#but to a less intense degree. and unfortunately for him. the way that shakes out is him getting big wild feelings for this quietly

[tamaharu]

if tamaki hadnt ever moved to japan 40000% he would become his mother to an even more catastrophic degree. like im talking insane proportions of rich socialite (tamaki) meeting bedraggled japanese businessman in a loveless political marriage (kyoya) and blowing that spot right up. and anne-sophie is torn between horror versus going ah... thats my girl...!! chip off the old block...!!

[valy-gc]

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Stranger Place

You’re still trying to get your bearings when the silence is shattered by the echoing groan of massive double doors swinging open behind you. Instinctively, you whirl around. Light floods the hall, pouring in from the corridor beyond, and with it comes a procession of figures—at least a hundred, maybe more.

Your breath catches. At first glance, they look like ordinary people -though all wearing the same clothes except for one- but the details are all wrong. One man’s wings shimmer faintly, feathers shifting as if alive. A boy with dark furred ears keeps glancing around, his sharp eyes catching the light. Another figure, taller and with a set of twisting horns, strides confidently at the back.

But it’s the man leading them that draws your attention.

He’s tall, exuding a presence that demands respect without effort. His white coat flows behind him like a cape, the hem brushing the polished stone floor. His piercing blue eyes fix on you with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. He doesn’t look angry, exactly—more like he’s trying to solve a particularly vexing problem, and unfortunately, you’re the problem.

“You there,” he says, his voice smooth but sharp enough to cut through the tension. “What are you doing here? And how did you get in?”

You open your mouth, but nothing coherent comes out. What are you doing here? You were in a library, you think, but that already feels like a half-forgotten dream.

The man narrows his eyes. “Well? Speak up.”

You stammer something—an apology, maybe? A declaration that you have no idea what’s happening? His frown deepens, and he glances at the group behind him.

“Odd,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “You’re not supposed to be here. Students arrive by carriage, not… whatever this was.” He gestures vaguely, as if indicating the entire situation.

Students? Your confusion must show on your face because the man’s expression shifts slightly. Not softer, exactly, but less impatient.

“You are a new student, aren’t you? You’re wearing the ceremonial robes.”

Ceremonial robes? That’s impossible. You look down at yourself and freeze. Gone are your familiar clothes. Instead, you’re wrapped in a flowing white robe, intricate gold embroidery glinting faintly in the low light. The fabric feels impossibly soft, like woven light, and yet it’s undeniably real. It’s the same strange clothes the others persons are wearing.

Your head snaps back up. You want to protest, but the words falter. What can you even say?

The man sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Of course. Something unusual had to happen today. Why not? Just… get up. Let the others pass. We’ll sort this out in a moment.”

You scramble to your feet, heat rising to your face as the procession walks past, their eyes flicking toward you with varying degrees of curiosity and wariness. They gather around a massive, perfectly round pool in the center of the room. The water’s surface is so still it looks like glass, reflecting the faint light above.

The man gestures for you to follow and walks toward the group without waiting. You trail behind, trying to ignore the way your strange robes whisper with every step.

When he reaches the pool, he turns to face you. His gaze is assessing now, as if he’s trying to piece together a puzzle.

“My name is Solon Arclight. I am the headmage of Fablewood Academy. And you,” he says, “are about to participate in the Resonance Ceremony.”

Fablewood Academy? Resonance Ceremony? The words mean nothing to you. Solon seems to notice your blank expression, and for the first time, he looks genuinely perplexed.

“You don’t know what that is?”

You shake your head.

He blinks, then frowns. “Everyone in Scriptoria knows what the Resonance Ceremony is.”

Scriptoria? That word hits like a jolt, unfamiliar yet heavy with significance. It spirals through your mind as Solon continues speaking, though his words are drowned out by your racing thoughts.

