#i had some that would stay cold for an hour and most now seem to last 20 min

[cloudyluun]

No Cameras Allowed (p2) | famous!harry

Summary: A single photo exposes what was meant to stay hidden, throwing Y/N into a storm of scrutiny, speculation, and Harry’s growing distance. But just when the chaos seems to settle, something far worse lurks beneath the surface, waiting to destroy everything.

A/N: Me: Let’s add some angst.Also me: Accidentally ruins their lives in the process. 😇

This part has it all—smut, emotional damage, and the internet being a raging dumpster fire. If you think things can’t get worse… oh, sweet summer child. Buckle up. 😈

Alsooo!! i opened up commissions, find them here!

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: 

Smut (NSFW, described sex scenes, not very explicit)

Angst (SO much angst)

Jealousy & possessiveness

Arguments, raised voices, and hurt feelings

Public exposure & media frenzy

Slut-shaming, cyberbullying & online hate

Emotional distress, panic attacks, & isolation

Sex tape leak & intense feelings of violation

Betrayal & trust issues

(If any of these are triggers for you, please read with caution or skip certain parts! 💜)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You barely make it through the door before the weight of the night crashes over you. Your heels dangle from your fingers, their straps digging into your skin, forgotten in the haze of exhaustion. The dress that once made you feel untouchable—cinched perfectly at the waist, shimmering under the ballroom lights, a second skin of confidence—is now nothing but a burden, suffocating and heavy against your body. The fabric clings to the sweat on your spine, a reminder of the hours spent dancing, smiling, pretending.

The air in your apartment is still. No distant chatter, no flashing cameras, no murmurs of speculation just out of earshot. Just silence. A stark contrast to the whirlwind of the gala, to the tension that still lingers in your chest, wound tight like a coil refusing to snap. You kick the door shut behind you, the sound echoing through the dimly lit space, grounding you.

Your hands tremble as you reach for your phone, the screen illuminating your face with a cold, blue glow. You refresh Twitter. Once. Twice. Again.

Nothing.

No blurry pictures hastily taken from the corner of the room. No speculative threads dissecting stolen glances or analyzing body language. Just the usual: best-dressed lists, articles debating the most jaw-dropping looks of the night, a few clips of drunken celebrities caught mid-slur.

You exhale, a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and sink onto the edge of your bed. Maybe you got lucky. Maybe the fan who recognized you in that moment—who raised their phone, eyes wide with realization—decided to keep the photo to themselves.

But relief is fleeting. It never lasts long when it comes to him.

Your fingers hover over his name in your messages, muscle memory betraying you.

Maybe you were just overreacting. Maybe the fan won’t post it. Maybe this was just a false alarm—a close call, but nothing more.

You type out a message to Harry but doesn’t send it.

(What would you even say?) "That was close?" "Thought we were caught?" "I can still feel your hands on me?"

You don’t text him. You shouldn’t. You tell yourself you won’t. Instead, you lock your phone and toss it onto the duvet beside you, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. As if that could stop the flood of thoughts, the relentless replay of the night unraveling in your mind.

The rooftop.

The cool night air brushing against your skin, a welcome contrast to the heat that had coiled low in your stomach the moment his hand found yours. The city stretched below you, lights blinking like stars scattered across concrete. The faint hum of music from the ballroom below, distant, as if the world had momentarily paused for the two of you.

You remember the way he looked at you—really looked at you. Like he was trying to memorize every detail, as if this moment, this stolen sliver of time, was all he’d ever have. His gaze had burned through you, unspoken words resting heavy between you both. You should have walked away. You should have ignored the way his voice curled around your name, like a secret only he was meant to keep.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

You let him pull you in, let the night swallow you whole, let yourself forget—just for a second—that there were rules, consequences, a world beyond the rooftop’s edge waiting to come crashing back in.

And now, in the quiet of your apartment, with only the hum of your thoughts and the lingering scent of his cologne on your skin, you can’t escape the truth.

You crossed a line tonight.

And the whole world might find out.

But before the rooftop, before the gala, before the lies and the secrecy, there was a beginning. A first moment. A shift in the air so subtle and yet so undeniable that even now, as you sit in the dim glow of your apartment, you can still feel it humming beneath your skin.

The first time you saw Harry, the world around you dulled. Maybe it was the sheer force of his presence, the way he occupied a room so effortlessly, all slow movements and easy confidence. Maybe it was the sound of his laughter, rich and unhurried, cutting through the noise of a crowded space like he had all the time in the world.

Or maybe it was the way he looked at you—like he had already known you before you had the chance to introduce yourself.

You weren’t supposed to notice him. You weren’t supposed to feel anything when his gaze lingered just a second too long, when his lips curved into that lazy, knowing smile that made your pulse falter. But the second his eyes found yours across the room, something clicked into place. Something inevitable.

The attraction was instant. Palpable.

You remember the way your breath caught when he spoke your name for the first time, the syllables rolling off his tongue like he was testing them, savoring them. The way conversation with him felt different—like an undercurrent of something dangerous, something waiting to pull you under.

You told yourself it was nothing. A fleeting moment. A trick of the light.

But Harry Styles was not the kind of man you forgot.

It started as a game. A dance of words, teasing and laced with something unspoken. A battle of who would fold first.

And you did.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. The first time it happened, it was just that—an accident, a misstep, a single night that spiraled out of control before either of you could stop it. A party, too much champagne, the sharp edge of desire pressing into your ribs.

You remember the way his fingers grazed your wrist when he reached for your drink, the way his lips quirked when he caught you staring. You remember the heat in his eyes, the way his touch burned through fabric, the moment his mouth finally crashed against yours like he had been waiting for it, like you had been waiting for it.

It was reckless. Messy. Teeth against lips, hands fisting in fabric, breathless laughter swallowed by the dark. The press of his body against yours, the sheer force of wanting him making your head spin.

And then, morning came.

And you told yourself it was a mistake.

But then it happened again. And again.

Each time, you swore it was the last. Each time, you promised yourself it was just physical, just an outlet, just something to be ignored in the light of day.

But it never was.

Because Harry didn’t just touch you—he unraveled you. He kissed you like he was memorizing you, like he was terrified you’d slip through his fingers the moment he let go. And when the world wasn’t watching, when the cameras weren’t flashing, he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

So you made rules.

No feelings. No expectations. No one finds out.

And in the beginning, the rules worked. They made it easier to pretend. They turned stolen glances into nothing more than coincidence, turned fleeting touches into meaningless gestures. They allowed you to lie to yourself—convince yourself that whatever this was, it wasn’t real.

But rules mean nothing when he kisses you like he’s drowning.

When his fingers tangle in your hair like he can’t bear to let go.

When he pulls you into his arms after, as if holding you in the dark is the only thing keeping him together.

And now, with your heart still racing from the night you just had, with the taste of his name still lingering on your tongue, you know one thing for certain: This was never just a game.

But you pretend it is.

You have to.

Because if you let yourself believe anything else, if you admit that this thing between you and Harry has already bled past every line you swore you wouldn’t cross, then you’re left with something fragile. Something that could shatter with a single breath.

So you do what you do best. You compartmentalize.

You throw yourself into work, letting your schedule consume you. Early morning meetings, script read-throughs, press junkets, rehearsals. Your days are meticulously planned, a well-oiled machine running on caffeine and sheer force of will.

When people ask about the gala, you keep your answers light, practiced, as if the night hadn’t ended with you pressed against the wall in a dark corner, Harry’s breath hot against your neck. 

You’re good at pretending. You always have been.

But at night, when the world quiets, when there’s nothing left to distract you, the truth finds you.

Or rather, he does.

It happens like clockwork.

The text usually comes first.

"Awake?"

If you don’t answer fast enough, your phone buzzes again.

"Liar. Open the door."

And sure enough, when you tiptoe to your front door and glance through the peephole, he’s there. Hood up, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his frame half-hidden in the dim glow of the hallway light.

You hesitate for only a second before unlocking the door.

The second he steps inside, the air shifts. The easy charm, the teasing, the cocky smirk he wears in public—gone. Instead, there’s something raw in his eyes as he looks at you. Like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

Neither of you speak as he toes off his boots, shedding layers as he follows you into your bedroom. You’re already crawling under the sheets when you feel the bed dip under his weight, his body warm and solid behind you.

A kiss to your bare shoulder. A whispered, “Missed you.”

You tell yourself this is enough. These quiet moments, these stolen nights.

That you don’t need more.

But that’s a lie.

Some nights, it’s reckless. Impulsive.

Your phone vibrates while you’re in the middle of a meeting, and when you glance down, the message on the screen makes your breath hitch.

"Wish I was there. On my knees. Bet I could make you come without making a sound."

You press your thighs together, biting back a smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows that for the rest of the meeting, you’ll be restless, distracted, replaying his words in your head.

And later that night, when you finally see him, he doesn’t even let you get a word in before his mouth is on yours, hands roaming, pushing you up against the nearest surface.

"Thought about you all day," he murmurs against your lips, and the moment you part them to respond, he swallows the words whole.

And then there’s the jealousy.

It’s subtle. Unspoken. But it lingers in the space between you.

Maybe it’s an event, a photo that surfaces of you and someone else—just friendly, nothing more. Maybe it’s work, a scene you had to film with a male co-star, your bodies too close, your laughter lingering a second too long.

He never says anything. Not really.

But later that night, his hands are rougher. His grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into your skin. He fucks you deep, slow, deliberate. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, trying to erase anyone else’s touch.

"You’re mine," he breathes against your throat, and you don’t argue.

Because you are.

And then there are the mornings. The only time when the heat has burned itself out and there’s nothing left but softness.

The warmth of his fingers tracing patterns along your back. His lips skimming your temple, voice thick with sleep as he murmurs, “So perfect like this.”

Like this.

Like he already knows these moments aren’t meant to last.

And for a while, it’s easy to believe the secret is safe.

That the picture from the gala will never surface.

That no one will ever find out.

At one point, you even joke about it, stretching lazily against the sheets as you grin up at him. “Imagine if someone finds out? They’d probably think I kidnapped you.”

Harry smirks, fingers trailing down your thigh, amusement flickering in his gaze. “You kinda did.”

It feels like a game.

Until it isn’t.

You wake up to chaos.

The sharp, relentless vibration of your phone drags you from sleep, the screen lighting up with notification after notification, the soft glow casting eerie shadows across your bedroom. You blink against the brightness, still half-asleep, reaching blindly for your phone.

And then you see it.

Your name. His name.

Trending. Everywhere.

A cold weight settles in your stomach as you swipe to unlock your phone, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your vision blurs for a second as you take in the headlines, the sheer speed at which the world has latched onto something that—until now—had belonged only to the two of you.

Harry Styles’ Secret Romance EXPOSED! Who Is the Mystery Girl Holding Hands with Harry Styles? Fans Speculate: Harry’s Hidden Relationship REVEALED!

Your stomach twists painfully as you scroll, your hands trembling around your phone. And then—

The picture.

It’s unmistakable.

The two of you leaving the gala, his fingers laced through yours. The way he’s looking at you—not just a glance, not something casual, but something intense. The angle makes it painfully obvious, the intimacy written all over you.

Your breath catches in your throat.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were careful. You always were. Every stolen glance, every fleeting touch, every moment behind closed doors—it was yours. No cameras. No press. No speculation.

But now?

It’s out.

And the internet is on fire.

The comments are instant. Loud. Unforgiving.

Some are excited, supportive.

"He looks so happy! Whoever she is, she must be amazing.""I knew it! He’s been glowing lately!""As long as she treats him right, I’m happy for them."

But others—

"Who even is she??""She’s just using him for clout.""She’s not even famous. She’s NOTHING.""Homewrecker. Slut. Gold digger."

The words slice through you, sharp and merciless. They don’t even know you, but that doesn’t matter.

You were naïve to think they’d be kind.

You knew what happened to women in his orbit. You’d seen it before—the scrutiny, the invasiveness, the vitriol. You had just hoped… maybe, somehow, it would be different.

You were wrong.

And the worst part?

You don’t know how Harry is handling it.

You call him.

Straight to voicemail.

Your pulse pounds as you try again, fingers gripping the phone too tightly.

Still nothing.

Panic coils in your chest as you check your texts. No messages. No missed calls.

Just silence.

Meanwhile, your team is already reaching out.

Your phone buzzes with an incoming call from your manager. Your publicist. A flurry of texts asking how to handle the situation.

Do you deny it? Ignore it? Release a statement?

But you have no answers.

Because the only person who matters isn’t answering his damn phone.

Then, finally—

It rings.

You don’t even hesitate. You answer immediately, your voice breathless, frantic.

"Harry—"

But his voice—

It’s cold. Distant.

"We need to talk."

The words sit heavy in the air between you, weighted with something dark, something dangerous.

You hesitate for only a second before whispering, “Okay.”

--

The moment you see him, you know.

He’s waiting for you in his hotel room, standing near the window, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His posture is stiff, his shoulders drawn tight, tension radiating off him in waves.

His jaw is clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He hasn’t even said a word yet, but your chest is already tight.

This is bad.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you take a step forward, arms crossed over your chest like they might shield you from whatever’s coming.

"Say something," you murmur.

Harry finally turns, his eyes locking onto yours. And for the first time since you met him, they’re unreadable.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don’t know. Maybe that it’s not a big deal?" You shrug, trying to keep your voice steady. "It’s just a picture, Harry. People will talk for a few days, and then they’ll move on."

He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "You don’t get it. This isn’t just about us. This is my life."

"And what am I, then?" You step closer, heat rising in your chest. "Just someone you fuck in the dark?"

The silence that follows is deafening.

His throat bobs as he swallows, his jaw tightening further.

That’s the answer, isn’t it? The thing neither of you have ever said out loud.

"You keep me hidden like I’m your biggest mistake."

His head snaps up at that, something flickering behind his eyes. He shakes his head quickly, voice raw. "You’re not a mistake."

"Then why are you acting like I am?"

You’re too worked up to stop now, to soften the blow, to think before you speak.

"Jesus, Harry. Do you know what it feels like to be with someone who refuses to claim you? Who never reaches for your hand in public, who won’t even look at you too long when other people are around? Like I’m some dirty little secret you have to keep?"

"That’s not—" He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "That’s not what this is, and you fucking know it."

"Then what is it?" Your voice is hoarse now, the frustration bleeding into something more vulnerable. Something fragile. "Because to me, it feels like I’m always going to be the girl you love behind closed doors but pretend not to know when the lights come on."

That gets him.

His entire body stiffens, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Love.

You said love.

And you don’t take it back.

His breath is uneven when he finally speaks. "I just—fuck, I didn’t want this for you. I didn’t want you to go through this."

You stare at him, the fight temporarily knocked out of you.

"What?"

He exhales, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "The media. The rumors. The hate. The way they tear apart every woman I’ve ever been seen with. I didn’t want you to have to deal with that. You don’t deserve it."

"So you were protecting me?" The words taste bitter on your tongue. "By making me feel like I don’t exist?"

Harry’s eyes squeeze shut, and for a second, he looks wrecked.

"I didn’t mean for it to be like this."

"But it is."

It hangs between you, heavy and unmovable.

Neither of you speaks. Neither of you moves.

You don’t break up.

But something between you fractures.

The distance is immediate.

A coldness that lingers in the spaces where warmth used to be.

Harry doesn’t text as much. Calls grow infrequent. Conversations turn shallow, safe, as if you’re both terrified of touching the wound too soon, of reopening something that’s still bleeding beneath the surface.

You don’t reach out either. Maybe it’s better this way.

Maybe space will fix what words couldn’t.

But then—something shatters the fragile truce.

You’re sitting on your couch, scrolling mindlessly, when the clip appears.

A headline first.

