#your chest doesn’t heave at rest unless there is something wrong with you.

[mildmayfoxe]

this is a sweet post in theory but describing breathing at rest as “chest heaving and falling” and reading a book as having “flapping and shining eyes” is really killing me. especially since heaving already describes rise AND fall

[gay-dorito-dust]

How about some blue beetle romantic headcanons?

I might’ve gone on for a bit so I had to stop myself before I go overboard. 🦦

I don’t know much about Jaime but if there’s one thing I do know is that he’s got a big heart, a massive one at that, a heart that withholds a lot of love for the people he’s blessed to have in his life; which so happens to include yourself. ❤️

With you, Jaime is a puppy in love, he’s infatuated and sometimes he doesn’t even realise that he’s doing it unless someone mentions it, it might be because Jamie finds that admiring you comes naturally to him. So much so that it becomes almost second nature for him to just step outside of himself and admire you with a dopey/puppy look in those pretty eyes of his…that is until Khaji-Da’s voice echos within his mind- and interrupting his shameless ogling- to talk about how high his oxytocin and serotonin levels were.

To which he would jump at the sound of before then becoming increasingly warm with embarrassment, which would be something Khaji-Da would also comment on, much to Jaime’s dismay;

‘Jaime, you are flustered, perhaps, embarrassed even?’

‘Oh shut it.’ He would hiss.

‘I’m sorry?’ You’d ask, thinking he was taking to you, which only made Jaime feel even more uncomfortably warm beneath with his skin as he tried to make up for his accidental slip up.

His response would vary based on whether or not he had told you about the whole Blue Beetle thing.

If you didn’t know he was Blue Beetle: ‘Oh no, not you, never you, I was just…talking to myself.’

If you did know he was Blue Beetle; ‘that was towards Kahji-Da. Not you, never at you y/n. Now what we’re you talking about again?’ Jaime would urge you into continuing your conversation, all the while leaning against the wall as the adoring look upon his face reappeared.

Cuddle bug. Look me in the eyes and tell me he’s not because he fucking is!

You’d both be cuddled up on the couch with his head resting on your chest or yours on his chest, just being your lovely selves, when Milagro would often come into the room to tease her brother by dry heaving or telling you both to get a room. She loved her brother and that love often comes with teasing/taunting the fuck out of him like siblings always do.

Allows you to borrow his hoodies because he loves how you look in them, and totally would not try to discreetly snap a few pictures that you will sooner or later find out about after he uses them as his lock/ and or Home Screen. Where again he would trip over himself trying to find an excusable answer before you would have to ultimately stop him before he hurts himself by admitting to how cute and sweet of him that he would make you his home/Lock Screen.

Or even go as far as to dedicate an whole album to you that’s filled with pictures of you both doing mundane stuff but Jaime’s personal favourite pictures would have to be the ones where you’re with his family or stargazing up on the rooftop with him.

‘Of course I would, I mean why wouldn’t I?’ He grabs ahold of your hands in his own. ‘You’re my heart and soul, the light of my life, why wouldn’t I want to dedicate you in one way or another? I withhold no shame in showing you off because at the end of the day I’m remembered that you chose me, and that’s something I would never take for granted for you are my wish upon a star came true.’ He lifts up your hands so that he may presses a kiss to them before squeezing tightly. ‘So let me at the least reciprocate the love you’ve given me.’

Though let’s be honest Khaji-Da would assume that when Jaime lets you wear his clothes, it was under the pretence of a…territorial thing so that others that may pose a threat to your and Jaime’s relationship take note that you weren’t theirs to openly stare at. And to this Khaji-Da would simply say;

‘why don’t we just eliminate all threats, just so that there is no one left alive to challenge us?’

‘First of all, you’ve got it all wrong Khaji-Da, I don’t just give y/n my clothes because I feel territorial over them.’ Jaime would begin to explain. ‘I give them my clothes because I genuinely find them beautiful/handsome/cute/charming/amazing/stunning in them and most of all I want them to feel as though they’ve got a piece of me when I’m away Blue Beetling it up as my scent gives them a sense of peace and comfort. Does that make sense.’ He finishes.

… ‘we could still kill them.’ - Khaji-Da

‘Please stop.’ - Jaime Reyes

Words of affirmation, physical touch and quality time are Jaime’s bread and butter. (though that’s just my personal opinion.)

He’s got a whole book full of affirmations made specifically for you because he becomes like a never ending fountain of sweet, dorky yet beautiful words when it came to you; So much so that there wouldn’t be a day where you went without some affirming and words from your beloved Jaime Reyes. Words that never fail to make your heart melt, your smile grow and overall make you feel like you could move mountains because that’s how being with Jaime made you feel on a daily basis.

So in return, you smother him in kisses, affection and your own words of love because why should you receive all of his love without giving him all of your love back tenfold.

[chris-continues]

Livio comforting reader, giving hugs and reassurances after they've been through a tough time.

For my favorite CinnaBean :)

TAGS: @millionsvash @lune010 @captaintweet @astrathecowboy @vashfantasy @h4venpha @macncherries

NOTES: he’s such a sweetheart <3

Livio.. isn’t the best at articulating his feelings. He loses the words, becomes flustered, overwhelmed.. and he isn’t good at touch, either. Receiving or giving.

But when he sees you, he knows something is wrong. When your replies feel.. dry. For a moment, he worries he upset you somehow, retracing his steps and backtracking, almost spiraling down into the rabbit hole of, “oh god, they must hate me!” Before remembering the wise words of his brother, who’d told him to suck it up and just ask what was wrong if something was bothering him. His communication skills were improving at least, because when he messaged you, he was grateful to receive any reply.

And sadly, yeah. Something is going on. One thing he’s always been good at however, is listening. Silent as a church mouse, yet ever so attentive, he will nod in assent to demonstrate he is actively engaged in what you have to say and you are valid for feeling how you feel. Frustrated. Exhausted. Irritated. Melancholy. Morose. All feelings he can empathize with, echoing your sentiments with understanding that you really do appreciate.

If you want him to come over? He’ll drive to yours, and if he’s got a new baking project lying around he will most certainly bring some over for you.

He’ll silently hand it to you at the door, looming over you. Your eyes appear dull, fatigue seeping through every inch of you as you welcome him inside and place the baked good(s) onto the counter of your kitchen. The air is thick, broken by you sighing as you sit down and pat down the spot on the couch beside you.

“…can you hug me?” Your voice is meek, under your breath as if such a thing were taboo. Livio didn’t know what to expect coming over, but it most certainly wasn’t this. Not that he minded, truly, scooting so your thighs were touching as he opened his arms. You wouldn’t waste such an opportunity, wrapping your arms around his middle and burying your face in his chest. Hesitantly, his arms encase you. The weight of them is comforting, although you don’t think you could find something that isn’t soft about him. Your back heaves, sobs racking you.

“I don’t even know what to do anymore..” your tears soak his shirt, but he could care less, gently patting your back with a large hand that presses against you, palm to the small of your back in an easing embrace. He smells comforting, lavender soap and a tinge of the cologne he occasionally borrows from Wolfwood. “It’s.. it’s ok.” He murmurs, trying to soothe your cries the best he can. He recalls a distant memory from long ago, when Nico would comfort him when he cried. When it was bad. He’d hold him to his chest, hiding him away from the world just for a little while. Burrowing himself into his brother, relaxing into each tentative pat on the head and hesitant affirmation. He was never the best at showing such affections, and neither was Livio, but he’d always appreciate it. Even when your cries cease, he makes no such move to separate himself. You take the lead- you’ll separate if you wish to be separated, you’ll stay if you wish to stay.

For now, you stay. Muttering into his chest, “Thank you, Livio.”

His gaze somehow becomes more tender, “Of course.” His voice is soft, impossibly so. It’s incredibly welcoming, right now.

The silence that awaits you two doesn’t need to be filled, unless you wish for it to be. He’ll oblige, plenty content with letting you rest against him, having him leave, whatever works best for you.

He’ll do whatever.

[not-the-lesbians]

Hey just wondering what reader would do if skz suffered from a subdrop?

of course i’m so so so sorry i’ve not been active i’ve just been struggling with things as of recent

Sub!StrayKids going into subdrop

genre: fluff/smut

warnings: explicit, subdrop

pairing: Sub!StrayKids x Dom!Reader

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Bangchan:

- You were using your strap on after a while because he has been busy and needed to destress 

-you were going at it for not to long, both of you about to reach your first orgasm when you notice that Chan just doesn’t seem there as in aware that he’s being fucked 

-you slow down now stopping which causes him to tune back into whats happening

-”Baby is everything ok? We can stop for tonight if you’re not feeling it” you say soothingly so he doesn’t panic but it seems to not work as he starts to move himself

-”N-no it its ok i can keep going i need this- you need to feel good i want-want you to feel good” he says getting worked up nearly crying as he tries to thrust back into the strap 

-you gently grab his sides to slow his movements so he doesn’t hurt himself “Baby baby calm down it’s ok, baby stop a moment for me please, there you go now calm down and take a breath ok you’re working yourself up” you say now pulled out and the strap gone and you lie down next to him 

-”I’m sorry i just want you to feel good cause i’m never here and i feel guilty cause you’re not getting any pleasure and-an-” “Channie, baby where are you getting that from, tonight was for you not me so baby there is no need to feel guilty... i think you’re still too stressed and tired for this tonight ok?’

-he nods now calmed down and snuggles into your chest sleep hitting him after the stressful day and what just happened

-”There we go now lets get to sleep and we can tackle this tomorrow...i love you Channie”

Minho:

-you were edging Minho after you found out from one of the members that he had been staying back after hours and practicing for hours after they all went home and was overworking himself 

-Minho is laying on his back clutching the pillows and back arching with you resting on your elbow next to him reaching down edging his cock which is now red and solid 

-”Is my little slut ready to cum now? Hmm do you think you deserve to cum after the stunts you’ve been pulling lately?” you say speeding up your hand and the second you see him tense all over you immediately let go and grab his cock again and slowly start pumping it

-His back arches and he grips your wrist you go to remove it before you hear “No! No mummy i’m sorry i-i didn’t mean to ple-ah! please i’m sorry mummy!”

-now you immediately notice something wrong in you years of dating Minho he has never ever called you mummy not once so you slow your pace to a stop and remove your hand placing it on his heaving tummy rubbing gently then turning to his face, eyes blown wide open as you have removed your hand

-’Baby boy whats your colour? Be honest” you say softly now bringing your hand to his cheek turning his head to you “red...i’m sorry mummy i didn’t tell you i ju-” “no baby you said red and called me mummy, you never do that, i think thats enough tonight unless you want to cum then we stop?” “no i don’t i’m too sensitive... i’m sorry i wanted to tell you but i couldn’t get the word out” “thats ok kitten i think we need a break right now ok you’re too worked up”

- you run him a bath and carry him to it and back to bed quickly falling asleep

Changbin:

-you were both feeling a bit frisky 

-you were both in bed and you were hovering over Changbin and he easily slipped into subspace just from deeply making out and some touching here and there you had him like putty in your hands

-you kiss him deeply dominating the kiss his back arching as you slide your hand from his hip you starting to go under his t-shirt but before you can get far he has weakly gripped your wrist pulling it down slightly 

-bearing in mind he’s in deep subspace but still aware enough to pull your hand away from his his t-shirt sent alarm bells off in your head 

-you pul back slowly, him still reaching for your lips but you pull back wanting to tackle this “Baby boy whats wrong?” he looks at you dazed before his eyes start to water and he pulls his hand up to his face and his other to his stomach

-”baby, baby whats wrong you say leaning in close, your hand resting his arm thats clutching his stomach tubbing it gently

-”Do-do you think i’m fat?” this stops you completely, totally thrown off guard but you don’t stop long before you’re back and rubbing his arm and kissing his soft cheek his hand now gone “Of course not baby, what on earth made you think that? You’re stunning, not too heavy not too thin you’re perfect to me”

-his crying stops but his breathing is still a bit laboured “You sure cause stay have been saying i’ve gained too much weight and i can’t possibly be an idol” he says his eyes starting to water but you wipe them before they fall completely stunned at the words that came out of his mouth 

-”Well they aren’t stay then and you are none of those things ok? You listen to me you are none of that, now you know what i think, i think we should order in pizza from your favourite since i know its been a while since you’ve indulged so i think you should treat yourself or in other ways i’ll treat you ok baby boy?” 

-his eyes widen before he breaks out in a smile and nods wiping the remaining tears, you smile down at him and give him a deep kiss before starting to get up 

Hyunjin:

-Hyunjin was riding you when you noticed his movements stopped 

-”Hyunjinnie? Baby you there?” you say reaching up to his waist he looks so distant 

-”Hyunjin i’m gonna lift you off ok baby?” you say hoping he at least hears you but you get no reply so you sit up and slowly grip his waist and lift him also pulling out getting a whine out of him

-you lay down cradling him in your arms for a couple minutes talking in his ear hoping to bring him back round when he suddenly grabs your arm tightly “I’m sorry that never happens”  he says his voice dry you shush him and pull him closer if possible

-”It’s ok baby you just gave me a scare you tuned out for a while...do you wanna talk about it?” “No...not really i don’t even know why it happened as well it just happened...i’m sorry still”

-you tut him and kiss the top of his head rubbing his bicep knowing Hyunjin was still in a vulnerable mind set right now and just needed some gentle affection 

-”Enough of that, lets just try and get some sleep cause i be your tired after that aren’t you? Come on snuggle down under the covers and we’ll worry about cleaning up latter”

-he hums in agreement and clutches you tighter falling asleep quickly not before saying “Thank you, i love you” “i love you too baby”

Han:

-han is quite a vocal person in bed so when you were pounding into him him and you where only getting the odd whimper you knew something was wrong

-you stop thrusting and lean forward so you are face to face with him 

-he looks up at you lips red and glossy from biting and licking them, cheeks flushed red from the heat and his eyes avoiding yours every now and then 

-”You ok baby, do you want to stop?” you ask gently a hand cupping his round soft cheek and your thumb stroking his cheekbone he gulps and looks down at himself then back at you 

-”Can-can we is that ok? like do-do you want to cau-” “Woah baby slow down of course we can, if you want to stop at all then we stop i don’t want you to force yourself for my pleasure i don’t like that” 

-he lets out some of the tension from his body by letting out a sigh, you pull out slowly and pull him close so he’s half on you and half off nuzzling into your neck 

-”Do you want to talk about it?” he doesn’t answer for a moment before taking a breath in “I just...i wasn’t feeling it, its like my feelings and how it was supposed to feel just checked out... i don’t know how to say it” “Thats ok baby boy, just you telling me at all was good enough for me now lets sleep and when we wake up we can order food in and watch Howls Moving Castle hm?” 

-he smiles tiredly and nods letting out a hum before falling to sleep, you kiss the top of his head admiring him briefly before falling asleep yourself clutching him close

Felix:

-Felix has been very busy lately with promoting and doing extra practices, so he has been very tired and has been coming home late a lot

-so when you where both fucking you took the lead as you normally do but even more seeing as he was tired

 -Felix is a pillow princess and loves to wear baggy jumpers of yours in these kind of moments

-you were thrusting into Felix his long hair a mess around him and grasping the pillows next to him and his (your) jumper rising up round his waist showing his tummy as his back arches 

-you lean forward sliding your hand across his tummy and waist and you thrust into him “You like that baby boy? Does that feel nice?” you say expecting him to let out lots of words and agreements as he normally does but all you got back was a hum in agreement 

-you look up seeing him looking down at your hand not paying attention to you, your hand was splayed over his tummy holding him still as you thrusted but you stopped which cause him to immediately whine

-”baby boy whats wrong?” “it’s nothing just please keep going i need it please” he says working himself up “Baby calm down for me and tell me whats wrong” you say softly but sternly wanting to know whats got him in a state

-”I-i just want you to cum please i need you to” “why baby boy? this is about you not me you come first, literally” you say now officially pulled out but he goes to grab your cock to put it back in but you stop him causing him to look at you with wide eyes finally stopping him actions

-”baby calm down, lets stop right now and take a moment ok? calm down foe me, you’re going to work yourself up” you say now lying down next to him pulling him close 

-”now do you wanna tell me whats wrong?” “i just felt bad for constantly being gone and i wanted you to cum so you would feel good” “aww baby it’s ok, i know you’ve been busy but don’t worry about me like that this was about you, now lets get some sleep cause i know you’ve been so tired lately” “Ok “

Seungmin:

-Seungmin was laying on his side with his leg raised and you behind him fucking him holding the leg up

-Seungmin wasn’t the most vocal person in bed and you knew this and likes to have some dominance in bed basically making him a power bottom even in subspace 

-but when you where fucking him and you were getting little whiny moans back and no remarks back at all you thought something was wrong so you stop

-”No! mummy don’t stop please!” this caught you off guard and he never begs like that 

-”Baby boy is everything ok? do you need a moment?” “N-no i just want you to fuck me so hard please i’ll do whatever you want just fuck me “ 

-at this you knew something was wrong so you pull out and pull him so he’s lying on his back you cup his cheek as he grasps your arm “Shh baby calm down please...Seungmin take a breath” 

-you get him to calm down seeing him come back to you “You back with me sweetheart?” “yeah...yeah i am i don’t know what happened... i just...i don’t know” 

-you pull him close kissing him deeply but keeping it short “Don’t worry about it i’m sure it was a fluke do you wanna stop or keep going?” you say softly so he doesn’t feel pressured 

-he looks down then back up at you as if shy “Can we stop please, that just really threw me off” “of course baby we’ll stop...come here snuggle up with me and lets get some sleep for a bit and worry about cleaning later” ”ok thank you” “it’s nothing to thank me for baby, i love you” “ i love you to”

Jeongin: 

-Jeongin was a bashful person during sex, very blushy and covered his face if you said something that embarrassed him 

-so when you are pounding into him with him lying on his back arms splayed out next to him and face flushed but blank you were caught off guard

-you slowed down you thrusts to a stop and leaned down cupping his cheek trying to get his eyes to meet yours 

-”Innie baby you with me? baby boy?” you pull out after getting no response and lay down resting on your elbow pulling him by his waist to you rubbing up and down his back trying to get any sensation into him 

-”i’m here i’m sorry i don’t know what’s wrong i just don’t feel here...like in this situation it just feels...not right-but! but not bad nothing like that i just felt lost” he says to you holding onto your shoulder 

-you nod trying to understand “it’s ok baby you just not feeling it like the right time for this?” “yeah thats it i just don’t feel it if that makes sense?” “it does don’t worry how about we go have a nice warm bath and we put in one of those bath bombs that Felix got you hmm?” 

-you say trying to get his mind to think about something else he smiles and nods starting to sit up, you sit up and pull him onto your waist so he’s straddling you and wrap your arms around his back 

-the sudden movement causing him to wrap his arms round your neck and nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck giggling softly 

-”want me to carry you baby?” “yes please” “ok bubba i love you, you know that right so anytime you want to stop something like that you just tell me and we’ll stop ok?” “i know and i love you to” “good good now lets go have a magical bath courtesy of Felix’s bath bombs” you say quickly running to the bathroom causing him to laugh and and wrap his legs tightly round you waist

[sukirichi]

— the other side

request:  BRUH YOUR SWIMSUIT SHOPPING WITH JJK IS GOD LEVEL 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫 I think you wrote Gojo perfectly 🥺 Could I pretty please request FaceTime sex with Gojo 🤩 Like maybe Gojo’s away on a mission and he really misses reader and he’s needy so he calls her and has her put the phone down in front of her and tells her what to do 😳

warnings: nsfw, mutual masturbation, facetime sex, dirty talk (+unedited fic)

note: i actually wasn’t sure if i could write this well since i’m not the best at dialogue, but i tried my best and i hope you like it anon! thank you for the request! dinner has been served!

masterlist ! 

Ruined. He’s absolutely ruined you.

You pull your fingers out of your clenching hole, your cheeks sweaty as you pant against your pillow. Hole clenching around nothing at the sudden emptiness, your chest heaves up and down with the gnawing dissatisfaction that you could no longer cum yourself; could no longer feel pleased unless it’s Gojo doing it for you.

Before you know it, a single tear flows down until it collects besides your lips. Hands rubbing against your tired eyes, you sigh at the clock blaring 2:19 AM mockingly at you.

It’s two in the fucking morning – and you haven’t cum ever since Gojo left for work.

Your fingers just wasn’t enough; could never be enough compared to his magical tongue and long dick that absolutely drives you into with so much need, large hands grappling against your soft mounds for leverage while he pounds himself into you.

It’s not the same without him. It’s been four long days ever since Gojo left for work; four torturous days that you’ve done everything you could to get off, only to keep failing after hours of humping your pillow or doing all the work with the cute pink dildo you got just for days he wouldn’t be around. It never ends well. Your wrist would only cramp or your thighs would ache afterwards, but you never came.

