#i know that this has been said before but it still gets me
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mattscoquette · 3 days ago
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perv!matt watching you sleep
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the soft lull of tv hummed quietly throughout the triplet’s living room, both you and nick sound asleep on the couch surrounded by a mountain of pillows and blankets.
it was nearing 3 am, and matt had been creeping from his room to the kitchen every so often to make sure you were most definitely asleep. he watched from the refrigerator as your chest rose and fell, your breathing rhythmic as you slept.
matt sauntered over to your end of the couch where you slept soundly, your small tank top beginning to ride up and expose your midriff. slowly, he sat himself down on the floor in front of you, eyes glued to the way your pajama hugged your hips, your shorts barely covering your legs and you tits practically spilling out of the top of your tank top. he drew in a shaky breath, his dick twitching underneath his pajama pants at the sight of you asleep.
as weird and creepy as he felt, he couldn’t stop himself from palming himself above his pants, biting on his bottom lip to hold in a groan. his clothed cock grew harder underneath his hand, aching to be taken care of. matt’s brows furrowed as he shakily brought his hand beneath his pajama pants, his dick heavy in his hand.
with slow and languid movements, matt stroked himself while he watched you. his eyes raked up and down your body, almost wanting to reach his left hand out and touch your leg or something.
his eyes fluttered shut, losing himself in the pleasure. he continued to work himself, growing closer and closer to his release, when he heard you stir slightly and sigh softly. his eyelids blinked open, being met with the sight of you looking back at him, your expression groggy.
his hand flew out from beneath his pants, his face turning red as he stammered. “f-fuck y/n i-”
you leaned forward towards matt with a sleepy grin, your tits practically in his face as you whispered into his ear.
“do you want me to help?”
he blinked up at you, his eyes wide, almost as if to ask if you were sure.
you drew your bottom lip between your teeth with a flirty grin, nodding as you sank down to your knees in front of him, slowly creeping your hand up and thigh and underneath his pajamas.
matt gasped when your hand made contact with his dick, your hands slowly wrapping around his length. your ran your thumb across his tip as it leaked with precum before beginning to slowly get him off. you sat up on your knees slightly, leaning up to talk softly into his ear.
“i know you like to watch me,” you said in a quiet voice, doing your best to not disturb nick who was on the other side of the couch, still asleep, “it kinda turns me on.”
he let out a whine, his cock twitching at your words. he brought his hands up to his mouth, trying his best to conceal his sounds.
you pulled back with a smile, still speaking lowly. “i see things missing from my room, i see my underwear draw messy,”
“s-shit,” matt whimpered, tossing his head back, “keep talking please.”
“ i know it’s you who’s creeping around,” you whispered in a sultry tone, “and i know how badly you wanna cum f’me right now.”
that was all it took for matt to come undone completely, whining and whimpering your name into his fist as he came all over your hand. his chest heaved with ragged breaths as he looked at you, completely in shock as to what just happened.
you smirked, leaning forward to plant a kiss to his neck before sliding back onto the couch, pulling the blankets over your body. “goodnight matt.”
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© mattscoquette
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𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜。 perv!matt is soooo back i missed writing for this .. the way this has been sitting in my drafts collecting dust so i revisited it :)
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woso-dreamzzz · 3 days ago
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Foxes III
Jenni Hermoso x Child!Reader
Summary: You don't like touch
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Spain loses to Japan.
A four nil defeat that leaves everyone a bit depressed.
Football's a boring game to you so you didn't really watch it despite sitting on the bench. Football is Mami's whole life though. You know that and you know this defeat will make her feel a bit sad.
You think that's kind of stupid because it's just a game but maybe it's different when you play a game as an adult. You don't know why it would be different but you decide that it must be because the whole team seems a little depressed about it.
"It's like when you lose a fox toy," Tia Ale says to you on the ride back to the hotel.
"I don't lose my toys," You reply, staring out the window.
"Well, if you did-"
"But I don't."
"What about when you left Roja at home?" Alexia says," Your Mami said you were sad about that. This feels like that to everyone else."
You were very sad when that happened. You missed Roja like crazy for ages after you first moved to Mexico. That must be how everyone is feeling now.
You head bobs up and down in agreement. "Okay."
You don't ask anymore questions on the ride home and Mami takes you straight up to your room for bath time. She wraps you in a nice fluffy towel before helping you into your pyjamas.
Dinner will be soon though so she throws a jumper on top of your pyjamas to keep them clean so you can go straight to bed after you've eaten.
Your hand closes around one of your foxes before leaving the room.
The girls are still a little sad, even you can tell that and you're not very good at working out what other people's feelings are.
You're the only one that's enjoying dinner which is seriously saying a lot because the food here is weird and you're very picky with what you're eating.
"Mami," You say," You still sad?"
Jenni's a little shocked at being addressed so openly. You don't like doing that in public. You're fairly silent around other people. She frowns.
"A little, osita," She says," Why? Are you feeling sad too?"
"I'm not sad," You reply. Your fork scrapes the plate wrong and you cringe, a whole body shudder going through you as you set down your cutlery.
Slowly, you shift in your chair before standing to approach Jenni.
Like your speaking, you're not big on touch either, at least in public. Jenni's used to you hanging out by her legs at home because she always wears the softest trousers and you like touching them but skin on skin had never been a big desire or need of yours.
Jenni has a hard enough time getting you to accept affection at home. She's already ruled out touching in public apart from hand holding and that was only because the alternative was a leash and you felt that was too restricting and made you breath funny.
But you curl into her lap now and give her a quick squeeze that bore some semblance of a hug. Jenni's too shocked to hug you back, jaw slack as you slip off her lap.
You go to Tia Ale next, clambering up into her seat with her and giving her a quick hug that's so fast that she doesn't realise what's happening until it's over.
Irene is next and, after seeing Jenni and Alexia go through it, she's fully prepared. But the moment her arms curl around to hug you back, you're wiggling away and already on your way.
Just because you're giving out hugs doesn't mean you need to be hugged back.
Codi's after Irene and then Mario, who both know now to allow their arms to go limp when you hug them. You go through all the Barcelona girls you know before coming straight back to Jenni.
You tug on her hand and she very gently takes yours in hers. She's slow and careful just in case you want to pull away but you let her hold your hand.
"Mami," You say.
"Yes, Osita?"
"With me...please."
Jenni stands and you lead her over to the girls in the team you've missed out, the ones that you don't know as well as the Barcelona girls. You drop Jenni's hand to hug each girl before squeezing Jenni's hand the moment you can hold it again, you other hand coming up to run your fingers over her comfortable trousers.
"That was a very nice thing you did at dinner," Jenni tells you as she tucks you into bed that night.
"Yes. Tia Ale said so," You reply, getting all snuggly and comfortable with a fox under each arm.
"Tia Ale is right," Jenni says," Your cuddles really cheered everyone up."
"Not sad anymore?" You check and Jenni nods.
"No one's sad anymore."
"Good."
Jenni presses a soft kiss to your forehead and pulls your covers all the way up. "Night, Osita. I love you."
"Love you too."
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aliyahwritings · 2 days ago
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THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (09)
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MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader
Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.
Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.
Word Count: 4.7k
Aliyah's Notes: y'all are getting fed cause this chapter and the next one are gonna be cute asf so enjoy :)
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Three days before the engagement party felt like an endless marathon, with every hour packed to the brim with decisions and errands. The morning started early—too early for your liking—as Aisha and Nina practically dragged you out of bed.
Nina, ever the “mom” of the group, had already prepared an itinerary. She stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, her phone in hand, while you slumped in a chair, still clinging to the remnants of sleep. “Alright, ladies,” Nina began, her tone brisk, “we’ve got a packed schedule. Venue first, then flowers, then caterers. We’ll fit in the designer appointment after lunch, assuming someone,” her eyes flicked pointedly toward you, “doesn’t take forever to make decisions.”
Aisha smirked, sipping her coffee as she leaned against the counter. “You know she’ll take forever. She was debating the color of napkins for twenty minutes for her birthday party.”
“Because they matter!” you protested, sitting up straighter, your natural energy kicking in. “The wrong napkin can throw off the entire table aesthetic. Imagine gold chargers with plain white napkins—horrible!”
Aisha groaned dramatically, while Nina pinched the bridge of her nose. “God give me strength,” Nina muttered in Tagalog under her breath before clapping her hands. “Alright, let’s move. The decorator is expecting us in twenty minutes, and I’m not letting us be late.”
The three of you piled into Nina’s car, and the drive to the venue was filled with your endless chatter. You couldn’t help yourself; you were excited. Ever since your night at Rafe’s, you’ve been walking around with a weight lift off your shoulders, and a smile on your face. “Okay, but seriously, do you think white and gold is too basic? Should I add a pop of color? Like blush pink? Or emerald green! Oh, that could be so chic—”
“Breathe, Miss. Yapper,” Aisha interrupted, shooting you a look from the front seat. “You’ve already settled on white and gold. Don’t backtrack now.”
“She’s just overthinking again,” Nina said from the driver’s seat, her voice calm but firm. “You always do this, sweetie. Just trust your instincts. They’re good… most of the time.”
“Most of the time?!” you repeated, feigning offense.
“Girl, you’re the one who almost ordered heart-shaped balloons for your ex’s retirement party,” your best friend deadpanned.
“He always complained about his job, alright! I thought he was happy to retire.”
The two of them burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in. They always knew how to make you laugh, even when your perfectionism threatened to take over.
When you arrived at the venue, the decorator was already waiting, surrounded by samples of linens, centerpieces, and lighting options. The grand ballroom looked beautiful even in its unfinished state, with its high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows letting in streams of sunlight. But you could already see a million tiny things that needed to be fixed or adjusted.
Nina took charge of logistics, confirming delivery times and setups with the decorator, while Aisha kept you in check. Every time you tried to change something—a table arrangement here, a floral display there—Aisha would cross her arms and give you a warning glare.
“Focus, Y/N. You’re going to drive this poor decorator insane,” Aisha muttered as you debated, for the third time, whether the table runners should have a satin or matte finish.
“It’s not insane to want things to be perfect,” you argued, though your voice was tinged with doubt.
“It’s insane when you’re deciding between two things that look exactly the same,” Aisha countered.
“Pale beige and normal beige are completely different—”
Nina swooped in to mediate, her tone soothing. “Look, kids, both options are gorgeous. Y/N, pick one and move on. We still have three more stops today.”
You sighed, finally nodding and pointing to the matte finish. The decorator gave you a grateful smile, and you moved on to the next decision.
By the time you left the venue, your head was spinning, but there was no time to slow down. The next stop was the florist, where the three of you pored over bouquets and arrangements.
“Peonies are elegant, but are they too soft for the theme?” you mused aloud, holding up a sample.
“Peonies are fine,” Nina assured you, already checking her phone for the next appointment.
“Roses are boring,” Aisha chimed in, inspecting a cluster of orchids. “But these could work. They’re dramatic. Like you.”
You stuck your tongue out at her, earning a rare laugh from Nina. “She’s not wrong,” Nina said with a small smile.
The florist walked you through the arrangements, but your perfectionism struck again. You wanted everything to complement the aesthetic without feeling overdone. Nina stepped in when she sensed you starting to spiral.
“Y/N, just pick a theme and stick with it,” she said gently but firmly. “You can’t have every flower in the world at your party. Less is more.”
Aisha nodded in agreement. “Listen to her. She’s right. For once.”
Nina rolled her eyes but didn’t dignify the comment with a response.
Eventually, you settled on a mix of peonies, orchids, and eucalyptus, feeling a little more confident as you left the florist.
Lunch was a quick stop at a café, where you barely had time to scarf down a sandwich before heading to your next appointment. The designer fitting was a whirlwind of fabrics, sequins, and pins, with you trying on dress after dress while Nina and Aisha offered their unfiltered opinions.
By the end of the day, you were utterly spent. You stumbled through the door of your apartment, exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks. You kicked off your heels, letting them clatter onto the floor, and flopped onto the couch with a moan. Your feet ached, your head was pounding, and the thought of the work you have for tomorrow made you want to cry.
Just as you were debating whether to order takeout or crawl into bed and call it a night. Your phone buzzed—-your new phone that you bought yesterday after losing your original one and your keys at the charity event—-on the coffee table. You reached for it, squinting at the screen.
Rafe: “Longest. Day. Ever.”
A small smile tugged at your lips despite your fatigue. You propped yourself up against the armrest and typed back.
You: “Tell me about it. I’m so dead! Who knew choosing flowers could feel like a full-body workout?”
His response came almost immediately.
Rafe: “Yeah? Well, at least you didn’t have to run for AN HOUR!!! My legs feel like they’re about to give up on me.”
You: “Poor baby. Want me to send you a trophy for Most Exhausted Future Fiancé-to-Be?”
Rafe: “Ha. Ha. So funny.”
Rafe: “Are you sure we’re not married yet? You already sound like a nagging wife.”
The audacity of him made you chuckle and roll your eyes. You typed quickly, unable to help yourself.
You: “Excuse you? If I’m a nagging wife, then you’re a whiny husband.”
Rafe: “Whatever you say, nagging wife.”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you sank further into the couch. The teasing back-and-forth was an oddly comforting way to unwind after such a chaotic day.
You: “Seriously though, did you at least eat? Or are you surviving off your ego again?”
Rafe: “Does a protein bar and water count?”
You groaned audibly, your fingers flying across the screen.
You: “No, Rafe. A protein bar and water do NOT count. A protein bar is not food; it’s a snack. Please tell me you’ve got something decent in your fridge.”
Rafe: “Define ‘decent’…”
You: “I’m going to kill you.”
Rafe: “That’s very romantic, baby, but you’re avoiding the question. What’s the verdict? Is my fridge decent enough for you, Your Honor?”
You: “No.”
You: “Knowing you, it’s probably full of water bottles, expired vegetables, and mystery leftovers. Am I wrong?”
Rafe: “I don’t like this attack on my character.”
You: “Answer the question, Cameron.”
Rafe: “Fine. Maybe you’re right. I don’t have the energy to argue. Or to cook, for that matter.”
You sighed again, a twinge of concern sneaking past your teasing. You guessed he pushed himself hard during training, but the least he could do was take care of himself after.
You: “Alright, what do you feel like eating? I’ll bring you something.”
Rafe: “What? No. You just spent all day running around. You don’t have to do that.”
You: “Too late. I offered, and I’m not taking it back. So, what’ll it be?”
Rafe: “...You’re really doing this, huh?”
You: “Absolutely.”
Rafe: “Fine. Surprise me. Just nothing too fancy. I’m starving.”
You: “Got it. Be there in an hour.”
Rafe: “Angel.”
Shaking your head, you pocketed your phone and headed to the kitchen. After a quick assessment of what you had on hand, you decided on a simple but satisfying dish: chicken biryani. 
