#it doesn’t even feel like that long since it happened but it’s been over a year and tbh I was not ready for this

[suuuupernovaaa]

surprise

summary: despite your mid-level efforts at preventing, you find yourself pregnant with Joel’s child - and you really don’t want to be.

tags: pregnancy, jackson joel, fluff, comfort, established relationship

Based on this request.

MASTERLIST

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck!

The words repeat over and over in your mind, day in and day out. How could you have been so careless? How could you have let this fucking happen?

You’re not an idiot. Not some dumb teenager. You know exactly how babies are made. You know what you and Joel have been doing, damn near constantly, leads to this - and you haven’t been as careful as you could have been.

The two pink little lines haunt you. It’s been four days since you saw them in the bathroom, since they stared at you with their taunting little pink eyes until you vomited, and you’ve avoided Joel since.

Which has been super fucking hard. You don’t live together, even though you’ve discussed making that happen in the near future, but you and Joel have a routine.

He brings you coffee, every morning, to enjoy together on your porch. That is, unless you’ve spent the night together before, and then he doesn’t have to make the long journey Nextdoor to deliver it.

You part ways for your daily duties, whatever they may be, and always meet up again in the late afternoon. You take walks, make dinner together, maybe have a drink at the saloon or watch a movie. Sometimes Joel has more work to do at night. Often you sleep at his house, but you sometimes end up back at your own home, and then it starts again the next day.

You’ve left a note every morning the last four days that you had to head out early, and you’ll see him later.

It’s harder in the evenings to come up with excuses. A headache, sour stomach, spending time with a friend… Joel is too smart to let it go on too long.

But you can’t face him. You feel like a failure. You never really wanted kids, maybe not even before the world ended. Even in the safe town of Jackson Hole, motherhood doesn’t appeal to you. Safety isn’t guaranteed, and it doesn’t feel right to bring a child into a world like this.

But you’ve missed two periods now. You don’t feel right; you’re extra tired, so hungry, and soon, you know you’ll start to show.

You can’t hide it forever.

That evening, day four of avoiding Joel, he pounds on your door at dusk.

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

You take your time going to the door, and try to muster a smile when you pull it open.

“Hey there,” you say, and Joel scowls down at you.

“Don’t ’hey there’ me,” he replies in that gruff twang of his, and practically shoves you aside to enter your home.

You know there won’t be any avoiding it now. You can’t lie to Joel.

“You gonna tell me what the hell is going on with you? I don’t like you avoiding me.” He faces you, his hands on his hips like you’re a child he’s scolding. “I don’t buy it that you’re sick. Fess up.”

You rub your forehead with your fingertips and take in a deep breath that comes back out all shaky.

“I’m pregnant.”

Joel’s hands fall from his hips. Clearly, that’s not what he was expecting.

“Pregnant?”

You wince. “Yeah. I guess maybe, two months along or so.”

Joel walks to your worn leather couch and sits down, rubbing his jaw.

“Pregnant.”

You stay where you are, near the door, in case you need to bolt.

“I… am scared. And sick. I’ve been freaking out.”

“All alone?” he asks, his voice sad, and you feel your heart soften - just a little.

You take one step towards him. “I never wanted to be a mom. I don’t think I’ll be good at it. And I didn’t figure you’d want to, uh, do it all over again.”

He stares at you for a long moment and finally, pats the couch next to him.

You hesitate.

“Come on, girl,” he says, like you’re a skittish horse, but it works. You sink into the couch next to him, and he wraps his arms around you.

“I probably wouldn’t have chosen to have a baby, anymore than you would have. And we do have… options.”

You shake your head. “I know, but I don’t want that. I think I want it. But if you don’t…”

“I do,” he says, so quickly and so firmly, it makes your stomach flutter.

“You do?”

Joel nods, meeting your eyes. “I think you know that you’re the love of my life. If we’d met before, when I was younger, before all this, I’d have married you and had as many kids as we could’ve.” His expression is soft, nearly dreamy. “I’d have worked hard and bought a big house, with a big yard and some dogs. Maybe a farm or something. We’d have been happy.”

You sink into him, picturing it together. It doesn’t sound so bad. “But we met here, honey, and we’ve made the best of it. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I want you to move into my house, I want to take care of both of you. Parenting ain’t easy, but we can do it together. Plus, Tommy and Maria will be around. And Ellie. We aren’t alone.”

Your throat feels thick and tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Are you sure I can do it?” you ask.

Joel holds you close, his chin resting on top of your head. “Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

[nadvs]

ok so yk how in power play they’re gonna be apart for a while or atleast not see eachother everyday… phone sex blurb??🫠🫠🫠

like he initiates it and she doesn’t understand at first and then he guides her thru urgghhh i love them sm😭

ohhh you ATE with this idea 😌 blurb set in the power play series. FILTHY smut and lots of dirty talk. 18+!

Rafe’s deep voice buzzes through your phone as your head rests on your pillow, your bedroom plunged in darkness.

He’s telling you about his day as you play with a loose string on your pillowcase. You talk to your boyfriend every night, but no amount of calls can fill the emptiness sitting in your chest from how much you miss him.

It’s been a couple of weeks since the school year ended, and it’s been surprisingly hard to schedule time to see each other in person. You’re glad that at least you can talk like this.

“So, you had fun today, huh?” he murmurs. “I liked those pictures.”

You think back to all the photos you’d sent him from your day at the beach with your friends, mostly scenery, some shots of you in the car and on the sand.

“Wasn’t that sunset so pretty?” you say.

You hear Rafe breathe a chuckle on the other end.

“What?” you laugh. “It was.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies. “I wasn’t really looking at that.”

“What do you mean?”

He chuckles again, staring up at the ceiling from his bedroom two hundred miles away, able to clearly picture the curious look he knows is on your face.

“I was looking at you.”

You smile to yourself in the dark.

“Really?”

“I don’t get you,” he says with a resigned sigh. “You still don’t see how fucking hot you are.”

His words make your muscles loosen, warmth filling you.

“You think I looked hot?” you say.

“Baby,” he breathes. “That one of you by the water? I got so hard just lookin’ at it.”

The warmth grows hotter and you bite your lip as you imagine how big and strong and good he looks naked, how much it spurs you on to feel his growing cock pressed against you when all you’ve done is share a couple of innocent kisses.

Thinking about it, about him being turned on from so far away with no chance of doing something about it makes the sexual frustration you’ve been feeling even worse.

“I really, really wish you were here,” you tell him, your voice dripping with longing.

Rafe smirks. After your first time together, you two were at it nonstop, the knowledge that soon you’d both be moving off of campus hanging over you.

As expected, it wasn’t enough. He craves you every hour, minute, second.

Heat pools deep in his stomach as he thinks yet again about how you looked in your photos, how much skin you were showing, how if he was there with you, he would last seconds before rushing to find a place to get you alone.

“Pretend I am,” he rasps.

“What?”

Rafe veins tighten with anticipation.

“What would happen if I was in your bed right now?”

Your core coils, breath hitching as you feel the tone of the conversation sink into something deeper, more intense.

“You know what would happen,” you say with a soft, shy chuckle, enticement and arousal tangling together deep within you.

“You nervous, baby?” Rafe teases, the smile in his voice apparent.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“You want me to tell you how?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Put your hand under your shirt,” he instructs. “You wearing a bra?”

“No.”

The simple, monosyllabic answer makes his cock press against his boxers, already so hard it hurts.

“Damn,” he exhales, strained. “Alright. Tell me how it feels.”

You palm at your chest, squeezing and pinching, shutting your eyes as you imagine him with you, doing it instead.

“Soft. Warm,” you say quietly. You swallow before you speak again. “My nipples are hard.”

Rafe can’t control himself. He lowers his hand, palming himself over his shorts, thinking about how much he loves to get your chest wet with his kisses.

“I miss sucking them so much,” he rasps.

Every inch of you tenses up with arousal, but your mind loosens, sinking into comfort as you slowly buck your hips.

“You’d be doing that if you were here,” you say, then let out a groan of frustration. “Your hands are so much bigger than mine. I can’t even pretend it’s you. I can’t touch myself the way you can.”

“That’s so fucking hot,” he breathes. “You like it when I play with your tits?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“You like when I get rough?” he provokes you. “Squeeze hard. The way I do.”

He can tell by the way your breath hitches that you obey.

“Good girl,” slips out of his mouth, and it makes your head spin with euphoria. “That feel nice?”

“Yes.” You swallow, your throat dry, picturing him in his bed, touching himself. “Is your hand…”

“Is my hand where?” Rafe teases, wanting to hear you say it. “Don’t be shy.”

“On your cock,” you finish your sentence, nerves radiating through you.

“Fuck, I love hearing you talk like that.”

It spurs confidence in you, a reminder of how much you get to him, of how much power you have over him.

“Answer me,” you whisper. “Is it?”

“Over my shorts,” he replies. “I’d do anything to be inside you right now. Tell me how wet you are.”

Your hand drags down your body, into your panties, your fingers pressing over your heat.

“I want you here so bad,” you shudder. “I feel like I’m dripping.”

He groans and scrambles to finally push his hand into his boxers, gripping the head of his cock, precome already dribbled out.

“I’d look at you while I do it,” he murmurs. “Like I always do.”

You picture it, his habit of locking eyes with you right as he’s pushing into you. Your heart is pounding in your ears as you trace circles over your clit, letting out soft moans that start to slowly get breathier.

“You getting close?”

“Yes,” you say, your grip growing harder. “I’m so wet my hand is slipping.”

Rafe rolls his eyes back in need, in anguish, in such painful desire. He strokes himself faster, imagining how hard he’d be pounding into you if he could.

“Fuck, baby, you’re good at this,” he whispers.

The praise makes you feel like you’re floating as the knot in your stomach tightens.

“Say my name when you come,” he tells you, drunk on the idea of being responsible for the orgasm that’s about to rush through you.

You listen to Rafe’s instructions, your voice shuddering and breathy as you whisper his name, pleasure zipping through every nerve.

He comes seconds later, the groan on the other end of the phone making goosebumps prick your skin.

His hot come covers his hand, rubbing until he’s too stimulated, eyes squeezed shut as he listens to the sound of your heavy, relieved breaths.

It takes a moment to tumble down from the high, both of you gasping, elated.

“I miss you so damn much,” he tells you, sweat glistening over his skin, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Me, too,” you whisper through your shallow breaths. “What am I supposed to do? Cuddle myself now?”

Rafe chuckles tiredly, the lack of you cutting through him.

“Fall asleep on the phone with me,” he tells you. “It’s the closest we can get.”

And you do, satisfied, telling yourself every sleep is one day closer to seeing him again.

[yooahoo]

❤︎ᬼ A HEALING KISS | mark ‘invincible’ grayson x healer! reader

warnings: none! just pure fluff with some mentions of mark’s misadventures

a/n: my first ever post on tumblr and of course I had to bring my current obsession with me ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪ and this probably might suck since i haven’t write anything in a long time, but I hope those who find it to enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing it.m

your eyes watch how the stars align on the sky, illuminating the darkness of the night as you wait for mark to come back. sitting on the roof of his house has become something that you always did with him since you were children as a way to talk and point to the constellations to discuss about them, but now? it has become a more intimate experience for the two of you.

it didn’t much time for see a familiar figure descending from the dark sky, his new black and blue suit becoming visible to you as he takes a seat next to you. mark quickly removes his mask before pulling you even closer to him, laying his head on your shoulder after a long day of fighting criminals and villains.

“I missed you,” he said. “like, i couldn’t stop thinking about you, always on my mind when fighting criminals and dealing with another attempt escape at the prison.”

“I missed you too.” you replied, staring at his dark eyes and smiling at your boyfriend, how lucky you must be to be with someone as precious as mark? you don’t have the slightest clue. “but I don’t think it’s healthy in thinking about me every single moment when you are busy dealing with the bad guys.”

he smiled.

that damn smile of his that easily makes you melt, the very same one that could easily blind anyone in the house—in this case, outside.

“well, I think it’s pretty normal for a boyfriend to miss their cute and sexy significant other…” mark kisses your check, making you blush as he holds your chin closer to his, preparing you for another kiss. this time, he plants one right at your lips. “and why i shouldn’t think about you? my incredible and wonderful [name] who is one of the best people to be around and is an incredible healer? like, you are probably one of the best thing that ever happened to me. did I ever told you that?”

a giggle comes out of your lips, only to intensify his love for you. mark never fails to make you feel special, even after the long hours of studying and long hours of healing others heroes of the world, he still manages to sparkle a little bit of energy inside you to stay awake for him.

your hand cradle his face, brushing against his skin until you see it—a faint cut on his cheek. almost unnoticeable, barely there, a tiny wound on his cheek. he probably earned it from the countless fights he’s thrown himself into today. he hasn’t even notice it. but you did.

