#but I’m compelled nonetheless and so we press on.

[crow-in-springtime]

Gals when characters die and are killed in a retelling of Hamlet:

#anyway I’m still reading tkois and Ben just shot Paul. I’m choosing to still be in denial that Ben and Lia will die though. because they #will not. they will LIVE and they will TALK and they will be HAPPY. #<- ok shit the denial is more extreme than I thought it would be. #anyway. I’m not a big fan of the “plot twist” and some aspects of this book are just like…ehhh. #but I’m compelled nonetheless and so we press on. #there’s probably a better way to phrase what I meant but you get the idea (I hope) #do I tag this as hamlet? it’s related to hamlet even if it’s not directly about hamlet. but it also kinda is directly about hamlet #eh whatever #hamlet #the king of infinite space #ben dane #paul brahms #<- no idea if those tags exist but they do now! #ky’s gallery

[mizukitoyama-blr]

Ushijima x Reader: What Do You Say? [a haikyuu one-shot]

Ok y'all, so my friends and I had an all-nighter where we write one-shots. The twist is, we each wrote down on different sticky notes a character, a plotline, and I think the third is a trope. We did this a year ago and I forgot all about this, but I recently found it so I'm posting it here lol

Trope: Childhood friends to lovers

1899 words

Story under cut.

Finally. Fifth grade. It was Y/n’s last year of elementary school and she was determined for it to be different. She wasn’t the most extroverted; she liked people but was too scared to approach them, and they never approached her. But this year, she was going to make a friend.

Kimi seemed to be sweet, everyone adored her, but when Y/n tried to befriend her, she was nothing but rude. In fact, after Y/n had the “audacity” to try to “be on her level”, Kimi tried to make her year awful. But Y/n wasn’t going to give up so easily. She would have a good year and she would make a friend. No mean girl was going to stop her.

After a while, Kimi and her “posse” started to get physical with Y/n and pushed her to the ground during recess. That’s when she met Ushijima Wakatoshi. He was in more advanced classes, so she hadn’t ever seen him before, not really, but they had recess together. When he saw her get pushed to the ground, he felt compelled to intervene. He stood over Y/n on the ground, his shadow covering her. Though in most cases it may be a sign of intimidation, his shadow symbolized a blanket of comfort. He looked at Kimi and the two other girls and spoke to them directly.

“To treat your fellow classmate in such a way is despicable. She should be your friend, not your adversary. Don’t choose violence as a mode of communication, but talk out your differences. If this is something you cannot do, I’m afraid I’ll be obligated to notify your teacher,” the girls snarled in repulse and walked away. When they were far enough away, Ushijima knelt down to Y/n’s height on the ground, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yes! I’m okay! Thank you for helping me,”

“My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. I am in advanced studies. What is your name?’

“My name, my name is L/n F/n. I’m in general studies,”

“Your knee. It’s scraped and bleeding slightly. Here, use this band-aid,” he told her and handed her a latex patch from his pocket. She finally realized: this could be her new friend!

“Ah! Thank you! Um… do you like advanced studies?” He was a little thrown by the question but answered nonetheless.

“It’s fine. The work is manageable and if it will help me get ahead I have no problem with extra work,” he said while gently pressing the band-aid to her wound. He was quiet as he worked. Then, something told him to engage in conversation with her. “Do you like general studies?”

“Yes! It’s nice and easy, though I still struggle with maths. Do you struggle with maths?”

“No. I find it to be quite easy,” he stated.

“Maybe you could give me some tips on how to do better?”

“It’s pretty simplistic. The more practice, the easier it gets,”

Even after the band-aid was properly secured, the two children continued to talk. Y/n tried her hardest to keep the conversation alive. Even if the question was simple or off-topic she would ask it, and he would reply. Then recess ended, and they had to depart.

“I really enjoy talking to you Ushiwaka! Will you be at recess tomorrow?”

“I always attend recess. It’s important to spend time outside,”

“Okay! I’ll see you tomorrow then!” Y/n said and ran off to her teacher.

“Y/n dear, what happened to your knee?” the teacher asked her.

“It got scrapped. But It’s okay because my new friend Ushiwaka helped me! I can’t wait to see him again tomorrow!” Y/n told her and ran inside. What a wonderful friendship they had that year.