Cooking helped you relax after the chaotic day. The process of measuring spices, chopping onions, and stirring the pot grounded you, your mind focused on creating something warm and filling. By the time the dish was done, the air was fragrant with the scent of saffron, cardamom, and cloves.
You packed the biryani into a container, added a side of pudding kheer for balance, and grabbed some naan for good measure. After a quick freshen-up, you were on your way to Rafe’s penthouse.
When he opened the door, the sight of him hit you like a punch to the gut. Rafe stood there in low-hanging sweatpants that clung to his hips, no shirt in sight, leaving every inch of his toned chest and sculpted abs on full display. His damp hair was a tousled mess, drops of water clinging to his skin, catching the light as they slid down the defined lines of his torso. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his gaze raking over you with a mix of cocky amusement and exhaustion. The lazy grin tugging at his lips was enough to make your pulse stutter—and the way his voice dipped, low and teasing, when he finally spoke didn’t help. 
“Well, well,” he drawled. “Look who showed up. My nagging wife bearing gifts.”
You rolled your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on the container in your hands instead of his sexy, very sexy abs. “You want dinner or not, Cameron? ‘Cause I can take it back?”
He instantly straightened up. “Come in, Your Honor,” he stepped aside to let you in, his grin widening when he saw the bag in your hand.
The penthouse was dimly lit, the warm glow of the city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You set the food on the kitchen island, trying to ignore the way he was watching you with that infuriating smirk.
You looked at your attire, and rolled your eyes. “Stop staring at my ass and grab plates,” you ordered, sounding stern.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, clearly amused, but he obeyed.
The two of you sat at the island, the meal between you. You put your hair in a bun, and said; “So, this is chicken biryani—” you pointed to it. “—and this is kheer and some naan.”
“This looks amazing, Y/N,” he let out a groan of appreciation.
You blushed at the compliment. “Thank you. You ever had Asian food before?”
“I had sushi and ramen with my team—”
You chuckled. “I meant South Asian food, Rafe.”
“Oh. South Asian…”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “You know, Indian, Sri Lankan, Pakistani, etc… Did you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember. I eat basic white man food, to be honest.”
“I realized,” you laughed. “Well, eat well.”
Rafe took his first bite, and his eyes widened. “Yo! This is delicious, what the fuck?”
You smiled, watching as he devoured the food like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Told you protein bars wouldn’t cut it—”
“You’re not going to eat?”
“I already ate,” you lied.
“Bullshit,” he said, giving you a pointed look. “Have some with me. I don’t like eating alone.”
You hesitated for a moment before giving in, grabbing a fork and joining him. The two of you ate in companionable silence, the tension of the day melting away with each bite.
For a brief moment, it didn’t feel like you were preparing for an engagement party or navigating the complicated arrangement that had brought you together. It felt easy, natural—like something that didn’t require overthinking.
You stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, rinsing off the plates and containers. Warm water rushed over your hands as you scrubbed away the remnants of biryani and naan. The scent of spices lingered in the air, a comforting reminder of the meal you’d shared. Behind you, Rafe leaned against the counter, his tall frame relaxed but his eyes fixed on you.
“You know,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the faucet, “you really don’t have to do this.”
“You’ve said that already,” you replied without turning around, focusing instead on rinsing the plate in your hand.
“Because I mean it. I can clean tomorrow,” he quipped, folding his arms across his bare chest.
A chuckle escaped you, and you tossed him a look over your shoulder. “Some of us were raised to clean up immediately after eating. It’s a brown girl thing—no one leaves the kitchen messy in my house.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “Ah, so it’s cultural?”
“Hell yeah,” you replied, turning back to the sink. “If my mom ever caught me walking away from a pile of dishes, I wouldn’t live to see another day.”
“Sounds intense,” he teased, though his tone was laced with curiosity.
“You’re just white,” you shot back, and he laughed. “But also… I kind of like it,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “It feels wrong to leave things undone. Like you’re disrespecting the meal or something.”
Rafe was quiet for a moment, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, not with judgment but something that felt closer to admiration.
“You’re kind of incredible, you know that?” he said finally.
You blinked, caught off guard. “For doing the dishes? Your standards are low, Cameron.”
He laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “No, I mean… just in general. You don’t have to cook for me or clean up after me, but you do it anyway. And you don’t even make a big deal out of it. You’re just… thoughtful.”
His words made you pause, your hands still under the running water. For a man who often masked his feelings behind sarcasm and cockiness, the sincerity in his voice hit you harder than you expected.
“Well,” you said, trying to keep your tone light, “don’t get used to it. Just because I cleaned your kitchen tonight doesn’t mean I’m signing up to do it forever.”
Rafe grinned, stepping closer. “Noted. One-time deal.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you shut off the faucet and reached for the dish towel. “Besides, I wasn’t cleaning for you. I was cleaning for my own peace of mind.”
“Still,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “thanks. For all of it.”
You glanced over at him, caught off guard again by the softness in his tone. The cocky grin he usually wore was replaced by something more subdued, more genuine. It made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t ready to think about.
“It’s not a big deal,” you said, your voice quieter now. “Just food and a few dishes.”
“To you, maybe,” he said, leaning against the counter beside you. “But it’s been a while since anyone’s done something like this for me. I don’t even know the last time I had an actual home-cooked meal.”
That admission tugged at something deep inside you, a mix of sympathy and affection you weren’t quite prepared for. You focused on folding the towel in your hands, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks warmed.
“Well, someone has to make sure you don’t live off protein bars and bad decisions,” you said lightly, trying to steer the conversation back into familiar territory.
Rafe chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Guess I should count myself lucky it’s you.”
Your eyes flicked up to his, and for a moment, you forgot how to respond. The way he was looking at you—soft, unguarded, and almost reverent—made your heart skip a beat.
“Alright, stop,” you said, breaking the moment and brushing past him toward the counter. “You’re making it weird.”
“Making what weird?” he asked, following you with an amused grin.
“Everything,” you shot back, grabbing your bag. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you slacking off while I did all the work. Next time, you’re cleaning.”
“Deal,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “As long as there’s a next time.”
You hesitated at the door, looking back at him. His smirk was still there, but so was that softness in his eyes, the one that made it hard to look away. Bag slung over your shoulder and shoes slipped back on, ready to leave Rafe’s penthouse and head home for what was left of the night. The day had drained you, and though the quiet domestic moment you’d just shared with him was nice—unexpectedly so—you still needed to recharge for tomorrow’s chaos.
“You don’t have to leave yet,” he said, almost too casually, as if trying to disguise the sincerity in his tone.
You paused, glancing back at him. “Rafe, it’s late. I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted. We both need sleep.”
He shrugged, his mouth curling into that boyish grin that usually meant trouble. “So? Five more minutes won’t hurt. Sit down, relax. You’ve been running around all day.”
You narrowed your eyes at him but relented, curiosity getting the better of you. “Fine. Five minutes,” you muttered, dropping your bag onto the floor again and heading to the couch.
Rafe followed you, sitting on the other end of the couch, though he shifted closer. His arm rested along the backrest, his entire posture relaxed in a way that only made you more aware of him.
“So,” he began, his tone lighter now, “what did you actually do today? Besides fighting with tablecloths and flowers, I mean.”
You groaned, leaning back into the cushions. “It feels like that’s all I did. The decorators kept bringing me options that were either too tacky or too plain. And don’t even get me started on the florists. Nina kept trying to keep me on schedule, Aisha rolled her eyes at every single arrangement, and I was stuck in the middle.”
His laugh was low and warm. “Sounds like a nightmare.”
“It was,” you said, though there was a faint smile tugging at your lips now. “But somehow, it’s all starting to come together. Slowly. Painfully. I think we’re making progress.”
He tilted his head, watching you with that quiet intensity he always seemed to have when you weren’t paying attention. “You really care about this party, huh?”
You hesitated, the weight of his gaze making it harder to brush off the question. “Yeah, I guess I do,” you admitted softly. “I mean, if we don’t make it believable then I’d have to go back to my country, and I can’t let that happen.”
Rafe was silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft light in the room cast shadows across his face, making him look more vulnerable, less guarded than usual.
“You’re putting so much thought into it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “More than anyone else would, I think.”
You shrugged, your gaze dropping to your hands. “Just doing what needs to be done. Nothing special.”
“It is special,” he said, his tone firm but gentle.
The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze for a moment that felt like it stretched on forever. There was something unspoken in his expression, something soft and unfamiliar that made your heart stutter.
“Okay, your turn,” you said quickly, needing to break the tension. “What did you do today, besides run yourself into the ground?”
His smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Practice, drills, meetings. The usual.”
“You make it sound so thrilling,” you teased, crossing your arms.
“Oh, it’s a blast,” he said with mock enthusiasm. “Nothing like running suicides and lifting until your arms feel like they’re gonna fall off. And then sitting in a room listening to people tell you how to market yourself better.”
“Sounds glamorous,” you said, leaning back into the couch with a small laugh.
Rafe chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched you. “It’s not. But then again, you make flower arrangements sound like boot camp, so I guess we’re even.”
You smiled, letting the comfortable quiet settle between you for a moment. The hum of the city outside was faint but constant, a reminder of how late it had gotten.
“I should really go,” you said, breaking the silence and sitting up.
Rafe’s hand reached out, brushing against yours as he spoke. “You don’t have to.”
The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, you stayed still, his fingers lingering near yours. The space between you suddenly felt smaller, charged with something neither of you were ready to name.
“Rafe,” you said gently, pulling your hand back, though your voice betrayed your hesitation.
“Stay a little longer,” he said, his eyes searching for yours. “This is… nice. Just sitting here. Talking.”
Your heart thudded in your chest at his words, and you looked away, pretending to straighten your bag. “I can’t. I’ve got another long day tomorrow, and so do you.”
He sighed but didn’t argue, leaning back into the couch. “Alright. But you owe me another five minutes next time.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood. “Sure, Cameron. I’ll pencil it into my busy schedule.”
He followed you to the door again, his presence warm and steady behind you. As you stepped into the hallway, you glanced back at him, your smile softer now.
As you moved toward the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, Rafe trailed behind you, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his sweatpants. The quiet between you was comfortable, a marked contrast to the constant noise of the day. Just as you reached for the handle, his voice broke the silence.
“So… my dad called today,” he said, his tone light but deliberate.
You paused, turning slightly to glance at him, curiosity flickering in your expression. “Oh? What about?”
Rafe leaned against the frame, his posture deceptively relaxed. “He wanted to ask about you.”
The corners of your mouth lifted in a faint smirk. “Me? Why? Should I be flattered or scared?”
He chuckled, though it came with a hint of exasperation. “Because you’re about to be my life, and you should definitely be flattered. He’s been… curious, I guess. You’re kind of a hot topic at the moment.”
Your brow furrowed as you adjusted the strap of your bag. “What do you mean?”
Rafe shrugged, though his eyes flickered to yours briefly before looking away. “He’s been asking when he and Rose can meet you. Sarah’s been on my case about it too. She wants to meet you again. It’s like they’re more excited about this whole engagement thing than I am.”
There was an edge to his words, not quite bitterness but something close to it, and you stepped back from the door slightly, your curiosity deepening. “Is that… a bad thing?”
“No, it’s not bad,” he said quickly, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly. “It’s just… predictable. My dad’s all about appearances, and this engagement makes us look good. You make me look good.”
His words were meant to sound casual, but the weight beneath them was unmistakable. You softened your tone as you leaned against the couch. “Rafe, if you’re not comfortable with all this, you can tell me. I’m not going to—”
“It’s not that,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “It’s just… complicated.”
You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “How so?”
He hesitated, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “My family has this way of… making everything feel like a performance. You know? Like, they’re not just happy about this engagement because it’s a good thing for me. They’re happy because it’s a good thing for them. My dad’s already talking about how it’ll ‘strengthen the Cameron name,’ and Rose keeps mentioning how much she ‘adores your poise.’”
You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Wait, your step-mother said that? About me?”
He laughed lightly, nodding. “Yeah. I think she’s obsessed with you already.”
You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Wow. And here I thought winning over your dad would be the hard part.”
“Oh, don’t worry. He’ll grill you like a steak the second he gets a chance,” Rafe said, his tone teasing but his smile tinged with something softer. “He doesn’t trust anyone, especially not when it comes to me.”
You frowned at that, your arms crossing instinctively. “Why not? You’re… I mean, you’re his son. Shouldn’t he trust you the most?”
Rafe’s smile faltered for a split second before he masked it with another shrug. “Let’s just say my track record isn’t exactly spotless. And my dad… he’s always been more interested in results than reasons. This marriage? It’s a result he likes. That’s all.”
The raw honesty in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Finally, you stepped closer, your voice quieter now. “Rafe, if this is too much—if your family’s involvement is making it harder—I can talk to them. Set boundaries or whatever.”
He shook his head, his eyes meeting yours. “You don’t have to do that. It’s not your problem to fix.”
“Maybe not,” you said, your gaze unwavering, “but it’s my problem now too.”
“Such a good wife already,” he caressed your cheeks softly, the corner of his mouth twitched, his smirk returning faintly. “You’re really taking this whole ‘teamwork’ thing seriously, huh?”
“I’m a perfectionist,” you replied, matching his tone. “Can’t help it.”
He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You’re too good at this, you know. My family’s already halfway in love with you, and you haven’t even met them yet.”
“Maybe I should be worried,” you teased, though there was a softness in your voice now.
“Don’t be,” he said, his tone quieter as he let his hand down your face. “If anything, they’re the ones who should be worried. You’re gonna walk in there, charm everyone without even trying, and leave me to deal with their unrealistic expectations.”
You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and Rafe found himself leaning just a little closer, caught up in the warmth of the moment.
“Well, if they’re anything like you,” you said, your voice still tinged with amusement, “I’m sure I’ll survive.”
Rafe’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer, something you couldn’t quite name. “They’re nothing like me,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. His gaze lingered on yours, steady and unguarded in a way that made your breath catch.
“Rafe…” you began, your voice trailing off as his expression shifted ever so slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face.
But just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed. He straightened, his usual smirk slipping back into place like a mask. “You should probably get some rest,” he said, his tone lighter now. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
You blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but nodded. “Yeah. You too.”
He followed you to the door, his presence steady behind you as you stepped into the hallway. As you turned back to glance at him one last time, his expression softened again, his blue eyes holding yours for a beat longer than necessary.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now.
“Goodnight, Rafe,” you replied, your chest tightening slightly as you walked away, the weight of his gaze following you long after you’d gone.