HARRY STYLES BREAKS HIS SILENCE ON DATING RUMORS

Your stomach knots.

With shaking hands, you press play.

The video starts mid-interview, Harry perched on a plush chair, microphone in hand. He’s wearing one of his usual tailored suits, his hair messily tousled in that effortless way only he can pull off. The crowd laughs at something he just said, the interviewer leaning in with a conspiratorial grin.

And then, the dreaded question.

“So, Harry, there have been some rumors lately… A certain photo making the rounds. Any truth to it? Are you seeing someone?”

The air in your lungs turns solid.

Harry stills, just barely. It’s subtle; the faintest stiffening of his shoulders, the almost imperceptible tension in his jaw. But you see it. You know him.

And then he smiles. That easy, practiced grin, the kind that charms the world but makes your stomach twist.

He laughs, brushing the question off like it’s nothing.

“People love to speculate, don’t they?” he says lightly. “I’m just focused on my music right now.”

Your heart stumbles over itself.

No denial. No confirmation.

The interviewer doesn’t let it go.

“So, you’re saying you’re single?”

The silence lasts half a second too long.

And then—

“Yeah,” Harry says, smooth and effortless, not a single waver in his voice. “I’m single.”

The world stills.

You can’t breathe.

The clip ends. Your screen fades to black. But the words linger. The weight of them presses down on your chest, heavy and suffocating.

"I’m single."

Like you never happened.

Like the nights spent tangled together, the whispered confessions in the dark, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go—none of it meant anything.

Your hands tremble as you exit the video, but it’s too late. The internet is already burning.

#HarryIsSingle trends within minutes.

Fans take his words as gospel. Theories shift. Maybe you were just a hookup. Maybe you made the whole thing up. Maybe you’re obsessed with him.

The hate floods in fast.

Your DMs. Your mentions. A hurricane of strangers dissecting your life, your worth, your place in his world.

You’re a liar. A desperate fangirl. A delusional girl who thought she was special, who was using Harry for his fame.

And worst of all?

Harry doesn’t reach out.

Not even a text.

You don’t cry. Not at first.

You just sit there, numb, watching your phone vibrate with notifications you refuse to read.

Then the anger comes.

Slow, simmering, bubbling up from the depths of something raw and wounded until it erupts.

That night, when your phone finally lights up with his name—just a simple, “Hey”—you don’t respond.

But he doesn’t let it go.

An hour later, there’s a knock at your door.

You hesitate for only a second before pulling it open.

Harry stands on the other side, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes scanning your face. And the second he sees your expression, he knows.

“You saw it.”

Your laugh is sharp, bitter. “Saw what? You telling the whole fucking world you’re single?”

He exhales heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”

You scoff. “Isn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, it looked pretty fucking easy for you.”

“It wasn’t easy,” he snaps. “But what was I supposed to do? Announce to the world that we’re together? Let the media tear us apart?”

Your eyes flash. “Better to pretend I don’t exist, right?”

He takes a step forward, his voice tight with frustration. “You’re twisting this.”

You shake your head. “No, Harry. I’m finally seeing it for what it is.”

Silence.

A long, painful pause where neither of you know what to say.

And then, barely above a whisper—

“You don’t get to do this to me. Not again.”

His brows furrow. “Again?”

Your throat tightens. The truth sits heavy in your chest.

You swallow hard. “You did this before.” Your voice is hollow, empty. “Back then. When we started this. You acted like it didn’t mean anything. Like I didn’t mean anything. And I let you.”

Harry’s expression crumbles. Guilt flickers in his eyes, his lips parting like he wants to argue, to tell you you’re wrong.

But he doesn’t.

Because he knows.

“That’s not true.” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Isn’t it?” Your voice breaks. “Because that’s how it fucking feels.”

For the first time, he has no defense.

And you don’t have the energy to fight anymore.

You take a step back. Your chest aches, your eyes sting, but your voice is steady when you say it—

“Just go, Harry.”

He hesitates.

But you don’t waver.

Finally, he nods. Turns. Leaves.

And this time—

You don’t think he’s coming back.

You didn’t think things could get worse.

You thought the storm had passed. That the damage had been done. That the worst of it was behind you.

But then—your phone rings.

It’s your manager. Their voice is clipped, urgent. “You need to see this.”

Your stomach drops.

There’s something in their tone. Something that makes your skin prickle with unease.

You pull your phone away from your ear, heart hammering as you open the link they sent.

And then—your world crumbles.

The screen loads. A video. Camera footage. Grainy but unmistakable.

You. Harry. The gala night.

The intimacy of it—the way he’s touching you, the way he’s whispering things only meant for you—it’s all out there, laid bare for the world to see.

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Your vision tunnels, fingers tightening around your phone as the weight of it all crashes down on you.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This was yours. His.

Something private. Something that was never meant for the world to see.

And now—it’s everywhere.

Your hands shake as you scroll.

Trending: - “Harry Styles sex tape” - “Who leaked Harry’s video?” - “Y/N is ruining his life”

The internet is cruel. Ruthless.

The comments flood in, thousands of voices screaming over one another:

- “She probably leaked it herself for attention.” - “Poor Harry. He deserves better than this mess.” - “She’s disgusting. A clout chaser.” - “She’s trying to trap him.” - “Harry needs to leave her for good.”

They defend him. They attack you.

As if you planned this. As if you wanted this.

As if this isn’t your literal worst nightmare.

Your breath comes too fast, too shallow. You try to inhale, but your lungs won’t cooperate.

Your phone slips from your grasp, clattering onto the floor.

Harry is calling. Again and again.

You don’t answer.

Because what could he possibly say to fix this?

Nothing.

There is no fixing this.

But that doesn’t stop him from trying.

Within the hour, your phone won’t stop vibrating. Your manager. Your PR team. News outlets. Lawyers. And then Harry, over and over again.

Then: a knock at your door.

You freeze.

Your hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white.

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to look him in the eyes, see whatever shattered version of him is waiting on the other side.

But you do.

The door creaks open.

And there he is.

Disheveled. Jaw clenched. Eyes burning.

A storm contained within flesh and bone.

He steps forward, into your space, into your orbit, like he’s drawn to you despite the wreckage between you.

His voice is raw, barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

You laugh. A sharp, bitter sound. “Am I okay?”

Your eyes burn as you shake your head. “Harry, the whole fucking world just watched us—watched me.” Your voice cracks, but you force yourself to keep going. “And they think it’s my fault.”

He exhales sharply, his hand raking through his hair. “I know. I know, and I’m going to fix this.”

“Fix it?” You step back, the words tasting like poison. “How the fuck do you fix something like this?”

He looks at you then—really looks at you—and there’s something in his eyes. Something wild, desperate. Guilt. Rage. Fear.

But before he can answer—before he can try to convince you that there’s a way out of this—

Your phone dings.

The sound cuts through the moment like a blade.

Your heart pounds as you glance at the screen.

Another notification. A new article.

And then—

Your breath catches in your throat.

Because it’s not just about the leaked tape anymore.

It’s worse. So much worse.

Your entire body goes cold as you read the headline:

“EXCLUSIVE: INSIDER REVEALS WHO LEAKED HARRY STYLES’ SEX TAPE.”

Your vision blurs, hands trembling as you click the link.

The page loads. Your stomach drops.

And then—

The name staring back at you makes your blood run cold.

You don’t realize you’ve spoken out loud until you hear your own voice, barely a whisper.

“No… No, that’s not possible.”

Harry’s eyes snap to you, his expression shifting instantly.

“What? What is it?” He reaches for the phone, but you yank it away, gripping it so tightly your knuckles turn white.

Your head shakes, disbelief crashing over you in violent waves.

Because the person who leaked it…

It wasn’t some hacker. It wasn’t a random invasion of privacy. It was someone close. Someone you trusted.

And now?

Now, the real betrayal begins.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry, @mema10, @angelbabyyy99, @iloveharrystyles04, @cinemharry, @drwho06, @donutsandpalmtrees, @panini, @mads3502; @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa, @one-sweet-gubler, @rizosrizos26, @ciriceimpera, @everyscarisahealingplace, @hello-heyhi, @sexymfharriet, @lizsogolden, @hannah9921, @chicabonitasblog, @huhidontknowstuff, @berrywoods1245, @jennovaaa, @angeldavis777, @prettygurl-2009, @almostcontentcreator, @run-for-the-hills, @maudie-duan, @dipmeinhoneyh, @harrrrystylesslut, @georgiarose94, @stylestarkey, @watarmelon212

[fooltomery]

sickness update: didnt have a fever for 2 hrs and now its back -__-

and im going to work tomorrow like a fool but it ok . i guess.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ no one has to know what we do ]❜

ft. cho sang-woo x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you lay in bed with your dad’s best friend after a night of passion┊1.3k words

contains: slight smut!! dom sang-woo & sub reader┊age gap (reader is early 20s & sang-woo’s early 40s), (adopted) dad’s best friend trope, purposeful seduction, one-night stands, unprotected piv (don’t do anything the reader does, this is fiction & unrealistic, stay safe), creampie, biting, smoking, 

➤ author's note: i was thinking about this man all night, i’m not kidding, i’m doing it again tongiht too because he’s so fine idc if he’s evil, i wanna fuck him not fix him

it’s nearly four in the morning on another cold winter’s night with nothing but a yellow-tinted bedside lamp illuminating the room, completely silent aside from the rustling of the blanket from your movement. you sigh softly and nestle closer to the man lying flat on his back for more of the addicting warmth radiating off his body, your face nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder and your legs entangling with his. he doesn’t pull away like you expected him to, just takes another drag on his cigarette and ignores you for the most part with the weight of the past few hours— the weight of the sins he committed tonight— pressing into his mind.

you, on the other hand, were all soft smiles and feeling content as if you just crossed off an accomplishment on the top of your bucket list. for a situation that could ruin both of your lives if discovered, it certainly feels blissful and freeing to finally fuck the man you’ve been dreaming about almost religiously ever since you came back home from university for the holidays a week ago. you have no idea how you’ve never met him until now when you’ve heard so much about him, but perhaps it was better that way when your thoughts were less than innocent. 

despite being middle-aged, he was still very handsome with intelligent albeit weary eyes which seemed to hide some sort of darkness to them. you found yourself studying him from afar, noticing him not wearing a wedding ring and making no mention of a family other than his mother, so you quickly made up your mind that you were going to fuck him before going back to school. it’s not like you had anything better to do anyway.

it actually didn’t take much to seduce him surprisingly: accidental eye contact filled with longing, lingering touches when you handed him his chilled cheap beer, careful actions and words to play up your sex appeal— it reminded you that most men are the same even if the stoic cho sang-woo was older and prided himself in his cunning mind, starved for affection with wandering eyes that frequently followed beneath the hem of your skirt. he looked at you behind his glasses with distrust and tried to act indifferent towards you in front of gi-hun, probably already suspicious about your intentions, but you could already see him drinking up your appearance in your cute little outfit as he downed another bottle. this little game was one you knew well and you always won in the end, there has yet to be anyone you wanted who couldn’t resist you and he certainly wasn’t going to be the first.

he stayed the night in the guest bedroom because it was already dark out, your former room which was converted after you moved out (sometimes it was rented out for extra cash), and at the strike of midnight, you knocked on the door and presented yourself to him seeking his comfort for an unspecified reason with slightly teary doe eyes. it was clear that you didn’t disturb him from his slumber and that he was already awake, visibly restless, and maybe even stressed. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what was bothering him so much. he was hesitant to let you in at first, as any good man would, but his resolve crumbled after seeing how beautiful you looked in the dim light (not like it wasn’t already a breeze away from collapsing after the alcohol). it’s surprising what a little silk nightgown can do with the thin straps threatening to slip off your shoulders, the short hem revealing your soft thighs, your perk nipples straining through the thin fabric, and how small and vulnerable you looked shivering in your lack of clothes.

“you shouldn’t be here at this time.”

“are you going to turn me away?”

still, even if it all went according to plan, he’s not in love with you. you don’t think he is anyway. you don’t expect him to be. would you like him to be in love with you? it might put the aching loneliness at ease even if it won’t make it disappear entirely. he’s a man old enough to be your father after all, he’s a man who grew up with your father and considered him to be a close friend. is this how you thank your father for taking you in and sharing what little he had with you? by seducing and sleeping with his best friend? 

in all honestly, though, he certainly fucked like he was in love with you— like you two were the last two souls on this earth. he was a lot more pent up than you anticipated, or a lot more lonely, trusting into you so deeply one would think he was trying to reach your empty heart as you clawed at his back leaving red rivers of scratched skin. you barely even needed any prep for his size with how soaked you were, evident with a wet patch on your underwear which he teased before throwing it to be forgotten on the floor along with all your other clothes. 

it was difficult to keep the sinful sounds of sex to a minimum, skin against skin with moans slipping from your mouth and groans from his. he had to resort to covering your mouth with his large palm to shut you up and bit into your collarbone leaving his mark on you, finally finishing inside of you in his haze before using his fingers to help you reach your orgasm and embarrassing you for once by staring intently at how the mix of your arousals dripped all over his hand.

“when are you leaving for university?”

“why, are you going to miss me when i’m gone?”

“we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“no one has to know what we do,” you giggled, placing a kiss against the corner of his mouth and inhaling the smoke. “i’m old enough to keep a secret.”

those last words made him pause for a second. this was immoral and forbidden. if seong gi-hun were ever to find out, their relationship would be ruined forever and you would be disowned, and he could only imagine the look of betrayal on his face. yet you didn’t seem to care in the least bit about what he would think, gingerly rubbing your thighs together at the feeling of him leaking out of you and touching the area where he bit you. it drew his attention, finally turning to you and admiring the mark sunken into your skin, looking almost proud of it like art on a clean canvas. 

“i don’t want you sleeping with some other stupid boys when you go back.”

“hm, only if you promise that this won’t be the last time and that you also don’t fuck anyone else while i’m gone.”

“you know, i can’t promise that. we were lucky to not get caught this time, but who’s to say there will be a next time?”

“well, then i’ll go back to university and have sex with whoever i want, then you can do the same—”

“oh, shut up,” he scolded, pinching your cheeks to pull you towards him and kissing you possessively as if he could consume you whole by it. you were glad to reciprocate, allowing him to climb back on top of you while your arms wrapped around his neck. “fine, as long as you keep your word.”

he said it like he didn’t really want to continue this, like he was conceding to your demands and was merely tolerating you with better things to do, but the thinly veiled desperate need in his words and actions was clearer than glass to you. not that you minded, it was all working out just how you wanted it to.

[spatialwave]

Hi!! For the kiss prompts, I’d love to read something Reader x Viktor with the scenario ‘kisses meant to distract’ + the dialogue “i think i deserve a kiss” 🥹 thank you!!

tysm for sending this ask!!!! this was so cute to write and it healed me ahaha

why would you stay?

➸ pairing: viktor x gender neutral!reader ➸ word count: 680 ➸ tags: mdni! fluffy, hurt/comfort, soft kissing, guilt, sweet ending, reader is in a long-term relationship w/ viktor, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: asked from this prompt list!!

Hextech was a blessing and a curse. It’s components to better society had been coming to fruition, but at the expense of Viktor’s sanity. Hexgates weren’t enough, all they had done was progress the city of Piltover. Nothing had been done to help anyone else. The people in Zaun—himself.

The pain in his body had become unbearable most days, his body frail and weakening with every passing moment.

He wondered why you stuck around all these years, staying at his side as his health deteriorated. You weren’t married, children weren’t on the agenda, and all he did was spend countless hours in his lab with Jayce and Sky.

It wasn’t fair to you.

Yet, you stayed.

Stopping by with a home cooked meal that he picked at, or offering your presence for a few hours while you silently read at the table in his lab while he studied the glowing hexcore.

