#this also means if you have any requests for the starters

[tadbitfooled]

okay, so my wrist is spent for the night. I didn't get as many starters done as I wanted, but I will write them by hand while on my trip in the evenings and post them when I get home. The ones I haven't gotten done are listed below

Briza - @taintedpvct for Rham

Frits - @palaedins, @tripledged

Gwenifar - @doighnadair, @soulskept, @taintedpvct for Ylva

Talilah - @unfortunatedarling

Tavinkas - @doighnadair, @sunweaves

[distantdarlings]

STRAY FROM ROUTINE // m. riddle

RATING: R / 4.5K WORDS

Mattheo Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* You wake up with an evil plan to ignore Mattheo Riddle until he cracks.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in V), unprotected, spanking, thigh-hitting, dom!mattheo, sub!reader, mean mattheo, slight breeding kink, controlling mattheo, reader is resisting (but she's doing it on purpose), toxic relationship values, name-calling, degradation, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed anything!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Ride or Die, Pt. 2 - Sevdaliza (I can't get it out of my head :'))

- - -

The inspiration that struck you as soon as you woke up was one of some kind of age-old genius. The motivation that came with it seemed to cloud your mind like some kind of drug, flooding your mind and inhibiting all other thoughts that attempted to enter your brain the rest of the day.

You had always been a bit of a shit-starter when it came to Mattheo Riddle, but today, you were feeling downright sinister.

Your eyes flicked across the room to catch the dark boy’s oaken eyes. His strong hand lifted from the counter to toy with his bottom lip teasingly. Every move was calculated, down to the way his shoulders moved when he took in a breath.

He skirted through his usual routine of tracing his eyes slowly down your body, then flicking them back up to steel his eye contact. For the first few months of your relationship with him—if that’s what you wanted to call it—that whole intimidating facade had worked on you effortlessly. But now, you knew he was more bark than he was bite. That was, as far as you could tell.

You supposed that after sleeping with him so long, he’d have lived up to his whole King Mattheo act, but he'd fallen short. You were disappointed, to say the least. The majority of the entire student body, including some teachers, were terrified of this boy that currently stared you down, but you seemed to be missing something.

Was he good in bed? Hell yes. Could he get mean? Also yes, but where was the difference? As far as you could tell, he didn’t fuck any differently than any other Slytherin boy you’d been with. They were practically all the same. Mean, dominant, and rough. They usually had some kind of ego to keep up—or a tiny dick to compensate for. Whatever it was, Mattheo didn’t seem any different.

He was mean, dominant, and rough. The only thing that had surprised you about him was how gentle he was beneath it all. With every bruising thrust, his fingers cradled your hips gently where others gripped with their nails. With every mark he sucked into your skin, he darted a tongue out to soothe where others let it simmer. He was a rough lover, but he was still a lover. The others were just rough.

That was what had kept you going back to him so many times. But you were getting impatient. It was time for Mattheo to step his game up, or you were going to get bored. You wanted him to prove to you that he was different. But you didn’t want to have to ask for it. You just wanted him to know to do it.

By the time the last of the breakfast crowd had dissipated and the campus prepared for their first periods, Mattheo hadn’t broken eye contact once. Nor had you. If there was one thing you weren’t going to do—for Mattheo or any one else—it was back down from a challenge. If he wanted to tease and stare and frustrate, you’d do the same.

Finally, he stood with the rest of his group of friends. They headed toward the door but his focus remained on you.

The tip of his wand peeked out from the edge of his uniform sleeve and, with a few mumbled words, a small slip of paper had collapsed from the tip of the wooden object. It hit the floor silently, and weaved through the swarm of feet marching through the Great Hall. Once it had reached you, it stopped just before your shoes beneath the table.

At risk of being caught by your friends, you refused to glance down at it. But, just like he always did, Mattheo had thought of everything. With a shiver, you felt the piece of paper slide up your leg like a slithering snake.

It slunk over the curve of your knee and seemed to wait for you to grab it. Ignoring the thought that it seemed to be alive like some sort of bug, you slipped your hand beneath the table and pulled the slip of paper toward you. Discreetly, you opened it up and looked down at it.

How do you want me to take you today? was scrawled in heavy, broad strokes across the sliver of parchment.

You bit back a smirk. That little fucker.

But, no. With the inspiration you had today—the inspiration to push Mattheo Riddle as close to the edge as possible—you weren’t going to allow him the satisfaction.

In fact, you were going to ignore him entirely until he cracked. That was the plan and you were settled with it. While this likely wasn’t the best thing for your own health, you weren’t too concerned. Mattheo Riddle was an asshole, but he wasn’t a murderer. You were pretty sure, anyways.

Satisfied with your decisions, you smiled lightly and pushed the piece of parchment into the first pocket of your school bag. As soon as you returned to your room, it would be placed with all of the other notes he had passed to you. Even though you weren’t wildly impressed with Mattheo’s performance so far, it was still nice to have the dirty, little notes sitting around for a rainy day.

- - -

And throughout the rest of the day, you stuck to your plan like glue. Every stare, every sneaking touch, every whispered word from Mattheo was met with a brick wall. You simply weren’t interested in any aspect of his usual antics, today. He needed to earn what he refused to admit he wanted so badly, which was you.

And by third period, you could tell he was nearly ready to explode. His jaw was clenching and unclenching, his fists were wrapped so tightly together, the knuckles were almost completely white. He was fucking angry—possibly angrier than you had ever seen him. And that was exactly what you had wanted. You wanted him to know that you were a million times different than any of the other girls he’d romanced so far.

He tried once more to entice a little desire from you just toward the end of class. The two of you sat in the last two rows at the very back of the classroom.

The room was elevated with the back rows at the highest point of the room, overlooking the rest of the class. Any secret movements were noticed simply by the backs of heads and a nonchalant teacher.

Mattheo sat directly behind you with one of his unnamed friends to his left, and another to that boy’s left. You were alone on your row. The class was not that big. But this was exactly the kind of environment a sly boy like Mattheo Riddle loved. He would take any opportunity he could to slide his dirty lips against your ear and whisper any deviance that popped into his head at the moment. And that’s what he’d done.

His head had settled just beside yours. You’d heard his breathing before even noticing the heat from his skin radiating onto yours. A shiver passed through your body at his proximity. Annoyed at your body’s involuntary reaction to the dark boy, you slipped your arms beneath the table to hide the chills sprouting across your flesh.

He must have seen them, though, because a small breath of a smirk passed across his face in your peripheral.

“I don’t know what your game is, little girl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But you’d better straighten that attitude up, or, I swear, I’ll fix it myself.”

He didn’t say another word before he leaned back against his own seat, leaving you to wonder whether or not this was a good idea. You reminded yourself that intimidation was his shtick. That was the majority of the reason everyone was so frightened of him. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d actually beaten anyone up or done anything to anyone who’d wronged him. Like you’d said, he was all bark.

Still, despite his threatening words, you simply flipped your hair over your shoulder and completely ignored him. He scoffed, seemingly suppressing a laugh. He was mad. But he wasn’t going to admit that to you right now.

Besides, you were sure you’d never hear the end of it once it was all said and done.

Once the teacher had announced that class was over and recited the homework assignment to a crowd of deaf ears, you gathered all of your things quickly and made a beeline for the door. You hadn’t even given Mattheo a second to gain a bit of awareness before you were out the door and halfway down the hallway.

You didn’t have a fourth period, but Mattheo did. He had Potions for the next hour, giving you just enough time to spruce up your appearance a bit and prepare for the storm that was brewing. You knew Mattheo well enough by this point to know how this evening was going to go. He would threaten your body within an inch of its life, ask if you ‘knew who he was,’ then he’d fuck you. Just like he always did. There was too much of a pattern. Not enough spontaneity to keep you occupied—you needed more. Hopefully, today was what did it for him.

The dormitory you shared with your mates was completely barren due to their schedules. Out of the five of you, you were the only one that had chosen fourth period as your free period. It seemed odd to you that they would rather have a late start to the day, than an early end. In your opinion, you’d wake up as early as you had to, if it meant you did not have to yawn your way through the last classes of the day.

You dropped your bag onto your bed and made for the small desk that was positioned just beside the headboard. It was stocked with all of your personal hygiene products—organized impeccably—and various bits of stationery for schoolwork. It served as both a desk and a vanity for you while you were getting ready in the mornings—or getting ready to see Mattheo.

You hoped he would be desperate all through his class. You hoped his eyes would be flickering around nervously, his knee bouncing rapidly, sweat dripping down his throat. It would be a sight to behold.

Mattheo was gorgeous—there was no denying that. It was just his attitude that needed adjusting. You smirked to yourself before taking a seat at your desk, glancing at your appearance in the small mirror you’d propped up against the stone wall.

And before you were even able to apply a second layer of mascara, the large wooden door in the corner of the room rattled violently. Three aggressive knocks permeated the silence so roughly the dust motes illuminated by the sun shuddered wildly.

A chill of anticipation settled in your stomach. Surely, that couldn’t be him. Fourth period had barely even begun.

You rose from your desk and crossed the length of the room, every step echoing through your body like a cannon. Why were you so nervous? The possibilities of consequences of your own actions were really starting to rattle around in your skull.

Your fingers wrapped around the bronze door handle and pulled.

Sure enough, on the other side, stood Mattheo Riddle. A malicious smirk was printed across his lips. He glanced around a few times, seeming to scan the surroundings of your dorm.

“Hi, is there anyone else here?” he asked, his voice sickly sweet. The courteous role he was playing made you all the more nervous. He never acted this way, even when he’d come to your dorm in the past. He was usually just as brash as he always was, no matter who was in the room.

“No, there’s not,” you said, your voice annoyingly shaking just a bit. “And if you don’t mind, I’m actually pretty busy—”

Just as you started to push the door closed again, Mattheo’s foot slammed against it, completely blocking its path. You tried to push against him, but he was much too strong for you to defend against.

“I’m sure you can spare a few moments for a quick chat,” he nearly growled, never dropping the fake smile planted on his face. His strong arm pushed against the door, rendering your protection of it completely useless. He pushed through and into the room as if you’d never been holding it in the first place.

He kicked the door shut behind him as soon as he stepped through, the door clunking shut with a rough thud. You suppressed a flinch at the loud sound, refusing to show any sign of vulnerability. You couldn’t pull away from your plan now that you were feeling his anger—that was cowardly.

“Mattheo, I’ve asked for you to leave,” you warned.

“Yeah? Just answer one question for me, baby…” he said, stepping directly into your personal space and invading it in every way possible.

As if asking for permission, he raised his hand slowly and let it hover just next to your cheek. When you did nothing, he placed his fingers along your jawline. They stroked gently across a small surface area, insisting that you felt every searing second of contact.

His face came impossibly close against yours. His warm breath fanned slowly across your cheek, hints of fire and cinnamon lingering beneath your nose. The feeling of his lips skirting slightly over your skin on the way to your ear sent a myriad of chills down the length of your arms and a pool of heat between your thighs. You silenced a shudder on its way through your lips.

“Did you act that way on purpose?” he whispered. His lips caressed the curvature of your ear, his hot words curling around the room. “If not, I’ll find a new girl to open her legs when I want. But if you wanted this, I will make you regret ever having turned away from me.”

You swallowed thickly, the sound piercing the blanket of silence that fell around the room the minute Mattheo stopped speaking. It irked you to no end, that the entire world seemed to hold its breath to wait for this boy. This dark, irritatingly impossible to resist boy. It was more than you were able to handle, no matter how determined you were to prove a point.

“What I wanted…,” you trailed off coldly. “Was for you to prove to me that you’re not exactly like every other Slytherin that waltzes in here, comes in ten seconds, and then asks me if I’ve finished. I’ve been waiting for that special something to jump out at me, but it just hasn’t. I’m getting bored of you, Mattheo.” You took a deep breath, gaining enough courage to flatten your face and select your next words perfectly. “Speaking of, I was wondering if your friend, Enzo, was single.”

You struggled not to smirk at his reaction. If you didn’t know Mattheo, you’d have assumed he was going to crash out and leave the room. But you knew him and his destructive tendencies. His rage, though extremely stigmatized, was something to be in awe of, and you were ready to see it. And to be the target of it.

His eyes darkened until they were barely reflecting any of the dim light around the room. His lips parted slightly, just enough for an evil smirk to stretch across his face. He was all dark eyes and sharp canines, and it looked as if he were desperate to sink them into your flesh.

“You’re fucking done,” he whispered menacingly.

Then his hand was around your throat, firm and bruising. He walked you backwards until your back roughly hit the stone wall, the cold rock biting into your shoulder blades. His lips met yours with a fervor you’d never seen before.

His tongue cruelly parted your lips and laid claim to the entirety of your throat. You could hardly breathe with the pressure he was applying around your neck and the force of his kiss. Yet, still, you could not deny the heat building within your stomach and radiating downwards.

His free hand wrapped around your waist, the fingers slipping slyly beneath the waistband of your uniform skirt. Just as always, in the midst of the fiery storm, his fingers were able to imitate some form of softness just long enough for his hand to prepare to rip your skirt away. Despite the roughness he provided everywhere else, his fingers were gentle as they slid along your skin so as not to pinch it against the wall. It was just thoughtful enough to melt your heart down into a broiling golden puddle.

His strong hand gripped the material of your bottoms and pulled them roughly down, revealing the absence of anything beneath, save your blackened tights. When he lifted his hand once more to tear your panties away, he recognized the lack of material within his fingers and growled against your lips.

“You fucking wanted this, you dumb slut,” he spat, his pearlescent teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip. With a whimper and flash of white across your vision, he finally released you, leaving behind a thin slathering of blood across your teeth.

“You wanted me to tear you to pieces,” he whispered, his hand finally freeing your throat, but only to get to work on ripping your uniform shirt apart. The buttons clattered wildly across the floor, rolling freely each in their own directions.

You moved to protest but Mattheo shoved you back against the wall. He shook his head as if in disbelief you’d even try to get away from him at this point in time. In his mind, this was well-deserved punishment. If you were his girl, you were going to fucking listen to him. You knew what you were getting into when you first laid your lips on his.

With your shirt split down the middle, the only thing standing between his lips and your heaving body were a lacy bra and a pair of tights. The cold, gray air hit your soaked body so aggressively, you thought your teeth might start clacking together.

“All this going to waste because you couldn’t ask me for what you wanted,” he whispered. “I’m going to have to destroy this gorgeous body, when it should be worshiped.”

To your disbelief, he sank down to his knees and placed his hands gently on the back of your thighs. His scorching mouth made contact with your thighs—still covered in the thin material of your pantyhose—and he began to place wet, biting kisses along your flesh. He moved slowly from just above your knee to the top of your thigh. Each mean kiss ached as if they were done by a wild animal, but—just as he always fucking did—he soothed them with his skilled tongue afterwards. Never letting you hurt for too long.

Once he reached your core, fluttering in anticipation, he took a deep breath. The scent of your desire filled his senses as if it was his last meal. Just from how he’d loved in the past, you could tell that he was refraining from devouring you. But this was a punishment. No matter how sweet or caring he so often was, he was never going to let you have what you wanted.

“But that won’t do today…” he whispered against the surface of your tights just above your core, so close that his lips brushed across the sensitive skin. You withheld a whimper.

“Seems like it wasn’t happening any other day, either,” you chuckled breathlessly. You weren’t dropping this fucking routine. You wanted this and every inch of teasing Mattheo wanted to give you.

He laid a biting slap across your left thigh. The sound of it echoed throughout the room, only being interrupted by the cry that left your lips at the sudden abuse.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he demanded, his hand soothing the sore flesh.

He pressed one more kiss to the blossoming handprint, before sliding a short nail against the hosiery, ripping it instantly.

You gasped at the sensation, watching as he pulled on the material. It shredded down your leg, exposing your bare thighs to the pale light. Flaming red fingerprints bloodied the soft flesh and marked you as his.

Despite your annoyance at his lack of excitement during the last few times you’d fucked, the feeling of possession that he’d laid on you always made an impression. You felt like you belonged to him in every aspect of the word.

Then before you were able to let another smart-ass comment fly, he slipped his hand beneath the large shear in the tights and ripped a hole right across your aching groin, baring your searing cunt to the world.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Even though he was intending to punish, Mattheo couldn’t help but appreciate your body just a little bit. Though he wouldn’t admit it just yet, he could die happily buried within you.

Seeming to realize his “punishment” was a bit too sweet, he gripped your hips roughly and flipped your body around to face the wall. You helped aloud as the craggy stone bit into the skin of your breasts through your bra. The lace mixed with the cold wall made your nipples prick almost uncomfortably.

“Gonna fuck some manners into you, baby,” he murmured, his gravelly voice echoing against the curve of your spine. His mean fingers traced each nodule of each vertebrae until he reached the dimples imprinted in the small of your back.

His thumbs pressed deep against them, rubbing an easy massage into them for just a second.

“Feel good? You got any other dumbass things to say?”

“Why waste my breath? I’m gonna have to fake my fucking orgasm in a few seconds.”

You bit back a moan as he reached through your legs, gripped the hole he’d ripped in your tights, and widened it between your thighs. He pulled it up and over your ass.

“Yeah? You fake it every time, baby?” he growled into your ear, his heavy bulge pressing into your bare ass.