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chapter ten
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jaysng · 3 days ago
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when you have to go on bed rest — park sunghoon
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frustrated and emotional reader, stuck on bed rest during pregnancy, opens up to caring husband, sunghoon. overwhelmed, she asks him to hold her, seeking solace in his embrace as he gently reassures her, reminding her of her strength. [wc. 1.4k]
PAIRING. husband!sunghoon x preg!wife!reader
GENRE. reader is feeling hurt, so angsty fluff
NOTE. this has been sitting in my drafts for about a month now and i’ve been contemplating whether to post it or not.. but here i am guess
you hated being on bed rest.
every minute of it felt like a punishment. you were used to being on your feet, handling things your way, but now you were confined to your room, relying on everyone else to do what you couldn’t. and while your logical mind understood that it was for the baby, the emotional weight of it all was suffocating.
you sat propped against the headboard, arms crossed, staring out the window like it had personally wronged you. the ache in your back had returned, your legs felt stiff, and your mood was steadily getting worse.
the sound of the door opening broke you out of your sulk. sunghoon stepped inside, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small plate of sliced fruit in the other.
“you didn’t eat much earlier,” he said, setting the plate on the bedside table.
“i wasn’t hungry,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes.
he frowned slightly but didn’t push. “you still need to eat something.”
you sighed, glancing at the plate but not making a move to pick it up. the simple act of eating felt exhausting, and your frustration only grew.
sunghoon lingered for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. he didn’t say anything, his gaze quietly observing you.
“what?” you snapped, sharper than you meant to.
he shook his head, unfazed. “you just seem upset.”
“of course i’m upset, hoon!” you burst out, throwing your hands up. “i’m stuck in this stupid bed all day. i can’t even get up to get my own water. my body hurts. my head hurts. and—” your voice wavered, “—and i feel so useless.”
his expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt. he just let you spill it all out.
“i can’t even…” you trailed off, your hands trembling as you clenched them into fists. “i don’t know. i feel horrible. and i don’t want to talk about it, but i can’t keep it in either. i just—”
you broke off, your throat tightening as tears threatened to spill.
sunghoon hesitated for a split second before shifting closer, his hand hovering like he wasn’t sure if you wanted to be touched.
“can you just… hold me?” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. “please?”
his eyes softened further, and without a word, he slipped his arm around your shoulders, gently guiding you against his chest.
the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breathing—it was grounding. you let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as the dam finally broke.
“i feel like such a mess,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against him.
“you’re not a mess,” he said quietly, his voice calm and certain. “you’re just overwhelmed. it’s okay.”
his hand moved slowly, rubbing soothing circles on your back. he didn’t try to fix anything or offer solutions—he just let you cry, let you feel.
“i don’t know how much more of this i can take,” you admitted, your voice cracking.
“you don’t have to take it alone,” he said simply. “i’m here.”
it was such a sunghoon thing to say—straightforward, without unnecessary embellishments. but somehow, that made it more comforting.
“i hate being like this,” you whispered. “so… weak.”
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his brow furrowed. “you’re not weak,” he said, his tone firmer now. “you’re growing a whole human inside you. that’s… incredible.”
you let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “doesn’t feel incredible.”
“doesn’t mean it’s not,” he countered, his fingers brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “and even if you feel like you’re falling apart, it’s okay. i’ll hold you together, for as long as you need.”
you looked at him, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his eyes.
“thank you,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.
he didn’t respond with words, just wrapped his arms around you again, holding you close like you were the most important thing in the world.
and for the first time that day, the frustration in your chest eased, just a little. enough to remind you that you weren’t alone in this.
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© jaysng 2024 | do not repost or plagiarize.
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aro-absol · 2 days ago
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[ID: A digital comic with a simple drawing style. It consists of long text that is accompanied by small drawings, matching what is said in the text. The text reads as follows: "I've always been a big reader. I was treating earlier and faster than most of my peers my whole childhood. [Three books: one is titled "Magic treehouse" and has the caption "kindergarten", one is titled "Harry Potter" and has the caption "first grade" and the last one is titled "Percy Jackson" and has the caption "third grade".] and my tastes have alwaystended towards the magical. fairytales, myths, and fantasy have been longtime favourites as far back as I can remember.
As I got older, my tastes didn't change all that much. They did expand, to being ok with things like horror, violence (and mild gore), death... As children's tastes tend to do. But I still loved fantasy stories just as much. When I hit eighth grade, however, they noticed a bit of a problem. I was getting a bit old for a lot of the middle-grade fiction books I liked. I thought: "Okay, sure! I've read adult-level books with no problem before, I'll just head for the fantasy section!" I asked a couple of friends for book recommendations, and culture reading except… [A drawing of many different scraps from books, all clearly from romantic and/or steamy scenes] ... All of it was just so stuffed with sex and romance. [A drawing of a person shaking their heads in disbelief and saying "ew" while reading the book, with an arrow pointing to them saying, "14 and very aro/ace"]
Needless to say, I did not want to read those books (and haven't to this day.) Thought bubble of the person just described continuing: okay, this is probably just my friend's stuff. I know they like these kinds of things. I'll just look for myself! [A drawing of a person standing in front of a big bookshelf that is labeled "young adult and teen fantasy". There are many different phrases pointing to the box on the shelf. The phrases read: "sex scene on the first page", "sex", "twilight", "romance "' subplot'", viscerally upsetting description of making out", "fade to black sex scene", "no sex but only technically", "sexy elves", essentially a romance really", "insane amounts of kissing".]... you gotta be kidding.
Over the years since then, I've tried to find fantasy stories that I can actually enjoy. [A drawing of a list titled "typically good". The bullet point read: D and D based (sex jokes but party focused), comics, fanfic, older media (pre-90s), MG fiction (last resort)] I've had some success at finding patterns that work for me, but a lot of these categories are very digital. (At least for me.) And because of that, all the time I once spent reading is now on my phone.
I don't really know where this is going, or what the solution is. Most people do like sex and romance, and reading about them. And this is just a thing for making a terrible comic day. I think it's pretty common for aro and/or ace people to feel left out, since so often these are treated as universal ideals. But to anyone feeling that way: I promise you are not alone. Also, allos: get better writing material, seriously. And better friends, since yours are apparently so terrible you can't write deeply meaningful relationships without kissing. (Half joking.) / End ID]
Note: this image description is not fully complete, as I left out some smaller drawings that I couldn't add into the text in a way that makes sense and weren't crucial for understanding. Also, I apologize if this description isn't clear to people who use screen readers but I do not know how to make it any better. If you have any suggestions, tell me please.
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My (late) contribution for Make A Terrible Comic Day! I've been going to the library more often lately so this has been coming up a lot, cause I want something to read but have had trouble finding anything that I'm comfortable with.
If anyone has recommendations please please let me know because I am struggling.
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archangeldyke-all · 1 day ago
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Oh man I have ideas..
Sevika has a home back in Zaun but she has to have an apartment in Piltover because of councilor duties until she fully adjusts to topside and accepts the insistent offers of a manor. Imagine being her wife and just helping her relax after her first day, cuddling and all that whilst adjusting to the fancy apartment bigger than your old house.
Or..
Sevika taking her wife out for a walk in Piltover, admiring more of the garden as the plants grow upon new soil. A talk about the future whilst holding hands.
Or..
Them renewing their vows, having that damn fancy wedding of the dreams.
Toodles!!!
EEEEEEEEK okay lets do some councilor sevika (also isha and jinx are still alive in this story because i said so. she doesn't need to suffer so much to still be an incredible leader. give her her girls!!!)
men and minors dni
you were the first person approached about sevika representing zaun in piltover's new council post-war.
you were a little concerned to find councilwoman shoola and three members of her personal guard on your front stoop-- and for just a moment you had a flash of anxiety that she was here looking for jinx or isha.
"councilwoman. hello." you say, still surprised. you've met the woman a few times before, both of you attending various re-building efforts around the undercity. she holds up a hand.
"please, dear, we've built a bookshelf together, you've seen me at my lowest. you can call me shoola."
"h-how can i help you counc-- shoola?" you ask. she smiles.
"i'm here regarding your wife."
you frown. "...is she in some kind of trouble?" you ask, already mentally planning how to worm sevika out of her trouble. the councilwoman chuckles.
"quite the opposite, actually. i'd like her to join the council... as an ambassador to the free nation of zaun." she says.
you nearly shit yourself at her words-- sevika's life work casually mentioned like it's just a sidenote. "the-- free?" you ask.
she smiles. "while the deaths of the other councilmembers in the war was a horrible loss, there are some issues i could never get my late colleagues to agree on. now, though... i've been given full authority to reorient the power structure of the council to avoid anymore kirraman's taking over-- and i've always been of the belief that zaun should be free."
"and w-what... you want to arrest jinx in exchange for it?" you ask.
shoola chuckles. "no."
"y-you want isha?" you ask. shoola laughs again.
"what could i want with a child? no!"
"so... what do you want?" you ask, your voice shaking as the reality of the situation sinks in.
"i just want your help talking sevika into the job. i know she can be... stubbo--?"
"bullheaded?" you guess as shoola searches for a kind word to describe sevika's stubbornness. she chuckles at your description of your wife and nods.
"here." she hands you a stack of papers. "i've outlined the full responsibilities of the job. as well as the benefits she will receive for serving. please. look it over and talk to her, would you?"
you do.
it's an excellent proposal.
as the undercity figures out how it wants to self govern, piltover will fund zaun's public infrastructure as if it's their own-- meaning that the undercity will, practically overnight, have access to things like clean water. and schools. and welfare. they will provide these services for up to fifteen years as zaun finds it's footing.
the position outlined for sevika in piltover's council is a way to assure piltover doesn't back out of their promises-- that somebody is there to call them out when they try to cut corners in helping the young nation of zaun find it's footing.
and, while your wife might miss the more physical aspects of her old work, you can see her chewing out some stingy old councilors for their greed in your minds eye, and you can't help but smile.
"what're you smilin' about?" sevika asks.
you jump and slam the folder in front of you closed, blinking up at your wife.
she's back from her meeting with ran, scar and jericho. the four of them have grown close in these past few months as they coordinate rebuilding efforts for various neighborhoods across zaun. you have to gulp, trying not to get dizzy with the possibilities of what sevika's job offer means for them as a team. as team zaun.
"h-how was your meeting?" you ask. sevika raises an unimpressed eyebrow at you and you huff. she sinks across the table from you, easily pulling the folder out of your grasp.
"meeting was fine. the elementary school bein' built in firelight's territory is almost ready to open. first school in zaun." she says with a smile. "now, what were you smiling at?"
"i was approached by councilwoman shoola this afternoon."
sevika raises an eyebrow at you. "did you two try to build a chair this time?" she teases. you groan and kick her shin, before tapping the folder in her hands.
"no. i was asked to convince my stubborn-ass, incredibly loyal, strong, beautiful, hard-fucking-headed wife to join the fucking council."
sevika blinks. "what?"
"they want you in the new council. serving as an ambassador. to the free nation of zaun, sevika."
sevika blinks again, and then she rips the file open, her silver eyes flying across the confidential text. "the fr-- the free nation of zaun?" she asks, her eyes flying up to yours to confirm. you grin and nod.
sevika flies out of her seat and crawls across the dining room table to reach you, tears flowing down her cheeks as she kisses you like her life depends on it.
you're there when shoola and sevika finally sit down to discuss the opportunity. shoola's the first piltoverian to not turn her nose up at the messy state of your small home-- she even grins at the sound of jinx and isha bickering from their bedroom. "you two have made a lovely home for yourselves, here." she says, sitting down at the table and jumping a bit when a toy squeaks under her bum. "i can almost see the love leaking out of the wallpaper."
"could be black mold." you whisper. sevika and shoola both sputter surprised laughs.
"sevika. have you considered my proposal?" shoola asks.
sevika sighs and nods. "i have a few conditions before i agree." she says.
this surprises you. as if the prospect of representing a free zaun isn't tempting enough, you saw the salary sevika's being offered. it's the kind of money that could buy you a house big enough that all four of you could have your own bathrooms.
(secretly, though, you hope you live in a tiny house forever. you like tripping over your family-- being within reaching distance at all times.)
"first. i'd like you to assign me the budget to employ three of my trusted confidants as advisors. i can give you their identities if you'd like, but i give you my word that they're good peo--"
"done." shoola cuts sevika off, scribbling a quick note in her journal before looking back up at the pair of you with a smile. "what else?" she asks.
you smile a bit. sevika blinks, then gulps. "jinx and her little friend ekko get a full ride to the university up top. they're incredibly gifted, and with a little proper education they could advance zaun--"
"you don't have to convince me, i remember how the war went. without them, we'd all be dead. i can arrange that."
"i don't want to leave zaun. i can't represent these people if i'm not living here. i'll need a car to get--"
"would you like a personal vehicle or a driver each morning and evening?" shoola asks.
sevika blinks. "a-a driver." she says, a little shocked.
"anything else?" shoola asks.
sevika nods. "o-one last thing." she reaches over to grab your hand. you have no idea what she could possibly want beyond what she's asked for-- she's taken care of her friends, her family, and her transport.
"anything." shoola says. you think the woman might mean it.
sevika looks down at her lap and sighs. "we... we never really got married." she says. you blink, not at all understanding why she's telling the councilwoman this. "i mean... we had a party and we exchanged vows," she says, a smile tugging at her lips. you squeeze her hand and her eyes flick up to yours, before shyly darting away like you guys haven't been married for a decade now. like you guys don't have two kids together. "but we never... nobody gets married in zaun. 's expensive. the trip up to the justice is too far. and..." sevika gulps, her voice getting shaky as she looks back up at you. "and you're the reason i've fought so hard for our home in the first place." she whispers.
tears start to well up in your eyes and you let out a shaky laugh. "what, 're you proposing to me again?" you ask. sevika snorts and shakes her head before turning to shoola. the woman's drying her own tears.
"will you arrange to have us married? officially?"
"i'd be honored." shoola agrees.
the wedding is small and intimate, you and sevika, jinx and isha, vi, ran, scar, jericho, and shoola.
the councilwoman took you to a beautiful little garden a few blocks away from the council, and she married you, officially, as the sun set and your girls threw handfuls of confetti into the sky.
your whole party marches through the streets of piltover and back to zaun for the afterparty, councilwoman shoola laughing happily as you introduce her to the zaunite tradition of barcrawling.
each bar you enter, jericho happily announces that you and sevika have been freshly married. sevika, being the new spokeswoman of zaun, is quite the celebrity now. all of this is to say, you spend the night drinking many free drinks, hugging many drunk strangers, and kissing your wife on request about a thousand times.
it's the best night of your life.
taglist!
