver hair blowing in the wind. There is something wild about him, something untamed, as though he belongs to the sea and the sky more than he belongs to the earth. He looks broken today, mourning his wife, but in his eyes there is a flicker of something as he catches your gaze—recognition, perhaps.

Your heart beats harder, and you lift your chin, a Targaryen through and through. You are not afraid to meet his gaze. In fact, there’s something in you that draws you closer to him, though your feet remain rooted to the ground.

Daemon's eyes narrow, the brief glint of recognition becoming a full realization. His mouth parts slightly as if he is going to speak, but no words come out. You see the flicker of memory in his gaze, a moment that stretches back to the night you were conceived—the night Rhaenyra escaped into the shadows of King's Landing, into his arms, if only for a single stolen moment.

The likeness between the two of you is undeniable, your shared features as plain as day to anyone who cared to look closely. Your high cheekbones, the curve of your lips, the storm in your gaze. And there is something more than just the physical—an energy, a fierceness that burns in you as much as it does in him.

"Y/N," Daemon murmurs your name under his breath as he steps forward, moving as though drawn to you by some unseen force.

You do not step back. You hold your ground, standing taller, your spine straight. You are not the little girl who needed protection anymore. You are Rhaenyra’s daughter, the rider of Vermithor, a dragon like no other. 

Your brothers shift uncomfortably beside you as Daemon approaches, and you gently place a hand on Jacaerys’ shoulder, a silent reassurance that you will protect them. They are yours, just as much as you are theirs, and no one, not even Daemon, can change that.

“Do you remember me?” Daemon’s voice is low, so low that only you can hear it. His eyes never leave yours.

Your lips part, but words fail you for a moment. You do remember him through your memory as he was a ghost—and the stories your mother told you, the truths she revealed as you grew older. You remember the fire that courses through your veins, the unyielding bond with your dragon, the instincts that set you apart. It all comes from him.

"How could I not?" you reply, your voice steady, even though inside you feel like a storm is brewing.

Daemon’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smile—it’s something darker, something more conflicted. He glances toward your mother, Rhaenyra, who stands a little ways off, her eyes firmly fixed on Laena’s casket. There is a tension between them as well, a history that lingers in the air, unspoken but understood.

“You look like her,” Daemon says quietly, but his eyes say otherwise. He knows you look like him. 

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. You have always heard the whispers, the stories, but standing before him now, there is something more intimate in the way he observes you. He is seeing himself in you, recognizing the dragon fire in your blood, the legacy of your shared heritage.

“I look like myself,” you correct, your tone sharper now. “I am my mother’s daughter.”

“And mine,” Daemon replies, his voice a murmur carried by the wind.

You hold his gaze, your heart thudding in your chest, but you do not back down. For years, you had wondered what it would be like to stand face to face with the man whose blood flows in your veins. Now that you are here, you find that you do not need his acknowledgment. You do not need his approval.

You are who you are, no matter who claims you.

"I didn’t need you before," you say, your voice low but firm. "I don’t need you now."

The wind blows harder, carrying your words with it, and Daemon stares at you for a long moment before he nods, almost imperceptibly. There is something in his eyes now—perhaps regret, perhaps something else entirely.

"You are strong," he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. "That much is clear."

You nod, not offering him anything more, and you turn away, your brothers following you as you lead them away from the cliff’s edge and back toward the safety of your family. The tension in your shoulders slowly fades as you walk away from Daemon, though you can still feel his eyes on your back, watching you as you go.

As the sea crashes against the rocks below, you feel a sense of finality, but also a strange kind of peace. You are your mother’s daughter. You are bonded to a dragon as mighty as Vermithor. You do not need anyone to tell you who you are.

And yet, you cannot help but wonder what it might mean to carry the fire of both Rhaenyra and Daemon, to have the blood of two dragons raging inside of you.

[xoamiiren]

I SEA YOU, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 jelly fish vs. goldfish

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, Jungwon realizes he loves you far more than the oceans he studies. PAIRING. marine bio major bf!jungwon x painting major gf!reader GENRE. fluff, friends to lovers WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing

ren note ୨୧ this was incredibly cute to write.

