#something something “I hate the way I don’t hate you not even a little bit not even at all” + deceit

[lovelettersfromluna]

Under Your Spell

summary: what’s that old saying? Best way to get over someone is to get under…..yeah yeah, we all know where this going, don’t we?

an: Hi! Long time no see, huh? I hope you’ve all been doing well! I’ve missed it here a lot, more than you could ever know. The semester is over, and I’m finally free! (For a little bit). College is very hard, and it took a lot of me this year, but let’s not get into that right now. This chapter has been VERY long awaited, and I am so sorry that it’s taken this long to get to you all. This one is pretty short, but not only did I want to get it out to you all in time, but I also have lots planned for the next chapter! (Luna you’re putting four parts into one of your fics???) I know I know, shocker right? Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this past despite it being short! Love you 🤍🤍🤍

warnings: MDNI!, 18+ fic only, slight smut, lots of angst, mean!Ellie, idiot!Ellie??, Abby’s in this one hehe, making out, drinking, let me know if I missed anything!

Part 1, Part 2

Sleeping in your bed had become extremely difficult.

It was like every time you laid your head against the soft pillows, your skin sliding against the soft material of your sheets, your brain would be filled with images of Ellie. The feeling of her lips on your throat, her hands on your hips, everything she’d given to you was permanently burned into your memory.

You couldn’t get away from her, no matter what you did.

You let out a soft sigh as you sat at your old desk, your cheek resting against your palm as your fingers traced along the smooth material of the wood. Things had gotten a lot trickier after your last night with Ellie, your mind clouded with confusion regarding the entire ordeal.

Ellie had….sought out for you. She definitely did the first time but there was something about her coming home from a night out, and slipping into your sheets that had your mind in shambles. It didn’t make any sense, you were sure that whatever happened between you and Ellie was a one off, something that was influenced mainly by alcohol and forced proximity. The played out story of the brother’s best friend ending up in a sticky situation with the younger sister. It was cliche, but it happened.

That didn’t change that it left your stomach in knots every time you heard the floorboards creak near Ellie’s room.

You’d done a pretty good job at avoiding her and the entire situation. It meant that you were in complete and total lockdown, even worse than before, however it saved any awkward tension, which you’d much rather trade for a few months of complete isolation.

But as all good things did, it was coming to an end.

Because you were given a choice, one that dangled your pride, and your social life in your face, forcing you to choose which you valued more.

Every summer, a huge party was thrown down at the beach. You and your brother joined as soon as you were old enough to drink, your parents went when they were younger, their parents went, and nearly everyone in your town experienced it at least once. It was like a tradition, one that every young person would look forward to.

It was one of your favorite parts about being home for the summer.

However, there wasn’t a party thrown in town that your brother and Ellie wouldn’t join.

And that’s where your choice came in.

You’d been going back and forth with yourself all week, weighing out the pros and the cons of it all. You knew that there were ways to get around her, to make sure that you wouldn’t see here while you were out there. To top it all off, you hated the idea of letting Ellie rip away one of your favorite things to do while you were home, giving her that much power didn’t make any sense to you.

But you still couldn’t push yourself to do it.

You swiveled your chair back and forth, staring up at your ceiling as you struggled to make a decision. However the clock was ticking, and the party was officially happening tonight. You didn’t have much time to go back and forth with yourself anymore.

It was either you swallow your pride, go out and enjoy yourself for the first time since everything happened with Ellie, ultimately standing up for yourself and sending her a big fuck you while doing so…

Or

You let her win. You sacrifice your time there and you let Ellie steal your time. You let her make a fool out of you by being too hung up on the very weird attention she’d been giving you, and you stay in your room for yet another night while everyone else is having the time of their lives.

Thinking of it that way didn’t leave you much of an option, did it?

You practically rip your room apart looking for the perfect outfit to wear, which ends up being a pink halter top that flows down a bit at the ends, a pair of your favorite denim shorts and your sneakers. By the time you’re finishing up your hair and your makeup, you hear the faint sound of your brothers minions showing up, pairing that with the music that starts playing leaves you to figuring they’re probably pregaming before they leave.

That’s when it starts feeling real.

You let out a deep sigh as you stare in the mirror, fixing your top over your chest before fluffing out your hair and fixing your lip gloss, giving yourself a gentle affirming nod before you push your phone into your back pocket and head downstairs.

A blanket of silence falls between Derek and his friends when they notice you, multiple sets of eyes zeroing in on you as you slip between your brother and one of his friends silently to pour a shot before throwing it back with ease. Hazels the first to comment on it.

“Awe man, I didn’t think the first grader could hang….you joining us tonight sweetie?” She taunts, her perfect teeth pressing down into her plush bottom lip as she stares at you, a challenging look in her eye.

Derek is the next one to speak up, a surprised look on his face as he stares down at you. “Wait…really? You’re coming with us?” He quips hopefully. Had Hazel kept her fucking mouth shut, you probably would’ve found the sentiment sweet from him.

You inhale deeply to calm yourself, staring down into the empty shot glass before you finally raise your eyes to look at Hazel, only to find her standing across the island, her back pressed into Ellie’s chest as her tattooed hands toy with the exposed skin of Hazel’s waist.

You completely ignore Ellie’s eyes burning holes into you.

“Shut the fuck up Hazel” you bite back before pouring another shot.

Your words earns reactions from the group instantly, even your brother chuckling softly as he gives you a proud smile. Hazel however, is not amused in the slightest.

Her poker face drops for a moment, nostrils flaring as she stares you down like she wants to jump over the table and have you for herself, but she quickly picks it up, giving you an impressed smirk before she nods slowly.

“Ahh so she speaks…my apologies sweetheart” she practically grits out before she lets out an annoyed sigh.

“Let’s go then. I don’t wanna be late” she quickly seethes out, pushing herself out of Ellie’s arms so she can grab her purse that was sitting on the couch.

You trail behind the others after your brother reassures you things will be okay, giving him a soft smile as you all pile into his car, ultimately missing the way Ellie’s eyes trail you the entire times

The car ride there feels nostalgic. The summer breeze turns cooler the closer you get to the familiar beach, your brother blasting his music in the front as you rest your head against the edge of the window, letting the wind blow through your hair.

It makes you wish things were different. The warmth in your chest would’ve paired so well with a better crowd, one that didn’t see you as the annoying little sister that tagged along when she really shouldn’t be.

Your mind takes you to an alternate reality where things are different, one where you get along with your brother’s friends. You wonder if they’d like you if they gave you the chance, if they weren’t predisposed to not liking you simply because you’re younger than them…

You wonder if things had been different, if you and Ellie could’ve been something.

Because clearly there’s attraction there, there had to be. Were you so wrong for even letting your brain wander there? Wondering what life would be like if you and Ellie were cordial, let alone experimenting with a relationship in a normal way, and not the way you’d been going on for this past summer.

What would it be like if she treated you the way she treated Hazel while others were around? What would it be like if you were in Hazel’s position? Propped up in Ellie’s lap while the others sang songs and joked around with each other?

You’d never know, because you were in this reality, not a perfect one.

You don’t even realize when your brother pulls up to the beach. The gentle shake of the car as his friends practically run out is what rips you away from your thoughts. You clear your throat as you make your way out once everyone is gone, brushing down your outfit as you make your way down the familiar path to the beach. The beach is blossoming with the sound of life. Loud music quickly surrounds you, people dancing, swimming, drinking, it’s almost so perfect it feels cliche, and that alone reminds you that you’d made the right decision by deciding to come out.

You’re the moth, and the ocean is your flame.

It draws you in closer as you sip the drink from your solo cup, appreciating the pattern of the tide rolling in, wetting the sand beneath it, only to then pull back out shortly after. It’s what you’d missed most about the beach in your home town, its ability to calm you no matter what was almost remarkable, even with the crowd of people around you.

You have to stop yourself from walking too far down the beach, knowing deep down that Derek’s friends would take any chance to ditch you while we’re oblivious to what was going on. It’s how you end up out on one of the piers, your legs dangling over the edge as you stare up at the moon, watching as the waves roll in while you sip on your drink.

There’s heavy footsteps along the wooden pier, ones that you don’t quite catch between the heavy sound of the waves, and the music nearby. It isn’t until a familiar voice rings in your ear that you realize you’re not alone.

“You know I heard you were back in town….but I thought there’s no way you’d come back without texting me first” the words come from behind you, and your eyes widen once you catch the tall frame standing over you.

Abby Anderson

She was one of your closest friends back in elementary school. It wasn’t nice to admit, but you’d drifted apart once you both got to high school. It was in the most natural way possible, but she always managed to stick around in your mind from time to time.

Before all of that, you two were stuck at the hip. It was a similar friendship to Ellie and your brother, the two of you always running through your house, causing many headaches for both your parents and her parents whenever you were both together.

You hadn’t seen Abby in years since you left for college, it’d been so long that you didn’t even realize how long it had been.

Her physique was quite the sign that time had passed though.

You gasp softly when you realize it’s her, quickly pushing yourself up off the pier to push yourself into her already opened arms.

“I didn’t know you came back for the summer…god it’s been so long” you sigh out against her broad shoulders, the sweet smell of her perfume filling your nose as you let your eyes flutter shut, relishing in the feeling of her strong arms wrapping around your waist.

“You’d know if you thought to hit me up once in a while” she teases. You can hear the smirk in her voice as she keeps you close. It makes you giggle softly as you finally pull away from her, wanting to get a good look at the girl.

She’s just as pretty as you remember. Abby always had the prettiest blonde hair, and the most charming smile. Those were never things that you failed to notice about your friend, however she’s different now. She’s taller, her build a hell of a lot more stronger than when you were in elementary school, her hair longer and tucked into a thick braid…

You have to stop yourself from staring.

She peers down into your cup, noticing that you were getting empty. She nods her head towards the bonfire before speaking.

“Let’s top you up while you tell me alllll about your life in the big city, yeah?” She offers, to which you dumbly nod to as you follow next to her almost obediently.

After that, the two of you were glued to the hip the entire night. Between catching up on what life had brought the two of you within your adult years, and reminiscing over your time as kids, the world could be burning around the both of you and you two wouldn’t have noticed a thing. For the first time since you’d came home, you had finally found someone to spend time with.

And Ellie notices the entire thing.

Her eyes were on you the entire night. From the moment you came downstairs at the house, it was like she was under some fucked up spell that made it so she couldn’t function unless you were in her line of view. She couldn’t count on her hands how many annoyed sighs she received when her friends realized she wasn’t listening to what they were saying, instead busying herself with figuring out where the hell you were.

She tracked you like she was the predator, and you were her prey. She made sure you didn’t stray too far away from the group, made sure you didn’t do something stupid like strip naked to take a quick dip into the cold ocean. She was just being helpful! It wasn’t like she felt her mouth go dry every time it looked like someone was going to approach you….

And its like fate was on your side that night, because the moment Abby approached you at the dock, Hazel was settling herself into Ellie’s lap, toying with the hair at the nape of her neck and ultimately blocking you from her view completely.

The next time she does get a chance to see you again, you’re wrapped up in none other than Abby Anderson’s arms.

It’s just her luck, isn’t it? That out of every girl in your small beachside town, you choose that fucking idiot. You choose the girl that everyone knows to be Ellie’s sworn fucking enemy since forever. The only explanation is that you’re doing this on purpose. You know exactly what to do to get under Ellie’s skin. You did it when you were flirting with Jesse right in front of her, you did it when you kicked her out of your bedroom the last time you two were together, and you were doing it right fucking now by getting all cozy with Abby fucking Anderson.

So of course, she has to try and stop this.

But Ellie soon realizes that she spends way too much time mentally dwelling over this, and accusing you of something she knew deep down was very much out of character for you, because the second her eyes search for the two of you, she’s met with something she can only assume was pulled out of her worst nightmare.

You and Abby hand in hand as she helps you into her car.

Ellie is quick to push Hazel off her lap, her eyes now frantically searching for your brother. Once she spots him, she’s interrupting his conversation the moment she opens her mouth.

“Hey man…have you um….do know where your sisters going right now?” She asks almost out of breath, her eyes shifting quickly between Derek and Abby’s truck as she pulls out of her spot in the parking lot.

Your brother raises his eyebrows as he looks back to where you are in the girls car, nodding as he takes a sip of his drink. “Yeah, she just came and told me her friend is gonna take her home” he explains casually with a shrug before he tries to turn back to his conversation.

Ellie scoffs in disbelief at his casual tone, her hand reaching forward to grab his shoulder and turn him around to face her again.

“Friend? Did you even see who she was leaving with?” Her voice is laced with worry and distress as she complains to your brother, the man oblivious to Ellie’s frantic demeanor.

“Wasn’t it just Abby? They’ve been friends forever…I honestly don’t trust anyone other than that girl. Have you seen her fucking arms? I think my sister is in good hands with her” he chuckles softly as he gives Ellie’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Between his words and his reaction to the entire thing, Ellie feels like she’s going to lose her fucking mind.

Her green eyes go wide as she stares at your brother before she gives a laugh of disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s just Abby? As in Abby fucking Anderson? Are we talking about the same girl here? Or are you suffering from fucking brain damage?” She snaps back.

Her wild eyes and mean words take your brother back, his playful laughter dying down once he realizes that he friend is quite literally tweaking over the fact that you’ve left with the girl that he knew she had some beef with.

“Woah…calm down man. It’s just my sister, your beef with Anderson doesn’t really have anything to do with her…she’ll be fine” he tries to assure her once more, his tone softening to calm his friend.

This does nothing though. It makes Ellie pinch the bridge of her nose in annoyance as she shakes her head. “Give me your keys” she demands with her palm out, pushed towards him.

Derek furrows his brows in confusion. “What? Are you seriously going to-“ he’s quickly cut off by Ellie, stopping him from finishing his question.

“Give me your fucking keys Derek. I’m not letting that asshole get it in with your sister” she finally admits, her words making your brothers eyes go wide with realization, finally seeing the situation for what it really was.

He inhales deeply before he reaches into his pocket and finally places his keys into his friends hand without another word, biting back the smirk that threatened to grace his lips.

He always thought Ellie’s animosity towards you was weird, but he never thought it would mean this all along.

She doesn’t even notice, the girl quickly taking the keys and mumbling a small ‘thanks’ as she jogs up the path to the parking lot to jump into your brothers car, and race home.

Meanwhile at your house, Abby was showing you quite the time.

It didn’t take long for you two to give into the tension that had settled the moment she picked you up from the dock. One moment you were toying with the little loose hairs falling from her braid and framing her face, and the next you were tugging her up to your bedroom and locking the door behind you.

Her hands were all over you, caressing your body as her knee began grinding into your core, her lips swallowing up your moans as you clung to her desperately, chasing your high as if your life depended on it.

The feeling of Abby against you cleared Ellie out of your head almost immediately. You weren’t worried about her or the mean things she’d said to you, or the nasty way she’d treated you after getting what she wanted from you. What once was a bed that you could barely sleep in without thinking of her was now filled with the feeling of Abby, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

Ellie realizes she’s too late when she pulls into your driveway to see Abby’s truck is still there, and she has to stop herself from ripping your brothers car door off when she gets out and slams it closed. There’s still something in her that hopes this is all innocent, that you didn’t really do the unthinkable and take Abby Anderson home to spite her. She hopes that the sweet side of you has taken the moral high ground, that you’ve gone to bed like the good girl she knows you are and Abby just happened to walk home and leave her car in your driveway.

So when she’s jogging on the stairs after frantically searching for you downstairs, hoping that she’ll find you sound asleep in your bed, her blood practically runs cold when her hand wraps around your doorknob…

And she can make out the familiar sounds of your moans through your door, paired with Abby’s words of encouragement to go with it.

