#not rusty cause I’ve never written him before

[author-chan06]

Can you make one about 049 adopting *you*il’and taking care of you. Please and thank you :)

Hello, creepyalienghost! Apologies that it took so long for this to be done, but it is finally here! Pairing: SCP 049 & Child OC Character Wordcount: 2,458 A/N: I do hope this meets your expectations, sorry if he’s a bit off at the moment in this story, this is actually the first time I’ve really written 049, and so I was kinda trying to find my footing, and I hope you like the child character, even though they’re not complex here. The child is kinda supposed to be a self insert anyway, I just wrote it in third person, I hope you don’t mind that. Anyway, I’m rambling now, onto the story! Tws: Sickness, Implied Bigotry (Minor), Parental Neglect or Abandonment, Crying

I’ll Make It Better

Summary: After hearing about a town that has been racked with a sickness, SCP 049 goes over to see if there are any survivors he might be able to assist, and there is. He finds a child that seems to have caught the affliction but is working through it alone.

The old town seems to be deserted.

The buildings are dilapidated and empty, a silence that carries across the area and feels heavy enough to drive away any who would want to near hangs in the air. It smells of decay and death and fear, potent enough to choke any normal person.

The Doctor knows the sensations well though, and easily makes his way through the town, carefully searching through the houses for any survivors, meticulous and sure hands pulling up pieces of walls and picking the locks to check the rooms. He makes sure that no place is left out of his search.

It may seem strange, but he heard from a patron of a bar he’d gone through a couple days ago, about two towns over, about the outbreak that occurred and how it had decimated this town. They had explained in quite vivid detail how the disease has gripped people and turned them a sickly yellow, how it has given them boils that burn as hot as hellfire, and how they deserved it for what they did in that town. For how they were allowed to live there.

His sudden departure from the area had been hardly noted, and he had been glad. If he stayed any longer he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his oath to do no harm to living creatures. And moreover, he knew where he was needed.

No matter, the Doctor banishes the thought of the uncouth man and continues his search, his senses detecting some signs of life farther away. He follows it, ducking under a broken door frame and opening the door to a much smaller room that seems to be some type of bedroom. The scent of life is much stronger here, he notes, hopefully closing the door behind him and aiming to search the room as thoroughly as possible until he finds whoever or whatever it might be that had survived this scourge. It should be fairly easy with such a small space to search through, and then he can get back to his main goal of curing the wretched Pestilence from humanity.

It doesn’t take long— in truth he doesn’t even need to look, for as soon as he closes the door a cough rattles out from beneath a pile of blankets on the bed, ragged and painful sounding in a way that suggests the throat is scratched and rough, and a small hand peeks out, fingers curling around the cover and pushing it weakly to the side as if fighting against the unrelenting hand of the gods themselves; there’s another cough, and the covers slip, falling from the bed and leaving the person below completely exposed, shivering and hot. 

A child, the Doctor immediately realizes, something almost like panic pressing in his chest as he stares.

It’s not the Pestilence, or at least, it’s not the one he’s spent his entire existence fighting, but he can still feel the sickness radiating from the child. The Pestilence is present as well, but only dormant, and he knows that if the child stays like this for any longer then they will not live long enough for it to develop any farther. Usually that would betoken a job done, once the Pestilence has been infected into someone— and there are so very few without it— the only way to end it is through his cure, or death of the mortal flesh. And his cure is not perfect, it is barely satisfactory at the moment, meaning that the child would likely not survive that either. Their death would cause the exact same outcome at the moment. He should move on and find another survivor, there is surely at least one more that has less Pestilence in their system. And yet. And yet.

Dark eyes peek up at him, barely lucid but just bright enough, just there enough, that he knows they see him, and he finds himself paralyzed. Their hands curl around themselves, seeking warmth of any kind as if they can feel the chill of death breathing down their neck, and when they try to move closer, to take a closer look at him, their arms tremble and they fall backwards, a horribly painful sounding cough racking their small frame and making them whine.

He should just leave, or even try to cure them; he’s never hesitated before, and he should not allow himself such a liberty now, and yet.

He’s never wanted to harm anyone. His goal has always been to save, to help, to make better.

This child could be helped. This child could be cured. If not of the Pestilence, then of this horrible sickness that has taken hold of them now.

The Doctor inches closer, reaching out a hand to the child, who blinks blearily and tries to reach back, muscles trembling and sweat sticking their small amount of hair to their head, their fingers splayed apart as if in pain or for more reach. And he quickly grabs their hand just before it falls— he assumes it would have pitched them forward, and something about that thought makes his chest lurch— and he leans the child back, watching the way they move with him carefully, supporting their back with a hand, while keeping their hand in his, his deadly touch deactivated, as their breathing that had pitched higher at the strain calms a bit and their eyes start to clear a bit more, as if his mere presence cures them a bit, as if his mere presence helps them feel better.

He isn’t quite sure how to feel about that, but he makes sure to keep his voice as kind as he can when he finally speaks, “Child, what ails you? Did the grown folk speak of the plague harming your town?,” He pauses, and then adds, “I am a physician, and I am here to help you.”, hoping to assuage any worry the child might have of his appearance. 

Plague Doctors such as himself are common, though they were not called that by any but himself as far as he has knowledge, but most children were unfamiliar with the medical field unless something disastrous has occurred. He hopes he is the first this child has had to meet, but, from his looking around, it seems unlikely, despite how miserable that thought is. 

But he is still certainly different from others in his field— he has been told as such by many— and he would not want to scare this child with his unconventional methods and his strange looks.

“Phy…” They whisper, their voice broken and feeble. Their hand shivers in his and he moves just that much closer, pressing a hand to their forehead to measure their temperature as they try to continue, “Physic’an? Momma sai’ they only c’m ‘round in the bad,” And it’s like they remember this as they say it, because their chest jerks, eyes going wide as their body swings, trying to get away or go do something, but they cannot, their mind obviously spinning as their breathing labors in their chest and makes their lungs seize, and the Doctor helps, catching them and trying to calm the way his own heart has jumped. They are quite hot to the touch, he notes down with worry.

He settles them back on the bed, and leans back, just far enough that they have space to move without his hovering. “That is,” He hesitates. What is appropriate to tell a child in this circumstance? If their mother and father haven’t left already, then they are very likely dead, and if they did leave… The Doctor has seen that enough to be sure that they are very unlikely to come back. “The town has been struck with a nasty plague, I’m afraid.” He settles on, keeping his hand on their shoulder so they don’t jerk too hard again, and keeping an eye on their face. It does no one any good to deny them information.

They turn ashen as they swallow, and their eyes flicker back and forth, like they’re looking for something and it takes a moment for him to realize that—

This poor child is going to be heartbroken.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, “I could not seem to get here in time, and the sir and madam of this house… They do not seem to be around anymore.” He doesn’t specify for what reason, mainly he keeps it as such because he does not know for certain, but seeing the crumble of the child’s face… that might have influenced his words, he must admit. He thinks the child knows anyway— there is an intelligence about them— but he won’t say it unless they ask.

The child’s trembles intensify and they press their hands to their face, their legs pulling up to their chest slowly, and he can hear their breathing go rough, a ragged sob that has been building for he is unsure how long falls from them, and, as if a dam has been broken, they start to fall in earnest, small hands try to rub them away, to push the feelings away and make it stop, but they just continue to fall, and their lips tremble, the redness of the fever giving way to a despair that strikes the Doctor in the heart.

The Doctor does not even think before he moves closer this time, drawing the child into his side and letting them be covered by his robes as they cry, and, despite their apprehension before, they latch on immediately, stronger and more trusting than he would have ever expected making him jolt, staring down at the child, though he does not push them away, only moving to make it a bit more comfortable and to be able to have his hand on their shoulder to comfort them if need be. And they seem to appreciate it, as their hands dig into his robes and they dig their face into his chest, their tears pressing into his skin and dampening the fabric like covering. 

Not that he minds the dirtying of his clothes itself– he is a Doctor, that happens often enough— but he does wish they weren’t so sad; the tears harm his heart, and he is not used to that.

It is not something he would particularly like to get used to.

But this goes on for quite some time, and he does not rid of the child, nor does he try to cure them— no matter how much his hands itch to— and instead he just continues to hold them, eventually hesitantly shifting so that the child is on his lap, curled up and small but protected, his robes fanned out more than usual and arms settled on their back. If anyone or anything enters, it means he can turn his wrist and catch them with his deadly touch before they can harm either of them, and it means that he can rub the child’s back.

“Why would mama leave me?” The child eventually mumbles, tears still falling but starting to slow to a sluggish pace. Their face is shiny and red, eyes blurry and dark, and the Doctor is overwhelmed by a feeling he’s never had before, one that he cannot quite classify the way he would like to, and it makes him wish for a more expressive face, a more human build so that he could calm this child more effectively, so that he could show his emotions.

But he did say that he would tell them if they asked, and they are asking.

The Doctor hums, rubbing a hand down their back, listening in the silence as everything pauses, “I can not say for certain she left, child, but if she did…” The child tenses and looks up at him, and he once again wishes for a human face, anything more expressive than his beak when he admits, “It is likely she thought you would spread the plague to her and her other loved ones. She made the decision to stop the spread, because she knew it would take them as well, if she didn’t stop it.”

Their chest hitches but they don’t start crying again. They rub at their eyes roughly, but the Doctor stops that, running a gloved finger under them, and letting his beak curl into the closest he can get to a smile as his voice warms, “It could also mean, she thought you could survive on your own, that she trusted in your ability to persevere and live, and well,” The child blinks and leans into his hand, and something about that makes him feel warm. If only for a moment he worries about contracting what the child has, but he knows that’s impossible and so he continues, “She would have been right. As though you are sick now, I have gotten here on time, and by the time I leave, I promise that you will be better.”

“Better?” The child asks, hopeful and small, hands coming to clutch at his own and at his robes.

The Doctor nods, and keeps his voice warm, just as warm as he feels, as he agrees, “Better.”

It’s strange, the Doctor will readily admit that, to be curing someone of something other than the Pestilence, or even to have to comfort someone through the process, someone who can still be scared of the items and methods he is using. But he wouldn’t call it anything other than that. It isn’t painful, or bad, or awkward, or anything of the sort, and maybe that’s because it’s this special child— though he doesn’t quite understand why the child is special yet, these instincts have never driven him wrong before, they’re the same ones that pushed him onto the path of the Cure over and over again, they’re the ones that assured him that traveling through Europa was the right choice— or maybe it’s easy to comfort them for some reason that is just something that he cannot pick out.

But no matter what it is, it makes him care about this child, and since he cares he will cure them.

And when it’s time to leave—

Well, the Doctor has always needed an assistant.

Never mind the fact the child rarely remembers what he teaches, often gets the wrong ingredients and tools for him, and can cause all sorts of trouble. That’s his assistant and they go wherever he goes, and they learn, slowly but surely. And he learns with and of them, of humans and their customs, of family and friendship, of hope and laughter and excitement, and silly fun.

And he finds that he doesn’t just make the child better. No— they make him better too.

[adifferentsortofstrength]

The Chase

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Someone made a post a few days ago musing about Elain and Azriel being into primal play. I’ve had very little exposure to this particular kink, but the stuff I have seen was… enlightening. It just seemed like something Elriel would absolutely be in to, so I ran with it.

And now here we are.

Fair warning, I haven’t written much smut since my peak Wattpad days in high school, so I’m a little rusty. But I had tons of fun with this piece, and I hope you do too.

Pertinent tags below. ♡

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Come, find me.

Those had been Elain’s parting words that night, whispered into his ear as she left their family in the manor sitting room. They had been sneaking around for months now, and as far as Azriel knew, no one was even suspicious. Being discreet was his specialty, and it turned out Elain was a quick study.

Half an hour after she departed, he excused himself, claiming he had paperwork to attend to. Instead of heading for his room, however, he bid his shadows to deposit him in Elain’s chambers, just one floor up.

But her room was empty.

A breeze caused the curtains to billow around the window, and Azriel strode over to peer out. He cast his gaze over the expansive garden, finding no sign of her. A quick sweep through the rest of the house yielded the same result.

Come, find me.

Azriel mulled over her words, as he stood now at the edge of the garden. He had checked it again, just to be sure he hadn’t missed her, and found only her robe draped across the back wall. It was still warm to the touch, leading him to believe she had recently left it there, but he couldn’t begin to understand why.

The sound of a branch snapping drew him from his reverie, and he whipped around to face the darkness of the forest that lay beyond the garden. Azriel’s head tilted to the side, assessing the inky blackness for any sign of movement. Right as he was about to turn back, something white and smooth flashed in a pool of moonlight, just past the tree line.

He leveraged himself over the low wall, and stalked forwards, one hand resting against Truth Teller, the blade sheathed at his waist. In a sudden flurry, something took off running, deeper into the woods. At first, he thought he had startled a deer; sending her sprinting towards the unknown dangers of the forest, away from the immediate threat of the predator approaching. That was, until he heard… laughter.

Elain’s lilting voice drifted out of the trees, “Come, find me!”

Closing in on the spot where she had been, the heady scent of her arousal hit him. When he found her nightdress discarded in the tall grass, something feral within him roused. Azriel inhaled deeply, dizzy with how quickly need had coiled at his core. He imagined her out there, running through the forest of the human lands, in nothing but her lacy little underthings.

He could almost see the moonlight illuminating her creamy skin, her unbound hair as wild as her eyes, feet bare as she fled between pines and oaks. Elain wanted him to chase her, to hunt her through the dark, and he was powerless to resist.

Azriel felt rational thought leave him then, replaced by the carnal beast that lurked under his skin. His senses honed in on everything that was Elain. The jasmine and honey scent that haunted him each day, it was like a beacon in the night. He took off after his prey, a lone wolf hunting in the woods.

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Elain was consumed by her desire for Azriel. They had been at the manor, with the Band of Exiles, for far too long. She had borrowed some of Nesta’s books to take the edge off, but something she read in the most recent novel had stuck in her mind.

She had never attempted anything like this before. The urge to try had been stoking a deep, feral heat within her for days. To fantasize about being hunted was one thing, but to initiate this roleplay felt like a line she could never step back from. Elain was all too familiar with actually being prey, having needed to be rescued far too many times for her ego to withstand. Taking control of it like this, choosing to be hunted down, felt like a necessary part of healing from all that she had experienced.

Though she had considered discussing it with him first, it wasn’t the easiest thing to put into words and actually speak out loud. Her cheeks had burned every time she even thought about bringing it up with him, in the few moments they had been left alone here. Azriel knew her better than anyone, and she knew him too. Knew that he wouldn’t balk at the prospect of chasing her through the woods.

All she had to do was get him there.

Standing at the edge of the forest, waiting for Azriel to track her down, she had almost called it off and snuck back into her room. She was nervous that he wouldn’t figure it out, that she would be left out there, in the dark, and have to admit defeat. But she should have known better than to doubt his ability to find her.

When he lingered at the garden wall, where she had draped her robe, Elain dropped her nightgown around her ankles. Her skin was bare except for the white, lacy scraps of fabric that stretched across her breasts and between her thighs. As she stepped clear of her clothes, a dry branch snapped under her foot.

Elain held her breath as she watched Azriel’s head tilt to the side, as if searching the darkness for her. Worried he wouldn’t be able to see her in the shadows, she slipped quietly through a beam of moonlight that broke through the canopy. Her heartbeat accelerated as he lifted himself gracefully over the wall, and she felt her arousal dampen her thighs as he palmed Truth Teller, moving slowly in her direction.

An instinctive need to flee overwhelmed her, and she submitted to it, turning to sprint into the unknown depths of the forest. In one last lucid moment, she called out over her shoulder, “Come, find me!”

Elain wove through the trees, her feet nearly silent beneath her. Her breath came in pants, and her legs burned from the effort it took to maintain her speed, but knowing who hunted her gave her the strength to keep running. Azriel was an elite warrior, the Spymaster of the Night Court, and a powerful Shadowsinger. He would have little trouble chasing her down. It was only a matter of time before she would be caught, but she threw herself fully into the hunt, giving herself over to the role of prey that she had assumed.

A carnal fear took over, driving her deeper and deeper into the woods. She could hear him faintly, some distance behind her. He had no need for stealth, and his boots crashed through the overgrown vegetation, the sound slowly growing as he gained ground.

Hoping to throw him off her trail, Elain veered off to the left, into a dense thicket of willow branches. Leaves tore from the tree, snagging in her hair as she ran through it. Azriel growled from the other side, the noise startling a cry from her lips. Fearing the sound would draw him straight towards her, she pushed herself to move faster, gasping for air as she exerted herself.

The mounting anticipation sent a renewed flood of need through her, the lace covering her sex completely saturated, her thighs slick. Each stride created a delicious friction there and Elain could hardly contain a desperate moan that gathered in her chest. She chanced a look back, and that moan turned into a sharp yelp as she realized that Azriel had been silently keeping pace with her.

A wicked snarl tore from his throat in response, a wolfish grin spreading over his face. She cried out again, nearly losing her footing, and in a final effort to escape, lunged for an opening in the trees. She found herself running through a large meadow, tall grasses and wildflowers whipping past her legs, nettles stinging her bare skin. Elain nearly sobbed as she felt him closing in, her legs trembling with the effort it took to keep moving.

With a guttural growl, Azriel had lunged for her, catching her around the waist. Unable to contain the visceral sound that ripped from her lungs, she screamed as they tumbled across the clearing. He had absorbed the impact as they landed, and for a moment she had a fleeting hope of breaking free. She kicked and tried to wrench her arms from his grasp, but in one smooth movement she was pinned.

Elain writhed beneath him, her arms restrained in one of his large hands, stretched above her head. She cried out as his other hand gripped her face and turned her head to the side, cheek pressed into the grass, her neck bared. Azriel lowered his mouth to her, his hot breath ghosting over her skin, the only warning she had before he sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder.

The sharp pain sent her hurtling towards the precipice of her pleasure, her core tightening in response. A purely feral sound came from her chest, somewhere between a moan and a sob. She bucked her hips below him, his legs on either side of her, still holding her in place. Azriel replaced his teeth with his tongue, soothing over the hurt.

He shifted his weight, using one knee to press hers apart, and settled into the space between. The combined scents of their arousals filled the air around them, driving Elain to the edge of sanity as she continued to struggle against his grasp. Every other breath came out as a keening cry, tears slipping from her eyes as her need for him became overwhelming.

Elain watched, eyes wild, as he took the hand that had held her face and unsheathed his dagger. Azriel drug the flat of the blade up the soft inner skin of her thigh, the cold metal feeling so at odds with the heat radiating from her core. His eyes locked with hers, waiting for any sign of refusal, and finding none. He drug his gaze down her body, taking in the white lace and bare skin.

He growled low, a sound of approval, as he beheld the shining wetness between her legs. The tip of Truth Teller now slipped beneath the fabric that encircled her hip. Drawing it up, ever so slowly, the fine woven material giving way easily to the edge of the blade. She watched as her chest began to heave, each breath more ragged than the last.

One side of her bottoms fell away, and he repeated this move on the other side until he could tear them off completely, tucking them into a pocket in his leathers. She thought he would use the same method to remove the lace that covered her breasts, but he only replaced the dagger in its sheath.

Suddenly, he released the hold he had on her wrists, but she still found herself unable to move. Elain tilted her head back, only to find dark shadows twined around them now. She tore her eyes back to the male above her, a wicked grin spreading across his mouth. Azriel began to slowly undress himself, removing his jacket and shirt first. The sight of his bare chest drew a pathetic mewling sound from her, her arms once again struggling against the bonds, desperate to touch his skin.

He then worked on undoing the laces at the front of his leathers, drawing each one fully out before moving on to the next. She had never known true torture before, but in this moment felt as though she would give him anything he asked for, if only to relieve the immense pressure building up inside her. Elain was not one to resort to begging often, but she was not above it at this moment.

Drowning in desire, desperate for any contact to bring her to release, she tried to move her hips up, a feeble attempt to grind herself against his thigh, his hand, anything would be better than the painful emptiness that clawed within her. With no more than a glance down, Azriel sent shadows to restrain her hips, adding to the mounting frustration.

He stood then, finally, finally removing his leathers, now fully naked before her. Elain tried to choke out a plea, but words did not come to her. He kneeled again, lowering himself over her, his hard length coming to rest against her. She rocked up into him, as far as the restraints would allow, gasping at the friction as his cock dragged across her clit.

In one swift motion, he had aligned himself at her entrance and began to push into her. Her slick arousal coated him, the stretch bringing her back to the edge. Azriel released his shadows, her hands and hips now free to move, as he bottomed out within her.

Elain’s hands flew to his shoulders, digging her nails in, urging him on. Understanding her need, he set a punishing pace, driving her into the ground as he fucked her. She lost all awareness of anything but the pleasure coiling at her core. He wrapped one arm under her hips, tilting her up to give himself better access, hitting that sweet spot deep within her.

The world went black as she came, her head thrown back, the sounds leaving her mouth unintelligible and raw. As the first wave crested, another swept in, leaving her trembling and limp. Azriel was unrelenting, his hands now finding purchase in the soft flesh of her hips. She was completely at his mercy.

Without warning, he lifted her, sitting back on his heels and seating her in his lap. Elain managed to wrap her arms around his neck as he continued to thrust up into her. Needing to please him too, she let her fingers trace over his wings, down the ridged flesh, to the joint where they connected to his back. He snarled against her neck and bit down on her shoulder once more, layering the marks left there by his teeth before.

Azriel’s movements became jagged as she grazed her knuckles down the membrane, her pleasure building again as the sharp pain of his teeth mingled with the ecstasy of his cock filling her. She purred in his ear before her tongue flicked over the pulse point in his neck. Elain kissed the line of his throat, sucking and licking her way to the soft skin just below his jaw. Her hands were both at work, gently stroking up and down the crest of his wings.

Growling against her neck, he came, his hips surging up, release spilling inside of her. The feeling of it was enough to send her toppling over the edge one more time. Azriel wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against his chest. They sat there, catching their breath, each trailing their fingers in soothing circles on the other's skin.

Elain couldn’t remember a time she felt happier, more sated, more at peace. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing to remain in this moment forever. He gently shifted them, laying on his back, his wings spread out beneath them, as she curled against his chest. His hands ran up and down her arms, her back, her legs and Azriel kissed the top of her head.