@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner
@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther
@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart
@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette
@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp
@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner
@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke
@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed
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hoovesandfloorpaws · 23 hours ago
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"That said, both Styles and his therapist have questioned why he cares quite so much about being likeable. This is one of the things he thought about a lot in his big pandemic reflection. In part, it's a choice, he explained. He recalled moving to London after The X Factor and hearing tales of petulant celebrities screaming because someone got their coffee order wrong and deciding to never be that guy, to never give someone a petty reason to bad-mouth him. But more recently he's come to worry that the drive for approval came from a more complex place, a place of caution, fear, control." "Styles said he often spent interviews terrified about saying the wrong thing until he stopped to question what abhorrent belief or bizarre opinion he was scared he'd accidentally reveal and realized he couldn't think of anything."
"And he thought about the cleanliness clauses in the contracts he used to sign, which would dictate that they would be null and void if he did anything supposedly unsavoury, and about how terrified that used to make him. And about when he signed his solo contract and learned that the ability to make music would not be affected by personal transgressions, he burst into tears, a reaction he still seemed shocked by, retelling it to me now, years later. "I felt free," he explained."
"When Styles began therapy about five years ago [so in 2017], he was reluctant initially, feeling it was a music industry cliché. "I thought it meant that you were broken," he said. "I wanted to be the one who could say I didn't need it." He returned to the home theme that has underpinned our conversation, explaining that therapy has allowed him to "open up rooms in himself" that he didn't know existed, allowed him to feel things more honestly, where before he had tended to"emotionally coast.""
"Recently Styles began to work through issues related to intimacy, dating, love. "For a long time, it felt like the only thing that was mine was my sex life. I felt so ashamed about it, ashamed at the idea of people even knowing that I was having sex, let alone who with," he said."
"You look back, especially now there's all the documentaries, like the Britney documentary, and you watch how people were abused in that way, by that system, especially women. You recall articles from not even five years ago, and you're like, I can't even believe that was written."
He has been thinking a lot recently about autonomy, ownership, privacy. About what he should be able to keep to himself, what he should be able to simply communicate through his music without follow-up questions or prying. Around the time of Fine Line, he faced scrutiny around his sexuality. People became incredulous that he wore dresses, waved Pride flags, and yet hadn't clarified with precision, publicly to a journalist or on social media, the specifics of who he'd slept with, how he defined. This expectation is, to him, bizarre, "outdated." "I've been really open with it with my friends, but that's my personal experience; it's mine," he said.
Despite the acceptance that some things could, should, have been different, he still feels lucky every day, he said, lucky to make music, lucky to do what he loves.
"You can't win music. It's not like Formula One," he said. "I was like, in my lifetime, there will be 10 more people who burst onto the scene in that way, and I'm only going to get further away from being the young thing. So, get comfortable with finding something else that makes you happy. I just found that so liberating."
"I just want to make stuff that is right, that is fun, in terms of the process, that I can be proud of for a long time, that my friends can be proud of, that my family can be proud of, that my kids will be proud of one day," he said.
““In lockdown, I started processing a lot of stuff that happened when I was in the band,” he said. He thought about the way he was encouraged to give so much of himself away, “to get people to engage with you, to like you.” He thought about the fact that no baby photos exist of him that aren’t on the internet (you give a bunch to an X Factor producer doing a piece on your backstory without much thought, and suddenly your childhood is online). He thought about the journalists asking questions, when he was still a teenager, about how many people he’d slept with and how, rather than telling them to go away, he would worry about how he could be coy without them leaving the room annoyed. “Why do I feel like I’m the one who has done something wrong?” he said to me.”
— Harry for Better Homes and Gardens Magazine
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mintmatcha · 2 days ago
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I am so soft for father figure Shinsou, thank you for giving me something I didn’t know I needed. Just doing everyday things with him and him being soft towards you child is giving me life.
Casual. That's the word you used to describe what the meeting should be. Casual.
"He's a good boy, for the most part." Your bag is already stuffed full of toys and towels and other miscellaneous things that Shinso can't imagine you'll need. "His dad spoils him, so he might be a little bratty at first- we're working on it. Well, I'm working on it. His dad is--"
You kneel down and start rummaging through your things.
"Uh, don't let him guilt you into buying him snacks, please. He's got a severe nut and seed allergy and it's just easier if I take care of it all. There's snacks in here, along with two epipens. There's two more in the red cabinet in the kitchen, just in case we ever need them. "
Somehow, you manage to wiggle out the sunscreen for your bag without collapsing the whole pile. You dollop a bit on your fingers.
"Once they get here, we'll go straight to the park and hang out there for just a little bit. The book says the first meeting should be short and we should give him other things to focus out so he doesn't stress out." Your shoulders are bunched by your ears. "It'll be super casual. Easy. No stress."
Shinso kneels down next to you and dips a finger in the sunscreen.
"No stress," Shinso repeats back, dotting the sunscreen on your nose. It's enough to urge a smile out of you.
"Sorry, I know I'm--" You toss your hands in the air, frazzled, but with a smile. "This is a big deal."
"I know it is."
"We've only been dating for eight months," you say/ "What if we're jumping the gun? I don't want to put him through this if-"
"I'm not planning on breaking up with you." Ever. Shinso wouldn't have agreed to this if he wasn't completely sure that you were the one for him. It's not that he doesn't like children, it's that he's never spent time with any. Only child, no cousins: he doesn't know anything about kids other than the fact he used to be one.
You reach other and dot Shinso's nose with sunscreen. Now, you're matching.
"You might break up with me after you see what I'm dealing with."
Shinso takes your hand. "I'm not going to leave because you have a kid."
"I was talking about his father," you heave out a sigh. "They'll probably be late, by the way."
-
They are late.
Significantly.
It's six hours past the allotted time, filled with weak excuses from you. The television has rolled into the second season of some trashy show, but neither of you are really watching.
"He always loses track of time," you repeat for the twentieth time, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. Shinso is long past disappointed, well into the area of 'pissed'. Mostly at your ex, partially at you, for letting it happen.
"He's still not calling you back?"
"No," you say, just like you've said before. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have let him know about you, he's just-- I dunno. Playing games with me again."
It contextualizes a lot of your behaviors, actually. The anxiety about getting home, the days you go radio silent, the dates where you suddenly have to run off and collect your child: he imagines there's a lot of bullshit games that happen between you two.
"You let him treat you like this?"
"He's my baby's father. I can't just..."
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alchemistc · 3 days ago
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Buck's halfway through his third cup of startlingly bad coffee when Josh pushes the door to the breakroom open, looking mildly concerned in the half second before someone else looms over his shoulder.
He's too numb to do much more than take another sip of coffee as he watches Josh usher Tommy in.
The door clicks shut behind him. Buck wonders for a moment if Tommy's ever actually been to the new dispatch headquarters before. If he ever went to the old one, charming grin on his face while he waited for Abby to finish up so he could take her out, drive her home while her car was in the shop - but no, Tommy would have worked on it himself, maybe.
Had Josh recognized him, that first time, with half of his soot on Buck's face, and just never said anything?
The silence is tense. They're in a fishbowl, no room to lash out even if either of them wanted to because more than half the people working in this place can see them if they just tip their head to the side.
"How can I help?"
It's - his voice is strained, scared, worried. Buck doesn't have a single guess as to how he knows. Maybe Bobby. It's the only person he can think of who would have -.
Buck snorts. "I rebounded with a serial killer who just kidnapped my sister and my baby niece or nephew. I don't - I'm not sure what you want."
He glances up just in time to see the end of Tommy's grimace. Good. He's not sure how much more disastrous of a choice he could have made to try to get Tommy out of his system, but at least it hurts him to know. At least...
"Do you want me to go?"
Buck can't remember anyone asking, before. Usually they just... leave. Get up, walk out, disappear. Tommy bubbled Buck five times in three months. Buck went through seven bags of flour before he drove Eddie to the airport.
His voice shakes on his "No," and Tommy is there, all of the sudden, his hand hovering just over Buck's shoulder, like he realized halfway there it might not be welcome. "Do you still think I need to keep looking for someone better than you?"
It'd been seeing Tommy out with a guy that'd prompted him to stop fucking baking and make an effort to just...get over it But with Eddie away, and the rest of the 118 so wrapped up in their lives, there weren't a whole lot of outlets for that. And it's been easy to willfully misinterpret Tommy's breakup speech. Or - interpret it in the most hurtful way possible.
"Is this what you want to do right now?" Tommy asks, even and measured. "Will this help?"
"I want my sister back!"
Tommy takes a step back. His hands shift to his pockets, and Buck just wants -
"Why are you here?"
He tips his head up. Holds Tommy's gaze. Tommy flounders in a way Buck's never seen before.
He looks - tired. Good. White Henley under a flannel Buck had always told him brought out his eyes. The jeans Buck had stolen once or twice because they made his ass look good. His hair's grown in at the sides, and the sprinkling of greys are more obvious than the last time he'd seen it this length.
"I just... didn't want you to be alone."
Tears threaten at the corners of his eyes. He wants to laugh, but he's terrified if he starts he won't be able to hold in the fear. "When did that change?"
Tommy gnaws on his cheek. "You have so many people, Buck. You have -."
"I don't want emotional repression Tommy here, so if you're just here to keep me distracted until someone else can be here you should just... go."
Something flashes in his gaze. Anger, maybe. Terror.
"Please let me stay."
It hurts, to hear it. It hurts to hear the trepidation in his voice as he says it. Buck just wants to pull him in, tuck his face into the curve of his neck, soak in the warmth of his arms.
Buck spends too long staring at his knees. Long enough for Tommy to shift, to sigh, to nod his head decisively out of the corner of Buck's eye.
The word is stuck in his throat. Has been for months, since Tommy looked at him with teary eyes and walked away.
"I won't be able to let you go again."
He's already half turned away. Buck can only see half his expression as his eyes dip closed. He swallows. Nods, again.
Buck can't watch him push back through that door, so he stares at the toes of his boots until his vision starts to blur.
A second pair of toes swim into his eyeline. A hand shifts through his curls, snagging on knots, digging towards his scalp, and he can't quite bite back the sob. The arms that reach for him are warm, big and familiar, and Buck gives himself over to the panic and the fear that have been clawing at his chest for hours now. Tommy says something - whispers it into the air above Buck's head over and over, but Buck can't - he just -
He presses his face into Tommy's stomach, digs his fingers into the back of his shirt, sucks in horrible, gasping breaths. It's not enough. Nothing will be until he's got Maddie in his arms.
But it's more than he had an hour ago.
"Stay," he manages, and Tommy's fingers curl around Buck's neck and hold.
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chestersturniolo · 1 day ago
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good cop , bad cop
Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader x Chris Sturniolo
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Summary; You have been a moody guts all day. Matt goes straight to comforting mode.. Chris, not so much
disclaimer; Chratt poly relationship dynamic! if you are not comfortable with this, do not read // suggestive // pet names // most likely a one shot.. based on this request
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You flop onto the couch with an exaggerated huff, crossing your arms over your chest. Your irritation at an all time high for no real reason. It’s been one of those days, and it feels like nothing is going your way.
Matts attention is caught by your dramatics, he glances over from where he sat on the other side of the couch. “Hey-” he says softly “-what’s wrong sweetheart? You’ve been in a mood since this morning” his voiced concerned
You groan dramatically, rolling your eyes. “Nothing. I’m fine.” you snap,
Matt frowns, “C’mon, talk to me. Did something happen? Did I do something?” His voice is still patient, gentle, but for some reason it only makes you more annoyed.
“Ugh, Matt can you not?-” you sass back. “-I said I’m fine. Why can’t you just leave it alone?”
Before Matt can respond, Chris speaks up from the kitchen, his voice cutting through your tantrum “Alright, that’s enough” he says firmly, turning to face you. His blue eyes locking onto yours,. “What’s with the attitude, kid? You’ve been whinin’ n actin’ like a little brat all day”
Your eyebrows immediately raise, taken back by his tone.
“Chris!” Matt snaps, shooting him a disapproving look. “Don’t talk to her like that, she’s just—”
“She’s just what?” Chris interrupts, standing his ground. “Throwing a tantrum because she’s gotten herself all worked up for no reason? Don’t coddle her, Matt. It’s not helping.”
You glare at him, but Chris doesn’t waver. “look I get that you’re not in the best of moods today-” he says, his tone softening just a little “-but that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on us. We’re here to help you, not be your punching bags kid”
Matt sighs, running a hand through his hair “You didn’t have to put it like that” he mutters, clearly torn between defending you and acknowledging Chris has a point.
“Maybe not-“ Chris concedes, his gaze flicking back to you “-but she needed to hear it”
You shift in your seat with an subtle eye roll. Chris wasn’t wrong…you had been a little over the top today. But still, his bluntness stings.
Matt scoots over to you on the couch, his hand resting gently on your knee. “listen-” he says softly “-whenever something’s bothering you, just tell us, okay? We can talk anything out”
“Yeah-“ chris starts in agreement, making his way over to the couch “-we’ve got your back ma, next time lose the attitude, huh?” he says,crossing his arms as he stands infront of you
You sigh, the fight draining out of you as you mumble, “Okay, m’sorry” feeling slightly guilty
Matt smiles, giving your knee a reassuring squeeze. Chris smirks, tossing a wink your way “There’s our girl”
Your lips instinctively curl upward at his coo..you’d always found it quite hard to stay mad at them for long periods of time. They had this way of breaking your attitude down, sometimes without even trying. You let out another small sigh, “i think i’ve just been a little stressed lately that’s all..” you say honestly, your eyes flickering between them both.
Matt clicks his tongue “ah baby, why didn’t you say so? i know just the thing for that..” he says before throwing a glance to chris with a smirk. They share a quick knowing look before Chris’ smirk forms also, knowing exactly what his brother is getting at.
Before you could process what was happening, Chris leans down, scooping you up off the couch. You let out a surprise squeal as he hoists you up and slings you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, before placing a firm smack to your ass as he starts walking off toward Matts room.
“Where are we going” you giggle,lifting your head slightly to see Matts figure following closely behind
“We’re going to relieve all that stress of yours baby-“ Matt mumbles, wetting his bottom lip, his hand coming down to unbuckle his belt as he walks “-jus’ relax, we’re gonna take good care of you hmm?”
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MASTERLIST LINKED HERE
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Viktor... - Viktor x reader
Arcane Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Words: ~1100 TW: none
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"Viktor!" you shouted, but the man never seemed to even consider stopping. "Viktor, wait!" Your desperation was growing stronger with every step, tears slowly blurring your vision.
Was this what he wanted? To disappear? Leaving you behind like you were nothing?
"Did I do something wrong?" your voice echoed as the man you once loved turned away, the dark cloak gracefully falling onto his new body. He wouldn't have even stopped to look at you if it wasn't for Jayce to tell you he was leaving. His body froze, his mind racing with the new sensations he felt. He slowly turned, strands of hair stuck to his forehead.
