#he's got no feelings. he's fine on his own. he pushes them away because he's afraid of showing weakness but he wants them to care

[theocddiaries]

Rouge: I can’t take it anymore. Having Eggman living with us is driving me crazy. Shadow: There’s only one thing we can do. Omega: …ELIMINATE HIM…? Shadow: No. We need to tell him. He lives with us now, so he’s on equal footing. Omega: NEGATIVE. I DEMAND A VOTE IF THERE ARE MORE THAN TWO OPTIONS. [Eggman comes back home.] Shadow: Ivo. Wait. We need to talk to you about living here. Robotnik: No need. Look, I’m really grateful you opened the door of your home to me when I was in need. I wouldn’t have done it for you. You’ve taught me a lesson. In fact, I’m not sure I want to leave. Rouge: What? Robotnik: Yeah, it’s the first time I feel like I have a family. I mean, one made of flesh and blood. I feel something here in my stomach… what’s it called? That thing the blue pest feels when he’s with his friends? Revenge? Shadow: Happiness. Robotnik: That thing. Anyway, I’m not leaving because, on top of everything, you make me feel comfortable. [sniffs]: Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a tear in my eye. [leaves] Rouge: …Did you hear that? Shadow: Yeah… He spends his whole life being a jerk, and now… Rouge: No. He said he’s not leaving because we make him feel cared for and comfortable. We know what we have to do, right? Omega: …ELIMINATE HIM…? Rouge: No! We have to make him uncomfortable so he’ll leave on his own! Omega: OBJECTION. IF THERE ARE TWO OPTIONS, THEY MUST BE DECIDED BY VOTE. [Later. Team Dark is slumped on the couch, defeated.] Rouge: Chaos… I’ve never seen anything like it. We set up karaoke at three in the morning, and he wanted to join in. We burned his food, and he appreciated it more because it reminded him of the garbage his mother used to cook. We even pushed him down the stairs, and all we got was a ten-minute hug because we fixed his hip. Shadow: Unbelievable. Now’s the time his luck changes? Well, there’s only one thing left to do. Omega: ELIMINATE HIM. Shadow: Stop with that! We’ll just have to deal with it and live with him. Rouge: No, no, no. If there are more than two options, we vote. Shadow: Rouge…! [Eggman walks into the living room, heading to the kitchen.] Robotnik: Hello, my dear friends. All three: Hey… [There’s a moment of silence. Eggman returns, adjusting his mustache and smiling stiffly.] Robotnik: So, um… My dear roommates, I don’t want to get angry, but… you didn’t buy my yogurts. Rouge: I did. Look properly. Robotnik: Look, the only bat in this house is you, so spare me the easy jokes… Shadow: Sonic must’ve taken them when he came by for the food drive, then. Robotnik: …What? Shadow: Yeah, they’re doing a holiday campaign. The same as every year. Donating clothes, food… Robotnik: MY yogurts. Shadow: Sorry, I didn’t notice. I’ll go buy more now… Robotnik: Unbelievable. I let you take me in, I bring joy and good humor, and this is the thanks I get? Forgetting is one thing. Eating them, fine, I can deal with the downsides of cohabitation. But giving them away for a good cause? You just crossed the line! [Eggman slams his door. Moments later, he emerges with a suitcase, spits on the floor, and storms out the house. Rouge, Shadow, and Omega exchange glances.] [A little while later, Eggman stands at the door with his suitcase. He rings the doorbell.] Robotnik: Guys? Hello? Soooo, what a silly argument earlier, huh… Come on, I forgive you… Look, we all said things. Yours worse than mine, but I’ll admit my small share of blame. [Rings the doorbell and knocks on the door]: Guys! [Clicks his tongue and pulls out keys]: These lazy jerks made me use the key—Wait, what the hell… Did you change the locks? I was gone for ten minutes! Hey!!! HEY!!! [The next morning, Sonic and Tails are at Team Dark’s house.] Tails [opening the fridge]: Why is Eggman asleep in your yard? Rouge: Because your brother took his yogurts. Sonic: I didn’t take any yogurts. Shadow: Yes, you did. Yesterday. Sonic: No, no, no. I swear, I didn’t take them. Tails [pulls an unopened yogurt pack from the fridge]: You mean these? Rouge: And where were they? Omega: HIDDEN BEHIND THE PEAR JUICE THAT DR. EGGMAN HATES. All: … …

[moonshinesonic-moonstarslight]

Paper Planes story notes:

Okay, so who else wants to see Shen Yuan trying his best to not get trapped in og!Shang Qinghua's web? While said character is casually sipping vinegar like it's fine wine because he's aware of the System, the fact that he has lived through many different versions of this story, that he is the vessel of the creator god, and that out of all the souls in this game "Peerless Cucumber" is the only one who has Airplane's favor so much.

Not even Mobei Jun has the same benefits for being the "favorite character" as Peerless Cucumber gets for being the favorite follower. Seeing that he gets happy endings, purposely left blind to the inevitable tragedy to come, the story warped to benefit his wims, and he's the only one who gets Airplane playing along personally with his story beyond the usual song and dance.

Yeah, for the possessive vessel who is in a love-hate relationship with his god... Peerless Cucumber is the one person he is willing to put up with the System in order to be able to pull him off his pedestal.

Lucky for him! The System has been getting bored with the usual storylines and decided that it wanted to see how User 002 would be able to handle a meta-knowing character and see if it can finally be free of giving said user Easy Mode. (It has to offer it and Shen Yuan keeps taking it...)

So it allowed Shang Qinghua to recall the past storylines and the things surrounding Airplane (Which is something that has been permitted before so no big deal), made sure that the traitor didn't go into his tried and true tactics of focusing on getting Mobei Jun to become king while doing everything to make the North the only true stable part of the demon world one Tianlang Jun gets sealed away. (Og Shang Qinghua has two people who are worth the heartbreak and suffering that ultimately is his fate: Mobei Jun and Airplane. Not that he would tell either of them, especially Airplane, but that doesn't mean he doesn't see them as the only people worth his effort.)

In order to get what it wants for this story, the System pushed for Shang Qinghua (still a lowly disciple and fighting against his need for human connection because he knows how it's going to end up) to make connections in the sect. Basically either make a friend with one of the other characters or find a lover with one of them.

And while Shang Qinghua isn't keen on facing the pain of connecting with another person only for it to crumble into tragedy... He has befriended Shen Jiu before. Mind you it never ends well. But he has.

While he always tries to keep a pessimistic view, Shang Qinghua actually has a lot of optimism regarding making changes in comparison to Airplane. So here he goes again attempting to have a relationship with Shen Jiu.

So Scumrat was a thing that had happened before Shen Yuan got transmigrated in. It ended pretty nastily but given that Shang Qinghua has a habit of leaving the past in the past while Shen Qingqiu has a habit of avoiding his actual feelings... Neither had brought their past up and have been moving on with a distant professional relationship.

However... Shen Jiu was in love. Still in love actually. There is one person he would lay with and that is his sneaky shidi who is too pretty for his own good. Shen Qingqiu had to fight to control his impulse to look at no other person when Shang Qinghua is in the same room. He was able to control it after a few years, but it is still a fight. (Shang Qinghua has a way of digging his way into people's hearts and just staying. Does he realize this? Nope! If he did it would be a thousand times worse.) He also has a weakness for Shang Qinghua's attention and touch. Thankfully, Shang Qinghua (who knows about this weakness) has never found a reason to use that weakness against him... Yet.

And while Shen Jiu is gone... his body is still present and the echoes of those memories are deeply engrained to where not even a soul transfer can change that fact.

Shen Yuan doesn't know this. And he doesn't have the training to ignore his body's need to watch and melt under the touch of Shang Qinghua.

Who is more than willing to use Shen Jiu's weaknesses against Peerless Cucumber. Especially once he notices that the transmigrator can't pull his eyes away when they first meet. Not even Luo Binghe can drag those eyes away and Peerless Cucumber has blatant favoritism to the little godling. (They meet before the IAC because Shang Qinghua is not dealing with shoddy paperwork thank you! Basically, he came back from a melon seed trade deal to an amnestic Shen Qingqiu and, while being completely aware of what happened, decided to be a 'good shidi' and assist his shixiong with relearning how to do the administrative side of Peak Lord work.)

The System is sitting back on Shang Qinghua's side and pushing on Shen Yuan's. If it could eat it would be popping back popcorn as it watched the showdown between the Author's Vessel and the Favorite Anti-Fan.

Still trying to figure out what happens after the sudden realization that the scum traitor is fully aware that you are not his shixiong and he has no reason not to use said shixiong's weaknesses against you.

Shen Yuan is desperately trying to remain standing and keep the protagonist from landing into the traitor's web. Because Luo Binghe likes his shishu for some reason.

[bitkahuna]

Dáin was on his back, slowly being crushed under the weight of a dead troll. Twenty minutes ago, he had become aware of the spear in his shoulder, keeping him pinned to the ground. He gave up on trying to crawl away and focused on his breathing. It was getting harder and harder. He did his best to suppress the panic that threatened to take all his air, as something warm and wet leaked from various points of his body. The edges of his vision were blurred and his head pounded. He wouldn’t stay conscious for long.

There was a shouting voice, strained and desperate. He couldn’t understand what was said from under the troll. He tried to take a deep breath. It burned.

“Fucking move it!” That strained voice roared as the troll’s body began to shift. He could hear clearer now.

“’S fuckin King Dáin!”

The king let out a sob of relief when he realized what this meant. The fight was over. They won. He was being rescued.

What he didn’t expect was for some small hobbit to begin assessing him the moment the troll was off. The dwarves, many his own men, surrounded them but stayed back at the hobbit’s instruction.

“Dirt’s fine, blood’s deadly. Who has clean cloth?” The hobbit barked as he began ripping at the king’s tunic around his exposed shoulder, revealing the wound.

“I’ve some.” A melodic voice answered, some elven woman ripped part of her dress and offered the cloth. Dáin wondered if he was dead, because there was no way an elf just did that.

“What’s your name?” The hobbit’s voice turned kind and comforting, speaking as if they were good friends.

“Uh, Dáin.” He answered slowly, feeling as if he was on the edge of wake.

“Dáin, you’re bleeding a lot, but you’re gonna be alright. Okay? Can you take a deep breath for me?”

He tried, but winced.

“Where does it hurt?”

Dáin tapped at the armor on his stomach.

The hobbit’s quick hands undid it and pushed it aside, revealing another wound. Dáin couldn’t see it, but he saw the hobbit freeze as he took careful control of his reaction. It was bad.

“Dáin, this is gonna hurt pretty damn bad. You’ll have a fever and be exhausted the next few days. No matter what, never turn down water. Understand?”

Dáin nodded and winced once more, grimacing as the small hobbit tore the spear in half before the king was pulled into a seated position, the spear staying in the ground as what remained passed through him. Alcohol burned his wound before the hobbit wrapped his shoulder in a soft and stretchy fabric from the elf’s dress.

He was laid down again and the hobbit tended to the wound on his stomach, continuing to bark orders to others as they did their best to help others who were injured. The hobbit chugged half a carafe of water that he was handed before dumping the rest on the king’s stomach.

“‘Ave some fuckin respect! Tha’s King Dáin!”

The hobbit didn’t even turn to acknowledge the shout as he knelt down to better examine the wound, gently pushing a puss out. “No. This is Dáin, my patient, and he’ll get the same treatment as anyone else. Unless you’d rather take over?”

Silence.

“Whatever got you was poisoned. Not too badly, though. Tremors and stiffness ‘ll set in soon, you’ll have a fever by nightfall. Drink water and rest often. I’ll make another round at night. Keeping that puss out of you is a priority. You’re going to be okay, Dáin.”

From there, the next three days came to Dáin only in flashes. Most of them being the hobbit kneeling over him, tending to his wounds and whispering reassurances. In some lucid moments of his dreams he could still hear that kind voice. That kind voice that seemed to care so much. Whispering to him that he would be okay, he just had to keep breathing, he would be okay. The voice that comforted him and make him unafraid, regardless of how bad it got. He was okay.

-----

Yavanna, Guide Me chapter 16, I couldn't resist making Bilbo a medic in the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies

[feroluce]

So we were talking about Dan Heng reincarnating in the boothenghill server recently. I think there's a lot of wiggle room in there for how it would go, given

a) we know very little about the transmutation arcanum and how All That works and

b) Dan Feng fucked around hard and found out even harder, so anything we would have known anyway is kaput.

This is something that, apparently, has never occurred before. There's no precedent. There should never be two Vidyadhara with draconic features at the same time, but even so, we have Dan Heng and Bailu both displaying tails and horns.

tl;dr I have a permit that says I can do whatever I want!

In the case that they find out Dan Heng will no longer reincarnate the same way- with Dan Feng having successfully broken the line of the Imbibitor Lunae- I think Dan Heng would be happy about it, in a way. He'll reincarnate the same as any other Vidyadhara now, where he will be a completely different person with no memories every time. There's no more pain or expectations to inherit. Whoever comes after him will have the clean slate he'd always wanted.

The only bitterness he holds about the whole ordeal is that it means he'll be leaving Boothill alone.

And so Dan Heng holds out as long as he can, to the point that even Bailu goes before him ("Now next time you'll have to call me jiejie haha!") but eventually the time comes for a hatching rebirth, and he and Boothill make their way back to the Luofu, to Scalegorge Waterscape.