“Yeah,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper. Your hands were settled against your desk, fingers tightened around the edges, nails scratching into the wood. Your back was arched uncomfortably against his core, begging for every slight thrust he pressed into you. You could practically feel him within you already.

“You fake it every time you cum all over my cock, huh?” he asked. Behind you, you could hear him wrestling his belt out of its loops and dropping his trousers.

“Answer me, bitch,” he demanded, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back against his chest.

“Fuck, Matty, that hurts!” you whined. It was a good, searing kind of pain but you didn’t want him to know that. Didn’t want him to know that your arousal was dripping down your legs by now.

“Yeah? That hurts?” he taunted. “That’s nothing, baby. You can take it.”

Then suddenly, his hot core was leant against the top of your ass. You were biting back a moan and running your fingers into the desk so hard they were going numb. Still, you weren’t going to give up.

“We’ll see if you can give it—fuck!”

He shut you up by slamming himself into you. The force of his intrusion hit your cervix at a sharp angle, sending stars into your eyes.

“Let me hear you fake it, yeah?” he groaned as he pulled himself out of you all the way to the tip before pushing himself back into you.

You couldn’t hide it anymore. Though you could still force some mean comments out every once and a while, you were unable to repress your moans.

“I’m basically an expert at this point!” you moaned.

“I bet,” he growled, his hips increasing in pace. “I know the way you clench around me everytime I take you from behind—” every sentence was pushed out between deep groans that echoed in your womb— “I’ve memorized every possible way you can scream my name…and I’ve learned every single thing I have to do to make that pretty pussy cum all over me.”

Following his words, his right hand snaked around your hip and pressed directly against your clit. He rubbed perfect circles into the sensitive spot, demanding a finish from you as soon as he could pull it from you.

“You’re a bit too cocky for my liking,” you breathed against his ruthless pounding. “I’d still like Enzo’s number.”

And with one final thrust, he pierced the bubble of pleasure that had bloomed rapidly in your stomach. You came impossibly hard, with the evidence of your high embarrassingly gushing around him. He pulled away from you and let your desire cover his stomach.

He laughed almost maniacally at the way your orgasm stretched out for what felt like hours.

And then, as you were finally coming down, he was pumping himself noisily into his hand and coming all of your lower back, painting the dimples he so loved to touch.

He moaned breathlessly, a slight crack in his voice, as he slowed his movements down and came down from his own high.

A tired laugh left his swollen lips as he trailed his finger through the remnants of his spend on your back and pushed his coated fingers into your sensitive entrance.

The overstimulation sent a flurry of ice up your spine. You cried at the sensation. Your legs fluttered before giving out.

On your way down to the floor, he caught you against his arms. Your knees were impossibly weak, but he was ever so strong.

“You faking this too, baby?” he clicked his tongue before settling you against your bed.

“Fuck you,” you sighed, your eyes fluttering against the ceiling. The lightheaded feeling floating through your skull was nearly too much for you to handle, but you were still high up on your pedestal and refused to come down.

Distantly, you could hear him pulling his pants up and rearranging his clothes.

Gently, he slid the remainder of your hosiery down your legs, unhooked your bra, and lifted you up off of the bed bridal-style. Somehow managing to cradle you with just one hand, he used his left to yank your comforter back, and settle you beneath it.

He leaned down beside your ear and pressed his lips to your temple. Just before he pulled all the way back, he began to whisper.

“The next time you wanna act like that—just remember that I fucked you to sleep, brat.”

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithhideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch, @abaker74, @ilovehotmenandwoman, @kissesbyarabella, @synicaljah

(If you would like to be added to the tag list, please shoot me a DM! Thanks!

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

hi!! this is the same anon from earlier and i saw you wanted to write for james potter. and i’m so sorry if you’ve done something similar. so maybe after a quidditch match, win or loss, all james wants to do is lie and bed with reader and hug her. but they’re not dating and he ends up confessing too, still tired, he doesn’t even realize he’s admitted his feelings

thank you again for your time:))

-can i be ‘🎀 anon’? lolol

hi lovely 🎀! thanks for your sweet words and adorable requests 😊 i hope you like it!

pairing: James Potter x reader tags: fluffy fluff, some angst, gn reader if you want word count: 1.9k

Cuddles and Confessions

So close. So bloody close. And to bloody Slytherin to top it off? The defeat stung worse than any other James could remember. 

As he lumbers back up toward the castle after the match, frustrated and furious, some Slytherin fans jeer at him from across the lawns. It pushes him over an edge, and he turns to — well, he’s not sure to what; berate them? beat them up? — a strong hand grabs his shoulder and turns him back around.

“Easy, mate. They’re idiots but they’re not worth it,” Sirius says easily. Sirius of all people being the voice of reason has James realizing maybe he needs to calm down. 

James falling into step with Sirius without a word, the two make their way back up to the castle. 

When they get to the common room, it’s packed with mad and sad-looking Gryffindors consoling each other, complaining about bad calls, bad-mouthing the Slytherins: a typical post-match defeat. 

“Thank Godric,” Sirius sighs, heading immediately to a small table stacked with firewhisky. He grabs two glasses, but James stops him before he fills the second one.

“No thanks, mate. Don’t really feel like the company,” he says, scanning the room. He admits to himself there is one face that would have made him stay, one person whose company was actually the only thing he wanted right now. But he doesn’t see you. So he stalks off, bounding up the stairs to his currently empty dormitory. 

He’s lying on his bed, tossing a ball up and down when he hears a soft knock. 

“What?” he yells, the harshness of his voice even surprising him a bit. Surprise shifts to horror when your beautiful, blushing face peeks around the door. 

“Hi, Jamie,” you say shyly. “I’m sorry. Sirius said you wanted to be alone. I should’ve listened. I didn’t mean to annoy you. I’ll just —” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he rushes, going over to you and pulling you into his room. “I’m so sorry, love. Please don’t go.” 

You smile a bit at this, looking down at your feet before nodding slightly. 

“Ugh, I’m a prick. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” His voice is soft now, warm and enveloping as you look into his pleading eyes. 

“It’s okay,” you chuckle. “I get it. Rough night, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, smiling for the first time all day. You had a way of bringing that out in him. 

“Want a hug?” you offer. He nods immediately, internally cringing for being so uncool in front of you.

“Yes please,” he half laughs. 

You step close to him, and even this increased proximity has him reeling. He can’t wait to feel your warmth around him, to smell your hair as he nuzzles into you. 

He’d been hoping to win tonight’s match for more reasons than one. He hated Slytherin for starters. He loved winning for seconds. But also, he had been hoping a Gryffindor victory party could be the perfect place to finally tell you how he feels about you. Firewhisky flowing, adrenaline pumping, maybe he’d finally have the courage he was supposed to have as a Gryffindor and tell you the truth. 

You bring your arms up around his shoulders, pulling him close to you, bringing one hand to his messy hair and scratching comfortingly. James’s large body immediately melts into yours. He hums into the crook of your neck, and you giggle. 

“Thanks for coming to check on me,” he whispers into your shoulder, holding you close. 

“Why would I want to be downstairs wallowing with everyone else when I could wallow with you?” you tease, pulling back slightly to be face to face again. He hates how much he just wants to pull you back into him. 

“Oh, I’m much better company than those wankers,” he plays along. 

“Yes, I’m sure. Seems you’re quite chipper from your greeting.” 

He cringes and whispers “sorry” again. You shake your head quickly, wanting him to know you’re only teasing. 

The silence stretches a bit too long, neither of you knowing what to say. It’s especially awkward because your hands are still on his shoulders, his on your hips. 

“So what were you doing?” you ask, coming up with nothing better. 

“Just lying in bed, wallowing,” he confesses. 

“Sounds fun,” you chuckle. You break apart from him, the tension becoming too much and head over to his bed, plopping down onto it. He laughs and follows, sitting close next to you. “What do you want to do?” you ask, your voice low. “I came to cheer you up, but I think I’m doing a bang up job so far,” you chuckle, scrunching your nose. 

Before thinking about it, James brings his hand up to your face, lightly tracing his finger down your nose for you to relax it. 

“You’re not,” he says earnestly. “I’m already better, just having you here.” He thinks he feels your face warm where his hand still caresses it but pushes the idea down, not wanting it to be wishful thinking. 

“So what do you want to do?” you ask again gently.

“Honestly?” he asks shyly. Nervous was a weird look on him, usually so cocky. 

“Of course,” you giggle in your warmest tones, wanting him to be open with you, relishing in the intimacy you seemed to be building. 

“I want to keep lying in bed wallowing.” 

You stiffen immediately, chiding yourself for misreading his nerves. He wanted you to leave; that’s why he seemed shy. 

James sees — and feels — you tense at his words, and luckily for him, he realizes right away what you’re probably thinking. He continues before he can stop himself, dreading your leaving more than dreading saying something stupid. 

“With you,” he adds hastily. He feels himself blush, hates it, but pushes on. “I want to lie in bed and wallow… with you,” he repeats more softly. 

“Oh,” is all you can think to respond.

“I mean, just hang out, you know. I just… you just… I just like hanging out with you. And even just your hug made me feel better,” he rambles sweetly. 

You smile and pull away from him a bit. Before he can be disappointed, though, you’re pulling him with you as you shuffle further back onto the bed, lying down and bringing him horizontal with you by the shoulder. 

You’re lying next to each other, both tense, facing the ceiling, your sides grazing but nothing more. You look over at him, and he looks at you, and you both look away like idiots. 

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself he literally just told you he wanted to be here with you, clinging to that to give you the courage for what you were about to do. You turn toward him and bring your hand up to his hair. His eyes snap to yours. First they show shock but that quickly melts to adoration. Then they show nothing at all as they close in comforted bliss. You chuckle softly and see the corners of his mouth tug up at the sound. 

“Feels nice,” he whispers.

“Yeah?” you whisper too. He just nods. 

You shuffle closer to him, and he turns his body towards yours. Your arm is cramped now between your two close bodies, so you do the reasonable thing for comfort, you tell yourself, and wrap your arm under his shoulders. His face coming to the crook of your neck, you miss the huge smile that breaks out on it at the contact. 

He’s lying on your shoulder now, the rest of his body flush with yours. Your arm is around him, your hand coming up to continue playing with his hair. James brings his arm over you, hugging you close, and you place your arm on top of his. 

It crosses James’s mind that friends don’t cuddle. But he stops his internal monologue in time to savour the moment rather than over-analyse it, which he’s bound to do later.

You just lie there in silence for  a bit, the tension having eased considerably. 

In your warm, comfortable cocoon, you bring your face closer to the top of his head on your shoulder and nuzzle him a bit. He just hums in response. 

“You’re comfy,” he says. It sounds muffled, his mouth squished against your shoulder. You laugh, and it shakes him up and down the slightest bit. 

James loves the feeling of your vibrating chest just below him. He can’t help himself and tickles you where his hand rests near your ribcage. You laugh louder. You hold down his arm to stop him and playfully shake him off a bit to protect yourself from more tickling. His grip tightens in response, and he’s almost on top of you by the time he’s done adjusting himself. 

“No, no, don’t go,” he chuckles. “I’ll stop.” 

Your laughter has mostly subsided, but your voice is raspy as you respond, “Promise?” He nods into your shoulder. “Fine. I’ll stay if you behave.” 

He laughs, squeezes you, whispers, “Promise.”

Any tension that had been left has dissipated completely, and you fall into easy chat as you hold each other close. Your hand continues playing with his hair, tugging it when he says something stupid. His arm draped over you occasionally squeezing you more tightly whenever either of you says something nice. You go over the highlights of the match, lamenting the result. Without realizing it, you start talking about any and everything else, and by the time the conversation lulls for the first time, both of you chuckling lightly, James wonder how much time has gone by. Not enough, he thinks to himself, wishing this would go on forever. 

The quiet, your hand in his hair, your warmth radiating around his body, it all soothes him into a half slumber. It washes over him how exhausted his body is from the match, how tense it had been from the fury at its result.

“This is nice,” he slurs. 

“Mmhmm,” you hum. 

“I’m not even mad anymore.” He sounds astounded even in his sleepy tones. You chuckle. 

“Good.” 

“Mmmm. We’ll prank the Slytherins tomorrow. And I’ll think of another time to tell you how I feel.” Your hand halts its motions. James is still completely relaxed, and you realize he’s pretty much half asleep, not truly realizing what he’s saying.

You don’t want to take advantage of him in this state, but you want to be honest with him too, and he clearly wanted to talk to you about whatever this was. 

So, you warmly whisper, “How do you feel, Jamie?”

“I love you,” he mumbles. You’re melting at his words, and you can’t wait till tomorrow to say them back. You shift your weight so you’re more facing James than under him, and this rattles him a bit more awake. His drowsy eyes are heavy initially but then they startle slightly. Before he can worry or regret, you hold his face gently in both your hands, your thumbs caressing his cheeks. 

“James…” He just looks deeply into your eyes, his eyebrows furrowed, not saying anything. “I love you, too.” 

His face shifts as if in slow motion. His eyebrows rise; his lips smile widely; his eyes crinkle.

“You love me?” He sounds equal parts giddy and disbelieving. 

“Yeah, I love you, you grump.” He chuckles. “You love me?” you echo.

He takes his time responding. Scanning your features adoringly. Eventually, finally, calmly and assuredly he says again, “I love you,” nodding as he closes the little distance between you. 

Your kiss is slightly awkward at first, your lips smiling automatically at his words before realizing they’re being called on to take on new, intoxicating shapes. 

[sockmeat]

can i request that reader is a angel and adam falls inlove with her but also lucifer is inlove with her

what would happen 🤔

                                                      𓆩♡𓆪

✼__________________________________________________________✼

𝐆𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 -- 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫… (𝑯𝒂𝒛𝒃𝒊𝒏 𝑯𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒍)

(𝐰𝐜): 412

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When you're assigned to look after the start of the human race by God, you are determined to succeed and make sure they flourish. Uou weren't expecting Adam and another angel to take interest in you.

(𝐀/𝐍): My stupid space bar is broken and it makes writing so damn hard. You ever been double bounced on a trampoline? Yeah that's what my space bar is doing to me rn

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): Adam's a big-ego asshole, but Lucifer is also a big-ego asshole

                                                        𓆩♡𓆪

♡ To meet both Lucifer and Adam, you'd have to be there during the early creations of Hell.

♡ I mean, you had to be there before Lucifer offered the Apple to Eve, maybe even before.

♡ You were formally assigned, by God himself, to look after Adam, Lilith, and then Eve to make sure nothing disastrous happened.

♡ And you took your job very seriously.

♡ Plagued by the worry of disappointing God and being responsible for the first of humanity's end, you made wellness checks like you were their overbearing mother.

♡ But Adam definitely wasn't complaining.

♡ Knowing that he was basically given two women that he already knew he had to procreate with, but he also had an angel that was basically all over him? (Not actually, but he thought you were.)

♡ It was Heaven on Earth for Adam.

♡ That was, until Lucifer grew interested in the humans, too.

♡ You two were able to bond over your shared fascination of the starter humans and Adam hated it.

♡ He had already begun to be possessive over you, assuming you really were completely into him. Adam saw you as something he was guaranteed to have and now that it wasn't guaranteed, he was beyond upset.

♡ Adam began to pick fights with Lucifer over you.

♡ And Lucifer would tease him about you and both of his assigned wives had no interest in him.

♡ But that was only the beginning of their petty little fights.

♡ Lucifer began to lose his grace, using his angelic power to cause Adam grief by tripping him into lakes, charming the women around him away, and taunting Adam with your growing disinterest because of his attitude.

♡ It was a miracle Adam's attitude wasn't caught and he wasn't removed by God.

♡ But, truly, that was because Adam would be on his best behavior around you.

♡ He was far too busy trying to woo you to fight with Lucifer, as much as Lucifer tried to drag him away and get you to himself.

♡ It took some time for you to actually notice their behavior.

♡ You only realized when Adam and Lucifer started arguing in front of you, about you.

♡ None of the other angels had treated you like that, nor did they treat any other angels like that.

♡ They only did that for you.

♡ But while you were wondering what to do about it, their admiration only grew for you.

                                                        𓆩♡𓆪

[icypenguin]

Can I also request a poly sbg x reader who likes cooking for them? (Specifically Korean and Taiwanese food) and they also like calling her mom?

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚 Mom of the Group! ᥫ᭡. ˚⋆

cw: drooling over food, being called ‘mom’, that’s all i guess?

a/n: HII THANKYOU FOR REQUESTING AGAINNN! sorry this one took much longer than the previous one T-T but either way, i hope you’ll like this! and sorry if the foods are not what you expected and really sorry if it’s spelled wrong!

note: reader doesn’t really have any pronounce or gender but is called mom!

divider credits: @drifting-moon @chachachannah

in every kind of way you are, adding your careful personality, you’re always known as a person or a friend who likes to take care of eachother. the fact that you’re a sociable person, not mentioning how you’re a pretty good cooker, makes it even better. since (almost) all of the person in the gang are stubborn and only focuses on the phantom realm, barely taking care of themselves, you, who ARE LOWKEY DONE OF THEIR DEPRESSING ATTITUDE decided to.. try and take things more careful.

