#new moon fic

[lnfours]

Hi!!!

“Are you wearing my sweater?” Prompt 🥹 NEED this kind of fluff in my life. Like Lando stops by readers house to see her and she answers the door wearing his hoodie 😭ugh I can’t it’s making me MELT

anon, i don't think you understand when i say that i'm obsessed with this!!

jordan's birthday sleepover!

ever since you lando had started dating, you made it a routine that every thursday night was date night. even when he was in a different country, the two of you managed to watch a movie together while on facetime.

tonight was like every other thursday night, it was date night. your living room was set up, drinks and the snacks you had picked up at the grocery store sitting on the coffee table with a candle lit in the middle.

a knock on the door made you smile, running over to open the door. when you did, you were met with floppy brown curls and gorgeous eyes, a takeout bag in his hand as he smiled at you.

"hi," his smile was so contagious, making you smile back so wide you were sure your cheeks were going to hurt if you kept smiling.

"hi," you said, stepping aside to let him inside. he placed a kiss on your lips as he entered, the hand that wasn't holding the bag of food resting on your hip.

"are you wearing my sweater?"

you looked down, the black material wrapped around your frame. it was a tad too big, the hem of the hoodie falling at your mid-thigh and almost passing the hem of your shorts. a mclaren logo sat on the upper right side of your chest.

you shrugged, smiling as you looked back up at him, "huh, i guess so,"

"i was wondering where that went," he said, the both of you moving from the entry way and into the living room, "as long as it's in good hands that's all i care about."

"well, you're the one who left it here. what else was i supposed to do with it?" you teased.

he shook his head, laughing softly before continuing, "you look good in my clothes."

"you think?"

he nodded, "defintely. maybe next time you're over you could raid my closet."

it was true, seeing you in his clothes did something for him. made him feel a whole new level of love for you that he didn't think was possible. and if it meant you stealing every single hoodie and every single t-shirt, then so be it.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

do robots dream of electric sheep? do robots have nightmares of murders committed in their sleep?

have you slept, or are you afraid of things that in the dark creep?

[happy74827]

Fate’s Design

[Carlisle Cullen x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Not even fate can stop forbidden love. {GIF Credits: Pinterest}

WC: 2051

Category: Angst (with a side of fluff)

Can you tell I rewatched Twilight? 👀 Edward? Jacob? Nah, I’m team Carlisle all the way.

In all seriousness, this took me so long to write out since I’m in that stage of life where there’s no free time 😭

But, regardless, here’s a fic that no one asked for (and hopefully won’t mind 👀). So, uh… enjoy :)

『••✎••』

Funny, how the world works, how fate works.

The day you had first laid eyes on him, you could tell immediately there was something different about him, something... strange. Stranger than strange.

A simple hospital visit, a clumsy fall down the stairs, and here you were, stuck in a place of healing with the smell of antiseptics and disinfectant all around you. For a simple wrist sprang, being around deathly ill people who had no sense of common courtesy was the last thing you wanted to experience.

Still, it couldn't be helped, and so you endured. Endured until that one fateful encounter.

When the nurses brought him into the room, you couldn't help but stare. A young, handsome man who looked barely a few years older than you, pale, cold skin that reminded you of the snowy tundras, and bright eyes you swore turned gold in the light.

Strange, yes. Very strange. But a very good kind of strange, the kind of strange that was captivating.

Carlisle Cullen.

You couldn't help but smile as you thought of the name, as the memories came back to you. The first meeting, the second, and then the third. You remembered all of them, every single one, and the way your heart fluttered like a caged bird each time, wanting to break free.

How long had it been since that first meeting? Five months? Six?

You couldn't be sure, but it was enough.

Enough for you to know that you loved him.

How funny, how ironic, how cruel fate was, giving you someone to love and then making it impossible to be with him.

You were just an average girl with average interests and average talents who had a boring, average job that didn't pay much and was living an average life.

But you were human; he was not.

You were a creature that could live, grow, age, and eventually die while he was frozen in time, a beautiful, timeless statue with an old soul that lived a hundred years in the span of one.

You knew this, he knew this, and that was what held you both back.

Even though you loved him, even though when he looked at you, his eyes burned with the same emotions you felt, the two of you were still unable to come together.

You would’ve given up had it not been for your own stubbornness, your own will to hold on, to see this through to the end.

He was worth it, and you knew it.

And so, you decided it didn’t matter if your time with him would be short because you would spend it happily, without regret.

After all, a few months spent with him was better than none at all.

You found yourself storming into the hospital, pure determination set on your face as you went up to the reception desk and demanded to know where Carlisle Cullen was.

The nurse gave you an odd look but didn’t question you further, and after giving her the information she needed, she directed you to his office.

You were assured he was filing papers, so you didn’t bother with knocking. Instead, you barged in with the burning desire to make your mark, to make your presence known, to show him, without any doubt, how you felt.

You didn't care if he was startled by your sudden entrance, and as you approached him, he stood up, surprise written on his face.

"I’m done, Carlisle," you said, your tone final, a declaration. "I’m so done."

He tilted his head in confusion.

Your hands came to a fist as you rested them against his desk, eyes narrowed and burning.

"I'm done holding back," you said, voice steady. "If you don’t kiss me right now, I'll never forgive you."

Your name came out as a soft sigh from his lips, and you couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through you at the sound of it. The mellow, gentle tone that held your entire being was always catching you off guard, even after all this time.

It wasn’t fair; it really wasn't.

"Kiss me, goddamnit!" You yelled at him, the demand clear in your tone.

And, like always, he denied you. In fact, he practically told you to shut up in his own way by bringing attention that you were still… quite literally, in the hospital.

You didn’t care. It was obvious by the way you kept going at him, demanding he take action.

And then, a gush of wind.

Your eyes widened, and before you could utter a word, the door from behind slammed shut. Not enough to create a loud bang, but enough to get your attention, and when you looked over, his arm was extended out, hand resting on the door.

Just inches away from your head.

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up at him.

He was towering over you completely, and the proximity made your breathing hitch. His gaze was intense and golden, and it burned right through you like it always did. But you weren’t scared, not even the slightest bit.

This was what you wanted, after all.

So you kept silent and waited for him to make the first move. Any move, really.

A few seconds passed, and then, ever so slowly, he lowered his head. But he didn't lean down far enough, no. Instead, his face inched closer and closer to yours until, finally, all you could see were his eyes.

And all you could think about was his lips.

"As much as I want to," he began, voice soft and smooth. "You and I both know it's not that easy."

"Yes, it is," you retorted, stubborn. "You're just making it hard."

"I'm being realistic."

"Realistic? Really?" Your face twisted into a scowl. "Says the man who's not even human."