(As he gets older, as he pushes the limit of the Vidyadhara lifespan, Dan Heng gets slightly more delirious, more forgetful. One morning, Boothill wakes up to Dan Heng trying to crawl out of bed half-asleep, asking what time it is. He was supposed to get up early to help Himeko make breakfast, so he can try to save everyone's stomachs.

Himeko has been long gone for centuries.

Boothill coaxes Dan Heng back into bed with him, tells him it's alright, someone else took over breakfast duty this morning. He forgot to tell him last night. Sorry. Dan Heng settles back in, right up against a warm metal chest plate, goes back to sleep.

If he remembers any of this later when he wakes up again, he doesn't say anything. Neither does Boothill.)

Boothill knows the water isn't good for him. He stubbornly wades out as far as he can anyway.

Dan Heng kisses him goodbye, pinches his cheek, tells him to behave himself through the crack in his voice. There's not much left to say at this point, they've been saying their goodbyes for days now. Boothill cheekily makes no promises, even as he slides his own hand over Dan Heng's, cradles the flat of his palm against his face and holds it there as long as he can. Dan Heng finally disappears under the waves.

Boothill still can't cry.

One of the Pearlkeepers has to come up and chase Boothill out, how long he stands there rusting in the water.

He wouldn't tell Dan Heng about it, of course, but as the 700 year mark approached them, Boothill starting having Ideas. And he decides, as he stands there alone in the sand feeling horribly hollow like he hasn't in a long, long time, fine! Fuck it! Fine!!

Execute Operation Last Hurrah!!

Because I think Boothill should get to go out in a petty, spiteful blaze of glory! Let the man die like how he lived!!

Boothill had simmered down a bit after he killed Oswaldo Schneider, and then even moreso when he and Dan Heng got hitched. But now Dan Heng is gone. There's no one left to stick around for, or to keep him together. So Boothill just goes on an absolute bender.

He leaves everything he and Dan Heng had to charities and rebel organizations. He steals whatever he wants from the IPC and then some. He fucks over as many of their plans as he can, and as horribly as he can. He hijacks himself an entire spaceship to hide away whatever it is he's pilfered and made off with- just the things that are no use to anyone else or that he can't give away without causing too much trouble for the receiver, but he can destroy them and make sure they don't fall into the wrong hands ever again.

And then Boothill finds himself a nice cozy little spot in the captain's room, kicks back with his feet up as he sets course for the nearest sun.

He makes himself a sad little one-sided toast, with the godawful sake Dan Heng would always insist was good after you got used to it. Boothill already figures he's not gonna make it to wherever it is Dan Heng ended up. If he does, it's a sign somethin' ain't workin' right.

But oh, Hell is about to become so, so much worse for all them IPC folks down there.

See ya soon, Oswaldo! ☆

[dennisboobs]

to be completely honest, I don't want macdennis in this finale at all. i want den's plot to stay his own. i want the gang to understand just how much they rely on dennis, and how the pressure is finally wearing him down. dennis' inability to escape these high expectations from all of them. of the responsibility that he hates so much. this has been a part of his plotlines for years, and now he can't even take a day trip to the beach without the gang calling him for dumb shit. he's expected to be there to help the gang whenever they need him, but will they be there to help him?

[mostly-imagines]

answering a question nobody asked: what are jason's love languages ranked?

giving:

5 ) gift giving is bottom tier for him. i just dont see how he could value that more than any of the above because of the way he grew up. like material things and money seem like something he’d reject more than anything to me. but he does still give you presents, of course. he’ll buy you flowers randomly and jewelry and little things he’d noticed you admiring. but i dont think he really does it as a method of expressing his love for you so much as just like a little nice thing to do for you. its not his preferred method of communication, at least.

4 ) a little lower on the list comes words of affirmation because i don’t think it comes as naturally to him. he’s a man of few words and those chosen are caked in sarcasm and dry in a way that attempts to push people away, even if he doesn’t mean to. i just think his words can be rough around the edges even if his meaning isn’t. when he can work through it though, his words are very gentle and genuine. not one for hyperbole but really truly means what he says. he hears that you’re insecure about how a dress looks on you and he’s telling you to ‘shut up, you look good.’ or you’re nervous and he’ll say “you’re fine, don’t worry about it.” to someone else’s ears it might sound dismissive but you know that not how he means it. there’s a lot of unsaid words with him that are more significant than whats coming out of his mouth. like i said though, only like level 10 acquaintances and you will ever know him well enough to decipher those secret meanings.

3 ) he tends to treat himself like a loner, pulling away from people like second nature, but after he met you he found himself wanting to be around you all the time. he’s not the best with words or romantic gestures so quality time is an easier way of reminding you he loves you. he likes just sitting with you and letting you ramble about your day—listening to your voice is a big part of his calming down process every night. but sitting in comfortable silence with you is probably his favorite. he doesn’t get that with a lot of people. silence—sure; comfortable—not so much. he loves the implied intimacy and trust of quietly cooking, napping together, or doing your own things in the same space.

2 ) physical touch is another big one for him. only unlockable after entering a relationship with him. he does it for a lot of reasons, common ones include: as a reminder that he’s there, to ease anxiety (yours or his own), as a sort of fidget, or if he’s feeling a little possessive. its honestly going to shock his family how much he initiates touch with you. he’ll shove them off of him when they try to hug him and is likely to throw hands if they get too touchy. so when they meet you for the first time and he’s squeezing your hand in his the whole night, shoulder to shoulder with you—they’re surprised, to say the least. as time goes on they start to notice that he looks borderline uncomfortable when he’s not touching you—like he doesn’t know what to do with his body. his favorite ways to touch you (non sexually) include: keeping you pressed back to his chest, having your leg hooked atop his when you’re sitting hanging out, hand on the back of your neck, and hands on your hips are a must.

1 ) jason's prime method of communication is through acts of service. he fully believes it’s his responsibility to take care of you and doing things for you comes very naturally to him anyways. he’s known to refuse to let you carry things, let you have the comfortable chair, give you the last of his snack, that kind of thing. he also wants to make your life easier as much as possible—he’ll insist on you telling him about things you need, especially things you aren’t able to do yourself. you never ever have to hire a guy to come look at anything broken in your apartment, jason’s got that shit under wraps. he’d honestly be a little hurt if you did. he’s got a wide array of skills under his belt, he can fix leaky pipes, install locks, build furniture, repair cars, you name it.

receiving:

5 ) he always appreciates getting gifts from you but it’s not necessarily his preferred way of receiving your love. gift giving and acts of service are bottom tier because they’re the only ones that he feels like are taking away from you. costing you money or energy, wasting it on him—he doesn’t want you to do that. he can’t feel loved by the gesture when he’s busy concerning himself with the idea that he’s putting you out for it. when you do give him gifts he likes it most when they’re little things, especially things that you made. make him a friendship bracelet, a simple painting, a fucking paper crane—he’ll love it. with things like that, it makes him really happy to see how excited you are to show him and that’s when he feels the love from you.

4 ) it’s always a little hit or miss with acts of service. he has a hard time accepting help, especially from you. he tends to feel like its his job to take care of you and if you have to help him, he’s doing something wrong. the best way to perform acts of service for him is through littler things. cooking his favorite dinner, checking up on how his stitches are healing, covering him up when its cold and he’s too busy/stubborn to go get a blanket. don’t make a whole thing about it, just do it and he’ll notice and he’ll be thinking about it for a while.

3 ) for the same reasons as mentioned earlier, he loves quality time with you. he prefers being on the receiving end of it though because he is a little insecure and absolutely loves when you go out of your way to spend time with him. tell him you want to be around him, tell him you miss him, tell him you’re happy he’s here. warning: he might cry.

2 ) you’ll notice this one because his breath will literally hitch. physical touch is one of the most prominent methods of affection in your relationship and he never gets used to it. the presence of just your head on his shoulder or your hand in his provides such a noticeable release of tension for him. he’s a huge huge fan of you tracing patterns anywhere on his skin, playing with his hair, and wrapping your arms around his middle so you can hold him close. climb on his lap unexpectedly and his heart will skip a few beats.

1 ) he won't ever admit it, but words of affirmation are his absolute biggest weakness. your boy has a praise kink, but i also think it's difficult for him to accept that so you have to be subtle about it and work up. it gets him really blushy and if you can manage to get him talking, he’s stammering. he can’t hold eye contact for shit when you call him pretty and it’s very amusing to you to see such a quick and drastic shift in his disposition. things that have straight up put him out of commission include: calling him “my pretty boy,” or “sweet boy,” “you always take such good care of me,” “you’re so strong,” “you’re the love of my life.” “i’m proud of you” will literally put him on his knees.

[theemporium]

[5.1k] with the hughes bowl around the corner, luke is finding it hard to push away his doubtful thoughts. fortunately, he has a friend who’s willing to keep his mind preoccupied with far more sinful thoughts. unfortunately, he’s pretty sure he’s in love with said friend. (smut)

series masterlist

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Luke Hughes felt lost. 

Not physically, fortunately. He was very much aware of where he was—on his bed in the apartment he shared with his older brother, just to prove his point—but it brought him little to no comfort to be in the place he called home for the majority of the year. 

To be completely honest, Luke didn’t even know what he considered home anymore. Whether it was the house he grew up in in Toronto. Or the one in Michigan. Or the crappy shared house he moved into with the boys in college. Or even the lakehouse he has spent the last few summers in.

They felt familiar and homely at points in his life, but now he wasn’t sure. 

There was a voice in the back of his head that told him New Jersey was his home now, that he had accepted as much the day his name was called in the draft. He knew he would be following in Jack’s footsteps, he would be moving to a new state and he would be integrating himself into the city. That he was now a part of the hockey team that the locals held near and dear to their heart, that they saw him as one of them now. 

And for a little while, he got it. 

He found a sense of comfort in their shared apartment, in living with his brother again after years of only sharing summers together. He found comfort in the days after games where he would come back home and collapse on his bed, or after roadies where he could finally return to normalcy. 

He was fine with it.

Hockey was all about adapting and persevering to new environments. He could handle the hotel rooms and stiff pillows because he knew he would eventually come back to the place he called home. 

But something felt off this time around. 

They had landed pretty late in New Jersey coming off their ten day roadie and Luke had expected to find a sense of solace in the fact he would be able to fall face first into his own bed with no alarms or annoying brothers prepared to wake him up at some ungodly hour the next day. 

Instead, Luke just felt…lost. 

It was the only way he could describe the tenseness in his body for the last two weeks. He felt on edge, constantly alert. He felt like his body was moving through his daily routine but his head was far, far away. He felt like he was trying to catch up with everything, like he was seeing everything happen through his own two eyes but couldn’t quite seem to process what was happening. 

His body was on autopilot and he was clawing on the inside for some control. 

It wasn’t a completely foreign feeling to him. He had felt similarly through the later years in high school and college, when the classes started getting a little harder and he was fighting to stay afloat to the point his brain just shut down and his body kept moving.

He had never really felt that way about hockey before but it was just another one of those things that professional hockey threw at him whilst he desperately tried to cling on to what he knew. 

There was a voice in the back of his head that told him he should be responsible and logical and tell someone. He should say something to Jack, to see if his brother had any advice. Or maybe even Quinn. Or even Nico, since the captain had reassured him time and time again that Luke was one of his boys too. 

He should tell someone because he knew what he was feeling wasn’t normal and wasn’t good in the long run. But unfortunately that logical voice was completely overshadowed by the one telling him that he couldn’t go running to others whenever he had a problem, that he had to learn to cope and adapt, that he couldn’t face saying to the people around him that he was struggling when they were all so excited he finally made it to the big leagues. 

His parents. His friends. The hundreds of fans that had been counting down the days until all three Hughes brothers would make it to the NHL. 

He couldn’t let them think he wasn’t made for the tough life of professional hockey, but he felt like he was going to go out of his mind if he didn’t tell someone. If he didn’t have someone who would get it, who wouldn’t judge him for the doubts plaguing his mind. 

It was close to two in the morning when Luke reached for his phone, opening up his contacts and pressing your name far quicker than should have been possible. But it felt like muscle memory as he clicked your contact, his thumbs typing a message and hitting send before he could think twice. 

hockey boy: hey u up?

Luke wasn’t really expecting you to reply, if he was being honest. Maybe a follow up message in the morning but he assumed you would be fast asleep by now, as any normal person would be. He let out a huff as his head dropped back against his pillow, his eyes blankly staring at the ceiling above as he contemplated what he could do to fall asleep quicker. However, he was pleasantly surprised when his phone buzzed on his chest. 

cherry🍒: oooh i think i know how this one goes 

cherry🍒: i hope you’re wearing something sexy ;) 

Luke breathed out a laugh, shaking his head fondly as he quickly typed a response.

hockey boy: no no

hockey boy: just wanted to talk 

hockey boy: couldn’t get to sleep

Your reply came much faster this time.

cherry🍒: everything okay?? 

hockey boy: yeah don’t worry about it 

cherry🍒: bullshit

cherry🍒: get dressed, see in fifteen minutes 

hockey boy: ????? 

However, your reply never came. Instead, Luke was left staring at his phone screen for a few minutes with his brows furrowed in utter confusion before his brain seemed to snap on. He scrambled to push the duvet off of him and quickly shuffle towards his wardrobe, picking clothes that he is pretty sure were clean before shoving his keys and phone into his pocket. 