“ah, i tried making some meatball dumplings as the starter. for the main i made jjajangmyeon with the side of kimchi and mozzarella corn! aaand- logan helped me while making this ice mango and sago. please dig in everyone!” foods were laid on the table with a glam presentation. anyone who sees it could immediately drool as their appetite will boost.

aiden and taylor were practically drooling as they stared into the food with shining eyes. while ashlyn, tyler, ben and logan tried to hold their drool and act from being so hungry. i mean, who could you blame when you’ve all been stuck in a phantom realm for days and haven’t got any… gorgeous food (other than that delicious sandwich that ashlyn’s parents made).

“thankyou y/n!” “mmm looks delicious..” “best day of my life for real!” “smells amazing..” all whispers of appreciations were heard until.. “thankyou for making these mom!” the word mom came out of nowhere as aiden blurted it out unconsciously. “oops-“ he soon realised what he just said as the table went quiet, but the sound of your laugh came trailing. “no worries, it’s fine totally! i guess i do act like your mom sometimes..” everyone got some jjajangmyeon with either kimchi or corn with mozzarella and meatball dumplings.

everytime you all succeed a mission, whether in the phantom realm or real world, you always make them special food, mostly taiwanese and korean, for a feast.

though, sometimes, when everyone’s having a rough day at school, you’d make them some treats.

“ughh.. have you guys done that 50 math questions? it’s literally due by tomorrow…” aiden slumped on the cafeteria table, following ashlyn who’s already burried her face in her crossed arms. “literally forgot ��bout those..” tyler rested his head on his hand while ben wrote something on his notebook, “i haven’t touched my math book since monday”. seeing what ben has written, taylor answered, “relatable” as she faceslaped herself. while logan, “i don’t think i’ll survive if i do all of them today..” he continued eating his lunch.

“i don’t even understand or know what’s it about…” you looked at them, trying to remember what you’ve learned. “i know right… ughh..” taylor closed her eyes as she tried to calm her mind down. but the busy background noise made it seem impossible.

the others were groaning or sighing about how complicated all of these were when you pulled out a fancy container. hearing the zip from your bag and somehting being placed on the table made aiden perked up to see what is it.

“ooh, what’s that y/n?” he looked closely while the others started to gain their focus on it. “well.. since it’s been bad lately.. i decided to make us some tteok and songpyeom.. my mom used to make these for me when i was younger. and it instantly lit up my day” you smiled, remembering the memories you’ve made.

“oooh! sounds yummy” everyone looked into the container as you opened it. “here, have some! i made sure all of us would get atleast 3” you passed the container to everyone as they chose which one they’d like.

“mmmm! i think the songpyeom fits my taste more” taylor hummed as she ate the snack. “same here” answered ashlyn, sounding grateful that you’ve made this for all of them. “i’m more to the savoury so tteok is better for me” logan pulled his opinion out as ben nodded, agreeing logan. “well- i think i’d have to agree with logan” tyler continued eating his tteok peacefully.

you were grateful that they all loved the foods you made. aiden shot a playful grin before saying, “well.. i think it’s understandable if we call you mom now! ehhe” hearing that made you laugh “well.. i don’t really mind either-“ “it totally suits you y/n!” taylor continued eating the snacks you made as aiden spammed “mom mom mom mom mom” in the background noise, earning a shhh from the group after a while.

you don’t always make them food, you’ve made them tea when you all were training too.

you all were panting from the rough and tiring practice you’ve had with ashlyn’s parents. all of you definitely needed something to boost your energy. you scrambled through your bag to find a thermos and small plastic cups (omg your efforts bruh) for all of you to take atleast a sip.

“look at what i brought, everyone!” you called for their attention as they all perked up at your direction. “what’s for today, mom?” taylor joked before chuckling. “well.. i made us some alishan tea who could accelerate metabolism” you smiled while pouring some in each cup. “oooh! that’s cool!” aiden stared at you pouring in the tea. “i think i’ve heard of it before somewhere..” ashlyn mumbled, secretly excited to taste it.

soon, you handed each cups for everyone to take. “thankyou y/n!” all of them answered. each of them took a sip of the tea and clearly most of them liked it. you let out a relieved breath as soon as you see their expression turned into happy and not disgust. “sooo.. how is it?” you asked in curiosity. “it’s naturally sweet, cool!” “yummy, mom” “just like my taste” they all answered differently but none of them answered negatively. you were happy how they all liked them.

“it’s amazing, thanks mom” ashlyn answered too. but when she did, her mom was walking towards your direction and was a bit shocked when she heard it. soon, ashlyn noticed her mom coming by and realised what she just said. “w-wait it’s not like that-! she’s just acting like our mom in the group but that doesn’t mean i’m replacing you-“ she explained, hurriedly. scared that her mom will think of something else.

but her mom only chuckled as she calmed ashlyn down. “i get it don’t worry.. i was just messing around!” she hugged ashlyn to reassure her.

you’re glad that this ‘mom’ thing doesn’t make any trouble. you’re actually happy of it. i guess being the mom of the group isn’t so bad after all, huh?

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. thankyou for supporting! ୨♡୧

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

can I request a Vox x reader fluff where they've both been struggling to come to terms with their feelings but when something (you can decide what) happens and the reader gets hurt really badly, he confesses

ANOOOOOOOOON!! YOU. GET ME. SO GOOD. HOW DARE YOU HIT ME UP WITH ONE OF MY FAVORITE TROPES?? Literally, give this trope to me as many times as yall want. I'll find a million ways to write it. Reap the repercussions and enjoy the food you beautiful homie, you!

Star-Crossed Idiots [Vox x Reader]

Vox refused to believe it.

Velvette had been the one to call him out on his shit first. Unlike him, she had a semblance of emotional maturity that meant she was perceptive to shit that flew over his head entirely. While he didn't understand why he found himself going out of his way to spend time with you, Velvette figured it out in a matter of days. The very fact that he had kept his involvement with you a secret was suspicious in itself. Not to mention, Velvette realized before he did. When she discovered his feelings for you, she found it hilarious. And a touch pathetic.

"I mean really Vox, you have zero reason to even know them," Velvette scoffed as she sipped on the frappuccino he had used to buy her silence. Things were already messy enough with Valentino. He had no intention of the pissy moth hearing of this until whatever this was, was sorted.

"Yet you constantly check in on their phone activity, go out of your way to run into them on the streets, and now they're even working for you just because your needy ass wanted an excuse to see them on the regular," Velvette listed as Vox did everything in his power to avoid eye contact.

Vox buried his face in his hands and groaned while Velvette rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't it just be easier to ask them out at this point? I love you, darling, but you're making this so much more complicated than it needs to be."

"No," Vox growled as he looked up and shot her a warning glare. "Do you have any idea how much shit we'd be in if I just started dating some random sinner? And that's only if the feelings were mutual."

He ran his hand down his screen with a huff, turning to look at Vark swimming up to the glass. While Vox had originally had the aquarium extend to the meeting rooms for a sense of looming intimidation, he'd found quite a bit of comfort in his sharks being able to follow him through the tower.

"Look, for all we know, I'm just pent up," Vox tried to reason. It sounded fake, even to his own ears, but he was in denial. There was too much bullshit he'd have to face if he really was as whipped for you as he feared. "It's been a shit couple of weeks. I probably just need a break and a good fuck and this will all be something you make fun of me about next week for ever entertaining in the first place."

Velvette shook her head, sighing as she pulled out her phone and started to scroll.

"Whatever you say."

---

You refused to believe it.

There was no way you fell for Vox of all people. For starters, you told yourself you'd never love again! Every time you'd tried, disaster followed. It didn't help that any potential match was one to be made in Hell. Granted, you knew not everyone in Hell was bad. There were a lot of sinners who you firmly believed belonged in Heaven or some sort of equivalent.

But even so... Vox was definitely not one of those people. Not that that was the important part or truly mattered. You were no saint either, you were also in Hell.

"I don't see what the big deal is toots," Angel Dust sighed as he watched you give Fat Nuggets attention to keep your hands busy through the stress. "There are worse people to have a crush on."

"There's better too," you whined. "I'd rather not have a crush at all," you muttered bitterly as your hand continued the soothing action of petting the teacup pig.

You'd originally been on the production team for one of Valentino's studios. That was how you befriended Angel Dust and why Vox scooped you out from under Valentino to work on his own set. He told you it was because he valued someone who had an ear for audio balance, but Angel said he'd only offered you the new job after the overlord walked in on the cameraman flirting with you right before.

"Why not just fuck the guy and see if it's a matter of heart or a matter of-"

You laughed as you covered Angel's mouth with one of your hands. "Okay, okay! Don't... finish that sentence. I won't let you taint poor little Fat Nuggets ears with your porn language."

Angel snickered as you pulled back your hand. "But you see my point, right?"

"I do," you sighed. "But that's... not really my style. If anything, I think it'd just hurt to see him after something like a casual fling. The idea of him wanting my body, but not me? Yeah no. I'll choose the healthier option of repressing my feelings, thank you very much."

"I'm telling ya, he's into you," Angel groaned. "I've seen the way he is with people he thinks are hot. I've seen him with Val. You're different, toots."

You smile sadly at Angel and put Fat Nuggets down on the bed. It was clear you didn't believe Angel and he was on the verge of ripping out his fur because of it. The two of you were so unbelievably oblivious it was gonna kill him again. "Thanks, Angie but... it's okay. Really, it is."

He sighed and eventually let it go. The two of you talked about other things for a while before Charlie peeked into his room to ask for your help on something. Once you were gone, he rolled over the conversation in his mind as he tried to think of ways to get the ball rolling on your love life.

Angel shook his head with a sigh and pulled out his phone. He scooped up Fat Nuggets and flopped back in his bed as the dialing sound filled the room. The line connected, and he was quick to the point.

"Hey, I know we don't really talk, but I've got an idea."

---

"Really Angie, I don't think this was necessary," You grumbled as you tugged down on the all-too-short skirt of the outfit he'd squeezed you into.

"Oh, but it was and it is," Angel grinned as he took your hand and twirled you in the entry hall to the club. You rolled your eyes and let him spin you in jest. He'd asked you to come with him to one of your old coworkers' birthday parties.

Apparently, one of the rules was to dress like you'd get hired to dance at the club. At least, that had been Angel's excuse when you questioned why he was hovering over you as he did your hair, and makeup and held up several outfits to your body that you doubted would fit.

Despite the discomfort of getting all dolled up, you were happy he'd invited you. It had been a while since you saw your old friends. That being said, it would have been more fun if you weren't tugging down your skirt every two minutes. You weren't the only one hyperaware of how much of your skin was exposed. Nor of the way the fabric hugged your frame tightly. Several of your old friends had suggested you return to the studio with a job in front of the camera instead of in the shadows of the set.

You'd been having a good time, sticking to the corner of the room with some of your old friends to watch the drinks while the rest were out on the dance floor. One of the drunker sinners of the bunch accidentally knocked over some of the drinks while she'd been telling a story about the recent cam show she did. You volunteered to go get more napkins from the bar. One of your friends came with you to reorder the ruined drinks and the two of you had nearly pushed your way through the crowd when you heard a familiar voice call your name through the noise.

Vox didn't have to fight through the crowd the way you had. The second sinners saw the glow of his screen, they were quick to move out of his path. Your friend touched your arm, pulling your attention away from the approaching overlord. They winked at you and told you they had the drink issue handled.

When you turned, you caught Vox's screen flickering from pink to his usual blue. You had never seen any color other than the "You don't get to sleep" blue light, so you assumed it was just a trick of the flashing dance lights above.

"I didn't think you'd be here," you say to break the tension. This wasn't the first time you'd seen him in casual wear, nor was it the first time you'd seen Vox since realizing you had feelings for him. Even so, your heart was beating hard just from the sight of him.

"A-Ah yeah, well," Vox stammered as the music blared through the busy room. "Velvette wanted to drop by. She said something about wanting to check the place out as a potential venue for an upcoming show."

"Just the two of you?" you ask, perking up slightly.

"It was supposed to be," Vox chuckled dryly. His grin was tired and forced as he looked to the side and scanned the room. "Valentino heard we were coming here and tagged along. I don't know why, but Velvette got really heated about it. Something about him fucking up her plans..."

"Oh," your shoulders drop. You cringe internally, wishing you could take back the bitterness in your voice. You hoped it wasn't too obvious, but the way Vox was looking at you like you were some sort of a puzzle told you everything you needed to know.

You actually loved Velevette. She was sassy and cutthroat but had a kind side to her as well. Valentino however... He'd been the source of a lot of suffering for the people you cared about. While the more obvious examples of Angel Dust returning to the hotel looking like shit came to mind, so did the times you had to comfort Vox after being yanked this way and that by the moth emotionally.

That was actually how you'd realized you'd come to care for him as deeply as you do. He'd been standing alone in one of the meeting rooms with a distant look on his face. When you found him and asked him if he was okay, he tried to play it off with his usual bravado, but couldn't. He never cried in front of you, he only vented his frustrations about Valentino and you listened. You sympathized. And eventually, you found yourself wishing you could be the one to treat him better.

Vox opened his mouth to say something, only for Valentino to slip his arm around his shoulder, appearing out of nowhere from the crowd.

"There you are baby," he purred, his fingers immediately slipping under the collar of Vox's vest. You resisted the urge to gag as Valentino took a long puff from his pipe and blew the majority of the smoke in your direction.

"I was wondering where you up and fucked off to," Valentino grinned as he leaned down to nip drunkenly at Vox's shoulder. "You left me all alone with our little fashionista, "Valentino scoffed. "She's in such a bitchy mood."

If it wasn't bad enough that Valentino was practically drooling all over Vox in front of you and pretending you weren't there, insult was only added to injury when Valentino grinned at you with sharp teeth when he called Velvette bitchy.

"Come back and unwind with me," Valentino hummed as he started to kiss up Vox's neck. "Some of my best toys are here tonight. Don't you want to play?"

If Vox had any doubt he was in Hell before, he had every reason to confirm the fact at this moment. He'd fallen out of love with Valentino, but the almost... the almost killed him. To make it worse, he was completely frozen, letting it all happen in front of you. He made no moves to stop Valentino, he made no moves to reciprocate. He simply froze.

Unable to watch any longer as Vox continued to fall for the very same game of tug-o-war he told you he was done with, you bite your lip and turn on your heel. You can't tell if you heard Vox say your name or if it was just a trick of the crowd.

"Anyone else gonna drink this?" You asked as you rejoined your friends still at the table and pointed to one of the more full glasses left on the table. When your friends who were sober enough to answer said you could go for it, you tossed it back in one shot.

You griped to one of your friends who had stayed behind to watch over those too drunk to make good choices. The two of you had been having a damn good venting session about how stupid you felt your feelings were when the entire bar swayed. Your words slurred as your body grew heavy.

One second you were sitting up, wondering why your friend looked so concerned. The next second there was a sharp pain against the temple of your forehead, followed by a heavy thunk, more pain, and darkness.

---

Vox had been desperately searching the dance floor for any sign of you. He'd torn away from Valentino and the moth hadn't bothered to follow. Vox would... handle that another time. For as much as he denied his feelings for you this morning, the second he saw the hurt look in your eyes he knew he had to tell you. There was no way he could ignore the sharp lurch in his chest at the sight of you.

He didn't know what it meant. He couldn't tell if it was just a sense of betrayal after he'd been so open with you about Valentino or if it was something more. Every time he found himself wanting to talk about his true feelings on anything, he wanted to talk to you. Every time he had a rare second alone in the middle of the night, the only touch he craved was yours. Yes, he had a history with Valentino, but he didn't actively want that. He wanted you.

He finally spotted you across the room, sitting at a table with one of the whores he'd seen at Valentino's studio and getting way too close to them for his liking. He made his way through the drunken idiots who were too far gone to notice him, keeping his eyes on you as you started swaying dangerously.

You tried to reach down for something on the table and Vox swore as you lost what little balance you had and fell over. Someone got in his way so he didn't see the impact, but somehow he heard it. Through all the noise he heard the sharp thud and the panicked swearing of the person you were with after.

Vox was suddenly shoving every idiot out of his way, ignoring their shouts as he ran into the small clearing and found you on the ground with blood seeping from your head. He was immediately on his knees, scooping you up as the sinner who'd been with you started freaking out.

The only thing Vox could hear was a high-pitched whine as he pulled you to him and tried to frantically find where you were bleeding from. Half of your head was dripping with blood and he vaguely registered your friend saying your head had hit the edge of the table.

"Just s̴̢̃ḧ̸̺u̸͇͋t̷̯͂ ̷̬̂u̶͖̓p̵̳͗!̶̳͌," Vox snapped as he whipped up and affixed the sinner with a violent glare. He didn't care that half the club was looking at him. For once, he didn't care that he'd made a scene. Logically, he knew something like this couldn't kill you, you were all already dead. But his hands were shaking violently and the buzzing in his head was getting louder because you weren't moving.

Everything around him flashed with bright blue light as he held you close and teleported out of the club without even thinking about it. The two of you reappeared in his room back at the tower and he let out a shaky breath as he placed you down on his bed.

Not knowing what to do, Vox quickly crossed the room and threw his bathroom door open as he searched for anything he could use to stop the bleeding. He was muttering furiously as he nearly ripped the hinges off the cupboard under the sink looking for anything he could use.

Vox let out a loud, angry shout as his body kept glitching. His movements were jerky and he'd hit his head on the sink twice now. Just as he was about to have an absolute meltdown, he heard you groan from his bedroom. His head snapped up and he turned around at the sound of your voice so fast he was surprised he didn't snap his own neck.