"That's precisely why," he said. "You’re…"

His voice quivered, just slight enough to be noticeable. It made your heart ache, and you were ready to interrupt him, to say that it didn’t matter; nothing else did.

But you stopped yourself.

It was only right to hear what he had to say.

"You truly wish to want… this? To give up the happiness of your future, the family you deserve, to be drowned in sorrow, all for me?"

His words were sincere, his voice quiet, and the expression on his face was one you could barely comprehend.

"Drowned…? Drowned?!" You echoed his words; brows knitted in a deep frown. "Carlisle, I'm already drowning! Right now!"

You paused, trying to calm yourself, but you could feel tears prickling your eyes. This wasn’t how you had imagined it going.

"It hurts," you confessed, voice low. "It hurts me that you don’t understand, that you think so little of yourself."

Carlisle's breath caught, and his lips parted in surprise, but you weren’t finished yet.

"It hurts me that you think I could ever be happy without you," you continued, your voice rising a bit. “Carlisle, I have found happiness in you. I am happy with you. The day we met, I was a wreck; my wrist was a wreck… everything was a wreck. But then you came, and now, now I'm happy. You make me happy."

The look on his face was unreadable, but it didn’t deter you from speaking your mind.

"Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see that you’ll always be twice the man than any other human being out there?"

Silence.

He didn’t answer, and the longer the silence stretched, the more your heart hurt. Carlisle was a good man; he was. He was a good doctor, a good father, and, of course, a good-looking guy.

He deserved the world.

And if the world couldn't give it to him, you would.

"If you can't see it, then fine," you finally spoke, and it was almost a whisper. "Then I'll do it for you. I'll tell you every day. I'll keep telling you until it sticks."

The corners of your mouth tugged upwards into a shaky smile.

"Even if I have to keep yelling at you."

He exhaled, and suddenly, he looked much more relaxed, and you realized that you had gotten through to him.

It made the tears that were gathering in your eyes spill over.

"At least I know you wouldn’t toss me aside when my personality eventually overpowers my looks," you mumbled, laughing.

"Toss you aside?"

There was a sudden, sharp edge to his tone, and when his hand came to rest under your chin, gently, carefully, your eyes shot up, staring into his own.

You didn't realize it, but the way you looked at him, the expression on your face, it made him see something different, something he never expected.

A woman who loved him. Truly, sincerely, deeply, and completely.

He couldn’t believe it, and yet, you were right there, in front of him, your eyes shining and reflecting nothing but adoration and admiration.

Your eyes were shining, but not with sadness, no, not anymore.

It was a beautiful sight, one he would remember for all of eternity.

"I'd be a fool to do that," he whispered, his tone sincere, and when his other hand came up, his fingers brushing over your cheek, a featherlight touch, he could hear your breath catch.

"A complete and utter fool."

You watched the smile grow on his lips, and it was so beautiful, it was unreal.

But this, the feeling of his hand on your skin, the coldness contrasted by the warmth of your own body, the gentleness of his touch, it was surreal.

"Carlisle," you murmured, and he was still staring at you, but there was a new intensity in his gaze. "Let me give you the happiness you deserve. Let me."

You took a small step forward, and his hand was still resting under your chin. You didn't dare move or speak again, not until you could read his face, the expression on his features.

It was difficult, however, and just when you thought he wouldn't say anything, he spoke.

"I can't guarantee the future or the happiness," he admitted. "Not for myself, and not for you, but-"

"But?" You couldn’t help but smirk.

"I can try," he answered. "For your sake, I'll try."

You should’ve expected the response after that, the speed at which his hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you forward, and his other hand, moving downwards to rest on the small of your back.

You should've, but you didn't.

All you could do was stare at him, your eyes widening, and just when you opened your mouth to speak, to say something, anything, his lips were on yours, and all the coherent thoughts left you.

You could hear the thumping of your heart, loud, thundering, and it drowned out all the other sounds around you.

He was gentle and careful, and the kiss was nothing more than a brief, feather-light press of his lips, but it was enough. It was enough to set your whole body on fire, to have you lean in, to have your hands come up, grasping onto his lab coat for dear life.

You could feel the coldness of his skin, but the taste of his lips was indescribable.

He tasted sweet, like vanilla, and the longer his lips were on yours, the more the flavor lingered until you couldn’t remember how your own lips had ever tasted.

When he finally pulled away, it was as if the world was spinning and all the strength left your body.

"We're not in the clear just yet," he murmured, his gaze still intense, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "There are many things we have to talk about and many things to work out, but-"

"Carlisle," you breathed out, your grip on his coat tightening. "Don’t talk. Just relish."

You leaned forward, and he did the same, his eyes fluttering shut, and as your lips connected with his, your mind was filled with a single thought.

This.

This was right.

It was perfect, and the world was a better place.

The funny thing about fate is that if two people are meant to be, no matter the time, the place, or the circumstances, they'll find each other.

The two of you were living proof.

[atiny111718]

Seventeen Reactions:

Hyung line: When his wife asks him to make a baby

Warnings: smut, fem reader, swearing, breeding kink

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Seungcheol:

Jeonghan:

Joshua:

Jun:

Hoshi:

Wonwoo:

Woozi:

[hexcii]

New years, old fears

Sun’s voice makes you perk up whether you want to or not. That was coming from your headphones. That wasn’t just your imagination.

How the hell are they…?

Oh right. The whole Bluetooth thing. You’re not sure how that whole thing actually works.

…Wait.

No.

No no no no no.

That must mean—

“Can you hear me, Sunshine?”

They noticed.

Trauma comfort fic woo

Bit of a heavy one since this is me dealing with my own trauma surrounding new years, it’s very specific to me but I’m posting it in case anyone else who is shit-scared of fireworks finds it comforting

Sun/Moon x Reader

Read tags for warnings

Word count: 4,304

I made comfort art too yay

It got CRUNCHED and with the light all I can thing about is symphony and caramelldansen

Okay bye bye I’m not gonna be very reachable for the rest of the day

[hedwig221b]

I am this close 🤏🏻 to writing another short sterek mafia au

[ohyoudosmellgood]

just met peter facinelli and asked him what he thought is most compelling about carlisle as a character:

„with carlisle there’s a feeling of calm, even when there‘s chaos.“

and that’s actually so true and poetic? calling all fanfiction authors to go and pick that line up.

[venomous-qwille]

Noon // Ghost in the Machine It's hard to be the villain of your own story.

[crabsnpersimmons]

just wanted to say thank you for all the LOVE for Clip! he's happy to be here!

Clip is hella competitive 😅

and here are some doodles inspired by some of your comments and tags!

@nowiknowthislooksbad @normal-about-the-dca

he's having fun (: (the kind of fun i would hate because i don't like the sound of balloons popping..)