Language slowly returning to her, Elain tipped her head up and mumbled, “I knew you’d find me.”

Azriel shifted to look at her, amusement and affection shining in his eyes, “What the fuck was that, Elain?”

She smiled up at him, “That was fun.”

He just shook his head and relaxed back, seemingly content to lay there with her beneath the stars, where only the Mother might witness them.

[the-astral-sea]

Confessions

Hello! This is my first Gale fic, I haven’t written anything in a long time so it may be a little rusty but I hope you enjoy!

Gale x (resist) The Dark Urge. Fem reader. Angsty vibes that turn into cute vibes. This is set after you try to savage Gale in the night.

You awoke from your trance-like sleep, head pounding and wrists burning from the thick rope that was used to restrict you. Memories of the night pierce into your skull, causing your heart to drop and stomach to churn. “I’m so sorry” you whisper, refusing to look up at Gale, who was standing tall in front of you.

“Welcome back to the land of the lucid. Where explanations are owed, if you don’t mind” he sighs, and through your peripheral you can see he is holding a knife. You lift your chin up, eyes still half lidded and refusing to meet his gaze, expecting him to slit your throat there and then. There would be no objection on your part. This urge was too much, it haunted your every step, your every breath, every thought was tainted by the possibility of this thing, this creature, lashing out and taking what little you held dear straight to the Hells. You closed your eyes fully now, but the icy metal never touched your skin - only the restraints still scratching against your wrists.

“I hinted at these the urges before and you acted like it wasn’t a big deal. There’s something inside of me that screams bloody murder, Gale. I’m terrified of losing control, I almost lost myself completely tonight” your voice is quiet and composed, but your inside feel like they’re on fire, you’re struggling to choke down the acidic bile threatening to force it’s way out of your stomach and onto the floor. You don’t even wait for him to respond, you just walk away in shame, throwing your bonds into the crackling fire. A mixture of embarrassment, horror and guilt weighing heavily on you. He sighs loudly behind you but you do not turn around, you just continue your short journey back to your tent for some sleep.

Morning came around as it always does, though it was hard to tell exactly when morning was in the shadow cursed lands. “Is she still asleep?” Karlach enquired, her voice waking you from outside of your tent, “It would appear so. She’s probably too ashamed to face us right now, but give it time” Shadowheart replied, her voice kind and understanding - as it often was since the two of you had gotten closer. “I get she’s working through some mega dark shit, man. But I need her out there with us today, she’s bigger than whatever this… thing… is, I can’t have my favourite witch giving up now”. The response brought a flicker of a smile to your face, though it didn’t last long as you recalled the events of last night and the regretful way in which you’d handled things after. Still, Karlach was right. The least you could do was join them on their perils today to try and redeem yourself. Groggily and wearily, you opened up the tent, stepping outside with shaking legs and a rare lack of grace.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite little killer! I’ve seen you take down all sorts of things, what a shame you couldn’t finish the job with Gale” Astarion laughed, causing Gale to shove him in what you assumed was a half-playful, half-serious reaction. “I’d rather not talk about this right now. All I can say is that I’m sorry, I would never, ever, harm any of you out of my own free will”. Gale rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath at this statement, his gaze not once meeting yours as he prepared breakfast. You didn’t expect to get a plate, but even in his anger Gale was never anything but Gale: kind and generous, even when it was understandable to be the complete opposite. He handed you a portion of bread and cheese, his eyes darting around to look at anything but you. “Thankyou. And once again, I’m so sorry, Gale”. He cringed at the words, looking as if you’d just kicked him in the chest with your apology, still refusing to see you. All you could do was eat in silence whilst keeping a respectful distance before getting changed, grabbing your staff and preparing to head out into the world with Karlach, Gale and Astarion by your side.

The first half of the morning was spent searching for information about Ketheric, fighting off the odd shadow or three. Admittedly you were off your game, your spells only hitting their targets half of the time. You were usually prideful in your accuracy and skill. “Come on Solider! That ugly bastard nearly got me good there” Karlach shouted, finishing off a shadow wraith after your fireball flew straight past it’s head. “Please, I was nowhere near you darling” Astarion chortled, causing you to laugh for the first time in what felt like forever. His sense of humour and utter disregard for all things serious was a welcomed energy on days like this. Gale, however, was less than amused. He marched right up to you and grabbed your wrist, “we’ll be back in a minute” he stated, dragging you away from the others before you could object and into an abandoned camp a little further up.

“What in the world is going on with you? You’re flailing around like a headless chicken out there. I understand that you’re battling head monsters, but out here we’re fighting literal monsters and frankly you need to get it together, Sorceress. I get that you don’t like me, and that your urge probably told you to get me out of the way. But you like Karlach and she almost died at the hands of your clumsiness a second ago. I can’t believe yo-“ you cut him off before he could finish his scolding, “what do you mean I don’t like you?” your voice came out louder and more pained than you’d anticipated, tears welling up in your eyes as you continued, “is that seriously what you believe?”.

“Well, yes. Of course I believe that or I wouldn’t have said it, would I? I see the difference in the way you talk to me, compared to - I don’t know - Astarion for example. You’re quieter. More reserved. It couldn’t be more obvious” his eyes finally met yours, the deep sadness within them palpable. You blink away your tears, swallowing loudly in order to contain the urge to cry. You’d been on the road with Gale for a while now and in that time you’d fallen deeply in love with his charm, skill, wit and appearance. One look from him was enough to turn you into a blushing, babbling school girl. He had completely misread your actions. You treated him differently because you actually cared about what he thought of you, and it was frightening. You were more ‘quiet and reserved’ because he made your brain transform to mush. Half of the time when he spoke, you couldn’t even focus on his words, just the way his hair always seemed to remain perfectly soft despite the sweat and dirt from being on the road. The way his eyes sparkled when he got excited. The way his lips turned to smile when he greeted you, and how they always looked so inviting.

“Gale… I tried to kill you because I care about you more than I care about anyone else here. More than I care about anyone else in general, actually. The dark urge came to me in the night, talking about how I was going soft, mocking me for resisting my nature for too long. It wants to cause me pain, and what better way to achieve that than by forcing me to hurt you?” Your words came out stuttered and choked, the confession making you want to sink into the floor, anticipating a rejection that would hurt entirely too much.

The rejection never came.

Instead, his gaze softened, as if he finally understood why you spoke to him the most often but always said the least. His lips curved into that familiar coy smile that you loved so much. “I’m flattered?” His voice was laced with relief, but uncertainty lingered in his gaze. “You should be. I don’t think I’ve ever let myself be this vulnerable, certainly not as far as I can remember, at least” he pursed his lips together, as if trying not to beam at your words or let himself show too much emotion. You couldn’t really tell. “I’d understand if you were scared of me, I fear I have done things most mortals would only have nightmares about”. The words fell from your lips solemnly; admitting your nature was no easy feat, especially when you’d done everything in your power to go against it for so many weeks. In a way it felt like a soul crushing weight had been lifted, to finally speak your true thoughts and emotions. But it was tough. You try to read him, his body tense and his eyes wide, but there was a cautious smile on his face.

After what felt like an eternity, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in for a kiss. The kiss had taken you by surprise and you accidentally bit his lip, then stood on his foot, as you pulled away apologising. Your mind had been destroyed not too long ago, so this was basically your second ‘first kiss’. You’d most definitely had lovers in the past but you couldn’t remember their faces, couldn’t remember their names or recall a single detail about any moment you may have shared with anyone before. There was no wonder you reacted so poorly to this sudden display of affection - but it was not unwelcome. “Well, it’s not the first time you’ve tried to bite me” he chuckled, moving his hand to brush through his hair as he looked at the floor, clearly uncertain on if he’d just made things awkward and completely blown his chance. He was only laughing about it to try and ease the tension. Refusing the let the moment pass, you pulled him into another kiss, this time deep and slow as he moaned into your mouth upon contact. As if by instinct, he placed his hands firmly on your hips, his fingers digging into you as your own ran through his hair. It felt so natural, like you’d known each other in every lifetime. Your mouths moved in perfect synchronicity, drinking one another in. The taste of wine still lingered on his lips from the swig he took at breakfast.

Once the kiss finally broke, his entire aura had shifted. There was no sign of discomfort, no sign of uncertainty, he actually seemed to stand taller, more confident, more self assured. He kissed your forehead sweetly: an action that made you weak in the knees. A walking bomb and a blood thirsty fool was an unlikely pairing, a dangerous one, even. Yet you never felt so at peace, so sure that you were on the right path to redemption with him by your side. “Thank you for hearing me out. I promise I will not let you down” you spoke every word with purpose, fully intent on keeping your promise. Instead of responding with words, he simply moved in for another kiss. This time it was hungry, it felt like weeks of pent up emotions pouring out of him, out of both of you. He picked you up and sat you down on a half collapsed wall, deepening the kiss eagerly. Any remaining doubts and nerves that usually ate away at you slipped into oblivion. You broke apart from the kiss feeling triumphant. Worthy. Accepted. The urge had been a black cloud hovering over your head for so long, poisoning your confidence and making you feel like happiness was lightyears away from where you stood. Now it was all out in the open, and Gale seemingly accepted you, you had never been so sure of anything or anyone in your life. You were on the right path. A good path.

“Whatever burdens you, I will stop at nothing to see it vanquished” the words were like honey dripping from his tongue, his eyes dark and determined. “I have loved you since the night I told you of my condition. You never questioned it, never once faltered or made me feel less than, you just helped. I will be by your side to do the same” he never once broke eye contact, never even blinked as he made his vow. You would’ve gotten on your knees there and then had Karlach not come to check on you.

“I see you two made up” her booming voice cut through the sexual tension as she approached, “we need to head back out, there’s plenty of time to finishh…” she paused for a moment, taking in the sight with a grin, causing you to realise that Gale was still holding you close, his hands now resting happily on your butt, “finish whatever… this is… later. Fucking hell guys, it’s about time”.

It was about time indeed.

[in-my-feels-probably]

Can we get a Daenerys x reader where r can shift into a wolf, and is like from the north? 

A Dragon In The North

Request: Can we get a Daenerys x reader where r can shift into a wolf, and is like from the north?

Hi! Thank you for the request! I’ve written a Stark!Reader before for other characters, but it’s so fitting for this that I’m gonna do it again, hope that’s alright. Reader isn’t technically a Stark, but was raised as one. Also, I made the reader a direwolf. 

This is only my second time writing for Daenerys, so I apologize if it’s a little rusty. Hopefully, this is what you were looking for. If not, let me know and I'm happy to alter this or write you something else. I hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think!

(Warnings: none? idk, mentions of the Night King, mentions of Catelyn being cruel to Jon, and mentions of the deaths in the Stark family, let me know if i missed anything)

—

You didn’t know how it happened. 

Nobody in Winterfell was sure exactly how you could do it, but you had been able to shift into a direwolf at will since you were a small child. 

You had no parents to explain to you the cause. You didn’t even know who your parents were. You had been left at the gates of Winterfell when you were four years old, in the dead of winter. You would have froze to death if a guard hadn’t found you, and brought you to Lord Stark. 

At the time, his and Lady Stark’s children only consisted of Robb and Jon. 

Ned asked around the families of Winterfell to see if anyone knew who you belonged to, but nobody had an answer And nobody wanted you, slightly afraid of your abilities. 

Sansa had not been born yet, and Catelyn had always wanted a daughter. With a little convincing from Ned, they took you in as their own. After all, the direwolf was the sigil of House Stark. It was only fitting. 

As House Stark grew, so did your relationship with its children. You got along well with the rest of the family, and they always treated you like a sister. For some of them, you were all they had ever known, it was only natural for them to think of you as such. For others, like Robb, he was too young to remember you as anything else but his sister, even if you weren’t in actuality. 

Despite the acceptance from your family, you were not given the name Stark like the other children, just as Jon wasn’t. Catelyn treated you as her own, more so than she ever treated Jon, but she never referred to you as a Stark.

You took on the name Snow, just as he did. 

It was no secret that you two were the closest amongst the Stark children. Even after the rest of them were born, you remained closest to Jon. 

As children, his favorite trick in the world was seeing you shift. 

You could remember the night he had finally awoken from his sickness when he was but a mere child, still too weak to stand. You stayed by his side the entire time. Catelyn had watched over his bed for days as well, praying to the Gods to keep him alive. She promised them that if they let him live, she would love him as her own, just as she did you. 

They granted her wish, and he lived. And she couldn’t fulfill her promise. 

The second he awoke, a hate filled her eyes like none you had ever seen. She didn’t say a word to him. She only patted your hand, unable to stop her hateful glare towards Jon as she left the room. 

Jon had nearly burst into tears, knowing the only Mother figure he had ever known had no real love for him. 

But you did. 

He was your brother, blood or not. And you refused to see him upset. You had immediately shifted, curling up into his side, nudging your snout into his ribs. 

It pulled a laugh from him, and he shooed you away from his side. 

“You shed way worse as a wolf than you do as a human, you know. You’re getting fur all over my bed.”

You shifted back, narrowing your eyes at him. “Your blanket is made of fur, idiot. It’s quite literally covered in it. And to think I felt bad for you. I was trying to cheer you up.”

He rolled his eyes at your dramatics. “I didn’t say you had to shift back. I was simply letting you know that you were getting fur on my bed.”

“And I am simply letting you know that I have literal claws. Would you like a demonstration on how to use them?”

Despite how often you teased him, you never let anyone else tease him, especially if it was for something as cliche as harassing him about his parentage. 

You never understood why people looked down on him for it and not you. Maybe it was because you were a Lady, and it was easier to be nice to you. Maybe it was because everyone knew you didn’t actually have any Stark blood in you, and so you weren’t technically a Stark or a Snow. 

You weren’t anything. 

That didn’t matter to you. Jon was your brother. And you weren’t afraid to show people that while he may only be half wolf, you were full blooded. Teeth, claws, and all. And you weren’t afraid to use them. 

—

Direwolves hadn’t been seen beyond the Wall in hundreds of years. They were thought to be extinct. 

That is, until one had shown up on the outskirts of Winterfell. She was dead, with five pups huddled into her side. 

Jon convinced Ned to let his children keep the direwolves. Five pups, one for each child. And of course, the sixth pup, the runt of the litter. 

He was given to Jon, and named Ghost, for his all white fur. 

You nearly smacked Jon when he complained to you about it. “Are you kidding? You have a literal direwolf, and you’re complaining about getting the runt of the litter? Have you forgotten that I am quite literally the only direwolf you or anyone in this castle has seen for hundreds of years?”

“He’s smaller than the rest, all white, with red eyes, Y/N. At least you look scary.”

That was true enough. In direwolf form, your coat was completely black, so dark that you looked like a shadow. You stood tall, much larger than any wolf you had ever seen. Your eyes shone a brilliant green, a color most unusual for a wolf. 

The green was all that physically connected you between your human form and your wolf form. In your human form, you easily passed as human. Except for your eyes. They shone that brilliant green all the time. 

You scoffed at his words. 

“A direwolf, Jon. You have a direwolf. I happen to think he’s very handsome,” you said, running a hand through the fur of the little pup in your lap. 

“I think he likes you better than me,” Jon mused, placing Ghost back in his lap. 

“Maybe because I don’t make fun of him directly to his face.”

—

Jon grew to love Ghost nearly as much as he loved you and his siblings. 

His previous words were the words of an immature boy, too young to appreciate what had been given to him. 

Ghost accompanied Jon to the Wall, to war, and everywhere in between and beyond. He was always by his side, loyal like no other. Over the years, he became one of the closest companions Jon had left. 

House Stark dissipated as the years went by, victim to the tragedies of conflict and war. 

By the time you met Danaerys Targaryen, half of your family and their direwolves were dead. 

Once Jon left for the Wall, and your sisters left for King’s Landing, you decided to travel as well. After all, you were a Snow. Bastard or not, your future didn’t matter as much to your House. So you left Winterfell. 

It was a decision you had come to regret. All of you came to regret leaving home. But how could you have known? 

One of the few perks of leaving was getting the chance to meet the Targaryen Queen you had heard so much about. 

In truth, you wanted to see a dragon in person for the first time. It had always been a dream of yours, ever since you learned the histories of Vhagar and her rider Visenya, a tale that was one of yours and Arya’s favorites. 

Your travels brought you to Meereen, a city that had recently been freed from slavery. Under the guise of an independent soldier, a rogue knight much like your sister Arya, or Brienne of Tarth, you came into Daenaerys’s services. You started as an envoy of Westeros, knowledgeable in both the Westerosi Houses, as well as the allies and enemies amongst the realm. You later joined her ranks as a soldier, and also an advisor, much like Missandei. 

You grew close to Danaerys, coming to love her as more than your Queen. She loved you back, at least as much as she could allow herself. 

In spite of this, you never told her about your true form. She knew vaguely of your childhood with the Starks, but only that you had been brought up with them. She knew nothing of your abilities. 

You considered telling her, when you heard word of Jon’s death. 

The news broke you, shattering you to your very core. Just as you thought you would never have a reason to return to the North again, you heard whispers that he was alive, back from the dead. 

You guarded your secret once more.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Daenerys. You did, with your life itself. But dragons and wolves amongst your families never got along, and you both knew this. The history between the Targaryens and the Starks was a rocky one, and neither one of you wanted to be the one to topple that tower. 

When you heard news of Sansa returning to Winterfell, having been married to Ramsay Bolton, you knew it was time to leave for good. 

You had to help her. 

Danaerys allowed you to go. She admired your loyalty, and she knew she would see you again one day. You promised to return to her when you could. The Iron Throne would be hers, if you had anything to say about it. 

The Lannisters responsible for decimating your family would be destroyed, if it was the last thing you ever did. 

—

By the time you made it back to the North, Sansa had already fled. You somehow made your way to the wall, reuniting with her and Jon. 

You fought with them in the Battle of the Bastards, far more useful to them in your wolf form. You were there when Jon was named King in the North, so happy for him it brought you to tears. He didn’t want it, you knew that. But your House was slowly reforming together, the North was beginning to accept you again, Stark or not. It was more than you could ever ask for. 

Jon and Sansa couldn’t quite believe you when you finally told them where you had been all that time. 

When you learned of the Night King and his army of the dead, it was you that had convinced Jon to go to Daenerys. You weren’t asking him or Sansa to bend the knee, you knew it was too much to ask of them after all they had been through. 

But you truly believed in Daenerys’s claim. She wanted to break the wheel, and you intended to do it with her. 

And you couldn’t very well do it if the army of the dead killed you all before she could back the throne. 

So it was decided. You needed dragon glass. Dragonstone, Daenerys’s familial seat, had tons and tons of it, waiting to be mined. You knew Jon wouldn’t be able to convince her to let the North mine it on his own, so you accompanied him. You knew she’d listen to you, and believe you, even if she had not seen the monsters for herself. 

—

When you arrived at Dragonstone, the Unsullied, Dothraki, and Tyrion Lannister greeted you on the shores. 

“It is good to see you, My Lady,” Tyrion said, warily looking between you and Jon. “Our Queen has missed you.”

“I was one of her best soldiers,” you replied, grinning over at Grey Worm, who was taking the Northmen’s weapons. “I’m sure my lack of presence was felt.”

Grey Worm smirked at your words, letting you keep your blades on you. “Was it? I did not notice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, letting him and the rest of the Queensguard guide you across the long bridge perched in the clouds that let to the castle. 

“Get up to much while you were gone, then?” Jon asked you once he reached your side, humor evident in his voice. 

“Not much,” you shrugged your shoulders, grinning when he gave you an incredulous look. 

All of a sudden, Drogon broke through the clouds, letting out a shrill roar. 

Your brother and his men dived for the ground, shielding their heads with their hands. You remained standing, laughing at Jon’s reaction as he shakily stood, a look of shock and potential terror etched upon his face. You waited till Drogon disappeared over to the other side of the castle before you kept walking. 

“I forgot to warn you,” Tyrion called over his shoulder, grinning at the Northmen. “You never get used to it.”

Once inside, you followed behind Jon, Ser Davos, and the guards who accompanied you as everyone made their way to the Throne Room. Once you arrived, Jon stopped you before the guards pushed open the doors. 

“Wait here,” he ordered, and you reluctantly obeyed. “I am asking her to believe in quite a lot, all from a man she has never met. For all she knows, I am just like the men that tore apart her family.” 

“You’re not—“ You started, but he cut you off. 

“I know that. But she doesn’t. She’s never met me, she has no reason to believe that anything I say is true. But she has met you. I’m hoping you’re enough to sway her. If this doesn’t go how we need it to, I need you to be the solution. She trusts you, she’ll listen to you. She’ll be happy to see you. But we may need the wolf to persuade her. Wait here until I call you in. Please.” 

You sighed, but nodded. “Alright. I trust you. Be quick about it, then. I did actually miss her and am eager to see her, you know. I think you’re going to really like her, once you get to know her.”

Jon smiled at your words, happy to see you talk so highly of Daenerys. Love was not an easy thing to come by. He was glad you had known the feeling at least once in your lifetime. 

“I hope so. Now wait here.”

The guards guided him and Ser Davos in, shutting the door behind him.

—

After what seemed like forever, the door to the Throne room finally reopened. Jon stepped out, a grim look on his face. 

“Get in here.”

“It’s not going well, I take it?” You asked, suddenly beginning to worry.

“I fear I may have upset her.”

“Shocking,” you retorted. “You’ve always had such a way with words.”

Jon rolled his eyes, brushing past your comment. “That’s why you’re here. I need you to help me talk to her. She knows you’re kin to me, but that’s not enough. We have to give her a reason to trust us both, not just you. She needs to see we have nothing to hide, that our intentions are true. Our lives depend on her saying yes, Y/N. Don’t forget that.”

You nodded your head, taking a shaky breath. 

“Wolf it is, then.”

You quickly transformed, shrinking down to half Jon’s height. He gave you a nod, opening the door to the Throne Room, letting you in.

Daenerys stood from her throne, slowly making her way down the steps to stand in front of you both. Her guards followed her down, but she held a hand up, stopping them from continuing. She looked at you wide eyed, glancing between you and Jon. 

“You brought a wolf into my home? Have you gone mad?”

Jon shook his head, lightly correcting her. 

“A direwolf, actually. But no, Your Grace. I brought my sister.”

Slowly, you transformed next to him, coming to stand at Jon’s side once again. 