Vox yanked a towel off of the wall and scrambled across the nylon tiles as he fell into his room with all the grace of a CEO that he clearly had. He swore, picking himself up and coming over to you as you sat up and clutched your head.

"Shit, that stuff was stronger than I thought," you groaned. "Note to self, don't just chug random alcohol at the club." you tried to laugh, only to hiss as the pain in your head doubled down due to the movement.

"You're a fucking idiot," Vox sighed as he sat down next to you and lifted the towel to your head.

You flinched at the contact, and Vox grabbed your wrist with his free hand. "Stay still," he frowned, pressing again on the wound. "You're still bleeding."

Trying not to do more damage, you stay as still as possible while he tries to stop the bleeding. The silence is heavy between the two of you before you mumble quietly.

"Sorry..."

Vox blinks, frowning down at you. "For what?"

You avoid eye contact the best you can given your current condition and fist your hands on your thighs nervously. "For acting like an idiot. You've told me about how hard it is with Valentino. I should've said or done something and not have gotten..."

"Upset?" Vox finished for you quietly. You flinched, unable to read the tone in his voice. He sighed and slowly lifted the towel from your head, before lowering it. "Why did you?"

"It's stupid," you bite your lip, hand drifting up curiously to see how bad the wound is. Before your fingers could brush against your hair, Vox's hand grabbed your wrists again.

"Try me."

You couldn't say if it was due to the pain, blood loss, or alcohol in your system, but the moment you finally gathered the courage to look him in the eye, you said fuck it. Vox gasped as you surged forward and pressed your lips against his. He'd barely had a chance to process the feeling before you were already turned away from him and rambling some bullshit about how you knew he didn't feel the same.

He took your hand, ignoring the anxious nonsense flowing from your mouth, and lifted it to his lips. Your speech died on your tongue as his lips pressed against the palm of your hand.

"Do you have any idea how much you've been on my mind?" He growled softly, his lips trailing up your arm slowly as he practically worshiped your skin.

If it wasn't for the fact that your blood was still on his hands, Vox would have been so much more rough with you. He would have grabbed you and crashed his lips against yours. He would have torn the fabric that hugged your curves so tightly off of your body and shown you just how badly he'd been needing you.

Instead, he made do with tracing his claw under your chin and guiding you to face him properly. His eyes searched yours for any doubt or sign that you'd acted purely on adrenaline and not something more. When your breath hitched and your cheeks flushed, he knew. As he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, as his arms snaked down and pulled you flush against him like you'd break, as your fingers found a home in his vest he knew.

You wanted him too. You fell for him too. This wasn't a game of "do they, don't they" like the one he'd played with Valentino for so fucking long.

His breath hitched, his arms tightening around you before he slowly pulled back and laughed breathlessly.

"Does this mean we're dating?" you ask, smiling at him like he'd hung the stars in the sky.

"God that sounds cheesy," Vox grimaced. The phrase felt so... high school bullshit. But it wasn't wrong. He wanted that. He really wanted that with you.

He reached down, hesitating before his clawed hand gently covered yours. "But yeah... I guess it does," he smiled softer than you'd ever seen before.

[signedeclipse]

Please could i request a oneshot of Haganezuka meeting and falling in love with a hashira reader (Tanjiro’s older sibling) 💙💙

One More Time [Haganezuka X Reader]

Reader is Human Gender Neutral | Fluff + Romance

Recomended Song - Rather Be by Clean Bandit

It wasn't his first sword delivery, but Hotaru had never been assigned to a slayer permanently before, having only made swords for beginners of the corps or for practice, since most upper ranks in the corps chose older, more seasoned nichirin swordsmiths.

Part of him was excited, being able to tend to an individual's abilities and forge something more unique, as opposed to the clear cut ones most starter blades were.

The other part was frustrating, because it wasn't for anyone unique, no one had specifically chosen him, just a random assignment since all the others had enough to care for. Still, he tried to feel grateful that this was a chance at becoming more reputable.

He remembered his first encounter with the Kamado, the excitement at the idea of a red blade, the disappointment that followed.

It all loomed over him now that the Kamado name had long since grown. It was hard not to recognize such a unique family; a demon, one of the fastest-growing slayers, and the sun hashira. While he wasn't one to take back his words so easily, he was reminded by the chief to bite his tongue the next time he tried mouthing off to the family.

But luck had not been on his side.

When news got back to him that Tanjiro had broken his blade for the second time, Hotaru felt a mix of anger and shame.

Anger that once again his craftsmanship had not been enough, and shame at the idea that it'd likely happen again were he not more careful.

The idea flashed across his mind that his failure twice in a row might mean he would lose Tanjiro as a client of sorts, or that he would be forced to resign from being a swordsmith, so he avoided confronting or contacting him in favour of preparing himself to make the best blade imaginable.

There he was, as the sun had barely begun to rise and the sky was a mid-blue hue, casting the village and its surroundings in a cool tone. Though he slept soundly, he woke up before anyone else got the chance so he could get a head start on his exercises, which gave him time to ponder how long he had before Tanjiro came to him instead.

"So, you must be Haganezuka."

The voice almost startled him from his perch atop a cliffside, though he barely showed it besides the clenching of his fists. The voice was entirely unfamiliar, though before he could turn to look at them their presence had moved.

"Is that a yes?" You were to his right, which he turned to finally meet the individual who had managed to find him.

While still taken back by the speed at which you had moved, he was also very surprised to see the same maroon eyes as Kamado, except it was clear that you were no Tanjiro.

"Well, I'm sure you've realised who I am, but you can just refer to me as Kamado."

Hotaru had not expected your presence in the village, had you been sent in place of your brother?

"I don't have a blade ready yet." Haganezuka had bowed his head slightly. He could run and be stubborn all he wanted, but Hashira could be far more harsh in punishment.

"Blade? I'm not- no-" You had let out a string of laughs, facing away from him and covering your mouth to suppress the giggles. He looked so worried! Even if you hadn't seen his face, the atmosphere around him had certainly dropped.

"It's his first time in the village, I couldn't miss it! Well, that and my swordsmith will be retiring, so I'm here to meet some of the newer generations and pick someone I feel is capable. I was never a fan of blind recommendations." While you spoke, Hotaru had straightened out his posture and looked back out at the village, the sun now growing the area with orange rays.

You were very relaxed, and far more talkative than any hashira he had met, so any intimidation he felt melted away, especially considering you weren't here to scold him.

"Anyways, I hope you give my little brother a hard time, sometimes I think he gets it too easy because of his kindness, and he needs to be ready to combat issues that aren't life-threatening..." Judging by your words, you hadn't seen Haganezuka chasing after your sibling with knives, which relieved him.

Still pouting from his faulty blades, he kept silent, deciding he didn't want to say much if more to prove a point for himself.

By the time he glanced to his right again, you were long gone, with nothing but the imprint of where you sat left in the grass.

.

The next time he saw you, you were with Kanamori, who held two nichirin blades that had seen better days.

Having been found by Tanjiro and been given the blade he was to repair, Hotaru was on his way to eat and prepare for the gruelling 72 hours worth of work he had ahead of him.

Despite the raging inspiration he felt, you had stopped him dead in his tracks, pulling all the air from him until he felt weak again. Hotaru hadn't realised how much he'd hoped to see you again, and you were still here.

"Ah, have you met my good friend, Haganezuka?" Kanamori motioned to the taller swordsmith, who you noticed now had a wide hat fit with chimes...and his upper torso was revealed, the rest of his clothes wrapped around his waist.

You nodded, smiling and waving to the surprisingly well-built swordsmith, trying to hide your rosy cheeks with a smile.

"I have, but, it's a long story." Shrugging your shoulders, Kanamori hummed pleasantly, before returning to a slow strive towards his workshop, pulling you along considering your arms were linked.

Apparently, Kanamori had experience with dual blades, so you had chosen him for his kind personality and experience since you were a dual wielder.

Before you had entirely left, you turned to look back at Haganezuka, throwing a thumbs up.

"You better make sure this one doesn't break!! I'm trusting you!"

Of course, he would have to make the best blade he could manage, for Tanjiro; if not to prove himself as a worthy swordsmith, then to impress the eldest Kamado.

Author Note -  For some reason this took me so long to write I get procrasinating but WE GOT ER DOWN!!! Thank you for requesting <3

Word Count - 1,058

Art Credit - Kimetsu No Yaiba (2019)

[melanieph321]

Kenan Yilidiz x Reader - Thick Part 1/8

You're gonna love this story!!!! I have my anons to thank, who's requests have enabled me to cook up this amazing fic for you all!

Summary - Kenan and Reader share the same high school friend group. As graduation is near, Reader sets out to pass her drivers license test, but ultimately struggles to. Thankfully Readers friends agree to help her with driving lessons and take turns doing so. It is during one of Rader's lessons that it becomes clear that Kenan likes her. A shock to Reader, who has a crush on someone else in their friend group.

Enjoy!

Six months until your high school graduation and you still hadn't managed to pass your driver's license test.

You were still motivated after the first failed attempts, but having failed four times after that had you questioning your level of intelligence as a human being. Were you really that thick?

"Thick?" Your friend Gio grinned. "Sure Y/N, you're the thickest girl I know. I'm mean look at the size of you're...."

A collective sigh spread around the lunch table, your friends throwing annoyed glances at Giovanni.

"What?" He shrugged.

"She doesn't mean thick as in big." Your friend Maria explained. "Y/N is asking if she's too dumb to pass the Italian driver's licenses test."

"Well, why didn't she just say that?"

"Sorry Gio. In the UK thick can also mean dumb." You said.

"And over there they say pineapple instead of ananas like the rest of Europe."

"Well that's dumb." 

"You mean thick?"

"No, I mean dumb." Gio corrects Kenan who was smiling at you, the only person around the table to have understood his joke. "Dumb means dumb."

"Apparently not in the UK." Kenan said, continuing to tease Giovanni. You were the only one who found it funny, the two of them coming for each other's throats.

"Enough of this." Said Rebecca. "We need to help Y/N, pass her driver's license test before the summer, Otherwise we'll only have three drivers for the roadtrip to Bari."

"Three drivers?" Gio frowned.

"Yes, Me, Maria and Kenan."

"Well, what about Luca and I?"

"Well, for starters, I would never trust you behind the wheel of a car Gio, certainly not my parents Range Rover. I don't know how you got your driver's license in the first place, but having it certified in Pompeii just tells me what I need to know."

"What do you mean? My uncle lives over there. He had me driving the tourists around in his minivan."

"Exactly my point." Rebecca said. "Your uncle is a criminal and everyone knows it."

"Whatever." Gio waved. "None of you knows how to run a respectable business, that's all."

"You mean robbing tourists of their hard earned money?"

"Exactly."

"Guy's, please." Maria pleaded. Lunch hour was usually like this for you and your friends. You were a very diverse group, resulting in Maria often having to take on the role as umpire whenever the heated arguments would spiral. "I have to say I agree with Gio on this one."

"You do?" Gio and Rebecca uttered simultaneously.

"Yes. Not that Gio shouldn't drive, I will never be a passenger in his car. But why not Luca?"

All heads turned to the mysterious being that was Luca. He wasn't taking part in any of the conversations. Instead his head was turned away from the lunch table, his gaze overlooking the city of Turin, perhaps dreaming of escaping it some day. Except for being quiet and reserved Luca was also the kindest amongst you, and undoubtedly the handsomest out of all the guys. A personal opinion, that you preferred to keep to yourself.

"Yeah, Luca is not driving me." Rebecca said. "It's a long way to Bari, he'll get too distracted by the mountains along the road. What if we crash?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry to agree." 

"Kenan?" Maria frowned.

"Well, then guess the driving will come down to you three." Gio said, looking at Rebecca, Maria and Kenan.

"Not if we help Y/N, pass her driver's licenses test." Rebecca opposed.

"And how the hell will we do that?"

"I say we take turns."

"Take turns to do what?"

"To give Y/N driving lessons. She's obviously not getting the right amount that she needs, it would cost her a fortune."

"Hey." You blushed.

"Sorry Y/N, but it's true. I say that once or twice a week until school ends, we take turns teaching Y/N how to drive, so when her time comes to take the tests she'll pass it flawlessly."

"I agree." Maria nodded.

"Fine." Gio sighed.

"Sounds like a good idea." Kenan second.

"Luca?"

Everyone shifted towards him as he had failed to answer, not that his answer was anticipated. However, to everyone's surprise, Luca's attention was drawn back to the table, his green eyes looking right at you. "Sure." He smiled. "I'll help Y/N pass her driver's license test."

"Great, that settles it." Rebecca said. "Who wants to go first?"

Your heart beat violently in your chest, hoping, no, begging, that it would be Luca. But as everyone shared hesitant glances, one person raised his hand. "I'll go first."

"Kenan." Maria grinned. "That's very kind of you."

He winked an eye at you as you sobbed internally.

[mikeypubes]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Aizen Sosuke Relationship Headcanons ੈ✩‧₊˚

♡ [ Request by @brieftravelerbeard ] ♡

Note: Thanks so much for the request! You had me jumping up and down with joy when I saw it 😭 I hope it's to your liking 🫶

°˖✧✿✧˖°

SFW

For starters, he is unfortunately perfect.

He's gentle with you, kind (to a degree), understanding, responsible, and he tries his best to make sure you're fully content and comfortable.

Say you're with him in Las Noches, you're gonna have access to the absolute finest food and clothes they have.

He's incredibly patient with you, and any negative behavior from your end will almost never irritate him.

He also shows a lot of affection in various ways, such as getting you all the shit you need and more.

His love language is gift giving. He's always giving you stuff.

He's also good with physical affection, and although he won't initiate a lot of it, he'll accept it most of the time.

He presses gentle yet teasing kisses to your lips, caresses your cheek, pulls you in close to his chest and looks at you intensely.

Although 9 times outta 10, he'd be a yandere (it's just in his personality), I feel like if you guys are super close and he truly trusts you, he might be easier on you than say a hostage he had (like Orihime) or some girl he wants for his benefits.

If you're a hostage he fell for, he'd try whatever ways possible to make sure you're completely his, but he'd be manipulative about it.

I don't think he'd be open about his intentions with someone he's interested romantically in because who the fuck would fall in love with someone who's all "yeah im manipulating you you dumb bitch" (spoiler alert: me ✌️).

He'd make sure whichever family members or friends you have will slowly leave you alone and broken, so that the only person you can return to is him.

He'd also make sure to have this level of "dominance" over you

Like he wants you to understand that you guys aren't on the same level, therefore, you have to abide by his orders and his will or else he'll take measures that aren't in your favor (and no I don't mean he'll "punish 😈🖤" you)

He tells you not to be afraid of him (because that totally does wonders) a lot.

Let's not lie to ourselves, he knows he's hot as shit and you better bet he uses that a LOT.

He's not above using seduction to get to you (and ofc it works 🙄).

He really values intimacy and privacy.

He'll be so incredibly romantic with you in private, like he'll have everything set up and take his time to have deep conversations with you, tell you about his goals, he'll try to understand you better.

He'd drink wine with you and have you wear something he got for you (use your imagination here 😁)

He would low-key call you "dear" or "honey" if you guys have been in a relationship for a while (but he won't call you baby or doll eugh).

He doesn't get jealous, like, at all. He gets cautious yeah, like if Gin was pulling some bullshit like he always is, but not jealous or insecure.

He would make you jealous on purpose I'm sorry.

He'd find it SO amusing to toy with you and make you feel a wide range of emotions.

Like one day, he'd flirt with his ugly minion girls and piss you off, then he'll shower you with attention and love, then he'll say something cruel and make you cry.

He loves seeing your expressions and how vulnerable you are.

It serves him a ton of satisfaction seeing that you're so dependent on him.

NSFW

I feel like it wouldn't take long for you guys to finally do it, since half of the relationship is coated with sexual tension anyway.

Again, very gentle.

Unbearably slow. You can cry and beg but he'll keep going at the exact same pace.

Enjoys pushing you to your limits and overstimulating you.

I don't think it'd be any bigger than 8 inches. I've seen some people go on about 9 or 10, like guys he's not a fucking meter stick (not to mention, nobody's cooch is big enough to take allat in).

Hates quickies because he loves to drag it on.

Ton of foreplay (probably for an hour minimum) and fingering.

His aftercare is amazing, though.

You'll always wake up to find yourself totally clean, in new clothes, and if he's still by your side in the morning (very rare occurrence), you'll be laying your head on his chest.

He loves holding your waist close to him.

(He probably likes your breasts the most)

°˖✧✿✧˖°

[heavenlyvision]

I’m literally inlove with your writing! Anyways I was wondering if you could maybe do a Kuai Liang x reader one shot where he’s had like a stressful day and basically goes crazy with back shots. English is not my first language so I’m sorry if this does not make sense.

Thank you sm !!!! Kuai is a little ooc because he is a bit grumpy in this but he is a little sweet in the end (kinda) 🫣 This fic is shorter because I got brain rot for Kuai atm and I can only write on my phone. Also, your English was great !!! Thank you heaps for your request and I hope you enjoy it <33

Not sorry

Wc: 2.7k

Pairing: Kuai Liang x Afab!Reader

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, no use of pronouns, p in v sex, creampie, biting, minor burns, no use of y/n, Kuai is a little mean… sorry !!!

