#this is what getting anons from ******* felt like

[inhogf]

an idea dawned on me midday🙏😭 i cant not share this

thanos in his rapper era x reader, fucking in the back of a limo and he snorts a line off your lower back plz help

limo sex ft. thanos ♡

contains · dubcon, fucking in a limo, him degrading u (slut) drug usage (he snorts cocaine off ur back UM.) · a/n: anon this is SO good i couldnt get this off my mind on god 👅

thanos was embarrassed, infuriated even— getting rejected by some bitch at ‘club pentagon’ in front of all his friends wasn't like him, no, he was thanos. so he does what anyone within a right mind would do. he slips a pill in your drink and pulls you away to his limo right as your steps get inconsistent. a punishment, he'd call it.

“look at your pussy drooling all over my cock. filthy bitch.” thanos rasps between sloppy impels of his hips against your ass. you’re spluttering a series of pathetic moans, spit gathering on your chin. you were such a fucking mess on his dick; cunt clasping onto him every time he attempted to slipped out. you couldn't lie to yourself, really— you were enjoying this, evident in the way you'd voluntarily push your ass back. you're fucked.

your senses were oh so overwhelmed, muffled music from the club wavering through your ears, before a high-pitched ring drowned out your hearing. you cry, knuckles white as you held the head-rest of the car seat for leverage, grip so tight you might shatter it. you wince when you bash your puffy, swollen lips on the expensive leather of the seat; thanks to thanos jolting you forward. he groans, blunt nails smothered by cakey rainbow polish nipping at your sweaty skin before pulling away.

“fuck, i need a hit.”

with trembling hands, thanos tore open a small plastic bag from his pocket, the fine white powder inside glistening under the dim light of the car as he pinched a generous amount, carefully tapping it onto the surface of your lower back before you grabbed his wrist and spoke up. “what are you doing-?”

he pinched your thigh and shushed you like you were some fucking baby. so humiliating. he reached for an old razor blade, and dragged it through the powder, shaping it into a thin, straight line— his breath quickening as he admired his work, the anticipation tightening his chest before he snorted it up with a rolled bill. it seemed like he got even fucking harder inside of your cunt— if that was even possible.

thanos, higher than the fucking sky right now, would start recording you, the sweat on your skin glistening from the flash. he grabbed your wrists, slamming your ass back on his dick capturing the perfect bounce on his phone. he'd post it to his cf story, captioning it as ’this is what happens when u don't give thanos what he wants 🙏’ and would put on a track he produced behind it. he almost felt bad. almost.

“y’know, it's really your fuckin' fault, stupid slut..” he kept trying to justify his actions— slurring through his gritted teeth, words nothing short of hissed murmers under his breath. he was already so fucking high and his thrusts kept getting sloppier & sloppier. “maybe if you hadn't embarrassed me in front of all my homies.”

thanos had fucked hundreds of girls, yes— yet he has never been able to be taken so well. he can't physically control himself at the gummy, velvety addiction that weeps between your legs, each thrust coating his veiny shaft in a new layer of your sweet and pearly release. so tight for him.

his brows would raise as you stopped restraining your moans— enjoying your sweet submission, your uncoordinated, needy movements when you press your hips back, meeting his hefty dick stretching your thin, velvety walls. he could tell you were giving in. he wasn't enjoying it as much now.

the rough expanse of his palm smothered whatever it is all over your back, and he slips himself from you entirely before driving himself back in again. your head spins, chin smacking the leather of the seat because of his animalistic rutting; ropes of thick cum spurting on your lower back as he pulls out last second— your own cream spilling out from your cunt. you're overstimulated, whimpering and babbling streams of inaudible nothings; his softening cock laying snug on top of your ass cheeks.

“i could snap your neck right now, whore.” your eyes widen as his big hands slither up to your throat and grip it.

“but i won't, so give me your number.”

cr @inhogf dont steal

[keylimepie]

You know, I've thought about this a lot over the years. I started participating in fandom 25 years ago, and I do remember during the LiveJournal (LJ) and forums eras that I rarely if ever heard a fanfic writer complaining about engagement and each chapter was full of comments. Then around 2010 tumblr happened and everyone migrated from LJ to tumblr. Suddenly fanfiction writers were complaining about a lack of engagement. I think this is largely because we became so centralized and lost all sense of community. It used to be you had to sign up for a website with a forum dedicated to a very specific pairing, or you had to join a livejournal community that was very specific to your interest. And the membership might reach a little under 2k. Most of these communities were locked too, so you didn't have to worry about what you said being publicly visible to folks outside your community. You knew who you were speaking to and who could see what you were saying.

Tumblr, tiktok, and twitter are more like shouting into the void and hoping someone in the crowds of 100k people take notice of you, and that task is way easier with a pretty photo or a video than with a fic. You don't know who is going to see what you're saying, and I think most of us have either experienced or witnessed someone receiving dog-piled backlash because one person misconstrued what the OP said. So basically, not only are you struggling to get attention in a massive crowd from people with incredibly short attention spans who have no idea who you are, but if you do manage to get someone's attention they may be too scared to say anything publicly. Hell they may be too scared to DM the author because they don't know the author either and I have seen authors tear apart DMs publicly because they misconstrued something that was said and now the author's fanbase is dog-piling that person. You ever notice how so many asks to authors are anon? People are scared, and it is so much safer to just like or kudo something than put yourself out there in front of a potential firing squad.

Also just want to point out, that a lot of asks people send to creators never get addressed, either because tumblr ate it, or the creator decided to ignore it, or the creator's inbox was overflowing. And after awhile people stop sending asks to not only that creator, but other creators as well because they've been receiving negative reinforcement that their engagement is undesired.

I think I saw another one of these posts floating around where it turned out people were gushing about fics in discords but not commenting on AO3 or the author's tumblr. And this kind of makes sense to me. Discords are a lot like the forums and LJ communities of old, where it is a much smaller group and you tend to know most of the people there and you feel more comfortable speaking up.

I just don't think huge centralized hubs are of the benefit to creators. It is fine to post stuff to tumblr or AO3 or wherever, but that isn't enough. If you want engagement you need to build up or join a community and cross-post there. If you're just flinging your work into the void and expecting engagement, then it just isn't going to work. Sure people will find it, but they wont feel comfortable enough to say anything where they have no control over who sees it. 20 years ago, we didn't have tumblr or twitter or even AO3, you had to find or start a community if you wanted to share your work. We had to make our own spaces not rely on corporate spaces, and I think that is what the difference is. You need to create a space where people feel safe to engage, and tumblr has NEVER been that. Tumblr has been terrible from day 1 for engagement, just toxic and mindless so often.

TLDR: No one is engaging because the sense of community is completely gone and been stripped away over the last 15 years. I cannot stress enough for the younger folk how much fandom these days is just not what fandom was. It has been 13 years since I last felt a sense of community in any of my fandoms, and it sucks. I can't help but think we need to decentralize again and create little pocket communities in order to return fandom to what it is meant to be.

You know what’s really disturbing to me? The culture that seems to have sprung up around fanfiction. Writers spend weeks and months working on a story – I think my record is six months on A Place For Us To Dream. And so many times readers expect to just be given a chapter even if they don’t give anything to the writer in return.

I’m going to date myself a bit here, but I’ve been reading/writing fanfiction for ten years. And when I first started it was a wonderful community. There was an unspoken rule – if you read/enjoyed it, you review it. You take thirty seconds to tell an author who probably spent anywhere from three days to a week writing that chapter you just enjoyed to tell them you enjoyed it. Even if it was as simple as “Great chapter, can’t wait to see what happens next!”

Writers spend so much time on stories, and then they post it because they have this thing that they’ve invested so many hours into and they want to share it with the world. They know how they feel about the story, and they want to know how other people feel, what other people think.

And when you read it and don’t review, you know what message you’re sending that author? That they’re not worth your time, or you didn’t enjoy their story. So why should they keep posting it? Yeah they might continue working on it in their own time, for their own enjoyment, but you might never see another chapter again because you couldn’t be bothered to take thirty seconds out of your day to tell them how you feel.

I’ve written stories in eight different fandoms, ranging from very small to very big (I’ll openly admit I wrote Twilight fanfiction once. Once. It was an Alice/Jasper story and haters can hate all they want but I’m still proud of it). I took a break for a few years because I fell out of fandoms during college, and when I came back apparently it’d become the norm to just greedily consume writing without telling writers how you feel. And that is one of the saddest things in the world to me because fanfiction is where I really started getting serious about writing. It’s how I’ve honed by skills and become the writer I am today. And that was largely in part because of all the support I got when I was an itty-bitty thirteen-year-old writing crappy W.I.T.C.H. fanfiction.

Everyone keeps saying “reviews don’t matter, you should just write for yourself.” Well, you’re wrong. Reviews make or break fanfiction. Reviews tell writers whether it’s worth their time to continue posting that story online or whether they should keep it on their hard drives and never share it with the world.

Kill the attitude that reviews don’t matter. Start telling writers you like their stories. And if you don’t, if you all just continue to be invisible readers? Don’t be surprised when that writer disappears.

[megalony]

That's Enough

This is a new Buddie x reader imagine based on an old request. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write this for you anon.

I hope you will all like it, feedback keeps me motivated.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog

Buddie Masterlist

Summary: When a person on a call begins to get aggressive and violent towards (Y/n), Buck and Eddie step in to protect their partner.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A discontented groan left Eddie's lips when the sound of his alarm rung out through the air, jostling him from his dream.

It was early. He felt like he had gone to bed five minutes ago, but if his alarm was waking him up then he guessed he had slept longer than usual. Most of Eddie's recent shifts had been early, usually starting at five or six in the morning.

Today's shift was lined up to begin at nine which would feel like turning up in the afternoon compared to normal.

With a grunt, he twisted to the right and flopped onto his back, reaching his arm out to try and turn off his alarm. He had to get up, get Chris up and ready and drop him off at school on his way to work.

His brows furrowed when he groggily opened his eyes and looked towards the other side of the bed. (Y/n) was awake; more specifically, she was sitting up in bed. He didn't expect her to be wide awake the moment his alarm went off to remind them to get up for their shift.

His tired eyes glanced beside (Y/n) before a light went off in his mind and he remembered. Evan was already at work. He had agreed to a double shift. Evan went to do the night shift and he would be on shift until three in the afternoon. That meant while (Y/n) and Eddie were on shift, Evan would be able to head off and pick Chris up from school and be with him for the afternoon.

He reached his hand out and began to glide his hand up and down (Y/n)'s thigh while he tried to wake himself up. It took Eddie a moment to clear his head enough to sit up and properly start to wake up and when he did, he looked over to his left. His eyes raked her up and down, taking in the way she was sat to see what she was up to.

She was sat up in bed with the covers strewn across the middle of the bed. One hand was pressing down into the mattress, presumably to help keep her balance and her other hand was pressed against her temple while her head was tilted forward.

"You okay, amor?"

He let go of her thigh to stretch his arms up above his head, straining to click his neck into place before he twisted to the side. His knees gently nudged hers and his hand came up to rest on the side of her neck, his thumb swiping across her jaw until she opened her eyes.

"What's up?" He murmured softly, leaning over to peck her cheek when (Y/n) leaned her cheek into his palm. She nuzzled into his touch, trying her best not to lean on Eddie too much in case she let all of her weight fall onto him and have him hold her weight up for her.

"I feel sick."

For a while now, she hadn't been able to sleep. All she could do was fidget and squirm and groan. She felt sick. She felt like she was starting to burn up, but it just seemed to be her imagination. She hadn't thrown up, she wasn't sweating and she wasn't about to collapse, she just felt the need to be sick. Morning sickness was still her friend, even now.

She twisted to the side so she could lean her cheek on Eddie's shoulder when his hand dropped from her face so he could loop his arm around her waist. His hand splayed out on her hip and he kissed the top of her head while his other hand moved round to brush across her stomach.

"They're still asleep." (Y/n) muttered softly, and she managed a smile as she tilted her head back to look up at Eddie.

She knew what he was doing. Now they were twenty-one weeks along, (Y/n) was starting to feel the baby move and kick and the boys were enamoured. She knew Eddie was trying to see if the baby would kick but they were too settled to entertain him. But she liked the way Eddie continued to drag his fingertips along her stomach like he was either waiting for the baby to disagree or like he was soothing them to keep them asleep and content.

"Do you want me to get you a drink?"

"I'll grab one, we're both getting up anyway." (Y/n) found the will to pull away from Eddie's embrace, but not before he tilted her head in his direction to steal a kiss.

It wasn't like she could go back to sleep when they were both on shift and there was no way (Y/n) was calling in sick. She was on restricted duties down at the station and it made her work days very dull when she couldn't help out as much as she liked. She wasn't going to stay home when she could go to work and wait around for meager tasks to do to keep busy.

When Eddie climbed up off the bed and held his hands out towards (Y/n), she smiled softly and let him pull her up to her feet. His hands moved down to hold her hips and he attached his lips to the top of her head, waiting patiently for (Y/n) to move first so he knew she was alright.

Eddie's eyes kept glancing back towards (Y/n) while he rummaged around for some plain clothes. His work gear was washed and waiting in his locker at the station so he simply needed some casual clothes to wear until he could get changed.

He found a few things but his focus was solely on (Y/n), watching to see if she was sluggish or tired or wobbling as she slowly got dressed. They both knew Eddie would have a shower before work whereas that never woke (Y/n) up, how showers and baths made her want to go to sleep instead.

"You good?" Eddie murmured against the back of her head once she was dressed in a pair of maternity leggings and one of Evan's gym shirts.

"Hm."

She could feel Eddie's arm securing around her waist as he followed her out their bedroom and down the hall. Once they reached Chris's room, Eddie knocked on the door and nudged it open, muttering a groggy "Time to get up bud." in the process.

He knew Chris had heard him because of the grunt he heard and he knew in five minutes Chris would drag himself out of bed and get dressed.

(Y/n) could feel her stomach twisting as they aimed for the kitchen and her head fell back on Eddie's shoulder when they got there. She still felt sick and her head was starting to ache, but that was most likely because she needed a drink.

"Go sit down amor. I'll get a shower and find you some painkillers."

If she wasn't feeling great then Eddie would rather her sit down and take it easy for a while before they debated whether she was well enough to go to work or not.

His hands moved to her shoulders and he kissed the back of her head while he followed her into the living room to make sure she sat down and that she was alright in there.

His lips pursed as he watched (Y/n) flop down on the sofa and curl into the cushion. She brought her knees up until they were pressing into her bump and one arm flopped over the cushion while her other hand started to rub circles around her stomach.

"Won't be long," He mused against her temple before he kissed her cheek, then the tip of her nose and finally her lips when she tilted her head up, chasing after his lips.

When Eddie finished his shower and got dressed, he wasn't too sure whether it was a good thing or not that (Y/n) had moved from the living room. His head angled to one side and he turned and backtracked to head into the kitchen instead to see if she was in there.

"Will you try some painkillers?" Eddie glanced towards (Y/n) who was stood near the sink with her back to him, but he knew she was sorting out Chris's pack lunch.

When (Y/n)'s morning sickness had been rather bad last month, the midwife had prescribed some anti-sickness medication that could be dissolved in water as (Y/n) kept throwing her tablets up. But their struggle now was that (Y/n) wasn't throwing up as much as before, she was feeling sick instead. She felt the urge to be sick and she couldn't stomach much food or even water, but the doctor said she was 'much better' simply because she hadn't been sick.

They didn't have anymore of the anti-emmetics so Evan had stocked up on some dissolvable paracetamol to see if (Y/n) could drink those to settle her stomach. But she couldn't keep them down most days.

Eddie found the new pack and opened it up, finding a glass from the cupboard too. But when he turned around, he grinned in confusion and tilted his head to one side when he looked at (Y/n).

She turned around to face him, pressing her hips back into the sink behind her while her eyes cast down and a sheepish, timid smile pulled at her lips.

"And what is that?" The teasing tone to Eddie's voice made (Y/n) keep her eyes cast down to her stomach but she couldn't help but look up when he was stood in front of her with one hand on her hip and the other on her neck.

"Breakfast?"

"Really?" Eddie cast his eyes between (Y/n) and the ice lolly in her hand with a gleam in his eyes. "You know that's not gonna give you much substance, right?"

He could see that it was a berry ice lolly and it looked like one of the homemade ones Evan and Chris were always making. That wasn't going to fill (Y/n) up or make her feel full, nor was it going to give her any energy considering they had a full shift ahead of them and they were always busy in their job.

"Evan's idea for fluids, and it doesn't make me feel sick."

Evan had been extremely worried when (Y/n) hadn't been eating very much and when he noticed she couldn't keep drinks down or take big gulps of water, it panicked him even more. But he suggested an ice lolly might work. It took longer to get the fluids into (Y/n)'s system, the cold was refreshing and it was better than her drinking and then throwing up juice. This got more fluids into her system at a slow but steady pace.

(Y/n) leaned her cheek into Eddie's hand and pressed the lolly to her lips that began to tingle from the cold.

She knew it wasn't the best choice, but (Y/n) still felt queasy and she knew her body. She knew anything she tried to eat would either come back up or she would gag and cough before she could take a bite. At least this wasn't making her feel queasy and she might be able to keep some fluids down this way.

"Hm, I'll be having words with him then when we get to work." Eddie muttered softly against her temple as his hand wormed around to cradle the back of her neck to hold her close.

He would admit that this was creative and it was clearly an Evan idea and if it worked he would thank their boyfriend for thinking of something like this to keep (Y/n) from being sick or off work. But they needed to come up with something to help her eat as well as drink.

"At least you're having something, I guess."

***

(Y/n) ran her hand across her temple, warding away the headache that was dull at the back of her mind. She tried to push it to one side and ignore it so she could focus on the task at hand.

She forced a smile onto her face as the truck pulled up at the scene. It had been a few days since (Y/n) had been allowed out on scene, the last few calls had been too hectic for (Y/n) to attend. She and Bobby were in agreement that if she couldn't do anything on scene then she didn't want to stand around like a statue, unable to help.

She had remained at the station cleaning and tidying and answering calls and seeing the few people who popped in with questions or small emergencies she could deal with.

But to finally be back in the fire truck and out on a scene was joyous and (Y/n) was relieved to be back with the team and feel somewhat included again.

Her hand rested on Evan's shoulder as she climbed down from the truck, following behind him as they all took in the scene they were at.

She kept her hand on his shoulder and pressed up into Evan's side while she glanced around.

There had been a pile up in the middle of a junction. Someone ran a red light and caused a major pile up. (Y/n) was rather surprised she had been allowed out on this call, but then again, the roads had all been blocked off and there was no risk of fire or people yielding weapons.

There were enough emergency responders here to do the heavy lifting and let (Y/n) take a step back and be useful as a medic or to guide people away from the scene and tend to non-life threatening injuries.

"Okay, Buck and Chimney grab the jaws and saws, we might have to cut free the person in the red Honda. The rest of you spread out and check on anyone who needs medical attention."