“stay still.” you said.

your voice is soft, but firm as you hold him gently, touching him almost as featherlight. then, pressing your lips just above the wound, you leave a fleeting kiss—too brief for mark’s liking, but enough. the cut seals beneath your touch, vanishing as it were never there.

for a moment, he says nothing. then, he absentmindedly drag his thumb over his cheek—where your lips has been, where the wound was before—he exhaled. his smile grows bigger when pulling you to his lap, caressing your skin when planting a kiss at your lips, this time more deeply than the one you gave him prior.

mark doesn’t waste time either with his hands, holding your waist closer to him, and not letting you break the kiss apart before taking a taste of your lip balm.

and it’s only then when mark pulls away, but not before stealing another kiss of you when pressing his forehead against yours. his hands holding your cheeks and caressing the sweet apples of your face.

if only time could stop right now, you won’t wish for anything else but to look at his beautiful eyes for eternity. the very same ones that made you fall in love with him ages ago.

“I love you, [name].” he said. “you are one of the greatest things that ever happened to me, you know that, right?”

mark looks at you expectantly of your answer. he already knows the answer, knows what you feel for him since the first date he took you and since the moment he told you about being the famous hero knows as invincible. and despite all of it, mark still the lovestruck man just for you.

the smile never left your face, only increasing when kissing the corner of his lips. “of course, mark.” his hands went lower to your waistband, already holding it like his life depends upon it. “I love you and I will always love til my last breath.”

that’s it.

hearing those words makes him fully energized, already forgetting about the long hours of figuring crimes against dangerous villains and arguing with others supers.

the argument he had with cecil early today has already been dismissed from his mind. he doesn’t need to think about that catastrophe from his failed attempt to have a conversation with the GDA, not when mark has his emotional archon with him right now.

and it’s you. of course.

mark has voice many times and will continue to do it so, but he can’t just be quiet about how much he loves you. even that makes other people already feeling tired of hearing another hour of him blubbering about his perfect and incredible significant other.

he is a guy in love, and he can’t help himself from falling harder for you.

[heartyluv]

omgggg I loved your fic about asking zayne medical questions 🫶 if you’re feeling like it, could I request something slightly similar? You know how google and online doctor websites are infamous for making you feel like a mild sickness means you’re on the verge of death? Imagine going to zayne after working yourself up thinking you have 24 hours left or something 😭

Note: LOLLL THIS IS TOO REAL!!! I’m sorry it’s not super long. I honestly think it’s a quick interaction that doesn’t need to be, but it’s still fun, nonetheless. I hope you like it! And thank you for reading my fic, babe!

Creds to @/enchanthings for the dividers!

Zayne/Reader

This headache was killing you and you had absolutely no idea what to do about it. It’s been happening for well over a week, making it feel impossible to do anything when it throbbed in your skull. You thought it was a migraine, but it came and went too frequently to be that. You thought maybe you’d been listening to your music too loud, but it didn’t go away when you stopped entirely to test it out.

You were losing it and only had pain to keep you company. So you decided to hop on the internet instead of asking your doctor boyfriend because the last thing you want to do is bother him about something a quick search may answer.

And you didn’t want to be grilled about why you waited so long to say something.

When you typed in what are the reasons I could be experiencing headaches so often, the last thing you expected was to go down a rabbit hole. You’d done most of the things suggested, frowning as you rubbed at your temple while the insistent thumping persisted. You were convinced that the mindless scrolling and lack of answers was only adding to your suffering.

It was as you scrolled that other things started to fit into what could possibly be wrong, and that’s when the subtle panic started to set in.

Chronic pain?

Fatigue and insomnia?

Tumors?!?!

You were mortified, clicking on random conversations people were having about the same experience and feeling your heart rate increase when almost everyone was saying it’s safer to just go to a doctor because it could be a severe underlying issue. You didn’t want to have to go, but at this point, you needed to do something to give yourself some sort of peace of mind.

You came to the conclusion that in fact, you were going to have to bother Zayne. Frantically, you snatched your phone off the desk and called him, your leg bouncing in anticipation.

“Hello, love,” he spoke gently after picking up on the third ring. You were so relieved he even had the time to answer since he’s at the hospital right now. Typically, you never bother him too much when he’s working, but you needed answers.

He sits himself in the chair in his office, ready to listen to you. “Is everything alright?”

“No!” you exclaim abruptly. “Zayne, I’m not gonna make it!”

If only you could see his face, you would’ve seen the confusion and concern that etched his features. “What are you talking about? Are you hurt?”

“I’ve been in pain for over a week because of these stupid headaches, right? And so to avoid bothering you, I just decided to do my own research….” Your brief silence only makes it more dramatic. “And Zayne, I actually might be dying and I’m bothering you anyways!”

“You’re not bothering me at all. If anything, I’m worried. Calm down and talk to me,” he soothes. “Tell me your symptoms.”

“It’s this sharp pain either right in the middle of my forehead or to the left of my skull. It hurts so much that I feel nauseous sometimes. It’s even happening right now, and the internet and little groups on it are telling me if I don’t see somebody, I’m ignoring a potential chronic illness?!?! There’s no way this is real!”

“How have you tried to alleviate the headaches?” His tone is completely serious, telling you how determined he is to find a solution to ease your concerns and issues. He wishes you told him sooner, but all that matters is that he’s aware now. He doesn’t need to make you feel guilty, he just wants to help you in any way he can.

“I stopped listening to music, drank tea, turned down my phone brightness! I even go to bed earlier! Google is telling me if I don’t go to the ER within three days of the pain, I could experience blurry vision! Babe, it’s been way longer than that!”

The corner of his mouth tilts up. You listed everything but what he first believed to be the culprit. He caught you. “Working yourself up like this will only worsen it. Remember what we’ve done before? Deep breaths.”

Zayne always helped you regulate yourself in times when you’d panic, and he felt it was necessary to do now. Once a few minutes passed and you seem grounded, he continued. “And what about your game that you just bought a little over a week ago? The timeline in which you’ve purchased it seems to match up to when your headaches began. Have you stopped playing and sitting in front of the screen for long periods of time like I warned you about?”

When the realization sets in, you immediately feel like an idiot. You recently bought this new video game that you couldn’t stop playing, and unfortunately developed the habit of sitting close to the computer screen so that you could feel immersed and wore no protection on your eyes from the blue light.

You spend a minimum of five hours a day on it, that’s how addicted you became. Not once did it cross your mind to get off the same game.

“It’s the game,” you frown, sighing at your naivety.

“It is the game,” he confirms. “It’s good that we’ve figured that out, is it not? Why do you sound so down? Is it because you’ll need to give it a break for a while?”

“Partially, but I’m more embarrassed at how quick I was to believe some internet forums instead of just coming to my boyfriend who’s a doctor… I didn’t want to be annoying, only to still be that and I ended up freaking myself out in the process. I’m a mess.”

“You were trying to be considerate of me, but that’s not necessary. Concerns about your health is never something to withhold from me. In general, you never annoy me, love. I will always be here to listen to your every word and make sure to bring you back down.”

“I’m so sorry..” you mumble.

“Don’t apologize. Just instill the practice of finding other things that are easy on your eyes while you leave the game alone for a little bit. Perhaps I can help you find something.”

“I’d like that.” Your tone is brighter and no where near as anxiety induced. “You’ll be home soon?”

“I will. In fact, make sure you’re dressed. We’ll go out for dinner to celebrate,” he offers.

“You’re too good to me. I can’t wait.” You grin so much and he doesn’t even need to see you to know it. He can hear it and that warms his heart.

“It’s what I’m supposed to do. I love you, okay? And come to me when you have health scares from now on. The internet is only so reliable.”

You chuckle. “I will, babe. Promise. I love you, too. I’ll see you later.”

After a few days had passed, you made sure that you followed the doctor’s orders. As expected, the headaches disappeared and not only did you vow to only play the game in moderation, but you would never go to the internet for health advice ever again.

[dissociativewriter]

Heyyyy about the event (congratulations, you deserve it!!!).I would love one with Caleb and intro (end of the world) (extended) by ariana grande (i think it fits them very well), it being non mc reader (they have met since they are children) I would love if it was veryyyy angst, please and thanks:)

hiii anon! thank you <3 i hope you like how this turned out! not sure if its angsty enough but i tried :)

wc: 752

cw: angst, grief, regret, not a happy ending; not proofread

“Hey, pip-squeak!” Caleb’s voice rang through your shared apartment, loud and cheery. You glanced over, watching him closely. His smile was bright as his voice, the widest it’s been in weeks. The Farspace Fleet was hovering over him, you knew, so you were glad he was finally able to relax.

But why couldn’t it be with you?

He sat sprawled on the couch, cradling his phone like a high school girl with a crush.

Or at least, a boy with a crush on a girl since before high school.

You’d grown up together. You, her, Caleb, and Zayne. Sometimes it felt like each other was all you had.

You knew it then, you figured. The way Caleb looked at her. It would never be the way he looked at you.

So, why couldn’t you stop your own feelings?

You grieved when he died. Of course, she got more comfort than you did. They were practically attached at the hip, so she was the priority at his funeral.

So, you grieved in silence.

Then he was back.

Different, but back.

You heard from her how different he was, heard how they could never be the same.

When you finally saw him again, it was like those feelings had never left.

You accepted everything, took care of him, loved him.

And now he was your boyfriend.

Technically.

Though from an outsider’s perspective, you’d think it was she that was dating him.

But no, she had Zayne, so Caleb had to settle for the second best thing: Being her best friend.

And you, of course.

You wondered, if she and Zayne ever split up, ever went through some kind of separation, how fast would it take Caleb to discard you?

For him to stop pretending.

You watched his bright smile, something ugly pooling in your stomach.

What would it take for him to care about you that way?

“I don’t mean to interfere,” Zayne had told you once. “But it’s clear that he’s not treating you the way he should.” You hadn’t said anything then, only looked away from the doctor. He’d long since been able to read you, understanding that you knew what you couldn’t accept. He sighed. “I don’t want to tell you what to do, but you deserve better. Why waste your time with someone who doesn’t care for you above all else?”

You dropped your head into your hands. You knew what you had to do. It was due to happen for sometime.

You couldn’t grieve in silence forever.

You waited until he finished his phone call with her, grin still plastered on his face. It disappeared, though, when you moved to sit next to him.

Of course it did.

You felt your stomach sink. How had you lasted this long, living like this?

“Caleb, I think we should break up.”

Something passed through his eyes. You hoped it was regret, but the Colonel was getting even better at hiding his emotions.

He agreed. Maybe he thought this would be his chance. He could split her and Zayne up forcefully, now that you weren’t in the way.

You packed your things quickly, leaving to stay with a friend. You left that same week.

Caleb was left with a nearly empty apartment. How had he never realized how much of his life was yours? The things that made him know he was home, they were all yours.

The apartment was too quiet without you.

Caleb didn’t know what to do. The Farspace Fleet was constantly pressuring him, and now there was no one there to relieve it. His plan to finally win over her had failed.

Of course it did.

He knew he had faults, and it seemed the doctor had none. The picture of perfection, Caleb thought sourly. If he didn’t hate Zayne before, he certainly did now. He’d taken everything that was dear to Caleb.

Why hadn’t he done something when he first overheard that conversation between you and Zayne?

Why wasn’t that his wake-up call?

Why did he have to take you for granted?

He texted you, called you, bombarded you with desperate attempts. You ignored all of them, until one night you finally got fed up.

Why couldn’t he let you live and heal in peace? You texted him back a single message;

I’ve already grieved you, Caleb. Now, it’s your turn.

You should have realized you needed me sooner.

The words blurred through Caleb’s watery eyes.

Oh, he realized, this wasn’t Zayne’s fault.

It was his own.

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[rhaeverie]

No Pain, No Gain — ljn

pairing. gym-rat!jeno x aider!reader genre. fluff, (kinda)friends-to-lovers, a dash of hurt/comfort, slice-of-life wc. 4.3k summary. Jeno’s well aware that he looks like an idiot in front of you, but what else could he do when just the sight of you makes him feel like a kid with a schoolboy crush?; or in which, Jeno’s been coming to your office with the tiniest of scratches just so he has an excuse to see you warnings. mentions of minor injuries (fake & real) and some bleeding (nothing super detailed but it’s still there), I sorta wrote this as if it were like a sitcom, cliche scenario an. clearing my wips! yet another fic set in the most random place u can possibly think of and it’s bc I (unhealthily) romanticize everything (×-×)—I started writing this during my gym rat (mouse?) era in 2023 but never finished it til now oops dk if its any good,,, enjoy!!

“I can’t move my thumb.”

You use your finger to smooth down the sports tape over its first layer, gently grabbing the younger boy’s wrist to inspect your work, “That’s the point, Chenle.” 

“How am I supposed to play basketball with this,” Chenle pouts, bringing his taped thumb and wrist to show you as if you weren’t the one who just did it. His posture grows worse at the realization of his small injury and now he’s slumped on the bed. 

You sigh and repeat yourself, “That’s the point. You need to rest it or else you can get an injury worse than this. I recommend maybe a week? But I’m not a doctor.” 

You start cleaning your station up, fully expecting Chenle to understand and leave. But instead, he remains seated on the medical table, pouting. You know he’s trying to get you to change your mind, but seeing that he reported his wrist feeling tight and stiff, you know that it’s sprained and playing with it could make things worse.