Perhaps that’s one of the consequences of being greedy and wanting to keep Gojo Satoru all to yourself. In return, he’s also stolen you of the privilege of fucking yourself.

Arm sprawled over your face, your breathing begins to regulate. Your legs are still wide open, arousal leaking from your disappointed cunt. You were ready, so ready for Gojo to come home and just fuck you silly.

You hate yourself for being this way, hate that your lips are trembling because you miss him so much and you’re actually crying all because you feel so empty without him buried within you.

It’s stupid, so fucking stupid, but you can’t help it.

You turn around to your side and hug his pillow closer to your body, breathing in his scent. It helps to calm you down a bit and even reassures you you’re not really alone; he’d come back in a few days and you’ll have him all to yourself again.

It’s been a long day, and the days just keep stretching over with the fact you’ve pretty much masturbated everywhere but still never got to come. A wave of exhaustion washes over you, your eyelids growing heavy at the same time you wrap one leg around Gojo’s pillow. His musky scent still remains, almost mocking that he’s never really away from you, but the dull aching deep within your pussy says otherwise.

You’re so helpless without him.

Just as you’re about to gaze off into to dreamland, your phone blares from your bedside table. You don’t waste another second before scrambling off the bed to get it, nearly falling off if you hadn’t grasped on to the sheets hard enough.

Gojo’s contact name of baby with a heart emoji flashes on the screen. Out of reflex, your entire body responds. Palms sweaty, lips puckered, pussy fluttering and nipples peaking – it’s embarrassing how your body reacts to him strongly. If he was here and he saw the way you open yourself up to him, Gojo would laugh while knuckle deep in you, teasing that you’re so eager for him and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

You quickly swipe right to answer, the grin on your face large and beaming when his handsome face greets you. “Satoru,” you smile, leaning back on the pillows to make yourself comfortable. “I missed you.”

There’s no lie about that. He’s still so handsome with one arm propped underneath him, hair down in messy strands and his eyes free from the blindfold, allowing you to witness the magic that pooled within that beauty. Satoru is now wearing a plain white shirt in exchange of his usual dark uniform, his bicep flexing under his weight, but you’re more focused on how his eyes crinkle once he finally saw your pretty face.

You could tell he misses you just the same.

“Hey, baby,” he coos through the call, and his low, husky voice immediately sends chill down your spine. The cold air bites at your exposed cunt and you shudder; you already know you’re wet again. It’s still ‘yesterday’ where he’s at, meaning that he’d have to leave for work after three hours or so as the sun begins to rise, while you’d still be slumbering at peace.

Or at least, sleep as comfortably as you could with countless failed orgasms.

“I missed you too,” Satoru sighs. His eyes droop for a moment, and he sees the way you open your lips, ready to tell him to get some more rest instead of calling you. Satoru only presses a finger to his lips, eyes glinting playfully at your awaiting gaze. “I’m fine, baby, don’t worry about me. I just needed to hear your voice.”

Your heart skips a beat at that. You’ve always known that Satoru is flirty, and even though he isn’t exactly being too flirty right now, the mere thought of him wanting to hear your voice before he sleeps does wondrous leaps to your wavering heart.

“Me too,” you confess in a small voice, tugging up the sheets under the chin as you grow more and more shy with each passing second. “It hasn’t been the same without you, Toru. I can’t…I can’t be myself when you’re not here.”

Satoru, despite being an absolute dumb fuck all the time, isn’t stupid when it comes to that tone of your voice. He nods once and presses the phone closer to his face, voice low and serious. “What’s wrong, baby? Do you want to talk to me about it?”

Yes and no. You seriously debate whether it’s best to tell him that you can’t cum without him, simply because he’s always so much better and feels perfect compared to your nimble fingers that barely even stretch you. On the other side, you don’t want to keep him up too late, plus phone sex… well, you haven’t really done it before. Just imagining showing yourself bare to Satoru through the camera already makes your body feel warmer than it already it is. He’s seen you naked hundred of times before, but the idea that he could record it…

You swallow audibly and look away from him. Your cunt is already gushing as you imagine Satoru recording the way you lose yourself as he buries his cock into your hilt, but it’s a different thing if you could both masturbate to the thought of each other.

“Babe,” Satoru cuts off your train of thoughts, “You feel frustrated too, don’t you? I’ve never hated my fist as much as I do now.”

Your head snaps to his direction so fast Satoru laughs at your crazed reaction, and the sound only increases when you start babbling to him. “Y-you,” you shake your head in disbelief, “You too? You can’t cum too? I mean, I’ve done everything I could, I even got a dildo but it’s not enough, Toru, it’s never enough, I need you so bad.”

You don’t care that you’re whining at this point. Satoru doesn’t give a damn either because he’s already palming his erection through his sweatpants from the other side of the world, jaw clenching as he imagines you doing lewd things without him.

“Aw, my poor baby,” he teases you, making you pout and hide under the sheets with only your eyes peeking through. “It’s okay, I’ve got you now,” his voice drops an octave lower, eyes darkening as lust consumes both your body. “Just be a good girl and follow my instructions, okay? I’ll make you feel good. We’ll make each other feel good. It’ll feel like I never left, okay?”

“O-okay,” you nod shakily, still unsure of what to do. “Is there-?”

“Yeah,” Satoru grunts as he whips his cock free from his confines, hips jutting forward now that his hand is wrapped around it. He sighs at the relief of finally getting his chance to cum. He understands your situation; his cock won’t even come close to the warmth of your tight pussy clenching on him. “Show me yourself, pretty girl. Show me those pretty pink lips of yours,” Satoru places his phone somewhere on the table near his bed, pushing his sweatpants down until his cock slaps against his underbelly, the tip red and leaking.

You gasp at how lewd he looks. The sheets are absolutely crumpled beneath him, and you clench your thighs at the sight of Satoru wrapping his hands around his large, angry cock with his eyes staring straight directly at the camera.

“Come on, baby, don’t be shy,” he rasps, “I want to see you, want to hear you. You’ll let me hear those beautiful moans, won’t you?”

When his hups jut forward to meet the tight grip of his hands, something inside you snaps. Breath shaky and legs trembling, you throw your sheets off to the side and get your phone stand before setting it up at your bedside table, making sure to tilt the camera downwards before you lean back onto the bed. You’re already naked underneath Satoru’s large shirt, and it doesn’t take much as you spread your legs eagerly for him, using two lips to spread your lips open even without his command.

Satoru groans at your arousal leaking down the sheets and making a mess. He pumps himself harder, smirking at how your heavy breathing is all he could hear. “So fucking pretty,” he praises, “Now put two fingers in your pussy for me, baby girl. Stretch yourself open so I can see how much you miss my cock.”

Obedient as ever, you do as you’re told, letting out a shuddered moan when your two fingers go past your walls without resistance. You’re wet, so fucking wet for him, but you want him. “Satoru,” you whine, pushing your fingers deeper and deeper and pulling them out for friction. Your walls clench around your digits and you start imagining that it’s his long fingers buried into you this time; getting off to his image and relishing in how Satoru is moaning your name. “Miss you baby,” you cry out, hands trailing up to squeeze your nipples. “I want you so bad.”

“Me too, baby, me too,” the sound of Satoru’s slick running up and down his shaft, along with his low groans, are like music to your ears. Your moan grows louder when you open your eyes and see that his muscles are flexing as he fucks his hand eagerly, his gaze focused on the way you’re shuddering around your own digits. “Another one. Add another one.”

Shakily, you add another one, your head falling back at the welcomed intrusion. It’s still not enough, but it’ll do for now.

You just imagine that it’s his cock inside you instead, each vein prominent as the ridges of your wall hug him completely. Satoru replaces his hand with your pussy as well, that the fist running down his dick is you bouncing on his cock instead. He can already picture the way your breasts bounce in front of him and Satoru shudders, “Tits,” he growls, “I want to see your fucking tits. Want to feel them on my hands,” Satoru chuckles at how eagerly you lift your shirt up to show him the beaded nipples, teeth biting down on the material with your hands still knuckle-deep in your pussy.

“Fuck, you’re always so pretty, babe.”

“Miss you,” you keep crying out, words muffled through the shirt you’re biting. You pinch your nipple at the same time you rapidly finger yourself, your pussy squelching and the sounds pornographic as it echoes all the way to Satoru’s phone. You miss him so fucking much that it’s unreal. There’s no more self control when your back hits the bed, hips lifting off the bed and giving Satoru a clearer view of your juices dripping down your ass.

Satoru can’t resist the way his balls tighten, desperate to have you right next to him so he can fuck your brains out already. He wishes he could come home and be in your warmth, be in your embrace, but he’s still got curses to kill that fucking you would just have to wait much to both parties’ displeasure.

Sweat is beading down his forehead as he watches you thrash around your bed, his cock only growing harder and a low growl emanating from his throat when you keep moaning satoru, satoru, satoru, I love you so fucking much.

“I love you too,” he manages to say in shaky breaths. “You’re so perfect for me – fuck.”

You push yourself off the edge by pulling your lips aside and pinch at your clit. At that, your back arches off the bed, making your fingers dig deeper into you and for a split second, you manage to hit your g-spot. Satoru can tell you’re close by the way your legs spasm and he encourages you, spitting down his cock as he pumps his fist around his length almost angrily.

“That’s good, baby, keep going, keep going,” his teeth clenches when you nod, tears falling down your pretty cheeks. “Want to fuck you so good – I’d have you screaming around my neck while I take you from behind and shove your face down the pillow,” you moan in response, the sound high pitched and almost whiny. Satoru chuckles before he cuts himself off with a hiss, his balls tightening and his cock throbbing already. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You want me to fuck your ass when I get home?”

“Yes, yes, please,” your belly tightens at the thought of Satoru stretching your tight hole, even better if he pulls at your hair while his hips slam at the flesh of your ass.

Rubbing your clit fervently, Satoru’s name comes out as a broken cry as your orgasm chokes you. The tears are staining your cheeks the same way your cum is making a mess on the sheets, and you grind down harder on the sheets, scissoring yourself just to extend your orgasm.

“Satoru,” you whine, “Fuckkk.”

“I’m close, baby, I’m-” Satoru falls forward when his cock shoots out thick ropes of cum, some of them landing on his abdomen and one sticks to his chin. Your pupils blow wide with lust as you shudder around your fingers while riding down your high, in disbelief that Satoru is cumming so much.

He’s shameless as he continues thrusting into his fists. You’re worried he would overuse his strength and beat his cock to death, but Satoru only chuckles as he keeps pumping his cock, his cum overflowing and pooling down his thick thighs.

“Shit,” he mumbles to himself, falling in the same state as you when he drops down on the bed. His dick begins to turn limp but it’s still twitching, turning a dark shade of pink as he beats his dick almost lazily the time. The both of you take a moment to breathe at the orgasm; not as mind blowing as the ones you’d get if he was there rutting into you instead, but because he’s there, you’re still left with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Wiping the arousal left on your hands on your shirt, you grab your phone and fall into your pillows, cheeks squished and eyelashes fluttering slowly. “Toru,” you call out softly, “You asleep?”

“I want to come home already,” is all he says. He’s still half-passed out in his bed and you laugh, rubbing your thighs together and grimacing when it starts to stick together from your cum. Glancing at Satoru’s form, you dash to the bath to clean yourself up by washing away the cum, coming back to see that Satoru was also in the middle of cleaning his cum with napkins.

“Facetime sex,” he laughs to himself with a shake of his head, mirroring your form by langind on his pillows. He looks absolutely adorable with his lips puckered out like that, azure blue eyes drooping close. “I miss you, babe. I promise when I come home I’m going to fuck you endless.”

You chuckle at his words, wondering how he’s able to say such suggestive things when he’s seconds away from passing out due to exhaustion. Your eyelids grow heavy as well, and along with the light blanket of satisfaction and post-orgasm bliss, the only thing that wouldn’t make this a good night of sleep is the fact Satoru isn’t next to you. Nevertheless, you’re grateful that Satoru took the time to call you despite his busy schedule.

Your heart flutters when Satoru lazily calls you baby, mumbling on and on about how much he misses you. Now that he’s come down from his high, he’s reverting into his big baby self.

His eyes are closed and he’s burying himself deeper into his pillows. You’re about to say goodbye when Satoru lightly snores from the other line, a smile tugging at your lips when you see that he’s now blissfully asleep. Wishing that you could run your hands through his hair, at least, you kiss the screen in the hopes it’d reach him at least metaphorically.

“Sleep well, my love,” you whisper before swiping left to end the call.

Even through the other end of the line, on the other side of the world, Satoru’s worries and exhaustion are washed away with the love you send him.

[huntingforsatisfaction]

Pink Promise

Pairing: Dean Winchester X younger sibling reader(not in an incest way)

Summary: Dean is there to help his younger sibling after they have a nightmare 

Words: 2211

Warnings: fairly angsty, but still very very fluffy, a detailed nightmare, mentions of John Winchester’s parenting style, bad writing?, like one cuss word, a tiny tiny bit of gore

Note about characters: in the present scenes the reader is 16 and in the flashbacks they’re 6 and the reader and Dean have like a 13/14 year age gap so he’s like 19/20 in the flashbacks, there isn’t any gendered terms for the reader so it’s neutral(unless you count hair being braided as a gendered term, but boys can have braided hair cause gender isn’t real), and finally this takes place in season 5

Dean woke up, not for any purpose, just one of those weird moments where you randomly wake up in the middle of the night. He shook his head and began fluffing his pillow, stopping when he heard soft crying.

“(Y/N)?” He softly called out.

You were laying with your back facing out and your face squished into the musty cushions of the small motel room couch, a failed attempt at muffling your cries.

“Y-Yeah Dean? Something wrong?” You tried to play it off.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Were you crying?”

When you guys first got your room Dean cursed the streetlight right outside the window, but now he watched how it illuminated you as you dropped your head down.

“Nightmare?”

You looked up and made eye contact before slowly nodding a yes.

“Think you’re gonna be able to go back to sleep?”

You dropped your gaze again as your face screwed up and you could feel new tears form on your lash line.

“No.” You softly croaked out, barely audible over Sam’s snores.

                                                   ~Flashback~

You couldn’t breathe, too focused on staying quiet to risk opening your mouth. Once the sting in your eyes and the back of your throat calmed down you went back to sleep.

“Sammy?”

You screamed out running through an old grey house.

“No no no please no!” You heard him scream somewhere you couldn’t find.

“Sammy!” You huffed before taking off running down the hall you came from.

As you ran around the house you felt small and helpless, like when you got separated from your brothers in the corn maze at the pumpkin patch in Iowa, the one Dean took you to without your dad knowing.

“Dean?” You desperately called for your brother as your feet pounded against the floor. 

Completely unaware of your surroundings you ran, the only thing on your mind was finding your brother. Not paying attention to your surroundings you tripped, your heart raced knowing how your dad always got on you for that. You got up and looked down to see what sent you flying to the cracked floorboards.

“Dean!” You screamed

You woke up again, heart pounding in your head and toes. You stopped gasping for air when you felt your dad roll over next to you, holding it in again to stay quiet. Collecting your moose and your blanket, the one you got in Oregon when you were 3 and have refused to sleep without ever since, you slipped off of the bed as silently as possible. Your dad and Dean were fumigating a house in a fancy neighborhood so the only hotel available was a little nicer than your usual moldy motels. The vinyl floorboards stayed quiet as you snuck over to the door that joined your brothers’ room to you and your dad’s. You glanced at your brothers sleeping in their beds before moving their jackets off of the chair that sat in the corner. Dropping your blanket on the floor you traded it for the two flannels that were under their jackets and curled up into the chair. Once you were comfortable you finally let the tears flow, crying softly at first and burying your face into Mort the moose as your chest heaved more and more with the weight of your cries. 

 “(Y/N)?” You heard Dean call out in confusion as he shut the drawer of his nightstand. 

 “S-sorry for waking you up.” You tossed off the flannels and picked up your blanket, heading back to your proper room.

 “No, no, hey, hey, come here.” Dean moved over in his bed and opened his arms, lightly flicking his wrist to call you over to him. 

You gingerly padded over to his bed and with a little effort jumped up.

 “I’m gonna guess it wasn’t growing pains that woke you up.” Dean chuckled. 

 “Ok, I’m sorry, bad timing. Now come on peanut, stop giving me that face and come in closer.” He said shifting so he could comfortably open up his arms for you. 

You still continued to pout, but scooted into his embrace until your body felt lighter. 

“Sorry.” You quietly mumbled, it came out kind of funny because of how your cheek was squished against your brother’s chest. 

Dean pulled back and nudged your chin up, signaling you to make eye contact  with him before resting his hand on your shoulder. His comforting softness melted away as he turned dead serious. 

“Listen to me, do not ever and I mean ever apologize to someone because you’re upset. Ok?” He searched your eyes waiting for an answer, which you gave him with a nod. 

“Now tell me why someone broke into my room and stole my favorite flannel.” And just like that Dean pulled you back into him and your softy of a brother was back.

“Dad yells at me when I don’t sleep and when I cry and when I ask him questions, so I came in here to cry” Even your big brother’s arms couldn’t shield you from the sadness that entered your body.

“Well I’m not dad, neither is Mort the moose, and neither is Sammy.” Dean started.

“Sammy snores now, he’s old.” You shot Sam a dirty look even though he was dead asleep.

“Yeah Sammy is old now, he drools too.” Dean joined you in giving his younger brother the stink eye. “Now tell me, what has my peanut so upset?”

“Nightmare.” 

“Nightmare? Do you wanna talk about it?” Dean began playing with your hair as he awaited your response.

Staring up at your older brother’s face you thought about it. 

“No.” You wanted to say what happened, to get it out of your mind, but you didn’t want to tell him about how you saw his still body covered in blood with his stomach in shreds. 

“No? That’s okay.” 

You guys sat quietly listening to the traffic outside and Sam’s snores. After a while Dean assumed you had fallen asleep, but just as he shut his own eyes your little voice stirred him.

“D?”

“Mm, yeah (Y/N)?’

“Are monsters real?”

                                                       ~Present~

Dean watched you hang your head again before scooting to the side and opening up his covers.

“Wanna talk about it kid?”

Even in your sad and scared state a genuine smile broke out across your face, it was small, but still genuine. Without responding to your brother you kicked off the soft blanket that you had fought Sam for and walked over to Dean’s bed. Since motel beds are always oddly tall you had to do a little jump to get onto it, shooting a quick glare at Dean for being clearly amused at your struggle. Tentatively Dean opened up his arms to you and you awkwardly shuffled in until your head hit his shoulder and you instantly melted. The both of you sat there without a word, wondering what the other was thinking, unaware that you were both thinking the same thing. You thought about how long it had been since you two laid like this, both of you becoming aware of how long it had really been since you showed each other affection and comfort, and how after all of these years you two felt so natural. Neither of you took into account how the other’s muscles softened, how the past few years of Azazel, the door to Hell, your dad’s death, Sam’s death, Dean’s death, demons, vampires, and vengeful spirits all released from your guys’ bodies. For the first time in months neither of you cared about Lucifer or Michael or any other dick with wings. 

“Hey Dean.” You finally broke the near silence.

“Yeah?” Your ear being pressed to Dean’s chest made his voice sound deeper and you could feel his jaw move against the top of your head. 

“Do you remember when I was super young and we were staying at that nice hotel in Seattle and I had that really bad nightmare?” You slipped the comforter under your brother’s arm so you could fidget with it.

“Yeah I do actually, but how the hell do you remember it? You were like what, six? So that means it was ten whole years ago.” 

“I don’t think I would remember it if it wasn’t the start of the recurring nightmare I always have.” The first part was a lie. That night had been the first time you ever truly felt like you had a family, the first time you had felt comfort in your life. You could never forget that. 

“Oh.” Dean began to play with your hair, taking three small pieces and trying to see if he could still remember how to braid, something he learned because you hated how John would always cut your hair. 

“This dream,” you started, “it’s bad. It’s always the same house, this weird grey one with cracked floors and for some reason the walls are cement. It’s weird. But in the dream I can never find my way, it’s like a labyrinth and every time I get more and more lost the hallways get darker and darker. It always starts with me screaming for Sammy and he doesn’t respond, but I can hear him. I can hear him.”, Your voice begins to break, “I can hear him screaming no over and over again, like he’s getting attacked and then when I call out for him again he’s silent. So I’ll start running to find him, I guess I’ve always had a hunter's instinct. Then when I’m running around I trip and every time I trip I always get this feeling of fear about dad yelling at me for always being clumsy. But then when I. '' You stop, dropping your head and gaze so far down that all you can see is your own chest. Dean drops the chunk of hair he was twisting in his fingers and looks down at you.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, lightly squeezing your arm to ground you, something he always does when you’re upset. 