(Y/n) timidly pointed to herself, waiting for Bobby to grin and nod at her before she dared move. She needed that green light so she knew she could go and help people too and that Bobby didn't have anything else in mind for her to be getting on with.

She pushed up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to Evan's cheek before she turned and followed after Hen to grab a medic bag.

With a medic bag in hand, (Y/n) took a deep breath and headed towards the scene. There were at least five cars piled up and two on the outskirts, at least a few of them wouldn't need to be taken to hospital but they would all needed to be assessed in case of a concussion or minor injuries.

Seeing as no one was at the yellow car yet, (Y/n) set her sights on that one and wandered towards it. She needed to help but she wasn't able to use the jaws if anyone was trapped in their cars. (Y/n) couldn't use any of the heavy equipment or do anything strenuous. Once someone was on the gurney (Y/n) wasn't supposed to push it by herself as it was technically a two person job.

There were so many rules and so many little things (Y/n) couldn't do now she was pregnant which she hadn't paid any mind to before. Even the boys were rather surprised at how restricted their girlfriend was now she was on light duties.

Before she got to the car, the driver's door flung open. (Y/n) slowed down her pace, watching the driver as he stumbled out of his car and slammed the door shut with such force that it caused the whole car to jerk and rumble.

The way he wobbled and had to lean on the car for support told (Y/n) that he might indeed have a bad concussion so she picked up her pace and aimed towards him.

He seemed like a golden patient, he got out of the car on his own and he immediately wobbled towards the pavement and sat down on the curb. Exactly what (Y/n) would have told him to do.

"Sir, I'm a medic, can I take a look at you?" When he didn't give her a response, (Y/n) stepped closer until she was in front of him.

He looked drowsy. The way he lolled his head back to look up at her and squinted through bleary eyes made her sure he had received a bad concussion. He seemed to glare at her but he didn't say anything so again, (Y/n) moved on initiative and set the bag on her shoulder down to the floor.

She slowly lowered down until she was knelt on the edge of the pavement beside him and opened the bag so she could find a pen light.

"What's your name?" (Y/n) braced her hands on her knees and smiled softly while she waited for him to come back to his senses and when he muttered his name, she nodded. "Okay John, can you look straight ahead for me please?"

He squinted once again and seemed to snarl while he looked over (Y/n)'s shoulder, allowing her to flicker the light across his pupils which were constricted, and he was still squinting badly.

"Do you feel drowsy or sick?" (Y/n) reached down and pressed her fingers over his wrist to feel his pulse but she shuddered when he craned his head to look at her.

"Get off." The way he spat at her made her shudder and lean back and she had no choice but to let go of his wrist when he flung his arm in her direction.

Maybe he wasn't concussed. (Y/n) could be mistaken, but she knew what beer smelt like and there was a tang to his breath that suggested he'd been drinking. It was early afternoon, a bit early in (Y/n)'s book to be having a drink and especially wrong to be drinking and then getting behind the wheel.

"John have you been drinking today?" (Y/n) switched the pen light for a stethoscope and this time she held it out for him to see before she tried to listen to his heartbeat. She still had to assess him whether he was drunk or not, he could still have internal injuries or a concussion or uneven heartbeat.

Her words clearly aggravated him because he sneered, looking her up and down with a crinkled nose before he muttered "Fuck off." at her.

Leaning towards him didn't seem like a smart move to make but (Y/n) had a duty of care and he didn't object when she pressed the stethoscope against his chest to listen to his heart. If anything he seemed confused which made her certain that he was drunk. She would have to inform the police after they were finished blocking off the roads so they could take his name and follow him down to the hospital- if indeed he needed a hospital visit.

"Can I take your blood pressure?"

"No, I'm leaving."

"Sir, your car is in the middle of a pile up-"

(Y/n) shook her head with a sigh and quickly bundled the stethoscope back into the medic bag when John heaved up to his feet. Where did he think he was going to go? He would have to walk wherever he was trying to get to and he couldn't walk away from the scene. The police had blocked off the roads, they were hovering around for safety, they would stop him and try to take his statement.

He wasn't going anywhere except the hospital or the police station. Those were his only options.

"John you can't just leave the scene and I think you've had a drink. You need to be assessed and the police will need to speak to you." (Y/n) finished speaking before she pressed her hand down into the pavement to push herself up to her feet.

She left the medic bag where it was, it was close to the scene and she could fetch it after she had gotten this man either to an officer or safely sat down somewhere else.

"John-"

All she did was rest her hand on his arm. She didn't grip, didn't pull or grab or yank him back towards her. It was a simple touch to his arm but John spun on his heels as if her touch burned him.

"You need to get the Hell off me." He managed not to slur his words but the way he had to fight for his sense of balance definitely confirmed to (Y/n) that he was drunk. She had dealt with both her partners when they were drunk, and although both of them were loveable drunks, they still displayed the same signs as this man right here.

(Y/n) shuddered when he curled his fingers around her wrist and gripped so tight that his short nails started to puncture into her skin.

She didn't have chance to ask him to let go before he pushed her arm back towards her, still gripping tightly, and started to walk towards her instead of in the other direction. (Y/n) stumbled backwards, finding her footing before she fell and she tried in vain to yank her wrist out of his hold.

"Please let go." She was being nice. She could twist his wrist and force him to let go, she could push him or raise her voice or jam her elbow into his abdomen. But (Y/n) asked kindly because she was still on the job and she couldn't slap him like she would have done if this were any other public situation and he was simply a stranger brushing off her help.

When he released his grip on her, (Y/n) nodded and flexed her hands to stop them from trembling and to try and rid the pins and needles from her fingertips.

She felt like turning and leaving. She could always find another person who was more in need and more receptive of her help. But (Y/n) caught sight of a gash on his upper arm that was now trickling blood down his bicep towards his elbow. That needed tending to. He might need stitches.

"You're bleeding. Will you let me assess you please?" Her hand indicated to his arm and he tilted his head down, surprise written across his face at the sight of blood. Clearly he was too shocked and drunk to have felt any pain or noticed he had an injury.

Seeing as they were back near his car, (Y/n) leant over the medic bag on the floor and found a pair of gloves and some cotton swabs. She doused the swabs in antiseptic solution and turned back towards John.

(Y/n) motioned her hand in front of him so he could see what she was doing before she tried to cleanse the wound and see how deep it was. It looked like he would need stitches.

Once most of the blood was cleaned and (Y/n) could get a good look at the wound, she tried to prod the skin and check the wound better. But clearly John was feeling more pain than before as his arm twitched in her light grasp. She tried to carefully elevate his elbow up to restrict the blood flow and help her see the wound which was rather deep now she could see the ripped flesh better.

His elbow barely rose high before he wrenched his arm back towards his chest with a gruff noise that turned into a snarl when (Y/n) sighed.

He either wanted help or he didn't but he couldn't be this indecisive as it was getting tedious now.

"You'll need stitches, I can pack and bandage the wound for now until you can get to a hospital." No sooner had the words left (Y/n)'s lips than John growled his annoyance and ripped his arm from her hold.

He coiled his wounded arm near his chest and without a second thought, he swung his right arm towards her. (Y/n) gasped and leaned back so far that her lower spine clicked and her stomach twinged, the weight of the baby almost setting her off balance. She stepped back, scuffing her heel against the pavement as she dropped the bandage roll in her hand to the floor and her other hand moved to her lower back.

If she had been any slower in reacting, he would have swung his fist at her face. No one had tried to hit her before. People had shouted at her, fought her when they needed to be restrained to the gurney. Someone had pushed her once before Evan pinned him to the wall and told him to learn some manners for the responders trying to help him. But no one had swung at her before.

Her chest heaved as she tried to control her breathing and she stepped back onto the curb while her hand slowly moved round from her back to her lower stomach.

"Don't do that. I can't help you if you lash out at me." Her mind was already made up. She wasn't helping him any further. If he wanted that wound bandaged someone else could do it. All (Y/n) was going to do was find a police officer to inform them that he was a drunk driver.

"I don't want your fucking help."

Good, because he wasn't going to get it.

That was fine with (Y/n). She would pack the medic bag and find someone else who actually wanted and needed her help. She had done all she could for this man anyway, she couldn't do anything else if he wouldn't cooperate or accept her help.

Before (Y/n) had chance to reach down for the medic bag, her chest tightened and her head snapped to the right when she felt his hand curl around her wrist again. Her eyes narrowed and a streak of panic shot through to her heart which added a few extra beats and caused her chest to shudder.

Why try and cause confrontation when (Y/n) was trying to leave? He said he didn't want her help, grabbing her wasn't going to change anything and it contradicted his earlier words telling her to leave him alone.

"Get off." (Y/n) tried to steel her voice and yank her arm out of his grasp but it didn't work. He tightened his grip until his fingers were positively bruising her skin and the glaze overcoming his eyes showed he wasn't in the right frame of mind. He was more drunk than she first thought.

She took a step back, almost tripping over the curb when he tried to yank her towards him at the same time. Her feet stumbled down from the pavement onto the road along with him and shivers coursed through her blood when she sneered down at her with those vicious eyes and snarling lips.

"Or what?"

(Y/n) was taken by surprise when his free hand suddenly reached out and gripped her chin. His fingers pressed bruisingly into her jaw and his thumb punctured into her cheek almost cutting the inside of her cheek against her teeth. His grip was tight and pinching and he yanked her head up in his direction, causing (Y/n) to gasp.

Her wild eyes darted around as much as she could when John was holding her head in place. She tried to see who was around, to catch someone's eye and see if any of her team were close enough to notice that something was indeed wrong over here. She couldn't quite see any of the team, but she couldn't look properly with her head angled in John's direction and her eyes were beginning to water.

She wasn't sure whether to fight for the freedom of her wrist first or to get him to let go of her face. Deciding to free her jaw, (Y/n) curled her hand around his wrist and tried to roughly shove him away but he kept hold of her jaw. She could feel his nails scratching into her face and her body shuddered when he leaned his weight into her and pushed her into the car beside them.

Her hips ached as she clattered against the bonnet and one foot left the floor and swayed in the air as she tried to find her balance before she fell. The last thing she needed was to fall or be held in the air by John's grip on her chin and wrist.

A dull ache throbbed in her lower back and her eyes snapped closed as a whimper parted her lips at the pain tingling through her nerves.

She could feel him leaning into her and his pointed elbow jammed against her side as he hovered over her like he was going to collapse on top of her to pin her to the car. God, she prayed he wouldn't.

Without thinking twice, (Y/n) let go of John's wrist in favour of reeling her hand up to slap him. She knew she wasn't supposed to. (Y/n) was on shift, she was an emergency responder and she was taught and told how to get out of bad situations. They weren't allowed to fight back if someone tried to attack them.

There were ways to defend themselves, but everyone knew those methods only gained them more injuries. How could they get away if they couldn't fight back? How could (Y/n) get away from John if he wouldn't let her go and he was about to pin her down to the car?

The slap worked in shocking John and his hand let go of her jaw, causing her head to jolt to the left and a throbbing pain worked up through her jaw towards her ears.

The shock wore off quickly and became replaced with a look of anger that circulated through John's raging, drunken eyes. Just as (Y/n) pressed her hand to his shoulder and tried to push him off her, his hand rammed into her shoulder and slammed her back against the bonnet.

"Stop- ow-" A broken sound escaped her lips and her eyes snapped closed when shockwaves rattled through her back.

Evan wasn't sure what made him look, but something caught his attention and dragged his eyes away from the car door that he had just wrenched loose. He swung the door open so Chimney could lean in and assess the driver and he just happened to turn his head to the left.

Someone had (Y/n) pinned against a car.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides when the wrench was dropped on the road and he stormed away from the car before Chimney could ask where he was going or what he was doing. All he could see was red. A dark mask clouded Evan's expression and his lips curled into a deep frown as he thundered towards his partner and whoever this idiot was who clearly thought he had the right to touch and hurt her like that.

"Hey! Hey that's enough!" The words roared past Evan's lips and the moment he got close, his hand grabbed the man by the shoulder, close enough that he almost lifted him up by the scruff of his neck.

His other hand pressed into the stranger's chest and he shoved him back until he was tripping over his feet and he stumbled over the curb. Evan watched him land on his backside and scuff his hands against the pavement to try and stop from smashing his head into the concrete.

There was nothing Evan wanted more than to lean down and smash his fist into this idiot's face for what he had just done. He wanted to pummel him into the pavement and plaster him to the floor for this. But he couldn't. He was on duty, he would get reprimanded for it.

He twisted his head to look over his right shoulder and he quickly reached his arm out behind him and clutched onto (Y/n)'s hip when she slid against the car. He deadlocked his arm against her side and held steady when both (Y/n)'s hands clutched at his bicep, clinging to him to stop herself from falling to the floor as she couldn't quite find her footing.

(Y/n) tried her best to stop herself from shaking as she pushed up from the bonnet so she was sitting up rather than lying across the car like she was the one who was drunk. Her body curled forward until she was pressing into Evan's back and her hands clutched at his arm tighter as she pressed her face into his bicep, pressing her nose against his sleeve to inhale his scent in a vain attempt to calm herself down.

Her head felt like it was spinning on the waltzers and her sense of balance was wobbling from left to right as she tried to shuffle off the bonnet and stand on her feet again. She couldn't help but lean into Evan once she was on her feet, she felt like her knees were going to give out beneath her.

"Are you okay?" Evan twisted to the side so he could look at (Y/n) properly rather than having her stood behind him.

His free hand cupped the side of her face and he gently tilted her head back so he could look her up and down. She looked shaken and he could see tears welling up in her eyes, but at least she didn't look hurt.

(Y/n) wasn't so sure she could trust her voice so she nodded, keeping her eyes focused on Evan's lips so she didn't have to look into his eyes and have him know that she was lying. She didn't feel great. Her jaw was tingling, her lower back was aching and her heartbeat was fluctuating causing the baby to jolt and squirm to life in her stomach.

She cringed and moved her hands to hold onto Evan's hips when he spin round to look down at John who was now sitting up, trying to wobble to his feet.

He barely got up before Evan took a menacing step closer to him, his hands balled up into fists at his sides and his lips curled into a nasty snarl.

"What the Hell were you doing?" It wasn't normal to hear Evan's voice go so low and gritty and a deep rumble rattled through his chest and made (Y/n) shiver.

(Y/n) kept her hands on Evan's hips and meshed her cheek against the centre of his back, staying behind him so she didn't have to look over at John. She could hear his shoes scraping the floor as he struggled to get up and find his balance and she heard him grumbling something incoherent. But it was the feeling of Evan's muscles tensing and his shoulders rising that made her uneasy.

She knew the rest of the team were looking over now and she cringed when she realised Eddie was aiming towards them. He had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, blue gloves snapped onto his hands and his brows were furrowed in confusion.

"She- she wouldn't stop pestering," John drawled and waved his hand in Evan's direction to try and signal to (Y/n) who was hidden behind him.

"She's a medic and she was trying to help you. That doesn't give you the right to pin her to a fucking car."

If there was one thing Evan didn't like about this job it was how rude some people could be. They didn't seem to grasp the concept that they were helpers, they were first responders and all they did was try to help. No one should shout at them or push them or get aggressive and this man certainly shouldn't have scared and tried to grab (Y/n) like that simply because she was doing her best to help him.

"Woah, what'd he do?" Eddie held his hand out in Evan's direction as a look of anger began to seep onto his features.

He had caught the last few words of Evan's sentence but Eddie prayed he had heard that wrong. He prayed he didn't get that right and that someone hadn't tried to hurt her.

But when Eddie leaned back and looked over at (Y/n), she wouldn't meet his eyes. He watched the way she shrugged her head down and leaned further into Evan while she curled one arm over her stomach and looked down towards the floor.

"He had (Y/n) pinned down on the car."

Reaching out, Eddie gently curled his hand around (Y/n)'s elbow and slowly tugged until she got the hint and trudged towards him.

She was taken by surprise when Eddie's hands cupped her face and he tilted her head back so they were looking at one another. His brows were furrowed in concentration and she could see his tongue poking between his teeth as he looked her up and down to try and see if she had any marks or bruises or anything to imply that she had been hurt.

"Just back ache." (Y/n) murmured to the silent question that was burning in his eyes, asking whether or not she had any injuries they should know about.

Eddie nodded but he snapped his head to the side when he watched the stranger take a wobbling step back and turn as if he thought he could just leave. Where did he think he was going? He had practically assaulted (Y/n), not to mention he had been involved in a major car accident. He wasn't going anywhere until the police had been here to talk to him.

When Eddie let go of her and grabbed the man by his shoulder, (Y/n) shivered and began to drag her hands up and down her hips out of anxious habit.

She heard Evan mutter "You're not going anywhere," while Eddie leaned into John's line of sight and clicked his finger in his face to gain his attention.

"You pinned her to the car, why?" Eddie gave the stranger a rough shove in the shoulder to get him to focus but he kept blinking and wincing like his eyes weren't coming into focus. "Hey, you just tried to assault a medic and you think you're just gonna walk away from that? Can you not see she's pregnant?"

Evan let go of the guy's shoulder when he felt (Y/n)'s hand curl around his arm and he turned to look over at her, his expression softening just a little. And he leaned down when she motioned for him to come closer so she could murmur in his ear "He's drunk."

Those words caused Evan's expression to falter and he squeezed her arm as his head shook and his lips curled through a sigh. He twisted so he was facing (Y/n) and he attached his lips to her temple, taking a second to kiss her skin before he weaved around her.

He rested a heavy hand on Eddie's shoulder and hovered his lips over his ear. "I'm gonna get an officer over here, he's drunk." Evan felt the way Eddie tensed up and he could practically see the anger boiling through him.

He was drunk and he had been driving. He was drunk and he had almost hurt (Y/n) and undoubtedly worried her for no apparent reason.

With a heavy hand on the man's shoulder, Eddie shoved until John stumbled and once again found himself sitting on the curb with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He tried to plant his feet down and push up off the pavement but he stopped when Eddie once again pushed him and pointed a menacing finger at him.

"Sit down." He spat before he turned away once he knew John wasn't about to get up and try to abscond. Not that he could get far in that state anyway.

(Y/n) tried to smile when Eddie's hands fell to her shoulders and he nudged her to take a few steps back so they weren't too close to John anymore.

She couldn't help the relieved sigh that left her lips when Eddie looped both arms casually around her shoulders and reeled her in close so he could kiss her hairline. He breathed in her scent and tried not to let his breaths run away without him. He didn't dare think what might have gone on if Evan hadn't of spotted the scene or if neither of them had been on shift today when this happened.

(Y/n) didn't have to look to know that it was Evan who was now stood behind her with his hands on her hips and his nose buried in the back of her hair. And she managed a smile when she felt his hands slither round from her hips to cradle her stomach.

"Promise you're okay?" Evan whispered into her hair while his cast his eyes across to the drunken stranger who was sat on the curb with two police officers crouching in front of him. He wasn't their problem anymore.

"I'm okay."

[azzifuddfanpage]

I can fight

thank you so much for the anon who gave me this amazing prompt: you can read it here!