He glanced down, seeing another message from you telling him to come outside and his chest tightened a little. It felt something close to the adrenaline he got before he stepped on the ice, that rush that he was really doing this—except this time he was sneaking out like some rebellious teenager who was trying not to wake his brother up. 

God knows what wild assumptions Jack would come up with as to why his little brother was sneaking out at two in the morning.

You were already smiling at him when he spotted your car, waving him over as the cold winter night chill made him regret not grabbing another layer beyond the hoodie he slipped on. He quickly rushed over, letting out a sigh of relief when he was instantly hit with warmth as he slipped into the passenger seat before he turned to look at you.

“Hi,” he whispered, because it just felt right to do so.

“Hi,” you grinned back at him before nodding at him. “Put your seatbelt on.” 

He raised his brows, but he did as he was told. “You gonna tell me where we are going?” 

Your grin widened. “Nope.” 

Luke tilted his head. “Are you taking me somewhere to kill me or something?” 

“Yeah because killing a six foot something hockey player who could probably throw me into the Hudson River with ease is exactly what I planned to do with my Wednesday night,” you snorted, shaking your head as you began to pull out of your parking spot.

“You could push me in when I’m not looking,” Luke countered.

Your lips twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind but that’s not the plan for tonight.” 

“Remind me never to go to the river with you.”

…

“You know, I’m pretty sure this is the exact opposite of what the trainers recommended.” 

“I don’t see you complaining.” 

“Oh, I’m not. Just pointing out a fact.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you lightly shoved the boy settled in the backseat next to you whilst he beamed in response. You were parked in some random, empty parking lot. You weren’t exactly sure where but it was far away enough from the rest of the world for you to deem it the perfect spot. 

After annoying you for five minutes, Luke had fallen silent when you pulled into a McDonald’s drive thru and proceeded to order far more than was necessary for two people. But Luke only grinned, making some comment about dragging you into the river with him if his trainers found out that you just snorted at. 

And now, the two of you were huddled into the backseat of your car, eating away whilst his phone played some country album he was insistent to get you to like in the front of the car in one of the cupholders that was meant for your drinks. 

“So,” Luke started, leaning over to steal a fry from your stash before you could slap his hand away. “Why are we here? Decided to give me a pity meal before you killed me?” 

“Maybe,” you grinned, leaning over to steal a handful of his fries before he had the chance to stop you. “You just seemed like you needed to get out of your head a bit. This is what I do.” 

He raised his brows. “A midnight McDonald’s run?” 

“Sometimes it’s McDonald’s, sometimes it’s cookies,” you shrugged in response. “The snack changes. But the drive away from everything is what helps. God knows how many times I’ve done it when I was drowning in assignments or at work.”

He swallowed. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” your smile softened a little. “What’s up, bud? What’s got you like this?” 

“I…” Luke paused, trying to string his thoughts together but it was hard when they were swirling around in his head. “I don’t know. I just feel like I have spent the last few weeks like a robot, doing what I was supposed to be doing. But not…doing it. If that makes sense.” 

You nodded, your face remaining serious even if Luke was pretty sure he would have laughed at how bizarre it sounded if the roles were reversed. “You’re playing some intense games. Maybe your brain just needed a break.” 

“But I don’t want a break,” he said with a huff, frustrated at himself more than anything. “This is what I’ve been training for all my life. I should be able to fucking handle it.” 

“You can and you are,” you said to him. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t get some extra help along the way.” 

“Like what?” Luke snorted. “The other boys on the team—”

“Probably understand exactly what you’re going through,” you interrupted, nudging your knee against his. “You’d be surprised what you don’t know about a person, Luke.” 

He hummed, not saying much more as he stared at you with an inquisitive look. 

“You’re still playing really well,” you assured him, shifting your gaze away from him and back towards your food. “At least, most of the commenters are saying that. A few of them are dicks though. I have made a list of the ones I don’t like.” 

Luke laughed, somehow not surprised by that. “Yeah, kinda comes with the territory. I’m not gonna be everyone’s favourite player.” 

“Well, I think they are stupid,” you told him, your nose scrunched up slightly. “You’re my favourite player.” 

“Because you’re not biassed at all,” he teased.

“Hm, you’re right. I should be fairer,” you grinned at him, something quite like mischief shining in your eyes. “You’re playing the Canucks soon, right? I heard there’s this Hughes guy on the team that is really good—”

“Ha, ha,” Luke deadpanned before frowning a little. “I’m surprised you know.” 

“Please, it’s the only thing I’ve heard about for your last few days,” you said, scoffing a little in disbelief. Then again, Luke was rarely watching his games back with the running commentary over them. “The Hughes Bowl has quite a name to it though, I’m excited.” 

“Do you want to watch it?” Luke blurted out. “Like, in person.” 

You paused. “As in watching it in the arena?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, swallowing back his nerves. “I can get you a ticket. I happen to know a guy on the team or something.” 

You snorted. “Really? I’m happy to just watch it from home. I don’t want to put you in a tight position trying to get a ticket or anything.” 

“Nah, I can get you a ticket,” Luke reassured you, waving off your concerns. “Just one condition.” 

You raised your brows. “Oh?” 

“You gotta wear number forty-three,” he said with a grin. “Painted on your cheek or something. Proper puck bunny.” 

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder but his heart stuttered a little at the sound of your laugh.

“Alright, Hughes, I’ll be your puck bunny for the night because I’m a good friend like that.” 

And he chose to ignore the way the taste in his mouth instantly soured at that, instead leaning over to try and steal one of the chicken nuggets from your box instead. 

…

When Luke thought of going pro, he thought of high-speed skating and fast-paced games against some of the best players in the world. 

Never once in his daydreams as a child did he ever consider the media aspect of the job. Nor did he consider the fact it would be so fascinating to people that three brothers would be playing in one game. 

Which, in retrospect, he did understand why. He just really wished he was not one of the brothers. 

The whole week had been countless interviews and conferences of journalists asking the same question in different ways and Luke was losing his mind. 

How does it feel to play with your brothers in the NHL? 

Did you ever think the three of you would be playing in a NHL game together? 

Will your parents support different teams or both?

Are you excited to finally play Quinn on the ice after being on the same team as Jack for a few months now? 

Are your parents proud of all three sons playing together? 

Luke was surprised his mind hadn’t exploded after the third day of the insistent questioning. And he knew both Quinn and Jack were getting the same treatment, getting thrown questions every few minutes about Luke finally joining them in the big leagues. 

But it did little to squash the anxiety that had been bubbling in his chest all week. 

It felt like everyone was expecting a spectacle. It felt like suddenly all eyes were on them, on him. He wasn’t just a normal rookie anymore, suddenly he was the third Hughes brother that was meant to show how great and amazing he was compared to his brothers. Suddenly, it felt way more intense than an average game in the season. 

And yet, everyone else seemed excited whilst he felt like the only one who was drowning once again. 

“This is a cop out! You have to pick one!” 

“She’s trying to save your feelings because she would have obviously chosen a Canucks jersey.” 

“You’re both so immature,” Ellen commented, rolling her eyes fondly at her two eldest sons. “Luke hasn’t complained once.” 

Luke snapped out of his daze when all eyes turned to him. “Uh, yeah, the shirts are cool, Mom.” 

Ellen frowned a little. “Are you okay, honey? Jack, are you taking care of your little brother?” 

“Oh, he’s fine,” Jack waved off his parents, his legs swinging as he sat on the kitchen counter with a Cheshire Cat grin on his face. “Lukey just has performance anxiety because his girlfriend is watching tonight.” 

“Girlfriend?” Ellen repeated before turning to her youngest with a smile. “You didn’t tell us we were meeting your girlfriend tonight.”

“Because you’re not,” Luke quickly bit out, shooting Jack an exasperated look. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend. And her seat is in a different section.” 

“Just a friend,” Quinn snorted. “Sure, bud.” 

“Be nice,” Jim shot his eldest son a look. 

“Actually,” Luke suddenly shot up onto his feet. “I have to give her her ticket so I should get going. I’ll see you guys at the arena.” 

Ellen frowned. “Luke—” 

“Didn’t you say her ticket was waiting at the front office?” Jack questioned with a confused frown.

“Change of plans! I have to take it to her! Bye!” 

Luke didn’t give anyone in his family much chance to further question his behaviour before he was barrelling out the door, bag in one hand and his car keys (because yes, he did finally purchase his own car after Jack kept bitching) in the other. 

His brain was in overdrive as he started the car, his body once again working on muscle memory as he started the route to your apartment. It occurred to him as a passing thought that he should have messaged you to warn you, or check you were even home. But he never did.

Instead, he showed up at your door, knocking exactly three times before he paced his spot until the door swung open. 

And then every single thought left his brain the second he saw you. 

“Luke?” 

He cleared his throat. “I…game…ticket?” 

You laughed, a little nervous. “What?” 

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” he murmured, shaking his head as he tried to get ahold of himself. “Everyone was talking about the game and I started spiralling and…here I am!” 

“Come in,” you said in a softer voice, your fingers wrapped around his wrist as you pulled him into the apartment, letting the door close behind him.

You guided him through the apartment, pulling him towards the kitchen and letting him settle back against the counter as he watched you grab a glass from the cupboard to fill it up with water for him. Or at least, he was trying to passively watch you and not focus on your attire that was making his head spin for a whole new reason. 

“I, uh,” he paused, clearing his throat. “I like your outfit.” 

“Yeah?” You grinned at him over your shoulder, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the deep red lipstick staining your mouth. “Is it puck bunny enough?” 

His eyes moved from your red lips to the number 43 painted on both cheeks before glancing down at the oversized Devils hoodie you had on. It had his number on the front, and on the sleeve. In fact, he was surprised they even sold those hoodies considering— 

“Is that my hoodie?” He questioned, straightening up a little whilst you just shrugged innocently. 

“I was working on a time crunch for merch to wear,” you answered with a smile. “And it was easier to steal considering you left it here the other day.”

“I would have given you it if you asked,” Luke murmured, thanking you as he took the glass of water from you and took a small sip. “Or I would have given you my jersey.”

Your nose scrunched. “Pretty sure you need that.” 

“I have spare ones,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes when you laughed in response. “You look good.” 

“I’m glad I passed the test,” you teased as you leaned against the counter beside him. “Now, wanna tell me what’s up? I thought you were going to talk to someone about this.” 

“I was. I just…didn’t know when,” Luke admitted shyly before sighing, placing the glass behind him on the counter. “I don’t know, I just feel like my head is spinning with so many thoughts and I don’t know how to shut it off. And that’s, like, the last thing I need before a game. Let alone this game!” 

You nodded in understanding.

“I just feel like there’s so many people I might possibly let down and I just can’t shake it off,” Luke added, his lips turned downwards. “I just want it to stop.” 

“You know,” you started. “I may have a temporary solution.” 

“Yes. Whatever it is. Yes.” 

“Luke,” you shot him a look. “You don’t even know what it is. Remember what we said about consent?” 

“I thought that was about sex stuff, why—” He paused, his lips parting in surprise. “Is your solution a sex thing?” 

You huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, it’s a sex thing. Do you trust me?” 

“Yeah,” Luke replied instantly. “Of course I do.” 

“Okay, good, then just let me take care of you,” you murmured before you leaned in to kiss him. 

Luke felt his shoulders drop a little the second he felt your lips on his, the second he felt your tongue darting out and teasing his own. His hands dropped to your waist to pull you closer, a soft moan leaving his lips as his hands slipped down to palm your ass. 

He was so lost in the sensation of kissing you—something he hadn’t done in a few days, thank you very much—that he barely noticed the way your fingers traced along the waistband of his trousers until the heel of your palm pressed down against his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Luke muttered under his breath, his brain lagging behind as he tried to keep up with your kisses as you began to palm his cock over his clothes. “Cherry, I—” 

“We can stop, if you want,” you reassured him, lightly nudging your nose against his. “Just say the word.” 

“Please don’t stop,” Luke rasped. 

Luke barely had a chance to process the wolfish smile on your face before you slid to your knees in front of him, one hand continuing to stroke him whilst the other moved to unbutton his pants. His mouth went dry at the sight.

“Cherry—” 

“Trust me, yeah?” 

Luke nodded. 

“Good boy,” you smiled before pulling his trousers down to his ankles. 

His hands shifted to grasp the counter behind him, leaning against it for support as he watched you lean forward and press a soft, feather-light kiss over his boxers. And then another. And another. All along the length of his cock before you reached the tip and lightly sucked over the material of his boxers. 

“Oh shit,” Luke swore, his knuckles going white at how hard he was holding onto the counter. 

“Just relax,” you hummed, your words vibrating against him as your fingers hooked on the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling them down his legs until they joined his pants by his ankles. “Gonna take care of you, help you get out of your head a little.

“Mhm,” Luke nodded, his voice a little more high-pitched than he would have liked. 

His eyes were glued to you, like he couldn’t even look away if he wanted to (not that he did). His eyes were transfixed on the way your hands gripped the base of his cock, the way his tip teased the same red painted lips he had been losing his mind over since you opened the door. 

Luke tucked his bottom lip between his teeth to try save some of his dignity when you shamelessly sucked on the head of his cock, moaning around him like it you were the one being pleasured. 