There was a particular week when Viktor lost all hope. Jayce, now head of the council, had spent less time with the research–in favour of protecting Piltover. A drastic turn of events from their previous shared hopes and aspirations, a way to help rather than hurt.

He sat at one of the aqueducts that sent water from Piltover into the fissures, looking out at the skyline and holding his weight onto his cane. His eyes were tired and cold, souless.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said calmly, causing Viktor to jolt and glance in your direction from the sudden intrusion, “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” he cleared his throat, attempting to sit up straighter with his hands still holding tightly to the handle of his cane, “needed some time to, eh… think.”

Sitting next to him on the ledge, you rested your cheek against his shoulder and a hand curved over his slender thigh.

“...about us?” Your voice was hushed, eyes watching the water stream below you.

Viktor’s eyes widened, shaky as he stared at you. You were nuzzled against him, the look of a sad pout covering your face. He could sense the insecurity radiating from you.

“About the hexcore,” he answered honestly, sighing as he pressed his lips against the top of your head, resting there as a fragile hand held the small of your back, “about hextech… I can’t seem to figure it out. It’s been weeks of nothing. It’s… it’s…”

You lifted your head up, lips twitching as you pressed a finger to Viktor’s lips, shushing him. Your eyes flickered between his.

“It’s eating you alive,” you finished his sentence, but not in the way he had intended.

Your heart was heavy for him. Any insecurities of yourself were long gone, and you understood the pain that Viktor was experiencing. It was defeat, feeling unworthy—terrified of death.

You felt terrible for even thinking it had anything to do with you.

“Kiss me,” you mumbled, the finger placed against his lips replaced by your thumb as you grazed it along his bottom lip. Your intent to distract him from the thoughts that weighed him down.

Viktor bore a quizzical look, brows knotting together as he blinked at you.

“Come on,” you murmured, “I think I deserve one. I haven’t seen you in days.”

The corners of his lips twitched, for once, his mind not clouded by thoughts of the hexcore. Instead, fixated on you and the way you looked at him so lovingly with your big doe eyes. How was he so lucky to have someone like you?

He dipped forward, your thumb dropping as his lips pressed to yours. A soft kiss, one that bridged the gap that had begun to split you apart. They moved together fluidly, one of his hands cupping your jaw, as yours pressed against the front of his shoulders.

“I love you,” Viktor murmured, breaking the kiss as your lips brushed together, “thank you… for staying.” His thanks were genuine, you could see the way the guilt flickered in his golden eyes.

“Kiss me again, and I’ll forgive you,” you smiled, closing your eyes as Viktor obliged, smiling against your lips.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[snoopychris]

phone calls

warnings: slight mommy kink, edging if you squint, misuse of technology, lowkey inspired by this post

12:04 

chris

chris

baby

12:05

hello?

it’s cold

and raining

12:06

can you just come let me in

12:07 

dude the gym closes at 1:30 so that they can do a midday clean btw.

12:08

hello???

????

omfg 

you piss me off

12:09

HELLO?!?!?!?

are you fucking kidding me

you’re unbelievable 

12:10

whatever i’m going home 

text me if u want.

you spun swiftly on your heels, the light jacket you were wearing wrapped tightly around your frame. it was never normal for chris to not answer his texts, especially when he got so many of them. especially when they were from you. when you were halfway down the stairs, the door behind you swung open. the heavy breathing that was coming from chris quickly got your attention. your immediate reaction was that he was having some sort of asthma attack. 

your worry subsided when you noticed the small wet spot that was on the front of his sweats. he swallows in embarrassment, licking his lips as he looks down at the floor in shame. no words are spoken, but his expression says everything it needs you. he moves away from the door, leaving enough room for you to walk inside. when he sits down on the couch, he still hasn’t made eye contact with you. he’s too embarrassed to even acknowledge your presence. 

“what happened here?” you tease, sitting besides him on the couch. his boner is still clearly pressed up against the material. chris shrugs as he mindlessly turns the tv on, purposely ignoring you and your question. maybe if he stays silent you’ll ignore both the tent in his pants and the wet spot that seemed to be growing. “chris.”

“nothing. nothing happened. my phone was just dead.” he whispers, crossing his legs in attempts to cover himself up. your eyes furrow in confusion. had you mentioned his phone? 

“chris…” you pry, tossing the pillow off his lap. he whines in frustration, throwing his head back. he could try to lie his way out of the situation, but he knows there’s no use. 

“well! it’s just… you took way longer than you said you would and i was just getting so frustrated and i haven’t seen you in a week so i started looking at our pictures while i was jerking off and then when you started texting me… it felt good. and i was reading all your text i was! and then i was getting so close and you said you were leaving and i didn’t want you to go so i just… and now… im just. i was so close to cumming and i didn’t okay?!” chris doesn’t even realize how much information he just gave you or what you can do with it. not until he sees the wide smirk on your face. there’s so many different things running through his mind. the most prominent is how incredibly hard he is and how he can’t do anything to fix it right now.

another whine escapes from the depths of his throat when you tug his pants down swiftly, his lack of underwear doing him no favors at all. he wants to tell you to stop– not because he actually wants you to stop but because hes embarrassed by the situation at hand. he squirms at your touch, thrusting his dick against your hand. his tip is embarrassingly red from his unintentional edging earlier, and its covered in so much precum and spit that it seems like he had been at it for hours. when you let him go, his cock slaps against his hoodie covered stomach. no matter how desperately he wants to touch himself and bring himself to the orgasm hes been so desperately craving for what felt like ages, he knew you held the power right now. 

“please… please baby please help me.” chris mumbles, letting out a gasp when you begin to giggle. you were being so cruel to him right now. how was he supposed to act normal and stay quiet when you were just laughing at him and not even helping?

“wheres your phone?” you ask, searching around the couch. chris scrambles to reach into his pocket, handing you the phone with shaky hands. you grab it carefully, holding it up against his length. he was a bit bigger than his phone, but he wasn’t paying much attention to your actions. all he was trying to do was reach the feeling he had been yearning for. chris only starts to pay attention when you grab your own phone and begin to dial a number. he wants to ask who you’re possibly calling in this moment, but he quickly pieces it together when his phone begins to buzz while pressed against his tip. 

there’s a groan that leaves his lips that’s a lot louder than he wants it to be. he doesn’t care right now. right now he just cares about the fact that your call got sent to voicemail and the buzzing halted. “no no nooo!” he whimpers, reaching for your wrist to move it for you. you tsk and shake your head, handing him your phone. “go ahead. call me again. you want it so bad you can work for it.” tears of frustration form in his eyes at your words. fine.

with shaky hands, chris picks up your phone, pressing the call back button. with each ring on your side, the vibrations seem to be getting stronger on his. he knows it’s not possible, but it feels like which each buzz the feeling is getting more and more intense. he lets out a small cry after the fifth or sixth phone call, his cock beginning to twitch between your hand and his phone. 

it’s pathetic, almost, given that it’s only been about two minutes of constant weak vibrations. you almost want to show him sympathy. he must’ve been a lot more desperate than you had expected if he was cumming this soon. “please… fuck mama please let me cum.” he whispers, his hips thrusting up to meet the vibrations all the way through. “y’gonna cum for me? you gonna make a mess all over your phone? imagine what people would think if they knew you used your phone as a sex toy… how would that make you feel? like a desperate little slut?” you reply, clicking his contact on your phone once more. the vibrations start up again as chris moans, nodding his head rapidly. “please! fuck please please.” he whines, biting his lip. his orgasm hits him faster than he expects, because within seconds of his last plea, white spurts of his cum are coating his phone case. it’s a sight you wish you could’ve recorded but both of your phones were occupied. 

it takes chris a second to catch his breath. it takes you a second to comprehend the situation that just went down. you shrug it off— it’s not the weirdest thing you’ve ever done. as you gather your thoughts next to him, you lay your head down on your boyfriends shoulder. “so like… are we still going to the gym or are we gonna go to best buy and get one of those waterproof cases?”

a/n: please nobody talk to me after this one. thanks and apologies in advance.

dividers by @13hoax and @bernardsbendystraws

tags: @mattybsgroupie @whore4mattsturniolo @sosasturns (for the 1 mili party) @darksturnz @surprisecurlyfriesbackup @ribbonlovergirl @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbratt333 @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @ayesha-eroticaa @bluessturniolo @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @emely9274 @princessesgarden @marrykisskilled @cykss

[assriels]

honeyed temptations

pairing: azriel x reader 

word count: 2.2k

warnings: some smut and suggestive language (mdni 18+ only pls!!), swearing, azriel is whipped for u but is also very stubborn, domesticity/fluff

summary: despite azriel’s relative indifference to most things, he absolutely, undeniably hates the heat. and fucking loves when you wear sundresses.

a/n: continuation of my ongoing headcanon that azriel is actually kind of a stubborn baby, especially with his mate; i have a summer oneshot for cassian coming out soon! <3

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune <3

Azriel was fucking furious. It was like the sun had a personal vendetta against him, determined to steal any and all comfort from him as he baked in the hot morning sun in your shared bedroom.

Peak summer in Velaris was nothing to scoff at. Though the Night Court was hailed for the beauty of its moon and stars, the same could not be said for its seasons. It was a solar court and that meant that its moon waxed and waned through the full dearth of the seasons. And summer just so happened to be Azriel’s least favorite. 

Though he could handle the strikingly cold winters the Night Court had to offer — it snowed quite heavily in Illyria, afterall — the heat of the summer was unbearably oppressive. It didn’t help that his current residence was the House of Wind, built high on a mountain cliff where the heat rose and was entirely too close to the sun. Not even the House’s breeze helped staunch his somewhat over exaggerated agitation at the rising temperatures. 

It was still morning, but it seemed that the sun had decided that it would be especially insufferable today, showboating its prowess even at 9 in the morning. 

“C’mon Az,” you implored, gentle hand poking his bare shoulder. “Rhys is here, we have a meeting.” 

He pouted at you from where he was sprawled out on the bed, not having bothered to get up — or put clothes on — despite having been awake for an hour now. He rolled onto his side to get a better look at you, hoping that if he pouted enough you’d have mercy on him and let him stay naked and as cool as possible; the thought of putting on clothes — most of which he owned were black — made Azriel’s head ache. 

“‘s too hot.” 

You huffed a laugh at his childlike petulance. Who would have guessed the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court couldn’t handle a little heat? 

“You’re being a baby,” you chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed as you attempted to negotiate with your mate to get out of bed. 

It was then that he took stock of your appearance. You had always been much less bothered by the heat than he was — and much more functional in it — and so your morning routines were never disrupted. You had already bathed and gotten ready, pretty little sundress skimming your curves as the hem tickled the skin on your legs. 

“You look nice,” Azriel noted with a hum of appreciation. Ordinarily, he would’ve reached over and pulled you on top of him to make both of you late for Rhys’s meeting for an entirely different reason, but he couldn’t fathom getting any more sticky and sweaty than he already was, so he resisted. Instead, he opted for toying with the hem of your dress in contemplation.

“Is this new?” He asked, taking in the sweet honey yellow linen and thin straps. You nodded your head and smoothed your hands down your front, fixing the neckline of your dress in a way that had Azriel’s eyes burning holes through your skin. 

“Do you like it? I bought it when I went out with Feyre the other day.” You intentionally left out that you had bought it with the explicit purpose of using it to tempt your mate out of bed, knowing that he always needed a little bit of incentive in the summer. 

Assessing hazel eyes tracked the familiar planes of your body, face lit with an entirely different kind of heat now, “Yeah, I like it.” 

His gaze lifted to yours and you nearly gave into him. The adoration in his eyes and the blush high on the apples of his cheeks was mesmerizing, “You’re very pretty, you know.” 

Azriel’s unfiltered affections for you always made your heart beat quicken, and your attention shifted to his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, thumb drawing innocent circles on your skin. You bent over to kiss him briefly in thanks before patting his hand and getting up off the bed. 

You could’ve sworn you heard Azriel whine in protest, but it was drowned out by the sound of you sifting through the dresser, no doubt searching for clothes to throw his way.

He watched you from his spot on the bed, eyeing the way the hem of your dress billowed from your waist and just barely covered the curve of your ass. He was convinced that he could stare at you for an eternity and still find new parts of you to marvel at. 

Before he could get too lost in his greedy appreciation of your beauty and the stunning way your dress complimented every curve and dip of your body, you were tossing clothes at his face.

“Stop staring and get dressed!” You laughed, “You know Cass is gonna give you shit for being late. Again.”

It was no secret to those closest to Azriel that he was an absolute terror when the summer rolled around. Though it only took a week or two for him to adjust and become begrudgingly functional again, the days leading up to his revival were always a source of great amusement to the Inner Circle. Ah, the perfect Shadowsinger finally reveals his flaws, Cassian would consistently tease.

He only groaned in response, rolling onto his back once again to stare at the ceiling. 

You sighed. Truthfully, you found this side of him endearing – and quite funny – but you knew he had a job to do and nothing would get done unless he was, at the very least, clothed. Sauntering over to the bed, you looked down at him with your hands on your hips. You were met only with a stubborn look in return; you could’ve sworn you glimpsed the ghost of a defiant smirk curving his lips, “Make me.”

You reeled at his challenge. Fine, you would make him. 

The bed shifted as you straddled him on all fours, careful not to let any part of you touch any part of him. His hands came up instinctively to grasp your hips as he didn’t even try to hide his triumphant smile. But you wouldn’t let him get away with it, at least not now.

You encircled his wrists in your hands, guiding them above his head to pin them to the pillow. Both of you knew he could easily wriggle out of your grasp, but Azriel was aware that this was riling you up just as much as him so he conceded. Allowed his beautiful mate to do whatever she pleased.

“Don’t touch,” you commanded in his ear, punctuating your words with a slow swirl of your tongue along the shell of his ear. “If you listen, I promise I’ll be so, so good for you.”

Unexpected emotion flooded his chest as he resisted the urge to break the tension with his affection for you. You were already so good for him. In more ways than he could have ever wanted, more ways than he ever imagined. But he kept his mouth shut, and focused only on the way he could feel the hem of your dress kissing his skin as your mouth nipped at sucked at all the places that drove him insane. 

“C’mon, Az,” you cooed, licking a sinful path up his neck before you blew on his skin, reveling in the way goosebumps rose on his flesh despite the sweltering weather. “Get up for me, huh?”

He didn’t miss the double entendre as you tracked a scathing wet trail down his body, your tongue — frustratingly — the only part of you touching him. He was being difficult and you were making him pay for it by teasing him in ways only you knew how to. Azriel groaned low and deep when your cool breath hit right beneath his bellybutton, abs flexing as he willed himself to maintain his composure. You still weren’t touching him, and he was already embarrassingly hard, body desperate to feel your skin on his. 

His brow furrowed with concentration and lust as he met your gaze right before your lips puckered and you took the head of his cock – pretty and swollen and throbbing just for you – into your mouth. Azriel’s head flopped back onto his pillow as he loosed a long, deep breath, a cross between a sigh and a moan so pleasing to hear that you nearly forgot your initial intentions. 

One well placed stroke of your tongue had your eyes meeting his yet again, all dark pupils and a thin ring of gorgeous hazel. You were the picture of perfect seduction, pretty lips split open on his cock, bent over him in such a way that gave him an unobstructed view of your cleavage beneath your dress. You released him with a sinfully wet pop! as you pulled back and smiled at him, sweet and teasing before you blew gently on his tip. Azriel shuddered.

Oh, Mother above. He was milliseconds away from flipping you onto your back and tearing your godsforsaken dress right off you — or maybe he’d keep it on — but you were faster, jumping just out of his reach and off the bed, as if you hadn’t just addled his mind with fantasies of all the ways he could fuck you in that dress. 

