#the suspense had me SCREAMING

[arggghhhsstuff]

you know a fic is good when you have to sit up, pace around the room and scream for a bit before going back to reading

[mitchmrner]

morgan rielly should be suspended, there’s no question about that. however, getting an in-person hearing with dops when you’re a first time offender with a clean history (like the spezza situation a few years back) is kind of ridiculous. considering this season, we’ve had: gallagher getting a phone hearing when he lifted his elbow (5-game suspension), dillon getting a phone hearing for an illegal check to the head (3-game suspension) and trouba full on baseball swinging his stick at someone’s head ($5000 fine)…it just doesn’t seem like there is much consistency with the dpos

[we-were-meant-to-be-one]

Thank you Heathers mutuals hivemind, I nearly busted out laughing in that class

It was BAD, I had to cover my mouth and all that lmfao

I think y’all would appreciate the knowledge that I was wearing a trench coat

[fettuccin-e]

Just fell to my fucking knees I literally started breathing heavily while reading this holy shit I cannot get enough air into my LUNGS

the way they just wordlessly follow each other??? After wanting each other for so long and they just know holy FUCK I NEED HIM I NEED HIM BARBARKBDHKSKRJWKKS

vis-à-vis

frankie morales x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: your bedroom window offers a direct view into your cute neighbour's apartment. as time goes by, you two start looking for each other through the glass. shy glances become desperate, needy glimpses into each other's lives until one day, you finally make contact. warnings/tags: neighbour!frankie, some serious exhibitionism, naked window neighbour behaviour, a mild obsession between two strangers, mutual masturbation, brief piv sex between reader and an OC [while frankie watches of course], very little actual foreplay, unprotected piv sex, a hint of possessive!frankie, come eating, getting fucked in a short little sundress yahtzee, two* people that need to be thrown in horny jail [three* if you include me] word count: 4.2k masterlist a/n: so i got caught up last night thinking about vis-a-vis apartments. the exposure of it, the perversion, the intimacy... annnnd this was born. hope you enjoy x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing

You live in a studio apartment on the fifth floor of a complex.

Crowded and cluttered, you live practically on top of yourself. Always squeezing through the doorway, shins permanently littered with grazes and scrapes from where you’ve bumped into the bedframe, the coffee table, the anything. Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, all cramped within 600 square feet.

And there is only one window. A thick, wood framed sheet of glass that rests directly above your bed. When you peer out the window and look down, you are privy to every coming and going in the alleyway below – a constantly overflowing dumpster, a family of rats scavenging for discarded food scraps, the occasional drunken hook up between two sturdy brick walls on a Friday night. But if you let your eyes float up, if you stare directly out your window, you can see into his apartment. Into his kitchen, you realise quickly. Can clearly see a tall cabinet, a wide silver fridge.  

And he’s a stranger to you, in those first few weeks of your lease. And then, slowly but surely, a little more than that.  

At first, it’s just a brief catching of eyes. Awkward, almost shy moments where the two of you find yourselves peering outside at the same moment. Looking away quickly, cringing, drawing the curtains.

And then it’s wary smiles.

You sit up in bed one day, hair greasy and flattened from your pillow. Pull back the curtain and spy him standing in the kitchen with a mug in his hand. Rubbing sleep from his eyes with a tired fist and then pausing, nodding suspiciously at you through the glass. Good morning, stranger.

Another afternoon you get home from work to find him pacing, phone tucked between ear and shoulder, that far away face twisted up in a frown. You catch his eye and smile; offer raised brows and a curious thumbs-up that ask – You doing okay, stranger? He imitates the gesture, face going soft, kind. Long fingers curling into a wave, and then a thumbs-up in return. I’m good, thank you, stranger.  

Your stranger is tall. Built strong, broad, with dark hair, dark features.

Your stranger has a moustache, facial hair, and he scratches his fingers through it when he cooks dinner some evenings.  

Your stranger is never dressed up. He wears weathered t-shirts, hides his hair away beneath caps, slips sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose before he leaves the apartment.  

Sometimes your stranger has guests. Loud, boisterous friends that fill up his kitchen. Two blond men frequent the apartment; lounge against his kitchen counters, nursing beers and talking shit. You hear them sometimes, on the warmer nights. He cracks the window to welcome in a breeze, unaware of you lying in your bed, hidden beneath the windowsill, eavesdropping on deep voices, and bellowing laughter. You play a game with yourself on those nights, trying to pinpoint which voice might be his. Hear the name Benny once or twice and imagine that it could be his name, although it never seems to fit.

Sometimes weeks will go by with no sign of him.

In those times, his curtain stays drawn back – no prying eyes to hide from except yours. You watch the morning light brighten his lonely kitchen. Admire how the setting sun hits his cabinets in a glistening display of orange and yellow. You find yourself anticipating a roommate. A wife or a husband; someone that shares his bed, who sips from that same mug he takes his coffee in each morning. But there is no one else. Your stranger is a solitary creature, just like you.

When he returns from these disappearances, your stranger often looks exhausted. Pours his coffee with hunched shoulders, rests heavier against the bench than is normal. He offers tired, drowsy waves to you in the mornings. Tilts the neck of a beer bottle to you in the evenings, cheers stranger. 

And then one day, a handful of weeks into the sticky Floridian summer, things take a turn.��   

At dusk, freshly showered, you rub a towel over your skin, chasing wayward droplets of water as you tug open a drawer. Dry enough, you twist your hair into the towel to keep it off your skin. Pull a pair of underwear up your legs, slip a thin sleep singlet over your head. And only then do you look. Almost instinctual now, the way your eyes flick and flutter in the direction of the window, curious and searching. And to your surprise, those eyes are already on you. Dark and beady, they peer through the glass, piercing the bare skin of your legs, your arms, your stomach. Face slack and dappled with red, he meets your stare and flinches. Tears himself away and pulls the curtain closed in fast, jerky movements.  

And where there should be shock, or perhaps an affronted uneasiness, you just smile. Tuck yourself into bed and grin, the skin beside your eyes pinching. So endeared to your stranger now, you find your stomach warming at the memory of his blush, his embarrassment at being caught. Pulse quickening, your hand slips beneath the band of your underwear, and you wonder how long he must have stood there. How long he let himself watch you, how much he’d seen. And you know that you want to see it again – that flush on his cheeks, those lips twisting into an apologetic grimace. You make yourself come twice just thinking about it.  

Soon the air gets hotter, wetter, and you wear less clothes around the apartment. Open the curtains earlier, close them later, hoping that he’ll look in. That he’ll see you in your underwear again, or less.

In early July your AC breaks and you resign yourself to lounging in nothing but your littlest underwear most evenings. Thin strips of cotton that only just cover the seam of your cunt, the crease between your ass cheeks. Breasts bare, skin shimmering with sweat – all of it exposed to the warm lamplight of your apartment for your stranger to see as you prance through your space.   

One weekend, after darkness has shrouded the street, you text an old flame. Some guy whose name starts with J and you’ve slept together a handful of times, and always regretted it afterwards. You lay him out on your thin mattress and spread your thighs over his waist, eyes darting upward as he slips inside of you. He notices your stare out the window, mistakes the look in your eyes for nervousness, says someone might see us, and you assure him that no one lives there. You wedge it open, feel the summer breeze whisper against your skin, and he says, someone might hear us, and you assure him that they won’t.  

You grip his shoulder and rock your hips against his, breasts bouncing with every rise and fall of your body, and your stranger pauses at his window. Head tilting to the side, he peers across the alleyway, and you see the way his body jolts. Shoulders stiffening, eyes meeting yours, he doesn’t look away. Drags the hat off his head and stares.  

Eyelids fluttering, you stare at the hard line of his jaw. That expressionless face stares back at you, and you moan when he crosses his arms, biceps pulling taught across his chest, and leans against the wall beside his window. You wonder if he can hear you; hope that he can. Whimper a name that starts with J while your mind calls out to your stranger.  A hand lands on your breast, too soft, too gentle for your liking, and then he’s turning you over. Pushing you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back into his, and when you look up, your stranger has fled the scene and turned out the light.

 

Four days later, you see him for the first time without a pane of glass between you. It’s late, uncharacteristically cool for mid-summer, and you’re tipsy off vodka lime sodas wearing a skirt that leaves little of your legs to the imagination. Your fingers struggle against the keypad, trying to get inside of your building, and you hear laughter down the street. A couple sets of heavy footsteps that get closer with every second.

When you glance over your shoulder, a sort of nervous anticipation bubbles in your stomach.  

He's with the blondes again. One of them has an arm wrapped around his neck, hand on the brim of his cap, threatening to pull it off. The other stumbles along a few steps behind, chuckling under his breath.  

Your breaths are coming short and sharp as you jab a finger against the keypad. Five, seven, nine— 

You hear something clatter against the concrete path. A phone, maybe. And then— 

“Told you not to drink so much, Benny,” a low voice teases, so close now, and something goes tight at the base of your spine.  

You can’t help yourself. You have to look, you have to.  

It’s fleeting, a passing glance over your right shoulder, but your eyes lock with his instantly. Your stranger, in the flesh.  

His pace slows a little, dark brown eyes rounding out as he stares at you. Head turning, turning, looking back now to keep an eye on you even as he comes to a stop outside of his building. Movement catches your attention, and you look back to see the drunk one—Benny—moving to follow them. He meets your eye and flashes a quick wink at you.  

“Benny,” your stranger snaps. A shiver races down your spine. His voice. “C’mon.”  

“Alright, alright,” Benny mutters, jogging now, following the other two men inside.  

You take a deep breath, hands shaking as you press five, seven, nine, four and head into your own building.  

The blondes stay for a few hours. Sounds of a sporting match blare from a TV and drift out the window, sneaking into your apartment. You drink a cold glass of water, and then another, shower and then tuck yourself into bed naked. Another hour passes, and the cool front that plagued the city for the day slips away, allowing that familiar humidity to attack your senses once more. You kick your sheets to the end of the bed, restless, and strain your ears to listen. Television off, no more Benny now. The neon numbers on your alarm clock blink, telling you that it’s just past midnight.

Carefully, you sit up in bed. Turn a little to see if he’s there. And he is, of course, he is.  

Your stranger is shirtless, stood a few metres away from the window, clad in a pair of loose black shorts. Dark hair a mess on the top of his head, and it’s curly. Gorgeous little tufts of wavy hair that cascade around his ears and—you’re salivating at the sight of him.  

He steps closer to the window, and then closer again. His shoulders are wide, arms long and strong. But his middle is soft, and you watch as he rests a broad palm across it. Shy, maybe. Hiding from you, maybe. You wish he wouldn’t.

So you rise up, perch on your heels and expose your bare chest to him. You think you can see him swallow, think you can see his hand twitch against that gorgeous stomach. And then you raise a hand and graze one of your nipples, slow. Feel it harden beneath your touch, pinch it between your thumb and index fingers as he watches. And when that hand on his stomach lowers, disappearing beneath the band of his shorts, you feel nothing but relief.  

Please, you whisper, begging him. Please, please, please.  

Your free hand slips beneath your pillow and grips your vibrator, hot pink and long. Never taking your eyes away from his, you press the on button and glide it between your thighs. Jolt when the tip of it presses between your slick folds, clit twitching beneath silicone.  

His face is flushed again, jaw clenched tight as he steps as close to the window as he can possibly get. He’s shaking his head, chest rising and falling faster now. You notch the toy at your entrance and press it inside, mouth falling open at the stretch, and you wish it were him, wish you knew how it felt to be touched by him. Endlessly, painfully needy for him.  

Bathed in soft yellow lamplight, the muscle in his bicep strains. It makes his skin look waxy and warm and you wish you were there. Want to know what he sees in you when he peers through your window; if you look as angelic as he does.

His elbow shifts, jaw titling upward as his chest heaves, gaze unwavering. The base of the window hides everything below his waistline from view, but this is enough. It’s enough to see the soft swell of his stomach, the dark smattering of hair across his pecs, the tension in his right shoulder as he touches himself.

You come with a groan, face a twisted mess of pleasure and agony and please, please, please, and you think you can hear him moan in response. Think he must be able to tell, because his left hand brackets against the top of the window, bracing himself, and he works his cock harder, faster. Arm shifting in rapid movements as he fucks his hand, dark eyes trained on your softening face. And when he finishes, hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead, mouth ajar, you whimper, desperate to know how it tastes. You imagine that salty slick on your lips, your tongue. Imagine swallowing it down and making it yours.  

And a few days later, you do exactly that.   

You walk home from a late dinner and the cool evening draft is kind against your skin. It plays with the hem of your sundress, flicking it up to expose the tops of your thighs. When you reach your building, you text you friend home safe, and tuck your phone back inside your purse. You’ve only made it halfway up the path to the complex when you see him, walking towards you from the other end of the street. He reaches his building before he notices you, and you watch him consider the door for a moment. Weigh up his options. And it feels like minutes, like an eternity, although it’s only a few seconds, before he continues walking, feet light as he makes his way towards you.

Five, seven, nine, four, you push open the heavy door and step inside. Hold it open for him to follow.  

He does so silently. Doesn’t say a word as he steps inside and glances around, as you make your way toward the stairs. Doesn’t comment on the out of order sign on the elevator, and doesn’t complain as he trails behind you up five flights of stairs. And with every step, you feel your stomach tightening. Feel liquid heat coiling between your thighs; that hot, wet desire that has been so so patient with the two of you.

Your stranger only ever lets himself fall a few paces behind, and as you grace the landing of the fifth floor, you feel fingertips graze the hem of your dress. A whisper of a touch; the tips of his fingers brush against the back your thigh for a split second, and disappear just as fast.  

You rifle through your purse for the key, slot it inside the hole, and then he’s there. Hot chest against your back, a hand on your waist, nudging you inside. Finally.  

A rough exhale pours from you as he presses your back against the closed door, and your stranger’s mouth is there to swallow it.

Warm, plump lips mould against yours, and you moan in relief. Knock his hat to the ground, fingers tangling in those dark curls, holding him against you.  

Face to face, at last. 

Everything is sticky and hot in your apartment, and you feel a sheen of sweat form across your chest, your stomach. The thin fabric of your dress clings to your skin and you sigh as his hands grip your hip, your thigh, hitching one of your knees around his waist. You haven’t even turned on the light, you want to see him up close, want to see everythi— 

The zipper on his jeans scratches at your inner thigh, and when the thick weight of his cock presses against your cunt, you both let out a ragged moan.  

“You want this?” he breathes into your mouth, voice a low rasp. The way his moustache tickles the skin of your face makes you throb.

“Yes,” you gasp, inhaling his scent as your tongue presses inside of his mouth. You taste behind his teeth, feel them bite and suck at your lips as he grinds into you. His clothed cock presses your soaked underwear between the crease of your cunt, material rubbing perfectly against your clit. “Ohh, I need you to fuck me.”  

“Shit,” he growls, damp forehead heavy against yours. “So fucking pretty.”  

He pulls back a fraction, rucking up the front of your dress in his fist and holding it against your stomach.  

“You wear this for me?” he asks, eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin, every slip of material still covering your body.  

“Yes,” you whimper again, mouth falling open as he nips at your neck, your collarbone. His free hand slips between your bodies, nudging your panties to the side, and then a thick finger glides through the slick spread of your cunt. He sighs against your skin, fingers rubbing messily against your clit until you’re keening, arching your chest into his.  

“You’re so wet,” he marvels quietly. “Wanted this cock for so long, hmm?”  

“It’s all I think about,” you confess, and the words burn as they leave your mouth. A dirty little secret that you’ve never even voiced out loud to yourself.

“And what about him?” he urges as a thick finger nudges its way inside of you. “Huh? You want him like this too?”  

You gasp, eyes pinching closed. You can feel the ridges of his knuckles as he presses deeper, squeezing another finger inside. Curling them against the softest spot within you, stretching you out for him.  

“Who?”  

“That fuckin’ guy,” he grunts against the hinge of your jaw. The memory swims in your vision; Josh or Jeremy or Jacob or whatever his name is fucking you while you looked for him.  

“He’s no one,” you moan, hips bucking against his hand. “Just—fuck—needed to see if you’d look, I wanted you to look.”  