***

Y/n closed her notebook at the sound of the bell ringing. Another draining class.

I should have stuck to general studies. She thought to herself. Her friend Taeko put her hands on the front of her desk.

“That was so boring. How long are we going to be on tectonic plates?” she wined.

“I don’t know, but if it will help me get ahead I have no problem with extra work,” Y/n reasoned.

“Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“I got a date today,”

“Really? With who?”

“That hot stud from the volleyball team. Reon Ōhira,”

“Do I get to meet him?”

“Uh, doy! I’m going to watch his practice after school. You don’t have horseback riding today, do you? You should come watch with me. Then you can meet him,”

“I’m finished riding horses for the week. I’m happy to meet him today.”

“Awesome! Then you can ogle his teammates. Oh my gosh. I’m a volleyball girlfriend!”

*

School had finally ended and Taeko and Y/n were headed to the gym Reon was practicing in. Taeko slid open the door and as soon as they saw each other they smiled. Reon jogged over to her and nodded his head at Y/n.

“Hey, Reon. This is my bestie, Y/n,”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Reon,”

“So I’ve heard. Nice to meet you, too,” “Reon,” Y/n heard a direct, commanding voice call out, somehow familiar. “we’re having a team discussion before we start practice,”

Y/n looked to the student who spoke, the captain, the one she remembered from fifth grade.

“Ushiwaka?” When Reon jogged over to a spot in the circle, for a moment, Ushijima and Y/n made eye contact. Ushijima peered at her, trying to piece together how he knew her face. Then his eyes widened.

“Do you know him?” Taeko asked Y/n. She broke eye contact and looked at her friend.

“Yeah. We went to elementary together. Ushiwaka, right?”

“Psh, don’t ask me. I can’t remember anyone's name. Let's sit here. I don’t want to be hit by a volleyball,”

* 

Practice ended. It didn’t seem as long as Y/n would have thought it would be. She busied herself with homework, but she kept looking up and making eye contact with Ushijima. Did he recognize her? He must have. Based on his expression alone she knew he at least remembered her face. Taeko stood up, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. “We’re gonna head out. Are you okay walking home?”

“Yeah, sure thing. Have fun on your date,” Y/n winked at them playfully. Taeko smiled before turning on her heel and walking off with her soon-to-be boyfriend. Y/n turned to pack away her things when…

“Excuse me,” the same commanding voice came suddenly from directly behind Y/n, causing her shoulders to jump. She turned around to face Ushijima. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you. I have something to ask you. By any chance, might your name be L/n F/n?”

“Yeah, it is,” she replied.

“My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. We went to the same elementary school. I met you when you got pushed over by some girls and you scraped your knee. I bandaged your wound and we became friends. You called me Ushiwaka. Do you remember me?”

“Yes, I remember you. You were my first friend in elementary,” It was silent for a while. Awkward. Neither of them knew what to say.

“What classes are you taking? Are you still in general studies?”

“No, not anymore. I started taking advanced classes. What about you?”

“I’m still taking advanced classes. I still excel in math. Have your math skills improved?”

“Yes, but of course, as I improve the material gets harder,”

“You are correct. I say if it will help us get ahead there is no problem with extra work,” Y/n nodded. That sounded like him. “Your friend has left with my teammate. Are you walking with someone?”

“No. I usually walk with her but they have a date today so I’m loning it,”

“Then may I accompany you?” Y/n thought for a moment but in the end, accepted.

“I would love your company,”

*

After Ushijima had walked Y/n home that day, he asked her for her contact information so they could talk outside of school. Y/n learned he was a very formal texter, but he had a charm to it. It was kind of like their friendship was picking up where it left off. It ended up being really, really nice. Y/n started going to his practices with Taeko more, and they studied together outside of school ever so often. One day Y/n caught herself smiling while texting him. Truth be told, she had a bit of a crush on him in their elementary days, but she would never admit that to him.

“Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh, Y/N! Prom is like, right now, what are we wearing?” Taeko asked Y/n as she grabbed her shoulders.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t even thinking about that. Should we go shopping today?”

“Uh, yeah! We have to get on this pronto! I’m texting Reon. I have to make sure our ‘fits don’t clash. Should I get his opinion or surprise him?”

