#like she’s bitten a few friends at this point!

[writhe]

dude i know this is so toxic of me but i am beginning to become a small dog hater

[winxanity-ii]

FATHER, FORGIVE ME

ship: father charlie x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 ( oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery ) word count: 4.1k a/n: ahhh….I just want to say I'm so thrilled with all the love and support for the mini Devotion series! It means the world to me to see you guys enjoying it as much as I do. And a huge thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday! I got drunk asf, and here's the rough draft I made while tipsy, lolol. Hope you all enjoy~ 😈✨..

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You wouldn't say you were a bad person.

Selfish? Maybe. Impulsive? Absolutely. But "bad" seemed a bit of a stretch.

It's just that, when you saw something you wanted, you didn't hesitate to take it—and, honestly, you had no regrets. Not until now, at least.

Sitting here, surrounded by the smell of old hymn books and dusty incense, listening to some wrinkly old man in a white robe drone on about salvation.

The whole thing was your mother's doing. She had this recurring phase, like clockwork, where she'd get bitten by the "Bible bug."

For a few weeks every year, she was the most devoted Catholic you'd ever seen. She'd call, text, guilt-trip—anything to get her kids back on the straight and narrow, even if just for a Sunday morning.

For the last seven years, you'd managed to dodge it. Moved out at eighteen and never looked back, leaving the duty of church attendance to your three other siblings.

Usually, someone would take one for the team and tag along with Mom until her enthusiasm fizzled out again. But this time, it seemed your luck had run dry—your sister had finally roped you in, and here you were, seven-year streak shattered.

You sighed deeply, eyes half-lidded as they flicked across the stained glass windows—all those saints staring down at you in judgment.

You couldn't help but think of all the things you could be doing right now. Sleeping, for one. Your bed sounded like heaven compared to the hard pew beneath you.

Or brunch with your friends—mimosas and laughter, not these monotone chants and the faint smell of mothballs.

Hell, you could've called Kevin over and gotten dicked down instead of dealing with this—

Your thoughts screeched to a halt, slamming against an unexpected sight.

The old priest, the one whose croaky voice was practically white noise at this point, stepped away from the pulpit. In his place was someone else—someone younger, someone whose presence commanded attention.

A man, tall, dark hair neatly combed back, with a crisp black cassock that hugged his broad shoulders just right. He moved with a sense of ease, like he belonged up there.

And damn, was he handsome. Handsome enough to pull your focus completely, which was a feat in itself given the circumstances.

Your eyes tracked him as he approached the podium, his voice replacing the rasping chant of the old priest. It was smooth, warm, resonant. Nothing like the man you remembered from years ago.

He spoke about community, faith, redemption—but all you could think was how someone like him ended up in a place like this.

You found yourself leaning forward, just slightly, as if drawn in by some invisible force. Your irritation melted away, replaced by a strange curiosity.

Maybe… maybe this wouldn't be the worst way to spend a Sunday after all.

The priest stood quietly at the altar, his figure framed by the soft light filtering through the stained glass windows. A faint scar traced its way down the right side of his forehead, a mark that spoke of some unknown hardship or past misadventure.

He was youthful but with the stillness of someone who’d seen enough to understand patience and humility.

With each breath, the man seemed grounded in his presence, shoulders relaxed but broad, the fabric of his robe resting comfortably against his chest.

His appearance was almost angelic, yet the subtle scar and the weight in his eyes hinted at something more complex beneath the surface—a man of God, perhaps, but one who had walked through fire to find his faith.

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow in appreciation as you stared at the handsome man up there. You leaned over a bit to your mother, eyes never straying from his figure. "Ma, who's that? Is he new?" you whispered to your mother.

She looked up from her phone, Candy Crush flashing on her screen. You silenced the snort that wanted to come out. Looked like she might retire from church early this year, you thought to yourself, seeing her early signs of disengaging.

She glanced up at the front, giving a quick look before going back to her game. "That's Father Charlie Mayhew. He was brought in about two or three years ago, I think," she murmured absently, barely paying attention.

Father Charlie.

You watched as he spoke, his voice strong yet gentle, his eyes sweeping over the congregation with a genuine warmth. He wasn't like the old priest—this one seemed to genuinely care, as if each word held weight.

You wondered if that scar came from something dramatic, some story worth knowing. Your gaze lingered, taking in the slope of his shoulders, the way his lips moved with each word. Something about him felt... magnetic.

You found yourself sitting up straighter when the two of you made eye contact—he blinked, his words stumbling just slightly, a brief hitch in his otherwise smooth delivery. "I, uh... I apologize," he stuttered, looking off to the side, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You caught the way his eyes shifted nervously, almost as if he was trying to regain his footing. It was subtle, but you could see it—the way he tried to pull himself back together, to get through the rest of the sermon without any more disruptions.

He cleared his throat to continue, "As I was saying... uh, the importance of faith in our lives cannot be overstated. We must always strive to, um, to do what is right, even when it's difficult..." His voice trailed off slightly, but he managed to steady himself, his eyes avoiding yours as he focused on the rest of the congregation.

It made something stir in you, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

You bit down gently on your lower glossed lip, eyes trailing over his form, taking in every subtle detail. The way his hands gripped the edge of the podium, the faint flush creeping up his neck—it was all so telling.

He seemed innocent, reactive.

You smiled to yourself, letting your gaze linger as he continued, noting the way he seemed to avoid looking in your direction now, as if afraid that another glance might trip him up again.

Maybe you should pay a visit to Father Charlie—see if you could break that serene composure of his.

You could already imagine it—the way he might tense up under your touch, the way his voice might crack if you whispered something just a bit too forward.

The thought alone made your heart race, anticipation bubbling up inside you, like something in you just knew—he'd be fun to unravel.

You leaned back in your seat, a slow, satisfied smile playing on your lips. Oh, this was going to be fun.

The sermon ended with a quiet murmur of 'Amen' from the congregation, followed by the gentle shuffle of people rising from the pews.

You glanced around, watching as people slowly made their way to the exits, some stopping to chat while others lingered near the back of the church.

The old priest was nowhere to be seen, but Father Charlie remained, standing at the front as he spoke softly to a small group of parishioners.

Your mother, of course, made a beeline for him. You heard her voice carrying over the hushed conversations, gushing about how moving today’s sermon was.

You rolled your eyes, unable to help yourself, and slowly rose to your feet, making your way over with an almost lazy stride.

As you approached, you could see your mother perk up, her eyes lighting up as she turned to you. "Oh, there she is! Father Charlie, this is my youngest, ____." She gestured towards you, her hand lightly resting on your arm to pull you closer. "You've met my other children over the years."

You could see the change in Father Charlie almost instantly. His posture shifted, his back straightening just a little more, his eyes rounding as they landed on you. He seemed almost like an eager puppy, his gaze bright and attentive.

He quickly pulled his eyes away, turning back to your mother with a polite smile as he nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said, his voice a touch softer. Then he turned to you, his eyes meeting yours as he gave you a gentle smile. "It's nice to finally meet you. I don't think I've seen you here before... ?"

Your mother gave a sort of laughing scoff, waving him off as she caught his attention again. She chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Father, the day she willingly comes to church without an incentive is the day the devil is welcomed back into Heaven's gates."

You kept your eyes on Father Charlie, a small smile tugging at your lips as you tilted your head slightly. "Maybe I just hadn't found a good enough reason to come before," you said, your gaze locked on his, your voice light but carrying a hint of something more.

His eyes widened just a little, and you watched as a faint blush spread across his cheeks, his lips parting slightly as he blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Before he could say anything, your mother’s name was called from behind. It was one of her church friends, and in an instant, she was off, waving a quick goodbye and leaving you standing there in front of Father Charlie.

You didn't waste a second, taking a daring step forward, your eyes fixed on him. "So..." you said, letting your gaze roam over him before meeting his eyes again. "You seem awfully young to be running a church like this. I have to say, I'm impressed."

He looked bashful, glancing down for a moment before looking back up at you. "Oh, well, thank you. I just... I do my best," he said, his voice soft, the pink on his cheeks deepening.

You smiled, tilting your head just slightly. "Do you do one-on-one sessions, like other churches do?" you asked, your voice carrying a hint of mischief.

He blinked, clearly confused for a moment, before his eyes widened in realization. "Oh, you mean confessionals?" He nodded quickly, his expression shifting back to something more serious. "Yes, I do. In fact, I was planning on doing confessionals later today, after the services. Not many people take me up on it, but I think it's important to always offer the option."

"Oh, really?" you said, letting your voice drop just a bit, your head tilting to the side as you watched him. You let a small smile curve your lips, your gaze never leaving his. "Well, you wouldn't mind if I came to see you and... confessed, would you, Father?"

He stuttered, his blush deepening as he quickly nodded. "N-No, of course not. You're more than welcome to come by, anytime," he said, his voice a bit shaky.

You smirked, giving him a nod. "Perfect," you said, your voice smooth, before turning on your heel and walking away, back towards where your mother was waiting.

You could feel his gaze on you the entire time, the weight of his eyes almost burning into your back. And you loved it.

This really was going to be fun.

The church grew quieter as the service officially ended, people slowly trickling out while you lingered, waiting for your moment.

Eventually, you made your way to the confessional booth, the small wooden space feeling cramped as you settled in. The air was close, the scent of polished wood and incense hanging heavy.

You could hear Father Charlie shuffling on the other side, the sound of the door closing behind him, the rustle of fabric as he got seated.

You took a breath, letting the silence stretch for a moment before you began. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned..." you said, your voice soft, but there was an edge to it that you couldn't quite hide.

There was a pause before you heard him clear his throat, his voice coming through the small screen that separated you. "The Lord is always ready to forgive. Please, tell me your sins, my child."

You sighed, leaning back slightly, your fingers brushing against the hem of your dress. "I fear I desire a man that is just out of my reach," you said, your voice carrying a hint of frustration. "It's wrong for me to want him... but I can't seem to help myself."

There was a moment of silence, and you could almost picture the look on his face—concerned, earnest, wanting to help. His voice was gentle as he responded. "Desire can be difficult to control, but it is not inherently sinful. It is what we choose to do with that desire that matters. You must pray for guidance, ask for strength... and remember that God understands our struggles."

You hummed softly, your eyes half-lidded as you listened to him, but your mind was drifting. His voice was soothing, and you found yourself imagining what it would be like if things were different.

If there wasn't a screen between you.

If you could reach out, touch him, feel that innocence melt away under your fingers.

Your hand trailed down your side, your fingers brushing over your thigh as you let out a soft sigh.

His voice cut through your thoughts, sounding a bit uncertain. "Sister ____... are you alright? Do you hear me?"

You smiled to yourself, your mind made up. You leaned closer to the screen, your voice dropping to a near whisper. "Father," you began, your tone coy, "I must confess... I find it difficult to focus when you're speaking. You have such a... soothing voice."

His breath caught audibly, and you could almost hear the way he was struggling to gather himself. "W-What do you mean, sister?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, laced with confusion.

"It makes me think... sinful thoughts."

You could hear the slight hitch in his breath, the rustle of fabric as he shifted. "S-sister," he stammered, clearly taken aback. "This... this is not appropriate."

You ignored his protest, your voice growing softer, more intimate. "You know, Father, I've always heard that confession is good for the soul. And right now... I think there's only one thing that could truly absolve me of these desires." You let the words hang in the air, knowing exactly what you were implying.

"Sister, this... this isn't..." His voice was shaky now, the uncertainty clear. "I don't think—"

"Come get me, Father," you whispered, your tone daring, challenging him. "You wouldn't leave me like this, would you?"

There was silence for a long moment, and then you heard it—the slow shuffling as he moved. The sound of his door opening, the soft creak of the confessional booth as he stepped out.

You pushed your own door open, stepping out into the dimly lit church. Father Charlie was standing there, his head downcast, his face flushed a deep red. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came out, his eyes flickering up to meet yours before darting away again.

You took a step towards him, your movements slow, deliberate—like a predator closing in on its prey. His breath hitched as you approached, his shoulders tensing. He cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sister, I... this isn't right. We shouldn't—"

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the front of his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. You let your hand slide down, your voice a low purr. "Father," you purred, your eyes locking onto his, "I want you to take me somewhere... push me to a higher calling, yeah?"

His eyes widened, the pupils dilating as he stared at you, his lips parting in shock. For a moment, he seemed frozen, and then, almost as if the word was pulled from him, he whispered, "Okay..."

His hand was trembling slightly as he reached for yours, and you let him lead you out of the main church area, his eyes flicking nervously around to make sure no one was watching. He led you down a dim hallway, stopping at a small door that opened into a cramped janitor's closet.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you were on him.

You pushed him back against the wall, your lips crashing against his. He gasped, and you took advantage, licking into his mouth, tasting the hint of mint on his tongue as a low groan rumbled from your throat. His hands hesitated for a moment before resting on your waist, his touch light, unsure.

You deepened the kiss, feeling the way he shivered beneath your touch, your hands pushing up under his cassock, fingers skimming over the hard lines of his abdomen. His muscles tensed under your fingertips, a shudder running through him as he let out a shaky breath.

You pulled back, just enough to see his face in the low light, and he chased your lips, leaning forward as if he couldn't stand the sudden loss of contact.

You let out a dark chuckle, your hands coming up to cup his flushed cheeks, squeezing gently. His face was a deep shade of red, his eyes half-lidded, his breath coming in short, uneven pants. He looked almost dazed, completely overwhelmed, and it only made your smile widen.

Your thumb grazed over his plump bottom lip, pressing gently before dipping just inside his mouth. His eyes fluttered, his tongue flicking out hesitantly to brush against your thumb before retreating. You let out a soft sigh, a hint of a teasing smile tugging at your lips. "Oh?" you murmured, raising an eyebrow, your gaze fixed on him.

Charlie swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, his breathing ragged. You stepped closer, rising onto your tiptoes, your lips just barely grazing his as you spoke. "You did so well during the sermon, Father," you whispered, your voice low and dripping with suggestion. "It makes me wonder... what could such a blessed mouth do somewhere else?"

His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly, but he didn’t pull away. You gripped his shoulder, your fingers digging in just enough to make him shiver, and tugged him downwards. "On your knees," you said, your tone commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

Slowly, almost as if in a trance, Charlie sank to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was filled with a mix of confusion, desire, and something almost like reverence, and it sent a thrill through you.

You watched as he knelt before you, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that knew this was wrong, that wanted to resist—but the desire was stronger, and he couldn't bring himself to stop.

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair, your touch surprisingly gentle. "That's it," you murmured, your voice softening just a fraction. "Such a good Father... doing exactly what you're told."

You took a step back, your eyes never leaving his as you moved to the nearest wall, leaning against it comfortably.

With slow, deliberate movements, your hands reached down, unzipping your mini skirt and letting it slide down your legs, pooling around your ankles. You made a show of it, your fingers tracing along your thighs, sliding over your hips, and letting out a soft sigh as you watched him.

Charlie's eyes widened, his gaze following every movement, his lips parted, his breath catching in his throat. The flush on his face deepened, his eyes locked onto you with something like awe, mingled with pure, unfiltered desire.

You smirked, lifting one hand and curling your fingers in a come-hither motion. He hesitated only for a moment before slowly beginning to crawl towards you, his eyes never breaking away from yours.

The sight sent a thrill through you, a shiver of excitement running up your spine. He reached you, his hands carefully coming up to rest on your legs, his touch light, almost reverent.

His fingers traced along your calves, moving upwards with a hesitant slowness that made you release a shaky sigh, your back arching slightly as his touch grew bolder.

His hands were trembling as they reached your hips, his fingers brushing against the edge of your underwear. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking up to meet yours as if silently asking for permission.

You gave a small nod, and he let out a shaky breath, his fingers hooking into the waistband and slowly slipping your underwear down, his eyes fixed on you the entire time.

Once they were off, he shifted closer, his breath ghosting over your bare skin. He surprised you by gently lifting one of your legs, settling it over his shoulder as he pulled you closer, his face inches away from your most intimate parts.

He let out a deep, almost pornographic groan as he leaned in, taking a slow, deep breath, as if breathing you in. The sound sent a jolt through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Charlie looked up at you one more time, his eyes searching, as if asking for final permission.

You smiled, your fingers sliding through his hair before giving a gentle but firm scratch along his scalp, your silent approval. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh before leaning in.

At first, his movements were hesitant, his tongue slipping out to give an experimental swipe. He was sloppy, uncoordinated, his lack of experience clear, but there was a determination in the way he moved, as if desperate to please.

You let out a soft hum, the sound encouraging him, and he grew a little more confident, his tongue pressing more firmly. He licked a long stripe up, his tongue swirling at the top, and you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's it, Father," you murmured, your voice a soft purr. "You're doing such a good job."

The praise seemed to light something in him, a low groan vibrating against you as he pushed in closer. The sound made you gasp, your back arching slightly as the vibrations sent a rush of pleasure through you, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He grew bolder, his tongue delving deeper, slipping inside you as he began to eat you out like a man starved. He was messy, the wet sounds filling the small space, his lips and tongue moving with increasing fervor, as if the more he tasted, the more he craved.

He bullied his tongue into you, his nose brushing against you as he lost himself in the act, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you against him as he worked.

You bit down on your lower lip, trying to keep quiet, but the soft, wet sounds filled the small space, making it impossible to ignore.

Your hand moved up, your teeth sinking into the back of it as you stifled a moan, your thighs trembling as he continued. His tongue moved with determination, pressing deeper, swirling before retreating, then focusing on your most sensitive spot.

When his lips closed around your clit, giving a particularly hard suck, your vision blurred, and stars burst behind your eyelids. Your back arched, your body pressing against his face as the waves of pleasure rolled over you, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your thighs shook as you slowly came down, your body relaxing slightly against the wall. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging gently. You gave Charlie a small shove, pushing him back just enough.