He laughs, low and breathy against your neck, craning back to stare at your face while he fucks you with his fingers.

“You want me that bad?” he murmurs, gaze heavy. A sharp pink tongue sneaks out to wet his lips and you whimper, eyes zeroing in on his mouth.  

“Want you,” you nod slowly, tilting your chin up to kiss him again. He coaxes your jaw open wider, and his kiss is desperate, fast, a clashing clicking mess of tongues and teeth and spit.  

His fingers pull away from your soft clutch and you whine into his mouth, only abated by the sound of his zipper coming undone, of his jeans hitting the floor. Your fingers fumble with buttons of your dress, but he stops you on the third one with a hushed whisper of leave it on, of you look so good like this.  

His cock slips between your folds, and he grinds the thick length of it against you. The thick, drooling head bumps your clit, and you cry out.  

“Oh my god,” you mumble, and it’s so hot in here, so much all of a sudden, and you’re dizzy. Head a spinning blur, body nothing but a trembling wet mess beneath his palms.     

“S’Frankie,” he says then, notching the tip at your dripping entrance.

“What?” you murmur, eyes flashing open as he begins to press inside. It’s a stinging burn as you stretch around him, and your leg tightens around his hip, desperate to have him closer, deeper, after so much waiting.  

“My name,” he pants, eyes wide and searching, forehead knocking against yours again. His nose brushes against yours, so soft. “Frankie.”  

“Frankie,” you repeat, and it feels so right in your mouth. Something in his expression crumples at the sound of it, and he pushes in all the way to the hilt. You gasp, a wet, rough sound, jaw swinging loose as he settles inside of you.  

“Fuck,” you cry out, head falling back against the door. “You’re so much bigger than I—”  

“Hmm?” he noses at your jaw, pulling back a little just to press in deeper, gripping your hips, your panties hooked around his thumb. “You can take it, pretty girl. Thought this was what you wanted?”   

A hand falls to grip the flesh of your ass and then he’s lifting you off your feet entirely, clutching you to his chest. You grip his shoulders desperately, both legs locked in a vice around his waist now, and all you can do is steel yourself when he finally begins to fuck you.  

It’s fast and loud and wet. He holds you against his chest, strong hands lifting you up and down on his cock relentlessly. With every stroke his tip glides against your g-spot, and soon enough you’re a stuttering mess, vision blurring as your body goes loose and pliant in his grasp.

“Feel so good,” he groans, hiding his face in your neck. “Been fucking waiting for this, you have no idea.” 

“Frankie—”  

“Thought about it every night,” he grunts, teeth snagging on your earlobe. “I’d fuck myself thinking about how’d you’d taste, how soft your skin would be. Fuck.”  

You grip the back of his neck and bring his mouth to yours, but you can’t even bring yourself to kiss him. Just two open mouths, breathing each other in. Twist your fingers through the curls at his nape and tug, and you think you must be saying please, please, just like the first time he made you come, because he fucks you harder. Pushes you against the wall and pistons into you, unforgiving, hitting something inside of you that no one ever has before.  

“Oh, oh,” you gasp, eyes widening as you feel that familiar tingle in your spine. Your toes curl against his skin, desperately seeking purchase, something to ground you as you hover over the edge. It’s so close now, suddenly right within your reach, and you grind yourself against his pelvis, meeting him thrust for devastating thrust.

“Say my name again,” he rasps then, and you do, over and over again. “Wanna hear it when I make you come, please.”  

Frankie, Frankie, Frankie, you moan it into his skin, his mouth, your fingernails carve it the word into the flesh of his shoulder.  

It spurs him on, and he is unrelenting, giving you every he has, every wet shift of his cock inside of you punching the air from your lungs until you pull hot and tight around him, cunt pulsing, sucking him in deeper as you come. Body shivering and jerking, you’re trapped between his large frame and the unforgiving wood of your door, nothing to do except writhe and gasp and take it as he keeps fucking you.  

You can hear him grunting under his breath. Hot against your neck, licking the words es perfecto into your skin. And you wish you could understand, wish you could say something back, but the only word you know anymore is Frankie.  

“You wanna taste it?” he grunts, and yes, you cry, yesyesyesgodyes.  

He pulls out and you drop to your knees with a thud, drooling tongue slipping past your lips just in time to catch the hot, heady spurts of his come.

Frankie presses the tip of his cock inside your mouth and when you close your lips around it, he lets out a drawn-out groan. You hollow out your cheeks and chase down every bit of himself that he has to give to you. Slip your hand beneath his shirt, lay it over his stomach, that gorgeous stomach, and feel it rise and fall beneath your fingers. His come pools on your tongue and dribbles down your throat; hot and salty and bitter, but better than you could’ve ever imagined.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so good for me.” Strong hands cradle your face, thumbs digging into your skin as his hips buck forward once, twice more, finally emptying the last of himself onto your tongue. “Can't believe this." 

And only when you’ve swallowed every last drop do you let his cock slip from the warmth of your mouth. Gasping for breath, already missing him, you look up with wet. He brushes hair off of your face.

“You good?” he asks softly, cupping your jaw in his palm.  

“Yeah,” you murmur, nuzzling into his hand. “I’m good.”  

Slowly, Frankie helps you up from the ground, hand on your elbow to steady you, and then looks around your apartment.

He’s quiet for a moment, still breathing heavy, hand slipping around your waist, and his eyebrows drift down into a small frown as he gazes at your home for the first time.  

“Jesus,” he finally speaks. “This place is fucking tiny.”  

a/n: okay but do you have a naked window neighbour or are YOU the naked window neighbour? i've always been the latter, oops, anwyays thanks for reading!

[poguehearted77]

Winter's Chance

Summary: It's Rafe's turn to have your son for the weekend, but it seems the weather wants you to spend the holidays together.

--Finally some Baby Daddy Rafe

With delicate rubs to your son's tummy, you desperately tried to get him to calm down with soft pleads and overeager soothing. He'd been fussing all day, so much that you'd called the doctor to make sure everything was okay.

They simply reassured you that it may just be a prolonged stage of fussiness. Most babies grow out of it around 4 months which is exactly where Max had just reached a few weeks ago.

Just when he was finally beginning to calm for a moment your ears are filled with the chime of your doorbell. Max picks up his crying as if he had never stopped. Your eyes roll, already knowing who is on the other side of the door.

You gently scooped him up to rest over your shoulder on top of the little binkie you tend to have thrown over your shoulder at all times for moments like this. He was cute, but the spit-up was never pretty and you were always prepared.

Opening the door from a distance you weren't expecting to see Rafe step in partially covered in snow. It distracted you momentarily before Max's cries cut through the shock.

"I know, I know." You whine, gently rocking him, backing away from the cold air that swept against your feet. "Hurry up, and close the door." His eyes roll, "Hello to you too." He closes the door and stomps off the snow from his boots before stepping out of them and hanging up his jacket.

"Woah, woah, what are you doing? This is just a pick-up, then you can have fun trying to calm him down at your place." Rafe stands still, his thumb gesturing to the door behind him, "You haven't seen the news, have you? They're closing the roads, so we're snowed in. The only reason I made it here is because of the suspension on my truck."

Your face turns sour and Max continues to cry.

"So why did you come in the first place if you knew you wouldn't be able to make it back?" He ignores your question for the most part, "Relax, baby. As excited as you are to see me, I didn't come for you. I came for my son. There he is," Rafe's expression lights up as he reaches for Max and takes him out of your hold.

"Rafe you can't just take him and expect him to calm-"

For the first time in seven hours, silence consumes the room. No more screams and tearful cries. "You've got to be fucking with me," You don't say it loudly, but Rafe still hears.

"Guess he was just missin' his daddy, huh? Isn't that right, Max?" Rafe's tone is playful as he pokes at Max's tummy which elicits tiny giggles and the brightest smile you'd seen all day.

You walk away, headed towards the kitchen. Not sure why you were moving so fast, Rafe was hot on your heels. "It's not your fault, it's probably just been a long day-" He finally shuts the fuck up with his smug remarks when he hears a soft cry, "Y/n," Your name rolls off his tongue, tender and sweet. "Baby, what's wrong?" Effortlessly, he supports Max with one hand while he reaches to turn you so you're facing him.

Your eyes are filled with tears, lips quivering ever so slightly and he knows what's coming. He's seen you like this more times than he can count. He takes you under his arm, your cheek pressed to his chest and you break down, muttering into the fabric of his hoodie.

He comforts you with a big hand rubbing your back, soothing you the way he learned from those parenting books that he swear he never read. "It's so hard, Rafe." Is all you manage to say through broken cries for the first five minutes before you're pushing off him, expression more angry than upset? "He was crying all day, and the second you walk in, he's perfectly fine."

Rafe's lips frown, puzzled. "And that's a bad thing?--"

"Yes! Why do you get to be Superman?!" Earlier, the sound of a pin drop would disturb Max from calming, but now even your exclamations left him unfazed, as long as he was in Rafe's arms he was unbothered.

As a matter of fact, with a second glance, you notice he'd actually fallen asleep. Just Perfect. Another win for Superman.

He chuckles, leading you both to have a seat on the couch. Your son sleeping soundly in his father's hold. "Well, I think I've got the abs for it." His shit-eating grin spreads across his lips.

"You try carrying a baby in your stomach for nine months, and you tell me if you still have abs after." Subtly, his tongue wets his lips at the memory, "All I remember is how good you looked pregnant. Shit, wanna do it again?" You'd never wanted to hurt someone so badly.

"You're lucky you're holding my son." He scoffs, leaning in slightly as if to speak away from the baby. "I seem to remember the two of us going half on the conception, and a few times after that." You air-swat him and stand, making your way for the stairs. "I'm going to take a nap."

The hours flew by as you finally had your first uninterrupted nap in what felt like years. By the time you woke up, the sun was long gone, and there was a thick layer of fresh snow sitting on your window pane. You headed downstairs and stopped at the bottom of the steps to appreciate the view.

Nothing melted you quite like the sight of Rafe taking care of Max. You hated to admit it, but he was a good dad. A really good one. Hot, too. Rafe held the bottle to Max's lips, murmuring some undistinguishable babbles with a soft smile. Surely speaking a language only the two of them can understand.

"I hope you warmed the bottle before you gave it to him." You say, and he finally notices you standing by the stairs, stalking your way over and sitting beside him.He ignores you, knowing that you're just trying to get under his skin. "You look well rested." He remarks and you sigh with a soft nod. "Yeah, I am actually." He grins to himself, "Must be a miracle to sleep well on that cheap-ass mattress you got up there."

"Sorry, we can't all have premium mattresses." Rafe pulls the bottle back once he realizes Max has had his fill. "Y'know my money is your money right? I give you ten thousand a month but everything I have is yours, too." Standing him up on his lap first, Rafe holds the baby over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

"Well, I don't need to live in a fifteen thousand sq ft house to be happy unlike you." He shakes his head slowly, his gaze falls on you, somber. "I seem happy to you? I don't give a shit how big my place is. It's always going to be empty without you two in it... " He trails off, alluding there's more to come.

"Rafe.. What are you saying?"

"Move in with me, again." Your head shakes before you sputter profuse denials, "No, Rafe, we can't we tried that before remember? We don't get along. Technically, we're not even together." The conversation is briefly interrupted by a small gurgled burp on Max's behalf.

Rafe leans down to place a drowsy Max in his rocker in front of the couch before sitting back up. "Things were different then, we were eighteen. I can't do the back-and-forth anymore. Don't you wanna wake up in the morning, see that Max is taken care of and I'm making you breakfast, then we go back to bed and I take care of you? Huh?" He hums, his voice igniting sparks along the length of your neck as he nosed along it.

"Rafe.." your voice is shaky, feeling the heat from the discussion.

"Whadd'ya say, hm?" You reflect, having Rafe stay with you today, in just a few short hours you'd been able to take a break, he held you when you cried like he always did. You'd hardly even fought. Though that was no surprise, the two of you fought considerably less ever since Max came into the picture.

"Okay, yes." You can feel the lines from his smile stretch against your jaw just before he begins to pepper kisses on your cheek. "Y'know, we made the world's cutest baby ever right?" You smile, both your gazes focused on the little one before you.

"He's got your eyes, for sure." Rafe states and you giggle, "You're just saying that because they're brown." He sits up straight, heartfully disagreeing. "I'm not. They're the same eyes that I fell in love with when I first laid my eyes on you, and the same ones that humbled me when they looked up at me for the first time in the NICU."

His words were touching. You're seeing a whole new side of him. Not the usually hot-headed and impulsive man you were used to. This one was sweeter, softer, and more sincere.

You reeled him in for the first kiss, his lips soft as they pressed against yours, his hands confidently holding you at your waist. "Ah, I see you're taking me up on my previous offer. Let's go for a girl this time, yeah?" He grins, and you pinch him.

[thebibliosphere]

Speaking of therapy, I say, as though we're old friends, and you're not a stranger trapped in this metaphorical elevator with me and you can hear the suspension wires starting to fray.

I've been doing a lot of work recently that's focused on imposter syndrome and the feeling that no matter how well or how much I do, I'm not good enough. That I'm somehow tricking everyone into thinking my work is actually good.

Some days it's a minor niggle in my head that I can gentle and soothe with logic and affirmations. Or smother, depending on the mood. Other times it's loud and all-consuming and the mental anguish it causes me is so real I can feel it twitching in my muscles. This desperate fight-or-flight instinct with nowhere to go and nothing to fight but myself.

Anyway, because I'm several types of Mentally Unwell™, I was switching between workshop sheets ahead of next week. Filling in different forms. (Trying to get a good grade in therapy) And I got my "recognize your harmful ADHD coping mechanisms" worksheet mixed in with the "you're not actually lying to people, you just feel like you are because your brain is full of weasels" worksheet, and seeing them side by side made something go topsy turvy in my head, and I just had to sit and breathe for a couple of minutes until the urge to scream passed. Because it clicked, it all suddenly clicked.

The reason the imposter syndrome workshops and therapy sessions aren't sticking was because I do routinely trick people into thinking I'm someone I'm not.

Because I'm masking my ADHD for their convenience.

I've always known there was something wrong with me. My neurotypical peers made it abundantly clear I didn't fit in or was failing in some way I couldn't see nor remedy, no matter how hard I tried.

So I compressed myself into a workaholic box of hyper-competence in the hopes they'd stop noticing the flaws and exploit like me instead. And then subsequently lived with the daily fear that if they looked too close, they'd realize I'm a monumental fuck up with enough personal baggage to block the Suez Canal.

If you ever need someone to burn themselves to ashes for your comfort and convenience, I'm your gal.

Or I used to. Until I had a bit of a breakdown, and the rubber band holding my brain together snapped and pinged off into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.

Unfortunately, the trauma of living like that didn't also fuck off and instead left a gaping maw where my personality ought to be, so now I get to deal with that aftermath.

And it's that aftermath that's affecting the imposter syndrome shit. Because yes, I am hyper-competent and good at what I do-- but it doesn't feel real because that is how I mask.

And the truly frustrating thing is I am good at what I do. I am not pretending. I worked hard to be good at this. It just feels like I'm dicking around because 90% of my personality turns out to be trauma masquerading as humor in a trenchcoat, and having people genuinely like something weird I'm doing is so foreign my brain has decided it's just another form of masking.

I'm pretending to be a good author so people will think I'm a good author, and my brain thinks we are in Danger of being found out. We are in Danger, and writing is Dangerous because then people will know I'm Weird and not whatever palatable version I've presented myself as for their NT sensibilities.

Like the neurotic vampire with a raging praise kink wasn't an obvious giveaway.

Anyway. I got nothing else. Thanks for listening.

I'm going to go be very normal in another room and not stare into the abyss of my own soul for a bit.

[slxtarchive]

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 … you’ve never been eaten out and matt’s never tried…so firsts all around

you and matt had been hanging out in your room for the past hour. you had just gotten home and he decided to stay over for a bit.

you were watching a show that had a tiny sex scene in it.

“it cannot be that good.” your jaw was dropped as the actress was screaming.

matt laughed at your comment. “that guys ego is definitely high if he’s getting a reaction like that.