@vacantfields @petrixmuserb

i like to think the hair salon does these kinds of things for charity often. would you be in line? what would you pick?

@ramblingsofacotlfangirl @salamansir

oh dear..

@bennydunbar

loved this tag so i HAD to draw something for it--

oop well okay! i think that's enough for today! thanks again!

[cowboybeepboop]

Sheriff

"I want you, Y/N."

Pairing: Charlie Swan x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 3.6k 

Summary: Your car breaks down and the friendly sheriff comes to your rescue.

a/n: Guys please 🙏 send any twilight requests you have my way, I’m so desperate to write more 

You were currently on a road trip, alone, going from Oregon to well, anywhere really. Your car begins to stutter as you drive through the night. You pull your car over on the side of the road, your heart rate slowly rising in frustration. 

You take a deep breath, mentally counting to ten, you remind yourself that there's nothing you can do about it right now, you just have to accept that your car has broken down and that you're stranded in the middle of nowhere, you don't even recognize where you are. 

You look around, taking in your surroundings, your gaze falling on a sign that reads "Forks, Washington," located a few kilometers down ahead.

As you dial the number for the sheriff of that area, your heart continues to race anxiously. With every additional ring, the worry inside you seems to intensify, it felt like an eternity before someone picked up on the other end of the line. The line clicks as the call connects. You hear a deep, gruff voice come through the phone, "Forks Sheriff's office."

“Hello… My name is Y/N, uh, I’m not sure where I am but my car just broke down. It’s really dark,” you quickly ramble into the phone, eyes wandering the surrounding area. 

The voice on the other end of the phone responds calmly, "Hello Y/N, this is Charlie Swan, the Sheriff. Can you tell me where you're currently located?" The Sheriff, Charlie, seems to have a gentle and steady tone, attempting to help you as he inquires for more information about where you are stranded.

"Well, I'm next to the 'Welcome to Forks' sign.." you reply, the gentle tone from the sheriff helping to calm your nerves. 

"Okay," the sheriff responds firmly, his tone conveying a sense of reassurance, "Just stay where you are, I'll be there soon." There's a sense of comfort in the assurance that the sheriff is on his way. 

There's a brief moment of silence after the phone call ends, and you take a few calming breaths, trying to steady yourself amidst the darkness. Shortly afterward, you notice the headlights of a police cruiser approaching on the road in the distance, the patrol car getting closer until it pulls up behind your stranded vehicle.

Charlie, the sheriff, steps out of the vehicle, his presence is undeniably commanding yet somehow soothing, the stern expression on his face is replaced by a slight smile as he walks over to your car.

Unlocking the door you cautiously step out into the cool night air, gaze meeting the sheriffs. Charlie steps closer to you, the smile still on his face as he takes in your worried expression, 

"Y/N?" he asks, his tone carrying a hint of recognition for the voice he spoke to on the phone. 

He walks toward you, his steps measured and calculated, his tall stature towering over you as he steps closer. A small smile still on his face, he looks you over, inspecting your car, he asks inquisitively, "Car trouble?"

"Mhm, I'm not too sure what happened.." you sigh, watching as he comes to inspect the hood. You sneakily check him out, noticing how the night casts gentle shadows over his features. 

Charlie leans down over the hood, his eyes studying the engine with focused attention. He gives a few knocks on the engine and tries to look around inside as much as he can, his face becoming slightly grim as he starts to examine the issue.

He straightens himself up, closing the hood gently, before turning to you. His voice is calm and steady, "Well, looks like we've got some real trouble here. Engine seems to be overheating."

"I don't know much about cars..." you murmur, stepping closer to him and holding your coat tight around you

Charlie notices your closeness, and he instinctively reaches out, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder to keep you warm. He looks at you, a hint of a smile on his face as he replies, "Well, that's alright, not everyone needs to be a mechanic."

He glances at your car once more and sighs, "Overheating is a pretty common issue, it happens when your engine gets too hot to function properly. Based on the look of things, you won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

Your cheeks flush with his gentle touch, immediately craving more of his warm body. "I see, is there a motel or someplace I can stay for the night? Until I get this checked out?"

Charlie's eyes fall on yours, observing your blush with a hint of curiosity. He notices your desire for warmth but doesn't say anything.

He nods as you mention finding a place for the night and replies, "Yes, there are a couple of motels nearby, but they're not the most...pleasant, to say the least."

He studies your face again and his expression softens a bit as he continues, "You can stay at my place for the night. I have a guest room you can use."

Your blush deepens, the strong musk of his cologne sending your mind to inappropriate places. "Your place? Are you sure?"

Charlie looks at you, noticing your blushing getting even more noticeable, making him raise his eyebrows a bit. He smiles gently and says in a reassuring voice, "Yeah, my place. It's a lot more comfortable than any motel around here anyway. And I don't mind, really."

There's a hint of something in his voice, a subtle intensity that can't quite be explained. He looks at you again, making sure you're up for the idea.

"Alright, that sounds amazing." you grin, flashing him your pearly whites as you take a half step closer to him. "A warm cozy house, a soft mattress.. sounds like heaven." 

Charlie notices your movements, the way you step closer to him, and he can't help but chuckle softly. Seeing your toothy grin makes his heart skip a beat, the sound of your voice sending a shiver down his spine.

He responds with a smirk, "Oh, you flatter me. Now, let's get your things out of the car and head over there."

He motions for you to open the trunk, letting you help him carry your belongings to his patrol car. As you both move your belongings to his cruiser, Charlie can't help but sneak glances at you, noticing the way your skin glows in the pale moonlight. 

He holds open the passenger door of his car for you, his hand lingering for an extra second as you get in. He then walks around to the driver's side and settles in, starting up the engine. The silence in the car feels heavier than usual, the air filled with a mixture of uncertainty and anticipation.

"Thank you, Charlie," The warmth of the car causes you to relax into the plush seats. 

As you express your gratitude, a wave of genuine honesty comes over Charlie, his grip on the steering wheel loosening and his shoulders relaxing. He glances at you, noticing your relaxed state in the passenger seat.

His voice, low and sultry, responds, "No problem, Y/N. I'm glad to be able to help." He glances at you, his eyes lingering on your form, appreciating the sight of you in the warm glow of the car.

His voice is seductive, sending shivers down your spine and causing you to clench your legs together. You try to distract yourself, fumbling with the hem of your sweater as you stare out the window, heart pounding loudly in your ears. 

Charlie can practically feel the tension growing in the air as he continues to drive, the sound of your heart beating faster does not escape his ear. He steals a glance at you, noting your restless fiddling with the hem of your sweater.

His mind begins to wander and he silently wonders about the effect he's having on you. He decides to test the waters a bit, clearing his throat and saying, "You look a little cold there."