[puckstories]

Don’t Stop | Jack Hughes

Pairing; Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Oral sex (M+F receiving), cursing, use of the term 'good girl', situationship, low-key dropped the ball on reader hating Jack (sorry), overuse of the words 'trembling' and 'teasing' (sorry lol), edited only once

Summary; Part two to Arrogant, which can be found HERE

Word Count; 8.3k

Author’s note; I hate this unfortunately, but I spent a bit of time on it, and I really want to get it out of my drafts, so here it is. Keep in mind, I'm still new to writing smut, but I hope you like it at least a little bit. Also, the ending is kind of abrupt, sorry. Writing for Jack doesn't come as naturally as writing for Quinn does, but if you have any Jack requests, feel free to send them through my inbox. Thank you all so much for all the support, I hit 100 followers this morning! Should I do a celly, or should I wait until I hit a higher milestone? -Honey

His hands grip your ass firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he effortlessly lifts you, pulling your body against his. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, locking in place as he straightens up, holding you securely. His lips are still on yours, hungry and demanding, the taste of him lingering as he begins to carry you toward the stairs.

With each step he takes, you can feel the flex of his muscles beneath you, the way his body moves with an easy strength that sends a thrill rushing through you. But the second he starts ascending the stairs, the thought of being dropped flashes through your mind, and you pull away from his lips, breathless, your hands gripping his shoulders.

"Don’t drop me," you warn, your gaze narrowing at him.

Jack pulls back just enough to glance down at you, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as a smirk curls on his lips. He lets out a low chuckle, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to hide the grin that’s tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Relax, princess," he mutters, the nickname rolling off his tongue with that infuriating mix of affection and mischief that only Jack can pull off.

You roll your eyes at the word, heat flooding your cheeks. "How many times have I told you not to call me that?" You huff, irritated at the way he says the word—"princess"—with that unserious, almost mocking tone always sends a strange flutter through your chest, even if you pretend to hate it.

Jack doesn’t miss a beat. "Yeah, well," he says, his voice low, bordering on exasperation. "you say a lot of things." His grip on you tightens, and the effortless confidence in his movements makes it clear he’s far from concerned about dropping you.

He reaches the top of the stairs, his pace quickening as he makes his way down the hall. By the time he pushes the door open with his foot, the air between you feels charged, every touch sending sparks of heat coursing through your veins. The second you cross the threshold into your room, Jack wastes no time. He walks straight to the bed and drops you onto the mattress—not roughly, but with enough force to make you bounce slightly against the plush comforter.

A surprised gasp escapes your lips as you land, but it’s cut short when Jack is suddenly hovering over you, climbing onto the bed with a swift, predatory grace. His knees sink into the mattress on either side of your hips, caging you in beneath him. The intensity in his gaze shifts, his playful smirk softening into something darker, something laced with the undeniable tension that’s been building since the moment his hands found your body.

You can feel the weight of his body pressing against yours, the heat of him seeping through your clothes, the way his breath brushes against your skin as he leans down, his face inches from yours. His eyes flicker over your features, taking in the way your lips part slightly, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

"See?" he murmurs, his voice a rasp, rough around the edges. "Told you I wouldn’t drop you."

You roll your eyes, but it’s mostly for show. The truth is, your heart is racing, your pulse thudding in your ears, and your body is already aching for his touch. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his eyes darken with desire as he hovers over you, and it makes your breath hitch. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s affecting you—at least, not yet.

"Wow," you quip, your voice laced with sarcasm even as your chest rises and falls more quickly, "you did something right for once." The smirk on your lips is teasing, but it’s your way of holding on to some semblance of control, even though you can feel it slipping with every passing second.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your jab, but there’s something dangerous in the way his lips twitch into a smirk of his own. Without another word, he presses his body against yours, the full weight of him pinning you to the bed, his warmth seeping into your skin. The intensity of the moment sends a jolt of electricity through you, your breath catching as you feel every inch of him against you—hard, unyielding, and incredibly close.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, filled with an edge that makes your stomach flip. "You’ve got a bad mouth on you." His eyes bore into yours, and the heat in his gaze makes your skin flush. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he adds, "Might need to shove something in it to make you be quiet."

His words send a shiver down your spine, the rough edge to his tone making you gasp softly, despite your best efforts to remain defiant. His breath is hot against your ear, his lips brushing your skin just enough to make you want more, even as his hands trail possessively down your sides, claiming you.

"Fuck you," you hiss, though the words come out breathless, your bravado faltering just slightly as his body presses harder against yours. Your hands grip the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as heat pools low in your stomach, your body already reacting to the promise in his words, the tension between you winding tighter and tighter.

He lets out a soft, amused laugh, his lips curling into a grin that’s all arrogance and confidence. "Oh, I’m sure you’d like that," he replies, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. His hips grind against yours for emphasis, his body so close now that you can feel the hard length of him pressing against you through the thin fabric of your clothes, teasing you with what’s to come.

You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing the small gasp that threatens to escape your throat. He’s so infuriatingly smug, and yet, the way his body moves against yours, the way his hands grip your hips with just the right amount of pressure, it’s enough to make you dizzy with want.

"You’re not as tough as you think, princess," he continues, his voice a dangerous mix of teasing and desire, his lips moving from your ear to your neck, where he begins to trail slow, deliberate kisses along your skin. The heat of his mouth contrasts with the cool air of the room, making you shiver beneath him.

His words are like gasoline to the fire burning inside you, and despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface, you can’t deny how much you want him—how much you’ve been aching for him to touch you. But you’re not about to let him know that. Not yet.

"Don’t call me that," you snap, though the bite in your voice falters when he sucks lightly at a spot on your neck that makes your knees go weak. His lips pull away just long enough for you to catch the flash of mischief in his eyes, a look that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

"Make me stop," he challenges, his tone almost daring you, like he knows you won’t—like he knows that despite your words, your body is already giving him all the permission he needs.

You want to retort, want to snap back with some smart remark, but before you can find the words, his lips crash down on yours. It’s a kiss that’s full of intensity, raw and hungry, leaving no room for anything else. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a demanding urgency that makes your head spin.

You groan against his mouth, your hands flying to his hair, tugging at the strands with a mixture of frustration and need. The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue and heat, as if neither of you can get enough, as if all the tension between you is finally snapping, and you’re both powerless to stop it.

His hips grind harder against yours, his body practically caging you in beneath him, and it’s almost too much—the pressure, the heat, the way every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire. You tug at his hair harder, pulling him away from your lips just long enough to catch your breath, your chest heaving as you meet his gaze.

"Still want me to stop?" he breathes, his forehead resting against yours, his voice rough and strained with the same tension that’s running through your veins.

You meet his eyes, your defiance flickering just beneath the surface, even as your body betrays you with the way it arches into his touch. "Shut up," you whisper, though the breathless tone of your voice takes all the bite out of the words.

He grins, utterly satisfied with himself as he leans back to pull off his shirt, his muscles rippling beneath the skin in that infuriating way that makes your stomach flip no matter how much you try to ignore it. The moment his shirt hits the floor, your eyes involuntarily trail down his chest, over the defined ridges of his abs, and before you can stop yourself, you roll your eyes—hard.

His grin only widens at your reaction, his amusement practically dripping off him as he stands there, all confidence. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows how much his body affects you, even if you refuse to admit it. And God, he loves it—loves pushing you, teasing you, knowing you’re fighting yourself every step of the way.

"See something you like?" he teases, voice just dripping with that irritating cockiness that makes your blood boil. His eyes gleam with mischief, his lips curling up in a way that dares you to react, dares you to admit what’s already painfully obvious to him—that despite how much he drives you crazy, you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

You let out an exaggerated scoff, forcing your gaze away from his infuriatingly perfect body. Your arms cross over your chest in a gesture meant to convey annoyance, but all it really does is give you something to hold on to as the heat of desire coils low in your belly. It’s maddening—how easily he can get under your skin, how effortlessly he can flip your emotions from anger to... this.

"You wish," you snap, your voice laced with irritation, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him.

He lets out a soft, amused laugh, that insufferable smirk never leaving his face as he leans back down, closing the distance between you. His presence feels overwhelming, the heat of his body, the sheer size of him towering over you. You can feel his breath against your skin, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine even though you’re determined not to show it.

"Really?" he murmurs, his voice low, dripping with that maddening confidence. "Because I think you’re lying." His eyes flicker over your face, watching your reaction with that smug intensity that makes you want to slap him—or kiss him. Maybe both.

You huff, your jaw tightening as you refuse to meet his gaze, even though you can feel the weight of it, feel him practically daring you to look at him. "I’m not lying," you bite out, but the words sound weak, even to your own ears.

"Uh-huh," he drawls, his hand coming down to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. The touch is light, almost gentle, but it sends a bolt of electricity through you that you feel all the way down to your core. "Why do you keep lying to yourself, princess?" he says, his voice a low murmur now, the teasing laced with something darker, more intense. His eyes flick down to your lips, just for a second, before locking back onto yours with that infuriating mix of amusement and desire. "I can feel how much you want me. You’re terrible at hiding it."

"Stop. Calling. Me. That." you snap, trying to regain some sense of control. But it’s hard to focus on anything but how close he is, the heat radiating off him, the way your body seems to hum with awareness of every inch between you.

He laughs again, a deep, rich sound that makes your frustration flare. "You keep saying that," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "But we both know you love it."

You clench your jaw, your nails digging into your palms as you fight to maintain the upper hand, but it’s slipping fast. His hand moves lower, grazing your arm, his touch light but purposeful, and you can feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and that’s what infuriates you the most.

"Tell me to stop," he says, his voice soft now, almost a challenge. His lips hover just a breath away from yours, so close you can feel the warmth of him, and every nerve in your body is screaming at you to give in. "Go ahead. Tell me to stop."

Your heart is pounding, your breath shallow as the tension between you reaches a boiling point. You should tell him to stop. You should shove him away, wipe that arrogant smirk off his face, and storm out of the room. But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up defiantly, meeting his gaze with as much strength as you can muster. "I hate you," you whisper, your voice shaking with the force of your frustration, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

But instead of being hurt, or even fazed, his grin only widens, his eyes gleaming with victory. "No, you don’t," he whispers back, his lips brushing against yours, the touch feather-light but enough to send a wave of heat crashing through you.

His lips press against yours, hot and insistent, as he pins you deeper into the mattress, his weight settling over you like a blanket of heat. The kiss is all-consuming, stealing your breath and scattering your thoughts, but you can’t help the way your body responds—how your hands instinctively clutch at his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You hate how easily he does this to you, how effortlessly he tears down your defenses with nothing but the sheer force of his presence.

His hands are already moving, sliding beneath the hem of your pajama shirt, the cool air meeting your bare skin for a brief moment before his fingers find you. The second his hands make contact, a jolt of electricity shoots through you, igniting another fire low in your stomach. He doesn’t hesitate, his palms warm and firm as they trail upward, sending goosebumps racing along your skin as they push the fabric higher, higher—until he reaches your breasts.

He cups them, his hands squeezing gently at first, his touch confident, possessive. His lips never leave yours, and you can feel the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he deepens the kiss, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. You try to hold back a whimper, but it escapes anyway, much to his satisfaction. He groans softly in response, the sound reverberating through you, adding fuel to that fire already building inside you.

Your frustration bubbles up again, a part of you hating how easily he affects you, how he always seems to get what he wants without even trying. But your body isn’t listening to your mind anymore—your heart is racing, and your breath comes out in short, needy gasps as his hands continue their exploration. His thumbs graze over your nipples, and your entire body jerks in response, a gasp spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

He pulls back from the kiss just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with that familiar teasing glint. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire. "Already falling apart, and I’ve barely even touched you."

"Shut up," you manage to hiss, though your voice betrays you—too breathless, too shaky to sound convincing. You try to glare at him, but the way his fingers are kneading your breasts, the way he’s rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, makes it impossible to focus. The pleasure is too intense, too overwhelming, and you feel your control slipping with every flick of his fingers, every press of his hands.

He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying how much he’s getting under your skin—both literally and figuratively. "Your wish is my command," he says, his tone full of that infuriating cockiness that makes your blood boil. He leans down, his lips brushing against your neck, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses as they move lower, teasing, grazing your skin with his teeth just enough to send a shiver running down your spine.

His lips trail down your stomach, each kiss soft and unhurried. His breath is hot against you, and every brush of his lips feels like a tease, leaving you trembling with a mixture of anticipation and frustration. You don't want him to know how much he's getting to you, but your body betrays you with every little shiver and breathless gasp that escapes your lips.

He pauses when he reaches the waistband of your sleep shorts, his lips just hovering above the fabric. You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to arch up into his touch, determined to maintain some semblance of control, even as desire coils tightly in your core.

"Hips up, princess," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, the nickname rolling off his tongue without a care in the world.

You let out grumble, though your voice comes out breathier than you'd like. The complaint lacks any real bite, especially since, despite the irritation burning through you, you're already lifting your hips, obeying his instruction without hesitation.

The second your hips rise, even the slightest bit, his hands are already on you—his fingers gripping the waistband of your shorts and panties, tugging at them. You let out a sharp breath as the cool air hits your now-exposed skin, the sudden contrast sending a shiver racing through your body.

He pulls the fabric down your legs slowly, dragging the moment out just to torment you. You can feel his eyes on you the entire time, that intense, smug gaze that makes your pulse race and your skin flush with anger. Once the shorts and panties are off, he carelessly flings them somewhere behind him—he doesn't even bother to look where they land. His attention is entirely on you now, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as he sits back on his heels, taking in the sight before him.

He whistles softly, a low, appreciative sound that makes your cheeks burn with both embarrassment and desire. You want to tell him to shut up, to wipe that cocky smirk off his face, but you can't seem to form the words. Not when his eyes are locked on your glistening core, his lips parted slightly in awe, like he's seeing you for the first time-even though you've been here before, countless times.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, his eyes darkening with lust as they travel slowly up and down your body, lingering on the slickness between your thighs. “You’re already so wet for me.”

You press your lips together, trying to stifle the embarrassed moan that threatens to spill out, but you can’t stop the way your hips twitch, your body betraying you once again. The throbbing between your legs grows more insistent, more urgent, and you hate that he knows exactly how much power he has over you.

“Such a good girl, even when you’re pretending to hate me,” he adds, his tone dripping with teasing arrogance. His hands slide up the insides of your thighs, the heat of his touch leaving a burning trail on your skin, making you ache for more.

You grit your teeth, trying to hold on to the last shred of defiance you have left. “Asshole,” you snap, but your voice comes out shaky, breathless, and it only seems to make him grin wider.

His fingers brush just shy of where you want him most, deliberately avoiding your slick heat, keeping you on edge. You hate how easily he can work you up, how he seems to know your body better than you do. And you hate that, despite everything, you want him to touch you. You want him to stop teasing and give you what you’re aching for, even if admitting that would mean admitting defeat.

But he’s not done yet. His eyes never leave yours as he leans forward again, his breath hot against your thigh, his lips hovering just an inch from your slick skin. He’s close—so close you can feel the heat of him, the anticipation driving you wild, making your whole body hum with need.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he murmurs, sending shivers down your spine. His lips brush lightly against your skin as he speaks, and it’s enough to make your toes curl in frustration.

You squeeze your eyes shut, refusing to give in, refusing to let him win. But it’s getting harder. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for his touch, every muscle tensing with the overwhelming desire pulsing through you. You can feel yourself getting wetter, slicker, the arousal practically dripping from you—and he knows it. He’s watching you closely, waiting for you to break.

His fingers slide dangerously close again, brushing the edges of your folds, and you let out a soft, involuntary whimper. Your hips jerk up, your body begging for more, even though you’re trying so hard to resist. You can hear the smirk in his voice as he whispers, “Tell me, princess.”

You open your mouth to snap at him, to throw some biting remark his way, but instead, what comes out is a soft, breathless, “Please.”

His smirk grows even wider, and the satisfaction in his eyes is unmistakable. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” he murmurs.

And then, finally—finally—his mouth is on you.

The moment his lips connect with your slick, aching core, a sharp breath catches in your throat, and your body jerks involuntarily, every muscle tensing as the pleasure surges through you. Your bottom lip is caught painfully between your teeth, your desperate attempt to stifle the moan that threatens to escape. It’s almost unbearable, the way his mouth works against you—hot, firm, and utterly devastating.

He grins against you, and you can feel the smug satisfaction in the curve of his lips as they press against your most sensitive flesh. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly how hard you’re fighting to keep yourself in check. It drives you crazy that he gets off on it, that he takes so much pleasure in teasing you like this, in watching you struggle to maintain even a shred of control.