“yeah, like she’s practically screaming and shouting. although, who am i to judge. i wouldn’t know.” you shrugged. “but i mean if she’s screaming that loud at being eaten out, imagine how good the sex is.”

unfortunately that comment you made had matt fantasizing about how it would be to eat a girl out and it was odd because he saw you as the girl.

he was fidgeting with his shorts as he felt himself harden at his thoughts. he decided to try to ignore it until you asked him an interesting question.

“had a girl ever screamed like that when you had given her head? i’m curious.” you popped a popcorn in your mouth.

he hesitated. “u-uhh, i’ve never really…” he didn’t finish his sentence. you gulped.

“really?” you asked in shock. “sorry, i just…i’d just thought that you have.”

“no..have you ever..you know..” he didn’t want to say anything else.

“ever…” you were waiting for him to ask.

“been eaten out.” he blurted. his boner making things worse.

“oh! um no i haven’t. i’ve like imagined it but nope, never happened to me.” the movie was the least of both of your worries now that you were both thinking of the same topic.

matt couldn’t help but imagine how you’d be in that situation. someone’s head in between your thighs — preferably his head.

“all quiet now.. have i made things awkward.” you pretended to wince.

“oh, no sorry i was just thinking… i kinda wanna know how to. like how to eat a girl out, it’d be good to have some experience i guess.” he confessed.

“uh huh…” you nodded slowly. “maybe…you can practice? on me.”

his eyes widened at your proposal. “you don’t think it would be a little weird?”

“no, im just gonna tell you what feels good and then we’ll both get what we want! given you make me cum, duh.” you laughed.

keep it cool. you thought.

“are you sure?” matt asked again, not wanting for this to be something you’d regret in the near future.

you nodded and that’s how you got to the position in which you were leaned against the headboard waiting for matt to take your underwear off.

“go ahead.” you reassured him as he toyed with your waistband.

“okay.” he whispered pulling your panties down slowly.

the suspense of the situation had you aroused. you were excited but at the same time nervous. you kept telling yourself, he’s your best friend, it’s okay. he won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with.

your pussy and matt were face to face. he gulped a little intimated because he wanted to be good at it.

“sooo i just, go right in?” he asked pursing his lips.

“i guess so… maybe idk, foreplay? or wait is this considered foreplay?” you asked confused.

“i don’t- im not sure.” he said, unable to tear his eyes away from your center.

“okay, so maybe like use your fingers first?” you knew it was seconds away from being awkward.

as you were about to just say forget it you felt matt’s finger ghost over your leaky hole. he gathered some of your arousal and lathered it over your clit. he then continued to stimulate your clit. your legs bucked up at the sensation.

“am i doing okay?” he whispered, the only thing illuminating his face was the sunset lamp in the corner of your room.

“y-yeah.” you moaned slightly, as he continued to stimulate you. you looked down at him, his fluffy hair and his beautiful eyes. the sight alone had you wanting to just-

your thoughts couldn’t even complete because you felt matt’s hot tongue on you. you let out a deep breath as you leaned back and closed your eyes at the pleasure.

his tongue flicked over your clit as he looked up at you for reassurance that he was making you feel good. while matt was taking his time, his thoughts were elsewhere enjoying the way you tasted. in seconds he was devouring you, addicted to the way you tasted.

he licked a long stripe over your center pulling your thighs toward him. he sucked on your puffy clit. “r-right there. fuck—” your eyes tightly shut.

“you taste so fucking good…” matt muttered against you. he was consuming you. it was as if he lost all control in himself. he couldn’t get enough. “tell me how good i’m doing.”

you nodded quickly. “you’re doing s-so good.” you threaded your hands through his brunette hair. yes you had fantasized about this situation — not with matt specifically but this situation for sure.

matt’s ego boosted as a spurt of whimpers escaped you as he entered his middle finger in you. he pumped it in and out whilst continuing his previous work on your clit. he had been doing so good, you were on the verge of cumming.

matt could tell too — by the way your thighs were starting to close around his head and shake. he didn’t know how he had lived without the taste of you on his tongue. he didn’t ever want to stop. he wanted to do this everyday of his life.

you tried to blurt out the words but you struggled; sensitive to how fast he was flicking your clit. he looked up to see your struggle and grinned against you.

“go on, cum on my tongue. i wanna taste it.” he begged. matt needed to taste you. he enjoyed seeing you writhing underneath him. the way you were struggling to grapple onto reality.

you nodded finally feeling your body seize up as your orgasm washed over you like a big wave. you were tugging on matt’s hair trying to get him away from your sensitive pussy but your orgasm made him want to push you further.

you had begun to feel so sensitive you tried to push his head away as much as you could while whining. “f-fuck — sensitive matt.” you begged and he finally pulled away.

your chest was heaving up and down. you had started to slow your breathing and opened your eyes. matt with your shiny substance drooled and covering his mouth and chin. he had a smug grin on his face symbolizing he was definitely pleased with himself.

“please tell me you’ll let me do that again.” he licked his lips.

you took another deep breath and combed through his hair with your hand. “how could i not?”

© slxtarchive

[gloomwitchwrites]

You tell them you paid $200 to put premium air in your tires.

Anon! I am SCREAMING! This prompt has me cackling in the best way possible. I know that this comes from a TikTok trend, and I've seen a few of the videos under this prank, and they're absolutely hilarious. I had a very fun time with this one. Giggled during the world writing process. Presented in four drabbles. Enjoy!

Task Force 141 x Reader

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings: swearing, humor, pranks

Word Count: 400

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Love,” breathes John, placing his hands on either side of you. “You did what?”

“The low tire pressure light came on—”

“I know that. After.”

“I stopped at the shop you always take my car to. They offered me premium air.”

John takes a shuddering breath. “Premium air?”

“Yes,” you beam. “I got a good deal.”

“A good deal?” he repeats.

“Half off! Two hundred dollars.”

John blinks. His face growing pale. “What?”

You wave your hand flippantly. “It’s usually four hundred.”

“Four hundred?” John’s voice spikes, almost cracking.

“Helps with suspension!”

“Fucking hell. Show me the bloody receipt.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny twists in the driver seat, staring you down. “You did what?”

“I put premium air in the tires. It was a deal. Came with the oil change.”

Johnny’s mouth drops open. Closes. Opens again. “Premium air,” he says, almost absently.

“They only charged me two hundred.”

“Two hundred?” chokes Johnny.

“Why?” you ask innocently. “Is that bad?”

“Bloody hell, love,” he groans, leaning back in his seat, closing his eyes.

“Used your credit card for the points, too!” you beam, giving Johnny your best smile.

Johnny sighs and starts the car. “You’re lucky you’re cute and I love you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Baby, listen.”

“It’s great, isn’t it? It’ll help with the balance.”

“The balance?” asks Kyle. He mutters your name and then rubs his hands over his face.

“Should I not have gotten the premium air upgrade?” you ask.

Kyle is hanging by a thread. He breathes deep, and holds his hands out in front of him.

“Do you have the receipt?

“No.”

“Where did you take the car?”

You frown. “I did it for you. Are you not happy?”

Kyle sighs. “I love you. I am grateful. Just tell me where you went. I only want to talk with them.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I said the tires needed to be rotated.”

“I know,” you say. “But they made me an offer. Said it was a good deal.”

“Premium air?”

“Yes,” you shrug. “And?”

Simon goes red in the face. “How much did they charge for ‘premium air?’”

“Two hundred.”

Simon stares up at the sky. “And how much did they charge you for the tire rotation.”

“One fifty.”

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “Get in the fucking car.”

“Why?” you snap. “Did I do something wrong?”

Simon sighs loudly. “No. Just want to talk to the fucking wanker that sold you premium fucking air.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @daemondoll @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@pearljamislife @ash-tarte @eternallyvenus @spookyscaryspoon @vrb8im

[eiightysixbaby]

horror movies & chill

word count: 2.6k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie tries to scare you and gets more than he bargained for.

cw: SMUT - 18+ MINORS DNI. this is literally porn with a smidge of plot, sorry not sorry. mask kink, choking, degradation kink on the low (eddie calls reader slut/whore), fingering, unprotected piv, creampie

The TV screen lights up the dark living room, flashes of different colors streaking across the space. You sit on the couch, blanket draped over your lap as your knee bounces absentmindedly. Your boyfriend had wandered off to get something, and now you sit alone in suspense as the girl on screen figures out there’s a killer in her house. The movie goes eerily quiet, the lone heroine peering around her silent home. You know what’s coming next. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know that when it gets too quiet, a jump scare is right around the corner.

And yet.

You scream in unison with the girl on television, two hands gripping your shoulders from behind just as the fictional killer grabs his target. You spring up off of the couch, the blanket falling to the floor in a heap. You spin around, frantic, your body gone cold for a moment. Wicked laughter erupts in front of you as you get your bearings, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

“God dammit, Eddie!” you shout, hand over your heart as you attempt to steady your breathing. “You absolute asshole!”

Eddie’s doubled over behind the couch, a cheap Halloween store Ghostface mask covering his head. He’s still laughing, trying to get words out and failing.

“Baby…” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even though he’s trying to be serious. What a dick. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d get you that good,” he says, walking towards you.

“You’re such a jerk sometimes,” you reply, but nevertheless you let him grab your arms, rubbing soothing patterns on the skin.

“I know. I am, baby, you’re right. That was mean,” he agrees, nodding his head beneath the black and white mask. You know he'd be giving you puppy-dog eyes if you could see him.

You can’t help but laugh, the initial panic leaving your body. You must’ve looked petrified, and you’re a little mad he scared you so badly.

“You’ll have to make it up to me,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest.

Eddie’s head cocks to one side, sympathetic, playing it up for you. “Of course, sweetheart. And how do I do that?” he asks, stepping slightly closer to you.

He wants a genuine answer, but you find your breath hitching in your throat. Maybe it’s the way his fingers rub circles into your lower back. Maybe it’s the heat radiating from his body onto yours. Maybe it’s the sound of his labored breathing beneath that sweaty mask that's getting to you. You press your thighs together, suddenly feeling too hot for such a cold October day.

And Eddie can see, through the mesh eye cutouts, the way you bite your lip just slightly. He can see the way your lips part but no words come out, the way you tilt your hips closer to his. And he definitely feels the way your fingers hook into the belt-loops on his jeans, drawing him in.

“Oh my god. Are you into this right now?” he asks, voice dripping with his smug attitude. He’s grinning like the damn Cheshire Cat, if only you could see it.

You don’t answer right away, shifting on your feet. You look down, not sure if you have the gumption to tell your boyfriend the god damn Ghostface mask is turning you on right now. You were scared shitless mere minutes ago. But the way your heart pounds now is completely different to the way it had before.

“Shut up….” you mumble, your face growing incredibly warm.

“You are so fucking into this right now,” he says, laughing as he gets the last word out.

“Okay, if you’re gonna make fun-” you start, drawing your body away. Eddie doesn’t let you finish.

“Waitwaitwait,” he interrupts, pulling you back to him. “I just didn’t expect it, is all,” he reassures, his voice sounding muffled beneath the rubbery material.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, eagerly anticipating his next move. You can't quite bring yourself to act first.

He brings your body flush against his, two fingers gliding up one of your arms, sending chills down your spine. He leans his face close to your ear, his breathing audible. “I won’t judge if you like the mask, baby,” he purrs, his voice deeper now.

His other hand wraps around your waist, palm pressing into your lower back, pushing your crotch against his. You gasp, goosebumps perking up along your arms. Screams erupt from the movie, the final girl running free from her potential killer. It’s comedic, really, how you’re stood here ready to jump the killer’s bones.

Eddie’s hips roll, just slightly, but enough for you to feel the tent in his pants. You let out a shaky breath, your body seeking him out, wanting him to give you more of that friction.

“What is it, babe?” he taunts. “You want me?”

“Eddie…” is all you get out, a breathy little thing, your hands pressed to his chest.

And then he’s pressing you against the wall, hiking one of your legs around his waist, his crotch pressing against your needy core. One big hand comes to wrap around your throat, cold rings soothing the flames that lap at your skin. He squeezes, making you delightfully hazy, pinning you hard against the wall with his body.

“This what you want, baby? Want me to fucking ruin you?” he asks, voice akin to a growl, squeezing your throat yet again.

“P-please,” you mewl, desperate for more. You know you’re soaking through your panties, practically aching for him.

Something about not being able to see him drives you crazy. Relying on just his voice, trying to gauge his tone. You’re writhing beneath him, grinding yourself against him. He’s so hard it has to be painful, you can feel it even through the layer of denim covering his bottom half.

“Oh, she’s so desperate, huh? Pussy needs me, baby? God damn…” he rasps, and you throb for him.

His fingers dig into the meat of your thigh where he holds it, giving it a sharp squeeze. His other hand removes itself from your neck, tugging down the zipper on his jeans. You undo the button for him, just as eager to get his pants down as he is. His cock stands at attention beneath the fabric of his boxers, begging to be touched. He ignores it for the meantime, though, releasing his hold on your leg and letting you drop it. He makes quick work of sliding your leggings and panties down, fingers collecting the honey that drips from you.

Groaning, he brings his fingers to your mouth, prompting you to suck them. You oblige, mouth opening and enveloping his digits. Your tongue swipes over them, tasting yourself and coating them with saliva. And then they’re pulled from your lips, teasing your clit before slipping into your cunt. Your leg wraps around his waist once more, allowing for a better angle. He scissors those two fingers inside of you, his breathing heavy, sounding almost amplified from beneath the mask. Your hips buck forward, forcing his fingers deeper. One hand grips your side, pinning you back against the wall.

“Don’t be fuckin’ greedy, slut,” Eddie barks, words sending sparks right through you.

His fingers curl in a ‘come here’ motion, your body feeling boneless as you try to keep yourself upright. He laughs, a devious thing, clearly satisfied with how pliant you are for him. You can tell how wet you are from the slick sounds coming from every glide of his fingers, your body so desperately craving more of him. He adds a third finger, prying you open even farther with complete ease, grunting as he feels the way you tense around him.

“Eddie,” you gasp, “f-feels so good.”

“I know it does, baby, I know,” he coos, smirking to himself at the way your body writhes beyond your control. “Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy, hm?”

“Yeah, oh god,” you cry, head tipping back as you moan to the ceiling, his fingers pressing so deep inside of you.

He moans despite himself, your cunt completely drenching his fingers. His cock twitches in his boxers, leaks and pleads for you. You’re a little blurry through the eyes of Ghostface, but he can still make out the way your face contorts in pleasure. He loves making you feel like this, loves having you in the palm of his hand.

“My filthy girl, so fuckin’ wet for me all because I put this mask on, is that it? Really gets you going, huh baby?”

He wanted you to like the mask, if he’s honest, and the fact that it’s working on you is driving him up a fucking wall. He needs to be inside of you, needs to fuck you hard and pump you full of his cum before he loses it.

Three fingers slide out of you, squelching slightly as you suddenly clench around nothing. He yanks his boxers down, merely a hindrance to him, his thick cock springing free. You whimper at the sight of it, chewing on your lip as you watch him wrap his hand around the shaft. He pumps himself a few times, lets his pre-cum drip over his fingers, and it makes you ache. You feel like your body is on fire, you need him so bad, white-hot flames licking up your thighs.

A few more pumps and then he’s releasing himself, hoisting you up so both of your legs tangle around him. He grips the meat of your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh the best he can. He lines his cock up just right, your cunt glistening with your arousal. And you want to kiss him so bad, you want to feel your tongue against his and you want him to bite you, to suck bruises into your neck. The fact that you can’t almost makes you crazier, spurring you on more. You can only imagine what his face looks like as he sheathes himself inside of you, can only imagine those perfect parted lips as he sighs blissfully.

His cock pushes through your slick folds until you can feel his balls pressed against you, his thick length fully seated inside of you. It’s such an enticing stretch to fit him, your whole body vibrating with desire. He rocks himself in and out, in and out, letting you get used to his size. Your cunt has already soaked him in your cream, you can see it pooling where his body meets yours.