"Oh, uhm, just a little." your voice cracks slightly as you turn to look at him once again. 

Charlie smiles at the sound of your cracking voice, feeling almost amused at the way you respond. He keeps his gaze on the road ahead of him, but he notices the way your eyes meet his as you speak to him.

He decides to push further, reaching over to turn up the heat in the car. As he does so, his hand brushes lightly against your knee, a subtle but deliberate action designed to get a reaction from you.

You jump slightly, a soft surprised noise escaping your plush lips. Charlie grins at the sound of your startled gasp, his mind racing with intrigue and curiosity. He notices the way your body jerks at his touch, and he can't help but feel a rush of excitement go through him.

His hand continues to linger on your knee, his thumb gently rubbing small, almost soothing circles into your skin. "Sorry," he murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of playful innocence, "Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's.. okay.." you murmur, eyes focused on the way his finger moves against your skin. The short drive comes to an end as he pulls into the driveway of his house, you bite down on your bottom lip in anticipation as you wait for his next move.

Charlie notices the way you bite down on your bottom lip, his vision fixated on the way your teeth indent your lip. He can't help but think about how badly he wants to pull that lip between his own teeth and taste it for himself.

He parks the cruiser in the driveway and clears his throat, his mind trying to push down the thoughts of your lips. He looks at you, his eyes full of desire, as he says in a slightly hoarse voice, "We're here."

"Okay, shall we go inside?" You click the seatbelt, letting it fall back, turning at the waist to face him.

Charlie quickly notices the movement of your waist, his eyes briefly falling on the way your body shifts to face him. He lets out a low breath, trying to calm himself down, before replying, "Yeah, let's get inside."

He gets out of the car and walks around to your side, holding open the door for you. As you step out, he can't help but let his hand graze over your waist, a brief but purposeful touch.

"You're very gentlemanly," you giggle as he leads you to the door, your bags in hand. "Thank you again, Charlie."

Charlie chuckles softly as you mention his gentlemanly demeanor, feeling amused at the way you respond to him. He unlocks the front door and holds it open for you, gesturing for you to go inside first.

As you step inside, he follows closely behind, placing a hand on the small of your back, and guiding you further into the house. He responds, his voice warm and genuine, "No problem, Y/N, I'm glad I could help."

Charlie notices you leaning into his touch, your body molding into his, and his mind is flooded with thoughts of how badly he wants to wrap his arms around you. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, and it's driving him crazy.

He stops for a moment, his hand still on your back, and looks down at you, his voice soft and husky as he says, "Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything?"

"Could I please get a glass of water?" your tone is soft as he sets your bags next to the door, watching as his muscles flex from underneath his uniform. 

Charlie nods at your request, his mind briefly distracted by the way you speak to him in that soft voice. He feels your gaze on his muscular arms and chest, and he can't deny that it makes him feel a little more self-conscious.

He walks over to the kitchen, retrieving a glass and filling it with cold water from the tap. He returns to where you stand and hands you the water, his fingers brushing against yours as he does so.

You slip out of your sweater, revealing your skin-tight undershirt as you take a cautious seat on the couch, not wanting to get *too* comfortable.

As you shed your sweater, revealing the thin undershirt beneath, Charlie can't help but notice the way the material clings to your body, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he observes your every move. His eyes roam over your form, taking in the sight of your curves in the tight fabric, and he feels a wave of desire wash over him.

He watches as you gingerly sit on the couch, trying to maintain a sense of composure, and he wonders how much self-control he has left. He steps into the room, sitting next to you, and giving you a glass of cool water.

"Thank you," you murmur, sweetly smiling at him before taking a long sip of the drink. Your cleavage becomes more exposed to the man in front of you as you set the glass down, you lean back and relax on the couch. 

Charlie nearly chokes on his own saliva as he watches your cleavage become more exposed, his eyes fixed on the way the thin fabric clings to your skin, leaving practically nothing to the imagination. He swallows hard, trying to compose himself, but he can feel the tension in the air building between you both.

He shifts on the couch, trying to find a more comfortable position, as he replies, his voice huskier than before, "You're welcome."

"Are you married, sheriff?" You blurt out, heart racing as you contemplate trying to seduce the older man. 

Charlie is a little caught off guard by the sudden question, but he composes himself quickly. He gives a soft chuckle, leaning back on the couch and shaking his head.

He responds, his voice low and steady, "No, I'm not married." He looks at you, his eyes lingering on your exposed skin, and he can feel the tension and desire growing between you both.

You move closer to him, your hand falling to his thigh as you press your breasts against his arm. "A girlfriend?" you look at him through your lashes, gaze seductive as you admire his features in the new lighting.

Charlie feels the weight of your hand on his thigh, sparks shooting through his body at your touch. He can't help but let out a low breath as he feels your body pressed against his arm, the sight of your eyes looking up at him through your lashes is almost too much.

He maintains his composure, answering your question with a slightly hoarse voice, "No... no girlfriend." His eyes roam over your face, taking in every feature as he replies.

You lean forward, face mere inches from his. "Then... would you mind if I kiss you?" you slide onto his lap, gently letting your weight rest on him as your hands move to cup his face. 

Charlie is taken aback by your bold move, your body suddenly straddling his lap, the heat of your skin burning through the layers of his uniform. He can't help but let out a soft moan at the feeling of your weight on him, unable to control his own reaction to your touch.

He looks at you, his voice a low growl as he responds, "I don't mind at all." His hands come to grip your hips, steadying you on his lap as he awaits your next move.

Leaning forward you capture his lips in a gentle yet passionate kiss, hands moving to keep him close to you, hips rocking against his ever so slightly. 

Charlie responds immediately to your kiss, his lips meeting yours in a fierce yet tender embrace. He lets out a low moan as your hips start to rock against him, his hands gripping your hips even tighter, his fingers indenting your skin.

He pulls you closer to him, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, seeking entrance to the heat of your mouth. His mind is clouded with desire, the taste and feel of you against him is driving him wild.

Your mouth opens for him, your body desperate for more of his touch, you moan at the feeling of his erection growing against your clothed cunt. 

​

With a deep, needy groan, Charlie's arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as your kiss deepens. His hands slip under your shirt, his calloused fingers skimming over the softness of your skin, making you quiver with anticipation. His mouth moves to your neck, kissing and sucking gently, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. 

You can feel his hardness pressing against you, and your own need is becoming unbearable. Your hands tangle in his hair as you rock your hips into him, seeking more friction. Charlie's grip on your hips tightens as he feels your body grinding into him, and he can no longer resist the temptation. 