————

2.1k words (why was this supposed to be my short one)

Tw: none but I didn’t edit so good luck 😺😺

themes: fluff/ angst (not really, paige is just a jealous gf but what’s new)

————

Paige was in her dorm after practice, her hair still damp from her shower, and only a towel wrapped around herself.

She was about to dig through her closet for a hoodie and some basketball shorts when she heard her phone buzz on the table. 

Paige had been expecting a text from Azzi within the next ten minutes, telling her she was ready to get picked up from her rehab. 

Hearing her phone buzz, she wandered over hopefully, picking it up and watching as the screen lit up.

While she did see an Azzi notification, it was not the one she expected. 

“Azzi35 posted” her instagram notification read. 

Paige was immediately doubtful, maybe it was a glitch, Azzi never posts, especially not without telling paige first. It had to have been an add for sure- paige was just surprised she never heard anything. 

When she clicks on the link, Azzi’s dimpled smile fills her screen as she holds up what appears to be a tight body suit. 

Paige holds down on the video as the video jumps to each outfit. Starting with the body suit.

Paige feels the heat in her core burn as she sees the way her ass is accentuated by the way the tight material of the one piece clung to her curves, pulling her in at all the right places, highlighting her girlfriends perfect body. 

The definition of Azzi’s abs is slightly visible through the light material, and paige can’t help her self but zoom in on the fat of her ass as she watches as Azzi turns slightly to show off the rest of the look. 

Paige continues to watch the video, the feeling between her legs growing as Azzi switched into a two piece light blue set that made the tanned color of her skin pop. 

Paige watched the video the rest of the way through, resisting the urge to stop it, but she couldn’t hide the thoughts running through her mind as her beautiful girlfriend flaunted infront of the mirror.

Next Azzi appeared in the brown two piece- that showed off her belly button piercing, and had a zipper right between her breasts. 

“The zipper will not be of much use if she ever wears that around me.” Paige thought to herself as her eyes focused in on the way the pants sat loosely on her hips.

Even when paige thought the video couldn’t get much worse, paige watches as Azzi holds up a tight tank top and shorts. 

“Fuck” paige mutters under her breath, as her eyes wonder Azzi’s body, as she reappears on the screen in the tight black short set.

Paiges eyes wander up her tan legs, seeing the way the material bunches at her abs, and she can just see where the curve of her ass sits at the edge of her pants. 

She smirked as Azzi turned and checked herself out, (paige was doing the same- and had no right to be talking) but would definitely flame her for it later- but not before making her wear it in front of her so she could be the one checking her out. 

She watched needily as Azzi slipped on a tight robe, reminding Paige of the times Azzi would sneak into her room, body wrapped in nothing but a loose robe like that one, and let paige’s hands wander as she made them breakfast. 

As the video went on, and Azzi was now bundled in a zip up and sweats, paige felt a smile tug at her lips as she saw how warm and cuddly Azzi looked all wrapped up in the oversized sweats- paige lowkey wished that Azzi was wearing paige’s sweats but…

Lastly, paige saw the finally tight long sleeve, that drew paige’s attention straight to her breasts, and surely anyone else who was watching would see the same thing, paige would think to herself.

Paiges heart was still beating, Azzi’s beautiful body still flashing in her mind as she clicked on Azzi’s contact- not before saving the ad to her camera roll-, and called her. 

Azzi answers right away “I take it you just saw my ad.” 

“Babe I’m dying, why did you post that now when I can’t immediately put my hands on you.” 

Azzi rolls her eyes  “baby I don’t think it would have gone over well if I had filmed that in front of you. Remember the time I showed you the pink blazer and shorts I wore to the D’Amelio’s, and you almost didn’t let me leave the house?” Azzi reminded as paige smacked her lips together dramatically, 

“Chill, I’m your girlfriend of course I don’t want other people to see how beautiful my girl is.” Paige said pouting into the phone. 

Azzi felt a smile curl onto her lips at the thought of how protective Paige was. 

“You’re cute when you’re jealous.” Azzi said teasingly into the phone.

“Mmmm.” Paige breathed into the phone, Azzi’s words warming her chest. 

“You’re just cute period.” Paige started. “Looked so good in that ad baby. Didn’t even know what to do with myself. If I don’t see you soon might just start touching myself now.” Paige said, her voice a low growl, that made Azzi’s stomach drop to the floor. 

“I’ll be done in 15 minutes and you can come pick me up.” Azzi said her brain running in 50 different directions as she thought about all the things her and paige might have planned. 

Azzi thought she could hear the sound of the music of her ad playing again. 

“Paige are you seriously watching it again?” Azzi asked letting out a soft laugh. 

“Uhm ofc- you didn’t just think I was gonna watch my girl show off her precious body on the internet for my view to be less then everyone else’s… needed to see it on the big screen.” Paige continued, holding her iPad up to the camera that showed Azzi’s ad playing on repeat.

Azzi laughed. 

“I love you baby- be good and maybe I’ll put it back on and let you take it off of me when we get home.” Azzi continued, her eyes scanning paige’s face.

“We’ll see, you should see some of these comments, though. Gonna make it hard for me to just sit back and hear them all talkin bout my girl like this.” 

Azzi laughed as paige began to read some of them outloud. 

“Body so Tea British are coming.. man facts, that’s a bar though.” She continues “Marry me Azzi..” Paige rolls her eyes “she’s already married.” Azzi laughs.

 “Can Paige fight.” Paige scoffs throwing her head back as she plops onto her bed, “Brrooo I can’t do this I’m bout to say something.”

 “Paige calm down, they are just comments” 

“nah I’m bout to like that comment.” Paige said defiantly. 

“Paige Maddison! Don’t even think about it.” Azzi warned shaking her head. 

Paige let out a long sigh “when the season is over and one or both of us are not at UCONN anymore, I’m literally letting the world know how bad I can fight.” 

Azzi smiles “Paige I may be the peoples princess, but I was yours before I was anyone else’s.. you don’t have to fight for me baby. I’m yours.” 

Paige smiles “I love you princess.”

“I love you too,  feel better?” Azzi asked

Paige rolls her eyes “for now.” 

“But I’ll feel a whole lot better when they know you’re off limits.” She muttered. 

“Mommy fudd.” She sneered under her breath. 

“Alright that one literally sounds like something you would say under a fake account or something don’t even play with me right now.” Azzi laughed as paige pouted at the comment. 

“That was one time okay- and I couldn’t help myself.” Paige replied a blush covering her face and she smiled bashfully.  

“Alright baby I love you- the trainer is coming back in to do the shock therapy, but you can leave now and I’ll be ready when you get here. But until then you’re banned from reading any more of my comments until then.” Azzi said, wagging her finger through the screen. 

Paige rolled her eyes, “fine but only if you give me kisses for all the trauma I’ve endured reading those comments.”

Azzi returned the eye roll, “ugh don’t even start with me right now, I swear every other video on my for you page is an edit of you and girls thirsting over your fingers.” Azzi groaned. 

“Don’t even act like you don’t like them.” Paige said smirking. 

“The edits or your fingers?” Azzi asked teasingly. 

“I guess we will have to test it later, but my guess is probably a tie.” Paige said pretending to actually contemplate the pretty obvious answer. 

Azzi and paige continue going back and forth teasingly each other until Azzi’s trainer comes back in and has to hang up against the blondes defiant arguments. 

———

10 minutes later, Paige is in a car waiting for Azzi to come out of the training facility. 

A few more minutes go by and paige feels herself getting a bit impatient. 

To pass the time, she decides to look at the add again, and it still has the same effect on her and as soon as they get alone time she is showing Azzi just how much she liked it. 

She goes back to the comments and sees so many talking about if she can fight. 

Paige feels a brief moment of cockiness. 

A mixture of annoyance and confidence she sets up her phone, “man fuck it.” She says under her breath, recording herself doing the rizz hands, a couple boxing jabs at the phone before doing like a shimmy down her body, trying to turn it into some kind of dance. 

She leans back in the seat as she scrolls through the audio options, landing on a Rocky Balboa sound, and posts to her story without giving it a second thought. 

“Yeah I can fucking fight.” She mutters to herself. 

Within minutes the fans were already having a field day over the TikTok, screen recording it, making connections between that and their previous accusations, Azzi was gonna be so done with her. 

 it takes her only a few minutes for her to see a screenshot of the comment on Azzi’s video asking if paige could fight, pasted over the video of her hilariously uncooordinated stiff punches. Paige felt a wave of satisfaction grow over her knowing that she had indirectly claimed her girl. 

Her eyes scanned over the video, settling on the caption at the bottom that read, “omfg she is letting us know she can fucking fight. Damn Paige, claim your girl then.” Paige smirked and saved the tik tok edit and then put her phone down. 

A couple long minutes later, she saw Azzi’s figure- wearing one of her own hoodies- waddle out to the car, a compression sleeve covering her left leg. 

Paige greeted Azzi with a warm kiss, wrapping her fingers around her back, pulling in the warm body of her girlfriend. 

Paiges hands linger on Azzi’s back as she pulls away guilty.

“so I did a thing..” paige starts, a blush covering her face realizing her rash actions as she looks down at the seat. 

“that sounds ominous, what did you do..” Azzi asks cautiously, trying to interpret the red blush that is quickly spreading over paige’s cheeks. 

 “uhh yeah so I saw more comments about me needing to fight so yeah I uhm- fought.” 

Azzi gasps, bringing a hand to her forehead , “what does that mean paige.” 

Paige pulled out her phone and went to her story, she held it up so Azzi could see. 

Azzi watched as her girlfriend through uncoordinated punches and paired it with a stiff body roll. 

Azzi looked up from the phone, raising her eyebrow at paige. 

“What? I only added the body roll so people would be less suspecting- it could mean anything.” Paige shrugged. 

Azzi smiled, shaking her head in disbelief, “you are crazy.” She said as she gently shoved paige’s phone away, pulling her in so she could place a fat kiss on her cheek.

Paige giggled as Azzi’s lips tickled her skin. 

“you’re not mad?” Paige asked, raising an eyebrow as she placed her hand on Azzi’s neck. 

Azzi shrugged “private but not a secret.” 

Paige’s smile spread across her whole face before she pulled Azzi into a kiss, wrapping her up in a tight hug. 

[stllmnstr]

something old, something new

hello have a 2.3k drabble about Heeseung still having feelings for his ex heavily inspired by the above behind the scenes no doubt mv pics and based on this anon prompt sent to me:

this was supposed to be short but I got carried away and ended up writing 2.3k on my PHONE in an hour so please excuse any typos 😭

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung loves weddings.

When he admits this to people, which is in and of itself a fairly rare occasion, they assume it’s for all of the usual reasons.

The open bar, the well curated playlist, the free food... After all, those are the typical things men in their mid twenties tend to enjoy. And Heeseung always nods along. Forces a laugh whenever his conversation partner cracks another age old joke about getting a little too tipsy on the dance floor.

Besides, it’s not like he’s immune to baser pleasures. At twenty-five, Heeseung does genuinely enjoy eating well and getting drunk on someone else’s dime.

But if he digs a little deeper, is a little more honest with himself, the real reason he loves weddings so much is the romance of it all.

A white dress thats been agonized over and alternated to perfection. A cake thats been taste-tested and intentionally designed with the lucky couple in mind. A venue that likely cost an arm and a leg, but it’s worth it, because it’s the place where two people get to display the love they have for each other in front of everyone that’s important in their lives.

And Jay, he thinks, has outdone them all. The ballroom Heeseung steps into with perfectly shined shoes is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Crystal chandeliers bathe the high ceilinged room in soft, warm light that almost glows like candles at dusk.

The aisle separates two generously sized sections of seating from one another. Each table is laid with a crease less cream colored tablecloth and a bouquet of flowers that Heeseung doesn’t want to guess the price of. It’s stunning. It’s perfect.

And Jay, Heeseung’s best friend of thirteen years, deserves nothing less.

Jake seems to agree. Coming to stand next to Heeseung, he jerks his chin towards the door that leads to the neighboring room. “I just heard from a very trustworthy source that the open bar starts at 1 pm sharp,” he grins.

Heeseung has a sneaking suspicious that this trustworthy source is Sunghoon, which means it’s likely to be incorrect. Besides, booze isn’t what he’s here for.

“Hopefully not,” Heeseung nudges Jake’s shoulder, “since no one wants to watch you stumble down the aisle.”

“At least I’m just a groomsman.” Jake shrugs. “You, on the other hand, Mr. Best Man, have to be on your best behavior. Besides, I can handle my alcohol.”

Heeseung’s lips flatten. “I have several videos that prove otherwise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake waves his palm. “I’ll be good. I promise. No shots until after the ceremony.”

Heeseung just rolls his eyes. His younger friend might be a little more lax when it comes to conducting himself in public, but Heeseung isn’t actually worried. This is Jay’s wedding, after all. And no matter how much Jake and Sunghoon enjoy a good party, they also know how to take things seriously when it matters.

For a moment, Jake just looks around the room, taking it in like Heeseung had a few minutes prior. Similar actions, different conclusions. Jake doesn’t comment on the lighting or the tablecloths or even the romance. Instead, he says, “I can’t believe Jay’s actually getting married.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung breathes. Jay is the first in their friend group to officially leave bachelor-hood, and it does feel a bit strange to bear witness to. “Me neither.”

Jake is still shaking his head. “And he’s the first one out of all of us. That’s almost weirder. You know, we always thought it would be –”

Remembering himself, Jake lets the sentiment die on his lips.

It doesn’t matter, though. Heeseung already knows what he was going to say.

We always thought it would be you.

Four long years ago, at twenty-one, Heeseung had felt far too young for marriage. But that didn’t stop him from imagining what you’d look like in a white dress. What flavor of wedding cake the two of you would select from the box of samples. What overpriced venue you would decide to officially intertwine your lives in.

It didn’t stop him from tucking away a small, velvet box in the back of his drawer for safekeeping. From fantasizing about kneeling in front of you and finally sliding a gorgeous, sparking ring right where he wanted it to belong.

It didn’t stop him from making promises and plans. Adjustments to his life just to make sure there was always space for you.

But one year later, the box and the ring inside were still tucked away. And the love Heeseung kept safe suddenly had no place to go.

He told his friends it was mutual, that you’d made the decision together. But Heeseung never wanted to let go. Even if a job opportunity meant you had to move across the country. Even if it made no logical sense for him to follow when he was still finishing his degree.

It was circumstances, he explained to his friends, to his family. Not anything either of you did wrong.

But alone, surrounded by the four walls of his bedroom and the overwhelming clamor of his own thoughts, Heeseung just cried. Sobbed. The kind of tears that left him gasping for air and with a throb behind his temple.

Because he knew that he never would have done that to you. He would have turned down the job, would have found a way to make long distance work, would have transferred to another university to be close to you even if it wasn’t logical.

He would have done it, the big romantic gesture that gives the rom-com a happy ending and signals to the production team that it’s time to roll the credits.

But you didn’t. When he suggested long distance, you just sighed. And there were tears in your eyes too, but there was no fight.

So Heeseung, despite every bone in his body screaming at him not to, let you go.

And now, three years later, he’s about to watch his best friend get married and pretend it doesn’t sting. He’s happy for Jay. He is. But the selfish parts of him will always wish he was the one waiting at the end of the aisle instead. For you.

The universe has never made a habit of bending to his desires, though, and he fulfills his role as best man well. The ceremony goes off without a hitch, and Jake is appropriately steady-footed in his role as a groomsman.

The white dress is gorgeous. The cake is delicious. The venue is perfect. Whatever romance is, Jay and his fiancée — no, his wife — have captured it well.

Despite his earlier words, Heeseung makes a home for himself at the aforementioned open bar the second the ceremony is over. Knocking back another swig of whiskey, he appreciates the slight burn. At least it’s in his throat this time, instead of his heart. And at least it’s induced by alcohol instead of misplaced jealousy.

But he must have had one too many drinks, because for a fleeting moment, he swears that the late arrival that makes a hesitant entrance into the reception room is—

No.

There’s no way.

You only knew Jay because you knew Heeseung, and those flowers withered three long years ago. You have no reason to be here now.

But then he hears it, and oh the lurch in his heart hurts just as bad as it did the first time. Because despite the improbability of it all, that’s your voice that floats above the music and exchanged pleasantries with another guest. Even after all the time that’s passed, Heeseung would know it anywhere. Could pick it out of any crowd.

He turns to you slowly, as if he can delay the inevitable just a little longer. As soon as his eyes land on you, he realizes his mistake. He shouldn’t have looked at you at all, should have just slid off the bar stool and ran in the other direction because it still hurts.

You’re three years older, and the time has been good to you. The evening dress you wear hangs from your body in a way that only reminds him of what you look like beneath it, of the way running his hands and his lips and his love over the skin you conceal used to feel like second nature. The way you used to play with his hair with his head in your lap, trading small moments of intimacy after a long day.

It hurts. It aches and it stings and it burns.

He has to get out of here. He has to leave. Now.

Not caring if he’s making a scene, Heeseung stands from the barstool. The only reason he tries to be somewhat discreet is to avoid the heat of your gaze.

All the way to the door on the opposite side of the room, he doesn’t turn back. Not once. On the other side of the door, he lets his body go limp against the solid surface beneath his spine, just for a moment. He exhales a long held breath.

But the air is still stifling, even as he loosens the tie at his neck. Straightening back to his full height, he turns down a short hallway until he arrives at the small outdoor balcony he noticed earlier.

The air outside is cold, at least. Fresh.

On the horizon, the sun spends its last few moments of the day painting the sky in gorgeous, golden hues. Heeseung squints, but he doesn’t look away. Hands wrapped around the bannister that lines the balcony, he sags into himself.

Shoulders hunched, he forces a long inhale into his lungs. And then he releases it. His breath is a pattern he can cling to, something steady that tethers him back to reality. Something to focus on that isn’t the war in his mind.

But peacetime is only an illusion. After a handful of quiet minutes, he hears the door open behind him.

“Oh,” you startle. He knows it’s you, even from just one syllable. “Sorry, I didn’t realize someone was out here already. I’ll just…” Your words trail off into silence, but Heeseung doesn’t hear retreating footsteps, doesn’t hear the door close again. After another stilted moment, what he hears is, “Heeseung?”

Your voice is small. As if you can apologize just by being gentle. As if he’s a wounded animal you don’t want to startle.

And Heeseung, despite himself, does feel a bit like a kitten left out in the rain when he finds it in himself to turn and face you.

The only word he says is your name. His tone is steady, even. More so than he thought he was capable of. But he’s looking at you now too, and his eyes have never been good at hiding secrets.

“I…” You trail off again. You’re at a loss too. “How are you?”

“Don’t do that,” Heeseung shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” you retreat immediately. But Heeseung remembers when you used to argue, when you used to fight back. When you valued the strength of your relationship over his wounded pride.

“Don’t be,” Heeseung shakes his head again. “You made your choice, so stick to it. You don’t get to…” He screws his eyes shut for a moment, fist clenching at his side. Opening his eyes again, he matches your gaze. “You don’t get to leave me and then apologize for it.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t miss a beat. “I meant for intruding,” you tell him. “I was apologizing for disturbing you.”