Daenerys let out a small gasp as you appeared before her, her eyes softening on your frame. The wolf was foreign to her. But she should have recognized those eyes. They were unmistakable. 

“Y/N?” She asked, wavering to approach you. 

“My Queen,” you said, bowing your head. 

It took a lot for the wolf in you to bend the knee. It was a constant struggle within yourself, making decisions with your mind and not just your heart. All your life, it was a challenge to get the two to align. The wolf was stubborn, unrelenting. 

But it kneeled for Daenerys Targaryen, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the Iron Throne. You had no problem getting it to relent. 

And Daenerys understood that. 

She approached you with soft eyes, laying her hand on your cheek. “Y/N?”

You nodded, pressing your cheek into her palm. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I figured my brother would need some help convincing you to help us. And it just so happens that I already know the Queen he’s asking.” 

“How did you…how long have you—why didn’t you tell me?”

“I know. I know I should have. There’s just never been the right time to. I promise you, I was going to tell you. But then we got word of Sansa, and I left before I had the time to.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see Jon, warily looking between the two of you. You took a step back, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

“I heard my brother was alive. I had to go see him, I had to fight.”

Daenerys’s eyes widened, and she took another step towards you. “I heard news about a direwolf in battle. Fighting for the King in the North. Not a white one, I already know of Ghost. But a black one, with bright green eyes.”

“Aye, that was her,” Jon said, finally piping in. “Y/N fought for us.”

“Then you believe his words?” She asked, turning to you. “An army of the dead. You’ve seen it?”

“I haven’t, Your Grace,” you admitted. “But I trust my brother with my life. And if he says he’s seen it, then it’s real. And we have to do something about it. Right now.”

Jon laid a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back. He gave you a look that said, be nice. This is our only shot. You relented, letting him speak.

“I am not asking you to believe me, Your Grace. But believe her. The dragon glass on Dragonstone can be mined in order to make weapons capable of fighting them. We’re asking that you let us mine it, if nothing else. We’ll be quick, I promise. We won’t stand in your way. And then we’ll be gone.”

“Let the King in the North mine dragon glass? What will my enemies think of me when they hear word of it?”

“They’ll think you’re smart to listen to a man who’s seen the North. The real North. They’re a fool if they think otherwise, and they’ll get what’s coming to them,” you said, giving her a look of pleading. 

“Please, Your Grace,” Jon asked. “I am not only doing this for the North. They named me King, but I did not ask for it. All I want is to keep my people safe.”

“It would be keeping you safe,” you added.

Daenerys raised a brow. “What do you mean?” 

“Winter is coming. The dead will come after us all, not just my House. If you let us do this, you’re saving yourself and your people as well.”

It was quiet a moment. You could practically hear your own heart beating. Finally, she nodded.

“I will allow it. I’m not saying I believe you…but I don’t think you’re lying, either. Take what you must. The rest can be discussed later.”

You felt relief flood your chest, looking over at Jon to see he felt it as well. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said, giving her a grateful nod.

She nodded in return, before turning to you. “Y/N? Come with me.”

With that, she turned for the hall at the back of the room. You gave Jon a look that said you’d be alright, and followed after her. She waved her guards away, leaving the two of you alone. You finally caught up to her around the corner, stifling a gasp when she threw her arms around your neck. 

“I should have known it was you. I’ve missed those eyes.”

You melted into her embrace, holding her tight. “I’ve missed you, Dany. I wish I could have returned sooner.”

“It seems you’ve kept yourself busy,” she mused, cupping your jaw once more.

“I supposed I have,” you said, leaning into her touch. “But I’ve come back to you…if you’ll have me.”

Her eyes softened on you, and you felt her swipe her thumb across your cheekbone. She leaned in, resting her forehead against hers. 

“Of course I’ll have you.”

—

You couldn’t have anticipated the events that occurred in the following weeks. 

Daenerys returned to the North with you, bringing her army and her dragons. When you approached Winterfell, Jon led the front on horseback. Daenerys followed close behind on horseback as well, except she had a black direwolf leading the way in front of her. 

The people of the North lined up to see you come in, eyes wide as the Dothraki and Unsullied marched through the gates. Screams of terror could be heard as the three dragons passed overhead. You wished you were able to laugh as a wolf, amused by their reaction. Tyrion was right. You never get used to it. 

As plans were made, the North slowly adjusted to a Targaryen Queen sleeping beneath their skies. After all, the skies were normally occupied by her in the day. 

One evening, you found her sitting in front of the fire in the empty meeting hall. 

“Cold, Your Grace?” You mused, knowing that the blood of the dragon runs hot. She barely mustered a laugh, making you frown. You sat opposite of her, taking her hand. 

“What is it?” 

“Your sister doesn’t like me,” she finally answered. 

You smiled at the thought of Sansa, squeezing her hand tight. “My sister doesn’t like anyone. The North don’t take too kindly to strangers. There’s too much history there. Do you need her to like you?”

“I don’t need to be liked to rule. But I would like to be respected.”

You nodded, pondering her words for a moment. 

“You’re a lot alike, you know. I think Sansa does respect you, and that bothers her. The last time a Targaryen and a Stark were in a room together, the Stark ended up dead. I think she’s struggling with the fact that you’ve made her look past that.”

Daenerys didn’t answer, making you frown. You continued. 

“She’s been through a lot, love. It’ll take time, both for her and for the North. But they’ll come to see you just as I see you. It didn’t take Jon long, did it? They’ll follow him, which means they’ll follow you, eventually. I promise.”

“And you follow me?” She asked, turning to you. The look of vulnerability in her eyes broke your heart.

“I’d follow you anywhere. You know I would.”

She smiled at your words, relaxing a bit. If she could get a direwolf to follow her, a creature of the true North, then the rest of the North would follow. Everything would be alright. 

“That’s enough for me,” she grinned, squeezing your hand tight. “You’re enough for me.”

—

A/N - Hi! Hope this is what you were looking for, and I hope you enjoyed it!

[hawkinshighdropout]

The Weigh Down.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x (female) Reader

Summary: You are working on overdrive at all times, pushing yourself beyond your limits as keeping busy was the only way you could keep those negative thoughts at bay. It all comes crashing down around you when another panic attack hits, your boyfriend Eddie tries to sail you through the storm.

Warnings: No major warnings, the theme of this is mental health and anxiety so if that triggers you, please give this a miss. This is just angst/fluff content. Unless you count a couple of curse words as needing a warning? Idk, I haven’t written fanfics in like 8 years so I’m a little rusty…

Note/Request: Requested by anonymous. “Hi!! I loved your fic ab Eddie with the s/o with anxiety and just shutting down it really hit home for me. Recently I’ve been working myself too hard and not taking any breaks and I know I have been, but I feel useless if I’m not doing something. When I’m not doing anything it sends me into a panic attack. Could you write something ab Eddie with a gf who goes thru this sorta thing? It would be such a comfort to me to imagine Eddie helping his love through an anxiety attack. If you’re not comfortable writing it no worries at all! but if you are thank you so much in advance 💜”

Word Count: 2k

Send me prompts to write about!

“Babe, will you sit down?!” Eddie groans, looking up from his magazine to see you scurrying around the room of his trailer as you tidy up after yourselves.

Eddie normally lived in a bit of a mess, and you learned to deal with it, but times like these when your anxiety was already high? You had to busy yourself with cleaning as a distraction. You just needed a mindless task to be getting on with to keep you out of your own head for a little while.

His voice crackles through the mild disassociation, causing you to look across at him with a puzzled look on your face, hands currently in the process of throwing away his recycling into the designated sack in your other palm.

Stopping in your tracks, mid motion of throwing away a bottle, you huff. “Ed, this place is a mess, the least I could do is clean some of it up, it’s getting ridiculous.”

“That can be done another day, you don’t need to always be doing something, you can just sit back and relax, it’s not a crime.” Eddie rolls his eyes fondly, closing his magazine and focusing across at you whilst you stay frozen in time.

“I need to get it done now!” you snap, completely unintentionally.

Eddie looked up at you with wide eyes, you never snapped at him. The room suddenly became filled with tension and Eddie felt as if he was now needing to walk on eggshells to avoid pissing you off any further.

Slowly raising from the bed, he takes the couple of steps towards you to close the gap, choosing his words carefully before he cupped your cheek to comfort you.

“What’s this all about, hm?” he asks tenderly, searching your eyes for an explanation.

It took seconds before your eyes filled with tears and Eddie’s arms suddenly wrapped around your own in a supportive embrace, shushing you affectionately as he pressed multiple kisses to the very top of your head. He still had no idea what was going on, it had gone zero to one hundred in seconds, but he figured he would support you now, ask questions later.

His fingers cupping the back of your head as his fingernails would scratch your scalp lovingly, you grip the sides of his shirt to make sure he didn’t pull away, rubbish bag dropping to your feet in an instant.

Your sudden crying only got worse from there, you hiccup, get all snotty, hyperventilate a little and truly struggle to breathe or grasp onto full sentences at all. You knew this routine, it was the start of your panic attack rearing it’s complex head. You had seen the warning signs the past couple of hours, the dissociation, the mood swings, the fidgeting, the increased levels of resting anxiety, all of which had come to this violent crescendo.

Eddie had witnessed this before, he was used to assisting you through them, but they didn’t ever not catch him by surprise. You were good at masking them or masking the build up to them at least, you couldn’t hide the main event.

“I’m only good for something when I’m being helpful…” you manage to hiccup out after a short amount of time, your words stinging his chest as he truly felt for you, squeezing you tighter.

“That’s not true, sweetheart. You’re great the way you are, even if you’re just sitting about and giving yourself the time and space to relax. You have a crazy intense schedule, you don’t need to come home and work overdrive, you’re going to burn out… Like this,” he mumbles into your hair.

“But, things need to be done, Eddie! I need to get them done!” you cry out in despair.

“Baby, they will get done. Just not right now, and not by you.” He comforts you, doing his best to make sure that he isn’t being too dismissive and making things worse for you.

“I’m only useful when I’m being useful,” you whimper, face hidden in his chest.

“Honey, listen to me. You need to stop putting the value of your worth on the level of your productivity. You have a lot on your plate at all times, wearing yourself into the ground isn’t going to benefit anyone. Do you really think I wanna see you getting worked up like this over a few water bottles? No. You need to go to school, yes. You need to do homework, yes. You need to eat, shower, drink water, yes. Those are the things you have to do, anything else? Those things can wait, those things aren’t meant to be sink or swim, anything outside of the things that keep you alive are optional.” He coos, stroking your back in soothing circles.

You stay silent and let him talk, taking long and shallow breaths as you were trying to soothe the hyperventilating and to calm down your breathing. You always appreciated his kind words, but you couldn’t think rationally in times like these. Attacks like this just trap your rational thought in a wooden box and throw away the key, leaving only fear and dizziness to remain, it was debilitating.

“Do you have a list of the things you needed to do today?” he asks, pulling back to look down at you, kissing your forehead in the process as you give a small nod.

“Can I see the list please, sweetheart?” he asks, another nod from you. You retract one hand from around him to fish a small notepad page from your pocket, passing it to your boyfriend and giving him the chance to read it over.

“Okay, so what we’re gonna do is this; you are going to get in my bed, put on my shirt ‘cause I know it soothes you, and you’re gonna listen to the mixtape I made you and I’ll bring you the ice pack to hug just like we practise, yes? I’ll get these chores all tended to, you just sit back and take a breather, okay?” he offers, cupping your chin in his hands and tilting your head up before pecking your lips lightly.

“No, Ed. I… I need to do them,” you whimper, “I don’t want you doing everything for me, then I’ll just feel like more of a burden sitting here whilst you work your ass off, just… let me” you plead.

“Baby girl, no. Listen to me, okay? I will take care of this list, you take care of your pretty little self, okay? The world isn’t going to crumble just because a Munson has been put in charge of a checklist, I’m perfectly capable.” He offers a smug grin, tugging a quiet giggle from you.

You were too exhausted to put up much of a fight, once all the adrenalines had left your body it made you feel depleted and drained. A massive part of you still wanted to argue your case and be the one to complete the tasks you intended, but you knew that in this state that you would only become more worked up and flustered, worsening your cycle.

Eddie went to his closet and tugged out one of his shirts that you adored, assisting you in changing out of your own and into his, guiding you back towards his bed. Tucking you in under the sheets, he disappears for a moment before coming back with an ice pack, placing it on the centre of your chest, a trick he learned to aid the relief of tension during panic attacks like this. Scooping up your Walkman, Eddie changes the cassette to be one filled with your favourite tunes, placing it on your head and hitting play as he kissed your forehead.

He promises to be back shortly, starting the process of cleaning down your checklist. Things included were sort recycling, get more groceries, return study books to the library, and get out the new ones you needed, get a tire change on the van you and Eddie shared, and finally? Make dinner for you both. He could see why you were overwhelmed, you considered all of these small tasks such a large priority that of course back-to-back these would sound daunting to anyone needing to complete them.

Many hours pass before Eddie is coming back through the front door of the trailer, you were sleeping peacefully thanks to the weight of the world that Eddie had removed from your shoulders earlier on. He had done everything on your checklist, it might have taken him longer than you could have done it in, but you weren’t even going to mention that you were just so grateful that he had come and saved the day.

“Wakey wakey, sleepy head.” He whispers as he shuts the bedroom door behind himself, setting his pile of goods on the end of the bed as he tugs off his jacket to get comfortable.

With a reluctant groan, you blink your eyes open and glance in the direction of your man, who was only illuminated by the streetlights seeping through the window. Sitting up in your bed, you place the now-warm ice pack on the nightstand and rub the sleep out of your eyes, yawning a little as you smile tiredly at your excited puppy of a human.

“Okay, so, listen up!” he starts, clapping his palms together just once to get your attention with a grin on his lips, he was clearly very proud of himself, “I took your books back to the library and got the ones you need for class,” he starts, patting the small pile he placed on the bed, “tires are all fixed up, recycling is all outside to be collected, I got a small amount of groceries to keep us going until you are mentally up for coming with me to pick things, annnnnnd,” he says the last word in prolonged sing-song tone, “I got pizza!”

Your stomach groans when you see that there’s a large pizza box at the end of the bed next to the books he had gotten for you, not having had time to eat today due to the stress and sickness you felt, you were glad he had found a good option for dinner.

“You really did it all, hm?” you ask, in mild disbelief that he was able to get through every single task without even calling you once to query something. He nods, sliding the books closer to allow you to read the titles, proving they were the right ones, the corners of your lips curling up into a fond smile.

“Yup! We Munsons are adaptable and reliable!” he laughs to himself, eliciting a giggle from you.

“Thank you, Eddie… Really, thank you.” You start, but he interrupts you with a few sweet kisses to your lips. He didn’t do things for the praise and recognition, he just wanted to ease your struggles and take care of you.

“Hush, princess. I’d do anything for you.” He smiles, kissing you once more.

Your face was bright red from his attention, truly you should be used to it now, but you weren’t ever going to get used to the fact that your boyfriend was a borderline saint. You watch as he’s moving the books somewhere safer, tugging off his jeans and slipping into bed alongside you before he settles the pizza box across both of your laps.

“…. Extra pineapple?” you query about the pizza in front of you.

“Yes, my gorgeous little weirdo, it has extra pineapple.” He snorts, kissing your cheek before he tears off a slice for each of you, tapping the tips of the pizza together in a ‘cheers/toast’ kind of way, making you giggle before you sink your teeth into it with a content groan.

“I love you, Munson.” Your mouth full as you smile brightly up at him.

“Right back at ya, doll.” He smiles, nudging his shoulder with your own fondly.

[safflowerseason]

old dan x amy fanfiction

I'm trying to flex my rusty fanfiction writing muscles, and going through old files I found this old Dan x Amy story that I never finished. It was a fill-in-the-gaps fic set between S2 and S3 and the tentative summary was : "The two months between seasons two and three, or, the story of how Amy and Dan went to Mike’s wedding together." I always thought this was a kind of interesting period in the relationship...by the end of S2 Dan and Amy have clearly settled into their banter-y "work spouses" relationship and they start S3 literally attending a wedding together. But at the same time, they are also in open competition for the role of campaign manager...I was always intrigued by in the dynamics of that transition. Anyway, I never finished it--it got very long and unwieldy, surprise surprise--but if there are any old Dan/Amy fic readers still out there I thought I'd post the first few pages here. There's quite a bit of general ensemble banter as well, related to Mike's wedding. Enjoy!

The morning after they learn that POTUS (officially, cross his precious heart, no turning back now) will not be running for a second term, Dan comes into the office with a giant stack of paper and starts piling it ostentatiously all around his desk. 

“What is this? Some sort of political mating ritual? Are you building a nest egg?”

“Well now you wouldn’t know enough to say, would you, Amy?”

Unfortunately, Amy doesn’t have a good response immediately—she was up until 2am brainstorming campaign strategies, and she knows Dan was up until at least 1:45 because they were texting ideas back and forth until then—so she just returns to her coffee and Post headlines and ignores him while he bustles around trying to make as much noise as possible. 

Selina comes in late, trilling with brittle laughter and smiling manically—Gary trails her, looking mildly repulsed and mutters “Andrew” in Amy and Dan’s general direction. Amy grimaces and adds “figure out a way to get rid of Andrew permanently” to her list of things to do before the campaign starts. She wonders if it would be considered a misuse of government forces to have Special Ops just take him out.

Andrew notwithstanding, the mood in the office is better than it has been all year. Mike whistles when he gets back from the press gaggle and Dan doesn’t immediately tell him to shut up. People actually use the world “please.” Amy’s fully cognizant something is going to blow it all up soon, but for now, she’ll let them enjoy the first morning in a long time where they don’t have to feel bad about the trajectory of their careers. 

At the morning strategy meeting, they talk about the best way to move forward until POTUS announces he won’t be running, discuss events to add to or remove from the public schedule in light of the upcoming campaign, and at the end of the meeting Dan brandishes his giant stack of paper and announces: “Ma’am, it’s time for you to publish your book.”

“Oooh!” Gary exclaims. “A book! Can I be in it?”

“You’re definitely not in it, Gary.”

“Yeah, Gary, what would you be doing in my book?” Selina demands, and Gary slinks back into the corner. “Dan, is it really the right time for this kind of political kabuki?”

“We need to lay the foundation for your presidential run in a non-threatening manner by reintroducing you to the public in a way that subtly separates you from POTUS. A book tour is the best way to do that, and unfortunately, ma’am, we need a book for a book tour.” 

Amy regards him suspiciously: he’s doing that thing where he appears to sincerely care about his job. This is always cause for deep concern. 

“Ma’am, do I have to write a whole book now?” Mike asks, looking forlorn. Dan glares and unceremoniously dumps the stack of paper in his lap. Mike grunts. “What the fuck do you think this is, Mike? Your obituary?”

“Wait, you’ve already written it?” Amy exclaims, completely non-plussed. “Since yesterday?”

“Please Amy.” says Dan, looking superior.

“Well Dan, I’ve got to hand it to you…it looks like I won’t have to write a single word myself, which is, obviously, the ideal.” Selina’s already flipping through the chapters, looking interested in spite of herself (then again, it is a book about her). 

“It’s basically written, ma’am, we’ll just need to do a few informational sessions about your political career and personal life, to add in some expository information.”

“That sounds excruciating.” Selina sighs. “But if you think it’s absolutely necessary…”

“I promise you that I will make the experience as pleasant as possible.” Dan smiles the smile he gives rich political widows and young women with babies. Amy gets a very bad feeling in her stomach. 

“This is a trap but I can’t figure out how.” she mutters to Mike, and he just nods bleakly.

~*~

Everyone’s about to disperse when Mike calls out casually “Oh yeah, if everyone could finalize their RSVPs to the wedding by Tuesday, that’d be great.” 

The silence he is met with is deafening. 

“…what wedding?” Amy finally ventures.

Mike looks at her. “My wedding.”

“To who?”

“Whom.” Gary corrects, and then flinches as Dan glares at him. 

“My fiancée.” When they all look blank, Mike says, in a more annoyed tone of voice “You guys, we got engaged three months ago! We sent the invitations right after!”

“Mike, I have matters of global significance to attend to that are infinitely more important than your personal life. Infinitely more important.” 

“And who checks their mailbox in the twenty first century?” Dan muses. 

“Hey, I do!” Gary pipes up. “I knew you were getting married, Mike.”

“Sue!” Amy yells out. “When’s Mike’s wedding?”

“June 17th.” Sue reports promptly from her desk. “It’s tentatively on the veep’s schedule.”

“Jesus Christ,” exclaims Selina. “You scheduled your dumbass wedding right as prep for the primaries take off. Really, Mike?”

“Yeah, Mike.” Dan echoes sycophantically.

“It’s not like we knew you were going to run, ma’am.”

“Okay.” Amy clears her throat. Everyone falls silent. “Congratulations. Who is the…who is the woman?”

“Wendy Collins. She’s a fashion reporter for the Post.”

“A journalist?!” Selina explodes. The morning goes downhill from there.

~*~

Amy sends an intern home to sort through three months of unopened mail and retrieve Mike’s wedding invitation. The intern comes back with a lavender invitation printed with navy sail boats. 

“I can’t tell if you’re having a boy or getting married.” Dan snarks. 

“Oh my god, Mike, don’t you fucking dare have a kid.” God, a kid, can you fucking imagine, Amy would sooner slit her wrists. “I’m not getting stuck with just Dan on the campaign trail, he was the worst press secretary since whoever’s job it was to manage Hoover’s image.” Dan gives her the finger behind Selina’s back.

“I suppose it wouldn’t play well with the public if I didn’t attend my own press secretary’s wedding.” Selina sounds like she would rather do literally anything else. 

“Cheer up, ma’am. It’s entirely possible there could be a nuclear stand-off or a global health crisis that will require your attention.” Sue replies stoically.

“God, here’s hoping.” Selina stalks back into her office.

“I don’t know why you’re all so cranky, I love weddings. Sue, put it in big, bold letters so we make sure to schedule around the day.” 

“I think I can do my job without your input, Gary. ” 

“Gary!” Selina shouts from her desk. “I need some caffeine before my meeting with the Speaker, and if I could get it, you know, before I die…”

“Coming, ma’am.” 

~*~

“So when did you actually write this?” Amy asks Dan, later that afternoon. He’s commandeered the white board and is writing words like inspiration and reflection all over it in big letters. “Seriously. Even you cannot bullshit this fast.” 