His chest felt like it was about to be caved in from his heavy pants, his fingers itching to pull the rest of his clothes off as you started moving your head, as you started bobbing and stroking him. 

He let out a choked out noise, something stuck between a moan and a whine as you took him deeper into your mouth. As your red lips wrapped around his cock, painting his skin the same colour as your lipstick. As your cheeks hallowed and the sight of his number painted on your face whilst you stared up at him with wide eyes became his favourite fucking sight in the whole world. 

And then you were moaning too, the feeling of your mouth vibrating around his cock so overwhelming that he could have sworn his knees actually buckled.

You pulled off, your hand still pumping up and down the length of his cock as you grinned up at him, unbothered and uncaring about the mess. Your lips were wet and smudged, a string of saliva just breaking from your lip to the tip of his cock. You leaned back on your knees, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks, glossy eyes and red lips he had bitten raw trying to hold back his moans. 

“God, look at you,” you mused, your thumb sliding over the slit on the tip of his cock. Your smile widened when he let out a shaky, breathless moan. “You look so pretty like this, Luke, wish you could see yourself.” 

“Bet—” He took a deep breath. “—my perspective is so much better.” 

“Yeah?” You hummed, leaning in to lick the beads of precome leaking from his lip. “You like this baby?” 

He nodded. “So much.”

“Good,” you smiled up at him, your eyes remaining on his face as you teased his cock along your lips again. “Be a good boy and come for me then.” 

There wasn’t a single thought in his head other than youyouyouyouyou. He could barely care about the state he was in or the fact he was probably due to head to rink soon because you were on your knees in front of him, bobbing your head up and down on his cock, taking him so deep that your nose was brushing the curls at the base of his cock. 

He could feel his muscles tensing, his hands grasping onto the counter like a lifeline as he shamelessly moaned your name as you kept going and going and going until he was coming down your throat. 

Luke wasn’t even sure at what point he closed his eyes, his head spinning as his orgasm washed over him and almost knocked him off his feet. He let out a shaky breath, slowly blinking his eyes open to look down and find you slowly swiping a dribble of his come that escaped and sucking it back into your mouth.

“Fuck,” Luke groaned, his dick pathetically twitching at the sight. He almost wished he could take a picture of you, just for himself to hoard. “You’re going to kill. Like, actually kill me.”

You laughed, your eyes glittering with an emotion he couldn’t quite understand. “Don’t die on me before I see you play in person, Hughes. You’ll let down your favourite puck bunny.” 

Luke could only roll his eyes fondly. “I’ll score a couple of goals for you to say thank you for the blowjob.” 

“I want a hatrick, Hughes.”

…

Luke did manage to score a goal at the end of the second period. 

And just to make it a little bit sweeter, the Devils did win the Hughes Bowl, much to Quinn’s dismay. 

But the lingering anxiety that had been gnawing at him for the last week was nowhere to be found as he felt his teammates laugh and hug and cheer around him, buzzing as they huddled their way down the tunnel and back towards the locker room. 

Jack was grinning as wide as he was as they peeled off their gear, rushing through their post-game routine and speeches so they could meet their parents and Quinn outside. He was letting himself get sucked into the celebrations, listening to whatever god awful playlist Nate had put on as they continued to mess about in the locker room, high off their win. 

“You should invite your friend to dinner,” was the first thing Ellen said once he and Jack exited the locker room. “To celebrate your win.” 

“And Quinn’s loss,” Jack added with a grin.

“Watch it,” Jim murmured, but it was fond as he wrapped his arm around Quinn. “We are proud of all three of you.”

“And we will kick your asses next time,” Quinn said in that quiet, confident tone only he could do. 

“Yeah, she should be hanging about. Let me text her,” Luke said, still riding off high spirits as he stepped away from his family and pulled his phone out. He couldn’t fight back the smile off his face when he found some messages already waiting from you.

cherry🍒: YOU SCOOOOORED!!! 

cherry🍒: i’m taking that as payment for earlier 

cherry🍒: you guys won because of a lucky blowjob

cherry🍒: wooooo!! you won my first live hockey game!! congrats!! 

hockey boy: hey u still around? 

cherry🍒: no sorry :( 

cherry🍒: i left after the final buzzer 

cherry🍒: why? what’s up?

Luke frowned a little, trying to fight the way his stomach twisted at the fact you left so quickly. He thought the unspoken invite to hang behind with him was obvious but apparently not. 

hockey boy: just wanted to see u after the game

hockey boy: jack keeps talking about u so my parents invited you to dinner 

cherry🍒: aw that’s nice of them, tell them thanks!

cherry🍒: but this night should be for you and your family!!

cherry🍒: not exactly a place for a friend haha 

cherry🍒: but we can celebrate together tomorrow after practice?

hockey boy: yeah sure 

hockey boy: i’ll come over 

cherry🍒: enjoy rubbing in the win to your brother ;)

“Luke?”

Luke cleared his throat, quickly locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket before he turned back to his parents. He put on a smile, one that felt far too similar to the media smile he gave the cameras, and shrugged his shoulders in response. 

“My friend is busy, other plans or something,” he lied through his teeth. “She said thank you for the offer though.” 

“Aw, maybe next time,” Ellen smiled. 

Luke only nodded in response, following his parents and his brothers out into the players’ car park as he ignored the bitter, ugly feeling bubbling in his stomach at the use of friend. He knew that’s what the two of you were, you had said so multiple times and so had he.

But Luke couldn’t help but wonder if there was a chance for something more. He couldn’t help but imagine a world where you would attend more games, where he would leave the locker room and you would be waiting for him beside his parents. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if you had been more than a friend in his head for far longer than he cared to admit. 

And he really couldn’t help but wonder if he was stuck in the friendzone for good with you. 

.

[seulw0nz]

` ꣑꣒‎ ONE WIN, ONE DATE : 심재윤 ─── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

ʬʬ. football player!jake x cheerleader!reader 𖥔 ݁ ARCHiVE 7OO wordcount fluff . . . skinship, kisses ꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ happy bday to jakey, && for my juni bby

YOU'RE STANDING ON THE SIDELINES, pom-poms in hand, watching jake tear through the field like he owns it. he’s got this intensity in his eyes, the kind that makes your pulse pick up because you know he’s giving it his all—just to win this game. all for one reason: he bet you that if he wins, he gets to ask you out.

it’s been a fun, flirty thing between you two for weeks now, but this? this is new. he made sure the whole team knew about his little bet, which has them teasing him endlessly about finally "making a move on his dream girl." you catch a few of his teammates smirking and nudging him before the game starts, and jake just rolls his eyes with a lopsided grin, eyes glancing at you every now and then. you swear you can feel his gaze even from across the field.

the game is close, way too close for your liking. you’re on edge, practically jumping each time he gets the ball, and maybe you’re clapping a little louder than anyone else (not that you liked him, or maybe you did). in the final minutes, it’s tied, and jake’s team has the ball. you watch as he gets the ball, weaving through the opposing team with an ease.

the crowd holds its breath, and so do you.

with a swift, clean kick, jake scores, sealing the win. the stadium erupts, but jake’s eyes find you instantly, a smug, triumphant smile on his face as he’s mobbed by his teammates. when they finally let him go, he sprints over to you, his eyes lighting up with joy.

“so…” he starts, leaning over, hands on his knees, slightly out of breath but still managing to look cocky. “still gonna pretend you’re not into me?”

you roll your eyes, though your cheeks are definitely giving you away. “who said i was ever into you?”

“i could tell.” jake flashes that heart-melting smile, moving closer. you’re aware of the other cheerleaders watching, and you’re definitely aware of his hand grazing your waist, lingering just long enough to make your heart race.

“oh, yeah? you’re that confident?” you ask, trying to sound unaffected, but your voice betrays you.

“confident enough to win a game for you,” he says with a smirk. “and i did say i’d ask you out if i won.”

“so ask away, sim,” you challenge, folding your arms.

he lets out a chuckle, his fingers brushing yours as if testing the waters. “okay, let me ask properly, then.” jake clears his throat dramatically, taking your hand in his. “y/n, would you do me the honor of going out with me?”

you’re pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach are doing somersaults, but you manage to keep your cool—sort of. “hmm… maybe. depends. what kind of date are we talking about?”

jake grins, squeezing your hand gently. “whatever you want. something fun. something that’ll make you smile like that.” he nods at you, obviously noticing the way your lips are curving, despite your attempt to stay composed.

“fine,” you say, relenting with a playful eye roll. “but only because you tried so hard.”

he leans in, closer than before, his voice just above a whisper. “only the best for you.”

your heart skips, and you glance down, trying to hide the way his words affect you. but jake isn’t done; he tilts your chin up, meeting your gaze. "guess you’re stuck with me now.”

“guess so,” you whisper, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as you realize he’s not moving back. his hand is still at your waist, his thumb gently tracing circles on your hip. the stadium is still loud around you, but it feels like it’s just the two of you here, his face inches from yours.

“think i can get a ‘good game’ kiss?” he asks with a wink, his voice teasing but hopeful. you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way you’re smiling now.

“don’t push your luck, sim.” but before he can respond, you lean up, giving him the quickest, softest peck on the lips. it’s barely there, but it’s enough to make his eyes widen in surprise and a smile spread across his face.

“you’re making me want to win every game now,” he says, looking down at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“i guess you’ll just have to keep scoring, then,” you reply with a grin, stepping back slightly, though your hand stays in his, fingers tangled together.

“oh, trust me, y/n,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on you, “i’ll be scoring a lot.”

[alchemistc]

Once again I need to get off my ass and go work but instead all I'm thinking about is Them:

Buck's mostly got his breathing under control by the time he hears the side door slide open, and he adjusts his weight automatically, tips his chin as he straightens his spine, tugs at the bottom of his suit jacket like that will fix the wrinkles he'd made bending at the waist for the last ten minutes.

"Buck?"

He's turned away, thank god, so Tommy can't see the wince.

"I'm fine," he says, annoyed with himself and the world at large when it comes out wobbly. "Go back ins-." When he hears the door click shut again he takes a moment to hope Tommy's just left, again, but -

No such luck.

"That door locks from the inside," Buck murmurs, and tears his gaze away from the gentle expression on Tommy's face. There'd been a cardboard box wedged up in there by whatever line cook had been out here smoking when Buck burst through the doors, and the guy had left it with a warning about how insanely large this building was and how few doors along its perimeter were unlocked, and now the broken down box is somewhere beneath Tommy's left foot.

Tommy tries the door anyway.

It doesn't budge. "We could just call Eddie," Tommy says, and Buck feels the ire rise in his throat.

"Eddie's not here," he spits, and it feels like a knife under the ribs. Everyone fucking leaves, eventually. "Call your date, if you want. I'm walking."

Buck heaves himself up from his lean against the brick, takes two large strides to make it past Tommy and keeps going.

He should have known better than taking Bobby at his word that this stupid gala would be worth his time. So far he's dodged conversations about the curse of the 118, spent an unbearable five minutes smiling blandly at Gerrard before he could excuse himself, and tossed two numbers written on raffle tickets into the trash in his mad dash through the kitchens because apparently Tommy had been chosen as the rep for 217 and he looks fucking good in his suit, and he'd been pretty sure they'd be spending this Christmas together, until last month.

He's twenty yards down the alley when he hears footsteps catching up to him. Light, brisk - he's jogging to catch up and Buck doesn't want to deal with -

"Not my date," Tommy says, and Buck curses his own body for automatically slowing to allow him to catch up.

Buck snorts. "Okay." The guy was older - than Buck, at least. Grey around his temples, fat lips and clever eyes that caught Tommy's mid-sentence and sent them both into quiet hysterics.

"Buck, would you just -."

He's close enough to reach for Buck's arm, so Buck wrenches it away before he can make contact. "Don't call me that."

December twenty-third is one of those weird days where the world doesn't quite work the same. Traffic is heavier or lighter in weird places, people with nothing to do wander the streets or hole up in their homes making too much food and watching weird holiday movies, and even in LA it gets chilly enough at night to need a jacket. This one isn't doing shit to keep Buck warm, but the anger catching in his throat sure is.

"It's your name," Tommy says, exasperated.

"Not to you." Buck stops dead in his tracks, watches Tommy take another three steps before he realizes he's alone. When he turns, Buck doesn't allow himself to turn away from his gaze. Annoyance isn't a new look - Buck has tested the waters enough in six months to know intimately exactly how far he could push it before Tommy stopped indulging him.

He looks upset. Frustrated. Tired. Hot as fuck. Buck sort of wishes he'd do something about those first two.

Something other than walk away.

Tommy sighs. Runs a hand through his hair, and the sides aren't as high and tight anymore. There's a piece curling over the tip of his ear and Buck wants to tug at it, slide his fingers in there and tuck it back. "That was Sal," he says, and Buck flicks through the sadly small Rolodex of names Tommy has mentioned in the past. Another boundary Buck hadn't realized was a brick fucking wall in the way of getting to know his boyfriend.

Ex.

Sal. He'd been at the 118 with Gerrard, in the early days. Before Chim and Hen, before Bobby. He'd been the one to prompt Tommy into filing a complaint against Gerrard even though he'd been scared out of his mind to do it.

"I don't care."

He does care, is the problem. He cares so much. He's got a pile of fruit cakes and half a dozen pies sitting on his kitchen island right now that prove it. He can't seem to stop caring.

Tommy looks sceptical.