The wicked smirk of satisfaction curving your lips told him that you’d had your intended effect. Azriel was barely able to recalibrate his bearings in time for him to notice you heading towards the door. He sputtered in disbelief, “Where are you going?”

Before you traipsed out the bedroom door, you turned back to look at him, “To be continued, mate. After you get dressed.”

When you shut the door behind you, Azriel could have sworn he heard your giddy, maniacal laughter echo in time to the sound of your footsteps down the stairs. Now he had two problems: 1) he was still hot as the fires of Hell and 2) he was achingly hard and knew he’d have to make a concerted effort not to look too long at you in that dress all day if he wanted to cling to what little composure he had.

He sighed as his shadows swirled around his ears, barely offering any reprieve from the heat. 

Pretty mate. So, so pretty. Everyone thinks so. 

Make that three problems: 3) Cassian would be making innocent comments about you looking so good in that dress just to irritate him. 

The possession roiling around in his gut – courtesy of the mating bond – was his final straw as he scrubbed a frustrated hand down his face. Fucking fine, he would put the damn clothes on. 

☾𖤓 epilogue ☾𖤓

“Where’s that overgrown child you call a mate, anyway?” Cassian quipped after you made your appearance in the dining room for breakfast. 

“Exactly where you think he is,” you laughed over a bite of toast.

“What’s wrong with Azriel?” Feyre implored innocently, “Is he not feeling well?” 

Rhys chuckled and shook his head, “Azriel is not very fond of the summer—“

“That’s an understatement,” you and Cassian mumbled under your breaths in tandem.

“—and it’s a nightmare getting him to do anything in heat like this. But luckily we have Y/N.”

Before your High Lady could ask the question on the tip of her tongue, Cassian stole a piece of bacon off your plate, ignoring the way you protested, “I mean, you’ve seen how whipped he is Feyre. He’ll do anything if Y/N even suggests she wants him to. Az only gets out of bed in the summer because she asks.”

In retribution for your stolen bacon, you speared the rest of Cassian’s eggs and forked them into your mouth before he could inch away from you. You didn’t respond, knowing all too well that Azriel actually would not get out of bed even if you asked, leaving you to resort to other…tactics. 

“I’m not a child, you know.” Came Azriel’s petulant interruption as he greeted you with a brief kiss to your head and the rest of his family with a grunt of acknowledgement, “I can do things on my own, in case you forgot.”

“We’ll stop calling you one, once you stop acting like it,” Cassian taunted.

Azriel’s scoff was his only response as he sat down next to you at the table, plating two pieces of bacon in front of you to replace the one he knew Cassian had no doubt probably taken. You smiled up at him gratefully, and despite the still sweltering heat that had only seemed to have gotten worse as time progressed, he smiled back. 

Feyre was in awe; it was like the heat had melted away his stony exterior, leaving the real Azriel exposed for everyone to see. Feyre met your gaze across the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes that told you she was more than privy to the extraneous measures you had taken to coax your mate out of bed.

“How do you do it?” Cassian not-so-quietly whispered to you. 

“I have my ways,” you responded cryptically with a smirk as Azriel’s hand ventured beneath the hem of your dress, squeezing your thigh.

You would most definitely be paying for your little shenanigan in the bedroom later.  

[reidrum]

if you keep asking | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: this was requested with “if you keep asking me i’m not gonna be okay” or smth along the lines 😭 i am a glutton for hurt/comfort fics so if yall have any more requests send em in :)

summary: in which you’re trying to keep it together when you hear some detectives talking ill of you, and spencer isn’t gonna have it

cw: hurt/comfort, self deprecation, insecure!reader, bitch ass detectives, protective bau my heart, use of she/her pronouns

wc: 2.2k

_______

the bau team was filing into the bullpen after landing from their last case in seattle, everyone making a beeline for their desks to get a head start on their reports so they could go home faster. everyone, except you. it felt like you were on autopilot, remembering your last known movements and just repeating them for as long as you could.

the case in seattle was rough to say the least. the unsub’s mo seemed to change every minute, making any progress the team made obsolete. the only thing that seemed to be somewhat consistent was where the unsub was taking his victims, which meant the geographical profile was the most important part to solving the case, a task you and reid were assigned to.

it started off fine, you both had found the comfort zone of where the unsub would strike next to figure out how to catch him in the act. except the next time he struck it was completely out of the predicted range, and this time a kid had died. no one could have anticipated that happening. it didn’t make the loss hurt any less.

the team knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault, humans are unpredictable, and that includes serial killers. spencer made sure to tell you specifically that it wasn’t your fault, he knew how you’d get if someone didn’t tell you.

his efforts went to utter waste when you walked by a room at the precinct with detectives whispering about how “you fucked up the whole profile, that’s why that kid died” and “it’s clear you make the team stupider, how did you even get into the fbi in the first place?”

it wasn’t the first time your abilities were in question. you were the newest member of the team, having only transferred six months ago from cold cases. you may be new to the field, but there was a reason hotch chose you personally for the bau.

you tried hard to prove yourself, despite pretty much everyone saying your skillset was enough proof. you’d stay late to finish reports, do extra research on cases to help garcia narrow her searches faster, and you spent countless hours at the training range.

you were a worthy agent, anyone who knew you or read your resume knew that. but right now, you felt like the smallest person on earth, an imposter. what the hell were you even doing here if you couldn’t save him.

you shouldn’t be allowed to feel relief that the team caught the unsub, not when there’s blood on your hands.

the bad thoughts swirling in your head causes you to stall your motions when you’re putting files away, gaining the attention of morgan, “you alright, sweet cheeks?”

“i’m good morgan, don’t worry.” you lie effortlessly. if he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t mention it and turns back to his work.

taking a deep breath, you stand up to go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, when you run into jj finishing up making her own, “i was just thinking about you, i got this new creamer i think you’d rea-, hey, are you okay?” jj starts but ends concerned.

you try to focus on metronomic tick of the clock so you dont escalate, “i’m fine j,” you laugh unconvincingly, “what creamer did you get?”

she ignores your question, “because i know that was a tough case, and if you need to talk about it with someo-“

“jj, drop it, please.”

the blonde’s face drops a little at your sternness, but respects your space and offers you to try the creamer before returning to her desk. you feel bad for snapping at her, but the growing guilt within you is giving you apathy, and you can’t bring yourself to care at this moment.

you linger in the kitchen so as to avoid any more concerned faces, and you’re left to your own devices that are slowly overtaking you.

unbeknownst to you, spencer had been watching you since you all landed back in quantico. he kept his distance, mostly because he knew how overwhelmed you get at confrontation, especially about your emotions. he was the same way, a man of logic getting befuddled by emotion was enough cognitive dissonance to last a long time.

he knew it was different with you. you had a way of internalizing everything in your surrounding, a downfall to your endless empathy for others even if they never deserve it. he could explain the logic behind your beliefs, and hopefully use facts to help you relax, but that was the other thing he knew about you; you were stubborn. asking for help is something you hated doing, and if it wasn’t on your accord to be asking, it was even more detrimental to your mood.

so when he watched you duck out from the kitchen and push past the glass doors of the bullpen, he knew you were reaching the head of your doom spiral quickly.

spencer got up from his desk, “i’m gonna go check on her.”

jj nodded, “just be mindful spence, something feels different.”

they’d all been on cases that hit a little too close to home, how could they not when all they do is rid the world of the evilest of evildoers. but after a good cry, a rant to a teammate, or even an emergency therapy session, even the worst of the scum could be washed away.

something about the way you’ve been acting since they landed seemed like those fixits aren’t going to work this time.

he let out a sigh in response and walked out of the bullpen, realizing he didn’t actually know which direction you went in. assuming you’d want to be alone, he thinks the bathroom might’ve been a viable option for you and heads towards it.

the nice thing about the seventh floor is that it’s only for the bau, the bullpen was where the team spent most of their time but outside the doors there were so many empty rooms being used for storage.

so as spencer walked towards the bathroom in the hopes of finding you, his ears pick up on a tiny sniffle a little ways before it. he stops in his tracks, hoping he was just hearing things. but another pained sob rang through the door on his left, and he knew he’d found you.

he rapps the door a few times, softly calling your name, “hey, it’s spencer…can i come in please?”

you were on the other side sitting at one of the abandoned desks with your head down, but shot up at hearing spencer’s voice, “i- i’m fine i just needed a minute. i’ll be back in like two minutes, i promise.” you angrily wipe at the tears pooling on your face, grateful that you took your makeup off in the plane.

“honey, that’s not what i asked,” he starts, “is it okay if i come in?

your heart clenches at the term of endearment as you stare at the door knowing he was waiting for your okay to come in, and you start to internally weigh your options. you could let him in, and let him in to do whatever comforting you know logically would help. or you could lie, and feign ignorance to the end.

don’t they say ignorance is bliss?

you make sure to wipe the last of your tears and your runny nose before practicing a few fake smiles so it didn’t look like your face was frozen in sadness for the last thirty minutes. turning the knob you swing the door open, borderline creepy smile on your face as you greet the man, “hi dr. reid! was there something you were looking for?”

he furrows his brows at your complete (fake) shift in mood, but he comes in and shuts the door behind him, and moves to stand a few feet from you, “what’s going on?”

“nothing spence, i’m fine.” you insist.

spencer thinks if you could be more see through you’d be a windexed window. you’re avoiding eye contact with him, picking at the skin of your thumb, he can see your nose is red most likely from all the tissue blowing, and your eyes are still puffy and lined with some unshed tears still. you are so clearly breaking at the seams, like an old childhood teddy bear with stuffing falling out the sides yet hoping you can offer some semblance of stability despite your state.

“you don’t look fine, honey. why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

his words almost make you falter, and you think the walls you built so high are starting to chip down. “it’s not a big deal spence, i-,” a hiccuped breath gives you away, “i can deal with it on my own.”

spencer instinctively shortens the gap between you two, “you shouldn’t have to. i just wanna help you.”

“but i’m oka-“

“no you’re not.”

there is only one tiny thin thread left holding you together. “well,” you take a deep inhale and your voice gets impossibly small, “if you keep saying things like to me i’m not gonna be okay.”

“that’s why i’m here.” he says softly.

you look up at him with the biggest glassy doe eyed look he’s ever seen, and it’s like spencer can hear the snap of the thread in real time when he watches your face absolutely crumble. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his embrace, allowing him to hold your head down in the middle of his chest while his other hand smooths up and down your back in comfort.

“i know, shh, hey it’s okay, i got you.” he comforts.

your hands wrap around his waist beneath his suit jacket and you keep your face buried in his chest, inhaling the musky vanilla scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh laundry detergent smell letting it ground you back to him.

“i’m sorry.” you cry.

“don’t say that,” he hushes, “is it about the case?” you nod in his embrace, “we talked about it remember? there was nothing we could have done. we did everything right, sometimes it just doesn’t work out, you know that.” he moves his hand to tangle in your hair and rub your head.

“i- i know,” you say through labored breaths. you take a big breath before admitting the true reason for your anguish, “when we were about to leave, i walked by a room with some detectives talking about how i ruined the case and that…i’m the reason the kid died.”

“what?” he pulls back to look you in the eyes hoping to find any indication that you didn’t believe those poisoned words, “we both worked on that geographical profile together, the whole team agreed it was accurate and acted accordingly. what happened was not your fault. at all.” he emphasizes the last two words.

“yeah but…i don’t know maybe i could ha-“

“stop. you can’t do that to yourself. we did what we could with what we had, the burden of that child’s passing does not fall on you. we were only able to find the unsub’s hiding spot when you figured out he’d been going to the same gas station since the murders started.” he reinforced to you.

“they said that they didn’t know how i even got into the academy in the first place, and that i make the team stupider.” you quietly added.

spencer felt the rage consume his body, already planning the ways he was going to obliterate seattle pd. he cradled your head to look at him in the eyes, “listen to me. you are an important asset to this team. you make this team better at what they do, you make me better at what i do. you mean so much to me and the team okay? please don’t forget that.”

he swipes at a fallen tear on your cheek as you tell him between sniffles, “thanks spence…” you hope he understands the sentiment and love you’re trying to exude to him, even thought you’re unable to vocalize it.

“you gotta tell me if something like that happens,” he softly scolds you, “i’ll make sure they lose their fucking jobs.”

you’re about to speak when he cuts you off, “and don’t tell me that we should be the bigger people, because once the rest of the team hears about this, they’re all gonna be fighting over who’s gonna kick the shit out of them.”

you let out a tearful giggle, “you sound really funny when you curse.”

he scoffs, “what the hell, i do not!”

“you sound like a baby duckling that just learned how to say fuck.”

he starts to guide you out of the room and towards hotch’s office so you can recount what happened, “ouch, i’m hurt. i’d like to think the pistol and fbi badge i carry makes me intimidating.”

you giggle again, and spencer puts aside his rage to revel in the fact that you’re feeling better.

when hotch learned of what happened he immediately called seattle pd to file a motion to get those detectives fired, and the rest of the team were secretly praying for a case in seattle again so they could, as spencer predicted, kick the shit out of them.

[mrsshabana]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞

꒦꒷‧₊ Content Mr. Crawling x gender!neutral!reader, fluff ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 800 words. I wrote this just now, I wasn't planning on writing for him so soon but I couldn't help myself. I hope those of you that know of him enjoy it. ♡

It all started at those stupid abandoned apartments. Your friends dared you to go in, and for some reason you did it. Sure it was spooky inside but there really wasn't any threat. Only when you got lost and wandered around the building for hours, trying to find an exit. 

While you were in the building you felt like someone was watching you. Occasionally spotting a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye, or hearing the sound of something shuffling on the floor. 

However, even after you left the building, you still felt like someone was watching you—every second of every day. This feeling was stronger while you were at home, but it would linger out in public, too. 

It was strongest though when you were trying to go to sleep. In your bedroom, with the lights off, and no sound but the night outside your window. You tried to ignore it, not let it get to you, but you'd be lying if you said it hadn't kept you awake most nights. Only falling asleep when your fatigue was too much to ignore. 

And tonight was no different. You lay in your bed desperately trying to get some rest but the feeling of someone else in your room keeps you awake. 

“You okay?” a strange voice calls to you from the darkness. You have no idea what it said but you're certain you couldn't have imagined the sound. 

You shoot up from your bed to see where the sound came from, but you don't see anyone. 

“H-Hello?” you mutter in a shaky voice.

Suddenly a head pops up from beside your bed, “Hello!” A high-pitched giggle emits from the creature's mouth, a sound that doesn't match its appearance. 

The head rises, and it grips the side of your bed with cold-looking hands. Pulling itself onto the bed with its arms instead of standing up and climbing on normally. 

You scream at the sight, instinctively backing away.

The creature frowns, “You scared?” it says as it retreats slightly, “Me sorry.” It has an apologetic tone in its voice, but it's speaking some kind of language you're unable to understand.

It doesn't come closer, staying at a distance so as to not startle you further. As the panic slowly subsides, you take a closer look at the creature. 

It looks like a man, but his hair is extremely long. Stark black and has a silky straight texture - hanging in front of his face and covering his eyes. Though you can see blood on his skin where it looks like his eyes should be. His skin is pale grey, and void of any warmth. And his clothes, though hard to see since he hasn't stood yet, appear to be a tattered black Yukata perhaps? 

He stares back at you with a wide grin. It's that smile that makes him look creepy and inhuman. Though not entirely unfriendly. 

“Wh-who are you?” you whimper, “What do you want?”

He tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy. It seems like he doesn't understand what you're saying. 

“Me not hurt you,” he smiles, reaching out his hand to pat your head. 

You flinch at his touch, not sure what he just said or what his intentions are. Though he doesn't seem malicious. He may look scary but he hasn't shown any hostility when he's certainly had the opportunity to. 