"No! I have to…" the hurt in his voice obvious. "I'm not…" he hesitated, not sure what to say next. Was he even alive? Was he even human? "I don't even know what I am anymore…"
You cautiously stepped towards him, taking in his features. He was suffering before, you knew that. He lost a lot of weight in the past years… His sickness was getting stronger, day by day, but now… Now he was standing in front of you, on his own legs. Now he was standing taller, the weakness you once saw in him gone.
Your hand pressed against his cheek, but he wasn't met with the warmth he once felt - it was something unusual. Peaceful, but not in a way he was able to understand. It was electrical, mechanical, not human-like. It was like a fire started underneath your palm, but it didn't hurt. His hand hesitantly touched yours, something that resembled a heartbeat seemingly getting stronger. Was it still his heart?
"I know what you are…" you said, the familiar brown eyes looking at you, their softness ever so unchanged.
"I killed Sky…" his voice trembled slightly, your heart skipping a beat. You were the first he ran to when this happened. The first to know everything he never let anyone know. You were the first to see him for who he really was. And now, thinking that you might be afraid of him, it made his body ache in unpleasant, strange ways. "I am murderer…" he eventually continued, his words quieter than they were in those many nights you spent together, hoping not to wake up anyone.
You just now realised the roughness of this new "skin", the coldness in it, a contrast to his gentle touches. Different from the way he used to worship you any chance he got. You were his only reason to continue fighting. His only reason to continue his research - because maybe, one day, your lives will be better. But the roughness was just on the surface... somehow, you could still feel the warmth. The kindness in his soul was as it always has been - unparalleled.
"No…" You softly said, cupping his cheeks. The touch sent a wave of energy coursing through him, not with the intensity of a shock, but with a steady, unyielding pull that reminded him of life itself. It felt like a promise, something soft yet grounding, pulling him back from the edge of despair. “You’re my Viktor…” The words hung in the air between you, their weight settling in the space around you both. Viktor didn’t move at first.
His eyes stayed locked on yours, searching for any trace of doubt, any sign that you might be lying. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His breath came slower, almost as if he was afraid to exhale, fearful that the fragile connection you had could shatter with a single movement.
Viktor’s forehead found its peace against yours, just as it always did. But this time, there was a tremble in his touch, a hesitant pause before his lips parted to speak again. The gentle pulse of your shared breath seemed to reverberate through your bodies, and for a moment, the world outside of this fragile moment disappeared. You could feel the echo of his heartbeat, faint and distant, but still there, somehow keeping him tethered to you. "And nothing could make me not want to follow you until the end of the time…"
A small smile crept on his face, your words seemingly reassuring him, even if just a little, that maybe he was not as inhuman as he thought he was. "I can't ask you to follow me…" he told you, knowing that it would perhaps mean the end of your life. Knowing that it might bring you more pain than his disappearance would have.
"Of course you don't…" you chuckled. "But I will anyway. I always did as I pleased, right?" the sound of his soft laugh made your heart jump, your ears enlightened as you heard it.
His fingers intertwined with yours, the whole world becoming silent, almost nonexistent. In the stillness of the moment, this touch was a silent understanding, a bond that spoke louder than words ever could. Your souls were connected once again, just as they were always meant to be. Fighting to find each other, fighting to find peace once again and now… fulfilled that they were finally reunited.
"It's not gonna be easy…" he warned, pressing a light kiss on your temple before he moved away, the coldness of his absence making you shiver.
"It's never been… But we managed…"
He smiled and all of the stimulus he felt stopped. Something similar to peace conquered his form now. Something stronger than whatever the Hexcore was doing to him.
You pressed his hand against your chest, the vibrations of your heartbeat resonating through him. You could see his mouth slightly opening in fascination at the intensity of his senses.
"Can you feel it?" you asked. "Can you feel it beating under your touch?"
Viktor’s fingers tightened around your wrist, as if afraid to let go. For a moment, he said nothing. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, a mix of disbelief and awe flickering in his expression.
"I can't promise you I'm the same..." he whispered, his voice trembling as if uncertain whether this was real.
Your heart was pounding in your chest, a powerful pain overcoming it at his words. "Whatever IT'll happen, I will face it with you. I know I want this, just please... Please don't push me away." He caressed your cheek, a weak smile on his face as he saw the determination in your eyes. The world became still. It was peaceful now. The past was a distant memory. The future - uncertain.
But the present felt just right.
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all-purpose-dish-soap · 21 hours ago
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64 / 4.1k / soap soulmate au, final part
...
"You doing okay?"
Hearing Graves’ voice knocks what little breath you had out of your lungs. It's been months, but that's him. Your old boss. You never thought you'd hear his voice again.
"I've been better," you say finally. "Been awhile."
"Yeah, it has," he says. "Wish you'd've called me to catch up sometime, rather than under the circumstances. You don't sound too banged up. They treat you alright?"
"I'm fine."
"I didn't ask how you feel. I asked if they roughed you up."
You feel your own temper shorten in response. "I need you to call KorTac off."
There's a pause. You can imagine his frowning face, the way he's thinking that one over. "I'll take that under advisement," he finally says, but you can tell he's not going to do what you ask of him. "Puttin' me in a predicament here, kid. You're giving those boys a hard time, and here I thought I was helping you out. Paying your bail, so to speak."
"It’s more complicated than that."
"Always is. Let’s just have you dropped off back on base with us. You can clean yourself up and we’ll talk."
He waits for your crisp yes, sir, but it never comes.
He speaks again. "You got somewhere else to be?"
"I can't go back."
"Can't or won't? You got something you ain't tellin me, soldier?"
"I said I can't go back. And I'm not your soldier anymore. You're not my boss. I don't work for you."
"You know Shadows don't leave one of our own behind. Not to rot in some CIA prison cell. So lose the attitude," he says, voice like iron. "This ain't a good time to play games, kid. You're comin' back with me because I spent a pretty penny on you. You owe me. You have your personal business, fine. Come on back to base and let's talk this out face to face before you go makin' any hasty decisions."
You're so frustrated it's hard to form words. You should be grateful. You know that. Graves doesn’t pretend to care about his men. He cares enough to lead from the front. But you met your soulmate, and you can’t act like it didn't change you. You need to make things right. You also can’t exactly tell Graves you kind of sold him out.
"Hey. Focus up." He doesn't raise his voice to a command. Still, the order is in his voice, and you have been long trained to follow your commander's orders. Then he sighs. "What happened to you, kid?"
"You betrayed the 141. You killed innocent people in Las Almas, looking for them."
You can almost hear his jaw working behind his clenched teeth, the muscles in his face tight. He does not allow this kind of disrespect. "You think I like what I had to do? General Shepherd's orders were clear. We followed them. 141 did not." He huffs out a sigh. "I didn't enjoy it. But that's the job. You of all people know that."
You swallow. "You told us they were our brothers. You killed innocent people, Commander. Johnny said he saw you do it--"
"Johnny?" Grave's voice rises. "You on a first name basis with Soap now?"
"We all know what happened in Las Almas," you retort. Your skin goes hot at the way he says Johnny's name. "I won't work for Shepherd anymore after that. I won't fucking do it."
"Don't pull that with me." The warning is written in his voice. This isn't like you. To the Shadows, you’re calm. Cold. You don't lose your temper. You don't talk back. Especially not to Graves. "You think you can walk away at the drop of a hat just because you don't agree with an order? It doesn't work like that. You follow an order, even if you don't like it, even if it pisses you off. You don't get to decide what you think is right or wrong to carry out. When I give you an order, you follow it. That's your job. Your loyalty is with me. Not with the 141."
"I did my job."
"Then act like it," he snaps. "Stop acting like I'm some evil bastard out here. I made the only choice I could. Task Force 141 was not supposed to be there. They knew my orders, and what did they do? They came after my men, went behind my back, screwed us over. We did what we had to. You wanna be pissed at someone? Be pissed at them."
You glare down at the ice, but say nothing.
"You know I'm right." He knows you. He's getting to you. "And you know what else I find interesting? You don't seem a bit surprised to hear me alive." His voice is too casual and sharp as a knife. "Didn't you get the memo? Did no one forward you my obituary, soldier?"
You stiffen. You're not supposed to know he's alive.
"You're an awful liar. Always have been." He pauses for a long moment. "It ain't easy, surviving against the 141 if they want you dead. You know how I managed it, soldier?"
Yes. "No,” you retort. “And stop calling me that. I'm not your soldier. I don't work for you anymore."
"The hell you aren't. Maybe you're not on the payroll anymore, and maybe you're no longer under my command, but once a Shadow, always a Shadow. That makes you my responsibility. And my goddamn headache." Something shuffles on the other end of the line. "You know exactly what I'm willing to do to keep one of my Shadows safe. But if you're so keen on turning yourself in, fine. I'll have you in front of Shepherd's desk first thing tomorrow. Is that what you want? You know Soap and Ghost put Shadows in the ground that night in Las Almas."
"Shadows tried to put Johnny and Ghost in the ground first."
"This isn't about who shot first. This is about you." His voice is dangerously low, but he keeps his temper in check. Then he huffs a laugh. "You keep callin’ him Johnny. Makes my brain itch." Johnny MacTavish. John MacTavish. Yeah, that's it. "I'll be damned," he mutters.
You touch your exposed soulmark compulsively as if to hide it. Most soldiers hide theirs, but yours has always been tough to cover up. He's seen it more than a few times.
"Got you right out from under my fuckin' nose."
Your stomach tightens. You feel too exposed, like suddenly he’s putting the story together--how 141 got in.
"Shoulda known. Shoulda known. You know the military has a registry for this shit. There are rules. What's wrong with you?"
"I made a mistake," you mutter.
That might be the funniest thing he ever heard. And he's heard some good jokes. "You don't make mistakes, kiddo. You never have. That's not how I trained you." He's right, and you know it. "But hey. Guess it's true what they say about it."
"What?"
"Soulbonds. Make you take your best-laid plans and raze ‘em. Full scorched earth.”
“This isn’t about that. I’m making this decision on my own.”
“You think?” He takes a puff on his cigarette. “I don’t. I don't blame you, either. You sure as hell fought it as best you could. Didn't give in to save your own life. If that's not the soulbond making your decision for you, soldier, I don't know what is."
You look up at the sky. For all the time you spent working with Graves, that past version of you might as well be dead. Maybe that’s the grave you’ve been digging. "I can't work for Shepherd anymore. I won't do it."
"You're a good soldier, 86. You were loyal. I still think you're loyal, even if I'm not who you're loyal to," he finally says. His voice is still calm. It doesn't make you feel any better. "You know if you choose to walk away from this, the next time we meet might well be as enemies."
"Then I guess we won't meet again, sir."
He says nothing. Then he lets out a long huff. You really are going to do him dirty. You can hear his scowl. "That's a damn shame, kid. But you have more of a spine than I gave you credit for," he says. There's a tone of reluctant respect to it. That's as close as you're going to get to a compliment from him now. "You're a loose end, then. You'd best stay well out of the way. Mine and Shepherd's. I hope you're not making the wrong choice, 86," he says quietly. "I really hope you're not."
"It’s out of your hands now. And pay KorTac," you add. "Pay my squad. They did their job."
That makes him scoff. "Now why would I do that? You might be a traitor, but you're still my investment. You were worth more on my payroll than theirs, and that’s a fact I intend to maintain."
"You owe me," you remind him.
"Don't push your luck," he warns. "You're an asset. You don’t get the privileges of rank anymore. But, well..." He sighs. You imagine him with his heels kicked back on his desk, cigarette in hand. "I’ll tell you what. I’m in a charitable mood. I'll pay them off. I'm a man of my word when the time comes to pay off my debts. Hell, I’ll even throw in a tip for a job well done." Despite the annoyance in his voice, you don't doubt he'll do just that. "But that doesn’t mean I trust you anymore. I trusted you once, and you went rogue. I let you go now, that means I expect you to keep my secrets. Don't you go singing if Shepherd puts you in a chair. You got that?"
You glance up out of the corner of your eye at Soap, whose hands are still clenched in tight fists at his sides. "If Shepherd puts me in a chair, he's the one who's gonna sing. Not me."
Graves chuckles. "You're a good soldier, 86, but you can't take on an old war dog like Shepherd. Leave that to someone more qualified."
"Like who? You?"
"As I said, you best steer clear. I don't want to hear your name again." His voice hardens, and you hear your old commander again. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it. And give Soap hell."
You toss the phone back to Horangi. He listens to what Graves has to say. Then, eyes meeting yours for a moment, he wordlessly moves out away from the river, leaving you weary with relief. It's over. Finally.
Soap watches him disappear into the trees. Then, he looks back at you, alone and shivering on the ice. You look half-dead, bleeding, and your lips are near blue. He wants to make his way to you, but the ice is scarcely holding you. It won't hold him, too.
"Oi," Soap calls. His voice is rough with anxiety. "Get over here. You're gonnae freeze to death even if you don't fall through."
You blink up at him. Standing in the rising sun the way he is now, he looks like someone’s guardian angel. Yours? You'd like very much to be wrapped in his wings.
You make your way over to the bank, but the rocky ledge up is slippery and icy. Behind you, between the ice where you're standing and the bank, there's a yawning gap. To your left, there's a bridge, but snow has already melted off the surface of the ice, and it looks thin. "There's no way up," you call. "But downriver..."
"No’ a chance in hell I’m going to let you try to cross that," Soap says as he approaches the edge. "You'll be swept away and drown, hen. You're not in any condition to swim, and even if you were, that river's too bloody fast to risk it."
"Then what do you suggest?"
His eyes sweep over the river once more. It's wide; too wide to attempt a jump across. The ice has fallen in, leaving it almost impossible to make it to the bank. It isn't safe. The longer you stand there, the more the ice cracks under you. He admires your guts for putting yourself on the line like that to get back to him, but damn you. His blood pressure has never been higher.
Soap throws off his pack and slings his gear onto the bank. "I'll pull you up."
"But..."
"But nothing." With the adrenaline still pumping through his system, Soap thinks nothing of the risk of the bank collapsing under you both with his added weight. The only thing on his mind is getting you back in one piece. "We both know damn well, if I was the one on the ice now, you'd already be down there trying to help me, so for once, just shut up and let me help you."
Can't argue with that.
He pulls out an ice hook--mountaineering equipment; he was prepared to climb this mission, luckily--and offers it to you.
You toss the grenade as far as you can in the opposite direction. Then you raise your hands to grasp the rope. He's holding the sharp end and giving you the handle. You try to keep hold, but as he lifts, your bloodied hands slip just as the grenade explodes nearby, too close, spiderwebbing the ice with a final crack.
You land hard, break through, and disappear under the freezing water.
Soap has never known panic faster than when he sees you go under.