But you remember how he used to love making space for you in his life. How his plans were your plans and his time alone on a balcony would only be made better if you were there, too.

And you still remember the day you were inspired by a strong bout of spring fever, how you dedicated an entire afternoon to deep cleaning.

You still remember the small, velvet box you found.

You didn’t open it, but you didn’t have to. The small, nondescript container scared you enough. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry Heeseung. You already had Pinterest boards full of white dresses and three-tier cakes and stunning venues. Suits that you thought would bring out his best features.

But you’d also just gotten the news of your promotion. Across the country. You didn’t know how to tell him, and you had less of an idea how to leave him.

But you knew you had to. He would follow you, if you let him. You were sure of it. But he was enrolled in the best university for his program, and you watched him fight tooth and nail to earn his spot there.

Heeseung was a bright light, a beacon of good things, and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like his commitment to you was something that only weighed him down.

He was an adult, too. A young one, yes, but a full, grown person all the same. Perfectly capable of making his own decisions, but you took that from him anyway.

And now, three years later, you can still read him like an open book. There’s hurt in his gaze, pain that lingers even now. There’s resentment, too, and you can’t blame him for it.

I still love you, you want to tell him. Because it’s true. Because you do. Because you can see it in his eyes, too.

But you’ve always been better at holding your tongue than him.

Instead, you turn on your heel, planning to exit the way you came.

Fingers around the door handle, the sound of your name stops you.

It sounds like he’s begging, like he’s pleading, and you can’t bear to turn and see the results of your devastation as surely as you hear them.

Instead, you remain motionless. You squeeze your eyes shut as tightly as you can.

And then, so faintly it’s almost lost to the wind, he says, “Stay. Please.”

.....

thanks for reading! send me a drabble prompt here if you'd like!

[tosomeonessomeone]

Such a tease

words・ 1.6k /pairings・ Lee Know x reader / genres・ not for kids babe / warnings・ sexy time girl

Request by my lovely anon 🐈‍⬛✨

The first time Minho invited you to one of his dance practices, you didn’t think much of it. He’d mentioned it casually, as if it were no big deal. “You should come watch me practice sometime,” he’d said, his voice light but his eyes holding a glimmer of something deeper. You’d agreed, of course. How could you say no to him? Minho had a way of making even the simplest requests sound irresistible.

But now, as you sat on the floor of the dance studio, your back pressed against the cool mirrored wall, you were starting to realize just how dangerous this was. The room was alive with energy, the bass from the speakers reverberating through your chest, and Minho—*Minho*—was at the center of it all.

He moved like a force of nature, his body bending and flowing to the rhythm of the music in ways that felt almost otherworldly. His black t-shirt clung to his torso, damp with sweat, and his grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, teasing just enough to make your imagination run wild. Every flick of his wrist, every roll of his hips, every sharp turn of his head felt like a personal attack on your sanity. You were supposed to be watching him *dance*, not fantasizing about how those same movements might feel in a far more private setting.

But you weren’t the only one watching. A group of girls had gathered near the door, whispering and giggling as they ogled him. Your jaw tightened as you caught one of them fanning herself dramatically. *Really?* You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t like you could blame them—Minho was a masterpiece in motion—but still, you couldn’t help the way your stomach twisted.

As if sensing your irritation, Minho’s eyes flicked to yours mid-spin, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew. Of course he knew. He always did. The music slowed, and he finished the routine with a final, deliberate roll of his hips, his gaze never leaving yours. The room erupted into applause, but you barely heard it. All you could focus on was the way he was walking toward you, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

“Enjoying the show?” he teased, crouching down in front of you. His voice was low, a little breathless, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re showing off,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably. The way his sweat glistened under the studio lights was *not* helping your resolve.

He chuckled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe a little. But I think someone’s been staring a little too hard.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and you felt your cheeks heat up. “Jealous?”

“No,” you lied, looking away. “I just don’t like the way those girls are looking at you.”

Minho’s smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You don’t have to worry about them. They’re not the one I’m dancing for.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned to face him, only to find his lips dangerously close to yours. “Oh yeah? Who are you dancing for, then?”

“You,” he said simply, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Always you.”

Before you could respond, he stood, offering you his hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

You didn’t argue. How could you? He led you out of the studio, his grip firm but gentle, and the cool evening air hit your skin as you stepped outside. The walk to his apartment was a blur, your mind still replaying the way he’d moved, the way he’d looked at you. By the time you reached his door, your heart was pounding, and you weren’t sure if it was from the walk or the way he was looking at you now.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Minho pinned you against it, his hands caging you in. “You know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, “you’re the only one who gets to see me like this. The real me.”

“Like what?” you breathed, your hands finding their way to his waist.

“Sweaty. Messy. Yours.” His voice was rough, and it sent a thrill through you. “And if you ever forget that, I’ll just have to remind you.”

You smirked, your hands sliding up his chest. “Is that supposed to impress me?” you teased, though your racing heartbeat betrayed your calm exterior.

He chuckled, low and deep, and the sound sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, I’ll impress you,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence. “But first, I need to make sure you remember who you belong to.”

Before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours, the kiss hot and demanding. His hands slid down to your waist, gripping you tightly as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that made your knees weak. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your chests heaving as you stared at each other. “You talk a big game,” you said, your voice shaky but still teasing. “But can you back it up?”

Minho’s eyes darkened, and a slow smirk spread across his face. “Oh, I’ll back it up,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But you’re going to have to keep up.”

Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you further into the apartment. His lips found yours again, hungry and insistent, and you clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he walked. When he finally set you down, it was on the edge of his bed, and he knelt in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs.

“Let’s see if you can handle me,” he said, his voice teasing but filled with promise.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “I think I can handle you just fine.”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and then his hands were sliding up your legs, pushing your skirt higher. His touch was electric, sending sparks shooting through your veins, and when his lips brushed against the inside of your thigh, you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped your lips.

“Minho—” you started, but he cut you off with a look, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Trust me,” he said, his voice firm but playful. “I’ve got you.”

His hands moved with purpose, sliding up your thighs and pushing your skirt higher until it was bunched around your waist. His lips followed the path his hands had taken, leaving a trail of kisses that made your breath hitch. When his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, you couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped your lips.

“Minho,” you breathed, your fingers tightening in his hair. “You’re such a tease.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm against your skin. “You love it,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence. “Admit it.”

You rolled your eyes, though the effect was ruined by the way your body arched into his touch. “Maybe,” you said, your voice shaky. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

He smirked, his eyes locking onto yours as he leaned in closer. “Too late,” he said, his breath hot against your skin. “But don’t worry—I’ll make it worth your while.”

And then his lips were on you again, his tongue flicking against the sensitive spot that made your back arch off the bed. You gasped, your hands flying to the sheets as you gripped them tightly, trying to ground yourself. But it was no use—Minho was relentless, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony to drive you to the edge.

“Minho—” you started, but your words were cut off by a moan as his fingers joined the party, teasing and stroking in a way that made your vision blur. “Oh my god.”

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark with desire but filled with a playful glint. “You were saying?” he asked, his voice teasing.

You glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the way your body trembled under his touch. “You’re impossible,” you said, your voice breathless.

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and then he was kissing you again, his lips moving against yours in a way that made your head spin. When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your chests heaving as you stared at each other.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he said, his voice rough but filled with admiration. “But I think I can do better.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands slid down to your waist, gripping you tightly as he flipped you over, your back pressing against the mattress. His lips found yours again, hungry and insistent, and you clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he kissed you like his life depended on it.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your chests heaving as you stared at each other. “You were saying?” he asked, his voice teasing but filled with promise.

You laughed, the sound rich and warm, and then you were pulling him closer, your lips crashing into his in a kiss that left you both dizzy. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a reminder—a challenge—and you were more than ready to rise to it.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Been thinking about this for a while, but how about a scenario where reader is a muggle-born from a wealthy family who care much about their public perception. They ask her to bring Sebastian over for dinner because they wanted to meet the guy she keeps mentioning in her letters (she may not say it outright but they get the idea they’re dating) only to find out that he is in fact, poor, an orphan, and potentially not to the gentlemanly standard they expected for their daughter. (he tried this time to act good. He swears) How this ends can go one of many ways.

I don’t know if this is too complicated or fully formed as an idea but I think the drama could be fun

Enough | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I've never written anything quite like this but AH the drama was chef's kiss! I hope you love it <3

Words: ~10,400

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Drama, Fluff, Romance

The morning started the way most mornings did—early. The Great Hall was awash with the usual clatter of silverware and the soft hum of conversation, students huddling over their breakfasts, discussing the latest Quidditch scores, impending exams, or whatever gossip had surfaced overnight. You had been sipping on tea, a half-buttered slice of toast on your plate as you flipped absentmindedly through a letter from home, the familiar script of your mother’s handwriting blurring before your eyes.

That is, until you hit the second paragraph.

You blinked. Once. Twice. And then you reread it, hoping you had misunderstood.

"We were intrigued by this young man you’ve been spending time with, darling. You’ve mentioned him in nearly every letter for months now, and it sounds like he’s been quite an influence on you. Your father and I agree it’s high time we meet him properly—this Sebastian fellow. What a charming name! Please invite him to dinner over Easter holiday. We’re so looking forward to putting a face to the name and getting to know the young man you’re so fond of."

Your heart stopped. Your stomach lurched.

Sebastian.

You’d written about him often, sure. He was your best friend, wasn’t he? Or, at least, that’s what you told yourself to avoid admitting the truth. And yes, you’d spoken of him in glowing terms—how could you not? But your parents had interpreted it all so horribly wrong.

Courting? Meeting him? Easter dinner?

The idea of parading Sebastian in front of your parents, of them scrutinizing him, made your hands tremble. Not because you thought poorly of him—Merlin, no. You thought the world of him, had thought the world of him since the fifth year. It was your parents. Their expectations. Their... standards.

You could hear their voices already: "He doesn’t come from a respectable family. What are his prospects? What on earth does he think he could offer you?"

The clatter of a fork on the floor startled you back to the present. You hastily folded the letter and shoved it into your bag, breathing deeply as you tried to collect yourself. Panic simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

You glanced across the Hall to the Slytherin table, where Sebastian sat, as he often did, leaning back with an infuriating sort of confidence that only he could pull off. He was laughing at something Garreth Weasley said, his grin sharp, his dark hair a mess that somehow still suited him perfectly. You felt your chest tighten, both with fondness and sheer, unbridled terror.

You were in love with him, of course, but that hardly mattered now. You and Sebastian weren’t courting. You weren’t even close to broaching that topic. He had no idea how you felt, and you certainly weren’t about to admit it under these circumstances.

And yet, the prospect of defying your parents—ignoring their request—felt equally impossible. Their disapproval carried a weight you’d been trying to outrun your entire life, and the idea of disappointing them made your stomach churn.

You were trapped. Caught between an impossible expectation and a boy who didn’t even know he held your heart. And now, you had to somehow tell him about this invitation—a dinner he’d have no real reason to accept.

You made your way over to the Slytherin table, your palms sweaty as you clenched the strap of your bag. Sebastian caught sight of you before you even reached him, his grin widening as he straightened in his seat. His brown eyes narrowed on you—your nerves must have been written all over your face.

“What’s got you looking like that?” he asked, scooting over to make room for you as if he expected you to sit. He took a bite of his toast, completely at ease, while you hovered awkwardly beside him.

“I need to talk to you,” you blurted, your voice a little too high-pitched for your liking. “Alone.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but didn’t push. “Alright.” He stood, brushing crumbs from his hands, and slung his bag over one shoulder before nodding toward the doors. "Ladies first."

The two of you walked out of the Great Hall in silence, the weight of your impending confession settling heavily in your chest. Sebastian matched your pace, his usual confidence softened by curiosity as he shot occasional glances your way.

Once you reached the empty corridor just outside, you stopped, turning to face him. He leaned casually against the stone wall, his arms crossed, waiting for you to speak.

“Well?” he prompted, his tone light. “What’s this about?"

You inhaled sharply, clutching the strap of your bag as if it might ground you. “I got a letter from my parents this morning.”

“Ah,” he said knowingly, his smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Let me guess—another lecture about how you’re tarnishing the family name by being at Hogwarts instead of some fancy Muggle school?”

You frowned. “No, not this time. This is... different.”

That seemed to catch his attention. His smirk faded, replaced by a slight furrow of concern. “Alright, what’s it this time?”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. How were you supposed to explain this? It felt ridiculous, mortifying, and yet you couldn’t avoid it. You had to tell him.

“They...” You exhaled shakily. “They want to meet you.”

Sebastian blinked. “Me?”

“Yes.” You looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “They think we’re... courting.”

For a moment, there was only silence. You risked a glance at him and found him staring at you, his mouth slightly open as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“They what?” he finally managed, his voice rising just slightly.

“They think we’re courting!” you repeated, your face burning. “I didn’t say we were! I just... I mentioned you in my letters—your name might’ve come up a few times—and apparently, they got the wrong idea.”

Sebastian stared at you for another second before his lips twitched. Then, to your horror, he burst out laughing.

“This isn’t funny!” you hissed, glaring at him. “Sebastian, they’ve invited you to dinner over Easter holiday. They want to meet you, and they’re going to expect you to—” You cut yourself off, your heart pounding as you tried to gather your thoughts. “They’ll expect you to act a certain way, to be someone you’re not.”

“Why? Would they think I’m not up to snuff for their perfect daughter?” he asked, his grin still infuriatingly wide. “You make me sound like some street rat.”

“Because to them, you might as well be!” you snapped, then immediately regretted your words. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you said quickly, your voice softening. “It’s just... they’re very particular. They have high standards, and they’ll be looking for reasons to disapprove of you.”

Sebastian’s grin faltered, his expression hardening just a fraction. “So, what? You don’t want me to go?”

“It's not that," you insisted, shaking your head. "I just… I don’t want to put you in that position.

He studied you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. Then, to your surprise, he shrugged. “Alright.”

Your eyes widened. “Alright what?”

“I’ll go,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Sebastian, you don’t understand,” you said desperately. “This isn’t some casual dinner. They’ll judge everything about you—your clothes, your manners, your background. And if they don’t think you’re good enough—”

“They’ll what? Disown you?” He smirked, though his tone was softer than usual. “Come on, I’ve faced cursed tombs and Dark wizards. I think I can handle a couple of uptight Muggles.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all—or maybe he was, in his own strange way.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said weakly.

“Well, lucky for you, I do,” he said, his confidence unwavering. “Tell your parents I’ll be there. And don’t worry—I’ll even wear my best shirt.”

You sighed, and Sebastian opened his mouth to say something else, probably another snarky remark, but you grabbed his wrist and tugged him along before he could. “Come on. We're going to the library."

He resisted slightly, his boots scuffing against the stone floor as he dragged his feet. “The library? Now? I wasn’t even finished with breakfast!”

“You’ll survive,” you shot back, glancing over your shoulder to see him smirking again.

“I don’t know,” he drawled, letting you lead him anyway. “I was in the middle of a very important debate with Garreth about whether treacle tart or cauldron cakes are the superior dessert.”

You huffed, ignoring him as you hurried down the stairs, taking two at a time. The sooner you found Ominis, the sooner you could start sorting out the absolute mess that was your life.

“Why the library?” Sebastian asked after a moment, though he didn’t sound all that curious. He was just enjoying making you squirm. “If this is about your parents, shouldn’t you be writing them a letter to tell them how incredibly lucky they are to have me gracing their dinner table?”

You ignored that, your face burning. “We need Ominis.”

“Of course we do,” Sebastian said dryly. “Can’t have a proper crisis without Ominis.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed open the library doors. The room was mostly empty this early in the morning, the usual quiet amplified by the faint rustle of pages turning in the far corner. Ominis was easy to spot—or rather, his familiar posture was. He was seated at his usual table near the enchanted globe, his wand resting lightly in his hand as he read.

“Ominis,” you called softly, leading Sebastian toward him. “We need your help.”

The blonde lifted his head at the sound of your voice, his expression calm but curious. “And good morning to you, too,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “What sort of trouble are we in this time?”

Sebastian dropped into the chair across from him, looking far too relaxed for someone about to be dragged into a week of preparations. “Her parents think we’re courting,” he said bluntly, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

Ominis’ brow furrowed. “They what?”

“They think we’re courting,” you repeated, sitting beside him and burying your face in your hands. “And they’ve invited him to dinner to... meet him.”

Ominis turned his attention to Sebastian, who looked far too relaxed given the situation. “And you agreed to this? Willingly?”

Sebastian shrugged, smirking. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

“And here I thought I’d be spending my week in peace,” Ominis muttered. “Fine. I’ll help you prepare. But don’t expect miracles.”

As expected, the days that followed were, quite frankly, exhausting. Between classes, Quidditch practice, and your usual routines, you and Ominis dedicated every spare moment to preparing Sebastian for the upcoming dinner.

It started with the basics. Ominis took the lead on etiquette lessons, drilling Sebastian on everything from proper table manners to the art of polite conversation. He even went as far as to mimic the kind of snide remarks Sebastian might encounter, forcing him to practice responding without sarcasm—a monumental task, to say the least.

“Let’s try again,” Ominis said one evening in the Undercroft, his tone patient but firm. “I’ll be her father, and you’ll be... well, you. He asks, ‘What are your intentions with my daughter?’ Go.”

Sebastian groaned, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “We’ve done this a hundred times, Ominis.”

“And we’ll do it a hundred more if that’s what it takes,” Ominis replied sharply, tapping his wand against his palm. “Now, try again.”

Meanwhile, you took charge of teaching him about Muggle traditions and customs, including the subtle differences he might not have noticed otherwise. You explained everything from the layout of a formal dinner to the kind of small talk he could expect. It was tedious work, but Sebastian humored you, though he often did so with a grin that suggested he found the whole ordeal amusing.

The real challenge came when Ominis insisted on taking Sebastian to Hogsmeade to purchase a proper suit.

“This is ridiculous,” Sebastian grumbled as Ominis guided him through racks of tailored jackets and waistcoats. “I already have clothes.”

“Your duelling robes aren’t enough,” Ominis replied, his tone brooking no argument. “You need to look the part. Now hold still.”

You stood nearby, hiding a smile as Ominis measured Sebastian with his wand, his expression the epitome of focus. Despite Sebastian’s complaints, the results were worth it. When he stepped out of the fitting room in a sleek black suit with a crisp white shirt, you were momentarily stunned.

“Well?” he asked, spreading his arms and spinning once for effect. “Do I pass inspection?”

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “You’ll do.”

Ominis smirked knowingly. “You look presentable. Let’s hope your behavior matches.”

By the end of the week, Sebastian had begrudgingly mastered the basics. He could navigate a formal dinner, hold polite conversation, and even manage a few compliments without sounding insincere. Whether or not it would be enough to win over your parents remained to be seen, but for now, it was the best you could hope for.