He hesitated, his tongue giving one last languid lick, followed by a reluctant suck before he finally pulled away, his lips glistening, his breath coming in low, heavy pants. His bottom face was a mess, his eyes half-lidded, dazed as he looked up at you.

You leaned down, your fingers cupping the bottom of his face, your thumb brushing over his flushed cheek as you gave him a swift peck on the corner of his lips. He blinked, his eyes widening slightly, a blush deepening across his face.

Straightening up, you reached down, picking up your discarded thong, folding it neatly before slipping it into the pocket of his cassock. He stared at you, his lips parted, his breathing still uneven.

"Thank you, Father~" you purred, your voice dripping with satisfaction. You watched as his blush deepened even more, his eyes darting away from yours. "You know," you continued, your tone teasing, "I might just have to come back for confession more often."

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours, a mix of confusion and something darker swirling in them. You smiled, giving him a wink before turning on your heel, striding out of the closet, leaving him kneeling there, his breath still shaky, his face still flushed.

As you walked away, a satisfied smile playing on your lips, you couldn't help but think that maybe church wasn't going to be so bad after all.

A/N: hehehe, dont mind me, just wanted to see charlie's and y/n relationship in reversal...

[intoxicated-chan]

I just wanted to say I love your writing 😭 and if I could request like what if Miguel O’Hara was kinda close with some spider kid (around like 16?) and they reminded him of the daughter he lost? (All in a platonic father m daughter way)

Welcome to the Family

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara & Spider!Teen!F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Miguel didn’t know what you reminded him of, but it takes a few times to finally get it.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “Welcome to the Family” by Avenged Sevenfold. Thank you for waiting and for requesting! And thank you for loving my writing. It means a lot.

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1.5k

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, abuse, angst-to-fluff, talk of marriage, violence, injuries…

Small Spoiler Warning for ATSV!!

Alright, let me explain… My name is (Y/n) (L/n), and I was bitten by a radioactive spider. For the past two years, I’ve been the one and only Spider-Woman. I thought everything was going well until I was disowned by my parents, and lost my aunt the same day. From then on, I chose to be distant from society, no matter how much I craved a relationship.

“What are you doing here (F/n).” You crossed your arms, staring directly at the man you once called father.

“I’m still your father.”

“I thought you said, you’re no longer the child I raised?” You told.

“Don’t talk back to me!”

“I’m simply stating the fact is all.”

He shakes his head, “You know, your mother is disappointed. And I’m sure your aunt would be as well.”

Your eyes narrow at him, “Don’t you speak of my aunt.”

“I can talk to her however I want, she is my sister.”

“A sister you abandoned.”

The second he stepped towards you, you jumped back, keeping yourself at a distance, “Why the hell are you here anyways? I know you don’t want to see me.”

“You can still make this right.” He started to explain, “The boy’s family is still willing to have you, even after your idiotic display of teenage emotions. You either take the boy or leave.”

“I told you I won’t. It’s shocking how you’re willing to betray your daughter over a family you don’t even know.”

“I never wanted a daughter! If you want to make things right, if you want us to forgive you, then you will marry this boy!”

“And I told you no! Now get out of here!” You shouted at him, “Leave me alone!”

“I should’ve left you and your mother the day you were born.” And with that, he’s gone, slamming the door to the rooftop on his way out.

But you. You’re a mess.

Your mother didn’t hate you as much as your father did, but you could see it every time she looked at you. The disappointment, the failure, and how much of a disgrace you were to your so-called family.

And that boy was supposed to fix everything, only because he was made of money.

You fell to your knees, holding yourself as tight as possible as you cried to yourself. As much as you were out of there, you were all alone.

No family and you lost your only friend. Your aunt.

Then, you saw trash floating in front of you. You grabbed the cab right out of the air and saw it reflecting colors that were behind you… Behind you?

You slowly stood, turning around to see a rather colorful portal. It was causing some effect as everything around it was floating, then you heard it.

First, it sounded like a whisper then it came right at you. Luckily you dodged on time and the figure flew past you.

A loud thud, followed by a man’s voice getting angry at a woman called Lyla.

You hid behind a metal pole, watching the man stand to his feet, “This is the fourth time Lyla!” He growled.

“I told you, it’s still in the prototype stage.” She retorted.

“And I-“ He sees you, badly hiding behind the pole.

“…Hi?” You wave.

“Lyla, is this?”

“Yep, this universe’s Spider-Man, or Spider-Woman.” She corrected.

“I’m-“ His nose scrunches, “Is this a bad time?”

“What?”

He points to his eyes, “They’re red.”

“Oh! Um, it’s fine. Everything is fine.” You lie, rubbing your eyes and probably making them worse, “It was taken care of.”

He hums, “Then, I’m Miguel O’Hara and I’m Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Man? But I thought I was the only one.” You began to circle him, “But your suit is very… Blue.”

“Thanks. As I was saying, I am Spider-Man but from another universe. I need you to come with me.”

“Why should I go with you?” You eye him up and down.

“I’ve seen what happened here. How your parents are disappointed in you. All I am asking you is to trust me, I offering you a chance for a new chance.” He sticks his hand out, “So?”

That was almost a year ago…

“I can look after Mayday for you.” You tell Peter B. who looks very tired.

“Are you sure?” He tiredly asked.

“Of course, go and get some rest.” Taking Mayday in your arms and pushing him away, “Looks like it’s me and you today!”

She coos at you, reaching toward your face, “How about we pay Uncle Miggy a visit? Wouldn’t that be fun?” She giggles in response, “Let’s go then.” Holding her tightly, not wanting to swing with her arms.

Miguel’s eyes are focused on the screen, hearing his daughter’s laughter made him heartache.

“Miguel!” You shout from below, “Care to come down?! I rather not have her fall!”

He’s fast to close the screen and lowering his desk or… The desk is down on the ground. A minute later, it hits the ground and he turns to face you.

“Yes?” He rubs his eyes.

“Tired as well?”

“No.”

“Lies!” You come closer, taking a seat on the floating thing, “Come on, sit with me.” Setting Mayday on the ground, luckily her web shooter was taken away recently.

Miguel does as you say, “Is something wrong?” He asked.

“I just wanted to talk to you, is that wrong?”

“No, no. It’s just you sounded worried at first. I thought something happened.”

You run your fingers through her hair carefully, “You’re doing it again, shutting everyone out by shoving yourself into work.”

Miguel sighs, “I told you, the fate of the multiverse-“

“Let’s not talk about work right now.” You use your webbing to bring the paper bag towards you, “I know sweets are not your thing so I brought an empanada with me.”

Two cupcakes and an empanada. One for you and Mayday. You hand the empanada to Miguel who gladly takes it.

Then hand a cupcake to Mayday, “Please eat it carefully.” You beg her, knowing either way it’s going to be a mess.

Before you could even take a bite out of yours, she begins climbing you with her sweet still in hand which makes some of the fostering go on you.

“Mayday!” You laugh, and she sets herself on your shoulders, eating her cupcake, “At least she’s happy.” Finally, you take a bite of yours, not noticing Miguel’s stare.

His eyes are wide, his mouth slightly open, and his breathing staggered. His heart once again broke at the sight. He didn’t know what to feel, what to say, or do.

“Miguel? Are you alright?” You gently pull Mayday off your shoulders and back to the ground, “You haven’t taken a bite.”

“Yeah.” He’s trying so hard to keep himself together, “I’m alright.”

Then a few weeks pass… or so you thought.

“This was his fault!”

“He was just trying to help!”

“Help?! Look where it put her!”

Whose voice was whose? Why does everything feel so heavy? Why… Why is it so dark?

“Miguel! Calm down!”

“Enough! Both of you leave the room.” Jessica orders, “She’s waking up.”

“No, I want to be here.” Miguel tried to stay.

“You’ll see her after you calm down, now go.” Jessica watched until she was sure they were gone.

You open your heavy eyes, wincing at the light in the room, “Jessica?”

“Welcome back. Took your time.”,

“What happened?”

“You went out and followed Gwen to Pavitr’s universe, and so did Miles and Hobie. But everything went haywire, and the ground under you collapsed. You fell a good number of floors. Hobie brought you back.” She explained.

“Miles… Where is he?”

“That’s not my place to say. I know Miguel is waiting outside, I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Thanks, Jessica.”

She leaves and Miguel practically runs in, taking the seat next to your bed.

“…Hi.” You say, sitting up.

“How are you feeling?” Miguel asked.

“Tired, confused… Not sure how to feel after but-“

“(Y/n), you’ve been unconscious for a few weeks. You didn’t just fall, you went in after I told you no.”

“You know I’m not going to stand by.”

“But none of this would’ve happened if you just stayed and done what I told you.”

“Why do you care? I thought your focus was on the multiverse?”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“But why?”

“Because-!” He takes a deep breath, “…I can’t lose another daughter. I never told you what happened but you know that I lost her. I wanted you to stay to the side all these times because every time I look at you, you’re so much like her. Losing you would be the day I snap.”

“I’m… Sorry that I remind you of her. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You whisper.

“I know you didn’t, and I’m just happy that you’re happy.”

You smile, “Can I say something?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copy, translated, or put my work on any other platform without my permission.

[amaranthineghost]

Hi there! Can you do a pov/one shot/ fanfic where Lando is dating Y/N and her love language is biting. She randomly and softly bots Lando but he enjoys it knowing that she is fully comfortable with him to be herself. One day Max,Pietra and some other friends of Lando come to visit them in Monaco and Pietra is annoyed with Max for teasingly refusing to sit next to Y/N, P telling him that he can sit next to Y/n cause she doesn’t bite. Lando starts laughing and says that y/n does bite and moves his shirt to show a small bite mark on his shoulder. Y/N laughs it off but she gets insecure thinking that her love language is bothering Lando so she fights the urge to bite him again. After a few days Lando notices that she doesn’t bite him anymore and starts thinking that he did something to upset her. He asks her why and she eventually tells him and he gets a bit upset. He tells her that he actually likes it because its her way of showing her love and the fact that she is comfortable around him.

Idk some fluff or something

Thank you for at least reading this and I really love your work🧡

|  SINK YOUR TEETH INTO ME, MY DEAR ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando norris x reader

ꕥ summary: reader's love language is biting, but experiences a feeling of insecurity

ꕥ author note: oh to have a boyfriend to experience this with. fair warning, I refrain from using y/n in imagines unless it's really unavoidable because at this point y/n is a whole person by herself. if something is worded weirded, or 'she' and 'her' get repetitive, that's why. but anyways, I really like this request, its so cute and silly and i hope i did it justice :3

HIS BODY WAS OFTEN ADORNED with bite marks, indentions in his skin where you could see the canines had dipped it lower than the rest. it was a reminder to him of her love.

and he happily carried them everywhere with him, smiling to himself with every glance in the mirror at his bare torso. some faded more than others as they trailed along his arms, upwards to his shoulder and across to his collarbone.

the pads of his fingers slowly rubbed over them, a small smile spreading across his face, something he'd done everyday as the new blemishes came and went.

at first, he'd thought of it as strange, taken off guard by the sudden pinch on his bicep as she'd sink her teeth into his flesh. not so hard to break skin, she wasn't a vampire. but it was enough for him to be reminded of it.

as time went on and the occurrences became more frequent, he'd find himself smiling at it. it was his way of knowing she loved him, that she was comfortable around him, that she was safe with him, she always was and she knew that. at least he hoped she did.

to be loved was to be bitten, was what he knew. she had taught him that.

he had noticed a change though, it was hard not to. the sudden pinces throughout the day, he hadn't noticed weren't there because he had gotten used to them being there. if that made sense. it did to him.

but if he didn't notice the lack of sudden but light pain, followed with a trail of thin salvia leading to the culprits lips, he would notice the lack of marks that riddled his body.

lando had woken up that morning, groggy and his body sore from yesterday's training. the warm of his shared bed beckoned him to stay. to lay with her forever.

he wished he could, but he knew better than to lay around, even if it was with his girlfriend. though he might. was there ever any harm to remain within the comfort and grasp of the warm body that stayed passed out next to him, oblivious to his waking?

he always thought not. his trainer thought otherwise but turned a blind eye for the young couple. though their sickeningly love for the other made him roll his eyes behind their backs. all fun and games. something to laugh about.

his veined hands, warm and adorned with rings, traced across the low of her back. he watched the goosebumps take their place on her skin, her face stirring as she pushed herself further into the bed. he chuckled softly at her reaction, his thumb gliding across her exposed skin, dipping below the hem of the cloth on her body.

he lightly squeezed the flesh under his fingertips, pulling his hand across her back before replacing the covers on her. he slipped out of bed, leaning over momentarily.

his fingers slipped through her hair, getting caught in the knots that tied in the midst of her slumber. using his thumb, he brushed the strands from her face to see half her features smushed against the plush pillow.

another low chuckle escaped his throat, tucking the hair behind her ear as he pulled back and stared at the beauty before him. his eyes dilated the more he looked at her, but he wouldn't know.

his journey through the bathroom to get ready would be halted when he noticed a difference on his bare skin. but it wasn't bare because of the lack of shirt he found himself not to be wearing. what was different?

the pads of his fingers traced his skin for the indentions he cherished deeply, only met with the perfect evenness of his tan skin.

his actions haltered and brows furrowed. instinctively, he leaned closer to the mirror, the veins in his hands becoming more prominent as he pulled his skin. he turned in circles.

no blemishes in sight. not the work of his beloved girlfriend anyways.

he frowned, disappointed by the disruption of his routine. his ritual.

he swore to her many times that he could probably differentiate the marks of her teeth in his flesh to any other bite mark he'd come across. he knew her teeth better than his own. he swore he did.

he knew the indentions that littered his skin, but they weren't here. he wanted them to be so bad. why the change?

his heart sunk in his chest. he sighed. how could he not notice?

his eyes met his own gaze in the mirror, his fingers still tracing his bare collarbone and down his shoulder. he pursed his lips, eating away at the pink flesh until it irritated.

his hands fell down to the sink, supporting his body weight as he leaned on them as he pondered.

he surely noticed how faded they looked. how the red inflammation, that manifested on his skin, just didn't. but the change never processed in his brain.

he racked through the events of the past couple of days. nothing stood out.

they'd mostly stayed home together, other than the times lando went out for training. but it surely wasn't that, as she had no problem with it in the past. she understood what he did and the requirements of it that he had to meet.

lando groaned in realization. days earlier, lando and his girlfriend were out on the water with a few of their friends, drivers and their girlfriends.

it was a beautiful day, he had remembered because of the way the sun reflected off her skin, how her pupils shrank at the blinding light, but revealed the capsulating colors behind them.

he sat on the cushioned seats of the yacht, next to her with his warm hand on her inner thigh, a drink in the other. the rest of the group littered around the deck with various drinks in hand as they chatted.

most of them were just hanging out in their swimsuits as none of them had yet decided to take the plunge into the crystal waters.

they had sat next to each other for a while, lando leaning closer to hear her voice, the music was loud. her lips grazed his ear a few times, he remembered. the gloss on her lips left on his skin.

she remembered the scratch of his cheek as he'd forgotten to shave earlier whenever he'd lean into whisper in her ear. his lips ghostly hovered her neck, grazing her skin softly. despite the warm sun, goosebumps took their place down her neck.

he always chuckled at the rising bumps on her skin whenever he did something she liked. it always gave him a surge of confidence to know the effect he had against her.

"get a room!" the brit called out, laughing as he walked over with a drink in hand. his girlfriend followed behind, shaking her head at his words, but a smile evident on her face.

max fewtrell was one of lando's long time friends. their girlfriends also happened to be friends, long before the two guys came into their lives.

"mind if we sit?" pietra asked, not waiting for an answer as she took a place on the leather couch. leaving a space between the two girls so max could sit too.

she looked up to see max still standing, she rolled her eyes and patted the spot next to her, "there's enough room for all of us, why won't you sit?"

max shrugged his shoulder, "I don't know, mate, she might bite me if I try sitting down!" he exclaimed jokingly, inciting a laugh between the group.

she felt her body heat up uncomfortably, laughing along despite her discomfort.

pietra tugged on his sleeve, "she doesn't bite, you're being dramatic." her attempts were futile.

lando laughed and shook his head, "I don't know, mate, you might want to be careful." his hand left her thigh as he pulled up his sleeve to his shoulder, as he hadn't taken off his shirt just yet.

she felt her face flush and reddened, but hid it by laughing with the group, pushing her head into the crevice of his neck momentarily. his hand found her back again.

she felt the cushion next to her dip, followed by a hand squeezing her knee. she turned her head. pietra gave her a sympathetic look when she'd realized the girl's reaction.

pietra leaned close to her ear, like what lando and her were doing earlier. she whispered a few words to her before pulling away and taking a sip of her drink, wrapping her arm around her shoulder. she felt herself smile and relaxed in her seat.

but on the inside, she was eating herself up, overthinking to exhaustion. her stomach felt sick, was her habit a bother to him?

she found herself hiding in the bathroom throughout the rest of the hangout, claiming seasickness but denying medicine for it.

each time she find hersef back in the bathroom with anxious nausea and the door locked, lando would be on the other side. he'd knock on her door, talking her through it, asking her if he could get her anything, telling her he'd wait for her to come out again.

days past and she refrained from sinking her teeth into the perfect skin of his bicep, the valley of his collarbone, or the broadness before the drop of his shoulder.

each time she found herself with the urge to show the love she had through her teeth, she stopped herself.

it killed lando to think about how he could've made her feel. but he needed her to come to him, he didn't want to pry information out of her.

he could ask but he couldn't make her tell.

the door to the bathroom creaked open, lando's head snapping towards the noise, noticing the tired face eyeing him through the slit in the door.

he pushed himself from the counter, his heart beating slightly faster as he sighed. she opened the door more and dragged her feet against the tiled floor. he noticed the way her eyes squinted against the light.

she stopped when she collided against him. her cheek pushed against his chest as she leaned her weight against him.

he pulled her closer when he placed a hand on her head, another one around the low of her back. his lips were against her hair and he inhaled slowly. the faded tropical scent of her shampoo lingered in her hair.

in his head, he debated asking her. not only was she still tired, but he didn't want to push her farther, in case he had done something.

his heart beat heavily in his chest, muttering against her scalp, "what's going on, darling?" he caressed the strands of her hair, "hm?"

her heart skipped a beat, she thought he hadn't noticed, or that he didn't say anything because he had secretly hoped for this to happen.

she decided to play dumb, speaking softly against his bare skin, "what do you mean?" her voice muffled.