His hand slides down to palm your ass, guiding you closer as he grinds back against you, his erection pulsing with desire. His kisses become more urgent, his teeth grazing your earlobe before capturing your ear with his lips, whispering, "I want you, Y/N."

You gasp as his teeth graze your earlobe, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. "I want you too, Charlie," you murmur, your breath hot against his neck as you kiss and nip at the sensitive skin there. The intensity of your passion builds as your hands explore his body, feeling the tension in his muscles as he responds to your touch. 

Encouraged by your confession, Charlie's hand moves from your ass to the hem of your shirt, deftly sliding it up and over your head, leaving you in only your bra and pants. He kisses down your neck, his warm breath causing goosebumps to form, as he gently unclips the back of your bra, letting it fall away to expose your full, round breasts to the cool air. 

He groans in appreciation, his eyes dark with desire as he cups them in his hands, thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples. Your back arches, pressing you into his touch as his mouth finds on the peak, suckling it with an intensity that has you gripping his shoulders tightly, a soft moan escaping your lips.

With a sudden surge of need, Charlie wraps his arms around your waist and effortlessly lifts you from the couch, carrying you down the hallway to his dimly lit bedroom. He sets you gently on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he starts to unbuckle his belt, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

He pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the well-defined muscles and tattoos that cover his torso, making your heart race even faster. You watch, mesmerized, as he unbuttons and pulls down his pants, his erection straining against his boxers.

With trembling hands, you help him remove the last of his clothing, revealing his rock-hard body to the cool air. He returns the favor, taking his time to remove your pants and panties, leaving you nude in front of him. His eyes drink in the sight of you, silent praise for the beauty laid before him.

With a gentle push, Charlie lays you back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he climbs over you, his body hovering just above yours. He kisses you softly, his mouth exploring yours with a passion that's tender yet fiery, his tongue dancing with yours as his hands continue to roam your body. You can feel the heat from his bare skin as he presses himself against you, his erection nestling between your thighs.

You wrap your legs around him, urging him closer, your hands exploring the firm planes of his back as he kisses down your body, leaving a trail of sweet kisses from your neck to your navel. His mouth finds your clit, his tongue flicking gently against the sensitive nub, making your back arch and your hips buck involuntarily.

He moves in a torturously slow rhythm, building your pleasure until you're panting for more, your nails digging into his shoulders as you beg for his cock. Charlie chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through your body. He kisses up your stomach, his eyes locked with yours as he positions himself at your entrance.

With one hand, he guides himself in, his eyes never leaving yours as he sinks into you inch by inch. You gasp as he fills you completely, the feeling of fullness making you whimper with need. He starts to move, his strokes deep and slow, drawing out every ounce of pleasure from your body.

Your hips match his rhythm, the slick sounds of skin on skin filling the room as you both give in to the passion consuming you. The tension builds, coiling tightly in your stomach, until it's almost too much to handle. With a final, powerful thrust, Charlie whispers your name against your ear, sending you over the edge into a climax that leaves you trembling and gasping for breath.

You cling to him as he follows suit, his warmth seeping into you as he releases his own passion, your bodies joined as one. After a moment, he collapses onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his embrace as you both catch your breath, the aftershocks of your shared pleasure still coursing through your veins.

[fivveweeks]

i am once again asking you to look at my babygirls right now

[lnfours]

i could imagine how soft lando is after a fight and maybe you could write something about lando and reader had a lowkey big fight, and lando decided to join her to the shower (GWSJZHHAHZ) and apologize under the shower before finally creating a steamy scene with the reader

ooooh my god. oh my god.

smut (18+ please!)

send in your lando thoughts

the argument was something stupid. a result of exhaustion and frustration on his end. he hasn’t meant to upset you, or yell at you for that matter, but he had. and he felt guilty when you turned on your heels, walking away and leaving him in the kitchen.

you two hadn’t seen much of each other the past week and a half. between his traveling, his training schedule and your own calendar, it felt like you were always just missing each other. it felt like you didn’t get to spend so much time with the other recently, which was a big deal to you beings he’s hardly home to begin with.

you knew he hadn’t really meant to go off, maybe you had caught him at the wrong time. you knew he was tired, wanting nothing more than a simple break. but you couldn’t help it. you missed your boyfriend. plain and simple.

he walked into the bedroom, hoping to find you, but instead heard the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. he cracked open the door, stripping off his shirt.

“lando?”

“hmm?”

“what’re you doing?” you asked, but you knew what he was doing. he wasn’t being very subtle about it.

the shower door opened and he step foot inside with you, curls sticking to his forehead as the water fell onto the two of you, “joining you, is that alright?”

you nodded, letting his hands find your hips.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled, letting your back hit his chest, lips brushing against the skin of your shoulder, “for yelling and getting short with you. i shouldn’t have yelled.”

you hummed softly, “‘s okay,”

“let me make it up to you.”

his words lost into the skin of your neck and the sound of the shower water pouring down around you. his hands rested on your tummy, holding you against him as you felt his teeth gently nibble at the skin where your neck meets your collarbone.

“how do you plan on making it up to me?”

his hands moved down, fingers dipping between your folds as he teased you. you gasped, head falling back against his shoulder as he smiled down at you, “‘ve got a few ideas.”

“lando,” his name on your tongue sounded heavenly to him.

“yeah, baby,” he said, “tell me what you want. i’m yours.”

you moaned, his teeth gently pulling at your earlobe.

“fuck,” you swallowed, grasping at his forearm. wet from the warm water and his muscles and veins peeking through his perfectly tan skin, “i need you. please,”

he was quick to move his hands to your hips, the two of you finding yourselves situated with your hands on the glass, his one hand on your hip as the other teased himself up and down your slit.

“this what you want, pretty girl? want me to fuck you up against this shower wall?”

“please,” you said. and he would’ve been lying if he said he could deny you like this. spread out and vulnerable, waiting for him to take care of the aching between your thighs that was simply his fault.

“c’mere,” he mumbled, hand wrapping around the base of your throat to pull your head back, your mouth opening in a gasp as he pushed in. no matter how many times he’d have you like this, the stretch and feeling of tightening around him was never not delicious.

“fuck,” he mumbled, slowly moving his hips once you had fully adjusted, “missed you.”

“i missed you too.” you managed to choke out. his hand was still around your throat and as he picked up his movements, the pressure against the points in your neck became greater and greater. your eyes rolled back as he moaned into your ear.

“i love you,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the skin below your ear, “so much.”

“i love you too,” you could barely speak, too drunk off of the way his dick was slamming in and out of you. how good it felt to let him have his way with you.

“so good for me,” his free hand traveled, finding your clit with ease as he began running tight circles against it, “come for me, baby. you deserve it.”

you moaned his name, making him pick up the pace just a little more as his hips met yours in a consistent pace. the pace that drove you crazy.

soon the coil in your lower belly was threatening to snap, “‘m so close, lan.”