When Kuai Liang walks through your front door you can immediately tell he’s had a bad day, mostly because the door slams behind him and he doesn’t even flinch; he just walks over to where you’re sitting on the couch and drops down beside you.

“By the way you’ve just slammed my door I’m guessing you had a great day,” you speak sarcastically; not looking up from your book.

He sighs beside you, “Sorry… today was… trying.”

He sounds drained from beside you but he also seems angry, like something happened to royally piss him off; well, something or someone.

You go to ask him, “Do you want to talk about–”

“–No.” He cuts you off.

You drop your book and look him in the eyes, “Yes, clearly whatever happened is not an issue that should be discussed.”

He doesn’t look at you, instead keeping his eyes on the wall in front of you both. The frown resting on his brow is prominent and you feel the need to reach over to smooth it out but as your hand reaches for him he grabs your wrist and holds it up.

His eyes lock onto yours, “What are you doing?”

You feel a bit flustered and you don’t know how to tell him you were going to touch his face, “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” You mumble a bit before pulling your wrist from his hold.

His eyes are examining you, trying to understand your intent but you’ve looked away and started to read your book. Or you’re pretending to read your book, you’re a little preoccupied by his heated gaze on you.

You sigh, “Why’d you come over if you’re in such a bad mood?”

“Because I always visit you around this time,” he’s snippy, whatever happened has obviously pissed him off severely.

He does always visit around this time, though you wouldn’t think he would come around when he’s in this bad of a mood. How kind of him to subject you to his incredibly annoyed demeanour. It’s a bit irritating but you also think it’s a little bit sweet, his want to see you outweighing his poor mood.

“I don’t know how to help you when you’re like this,” your eyes are still on the book, not reading any of the words on the page.

He’s stoic beside you, still watching you, “For starters, you can stop pretending to read.”

“I’m not pretending,” you lie.

“You’ve been on the same page since I walked in,” he observes.

You scowl at your book, “No I haven’t,” you double down.

From beside you, he grabs your book and pulls it away, chucking it across the room.

“Hey!” You exclaim at him, you move to pick up your book but he pulls you back onto the couch. Making you look at him.

“I also came here for a specific purpose,” his eyes are hard, looking at you firmly.

You’re unamused, “And what’s that?”

The way he’s looking at you is setting you on fire, he’s making you flustered and it’s completely unfair. You have been carrying a torch for this man for many years now and he’s never once shown signs of reciprocation but with the way he’s eyeing you right now, you feel completely exposed to him. He’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, and you might let him.

“Something happened today and I want to– need to know, how do you feel about me?” His question stuns you.

You’re unable to speak for a few moments, lost at where his sudden question has come from. “W–What prompted that question?”

He doesn’t answer you, just looking you head on, waiting for your answer. An answer you don’t really want to give.

You deflect instead, your confession coming in a non-committal way. “Well, I love you of course, I always have.” You make it sound as casual as possible, hoping he doesn’t see through you.

“I see,” he replies, his tone even.

You’re both sat looking at each other, not sure where to go from here. Unconsciously, your eyes flick to his lips, lingering for a moment too long, giving away your desire for him. You look away quickly, wishing you still had your book in front of you.

“I think you are lying,” his hand reaches towards your face and pulls it back to him, “I think you have feeling for me.” The emphasis on the last word confuses you for a moment but before you can ask him about it, his lips are on yours.

He leans in closer and pulls you towards him by the hand on your face. His kiss is harsh and needy, his bad mood still lingering under his lust for you. He pushes you back onto the couch, following you down; his lips never leave yours. When your back hits the couch, you gasp against him and he shoves his tongue into your mouth. The shock of it has a whiney moan pulling from you, the sound you make has an appreciative grunt coming from Kuai.

Your hands grab at him, holding onto his shoulders, needing the leverage. He is so large above you, his body heat consuming you, his mouth overwhelming you, he’s driving you insane. He’s taken over all your senses, when he pulls back, you’re huffing underneath him. His kiss has taken your breath away, you’re dazed by the way he’s just kissed you. You can practically feel the hearts in your eyes as you gaze up at him. His own are filled with a desperate heat, dark and lustful.

“I need you… on your stomach,” his voice is deep when he speaks.

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, heating your face up. Taking a moment to look up at him, completely dumbfounded. He leans down again and kisses the look off your face, his hand moves to your neck and hold you as he does.

When he pulls back again, he tells you, “Roll over.”

You immediately roll over for him, lying on your stomach beneath him. His hands pull your hips up onto your knees, the dress you’re wearing falls upwards and pools around further up your body. Your arms move to hold yourself up slightly, your back arched low. The position has you feeling completely exposed to him. His fingers graze over your core through your panties, the slight touch makes you twitch.

He hums at you, “Already so wet, I’ve only kissed you.”

“Kuai–”

His touch moves back to your core, firmer this time. The feeling cuts off your words, he pushes the tip of his finger into your pussy hole, held back by your underwear. The action results in your panties getting wetter. He’s toying with you, playing with you over your panties. His touch grazing over your core, making you twitch and squirm for him. He’s making you moan for him, purposefully touching you so you’ll whimper out his name.

His touch withdraws before he leans down, his face pressed to your core, his mouth over your panties. His tongue licking at you over them, the stimulation has you jumping forward and moans tumbling from your lips. His mouth soaks your panties completely, ruining them. Ashamedly, he gets you impeccably close to your end like this, so close to cumming in your underwear for him. Your moans reaching a higher pitch, coming more frequently.

Suddenly, he pulls back, removing all stimulation, your cunt pulsing from your almost orgasm.

“Mmm I bet you were close,” he comments, his observation makes you huff at him, your hips moving back at him, trying to entice him.

He hums and then his mouth moves to your arse cheek and bites down, you gasp and jump at the feeling. He’s no doubt left an impression of his teeth in your skin. Once he’s pulled back, he borderline moans at the state of you.

His tone is dark and pleased, “You look great with my teeth marking you.”

“Kuai, please, do something.”

He seemingly considers your words for a moment before answering, “Remember, you asked for it.”

The shuffling of his pants can be heard behind you and then he’s pulling your panties to the side. The head of his cock sliding through your slick for a moment before notching on your pussy hole, he slips the head in, giving you a moment to adjust to the stretch. The sensation is burning, he’s large in every way apparently and you really wish you could see him right now. What kind of face is he making, what does his cock look like entering you.

Your thoughts almost have your mouth drooling, instead, it’s your cunt drooling on him. Your wetness leaking from you onto the head of his cock. The sight of your obscene arousal has Kuai twitching inside you and a moan pulling from his chest. He can’t help the way he stuffs more of himself into your small pussy. His length opening you up, your cunt taking him as he inches into you. You’re pulsing around him in need, completely desperate for him at this point.

“Gods, I wanted this to be different but you drive me crazy,” his words are hissed out between his teeth.

You don’t have the time or brain cells to pull apart what he means, your hips push back on him, taking more of him. He moans and meets your thrust, pushing his cock all the way into you. Stuffing you full, your arse rests on his pelvis. He grinds into you, his hands gripping at your hips, holding you flush to him.

He groans reverently at the way your cunt grips him tightly. At the way you’re throbbing around him, you’re driving him just as crazy as he is you.

Whimpers spill from you as you try to speak, “P –hah– lease, move~” you squirm against him, grinding back on him, needing the friction, desperately.

His fingers dig into your plush skin, holding you tightly, “Give me a second, pretty. Gripping me so –mmmph– tight, I nee –ah– d a second.”

His words broken by whiney sounds set you on fire, you need him to move. Now. You draw forward, aiming to fuck yourself back on him but he grabs you and pulls you back forcefully, the sensation exactly what you wanted. A moan tumbling from you at the action, you want more. Greedy for him and his fat cock.

He grunts, “You’re needy –hah– fuck.” He pulls out slowly; leaving only the tip inside you, “–mmph– I’ll give you what you need,” he promises, before forcing himself back inside you.

You moan loudly, your fingers grip into the couch, your forehead pressed into the cushion below you. Kuai’s thrusts are harsh and fast, fucking you silly, using your body as a fuck toy. His hands holding you and fucking you back onto him, his cock hammering into your cervix. Your cunt pulses around him, your slick coating his dick completely. Lewd noises fill the room, wet slapping sounds echoing in the lounge.

He grunts and moans from behind you, the way he’s shoving his dick into you has you willing to worship the ground he walks on. He’s in the same boat regarding your cunt, obsessed with the way you cream around him, the way you grip him, the way you’re so wet he’s slipping in and out of you with ease.

You cry out his name, almost literally, eyes wet and glassy, “Kuai~”

“Hmm?” He asks mindlessly, too obsessed with watching the way you suck his cock in to pay attention to anything else.

“I wanna –hah– see you,” you whimper out to him, wanting to see him, to touch him.

He chuckles at your desperation, “Next time.” His promise of a next time makes your pussy jump, “You like that? The idea of me fucking you again? Having you regularly take my cock?”

You moan out shamelessly, not even trying to hide the way you’d love to be fucked by him daily, loving the idea of being stuffed full of him. Sitting on top of him with his cock in you, not moving just full of him. Your own imagery has you clenching down on him again, your whimpers spilling from you, a tear slipping from your eye at his relentless thrusts.

His hands on your hips are hot, his body heat in general making you sweat. His pelvis slaps into your arse consistently, you’re spasming around him. So close to finishing.

“Kuai~ I –mmph– I’m close–” Tears fall down your cheeks.

“Cum then,” he grunts out, encouraging you to finish on his dick.

His thrusts and the moans he’s letting slip have you cumming for him, hard. Your cunt grips down on him tight, vice like. Your own orgasm has him grunting loudly, his dick twitching inside you. Ropes of his cum filling you, he continues fucking it into you. Prolonging your orgasms and enjoying the way his cum leaks out around you both when he pulls out and stuffs himself back in.

The heat on your hips burns and you wince in pain, a small whimper exiting you at the feeling. He removes his hands suddenly, “Fuck, sorry. I’ve burnt you.”

“It’s okay…” you huff out, dazed from your orgasm but also okay with the burns.

He pulls out of you slowly, both of you groaning as he does. He pulls his pants up, taking his time to enjoy the view of his cum leaking from your pussy hole.

His hands gently trace over the burn marks of his hands, humming appreciatively. Enjoying the way his hands are burned into your soft flesh, “It’s a good look,” he comments.

You laugh airily at him, “Help me up?”

“Of course,” he pulls your panties back into place and then moves you into a sitting position on the couch.

“Thank you,” you smile at him.

He looks at you thoughtfully, his hands pulling your dress off completely out of nowhere. Your hands go to cover your chest at the sudden exposure, “What are you–”

“Wanna see the burns,” he frowns, looking you over, his hands so gentle with you. “I’ll be back, gonna get you some ice.”

He wanders off and grabs some ice blocks, wrapping them in tea towels and coming back to you. He holds them against your hips, soothing the burns. You aren’t bothered though, you like knowing that his hand prints will be seared into your skin for a while.

“I’m sorry, for burning you.”

“It’s okay… I liked it…” you shy away from his gaze, looking off into the distance.

He takes in a deep breath from beside you, “I didn’t say earlier but… I love you too.”

You look back at him, a shocked expression on your face, “You do?”

“Of course,” he smiles softly at you, “I was rough and didn’t express myself in a healthy way.”

You implore him, “What happened today?”

He frowns, “You know that guy, the one you hang out with.”

“My friend? Yes…”

“He… was boasting about you liking him, about how obvious it was. When I told him you did not, he called me jealous… He is not a good person, but I realised I was jealous. Because I want you. And I want you to only want me…” His words are filled with annoyance, getting angry again at the memory of your so called ‘friend’ being a pompous ass.

Your hands move to hold his face, making him look at you, “I do want only you, always have.”

He melts for you, “Good.” His smile is soft but then his eyes wander down, staring at your uncovered chest. It makes you roll your eyes at him.

“Eyes up here,” you joke.

He doesn’t look back up, gaze staying on your tits, “I know.”

You move a hand to his chin and use it to tilt his eye line back up to yours, “Don’t be a perv.”

He raises his eyebrows suggestively at you before he holds the side of your face tenderly, serious as he says, “I know I’ve already said it but I am sorry about taking my anger out on you.”

“And like I said… I liked it.”

“You’re making it hard to be sorry,” he sighs, amused by you.

You smile coquettishly at him, “I don’t want you to be sorry.”

He leans in and kisses you, it’s tender and warm. He makes your brain fuzzy and you’re happy, always happy when he’s next to you.

You can feel his light smile against your lips when he pulls back, “Then, I’m not sorry.”

₊ ⊹

A/N: Thank you for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it :)) and I should have access to my laptop tomorrow so hopefully ‘Bare’ pt 2 will be up sooner rather than later <33

As per usual, if you have any thoughts, feelings or requests feel free to slide into my inbox <333

[scaredycatqlt]

Some silly platonic headcanons of bill cipher x reader pls?

Oh hell yeah!!! I love my lil AroAce triangle >:3

Bill Cipher X Reader [PLATONIC!]

Alright, well, for starters, how you became friends could vary.

Either you’re some messed up otherworldly creature with a thirst for chaos and destruction like him, or some unsuspecting human. Or maybe you knew what you were doing? Who knows! Bill knows.

Regardless, at first he doesn’t pay you much mind. You’re simply another pawn on the chessboard to him.

He can get bored easy, so he hangs out around you a lot. Not for long, mainly frequent short visits.

He finds you amusing, you and your antics! If you’re a dimensional thing like him, he’s quick to invite you to join him in wrecking havoc. If you’re a human, he’s more still in the ‘I’m better lol’ mindset.

When you guys are finally friends, he will try to convince you to let him possess you. Not all the time! And very infrequently! Come on, won’t you help a pal out?

His love language (PLATONICALLY) is acts of service and gift giving. He’s not an emotional being by any means at all, so this is how he expresses his care for you.

As canonically presented, his gifts are kinda…..messed up.

deer teeth, a eternal screaming head, weird shit in general.

Also with acts of service he totally offers to take care of anything bothering you. Someone annoyed you? He can get rid of them! Don’t you worry your fuzzy little head!

A litttlleeee bit of a platonic yandere but who here’s surprised….

He does a lot of small things for you that you might not notice. Like picking something up, summoning an object, giving you whatever small thing you happen to want at that time, yeah.

If something happened to you he’d probably go crazy ngl.

You’re like his partner in crime!

Also, if you’re human he makes sure you’re taking care of your meat-suit properly.

Have you drank water? Eaten? Slept? Done all the human things?

One last thing, I feel like Bill would love Doritos. I know this kinda doesn’t match the theme, but there used to be this whole ‘Bill hates Doritos they’re his species :(‘ kinda thing and while it is funny, personally I disagree. I think he’d find it hilarious, and probably eat them specifically because they look like him. He’s a little creacher.

Here they are!! Again, sorry it took forever. I’ve been busy with school n shit, but I’m working on these requests one by one.

[adrunkskeletonsduck]

Heyy!! Can I request something cute and romantic with Aonung x fem! metkayina reader. Maybe some romantic confession and laying in hut and just being in each other arms

3:24ᴘᴍ

➜ Pairing: Aonung x fem!metikayina!reader

➜ Warnings: fluff, none

➜ Word Count: 0.9k

➜ Notes: I would have gotten this out sooner but microsoft word literally stopped working for like 2-3 days and i went through probably one of the most traumatic experiences of my life and was super out of it for a few days. My writing drive has also been run into the ground lmao.

Anyway hope y'all enjoy!!

Aᴠᴀᴛᴀʀ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

“He really did a number on you,” you mumbled with a shake of your head and Aonung scowled at your comment, making your lips curl in amusement. You found what the Sully boys had done to him almost humorous given the fact he had been picking on them non-stop since they arrived. You weren't sure why he’d been so mean to them, but you figured he’d have to warm up to them eventually since they seemed to be staying.   

“I didn’t come here to have it shoved in my face,” he snipped back dryly, moving to sit against the wall and stretching his body out in the empty hut. You snorted as you turned, looking through the basket of medical supplies you had and beginning to patch him up.   

“I don’t know what you expected skxawng, you’ve been nothing short of awful to those kids since they got here.” He simply huffed wordlessly, letting you work on him in a silence. You tried to work quickly, disinfecting the small cut on his cheek bone and slathering his bruise with a paste to help with the pain.   

“What do you think of them?” Aonung blurted the question once you’d finished, breaking the silence. You hummed thoughtfully at his question, putting away the supply's and pushing the basket by the entrance of the hut so you wouldn’t forget it on your way out.   

“Well, I haven't really had a chance to talk to any of them yet, but they seem like a nice bunch of kids,” you answered after a moment.  

“But you're not interested in any of them, right?” he asked, and his question made you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You were unsure of why but it almost sounded like he was worried you had taken an interest in them. His cheeks flushed a light pink and he attempted to clarify what he meant, "I mean – like – you don’t think either of them are attractive-”   

You laughed, cutting him off and making his face hot with embarrassment as a deep blush made its way up his neck to the tips of his ears. He was aware of how he sounded, but as ridiculous as the question was, it had been eating at him since they’d arrived.   

“Aonung what are you talking about?” your voice was teasing, full of amusement as you spoke.   