“Um,” you try to think of what to say to him, “Are you the one that's been watching me?”

“...?” he tilts his head again.

“N-Never mind,” you smile awkwardly, “Erm, I'm going to go to sleep, ok? You can sleep on the couch if you want to stay…”

You put your hands together and make a sleeping motion on your pillow, trying to tell him you want to sleep. 

“Rest?” he looks at the pillow then back to you, “Alright. We rest!”

With a smile he lays his head on the pillow next to yours, looking at you expectantly. 

“N-No! I mean - you can sleep on the couch, not in my bed!” 

He just smiles, your words going in one ear and out the other. 

“Ok, fine,” you sigh and lay down beside him, “You can sleep here I guess…”

You try to sleep, but you can feel him staring at you. And when you open your eyes to see that wide smile of his, it doesn't help. So you turn around, facing your back to him. “G-Goodnight,” you mutter. 

“You rest bed… Me rest bed,” he mumbles, “Me grateful.”

You don't know what he just said, but for some reason, you feel safer with him by your side. Who or what he is is still a mystery. For all you know, this could just be another dream.

But a part of you really hopes that it isn't…

[tartarusknight]

Steve had this habit, a habit which most of the party were annoyed by. They understood it, God did they understand. But after everything was over and the Upside Down was gone for good, it kept happening. Months and months of daily calls. Just Steve checking in and asking them about their day.

Mike hadn't understood why he was on the list of names Steve would call, but if he didn't pick up the phone, there would be a knock on the door within the hour. And Steve, sometimes followed by Robin, would stop by like he was that important to them. Once, it had been on their way to work, and Steve had only locked eyes with him and raised an eyebrow. Mike just flipped him off and continued reading his comic.

Dustin had told him it was Steve's way of coping, and Lucas had turned the calls into workouts with the older teen. Will had just gone a little red and nodded along. El smiled and told Mike about the tips for hair care she got. Max just rolled her eyes and said that Steve had taken to stopping by with food most days.

Steve would be there. He was always there. It was annoying, but it was a constant. Maybe that's why Mike laid awake as the clock ticked closer and closer to midnight. Normally, he could fall asleep within minutes, a habit he had inherited from his dad. But he could bring himself to sleep as his phone didn't ring. As the walkie stayed silent. As the door remained untouched, no knock to be heard.

And it was stupid. Because Mike didn't want Steve to call him every day just to ask him if he was okay. It made him feel like a kid. It reminded Mike of his mom, but even his mom wasn't that bad. No, no one really did that for Mike. No one checked in day after day even as he remained uncaring towards them. No one but Steve.

Until now...

Mike watched the clock as it passed midnight, and his stomach twisted into knots. Fear bubbled up, and he pictured Steve getting into a fight he couldn't walk away from. He pictured a car crash so great that Steve was unable to reach for the walkie he carried with him everywhere. He pictured the worst- the Upside Down still around. The demogorgon coming up and dragging Steve into that hellpit.

Mike was up and pulling on a warm sweatshirt before those images were fully formed. He crawled out his window and down the roof, not too unlike the way Steve had done to visit Nancy. It left him already out of breath by the time he climbed on his bike. But that didn't stop him. He pushed off the ground, biking as fast as he could towards Loch Nora.

The cold air hot his face, and the road seemed to go on forever, but Mike didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not until Steve's place was in view.

Mike tossed his bike uncarringly onto the pavement before slamming his fist into the Harrington's nice door. He didn't let up. He couldn't as an image of Steve dead in his own pool floated in his mind.

However, then the door was opening. Steve stood there, looking like he hadn't been asleep either. A smear of white powder on his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes. But still, something eased in Mike the same time Steve lost some of that weight in his shoulders as well. "You- you didn't-" Mike started, still out of breath. "Call. Why didn't you- call?" He gasped and Steve looked at him with a weird expression.

"You- What?" Steve questioned, sounding lost.

Mike crossed his arms, "I- you can't just stop!" He gasped out, and Steve's brow furrowed.

"But you don't like it when I do? I annoy you," he tries to point out, and Mike huffs.

"God, of course you annoy me! You track our days more intensly than my mom, and you always make dumb jokes, and I hate that I find them funny! You always call when I'm in the middle of something, and you make it easy to stay on the phone! You are always there like some weird older brother that I never asked for!" Mike shouts and Steve's eyes are wide.

"You don't have to stay around or call, but you do! You do, and you actually care. Like when you call and ask me if I'm okay, it feels like you care, and I don't understand why! I don't get you! I didn't ask you to care about me, but even when you were dating Nancy, you cared! You took Holly and me to get ice cream even though Nancy had to study! You give me and my friends rides everywhere! You care!" Mike throws his hands up in the air.

He glares at the older teen, "You care so much that I stupidly care about you! I care enough to come and check on you because when you didn't call, all I could think was that you were like dead or something," Mike snaps and takes a step back. "But you're obviously fine so-" and he wants to run suddenly. To run from the way Steve's eyes are filled with tears or the stupid words he just told the older teen.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly. "Mike, I stopped because I didn't think you wanted me to. You always acted like I was your least favorite person in the world and I guess I just- I didn't feel like it was fair to force you to put up with me just because I can't handle not knowing if you were okay." Steve said, and it didn't sound like the normal Steve. He sounded tired and nervous. He sounded like someone had finally beaten him

Mike bites his lip and tastes salt like he had been crying. Or maybe he still was. He crosses his arms like he can shield himself from this conversation. "But now you don't care enough to keep calling?"

Steve rubbed his face, a sigh shaking his whole body as he did. "I still care, kid."

Mike scoffs, "You didn't call."

Steve drops his hands to his sides. "Just come inside. It's too late for you to bike home. I'll call your place and leave a message." Steve says, his voice sounding close to tears. Mike is stiff when he lets Steve pull him inside.

They are quiet as Steve guides him towards the kitchen. The kitchen that has music playing softly and smelling like a bake sale. He blinks as he steps into the room and spots cookies cooling on a rack and a pie stilling uncooked on the counter. The top crust is sitting on the counter next to it. There's a smell of something in the oven, and Mike states at all of it in confusion.

"I bake when I can't relax," Steve admits, and Mike glances over at him. "I still care, and I was trying to give you space. I was trying not to crowd you, so I just," and he waves his hand around the mess everywhere. The smear of white on his cheek now makes sense.

Mike hugged himself, "I don't- I don't mind the calls." He whispered, and it got a snort from Steve.

He looked over at Mike, "I kinda got that from your speech."

They stood there in silence for another moment before Steve moved to finish putting his pie together. "I know that we aren't close or anything. But I care, it's not just the Upside Down making me anxious, it's just that-" and Steve went quiet. "I went overboard, I get it. But now I just- I can't stop." He admits, and Mike hates how upset Steve sounds. How guilty he sounds.

"I fall asleep easier knowing that if someone wasn't okay, we'd know because of you. It's like you take all the stress from me just by being around." He says, and Steve's eyes are wide. "Maybe we just do a sound off every night so you don't have to play phone tag all day." He shrugs, and Steve wrinkles his nose.

"I don't really get how to use the walkie. Like Dustin tried to show me, but he got distracted and started talking about radio waves and well..." Steve mimed it going over his head.

Mike snorted to hide how much that terrified him. The thought of something bad happening and Steve not being able to respond. But he pushed it away as Steve looked at him as if waiting for Mike to tease him. "That's fair. We did modify them, so they worked better. It's not as simple as your average walkie. I can show you," he offered, and Steve's face split into a grin.

"Cool, want to help me finish this so I can put it in the fridge until tomorrow? Then you can teach me the ways," Steve says, going all dramatic, proving to Mike he'd been spending too much time with Eddie. Mike groaned but came over only for Steve to shove him to the sink to wash his hands.

Steve showed him what to do, and Mike was glad to have Steve around. Because sure Steve's habit was annoying, and sometimes it interfered with Mike's plans, but it was nice too. Steve was nice. And that was something Mike ever believed would happen. But as Steve joked that Mike should not become a baker, he was nice. Like the way Mike was nice to Holly or how Nancy was nice to him. He was part of the family, annoyingly nice habits and all.

[totalswag]

midnight adventures — RAFE CAMERON

authors note here's a little something sweet for you guys. soft!rafe will forever have my heart. happy reading lovies.

— taglist if you want to be notified whenever i post leave a comment and you’ll be added.

summary having trouble sleeping throughout the night and text rafe if you can go on a drive to relax your mind

warning(s) trouble sleeping and rafe being the best boyfriend.

"Please sleep," you say to yourself, on the verge of tears, staring at the ceiling and running your hands through your hair with frustration.

It was three in the morning.

You've recently struggled to sleep at night, falling asleep around four in the morning, getting five hours of sleep, and yet feeling exhausted during the day.

Rolling over on your side, a huff escapes your lips as you reach your arm up to the nightstand, where your phones are plugged in. You take it off the charger and call your boyfriend, Rafe.

He responded within five seconds, sounding sleepy and worried. After you've finished stating your sleeping problems, he says he'll be there in ten minutes.

Rafe's truck can be heard from around the corner; a smile forms on your face. You put your slides on and one of Rafe's sweatshirt on then walk downstairs to the front door.

You snuck out of the house quietly and hopped into the passenger seat, greeted by the familiar perfume of Rafe's cologne combined with the subtle aroma of leather.

"Hey," he whispered softly, reaching over to offer your hand a comforting squeeze. "Ready?"

"Yeah," you replied, beaming warmly at him. "Thank you for this."

"Anything for you," he said, turning the truck into gear and driving away from your home turning out of the neighborhood.

He hands you his unlocked phone for music; you're usually on aux in his car. You pick the first song you liked and would set the mood.

You feel his right hand on your thigh, the thumb gently caressing. You let yourself relax under his touch.

"You want to grab something to eat?" He asks out of the blue, checking his shoulder before changing lanes and glancing at you for a response.

"Can we go to the store?" You recommended pointing to the store across the street. 

"Of sure, Baby.”

After getting some snacks, Rafe drove to your favorite spot, the beach. Generally this is your favorite spot to go whenever you want to get away from everything.

Rafe backed into the parking area so you could face the water in the dim light. You took the two blankets he keeps in the second row as he moved around to open your door.

Rafe drew you closer to him once the two of you had settled in. You looked up at him, admiring how blessed you were to have him.

"If you want to kiss me, just tell me," he quips, his eyes fixed on the water. You hit him in the chest, making him laugh, then kissed him.

"What's keeping you up all night princess?" He asks quietly, gently pushing your hair away from your face and examining your expression.

Rafe loathes witnessing you struggle to fall asleep or feel this way. Regardless of the circumstance, he has always been there for you in an instant. You find him most admirable in that regard. You are very fortunate to have him.

"I honestly don't know what's causing it," you shrugged, "stress might be the main factor or something else" was the only response you could give him right now. I'm not sure what is causing you to stay up late and never get enough sleep.

Rafe furrows his brows.

"You know I'd come sleep with you if you had problems falling asleep, and I don't want you to lose sleep. You value your sleep, I know that." You laugh at how much you value your sleep—you really do.

After a while, a few subjects are discussed. A cold breeze blows through the night, and the sound of the waves is calming. You can sense your own body becoming more at ease.

In silence, Rafe and you lay together covered by blankets. It seemed like the ideal moment. You drew closer to him— he also smells good.

"You almost ready to go?" Rafe asks curiously, "I don't want your parents waking up to you not in your bed" you stopped yourself after he finished his sentence, nodding. 

"Yeah we couldn't have that" you joke.

He turned on the ignition after the two of you got comfortable in the truck, allowing it to warm up for five minutes as you had been sitting on the bed with the truck turned off for an hour. 

It took ten minutes to make the drive back to your home. You didn't want to spend the remainder of the night apart from Rafe. Compared to before you saw him, you felt calmer and more content. 

"Can you stay?" If you think about it, what you're asking kindly amounts to pleading.

He replies sarcastically, "How can I refuse?" and then leans in to give you a kiss on the lips before turning off his truck.

Quitely entering your house with Rafe closely behind you. You turned your phone flashlight on incase of running into stuff and waking everyone up.

When you got to your room you took your slides and socks off your feet then flopping on your bed. Rafe took his shirt off along with shoes and socks. You opened your arms waiting for Rafe to get into bed with you.

"Don't worry, I'm coming," he says, placing his shirt on the desk chair across the room.

"Oh, that's what she said," you laugh.

Fake laughing, Rafe says, "Haha so funny" as he slides under the covers.

Snuggling closer to Rafe, you let out a sigh of relief as you kissed his naked chest several times and drew invisible hearts before feeling your eyes close.

You yawn with exhaustion, "Thank you for keeping me company tonight, baby, it means a lot, I love you."

"I love you too princess and that's what I'm supposed to do, take care of my beautiful girlfriend when she's in times like this."

You shared a final kiss with Rafe and then dozed out in each other's arms.

my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account.

@winterrrnight @chenslucy @rosezza @rafeyslamb @runningfrom2am @starkeyvhs @diqldrunks

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #37

Progenitor

Imagine dis…

I saw a TikTok about this and some A03 fics inspired me as well.

It is about the eldest daughter being parentified by her parents towards her younger siblings.

Many fics portray Danny as much closer to Jazz as she is the one who raised him since their parents are so focused on their ghostly research, and even during crucial days like holidays are filled with arguments.

There are very few where I saw Jazz feeling motherly love towards Danny, doing things only a mother would dare to do for the sake of her child.

…

Danny was originally born as Danyal Al Ghul, the lesser twin of him and his older brother, Damian Al Ghul. Danyal has the softness that no Al Ghul should have, the innocence that seems to bloom within his heart that seemed impossible to grow under the harsh desert sand and discipline within their grandfather’s rule. He tried to open up to his twin, after all, they came together, so there must be something to be linked between the two brothers.

Yet it was naive thinking of him, it had met him a deep scar on his right cheek for such an act.

He also tried to reach out to his mother, surely the woman with whom he shared a connection both blood and flesh, and the woman who had carried him and his brother within her womb instead of the artificial womb that grandfather insisted for their development for future advantage.

He received nothing but a slap and an hour under intense torture that no toddler should ever experience.

He also tried to reach out to their guard, the guard with hazed eyes. Damian had immediately lost interest in their supposed guard but he stayed. He observed the guard found little things that he quite enjoyed with the guard, the nameless guard would hold the book as if reading but now actual movement reading, so he would occasionally sit on his lap and let him read a book and read it out loud, sometimes he would see him nod along or a slight twitch of his fingers or face.

He got attached to his guard, and despite being catatonic he still had the moves of a deadly fighter so Danyal began copying him, learning from him, every time he got as much as a scrape his guard would kneel and stare at the wound as if he could stare the injury away. It made Danyal smile as he knew that his guard was trying to make it better but knew nothing of how.

Under those glazed eyes Danyal heard him speak for the first and last time. It was another day for Danyal and his guard yet when he entered his chamber he was gone, leaving Danyal to care for his heart that had been broken for another time.

Slowly but surely he made a wall around his heart, he loved so much, he loved so much yet no one stayed for him. No one gave their love and devotion back to him. So he put up walls, so that his fragile heart that had been torn into pieces by those he gave his heart to, would never further break.

It was a normal day really, a small time group of assassins that had been absorbed by the League a long time ago held loyalty to their former leader who had been executed by Ra. In an act of revenge, the remaining assassins poisoned the two heirs of the Demon head and immediately killed themselves.

As Danyal lays down on the cold floor of their private chambers with Damian already unconscious he begins to wish, from the books he manages to read with his guard he learns of a legend, wish upon a star tell no one and your wish will come true, he began to wish for his next life for someone to love him with all his heart.