“Fuuuuuuck baby,” Eddie groans, panting beneath the warmth of the mask. “Such a needy whore for me, god damn. So fucking wet.”

You whine, canting your hips upwards ever so slightly, the tip of Eddie’s cock pressing so deep inside.

“She’s fuckin’ soaking me, angel. This pussy loves me, doesn’t she?” he says, thrusting into you harder now. He sets a quicker pace, holding your weight against the wall with complete ease.

“Eddie, Eddie,” you moan, waves of euphoria rippling through every inch of your body. He’s so deep and so big and so good.

Your nails dig into the skin of his back, clawing at him through his t-shirt as he fucks you like it’s his last opportunity. You can hear grunts and strained whines falling from his lips, breath coming out in spurts from exertion.

“Babe, fuck, can I take this thing off? Need my mouth on you baby,” he pants, hips snapping against yours and making you cry out.

“Yes, yes - fuck Eddie!” you moan, nearly screaming his name.

The mask is whipped off in one swift motion, Eddie’s unruly curls sticking out. His eyes are wild, pupils blown with sheer need, those perfect lips of his so pink and plump. His mouth is on you in an instant, kissing your lips, your jaw, his teeth biting at your neck. He sucks on the delicate skin, unforgiving as you hiss at the sensation. His warm tongue laves over the irritated area, soothing you and sending a shiver down your spine. You roll your hips, needing more from him, needing him in impossible ways.

“Fucking Christ, you’re so desperate for me,” he gets out through heavy breaths, his cock impaling you over and over. His cocky demeanor doesn’t waver, hands squeezing your ass, smirking when you whine at him.

Filthy noises fill the living room, wet smacks as your dripping pussy sucks Eddie back in for more more more. He glances down to where your bodies join, his dick shiny with your juices. Eyelashes flutter as he looks back up at you, pulling your face to his to kiss you harder. His greedy tongue roams your mouth, his lips demanding in the way they move with yours.

Eddie can tell you’re getting close by the way your eyes roll back into your skull, the way your pussy keeps squeezing him so tight. Your brows knit together as you focus on how good he feels, eyes pinching shut.

“Nuh-uh. Look at me, sweet girl,” Eddie instructs, fucking you faster. “Look at me when I’m making you feel so good.”

Your eyes open, big and glassy as they plead with him. You’re so ready to snap, your body overwhelmed with pleasure as Eddie abuses your cunt. Your fingers tangle in his hair - something you’d missed while he’d had the mask on - and tug, drawing a throaty groan from him. His balls are slapping against the skin of your ass with each rough thrust, fingers digging so hard into flesh you’re sure you’ll be sore tomorrow.

Those big brown eyes of his are incredibly dark, his lips parted as he watches you slowly unravel right before his eyes. You feel yourself about to tip over the edge, about to let go, and he can see it on your face.

“Gonna cum for me, dirty girl? Little slut’s gonna cum all over my fucking cock?” he taunts you, every single word sending bolts of electricity right to your core.

“Gonna cum so fucking hard, Eddie, oh my god,” you say breathlessly, eyes fluttering to a close as you reach your peak.

You’re delirious as you cum, your walls squeezing Eddie so fucking tight. Strings of curse words are falling from his lips as he chases his own release, drawing it closer and closer as you completely soak him. Movements get sloppy, not aided by the slippery mess you’ve created, and Eddie’s breaths grow staggered.

His cock pounds into you one, two, three more times before his hips stutter, hot ropes of cum filling you. You can just barely feel the way he twitches inside of you, every last drop of his release pouring out. Both of you settle finally, catching your breath as you come down from your highs. Eddie sets you down, your feet hitting the ground once more. Your legs feel like rubber, like you might crumple to the floor if it weren’t for the fact that he’s holding your waist and pulling you in to him.

You look down at the floor, the crumpled mask staring up at you, mouth gaping in a perpetual scream. You’re dizzy with realization of what's just happened.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he says finally, tilting your chin up so your eyes will meet his. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know…” you admit, cheeks growing hot. “Something about that damn mask,” you smirk at him, getting a waggle of his eyebrows in response.

“I can go to the store right now and get more… who do you want next? Michael Myers? Jason?” Eddie jokes, smiling when you scoff at him.

“Just make sure to keep the Ghostface one around, okay?” your shy request has him grinning, his tongue running over his teeth.

“Oh, you’ll be seeing more of him for sure.”

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Wait, I was reading your posts and came across something I've found confusing. How is Adrien asking Ladybug wth she is doing in Volpina a bad thing? From Adrien's perspective, Ladybug's a celebrity tracking down a middle schooler with zero clout and humiliating her for lying about meeting her before. That's, uh yeah? Imagine if that happened irl lmao. Millions of teenage girls would perish at 1D's hands. My middle school would be a horror story. And it's made clear multiple times in the episode that her motivation is jealousy. It's one of the few episodes where the lesson Marinette gets makes sense I think, because she was genuinely spiteful in shitting on this random girl in front of her crush. That's significantly different than Ladybug just asking for a retraction from the Ladyblog. It's also one of the few times when Adrien's celebrity background actually affects how he acts, and it makes sense that Marinette doesn't make the connection between superhero=celebrity=not allowed to scream at middleschoolers in public. If half the kids in her school didn't lie about meeting Ladybug before, my suspension of disbelief is gone.

I've seen this argument before and it makes no sense to me, especially in the context of the lie that Lila actually told and the way the Lila confrontation actually goes down. A lot of people who have this take seem to think that Lila's lie was, "Ladybug saved me," and that Ladybug made a big public confrontation which is not what canon actually gave us. The confrontation was done in a mostly private setting and, while we never see Lila's full Ladyblog interview, this is how Ladybug sums up the interview in Volpina:

Ladybug:(sarcastically) Well hey Lila! How's it going? Long time no see. I saw your interview on the Ladyblog, awesome job. Oh sure! I remember our instant connection when I saved your life and we've been really good friends ever since! Practically BFF's! Uh actually, when did I save your life again, Lila? I don't recall. Oh yes! Of course, now I remember. Never! And we're not friends either! Miss Show-Off here was trying to impress you and everyone around her.

Lila didn't just lie about meeting Ladybug, she lied about having an ongoing, close relationship with Ladybug, two very different things. And Ladybug isn't just a celebrity, she's a superhero who is fighting an active terrorist. If I had to rewrite this confrontation, I'd keep it pretty much the same and just change the "Miss Show-Off" line to something like:

Miss Show-Off here was trying to impress you and everyone around her, putting herself and all of you at major risk! You know that Hawkmoth would do anything to get these, right? (gestures at her earrings) Did you even stop to think about what he'd do if he learned the identity of my supposed best friend? Of course not. You were too busy trying to look cool to stop and think things through like an actual superhero! We keep our identities and relationships secret for a reason!

Is this the kindest, most gentle way to confront someone like Lila? No, but it's very in character for Marinette to be filled with righteous fury when she sees someone using her name for their own personal gain. I really can't blame her for getting incredibly angry at this total stranger presenting herself as a Ladybug authority and using that authority to manipulate Marinette's friends. As I've said before, take away the crush complication and Marinette's actions still make total sense to me.

I'm not a huge proponent of virtue ethics. That's the idea that you need proper motivation for an act to be morally justified. If you do the right thing for the wrong reason, then the act is bad no matter how good the results and vice versa. If you view the world that way, then sure, you could possibly argue that Marinette's actions were wrong just like you can also argue that Gabriel's actions were totally fine, but I don't view the world that way. Switch Marinette's motivation from jealousy and a little righteous fury to pure righteous fury and almost nothing changes. She'd still need to confront Lila, the words would just be a little different.

It's not like this confrontation stops Lila, either. Chameleon gives us this:

Lila: (in flashback) Not only did Ladybug save my life, we've become very close friends. Marinette: She lies with every breath. Nino: Wait. You eavesdropped on Lila and Adrien? That's not cool. Alya: A good reporter always verifies her sources. Can you prove she doesn't actually know Ladybug?

Quick mini rant before I give the next Chameleon quote: this isn't how verifying your sources works, Alya! You should be verifying that Lila does know Ladybug, not the other way around! Right now, Marinette and Lila have equal authority on the topic as far as you know and there is no evidence to support either claim, so you should be looking for proof that Lila isn't lying! Proof isn't a first come, first serve problem even though a lot of people fall into that trap. This is especially true since Lila goes on to make claims like this:

Lila: Of course Ladybug saved my life. She never misses an opportunity to rescue her best friends. Max: Didn't your tinnitus give you vertigo when you went up the Eiffel Tower? Lila: Oh no. Ladybug knows me so well that she brought me an earplug to stick in my right ear.

So Lila keeps right on lying about her relationship with Ladybug, presenting them as close friends, making it even harder for me to get on the "Marinette was in the wrong for privately confronting Lila" train. If anything, Marinette was too tame! She needed to go full scorched earth and have Alya post a public retraction that included a message about the dangers of claiming to be personal friends with someone you don't actually know.

If the show went that route and had Ladybug give an equally furious smack-down and Alya posted it without a second thought, THEN I'd probably be on team "Marinette needed to tone herself down because she went too far" because that isn't a heat-of-the-moment reaction. It's something Marinette would have time to think through. But Volpina didn't go there. Instead, we just get Marinette reacting live to someone using her name to flirt with her crush. Remember, this is the setup to Marinette transforming and jumping in to stop Lila:

Lila: Not only did Ladybug save my life, we've become very close friends because we have something very special in common- it's what I wanted to tell you about. I'm the descendant of a vixen superheroine myself, Volpina. Adrien: Volpina? Marinette: Volpina? Adrien: Wait a minute! I think I read about her in my book. Lila:(stopping him from grabbing the book) Of course she's in your book. She's one of the most important superheroes. More powerful and more celebrated than Ladybug. Between you and me Ladybug doesn't even make the top ten. My grandma gave me this necklace. [Marinette runs off to transform] Adrien: (holding Lila's necklace) Are you telling me this is a Miraculous?! (Ladybug lands in front of them)

This wasn't a planned confrontation. It was Marinette reacting live to some pretty massive lies. If Ladybug had been swinging by and just overhead this, then the scene once again wouldn't change much. That's why blaming Marinette for confronting Lila in the "wrong way" feels so victim blame-y to me. "How dare Ladybug not be perfectly poised at all times and react with grace when someone lies about being her close friend and teammate!" is not a take I'm ever going to agree with. And if you want to use the middle schooler defense? Then it applies to Marinette, too. She and Lila are the same age. Why the different standards just because Marinette has fame that she never asked for or sought out?

I've never been much of a fan of holding celebrities to an "always on" standard where their every interaction needs to be done with poise and grace even if the interaction happens out in the wild and not at a planned even where the celebrity can be mentally prepared for dealing with fans. That's extra true for accidental celebrities like Ladybug. Marinette didn't take up the earrings for fame and they certainly haven't brought her fortune, plus she has no PR training. Expecting her to be a PR master who knows how to handle her accidental fame is, once again, a little too victim blame-y for my tastes. Ladybug is here to save the world, not sign autographs. You can hold her to politician standards when you start paying her for risking her life on the daily.

There's a version of Lila where I would have a different take. A version where the lie really is minor and Marinette really did "overreact", but even there my lesson wouldn't be "Marinette was totally in the wrong" because I genuinely think that sends the wrong message to kids and kids are the show's target audience. Think about what you're actually saying here, "Because Marinette is famous, she needs to accept that people will lie about her and just ignore them even if people believe the lie."

While that isn't exactly a wrong take, it's still really messed up. It's not okay for people to use Marinette's name like that just because she's famous. The reason she needs to learn to let it go is because that's what's best for her mental health, not because her fame makes her lesser than others when it comes to things like personal privacy. The lies are not magically okay just because she's well known.

Remember, Marinette is a fictional character, but the kids watching this show are very real and they're way more likely to be Lilas than Marinettes. And the kids that do relate to Marinette in this episode? They'll be kids who have dealt with the rumor mill spreading lies about them or their friends without the celebrity complication. The show should not be telling either set of kids that Marinette is the one in the wrong here. That is the wrong moral and why I hate this episode so much. I might feel differently if the intended audience was teens and if this plot was allowed to be more complex, but none of that is true. The show is aimed at kids ages 5 to 12 and every episode is supposed to teach its own moral with Volpina's moral being "Marinette was explicitly and totally in the wrong here."

This is the age of internet personalities where there are more easily-accessible celebrities than ever and where many of them do not have the wealth needed to protect themselves from fans nor the PR training to know how to handle extreme fans if there even is PR training for that! That means that it's honestly really important for kids to learn to view these individuals as people who it's wrong to lie about and who deserve the same respect as non-famous people. Treating celebrities as public commodities is how we get things like the Kit Connor scandal where an 18-year-old actor felt forced to publicly come out because the internet wouldn't shut up about his sexuality. Oh, and since you brought up one direction, I'll also note that the band members have publicly stated that online shipping discourse has negatively impacted their relationships. So, yeah, I'm never going to agree that kids should be told that it's okay to lie about celebrities or treat them as fictional characters to play with and that the celebrities are the ones who are wrong if they get upset about that behavior. That shit is toxic.

If we go the "minor" lie route, then my version of this episode would be a very sad one where Marinette learns that people are going to ignore her boundaries and lie about her and there's nothing she can do about it. A lesson in mental health training that will hopefully help kids who are dealing with bullies, but that does not present Marinette as totally in the wrong. It just teaches her when to pick a fight and when to let it go, which is a very important skill to learn even outside of lies about your own person. There will be many times when you hear people say something that you vehemently disagree with and it's important to learn when to pick a fight and when to just let it go, knowing that no good will come from speaking up even if you're 100% in the right. It's a very sad, but also very necessary skill.

I think Adrien has a place in that story. A place where he still tells Ladybug to let it go, but it should NOT have been played the way it was in canon where he acted like Ladybug was totally out of line. He needed to be way more compassionate and understanding of her very justified anger. I've written Adrien giving advice on this topic before and it's always presented as, "people are going to be assholes and you have to learn to ignore them for your own well being," not as, "you are wrong to be upset about strangers telling lies about you. You agreed to deal with this when you decided to be a hero" because what kind of asinine lesson is that?

You could also keep Adrien's canon reaction and have the lesson be him learning that it's okay to have boundaries. That his fame doesn't negate his bodily autonomy and right to be treated with dignity. That people chasing him down, invading his personal space, and otherwise preventing him from living a normal life is wrong. I love it when fanfics take this approach to Adrien's part in the Lila conflict. It's very cathartic to see his friends supporting him and protecting him from Lila.

I really have tried to see Volpina from the "Marinette was totally in the wrong" perspective because I've come across it several times, but I just can't wrap my head around it. If you've got a counter argument, then feel free to try to change my mind because I've given you my full thoughts here, but know that I'm probably not budging on this one. You'd have to make some pretty dramatic changes to canon for me to feel like this take has a point. I think the only way that I'd be on Lila's side is if it was very clear that no one believed Lila and Marinette still had the same reaction that we see in canon as that does feel like going too far. But everyone believed Lila so that's not a solid argument and I'm just never going to agree that people have to be cool with others lying about them just because they're famous. I honestly despise celebrity culture so much and hate that people are basically forced to deal with that bullshit if they want to be successful in certain artistic fields.

[distantdarlings]

RAGE AGAINST ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 4K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After unfairly losing your first Quidditch match of the year, you're fighting to restrain the rage that's filling you. When Theo realizes how upset you truly are, he gets the idea to allow you to take all of your frustration out on him. (Smut)

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Dom!reader, Sub!Theo, piv - no protection, biting, choking, bondage, one slap, fem reader, mommy kink, praise, language, brief description of Quidditch injury at beginning, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

---

The icy wind bit against your skin, stinging your cheeks and splitting your lips. Your eyes quickly followed the constant movement on the field through your goggles. 

Despite the raging winter storm around the pitch, the game of Quidditch pressed on, as violent as usual. One hand gripped your broom while the other stayed shoved in your jersey, allowing the warmth from your body to provide some feeling back to your fingers. 

The score was even at nothing to nothing. Few Quaffles shot by any witch or wizard in Hogwarts were going to get by you, save for extreme luck. You were the best Keeper in a decade. The headmaster himself had said so. 