What in the world is Scriptoria?

~~~

Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

[myelocin]

baby steps | tsukishima k.

synopsis:  patience was a word that was both a struggle and a gift for you, kei, and your five year old son.

characters: tsukishima kei, you, your son

genre: fluff, family!au

wc: 1500+

a/n: hi nina lol

tsukishima kei wasn’t too keen on fixing messes all that much, but fatherhood definitely did pose the challenges in life he wasn’t expecting to take on so soon in his life.

then again, a difficult challenge was still a sign of progress at the end of the day. or at least, that’s what he always tries to tell himself. getting him to admit his struggle was the one thing that took you tooth and nail to achieve.

your husband was—is—a stubborn man.

he stood his ground with a resolution quite steadfast; usually, for the right reasons, but in moments like these it just infuriated you to no ends. but patience, thankfully, was one of your strong suits. you could read kei as if you were reading a summary of a book; where within a quick scan of the page, or in this case his posture, you already could grasp at the hints regarding the thoughts that must be swimming through his head.

and as you watch him, now: bent over and trying to reason with your son over a petty, very avoidable reason—you can only laugh when you could practically make out the veins that are forming at the side of his head.

you don’t really recall the context of what they were arguing about, but your son inherited your will to stand your solid ground in the middle of arguments. and unfortunately for kei, what your son inherited from him was his witty mouth and smart retorts.

“papa am not being stubborn!” you hear your five year old exclaim, and you could only stand in the corner and watch in amusement as kei shakes his head and gathers his patience with a long inhale, then a sigh, as he shoots you a withered look asking for help.

you smile at him and nod. go on, your expression says.

inwardly, you chortle at the sight of your kei practically deflating at the announce of his defeat.

“if you eat it now you’ll get a tummy ache,” you hear your husband reason.

a longing look from your son to the cotton candy cart a few feet away doesn’t fly past you, so when you look over towards your husband who is staring at you a little more intensely now, you relent with a small smile.

“you know,” you start, then walk over towards the pair to squat down in front of your son. “you should listen to your papa more because he knows what he’s talking about.”

the corners of his lips move into what you could safely guess is a pout, but before you could add to your comment, kei is already sighing, hands moving forward to fix the collar of your son’s sweater. you smile; it’s the same kind of dark green that the three of you are wearing. he has the classic mickey mouse ears on his head, and even if it looks a little too big on him in the moment—when he shakes his head with his stubborn no again, you could only laugh as the two ears shift with the momentum of its weight and move forward.

your husband beside you holds in a snicker.

“papa doesn’t know because he doesn’t like cotton candy.”

your son huffs and whips his head to the side, opting to face away from the both of you altogether this time.

kei sighs again, adjusts his glasses that have been in place the entire time before standing up to his full height and shooting you another look.

“wanna hear a secret?” you start. at the word secret and at the sound of your whisper directed towards him and specifically away from kei, your son perks up and tilts his head towards you, blinking a couple of times before he bashfully asks “what” in a soft voice.

“lean closer so papa doesn’t hear,” you whisper again, and behind you, you snicker at the sound of your husband purposely walking to the other side as to not interrupt your makeshift secret meeting with your son. once out of earshot, your son leans towards you, his hands on your shoulders and soft amber eyes staring straight at you, wide with the childlike wonder you’ve come to love so much.

“mama,” he whispers, cupping his hands around his mouth as he makes sure—in his own way—that it’s just you who can hear him. “what’s the secret?”

the feel of your son’s tiny hands fisting the material of your jacket around your shoulders has a smile promptly breaking out of your face. the look on his face; from his eyes to the tiny quirk of the corners of his lips looked just like kei’s, you muse.

as much as he is yours—he still truly is his father’s son.

humoring him, you cup your hands around your mouth much like he’s still doing and lean a little closer, as you whisper, “your papa used to eat so much strawberry shortcakes, he got a tummy ache from that and he couldn’t ride the rides he wanted to go to. that’s why he’s telling you to not eat the cotton candy until later so that you can have fun now.”

“papa ate too much cake?” you hear him exclaim, eyes widening to an even wider degree.

you nod, before biting your lips to hold back a chuckle as you watch your son attempt to process the information about his papa who always was the one to remind him not to eat too much do the very thing he told him time and time again not to do.

at this point, kei can only stand from a few feet away as he watches you try to whisper to your son with a volume that he can very much hear. still, he smiles, shifting his view promptly towards the screen of his phone when he notices his son peek at him to see if he’s listening into the secret conversation.

patience, kei thinks really is the one thing that he finds himself struggling with.

with parenthood, every day still felt like a day one. his son was growing. his views of the world changing; words evolving; feelings rising and diving day after day where a pattern isn’t promised. and truth be told, at first it terrified him.

reading about how to cradle a baby, change a diaper, hold their hand, and give advice was one thing—but actually applying it and changing tactics almost every day just to catch up with their growth was a completely different field.

but still, kei supposes that the silver lining in this situation was that even if his and your role in the world now was to hold a hand you brought into this world and help it grow with the world—day by day and change after change, the both of you were growing and learning too.

the truth is, kei realizes, as patient as the both of you were—your son had just as much patience as well.

like you were patient in the way you talk through his tantrums, or kei as he is willing to explain the concept of subtraction ten times in a row—your son, on the other hand, was patient in the sense that he still understood that his parents have short comings.

so when kei hears, “papa,” in the soft voice that he knows is from his very own flesh and blood, his heart swells. seconds later, he feels a hand latch onto his larger one and when he looks down and left, he sees eyes of a hue that mirror his stare at him with a smile.

“can we get strawberry shortcake and cotton candy after the rides?”

“you sure you don’t want them now?” he asks, smiling at his son, then at you when he catches you staring.

“issokay,” he hears his son whisper with a resolve that sounds a lot like yours. “am patient. will wait until after.”

beside your son, you smile. you feel his hand grab a hold of yours when you begin walking, and as you stare at kei—you offer him a smile back.

little, baby steps are what the three of you take. kei’s usually larger strides covering less ground; your usually brisk walk now slowed, to match the little steps of your son walking in between the two of you with both of his hands holding one of his and one of yours.

patience, you think.

it’s kind of a pretty word.

 -

[soul-controller]

Manifesting Your Dreams

It had been a long night and I had just gotten home from the closing shift at my lame fast-food job. I was eager to finally sit down and relax for a bit, so as soon as I passed through the threshold of my door, I immediately stripped out of my uniform. Once I was down to my underwear, I quickly walked around and picked up some various litter on the floor before I finally sat down and relaxed. Right as I look up from picking up a wrapper, my eyes pass through the window and catch a glimpse at my hunky neighbor Dan. I stare at his college-formed muscles as his biceps naturally flex while he carries out a bag full of trash out to the bin. Unable to break myself away from the allure of his body, I continue to just stare and ogle him.

Although we weren’t too different in age, we were quite different in every other way. While Dan was muscular from his college basketball days, I was relatively average. My body had the hint of muscle, but my body had a normal layer of flab that firmly resisted disappearing no matter how much I worked out. Dan was a solid 6’2” jock and the most popular kid in school and I was a 5’6” nerd who kept to myself and just listened to music to stay away from interactions. Growing up, we used to spend our weekends together hanging out due to both our close proximity and the relatively close ages between us (he was 23, while I had just recently turned 19). Another reason why we were constantly together was that our parents enjoyed the alone time and would take turns having alone time by sending their child across the street. However, things began to change as Dan got older and got more and more involved in the “jock scene”. Our communication grew less and less frequent and he even actively tried to avoid me anytime we locked eyes. 

Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t as easy for me to just fully forget about him and move on. I had too many good memories associated with him due to our upbringing. Another aspect that prevented me from moving on was that due to my sexuality exploration, I soon found that I was incredibly attracted to him. For years, I had spent so many nights wishing that we could be together or just have a simple kiss so I could stop fantasizing so much about him. However, those days never came and he soon began to infiltrate my simple dreams, twisting my mind so intensely that I began having frequent sex dreams where he was the main attraction. These dreams would normally happen a few times a month, but due to the fact that I was living back at home due to the pandemic, the frequency had gone up to be several times in a single week. As much as I enjoyed the dreams themselves, it became quite a problem as I had to deal with the constantly jizz-covered undies I woke up to. Every morning, I would have to wake up a good 10 minutes early so I could sneak into the laundry room and quickly throw them into the washer to try and hide the evidence of my family. I had come out to them back when I was 17, and they still aren’t too keen on the idea of their son getting intimate with another man. However, I just brushed it off as and chalked it up to them being behind in the times. On the positive side of things, their little outbursts were the main ammunition to fuel my motivation to finish my degree. Once I graduate and can have a career, I’d finally be able to sever ties with them and live my life without having to worry about their looming shadow plaguing any relationships I’d come to have.  

I shake my head as I escape my trip down memory to find Dan throw his trash in the can next to the curb. I watch as a lone soup can escapes from the bag and clatters into the middle of the street. Dan audibly groans, which makes me laugh, as he heads to pick up the can that had now traveled to right outside my house. He finally reaches the can and picks it up, looking up as his eyes go wide as he looks at me. I look down and gasp once I finally realize how revealing I am. “Oh my fucking god” I think to myself as my eyes go wide from how bad this must look. We quickly lock eyes and I begin to act frazzled as I’m unsure what to do. Awkwardly, I do a tiny wave and smile, which actually causes a small but noticeable grin to spread across his face. Staring at me, he offers up a cute little salute and turns to head back towards his house as he drops the can back into the trash bin.

Completely embarrassed, I pull down the blinds and throw myself into bed. I grab a pillow and hold it against my face as I scream into it and try to cope with the insane level of embarrassment I felt. Ready for this shitty day to be over, I quickly turn off all of my lights and head to bed.

After what felt like only a few minutes, I gasp as I’m startled awake by a large knock on my door. Groaning, I get up and head towards the door, assuming my mom was trying to give me some sort of scolding for some reason. The knocking continues as I quickly say “Dammit Mom, I’m coming. Give me a second!”

Opening the door, I gasp as I’m greeted to a face-full of pectorals. I look up and see Dan staring at me with a wide grin. “You’re coming huh? That soup can must have really turned you on I guess...” He adds with a chuckle. Blushing, I quickly go “Uh, hey Dan, what are you doing here… and why are you shirtless?” I say, confused by his lack of shirt and the extreme level of perspiration coating his skin. “I was just going for a little run, just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.” He says with a smile. “Oh, I’m doing good. I just got off work and was ready to go to bed…” I respond, unable to stop tilting my head between his sweaty chest and devilishly handsome face. “Sorry, should I put on a shirt? Based on how you were looking over there, I figured you wouldn’t mind a little more skin.” He adds with a wink. 

As he finishes his coy wink, I feel my manhood begin to pulsate against the tight fabric of my briefs. “Oh, it’s no problem. I don’t mind it at all.” I say with an awkward smile. “That’s good to hear, I’d love to show you more if you wanted..” He continues as he snaps his fingers. I watch as his clothes just disappear in a flash. “Whoa, what the fuck” I say as I look down and see his firm thighs and rod of a dick greeting my eyes. 

“Shhh, no more talking… Let’s do this” he adds as he suddenly presses his lips against mine. I return it with fervor as I taste the scent of cheap beer and potato chips, an obvious indication that he was watching some kind of sports game with his dad. He places his hands around my head as he pulls me in deeper, leading me backwards as I fall onto the bed. “Fuck...!” I say, as I look up and see my long-time crush staring down at me with a feral look of lust in his eyes. “Don’t worry, let me take care of you Charlie. I know what I’m doing” he says with a chuckle as I watch him get on his knees and pull down my underwear. I cringe as my much-smaller dick firmly points up and out towards his open mouth. “Well well well, what do we have here…” He says as he lightly kisses along my shaft. I attempt to stifle my moans, but I’m unable to prevent them as I feel his mouth slide down my shaft and fully take my throbbing member in. My eyes roll into the back of my head as I feel Dan continue to suck me off. In my mind, I’m shocked at the fact that somehow Dan is a complete expert on how to do the perfect blow-job. “Oh fuck, I’m close…” I moan as I feel his lips slide up and down my shaft faster and faster.

For some unknown reason, I suddenly feel compelled to get his mouth off my cock. After successfully getting him to come up for air, I command him to get into bed, shocking myself at my sudden domineering attitude. Both shocked and turned on by my new attitude, Brad obeys my orders as he lays down and knowingly places his ass up in the air. “Ah yeah, that’s a much better place…” I moan as I run my hands along his perky yet firm muscular ass. After a quick slap of his left ass cheek, I waste no time and quickly lubricate my cock with the trusty tube of lube in my side table drawer. I toy with him first, sliding my cock between his cheeks, which makes me giggle as I hear his deep husky voice moan in glee. Unwilling to wait any longer, I finally slide into him and begin a pulsating rhythm of thrusting in and out of his tight jock hole.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good”, we moan in unison, both clearly turned on by this new power dynamic I’ve developed. Hearing him moan my name and seeing him in such a submissive position makes it irresistible to wait much longer. “I wish I had a body like yours. I’d totally fuck you and any other man” I cry out, feeling such unbelievable pleasure from it. I begin to pump faster and faster  I feel myself preparing to shoot into him as I continue to moan...  “Oh… oh my god… I’m cumming… I’m cum-” 

My eyes jolt awake as I find the early morning light perfectly passing through the blinds on my window. “Goddammit” I think to myself, “it was another damn sex dream… I really need to get laid so I can stop having them.” Looking around, my anger about the sex dream turns into complete confusion as it becomes clear that I’m no longer in my bedroom. Instead of various pop star posters and video game memorabilia, my walls are now adorned with busty females and posters of various basketball superstars. “What the fuck-” I say as I hear a deeper voice coming out of my mouth. Looking down, I notice I’m definitely not in my real body as I see the clearly defined pecs and cobblestone abs of an athlete press out of my torso. I check my phone and pull up the camera. As I flip the app to the front-facing camera and look into it, I gasp as I find that the visage of Dan greeting me. I see his dark brown stubble spread across my face and his brown hair shown on the screen.

Unsure what’s going on, I peek out of the window and look across the street, curious about what’s going on with my old body. While looking, I squint and begin to notice that my new body was staring at the window towards me. As I continue to squint through the morning light, I begin to notice my body sitting at the desk in front of the window and his right arm furiously shaking. As he continues to look at me with a longing face, I finally begin to realize what he was doing. “Oh my god, he’s literally masturbating thinking about me” I say as I gasp and pull shut the blinds. Trying to find an explanation, I keep going back to the sex dream and the last thing I said before I woke up. “I wish I had a body like this” echoes in my mind as I realize that I have somehow caused me and Dan to swap bodies. But based on his behavior, he seems to be completely oblivious to the change. In his mind, he’s seemingly just Charlie now. As bad as I feel, I can’t help but laugh. I just begin to think about how sad his life is now. He’s stuck with homophobic family members, a dead end job, and an unrequited crush on me. I get up and head over to the full length mirror attached to his bedroom door. Looking at it, I begin to think about how irresistable I’m going to be with all of the gays once the pandemic is over. I plan on becoming a hot staple at the local gay clubs once it’s finally safe to get so close again.

Although I’m still confused and shocked about what’s happened to me, I feel incredibly drowsy. Unsure of how to proceed, I just decide to go back to bed for a quick little nap. “Swapping bodies must really wear you out” I think to myself as I finally lay back into bed. As I finally start to doze off, I start to dream about all of the new experiences I’m going to have as Dan...

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[mrslilyrogers]

Fall into Love

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader 

Warnings: Awkward and cute reader ahead! Nothing but sweet and soft fluff :)

Summary: What’s an awkward scientist like you gotta do when you develop a crush on America’s national treasure, Captain America? Recruited by Bruce and Tony themselves to work at the Avengers Compound, you try your best to keep your cool. But how could you when Steve is always popping up to help you?

Author’s notes: It’s my birthday today!! Yay!! And to celebrate, I want to share this super fluffy piece I wrote for @hopingforbarnes​​ 250 writing challenge. Thanks for letting me participate!  I got the prompt, “This is why I fell in love with you” which will be in bold below. I absolutely loved writing this and being a fan of chick flicks, I went with that vibe. I hope you guys enjoy and please, let me know what you think! Reblogs are very much appreciated :D

There he was sipping his cup of coffee, one hand holding today’s newspaper as he read. You thought it was beyond adorable that he insisted on getting actual newspapers delivered to the compound when he could literally read it from a tablet. You even offered to install the apps for him but he declined, saying he was too old for it. And in that moment you just knew, with his winsome smile and his deep blue eyes, you were utterly done for. So there you were, surreptitiously stealing doe-eyed glances at him from your perch by the kitchen counter, your laptop propped up on the island. His eyebrows were knitted as he brought the newspaper down, jotting his answers for the crossword puzzle. When he beamed at himself, you knew he got it right. Cute, so damn cute. 

“Ugh,” you groaned at your own patheticness. When his head shot up to look at you, you immediately cleared your throat and looked to your laptop, ignoring the heat creeping up your cheeks. 

“Y/N, you okay there?” Steve asked, pencil in mid-air.

“Yep, just working on something!” You replied a little too cheerfully, your gaze not quite able to hold his. You were always this way with him, tongue-tied, flustered and all fidgety. It was embarrassing.

Come on, Y/N, pull yourself together! You have two PhDs under the age of 30. Unfortunately, that was also probably one of the reasons why you were so freakin’ awkward but you really didn’t have to dwell on that now. Shaking off that snide little comment from the back of your mind, you continued your pep talk. You’re a badass scientist, graduated at the top of your class, and working with the Tony Stark and the Bruce Banner, your freakin’ childhood heroes! He’s just a 100 year old man! You’ve got this. 

You looked at him with a bright smile on your face, straightening your back to make yourself seem taller. More Confident. Mature. Womanly. Typing into your laptop, you pretended you were in the midst of a scientific research that would change the world. Except, it came up empty, the screen completely and irrevocably black. Oh, shit. 

“Ugh, Y/N. I think your laptop is turned off,” Steve awkwardly told you, pointing at it with the pencil in his hand. 

“Oh, yeah. Well, uhm, yeah it is… so, ugh, gotta go and charge this,” You flashed him a quick smile before you scrambled to your feet, your chair creaking as you pushed it back, grabbed your laptop and ran out of there as fast as you could. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Steve watched you, a perplexed look on his face. When you nearly stumbled out the door, he almost got up to help except you shot up faster than a speeding bullet. An adoring smile crept up his lips. Cute.

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It wasn’t always like that. It all started when the science geniuses offered an advanced intensive program at the university where you were finishing your second doctorate degree. It meant extra work and more late nights but you didn’t even think of that, you had jumped at the chance from the second you heard of it and the rest was history. You aced their classes with flying colors and by the time you graduated, they had already offered you a full-time position at the Avengers compound, to assist them with whatever scientific endeavor they needed. You would become their resident biochemist/engineering physicist, equipped with your very own office and given free reign to create, tinker or even upgrade their weapons and computer systems. 

What you didn’t expect was how cozy living in the Avengers Compound would be. You thought they were a bunch of stuffy soldiers and spies with no time to deal with regular people like you. But as soon as you were introduced to the team, that all changed. 

They had all been in the common area when you first arrived. The men along with Nat were huddled at the TV, concentrating on some sports game as they drank their beers while Wanda and Vision were laughing and cooking in the kitchen. It was all so surreal, your jaw had dropped to the floor. Who knew the Avengers could be so domestic?

“You’re starting to drool, kid,” Tony commented at your side, immediately stopping you from staring. You mumble out a sheepish apology, your cheeks starting to flush. He flashed a smile at you before turning his attention to the team, “Everyone, listen up,” he shouted at them, clapping his hands twice before continuing, “This is our newest scientist, Y/N! She’ll be working with me and Bruce mostly, helping us with weapons and equipment so be nice! Piss her off and you’re toast,” he teased, winking at you. You didn’t think you could get any redder than you were at that moment. You let out a nervous chuckle, giving a little wave to everyone,

“Hi! Don’t worry, I won’t do that. I don’t think I can even if I wanted to, look at all of you!” you joked and looking at their smirks and empty faces, you realized just how inappropriate that was. 

“Not that I would want to of course! I mean, who would wanna kill the Avengers?” you continued to your own mortification, your mouth running on its own. You could feel prickly sweat down your back and you suddenly wished there was a hole that would just swallow you right that instant. Letting out a huge exhale, you tried again. 

“Uhm, what I mean to say is that I’m very happy to be meeting all of you and I’m glad that I’m given a chance to work here and help in any way that I can.” you finished sincerely albeit sheepishly, shifting your weight between your feet and hoping you didn’t totally muck up their first impression of you. 

Black Widow’s narrowed eyes eased up, arms still crossed at her chest, she gave you a little tilt to her chin as she smirked, “You’re adorable,” 

You let out a huge sigh, beaming at everyone. Captain America nodded at you as if to say ‘well done’, and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. Damn, if that man didn’t spell out dreamy. 

Tony finished the introductions and once you’ve shaken everyone’s hand, he was already moving, directing you to your designated room to drop off your bags so you guys could finish off your tour early and get to work. You were just about to carry your duffle bags, ready to drag your suitcase across their pristine marble floor when Captain America appeared by your side, “Hey, you need some help with those?” he asked, looking at your luggages. You had almost completely blanked when he stood so close to you. You could hear Tony’s voice getting softer and softer as he walked ahead, talking as he went. You nodded, not able to find the voice to speak. When he draped both duffel bags over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, and pulled the handle of your suitcase higher, you objected,  “Let me at least get that,” you tried to grab your suitcase from him but he swiveled it out of your reach, already moving to follow Tony. “It’s fine. This is nothing,” he said, smiling down at you. 

“Thanks Captain. I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep up with him,” you replied, shyly smiling back at him and pointing at the man walking in front of you. He chuckled before letting out an exasperated sigh, “Oh, you’ll get used to it. And just call me Steve,” 

Tony suddenly turned around as if just realizing you weren’t following at his heels. “Would you look at that?” He teased when he saw both you and Steve lagging behind him. “Chivalry’s not dead,” shrugging, he continued on, prompting Steve to shake his head at his friend. 

When you both arrived at your room, You tried not to gawk but Tony Stark was definitely not cheap. They let you take it all in, practically feeling your excitement off your skin. Steve dropped your bags off on the floor before turning to take his leave, 

“Alright, I’m off. I’ll see you guys for dinner,” his voice cut you out of your wonder. 

“Thank you, Steve,” you beamed at him before he left the door. 

“You’re welcome, Y/N,” he replied, flashing you a genuine smile. You watched his retreating figure out the hallway, your heart hammering in your chest. 