“Chenle, I’m being serious,” you groan, “You need to rest it or you can’t play basketball for the rest of your life.” You were obviously exaggerating, raising your brows for even more emphasis. If he won’t listen to you by simply telling him, you might as well scare him into listening to you.

“Rest of my life?” He frowns, looking down at wrist, “I… I guess a week doesn’t seem too long… Thanks Y/N.” 

You smile, relieved that he’s choosing to listen to your advice, “I’ll see you next week then?” 

He nods and gathers his duffel bag and his sweater, dragging himself out the door of the first aid room. 

You turn away from the door, ready to busy yourself with some housekeeping items when you hear a knock at the door. It’s quiet, and you almost think that you were imagining the sound, but when you turn to face the door, you’re met with the vibrant gaze of Lee Jeno, accompanied by a sheepish smile. 

Ah… Lee  Jeno—of course.

“Almost thought you weren’t going to show up today,” you joke, “What happened now?” 

To anyone unfamiliar with the two of you, it might come across as if you weren't exactly doing your job well, seemingly rushing through treatments even when faced with potentially serious injuries. However, the guy standing in the doorway right now has been delivering the most poorest excuses for injuries you've ever heard.

Sure, perhaps a couple of questionable 'injuries' wouldn't bother you much, because maybe the person was just overly cautious about their well-being. But when Jeno strolled into your office recently with the tiniest scratch on his left calf, you couldn't help but suspect that something was definitely up. 

“I need ice,” Jeno side-steps into your office and pulls the corners of his lips higher on his cheeks, “Please?” 

“Next time, just jog over to the nearby McDonald’s and get ice there,” you say jokingly. This was his nth time in the past month asking for ice. You wonder if he’s just been using it to put into his water or if this dude just has some kink involving ice. 

You only question Jeno’s recent tendency to visit your office because, ever since you started working at the gym, he's been a regular. Hell, his physique alone is proof to his long-standing commitment to the gym. It just doesn't add up that Jeno, with his apparent gym ‘seniority’, would be falling victim to injuries so frequently.

“Here you go,” you hand him a small, transparent bag that was partially filled with ice, “Anything else?” 

Jeno’s irises fall to the right corners of his eyes in brief thought, “More… ice?”

You groan to conceal your amusement and move closer to Jeno, “Goodbye, Jeno. See you again another day!” You gently place your hands to his elbows, spinning him around and out your door.  

“No, wait I—“

“See you!” You wave, leaving Jeno no choice but to actually take his leave. 

Your coworker Jaemin sees the interaction from the front counter, and seeing that there weren’t any gym goers coming into the facility, he waves you over. 

"Everything alright?" he asks, his gaze flicking briefly from the computer screen to you.

You glance at his screen and notice a game of minesweeper unfolding. Suppressing a snicker, you retort, "Yeah, same reason as last week." Swiftly, you click on an empty tile on his minesweeper grid, revealing the mine locations.

“I’m trying to help you and you do this,” Jaemin clicks his tongue against his teeth and diverts back to the situation, “It’s not in a creepy way, is it?” 

You give yourself a moment to think everything through, “I’m not sensing anything weird or creepy with it, if I’m being honest. He’s going about it… in a cute way?” 

Jaemin lets out a hysteric laugh and it echoes throughout the gym, “A cute way?” 

"There's no other way to put it," you casually shrug. Leaning against the desk, you absentmindedly flip through the management binders laid out before you.

Jaemin's brows knit, his curiosity piqued. "Cute, how?"

“I don’t know.” You’re lying. You know damn well what you meant. 

Every time Jeno decides to pull one of his ‘stunts’, he’s at your door, eyes all glossy and resembling a hopeful puppy. And when you choose to pretend not to notice him, he doesn't hesitate to clear his throat (rather obnoxiously) or hum out a soft, "anyone home?" even though you're clearly rummaging in your cupboards for more supplies.

Jaemin reads right through your feigned innocence, eyes narrowing, “Sure you don’t.”

“Well, it’s not something I can explain,” you groan, “Just take my word for it.”

“Okay… cute… does that mean you’re enjoying all this?” Jaemin’s eyes wiggle your way and you’re glad that no one’s around to see or hear this. 

You scoff, “Enjoying what?” 

"Come on, Y/N. Let's not play naive," Jaemin smirks, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” Jaemin pats your head like you would a child, which you dodge almost immediately, “Which is honestly disappointing. A guy like Jeno could probably think of something way better but he resorted to something so basic.” 

You glare at Jaemin, your annoyance evident, “I hate that you’re probably right.” Because what else could the reason be? Jeno couldn’t be that concerned for his well-being. And you distinctly recall questioning your other coworker, Xiaojun, about whether Jeno tends to show up frequently on your days off. His response? A shocking no.

“I always am,” Jaemin brushes non-existent dust off of his shoulder, “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” At times like these, you have the memory of a goldfish.

“If you were enjoying it,” Jaemin clarifies, "You did call it cute, and cute usually equals enjoyment."

There were a couple ways you could go about Jaemin’s question. Was he asking if you were reciprocating this attraction Jeno seemingly had for you? Or maybe he wanted to know if you found amusement in the ongoing situation?

Regardless, your cheeks betray you by warming at the question and the thought of your answer sliding off the tip of your tongue.

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

—

It’s no surprise when Jeno shows up to your office two days later with the same smile plastered on his face. 

He’s standing right outside of your office, waiting for you to welcome him in. When you do, he enters the room slowly, greeting you as he moves toward the medical bed situated at the far corner and away from the entrance. 

Jeno watches as you rake through a pile of disorganized supplies, “How are you?” You weren’t in search of anything specific, but you were trying to busy yourself now that Jeno was in the room with no clear purpose. 

“I'm all right," you reply casually, your voice calm. "You?” You quickly glance up at him and almost crumble to your knees. Today, Jeno is sporting a black muscle tee and grey sweatshorts, and though you've never really taken notice of his outfits before, you secretly (and shamefully) remind yourself to start doing so. 

“I’m okay,” Jeno hums, “I was wondering if I could get a heat pack?” 

You take a good look at him and narrow your eyes, “It doesn’t look like you need one.” But regardless, you make your way toward the heat packs sitting in a cupboard by the fridge. You simply wanted to hear what his reason was this time. 

“My quads are really stiff today,” Jeno replies, subtly gesturing to his legs, “I could barely get through leg day with them.” 

“Well, this should work,” you say. You pop the pack and wrap a towel around it, “There you go. See you!” 

“Can I stay here for a bit?” You don’t see the way Jeno pouts. You’re too busy making your way to your box full of miscellaneous things. He presses the pack against the upper side of his thigh, remaining seated on the bed, “I’ll leave when the heat pack is finished.” 

Jaemin’s voice echoes in your head, "Jeno is practically inventing reasons to see you.” And you can now see that it was painfully obvious. 

“Of course,” you say, “Take as long as you need.” 

You move on to organizing the supplies, trying your best not to mind the pair of eyes that were burning holes into the side of your head. 

“So…” Jeno starts, “How was your weekend?” 

“You don’t need to make small talk you know,” you say, pulling out three pairs of medical scissors, “You could take a nap or something.” With your back turned to him, you go to put the tools away, “I don’t mind.”

Jeno swings his legs in the air and slumps, “Yeah, but I—uh—do want to make small talk.” He’s half-assedly holding the heat pack to the side of his thigh, growing annoyed that it wasn’t staying in a specific place. He resorts to pinning it under his thigh. 

“Which I also don’t mind,” you say, biting back a smile, “My weekend was okay… stayed home and relaxed. Nothing super special. You?” 

You stop and turn to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the man who was now leaning back against the wall. The position looks uncomfortable, yet Jeno appears to be content. 

“Similar to yours,” he replies, “Except Hyuck forced me to play a few games online with him. It was fun, actually! But don’t tell him that.” 

You let out a snort. You’re familiar with Donghyuck, recalling how he and Jeno had made a deal that if Jeno managed to bring him to the gym for a few workouts, then he had to play some of his PC games in return. 

“How’s he doing anyways?” You question, “I haven’t seen him in a while.” 

Jeno’s brows furrow for a sliver of a second before they sit back to where they had originally been, “Last leg day killed him, so he’s given up until he recovers.” 

“Ah,” you giggle, “Can’t keep up with you, I’m guessing?” 

Jeno shakes his head, bangs creating a blanket over his eyes. He sweeps them aside, “Not really. I don’t really go hard on leg days. I’m more of a back and biceps type of person.” 

Your eyes defy you as they scan Jeno’s arms. You blame him. His statement was practically an invitation to look at his upper limbs as if you needed some kind of evidence, “I believe you.” It comes out a lot more flirty than you intended and you want to sprint out of the room before you make one more wrong move. 

“O-oh,” Jeno stammers. It was a sight seeing Jeno grow shy, using his hands to hide arms. And although he was hoping to conceal them, the man forgets that doing so only means he had to flex his arms, “Thanks?” 

You’re not sure how to reply, resorting to rummaging through the same box. You find some empty rolls of tape and you toss them in the trash. How do you even go about this conversation? Say ‘you’re welcome’? Weird. Ask him about his routine? No, it wasn’t like you were looking into building your arms. Ask if you could feel his arms? 

Shut up, brain, be fucking for real right now.

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” You look up and Jeno’s looking back at you expectedly.

“Sorry, I zoned out a little there,” you sheepishly confess, playing with one of the box’s flaps, “Did you say something?” 

“I… uh, nevermind, it doesn’t matter,” Jeno clears his throat, “It was just about—um—something. But it can wait another day.” He smiles and it just about reaches his eyes. 

“Wait, no, tell me,” you frown. 

“It’s…” Jeno’s eyes flicker back and forth, contemplating if he really should go through with his question. He wants to—he really does—but his words fail him, teeth biting at his bottom lip. 

“It’s really nothing, ha-ha!” You watch as his gaze drops to the heat pack suffocating underneath his thigh. He uses the back of his hand to feel it. It’s still very warm, but regardless, he uses it as an excuse. “I’ll just take my leave… Um, I guess I’ll see you around?” Jeno slips off the bed, tossing the pack into the trash before he moves past you. 

“Wait, Jeno…” You make another attempt to stop him, guilt slowly creeping up on you, curiosity accompanying it because you should’ve been listening. 

For once, you wished he stayed just a bit longer. 

—

It’s been almost a week and a half since Jeno last visited your office. 

But who’s counting?

You check once, twice, thrice over your shoulder for Jaemin’s presence, nodding to yourself when you’re sure that your coworker wasn’t there to see the down-bad bullshit you were about to pull. 

Pulling up the gym’s database, you quickly type Jeno’s name into the search bar. While it loads, which feels so so painfully long, your fingers tap against the edge of the desk. You can’t believe you’re doing this.

“Hm.” 

Once Jeno’s profile finally appears on the screen, you follow his row to the Date Last Active column, seeing that he was at the gym this morning, two hours before your shift. 

A low whistle knocks you out of your trance and you jump, almost knocking the keyboard off the desktop. 

“Fucking hell, Jaemin!” You swing at his shoulder at a strength you knew damn well he wouldn’t even feel, “You think you’re funny sneaking up on me like that?” 

“Yes,” Jaemin shrugs, “Misusing the database I see…” His eyes narrow at you, brow raising. Then, he smirks and pokes at your rib, “Stalking your boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” you quickly exit the application and pull up Jaemin’s minesweeper game, “He’s not my boyfriend… Acting like you don’t do the same shit with other gym goers…” 

“I don’t see why you can’t just walk up to him and talk to him,” Jaemin sighs, “He’s still here, you know.” 

“He is?” 

“Awww your eyes lit up!” Jaemin teases, diabolically sticking a finger in your face. 

You threaten him again, which Jaemin completely disregards out of spite.

“But tell me why he’s been coming to the gym more often when you’re not here,” Jaemin, like you, was quite familiar with Jeno’s routines, “Did you do something that would force the poor guy to change his routine all of a sudden? Sometimes he wakes up at ass o’clock to get his workout done.”

Your mind reels back to your last interaction. Playing back each and every second and overanalyzing each and every word that left your mouth that afternoon. Yeah, you probably did but you don’t want to think that you’ve scared Jeno away. 

“I don’t think so?” 

“‘I don’t think so?’” Jaemin mocks, “Writing ‘liar’ on your forehead would be more subtle than whatever the hell that was.” He pauses his game and decides to fix all his attention onto you, “Now spill.”

“I really don’t know, okay?” you groan, “Last time I spoke to him, I zoned out and I missed what he was saying and then he left and he didn’t even choose to repeat it or anything.” 

Jaemin narrows his eyes at you, almost as if he’s lost all hope in his very good friend and coworker, “Y/N, did you not just graduate with a master’s?” 

Your brows meet, “Huh? What do you mean?”

He mutters a dumbass under his breath, which completely flies past your head. “Nothing.” Jaemin smirks subtly, turning away to leave in hopes that you don’t ask any further questions.