His encouragement only made things worse as tears began to fall again. Closing your eyes you take a quick deep breath.

“When I look down to see what I tripped over it’s you. You’re dead. Bloody with your stomach all ripped up, I never see the monster, but it must be something with claws. Then it just ends there. Tonight was kind of different though. Our ages are always different in the dream. Sammy’s voice always sounds like it did when he was 16 so I don’t think he changes, but sometimes I’m a kid and you’re a teenager like when I first had it or we’re both teenagers or we’re the ages we are now or sometimes I’m a kid and you’re an adult. But tonight, tonight I was 16 like I am now and you were a little kid.”

                                                      ~Flashback~

Dean didn’t know what to do, he felt like the deer that stopped in the headlights and actually got hit. He’d been through this before with Sam, but he had been older and wasn’t already upset when they had the conversation. He had felt guilty every time he lied to Sam about monsters and didn’t want to give you that same false hope, but he resented his dad for teaching him about monsters when he was this young. 

“I’m not sure of anything, (Y/N).” It technically wasn’t a lie, while Dean was sure that monsters existed he wasn’t sure of what to tell you.

“Well actually no, I am sure of one thing. Nothing and I mean nothing, no man, no woman, no animal, and sure as hell no monsters will ever hurt you because you are strong and I will kick their butt if they even try.” Dean meant that fully, he’s meant that since the day his dad sat him and Sam down to tell them they have a little sibling.

“Pink promise?” You said looking up at Dean.

“Pink promise?” He pulled back and questioned you.

“A pink promise.” You huffed, freeing your arm out from under Dean’s and extending your pinky finger.

“Oohh, a pinky promise.” Dean held up his arm and extended his own pinky.

“No, it’s pink promise.” You pulled your hand back.

“Ok, I pink promise that nothing will ever hurt you.” And to that you guys joined pinkies.

                                                     ~Present~

You begin to quietly sob into your brother’s chest. Dean put his hand at the nape of your neck and put his cheek on the top of your head and let you cry it out, as you calmed down he pulled back and kissed your forehead.

“Hey look, peanut. Sammy and I are not going anywhere, we will always be with you, ok. A lot is going on right now and it will all be okay, we’ve gotten out of so many situations that we shouldn’t have and this one will be no different. I pink promise.” Dean raised up his arm and extended his pinky.

“Oh fuck off.” You lightly hit his hand. 

Unfazed Dean kept his hand up and smugly smiled down at you. You sigh and extend your own pinky. As your fingers wrapped around each other your annoyed façade broke, your smile was joined by a few tears.

“Pink promise.”

A/N: So hey, your local forest wench here. This is definitely different from other stuff I post. I’ve never written a fanfiction before(so basically sorry if it’s not too good and please be patient with me), but I do read a lot of of it and maladaptive daydream a lot so I always have plenty of ideas. I came up with this idea this morning and really liked it, thought that maybe other people would like it and that it would be kind of greedy to keep it to myself. I’m actually really insanely proud of this ngl. If people like this and I feel comfortable, I might even write some more in the future.

[wri0thesley]

Hello Nat! It's me! The same anon who sent the Househusband Risotto asks a few weeks ago. Could I request a fic of Risotto with no.21(a Househusband au) and some pregnancy fluff? Congrats on 5k (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

brand new - risotto x reader

you have something to tell your husband. 

warnings: soft fluff, sfw. afab reader, no pronouns. pregnancy, talk of children, brief allusions to risotto’s past life. 

You’re surprised by just how easily Risotto falls into a domestic life.

You’d thought that his past would haunt him more; the fallen comrades, the Mafia business, the blood on his hands – but he’s surprisingly pragmatic about it, when you hesitantly bring it up.

“It happened,” he says. “I miss them. But I’ve been given a chance that they didn’t get, and I intend to take it.”

It’s more than your stoic, quiet husband usually says at once, and you feel it pierce your heart like an arrow. Your hand brushes over his broad shoulder in as much comfort as you can give him, and Risotto looks at you with the lightest smile on his lips that makes you feel like the luckiest person in the whole universe.

Risotto becomes the house-husband as if he’s been waiting to be able to do it for his whole life.

Oh, he makes some mistakes – some little things, like washing a pair of your red underwear in with some shirts that you wear for work. Planting the wrong kind of seedlings at the wrong time of year – trying to fix the plumbing himself instead of calling a plumber.

You two muddle along, but as a whole Risotto seems to be thriving, and that makes your heart leap in your chest like a prima ballerina.

Your heart thumps double when you come home after a long day of work and he already has dinner simmering on the stove, an apron wrapped around his broad frame – it’s emblazoned with the legend; “Hot Stuff Coming Through (and I don’t mean the food)”. You breathe in the scent of his cooking; something deep and rich.

You come up behind him and wrap your arms about him, resting your cheek on the centre of his back.

His muscle has gone a little soft now that he’s not working out so often or in as many life-or-death situations, but he’s still broad and amazing and perfect for holding onto.

“Smells great,” you say, sighing, kicking off your heels in kitchen to be put away later. Risotto’s eyes stray to them all higgledy-piggledy on the floor, and he frowns;

“Nonna’s recipe,” he says. “Aren’t you going to put those in the shoe rack?”

“I’ve only just gotten home,” you pout at him, but your pout quickly breaks into a smile as you see the exhaustedly fond expression on his face.

Now that he’s not an assassin – now that he doesn’t need to hide everything he’s feeling under the guise of being cool and cold and collected – Risotto’s face seems to move more. He finds it easier to express his emotions. It’s still little things; twitches and furrows, instead of his entire face transforming – but it’s more than before.

He’s comfortable. He’s happy.

You, and him, and the little world that you’ve build all around you two.

You bend over to pick up your heels, opening your mouth to say something over-dramatic about his newfound house pride – but you’re stopped by an ache that shoots down to the centre of your back, a noise of pain escaping you before Risotto can turn lightning quick and wrap a strong arm around you.

“Are you alright?” He’s asking, brow creasing slightly in concern. Panic flares in your stomach – you don’t want to tell him like this.

“Y-yeah,” you laugh it off, straightening up with your shoes in your hand, the other going to massage your back where you can reach. “Guess I was just sat in the wrong position at work for too long, huh?”

Risotto looks sceptical, but he can’t leave his boiling pots for too long. With a searching look at you, he returns to the stove, murmuring low;

“I’ll give you a massage later.”

You smile at his back as you walk towards the shoe rack in the hallway. You know that saying that will have made him blush; despite how long the two of you have been married now, he’s still nervous about things like that. His hands still shake a little when he goes to hold you. He still licks his lips before he kisses you, murmuring in a deep voice;

“Is it really alright?”

You always wind your arms around his neck and pull him in as your way of reassuring him that it’s perfectly fine. It’s hard, you think, for him to accept that he deserves all of this – but you’re eternally glad that the two of you get to share it together.

Little reminders of your shared home and life are scattered all about your home. A picture of you and Risotto at your wedding, framed and hung in the hallway; his suit is a little too tight, because he left it too long and it couldn’t be tailored properly to address the fact that he’s built like a superhero.

A bookshelf that has your romantic novels next to his own gothic horrors; a skull candle that burns red from its eyes as it melts perched on top. Also perched on top is a trinket dish that he made and painted for you at a pottery class he attended to try and get him out of the house whilst you were at work – you use it to dump your keys in.

It’s supposed to be a heart shape, but it’s more of a very uneven kidney.

The carpet you two had chosen together; you’d wanted something cheaper, but Risotto had insisted you could afford this one – he’d been right, and it’s soft beneath your stockinged feet.

You love him so much.

Your hand cups your stomach protectively now that you’re out of Risotto’s sight. You think of the tiny life inside of you; half Risotto, half you, already loved more than they’ll ever know even without Risotto knowing that it’s there. You can’t wait to tell him.

His hands are gentle on your shoulders, big and warm and softer than they once were. They’re still a little calloused from the garden work he enjoys doing, but he no longer handles weapons and you buy him sandalwood-scented hand cream instead.

They feel so good as they slide down your shoulder blades, brushing the notches of your spine, soothing circles pressed into your skin with his thumb. You sigh, relaxing into him. The feel of the palm flat against the small of your back – where the ache is the most pronounced – makes you relax even further into him, toes curling, a sigh escaping your mouth of relief.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He asks you, his voice measured. Your eyes flicker open from where they’ve closed in comfort.

“W-what’s wrong?” You ask him, nervously, and Risotto makes an ‘mm’ noise in the back of his throat. His hands do not stop the massage as he goes.

“You’ve been out of it for days,” he tells you.

(He’s right. You’ve been out of it since Monday, and it’s now Thursday; Monday is the day you’d woken up with your stomach heaving, remembered how long it had been since your last period, and bought a pregnancy test on your way to work. You’ve done three more since then, and all of them have showed the exact same result.)

“Have I?”

His hands move to your shoulders, gently twisting you around.

“You have,” he says, his red-and-dark eyes fixed firmly on you. “If there’s something wrong, I’d like to fix it.”

“It’s nothing you’ve done!” You say, all in a rush, but Risotto has successfully caught you nonetheless; his eyes narrow.

“So it is something?”

Heat rushes to your face. You forget, sometimes, because he cooks dinner and does the gardening and goes to his pottery class, that he was a battle-hardened mafia assassin who has done more interrogations than you will probably ever know (you never bring up his former employ unless he brings it up first). He’s an expert at gently needling the truth out of people.

“It’s not something that’s wrong,” you say, weakly, but his eyes are still pinning you in place.

“Tell me,” is all he says.

You think, in the back of your head, you’d had some kind of grand plans to reveal your secret – maybe involving balloons, and a cake, and a little party hat perched on top of Risotto’s silvery pale hair. You think you wanted to make a big deal out of it; one more reminder that the world he left behind is well and truly in his past now. But now you’re on the bed with him and he’s looking at you so tenderly in a soft grey shirt for sleeping and a pair of loose boxer shorts, all ruffled and sleepy and domestic . . . Now feels like a good time too.

“I’m pregnant,” you tell him.

You swear that you could hear a pin drop.

He blinks at you, as if he can’t properly process the statement.

“You’re—”

“We’re having a baby.”

“Oh my God.” His voice is very small. He reaches out, hesitantly, eyes wide – big hand hovering over your stomach. “Can I . . .?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless as his hand rests on it. It’s not curving, yet; the fancy test you’d bought today and done in the bathroom at work had said it thought you were well past three weeks, but that’s still early days. Your eyes stare down at Risotto’s scarred, huge fingers – so careful with you, despite what he’s had to do to survive.

“I can’t believe it,” he tells you, and your throat feels tight.

“Me neither,” you admit. “But . . . I’m happy.”

He meets your eyes. There are tears brimming in his – you have never seen Risotto Nero cry. You’ve seen him sad, of course (a sad downturn to his mouth when a dog dies in a movie, or when the rosebush he’d been carefully cultivating had failed to achieve a single bloom) – but there’s an actual tear rolling down his cheek, sparkling in the bedroom light.

“Me too,” he says, and it seems entirely natural. Entirely true. Your heart aches with how much you love him.

You two don’t say anything for a few minutes, content to just look at each other, the warm knowledge of what you’re sharing making the air seem hazy and unreal.

You think about the pitter patter of little feet. The spare room you can turn into a nursery. Going to pre-natal classes with Risotto, choosing baby clothes, seeing him out and about pushing a fancy perambulator (you’ve always wanted one of those tacky, over the top ones that look like a Victorian nanny’s contraption, and you know that Risotto will agree to it--).

You think about him in the delivery room, your nails making crescent moon cuts in his palm. You think about his encouraging tone; you think about the hand-grown flowers he’ll no doubt bring you.

You imagine him cradling a little bundle of joy; tiny in his huge arms. His lips leaving gentle kisses on tiny foreheads. Him reading to your baby, him tending to scrapes, him and you and your child and the life that neither of you ever thought you’d get to live together.

His face is shining, fully transformed. He sees you looking at him with droplets shimmering in your tear ducts and he wipes them away with one big, warm thumb.

“I know,” he says. “It’s not just for me. It’s for all of them, too.”

“Yes,” you say to him. Your voice breaks, pitches, as you manage to get out: “I’m so happy we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

He looks at you, so tender you feel like you’ll come apart under his gaze.

This moment is going to shimmer in your memory forever, you think. You’re glad that this was how the reveal went. This is much more like the two of you than any fancy reveal or ribbon or cake (you might still get a cake, anyway – Risotto has a sweet tooth).

“I love you,” he says, like warmth that wraps about your heart. And then; “What about naming it Formaggio?”

There’s a beat. You stare at him.

Both of your mouths stretch into a smile, a soft huff of laughter escaping his lips that makes you feel like you’re listening to a symphony.

“Maybe we should workshop names a bit more,” you tell him.

He agrees.

[hotshotsxyz]

like it means something

buddie (2.8k) (read it on ao3)

Evan. His own name won’t stop rattling around in his head. Evan.

He brings Eddie home from the hospital and everything’s - not okay, Eddie still got hurt and Buck still had to watch it and Bobby’s still hurt too, but - they’re getting there. No one died, and that’s a hell of a lot better than it could’ve been. No one died.

Evan.

Eddie kisses Chris’s forehead and Buck grins wide, because yeah, of course he would take care of him if the worst happened, but this is what Christopher deserves. His family, alive and whole and well.

Taylor’s there. Of course she is, Buck’s mind supplies, you asked her to be. She’s your friend. More than a friend? Buck doesn’t know. There’s a lot to unpack there, and with everything else that’s happened, they haven’t had the time. It’s a conversation for another day.

Abuela, Pepa and Carla each take their turn fussing over Eddie and then, to Buck’s surprise, him too. He doesn’t understand why. Eddie got shot, not him. Eddie’s the one who hasn’t been home in a week, not him. Eddie -

Evan.

Buck’s at a loss. It’s a party of sorts, but Eddie’s exhausted and so is he. Buck feels completely wrung out, and he can see the tension in Eddie’s expression that says he does too. He wants to tell everyone else to leave, but it isn’t his place. Still, though, Taylor seems to get the hint first. She pulls him aside with a gentle hand to his shoulder.

“I’m going to head out. Is there anything you need?” she asks.

Buck shakes his head mutely.

“Just... get some rest, okay? I know you want to take care of him, but you’re not the only one who can.” She presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then heads over to where Eddie and Ana are seated at the dining room table to make her excuses.

Taylor is half right and half wrong. There are other people that can take care of Eddie, but Buck won’t be able to rest unless he’s nearby.

Evan.

Abuela and Pepa leave next, citing the sinking sun and the growing weariness in Eddie’s movements. They each kiss him on the cheek and go with the promise to return in the morning. Abuela’s left behind enough food to feed an army for a week, stacked in the fridge in carefully labeled Tupperware.

Then Carla goes and it’s just Eddie, Ana, Buck and Chris.

Evan.

Buck should probably go, he knows, but he can’t quite bring himself to. He knows Eddie’s okay, has the living proof sitting right in front of him, but the second he looks away all the tension of the week returns, the fear and anxiety mixing sickeningly in his stomach.

Christopher has fallen asleep in Eddie’s lap, head tucked into his good shoulder. Eddie himself is fighting yawns. It’s been a long day.

Finally, it’s Ana who breaks the silence, standing and pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “Get some rest,” she says. “And text me if you need anything.”

It’s virtually the same thing Taylor said to him, and it strikes Buck as odd. They’ve been together, what, six months now? She should be saying more. Maybe she’s not because he’s here. Buck still can’t bring himself to leave.

Evan.

Neither of them has moved in the minutes since Ana left, but Eddie’s eyes are starting to drift and Buck knows he needs to sleep.

“Let me take Chris,” he says softly.

The grateful nod Eddie gives him is a testament to just how tired he really is.

Buck picks him up carefully and carries him to bed. He tucks him in and presses a kiss into his forehead. Once upon a time, he might’ve wondered if that was his place. Not now, though, not after everything Eddie said. He loves this kid like his own; he’s not going to pretend it’s anything less.

Evan.

He flicks the light out and makes sure Chris’s night light is on before gently shutting the door. Wordlessly, he returns to Eddie’s side.

There’s a grimace of pain on Eddie’s face that hadn’t been there before, and a quick glance at the clock tells Buck that he’s way past due for another round of medication. He grabs the pills and a bottle of water from the kitchen.

“The doctor said I can give you ibuprofen, too, if this isn’t enough.”

Eddie shakes his head minutely. “No, this is okay.” He swallows the pills Buck offers him dry, then washes them down with a swig of water.

“You need to sleep,” Buck says. “I should-“

“Stay, please?” Eddie interrupts him.

And how could Buck say no to that?

Evan.

Buck’s barely asleep when he hears Eddie cry out. He’s on his feet in a second and by Eddie’s side in less.

Eddie’s asleep still, but his face is scrunched and he’s curled in on himself like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Buck places a hand on his leg and shakes him gently.

Eddie shoots up, hissing in pain and clutching his shoulder. His eyes dart wildly around the room, unseeing.

“Hey, hey, just a dream, you’re okay,” Buck says.

Eddie’s eyes are wide with fear as they meet Buck’s. He sucks in a ragged, shuddering breath, then sags.

“I- you. You were- fuck,” Eddie stutters, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Buck repeats. He pulls Eddie to his chest. “You’re okay.”

Buck rocks them back and forth gently as his shirt slowly grows wet with Eddie’s tears.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Eddie gasps against him. Buck just holds him tighter.

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

Eventually, Eddie pulls back, wiping his eyes with his good hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Buck asks after a moment.

Eddie shakes his head but begins to speak anyway. “It was- I saw you, covered in blood and I couldn’t... couldn’t move, or, or help you. And- and then you were coughing up blood, just like at the party, and I tried, Buck I tried but it was like I was stuck in quicksand and I couldn’t-“ Eddie’s breathing has gone ragged again, so Buck grabs his hand.

“Me?” he can’t help but ask.

“Evan,” Eddie says, so tenderly it hurts.

Evan.

They fall asleep curled together, Eddie’s hand resting over Buck’s heart. It’s the first decent sleep Buck’s had since the shooting.

They don’t talk about it the next day, mostly because Buck doesn’t know what to say. He suspects Eddie doesn’t either.

Instead, much to Christopher’s delight, Buck makes pancakes. The three of them eat together on the couch, watching some cartoon that Chris seems interested in and Buck’s never seen before. It’s so painfully normal. Buck was terrified he’d never get to have this again, and now that he does he can’t shake the feeling that the other shoe is going to drop.

Evan.

That night, Eddie wordlessly pulls Buck into his bedroom. They lay facing each other in the dark. Buck wants nothing more than to bridge the gap between them, but it might as well be the Grand Canyon.

There’s not much light in the room, just the ambient glow of the city filtering in through the cracks in the blinds. It’s enough to see Eddie’s face by, but it doesn’t help Buck read his inscrutable expression. He eventually gives up trying and closes his eyes.

He’s stiff, and sleep evades him. If Eddie’s shifting is any indication, he’s still awake too. Finally, Eddie heaves a sigh and, to Buck’s surprise, wraps a hand around Buck’s wrist and pulls. Buck opens his eyes and sees the silent question in Eddie’s.

Is this okay?

Buck presses himself into Eddie’s space without hesitation.

Evan.

Eddie has a doctor’s appointment the next day, and Buck’s agreed to meet Taylor for coffee after dropping him off. Carla’s with Chris for the day, to help him with school, leaving Buck with a free hour on his hands for the first time in over a week.

His stomach has been in knots all morning. He’s not sure if it’s the prospect of letting Eddie out of his sight for the first time since he’s been home, or the conversation he knows he’s about to have with Taylor.

Because he’s thought about it, and the idea of being with Taylor… he’s kidding himself. Before, maybe. But now, after, with the mess of feelings he has twisting in his chest - he’s not in a place to start something new. He’s not even sure he wants it - her - anymore. Taylor’s great, but she could never fill the hole that was punched in his chest by the same bullet that tore through Eddie’s shoulder.

He’s starting to wonder if he’ll spend the rest of his life dividing things into before and after.

Taylor’s already seated when he arrives, fingers wrapped around a cardboard coffee cup that’s still steaming. Buck almost expected to change his mind when he saw her, to suddenly remember why he was interested in the first place, but mostly he’s just anxious to get back to Eddie. He doesn’t even really feel the old curl of attraction he’s used to. He sits in front of her, suppressing a sigh.

Taylor looks up at him, wearing an expression he can’t quite decipher. “Buck,” she says.

Evan.

“Hey, Taylor.”

“You don’t want coffee?” She asks, inclining her cup towards him.

Buck shakes his head. “Had some this morning,” he shrugs. “Don’t want to get jittery.”

Taylor frowns slightly, but doesn’t say anything.

They sit in awkward silence for what feels like an eternity before Buck finally breaks it.