On the evening of the dinner, you stood in your dormitory, staring at your reflection in the mirror with growing unease. Your usual confidence felt oddly absent as you adjusted the neckline of your dress; a light blue gown from Gladrags, soft and elegant, flowing like water down to your ankles, the color reminiscent of a clear spring sky.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed your hands down the front of your skirt, grabbed your shawl, and headed out. The castle felt oddly quiet as you made your way to the appointed meeting place near the Floo. 5:30 sharp. You were certain you’d be the first to arrive—Sebastian had a habit of being fashionably late, after all—but as you turned the corner, you stopped short.

He was already there.

He stood near the fireplace, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his dark hair neatly combed for once. He wore the suit Ominis had picked out for him—black with a crisp white shirt—and his tie, much to your surprise, was light blue, perfectly matching your gown. The sight of it made your breath hitch.

For a moment, you just stared, taking in the way the tailored jacket fit him, the sharp cut of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked... different. Polished. But there was still something so unmistakably Sebastian about him, from the way his brow furrowed slightly in thought to the nervous energy in his movements.

...Nervous?

Sebastian Sallow, the boy who faced cursed tombs and duels with a smirk, who thrived in chaos and relished a challenge, was pacing slightly as he waited for you. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his jacket, and he glanced at the clock above the fireplace every few seconds.

The sight made your chest ache and your heart flutter all at once.

“You were early,” you said softly, stepping closer.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his brown eyes widening slightly as he took you in. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze sweeping over your gown, your carefully chosen jewelry, and finally settling on your face.

“And you're right on time” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. He cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “You look—” He stopped, his words catching. Then he smiled, the kind of smile that wasn’t teasing or cocky but genuine. “You look beautiful.”

You felt warmth rise to your cheeks, and you clasped your hands together to keep from fidgeting. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He grinned at that, some of his usual confidence returning. “Well, if I’m going to face the gauntlet, I might as well dress the part.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the soft crackle of the torches filling the silence. There was a weight to the air between you, a sense of anticipation that neither of you seemed quite willing to break.

Finally, Sebastian stepped closer, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You hesitated for only a second before slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow. His warmth was steady beneath your fingertips, grounding you as the nerves in your chest threatened to bubble over.

“Let’s get this over with,” you said with a weak smile.

Sebastian smirked, though the slight tightness in his jaw told you he wasn’t as calm as he was pretending to be. “Don’t worry,” he said as he reached for the Floo powder. “I’ve got this.”

He grabbed an adequate amount, and with one last glance your way, Sebastian guided you both into the Floo.

The swirling green flames spat you out onto the gravel drive of your family’s manor, the grand estate standing tall against the backdrop of the darkening sky. The familiar sight made your stomach churn with nerves.

Sebastian let out a low whistle, glancing up at the imposing structure. “So, this is home, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, half-defensive, half-curious.

He shrugged, his hands slipping casually into his pockets. “It suits you. Polished. Impressive. Maybe a little intimidating.”

You snorted softly. “Intimidating, really?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a grin. “You should see yourself when you’re angry."

You rolled your eyes, but his playful banter did little to ease your nerves. The thought of what waited inside—your parents, their judgment, the impossible expectations—made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

Sebastian must have noticed, because his grin softened, and he stepped closer, his voice low. “Hey. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll behave. Promise.”

You gave him a weak smile, wishing you could believe him. “You’ll need to do more than behave.”

“Then I’ll dazzle them,” he said with a wink, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed his own unease. “Shall we?”

For a moment, you hesitated, your heart pounding as you stared up at the towering manor. Then you took a deep breath, slipped your hand into the crook of his arm, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

Together, you climbed the stone steps to the front door, the sound of your heels echoing in the stillness. Sebastian reached for the brass knocker but paused, glancing at you one last time. “Ready?”

No. Not even close. But you nodded anyway.

The knocker fell with a heavy thud, and within seconds, the door swung open. A butler stood in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral as he looked the two of you over. “Welcome home, Miss,” he said with a slight bow before stepping aside. “Your parents are expecting you in the drawing room.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, stepping inside with Sebastian at your side.

The manor was just as you remembered it—pristine and impossibly grand, every detail designed to impress. The faint hum of conversation drifted from the drawing room, mingling with the crackle of a fire. Your nerves tightened with each step, but Sebastian walked confidently beside you, his arm steady under your hand.

As you approached the drawing room door, your mother’s voice carried through, clear and sharp as she spoke to your father. “Do try to make a good impression, darling.”

You froze for a split second, glancing at Sebastian. He caught your eye, offering a small smile that was more reassuring than cocky this time.

With one last breath, you stepped into the room, the weight of the evening settling firmly on your shoulders.

This was it.

The drawing room was as stately as ever, bathed in the warm glow of a crystal chandelier and the flicker of firelight dancing across polished wood paneling. Your parents sat on the velvet settee near the hearth, the picture of poise and elegance. Your mother, ever the perfectionist, smoothed invisible creases from her gown as she glanced up. Your father, a tall man with a commanding presence, stood as you entered, his sharp eyes taking in the scene with quiet scrutiny.

“Darling,” your mother greeted, her tone light but laced with expectation. She rose gracefully, her gaze flickering to Sebastian. “And this must be Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian straightened, his easy confidence slipping into something more formal as he stepped forward. He bowed his head slightly, his movements smooth and deliberate. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, his voice steady and polite. "And please, call me Sebastian."

Your mother’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The pleasure is ours,” she said, her tone cool but courteous. “Do come in and sit.”

Sebastian glanced at you, waiting for you to move first. You gave him a slight nod, releasing his arm as you both crossed the room. The chairs arranged across from your parents suddenly felt much too far apart, but Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He sat with perfect posture, his hands resting loosely on his knees, his expression calm.

You took the seat beside him, wishing you could shrink into it. Your mother’s sharp gaze swept over Sebastian, taking in every detail of his appearance—his perfectly tailored suit, his neatly combed hair, the faintest hint of tension in his jaw.

She folded her hands in her lap, her poised smile never faltering. "So, Sebastian," she began, her tone deceptively pleasant. "Tell us. How did the two of you meet?"

Sebastian turned to you with an easy smile. "We met during Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said. "My fifth year at Hogwarts—her first. Professor Hecat paired us for a duel."

Your father arched a brow. "A duel?"

Sebastian’s smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. "Yes, sir. I was confident I’d win."

"And?" your mother prompted, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Sebastian glanced at you, and though his expression was perfectly neutral, you caught the amusement dancing behind his eyes. "I lost," he admitted, the words coming smoothly, without a hint of shame. "Rather spectacularly, if I’m being honest."

Your mother’s lips pressed together, but she nodded as if accepting the explanation. "I see. And tell me, Sebastian, what do you do in your spare time?"

Sebastian exhaled lightly, as if considering his words carefully. "I enjoy dueling. I still train regularly—it keeps me sharp. I also read quite a bit, mostly historical accounts of magical warfare, defensive strategy, things of that nature."

"Interesting." Your mother tilted her head. “And tell us, Sebastian, where is your family from?”

You adjusted in your seat, hands smoothing over your dress in a futile attempt to steady yourself. This was exactly what you had expected—no lighthearted conversation, no genuine warmth, just the relentless, calculated prodding of your parents. Every question, though cloaked in civility, was a test. A careful dissection. They weren’t getting to know Sebastian; they were measuring him, scrutinizing every word, every movement, silently deciding whether he was worthy of the world they had so meticulously crafted.

Sebastian, to his credit, didn’t so much as flinch. His expression remained composed, though you didn’t miss the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee before relaxing again.

“I grew up in the Scottish Highlands, not far from Iverness,” he said smoothly. “My family lived there for generations.”

Your father leaned forward slightly, his expression still unreadable. “And what do your parents do?”

The air grew heavier. This was one question you’d been dreading, the one that no amount of preparation could soften. You risked a glance at Sebastian, your heart hammering in your chest.

“They were Professors, however my parents passed away when I was young,” Sebastian said, his voice steady. “It’s just my sister and I now."

There was a brief pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to be uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” your mother said at last, though the words felt hollow.

Sebastian inclined his head. “Thank you, ma’am.”

He was holding his own, but this wasn’t a conversation—it was an examination. And it was only going to get worse.

You could feel Sebastian’s gaze flick toward you, just for a moment, as if checking in. Making sure you were okay.

You weren’t.

Your father continued on, clearly not ready to let the conversation drift into safer waters. “And your sister?” he asked, his tone polite but probing. “What does she do?”

“Anne’s focus has been on her health in recent years,” Sebastian said carefully. “She’s unwell.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long, the weight of them sinking into the polished wood and embroidered silk of the drawing room. You knew your parents well enough to recognize the flicker of calculation behind your father’s eyes, the way your mother’s fingers twitched as she reached for her teacup, as if trying to mask the direction of her thoughts.

No parents. An ill sister. No meaningful connections to high society.

To them, it meant one thing: nothing to offer.

You clenched your hands in your lap, nails pressing into your palms as you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. It was maddening, sitting here while they dissected him like this, peeling him apart with careful, polite words, as they decided whether he was worth your time. As if he hadn’t already proven himself a hundred times over to you.

“Sebastian,” your mother said, breaking the brief silence, “our daughter speaks very highly of you. She’s mentioned your... intelligence and resourcefulness.”

Sebastian turned his gaze to your mother, his expression unreadable. He didn’t preen under the supposed compliment, nor did he flinch at the underlying weight of her words. Instead, he simply waited, letting her continue, as if he knew there was more to it.

Your mother took a delicate sip of her tea, the fine china barely making a sound as she set it back on the saucer. “I do hope she’s not exaggerating.”

Sebastian smiled—just a flicker of one, polite but unreadable. “I suppose that depends on what she’s said," he glanced at you briefly before continuing. “But if I’ve earned even half the praise she’s given me, I’d say I’m doing quite well.”

Your mother tilted her head, her smile tightening. “And what are your ambitions, Mr. Sallow? What do you hope to achieve?”

The question made your stomach tighten. They weren’t interested in him as a person. They were interested in whether he was worth investing in.

Sebastian, however, didn’t so much as blink. He exhaled softly, as if considering his words, then tilted his head slightly.

"I’ve always been drawn to subjects that require critical thinking—Defense Against the Dark Arts, for example," he said, his voice calm but deliberate. "My main considerations have been Cursebreaking or perhaps training to become an Auror."

Your father cleared his throat, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “Cursebreaking and… Auror?” His tone was polite but clipped, as though he was carefully parsing the unfamiliar terms. "What would such professions look like?"

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian replied carefully. “Cursebreaking involves uncovering and disarming magical traps, often tied to ancient artifacts or ruins. Akin to... archeology. And Aurors are... the magical equivalent of a detective, sir."

Your mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her hands folding neatly in her lap. “Quite dangerous,” she said, her tone clipped as her sharp gaze flicked toward you for a moment before returning to Sebastian. “Do you find yourself drawn to danger, Mr. Sallow?”

“Not for its own sake, no,” he replied smoothly.

His response almost had you laughing—because if there was one thing Sebastian Sallow was drawn to, it was danger. You pressed your lips together tightly, trying to stifle the smile threatening to break through, but it was too late. Your amusement must have flickered across your face because your mother’s sharp eyes immediately snapped to you.

“And what, may I ask, is so amusing, darling?” she said, her tone as smooth as silk but edged with curiosity. Her gaze pinned you to your seat like a hawk spotting prey, and you froze, your mind scrambling for an excuse.

Sebastian’s gaze flicked to you, and for a brief second, you caught the faintest glimmer of a amusement in his eyes. But before you could respond, a knock at the drawing room door broke the tension.

The butler stepped inside, bowing slightly. “Dinner is served, everyone.”

Relief flooded through you so quickly you nearly sagged in your chair. Your mother nodded gracefully, rising from her seat with all the elegance of a queen. “Shall we?” she said, gesturing toward the dining room.

You wasted no time in standing, brushing down your dress as you avoided your mother’s lingering gaze. Sebastian rose smoothly beside you, his hand brushing against yours briefly as he offered his arm again. You hesitated for only a moment before taking it, his steady warmth grounding you as you followed your parents out of the room.

As you walked, you leaned in slightly, keeping your voice low. "It's unnerving how talented you are at lying."

Sebastian glanced at you, his expression unreadable but his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Who says I lied?"

You snorted softly. "You’d dive headfirst into a cursed tomb if someone dared you.”

He chuckled under his breath, his voice barely audible as he replied, “Not if it’s a boring tomb.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh as the two of you entered the dining room. It was grand, of course—your family didn’t do anything halfway. The long table was set with gleaming silverware and crystal glasses, a centerpiece of fresh flowers and candles casting a soft glow over the room.

Your father took his seat at the head of the table, your mother settling in beside him with a practiced grace. You and Sebastian were directed to the seats opposite them, the distance between you making the table feel even more intimidating.

The first course—a delicate arrangement of roasted quail and glazed vegetables—was placed before you, the table settling into a brief silence as your parents inspected the presentation with the same scrutiny they applied to everything else. You glanced at Sebastian, your heart sinking slightly as you noticed the slightest flicker of uncertainty in his movements.

He picked up a fork, pausing for just a moment too long as he seemed to second-guess whether it was the correct one. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. He began to cut into the dish with the smaller dessert fork, and while it wasn’t glaringly obvious, it was enough to catch your mother’s sharp eyes.

“Not quite that one, Sebastian,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet but laced with condescension. “The proper fork for the main course is the one on your left.”

Sebastian froze for the briefest moment before smoothly setting the fork down and picking up the correct one. “Thank you for the clarification,” he said evenly.

Your mother smiled thinly, her eyes gleaming with something that made your stomach turn. “It can be so difficult to keep track of these things when one isn’t accustomed to formal settings.”

You stiffened, your grip on your own fork tightening as a surge of indignation rose in your chest. You wanted to say something, to defend him, but before you could, Sebastian beat you to it.

“Quite right,” he said, his tone still calm but now carrying a subtle edge. “It’s not a habit I’ve had the opportunity to form. I suppose that’s what makes learning new things so valuable.”

Your mother’s lips twitched, as though she couldn’t decide whether to be irritated or impressed by his response. “Indeed,” she said finally, her tone cool.

The meal carried on in uneasy silence, each bite weighed down by the lingering tension that clung to the air like a storm waiting to break. The clink of silverware against porcelain was the only sound, punctuating the unspoken challenge that had passed between Sebastian and your parents. Though the conversation had momentarily stalled, the scrutiny had not. It lingered, sharp and assessing, filling every quiet second with a pressure that made it harder to swallow.

Sebastian remained composed, his expression carefully neutral, but you could feel the way his fingers occasionally curled around the stem of his glass, the subtle flick of his gaze toward you—a silent check-in, a quiet assurance.

But it wasn’t him they turned their focus to next.

“Darling,” your mother began, setting down her fork with an air of practiced grace, “how are your studies progressing this term? I trust you’re excelling?”

You swallowed, already feeling the familiar prickle of anxiety creeping up your spine. “They’re going well, Mother,” you said carefully. “I’ve been—”

“Well?” she interrupted, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Is that the best you can say? I sent a letter to Professor Garlick who indicated to me that you've been struggling in Herbology. I’m sure you could apply yourself more diligently.”

You clenched your jaw, your grip tightening on your knife. “It’s not my strongest subject, but I’m doing my best.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, a clear sign that your answer wasn’t satisfactory. “I see,” she said coolly. “And what about that... brutish sport you insist on playing? What’s it called again? Quilt... ditch?”

“Quidditch,” you corrected quietly.

“Yes, that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I fail to see how spending your time chasing after a ball does anything to further your education.”

Your father chimed in, his tone gruff but no less pointed. “I suppose it’s her way of rebelling.”

You focused intently on cutting your food, willing yourself to remain calm. This wasn’t new; you’d endured countless dinners like this before. But tonight, with Sebastian sitting beside you, the sting of their words felt sharper.

Sebastian, to his credit, didn’t outwardly react at all. You were impressed by his restraint. His eyes stayed fixed on his plate, though you knew him well enough to see the occasional twitch of his jaw, the subtle shift in his posture.

Your mother’s next comment was the tipping point.

“And another thing, darling,” your mother said, her tone saccharine and laced with something sharp. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve put on a bit of weight since the summer. I do hope you haven’t been neglecting your studies in favor of… indulgences.”

The words sliced through the air like a knife, precise and deliberate, meant to wound in a way that could be brushed off as concern.

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck as every childhood insecurity came rushing back all at once. You knew better than to react—she wanted a reaction—but the sting of it lodged deep in your chest anyway.

You swallowed, unsure if you even wanted to look at Sebastian, afraid of what you might see—awkwardness, pity, maybe even silent agreement.

But when you did glance at him, what you found wasn’t hesitation.

It was fury.

Not loud, not dramatic, but cold—sharp enough to cut.

Sebastian’s hand had stilled around his fork, his knuckles just barely white with the force of his grip. His jaw was tight, his brown eyes dark with something unreadable as he stared at your mother.

When he finally set his fork down, it was deliberate, the soft clink against the plate somehow louder than any shouting could have been.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” he said, his voice deceptively calm, "your daughter is one of the most capable, brilliant, and resilient people I have ever known. And if she carries any unnecessary weight, it’s the burden of expectations placed on her by others.”

The room fell silent, your parents frozen mid-bite as they turned to look at him. You felt your heart leap into your throat, a mix of shock and gratitude and anxiety rendering you momentarily speechless.

“I understand you have high standards,” Sebastian continued, his tone polite but firm, “but I can assure you that whatever expectations you’ve set, she’s already surpassed them.”

Your mother’s expression barely flickered, but you knew her well enough to sense the barely concealed offense in the stiffening of her posture. “How very passionate of you, Mr. Sallow,” she said, setting down her fork with quiet precision. “I suppose you believe you know her better than her own family does?”

Sebastian didn’t so much as blink. “I believe I see her clearly,” he said. “Which is more than I can say for most.”

It was a direct hit. You could see it in the way your mother’s shoulders tensed, in the way your father exhaled slowly, setting his silverware down with a pointed clink.

Your father leaned back, fixing Sebastian with a cold, assessing look. “It is quite bold to assume you have any right to comment on such personal matter," your father said, his tone sharp, “Perhaps you’d care to elaborate further on what exactly your role is in her life?”

The shift in their focus was immediate and ruthless, their pointed gazes turning back to Sebastian like predators zeroing in on prey.

"I’m simply someone who sees her for who she is, not who she’s expected to be.” Sebastian replied, a flicker of something dangerously close to amusement crossing his face. “And I have to say, sir, that seems to be a rare thing in this house.”

The air turned brittle, thick with unspoken tension.

Your father’s fingers tapped once against the table, his expression cool but unreadable. Your mother inhaled slowly, exhaling through her nose as she reached for her wine glass, taking a measured sip.

You braced yourself.

"How very poetic," your father finally said, tone devoid of any real warmth. “And yet, poetry has never paid the bills, nor built anything of lasting worth."

Sebastian’s expression remained calm, though you could see the tension building in his jaw.

“With all due respect, sir,” he said smoothly, “neither has cruelty.”