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

Jaemin gets flashbacks to his mom, “Uhhhhhhh, there?” The man points to nowhere in particular before taking off. 

“Na Jaemin!” You call out. Your voice echoes through the gym and you groan, slumping against the desk before accepting defeat—because what did Jaemin mean? Was he calling you stupid or something?

Not even five minutes pass when you hear Jaemin’s voice boom over the speakers, “Y/N, you’re needed in your office. Y/N, you’re needed in your office.” 

You look over to Jaemin’s office and shoot him a look that could kill. And again, Jaemin ignores your threat, grinning menacingly before he waves cause he knows he’s pissing you off. You’ve never grown used to this man’s attitude, but it doesn’t mean you don’t adore it. 

Logging off the computer, you let out a huff and pad your way past the exercise machines and into your office. And from all that you were expecting, you sure as hell weren’t expecting to find a very worn out Jeno, the hem of his tank sprinkled in faint drops of blood. 

“Jeno?” You don’t even try to mask your worry, fast-walking straight to him before you guide (practically tugging) him to the medical bed, “What happened? Are you okay?” 

An annoying and almost spiteful grin shyly appears on Jeno’s lips before he turns his palms up for you to see. His hands were covered in blisters, some popped and others brand new. They looked extremely painful to even look at.

“Fuck,” you mutter, “Didn’t I say not to overwork yourself that one time?” You turn your back to Jeno and begin gathering all the supplies you need to treat his blisters. You’re rambling under your breath, words unrecognizable from where you’ve sat Jeno down. 

Your heart’s beating out of your chest, mostly because this is the first time you’ve seen Jeno in a while. But to add his injuries on top of that? You’re certainly not sure how you’re keeping composure. 

Meanwhile, Jeno really can’t do much but watch you move from one corner of the room to the other. He wants to get up and help, but by the way an eleven forms in between your brows, he’s reluctant to even say anything. 

It’s funny because despite how aggressive you’re handling all the supplies, the second you make contact with his wrist, your demeanor changes, suddenly shifting to be more gentler. You hold his hands as if you were holding a newborn, delicately rotating them to understand what had to be treated.

“If it hurts, tell me,” you say quietly, “Actually don’t. I’m mad at you right now.” 

Jeno’s head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. Then he finally says, “Mad at me?” 

“Yes,” you grab a sheet of gauze and begin wiping away at Jeno’s palm, dabbing carefully when it comes to the blisters, “I’m mad at you.”

“Why?” 

“This is why you need a break.” You ignore his question, grab new gauze and continue wiping away the new and old blood that’s accumulated in his palms. “Jeno, I know you like it here, but your body needs rest, too.” 

A response sits at the tip of Jeno’s tongue and he’s not sure whether or not he should tell you. The last time he decided to take a step out of his comfort zone, you didn’t even hear him. 

Does he want to try that again? 

You spray his palms with disinfectant before applying some ointment to help them heal faster. At this point, you hadn’t done as much as looked up to make eye contact with the man. 

“But..” Big step. “But this is the only place that I get to see you.”

What the fuck? 

You hope Jeno doesn’t notice the way you freeze for a burning second before you try to play it off by grabbing long bandages. It’s a good thing he can’t see the way your heart is beating erratically—and you’re hoping he doesn’t hear it, too. 

“You can literally see me wherever you want if you just asked,” you say nonchalantly, voice quiet, “But instead you resort to…” You stop yourself from speaking any further, unsure if you would even want Jeno knowing that you had suspicions of him pulling fake injuries out of his ass to make excuses to see you. 

“I’m not even sure if you’d even agree to it,” Jeno confesses, “I like… I really like talking to you but—“ 

“But what?” You slowly begin wrapping the bandage around his wrist, making your way up to his palm. 

Jeno can’t help but whisper, “You don’t seem to like me as much as I wished.” 

You hold back a giggle. Jeno’s always so accidentally cute and he doesn’t even know it. It’s literally pissing you off that a man you’re fake-mad at is doing absolutely nothing to earn your affection, yet here he was, doing just that. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that,” Jeno counters. 

“No, you don’t,” you ping-pong back. The bandage crosses between his fingers and you manage to finish wrapping the bandage around his palm. 

“I do.”

“Did you ask me?” You gulp, because at this point you’re afraid where this conversation was going. 

“Well, do you like me?” 

You move onto his other hand, grabbing another roll of the long bandage. You could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift and now you’re beginning to sweat in your light sweater. 

“I do.” 

Jeno clears his throat, “In the way I like you?” You groan. Of course he’d say that. It was a valid follow up question, simply because your answer could very much cover that broad spectrum of like. 

You ask, “How do you like me?” 

Jeno takes a moment to think about his answer, watching as you start replicating your work from his other hand, “I honestly… think it’s obvious how I like you.” “Mmm,” you hum. At this point you’re teasing him on purpose, “How so?” 

“I make myself look like a fool when it comes to you,” Jeno huffs, “Ice? Heat packs? Who am I kidding…” Jeno scoots back in his seat and you follow, practically falling between his knees from the way he’s sitting. “Every time I come here looking for you, that’s when I gain the confidence to finally ask you out… well not always out but maybe for your number or just simply talk to you or something. I wanted to be friends and then more if it went well…” 

Your movements slow, attention failing to even do a decent job at bandaging. 

“But, when I finally reach this room and see you? It’s like I lose all that confidence and it’s stuffed in the bag with the ice you give me,” Jeno explains. “I’m even lucky enough that I can finish my sentences around you…”

You blink at his injured palm and the realization dawns on you. So this was what Jaemin was hinting at, “And that last time… you asked me out and—”

“And you didn’t hear me,” Jeno finishes, “And I couldn’t for the life of me repeat what I asked because my confidence plummeted and then the fear of rejection kicked in.” 

Your hands have since halted, cradling Jeno’s hand as you try to calculate your next move. It’s now clear as day that Jeno has feelings for you, and you’ve slowly been coming to terms with yourself that you care a little too much about Jeno than a normal person should. 

“Ask me now.”

“What?” Jeno practically jumps, startled and confused. 

You drop the bandage roll and lightly tighten your grip around his hand. Looking up, you find that Jeno’s gaze has already been sitting and waiting for your own to meet his. You clarify, “Ask me what you asked then, now. This time, I’m listening.”

The reassurance from you lifts some weight off of Jeno’s shoulders, ones he didn’t know even existed. Then, he fixes his composure, moistens his lips and finally says, “Would you–um–like to go out for dinner with me?”

“My answer then and now are the same,” you smile down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, “I would really love to.”

Eyebrows reaching for his hairline, Jeno’s eyes widened, “Wait, really?” 

“Really,” You nod. And although you try to look anywhere else in the room, Jeno’s eyes capture your eyes once again, holding them there for a few skips of your heartbeat. 

You clear your throat and let out a breathy laugh, “Haha so um… let me just—“ You hastily pick up the bandage roll and return to your work. 

It doesn’t take much longer before you finish, concealing and protecting his injuries under the bandages. “Now that you’ve got me, promise me you won’t overwork yourself like this?” 

“I’ve… got you?” Jeno’s cheeks heat up at your choice of words, the shift between the both of you being so evident now that he’s experiencing a weird case of whiplash. 

“Shut up,” you mumble, “Just promise me. I don’t wanna have to keep worrying about you getting hurt.” 

Jeno laughs, completely enamoured at your own flustered state. 

“Yeah, yeah… I promise.” 

[lily-sofii]

A patient to not let go off of

Tw(?): Female half saurian!reader, traveler Aether and Paimon mentioned, heat cycles, he calls you bro, Cacucu watches, Cacucu is annoying, breeding, the smut is kinda short

The minute Aether and Paimon entered Natlan, you were behind their backs. They were rather friendly, and were rather intrigued by your appearance. I mean, who wouldn’t be? There weren’t many half saurians in Natlan after all, hell, there weren’t many in the whole Teyvat.

As it happened, you have been travelling with the pair for over a month now, being a helpful guide for them. But a few things got in the way every time. This time? Your, not-so-fragile body. You don’t fall ill often thanks to your saurian genetics, but now it seemed to be so.

Your body felt like you had been lit on fire, and any touch felt like it made the fire ignite further. Whether it was a touch from Aether to check your temperature, or the touch of your clothes, it felt insufferable.

“Your fever seems pretty bad, but… I’m not sure if a normal doctor will be able to help… you know, since you’re a saurian.”

You let out a groan, your body feeling exhausted. You and the pair that stood next to you were travelling to the flower-feather clan, but that was long forgotten when you tumbled to the ground from exhaustion, your back pressed against a tree for support.

“Paimon thinks that there is a saurian vet in the clan we were planning to go to! Don’t you think they could help, huh, Traveler?”

Paimon’s over-enthusiastic voice breaks from behind Aether, her small body floating in the air.

A saurian vet? Actually, you’re in no place to complain. You need help, and you need it now.

You slowly nod and weakly stand up, Aether moving to let you lean on him as you make your way to the clan. His touch is well-needed but you can’t help but lean away from it. It feels like the flames of the Archon herself are touching you.

The way into the clan feels torturously long, your condition seeming to worsen with each step you take.

“Dude!”

You flinch when you hear a loud, squeal-like voice boom up from above you, your eyes being met with what looks like a pink ball with wings. Wait, is that another saurian?

“Over here dude! Here dude!”

The saurian slowly lowers to be flying around your heads, his voice still calling out to someone.

“Come with me dude! I can help, dude!”

The small saurian pecks at your head before backing away, glancing back at you.

Aether seems to understand that the small saurian wants you to follow him, so he grabs your weak body closer to him, going after the pink saurian. His touch, though much needed, makes you recoil away.

Upon walking for fifteen minutes, even though it would take you three if you were fully healthy, you arrived at the flower-feather clan. The overly-loud saurian leads you to a clinic-like building near the entrance to the clan, with various saurian species hanging out around the premises.

“Ifa?! Ifa! No way bro! Ifa!”

The loud saurian enters the tall building, his voice echoing off the walls. Ifa? Was that the vet Paimon mentioned earlier? It doesn’t matter now, you need help from anyone who is willing to give it to you.

“I hear you, Cacucu! Just… come into the clinic dude!”

The saurian, who you now learned was called Cacucu, leads you into a white, sterile clinic, with Paimon and Aether following close behind.

In the room you see a human, who you assumed was Ifa, tending to a wounded saurian.

His eyes look towards your direction, visible eye bags from exhaustion. The saurian that was getting treated gets up and waddles out of the clinic, seemingly mended of whatever illness it came in with.

Aether helps you on the examination table, your body giving up under you as soon as you sit. Ifa looks at you with a slightly concerned expression, grabbing a chair to sit across from you.

“Cacucu, we have a patient. Please.”

Cacucu lets out a high pitched screech and pecks on Paimons head, shooing her and Aether out of the examination room.

Ifa scoots closer to you and puts a thermometer into your mouth, his eyes squinting when he sees your temperature.

“I can see that your body is weak, but do you have any other issues?”

You whine and take the thermometer from your mouth when it beeps, telling Ifa about the issues you are experiencing.

Cacucu flies back into the room where you and Ifa are, slamming the door behind him.

“Heat! Heat! You're in heat bro!”

The pink saurian squeals out the words as he flies around your head before seating himself on Ifa’s hat.

Ifa sighs and swats his hand around Cacucu, making him fly off his hat, floating in the proximity of you both.

“I do feel the same, Cacucu. I believe you're in heat, bro.”

You nod weakly and try sitting up, leaning against a wall. How does one get rid of this weakness and unbearable warmth?!

“Well, Saurians usually just mate, but you… I'm not sure what to do here. You're not fully a saurian. Just a hybrid.”

Cacucu flies knowingly around you both, seating himself next to you.

“Mating bro!”

Ifa narrows his eyes and shoots Cacucu a scolding look. His eyes soften a few seconds after, returning to you.

“As right as Cacucu would be if you were a Saurian, it doesn't seem like a plausible answer for you. If you were to mate with a saurian, you could end up injured.”

Nevermind injury, you'd never mate with a saurian! You'd rather die of heat!

“Well bro… There is another way I could try as your vet, but I'm not too sure how well it will work. Max it will just make the effects of your heat lessen, not disappear as if you mated with a saurian.”

You look at him weakly and finally sit up without the help of a wall, nodding. You just want to be healthy, or at least, not in this much discomfort.

Ifa smirks slightly and his hand raises to touch your horns, making you let out a moan. Covering your mouth from embarrassment you hold onto Ifa’s hand, keeping it on your horn. You never paid attention to your horns before since all touches felt the same as if someone touched your hand or thighs, but now? It felt beyond good. The slightest touch Ifa gave you felt pleasurable.

Ifa smiles and rubs your horn with his thumb, his other hand moving to your cropped shirt, his hand squeezing around your breast. Your mouth opens with a loud moan, eyes locked onto each other.

“I take it that you feel good when I touch you?”

Good? That wasn't nearly enough to express the pleasure the smallest of his touches gave you.

But still, you nod at his dumb question, earning a proud hum from him.

“Tell me if you want to stop, or if anything feels wrong.”