“Look, Taylor,” he sighs. “There’s a lot going on right now, and I just… whatever this thing is between us, I’m not sure I have the space to figure it out. You deserve someone who’s all in, and I just can’t be right now.”

Taylor blows out a breath. “Oh thank god,” she says.

And that’s… unexpected. Buck raises a brow.

“You’re my friend, and I care so much about you, but I- I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I told myself it was something else.” Taylor doesn’t look him in the eye. “All this earnestness is making me nauseous,” she jokes weakly.

Buck huffs out a short laugh. The tightly wound anxiety in his gut loosens, just a bit. “Friends, then?”

Taylor finally looks at him and smiles. “Friends,” she agrees.

“How was coffee?” Eddie asks. He’s looked vaguely constipated since Buck picked him up, but insists that his appointment went fine.

“Good,” Buck replies honestly. “We’re on the same page.” He’s driving, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Eddie’s face do something complicated.

“Good,” he says. “That’s good.” There’s a beat of silence. “So you’re… together, then?”

Buck glances at Eddie, whose eyes are fixed on the road ahead of them. His expression is carefully neutral, but tight around the edges. Buck huffs a soft breath. “Nah,” he says. “End of the day it wasn’t what either of us wanted.”

Some of the tension bleeds out of Eddie’s posture. “Oh. I, uh- are you okay with that?”

Buck chuckles lightly at that. “Yeah, Eds. Pretty sure I’ve got everything I need right now.”

Evan.

Sleeping in the same bed at night becomes something of a habit, just like not talking about it does. It’s not that Buck doesn’t want to. He’s just… not sure how. What do you say when you’ve got so many feelings that you can’t even begin to decipher them, and the only thing you know for sure is that the thought of letting your best friend out of sight for more than a few minutes sends you careening towards a panic attack? There’s not exactly a greeting card for that.

This song and dance, though, it’s familiar. Comforting, in its own way. They’ve always flirted with the line between friendship and more, daring to put a toe over it, but never to take an actual step. Buck can’t help but wonder if this is a step, and they’re both just too chickenshit to admit it.

Evan.

“Where’s Ana?” Buck asks one morning, apropos of nothing. “I would’ve expected to see her around more often.”

Eddie stiffens. “We, uh, we broke up.”

Buck whirls around, nearly flinging egg against the backsplash. “When?”

“After the party.” Eddie shrugs uncomfortably.

Buck’s eyebrows raise. “I’ve been with you 24/7 since then,” he says. The question is obvious.

Eddie rubs a hand through his hair and frowns sheepishly. “I… texted her?”

Buck’s jaw drops. “You ended a 6-month relationship, a week after you got shot, over text?”

“In my defense, I was on a lot of painkillers. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Buck can’t help but laugh, throwing his head back. After a moment, Eddie joins in.

“That,” Buck says between giggles, “was not cool, man!”

“Nope,” Eddie agrees.

It’s the best either of them has felt in weeks.

The night after Buck’s first shift back at the station, Eddie has the worst nightmare he’s had since that first night. It takes Buck three tries to wake him, and the glassy look in his eyes remains far longer than he’d like.

“Please be careful,” Eddie says finally. “You have to- I can’t-“

“I promise,” Buck says, holding him tight to his chest.

Evan.

It’s Buck’s own nightmare that brings things to a head.

He’s been sleeping surprisingly peacefully since Eddie’s return home, but when the nightmares do return, they’re the worst he’s had.

He dreams he’s stuck beneath the firetruck, white-hot pain radiating up his leg, watching helplessly as Eddie bleeds out in front of him. Eddie tries to drag himself to Buck, but each pull makes the wound gush even more blood. Buck tries to yell for him to stop, but he can’t make his jaw work.

He finally wrenches it open, only to find himself sitting bolt upright in bed. His throat feels raw, like he’s been screaming, and Eddie’s hand is clutching his forearm. He knows where he is, but the panic from his dream isn’t receding. It grows louder and louder, until finally, Eddie’s voice cuts through.

“Evan!” He says sharply. “You’re okay, you’re fine. You’re in my room, with me. We’re both okay.”

Buck sags and falls back against the pillow, willing his breathing to slow. “You keep saying that,” he whispers in the dark.

“What?”

“My name. Like it means something.”

“It does,” Eddie says. “Every single piece of you matters.”

And Buck… Buck almost believes him.

Evan.

The elephant in the room grows larger every day, but still, they don’t talk about it. For all intents and purposes, Buck lives at Eddie’s. It’s been months. Eddie doesn’t physically need his help anymore, but neither is willing to let the other go. With Eddie’s return date drawing nearer, though, it’s getting harder to ignore.

Buck doesn’t want to ask, but he has to. He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop since practically the first night, and he can’t take it anymore. He decides to soften the blow with pancakes.

“I should probably go back to my apartment,” he says, as casually as he can manage, as if the words don’t feel like ripping his still-beating heart out of his chest. Buck tries not to examine that feeling too closely.

“You need something?” Eddie asks, like it hasn’t even occurred to him that Buck might not come back.

“No, I-“

“Oh,” Eddie says. His expression goes carefully blank.

“I just-“ Buck tries to explain.

Eddie holds up a hand forestalling him. “I get it,” he says. “It’s fine.”

Buck swallows, ignoring the voice in his head that says definitively that it’s not.

Evan.

Buck’s out the door, duffle in hand, when Eddie stops him.

“Buck, wait,” he says, “Evan!”

Buck drops his bag in surprise and turns, only to find Eddie much closer than he expected.

“Don’t go,” Eddie says in a rush. “Stay, please. I need you here. With me.”

Buck gapes at him, as slowly the knot of emotions in his chest begins to unravel. The string that encircles the edges, that one he knows well: fear. The one beneath it: anger, at the sniper and the universe for hurting Eddie all over again. Hope and devastation intermingle, while grief lay coiled off to the side.

And the string that runs through the middle, holding it all together… that’s love.

Oh.

Buck gets it now.

He takes a step forward, closing the minuscule gap between him and Eddie. “I don’t want to go,” he whispers.

“Then don’t.”

Buck kisses him, soft and sweet. A promise, one which Eddie returns in kind.

There’re still a million things to talk about, but for once in his life, Evan Buckley is pretty sure he has all the words he needs.

[cdroloisms]

i love all your super angsty stuff, but sometimes i want to see dream go apesht and be powerful and confident and frightening again, y'know? maybe a little unhinged still but making everyone realize that THEY made this monster by putting him in the vault O_O

OH YEAH ,, unhinged c!dream my beloved (/lh) 

c!dream when he’s a hot mess, ever so slightly (or not slightly) off the rails is SO much fun to write and read ,, he’s so messed up to himself and others and makes me go like >:D the entire time 

im not sure if this is what you wanted, exactly, but boy was it fun to write. c!sam,, is not having a good day lmao 

tw: blood, violence, implied torture, offscreen murder, death threats, mental instability, emotional distress, dark content, prison arc/pandora’s vault, c!sam critical (not really? But I digress)

Ranboo is in the wrong place in the wrong time.

He thinks, halfheartedly, that that could be the name of his autobiography. What To Do If The Universe Hates You, an Advice Book By Ranboo T. Beloved doesn’t sound too shabby, all things considered - it’s applicable, at the very least. It’d been true with George’s house, true for the Butcher Army, true when he’d been the one that Techno found in search for his armor back, true now, with sirens blaring from the prison that he’s coincidentally probably the closest to out of everyone on the server. Part of him wants to just ditch the place for Snowchester, as he was originally planning to do; unfortunately, caring about pretty much everyone means caring about what’s going on with their greatest enemy, especially now that Wilbur’s been revived.

Ranboo hurries towards the prison, dunking water by his feet to activate his trident. It only takes him a few Riptides (what can he say - he did say he was close to the prison) for the beach in front of the giant, dark-walled structure to come into sight, two figures stood in front of the smaller box containing the Nether Portal. One of them, standing tall and wearing glinting purple netherite, is clearly, unmistakably Sam, which means he other stranger- well, not stranger, exactly, must be Dream.

Ranboo skids to a stop on the hillside, not wanting to jump into the fray until he knows exactly what’s happening; Techno’s voice rings in his head (the element of surprise is one of your greatest weapons in battle) then Phil’s (what he means is don’t be an idiot, mate) and he settles, silent, to observe with an enderpearl readied in his hand.

It’s no wonder he didn’t recognize Dream, at first - he looks nothing like the man that Ranboo remembers, almost doesn’t look like a person at all. His hair is long and tangled, hanging in clumps around his face. Even from the distance, he looks like a wreck, all sharp edges and skinny, shaking limbs, a heavy netherite axe hefted in one hand. Ranboo shudders at the sight of the blood already on the blade, at the various injuries painting the orange of his prison uniform more red than orange, and looks to make sure his sword is close at hand.

“Prisoner,” Sam’s voice is gravelly, tight with stress. He sounds the same way he did that one time he confronted Ranboo about the prison books he didn’t remember signing, the pages filled with strange runes that he somehow could understand- “Stand down.”

“Sam-” Dream laughs, high-pitched and grating, and Ranboo’s tail lashes anxiously. Dream’s hand raises to his face, his shoulders shaking as the other hand tightens over the handle of his axe, “Awesam. Sammy- I told you, didn’t I? I fucking told you what would happen.”

“Dream-”

“Unless you want to end up like Quackity, I suggest you stop talking, Warden.”

It’s quite a sight to see someone in fully armored netherite cower from someone completely unarmored, looking more dead than alive, but well - it is Dream, and Ranboo finds himself cringing back at the words even though he’s not even in the area. He steals a look at his communicator; the rest of the server has noticed the sirens, it seems, but nobody seems to understand what exactly is going on, much less be ready for a potential fight, and a nervous shiver runs down his spine.

“Sammy,” Dream stalks forward, his axe braced in front of him, “Look at you. You’re so goddamn pathetic-” He spits the words like venom, back hunched, center of gravity pulled close to the ground - he looks more mob than human, watches Sam with the same wild-eyed desperation that Ranboo’s seen in a starving wolf chasing down prey, “Such a fucking coward that you couldn’t do shit yourself. Well- good for Quackity, isn’t it? It sure ended up well for him.”

Ranboo shivers, looking at the blood staining the netherite blade with ice rising in his chest. No- he didn’t-

“You know how good it felt to plunge this axe into his neck?” Dream laughs, the sound raspy and unsettling, making Ranboo shrink back in his hiding spot, “You know how many times he threatened to do the same to me? You know how many times he’s used this exact fucking axe to cave my ribs in?” He hurls the blade down and Ranboo reaches out with a wordless shout, watching as the axe strikes the earth in a spray of sand, “HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES, SAM?”

“Dream-”

“Don’t- You don’t get to call me that,” Dream pulls the axe back, looks up with another round of breathless laughter. “You- don’t you fucking dare.”

Sam draws back- Ranboo can’t place the expression that flashes over his face, something a little like fear, something a little like guilt. He doesn’t seem to try and say anything, a sword appearing in his hand.

“So you want to try this too,” Dream’s voice pitches low, becoming something hysterical, almost amused, “Sure! We’ll play. Try to last a little longer than Quackity, will you?”

He flashes forward, much much faster than he should with the amount of injuries that claw over his arms and legs, brings the axe down in a heavy clang that is only barely met by Sam’s sword. Ranboo looks left and right, tries to find others coming to the Warden’s aid, finds none. Dream’s pace is ruthless, bringing down the axe again and again, hardly reacting when Sam catches him by the arm on his blade. Sam hisses in alarm as the axe handle is swung into the inside of his arm, loses his grip on the sword as the back end of the axe catches it at the base. Dream heaves in shuddering breaths, axe clanging against Sam’s armor and sending the creeper hybrid toppling to the ground with a sharp exhale of breath, presses the bloody blade beneath his chin.

“You know-” He smiles, pressing the axe forward further, making Sam lift his head as he falls back against the sand, “You were kind of useful, you know? You and Quackity, I mean.” Dream hisses angrily, words pitching lower, “Do you know what’s the easiest way to make someone hurt? Do you know where to hit someone for it to cause the most pain? Do you know how it feels to break every bone in your fucking body? Quackity said he’d make every fucking day of my life a living hell.” He raises his axe, foot ground down on Sam’s arm, “How about I return the favor?”

Ranboo throws his enderpearl.

He raises his sword, braces against the vibrations running up his arms as the axe crashes down on it with a grimace as he readies himself to fight. Dream draws back for a second- “‘Boo?’

“Ranboo, run,” Sam shouts behind him, pulling his arm to his chest as he moves to stand, “Get out of here-”

“No, no, I think he can stay,” Dream’s eyes flash, harden. “Figures that he’d play the traitor once again, doesn’t it Ranboo?”

“I was never your ally-”

“You and the rest of this damned server, ‘Boo,” He laughs dangerously, draws back as Sam gets to his feet. Ranboo watches as he kicks up Sam’s sword, catching it in his left hand. “Oh well. As much as I would’ve liked to take another life-”

A flash of blue-green, and there’s someone else standing there, a crossbow loosely held in one hand, smiling lazily through his hair.

“-it looks like my ride out is here.”

“You’ve made quite  the mess,” Wilbur drawls, rolling his eyes at the man beside him, “I have to say- I’m a little impressed.”

“Wil,” Dream breathes, shoulders visibly falling, looking at the other man with a sort of soft-edged reverence that makes Ranboo shift uncomfortably at the sight. It feels off, wrong, to see him go from a raging, frothing thing to someone docile, expression filled with a mockery of adoration.

“We’ll be off then, gentlemen,” Wilbur salutes with one hand, lips quirking up. “No hard feelings, Ranboo, Sam,” he nods at each of them with their names and tosses an enderpearl into the horizon, Dream doing so at the same time, “We’ll see you around.”

Ranboo watches, lungs heaving, as they disappear.

“...you know, Sam, I think we might be in a little bit of trouble.”

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

It started with a whisper

I originally wrote ‘Like I did with you’ as a one-shot but people wanted a sequel. This turned out to be waaaaay longer than expected (4.7k word count). Inspired by Everybody Talks by Neon Trees. I hope you lot enjoy!

Ao3

(Also this is Mari’s new outfit, all credits go to the original artist)

————

Two teens stood upon the balcony of a large banquet hall, exposed to the midsummer night air. The sky was a lilac blanket that hung over the Parisian buildings, speckled with glowing stars. The moon, with it’s crescent smile, beamed down of the young couple.

Hey, baby, won't you look my way?

Marinette’s eyes were closed as she rested her head upon his shoulder, relaxing after the night’s rapid escalation. Tonight she had arrived at the ball with the intent to be there for her friends, but somehow she found herself within the arms of Gotham’s (and probably Paris’) Ice Prince. She had overheard his nickname from the Gotham students, one of which being Jon, who was in the middle of mocking the young Wayne. She had never considered that nickname as suitable; sure he was temperamental & had a tendency to snap, but icey to the core? No.

I can be your new addiction

Damian was calm. For the first time in his life he felt like he could take a breath. His exhale was carried off by a small gust of wind, the bush over hanging the stone railing rustled. With his inhale, the scent of Marinette’s perfume became present once more. Mixed with the crisp night’s air, her usual scent of pastries was mixed with what could only be described as ambrosia. His phone vibrated within his pocket, it was never on volume due to the potential risk it caused during his heroic activities.

“Shit.” Notifications covered his screen, multiple tweets, Instagrams and Tiktoks in which he had been tagged in. But the alert came from his family’s private messaging chat. The whole thread was a shit storm, Grayson and Todd’s messages were completely capitalised (he learnt years ago this meant ‘to yell’ in writing form) and both had multiple ‘keyboard spasms’. Drake, like the thorough detective he is, had combed through the images and videos, investigating their validity. His honorary sisters had replied with ‘awwwww’(s) and ‘Omg we MUST meet this girl! I need to know how she tamed the demon!’. He could practically hear Brown’s shrill voice from across the ocean.

Hey, baby, what you gotta say?

No reply from his father or Alfred. The two of them were the only semblance of ‘normal’ paternal figures he had within his life, after the sham of a relationship he had previously held with his grandfather. Their silence unnerved him.

Marinette had noticed his attention had shifted to his phone, her own mobile was buzzing away within her baby pink purse. Messages, notifications of account tagging and comments galore. A sigh left her lips when she saw her parents seemed to be none the wiser. Good, she didn’t need to deal with future adoration for ‘The boy who swept our daughter off of her feet’ (or something along those lines).

Her cheeks regained some of the warmth they held before as she thought of her parent’s reaction. Scrolling through her Twitter she saw her friends had posted multiple images of the night’s events, majority being her shared dance.

Chloé Bourgeois @TheBestBourgeois

what kind of Disney shit is this? (Insert video of two teens dancing around an mostly empty dance floor.)

Alix Kubdel @Sk8trGirl

Replying to @TheBestBourgeois

I KNOW RIGHT?! THEY WERE FUCKING FLOATING!!!

All you're giving me is fiction

She was thankful that they hadn’t tagged her but she hadn’t been spared by others in attendance. Her post thread had blown up, thousands had commented and even more had viewed the evidence. There was no way she would come out of this unscathed.

“Has anyone been on Twitter today?” The blonde of the family asked as she walked into the dining room. Her eyes focused on her scrolling screen, brows furrowed in confusion. “Actually has anyone seen what’s happening on any of our socials?”

It was early in the afternoon and the family had recently returned home after a straining stakeout. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and the Batfam had to deal with his minions. Dick’s arm was in a sling (sprained from a grapple gone wrong), Jason was icing his hand, Alfred was stitching Bruce’s chest wounds while Tim and the girls escaped without severe injuries. All were still recuperating and finally able to recharge.

Alfred always enforced a strict ‘no devices at the dinner table’ rule; no matter how urgent it was, it could wait until after sustenance was consumed. Tim strongly opposed this, but there was no arguing with Agent A. This all surmises that probably no one had seen the crap storm on social media.

I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time

Bruce sighed, bringing his free arm up to rub his eyes. Tilting his head back to look at Steph, “Who was it this time?” Barbara quickly took out her phone to see what Stephanie was talking about, all the while glancing accusingly at Dick and Jason. Both of whom held up their arms (or in Dick’s case arm), declaring their innocence.

“It wasn’t fucking me!”

“Jason! Language!” Dick shot a glare at Jason and was met with one in return. “It wasn’t me either.”

“Then who-“ Bruce started before being cut off by his most rambunctious daughter.

I found out that everybody talks

Stephanie with a squeal, exclaimed that it was Damian. Visions of what the Wayne brat could have done flashed through the heads of everyone in the room. He had been sent overseas before the quarantines and lockdowns hit. During Damian’s first month in France he had been forced into online schooling and then finally when he got to go to in-person classes he hated it. Described the class as a kindergarten with petty and vindictive toddlers.

Had he broken someone’s arm? Was that person of such importance that it had spread over multiple social media platforms? France’s government had announced on June 15th, that teens were now being inoculated so him having COVID-19 was doubtful. Had he insulted the wrong person? Had he taken over the government? He certainly had the potential.

Everybody talks, everybody talks

What they saw stunned them, even Steph as she watched it for the 7th time. Damian Wayne was dancing. But not only that, he was dancing with a girl.

It started with a whisper

“What is this shit?”

No one verbally objected to Jason’s outburst but he was sent a harsh glare from Alfred, Dick and Bruce. Their focus soon returned to the images and videos before them. Babs’ and Steph’s phones were returned to them as the others ran to grab their own devices. They all met back at the table, comparing the posts and comparing their notes.

I can hear the chitchat

“There’s no way this can be real.”

“Jesus Tim,” Barbara rolls her eyes, “have you seen the amount of posts there are? You’d be an idiot to think otherwise.”

Take me to your love shack

“I’m with Tim, how do we know this isn’t some skit. I mean, Demon Spawn almost looks normal. That’s a matter of concern.” He almost dry heaved when he agreed with Tim. Damian couldn’t be capable of naturally exuding that amount of humanity unless there was something in it for him.

Mamas always gotta backtrack

“I was just saying Babs, that we should check the credibility of these images. For all we know they could be gorilla glued together and trying to get unstuck.” Tim cringed at his own reasoning, he really needed to either sleep (probably not going to happen anytime soon) or find his favourite coffee brand (which had been one of the first to vanish after the covid hoarders appeared).

When everybody talks back

Dick was too busy freaking out and spam messaging the youngest Wayne, to defend Damian’s humanity. The family saw this and followed suit, wanting to get information from the source.

Chat name: Alfred supremacy

BigBird: AHHHHHH DAMIAN!

BigBird: YOU LOOK SO CUTE!!!

BigBird: HAIFJDNDNFI

LittleWing: WTF HAPPENED DEMON SPAWN YOU LOOK ALMOST HUMAN

Babs: who knew the city of love would influence the brat

Blondie: they are so cuteeeeeee!