“Oh, Amy.” Dan smirks. “Sweet, innocent Amy. You think this book is original? I’ve got ten different versions of it. You just change the background information depending on the politician, and boom—instant book.”

“So you’re just mindlessly reproducing soft bullshit narratives that appeal to the lowest common denominator of the American electorate.”

“Yep.” replies Dan, gleefully. “And it’s going to get her elected.”

~*~

A week after they learn about Mike’s wedding, Gary mopes into the office looking like a drowned possum. Selina’s in an endless meeting with the HUD secretary, and he spends the entire morning sighing dramatically over his desk until Sue finally snaps and asks him what’s wrong. 

“Dana and I had another fight….” he lowers his voice, “…about Selina.” 

“Dana who?” asks Dan. 

“I really feel like we all need to get better at remembering information about each other’s personal lives.” Mike complains. 

“We absolutely do not.” Amy contradicts. 

“It’s all right for you, everyone knows you’re dating Ed because he already works for Selina.”

“Yes, and I really regret that fact.” Also she’s not entirely sure they’re still dating, but she’s sure as hell not going to mention that in front of Dan. 

(It has become a-moment-to-which-they-do-not-ever-refer, when Dan had asked her to “grab a bite” after Catherine’s party, whatever that had meant and she couldn’t, because she had a date with Ed, and then Dan got inexplicably wasted with Jonah at Catherine’s make-up birthday dinner and they bonded over acting like jealous Neanderthals. But then the next day Dan called Jonah a malformed super-alien who emerged from leftover godzilla jizz, didn’t mention Ed, and everything went back to normal.)

“So what happened with you and Dan?” Ed asked, the next time they went out. “Did you, like, break his heart or something?”

“He…really hates Boston.” Amy mumbled into her whiskey, and then wondered what the fuck she was doing making excuses for Dan Egan. 

So anyway, they don’t talk about it.)

“Can we focus on me, please?” Gary’s demanding loudly. “Dana’s so mad that I’m still working here. She won’t even let me touch the cheese anymore.”

“So quit.” Dan suggests, sweetly.

“Dan,” Amy says warningly. Selina would have a fucking meltdown.

“Nice try, Dan.” Gary spits. “Selina already told me I can’t.” 

“So break up with Dana. She stole Selina’s lipstick and leaked your precious code to the press. She’s obviously trying to destroy your career.” 

“You have to be a man about it, Gary.” Sue tells him. “I know it’s an unfamiliar concept.”  

Gary agonizes all day. Mike ends up taking him out for a drink after Selina’s left for the evening. They come up back absolutely shit-faced around nine in the evening with the news that Gary is now officially Mike’s unofficial wedding planner. 

“How much did you have to drink?” Amy asks, disgusted. 

“Two margaritas.” Gary giggles. “And we decided on yellow as an accent color for the wedding.” 

“Wow.” says Dan. “I didn’t even know it was possible for you to be even less than a man than I thought.”

“Dan, how is Gary’s bag any different than what you carry around?” Mike slurs.

“Uh, mine isn’t filled with lipstick and tampons, for starters, Mike.” 

“No, just hair gel and skincare products.” Amy deadpans, and is rewarded when Dan gives her a dirty look over Gary’s head.

“You guys, this is extremely unprofessional behavior.” Jonah announces sanctimoniously, from where he’s lurking in the corner. “POTUS would not be pleased if he knew this is how the veep manages her office.”

“Jonah, you literally announce it when a female press aide gives you her business card to give to Kent.”

“They give me more than their business cards and you know it, Dan.”

In the end she and Dan have to put Gary to bed on the couch and pour Mike into a cab, and it doesn’t even make the top thirty list of humiliating things Amy’s done in the course of her tenure as VP chief of staff. 

“Why do I feel like Selina’s entire campaign is going to be us babysitting these idiots?” Dan mutters as they watch the cab disappear into traffic.

“Feel free to jump ship at any time, I won’t stop you.” 

Dan bares his teeth at her, that fake-innocent smile that’s definitely going to land him in prison one day. “Sorry, Ames, you’re not going to the moon without me.” 

“Pity that.”

 ~*~

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Dan is an obnoxious dickhead about Selina’s book. 

Due to the need to get the manuscript to print as quickly as possible, he demands an hour of one-on-one time with Selina every morning so he can mine anecdotes about her personal life and political career. Selina overrules both Amy and Sue and actually gives it to him. Something about how Andrew thinks the book is a good idea too. Fucking Andrew.

Well, that’s perfectly fine. Amy has plenty to do to prepare for the upcoming campaign, and it’s all much more important than Selina’s book. It absolutely does not matter that Dan always emerges from these private sessions looking even more smug than he usually does (if such a thing were possible). As though he knows all kinds of new secrets about Selina. Which he doesn’t. Amy already knows everything that needs to be known, and Gary knows what nobody needs to know.

Mike’s too preoccupied with his upcoming wedding to really make a pretense of caring about the book—or about work in general, so Dan’s writing and handling more of Mike’s duties (whatever they are, if he’s ever handled them, which is debatable). Theoretically, as chief of staff Amy should step in and make some noise about equitable handling of the VP’s communication strategy blah blah blah. But she figures Mike’s in love and Dan, as much as it pains her to admit it, has never shied away from more work.

*

Summer sets in over D.C., and the days get long and humid. The interns dig out the floor fans from storage, and Gary starts keeping scented silk handkerchiefs for Selina to dab on her neck and forehead whenever they have to cross the street. Dan bans Mike from coming anywhere his desk or personal items—“in case you contaminate anything with your flop sweat”—and Amy starts getting multiple invitations for Brookheimer summer family reunions that she, mercifully, has no time to attend. 

The House dithers over a pharmaceutical bill that’s dead on arrival in the Senate. Ben and Kent pop in from time to time with presidential updates. POTUS is reportedly planning a bunch of foreign policy spectacles in order to show off how relevant he is: state dinners, a tour of some East African refugee camps, a summit with Japan and South Korea…

“That’s just fine.” Selina tells Ben, her eyes glinting opportunistically. “Tell him he can spend the entire summer on his impotency tour. I’ve got everything under control here, in the actual United States of America.”  

“Yeah yeah yeah.” Ben replies, his mouth twisting into a smirk in spite of himself. “Try and contain your glee, ma’am.” 

They go to Baltimore to talk about violence in schools, then to Pennsylvania to talk to some steel workers. On the way back, Gary makes Mike a pros and cons chart about different kinds of wedding cake. 

Andrew lurks, popping up occasionally to take Selina to dinner or try and convince Sue to put some sketchy fundraiser on the schedule. She, Dan, and Sue develop a strategy to get him out of the office. Whenever he lingers, Amy gets a convenient call from the director of the Office of Investigations over at Treasury, and Andrew disappears within three seconds flat. It’s remarkably effective.

In between his information sessions with Selina, downplaying the inevitability of Selina’s campaign to the press, meetings with Amy on the Hill to try and derail a trade war with Mexico, and thinking of even more creative nicknames for Jonah, Dan writes the book.

~*~

It is, as Amy suspected, saccharine garbage. 

“Dan, you know this…this is fucking terrible, right?”

She’s perched on the arm of the loveseat; Dan’s sprawled over it, taking up a truly excessive amount of space with his long legs and arms. There are balls of paper scattered all around. Writing, based on the way Dan goes about it, looks a lot like dramatically crumpling up pieces of paper and lounging around on various pieces of furniture like he’s Jack fucking Kerouac.

“I mean, thank God you’ve already negotiated the publishing deal, because this is some serious—“

Dan throws a ball of paper at her. “You want your own book, get in line, Brookheimer.”

“Written by you? Pass.”

“Someone had to write it, Amy.”

“Like there aren’t fifty ghostwriters in this town more qualified than you.”

“I dare you to find even one.”

“Guys,” Sue intervenes, without even looking up from her computer. “Take it outside, please.” 

[awkwardtortuga]

Much needed relaxation - Donnie x female reader

My dreams have been particularly vivid recently, so I thought, “Why not try to write your dreams and share them on the internet?”.... So here we are! Will anyone besides me enjoy it? Maybe not, but at least I don’t have to worry about forgetting it!

Disclaimer: This is a Donnie x female reader fic. Everyone depicted here is an adult.

Word count: ~1,440

Warnings: Other than smut, none? (That being said, please let me know if there is something that requires a trigger warning. I'm still pretty new to sharing my writing.)

It has been a while since I’ve written smut, so I may be a little rusty. (Will probably edit once I get a good night's rest...)

18+ content - for mature audiences only!

It has been a few days since you last saw Donnie in person. If he wasn’t busy with training or protecting the city, you were busy with college and all the stress that came with the semester ending. Even now, when you should be enjoying his presence, you found your mind drifting to the different assignments you had to complete and tests you had to study for. 

You and Don are on your bed, laying on your sides and facing each other. He’s spent the last several minutes filling you in on how patrol has gone the past few nights, before realizing that at some point you zoned out and stopped listening. You were staring blankly at his plastron, where your hand was drawing abstract shapes. He calls your name gently, breaking you from your rapid thoughts.

“Talk to me,” he whispered, voice soft but stern. He could tell something was bothering you and wanted to help you through it.

“It's just... I can't turn my mind off,” you whispered back, gently running your hand up his plastron. “I want to focus on you while I have you here, but I can’t make my mind be quiet.” Your hand continues its journey, finally reaching up to cup his face as you lean in, kissing him softly on the lips.

He hums into the kiss, before moving to pepper your shoulder in kisses. “I want to help you relax. Will you let me take care of you?” he asks between kisses.

You nod, mumbling a single word: "Please."

“On your back,” he commands gently, nudging your shoulder. The bed creaked under his weight as he shifted to hover over you. A hand teasingly brushes your clothed breast as it drifts up your body, before finally cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing across your lips. He kisses your lips once more as that same hand moves to the back of your head, tilting it slightly. With the new angle, he’s able to trail kisses from your lips to your neck.

Your skin is already tingling with excitement, and you feel goosebumps rise on your arms and legs. He nips at your neck before latching on, quickly sucking a new hickey into the soft flesh. Your fingers curl into the sheets while he sucks, and you can feel your breath quicken as a moan escape your lips. His other hand slides down your body, and he grips your hip tightly, pulling you close so that you are pressed firmly against him. The feel of his arousal against your body causes you to shudder, your pussy clenching and feeling sinfully empty.

Content with the mark he has placed on your neck, he sits back and gazes at you with hooded eyes. The hand in your hair moves to your neck, lightly brushing his new mark, before joining his other hand in slipping under your top and sliding the material off you. Once your torso is bare, his lips start their journey down your body. One hand cups your breast, squeezing gently before rubbing circles over your quickly hardening nipple. You moaned as his trail of kisses leads his lips to your other nipple, your hips bucking into his when he gently sucks.  

He continued to lick and suck at your breasts, your nipples stiffening even further under his attention, before slowly sliding down your body, peeling your leggings and panties off as he goes. More kisses are peppered along your skin; across your belly, over your hip, and down one leg, but never getting too close to your core.

“Donnie please,” you whine, bucking your hips slightly. He chuckles but moves to lay on the bed, positioning your legs on either side of his head and shoulders. He trails more kissed down one leg and over your mound. Your legs flinch closed slightly when his warm breath ghosts over your folds, the anticipation making you jumpy.

“Hold yourself open for me, dove,” he commands gently, pausing to look up at you with a smile so soft that your heart throbs. ‘He’s so perfect,’ you think as you affectionately squeeze your thighs against his shoulders before holding them open as he requested.

He sighs contentedly and nuzzles into the soft folds of flesh between your legs; you could feel him inhaling the scent of your arousal.

His tongue flicked out and lapped at your clit as you whimpered softly, your mind going blank. He alters between gentle flicks of his tongue and short but harsh sucking, each passing second causing the band in your stomach to tighten. Your legs are shaking slightly, your breathing is heavy and labored, moans the only thing leaving your lips as you’re unable to form full sentences through the pleasure coursing through every inch of your body. One of his hands slides up your body, busying itself with gently pinching one nipple. You whimpered softly, hips bucking slightly before he pins them down with his other hand.

You were so close to finishing when he took his mouth away from your wet pussy, a needy whine leaving you as you throw your head back in frustration. His kisses your knee with a chuckle before crawling further up the bed, dipping his head to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Your breath caught in your throat as a small moan escaped you

As his lips brushed against yours, he grabs both of your breasts, kneading them and gently pinching your nipples. With a tilt of his hips, you feel him rubbing against your folds before settling at your entrance. One of his hands leaves your breast, tangling itself in the hair at the back of your head. With a nip to your lips, he leans back slightly, and starts to push his hips into yours.

“Keep your eyes on us,” he commands, tilting your head, forcing you to look towards where your bodies are connected.

You do as instructed, watching intently as his cock slips inside of you. His thick shaft fills you completely, stretching you open and giving you an intense feeling of fullness. He pauses for a moment once he bottoms out, enjoying your warmth, before slowly pulling back until only his tip is in you. With a harsh snap of his hips, he sets a steady pace that takes your breath away. Each thrust sends jolts of pleasure through your body, causing your eyelids to flutter.

His other hand leaves your breast to circle your clit. The pleasure is too much for you to handle; he rocks into you with slow but harsh thrusts. "Oh fuck," you whimpered softly, unable to form words properly with how good this feels. He continued expertly rocking into your core, only moving faster when your legs start to shake, and he feels you clenching around him. “I’m close,” you moan out, struggling to keep your eyes open to watch as he slides in and out of you, his cock glistening with your combined slick.

“Come on, dove. Wanna feel you cum on my cock,” he groans, tightening his grip in your hair. The pleasure grows between your legs, threatening to overwhelm you. Your hips buck wildly beneath him, and he grunts with each thrust.

Finally, you feel the band in your stomach snap; your eyes clench shut as your back arches, and obscene moan leaving your throat. He continues to harshly thrust into you, carrying you through your orgasm. He lets your head tilt back, allowing him to capture your lips in a bruising kiss and swallow your moans. The hand at your clit slows before moving to grip your hip tightly.

Just as your orgasm ebbs, and overstimulation starts to set it, you feel his thrusts falter and his body stiffen. A few more thrusts and then he bucks his hips, burying himself deep within you and letting loose a long, low groan that vibrates through your entire body. You feel his seed flood inside you, coating your insides with hot liquid, and you cling to him as he shudders against you.

A moment passes before you finally open your eyes again, seeing his face buried in your neck, breath coming quickly. Donnie moves to pull out slowly, until just the tip remains inside you before withdrawing all the way, leaving you gasping for air. He gently repositions your bodies until you’re both back on your sides, facing each other with your legs tangled together. With a sleepy smile, you nuzzle your nose into his neck, and you feel his arms tighten around you. “Are you feeling relaxed now, my love?” he asks, voice soft as he caresses your back.

[rust-bearer]

I’ve got a whole zombie au one-shot planned out that I’ll be finishing soon, and I’ll definitely send a link when it’s done, but in the meantime I’ve got some other au stuff I’ve thought of. It never ends 🥲 but anyway, this is mostly more Combaticon related things and mainly revolves around transportation:

1. Not sure where I wanna focus or start or go with it, but to begin, I’m debating on their choice of transportation. Sure, encountering one Combaticon being in the wild is startling, but something tells me they travel in packs. I think that before the apocalypse, almost all members of the family had separate vehicles since Swindle is super fucking rich and refuses to carpool.

2. Post-apocalypse, though… hrmmm you could possibly do an electric vehicle? I dunno if those possibly run on electricity from solar panels? I don’t know if that could work. A simpler solution could be one of those church van things, or just a van used by paint companies or the vans that are stereotypically used by creepy kidnappers, I dunno just a van like that. Where does the gas come from, though? My biggest solution is that they go around and straight up siphon the gas from various vehicles LMAO they’re not passing up free opportunities.

3. Vans are nice for big groups of people, and I’d say five people plus Aid plus any kids they bring is fairly big? I dunno. Anyway, it’s just another way to cause complains and disagreements and arguments and such. Nobody can decide whether or not seatbelts or necessary or whether they should keep it clean/empty or keep things like napkins and condiments and such. Brawl and Onslaught, as the oldest siblings, demand that seatbelts be used, much to Vortex’s disappointment.

4. Seating arrangements are almost as bad as arguing over how full the gas tank should be kept on an average basis. Onslaught is usually the only one who drives the van for the most part. Sometimes Brawl borrows it for trips to the nearest Tractor Supply Co, but that’s the extent of his driving. Vortex and Blast Off are both permanently banned from driving, both for various reasons, and Swindle absolutely refuses to even touch the (as he puts it) “outdated, unsafe, rusty piece of shit’s excuse for a steering wheel.”

5. Ironically, despite his unwillingness to drive, Swindle is ADAMANT about sitting up front. When questioned about it (mostly by Vortex, who is a bit of a musical chairs passenger and hasn’t sat in the front seat of a vehicle for some time now), Swindle typically resorts to the “I get carsick” excuse. Nobody actually knows if he’s telling the truth or not, but nobody really cares enough to challenge the claim. Also, despite claiming to hate the town they live in due to the “red-neck” vibes it gives off, he knows his way around the area best out of everyone.

I’m not 100% satisfied with the “we have a creepy van now” solution, mostly because other variations of transportation exist that DON’T involve guzzling gas and making a shit-ton of noise with a vehicle that lost its muffler upwards of three times, but I don’t think the Combaticon’s would settle for anything different. Also, Swindle is against anything that involves excessive physical exertion, so extra points for poor long-term transportation planning. That’s all I’ve got though, and hopefully I’ll have that one-shot written soon.

Swindle is both the most adaptable but also the one who will complain the most and I cannot imagine how he felt when he had to go back to sharing a car with his siblings. Like. For as smart and easy to switch tracks as Swindle is, he’s never going to get over the fact that he now rides in a glorified van as his main source of transport.

Vortex, when he’s not playing musical chairs with seating, of course is like. Don’t worry guys I’ll just ride my horse. No you can’t ride her. I mean, you can try, but she bites. And the horse DOES bite because Vortex trained it to bite anyone who isn’t him. He thinks it’s hilarious. Then he’s a little less enthusiastic when children arrive with their proddy little fingers that the horse absolutely wants to bite and Aw fuck first aid is gonna get so mad.

But anyway. Yes Vortex rides his horse into town for supplies. Saddlebags and bandana/gas mask and both gun and sword. The zombies are sluggishly intrigued by the horse and more intrigued by the prospect of eating Vortex, but horse hide is THICK and any grabby hands just graze off the surface.

I’ve always wanted to throw a specific twist on the zombies, because every story does and for good reason; Kingdom has zombies that sleep during the day (kind of!), 28 days later has sprinters, Last of Us has fungus zombies; I Am A Hero zombies are superhuman and retain some memories.

WITH all that being said. I think a riff on that could be fun. The zombies continue to do whatever was last on their mind at time of death during the day. At night they seek out humans and invest all their energy into that. So you could wander the city during the day, provided you don’t alert the zombies or disturb them; at night, you have to hide. I can imagine going into a mall, for instance, and you try to grab something from a store, but the zombie security guard’s last routine and thoughts were ‘stop theft’ so you suddenly uh. Have to run, because he starts screaming, and everyone else reacts to try and get you, etc.

[berrymilkwithsugar]

Strengthening bonds. (Homestuck)

A/N: I haven’t written a fic like this in a long time, my bad if I’m a bit rusty. This is also purely indulgent so sorry if it’s a bit ooc. Otherwise enjoy. Tw for swearing.

The scent of vanilla filled the air, music was playing softly in the kitchen as Mr. Egbert was preparing another cake. It was his son’s birthday after all, so he felt like this is the perfect time to bust out the Betty Crocker cake mix and slave over a hot oven. Time consuming yes, but he didn’t see anything wrong with spoiling John with cakes.

Despite it being abundantly clear that over the past few months John and him have started to grow distant from one another, maybe he was overdoing the fatherly doting, or maybe he wasn’t spending as much time with him anymore. The oven’s timer begin to beep snapping Mr. Egbert out of thought, he quickly put on some oven mittens and removed the fluffy cake. He placed it on the rack for it to cool down. Glancing over at the photo of him and a six year old john on the wall, he sighed.

Oh what he’d give for them to rekindle their father son relationship.

Maybe they could go to the Dadly depot, no John would get bored rather quickly. Make a cake together? As much as he would love for him and John to do that, John might not be as enthusiastic. God what can they do. He grabbed the now cooled down cake and removed it from the tin, he then begin to apply the fluffy vanilla icing. While this was nice, he still couldn’t rattle an idea in his brain on how to bond with his son.

Once the cake was finished he decided to walk to the living and look through the photo album for as a guide, flipping page after page, he felt like he was hitting a dead end until he saw one photo where it showed him tickling a little John on his tummy. Mr. Egbert smiled at that memory, John was around four year’s old and refused to go to bed, so he had to pull out the “tickle monster” to tucker the little tike out. It had become a bedtime ritual for the Egbert’s whenever John wasn’t keen on clocking in for the night. Not that Mr. Egbert was complaining, his son’s bubbly laughter always left him with a smile on his face.

Wait.. that’s it.

The sound of rapid typing can be heard from outside John’s bedroom door. Presumably chatting with one of his friends. Slowly Mr. Egbert opened the door quietly, glancing over seeing fake arms in his son’s cake. “Well, that’s one way to decorate a cake.” He mumbled under his breath. He cleared his throat, startling John a bit. “Dad what the fu— I mean what the frick?!” He said as he quickly exited out of pesterchum. “Sorry, I’ve just wanted to see how you were doing.” His father’s voice was calm and soft, causing John to ease up a bit and sigh “I’m fine, just chatting with friends… stuck fake arms into a-“ “The cake.” John’s father cut him off. John tilted his head to side before glancing over to the cake. “Oh, well. I was getting sick of cake.” He admitted, a frown donned Mr. Egbert’s face as he sighed and shook his head. “You could of just asked me to store it in the fridge for later.” He mumbled, “But never mind that now.” He waved his hand “I wanted to ask you something.” His expression turned stoic.

“Do you hate me?” Mr. Egbert pondered, John was taken aback by the question “Wha-What? No!! Why would I?” How could his dad come to such a question. “Well, it’s just that we’ve.. seem to grow rather distant over the past few months. I understand it’s normal for there to be teen angst but I didn’t think it would effect our father-son bond this much.” Oh that’s how.