You nod again, too scared about how your voice is gonna sound like were you to open your mouth. Ifa lets go off your horn, much to your dismay, and grabs your top, yanking it over your head.

You blush when your tits are on full display, having not worn a bra due to the heat of Natlan.

Ifa’s eyes widen slightly before going back to normal, his head moving down to your breasts. His mouth wraps around one of your nipples, one of his hands moving to grope the breast he's not sucking on.

Moaning loudly you arch into his grip, your legs opening without your input. Ifa sees this and moves his free hand down to your crotch, rubbing your cunt through your shorts.

You gasp and wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. Ifa nods and pulls your shorts off, his fingers hooking under your panties. You look at him when he doesn't pull them off, seeing him already looking at you. Was he asking for permission?

You beg under your breath, your hips rutting against his touch. Ifa moans quietly and bites your nipple, your panties getting tossed away.

You hiss in pain when he bites, claws gripping onto his hair, pulling him into a kiss.

Ifa’s eyes widen in surprise when you kiss him, melting into the kiss soon after. Taking advantage of your distracted self he pushes two of his fingers into your dripping cunt, making you break the kiss to moan.

Ifa smirks and looks down to your cunt and takes his fingers out, putting them in your field of vision. He spreads his fingers apart, your arousal webbing between them.

“I don't think you need any more prep, bro. You're so wet that there will be no pain.”

Your face turns red from his words, embarrassment taking over your body. Ifa lets go of you and moves both his hands to his belt, unbuckling it.

His belt makes a loud clanking noise as it releases his pants, making them slip down to his ankles.

You blush when you see his erection freed to the air, the tip slapping up to his stomach.

“Oh dear!”

You flinch when you hear Cacucu chirp up, seeing his small saurian body fly up to seat himself on Ifa’s hat. You forgot the small saurian was even there, and judging by Ifa’s expression, he forgot about him too.

Ifa shoos Cacucu away, but Cacucu only moves off of his hat to float next to his head.

“Bro… how about you fly out and look if there are any saurians that need help?”

The small Saurian didn't seem to understand that Ifa wanted him gone, instead he sat himself back on the examination table, and flapped his wings from frustration.

“No way bro!”

Ifa sighs and rolls his eyes, seemingly used to Cacucu being this annoying.

Just as you’re about to tell Cacucu to fuck off in the saurian language, Ifa stops you.

“Don’t bother bro, just ignore him. It’s hard to change his mind.”

Ifa grabs his cock and presses it to your wet entrance, his eyes locking to yours once more. You give Ifa a shaky nod, just wanting this sickness to be gone.

He presses his tip into your cunt with little to no resistance, groaning in pleasure. But next to you? He might as well have not made a noise.

You moan loudly and thrust back against him, your hand grabbing his, putting it on your horn.

Taking it as a hint that you feel good and are in no pain, he presses on. His hand squeezes your horn and moves his hips closer to yours, pushing half his cock into you.

Ifa smirks at your reaction and slams his hips forward, the rest of his cock slamming into you. Ifa bottoms out with a loud and embarrassing squelch, but you're too overwhelmed by pleasure to notice it.

“B-Bro, you need to quiet down.”

You haven't even noticed how loud your moans were. God, Aether and Paimon could probably hear you through the door. But on the other hand… you couldn't keep your voice down. Everything felt too good, your heat making it feel like heaven.

Ifa lets out an annoyed groan when you don't listen to his command, pulling into a kiss in an attempt to quiet you down.

You kiss him back and moan against his lips, your hands clawing at his back, most definitely drawing blood.

Ifa lets out a pleased sigh and breaks the kiss, his hips beginning to slow down. His thrusts feel torturously slow, but it still gives you so much pleasure that your brain feels like it's shutting down.

You squeeze your thighs around his waist, your arms pulling him closer to you. You need to feel him closer to you, your Saurian instincts making you feel possessive over him.

Ifa doesn't pull away, he knows Saurian’s tend to be this clingy and needy when in heat. He just wants to help you, to make you feel better.

You sob out in pleasure when his hips begin picking up speed, his hand moving to circle your clit.

Your thighs flex and twitch, your hands scraping on his back. You want him closer, but your body feels so overwhelmed that it wants to push Ifa away. You moan loudly and lay your head on Ifa's shoulder, your forehead pressing to the side of his neck.

Wait… his neck? Ah, his pulse feels so warm against you. So pure, and so… lonely. He needs a mate, doesn't he?

As if sensing your thoughts, Ifa grabs your hair and yanks your head back.

“Don't even think about it.”

His voice was threatening, but to your heat-filled brain it sounded like a challenge. You lunge back to his neck, your fangs sinking into his flesh, blood drawn by the deep bite. Ifa moans and tugs on your hair again, but to no avail.

His cock twitches inside of you as you lap up the blood on his neck, his hips stuttering and twitching. He’s so close, just a bit more.

“Ah- bro… you want to feel better, don’t you? You want me to cum inside you, right?”

God, please. You need his cum in you.

Ifa moans softly when his release gets closer and closer, his hands moving to grip on your sides, pulling your body closer to his with each thrust. He needs to be closer to you, but only because you’re in heat and need it… yeah, that’s the only reason. It’s not like he’s also desperate for your touch.

His hips thrust against yours a few more times before slamming as deep into you as they can before Ifa lets out a loud moan. His cum begins to fill your wet cunt, the feeling of it filling you to the brim being enough to push you over the edge, cumming over his cock.

Ifa’s body twitches around you as he rides off his high, moving to pull out. You quickly grab onto his, your saurian instincts telling you to keep him close. As if he had a saurian knot your brain felt like it needed to stay inside of you.

Ifa laughs slightly under his breath and nods, grabbing you by the jaw to land a gentle kiss against your lips.

“You’ll need to let go eventually, my dear patient.”

You shake your head and keep him close. Maybe later, but for now he has to stay close to you.

“No way bro!”

Cacucu’s voice breaks through the quiet and breath filled room. Seems like he also knows you don’t plan to let go of Ifa anytime soon.

[randominchident]

'tis the damn season

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. lando noriss x reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

You and Lando had to break up months ago, but the holiday season has brought him back to your hometown. One more weekend of love is all he wants, like you used to have, and you’ve never been able to turn him down. Especially since you still love him.

inspired by ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift

You open the door before he can knock.

It’s instinct more than anything. Some part of you still knows the sound of his car on the driveway, the way the gravel crunches just slightly differently under his tires. 

He’s in town for Christmas. To see family. Unwind. Get away from the cameras for a bit. That’s what your friend had told you. There’s a part of you, deep down in your aching heart, that knew he would end up here. At your house. For Lando, all roads lead to you eventually—even months after you’ve broken up.

The door creaks open and… It’s him. Because of course it is.

Lando stands on your porch with a dusting of snow on his shoulders and that same sheepish smile he always used to wear when he showed up at your door after a long flight, just needing to be near you. Just needing to hold you.

Your heart stutters, stupid and soft.

“Hey,” he says, hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat.

You blink. “I didn’t know you were in town,” you lie.

“Flew in last night. Mum said you were still here.” A beat. “I hoped you might be.”

You should shut the door. Or invite him in. You’re not sure which would hurt less.

Instead, you say, “You could’ve texted first.”

“I almost did.” His voice is quiet, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to find the version of you he left behind. “But I didn’t want to make it easy to turn me away. I wanted to see you.”

Your throat tightens. It's complete silence, except for the rustling tree branches and the low howling of the wind. His smile falters. 

“I know I shouldn’t have come,” he says. “But I couldn’t help it.”

You stare at each other for a moment too long.

Then you step aside.

“It’s cold. Come in.”

The kettle whistles.

He’s leaning against your kitchen counter, coat off now, like nothing’s changed. Like he didn’t walk out of this same house six months ago with eyes rimmed red and hands that didn’t want to let go. Like he hadn’t whispered I’m sorry over and over as he packed up and disappeared from your life. Like having to let him go doesn’t still keep you up at night, even though you know it was the right thing to do.

Fantasising about the life you could have had together has kept you awake for too many nights to count. 

Now he’s in your kitchen again, sipping tea like the last six months never happened. Like no time has passed.

He’s still wearing that damn hoodie—the grey one you used to steal just to feel closer when he was away. He looks at home here. That’s the worst part, because in another life this is his home. But it’s not anymore. You both know that.

You lean against the opposite counter, arms crossed. “You can’t just show up and pretend everything’s the same.”

Lando glances at you over his mug. “I’m not trying to.”

You raise a brow.

He exhales slowly. “Okay. Maybe I am. But just for the weekend. Can we? I’ve just… I miss you. Everything’s shit right now and I just miss you. I know why we aren’t together. I know. But that doesn’t stop me missing you. Loving you, Babe. ”

You don’t answer right away. 

“Lando,” you say softly. “We’re not together anymore.”

“I know,” he says, walking toward you, voice lower now. “But just for a few days... Let me look at you like I used to. We can pretend. Just until I leave.”

You should say no. This will only make the ache in your heart stronger when he has to leave again. But you don’t. You can’t. Deep down you want it too. It's so much easier to pretend there is nothing drawing you two apart. It’s nicer to pretend the media, the cameras, the comments, the travel—all of it—doesn’t make it too hard to love each other like you deserve.

One weekend of unforgotten love is so tempting.

You nod once, barely. He smiles.

You don’t know when he crawled into your bed. Sometime after the second cup of tea, or the third glass of wine. You just remember the way his voice sounded in the dark—quiet, hesitant, familiar. The way he asked if it was okay. The way you didn’t say no. 

Your hands grip his tightly, willing him not to disappear like a dreamed wish. One you’ve had many times before and watched slip away when morning came. When he asked to kiss you, you say yes, and thank the darkness of your bedroom for disguising the tear that rolls down your cheek.

His hands are heavy on your waist, in your hair, roaming your body with a hint of uncertainty and familiarity. Your own hands pull his face to yours and keeps your foreheads leaned against each other. You need the closeness. The certainty that his touch is more than wanton desire—its love. Or, at least, love that once was. That maybe could be again, someday.

You fall asleep wrapped around each other, like muscle memory.

It’s almost noon when you finally stir. Being next to eachother again has let your body finally relax, sleep came easy and lasted longer than normal. Light filters in through the crack in the blinds and illuminates the soft look on Lando’s sleeping face.

He’s warm beside you, one arm under his head, the other curled loosely around your waist like it belongs there. His breathing is slow.

You don’t want to move.

Lando shifts first, mumbling into the pillow, “You still sleep like a starfish.”

You grin, eyes slipping closed again. “You still snore.”

He laughs—that low, sleepy chuckle you used to live for. “Rude. You still hog the blankets.”

“And you still call me babe like nothing’s changed.”

He opens his eyes suddenly, and there it is again—that look. The one that makes your chest hurt.

“Not nothing,” he says. “Just not the part that matters.”

You don’t leave the house all day.

You make pancakes and they are left to burn a little because you’re both busy laughing. Lando steals bites off your plate like always. You wear his hoodie, and he pretends not to notice how at home you look in it. You’re both addicted to the ‘if only’ and talking about it would make it too hard to leave once the weekend is over. Because you both know it will have to come to an end.

By late afternoon, you're tangled on the couch together. A christmas movie plays on low volume, but you’re not watching it. His hand rests on your knee. Yours plays lazily with the strings of his hoodie.

“You look happy,” he murmurs, like he’s not sure if it’s a good thing or a cruel one to point out. You’re so much happier here—with him—than you would have been alone. It's a thought that leaves a pit in your stomach.

You glance over at him. “I am.”

He nods. Then adds, quietly, “I missed your smile.”

Your breath catches. You don’t know how to answer that without unraveling. Without begging to go back in time and redo everything.

So you just press your shoulder into his and whisper, “I missed yours too.”

That night, you lie in bed again—you can’t seem to spend more than a few minutes out of each other's reach this weekend—but this time you’re facing each other.

Lando’s voice is soft in the dark. “Do you ever wonder if we gave up too fast?”

You’re quiet for a long time. “I think about it every day. But,” you take a deep breath and find the courage to keep your voice from breaking, “we made the right call. You know that, right?”

He swallows. You hear it.

“I still love you, you know.”

You shut your eyes. “I know.”

And that’s the problem. Because you still love him too. But nothing has changed. The world outside your house is still loud and bright and full of pressure. And you don’t know if love is enough to survive it.

Your life is here, in this small town that used to belong to both of you. His is out there, in the world, thousands of kilometres away from the quiet solace of your bedroom.

“I wish I stayed,” he whispers once you've closed your eyes and leaned into his chest again. Tucked under his chin, his voice is so soft you almost miss it.

You grant him the dignity of pretending not to hear him. The world is too loud for you two to have done anything different than you have.

But here—for now—it’s quiet. And warm. And good.

Just for the weekend.

The next morning, you wake up to snow on the windows and Lando in your kitchen, barefoot and humming something soft under his breath.

He looks at you over his shoulder and smiles. “Morning, babe.”

You lean in the doorway. “You really love calling me that.”