─────────

Journal Entry O1: July 3rd

There’s something quietly cinematic about the way Jungwon moves through the world, his sneakers worn, frayed laces dragging against the ground, and his sea creature t-shirts thin and faded from too many washes clinging to his skin. His fingers are always curled around the strap of his camera, the weight of it a comforting presence on his chest. A worn tote bag slung over his shoulder carrying scribbled journals and books on marine life., and a different marine creature hangs from the strap on a keychain. His quiet eyes—cat-like and sharp—seem to study everything around him with an intensity he doesn’t speak aloud.

But today, like every day you’re near, his gaze rises — he notices you. You sit on a sun-warmed bench, sketchbook balanced on your knee, your hand lost in a flurry of movements. Y/N, a painting major, a dreamer. You wear flowy skirts that swish gently with the breeze, intricate crochet tops that speak of warmth and softness, your belly piercing always peeking out under the sun. You were always surrounded by a halo of color — paint smudged on your hands, your cheeks, even a few streaks on your pretty clothes.

Today, you were sketching jellyfish. And today, Jungwon feels the courage, unlike most days to approach. Without thinking, shy and hesitant, yet driven by something he doesn’t quite understand.

“Jellyfish actually have...,” his voice is soft as his finger hovers over your sketchbook., correcting a tiny detail with a shy shake of his head. You pause, you blink, and you smile too, wide and beautiful. A beautiful, full smile that makes Jungwon’s heart stumble in his chest. You change the drawing without hesitation, based on his correction, like it mattered to you.

You think he’s cute. Jungwon thinks You’re breathtaking.

⋆｡°✩🪼

Journal Entry O2: July 5th

You cross paths again, in that unintentional, serendipitous way two people bound by an invisible string tend to do.

In the bustling hallway, Jungwon notices you first, again — catching sight of the familiar sway of your lacy skirt. The soft yellow paint smudge on your cheek standing out like a tiny splash of life in the world around you. You notices him too, this time, catching sight of the new little keychain that hangs from his bag. A dolphin.

You say nothing at first, only stare at him until he feels your eyes on him. With the gentleness of someone handling glass, he reaches out and brushes the paint off your cheek with the pad of his thumb, pulling away just as fast. He doesn’t say a word. He never does. He never knows what to say, but your smile says enough for the both of you. Your eyes drop to his bag, noticing the whale keychain.

You exchange no words, but in that quiet moment, Jungwon feels a connection forming, like the pull of the tide. His eyes seem to soften, studying you not as something distant, but something he could grow closer to.

⋆｡°✩🐙

Journal Entry O3: July 7th

“Tell me an ocean fact.”

Your voice comes with the breeze, fluttering toward him as he sits alone on the stone wall, camera resting in his lap. Jungwon lifts his eyes, squinting against the sun, startled, and just… stares. His mouth opens, then closes. He can’t seem to find any words. The moment lingers awkwardly, but you just laugh, a light sound like wind chimes, and walks away with a wave.

He feels embarrassed, even hours later, as the memory of your request gnaws at him. He should have said something. Thinking of all the ocean facts he knows, which would you find the coolest? He wanted to be cool to you.

The next day, as you leave your class, Jungwon catches you by the sleeve.

“Squids have three hearts…” His words are rushed, awkward, but earnest, and he holds up three fingers as if to demonstrate.

You’re stunned. He’s scared. His chocolate orbs were blown wide, studying your reaction with nervous intensity. Your eyes light up, and you find it adorable that he remembered to tell you a simple fact — and that he had chased you down to share it.

Before walking away, he reaches into his tote bag and pulls out something small. A squid keychain. It dangles from his fingers, delicate and clear.

“For you,” he murmurs, his cheeks flushed as he hands it to you. You take it with a soft thank you, attaching it to your own bag immediately.

When you look up, he’s gone again.

Jungwon feels something warm unfurling in his chest.

⋆｡°✩🐬

Journal Entry O4: July 9th

Jungwon doesn’t talk much, but he begins to open up to you, little by little.. You talk enough for both of you. Your stories spill out like paint from a tube, vivid and chaotic. But somehow you're still always charming.

And he listens, smiling quietly to himself as you walk across campus, or when you walk together after class, the squid keychain now dangling from your bag. He likes listening as you speak with your hands. Your hands always smudged with paint, your sketchbook always bulging with papers and doodles. You always lead the conversation with ease.