He dives after you. He has to get you back to the surface before whatever air you had in your lungs gives out. Your survival is his survival.
He finds you in the rushing black abyss when your fingers hook around his sleeve. Wrapping his hands around your arms, Soap anchors you to his chest.
You come to in his arms. You're colder than you ever have been in your life. Your fingertips tingle in pain and numbness. He's carrying you ashore somehow--far downriver, thinner ice--and he ducks into an old cabin with you in his arms.
Soap kicks the door shut behind him and moves into the cabin to set you on the floor, propping your back against the wall. His hands work fast as he pulls out his knife to cut away your soaked thermal clothes and gear. You dip in and out of consciousness until he wads up a fistful of gauze and packs it into your side wound. The sudden pain chokes you. Then a wave of nausea washes over you. You’d like nothing more than to tell him where precisely he can shove that gauze, but you’re too lightheaded.
"You with me, hen?" His gruff voice wavers. "I need you to stay awake."
He gathers you up in his arms and lifts you into his lap. It's a tight fit, wedged underneath the frosty window and between a table and an upturned stool. You register the warmth of his skin on yours and dimly realize he's stripped both of you almost bare, huddling around you to prevent hypothermia.
You soak up Soap’s body heat instantly. He's a furnace, and he needs to be, given the state you're in. He tucks you as close as he can. You're both shivering, but he doesn't care. He can be cold as long as you're warm. His broad body shields you from the drafts leaking into the decrepit cabin.
"No, no, eyes open." He tilts your face up as your eyes flutter. "Don't go passin' out on me."
You gaze up at him in your stupor. Maybe it's the blood loss, but even through your own pain and frustration, he's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.
"You have really odd eyes," you mutter. "Like blueberry soft serve."
Oh, you're definitely delirious. Maybe concussed.
But he can't deny the look you're giving him right now makes his stomach flip. The sight of you in his lap, your frost-scorched fingers wrapped idly around his ID tag and staring up at him like he's just pulled the moon out of the sky for you... it's the first time he’s seen you with your guard down.
He swallows and keeps you pressed against his skin. There’s a lot of blood. He can’t tell what’s yours and what isn’t. "You're in no shape to flatter me."
You hum, your fingers dabbing idly at a smear of blood on his chest.
He doesn't move to stop you. Instead, his eyes flick down to your hand. Your fingers leave a trail of sparks over everywhere you touch.
With a soft sigh, Soap catches your wrist. "Quit it, hen."
"Quit what?"
"Teasin'. Makin' me wish you'd put those hands to other uses," he says, voice quiet and rough. It's just you and him in the little cabin. The world is far away. His thumb rubs against the inside of your wrist, trying to bring some warmth back into your skin. "You're in no shape to be feelin' me up, either."
Your head lolls against his shoulder. "Maybe it's the perfect time. Maybe we won't get another time."
Hearing you say that twists his insides into knots. He leans down to rest his forehead against yours. "Maybe you just need to shut up and let me take care of you. Don't talk like that." His voice leaves no room for argument. He tightens his grip on you, pressing you closer as if he can somehow press that into your skin by sheer will alone. "There'll be plenty of times for you to get your hands on me."
"Mm." You tuck into him tighter. You'd be mortified with yourself if you weren't half-dead from blood loss. "Sorry."
He exhales into your hair, pressing chaste kisses there.
You're practically in his lap, the two of you tangled into each other from head to foot in the space under the window. He's surrounded by the smell of you. It's a soothing presence in all that surrounds him.
He shouldn't want to touch you, shouldn't want to take advantage of your weakness--but the thought of having you so open and wanting, of you willingly in his arms, makes something in him ache. Makes the selfish parts of him scream.
"You're a pain in my arse," he says. He focuses on taking inventory of your wounds, brushing over your arms with his touch to assess the damage. "You gonnae bleed out on me?"
You shiver a little as he drags you closer by your bare thigh. "Wouldn't be the worst way to go."
"Oi," he snaps in warning. He slides his hand up your side, checking for bleeding. It’s just as much a caress over your bare skin. He has to ignore how his skin tingles every time the curve of your body slides against his in that tantalizing way. Something in his lower belly tightens. "You don't get to tap out after makin' me go through all this trouble for you. You're livin' through tonight or else."
"Or else what?"
"Or else." He moves his hand up to the base of your throat, his large, calloused fingers wrapping around your neck and tilting your chin up to look at him. He fixes his blue eyes on yours to take in the dazed expression on your face. "I'll drag your arse out of hell and tan it until you can't sit right."
You're too weary to laugh, but you rest your scuffed cheek on his thumb, and it pushes your lips into a smirk. "All for me?"
"Aye. Hell of a lot more trouble than your pretty face should be worth."
You pull free and rest your head on his shoulder again. "Where do you live?"
"Glasgow," he says. "Not sure I should be tellin' you that."
You trace his chest around the chain of his ID tag. So many muscles. "Probably not."
"And what about you? Do I get to know?"
"No. Maybe. If we get out of here."
"Yeah? Well, you're not goin' anywhere with this wound. Bleedin' out, nearly froze to death, and still mouthin' off. No idea how to shut up and be good." He looks down at the injury, assessing how bad it really is in the dim light of the cabin. "You lost a lot of blood. I bet you feel tired." He brushes your hair off your face. "Stay awake a bit longer. The boys'll be here soon."
"I shouldn't," you mutter.
Soap doesn't miss the slurring of your words. He knew the blood loss would affect you, but he was hoping for more time before he had to really worry. "Shouldn't stay? Too late to get away from me now," he says, trying to keep his tone casual. Your skin is too cold for comfort. The gauze in your wound soaking through with blood can't mean anything good. "I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Sure as hell not letting you out of my sight. You've got a lot to repay me for."
You try to keep your eyes open. Every blink is more sluggish than the last. "Like what?"
"Runnin' away and makin' me chase after you, for one. Puttin' yourself in the line of fire for me, second. Takin' a swim in a frozen river. Scared me to death." He presses his lips to the crown of your head, a gentle, chaste touch at odds with the possessive, dominating instinct he can feel creeping into his thoughts. You're vulnerable right now, something he should never want, but part of him wonders if he’d ever have caught up with you without this. "Aye, you owe me. First thing we do once you're patched up? We have a long talk. We have a whole hell of a lot we need to say to one another. And you'll answer every question I ask you."
"I dunno if you'll like the stuff I say," you mutter.
"Hardly matters. You’re plenty keen on spittin’ fire at me as it is. No reason you can’t keep tellin’ me everything I don’t want tae hear."
Another shiver wracks your body.
Soap rubs your arms. "You gotta give your word you stay awake for me, aye? Stay here."
His radio beeps nearby. You huff. "Fine."
"Fine." He leans over to grab his radio and tries to keep an arm around your shoulders to keep you warm as he does. He keeps you cradled against his chest as he responds to Price.
"Soap here."
You don't hear the conversation. Instead, you listen to Soap's voice vibrate through his chest. He speaks to Price in hushed tones, talking about your condition and the team's ETA.
Price has a laundry list of questions, but Soap manages to wrangle them into holding off until they have everyone back on base. No sense exhausting you on a mission that's already been a shitshow. Finally, they're done. Soap lets the radio go to focus entirely on you again. "Still with me?"
"How long do we have?"
"Shouldn't be too much longer," he says. He checks your side again. The coldness of the air has soaked into the wet gauze. You shiver again. It makes something in him ache. "ETA's about ten minutes out."
You pull his lips down to yours and kiss him.
He's surprised, but he doesn't pull back--not from you. He lets you kiss him. Your taste seeps into his brain and turns all rational thought to white noise. One hand cups your jaw with a surprising gentleness, and the other slides behind your waist to keep you against his body. He's gentle--you need to be handled with care right now.
He pulls back before he loses himself in the desire to deepen the kiss. His eyes search your face, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot against your lips.
"You're lucky you're injured," he murmurs. "Or you'd be in a very different kind of trouble right now."
You shiver, but not with the cold. Just that one kiss has you feeling much warmer. You touch your name where it's written on his arm. Then you curl your fingers around the back of his neck and pull yourself closer. "Hold onto that thought for later," you murmur. "Give me something to wait for."
Then you kiss him again.
...
← previous part / [part 13] / epilogue →
part 1 / more Soap / masterlist
thank you <3
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demonic0angel · 1 day ago
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OWO, you take prompts? How about this?
Danny was born a premature and with a heart defect. The Fenton's try to make a clone so they can get his heart transplanted without fear of organ rejection. But they end up making a full on baby and don't have it in them to kill another version of their son just to save their original boy. Danny ends up pulling through and the clone gets filed as a twin that no one noticed was still in when Maddie was in the hospital. So Maddie "had him at home" and went back so he could be medically examined. The new parents feel ashamed of what they initially were going to do and give the child to a cousin who couldn't conceive.
Tim Drake doesn't know he's adopted until a DNA test reveals that the 'Meta' running around Gotham is his 'twin brother'. And the babies he has, that he does babysitting gigs with, are his twin's 'children'.
(I don’t exactly take prompts, but I don’t mind if you send them. Also, I’m going to assume that the twin’s “children” are Dan and Dani, since that seems to be what people prefer.)
“… are you serious?” Tim asked through the phone.
“Yep,” Dick said, sounding like a mixture of amusement and concern, “How do you feel about it?”
Tim thought about it and then responded, “I guess it makes sense why my parents neglected me so much, since I’m adopted.”
“Awww, baby bird…”
“I’m fine, Dick,” Tim said. He picked Dante and set him on a baby chair. Said child stared at him with electric blue eyes, scowling with his pudgy cheeks as if he wanted to tear Tim apart with his nonexistent teeth. Tim rubbed his chubby cheek with a finger before moving away, still holding the phone to his ear as he picked up the other baby.
Dick continued, “Yeah… also, Bruce says that he’s sorry that he checked your blood without telling you.”
Tim snorted, “No, he didn’t.” Bruce was never sorry for that kind of stuff.
Dick sighed. “Yeah, I lied. Sorry. But he did look guilty! He didn’t want to tell you at first, but Jason convinced him so I’m the one telling you right now.”
Tim hummed, picking up little Ella, who was stubbornly holding onto a small cardboard box. Tim let her hold it and placed her onto the baby chair next to her brother, who immediately reached out for her. It was kinda funny seeing how clingy he was compared to his sister.
“We have more information too. We tracked down the new meta and we’ve been looking into his routes. We suspect that he’s living around here, in Bristol,” Dick said. “We think he’s living in an apartment, at XXX on XXXX street, possibly with a roommate named Jazz.”
Tim paused, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he was in the same building, babysitting a bunch of kids on the same street, who also lived with another woman named Jazz. “Uhh. What else?”
“We think he lives on the third floor and possibly also works at a pizza delivery place? Or maybe a fast food restaurant? He’s been flying back and forth between two places besides the apartment.”
Tim began to sweat. “Uh… anything else?”
“There’s a high chance that his name is Danny Nightingale, and Jasmine Nightingale is in on the fact that he’s a meta.”
Fuck.
Tim looked at his niece and nephew with a new light, eyes wide. Ella beamed at him, giggling while Dante just glared.
Welp. At least Bruce would be happy to be a grandfather now. Even if it was to Tim’s secret meta twin brother.
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watchmegetobsessed · 12 hours ago
Text
UNMATCHED II.
A/N: soooo you guys were just as horny for a part 2 to this story as i was so here we are, giving in to the temptation. disclaimer, i know their behavior is giving red flag energy but lets just put that aside for the sake of the story now lol
WORD COUNT: 3.8k
WARNING: sexual content, age gap, student-professor relationship
SUMMARY: Harry has been trying his best to forget what happened with Y/N, he is set on never making the same mistake, but it seems like fate has different plans for him.
PART 1 | MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!
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That skirt. That goddamned skirt. That’s gonna be the death of Harry. 
And also the fact that she went back to that asshole. 
Sitting in the busy school cafeteria Harry has zoned out of the conversation at the table a long time ago, precisely when he saw Y/N stroll in wearing that short skirt with that dickhead she should have ditched already or better, she shouldn’t have even dated him in the first place. But now they are moving in the line with their group of friends and he has his hand on her waist and it keeps inching lower, just a few more inches and his hand could be slipping under her skir–
“Harry? Hello?” 
Stella catches his attention and he is forced to move his focus back to his colleagues at the table. 
“Huh? Sorry, what did you say?” He clears his throat and keeps his eyes on his half-eaten sandwich in front of him. 
“What’s up with you? You haven’t been your usual self lately.”
“Just… tired. I’m behind with my research and have a bunch of papers to grade before winter break.”
“The joys of being a teacher,” Stella chuckles. “Don’t worry, it’ll get better with time.”
“Really?”
“No,” she smirks at him. “But you’ll care less.”
She soon returns to the conversation at the table and Harry finds himself looking for Y/N again. There’s no trace of her in the line, but he is quick to spot her at a table across the dining hall, sitting beside Dickhead who has an arm around her neck, keeping her close as he wants everyone to know that they are together.
And it irks Harry way more than it probably should. 
It’s been a little over a week since Stella’s Christmas party and also that very heated and very wrong kiss he shared with Y/N. That weekend was like hell, he kept beating himself over and over about it, cursing himself out for being so stupid and reckless. He still has no idea what came over him that let him make out with a student, but he knew one thing for sure: it couldn’t happen again. 
So when Y/N walked into the classroom before his first lecture early on monday he didn’t even let her speak before he got to the point. 
“It shouldn’t have happened. I’m so sorry for it, but I can’t undo it now. I suggest let’s pretend nothing happened, it’s for the absolute best. No one can know about it and it will never happen again.”
She seemed taken aback by his outburst, but after a bit of hesitation she nodded.
“Okay. Nothing happened. It must have been the wine.”
“Yes,” he agreed right away. “We both drank more than we should have and made a mistake.”
She flinched at his last word, but didn’t protest, only nodded, holding her textbooks tighter to her chest. She looked so sad, even disappointed that Harry almost wanted to take back what he just said, but he knew he couldn’t. 
“Are you… okay?” he dared to ask, but when she looked at him again, her eyes told nothing. 
“I’m fine. I’ll see you in class, professor.”
And she was out of the classroom before he could say another word. In class she sat in the back and not even once did she look at him. He knows, because he kept looking at her. 
He’s been trying his best to get her out of his head, but with not much luck. Not when all he can think about is how soft her lips felt against his, how insanely good she tasted mixed with the coldness of the night, how amazingly she fit into his palm, the curve of her neck, back, waist and hips… and how badly he wants to experience it again even though it’s the worst possible idea. 
Harry thinks he is going insane. Genuinely. 