His breath is hot and heavy against your skin, sending shivers racing up your spine, and before you can gather your bearings, his tongue dips out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe against your folds.

It’s maddening—the way he takes his time, dragging his tongue slowly, purposefully, from your entrance up to your clit, as if savoring every inch of you. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through your body, your toes curling in response as heat blooms low in your stomach. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, the pleasure building with every excruciatingly slow movement of his tongue.

A muffled whimper slips past your lips, despite your best efforts to keep quiet, and his tongue pauses for just a second. He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your core, making your thighs tremble.

“You’re trying so hard,” he murmurs, his voice teasing as his lips brush lightly against your sensitive skin. “But I can feel it,” His breath fans over your folds, sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you. “How much you want to fall apart.”

You can feel your resolve slipping with every word, your body betraying you with every twitch, every soft whimper. It’s embarrassing, how easily he can unravel you, how his touch, his mouth, his voice, all seem to have complete control over you, even when you’re fighting with everything you have to hold on to some semblance of composure.

Your hands clutch the sheets beneath you, fingers twisting in the fabric as his tongue dips lower again, swirling slowly around your entrance, teasing you, making your hips twitch in response. He’s dragging this out—drawing you closer to the edge but never giving you quite enough to send you over. It’s infuriating, but it’s intoxicating all at once.

You manage to breathe out a shaky, “Just—” but before you can finish, his tongue flicks up again, brushing against your clit in the lightest, most maddening touch you’ve ever felt.

A sharp gasp escapes you, and your back arches off the bed, your hips instinctively bucking toward him, desperate for more. Your body is betraying you in every possible way, and it only seems to fuel him, his movements becoming bolder, more confident.

“Just what?” he murmurs against you, his voice dripping with amusement. His tongue moves in slow, lazy circles now, brushing over your clit with just enough pressure.

“Jack—” you try again, but the words die in your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes through you. Your mind is spinning, a haze of want and frustration clouding your thoughts, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the delicious torment of his mouth against you.

You bite down on your lip harder, trying to keep yourself from begging, but it’s useless. You can feel yourself falling apart under his touch, your control slipping away, bit by bit, with every swirl of his tongue.

“I can stop,” he offers, though you can hear the tilt in his voice. You know he’s just toying with you, enjoying the power he holds over you. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them wider as his tongue flicks over your clit again, the touch just enough to make your body tremble with need.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you manage to gasp, your voice a ragged mix of frustration and desperation. Your body is on fire, every nerve alight with sensation, and the thought of him stopping now, of leaving you teetering on the edge like this, is unbearable.

He chuckles again, clearly pleased with your response. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs.

Casually—almost too casually—he moves a free hand down between your legs, his fingers brushing against your inner thigh with a featherlight touch that makes you shiver. It’s infuriating how effortless he makes it seem, as if he isn’t already driving you wild, as if your body isn’t already on fire from the way his mouth is working you over. You’re trying to calm yourself down, catch your breath, when he pulls his mouth away from your core, just enough to make you feel the sudden, almost unbearable emptiness.

The cool air hits your slick skin, making you gasp, but before you can even think to complain, his hand is already there. His fingers hover just shy of your entrance, brushing against your folds with an aggrevating slowness that sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. You bite your lip hard, trying to keep yourself grounded, trying to hold on to the last bit of control you have left—but it’s slipping, fast.

And then, without warning, he pushes a finger inside you.

A loud, desperate cry escapes your lips before you can stop it, your body arching off the bed as the sudden intrusion sends a shockwave of pleasure straight through you. The sound is raw, uncontrollable, and it only seems to spur him on. You can feel his grin against your inner thigh, smug and satisfied, as his finger sinks deeper into you, curling just enough to make your whole body light up.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice full of that familiar, cocky arrogance that makes you want to scream and kiss him at the same time. His finger begins to move in and out of you, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. “Let me hear you.”

His words only make the heat pooling in your stomach burn hotter, the sensation of his finger working in and out of you too much and not enough all at once. You can’t help it—every movement of his hand makes another moan slip past your lips, makes your hips buck helplessly against him, your body chasing the pleasure he’s so expertly building inside you. He knows exactly how to push you to the edge, how to make you unravel with nothing but the touch of his fingers, and you hate it.

He thrusts his finger in again, a little harder this time, and a strangled cry escapes you, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you for dear life. Your head falls back against the pillow, your mouth falling open as you gasp for breath, every nerve in your body alight with sensation.

His mouth returns to your core, his tongue flicking out to swirl around your clit just as he thrusts his finger in deeper. The combination of his mouth and his hand working together is lethal—his finger curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your vision blur, while his tongue works circles over your swollen clit, sending shocks of pleasure through your entire body.

“Fuck—” you manage to gasp, your voice shaking as the tension inside you builds to a near-breaking point. Your hips grind up toward him, desperate for more, your body moving instinctively as the ache between your legs becomes unbearable.

His finger starts moving faster now, thrusting in and out with a steady, relentless rhythm, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room. His tongue is merciless, flicking and circling over your clit in perfect time with his thrusts, and you can’t hold back the moans anymore. You’re beyond caring how loud you are, beyond caring about anything other than the way he’s making you feel.

He slips a second finger inside you, the stretch making your thighs tremble, and you let out a strangled moan, your hands flying to his hair, tugging hard as your body reacts on instinct. The added pressure, the feeling of his fingers thrusting deeper, curling and pumping inside you—it’s almost too much. Your hips buck wildly, your body overwhelmed with the intensity of it all, and you’re not sure how much longer you can last.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your core, “Close, aren’t you, princess?”

You nod frantically, unable to form words, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, the pleasure building to a breaking point, every thrust of his fingers and flick of his tongue pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me,” he commands, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity that sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. His fingers curl inside you again, pressing against that sweet spot with devastating precision, and it’s all you need.

With a loud cry, your body shatters beneath him, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for breath as the pleasure crashes over you in wave after wave. Your thighs tremble violently, your back arching off the bed as your entire body convulses with the force of it. His fingers keep thrusting, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re left a quivering, breathless mess.

When the last of the aftershocks finally subside, you collapse back against the bed, completely spent, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. He pulls his fingers out of you gently, his touch lingering just long enough to ride you through your climax. His mouth leaves your core, and when you glance down at him, you see him grinning up at you, his lips glistening with your arousal.

“Taste so good,” he murmurs, his voice full of satisfaction as his tongue swipes across the tips of his fingers. He sits back on his heels, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, infuriating mix of arrogance and desire. “So fucking perfect when you fall apart for me.”

You manage to muster enough strength to roll your eyes at him, though the effort is half-hearted at best. Your body is hot, your legs weak, and despite your frustration, you can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. Because as much as he infuriates you, as much as you hate his smug, teasing arrogance... fuck, does his tongue feel good.

Your attention is pulled back to him the moment you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. The metallic click echoes in the room, and your breath hitches, your pulse quickening as your eyes dart down to him. The sight before you makes your mouth go dry, only for heat to pool low in your stomach as a new wave of desire surges through you.

He’s standing there, his bare chest gleaming in the dim light, and now his pants are sliding down his legs, leaving him in nothing but a pair of snug boxers that cling to his hips. Your gaze locks onto the outline of his cock, already straining against the fabric, and you can’t help but feel your breath catch in your throat, your body reacting instantly to the sight. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, instinctively, as if preparing for what’s to come.

A hunger blooms in your chest—sharp, sudden—and even though you’ve just been wrecked by the intense climax he pulled out of you, your body is already responding to him again, aching for more. It's embarrassing, really.

He watches you, blue eyes of his trailing over your body with that familiar intensity that sends a shudder down your spine. His gaze lingers on your chest, and it’s then that you realize your arms are itching to move, to shed the last barrier of clothing that separates you from him. Your nightshirt suddenly feels too constricting, too hot, and without hesitation, you tug it over your head, tossing it aside in one quick motion.

You’re bare before him now, and the cool air against your flushed skin only heightens the feeling of being utterly exposed to him—but instead of fear, it sends a thrill of excitement coursing through you. You can see the way his jaw clenches slightly, his eyes darkening as they take in the sight of you, and the raw desire in his gaze makes heat flare through your entire body. His eyes flick down to your breasts, lingering there for a moment, and the way he looks at you makes your nipples harden all over again, your body responding to his gaze as if he’s physically touching you.

He doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t need to. His silence speaks volumes. The way his gaze trails down your body, the heat of it making your skin tingle, tells you everything you need to know about what’s going through his mind. He’s savoring this moment, drinking you in like you’re something he can’t get enough of, and the hunger in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re so focused on his eyes that you almost don’t notice when his hands move to the waistband of his boxers. But the second he begins to slide them down, your attention snaps to the motion, your mouth going dry as the last of his clothing hits the floor. He steps out of his boxers with that same casual confidence, and your gaze locks onto him—fully, completely bare—and suddenly it feels like every nerve in your body is on fire again.

You can’t help it. Your tongue darts out again, wetting your lips in anticipation as your eyes drink him in. He’s hard, thick, his cock jutting out proudly in front of him, and the sight alone sends a fresh wave of heat flooding through you. Your body clenches in response, the ache between your legs growing more intense, and despite the fact that you just climaxed, your body is already craving more. You feel a new rush of slickness between your thighs, the anticipation building with every passing second as you watch him step closer, the tension in the room thickening with every heartbeat.

He notices, of course—he always does. He sees the way your body reacts to him, the way your thighs press together, trying to alleviate some of the ache, the way your tongue wets your lips in anticipation. His eyes flicker with that familiar cocky glint, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he steps closer to the bed, closing the distance between you.

"Someone’s eager," he murmurs, teasing, as he comes to stand next to you by the bed. He reaches out, his hand brushing a piece of hair out of your face, his touch featherlight but enough to send a jolt of electricity through you. "Greedy, greedy girl..."

Without a word, he grabs your hand—not roughly, but with enough force to let you know exactly what he wants. His touch is firm, guiding you with an unspoken command as he pulls you gently off the bed. Your legs tremble as you rise, but instead of standing, you feel the soft give of the carpet beneath your knees as you sink down in front of him, your body instinctively following his lead.

He takes his place on the edge of the bed, his legs spread wide. Without breaking eye contact, he wraps his hand around his length, lazily stroking himself. Your eyes drop to his hand, watching as he moves nonchalantly, as though he has all the time in the world. You swallow hard, your mouth watering at the sight of him, your body responding to the intensity of the moment. His fingers slide over the smooth, rigid flesh, and you can see the slight glisten of pre-cum at the tip as his grip tightens, making your pulse race even faster.

You don’t wait for his permission—you don’t need it. Your hands reach out, eager but steady, and you gently take his cock from him, your fingers wrapping around him with a sense of ownership. His breath hitches slightly at the change in contact, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his muscles as he watches your every move.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and the look on his face—the hunger, the way his jaw clenches in anticipation—sends a wave of confidence rushing through you. You hold his gaze as you lean forward, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, the tip of your tongue brushing against the corners of your mouth in preparation. His breath comes out in a slow exhale, his chest rising and falling in a way that lets you know you have him where you want him.

Casually, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching the way it glistens in the dim light of the room. The saliva drips down, mixing with the bead of pre-cum already there, and your hand moves instinctively, spreading the moisture along his cock, making each stroke smoother, slicker. The wet sound of your hand sliding over him fills the air, and his body tenses under your touch. You feel him grow harder in your hand, his muscles tightening as he leans back slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress for support. His eyes are half-lidded now, his gaze heavy as he watches you work over him, the lazy strokes of your hand building a steady rhythm.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges, the first word he’s spoken since pulling you to your knees. There’s something unfiltered in the way he says it, like he can barely keep the desire out of his voice. His head tips back just slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, his chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths as he fights to maintain the upper hand.

You can’t help but smirk, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the way his body is responding to you, at the way he’s losing that unshakable control he’s so good at maintaining. You know you have him now, and the knowledge makes you bolder. Without breaking the rhythm of your hand, you lower your mouth to him, your tongue darting out to swirl over the tip, tasting him. The salty taste of pre-cum meets your tongue, and you hum softly in response, the sound vibrating in your chest as you take him further into your mouth. His sharp inhale fills the room, and you feel his body tense under your touch, his hands gripping the mattress tighter, his knuckles white.

"Good girl," he breathes, the words slipping out in a low, almost involuntary growl. His fingers twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to bury them in your hair and guide you to move faster, harder, but he holds back—for now.

You feel the power shift between you, the balance of control subtly tilting in your favor as you wrap your lips around him, your tongue swirling over his head before sliding further down. His hips jerk up just slightly, his body instinctively chasing the heat of your mouth, and the low groan that escapes him makes your whole body thrum with satisfaction.

You bob your head, slowly at first, taking your time, savoring the feeling of him filling your mouth. Your hand works in tandem with your lips, stroking the base of his length while your mouth moves over the rest, each movement deliberate, slow, teasing. You can feel him trembling slightly beneath you, his restraint slipping as his breath becomes more ragged, more uneven.

"Fuck," he mutters again, his voice tighter this time, strained with the effort of holding back. His hands finally move from the edge of the bed, one of them tangling in your hair, the other resting on your shoulder, his fingers flexing against your skin as he fights to keep from thrusting up into your mouth.

"Don’t stop," he grits out, his voice rough, desperate. His hand tightens in your hair, just enough to guide you, to push you a little deeper.

You hum around him, the sound vibrating through your throat and sending a jolt of pleasure straight up his spine. The soft, needy noise you make seems to unravel him, his grip tightening in your hair as you continue the steady motion of bobbing your head along his cock. The weight of him in your mouth, the taste of him on your tongue—it all builds into a dizzying sense of control and desire that fuels you to push even further.

He’s not forcing, but guiding, applying just enough pressure to help you take him in deeper, pushing you down on his length. Your lips stretch wider as you take him further, the sensation of being filled making your core throb with heat.

You adjust easily to his lead, and the soft sound of his breath hitching above you tells you how much he loves it. A low, guttural moan escapes his lips, and the sound sends a rush of excitement through you. He’s losing control—because of you. And you can feel it, in the way his body tenses, in the slight tremor in his fingers as they flex against your scalp.

Your free hand moves down between his legs, the motion slow as your fingers brush lightly against his balls. You can feel how tight and full they are, and the heat radiating from his skin makes your fingers tingle as you cup him gently in your hand. His reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, his hips jerking slightly upward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth as your fingers squeeze him lightly.

"Fuck," he mutters, the word drawn out, his voice thick with lust. His hips buck slightly again, just enough to let you know how much he’s struggling to keep control. His head tips back, the cords in his neck straining as he fights to maintain the upper hand, but you can tell he’s losing it, bit by bit.

You hum again around him, your fingers stroking and massaging his balls in time with the bobbing of your head. Each time you take him deeper, your throat tightens around him, the soft gagging sounds mixing with the wet, slick noise of your mouth working over him, filling the room with the raw, intimate sounds of pleasure. Your hand continues to stroke gently, massaging him as your mouth moves faster, deeper, the pace building as you sense him drawing closer to the edge.

The way his hands grip your hair tighter, the way his breathing becomes ragged—all of it tells you how close he is, how much he’s holding back. The control you have over him right now sends a thrill coursing through your veins, and it only makes you want to push him further, to make him fall apart completely in your hands.

His groans grow louder, more desperate, and you can feel his hips rocking upward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth with every thrust. The sensation of him filling your throat, of the slight sting of your gag reflex, only spurs you on, your hand squeezing his balls a little firmer as you take him even deeper, your lips pressing against the base of his cock with each motion.

His breath comes out in ragged gasps, his fingers flexing against your scalp, his grip tightening as he guides your head down, pushing you to take him as deep as you can. You can feel the muscles in his thighs tensing beneath your hand, his whole body coiling with the intensity of his impending release. The tension between you is electric, thick and heavy in the air, and you know he’s on the verge of losing it—his control fraying with every stroke of your hand, every movement of your mouth.