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You had been working for the Avengers for two months now and you must admit you had easily become friends with all of them, jokes and easy conversation flowing with everyone except for one. Steve freakin’ Rogers. Oh, you were friends with him, you talked but the easiness was only one-sided. Every time you had a conversation with him, you felt your heart leaping out of your chest. Every single smile from him sent butterflies to your stomach. It was becoming a problem, your school girl crush making you look less professional and on top of that, you just knew the spies figured it out. Why else would Nat and Clint suddenly make up excuses and leave you and Steve alone again for breakfast? 

You tried to ignore the fluttering of your heart as Steve made his coffee. Acting as normal as possible, you reached for the flour on the highest shelf of the cupboard, your hand coming up short. Uh-oh. Maybe, if you could just go on your tiptoes, you could get it, right? Wrong. You had been dead wrong. You wiggled your fingers, hoping you didn’t look like an absolute idiot. Oh God, have I been reaching for this too long already; past the point of asking Steve for help? If you turned around now and asked him, wouldn’t it be too awkward?  But if you suddenly changed what you were going to make just because you couldn't reach the flour, wouldn’t that be too petty? Oh god, why do you have to overthink everything when he’s around?

Steve suppressed his laugh as he leaned on the counter, watching you struggle. How long was it going to take for you to give up? You were so different from any woman he’s met since waking up in the future, always so happy and cheerful with no guise whatsoever. You were a breath of fresh air, real, and so unlike all the other spies and agents he’s worked with, with their cold manner and calculating eyes. It didn’t take long for him to trust you. He considered you his friend and now, you were just beyond adorable. A crooked smile formed on his lips as he waited some more, enjoying the show far too much, his eyes involuntarily moving down to check your ass out in your sleep shorts. When he realized what he was doing, he blushed, and immediately straightened up to help you. 

A huff fell from your lips as you decided, enough was enough. You turned around, ready to call for him, when you came face to face with his solid chest. His familiar masculine scent warmed your senses as blood crept up your cheeks. “Got it,” he said, holding the jar between you, a playful smile splayed on his perfectly luscious lips. 

You cleared your throat, your eyes on his lips as you tried to find your voice. “Thanks Steve,” you replied just a little too breathily.

“Anytime, Y/N,” he smiled softly down at you, bringing his hand up to ruffle your hair. And just like that the romantic atmosphere was ruined. It was just on your part. Again. 

______________________________________________________________________

Months later 

You were dancing carefree to the beat of the music blasting from your headphones as you cooked your dinner. It was late, you were sure everyone had gone to sleep so you were safe to boogie and shake your hips while you celebrated. You had finally figured out how to calibrate Black Widow’s newest weapon. It took you the whole night for the finishing touches, making you forget to eat but it was all worth it. You were on a high as you piled the pasta on to your plate, grabbing the still-too-hot garlic bread from the oven too early, making you wince as you put your thumb between your lips to lessen the burn. You didn’t hear the tired chuckle from the doorway when you shook your hips to turn around, refusing to let the scalding garlic bread shake your mood. You let out a tiny squeal when you saw Steve leaning against the doorway, decked in all his Captain America glory minus the mask. 

“You’re back?” you shrieked, a hand flying to your chest as you tried to calm your racing heart, thanking god you didn’t drop your plate. “You scared the shit out of me,” 

Steve had the audacity to look ashamed as he straightened. “Yeah, sorry about that, couldn’t help it. Please don’t stop on my account,” he teased, laughing, before a wince escaped his lips. 

“You okay?” you immediately dropped your plate on the table and walked over to him, losing your nerve to even get embarrassed when he clutched his rib. 

“It’s nothing, doll,” he replied, shaking his head, a faint flush casting over his cheeks as the endearment slipped. 

You couldn’t help but be taken aback too. His voice had been soft and unconvincing unlike his usual steely, determined self. You laid your hand over the one still clutching his waist.

“What happened here? Are you hurt?” Concern seeped into your voice as you looked at him worriedly.

“It’s fine, really. It’ll heal fast,” he stepped away from you, making light of his injury. He didn’t know how to deal with anyone fussing over him. 

“Let me see it,” you said, your voice firm for once in his presence, putting your hands on your hips. 

“What?” he chuckled again, poorly hiding his hiss.

“Come on, Rogers, I’m a doctor. Let me see it,” you nodded to his injury, determination steeling your stance. 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he said, “Yes ma’am,” and gave you a mock salute.

 “But didn’t you say you weren’t this type of doctor?” he continued, teasing, as he unbuckled his utility belt.

“Don’t get sassy on me now, Rogers,” You rolled your eyes until he started to peel off his uniform, then you lost your breath. You felt your cheeks flush at the forced intimacy of the situation, your resolve withering as you shifted your weight between your feet, crossing your arms at your chest. Should you even watch him take his top off? You didn’t want to look like a creep so you focused on the wall behind him.

When you heard him wince, your eyes shot back to him as he struggled to lift it over his head. Your hands moved of its own volition, gently helping him. Once that was over and done with, you looked up at him, his chest panting. 

“May I?” you asked, your slightly shaking hand gesturing to his undershirt. He nodded and you let your hands lift his shirt off gently, but what greeted you made your jaw drop open. The skin on his right rib was marred with a big dark patch of purple and blue, almost appearing black. Around it, littered lighter and smaller versions of it, a few cuts here and there. On his arms, his pecs, on the side of his jaw that you didn’t even notice awhile ago.

“Steve, what the hell! This isn’t nothing! Can you even breathe properly?” You asked worriedly, running your hands over the cuts and bruises. 

“Yes, Y/N. I told you this is normal. This happened just a few hours ago, it’s already healing. I’ll be fine,” He once again explained to you stubbornly, a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“Sit down, you need to put ice on that and I need to clean your wounds,” You rushed off to get the things you needed before pulling up a chair beside him. He watched you as your hands worked practically over his injuries, pride swelling in his eyes. There was a strange fluttering in his chest that he didn’t dare acknowledge. He wouldn’t admit it to himself but he only objected more to your ministrations because it made you double your fussing. 

“All done,” You cheered to yourself as you started tidying up. 

“Congratulations to you,” he replied jokingly, moving to help you before you swatted his hand away. “Stop, just keep that ice on your rib,” you told him seriously, getting up to bring back the first-aid kit to the cupboard and throw all the used up cotton. He was the worst patient there ever was, complaining and whining all the way through. 

“Yes, boss,” he deadpanned, loving the blush that tinted your cheeks. 

“Hey, have you eaten dinner already? You hungry?” you asked him, washing your hands.

“Dinner? Y/N, it’s 2 am, how have you not eaten dinner yet?” This time it was his turn to be indignant.

“Well, I was working,” you replied matter-of-factly as if it was the most normal thing in the world to forget to eat.

“Jesus Christ, I ended up taking down a terrorist base camp and I still had time for dinner,” he huffed, furrowing his eyebrows.

You scooped up a plate for him anyway, making sure to double the serving. When you dropped it in front of him, you noticed he had put his shirt back on again much to your displeasure. What can you say? The guy was chiseled like a greek god. It didn’t hurt to look at him.

You both started to eat in peace, the awkwardness settling in. You had no idea why he wasn’t talking. He was usually cool as a cucumber while you were a blubbering mess. 

“So how was--”

“I didn’t know--” 

You both started at the same time causing you both to pause then laugh heartily. When he winced and clutched his rib again, you quickly apologized before he shushed you. “You go first,” he said, drinking water as he tried to hide his pain. 

“Do you want to get an x-ray? Make sure there’s no broken bones?” You asked, worry seeping into your voice again.

“Doll, I told you. This is normal for me, part of my job.”

“But I thought you said this was a simple covert mission, no fighting involved. They should’ve added more guys to go with you,” you frowned at him which made him chuckle lightly, his heart flipping in his chest at your concern. 

“That rarely happens. Really, you should see the other guys,” he made a joke of it to calm you down. Unconvinced, you smiled tentatively at him, thinking if you should still push the subject when he steered you to a different topic, asking about your work. You had explained to him animatedly about the progress you’ve made so far that you didn’t even notice how easily you guys had flit to different topics, talking about any random thing that popped into your minds, smiling and joking like it wasn’t almost four in the morning. 

When you went back to your room that night, you snuggled into your blankets, giggling. You had finally been able to talk with Steve without acting like a love-sick teenager. And it was everything you thought it would be. 

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After that night, you guys formed an unspoken ritual. Every time you were working late and forgot to check the clock, Steve would bring you food to your lab, reminding you of your much needed dinner break. The first time it had happened, he walked in on you snacking on some m&m’s while you continued to work. He had groaned and lectured you on about how m&m’s and any form of chocolate was not considered dinner food. So after that, he took it upon himself to make sure you had something substantial to eat, often bringing his own cooking. You had talked about everything and nothing, some deep conversations that could only be shared through trusted friends while others had you both laughing deep from your belly with tears brimming your eyes. There were times when he had been relentless with his training too, even the rest of the team had left him alone to it, and you had to drag him away. Those days you had to remind him there was no war anymore and a little break was fine. You dragged him to watch movies, listen to music he had missed and, tried out those hole-in-the-wall types of restaurants where people wouldn’t recognize him.  

Steve had just gotten back from a mission with Sam and Bucky. Both boys grunted as they sat at the kitchen table, clutching their drinks.

“Man, I could really use a shower right now but I’m too tired to move,” Sam quipped, massaging his neck muscles. 

“I’m gonna order us a pizza,” Bucky said and eagerly whipped his phone out. Ever since he got off the ice in Wakanda, he’d been obsessed with all the “new” technology he’d been catching up on. He sure didn’t look it but he was a science geek at heart. Often going to you for help with everything he’s missed. The guys both looked to Steve questioningly, expecting him to butt in. He usually had a lot of input after a long mission. They were greeted by silence as he had his back to them, retrieving the first-aid kit from the cupboard. When he continued to ignore them as if he hadn’t heard anything they had just said and walked to the direction of your lab, both Sam and Bucky looked at each other, knowing smirks on their faces as they nodded their heads. America’s golden boy was whipped. 

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Tony and Steve had been arguing in their usual banter at the lab. The super soldier looked like the worn out parent between the two while the genius billionaire gloated at his misery. Steve was wearing a black long-sleeved sweater that did nothing to hide his muscles despite its regular fit. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him from your station with Bruce, the two of you working quietly with an occasional chuckle or two thrown at the bickering men in front of you. 

Bruce cleared his throat when he caught you staring far too long at the golden-haired adonis, not paying attention to the question he was asking. You quickly averted your gaze and asked, 

“I’m so sorry, what was that?” you felt your cheeks warm as he looked at you with an endearing smile.

“I said, could you please pass me that sample?” He pointed at your hand clutching the petri dish. 

“Of course!” You replied, handing it to him before hiding behind your laptop to record the results of your experiment. 

“Will you quit acting like a grandpa for just a second and ask Sharon out? You guys clearly hit it off at the last mission. I don’t know what the hell is taking you so long,” Tony muttered as he tinkered on. 

You and Steve’s eyes snapped to each other, almost as if on instinct, before you quickly lowered yours and hid your hurt behind your laptop screen. Bruce didn’t miss the subtle exchange and tried to distract Tony off from the subject but still, the man was oblivious. 

“Tony, would you just quit it?” Steve complained exasperatedly, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I’m just saying, Cap. You’re a hundred years old, you aren’t getting any younger, pal,” he continued on. 

Before Steve could say anything else, you made a show of stretching out of your chair. 

“Oh boy, I need some coffee, do you guys want any?” you asked as cheerfully as you could, looking for an escape. 

“Oh you just read my mind! Didn’t I say she was the best?” Tony asked rhetorically, his hand gesturing to you as he looked at the men in the room. You missed the way Steve’s eyes had softened when they landed on you. The only reason he was even here. 

“I could use one right now, angel. Thank you!” Tony continued, using the nickname he had given you since you started working here, giving you a quick smile before going back to work.

“I could use one too, thanks.” Bruce nodded at you.

“Alright. How about you, Steve?”  you turned to him, your heart beating rapidly in your chest as he looked at you, an endearing smirk playing on the corner of his lips while he shook his head no.

“I’ll go with you, help you carry it.” He said, already standing up.

“What? Pssh. No. It’s fine, I got it.” You dismissed him playfully, leaving the lab as fast as you could, a weight in your chest as Tony continued to berate him into asking Sharon out on a date.

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You decided to get Steve coffee anyway. You knew he was only being a gentleman because he didn’t want you having a hard time carrying all of it back to the lab. Grabbing some snacks too, you made your way back, a tray balancing on your hands when you heard Tony scream your name. Uh-oh. 

You opened the door to see Bruce and Steve laughing their asses off while Tony looked at you with murder in his eyes. “Did you just hack my playlist and change it all to spice girls?” he bellowed over the music, hands on his hips. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. It was supposed to be a prank between the two of you. He said you couldn’t hack into the system he created and you just had to prove him wrong. You thought you had put a timer on F.R.I.D.A.Y to just change it when he was alone. Guess you weren’t as good a hacker as you thought you were.  

“Sorry,” you shrugged sheepishly. 

“You don’t even look sorry. You could at least tell me you saved my old playlist,”

 Uh-oh. “I think so?” 

“Oh, come on!” he whined. 

“Sorry, but you questioned my hacking skills!” You replied indignantly.

“Because you’re not a hacker!” he emphasized each word, making you giggle. 

“I really am sorry! Look, I’m sure if there’s anyone here who could get it back, it’s you.” your sickly sweet voice belied the trick you still held up your sleeve. 

“Damn right, I could,” he replied arrogantly, typing into his hologrammed board as he gave instructions to F.R.I.D.A.Y.

You sipped the coffee in your hands, hiding the smirk on your lips. Bruce thanked you for the wonderful prank and you gave him a little curtsy in return as he grabbed an extra cinnamon roll, still smiling. All the while Steve looked down at the tray, his insides warming at your thoughtfulness, you had brought him his favorite yogurt and fruits knowing he’d prefer those over the sugary treats. He was suddenly pulled out of his reverie when Celine Dion’s haunting voice rang out, almost making him spit his coffee out of his mouth as he burst out laughing, watching Tony’s face get flushed. He turned to you as you carelessly threw your head back, laughing. Anyone who could take Tony down a peg, he admired, and knowing that it was your brilliant mind that had the genius sputtering in annoyance made him love you even more. 

“Oh doll…” he exhaled. “This is why I fell in love with you.” 

Everyone in the room suddenly stilled. Tony’s audible, “Oh” popped in the background making Steve screw his face up in confusion. What the heck? He saw your eyes widen, your cheeks turning beet red.  Oh crap. 

He said that out loud, didn’t he? 

[julyarchives]

Don't You Hear Me Howling? || (M) || 04

Finding out you are a female Alpha sparkled some rivalry inside your pack, and resulted in you losing your best friend and your life turning upsidedown, so leaving for college was the fresh start you needed. Years later, you are about to finish your degree and suddenly this past comes back to mess with your head.

→ Pairing: Yeo One x Female Reader | Kino x Female Reader

→ Genre: Smut; A/B/O AU; Omegaverse; College AU.

→ Words:  2.8K

→ Contains: power dynamics; riding; handjob; some light hate fuck; dirty dirty smut; seriously, this chapter is almost a pwp heheh

→ A/n: We are soo sorry that it took us longer to post this chapter! This week was so rushed that we only had time to write on the weekend, and we got a little caught on a minor writer's block, but it's finally done (we literally are posting just right after we finished) and I hope we did a good job for you guys!

→ Index: 01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • 06 • 07

The next morning you woke up feeling refreshed, decided to put all the Changgu history behind you. Kino had texted you while you slept, checking on you and asking if everything went well after he left, which you quickly answered as "it was fine :)". You got up and got yourself ready to start the day. You packed his shirt in a bag and followed your day according to your schedule.

The classes went normal, except for the fact that you were self-conscious about the possibility of any bruises slipping out the collar of your shirt. Though people know you're an Alpha, they won't be surprised and will know what that was about, but still, you didn't want to draw any more attention to yourself.

At the end of the day, you decided to drop off Changgu's shirt. You knocked on the frat's door, but when no one answered you just let yourself in. You tried to call for someone, but got no answer back, so you just followed your way to his bedroom. You planned to just leave the bag on his bed and leave, but when your hand reached for the doorknob you heard voices inside.

You stopped, trying to make out the voices you heard. But even before you could you smelled what was going on. Changgu's signature scent was over the top, even more, alluring than ever and then someone else's. The giggle you heard confirmed it was a girl, she was clearly excited, borderline horny. Of course, he'd be chatting someone up when the house was empty. Part of your brain got super done with his antics, did he purposefully invite her over when the house was empty or was it a coincidence? But then the other, stubborn and stupid, part of you saw red. Yesterday he got you at the same position, somehow convincing you to fuck and he was doing the same with the girl, that was a little too willing from what you heard and smelled.

You acted before you though, opening the door with a bang, seeing them both sitting at the edge of his bed, his arm around her and her face almost into his neck, laughing prettily at him. They both stopped when they heard the door banging against the wall, your imposing angry body language making the girl coil slightly.

"I thought I smelled you, Y/N. Sorry, but I'm a little busy right now", Changgu was smirking at you, his arm tightening around the girl.

"No, you're not", you said with a huff. "She's leaving". The girl looked at you confused and immediately got up and positioned in defiance, arms crossed on her chest.

"Says who?", her eyebrow arched and a playful smile on her lips.

"Me", you said through your teeth, hands turning into a fist, body changing to attack mode as you couldn't stop the loud growl that came from your chest. It resonated loudly and Changgu got up, taking a few steps to position himself almost between you and the girl but more to the side. You saw the girl take a step back and hug herself in defense but she still didn't budge.

"Listen, you better leave", Changgu turned to her with his palms extended to her, but she only raised her eyebrows again, not believing he was making her leave.

"Either she leaves or I'll make her ", you growled again, even stronger this time, body almost trembling in anger.

The girl huffed and grabbed her bag from the floor, staring at Changgu with an outraged expression. He tried to grab her hand but she dodged, walking past you making sure to bump against your shoulder on her way out. You were turning to follow her just because of her attitude of no respect even facing imminent danger but a hand grabbed your arm roughly.

Changgu turned you around harshly and with his other hand, he closed the door. He seemed fuming but you couldn't care less. You tried to yank your arm away from his grip but he didn't let you, instead grabbing you by the shoulders and backing you against the door.

"Are you happy? Coming here to what? Fucking cockblock me?", he shouted.

"That's what you do? Spend your free time hunting around for girls to fuck?", you shoved him backward, using his moment of losing balance to shove him once more but he was quick.

"What does it matter to you?", he said, not even shouting anymore, focusing on regaining his balance and walking back so you couldn't overpower him anymore.

You froze. You didn't know. You had no idea why it bothered you so much and why it got to you so much. The feeling of betrayal and a sparkle of jealousy spurred you to see red and barge into the room. You tried to mask your confusion and your conclusion with a scowl but it was too late. Changgu smirked, watching the emotions clear on your face. Then he looked at the item on your hand, his shirt you clung to so strongly.

"Could it be that the mighty alpha is jealous ?", there was something on his voice you couldn't quite catch. It wasn't mocking he was not joking with you but he was teasing. You noticed when his eyes darkened and he took a step towards you.

"Tell yourself that, Changgu. I'm here to return your shirt, that's all", you also took a step further, meeting him halfway. "If you want her so much I can retrieve her myself", unfortunately, the sentence didn't come out as you wanted. It wasn't menacing or playful. It was laced with anger and jealousy. Just like he said.

"I can see right through you, Y/N", he closed the small space between you. "I know you wanted to be in her place right here", his hands going to your waist, "on my bed", he bit his lip, "again".

“I don’t know what you think, Changgu” you slap his hands away from you, rather strongly. “But I’m not some dumb girl that will fall for your little fuckboy act. In fact. I’m-”

Your sentence was cut short when he grabbed you and kissed you harshly. At the first moment, you cave in, kissed him back as if in a reflex, but when a second thought hit you, you instantly bit his lip. He stepped back and brought a hand to the bleeding spot where your bite hit.

“Seriously?” He chuckled “Is this how you wanna play?”

“Is that how you see this? ” You said, angrily, stepping toward him again “I’m not playing here, Changgu” you palmed your hand on his chest and pushed him, making him fall backward on the mattress “There is no game to play.”

Your heat started acting up as you felt your whole body on fire from the lust that filled the room, mixed with all the anger pent up inside you. You grabbed the hair on the back of his head and pulled, forcing him to expose his neck to you, but the hiss that came from him was not of annoyance.

“Not one you can win anyway,” you whispered, so close to his face that your lips were almost grazing his’.

You let go of him and walked away, but when you tried to open the door he stood behind you and pushed it shut, turning you around to back you up once again, his lips attacking yours. This time you wouldn’t let any part of him believe he had any control. You didn’t stop him, though you pushed him back, forcing him to switch positions, so this time you were pressing him against the way.

“I told you” You nibbled his earlobe “You cannot win” you bit on his neck, your hands holding him in place by the waist now explored inside his shirt “I will always have you my way.” you clawed his toned abs “don’t forget I’m your Alpha. You just can’t help but being just a silly little wolf to me.”

You lowered your hands, palming him through his pants, and chuckled against his skin.

“Look at you, I barely touched you and you're already so hard. You are so desperate for me that you tried to convince yourself that I’m the one running after you.”

You shoved your hand under his layers of clothes and grabbed his member in your hand, lubing it with his pre-cum and moving it languidly. You suck on the skin of his neck, trailing bruises around the area. The gasps escaping him making you feel your own wetness drip.

“I have you wrapped around my finger, and I’ll make sure you don’t forget that again.” You started speeding up your movements “But don’t you dare cum without my permission.”

“Fuck” he murmured under his breath “Fuck, y/n”

“That’s right, Changgu, I want to hear you saying my name”

He repeated, voice shaking.

“I can make you cum in your pants just like a teenager” you chuckled again, pumping his shaft with intensity as he threw his head back in pleasure, barely audible whimpers escaping his lips.

“Y/N, I’m gonna…” he stopped a split second “Can I-”

“You wanna cum?” You asked, using your other hand to grab his hair and make him look at you “Want me to make you cum all over my hands?” he bit his bottom lip and nodded. “I don’t think you deserve it yet”

“Please,” he said in a breathy moan “Please, Y/N, I need to cum”

“I like the way you beg” you sucked on the spot he was biting seconds ago, waning more moans from him

“Please, please, please” He said rapidly, desperate for his release.

You smirked, looking him in the eyes and enjoying his fucked out face, all completely at your mercy.

“Nah” you removed his hand completely from him, to which he gasped loudly in protest “You don’t get to cum until I do”

He growled in frustration, but a raise of your eyebrows was wimpy enough to get him back to his place.

“Take your shirt off” You commanded and he obliged immediately, and you sat on the edge of the bed and watched.

You let him stand there and stare at you in silence

“What will I do with you?” you wondered out loud.

You reached under your dress and took your panties off and he didn’t stray your eyes from you. You spread your legs apart and he took in a deep breath, probably smelling your arousal.

“Kneel” you simply said, and it was enough for him

He rushed in between your legs and wasted no time in licking in between your folds, humming in satisfaction. Your hand immediately grabbed his hair, guiding him to go exactly where you wanted, while the other pulled the hem of your dress up around your waist.

Changgu was desperate, hungrily sucking your clit in between his lips, and you bucked your hips.

“That’s right” you praised him, and he redirected his look at you, eyes filled with lust “Keep going.”

He licked the right spot on you and you let yourself fall backward, pulling his hair so he followed your motion, not breaking contact any second. He hooked his arms around your legs and you took the opportunity to steady him and fuck his face, chin now all smeared with your juices.