Your mother’s grip on her wine glass tightened ever so slightly. Your father’s expression remained impassive, but the temperature in the room dropped like a sudden frost. The moment stretched taut, every unspoken rule of decorum cracking under the weight of Sebastian’s words.

“Clever,” your father mused, his tone devoid of amusement. “But clever words don’t change the reality of things, Sebastian. You may think you understand our daughter, but understanding is hardly the same as providing for her.”

Your mother hummed in agreement, tilting her head as she studied Sebastian like he was an unfortunate stain on her pristine tablecloth. “Yes, and you do come from rather humble beginnings,” she said smoothly, reaching for her wine. “It's tragic, truly. No parents. A sick sister. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for you, growing up without proper guidance.”

Sebastian didn’t react, but you saw the barely perceptible flex of his fingers where they rested against the table. His posture remained relaxed—perhaps too relaxed—but there was a sharpness in his eyes, a quiet fury coiling beneath the surface.

“I imagine it taught me resilience,” he said evenly. “Self-sufficiency. Things I suspect not everyone in this room has had the opportunity to learn.”

Your mother’s lips twitched, something cold flickering in her expression while your father leaned forward slightly, hands threading together.

“You speak boldly for a man with nothing to offer," he said, his tone deceptively mild. "No wealth. No status. No respectable lineage. And yet, you seem to believe you deserve our daughter. How naïve.”

You clenched your fists beneath the table, your stomach twisting with anger.

Sebastian tilted his head, and though his expression remained perfectly polite, something flickered behind his gaze—something sharp, knowing. “And you speak as though she needs something from me,” he said smoothly. “As though she isn’t already more than capable of carving her own path.” He let the words settle before adding, “She doesn’t need anyone to provide for her, least of all me. But I imagine what she does need is support. Respect.” He smiled, a slow, deliberate thing. “I have no issue giving her both. I can’t say the same for others.”

The jab landed. You saw it in the way your father’s mouth pressed into a thin line, in the way your mother’s fingers twitched slightly before she masked it with a sip of wine. Her gaze flickered toward you, and in that moment, you saw it—annoyance, disappointment, maybe even frustration that you had allowed someone like him into this house. Into your life.

Your father recovered first. He inhaled slowly, his voice quiet, cold. “Let me explain something to you,” he said, his tone shifting from condescension to something far sharper. “This—” he gestured vaguely between you and Sebastian, “—is temporary. She’ll tire of whatever… fantasy you’ve spun for her soon enough.”

Your heart clenched. You opened your mouth, but before you could even form a response, Sebastian did.

He smiled. Not a soft smile. Not a kind one.

A sharp, knowing smirk. “Funny,” he said, tilting his head, “I was just about to say the same thing about your influence over her.”

Your mother inhaled sharply. Your father’s expression darkened. “You insolent scum,” he sneered, the veneer of civility finally cracking. “Do you honestly believe you can stand there and challenge me? In my home?” He leaned forward, his eyes cold, voice laced with something cruel. “You are nothing. A nobody. A street rat with no family, no future. Do you think some clever words and a polished suit change that?”

Your mother sighed, setting down her wine glass with an air of exhausted patience. “It’s pathetic, really,” she murmured, eyes sliding over Sebastian with a look of detached pity. “You must think yourself so noble, playing protector. So righteous.” Her lips curved into something resembling a smile, but there was nothing kind about it. “But it doesn’t change what you are. A boy who clawed his way out of the dirt, only to find himself desperately reaching for something beyond his station.”

Sebastian’s shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling subtly against the edge of the table. His expression didn’t waver—his mask of practiced ease was still firmly in place—but something about him changed.

Your mother took another slow sip of her wine, setting the glass down with a soft clink before turning her attention to you. “I trust this little performance has run its course?” she asked lightly. “Or shall we continue entertaining the delusion that this—” she gestured at Sebastian with a dismissive flick of her fingers, “—is anything more than a childish infatuation?”

The words hung in the air, sharp and gleaming, waiting to cut.

Your mother’s gaze was expectant, coldly patient, as if she were merely waiting for you to confirm what she already believed—that this was just another phase, another mistake she would soon correct. Your father, too, sat with the quiet confidence of a man who had never once considered that he wouldn’t be obeyed. That you wouldn’t bend to their will.

You looked at Sebastian.

The amusement that had once danced behind his eyes was gone. The sharp, confident smirk had faded. And for the first time that night, you saw it.

Hurt.

It was gone as soon as it came, so fleeting you might have missed it if you weren’t looking. But you were looking.

A sick sort of guilt coiled in your stomach, pressing against your ribs. Because Sebastian didn’t have to be here. He hadn’t asked for this. You had invited him—not because you wanted him subjected to your parents’ scrutiny, not because you thought he owed you anything, but because you had been too afraid to defy them. Too afraid to tell them no.

You had brought him into this house, sat him at this table, knowing exactly how it would go. Knowing exactly how they would look at him, dissect him, tear him down with a thousand polished, cutting words.

And yet... and yet he had fought. Not just for himself, but for you. For your dignity, your choices, your right to be more than just a perfectly groomed extension of them.

He had sat at this table, met their every challenge, endured every cutting remark. He had taken the blows meant for you, over and over, without hesitation.

Because that’s who he was.

And that’s why you loved him. Why you always had.

You inhaled slowly, then with careful, deliberate movements, you pushed your chair back. The legs scraped against the polished floor, slicing through the silence like a blade.

Your mother’s expression flickered, just slightly—her perfectly trained poise faltering for the briefest second. Your father’s gaze sharpened.

You stood.

Sebastian's head turned toward you, something wary in his expression. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just waited. Because despite everything, despite all the words that had been thrown between them, this moment wasn’t his.

It was yours.

You lifted your chin, meeting your mother’s gaze first. “Enough.”

A single word. Final. Absolute.

Your father scoffed. “Sit down.”

“No.” You turned to face him fully, voice unwavering. “You don’t get to speak to him that way. Not anymore. Not ever again.”

Your mother let out a breathy laugh, reaching for her wine. “Darling—”

“I love him.”

The words left your lips before you could second-guess them.

Your mother froze, her glass hovering just above the table. Your father’s expression turned to stone, his mouth pressing into a thin line. But it was Sebastian’s reaction that mattered most.

He went completely still.

You turned to look at him fully now, heart pounding, searching his face, because you’d never said it before. Not out loud.

But it was the truth.

And for the first time, you weren’t afraid of it.

“I love him,” you repeated, each syllable firm, unshaken. “And I won’t, for one more second, listen to your condescension, your cruelty, your endless judgment, not towards him.”

Your father scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re being ridiculous.”

You snapped your attention back to him. “No, I’m done being ridiculous,” you said, voice firm. “I’m done playing this game. Done pretending that what you want for me is what I want.” You exhaled, steadying yourself. “I just won’t sit here and pretend that what you’re doing isn’t vile. I won’t sit at this bloody table and let you look down on someone who is worth ten of any society man you’d rather have me with. And I’m done letting you dictate my life.”

Silence.

Then your mother’s voice, quiet but cutting. “You would choose him over your family?”

Your throat tightened.

“If you won't accept my choice, then yes. I would. And I will.”

The finality of it rang through the room.

Your mother’s lips pressed together, her shoulders going rigid. Your father simply let out a slow breath through his nose.

And Sebastian.

Sebastian, who had spent the evening enduring the worst of them, who had sat through every cruel, veiled insult and outright attack, who had stood his ground even when it hurt—

Sebastian looked at you like you were something impossible.

Like you had just rewritten the laws of the universe before his very eyes.

Like he had braced himself for battle and, instead, you had stepped in front of him and ended the war with nothing but your voice.

Your father made a low sound, something between exasperation and disgust. “You’re making a mistake.”

You exhaled slowly. “Then it’s mine to make.”

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “You’ll regret this.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “No. I won’t.”

You lifted your chin, offering Sebastian your hand. “Let’s go,” you said, voice steady, unwavering.

Sebastian didn’t move for a heartbeat. His fingers twitched at his side, his gaze flicking from your hand to your face, searching—really searching—for any sign of hesitation, of regret.

He found none.

And that was when he took your hand.

Warm. Solid.

Your mother let out a quiet breath through her nose, something unreadable passing over her face before she schooled her features back into perfect neutrality. Your father, however, wasn’t as composed.

“I will not be made a fool of in my own home,” he said sharply, his voice carrying an edge of finality, of command. “You walk out that door, you do not walk back in.”

The weight of his words settled in the space between you, heavy and suffocating. A lifetime of expectations, of obligations, of control—all crumbling with a single choice.

Your mother folded her hands neatly in her lap, watching you with a cool, detached expression. “Well, darling?” she said, tilting her head. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Sebastian stiffened beside you, like he was ready for you to turn around and stay. Like he was bracing himself for the inevitable.

But there was no decision to be made. Even if Sebastian didn't love you back, even if you weren't actually courting, even if he never felt the same, even if this all ended tomorrow, you wouldn’t regret standing here, choosing yourself for the first time in your life.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

And with that, you turned.

You didn’t wait for another word, another cruel remark, another attempt to claw you back into the cage they had built for you. You simply walked away.

Outside the manor, the gravel drive crunched beneath your feet, the only sound in the otherwise still night. You didn’t speak. Neither did Sebastian. The weight of the evening hung between you, thick and suffocating, stretching into the quiet as you made your way down the long path.

When you reached the gates, Sebastian finally let go, of your hand, stepping forward to unlatch them. The metal groaned slightly as it swung open, and you hesitated only briefly before stepping through, leaving your childhood behind with the soft click of the latch snapping shut behind you.

The Floo loomed in front of you, smelling of ash and magic, thick with the weight of old decisions and new ones yet to be made.

Sebastian stepped forward first, tossing a handful of Floo Powder before vanishing into the green.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. Then you followed.

The second your feet touched the cool stone floor of the castle, the weight of it all, of everything that had just happened, crashed into you.

It was sudden, overwhelming—like the entire evening had been held at bay by sheer force of will, and now, with no more battles to fight, no more words left to say, it all came rushing in at once.

Your breath hitched. Then another. Then another.

You were breaking.

The grief, the exhaustion, the anger—it clawed up your throat all at once, twisting into something ragged and uncontrollable. You gasped, pressing the heel of your hand against your chest, as if you could physically hold yourself together.

And then you were crying.

Sobbing, really.

Not the quiet, dignified tears of someone mourning something small, but the raw, wrecked kind.

It was too much. The fight, the way they had looked at him, the way they had looked at you. The finality of it all. The loss. Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Walking away meant you had lost something, even if you had never really wanted it in the first place.

But you had gained something too. You knew that.

And yet, it still hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper, barely holding itself together. “I—I shouldn’t have taken you there. I shouldn’t have—” Your breath shuddered violently as you wrapped your arms around yourself, your body shaking. “I knew what they’d do. I knew. And I still—”

Sebastian moved before you could finish.

Warm hands found your shoulders, solid and grounding. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low, steady. “Look at me.”

You did.

His gaze wasn’t full of pity. Not anger. Not resentment.

Just… Sebastian.

Soft. Steady. There.

And that was worse somehow, because it made you sob harder.

“I just—I don’t know what I was thinking,” you choked out. “I just wanted to get through it, to—”

“To satisfy them,” Sebastian murmured.

You nodded, another sob breaking free. “And I did. For years, I did. But I can’t anymore.” You exhaled sharply. "And now, now I've lost them, and I know it was right but—"

“It still hurts,” Sebastian finished for you, his voice softer now. "They're still your parents."

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, your nod barely perceptible.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

And then—

“...Do you really love me?”

His voice was quiet. Almost hoarse.

You stiffened, your breath catching. Slowly, you lifted your head, looking up at him.

Sebastian's expression was unreadable, his shoulders tense like he was bracing himself for the answer. His fingers flexed at his sides, but his eyes—his eyes were wide, dark, filled with something you couldn’t place.

You had never seen him like this.

Never seen him afraid. Not of a fight. Not of a curse. But of this.

Of you.

“Do you?” he asked again, softer this time. “Or was it just—was it just something you said to get them to stop?”

You blinked, your breath still shaky, your cheeks still wet. And yet, somehow, the weight in your chest lifted just slightly, just enough for you to see through the grief, the exhaustion, the fear.

And the truth was still there, waiting for you, steady and undeniable.

You reached for him, fingers trembling, pressing against his arm first—then his jaw, his cheek, the way you had always wanted to but hadn’t dared.

His breath stuttered.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I love you.”

Sebastian didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

He just stared at you, eyes wide, lips parted like he was trying to process the words—like he had heard them, understood them, but didn’t believe them.

“You—” His voice broke. He swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t have to say that just because—”

“I mean it, Sebastian.”

His whole body tensed.

“I didn’t say it for them. I didn’t say it to make a point. I didn’t say it to win.” Your voice was raw, stripped bare, nothing left to hide behind. “I said it because it’s true. It's been true for years."

Sebastian’s eyes flickered, something breaking apart behind them. His lips parted slightly, his breath uneven, and for a single, fragile moment, he looked lost.

And then he crashed into you, his arms wrapping around you with such force that it knocked the breath from your lungs. His grip was tight—almost desperate—like he had been waiting for this his entire life and still couldn’t believe it was real.

You barely had time to react before you were sinking into him, your fingers fisting into the back of his jacket, your face pressing into the warm, solid plane of his chest.

Then, his voice. Barely a whisper. Barely holding itself together.

"I love you, too."

You froze.

Sebastian only held you tighter.

His fingers curled into the fabric of your dress, gripping it like he needed something solid, something to keep him standing. His forehead pressed into your hair, and his breath was warm against your temple, coming in unsteady bursts, as if the words had taken everything out of him. Like they had been clawing their way out of him for years.

You turned your face deeper into his chest, squeezing your eyes shut as your arms wound tighter around him, your fingers pressing into the muscles of his back, warm, solid, real, yours.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, his whole body shaking. "You don’t—” His breath caught, like he couldn’t quite get the words out. “You don’t understand. I’ve wanted—I never—” He let out something between a laugh and a choked breath, his hands smoothing up your back, then gripping you tighter again, like he couldn’t decide if he should hold you gently or keep you locked against him forever.

“I thought—” He swallowed hard. “I never thought—" Another breath, another exhale, another shudder running through him.

"I never thought I was enough."

You pulled back just enough to see him, to look into his face, to make him see you. His eyes were wild with emotion, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how. You reached up, cupping his jaw, thumbs tracing the sharp planes of his cheekbones.

“Then you’re an idiot,” you murmured teasingly, voice thick with emotion, “because you’ve always been enough.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He searched your face, as if he was still trying to make sense of this, as if some part of him was waiting for you to take it back, to wake up from whatever dream this must have been.

But then—slowly, carefully—he let himself believe it.

And that was when he kissed you.

Slow, deep, desperate—in ways that only years of restraint could make it. In ways that made it feel inevitable, like the two of you had been pulled toward this moment by some unseen force long before either of you had the courage to acknowledge it.

Sebastian kissed you like he was starving for you, like he had been holding himself back for so long that now, given even the slightest permission, he couldn’t stop himself. His fingers splayed against your back, pressing you flush against him, as if the space between you was unbearable, as if he needed to feel you to believe this was real. His other hand slid up, cradling your face with a reverence that made your chest ache, his thumb sweeping over your cheekbone.

You melted into him, into the heat of him, into the way his lips moved against yours like he was memorizing you, like he needed to commit every touch, every sigh, every trembling breath to memory so he could keep it locked inside himself forever. He kissed you with years of unspoken words, years of buried longing, years of wanting but never allowing himself to have.

You weren’t sure which of you was trembling more.

And then, slowly, like he was dragging himself away from the very thing keeping him alive, Sebastian pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice wrecked, raw in ways you had never heard before.

Your fingers loosened their grip, moving up, tracing along his jaw, mapping out every curve, every freckle, every part of him that you had never allowed yourself to touch before.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

His throat bobbed, his grip on you tightening, a smile splitting his face in two.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, soft but steady. He turned his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his lips warm and reverent.

Something inside you—something that had been wound tight for years—unraveled.

You had spent so long living the life that had been laid out for you, bending beneath expectations that had never truly been yours. You had spent so long trying to be what they wanted, waiting, waiting, for the moment you would finally be free.

And now—standing here, wrapped in his arms, his heartbeat thrumming against your own—you realized that freedom had never been something waiting for you on the horizon.

It had been yours to take all along.

[kayhi808]

OK, let’s say he comes back from a mission and it was really rough on him and he kind of relapsed into the winter soldier(slightly very very slightly) and Steve let’s reader know that a lot happened. Abby has went away with Natasha for a weekend together as reader was really busy w work. Bucky comes home and is so so on edge and is afraid he will hurt reader and isolates himself especially after he almost hurt reader when she crept up too silent behind him. so he hates himself rn. BUT THEN ABBY RUNS IN OUT OF NOWHERE AND HUGS HIM CUS SHE WAS WAITING FOR HIM TO COME BACK AND BOOM man either lets out the craziest sigh or low keys cries because he realizes he is okay. idk something like that if it makes sense ¯\_(ツ)_/

🧹

Thank you, to my favorite anon!💕 It took me forever to get to this one. This was a lot to go on. It could have gone really dark and angsty, but I'm trying to keep my Abby stories a little lighter. Hope you like it.🤗

Bucky was gone on what turned out to be an intense mission & word just came back that his team was returning. Steve and Bucky were heading the mission so you weren't too worried. You always like when they are sent out together because you knew they had each other's backs. ALWAYS

The quinjet touched down & the crew disembarked. You saw Bucky and Steve walking down the ramp, deep in conversation. As soon as Bucky made eye contact with you, you felt something was wrong. Then he veered away from you to another entry into the Tower and you knew something was very wrong.

You started to follow him, but Steve blocked your path. "What happened? What's wrong with Bucky??"

"Y/N, give him some time, this mission was rough on him."

"Is he hurt? Is he ok?"

"Physically he's fine..."

Impatiently, "then tell me what happened!"

"It's his story to tell. He needs a little bit of time to sort out the demons in his head. That's all."

"That's all?!?"

"It's what he wants."

******

You were able to give him 2 days to himself, until you caved in & tried calling Bucky just to hear his voice. For him to tell you he's ok but needs time to himself. You'd understand that. But for him to send your call to voicemail pissed you off. You left a message last night & today's you were leaving to pick up Abby, you tried again & you got his voicemail.

"Babe? Can you please call me back, text me...or something, so I know you're alive yet purposefully ignoring me? That would be great." You sigh, "Is this how we are going forward in this relationship? This will be the new communication norm?"

You gather your things to head out of the building, but up ahead you see Steve & Bucky. You hurry to catch up with them. You grab onto Bucky's arm & before you can even say his name, his hand is on your sternum, and you're shoved against the wall. A startled yelp escapes & he releases you immediately. "Fuck!" His hands drop to your arms, "Are you ok? Did I hurt you?" Steve pulls Bucky back.

You reach for his hands, "I'm fine. You startled me." You look up at him and he looks so tired. You go to hug him but he pulls away from you. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, Buck?" You turn to Steve, "Would you do me a big favor and pick-up Abby from pre-school, please?"