"come on, I know your biting habits. what's wrong?" he spoke patiently to her as he cradled her tired body in his arms, swaying softly as they stood admist the cold bathroom air.

her eyes fluttered shut as she mumbled, "I thought it annoyed you."

his head shook against hers, "why do you think that, love?" he held his breath for the answer, but in his heart, he knew what she was going to say.

he was met with silence for a long time, he knew she was thinking it over in her head. she finally spoke, "remember the yacht trip a few days ago?"

he exhaled deeply, his eyes clenching shut as he pursed his lips, "i'm an idiot," he muttered, pulling away partially.

" 's okay," she shrugged, looking up at him with big eyes.

he swore in his mind, if it weren't for the circumstances, he would've folded. he slowly blinked, his tongue gliding along his lower lip.

"it's not, darling. even if max and i were just messing around," he breathed in and out slowly, his hand caressing her pillow-marked face, "i'm sorry you felt that way, okay? you know, i love when you do it," he reassured, and he saw her eyes dilate when he did.

"really? but why?" she questioned him, scanning his face, eyes, body language for any hint of deceit. she found none.

"it tells me you're comfortable, baby, and that's all I want for you."

she listened for his tone. it was sincere.

and they stayed like that for a while. in each other's embrace, they knew all was well again as they talked through it some more.

"ow."

[lynnaredfield3383]

Not my characters. Aged up 18 (3rd Years). Swearing, biting, kissing (all PG), but still warning you. Fem reader. Reader 'playfully' punches a few characters in the shoulder. You can fight me, but I think Shoto retained a lot of his sweet innocence even after the war.

Shoto, Bakugo, Denki and Kiri were all in the common room area wearing their Halloween costumes when you and Mina stepped off the elevator, bumping into Deku. The guys noticed your fairy costume before anything else. The amount of skin showing not your normal style.

Right away Denki's perverted brain began plotting and he smiled at Todoroki.

"Hey Roki, I dare you to go over and bite Y/N,” Kaminari said.

“Why would I do that?” Shoto asked.

“What the hell dunce face?” Bakugo snapped at him.

“Because you're a vampire. Also Halloween is for pranks.”

"I'm not a real vampire," Shoto cocked his head to the side wondering if Denki had shorted out somehow.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Kiri rubbed the back of his neck.

"Oh come on you guys. Y/N has a thing for vampires. Remember she told us last week?" Denki reminded him.

“Yeah, but...”

"I'm not a real vampire," Shoto interrupted Kiri.

“Roki, the point of a prank is to laugh. It'll be funny because you're NOT a real vampire. Y/N will probably laugh," Denki urged him.

Shoto shrugged and headed towards you. Bakugo's expression murderous as he punched Denki's shoulder hard.

“I don't see this ending well,” Kiri spoke nervously.

“You're an idiot dunce face,” Bakugo grumbled.

“Yeah and so are you. You've liked her for how long and never made a single attempt,” Denki snapped back, dodging a second punch.

Mina and Deku noticed Shoto moving up behind you as they talked excitedly about everyone's costumes. Mina and Deku didn't warn you because they figured Shoto would give you a jump scare. Nothing too serious for a Halloween prank.

In one swift motion, Shoto cupped one side of your neck with his hand from behind while leaning in and quickly biting the other side of your neck. You gasped and turned red in surprise at the sudden sensation from the bite.

You smiled when you saw it was Shoto, but held your neck knowing he didn't realize how hard he'd actually bitten you. Thankfully he'd taken out his fake vampire teeth or he'd have broken skin.

“What're you doing?" Deku cried out surprised by his friend's actions.

“Denki says Halloween is a night for pranks...He also said you'd laugh because you like vampires,” Shoto spoke in his innocent way.

You smiled, unable to be angry with Shoto. Denki however was going to get beat later. Touching the spot where Shoto bit was sore so you moved your hand. That's when Shoto saw the red spot wasn't going away.

“Y/N...Did...Did I hurt you? It is turning into a bruise, I didn't mean...” “It's fine, Shoto. It was a fun experience so don't worry about it okay,” you reassured him by taking his hand in yours and squeezing it.

“Is there...Should I go get some ointment or maybe a band-aid?” Shoto asked worried.

“Well, you should kiss it,” Mina spoke first.

“Wha...What?” Deku asked surprised by Mina's suggestion.

“Well, it's a boo boo right? And you kiss boo boo's,” Mina explained.

Without hesitation, Shoto cupped the side of your neck without the mark and leaned in kissing where he'd bitten. When he pulled back, you saw the concern in his eyes and nearly laughed. The poor thing was so concerned and innocent.

“Did that help? Does it feel better?” Shoto asked.

“Maybe one more,” you couldn't help yourself, now that you noticed Bakugo was clenching his fists at his side.

“Oh...Okay,” Shoto agreed, kissing the spot again.

"I'll be right back," you said before walking towards Denki.

Mina and Deku followed wanting to see what you did in retaliation. Shoto followed them mostly out of habit.

Bakugo relaxed when he saw you heading their way. You stopped in front of Denki, the blond freezing up.

“Hey, hey, it was all in fun. I didn't seriously think he'd do it,” Denki defended himself.

“I tried to stop him,” Kiri chimed in.

You hit Denki hard in the arm, causing him to hold it, nearly crying.

“Ow, ow, ow, you didn't have to be so mean,” Denki whined, rubbing the spot, then stopping because it made it worse.

You hit Bakugo next and harder than you hit Denki, setting him off.

“What the HELL did I do? Jeez,” Bakugo shouted.

“You didn't try to stop him.”

Kiri flinched when you stepped in front of him and smiled.

“I wasn't very manly. I should have tried harder,” Kiri admitted.

You leaned over and kissed Kiri's cheek smiling at him and causing him to blush.

“But you tried. That was manly.”

You surprised Denki by hitting him in his other arm.

“Ow! Okay, okay. I'm sorry.”

"You should be. Don't use sweet, innocent Roki to play your nasty little pranks on," you warned Denki.

You joined Mina and Deku heading out to the party at the 3-B dorms.

Shoto turned to the three guys, his innocent expression slowly dissipating into something far more devious.

"Hey Bakugo. Y/N tastes pretty sweet," Shoto smiled before turning and walking away.

Kiri and Denki grabbed Bakugo as he lunged forward spewing curses out as he struggled.

**I really think Shoto remained that clueless, sweet boy even into his twenties. However, I like to think he also picked up a few devious/mischievous traits from Sero and Denki along the way.**

[lovifie]

Chapter 1: Bite 🕸️

Ghost x Spiderwoman!Reader

2667 words

You were the new member of the 141, Laswell's own recommendation. But even Price, who would trust Laswell with his life, had second thoughts about you joining. 

You were a scrawny, half-blind, way too young girl. The last person Price would have picked for the team. 

“Let them show you, John. You need her to hack and collect the intel. She can't take a grown man down, but she's a decent shot.”

So he let you join, most of the time you felt like a child; constantly being told to walk close between two of them or it would be the complete opposite and they would tell you to stay hidden taking advantage of your tiny size. 

Ghost was the one that liked you the least, he already worried about the whole team making it back home safe and they were able to fend for themselves. You? You were like a puppy, walking between their feet almost making them fall all the time, and still, you looked fucking delighted to be in the way. Ghost hated how happy you seemed to be all the time, hated how unaware of the danger you seemed to be, and he hated that he was unable to ignore how much he cared you got back safe.

But there was a thing he hated more than anything. 

Superheroes.

The 141 was one of the few task forces that still existed, in many places arguing that they were no longer needed since now there were superheroes. And the hatred the population already had for the military only got worse. 

Plus, even though Simon never joined the military to get famous, it still rubbed him the wrong way when they would go on a mission, fight for days, lose friends, and only for a random superhero to arrive when everything was almost finished and take all the glory. 

He hated them all their life, and he always wondered why people liked them so much when he was home any of them came to save him, his mom or his brother. He always hoped one would save him, but they never did. 

So both Simon and Ghost hated superheroes.

All of them. 

So when they got the intel that a lab was working on creating new superheroes, he didn't need any more convincing and started getting ready.

The five of you walked along the rows and rows of animals captive inside the lab. Luminescent fish, shielded beetles, poisonous snakes, all the kinds. Ready to be experimented with, just for selfish humans wanting to be heroes. 

“Keep walking, kid” Price mumbled behind you, making you peel your eyes away from the different fish bowls and terrariums. “Alright. Kid, you stay in this room and look around if you can find any document or proof. The four of us will go down the hall, there are some lights on, see if we can find anyone.”

You nod, already used to being left alone, and walk around the office, pushing your glasses up when they slide down your nose as you look down at the desks. Lab records of failed attempts, codified names of patients, data of the genome of the different animals they used, by the look of all of them they have been trying for years. Poor animals.

It is at that point, while you are reading the information of the different animals, that you feel a sharp pain in your lower back, right over your ass check. 

“Fuck!” You mumble, the sound reaching the team's ears through the intercom and making them still in their moves. 

You turn around, expecting to see somebody stabbing you. But you are still alone and when you look at the point the pain came from, you only see a tiny spider. 

“Fucking perfect.” You groan to yourself as you slap the spider off your body, but once again it reaches the rest of the team.

“Kid, what the fuck are you doing?” Price asks, the team still immobile waiting for your explanation. 

“Nothing, sir. Keep going.” You say, not wanting to jeopardise the mission. Part of you gets offended by how they automatically keep going without another care, but the actual logical part of you starts to panic because you just got bitten by a spider from a lab that tries and makes superhumans. 

You frantically try to find some kind of information about said spider in the files on top of the desk, almost crying when you find it and read: “Not poisonous.” 

Shots and screams can be heard from the end of the hall and you know you don't have time to read the whole file. So you snatched it, shoving it under your vest, just in time for the first people to come running out. 

“Kid! Don't engage in combat! I repeat, don't engage!” Price's voice barks in your ear.

“Roger that!” You quickly answer, hiding under the desk and holding your breath as people run around you. One of them stopped right beside you and frantically shoved around the papers just like you were doing a moment ago. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit! It's gone! The spider is gone! The file too! FUCK!” The person next to you screams, only adding to your ongoing anxiety about being bitten. 

“Leave it!” A second voice shouts getting closer. “Leave everything and run! They are activating the system! This shit is about to get blown to bits! Run!” 

The second they are far enough to grab the radio to talk to the team. “Captain! They are blowing up the lab! We need to get out!” 

“Take as much info as you can and run, kid! The door is locked, we are going out the other way, we can see the exit! Meet us at pick up!” The Captain quickly shouted back.

“What?!” You ask back. “You were leaving me here?!” 

You can make out what he says, but you stand up to look around. You need to take something with you, even if it is only to hit them with it. 

There is a laptop on top of the desk, so you grab it along with as many files as you can bring. Sprinting to the door, the workers of the lab already out of the place, way more lucky than you. The halls inside are an absolute maze, and the only thing you have to guide you out are the blood marks of those who got out before you. 

Just when you see the outside, the helo in the distance hovering just half a meter off the floor, you hear the beep beep beeeep of a countdown going off. Only managing to put a foot outside of the door, before the blast wave sends you flying forward, your glasses flying away from you. Clutching the laptop as if it were your own life, especially taking into consideration that your “team” would be more worried about it. 

Your ears ring when you open your eyes again, a buzzing sound in the background coming from the helicopter. Gaz on the open door calling your name, enough to get back on your feet and keep running; the man picks you up from your vest and takes you inside before closing the door. 

You leave the laptop on the floor, files scattering around as well as you sit on the floor, back resting against the wall, hugging your legs as you try to get your breath back. 

Gaz is looking at you worried, Soap is beside you tidying up the files, Ghost flying the helicopter and Price is behind Gaz, staring at you. 

You can't help it back look back at him with anger in your eyes, he was ready to leave you behind if you didn't get out on your own and he didn't even tell you. Suddenly feeling like your biggest ally today was the terrorist who told his colleague. 

The ringing in your eyes slowly fades away, the sound of the helicopter sounding more and more clear. 

“You solid, kid?” Price's voice sounds over the rotating blades. 

“Yeah… not thanks to you, though.” You say, mumbling the last part, pissed about it. Price chooses to ignore it, for the sake of the peace. Only giving you a look of “We'll talk later.”

By the time you reach the base, you are burning up. Every time you close your eyes being harder to open them back up, your whole body feels on fire and you're feeling pain in places you didn't even know you could. 

You should go to the infirmary, but then they would see the spider bite and it would make sense that they would want to leave you behind, or at least that's the reasoning behind your decision to instead go to your room and sleep it off. 

Or at least you would if the pain wasn't keeping you awake, you turn around in bed trying to find a comfy position failing and failing again and again. Still, at some point, it must have knocked you out because the knocking on the door wakes you up. 

The sun is out and the fever seems to be gone, so you stand up, groaning because of the residual pain and walk up to the door, opening it. Coming face to face with Ghost. 

“Morning, soldier” He greets, no kind of emotion in his voice and you can't see his face. “You skipped dinner last night and breakfast this morning, we don't need you any skinnier.”

Just then you take notice of the paper bag on his hand and the water bottle on the other. You try to use the hand that is still holding the doorknob, only to realize that it seems to be stuck to it. You furrow your eyebrow, which doesn't go unnoticed by Ghost; and you point to the table with your other hand. 

“Can you leave it there, please?” You ask, still trying to get your other hand free as you open the door more so he can come in. 

He enters the room, dropping the food on the table and turning to you with crossed arms. “Are you alright?” He asks, still confused with the way you seem to not be able to let go of the door, pulling back with all your body weight.

“Peachy.” You grunt back, your hand finally detaching from the knob and almost sending you to the floor as the door bust open hitting the wall. “A weird cramp, that's all.”

He nods slowly, walking away from the table and closer to the door. “You sure you are fine? You flew quite some meters yesterday… you lost your glasses.” He points to your face

Until he mentions it you haven’t realise because you can see perfectly fine; even better than before when you were wearing them. You furrow your brow, rubbing your eyes as if to get the bad eyesight back by pure force and you look at him, still seeing better than ever. 

“Yeah… they flew yesterday, I'll get new ones.” You say, still confused by it. He nods, telling you about letting Price know so he can give you the money back and starts to walk out of the door, turning back and rubbing his face already dreading what he is about to do. “Oh, and, hey… good job, yesterday.” 

As he talks, he raises his fist for you to bump it. Which only adds to the confusion, he really must feel bad for leaving you behind yesterday. Still, the situation is so awkward it is causing you physical pain, so you bump his fist to get over with it and close the door with your feet when he leaves. 

Once alone in your room, you rub your face with frustration only for your fingertips to get stuck on your forehead. You stay paralyzed for a second, not understanding what is going on and trying to peel your hands away from your face. 

Your skin stings when you try to pull making you whence, understanding that you can't just pull. So you close your eyes, take a deep breath and quickly pull your hands as if you could catch it by surprise. You curse when it obviously doesn't work walking back, knocking the water bottle off the table, surprising yourself when your hands catch the bottle before it even rolls off the table.

Something tells you to look at your phone, and just when you do a message pops up. You focus all your senses on letting go of the bottle and it falls off your hands like normal, making you doubt if you really got stuck before. You look at your phone, using your knuckle to unlock it and tapping in the password to read Ghost's message.

💀: Debriefing in 20’

💀: Shower!

“Rude.” You think, knowing damn well that you stink for coming straight from the mission and spending the night sweating. You type back with your knuckle:

🕷️: rofer thar

“Shit… close enough” You lock the phone and take off your clothes to shower. Once on your underwear, you turn to look into the mirror the spider bite on your hip; only to see that your body is not the same as yesterday's. 

It looks like you gained at least 10 kilos of pure muscle, your biceps popping out, shoulders rounded out by muscle, thicker thighs that you know will not fit on your pants anymore, rounder ass and overall the athletic build of some kind of olympic athlete. 

The only mark on your skin being the bite, even some of your freckles are gone from your skin. The bite, on the other hand, looks terrible. Two little dark purple dots are visible, the surrounding red and angry and little lighting-like red lines go out of it, going up your back and around your hip. 

You take a deep breath and jump into the shower, using the back of your hands to do so, which only makes it trickier. Once washed, you look into your closet taking out the only clothes you believe will fit you. A pair of leggings that sit just a bit too tight and an oversized sweatshirt to cover as much as possible. 

You put on your shoes and walk to the captain's office; to your disgrace, the door is closed and you knock. You hear, as if it was right behind you, a “C’mon in���. But you don't want to risk it getting stuck, so you play dumb and knock again. Ghost opens the door and comes face to face with you again, much closer than in your room and you see his eyebrow furrow 

“Have you gone on a growth sprout in the last 20 minutes?” He asks, confusion clear in his tone. “And are you wearing makeup?”

You realize that the freckles on your face must have banished too, plus the fact that the bags under your eyes seemed to be gone as well last time you checked. 

“No. Must be the shoes.” You answer, walking under his arm inside the room feeling his eyes travel down your body. You sit down next to Gaz, looking at Price as Ghost closes the door and sits down, still looking at you. 

“First thing first.” The captain says clearing his throat. “Great job yesterday, you can work on the laptop whenever you want, kid. And also, good job for the heads-up about the bomb.” 