“me too, baby,” he said, “gonna come for me? come all over my dick, hmm?”

nothing could compete with his dirty talk and he knew it. watching the way your body convulsed against him, your moans and the way you tightened around him sending him over the edge.

he came with you, moaning into your ear as you tried catching your breath. chest rising and falling as he pulled you back from the shower wall. he carefully slipped out of you, letting you turn around before he placed a kiss on your lips.

between kisses he mumbled against your lips, “how about we get cleaned up and take this to the bed, hm?”

you nodded, hands finding his curls, “please.”

[firestorm09890]

"Is he called the 'Viper' because he bites people" -woman who likes to bite whatever she can and does not realize she's a vampire

"No, it's a figure of speech. He sounds irritating but is probably a good strategist" -military strategist many find irritating to deal with because mentally she never left The War

"Whoever made this corridor purple with nothing in it must be a terrible leader. You always need to think about morale" -the same woman, whose usual solution for low morale in her teammates is "stop whining. manager we should kill them"

"the sephirot should have just had a fistfight instead of badmouthing each other for eternity" -Outis again

"Hod is too overprotective" -you'll never guess

[clazaries]

Just a Neighbour Thing

(MarcSpector! x f!reader)

Summary: Your neighbour Marc Spector is a pain in your ass. Until he saves your life. w/c: 3.9k Warnings: a lil bit of violence but nothing too graphic. Fluff! a/n: I'll be posting a masterlist soon because I think I've got about three or four fics out now and a few to come!

Marc Spector is an elusive character. A man of very few words and an enigmatic personality - not that you know him well enough to judge his character - but from the rare occasions where your paths crossed in your apartment building, it can be summed up with a small smile from you and a smouldering glare from him. Often aloof, the opportunity to get to know him better as a neighbour never seems to present itself and it leaves you struggling to understand who’s to blame. It’s obvious personal defects are the cause; but his or yours? 

There’s been many occasions where you’ve had to confront his brick-wall disposition, mostly due to the fact that his ringer on the main lobby doesn’t work, so naturally people go for the next best option which is to press the ringer directly below it: yours. You deliberately leave his mail to accumulate at your door until it becomes an unavoidable mound of tax letters, local advertisements and rent notifications and only then do you brave the trip to the apartment above to deliver his post. 

It’s always the same. You knock on the door in a rhythmic pattern that’s become yours. Within seconds he answers the door with the same cold expression, wordlessly takes his mail no matter how hard you try to start up a conversation and before long, you’re staring face to face with the shabby wooden surface of his door. The only thing that changes with each encounter are the clothes that he wears. Different but fairly relative to his style. Purely functional and never dressed for any occasion.

You didn’t mind it for a while. There was some satisfaction and fulfilment to be found while doing your neighbourly duties and despite the fact that there was every possibility he wouldn’t do it for you, you weren’t someone who held a grudge or felt like they had ever been owed a favour. But the mailman had happened upon you on a very bad day and you didn’t feel like accepting his parcel. You had recently been made redundant after the company you worked for did a reshuffling of working positions and yours wasn’t to be included in the new phase they had turned over. So you wallowed at home, watched numerous brain-rotting films, ate a load of junk food and drank lots of wine. 

It was nothing personal towards the mailman when he chapped on your door and demanded a signature for Marc’s parcel, but you couldn’t pretend to be the ‘lovely-neighbour-from-downstairs’ any longer. 

“This is for 8B upstairs. Says there.”

“I know. I can read,” the mailman grumbles, “but I tried knocking on his door but there wasn’t an answer. The parcel needs to be left with someone and you’re the nominated designee.” 

“Can’t you just leave it with another neighbour?” 

“No, says it needs to be left with you.” 

You look at the large rectangular box and consider it. Aside from Marc’s address scribbled on the top, the box is littered with numerous stamps from various international postal services, few you recognize. It looks to be well travelled and handled with very little care yet there’s nothing to suggest what’s inside. With a sigh, you take it from the mailman. It could be important, especially if it’s gone through so many countries to get here and the fact that you would be to blame if it got stolen or damaged. “Fine, I’ll take it.” 

The mailman looks to his feet where a growing pile of letters addressed to Marc starts to spill over into the threshold of your apartment, judgement washing over his features. “Do you…do you normally take all of his mail as well?” 

“Do me a favour? If you ever see the guy from 8B, tell him to come collect his fucking mail.” 