John was astonished, was he actually acting that bad? Sure his dad can be a pain in the neck from time to time but he didn’t think he would chalk it up to John hating him. “Dad..” he reached his hand towards his dad before pulling back and looking down. Shit is it really this difficult for him to find the words to help comfort his father. Just as he was about to speak, his dad began to speak. “So I decided that it was long overdue to reintroduce you to an old friend.”

John gave a quizzical look as he got up from his seat. “You have a guest over?” He asked, Mr. Egbert took a step forward prompting John to step back. “Yes, and and I think you know him quite well.” John tried to rack his brain to see if there was anyone his dad could be referring to. “He used to visit you when you little, when you had those nights where you refused to go to bed.” Once that sentence slipped from his father’s mouth, John’s eyes grew wide in remembrance. No.. there’s not way he’s actually-

“Dad.” John took a few steps back, raising his hands in defense “D-Don’t even think about it.” A wobbly smile formed on John’s lips, “I-I’m beheheing serious.” He said through nervous giggles. Mr. Egbert cocked a brow. “Dad? Who’s this Dad you speak of? I’m the tickle monster!” Mr. Egbert then shot his hands out only for John to dodge them, he tried to run past his dad only to pulled in a hug from behind.

“D-Dad wait-“ But it was too late, his father’s fingers were dancing around his rib cage, causing John to bite his lower lip to stifle giggles. “D-Dahad c-come ohohon I’m nahat a little kihid anymore.” Mr. Egbert smiled at his son’s fruitless attempts to muffle his laughter. “Oh? You’re not? Hmm, well I guess you wouldn’t react if I did this.” He switched over to John’s sides, breaking the dam as sweet laughter filled the room. “Ohohoh gahahahad!” John tried to pry his father’s hands away from his sides, but the man was too strong. Mr. Egbert smiled at his son’s melodious laughter, sounding so carefree and lively, and his reactions to different spots was the cherry on top.

John’s laughter reached an octave as his dad went for his tummy, “WAHAHAHAHAIT NAHAHAHAT TH-THEHEHEHERE!” He squealed, instinctively backing away from the tickles only to further pin himself to his father’s chest. “Aw what’s wrong, is your wittle tummy to sensitive.” He teased, John’s face burned a bit brighter. “IHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’M NAHAHAHAHAHAT A BAHAHAHAHABY!!” John protested against the teasing. God why did those work on him. “Oh does the wittle baby hate the teasing, does it make the tickles worse?”

Okay now John was convinced his face is on fire. Or at least it had a color to rival the Betty Crocker spoon. “YEHEHEHEHEHEHEHES- HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOLY FUHUHUHUHUHUHUKING SHIHIHIHIHIHIHIT!!!” John cackled as Mr. Egbert let out a gasped at his son’s profanity. “My my, such a filthy little mouth, I think this calls for a punishment don’t you think?” John felt himself being picked up bridal style before his father sat down, placing him on his lap. John took this moment to catch his breath before he felt a hand picking up the hem of his shirt. He froze and panicked “Dad! Wait please, I’m sorry just don’t do that!” He begged.

Me. Egbert pretended to be deep in thought before he took a deep breath and place his face over his son tummy, causing John to squeal. “W-WAIT WAHAHAHAIT!!” Mr. Egbert grinned at this “I didn’t even do anything yet and you’re already laughing up a storm.” John opened one of his eyes to look at this father, huh guess he wasn’t-

Right when his guard was down, Mr. Egbert bent back down a blew a large raspberry on John’s belly, causing the thirteen year old to shrieked. “NAHAHAHAHAHAHAT EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE NAHAHAHAHAHAT FAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAIR!!!” Tears of mirth began to roll down the bespectacled boy’s cheeks. “All fair in love and tickles.” Mr. Egbert quipped before blowing another raspberry only this time it was directly on John’s belly button. “*Snort* NYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA DAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAD *Snort* PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE *Snort* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!” There it was, that snorty laughter Mr. Egbert knew and loved.

He decided to let up on the boy, using his thumb to wipe away the tears from his’s son’s cheeks. John giggled as the ghost tickles were still in effect. John took off his glasses and wiped his eyes before looking at his dad, who had a smirk on his face. “What?” John tilted his head in confusion.

“Oh nothing, just during all of that, you never once told me to stop tickling you.” John froze, Christ he was right. “W-Well.. um..” John stammered a bit. “You must have really liked it.” Mr. Egbert ruffled his hair, John pouted and crossed his arms. “Okay NOW I hate you.”

“Watch it.” Mr. Egbert gave a warning pinch on John’s side. “I’m keen on having round two if that’s how you’re gonna act.” John stuck his tongue out. “Only if you catch me old man.” With that John quickly got up and sprinted out of the room, giggling as he did so. Mr. Egbert smiled as he shook his head. “You may not hate me, but you’re still gonna get it.”

Soon with Egbert household was filled with laughter once again.

[here4kpopfics]

Through the Night | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: Fluff

AU: Established Relationship

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, mentions of sex, a little making out. Also it’s this Jungkook and I’m not sorry.

Rating: PG-15ish?

A/N: This wasn’t meant to be this stupid long. This is the same couple as the one in Hold My Hand, and I have a list of different moments planned out for them. This ended up being like three of those moments in one. (You don’t need to read it first, but I’d love it if you did) This is the second thing I’ve written in over a decade and I’ve never been really good at writing physically intimate moments so this was a challenge for me. Please go easy on my babies. As usual, thank you to my loves @gimmethatagustd and @chryblossomjjk for not only beta reading but continuing to encourage me to keep writing. and Kiki for fixing my grammar bc I’m still very rusty. I love you both an obscene amount. As always, let me know what you think. A lovely little like and/or reblog are greatly appreciated, especially as I get back into this crazy writing world. thank you & I love you. 💜💜💜

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You hate storms. Absolutely hate them. You love the rain, though. The background noise of it as it helps you fall asleep or even helps you focus on tasks. You just hate what tends to come with the rain: thunder.

While you find lightning to be fascinating, and can watch it for hours trying to figure out where its starting point is, you prefer it when it’s as far away as possible. You count the seconds before you hear the deep rumbling of thunder, sending you under the covers in fear.

That’s exactly what’s happening tonight. The rain is coming down hard. The wind is too strong, making you feel uneasy in your apartment on the 15th floor. Your roommate, who is usually your safety blanket, is currently out of the country for work. This left you alone and unable to sleep in the dark, that sometimes becomes blinding light from the lightning being overhead. The thunder is almost deafening, rattling the windows.

You turned on your projector, casting light across your room to look like the northern lights, in an attempt to get lost in the colors and calm down. But it wasn't working. You’re on the verge of a horrific panic attack. You can feel it, and you subconsciously grab your phone. You can’t call your roommate because he’s on a plane and you can’t call your mother because the time difference is horrible. You scroll through your contacts until you land on his name.

You’ve been dating for a little over five months now, and it feels pretty serious. No “I love you's'' have been exchanged and the intimate moments were still relatively safe, but he calls you his and he is yours. But you didn’t want to scare him away with your irrational fears, and definitely didn’t want him to see you when you could barely control your anxiety. Not yet at least. He’d seen you panic over things you deemed reasonable to panic over like large crowds, people suddenly yelling, or receiving worrisome news. But you managed to contain the panic over the things you deemed unreasonable like fireworks, placing or receiving the wrong food order, the sheer idea of taking the subway alone, or in this case, thunder. 

You also didn’t want to admit to him how his voice was the most calming thing you’ve ever heard. How all you have to do in a situation that makes you anxious, is just make him speak about literally anything. That makes your heart rate lower almost instantly, as you focus on the beautiful cadence of his voice to distract you from the overwhelming surroundings. You aren’t ready to admit that to him because you don’t know if he would find it creepy or not.

You are about to scroll away from his name when, in rapid succession, your room lights up white. Not even two seconds later your entire building shakes, causing you to jump and scurry back under the blankets, trying to remember your breathing exercises. After a moment, finally getting your heart rate down just enough, you hear a voice muffled from under your pillow. Your eyes widen, praying you didn’t actually do what you did and he didn’t actually pick up. You grab your phone, turn it over slowly, and see your call screen with Jungkook’s name at the top. You immediately hang up the phone in a panic. 

Not even ten seconds later it starts ringing again. You let it go to voicemail, but it just starts ringing again, whilst getting messages asking if you were okay. You know Jungkook enough to know he isn’t going to give up. Letting out a heavy sigh, you take the phone under the covers with you and answer quietly.

“Hello?” 

“Y/n, did you just call? Is everything okay?”

“Uh…oh, did I? Sometimes I text in my sleep and I- I guess I accidentally…called…you…?” You try your best to sound convincing, fumbling over your words while pulling at the threads in your blanket. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

He lets out a groggy laugh. “You’re a terrible liar, y/n.”

“Shut up…it was an accident, okay? That’s all it was. Go back to sleep and I’ll see y-“

You’re cut off by another round of bright light, surrounding your room with bone rattling thunder. You let out a curse and clutch the phone closer to your ear, as if that’s going to help drown out the thunder.

“Y/n? What happened? Are you okay?“ He sounds so genuinely worried and you hate lying, to him especially, so with a shaky exhale you try to explain it as quickly as possible. 

“Ihatethunderandthestormispassingabovemybuilding. Danny isn’t home so I’m alone and scared andIjustwantedtohearyourvoice.” You squeeze your eyes shut, one hand clutching your phone and the other gripping the blanket still over your head. You prepare for the taunting, or to hear the line go dead, for several moments before you hear movement and the sound of keys on the other end. “Jungkook? What are you doing?“ 

“Is the passcode to get into the building still 0413?” He inquires and you hear a door close and an engine rev.

“Yes…but - Kook, you’re not coming over.”

“Yes I am.”

“No you’re not.”

“But I already am.”

“Then turn back around and go back to bed. You’re not coming over at 2:30 in the morning. You had a long day, go home.” 

“I have had enough sleep to come over. It’ll be fine.”

You huff, throwing the blanket off you and sitting up, snapping into what he titled Brat Mode whenever neither of you could agree on something, but refused to give up. “You know arguing with me is never going to end well. I will win. Every time.”

“And you know arguing with me will result in you up against a wall begging me to show you why you’re wrong.” He chuckles at your immediate silent response, knowing how flustered you get at the mention of anything sexual. It was killing him that he couldn't see how red your cheeks were right now. Realizing you still haven’t said anything after a minute or two, he checks the phone to make sure you were still on the line as he pulls out of the parking garage of his complex. “Whether you like it or not, y/n, I’ll be there in 27 minutes. Try to get some rest until I get there, okay?” 

“…Okay…,” you mumble softly. “Thank you…,” you whisper before hanging up. You tuck your phone back under your pillow and bring the blanket back over your head to hide away until your savior arrived. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been, because you were finally able to fall asleep with the knowledge you weren’t going to be alone. But you were jolted awake with a harsh crash of thunder. You couldn’t move, which terrified you more. Your fight or flight instincts kick in and you try to thrash out of whatever it was that is holding you down. It’s not working and the hold only gets stronger and tighter, but this time is followed by a worried voice in your ear. “Fuck, what the hell, y/n calm down it’s me. It’s Jungkook!” The last sentence ends in a light yell while you continue to thrash, panic flooding every fiber of your being. “Hey, focus on me, y/n I’m right here.” His left arm comes out from under your pillow and he maneuvers to hover over you; his weight on the left arm and the right hand leaving your waist to cup your face. “It's me. I'm here. You’re okay.” He murmurs over and over, searching your eyes for any recognition of him. It takes a few more moments before your eyes finally lock with his. It is like something clicks in your mind and you become frozen. 

”…Koo…?” You murmur softly, bringing both your hands up to cup his face, verifying he was real. With that verification, your eyes immediately well up and begin threatening to spill. His right thumb, still glued to your face, begins wiping away any tears that succeeded in escaping as he presses his forehead to yours. “You’re here…,” you trail off, lightly bumping your nose to his and trying to smile, even though your unreasonable brain wants to burst into tears and your lungs are straining to get any air in or out.

He lets out another small laugh, giving you your favorite beautiful smile with a scrunched-up nose. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me. I’m here. What happened there, huh? I told you I was coming over.” He whispers, leaning in to kiss your cheeks where he had just wiped the tears. “I probably should’ve woken you first, but you were finally asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry, bug.” 

“S’okay…” you yawn, stretching out underneath him before wrapping your arms around him and bringing him down to you fully. He snakes his arm back around your waist and rolls onto his back, letting you rest against him. Tucking your face into his neck, you smile and inhale deeply, wanting to find comfort in his entire being, but are met with a different smell entirely. Pulling your head back away from his neck, you look down at his sweater. “Why are you wearing Danny’s clothes?” You scrunch up your face at the smell. It wasn’t a bad smell, your roommate’s smell was fine and was actually the smell that brought you the most comfort. At least until you met Jungkook, then it became the second. 

The boy under you just smirks, moving your hair out of your face. “I forgot an umbrella, so the brief run to the car and then to your building, soaked my clothes. And I figured Danny wouldn’t mind me borrowing some sweats since he’s not here. Why?”

“You just smell like him. It’s weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. Like, I know it’s you here with me, but you smell like someone else and it’s throwing me off. I don’t like it.”

“I can take it off if it’s really upsetting you. I don’t mind sleeping naked.” His offer sounded so serious, as if he was really concerned, but his facial expression said otherwise. He was fully teasing you, getting his wish to see your flustered cheeks like he wanted to earlier. You open your mouth in shock and look anywhere else but towards his gaze,  ending up on a piece of the hoodie that you were already clutching. “Would that be better? That way you just smell me?” He adds with a big grin across his face, tongue playing with the metal ring around his bottom right lip. 

You shake your head vigorously. “No no, it’s fine. I’ll get over it. It’s fine.” You rattle off, still clutching onto the hoodie. But he ignores you, sitting up and grabbing the bottom of the hoodie to start taking it off.

“No no, the princess can’t stand the smell. Therefore we must get rid of it posthaste! Before she bans us from ever returning to the castle.” He announces in the most dramatic fashion as he pulls the hoodie off, remaining in his own shirt. “I’ll just use the princess’ body heat to keep warm during this terrible storm. I’m sure she won’t mind.” He jokes, laying back down to wrap his arms around your laughing form again, tucking your head back where it belongs, in the crook of his neck. “There. All better, my princess?” 

You force yourself to contain your laughter and sound as monotonous as possible, “No. I like Danny’s smell better. Put it back on, you stink.” 

“How very dare you! After I traversed the dangerous outside elements to come and be by your side in your time of need, and this is how you treat me? The disrespect! The audacity!” 

You finally burst into laughter as he begins to tickle your sides, wheezing and trying to stop him by rolling away, only ending up with him back on top of you. He loved to tickle you, but you were still anxious from the storm and laughing to the point of wheezing, which always ended in you hyperventilating. You tapped both hands on his chest almost in a panic. 

“Koo, too much, please. Too much. I can’t - I can’t breathe.” Your eyes start welling up again and he stops immediately, leaning down to kiss the space between your eyebrows. 

“Okay, too far, I’m sorry. Breathe, bug. Breathe slowly.” He coaches your breathing for a few moments until you’re steady again. He is still above you, looking down at you like you’re his whole world. And you are. He knew it the second he met you and learned your name that you were going to be the one he would always want in any timeline in the universe. You were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, proving to you and the universe that you were his reason for being. His gaze travels from your eyes to your lips, to the steady breathing from your chest, back to your eyes, and then finally landing back on your lips. He mumbles something about how you have no clue what you mean to him before deciding to just give in and press his lips against yours, moaning into the kiss immediately. Your breath hitches and it takes a second before you shut your eyes and kiss him back with the same amount of desire, tangling your hands in his hair as his own hands drop from your waist down to your hips, gripping them tightly and pressing himself down into you. 

You two stay like this, hands roaming each other while he stays slotted between your legs. Your lips connected, only separating for air, or for him to trail down your neck before coming back to your pillowy lips. As if he could never get enough of them. You smile into the kiss, your hands reaching down toward his sweatpants. One of his stays firmly on your hip and the other under your shirt, slowly creeping up your stomach. Just as you were about to reach the promised land, a clash of thunder rumbles through your room, reminding you both why your boyfriend was here in the first place. You flinch at the noise, causing Jungkook’s creeping hand to retreat immediately out of reflex, learning not to touch you when you are uncomfortable. He looks down at you with wide eyes, hoping he didn’t do anything wrong, moving his other hand off your hip and onto the bed out of caution. “You okay, bug? Did I do something?” His voice shakes and you can’t tell if it is from the lack of air from making out, or his concern of hurting you.

“No, you’re fine. I’m fine. The thunder. I forgot about the thunder.” You choked on a small laugh out of embarrassment, covering your face with your hands. “I’m sorry. We can continue…if you want.”

He sighs, looking towards the window that displayed the city, the beautiful lightning dancing around the sky. He places a soft kiss on your forehead before getting off of you to close the blinds. When he returns, you expect him to crawl back on top of you and finish what you started. Instead, he crawls behind you, pulling your back flush against his chest, snaking an arm around your waist, and hooking a leg in between yours. He nudges your ear with his nose, kissing behind it before murmuring “Nah, it can wait. I’d rather have you on edge because of me and my tongue rather than the storm.” He practically counted down to when you gasped and watched your cheeks redden for what felt like the millionth time tonight. It was getting frustrating for you that he had this hold over you just by mentioning anything sexual. So you said fuck it and tried your best at responding in kind. 

“But don’t you need…I don’t know….help? With this?” You tried to sound as innocent as possible as you rolled your hips back against his crotch. His hand left your stomach, immediately gripping your hip in place against him and huffing into your ear.

“Don’t.” Got him. 

“Don’t what?” You ask sweetly, tilting your head back to try to get a better view of him. 

“Y/n…I’m trying to be the good supportive boyfriend that comforts you through storms. Not the boyfriend that completely ruins you and makes you mine over and over again.”

Don’t let him win, y/n.

“What if that’s the boyfriend I want?” You tried to roll your hips again but his grip only tightened further. 

“Then you’re shit out of luck, bug.” he tries to sound stern, but you weren’t completely unsuccessful with the last hip roll. It was taking everything in him not to buck his hip forward. 

You huff and lay your head back down on the pillow, facing away from him. “Maybe I should find a new boyfriend then…” you mutter softly, clutching the blanket closer to you. 

Jungkook’s jaw tightens and you feel his death grip on your hip release. His hand slides up past your waist, over your forearm, past your shoulder, and across to your throat where he lightly wraps his hand around it, bringing your head closer to his face. You knew you did it. You made him snap. Jealous Jungkook will always be the way to go if you want to win. You can feel it and you’re excited. However, instead of crushing his lips onto yours or attacking your jaw with aggressive love bites before completely ruining you, he kisses your temple, your cheekbone, the crook of your neck, ending on your shoulder blade before he takes a deep breath. “Y/n, it is almost 4 in the morning on a Wednesday. You have work in the evening and I cannot consciously allow you to go tired and sore. So behave.” He threatens before lightly biting down on your shoulder. 

You let out a defeated whimper, making him giggle. “You suck.” you sound like a fucking toddler about to have a tantrum. 

“I know. Now go to sleep, princess. I’ll be right here all night…or morning…” he let go of your throat, wrapping his arm around your waist again, this time tugging you back to him a little harsher to serve as a ‘my decision has been made’ move. You mumble an okay and a goodnight before getting comfortable and closing your eyes, happy to be wrapped up in his embrace. 

It’s completely silent except for the rain, the now distant thunder, and both of your slow breathing when Jungkook opens his sleepy eyes and looks down at your resting face. You look so happy and it overwhelms him thinking it’s because of him. He’s the reason you feel safe in someone’s arms. He’s the one you called when you were scared. He’s the one that gets to hold your hand, kiss you, and touch you. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leans in to kiss your temple. He hesitates there for a few seconds before finally whispering “I love you, bug. So much. I hope that’s okay.” 

He places another gentle kiss and settles back down, closing his eyes, beginning to drift off to sleep while thinking of better ways to tell you when you were awake. Except you hadn’t fallen asleep yet. You heard him and you were struggling to control your breathing and the desire to turn around and verify what he just confessed. Instead, you waited a few moments that felt like an eternity until you were able to control your lungs long enough to form two sentences. 

“It’s more than okay. I love you, too, Koo…” you whisper it so softly you weren’t sure if he heard it or if he was even still awake, until you felt him stiffen and his grip on you tighten. Neither of you said anything more, just basked in the love you both had for one another and finally having it out there. You drift off to sleep with a big smile on your face. Suddenly storms aren’t so horrible if it means having the person you love there by your side. 

[robo-writing]

Sick Leave

Pairing: Adrian Chase x AFAB! Reader (Gender Neutral Pronouns)

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors DNI

Word Count: 3.8k Words

Summary: You work far from home, and Adrian misses your touch, so he decides to do something about it.

Read on Ao3!

Warnings: Phone Sex (kind of), Switch!Adrian, Oral (fem receiving), praise and degradation kink, p in v actions, unprotected sex, hickeys/bruising, Fluff (if you squint), Absolutely filthy dirty talk

Author’s Note: Hey there! This is the first fic I’ve written in years, I quit but then this funky lil white boy named Adrian Chase managed to worm his way into my heart, so here I am. Resident Tumblr user @jangofctts inspired me to write again, so if you liked my fic go give her a shout-out and check out her masterlist! Again, I’m very rusty, so any critiques are welcome and gladly accepted, hopefully you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The last time you had to leave for work Adrian practically pounced on you the moment you walked through the door, you could barely even get a greeting out before you felt him pawing at anything he could touch.

Okay, to be fair, maybe you did video call your boyfriend and make him watch as you fingered yourself in your hotel room. And maybe you did tell him that he couldn’t touch himself until you got back as punishment for sending you nudes in the middle of your workday, but honestly he was being a tease and you were having none of it.

Besides, it did lead to some earth-shattering sex when you got back, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Adrian get naked that fast before.

Anyway as an apology you decided you need some nice de-stress time with your loving boyfriend, just you, him, and whatever movie was playing on T.V. You had the whole day planned out, you even made some snacks to enjoy when right before you grabbed the remote, lo and behold your boss decides that they need you back cross-country. Just when you were enjoying some much needed downtime, you had to go right back, and Adrian was not happy about it.

“Your boss is a dick of the highest caliber, and that's saying something.”