Your moans became louder and so did his hums, sending vibrations down your core, and your high hit you strongly, making your legs shake uncontrollably. You didn’t stop until you completely rode off your orgasm. When you released Changgu’s hair he stood up, eyes still not leaving you, and cleaned around his lips with the back of his hand, and you admired him lick it clean.

You stood up, then, and watched his chest rise up and down fast, the tent in his pants now more prominent than ever, and the feeling of complete satisfaction made you proud of yourself. You walked closer towards him, and he didn’t dare move. You reached to his face and grabbed his chin, unhurriedly pulling his face closer to yours. His gaze traveled from your eyes to your lips back and forth, and the smirk on your face was almost permanent.

“Okay, bye.” You walked away confidently, not bothering to look back.

You exited his room and made your way towards the exit, hearing his surprised “what” behind you.

As you were close to the front door, you heard firm steps chasing you.

He grabbed your arm just like he did before, this time you didn’t fight back, just to enjoy the desperate look on his face.

“I’m not gonna let you leave like that” He growled

You scoffed.

“I know you don’t wanna leave.”

“Try again, Changgu.” You turned around to continue your way, but he didn’t lose his grip

“I don’t want you to leave.” he pleaded, the distress in his voice so evident.

You stopped in your tracks and he let go of you. You turned back to face him and saw his smoldering eyes staring intensely at you.

“I’m listening.” you crossed your arms in front of your chest.”

“I need-” he thought his words through “Please.”

You stared him up and down quietly.

“Fine” you finally said “Sit” you motioned towards the couch with your head.

He obediently followed your instruction, and you took your time approaching him. You stood in between his legs and grazed your nail down the defined line of his abs, making your way towards his pants and hooking a finger under the elastic of his underwear. You didn’t have to say a word for him to understand your order, and lift his hips to push his pants down.

You finally straddled him, your hands cupped his face to pull him in for a kiss. He embraced you, strong arms flushing you against his chest, and moaned against your lips. You sway your hips down, feeling his cock rubbing against your swollen clit.

“Please, Y/N” He broke the kiss “I need to be inside you.”

“You’re so obedient today,” You said “I just love seeing you beg.”

“Please, Y/N” he repeated “Please, let me cum”

You laughed amusedly.

“So desperate for me, wolfie.”

You kneel up to quickly align your entrance and just sat down at once, getting him by surprise and making him moan loudly. You didn’t give him time to get used to your pussy around him, you just bounced on him at your own speed, and he couldn’t help but moan uncontrollably. He held your waist, fingers pressing harshly against your skin, and you held yourself on the back of the couch, nails slightly ripping the fabric.

“You just love this, don’t you?” You said, the grin still plastered on your face “getting fucked here so anyone that walks in can see how I make you lose your mind?”

Changgu didn’t answer, bucking his hips up instead, getting deeper inside you. His hair was all messy, skin glistening with sweat, pink swollen lips hanging open and heavenly sounds vibrating on his throat.

“I told you” you moved faster, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing in the living room “You will never forget your place again.”

He threw his head back, noises coming out of him without his control

“Y/N, I need to cum.” he pleaded “Please, I need to cum so bad”

You didn’t answer him, choosing instead to adjust your angle so you could rub your clit against his pelvis, chasing after your own release, his bare chest now rubbing against the fabric of your dress, who suddenly felt too hot.

“Hold it.” You ordered. “ Take off my dress. And don’t rip anything this time.”

He hurriedly followed your instructions and leaned towards you, capturing your nipple in between his lips and swirling his tongue around you. You were hitting your high for the second time, your walls tightening around him and moaning loudly.

“Y/N. Please, I can’t hold it anymore.” he pleaded, and you just love to see him looking like such a mess for you.

Still riding your orgasm, you nodded and he growled loudly, thrusting up faster and stronger, spilling himself inside you, making a big mess between your hips. He buried his face on your neck and you held him close, movements slowing down and noises becoming just heavy breaths until everything stopped.

He leaned back on the couch, still holding you close, and this time you buried your face on his skin, taking a deep breath and allowing yourself to get intoxicated in his scent just for a moment.

The moment ended and you got up, trying to fix yourself as good as possible, and changgu dressed up in his pants again.

“Don’t forget to clean this mess”

It was the last thing you said before turning on your heels and leaving, this time no one stopped you.

[earendilslight]

Soooo, I've been simping Thresh since 2014 and now I finally can be open about my love for him because of the cinematic, and since I'm about to apply for the C1 Cambridge certification and I'm in desperate need to practice my writing, it's a perfect time to write fanfics with Thresh 💖

It's just a very little text, maybe, if it gets enough love I'll turn it into an actual fanfiction. But in the mean time, enjoy!

Also, if you happen to notice any mistake let me know!

------—------------------------------------------

He came out of the shadows, where the dim light could reveal his features. It was a tall man, with long dark hair, dressed all in black, from the elegantly fixed necktie to the long-leathered trench coat that covered him down to the knees, a common attire used by the upper classes in Noxus. His face was slim, almost as the shape of the tip of a spear, with sharp cheekbones and a mouth that looked incredibly flexible as he smiled pettily at me. But it was not his smile that shocked me, no, it was his eyes. Eyes that shone like green, supernatural flames, like something evil lingered behind his mortal appearance.

The gaze of the monster in my nightmares. It was the same eyes that had terrified me for as long as I could remember, and now they were there, in the form of a devilman who smiled at me with cruel intentions. I suppressed a gasp, with trembling fingers, grasping at my robe while taking a step back.

I was petrified. How was I supposed to know this was the creature I pretended to make a deal with? I wonder If I would've been so bold to come here if I had known.

"Having second thoughts, miss?" he asked. His voice was deep, dark. The whisper of a phantom "You are indeed right to be frightened. Your soul would be in constant agony, roaming forever inside the lantern. Your friend made a choice, a very foolish one, I must say, and now he must pay the price of his own naive decisions. There is no point in wasting your life as a prisoner nor I'd like to carry a soul like yours."

"A soul like mine?" I said, trying to sound confident, but I could barely utter any words without stuttering.

"Do you wish to spend eternity in the lantern?" he asked, ignoring my question.

"No!" I replied almost immediately, without hesitation. The man looked pleased, even though there was barely a change in his expression.

"Then leave this place at once." He turned around,walking back to the inside of the house.

I realized how much of a mistake I'd made almost too late. I had been so scared that I was about to bail my plan and abandon Charles to his fate. I would never see him again, it didn't matter what choice I made. The only difference would be that, if I could convince that man to take me instead of him, Charles could be free and we could actually find a way to release myself and every other soul trapped in there. He, from outside, while I researched closely to the monster. And even so, I was shaking. Until that point, I hadn't considered the whole implications of being at the services of this devil, and the possibility of dying or, in the worst case scenario, spending the entire eternity in agony, was terrifying. But, hadn't Charles made sacrifices for me too? He was the only family I had left. The thought of my little brother suffering forever was unbearable, wasn't I supposed to be the one to protect him?

I couldn't abandon him like this...

"Wait!" I cried, so hard that it echoed across the entire yard and inside the manor. The man stopped at the door, turning slowly, first his head, then his whole body, now barely a silhouette in the dim light, staring at me without moving a muscle. I had my hand extended towards him, like trying to reach for his own, and I realized he was observing my gesture.

"Maybe... I could be of use outside the lantern..." I muttered, not even sure of what I was saying. He chuckled, almost amused with my comment. It was a muffled sound, not even a laugh.

"How come?" He asked with curiosity. Now I had his attention. It might have been a ridiculous thought, but I was starting to believe it could work.

"You're new to Noxus, sire" I said, straightening my back with an almost futile intention to appear confident. "People here talk a lot. In fact, most of them are already wondering who this mysterious visitor is. Where did he come from? What does he want? Noxus it's not a place who treats kindly it’s visitors, especially those who appear out of thin air and might be dangerous"

"Oh, I assure you, miss, I do not fret a bunch of drunken peasants who might try to trespass. Believe me, they are right to consider me a treat".

"I also consider you someone with a plan" I replied rapidly, getting to keep his eyes on me, and now, he seemed kind of... surprised "You don't strike me as a man who just wanders around this city in search for souls to torture. I believe you are here for a reason..."

He turned completely around, with an annoyed expression in his sharp face. As if I were a ridiculous fly trying to explain to a deadly spider how to seam its web.

"Your reasons are unknown to me" I continued "but I do know that once the people of Noxus begin to suspect you, Gods forbid, those who roam in the shadows, you would be the target of much more dangerous creatures than just drunken peasants."

It was true, actually. Unfortunately, Noxus was a city where you could disappear while walking back home just for people to find your dead body around the market the next morning and no one would bat an eye for you. Not to mention the multiple cults that made human sacrifices to the forgotten deities, besides robbers, assassins, rapists, the spirits that still roamed the streets late at night. Not to mention people had seen members of the Black Rose being more active than before. If this man was careless enough, some of them would notice, sooner or later, that there wasn’t something right with him.

"And what does this have anything to do with the liberation of your dearest brother from the lantern? And with you not taking his place inside of it?"

"I can be of good use outside the lantern, like I said"

Oh, dear God, what was I doing?

"If you let him go, I will be at your service, sire. You can keep me alive, not... dead and I can do anything that implies going outside the manor. People would suspect much less if they see actual movement in the mansion. It's not weird for a lord to have people at his services, even if it's just one harmless housekeeper..."

He seemed… intrigued by my proposal. I could tell he was analyzing every word that came out of my mouth, trying to find a deeper meaning or maybe ulterior motives behind my desires. Keen eyes watching my every move and reaction, almost as piercing through the flesh, into the darkest parts of my soul.

"Imagine I agree to your proposition” he speculated “What makes you think I would just let you go outside as you please?" he started walking towards me. There was this dreadful air around him that made my skin crawl. Like my heart was sinking down my throat and my blood froze little by little in my veins, with every step he took down in my direction.

The glowing, flame-like eyes coming closer, slowly, like the inevitable march of time and death, until the man stood there, five meters away from me, and I could smell the scent of his clothing, carried by the wind. Incense and the sea. Not the dry wood and dust of the hills of Noxus, but a fragrance I almost had forgotten, the one I smelled when I was a child, in a ship...

"I'm pretty sure you have ways to keep me bound to this place" I said, without escaping his glaring and hiding under my robe my shaking hands, while he studied me like a specimen he was about to dissect. "I do not doubt you could trap my brother again, and me, if I betray you. Or to even kill me, if it comes that way"

Maybe he was amused by my daring, maybe he was surprised at how much of a imbecile I was. Either way, he didn't utter a sound. The wind started to blow, much more cold than before, a voice that sang between the trees and the grass, moving the branches of the cypresses and the oaks as if they were to start dancing with the breeze, dragging with it heavy, grey-colored clouds announcing the impending storm.

“Do you wish so much to become a prisoner?” the man asked once more. The surrounding darkness of the clouds made his eyes brighter, like wildfire in the middle of the sea, blurred by the mist of the bay. “To never set a food without being watched? To know the true depths of the despair that brings with it the lack of freedom?”

I smiled, softly. Even when his face showed no change, I could tell he was, at least, studious to my reactions. I believe he was expecting me to be frightened by this, or to a certain degree intensely disturbed. For better or worse, life hadn’t treated me kindly. Since I was ten years old I had been at the service of people who considered me little more than trash and a burden, the next master worse than the last. Ironical, isn’t it? Seemed life had prepared me to serve a monster.

“Sire, I have served my whole life as a prisoner. From one Master to another, I’ve been tied to Bilgewaters my entire life” I admitted, looking directly into his cold gaze and when thunder started to strike, his eyes weren’t dulled by their light. “I do not fret to serve one more time, even if it’s forever…”

There was something that changed in his air. I cannot point out what it was, but his semblance was different, as if the winds of the storm had finally made him feel cold, even though I doubt something like him would be able to feel coldness. His previous smile had disappeared, and his mouth was now a grimace, a straight line, which made the jailer look much more severe than he already was.

“What is your name, miss?” the man asked, with a muttered, calm voice, with both hands behind his back.

“Senara Raion, sire” I responded, trembling not only because that man made me feel paralyzed, but because a very thin but chilling rain had started to fall above us.

He stared at me, thoughtful, almost as if he were expecting a reaction on my behalf.

“Miss Senara, tell me…” Suddenly, he extended his hand towards me, with no alteration to his face. “Do we have a deal?”

I looked at his face, the diabolic eyes, his gloved hand. There was no turning back…

“We do, sire.”

Had I known the future consequences of my choice… I would’ve never set foot on that hill...

-------—-----------------------------------------

Hope you liked it!

[rosy-cheekx]

Dragged from the Deep

I will update with an AO3 link, two chapters, but I really wanted to get this out!

This is from @voiceless-terror‘s prompt:  “ Been a tough few days. How are you holding up?” with jmart in the safehouse...Not what they expected but I am VERY VERY proud of this!

--

Martin awoke to the sound of Jon mumbling in his sleep. “I took my hand, and I reached down into the darkness.” Jon’s voice is quiet, reverent. Its barely his own; his voice of the Archive.

Really should have heard from Basira by now, Martin thought, trying to tamp down the frustration rising in his chest.

“Down and down,” Jon continued. “Until my whole arm was inside, up to the shoulder. It was damp and cold, with the rough stone sides scraping my skin, but my hand was stretched as far as I could, and it still gripped nothing but empty air. Then the hole began to close, and all at once the spell was broken.”

“Jon, m’dear?” he half-whispered, stroking Jon’s cheek softly. Jon was a light sleeper, but these times were...tricky. “Hey, Jonathan,” he added, voice at a speaking-volume now. “Wake up, it’s not real.”

“I tried to pull my arm out, to get free, but it held me tight. Not quite crushing me but holding me in place. I screamed and cried for help, looking around for anyone who might be able to hear me, but the only people walking by seemed utterly oblivious to what was happening. Then I felt it, something brushing against my hand from below it in the hole. Teeth. Wet, blunt teeth, which quickly gave way to a rough, slender tongue-”[97]

Martin couldn’t bear to hear any more. He hated witnessing Jon like this, possessed by the statements, by his need to feed. Jon’s voice was like marble, smooth and cold and mesmerizing, but it was heavy and would consume Jon if he allowed it.

Martin would not allow it.

“Jon!” He gave him a shake, firm on his shoulders. “Wake up!”

A drowning man suddenly reunited with his lungs; Jonathan Sims gasped for air. His eyes flashed open (there it was, the cursed glint of green that seemed to glow from within) and he clutched a hand to his chest as he began to cough. Martin pulled him into a sitting position, kneeling next to him and resting a hand on Jon’s lower back as he felt the convulsions double his frame. When his hacking had settled, Martin felt safe enough to breathe again himself, lest he had stolen air from the man beside him.

“H-hi,” Jon murmured, voice shaky, drawing his knees to his chest beneath the comforter. “How-how bad was it this time?”

Martin knew about Jon’s hunger, knew that statements were his fuel more than anything organic. The arrangement with Basira had been working relatively well up until now. Every three to four weeks, Basira would call the mobile they kept stashed in the safehouse for that purpose, only her number programmed in and let them know when she was coming, typically within a day or two. She should have called almost ten days ago. Had she let them go, at last, to fend for themselves? Had something happened to her, to the Institute? Things were getting dire.

At first, a little less than a week ago, Martin thought it was the nightmares; that the mumbling had been Jon apologizing to those so unfortunate enough to have him as a feature player in their nightmares. His words were unintelligible, so Martin had hugged him tightly in the night, in the way they had held each other those first days weeks, whispering affirmations of safety and love.

When he asked the poorly-rested Jon about it the next morning, he had frowned. “Ah, no. I mean, I haven’t slept with anyone—ah, more to say, no one has been in the room while I’ve been asleep to confirm for sure besides you, but I don’t think I usually talk in my sleep.” Martin chalked it up as “Weird, But No Too Weird,” and they agreed to keep an eye on it. Every night since, Martin had repeated that ritual, the words too unintelligible to understand, Martin clutching Jon like a life vest, carrying him safe through the morning.

Jon’s flu-like symptoms had cropped up three days ago. He woke weak, hardly able to move, and couldn’t keep any food down. The tea and water Martin literally spooned him were staying down, at least, which helped combat the dehydration Jon was surely suffering from the 40-degree fever he was running. The fever reducers weren’t helping, and Martin had nearly dragged Jon to A&E before he’d been able to explain to him what was happening. He was breaking down, needed the statements or things would get worse. “And, no, Martin-” cut off by a coughing fit. “I don’t know how much worse. Bad.” Whatever role Martin usually played in Jon’s life: roommate, friend, boyfriend maybe?, it didn’t matter. Or, at least, it came to second to Martin’s new role as nurse. Nurse was a role Martin was good at it. Practically a professional home-care assistant. But caring for a starving eldritch demigod was marginally different than caring for his human mum. At least the vomit cleaned the same way.

The statements had become more distinct the first night of the fevers. Words that had typically barely passed his lips were now being told to the night air with an intensity Martin had sorely wished he would never hear again. If Martin strained his ears, he could typically hear the tired hiss of a tape recorder. He tried to smash it that first night, out of anger and exhausted desperation, but Jon had screamed when he had bashed it with a vase, weeping as if it had been his head smashed and not the spinning dials of that cursed thing. Jon’s migraine had lasted through the night and into the afternoon, with Martin unable to do anything but apologize and stroke his hair, reading to him a novel that just wouldn’t be enough.

“Not too bad,” Martin answered, plastering a soft smile over his tired face. “Just scared me was all, I don’t know if it’s better to wake you or not, but it felt weird not to.” Jon was scratching at old worm scars, skin shiny and taut, and Martin took his hands gently, pressing a kiss to his pulse points in turn. God, he felt so hot against his lips.

“M-I’m sorry,” Jon sighs, eyes already fluttering closed again. His face was pale and his muscles slack; Martin hated how hollow his eyes and cheeks seemed, skeletal in the light of the moon.

“Shh, nothing to apologize for,” Martin assured him, reaching across Jon’s side of the bed to click on the lamp, wincing at the sudden light and the clock. 4:15. Too early, even for a morning person like Martin. “Do-do you want me to read to you some more? I can make some tea, chamomile? Milk and honey? Or we can listen to some music, or a podcast?” He knew it was fruitless. It would all be for naught until he got the damn statements from Basira.

Jon had the comforter drawn to his neck, shivering slightly, eyes closed. He nodded vaguely. “The book,” he managed, voice a broken whisper, so unlike the strong and powerful intonation Martin had just heard. Martin nodded, kissing his forehead, clammy and plastered with baby hairs, and stood, passing the book into Jon’s lap, page marked with a flat-barreled pen, something that had been tucked into a journal in the bedside table. (Jon and Martin had agreed that some things are better left unread.) Martin could see Jon’s hands shaking slightly under the blanket.

The walk to the kitchen was cold and dark, and Martin took a moment to himself, while the electric kettle hummed to life, to press his forehead against the cool plastic of the refrigerator, fingers interlaced behind his neck. God, he was so tired. He loved Jon more than anything, that was true, but he was at such a loss. It hurt to know there was nothing he could do to help, short of kidnapping a random neighbor from the town and begging them to tell Jon their story. He would call Basira this afternoon. He had tried the day the fever started and hasn’t received an answer. She was probably chasing down a lead about Daisy; she was known to go off the grid when hunting after her.

The click of the kettle, and Martin is on task again, portioning out tea and honey, chamomile for Jon, English breakfast for himself; he needs the caffeine. Two travel mugs later, Martin was heading back into the dark hallway, up the stairs, and to the dimly let bedroom.

The task had taken no more than five minutes, eight max. This was apparently, long enough for Jon to rifle in the nightstand drawer, retrieve that little notebook they had found, and to begin scribbling in it furiously. Martin could already see a good quarter of the notebook had been filled already, though what measure of that had been used prior to their arrival was unclear.

“Jon? Writing anything interesting?” Jon’s eyes jerked open and he let his gaze fall on the notebook.

“Oh-ah, no. Just doodling,” the words still weak, but the half-smile on his face lifts Martin’s spirits. See? He told himself. He’s still Jon. Jon closed the notebook and tucked it into his lap, reaching for the spill-proof mug with the hand not holding the pen that had been marking the page number. Martin noticed Jon twiddling the pen between his fingers and elected not to say anything. Whatever helped. And it had seemed to help; Jon seemed a little less gaunt than he had, but maybe that was the consequence of sitting up, letting himself focus on other things than his gnawing hunger. “Page 74,” Jon sighed as Martin resumed his position next to him in bed, tucking his head on Martin’s shoulder. “Second paragraph.”

“Creep,” Martin muttered good-naturedly, before settling into the pages and resuming the book, some sort of cop thriller-mystery (because of course that had been Daisy’s preferred reading material).

Martin had been reading for nearly an hour when, while pausing to sip his tea, the scratching of pen on paper had distracted him from the story. They had been at a rather thrilling part of the chase; the detective had just discovered that his wife, who he thought to be dead, was not actually dead and maybe even a part of the mystery. Martin had felt rather invested in giving Jon a good show, throwing himself into the narration maybe a little more than was necessary for the audience of one (1) ill partner (Boyfriend? Love? Patient? Whatever). Jon had remained quiet, save for a periodic coughing fit, but didn’t seem to be asleep from the way Martin could feel The Eye in the room with him, an inescapable feeling now, consequences of his proximity to The Archivist. With the sound of the pen, however, Martin closed the book, flipping it upside down and open. (Usually, Jon would chastise him for such a horrendous act to a book. Martin wished he would.)

Jon’s eyes were cast on the book, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. He was scribbling furiously, writing continuously in the notebook that had once belonged to Daisy. Jon’s handwriting, difficult in the best of circumstances, was positively chicken scratch as Martin tried to parse out the strings of words on the paper, some he could swear weren’t even English.

“Jon?” Martin asked, placing a hand on the journal gently. “Is everything alright?”

“I-ah, yeah,” Jon capitulated, sighing softly, even as it resulted in a series of weak hacks. “I was trying to remember the dream, the statement I was reading in my sleep. I thought maybe writing it down would help.”

“And? Did it help?”

“I…I don’t know.” Jon frowned and scrubbed his hands over his eyes, blinking wearily. “I need to keep trying.”

Martin frowned internally but tried to keep his face neutral. “D’you think it’s…good? To try?”

“I don’t know, Martin.” Martin is suddenly reminded of a paranoid, frantic Jonathan Sims, angry and scared and not knowing who to trust. “But I have to try something! I can’t just sit here, waiting to wither away and die.”

“O-okay then,” Martin took a deep breath. “It was just a question.”

“A stupid one.” He’s sick, Martin reminds himself. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“Well,” Martin closed the book properly this time, surreptitiously dog-earing a page. What Jon doesn’t know won’t hurt him. “I’m out of tea. Need any more?”

Jon shook his head, quiet now as he continued to write, eyes glued to his page. “A-alright then,” Martin slid off the bed and frowned, catching a whiff of himself. Yikes. He had lost track of the last time he bathed, so worried had he been about missing a call from Basira. “Would you be okay if I have a shower?”

More silence, the scratching of the cheap pen the only sound in the room. At least there wasn’t a tape running. “Shout if you need me.”

-

It felt good to breathe in the steam and smell of lather, to luxuriate in the hot water rolling over him. Martin has always been a bit generous with his showers, especially as a teen. They had been his designated times to be off the hook from his mother, chores, his jobs, anything that was causing him stress. Martin felt a bit guilty remembering these things. His shower wasn’t long because he wants to avoid Jon, not at all. It’s just. Jon is clearly in a bit of a mood, so it would be good to give him some space without making it seem like he’s upset. Which, he’s not upset! Just. a break is good. Yeah. A break is healthy.