There’s a part of you that feels slightly bad for the mailman when you slammed the door in his face, but then you remember that if Marc stopped being so fucking immature about answering his own door to receive his mail, then you wouldn’t need to feel bad about anything. You leave the parcel sitting on your hallway table, waiting for the day Marc grows some responsibility and asks you for it. 

~~~~

When you placed the parcel on the hallway table, you didn’t expect that it would be sitting there for over a week collecting dust, nor did you expect the curiosity of what’s inside to completely consume you. You walked past it every time you left or entered your apartment. It was in the corner of your eye every time you sat in the living room. It practically radiated temptation every time you took notice of it, screamed at you like it was begging to be opened and you had to force your grubby hands to keep still and not reach for it. But you so desperately wanted to know what was inside. Why was it so conspicuous? Why has it suddenly become the most interesting thing in your apartment?

Perhaps Marc was testing you, sending you a little something of no importance to experiment with your curiosity and test whether or not he could trust to leave you with his personal belongings like he does with his letters. That’s certainly what it felt like by the turn of day eight of the parcel being there and you simply refused to be a rat in his experiment. 

That determination lasted for two whole days before it started to truly pester you. It was starting to get in the way and it felt as though it was getting impossibly bigger and bigger. On day nine you were ready to break it, smash it against every wall, rip every piece of cardboard that keeps it together and deliver it in that state to Marc yourself. From your sofa you stood, eyeing the parcel as if it was taunting you and with adrenaline thrumming through your veins, you stomped towards it. Hands outstretched, you were ready to throw it in any direction but something stopped you at the very last second. Something peculiar and completely out of the ordinary. You halted just centimetres out of reach from the parcel, centimetres out of reach from your door where you could hear the whispers of two or three men right outside. You could see the moulds of their bodies through the peephole. 

“Look, I’m telling you he lives here-”

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. All his mail is sitting here. It’s definitely the right apartment. The parcel is in there.” 

The parcel. They’re here for the parcel. 

“C’mon let’s get this over with. He’ll be back soon. Where’s the crowbar?” 

In the very few heart-stopping, crucial seconds you have before anything happens, you quickly banish all hysteria and muster all rationality and flip over the keyless lock and quietly shuffle away from the door with the parcel in hand. You estimate you have about 15 seconds before they make any headway of getting into your apartment, not enough time for you to hide, but enough time to hide Marc’s parcel. After all, that’s what they are here for. With your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes scan over every nook and cranny of your apartment, quickly assessing each spot based on how likely the intruders are to find it and with the seconds dwindling into single digits, you make a snappy, slightly reckless decision. There’s a ledge just outside your kitchen window where you occasionally leave out some seeds for the birds and you think it’s just low enough that the parcel won’t be seen from the window. It’s risky but you’re running out of time, you have to move. 

Scrambling over counter tops and at the sacrifice of knocking over a few utensils, you manage to wrestle the window open and precariously place the box on the window ledge. It’s risky. The ledge isn’t wide and it’s windy, but whatever is in the parcel is just heavy enough that it stays rooted to the spot. 

Pulling back, your hand grazes the handle of a kitchen knife which, now that the intruders have made their way into your apartment, seems like a good idea to have. 

They round the corner into your living room and immediately start looking for the parcel, noticing you only a few seconds into their search. You point the knife in their direction standing courageously but your wavering breath tells a different story.

The three of them turn towards you from where they stand, and given their expressions, they are just as shocked to see you here than you are to see them. You weren’t supposed to be a variable in their plan. They were supposed to be burglarizing Marc’s empty apartment. Not yours. 

The two taller brown-haired men have similar features and builds, almost identical and you begin to wonder if they are twins. Brothers at the very least. But it’s the ageing stout man standing where the living room and kitchen divide who stares you down. He’s dressed smartly in a tweed suit with a golden pocket watch hanging from his waist coat, the type of man who doesn't like to get his hands dirty, because of course, that job belongs to the bulky twins behind him. This is a man who loves to watch it as it happens. He’s more business than manual labour. 

His facial features morph from shock to something sinister, his lips twisting into a smile that’s as greasy as the hair on his head as if the cruellest of ideas just crossed his mind. 

“I didn’t know Marc had a girlfriend,” he sneers. 

“He doesn’t,” you snarl, aiming the knife directly at him with two hands. “He doesn’t even live here either.”

“Oh, so his mail just gets delivered here on a daily basis?” The man hovers over to your coffee table and picks up multiple letters addressed to Marc, the ones that were delivered last week and remained there because of your stubborn nature. 

Okay, not off to a great start. “He doesn’t live here.”

He grins but it falls flat a split second later. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. Now where is he?”

“I don’t know because he doesn’t live here.”

“Bullshit. Where. Is. He?”  

“Not here. I’m not afraid to use this knife.”

“Oh, not from there you won’t. Let me help you with that.” The man crosses the space between you in three long strides until you’re pressed flat against the counter and the point of the knife grazes the tip of his waist coat. The audacity of this man is staggering. “Save yourself the hassle and tell me where Marc is.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know where he is! Now get the fuck out of my apartment. Whatever it is you’re looking for isn’t here.”

“And have you call the cops on us? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out to grab you, and he almost does, but with your quick reflex swinging the knife around, you knick the palm of his hand. The man stumbles backwards with a pained yelp, watching the blood seep from his hand and drip onto your kitchen tiles, enraged that you would even do such a thing. Despite your heart racing and the slightly dizzy feeling of adrenaline raging through your veins, you stand strong, holding the knife even higher in warning. 

“You bitch. Boys!” He shouts and the two brothers come running to his side, sizing you up. “Tie her up. We’re not leaving without that package and I’m certain she knows where it is.” 

It was easy enough to defend yourself against this puny man with a knife, but against two brutes who manhandle you as if you are lamb for slaughter, you don’t stand a chance. Relentless, you squirm and wriggle and fight to get out of their grasp, and while you had accepted that you were fighting a losing battle, there’s still some pride to be had about how hard you made it for them. Rather than tying you up unscathed, Thing 1 ties your hands with a bloody, swollen nose and Thing 2 ties your ankle with a forming black eye and a bruise developing on his ribs. 

With you strapped to the chair, they stuff a gag in your mouth to dim your screams while they scramble to ransack your apartment, turning it upside down to find the fucking parcel Marc left you with. After 15 minutes passes by, your home is a riot; furniture broken, plates, mugs and bowls smashed, everything you own on the floor. 

“Boss, it ain’t here. We’re searched everywhere.”

“It has to be!” The stout man shouts, eyes glaring at you enraged. He crouches down, fiery ageing eyes level with yours. He rips the gag out of your mouth and presents a new threat. A razor sharp knife, gleaning in the light as he holds it directly in front of your face. “For the last time. Where is the parcel?!” 

“I am telling you. I don’t know,” you spit, trying with all your might to sound as convincing as possible. “I don’t know what parcel you’re talking about. I don’t know where Marc is--I don’t even know the guy! And he sure as shit doesn’t live here. And if any of you had half a brain to actually read the letters will realise that his address is the floor above me. He never answers his fucking door and that’s why I have all his mess at my door.” 

The guy jabs the point of his knife underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards. A nauseous feeling stirs in your stomach, raising your body temperature and conjuring a little bead of sweat to drip from your hairline. Your teeth clamp down onto the inner lining of your cheek, hoping, praying, pleading for someone to burst through your door and save you.

You can’t see anything change within the man in front of you, not taking your word for gospel and the more frustrated he becomes, the more danger faces you. Temperament rising, the man grunts and knicks the skin of your chin, splicing the skin open. “Argh, fuck!” 