Always…

One day, as you sit together on the grass, Jungwon notices that you smell like lavender and something sweet, while you notice that Jungwon smells faintly of citrus, and that his soft sandy locks catch the sun in a way that makes your heart stutter.

You like the way he stares out at the world, thoughtful and observant, always just a little bit removed but never distant. Jungwon likes the way your lips curl when you laugh, full and soft, your joy infectious. He likes the way your hands are always working on something creative, bringing beauty into the world with every stroke of your pencil or brush.

He finds himself wanting to be part of your world, even if it means just quietly standing by your side.

⋆｡°✩ 🦀

Journal Entry O5: July 10th

The aquarium was Jungwon’s idea, though he mumbled the invitation, unsure of how to ask.

“Want to go to the aquarium?”

The question came unexpectedly one afternoon, as you parted ways after class. His voice is small, barely there, but you hear it. You always hear him… You say yes. He’s surprised you said yes.

You wander the quiet halls of the aquarium. You walk in silence at first, but it’s the comfortable kind, your pinkies brushing every so often until, near the shark exhibit, Jungwon’s fingers finally curl around yours and you both look straight ahead into the glass covered ocean before you.

Later, under the glass bridge, where the ocean swirls above you, Jungwon kisses you, soft and hesitant, his lips barely brushing yours before he pulls away, cheeks burning. You blush too, but he chases your lips for another taste, a quiet desperation in his eyes that makes your heart leap.

Even later, you kiss again in secret, more firm this time, hidden by the dim light of the jellyfish tanks, your glowing forms casting an ethereal light on your flushed faces.

Jungwon decides he likes kissing you.

You decide you like being kissed by Jungwon.

⋆｡°✩ 🐠

Journal Entry O6: July 12th

Your dates are small and sweet. You bring him to the museum, where you explain the brushstrokes of paintings with the same enthusiasm Jungwon has for sea creatures. Jungwon listens, his eyes always observing, always studying you as you talk, as if memorizing every detail of your face.

In turn, he takes you to the beach, where you roll up your skirt and Jungwon, his pants, splashing through the shallow waves like kids. You kiss in the sand, salt on your lips and in your hair, your head resting on his chest as you lie under the vast sky.

One afternoon, you visit the pet store. A tiny goldfish catches Jungwon’s eye, its golden scales glittering under the light. You watch him, the way he presses his hands to the glass, his eyes wide with wonder. Without thinking twice, he buys the fish, and you bring it to his home together, its little bowl nestled in Jungwon’s arms.

⋆｡°✩ 🦑

Journal Entry O7: July 14th

In his new apartment, you spend afternoons tangled together on his mattress on the floor, you doodle little fish on Jungwon’s arm, your pen gliding over his skin in lazy strokes while he lies back on the thin sheets, watching you with soft eyes. The fan whirs above you, your thin clothes sticking to your skin as the summer heat seeps through the open window.

“I believe in mermaids,” he whispers one day, his voice barely audible over the fan as he rests his head on the plushness of your thighs, staring up at you like the stars in the sky.

You turn from the window, head down to look at him, curious.

“I think you’re a mermaid.”

Your lips part in surprise before breaking into a grin. And for the first time, you lean down to kiss him, with all the gentleness of the tide washing over the shore, your hand cupping his cheek. Jungwon’s heart swells in his chest…

Jungwon loves you.

And you, you love Jungwon too.

[thewulf]

Easy Skies || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - Feeling cuddly so you end up cuddling Jake for the first time in the early stages of your relationships. How this would lead to them napping together? Nothing but praises and love affirmations between them. Soft kisses. Readers first kiss with Jake.

A/N: Ahhh sorry I've been gone! Been enjoying summer :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.7k +

T/W : None just fluff

It’s been several weeks since you and Jake officially started seeing each other. You met at a community event honoring local heroes where Jake shared stories of his missions and the places his career had taken him. Your own interest in aerial photography sparked a quick and deep conversation between the two of you leading to an instant connection.

It was going really well. The two of you taking your time with everything. He shared stories of how we was reckless in the past and you were already very cautionary with types like his. So, you tested him a bit. Only kisses on the cheek, nothing more. And he did passed with flying colors. He never pressured you, never pushed for more. But now you were ready for something more. You're spending a lazy Sunday at Jake’s apartment for the first time. His place reflects his life as a pilot. It was decorated with navigational charts. With different models of aircraft he’s flown and photographs from around the world. The walls hold framed maps marked with the various places he's visited, each one holding a story he's eager to share with you.