“Get his opinion. Leave the surprise dress for the wedding,”

“Good idea. Oh my gosh! Do you have a date in mind? If so we need to bring him too. We’re obvs gonna do a group picture and I can’t have his suit wash any of us out,”

“No, Taeko, I don’t have anyone in mind,”

“Well, the time is still early. You never know, Reon’s team captain might ask you. You guys are close now, right?” Y/n didn’t even think of that. What if he did? Would she say yes? Would she want to? No. He wouldn’t ask her.

“He doesn’t seem like the type to ‘prompose’. Let’s look for dresses. What do you think about blue?”

“For you? Absolutely! A royal blue in satin fabric – long. Oh my gosh this is gonna be so fun!” Taeko practically skipped out the school doors, bringing Y/n with her. Even if Ushijima didn’t ask her to prom, she was so ready for prom.

*

Taeko found a beautiful green princess gown and the most flattering suit for Reon, but Y/n hadn’t found the right fit. After a long time of looking, the three ended the day and walked Y/n home. It was about 2 hours later Y/n heard her doorbell ring. She went downstairs, opened the door, and there she saw Ushijima with a long banner, asking her to be his prom date.

“L/n F/n. Will you go to prom with me?” he asked. Her face was still for a moment, trying to comprehend. Ushijima, upon seeing her face, started to worry he made a mistake. “I asked Reon what I should do to ask you since he was seeing your best friend. He told me to keep it simple. I also got you flowers. I couldn't hold both them and the sign so I put it on your step,”

Y/n looked down to see the large bouquet. It was magnificent. “So, L/n, what do you day? Will you be my date to the prom?”

She lifted up the massive vase and held it to her face. Who knew he’d ask the same day Taeko suggested he might? Probably Taeko. Y/n couldn’t contain the smile on her face. “Yes, Ushiwaka. I would love nothing more than to be your date!”

______________________________________________________

Posted. 17.Sunday.March.2024 at 19.37 (7:37pm)

#haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq #hq x reader #hq fluff #volleyball #anime #fanfiction #anime x reader #female reader #x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima fluff #hq ushijima #haikyuu ushijima

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

What could’ve been Us

Wilbur Robinson x OC/ Reader

note: Wilbur & reader are about 16/17 in Highschool and in the Future. In the movie meet the robinsons wilbur is 13 so this is about 3-4 years after that. Enjoy! :)

masterlist

“ So, How’s everything in, the past? I guess you could call it?” Wilbur asked as he looked through the clothes on the rack. Behind him was Lewis, le Cornelius in Wilbur’s time line. Lewis was Wilbur’s father, however thanks to a time machine invented by none other than Lewis, Wilbur had become good friends with his fathers younger self. Though his family didn’t need to know that, not after the last time they found out Lewis was in the wrong timeline.

“ Everything’s pretty fine. Normal you could say. Franny is still on with her frogs.” Lewis responded as he flipped through shirts on the rack behind Wilbur. “ But I think we all know how that plays out, right Wilbur?” Lewis asked, expecting Wilbur to answer quickly. However, when a moment of silence passed, Lewis felt compelled to turn to find the source of the sudden silence presented to him. “ Wilbur?” Lewis asked, finally turning to see Wilbur staring across the old store they were in. Lewis followed his gaze intently, before his eyes set on a girl. She was looking through jackets, some denim some leather. She had a walkman which was very uncommon for the era they were currently in. Why need that old thing when you could just listen to music on your phone? She had her headphones on, a large jacket on with something written on the back and with a skateboard strapped to her back. with the way it was faced there seemed to be a lot underneath it, but Lewis knew Wilbur wasn’t staring at that.

He was staring at Her. Finally she turned around, looking at the store holding a pair of jackets in her hand before her eyes landed on the two boys staring at her. Lewis shoved Wilbur, letting him know she had caught them, and watching ad Wilbur blushed wildly. She looked around again before Wilbur and her yet again made eye contact and she pointed to herself. ‘ Me?’ She signaled. Wilbur blushed even harder but nodded nonetheless. She waved to him with a smile, and he awkwardly waved back to her. It seemed she was about to say something when she reached for something in her pocket, removing her headphones and pressing what Wilbur and Lewis could only assume to be a phone. She turned, her back facing them, but now Lewis could finally get a view of her jacket.