“You didn't know?” You ask, confused by his words.

He shakes his head. “We were wondering why everyone was running out, we tried to go back to you and the gates were blocked, we were suspicious of it but you confirmed it.”

You nod your head slowly, taking it in.“All set, then, right?” He asks looking at the four others. “If you are still mad you can say it, I don't want my team keeping their thoughts in only for them to explode in the middle of the mission. Is there anything you want to say, kid?”

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part XI

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 1.8k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Masterlist

Azriel knocked on Feyre’s door, a soft come in coming through before entering. Feyre sat at her vanity, braiding her hair back as she made eye contact with him through the mirror.

“Hi, Az.”

He smiled before softly shutting the door behind himself.

“Have you given any more thought to what we talked about?”

He nodded, his ears twinged slightly pink. “I’ve never let Rhys do this.”

“I understand.”

“And if you see anything too.. private…” His words trailed off, but Feyre raised a hand up, closing her lips with a lock and throwing away a key.

“My lips are sealed.”

He sat in the chair in the corner, back straight as Feyre sat in the chair next to him, a bit uncertain of how to sit - usually she spent her time in this chair reading books, not her friend’s memories.

“I was too scared for Rhys to see. I didn’t.. she didn’t.. she’d hate having him see her like that.”

Feyre nodded, “I understand, she didn’t want to have him accidentally seeing some part of her he shouldn’t.”

“No,” Az laughed, sensing where Feyre’s thoughts had headed, “no, she uh- she wouldn’t want him to see the vulnerability.”

“Mmm,” Feyre hummed lightly as Azriel relaxed into the chair. “And why’s that?”

Talking about you so openly was still strange for Azriel - you had remained a guarded secret for so long, a topic he spoke more on in these past few weeks than the past century.

“Rhys is a fixer. She hated being upset around him because all he wants to do is fix things.”

Feyre rubbed Azriel’s arm, a comforting touch in such an unfamiliar space. A moment passed in silence before Feyer spoke again.

“Let your mind drift, Azriel.”

And so he did. 

His mind drifted across several centuries of time and space, centuries passing with no new memories of her. His thoughts flowed, bouncing from idea to idea, scrap of memory to scrap of memory. He felt Feyre’s presence in his mind, like she was hovering just over his shoulder through his thoughts. 

It started with snippets - her hands, her mouth, her touch. It got more clear as he thought more and more - her neck , her eyes, her smile. He could make out her voice, telling him to “please take care of yourself, babe.” He felt her hands roam his body, her touch curious and navigating as she slid down his body, kissing down the front of him.

The scene changed to a more detailed scenario, the two of you cuddled in the library, tucked away in a cozy corner in front of a fireplace. You yawned as you got further into your book, nestling into his side more as your eyelids grew heavier.

A loud sound occurred in the back of his head, the memory version of himself looking around the room for the source. You stayed relaxed in his arms, your concentration undeterred. 

Feyre’s urgent tone coming to him told him he wasn’t as safe as he thought. Azriel’s memories were murky, morphing into the surroundings of Feyre’s room, Feyre’s arms tightening around him as Rhys burst into their room. Chest heaving, he moved toward the pair, pointing at Azriel.

“She felt me. In her chest - she felt me. She felt how sad I was because she plays chess differently. What a silly thing for her to finally understand her powers over.”

Feyre and Azriel looked at each other, confused glances at Rhys’s rambling. He was stressed, pulling at the strands of his hair, his usually perfect hair strewn about. 

“Azriel,” he pointed to his brother before straightening his posture, “you are not to spend any more time with her. Feyre and I will take over all duties regarding her.”

Azriel felt molten hot rage inside of him as he stood quickly, ready to sling snarls at his brother, but Feyre pushed him behind her, pointing a finger back at Rhys. “He will do no such thing.”

“Yes he will. She’s going to see him and she’s going to know something’s wrong. She’s not an idiot - she hustled me at chess. She’s going to figure it all out.”

Feyre couldn’t even figure out what he was talking about. “She’ll figure it out eventually!”

“Yes, but we want her to find out in a controlled way. Not like this.”

Azriel felt a sting in his chest, the insinuation at his untamed emotions. He felt like a small child having caught his parents fighting over him.

“No.” Feyre’s tone was final. “That’s a terrible idea, Rhysand. To keep her from her mate? For who knows how long?”

“She’ll find out if she sees him!” Rhys’s eyes were wide, the veins in his neck popping.

“Afraid she’ll figure it out and remember who she’s mated to?” Azriel pushed Rhys, a snarl coming from him at the provocation. “Just fucking say it Rhys, you hated her being mated to me and this way you get to rewrite it.”

“That’s not-” Rhys chuckled, his voice deepening. “Az, you have it wrong.”

“Do I?” Az shoved Rhys again, the High Lord responding by shoving Az right back, nearly avoiding the table. 

“Yes. You have it wrong.”

“Because I’m too stupid to see why you’re trying to keep my mate from remembering me?” Shadows moved about the room, slithering aggressively as Rhys spoke of their mate.

“Rhys, you can’t keep him from her. She was progressing!” She yelled over their wrestling bodies, wincing as Azriel punched Rhys across the face. 

“No, he’s finally gotten the perfect chance for a do-over! I was never good enough for her, and now he can find someone who is.”

“Rhys, if she figures it out, would it be so bad? The sooner the better, right? I mean it’s only been a few weeks, you left me in the dark for months.”

Rhys pushed off the ground, shoving Azriel down as he straddled him. He pushed his head into the rug, Azriel’s shadows pushing against Rhys to no avail. The High Lord avoided the conflicting voices of the room, opting to focus his energy on Azriel instead. 

Azriel pulled his legs back, giving him momentum to swing his head up and headbutt Rhys on the forehead. The High Lord drew back, panting as he tried to get up. Azriel was quick on his feet, running forward into Rhys, knocking him back down. He held the High Lord down, yelling, “then what is it?”

“She’ll remember me!”

Azriel stilled, his hold on Rhys loosening. “What are you talking about?”

The fight had left Rhys’s body, his voice dejected as he let the truth he had been holding onto slip out softly. “She’ll remember how I didn’t save her. The two of you will leave.”

Feyre cooed from the side, “oh, Rhys.” She sat on the floor next to her mate, but she looked to Azriel instead, nodding to her mate when Azriel’s gaze met hers before flicking back down to his brother. 

“Why would I leave, Rhys?”

“Can we have this conversation when you’re not on top of me?”

“No.” Feyre and Azriel answered in unison, their tones laced with finality.

The air was still for a long moment, the only sounds were Rhys and Azriel’s heavy breathing.

“You hated me after she died, Az. I can’t go through that again.”

Azriel watched Rhys’s eyes get red, the violet eyes he loves so dearly lined with silver, but it just confused him. “I didn’t hate you.”

“You blamed me for her death.”

“I blamed all of Spring for her death.” Azriel’s tone was devoid of emotion, as if the court itself all banded together to condemn his mate’s life.

“You wouldn’t look at me for years.”

Azriel slumped, his weight on Rhys’s chest releasing the air from the High Lord’s lungs. “I couldn’t..” He trailed off before taking a deep breath and trying again. “I couldn’t look at you. You looked just like her.”

Azriel’s words were soft, but they hung in the air. Azriel shuffled off of Rhys, sitting on the floor, leaning against their bed. “It was easier to be angry, but whenever I looked at you, it made me… it was like she was seeing me again.”

Rhys crawled to sit next to his brother, Feyre sitting on the other side of Az. The shadowsinger refused to look at either, unable to take their pitying looks, looking to his boots instead. “It was like she was watching me fail her after she died.”

Rhys blew air from his lips, something roaring in Azriel at the action. “In what universe have you ever failed her? The only way you ever failed her was that one time you let her win at cards.” A laugh came from his lips at the memory, the way you had stomped about at your mate’s deception and loudly fought with him over it, much to Cassian and Mor’s drunken amusement. 

Az rolled his eyes, your huffing and puffing entering his mind. You had been so upset with him you didn’t want to look at him, but insisted he sleep in the same bed. You spent the night turned away from him, being an aggressive little spoon as he wrapped his limbs around you. “It was the hardest thing I had ever done, letting her win, and she didn’t even appreciate it. She wouldn’t look at me for days.”

You had refused to look at him, causing him to resort to any tactics to get the upper hand. His shadows had been very helpful in causing you to be needy for his touch, but he was quite annoyed with your defiance, going so far as to climb on top of him, but facing towards his feet as you rode him.

Rhys laughed, “the Mother has a sense of humor making the two most competitive creatures mates.”

Az pointed a finger at Rhys, “you’re no better! You said she hustled you. In what universe did you think you could ever beat her at chess?”

Rhys looked sheepishly to the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had hoped perhaps along with her memories went some of her skill and wit.”

Feyre’s hand reached across Azriel to smack Rhys’s chest, saying his name in a chastising tone. He held his hands up in surrender, “serves me right, she swindled me out of a line of credit in her name.”

Azriel laughed so loudly it startled Feyre. “Her favorite hobbies always were spending someone else’s money and conning you.”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124

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Thanks for reading ❣️

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Mate: Chapter 7

Warnings: Sadistic Hyunjin, vulnerable Chan, vulnerable Jisung

Six long days had gone passed. Y/N had gone into a sub drop on the night Hyunjin and Chan had bitten her but was slowly on the mend. Chan had overworked himself day and night as he helped with Jeongin's training while spending the night watching his omega as he slept on the floor. Seungmin and Felix had decorated their spare room for Y/N to move into but they were not agreeing on how the nest should be to the point that Hyunjin came in and scolded them for making a racket. Changbin had spent most of his days checking on Y/N during the day and cuddling with her, despite her growls and Minho's reminder that she bites. She never did bite Changbin but she did growl the first few times quite harshly when she felt an unwanted presence. Eventually, she settled when she recognised the scent wasn't a threat and allowed him to look after her. Chan did admit he was feeling rather bitter towards Changbin at the moment because she responded to him better, but at the same time, Chan knew there wasn't much he could do since she was in and out of sleep. Chan, however, was forever grateful to his ancestors for not taking her away from him too soon. Jisung was still downstairs and was only visited by Hunjin who scolded him harshly for his insubordination and promised him he would never leave unless he learned his lesson. Of course, Jisung was still bitter and cocky towards the red-haired alpha since he had underlying issues with alpha. Hyunjin knew the younger beta did not like him very much and had a hard time accepting the alpha but that only fueled Hyunjins anger. It didn't help that Hyunjin could now feel all of YN's emotions. Even though she wasn't necessarily conscious the slight pang of emotions would aggravate him.

"Have you still not learned your lesson yet, Han Jisung?" Hyunjins icy voice penetrated Jisungs skin, making the beta snicker slightly out of rebellion. "Nope." Jisung spoke popping the 'p' as he shook his head in defiance. His naked body glistened in the moonlight as he presented himself in front of the alpha with his hands behind his back.  "You are incredibly shameless, Jisung!" Hyungjin shouted, his eyes glowing a deep shade of red.  "Don't be embarrassed alpha. It's okay to not be as big as me. I'm sure Y/N won't mind." Jisung cackled as he watched the alpha turn around to walk up the stairs only to stop. Hyujin's back tightened and his muscles flexed in his arm. The minor movement struck Jisung down causing him to cower in fear. He didn't fully the trust the alphas anger. "Look at me little beta." Hyunjin taunted, making the beta lift his frightened head up to meet his red ones. As soon as they connected, Jisung felt a tsunami of cold emotions causing him to shiver in submission. "If you do get out of here, you are to never go Chan's little omega." "You can't do it that. No. Please hyung." Jisung begged. He was the only one good to the omega. He was the one who decided to get supplies for her. He was the one who picked all of the comforting things. "He can." Chan answered as he came down the stairs. "Alpha please, please. I just want to be her friend. She needs a friend. I promise I won't even corrupt her." Jisung pleaded. His amber eyes started to swell and tears threatened to fall as he held himself. "Did you just lie to me Jisung?" Chan asked, his ruby eyes watching the obnoxious beta. "No lie alpha." Jisung sniffed as he looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry alpha. I'm very sorry. I didn't like seeing her in pain. It hurt. She looked frightened, I just wanted it to stop. I didn't think of the consequences." "Jisung." Chan sighed as he crouched down at the beta, stroking his sweaty hair. "I know you are sorry and I'm sorry me and Hyunjin frightened you, but you have to understand you could have killed her. Look, I won't force you away from her because I know you care about her too but I want you to prioritise your training for a month with Hyunjin." "Yes, yes. I will will work hard." Jisung perked up and the possible thought of getting to see the omega.

Chan nodded, patting his head once more before heading up to his bedroom to check on his omega, to his surprise was sat up and awake. Her brown hair was slightly dishevelled and her grey eyes were more ashy than usual. It made him a tad nervous. This was the first time he was really getting to speak to her and he wanted to do it properly. "Little wolf?" Chan called out as he edged slowly towards her. He could feel her sombre emotions and he wanted to know how to fix them. "You're more unlucky than me," Y/N spoke, a slight scoff falling from her lips. "the leader of Straykids who waited years for his mate gets so disappointed. All because she was a little tainted and a little marked. So disappointing." "Y/N." Chan warned carefully. He didn't like being spoken to like that. "It is true, is it not? You feel disappointed, disgusted in me. No wonder half of you do not like me." Y/N sung. She was irritated, angry and hurt, but so was Chan. "You misunderstand me and you misunderstand them." Chan snapped before heading down the stairs into the woods to phase. Chan's heart ripped into pieces as he felt her rejecting him. She didn't like him. Every time she looked at him she growled or bit his head off. Chan had never felt so insecure. It was like she had such a high opinion of him that was all wrong. Chan didn't know what to do at this point. He felt like giving up on her completely because deep down he didn't have it to force her to submit. He might appear cruel but his omega, he would never force her to like him. Chan shook his head and let out a screech, letting his heart shatter as he cried in his wolf form away from his pack. He would never allow them to see him like this, not ever.

What Chan didn't realise was that Hyunjin had heard the commotion in Chan's room and decided to pay the little omega a visit. He wanted to lay out some things with her because it seemed like none of the other wolves wanted to straighten her out and, well, Hyunjin was Hyunjin. Hyunjin merely wanted to find the root of the problem and he wondered if it was hidden somewhere between the Atteez and Straykids story. "You're not quite getting it are you omega," Hyunjin said lowly as he walked towards her. "Do you really believe Hongjoong is innocent or are you still pretending to be his innocent little omega?" Hyunjin crouched down in front of her placing his hands flat on either side of her on the bed, watching her. His face inches from hers. He knew the effect he was having on her, he could feel it. He was an interrogator for a reason. "You ran away. For what reason huh? You didn't like being his omega?" Hyunjin taunted as he watched her squirm under his gaze, keeping her eyes fixed on his, not letting her leave his trance. "You're not a mute omega. I've heard you speak, so answer the question, or we can play my little game." Hyunjin licked his lips, pressing his forehead against hers as she tried to cower from his gaze. "I left because they wanted me to conceive an apex," Y/N whispered, her voice shaking in fear. "See little omega. It's not such a hard question." Hyunjin taunted as he lifted his head from hers, snapping her out of his trance. "But you're still not telling me why you left." "Hongjoong lied to me. I wasn't his soul mate, him and Wooyoung had lied to me about what I was to them so they could produce an apex. They wanted me to go through the ritual and on that night Jongho let me go so I ran." Y/N answered in shame. "So little omega, why don't you use that smart little brain of yours and think about Chan again? If you outsmarted Honjoong then you are clever enough to know that Chan isn't the Chan you perceived, okay?" Hyunjin got up, folded his arms and looked down at the crying little omega. Hyunjin reached out and took a fist full of her hair, yanking her head up to look at him. His eyes burned into hers before he forced her head back down and left her alone in Chan's room.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Moves

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: loosely based off Suki Waterhouse's Moves. It was also supposed to be SMUT, but apparently that wasn't meant to be.

Author's note 2: y'all I meant to post this earlier but got distracted.

Summary: Y/n has had feelings for Andrew for a while now, and she's pretty sure he feels the same. Can one night change everything?

Warnings: unrequited love, but also, more requited than not.

She likes him – maybe its a little more than like, at this point. She adores the colour of his eyes, the way they’re green when its bright out, but then when they meet at dimly lit pubs or he hangs around late at night and neither of them bothers to turn on an overhead light, they’re this dark, hazel hue. She is thrilled by his laugh – not the polite courtesy chuckle he spares when someone tells a joke that isn’t even funny – she means that full bodied sound that erupts from his throat when they’re watching that one episode of that one show, the way he rocks backwards a little and rests his hand over his chest. And there’s something about the way he says her name too, that makes Y/n giddy inside, especially when she picks up his call late at night, while he’s on tour and the rest of the band is asleep but he can’t seem to keep his eyes shut without her voice being the last thing he hears before doing it.

Andrew told her that once;

"I don't think I could sleep if I tried....I need to talk to you first. Hear your voice so I can just...."

"Just what?"

He paused, hesitating, "nothing, I just like the way you sound. That's all."

Y/n could have sworn that it would have been the call that changed everything. She'd held her breath until around two am, when he finally yawned and said he was going to try to get some sleep.

He must feel the same, Y/n determined shortly after that. Because friends don’t sling their long arms around your shoulders, or kiss your forehead right after pulling you against them.

Friends don’t have moments where their lips get so close to the other’s that it won’t expend any real effort to make them to touch.

Andrew was the one to pull away that night and apologize profusely before blaming it on the liquor. She’s never told him, but she wishes he hadn’t. She thinks about it so painfully often that she swears the memory is burning a hole into her heart – the ache of what could've been, but isn’t.