Martin turned off the water when he started to feel a bit dizzy from the heat, wrapped himself in a towel and splashed cold water on his face. There. He was feeling better already.

“Jon!” He called, cracking the door and letting steam roll out around him. “I know it’s a bit early, but I thought maybe I could start on breakfast. Maybe you can stomach down some crackers today?”

After a few beats of silence, Martin called out again. The loo, while not an en suite, was pretty close to the master. “Jon?”

Must be asleep. Martin smiled softly to himself and shook his head, ruffling his curls, more white than auburn anymore, and pulled on a fresh pair of sweatpants. Not like they were going anywhere today.

Tinged pink from the hot shower, Martin rounded the corner into the master bedroom and stopped, momentarily confused. “Oh, did you not hear me?”

Jon was awake. He was still writing, bent over the notebook and scribbling furiously, murmuring to himself, too quiet to hear. He didn’t look up. Martin frowned, shivering as a wave of static rolled over his body like a cool wind. “Jon. Jon, a-are you in there? Are you okay?”

The muttering continued, unceasing. Martin edged forward carefully, hands in front of him like he was buffeting back a storm or trying not to scare a wounded animal. Honestly, Martin wasn’t sure which sentiment was more accurate. He crept his way to Jon’s side of the bed, still apparently unnoticed by the Archivist. There was a bloody tape recorder on the bedside table. Martin knew better than to touch it.  

He bent down, kneeling on the floor and craning his neck to look up into Jon’s face. His shoulders slumped as he gazed up into an emerald glow as Jon’s own eyes, usually a deep brown, lit the page in front of him like a torch, bathing it in harsh light. Jon’s own form was crackling slightly, seemingly more solid than a usual body should, silhouette a little too crisp against the wall behind him.

Martin could hear him now, too, and his voice was the same low, consistent monologue that Martin had first loved, but had grown to hate in his years working in the Archives.

“As I said, it was one of the last boxes I opened on the second day. It was late, and I had already made my way through most of a bottle of wine. The more I think about it, the more I think that opening that box felt no different to any of the others. No hard feelings, no smells, nothing. It was just a box empty of everything except a single typewritten note and an old hand mirror.

It lay inside, utterly innocuous. If it was a trap, there was no way to tell.” [60]

That one sounded familiar. An old statement, it must be. Something about a mirror and seeing things in a reflection? Punching a camera? he wondered. Martin felt another shiver roll through his body; he turned his attention towards the notebook, towards what he knew would be there. Now that he knew what to look for, he could read the handwriting with little trouble. As the Archivist spoke, he wrote the words in Jon’s handwriting, transcribing the statement.

“Jon,” Martin’s voice was soft. “If you can hear me, I’m going to take away your pen now. I think…I think that will let you rest. I’m going to count to three, okay? One. Two. Three.”

As soon as Martin reached for the pen, he felt himself being thrown backwards, as if by a tidal wave. He felt his body hit the wall, heard his skull hit the wall with a sickening thud.

                                        ------Chapter 2------

When Martin woke, he was confused. Last he knew, he had gone to sleep in bed, right? Not on the couch watching telly or drunk in a bathtub. So why was he so stiff—ow. He rolled his neck. And sore. He was on the floor, for one thing, head against the wall and legs splayed in front of him. God his head hurt. Was he hungover? No, he hadn’t drunk anything. Just eaten dinner in bed with Jon, done dishes, read, and fallen asleep.

Oh shit. Jon. It rushed back to Martin in a dizzying spiral; Helen would be proud. The mumbling, the writing, the pen, the eyes. Had Jon pushed him? Not physically, maybe. But hadn’t he heard through the grapevine something about Jon and the delivery man—Breekon? Or maybe Hope? Whichever one hadn’t died in the Unknowing. Something about him shoving him backwards with sheer force of a word? Jon had thought they were exaggerating. But maybe…maybe not.

Martin’s eyes were still closed, he realized. He was afraid to, he realized. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see: maybe a big, unblinking Eye where the body of Jon had been? A torrent of books and pages spinning around Jonathan Sims in a dramatic flourish as he commands them? Hundreds, if not thousands, of tape recorders piling around their bed, drowning them both in magnetic tape and words? Slowly, painfully, Martin opened his eyes.

None of those were there of course. There was just Jon. Sitting in bed, gaunt and frail. Writing and reciting as if nothing happened. That was almost worse, in a way, that he had flung Martin against a wall and continued as if it hadn’t hurt him to do so. The Archivist’s movements were stiff and mechanical as he turned the page and continued to write, voice now in a language Martin couldn’t understand but was probably Chinese.

Stopping the writing was no longer an option, he supposed. But what else could he do? Maybe it could recharge Jon a little, like sucking the marrow from a bone. Only Martin wasn’t sure if the statements or Jon was the bone in that scenario. God, he wished he could Eldritch Google “Eye statement starvation: stages of bad?” Unfortunately, his Eldritch Google was out of service and there was no one else he could ask who wasn’t also trying to actively kill him.

What were his options then? Wait and hope Jon doesn’t die. Call Basira again. Kidnap a stranger and have them read a statement. Well, he wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.

Martin sighed, running a hand through his hair and feeling a lump throbbing gently on the back of his head. He checked the rest of his body for injuries and was grateful to find nothing too bad. Probably just a concussion.

Hauling himself to his feet (using the floor and doorknob to a closet as his supports), Martin teetered his way to the kitchen. He threw open the cupboard beneath the sink and grabbed the small black phone with Basira’s number saved.

Dialing, he slid himself into a chair at the kitchen table, resting his forehead against his free palm and closed his eyes again.

“Hello?” The faint voice Basira Hussain rang out into the air.

“Basira? It’s Martin. Any word on the statements? It’s getting a little dire here.” He could hear the exhaustion in his own voice.

“Dire? How do you mean?” Basira was always a little too direct for Martin’s taste; couldn’t she hear how drained he was?

“He won’t stop repeating and writing old statements. I tried to stop him and he—well. It wasn’t on purpose…But he threw me into a wall.”

“Shit.” Basira was quiet for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he bit back. “I would be better if we had the statements.” There wasn’t time for him to feel guilty about his delivery.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I caught wind of Daisy being in Italy, so I’m there now. If I take the first flight out of Rome, I can be at my flat tomorrow and yours the next. Two days, max. Less if I can. Can he make it that long?”

“Better bloody hope so.” The fight drained from him. “Please, Basira,” he added, sighing. “I don’t know what to do. He was sick and feverish and I could handle that but now he’s just…empty.”

“Maybe it’s like a diet.” He could practically hear her mind spinning through the phone. “You know, how when you starve yourself for too long? You start losing weight and all’s dandy. But the longer you wait, your body starts taking nutrients from your own organs?” Martin hummed an affirmation. “Maybe he’s sucking out every bit he can from himself to survive.”

“So…how do I fix that?”

“I mean, when I get you the statements, we can force-feed him. But until then? I dunno. I’m at a loss too. Keep him safe, I think? But don’t let yourself get hurt either.”

Martin nodded, momentarily forgetting he was on the phone. “Oh, yeah. Um, thank you Basira. I’ll do my best. Call me when you’re at the flat?”

“Of course. Call me if you get lo-bored.”

“Please hurry.”

Martin hung up and dropped his head to the table unceremoniously, wincing as the impact rattled the back of his skull. Now what? He didn’t want to sit in the room while the Archivist worked, but he was afraid to leave him alone. He hated how it felt to be in the room, the low wave static and the feeling of being known permeating every pore. He was afraid what staying in there would do, if Jon would Know him too well after he came back. Looking around, Martin grabbed the egg timer Jon used when he cooked and spun it to an hour. If he checked in every hour, that would be fine, right? He could let the Archivist have the bedroom; he’d stay downstairs, and check in every hour.

The first few hours crept by, but each ding of the egg timer was much too soon for Martin’s liking. He iced his head, wincing again when he realized it was the late morning and he had been unconscious for quite a while. He made himself an unassuming brunch, cheese toasty and curry left over from dinner a few days ago. Made some more tea, obviously, and took some acetaminophen to reduce the swollen goose-egg on his head. Read, watched an old DVD of some American TV show Daisy must have liked. Tried to keep his mind off whatever had taken over his boyfriend in the upstairs bedroom.

Each time the timer went off, Martin would repeat the same process. He would ascend the stairs, knock on the doorframe of the bedroom, tell Jon he was coming over to check on him, and would watch and listen to him for almost a minute. Some of the statements he recognized, some he didn’t. His eyes were always that throbbing, blinding green, staring into nothing, his face hollow and gaunt. Around two in the afternoon, Martin went in to see that Jon had moved from the bed. The notebook lay abandoned, filled to the last page. The Archivist was standing, in baggy sleep boxers, facing the wall, still intoning the fears and terrors of those who had contributed their stories to the Institute. Their stories were stark when written against the robin blue pant. Martin left the room before he could Know he was crying.

Afternoon turned to evening, and Martin continued his ministrations. The egg timer ran his day and he got little done, managing maybe half of a book from the meager shelf downstairs. He wasn’t even sure what it was about; he had to keep rereading the same pages over and over. The writing had grown to cover half the wall in Jon’s slanted script. Martin wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what would happen if he tried to smudge it. Between checking up on The Archivist, he half-heartedly ate scrambled eggs and chugged some wine; he figured he’d earned it. It was weird to feel strangely like an Archival Assistant again; knowing things were bad for the man he desperately wanted to be there but not knowing how to help.

KRRRRRRRRRRG!

Time to check on him again. Martin trudged up the stairs for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The Archivist was in a different position this time. He was kneeling, head bowed. Martin could have sworn he was praying; the monotony of words slipping from his lips as easily as the nuns Martin had seen growing up. Martin paused. It was…almost beautiful, in a way. The slight form of a man paying his service to a god to whom he was so completely indebted. The green light reflecting off the wall, covered in his scripture, casting a glow on his skin and through his curls, mussed from fever.

Would’ve been, anyways, if Martin hadn’t seen the drop of blood snaking its way down Jon’s thigh, creasing where his leg was folded along the calf. All at once, the beauty he had been caught up in was gone and all he saw was a helpless, broken man, compelled to write the words of the desperate, the lost, the broken. Martin shook a pillowcase from the bed, letting the pillow fall unceremoniously, and cautiously moved to the Archivist. As worried as he was, he needed to know what was going on before he could help.

The sight made him slightly sick. Jon was bent over his thigh, holding the pen as if it were a dagger, and was using the ballpoint tip to carve words into the meat of his leg. He hadn’t gotten far, apparently the effort took more out than the body of a weakened Jon could take.

“a fac-” [54]

Confused, Martin looked up to the wall where he had been writing and figured out the problem. The pen had run out of ink. The words got paler and less distinct until they were barely readable. Judging from the smears, the Archivist had tried to use Jon’s blood to write, using the pen as a quill. It clearly hadn’t worked, judging by the thin, weak curves of red and brown. Jon was still mumbling the statement, eyes blank and voice even, but the lines of his face seemed frustrated and dark.

The letters on his skin were weeping dark red now and Martin could see his hands weren’t the only ones shaking. He was afraid to touch him, afraid that trying to press a cloth to his wounds could quite literally be both of their deaths.

The more he stared, trapped in indecision, he watched as the decision was made for him. Jon had been ill, dehydrated and fever-laden, and the assault to his body was more than he could handle. His face, an ashen brown-grey-green from the glow of his eyes, went slack and as the emerald lights went out, Jon slumped, falling into Martin’s lap and shoulder as his body gave up. As soon as their skin touched, Martin’s mind snapped into focus. Fix this. You have to fix this.

Martin was immediately comforted by the fact that Jon was breathing. He hadn’t run out of fuel, not yet. Martin pressed a kiss to his hair (still hot) as he gently laid Jon flat, tearing open the sealed end of the pillowcase clutched in his fist so he could slip it up Jon’s leg and press it down, trying to stem the blood flow. You need something better, he thought, mind racing. It was oozing, not squirting, so Jon hadn’t hit an artery. That was good. Thank god Mum’s hospital soaps were worth something in the end. He needed a thicker fabric; the sheet wasn’t doing any good. Martin scoured the room, looking for any sort of thick fabric.

His towel from his shower. Thank fuck for his laziness. In less than ten steps, he had retrieved the towel from where it was haphazardly abandoned by the dresser and brought it back, folding and pressing it to his thigh, exchanging it for the thin white pillowcase. Sorry, Daisy.

Kneeled beside Jon, Martin lent most of his upper body weight to pressing down on the towel, keeping a cautious eye on Jon’s face and his chest, each shallow breath another blessing. He’s not sure how long he sits there in, that position, whispering platitudes to the pallid-faced man laid in front of him. Maybe an hour? Maybe three? Maybe twenty minutes? Time is blurry, intangible to him.

It’s dark when Martin felt okay to cautiously lift the towel and examine the letters carved in his leg. They’re starting to clot, he nodded to himself, feeling safe enough to leave Jon there on the floor to get the first aid kit from the lav. Carefully, lovingly, Martin pulled the ace bandage tight around the cotton pads on his leg, freshly doused and swabbed with cleansing alcohol. Daisy was nothing if not prepared for injuries.

Satisfied with his care, he gently pulls Jon into his arms and takes him downstairs. He didn’t want Jon to wake up and see the room like this—bloody and covered in the writings of the Archivist. Between the carpet and walls, it would take a while to clean anyways. The couch was certainly big enough to hold the man he held in his arms (and god he was way too light).

One Jon was laid on the couch, Martin made a fresh cup of tea, black tea with as much caffeine as he could stomach and pulled a cold compress from the freezer. Lifting his shoulders carefully, Martin situated himself to act as a headrest for the unconscious Jon, a cold compress acting as a barrier between them to hopefully aid the fever. One hand in Jon’s curls, the other holding a book open (still, no idea what it was about), Martin settled into the evening, saying a prayer to anything that was out there that Basira would hurry the hell up.

Martin read aloud to Jon all night, trying in vain to keep himself awake. Apparently, the book was a romance novel, some trashy erotica about a woman and a werewolf. Martin was just graceful it wasn’t sci-fi and horror. He annotated it as he read, giving Jon his stream of consciousness thoughts. “You know, I haven’t done that,” he chuckled to himself, brushing Jon’s hair from his face. “Especially not with a woman, but I don’t really think it’s anatomically possible.”

His eyes were starting to droop around three or four in the morning, the adrenaline draining out of him. Resting a hand on Jon’s neck, he felt for his pulse point and, after finding it, light and shallow as it was after the coma, let his eyes close, comforted in feeling the life fluttering beneath his fingers.

-

Martin woke up to a pounding on the door and he snapped awake like the knock had been a gunshot. The care he took to lay Jon’s head back down was deeply contrasted by the way he bolted to the door, unlocking it with haste and resisting the urge to throw his arms around Basira, wincing at the bright daylight that streamed inside.

“Woah—Martin,” Basira took a step back involuntarily. “Is there a reason your hands are covered in blood?”

“What? Oh-yeah, I’ll tell you about it. Things were bad. It’s fine now. It’s-It’s not my blood.” Martin swung the door open, letting Basira in. “What time is it? How did you get here so fast?”

“It’s quarter-three; I may or may not have found a plane that wasn’t on the official flight plans. And there’s more than one way to get in the Institute besides a key.” Martin shook his head and decided it wasn’t worth asking about. He beckoned her to the couch, where Jon lay, limbs limp.

Basira handed him the first statement on the pile and opened one for herself. “Ready?”

“Statements begin.”

-

Jon’s first thought was how wet his neck felt. His second was why he heard so many words. His brain floated between living dolls and a message in a bottle, washed up on the beaches of Greece. His teeth were chattering and he felt so cold. He grasped his hands out, reaching desperately for the comforter. Martin must have stolen it, he smiled to himself. Oh, that’s Martin. Martin’s voice.

“Hmm…Mm’tin,” he murmured, shifting towards the sound of his voice. Martin’s voice continued, telling him a story about a doll with painted lips and angry eyes. A hand reached out and cupped his face. Jon leant into the touch hungrily, grateful for the heat on his skin. He let Martin’s words carry him away again.

-

When Jon woke again, he felt more alive than he had in days. If his illness recently had been him submerged, he finally felt like he was breaking through the surface. The Choke released him, and he felt oxygen return to his lungs. But he was not in the Buried, he was on the couch. He was not drowning, he was breathing sweet air and felt it wafting over him in the drafty house that felt like a home when he was with Martin. Martin. God, he could hear his voice and he didn’t think he had heard anything so sweet than Martin speaking and reading to him. He was reading, yes, and Jon knew immediately what it was: the statement of Herbert Conklin, an Irishman who watched his son turn to plastic before his eyes, piece by piece. Jon’s eyes flew open and he craned his neck to find Martin’s face. His eyes were cast down on the statement in his lap, but his hand was folded in Jon’s, running his fingertips over the smaller man’s knuckles gently.

Jon felt paralyzed, unable to move as he let the statement wash over him, hating how good it made him feel to hear the statement, lavishing in the words. He felt a sharp pain in his leg throb to dull ache as the healing words flowed through him. As Martin uttered those forsaken words: “Statement Ends,” he brought his eyes to meet Jon’s, a pale smile ghosting his face before it solidified into something more real, more Martin.

“Hi love. Been a tough few days. How are you holding up?”

Jon was lost for words for a moment, gaping like a fish before he brought Martin’s clasped hand to his lips. Kissing it, he pressed the words into his skin, begging them to impress themselves there forever.

“Better that you’re here.” His memory was a blank, sure, but he knew it must be true and didn’t need to ask the Eye to confirm. Martin was here. All would be well.

[unaccomplishedwriter]

THE HERO YOU NEED

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Prologue here

Chapter One

Decisively locking herself into her compartment alone, (y/n) sunk down into her seat with a loud plop. Clutching her wand, she rolled the violet amethyst handle between her fingers, a habit she’d adopted ever since her first year at Ilvermorny. She could feel the tears starting to cloud her vision as she stared out the window to her parents standing on the platform. Though she wanted to cry, she refused to let them fall. Her parents wouldn’t care anyway. This was the most determined they’d been to have her do something in her entire life.

To (y/n)‘ s bitter frustration, she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to her friends and beloved professors. Her parents sprung the frightful news merely a few days before she was due for the new school year in America; gave her a few days to get come to terms with starting a new life elsewhere. She’d never resented their job more, even when it had them disappearing for months on end.

And even more frustratingly, they refused to tell her why. But the cold conviction in her father’s eyes and the shadows of something darker and more uncertain — in her mother’s, (y/n) couldn’t find it in herself to disobey them either.

So yet here she sat, on some godforsaken train in some godforsaken robes making sure not to spill these godforsaken tears.

Life couldn’t be worse for her right now.

And as if to mock her, the loud sound of the door handle rattling startled her from her melancholy staring contest with her parents. To top it off, the train had finally jerked into motion, her heart along with it. Shaking from sheer surprise, the blood rushed to her ears, nearly drowning out the arrogant alohamora from the other side of the door.

A tall blonde boy sauntered into the compartment, a sneer on his face.

“How dare you take my compartment, you filthy—,”

The words died in his throat as his eyes landed on the girl in the corner. Her eyes were glassy and her nose was red, giving her (s/c) skin a flushed glow. Normally he’d take the opportunity to mock them further, but his jaw refused to move. Not liking being gawked at, (y/n)’s voice filled the silence.

“You were saying?” She snapped.

Whatever it was, it was going to be rude. A glare made its way to her face as she angrily blinked her tears away. Using this time to take in the boy’s features, (y/n) couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised. He was rather handsome, with fine blonde strands of hair falling into his face. He had clear grey eyes that reminded her of her overcast skies, which she rather liked. The green and silver Slytherin crest was proudly displayed on his chest, and her preconceived notions about Hogwarts’ houses set in just a bit more.

“I—I—Um, are you new?” He stuttered dumbly. The stupid look on his face was enough to wash some of her irritation away, and she relaxed her shoulders a bit. Furrowing her brows, she stared at the door until the boy got the hint and closed it behind him. It wasn’t until he was sat across from her and their eyes were locked again before she bothered to answer his question.

“I’m not a little first year, if that’s what you’re asking. But... yes, I am new. I’m a fourth year.”

He nodded his head, continuing to stare at her. She started to feel a bit put off before he opened his mouth again.

“Not from here, either. You an American? What’s your name?”

“I am American. I’m (F/n) Hightower.”

His eyes bugged out of his head, and (Y/n) couldn’t help but giggle. He was rather entertaining...and cute, if she’d had to admit.

“Hightower as in one of the oldest American Wizarding families? Your family practically helped pioneer the entire setup of the American Wizarding World,”

He exclaimed. A throb of annoyance fell upon her, but (y/n) brushed it off. Her family name meant she had a fuckton of expectations placed on her shoulders, and she didn’t particularly want them to carry over to her new life at Hogwarts.

“And your name?” She asked. He sat back proudly, a smug smile gracing his face. A smirk soon mirrored it on (y/n)‘s; she’d always liked seeing self-assurance on others.

It made her wish she had some for herself.

“I’m a Malfoy, of course. Draco Malfoy,” he reached out with his hand, before freezing and pulling it back quickly. The embarrassed laugh that followed made (y/n) laugh as well. She’d heard of the Malfoys, and so far this Draco boy aligned with most of what she’d learned. Perhaps a bit more charm, though.

They talked animatedly about their families for a while, finding familiarity in the pressure of a high-profile background.

“So which house do you recommend?”

Perhaps it was a stupid question, but she enjoyed the way his eyes lit up following it regardless.

“Slytherin, obviously! We’re the best at everything and have the most house cups under our belt,” he bragged. “The other houses are full of losers, but if there were a house I’d definitely stay away from it would be Gryffindor. They’re a bunch of self-righteous freaks,” Draco huffed, crossing his arms. His childish comment and posture eliciting an eye roll.

“Forget I asked,” she joked. (Y/n) explained a bit of how Ilvermorny’s sorting process went about, hers in particular. The subject seemed very interesting to the blonde haired boy and she found herself gradually reddening from the attention.

But she’s (Y/n) freaking Hightower, and she does not get flustered by boys.

“I knew the moment I saw you that you were different,” he boasted. “I’d have remembered seeing a girl like you around before—,”

“A girl like me?” She cut in, making him falter. As if just realizing what he’d said, Draco’s face turned red, and he recoiled back into his seat.

“I meant— you— you’re from a good family, is all.” He stammered. With a raised brow, (y/n) leaned forward, invading some of his space.

“Family isn’t everything you know. You’re only what you make of yourself... not to mention, outside of the Wizarding World, we’re not much. The muggles have accomplished loads without magic, I’d say that’s something to applaud on its own.”

He gaped at her for a moment, jaw hanging. Feeling self-conscious, she drew back a bit. She suddenly remembered the clear division between muggles and wizards here in Europe, and felt stupid for bringing it up.

“Who cares about muggles? They’re even worse than the mudbloods — at least they can do magic, no matter how poorly,” he sniggered, a glimpse of the initial nastiness she saw when he’d first entered her compartment.

A scowl now adorning her face, (y/n) stood up abruptly.

“I grew up alongside muggles, you know. Their technology can make life very convenient,” she hissed. Muggles were a sore subject for (y/n) amongst her magical friends; though not as bad as Europe, the American Wizarding world still practiced some degree of separation from muggles, which fostered some less-than-kind mentalities amongst some of her peers back in America. She assumed it would be worse here, but coming face to face with it from a boy who’s company she otherwise enjoyed was decidedly unpleasant.

Draco stared up at her, taken aback. “Well, they—they just don’t belong with us,” he exclaimed, standing up as well.

Her face officially hot, (y/n) marched past him and threw open the doors of the compartment.

“If that’s what you think,” she hissed, “you can leave.”

For what seemed like the thousandth time since they met, Draco once again gaped at her. Face twisting, he strode past her.

“Didn’t take a Hightower for a blood traitor,” he spat, slamming the door behind him.

Furious, (y/n) slammed herself back into her seat before promptly shutting the blinds in her window, darkness encasing her cabinet.

Welcome to Hogwarts, she moaned.

*