And that fact rang through the entirety of this game up until one point. One point that had shot the most severe anger you’d ever felt through your whole body. And that moment was playing through your head on repeat.

As you had been following the Gryffindor chaser, watching her zoom through her teammates in an attempt to get to you, you had tightened your whole body against your broom. You prepared yourself to smack the ball away from the goals.

As she made the shot, the Quaffle flew past your Chaser and headed right toward you. You were ready. In the blurred motions on the outskirts of your focus on the Quaffle, you noticed the Chaser raise her hand and shout. 

Before you could react to the Quaffle or the Chaser, a raging bullet slammed into your hip. The force of the Bludger pushed you over the edge of your broom. A yelp left your lips as you just barely caught yourself on your broom, still suspended in the air. Your hands gripped the handle, but the numbness in your fingers and the slickness of the wood had you sliding more and more.

Cheers erupted around you as the Quaffle flew through the goalpost. 

“Fuck!” you shouted, disappointed that the Gryffindors had scored points. Your grip on the broom was becoming less and less sturdy. Every urge to get yourself back on the broom was met by another slip. 

Your name was shouted near you. You glanced around until you found Theo speeding toward you full force. He circled around you, lowering himself to become even with you. One hand reached down to grip the back of your chest guard. He began to lift, helping you back onto the broom. 

Soft grunts left you as you pulled the length of your chest over the handle. Nearly there, you thought just as another force slammed into your side, shoving the breath out of you. Theo’s hand was jerked away from your chest guard, and your loosened grip on your broom was ruined. 

There was no time for you to scream as you slipped right between the two things keeping you in the air. Your stomach dropped as you fell, almost as if in slow motion. As your fingers slipped through open air, hoping to grip onto something, your hearing shot from your ears, rendering the world in silence. You could just barely see Theo’s screaming face as he sped down toward you as fast as he could. You hoped to Merlin he’d catch you before you were out for the rest of the season with two broken legs—or worse. 

Just before you could hit the ground, you felt your body lift into suspension as if it had suddenly been caught by an invisible force. The air was pushed from your body once again in a quick motion. You glanced around, quickly spotting Headmaster Dumbledore in the staff spectator booth. He stood at attention with a pointed hand raised in the air. As he lost focus, you fell the last foot to the ground, yelping on impact. 

“Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Seeker, has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins by 160 points!” 

Deafening applause roared around you, practically rattling the goalposts beneath the weather and sound. Your head fell back in defeat, an annoyed groan pouring from your lips. This was your first loss of the year. Fuck! You punched the sandy ground, the half-frozen surface burning through your gloves. You got to your feet and stomped off the pitch, anger coursing through your veins. From behind you, you could hear Theo Accio your broom to him as he descended through the air.

You pushed through the player’s entrance and got to work ripping your gear off, trying to restrain yourself from throwing any of it. You were so mad, you might cry. You couldn’t believe they didn’t call a foul on the Gryffindor chaser and beaters. They would just call strategy on that shitty move, but as the adrenaline was fading, you realized that your injuries hurt like hell. There was no way those moves were just for strategy—they were meant to hurt. 

Once your chest guard was off, you winced as you slowly rolled the side of your jersey up over your left ribcage. Though the blood hadn’t completely pooled behind the injury, you could see the reds and purple already starting to form. You did the same with your right hip, checking to see the damage. You were pretty sure nothing was broken or chipped—just bruised. Your jaw clenched.

“Hey,” Theo ran through the player’s entrance, breathless from the run. You ignored him. You didn’t want to say anything you’d regret. You weren’t mad at him, but you had a bit of a temper. 

“Baby,” he sighed, walking over to you. He set your broom against the lockers and attempted to press his hands to your cheeks. You gently brushed him away, shaking your head. “Please, it’s not your fault. That should have been a foul.”

“I know,” you spoke through gritted teeth, making rough work of shoving your gear back into your locker, purposefully ignoring the ache in your bones. 

“Don’t worry about it—no one is upset with you,” he reassured. You nodded.

“Baby, look at me—”

“Theo! Please stop!” you interrupted, finally turning to face him. “I’m sorry, but I’m very angry. I don’t care if the team is angry with me. I’m angry with myself! I just want to be left alone for a minute.” 

He looked taken aback by your sudden hostility, and a flash of guilt ran through you. This is why you’d hoped he would just ignore you. You had a tendency to be mean when you were angry. You didn’t mean to—it just kind of happened. You sighed and pressed your thumb and forefinger to the bridge of your nose.

“I’m sorry, Theo,” you sighed, “I’ll see you back in the common room, okay?”

You didn’t let him reply before making your way to the exit. You wished you hadn’t lashed out in the way you had, but you couldn’t help it. If there was any chance you were going to be even slightly successful in the Quidditch world, you had to at least stay on your fucking broom. You were so annoyed with yourself you could hardly see straight. 

You stomped across the courtyard, wanting nothing more than to just collapse onto your bed. It was a Friday, which meant the Quidditch games happened before dinner. You were starving, but the way you saw it, you had only two options. You could go to sleep and wait until breakfast or face your shame head-on. You chose to sleep. 

Once you’d finally reached the Slytherin common room, you’d ignored all of your various housemates who wanted to check in on you. You were extremely grateful for them and would tell them that later, but you needed to be alone right now. 

You climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitories and wrestled with your own pride all the way to your dorm. When you appeared before its door, you prayed that no one would be inside. Hopefully, everyone was down at dinner or heading there. You pushed through the door with a held breath. 

No one was there. You released your breath in relief and shut the door behind you, refraining from slamming it. The bed at the far end of the room was waiting with open arms. All you wanted was to go to bed and forget that match ever happened. You were beyond embarrassed and would likely mull over all of your mistakes for the rest of your life. Something told you that you’d randomly remember glimpses of this match until you were elderly and cringe every time. 

A groan left you as you collapsed against the soft mattress, not bothering to take off your underclothes despite the sweat that had dried over them. You’d wash your sheets tomorrow. You made yourself comfortable beneath the covers before shutting your eyes, willing yourself to sleep. Fucking finally.

A knock on the door had your eyes shooting back open. You shook your head and silently refused to get up. If someone wanted in that badly, they’d break open the door. Wasn’t your problem…

The sound of your name being called permeated the heavy wooden entrance. Your eyes opened once more. You knew well enough the face that belonged to the voice outside, but even he couldn’t convince you to get out of bed at this point. The violent mixture of shame, bruised pride, and embarrassment circling through your head had pinned you to your mattress.

“Baby, please,” he said, a low sigh leaving him. He sounded upset. You were not getting up.

“Please, I need to talk to you.” Damn it. You sighed and got to your feet. Maybe it was something important, entirely unrelated to the match. He could be hurt or upset about something else. Maybe he wanted to ask you on a date or something. You pulled the dorm door open. The look on his face told you that he definitely did not want to go on a date. 

“Can I come in?” he asked, his fingers fidgeting against themselves by his sides. With a defeated sigh, you nodded and let him walk through the door. 

Once inside, he tore his scarf off, letting it fall to the floor next to your bed. He let his jacket fall from his arms and to the other item of clothing already on the floor. You watched in confusion as he seemed to be shedding every article of fabric he had on himself. His fingers fumbled his belt buckle open, the leather splitting and hanging open over the front of his jeans. He pulled the gray sweater over his head, the static from the material crackling against his slowly revealed flesh. The toned, darkened skin beneath glowed pale from the cold weather outside. Before long, he stood in nothing but his jeans and half-undone belt. 

“Theo, what the fuck?”

“Use me.” 

Your head flickered against the words, double-taking at the expression pulled across his face. One of genuine concern; his lips parted, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw ticked. You searched that expression, desperate to find some answers to his odd behavior. Yet, no matter how hard you looked, none came.

“What—?” you started.

“Use me,” he repeated, his voice serious and unwavering. You had no words. What the fuck was he talking about? Did he want you to hit him or something? He said he had a bad habit of wanting to punch something when he was angry—maybe that’s what this was. You took a gander.

“What? Like hit you or something?” you tried. He sighed and rolled his eyes a bit.

“No, not necessarily,” he groaned, “I want you to do what you want to me.”

“What? Theo, I’m just not in the mood right now—I thought that much was obvious—”

“No, shut up,” he demanded. “Hear me out…if you still don’t want to after I explain myself, that’s totally fine, but let me try and discuss it.” A few moments passed before you finally let out a sigh and nodded. Surely, he didn’t actually expect you to be horny right now.

“I know that you’re angry, and for good reason, and I also know you don’t want to talk about it,” he started, eyes never leaving yours. “But I want you to try and…you know, get your frustrations out another way. I want you to do whatever you want to me…fuck me, hit me, bite me, kick me—I don’t care. Just get it out, okay?”

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get any words to exit your lips. You really had no idea what to say in response to his proposition. You felt like your obvious answer should be no. None of your anger should be taken out on him in any way. Theo wasn’t really your boyfriend—at least, he’d never formally asked you out—but you didn’t want to hurt him in any way, even if he was asking you to.

“Theo, no…I don’t want to hurt you, that’s—”

“Please, I’m asking you to,” he interrupted once again. “You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

He crossed the remaining space of floor between the two of you, stopping only right in front of you. He gently reached down to grab one of your hands from your side. He raised it between the two of you, his fingers tightened firmly around your wrist. At his proximity, the rate of your breath increased. 

“Do whatever you want to me. I can take it,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. Your lips parted at the tone of his voice. His eyes watched yours so intently, the pupils blown wide against the salt spray color. You swallowed thickly. 

“Okay,” you whispered. 

“Okay?” he smiled, nodding. You nodded, as well. His fingers came up to gently pinch your chin between them. His eyes were bright and encouraging. He didn’t let go of you. “Where do you want me, love?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” you giggled nervously. Your stomach was aching with anxiety like the first time the two of you had ever done anything. You felt like you were completely inexperienced again. Your hands shook against you. 

“How about I lay down?” he asks gently, still smiling. He lay down against the headboard of your bed, beckoning you slowly with his darkened eyes. It felt as though he had just been smiling with sweet, reassuring eyes, but his expression had entirely changed. His eyes were dark and lidded, his cheeks barely blushed, his lips parted, and his jaw tight. It took your breath away. 

“Come here,” he whispered. You walked toward him, allowing him to help you onto the bed and over his lap. The rough material of his jeans chafed against the insides of your bare thighs. His hands rubbed up and down the top of your legs, pushing the material of your undershorts higher against your hipbone.

“What do you want to do to me?” he rasps. 

“I…,” you breathed, your confidence wavering. You knew exactly what you wanted to do now but were unsure if you could say it. His eyebrows raised, his head nodding you on. 

“I want to fuck you the way I want,” you whispered. With every second, your confidence built, illuminating the heat within your abdomen. More ideas flew through your head. The thought of being able to do whatever you wanted was a powerful feeling. Was that bad? You weren’t sure. 

“Tell me what to do.”

“Incarcerous,” you whispered. Wandlessly, you watched as thick, black cords tightened themselves around Theo’s wrists. They wound themselves around the gaps in the headboard, securing him against the wooden material. Your intention behind the spell was not to harm him, and your magic knew what you wanted. His breathing was deep but controlled as he let everything happen to him. You asked if what you were doing was okay. He nodded emphatically. 

His core, which rested between your thighs, swelled rapidly. A smirk fell over your face as you dragged your nails down his bare chest. A gasp left his lips, and his eyes clenched shut at the sensation. His hips rolled slowly against you, trying to elicit some contact against himself. 

“Theo, if I do something wrong, will you tell me?” you asked. “Say ‘Quidditch’ if it’s too much, okay?” 

“Aren’t we supposed to be making you forget about that very thing?” he chuckled breathlessly. You rolled your eyes in response. You weren’t concerned with what word he used as long as the two of you were on the same page.

Once you had confirmed that he wouldn’t let you go too far, you wasted no time getting to work. You had needs that had sprung up rather instantly at the thought of being able to use Theo however you wanted, and you were going to satiate them. 

You placed your lips to his quickly, reveling in the feeling of his tongue on yours. Already, he found himself tugging at the cords restraining his hands. He groaned at the feeling, wanting nothing more than to wrap his hands in your hair. You moved your lips away from his and trailed long, open-mouthed kisses down his abdomen. Small noises exited his lips every time you bared your teeth down against his flawless flesh.

Your fingers found his partially undone belt and set to work removing it from its loops. You gripped the leather material in your hands, making a point to gently trace its rough surface down his marked-up stomach. 

You unbuttoned his jeans and roughly dragged them down his legs with little to no help from him. With the fire and confidence blaring through your muscles, you didn’t need any help. You only needed him and his body. 

You slid your fingers beneath the band of his briefs, glimpsing the warmth beneath them. You pressed a bruising kiss to both hipbones, feeling the way he jolted beneath your lips at the sensation. Every time you glanced up, his eyes were clenched, and his lips were parted. You adored how reactive he was, no matter what you were doing. 

When you slid his briefs down to his ankles, you let the pool of saliva built up in your mouth slip between your lips. As it made contact with his core, you rolled your hand over him, lathering him in it. A very audible groan left his lips at the motion, and it seemed he couldn’t refrain from bucking his hips against your hand, trying to pleasure himself to his end. 

“Please, please,” he whispered as you continued to work him up. There was no way in hell you were letting him finish this way, but it was still fun to watch his reactions. Any time he got close to his end, his thighs would tense up, and his eyes would clench harder, and you knew to stop. That’s how he’d always been. You kept that in mind, and just as you began to see those signs, you stopped touching him.

“Ah, fuck, please,” he practically whined as the tension in his body faded away at his ruined high. You ignored him as you tugged your shorts off of your body, with your bottoms quickly following them. You only had one thing in mind at the moment.

A long, deep moan left his lips as you sank down onto him. The built-up arousal and spit around his core made him slip into you with ease. Your lips parted at the feeling, loving the way he filled you so perfectly. Theo had always been perfect for you as if he had been created specifically to please you. He hit every spot he needed to and coaxed more heat from your body every time you lifted your hips, only to sit back down onto him. 

“Baby, please!” he moaned aloud. “I’m gonna…fuck, if you keep going like that, I’m—” You laid a slap to his face. His face jerked to one side at the force. His eyes found you in shock, his wrists yanking at the cords. You couldn’t tell if that had been a mistake or not, but you wanted him to stop talking and let you do what he’d asked you to.

“Stop talking, or I’ll make you,” you spoke through gritted teeth. He nodded immediately and shut his mouth. His hips rolled into yours roughly, fucking himself deeper into you. Your eyes rolled back at the motion. When you didn’t respond with your own movement, he continued to do the same thing.

“Good boy,” you moaned, allowing him to push you toward your end. 

“Want more,” he groaned out, his hips still pushing into you. 

“Theo, what did I say about talking?” you said, your eyes now open and angry.

“I’m sorry, baby, it’s just that—” Wandlessly, you directed another cord from your previous spell to slide its way across his pretty neck. He whined in shock, the feeling surprising him. His lips pressed shut as the cord applied just enough pressure to keep him quiet. 

“No more talking,” you warned. He nodded pathetically, forcing his hips back against yours. Fuck what he was saying, if he continued like this, you were going to come prematurely. Even with you controlling the majority of the situation, he managed to make you come close to finishing quickly.

“Fuck, baby, keep doing that,” you whispered. You were closer than you thought.

With what little bodily control he had at the moment, Theo still managed to roughly and accurately fuck his hips up into you at a perfect pace. Every thrust hit something special within you, forcing you closer and closer to your end. Drops of sweat slid down his built chest, coaxing your tongue toward them. You wanted to taste his salty skin, to have his earthy scent engrained in your flesh. You wanted to feel him within you for the rest of your life, never allowing him to pull himself from you. You were utterly obsessed with the boy beneath you and his eagerness to please you. Affection overwhelmed you.

“Yeah, baby? You’re such a good boy?” you cooed, dragging your thumb down his swollen lips. “Such a good boy for me, for mommy?” 