He’s been burying himself into work, but his focus has been all over the place, so it’s been more like a waste of time. He is one of the last ones in the building today as well. Most professors left a long time ago, but the lights in Harry’s tiny office are still on as he is hunched over a stack of papers. When he has to read over the same line for the twentieth time he drops his pen with a tired groan and leans back in his chair. He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes roughly, until he is practically seeing stars. 
“Fuck,” he huffs, staring at the papers that are still waiting to be graded. Checking the time on his phone he is surprised to see that it’s already past seven.
He stands from his chair and steps to the window. The campus looks quiet at this time, only a few students are walking towards the dorm that’s next to the literature department’s building. It’s a wednesday night, the semester ends next week so some lucky students who have no more exams left in the year have already left for the holidays. Harry will be going home right before Christmas, he plans to use those few days of the break to work on his research in peace. 
From his window he sees part of the parking lot next to the dorm, it’s quite dark there, he almost doesn’t notice the figures sitting in the car closest to him, but a few heartbeats later realization hits him.
It’s Y/N and the dickhead. 
They are pretty far, but Harry can tell that they are in a heated fight, judging from how Y/N is gesticulating. Obviously he can’t hear them, but if he had to guess he would say she is shouting, from what he can see. 
For a moment he tells him to just ignore the scene, it’s none of anyone else’s business, let alone his. But when he sees the asshole slap his hands against the wheel several times, making Y/N jump, Harry is moving before he could second guess his actions. 
He practically sprints down that stairs, already trying to figure out how he’ll interject without appearing like a creep, but he forgets all his plans when he is marching towards the parking lot and sees the scene unfold from up close. 
At some point they must have gotten out of the car, because Harry catches the dickhead getting back into the driving seat, Y/N is crying and tries to stop him from shutting the door, but he swings it with such force that she stumbles forward, holding onto the handle. When Harry sees her almost fall to the asphalt he starts running, just as the car comes to life and he drives away so fast, he almost runs over Y/N’s feet. 
“Fuck you, Charlie! Fuck you!” She screams after the car, tears streaming down her cheeks. 
“Hey, hey, hey!” Harry rushes over to her, grabs her by her shoulders and turns her away from the direction of the car. “Hey, what happened?”
She is gasping for air from the crying as she wraps her arms around her, those beautiful eyes that are usually filled with curiosity are now full of confusion and hurt. 
“Y/N, look at me,” he begs and she hiccups a few times before she finally looks him in the eyes. 
“H-Harry?”
He ignores how good it feels to hear her call him by his first name again and tries to focus on the situation.
“Yeah. Let’s get inside, okay? It’s freezing cold.”
She nods and lets him steer her towards the building and up to his office. By the time she sits in the old armchair in the corner of his office she has stopped sobbing, but her expression looks just as miserable as before. 
“I’ll make you a tea. Do you like tea?” he asks, stepping over to the tiny side table where he keeps his kettle and tiny tea collection with two mugs. She nods and he is quick to turn on the kettle. He grabs a chamomile filter and drops it into one of the mugs and while the water boils he hands her a box of tissues that she accepts with a quietly murmured thank you. 
When the tea is done he hands her the mug and sits in his chair, unsure what to say. He definitely did not plan to have her in his office anytime soon and definitely not like this. 
“Go on, lecture me about being with him,” she says at last, staring into the mug in her hands. 
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“But you’d be right.” She looks up at him, eyes still red from the crying. 
“Why did you go back to him?” he softly asks, not wanting to make her feel even worse. 
“I don’t know,” she shrugs, looking away again. “He could be convincing, I guess.”
“Hope you won’t believe him after this.”
“No,” she chuckles bitterly before taking a sip from the tea, leaning back in the armchair. “Not even the sex will convince me to go back to him.”
Harry’s muscles jump at her words. Not because he is such a prude, but because instantly he is thinking about sex… and her… and his body reacts involuntarily. Clearing his throat he crosses his legs and looks anywhere but at her.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” she chuckles softly, but she doesn’t seem sorry at all. 
“No, I… um…” Harry has no idea what to say. This feels like such an impossible situation, he is definitely walking on eggshells here and the fact that he is semi-hard does not help his case. 
While he is looking for the right words she places her mug to his desk and crosses her legs, a curious look playing in her eyes as she is looking at him. She appears calm and confident suddenly, like she wasn’t sobbing ten minutes ago. 
“I lied,” she then speaks up.
“About what?”
“I know why I went back to him.”
“Oh. Okay, why did you?”
She holds his gaze for one… two… three seconds before her lips part, then she hesitates for one more moment before answering. 
“Because I couldn’t go to you.”
A shiver runs down his spine at her words, his body is betraying him already, but he hangs onto the last bit of his rationality.
“Y/N, don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t tell the truth?”
“We agreed that we are not talking about it again.”
“I’m not talking about that night. I’m talking about how badly I’ve been wanting you, but knowing I can’t have you I went back to Charlie even though I knew I shouldn’t have.” 
“Y/N…” His mouth is dry and he feels ridiculously hot even though the heating hasn’t been working too well lately in his office. He is clawing at the arms of his chair, trying to keep the remains of his cool, though it feels like he is hanging on a thread.
“I won’t do anything about it, don’t worry. And I won’t bring it up again.” She sounds different this time, the confidence has turned into what feels like disappointment and it lurches something in Harry’s gut. 
Standing she smoothes her clothes before looking at Harry, a tiny sliver of expectancy glistening in her eyes. 
“Thanks for the tea. I better get going.”
She is already moving towards the door when Harry jumps to his feet, entirely lost about what to think, do or say. He strides after her and just when she is about to reach for the knob, he grabs her other hand, stopping her mid action. 
But he has no idea why he just did that. His rationality is screaming at him, but with each passing moment he spends holding her hand, the noise gets farther and farther away until it’s lost somewhere in the back of his mind. 
Slowly, she turns her head, eyes taking in the sight of their touching hands before her gaze meets his. He instantly stumbles back, letting go of her like she was on fire, but she doesn’t seem surprised. Instead, she turns around and just stands there, with a calm, but determined look on her face. 
“Careful professor,” she then speaks up. “I might take your actions as a hint.”
“A hint…” he breathes out, almost mesmerized with her, he is convinced she’s put a spell on him, because he can’t move or think straight, he just keeps staring at her.
“Yes, a hint,” she nods shortly. “That you want me just as much as I want you.”
He swallows down a moan that almost slips through his lips at her words. His whole body is burning for her, palms sweating and itching to touch her and he can almost taste her on his tongue again, desperate to pick up from where they left off not long ago. 
The tiniest smirk tugs on the corners of her mouth when she sees just how much he is struggling and she takes it as her queue to push her luck just a bit further. She takes a step closer to him, but still leaves some space between them, wanting him to close those last inches. 
“You know you can have me.” She cocks her head to the side, blinking up at him innocently. “Right here, on your desk or in that armchair. I want to be your good girl and take whatever you give me.”
“Stop it,” he manages to breathe out, but all his strength is gone, it sounds more like a plea rather than an order. 
“What if I don’t?” she sassily questions. “Will you punish me?”
Harry whimpers. They both know he is close to breaking and she is not stepping down now and she’s determined to push him over the edge. Slowly she reaches up, drags a finger across her lips before moving then down, tugging at her shirt at her chest, revealing more of the exposed skin there, then she starts playing with the top button, all while keeping her eyes focused on him. He sucks on his breath, his gaze keeps switching between her eyes and what her fingers are doing. 
Then it pops open, revealing the delicious swell of her breasts and a bit of the lacy bra as well and he knows he is gone. 
“Close the curtain,” he simply orders and a sudden rush of excitement washes over her as she quickly moves across the room, drawing the curtains on the window and turning around she is expecting him to be in the same spot, but to her surprise he is right there and before she could say a word, his lips crash down on hers with such force she would have fallen back if he didn’t already have an arm around her waist. 
His other hand is quick to find its way to her throat first, then to her jaw, angling her head perfectly so he can devour her. 
He spins them around and she gasps when her ass meets the edge of his desk, still kissing her he pushes forward, blindly tossing everything on the desk aside to make room, something clatters as it falls to the ground but neither of them cares to even look. His hands are on the back of her legs and he helps her up until she is sitting on top of the desk. 
She eagerly opens her thighs and circles her legs around his hips, pulling him closer and when she feels just how hard he already is, pushing against her clothed center, she can’t help but moan at the sensation. 
“It’s a one time thing,” he pants when her fingers start to work on his shirt and his hands find the button of her jeans. 
“Sure,” she breathes out smiling.
“Just to get it out of our system.”
“Of course,” she nods eagerly, and a moment later she is tugging his shirt off his shoulders. 
Buttons come undone, clothes are thrown across the room and soon enough all of his focus is on her naked chest, his hands exploring the tender, heated skin before his head dips down and his mouth meets her hardened nipples. 
“Oh fuck,” she moans, head falling back as she has an arm around his shoulders, the other one planted behind her on the desk. All while his hands are tugging down her jeans, finally giving him the chance to touch her inner thighs, exploring the warmth and softness he’s been fantasizing about for so long. 
He gently bites on one of her nipples, making her back arch, burying his face between her breasts before he leans back to get rid of her jeans. She has a moment to admire his naked torso, all the tattoos he’s been hiding under his clothes, his pants are hanging around his knees and his erection is throbbing through the fabric of his underwear. She can’t help but smile at the sight, it’s surely one she’ll remember forever.
When her jeans are discarded on the floor he plants his hands on her thighs and pushes them wide open, revealing her drenched panties. He brings his thumb over the wet fabric, lazily drags it over her clit, making her tremble under his touch. Then keeping eye contact with her he pulls his chair under him, sits down and rolls closer so his face is perfectly lined up with her. With his eyes still locked on hers, he leans forward, moves her panties to the side and places a sloppy, open mouthed kiss to her throbbing clit, making her moan so loud, he digs his fingers into her thighs pulling back. 
“You need to be quiet,” he warns her and she just eagerly nods, watching him take her underwear off completely and go back to where he was a moment ago. 
Harry drinks up her taste, he licks, kisses and sucks on the right spots, making her see stars as her orgasm is building up. When she feels two of his fingers slip into her she grabs a handful of his hair, tugging on it. 
But right when she is about to tip over the edge he pulls back, leaving her in a heaving mess. Reaching into one of his drawers he grabs a condom and standing up he watches her lying on his desk, chest rapidly rising and falling while he rolls the condom on. 
To his surprise, she gets up and jumps off the desk, taking the initiative by pushing him down back into the chair and straddling his lap. His hands are quick to move to her ass as his cock wedges between her drenched folds. He hisses when she starts rolling her hips, making them both even more feral for what’s about to come. 
She leans forward and kisses him, her hand reaching down between them until it finds his cock. She gives him a few lazy strokes to which he hums lowly into her mouth. Then she stops her kisses, lips still brushing against his, eyes meeting again as she lifts herself up just enough to angle him underneath her and then slowly she eases down, letting him enter her inch by inch until she is filled entirely. She gasps at the feeling of her walls stretching around him and they both stop for a few moments, just savoring how perfectly they fit together. 
She plants both her hands to the base of his neck, kisses him again and starts moving her hips. 
“Fuck, Y/N, you feel so good,” he groans, locking his arms around her, fingers digging into her naked back and side as she starts to slowly pick up her pace, bouncing on him. 
When he starts thrusting upwards, meeting her movements, her head rolls back from how deep she feels him inside her, his tip reaching the perfect spot. 
“Yes, right there!” she gasps as he buries his head in her neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin while keeping his rhythm. “I’m so close,” she breathes out, her hands raking through his messy hair. 
Wanting even more friction she adjusts herself and then starts moving faster and rougher, aching for the release. She looks down, her eyes meet his gaze and she just knows he is as close as she is. 
“Harry,” she moans and hearing his name fall from her lips is what pushes him over the edge.
Grunting, his thrusts get rougher and fall out of their fast pace, he pushes into her over and over again as he fills the condom and watching him fall apart helps her let go as well. He feels her walls tighten around him while he is still riding out the afterwaves of his own orgasm, her mouth hangs open, nails digging into his shoulders so harshly they surely leave marks. 
Then they both slowly come off their high and she leans forward, capturing his lips in a much softer kiss than the ones they’ve shared just minutes ago. He gladly returns, their lips melt together and his fingers gently roam her naked back while he is still inside her. 
They’re quiet when she moves off him and grabs a few tissues to clean herself up while he discards the condom. The clothes are picked up from the floor one by one and a sense of unsureness settles between them as they both get dressed. 
She was the only thing on his mind just five minutes ago, but now that the sex haze is gone, his thoughts start racing. What did he do? What will happen now? This shouldn’t have happened but still, he wants to do it again and again and again. 
As if she knew he was panicking inside, she steps to him, takes his face in her hands and pulls him into a long, passionate kiss that instantly makes him forget about everything else. 
“Don’t overthink it,” she whispers against his lips. “We’re adults.”
“I’m your teacher,” he hums.
“The semester is almost over. Grade my last paper and we’re done,” she simply says with very little care about his current status. But he is not that sold on it just yet, hesitation and worry is all over his face. “Did you not want it?”
“You know how much I wanted it,” he admits defeatedly. 
“Great. I wanted it too. And I want it again. So I’ll come by tomorrow again. You’ll bend me over that desk after I had your cock in my mouth, then tell me what grade I’m getting for the semester and we do it again after that.”
He is already feeling himself getting hard again. Deep down he knows he should say no, but he has no will left to fight with himself anymore. So all he does is nod and then kiss her. 
“I’ll see you tomorrow, professor.” She grabs her coat from the floor and then walks out of his office like nothing happened. 
Harry falls into his chair and assesses the mess on and around his desk, staring at the spot where she was sitting not long ago. He knows he is making his biggest mistake ever, but sinning has never felt this good.
And right now he is willing to take this risk.
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
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milktiicup · 15 hours ago
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Could you write a fic where we figure out a way to bring Mr Crawling shopping with us? Maybe he could be put in a wheelchair so his height isn't as scary or suspicious to other humans
a day out!
“Junk food,” you explain. “Not good for you.” “Want junk,” he says immediately, reaching for a bag of neon orange cheese puffs. Your resolve crumbles. “Fine. One junk.” You lean down beside his head. He turns to you, a smile of wonder on his face, and you stress, “One.” His giggle rings down the aisle and he places the chips into the basket. 
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Leaving Mr. Crawling at home all day left you wondering- does he need fresh air? Does he want fresh air? If you left your old world in the name of romance just to be left inside all day while your partner goes to work and has extra curricular activities at night time- you’d like to think you’d crave being outside, too. 
It gave you the bright idea- why not take Mr. Crawling grocery shopping?
Of course, your roommate-boyfriend-thing couldn’t really walk outside all willy-nilly if he wanted. And yeah, you already knew that he’s not that noticeable to other people- but he’s still noticeable. He needed a makeover, a new wardrobe, and one thing for certain- a wheelchair! 