As she gazed glumly at the gaggle of first-years in front of her, (y/n) couldn’t help but curse her parents to the high heavens for the millionth time that day. Going through the bated torture of just one house sorting three years ago was quite enough, thank you. She never thought she’d be here again, experiencing this again. Hogwarts and Ilvermorny unfortunately did not have some sort of house equivalency, thus her recent move meant she was forced to be sorted once again like some sort of anxiety-ridden eleven year old.

Well, she wasn’t. She was an anxiety-ridden fourth year, and for Merlin’s sake, this stupid hat was by far the most tedious being she’d ever bore witness to existing!

It spent a good twenty minutes on some students, and heavens knows how long this event would actually last. She didn’t even want to be here anyway.

But as another child was sorted, the thunderous applause of Ravenclaw house deafened her ears yet again and she couldn’t resist the small smile that crept along her face. At the very least, Ilvermorny and Hogwarts had one thing in common: comraderie. She’d heard gossip about how intense the house rivalry of Hogwarts was, but for now, it was nice to see a bit of community shown in order to drown out her lonely anxieties.

It was another thirty minutes before her name was called, and the Great Hall descending into a suffocating silence. A good two heads taller than the first-years, she stood out like a sore thumb. But if (y/n) was to be deemed as anything, she wanted it to be confident, so she sauntered up to the platform without delay. Her face was the picture of calm, but she couldn’t resist tightening her grip on her wand as she felt the inumerable amount of eyes on her. She’d thought about which house she’d prefer to get sorted into beforehand, but had doubts.

(Y/n) was 100% sure her personality aligned best with Slytherin, but the house’s propensity for dark magic and prejudice didn’t bode well with the kind of wizard she wished to be. Gryffindor seemed the next best choice, but the tact and levelheadedness of Ravenclaw house was something she’d surely advantage from.

She considered all of these options, but when the hat descended on her head, there was only one house actually in her mind.

“Oh-ho-ho! A Pukwudgie! A special one at that! Looks like we have future Wizarding royalty in our presence. Though, you lot’s preferred way of sorting is quite boring though, innit? Well, I’d say at least. Of course, a Pukwudgie there makes for anything you’d like here, special or not. You’d do particularly well in Slytherin, it seems... but it looks like you’ve made up your mind? Careful love, it isn’t too good to believe everything you hear. You’d be proud to be in any of our houses, I’d reckon! But, still? Are you sure? Well, okay —

Hufflepuff for the yankee!”

Maybe it was because she was clearly not a first-year and therefore more interesting, but (y/n) could have sworn Hufflepuff’s cheers were a bit louder than for those before her. Either way, she couldn’t help the wide smile that bloomed on her face as she rose from her seat. As she stood, her gaze landed squarely on two piercing grey eyes staring directly at her. Across from her was the Slytherin house, the house that she’d might have been part of in another life. Time seemed to have stood still in this split second, and she felt something stir in her chest. A small twang of regret? Or, guilt even?

But that was impossible, what would she be guilty of? And as her gaze landed on the lips underneath those eyes, which were now twisted into a familiar sneer, (y/n) promptly turned away and pranced over to her new home away from home.

Even if Slytherin had that handsome, rude boy, she was sure Hufflepuff had better in store for her.

Author’s Note: Leave a comment or an ask in order to be added to the tag list ☺️

[detectivereyes]

Drop What I’m Doing and Sit Beside You

(read on ao3)

Summary:  Carlos knows he's sick yet he decides against calling out. Fortunately he has an awesome partner and an incredible boyfriend that know how to talk some sense into him.

CW:  brief mentions of nausea near the beginning

Features @brilliantbanshee‘s OC Mya because I love her and I just had to include her as Carlos’ partner (thanks for letting me borrow her Jillian!)

Beta’d by @terramous

Carlos knew from the moment he woke up this morning with a dull ache behind his eyes that it was going to be a rough day. In all honesty, he probably should have called out of his shift. The symptoms came on suddenly yet strong last night, causing him to get barely any sleep. Instead, he decided to tough it out.

And now, sitting in the patrol car on his lunch break with Mya, the dull ache in his head has evolved into an intense pounding. He tries to take a few bites of his sandwich but the ham and cheese combination only makes him nauseous. So he gives up and rests his throbbing head in his hands, pressing the heel of his palms against his eyes.

When he finally looks back up, he notices his partner, Mya, giving him a look.

“What?” he asks.

“You should have just called out today.”

“I’m fine, Mya.”

“I’ll believe you if you can finish your sandwich without getting sick.”

Carlos glares at her. As he’s about to fire back, their banter is interrupted by the crackling of their radio alerting them to a car accident a few blocks away. Carlos grabs the radio and responds that they are two minutes out before flipping on the light bar and siren, and speeding off.

When they arrive at the scene, the 126 already have the accident covered, so Mya and Carlos direct their attention to crowd control. 

Making his way over to the scene, he manages to catch TK’s eye and give him a small smile. Even though Carlos may feel like he’s dying right now, running into his boyfriend on calls is always certain to make the day a little brighter.

“How’s that going?” Mya asks, pulling Carlos from his thoughts.

“It’s nice.” Carlos blushes, whether that’s the thought of TK or the fever remains to be seen. “I mean, we basically spend every second both of us are not on shift together and things are just going good.”

“Good.” Mya smiles and nods at him. “I’m happy for you guys.”

They break off in separate directions to control the crowd. As Carlos gets closer to his section, the noise of the group, on top of the blaring equipment the 126 is using to get the accident victims out, only makes Carlos’ head feel worse. He wasn’t even sure that was possible, but now the intense throb has progressed to a piercing pain. He sways on his feet but catches himself, trying to shake it off. He has a job to do and he refuses to let a little minor sickness get in the way of that.

He starts to politely ask the crowd that had gathered around the scene to take a few steps back and allow the fire department to do their job. He glances over to Mya, expecting her to be doing the same on the other side but instead he finds her chatting with TK. He goes to shake his head in disapproval but the movement only makes him dizzy. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the blinding pain to pass. Before he can get them back open, he feels a soft hand on his back. 

“Hey baby, how about I take you home?”

Carlos turns around and squints open his eyes to be met with TK’s concerned gaze. “What did Mya say to you?”

“She really didn’t have to say much, I could tell you were feeling off today. But we’re both worried about you.”

“Well I appreciate your concern but unfortunately we both have a job to do right now.”

“Well we’re just about finished here and I already talked to my dad and he’s letting me leave early to take you home. Mya is going to talk to your captain. We’ve got it covered, okay?”

Carlos wants to argue with him more. He doesn’t necessarily enjoy his friends going out of their way so he can have a day off. Plenty of people work through sick days, why should he get special treatment?

Instead, he gives TK a small nod, prompting his boyfriend to take his hand and lead him back over to the patrol car.

—

Carlos tried to insist that TK should ride back to the firehouse with his crew and that way they could both drive home and meet at Carlos’ house. TK however would not hear it. Instead he proposed that he ride back with Carlos and Mya. That way Carlos wouldn’t have to drive himself home. When Carlos pointed out that TK would then be stuck wearing his uniform for the remainder of the day, TK just shrugged it off saying he would get someone to bring him a change of clothes when their shift ended.

By the time they get settled in his house, Carlos is exhausted. When it was clear that TK was making Carlos go home and would not be taking “no” for an answer, Carlos allowed the symptoms he was suppressing since he woke up to fully overtake his body. Every muscle aches and he can’t figure out if he wants to curl up under a blanket to get himself to stop shaking or take a cold shower in the hopes that it brings his fever down.

He all but collapses onto the couch the minute they walk in the door as TK bee-lines towards his kitchen.

“What kind of soup do you have?”

“You’re making me soup?”

TK perks up at Carlos’ question and chuckles. “Yeah, that’s kind of what you do for people who are sick.”

“There should be some cans in the cabinet. I don’t care what kind.” 

Carlos smiles, watching his boyfriend maneuver around his kitchen with ease. The thought that he knows his way around Carlos’ house so well after such a short time together fills Carlos with warmth.

Knowing the soup may take a while to cook, Carlos decides to rest his eyes for just a few minutes. Or at least he planned to only keep them closed for a few minutes but he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knows, he feels a cool hand pressed against his forehead.

His eyes flutter open, meeting TK’s worried gaze.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, biting down on his lip. “You feel really warm though. Do you have a thermometer?”

“In the bathroom, medicine cabinet,” Carlos meekly gets out.

TK nods and hurries off, quickly returning with a thermometer in hand which he presses under Carlos’ tongue. He pulls it out when it beeps and reads the number out loud. “102 degrees,” he states with concern.

Carlos didn’t think it was that high but then again, this is the first time his temperature has been taken tonight. The thought had crossed his mind when he woke up this morning but he brushed it off and convinced himself he would be fine.

With TK’s concerned eyes still on him, all he says is “oh.”

“Have you taken any medicine yet?”

Carlos shrugs. “I took some Advil but that was hours ago.”

“Okay,” TK nods, getting up to make his way back to the bathroom before returning with two more tablets and a glass of water.

“Thanks,” Carlos says, taking the medicine and a small sip of water. 

TK takes a seat next to him, and allows Carlos to rest his head on his shoulder. “The soup is done but I put it in the fridge. You can heat it up later if you don’t want it right now.”

Carlos mumbles an “okay” into TK’s shoulder.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

“I don’t think I can stay awake. But you can turn on something if you want.”

TK chooses Coco and Carlos lets himself drift off to the sound of Miguel explaining his family's history. 

The next time he wakes up, he is no longer leaning on TK but instead his snug shoulder has been replaced with a slightly less comfortable pillow. He can also hear TK talking to someone from across the room.

“How is he doing?” The familiar female voice asks.

“I don’t think his fever has broken yet even with the medicine, but he’s been asleep for awhile now so that’s good.”

Opening his eyes, he spots TK and Marjan standing in the kitchen. Seeing that TK is holding a fresh change of clothes in hand, Carlos puts it together that he must have decided on asking Marjan to stop by after her shift ended. Carlos had felt bad that TK was stuck wearing his uncomfortable Austin FD uniform after taking him home so he’s glad that TK stuck to his word and did get someone to bring him some more comfortable clothes.

“Correction, I was asleep,” Carlos states, causing both of them to jump slightly.

TK looks at him guilty. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s fine,” Carlos shrugs him off. 

“How are you feeling?” Marjan asks as she and TK walk over to where Carlos is still seated on the couch.

“Fine, I guess.”

TK scoffs. “You don’t look any better. You know you don’t have to put on a front for us right?”

It was true. Carlos didn’t really feel much better than he did earlier. However, he still didn’t appreciate being called out on it by his boyfriend.

Marjan must have sensed the awkwardness that hung in the room because she gave him and TK a small smile. “Okay, I’m going to head out. Call me if you need anything?”

In true gentleman fashion, TK takes the time to walk her to the door and says a quick “Thanks Marj,” before turning his attention back to Carlos. 

“I’m going to get changed,” he says and makes his exit.

Carlos sighs and follows him into the bedroom. “Can we cuddle? I think that might make me feel better,” he says, giving him a sheepish smile.

TK nods and grabs his hand, leading him to the bed. Most of the time when they cuddle, Carlos tends to be the big spoon. However, today TK takes that position, wrapping his arms around Carlos and letting him be the small spoon.

When they are settled in, TK is the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry if I sounded confrontational back there. I just don’t like seeing you build walls around yourself. I want you to feel like you can be honest with me, about anything.”

“I don’t know,” Carlos responds. “I guess I’m just so used to acting like I’m fine that I forget that I don’t have to do that with you.”

TK nods. “I understand that.”

“I will try to do better though with letting you in, okay?” Carlos says, turning over his shoulder and leaning to plant a kiss on TK’s cheek.

TK blushes and smiles. “You should probably try and get some rest.”

“Yeah, okay,” Carlos nods. 

They stay like that, tangled in each other's arms for the rest of the day; Long past after Carlos’ fever breaks.

[honeydewplaydough]

Childish Laughter & Bleeding Scars

Cross posted on AO3 !  Can you guys tell me that Nie Mingjue is my favorite character lol?

What an unfortunate sight he must be, thought Nie Mingjue as he sputtered out blood through fleeting breaths. Coughs shook his whole frame. Suspended by his wrist, he hung mere inches off the ground. If he had been just a couple of inches taller, maybe he would be able to at least rest some of his body weight on the tips of his toes. But for now, he hung bonelessly, arms pulled tight. The pain was a dull ache that spread through the entirety of his shoulders and down to the middle of his back.

Nie Mingjue figured he would have rather suffered the grueling sharp pains of a hundred stab wounds than what seemed like the slow tearing of muscles.

The man leaned his head against the cold of the wall, allowing for at least the merciful kiss of relief on the back of his head. For if the lavish Sun Palace were warmth, the warmth of alcohol, the warmth of bodies pressing together, and the warmth of blood splattering across the floors, then the dungeons were the depths of a winter raging sea.

Deadly. Cold. Merciless.

Another cough wrecked his Nie Mingjue’s body. He had, at one point, attempted to count the days however the only light sources were the unreliable brightness of the lanterns that somehow flickered out on their own free will and left him in periods of darkness that never seemed to end. To pour salt in the wound, the servants also did not feed him in a coherent and a time measurable manner.

To be fair, however, feeding him was a strong word. They brought him scraps of supposed food when they damned well pleased.

And besides, eating the food prepared by any Wen Dog’s hand was not a luxury Nie Mingjue was willing to extend to them.

Furthermore, with his Qi haphazardly sealed, he would not be able to fight off the poison they would inevitably force-feed him once it had entered his body. He would be forced to witness what it would do to his body in full force. Would it make him vomit his intense up? Would it make him lose his teeth and have his gums be raw and exposed? Cause unscratchable itches that would leave him howling like some sort of maddened animal?

He would not let them have a chance to bear witness to it.

The lurch of his body forward strained his muscles and for a moment made him forget about his thoughts. He felt the clot of blood forcing its way up to his throat and down to the ground to where all the blood had trickled down from his chin and accumulated there at his exposed feet.

Worse than that was the blood that laid at his feet did not come from his own turbulent inwards.

It was also so that his body was covered from head to toe in wounds. Slices of varying degrees tore from shoulders down. A particularly nasty one had stretched from belly button to naval. Hundreds of them littered over his body, some of them being calculated slices meant to remove the top layer of skin, skinning him as if he were some sort of vegetable. Others meant to cut down deep and not a single thought was spared to the carnage that the knife took with it when it was pulled from his skin.

He couldn’t say which he had preferred.

All Nie Mingjue could do was simply hang there in silence as various torturers used his body as their canvas. Each one of them probably hoped to be praised when their Sect Leader came back from the battle he had so leisurely attended.

Just thinking about the man-made and anger run through his veins. The man that had slain his father in such a meticulous way that no blame could ever be put on to him. The man that bought our mercenaries to come and hack away at his borders, causing him both inconvenience and weeks of little sleep.

The man that haunted his dreams starting from his youth to adulthood.

Let it be known, however, that if Nie Mingjue were to see that bastard face to face, he’d kill him. He wasn’t twelve anymore. He’d face him like the man that he was and would take his head back to QingHe. For himself. To prove to himself that his youth was not a waste. That Wen Ruohan could not harm him anymore.

He would show the head off to his people. To not only to inspire them, that it was possible to shoot down the sun and conquer evil, but that as long as he stood here alive on this earth, he would always protect them.

An offering for Lan Xichen. To show him that there was nothing to be afraid of. That Nie Mingjue would move mountains, conquer the sun, and show him that he was worthy.

Revenge for Nie Huaisang. Former Clan Leader Nie had been both their fathers. He had smiled down at them all the same, had picked up Nie Huaisang, and had held Nie Mingjue by the hand. He told them stories of ole underneath the starry nights.

Nie Huaisang had loved their dad too.

To bring him the head of the one who killed him, would show that Nie Mingjue would protect him and would make do on the promise he made when he was still just a youth.

He just hoped that his little useless brother wouldn’t try and turn into something it was not.

‘Oh, da-ge! Why must I work so tirelessly out on the field every day if one, the war is over, and two, you’ve already shot the son out of the sky! If anything, now is the perfect opportunity to laze around! Discover new hobbies, pick up an ancient craft! Who knows, maybe by the end of summer, I’ll become a talented flute player. One that will shake the entire cultivation world and seize them up by their necks!’

Nie Mingjue let out a snort, as he pictured his brother saying it. It sounded close enough to him and he couldn’t help but let out a small smile at the thought. The thought of his useless, no good, weak little brother being safe at night.

It was then, he heard a shuffling of feet from behind the entrance to his personal hellhole. He rolled his eyes, cursing the cowardice of the poor bastard. Was he not restrained? Were they transporting him somewhere? No, the last time they had tried that, he had needed at least seven Wen Dogs to drag him down the halls.

He tried to contain his snort at that memory.

It had caused Meng Yao to lose face, even if it was just other Wen Dogs of slightly lower rank, and that had made the beating he received earlier a bit more worth it.

But at the topic of hand, he was starting to get annoyed. What kind of grown man or woman shook like that? Did they not have the upper hand? Were they some poor servant here to dress his wounds?

Nie Mingjue was annoyed.

He had been slightly fevered and the ache in his shoulders and his back were only worsening. Whoever it was, Nie Mingjue couldn’t care less. Be it Wen Ruohan himself or a scrambling slave of a slave. They should at least have some face!

“I know you are there, you Wen Dog! Stop shuffling like a coward and face me,” Nie Mingjue snapped out.

The shuffling and rustling of robes paused for a moment. And a few steps were heard. For some reason, the more that Nie Mingjue paid attention to the noise, instead of it barely passing through his ears and onto his brain, he realized that the person had tiny feet. The pitter-patters of steps caused great confusion.

Had they sent down a small child to torture him? Had they sent a little servant boy to dress the wounds and toss down his scraps? What was he doing here?

“Doggie?” Came the small voice.

Nie Mingjue furrowed his eyebrows. The child did not sound over the age of three years old. What game were those bastards playing? What kind of monster sends down a child? Had it not been Nie Mingjue and the boy had come closer to another war criminal, he was still little enough that he could simply be kicked out of the way.

Suddenly, the boy was standing in front of him behind the bars. One hand was gripping the bars as he plastered himself against them.

“I… The Doggie?” He asked excitedly pointing to himself. He looked to be searching for something on Nie Mingjue’s face, “Woof Woof!”

[lilsherlockian1975]

The Nose Knows

A little soulmates AU, mostly fluff. Here’s part one. This is NOT beta’d, sorry for any mistakes. Huge thanks to @mel-loves-all for helping out with editing the images since I’m an ignorant goose penis when it comes to all that business. Blame me for the quality of the pics... it’s what I picked out for her. ~LiL~

-o-o-o-o-

He catches it on a breeze. It hits him like a physical blow and he instantly knows what he’s smelling, if not... who.

He and his cousin Daven are sitting on one of the few available benches on the Quad. Addam, his best friend since childhood, is talking about some girl he’d met at a sorority mixer the night before but as soon as the scent drifts his way, Jaime pretty much tunes out the sordid tale of sloppy, near-anonymous sex. It’s a gorgeous Spring day, not a cloud in the sky and no hint of rain for the first time in at least two weeks. This fact alone has driven most of the student population out of doors, making it almost impossible for him to quickly assign the scent to its owner.

Jaime is instantly ill at ease, which is unfortunate as moments ago he’d felt entirely in his element. He and his twin sister had celebrated their twenty-second name day the weekend before and prior to the scent, he’d been feeling at the very top of his game. Now he’s... confused and excited and anxious all at once.

Less than two months and he will be finished with this gods’ forsaken town and its massive university. He’s already been accepted at Crakehall School of Art & Design for his post-grad, which is, incidentally, where he originally had planned to study. His father’d had different ideas, forcing Jaime into the business programme at KLU. Thankfully, he had managed to slip a minor in Architecture into his degree by selling Tywin a load of shit about wanting to ‘propel Castlery Corp. into the modern era’. The minor had added a full year to Jaime’s studies and without a major in his chosen field, he will have to take supplementary classes at CSAD but he’s certain it will be worth it in the end.

None of that matters now. Tywin Lannister had died of a massive stroke seven months ago. Jaime supposes he should feel worse about that; should feel some kind of loss or sadness, and maybe he does, though not for the reasons most sons would for the death of a parent. But the old man was never a real father. He’d been indifferent toward Tyrion, dismissive toward Cersei - though he could occasionally be somewhat warmer to his only female child - and constantly demanding that Jaime ‘live up to the Lannister name’. Jaime can feel sympathy for their mother, of course, she did love the old bastard, but neither he nor his sister are overly damaged by the old man’s death. Oddly enough, their father’s death seems to be affecting his little brother the most.

The scent assails him again and this time he stands, walking towards it, leaving Addam sputtering objections and calling him names. Jaime doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is the originator of that smell.

He passes small groups of fellow students, all equally excited about the respite from the spring rains. The Quad is packed, of course, so it’s no easy task. Not to mention that he probably looks like some kind of weirdo, walking around, nose first and… sniffing. But he’s being driven by something entirely out of his control. 

Though he’s never really given much thought to the idea of soulmates, he knows they exist - his Uncle Gerion and Aunt Briony are soulmates, for instance, but it’s rarely talked about within the family, almost as if it is some dirty secret. Actually, for some unknown reason, talking about soulmates seems to be taboo in ‘polite society’. Uncle Gerion - his favourite uncle -  however, is quite outspoken against Lannister Family tradition and societal norms. The phenomenon, as far as he knows, is very rare these days and Jaime has never once even considered the possibility for himself. 

Now… Now there's no doubt. He can smell her - them? - whoever! Jaime’s never been attracted to men, but somehow he knows that if the gods have seen it fit to match him with a man… so be it! 

Shaking himself, he chuckles as he moves to another group of students. It won’t be a man, he thinks. Surely the gods would have given him some kind of inclination towards his own sex if… Suddenly, he’s engulfed with the scent. They’re close, they must be!  He turns, following his nose like a damn toucan. 

The crowd thins a bit; it’s the top of the hour and people are rushing off to class. Jaime’s eyes and, yes, his nose, zero in on his target. Shit! It is a dude! He’s taller than Jaime by maybe an inch or so with short, straw-like blond hair, broad shoulders and… He’s just about to resign himself to a future that he’d never even considered (okay, so he’s maybe had the odd thought here and there about other guys - everyone has, right?! Right?) when they turn around and…  

“You’re a girl,” he says without thinking. 

She (oh, thank the gods she’s a she!) narrows her eyes, straightens her spine and glares. “Yes, I am. And you’re not very original, I’m afraid,” she says coldly before stalking past him. 

What?! No! She’s… she’s supposed to know. She’s supposed to smell him too. What in the seven hells is going on?! “Wait!” Jaime calls out but she doesn’t stop. He can’t give up, he just can’t. Sprinting to catch up, he reaches out for her, wanting to stop her, to talk to her. He doesn’t make it that far, though. Just before he touches her arm, she jerks back - maybe she saw him in her peripheral vision, maybe it’s some strange side effect of their connection, he doesn’t know - but when he sees the look in her unbelievably blue eyes, he’s the one flinching away. 

“I don’t know who you think you are,” she practically growls, “but you can’t just go around insulting people, chasing after them then touching them as if it’s your right!”

“But it is,” he replies lamely because... how doesn’t she know?

Her responding laugh is mocking and he can’t deny that it hurts him in a way he never imagined being hurt. Shaking her head, she sneers as she looks him up and down. “Guys like you are all the same…”

There are no guys like me, he thinks but luckily, this time he holds his tongue.

“I know I’m an easy target - hard to miss, low hanging fruit and whatnot - I’m just not in the mood for this nonsense today.”

Jaime knows he should give up, regroup and try again later, but patience has never been his strong suit. “I wasn’t… It wasn’t an insult. I was…” ‘Surprised’ sounds insulting and really, how does she still not know? His mind scrambles for a word to properly describe his condition. Finally, he settles on, “Confused?” though it unintentionally comes out as a question.

This seems to only further enrage the girl. She takes a step back, draws a deep breath and, once again, shakes her head. “Find someone else to help you figure out your sexuality!”