Y/n is thinking about it tonight. They’re sitting on Andrew's back porch, a bottle of wine shared between them. The backyard is illuminated by the light over the wide, glass door that separates his kitchen from the deck, and the blue hued, inground lights that give the pool that sits between his house and the foliage bordering the woods a glacial glow. Off in the distance, she can hear crickets and the occasional rustle of some other, nocturnal creature moving through the trees.

The mood would be entirely romantic if it weren’t for the smell of barbeque and booze clinging to the thick, humid air. It's why they’re outside; its unusually warm and sticky for an Irish October, but Andrew has informed her its becoming typical for this time of the year. He also said that being outside helps, but Y/n thinks that was just an excuse for them to sit outside in hopes that the fresh air would sober them up.

But she doesn’t particularly mind – even if she’s been bitten by a couple mosquitoes.

Everyone else is long gone, and he'd asked her to stay back for a few more drinks while she helped him cram leftovers into his fridge. Its not unusual for her to be the only one left at his place – or vise versa – so Y/n is used to being alone in Andrew’s presence. In fact, she thinks she prefers when its just the pair of them, occupying a quiet space saying nothing but whatever pops into their somewhat inebriated minds;

“I read this poem that made me think of you.”

“I bought you a jacket, but I forgot to pack it.”

“Have you read that book I told you about?”

“Would you read this thing I wrote?” He asks after a couple hours of them going around in circles of menial chatter. Of late, everything Andrew writes is about her, and while he’s thought of telling her that more times than he can count, he can't seem to force the words out of his mouth. It isn’t even that he’s intimidated by her – that would be far too uncomplicated for an overthinker of his caliber. No.

He could never be intimidated by Y/n anyway; he’s known her for too long, too well. She’s the person that puts him most at ease; his heart doesn’t quicken when she touches his arm the way she’s touching it now as she says, “Of course, I’d love to.” In fact, the tick in his chest slows when she does that, he isn't nervous or worried or anything, he's just…. happy. And though her hands are usually so cold, Andrew swears there’s a tingle permeating the thin fabric of his grey Henley when she touches him.

Their eyes meet as Y/n promises to read what he’s written and she finds herself drawing in a shallow breath. There’s something else on the barest top of her liquor-stained tongue, but its refusing to break past her lips;

“I’ll read anything you write. I’d do anything for you, really.”

“Great, great,” Andrew beams suddenly, straightening his back before standing with purpose. “I’m gonna get it, wait here.” He doesn’t wait for Y/n to respond, not even with a nod, before disappearing into the house.

While he’s gone, Y/n tops off those sleek, stemless wine glasses with the remainder of the chilled Sauvignon Blanc and takes a sip of hers, hoping it’ll help combat the sticky heat that’s surrounding the property. She knows she probably shouldn't have anymore; her head is already fuzzy and there’s that tell tale film over her eyes. The one that makes lights stretch out like shooting stars and makes you feel like you're walking through a dream. Andrew must not be any better either, because he stumbled over all too familiar steps on his way back into the house.

“Got it,” he announces as he returns to the patio, raising the notebook over the head in triumph. Andrew is less than graceful when he retires next to her again, dropping the book into her lap. After a lengthy sip of his wine, he leans back onto his elbows. “It's the last thing in there,” his cheeks heat up, the dusty red colour creeping up his cheeks, towards his ears.

He’s a funny sort of drunk; chatty and able to make a joke of literally anything. He’s flirty too, yet somehow retaining his usual reserve. When they venture to pubs, he’ll flirt his way right into a one night stand without even realizing it, and then slink back to her side, rattling off an excuse involving the words, “ehm, well, she isn’t really my type.”

“Yeah? What is your type?” She’d ask, eyes challenging him.

He’ll look at her for a bit longer than usual, squirting his eyes a little as his waning smile fades completely. “Doesn’t matter,” he’ll eventually say dismissively, covering his words with a swing of his drink before changing the topic.

“Its not finished yet,” he mumbles as Y/n finds the page.

“It looks finished,” Y/n frowns, looking down at the way he’s signed the bottom of the page, the way he usually does after scrawling out the final words.

Andrew shakes his head, “ehm, I mean….the idea. I’m not done with the idea.”

“Oh.” They lapse into easy silence when she starts reading, meticulously scanning every line, barely restraining herself from ghosting her thumb over his hurried, untidy penmanship. Y/n can feel Andrew’s eyes on her as she reads. He's still laid back and propped on one elbow as he steadily sips his wine while she tries to get her hazy mind to comprehend everything on the page.

Its a love song or a profession – or she’s pretty fucking drunk and has lost all ability to to comprehend words.

No, its definitely a confession. A beautifully written one. Of course everything he writes is always much akin to poetry; but with this, every word is strung together like tiny bulbs in a reel of fairy lights. Each one in perfect harmony with the other. They’re carefully chosen, as if just one were missing its entire, delicate balance would be pitched into uncertainty.

“Andrew….” He sits up, draining the last of his wine as she lifts her head from the page.

“Is it bad? The worst fuckin’ thing I’ve ever written?” He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he flashes her a lopsided smile.

“It's beautiful,” Y/n rasps, suddenly feeling like the air’s been knocked from her chest, or like she’s been running too fast. There’s something besides the night’s oppressive heat surrounding them, something fragile and precious. Part of her wants to say something else, she can see on his face that he’s aching for more, but Y/n is absolutely terrified that if she does, it’ll be the wrong thing and the moment will be shattered into a million little pieces, scattered across the forests behind his house by an unexpected breeze, the way it happened on a night all too similar to this one.

“But?” Andrew is the one that dares to speak, the word uttered softly and with the weight of reproach clinging to its single syllable.

God, what if he’s ruined everything? What if the reason he’s never been able to tell Y/n the way he feels is because a morsel deep within him knows she doesn’t return his feelings. Andrew doesn’t even know if she’s interested in a relationship – or anything adjacent – right now, she doesn’t talk about going on dates and or fancying anyone.

What if the reason she never talks about other men is because she’s somehow gathered how he feels and is trying to protect him from the hurt? That would be awfully cruel, but he supposes it's the kindest thing she can do without ruining their friendship.

“But….” Right before her, in a matter of seconds, a dozen emotions cross Andrew's face and Y/n realizes that, if she’d been in front of a mirror the night he told her he likes hearing her voice before he goes to sleep, this is what she might have seen reflected in it. That cautious hope, with a bit of fear sprinkled in.

Upon realizing that there's no ‘perfect’ thing to say, Y/n hastily leans forward and rests her lips on his, in a chaste, close-mouthed kiss. He’s shocked at first, she can feel it in the way he stiffens. But after another couple breaths spent like that, Andrew wraps an arm around her, flattening his palm on the center of her back. As he relaxes, Y/n deepens the kiss, deserting the book in her lap to cup his face. His beard tickles the inside of her hands, just like she’s always imagined it would, and his tongue and lips are sweet with the wine’s fruity notes.

When they break, faces only inches apart, Andrew lets out a shaking breath while Y/n holds onto hers. “God….I don’t think I would’ve ever done that,” he admits, shoulders rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths.

Sometimes he wishes he had her courage, but most times, he’s glad its hers.

A hint of a smile tugs at her kiss-swollen lips. “I know,” she laughs softly, the sound airy and musical.

Her eyes are twinkling, like two stars plucked from right over the vast bed of darkness hung over their heads. Andrew is certain that no two stars have ever shone brighter, so its fitting that they belong to her – the most dazzling person he knows. Setting his glass down, he lifts his free hand to her cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing her lips. “I’ve been thinking about it for a damn long time,” he admits. It's hard for him to put a definite number to it, it might as well have been very soon after they met.

“Me too,” Y/n rests her hand over his wrist, offering it an affectionate squeeze.

“I think…..” he trails off, struggling to keep a firm grip on his thoughts. His imagination is running a little wild right now; his mind is already churning out thoughts of his future as it changes shape. It's funny to him how one thing can change everything else.

One kiss, and he swears he’s seeing the rest of his life. Holding it.

“Sshh, we don’t have to talk about it tonight,” Y/n whispers. Talking complicates – they’ve been talking for too damn long anyway, and knowing Andrew, his brain is already three weeks ahead of him. Its sweet actually, because every plan she’s made for her future has been built around him, and now suddenly, he’s doing the same thing. “Lets just….”

“Just what?”

“Do this,” in an instant, Y/n closes the space between them again and seals her lips over Andrew’s. That time, he responds immediately, pulling her against him until the only thing left for her to do is slide her leg over his thighs and shuffle into his lap, pressing her chest to his and draping one arm over his shoulder while she keeps her other against his cheek. The way his beard scratches the area around her mouth makes her smile, and she thinks its something she'll get used to quickly.

All of it is so close to being as commonplace his arm slung around her shoulders and the sound of his voice coming through her phone while there’s a timezone and entire ocean between them. The way his mouth moves against hers, the heat of his hands as they hold onto her waist, the sound of his voice as he says;

“I’m glad you stayed.”

[enemiestolovershoe]

Hiii glad youre feeling better. I would love an angsty enemies to lovers with Noah Sebastian!

Maybe they finally confess their love accidentally during an argument after one too many drinks while on tour.

Unintentional Rivalry

Noah Sebastian x fem!reader

Enemies to Lovers / Band AU

Summary: Y/N has worked with Bad Omens for three years, never getting along with Noah. But one reckless, alcohol-fueled night changes everything.

Words: 5,6k

Warnings: Use of y/n, not proofread, alcohol, shouting and fighting, crying, making out, the other band members watch everything, lmk if i forgot something.

3 years ago

You hadn’t always been a die-hard Bad Omens fan. In fact, your journey to working for the band was purely by chance, the kind of thing that made you believe in fate—or sheer dumb luck. Three years ago, you were just another person looking for a way into the music industry, taking odd jobs here and there. Your friend had been a tour manager for another band when she called you up in a frenzy one day.

"Hey, you’re good with merch stuff, right? Like, sales and all that?"

You’d laughed because you were good—numbers, organization, talking to fans, you nailed it every time. That day, your friend explained how Bad Omens was looking for someone reliable to run their merch stand for the remainder of their tour, and they were desperate. You said yes because why not? A job’s a job.

You showed up the next day, met the crew, and got right to work. It didn’t take long for you to impress Nick Folio, Nicholas Ruffilo, and Jolly. They liked you right off the bat. Folio, always the outgoing one, made a point of befriending you first.

“Hey, merch girl!” he’d shouted from across the venue that first week, a big grin plastered on his face. “You’re killing it over there—fans are going nuts. You’re like the merch stand whisperer.”

You’d snorted at the nickname but accepted the praise. Folio was easy to talk to, always joking around and offering snacks between sets. Ruffilo, on the other hand, was the chill one, the guy who offered you tips on how to organize displays better, like he genuinely cared. And then there was Jolly—quiet but warm, the kind of guy who didn’t talk much but could communicate a thousand words with just a look.

Before long, you weren’t just a “random hire.” You were part of the family.

Everyone… except Noah Sebastian.

From the first day you met him, there had been tension. He’d given you a once-over when you’d arrived, dark eyes full of skepticism, and muttered something like, “Hope you can keep up.”

You were nothing if not stubborn, so you’d bitten back: “Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

That exchange had set the tone for your relationship. Noah always seemed cold, distant, like you’d somehow offended him by existing. You, in turn, found yourself getting increasingly defensive whenever he was around, snapping at his sarcastic comments or rolling your eyes whenever he brushed past you like you were in his way.

But it didn’t matter. You weren’t there to win Noah over; you were there to do your job. And you were good at it.

Present Day

The night after a packed show in some city you’d already forgotten the name of, Folio approached you as you packed up the merch stand.

“You done?” he asked, leaning against the wall with an easy grin, his arms crossed.

“Almost,” you replied, folding up the last few shirts and tossing them into a bin. “Why? Need something?”

“Yeah, you to stop being a hermit,” Folio joked. “We’re hitting up a bar. You should come.”

You glanced at him skeptically. “A bar? After that show? Don’t you guys want to sleep for a week?”

“Nah, it’s not that serious. Just some drinks, some billiards, maybe a little karaoke if I can convince Ruffilo,” Folio said, nudging you with his elbow. “Come on. You work your ass off—come have fun for once.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but smiled. It was hard to say no to Folio, especially when he pulled the whole “you deserve it” card.

“Fine,” you relented, pointing a finger at him. “But if you get me drunk, you’re carrying me back to the bus.”

Folio laughed. “Deal. I’ll even princess-carry you if you want.”

When you walked into the bar with the guys, the atmosphere was lively but not overwhelming. Music played softly in the background, and groups of people were scattered across booths and tables. Folio immediately headed toward the bar, dragging you with him to order drinks, while Jolly and Nicholas found a pool table in the corner.

You settled on a simple drink and found yourself relaxing as you took it all in. It was nice to unwind after weeks of nonstop travel and work.

“Hey, you’re smiling,” Folio teased, nudging your shoulder. “I knew you’d have fun.”

“Calm down. I’ve been here for five minutes,” you shot back, but you were grinning.

A voice cut through your small exchange like a blade: “I’m shocked she even agreed to come out.”

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Noah.

You spun on your heel, drink in hand, and fixed him with a glare. He stood a few feet away, dressed in black like always, his dark hair messy and falling into his face. He had that same unreadable look in his eyes, the one that always seemed to irritate you.

“Why wouldn’t I come out?” you challenged, raising a brow. “It’s not like I’m the one who locks himself in the bus after every show.”

Noah smirked, a slow, lazy curve of his lips that only made you want to throw your drink at him. “Yeah? Didn’t think you could stand to be around me that long.”

You scoffed. “Trust me, you’re not that special.”

Folio groaned, stepping between you both with his hands up like a referee. “Okay, okay, can you two not start?” he sighed. “We’re here to have fun, remember?”

You crossed your arms but stayed quiet, shooting Noah one last glare before turning back to the bar.

Noah, however, didn’t walk away. He ordered a drink for himself and leaned against the bar a few feet away from you, like he was challenging you with his very presence.

You ignored him, choosing instead to focus on Folio’s rambling story about something dumb Nicholas had done earlier that day. You tried to act like Noah wasn’t there, but you could feel him. It was like the air shifted whenever he was close—tense, electric, and utterly irritating.

What the hell was his problem with you anyway?

And why did it bother you so much?

The night wore on, and despite Noah’s presence, you found yourself enjoying the evening. Jolly destroyed Nicholas at pool while Folio attempted (and failed) to get someone to join him for karaoke. You stayed near the bar, chatting with Nicholas when he wandered over, the two of you laughing over a drink.

It wasn’t until you turned to grab your jacket that you noticed Noah watching you from across the room. His gaze was unreadable, intense in a way that made you pause for half a second. But before you could react, he looked away, like nothing had happened.

You shook it off.

Noah Sebastian was the last person you needed to worry about.

Or so you told yourself.

You didn’t mean to overdo it. You weren’t even a heavy drinker most of the time. But something about tonight made you want to let loose, to forget about the stress of work, the tension with Noah, and the constant grind of being on the road. Folio was laughing at your flushed cheeks as you waved down the bartender for a another round.

“Whoa there, champ,” Folio teased, nudging you. “Didn’t you say I’d have to carry you back if you got drunk?”

“Still applies,” you shot back with a grin, your words already a little looser than usual. “Better start working out, Folio.”

Nicholas laughed from across the booth, raising his drink in mock salute. “She’s gonna drink us under the table, man. Watch out.”

“I can handle it,” you declared, taking another sip, the alcohol warming your veins. For once, you felt light, unbothered. The tension you usually carried in your shoulders started to melt away.

Even Noah’s occasional glances from the other end of the VIP booth didn’t bother you—at first.

But as the drinks kept coming, and the conversations around the table grew louder, you found yourself growing more aware of him. Every time he said something, you heard it. Every time he shifted in his seat, you noticed. And every time his low laugh rumbled through the air, you hated the way it tugged at your attention.

Why did he always have to be there?

“Alright,” Folio announced, clapping his hands together. “I’m getting another drink. Who’s in?”

“Pass,” Jolly said, leaning back in the booth with a small smile. “I’m too old for this.”

“Ruffilo?”

“Already got one.” Nicholas raised his glass, grinning.

Folio turned to you expectantly. “What about you, heavyweight?”

“Let’s do it,” you said, standing with a little more enthusiasm than necessary.

You followed Folio to the bar, and while you waited for the bartender, you felt a presence beside you.

Of course.

Noah leaned casually against the bar, his dark eyes flicking to you as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Didn’t think you were the type to cut loose,” he remarked, his tone dripping with that familiar sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, already feeling your patience thinning. “Didn’t think you were the type to talk to me unless you had to.”

Noah smirked. “Just making an observation.”

“Don’t,” you shot back, turning your attention to the bartender.

But Noah didn’t leave. He stayed there, sipping his drink and watching you with that infuriating, unreadable expression.

“You sure you can handle all those drinks?” he asked after a moment.

You turned to him, your irritation bubbling to the surface. “What is your problem, Noah? Seriously. Do you get some kind of thrill out of bothering me?”

“My problem?” he repeated, his smirk fading. “You think I’m the problem here?”

“Yes, I do,” you snapped. “From day one, you’ve been cold, rude, and completely insufferable. I don’t know what your issue is with me, but I’m done pretending it doesn’t bother me.”

Noah’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. “You think I’m rude? You waltzed in here three years ago like you owned the place, acting like you knew everything, like you deserved to be here.”

“Because I worked my ass off to be here,” you countered, your voice rising. “Unlike you, I wasn’t handed everything on a silver platter.”

Noah’s face twisted, and for a moment, you thought he might actually yell at you. But instead, he leaned in closer, his voice low and cutting. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. And trust me, if anyone didn’t deserve to be here, it’s you.”

Your stomach dropped, the weight of his words hitting harder than you expected. But instead of backing down, you laughed bitterly, the alcohol fueling your courage.