As the afternoon fades into evening, you both settle into the comfortable couch in his living room. The soft music playing in the background mixes with the mellow golden light streaming through the windows creating a serene atmosphere. It's a rare and quiet moment for Jake who is usually caught up in the demanding schedule of a Navy pilot. You cherish the peaceful intimacy that has formed between you. Today’s simplicity is a precious contrast to the complexities of your usual routines.

As you both relax into the couch Jake recounts a comical error from his last training exercise. He'd accidentally swapped his day’s checklist with another pilot’s which led to some light-hearted confusion and teasing from his crew.

“You seriously went through half the pre-flight with the wrong list?” you laugh while shaking your head in amusement.

“Yep,” Jake admits with a grin. “It was only when I called out the wrong coordinates that someone caught on. We all had a good laugh about it later.” The conversation winds down as you both sink into the rhythm of each other’s presence, comfortable and at ease. There’s a genuine simplicity in the way you interact, no need for constant chatter. Jake’s job as a pilot often surrounds him with high stakes and rigor making these peaceful moments particularly valuable.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? Just being able to sit and talk without rushing anywhere,” Jake comments. His tone relaxed.

“It really is,” you agree as you smiled over at him. “Especially with good company.”

He returns your smile with a warm, appreciative one of his own. As the room fills with the soft hum of a new song the day closes around you both, cozy and familiar. Like a well-loved jacket that’s been washed a hundred times. It’s easy, it’s comfortable. And right now, it’s exactly what you both need.

As the afternoon shadows stretch across the room a yawn escapes you, shifting the comfortable silence. Jake catches it and chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Tired?” he teases before nudging you gently with his elbow.

“Maybe a little,” you admit while stretching your arms above your head. “It’s been a long week.”

Jake nods understandingly. His gaze softening. “How about we take a little nap then? Recharge a bit?”

You playfully raise an eyebrow. A smile tugging at your lips. “Only if you’re joining. I hear you’re the best pillow around here.”

Jake’s laughter fills the room, warm and infectious. “Is that so? Well, I can’t let you down then.” He shifts himself making room on the couch and pats the spot next to him "Come here," he says softly. His voice blending with the low melody. With a contented smile you slide closer until you're nestled against him. Your head resting comfortably on his broad chest. You can feel the steady beat of his heart through the soft fabric of his shirt. A reassuring rhythm that echoes quietly in your ear. Jake's arm wraps securely around you with his hand resting gently on your back. The warmth of his touch and the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes bring an overwhelming sense of peace and safety.

For a few moments you simply listen, taking in the sound of his heartbeat and the soft, steady breaths he draws. It's a new level of intimacy of sharing this quiet closeness without the need for words. Jake's hand moves in slow, soothing strokes across your back further relaxing you. With each passing second the world beyond the walls of Jake’s apartment seems to drift further away. You're drawn into this serene bubble where the only things that matter are the soft fabric of the couch, the gentle caress of Jake's hand, and the comforting rhythm of his heart.

Jake breaks the silence with a whisper that's barely audible over the music. "This is nice," he murmurs. His breath tickling your ear. You hum in agreement as you were too content and relaxed to form words. The trust and affection in this simple act of cuddling deepen, marking a beautiful, quiet milestone in your growing relationship.

As the soft jazz continues to play creating a soothing backdrop, the room grows quieter still. The comfort of Jake’s embrace coupled with the warm, gentle atmosphere lulls you deeper into relaxation. His breathing becomes slower, more rhythmic, signaling his own descent into sleep. You feel his grip tighten just a bit. A subconscious affirmation of his presence and protection. Gradually, the space between wakefulness and sleep blurs. Your thoughts drift away, anchored only by the steady heartbeat beneath your ear. In the safety of Jake’s arms sleep seems like the most natural progression. Without planning it you both drift off. The world narrowing down to the couch where you lie together.

The nap isn't long but it’s restorative. Exactly what you needed. As you both sleep there’s an unspoken exchange of trust and comfort. It’s one thing to share conversations and activities but another to share such vulnerability as sleep in each other’s presence. This mutual comfort speaks volumes about the trust and closeness developing between you.