Buck brushes past him again, keeping his strides long. Tommy's the same height, but both literally and metaphorically he's always struggled to keep up when Buck had somewhere to be.

At least the panic attack has passed. Maybe he could take up running, as a cure all, instead of the weak ass recovery period he usually takes that involves him drinking a bottle of water and staring at the same spot on the wall until he sees stars.

So, fine. Tommy hadn't brought a date to the work function it was entirely possible Buck would be at six weeks after breaking up with him and disappearing into the damn wind. He'd bubbled Buck seven times that Buck knew of, and he hadn't brought a date.

Fine.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked -."

Buck had watched Tommy wheeze with laughter and curl a hand around the dudes - Sal's - wrist and he'd felt like maybe he was gonna throw up. Like six months and the something he'd been working his way up to defining hadn't meant a damn thing. Like Tommy could just move on like he seemed to think Buck could.

"Doing great, Tommy. My best friend is moving to Texas and the man I thought I could -." Buck clears his throat. Shuffles sideways just a bit because Tommy is keeping pace now and his cologne is familiar and devastating. He doesn't have anything inside. Once he rounds this corner he could just order an Uber and go home.

There's nothing keeping him here.

"Eddie's moving?"

The no contact thing had extended to everyone at the 118, apparently. At least Buck wasn't alone in that.

Buck digs out his phone, slows his pace just enough to pull up the app he needs. He can feel Tommy's eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.

"Yeah, well. I'm getting used to people leaving at this point," he says, filling it with as much ire as he can. His voice doesn't wobble this time.

"Buck."

It's soft, this time, same inflection as when he'd cage Buck against a counter and lick into his mouth. "Don't worry about me, Tommy. You made it a point not to."

"That's not fair."

Buck couldn't care less. He's spent six weeks on a depression baking spiral and now he wants to go home and destroy every bit of baked goods he's made that are still left.

It only takes a few taps. They're surging prices, but that's not exactly a shocker.

He'd really thought the next time he saw Tommy he'd just be sad. Maybe he'd feel a little wistful about all the moments they'd shared that had meant something to Buck even if they hadn't meant the same to Tommy.

He wants to swing a fist, if he's being honest. He wouldn't. Not ever. But the desire is there and he hates it.

"Buck, could we just -."

"Stop calling me that!"

"I pay a mortgage, Evan!"

Buck can't remember Tommy ever raising his voice. It's - weird.

"I'm forty years old and I own a house and you asked me to move in to your loft after you told me you admired me." The emphasis isn't lost on him.

His ride is three minutes away.

"I got it the first time, Tommy. Haven't sucked enough cocks or done enough tests to know what I really want, so. Go enjoy your evening with Sal and -."

"That is not what I said." Cool, calm. Infuriating.

"Well that's what I got from it, so clearly we were never on the same page. I wanted a future with you and you've been eyeing the expiration date the whole time so -."

He's definitely not expecting Tommy's lips. But there they are, on his, and Buck's stumbling back, fully expecting the sharp crack of the brick at the back of his head as Tommy surges forward with him, only Tommy's hand curls around his skull at the last second and takes the brunt of the landing. His mouth opens on a groan and Buck licks up into it. Their noses clash and rather than shifting for better positioning they just press closer. Tommy's free hand finds the soft give of Buck's waist and his thigh finds purchase between Buck's legs and -

"You're willfully misunderstanding me," Tommy says, lips on Buck's jaw, heart pounding under Buck's hand, his breath ghosting along Buck's cheek.

"Never really gave me the opportunity for clarity," Buck bites back, and Tommy huffs, rolls his hips, tucks his forehead into the juncture of Buck's shoulder.

His pulse is pounding in his ears and there's a cloud of Tommy Tommy Tommy obscuring his senses.

"Do you still want that?"

Buck's phone dings in his hand.

His ride is here.

"Not if you're just gonna walk away again," Buck bites out, and shoves. Hard.

It barely moves Tommy, but it's enough to slip out of his grasp.

He doesn't glance behind to see if Tommy follows as he pulls at his suit jacket again and rounds the corner to try to catch - he eyes his phone - Sheri before she cancels the ride on him.

Doesn't stop him from hearing the footfalls behind him while he searches out the blue Honda Civic.

[niiwa-angel]

I can't stop thinking about how Stan Pines, a man who was kicked out of his home at a young age by his abusive father, turned his own home into such a safe space for not just the twins, but his employees and the kids friends as well.

First of all, we know Wendy frequently slacks off on her shifts, she has her roof top hideaway but she also reads magazines and flat out refuses to do certain tasks. Like when Stan asked her to put up a sign and she just said she couldn't reach it, or telling Stan "absolutely not" when he asked her and Soos to clean the bathrooms. Not only could Stan fire her, he could take away her magazines or stop her from going on the roof. We see that Stan is more observant than he lets on, you're telling me he didn't notice her dragging a cooler and a lawn chair up there? And she's either bringing her own pop and ice to fill that cooler or she's taking his.

And then there's Soos, who Stan cares about so much he got himself on the no-fly list trying to get his birthday removed from calendars, just because it made him upset. We know Soos cares about the Mystery Shack, he feels comfortable there, and he respects and adores Stan. Soos also volunteered to DJ for free at Stans summer party.

We also frequently see Soos and Wendy hanging out with the twins, so either they're slacking off during working hours or they're coming over after their shifts just to hang out. In an after credits scene, we see Mabel and Dipper turn Soos into a disco ball and they're clearly in the residential part of the shack. So either Soos buggered off during working hours to hang out with the twins or he's off shift just chilling. Either way, Stan is fine with him being in the actual house part of the shack.

Wendy also helps Mabel try and make Stan more 'desirable' to Lazy Susan, which I'll get into later, but she's not working and she also in the house part of the shack. We also see Soos and Wendy watching television with Stan, Mabel, and Dipper during the Summerween episode. They aren't on shift! They're just chilling. Wendy hits Stan in the face with a water balloon while working as a lifeguard. She's comfortable teasing him.

Soos tags along with Stan, Dipper, and Mabel when they break into the golf course after hours. He brings his shirts to cut Ws into. He doesn't have to be there, he just is. Wendy goes hunting with Mabel and her friends for unicorns. Mabel wins a pig at the fair and Stan lets her keep it, the pig needs food, who do you think is footing that bill?

Now let's talk about friends. Mabel often has Candy and Grenda over, we know she has loud sleepover with them. Do you think Mabel would bring her friends over if she wasn't comfortable in the house? Do you think Candy and Grenda would keep coming over if they didn't feel safe? Not to mention, they literally ambush Stan in the bathroom and give him a make over. Which he allows, we see him fight off the undead, punch bald eagles, and catch the twins when they fell from the nose of that monument. The man is strong, he could get three preteen girls off him if he wanted to, he was 100% playing along.

Candy and Grenda also invite themselves along on their road trip. And Stan lets them come!! Mr cheap stake agrees to feed and care for two extra kids who aren't his family.

Dipper sneaks around trying to see his tattoo, he feels safe enough with Stan to push those boundaries. He literally pulled the Memory Gun on Ford during the basement scene, if he wasn't comfortable with Stan, he wouldn't try to get that close to him. He calls Stan when he and Mabel are trapped in a haunted convenience store (he doesn't answer but still, he called him).

Now let's talk about Gideon, because I will stand by the Stan had some fondness for the kid. We know Stan has been annoyed with Gideon for a while, we know Gideon has been gunning for Stan for a while. And Stan just... Keeps letting this happen. He never involves the police, he plays along with Gideons attempts, even when Gideon is laughing uncontrollably, Stan just assured him that "you'll get me one day kid". Even when Gideon climbs in THROUGH THE WINDOW all Stan does is aggressively sweep at his feet. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Stan never gets rough with Gideon.

I'm just, I'm weeping over the knowledge that Stan Pines, who wasn't safe in his own home, made his home a safe place for kids as an adult.

[enderlovez]

Snow

Spencer Reid x Female Reader WORD COUNT: 719

Summary: To say he's worried when he wakes up alone in the middle of the night, only to see you laying in the snow outside, is an understatement.

Content Warning: mentions of hypothermia and being cold in general, mentions of people dying from hypothermia

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

It's not often that you and Spencer spend the night without one another. Either he's staying with you in your apartment, or you're sleeping with him in his apartment — the latter is, of course, the more common occurrence, as you prefer the calmer feel of his place.

Which is why, as Spencer groans tiredly and reaches his hand across to your side of the bed, he's surprised to find that the sheets there are cold, and you're most definitely not there.

At first, it's not much of a big deal — it's not the first time you've woken in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom or get a glass of water from the kitchen, and it's definitely not the first time he's woken up while you were gone. But as the minutes drag on and you still don't come back to bed, worry begins to prick at his mind.

Spencer pushes the blanket off himself and scuffs his feet on the floor as he makes his way out of the room, padding through the apartment in search of you. But it's as though you've vanished into thin air, because you are nowhere to be found.

At least, that's until he's back in his room with his phone in hand, seconds away from calling you to make sure you're alright, when he glances offhandedly out the window and sees a pile of clothes in the show — one that looks distinctly you shaped, horrifyingly enough.

Panic surges through his body as he rushes out of the apartment, not bothering to grab more than a coat and a pair of shoes on the way out, as he moves as fast as his feet will take him.

If you're out in the freezing cold, laying in the even colder snow, why should it matter if he's cold, anyway.

Except, by the time he himself is standing out in the bitter cold, eyes searching the snow-covered ground for you, you seem completely fine, bundled up in what must be all of your clothes and humming a little tune to yourself.

"An estimated two thousand people in the United States are diagnosed with hypothermia a year," he says as way of greeting, standing over your face and looking down disapprovingly, "and of which, there are approximately seven hundred deaths a year."

Your eyes glitter in the pale moonlight as you shift your gaze from the sky to your boyfriend. "You're supposed to be asleep in bed," you reply quietly, ignoring his very morbid greeting as your eyes skim over what he's wearing. "Or at the very least, dressed warmer! Oh darling, you must be freezing out here!"

You're already getting to your feet, throwing one last glance at the sky as you take his trembling hand in your own glove-covered ones and pull him back into the building. Neither of you say a word until you're both safely back in his apartment.

"Why'd you even come out?" you demand, shrugging all your clothes off until you're left in just a pair of plaid pajama pants and a black tank top. There's a small frown on your face as you take his ice-cold hands into yours, rubbing them to try and warm them up faster.

"Saw you outside when I woke up. Thought you were hurt," he replies in a quiet voice, leaning forward and down so he can rest his forehead on your shoulder, tired again now that the adrenaline is wearing off. "Why were you out there?"

"Woke up and couldn't go back to sleep," you whisper into his ear, pressing a kiss to the chilled skin of his neck and rubbing your hands up and down his back. "I tried reading one of your books, but got really bored after a few minutes."

He scoffs as if that's the most stupid thing you've ever said in your life. "Could've woken me up, so I could keep you company," he argues gently, and despite the lighthearted tone he's using, you know he's not joking. He would much rather be woken up than risk your health.

You shake your head against him, chuckling as he begins pulling you back to the bedroom, likely so you can both go back to sleep.

"And my books are, most definitely not boring."

[silverfairywings]

— IN THE WAKE OF FLAMES. PT III

eris vanserra x archeron!reader

summary: even before you became fae, your favourite season was autumn. it’s a little hard to hide this when your least favourite newly appointed high lord has made it his life’s mission to be the most annoying male in your life.

a/n: sorry for such a long break!! pls let me know what u think and again if you’d like to be added to the tag list send me a message or ask as I rarely check my notifs and go back to them. also sorry abt the cliffhanger uhmmmm also unedited ok bye

“You look like crap.”

Your eyes flutter open to see Mor scrunching up her face as she peers at you from her seat across your own at the dining table. It takes a second for her words to register and you throw a belated scowl her way.

“Good morning to you too,” you mumble, sitting up to continue swirling your spoon around your bowl of barely eaten oatmeal. Your appetite seems to have vanished over the past week, but you try and force a spoonful down your throat, nearly gagging.

Mor narrows her eyes at you and her lips press into a thin line of concern. “No, you seriously look like crap. You’re not eating lately and you were literally asleep at the table when I got here.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” you say, defensively. “I was resting my eyes.”

“You sound like Cassian after a three hour afternoon nap.”

“I’m just having a little trouble sleeping.” You set your spoon down and push the offending bowl away from you before slumping in your seat. You brush off her skeptical look with a wave of your hand. “I’m always like this after absorbing Fae magic.”

And over the last few days you’ve been absorbing a lot. All in an attempt to find out as much as you could about the Fae rebel group that had been attacking the borders of multiple Courts, in order to weaken them and make a point against you.

Well, you and your sisters. Not all of Prythian was accepting of Feyre for how she was Made, and even less so of you and Nesta and Elain. Instead, they viewed you as unnatural mutations and the whispers had only become worse after the War. It seemed that the lack of conflict looming over Prythian was unacceptable in their eyes.

With the help of your powers and Azriel’s shadows, you were closer than ever to finding them. Truthfully, the idea that there were Fae out there who hated you didn’t bother you so much in the sense of feeling like outcasts, but you couldn’t lie. They were starting to be a giant pain in your ass.

“You’re never like this,” Mor scoffs, gesturing to the bags under your eyes and the hollowness of your cheeks. As her voice raises, the pounding of your head gets more intense and you attempt to hold back a grimace. “Why is it affecting you so much this time?”