Blondie: We HAVE to meet her!

Silent-but-deadly: agreed.

Timbo: YO DEMON

Timbo: Apparently the videos are legit

Timbo: are you being blackmailed?

And it just devolved into more chaos from there, fueled by the fact that they saw Damian’s ‘Blood Son’ account appear online before vanishing once more. Dick shrieked, “I FOUND HER ACCOUNT!”

The family gathered around the eldest son, peering over his shoulder to view his iPhone 12max screen. They saw a young girl’s Instagram account. It was locked but they could see her profile pic, the girl had black hair and looked to be if Asian decent. They compared it to the videos but it was hard to see due to the hall’s lighting and the minimised facial features of the pfp. Alfred suggested that they search up her username and see who has tagged her, some might have other photos of her.

After research for awhile, the family began to get frustrated with lack of results.

Hey honey you could be my drug

You could be my new prescription

“Come on!” Jason complained, “What kind of teenage girl doesn’t post her life online?” He ignored the girls glares and went back to researching. How had the account by the name of ‘mariiiiinette’ to managed to prevent the entire Wayne clan from accessing it? Damn Instagram privacy settings. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “We are fucking stupid. Why don’t we just use the Bat-computer? It would be so much fucking easier.”

“It shouldn’t be used for civilian issues-“

Too much could be an overdose

“The girl could be a meta for all we know! We aren’t safe until we know who she is.” Jason points a finger at Tim, his paranoia flared up and even though he would never admit it, Jason would do anything to protect each member of his family (although Bruce is still debatable).

All this trash talk make me itching

Barbara and Tim took their usual positions as Oracle and Red Robin (who had been banned from patrol due to lack of sleep). The rest of the Batfam stood behind them either with arms crossed or still failing at researching.

Oh my my shit

“The account is owned by a girl called Marinette Dupian-Cheng. She is French-Chinese and her parents own a popular bakery. Also if it wasn’t already obvious, she goes to Collège Françoise Dupont, aka Damian’s French school.” Tim begun informing his nosy family, “But this account has been inactive for the past 6 months, which is strange due to her frequent posting schedule before hand. It seems she probably has a second account and this is her old one.”

Everybody talks, everybody talks

“Not only that,” Barbara interrupted. “There are unopened messages from other accounts that accuse her of being a bully. There is a whole Facebook page about this girl and how she has been hurting her old friends, but neither side seems reliable. The so called victims seem to be twisting the truth but there is barely any information about Marinette so we can’t disprove it either.”

“Read out some of the messages.” Bruce took a cup of coffee from Alfred and sipped it.

The main screen of the bat computer displayed a Facebook group with the banner picture being a photo of Marinette. “They are mostly complaints expected of teen girls when there is a girl they don’t like; ‘Marinette is such a know-it-all’, ‘She is constantly insulting Lila’s intelligence’. They go on to talk about how Marinette was briefly expelled from the Collège before being reinstated by the principle for a reason unknown to them.”

Everybody talks too much

“Her school reports up until this year were good. The newest one states, ‘While Marinette is a wonderful and bright student, I encourage her to settle her disagreements outside of class. This seems to only be a recent occurrence and I implore her to go to the guidance council if she is in need of help.’” A beat of silence echoes through the cave, Tim sighed. “Jason’s meta theory could be correct. She could have just recently started exhibiting her abilities and using them to get what she wants.”

“Bruce what do you want to do?”

“We’re going to Paris.”

She opened her eyes to the blaring morning light that streamed through the blinds. Her lashes still painted with mascara that refused to leave. She felt a pang of sorrow when she was removing her makeup and dress last night, she never wanted the night to end. She shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen, covering her mouth when she yawned. She greeted her mother as she entered the kitchen to get breakfast.

She glanced at her phone and there was the chaos that was started hours ago and it was still occurring. It was the weekend, she wouldn’t need to deal with her classmates until Monday. But she would still have to survive her parent’s interrogation. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her mother smirking at her.

Everybody talks

“Nadja told me some interesting news about last night.” Marinette held her breath, glaring at the toaster, willing it to hurry up so she could escape. “Well,” Sabine patted her shoulder before rubbing Mari’s back. “I know you didn’t want to go but I hope you had fun.”

With that she exited the kitchen, probably going to help her father in the bakery. The ravenette stared after her, eye widened in shock, jumping when the toaster went off. Buttering her toast she went over the conversation, her brows furrowed in confusion. She had expected a ‘When do I get to meet the oh so famous prince?’ or ‘Should I be expecting a new guest sometime in the near future?’ or at least a ‘Who was that young man, Bǎozàng (宝藏 it means treasure)?’ But she said nothing.

A small smile was plastered upon her face as she changed and went down to help her parents in the bakery. Her father didn’t say anything either, he gave her a knowing smile before continuing to kneed the dough. She sat at the the store front as the cashier whilst her parents were busy making ‘Paris’s Finest Pastries’.

Her musings slowly faded as she was brought back to reality by badly hushed whispers. Two young preteens were by the bread roll casing near the door. She had seen them come in before with their parents, the girls went to the prestigious international school over in the 16th arrondissement. The one with purple hair kept whispering to the brunette, both ‘subtly’ glancing towards her. Using her enhanced hearing she listened in on their conversation.

“That’s her, I swear that’s her in the video.”

The blonde’s face soured likes she sucked on a lemon. “No, it wasn’t good lighting there is no way he would dance with someone like her.”

Everybody talks

Marinette had tough skin but their words had an impact, only a small one due to her defence mechanism of repressing emotions. She stopped listening and went back to drawing in her sketchpad, she was in desperate need of a new school outfit.

The two girls eventually came up to the counter, goods in hand. Marinette rung up and bagged their items (paper because save the turtles sksksk) in a tired daze. A phone was shoved into her face, her eyes barely adjusted to view the screen before the blonde spoke.

“Is this your instagram?” She asked in a tone so snobbish that it should be illegal from a person her age. Marinette finally was able to view the screen that was barely an inch from her face. Her old Instagram ‘mariiiiinette’ was displayed on screen, she hesitantly nodded, gaze flicking back to the two in front of her.

The blonde’s nose scrunched up and the purple goth girl squealed in delight. They soon after left the store, their conversation had devolved into ‘See! I told you’ and ‘Yeah, yeah. You were right.’

Walking to school on Monday, she had finally come down from cloud nine. She still rode the tail end of her high as she rushed along her path to her campus, she wasn’t going to be late but she sure wasn’t going to be early. She had spent the better part of the weekend designing and sewing a brand new outfit. Her new look was composed of a black cropped singlet (L'amour gagne hemmed into it and it’s straps), paired matching peach plaid cropped overshirt and a-line miniskirt. Her hair was down, ballet flats were worn and her makeup was the usual with the added edition of a rose gold eyeshadow.

Even though her face was covered in a black and gold mask, she looked hot.

She reached the campus and the whispers started again, people were still buzzing from Friday night. Her classmates, the majority of her grade and the younger years seemed to gossiping before class about the formal’s events. She couldn’t spot any of her friends or the two Gotham transfers, so she was stuck listening the the chitchat. Why couldn’t she have been late like usual?

Damian had a fowl disposition and it showed in multiple icey glares (and that was before he even reached the collège). His family had made their appearance known in Paris at 1am Sunday morning. He could have used his dorm to escape but his family didn’t have the word ‘privacy’ within their vocabulary. He didn’t want to have to pay for a lock replacement due to his brothers’ (most likely Todd with Drake & Grayson laughing at him) lock picking habit.

The Ice Prince was back with full force. He had just been... influenced by all the other couples. Yes he did respect Dupain-Cheng and he appreciated her company & pleasant conversations. He would struggle to hide a small smile at the memory of the dance, even if he denied himself the happiness of normality, he felt content when reminiscing.

“Ooo the Ice Prince is here, did he have a fight with his princess or something?” The voice seemed to mock him.

“The Disney Magic is gone. The demon is back.”

Everybody talks

At the second jeer he shot a glare at the perpetrator. Jon held his hands up in an ‘I surrender manner’, laughing as he joined Damian at his side. The two entered the school’s large foyer and looked to see if any of the classes were open yet. Sadly they weren’t, before he was wrong and the his class was plain torture but this was truely hell.

He saw Dupain-Cheng sitting alone on the stairs, drawing within her sketchpad. He wondered how a girl like her, who always seemed to be involved in other’s lives (for the better) was ignoring all of the comments about her. She felt his focus centre on her, eyes flicking up to meet his, she provided him with a small wave before continuing to draw.

Jon nudged him with an elbow to his ribs and dragged him off to the side, into the boy’s locker rooms. Jon scowled at the door, “It’s a mad house out there. You’ve heard what some people are saying right?”

“Why would I care about these imbeciles?”

Jon jabbed Damian in the chest, causing the demon to stumble. Green eyes darted from blue eyes to the tan finger. “You care when lies hurt people you care about.”

The day began to rapidly decline once the two dance partners took their seats, next to each other. They had both been placed up the back of the class and them sitting together hadn’t been a problem until now apparently. She wasn’t even safe when the teacher started their lecture, whispers and glances were cast towards them. Once the two got to biology it was better, Ms Mendeleiev was a strict teacher and was able to control the class.

Everybody talks

But the recess came. When the bell rang she slowly started packing up her equipment, Alix and Max (who she shared biology with) waited for her; she watched as the Ice Prince left through the door. She knew she didn’t need to be concerned about her friends joining in with the gossiping, if anything they would dispel people and tell them to ‘Mind their own fucking business’ because this whole situations is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

She did receive some slight teasing from Alix about being a Disney princess, but Marinette quipped back about the skater’s fairytale story being ‘Pinknette, the Geek and the Beast’. The three met up with the other two of their group, they had just come from geography. Kim was complaining that Argentina was a state in America.

“That’s Arkansas you idiot!” Chloe shrieked, lightly hitting his arm with her white handbag. Max held his head in his hand as he approached, how had his tutoring sessions failed so badly?

Chloe turned to Marinette, a smile forming from her glare. The blonde examined the designer’s clothing, nodding. “You look like you are about to have a hot girl summer.”

Marinette’s face burned, the tips of her ears coated in red. Alix chuckled and nudged her shoulder.

Everybody talks

“Look at her, she is so desperate for his attention that she probably copied those designs.”

“Why do you think he danced with her anyways? Maybe she has something on him? I mean, she forces him to sit next to her in class, who knows what else she has done.”

What. The. Fuck.

Chloe glowered towards Lila’s posy. “We have a fucking seating plan, those cretins-“ She made a motion to storm over but was caught by the ravenette, looking back to Mari, her rage decreased from a boil to a simmer.

“No Chlo. It’s fine, it’s not worth it.”

Everybody talks... back

The group walked out to the school’s front steps, it was a mad house... a mad courtyard? Students sitting on the stairs, on the grass and standing around mingling, all of them now were staring at her. She held her backpack close to her chest (she had swapped her signature coin-bag purse for the pastel pink bag), pretending its a shield. Her friends circled around her becoming an obstacle to prevent their stares. If people were afraid of a scowling Kim then they don’t know the scorn of Chloe or Alix’s bite. And Max, sweet quiet Max.... you better hope he doesn’t have blackmail on you (he probably does), he can dismantle your life with a single anonymous post.

Rushed footsteps approached them. The group was broken apart by a rude Wayne boy, he swept Mari away from the school and the gossip crowds within. Her four friends shouted at him and he kept walking, shooting a glare at them in response. He kept pushing Marinette forward with a hand placed on the small of her back, her backpack was now swung over his other shoulder.

They ended up in her favourite alcove. She had brought him here with the other Gotham transfers for a native’s tour of Paris. It had always been her safe place to be creative.

It started with a whisper (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“My apologises for our rushed departure but you seemed to want to get out of their anyhow.” His gruff tone danced through the silence, his head still peaking around the corner; watching for any unwelcome guests.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice almost being carried off by the gentle wind. A genuine smile illustrated upon her face.

“We weren’t able to converse after the events of the other night. I would like to formally apologise once more for my actions causing this adverse reaction. If I had kn-“

“You don’t need to apologise!” She squeaked, hiding her eyes behind her fisted hand. Her shoulders curled inwards as she tried to make herself seem as small as possible, a side effect of her common use of her secondary miraculous form: Multimouse.

“I chose to dance with you, you don’t need to apologise for my own actions.” He stared at her with confusion. He had taken the blame so she wouldn’t need to do so herself; but she had taken it anyways. He had given her an out. Why does she always take the blame, even for things out of her control?

“But if I hadn’t danced with you then you wouldn’t have been the focus of the entire school.”

Marinette stepped forward, her eyes hardened and blazing. “Damian Friday night I went there out of obligation to my friends, I didn’t want to be there. But dancing with you? That was the highlight of my week, probably my month too. I enjoyed our time together.” Her face softened, lips twitched downwards ever so slightly. “I don’t regret anything about that night, but do you?”

He was bad at comfort. Everyone in his family avoided him when they were in need, he plainly didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t visibly upset but he sensed that she is disappointed that he apparently didn’t share the same opinion of the night. The only thing he regretted about that night was letting Jon call him a coward, but then again if he didn’t he never would have danced with Dupa- Marinette.

He picked up her clenched hand, the tension in her body alleviated at his embrace. He remembered how Grayson would apologise to Kor’i or how his father interacted with Ms Kyle. He brought their hands up and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

And that was when I kissed her (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“I do not regret anything either—“ he cleared his throat, “In fact, I’d appreciate if we would be able to interact more, especially outside of that cesspit.”

Was he...?

It didn’t matter.

She smiled the same dazzling smile she gave him at the dance. She nodded while laughing, “I’d love that.”

Everybody talks

The two stay talking, hidden within their secret alcove for the rest of the day. She texted her parents to say she was with a friend and would be back later that night. Damian didn’t bother texting his family, Marinette knew he had to be back soon due to his dorm’s curfew.

The sun was setting at they walked back together, he did the gentlemanly thing and dropped her off at her bakery door. She could see her mother behind the register inconspicuously looking over at the two of them. Damian’s lips quirked upwards, she was satisfied with his kinda-smile.

He walked back, hands in pockets and a neutral expression upon his face instead of a scowl. He reached his door and took his keys, he found that it was already open. Damn.

His family was splayed out within his two roomed dorm. Todd and Drake were fighting over a place to sit on his bed, whilst his father sat at his desk, watching the commotion. The three of them turned to him as he enter the room, they were the only family members able to attend on short notice; Cain had a ballet audition, Gordon & Brown had concert tickets for tomorrow, Grayson had to take care of Mar’i while Kor’i was on Tamaran and Alfred stayed to ensure no one died during their night time activities.

“We need to talk Damian.” His father stood, leaning onto the desk chair. “The school called and said you had an unexcused absence for half the day. Where were you Damian?”

Damian stared into his father’s eyes. He was fifteen, almost an adult, but was treated like he was ten again.

“I was with a friend.”

“Probably the girl from the dance. Marinette, right?” Todd mocked him. Damian snapped his head in the direction of his bed, glaring at both his brothers.

“That’s what I want to talk about with you Damian. Now I don’t know her personally but from what we’ve discovered through our investigation we have some concerns. What’s happened Damian?”

The youngest Wayne’s glare shifted off of his brothers to the floor, and then finally to his father; his family sitting in wait for his answer. Straightening his posture, his shoulders clicked as he rolled then back. His statement’s tone was sure and steady, “Everybody talks father.”

Everybody talks... back

[wandsandwheezes]

Assassini | G.W

Warnings // 3.5k // SMUT 18+, Sex, knife play, assassins, murder, attempted assassination??, contracts, ownership, breath play, begging.

A/N // Hi I am literally obsessed with assassins creed that is the only thing that prompted me to want to write this. this is not by any means my best work i just couldnt get the idea out of my head. that is all. thank you @gcdric​ for helping me as historically accurate as possible. 

Your chest heaved as you stepped through the opening double doors and into a stunning reception area; rolling stone walls and a beautiful glass ceiling that showcased the fantastic hues of the Florentine sunset. You knew what you had to do, after all you would have never taken on the task if it didn’t fall within your capabilities. You rubbed your hands together before smoothing out your dress, you felt a fool coming to a high-class party on your own, knowing that the image of a stunning and well presented lady such as yourself standing on her own was sure to cause a scene among men, but with such an important target you couldn’t afford to be chasing around or keeping a date in tow; there was simply too much to lose. 

Feeling the cool metal of the dagger sheathed against your thigh brought you back down to reality, your mind had begun to wonder of a life away from the horrors that came with the trade, what it was like to be a trophy wife on the arm of a wealthy man. That was not the life you had been blessed with, instead you spent your days between contracts, taking out whoever you needed to to get the pay, taking your prize gracefully before you were onto the next. People feared your ability to be able to take a life without remorse and without question, that was the reality of who you were; a cold blooded assassin. 

The latest contract had been practically shoved down your throat, only just finishing up business before you were being shipped off to track the next target. No rest for the wicked. You were on your way to the grandest bash of your career, it would be packed with every wealthy man you could think of, every bachelor prancing around trying to find a wife but your eyes were dead set on finding one man - George Weasley. A very wealthy man, but ruthless, known well for the money of his family name but known better by the blood money that kept him feared by many. It was a contract that only a fool would take, failure ended in torture. You were no fool and you would not fail. 

You knew the person who had last attempted the Weasley Contract - not the brightest man but someone who was notorious for getting the job done, it all came as a surprise at the order when the news of his death spread through the halls like wildfire. His tactics were good; sneak past the guards and get him dead in the night, his downfall was that George knew he was coming, waited for him even. You were glad however, that despite taking on the failed contract, you had the element of surprise on your side, nobody suspects a woman, not even George. 

You caught sight of him standing with his hands pressed against the railing as he leaned over the balcony, eyes surveying the room as he spoke to someone standing beside him. George was tall, that much was obvious from the way he towered above most people standing around him, he had a chiselled jaw, dark striking eyes and long messy orange hair. He looked like a god, a pedestal he had placed himself on, and you knew that you had to get closer to him, better yet get him alone. 

You had never once whored yourself out for the sake of a job, your years upon years of training gave you a sharp enough edge that you wouldn't ever need to rely on a feminine touch but tonight was different, the way his eyes scoured the crowd, you knew he was hungry for some female attention and if you had to give in to anyone for the sake of the job, it would be him. 

You wore a beautifully detailed red gown, the corset pulled tight around your waist emphasised your ample breasts, threatening to spill at any moment and left not much to the imagination. Your plan was to catch his eye and you knew this was the dress that would do that. You followed his gaze and placed yourself directly in his line of vision, careful not to make yourself too obvious as to not attract unwanted gazes. When he caught sight of you he swore he could have stopped breathing, you truly were a vision of God. 

He couldn't take his eyes off of you from that moment on and you had to admit that having a lingering male gaze did make your cheeks flush, suddenly feeling stuffy under the many layers of dress. George instructed one of his men, rather curtly, to bring you to him, a task that was handled quickly and with hurry as one of his aides approached you. “Mr Weasley has requested your company.” 

Perfect, everything was going exactly to plan. As you were led up a grand staircase and past the guards that hadn’t even given you a second look. Now that you were on the private balcony, surrounded by members of the Weasley family and their company who were all schmoozing without any care in the world for the hundreds of guests below them, each one hoping they would be lucky enough to get that special invitation. Standing just behind George you were able to see with your own eyes just how much he truly did tower over you. Something inside of you bubbled and you refused to believe that it was anything but pure happiness for your plan going as well as it had. 

“What’s a pretty Lady like you doing here on her own?” He asked smoothly, eyes not falling away from the gaze they held over the bustling crowd. As you looked over the balcony you could see that the room was packed, spotting the way the men flirted with any and every woman they could lay their eyes on, couples falling to the edges of the room in passionate lip locks, uncaring for the vast group of people around them. 

“What makes you think I’m alone?” You quipped back, watching as a smile fell over his lips, finally pulling his eyes away from the crowd to face you. The moment your eyes locked again, this time inches away from him you felt that same bubbling feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

“No respectable partner would let their Lady come to a party with her breasts heaving like that, well… not unless the Lady wants to be seen.” His eyes scanned over your upper body before meeting your eyes once again. You weren’t sure why you were holding your breath but the second his knuckle was grazing over your exposed collarbone, brushing your hair over your shoulder, you finally let out a slow, shaky breath. 

“And to think I was just wearing a nice dress.” You sighed comically, turning back to lean your hands against the railing, taking a moment to compose yourself without having to stare into his eyes. Never in George’s life had a woman thought of talking back to him, so having you quip back at him with a tongue as sharp as his own, practically running circles around him in conversation made him even more determined to have you. 