He shrugs, boyish. “Yeah. It still feels right. I can’t pretend it doesn’t.”

He leaves Sunday night.

You walk him to the door, your hands shoved into the sleeves of your cardigan. The sky is grey. The world feels numb, like it’s holding its breath with you.

He doesn’t say much. Just wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your neck like he’s trying to memorise the way you smell.

You don’t say don’t go. You both know he has too. You both know he’d stay if you asked.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. “I’ll text you when I land?”

You nod. “You don’t have to.”

He smiles—that same tired smile from the night he arrived. “I want to.” And then, almost too soft to hear: “Thanks for letting me pretend.”

Your voice cracks. “Travel safe.”

You watch the taillights disappear down the street, like maybe this time they’ll turn around. But they don’t. Before you can even blink he’s gone from view.

You close the door. Go back inside. Turn off the porch lights. Turn on the kettle. 

The house is still warm. The bed is still rumpled. His hoodie is still on your chair. And for a few more days, you’ll pretend that means something. The smell of him on its fabric, like the memory of him at your table, will go stale and fade soon enough. But the sound of his voice lingers in your ear forever.

Because some love doesn’t die. It just comes home for the holidays, then gets packed away and hidden with the Christmas lights.

my first ever lando fic!!! the people asked for smutty fun and instead I wrote mild angst!!! who knows what I’ll do next!!! writing inspiration and motivation is a cruel mistress!!!

[alexanderlightweight]

A continuation of i think its called to be or knot to be would be cool if youre still taking the writing wednesday prompts? Or literally anything with malec having a freak4freak dynamic because thats straight fire. Dealers choice for whether its sfw or nsfw. I hope you’re having a great day :)

dear Anon! I hope you enjoy this because they are definitely freak4freak in most of my universes but there are some where its particularly obvious and this is 100% one of them and it was still prompts open when I got this! thank you i'm having a day that's getting better the more I write so filling this prompt actually helped <3

first part btw

i hope you enjoy!

lumine

to be or knot to be

Magnus wakes because of the wards flaring but from the way his instincts snarl and snap, he’d wake regardless.  There’s too many strange presences in his home. Scents and emotions littered about his personal space by people he’s not actually familiar or comfortable with.

While Magnus did set up a quick ward maze that makes Clarissa and her little guard dogs unable to wander, that doesn’t mean he likes them there at all. Not to mention the magick he’s wasted healing Lucian and the time Magnus will have to spend smoothing over local politics and power balances. No one is going to be happy about a former shadowhunter having so much power in the downworld, especially one who was so close to Valentine.

The imprint of Alexander’s teeth on his shoulder throbs as he sits up and Magnus pauses, ignoring the wards and his thoughts for a moment. He touches two fingers to the sore, raw wound and presses on the deep marks immortalizing itself on his skin. It’s with a smirk that he pulls on a thinly spun silk blouse and summons a drink to his side table.

The shirt is smooth and soft enough that he’ll feel on the bite but won’t overly distract him with the temptation in his bed and the drink is strong enough to hopefully keep his tongue from craving Alexander.

Alexander is still asleep and when Magnus starts to leave the bed but he whines and nuzzles closer. 

It’s both utterly endearing to see and infuriating to not be able to indulge.

However Lucian is awake and from the way the wards are acting, emotions are high and lacking sense.

Magnus snaps his fingers, ensuring that no one will be able to scent exactly what’s been going on.  He doesn’t diminish the scent of Alexander mingled with himself, but he does conceal it. 

Alpha pairings are rare enough that it won’t be long before they’re exposed, but Magnus can at least give Alexander the courtesy of letting his boy pick where he wants it to happen. 

Clary, Simon and Jace are utterly headache inducing and there is a rather large amount of nonsense that Magnus learns, rather than anything interesting.

“Why don’t you just glamour yourselves?” Magnus asks, because cameras don’t pick up magic unless made with magical glass and connected to a node or runestone. “Even if the cameras pick up on it being opened it won’t matter as they can’t see you. If you’re worried about Luke then it’s obvious. You can stash him somewhere else where he can have an alibi. A non-obvious one this time.  He should go to a coffee shop half an hour before the rest of you start your little espionage mission and then have him leave, casually, before you’re finished. Somewhere he normally goes, like he’s trying to get back into a routine, you can have Simon go with him.”

That seems to shock all of them, Lucian included.

It’s getting to the point where Magnus is beginning to wonder if all the common sense Lucian’s learned since becoming a werewolf is gone simply by proxy of Clarissa now being a shadowhunter.

“You’ll come to Pandemonium tonight and give your vows.” He reminds Lucian as he gets up and the now alpha werewolf winces but nods and Magnus files that reaction away. “If you’re healed enough to play with shadowhunters, you’re healed enough to swear your fealty.”

Lucian will remain pack leader for as long as it’s convenient for Magnus, otherwise he’ll just become another problem to solve. Magnus prefers to take care of things before they become problems, not after.

“Now out, I have more important business to attend to.”

“It’s the mortal cup!” Clarissa sounds like she doesn’t know whether to be offended on her own, the shadowhunters, the cups, or her mothers behalf the most.

“Yes? A shadowhunter relic that’s been missing for two decades, stolen before that and untouched for centuries before that. Life continues on despite a single cup lost, so begone and try to remember to finally get your little mundane looked at. He smells off.”

And he did. He smelled disgusting in a way that should be familiar but thankfully Alexander’s scent muffles it, making it impossible to confirm but also keeping Magnus' mind off of it. 

—-

“Wake up kitten,” Magnus murmurs once new wards have been set and his lair is once again relocated. Something a bit more private this time, with an entry and appointment room, since Magnus now has a mate to protect.

 Alexander is taking up the space Magnus left behind and has abandoned his own pillow to possessively curl around Magnus’ own.

He’s like a large, fierce predator and yet when Magnus touches him, he melts like a housecat.  Half asleep and newly bonded, he should at least be wary of his still unfamiliar surroundings.  Instead he curls into Magnus’ touch and rumbles, nearly purring with delight as he whuffles half asleep snores.

Magnus fingers scratch through soft, sleep-tangled curls and then Alexander is tiredly blinking at him and rudely pulling away... ah.

Magnus lays next to him in the space made and instantly has half of Alexander draped across him. Lips press insistently against the bitemark on his shoulder, Alexander licking over it as if to reassure himself it’s there.

It should set Magnus off, to have Alexander's maw so close to his jugular and yet he wishes his kitten would bite again. Magnus rather enjoyed licking his own blood from Alexander's lips.

“I’m letting it scar naturally.” Magnus tells him and then he rubs his fingers and magic down the first mark he left on Alexander, nearly bisecting his defense rune. “I used a little magic for yours.”

Because while Magnus doubts it can actually happen, he’s heard rumors of newly formed mating bonds being forcefully healed from existence via an iratze. Despite the fact that it’s unlikely, Magnus is taking no chances.

Magnus gave Alexander an out last night. 

He won’t give the Clave even an ounce of the same right or courtesy to hold over their relationship.

There’s a tired, quiet relief in Alexander’s gaze and then he’s reaching up and brushing calloused fingertips over Magnus’ mouth. Magnus kisses them and then leans forward to kiss Alexander.

Just because he can.

Because Alexander is his, now.

AN:

Magnus can smell Camille’s blood in simon. It pisses him off and sets his instincts off.

Legally, there’s nothing against alpha/alpha pairings it's just not socially done especially in shadowhunter society. the clave is especially weird in a/b/o there is a lot of drama about reproduction. Maybe for warlocks who are sterile it's more common and vampires as well, but nephilim are still very rigid even if the rigidity has changed somewhat to just having more babies because limites supply of warriors. 

Magnus having an a male alpha mate isn’t that weird. Alec having a male alpha mate is pretty fucking weird, he’s supposed to be a shadowhunter stud basically.

Which is like, none of what he wants. Alec is very happy to be an alpha and he doesn’t want to be an omega or a beta he just also wants things most alphas dont that also go against normal instincts. However he still has those instincts.

Kink things, what a shock.

They did do mutual claiming bites, Magnus’ can’t be erased and he’s kinky like that in wanting to feel it heal. He’s overly paranoid about Alec’s half of the bond staying intact tho, because the clave won’t like this. So he’s not gonna take any chances even if they are only baseless rumors. 

They haven’t had sex yet because magnus isn’t going to fuck him when he might be interrupted by luke and clary etc. or when anyone is in the house. Magnus was very unsettled and only managed to sleep at all because he was wrapped around alec and they were both wrapped up in magic. Alec does not join the mission this time. He spends it in bed with Magnus and when he shows up at the Institute and everyone tries to ask whats going on and he’s like ‘i was covering unpaid expenses.’ and throws clary’s ass under the bus.

Alec: how much did this cost the institute btw?

Magnus with a smirk looking between them naked in bed: ...

Alec: NOT THAT! By raziel magnus, you know what i meant. The whole clary issue and thing with luke and potion. How much did it cost the institute so i know how to handle my mother?

Magnus: well i’d say i got to look at your lovely face quite a bit

Alec: haha, funny. So how much

Magnus: ... that wasn’t a joke, kitten

Alec: ... they’re taking advantage of my mate??

Magnus: of course no— yes. Yes they are. 

Alec getting increasingly more angry: *rumbling in Magnus’ lap while aggressively cuddling him*

Magnus with glee: yes, they did take advantage of my services and i even had to move my lair because otherwise they’d know where we are since they just barged in without respect for my territory 

Alec is really angry at this point because his alpha instincts very much include protecting his territory which is now also Magnus territory which means that things Magnus doesn’t like should never be in that territory.

Magnus knowingly making this worse: i even had to pay for Luke’s potion ingredients myself and fix Simon’s van.

Alec to himself: we can kill them. It's allowed. Probably. Most likely. We can figure it out. The law is hard and there are a bunch of them that they’ve broken I can nail their assess with.

Magnus did not give the necklace to Izzy in this btw, that could have been taken as a courting gesture and no ty for him. However, that's just payment for the initial meeting and everything else. Clary got her memories back in this but there wasn’t anything useful.

[amirawrah]

⭐︎Worth the wait

with JAMAL MUSIALA⭐︎

synopsis: After a year of unspoken feelings and perfect timing, two hearts finally get the chance to explore what’s always been there.

amirah: take my draft, ive been holding this

They met on a rainy Friday evening in London—the kind of night where no one expected much except a drink, a laugh, and maybe a decent photo for Instagram. But Jamal saw her across the room and forgot everything else.

She wasn’t trying to stand out. No loud energy, no curated attention. Just quiet confidence and the kind of smile that made you want to know what was behind it.

They talked. And talked. And when it was time to leave, she looked at him and said, “You’re sweet Jamal. But I’m not looking for anything right now. I’m finishing uni this year—I need to focus.”

Jamal didn’t argue. He admired her for it. She was focused, disciplined, the type of person who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to wait for it.

So he waited too.

There were texts that never went unanswered. Inside jokes that bloomed in the space between deadlines and exams. Birthday calls. Shared playlists. And every once in a while, a grainy selfie from training or her campus café, just to say: I’m thinking of you.

He never pressed. Never pushed. Just stayed.

And now… it’s been a year.

She’s walking across the stage in heels she bought months ago, robe flapping behind her, eyes scanning the crowd for familiar faces. She doesn’t expect him to be there. And he isn’t.

Not yet.

Because Jamal Musiala is planning something else. Something quieter. Something just for her.

She spends the night of her graduation surrounded by noise—laughter, music, clinking glasses, and the feeling of something ending. Her friends pull her into endless hugs, shout out memories they swear they'll never forget, and snap photos she'll look back on one day with a fond smile.

But even with the joy buzzing around her, her mind drifts.

To him.

Jamal hadn’t texted her since the quick “So proud of you 🎓” text that morning. No call. No voice note. Not even one of his random memes that usually popped up late at night.

It wasn’t like him.

But she didn’t overthink it. Maybe he was busy with training, maybe he was just giving her space to enjoy her day.

She goes to bed that night exhausted, dress hung over the back of a chair, makeup wiped off in lazy streaks. There’s a soft ache in her chest, not sadness, not longing—something in between.

And then, the next morning, there’s a knock on her door.

She blinks, still in an old uni tee and fuzzy socks. Hair barely brushed. The world still a little blurred from sleep.

She opens the door.

And he’s standing there.

Hood up. Hands in his pockets. That shy, dimpled grin that still manages to melt something inside her chest.

She just blinks at him. “Jamal?”

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless, as if the nerves caught up to him only once she opened the door.

“What are you—how did you—”

He pulls out a small carry-on suitcase from behind his legs and shrugs. “I figured, now that uni’s done… I could steal you for a few days. Just us. Somewhere sunny.”

She stares. Then laughs. Then immediately pulls him into a hug that feels like it’s been waiting a whole year to happen.

They leave that afternoon. No itinerary. No one else. Just a one-way ticket to Italy and the kind of quiet joy that comes from being around someone who waited—for her, for the right time, for this.

She doesn’t know yet that on the third night, under a terrace glowing with soft yellow lights and overlooking the sea, he’s going to ask her to be his girlfriend.