…

He was reborn, the moment he blinked his eyes he noticed that had regressed into a mere baby. He was born into a family of scientists, if he can call them that, ever spent most of their time tinkering away and discussing their l; latest project. It did not bother Danyal Daniel much as he had experienced firsthand how to be compared and be ignored in favor of your much in favor of brother.

But this time it was different, instead of being left behind by the older sibling she stayed. Jasmine or Jazz as she preferred, stayed and looked after him, which confused him for a bit, being the more favored sibling both by their parents and the desolate town around them, she could left him to fend for himself, but still, she stayed.

She read so many books that reached passed her height, about parenting and how to take care of a baby. It was all new to him that he didn’t know what to do with all of the attention and love that seem to radiant from his sister to him.

He saw some of his age group civilians see how they look at their guardians and parents and how said guardians/ parents would act towards them and made a realization that he finally found the one, the one where he could lower his walls and give his entire heart to, mother? Or father? Titles that whispered inside his head. Whenever he needed help she was there, whenever he was in distress she was there to comfort her. Each time she was there, both mother and father she had filled both roles despite having the opportunity to go away and be great using her intellect and own means she stayed just for him.

He physically fumbled and tripped at what to do with the amount of love that he could ever wish to have, not only that 2 more joined in loving and caring for him. Samantha Ingrid "Sam" Manson and Tucker Foley are friends who are with him through thick and thin, even at the moment of his death they were there.

To get back to them forever loving him, he defended the town where his precious people lived.

Ellie was a surprise he sometimes wished to have a younger sibling to care for, it may started rough but both are going somewhere. Then there is his older self from the future, he saw himself if he managed to lose the most important people in his life. Dan knew both in and out the things he kept secret and every thought he made, both made a slow and shaking bond but when something clicked within them, it was there to acknowledge.

It had been perfect, Daniel Danny’s life had been, a family that loved him it was all he ever wished for. If only Maddie and Jack never did discover who he was, being cut open and witnessing how your very insides move and twitch made even the hardened soldiers faint. Jazz’s scream echoed the deep lab that coated his blood at every nook and cranny.

The moment he woke up he felt nothing but dread, he was back….

Deep within the walls of the League, a lone boy let out a silent scream to the skies.

…

Danyal woke up three days after Damian woke up, He could not get into his head, he still retained the memories of when he was Danny, some scars that only Danny ever had yet it all felt like a dream, a haze and illusion that his mind had made. From that day on he began moving through the motion, without putting any life or force in each swing, being the good little soldier that all wanted. Slowly the light in his eyes was lost and if you were to observe him from afar you’d see an asset, not a boy walking through the motions of the day.

Ra was pleased, the tool that he had seen but a dull knife was slowly sharpening itself, while both Damian and Talia remained indifferent.

…

The twins were 10 when they were sent off to their father in Gotham.

Richard “Dick” Grayson immediately took a liking to Damian as he not only saw Jason in him but also a child that needed guidance, which was cemented when they all thought that Bruce had died, it was right then that moment when Dick ensured to be the guidance that Damian needed, all while leaving Danyal.

Jason tried to be closer to the demon brat but whenever he tried to initiate some of his old habits back when he was in the League and back when his mind was still hazy he was met with a sword in his face he thought that he was shy and kept on trying to connect with said baby brother, all while leaving Danyal.

Tim is reserved and becomes guarded when Dmain threatens him and cuts off his line, he also sets up expectations towards the silent twin who seems to be a wallflower most of the time but that doesn’t deter him, so when Tim and Damian begins working on a relationship, they just didn’t see the other twin that had been left behind again.

Bruce has many regrets in his life and when his biological kids appeared he swore to be there for them, it was when he was lost in the time stream that he promised himself to be more involved in all of his kid's lives, from Dick’s job as a cop in Bludhaven to Damian’s artwork at school. He made sure that he had the time for all of them, never repeating his mistakes, yet he also left Danyal behind.

…

Constantine is sweating, as much as he rather summon another bloody demon to deal with the problem at hand, he knows that even the strongest demons he could call forth could not defeat a denizen of the Realms. He already explained to the rest of the JL that only a denizen that is either equal or greater power can defeat whomever it is making the citizens of Metropolis depressed and being murdered left and right. As he drew the summoning circle to summon the strongest that could catch this call, he just hoped it was something he or the JL could pay.

As he activated the circle, large blue flames began to surround the entire JL base that are both cold and hot. He closed his eyes shit at the sheer intensity of this being’s raw power to the point every JL member from both Dark and Maine is pushed 5 feet back at the intense power when he opened his eyes to look at what kind of being he just summoned he immediately paled to the color of paper.

There she is, in all her glory, blue flames that flow down to her back, standing 8 feet tall carrying a javelin, she wears a stunning navy blue gown that combines elegance with a militaristic edge. The sculpted shoulders, embellished with gold-embroidered epaulets, gave her a commanding presence, while the fitted bodice embraced her figure with effortless grace. A satin belt with a gold buckle tightened her waist, and the A-line skirt fell just past the knee. Subtle gold accents traced the seams, giving the clothing a regal appearance. The garment, worn with tailored slacks underneath, gave her freedom of movement evoking the authority of an empress.

He just summoned the bloody Mother of the Infinite Realms, the mother of the prince of the Infinite Realms that defeated the tyrant Pariah Dark. He immediately prostates himself alongside the rest of the JL Dark realizing whom John Constantine just summoned.

…

The rest of the JL that remained standing looked in awe and caution at the being that Constantine managed to summon, as well as the rest of the JL Dark’s behavior towards the being. All sweaty and bowing in reverence. In the most polite tone they ever heard from the con artist he asked for their assistance in containing a rouge denizen and their payment for such an endeavor.

The being looked at each of them slowly, feeling their very instincts to bow at least at the being when they felt their eyes on them and ultimately paused on Batman. She pointed her weapon at the Bat cladded hero and asked him for him as payment, not anything that Constantine was thinking but hearing his skill as a great detective their payment was for Batman to look for her treasure that she had lost and at moment she had felt the moment they stepped into this universe. Batman agreed after they had smoothed over the details of said contract. The empress, Nightigale, summoned her knight and told him to deal with their denizen and toss them back into Walker’s prison.

Looking blankly at Batman, he had no choice but to let Empress Nightingale follow him back to the cave for her to foresee the investigation of her treasure and to ensure he fulfilled his end of the deal.

…

The moment Bruce stepped inside the cave he noticed Empress Nightgale had also stopped dead in her tracks and looked intently at his youngest, Danyal, who had been training at one of the cave’s training mats. What’s more interesting is that Danyal also stopped and stared at the visitor that Bruce brought along. Just as he was about the introduce the two, he saw Danyal the ever-quiet child sprung into life and tackled the empress, while Nightgale herself had her long arms wrapped around Danyal.

Bruce saw Danyal’s eyes spring into life, tears welled up in his eyes and a pure smile stretched across his youngest face. Suddenly Bruce felt Bane had punched him again, he had never seen his youngest so happy, so full of life ever since he met him. He always thought that his youngest was independent, so quiet that he had left him with his devices, somewhere within Bruce’s mind whispered that he was too late once again.

…

News about Danyal’s sudden change of attitude had reached all of the members, even in the deep corner of space.

Dick, Jason, and Tim are now seething with rage and disappointed at themselves for the wasted time they wasted in being Danyal’s life. Who has now an older sibling that despite his menacing appearance adored and teased Dnayal in a way that erupted laughs and giggles from the boy?

Dick forgetting that they were twins, Dick kept reassuring himself that he was too busy but with each memory that he visited Danyal is always right behind them looking at them with lifeless eyes, as if he had just made a different choice back then.

Jason for forgetting his ward that had adopted when he was in the League, probably the only thing that kept him sane as the green clouded in his mind when he was dunked in the pit was the fact his little chick was within the walls and the thought that he might hurt him halted his massacre.

Tim who had now noticed the small notes scattered on his desk that were not the handwriting of anyone he knew yet the initial DW, always assumed that it was Damian who was quietly helping him in cases but the revelation that it had been Danyal made him want to turn back time. He had noticed early on that Danyal wanted to be closer to him, but pushed the boy away for expecting to be like Damian.

Damian is seething with jealousy as he notices that Danyal begins spending most of his time outside with the demon that stole his brother. He kept bringing up to his father that the being that Constantine summoned was a demon already mind-controlled Danyal. But even though he cannot stop and drink in the joyful face that Danyal has whenever he is with Nightgale, he keeps remembering the time Danyal acted this way towards him.

Talia is also seething beneath her mask of indifference how dare this thing claim to be her son’s parent? It is not she who had given birth nor she is the one who ensured they both survive, but the fact that thing gifted Danyal the head of the Joker and her father’s head after revealing to her son her own father’s plan that even she is not privy on made her want to revive her father herself and be the one to end his pathetic life, how dare his father plan that horrendous ritual behind her back.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: An inspiration bug bit me and would not let me rest until I finish this.

PPS: Got too long for my liking again.

[mrs-kmikaelson]

icarus

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x sunshine!reader Summary: Aaron thinks you're just about the most radiant person he's ever met. But then you fly too close to the sun, and all your light disappears. Warnings: grumpy x sunshine turned not sunshine, some references to the greek myth of icarus, religious imagery, graphic descriptions of violence, murder, brief allusion to suicide, heartbreak, complicated relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, cm timeline not canon, takes place in s6ish, extreme angst and no happy ending (yet) Words: 4.1K

Masterlist | helios (part 2)

a/n: part 2?

You'd been in Hotch's office too many times to count, typically sitting on his couch. Oftentimes, you'd come in after hours, waiting for him to finish his work before you walked to the parking lot together. He'd scribble away at his desk while you rested your eyes, and then he'd walk over to you when he was done.

Now, you sat on the couch, the same as before. But this time, Hotch sat in front of you. You weren't resting your eyes and he wasn't working on any case. A file laid on his lap, nonetheless.

Your file.

You wanted to question that. Was it performative? What would he find in that file that he didn't already know about you? Did he want to make you sweat, make you tense up?

He didn't need a file for that.

Your eyes zeroed in on the tan folder, labelled with the FBI seal, and they stayed there until he spoke your name. "Y/N."

You looked up. Aaron's face betrayed no emotion. His expression wasn't warm, nor was it cold. It was just blank.

But, see, you could read Aaron Hotchner better than any file. And in his eyes, you saw traces of concern, hope, frustration, desperation, and all those other things he was hiding behind his unit chief persona. You wondered if he could see anything in your eyes right now.

You weren't really there. Not in that moment.

Your mind went back to your first time in that office.

"SSA Aaron Hotchner, it's a pleasure to meet you."

You gave him a remarkable smile. "Please, the pleasure's all mine. Agent Y/N Y/L/N."  You had a firm handshake, he'd give you that. "It's— it's an honour to be here, sir."

David Rossi was your connection. He served with your father during the Vietnam War. Hotch thought that made him biased, but Rossi told him otherwise. She's the sun, he'd said. I guarantee, you'll never meet anyone as radiant as her.

Upon meeting you, Hotch could see that. He could see the beam in your smile and the light in your eyes. Maybe that should've deterred him from letting you on his team, but you were convincing.

Sitting opposite to you at his desk, he read from your file. "It says here you come from Crimes Against Children?"

"Yes, sir."

"You've held the highest number of cases solved within the unit for the past 2 years." He finally looked up at you, his lips twitching ever so slightly. "That's quite the accomplishment, agent."

He didn't seem like a man who gave out compliments very often, and so you had to fight the urge to smile like a lunatic. "Thank you, sir."

He didn't seem like a man who smiled much, either. And so, before he even said another word, you knew that you made it.

When the interview ended, you shook hands a second time, and he told you to pack a go-bag and be ready to come in for Monday. This time, you couldn't hide the smile.

"Welcome to the BAU."

Aaron's voice broke you from your reverie. "Please state your name and rank for the record."

Your eyes darted to the voice recorder on the coffee table before looking back up at him. You cleared your throat. "Supervisory Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N."

Aaron didn't waste any time. "Agent Y/L/N, in your time with CAC, you had the most cases solved within the unit," he stated. That was once a compliment to you.

It didn't feel that way anymore.

"Yes," you affirmed.

"You were there for 2 years."

"Yes."

Hotch paused. His next words weren't a statement. "How did that affect your mental wellbeing?"

Low blow. Very low blow. But you kept your composure, answering, "I was evaluated frequently as a member of the CAC. I was deemed fit to be in the field on each occasion." You bit your tongue to keep you from saying anything else. This is being recorded, you reminded yourself.

Hotch narrowed his eyes, almost imperceptibly.

Almost. 

"And once you got to the BAU, there was no residual guilt?" He made eye contact with you, and perhaps now your eyes were communicating something.

That was lower.

But you supposed that Aaron knew exactly where to hit.

"It's okay if you have to take a break, you know."

You jumped at the sudden voice, putting a hand on your heart. You didn't hear anyone enter the stairwell.

An apologetic look crossed his face, but you were the one with an apology on your lips. "Sorry, I— I'll get back right now."

You attemped to walk past him, but his hand caught your shoulder. Your breath hitched. You didn't know why.

His eyes softened. They were normally hard, inpenetrable, but you were starting to realize that he looked at you differently. The team teased you for favouritism, and you denied it every time, but you could only lie to yourself so much.

"Y/N," he started, "if you think you have something to prove, you don't. You've already proven yourself." His voice was tender, not as though he was treating you like you were delicate, but like he wanted to be gentle. "You're allowed to take a minute."

You sighed. "But I shouldn't have to, Hotch." You looked away from him, trying to find the words to verbalize your thoughts. "I— I dealt with tougher cases than this in CAC. I should be able to handle it. It's not fair for me to break down when that boy is out there, all on his own."

A lump grew in the back of your throat. It wasn't fair. Nothing about this job was fair.

You weren't normally so quick to cry, but you'd been holding this in. Aaron could tell. 

After cases, you were everyone's shoulder to cry on. Even he had confided in you multiple times when he probably shouldn't have. You were always there.

He wondered who was there for you.

"What you feel is valid. This is a hard case; it's normal to be a bit overwhelmed. You don't have to carry guilt over that."

A little laugh left you. "Hotch, how can you say that when everyone else is handling it just fine?"

His reply came quick. "They're not." You wanted to interject, but he continued, "Prentiss may seem fine, but beneath the surface, she's disgusted. Morgan is no different; he's angry, and that's manifesting into aggression. Reid is quieter today. Rossi is going to get a drink later. JJ has called Will 3 times since we got here, checking on Henry. And every time I see that boy's picture, I think of Jack, and I'm barely holding it together."

You swallowed at the admission, realizing his hand was still on your shoulder when he took it away. You missed the warmth.

"You're not alone, Y/N."

You believed him.

Your jaw tensed. "Guilt is inevitable. But I didn't have any more of it than the average agent."

Aaron didn't believe you. He wouldn't. He knew better.

But he was Hotch right now, and technically, Hotch wasn't meant to know anything about you. Hotch was conducting this interview, and his subordinate, Agent Y/L/N, sat across from him. Not his teammate or friend.

Certainly not the girl who fell in love with him.

You and Emily stood in the break room. She poured you a coffee as you talked about your weekends. She was just in the middle of telling you about her weekend to Atlantic City. Your laugh echoed throughout the room.

"Prentiss, next time you go gambling, take me with you! I promise I'm good."

"Somehow, I don't doubt that."

Your head turned to the new voice, seeing Hotch standing at the doorway. His lips quirked upward slightly, almost a smile. It was the most you'd get from him—you knew that.

A part of you was grateful for anything he was willing to give you.

You matched his smile with much more vigour. "You should try me sometime. I'd give you a run for your money, Hotchner," you teased. 