Time slips by quietly and when you eventually stir it’s to the feeling of Jake’s fingers lightly brushing through your hair. His movements are soft and careful, designed not to wake you but to reassure himself you’re still there. You open your eyes slowly meeting his gaze which is filled with a quiet joy.

“Hey,” he whispers. As if speaking too loudly might break the spell of the peaceful moment you've shared.

“Hey,” you respond with your voice just as soft. The simple exchange feels like a gentle reconnection to the world affirming the comfort and affection that wrapped around you both as you slept. The nap together was simple yet intimate. It deepens the connection between you. Each quiet breath shared adding another layer to your growing relationship.

The afternoon light has softened into a cozy twilight by the time you both stir from your nap. You’re still wrapped in Jake’s arms and as your eyes meet there’s a playful spark between you that feels both exciting and comforting. “Welcome back,” Jake murmurs. His voice low and slightly husky from sleep. He leans forward pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Then one on the tip of your nose, which makes you giggle.

“Is that how you wake up all your guests?” you tease. Your voice light and tinged with laughter.

“Only the special ones,” he replies with a grin with his eyes crinkling at the corners. He doesn’t stop there though. His kisses wander from your cheek to your jawline, each peck light and teasing, drawing more giggles from you. The laughter that fills the room is warm, echoing the affectionate mood.

Jake’s playful kisses continue by tracing a path down the side of your neck, sending a shiver of delight through you. You can’t help but catch him by the collar before pulling him back up to meet your eyes. “You’re going to make it impossible to leave this couch,” you laugh while still holding onto his shirt.

“That’s the plan,” he whispers back. His voice playful yet sincere. Then in a swift, fluid motion he captures your lips with his in a kiss that’s deeper and more intentional than the playful ones before. This kiss feels like a culmination of all the gentle pecks, each one adding a layer to the profound connection you’re building together.

As you break away there’s a shared smile. A mutual understanding of the affection and joy weaving through each interaction, each touch, each kiss. The playfulness adds a lightness to your relationship. He made moments like these not just romantic but genuinely fun, enriching the bond you share with laughter and love. After the laughter subsides and the atmosphere settles into a comfortable quiet, Jake looks at you with a contented smile. His eyes reflecting a gentle appreciation. "These moments with you. They're the highlight of my week," he says quietly. His voice carrying a note of sincerity.

Feeling a warm glow from his words you nod and smile softly. Your response understated but genuine. "It always feels different when I'm with you. It's easy, you know?" Your words are simple, echoing the straightforwardness of your time together.

Jake's response is a nod, his smile lingering. "Let's keep it that way," he replies. His agreement simple yet full of promise. The conversation feels natural, reflecting the comfort and understated affection that characterizes your relationship. As twilight transitions into the deep blue of night neither of you feels ready to break the comfortable cocoon you've formed on the couch. Jake glances at the clock, then back at you with a playful challenge in his eyes.

"How about we order some dinner?" he suggests. His tone casual but hopeful. "I'm not quite ready for this day to end. But I don’t think I can get up quite yet."

You laugh while agreeing instantly. "Sounds perfect. What are you in the mood for?"

"Pizza okay with you?" Jake asks already reaching for his phone to place the order.

"Always a good choice," you reply settling back against his chest while feeling utterly at ease.

The wait for the food is filled with more soft conversations. Each shared thought strengthening the bond between you. As the evening unfolds it becomes clear that days like these are just the beginning of what you both hope will be many more shared experiences.

When the food arrives, you set up a makeshift dining area on the coffee table, continuing the easy flow of the day into the evening. Each slice of pizza comes with stories you share. Each laugh making the room warmer. As the evening winds down, you find yourselves eagerly talking about other things you could do together, from movie nights to hiking trips. The night ends not just with satisfied appetites but with the excitement of planning future outings. It's clear that your relationship is blossoming. Full of promise for more beautiful days and nights shared in each other’s company.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy @mrsevans90 @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @missxmav @kajjaka

[thetxtdevil]

This blog has become a thought dump page and you're going to deal with it

Ok ok ok,,, listennnn Fox Hybrid!Yeonjun

mdni - some smutty stuff, hybrids duh, biting duh, mating DUH

Its cliché but my mind is thinking, stray wild fox starved and lonely somehow how finds himself in the edges of a town, your town ofc. Just as he peeps through the trees he sees you on your daily walks and oh my does he think you're beautiful and *ahem* scrumptious. Fox!Yeonjun takes a few days to work up the courage to step out of the woods to finally stalk towards you, I mean, meet you.