At the change in pronoun, Theo’s eyes rolled back, and a muffled groan left his clenched mouth. You could feel his chest shuddering at the onset of his pleasure. His orgasm rolled through him like a wave of electricity, coaxing every last drop of ecstasy from his body. His legs shook beneath you as he released his spend into you, the feeling of which forced you over your own edge. You came hard around him, allowing the proof of your desire to spill around his own. 

Once you’d come to the end of your finish, you silently waved your spell and watched as Theo took a deep breath and let his hands fall back down to the bed. He looked content and pleased. His flushed cheeks and sweaty hair plastered to his forehead sent a blush through your stomach. He looked absolutely gorgeous.

“How was that? Was that okay?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“I think I learned a few things about myself, but it was alright,” he murmured, a slight smile on his lips. The two of you giggled silently, falling into each other beneath the covers. Without the warmth of your sex, the wintry weather outside penetrated the windows, laying a cold blanket over the two of you. You shivered giddily. 

“I was thinking, if you call yourself that, maybe I should take you on a date…,” he said. 

“Oh…you don’t have to. I was just, you know, trying something out,” you laughed.

“Did you like it?”

“It was alright,” you shrugged. “It definitely seemed like you liked it, though.” He rolled your eyes at your teasing tone. “You like it when I treat you like that?”

He said nothing, his words choked beneath the force of his flushed cheeks. You could tell everything you had done had set off some kind of fire within him, whether or not he wanted to admit it. If he didn’t want you to do any of those things again, he’d let you know, but the way he seemed to already be hardening again at the thought of your behavior moments ago had you convinced he’d been a fan of all of it. 

*Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth (if you want to be added to the tag list for any future works, please comment on this post, send me a dm, or message in my inbox. Thanks!)*

[shepherds-of-haven]

!!! This has it all... I always love how you write the romantic tension and mutual pining between Zelda and Trouble... and the big breath of relief towards the end is sooo good! Plus the studying session with Chase, plus Blade... C'est magnifique!

like real people do

summary: Trouble and Blade aren't the best at talking about their feelings. Zelda knows this well.

pairing: Trouble Alder x f!Hero of Haven 

wc: 2.7k

Trouble smiles at her, letting her inspect where she wishes for any non-visible injuries as she settles in front of him. “If I tell you not to worry about it, are you going to listen to me?” She gives him a flat look, an answer in of itself. He lets out a soft chuckle, looking away from her as he brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Well—,” he brings his eyes back to her, tilting his head, “—you know how Blade and I sometimes spar?” Zelda’s eyes squeeze shut, her expression falling through seven stages of grief as she tilts her head back, rubbing at her forehead. “Do I need to go check on Blade after we’re done here?” “Check on him? No, he’s fine. Buut, if he doesn’t wanna be walking around with a black eye—”

[read the rest on ao3]

[taevbears]

Movie Night

When horror movies don't scare you anymore, your boyfriend wants to figure out what you are afraid of.

⤑ pairing: Jungkook x fem!reader (feat. the Daegu boys) ⤑ genre: horror, mystery, suspense, one-shot ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 6.1k ⤑ warnings: obsessive behavior, stalking, depictions of kidnapping, torture, and multiple murders, hidden camera, non-explicit sex, a bit of angst, open ending. this fic gets pretty dark, so please be cautious of the warnings! ⤑ note: happy halloween! this started as a little spooky shower thought i had a little over a month ago and became this lol. i love reading scary stories, but lmao, i feel like i'm not very good at writing them. thank you @angelicyoongie for assuring me that this isn't as terrible as i think it is. also please note that this is a work of fiction and i don't think IRL jungkook is like the character in this fic at all

“No, please! Don’t hurt me!”

The shadow of a muscular, male figure looms over the female protagonist. His breaths are heavy from chasing her around, barely visible against the chilly, October air. Finally, he has her cornered. He holds up a sharp knife in the air.

The woman trembles on the ground, sobbing and pleading for her life to be spared. Mascara runs down her cheeks, and a look of hopelessness and despair fills her eyes. She holds her hands in front of her in a feeble attempt to defend herself.

The camera pans away as the killer violently stabs the woman. Her terrifying screams of pain and anguish echoes from the TV screen as fake blood splatters on the wall.

Blue and white light bathes over you and your date in the dim living room. You try to suppress a long yawn with the back of your hand.

You’re so bored, you’re practically in tears.

“You didn’t like it?” Jungkook asks you, chuckling at your reaction.

“It didn’t scare me,” you admit sheepishly, hoping he doesn’t get the wrong idea.

You love horror movies. It’s what inspired you to become a film student. You love being on the edge of your seat from the thrill and suspense that the main character acts out. You love being genuinely shocked from unexpected twists and jump-scares. You love a good ghost story that haunts you long after the credits roll, or the paranoia of a similar terrifying incident happening to you.

But perhaps, over time, they’ve lost a bit of their magic.

Although the production of movies has become phenomenal in recent years, movies these days seem to rely too heavily on shock value and nostalgia. Once popular franchises are milking out their legacies to a newer audience. There are so many retellings of the same, old stories that you can already accurately predict what will happen before you reach the ending. Even some of the most climactic scenes of the movie are so over-the-top, they’re almost comical.

Honestly, it has nothing to do with your date or even the so-called horror movie itself. You just don’t scare as easily anymore.

Jungkook peers are you curiously, a boyish grin on his face. “Then, what are you scared of?”

“I don’t know. Probably nothing.”

“Yeah? That’s a bold statement.”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

Jungkook laughs. “You have to be scared of something.”

You throw the question back at him. “Then, what are you afraid of?”

He thinks about it, rubbing his chin in thought and pushing his tongue against the lip rings on his mouth. Then, he meets your gaze. There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he smiles at you. “Hmm, I think I’d be scared to lose you.”

You find yourself smiling back at him.

“You’re so sweet, Kook,” you tell him, leaning over to kiss him.

Only recently, you and Jungkook started dating officially, and you really like him a lot. He’s very cute, funny, handsome, and perfect in many ways. Butterflies flutter in your stomach when you’re around him, and there’s still that exciting giddiness and eagerness of new love whenever he messages you or visits you in the evening.

In some ways, Jungkook is almost too good to be true.

Part of you wonders if there’s a catch.

But with his lips on yours, it’s easy to push that thought aside.

Credits roll on the screen as the movie comes to an end. His fingers glide up your thigh as yours tangle into his hair. The cool piercing on his lips presses against your bottom lip as he slips his tongue in your mouth, and a soft moan escapes you.

Suddenly, Jungkook pulls away and faces the TV. He uses the remote to tap out of the movie credits and browse through the list of recommended shows on your streaming service. Casually, trying to hide a teasing smirk, he asks, “How about we watch a different movie, then?”

You stare back at him, a bit stunned and flustered. But your own smile touches your lips.

“Or,” you suggest, grabbing his wrist to lower the remote. He turns away from the screen to look at you, eyes lingering on the sultry smile on your lips. “I know something else we can do instead.”

When you first saw Jungkook, you thought you were being catfished.

His selfie on the dating app included a slight head tilt, a pucker of his pierced lips, and a peace sign. Big, doe-shaped eyes stared back at you from your phone screen, and you noticed the tiny moles below his lip, on the tip of his nose, and on his cheek.

The second picture was of him and his brown doberman, affectionately named Bam. The picture was taken of them outside. One of his hands was holding a tennis ball and the other was gently touching the dog’s long ears. A small, fond smile tugged on your lips when you looked between them and realized that they kind of looked alike.

The third picture was him at the gym. It was a back-shot where he was using the equipment. Broad shoulders, buff arms and back, a tiny waist. You stared way too long at his strong muscles and the ink on his arm before you finally swiped right.

Turned out, much to your surprise, he liked your pictures too. The two of you were a match.

And it wasn’t long until he sent his first message to you. In your inbox, a simple: “hey :)”

On your first date, the two of you agreed to meet at a very public, very crowded bistro. You stood nervously by the building, dressed nice for the occasion. And in case anything went wrong or if this Jungkook guy wasn’t who you expected him to be, you shared your location and had a “send help lol” message on standby for your bestie, Min Yoongi.

As you waited, scrolling through and jumping around different apps on your phone, you found yourself to be surprised yet again.

Someone who looked like the guy you’ve been chatting with called out your name. And soon, he was standing in front of you: big eyes, bigger muscles, tiny beauty marks on his face, colorful ink on his arm, a charming smile, and a simple, “Hey, I’m Jungkook.”

One date turned to a second date. Then, a third. And by the fourth date, as he laid in your bed that night and snuggled close to you, it finally started to sink in that Jungkook wasn’t some figment of your imagination.

He was real, and sweet, and seemed to really like you as well.

Jungkook, like you, had an interest in filming. He especially liked editing videos for his dance challenges, short clips, and a series he called “Golden Closet Film” on his channel. While you imagined yourself to be a big director, working in movie sets, and making scripts come to life with your vision, Jungkook told you he’d like to film a project where you’re the star.

“I don’t think I’m on-screen material,” you replied, amused by the idea. You’re not an actress. You don’t think you have the kind of beauty filmmakers seek out for their lead roles. Hell, if anything, Jungkook would be a better fit for an acting gig.

“You are,” he insisted, brushing his thumb against your knuckles. “To me, you’re perfect.”

You smiled at him then, your heart fluttering by his words. “You are to me, too.”

It was shortly after that conversation when you both decided to date each other exclusively. And it felt like the kind of romance you’d see in the movies. Picture perfect, a little corny at times, and a thrilling whirlwind of laughter, teasing remarks, and intimate touches.

“Am I who you thought I’d be?” Jungkook asks you the next morning after the movie-night bust, propping himself up on the side and peering down on you. His arm flexes, colorful ink decorating it, as the thick comforter wraps around his bare body.

“No,” you confessed, still a bit tired from last night. You keep your eyes closed as you quietly murmur, “You’re even better.”

“Yeah?”

You don’t need to open your eyes to see the pleased look on his face. As you feel him press his lips against your cheek, you ask, “What about me? Am I who you thought I’d be?”

Had you opened your eyes then, perhaps you would’ve seen it. The blank look on his face as he pulls away from you, how the light in his eyes suddenly seems to vanish, as if he isn’t really looking at you anymore.

Jungkook doesn’t answer you right away. When you open your eyes, you see him shaking his head. The same, sweet boyish smile appears on his lips.

“You’re exactly what I’m looking for.”

The topic about exes inevitably came up early on in your relationship with Jungkook. You’ve dated casually before. Even thought you’d be getting somewhere with some of the guys you were talking to.

But none of them quite compared to Kim Taehyung.

You were a film student. He was a photography major. The two of you were bound to end up in some of the same classes together in the art division.

To you, it was love at first sight. You fell for him so hard and so fast.

What started as bumping into each other at the library and helping each other with assignments led to making out at each other’s dorms with the text books left unopened. Coffee dates between classes became anniversary dinners at nice restaurants. He introduced you to his parents, and you proposed going on a romantic getaway together.

The day you didn’t think you’d ever love anyone else was when he snapped a photo of you looking out at the scenery during that weekend trip. It was just you and him, and a natural setting that looked straight out of a movie.

He smiled to himself as he looked at the picture through his camera. That day, he called you his muse.

And in return, you told him that you loved him.

When you fell for Taehyung, you fell hard and fast. Eventually, it occurred to you that Taehyung didn’t do the same.

Sure, he cared about you. Sure, he loved you. But while you heard wedding bells and dreamed about your future with him, Taehyung was just starting to put himself out there in the world. His art was being recognized, and he was getting booked to shoot at weddings, parties, and other big events every week.

Soon, the dates happened less frequently. The romantic gestures of bringing you flowers, surprising you on nice dates or small gifts, or even renting your favorite movies to watch together happened even less. He would promise that he’d make it to a party or an important event to you, just to let you down. And it felt like him giving you a bit of affection or attention was a chore.

Taehyung was the world to you, but the petty arguments and the distance that started growing between you two made it clear to you where his priorities were. And it wasn’t with you.

Breaking up with him was the hardest thing you had to do. Both of you knew it was coming. It was just a matter of who broke up with who first.

Just as Taehyung came into your life, quickly and effortlessly, he was gone. Nothing but bittersweet memories of what once was and what could have been weighed heavily on you for months.

What made it worse was that Taehyung, a man you loved with all your heart, had moved on from you so fast and so easily.

You saw him and his new girlfriend at a mutual friend’s party. You were warned that he’d be there, that he was already seeing someone. But it still hurt like hell to see him happy and in love with another person.

But if Taehyung could move on, so could you.

It felt weird at first, but you started to put yourself out there again. You joined dating apps. You went out with the people that fancied your interest. You met Jungkook.

And from there, everything was history.

With Jungkook, you started to think about Taehyung a lot less. The plaguing “what ifs” have quieted down, and the hurt from heartbreak began to heal. With Jungkook, you started to feel like yourself again: you started to smile more, laugh more loudly, enjoy watching movies again, became passionate about cinematic ideas you’d like to create one day.

With Jungkook, you’re also cautiously optimistic.

Because like Taehyung, you feel yourself falling hard and fast for Jungkook. It’s almost scary how truly perfect he is.

“I think you’re just psyching yourself out,” Yoongi tells you, sliding into the chair opposite of you with two cups of coffee in his hands. He smells like freshly-baked cookies. A spot of flour stains his apron as he uses his fifteen-minute break to hang out with you.

“Maybe,” you sigh, gratefully taking the drink he hands you. “What do you think about him?”

“Does my opinion even matter at this point? You’re in love with him,” he drawls before taking a sip of his Iced Americano.

“Of course it does, best friend. Why else would I keep you around?” you remark, taking a sip of your own drink. “Besides the free coffee and cookies. Thank you, by the way.”

He rolls his eyes. The perks of being friends with the cookie boy at your local bakery is a free cup of coffee and getting dibs on leftover treats that didn’t sell the day.

“He’s fine. Kind of annoying. A little too energetic,” he answers as his eyes flit toward the TV screen that his boss keeps on. A woman dressed in bright, business clothing holds a microphone as she reports on the recent news. There’s a grim look on her face.

You have your back turned to it, but you can hear Yoongi’s boss turning up the volume.

Breaking news. Missing woman found dead near home. The victim has succumbed to multiple stab wounds. It is believed that she has been kidnapped and tortured prior to her violent death. The attacker is currently unknown and still at large. Local authorities advise staying indoors and to please report any suspicious activity.

Your heart sinks as you look over your shoulder, seeing police taping off the crime scene and answering what they can to the news outlets. The location is so close to where you are.

“This is the second victim,” a customer mutters with a frown.

The person they’re with nods their head and asks, “Do you think they’re connected?”

“I don’t know. I hope not. We’ll have a serial killer in our hands.”

“Hey,” Yoongi calls your attention. When you look at him, there’s concern on his face. “If you need a ride anywhere, make sure you call me. Doesn’t matter what time.”

“I’ll be okay, Yoongi. Jungkook usually comes to my place anyway.”

“Still. Just let me know that you’re still alive when I check in, all right?” he says as he stares at the screen. You don’t blame him for being worried. As you follow his gaze, you see a picture of the latest victim of the ongoing case that has the whole town on edge.

This woman, like the others, kind of looks like you.

“If you’re with me, you have nothing to worry about,” Jungkook assures you, throwing a tennis ball as Bam hurriedly chases after it. 

The two of you are at a park with his dobermann. Despite how scary it’s been lately with the news, it’s a nice day. Children are screaming and playing together on the playground as their parents watch them nearby. A group of teenage boys are playing basketball on the outdoor court. Middle-aged and elderly couples are paired up and are getting their daily steps in.

“My hero,” you joke half-heartedly, but you’re still a bit concerned. Yoongi being worried about you makes you feel paranoid.

Jungkook turns to you. He holds out his hand as Bam retrieves the ball and drops it for another throw. “I thought you weren't afraid of anything.”

“Movie-wise, I’m not. But this is different.”

Jungkook throws the slobbery ball again. Further this time as Bam barks happily and takes off. He takes a seat next to you on the park bench. “I can leave Bam with you when I have my evening shifts. He makes a good guard dog.”

He works as an editor and cameraman for a big content creator, which gives him lots of flexible hours to work on his projects when he isn’t busy filming. Since the beginning of autumn, his boss has been giving him evening work to film ghost-hunting videos and other spooky content for Halloween.