If you didn't know any better, you might've thought his eyes softened right then and there. "Somehow, I don't doubt that, either," he said.

You nearly forgot Emily was even in the room, missing the look she sent you. You wouldn't have known how to respond to it, anyway. Sometimes, you almost thought Hotch was flirting with you—and maybe he was. But that was the furthest it'd ever go, the most he'd ever give you.

That part of you, the biggest part, was grateful for it.

And another part of you didn't see the problem with that.

As if he was coming to his senses, he cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest and informing you, "Round table in 5." Then he was walking away like nothing ever happened. 

Maybe it didn't. Maybe you imagined it. Sometimes, you felt like pinching yourself.

But then from behind you, Emily chirped, "You know... he could've sent JJ to come tell us that."

You hummed, refusing to look at her.

Amusement flooded her voice. "It's... it's almost like... something just pulled him here."

"Okay, Emily."

You ignored her cackling, making an early trip to the round table as heat licked the tips of your ears.

Hotch's gaze didn't let up. You felt your face burn.

You knew he had a Rolodex of thoeries in his mind, a mental profile of who he thought you were. He once told you that he was a collector in his youth, and so you knew he had a collection of questions in his head.

He was striking out with this one. He moved on to the next.

"Would you say you've built close relationships with the members of this team?"

Your eyes travelled to the photo behind his desk, barely making out the image of you at a bar with the rest of the team, Aaron included. He stood next to you in that one. You were all smiling, even him.

You re-directed your attention back to him. "Yes, I have."

"You should smile more."

Aaron looked down at you, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. "What?"

Blinking, you repeated, "I said, you should smile more." A dopey grin arose on your face. "It suits you."

Aaron resisted the urge to laugh at your drunken antics. He was perfectly sober, having already anticipated that he'd have to someone's ride. "Okay, I think it's time we get you home." You didn't protest, nor did the smile on your face move. Sometimes, Hotch thought it was there permanently, like it was a fixed part of your character.

He grew to really like that smile.

Maybe more than like.

He said his goodbyes for the both of you, receiving teasing glances from the rest of the team and wiggly eyebrows from Morgan. You barely took notice of any of it, now enthralled by the laces on your shoes.

When he guided you up and you realized you were leaving, you waved haphazardly. "Bye guys!"

A chorus of goodbyes and laughter followed you out the door of the bar. Before you could even shiver, a coat was being draped over your shoulders. It took you a few seconds to figure out it was Aaron's.

Butterflies swarmed through your stomach.

Hotch was silent for a few seconds. It was like he was hesitating. But not for long.

"And would you say that those relationships are still the same now?"

You swallowed. Butterflies were in your stomach—and not the good kind. These butterflies ate away at your insides, making you want to vomit what little breakfast you'd eaten that morning. You felt sick.

Moths, you realized. Not butterflies at all.

You were a moth, too. Drawn to the flames of something bigger than you. Was that what Hotch was getting at? Was that why he was asking you all these pointless questions? 

He knew the answers already. Why was he asking you?

You responded, anyway. "No." Even if he wasn't a profiler, it would've been impossible not to notice the way your voice tightened up.

He was getting somewhere now. He dug deeper. "Is that because of what happened in Glendale?"

No. No. No. No.

Yes.

He knew that. God, he knew that better than anyone. But still, you could question him and his credibility. That was an awful question, not because he already knew the answer but because it was so unspecified.

"A lot happened in Glendale," you said. A lot.

Everything.

"You look tired."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks, Hotchner. That's just what a girl wants to hear." You flashed him a smile, anyway, like you were showing him that your annoyance was nothing more than playful.

You were still smiling, even in the midst of all this. Sometimes, Hotch thought you could smile enough for the two of you.

His hotel room was right beside yours. You were still getting your key out. Truthfully, he didn't know why he was just standing there, watching you.

In a way, it was like you were waiting for him, too. Despite having fished your room key out of your purse, you turned your body to fully face him. Something soft twinkled in your irises.

He wanted to say he saw stars in your eyes, but it was really just you. 

You were the star.

If he took another step closer, you'd be able to feel his breath against your skin. But you knew he wouldn't. You wanted him to, but he wouldn't, not even if you asked him to. And you wouldn't ask him.

He was the unit chief; he valued that. He valued rules, and order, and protocol. You couldn't ask him to turn on that. 

But you could do it yourself.

You took one step forward. He didn't step back.

"Y/N," he pleaded. It was meant to be a warning, but his voice was as light as a feather. 

You didn't know what you were doing. Ever since you joined the BAU, you were sure of yourself, absolute. Hotch made you rethink things. He made you feel like you were a champion, on top of the world and so close to the sun.

Aaron was warm. That's all you ever wanted.

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand on your face. "Please," you whispered. "Please."

You weren't asking—you were begging. Begging him to see you. God, Hotch had been engulfed in darkness for so long. You were begging him to bask in the sunlight with you.

But he wouldn't.

Within seconds, the warmth was gone. "Goodnight, Y/N."

When you opened your eyes, he was already walking away, leaving you standing there with a key in your hand and your heart on your sleeve.

Hotch sighed, his forefinger going to his thumb. Tired. "I'm talking about that night, Y/N."

Your heart dropped.

You remembered that night. You remembered it well. But he wasn't talking about the part where he left you standing in an empty hallway.

He was talking about what came after.

Knocking sounded at your door, incessant and loud. You suppressed a groan, getting up and throwing the door open without checking the peep hole. Maybe that was stupid, considering you were working a serial killer case and all the victims looked like you, but you honestly would've preferred anything other than seeing Hotch standing on the other side of the threshold.

When you opened the door, his hand fell. Soon after, so did his face. You'd been crying. You suddenly wished you'd gotten the chance to splash water on your face before carelessly opening your door.

But Hotch collected himself in an instant, returning the stony exterior you were used to. "There's been an update in the case. We have the unsub's location," he told you.

Just like that, you stood straighter, composing yourself in record speed that could put your boss to shame. "Just let me put on my shoes." You hadn't even changed.

You put on your shoes, and then you and Hotch left without another word to each other.

In the elevator, you wiped away the last of your tears as he stared straight ahead.

You were glad he didn't mention it.

Tears built in your eyes, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back. Still, you held your resolve. "I don't want to talk about that night."

For the first time since this conversation started, Hotch's voice softened. "You have to, Y/N." He sounded like he pitied you.

You didn't want his pity. You didn't want his or anyone's anything. You just didn't want to talk about it.

"Alright, JJ, Prentiss, you take the side. Rossi and I will take the front. Morgan and Y/L/N take the back."

You saw a few confused eyes dart your way at his assignment, but you brushed them off. It wasn't the time to question why Hotch didn't pair you together, even though he always did, or why he'd address you with your last name when that name was practically foreign to his tongue.

Now wasn't the time.

Instead, you nodded, following his orders. That much hadn't changed.

At the back entrance, Morgan kicked down the door and then you made your way in, holding your flashlight above your gun.

Beyond the back lounging area, there were two hallways extending on both sides. Derek nodded to the right direction, and you nodded back at him, taking the left.

The rickety floorboards creaked under your weight. You shined your light on the walls. There was framed artwork, but no family pictures, just as you profiled. Everything was as you profiled. This was clean cut.

It was supposed to be simple.

But it wasn't.

Right as you turned the corner, you were slammed into the wall. Both your gun and your flashlight fell out of your hands, dropping to the floor. 

You didn't get the chance to retaliate. The unsub grabbed you by your vest, throwing you against the other wall. Your back hit glass, shattering everywhere. You gasped, and then he was striking you to the ground.

Your arms flailed at the sides, trying to reach your gun, but it was no use. He climbed on top of you, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

It was so dark. But you could see his face so clearly. His teeth glinted in the light as he grinned at you. "You... are... beautiful."

You cried, mustering all your strength to get up. It wasn't enough. Not enough, not enough, not enough.

With a knife you hadn't seen before, he caressed your face. Cold, cold, cold. It was so cold. 

Then the blade was off your face, and relief flooded through your veins. Until it was replaced by something worse. So much worse.

You didn't feel it right away, but when you did, your head shot up like this was all a bad dream you could just wake up from. 

Except it wasn't. The feeling of his knife being plunged into your abdomen proved that. 

It was gone, and then it just came right back. Again. And again.

You tried to scream, but no sound would come out. Your mouth warped around nothing.

The pain took you whole, wrapping its arms around your body and enveloping you in ice. You had never felt so much pain. God, was this what Hotch felt when the Reaper attacked him? Did he feel so heavy and so light at the same time?

More tears raced down your cheeks at the thought. It hurt so bad. You knew it would hurt, but you never thought it'd hurt this bad.

The unsub pulled the knife out of you yet again, dripping your own blood onto your face. You could see his eyes. They were lifeless. He smiled maniacally, raising his arms above his head. This was it, you thought. His face would be the last thing you saw.

He was gonna end it. Finally.

You nearly prayed for it.

You screwed your eyes shut, awaiting the blade to meet your skin one last time.

It never did.

A gunshot rang through the hallway. A heavy mass fell on top of you before it was shoved off. Somebody was calling your name. You couldn't decipher who it was.

They were shaking your shoulders. Something wet hit your face. Your eyes didn't open.

The pain was so strong. You were so tired. So, so tired.

You let yourself fall asleep.

"Y/N!"

"Y/N."

Hotch's concerned eyes were too much for you. You couldn't do this. You couldn't pretend to be here when you were still there. 

You shot out of your chair, fervently shaking your head. "Turn the recorder off."

Hotch matched your stance, knitting his brows together. "Y/N—"

"Damnit, Hotch, turn it off!"

At your outburst, he narrowed his eyes, but he ultimately did as you said, pressing pause.

You ran your a hand through your hair. The room was spinning. Your head was spinning. Your vision got blurry.

He tried to reason, "We have to talk about this—"

"No!" you cut him off, pointing your finger at him. It wouldn't stop shaking. "No, we don't. We could leave it alone like I am asking you to— like I am begging you to."

His face softened, looking less like Hotch and more like Aaron. But you didn't want to see Aaron. Not now. "No, we can't—"

"Yes, we can!" you shouted. You were lucky the office was empty at this hour. You were lucky Hotch gave you the couresy of emptiness. Your eyes were wild as you stepped closer to him. "When Elle spiralled, nobody talked about it. When everyone found out about what happened to Derek, nobody talked about it. When Spencer was kidnapped and got hooked on drugs, nobody fucking talked about it. And you!" You pointed your finger back at him, now in his face. "When you were stabbed and Foyet murdered Haley in cold. blood. you came back here and you never talked about it!" Tears ran down your face in a waterfall, your lips quivering. "Why can't I do the same?"

Hurt was all over Aaron's face, but he didn't step back like you were expecting him to. Instead, he stepped forward. If this were before, he would've grasped onto your shoulders. His fingers could only flex at his sides.

"You're not the same, Y/N." Just like that night in the hallway, he was pleading with you. He was pleading to just let him help you.

A humourless laugh left you. "Of course, I'm not the same, Aaron. No one is."

How could he expect you to be the same? How could he expect you to come back and be the same person you were when that person was still lying in a house in Glendale? How could he expect you to be the same person when you could still feel that man's body on top of you? When you could still feel his knife cutting into your flesh?

"I'm trying to help you—"

"Well, you can't." You took your finger and pointed it at your chest. "It hurts here. Everything about me is shattered and broken into a thousand little pieces and you can't do anything to fix it."

He shook his head. "Don't say that."

"God, and you only make it worse." Maybe this was unfair of you, but it hurt so bad you couldn't see clearly.

He looked pained. "Please don't say that."

"But you do." You stepped forward, nearly closing the gap between you. "You hurt me, Aaron. Having this conversation is hurting me. Please— please just stop. "

"Y/N." He whispered your name like it was his last Hail Mary. Tears responded to his call.

You couldn't do this. 

You pursed your lips together, stepping away from him altogether. "I can't be here anymore. I— I have to go."

He tried to reach after you, but he couldn't stop you from walking out the door. And as soon as you weren't in his sight, you were running. Running away from the same room you'd fallen asleep in time and time again. Running away from the man that occupied it. The same man who held your heart in his hands.

Hotch stood alone in his office, staring at the open door where you'd left. You took all the light with you.

You were a constant beacon in the darkness that surrounded your lives, brightening up the BAU day by day. That light was always there, even if it dimmed a bit. You chased it like a moth drawn to a flame. But now it'd been snuffed out.

You had flown too close to the sun.

And now your light was gone.

[dollzites]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ GDRAGON AND T.O.P AS JEALOUS MEN

୨ৎ pairing: friend!gdragon / friend!top x fem reader ft eunseok of riize & juyeon of the boyz!

୨ৎ genre: angst! some arguing, slight manhandling and with mild profanity and insecurities

୨ৎ summary: a small crush was nothing serious until it blossomed into a much bigger and stronger crush which was something you refused to let happen. knowing the man you liked so much would never like you back.. moving on was the best decision. or was it?

୨ৎ from myeong: hello!! here I am finally with the jealous gd and top!! woohoo!! I hope you can enjoy it! x

GDRAGON

this man.. it was so hard for him to hide jealousy. he had done it for so long but as the days, weeks, and now even months passed he couldn’t do it anymore. the thought of you consumed him and he needed you. of course he wasn’t sure if you felt the same way and to be honest he was more than scared to even asked, that’s why he stayed silent. what if he ruined the most perfect friendship you both had? it would kill him for the rest of his life because if you didn’t feel the same way about him then.. he at least needed you in his life as his good friend. there was no way he wanted to risk such an important and beautiful person like yourself.

jiyong stared at the clock for what seemed like hours but in reality it had only been a few minutes he was just overly dramatic as always. you were supposed to be there at in studio 10 minutes ago and it had only been 10 minutes he knew you would show up eventually. you had a busy and normal life while he was a super famous idol that was wanted and needed here and there. jiyong often thought that’s what drove you away from him and it killed every part of his soul to think that way because he would stop everything to make time for you and only you, his precious angel. 10 minutes turned into 20 and that 20 turned into 30.. it had been hours by now and he had never felt so frustrated before—not even a text or call from you what the hell was going on?

a few giggle left your lips as you tried to act as if you understood the stupid joke that just came from eunseok’s mouth. he had the worst jokes you could ever imagine but you still enjoyed them because it was him the sweet eunseok you adored so much. your lips parted to speak but that was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell, furrowing your eyebrows and telling eunseok to wait—who could be here at such an hour? once you were face to face with the jiyong himself you felt your blood run cold not thinking he would show up on your door step like this after completely ignoring him. “ji—” he stopped before you could continue. “do you know how many hours I waited for you, hm? that was incredibly rude of you and to.. ditch me for that guy you haven’t even known that long.” he scoffed and it only pissed you off more. “you know I’ve known him for a very long time ji.. why are you acting this way?” you knew that was stupid to ask after purposely ignoring him and not showing up to his studio.

“is everything alright sweetheart?” the sound of eunseok’s voice was enough to make jiyong go insane and it only made it worse when the pet name was used. that was his job to call you all the sweet things and make you feel special, loved, and cared for. “her and I need to speak alone so I suggest you leave.” that was a warning jiyong gave and a very intimidating one at that. “why? can’t you talk with her here with me? I don’t want you making her uncomfortable which it seems you’ve already done so.” jiyong’s head tilted to the side and a deep chuckle left his lips stepping closer to you both and your hands flew up to press against his warm chest, “eunseok just give us a few minutes please.” you spoke to him but your eyes stayed on jiyong’s enjoying the way he looked down at you it felt so special. eunseok has had a crush on you for a while now it was nothing new or shocking but how you felt about him was nothing like what you felt for jiyong.