But for now, she’s just grateful he stayed.

They land in Naples just before sunset.

Jamal lets her sleep against his shoulder for most of the flight, only waking her with a soft nudge as the plane starts its descent. Outside the window, the sky is dipped in gold and lavender, casting a warm glow over the Amalfi Coast. It looks like a painting. She stretches, still groggy, and catches the way he’s watching her—like he still can’t believe she’s real.

He doesn’t say much as they drive to their villa, a small, tucked-away place in Positano with a view that makes her breath catch in her throat. Bougainvillea spills over the whitewashed walls, and the ocean stretches out endlessly in front of them. There’s a pool, a terrace, and most importantly: peace.

Just them.

“This is insane,” she says softly as they walk inside, luggage forgotten by the door. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Jamal shrugs, dropping his bag. “I’ve had a year to plan.”

She laughs, then stops when she sees the way he’s looking at her. He’s not trying to be funny. He means it.

“I didn’t want to just see you after graduation,” he says. “I wanted to show you how serious I am. About this. About you.”

Her throat tightens, but she smiles instead of answering. They’re not rushing this—never have. That’s the beauty of it.

The next few days blur together in the best way. Lazy mornings with fresh fruit and juice on the terrace. Exploring tiny towns along the coast, hand in hand. Long swims, gelato dribbling down fingers, laughter echoing down cobblestone streets. No cameras. No fans. Just quiet moments they’d dreamed about in texts.

They share stories they didn’t have time for before. She tells him about the stress of final exams and that one awful professor who almost broke her spirit. He tells her how hard it was not to call every day, especially on match nights when he just wanted to hear her voice.

And every night, he looks at her like he’s still choosing her. Like he never stopped.

On the third night, they stay in.

Dinner is on the terrace. A local chef Jamal arranged cooks a small meal just for them—fresh seafood, lemon risotto, and a dessert she can’t pronounce but already loves.

The air is warm, breeze soft, and the candles flicker gently on the table between them.

She’s wearing a simple silk dress, and Jamal’s in linen, sleeves rolled up. He hasn’t said much all evening—just smiling at her between bites, sipping wine like he’s working up to something.

She leans back in her chair and raises a brow. “You good?”

He nods once. Then exhales slowly.

“I’ve wanted to ask you something for a long time,” he says, voice low.

She doesn’t move, just watches him. Heart beginning to race.

“I waited because you asked me to,” Jamal continues. “And I would’ve waited longer if I had to. But now that you’re here, now that this is real—can I finally ask?”

“You can ask me anything.”

He reaches into his pocket—not for a ring, not yet—but for a small velvet box holding a thin gold bracelet with her initials and the date they met engraved on the inside.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

She blinks.

Smiles.

Laughs in disbelief—and then reaches across the table to grab his face, pulling him into a kiss that says everything she can’t in that moment.

“Yes,” she whispers against his lips.

The morning after he asked, she wakes up tangled in white linen and sunlight.

For a second, she forgets where she is—until she turns and sees Jamal asleep beside her, arm tossed lazily over his face, curls mussed, a faint smile still playing at his lips. Her heart does a little flip, the kind she never allowed herself to feel before. Not when things were uncertain. Not when she had deadlines and lectures and essays due at midnight.

But now? He’s hers. And she’s his. Officially.

She slides out of bed quietly, wrapping herself in the hotel robe and padding barefoot to the balcony. The sea stretches out in front of her, a lazy blue that looks almost unreal. She’s barely taken a sip of her coffee when the sliding door creaks behind her.

“What are you staring at?” Jamal’s voice is raspy with sleep, but the teasing is very much awake.

She turns to find him shirtless, wearing only sweatpants and a smirk.

“Just soaking it in,” she replies, handing him the second coffee she made—because she knows how he takes it now. “My launch into girlfriend era.”

He chuckles and sips. “We’re way past soft-launching.”

“Hmm?” she hums, leaning on the balcony railing.

He lifts a brow, then pulls out his phone. With one tap, he holds it up to show her his new lock screen: a photo from the night before. Her, flushed from laughter, smiling across the candlelit dinner table. No caption. Just the image.

She nearly chokes on her coffee. “Jamal really”

“What?” he says innocently. “You said I could ask you anything. I’m asking if I can show you off.”

She starts laughing.

“You know love it,” he grins then kisses the side of her temple.

She does. Every bit of it. The dimpled grins. The quiet gestures. The year of patience he gave her without question.

The next few days feel like a dream they’ve both waited too long to touch. They take boat rides along the coast, eat enough pasta to feed a small country, and fall asleep in front of old Italian movies she pretends not to understand, just for him. Everything is easy now—no second-guessing, no space between them.

When the trip ends and they’re back on the plane, she scrolls through the photos—sunsets, food, blurry selfies—and pauses on one he took of her laughing mid-sentence, head thrown back in joy.

She nudges him. “Can I post this?”

He looks over, smiles. “Tag me tho.”

And just like that, the launch is over.

The world can know now.

She’s his.

And he’s been hers for a while.

@jamalmusiala10 posted on their story

[caption: live and ❤️ @yourusername]

[darknessisafriend]

Hi!! I've recently discovered you and really like your work and was wondering if you could write what the first time with Joaquin's characters is like?

Here it is! I hope you will enjoy it, been a while since I wrote multi-joaquin characters, so I wrote as many as possible :)

Your first time x Joaquin characters

Arthur Fleck

Arthur is nervous, terrified, even. His hands tremble as he touches your cheek, his lips parting like he might say something but can’t. He has a few nervous giggle fits. He looks at you as if he's never been touched before, like you're something sacred. He keeps checking your face for signs of hesitation, ready to stop at any moment. You guide him with whispered encouragements, reassuring him with your voice and your body. He’s gentle, almost reverent, and when you finally connect, he gasps like he’s never breathed until now. He cries a little afterward, holding you like you saved him. And surely you did.

Commodus

It's passionate from the start, desperate and slow-burning. Commodus touches you like he’s claiming you, yet afraid you might disappear. He holds eye contact fiercely, wanting to watch every expression on your face. There’s a tension to him, even as he undresses you with shaky hands, like he’s not sure whether to worship you or possess you. You feel every emotion through his body, the pain, the loneliness, the obsessive type. When you finally join, it’s a collision of need and vulnerability. He kisses you after, over and over, like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world.

Joe

You take the lead, because Joe doesn’t know how. His hands are strong but hesitant, calloused and warm. You guide them, placing them over your hips, your chest, your face. He’s quiet, breathing hard as he tries to memorize the feeling of your skin. When you undress him, he flinches at first, scars and all but you kiss each one until he relaxes. It takes time, it takes communication to allow him to be vulnerable, to let down his barriers. When it finally happens, he moves slowly, like he’s afraid to hurt you. You hold him tightly the whole time, whispering how much you love him, keeping him enchored to reality and present time. Afterward, he doesn't speak. He just holds you close, cheek pressed to your forehead, safe for the first time in years.

Bruno Weiss

He’s confident but not cocky. Bruno knows what he’s doing, and more importantly, he knows how to make you feel wanted. The first time is in his bed, candlelight flickering from his nightstand, music playing softly in the background. He starts by touching you through your clothes, asking for permission at each step, but with a low voice that makes you shiver. When your clothes are off, he kisses your stomach, your thighs, your collarbone, taking his time. When he finally sinks into you, it’s slow, deep, and deliberate, he knows how to draw out pleasure, he knows what to say. Afterward, he lights you a cigarette and pulls you to his chest. You’ve never felt more like a goddess.

Charlie Sisters

It starts after a long day of riding. You’re sore, the fire crackling nearby, and Charlie’s looking at you with that dark, teasing smile of his. It begins with his fingers brushing yours, and then a sudden, rough kiss. But the moment you’re on your back, he softens. He’s not rough, not with you. He treats your body like something breakable, running his hand along your ribs, pressing kisses into your shoulder, your cheek, your breast. His voice is gravel when he whispers your name. When he pushes into you, he swears, not because of lust, but because of how right it feels. He stays inside you long after it’s over, forehead to your chest, finally at peace.

Abbé de Coulmier

It happens in his room, late at night. He shouldn’t let it happen, you both know that, but the way he looks at you, trembling with desire and guilt, makes your heart ache. He touches you like he’s never touched anyone before. And he hasn’t. His fingers are elegant, hesitant, shaking as he removes your clothing. He kisses your neck and murmurs apologies and psalms under his breath, torn between faith and flesh. When he finally enters you, he gasps, like it’s too much, too sacred. It’s slow, overwhelming. He is famished, touch deprived. Afterward, he clutches you like a lifeline, forehead pressed to yours as he whispers, “Forgive me… but I love you.”

Max California

It’s wild, playful, and incredibly hot. Max is a tease, all dirty jokes and soft moans against your neck. He undresses you like unwrapping candy, hungry and eager but gentle. He makes you laugh in bed, and it’s sexy because he knows how to balance it, sensual touch and deep kisses, but never taking it all too seriously. He talks you through it with sweet nicknames and filthy praise. “You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours as he moves inside you. And when you’re done, he wraps you in a big shirt of his and plays one of his songs on his guitar until you fall asleep in his arms.

Willie Gutierrez

Willie tries to act like it’s just sex, he says smooth words, shows a slick smile, but his hands betray him. They shake a little as he unbuttons your clothes, like he’s more nervous than he’ll ever admit. He makes you feel like the center of the world, kissing every inch of you with a reverence he tries to hide behind teasing. “You sure you want me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. And when you whisper yes, he gives you everything. It’s slow, tender, and raw, he’s a man who’s had to fight for everything, and loving you is no exception. When it’s over, he pulls you close, silent but visibly shaken by how much it meant.

Leonard Kraditor

With Leonard, it’s soft, hesitant. He’s so afraid of doing something wrong, of being too much, too eager, too fast. You have to soothe him, whispering how much you want this, how safe he makes you feel. He clings to your every word, kissing you like it’s the first and last time anyone will want him. When you guide his hand between your legs, he gasps, unable to look away from your face. He makes love to you with deep, trembling breaths, trying to memorize how it feels to be inside someone who truly loves him. You hold him afterward, and he says nothing, just breathes you in like salvation.

Bobby Green

It starts rough, Bobby kisses you like a man on the edge. But when he gets you naked, he pauses. His hands slow down, his breath stutters. He cups your face, really looks at you, and something in his eyes changes. “I ain’t used to this… takin’ my time,” he mutters, but he does. He takes his time with you. Lips tracing your collarbone, hands gripping your thighs just right, his voice low and hoarse against your skin. “You feel that?” he murmurs once he’s inside you, eyes locked on yours. “That’s mine now.” But it’s not possession, it’s devotion. It’s Bobby letting himself feel. And afterward, he holds you tighter than you expect.

Freddie Quell

Freddie is a storm. The first time is chaotic, kisses that land too hard, hands everywhere, the scent of him thick in your lungs. But there’s so much vulnerability underneath. You see it when he pauses, forehead pressed to yours, like he’s afraid to break you. “I ain’t good at being gentle.” he says, voice trembling. But he is. When you guide him, he listens his hands on your waist, your back, gripping you like a man drowning. The sex is primal, desperate, but beautiful, the way he moans your name, the way he clutches your body afterward like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. He kisses you everywhere after, like a man who never thought he’d be allowed love. Usually after making love, after a little break, he would ask for a round 2.

Ray Elwood

Ray is all charm at first. Quick wit, cocky grin, a hand at your waist as he pulls you onto his lap. But when the clothes start coming off, something changes. He slows down. “You okay?” he asks, checking in as his fingers run along your bare thigh. He wants you to feel good, not just wanted. The moment he slides inside you, he gasps, all the bravado slips away. He’s sweet with you, murmuring how beautiful you are, how tight you feel, how he never wants to be anywhere else. And when it’s over, Ray is still, forehead against your shoulder, hand stroking your ribs like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Doc Sportello

You’re half-naked before you even realize it, it starts with kissing on his couch, his hands under your shirt, his voice all lazy murmurs and compliments. “You’re soft...” he groans into your neck. Sex with Doc is trippy, a little sloppy, and incredibly tender. He gets distracted kissing your body, your hips, your stomach, your thighs. It’s slow and languid, with plenty of laughter in between. When he finally makes love to you, it’s with stoned, reverent slowness , like he wants to melt into you completely. Afterward, he lies on top of you, his head on your chest, mumbling about the stars while his fingers trace idle circles on your skin.

Merrill Hess

Merrill is overwhelmed. He’s nervous, overthinking it all, his hands clumsy, his breath shaky, his eyes wide and locked on yours. You take his hands, guide them gently, let him explore you at his own pace. He presses kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, whispering things like “You sure?” and “You’re so beautiful, oh God.” When he finally enters you, he groans low and deep in his chest, a sound like relief, like coming home. He’s tender, so careful, holding you like he’s afraid to hurt you. After, he keeps saying “thank you” like you gave him a gift he never thought he’d deserve.