“That’ll be nice,” you reply with a small smile. The two of them have been coming to your place so often, it might as well be their second home.

From a short distance, Bam lies on the grass with the tennis ball by his paws. His tongue is out, needing a short break from running around, as he faces you and Jungkook. Even with other dogs and kids around, he’s very well-behaved.

Just as Jungkook tells you that he’ll get Bam, the sound of small, excited barks grab your attention. A familiar black and brown pomeranian approaches you like an old friend, wagging its tail and perking its ears up when it sees you.

Your heart nearly jumps when you recognize the dog.

“Tan!”

You know that voice. How could you not?

That deep, smooth baritone has haunted you for months.

Taehyung, your ex-boyfriend, stops in his tracks when he realizes why his pomeranian took off. The two of you were still together when he adopted Yeontan, and you were there to help raise him when he was still a puppy.

“Who’s this?” Jungkook asks, drawing your attention back to him. He reaches out to pet Yeontan, but the pomeranian growls at him. Almost like he wants to protect you from him.

“Sorry, he’s mine,” Taehyung apologizes, stepping closer to you two and picking his dog up. He looks at you as he tries to soothe the agitated Yeontan in his arms. “It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

“Good,” you reply politely. Old feelings start to pull on your heart strings that you fervently try to ignore. “I’m good.”

“You look good,” Taehyung starts, but then he purses his lips in regret. It’s obvious that he’s nervous to talk to you. Maybe he feels the same as you.

Softly, you reply, “You do, too.”

“Who’s this?” Jungkook repeats. This time, there’s an annoyed look on his face as he stares at Taehyung. 

It puts you off a bit. Jungkook is usually a friendly guy.

“Oh, this is Taehyung. We used to date,” you tell him honestly. Though, the information seems to just annoy him more. “Taehyung, this is—”

“I’m Jungkook. She’s my girlfriend now.”

His arm snakes around you possessively. He holds a steady gaze, but it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. Dark, threatening, and angry. It’s almost unnerving.

“I see…” Taehyung trails off as his gaze shifts toward him. Yeontan is still in his arms, growling and barking at Jungkook. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the pup so aggressive toward someone. Even Bam comes over, ditching his ball to guard over you and Jungkook.

“It was nice to see you, Taehyung,” you tell him, sensing the tension in the air and deciding to cut things off. He seems reluctant to leave.

“Yeah…” he continues to trail off, finally pulling his gaze away to look at you. It looks like there’s a million things he wants to say to you. In a lower tone, he tells you, “My number is still the same. If you ever want to talk.”

You frown. After the breakup, you’ve deleted his number and unfollowed him on social media. “Oh, I don’t—”

“Then I’ll call you,” he promises, firm with his decision.

You don’t get it. You and Taehyung have run into each other after the breakup before, and he’s never had an issue with you dating anyone after him. He clearly has moved on, and so have you. 

Why now?

What is it about Jungkook that has him worried for you?

“I don’t like that guy.”

Jungkook is still heated as he drives you home. His grip is tight around the steering wheel, and the tires screech when he makes a sharp turn. Bam stumbles a bit in the back before sticking his head out the window again.

“Slow down, Kook. You have nothing to be worried about.”

The radio blasts in the car, too much in a rush to connect his playlist to the stereo. It’s playing the week’s top music, and a catchy song from a popular artist fills the car.

Curious, you open your phone and check your followers. You’ve unfollowed Taehyung a long time ago on all your social platforms, finding it hard to look at any of his recent pictures – even just his scenic photography – without thinking about how he had once called you his muse.

But Taehyung never unfollowed you. He had always kept his inbox open for you.

“Did you see the way he was looking at me? It’s like he was looking down on me,” he continues to rant, speeding over a yellow light. He glances over at you and sees that you’re distracted with your phone. “I don’t like how you were looking at him either.”

“Are you serious?” you ask, turning your attention to him. “We barely talked. What the hell are you trying to insinuate?”

On the radio, the program is interrupted. One of the hosts makes a grim announcement.

Ladies and gentlemen, we just received unfortunate news that a third body has been found pertaining to a series of brutal deaths. 

“You still love him! You’ll go back and leave me again!” he suddenly snaps, throwing you off guard.

Silence follows the tension.

Then, you inquire, “Again?”

The third victim is a young female. Hair color and eye color match the previous victims as well, indicating that this might be a targeted attack by the killer.

Not once have you been unfaithful to Jungkook. Even when you were starting to message each other, you weren’t talking to anyone else. The two of you haven’t even been dating that long.

“Forget I said anything,” he starts with a frustrated sigh. But he realizes he’s fucked up.

“No, I’m not just going to forget it. What do you mean by that, Jungkook?”

As of now, authorities have no leads on a suspect. All victims have been kidnapped, tied up, and tortured prior to their deaths. We are led to believe that this is the work of a potential serial killer. 

He nearly slams to a stop. The seatbelt around you yanks you back from hitting the dashboard. Bam falls to the floor and you gasp as the back of your head hits your seat.

Jungkook doesn’t answer you, but for the first time, it feels like the rose-tinted glasses you have on him have fallen off. He’s always been perfect to you: sweet, athletic, talented, and kind. But the Jungkook before you is someone completely different.

This Jungkook scares you.

Stay inside. Lock your doors. Call the police if you see anything suspicious. Be safe out there, folks.

“I told you to forget about it, didn’t I?” he asks through gritted teeth and a harsh look in his eye.

You nod your head, hands trembling a bit as you hold onto your vibrating phone. The screen shows an unknown number trying to contact you.

“Is there a reason why your boyfriend called me?” Yoongi asks you from the other line. He has you on face-time, awkwardly propping up the camera to show his elbow as he mixes a batch of cookies.

It’s been about a week since you saw Jungkook.

After he dropped you off at home, he wanted to put it all behind him. He kissed you sweetly and murmured apologies for overreacting as his hands slipped under your shirt. But you sent him home before he could convince you to sleep with him. You were still upset about how hostile he was toward Taehyung, his accusations about you, and what his outburst meant.

That hasn’t stopped him from trying to get back to your good graces, though.

The number of missed calls from him keeps increasing by the hour. Ones that you leave unanswered or send straight to your voicemail. 

You don’t want to talk to him.

At your door, you hear him rapping his knuckles against the wooden frame and insistently ringing at your doorbell. From the other side of the door, he begs for a chance to explain. 

You don’t want to see him.

Clearly, after reaching you directly hasn’t worked, he’s starting to contact your friends.

“He’s probably trying to find me,” you tell Yoongi, poking at a bowl of fresh strawberries. You’re still dressed in your pajamas, sitting on a stool by the kitchen counter.

The sound of a small dog can be heard in the background of your line. It dawns on him that you’re not at your place or Jungkook’s.

Yoongi is silent for a moment. Then, he grabs the phone and asks, “What do you mean? Where are you?”

You don’t feel safe in your own home. And that day, while you were in Jungkook’s car, Taehyung called to check up on you. He was always good at reading people, and he warned you that he had a bad vibe about Jungkook.

And you’re starting to see what he meant.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

When you turn your phone, you reveal Taehyung busy in the kitchen, cutting off the crusts from his sandwiches. He looks over his shoulder and gives a sheepish smile at the scandalized expression on your best friend’s face. “Hey Yoongi.”

“Can you please explain what’s going on? Why are you at your ex’s?”

So, you do. You tell him that Jungkook wouldn’t leave you alone, that you needed some space to cool off but he wouldn’t let you breathe. It was becoming overbearing and overwhelming.

Against your better judgment, you call Taehyung. He invites you to stay over at his place until you’re ready to talk things out with Jungkook. Because even if you’re not together, he still cares about you. Because a part of him will always love you. And at the time, it seemed like a good idea.

“I didn’t want to be alone, especially with a killer targeting women like me out there,” you explain quietly. It feels like the murders have increased in a shorter period of time. If the town wasn’t on edge before, they certainly are now. “But I was still mad at Jungkook, and he was starting to scare me.”

“So the first person you go to is your ex-boyfriend?”

“There’s nothing going on between us.”

That ship has sailed. You know it has when you walked in and saw his engagement pictures hanging on the wall.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’m sure he would’ve figured out that I’d be with you,” you tell him with a frown.

“I just wanted to help her, hyung,” Taehyung adds as he stands behind you. “I worry about her too. That guy gives me and Tan a bad feeling.”

Yoongi sighs. “Listen, I don’t think this is a good idea either. You shouldn’t stay with Taehyung. It’ll just make things look a lot worse.”

“I guess you’re right,” you reluctantly agree. Taehyung grimaces, but he can see Yoongi’s point too.

“I’ll pick you up after my shift. You can stay with me until you’re ready to talk to Jungkook,” Yoongi tells you, looking rather serious. “Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime, okay?”

Hey. It’s Jungkook.

You stare at the message on your phone. Three dots that indicate that he’s typing something, but he keeps erasing and re-typing them again. As if he’s trying to properly convey his words.

Are we breaking up?

You stare at that message even longer. It feels childish to break up with him without trying to talk to him. For the first time in a week, you pick up your phone and type back.

You scared me, Kook.

His response is immediate.

I thought you weren’t scared of anything.

You huff when you realize he’s teasing you, even now.

Movie-wise, I’m not. But this. This is different, Kook. You were really scaring me.

Again, you see the dots appear and disappear before a handful of responses appear.

I know, babe. I’m sorry. Can you please come over? I want to show you something I’ve been working on.

You think about it.

I miss you. Bam misses you too.

Yoongi said not to do anything stupid.

Please, baby. We can just watch a movie, if you want.

But, like in every horror movie, the protagonist finds themselves making a plethora of stupid decisions.

Okay, Kook. I’ll come tonight.

Movie nights with Jungkook was one of the things you always looked forward to throughout the week. Nothing appealed to you more than a night-in with your boyfriend, food delivered at your door, and checking out new shows and movies.

You have your list of favorites, but nothing quite holds a place in your heart than a good ol’ horror movie. Tellings of urban legends, supernatural forces, paranormal activities, true crime, and slasher films. 

As you step into Jungkook’s house, it almost feels like you’re in one of those movies.

His place is dark, almost pitched black. You could barely see what’s in front of you.

“Come inside,” Jungkook says, grabbing your hand. He pulls you in and deadbolts the door behind you.

“It’s so dark,” you remark, gingerly stepping forward. You have a bad feeling about this. You almost pull back toward the door, thinking of waiting for Yoongi or going back to Taehyung instead.

But Jungkook has a firm grip on you. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“This is different, Kook,” you try to reason. “You’re really freaking me out.”

He pulls you further inside. In the living room, nothing but the TV is on. The screen is paused on a homemade film.

This must be the project that Jungkook is talking about.

Everything is set. The living room is clean, a bowl of popcorn and a couple bottles of alcohol sits on the coffee table, the lights are off, and the show is ready to play. He sits you down in the middle and keeps an arm around you.

“You know, when we met, you were exactly what I was looking for,” he starts as he presses play.

The tape shows you. Bam lying on your lap as you affectionately pet his face and kiss the top of his head. You, holding Jungkook’s hand and leading him down a busy sidewalk. You, in the kitchen, trying to swat his hand away as he steals your ingredients. You and Jungkook, peering into the camera lens, and your bashful face as he kisses your cheek. 

A smile tugs on your lips as you watch yourself on the screen. Jungkook leans over, copying his onscreen self and kisses your face.

One thing you liked about filming is seeing things from a different perspective. In this case, seeing yourself through Jungkook’s eyes. You look so happy, so incredibly in love with him.

Like with Taehyung, you fell for Jungkook hard and fast.

But Jungkook fell for you harder and faster.

Your smile fades as the next scene shows.

The camera points to the bed, and a couple walks in. It’s you and Jungkook, stumbling in together after drinks at a bar. You’re laughing and trying to wrap your arms around him as he leads you onto the bed. The kiss you share is messy, heated. You tug off his clothes to feel more of him.

You remember that night, but…

“Jungkook. When did you record this?”

You had no idea he was filming you then.

You don’t realize it then, but he makes eye contact with the camera, as if to check that it’s on. He maneuvers you to get a good angle of your body as you busy yourself with your own clothes, wanting him to touch you more as well.

“Jungkook, stop. I didn’t—” 

You feel so sick to your stomach.

“Don’t cry, baby. Here, I’ll fast-forward.”

But you don’t want to watch anymore. You want to leave. You shouldn’t have come here.

The screen shows you and Yoongi. The two of you are at the bakery he works at, and you’re wearing an old cardigan that you got rid of . You smile and eagerly reach for one of the coffees in his hands and take the bag of cookies he’s holding between his lips. He rolls his eyes at something you say before he takes his first sip of his Iced Americano. It’s a typical hangout between you and him.

It looks like it was taken across the street. Your heart plummets even further when you realize that the old cardigan you’re wearing was a piece of clothing you got rid of before you met Jungkook.

The scene changes. You’re sitting at the fountain at your university, looking over a script you wrote for an assignment. Taehyung comes to take a seat next to you. He greets you with a boxy smile and a kiss. The two of you were still dating at the time.

How long has Jungkook known about you?

How long has he been targeting you?

It’s you and Taehyung again. This time, it was filmed from the other night. When Taehyung came to pick you up from your house. He helps you carry some of your things into his car and hugs you when he sees the distressed look on your face. 

“Jungkook, what the fuck?”

It dawns on you that you don’t really know your boyfriend at all.

You try to stand up, but Jungkook has a firm hold on you. His grip tightens when you try to resist him, and his hand seizes your neck as he pushes you down. Your heart hammers against your ribs when you quickly realize you can’t escape him. Jungkook is much stronger and faster than you are.

More images flash through the screen. It’s Jungkook this time, taking a mirror-selfie of himself dressed in all black. He has his hood up and a Halloween mask covering his face. 

It cuts to his feet walking across the sidewalk. Carefully, the camera tilts up, showing that there’s a woman just ahead of him. She’s about your height, her hair the same as yours. She doesn’t notice him as she listens to music playing in her earbuds. 

The scene cuts again, and the same woman is bound and gagged on a chair. Fear shines through her eyes as a shadow of a knife reflects from her body. Behind the camera, Jungkook demands, “Say your line.”

He removes the gag from her mouth. Her voice pitches in a high shrill as she quickly says, “I-I love you. I won’t leave you.”

You recognize her as the latest victim of the latest killings.

And the realization hits you like a truck. Jungkook and his night shifts, the increasing deaths, his interest in filming, having you as the star.

“I practiced, you know. I’ll get it right this time,” he tells you, pulling out some rope he had hidden behind the cushion. You’re trembling as he wraps them tightly around your wrist. “I’ll make sure you don’t leave me again.”

“You’re so bad,” the Jungkook on the screen says, showing what looks like an abandoned warehouse. It’s dimly lit, but you can hear someone running from him. But he doesn’t seem worried, his heavy footsteps casually echo across the concrete. In his hand is a sharp and bloody knife. Mockingly, he asks, “Where did you think you’d go?”

The victim has been let go, but she isn’t free. Ahead, she finds herself cornered as Jungkook catches up to her. Terrified, she holds her hands out in front of her, as if that would stop him.

It’s like seeing your own fate on the screen.

The woman begs and screams before her blood splatters across the floor. You find yourself quoting her, staring up at his darkened eyes. “No, please. Don’t hurt me.”

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks, staring right at you. His mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “I thought you liked horror movies.”

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

[hhnguyen]

aren’t you just precious

Everything medical related was a google search, so those in the medical field please don’t come for me - I was a literature major for a reason 😭

♢ Pairing: Parents!Jake & Neytiri x Oldest daughter!Reader

♢ Word count: 2k 

♢ Genre: suspense, action, angst, slight humor - Warnings: explicit description of injuries, blood, cursing, reader is a lil crazy

⌲ Description: Your iknimaya goes a little south. Aka introducing the ‘demon ikran.’

M A S T E R L I S T

Jake Sully, a marine veteran at the age of twenty-two had gone through absolute hell on earth before ever setting his disabled ass on Pandora. 