Okay, there’s a story there, Jaime’s sure of it but he doesn’t have time to ask. “No-no, you’re misunderstanding me. I know I’m not gay.” Although the fact that he considered it for thirty seconds or so is something he’ll deal with later! “I’m saying that…”

“I really don’t care what you’re saying.” Again, her eyes travel over him and Jaime has never felt so judged in his entire life. “It’s nothing new, it’s nothing I’ve not heard before. Do you really think you’re the first prick to want to screw with me? I’m guessing it’s another bet. Who put you up to this? Red? Bushy? If it was Hyle, I swear to the Seven...”

“None of them! I don’t even know who you’re talking about!” When he thinks about her words, an intense feeling of protectiveness overcomes him. “What bet? What did they do?” 

Her pale, freckle-covered cheeks turn an interesting shade of pink as she hitches her messenger bag higher on her shoulder before crossing her arms over her chest. “Nothing. Never mind. Just… Just leave me alone. Please.” The last word comes out softly, pleadingly and it just about breaks Jaime’s heart. Turning, she starts to go.

“I’m not a creep!” he calls out, managing to stop her escape. Looking around, he notices that, miraculously, the Quad has pretty much cleared out. If their fellow students hadn’t been in such a rush to return to class he and the angry girl would have surely drawn a crowd. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself before continuing, “And I’m not a prick. I am sort of an arsehole, but not - I think, not like those guys you mentioned. Whatever they did... hurt you enough to make you make that face…”

She whips around. “What about my face?” 

With a sigh, he says, “It looks sad. Too sad. It’s not supposed to.” And what does that even mean? he wonders as the words leave his mouth.

She’s surprised for a split second, then all emotion seems to drain from her features. “I don’t know why you’re doing this but please just… leave me alone.”

So he does. For now.

-o-o-o-o-

There is a very good reason that Brienne doesn’t know ‘who’ Jaime is. This is just the first part, I’m working on the next bit. Please let me know what you think. Thanks ~Lil~

[choerrypuffs]

the chase.

pairing: fuckboy!jaemin x goodgirl!reader

genre: very slight angst, fluff, there’s no smut but it does get kind of spicy at the end

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: you were not going to be another notch on na jaemin’s belt.

author’s note: you can all pry this trope from my cold, dead hands

You sigh, slamming your locker shut to meet the sparkling, gorgeous, and charming eyes of Na Jaemin. He’s leaning against the locker beside yours, shouldering his bag, with his windblown hair falling into said-sparking, gorgeous, and charming eyes. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and his pink lips are quirked up in a small smirk. 

Na Jaemin is the epitome of a cliché. 

Notorious for his commitment issues, circle of friends, and house parties, Jaemin is your classic fuckboy that only seems to exist in fiction. Yet here he is, standing in front of you for the third week in a row. He had been flirting with you ever since you were paired with him for a literature project and, in a moment of pent-up frustration due to all the work being pushed onto you, told him that he was “a little bitch baby who couldn’t even take a shit without his mommy.” Needless to say, you weren’t exactly the nicest to him. So, why is he flirting with you? You consider yourself a pretty good critical thinker, but this has absolutely stumped you. 

“Morning,” Jaemin says, jostling you from your train of thought. 

“Hello,” you respond, on guard and waiting for him to begin pestering you. 

“Which class are you headed to?” he asks jovially.

You seem to suddenly forget yourself, looking down at the textbook you were clutching to your chest. “Chemistry.” 

Jaemin raises an eyebrow, and you wince, bracing for the inevitable chemistry joke that every guy who thinks he’s smooth makes. However, to your utter surprise, he nods. “What a coincidence. Me too. It’s not an honors class like yours though. In fact, I’m flunking pretty hard right now.” 

“Well, do you study and do your homework?” you ask, raising an eyebrow back. 

He chuckles. “You got me there.”

You give him a pointed look.

“Hey, in my defense, I wouldn’t understand it even if I actually sat down and did it.” Jaemin replies, raising his hands up in a mock surrender. 

You frown. “I’m not going to tutor you, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.” 

He pretends to be hurt, clutching his chest and grimacing. “So mean. Isn’t that your job though?” 

You sigh, knowing that he’s right. The school pays you a small stipend of money to hold remedial classes for students that are struggling. Unfortunately, Jaemin is the only one who has asked you this week, which means that you have to tutor him one-on-one. 

“Fine,” you relent, “but we’re studying. Nothing else.”

He gives you a two-finger salute. “Scout’s honor” 

You pull out your planner and begin to flip through it, praying that your schedule is packed for today. Once again, luck is not on your side. The small square under the cute, cursive FRIDAY is completely blank. You hold back a sigh and fish out your favorite purple gel pen, quickly scrawling on the paper. 

na jaemin - tut sess @ 

You look up at him. “What time is best for you?” 

“Uh, how about tonight at 7?”

Jaemin bursts into laughter once he sees the look on your face. “Chill. I’m not trying to pull anything, I swear. I have club activities until 6.” 

You visibly relax, but only a little bit. “If you try anything, I will castrate you on sight.” 

He grins. “Yes ma’am.” 

You write in the time and close your planner. “Right then. I’ll see you tonight at 7.” 

“It’s a date.” 

You’ve been sitting in your car for a good fifteen minutes, having arrived at his house way too early. Jaemin, along with everything else he’s got going for him, is also extremely rich. It is a known fact that he and his friends lived in an expensive villa, but you had never seen it before. The house is multiple stories, and you can see the slight glistening of the low-lit pool behind it. Apparently, they were also having a party. 

The bass music is loud enough for even you to feel the vibrations through your car, and there are clusters of shadowy figures surrounding the house. Half of you is pissed at Jaemin for throwing a party when you two had a deal, but the other half isn’t surprised at all. In fact, you debate on just leaving, but you want to see just what kind of state he is in so you can tell him off once and for all next time you see him.

Though you aren’t sure why, you pull down your visor and look at yourself in the mirror. You’re wearing no makeup and only tinted lip balm, your hair is still half-wet from your shower, and you have your signature bags under your eyes. For some reason, you suddenly feel self-conscious in your hoodie and sweats as well. You specifically dressed like this so Jaemin wouldn’t get ideas, but you’re feeling almost...regretful. 

Shaking your head furiously, you give yourself a couple slaps on the cheeks. Taking a deep breath in, you get out of your car and hastily maneuver past all of the drunk people. When you arrive at the door, you’re not sure if you’re supposed knock or just walk in. The music is deafening at this point, so you’re not even sure if your knock will be heard. 

You almost yelp when someone gently pushes past you and opens the door for you. You recognize him as one of Jaemin’s friends, or at least you’re pretty sure he is. He’s got black hair and rather striking features, almost a little intimidating. However, when he smiles at you, you suddenly feel quite calm. 

“First time here?” he asks, giving you a once-over. 

“And last,” you retort, “do you know where―”

“Jaemin is in the kitchen waiting for you,” the boy interrupts knowingly. 

“Oh,” you say dumbly, “well, thanks, um...” 

“Jeno,” he supplies helpfully. 

“Jeno,” you repeat, “I’m―”

“Y/N, I know. If I had a nickel for every time he’s mentioned you, I could buy another one of these houses,” Jeno snorts. “That idiot really likes you, y’know.” 

You open your mouth to snap back a quip, but you find yourself speechless. Jeno chuckles at your reaction. “What, you really haven’t noticed?” 

“I think you’re mistaken,” you finally say after a beat of silence. 

He shrugs. “If you don’t believe me, that’s fine. Though I will ask you to just tell him if you’re not interested. Jaemin is my best friend, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t lead him on.” 

You nod stiffly and walk into the house, quickly peeking behind you to see if Jeno is still there. He’s not, however, and the door is closed. You take in another shaky breath and make a beeline for the kitchen, desperate to get away from all of the sweaty, drunk people. 

When you get to the kitchen, the air is much cooler and less smelly due to the lack of people. Jaemin is by the sink, washing dishes as a very clearly intoxicated girl is clinging onto him like koala. He cranes his head away every time she leans in for a kiss and is using his elbow to gently nudge her off him. 

“You’re drunk, Nara,” Jaemin says quietly but sternly. 

“So what?” she slurs, laying her cheek on his shoulder. “You don’t even want me when I’m sober.”

“So stop.” 

“But I like you so much,” Nara mumbles, “I’ve already humiliated myself, so just let me have this.” 

Jaemin sighs and turns to say something to her before seeing you in the corner of his eye. His mouth opens slightly, and panic flashes across his features. You awkwardly hug your notebook to your chest, feeling like you just saw something you shouldn’t have.

“Uh, hey. Sorry to, um, interrupt your...thing,” you trail off, feeling like an even bigger moron.

“Y/N―hey, sorry, give me just a second. Let me finish washing these,” Jaemin says, clearly flustered. The girl, Nara, is boring holes into you with her intense staring. 

“So, this is her?” Nara asks petulantly. “This is the girl?”

You frown at her. “What are you talking about?” 

“Nara.” Jaemin doesn’t raise his voice or even sounds that angry, but the room drops a few degrees in temperature. Nara freezes, her glazed eyes suddenly focusing. “I think it’s time for you to go. Jeno will drive you home.” 

Nara’s shoulders droop, but she obeys. After she skulks away, Jaemin dries his hands with a clean dish rag and finally faces you. His eyes slowly drag up your figure, and you feel like he can see right through your clothes. Finally, he says,

“You look nice.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“Why would I be? You look cute,” he says sincerely. 

“Whatever, let’s just get this done quickly. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your party,” you say wryly, turning to walk out of the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says softly, tugging on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I didn’t throw this party. One of my roommates did. I told him not to because you were coming, but he doesn’t listen to anyone after tequila gets into his system.” 

Your annoyance, weak and feeble like you, slowly begins to dissipate. You tug your arm away with half-hearted strength and avoid his eyes. “Okay. Lead the way then.”

Jaemin’s lips curl into a tiny smile as he brushes past you. “My room is upstairs. If you’re not comfortable with that, we can study in the den, but there might be drunk people in there.”

“Your room will be fine,” you say, shrugging, “like I said, try anything and I’ll castrate you.”

“Ah, right. How could I forget about that?” 

As you climb upstairs, the music slowly begins to grow muffled and is almost completely blocked out in Jaemin’s room. “Are your walls soundproof?” 

He winked. “Yup. All of ours are.” 

You wrinkle your nose. “Gross.” 

“Hey, you thought it, not me.” 

“You implied it.”

“I did no such thing.” 

You bite your lower lip, fighting back a smile. “Come on, idiot. I made a couple of sets of practice problems for you.” 

“Oh, goody,” he sighs, following you to his desk, “my favorite.” 

After the first set of problems, it becomes quickly evident to you that Jaemin would be an honors student if he just took the time to do his work. You usually only have to explain concepts to him once or twice for him to grasp them. Honestly, you are a little jealous since you have to constantly practice to be able to understand them. 

“You don’t need tutoring,” you finally say when he gets another set of problems correct. “You need drive.” 

He shyly cards a hand through his hair. “It’s only because you’re here. If you weren’t telling me what I was doing wrong, I wouldn’t even know where to start.” 

“No, Jaemin. Seriously. You’re smart, like really smart. If you just paid attention in class and took fifteen or twenty minutes to do your homework, you could be an honors student,” you say genuinely. 

His eyes widen. “Wow, really? Never in my life would I have thought that a day would come where you would compliment me, especially not this highly.” 

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re still insufferable but we can’t do anything about that.”

“But you like me for it,” he says teases quietly, his voice sounding a little huskier. You dig your nails into your palm, feeling goosebumps erupt throughout your skin.

“A-As if,” you snap back, wanting to kick yourself for stuttering. 

The two of you lapse into an awkward silence. Jaemin has his elbow on the desk, propping up his cheek with his hand as he unabashedly stares at you like he’s mesmerized. You clear your throat and close your notebook, standing up.

“Not that you needed anymore, but I’m out of problem sets for you. So, um, I guess I’ll go―”

His slender fingers gently wrap themselves around your wrist, and you stiffen immediately. You jerkily turn towards him. He’s looking at you with this sort of longing, like it’s physically hurting him. The intensity of it makes you break eye contact, and you look down at your feet.

“Stay with me,” he whispers, “for just a little longer.”

“Th-This is the part where I should be castrating you,” you mumble underneath your breath. 

“So why aren’t you?” he asks. 

“I-I don’t know,” you blurt, your brain beginning to short-circuit. 

“I really like you,” Jaemin finally admits. “I’ve liked you since you yelled at me and called me a bitch baby in a library full of people.” 

You shake your head, stepping back and letting his fingers slip from your wrist. “You don’t like me―”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you like the chase. You like the fact that I’m resisting you, you like the challenge of it all. Think about it, Jaemin. I’ve only ever been an asshole to you. I’m an uptight goody two shoes whose biggest thrill in life so far is coming to a party to tutor someone. We’re on opposite ends of the spectrum. You don’t like me, you just like that I’m different from the usual girls you date.” 

“You don’t know that, Y/N,” Jaemin says in a low voice.

“Actually, I do, Jaemin.”

“Alright. If you’re so sure about me, then what about you? Why are you here?” he asks, standing to his feet as well and looking down at you.

“Do you think I want to be here? I’m here because I had to be,” you say, slightly stumbling back at his proximity to you. The mixture of his cologne and his natural scent is making your body feel all fuzzy and warm. “It’s my job.” 

“You didn’t have to be anywhere, Y/N. You could’ve turned me down at school, you could’ve cancelled, hell, you could’ve just not shown up at all without a single word. No one forced you to be here except yourself.”

You’re silent. Jaemin lets out a shaky huff. 

“Yes, you’ve been an asshole to me. Yes, you’re a bit of a goody two shoes. Yes, we’re extremely different. But do you know why I like you? I like you because you’re strong. You don’t take shit from anyone: not from me, not from your classmates, no one. No matter how many people made fun of you for being a stickler or a buzzkill, you held your head up high and did what you needed to do. You called me out on my shit when I was being a dick, but you still came and tutored me when I needed help. And while I don’t know if you like me as much as I like you, I do know that you feel something for me. So I’m asking you to give me a chance. Yes or no. Drop all the ‘chase’ bullshit and give me a clear answer.” 

You’re slightly stunned from his words. He’s looking at you, waiting for your response. Jaemin’s cheeks are flushed and his expression is the rawest you’ve ever seen it. You know what you say next holds a lot of impact; he’s at his weakest right now, putty in your hands. His vulnerability makes your heart clench, and you wonder why someone like him fell for someone as terrible as you. You have never once seen past his fuckboy stereotype. If you had bothered to look closer, you would’ve seen him, Jaemin. 

Jaemin, cool, confident, and just a tad dorky. Jaemin, who did the dishes during a party. Jaemin, who didn’t just hook up with drunk girls at the drop of a hat like everyone said. Jaemin, who was doing chemistry problem sets while his friends were getting drunk downstairs. Jaemin, who genuinely liked you and saw so much in you.

You nibble on your lower lip, tugging your sleeves over your hands and sitting back down.

“Hot chocolate sounds great right about now,” you casually say.

Jaemin doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“You know, since I’m staying,” you say, shyly glancing up at him. 

It takes a second for your words to click before Jaemin beams. He beams so brightly that you wished you had said it sooner. His smile is so big that the corners of his eyes begin to crinkle, and he covers his face with his hands. Squatting to the floor, he sighs loudly with relief. 

You laugh softly, feeling heat bloom on your cheeks. You two stay like that for a good minute before Jaemin finally stands up.

“Hot chocolate, coming right up,” he says after collecting himself, though his smile hasn’t gotten any smaller.

When he leaves the room, you muffle your squeal into your clothed palms. Your face feels like it’s on fire, and you lay your head down on the desk. The cool wood of the desk presses into your cheek, making it feel a little better. Though you’re still full of adrenaline, your eyes are slowly fluttering shut and in no time, you’re asleep. 

Please, please, please don’t let this be a dream.

You groan softly, eyes burning as rays of sunlight shine down on your face. Your cheek is throbbing, along with the dull aching of your neck and back. You slowly blink yourself awake and groggily try to assess your surroundings. You can feel someone’s breath on the top of your head, and you tilt your head up just a tad to see what it is. 

You let out a small squeak when you find your face only inches away from Jaemin’s, suddenly remembering what happened last night. The Na Jaemin really confessed to you. You feel yourself growing flushed again and sit up, rolling your neck back and forth in an attempt to crack it. Why on Earth had you fallen asleep on a desk? 

“Morning,” you hear Jaemin mumble softly. His eyes are still closed, but his hand is weaving itself through yours. He looks like an angel with the sunlight on him, and you are hit with the realization that you probably look like absolute trash. 

“Good morning,” you say, using your other hand to brush hair from his face. “Do you feel like a ninety-year-old man too?” 

“Mhm,” he says, finally sitting up. His face is crinkled in discomfort, and you can’t help but giggle. 

Jaemin furrows his brow and leans toward you, putting his hands on your waist and nuzzling his face into your neck. “Don’t laugh at me.”

You laugh harder, soothingly patting his back. “Come on, you big baby. Let’s brush our teeth and get breakfast.”

After a good twenty minutes of Jaemin being unproductive and clinging onto you like there’s no tomorrow, you two finally finish brushing your teeth. He holds your hand as he takes you downstairs and toward the kitchen. The entire house is completely trashed from the party last night, and you nearly trip over a few passed out guys. 

“Sorry,” Jaemin mumbles, “I’ll clean everything up later.”

You shrug. “I don’t mind. It’s not like it’s your mess.” 

When you get to the kitchen, you sit on the marble counter top, watching Jaemin open the fridge and examine the remaining items he can use to make breakfast. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “So, do you want eggs or an open jar of pickles?” 

You laugh, throwing your head back before quickly covering your mouth so you don’t wake everyone. “Eggs will be fine.” 

Jaemin takes out the carton of eggs and places them next to you, putting his hands on either side of you and effectively caging you in. You feel your breath hitch when his forehead touches yours. His hands reach up and cup your face, gently brushing your cheekbones with his thumbs.

“Is this how you normally make eggs?” you ask, voice slightly breathy.

He smiles at you. “What kind of place do you think this is? You don’t get free breakfast, no matter how cute you are.” 

You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. Jaemin’s hands fall from your face so they can grip your thighs. You pull him against you, your chests flush with each other. When you speak, your lips just barely touch his. 

“How much are you charging?” 

Without responding, Jaemin bridges the small space between your lips. When he kisses you, it’s a deep and languid one, almost lazy. It feels like he’s sucking all the air out of you as you run your fingers through his hair. His tongue is gently coaxing yours, and you can’t help but let out a small whimper as one of his hands leave your thigh and slips under your shirt, resting on your waist. When you break away to gasp for air, Jaemin dips his head and begins sucking purple bruises onto your collarbones and neck. 

Normally, you’d be embarrassed by the amount of whimpering and mewling you were doing, but Jaemin’s mouth makes your mind totally blank. He detaches himself from the column of your neck and smiles at you, wetting his lips. The hand under your shirt has traveled up and is now splayed across your back, hiking your shirt up almost all the way to your bra. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers against your lips before pulling away to brush a lock of hair from your face.

You roll your eyes, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to pull him in again―

“What the hell?”

You both quickly scramble off each other. Jaemin smooths down his disheveled hair while you rush to yank your shirt back down. You glance over to see who it is, and to your shock, it’s Jeno. His mouth is hanging wide open, and he’s pointing at the two of you. He keeps glancing from you to Jaemin and vice versa. 

“Jeno,” Jaemin starts, sounding irritated, “what do you want?” 

Jeno continues to gawk at you. You give him a small wave, slowly sliding down from the counter. He stares for a few more seconds before excitedly pumping his fist in the air. 

“H-Holy shit! I knew this was gonna happen, but I didn’t realize it’d be this quick. Hey, Renjun! Get up, asshole! You owe me a hundred bucks!” Jeno dashes out of the kitchen and back into the living room, trying to shake awake a guy passed out on the couch. 

Jaemin sighs, turning back to you and leaning down to give you a quick peck on the forehead. “Sorry. Let me deal with those morons first. Raincheck?” 

“Raincheck,” you agree, nodding. 

He smiles, tilting your chin up and kissing you again before leaving the kitchen to go yell at his friends. You watch him go, still dazed as you repeatedly run your thumb across your swollen lips.

“It wasn’t a dream,” you whisper to yourself.

[savage-rhi]

Hellö! Hope your while teeth situation is better. You you give us another HiggsxReader? Where the reader is really angry at him, but it takes him a moment to get just how pissed if they are? Thanks and love you! ♥️♥️💕💕💕💕💕

Hey, nonny I appreciate that, thank you! Here’s your request hon :D!

“Y/N,” Higgs tried to get their attention for the sixth time today, but to no avail. Higgs was growing irritated each time he was rejected. He wanted answers, no, needed them. Ever since he had cracked a joke at Y/N’s expense, they hadn’t stepped up to the table to banter him like the two had done before. There were no wisecracks, no playful jabs, nadda. Zilch. It was as if Y/N and Higgs were strangers once again, barely knowing a thing about the other and not able to stand the presence of each other. 

Sighing deeply, Higgs rolled his eyes as he let out a puff of air. He tried to keep his composure as it became increasingly obvious that Y/N was more than beyond pissed at him. Higgs knew he could be an asshole, and admitted it in full to Y/N numerous times. It wasn’t his fault they couldn’t get with the program. Higgs knew he intended no harm, and thought Y/N was stupid for taking things seriously. However, the other part of his mind, the part that had gotten increasingly attached to Y/N over the weeks, was scared shitless that he was this close to losing someone he had formed a legitimate connection to since Amelie had tossed him in the trash. 

“You know, you can’t ignore me forever.” Higgs taunted, running towards Y/N given that they had put quite a bit of distance between themselves and Higgs. He ended up in front of Y/N, walking backward as they kept their eyes on their shoes, ignoring the fact Higgs was present in their sights. 

“C’mon, say something. It’s not my fault you’re weak-minded when it comes to jokes.” Higgs said with a snort, and unfortunately, that had been the straw that broke the camels back. Y/N’s gaze shot up, meeting Higgs’s blue eyes as he subtly jumped from the action and Y/N glared at him with such intensity, that even though Higgs towered over Y/N, he felt small.

“Let me tell you something about being weak,” Y/N said as a matter of fact, rage engulfing their tone as they pressed on. “Being weak is being a sorry no excuse of an asshole and joking about someone’s suffering at their expense. There are certain boundaries you don’t cross with people, and Higgs, you fucking crossed the line. No, you blew it all fucking up.”

“Was that supposed to be a jab at my previous life as a terrorist?” Higgs asked defensively as Y/N shrugged. They couldn’t care less at this point how he took it given how upset they had become. 

“Maybe! Who knows! Who cares anyway right? It’s like you said before if you can’t laugh about your own bullshit, what can you do?”

“Look will you just--stop for ten seconds.” Higgs pleaded as he put his hands up in front of Y/N. It didn’t do anything to dissuade them from trekking on, Y/N shoving Higgs out of the way and off to the side and walking through him. 

Trailing behind Y/N yet again, Higgs hollered. “Look I’m sorry! What the hell do you want me to do, kiss the ground you walk on?” 

“No, but saying sorry is off to a good start! Why don’t you deal with your conscience then get back to me when you learn something!” Y/N said, still refusing to turn around and face him, and still refusing to stop walking. 

Higgs knew had his powers been there, had he still been under servitude to Amelie the Extinction Entity, Higgs would have used the BTs to hold down Y/N and force them to listen. Hell, there were a lot of things he would have done to Y/N when they first met. Terrible things. As he thought long and hard about his misdeeds, Higgs could feel his anger dissipate as he closed his eyes and took in a breath to calm himself. He didn’t want to think like that anymore, didn’t want to be that asshole that almost doomed every living thing to an eternity of nothing. 

After giving Y/N some space for a few hours, Higgs finally gathered up his pride and carefully approached Y/N as they were taking a break from walking. He sat across from them, his eyes roaming over their body with furrowed brows. Y/N forced themselves to look up at Higgs, pitying him to a degree but remained neutral despite how mad they still were. 

“Hey, look--” Higgs began as he paused, trying to go over his words one more time. He had been prepping himself for a while now. “I know I upset you and I’m owning up to it and apologizing. I didn’t realize how much my joke would hurt you. I truly mean that. I thought--I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking at the time cept having fun with you. I went about it the wrong way.”

Y/N sighed, shaking their head almost like a parent disappointed in their child for making a terrible mistake. Higgs felt his stomach churn as he looked over Y/Ns features, swallowing nervously. 