“You’re a quick one, smart I assume, probably raised by men, or at the very least a strong minded woman. A fighter too, you have the shoulders for it, money doesn’t matter to you much from your lack of jewellery- Stop me If I’m wrong.” With every assumption that spilled from his lips, you realised that you had blown your cover, fear immediately building in the pit of your stomach until it reached your eyes. “So what brings you here, If not for a man, what for?”

“Who said I didn’t want a man?” You finally looked back at him, a teasing smile on your lips. You watched his face ease, taking a brave step closer to him as you realised that he truly didn’t have a clue.  You were brave for doing this, letting him see a vulnerable side to you, one that could leave you easily exposed. 

“I’m sure you know who I am, don’t you sweetheart? Yet I haven’t a clue who you are.” He was smooth, able to pull your name from your lips without even a second thought. Perhaps it was a bad idea to lead this way, fearing that a part of you would grow attached to his smile or addicted to his perfect laugh.

“Well, count yourself lucky that you’re up here then, all you’ll find is boys down there.” You weren’t surprised that George was the cocky sort of man, part of you found it endearing that he obviously had some sort of saviour complex about him, figuring that he would selfishly have you to himself and ‘save’ you from being surrounded by the inferior. 

“I’d be luckier alone with you.” You leaned in, whispering just low enough for him to hear. You were feeling brave enough to get suggestive with him, hoping that he would catch your tone and give you some time alone. You felt his hand pressing against the small of your back as he pulled you in closer, your mind wondering as soon as you could breathe in his scent, a part of you forgot why you were truly here as it became drunker off of the male attention. 

All it took was one look from him to his aide and you were being led by him, past his friends and family up another set of stairs. You heard the sounds of chatter, laughter and clinking glasses fade away as you were ushered into a private room, the doors swinging shut behind the two of you, finally realising that you were alone with him. 

“Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?” He sighed, pulling at your wrist to tug you into his chest, his hot breath fanning in your neck as you stood pressed against each other, uncaring for the huge amounts of space that the room had to offer. Being so close him made you lose all of your inhibitions and suddenly the contract no longer mattered to you, the one thing that did however, was bedding the man who had you in a trance. In all your years of working contracts, nobody came above the job but now as your lips were inches away from his, George Weasley was more important. 

"I'm here for you." You muttered, hand snaking up to tangle in his long, messy hair, giving the locks a gentle tug that made his eyes darken. Feeling him guide you backwards, taking small steps with him until your back hit a wall. His strong hand travelled its way up your leg, hoping to hitch it up to hook around his hip as he pushed every layer of fabric up so he could get a good look at the gorgeous thighs he wanted wrapped around his head. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his fingers stop over your dagger, pulling it free from where it was held. 

As his eyes surveyed over the intricate detailing of the handle, you couldn't help but avoid his gaze, startled only by the chuckle that fell from his lips. "A mark of the brotherhood… They send you to bed me and leave me vulnerable?" 

You shook your head, watching as he pressed the dull side of the blade against your throat, his commanding eyes forcing you to look at him as he pressed himself closer to you. "They sent you to kill me?" 

He pulled the dagger from your throat, shoving it into your hand as he laughed, pulling away from you, letting the skirt fall back in its place as he turned around to walk away from you and deeper into the room. It was obvious that he wasn't afraid by you, certainly less the prospect of you being able to kill him. You didn't like being underestimated, much less by someone who would be easy for you to kill. You pushed yourself away from the wall coming up behind the man and tackling him to the floor, hips straddled directly over his as you pressed the knife against his throat, watching the way his eyes lit up with surprise, his hands finding your hips to grip onto tightly. 

"I like you, you've got a lot of nerve, probably one of the most gorgeous women I've ever laid my eyes on so tell me what's the contact worth?" He chuckled, hands tugging to grind your hips against his tentatively, watching as you fumbled to keep your thoughts straight. Composing yourself as you ignored the pleasurable feeling of your hips rocking against his, instead pressing the dagger closer to his throat. You were about to respond to his question when he cut you off quickly. 

"Whatever it is I'll double it, hell I'd even triple it under two conditions." He spluttered quickly, hands stilling as he realised that you weren't to be messed with. You cocked your head to the side, pulling the blade from his throat as you considered what he had to say, dragging the tip of your dagger gently over his jawline and down his chest with a sickly sweet smile, the alluring confusion evident in your tone of voice "Conditions?" 

"Condition one, Work for me and I'll pay better than any contract ever could and two, you're mine to have." He suggested, his tone coming across as commanding making it seem like you truly had no choice in the matter but you knew better. 

"I don't belong to anyone, Weasley, especially not someone I work for." You bit back, watching as he laughed softly, hand gripping at your waist as he flipped you over, the dagger clattering against the floor as he pinned your hands down, back pressed firmly against the cold surface, feeling him press his lips to your exposed neck. "You belong to me now, seems a waste of such perfect breasts for you not to be."

"Were you going to whore yourself out for me? That's precious." His lips travelled down, peppering wet kisses along your collarbone as his hands still gripped onto your waist. Any semblance of fight in you disappeared the minute his lips were on your skin, a sick part of you adored how he wanted you but an even sicker part wanted him to take you. 

"Where's the confidence, darling? Not ready to submit to me already, are you?" His voice was thick with arousal, hands finding their way to your hips again as he slowly ground his hips into yours, teasing you ever so slightly as he pushed himself closer to you. Somehow George had managed to shock you into silence, your head filled with nothing but the the image of him fucking you into the morning, not even room to think of a quick remark or retorting comment to quip back at him.

“You’re insufferable.” You breathed out, letting his strong arms pull you off of the floor, hoisting you up on his hips to trap you between the wall and his chest once again, his hand this time was quickly up your skirt once again, feeling the wetness that pooled between your legs that confirmed you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. “And yet you spread your legs for me with ease.”

He didn’t dare tease you any longer, pulling himself free and sinking into you like there was no time to lose. Just when you thought you were full, he had more to give and you were feeling stretched out beyond belief. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pulled loud moans from you with every deep and slow thrust, the pleasure coursing through you had you rolling your head back which he only took as an invitation for him to wrap his hand around your throat, groaning lowly as his eyes flicked over the way your face contorted with overwhelming pleasure,  “You’re so fucking tight.” 

“George, please.” He hummed at the way your voice came out with the strained begging, feeling pleasure build in the pit of your stomach as you realised the churning movement you had been feeling throughout the evening had been butterflies, the building want and desire for the man who was now fucking you loudly into the wall. 

“I like hearing you beg, what do you need, sweetheart?” He hummed, pressing his lips to your exposed neck, right over where your vocal chords were, feeling the vibrations of your moans flow through his lips, pushing him over the edge to pick up his pace, focused intently on making you cum as he found himself growing addicted to the way you squeezed around him.

“I need to- George, It feels so good.” He shook his head, pulling completely from you, letting your feet drop to the floor as he spun you around so that your chest was pressed to the wall, whines still falling from your lips as his hands were back up your skirt, pulling your hips into the right position to push himself inside you again, this time his hands pulled at the strings of your corset, tightening it to a point where it only added to the pleasure he was making you feel.

“You only get to cum when you ask for it.” With every thrust, it felt as if he was tugging your corset that little bit tighter. Pushing you closer and closer to the release you craved, so desperate for it that the only word that fell from your lips was ‘please’. Not what he wanted to hear. One of his strong hands pulled your hair into his fist, pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder, a smirk evident on his lips through the tone he used, “Please, what?”

“Please, I need to cum, George” You whined, hand coming up to wrap around his forearm, nails digging into his skin as his pace picked up finally, the hand still attached to the strings of your corset giving a final tug as you released around him, becoming a mess of spluttering moans for him as he pulled out of you, spinning you around once again to thread his fingers into your hair and pull you into a passionate kiss. 

Something about the way his lips tasted made you never want to pull away, finding yourself chasing his lips as he pulled away to gaze over your features, a smile on his lips as he took in just how beautiful you were, feeling like for a moment he may have truly met his match, watching as your chest heaved while you slowly drank in the high he had given you. “Next time I hope to see these beautiful breasts in all their glory,” 

“Next time? Thought you knew I have to kill you now.” You laughed as his fingers tucked your hair behind your ear, an action that sent a shiver down your spine. You watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, head shaking slightly to sway the hair out of his eyes, an action that made you melt at the knees.

“Very funny, now about your first contract.” He spoke quickly, tucking himself away and making himself presentable before pulling you deeper inside of the room, standing you by a large painting, tilting your chin up to avert your gaze to a particular individual, “Know who that man is, angel?” 

You swallowed thickly, eyes gazing over the large, pristine painting, well aware of who he was. The man that had set the contract over George’s head. You nodded at his question, his arm slinking around your waist as he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your ear. “Good, I want information; You tell him I’m dead and find out what his next move is, if you get me that, I’ll know you’re loyal, just for that I’ll pay you more than you’ve ever seen.” 

“George, he’s the one that requested this cont-” You spoke quietly, his hand tugging you closer to his body, a deep sigh falling past his lips, leaving you in silence for a few moments until his warm toned voice spoke up once again.

“I know, and you’re going to find out why, understand?” He sounded genuinely upset, the man who had ordered the hit on him was a close family friend, but yet someone who craved the power that George had. Part of you knew that it wasn’t just Cedric Diggory that wanted him dead but he was the only one with enough money to make the bounty worth it, and yet you had found yourself wound up on his side. “Good girl.” 

Your chest was still heaving as you stepped through the opening double doors, this time hand in hand with the man who you had come here to kill, something had changed in your time alone and you knew that you would be the last person to hurt him. You were running off the high of belonging to someone, a new contract and the willingness to submit. You were George’s new personal weapon, a force that even he didn’t know the true extent of. Better to have you on his side than against him, as good as you felt against him after all. 

taglist //  @starlightweasley​​ @slytherinsunrise​​  @gcdric​​​ @theweasleysredhair​​​ @whiz-bangs78​​​ @pansydaisy​​ @vogueweasley​​​ @vivianweasley​​​​ @feetoffthetablee​​ @thisismynerdyself​​​ @witch-and-a-half​​ @loony-loopy-lupinn​​ @rip-us​​ @hopemalfoyweasley​​ @pigwidgexn​​

[sunflowerdarlingx]

Fred Weasley - “Fred doesnt date” 2

Hi everyone, I hope you’re all okay <3

Here is part two to “Fred doesn’t date”, please let me know what you think, I do have a part three idea ready but wont post it unless some of you want it. 

PART ONE

Female Reader 

Warnings: none 

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

Some might say Fred Weasley was scared to commit, some would say he enjoyed the player lifestyle and others would say he was some sort of sex addict who just enjoyed multiple partners but not all at once.

The truth was, Fred was indeed scared. He felt that the people close to him were he only ones he could trust, the only ones he could truly open up to. He was very happy with his life and his relationships, those he chose to build were stronger than most. He never expected to be drawn to Y/N, he also never expected to develop the feeling he did.  

He was utterly shocked at the way their relationship progressed, he had never felt this before, the butterflies he would get when he saw her or the way his heart fluttered when their skin made the slightest contact or the undeniable feeling of love he had when she fell asleep in the common room all cuddled up into Fred’s chest after a night of her homework and him planning pranks.

This is why Fred Weasley didn’t date. It always got complicated. Feelings of anger, hatred, sadness filled him up and he couldn’t take his eyes away from the scene in front of him. Cedric placed a kiss on Y/N’s jawline before placing one on the corner of her lips. Soon enough his lips were on hers as his hand moved down to her waist whilst the other supported the back of her neck so he could pull her closer.

Fred knew he should look away, he knew he was torturing himself watching the scene in front of him unfold.  

He wanted to scream, he wanted to go over there and pull Cedric as far away from Y/N as he could. An overwhelming need to break his hands for even touching Y/N in such away creeped inside his body and his fists clenched at his side.

How dare he.  

How dare he stand there and touch her, kiss her, do all the things that Fred should be doing with her.  

Surely he had heard the rumours. He knows how close they had been getting. How dare he interrupt that and take her away from him.  

Tears pricked at the corner of Freds eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. He knew he couldn’t stay there, so he didn’t. He forced himself to look away form the two and turned to head back to his dorm.  

He thought Y/N liked him, he thought she felt the same way he did. Why did she kiss Cedric if she knew?

He was angry with himself, he was so stupid to let himself get attached to her in the first place, he knew it was a bad idea but she was so bloody addictive. Every little thing about her drove him mad but in the best way possible.  

As Fred walked down the corridor the tears started to fall freely from his eyes, scared someone would see him he ran as fast as he could up to his dorm. A few girls saw him and tried to stop and speak to him but his feet carried him straight past them. His top teeth were embedded in his bottom lip to stop the sound of heartbreak escaping his mouth.

Even after what he just saw, no other girl could take his attention away from Y/N. He made it to his dorm, he was greeted by a smiling George who soon had a look of fear paint his face.  

“What’s wrong Freddie?” his voice was laced with concern as he walked over to his brother. He had never seen Fred in such a state. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks were wet with tears and his lip was bleeding slightly. It was obvious this wasn’t from a fight so what had gotten Fred so worked up?

Fred stood still in front of his brother, he looked around the room before a broken sob left his mouth, George’s heart broke at the sound. George wrapped his arms around Fred and pulled him close. “Mate what is it? You know you can tell me anything”  

Loud broken cry’s left Freds mouth as all his emotions bubbled over, chocked sobs and snotty sniffles filled the room as he collapsed against George. Though Fred and George loved each other dearly, they never really hugged, it wasn’t uncommon but it wasn’t something they did regularly. They usually hugged when something good happened, like when they got the money for the shop that they planned on opening over the summer or when it was their birthday. George couldn’t believe that the reason they were hugging was because Fred was, well heart broken.

“Digger kissed her, he actually fucking kissed her” Fred shouted as he pulled away from George. “How fucking dare he, who does he think he is” he pulled his shirt over his head and wiped his face with it before putting it in the wash basket.  

“Fuck...Fred I’m so sorry” George had never seen Fred so angry, even loosing quidditch to Slytherin never had him this mad. His hands were in fists by his sides whilst his chest heaved with anger, jaw clenched.  

“I should have asked her sooner Georgie, why the fuck didn’t I ask her sooner” soon the anger was replaced by sadness, which consumed Freds body as he lay in his bed. He’s never been so emotional before, his heart literally felt like it had been broken in two, he felt weak… hopeless  

“Cmon mate, why don’t we go down to dinner, food will help and I’m sure we could see if the elf’s could get you ice cream, like what mum does when you’re upset”  

Fred buried himself in his duvet, “nah I think I’m gonna stay here, don’t really want to have to sit and watch her and perfect Diggory be all over each other again”

“I’ll take you something back then, just please come and find me if you need me, even send one of the first years down and I’ll be here as soon as I can okay?”  

Fred nodded “turn off the lights please on your way out”, George left the room and anger flooded his body. He hated seeing any of his family sad but the fact it was Fred, it was prankster Fred who was always laughing but now broken, angered him even more. He wanted Fred to be happy but after seeing the state he was in, it felt like it would be a while before laughing Fred returned.  

-

“Ced, I really think we should go and find Fred, what if he’s looking for us” Y/N pulled Cedric by the hand towards the staircase leading to the Gryffindor common rooms.  

Cedric pulled her back toward him, wrapping his arm around her waist “cmon you agreed to a snack first” he looked down at Y/N with his best pleading eyes. She rolled her eyes before grinning at the boy beside her “fine, only because I’m hungry”  

They made their way down the corridor, “he’s probably off shagging some girl in our year, doubt he’s looking for you”. Y/N felt angry hearing that, she knew Fred had a reputation but they had been getting closer and going on dates and stuff, surely he wouldn’t be off seeing other girls when he was suppose to be spending the day with her George and Lee.  

“I don’t think so Ced, he was suppose to be spending the day with us” her voice was quiet as she looked ahead of her.  

“Oh cmon Y/N you can’t be serious, Fred doesn’t care about that, as long as he’s getting a shag then he’s happy” Cedric laughed. “What’s going on with you two anyway?”  

“Fred and Me? Nothing...we are just friends” Y/N looked down at the ground, the thought of Fred with another girl upset her, Y/N had always hoped that the rumours going around school just now were secretly true. That Fred was finally settling down with someone. With her.  

Cedric turned them so Y/N rested against the wall, “are we friends Y/N” he asked as he rested his elbow above her.  

“Of course Cedric, why would you ask that?” she looked up at him, forcing a smile.

“Well if I’m honest, I’ve always liked you Y/N, obviously I figured it’s better to tell you now before it’s too late. Especially since I’m leaving at the end of the year.”  

“Oh Cedric...I’m not sure what to say, I’m flattered really” suddenly her shoes looked very interesting.  

“Cmon Y/N, I’m so much better for you than Weasley, he can’t give you the things I can, plus you know his reputation just as well as I do. Remember that time Lucy is my year came into the common room crying her eyes out because Fred said he didn’t want her? What makes you think you’d be different?”

Y/N couldn’t help but frown. Cedric was right, Fred did have a reputation for hurting girls, she never thought he would really mean to hurt them but what if he did? He’d led her on and now he was no where to be seen.  

Why would Fred change for her? She was nothing special. Plenty girls at school were prettier than she was, smarter than she was. She was a fool for thinking Fred would want something more.

“We would be good together Y/N and you know it. Summers in Italy or at yours, your brother loves me already so we know he’d be on board with it us. Plus, look” he gestured down to his body “who could say no to all this”.  

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle at Cedric, she had always found him quite attractive, though they really only started speaking last year, Y/N had lost all her puppy fat over the summer, her boobs had gotten a bit bigger and her arse and curves were more defined.  

“Hmm summers in Italy do sound good” she teased  

“I’d hope I’d get your attention more than just through the summer” he leaned down placing a kiss on her cheek.  

“I’m sure we could arrange that if it’s your deepest desire” he smirked against her before placing another kiss on her cheek.  

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted” he teased, placing another kiss on her jaw, “can I kiss you?” His voice was a low whisper in her ear. Y/N wasn’t sure what to say, on one hand she would like to kiss Cedric, she did use to have a crush on him, but the other part of her wanted to say no, hopeful that Fred would maybe want her.  

Her body reacted before she could, nodding at Cedric. He grinned down at her, he ran his hand across her cheek pushing her baby hairs back form her face, she giggled at the contact.  Cedric placed a soft delicate kiss on her jaw and then her lips, soon enough their lips where moving in sync but something felt off.  

She pulled away before smiling up at Cedric “cmon we better go and get ready for supper” she places her hand in his and pulled him towards the common room.

-

When she got to dinner she sat with Cedric, laughing with him and his friends, her attention was drown to the flash of ginger hair walking into the hall. It was George, she looked over and smiled at him, shock consumed her when he glared at her. If looks could kill she’d have been dead.  

His eyes trailed down to the table where Cedric has his hand rested on top of hers. George looked angry, his face turned slightly red and his nostrils flared. He walked over to the Gryffindor table, immediately meeting with lots of “you okay George?” “Where’s Fred?” “What’s got you so angry?”.

He was sat with Lee, Angie, Alicia and Katie, once he told them all what happened they were fuming. None of them really liked Diggory in all honesty, from the way he acted during quidditch to his show off personality, they all thought he was a bit of a tool.  

To say there were all shocked was an understatement, they had all seen Y/N and Fred together and even they knew they were more than friends.  

“Well I won’t be saying hi to her again any time soon” Alicia said in a bitchy tone, “how could she do that to Fred?”.

-

Fred eventually got hungry, and honestly he hoped food would comfort him. He pulled on a hoodie with his grey joggers and made his way down to the great hall. As he entered he avoided looking over at the Hufflepuff table, usually he would look for Y/N and send her a wave or a wink or a goofy grin but not today. Not ever again, he thought to himself when he reached his friends. He was sat in between Lee and George, both of them giving him a pat on the back as he sat down.  

They tried to distract Fred by talking about new pranks and quidditch plays but he wasn’t really paying attention. He was desperate to turn around and look at her, to go over and pull her away from perfect Diggory and convince her that she should be with him instead but he knew he had to be strong. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against Diggory, after all, he he was the better option, he would give her the things Fred couldn’t, like luxury holidays to Italy.  

Ginny came over to them and sat in-between Fred and Lee, giving her brother a comforting hug once he explained what happened. A few little sobs leaving his mouth which he covered with a cough. Fred had spoken to Ginny loads about Y/N, she was the only one who wouldn’t slag him off for being all lovey dovey about her.  

“Fred, don’t look now but Y/N is coming over” Alicia said as she kept looking over to where Y/N walked over towards the table. Fred groaned and felt his eyes start to water.  

Ginny turned around and glared at the girl coming towards her, “bitch” she mumbled before turning to Fred. “Want me to tell her you don’t wanna talk?”

“Fuck” he rubbed his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb, “it’s okay gin, I can’t exactly avoid her”. Y/N came over and wrapped her arms around Fred’s neck, pulling down his hood “what’s up with you Freddie?” her voice whispered in his ear. Fred tensed at the contact, before relaxing at her voice.  