“It’s the type of magic I’m absorbing,” you practically whine, abandoning all pretences of being okay and allowing your shoulders to drop. “It’s so angry and harsh and impure, Mor! It’s literally making me sick because I have nowhere else to redirect it.”

At that moment Rhysand and Feyre walk in to join you at the table.

Rhysand, having overheard you, chimes in as he reaches for a plate of fruit. “Good news, our little Siphon,” he nudges you lightly, the nickname making you scrunch your nose up in mock annoyance. “We have enough information now to move forward using Az and Cass and resources from other Courts. The only thing we need you to do now is rest.”

Rhysand’s upbeat tone brings a weak smile to your face. You know that he’s being flippant to make you feel better, like he always does when you’re stressed or unwell and you’re nothing but appreciative as he whistles under his breath, nonchalantly piling some fruit onto a plate for you.

“You should have been resting days ago,” Feyre eyes you from beside Rhys with furrowed brows, taking in your tired form. “We told you yesterday would be too much.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Give me a couple hours and I’ll be fine for the meeting in Summer.”

Mor snorts and looks up at you, amused. When you raise an eyebrow, her smile drops into an incredulous expression. “You’re not serious.”

“I need to be there to discuss what I siphoned from that knife we found at the border of Dawn,” you say, holding up a hand and rushing out the rest of your words when Feyre opens her mouth to speak. “And Rhys promised me I would be there since it’ll be all the High Lords, Court informants and even soldiers. I couldn’t possibly not go.”

Feyre sighs, sensing that you’re not going to back down. She nods slowly, pointing at your plate. “Finish all of your breakfast and your lunch later on and then you can go.”

You let out a breath, feeling nauseous when Rhys slides your plate closer to you and simply shrugs when you glare at him. Traitor, you speak to him in your mind. He suddenly becomes very interested in a strawberry.

“Watch me,” you say confidently, waving your fork at Feyre who rolls her eyes at you and goes back to her own breakfast.

Summer court is your least favourite court at the best of times, though you’d never admit that to sweet and kind Tarquin, who’s arguably one of your favourite High Lords.

The beautiful, shimmering lagoons aren’t of interest to you as large bodies of water have always unsettled you. The warm breeze that everyone welcomes always reminds you of the times you had to suffer through sweltering heat when foraging for food with Feyre in your adolescence. You’ve always preferred a colder climate and appreciated a more muted daylight.

Considering your current health, the ripples in the water make you dizzy and the light salty breeze nearly brings your breakfast and lunch up.

You’re thankful for the sheer, thin material of the sage coloured dress that Nuala and Cerridwen chose for you because you suddenly feel a sheen of sweat covering your body.

“Are we done sightseeing?” you ask weakly, desperate to be inside already.

Elain turns to you and winces. “You don’t look too good….”

“Aw, thank you, Elain.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she tuts, coming over to fan your face with her hands. You swat them away, sputtering and try to catch Rhysand’s attention to move things along. He reluctantly agrees and gestures everyone to move along, too used to your aversion to Summer.

As you all enter the palace made of gleaming marble, you hang further back to avoid the watchful eyes of Feyre who seems to be waiting to send you right back home to rest.

The palace is beautiful and you push down your nausea to look around and take in the tall arched windows. The jewelled embellishments adorning the frames trail higher and higher and you crane your neck to see them.

This turns out to be a mistake when your vision starts to blur and another wave of nausea causes your steps to falter, the world tilting sharply.

A firm hand grips your elbow in an all too familiar fashion, steadying you before you’re sent flying to the ground. Another hand settles around your waist where the cutout of your dress exposes your now damp skin, glittering with sweat.

You look up and find Eris’ amber eyes locked onto your own.

“Foolish,” he mutters, his voice sharp with irritation, yet his hands remain steady in their position, holding you up. It’s the first word he’s uttered to you since your encounter a couple of weeks ago in the Spring Court where he’d left on frosty terms. You had seen him twice since then, but it was in the middle of meetings and siphoning sessions and he had barely spared you a single glance.

Your lips part but your senses are too overwhelmed to think of a response before he carries on, lightly shaking his head at you. “You overexert yourself all week and then travel here? What are you trying to prove?”

“I’m fine,” you manage to say, pulling away from him, but his grip only tightens. You can’t help glancing around and noticing that the growing crowd of all the Court officials has separated you from the Inner Circle. You huff out a breath as you register his words. You knew Rhysand had to communicate with the other High Lords with updates, but you didn’t know that included your physical state. “Gods, High Lords are such gossips…”

“You’re not fine,” he says, scowling like you’ve dreadfully inconvenienced him by nearly collapsing. His gaze flickers over the pallor of your skin and the way you’ve started to shiver slightly. “You drained yourself dry this week. And for what? To impress Rhysand? To prove something to him?”

“Let go of me, Eris,” you attempt to snap at him, but even you can hear the lack of strength in your voice. His eyes soften slightly when you say his name without your usual bite. “I can’t have this same conversation with you when I’m like this.”

“You think I want to be the one always catching you from falling on your face? Trust me when I say I have things I would rather be doing,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes.

You grit your teeth at the reminder and heat flares in your cheeks, whether it’s from embarrassment, anger or the climate of Summer, you don’t know.

Before you can retort, Eris sighs and straightens you up, still not fully letting you go. Releasing the hand around your waist, he loops your arm in his own and makes you lean on him for support. To your utter surprise, he doesn’t say anything as he starts walking towards the meeting room where everyone else files in. Despite your frustration, you’re grateful for his strength.

The moment of blissful silence doesn’t last too long, however. As he begins to lead you to where your family is stood and clearly looking around frantically for you, Eris leans in to whisper in your ear. “You need to sit down at the table,” he orders quietly, High Lord behaviour on full display.

You’re about to argue that no one else is going to be sat and he immediately catches this, cutting you off. “Don’t be stubborn for once in your life,” he murmurs, breath warm against your ear, making you shiver more than you already were. “Please?”

You quickly turn your head to meet his, shocked at the pleading in his voice. You didn’t realise how close this would bring your own face to his and words leave you. Thankfully, you’ve reached your family as you hear Cassian’s loud voice and it snaps you out of your little bubble.

“Finally!” he exclaims, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “We were about to send a search and rescue team, thinking you’d finally collapsed.”

“Why didn’t you?” Eris asks, coldly.

Cassian merely rolls his eyes at Eris’ attitude and gestures at Azriel.

Feyre comes forward to take your other arm in hers and explains. “Azriel’s shadows informed us that you were with her, Eris.” She smiles warmly and sincerely at him and Rhysand nods at him in recognition of his actions. “Thank you for looking after my sister.”

Eris shakes his head. “Don’t thank me yet. I foresee many falls in her near future that I’m sure I won’t be present for.”

Feyre’s mouth twitches, but she quickly smoothes her face into an expressionless one when you frown at her and she busies herself with disentangling you from Eris.

He takes a step back, dark and fiery hair catching the sunlight through the tall windows and glances at you once more, not breaking eye contact, yet his words are directed towards Feyre. “Just make sure she sits down. The Night Court doesn’t need a martyr,” he says drily, before walking away.

Your mouth goes dry at the double meaning in his words, but you can’t shake off the shock at seeing genuine concern in his eyes. You must have looked practically near death, but you appreciated it all the same and you don’t even realise your eyes are lingering on him as he walks away until Feyre sits you down next to Nesta.

Your older sister raises an eyebrow at you, always so intuitive and you swat weakly at her to look away from you. Cassian’s eyes flit back and forth between you two, confused.

Before he can say anything, the meeting commences and you feel a shift in the energy of the room, full to the brim of Court officials, emissaries, a few warriors and of course, the High Lords around the table.

Your turn to speak comes fairly quickly since the most information regarding the Rebels is from you and Azriel. As per Rhysand’s instructions, you don’t go into any details regarding your siphoning powers, instead just sharing the information you gained due to them. You try to ignore the way people are staring at your weak form, but you continue to speak with all the strength you can muster. Evidently, you’re doing a convincing job as people start to nod, satisfied and scribble things down.

When Azriel’s turn arrives, you zone out a little, already having heard everything a few times over. Your ears only perk up when everyone is discussing plans of action against the Rebels and a question is asked in your general direction.

“Who are we thinking is to be at the front lines of this hypothetical mission?” The question comes from one of the Spring Court advisors, Vaelith, an older Fae with silver hair gathered in one long braid down his back.

His gaze lingers on you for only a split second before moving onto Rhysand and you feel compelled to answer. “Myself and Azriel,” you blurt out, before you can think twice. “And others of course, but the two of us are the most familiar with-”

“We’re all aware of the Shadowsinger’s abilities,” Vaelith interrupts you, holding up a hand to stop you from talking. You hold back a scowl. “What makes you suitable to lead such a mission aside from your… familiarity with a selection of items left behind by these Rebels?”

“I’m more than able to-” you cut yourself off and swallow, gaining yourself a second to think of a way to defend yourself without giving away your powers, as per your High Lord’s request.

Careful, Y/N

Rhysand’s voice sounds clear as day in your head and you try not to wince at the volume considering the silence of the rest of the room. The other High Lords knew of your powers, but Rhysand had requested they keep it to themselves, even from their own Court officials. Whether or not Rhysand had used his Daemati abilities to ensure this, you didn’t want to know.

“I’m more than able to assist in a plan of action,” you continue firmly, voice hardening. “I’m not sure if you remember a certain War we just had, but you may wish to remind yourself who was at the front lines of that.”

A few laughs break the tense silence and some people start muttering, slowly raising the volume of the room. You almost don’t hear Vaelith’s next words. “You haven’t really answered my question.”

“Let’s use our senses, Vaelith,” a voice rings out from further down the table and you’re startled to realise that Eris is speaking up. The room finally quietens down and you sit up impossibly straight, surprised that Eris is about to defend you.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

He only spares you a fleeting glance, but even from your seat you could see it’s full of amusement and mocking. The thing that surprises you is that the mocking is directed at you. “Look at her. Are you really questioning the abilities of a female who barely has the strength to sit up in her seat, let alone fight?”

Your stomach drops, a ball of humiliation unfurling in your chest as he continues to speak.

“I’d like to believe Rhysand has more sense than to send someone on the frontlines who would just be doing the rebels a favour,” Eris drawls, raising an eyebrow at Rhys, still avoiding your gaze.

Rhysand nods. “I can assure you I’ll only be sending my strongest soldiers, Vaelith,” he smirks, faintly, as though the implication he’d do anything to suggest otherwise is laughable. “Now may we discuss matters of actual importance? Tarquin, what have your soldiers been preparing?”

The tension dissolves almost immediately, but you’re still shellshocked, shaking with anger rather than weakness now. It’s as though you’ve been pumped with a burst of adrenaline and it doesn’t seem to be dampening.

After the conversation has shifted to a completely different subject, you shift from your seat as discretly as possible and mutter to Nesta that you need some air before standing up.

You look at the High Lord of Autumn before you walk away, but it only infuriates you more. Eris doesn’t look anywhere near you, but his jaw is clenched all the same, as though he can feel you glaring at him.

Mor catches your arm as you’re walking out and hisses in your ear. “You’re still not well,” she turns her body fully towards you. “Wait for me to come with you.”

“Don’t worry,” you say, shaking your head and clenching your fists to keep them from trembling as you speak through gritted teeth. “I feel suddenly energised. I’ll only be outside.”

Mor gives you a once over and is clearly satisfied with the fact that you’re unlikely to collapse again as she nods and releases your arm, allowing you to rush through the crowd of people and push through the guards.

You walk briskly away from the doors of the meeting room and further down the empty hallway until you’re satisfied that no one will hear your heavy breathing.

You lean against a pillar, exhaling in and out to control your anger and keep the tears at bay. Gods, you feel so stupid. Of course, Eris is incapable of being a decent male to anyone, let alone to you. Damn him and his cruel smirk and damn Rhysand too for allowing it to happen.

Brushing away the tears that have managed to fall, you curse yourself for not just pushing him away and allowing yourself to collapse on the hard marble flooring. It was giving you whiplash the way he could be so full of concern one second and practically call you useless in front of a room full of officials the next.

The longer you stand against the marble pillar, the weaker you begin to feel and that burst of adrenaline you previously felt is no longer present. The anger that fuelled you mere seconds ago is now winding you and a rising sense of panic begins to consume you.

You decide to turn around to walk back so you’re closer to the doors of the meeting room in case you embarrassingly do collapse.

However, the second you take a step, a flash of movement in the corner of your eye is all the warning you get before strong arms clamp around you from behind and a cloth is pressed against your mouth and nose, preventing you from breathing. You can’t even scream as the scent of something strong and chemical floods your senses, making your vision blur.