“Higgs, I’m not as pissed but--I just can’t for the life of me understand why you’d make light of someone’s suffering. Do you have any idea what that’s like? I bet the mere concept is foreign to you given how you don’t mind trampling over others.” Y/N said, their tone teetering on the edge of interrogation as Higgs looked shocked. Almost like he had been stabbed in the chest just then as his mouth gaped open. Y/N was startled, not sure what was going on with Higgs now as he remained still like a statue before his tongue flicked over his bottom lip, snapping himself out of silence. He tensed as he quietly responded.

“I know what it's like to suffer. I just don’t wear my heart on my sleeve like you do.” Higgs said sincerely. The honesty in his voice pulling a bit at Y/N’s heart and mind, not expecting Higgs, of all people, to sound so vulnerable then. 

The dam had already broke, and Higgs figured to make up with his transgressions towards Y/N, he’d offer a piece of himself in return; despite how much it was going to hurt churning up memories he had wanted to forget. 

“When I was a boy, my daddy kept me locked away in a damn bunker. Starved me half to death if he even thought I was gonna leave him like his sister--my mother did. She betrayed the family, running off with my biological father. I’ve been beaten’ within an inch of my life before many times that you wouldn’t be able to count them all on my fingers,” Higgs said as he paused holding up his gloved hand before continuing.

“I know what it’s like to be in pain better than anyone else. I know what it’s like to consider yourself damaged goods cause of what an adult--someone you’re supposed to trust, did because they were fucked in the head.”

“Higgs,” Y/N tried to interject as he held up his hand again to gently shush Y/N from speaking. Higgs’s free hand rubbed the back of his neck as he sighed, looking anywhere else but at Y/N’s eyes for the moment while he tried to take himself back to the present and not into the dark of the old bunker he once called home. 

“You don’t have to forgive me, but can we at least go back to talking?” Higgs pleaded with Y/N, smirking a little as he wiped away at his eyes trying to hide the fact he was on the verge of tearing up from sharing that bad part of his life. 

“I miss you getting on my ass,” Higgs said with a chuckle, causing Y/N to smile despite how much they tried not to. He playfully got closer to Y/N’s, trying to make them laugh as he hummed and made silly faces, all the while his hands reached to poke at Y/N’s weak spots where he knew they were ticklish at. 

“C’mon I know you want to laugh at me. Let it out you stuck up bitch.” Higgs teased until Y/N started to crack. Their face lit up as they laughed hard, pulling Higgs into a hug soon after. Higgs froze in place, eyes widening as he cautiously wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist; his face nuzzling the crook of their neck as he sighed in relief and closed his eyes. Higgs hadn’t lost them after all. 

**A link to my ko-fi account. If you enjoy my content and want to support me getting my monthly medication for fibromyalgia and arthritis, I would be eternally grateful. It is NOT a requirement however! All my work is free to read!**

[hotforharrison]

Meet & Greet ch 7

Chapter 6 <-- Series Masterlist --> Chapter 8

Pairing: Tom Holland/Reader

Summary: You missed out on a Tom Holland meet and greet, but a stranger, who you are pretty sure is a Tom Holland lookalike, rescues you from your pity party for one.

Word Count: 2,211

Warnings: As usual, explicit smut and language.

A/N: I don’t think I’ve ever written over 11,000 words in less than a week before!

You considered just getting yourself off again, but decided against it. However, you did decide to forego pants and panties. Maybe Tom would take mercy on your poor sexually frustrated soul.

When you heard the front door shut, you padded out into the living room.

He saw you and grinned. “I approve of your wardrobe choices.”

His smile was infectious. “I was hoping you would.”

He opened the paper bag of takeout and placed the containers and plastic silverware on the coffee table, then headed back toward the kitchen. “What do you want to drink? I have bottled water, beer, some soft drinks.”

“Water works,” you replied.

He returned and handed you a bottle of water, then sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to him.

The tantalizing smell of Chinese food made you realize how hungry you really were. You took a long draw from your water bottle and sat close to him. Your bare thigh touched his leg, which was still unfortunately covered by his jeans. You peeked in the takeout containers until you found what you’d chosen.

You started eating while he turned on the TV and scrolled through Netflix. “Any preferences?”

“Whatever you want to watch is fine with me,” you responded between bites.

You hadn’t seen the movie he’d chosen. It wasn’t something you normally would have picked, but you didn’t mind. He grabbed one of the other takeout containers and dug in.

The silence between you while you ate was comfortable, but you struggled to pay attention to the movie when you could pay attention to him instead. You’d thought he was devastatingly handsome and sexy before, but that was amplified tenfold in person.

It didn’t feel quite real that you were sitting next to Tom Holland in his apartment, eating Chinese takeout, naked from the waist down. How was this your life now?

He seemed to share your lack of interest in the movie, looking over at you as much as you were looking at him.

You could tell when you glanced down that he was still hard in his pants, and you really wanted to do something about it.

After you’d both finished eating and placed your empty takeout containers on the coffee table, he turned to you. “How are you feeling? Tired yet?”

“Not really,” you replied. “Are you ready to head to bed?”

“No, but I’ll be right back.” You heard him walk off toward the bedroom.

You thought about following him, waiting for him naked and ready in his bed, but you stayed where you were.

He returned a short time later. “I thought of something I’d like to try, if you want to.”

“I’ve liked all of your ideas so far,” you responded, trying not to seem as eager as you were.

“How do you feel about porn?” he asked.

“I’ve watched it before,” you admitted. “I liked some of it.”

“Good.” He grabbed the remote, went through some menus, and a video started playing.

A naked bleach blonde was lying on a couch. An equally naked man with more muscles than Tom, and a frankly frighteningly big cock, approached her. He grabbed a neon pink bullet vibrator from the end table next to the couch. The camera zoomed in close up when spread her legs wide.

The actor teased her clit with the vibrator, and she moaned like it was the best thing she’d ever felt. It didn’t take long before she came, long and hard. You didn’t think she was faking it. While she was still in the midst of her orgasm, the actor thrust into her in one sure stroke, then immediately started pounding her like his life depended on it.

You glanced over at Tom for a moment to find him watching you instead of the video. “Is this one of your favorites?”

“Not really. I just wanted to see how you’d react to, well, this.” He held up a purple bullet vibrator similar to the one in the video. “If you’re not interested, or not ready, we don’t have to.” He paused. “And I definitely won’t just ram my cock into you after you’ve cum, like he did.”

You’d considered buying a vibrator before, but had been too shy to go into a sex store, and too worried about indiscreet packaging to order one online. You held out your hand. “Can I see it first?”

“Of course.” He dropped it into your hand.

You ran your fingers over it. The material was a very soft and silky silicone. You enjoyed the way it felt against your skin. There was a button on the end. You pressed it, but it didn’t turn on. “Is it broken?”

“No, twist the bottom.”

You did, and it quietly buzzed to life. You almost dropped it. The vibration was stronger than you expected. You pressed the button on the bottom to see what it did. There was a variety of modes, at least a dozen -- stronger levels of vibration, pulsing, a series of vibrations of increasing intensity. You wanted to try them all.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I think I’m getting your couch wet,” you answered honestly.

He laughed. “It’s been through worse.”

You handed the vibrator back to him, not sure if he wanted you here or in the bedroom.

Your question was answered when he kneeled in front of you, spreading your legs apart with his hands. You scooted to the edge of the couch to give him easier access.

“You weren’t lying when you said you were wet,” he commented, licking his lips. “Was it the porn or the vibrator?”

“Mostly just you,” you confessed.

He swiped the turned off vibrator through your wetness to lubricate it. “Be careful stroking my ego so much.”

“Can I stroke something else instead?” you couldn’t help but ask.

He laughed again. “All in good time.”

He turned on the vibrator and placed it near, but not touching, your clit.

You jumped a bit at the intensity of it.

He moved it further away from your clit. “Too much?”

“No, just didn’t expect it to feel like that. That was...wow.”

He returned the vibrator to its previous location, sliding it smoothly around your clit through your wetness. You hadn’t experienced this sort of pleasure before, nothing so sudden, from 0 to 60 in less than a second. You were already close, and he still hadn’t pressed it against your clit.

“Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers, too, darling? Get you closer to ready to take my cock?” he asked.

Your response was immediate. “Yes,” you breathed.

He pressed his index finger into you, and you were relieved to find that was met with no resistance and was no longer painful. He crooked it to find your g-spot, and you almost came right on the spot. He sensed that it wasn’t enough. “Are you ready for another?”

You nodded. “Please,” you forced out between the noises he was drawing from you.

He added a second finger. It was only a little harder to take this time, but the vibrator helped distract you from any discomfort. Everything just felt varying degrees of amazing, and he still hadn’t touched your clit with it. Vibrators were one of your new favorite things.

He scissored his fingers slightly, then a bit more. You noticed him staring up at your face, gauging your reactions. “Do you want to try one more?”

Before your nerves could get the better of you, you replied, “go ahead.”

The third finger was a little rough, even with the vibrator. He curved all three against your g-spot, dangerously close to grazing your clit with the vibrator, and you almost accidentally kicked him at the bright shock of pleasure that coursed through you.

The porn scene still played in your mind, though. You couldn’t stop thinking about Tom fucking you deep on the couch with the vibrator buzzing away, bringing you to an orgasm as powerful as the porn star’s.

“Please, give it to me,” you begged, pleasure-addled enough that you forgot Tom wasn’t privy to your thoughts.

“Do you want it faster or harder?” he asked as he continued to move his fingers within you.

“No, well yes, but your cock. I want your cock,” you begged.

“I don’t think you’re ready for-”

“I’m ready,” you insisted. “Give it to me, Tom. Please. I need it.”

“God, you beg so pretty.” He cursed under his breath. “Okay, give me a second.”

You whined, wanting him to hurry.

He dropped the vibrator on the couch, still buzzing away, and almost fell in his rush to get out of his shoes, then pants. “Fuck.”

Once he was naked from the waist down, like you, he grabbed the vibrator and bent back down in front of you, lining up his erection with your entrance, stopping. “You’re sure?”

Instead of answering with words, you pressed your hips up toward him, trying in vain to just take what you so desperately wanted. He placed the vibrator directly on your clit this time. Your orgasm was almost instantaneous and more intense than you expected. The pleasure-pain of Tom’s cock breaching you somehow made it even better.

“I’m sorry, this is going to be a quick fuck,” he breathed, thrusting quickly, but relatively gently.

Instead of your orgasm ebbing as it usually did, you hit a second peak. It skirted the edge of too much. You dug your fingers into his bare arms, shaking against him.

Tom cried out your name and followed you over the edge, dropping the vibrator on the floor. He pressed his forehead against yours, damp with sweat. You were both breathing heavily.

You felt him softening inside you, slick with a combination of your own wetness and his cum.

“That was not how I planned this to go,” he eventually said.

“But you’re okay?” you asked, worried you’d been too demanding.

“I think I should be asking you that,” he pointed out.

You were a little sore, but also completely satisfied. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

“Make what up to me?”

“I didn’t even get you to a bed, and I lasted like a minute.”

“Oh, I don’t mind that. It was just the first time, not the last one.” You were already trying not to think about the last one, that this had an expiration date.

He pulled out, and you crinkled your nose at the sensation of his cum leaking from inside you. He reached down to grab the vibrator from the floor and turn it off.

“I’ll get you a flannel,” he said, heading off toward the bedroom again.

You tried to figure out what he meant, but came up empty handed. You heard the water running in the master bathroom. He returned with a damp white washcloth.

You reached out to take it from him, but he shook his head. He got down between your legs again and wiped through the mess gingerly, until you were clean again.

“You’re bleeding a bit,” he commented guiltily.

You shrugged. “I thought that was normal your first time. I’m a little sore, but definitely okay. No regrets,” you reassured him.

He looked relieved. “I’m still making it up to you, though. Next time, it’ll be in my bed, and I’ll try to last at least two minutes.”

“Setting the bar high, huh?” you asked with a laugh.

“Reaching for the stars,” he agreed.

You stretched and yawned, suddenly more tired than you’d been in a long time. When you glanced at the clock, you realized it had been almost 24 hours since you’d last slept, and you’d never orgasmed so hard in your life.

Your yawn was contagious. “Ready for bed?”

You nodded.

“Me too.” He stood and reached out to help you up off the couch.

Your legs didn’t want to work at first, but he steadied you until you could walk with him to the bedroom. He turned on the nightstand lamp, then turned off the overhead light. When he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it into a hamper in the corner of the room, you followed suit and took off your shirt and bra, too, placing them next to the nightstand.

You stood by the bed awkwardly for a moment. “What side do you like to sleep on?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He got into bed first, making plenty of room for you, and looked at you expectantly.

You joined him, and he turned off the lamp. The room was only dimly lit by the street lights from around the edge of the blinds. You felt uncertain about where and how to lie down, sticking close to the edge of the bed. You hadn’t before, but you thought you’d like cuddling. Did he like cuddling? You didn’t want to make him feel obligated by asking.

He didn’t give you long to overthink about it before he reached out to pull you flush against him. You threw an arm over his midsection and placed your head against his bare chest. It didn’t take long for you to drift off, comforted by his warmth and the steady thump of his heartbeat against your ear.

Tag list: @drown-me-before-dema-does @tom-hollands-blog @tylers-ankles-beebos-forehead @moorehollandplz @delicatepeterparker @thollandss @musicalburrage @captainbuckyy

[ahgaseda]

the NSFW alphabet | Jaebum (Got7)

{ this post contains graphic descriptions and explicit content : please read at your own risk! }

A = aroused (how he acts when he's in the mood)

he is not very subtle when he wants some action. he will come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and start whispering in your ear the things he wants to do with you and to you. he has a lot of patience and self-control though so if you plan on teasing him just know he can outlast you.

B = body (favorite body part of their partner)

he loves your ass. it belongs to him. he loves to spank it. he loves to bite it. he loves how it bounces when he takes you from behind. when you’re out in public he has a habit of letting his hand rest on the lowest curve of your back just shy of your butt because he’s possessive of that ass.

C = climax (what he's like when he orgasms)

he guards his masculinity with an iron fist so don’t expect him to lose his shit any time soon unfortunately. he will grit his teeth and stifle the sounds he wants to make when he comes. you’ll feel him shiver and shake while he tries to catch his breath. he might let out a swear word or two. despite this he may be a little more noisy when getting head especially if he is overstimulated. his preference is to come inside you, but he also likes coming on your stomach or ass.

D = dominance (is he dominant, submissive or a switch)

dominant to the tenth degree. you will never get an ounce of submission out of this man. he gets his pleasure from power and gets off from seeing you indulge him. in and out of the bedroom he is the king of the palace. there will be times he will be a bit too overbearing and when you call him out on it he will sulk but will eventually get over it. in bed he will prefer a dom-sub dynamic with his partner though not to an extreme. hes surprisingly more on the vanilla side and wont be into hard bdsm.

E = experience (how experienced is he in the bedroom)

he knows what he’s doing and he’s not much of a risk taker. he has been at this long enough to know what he likes and how to get it done. that being said hes not one for casual sex. Capricorns rarely jump into bed with someone they dont have a connection with. it doesnt have to be love but there has to be a degree of trust or mutual respect.

F = fortitude (does he have a lot of stamina and energy)

he is in great shape and is extremely flexible. but he is more the type to wanna sleep after a nut. sex with multiple rounds and orgasms will be reserved for special occasions. when it comes to sex he can last for quite a while since he prides himself on his self control and he can maintain hard and rough paces without breaking a sweat. the stroke game is strong and he likes to mix between intense and merciless to sensual and slow.

G = gratification (what really gets him off)

being in control. he’s a Capricorn and he’s a natural born leader. this man needs control and if he’s not getting a hundred percent of it he won’t be satisfied until he has it. there will be times he will let you top and have your way with him but he will be a power bottom. outside the bedroom hes much more lenient if you wanna be a brat but in the bedroom do so at your own risk. he will assert the pecking order whenever he needs to and that really gets him off.

H = habitat (preferred place to get busy)

the bedroom. he’s not one for public sex though he will gladly tease you and get you riled up but anything more intimate is reserved for the bedroom. he knows what he likes and what he wants and he likes the privacy and security of his comfortable space. this doesn’t mean he restricts all sex to the bed. he will take you on any available surface as long as its his. now if you surprise him at the studio for some loving you may get fussed at. if its his own private studio that can be included in his safe spaces. but dont try the same stunt at the company studio dear lord he will not be happy.

I = intimacy (how emotional is he when it comes to sex)

though he is dominant and sex is primarily about power to him, intimacy is very important as well. he feels nothing affirms intimacy quite like sex. and pleasing you is his utmost priority. though he guards himself very well, there will be times he will allow himself to be vulnerable with you especially after sex and such a connection has been felt between you. sex viscerally reminds him how much he loves and needs you.

J = joke (how much does he play around)

during sex, not at all. during foreplay or the teasing phase, he will be more light-hearted and playful. he will trail kisses up your neck or tickle you to hear you laugh. but when it comes to sexy time he is all business. joking around is for getting you in the mood. once he has you where he wants you, his focus is on getting you both off.

K = kink (toys or kinks)

he is kinky but he is not readily willing to show it. he will gradually open up about his kinks over time and he won’t give you a hard time if there are any kinks of his that you don’t want to indulge in. his biggest kink is marking. he wants you to be marked up for him (but not others) to see. he also likes to choke you. this taps into his ultimate control kink. he will use toys if you ask for them but he won’t introduce them. he’s more of a hands-on guy. he also likes to spank you. he will bend you over his lap, hold your hands behind your back, and give you some long drawn out spanks if you’ve been misbehaving.

L = lust (how often does he want it)

his sex drive is normal and average. music is his main focus in life at the moment. hes the type that will absolutely prioritize work over sex in most cases. though when he gets stressed from work he will either want extra sleep or some stress-relieving sex. other than that he will settle for sex a few times a week, maybe less. if his partner has a high sex drive he will mimic it. feeling needed and desired by his s/o will get him going rather quickly. he always wants to be the only source of your arousal and satisfaction.

M = masturbation (mutual and solo)

he the type to love giving you orders while you pleasure yourself. the first time you tried to initiate phone sex with him while you masturbated he came across as annoyed but then he really got into it. something stirs up his dominant side when he can make you come just by the power of his voice. he also the type to tell you not to pleasure yourself. and if you get caught you will be punished. the thought of you getting off without him aggravates his dom side. phone sex is the one exception since he is still technically involved.

N = never (what he will not do)

you will rarely tie him up. he will almost never allow himself to be restrained in the bedroom. he doesn’t want to be powerless. it does nothing for him and it taps into his insecurities. and he will never let you do anything that involves his ass. once again he’s very protective of his masculinity and he will not enjoy anything ass-related. except for smacking his butt. he likes that. or when you grab his ass while hes thrusting into you. he really likes that.

O = oral (giving and receiving)

he loves when you give him head. though he will always prefer to be between your legs, there’s something about looking down at you on your knees while you choke on his cock that does it for him. he especially loves fucking your face though he is careful to not go too hard on you. and boy does he love eating you out. he gets off on how much he wrecks you, how he can make you writhe when he’s making you come on his tongue. he doesnt do it too often. he likes to use it as a reward in most cases.

P = position (favorite position)

from behind. whether you are on hands and knees or bent over the nearest surface or flat on your stomach on the mattress he loves fucking you from behind. its possessive and primal and domineering. he loves pulling your hair and smacking your ass. this position lets him have all the control and a damn good view.

Q = quickie (what is a quickie like with him)

he likes quickies but they are never a first choice. they are a last resort. there will be times that he needs to nut but he’s short on time or patience. if the situation is right and you want it as badly as he does he will pin you down and fuck you hard. however this will still be restricted to his safe spaces. he’s not going to fuck you in a public place.

R = roleplay (favorite routines and tropes)

master and daddy. he really isn’t big into roleplay since he always acts like his dominant self in bed anyway. he may let you play around a little bit but he will always settle back into what he’s comfortable with and what he knows will work. he likes when you play the damsel and submissive, but he also enjoys when you tease him to rile him up.

S = seduction (how he gets you in the mood)

he is an expert at reading people and it won’t take long for him to memorize exactly what buttons of yours he has to push to activate the launch sequence. if dirty talk does it for you then that’s what you’ll get. if neck kisses are your weakness he’s going to melt you. when he’s needy and trying to get you amped up he will be handsy and assertive but if you’re not in the mood he will throw in the towel and go jack himself off. he will never pressure you into anything. remember he needs to be needed.

T = teasing (what is the best way to arouse him)

challenge him. oh yes make him put you back in your place. he will go nuts for that shit. he is a dom that loves to be antagonized. if you were to be unconditionally submissive to him at all times, things would obviously get rather boring. he knows that and he likes when you keep the bedroom fiery. giving him the chances to assert himself does wonders for his sex drive.

U = underwear (lingerie and costumes)

lingerie fucks him up real good. if you wear a schoolgirl ensemble all bets are off. but he will also like anything sexy or racy, innocent or coy. he’s not restrictive to one kind of theme. sending him lingerie pics while hes working will earn you a one-way express ticket to some rough sex when he gets home.

V = verdict (what do you think of your sex life with him)

all of your friends are jealous of your sex life. your only complaints involve his unwillingness to switch things up. he likes what he likes and doesn’t like to experiment or deviate from what works. nevertheless you have very passionate and hot sex with him which is never dull or boring because he is very intense and always makes sure you are sated and wrecked to soothe his own ego.

W = words (how vocal is he and dirty talk)

getting you in the mood he is a professional at turning you on. but during sex he’s not very vocal. he’s a heavy breather and a grunter. he may let out a moan on occasion especially when you swallow his cock down your throat. his dirty talk is blunt and nasty. dont put it past him not to go into detail about what he plans to do to you. he loves making you blush with how explicit he can be. and he will do it in the calmest lowest most sultry voice youve ever heard.

X = x-rated (how does he feel about porn or sextapes)

he will watch it when he needs to get himself off but dont expect him to put it on to get you in the mood. he knows how to arouse you and he takes great pride in being the one to get you horny for him. he would be willing to make a sextape with you but you would have to remind him. it’s not going to come to mind when he’s in the heat of the moment. he would opt for photos rather than any home videos tbh. if you had him take lingerie photos of you and then put them in an album for him as a gift he would be the happiest boy alive.

Y = yawn (what is he like after sex)

he wants sleep. seriously once he finishes the countdown to him passing out has begun. but he also needs you struggling to catch your breath from what he’s done to you when he takes you in his arms and settles comfortably for bed. he will make sure you’re okay, because even though he fucks the living shit out of you he is a respectful guy and needs to know you are taken care of. he will also be sure to open the bedroom door so the cats can come in and take their rightful places for bedtime snuggling lol

Z = zodiac (what his sign says about him in bed)

a Capricorn needs satisfaction because they are perfectionists. to be honest, their desire to please you is almost entirely selfish. a Capricorn that can’t give their partner a mind-blowing sex life would hide in shame. having you satisfied and happy reflects well on them and they crave that on an insanely high level. on the downside Cappys can be set in their ways meaning they tend to stick with what they know and are comfortable with. getting them to be a little more spontaneous and diverse in the bedroom will take suggestion or insistence on your part.

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