"God, you’re—" he starts, his voice tight and strained, but the words are cut off by a low, guttural moan as his body shudders under your touch. He pulls you down harder on his length, his hips rocking up into your mouth with more urgency now, the slow, teasing pace you’d set earlier completely forgotten. His hands guide you faster, harder, as if he can’t get enough, as if he’s chasing that final, explosive release that’s just within reach.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking him deeper, harder, as your hand continues to squeeze and massage his balls, your fingers pressing into the sensitive skin with just the right amount of pressure. The combination of your mouth and hand working in perfect rhythm is driving him wild, and you can feel him trembling beneath you.

"Shit—just like that," he groans. His head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut as he surrenders to the pleasure, his entire body shaking with the effort of holding on for just a little longer. "Don’t stop," he grits out, his hips bucking upward again, pushing himself deeper into your mouth as his grip on your hair tightens even further.

And you don’t stop. You keep going, faster, your mouth moving in time with his ragged breaths, your hand continuing to massage him, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge. You can feel him tensing, his body shaking with the intensity of it all, and you know it’s only a matter of seconds before he breaks.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, his body shudders violently, his hips jerking up as he finally comes undone in your mouth. His release is sudden and overwhelming, his cock twitching as he spills hot and thick down your throat. You take him as deep as you can, swallowing around him as his body convulses, his fingers gripping your hair tightly as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

A long, broken groan escapes his lips, his entire body trembling as he surrenders to the pleasure. You keep your lips wrapped around him, your hand still gently massaging him, coaxing every last drop from him as he shudders beneath you. His hips rock gently against your mouth, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he finally starts to come down from the high.

When the last of the tremors finally subside, you pull back slowly, your lips slipping off his length with a soft, wet pop. His chest is heaving, his breath still uneven, and his eyes are half-lidded as he looks down at you, his gaze hazy with the remnants of pleasure. His hands loosen in your hair, sliding down to rest gently on your shoulders, his touch soft now, almost reverent.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. His head tips back, and he lets out a long, slow exhale, his body relaxing as the tension finally leaves him. "That was... incredible."

You smirk up at him, wiping the back of your hand across your lips, your body still brimming with the satisfaction of knowing you made him come undone like that. “I know."

Two can play that game, asshole.

[yuckiemouth]

help a girly out here and teach me how to masturbate step by step pls

TMI/OPEN THOUGHTS

Let’s see… I haven’t masturbated in a while because I be busy and my sleep schedule is actually giving me justice, but when I use to stay up, I’ll tell you what I did step by step… man I feel like a teacher 😭

1. PRIVACY

this is obvious, but some idiots get caught, so yeah if you’re able to, LOCK your door, me in a strict house hold, I don’t even have locks, but I never got caught either. So if you don’t have locks on your door or unable to even close it (cuz some parents be doing that), go to the bathroom or better yet, wait til everyone sleep.

If you’re a moaner, pillow rider, vibrator user, dildo user, turn your TV UP!!! Even if you don’t moan, big mama makes SQUELCHING noises, I’m talkin she be wet, so you don’t want no one walking past and be like “WTH?”

2. GET AROUSED.

mindlessly masturbating is such a waste, so I say really set the mood. Turn off the lights or dim them, or better yet LED lights. Optional if you wanna wear sum sexy. To get aroused properly, watch something that you’re attracted to, whether its lesbians, straight sex, BBC, roleplay, etc. whatever that ain’t my business, but if you aren’t able to (say if your parents took your device or your internet is just trash.) USE YOUR IMAGINATION. While imagining whatever you fantasize, caress your inner thighs, knead or suck your own tits, suck your fingers, slowly rub your clit through your underwear, etc.

3. HOW TO MASTURBATE 101 🤓

I ain’t no fingering ass bitch cuz I don’t feel a fuck thing so… As WOMEN, we should know where the clit is (I hope cuz if not where tf have you been?) anyway…. Depending on your anatomy, your clit has a hood (heavy skin) because it’s so fucking sensitive bro. I found out people don’t be feeling nun when they rub big mama is because y’all ain’t pulling the hood up, the mf ain’t cold, take the hood off!! BUT I MUST WARN YOU. Don’t rub yourself too hard because it could be hurtful and could possibly lose feeling on your clitoris, so if you’re rough with your fingers or overly sensitive, keep the hood over it, but if you’re not, PULL IT UP.

Now using your MIDDLE and RING fingers, it’s different strokes people use. The most commonly used one is circulating around it and rubbing side to side. But I’ll tell a little secret.

The way I get off involves 3 techniques.

First, I start off slow, controlled, and even roll my hips with it. Now after some time, I’m aroused, using my arousal as lube y’all hear me out… then i stimulate more by going faster, but soft on the touch. Once I feel like I’m ready, I press harder and go all out, then GOT YA! I’m a edger! I stop when I’m about to cum and slap it a bit to keep her stimulated. Yeah, yeah I know, I get mad TOO when I feel my high go down, but repeating it like 4 times, best nut you’ll experience.

So I circulate, go side to side, and spank her cuz why not. When I’m real horny and feeling rushed, it takes me 10 minutes, but if I have time, 30+.

4. HOW TO CLEAN UP

Now…. Me, this is from experience, I be all over the place. So I go to the bathroom, flush away that water weight, wash my hands and if you’re a squirter (which im not), girl you should already have a towel under you cuz who feel like changing sheets tbh… and NEVER masturbate with underwear, take them off before you even start.

Now people hate talking about it, but YES, masturbating has a smell and you probably won’t smell it because you’re the one doing it, but if another person walk in, they will smell a musky scent SIMPLY because your vagina is an open ORGAN closed with thighs, and you know what creates that? Heat! And you know what heat creates on your body? Sweat. And what SHOULD sweat smell like (since y’all be dirty a lil). MUSK. So to eliminate that smell around the whole room, keep your lower half under covers, use a candle, spray air freshener, keep the air on, inscents or whatever those are called. WHATEVER JUST BLOCK OUT THE SMELL.

And that’s all I got tbh….

[crescenthistory]

Underneath Your Mistletoe

Pairing: Barty Crouch Junior x Reader

Synopsis: Barty already loves your belly button piercing – but he loves it even more when you wear a mistletoe jewellery in it for Christmas.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings/tags: SMUT (mdni), afab!fem!reader, established relationship, sex as a form of gift, mistletoe innuendos, oral sex (fem!receiving), orgasm, making love but barty style, marking kink, body worship kind of, no penetrative sex, barty's oral fixation, fluff, one big happy family trope, some christmas blues and references to barty's mental health struggles, barty typical humour, your pov

Note: this is based on a text post i wrote back in october and have since lost – it has been on my mind for a while. merry christmas to all those who celebrate, this is my gift to all the barty girlies 🤍

Barty hates gifts.

You know this, and as his loving partner, it is your duty to find a way around it. To respect his desire not to rip off wrapping paper with watchful eyes on him, while still showering him in some form of love and perceptiveness – to show him he is thought of and wanted. While he may not enjoy most Christmas traditions, that particular bit was important for him to feel and fully believe.

If you could pat yourself on the back, you would, because you thought you truly hit the nail on the head this year.

After three years with Barty, you found yourself happily living together in a shared flat in London. One that was just a few blocks away from the flat Regulus shared with James, where your two friend groups – that had somehow beautifully meshed since seventh year – would be getting together tomorrow for Christmas Day. While Barty pretended to moan and gripe over having to spend time with “the literal dogs”, referring primarily to James and Sirius, it was all an act by now. He was as excited as you were. 

Though, his wish to make the most of your last night together in complete privacy before A Very Potter Holiday emerged was decidedly not an act. That was just Barty’s devotion to you soaring deep in that way he promised he would never get enough of.

You hoped he wouldn’t because you couldn’t even if you tried.

Barty had made you a home cooked meal for the night, a dish called sarmale that his mother used to make around the holidays. Insisting on not being an inch away from you, he had pulled the grandfather chair that usually resides beside the sofa up to the dinner table. “Come here, you,” he had whispered with a gleeful laughter before all but picking you up and placing you in his lap in the chair. 

It took a little effort for you both to sit and eat comfortably, but once you did, any protest you had about the impracticalities melted away – because eating delicious warm food in the wonderfully warm lap of your boyfriend truly was no complaining matter. You sat sideways in his lap so you could both eat off the same plate and chat in between mouthfuls of food, Barty occasionally poking your cheek when it was filled to the brim, repeating that it is the cutest thing he had ever seen. 

Once the food was long since devoured and you had reclined more in your seat, chin resting on Barty’s shoulder as you dazed at him with an undoubtedly lovesick look, you decided it was go time.

Barty’s thumbs snuck beneath the waistband of your matching pajama bottoms, massaging the bare skin there absentmindedly. Laughter had freshly died down on his lips, from something you don’t even remember what was but that left a residue giddiness in your bones. You tilted your chin upwards just enough to steal a kiss from those very lips. He happily obliged you with a growing grin.

“Baby?” you mused. He hummed in response, silently asking what it was. “Would you mind helping me decide on an outfit for tomorrow?”

His grin quickly grew wolfish. “You know I always love helping you get dressed, Dragă. And undressed.”

You rolled your eyes and gave his arm a light slap, as if this was not exactly what you were going for. “Keep it in your pants for now, yeah Junior?” You slid out of his lap, giving him both of your hands to help him get up once you gained your footing.

“Yes, ma’am!” He gave you a fake salute before letting you pull him up. 

With one hand behind him grabbing the top of the chair blindly, he dragged it with him as he trailed behind you into your living room. The door to your shared bedroom was attached to the living room, so you turned to him with a perhaps too-obvious smile, trailing a finger down his chest.

“How about you just get seated here, and then I’ll come out and show you?” You cocked your head to the side, playing innocent.

Barty pretended to pout. “I don’t get to watch you change?” 

“Maybe later if you behave.” You brought the finger up from his chest to flick at his nose, yelping when he caught it and gave your knuckle a light bite. “That is certainly not behaving, B.”

“You like it,” he drawled jokingly, pecking you once before sitting down in the grandfather chair once more, sprawled out with one knee over the armrest. “Please don’t be long, Dragă.”

You shook your head, goofy lovesick look taking over your face once more as you turned around. “I’ll make sure to take longer just because you asked.”

He huffed, deflating further into his seat, but when you turned around to look at him, he had intertwined his fingers over his stomach, jumper ridden up enough to expose his lower midriff. His face was indulging, a form of domestic bliss you never expected to be able to draw from him, but revel in every day.

You blew him a kiss and slipped in past the door to your bedroom, leaving it slightly ajar behind you – enough to be able to talk through, but not enough for him to see you.

Truth be told, you picked out your outfit for the Christmas party a week ago. Even more so, the outfit you would be trying on now was decidedly not the one you will wear tomorrow, nor was it ever an option.

What you would be doing, is showing Barty his gift.

As you pulled out a box beneath your side of the bed, you found the three things needed to pull it off. A short skirt, a cropped silk shirt – and a piece of mistletoe jewellery, perfect for your finally healed belly button piercing.

When you first got the piercing, Barty could not keep his eyes off of it nor his hands off of you. He was a lover of all things alternative and different, an enjoyment you suspected originally derived from an urge to upset his father, but quickly became one of the many ways he could feel safe and truly like himself. While he adored you just the way you were, whenever you would get piercings, tattoos or anything of the sort, Barty would be drooling just a little bit more than usual. 

There were permanent purple and red hickies littered around your stomach now.

For the past few weeks, Barty had been brainstorming all the different pieces of jewellery you could wear once the piercing fully healed, as you both knew there was not a lot of time left. Already he had bought you quite a few different ones, in the colours and styles he knew would match your favourite go-to outfits. 

Somewhere along the line, you got the cheeky idea of a mistletoe jewellery – a kiss under the mistletoe is one Christmas tradition Barty could easily get behind, yeah? At least a kiss underneath your mistletoe.

A slight giggle escaped you at the thought as you brought the jewellery to the ensuite bathroom to rinse it with saltwater and wash your hands before changing them. 

“What’s so funny?” you heard Barty call from the living room, somehow experiencing FOMO within his own flat.

You decided to make it worse. “Was just thinking about something hilarious James said last Christmas.”

A gasp. “Cruel woman. What a cruel, cruel woman you are.”

“You like it,” you replied, parroting his earlier statement. The guffawing laughter told you that you were right.

With slightly trembling fingers, you finally managed to unscrew the standard stainless steel barbell and insert the new mistletoe one. The change didn’t sting at all, and you knew it was fully healed – it actually had been for about two weeks already, but you lied to Barty that it still hurt a little to be able to get away with this.

You knew he would quickly forgive you.

Once the jewellery was fastened, the outfit was quick work. You had put aside a set you thought fit the Christmas vibe – red skirt and a white silk top – but its primary function was showing off your waist, your piercing on full display. As you zipped up the skirt, you began to prepare Barty from his place outside. 

“I only really have one outfit to show you,” you called, just loud enough to be sure he would hear you, but still allowing some teasing to slip into your voice. “I quite like it, but I don’t think it is quite the one to wear tomorrow now that I think of it.”

“I swear to Merlin, baby, if you walk out in just lingerie, I will ravish you.”

“If I walked out in lingerie, it would have been with the intention of you ravishing me,” you said through a laugh. “But no, you can dream on, B.”

You could hear him shifting in his seat, undoubtedly sprawled out more and more with each passing second. You buttoned only two of the buttons on the silk shirt – enough to be tempting, but not enough to distract from the true star of the show. 

“Whatever you want to wear, you’ll look stunning,” Barty added then, a sincerity in his voice on the off-chance that it was insecurity and not teasing he heard in his voice. You were quite certain he was onto you by now, but the attentiveness still made your heart bloom. 

With a quick final look in the mirror, you decided it was everything you needed it to be.

You laid your hand on the door handle, beginning to slowly drag it open. “How stunning are we talking, baby?” you asked with a teasing lilt. “Good enough to eat?”

You stepped into the room, walking with measured, steady steps towards Barty, feeling every bit like the lioness he made you out to be.

You were right, in your absence he seemed to have unhinged his every joint, legs and arms strewn everywhere over the grandfather chair. Yet the second his eyes fell on you, he gathered them all together as he shot up in his seat, feet planting firmly on the ground.

“Treasure…” he trailed off, eyes going all over your body.

You stood about two metres in front of him, hip kicked to the side as you allowed your body and midriff to be on display. His mouth was agape in admiration, but you could identify the moment he noticed the piercing. Shock and pleasure mixed on his face and something akin to a moan escaped him just at the sight. Barty’s hands gripped his knees with a force that only served to excite you further.

“Baby,” Barty groaned then, eyes glued onto the mistletoe jewellery. “You truly are a treasure, aren’t you? A pretty little wrapped up gift.”

You let out a breathy laugh, already affected by his words. “Just for you, my love,” you murmured as you stepped closer, almost within his reach. “Figured you might want to share a kiss beneath the mistletoe?” You lathered faux innocence over your words, quickly contrasted by your growingly smug smile as you took in his flustered and heated expression.

At last, Barty’s eyes shot up to meet yours, his beautiful irises having given way to darkness. “May I?” he asked, not waiting for an answer as he shifted in his seat.

When he moved, you expected him to come to stand before you, kiss you and maybe move you to the bedroom. You should have known your boyfriend better. 

Barty slid directly off the chair and onto his knees, landing with a soft thump before you. His hands shot up to grab your hips, steadying himself as his chest came almost flush with your thighs, never once breaking eye contact as he moved. 

You shuddered at the sight. Barty Crouch Junior, with his messy dark and green hair, his eyebrow and nose piercings, his rugged yet dangly form and dark clothes, on his knees in front of you, holding onto you for dear life.

“Please,” you whispered in response.

Still with laboured breath, he flashed his white teeth with the width of his smile. “My lovely, lovely gift of a girl,” he murmured, squeezing your hips. Barty let his gaze trail from your eyes down your neck, over your semi-exposed chest, finally coming eye to eye with his eternal temptation.

He let out a light growl before closing the distance to press a wet and hot kiss right beneath your naval, his nose brushing against the mistletoe. 

In an instant, you moved your hands to place one on his shoulders to steady yourself and tangle the other into the mess of his hair. “Beautiful, beautiful.” Barty whispered praises as his lips trailed to the left and right, reactivating the hickies he had left there the other night, creating a beautiful night sky for the mistletoe to rest against. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his ministrations despite the heat pooling in your gut, tugging slightly at his hair. “What would you do if I actually wanted to wear this tomorrow and you’re defiling my skin like this?” you tease.