You thrash around in an attempt to use the little strength you have left to escape, but the arms only grip you harder and the world begins to spin. The last thing you feel is the cool marble floor as your knees give out and no one bothers to catch you as you hit the ground, darkness swallowing you whole.

tag list: @fabulouslyflamboyant @deepestmentalityperson @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @abysshaven @nayaniasworld @rcarbo1 @paleidiot @tenshis-cake @bunnyredgirl @goldenmagnolias @whydohumansss @fandomtrash465 @mrsbarnes32557038 @aaprilshowers @scarsandallaz @-im-fantastic- @cat-or-kitten @annamariereads16 @adelina-127 @onlymexsarah @puddlesplasher17 @eyes-capone @hermaeuswhora

[pedrospatch]

captive

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You find yourself missing your captor while he’s out on an early morning hunt with the rest of the group.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. IMPLIED PREVIOUS NONCON. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION. mentions of Joel’s group murdering reader’s group, it’s implied her family members were also killed, Joel pretty much kidnaps reader and keeps her as his own, stockholm syndrome, reader deals with a lot of very distressing and conflicting feelings, Joel isn’t too creepy or extremely dark, but he is still not a good person, mentions of Tommy. VERY BRIEF SMUT in the form of cockwarming, daddy kink but i didn’t go overboard this time, pet names (honey, baby, babygirl, sweetheart) if i missed anything, you can POLITELY let me know because if i missed anything, it was purely accidental. minimal editing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

if this isn’t your thing, that’s fine, just scroll on by.

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i might actually throw up idk. i’ve had this itch to try dark joel and seeing as i have major writer’s block with all my other wips i decided to just scratch the itch. this is a little out of my comfort zone but i actually ended up feeling pleased with what i wrote. this is my personal take on dark/raider joel, i’m sure it is very out of character but it’s fanfiction so…yeah. here it is.

It’s the rain that rouses you from your sleep.

It beats down heavily on the remote cabin’s tin roof.

Loud. Much too loud.

You roll over, settling yourself on your side.

The mattress is old, worn, rotting beneath the sheets.

You can’t complain, though. At least you have a bed.

Everybody else is forced to sleep on the hard floor.

He always gets the room with the bed.

As his special girl, that means you always get the room with the bed too.

It’s not quite as flattering as one would believe.

He only ever wants the bedroom for one reason—to keep you behind a locked door so you can’t run.

You sigh softly and stare out the window. He’d secured that too, made certain that it couldn’t be opened from the inside.

Closing your eyes, you try and go back to sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come.

His absence is starting to bother you.

You’ve been with him for an entire season now.

You’re getting used to him.

The sound of his voice. 

The warmth of his body.

The taste of his lips.

You can’t even sleep without him next to you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, clutching the stale sheets, balling them in your fists out of frustration.

How was it possible? How could you be missing him?

He had taken everything from you.

Your family.

Your home. 

Your innocence.

He was holding you captive. He was a monster.

But a monster doesn’t keep you safe.

Doesn’t clothe you.

Doesn’t feed you.

Doesn’t protect you.

He did all of those things and more. 

Is that why you feel so empty without him beside you?

Is that why you’re no longer so certain you would run if you were given the chance to escape him?

You fucking hated him for what he’d done.

Yet here you are, aching for him to come back to you.

It’s another hour before you hear the lock clicking. 

Joel pushes through the door, quietly closing it behind him.

“Y’awake?” he asks, slipping his pack off his shoulders.

“Mhm,” you answer with your back to him. “I am.”

You hear the sound of his pack hitting the floor.

His worn leather boots being kicked off. 

His rifle being set down, propped against the wall.

“How was the hunt?”

You can feel him freeze as he’s taking off his jacket.

Getting you to willingly speak to him had always been a lot like pulling teeth. Difficult, almost impossible.

When he doesn’t respond, you roll over to face him.

There’s a swoop in your tummy.

Joel is drenched from head to toe. His blue denim shirt clings to his broad frame and his dark, graying curls are slicked back away from his face.

He’s got such a handsome face.

Monsters aren’t supposed to have handsome faces.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re really askin’ me how the hunt went?” Suspicion laces his tone. “Why? Y’worried you won’t eat tonight?”

Of course you weren’t.

Joel Miller doesn’t let you go hungry.

When food is scarce, he makes sure you eat first. If he notices you rubbing your tummy because your portion wasn’t enough, he’ll give you his own portion.

He takes care of you.

“No.” You pause and sit up. The sheets you two share fall away from your body, leaving your soft, supple breasts on full display for him. “Just wanted to know how your morning went. That’s all.”

It’s not your tits that make his cock twitch against the zipper of his jeans—it’s the sincerity that flashes across your features, the sound of it in the tone of your voice.

You’re being sweet to him.

He clears his throat lightly.

“Went real good. Brought down a deer. Female, ‘bout a hundred pounds or so. Enough to keep all of us well fed for the next couple of weeks,” he says with a nod. “Was pissin’ rain the entire time but it was worth it. Tommy’s in the shed out back right now dressin’ it so we can get a stew started.” He pauses. “You’re gonna get a proper meal tonight, babygirl. Belly’s gonna be nice and full.”

He’s not just talking about food and you know it.

You make an effort to meet his gaze, but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to do it, not when you remembered how he’d taken you away from your family—how he had carried you over his shoulder, kicking and screaming as his people raided your camp and slaughtered every last member of your group because that’s what Joel Miller had ordered them to do.

Looking him in the eye might be the one thing you will never, ever be able to do.

“It’s cold,” you murmur after a minute. “You should get out of those wet clothes before you get sick.”

With a subtle nod, Joel turns around and starts peeling off his clothes until he’s completely naked. He uses an old rag to dry himself off as best as he can, although it doesn’t do much for him.

You can’t help yourself and stare—your gaze drags over the strong muscles of his back and shoulders, how they flex and ripple beneath his skin with every single one of his movements. Arousal pools between your thighs and all you can do is fucking hate yourself for wanting it, for wanting him.

“S’pretty early still,” he states, his back still to you as he runs the rag through his hair. “Y’should try to get some more sleep.”

The confession tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think about stopping it.

“I couldn’t sleep while you were gone.”

Surprised, he turns around.

Almost immediately, your eyes fall to his cock.

Even when he isn’t fully hard, he’s still so fucking big.

“Is that so?” Joel asks, sounding rather pleased. 

“Yes,” you say, softly. “I—I missed you.”

His lips turn upwards into a subtle, faint grin.

“Yeah?” he coos. “My sweet little girl missed me while I was gone? Hm?” Slowly, he approaches the bed. It dips slightly and the frame creaks as he plants a knee on the mattress and leans over towards you. Gently, Joel takes your chin between his index finger and thumb. “Y’need Daddy by your side so you can sleep, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you whisper, warm tears glazing over your eyes.

It’s bad enough your body welcomed him so easily.

Now your heart was starting to do the same.

And then there was your mind.

What if that stopped fighting him too?

Part of you is afraid it already has.

Joel climbs into bed, joining you under the sheets.

“M’here, my pretty girl. C’mere, honey.” He coaxes you to lay on your side and pulls you back against his chest. His skin is still damp, frigid from having been out in the elements, but somehow he’s still warm. “That better?”

“Need you closer,” you mumble, wiggling against him.

Joel groans, his thick cock hard and throbbing against the small of your back. He nips at your bare shoulder as his hand drags down the length of your body and slips between your thighs. “Christ, babygirl. Pussy’s soakin’ wet for me. Looks like she missed me while I was gone too, didn’t she, sweetheart?”

He runs his finger along your slick, silky folds.

“Daddy,” you whimper, bucking into his hand.

“Don’t worry, honey. Daddy knows what you need.”

Joel pulls his hand from between your legs.

You almost cry—you’re so fucking desperate for him. 

And you shouldn’t be. 

He reaches in between your bodies, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock. Without warning, he slips it into your tight, aching cunt, sheathing himself in your warm, wet heat in one smooth stroke.

You choke out a sob.

It’s always overwhelming, that initial stretch.

That fullness, the feeling of him being in your belly.

“S’alright, sweetheart. S’alright. I know you can take it,” he soothes you. “You’re such a good girl for me. Always take my cock so fuckin’ well. So good for me, baby. You feel better now that Daddy’s cock is buried inside your pretty little pussy?”

He drapes an arm around you, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“Yes,” you breathe, placing your hand on top of his.

Joel feathers a kiss onto your neck.

“Go to sleep, babygirl. M’here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he promises you.

That shouldn’t be a comfort to you. But it is.

You close your eyes, your fingers subconsciously lacing together with his as you start to drift.

Cunt full of his cock, you fall asleep in your captor’s arms.

divider credit to @saradika🤍

[vivwritesfics]

The Piastri Twins

Logan Sargeant is in love with his best friends twin sister. That's fine, though, because she loves him, too. The problem comes when her brother doesn't know, and hasn't known for the last five years.

Logan Sargeant was going to die.

He knew that, had known that since he'd started looking at his best friends sister as something more than his best friends sister. Twin sister, just a few minutes older. But he wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. (They weren't identical twins - that would have been the thing to make it weird).

She was currently asleep in his arms. But Logan couldn't sleep, not when she was with him. No, because at any minute Oscar might work out that she isn't in her room and then burst in to get Logan's help, realise she was with him and murder him on the spot.

He shuffled slightly, and she let out a groan. "Jesus, Lo," she mumbled, turning towards him, nose pressed against his chest. "Just lay still."

Logan kissed her forehead. "Sorry, baby," he mumbled and squeezed her.

He didn't sleep, but he was still. For that, she was grateful. She slept through the night, right up until the point that her alarm woke her up. It was incredibly early in the morning, so early that there was no chance of Oscar running into her in the halls of the hotel.

This was the kind of shit they had to do to be together, the sort of thing they'd been doing since they were teenagers.

Before she could leave the room, Logan grabbed her arm and pulled her back into him. "Sarge, I've got to get going," she whispered as she pushed against him.

"Cheer me on from the McLaren garage?"

She rolled her eyes and kissed him. "You know I will."

Logan let her go after that. He watched as she disapppeared out of his hotel room, turning left and making her way down the hall. With her gone, Logan laid back on his bed and let out a sigh.

He remembered the first time he had kissed her.

Her and Oscar's seventeenth birthday party. Oscar and Logan were competing in Formula Renault, and couldn't be there on the day. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and she knew she was going to be last.

But it just wasn't her birthday with Oscar and Logan there.

So the party was pushed back by a week. It was arranged for when Oscar could bring Logan back to Australia with him. It wasn't going to be a huge party, just some friends, food and drinks.

Oscar and Logan were so damn tired when they walked into the Piastri household. They were in no mood to party. But the singing started and the cake was shoved into their face the moment they stepped into the room.

Logan managed to slip away, but Oscar was forced to endure it. For the entire party, Logan sat on his own, observing. To assume he was feeling lonely in that moment would have been wrong. No, he was perfectly content to sit and watch his best friends. It wasn't like he was in love with one of them or anything, right?

And then she was sitting next to him, observing her own party with her arms crossed over her chest. She'd had a few drinks, Logan knew when he looked at her. "You okay?" He asked, tipping his head to the side.

[lailols]

Cockwarming with TXT

MDNI!

Unprotected sex, kinda dom txt x sub f!reader, breeding kink in jun’s

____________________________________________

Soobin

You guys are having the self-care night that you do every so often. You haven’t seen each other in a while, so you pull out all the bells and whistles. There’s music playing softly as you help each other relax and refresh so lovingly. You gave each other mani-pedis and he even helped you shave.:(

He helped apply your face mask and you crawl onto his lap to help put his on. His hands immediately crawl under your (his) shirt to rest his hands on your hips. Everything’s fine until he tightens his grip and pulls you impossibly closer to him.

“I can’t apply your face mask like this.” You giggle into his chest. “I’m also going to get face mask goo on your shirt if you don’t let me go.”

“I just want to be close to you.” He mumbles and even though you can’t see it, you know he’s pouting.

“I don’t think we can get any closer than we already are.” You place your hands on his shoulders to push yourself back a bit. His hands drift down to your butt tapping twice.

“We could….” He trails off, hoping you get the hint.

“Bin, this is self-care night! A sacred tradition that cannot be paused for sex!” You scold him playfully while repositioning yourself to finish fixing his mask.

“We don’t have to do anything! Just want to be inside you.” He tightens his hold and shifts you onto him. You can already feel him growing hard.

“You promise not to move until we finish?” You say already not believing him. “You’re sure you can handle it?”

“Oh, I can handle it alright.” He scoffs. “Can you?”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Soobin makes quick work of sliding down your panties and opening you up for him. Slipping down his shorts and boxers and easily lifting you to position himself.

As he slides home, you both release a sigh. You close your eyes to adjust and calm yourself. Your walls flutter around him, pulling him in further, further.

“Well, I can’t not move if you’re going to attempt to milk me.”

“I’m not trying to!” You hit his shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m not immune to a monster trying to rip me apart.”

“A monster?” He smirks. “You flatter me.”

“Yeah, yeah, hush so I can finish your face mask.”

He does hush and let you finish your work. After that, you each take turns applying a lip scrub. While wiping his off, you see his lips looking so pink and pouty. You can’t help but lean in closer for a peck.

Well…. It was meant to be a peck. You’re not sure who did it, but one of you decided it was meant to be a deep kiss. Soobin makes quick work of sliding his tongue into your mouth and mapping out the already familiar space. You clench around his dick and at that point, can you really blame him for thrusting up?

You both let out moans and… well…. You know what happens next

“You liar!”

“You started it!”

“I did not! I just wanted to kiss you!”

“And what am I supposed to do? NOT fuck you after that? Be serious.”

Yeonjun

When you told Yeonjun he didn’t need to use a condom because you’ve been on the pill for a few months, you didn’t expect him to turn into an omega in heat.

You didn’t expect him to fuck you six ways to Sunday and then some. He’s put you in every position in the book and even added a few you didn’t know existed and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop anytime soon.