You're walking and right when you were about to put your earbuds in you hear foot steps behind you. You turn around thinking someone is there but there is no one. You shake your head at your curiosity to turn back around to bump into the fox.

Dirty, is the only thing you can think of, you're frightened but god he’s dirty af. His orange hair is more of a brown dusty color, clothes ripped and not his size, but his eyes, his big brown yet predatory eyes have you melting. He needs a home. That night you bathed him and Yeonjun was basically purring to you.

And thats how you ended up with a fox hybrid in your house. Well, sorta, see foxes are independent, so Yeonjun liked to escape your cozy home and go back into the wild. Adaptable and very observant it wasn't hard to find his way back to you. He'd come every other day bringing back meat he hunted for, you two cook a meal together, and ofc another bath only from you bc he says he doesn't know how to do it himself :))

By the end of winter your seasonal depression is itching to go back outside for your walks. You hoped to see your handsome fox as it had been some time since you've seen jjun. You watch as the spots of snow melts into the green grass, the wind was brisk but bearable, crisp to breathe in. While walking you jolt, a tickle on your skin when you feel something brush against you. You look to your left to get a flash of a white tip of an orange tail, looking to your right you see Yeonjun, your handsome fox. He was very vocal today, talking about everything and anything, even singing a few times. He liked how you had evident heart eyes every time he sang.

You two end up back at your house ready to do your usual, give him a bath. But something felt different, usually jjun would be jumping off the walls for his special treatment but this time he was right next to you, holding your hand leading you to your bathtub. Bending down to turn the faucet on, you could sense the fox right behind you. Straightening your posture you're not surprised to feel his arms around your waist as he tends to be cuddly, but you are surprised by his abundant neck kisses and the hardon poking your back. One thing leads to another and now you're both naked and in the bathtub.

Yes, you knew all the times Yeonjun creeped on you before he introduced himself, you're not dumb, but you never felt unsafe with him. The fox is gorgeous, a flirt, a smooth talker, but he had a playful and caring nature that made you feel like he was another home at home. So his need for mating you felt natural, good even. Letting him leave a bunch of love bites all over your skin as you ride him. You two giggling at the waves of the bath water, but all giggles were put aside when you stroke his fluffy orange tail awakening his feral side, having him thrust up into you so much that the water floods the whole bathroom floor. Your hands in his hair then reaches up to his pointy ears holding them for dear life. Panting, moaning, overwhelmed by his force, yet you take time to admire Yeonjun's pretty features as they contort by the feeling of you.

And yeah so, after that you had to clean each other up again. Yeonjun becomes very protective after mating you. Never leaving your side, gets a little frustrated when your don't go to bed right away. Fox!Yeonjun just wants to stay up on guard as you get your beauty sleep. And foxes tend to have one mate for life, but you don't need to know that....

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @naoristerling, @inkigayocamman

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Epilogue

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: This is the end 😭

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

SIX YEARS LATER

While the others were busy dragging themselves out of bed in time to the Day Court’s breathings, you and Azriel were already wide awake and watching as the sun trickled down the windows and onto the floor. 

You leaned your head against his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. Have I changed your mind at all? 

Your mate smiled at the sound of your voice in his mind. He almost preferred it to speaking out loud where curious ears might be listening. Cassian loved to tease you about it endlessly. 

“You’re worse than Feyre and Rhys,” He would lament, “Will we ever hear your voices again?” 

Hmmmmmmmm. Azriel considered your question. I’m afraid not, my love. I shall remain a creature of the night forever, no matter if I am married and mated to you.

You wake up earlier than me most mornings. 

Just because it’s true doesn’t mean I enjoy it. 

You blew against his hair playfully and laughed when his shadows were whisked away like leaves in the wind. 

“My Lord.” The attendant curtsied. Her cream-colored robes kissed the floor as she carried your dress in her arms. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement. Eyes glittering with joy.