Well, he's not wrong.

“Maybe I should teach him a lesson.” he mused.

A heavy sigh leaves your body.

“No Adrian, you cannot kill my boss.” “Oh come on!” he grumbles out. “I wouldn’t kill him, I’m better than that. I’d just scare him a little, you can live without a finger-”

“Adrian.”

“Okay okay! Message received.” He rolls his eyes, but it only causes the both of you to laugh.

You were currently cuddling on the couch, Adrian wrapping his hands around your waist as some random action flick you put on plays in the background. You were trying to enjoy the little time you had left before you had to leave, but it was weighing on both of you as you mindlessly watched the poorly cgi’d explosions.

“I mean I don't get why he’s such a jerk, you do most of the work anyway.” You hum in agreement, often enough you end up running around your building picking up other workers slack, but you never have the guts to tell them to do it to themselves.

“Office jobs are like that honey, no one likes them but at least you get paid.” You end your sentence with a kiss to his shoulder, his head just a bit too high for you to reach.

The movie was interesting for the most part, but you could feel Adrian’s attention waning as he found you more interesting than the cheesy-one liners. He kept nosing at your neck, starting off with small kisses that grew into something more, each one longer than the last. You let him move your head to expose more as he slowly mouthed at the fading bruises he already left behind, his hands grazing across your body.

“Are you sure you need to go?” You can hear him breathe out as he kisses the base of your neck, causing your breath to hitch.

You can feel him smile into your shoulder as his hands make their way up your shirt. The way his mouth is moving across your skin makes you seriously consider telling your boss you can’t make it, but you have bills to pay. Not like Adrian’s making the choice any easier for you when you feel him grinding himself against your backside, a not-so subtle reminder of everything he has to offer you as long as you stay with him.

You fully turn yourself around to face him, hands on his shoulders as you straddle his lap. On instinct his hands make their home on your hips, fingers slowly running up and down your curves as his thumbs draw small circles across your body.

“You know I have to go baby.” You say as you kiss his nose.

“Yeah, but, you don’t actually HAVE to go y’know?” Somehow he keeps up his conversation while casually palming at your breasts. “Like I’m pretty sure there’s no law against telling your boss you have a super hot boyfriend at home who’s willing to eat you out until you cry.” You laugh at him, that goofy smile plastered across his face like he’s not 10 seconds away from doing exactly that.

“First of all, TMI, he’d probably fire me. Second of all-“ You gasp as you feel Adrian pinch one of your nipples. “-I’d only be gone for a few days. You can survive.” He apparently didn’t like that as he pinched your nipple again, albeit a bit harder.

“No I wouldn’t, I’d die, honest to god.” You’d be laughing if his hands against your chest weren’t so fucking divine.

“I’m so serious,” He managed to remove your shirt before he continued. “I have a disease, it’s chronic, and it can only be treated by you! You’re like, my super sexy nurse.” He’s rambling at this point, but he manages to lift you off his lap long enough to take your underwear off, the cool air across your soaking wet pussy causing shivers to run up your spine. Adrian notices it too, because within the blink of an eye you’re on your back and he’s firmly placed himself between your thighs, one hand at the back of your knee and the other holding you down by the hip.

“Hey, has anyone ever told you that you have the prettiest pussy ever?” He collects your wetness onto his fingers and brings them to his mouth, savoring the taste. “Tastes like heaven too.”

Your chest is heaving in anticipation, but you look down to see Adrian staring down at the mess you’ve made of yourself. You can feel yourself getting self-conscious and move to close your legs but he’s having none of it, forcing both of them apart in a split second.

“You should know better than to get in between what belongs to me.” He barely acknowledges the soft moan that leaves your lips. “Don’t be shy. Besides,” You feel his lips trace across your skin, “I like to see how much of a sloppy whore you get for me.”

Fuck, he’s going to be the death of you. How can someone so cute have the filthiest fucking mouth you’ve ever seen?

He kisses up your legs, once, twice, again and again as he makes his way up your thighs, so close yet so far. Your skin is on fire and he’s barely touched you yet. You can feel his breath, you hold his hair and try to grind up to his mouth but he has an iron grip on you. You know he wants you to agree with him and stay home, but damn it if you’re not stubborn.

“Adrian,” you slowly begin, “I promise I’ll be back as soon as possible-“ You can feel your back arch as he leaves a particularly hard bite on the inside of your thighs.

“Not soon enough. Plus, who else is gonna fuck you as good as I do while you’re gone? Hm?” You look down at him just as you can see his gaze drifting from your legs to something on the table. He’s oddly quiet, maybe too quiet. In your whole relationship quiet isn't a word you’d use to describe him. You follow his eyes and you immediately feel your heart drop.

You look back at him. “Adrian, no.” He’s clearly not listening to you anymore. “You should call your boss right now. I think it would be a good idea.” “Adrian, no!-” He’s faster than you, damn his reflexes, and by the time you reach your hand out he’s already halfway into your contacts searching for your boss’s number. You can tell he found it when you see his eyes light up with mischief.

“Adrian so help me god-” You can already hear it ring, and the universe is clearly laughing at you because the ONE time you don’t want your boss to pick up he somehow manages to do so in less than a second.

“I’m busy, what do you want?” God damn it.

“Hello sir, this won’t take up a lot of your time-” You throw a particularly heated glare towards Adrian, but any hate you have for him is soon lost when you feel his lips against your pussy.

“Hurry up, time is money, if you’re going to say something say it.” Pleasepleaseplease don’t find out.

You try to be as courteous as possible but words start escaping you when Adrian starts pressing his tongue against your clit. You think about trying to slap him away but you know he’d more than likely get turned on.

“Y-yes sir, well, I’m sick.” Very convincing.

“You’re sick?” You can almost hear the eye roll through the phone. “I’m sure you are. Is that it?”

Adrian slaps your thigh as his tongue moves faster against your heat. You know what he wants, a silent warning to hurry the hell up.

“Yes sir, I’m-” You barely have time to cover your mouth before a moan flies from your throat. “I’m very, very sick, I don’t-” Fucking hell Adrian if you keep doing that-

Your boss interrupts your shaky thoughts. “Are you trying to call out?”

“Yes!” You whine out to your boyfriend but soon remember who you’re supposed to be talking to and clear your throat.

“Yes I am sir, I have to-” You choke out a moan into your hand. “-call out, I can’t go, I’m sorry-” You are barely holding yourself together, it is taking every last inch of your willpower to not throw your phone across your room and fall apart right then and there. You sneak a look toward Adrian and he’s fucking smiling against your cunt.

“You sound tired, you must really be sick.” You’re slowly losing your vocabulary as you hum out a noise in agreement.

“Yeah” you stammer out, “have to g-go sleep, bye!”

“Wait, when are you coming back-”

You barely register his farewell as you end your call and slam your phone into the couch, fingers immediately taking purchase in Adrian’s soft brown hair. The moan he lets out moves through you as he somehow manages to push himself further into your heat, his fingers bruising the meat of your thighs. Your head is spinning, your lungs desperately take in any air as your legs slowly begin to shake.

“Baby please don’t stop, please let me come, make me come-” You cut yourself off as you cry out, his lips sucking on your clit and never letting go. Adrian’s just as desperate as you are, if not moreso. His face is slick with your arousal, every sound tumbling from your lips spurring him on as his mouth moves faster and faster against your pussy. You can feel every whine and moan he lets out into your skin as you rock your hips and use him for all he’s worth.

Your back arches off the couch, followed immediately by a tidal wave of pleasure washing over your body. You don’t register how loud you scream as Adrian devours everything you have to give him. When you come back to earth your ears are ringing, and you still feel his tongue drawing slow circles as he looks up at you through hooded eyes.

His face cherry red, he looks at your pussy like a man starved. You see him rutting against the couch, see how desperate he is to dive into your warm heat and never come back but he’s waiting for you, those pretty green eyes almost completely overshadowed by his dilated pupils. He’s completely fucked out and he still looks like sunshine, and in all honesty you’d risk going blind if it meant you could stare at him all day.

When you finally catch your breath you motion for him to come up, chest to chest. You taste yourself when his lips descend onto yours, both of you reveling in the feeling of being so close before you pull away.

“Thank you baby.” You pull yourself up and slowly caress his cheek just the way he likes, instantly relaxing into your touch as he lets out a soft noise. “You treat me so well.” you purr.

“Yeah?” he hums out, lost in the feeling of your fingers against his scalp, “Was I good?”

A small giggle escapes you, even when he’s the one doing all the work he’s still checking up on you.

“You’re always a good boy for me Adrian.”

You swear you could see the gears stop turning in his head. “Please don’t call me that, I’ll actually blow a load all over the couch. Unless that's what you want because I'm totally down for whatever-” You place a chaste kiss on his nose, which seems to stop him from going into another rant. You get lost in him again, all curly hair and big doe eyes. He’s completely debauched, glasses fogged and slanted as his breath comes out uneven, and yet he still looks at you like you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever had the fortune of meeting. What did you do to deserve him? “Honeybee? You’re staring, are you okay?” He looks at you concerned, fingers still playing in the expanse of your thighs. You almost forgot where you were. “I’m fine angel,” you begin “just thinking about how amazing you are.” You bring your thumb up to lightly play with his bottom lip. “You treat me so well.”

You didn’t think he could get any redder but he does, the sound that leaves his lips is sinful.

“Do I? Does that mean you’re staying?” He presses a sloppy kiss to your collarbone, a sigh ripping from your throat as he moves his way down your body.

“I thought that was what the call was for?” You ask, confusion obvious in your voice.

“What? No, no way, I’m not done with you.” Huh?

Before you could ask what he meant he leaned back on his legs and you could see, or rather feel the answer prodding at your entrance. You sneak a glance downward, his cock red and throbbing. You notice the rivulets of precum down his shaft, all for you, and yet he was still looking at you for permission. As if he ever had to ask.

Just being this close to your pussy was sending him spiraling, sandwiching himself between your heat and slowly teasing you, but never actually succumbing to his needs.

“You feel so good, always feel so good, you feel like heaven-” He gasps out, words spilling out of him in one breath.

He puts his hand on your hips, glides himself against you even more than before. “Please, can I fuck you?” He whines. “I really needed to before but you sounded so good when I ate your pussy and I couldn’t stop myself-” You bring his attention back with a tug of his hair, eyes firmly locked on his.

“Adrian, please,” you bring your hand to guide his length. “I want you to fuck me.”

You don’t need to tell him twice as he focuses solely on your neglected pussy, your voices getting higher and higher as you feed off of each other's pleasure. On instinct your legs wrap around his waist as he enters you, bringing the two of you closer and closer until Adrian has to hold himself up by his forearms. One inch, two inches, more and more fill you and you fully fall into his trap, your thoughts filled with nothing but how amazing he feels inside you. Almost immediately you can hear your effect on him, barely formed sentences rushing from his lips.

“Holy shit-holy shit-” he makes a strangled noise. ”Can I move?”

You nod, and immediately feel him become frenzied, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing off the walls. You grab onto his arms, then his back, leaving harsh red marks where your fingers meet his skin. The pain only spurs him on, his rhythm merciless.

“Goddamn it, you-” he manages to find his voice after a beat, “Your pussy is so tight, I’m not going to last…” You screw your eyes shut, completely lost in the euphoria, desperately chasing after your high. You hardly feel his fingers against your neck, but the moment he tightens them your eyes fly open, rolling back. “Hey,” he squeezes again and brings your focus back to him, “Say you want me, tell me you want my cock, tell me you want me to fuck you stupid, say it.” He sounds as breathless as you feel, hips moving faster and faster and faster- oh god I can't think-

He puts even more pressure on your throat, you think you might actually see stars.

“Fucking say it, I need to hear you say it, god please-” he pleads.

“I want you to fuck me Adrian, need you to fuck me-” You can don’t finish your sentence, his cock driving so deep inside it forces the air out of your lungs.

“Get loud princess, tell me how it feels, tell me how good it feels when I stuff your tight little pussy full of my cock.” His breath is shaky, sweat forcing his curls to stick to his face. You love how wild he’s getting, hands grabbing at anything he can find, your neck, your waist, your tits, he even whispers sweet nothings against your skin as his thrusts become erratic. Even when he lets your throat go and pins your hands above your head he can’t get enough of you, as long as he could feel you underneath him it doesn’t matter. Your head fills with static when you feel Adrian’s deft fingers moving against your clit.

“Need you to come for me, need to make you feel good, let me make you feel good darling-” He’s sobbing into your shoulders, body pressed firmly into you, his vocabulary blurring into a mess of half-finished sentences and grunts.

You’re slurring your words at this point, barely able to hold a sentence under the immense pressure of his hips snapping against yours. A particularly hard thrust leaves you reeling and you cry out his name as you come, your walls fluttering around him. Adrian follows soon after, enveloping your body in a tight hug before you feel his release inside you, warm and satisfying. The two of you both collapse against the couch, desperately trying to take in any air you can before you feel your boyfriend grab you by the neck for a kiss. It’s sloppy, all tongue but it’s what you both need right now. When Adrian’s had his fill he holds your face, peppering kisses all over your face.

“You’re so beautiful.” A kiss. “You’re so fucking pretty” Another kiss. “You’re better than-fuck hold on-” You stifle a giggle as he tries and fails to find something to compare you to.

“Y’know what? Doesn’t matter, you’re still better.” He brings you to his chest and never lets go. Even though you’re both sweaty and gross, you still find yourself relaxing in his arms. Only after a few minutes do you realize exactly how much of a number Adrian did to you.

It hurts to move, you note to yourself, but in a good way. The grip he had on your hips was bruising, and you know you’re going to feel it for days, a pretty reminder that only Adrian could leave behind. Noticing your discomfort, he makes it his goal to leave small kisses on every mark he left behind, even if you have to stop him from leaving more behind.

You pinch his shoulder when he tries to leave another one on you. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“Only for you.” You don’t have to look at him to know he meant every word. “I get lonely when you’re gone, and it's like your boss loves taking you away from me.” he mumbles. You’ve known about Adrian’s insecurities for a while, his fear of being alone, and you don’t miss how he holds you just that bit tighter at his confession. You get the feeling he isn’t only talking about the guy who writes your checks.

“Adrian, you really missed me huh?” You laugh to no one in particular, enjoying the feeling of your boyfriend coddling you.

“Of course, duh, you’re the best girlfriend ever. I always miss you when you’re gone,” He turns to you. “But now we have plenty of time to make up for it.” He tries to finish with a wink but it comes out awkward and forced, and you giggle because as bad as it was, he still looked cute.

“Hey,” you whisper. “Look at me.” Adrian’s an awful liar on account of his face, his eyes give everything away, and right now you can see that hint of self-doubt lingering. You feel guilty, how could you be so naive?

“I’m sorry for leaving so much, I'll talk to my boss. And if he doesn’t agree I could always get a new job, yeah?”

You feel content at the small fuck yeah against your neck.

Okay, time to clean up.

You shake off the wobble in your legs before making your way to the bathroom, or at least you were until you were interrupted.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You’re stopped by his arms around your waist. “I'm not done with you.”

You feel his fingertips against your clit and the overstimulation makes your legs twitch.

“Adrian what are you-” You don't finish your sentence before you feel him drop you on his lap, scooting you closer towards him- there's no way he's still hard.

“I told you Honeybee, I’m not done with you.” Oh no.

“You’re always at work, or somewhere else, and you leave me alone sooo…” He presses himself against your body. “I'm deciding to do something about it.” Before you can open your mouth to argue you feel the sharp sting of his palm across your ass.

“So, I figure if you can’t walk, you can’t leave me.” Oh no.

“So that’s why…” He looks into your eyes and watches your reaction. “I’m going to stretch your sweet pussy over my cock until it’s dripping off my balls, and I'm going to keep you there until you’re too weak to stand. And if you even think about leaving the house I’ll fuck you ‘till you cry.” He smiles at you.

Like, genuinely smiles at you.

As if he didn’t just say the most filthy shit you’ve ever heard.

He said it so “matter-of-factly” too, like it was a casual thing to say that you were going to ruin your girlfriend on a Saturday afternoon. And knowing Adrian, he meant every word of it.

You couldn’t tell if it was fear or lust, but you were definitely feeling something, and if you knew anything about Adrian Chase, he keeps his promises. You look him in the eyes, and shudder.

Maybe you should say a prayer while you can still think.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! Are you still open for request for Morpheus? If yes, I want to request Morpheus taking care of reader who's in pain because of their period if that's okay. Thank you sm I love your writings <333

My requests for morpheus are always open my dear, I could never deny myself the chance to write for the wet cat of a man. And I’m glad that you enjoy my writing! Thank you it means a lot! Also it’s been awhile since I’ve last written for Morpheus so it’ll be a lil rusty.

Taglist: @mess-in-side @blossomedfloweroflove @murnsondock @dinonuggett @mm2305 @kuchokitty

“Urgh,” you groaned, “why must life hate me so fucking much.” As almost a response to your obviously rhetorical question, a particularly painful cramp blossomed within the depths of your lower abdomen when you made the foolish move of unfurling your legs from your chest; dislodging the lukewarm water bottle you had kept on hand for these very occasions as it lied limply on the bed. Extracting a hiss from your lips at the loss of warmth as you were forced to revert to a fetal position.

Unable to place the water bottle back against the area where most of your current problems resides in, you groaned even louder this time it practically encompassed the entirety of the empty bedroom much like the dull periodic throbs of pain emitting from your abdomen and throughout your body; rendering it incapable of moving without setting off another wave of cramps that you soon conformed to your fate upon the bed. It pissed you off that you along with many others had to go about your day to day lives as though you weren’t getting stabbed with an iron poked in the exact same spot for several days on end and were forced to refrain from making such a big issue out of it.

“Beloved?” Morpheus’s voice called from the doorway causing you to peak your head above over the covers like a dog would when their owners arrived home, “Lucienne has informed me that you were on your period and this you have a history of painful cramps alongside it, do you wish me to rid you of this misery. Just say the word and it shall be done.” Whilst it was sweet that Morpheus was willing to use his status as an endless to free you of this burden that you’ve been cursed with since forever; but you knew it just wasn’t that easy and you didn’t wish for him to use his powers on something like this no matter how selfish you wanted to be with the privileges you hold as dreams’ lover.

“As tempting as that offer sounds, my sweet dream, I cannot ask that of you. Whilst yes it hurts like a bitch but to take the easy way out of things isn’t something I can’t pride myself in doing, you of all people should know that by now and how inconceivable I can become.” You said before groaning as a quick yet painful cramp had you lying flat back against the pillow and into your precious position, eyes clenched tightly as you began to breath deeply through your nose and out your mouth as a tactic in shifting your focus elsewhere. “If that’s the case then how do you propose that I be of help to you in your time of need, dearest.” He sounded closer this time and the added weight to your side of the bed only seemed to rectify you suspicion as Morpheus’s fingers brush against the skin of your cheek like that of baby bird feathers. The furrow within your brow seemed to disappear when his fingers continued these light caresses down your face, across your jawline before moving back up again to where they started. “Some chocolate would be nice, dark chocolate to be exact.” You hummed, “as cliche as it sounds but there’s facts to back up why that might be and it’s because dark chocolate contains a mineral that helps ease the muscles within the abdomen which provides some significant relief.”

As though materialised in thin air, a bar of dark chocolate was produced and placed on the pillow next to your head with a soft thud, causing you to open your eyes to behold the sweet delight before ripping open the packaging and plopping a few into your mouth, humming in satisfaction when you felt the muscles within your lower abdomen slowly start to ease into a relaxed state. “Heaven.” You spoke between bites, lost in your own state of bliss, not really bothering to question the logistics on how much one can create within the dreaming as you’ve had this conversation once before with morpheus but it only left you scratching your head at the paradoxes that were the rules of the dreaming. “Anything else?” Morpheus said as he watched over you eating like a silent guardian with a smile playing on his lips when he saw that he was being of some use to you rather then not at all; had he still been the man he was before his capture he would’ve oh most definitely left you to your own devices or left elsewhere without letting you know in advance.

“Can you cuddle me but put your hand on my lower abdomen?” You asked, knowing that whilst he is your lover he was also the ruler and representative of the dreaming, whom of which had more then his weight in duties that require his attention. Which lead into not so much time being spent between the both of you as either of you would like and yet during times like these you wished to be a little selfish with the time you did have with Morpheus before he was rushed elsewhere. “Of course, it would be my honour to hold you.” Morpheus said as he made himself comfortable in your shared bed, placing his large hand gently against the place you needed him most as the warmth seeped into skin welcomingly as he held you tightly. Your personal hell became heaven within his arms and the cramps has been reduced to dull to nonexistent throbs, so much so that you had found yourself near enough half asleep with a half eaten bar of dark chocolate in one hand while the other rested atop of Morpheus’s hand that was acting as your only source of warmth. Yeah periods maybe shitty but at least you have Morpheus to make them less shittier.

[misterier]

Hiii ~

I had this idea of Hiest!mark and y/n maybe they go on another hiest or smth and y/n gets mildly injured so mark freaks out a little ( but doesnt admit it ofc ) and takes care of them!

| you got it broski, sorry this took a bit I got burnt out just when I finally got requests 😭 this is probably the best thing I’ve ever written.

[ i will keep editing due to the mistakes 💀 because I was half asleep]

TW: motions of twisted legs, former gunshots, painful reagusting, and pill usage.

Word count: 1,102. 5,981 characters. 

"You coming or what!?" Mark whisper shouted, attempting to turn his head to see Y/n inside the dark vent. "Yeah, sorry, I spaced out." They mumbled, crawling faster, causing the vent to shake against the old building. "Shit." The criminals said together right as the vent pieces snapped and sent them falling to the ground with loud thuds.

"Who's there!" The deep voice of one of the few night guards shouted, clearly away. Mark turned to Y/n in a panic. There was no way they'd be able to climb back up into the vent and the only way out was through the door, but they'd twisted their leg like a pretzel. "What are you standing 'round for? We gotta go." They mumbled, rolling their eyes. Apparently Y/n was too high on adrenaline to realize how fucked their leg was.

"Uh- yeah right, I'll go out first and take care of him. You stay in here." Y/ns jaw hung open. There's no way Mark just offered to go first. As much as they wanted to take the win, they knew there was no way Mark could do it himself. He was too rusty, and they'd seen firsthand how huge the guard was while they were staking out the place only days before. Plus, Y/n had become quite the expert at taking care of guards.