Y/N was worried about Fred, he was never usually late to dinner and she didn’t even get her usual goofy smile off him.

Her voice was one of his favourite sounds, he often fell asleep to her voice in the common room late at night when he’d sneak her in. His head would rest on her lap as she read muggle tales to him, the way her voice soothes him sent him into deep slumbers. He couldn’t help but melt in her arms and at her words, she’s always so caring.

He looked at his friends who were all sending glares her way. He sucked in a breath before pulling her hands away from his neck, he turned around and looked at her. She frowned at his current state, his hair was a mess, eyes bloodshot and face red.  

“Nothing I’m good” Fred stood up and, made his way out of the hall.  

“What’s up with him Georgie?” She turned to look at Fred make his way out the hall.  

Ginny scoffed and rolled his eyes at her, “hmm I wonder” sarcasm laced her voice as she tapped her chin. Ginny learned at a young age to look after herself and then she very quickly realised she had to look after her family. They always came first and no one said anything bad about them.  

She’d had her fair share of arguments with boys and girls over the years, boys trying to slag off her brothers out of jealousy and girls complaining about rejection. Knowing how much Fred liked and cared for Y/N only made Ginny angrier, Fred actually allowed himself to get close to someone and she broke him. She stood up to face Y/N, eyes staring her down, “why don’t you go ask your new boyfriend Diggory? Maybe you two can recreate some of the dates my brother took you on”, her voice was cold as ice as she spoke. She shoved past Y/N and went to look for Fred.  

Y/N’s eyes widened as she looked down at George, he just looked at her before a “she’s right” left his mouth and him and the rest of the people he was sitting with left the hall.  

-

Y/N was shocked, she was an idiot for underestimating what she and Fred had. She stood for a moment trying to think about everything that had happened. She majorly regretted kissing Cedric now, she should have spoken to Fred, asked how he felt but she was an idiot. She let her insecurities get the better of her.

She decided to go to her dorm and call it a night, at about 2 am she woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, her mind in overdrive. She decided to go for a wander out to the gardens to look at the stars.  

-

Fred was in and out of sleep, if he wasn’t having dreams about him and Y/N, he was dreaming about her and Cedric.  

He woke up after dreaming about walking in on Y/N and Cedric, Cedric was above her, hands running down her body, they were laughing at Fred as he stood at the door watching.

“Oh Freddie, you didn’t actually think you had a chance with me, did you?” Y/N’s giggle flooded the room but it wasn’t her normal laugh, it was laced with mockery and hate. “Why would I settle for you, poor little Fred Weasley, can’t even commit to a girl. You honestly think I’d settle for that? Cedric treats me so much better”. Cedric leaned down kissing her roughly..

Fred shot up from his bed, chest heaving as he tried to calm down. He was an idiot for thinking he stood a chance, why would she be his when he’d been with so many other girls? When Cedric could offer her the world and he could offer her a summer at the burrow?  

He got up and chucked on shorts and a hoodie, making his way out his dorm and out the portrait. He made his way around the castle avoiding the prefects and Filtch. He reached the gardens and was sat on the grass looking up at the stars above him.  

He was staring up at the moon, all he could think about was Y/N, the way she laughed, the way she listened to everything Fred had to say, the way she could brighten up even the darkest days and the way she made everything better.  

He thought about Christmas, he’d asked her to stay with them over the festive period. He was looking forward to spending all his free time with her, playing in the snow and showing her all his favourite places around the burrow. He knew she’d love their garden, the stars were even clearer there. He was to engrossed in thought that he hadn’t heard Y/N walk up behind him,  

He was even looking forward to having her meet his mum and dad. Molly was shocked when she saw the letter from Fred asking for his new friend-girl to stay over at Christmas. Molly had a feeling another sweater may be needed.  

“Freddie….” Her voice was a whisper but still managed to make him jump “can I join you?”……..

Part Three

Tagged

@manuosorioh @itsbebeyyy @britishspidey @supermassiveblackhope @impossibelle @jenniweaslee

[starlightsearches]

can we perhaps get a lil fic where the reader used to be a first order medic who crushed on Hux and used to treat Hux’s injuries when he was thrown around, but has now defected to the resistance. Hux survives TROS with injuries from, well, everything that happened, and is rescued by the resistance and taken to the reader (now the resistance medic) to be cared for. Cue them remembering eachother, and perhaps lots of touch starved hux who isn’t used to being looked after, and the two finally admit their feelings for eachother?? Sorry if this is so long and confusing, you can change or shorten any bits you don’t like or understand 😅💕

Hello friend! Thanks for the request. I’m sorry it took me a thousand years to write it; I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I hope you like it!!

Requests are open ✨

Armitage Hux x Resistance Medic! Reader (GN)

Warnings: Language, an injury, angst and some medical care! (and non-canon compliance if anyone cares about that)

It’s the middle of the night cycle when Poe’s voice crackles through the speaker on your comm link, calling for you. Lurching from your doze, you search for it with both hands, brushing through the piles of records and empty caff cups before you spot the little cylinder.

“I’m here,” you hold the comm close to your mouth, using your other hand to gather up needed supplies, shoving them in your medkit haphazardly. Poe never commed you before a landing—not unless things were bad. You push the panic away, steeling yourself for the worst case scenario. It wouldn’t be the first time you had held a friend’s life in your hands, but it never got easier; you just got stronger. You could be stronger now. “What do you need?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing too bad this time,” he clarifies, and you let out a shaky breath, offering your thanks to the universe, “we picked up a, uh, new recruit. He’s pretty banged up, having some trouble walking. I know you can get him feeling better; can you meet us at the landing pad?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” you shove the comm in your pocket, brushing a hand over your hair. There’s a soft hint of disquiet resting on your shoulders, a crawling over your skin. Poe wasn’t usually this cryptic. Something big must have happened.

You decide to leave your medkit—since the mystery patient’s injuries don’t sound too serious — walking swiftly through the sleeping base. Your footsteps echo quietly against the stone walls until the sound is swallowed by the night melody of Ajan Kloss. The warm humidity kisses your cheeks when you step out into the open, a gentle breeze pushing it away before it can linger.

The landing pad is dormant, rows and rows of sleeping x-wings keeping you company as you watch for any sign of the Falcon, and soon enough you spot it, tracing its path through the night sky.

You spy Poe's boots at the mouth of the hatch as soon as it opens—Rey must have been piloting, which meant Finn would be in the cockpit with her. Strange. Poe doesn’t usually give up control of the pilot’s seat so easily. A shiver travels up your spine despite the warm night air.

"Hey, sweetheart, can you give us a hand?" he calls out to you, and you're about to tear into him for being so fucking cryptic, stomping up the loading dock. That's when you notice the shiny pair of boots near Poe's, blacker than the night around you.

You can't move anymore, frozen mid-step half-way up the ramp, heartbeat pounding like a warning siren as your eyes trace up the boots, the battered, black uniform and you don’t need to see his face to know that you're not dreaming this time. It’s him.

You keep your eyes on Poe—only on Poe—and your distress must show in your features because the look he gives you in return is full of concern.

"Everything alright, sweetheart?"

You glare at him. "What the hell is this?"

It has to be a joke. Poe is trying to be funny, calling him a recruit instead of a prisoner—but the general isn't handcuffed. He has an arm slung over Poe's shoulder, leaning heavily against the pilot. There’s a tear in his pant leg, white skin stained red with dripping blood, the wound sore and angry. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the purpling bruises along his cheeks. It’s sad how familiar he seems when he’s broken, more recognizable to you now than he ever was in any holovid.

“See, Hugs, I told you,” Poe clears his throat, voice light with humor but he watches you carefully, a warning in his eyes. You can see enough of the general to know he’s not looking at you, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance, his jaw set.

You cross your arms over your chest, letting your expression settle into a scowl. “Told him what?”

“That you hadn’t forgotten him.”

Damn him. He had asked about you? Your heart softens in spite of yourself, and you turn automatically to Hux, the last shreds of your anger falling from your chest. He still won’t meet your eyes, shoulders slumped, his breathing a little labored and you’re sure it’s not just from the pain.

How many times had you been with him, just like this? Hidden together in forgotten corridors or tucked away in his quarters, the threat of his father looming over you while bandaging wounds and feeling for breaks and ignoring the way his chest heaved underneath your fingers. There was no word for that kind of despair, seeing someone you loved so quietly and so desperately wrecked so completely. It snakes under your skin again, finding it’s old favorite cracks left unhealed; if you’re not careful, it will swallow you whole.

There’s only one thing to do in a situation like this: fix what you can.

You shift your weight from foot to foot before heaving a sigh, “fine, let’s go.”

“Yes! You’re the best; I owe you one, sweetheart, really—” he’s already moving out of the general’s grip, waiting for you to take his place and you look at him in alarm, stepping back.

“Wait,” your adrenaline spikes, and you have to force yourself to take a breath, “you’re not coming with us?“

He shakes his head, “Rey, Finn and I have some, uh, unfinished business. We only stopped by to drop him off.”

Well shit—you take a few steadying breaths, hoping your anxiety doesn’t show too plainly on your face. You hadn’t thought you’d be alone with him so soon. You don’t want to think about why that makes a difference to you.

“Oh, okay.” You nod, force an unconvincing smile to save face. Poe wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t important. He furrows his brow—not yet convinced.

“You’re gonna be alright?”

“Yeah . . . yeah. I’ll—we’ll—be fine.” Your smile tightens at the corners but still doesn’t reach your eyes, and he squeezes your shoulder reassuringly before walking past you to the cock pit.

And now you’re left alone.

“Let’s go,” you slide into place under his arm where he’s propped himself up against the wall, gripping him tightly around his waist, fingers holding him steady at the ribs.

He flinches, pulling away slightly, and you loosen your grip.

“Did I hurt you?”

He shakes his head, eyes examining his reflection in his boots, and you place your hand with a little more care, hoping he can’t feel the way your heartbeat echoes through your body.

It’s been too long since you’ve last touched him; it still makes your heart race.

The trip back to the medbay is slow and arduous. It’s not just the gash in his leg that’s impairing his movement—his ankle is very clearly broken, based on the way he winces whenever it makes even the slightest contact with the ground.

He’s certainly not heavy, by any means, but supporting his weight gets more difficult with each step, and you’d rather not see him sustain any more injuries if your grip on him doesn’t hold.

“We can rest here for a moment.” You stop near a pile of rocks by the entrance to the base, lowering him down into a sitting position before finally taking the chance to catch your breath.

It's a dead night, a still one. Any breeze you'd felt earlier had faded long ago, and the air sits heavy on your skin and heavier in your lungs.

The general doesn't seem to mind, taking long deep breaths. If it weren't for his furrowed brow, you might believe he was asleep.

“How did you know I’d be here,” you whisper, and when he looks at you, there's hurt in his eyes.

“The Order always keeps track of their defectors—especially when they run away to join the Resistance.” His tone is bitter and biting, and it hurts you more than you like.

“I didn’t run away to join the Resistance," you respond, trying to tamp down a sneer, angry at yourself. For letting him get to you so easily, for caring so much about what he thinks.

For missing him every day since the last.

Still, it was true, what you said. When you left, you only wanted to get away from the Order—it didn’t matter where.

The Resistance was the only place you were welcomed.

You had wanted it to feel like home, and parts of it did—eating late dinners with Poe in his quarters, watching over your patients, celebrating with the rest of them after every success, the same belief that they had for the cause beginning to burn in your chest.

But something was missing, in every one of those moments. And now that he's here, you wonder if the space you'd left empty for him is too large to be filled.

"Did you—" he shifts, groans, and your veins flood with anticipation, hanging on to some foolish idea of what he might say next, "did you ever . . . think of me?"

He looks at you with half-lidded eyes, surprisingly earnest; the pain must have gone to his head.

"We should get you to the medbay," you move again, no longer comfortable with staying still, "I'll go find you something to lean on while you walk, I'll be right back—"

His fingers wrap firmly around your wrist, pulling you back with surprising determination.

"I thought of you," he says, and you're looking in his eyes, so dark they're almost black in the low light, "every cycle since the last, and every cycle before that."

Your breathing grows shallow as he fits his hand against your waist, without pulling you closer or pushing you away.

"If you want me to leave, after . . . when it's all over, I'll do it. But I—"

He jumps when you press your lips to his, shaking like he's scared, but he leans into you as best he can.

"Neither of us are leaving again," you demand, and you think you might feel the ghost of a smile against your jaw, feel the slight grip of his fingers at your waist, "not if I can help it."

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[fandomficsnstuff]

Little Dragon - Part 8

Summary: You were a child slave of Meereen, when one day a silver haired woman sets you free. Though your master isn’t too keen on letting you go, and Daenerys took personal action to see you freed and taken care of.

High Valyrian is in cursive

You were listening intently to the conversations going on in the war room, so many faces that you wanted to remember, their names, their houses, their history, but for now you settled on staying silent and listening, “are you really sure we can discuss this around her?” your head snapped towards the accented voice, seeing a beautiful woman with olive skin, black hair and dark brown eyes, and you wanted to look to your mother for help, but decided that you couldn’t use her as a pillar forever “(Y/N) Targaryen, Lady…?” you couldn’t help your tone, you were not a little girl wearing a collar around her neck anymore, jumping at the slightest of sounds. You were still timid and childish with Daenerys and Missandei, because you knew you could afford it, but you didn’t know these people, they were allies of your mother, but you didn’t know them.

“Ellaria” she sounded tense as she responded, she probably hadn't known you were the daughter of Daenerys, but you merely nodded “well, Lady Ellaria, I would prefer that if you are done questioning who your Queen trusts, perhaps we could get back to planning the war we are currently in” you heard a short laugh, your eyes glancing to none other than Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns, and the only living Tyrell left. “Are you sure you did not birthe her? She has the spirit of a dragon that one” Daenerys did everything to not smirk proudly at Olenna’s comment, and even Ellaria looked a bit surprised at your response “now… I agree that a foreign army would send the wrong signal, but an army from Westeros, it would show that we are not here to raid and pillage, the Dothraki will not do so unless their Khaleesi orders and my mother never will, the Unsullied are obedient and loyal, so they won’t either, but we need Westeros with us, and showing that their own houses are turning on Cercei is a good way to win quickly and without a lot of losses, on either side”, you studied the map as you spoke, unaware of the impressed looks everyone gave you, Tyrion being the first to speak up “well… I agree” you glanced at him and sent him a quick smile, one of the few smiles you had offered him, but you didn’t really know him either, so it was justified that you didn’t treat him, or Varys, as warmly as the rest of your mother’s allies.

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You stood impatiently besides Daenerys in the throne room, and Daenerys couldn’t help the amused glance she shared with Missandei “alright go, but change before you do!” you barely even heard the rest of her sentence, you were already off, heading towards your room. In record breaking time you changed from your formal dress to a special outfit you had made for you. You had been riding Rhaegal much more frequently, and today were the day of the arrival of Jon Snow, King in the North, and you had promised to stay for his arrival and then ride Rhaegal after, but you couldn’t help fidgeting, and were more than happy that Daenerys excused you. You put on your leather trousers, securing them with a harness that was connected to them, ensuring that they didn’t fall down, not even an inch, you had a tunic under your harness, pulling a shortened cloak over your shoulders and tying it to the harness, making sure the knots were tight, the cloak was warm but light, it reached just below your hips, but kept you warm. Next you threw on a pair of gloves made from cloth on the inside and leather on the outside, and then your boots, they were high, they almost reached your knees, and you pulled the laces tight, so they wouldn’t fall off during the flight.

Your room had an open balcony, just like Daenerys’, and you approached the edge, grinning widely as you waited. You couldn’t help the excited giggle you let out as you heard him roar as he came closer, and in a leap of faith you jumped off of the balcony, you let out a little huff as you landed on scales, and a few moments later you got a good grip, holding onto Rhaegal as you flew away from the castle, going high up and then soaring, admiring the landscape below, seeing a ship you presumed belonged to Jon Snow, you flew towards Drogon and Viseryon who were flying on the other side of the island. You could still just about watch Tyrion greet Jon Snow, and saw them making their way towards the entrance.

A wicked smile grazed your lips as you got an idea, and somehow Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal knew what your plan was, Rhaegal let out an ear shattering roar as you held on tightly, flying towards Tyrion and the two men he were leading up the long stone staircase. You leaned forward as you flew closer to the ground, Rhaegal barely managing to not hit the small people below, something that made you laugh loudly and you couldn’t help but cheer, Tyrion seeing you on Rhaegal as you waved at him, and you could see him shake his head, but you also knew of the smile he tried to hide, he was probably telling Jon that he himself wasn’t used to the presence of the dragons.

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You heaved heavily as you ran into the throne room, your hair wild from the wind, your chest rising dramatically as you tried to catch your breath, standing besides Daenerys who did her very best to not smirk at you proudly, instead she tried to look as regal as ever, waiting patiently for this, Jon Snow, to arrive.

Rhaegal had barely managed to throw you off on the open balcony you jumped out of earlier, you almost bumped into a few tables on your way to the throne room, a fact that made you smile amused before trying to hide it. “Well, at least you made it back in time” her words could be mistaken as scolding, but you knew her better, and you couldn’t help the breathless giggle you let out “think I scared an inch or so off of Lord Tyrion” Daenerys let out a short, although quiet, laugh at your comment, shooting you a very poor attempt of a scolding gaze before looking back towards the large doors at the end of the throne room, making you straighten your back, your smile faltering and your hands placed in front of yourself, as you always did when you had attended any court meeting.

You watched the two strangers as Missandei went down the list of titles that your Queen had acquired along the way, something you took great pride in, she was your mother after all.

“And this is (Y/N) Targaryen, daughter of Queen Daenerys Stormborn, princess of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the throne” Missandei finally ended, and the two men looked at you confused, giving you the impression that they didn’t know that much about your mother, and therefore you, they had probably only heard rumours, lies or other falsehoods, and therefore didn’t know of your existence, which was probably not a bad thing. You had heard of how the usurper King Robert Baratheon had sent assassins to kill Daenerys, even while she was pregnant, so who says they wouldn’t have been sent after you, back then nothing more than a little girl, had the usurper's children heard of your existence, and Daenerys’ love for you. You were snapped out of your day dream as Daenerys got up, approaching Jon Snow and his adviser, and first now you tuned in on their conversation, a small frown resting on your brows, hearing her words, but you couldn’t deny the pride it gave you, despite hearing all that she had suffered, “I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it. We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now, of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me, I don't remember all their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I've been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing, through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any god, not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries, until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea, any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I will, and so will my daughter.” Her gaze turned to you for a brief moment and you smiled proudly, one she proudly returned before turning back to Jon Snow.

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You frowned as you watched your mother study the map in silence, you wanted to say something, you really did, but what could you say? The Iron Fleet was gone, Yara and Ellaria had been taken prisoner and Jon Snow refused to bend the knee and instead only wants to hack away at some mysterious stone somewhere in a cave on the island, claiming that an army of undead people and giants are the true enemy.

You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips, you being the only one to actually make a sound in the entire map room “maybe…” you dared a glance at your mother, not that you feared her, but more that you knew of the thin ice you were balancing on “maybe you should just let him mine this… ‘dragonglass’... it means nothing to you after all” Daenerys looked to you slowly, and for a second everyone in the room were praying to whoever and whatever that you hadn’t crossed a line, but when you received no response, you continued, “you didn’t know it was there, no one did… there are two options here, either he’s right, in which it doesn’t hurt you or your army or your dragons to comply, or he’s mad, and it won’t hurt you, your army or your dragons either. There’s no outcome here where anything bad is an outcome, you complying will also show that yes, you are to be feared, but you are also complying and reasonable, and allowing one man, one person to mine something of no value is a sign that you are with the people of Westeros” there was another second of silence, but eventually Daenerys smiled at you, walked over to you and placed a gentle hand on your cheek, looking at you with a proud look in her eyes before walking off.

“Where is she going?” Tyrion looked at you baffled and confused, but you simply shrugged “to allow Jon Snow to mine the Dragonglass” you leaned over the map table, studying the different areas, looking at the different highlighted places, such as King’s Landing, Winterfell, all the places you’ve only ever read about, you couldn't wait to see them for real.

[novelconcepts]

anything that involves freckles. go nuts

Gonna go ahead and double up on a recent request of @scavenger-rey‘s, while we’re at it. Just for giggles.

Jamie has a surprising number of freckles. Not that it’s Dani’s business what hidden secrets are stamped into her skin. Not that Dani needs to be looking at her skin at all. 

Not that she can help it, either, with Jamie doing things like this. 

“You look warm, Miss Clayton,” Hannah points out, depositing a tray upon the little table with an arch smile. “Perhaps you’d like to take a leaf out of our groundskeeper’s book?”