“Wow. You’re such an asshole, Noah,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t know what I ever did to you, but—”

“Maybe it’s not what you did,” Noah interrupted, his voice sharper now. “Maybe it’s what you are. A fake. A wannabe. Someone who only got this job because their friend pulled strings.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the noise of the bar seemed to fade.

“What did you just say?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“You heard me,” Noah said, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve been riding everyone else’s coattails since the day you got here. You don’t belong in this world, and you never will.”

“That’s enough,” Folio cut in, stepping between you two with a frown. “What the hell is going on?”

But you barely heard him.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you said, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to hold it together.

“Don’t I?” Noah shot back. “I know enough. I know about your little reputation before you got here. How you burned through jobs like they were nothing. How you—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, your vision blurring as tears threatened to fall. “You don’t know what I went through. You don’t know why—”

“Hey!” Nicholas’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. “That’s enough, both of you.”

But it was too late. The damage was done.

You couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over as you turned away, shoving past Noah and the others to get out of the booth. You didn’t care where you went—you just needed to get away.

“Shit,” Folio muttered, standing up to follow you. But Nicholas stopped him, shaking his head.

“Let her go,” Nicholas said quietly. Then he turned to Noah, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?”

Noah didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring after you, his glass forgotten on the table.

The cold air slapped you in the face as you shoved the bar door open, your breath hitching with sobs you couldn’t hold back. Tears streamed down your face, hot against the chill of the night. You stumbled toward the lot, the alcohol finally taking hold and making your vision blur.

But none of that compared to the embarrassment. The anger. The pain.

You knew they’d heard it. You’d seen their faces when you glanced back—Nick’s brow furrowed, Folio looking ready to intervene, Jolly frozen in disbelief. And Noah? He just kept throwing verbal jabs like they weren’t all sitting right there in the booth, listening.

Your chest tightened as you stumbled to the far edge of the lot, far enough away that you couldn’t hear the muffled music leaking out of the bar anymore. You sank onto the cold pavement, wrapping your arms around yourself as the tears came harder, shaking your entire body.

“You don’t belong here. You never will.”

His words echoed in your mind, sharper than any blade. You’d worked so hard to earn your place, and yet, in one drunken argument, Noah had reduced you to nothing. And the rest of the band had heard every. Single. Word.

Your stomach twisted painfully. They probably agreed with him. Maybe they’d always thought you didn’t belong and just never said it out loud.

You pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to stop the onslaught of thoughts, but it was no use. You were too far gone—hurt, humiliated, and drowning in the aftermath of the fight.

The bar door opened again, spilling voices into the quiet night.

“She came this way,” Folio’s voice was loud, clear.

“Do you think she’s okay?” Nicholas‘ tone was softer but laced with concern.

“She’s not okay, Nick,” Jolly said simply. “How could she be after that?”

You bit your lip hard, willing yourself to stay silent as their voices grew closer.

And then, “There she is!”

Folio was the first to reach you, crouching in front of you with a mix of relief and worry on his face. “Hey, Y/N. What are you doing out here? You’re freezing.”

You looked away, trying to wipe at your face. “Go back inside,” you muttered, your voice hoarse. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he said firmly, his brows drawing together. “What the hell happened back there?”

“I think we all know what happened,” Nick cut in as he and Jolly caught up, standing a few feet away. “The real question is, why the hell did Noah go that far?”

At the sound of Noah’s name, your chest tightened all over again, and fresh tears welled up in your eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Y/N,” Folio said softly, “you don’t have to protect him. We heard everything.”

Your breath hitched, and you turned your face away. “Exactly,” you said bitterly, your voice breaking. “You heard it. All of it. So just… save the lecture. I know what you’re going to say.”

Nick frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“That I don’t belong here,” you snapped, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “That he’s right. That I shouldn’t have been here in the first place—”

“Whoa, whoa, stop,” Folio interrupted, his voice sharp. “You seriously think we feel that way?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” you shot back, your voice cracking. “He clearly does. And maybe he’s right! Maybe I’m just some fraud who got lucky. Maybe—”

“Y/N, stop,” Jolly said, his calm voice cutting through your spiral. “You’re not a fraud. And Noah’s wrong—completely, absolutely wrong.”

You blinked up at him, your vision blurred with tears. “Then why does he hate me so much?”

Folio ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Honestly? I don’t think he hates you. I think he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to handle his feelings.”

“Feelings?” you repeated bitterly, shaking your head. “What feelings? He’s made it perfectly clear that he wants nothing to do with me.”

Nick crouched beside Folio, his expression softening. “Noah’s not as tough as he pretends to be. That doesn’t excuse what he said, but… he’s a mess. Always has been.”

Before you could respond, the bar door opened again, and you froze.

Noah.

He walked out slowly, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his shoulders tense. He glanced toward the group, his dark eyes locking with yours for a moment before flicking away.

“Oh, look,” Folio muttered, his tone sharp. “The man of the hour.”

Noah hesitated, his mouth opening like he wanted to say something, but Nick beat him to it.

“Do you even realize what you just did?” Nick snapped, standing and crossing his arms.

“I—”

“No, let me finish,” Nick interrupted, his voice growing louder. “She’s been nothing but good to us—good to you—and you sit there and tear her apart in front of everyone? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Noah’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

Jolly shook his head. “We all heard it, Noah. Every word. And you’re lucky she hasn’t told you to fuck off for good.”

“I didn’t mean…” Noah started, but the words faltered. He glanced at you again, his gaze softening. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.”

You scoffed, standing up on shaky legs. “Well, congratulations, because you did. And I’m done.”

“Y/N, wait—”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice trembling but steady. “I’m done trying to prove myself to you. If you hate me so much, fine. But don’t pretend you’re sorry now, because I don’t buy it.“ Your legs wouldn’t move, and honestly, you didn’t want them to. Instead, you stood rooted to the spot, staring at the cracked pavement beneath your boots. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you fought to control the tears that kept coming, your breath shuddering in the cold.

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. No one spoke, and no one moved, though you could feel their eyes on you—Folio’s concerned, Nick’s fuming, Jolly’s quietly calculating. And then there was Noah.

You didn’t have to look to know he was still standing there, just a few feet away. You could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze pressing against you. But you didn’t dare lift your head, didn’t dare let him see how broken you felt.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of music coming from the bar, and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.

And then, softly, there was the sound of footsteps.

You tensed as they got closer, the familiar weight of a jacket settling on your shoulders. You looked up, startled, as Noah stood in front of you, his face unreadable in the dim light.

“Here,” he said quietly. “You’re freezing.”

You stared at him, confused. His tone wasn’t harsh or dismissive like it had been earlier. If anything, he sounded… apologetic.

“Why do you care?” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Noah didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed the gap between you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The world seemed to still as he held you, his warmth cutting through the cold that had seeped into your bones. His touch was firm yet careful, as if he was afraid you’d push him away.

The rest of the band froze, their expressions ranging from shock to confusion.

“Uh…” Folio broke the silence, his voice trailing off as he exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Nick.

But no one said anything else. Not yet.

“I’m sorry,” Noah murmured against your hair, his voice so low that only you could hear it. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was drunk and stupid, and I—” He stopped, exhaling shakily. “I fucked up.”

You blinked, your tears still falling but slower now. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process this sudden shift in him.

“You… you can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be fine,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I know,” he said quickly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His hands rested lightly on your arms, his dark gaze softer than you’d ever seen it. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—I needed you to know that I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. But all you saw was regret.

“Why?” you asked finally, your voice trembling. “Why did you say it?”

Noah swallowed hard, his eyes flicking away for a moment before returning to yours. “Because I’m an idiot,” he admitted. “Because I don’t know how to deal with… with you. You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart pounding in your chest. “Noah…”

“I’m not saying it’s an excuse,” he added quickly. “Because it’s not. I was wrong, and I hurt you, and I hate that I hurt you. But I’m trying to fix it. Please… let me try.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken emotions.

Behind you, Nick cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “Uh, not to interrupt or anything, but… what the hell is going on right now?”

Folio elbowed him hard, muttering, “Shut up, dude.”

Jolly just raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as he watched the scene unfold.

You glanced over your shoulder at the band, feeling their eyes on you, and suddenly the weight of the moment hit you all over again. “I… I don’t know if I can do this right now,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at Noah.

For a moment, his face fell, but he nodded, taking a step back. “That’s okay,” he said softly, his voice laced with a quiet resignation. “I get it. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.”

You stood there, frozen, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t know what to say, what to think. But when he stepped back, the warmth of his presence suddenly fading, something inside you snapped.

Before you could stop yourself, you surged forward, wrapping your arms tightly around him. Your head buried into his chest as you held on, your fingers clutching at his jacket like it was the only thing grounding you.

Noah stiffened for half a second before his arms came around you again, even tighter this time. He cradled you against him, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. “Y/N…” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he held you.

“I don’t understand you,” you whispered into his chest, your words muffled but raw. “One second you hate me, the next… this. I don’t know what to do.”

Noah pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his hands still resting on your back. His gaze was soft now, all the sharp edges gone, replaced with something warm and vulnerable. “I’ve never hated you,” he said quietly. “Not for a second.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “That’s not what it felt like.”

“I know,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “And that’s on me. I… I didn’t know how to deal with how I felt about you, so I pushed you away. I thought if I kept my distance, if I made it seem like I didn’t care, it would go away. But it didn’t. It never did.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t just care about you,” Noah said, his voice soft but steady. “I—God, this is so fucking hard to say.” He let out a shaky laugh, his hands tightening slightly on your back. “I’m in love with you, Y/N. I have been for a long time.”

The world seemed to stop at his words, your breath catching in your throat.

“When you joined the tour, I told myself it was just a crush. That it’d go away,” he continued, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection. “But it didn’t. Every time I saw you laughing with Nick, or working your ass off at the merch stand, or just… being you, it only got worse. And it scared the hell out of me.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. “So you… what? Decided to treat me like shit instead?”

Noah winced, his face crumpling. “I know. I’m an idiot. A coward. I thought it’d be easier to push you away than to risk feeling something I couldn’t control. But I was wrong. So fucking wrong.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion in his eyes—it broke down the walls you’d built to protect yourself.

“Noah,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Why didn’t you just… tell me?”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Because I thought you hated me. I mean, I gave you every reason to. Hell, I deserved it. But I couldn’t stop myself. I kept thinking if I just pushed hard enough, I’d convince myself that I didn’t care. That it didn’t matter.”

“But it did,” you whispered, the weight of his confession settling over you.

“It always mattered,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “And I know I’ve ruined this, that you probably don’t feel the same way, but I had to tell you. I had to try. Because the thought of losing you for good? It’s worse than anything else I’ve ever felt.”

Your chest tightened as his words sank in, every bit of anger and confusion dissolving under the weight of his sincerity.

“I thought you hated me,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “This whole time, I thought you hated me.”

Noah’s face crumpled further, his eyes glistening. “I could never hate you, Y/N. Not even if I tried. And believe me, I tried.”

A watery laugh escaped you, and you shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks again. “You’re so fucking stupid,” you said, but there was no venom in your voice—only a soft disbelief.

“I know,” he said, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “The stupidest.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the world around you fading away. And then, slowly, you reached up, your hands resting on his chest. “You’re an idiot,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “But… I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Noah’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he searched your face for any hint of doubt. “You… you mean that?”

You nodded, your heart pounding. “I mean it. And I hate how long it took for us to get here, but… yeah. I love you, Noah.”

He let out a shaky laugh, his forehead dropping to yours. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“Well, now you know,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the tears still lingering in your eyes.

Noah smiled, too, his hands cradling your face gently. “I’m going to make it up to you,” he said firmly. “For all of it. For everything I said, everything I did. I’m going to make sure you never feel like you don’t belong again. You belong, Y/N. With the band. With me. Always.”

Your chest swelled at his words, and for the first time that night, the cold didn’t feel so overwhelming.

“Don’t screw it up,” you whispered, your lips twitching into a teasing smile.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice soft but steady. “Not ever again.” The world narrowed to just the two of you. The warmth of Noah’s hands cupping your face, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch—it was like nothing else mattered. But as you stood there, the quiet around you began to sink in.

You weren’t alone.

Slowly, you glanced over Noah’s shoulder, and sure enough, the band was still there. Nick stood with his arms crossed, one eyebrow arched in confusion. Folio had a barely-contained grin stretching across his face, while Jolly’s stoic expression betrayed just the slightest hint of amusement.

“Well, this is… unexpected,” Nick said, breaking the silence with his usual dry humor. “Do you guys need a private moment, or should we start charging admission for this?”

“Shut up, Nick,” Noah shot back, though his tone lacked its usual bite. His hands dropped from your face, but he didn’t move away, his body still angled protectively toward you.

“I mean, don’t stop on our account,” Folio chimed in, a wide grin plastered across his face. “This is better than any soap opera I’ve ever seen.”

Your cheeks burned, and you ducked your head, biting back an embarrassed laugh. But before you could say anything, Noah’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours with a firmness that made your heart skip.

“Alright, enough,” Noah said, his voice firm but not harsh. “This is between me and Y/N.”

“Sure it is,” Nick said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment. “But in case you forgot, we’ve been standing here for, oh, I don’t know, the entire time.”

Jolly finally spoke up, his voice calm but tinged with humor. “So… does this mean the rivalry is officially over?”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound breaking some of the tension. “I guess you could say that,” you said, glancing up at Noah.

“Yeah,” Noah agreed, his eyes soft as they met yours. “No more rivalry.”

Nick groaned, throwing his hands up. “Great. Just great. Now what am I supposed to make fun of during the tour?”

“Don’t worry, Nick,” Folio said with a laugh. “I’m sure they’ll give us plenty of new material.”

Before you could respond, Noah leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it made your heart ache.

“I mean it,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I’m going to make this work. You and me. No more bullshit.”

You nodded, your chest tightening. “Me too,” you whispered.

Noah smiled, the kind of smile that made your knees feel weak, and then, without any warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

At first, it was soft, sweet, and tentative, as if he was still testing the waters. But the moment your hands found their way to his jacket, tugging him closer, it deepened. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him as the kiss grew more intense, more urgent.

The world faded again, the sounds of the bar and the cold night air melting into the background. All you could feel was him—his warmth, his strength, the way his lips moved against yours like he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

“Okay, seriously, what the hell is happening right now?” Nick’s voice cut through the haze, dragging you both back to reality.

You pulled away, breathless, your face flushing as you turned to see the band staring at you like they’d just witnessed something out of a rom-com.

“This is happening,” Noah said firmly, his arm still around you as he shot Nick a look. “So get used to it.”

Folio laughed, clapping his hands together. “I can’t believe this. I mean, I can, but still. This is wild.”

Jolly just nodded, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “About time,” he said simply.

Nick groaned again, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. I’m going to need a minute to process this.”

“You’ll live,” Noah said, rolling his eyes before looking back down at you. His expression softened instantly, the intensity from before replaced with a quiet, almost shy tenderness. “You okay?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low. “Because I’m not letting this go. Not now, not ever.”

Folio pretended to gag, earning a glare from Noah and a laugh from you.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Nick said, already heading toward the bus. “Let’s get out of here before someone calls the cops on us for public indecency.”

As the band started to walk off, Noah turned back to you, his hand still intertwined with yours. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice soft but serious.

You squeezed his hand, meeting his gaze with a newfound confidence. “I’m sure,” you said. “No more running. No more pretending.”

Noah’s smile was radiant, and for the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Together.

[fuji09]

Stiles Stilinski isn't as... UNCARING as you think.

Part 1 of my "[character] isn't as..." series.

There are many things Stiles has said that gets used against him. Stiles uses humor and sarcasm as coping mechanisms.

We all know he has severe trauma like:

Losing his mom to an illness that made her not herself anymore and think her own son was trying to hurt her as she slowly wasted away.

Being physically attacked by his mom during a moment where she swore he wasn't her son and was trying to hurt her.

He watched her die in her hospital room while alone with her because his dad had to work.

The constant fear of losing his dad and trying to control anything he can, like what his dad eats to try to keep him healthy and alive for a long time.

The constant fear of losing his dad while he's on the job so he listens in on his dad's police calls, not only to be nosy but to know what his dad is dealing with and if he's in danger.

Living with his dad drinking too much after his mom dies and feeling like everything is his fault.

Seeing a dead body and thinking it was his dad for a minute until the sheriff finally appeared.

The constant fear of losing his only best friend Scott.

The fear in the back of his mind that he might get the illness that killed his mother.

Almost being killed by Scott multiple times when he first turned. (Not bashing Scott, just stating a fact)

Almost having to cut off Derek's arm.

His relationship with his dad slowly deteriorating because he has to lie and keep the secret about the supernatural, not only to protect Scott and Derek, but to try to keep his dad safe.

Finding Lydia bitten by Peter and when he tries to help her, Peter won't allow it and forces Stiles to go with him (abducting Stiles) to use him to find Derek.

Having Chris shove him against the wall and antagonizing him and Stiles mouths off about how the Argents killed Derek's family.

Being paralyzed twice by the Kanima and the first time it happened he was having to see and listen to a guy slowly die by being crushed by a car lift that his jeep is on.

Holding Derek up in the pool for 2 hours when Derek was paralyzed.

Almost drowning with Derek in the pool.

Erica bashing him on the head with a part from his jeep and he wakes up in a dumpster.

Feeling guilty when his dad is forced to stop being sheriff for a while because of all the supernatural shit which made him look incompetent.

Having to punch Derek awake multiple times.

Constantly harassed by Mr. Harris during class.

Abducted by Gerald and taken to the Argents basement where Erica and Boys are being tortured. Gerard beats the shit out of Stiles.

Almost losing his dad to the Darach.

Trying to keep Cora alive while she's dying from mistletoe poisoning.

Having reality slowly slip away from him, not knowing whether he's asleep or not, and having night terrors.