"Yea, sure " He shoots Bucky a worried glance before he leaves.

*****

Once you're back at Bucky's residence, "Are you ready to tell me what happened?" You flop yourself down on his couch.

"I can't... I can't let those things...touch you. You don't need to know about HYDRA."

"Bucky, I know about HYDRA. I work here! Nick Fury is my boss."

"You don't need to know about the Winter Soldier. You don't need to know about me back then." Bucky stops pacing & drops down into his chair.

"You don't think I've done my research before dating you? Before I let you be around my daughter? What you did back then was not your fault. You weren't given a choice. HYDRA had control of you. Babe, you are not the same person."

"I'm still capable..."

You move to sit at the foot of his chair, "No! Stop it."

"Doll, I could have killed you back there!"

"You didn't. You wouldn't. You're James Barnes, not the Winter Soldier!" You squeeze his hands. "Talk to me, Bucky. Let me share your burden. We're in this life together. Please tell me what happened."

With a deep sigh, "We went to hit an active HYDRA base camp." You nod. "Doll, there were cribs there. In the lab, there were children's bed and restraints." You softly gasp, squeezing his hands tighter. "We couldn't locate any of the children, but now I know they're out there somewhere."

"Oh, Bucky." Tears prickling your eyes, "I'm so sorry."

"I killed them all. Whoever was there." You kneel up to wrap your arms around him. It took a while for him to return your hug, but you didn't let go. He gives in and pulls you tightly to him.

"You think I wouldn't do the same if I could? Wouldn't anyone do the same? The only difference is that we don't have your skill set." Pulling away, cradling his face between your palms to get him to look at you, "Just because you have the skills, does not make you the Winter Soldier." You give him a soft kiss. "The job you took on isn't an easy one, but you're making the world a safer place. For people like me and Abby."

"I saw the cribs and beds and I...I thought of Abigail. And...I snapped." You nod.

"I understand how that could happen." Bucky pulls you onto his lap & he holds you for a long time in silence. You offered him comfort any way you could. You understand now why he was so affected by this mission. "You need to talk to me and tell me what's going on. You can't shut me out, Buck. I was so worried. If the situation was flipped, how would you handle me shutting down on you?"

"Not well." He gives you a slight smile.

Nodding, "exactly." You lean back against him as he wraps you in his arms.

"I'm sorry."

*******

Steve picks up Abby and visits with Ms Grace before returning to the Tower, hoping you and Bucky ironed out your differences. He texts you both letting you know he's got Abs in the common room watching TV.

"You knows what, Uncle Steve?"

"No, what Abs."

"Chloe and Mia says a new Lilo & Stitch movies coming outs."

"Oh, yea? Wow."

Abby stands up on the couch next to Steve and slings her arm across his shoulders. "Rights?? I so 'cited! You know what, Uncle Steve?"

"No, what Abs?"

"You wants to take me to the Lilo & Stitch movies?"

"Won't your Mama and Bucky take you to see it? Did they say no?" Steve has to ask. He's not going to be caught up in one of Abby's tricks and get in trouble with you.

"Mama gonna takes me, but you can takes me," holding up two fingers, "two time." She gives Steve a sweet smile.

"Abigail."

She cackles. "What if I likes it so much and wants to sees it again? Like Wicked?"

Steve rolls his eyes, "Fine. If you like it so much, I'll take you to watch it again."

Abby squashes her cheek against Steve's while strangling him around the neck, "Oh, tank you! Yous the best Uncle in all the worlds!" She sees Bucky in the doorway and Uncle Steve is quickly forgotten. "Papa! You homes!!" She bounces off the couch and runs to Bucky with arms spread wide.

Bucky steps back, away from your incoming toddler, banging into you. "It's ok, Bucky."

Abby doesn't slow down, so Bucky is forced to catch her and lift her into his arms. "I missed-ed you so much!" Abby peppers his face with kisses. She pulls away & squishes his face between her palms, "You missed-ed me, too?" A happy hopeful smile on her face.

Bucky nods, answering quietly, "Yea, baby. I missed-ed you, too," dropping a kiss on her nose which makes her do a happy wiggle.

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood @jvanilly

[writememysticfalls]

Love Sick | Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: Klaus treats you like trash, but you keep falling into his bed. One night, Elijah confronts you about it.

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Genre: Suggestive, Angsty

Word count: <1k

You staggered out of Klaus's room at 3AM, sobbing. You dragged the sleeve of your party dress over your eyes. Blood was sticky on your neck.

Klaus's bedroom door opened, and a bundle of your clothes was thrown out.

You grabbed them, and walked to the door.

In the dark, you didn't notice that a figure was leaning against the door, stopping you from leaving.

You flicked on the light, and gasped.

Elijah was standing there, staring at you.

“Get out of my way,” you sniffed.

Elijah frowned, his thumb flicking a tear off your jaw. “What did that bastard do to you?”

“None of your business,” you said, reaching for the doorhandle.

Rolling his eyes, Elijah took off his jacket and thrust it at you. “Take this, at least.”

You were going to refuse, but then a shiver ran through you. You grabbed the jacket. It smelled like Elijah - perfumed, yet earthy.

As you opened the door, you could feel his dark eyes on you, on the holes in your ripped dress.

You turned. “You have no right to look at me like that. You live with Klaus!”

Elijah scoffed. “And I've learnt to look the other way as he treats beautiful women like animals. But not you, Y/n. You… can do better than him.”

“Oh yeah?” you said. “And you could give me so much more than Klaus?” You grabbed his collar, bringing your face right up to his. “Save it,” you whispered. “You men are all the same.”

You let him go, roughly. Elijah rubbed his neck, his eyes on you.

You met Elijah's eye. “At least, before Klaus treats me like crap, he gives me a nice good fuck.”

Elijah's lips fell open.

You liked how shocked he looked, how hurt. You were sick of Elijah pitying you. Well, you'd won this time.

To your surprise, he didn't leave. He stepped towards you.

His eyes never leaving yours, he knelt and kissed your hand. You shivered for a whole new reason.

“It is sad to see that little has changed since I was a young man,” he said. “Great women still believe they have to let men push them around to find pleasure.”

“And you wouldn't push me around?” you said.

“Oh, Y/n,” he murmured, dragging his soft lips along your wrist, up your arm, to place a wet kiss in the hollow beneath your collarbone. “I would do you like a gentleman.”

Your nostrils flared. “Yeah, right.”

Elijah lifted you by the waist, and somehow, you knew to wrap your legs around him.

He spun you around, slowly. You let your head fall back, your hair cascading. In his arms, you felt above everything, above Klaus.

“Y/n,” he said in your ear, “I would never send you away at the break of dawn. I would wake you in the morning with a hundred kisses.”

He kissed an invisible trail along each of your collarbones, then finally, in the gap between.

It was a totally different feeling to being with Klaus. You were used to excitement, a little fear - but not this. Not this melting.

Elijah let you down, slowly. His hands moved down your body, lightly grazing each scratch and cut on your skin. “I would never make you call out in pain.” His eyes narrowed naughtily. “Only in pleasure.”

Suddenly, his face was deadly serious. His fingers felt cold as he wiped away your tears. He spoke through gritted teeth. “And this I promise you, Y/n. I will never make you cry.”

You narrowed your eyes at Elijah, thrusting your chin up at him. “Things have changed a little since you were you were young. You might be a gentleman, but I'm no lady.”

Eliijah smiled, watching you intently. “Then I suppose you’ll have to teach me how to pleasure the modern woman."

You smiled, interlacing your fingers with his. “Challenge accepted.”

_

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[marscantread7]

i saw ur post and thought abt caleb being tied to the bed and blindfolded and he has to guess if its xavier or mc sucking his cock or he wont get to cum🤭

OH MY DAYS MMMFFFFGGGGHH ANON I JS CAME🤤🤤🤤 OMFG WHAT... that's actually so smart, like honestly!

Truly, like he thought he could be so cocky, saying he has their mouths memorized like the palm of his hand. He would be able to tell who's sucking him off, easy. Well... they decided to put him to the test.

Xavier was the one who tied him up, bc obviously he has experience w/ that... ofc he does. And mc putting that silly sleep mask w/ the eyes on to blindfold him, and they lay out the rules.

"We're gonna start easy. First, we're gonna use our hands. Should be easy to tell those apart right? Then we're gonna use our whole mouth, next our tongues, then our lips, and last our teeth. For bonus, we'll each use a finger or rub our cheeks on this pretty little thing. Good enough right?" And all Caleb could do was nod. He was so fucked...

"And if u get even ONE thing wrong, we're gonna edge u so good, and we know how vocal u get, so we have a little surprise to keep u quiet. Is all this okay?" Once again, Caleb nodded, giving them the confirmation to go ahead.

....

Yeah he was fucked, he was completely and utterly fucked. Mc tied her hair up in a tight bun so there was no telling whose mouth this was. Two levels in and he was alr struggling, whining desperately, bucking up. Fuck, and they were both completely silent, not answering him at all, so it was impossible to guess who this was.

"F-f-fuck.. mmmmggggggghhhh please- my god- Mc right??? It's mc right?!" His voice was so high pitched and whiny, and he heard it. A laugh... that didn't come from the mouth on his cock... and it sounded exactly like mc...

"Wrong." Caleb yelped as a piece of fabric was shoved in his mouth, moaning when he realizes it was Xavier's fucking boxers, coated in both of their cum.

Xavier popped off his cock, clearing his throat. "Better luck next time. Knock on the headboard twice when ur abt to cum. There will be. Consequences if u cum w/o permission."

And Caleb's back flew into the most beautiful arch as he felt a slap against his cock, mc laughing as it happened. There were hands all over his body, one hand fondling his balls, another stroking him, someone's hand was playing w/ his nipples... he literally didn't think it was possible to hold it in. His body was on fire and he only came ONCE.

Caleb frantically knocked on the headboard, moans raising in pitch, toes curling, he was right there, and then it was all gone. He let out a sob as the impending orgasm went away, Xavier letting out a soft moan, mc laughing at the tears falling passed the mask.

"Good boy. Look, u have Xavier so affected, and he's not even touched rn." Oh Caleb was going to punish that little smartass so good once he was out of these restraints. Xavier was gonna get it too, but mc was being a beast tonight. He'll show them once he's out... if he ever gets out.

--------------------------------------------------------

I can try to write a whole fic if ur interested, I've js never actually written a full fic, only small drabbles like this. I wouldn't mind trying though bc this concept is js so🤤🤤🤤 ugh tysm anon, ur so cool for this

[pupyuj]

baby daddy gaeul thoughts? :)

omg anon i was just gonna link you this old baby daddy ive drabble i did but i realized there's literally nothing much for gaeul there so now we out here‼️‼️‼️

idek how nasty i can get with this since i stated in my last baby daddy ive drabble that gaeul’s just really fucking sweet 😭💕 like truly!!!! taking care of you day and night throughout your whole pregnancy and when the baby’s here, she just gets even better! 🥺💓 she becomes a hundred times more attractive to you while she does the whole parent stuff… it warms your heart every time you wake up in the morning and you see her by the window holding your kid in her arms and singing them a soft melody.. but really also makes you think that wow.. you reallyyyy scored the jackpot huh 😛😛

ofc the two of you would act appropriately when the kid’s around but once they’re grown enough to be away from home for daycare or something??? oh trusttt that you and gaeul revert back to your young adult selves where you just can’t keep your hands off each other 😵‍💫 gaeul would come back in the house from taking your kid to school and she would see you making a little mid-morning snack and she just can’t help herself seeing you in your nightgown and apron 🤤🤤

don’t be surprised when gaeul inevitably presses up against you from behind while you’re slightly bent over the kitchen island as you ate your snack! 🤭 you could be talking to a friend over the phone too… having to bite back a small whine when she palms your ass and tells you to hang up the call.. and ofc you do that bcs what else were you gonna do?? not get fucked?? come on now 😤

first it would just be little kisses on your neck and shoulders, and then she’d have her hand in between your legs from behind and ykw i believe gaeul can be an ass sometimes! teasing you about being so wet, claiming that you probably didn’t change out of that nightgown in hopes of this exact scenario happening… and it was true! 🤭 but you’re not going to allow yourself to be the only one embarrassed here! making a comment about how gaeul’s jeans are near to bursting open bcs of the hard-on that you knew has been there the second she started driving back home to you.. yeah gaeul wasn’t being as slick as she thought she was 🫠🫠

apparently that was the last straw bcs then you’re laying on the couch taking gaeul’s whole cock inside you effortlessly and it felt a lot better when it wasn’t dead in the night and the two of you were trying to be sneaky 🫢 even gaeul couldn’t keep herself quiet at all, and has she always been so… chatty??

“t-the way you’ve been acting lately is so… f-familiar… mmm.. i’ve been trying to figure it out for d-days and… fuck—i finally know why…! i know what you want, darling…”

“you don’t want to fuck just for the sake of fucking, don’t you…? you want another one…!”

“is that what we’re doing today? hm?? you’re going to take me until we have another baby, huh?”

well when she talked like that… it wasn’t very shocking that you’d come home with amazing news after a visit to a doctor 🫣

[ghouljams]

I used to use c.ai to help me write when I went through a mental block. I didn’t see the harm cause I’d put in my own original characters to “speak” to. I wanted it to be easy and I’d just blab and talk to’em cause I didn’t want to write in my word doc. And then it started becoming more, I stopped writing entirely and stayed on c.ai. It gave me that rush you were mentioning and I couldn’t put my phone down.

It wasn’t until I saw writers talking about how their works were being screened and taken and then used for c.ai that I realized that I was part of the problem. I was one of the reasons why writers works were being stolen and taken and I felt incredibly guilty. Even using my own OC’s, even putting my own works into it, I was still stealing. I was still taking from real authors and real writers just so I could “feel” like I was speaking to my OC’s.

I’m glad to say that I quit and got out of it. I replaced c.ai with hobbies and spent my time creating instead of taking, you know? I still feel bad using it. I write every now and then but it just feels wrong to write now.

I think this shows one of the biggest issues with c.ai and generative ai: you STOPPED creating.

You weren't just stealing from other authors you were stealing from yourself. You were giving your art to the machine and it was grinding that art down to the base components so that it could put a bunch of ground meat on your plate and call it steak. Your art wasn't just being sold to you, but to other people, regurgitated into a slurry that leaves you starving for the real thing.

This is just my own opinion on the niche that "ai as a tool" is filling, but I truly think that this is a symptom of the loneliness epidemic. It used to be that if you were stuck on a story beat or needed to bounce ideas off something you'd go to your friend and word vomit on them until you reached a ping-pong-ing idea nirvana. Now you can just go to a robot and avoid talking to other people(avoid talking to yourself even!) because the robot will give you something that it thinks you might like.

It's nice being able to talk to your OCs, but (and this is truly the best advice I ever received about writing) they're not real people.

I was once at a book reading/Q&A with an author who wrote short stories, and a well meaning student asked him "How do you get your characters to do what you want them to do when they seem so determined to do something else?" And he said, "I don't make them do anything. They're not real, so they feel and act how I write them to."

Writing (any kind of creation) is a muscle that you have to work out in order to use it for long stretches. It hurts when you're not used to using it, and when you've gotten used to a certain kind of dopamine rush or style it feels bad to write. I had a human rp partner that I wrote with for years, I'm talking novel series length roleplays, and when I tried to write for myself it hurt. I felt bad, like it wasn't up to snuff, like I only knew how to write half a story, like they could do it better if I just could hop in a rp with them. It sucked. I wrote a horrible novel trying to cope with my rp withdrawals lol.

Using "generative" ai atrophies your creative muscles. It's not a tool so much as an easy way out. Creating is hard, it just is, it takes a piece of you and puts it out into the world. You don't always see the fruits of your labor right away, and that makes it feel like your effort was wasted, but just because the seed you planted doesn't sprout right away doesn't mean it's dead.

If it feels wrong to write then change how you write. Maybe you should try roleplaying with yourself like I suggested to the other anon. Write like a chat:

Soap: Hello Ghoul

Me: Back off freak.

Bring back the old fanfiction dot net style of authors interacting with characters directly. There's no rules to your art, write in a way that makes you happy because it's your writing and not an ai. Write yourself into your OC's stories as a random extra, write from that perspective. Make up aus for no reason other than you want to. Follow every plot bunny that catches your attention. Put one sentence in your notes app and forget about it. You're building creative muscles, it's not going to feel great, and maybe it'll take a while to get back to where you were before you started using c.ai, but if the time passes anyway then why not try?

[grogumaximus]

just want to correct some things cos there's a lot of wrong info in here n i'll start it with jaden munoz with williams won the championship

n definitely the beef between them (i think between the teams too?) goes back even before Daytona IMSA (anon referring to it as GTP IMSA) n as far as i know smth happened after Sebring IMSA race on 5th jan

cameron who's jaden's friend knew what was gonna happen on 12th jan (Daytona IMSA race) even before it went down. we don't know what happened between jaden n max/their teams before that to cause this beef so we can't really judge who's wrong or right although crashing someone on purpose is wrong n dirty driving n will always come off childish n the criticism max is getting for this is valid tho i know based on what we see max wouldn't be acting like this without there being smth behind it. n clearly there is

that being said the hate jaden is getting from some verstappies is ridiculous but that will always exist in sports. it doesn't look like jaden meant it cos he used to be a max fan. his comments felt like it was just a heat of the moment thing

In the vein of calling out our favs I'll tell you what Max did:

Max was racing in an iRacing event yesterday

Also racing in the same event is Jaden Munoz who is a Williams driver for their iRacing academy. Jaden is 19 years old iirc

Jaden was a Max fan and there are multiple tweets of him from 2021-2022 praising Max

Max and Jaden started close to eachother at the beginning of the race and were battling for the lead. Max was ahead. Max defended very aggressively, honestly too aggressively, and made two left-right manoeuvres to hold the lead. The contact would not have been so bad but Max was swerving and he dropped right to the back of the grid the moment their cars touched while Jaden kept his position

At this point Jaden says: "Look how dumb he is. He doesn't change, ever. He's so dumb" about Max. This is not a random insult, contrary to the way it was framed. Max had crashed Jaden out 2 weeks ago in the first lap of the 2024-25 GTP IMSA Global Esports Championship season finale. I think it's very important to point out that Jaden was leading the GTP IMSA championship and that was the last race of the season. He would have won it if Max hadn't crashed him out. Max was completely at fault and received a drive-through penalty for that collision

Back to our race from yesterday, Jaden drives a great race and keeps 2nd position

Towards the end of the race Jaden encounters Max again to lap him. The moment he sees that Max is the next car to lap he says "Oh no. Oh no, no, no." Implying that he thinks Max is about to crash him out as retaliation. And that's exactly what Max does: he purposefully crashes out Jaden.

Now we get to the only part of the story that anyone seems to care about which is Jaden's reaction when Max crashes him out which was: "Yeah, I knew it, I knew it. This is why you were gifted everything in your life, Max. You're a spoilt brat. You'd be nothing without your father. You'd be nothing. You'd be a nobody."