“I’m sorry ji.. okay? I’m sorry. what I did was wrong but I just thought that maybe we could, I don’t know, have a break from each other.” it was his turn to furrow his eyebrows not believing a word you were saying to him right now. “what the hell does that mean? what kind of bullshit is that? a break? from each other? why would we possibly do that. we’ve been friends for years now. I don’t want that to change but I do at the same time.” and you were hit with confusion before anything else feeling it like a ton of bricks not being able to move in the spot you stood in. “stop hanging out with him so much and come to me like you have always done.. please? you know how much I adore you. don’t do this to me.” he wouldn’t admit his feelings and it was the most aggravating feeling ever because he desperately wanted you to know how he felt but just couldn’t bring it to himself to tell you face to face. “just..” jiyong started but stopped when his hands found your face holding it like it was the most delicate piece of glass that could not be manhandled. his body was close enough you could hear the pounding of his heart making yours skip a beat—never being this close to him before in such an intimate manner. jiyong carefully leaned in to press his lips against your own his eyes finding eunseok who had slowly walked up behind you to see what was taking so long and his eyes widened seeing the kiss you both shared.

T.O.P

“what a fucking sight this is.” seunghyun spoke to himself while watching you sit in the caf�� with none other than the man you kept ditching him for, juyeon. he lit a cigarette and took a long drag of it before slowly making his way over to the small building. he stood outside for a few extra minutes to finish his cigarette before walking in and ordering whatever it was he laid his eyes on—still not a single glance his way. he watched how interested you seemed to be in the conversation with the younger male only making things worse for the both of you. he felt so ignored so hurt and disappointed how could you do such a thing to him just for a guy you’ve known for a few months maybe a year now. he was nothing like seunghyun and want seunghyun could give you. taking the coffee he had bought without even looking to see exactly what it was, he left the cafè and decided to sit on the bench nearby.

the feeling of irritation leaving his body when seeing your gorgeous smile loving the way it lit up the entire room and he constantly reminded you of that. you’d roll your eyes playfully and turn to look the other way not wanting to hold eye contact with him any longer. as you and juyeon finished up with the small ‘date’ he liked to say it was—he grabbed ahold of your hand which you kindly wanted to pull away but didn’t as he started to speak up about the topic you two were on earlier. what you hadn’t noticed is the bench nearby until juyeon stopped and you turned your head, eyes finding the familiar deep brown ones that you adored with all of your heart. seunghyun. your heart dropped and you quickly pulled away from the tight grip juyeon had on you. “seunghyun..” voice trembling knowing what you had done to him and only feeling this overwhelming feeling of regret and sadness.

“hm? I see you’re having a good time. maybe I’m just too old for you to hang around.” his jokes.. oh his jokes were something you enjoyed the most. he was such a funny man and you never wanted to push that away. “we were actually on a date—” juyeon tried to start but you quickly shut him down because no matter what he thought it was not a date and you never felt that way about him. seunghyun could only chuckle staring up at juyeon. did he feel threatened? of course not but he felt very uncomfortable. this feeling was something he wasn’t too familiar with but what he did know is he wanted to pull juyeon away from you because the anger he felt when seeing him touch you was enough to be worried about. “I think you should go home.. I need to have a talk with seunghyun okay? thank you for the nice time today I enjoyed myself.” kindly shutting him down the best you could without causing any more hard he took the hint and walked off without saying another word to either of you.

“now that you’re done ignoring me I think it would be nice if you could explain to me why you did such a thing.” you knew this was coming but you wanted to avoid it as much as you could which wasn’t going to happen. seunghyun stood from the bench and turned to walk away from you but your smaller hand grabbed ahold of his wrist forcing him to stop in his tracks. this burning rage was jealousy and he knew it but didn’t want to admit it which only made him look like such a coward. “please seunghyun I’m so sorry.. I don’t have an explanation for what I did.. it’s hard to explain and even understand.” but you understood quite well and you were avoiding him to get rid of those feelings and it wasn’t working very well at all. “it’s always hard to explain! you use that excuse every single time and I’m sick of it. If I hear that one more then—then I won’t hold back.” it only confused you. hold back? why would he have to hold back to begin with? a sigh left your lips and your grip on his wrist only tightened pulling yourself closer to him, “seunghyun..” your voice was sweet like honey and he hated how you had this effect on him it was so controlling. “this.” is all he said before smashing his lips against your own the faint taste of his cigarette he smoked moments before making you feel dizzy but in the best way possible.

[novvabee]

And They Were Roommates pt. 8

Summary: You are sick and Remus takes care of you

cw: throwing up, sickness

You were the most sick you think you had ever been in your life. You woke up nauseous, threw up a couple times, went back to bed, woke up more nauseous, threw up some more, then crawled (literally) back into bed. You were shaking all over, all you wanted to do was sleep. You debated going and getting some medicine, but you couldn’t move without feeling sick.

You had stayed in bed all day, it was almost 3 when you heard a knock on your door. Awake, but unable to speak, afraid that it would make you more nauseous. You heard the door open and someone slowly make their way in.

“Y/N, are you alright?” you heard Remus ask quietly, as if trying not to wake you.

You could only reply with a weak groan.

Remus came closer, sitting on the edge of your bed, a comforting hand on your back. “Are you alright love? You've been in bed all day.”

You cracked your eyes open just a little and turned to face him. You couldn’t help the shaking that started. Remus put his hand to your forehead and down your cheek.

“You're burning up. Have you felt like this all morning?” He asked. You nodded, managing to let out a slight sound of agreement. He tucked the blanket up higher on you and stood off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

He left the room, door still open and you could hear the three boys speaking incoherently downstairs. It could have been moments or hours until you heard footsteps coming up the stairs again. It was Remus, Sirius and James in tow. Remus was holding a mug of steaming liquid, James a heating pad and fuzzy blanket, and Sirius some jar of red liquid which you just assumed was some medicine. 

“You alright?” James asked, setting the heating pad at the foot of your bed and spreading the blanket on top of you. You wish they would stop asking that. Not only could you not answer, but you were also very clearly not. You shook your head. “We brought you a couple things.”

Remus and Sirius were speaking quietly to each other, pouring the red liquid into the mug. “What is that?” you asked. You hated the taste of some medicines, this one might make you vomit again. 

Remus smiled sweetly at you, easing some of your nerves. “It’s ok love, it's just some medicine.” He says.

That doesn't make you feel any better. “But what kind, I-I can’t- what if I-”

“Shh,” Remus interrupts, “I promise you’ll feel better. It tastes like ginger and vanilla, it’ll settle your stomach, yeah?” he brushes the damp hair from your forehead. You made another sound of agreement. He helped you sit up slightly, and handed you the mug. It smelled like vanilla, but not in an overly sweet, nauseating way. Your hands shook as you brought it to your lips, Remus making sure you didn’t spill any. 

The warm liquid seemed to seep through your whole body, easing your aching muscles and settling your stomach. You relaxed more into your pillows and Remus took the mug back. “Keep taking little sips of this. It’ll help.” he said sitting back on your bed.

You shook your head still too weak for so many words. Remus just tilted his head and asked “What’s wrong love?”

You mustered up enough energy to say, “I don't wanna get any of you sick.”

James and Sirius smiled at Remus and left the room, Remus still planted firm right next to you. “Remmy, I mean it.” you tried to fight.

He pulled the blanket up around you, making sure you were covered and comfortable. “I know you feel like shit, and trust me, I have a lot of experience in that area. I won’t get sick.”

You were in no shape to put up any sort of a fight, but you want to. He hands you the mug for you to take another sip and asks, “You wanna watch something? Sometimes it’s good to distract your brain.” He pulled your computer closer and opened it.

“Remmy…” you said so quietly. Still shaking.

“Hm.”

“I-I’m cold.” You said, shaking. He pulled you closer, your head now on his chest. He brushed his hand along your hair, almost in a petting motion. It felt good. You let out a little sound, something like a pur. 

“Hm?” Remus asked.

“Feels good.” you said without thinking, the sickness and medication putting you in a delirious state. “Please keep doing it.”

Remus chuckled but said, “Well when you ask so nicely, of course.” he ran his long fingers through your hair again, playing with the ends when he reached them. You vowed that if you got him sick, if he came down with the same thing, you would return the favor.

You noticed the string around Remus’s other hand, the bracelet you had made for him. You smiled slightly and played with the little charm. Remus let you. In your foggy state of mind, you let your fingers wander to the scar that sat just beneath the bracelet. You traced the line, then another one along his forearm. 

You always wondered what happened, how he had gotten them, but you never wanted to ask, you didn’t know if he would be comfortable talking about it. You didn't want to bring it up and make him uncomfortable or embarrassed. But now in your state, your filter must have slipped.

“Remmy?” you asked up at him. He just looked down at you, knowing what you were going to ask. You blushed, realizing that it probably wasn’t the time or place to bring up this topic. “Uh n-nevermind.”

He lazily smiled at you. “It’s ok love,” he said looking at his arms, just like you were, “I can’t really talk about them but, I can tell you that they don't hurt. You don’t need to worry.” He said softly to you. “I think they add character, make me look… dangerous.”

You turned to face him wholly, fighting the nausea and looked in his bright eyes. “I think they make you look beautiful Remus. They’re striking and different.” you weren't lying, not even in your brain fog, you really did think that he was beautiful, scars and all. 

He brushed a hair behind your ear. “You feeling better?” he asked.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, a bit. Still cold and shaky. Would you mind staying for a while longer?” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He told you, pulling you against him, sharing his warmth with you. It was true, he didn’t go anywhere for hours, he set up movies for you to watch, and even when you had fallen asleep on his chest, he stayed playing with your hair. 

After a few hours, the other two wandered up, peaking through your door and seeing you two cuddled up, both asleep and looking so naturally peaceful.

“This is not fair,” Sirius whispered to James. 

“We’ll get our turn.” James replied. “We just have to pluck up the courage to tell her you know.”

Sirius whipped his head toward the bespeckled boy. “We all agreed not to until she made the first move.” He reminded James.

“Yes,” James said quietly, “But I am tired of waiting, and I want her to be laying on me like that.” He pointed to where you and Remus still slept.

Taglist 💌: @too-efn-old-to-be-here @cometsghost @eeviee4 @giuli-in-earth @spicybearnaise @the-lavender-girl @adharalikethestar @champomiel @itsleroyposts @enamoredwithbella @babymash @ilovejamespottersomuch @liszblog @sammyreid

[deepestnightcolor]

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Kinkmas - 2nd of December⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

ᴀ/ɴ: What's behind door two? Let's find out, shall we? thank you for your time and I hope you enjoy!

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sebastian x Fem!Reader (ᴀ/ɴ: I CANNOT believe I have written Sebastian. I can't write this man for the LIFE of me, but I hope you enjoy what I wrote nonethless :D).

ᴡᴄ: 1095 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: dirty talk, degrading, unprotected sex, kinda public sex, pretty much getting caught, cream pie, cursing.

Sebastian loved winter, and there were so many reasons for him to do so! The sun was really weak, the air was nice and cold which meant that he wasn’t sweating his balls off the moment he set foot outside (fuck that, he didn’t sweat his balls off from just lying in bed), and best of all? Society didn’t fucking expect him to go out just because the weather was nice. Quite the opposite! It was perfectly acceptable to stay bundled up inside of your fucking house, the most he had to do was to look out a window every now and then and sigh wistfully – that was his fucking jam!

So, now riddle him this – how the hell had he ended up on Ginger fucking Island, where the sun showed no fucking mercy, making him sweat his balls off? Ginger Island, one of the most crowded places to be, given that most people used this as an escape of the winter wonderland back home? Why the hell was he allowing the sand to burn his feet, even though he could be at home, in his bed, aimlessly scrolling social media, maybe, and he would never admit that, making himself some hot cocoa and admire the Winterstar tree his mom had set up? Well, the riddle wasn’t all too hard to solve – the reason he was on this stupid island was right in front of him, looking up at him with those glazed-over eyes, bikini top messily tugged down to reveal kiss-bitten, spit-covered tits that bounced with each thrust that he oh so cruelly hammered into your messy cunt. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, baby? Dragging me out here? Cock stuffed in your dirty little whore cunt in a fucking changing room? Chose the busiest day of the week, too, it seems…Would be a shame if anyone heard how good I am fucking you, huh? Or maybe that’s what you fucking want…Oh, fuck yeah, you are clenching around me baby- that’s exactly what you fucking want, yeah? Letting them all hear who’s fucking you dumb, who’s making you a fuckin’ whore for dick,” He whispered, voice nothing above a dangerous snarl as his hips mercilessly kept up his pace, only fucking you harder when he felt your cunt wrap tighter, sucking off his cock oh so sweetly. You see, Sebastian hadn’t even planned for this to happen. Sure, he had let you persuade him to join you, but he had fully expected to sit in the sand for an hour, maybe watch you swim or play volleyball with you, and then get the fuck out of there again, settle back in his castle of ice (his basement, but don’t blame him! It was fucking cold down there).

Plans had changed as soon as you stepped out of that changing room in that new bikini, grinning at him proudly. “I got it on sale!” You had told him, letting that waistband of the colourful bikini bottom snap against your paling hips. And well, you had told him to have fun at the beach, hadn’t you? And this was his way of having fun – you impaled on his cock, head thrown back as you tried desperately to hold back those sweet, sweet sounds that were threatening to spill, sounds that would be revealing what the two of you were up to, pressed together with one of your legs hooked around his hips, allowing him deeper access in that gorgeous cunt of yours. Sebastian didn’t have the heart to tell you that you that your pussy was already doing a good job of betraying you, squelching loudly as he forced it to take his quick, hard fucks. “That’s it, baby. That’s fucking it, look at you. You look gorgeous on my dick, you do know that, don’tcha? And your cunt is just sooo wet for me, fuuuuck… You make even summer pleasant for me, baby. That’s right, squeeze my cock- Good. Fucking. Girl,” he snapped, cock seemingly trying to pound his words into you, making sure you would forever remember who you belonged to – him, and only him. He let out a shaky breath as he bottomed out inside of you again, hand digging into your plush ass to give you fast, little fucks, making your mouth hang open, eyes rolling back in your skull. Seb felt his heart swell in his chest, his cock throbbing numbly in your wet pussy. Yoba, you had him tied down and locked up, had him ready to bow to your every little whim, and he just wanted to fuck it into you how much you meant to him.

“That’s fuckin’ it, baby. That’ssssss it, cum for me. Cum all over my cock, baby, c’mon- know you can do it for me, sweet angel,” he growled, trying to bite back and swallow his own moan as you looked at him like this, so stupid, thoughts long gone, only concerned with getting fucked and being able to gush around him. Yoba, did you know that you were his greatest gift on earth? Whatever would be under the tree on the Feast Of The Winterstar couldn’t keep up with you. Couldn’t keep up with the way you broke down on his cock, letting that high-pitched moan slip. Couldn’t keep up with the way your nails dug in his back and dragged down, down, down. Couldn’t keep up with the way you silently mouthed “I love you” as you came undone on his dick, back arched in oh so prettily. Shit, he loved you too. Way more than you would ever know. Or maybe you did? He had come here for you after all – and not even to fill you up with ropes of cum like he was doing now, accompanied by a little groan of your name, breathed against your neck where he was hiding his face away, fucking his cum inside of you to make sure you would feel it all the way home. “I love you, too, my little raindrop,” he panted, kissing the sensitive skin of your neck, making you sob out quietly.

“Come on, guys! I wanna make it fucking home before the fuckin’ Feast, idiots!” A voice suddenly called, big fist slamming against the door, an obvious grump seemingly having waited long enough. Sebastian gave you a chuckle, looking down at your fucked out form, feeling that swell in his chest again. “Come on, let’s get outta here,” he whispered, helping you adjust your bikini. Too bad you couldn’t even get to the sea.