There were three others behind her. One male carried Azriel’s crowning suit and the two females held boxes made from pearl and gold. 

“I hope you’ve slept well. We’ve come to prepare you and Lady Y/n for today’s events. If you would so kindly follow Arryn.” 

The male bowed low in introduction, and it took all his court training to keep him from jumping back when Azriel’s shadows crawled over his shoes in curiosity. 

Azriel looked back to where you sat in front of the vanity brushing the tangles from your freshly washed hair. One small shake of your head was all he needed to see before turning to the attendants. 

“I’m afraid your services won’t be necessary,” Azriel said apologetically.

Her joyful eyes fell. She had been looking forward to helping you dress. It wasn’t every day that a Court could enjoy a formal crowning ceremony, and even rarer that a High Lord should claim his heirs with so much love. 

She didn’t protest when shadows came to carry your clothes inside, but one of the other attendants did perk up with concern to mention, “But Our Lady’s hair! Surely she will need some assistance.” She looked on hopefully, clutching her pearl box a little closer to her chest.

Azriel smiled kindly. “I’ll send for help if needed. I promise.” 

With the hope of that promise lingering in the air, the attendants bowed and departed, taking slow steps in case either you or your mate should change your minds at the last second. They were severely disappointed when you didn’t. 

Perhaps we should have let them stay. You said. Azriel carefully laid out the boxes of jewels and gold, each piece shining with the light of a hundred suns. They looked so excited. 

Azriel pressed his thumb beneath your chin, fingers ghosting over your throat as he tilted your neck back to look at him. Hazel eyes flashed in the early morning sunlight and his lips were warm against yours, sweet like honey and bergamot. 

Perhaps. Azriel hummed. But today, I want the honor of attending the Darling of Day. 

Is that what people are calling me?

I’ve heard rumors. He brushed his lips against your neck. And I have it on good authority that the rumors are true.

Shadows curled in answer to your raised eyebrow.

And attend to you he did. He braided your hair, securing the front pieces away from your face with pins made of starlight and sunbeams. His heart stuttered when he imagined how radiant you would look after your father laid a circlet of gold over your brow.

He laced up your dress, spreading kisses along the back of your neck and sending shivers down your spine. Then he knelt to the floor to clasp your white silk shoes. The drag of his fingers up your calf had you smiling as he tied the final bow.

Another time, my love. You told him, pulling Azriel up with the daintiest grip on his chin. 

He pressed a kiss to your palm and the corners of his lips pulled up in a smile. What a shame. He nipped at your fingers. I’ll hold you to that promise. 

I would expect nothing less. 

Azriel was quick to pull on his Day Court attire and refused to let you take your time with him the way he had done for you. 

You snatched the Day Court pin from the vanity before Azriel could—a circular sunbeam with a sword, pen, and iris stalk crossed in the center.

Let me do this! Just this!

Your stubbornness showed when you climbed onto the bed and did your best to hold the pin out of reach. 

I’m not about to be crowned an heir. He reminded you, holding onto your waist protectively.

But you will be beside me when it happens. You must look presentable. 

Don’t I always, my love?

Careful. You’re beginning to sound like Rhysand. 

He lifted you up and off the bed with ease. Carefully, reverently, you pinned the gold piece to his coat. Just above his heart. 

He liked to pretend things like this didn’t affect him, but he was grinning like a fool as he finished buttoning the sleeves of his coat. Black velvet lined with gold and silver cut out his strong silhouette. And after little persuasion, he let you crawl into his lap and paint the corners of his eyes with gold and black. 

“Y/n!” Elain called your name from down the hall. Pale gold sleeves bubbled off her shoulders, light and airy as she hugged you close. “Oh you look lovely.” 

“As do you. Not that that’s anything new.” 

She brightened faster than a flower in spring. Lucien wrapped his arm tightly around Elain’s waist, ring flashing on his finger. 

“We thought you’d never arrive.” Lucien said. Folds of pale-golden fabric lay draped across his chest. A pattern of Spring and Autumn leaves trailed along the selvage. “Were you preoccupied?” 

“Oh hush.” You slapped your brother’s arm. 

You and Azriel were the darker mirrors of Elain and Lucien as you lined up beside one another behind the gilded doors. On the other side were hundreds of the Day Court’s most prestigious families, scholars, and courtiers, and the odd High Lord or two. 