That's the totality of what happened. Since then Jaden has been getting a lot of hate on all his social media for saying Max is a spoilt brat who would be nothing without Jos. Honesty had it been anyone else besides a 19 year old Mexican-American kid I wouldn't have written this up. But as a Mexican-American experiencing Trump's Amerikkka I think the reaction towards Jaden is fucked up and unwarranted. He's a teenager with working class parents, gaming is literally his career. He was going to be champion two weeks ago and Max crashed him out, there was clearly residual resentment from that. The prize money for iRacing is probably what Max spends on a dessert in Monaco but again it's Jaden's career, it's his whole job, it's how he makes money. He anticipated Max would crash him out and then Max proved him right. I don't think it's the crime it's been made out to be for a hispanic 19 year old to bitterly point out that Jos was a millionaire who helped Max progress in his career. Again Max is a fav and maybe I'd feel a different way about this if the political climate was different but it just made me very sad and very bitter

thank you sm for writing all of this. Def call out your favs and you're definitely valid in how you feel

[brotherwtf]

It'll be so much better if Gale was an older like mid-late 30s. He's a successful businessman but he's struggling with his personal life. He's married to Marge and probably in the closet or he probably doesn't even understand himself that he can be attracted to men also. And John is fresh new hire, very confident and charming and very much aware of his sexuality.

I believe this is in reference to this post and ANON I TOTALLY AGREE

Gale very much having his quarter life crisis because he's not happy at all right now, he's in an unhappy marriage with a monotonous job and he's so closeted it's physically painful, the very thought of a man being attractive sends him reeling and he can barely have sex with Marge because his brain wishes that he were Marge?? getting fucked??? and he literally can't deal with that poor guy will combust

so he drowns himself in work so he doesn't have to deal with his home life, spends as much time at the office as he can because he can't deal with Marge's melancholy face whenever Gale comes home from work and so that's basically his life now

insert John, transfer that corporate sent in to work alongside Gale as a sort of project manager and Gale's life gets fucking turned on its head because John is one hell of a man and Gale's probably gonna crash out because of him

but John's just such a sexual person, tight clothes and sleezy smiles, pornographic mustache and stupid big muscles, he's so easy with words and easier with touch and whenever he claps his hand on Gale's shoulder or his thigh Gale's having a homosexual crisis because this isn't normal, he shouldn't be feeling this way about a man, and especially not like John

God maybe Johns talking about some guy he hooked up with and Gale finally works up the courage to ask him how he knew, how did he know he liked men? and John just smiles that stupid smile and says something "oh you just know, baby" and the air raid sirens are going off in Gale's brain right now as he tries to keep his boner in check

maybe they start spending more time together outside of work and Gale's starting to get a life again, going out with John and watching him work his magic, going to dinners and baseball games and everything because John complains that Gale's so boring all of the time and he just needs to let loose and Gale feels safe to let loose around John

they're at dinner when Gale finally asks like "hey what's it like to kiss a man? is it different?" and Johns like "oh it's like nothing else, feels hotter and more raw than kissing a chick" and the tension can be chopped with an axe while John's eye-fucking Gale and then he finally just leans across and closes the gap, a hand on the back of Gale's head to press him closer

and you wouldn't believe the fucking choirs of angels that sung when they finally kissed bcs Gale just felt right, whatever didn't feel right with Marge felt right with John and now he's letting him take the lead and Gale loves it, loves not having to think or perform like he's so used to doing

anyway John taking Gale under his gay wing is top tier prompt thank you anon

[snowseasonmademe]

Just one more

warning ‼️: smut

word count: 1,319

pairing: aurelien x black female reader

summary: aurelien is just mesmerized by the feeling of you. he can’t get enough.

note: a little something , courtesy of bae @whoevenisthiz and her anon. everyone say thank you. this one is kinda short because it’s literally the end of them having sex lol. as always enjoy and tell me what you think🤍!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night had stretched long into the early hours of the morning, your body marked with the aftermath of Aurelien’s insatiable hunger. He had taken you apart more times than you could count, each round more intense than the last, each kiss, each thrust, each whispered command igniting something deeper, more desperate within you. He had worshipped you, wrecked you, and then put you back together again with the reverence of a man who knew your body better than his own.

Now, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, your limbs weak, your body heavy with the blissful ache of satisfaction. You were tangled in the sheets with him, your cheek pressed to his chest, his scent—clean, masculine, intoxicating—filling your senses. His arms were wrapped around you, his fingers idly tracing the curve of your spine, slow, gentle, grounding you in the warmth of his embrace.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of the early morning, the golden light creeping through the sheer curtains, casting delicate streaks across the rumpled sheets. The scent of sweat, sex, and something undeniably Aurelien lingered in the air, wrapping around you like an intoxicating haze. Your limbs felt heavy, your body deliciously spent, skin still thrumming from the intensity of what had just transpired.

You lay sprawled against his chest, your breath slowing, your heartbeat gradually finding a steadier rhythm. His skin was warm beneath your cheek, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a hazy state of satisfaction. His arm was draped around your waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns against the curve of your back, a silent possession that made you feel safe and owned all at once.

You exhaled deeply, your lashes fluttering as exhaustion threatened to drag you under. But just as your body began to sink into the blissful promise of sleep, you felt Aurelien shift beneath you.

A slow, knowing movement.

Your brows furrowed as you stirred, but before you could register anything fully, his large hands gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly. Your body followed instinctively, pliant and willing even in your weariness, and before you knew it, you were straddling his lap, your knees sinking into the soft mattress on either side of his hips.

Your eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and questioning. “Aurelien…” your voice was soft, thick with exhaustion, barely above a whisper.

And then, he was there. His face mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips, his dark, hooded eyes drinking you in like a man starved. His hands, strong and sure, gripped your hips, thumbs brushing slow, reverent circles against your skin. His lips parted, and his voice—low, rich, dripping with molten heat—filled the space between you.

“Can you be a good girl for me?” he murmured, his words sending a ripple of heat through your already-sensitive body, “one last time?”

Your breath hitched. The exhaustion that had weighed you down moments ago flickered, wavered beneath the sheer intensity of his gaze. He was so close, his lips hovering just shy of yours, teasing, taunting, his deep brown eyes darkened with something primal.

Your hands found his chest, your fingers splaying against his firm, sweat-slicked muscles. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, steady, strong, but there was something else there too—restraint. A barely leashed hunger, waiting for your answer.

You swallowed hard, body betraying you as you shifted in his lap, feeling the hard press of him between your thighs. The sensation made you whimper softly, your nails pressing into his skin. His grip tightened in response, the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

“I’ll let you sleep after” he promised, voice smooth, persuasive, coaxing you deeper into his spell. “Just one more, bébé. Be good for me.”

You shivered at the sheer command laced into his tone, the dominance wrapped in honey. Your lips parted, a breathless sound escaping before you nodded, barely realizing you were agreeing before the word slipped from your mouth.

“Okay” you whispered.

And that was all he needed.

Aurelien’s mouth was on yours in an instant, his lips claiming you in a kiss so deep, so consuming, it left you lightheaded. His hands roamed your body, mapping every inch of you as if relearning what he already knew so well. His tongue slid against yours, slow, coaxing small, desperate noises from your throat.

His grip on your hips tightened as he guided you, rolling your body against his dick, making you feel just how much he needed you. The drag of your slick heat against his hardness sent a jolt of heat through you, your body responding despite the exhaustion weighing in your limbs.

His mouth left yours, trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat. “That’s my girl” he murmured against your skin, his voice sending shivers racing down your spine. “I knew you had one more in you.”

His praise made you melt, made you forget the fatigue settling in your bones. He was so good with his words, so devastatingly smooth with the way he spoke to you, each syllable soaked in adoration and control.

You felt him line himself up, his tip teasing your entrance, and you gasped, already oversensitive. He groaned softly, gripping your waist and guiding you down, inch by inch, filling you in a way that left you breathless.

“Fuck” he growled, his head tipping back against the pillows, his grip on you tightening. “You feel so fucking good.”

Your hands braced against his chest as you sank down fully, your walls fluttering around him, adjusting, stretching to take him all over again. Aurelien’s eyes were locked onto yours, hooded with desire, his lips parted as he drank in the sight of you above him.

You felt his hands slide up your back, his touch slow, reverent, as if savoring the way your body molded to his. And then, with a slow roll of his hips, he set the pace, coaxing you into movement, guiding you into a rhythm that was both deep and intoxicating.

You whimpered, your nails dragging across his skin as pleasure built once more, coiling low in your stomach. The sound of your bodies moving together, slick and sinful, filled the quiet morning air, punctuated only by the soft, breathless moans that spilled from your lips.

Aurelien’s grip on you was possessive, his voice a low rasp against your ear. “That’s it, bébé… just like that.”

You could feel the strain in his muscles, the restraint he was barely holding onto as he let you set the pace, let you take what you needed. But then his hands shifted, sliding down to your hips, gripping tight.

And then he took control.

He thrust up into you, sharp and precise, stealing the breath from your lungs. You cried out, your hands flying to his shoulders, clinging to him as pleasure sparked through your nerves. His grip didn’t falter, his thrusts steady, each movement dragging you closer to the edge.

“Aurelien” you gasped, your voice trembling.

His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Say my name again” he commanded, his tone dark, full of wicked pleasure.

You did. Again and again, until the only thing left in your mind was him—the way he filled you, the way he moved, the way he owned you completely.

Your climax hit you hard, tearing through you like wildfire, and Aurelien followed seconds later, his grip turning bruising as he spilled inside you with a deep, guttural groan.

You collapsed against his chest, breathless, boneless, utterly spent.

Aurelien chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his voice a deep murmur against your skin.

“Now” he whispered, smirking against your temple, “you can sleep, chérie.”

And this time, he let you.

[giggly-squiggily]

hiii, i saw that your demon slayer requests were limited and hope i sent in an ask on time before they piled up! may i pls request tanjiro and genya tickling muichiro after he randomly blurts out that he misses whenever his parents or yuichiro tickled him?

thanks and hope you have a great day/night! your writing is amazing!!

God my Demon Slayer heart has been BLAZING lately! This is such a bittersweet thought and I love it so very much! Anon, I've gotcha covered! :D

CW: Light Hurt/comfort, spoilers for Muichiro's past

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @wolfyeatstacos @gladdygirl18 @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @t-wordiiish @sarahmaystock5578 @rachi-roo @mystwrites @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @giggly-toybox

“Get ohohoff me! Yoohohu ass!”

“Stop swearing- this is good for you!”

I miss that. That was the first thing that came to Muichiro’s mind as he watched the pair playing. Before, he didn’t know what the dull ache in his chest meant whenever they wrestled across the wooden floor, laughing and arguing about.

With his memories returned, he now knew exactly what it was- and he didn’t know if the proper response was to laugh in nostalgia or sob in longing.

Tanjiro and Genya were looking at him now- eyes wide with concern and surprise. When did they stop play-fighting?

…Oh. He said it outloud, didn’t he?

“Sorry.” Muichiro smiled, feeling his stomach churn with instant regret. “Just thinking out loud, that’s all. I didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“The mood is still alive- just temporarily on hold.” Genya leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the younger boy. “What do you mean, ‘I miss that’?”

“It’s nothing, really-”

“Nothing my ass! You look like you’re on the verge of tears!” Genya pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Talk or I’ll make you!”

“Gentle.” Tanjiro lowered Genya’s arm, turning to look at Muichiro next. “Though he’s not wrong, Lord Tokito. I smelled such a strong sadness from you just now. I can’t let that go- especially now that we’re friends.”

“Friends. Ah- I suppose that’s what we are now.” The Mist Hashira nodded, considering their words. After a few minutes, he decided to confide in them. “You two just now. You guys were having a tickle fight. It just reminded me of my family.

“Yu-” His voice caught the name, shaking for just a moment. “My brother. He would always tickle me. Whenever I was feeling down or anxious or just moody. He said I made funny noises.” The ache spread from the base of his ribs to the tops of his lungs. His throat suddenly felt very tight, but he forced himself to keep smiling through it. “He always found the oddest things funny. I guess seeing you guys fight like that- it made me think of him.”

Genya’s glare was long gone, replaced with wide, wet eyes. Tanjiro’s smile was sad, understanding in his comforting gaze as he reached out, taking Muichiro’s hand. “My family was like that too. I used to get into tickle fights with my siblings all the time. Their laughter was my favorite sound.”

“Same. Brother was like that too.” Genya nodded, running a hand over his mouth to hide his quivering lip. “He always said we were so noisy first thing in the morning. ‘Who needs  a rooster when I have you guys?’”

Tanjiro giggled. Muichiro smiled, but his chest remained in pain. Now he knew he killed the mood. As good as it felt to share, he clearly brought up memories for these two that were painful. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have-” “GAH!” Genya roared and charged him, tackling Muichiro into the nearest futon. “Shut up and die!”

“What-EEK! Ahehahahaha! W-Wahahhait, wahhahahait, hhoohohohold ohohohon!” Muichiro cried out in sudden giggles, arching hard as Genya squeezed his sides. “Whhahahaht dohohohoho yohohohu mehehahahahn?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You’re about to be stupid!” Genya cried in return, switching from squeezes to gentle pokes and prods. “If you thought for a second I was going to sit here and let you feel bad for sharing your history with us, you’re a bigger jughead than I thought!”

“Juhuhuhuug heahhahahahd?”

“Jughead!”

“Buhuhuhut my heahhahad’s nhoohohormal-”

“Shut up and get tickled!” Genya pinched along his lower ribs, making him squeal.

“Hold on, Genya- wait a moment. You know how Lord Tokito is.” Tanjiro came into view now, hands coming out and tapping Genya’s until he paused. Able to catch his breath now, Muichiro thanked him internally. “I’ve gotten good at translating Shinazugawas.”

“Oi!” Genya fussed, blushing. Tanjiro stuck his tongue out playfully.

“I have, though! What he’s saying is- you shouldn’t feel bad for sharing memories about your family. Even if we tear up, we’re not upset. We just relate to your pain.” Despite the words, Tanjiro smiled down at him, watching clarity pass over Muichiro’s face. “So don’t feel bad, okay Lord Tokito. Talking about those who’ve passed on; it’s a part of honoring their memory.”

Muichiro nodded, letting the words settle in. Such simple truths, but hearing them from Tanjiro felt more solid. Still.. “Muichiro.”

“Hm?” The brunette blinked, tilting his head.

“Drop the Lord Tokito thing. At least when it’s just us. We’re friends. You can call me Muichiro.” He nodded at Genya too, making him flush in surprise. “Both of you.”

“Aww..Lor-Muichiro!” Tanjiro laughed, delighted. Genya looked thrilled as well. Just like that, his friends were smiling once more.

“Good. Glad we got that sorted. Can you let me up?”

“No.” Tanjiro was still smiling. “Resume tickling, Genya!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” The other barked, doing as he was told. Muichiro didn’t stand a chance.

“Ah! Ahahahahhaha, cohoohohhome ohohohohn! Thihihihis isn’t fahhahahir!” The younger boy squealed as he was tickled once more, his position even worse now with Tanjiro grabbing his wrists and pulling them high. “Twhohohohohho on ohohohohone is agahhahahainst the ruhuhuhules!”

“Not when it comes to fighting Hashira!” Genya pointed out, softening his touch as he walked his hands up and down Muichiro’s torso. “You even said so yourself the other day during training! How you could take down at least ten of us in your sleep?”

“Thaahhaht’s a lihihihiihe! I nehehehehver sahahhaid thahahhat!”

“He’s right, Genya. He didn’t say ten.” Tanjiro pointed out. “He said twenty.”

“My point exactly!”

“Tahhahahnjirohohohu I truhuhuusted yoohohohohu!” The Mist Hashira whined through his giggles, wiggling this way and that as his ribs were picked at. He knew he could easily break free from these two- Tanjiro’s grip was barely considered firm- but what fun would that be? “Yoohohohohu betrahhahahyed meheheheehhehe!”

“Forgive me. It’s for the greater good.” Tanjiro snickered, daring a cheeky wink. The nerve! The gal!

“Hey- where’s these supposed funny noises you make, Muichiro?” Genya asked, giving the Mist Hashira a breather. “Don’t get me wrong- you do sound rather cute now with all that squealing, but I want to hear the real funny stuff, you know?”

“Shahhame…” He groaned around giggles, face heating up at being called cute. Tanjiro hummed in thought.

“Should we flip him over?” He asked.

“NO!” Muichiro’s squeak clashed with Genya’s “YEAH!” They looked at him with amused grins, watching him grow fifty shades redder beneath their stares. “I mean-  yo-you don’t really hahahlf too, yeah?”

“Do you want us to flip you over?” Tanjiro asked with a knowing grin. Muichiro looked anywhere but them, voice suddenly lost. All he could do was nod.

“So damn cute.” Genya’s murmur was nearly lost to him as he was flipped like a pancake. He didn’t so much get a chance to even blush over it before he was shrieking with laughter once more. “Aha! There’s the funny noises!”

“Hehe, yeah! Muichiro, you sound like Inosuke!”

“Aheahhahahahahh! EehheehEHEHEHEK! Gehahahahhaha-AH!” Mess wouldn’t be the right word to describe him. With his face buried in Tanjiro’s thigh, Muichiro let out a series of pig snorts, squeals and whistle notes that would put the best Kashu to shame- all while the pair gently traced his spine and shoulderblades.If Tanjiro and Genya were commenting on it, he could barely make them out over the ticklish feeling. “OHohohoohkay! Ohoohohohokay, yohohoohhou gohohohot yhohohoohur nohohohoises, now stahhahahahahap!”

“Pfft-” Genya sputtered before falling into him, laughing helplessly against the middle of Muichiro’s back. Tanjiro was just as giggly, changing from gentle tickles to soothing touches against his hair. “Oohoho my gohohod, thahaht was amazing!”

“Ihihit was! It was!” Tanjiro agreed, brushing Muichiro’s hair from his face to really look at him. “Are you okay? We didn’t overdo it, did we?”

His whole body felt ablaze. His head kinda hurt, and his chest was now aching for an entirely new reason. Despite all this, he never felt lighter- like the breathing style he mastered. “You’re fine. If ahahanything, I had fun. That was really nice..”

“Nice, huh? We should get you more often then!” Genya poked his sides for emphasis, laughing when his hands got snatched. “Okay okay- no more I promise.” After Muichiro released him, Genya smoothed out the tangles in his hair. “Do now what? Do we go for Tanjiro next?”

“I think- huh?” The brunette yelped, wide eyed at the suggestion. Muichiro smiled, suddenly very motivated.

“Yeah. Let’s get Tanjiro.”

“Now hohohold on! Waahit, wahahhahahahahhait!” He was quickly ambushed by the duo, giggling all the way down even before they touched him.

 Later, when Muichiro would be home alone reflecting on his day, he would think about Yuichiro and how tickle fights with him ended similarly.

His memory still brought tears, but his smile felt more genuine. His chest not nearly as tight. “Heh, I guess they found me funny too, Yuichiro.”

Thanks for reading!