Thinking he got the illness that killed his mom (he literally had to live for a bit thinking he was going to die within a few years!) when it was really the nogitsune.

Being chipped away at and possessed by the nogitsune.

Living with the knowledge of what really happened with Scott's dad leaving and never telling Scott.

Committing himself to Eichen House to try to keep his loved ones safe but putting himself in danger and in a very toxic environment.

Being put into solitary confinement and sedated when he was trying to stay awake to keep the nogitsune from getting full control.

His first time having sex and it's not even really him doing it but the nogitsune, so he didn't really get to truly consent.

Almost having a hole drilled into his head in the Eichen House basement by his roommate.

Having guns and various weapons pointed at him.

Thinking Derek is dead multiple times.

Seeing multiple dead bodies.

Being infected during their SATs with some unknown illness.

Having a gun shoved against his forehead as his teacher counts to 3, saying if he doesn't tell him where his friends are he's going to pull the trigger and kill Stiles. Stiles stands there refusing to give in.

Stiles' teacher was shot right in front of him, blood splattered on his face and he thinks for a moment that he was shot. Then he sees Scott's dad who killed the teacher.

Taken hostage with Lydia by the Eichen House orderly Brunski and tied up in the basement and was almost murdered.

Stiles seeing Derek is dying in Mexico and he wants to stay with him but Derek insists he go save Scott, Stiles is trying to choose which to do but Derek tells him to go so he does, knowing Derek will be dead before he gets back.

Donovan attacking Stiles in the school parking lot and bites his shoulder. Then chases Stiles into the school library, trying to kill him and threatening to kill the sheriff once he's done with Stiles.

Stiles accidentally killing Donovan. It wasn't even self defense, it was an accident. Stiles pulled a clip to release polls to keep Donovan away from him but ended up with Donovan getting impaled.

Feeling guilty and scared about Donovan's death and worried someone will find out.

Theo blacking mailing Stiles.

Feeling like his worst fear of losing Scott was happening during the confrontation when Scott thought Stiles murdered Donovan and Stiles thought Scott saw his self-defense (technically accident) as murder.

Almost losing his dad when he was shot.

Being forgotten by everyone because he was taken by the Ghost Riders. Which was made even worse by him calling Scott and Scott had no idea who Stiles was and then Stiles finds his dad, thinks for a moment his dad remembers him, then his dad asks him who he is.

Being stuck where the Ghost Riders took him, some train station, and he's stuck with Peter.

Being shot in the foot.

I'm sure there's more I'm forgetting, but clearly Stiles has been through way too much in such a short period of time.

Stiles cares, he cares deeply, kinda to the point of too much. He neglects himself, his wants and needs, to take care of his loved ones. The guy would literally die for his dad, Scott, and Derek.

He lets himself hurt to protect his friends, he goes into fights when he is a human who has no powers but he doesn't hesitate to fight with his friends. He never tells Scott about Gerard kidnapping him and hurting him because he refused to be a message to Scott.

Stiles jokes about killing or letting Jackson, Derek, and Peter die. He doesn't actually mean it (except maybe a tiny bit with Peter, which is fair). He doesn't want anyone to die. He doesn't want to actually kill anyone. He jokes and is sarcastic as a coping mechanism.

He also keeps everyone at arm's length. Even his dad and Scott. He's got abandonment issues and he protects himself by not letting anyone in too much. He talks a lot but he doesn't actually say much. Gives the illusion that's he's an open person but he's really not.

Stiles says inconsiderate things, yes that is true. But what better way to keep people from getting too close than being a dick sometimes? Stiles isn't an asshole, but he can and does act like an asshole sometimes.

With his loved ones, he's loyal af too. Even when he doesn't agree with the plan, he stays loyal. Stiles cares a lot about the people he loves. He wants to protect them and keep them safe. He may not care about everywhere, which is fair, but he does his best to protect people. He will even stand in front of werewolves to try to protect them even though he is the squishy human.

Stiles has a lot of feelings that he shows, but he also has a lot of feelings that he doesn't show. He puts everyone's feelings before his own.

Stiles seems to always feel guilty about something. Usually stuff dealing with his mom or dad.

I see people saying how callous Stiles is but he's really not. Yes, he can be cruel if he wants to be, if someone really hurts him, but he isn't an uncaring person. He's a pretty sensitive guy who puts on an uncaring front.

[kitchenisking]

Day 6

No Refunds or Exchanges by badwolfbadwolf  - (Rating: Mature, Words: 18,916, sterek)

Stiles is the newest deputy in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, and has maybe just been a little in love with Derek Hale since Stiles had made a fool of himself in front of him at the SD summer picnic a few years ago. Being married to him—only for the sake of not getting deported—is going to suck in new and unusual ways.

Survival of the Species by Lissadiane  - (Rating: Explicit , Words: 19,370, sterek)

“I think I’m dying.” Nothing makes sense – and now Derek has left him.

“No, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton says grimly, rooting around in his special cupboard of herbs and remedies. “I’m afraid not. You’re merely suffering from a biological imperative to bear your alpha’s children and strengthen the pack.”

Stiles considers that for a moment, as best he can with his mind a hazy mess, and then he says quietly, “I think that might be worse.”

“So, so much worse,” Scott agrees. * In which Derek's pack is apparently stable enough to begin planning for the future, and somehow, the universe has decided Stiles is the perfect candidate to bear his alpha's children.

Imagine Me And You by callunavulgari, hiza-chan (callunavulgari) - (Rating: T, Words: 16,080, sterek)

“My name,” the kid tells Derek, sounding amused. “It’s Stiles. I figure if I’m going to wrestle a complete stranger for a pumpkin the least I can do is offer my name afterwards.”

“Stiles,” Derek tries, testing the way the name sits on his tongue. “I’m Derek.”

“Derek,” Stiles breathes, like he’s testing the weight of the name too. He grins, bright and blinding, which Derek guesses means that he likes the sound of it. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but since we almost got to second base a minute ago, I’d say we’re past that point.”

Bitten Saved Pack by TheRealDanniX - (Rating: T, Words: 7,488, sterek)

Gerard didn't just rough Stiles up. He was aiming to kill. Derek can't take that. Scott doesn't like how Derek fixes it.

*nobody dies

All Coming Back, Like It Was Never Gone by LadyDrace  - (Rating: T, Words: 2,756, sterek)

Stiles and Derek spend a summer looking for Boyd and Erica. During that summer they're... something. Something that never becomes much of anything.

But then, years later, it all comes back.

Point me where my life begins by Gotta_seduce_the_Rainbow - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 39,430, sterek)

When Derek wakes up without his memory, he is left with nothing but a note he wrote himself. He no longer remembers anything personal, not himself, not anyone else.

The note is pointing him towards the town Beacon Hills and once he is there, he is greeted by strangers telling him “Dude, I didn’t know you’re back in town”, which is confusing. Apparently, he grew up in Beacon Hills, but left a few years ago without telling anyone about it.

There is this one stranger, who calls him dude and has the most amazing scent. Derek might just want to start his new life here. With this person.

Stupid Over You by Wolfspurr - (Rating: T, Words: 10,461, sterek)

It's a Friday night, and instead of enjoying any of the numerous things he'd rather be doing, Stiles has been roped into dinner with his dad at the Hale's. On the plus side, Derek Hale will be there. On the minus side, Derek Hale will be there, and Stiles already has a hard enough time not making an ass of himself in front of the hottest guy in school. There's no way this can end well.

the shape of my heart by Winchesterek - (Rating: Mature, Words: 4,807, sterek)

Stiles never thought he'd meet someone like Derek. Someone that was in a similar situation as he was - raising kids that weren't biologically his. It was even wilder because Derek was his god daughters first grade teacher and she was best friends with Derek's niece and nephew.

And Derek was hot. So hot that Stiles couldn't help ogling him every time they spent any amount of time around each other, including play dates and lunch in the school cafeteria with their kids. So Derek asking him out for Valentine's Day? That was just icing on the cake. Plus, Stiles was already head over heels for him.

My Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous - (Rating: T, Words: 7,654, sterek)

“If he wants to mate Stiles, why not let him?” Jackson asked, ready to part with Stiles if need be.

“Because if I did that, I’d be demoting Lydia,” Alpha Stilinski replied.

“We don’t even know how good of a Beta he is,” Lydia countered, bristling some that her status was being challenged.

“That’s because he’s not a Beta,” Alpha Stilinski stated. “He’s an Alpha.”

A Divine Move by alikatastic - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 2,138, sterek)

After Derek died, Peter was the one to let Stiles know. Stiles rushed to Beacon Hills to attend Derek's funeral and take care of Eli. When Peter takes Stiles to the Nemeton to show Stiles what happened, they make a discovery. Derek was trapped in the nemeton. All they had to do was pull him out.

[infinityroom]

I'm so sad to see this go. You created a wonderful story.

As for questions,

What happened to Tango? Why does his ear endermite have an eye? Would we ever be able to save him? What would a Tango redemption arc look like?

(Sorry if that's too many questions. I am INVESTED in this plot.)

I love Tango so much, I really wished for him to find some peace at the end. Tango's a mess. When he gets mad his anger just doesn't want to die down, he's gonna burn people and then feel bad he did so. The room never got to eat those strong emotions before he found the endermites and being bitten stifled his disappearance. At that point he was still not on the murderous path, he wanted to just get out and get Mumbo out too! He didn't fully get what was going on, or maybe he was in super denial about what was happening. Mumbo had his realization about it when Tango told him that no, Grian did not call for help outside, in fact he just dropped Tango into the same room, and wasn't Mumbo outside just a few days ago? How could it have been months? Mumbo refused to leave his chair while he grappled with understanding everything and Tango went off to find a solution. And he did. At some point, he managed to get out of the room. but maybe as a side effect of being turned into an endermite or maybe because of his long stay in the room itself, he couldn't stand the overworld, everything was too loud, too brigt and too overwhelming. He spawned into an unfamiliar shopping district and overwhelmed and hurt he dug a hole and hid underground. Only to fall in the newly constructed Decked out. In season 7.

Specifically, he ended up there when Tango, actual Tango was explaining decked out to Bdubs, I lost the link to the episode but i had it at some point. Our Tango, our messed up bug Tango, just.. listened to his copy speak. The whole explanation of Decked Out filled him with so much excitement, it was just the most beautiful thing! He'd missed redstone and creating and everything could be alright again- Then the game started, and every single redstone click and bell ringing made Tango's head explode with pain. He ripped out one of the bells just to shut it and escaped.

That's when it clicked into our Tango's head. He was not the real Tango anymore, was he? How could he be Tango when there was already one around and when he could barely exist in the overworld it seemed? When he couldn't do the things that used to define him. Was he just a copy? What was he? At that point he crawled back to the infinity room. It just so happened that False saw him reappear in the room, she wasn't completely lost yet, despite the room having been eating at her for a long while. She understood that Tango got out and wouldn't let him go without being let out herself.

Tango didn't want that, didn't want for her to have the same horrible experience he just had, but he wasn't able to explain that, and even if he did, she just wanted to leave. So he panicked and attacked her with his endermites, only to feel horrible immediately after. Then he hid away in some corner of the room. Only him and his mites. Then his sadness turned back to anger toward the only person he could blame for everything. Grian. There were still a few Grian's running around in the room and he took his anger out on them, not that it would fix anything but being angry and taking revenge makes him feel more real. Maybe that's what he is since he's not "Tango" anymore, he's just angry and vengeful. He tried being friends with Mumbo still, he gave him the bell he ripped out from decked out. That ended poorly. He respects the little hiding place the iskalls made from him, he wont bother them. He's so sorry for what he did to False.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

hi!!! congratulations on your 1k followers!! your blog is so great and you deserve each one of them!! i wanted to request a ficlet with the following picks: P, zombie apocalypse au, hurt comfort and 🔪!! can't wait to see what you come up with, congratulations again!! -@steveseddie

Aw, that's so lovely, thank you! This one was a lot of fun to figure out, and of course it has grown a little plot already. 😅

My world ends (without you)

Rated: E (for blood and violence)

Words: 997

Tags: Zombie Apocalypse AU; Established relationship; Blood and violence; Steve Harrington whump

One time, shortly after they lost Eddie, Max asked Steve if he never got mad. She didn't look at him, just continued staring ahead, knees hugged to her chest. Her face was dotted crimson from their latest run-in with the dead, like a smattering of extra freckles.

“Do you even care at all? About what happened to Eddie?” 

“Of course,” Steve said, fingernails digging crescents into his palm. “He was my friend.” 

She huffed. “Friend, yeah. Whatever. Point is, I'd be furious at these undead fuckheads, but you? You're so calm. I don't get it.” 

Steve hummed, thinking about how to explain. 

“Of course I'm mad,” was what he settled on. “But you gotta keep a level head, or you'll do stupid things. I got you kids to protect. And besides, you think those undead fuckheads asked for this? It's the damn virus that's screwing us all over.” 

It's funny how he remembers this now, months later, huddled into the shelter of a tree and peeling his pants away from his bleeding leg. Part of him is still hoping it's something else - that he cut himself falling through that window, that one of his last bullets ricocheted and got him, fuck, please anything but this. 

But it is. 

The teeth marks in his flesh, the way the wound is already festering and turning black, tell him all he needs to know. 

“Fuck!” he swears, falling backwards and staring up at the darkening sky through stinging eyes. His hand twitches for his gun - he'd rather end it now than happening upon Robin or the kids later - but then he remembers he's out of ammunition. There's nothing he can do. 

Nothing but lie here and let the fever take him and hope that whoever finds him puts a quick end to it. 

*

He doesn't expect to wake up again, not as himself. When he does, his head is cradled in someone's lap and for a moment, he thinks he's back at their camp with Robin, that it was all a nightmare. But then he realizes he's still in the forest and the pain in his leg hits him like a ton of bricks. 

“-quite the number on you, huh, big boy?” 

Steve's groan turns into a gasp. 

“Eddie? This isn't real, you're dead.” 

Eddie grins, briefly. It tugs on the big, gnarly scar covering his jaw and the side of his face, just where Steve saw him get bitten. Then, his face settles back into grim determination. 

“How long?” 

Steve blinks against the confusion and the fever. “Huh?” 

“Your leg, Stevie. How long since the bite?” 

“I … I dunno,” Steve slurs. His head is pounding. He's burning inside. “Few hours?” 

Eddie nods. “Gotta be quick then. Sorry, this is gonna hurt like a bitch.” 

He places Steve's head on the ground, bustling around with something in the fire he has built next to their spot.

“What’re you-” Steve starts to say, trying to sit. That's when he realizes his wrists are tied above his head and panic kicks alive behind his ribcage. “Eddie?” 

When Eddie turns, he's holding a knife. The blade is glowing orange.

“No,” Steve breathes, feebly straining against his bonds. “Nonono, Eddie, please!” 

“Hey,” Eddie says. “Remember when we first met?” 

The question comes from so far out of left field that Steve forgets to struggle. Eddie’s eyes are dark and serious in the firelight. 

“You said to make it outta this, we gotta trust each other. You trust me?” 

Steve doesn’t even hesitate. He nods. Eddie smiles, brief but pleased. 

“Then let's go.” 

Something nudges against Steve’s lips, something dry and leathery - a belt. 

“You'll wanna bite down on something,” Eddie says, regret in his eyes. “Believe me.” 

Swallowing down the humiliation burning in his throat, Steve opens his mouth. 

“Atta boy,” Eddie praises, but the joke falls flat between them. “Let's fucking do this.” 

And Steve's world disappears behind a wall of pain. 

*

“Y’know,” Eddie murmurs. He's propped them up against the tree trunk, Steve’s head tucked under his chin, fingers combing Steve's sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. “I'd be lying if I told ya I never thought of tying you up and gagging you with my belt, but this was not what I imagined.” 

Steve scoffs weakly, eyes straying down to his bandaged leg. “Did it work?” 

Eddie shrugs. “Think so. Henry says you gotta cut the infection out before it spreads, but how much time you got depends on a lot of factors. Your fever seems to be under control , so that's good, but lemme know if you develop any unusual cravings. Brains, raw meat, that kinda-” 

“Woah, hold on, who's Henry? Did he …” 

Eddie interrupts his ramble when Steve’s fingers find the new scar on his jaw. He allows Steve to map the shape of it for a while before catching his fingers and pressing a kiss to them. 

“Yeah. He's head of a safe zone, about twenty miles north from here. He's a scientist … well, used to be, and … Stevie, he thinks he knows how to cure it.” 

“What? Eddie, that's incredible, where- We gotta tell the others, we gotta-” Steve has hardly startled upright when Eddie guides him back down. 

“Right now, honey, all we gotta do is let you rest. Plenty of time to break the good news to the others tomorrow.” 

And maybe it's the pain, or maybe it's the blood loss, or maybe it's the overwhelming bliss of having Eddie back, but Steve doesn’t find it in himself to argue. 

“Alright,” he whispers, letting his head sag against Eddie’s chest and allowing the gentle rhythm of his beating heart to lull him to sleep. “Just … don't leave again.” 

Eddie kisses the top of his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” 

He's broken that promise before. There's no guarantee he won't break it again, not in this fucked up nightmare they live in. But Steve trusts him. 

That has to be enough. 

Man, that Henry sounds like a swell fella, I'm sure nothing will go wrong.

More celebration ficlets

[luveline]

Hi id love to send u a request but I just can't match your genius mind, id looooveee more zombie!au Steve!!! 🥺🥺🥺🫶🏻🫶🏻 maybe smth about r or Steve almost being bitten by a geek?

hi!! thank you angel!! zombie au steve x fem!reader, 3k

"Sneaking around with your boyfriend would've been considered sort of scandalous a few years ago," you think aloud, eyes skipping over medication labels slowly. "Now it's the norm."

"We are the opposite of scandalous," Steve says. 