They stepped towards him and put their hand on his shoulder, just as they were about to say they could handle it, Y/n feel straight on the carpet. Mark looked between them and the door and grit his teeth, an uncomfortable look clear on his face. He didn't know what to do to help. "I got it. You stay here." He prompted them up against the wall and ran out with his gun, ready to knock the guard over the head.

They felt pure embarrassment; it was all their fault. If they hadn't spaced out, none of this wouldn't have happened. They hit their head with the palms of their hands in pure frustration. As they went to pull their legs up to their chest pain shot through both legs and they let out a strained yelp and they slapped a gloved hand to their mouth. "Damnit," they mumbled with tears blurring their vision. It hurt so bad, it wasn't comparable to the time they were shot in the shoulder but they couldn't help but cry while holding onto the bag of assorted treasures.

The door bursts open and the light flips on. Y/n yelped and raised their hands but then slowly lowers them, seeing it was only Mark though he was a bit more roughed up then when they last saw him. "You got 'em?" Y/n questioned while aggressively wiping their eyes, "Mmm, you have the stuff?" Y/n gave a thumbs up and a weak nod.

Mark gave them a rare genuine smile and pulled down his mask under the collar of his turtle neck and leaned down to do the same to them, before he wrapped their arms over his shoulders and headed to the back. Y/ns feet stumbled against his and they clung onto him, digging into his shoulder tightly, though he didn’t seem to mind. Y/n sighed, looking up to the shimmering stars and off orange, flickering street lights.

“You could have left me y’know.” Mark’s head turned slowly to meet their wandering gaze. His dark brown eyes glistened under the light and he stared into Y/ns.

“I would never leave you.” A cold wind whipped across the criminals faces and Y/ns heart stopped for a moment and they could feel the heat rise to their cold cheeks, “Mhm, that's just because you're just a big softy.” They teased, breaking eye contact and nudging his side gently to which Mark scowled. “I could drop you right now.” Y/n's eyes widened, and they gripped onto him “You wouldn't.” Mark again gave a soft smile, which quickly ended as they’d made their way to the get-away car.

Mark swung the door to the back seat and gently slid them into the leather seat, leaving their legs dangling out. "This is gonna hurt." He whispers, taking off both their masks and his belt, Y/ns brow rose just before he shoved the belt between their teeth. "I'm sorry." Just as Y/n was about to throw the belt from their mouth and protest, they were screaming against it in agony while Mark reset their leg. Tears burned their cheeks and their face tensed and warmed in a mixture of pain and anger.

"Shit, I did it wrong." They felt themself reach their hand up to slap him away, but it was too late and they dug their nails into the leather as Mark reset their leg again, "ARE YOU SERIOUS!?" they heard themself scream in their mind but by then he'd finally stopped content with their now straight leg. Y/n spit his belt to the concrete and glared at him. "Why didn't you warn me!?" Mark rose his brow. "Are you kidding me? You would have told me no." Y/ns sharp gaze dropped slightly and they sighed, turning to move their legs onto the seat. Mark slammed the door and opened the trunk. He messed around before returning to the door across from them with a couple of pillows, a bottle of painkillers, room temperature water and his belt.

He crawled into the back with them and shut the door as quietly as he could, while putting a pillow under their hurt leg and handing them one to put against the door for their neck. "This is all I could find," Mark spoke gently, rattling the bottle into his hand and handing them to Y/n with the water. Y/n's eyes softened at him and they took them gratefully. "Thanks Mar." They smiled weakly while shoving the pills down their throat and gulping the water.

Mark watched them carefully before climbing into the front seat, only to turn back and study them. "We should go before the guards get back up and call the police." He nodded, embarrassed. "You should rest though. Gotta keep you in working order for the bank in [insert place]." "You got it boss," They whispered while laying their head back, watching Mark put the keys in and start the soft rumbling engine, that caused warm air to flow straight through the vents and onto them. A soft smile spread on their lips while watching Mark concentrate on the road, obeying traffic laws not even police knew where mandatory. Soon their eyelids became too heavy to force open any longer, and they drifted into a peaceful slumber..

[maginxlia]

Starring Nanami, Gojo, Toji and Sukuna As baby Fathers the Headcanons

Rated PG-13

Contains Foul language and suggestive themes

Navigation

Warning I haven’t written fanfics in years so I’m hella rusty asf

Also I look like a lady but I swear like a sailor

These are just some headcanons I’ve been thinking of for the past week, hope y’all enjoy ✨

B\N is For baby name

Nanami (I’m not on child support because I take care of my child) Kento

If y’all on good Terms

Is there for you during the pregnancy

Will ask for a prenatal paternity test so he be 100% sure

Type to meet you at your dr appointments and be your support also he would buy you lunch too

Comfort you and be there for you

Need ANYTHING and he’ll provide no questions asked

Would love for y’all to get together BUT NO PRESSURE

You living in a bad neighbourhood? He’ll find a apartment for you in a safe area

You have his emergency number if something comes up with the baby

Mans has taken classes

Will be more than present for the birth

Happily Signs birth certificate

Spends ALOT OF TIME WITH THE BOTH OF YALL

Takes care of baby elegantly

Literally want to be a wonderful memory in his child life in case he doesn’t be there for the tomorrow

Never argues in front of his child

Really tho it’s like y’all in a stable relationship

If y’all on Bad Terms

Mans still Is there for his child

Prenatal test before he fully commits himself

Is VERY hurt that y’all isn’t getting along

Gives you the space you need but he really want to be included in the pregnancy

There for the birth and he signs the birth certificate without problems

Mans would include you in the plans like if he’s taking y’all child to a restaurant he would invite you and pay for your meal

Gives money for your child every week

Not afraid to take you to court for full custody of y’all kid if he feels like you’re not spending the money on y'all child

NEVER SHIT talks you in front of his child

Respects you even though it’s rough between y’all

Satoru (If you didn’t want to get pregnant by me, ya should’ve used protection) Gojo

If Y’all on Good Terms

Tell him you’re pregnant and man is elated

Type to joke about his superior genes

Mans thinks he knows everything about babies including pregnancy

He eats like he's the one pregnant 🤦🏾‍♀️

Lemme be honest but this man gonna dougie on you and your unborn child nerves

Demands to talk to your belly THROUGH FACETIME regularly

brings you food he thinks you’ll like

Doctor appointments he’s gonna try to be there for you but no promises, He’s a very busy man after all

Constantly want updates on you two

Will play vines to your poor unborn child through headphones on your belly

Gives the worlds Dumbest names suggestions

Compliments your boobs more than he should

Teal and white baby clothes

Have long winded conversation with your belly

Like to poke your belly to try to get the kid to move

Only have Paternity doubts when you are pushing the kid out ( Smart enough not to voice them) Like once he's able to hold the child he's Searching for anything that looks like him until he peeks under the lil baby beanie and notice this child has his white hair... He's ecstatic asf and best believe he's popping off with the "Superior Genes" spiel again.

Either he's staying with you and Baby or y'all staying with him cause he wants to spend as much time with y'all baby as he can

Brags about his child to Itadori, Megumi, Nobara and Nanami

BUYS THE CHILD WHO CAN’T EVEN WALK TIMBERLANDS, JORDANS AND LEBRONS! He knows damn well y'all child gonna grow out of them BUT he adamant about B/N flexing on em to let them haters know that they got the game on lock

Phones home screen is of B/N doing a silly face

Nanami is His child Godfather because he's so responsible

Megumi has babysat for him before and He was SURPRISE about how chill B/N is compared to their father

He's a Ho in recovery if y'all trying to be a family because “his child deserves a somewhat stable home”

If y'all on Bad Terms

In denial. Doesn't understand you not wanting shit to do with him because “ He's a amazing father just ask Megumi”

Tries his damnest to be there for you but whenever he's around he's clowning or clapping his gums with some ol ignorant shit

It's the Hoeing for me💅🏾

Buys you things and hope it makes up for his shortcomings

Calls you to ask about y'all well being

Acts like he's not torn up about the whole situation ( But he is VERY heart broken about it)

Is present for the birth and signs the birth certificate after examing child

Gives you hella money for food and necessity for the B/N

Is VERY petty When it comes to B/N, Mans will crop your face out of pictures if angered enough

Spends ALL his free time with B/N

Will never get over the fact that he wasn't involved in your pregnancy like he would've liked

Has regrets

But is a Solid father for B/N

Will take your ass to court if he feels like his child getting neglected and get full custody

Fushiguro (That breeding kink was amazing until we Breed and made a child) Toji

If y'all on Good Terms

Man's in shock

Can't believe he didn't get a vasectomy

Doesn't know what to do but deep in his heart he realizes has to do something and he can't be a deadbeat forever

Pops at your home one day out the blue tense as fuck and mumbling a “apology”

Comes to one appointment and is quiet the whole time, Sneakily gets a copy of the sonogram to keep in his wallet

He's living at your residence when he's not in the streets

Sleeps with his hand on your belly and smiles in his sleep with the baby moves or kicks

Swears that whatever this child may be the Zenin clan will never touch them

Doesn't take jobs around your due date

PAYS FOR YALL SHIT BUT FRUGAL ASF

KING OF COUPONING

Text him SOS baby coming and he'll rush his ass to the hospital

Holds your hand and says some supportive shit while he's disassociating

Kid come and he's staring at the lil face of y’all child without a expression

Signs the birth certificate

Quiet while y'all travel home

1,000 yard stare

Literally takes this man some time to adjust, one day you leave to get some fresh air and diapers and ya leave this man behind to watch B/N, He's shirtless on the couch watching ESPN just chilling and B/N starts wailing so he gets his fine ass up and go check on the kid since his worm ain't putting in the effot to do it. Goes in collects the kid and start heating up a bottle while rocking B/N, After feeding y'all baby he burps B/N and casually holds B/N while watching his show but for some odd reason He glances at B/N long enough to notice that the tiny human is staring at him, Toji Rolls his eye while gently saying Ay kid what ya looking at like that??? before he knows it the kid smiles at him! For a minute Toji felt like everything was alright in the world and he felt warm for the first time in a long time. Rumor has it his heart grew ten times that day but that may be a rumor But Toji did became happier around y'all kid and the interactions was beautiful between a Father and his child.

Is protective as hell

This child Makes Toji realize how much he fucked up with Megumi

Will seek out Megumi and watch him from afar wishing that he could be a better father to him

It's like you're Married to him but y'all just cohabitants that sleep together and have a baby.

If y'all on Bad Terms

This man Ghosting the moment you say pregnant

Why didn't I get a vasectomy 2 the electric boogaloo

No appointment visits

Nothing

You might find some money in your mailbox

Last thing you want to do is piss this man off cause he's a flight risk

Comes back in your lives when the kid’s a month old

Talking about "I was on a long business trip" but in reality he wanted to see if the child was his or not

Tries to work it out with you but he's not a Bowflex

Crystal clear vision that this man is just in your life for Wormy and him to have a place to sleep when he's not killing in the streets

Interaction with y'all child is a minimum

Good luck trying to toss his ass out

Also good luck With bringing another man home cause have y'all ever heard the story of Darth CockBlockius The Dilf? Imagine coming home with someone you're romantically involved with at 12 Am and Toji is sitting on your couch butt ass naked cleaning his weapons while staring right at your new lover.

Reminder he's for everybody and he will be a hoe the moment he's from under your roof

Gives a few bucks here and there

Your life is gonna be miserable babe.

Ryomen (shit you should’ve been more careful) Sukuna

If y'all was on Decent Terms

He's in Yuuji Body chilling and here you come up talking about you're having his child

Mans nearly lost his cool

He's gonna be a asshole about it because denial is the sweetest meal

Unsupportive as fuck Till the day darling Yuuji starts going to your appointments with you and Sukuna gets all territorial and pissed Talking about "The hell you're doing brat? Don't you know your place? This unborn brat is mine."

Yuuji literally is there for your whole pregnancy as platonic support cause he feels absolutely AWFUL that Sukuna got you pregnant and is now being a asshole about it

Yuuji even sends You stuff your child

You have your kid and Yuuji brings flowers for you and a teddy bear for the baby

Sukuna is missing in action for a month after the birth of your child until curiosity got the better of him, Yuuji was over your place helping out with the baby when outta of nowhere You and your child is getting pulled into Sukuna domain, Nigga on his throne just staring at you like you stole something talking about " You keep that brat around you like he father your child" before you could give him a smart ass reply he's walking towards you and touching your child's head with gentleness. His features are softened as realize that this lil brat has enough curse energy that could make Mahito piss himself and run, The small Brat is not just a brat but is his brat🥺

He asks for you to visit him more often with the child

He's medium rare present in B/N life BUT he's trying

Gets pissy with Yuuji even more if he hasn't seen his child in days

Yuuji like a Uncle or guardian to your kid

If y'all on Bad Terms

He didn’t even know you was pregnant

Only found out when he saw you with a brat in the park

Demanded (begged) Yuuji to talk you up as he a assesses the situation

Yuuji didn’t even need to talk to you before he knew it Sukuna was telling him to leave you be

Sukuna was livid. This brat is his child he could feel the curse energy off the child and tell they was his. He was pissed that you deprived him from even knowing your child or the experience of fatherhood. How dare you treat him like he was worthy?

He kept his distance

Watching over his child and protecting them

Leaving money where they could find it

Finally addresses them when they was 14 years old and alone. Look kid Sukuna simply stated i don’t know what your mother told you about me and I don’t care, I didn’t even know you existed until you was two years old and I saw you at a park, I could’ve rammed my way into your life and been a father to you but I decided it would be best to let you have a somewhat normal childhood seeing that I’m the king of curse it would be impossible for you to have a normal one, so I decided to watch you and protect you since the the first day I saw you, hell I might not be a conventional one but I am your Father.

Your child stared at their father not in disbelief but in realization

From that moment Sukuna was in his child life

He trained them on how to use their abilities

He cared for them as much as the king of curse could

Reblog, likes and comments at appreciated and loved

Please don’t steal my shit.

[spxllcxstxr]

Teaching a Moderately Old Dog New Tricks • S.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: could you do a older sirius x younger (tonks' age) reader, maybe he's in denial about liking her because he thinks he's too old but she doesn't think that way. — @msmb

Summary: The man you fancy has been avoiding you. Tonks gives you an idea.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, mention of cigarettes, kissing, older man/younger woman (but reader is Tonks’ age), light mention of remadora (does that need a warning?), Sirius is a bit self deprecating, heated make out, Moody’s all seeing eye

Word Count: 1.6k

A.N: Inspiration hit at 1am. Uhhh Kissing can either be well written or extremely cringe. I can’t tell what category my kissing is in, so possibly sorry in advance? OotP Sirius is so hot and I will love him forever. Hope you guys enjoy. Love you all❤️

****

“So how’re you and Sirius?” Tonks asks, her hair a violent shade of violet as she swings her legs over the arm of the couch at Grimmauld Place. She takes a sip of her daisyroot draught, excited for any news.

“I don’t know.” You respond, swirling your own goblet in your hand. “How’re you and Remus?”

You smirk as she almost chokes at the mention of the man of her dreams.

“I asked you first.” She shoots back after her coughing fit goes away.

“You’re annoying.” You take another sip.

“Cry about it.” Tonks huffs. “But don’t change the subject.”

“Merlin, I wish I had an answer for you.” Groaning, you run a hand through your hair. “He seems to be pulling away from me, yet again.”

“Ugh, men.” Tonks mimes a fake gag.

“I mean, he pulls me into a broom closet for a quick snog and now he won’t even stay in the same room as me!” You cry out.

The draught is sweet in your mouth as you down the rest of your goblet. “‘Ugh, men’ is right. I will never understand them.”

“At least you get a snog.” Tonks retorts. “Remus barely grazes my fingertips passing me a piece of parchment and suddenly he’s all pink and avoiding me for weeks.”

“Are they that daft, or are we just shit at flirting?” You pour yourself some more daisyroot draught.

The murky pink of the draught bubbles and sizzles near the top of the cup.

Grimmauld Place is mostly quiet, the kids were all asleep and someone paces in the room above. There’s faint laughing coming from the kitchen, but that could be one of the Black family portraits, so it’s no concern of yours.

“It can’t possibly be the latter because if I remember correctly, flirting was our specialty back in school.” Tonks winks from her stretched out position.

“Oh yeah.” You muse sarcastically. “All those people we managed to seduce at Hogwarts...”

“Hey! I snogged Penny Haywood seventh year!” She declares.

“It was a game of truth or dare! We all snogged Penny Haywood!” You exclaim, almost spilling your drink all over your robes.

“My point still stands.”

The house groans and creaks in your comfortable silence, Kreature’s dragging gait echoes through the corridor.

“Sirius has nice lips.” You sigh dreamily, your thoughts once again preoccupied by him. “Would love to snog him again.”

“You should.” Your friend replies. “At least one of us needs a proper love life.”

“But he won’t talk to me...” You childishly whine. Pouting, you drink from your goblet.

“Well maybe you should be the one that pulls him into the cupboard next time.” Tonks shrugs, waving her wand to fill her goblet once more.

“You’re brilliant, y’know that?” You perk up at her idea.

“I’ve been trying to tell you that since we were eleven, (Y/n). Can’t believe you’re just now admitting it.”

The night gets cut short after that, mostly because the two of you have work in the morning and the Ministry of Magic was already unbearable sober. Hungover at the office meant a lot more suffering than usual.

You’ve never been more thankful for Molly’s desire to put the gaggle of kids to work around the house.

Even when you get back from the Ministry the the next night, they’re all still galavanting with doxycide upstairs, letting the exhausted adults have a moment to relax.

That’s when you decide to strike.

There’s an extremely convenient and mostly empty broom closet on the ground floor close to the kitchen that is just ripe with opportunity.

Tonks gives you a thumbs up and shoots you a wink as she passes you and strides into the kitchen. You’re leaning against the doorframe, pretending to be preoccupied with checking your nails, but in reality, you’re watching and waiting for Sirius to come a little closer.

His black curls with the occasional strand of grey rest on his shoulders. His velvet burgundy blazer stands out against the dark wood and blue theme Grimmauld Place seems to really enjoy and embrace. You watch his gold pocket watch glimmer in the flickering orange candlelight and how he twists the rings on his fingers.

Your heart flutters at the mere sight of him.

He finally breaks away from his conversation with Remus before turning around and making his way towards you.

He struts closer, heels clicking against the floorboards and your hands jitter in excitement. You’ve never been one to initiate these types of things before.

“Alright, (Y/n)—“ Sirius starts, reluctantly nodding his head in greeting.

But since he’s within arm’s reach, you grab his soft lapels and pull him into the broom closet.

With a flick of your wand the door shuts and you’re plunged into even dimmer lighting.

Your hands are still tightly grasping at his lapels and you have to admit, you’re a little breathless as you fervently press your lips to his.

Your eyes flutter shut and you press your chest to his own, effectively pushing him harder against the wall. You moan, feeling him kiss back. He tastes distinctly of firewhiskey and cigarettes and you’re loving every second of it. His lips are addicting as they move in tandem to yours. Sirius’ hands trail up to the back of your skull, pulling you closer to him, something you enjoy and gleefully let happen. The closer to him you are, the better.

The heatedly deep kiss sends a thrill throughout your body. Here you are, snogging the man you’ve fancied since the day you met him, in a broom closet of headquarters. Instinctively, your heart skips a beat.

One of Sirius’ hands detaches itself from your hair and instead, trails its way down your body to rest on your lower back. A jolt of excitement sparks and flares up inside. Goosebumps erupt underneath his warm hand. He squeezes your body tighter, quickly taking control of the situation.

Unfortunately, air becomes something that you’re losing fairly quickly and when you reluctantly spilt apart, you’re extremely aware of his swollen red lips. They stand out between the dark hair of his beard.

You’re panting as you cling on to his blazer for stability. The moment your lips touched, your knees practically gave out.

“What was that for, poppet?” Sirius pants as well, grey eyes looking into yours.

“Merlin, Sirius, do I really have to spell it out for you?” You smirk, still breathless. “I fancy you.”

“You what?” His eyebrows dart up in surprise.

“I fancy you? Like I want to go out for a drink sometime. Or I guess, stay in for a drink since—“ You ramble.

“You can’t fancy me, (Y/n).” He interjects, hands slipping away from you.

You carefully remove your hands from his figure in return. “Oh.” Awkwardly, you stuff your hands into your pockets. “And why’s that, then?”

Anxiously, he begins to twist the ruby ring around his thumb. The broom closet feels a lot smaller than before and the burn of embarrassment feels even harsher.

“I think you know why.” Sirius evades the question.

Your brows knit together in both confusion and annoyance. “No, I really don’t know why, Sirius, so please enlighten me.”

“Godric, (Y/n)!” He cries out. “I’m an old ex-convict with a fuck ton of issues! You don’t want that kind of baggage!”

Sirius scowls, not at you, but at himself.

“You’re in your thirties, Sirius. If that’s old than Mad-Eye’s ancient.” You try your best to joke and make light of the situation.

However, you see that your attempt doesn’t work.

“Hey, I don’t care that you’re older than me. I like you because you’re this handsomely charming and charismatic guy that shares my issues with authority.” Hesitantly, you bring your hand up to his neck. He leans into your warm touch. “And I really like you.”

“I’d be more of a burden than a boyfriend.” He mutters.

“You’re no burden. Not to me.” You reply, stroking his beard. “Never to me.”

“I’m a bit rusty.” Sirius confides. “Haven’t had a partner since the seventies. And I’m not the same person I used to be.”

“Neither am I.” You shrug. “Mostly because back then I was a wriggling little lump.”

Sirius snorts.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” You question, tucking a few strands of stray hair behind your ear.

“I felt bad.” Sirius confesses, straightening out his blazer. “Felt like I was manipulating you by leading you on so I was trying to get you to hate me. Trying to convince myself to get over you.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t succeed in that endeavor?” You tease your bottom lip with your teeth, innocently looking at the man in front of you.

His grey eyes are kind and soft gazing into yours even after years and years of torture and misery.

He’s someone to admire.

“Getting over you is probably the hardest thing I’ve attempted.” Sirius laughs. “And I escaped Azkaban.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Sirius.” You muse, rubbing the back on your neck in embarrassment.

“Flattery will get me everywhere, poppet.” He winks in return, amused by your gesture.