Helion’s voice cut through the chatter, laughter ringing through every word.

“Are you ready?” Lucien asked from your left. You took your brother’s arm, some of Azriel’s shadows winding down your hand like jewels. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be. And you?”

“I am. I’m ready.” He squared his shoulders back. This was it. For the first time in decades, he would be a recognized member of his family — his true family. He would wander no more. “Thank you, Y/n. For everything.” 

The trumpets began to blare. The crowd’s talk dimmed to a low, excited murmur. Years ago, the sound of so many people would have sent shivers crawling down your spine like spider legs. 

No more.

Azriel slipped his hand into yours and squeezed once, twice, before the doors opened and the crowd burst apart like fireworks at the sight of the new heirs of Day.

The crown did not lay heavy against Lucien’s brow as he charmed courtiers with an energy that had everyone wondering how they could have missed the truth about Helion’s son. He was everything a High Lord’s son should be—polite, kind, and charming to an almost lethal degree. He took after his father in his mannerisms… mannerisms Helion had been stripped of the moment Aurora Vanserra walked into the room on her eldest son’s arm. 

You shot Lucien a look, and a look was all he needed before he was steering Helion towards the scarlet-crowned pair. 

“Lucien!” Helion pulled back in alarm. 

“Shhhhhh.” 

“Y/n—” Your father looked to you for aid, eyes wider than a deer at the wrong end of an arrow. 

You and Azriel waved him goodbye.

Helion’s stomach was a lead weight dragging behind him as he crossed the marble dance floor. 

Aurora Vanserra flickered like candlelight behind a window. Something for Helion to gaze upon but never touch. Something to love from a safe distance so he could never snuff out that previous light. 

Red hair cascaded down her back in braids laced with gold and emeralds. When she turned around and looked upon the face of her lover, Helion felt a familiar fist around his heart squeeze a little tighter. Mercifully, she looked just as flustered to see him. Although she looked a great deal more graceful when hiding her emotions. She’d always been good at that. 

“Helion.” His name was a breath from her lungs. 

“Aurora. Hi.” 

Helion had hoped the years might fall away. That the walls they’d both placed around themselves as protection might shatter at the gentlest tapping of his fingers. Alas, time was more stubborn than that and it would not break. But that did not mean it would not bend. 

You, Lucien, and Eris both watched carefully from your corners of the room as Helion quietly took Aurora out onto the balcony for some peace and quiet. 

Lucien worried that he’d made a grave error. Some miscalculation of hope. But then he saw his mother smile — the first true smile he’d seen in years — and suddenly the weight around his shoulders seemed to shrink. 

Helion and Aurora Vanserra stayed on the balcony all night, hands dancing closer and closer together but never quite touching. Lucien and Elain made their rounds through the crowds, feeling at ease at each other’s sides as they kissed cheeks and sprinkled hope throughout the Day Court.

And there, tucked away into the little alcove just left of the quartet’s humble stage, stood a Shadowsinger and Inkbird resplendent in black and gold. Heads bowed together. Hands touching. And smiles on their lips as they spoke without a whisper of sound between them. 

<- Previous Chapter

______________

Author's Note:

WE ARE DONNEEEEEE!!!! Don't mind me while I go cry in the corner now. Final word count was over 130K which is the most intensive writing project I've ever worked on AND COMPLETED!

I truly cannot thank you all enough for reading this story. Whether you were there from its very beginnings in December of 2023 or whether you stumbled upon this story more recently and got to binge read it all at once, I want to thank the writing/reading community for inspiring me to continue. There were multiple instances where I had to take short and long writing breaks and worried I had lost my passion, but seeing your comments and inbox messages or even seeing your little handles pop up in my activities section was a little extra gas poured into my tank so I could keep on going.

I think I'm going to take a little bit of time off (but this time it's planned lol) to get back into reading and to work on other writing projects (and also finally upload stuff to AO3 like I've been meaning to for the past month). So, I will be back soon with more writing stuff (but also don't worry I am always lurking on this app in some way shape or form).

Thank you all once again! Now that this is finished, I would appreciate reblogs so people know it's finished and ready to read, but also no pressure at all! 😊

Love,

Florence Byrne