With his lips still attached to your skin, just a breath above the waistband of your skirt, Barty looked up to meet your gaze through his eyelashes. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel his warm smile against you. “You aren’t?” he asked in faux surprise, nipping at the skin with his teeth. “I should hope you would, then we could show everyone what a wonderful gift giver you are.”

He sucked particularly hard on the delicate skin then, drawing a shaky sigh from you – clearly his intention. “I think this is a gift reserved only for you, my love,” you managed to whisper.

“Good.” Another kiss. “Doesn’t mean we can’t let the world know, though.”

If you had any good piece of banter to respond to that with, it was erased from your mind by the feeling of his hands on your hips moving to dip his thumbs into either side of your waistband. Tantalisingly slow, Barty dragged your skirt further down, letting his tongue and teeth roam over every inch of newly exposed skin.

His breath was hot against you as he placed tentative, open-mouthed kisses, but he couldn’t fool you – you could feel his desperation in the way his fingertips dug into you as if they were chasing bone and the way his teeth scratched against you in his rush towards his next kiss.

When he reached your panties with his thumbs, he gave you a wicked grin in between kisses before hooking his fingers into those as well, and with a flush pulling them down so the clothes could pool around your ankles. A genuine groan escaped Barty at the sight of your bare core, want dripping down onto your thigh. You used your hand on his shoulders for support and you stepped out of your skirt and underwear, kicking them to the side. His hands found your skin immediately after assisting your undressing, but he let one explorative pointer finger come up between your folds, gathering the slick, just barely missing your clit as he brought it back to his face.

Maintaining eye contact, he stuck his tongue out and licked your arousal off of his finger, squeezing his eyes shut and moaning at the taste. 

He looked downright unholy.

“Fuck, baby, you are fucking everything,” he groaned, squeezing your hips.

“You like it?” you asked breathlessly, hands in his hair tugging without thinking.

A wicked grin accompanied his wink. “More than like.” Barty sunk further down on his knees so that his face was right in front of your naked cunt. His left hand came up to splay out across your stomach, thumb barely brushing your mistletoe jewellery when he dragged it back and forth across the skin, leaving goosebumps in his trace.

“When under a mistletoe, right?” he asked.

Before you had the chance to respond, Barty dipped his head forward the last few centimetres needed and delved his tongue in between your folds, licking a clean stripe up your pussy. He circled your clit once he reached the top before flattening his tongue out for another broad stroke. A gasp escaped you and you parted your legs further on instinct – Barty used the momentum to hook your left leg over his shoulder, both arms securely holding your hips in his grip, not allowing you to falter for even a second.

Barty did indeed kiss you, lips wrapping around your clit to suck, teeth already grazing you cheekily in that way that promised more. Thrills were shooting through you, an almost tickling sensation that spread throughout your bloodstream until it settled into a content humming. Barty’s tongue, his lips, his touch and his arms were warm and strong against you, steady and so desperately devoted. His movements were in sync with yours, having learned well enough by now how your body ticks, and how to get what he wants – which is to devour you – while making you feel as good as possible.

He moved further down with his mouth, focusing his tongue around your entrance and moving his head subtly back and forth so his large nose nudged continuously against your clit. The soft moans spilled from your lips, spurring him on; you knew better than to keep them in by now, feeling fully empowered and comfortable in his affection. 

Barty curled his tongue against you, dipping in to graze at the soft spot just inside of you, causing you to grip his hair tighter. When you pulled at his hair more harshly, a satisfied groan escaped him, top lip vibrating against you in a wonderfully delicious way. “Fuck, Barty,” you whispered and gasped when his teeth touched your unhooded clit as his lips curled back into a smile.

“Good enough kiss for you, Dragă?” he teased as he drew a quick breath before letting his hands grasp your arse more securely to bring your cunt flush against his face, drawing blasphemous sounds from you in an instant.

He ate at you hungirly, tongue alternating every second between broad and pointed strokes, drawing quick figures over your clit before letting his nose take over as he dipped inside of you. His face must surely be completely covered in you by now, and the thought made you clench your thighs even more. Barty hummed purposefully against you, moving his hair just right and basking in all that is you; his favourite gift.

It was clear he could tell you were closing in on your orgasm from the smugness in how he ate you out and the increasing strength in his hold on you. With your leg over his shoulders digging into his back and your hands on his neck and shoulders clinging onto him for dear life, you would have thought it was enough – but Barty had your hips fully circled in in his grasp, holding the small of your back and your backside cheekily as he ensured your complete safety. 

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered against you, making sure his lips moved right against your clit.

You were shivering and shaking in his grasp, laughing at the intensity of your orgasm while standing upright in the middle of your living room. He laughed too, but doubled down in his efforts, practically burying his face within you. 

A long, guttural moan filled the room as you almost crushed Barty’s head against you – just how he likes. Your eyes were scrunched shut and your mind was completely elsewhere as he began massaging the flesh he had been abusing mere moments ago, pressing featherlight kisses up the length of your cunt and continuing above it.

“Absolutely perfect.” He pressed a final kiss right beneath your naval. You sighed in complete satisfaction, going increasingly limp as he stood back up to his full height, holding you slumped against him. You were certain your eyes must be dazed as they met his, and he seemed to drink it up, a new goofy expression mixing with his hungry one.

“I take it you approve of the mistletoe?” you mumbled, not expecting your words to be so slurred, not having realised that your mouth had gone numb. He saw the surprise in your face and you both giggled together, foreheads pressing against each other.

Barty gave you a soaring kiss to the lips this time, not shying away despite the absolute mess you had made of his face. You couldn’t bring yourself to care either – on the contrary, you parted your lips to let him take your mouth in full, mixing your cum and spit between smiles.

“You’re bloody insane, you know that?” Barty laughed breathlessly between kisses, holding you impossibly close to his body.

You bit back the “I reckon that’s why you like me so much”, knowing the joke would prompt a tirade about all the things he loves about you. Instead you smiled happily, giving him sweet kisses in quick succession.

“Maybe I just wanted to show my boyfriend what a merry Christmas it could be?”

Barty hummed in approval. As he felt more secure in your steady legs, he let one of his arms leave the encirclement of your back for his fingers to palm your cheek, carding lazily through your hair. “Might have to get a mistletoe tattoo myself now as a thank you.”

You guffawed, throwing your head back with laughter, and he took advantage of the moment to begin kissing down the length of your neck with an open mouth and explorative tongue. The laugh quickly turned into a content sigh.

“We would never leave the bedroom,” you commented, pretending to be concerned by his suggestion.

“And what a wonderful life that would be indeed.” Barty came back up in front of your face, eyes alight with foolish love and mischief. “Speaking of bedroom…?”

You barely had the time to nod once before he had bent down to hike you up into his arms bridal style and ran off towards the bedroom with you, cackling like a madman.

It was a merry Christmas, after all.

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

SVT doing your makeup

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘i love all your svt reactions!! could i request a fun one where svt gets asked to put makeup on their partner? who do you think would take it seriously and do extremely well? who wouldnt even know what half of the items are? i think the members would also find it fun to do hahahah’

Cannot help but do badly - Seungcheol, Jun, Woozi, Vernon

He really does his best when you ask, but he would prefer not to wear much for himself, so he’s not particularly skilled. You can tell that he’s not happy with anything that he does because he’s grimacing, particularly when he gets to the eye makeup, where the finer details matter. But he’d never turn down the opportunity to do something with you, even if he’s totally deflated when he’s done. He’ll sigh deeply and apologize while handing you the mirror. It’s… not great. But it’s cute that he tried. He can’t wait to help you clean it off, though, ready with the makeup remover and face wash. 

Purposefully makes you look like a clown - Jeonghan, DK, Chan

You feel like things are going well until he spends way too much time on the blush. Then you get a glimpse of the colors that he uses on your eyes, and you kind of wonder why you even have them because they don’t compliment you in the least. He’ll slyly grin when he announces that he’s done, presenting you with a mirror. Will absolutely snap a picture before you can stop him, giving you a big smooch on your lips that are painted in a color that does not work for you. When you glare and tell him you regret asking for this, he’ll relent, helping you clean it all off. I’m so sorry; he’ll never delete that picture. He has backups of it. 

Really tries and does decently - Hoshi, Wonwoo, Seungkwan

The epitome of focus. Picture them being inches from your face for the little details, tongue poking out in concentration. Then, he’ll pull back to look at his work and go back to perfect it. He gets the concept of all of the products and figures out how to use them relatively quickly. Does a little bit at a time to not overdo it. He agreed to this because he likes being close to you and spending time with you. But if you look pleasantly surprised by how great he did, he’ll scoff and say that he can’t believe you doubted him. 

Better at it than you could ever be - Joshua, Mingyu, Minghao

Are you kidding? You don’t do your own makeup half the time, anyway. If you grumble about doing it when you guys are getting ready to go out, he’ll sit you on the counter and do it for you from start to finish. If your eye makeup isn’t blending just right or your eyeliner is uneven, he simply takes the brush or the pen from you to help you with it. He does it with such a quick and careful precision that puts your own skills to shame. And throughout the day, if he notices something is smudged, he’ll delicately fix it for you. (As someone who loves the look of makeup but hates putting it on, this would be a dream.)

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Barlen

Summary: The reader is visiting Beau's family for Christmas for the first time...

Pairing: Beau x reader

Word Count: 2,200ish

Warnings: language

A/N: This is a little continuation of Bad Day but it's not necessary to have read that prior to understand this fic. Happy Holidays everyone!

_________

Beau tugged nervously at the collar of his thick burgundy cable knit sweater across the room. Even from a distance, you could see the flush of his cheeks as he was spoken at by his uncle.

“Uncle Cal was talking shit about you coming, you know.” You turned to the left, Emily standing there in a quiet corner of the kitchen sipping on a small glass of white wine. She must have misunderstood your staring because she was quickly shaking her head. “Dad totally said I could have a little cause it’s Christmas-”

“I don’t care if you have some wine, Emily. What exactly do you mean Cal was talking shit about me?” She faked a wave over to Beau when he tried to urge her over, using exaggerated hand gestures likes she was caught up in a deep conversation with you. “Leaving your father to fend for himself, hm?”

“Yup. Last time I talked to Cal at Thanksgiving he was riding my ass about not having enough extra curiculars for college. Or a boyfriend. And for liking you.” 

“Sounds like a dick,” you said, Emily smirking as you took a long drag of your beer. “Beau warned me he’s the family busybody.”

“Yeah but like,” she said, reaching behind you and grabbing a sugar cookie off a tray, “He really doesn’t like you. Rory, that’s my freakishly tall cousin that’s at his girlfriends, well Cal is his dad’s dad and Rory said his grandpa was calling you a slut on Facebook cause he thinks you broke up my mom and dad which is so not true but…yeah, that’s the boomer mentality you’re dealing with. Oh, plus he hates you for being younger than dad so there’s that too.”

“I’m thirty four years old, not a child,” you grumbled, hiding the desire to shoot Cal a dirty look. Emily saw through it though, munching on her cookie with big brown eyes. “Em, you don’t think I’m too young for your father do you? Or-”

“Um, you can stop right there.” She caught your hesitation and rolled her eyes. “You’re both adults and I know you and dad were just friends when my parents were together. Shit, you used to babysit me.”

“I know but I wouldn’t blame you if you thought…” She threw her head back, muttering a curse under her breath. “I’m sure Cal isn’t the only member of your family that’s been hesitant of me.”

“They like you a hell of a lot more than mom.” You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Come on, Y//N. She left dad at his low. No one bats an eye at your age except for the dinosaur over there and trust me, I know dad wasn’t looking at you like that until way after my parents divorced. It wasn’t until after everything with the camp and Avery and you were taking care of me here and you went up to Montana for work that you guys were together.” 

You reached back and took your own cookie, chewing on it slowly. “Well…it made your dad feel better to have someone checking in on you and your mom while he was in Montana figuring out what to do.”

“And then he went on leave for three months to move back here for a bit and suddenly you were moving up to work for him when he went back.”

“You moved back there too if I recall,” you said, Emily smiling at you. “What?”

“I’m just saying, dad is…not the most emotionally available man…but he’s getting there and I know it’s because you have that something my mom doesn’t. So if Cal gives you shit, I got your back.”

“Oh, Emily, you’re as protective as your father,” said an older woman with graying hair and a gentle smile. “I already told Cal to leave Beau alone or I’d make good on that promise I made when I was thirteen.”

You looked between them, Emily smirking. “Cal teased Grandma about a boy she was dating, like relentlessly, and one day she said-”

“I’d bust his balls with a bat if he ever spoke that way about someone I cared about again,” she said, giving Cal a look across the room that could kill. “Especially when it comes to one of my boys and their wives.”

You choked on the beer in your mouth, Beau’s mom smacking you on the back as you coughed violently.

“Arms up, dear, there you go,” she said as you raised them, still coughing as she hit you harder than any woman in her seventies had any right to. You took a deep breath and lowered your arms, rubbing your chest as you caught your breath. “Emily, be a dear and go rescue your father from Cal. Tell him I need his help in the kitchen.”

“But then I’ll get stuck talking to him,” she whined.

“Well…call him a boomer and start talking about tik tok and he’ll just get confused and go have a smoke outside.” Emily sighed but went off across to the far side of the house, Beau’s mom wearing that same mischievous grin you caught on his face and Emily’s. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my big brother but he can be a bit of a dickhead. Beau’s too kind of a soul to tell his uncle to go fuck a cactus.”

You smiled, her arm looping through yours. “I hope I didn’t scare you with that wife comment.”

“No, not at all,” you said, his mom eyeing you up and down with a hum. “Beau and I have only been dating-”

“My boy was broken,” she said as you caught Emily reluctantly join her father and Cal over in the corner. You gave Beau’s mother your attention, her face softening. “And then he broke more and when he started to heal, Emily getting hurt broke him even more and you know him, he hides these things so well. Now…that boy over there is forty six years old and he talks about you like he’s fourteen and has his first crush. He healed the right way with you so you two kids, you do whatever you want to and I’ll deal with Cal, got it?”

“Yes, mam,” you said as Beau approached, heaving a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, his mom slipping away with a smile. “I thought you needed help?”

“Heaven’s knows why’d you’d think that, Beau,” she said, humming as she skirted out of the kitchen and off to the family room. Beau looked back at you, tilting his head with an adorable confused look to his green eyes. 

“Your mom simply orchestrated an undercover op to get Emily to rescue you. Apparently I’m not as scary as your mom when I ask her to do such things,” you said, Beau smiling.

“Ah, well, she’s got grandma superpowers. You’re just a little detective. So not scary.”

“So not scary,” you said, Beau taking the beer from your hand and taking a sip, interlacing your fingers in the other. You let him lead you to the front of the house where you slipped on your boots and light jacket, Beau popping his feet into his dark brown leather cowboy ones. He opened the front door with a few fingers, tugging you out to his parent’s front porch on the outskirts of Houston.

“I’m sorry I keep leaving you alone in there to fend for yourself,” he said, leaning against the railing, passing the beer bottle back to you.

“Hey, we live in Montana. Your family misses you. I don’t mind sharing.” He smiled, looking out at the dark field across the street. You ducked under his arm, Beau wrapping his own over your shoulders, briefly kissing your temple. His sweater was soft against your cheek, his sharp inhale of your perfume making you wrap your arms around his waist and turn into his side.

“S’funny. This place doesn’t feel like home anymore.” You glanced up at him, Beau smirking and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He’d done that move a hundred times over but your breath was catching in your throat tonight as he grasped your chin, bringing your lips to his. He kissed you slowly, gently, like he had all the time in the world to devour you.

“You can’t just short circuit my brain like that you know,” you mumbled, Beau laughing against the column of your neck.

“But it’s one of my favorite things to do.” He peppered kisses up and down your jaw, playing your like a instrument he knew better than the back of his hand. You bit your bottom lip when he ghosted over your ear, hot breath fanning your skin. “Close your eyes, darlin’.”

“Beau, your parents are literally on the other side of that door,” you said as he chuckled. 