He thought he had seen the worse - comrades shot down right in front of his eyes, the blood covering their skin, blank dead eyes staring into his soul. Sometimes there were those who were actually blown to bits by bombs and grenades, screaming not even five feet away from him as they clutched their missing limbs, begging a nonexistent God for mercy.

Then there was his own injury. The pain he hardly remembered, because he had gotten to the point of delusion when they finally managed to drag him out of the war zone, half dead, and to the VA hospital.  

The incoherent words he had heard after waking up from his surgery despite his hazy vision and buzzing hearing at that time, yet the truth coming out of the doctor’s mouth had still hit him in the face like the largest ‘fuck you and your life’ to exist. 

“...ave severe spinal injury...fixable...expensive, marine.”

A severe spinal injury that was fixable but too expensive for a marine like him to afford. 

For an active man as he had been in the past, the thought of being paralyzed from the waist had been his worst nightmare to the point of being ready to waste away his life. 

Though even after all that shit, Jake Sully felt like he wanted to throw up as he stared at his oldest baby girl at the fresh age of fourteen laying there in front of him; delirious as he had once been in the same position, bleeding and bruised. 

He could only thank Eywa that your heart was still beating and your body intact. 

Well, mostly. 

The almost nauseous angle of your left wrist certainly did not look natural. And their bones were fortified, stronger than anything else to human knowledge. Yet it had managed to snap as easily as that. 

Neytiri - his beautiful, poor mate. She was distraught, one would say more so than him. Sitting only inches away from your fevering form in one of Hell’s Gate treating rooms for avatars, muttering prayers with dried tears upon her face. 

Your injuries had been so severe that not even the abilities of your grandmother, the Tsahik, could heal you solely through the spiritual power of Eywa. These kinds of injuries needed the advanced surgery of human technology. 

His other children were barred from coming inside, having been firmly ordered to remain in their village as he and Neytiri made sure that you would be okay. None of them wanted to keep them away, but neither did they want them to be traumatized by seeing your bloodied and broken form. 

A stark contrast from the smiling and proud sister that they knew. 

And yet, you had still managed to complete your iknimaya. 

Jake watched with a bated breath from the air upon Bob, his own faithful ikran through the years, as he saw the slight encouraging push Neytiri had given you on the edge of the nesting place. Your, oh so small form, looked firm and stubborn as you steadily stalked forward in a crouched form, the band for the beak held in your grasp with determination. 

He watched as one ikran flew away. Then another. And another. A third one. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. 

He had lost count after the eleventh. 

You were getting frustrated, he could see that. Neytiri was still there, calling out for you to calm down. To be patient as he moved Bob a little bit closer, but not too much to distract you if you were to see him hovering. 

And there he was. 

Jake had seen it before you did. The vicious screech even reached him high up in the clouds and echoed above all the other ikrans. 

He felt his blood run cold as the midnight blue beast, nearly black in color with its yellow and green detailing jumped down from the highest point of the rocks and landed behind you as you whirled around with snarl of your own. 

But then as fleeting as it had been, you had grinned, taking in the magnificent animal despite its bloodthirsty aggressiveness. 

“Aren’t you just precious?” Neytiri had told him of your words in the aftermath. 

His mate hollered in encouragement, and he could hardly stop the prideful tug of his own lips. 

Rather than you leaping on the beast, Jake straightened up as he saw the ikran run at you as well. Both were only inches away from crashing, as you last minute decided to slide beneath its belly - slight enough to fit as you rolled away on the other side and then slung the catcher around its mouth swiftly before throwing yourself on its back. 

His expectations had been hopeful from that moment. Positive. But wrong, oh so wrong. 

Rather than trying to snap at you by turning, he watched in horror as the ikran seemed to have a human mind as it slammed against a stone wall, you hitting it first. 

Neytiri had screamed, already half leaping forward but stopping herself as she saw you still clinging to the beast. 

Both had thought that had been the worst of it until the ikran tried it again. This time deliberately falling backward to land on its back with a rumble, where you were hung on. 

“LET GO MA ‘ITE! LET GO!” Neytiri was yelling. Or begging. He couldn’t be sure in his own fear. 

But both of them underestimate you, as a growl mixed with what Jake had assumed to be a painful yell from yourself erupted. Legs manage to wrap around the animal’s neck despite being crushed underneath its weight. 

He saw belatedly you were only holding on to the banshee catcher with one hand as you pulled at its head hard enough to make the animal let out another vicious muted screech. 

And then you truly proved you were his daughter. 

“C’MON YOU MOTHERFUCKER. GRANDPA BOB WAS BETTER THAN THIS!”

The ikran had gotten angrier, trashing before suddenly rolling like a fucking bowling pin on the stone-covered ground. 

Towards the edge of the cliff. 

Neytiri ran, and Jake dove, both reaching out and screaming your name as you and the ikran fell off the edge. 

As his mate leaned almost desperately over the edge, Jake forced himself to draw Bob back up, only for a few seconds - not to interfere with the rite. But it was in those few seconds he felt like his heart had stopped beating. 

There was that familiar screech again. 

Then you were soaring. 

Up in a straight line, past Neytiri and him. Tsaheylu clearly made as the ikran listened to your orders. 

There was a blinding grin on your face as you soared, clearly looking for him and letting out a whoop. 

The moment your eyes caught his, Jake felt his grin slip. 

Your eyes, open just moments before suddenly rolled back. Your whole body went slack as you fell over the side, your newly bonded ikran screeching at the sudden weightless feeling as the bond broke and your body went straight down. 

Jake hadn’t heard his desperate yell, this time diving down without stopping. 

He thought you were dead when he managed to catch you and flew back up, only to have Neytiri meet him in the air on her own mount, an expression so clearly in distress. Without a word, they both made haste back to the village, your newly bonded ikran following closely behind. 

“How is she?” His voice sounded like it had gone over fifty years of smoking with no water. It felt like his whole body was weighed down with stones. 

“She’s alive,” that’s all that Max could offer with a grim expression. “She will need surgery. The momentum of her slamming repeatedly against stones with the ikran’s weight on top has managed to collapse a lung.”

Jake had never wanted to sob like a newborn baby until now. But he needed to remain calm, or at least sane. For Neytiri’s sake, and your siblings.

“Usually surgeries like these lead to long-term conditions in life, but we’re certain that with the Na’vi biology she will heal just fine without complications. But it’s the healing that will take time.”

He was nodding along, but it felt like he was far away. Only hearing a slight inconsistent sound in his ears as he watched through the see-through glass into the room where you were all connected up to tubes and an oxygen mask. 

It was so human, the whole situation of you being in a hospital bed for avatars - Jake wanted to laugh. Not in humor, but maybe in slight delusion at the situation. 

“Okay, okay…” he swallowed. “Anything else?”

His human friend was taking pity on him, Jake knew. 

Max has been there since the beginning. Seeing Jake growing his own family and now being placed in this position. “Besides the broken wrist and strained ankle, it’s mostly cuts and bruises. So she will have to wear a brace as well as remain seated for the next week or so. And check-ups every three days.“

“Yeah, we can do that,” Jake croaked. “When’s the surgery?”

“As soon as possible.”

Another nod. “Thanks, man.”

“Of course.”

He had to nearly pry Netytiri away from you as she snarled protectively. But he had to explain that she couldn’t join in on the surgery due to contamination concerns. The whole room had to be fixed to match that of a Na’vi body, the surgeons wearing oxygen masks as the space was filled with Pandora’s toxic air for your sake. 

It was an open lung surgery, Jake had been told. A risky procedure even on earth. It had taken four hours. Four hours full of anxiety and fear. 

But you had pulled through, Max said, Norm closely behind with a relieved teary smile himself. The man was like another uncle to the kids despite his avatar form. He had watched their ceremonies, rites and connections to Eywa. So to Norm, this was just like a family member to him. 

You had slept for a full day and a half after the surgery, still confined to the avatar hospital room before your eyes had fluttered open with difficulty. A cough erupted followed by your painful whine at the action.

Netytiri had hushed you gently, crouching down and stroking your hair back. Fresh tears fell at seeing you conscious again after so long, sobs breaking out as you flashed a sleepy smile at her. 

Neytiri had felt like Eywa had pulled the entirety of Pandora away from underneath her feet during the hours of your examination and surgery. Clutching Jake to her and never wanting to let go as her oldest baby was at the mercy of nature and your own will to live through. 

But she knew. 

You were strong. You always had been. And you had fought. 

Neytiri had never imagined a day when one of her biggest nightmares nearly came to pass. 

To lose one of her children. 

She would rather throw herself off the highest point on Ayram alusìng than lose one of her precious babies before their time. She believed in Eywa with her whole heart and soul and knew their beings were only borrowed and one day had to be returned. 

But Eywa would not take her children away from her until Neytiri herself agreed. 

Until that time, she would do anything to protect them. But to have it happen during one of their most treasured rites in life had prevented her from doing many things. 

Interfering for once. Because you had said so before as if knowing how horribly wrong it could go. 

“Do not stop me, mama. I can do this on my own.”

Of course, you could. And you did. 

Despite having to brush the doors to Eywa’s home yourself to succeed. 

And as your parents carefully helped you back home to the village after five days of observation at Hell’s Gate after your surgery, you couldn’t help but snicker despite the stabs of pain.  

Your mom had admonished you gently to not aggravate your wounds. Whereas your dad held back the roll of his eyes with amusement tickling the sides of his mouth. 

“Why are you laughing, flower?”

Your grin was shit-eating as you looked up at him.

“My iknimaya was so much cooler than Toruk Makto’s.”

“You little skxawng.”

I feel like I lowkey pulled this one out of my ass, but oh well. 

taglist: @nao-cchi @eywas-heir @ssc7514 @spicycloudsalad @calums-betch @httpjiikook @ricecakeslove @fanboyluvr @iwaslikeblah   @the-wandering-pan-ace @avatarloversblog @eternallyvenus @enchantinggoateefox @arianapntn @heydemonsitsme @slyvixen1029​ @promiseofeywa @love13tter @directioner5life @bambisposts-blogs​ @melllinaa​  @sugarmummystuff6​ @lovekeeho​ @hai-kbai​

[halfwayhearted]

heyyyy ! i was wondering if i could request hector fort x reader at a haunted house?

Ghost Highway — Héctor Fort.

Pairing: Héctor Fort x Fem!Reader

Summary: In which you’re scared, and he… well, he is too.

Word Count: 560+

Disclaimer/s — Fluff, and hello, HAPPY HALLOWEEN.

A/N: This was actually so 😭💞 to write, it’s quite short, Soz!

How Héctor managed to convince you? No clue.

Going to a ‘Spooky Halloween October Fest’ was something you had on your list of things to do for weeks, if not months. And what better opportunity to go with your boyfriend than now?

That was until he caught sight of the haunted house. You declined, one after the other, yet he was as determined as ever to get you to agree. With a little bribing of free food and sweet treats for a couple of months, you finally caved.

He held out his hand, and you grabbed two of his fingers, already bracing yourself for the jumpscares and unnecessarily scary sound effects. You hated being scared. Loathed it, even.

“I swear,” you murmur after one of the workers looks over at the two of you and nods, “I’m starting to think your bribe wasn’t worth this.”

All the Fort boy does is laugh, rolling his eyes.

Things were going fine—if it weren’t for the yells and screams from the people way ahead of you, warning you of what’s to come. But still, it was going fine… for the time being, you supposed.

That’s when you both turn a corner, and a woman in a witch costume jumps out, eyes wide with fake blood trailing down her jaw. You jump, letting out a yelp as you let go of your boyfriend and hurry past the scare actor, leaving him behind.

Catching up to you, he couldn’t help but let a big smile grace his lips. “You scare easily, huh?”

“I scare easily when it’s something unexpected.”

“You couldn’t see her hat peeking out?” He asks, gratefully lending you his arm when he sees you reaching out for it. “Because it was right there.”

Your brows instantly furrowed, “If I did notice her, would I have jumped and run away from you?”

“Point taken—” he’s cut off when a loud effect sounds, his body jolting slightly and instinctively pulling you toward him, making you giggle.

“I actually think that made me feel a lot better.”

How would that make you feel better? He had thought, looking down at you with narrowed eyes. “What? Me flinching? I wasn’t expecting it.”

“No, the fact that I got scared by an actual person and you were spooked by a literal loud audio.”

From your teasing alone, Héctor slid his arm out of your grip and quickened his pace, making you tense at the thought and feeling of being alone. It didn’t help that the background music turned from calm and eerie to loud and suspenseful.

“Héctor!” You whisper-shouted, watching how he disappeared into the next room. You winced. Was he seriously leaving you alone? “Héctor! Please.”

Cautiously entering the dark room, you instantly let out a scream when you heard the whisper of a faint ‘boo’ in your ear. Your eyes clamped shut, and you were about to bolt when familiar arms wrapped around your waist. “It’s just me. I—” he was unable to finish his sentence due to his loud laughter. You could’ve been annoyed. You really could’ve been. But you weren’t, not even a little bit. Instead you smiled and swatted at his arms.

“You’re insufferable!” You huffed. “Like, really?”

“Do you want to leave? We’re close to the end.”

Of course that’s what you wanted. “I think you’re an insufferable genius. Come on, come on!”

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @planetpedri + @spidybaby ! ౨ৎ

[harleehazbinfics]

Cookies for Everyone!

--- cannibal chef m.list a/n at the end!

"Everyone! I got all of you something!" You excitedly bounded to them with a covered round tray in your hands.

Everyone turns to you curious as to what you're holding, except Vaggie, who narrows her eyes suspiciously at the tray crossing her arms.

"What's in the tray?" She asks, voice laced with hostility.

"Oh, Vaggie. I'm sure it's something harmless," Charlie tries to mediate with a smile.

"Harmless? From her?" Husk retorts with a snide grin. "I'd believe it when snakes and pigs fly."

Angel gasps hugging Fat Nuggets closely. While Sir Pentious does the same with an offended look hugging his eggbois.

"Too far, my bad."

You waved them off with a laugh, and said, "Oh, goodness no! I could never! I just wanted to give you guys a little something for inviting me to do stuff with you recently. I never had proper friends before, so I made you..."

You drag the suspense and slowly lift the cover making them hitch their breaths anticipating the worst.

What was it? Mutilated body parts? Teeth bracelets? Their stinkiest undergarments?!

You finally presented the gift with a proud look on your face, while their tense faces deflated in relief to see...

"Cookies?"

"PEOPLE SHAPED COOKIES! LOOK IT'S ALL OF US!" Charlie screams elated grabbing her cookie.

"I think those are called Gingerbread Men," Husk remarks at Charlie cynically making Vaggie glare at him.

"Woah! These look great, doll!" Angel complements inspecting the cookie with a smile.

"They also taste amazing!" Pentious adds, melting from the taste of your baking.

"Not gonna lie. I thought you'd give us eyes or nails of our loved ones," Vaggie confesses before eating a bite out of her cookie, "These aren't half bad."

You smile and reply with a shrug, "I'm crazy but I'm not a monster."

"I think we've already passed that, dear," Alastor notes appearing by your side.

"Sir Alastor! I wouldn't dare forget to make you some!" You said giving him a little bag of his own cookies, giving the rest their own goodie bags.

"Well, everyone. We'll be heading out. Can't be late for our reservation," Alastor announces cutting through everyone's conversation taking their attention.

"Reservation?" You ask tilting your head rather cutely, but Alastor would rather die than say that out loud, "I never arranged a reservation for you, Sir."

He grins holding your shoulder, and replies, "I made it for you, of course! Seems like you've already forgotten about your own birthday, sweetheart."

Your head explodes into a red color looking very embarrassed and excited, both at his endearment and plans for you. It made you feel very appreciated that he remembered something you've barely told anyone.

Your brain runs around in delusions. Thinking so far into the future where you'd live together with Alastor, sleeping in the same room being woken up by your pet cat and being a family.

"We can't be late. See you in a while, chums!" The radio demon bids goodbye holding your lovesick form in his arms in a princess carry while you short-circuited.

"Should we name our cat after you, sir? 💕"

---

saw this goin around while i was gone wtf, its oddly and scarily cute ew? /aff LMAO