He refused to look at you as he answered, “Well Tsireya has a crush on Lo’ak, so I was just wondering if you also might have been into one of them, because-” he began to ramble, very obviously flustered. You suppressed a giggle behind a smile, you couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten so worked up like this, let alone over you. You thought it was quite cute.   

Placing a hand on his cheek you attempted to bring him back to the real world, “Aonung,” you said softly, and the sound of his name coming from your lips had him swallowing whatever words that sat on the tip of his tongue, and his breath hitching in his throat.  

“Yeah,” he whispered back, and your smile only widened.   

“Why would I ever look at them, when I could look at you.” The words themselves sounded like they should have been a question, but they came out as more of a statement. They had Aonungs heart racing and eyes widening. Were you saying what he thought you were saying? You had to be, he thought, what else could you have meant? This was most definitely not the way he had imagine a confession between the two of you going, for starters he had always imagined he’d confess first.  

Hesitantly he leaned closer to you until he was just a hair's breadth away from you. The proximity had you swallowing harshly, your eyes dropping to his lips and making your cheeks warm. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as he closed the gap, and you were sure he could hear it as you slipped your eyes shut and let yourself be immersed by the feeling of him.   

He was tentive at first, his lips just barley brushing against yours, allowing you time to pull away. Instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips firmly against his and making him smile into the kiss at your reciprocation. One kiss after another your lips molded against each other perfectly in a short flurry of passion that left you breathless. The both of you drew out the kisses as long as you could, until the simple need to breathe burned your lungs and you both had to pull away.  

It was your turn to be flustered as you avoided his eyes now, fixing your gaze onto the floor firmly and ignoring the deepening blush that was blooming across your cheeks and kissing the tips of your ears. It made him smirk, a sense of pride that he could pull such a reaction from you bubbling in his chest.   

He reached out, threading his fingers with yours wordlessly and pulling you into his chest. You yelped as you were pulled on top of him, muscles tensing at the sudden, involuntary movement, but quickly relaxing as he wrapped his arms around you. You shifted, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and getting comfortable. The two of you could talk about what all this meant for the both of you later, for now you would simply enjoy holding each other. 

[mistress-riddle]

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘. cedric diggory

request — Cedric and his parents go on a trip to another country during the summer and during it, Cedric meets reader at a park reading, they strike up a conversation but seeing as they are both wizards and neither of them realize the other is also a wizard they dont keep in touch. when they return to Hogwarts, Cedric glances around and sees reader sitting with the Slytherins at dinner and asks them on a hogsmeade date to catch up. — @hea-vin

you sigh as you take a seat on the bench, family long discarded in favour of resting your aching body from the shopping and sight-seeing you've been doing for the past 5 hours and reading a book instead. you fail to notice the boy taking a seat at the exact same time as you and so you startle when he chuckles and asks "long day?"

"sadly," you groan and stretch your neck to the side, closing over your novel "you in the same predicament?"

"sadly," he huffs and ruffles his hair as he leans back, legs spreading slightly in the process "where abouts are you from?" he asks shortly after.

"live in central london," you turn to properly look at him "what about you?"

"near devon, england." he seems to be around your age, brown hair mixed with golden highlights that seemed too soft and fluffy to be dyed. his face was certainly something to admire, high cheekbones dusted with pink and freckles that accompanied them, lips wide and full and jawline sharp in its edges. his eyes are a mix of hazel and green with specks of gold similar to the ones in his hair, once you notice you've been looking for a bit too long you clear your throat and look to the side.

.

"how long are you staying here for?" the boy asks you, head tilted to the side as he scans you, your face seemed familiar but he wasn't sure where he recognised you from.

"i think two more days," you ponder "i'm not sure, i'm just tagging along with my family." you shrug and he smiles in return.

"same here, though i think we're staying for the week." you nod and he follows it with "how have you liked it so far then?"

"it's been pretty alright actually," you respond with a grin "i mean apart from the heckling of being with family and having siblings, the sights here are so pretty and the food is delicious."

the brunet agrees with you, the same amiable smile decorating his lips "it is quite beautiful here, though i don't have any siblings to put a dimmer on my experience."

"oh lucky you," you sigh "i wish i was an only child."

the boy laughs as he shakes his head "i often wished i had a sibling to play with."

you glance at him with a cheeky look "want to trade?"

"i'm afraid i'm too used to being an only child." he shrugs and you pout.

"bummer, i could've been having the time of my life had you agreed." you shut your eyes as you allow the sunlight to bathe you in its rays, peeking an eye open after a few seconds, you focus it on the boy beside you "you sure?"

"you didn't exactly sell it out to be the greatest thing," he pauses and hums "might need some convincing."

you tap your fingers against your thighs as you ponder "well for starters, i guess they're somewhat cute—" you're cut off by a yell of your name. the two of you turn to see a 6 year old running towards you with a cup full of fruits.

"mama said you have to come back, we're going to another place." the child rushes through her words and almost chokes on a pineapple during the relay of her message and you send the boy next to you a look which caused him to chuckle.

"slow down, you're going to choke." you pat her back gently and shake your head as you stand up, sending her away as your bags go back in your hands and your book is put away.

"well, it was nice chat," you smile at the guy still sitting "i'll work on the pro's for the next time if i see you around."

"i look forward to it, farewell, my chatting companion." he waves and you try to mimic him with a tiny wave of your own as you follow behind your sister.

it's a shame you met the handsome stranger in a foreign country and not back at home. alas, it was probably worse that he was most likely a muggle who you could not communicate with. a bummer how all the good ones you're destined to only meet once you think to yourself.

the bustling of the students feels familiar as you take your seat beside your friends in the great hall.

"how was your holiday?" asks emma from your side, nudging you with her elbow the second dumbledore announced that the feast shall commence.

"emma, had you not slept the whole ride from kings cross to here, you would've known."

your other friend, ben, interrupts as he places a hand on his chest and haughtily stares down at emma "since i was actually awake to converse with my friend like normal people do, i had the opportunity to hear about [name]'s first crush on this british boy she met on holiday."

emma ignores bens attitude as she turns to you with her mouth open, a gasp escaping her lips "no. way." she whispers and you roll your eyes.

"it's not a crush, ben just wants to mess with you." you retort at her wide eyes and disbelieving expression.

"come now, [name], it's not everyday you compliment a boys look to us, he must've really swooned you." ben teases and you sigh.

"you make it seem like i've never complimented anyone." you deadpan and your friends scoff.

"fine, i'll never tell you anything again." you mutter in spite and ben and emma hurriedly attempt to placate you throughout the rest of dinner as they try to coerce you to spill about the handsome stranger who caught your attention and affection.

towards the end of dinner when conversations take over and everyone is only lightly taking bites of their desserts, ben finds his eyes drifting behind you before his expression changes into one of curiosity "say," he interrupts you and emma, you two turn to him with an unimpressed look "does anyone know why the diggory boy keeps looking back here every now and then?" he gives you a look "any of you associated with him?"

emma wistfully sighs as she places her head on her closed fist "i wish, i'd totally get with him if he wanted." you give her a look and clear your throat.

"umm, who's diggory?"

the two sigh "cedric diggory? the captain of the hufflepuff quidditch team?..." ben asks as if that'll help you and you turn to emma "he's blondish, tall, absolutely dreamy?" she quips and you hum.

"he sounds like the perfect package, how come i don't know about him?" you ask and they shrug.

"merlin knows how in your world you are, as a slytherin, it will do you good to build connections." ben adds and emma taps your shoulder to get you to turn around and show you who exactly cedric is. as you turn your head however, you catch the eye of a certain quidditch captain, you're met with the sight of the boy from your holiday and your breathe hitches as he stands and makes his way over.

"okay, now why is he coming here?" ben asks once more and emma shrugs as she watches the two of you stare at each other.

"it's you." you both utter at the same time and his face breaks out into a smile that you can't help but reciprocate.

"i thought i'd never see you again." the boy scratches the back of his neck as his cheeks colour a rosy hue.

"and i you." you nod in reciprocation.

"well since luck seems to have found me, i think i have to take full advantage of it and ask you on a date." you hear one of your friends choke but you choose to ignore them and put up a front of a thinking face as cedric waits for your answer "i just have to find out what the pros are."

you sigh as you cross your arms "i did try to come up with an extensive list..." you look up at the boy and nod "fine, i'll free a day and make a compelling case for you."

you did not think cedrics grin could widen anymore and yet you stand (sit) corrected as his teeth show "i look forward to it!" he waves you goodbye as he heads back to his table and rejoins his friends.

"turns out this priss not only knows diggory but managed to bag a date with him."

"prick."

"dear merlin, why don't i have their luck?"

[dogboytim]

Hi, so this will be really embarrassing if I’m the only one who withs this, but Thomas Hewitt has a huge dump truck back there, and personally I am very much a butt girl. If you have a juicy booty. Lawd 🛐🛐 (respectfully)

Anyway now for my request, imagine slapping Thomas’s juicy booty but like not in a mean way more playful, like him just walking by then, WHACK ✋.

Sorry if that’s weird I had to get it out

Good day :)

Sorry this took so long!! This probably isn’t my best but I’ve been working nonstop 😭

First thing’s first, Thomas isn’t really used to any physical affection

Like, all the physical touch he has received wasn’t the best

You spanking him was definitely strange for starters

It had been a while since you first moved in to the Hewitt household. You had originally planned to just breeze through the town but your truck had ran out of gas. You ended up meeting Thomas and the rest is history.

Your husband would do anything for you. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone if they so much as looked at you funny. Thankfully, Thomas understood how you felt about killing but he was also grateful that you understood that it was his familys’ means of survival. They had to kill in order to eat. Luda Mae and Hoyt sure as hell weren’t driving all the way to the big cities just to shop.

You had just gotten back from shopping. You were in the kitchen preparing some potato soup. Thomas loved your potato soup. Speaking of your husband, you could see him clearly from the kitchen window. He was out helping Hoyt set the bear traps. You had caught him at a good time too. The way those jeans hugged his ass when he bent over was enough to make your mouth water. Damn how’d you get so lucky.

Your eyes occasionally stole glances at him, trying to catch a nice view of his ass every time. Sadly, they had just finished setting the last one up which meant they would come inside to cool off. “Lucky me.” You grinned.

You fiend innocence when your husband walked past you. He was making his way to the fridge when SMACK.

He immediately jolted up, turning to look at you with wide eyes. Had you just smacked his ass? He looked confused and it only got worse when you laughed.

“Maybe don’t walk around with such a fat ass and I won’t smack it.” You teased, returning your focus to your soup.

Oh you were so gonna get it later.

[oneoftheextras]

masterlist | got a request?

paring: miruko x f!reader & mightnight x f!reader

request: “can you please do miruko and midnight coming home with their fem s/o after being a brat?”

words:

warnings: 18+, f!reader, lesbian relationships, jealousy, degradation

a/n: this was supposed to be headcanons but i got carried away so ill have them be separate parts

midnight's part

want a handwritten letter from a character?

When Miruko received an invite to a party, of course you were her plus one. The only problem was, the media didn't know you were together. Neither did any of the other heroes in attendance.

A perfect opportunity for you to act up.

For a starter, you wore a dress you knew drove her crazy; specifically the one you wore on your first date. The moment you walked into the room you noticed the double take she did, seemingly stopping mid-sentence to stare at you.

The playful smile that crawled it's way onto your lips was the cherry on top. You knew what you were doing, and Miruko knew you knew what you were doing.

She watched you the entire night, sometimes less subtly than she would've liked. She watched you socialise with everyone but her, even going as far as to talk to Aizawa who was stood directly in front of her; the only acknowledgement you gave her was a simple 'Miruko' and a nod of the head before you joined another group.

The main course was a slow and tedious calculation done by yourself, but Miruko was predictable and quick to jealousy, which you used to your advantage.

You had spent the last hour talking to Hawks, touching his arm gently and giggling at all of his jokes. You didn't need to see where Miruko was to know she was staring at the back of your head with a twitching eye.

Softly, you handed your empty glass to Hawks and excused yourself to use the bathroom. You stepped into the room and mentally counted down from three, and like clockwork, Miruko slammed the door open - she didn't mean to, sometimes she forgot her own strength.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked you with a playful but dangerous tone, "I don't know what you're talking about," you stated coyly, averting your glaze to the ceiling with a flutter of your eyelashes.

Miruko grabbed your jaw, her grip strong but gentle. "You know exactly what you're doing," she verbally bit into what you were offering, and you knew the real game had began.

Her crimson eyes pierced into your features, waiting for you to move your next piece on the chessboard you'd created.

You gave her a simple shrug as a response.

Her grip tightened and she pulled your face close to hers, her hand meeting the counter top that you'd been leaning against - she caged you in so you had no choice but to give her your full attention.

"Listen to me," her voice was low and demanding, "If this is what you want, by all means continue to be a pretty little slut-" her emphasis on 'slut' sent a ripple of goosebumps over your skin, "-Just remember what happened the last time you pulled something like this,".

Memories of 'last time' trailed through your thoughts, and you had to use every ounce of your willpower not to bite your lip at the recollection, but you did manage a smug smile.

Miruko pushed your face away and began to leave the restroom, "I'm warning you!" she pointed at you before leaving the room, but you knew there was no real threat to her words.

After a few moments you also exited, attempting to calm yourself down unless you wanted to face the party looking flustered.

You'd composed yourself enough to move onto dessert, the final step in your plan. Taking Hawk's hand on the way to the dance floor, you gave him no opportunity to protest dancing with you.

Miruko's heartrate picked up, she knew Hawk's wasn't a threat, she knew that you loved her - but watching you grab him immediately after she'd warned you turned her on.

It meant she had to show you exactly who you belonged to.

She tried to keep her cool but watching you sway your hips with him whilst maintaining eye contact with her with a look that said 'Do something about it?' was the tipping point.

She barely managed to get out an "Excuse me," to the person she was talking to before she was heading for you like a bull at a red flag.

"Hi Hawks," she said quickly when she'd clasped her hand around your wrist, "She needs to be somewhere," she smiled a forced grin at him and pulled you out of his grasp.

Trying to avoid as much attention as possible, she weaved you in and out of the crowds until you had left the building.

The whole ride home was in silence but her hand remained firmly on your upper thigh, which you were bouncing with excitement.

The walk up to your front door felt like it would go on forever, your steps feeling the same way they do when you're running in a dream.

The front door opened swiftly.

You were pulled inside, and just as quickly as the door had opened it was shut again but with you firmly pinned against it.

A nervous giggle crept out of your throat as the palms of her hands laid flat against the door either side of your head, "Welcome home," you joked.

[hobiespick]

Heya! I was wondering if you got any headcanons for Sam Winchester x werewolf! Reader, except, reader can actually turn whenever she (or gn if you want) wants, and the only real thing a full moon does is force her to be in her werewolf form (aka force her to keep the wolf teeth and claws out for no reason)

The thing that should not be

Pairings : Sam Winchester x reader

a/n : FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HI, HELLO, IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG I SUCK SO BAD, IM SO SORRY. My requests aren't open (yet) but its not even your fault I should have 100% specified that, but this is my first ever ask and ur also one of my favourite moots and I didn't want to dissapoint so here are some fuckinf cute Sam x Werewolf!Reader. I felt the carnal need to write a metric fuckton of context before getting into the actual headcanons (which are very long I have no idea if they can be considered as hcs) so the reader gets beaten up by earth-shattering plot purposes :3. Sammy juicy headcanons start when you see the '🧿' emoji if you don't wanna read the context (melodramatic sigh). And yes the title of the fic is based on the metallica song :). as always, enjoy my shitty thoughts <3

Warnings: angst with comfort (no don't clap it's fine, omg ur makin me blush); guess who joined the cool kids club and uses "____." instead of "Y/n"; literally a flash of gore, shitty dad(s), fake death, mentions of suicide, Sam looks at you and goes DO YOU WANT M-; Dean being himself; reader is also a hunter and has been raised like that (fml); Dean makes a twillight refrence; reader is frankenstein coded in the most nuanced way, Mary Shelley please don't haunt me; Dean is very happy to have a bestfriend/sister :)

word count: 8,102

- Okay, so for starters, the fact that you aren't actually a monster (you don't get the urge to kill or wreak havoc) is actually a supernatural miracle.

Your parents haven't talked to you since you called them the night you were hunting a werewolf and told them, horror-struck between sniffles and voice cracks, that it bit you, and you’re going to turn, and you’re horrified, and you’re going to drive home to put a pistol in your father's hand and hopefully stop you from turning in the thing you shouldn't be.

Your father replied, after successfully not saying a word besides "Hey, kid-" before getting cut off by you and your hiccups. He sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek, enough to draw blood.

"You are not to come home; your mother won't bear to see you like this."

Your father objected before telling you you can finish the job by yourself; you always have.

He abruptly ended the phonecall like you weren't his daughter, more like an annoying salesman. You don't know what he'll say to your mother after that call; that was the hospital, and you tragically died? "Died a hero.." Your father would say when he described another hunter's tragic passing at the dinner table—paranormal tragic passing. So paranormal that your mother had knocked on wood and prayed it wouldn't get you or your family.