“Trust me.” Slowly you lids fluttered shut, Beau’s warmth leaving you. The deck boards creaked although you felt his presence, and smelled his pine and musky cologne, nearby. “Keep em’ closed.”

“Alright, alright,” you murmured before he was kissing you again. “Barlen…”

“I love when you call me that,” he whispered, touching his forehead to yours. There was an undercurrent of tension in his voice, your lips parting. “Did you know I never asked Carla to marry me? She just told me it was happening and I was okay with that because it was all part of her plan and I loved her. And now…I know we’ve talked about the somedays but…”

“Are you scared I’ll hurt you?” you asked quietly, his head nodding once. “Why?”

“You’re so young and beautiful, darlin’. You have no clue. A family with me…you won’t have a normal-”

“Beau. You’re forty six, you’re ripped and so not old. I will never not want you and we could both die tomorrow so do what I always tell you. Relax and trust me.”

“Last chance to change your mind.” You shook your head, tilting your chin up in search of his lips. He met them, cupping your cheek as he took you in. “Open your eyes.”

When you peeled them open, Beau knelt down holding a square black velvet box in his hands.

“Will you-”

“Yes, Barlen,” you grinned, Beau chuckling. 

“Not even gonna let me ask?” 

“I’m excited, sue me,” you said, Beau raising to his feet and opening the box, shaking his head at you as he slid a ring on your finger.

“Want to get married?” You eagerly nodded your head. “Even if you have to deal with Cal?”

“I’m a detective, babe. I can handle a seventy eight year old stuck in the past,” you said, Beau wrapping you up in his arms and hosting you up. “Careful old man. Wouldn’t want you to throw a hip.”

“Eh, watch it troublemaker,” he teased, nipping at your jaw. Your legs went around his waist, Beau setting you down on top of the railing but not releasing you. “So. How long have you known I was planning to ask?”

“Questioning my investigative skills?” you hummed, Beau eyeing you up and down. “I’ve suspected since the fall when we had that kids talk. But I knew for sure when your mom slipped the beans and called me your wife in the kitchen.”

He muttered a curse under his breath, those big green eyes watching you with curiosity. “So you knew what I was doing when we came out here.”

“Most likely,” you said, running a hand over his head, brushing a stray strand that’d fallen over his forehead. “S’okay you got nervous. You’re getting better at the talking thing, you know.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” he said softly.

“Well you are a good kisser, Mr. Barlen.”

“As are you future Mrs. Barlen,” he teased, laughing when a giggle left your lips. “Doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“Barlen, darlin’,” you said, Beau grinning wide. “See, we’re all set.”

You both jumped when the front door burst open, Emily standing there with an exhausted sigh, staring at her father. She raised her eyebrows, Beau rolling his eyes. “Yes, she said yes, little Ms. Impatient.”

“Thank god. He’s been this close to a coronary all day,” she said, turning to go back inside. “Grandma says we can’t open presents until you get your chicken shit ass in gear and ask so can we go do that now?”

“Welcome to motherhood,” said Beau, shaking his head at her. “We’ll join in a minute.”

Emily left, leaving you to smile up at Beau. “Wow. I never knew your mom had such a potty mouth. She’s always been so sweet.”

“Oh, she can swear like a sailor all she wants but heaven forbid I cuss in front of her.”

“I think it’s a mom thing, hun,” you said, Beau rolling his eyes when you heard knocking at the window. “We better get back in there before the whole family is ragging on you.”

“They can wait,” he said, holding you close to his chest. “Right now, the only present I want is you, darlin.”

_____________

[knavesflames]

Arlecchino’s Christmas Gift

Hello omg sorry for not posting I’ve been crashing out in terms of physical health (yes yes, I’m sick again, yay me!!)

Anyway, a little Christmas present for you all. Apologies if the standard is not Normal, but it will be soon.

Word count: 1497

Contents: soft Arlecchino, bottom!Arlecchino, fingering

Nsft utc<3

Christmas is a busy time for the House of the Hearth. With God knows how many children, Arlecchino works hard to make sure they all have a lovely day. Barbecues are out of the question, the snowflakes sticking to the ground a definite rejection of yet another barbecue. Instead, she opts for cooking a huge feast (or rather, you cook, she tells you to stop adding seasoning).

Watching the children eat and open the gifts she’s spent too much mora on, you can see that her eyes have softened significantly, even if her smile is small and barely there. “I don’t want gifts,” she’ll mutter when you ask her what she wants, she does it every year. “Gifts are unnecessary and superficial. The children receive them because they are children.”

You think she says this because she doesn’t know how to receive gifts. The House of the Hearth before was.. unkind, to say the least. The poor woman has been so busy, she’s barely had time to think about herself (you wonder if that’s the point), you know very well that the children are her priority, always. You, too. She’s made it abundantly clear multiple times to multiple times that it’s you and the children who come first.

When you see her sigh and wipe her forehead in slight frustration, you start to get an idea of what you can give her. Something she wouldn’t deem superficial, something she looks like she needs. And of course, when you excuse yourself early with the claim that you’re ’so tired’ and ‘the day has been exhausting’, she lets you leave with a soft kiss on your forehead and a murmur of affection. You don’t go to sleep, though, no. You wait until you hear the children leave the main dining hall and shuffle to their rooms to sleep before you start putting your plan in motion. You know she won’t go to bed for a little bit, she never does.

You waste no time in making yourself her gift. Putting on the lingerie you know she adores, dimming the lights and putting the small box of.. objects, by the bed, you position yourself comfortably. With clumsy movements, you manage to tie the ribbon around your wrists the way she’s done to you so many times. You admit it’s difficult, doing it with one working hand, but you get it done well enough. Then, what else is there to do but wait? The whole idea is for her to feel better and have whatever relief she desires, but you can’t help but feel excitement bubbling inside of you with every second that passes. She doesn’t feel good unless you feel good. That became obvious when she couldn’t cum until you were just as desperate as she was.

You let out a small breath when you finally hear her soft footsteps, and you’re trying to picture her reaction in your head. For some reason, you suddenly become nervous— what if she just wants to go to bed, or what if she just hates the idea? The ideas run through your head until—

“My dear?”

Your thoughts are cut short when your eyes snap to her. She looks a little shocked, her lips parted slightly, and her eyes scanning you, but she doesn’t seem repulsed or uninterested.

“Merry Christmas. You dislike gifts because they’re superficial, but I’m not, am I?”

Arlecchino swallows, her throat suddenly dry. You’ve always been the thing that gets her to react the most, both of you know that. Her words falter for a second before she manages to murmur.

“No, no you are not,” taking a step forward, then another, her hand reaching out to graze your skin gently. “Archons, look at you. You’re beautiful. All wrapped up, too.”

You smile sweetly at her, all worries dissipating at the look on her face. For someone as ruthless as her, she certainly softens up when you’re around, her touch gentle and her words quiet.

“How long did that take you? Wrapping oneself with one hand is a difficult task, no?”

“It took a while. Worth it to see your face. You can undo it if you want, or you can keep them like this.”

“Stay like that.”

“Okay.” Your own words are a whisper, and you continue to smile softly up at her. Her hands are delicate when they move over your skin, nails gently scratching in the places she knows makes you shiver.

“You wore my favourite.”

“For you.”

“You’re too good to me.” A breath, barely a whisper, but it’s heard nonetheless. It was only for you to hear anyway. She leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips until you return the kiss, letting her tongue meet yours with a soft sigh. You go to wrap your arms around her, before remembering that you have, in fact, tied yourself up. You think you feel her smile slightly into the kiss before her hand wraps firmly around your binded wrists.

Her kisses move downwards, sucking gently at the pulse point of your neck to feel you shiver. She seems to enjoy doing that, working you up only to make you wait. But, as promised, it’s her turn tonight, so you don’t complain. When she’s satisfied that your hands will stay in place and won’t struggle to get out of the ribbon restraints, her hand moves, fingers ghosting the hem of your underwear before slowly pulling it down. You help her, lifting your hips and stretching your legs so they’ll come off as quickly as possible. When they do come off, landing on the floor with a quiet noise, she leans on the bed, knee parting your legs.

Arlecchino grumbles when she realises she’s still fully clothed, and you think you see her hands trembling as she quickly fumbles to unbutton every single button she has and shed the fabric. She returns to her place soon after, her bare skin warmer than flames against yours. Her knee resumes its actions, pushing your legs apart until it meets your core, already aching. You gasp, and she relishes in the sound. She does the movement again before stopping. Digits move swiftly in finally unwrapping the ribbon around your wrists, tossing it to the side.

“I need you,” Arlecchino mutters, almost like she’s embarrassed. “I need you. Please.”

“How?” Although you enjoy occasionally being dominant, you can’t bring yourself to tonight. The poor woman has been so stressed, and this is her gift, after all.

“You know how.”

“Fingers or tongue, Peruere?”

She gasps at the usage of her actual name, her movements of her hands caressing each part of your body she can reach before she manages to speak.

“Fingers. Please.”

So, you waste no time in letting your own hand slip between her legs, moving until you find her clit. You give it a few experimental rubs, finding a rhythm she seems to enjoy before letting your lips land on her neck. You’d tease her for the quiet gasps she lets out, or for the way your fingers slide so easily into her, but you don’t think you have it in you, especially not when her hips start rocking into your hand with a rhythm so messy it’s almost pathetic, in an affectionate way. But she’s getting impatient and frustrated, and she can’t chase what she wants so badly with the rhythm she has.

You let her try for a bit longer, but the small whine that escapes her usually quiet mouth almost makes you feel bad. So, your free hand moves to her hip, gently stopping her before guiding her into a rhythm that causes all sounds to cease— only out of pure pleasure, her mouth hanging open and her eyes, usually so piercing, squeezed shut.

“It’s good?” You hum, struggling to contain the small giggle at the sight of her as needy as she is now.

“Quite.” Comes the only strained reply before her head buries back into your neck. She’s close, you can tell that much by the way she clenches around your curling fingers again and again.

“Are you going to cum for me, Peruere?”

“Yes, for you, yes.” She rasps out. It’s a struggle for her to get out any words at all by this point, and anything she does get out is less than coherent. Then her body tenses, she lets out a sound you know all too well— a mix of a grunt, groan and a whimper all in one, before she collapses onto you, her legs shaking.

You mumble sweet praises into her ear, stroking her now tousled hair until she regains her breath and stops trembling.

“Merry Christmas.” You chuckle, kissing her shoulder.

“That.. may have been the best gift I have ever had. My birthday is in August, if you’re curious.”

She’s being silly, you know that much, but you have one too many ideas to let them fizzle out now.

[darksturnz]

A LITTLE LIGHT

i hope everyone who celebrates is having a great Christmas eve! it honestly doesn’t even feel like it’s christmas tho :,) anyways here’s a sappy holiday blurb!

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, Star stood on her porch, the gift she’d spent hours wrapping cradled in her arms. Across the lot, Chris’s trailer glowed faintly with the light of a single window. It was beat up, like all the trailers here, but tonight it seemed more inviting than usual. Maybe it was the thought of Evelyn being home, or Lila’s enthusiasm for the holidays, but something about it pulled her in.

Evelyn had opened the door before Star even had the chance to knock.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Evelyn greeted her with a warm smile, her voice carrying the faint rasp of someone who had been through more than her share of battles. But tonight, there was a brightness in her that matched the twinkle in her eye. “Come in, come in—it’s cold out there!”

Star smiled, stepping inside and kicking off her boots at the door. The trailer smelled like cinnamon and pine, and for a moment, she felt as though she had stepped into a scene from one of those holiday movies Madison was always trying to get her to watch.

“Ma, you’re supposed to be resting,” came Chris’s voice from the kitchen. He appeared a moment later, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. His hair was slightly messy, as though he’d been running his hands through it while working. His eyes landed on Star, softening just a fraction.

“Chris, I’ve been resting for weeks, I’m not dead yet,” Evelyn shot back, already making her way to a box of ornaments sitting by the couch. She moved carefully, but there was a stubborn determination in her every step. “If I don’t help decorate this tree, who’s going to stop Lila from putting all the ornaments in one spot?”

Chris let out a small sigh but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned to Star, his expression softening even further. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Star replied, feeling a flutter in her chest she still wasn’t used to.

“Chris, help me with the lights!” Lila’s voice rang out from somewhere near the couch. The six-year-old was already untangling a mess of string lights, her curls bouncing as she pulled on the strands with the determination of someone three times her age.

Chris glanced at Star, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “Guess you’re on ornament duty.”

The next hour was a flurry of activity. Lila darted around the room, her excitement infectious as she insisted on showing Star every ornament she pulled from the box.

“This one’s my favorite,” Lila said, holding up a glittery snowflake with a missing point. “I made it when I was little.”

“You were so much littler, huh?” Star teased, helping Lila hang the snowflake on a low branch where she could reach.

Chris worked silently but efficiently, stringing the lights around the tree with a practiced ease. Star couldn’t help but watch him from time to time, her heart softening at the sight of him crouching to adjust the lights at Lila’s height or standing back to admire his work with a faint nod of approval.

Evelyn refused to sit still. She was everywhere at once, hanging garlands, offering decorating tips, and reminiscing about Christmases past.

“Chris used to hate Christmas when he was Lila’s age,” Evelyn said with a laugh, hanging a wreath near the window. “He’d complain about the cold and the noise, but the second the gifts came out, he’d be the happiest kid in the world.”

“Ma,” Chris groaned, his ears turning pink.

Star bit back a laugh. “Sounds like he’s always been a little grinchy.”

“Not always,” Evelyn said, giving Chris a fond look. “He used to draw me Christmas cards every year—these beautiful little sketches of trees and snow. I still have them in a box somewhere.”

Chris looked away, busying himself with adjusting a strand of lights.

“Did he ever make you anything, Lila?” Star asked, smiling at the girl.

“He drew me a princess last christmas,” Lila said proudly. “But she had armor, ‘cause Chris said princesses don’t need saving.”

Star glanced at Chris, who was still pretending not to hear. She couldn’t help but smile.

As they worked, Evelyn turned to Star. “What about you, sweetheart? What does your family do for the holidays?”

Star hesitated, the warmth of the room suddenly feeling a little too close. She hadn’t expected the question, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure how to answer.

“My mom passed away a while ago,” she said finally, keeping her voice steady. “And my dad’s… away for the holidays. On a trip.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but the weight of the words hung in the air.

Evelyn’s face softened, her hand resting lightly on Star’s arm. “I’m sorry, honey. That must be hard.”

“It’s fine,” Star said quickly, forcing a small smile. 

For a moment, the room grew quiet, the cheerful buzz of activity paused. Then, Lila broke the silence.

“s’okay, Star,” she said brightly, tugging on her hand. “You can come over with us for Christmas!”

Star blinked, the sudden warmth in her chest catching her off guard. “Oh, I—”

“She’s right,” Evelyn said gently. “We’d love to have you.”

Lila leaned closer, cupping her hand to Star’s ear and whispering loudly, “Chris already got you a present anyway.”

“Bug.” Chris turned, his voice half-annoyed, half-embarrassed.

“What? It’s true!” Lila said, grinning innocently.

Star glanced at Chris, who was now very focused on untangling a nonexistent knot in the lights.

“Can’t wait to see what it is,” Star teased, her smile softening as Chris muttered something under his breath.

The trailer had transformed by the time they were done. The little tree sparkled with mismatched ornaments, glittering lights, and Lila’s signature touches—a cluster of candy canes in one spot and a crooked star on top. Garland draped over the windows, and a few candles flickered on the kitchen counter, their glow soft and warm.

Evelyn sat on the recliner, a satisfied smile on her face. “This is the best it’s looked in years,” she said, looking around the room. “You kids did good.”

Chris shook his head, pretending to brush off the compliment, but Star caught the faint smile tugging at his lips.

“It looks perfect,” Star said, standing beside him. Her shoulder brushed his, and he didn’t move away this time.

“Yeah,” he said softly, glancing down at her. “It does.”

Evelyn watched them with a knowing look, but for once, she didn’t say anything.

They all settled down on the couch and recliner with mugs of cocoa. Lila climbed into Star’s lap, chattering away about how she’d convinced Chris to let her pick out the tree (“He said no at first, but then I looked at him like this—” she demonstrated with wide, pleading eyes—“and he said fine!”).