You felt bad stealing from the hospital, but what could you do? Pay for one? Those things were expensive! You may be a murderer, you may be a monster, but one thing for certain is- you’re not that much of a thief… You paid for his clothes, obviously. A simple oversized black t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. You even decided to treat him to a pair of… black socks. 
You were such a good, kind person. 
“Crawlingggg,” you sang, stepping into your apartment. “I have a gift for you!”
He sits there in the hallway, head tilted and a smile that stretches ear to ear. “Gift? You give object?” 
You wave the shopping bags. “I give object! Give you!”
“Give me?” He giggles, and you’re promptly tackled to the floor in a heap of hair and raggy kimono in a hug. 
You don’t know what you were expecting by giving Mr. Crawling a pair of normal human sized pants, but they fit… for the most part. His entire calves were exposed. He was like a fussy baby when you insisted you had to put the socks on his feet, but with a pout, he let you. Mr. Crawling was quick to look at himself in the mirror, and after you changed out of your work clothes, you were ready to go!#
“Ready?” you ask, gripping the handles of the wheelchair with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. This was, after all, a brilliant idea. Mr. Crawling finally gets to experience the great outdoors. A small trip, sure, but a big leap in the world of integrating your… unique roommate-boyfriend-thing into normal human life.
He glances down at himself, his oversized shirt sagging a little off one shoulder, his sweatpants cinched tight around his too-thin waist. His hair still moves with its own mind, curling around his arms like curious tendrils. Maybe a hair tie would’ve been a good idea. “Look… human?” he asks, poking the fabric of his shirt.
“Close enough,” you say brightly, patting his shoulder. “And trust me, no one will question it. People don’t actually pay attention to other people in public. It’s one of the few perks of modern society.”
He tilts his head, not understanding a word you just said, but he nods anyway. “You push chair. Fast?”
“No,” you say firmly, cutting that idea off before it even starts. You had to be mature, and fight the urges to make him do wheelies down the street. You were an adult. “We’re going normal speed, like normal people, doing normal grocery shopping. Normal.” You give him a pointed look, and he grins wide.
You manoeuvre him out of the apartment and down the hall, the wheelchair gliding smoothly. His fingers twitch as he grips the armrests. “This… fun,” he murmurs, glancing up at you. “You like push?”
“It’s like pushing a very large, very creepy man,” you mutter, though there’s no real malice in your tone. “But yeah, it’s kind of fun.”
The trip down to the street is uneventful. Nobody spares you a second glance, save for one elderly woman who frowns a little at Mr. Crawling’s hair. Damn… Men can’t have long hair these days, apparently. You quickly steer him away before she can get a closer look, and see the fact he quite literally has no eyeballs.
“Outside,” he whispers in awe as you roll him onto the sidewalk. His fingers tap the armrests excitedly, his head swivelling to take in the towering buildings, the cars, the smoggy sky. “Big.”
“Yeah, welcome to the human world,” you say. “It’s not all bad, though. See those pigeons? They’re kind of cute, right?”
He stares at the birds for a long moment, then tilts his head. “Consume?”
“No!” you hiss, your voice a little louder than intended. A couple walking past gives you a strange look, but you wave them off. “We do not eat the pigeons. We buy food from inside the store. That’s the whole point of this trip, remember?”
Mr. Crawling frowns, but his smile returns as fast as it left. “I understand!”
“Good. Great. Let’s go.”
The grocery store is just a few blocks away, and you’re relieved when the automatic doors slide open. The bright fluorescent lights and neatly stacked shelves feel almost comforting in their mundanity. It’s a sense of normalcy that you… kind of, but only kind of have at home. Your roommate-boyfriend-thing is a monster from another realm. 
Mr. Crawling, on the other hand, looks like a kid in a candy store. “Many object…” he murmurs, his head swivelling in every direction. “Human eat this?”
“Yeah,” you say, grabbing a basket. “You’re about to see how humans stock up for the week. Ready?”
He nods, his grin widening. You just hope the poor cashier is ready for whatever this trip is about to become. You let Mr. Crawling hold the shopping basket in his lap, and push him down the first aisle. 
You knew Mr. Crawling wasn’t dumb by any means. He’s smart enough to pick up things from the TV, understands a majority of the stuff you say in your own language, but you’d never imagine that the day would come that you had to explain what broccoli was to him. 
“What this?”
“Little tree. You know tree?”
“Know tree… Little tree… Healthy?”
“Healthy. If you cook it.”
“Cook little tree…” 
You’ve mystified him. 
Your next aisle - the snack aisle - has Mr. Crawling enamoured. “What this?” he asks, picking up colourful chip bag after chip bag. If he had eyes, you knew he would be eyeing up those boxes of cookies like no tomorrow. 
“Junk food,” you explain. “Not good for you.”
“Want junk,” he says immediately, reaching for a bag of neon orange cheese puffs.
Your resolve crumbles. “Fine. One junk.” You lean down beside his head. He turns to you, a smile of wonder on his face, and you stress, “One.” His giggle rings down the aisle and he places the chips into the basket. 
By the time you reach the checkout, the basket is loaded with a mix of essentials and Mr. Crawling’s curious additions- things like canned soup, frozen potato waffles, and a box of pudding cups that he grabbed without even asking. And of course, the box of cookies that you knew he would eye up eventually. 
The cashier barely glances at the two of you, though she does raise an eyebrow at Mr. Crawling’s hair. You pay quickly, and wheel him outside with your bags of groceries in tow.
As you head back home, he turns to you, clutching the bag of cheese puffs in his lap. “Shopping fun,” he declares, beaming. “Human smart.”
“Yeah, well, let’s see if you feel the same after cooking some of this stuff,” you reply, shaking your head with a smile. “Ready for that adventure next?”
He nods, munching a cheese puff as if it’s the greatest thing he’s ever tasted. “Cook tiny tree.”
You laugh. “Okay, Crawling. We can cook the broccoli together.”
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sugawhaaa · 6 hours ago
Text
°☆---SMUT SKZ REACTION---☆°
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°☆~Walking in on the two of you having sex~☆°
Warnings/genre::SMUT, rough sex (Minho, Jeongin, Changbin,) BDSM (Felix) sex toys, (Felix) degradation, (minho) oral, (hyunjin, seungmin) fingering (seungmin) I think that's it 🧍🏻‍♀️
Pairing:: ot8!skz x fem!reader
A/N:: skz phase is back guys... sorry not sorry 😁 also this fanfic has me bashing my head against the wall I love it sm
Bangchan
Channie had you sitting on top of him while his hands rested at your hips, guiding you up and down his cock. The two of you had been going at it for a hot minute so this final round was quite weak. Bangchans hair was sweaty and his lips were chapped from heavy breathing. You didn't look in any better shape.
Channie swished your hair all to one side to see your beautiful face. He rubbed your bottom lip before praising you "just a bit longer babe, you're doing so good,"
That's when the door opened to Changbin. He froze for a moment as channie went to cover your body, protecting your privacy rather than his own. Bangchan gave changbin a look that said "bitch what do you want?" And changbin cleared his throat.
"S-Sorry just wanted to say Jisung door dashed some Chopchae but...I see you're busy," he closed over the door before saying "Have fun," and the door latched. Chan sighed and wiped down his face.
"Where were we?"
Minho
"You like that hm? When I call you a slut?" Lee know had you bent over the edge of the bed with your hands chained up to the bedframe left completely helpless as he pounded you from behind.
"Y-Yes," you pant out as you feel drool building up in your mouth that you can't wipe away. You squint your eyes shut as your head spins with pleasure. Minho starts thrusting faster, the room filling with the sound of his hips slapping against your ass harshly and the bed creaking for help. There was a light knock on the door and the two of you pause. The door opens to Jisung who is smiling and...innocent. Moments before being scarred for life.
"I bought some pudding for us toni-" Han pauses and his jaw drops. Minho grabs a bottle of lube and throws it at him. "Ah Jesus! It was an accident!" Jisung blocks his face as the lube comes flying at him.
"Then get out!" Minho yells and Jisung scurries away and closes the door. Minho sighs softly before adding to his comment. "And don't you dare tell me you saw Y/N like this!" He shouts before huffing. You felt kind of bad for jisung so you made a light hearted comment.
"At least he knocked"
Changbin
Changbin was always a fan of aggressive sex, not all the time, but he did like it when the two of you indulged in it. Tonight he had you on your knees, originally doggy style, and he held your arms back as he pounded into you from behind. Your cries and moans pierced through the walls as he gripped your wrists tightly. He then let go of one wrist to hold your throat and tilt your head up, showcasing his control over you.
"I'm close," you cry out in a hoarse voice and Changbin grins before doubling his efforts. His hand went from your throat to your hair and pulled your head back that way. You could feel yourself drooling but you didn't bother to clean yourself up.
That's when your greatest fear came to life. The door opened to a tired Jeongin with his skincare still on and his headband throwing back his spikey hair. His eyes then widened as Changbin froze. You ducked down and buried your face in the blankets.
"Oh shit," Jeongin covered the view with his hand as his face burnt red, his ears a bright red. "Sorry, I didn't see anything," he stumbled backward, his eyes shut, before closing the doors. You sigh before groaning into the bed sheets. Changbin pats your back comfortingly. You couldn't believe Jeongin saw you in such a state...
Hyunjin
Hyunjin sat you at the edge of the bed and went on his knees. He had your legs parted with his head sandwiched in between your thighs eating you out. Your moans were soft and quiet, surprisingly, but the room was filled with set and sloppy sounds. The overhead light was off so the only source of light was the lamp on your nightstand.
As hyunjin noticed your body tensing and your legs shaking he began to trace feather light circles on your leg, adding an extra bit of sensual contact. He moaned against your core softly as your orgasm hit. You threw your head back as your breath shook with pleasure. Hyunjin drank up every last drop of your arousal, poking his tongue between the tight folds and sucking the cum out of your pussy.
That's when the door opened. Felix stood in the doorway, at first not noticing the situation he walked into, before realizing you were completely naked. "Oh shit-" he put a hand over your body from his POV. Hyunjin turned around, cum dripping from his lips and he froze. He didn't want his friend to see him or you in this situation.
Hyunjin covered his mouth partially from shock and partially to cover the evidence of your "fun". Felix rushed out of the room and closed the door behind him before shouting "sorry!" And fleeing down the hall.
Felix
Felix can be somewhat intimidating during sex, a side that only you get to see and cherish. He's usually very gentle with his precious angel, you, but every now and then you plead him to treat you like an object, a toy, or one would say a slut. Tonight was one of those nights.
Felix had you awkwardly tied up on the bed, on your knees with your arms up and attached to a chain hooked to the ceiling and a vibrator between your legs. He sat behind you and occasionally played with your breasts, nibbled your back, or fingered your clit. Currently he was groping you as you whined and squirmed against the vibrator.
"Just a little bit more," he rasped into your ear as he flicked and fingered your nipples. Just as your release began to pile up the door swung open to Seungmin, innocently expecting Yongbok on his phone or ps5. His jaw instantly dropped before turning into a look mixed with disappointment and disgust.
Meanwhile you and Felix were flustered as all hell, you were still on the verge of cumming and basically helpless when tied up like this and Felix straight up froze. Seungmin left without saying a word and closed the door. You curse loudly as you cum and throw your head back but Felix is still frozen.
"Can you turn this vibrator off before I fall apart?" you whimper and Felix blushes.
"S-Sorry, yeah,"
Jisung
Han always holds you close when you have sex, skin ship is meaningful to him. He currently has you laid back, in missionary position, while he leans down to basically hug your body while he fucks you. Tonight was a night of lazy yet romantic sex. It wasn't about going fast or teasing it was just about experiencing pleasure with each other.
The two of you were surprisingly quiet for once, in the sense you weren't talking dirty to each other, the room filled with soft sighs and little groans. "You're so beautiful baby," Han groans into your ear as he begins to lose himself in you. You bring your hands up to claw at his sweaty back as your climaxes start to build.
Jisung bites down on your neck to quiet his moans and you let out a cry of pleasure and the door opens. Straight faced minho holding a grocery bag. You and Han freeze and look at Lee know surprised. "I got pudding...it's here if you guys want some when you're done," he gestures to the bag and leaves, closing the door behind himself. You and Han look at each other before laughing softly.
"He's so weird," you chuckle as you smile up at jisung. Han blushes and nods, his sweaty bangs falling into his face.
"He's always like that...pudding does sound nice after this though..."
Seungmin
Seungmin held your legs open wide as he licked circles around your folds, his finger flicking your G-spot teasingly at the same time. Seungmin is always such a tease, especially with foreplay and today it was driving you mad. "Please seungmin~" you whine as you pout down at him but your pleas have no effect on him. "Please!" You whine again and he shoves two fingers deep inside you.
You cry out as your body jerks forward.
"Stop whining," he growls and you whine as you throw your head back. His fingers steadily thrusted in and out of your tight wet folds as you fight the urge to squirm and wiggle around in pleasure. "Good girl," he smirks in a cold tone. Suddenly there's a knock on the door and you don't even know how to react but Seungmin doesn't stop his fingers.
You cry out in pleasure as Hyunjin opens the door. Seungmins rhythm never faltered even after Hyunjin was witnessing the scene.
"Go damn, okay, I'm leaving," hyunjin uses his hand to cover your body from his view as Seungmin glares at him. Hyunjin leaves in a hurry just as your orgasm hits. You claw at the sheets and let out a loud groan of pleasure, your legs shaking. Seungmin gently plays with your pussy to extend your orgasm and when you're finally finished you stare at him.
"Why didn't you stop?"
"You were close to cumming, an unwanted guest doesn't effect my performance baby,"
Jeongin
Jeongin is always such an interesting character in bed, very unpredictable. Tonight he decided that he wanted pussy right then and there and I mean, why wouldn't you comply? You ended up being folded underneath him with your legs on his shoulders, his cock effortlessly sliding in and out of you due to the build-up of arousal from your previous fun.
Your arms were wrapped around his back and clawing at his skin and hair. "Please Jeongin!" You cry out in pleasure as your head spins, and your eyes begin to water with desperation. You had been pushed so close to the edge countless times that now you couldn't even function like a normal human being; only a slut. There was then a knock on the door. Jeongin didn't even know how to react when the door began to open.
Bangchan stood in the door with bright smile before his jaw dropped. "Oh my bad," he laughs softly; jeongin lifts you up closer to him to cover your body from Chans view.
"Hyung get out!" He whines loudly, his dominant and rough facade fading due to the audience.
"of course, keep having fun," he smiles as he begins to close the door. "Oh and if you want those marks to go away faster I have some lotion that-"
"Get out!"
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