So you don't call, It's really me, dad. I'm fine, I figured it out by myself. How could you? after him suggesting it's better to kill yourself than take a shot at finding a solution together? You would rather have him believe you're dead. Or at least cry with you; it's okay, honey. come home; it'll be okay, spend the last days at home, please-

The last word you get from him is a text message you are too quick to open on your flip-phone to see the next day. When you rub at your eyebags after tracking down a witch, the witch. It was the second day when everything about you felt off; you were squemish, anxious, and haven't left your motel room all day. if you get this—the message read, "if you get this?!" if you get this, if you get this, if you get this—your brain repeats it over and over, taking the words apart and tattooing itself that phrase, because it held much more meaning to it than your father probably didn't intend; he would hear it if he read it before sending, you thought, that little 'if' haunting and tormenting like a damn demon. if you haven't already killed yourself; if you haven't already turned into something that took my daughter, my pride and joy, away from me; if you haven't already died–

- speaking to you like he's directly referring to the disease in your veins. Your brain moves on and reads the next ridiculous waste of your attention. I wanted you to know I told your mother that it was the hospital I was talking to yesterday, calling that you’re dead, house fire, so no remains to pick up—Damn, you know him or what? Even your fake death is stripped away from it's respect—"no remains to pick up"—like a toppled statue, a monument of what was once a hero (in dad's old-fashioned monster-hunting world), shattered and insignificant, no longer breathing or living, if you ever even had. Or a tree struck by lighting, again, "no remains to pick up" no meaningful remains or genuinely nothing, just a memory of another young hunter who died 'tragically'. You could imagine your tombstone with an even dumber epitaph to match it and an empty or nonexistent grave lying six feet underneath for closure. Your eyes move on, there will be a funeral with no grave, of course, I just wanted you to know that your mother and everyone else is devastated, we miss you, sugar. I love you, kid. Your father had overestimated your suicidal tendencies, and the way he didn't try to save his daughter in order to not go against the rules and possibilities of hunting only showed you how much he loves you.

So you track down the witch. You barely make it to her doorstep when she opens it with a too reassuring smile, saying your name and that she expected you, even going as far as offering you tea after opening the door and letting you in, to which you declined. You're not an idiot. But you do sit down, forced, when she, Willow Thorne, won't have you, a guest, standing up, a whole damn hunter being forced to sit down and accept being treated kindly like you deserve. When you walked in, the entire image of a satanic worshipper who sold her soul to demons and hexed everybody—that you betted all your life savings fitted the description of Willow shattered and laughed in your face.

Her home was filled with plants hanging and resting in every corner she could place; various crystals were sitting in cute porcelain plates like candy, candles of different colors on a bookshelf filled with books like The Language of Flowers, Astronomy for Beginners, and Sigils. Even more crystals, bigger and taller ones on a purple tablecloth. The house is adorned in shades of dark purple, violet, green, and warm colors. This home was a whimsigothic musem that would send your thirteen-year-old self into a shrieking, excited mess. Your parents never let you own crystals or a tarot deck; they were too afraid you'd turn darkside one way or another. well, mommy, daddy, if you could see me right now with lycanthrope blood pumping through my veins.

Willow Thorne is a wiccan type of witch; she does not receive her power from demons; she receives her magic from nature and probably practices her witchcraft the way she sees fit. This doesn't help build back the distrust you were trained to have in her. You flinch when you feel a tail curling around your bouncing leg; you glance down, and your eyes are met with a black cat's green ones—this must be her familiar—the little words on his purple collar reading 'Creek'. She gives you another flash of her warm smile and starts talking about her cat. This can't be real. Your every instinct screams that you should take her down or that she will take you down. Your options shrink the longer you stay. You keep a hand anxiously fiddling with your belt, thinking about the gun in your waistband. She's deceiving you with honeyed words and unassuming appearance; who the fuck knows, maybe the cat is manipulating you too. Throwing up would be the calmest reaction you could have right now, because the thoughts in your head started going at each other's throats and doubting in this situation could get you killed. Thoughts like, fuck her, her cozy house with purple witchy twitchy girl interior, and her affectionate black cat she mentioned she rescued when nobody would because of superstitions—you curse in your head, you're not actually upset at her although you do not let your guard down, you're upset at yourself for being so easily coaxed into trusting her, it's all too easy, and it is intimidating you.

You're pretty sure you're gonna rip your vocal cords out of frustration and an overall feeling of overwhelmingness; everything seems to piss you off today, even more than usual. How are you good?! All bright and beaming with nothing but positivity. You're not supposed to be good! I have believed all my life you aren't!..are you like me too? A thing that should not be? Before breaking down and crying about your situation, and if you did, she would make you that tea and rub your back with her hand that radiated ease and made you slump your shoulders with relief.

Before you get other fun thoughts like Am I on the wrong side of the war? You start discussing bussiness since you forgot that's what your here for. Even if your eyes water like a little kid after being scolded for something they didn't do, your voice is nowhere near close to sounding like one. You demand a cure, bargaining for a deal to stop the lycanthropy metamorphosis you feel taking over little by little and make you human again. If she can't, you have a gun with silver bullets in your trunk and your will written out, but by now it probably has no significance.

Much to your disappointment, she—Willow—insisted you called her, tells you she cannot take away your curse, but she can soothe it a little, keep it in a cage locked deep into your subconscious. In exchange, she could ask for fucking anything in the world, but she wants loyalty.

"Define, loyalty." You ask through gritted teeth, yeah, that will stop the tears, definitely, great intimidation skills, _____ .

"I'm talking about respect, mutual aid, when it all comes down for me, when I get threatened by a hunter, I want you to be there. I need you to have my back." She admitted, studying your eyes trying to reslove the conflict in them, anything that could give her hope. You couldn't explain this to anyone, ever, Yeah I almost turned into a werewolf once but my witch friend did a ritual on me, so i'm all good now.

Willow is now sitting on an ottoman facing her couch, where you're sitting. Her hands fidget with her bracelets until she clasps them together, and she is leaning towards you. Her gentle tone is imbued with gentle authority that commands her mutual respect without making her overbearing. Keeping steady eye contact, she is discussing serious matters with a serious tone like she should. You can't lie, it catches you off-guard, it herds you in the corner and softly shakes your shoulders, forcing you to listen.

You'd be every synonym in the dictionary for the word 'idiot' if you hadn't accepted this deal. You shake hands, and the warm smile she wears causes a domino effect, making you do the same, even if you had been crying.

It's a funky ritual. She makes you lay on the couch while she lights all sorts of candles; she closes the curtains even though it's already dark so light cannot come in. The only light present is the salt lamp in the far corner and the numeruous lighted candles. She even has to kick Creek out of the room, much to the cat's protests outside the door. They slowly come to a stop as he finds something that's more interesting than whatever ritual his owner is cooking up with a guest—that he feels drawn to for whatever reason. You feel nervous, and she feels nervous too, because you are. Willow reassures you and tells you that after it ends you will pass out for a while, but that's fine because she says you can spend the night if she isn't pushing it.

The celling becomes your newest fascination, and you study every small bump and gray spot in order to distract your mind from... well, thinking. Not for the ritual, but for reassurance, she lies and says you have to hold her hand. Her warm hand against yours seems to punch out of your lungs every doubt whether this will work or not and the sadness your father produced with an unfatherly amount of bluntness and cold parenting that was the verbal equivalent of stabbing your spine and twisting the knife, but you can't pull out the knife, well, you can try, but it will hurt even worse and it will infect spreading yellow or purple marks around it–. She—her hand—has the ability to make you breathe again without feeling like you have leg irons around your neck dragging it down and hands squashing your lungs to bits. She speaks incantations in what you know is latin and instructs you to close your eyes. You swear you hear a candle stop burning in the process—something you can't physically hear, but you had. You can make out a few words (your ears keep ringing and something is happening because you hear her voice; it's distorted and weird, but she told you, strictly, not to open your eyes, so you don't). Words like: lupus-wolf, tollere-take away? You're not sure on that one; that's what three straight days of crying might do to one, mutare- which means change. Okay, that was a nice distraction now what el–

You feel the imprint of a huge dog-like paw pressing into your Adam's apple and cutting off your breath. She obviously takes notice by the way you're writhing and choking and swatting away at nothing—something you're trying to fight even with closed eyes, but there is nothing there. Your palm doesn't make contact with anything. Quickly, Willow chants something you're too busy choking to catch. The pressure on your throat dissolves, and you can breathe again. She calms her own breath and squeezes your hand. When she doesn't feel you squeeze back, she remembers that you're supposed to pass out after the spell. Willow drapes a blanket on you and goes off to order something to eat. When she opens the living room door, Creek doesn't hesitate to run in and settle on your chest. The cat purrs as he patiently waits for you to wake up.

You wake up fifteen minutes later with the smell of food flooding your nostrils, stronger than it has ever been before. It's almost like it's sitting right under your nose. You open your eyes, and the smell has a color, and you can clearly see how it snakes its way in from the kitchen into the half-open door. Your nails feel heavier than usual. This is hopefully a fever dream. But the food isn't here, nor is Willow; you can hear her humming a song in the kitchen, Voodoo Chile by Jimi Hendrix.

The weight of the shadow on your chest brings you back to earth, and you run your hands through his black fur with closed eyes as your head falls back onto the couch. The feeling of fur on your fingertips feeding to your serotonin levels rising. Creek seems to know what it's like to be disowned by your own father and forced to have a fake death in order to 'die' in a way that won't make your mother think you were cursed, or worse, that the whole family is now. Creek notices you're awake and gets off you, but not before making biscuits.

"Thanks, Creek." You mumble before pushing yourself up in a sitting position with a groan.

You can feel the rich, velvety, dark green rug beneath your socks; you would have appreciated it properly if you could actually see the details woven into it. Your eyes keep focusing and unfocusing like they're getting adjusted, and the room doesn't seem so dark anymore. God, how long did you pass out? As you tried to gather your thoughts (if the spell was easy on you enough to actually leave some), memories of the ritual came flooding back—the chanting in latin, the flickering candle(s), the punching smell of herbs, the murder attempt from a wolf spirit/ghost?! who the hell knows anymore? Now you were wide awake, and everything felt different. If it weren't for the fucking ritual that was just performed on you, you would've blamed the faint ringing in your years, shitty eyesight, and banging headache on a terrible hangover or a cold so bad it would make your throat ache for the tea your mom would make you when your immune system failed you. She promised she would teach me how to make it. Your grief echoed to you.

You rub at your temples at thats when you notice why did your nails feel heavier than usual. You had fucking claws, well, not animal claws, but they are honorably elongated and sharper than they had ever been. As you looked up from your lap, your eyes fell on a mirror.

A tall mirror leaning on its back legs, with black edges and details on the rim, you would again appreciate if you had the ability to see a single thing in the distance.

Your eyes widened, mortified, seeing yourself. It looked like one of your parents's worst nightmares. Something out of a dream your mom would have—a nightmare so nasty and vivid she would be forced by her paranoia to get up and check that you're still in bed sleeping soundly.

Your eyes were no longer the familiar color you have seen in the mirror or in old photos of your family members you've grown to love. The shade wasn't even close to yours; crazy how one small change made such a big difference in your appearance. Your pupils were slitted vertically, shrinking only to dilate a little once again, getting adjusted. You slowly got up on foal legs and fell on your knees in front of the mirror. Even if you didn't think it was night because you weren't seeing darkness, the light of the moon shone down on the mirror and floor thanks to the now open curtains. That's when your vision stopped unfocusing and finally cleared.

You were now looking at yourself. It felt incredibly alien and familiar at the same time; you looked at yourself every day, whether it was the mirror in your bathroom at home, a crappy motel one that faced the bed (which you cover up with a scoff each time), or a reflection in the car of your vanity mirror checking yourself before going in a precinct, pretending to be a reporter (the things middle-aged pigs would confess to a doe-eyed girl from the press..).

You gently pulled the corner of your upper lip only to reveal your enlarged and sharpened front canines. Your hand fell and instead went to cover your mouth in order to muffle your sobs. You must have done a horrible job because the second you slapped the hand over your mouth, you heard Willlow gasp as if she felt it too.

She drops the food she was unpacking and runs in, taking a moment to calm her heaving chest in the doorway; her hands were holding it like an earthquake had shaked her up; even her round glasses had slipped and rested on the tip of her nose.

"_______, you woke up!" she exclaims cheerfully. "I was just—how do you fee-?"

She kept stuttering and cutting herself off. Willow didn't need to say anything else; she saw the tears welling up in your eyes and felt the same shock you did from the kitchen.

🧿🧿🧿- later on, you have to bump into the Winchesters one way or another

- and it's exactly on a full moon when this time the ball isn't in your court and you don't get to decide whether you turn or not.

- your claws are sharp, your eyes have changed their original color completely with your pupils vertically slit, and your teeth (conveniently) remain the same; only a few of your front canines are enlarged and sharpened.

- as for senses, it's downright spectacular.

- you can hear deer stepping on tree branches, foxes running, and owls hooting when you're driving by the forest

- you smell how many people are in a room

- you have night vision (yes, your eyes to the flashy thingamajiggy when someone blinds you with their flashlight).

- as a hunter, you already know that your claws and fangs can rip out a human heart.

- ironically, as this whole situation is, you hunt alone on the principle that you don't long for companionship as some lycanthropes do.

- you've turned into a literal killing machine with no instinct to kill, so hunting with others is off the table since at the first sign of a threat (they think you are one, but you really aren't), a hunter exterminates.

- you meet the Winchesters on a ghoul hunt

- you have taken the case before them, but when you couldn't get anywhere with identifying whatever evil being was tormenting the locals with their mere presence, you thought about ditching it since it doesn't look like your type of thing and took the consideration that maybe humans were fucking around this time.

- so when you heard the FBI are in town investigating the case (detective Page and Plant), you placed that town in your rear view mirror; they got it covered..right?

- but something didn't feel right- it wasn't the shame of leaving a case with your tail between your legs (pun intended) with the weak motive, 'Maybe humans are really fucking around this time.'

- something wasn't right, so even if you were tired, you abruptly stopped the car and went over your research spread out on the flat of your closed trunk

- the slits of your eyes dance over the words on your laptop, your papers, and an old lore book you fought tooth and nail for. When you realized it's a ghoul you're dealing with, you turned the car around and went over every speed limit like hellhounds were scratching at your tires. It was your job to not let anybody else get hurt or someone else's grave be violated

- as the light of the moon shined down on you and your wild eyes looked back at you from the rear view mirror, you knew you couldn't have anyone see you, you had to be invisible

- *time skip* (as much as it pains me 'cause i am a sucker for details :))- you swoop in time to save the Winchesters

- and if they weren't tied up, they would've started fighting you too, because why was there a whole ass werewolf fist fighting a ghoul?? John trained them like Spartan warriors, but nothing prepared them for something like this.

- so they sit there like:??????

- they watch you take out a fucking ghoul all by yourself

- the head of the ghoul's person they're impersonating rolls onto the floor. You have to remind yourself it's not a real person; it's an evil spirit who kills to feed

- by the time you wipe the blood off your face, smearing it a bit in the process, and cut the ties holding the hunters loose, Sam is unnable to look away from your slit eyes adorned by a strange color that strangely suits you

- literally hearts in his fawn brown eyes like you still don't have blood on your face and you aren't trying to catch your breath; also, you took a nasty punch to your cheek, and he's pretty sure it's gonna leave a bruise, but he totally doesn't care, why? why do you ask?

- by the way Sam is scrunitizing you, and oh yeah, Sam is scrunitizing you, you're sure you're gonna have to ditch since you've been in this situation before and you know how it always ends

- there was no 'explaining yourself' to hunters when they saw you under the full moon or when they saw you change because you had to.

Before you can even open your mouth they have their methaphorical pitchforks sharpened and torches lit up, prepared to slaughter you, and if you're honest, you can't even blame them for it because you would've done the same.

- Dean rubs his wrist with his right hand; the imprint of the rope is still fresh on his skin like a tattoo. Sam focuses on not choking when you catch him staring.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean thinks out loud. You take a big lungs-exploding sigh and give a shot at introducing yourself since they seem more civilized than most hunters are

- Sam geeks out about you

He doesn't question you because he is suspicious (he has the right to be but surprisingly isn't). He has to feed his noisy, information-hungry brain or he will spontaneously combust

- "Are your senses even more enhanced during the full moon, or are they the same?"

- "Can you smell when somebody is afraid? Like the hormones from their pores?"

- "Is it annoying to always have super hearing? Like has it ever caused you to be..I don't know.. Anxious? It did?" He mourns over you, trying to imagine himself in your situation but possibly can't.

- "I'm really sorry you had to go through a whole..change all by yourself, but it just shows how strong you are, some don't even make it 'til the end."

- After you were done explaining to Sam (to which he gladly sat himself down and listened) how sometimes you genuinely consider you're inevitably going to become what you hunt and how in the beginning you and your senses have butted heads, how you had no idea how to go through it without having panic attacks because the click of a doorknob was sensitive to your hearing like a veteran was scared of fireworks, how you accidentally ripped a motel door off its hinges, a result of you being slightly irritated, still getting acoustumed to your abilities. Dean would go.

"..Do dog whistles work on y–" Before getting an elbow in the ribs by a glaring Sam.

- more shit Dean would ask you for the sake of his own little curiosity

- "Is 'bitch' even more offensive now?"

- "Who do you think would win in a fight? You or Jacob Black?"

- "What do I smell like? Y'know, since you can pick up on scents and alldat."

- Dean calls you Cujo

- It's the one nickname you can get behind, asking him what he thought about the book, and he's like, "Oh, I watched the movie, but i know a little. Sammy used to rattle on and on about his books when he was younger."