Chris rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, sipping his cocoa quietly.

“I remember the year Chris tried to make eggnog” Evelyn said suddenly, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

“Ma, don’t,” Chris said, groaning.

“Oh, I’m telling this one,” Evelyn said with a grin. She turned to Star. “He was about thirteen, and he decided he wanted to make Christmas special. So, he found this recipe for eggnog—except he didn’t have half the ingredients, so he just improvised.”

“It was fine,” Chris muttered.

“It was terrible,” Evelyn corrected. “It curdled! And the kitchen smelled like spoiled milk for days. But he was so proud of it, and he made me drink an entire glass.”

Star couldn’t hold back her laugh, and even Chris, despite his embarrassment, let out a low chuckle.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Chris said, shaking his head. “She told me it was the best eggnog she’d ever had.”

“I couldn’t crush your little spirit,” Evelyn said with a mock-serious tone.

The sound of their laughter filled the room, blending with the warm glow of the lights. For a moment, Star forgot about everything else—the cold, her empty trailer, the ache of her father’s absence. Here, in this small space, surrounded by this messy, imperfect family, she felt a sense of belonging she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

Lila’s energy finally waned, and she fell asleep curled up on the couch. Chris carried her to her room, tucking her in with the kind of care that always surprised Star. He didn’t speak, but the way he smoothed her curls and pulled the blanket up to her chin said everything.

When he returned, Evelyn was already making her way to her room.

“I think I’ll turn in too,” she said, but not before stopping to kiss Chris on the cheek. “Thank you for making this a good night.”

Chris looked embarrassed, but his smile lingered even after Evelyn turned to Star.

“You’re always welcome here, sweetheart,” Evelyn said softly, squeezing Star’s hand. “Don’t be a stranger.”

As Evelyn disappeared into her room, Star made her way to the door, Chris following behind her. She turned to say goodbye, but the words caught in her throat when Evelyn’s voice rang out from down the hall.

“Oh, would you look at that!” Evelyn said, peeking her head out of her bedroom with a cheeky grin. She pointed upward. “Mistletoe!”

Star blinked, her eyes darting to the doorway. Sure enough, there it was—a tiny, fake ornament hanging crookedly above the doorframe.

Chris groaned, his hand running through his hair. “Ma,” he muttered, his ears turning pink.

Evelyn only laughed, retreating into her room. “Goodnight, you two!”

Star turned back to Chris, her heart pounding. He looked down at her, his usual guarded expression faltering into something softer.

“Well,” Star said, trying to sound casual even as her voice wavered, “it’d be sorta rude not to follow tradition huh?”

Chris hesitated for a moment, his hand twitching at his side as though he wasn’t sure what to do. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

The kiss was soft—gentle in a way that made Star’s chest ache. Chris’s hand came up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into him, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. It was different from the first time—less tentative, more certain.

When they finally pulled apart, Chris rested his forehead against hers, his eyes half-closed. “She’s gonna give me hell for this,” he muttered, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.

Star laughed softly, her breath warm against his skin. “Worth it.”

Star stepped out into the cold night air, her cheeks still flushed. She made her way across the lot, the glow of Chris’s trailer fading behind her.

“Star!”

She stopped, turning just in time to see Chris jogging toward her. His breath curled in the air, and before she could ask what he was doing, he was there, pulling her close and kissing her again.

It was rougher this time—more urgent, as though he was afraid the moment might slip away. When he pulled back, his voice was low and unsteady.

“Don’t ever think you’re not part of something,” he said, his hand lingering on her waist. “Not anymore.”

Star stared at him, her heart pounding.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his lips quirking into a faint smile before he turned and walked back to the trailer.

Star stood there for a moment, her breath visible in the cold night air. Then, with a small, dazed smile, she turned and went inside.

AUTHORS NOTE: did you catch what i did there or… ;3

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @slut4brunettes

[matthewswifeyy]

After awhile you went quite, and I got mean 3

Summary: Exgirlfriend!reader lives with S4!rafe. She constantly has to watch rafe treat someone better and it finally gets to her.

Part 1 part 2

Sofia’s pov

“Why did he start dating a pouge?”

“The king kook? Dating a pouge? Pathetic.”

“His relationship was perfect before why did he break up with her for a pouge”

It was all I heard while working.

Thank goodness it was the end of my shift. I hate working at the country club. But I need a job. Even though I live with rafe doesn’t mean I’m going to stop providing for my family.

I walked to my car tears threatening to fall from my eyes.

I drive home with tears in my eyes.

Readers pov

I was half way through little women when I heard the front door open. I knew it was Sofia because she was always home a little bit more earlier than rafe.

Sofia walked passed the living room. Usually I just let her walk past. But her tear stained face caught my eye.

“Hey are you okay” I asked her.

“I’m fine” her attitude hit me like a truck.

I decided to let her he and I turned back to the tv.

A little while later I heard the front door open again. I watched as rafe walked past the living room.

“Hi” I said quietly.

“Hey” he said as he walked down the hallway.

I turned back to the tv again and continued to watch. I heard a quiet conversation happening before I heard the bedroom door open and slam shut. I flinched at the loud bang.

“Y/n come to the kitchen.” I could hear the anger in his voice. I got up quickly and walked to the kitchen. I fiddled with my hands as I did so.

“Yeah” I said quietly

“What did you do to her” he said as he pointed down the hallway.

“I didn’t do anything” I said looking up from my hands.

“Oh really. Than why is she in there crying?”

“I don’t know rafe. Maybe something happened at work.” I said as I began to return the same attitude to him.

“Don’t start giving game an attitude.” He said now pointing his finger my face.

“You’re not my dad rafe.” I said pushing his finger out of my face.

“I know that you are that you are the reason that Sofia is in there crying” he said as he continued to accuse me.

“Rafe for the last time I didn’t do anything to her at all.” I said starting to lose my temper.

“Will you just tell the truth for once in your life”

“Maybe if you just get your head out of your ass for once in your life then maybe you will see that I’m not lying to you” i yelled at him.

“That’s it! I am done with your shit Y/n! Pack your shit and get out of my house!” He screamed at me while pounding his fist on the counter.

I was shocked. Not only because he’s kicking me out but because I’ve never heard him scream at anyone like that before.

“You don’t mean that rafe.” Tear began to form in my eyes.

“Oh I mean it. Now go pack and get out.” He said leaning over the counter in my face.

“I don’t know what kind of spell she has you under but it’s making you go insane.” I said before running out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

I grabbed a duffle bag and started throwing random clothes in it. I couldn’t even see what I was grabbing from all the tears in my eyes. I grabbed a back pack and stuffed my hairbrush, charger, and other toiletries inside of it.

I grabbed my bags and walked out of my room. I slammed the door shut and stomped down the stairs.

“What are you doing?” I heard Sofia ask from behind me.

I turned around and just stared at her.

“Well Sofia because of you and whatever happened at work today that made you cry rafe thinks it’s because of me and he’s kicking me out!” I yelled at her.

Her face fell. I could tell she was shocked as well.

I turned back towards the front door and walked out. I got in my car and threw my bags in the back. Tears streamed down my face and I started my car. I wiped the tears from eyes and back out of the driveway.

I drove to the only house that I knew to go to. Toppers.

Topper and I were friends before rafe and started dating. We met in 5th grade and clicked right away. But the only thing is his new girlfriend Ruthie doesn’t like me very much.

I pulled in his driveway and parked my car. I got out and walked up to the front door. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Rafes pov

I was fuming. She’s never snapped at me like that and I’ve never snapped at her like that either. I was slouched in my office chair staring at the desk.

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Come in” I mumbled.

The door opened and Sofia walked in.

“Why would you do that rafe.” Her voice was sharp.

“What do you mean why would I do that I was defending you and now your made about it?” I looked at her.

“Rafe she didn’t do anything to me.” She said sitting on the desk.

“Are you fucking kidding me Sofia” I said standing up.

“Rafe I-”

“Don’t! Do you understand what I just did for you!” I walked towards her.

“Yes rafe I understand what you did.” She said standing up as well.

“You do understand she has nowhere to go right? This was the only place she could go and now you tell she didn’t do anything after I kick her out!”

“Rafe I didn’t ask you to do that!” She yelled at me.

“You probably wanted her gone, huh?”

“No” she mumbled looking down at her lap.

I scoffed and walked out of the room. I grabbed my keys from the counter and walked out the front door and drove to the country club.

Readers pov

Topper opened the door. I sighed in relief glad is wasn’t Ruthie.

“Hey I didn’t know you were coming here.” He said looking at something Inside then me.

“Yeah I’m sorry. Uhm can I crash here. Rafe kind of kicked me out.” I said looking down at my feet.

“I’m sorry he what?” He said looking down at me.

“I’ll tell you but uh can I come in” i said looking up at him.

“Oh yeah sorry.” Topper said opening the door all the way.

I walked in the house and made my way to the living room. I sat down on the couch across from topper and began to tell him everything that has been going on.

Topper then told me that I could sleep in the guest room for a while and that he would talk to rafe.

[bitebitekxll]

Sfw ask:

Genshin men with a sick reader headcanons

Diluc, Kaeya, Kazuha, Ayato, can remove or add if you’d like

What they do when you’re sick

៚ Diluc ✧ Kaeya ✧ Kazuha ✧ Ayato ✧ Childe

Notes: FIRST FIC ASK LETS GOOO!! Also happy holidays everyone <3

For a character I am the least sure about characterising, Ayato’s somehow became the longest?? Fingers crossed I did him justice. Also couldn’t resist spreading my malewife Childe agenda so he’s in this too. Hope you enjoy ~

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂 ᥫ᭡

Even if Dawn Winery has a whole set staff on hand, he will insist on taking care of you himself; making sure you take your medicine on time, cooking you meals, doing anything he can to ensure your work doesn’t suffer in your absence. The only way to convince him to let Adelinde handle it, is to remind him he can’t hold you if he’s running around. He’s quiet. Not his usual comfortable silence, but one that adds a weighted air to all actions as he stays vigil at your side. Diluc doesn’t like feeling helpless and hates when you’re uncomfortable so you can bet he’ll be extra fussy over you when you’re sick.

(Not to mention vigilant to ensure you don’t get sick in the first place. Going out in the rain? Not without his umbrella you’re not. Venturing into Dragonspine? What a coincidence, he happens to have business there. Yes, really. But, oh it seems they cancelled last minute so now he will of course accompany you. His pyro vision can provide better warmth than whatever few seelies you come across, so it’s only reasonable he tag along.)

You might need to literally thwack him a couple of times to get him to stop being overbearing, but you can guarantee you’ll be taken care of with all your needs attended to.

𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀 ᥫ᭡

He won’t let you lift a finger the whole time you’re recovering. It doesn’t matter if you only have a bit of a cold, he will physically pick you up over his shoulder and drag you away from work/chores/any responsibility. If someone even dares to suggest you do something while unwell— even if you make it clear you can handle it —he will mercilessly cut them down with that little bastard smile of his playing on his lips.

“You can’t possibly be suggesting our dear Y/N take care of that in this condition. After everything they’ve done for us, no one would be selfish enough to deprive them of some well-earned rest, hm?”

This man will convince the whole of Mond that you need to be spoiled when sick. Good luck doing anything without people rushing to help you with that, no no sit down, you should rest, actually why don’t we just call Sir Kaeya, I’m sure I saw him around—

He does make sure not to annoy you too much with his antics, letting you be independent when it seems like you’re reaching your limit (as long as the task isn’t too taxing) and he’ll be sure to keep you company while you’re stuck at his home.

If you do get bored of being inside he’ll take you out, but don’t expect to set a foot on the ground as long as he’s there.

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀 ᥫ᭡

Though he’s no physician, Kazuha is excellent at dealing with illness and injuries. He had to take care of his own by himself before joining the Crux, after all. And even now, he’s often sought out by the crew during voyages when someone needs medical attention. His calm and reassuring demeanour only further makes him the perfect candidate to be at your bedside.

After doing whatever he can to ease your symptoms, he lets you rest your head in his lap. Expect to be lulled to sleep by nimble fingers carding through your hair, and the sweet whistling tones of a leaf as Kazuha plays it for you— and you still can’t figure out how he manages to do that. He presses kisses to your forehead, your knuckles, your lips: you can remind him that your illness is contagious, but he’ll just smile and kiss you again softly.

“There is no greater honour, nor privilege I can imagine, than sharing the burdens of the one you love. Don’t fret, my dear. Let me hold the weight of all your troubles, and let me hold you, for as long as you will grant me that pleasure.”

𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐓𝐎 ᥫ᭡

For a man who is so powerful, so composed in public, he is a complete kid with you. He would mope and whine when you tell him you’re not getting out of bed that day. He’s always so bored when you leave him on his lonesome, and even if he can’t be by your side every second he still loves knowing there’s a chance of running into you around the estate or Inazuma itself. So of course he’ll try to goad you into getting up, wanting the two of you to start the day together.

But he changes his tune the moment he realises you’re truly unwell.

Ayato doesn’t hesitate to wrap you up in his arms for the duration of your illness. It’s not like Diluc where he insists on doing the work himself, he gets the staff to bring you whatever you need according to the doctor, but only so he can dedicate all his time showering you in love and affection. You get even more attention from him while you’re sick than you usually do (a feat that should be impossible). He’s a clingy bastard and is fully prepared to let the commission suffer until you’re better, unwilling to part for even a moment while you’re in this state. (He’s lucky Ayaka and Thoma keep things running in the meantime, but you can bet he’s in for a scolding from his sister when he returns to his duties).

If you don’t like being touched while sick, he’ll just stay by your side and keep you company. But if you give him the okay? Prepare for him to take advantage of you being stuck in bed to love on you ‘til his heart’s content.

“You know… some say the best way to recover from a cold is to pass it to someone else…”

By the time you’re feeling better, the idiot’s gotten himself sick. You can lecture him about being careless all you want, he just gives you a pleased grin as he looks up at you adoringly. Naturally, he never learns his lesson.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄 ᥫ᭡

Will immediately panic when he sees you’re in bad shape. He’s equal parts alarmed and enraged, ready to seek vengeance on your behalf. Once he realises you’re just sick and not recovering from an attack, he’s more in his element. As a Snezhnayan, Childe is no stranger to illness. Young children, especially, are less tolerant to the cold, so he’s had plenty of experience looking after his younger siblings in that regard. He extends the same care to you: keeping a cooled wet towel on your forehead to settle your fever, cleaning your home with a frenzied determination, never allowing dust to settle and irritate your lungs.

Don’t even bother trying to eat yourself, he will feed you while you recline back on the mountain of pillows he fluffed up minutes prior. He makes the warm soup himself, but instead of the usual seafood concoctions he’s known for, it’s a much simpler, pleasant dish.

“My mother’s cure-all recipe; there’s nothing better for when you’re sick! The kids love it. In fact, Teucer’s even faked sick before just so she would make it for him, the little rascal. Try a bite, I promise you’ll be fighting fit in no time!”

Big malewife energy the whole time he’s taking care of you. He’s concerned about your health, of course, but because he’s done this before for his family he doesn’t feel panicked. Instead, he’s all warm smiles and attentive affection, making jokes to cheer you up while he keeps an eye on your condition. If you need anything from him, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.

[httpsdana]

Can you do promo 14 and 21 with kenan on how he never thought about actually dating until he met her and how she changed his opinion on dating

When It’s You~Kenan Yildiz

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

14-“I never planned to fall in love, but here we are.”

21-“I can’t believe you remember all those little things I say.”

Kenan Yildiz had always been a bit of a skeptic when it came to love. His focus had always been on his career, his goals, and his dreams.

Relationships, with all their messy emotions and potential distractions, didn’t fit into the plan. He was the type to scoff when his teammates talked about love, rolling his eyes at their lovesick grins and romantic anecdotes.

But then he met her.

It wasn’t a thunderbolt moment or an immediate spark of realization. It was more like the quiet breaking of dawn—slow, steady, and impossible to ignore.

He noticed the way she laughed, genuine and hearty, as if she weren’t afraid to fill the room with joy. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about her passions. How she always managed to bring out the best in him, even on his worst days.