You push pill bottles aside to meet his eyes through the gap in the shelves. He narrows his gaze. "You know how you saw me naked, like, a week after we met?" 

Steve's glare turns playfully salacious. "Yeah?" 

"Did that make it less, uh, important? Not important. Was it less intimate for you when I was naked on purpose?" 

Steve returns his eyes to the pill bottles. "No." 

"Is that weird for me to ask you?" 

"No, that's not weird, why would that be weird?" He looks up again. His expression softens. "Don't worry, it's not weird. It's a normal question. You're wondering if I was… desensitised." 

"Yeah, exactly. Were you desensitised?" 

Trust Steve to say something snippy and then feel bad enough afterwards to immediately backtrack. There's no need for him to feel guilty because you'd known he was joking, and if he weren't it wouldn't matter to you —you know being outside of camp makes him nervous, and tightly strung. You aren't expecting him to be all smiles, especially when you're asking peculiar questions. 

"If anything," he says, his voice a murmur that evidences shy affection, "it was way more special. I knew you back to front already, but the first time you showed me you, on purpose, it was different." 

You grin at him. "Like a look don't touch scenario where you finally get to touch?" 

"I'm trying to be sweet on you." 

"What was it like?" you ask. Your smile is audible. 

"Like fucking relief." He reaches through the shelves to squeeze your hand. "You're being slow." 

You take your hand back and return to the task. You're looking for anti-seizure medication for one of the children at camp. It's an important mission and neither of you had hesitated when Joyce asked you to go, but you can't say you enjoy being out here. Talking to Steve makes things better. Easier to cope. Talking to Steve about loving him and being loved by him could make you forget a pike through the chest. 

You move to the next shelf below. 

There aren't many drugs for epilepsy. You aren't sure the child even has epilepsy, but no one has the knowledge to identify anything else. Sarah (Robin's fast friend from camp) read in her field medic journal that a seizure can be caused by lots of things, and she also said that sometimes what looks like a seizure isn't a seizure at all. What is it, then? you'd asked. 

The page was missing. 

You're working through a mental list of four drugs methodically, scanning and rescanning the labels on the bottles in the back of a pharmacy. This is the raw stuff, the kind that sometimes needs to be ground and poured into capsules with filler, so if you do find the right meds you'll also need to find a pestle and some other equipment. It's a hassle, but it's worth it completely if it helps. 

"Clonazepam," you read. You lift your head. "Steve, that's the right one, right? Clonazepam?" 

Steve's head snaps up. "Yeah, that's the last resort one. Where's that?" 

He rounds the shelves to be on the same side as you, seemingly hoping for similar medications to be in the same place. His hand drops casually to your shoulder as he bends, reading each label with a determined brow. 

"Valproate," he says, relieved, hand closing around another bottle. "Okay, two options. Thank god." 

"Do they have the side effects on the bottle?" you ask. 

Steve turns the bottle but there's no second label.

"The side effects are usually worse than the original problem," he says, frowning, "remember those migraine pills we found, the leaflet?" That's how bored you and Steve had become at one point in your isolation, you'd started reading medical pamphlets. "I'd rather have a headache than lose my sense of smell." 

"Depends on how bad the headache is. You keep looking for the, uh, the carba-Tegre one. I'll go scout the equipment." 

"Tegretol," he corrects lightly. "Carbamazepine, brand name Tegretol." 

You're impressed by his memory. He sees that, and he lifts his hand to you. Palm your way, you can see he's written the names of the medication as you'd been advised to find by one of the camp members, a retired carer who worked bedside for a lady who suffered from epilepsy. 

"Your spelling is terrible," you say. 

"Whatever," he says flippantly. You're barely ten paces away when he adds, "I love you." 

"I love you too," you say. There's no need to call. The building, this entire town, is silent. You'll hear a geek a mile away. 

You poke at dusty equipment sceptically. You don't need filler, you don't think, but it affects absorption, maybe? You're not a pharmacist nor a chemist, whoever's watching knows you didn't have time to become much of anything, you're just doing as the retired carer advised. There's a press contraption with what feels like hundreds of caplet sized holes toward the front. You put it in your bag and lament its weight as you search for a pestle. 

"I've found the filler," Steve says. "There's a huge container of it. Lactose. And another of starch."

"Starch, like potatoes? We could put her medicine in mash potato."

"I think we just need a pestle and a weighing scale now. And some hand sanitiser." 

"I'll have the scales and the sanitiser, what about Robin's deodorant?" you ask. 

"At the front. I'll get it. You'll have another one?" 

"Please tell me they have that Carribean Crush one again, it was lovely." 

"You're lovely. I'll find it." 

The weighing scale must get its name from how ridiculously heavy it is. That along with the pestle has your bag feeling like a boulder attached to your neck. Maybe Steve will be willing to share the load with you. Actually, there's no need for maybe. If you tell him, he'll carry it with you happily. 

You scan the room for useful things. Batteries, food, things you've trained your eye to pick out of a bomb site if necessary. You pocket a pen for Steve and leave the rest where it lays, stepping out into the slightly bigger medications room before rounding a plexiglass wall to the pharmacy counter. Steve crouches down the aisleway, rejected roll-on deodorant on the floor beside him. 

You're about ten feet away from him when the geek lunges for him. 

You can't even tell it's a geek at first, it moves quickly, quietly, smooth as a living human. They've become diverse as the infection thrives, and you should've been thinking about that fact. You should've been standing at the front of the room. 

You freeze. You freeze and you waste time. 

"Steve!" you shriek. 

Steve's flat on his side, kicking with the entire force of his body. The geek actually bounces back with the force of each kick, but he's persistent, and stronger than he should be, a mottled hand on Steve's shoulder and decaying teeth snapping with a sound like cracking marble near his face. Steve tries to scramble from under the geek and its face falls down by Steve's ribs and upper arm. He yanks his arm away, and there's an odd ripping sound. 

You run so fast down the aisle to protect him that you can't slow, the entire weight of your body and the heavy bag you carry throttling the geek with a horrid slap against the glass door. It flies open and you topple out onto asphalt, sliding across the geek's body and taking the brunt of your rolling in your hands and the top of your face. Steve shouts a war cry and barrels after you. You go on knees, hands trembling and rushing as you grab for the knife in your belt. Steve lands on top of the geek and drives the blade of his pen knife straight into the crease between its brows, grunting as he goes, his breath coming too fast. 

You've clipped your head on the floor, the warmth of blood trickling down your brow. It doesn't concern you. 

What concerns you is the sizable tear in Steve's coat. 

He almost cuts you with his knife as you run at him, yanking the sleeves of his coat and jacket down. 

"What– what are you doing?" he asks. You tug at his sleeve like you've been possessed, panic a coil that won't loosen in your throat. "What–?" 

If he's been bitten, you'll have to saw his arm off. It's the most horrible thing you can think of, hurting someone you love, hurting the one person you love most. Your breath is half sob as you finally get his outerwear off of his arm. You don't know how to do that to somebody and especially Steve, how could you ever sever a limb? But if it will stop the infection, if it would save him—

You push the long sleeve of his t-shirt up his arm and stare down at his arm. Bruised near the wrist, pale, threaded with dark-green veins, his skin is unbroken. He hasn't been bitten. 

You pull his arm to your chest and almost break down there in the street. Steve stands with his coat hanging off of his one shoulder and doesn't respond to your actions for a long, heavy second. 

"You thought it bit me," he says. 

Your breath catches. 

"It didn't bite you." 

"No," he says, "it didn't bite me." 

"Your coat." 

Steve pulls you back inside of the store. He looks around the room twice, and then leads you to an empty corner to hug you. 

You're frenetic and frantic at once, hands sliding up and down his arm, eyes tracing his light skin like an injury might materialise. 

"It didn't bite me," Steve says, "but you're bleeding." 

You hiss as his fingertip locates your cut forehead. It must be a very small cut considering how little it bled. You've had head injuries that wept for hours, leaving you dizzy and disorientated from the subsequent lack of blood. This one's a wimp. 

You've also seriously hurt your shoulder from the backpack's weight and your small skirmish. You're not going to tell him that, not now, not when you've been dropped face first into the horror of potentially losing him forever. 

Steve eases out of his jacket. He takes your hand from his arm and pushes both sleeves up, bearing both arms in front of you. 

"It didn't get me, honey. Try to calm down." 

He says it softly, with no judgement or condescension. Only concern. 

"I'm fine," you say. 

It's strangled, you'll admit. Steve turns his arms to show you both sides before he tilts your head up and toward the meagre filtering sunlight, analysing your head injury in detail. 

"Did you hurt yourself? When you fell, did it feel like you hit it hard, or was it something sharp?" You don't answer, and he gets snippy. "Y/N, tell me. Did it hurt?" 

"Steve, you're the one who almost got bit." 

"And you're the one who almost died of a fucking concussion not that long ago, in case you forgot. Sit down. I'm not kidding, sit down." 

You blink, mildly startled by his hissing, and sit on the ground. He's being snappy because he's panicking, that's all it is. You hold back an unhelpful comment that your concussion had been months and months ago, so it kind of was long ago. 

He lets his coat and jacket fall to the floor and jogs back up the aisle to the bandages and gauze. He takes a detour for antiseptic, and then he sets himself down in front of you. 

"Did you hit it hard?" he asks. 

You shake your head. 

He doused a piece of gauze in antiseptic. "Sting," he warns, washing the length of your forehead with his makeshift wipe. He quickly swaps the bloodied one for a clean one. "Hold this." 

You hold it. He gets back up, scouring the shelves by the bandages until he plucks out a small box. He crushes it with his hand and the medical tape inside falls into his waiting palm. He sits again, tears two strips, and lines the edges of your gauze with them. It would all be much easier if they had big band-aids. 

"Show me your pupils, baby," he says. 

Steve, for his street smarts and survival skills, used to freak out about injuries. But Steve freaking out freaks you out and he guessed that soon enough, so every cut and bruise these days is met with a silent approach. It's the opposite of your reaction. Embarrassment starts to creep in. 

You widen your eyes and let Steve check your pupils. 

"Same size," he says. 

"It's just a cut." 

Steve shuffles across the floor so his thigh is pressed to yours, rather than having his back to the store. He breathes out slowly, breathes in quick, and then forces the bottom of his palm into his thigh cruelly. 

"How the fuck did that happen?" he asks. If he weren't being hyper vigilant, he'd be scrubbing his eyes in a tell tale nervous tic. "We haven't had something like that in months. We swept this whole place when we came in, where the fuck was he hiding? I feel sick." 

"You do?" you ask, terrified. 

"It didn't bite me," he assures you again. Thankfully without any annoyance. 

"It ripped a chunk out of your coat with its teeth. Forgive me for thinking your skin was less hardy than pressed plastic." 

Your acidity shocks you both. 

Things are awkward for a split second, 'cos it's difficult to feel awkward around someone who you've spent every second of the day with since you met. You feel for a moment that you could just take him by the shoulders and shake him. You love him, you could never hurt him, but he has to see sense: he doesn't understand how much you need him. Not to keep you alive, but to give you a reason to do it yourself. If he got bit, you'd die. Plain and simple. Internally first, but surely the heartbreak would murder you in the end. 

"I didn't know you were so disagreeable," Steve says. 

"I didn't know you knew a word that long."

Steve laughs, startled. You want to be mad, but you're so thankful that he's not dying and so suddenly wiped you can only laugh with him.

"I forgot how quick you are when we fight," Steve says. 

"We don't fight anymore." 

"That could be amended. Especially if you're going to get fresh with me."

"You started it." 

"I always start it." Steve flicks your shoulder."Let me see your head," he says. You turn your neck so he can see the outermost side of your head. "You swelled up like a helium balloon when you fell through that floor. It was right at the back of your head and I could tell something was wrong… This is fine. It bulged out last time." 

"It what?" you demand, pulling another rare laugh from him.

He winds down, clasping your knee. You cover his hand, and only then do you realise it's shaking.

"Steve, you almost died." 

"But I didn't die, I'm fine, and you need to stop freaking out because high blood pressure is definitely bad for a concussion. You could die yourself if you don't relax, seriously." Steve clears his throat. "Sorry, for getting heated. And thanks for knocking that guy clean off of me, what was that? You holding out on me when we wrestle? That was clean." 

"That was like, a mom's adrenaline thing. No, not 'cos I'm your mom, idiot. Loved one's adrenaline. I thought you were gonna die and suddenly I could've run for fucking gold in the Tokyo Olympics." 

"How did I get some of that? Whenever you're hurt I just feel like crying." 

"I think the crying bit comes after. Maybe if you tried getting to me quicker you'd have enough adrenaline to save me." 

He smiles before he talks, so you know it's going to be bad, "If a geek eats me during an adrenaline rush, am I a human Red Bull?"

"Okay, you have to keep an eye on the store because I need to be hugging you," you say, giving him little time to disagree as you climb on top of his lap. 

It's not comfortable nor sexy, but for once you don't care how heavy you are. You wrap your hands around the back of his neck and cradle his head, his face hooked over your shoulder so that he can still see your surroundings. He slides his hands underneath your coat and hugs you in turn. Your heart's still racing, and his hands are still shaking, but you lived. He lived. You've defeated danger for the hundredth time. 

"This really doesn't get any easier, does it?" you ask, petting his hair.  

He pats your back. "No, I don't think so. S'why I need you with me." 

"That's why I need you." 

Steve dots a quick kiss against the column of your throat. When he puts his chin back atop your shoulder, it's with a heaving sigh. 

"I can't believe you almost got bit," you say. 

"Yeah, well. Nobody has any manners anymore." 

[libraryofloveletters]

Sing It With Me

John Stones x Fem!Reader

Warnings: alcohol and the consumption of, the boys are so unhinged - especially john and kyle, ruben's in his vlogging era, sash are sooo over them, broken tables, terrible singing, jack and erling are attached at the hip per usual, reader is ready to go to bed and not deal with them, a few minor injuries.

Word Count: 834

Author's Note: I feel like this perfectly captures what the man city christmas parties would look like lmao

--

John’s Christmas parties were famous for being crazy and unhinged, much like their host himself; because who else would end up drunk on a table, singing Christmas carols? 

John's Christmas party was famous amongst the Manchester City players; a night of fun, antics and plenty of booze.

Coincidently, your husband's ideal idea of a perfect night.

It was a week before Christmas and it's nearing 4am. "Are you sure you don't want to wait for him? You'll be alright to get home alone?" You asked Sasha, walking with her to the front door.

The woman nods, "he's not gonna leave anytime soon, I'd be shocked if he was home when I woke up."

Both you and Sasha knew how Jack was, his tendency to party outweighing his logical decisions.

You laughed, giving her a hug. "I'll keep an eye on him, keep him out of trouble. Let me know when you get home, yeah?"

"Of course," she smiles and you watch her walk to her car and get in before you shut the door and rejoin the group in the living room.

The boys who were left; Ruben, Jack, Erling and Kyle, were all drunk and giggling about who knows what. Your husband was pouring another round of shots when you dropped yourself on the couch next to Ruben.

"Tired?" He asks, his fingers tapping along his thigh to the beat of Last Christmas by WHAM that was playing quietly.

"Exhausted."

John comes in, tray in hand as he passes the shots around to the boys. He sits on the arm rest of the couch, his own arm around you. "Cheers! Happy Christmas!"

The seven of you messily attempt to tap your glasses together and down the shots.

At that very moment, it seemed as if the music had bitten your husband. He began singing terribly off key. You groan, slouching back into the couch. "Johnny, please.. don't start."

"Last Christmas I gave you my heart but the very next day you gave it away," he gets up, pointing to you as he sings.

Kyle jumps up from his spot, getting onto the coffee table. "This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special!" He shimmed along to the music and you can't help but laugh.

John joins his friend on the coffee table, the two of them dancing and singing along; it sounded more like screeching rather than singing. You assume it's the thought that counts.

Before you know it, Jack's up on the couch and singing too.

"Once bitten and twice shy. I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye." He does his little dance, hips popping from side to side.

It seems to have become the Manchester City musical in here because Erling gets up, tv remote in hand as a microphone when he too starts to sing. "Tell me baby, do you recognize me? Well, it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me!"

You roll your eyes, "oh my god."

"Y/n! Y/n! What do you think?" Ruben shouts from behind his phone, the flash on as he points to you - he decided to make a video of their lovely performance.

"It's fantastic, 10/10 truly."

Erling grabs John's arm, leaving Jack to bounce on the couch alone.

"It's not gonna hold, you guys. The table isn't meant for that many-" And before you could finish your sentence, and just as Ruben pans to them, there's a crack and the table collapses in on itself.

"Are you guys okay?" You're out of your seat as fast as they fall on each other.

"Erling!" Jack gets off the couch and helps his friend up.

Ruben is still standing there, phone in hand as he recorded all the chaos. You, on the other hand, help Kyle up and then pull John up off the floor.

It takes you a second to check all of them, making sure the broken glass and wood hasn't nicked them anywhere. Kyle slouched on the couch, Ruben was 'interviewing' him, asking him about his performance and what he thought of it.

Erling was sitting on the floor, his head on Jack's knee while Jack was trying to take a selfie of them.

John was lying on the floor still, next to the broken coffee table.

"I told you the table couldn't hold all of you." You tell them, coming back to put a bandaid on John's wrist. "It was fun though," John mumbles, his arm pulling you down onto his chest.

Kyle gives Ruben a shove, the Portuguese take that as a sign to stop recording. "I'll buy you a new table." Kyle mumbles, taking a sip of his beer that he had left next to the couch.

Technically, it was Erling who broke it, so..." You trailed off, looking at the man who was half asleep.

Erling gives you a thumbs up, "send me the link, I'll buy it."

You can't help but smile as you look around the living room; all you husband's teammates and closest friends were here, all drunk and sprawled out, chaotic as ever.

It's not the holidays without the chaos, is it?