Dani shoots her a sharp look, remembering just in time two very important details: one, that she has only known Hannah for two months, and therefore is not quite at the slapping at her arm in frustration stage of friendship; and two, that Hannah does not know what’s going on in her head every time Jamie’s around.

Hannah might suspect with the certainty of a particularly clever detective breaking down a fourth-grader’s criminal activity, but she does not know, and that has to count for something.

“She doesn’t--usually do this.” Heaven help her, was that her voice? Her voice, which is generally high and quick and never tinged with that particularly raw shade? 

“She does when it’s hot enough.” Hannah sounds entirely unimpressed. “Every time, I have to spend half the afternoon explaining to Flora why she’s required to keep all her clothes on.”

Someone should probably have that talk with Jamie, Dani thinks wildly. Someone should definitely explain to Jamie, in no uncertain terms, how dangerous it is for her to be waltzing around the grounds in overalls and a sports bra, her hair pulled out of her face. Someone should definitely get across to Jamie how it is utterly distracting, and not the least bit professional for someone like Dani--who is a co-worker, who is meant to be keeping children out of trouble, and has somehow found it’s much harder to keep herself out of it instead--to deal with.

“Water,” Hannah advises. “Before you keel over. Would you like me to tell her it’s making you uncomfortable?”

Judging by the raised brow, the tilt of Hannah’s smile, the barely-restrained note of amusement in her voice, it’s clear she knows uncomfortable isn't exactly the word. Dani shakes her head. 

“No. I’m. I’m fine.”

“Ah,” Jamie says cheerfully, right on cue. “Hannah, my love, you are a godsend.”

She’s just there, pressed nearly to Dani’s back, reaching over for a glass of ice water. She’s there, and her skin is rosy with the lightest sunburn, and Dani thought Hannah was being cheeky about the whole keeling over jab, but on second thought--

“All right, Poppins?” Jamie’s free hand has wound around her forearm, she realizes. Jamie is looking at her with mild concern, she realizes. Probably because she is quite literally swaying in place.

“Hot,” she croaks. There are freckles on Jamie’s hand, too--and wrist, splashed at random up her arm. There are more than a few on the bare curve of her shoulder. She’s still mentally tallying them up when Jamie presses her gently toward a chair. 

“Didn’t dress for it,” she observes, looking Dani over with worried eyes. “Should take off that jumper before it kills you.”

Have to keep it on, Dani thinks nonsensically--though, it’s true, she had dressed for the gray of this morning, not the heatwave the afternoon has become. Still. Have to keep it on, and maybe add a few more layers, besides, because she can’t let herself linger on what she might look like to Jamie otherwise.

Can’t linger on how Jamie’s eyes might drift over her skin if she were to strip down to a tank top and shorts. Can’t linger, worst of all, on how it might feel if Jamie were to pull her aside--

“Poppins?” Jamie is waving a hand up and down in front of her face. “Right, enough of this. With me.”

There’s a gentle command in her voice Dani finds herself following without thinking. She catches herself taking two steps away from the chair, pauses, stands there looking helplessly back at Hannah.

“I,” Hannah says magnanimously, “think I can manage the children. Go.”

“C’mon,” Jamie adds, and now her hand is in Dani’s somehow, her fingers tightening around Dani’s like this is the most normal use of her body. She gives a light pull, and Dani is suddenly trailing along at her heels, trying desperately not to stare at the back of her neck, the skin shining up from the break in denim at her side. 

Freckles, she thinks wildly. I shouldn’t know she has freckles. 

“You still with me?” Jamie is tugging her, she registers, toward the greenhouse. She gives a shaky nod. “Good. Would hate to have to give you mouth to mouth.”

“You don’t give mouth to mouth for sunstroke,” Dani replies in a voice she still doesn’t recognize. Jamie sends a smile over her shoulder.

“No? My mistake.”

It’s not flirting, Dani tells herself. Jamie is her co-worker, one who keeps to herself and doesn’t have any reason at all to flirt. Jamie is just being kind, worrying over her now, because Dani’s gone and lost her mind over skin and freckles and the spot at the back of Jamie’s neck that leads her brain helplessly into wonder what that tastes like territory--

“In,” Jamie says, gesturing to the door of the greenhouse. “Got a spare set of clothes you can borrow.”

“I have clothes,” Dani points out. Jamie laughs.

“I’ve seen your clothes. They’re not going to help today.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” This is good. This, a mild flush of irritation, distracts nicely from the way Jamie looks crouching beside a trunk Dani’s never noticed beneath one of the tables. 

It almost distracts from the way Jamie looks up at her, a teasing grin playing around her mouth. 

“They’re well and good,” she says, “for carting around after the little beasts. Here. Got nothin’ in pink, ‘m afraid.”

She’s holding up a white t-shirt with the sleeves shorn off--the frayed threads at the shoulders suggest Jamie cut them free herself, possibly in the middle of a workday--and a pair of denim shorts. Unable to find a polite method of declining, Dani accepts. 

“I’ll...just go up to the house to change, I guess--”

“Nah.” Jamie twists around, hands in her pockets, making a point of gazing off in the opposite direction. “Silly to waste the time. Go on, before Hannah thinks I’ve lured you off to commit a murder...”

It’d be kinder, some part of Dani thinks. Standing with Jamie’s clothes clamped against her chest, sweat creeping down the back of her neck, watching Jamie tip her head back and whistle, is entirely painful. 

Particularly when Jamie, evidently registering the lack of rustling fabric, chances a glance over her shoulder and adds, “Unless you need help there, Poppins?”

Dani grimaces. Jamie grins. For a moment, she thinks the rest of the afternoon will become this: staring at one another in a sweltering greenhouse, Jamie watching her like she knows exactly what Dani has been trying so hard not to think about lately.

Jamie smiling like she’s got no problem with Dani counting up all those freckles. 

“Okay, okay, turn around.” She heaves a sigh, waiting for Jamie to rotate back before hauling the sweater over her head. It’s impossible to deny the relief that floods in the minute she’s free of it, and how much better Jamie’s shirt feels against her sticky skin. 

The same cannot be said for the shorts.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she says before she can stop herself. They are, admittedly, nearly the same height and close enough in build for most things--but does Jamie really wear these? 

“Only when it’s this fuckin’ hot,” Jamie says, still facing the other way. Dani closes her eyes. “Ah, you didn’t mean to say that part out loud, did you?”

“Just--they’re so--” They’re not shorts, she thinks, trying to tug down the hem. They’re like two tiny squares of fabric haphazardly stitched together. The pockets are longer than the pants themselves, for Christ’s sake. “You wear these around people?”

“Just the ones I like,” Jamie says idly, and Dani hates herself a little for being disappointed she’s never seen them before. 

“I can’t face Hannah like this, she’ll laugh herself sick.”

Jamie, at last, twists at the waist. Her eyes drift down Dani’s frame, her lips parting slightly. 

“They, um. Feel less short when they’re on me.”

Dani is going to combust, and then there will be nothing to worry about. No freckles. No shorts. Certainly not the drag of Jamie’s eyes up her legs. Dani combusts here and now, and gets out of all of it almost painlessly.

“No, hey.” Jamie is closing the gap between them, reaching out. Her hands find Dani’s, prying her clawing fingers away from the hem of the shorts. “If you feel weird, you can put your jeans back on. Was only trying to...to help.”

Her voice has gone weirdly slack, Dani registers. Weirdly breathy. Her eyes are still wide, still fixed on Dani’s legs, a color rising in her cheeks that has little to do with her sunburn. 

“What?” Dani asks--less because she wants to know, and more because she can’t stand not knowing. Jamie’s fingers are soft around her own, her breath seeming to hitch in her chest.

“Nothing. You, ah. Have freckles.” Jamie gives her head a shake, blinking rapidly. Her hands fall away from Dani’s. “Never noticed before.”

She’s staring at Dani like she’s never seen her before, and Dani suddenly wonders what courage would look like in this sweltering room. If it would look like hooking a hand around the strap of Jamie’s overalls. If it would look like pulling Jamie in. Letting Jamie press her back against the nearest table. Letting Jamie’s fingers trace up beneath the hem of these ludicrously-short shorts. 

Courage, she thinks, would taste like sweat and mint, like freckles mapped under a curious tongue. It would sound like Jamie’s voice muffled against her neck, the snarl of a zipper lowering in an otherwise-silent jungle of glass and greenery, the thump of a shirt tossed recklessly to the ground--

“Right,” Jamie says, and swings back a step. Her smile is sitting crookedly on her lips, a funny little tilt that makes her look younger, somehow. “I should--should get back to work. Just. Just toss ‘em wherever.”

Courage, Dani thinks, wanting so badly to grasp her shoulder as she turns. She could. She could close her fingers around nearly-bare skin and sink her mouth against the back of Jamie’s neck. She could slide a hand up Jamie’s stomach, pull her backward, feel her tremble under a hungry kiss tattooed to the freckles at her nape. 

She could. 

If she were just a little braver. 

But Jamie is already walking away, one hand tousling her hair nearly out of its bun. Jamie is already walking away, faster than Dani’s ever seen her walk anywhere. 

You, ah. Have freckles, she’d said in a voice like a woman dreaming. Dani bites her lip. 

The shorts, she thinks, could have their uses after all.

[junicai]

tackled.

| summary | Mark hasn’t been in a group without Aria before. He doesn’t know how he’s going to manage without her there.

| word count | 2.4k

| warnings | none

| era | circa. December 2018

n/a: to the anon who requested more superm stuff, i hope this is to ur liking~ a little bit of background before i start writing some actual scenarios for the team :)

Aria wasn’t quite sure how to function; or how to deal with the fact that she was sitting, legs crossed, back ram-rod straight, in one of the smaller conference rooms with Lee Sooman sitting across from her looking a world more comfortable. 

Taeyong on her left and Lucas on her right, Ten a seat down and Mark beyond that. The plastic seats were less than kind to her aching tailbone, but Aria was mildly (read: incredibly) more preoccupied with the thought that she was wearing a faded hoodie and black workout leggings that were old and worn, sitting in a conference room with Taemin, Baekhyun and Kai. 

She was pretty sure the day couldn’t be going much worse. That was until Sooman's voice snapped her from her inner turmoil and she looked up at the CEO, raising a bottle of water to her lips with a lightly quivering hand.

“Aria, you’ll be joining as their eighth and final member.”

Water rushed down the wrong way in her throat, the muscle spasming as Aria choked and banged a closed fist against her chest. Taeyong’s hand flew to rub circles in between her shoulder blades, patting gently as she heaved, trying to re-catch her breath.

She takes it back. It just got worse. 

“Sir?” Aria wheezed out, taking in a stuttered breath as she looked up from the table to meet the CEO’s eyes. 

“SuperM is a concept group designed to take those that excelled in their respective groups and use that as the foundation to create something bigger. You’ve all made a name for yourself; both within the group and individually.” Sooman took a breath, lifting his hands to drum his fingertips across the wooden table. The dark oak was glazed, and Aria belatedly realized that this conference room was so small as it was the CEO’s personal room. His name was imprinted on the front of the door, gold paint enhancing the grooves made. 

He continued talking, focusing his attention on each individual member from his seat, explaining their ‘roles’ so to speak. Aria caught small snippets, chest still rising a beat too quickly for it to be ignorable and her racing mind building up a cascade of thoughts that were rising up in tandem. 

Baekhyun you will be the leader - Taemin as - I think it’s important, no crucial that you remember - this is not a time for - you’ll understand my expectations in time - a common ground for those that - merging the eras -

Aria flinched violently when her name was called, head snapping away from where it was boring holes into the wall just over Taemin’s shoulder. She had yet to make eye contact with a single one of her seniors, having taken a single glance around the room upon arrival and dropped herself into a near 90 degree bow. 

“What with the incredibly - albeit unexpectedly - positive response that came with your inclusion in the various NCT units, myself and my team think it fitting that you’d belong in a group such as this one. Obviously your English speaking skills are a benefit, although I am not so sure that your accent will be as tolerable to the American media as Mark’s here would be. But I’m getting ahead of myself, we can circle back to that in due time.” Sooman leant back in his chair, resting his arms against his sides. 

He looked satisfied with how the meeting had gone - given that all but one member of the newly established team had signed their agreement into another contract, having handed out a thinly spaced document a few minutes prior. 

Aria sat back, pen cradled in her hand as Sooman shuffled through her contract in his hands, as he had refrained from giving hers out with the others. The CEO dismissed the other members, calling for Aria to remain seated for another few minutes. 

As the seven boys stood from their chairs with muffled screeches from the rubber capped legs on the chairs, Taeyong let a hand brush over Aria’s shoulder once. His face was pinched into something, lip caught between his teeth but Aria waved him off with a smile that didn’t lift her eyes. 

Exiting the room, Mark glanced back over his shoulder catching a glimpse of Sooman already leaning forward in his chair and Aria sitting up straight. Attentive. And then the door swung closed, clicking shut with a soft snick and Mark couldn’t see either of them anymore. 

It had been a week. 

Mark had meant to ask Aria what Sooman had wanted to discuss with her privately, he really had. But between schedules and commuting and a million other things that had appeared on his ‘To-Do’ list overnight; he hadn’t found the time.

Either he crept in to the dorms a few minutes prior to the clock striking twelve with barely enough energy to take a shower, or it was Aria slipping in on light feet, sliding in to her bedroom with a quiet goodnight. 

She had been disappearing more often; despite the fact that Mark was near certain that she didn’t have anymore schedules than the rest of them. Not even Donghyuck had been gone as often as her, and the two of them were prepping for NCT Dream’s next album together.

The thought settled bitterly in Mark’s stomach, so he brushed it aside. A million other thoughts filled the space left; equally as acidic. 

Had she signed in to the group? Had she declined? Was there something else going on that Sooman needed to talk to her about? Was she going solo? Was she leaving them? He knew that she’d been offered the opportunity before - it nearly decimated her and Donghyuck’s friendship - but had she accepted this time? Is that where she was going? Why hadn’t she talked to anyone else about it? Why hadn’t she talked to him? 

His head was full of these thoughts running on a cycle. He tried his best to shake them out. 

The dorms were never full anymore - someone was always gone doing one thing, or practicing another, or discussing something else. 

Mark thinks that this was his least hectic day in the last seven. But it was definitely the most stressful.

His hands were sweating and he rubbed his damp palms against the black material of his joggers, an anxious bounce in his knee. Lucas was leant against the wall beside him, tapping a finger against his thigh. 

Scanning around the room, Mark saw his seniors - his groupmates, as odd as it was to acknowledge - in various degrees of unrest. Taeyong appeared relatively calm, although Mark could recognize the tense set of his jawline and he made a note to remind the leader that he had to stop grinding his teeth unless he wanted to do some damage. 

Ten had his phone in his hand and an earbud in one of his ears, seemingly engrossed in watching a video. Mark could see the dangling headphone jack; unconnected to the phone. The video was paused. 

As for a first practice together, Mark assumed that this was not how it was meant to go. How were they meant to perform together if they couldn’t even start a simple conversation? 

None of the NCT boys had seen the choreography for their first single yet, Mark hadn’t gotten around to asking had his seniors managed to get a sneak peak or not. He didn’t think he ever would, at this rate. 

The practice room was quiet, filled with an unsettled air of anxiousness although that may have just been the younger boys projecting, as Taemin looked entirely unbothered, with Kai leaning over his shoulder. 

Baekhyun’s head snapped up as the door to the practice room was closed, shifting up from his seated position on the floor to greet their choreographer. 

“Ah, hello,” He began, nodding his head in a greeting bow.

“..Hi?” Came a smaller voice than he was expecting. 

“Riri?” Lucas said, pushing himself off the wall. “Hey, you alright?” 

Aria was shifting from her left foot to her right foot, hands twisting the fabric at the end of her hoodie. Taemin tilted his head, and noticed that it was the same hoodie she had been wearing the week previous. 

“What’cha doing here, Ari?” Ten asked, moving to stand closer to the girl. 

“I’m here for - for practice? Right?” Aria turned the questioning on him, glancing at Ten and then turning her gaze on Taeyong. “Right?” 

“For SuperM?” Mark was confused. 

“Yeah?”

Aria had her eyebrows pulled together neatly, staring at Mark, who’s face had crested through about eight emotions in the last second, finally settling on a rather odd mixture of relief and pure, childlike excitement. 

“Mark wha-” She cut herself off with a yelp, hands flying to grip Mark’s shoulders as he tackled her around her middle. “Mark!” 

The boy in question only squeezed her tighter, lifting her off the ground a little. Aria squirmed in his grip, but as soon as Lucas’ arms were added to the equation she went lax, knowing that her chances of escape had just dropped to zero. 

“Dude- oh my god,” Mark was laughing, a light breathy laugh. “Dude I thought you didn’t sign it? What was all the secrecy about?” 

“What... secrecy?” Aria wheezed out. “Mark I can’t breathe-”

“Oh, sorry sorry.” 

Aria was put back down on her feet, but Mark’s arms didn’t leave her middle, choosing instead to tug the girl into a hug. “You kept disappearing, I thought-”

Mark hissed in pain when Aria pinched his hip. “You’re such an idiot.”

“What?”

“You know you can talk to me?” 

His cheeks flushed pink. 

Luckily, Lucas saved him from the conversation, pulling Aria out from Mark’s arms and into his own. This hug was more violent, and Aria was lifted and swung around in a circle once, twice, before demanding to be put back down. 

“We’re in a group together!” Lucas was beaming down at her, and Aria couldn’t help but to grin back. “Yeah we are!”

“Group hug!” Ten yelled, and suddenly Aria found herself in a tangle of Mark and Taeyong and Lucas and Ten’s arms, the four boys hugging her tightly. 

Aria laughed, trying her level best to fit them all in her own hug. They stood there for a minute, arms entangled in a rather terrible mimicry of a knotted ball of yarn. 

“Ah hyung, they’re so cute.”

Taeyong coughed, and the five-person cuddle unraveled quickly. 

Aria spun around to see Taemin, Baekhyun and Kai all standing together on the opposite side of the room. Taemin had a fond look on his face, while Baekhyun had his tongue caught between his teeth to stave off a smile.

“Not to ruin the moment or anything, but does anyone know where our choreographer is?” Jongin peered down at his phone. “It’s been twenty minutes, are we in the right room?”

Aria cleared her throat.

“Uh, about that bit.”

Mark’s head snapped over so quickly he might have given himself whiplash. “Ari?”

“I might? Be your choreographer?” The statement came out more like a question, and Aria spread her hands out in front of her. “Believe me, I’m not quite sure how that one happened either, but if it’s going to be a problem I really have no issue with, like, not doing it? I know I’m the youngest and I don’t want to be rude or anything I-”

Mark tackled her in another hug. Aria was pretty sure her ribs were going to be bruised after this.

“Literally shut up.”

“But!”

“Shut up!” 

“You’ll do a great job, Aria.” Baekhyun smiled over at the younger girl. “Do you have anything prepped, or have you heard the song yet?”

Aria shuffled awkwardly. “I have something? It’s only a rough draft really, and obviously its subject to change because, well you’re all here and whatever suits you best is the best option so,” She took a breath. Taeyong slid over to put a hand on her back, but said nothing, still waiting for one of the older members to take the lead. 

“Can you show us? None of us have seen the demo yet, just Jongin.” Taemin grumbled, poking the boy in question in the stomach. Jongin flicked him back. 

“Uh, yeah? Yeah, I can do that.” 

“Wait wait, Ari. Is that what you were talking to Sooman about?” Mark caught her wrist to stop her from leaving the practice room. She had lost the hoodie a few hours ago, and her hair was pulled back into a sad looking ponytail. Tired and weary, all she wanted to do was take a hot shower and spend the next three hours with her face buried in her pillow. 

But Mark’s question made her stop. “Uh, yeah. Yeah he just wanted to talk to me about my, responsibilities in the group, so to speak.”

If Mark was a little less exhausted and a little more alert, he would have caught the odd phrasing, but he was a lot more exhausted and a lot less alert than on a regular day, so it flew right over his head. 

“Ari, that’s incredible. I’m so proud of you.” He went to pull her into another hug. 

“No! Ew get off what’s with you today! Why’re you so cuddly, get off get off you’re gross and sweaty.” She knocked her hands against his chest to try and get him to move away.

“I’m just proud of you~” He sang, swaying her back and forth. “Was gonna miss you if you didn’t sign with us. ‘Dunno what to do without you in my team.”

Aria’s protests died down slowly, and her fists stopped to rest on his chest. She snorted once, poking him in the chest. “Don’t lie, you just didn’t want to be the maknae, you can’t fool me.” 

“No~” Mark continued to whine. “Really, was gonna miss you.” 

“Okay, okay, you big baby. I’m not going anywhere - you’re going to have to try harder than that to get rid of me. Now let go, I want a shower.”