Right now he’s got you in a classic mating press and his dancer hips are putting in work. You can barely remember your own name and the only sounds leaving you are broken moans. Tears are falling from your eyes but Jun just kisses them away.

“It’s okay, baby.” He pants out. “I’m almost done, just gotta make sure it takes.”

“Huh?”

“Gotta fill you up, okay? Gotta get you pregnant.” And with that, he’s back to thrusting so hard you’re shifting on the bed. And oh, that was kinda hot? It doesn’t even make sense but he said it as if he believed it.

When he’s done (for the time being), he just flips your position and has you rest on top of him with his cock still inside. You go to pull away, but he locks his arms around your waist.

“Stay.” He says with such conviction. “We’re gonna go again in a bit.”

“Jun, I don’t even remember what day it is, what do you mean go again?”

“I already told you what the goal of today is.” Is all he says in reply, pulling you into a soft kiss.

Neither of you can stay still very long with his quickly hardening cock inside of you, so it's no surprise that you start again soon.

Beomgyu

It was originally a bet. Beomgyu wanted to test if he’d be able to focus more on the game with you warming him, and you pointed out how he can’t even handle getting under the desk support. Being the person that he is, he took this as a challenge, and that led you to now.

You’re fully naked, warming his cock while he’s only in a shirt. Headphones on, and pushed as close to the desk as possible so he can reach the keyboard with ease. It sounds like he’s doing fairly well and if it wasn’t for the way he clenched his teeth anytime he wasn’t yelling at his teammates, you’d think he was completely unaffected.

That’s all fine and good, but what about you? You’re bored. You don’t have your phone and you can’t even see the screen. You can only alternate between looking at your bed or Beomgyu’s face/neck.

Really, he can’t blame you for finding a way to entertain yourself, can he? You start small, leaning into the crook of his neck and leaving quick kisses, running your hands up his chest. His arms tighten on your sides, but he doesn’t really react outside of that.

You then move to licking and sucking lightly. Not enough to leave marks, but enough for him to feel it. Once you do that, one of his hands leaves the keyboard to mute his mic and the other finds your waist.

“Be good, and let me finish.” He says tilting his head down to make eye contact with you. “I’ll play with you after, okay baby?”

“I’m not even doing anything.” You pout up at him. “I can’t see the screen and you’re yapping my ears off.”

“Hmm.” He pouts down at you. “And whose fault is that, huh? Keep those pretty lips and hands to yourself and I’ll make it up to you after this game okay?”

“But-“ You’re cut off by one of his teammates yelling at him to move already. Beomgyu fixes you with a look, unmutes his mic, and quickly focuses on his game again.

You figure that since he doesn’t want you to touch him, you’ll just touch yourself. You lean your head back on his shoulder and slide one of your hands between your bodies to rest on your clit. You rub it softly at first and let out a sigh.

The stimulation makes you clench around Beomgyu and he tries to look at you but you don’t move. After a few seconds, he just goes back to the game. Gradually speeding up your movements, you bite your lip to keep your noise down. Your other hand rests on his other shoulder to ground yourself.

It feels, surprisingly, good. Good enough that you’re pretty sure you could come from this alone. You’re so caught up in your pleasure that you don’t realize that Beomgyu hasn’t spoken in a while, you also haven’t heard the keyboard either. The only sounds in the room are your soft sighs and the wet sounds of your pussy (if you realized, you’d probably be mortified).

Just when you’re on the edge of your release, Beomgyu grabs your waist and pulls you completely off of him.

“Why’d you do that?” You ask around a gasp.

“If I knew you’d be such a slut, I wouldn’t have asked you to warm me while I game.” Is his bored reply. “If I hadn’t left the game, everyone would’ve heard you being a needy whore.”

You promptly look away from him.

“Oh, so now you have some shame? I told you I’d make you feel good if you let me finish, but you always need to get what you want, huh?” He pushes you onto the desk and stands. “I can never be nice to you. You always have to be a little brat, huh? Where’s my good girl?

“I am good!” You protest. “I was just bored.”

Yeah, the defense sounds weak even to you.

“Yeah? Well now you’ve got my attention and you’re not gonna like it.” Beomgyu promises with a cruel smile.

Taehyun

You don’t remember who suggested you cockwarm Tae while he writes lyrics, but you think they’re very smart (that alone leads you to believe it was him, but semantics). It’s just another form of quality time between the two of you, but so much more than that at the same time.

You’re resting on your elbows scrolling on your phone while he’s being kneeling behind you (bless his body) as he works. His lyric book is quite literally on your ass so he has a space to work but it’s fine. You can totally do this all the time. If you stumble upon a really good video, you can almost forget he’s inside you completely.

Or, at least your mind can. Your body, on the other hand, cannot. Tae feels you dripping on his knees and the bed. He can feel your walls fluttering around him every so often. And really, what kind of boyfriend would he be if he just let his pretty girl suffer?

Even if you don’t know it yourself, your body is telling him that you need him. He has to do something. And really, he’s been working for nearly an hour, that’s enough time. You’ve been so good for him, it’s time to give you what you need.

He tosses his book onto the floor and pulls you up onto your knees, startling you.

“Tae-?” You can even finish until he’s leaning over to hook his head over your shoulder, reaching so so far into you.

“Shhh baby,” he says sweetly, placing a kiss on your cheek. “I’ve got you. You’ve been so good for me even though you needed me so bad. Let me make it better, hm?”

And now that he mentions it, you’re aware of just how wet everything is. How nice and heavy he feels inside you. How if he doesn’t fuck you in the next few minutes you just might die.

And fuck you he does. He has to reward his baby for waiting so patiently.

Kai

“So, we just… stay like this?” Kai asks from behind you with one of his hands hovering unsure above your naked hip.

“Yeah! And we watch the show!” You say pointing to the anime playing on the tv.

You see, you wanted to try cockwarming while watching anime. It would take a time when you and Kai relax together and make it even more relaxing!

Sadly for Kai, the absolute last thing he feels right now is relaxed. He really doesn’t want to move, but it’s just- it’s hard okay? He has his pretty girlfriend naked and pressed against him. His cock is snug between your walls and it feels good. Of course, it feels good, but it could be better, right?

It wouldn’t even just feel better for him, it would feel better for you too. He waits for a bit to gauge how you’re doing, and it seems like you’re content to remain like this for the show. Kai doesn’t think he can handle that- actually, he knows he can’t.

He starts shifting a bit. Trying to find a comfortable position, until he just decides to just thrust shallowly. It’ll be subtle, right? He could pass it off as finding a good position, right?

With that in mind, he takes a tighter grip on your hip and pulls out just the slightest bit before going back in. And fuck, even just that is leagues better than staying still. You don’t even seem to have realized.

He continues on like that and, oh, has it always been this hard to stay quiet? Maybe it’s the nature of what he’s doing, using you like this while you’re content to watch the show. Is this a kink? It definitely feels kinky. Whatever, he’ll think about it more when he isn’t trying to chase an orgasm.

On your end, you’re thanking every god you can think of that Kai needs you just as much as you need him. From the second he slid inside you, you knew you were done for. So when he started thrusting, you could’ve cried from happiness. As you feel Kai push you nearly to the edge, you grab his hand and move it down to your nub to help you along the way.

“Sorry!” His mouth says, but his body grows more brazen. Now that the facade is gone, he doesn’t have to hold back, right? He can just focus on making you feel good. And he does exactly that. Thrusting harder and rubbing your clit, to push you over the edge.

After letting you ride out your high, he pulls out and flips you onto your back. Not even hesitating to enter you again. It’s okay, you can finish the show later, he needs you. Just take it for him, okay? He’ll make you feel so, so good.

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely! Can I have wolfstar (or either of the two boys, it’s up to you) with reader who is just not having the best time, but doesn’t like being comforted/taken care of (even though she rlly needs it once in a while) because she doesn’t like the feeling of not being totally independent if that makes sense-? Like, she feels if she gets help then that means she can’t manage stuff on her own, and she wants to be able to manage stuff on her own. But at the same time she needs comfort rn yk?

I swear the way you write wolfstar has me kicking my feet every time. I fucking love your writing! Bye bye and thank you 👋

Thank you for your request lovely! I adore them <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Coming home and taking off your coat doesn’t hold the same relief as it used to lately. The weight of the day stays with you, coiled up around your ribcage like a snake that squeezes incrementally tighter every time you think of it. Still, it’s nice to come home to the smell of basil and the sound of Remus’ music playing from the kitchen. 

You set your bag down, going to find your boyfriends but spotting a plate of brownies on the table. You slow looking at it, and Sirius meets you halfway. He kisses you hello and wraps you up in a hug. 

“I’m so happy you’re home,” he murmurs conspiratorially. “Remus’ knee is hurting him, but he won’t say and he won’t get out of the kitchen. I need you to divert him.” You hum your assent, and he chuckles at your distraction, kissing beside your ear. “How was your day, beautiful?” 

“Fine,” you say. “Are those brownies?” 

“Yeah, Rem made them. The kind with the dark chocolate you like. Now, a real answer, please. How was your day?” 

“Oh, it was…it was okay.” 

Your voice sounds hesitant and melancholy even to your own ears. Sirius coos, hugging you tighter. He strokes up and down your spine, encouraging you to relax into him. “M’sorry, lovebug.” 

You shrug him off when he starts to sway you gently, shoving down on the emotion that rises in your throat. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, offering him a little smile. “It was fine.” 

Still, Sirius looks sad. “Okay,” he says. “Why don’t you go put on something more comfortable, and I’ll make sure our lovely boy is ready for you when you come back.” 

You huff a laugh. “Is that code?” 

He grins wickedly. “It is if you want it to be, gorgeous. Go on.” He turns you by the shoulders towards your bedroom, giving you a pat to your bum. “Go. Remus,” he calls towards the kitchen, “our angel just told me she really wants a cuddle from you. Sounds like you should join her on the couch.” 

It surprises you when Remus actually is waiting for you when you get back. He’s stretching his knee out, foot propped on the coffee table, but he smiles when he sees you. 

“Hi,” you say, your own lips tilting as you sit beside him. “Did you make me brownies?” 

“Well, I’d like to have at least one.” He takes your face in hand, kissing you with a grin on his lips. “But they’re mostly for you, yeah.” 

“That was sweet of you.” You take his hand in yours. The pads of your fingers rove the lines of his palm. “Thank you, you didn’t have to.” 

“I wanted to,” he says simply. His gaze is warm as he watches you, so knowing you have to look away. 

“Did you leave Sirius in the kitchen?” He nods. “What’s he making?” 

“Pasta for dinner. It’s nearly done.” 

“I should help.” You start to get up, but Remus holds onto your hand. 

“He’s got it, sweetheart. I wouldn’t normally trust him in the kitchen, but even Sirius can boil water.” 

“I know, but—” You extricate your hand from his gently, making it up with a smile. “—you’ve been doing stuff in there all day. It’s my turn to help.” 

Remus calls after you. Sirius must hear, because he apprehends you as soon as you enter the kitchen, keeping you from going further. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Stop,” you laugh, pushing against his hands. “I want to help.” 

“No one has any faith in me,” Sirius complains. “Remus has already done the hard work of chopping the basil and everything. I’m perfectly capable of boiling water.” 

“That’s what I told her,” Remus defends himself from the living room. 

You look behind Sirius for something that needs doing, but the collection of prepared ingredients gives you pause. You know this recipe. It’s your favorite pasta, your comfort food. 

“Why am I cursed with beautiful, stubborn partners who won’t have a rest when they need one?” Sirius laments. Now that you’ve stopped resisting, he’s able to bully you out of the kitchen, back towards the living room. 

“My knee doesn’t hurt,” you argue. 

He levels you with a look. “No. But that’s not the only thing that could cause someone to need a rest, is it?” 

You frown at him. The snake in your ribcage gives a malicious squeeze. “I’m fine. I don’t need to be coddled.” 

Sirius’ expression softens. “Sweetheart…” 

“No one is coddling you, lovely,” says Remus. “You’re going through a lot right now, and maybe you are fine, but it’s okay if you’re not, isn’t it?” He gives you a significant look. You press your lips together. “Either way, we only want to make things easier for you.” 

“I appreciate it,” you say, voice growing softer, “but I don’t need you to. I can manage it myself.” 

“Hey, who said you couldn’t?” Sirius asks. His eyebrows are bunched together, imploring. “You are managing it, gorgeous, and you’re doing a killer job. Really, it’s impressive, but we—” 

“We can still be there for you at the same time,” Remus finishes. 

You waver. Some of the playfulness comes back to Sirius’ expression. He cocks a brow at you. 

“So,” he drawls, “if you can handle all that by your lonesome, I don’t want to hear any more complaints about me boiling water without supervision. Got it?” 

You crack a grin. He mirrors it, giving you a shove so that you fall back onto the couch. 

“Good,” he says, turning around and starting back for the kitchen. “Take a rest, you freaks. Let me handle dinner for once.” 

“There’s a reason that doesn’t happen often,” Remus murmurs, drawing you into his side. He presses a kiss, soft and warm, to the bridge of your nose. “Are you going to be okay if your favorite pasta is al dente, lovely?” 

You laugh quietly, and he smiles for hearing it. “Yeah, I think I’ll live.” 

“Good. Because I’m afraid it’s all but guaranteed.”