Tag list :@skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @galos-writing @sparklygardenerlove

[yunaversalluv]

⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull

ᴀ ɪɴᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄɪᴀɴ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ x ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴᴛ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜᴇʀ!ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull m.list

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ `౨ৎ~

In the hush of a too-quiet apartment, Ellie stumbles across a photo that stops her cold — not a performance shot, but something quieter, rawer, real. Sent without words, it says more than she’s ready to hear.

Nothing is said. But everything shifts.

cw for this chapter// emotional vulnerability / introspection, themes of loneliness and isolation, mental health undertones, unspoken romantic tension, ambiguous consent in emotional exposure

note - sorry for the late posting this was supposed to posted yesterday & earlier today, but a lot has happened. this chapter was not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes!

taglist - @miajooz @talyaisvalslutsoldier @lesoulew @elliespotion @valeisaslut @mariesmagix @eriiwaiii2 @liztreez @re1daway @wrappedinvines @eleanorsghost @fangirlinc @wwefan2002

CHAPTER SEVEN: UNCAPTIONED

The hum of the mini fridge is the only sound in the apartment.

It’s a low, steady whirr, broken only by the occasional click when the compressor shifts. The kind of sound you stop noticing until silence would be louder. Ellie sits on the floor in front of the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, knees bent up like she’s trying to fold in on herself. The place is dim, all the overhead lights off, just a single lamp in the corner casting soft gold against the wall, and the blue glow of her phone screen washing her face in pulses.

Her eyes flick back and forth, scrolling, scrolling. Headlines. Dumb memes. Half-filtered images of brunch plates and mirror selfies and tour flyers she forgot to answer emails about. Snippets of strangers’ lives she doesn’t care about—too pretty, too loud, too curated, like someone turned the saturation up on everything and expected her to care.

Her thumb pauses. She’s been scrolling for so long her eyes sting.

A tagged photo stops her cold.

It’s her. Mid-performance. Sweat gleaming along her jaw, hair clinging to her cheek, lips parted in some word she doesn’t remember singing. The light catches just behind her, haloing the blur of her guitar strap. The caption says, god-tier angst lesbian energy. It’s followed by three heart emojis, a crying face, and a gif of a girl fainting.

Ellie scoffs under her breath, nose scrunching faintly. She scrolls past without thinking.

Then scrolls back.

Looks at it again.

Double-taps it. Immediately feels weird about it.

She exhales, jaw shifting. The last show was fine. Packed. Hot. Loud in a way that scraped the inside of her skull. She doesn’t remember much besides the lights in her eyes and the ache in her jaw from clenching too tight during the encore. It’s all a blur. Flashes of color and sound and faces she didn’t really see.

Her thumb hovers over her texts.

Nothing from Jesse. Not since yesterday. Dina sent a blurry photo of her cat asleep on a pile of laundry three hours ago. It’s stupid. Dumb cat, floppy and useless. Still, Ellie taps it open. Smiles faintly when she sees the cat’s tongue sticking out. She starts to type a response—

Then her screen lights up.

A name.

Your name.

Her whole body freezes like something inside her just short-circuited. Her thumb stops mid-word. Her breath catches in her throat.

A message.

No words.

Just an image.

Ellie swipes to open it, slow like she’s bracing for a hit. The preview loads — high resolution, sharp focus. She can already tell it’s one of yours.

Of course it is.

It’s her hands.

Just her hands — resting on her thighs, palms down, after the show. Her jeans look stiff with sweat. Gaffer tape’s still stuck to one knuckle, half peeling. There’s a raw spot near the edge of her nailbed. One of her rings has slipped a little. The light is dusky, somewhere between stage-blue and shadow-purple. She’s not posed. Not framed for attention. It’s quiet. Still. A moment she didn’t even know she gave you.

There’s tension in her fingers — like she was still coming down from it all — but also softness. A curl in the way her hand rests, slack now, drained. Like she was finally just existing.

Not performing.

Not bracing.

Just… her.

Ellie stares.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink for a second.

It feels like falling through the floor.

The air shifts, tightens. Her pulse kicks up behind her ribs.

No caption.

No message.

Which means she has to interpret it.

Has to fill in the silence with something that sounds like sense. She doesn’t know how. Doesn’t even know where to begin. Her throat’s dry. The image is so still, and yet it hits her like sound. Like melody. Like something vibrating too deep in her chest to name.

She lowers the phone, blinking fast, like her body’s trying to keep up with whatever just hit her.

She doesn’t know what to do with it.

She doesn’t know what to do with you

You didn’t mean to send it.

Not at first.

You’d been sitting in the quiet too, wrapped in the familiar glow of your editing screen. It wasn’t about deadlines tonight. Wasn’t about deliverables or tagging the right account or archiving everything before your memory of it faded.

You just felt… off. Restless. Like something was itching under your skin and you couldn’t figure out where to scratch.

You pulled up the folder again, not because you had to — because you needed to. Something in you kept reaching.

And there it was.

That frame.

The lighting wasn’t perfect, not technically. A little uneven. A little dim. But that made it better somehow. More honest.

Her hands. Relaxed, but not quite. Callused fingertips still twitching with the echo of the last chord. There was something about the curve of her fingers, the visible dirt beneath one nail, the line of faded ink near her wrist — all of it threaded with a kind of unspoken ache you couldn’t look away from.

You remembered when you took it. How she’d slumped onto the amp after soundcheck like the air had finally gotten too heavy.

And how she’d looked up.

Not startled. Not annoyed. Just tired. Real.

She saw the camera. Saw you behind it.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t pose.

Just met your gaze, unflinching.

And let you take it.

That stayed with you.

Now, hours later, it’s still open in a separate window. No title. No edits.

You stare at it for a long time.

You don’t write a caption. You don’t attach a message. You just drag the image into the text field, hesitate a second longer than you want to admit…

And hit send.

Then you shut your laptop.

You don’t check if she’s seen it.

You wouldn’t know what to do if she didn’t.

You wouldn’t know what to do if she did.

Ellie’s thumb is still hovering over the photo.

The apartment feels too quiet now. The fridge hum’s not enough to fill it. Her own breath sounds too loud in her ears.

She should say something.

She should type something dumb. Cool shot. Nice angle. Didn’t even know you took that.

Something that buys her time.

But her hands won’t move. Her fingers feel numb.

Her mind’s spinning in slow circles — not panicked, not frozen, just… suspended.

She taps the corner of the screen. Saves the image to her favorites. Stares at the little heart icon that flashes for half a second before disappearing.

Then she opens a note app. Blank screen. Cursor blinking.

She types:

not sure what you see when you look at me like that but i wanna believe it’s real.

She reads it. Feels her face go hot. Too much. Too open.

Deletes it.

Tries again.

i don’t like photos of me. but i keep looking at this one. why?

Deletes that too.

Leans her head back against the couch cushion, eyes closed. Exhales through her nose.

Her phone slips in her lap. She lets it.

She scrolls back to your thread again, opens the photo once more. Fills the screen with it. Just her hands. Just that small, raw moment she didn’t even know someone saw.

Her thumb brushes the edge of the glass. It’s almost a caress.

Like touching it could explain anything.

She doesn’t reply.

She doesn’t know how to say what it made her feel without sounding like something she’s not ready to admit.

But she opens her music app.

Scrolls to the playlist you made her. The one with the lo-fi cover art and the one-word title.

She picks that song.

The one you sent two nights ago. The one with the soft piano and breathless vocals that felt like sleeping in someone else’s bed and trying not to fall apart.

She hits play.

The first notes drift out into the quiet.

Ellie lies back on the floor, the carpet rough against her spine, hoodie pulled up over her chin. Her fingers curl loosely over her chest, like they don’t know where else to go.

Eyes closed.

Song playing.

Heart aching.

And somewhere between verse and chorus, she thinks—

What would I look like if I let someone love me?

She doesn’t have an answer.

But now, she thinks maybe…

You might.

[bullet-prooflove]

Ms Independent: John Frost x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @itsspelledbyannca @alittlefuckingdisaster @forensicgirl99 @cosmic-psychickitty

Summary: Your history causes you to struggle when John asks to take care of you.

Companion piece to:

Bloody - John meets his soulmate during a bloody day in the ED.

All Work, No Play - You're suprised when John asks you out on a date.

Flowers - John leaves you a birthday gift.

Prequel to:

Such a Good Boy - John is confronted with a face from his past.

Our Little Secret - Ainsley traps John in a position he really doesn't want to be in.

On The Roof - John opens up to you about what happened.

Working Oncology, it’s not for the faint of heart. The position takes an emotional toll that other doctors don’t experience when they’re working in their respective fields because you live that journey with your patient, celebrating their triumphs, mourning their lows.

Today has been a bad day, he can tell from the fact you haven’t been returning his texts.

Sometimes you shut down when shitty things happen, it’s the way that you survive when the bad days outweigh the good.

When he takes the elevator up to your office he finds you lying on the small couch with your eyes closed, doing those deep breathing exercises therapy has taught you to practise for mindfulness.

Before him you had a Work Hard and nothing else mentality. It makes you an excellent doctor, top of your field but it also leads to burn out and that’s where you’d been headed. Since him the balance has shifted, you laugh a lot more, go out on dates. The two of you have fun together and that defuses the overriding desire to work yourself into the ground.

He sets his rucksack on the floor before approaching the couch, his eyes fixed on the raise and fall of your chest as you inhale for five seconds and release for five seconds. He kneels down alongside you, his palm smoothing over your hair as your eyes flicker open meeting his. He can see the turmoil in you, he can feel it viscerally as if it’s his own.

“Let me take care of you tonight.” He whispers, his thumb chasing over the blush of your cheek. “I’ll run you a bath, cook dinner while you soak-”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” You say softly and John’s heart, it hurts.

The thing about you…

You’ve been on your own for a very long time, ever since you’re parents dumped you into the foster system because they couldn’t deal with your own childhood cancer. The money, the care regime it was too much for a couple who were already overworked with three other kids under five. Your brothers and sister, don’t even know you exist because they were too young to remember you. Dealing with that, it’s made you fiercely independent but it’s hard for you to accept help, to trust those that offer it.

“You are not asking anything of me.” He tells you, the left side of his mouth quirking up into a tender smile. “I want to be with you tonight, to hold you, to love you, to give you whatever you need to help you work through this.”

Silence hangs in the air for a minute, John never takes his eyes off your face, he doesn’t stop running this fingers through your hair. He can tell you’re studying him right now, trying to gauge his sincerity.

“Chocolate.” You say finally and the tension in his shoulders relaxs. “If we’re going to your place. I need chocolate and a weighted blanket.”

“Well luckily I have both.” John says raising to his feet and holding out his hand. “You ready to come home with me?”

“Yeah.” You say reaching out and taking his hand. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[kingkatsuki]

[donnatroyyyy]

Batman has/had some kind of miscommunication going on with every single one of his kids. The bat family is just one big miscommunication trope after the other.

[joonieskinks]

simon ghost riley is sometimes a little blunt (warning: smut)

You adore him for who he is, but it still unnerves you with just how blunt he can be at times.

It usually happens privately with just you:

“In about 5 minutes, I’m gonna eat you out.” He says as you are in the middle of The Goblet of Fire on the couch. You almost choked on your popcorn.

Or you’re doing laundry in the morning. “We need pineapple juice next time we’re out, want you to enjoy swallowin next time you’re suckin me off.” Jaw dropped.

He does it in front of the team too- and sometimes it’s even worse:

You accidentally dropped your lip balm onto the bar floor while fishing it out of your purse and bend to pick it up.

“Haven’t seen that angle in a while, dove. It’s been too long since we done doggy.”

It’s a never-ending series of eyebrow raises when Simon decides to open up his mouth and you’re around, needless to say. You brunt all of the embarrassment and the deep blushes, Simon couldn’t give a shit. He didn’t even clock it when John, Johnny and Kyle would all give him shocked looks. Man just owns it. Completely unbothered.

“Youre wearin the skirt you wear when you wanna get fucked. That your goal?”

“Simon!” You hiss, you can feel the red hot heat rush to your face.

But he just stares back at you in earnest, waiting for your response. You can hardly believe how composed he is when his Captain is right there glaring at him.

“So?”

“I need another beer.” John excuses himself, he can’t even look you in the eyes right now. Kyle joins him shortly after making a run for it, but you’re left with a quiet Johnny patiently waiting for you to respond. Eager, almost. Joy.

“You can’t just say things like that in public, especially not in front of your friends!” You lecture, pulling down your skirt in the process.

“Why? If you wanted to fuck, you could’ve just said so, love. Give me 2 to down this pint and I’ll meet you in the toilets, yeah?”

“Simon!” You smack his thigh.

“Can I watch?” Johnny asks excitedly.

“No!-“ “Fine.”

Johnny’s face lights up while yours turns slowly to give Simon a death stare.

“Do you want it or not?” You roll your eyes and throw your purse over your shoulder.

“You two are ridiculous.” And they watch you walk away.

Simon only shrugs, pounding back his beer before coming after you. Doesn’t make a difference to him if he fucks you here and now or at home and later.

“… so is that a no?” Johnny asks with puppy eyes.