Kenan found himself seeking out her company, making excuses to talk to her, and eventually, he couldn’t ignore the growing warmth in his chest every time she was around.

One evening, the two were sat in his living room , the movie playing on the TV flickered in the background, its plot long forgotten. Kenan sat beside her on the couch, unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on the floor as if lost in thought.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asked, nudging his leg lightly with her foot.

He looked at her, startled, as if he hadn’t realized she was paying attention. A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just thinking,” he said simply.

She tilted her head, studying him. “Thinking about what?”

Kenan hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. “You probably don’t remember, but the first time I ever talked to you, I told you I hated pineapple on pizza.”

She laughed, the memory instantly coming back. “Of course, I remember. You ranted about it for ten minutes. I thought, ‘Wow, this guy really has strong opinions about fruit.’”

His lips quirked up into a small grin. “It wasn’t my proudest moment.”

“Well, I thought it was cute,” she said with a shrug.

He looked at her, his expression softening. “I can’t believe you remember all those little things I say. I didn’t think anyone listened that much.”

“Of course, I listen,” she replied, reaching over to rest her hand on his. “Everything you say matters to me.”

Kenan turned his hand over, threading his fingers through hers. He stared at their intertwined hands for a moment, his thumb gently brushing against her skin.

“you know...I never planned to fall in love,” he admitted, his voice low. “But here we are.”

The sincerity in his tone made her chest tighten. “Kenan…”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “I thought love was something other people did. Something that would just get in the way of my plans. I didn’t think it was for me.” He gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “But then you came along, and now I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”

Her heart swelled, and she squeezed his hand. “Well, I’m glad I changed your mind.”

He smiled, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “You didn’t just change my mind. You changed everything.”

And in that moment, with his hand in hers and his words still lingering in the air, she knew that she had done the same for him.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[bleedingreverie]

Yandere x reader - Escape attempt

TW: yandere, captive reader, dub-con, strength difference.

He loomed over her now, his broad frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the room whole. Her breath came in ragged bursts as he pinned her wrists effortlessly, his grip a cruel reminder of the chasm between them—not just in strength but in control. Where her movements were frantic and desperate, his were deliberate, unhurried, like a predator toying with its prey.

“You don’t listen, do you?” he murmured, his voice a dangerous blend of amusement and irritation. His green eyes—usually soft and inviting—were cold now, glittering with a sharp, almost predatory light. “I told you there’s no point in running. But you had to try. You always have to try.”

She turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze, though her body trembled under the weight of his presence. Her silence didn’t deter him; if anything, it seemed to embolden him.

“You’re quick,” he continued, his tone almost conversational now. “I’ll give you that. Faster than I expected. I saw you darting down the stairs, slipping through the hallways. You even managed to make it past the study before I caught on.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear, and she shivered. “But speed means nothing if you don’t know where you’re going.”

His words hit her like a slap. He was right, and that knowledge made her stomach twist. The mansion was a labyrinth, and he knew every inch of it—every hidden door, every creaking floorboard, every dead end. Her frantic flight had been doomed from the start, a cruel game where he held all the cards.

“And strength?” He let out a low chuckle, his grip on her wrists tightening just enough to make her wince. “You should know by now that you can’t overpower me. Look at you—so delicate, so breakable. I could snap these little bones of yours like twigs if I wanted to.” He punctuated the statement by running a calloused thumb over her wrist, tracing the vein beneath her pale skin. “But I won’t. Because you’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

Her stomach churned at his words, but she bit back the retort that danced on her tongue. Anything she said would only feed his twisted sense of control, his need to dominate her completely.

“You think this is a fight,” he went on, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “But it’s not. You don’t win fights against someone like me. You survive them. If you’re lucky.”

Her chest heaved as his words sank in, each one a reminder of her helplessness. She hated it—hated the way he could reduce her to nothing with just his presence, his voice. Hated the way her body betrayed her, trembling not just in fear but in something darker, something she refused to acknowledge.

“But I’ll admit,” he said, almost wistfully, “I like this fire in you. It’s why I chose you, after all. So many others would have broken by now, but not you. You still think you can win. Still think you can get away from me.”

He reached out then, brushing a stray strand of hair from her tear-streaked face. The gesture was disturbingly gentle, almost tender, and it made her flinch.

“You’ll learn eventually,” he whispered, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’ll learn that no matter how fast you run, no matter how hard you fight, I’ll always catch you. I’ll always bring you back. And one day, you’ll stop running altogether.”

Her eyes flashed then, a spark of defiance breaking through the haze of fear. He saw it, and his smirk widened.

“Ah, there it is,” he said softly, as if savoring the moment. “That little spark of hope. The belief that you can outsmart me, outlast me.” He leaned in closer, his weight pressing her further into the mattress. “I wonder how long it’ll take before I snuff it out completely.”

————— Insert any character you want ————————

[hhughes]

❝ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 ❜❜

𝓐bout ; some canon things in the “JWBCTY” universe. these headcanons touch on little characteristics about luke’s!bsf!reader , canon things about her relationships with people you’ll often see featured in blurbs or just canon events that happen within this AU.

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ; luke’s!bsf!reader x quinn hughes 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 ; headcanons. sfw. like one use of y/n , beware lol. 𝔁𝓸 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓲 ; these are little things I envision about luke’s!bsf!reader and the universe this is set in while I’m writing. she’s very much set up to be an OC but all of my writing will be done in reader!insert format and therefore she’s not completely an original character and can be read as reader insert. as I said before this au is set up differently than my previous ones, and you as the reader are “playing” the character. these little things are not completely set in stone and just like you are imagining that you’re luke’s best friend while reading, you can imagine that any of the following things are true and canon in this little universe. that being said, it's very much a take what you want and leave what you don’t type of situation because many of these details won’t be heavily present in the writing, unless you as the reader request and ask for it to be. this is meant to give you some freedom in how you want things to go down , but still leaves room for requesting specific things if you want to. if you have any questions about the formatting of this au or any thoughts at all, don’t hesitate to drop by the inbox. this is a growing list so be sure to add to it if you’d like by sending stuff in <33

꒰੭ Y/N L/N (reader / you) ᭪

also known as . . . quinn’s angel, sweet girl and sweetheart. luke’s very best friend in the whole wide world (don’t tell duker). jack’s little sister (that he never asked for but has always wanted). trevor’s partner in crime. (feel free to use any of the nicknames mentioned when requesting so you don’t have to say [luke’s!bsf!reader] each time , unless you prefer that <3)

is the same age as luke. there’s a bit of an age gap between you and quinn.

majoring in chemical engineering at the university of michigan. graduating june ‘25.

has a sweet tooth. the guys all carry around a stock of candy and sweet treats when they know they’re gonna be in your presence because they know you love to snack on them.

very bubbly and happy. you love to see the best in people and try to find the positive in every situation.

you like reading. something you and your hughes boys have in common , although your taste in books might be a little different. >_<

as a result of your sweet tooth , you’re an avid baker. you love baking and the guys both love and hate it because they can never say no to one of your baked goods.

you don’t have a big family so you always enjoy being included in hughes family events

you’re a bit introverted and a bit extroverted and often switch between the two depending on how you feel on the day.

you’re very stubborn and like to do things by yourself and in the way you wanna do them. you’re not someone that likes to accept help from others, but you are someone who loves helping others. ( this frustrates quinn to no end )

little quirks/habits include . . . cracking your knuckles when nervous (something you picked up from luke), blowing your hair out of your face, biting your lip when you’re deep in thought.

you’re giggly/clingy/overly affectionate when drunk. constantly telling everyone how much you adore them and how much they mean to you.

꒰੭ you and luke ᭪

you and luke are the definition of platonic soulmates. from the moment you met as kids, throughout your awkward tween years and angsty teen phases, to going to umich together, you have seen each other at the lowest of lows and highest of highs and still decided to stick it out. no one knows you better than him and vice versa.

luke is very protective over you. even his own brothers have gotten a punch or two when they’ve said something to you that luke didn’t like. he also kind of inserts himself in your love life but it’s more a ‘you’re my best friend and I want what’s best for you’ rather than ‘i’m secretly in love with you’

he’s very oblivious to the feelings you have for quinn, and even more oblivious to the way his older brother has eyes for you.

both of you are very good listeners and you often have movie nights where you just rant to each other about whatever is happening in your lives. those movie nights turn into long face times when luke goes to the nhl.

because luke knows you so well , it becomes harder and harder to keep your feelings for his oldest brother a secret, especially when you and quinn start sneaking around behind his back :\

꒰੭ you and jack ᭪

you and jack have a very open and honest friendship. it’s very no-filter and both of you have no issue giving it to the other one straight.

unlike your and luke’s friendship where you’ll rant about your issues and you and luke will discuss and come up with solutions together , you and jack just call each other out on your bullshit, and tell each other to get it together.

jack also sees right through you and quinn and has no problem teasing both of you about it. he’ll constantly make comments that has you burning your face in a pillow out of embarrassment, quinn giving him death glares and luke just crinkling his nose in confusion.

jack is more your big brother than he is a friend. and he has no problem giving you the tough brother love as we’ve established. but he really does adore you like his little sister and he always has your back whenever you need it.

you and jack are kind of a handful together. you’re similar in a lot of ways and that means you have a lot of fun together. you’re the kind of duo who will playfully sabotage one another just bc you’re both extremely competitive.

while jack doesn’t have the same over protective streak that luke has, he does keep an eye on things when it comes to you. while luke is ‘don’t do this, it’s a bad idea and it’s gonna blow up in your face’ type of protective, jack is the ‘do what you’re gonna do, i’ll be there if something goes wrong’ although he’s not gonna be happy about it.

jack always introduces you as his little sister, never offering an explanation when people look at him in confusion because to him, that’s simply just what you are.

꒰੭ you and trevor ᭪

you and trevor really are partners in crime and you get up to the silliest things together. could be spontaneous water balloon fights at the lake house or him telling the people at the movie theatre that you’re pregnant cause he wants to sneak snacks in, you’re just always in on a joke together. trevor knows no matter what insane plan he’s cooking, he can convince you to join him, and he loves that about you.

you and trevor do this thing ; secret for a secret. he gives you a secret and you give him one and you’re both not allowed to bring it up again unless the other person wants to talk about it. he was the first one you told about your crush on quinn.

you and trevor constantly play wingman and woman for each other whenever you guys go out to bars.

much like jack, trevor doesn’t have much of a filter, and he’s not afraid to tell you when you’re being ridiculous about something

both of you are the life of the party and wherever you do, everyone else knows it’s gonna be a good time. (you, trevor and jack together? who needs anyone else)

trevor is so good at seemingly not caring what other people think and he definitely passes that on to friends closest to him. (you/jack) he builds your confidences soo much.

you’re one of few people trevor knows he can 100% be himself; and you won’t judge him for it.

the best therapy with trevor isn’t talking—it’s just being with him. his presence is just infectious. whether it’s playing video games, watching movies for hours, or simply throwing paper airplanes around the living room, trevor has this way of distracting you from your worries without even trying. he’s the kind of friend who just gets it and lets you be

trevor is also a shameless flirt and can’t help but harmlessly flirt with you every now and then. hey! you can’t blame him, you’re funny, smart, freaking gorgeous, if the guy thought for one second you were actually interested, and he was the kinda guy who could commit, he’d go for it ^_^

꒰੭ you and quinn ᭪

even before the two of you got together a lot of your interactions were filled with small little touches. a hand on the waist as he moves past you, a hand on your thigh as he leans over you on the boat to do something. small touches that would leave a thousand butterflies in your stomach; and quinn’s palms clammy

you’ve always had a bit of a childhood crush on quinn, and that crush only grew as he moved away and you went to michigan a few years later. your childhood crush transforming into more serious feelings with every summer he comes home

whenever quinn feels jealous/upset about seeing you with other guys , he always chalks it up to feeling overprotective because you’re luke’s bestfriend but deep down he knows it’s more than that.

and everyone knows that you’re close to the hughes family but whenever someone asks quinn what you are to him he can’t really seem to find the words. it’s always some version of “she’s special to my family” or “my little brothers best friend”. either way it’s never “she’s this to me” and that’s lead you to believe that you really are nothing more than his little brother’s best friend to quinn even if that’s not really how he feels about you

after the two of you get together, everyone sees that you’re perfect for one another and can’t imagine either of you with anyone else

both of you are so supportive of each other. you never miss the opportunity to celebrate each other no matter how small the success. whether it’s you finishing a big project at work, or quinn scoring a goal, you just love seeing each other succeed.

you guys are so the “I can do it” and “I know you can, but I want to couple”

while you and quinn might not seem as close as the other guys, you guys did still grow up together and you have your own little friendship and rituals. you and quinn will send each other ten photos at the end of every week to catch each other up on what you did that week. and sometimes neither of you respond or text about anything else. it’ll just be those ten pictures, but neither of you have ever skipped a week since it started.

quinn is just as protective of you as luke and jack, if not more so. (definitely more so)

everyone always teases quinn about you. telling him how you have a crush on him. and you’re his little soft spot, but he always just brushes it off, even if he knows there’s some truth to it.

whenever quinn is having a rough week, he’ll call you just to hear your voice. and he’ll automatically feel better. and whenever you do the same, he always has flowers and desert delivered afterwards.

note: just a little reminder again that you take what you want from this, and leave what you don’t. it’s not gonna play a huge role in the au and you can read all writing pieces as independent little stand alone pieces. this is just to add enrichment to the plot, or characters and dynamics if you wish to <33

[sandersontheside]

thinking about a 10 Things I Hate About You AU….Roman Prince is the most popular boy at Padua High. His brother Remus? Is something else entirely. The only thing they have in common is one simple rule:

“You can date when he does.” “But he’s a mutant! What if he never dates?”

Virgil is Cameron, awkwardly crushing on an oblivious Roman. Patton is Michael, his loyal friend who helps him concoct the scheme to get Remus to date so Roman can. Janus is Patrick, paid to ask out Remus and falling for him in the process when he finds someone who sees pst his false reputation. Remy is Joey, Roman’s crush who turns out to be self centered and jerky. Logan is Mandela, the nerdy girl Michael ends up with.

[dyketennant]

oh i can already tell i’m about to have some really unpopular opinions about the edge of sleep tv show

[quietwingsinthesky]

sometimes i think about my spn oc and how i rewrote everything about amara to interact with the story i was trying to tell about her. there were some really neat ideas in that i need to recycle for something one day. like, in the show proper, they just let amara take over a human baby and that’s fine, but amara’s not Meant To Be Here. this entire universe is one constructed in her absence. saying she can possess a human body should be like saying if you took a person and sent them to a universe where 1+1=3, they could just figure out how to function within that.

which in story took the form of Amara being something that could not be Understood, only Rationalized. a force locked outside the narrative who could only get inside and destroy things if given a role within it. by the Winchesters as A Monster To Face. by Chuck as Wayward, Unreachable Sister. and by miss oc as. simultaneously a projected creature to be saved, an amalgamation of injustices done to herself (and others) that would never be righted but could be made up for by being a part of this. and as something impossibly powerful that could be both protection and purpose.

and the Darkness wasn’t any of those things, really, but to have agency in her own story required new shackles, but ones she was always straining against. she wouldn’t fit inside the confines of a human mind, let alone a body, at least not well enough to leave it Intact. like lucifer burning through nick, but Worse. because the burns were an expected outcome of skin not strong enough to hold him. humans were built for angels, some were built better and some worse, but they’re meant to work. putting amara in human skin should disconnect the skin and mind and soul from the reality her brother built itself, i think. slowly. bit by bit.

and at the same time, i’d gone and written the kind of wild scenario you really can only write for your thirteen year old mary sue, given that spn oc the part of herald/high priestess/failed vessel. which she pursued with wild abandon like that would fix anything wrong with her <3

in the end, running alongside the borrowed family theming of the original show was my own theme of “how much self-annihilation will you accept to make your point. are you accepting it, really. or are you seeking it.” not just physically, in letting something unmake the base components of what you are as it tries to fit inside you or in it constricting and suffocating itself beyond self-recognition to get inside in the first place, but, obviously, it’s supernatural, how much selfhood do you cede to your family. is it worth it.

it was interesting, if nothing else. let thirteen year old me cook. she had ideas.