- if you think about it, an alais doesn't sound so bad in theory or practice while hunting.

- it's secretive, the boys don't need to divulge your real name, and it's actually high-key kickass (I literally watched Cujo just so I know what I'm talking about, a.k.a. the second reason why it took a millenium and a half for me to post these; the first reason is that i suck)

- Dean is thrilled to get to call you that- he gets this fucking smirk, like a dad about to drop the worst joke ever made on everyone, you and Sam brace yourselves for what's coming with matching eyerolls-

"Let's fuck em' up, Cujo."

- "Cujo, dude, you're just itching to raise a little hell right now, aren't you?"

- "Uh- a bacon cheeseburger, soda, yo, Cujo whaddya want? My treat >:]."

- "Cujo, put on that song you were listening to; I had it in my head the entire hunt." (I didn't mention the genre or artist bc I like to imagine Dean listening to everyone's fav category; ex. I imagine Dean screaming bikini kill lyrics whenever i'm sad)

- if you thought the 'canine/wolf' teasing stopped here, you're so painfully wrong

- Dean made you a mixtape, because that's his love language apparently, with only songs that are about werewolves

- I feel like it took him a longer time to find a suitable title than the songs themselves

- he has all of the possible picks on a piece of paper that stays in the pocket of his fifty pound leather jacket.

- the titles are: Songs to transform into; The howlin' hits; Songs that will make you wag your tail—that one is crossed out because he knows you will make him eat the tape if he does settle on it; Love at first bite; and finally the one he settled for is Songs you can sink your teeth into. Dean smiled at his work, it didn't feel like a prank anymore it was more like a gift and he didn't feel any ugly emotion or insecurity try to pull him back into not getting attached to you.

The final touch was a note saying

"Hey, Cujo, thought you might want these howlin' hits whenever you need to tune the world out.

P.S. : Sam told me to add one of the songs, it's that punk stuff you like - Dean"

- The songs he prudently picked out are these : Of Wolf and Man by Metallica; Bark at the Moon by Ozzy Osbourne; I Was A Teenage Werewolf by The Cramps; Wolf Moon by Type O Negative; Witch Wolf by STYX; Run with the Wolf by Rainbow; Lycanthropy by G.B.H and others.

- you accidentally made a kid cry once- a ball was literally flying towards you and you caught it just in time, thanks to your reflexes

- instinctively, you turned around in time and caught the ball as your claws grew and sank into the inanimate object

- it's all "Nice relfexes, _____" praise from Dean and proud and shy smiles from Sam until the owner of the ball starts sobbing in front of you

- it's a kid, a boy with red hair, no older than six years of age

- but we all know Dean's charm is basically made for this

- so he handles both the kid and his mom (flirting with a milf all day, poor Dean)

- you keep apologizing to the kid and the mom, but Dean just waves you off; you don't understand his generosity until Sam tells you that you accidentally secured Dean's hookup for tonight.

- Since Dean is not coming, not until early morning, nor is he there to call you and Sam 'dorks', you and his younger brother take advantage of it.

- you guys have a movie night with the most random movies ever

- it is chaotic

- from rom-coms you switch to a world war II documentary, then you watch re-runs of House MD on tv.

- Dean stumbles in at like five something a.m. and takes a picture of you and Sam snuggling under a blanket while the tv light casts shadows of orange and cold colors on your defenseless expressions.

- but can somebody actually blame you? Or Sam, for that matter?

- honorably want to mention your body heat is also enhanced

- You and Sam were sitting with your sides pressed into each other

- you were radiating pure furnace body heat, how could he not be sleepy??

- but that's not the only reason Sam knocks out so heavily

- it's you he's sitting down with (relaxing for once in his life) watching a ridiculous episode of House with thirteen ads rolling every ten minutes accompanied by lazy talking as if you're not debating books only you and morally grey forty-year-olds read (where that Kansas drawl of his is much more audible and pretty), after a marathon of fatally random movies

- younger Sam who had trouble going to sleep/getting some shut-eye because Dean and John are out late on a hunt.

- Sam especially couldn't fall asleep because Dean wasn't there

- it was a different story when Dean was at the age where he couldn't hunt but he could use a pistol and take care of his little brother

- both of them in a relatively warm motel room, alone (since John fucked off to god-knows-where, to hunt a monster they are never to breathe in the direction of as a conversation subject.)

- little Sammy (age where he believed nothing could beat his older brother) could peacefully fall asleep knowing Dean stays up and watches over him like a hawke, reading comic books by the tv light

- where little Dean keeps chanting in his head what Sammy is supposed to do after eating his dinner.

- Watch tv or look at the comic with me (Sammy can't read yet), brush his teeth, then tuck him in bed.

- now pre-teen Sam can hardly sleep

- he is plagued/tormented by flashing images his overthinking big brain mades of a thousand situations where his family got hurt, if not even killed

- Sam's grip on the shotgun is shaking; it shakes even harder when John's bark booms over his shoulder, right into his ear.

- "Sammy, dammit, what are you going to do when a demon breaks through the door and me and your brother aren't there to protect you?!"

- but Sam isn't twelve anymore

- he's a responsible adult

- snuggled beside you and denying any eepy allegations you decide to accuse him of

- so, the heat you contribute, the soft speaking on the tv, the darkness of the room, you being there is enough to lull Sam to sleep

- studies show you feel sleepy around the people you trust ;)

- the position you two fell asleep in cannot be described in any other word than childish

- somehow you would catch two kids, sleeping over at one of the other's houses, knocked out, and snoring in the same bed after watching a horror movie

- on one of the two queens the motel room contributes (the one closest to the tv) you and Sam have made this fluffy nest full of pillows, a huge blanket, plus a random quilt Bobby pulled out of thin air and gave it to you when he heard you complaining about the petal-thin blankets motels have during cold ass weather.

- When you both lied down on the bed with your legs greedily streched out, backs pressed against the headboard, and your head is resting on the wall while Sam, magically, was still able to hold his up after the very long day all of you endured. You predicted one of you wouldn't survive being in each other's presence and make it out not asleep, and god, you hoped it was you.

- Sam's breathing slows down after a while of comfortable silence, and you’re sure he's dying until you spare one quick glance and see him, downright snoozing with his lips parted without a care in the world, ghosts and eerie phenomenons weren't bothering or needing him now.

- during all of the movies and documentary and fuckin lazy intellectual commentary nobody else would have the patience to discuss with you or Sam, he somehow migrated on the bed/nest with his side flush against yours, like a magnet to another; it was inevitable not to stick together, literally.

- your shoulder was now pressed into his forearm, your head no longer resting uncomfortably, and his temple is resting on the top of your head.

- but (unfortunately) you weren't hugging or anything- like a mirror or a copycat, Sam has his arms crossed, just like you, so maybe that's why you didn't wake up full on cuddling, that does sound good though your brain mourns

- When you do wake up, the only slight change you notice is that you're sleeping on your side..so is Sam. You're facing Sam's neck and chin, and up close and personal, you can actually count the too-sexy amount of moles he modestly posesses. His arm serves the role of a pillow underneath his head, and the other is resting with his palm down facing the mattress.

- with Sam taking up the entire attention of your senses, it takes an emmbarassing while for you to hear the shower running, Dean; did he see you both like this? Was he going to mention it? Your gut fills with a small dose of embarrassement, preparing you for what's yet to come, and it protests at that.

- much displeasure from your senses to your brain and your heart that wanted to breathe Sam in more as he (hopefully) breathes you out, you turn on your other side, unconsciously careful not to disturb Clifford over here, and you try to determine what time it is from your surroundings alone.

- the light blue sneaking its way through the dark closed curtains and the slight chill in the air points all arrows to seven or eight in the morning, you could go back to sleep.

- Dean wasn't just feeling gracious; he didn't and wasn't even planning on sparing you or Sam

- that day, when he separately gets the both of you alone, he has the exact same conversation with different but not so different people.

-"You should've seen the two of you this morning when I came in, two kittens snoring together, it was fuckin' adorable." Dean teased–

—Monday, 13:34 p.m. — as he tossed his clothes into one of the laundromat's washing machines, making Sam paralyze in his seat as his fingers started fidgeting with the edges of his hoodie.

"You did?.." He inquires, not knowing what exactly Dean saw just this morning. Sam only woke up a little after you went back to sleep. He swore his cheek must have burned a hole through the pillow with how hard he was blushing. You were so close. There was a good distance between the edge of the bed and you. So your back was flush against his chest. If you're wondering where his arm went, it was around your waist. Sam—your own personal seatbelt. He probably thinks it's his fault too. Dean never ceased to describe Sam as a 'cuddlebug'.

"Uh-huh" Dean hums a confirmation, acting casual, scarily casual. Sam feels the teasing in Dean's tone; it's there, but Dean is not fully teasing yet, like he wants Sam to confess something first after boiling in his embarrassement for long enough.

—Monday, 20:02 p.m. — as he pulled the Impala into the driveway of a fast-food place you were so invested in you even forgot the name of; you froze and looked at him, searching for any emotion that might give him away, but Dean was a brick wall, a slight very Dean siginificant parted lips smirk paired with squinted eyes over the wheel, carefully driving into the driveway. Even the car seemed to betray you in your moment of weakness because you swear the volume is lower than it was a few seconds ago. Ozzy Osbourne's laugh can still be heard from the speakers, even if it's barely audible over your racing thoughts or your hearing trying its hardest to pick up on Dean's thoughts. The rythym of the drums seems to sync up with your heartbeat, or the other way around, you're not sure. Over every little sound, there still seems to be a little silence to fit in. You swallow a lump in your throat.

"..We had a movie night, we just fell asleep like that, that's all." You mumble, and Dean starts to feel a little bad for letting you be a victim to his spotlight-teasing and giving you no shade to reprieve to or show his undying approval.

Somehow, you still worry if Dean believes you have ruined the dynamic, and now he's cornering you to tell you to stop it or something (overthinking anxiety worms are eating away at your critical thinking skills). You just worry about what he thinks of this. You still worry about the Dean who doesn't correct random people on cases who mistake you and Sam for a couple; the Dean who just has to leave some arsenal or luggage in the front, just so you are forced to share the backseat with Sam; the Dean who always has to group you and Sam in a category when he teases you both (Geeks, nerds, smartasses, etc.). Cupid works hard, but Dean Winchester works harder.

"Hey-, Cuj- Doll." Dean sputters, switching glances between you and the wheel.

This didn't go as he planned it would, and now he is facing the consequences. The way you shrink in your seat and the way you avoid catching his eye makes Dean feel like a douchebag. If he didn't know any better he would thinks he is, but then you would actually be able to read him like a book and tell him otherwise. You hear the desperation in his voice; your candle of hope comes back to life and lights up. Your head turns to look at him with pleading eyes. Please don't be angry, please don't kick me to the curb, let me stay in the backseat a little more. Dean lets out a shaky exhale that turns into a laugh; he runs a hand down his face. You've watched him do that every time he got jumpscared by the monthly spirit with unfinished business. It was something you imagined Dean picked up from John, the picture in your head so clear (at least from the pictures you saw)— a tired dad in an old squeaky motel chair with a whiskey glass in his hand doing the same motion Dean was doing right now. Dean would mimic his father's gestures to try to look more like him; he didn't have his brunette curly hair, his dark brown eyes, Sam did.

Dean never had his voice either; he only perfected his bark to match his dad's. Sam hated the way his reflection resembled his father, Dean was either jealous of him for it or couldn't wrap his head around as to why his brother hated being their dad, probably the latter. Dad, at least in Dean's eyes, was a hero, a figure to be admired and emulated. But Sam? He didn't even have to try. Sam and John were so alike that they clashed constantly like two stubborn stags locking antlers in a duel.

"..Dean?" You call him out; you had no idea what was going on in his head; it would be pretty damn nice if you could know. Dean shots his head up at the mention of his name.

"Yeah?—sorry, I just, you and Sam are just so—" He sighs. "it's about time you two crazy kids broke that touch barrier." He guffaws, slowly pulling up to the ordering kiosk.

A new song starts playing on Dean's "hot summa' nights driving" mixtape, Emmit Remmus by The Red Hot Chili Peppers, he added it when Sam said that's one of his favorites.

- do I need to talk about how much of an immense help you have been on hunts?

- you don't need to help out on every hunt despite Sam's disappointment and Dean's kid-like joy to have their friend help them out who is a professional/werewolf/hunter/geek, who kind of gets his references?? But you are geniunely so good it's funny to have the boys call you up and be like "..so we need help". They're happy you'll show up but there is still that lick of shame that taunts the Winchesters whenever they are forced to call for aid.

- this one time, you wanted to hug them after not seeing them for two weeks, and when you went to attack Sam, you heard his bones crack.

- your strength still surprises you and knocks other people off their feet

- it was so loud (atleast for you), you were sure you broke something

- Sam did nothing but give you his (killer) dimply smile and reassure you didn't do anything (even if he slightly grunted); while Dean whined like a kid saying (lying) he doesn't want a hug (you coaxed him into it eventually)

- Sam feels like he's not allowed to call you by your nickname, like he fears it's Dean's thing and not his

- so when he finally puts on his big boy pants, he's like, "Uhh–Cujo- 🧍‍♂️so get this.."

- all red and shy, trying to act casual, as if he doesn't wonder about the reaction you might have if he calls you other nicknames, like honey, sweetheart, even baby, or if he had the excuse to hold your hand, how would you hold it? Fingers interlocked or palms flat?

- Sam would also love to just marvel at your slit eyes; if he could he would take a picture and put it in his wallet; don't get me wrong if he had one where you were normal, he would cherish it just as much.

- Sam thinks your nickname is actually really cool (probably because it's a Stephen King reference, nerd), and you take that as a compliment. Sam is hard to entertain or please by his brother's antics.

- But he prefers saying your name

- there's something so intimate about the syllables rolling off his tongue so easily

- "_____, Are you okay? What is it? The soundproof earmuffs? I'll go get them." When everything, and I mean when every sound is just too much.

- Sam got them for you; he couldn't handle seeing you wince one more time whenever a car with a bad engine would pass by the motel (during a stressful hunt); its tires squealing under the concrete, making a faint sound for the boys, but for you so much louder.

- you know how pathethic it is to be affected by such small things when you're blessed with such powers? How can you call yourself a hunter when decibels, frequencies, and fucking tire squeals make you their bitch? You wish you could train yourself in a way that would make you less sensitive to certain sounds. It just adds to the reasons why hunters have the excuse or classify you as "the frail one" not only because you're a girl. When you used to hunt with your dad and sometimes mom, the amount of dog-shit comments from other hunters who had sons, were nothing but mysogynistic, curlish, and ruthless. "Are you sure the riffle isn't too heavy?", "Does she even know how to kill this thing?", "She's going to drag us down, do you want us to die?"— the type of comments that would make your dad shoot daggers into them, defend you "She's a goddamn ______, what do you think?", and whisper into your ear "Show em' what you're made of." and you would (stubbornly) listen to his advice to the damn letter after you almost mouthed them off.

Your dad believed in "Actions are sometimes louder than words." and all that adult crap, you were not as zen.

Your mom actually encouraged the sarcasm you have replied with in the past. The funniest memory your mother can recall is a story she tells at every gathering and every chance she gets to everyone, she praised you like crazy. When another hunter's son had the nerve to fuck with a twelve-year-old you. "Aren't you afraid of breaking a nail out there?" The boy sneered, puffing out his chest like a peacock. You stared at him with pure disbelief. "The only way I'm breaking a nail tonight is by kicking your ass, you cocky brainless jerk." You spat back, your mother and father were there and so was the boy's father; the gravity of the situation was on your shoulders, and their stares felt even heavier in comparison; intimidating him was 100% on the table. You felt like everyone had the same exact thought occuring them, an unspoken demand passed everyone there, even you: Do something. And you did. Your mother's jaw went slack; she doubled over, gripping whatever surface was near her and she started to chortle, with her shoulders shaking like never before. Your father was holding in a chuckle while massaging the bridge of his nose.

- Sam has to disagree with you whenever you complain about how your senses make you look or about the way you underestimate yourself. "What?! You can't be serious. _____, It doesn't mean you're weak. In fact, it makes you even more interesting. Everyone has an Achilles heel; yours is stronger because you're an amazing hunter who figured a way out. It makes you even stronger, I have no idea how you deal with this crap! Dean and I would've gone insane if we were in your shoes for more than a day."

- he is also forcing back his infamous (spectacular) bitchface

- he doesn't 'hold back' actually

- he geniunely cannot glare at you, not when you're like this. He can make a few exceptions, like when you join in Dean's teasing/joking (the silly rambunctious energy Dean carries around had, unfortunately, contiminated you or awakened yours)

- or when you start teasing Sam yourself, he shoots you a glare that classifies as nothing but hot (in your book at least), the kind of Sam glare that makes you flush knowing he doesn't mean it at all.

- Dean making you those fake ass I.D's like "Joan Jett", "Stevie Nicks", "Kathleen Hanna" and when you asked him to make more subtle ones he was like, bet. "Kelly Hammer", "Diana Bowie", "Laura Ulrich".

a/n: I wanted to apologize again for taking so long and for the unnecessary amount of context that literally nobody asked for. Uhh yeah and feedback would be very much appreciated<3, sava out *mic drop*