“So can we give it a shot?” You ask, praying to Merlin he agrees.

“Sure poppet, why not?” He grins, his white teeth poking out from the intense red.

In a swift movement he has you flipped, your back now pressed to the wall as he passionately places his lips back on yours.

You hands tangle themselves in his wild hair, his sneaking around your waist. You tug at the locks and he hums in approval.

Suddenly there’s a large bang against the door causing it to shake on its hinges.

“Oi!” Tonks’ voice rings out.

Sadly, Sirius pulls away just enough to rest his forehead on your own. His breath hot on your face.

“Mad-Eye says that if any clothes come off he’s barging in there, so wrap it up!”

Your mutter out a curse as you attempt to untangle yourself from Sirius.

“Also (Y/n),” Tonks yells again. “knew you had it in ya.”

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @fific7 @quindolyn @msmb @lunalovecroft

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

[alldayangst]

lovebug (Tom Holland)

GIF is from gaybuckybarnes here on Tumblr. You can access my masterlist here. This was written for @worldoftom’s lolbrosgetsicktoochallenge. The prompt I had was: ‘Tom self diagnoses himself as sick. He’s got all the symptoms. He’s speechless, over the edge and just breathless. He never thought he’d get hit by the ‘love-bug’ again’. Inspired by the song Lovebug by Jonas Brothers!

A/N: Y/N is an assistant director on Cherry in this fic. This has a lot of Cherry (the movie) references but most are explained if you haven’t seen the film. Such as, it was filmed in Cleveland and Morocco, directed by Joe and Anthony Russo. Some scenes in this fic borrow from the movie & I’ve linked clips from the film if you’d like to listen/watch along. WC: 4K.

“Yeah, Mum, I’ve just got like the sorest throat at the moment.” Nikki’s picture cuts in and out on a scrambled screen on the South side of London, her husband’s hand periodically reaching out for her, rubbing her shoulder, then leaving the frame almost as quickly as it came in. Even through the low quality, the pixels dashing about his screen, Tom can make out his mother’s brows knitting together and can’t remove the feeling of utter guilt when he sees her grow redder and redder out of anger, concern and confusion for her son. “But I’ve got Harry here with me.” Harry waves from behind his brother, his trusty mug swapped for a Phoenix Coffee Cup in his spare hand, just to get a taste of the States.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He barely drinks coffee on the other side of the pond, and would bet good money that an at home PG Tips would beat America’s swankiest coffee joint any day. But now, he’s betrayed his usual routine and his body’s all out of whack and his throat is hoarse, he’s breathless even at times.

Harry shoots his mum a half smile to comfort her, but he doesn’t know what it's like to be a mother, and his and Tom’s mouth both form an ‘O’ when Nikki begins to type so hard her screen jolts and Tom swears she’s put a dent in it. “You know what? I’m going to give them a piece of my mind, Tom! They’re overworking you!” Nikki looks intensely to find her baby boy in drug-addled eyes and his jungle of curls on his newly shaven head. She guesses it becomes easier when Tom pushes his face halfway into the screen and pleads like the child he’ll always be to her, “Please, please Mum! I can’t have any days off. Under any circumstances, I need to finish this film!”

Tom turns to his younger brother for help. “Tell her, Harry!”

And as little brothers do best, Harry spills the beans as soon as Tom’s phone is in clutch. “Tom’s fallen in love with the first A.D., Y/N.”

Nikki immediately loses her frown, knowing how love can knock Tom off his feet and blow all the wind out of him. Tom’s father, Dom, re-enters the frame to match Nikki’s grin. He never misses an opportunity to tease. “Oo, caught a case of the love bug, have you?”

Harry has to whip the phone around to dodge Tom’s protesting arms reaching for it again. “Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot.” Harry mutters. Tom’s family doesn’t budge any further, knowing how bad Tom was hurt after his last relationship. They weren't sure when the love bug would come back to bite him again. So after they all shared a knowing look, Harry handed Tom his phone back. “I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.”

It all started five weeks ago. Tom, at 24, was beginning to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound.  Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour.

He’d say, perhaps, you were the closest thing to the real deal. The problem was, he didn’t know if you liked him back.

“When life was beginning, I saw -”

“When life was-”

“When life was be-fuck!”

“When life was beginning, I saw you.”

Tom could make a picture book out of the day he first met you. He remembers how your hair looked that day, the speckles of genuinity in your eyes, how your ear-to-ear smile seemed to be a mirror because every time he saw you from then on, he brandished the same beam. He recalls how his eyes went low as he dropped his script to his lap and stared at your lips, so soft and kissable, as you repeated his words back to him: “When life was beginning, I saw you.” Then you chuckled softly as Tom waited patiently for his head and his heart to return to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic. I have a bit of trouble reading.”

“It’s cool, I'm the first A.D. That’s what I’m here for.”

You rubbed your hands on the back of your trousers, your mic jostling in your back pocket as you attempted to rid yourself of your nervous, sweaty palms.

“I’m Y/N.” You reached out for a shake only for Tom to cough loudly into his own hand. 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry! That wasn’t me trying to get out of your handshake. I- I-.” Tom looked at his hand for it had failed him for the first time in his life. His hand that had helped him up during handstands, being his crutch through cartwheels and backflips, but had decidedly run out of luck to be on the receiving end of Tom’s monstrous cough impending a handshake with someone his eyes just couldn’t look away from.

You laugh again. Your laugh sounds like melody, Tom muses. Awestruck, he wishes he could play it again, repeat it like a radio hit and never wash himself of the feeling he got when he heard your laugh for the first time.

“It’s all good. I’ll see you around.” You disappear from his trailer, likely on a venture to your own, when Joe and Anthony block his view of you walking away.

Anthony and Joe take on the ghost of you in Tom’s room, “Tom! The man, the myth and the legend!” Joe comes behind him to rub his newly hairless head. “We’re so glad you agreed to do this movie!” 

“Bummed that you’re not coming to the Browns game tonight, though.” Anthony remarks, throwing a football at Joe who sets it in his lap.

“Harry and I, we’re British, mate. We play football with our feet.”

Joe doesn’t know it then, but his next words are the beginning of the end for Tom. He rubs on his football and looks Tom in his eye when he poses, “It’s a shame ‘cause the whole crew’s going. First day of filming celebrations.”

“The whole crew?”

Anthony mumbles an ‘mhm’ as he picks up a framed photo of Tom and RDJ sitting pretty on Tom’s dresser, posing like father and son.

Tom’s usually self assured when he’s on set, but he’s hesitant to say this next improvised line. His voice trails off as he speaks. “Including Y/N?”

“Y/N?” Joe queries, with a smile that’s half scary and half comforting, and the butterflies in Tom’s stomach are begging him not to fuck this up and suddenly every second a word is not spoken feels like hours have passed and he might have ruined things before they’ve even started, gosh he just met you and-

Tom tries to play it cool. “I don’t- they’re cool.” Tom coughs again. “I mean, I don’t really know them but Y/N seems cool I guess.”

Anthony and Joe smile at each other, scrambling to exit. “Whole crew’s going, baby!” Joe beams.

“Please don’t tell Y/N I asked!” Tom shouts before they’re out of earshot.

“Yeah, yeah. Anthony, go long!”

A few hours later, Tom was sitting next to an unamused Harry, you on his left, foam fingers pointing every which way. 

“Are you a big football fan?” Tom asked, imposter syndrome creeping up on him. He had the best seats in the house, but knew not a thing about this sport he’d come down to watch. Meanwhile, crew and crowd alike sat themselves around you guys, cheering leaving throats raw for days to come and a tussle for a foam finger between Joe and Anthony leading to hundreds of sugary popcorn shells scattered on the stadium floor.

“I mean, I wouldn’t ever turn down the option to look at Odell Beckham Jr. Are you?” you replied.

Tom looked over to his brother who sat with his chin in his hand, lips pulled into a thin straight line as his rusty curls were blown about from the wind of brown and orange flags flown from fans behind him. “We could learn to love it.” Tom flashed you a toothy grin, unsure of where to guide the conversation next. He knew for sure that he wanted to keep talking to you, but his ego began putting up a fight, eager to show himself off if you’d have him in any way. Tom sighed. “Truth is, we have no fucking clue what’s going on.” Tom could hear the commentary about a player reaching the end zone, but they were all just words that went into one ear then came straight out of the other.

You giggled. “I have no idea either. We could make up our own rules if you want.”

Tom likes the way you think. He also likes the way you speak. He loves the way you laugh.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” 

You covered your mouth. “Oh, fuck, I hate my laugh!”

“I’d make you laugh a thousand times if I could.”

You pointed to the jumbo screen as Mayfield made a touchdown, unable to stop laughing from sheer nerves as you felt Tom’s hot, burning haze on you. An advert for Cleveland’s Own Phoenix Coffee flashed on the screen as you spoke. “We’ll make our own rules. Every time we see the quarterback pick up the ball, we’ll cheer.”

By the end of the night, Tom is speechless, breathless and over the edge of his chair in faux excitement and anticipation of the quarterback receiving the ball once again. 

“Another coffee?” The service worker asked.

“Yes please!” You and Tom both say in unison, pumped as the quarterback began circling around to collect the ball in open arms.

The footage of the game is cut abruptly as the camera points to a confused, solo Harry; Anthony and Joe are seen at the edge of the frame whispering suggestively and pointing towards Tom, the camera eventually capturing the superstar who looks back up at his own reflection. Poorly green screened hearts flood the screen and the camera pans to include you in the frame too. Tom looks on in horror when he realises what’s going on and how it could be too late, and turns to you.

“I promise I didn’t know this was going on. We don’t have to.” Tom panics. 

You hear him loud and clear, that you don’t have to, but your heart and eleven thousand people are telling you to kiss him otherwise. “Oh well. We should just do it.” you murmur, the bright pink ‘KISSCAM’ logo flashing in and out.

It doesn’t take more than a moment for the gap between you and Tom to close, for your face to get lost behind his, his lips pressing against yours, eyes closed, trusting each other to share your air. This was probably the first thing that night worth cheering for, howls and whistles erupting around you. 

Tom doesn’t understand American football, but he thinks that the best seats in the house could be anywhere next to you.

Harry’s on the phone to his twin brother, Sam, when you and the rest of the crew make it back to the hotel later on. “-Yeah, and Tom spent half the night with the first A.D. cheering and screaming at fuck all.”

The Cleveland Browns lost that night, but Tom remains none the wiser. He stood in the doorway as Harry continued to relay his day to Sam. “Oh, and Tom, Mum said to give her a call, eavesdropper.” He flicks Tom’s reddening nose before closing the door.

A week and a half later, Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He never has the time anymore to attend ‘real’ football games back home, and he actually understands the game back in Britain. But now, he’s cheered at almost every given opportunity to impress you stupidly, and his chest and voice is suffering as a consequence.

You and Tom walked onto set with your pinkies intertwined, growing closer and closer by the minute, but Tom doesn’t miss how Ciara’s boyfriend visits set every day for her, doesn’t miss how they rub their nose together in this lovey-dovey affection he wishes he could bestow upon you.

The scene wasn’t working.

The crew was beginning to grow restless and Tom silently became more frustrated as the minutes went by and he was unable to get his lines right. He remembers how a week ago, it felt so easy. You were there to correct him when he stumbled upon his lines and you picked him up so effortlessly, a twinkling smile on your face. But then? Then you were different. Your eyes were scrunched up behind the lens of the camera and you were mumbling something to Anthony about how the sun was due to go down in Ohio soon so you needed to hurry along.

“Alright.” you announced. “Take five!”

And Tom was thankful, Ciara perched upon a swing for the scene they were filming, Tom dwindling the rope of the swing under his finger as her boyfriend approached her once again. “Hey dude, are you okay?”

Ciara looked at Tom with the same concern, hands finding home in her boyfriend’s nest of hair. “Yeah, Tom, are you okay?”

Tom coughed into his hand. “Yeah, guys, I’m good.”

“I think you’re coming down with a nasty cough.” Ciara muttered.

“Yeah. It’s you guys. You’re too cute. You make me sick.” Tom laughed humourlessly for a short while, wanting to be that adorable with someone, maybe not anyone, maybe just with you someday. Then Tom shook his head, a bitter feeling in his throat as he yawned. “It’s the Browns game. I was yelling and screaming every time a quarterback got the ball. Of course I’m a little unwell. I’ll be good as new in a few days though.”

Ciara already knew Tom wasn’t playing a man with the healthiest of habits, but she worried that Tom was getting this bad this early. “Maybe you should talk to the first A.D. about reducing shoot days from five to three?”

Tom didn’t like the prospect of seeing you less. “Yeah.” Harry had a clapperboard between his hands, leading Tom’s eyebrows to furrow as his brother yelled something about it being take 13. “Maybe.” 

Harry resumed to a new position in your chair, with you taking Harry’s place right across from Tom, a coffee waiting for him when the scene was over like Harry always did. Ciara’s boyfriend left the frame to watch supportively on the sidelines.

“Lights. Camera. Action!” Anthony called. “Time is money, you guys! Let’s try to get this one right this time.” 

They’d been over this already twelve times today.

“Hey, I’m really happy you’re here.”

Ciara read her line back. “Why’s that?” 

Tom could hear whispers of the crew, the sound guy glaring at them in case they were picked up in the scene, and he knew it had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t for some reason get the next line out all day. And that reason, unbeknownst to everyone, was because Tom couldn’t say something he didn’t mean - feeling like his heart was locked in a cage for which only you had the key. He looked past his co-star, Ciara, and up at you; feeling so close but you were far away, leaving him all day without anything to say. And overcoming his speechlessness and breathlessness, even in just that moment, he ran his hand over the rope to say, “Cause I like you. A lot.”

Ciara and the rest of the crew broke into a wide smile once Tom finally spoke his next line, but the only person Tom was focused on was you, who wasn’t smiling, but mouthing his words back to him.

Ciara breathed, “Shut up.”

And Tom’s sure to look you in the eye when he says, “I really do.”

When the filming for the day is said and done, Tom makes a beeline for you across the greenery. You hand over his coffee to him, “It’s a little cold now, but a warm hand is holding it.”

Tom quirks an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to hold your hand?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“You swapped jobs with Harry, I saw.”

“Yeah, well. It’s good he gets to grips with the job now. You know, in case anything changes.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket. “I should probably give you my number. In case anything changes.”

“Oh no, yeah. Your number is?”

“216-XXX-XXX. Speaking of changes, I heard you’re trying to get your days reduced.”

“You were eavesdropping?” Tom looks at your face that bears no trace of guilt. “You’re just like me!” He pulls you close.

“Tom, if what happened today is because you’re working too much, I’m happy to reduce your time.”

“Nah, nah.” Tom sniffles, rubbing his nose on a jacket probably worth more than your life. “I’m just a bit sick, s’all. I’ll be fine.”

Two weeks pass and Tom’s no better. With the Cleveland game nearly a month ago, Tom has nothing to blame and as first A.D., you’re obligated to reduce his hours. Tom’s on the phone with his mother when you approach his trailer. 

“Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot. I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.” 

You’re so quick to skip happily back to your trailer that you miss Harry calling out to his brother, he’s his protector now that his mother was countries apart. “Tom?” Harry starts.

Tom mumbles an ‘mhm’, hoping Harry would make it quick as he sees you FaceTiming him. If only his mother could see him like this. He’d get to call her tomorrow and tell her he’d called you for the first time yesterday, he could hardly wait to utter, 'I've finally found the missing part of me’. Harry sighs as the FaceTime ringing is relentless. Tom’s eyebrows threaten to meet in the middle of his face as he clutches onto his phone.

“Tom.” Harry begins. “Y/N is giving up assistant director.”

Tom’s really not sure where Harry gets the source of his information from, but he’s sure this isn’t true. He thinks you’d tell him before his brother if you were leaving the film behind, leaving him behind.

The film is due to move filming to Morocco soon, and Tom’s well aware that not all film crew joins them when production moves abroad, but to Tom, you’re an extension of this movie universe. And Tom refuses to leave the memories of you in this filming cycle. “How’d you know?”

“I’m taking over.” Tom’s screen lights up with the glow of your call, and as bright as it is, as bright as you are, as bright as your smile surely is on the other end of the phone call, Tom’s in his deepest darkest feelings wondering how he fooled himself into thinking romance could go right for him this time. 

He’s going to Morocco. You’re not. You’re funny, smart, promising, beautiful. You’ll find someone good for you, a better pair by the time he’s back.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t work out, man.” Tom sulks in his bed, the light from your constant calls bleeding through his bed sheets. “I just wanted to warn you.” Tom nods, screaming into his pillow. Harry decides that’s his cue to leave, a glimmer of light from outside seeping through the crack of the door as Harry escorts himself. Tom musters all his might and courage to reluctantly answer your phone, the ear-to-ear grin he knows so well greeting him once again.

Suddenly, he forgot how to speak. Hopeless, breathless, couldn’t you see that?

“Tom?” You call out his name a few times before cutting straight to the point. “Do you like me?”

Tom shifts slightly but not enough to show that he’s alarmed. “Huh? Yeah, I like you.”

He sits up, but doesn’t reciprocate the outrageous smile you wear like a heart on your sleeve. Tom’s eyes are sunken, dark circles forming under his eyes where he and his disturbed character become one. You suddenly remember why you shouldn’t have run away so fast, perhaps Tom was overworking himself. He continues, “But I’m an emotionally unavailable hopeless romantic. So I wouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Tom can’t help the hurt in his heart when he sees your smile drop so suddenly, knowing it was earnest. “Tom, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, life is unfair. And I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead. We wouldn’t work out. And I like our friendship now. We should stay that way.”

You’re not convincing when you nod rapidly, not letting Tom see your face as you play with your fingers to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, I agree.” You’re much less convincing when the last frame Tom caught of you was a shot of tears dripping down your face, as three rings followed you. Tom’s screen went black in your absence, and Tom falls asleep with eyes even redder from crying, and he wonders when he’s gonna shake this sickness.

It’d been a few days since Tom had got his shots to allow him to go to Morocco. He sat opposite the doctor on set, a coffee cup placed on the desk between him.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. Shots always have their side effects, and he’d taken multiple shots in one day. And now, he specifically asked for you to hold his hand during the process, Harry branded in a glinting jaw-drop, only for you to leave directly after. 

“I’m speechless, constantly feeling over the edge, breathless.” Tom explains his symptoms to the doctor. “At first I thought it was because of that stupid football game, then all the coffee I’m drinking, now I don’t know if it’s the shots. I feel like shit, doc.”

“I know exactly what you’re dealing with.”

“What?”

“Lovebug.”

Tom stares at the doctor in utter bewilderment. “You figured that out based on my symptoms?”

“I figured that out based on the puppy dog eyes you gave for your first A.D. when they left without a word.” The doctor begins to laugh softly, but Tom is unamused. How is he supposed to shake this illness after completely ruining your relationship? How is he supposed to mend your bond after talking so recklessly, so emotionally? “Tom, I’m not here to be a fairy godmother, I’m being strictly medical. At a certain point, what you feel in your mind affects your body. So I prescribe that you talk to Y/N and say everything you need to say.”

And while that seemed easy enough, Tom’s ego was at work again, and Tom was feeling far too bruised and wounded to speak to you first. Surely if you cared enough, if you liked him back, if you were willing to be distanced, you would reach out first.

It seems Tom’s pride had forgotten that you already did.

“I heard that this is the exact shit that happened in Cleveland, and he couldn’t get the line out.” Tom hears the whisperings from behind the camera, the amount of familiar faces in the crew dwindling after the change in location. He doesn’t respond. He waits for someone to take five. And when no one throws him a bone, he asks Harry to.

“Alright, everyone take five.”

“Someone get this kid a fucking coffee, he’s always on edge.” Joe instructs.

“And you think giving a kid in twenties coffee is taking him off edge?” Anthony chuckles.

Tom doesn’t care whether or not he gets the coffee, rocking side to side. He’s got all the motion for this role, but he feels nothing. All he felt was for you.

“Here.” Harry sets a Moroccan mint tea down next to Tom, hoping it would calm him down. When Tom takes a few sips, the look in his eyes is less pleading, and everyone’s ready to rumble, this being the last scene of the day.

Harry feeds Tom the line. “Baby, are you seeing bad things?” Tom is seeing bad things. A life without love, a life without you. Unable to contain it all, Tom turns his frustration into laughter. “Why are you calling me baby for, man?” Tom has this ear-to-ear grin but even he feels it's not as innocent, as genuine as yours. He never knew a smile so wide could be so full of pain.

“I have an idea.” Harry saunters off to collect his phone. “Don’t stop rolling the cameras.”

When Harry comes back, there’s sounds of shifting erupting from his phone. “Hi, Tom.” 

Tom didn’t know it would be so bittersweet to hear your voice again. He wasn’t sure if he should put walls up again or if twice was the charm. Even if you worked out in the short term, whose to say Tom wouldn’t get hurt again? And Tom wouldn’t want to hurt you.

“Are they taking good care of you out there? I don’t think I took good care of you.” Tom doesn’t say anything on the other side of the line, so you continue. “I’m not a good A.D. if you’re always sick and tired, and I didn’t want to see you any less, which was selfish of me, so I didn’t change your schedule.” You sigh as you admit why you left. “When you asked, though, I swear I was gonna do it, but then I heard you liked me, and I got carried away. I had to remove myself from the situation to do what’s best for you. Do you understand me? I did it for you.”

“I, uh, I got a diagnosis.” Tom stumbles.

“Oh my gosh, are you seriously sick?”

“I’m speechless. Over the edge, breathless.” Tom laughed dryly, finally feeling like he can choose an ending.

“What did they say it was?”

“Lovebug.” Harry smiles softly at his brother.

Your laugh is like nectar entering Tom’s ear.

“I might just love you way too much, Y/N.”

“Are you sure you’re doin’ okay?” Tom tries his best not to sound dejected that you didn’t say it back, knowing he’s already felt the brunt of this heartache already.

“I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too. I love you.” Joe stops recording, and Harry lowly whispers ‘take.fucking.five.’ as he and the crew creep away from Tom’s new found love scene. 

“Anthony, can I borrow your phone?” Harry begins to type Nikki’s number as soon as Anthony gives over the phone. “Mum, Tom just told the first A.D. he’s in love with them so guess who’s out of a job?”

Tom knows why he’s sick. He used to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound. Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour. But now, Tom has found you.