“Marc might not live here, but we know the parcel was delivered! And if you do end up with all his mail then it should be here. Now stop lying to me, you little bitch, and tell me where the fucking parcel is or you are going end up with a lot worse than a cut to your chin.” 

You watch in horror as he presses the edge of the knife over your wrist tied to the armrest of the chair and no amount of squirming can break the ties. Fuck, please tell me that I’m not going to lose a limb over a fucking parcel…

Tears pool in the corner of your eyes, your brave facade failing. You’re absolutely terrified

“I’ll give you some context then. That parcel contains something I want, an ancient Egyptian artefact that contains unimaginable power and would bring me a lot of wealth, and Marc Spector has no business taking it from me--” So that’s Marc’s surname. “And unless you want to keep your thieving hands, you’ll tell me where it is.” 

As he begins to press the knife’s sharp edge down onto your skin, you start to consider the depravity of the situation, the truth finding its way to your lips. There’s nothing more you want than for this to all be over, to be wrapped up warm and safe in your bed but you can’t shake the arrogance of this guy and his stooges, busting in here like he is entitled to, making a mess of your home, harming you, all to take something that was clearly meant for Marc, all because he thought it would be better with him than with Marc. 

No. Fuck that.

“I. Don’t. Know.” A glob of saliva gathers on your tongue and you spit it into the face of your capture, because if your words can’t send the message, hopefully that will. 

“You should believe her, by the way.” A voice emerges from behind you and simultaneously, all three men turn towards your front door in stupor. You try to twist your head over your shoulder as far as you can to catch a glance but he’s just out of your sight, however you don’t need to wait long before you get confirmation of who is standing at your door. 

“Marc Spector,” your captur states. “Finally.”

“Mind telling me what you’re doing in my neighbour’s apartment?”

“For the very same reason why you’re here, Marc. The parcel. Our parcel. The one you stole.” 

Marc snickers. Having gone so long without seeing what a smile looks like on his face, you’re itching to turn around and see him, but you only get as far as Thing 2 who stands with your back to you, blocking your view. “Torturing women for information? Tsk, tsk, that’s a little beneath your remit Donald, is it not? You’re wasting your time. I have the parcel locked up in storage.” An obvious lie, but not obvious enough to them. “She’s got nothing to do with it. In fact, I don’t even know her.” 

“I don’t care who I have to go through to get what is mine, whether it’s her or you, I will have it by the time the day is up. Boys!”

“Your mistake.”

In the space of a second, the three men in front of you disappear and you’re left to stare at the vast emptiness of your white walls as chaos erupts behind you. Grunts and groans of pain are spliced in between the sounds of punches and kicks being thrown, furniture breaking, bones crunching and bodies thumping to the ground, all of which you try to drown out by hunching your shoulders over your ears and closing your eyes. 

After suspenseful minutes of fighting, it’s clear one man stands victorious. Who? You don’t know. Aside from worrying about what kind of state of your apartment would be left in, you have no idea who you’ve been left in the apartment with and the likelihood of Marc succeeding against three men is slim and the anticipation is killing you.

At last, when a fully mummified figure with white glowing eyes kneels in front of you, you’re taken aback. 

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” His hand comes to tilt your head gently, inspecting the small cut to your chin with a small tut.

“...Marc?”

The mask that covers his face dissipates to reveal the Marc you recognise, looking more worried than you had ever thought he was capable of. He begins to make quick work of your bounds, easily ripping through them with a single fingertip where all the strength in your arms couldn’t. 

“What the…”

“It’s a lot to explain. I promise, I’ll explain later. Are you hurt? Are you alright? They didn’t do anything terrible to you, did they? Fuck. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry-”

“Marc, hey, I’m okay. Just a little shaken up I think.” Now free, you come to stand in front of Marc who, weirdly enough, seems to don this mummified Egyptian regalia as a suit of armour. You remember this ‘Donald’ guy mentioning something about an ancient Egyptian artefact and you assume it has to be related to whatever Marc is wearing. You even try to mention it, but you can’t seem to get a word in with Marc fussing over your safety and blaming himself for any harm that Donald and his men have caused you as he gently dabs the blood away from your chin. After futile attempts, you decide to leave it be, marvelling over the new Marc as he carefully handles you with care despite having treated you with such indifference up until a few minutes ago. 

Donald and his two bodyguards lie unconscious (...or dead?) on your apartment floor and you look over them with satisfaction, Marc’s unparalleled strength no match for them. Marc quietly lingers behind you, observing them over your shoulder with a similar resolve until he notices the complete disarray surrounding them. 

“Sorry about the mess.” 

You chuckle lightheartedly. “I’m just glad you came when you did. They got what they deserved.”

“Look,” he pulls you away from them to lock eyes, sincerity twinkling in his irises, “I really am sorry. I thought I was careful enough to not get anyone involved in my mess, but I guess I was wrong.” 

You crunch your eyebrows together, recollecting every instance of Marc giving you the cold shoulder. You always thought he was just an unfriendly neighbour, someone who had no interest in anyone but himself, who viewed everyone as an inconvenience. But it was his safeguard, his way of not letting anyone he knew or cared about come into harm. “So you being an asshole was on purpose?” 

“Completely. It was nothing personal.”

“I see,” you sigh, but with a gentle bump of shoulders, you add “I could’ve helped you, you know. You just needed to ask.” 

He shakes his head dejectedly. “It would’ve been too much of a risk.” 

“More of a risk than not asking me? I still got caught up in the crossfire anyway, if I had known why, or at least expected it, I could’ve been better prepared. I don’t need to know what trouble you got yourself into or what shady business you run, but I’m not just your neighbour, I could’ve been a friend if you had allowed me.” 

“It had never worked out for me in the past. I didn’t want to make the same mistake again.” 

“Okay, I get it. You’re forgiven. But Marc? A word of advice for the future? Just answer your fucking mail then maybe, just maybe, I won’t need to be dragged into all of this again, yeah? They thought you lived here.” You pick up a handful of unopened letters addressed to him and bluntly shove them against his chest with an appointed look and smirk. 

He reciprocates the smile with less enthusiasm and turns his attention to your door. “Speaking of, I’ve got a very important parcel I need to track down. I actually have no idea where it is. I can’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”

“About that.” You don’t say another word as you lead him to your kitchen window, awkwardly mounting your counter to reach for the parcel lying just outside your window. As soon as you bring it into view, Marc’s face lights up like you’ve never seen before. 

“You had it?! This whole time?! I heard you tell them you didn’t have it!” 

“I’ve had it for weeks, actually. Those clowns didn’t exactly take the quiet approach when breaking into my flat so I knew what they were here for. I just had enough time to hide it before they came in. And I can be quite the convincing liar when I need to be.” 

Marc quickly discards the parcel, throwing it onto the kitchen counter before throwing his arms around you, knocking the air out of you and squeezing tightly like his life depended on it. “You…are an angel. I can’t thank you enough.”

The two of you embrace for longer than what’s normal between two neighbours, partly in Marc’s resounding appreciation and partly because it feels nice. 

“In all honesty, I was two seconds from opening the parcel myself. The curiosity was killing me.” Marc’s laughter shakes his body, his warmth slowly leaving you as he draws back. 

“I can show you if you want. I figure you’ll be needing a place to stay while we get your apartment cleaned up. It’s the least I can offer for all the trouble I’ve put you through.” 

“Yeah. That would be nice.”

[atiny111718]

Seventeen Reactions:

Hyung line: When you send them the wrong photo

Warnings: smut, suggestive, swearing, some mentions of tits and lingerie

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Seungcheol:

Jeonghan:

Joshua:

Jun:

Hoshi:

Wonwoo:

Woozi:

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

merry cold weather holiday. not fine fic chapter 12

i hope y'all r warm and toasty and enjoying a hot choc wherever u are <3 here's an update that's literally a year overdue skdhfds pls forgive me

i hope you like fluff and petty sun/moon sibling arguments. bc thats what ur getting