“ Metallica. Isn’t that a band?” Wilbur asked, before Lewis nodded.

“ Yeah it is, they’re from the 80’s I think.” Lewis responded, before Wilbur turned and held up the shirts he picked out.

“ Well I found shirts.” He said with a hopeful smile. Lewis smiled before looking through them.

“ You should talk to her.” Lewis said before Wilbur shook his head.

“ No way. I’ve seen her before and she’s usually with her friends, I was just- I was just shocked she was here by herself you know?” Wilbur asked as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. Lewis let out a ‘hm’ in response.

“ So you know her?” Lewis asked before Wilbur shrugged.

“ I know her name. Aria Zenith. She goes to the same school as me.” Wilbur said, taking a few shirts from Lewis and putting them back on the rack.

“ Well it seems like Aria is gone.” Lewis said, before Wilbur turned to where she previously was and he was right. She wasn’t there anymore. She wasn’t in the store at all.

“ Hm. She must have left.” Wilbur said, a hint of sadness in his voice. Quickly looking away, Wilbur picked out the shirts he wanted to buy before smiling to Lewis. “ Well, I think we got everything. Let’s get this and go.” Wilbur said before Lewis nodded in agreement.

- time skip brought to you by Bowler Hat guy :) -

“ Have a good day! Come back again!” The cashier said as Wilbur and Lewis walked out of the store.

“ I’m gonna bring this back to the time machine, maybe we can find another store to shop at.” Lewis said before Wilbur grinned.

“ Wait till you invent it, it’ll be a lot cooler to actually own it.” Wilbur said before Lewis rolled his eyes.

“ I already own it. Hello I made it.” Lewis said before taking the keys to the time machine and walking with the bag full of shirts from the store. Wilbur stood, waiting for Lewis to come back.

“ Hey.” A voice called from behind him. Wilbur turned, and felt his eyes go wide at the sight of Aria. Her skateboard on the ground next to her leaning against the wall, as she leaned against it. She seemed bored, or tired, which ever she preferred to use.

“ H-hey.” Wilbur said sheepishly. She chuckled a bit before pushing herself off the wall and sticking her hands into her jacket pockets. It was then Wilbur took in her appearance. She had a dark jean jacket on with whatever band was on the back, a black shirt with really big black cargo pants and what seemed to be combat boots underneath the pants. Her walkman hung on the edge of her pants, though the music was still playing as the headphones sat comfortably on her neck.

“ I saw you staring in there. Figured you wanted to say something.” Aria said, before Wilber looked around, nervous. What would he say?

“ Oh Uh, I just really liked your jacket.” He said, mentally kicking himself. Yeah like he could remember what it said on it.

“ Oh cool, you like metallica?” Aria asked, before his eyes went wide and a nervous grin was displayed on his face.

“ Oh, yeah, I do.” He responded before she smirked, leaning forward, getting close to him.

“ Really? Whats your favorite song?” She asked, though her tone seemed innocent the look she was giving him made it seem she didn’t believe he was an actual fan.

“ Oh, um.” Wilbur stumbled, now really lost. The two fell silent for a moment, Wilbur looking down at the floor in embarrassment while Aria simply stared at him. Suddenly, she bursts out laughing. Wilbur’s head shot up to see her laughing.

“ I’m sorry, it’s just really funny. You didn’t need to pretend to like them.” Aria said, before continuing. “ Appreciate the effort though. But if you really just liked the jacket you could’ve just said that.” She said before he smiled upon seeing how happy she was. Thought he really wanted to tell her it was her he thought was pretty, he could care less about the jacket.

“ Oh, heh, sorry. I thought it would help.” He said, before she just chuckled, before sticking her hand out.

“ My names Aria.” She said, holding her hand out for him to shake, and he did.

“ Wilbur Robinson.” He said confidently, the nervousness he felt slowly fading away as their conversation continued.

“ Yeah I know.” Aria said with a smile before Wilber let out an “ Oh.” Which caused her to laugh even more.

“ Thats good though, that you introduce yourself anyways. Shows your not stuck up, like ‘ hm you should know who I am.’ You know?” She said, before Wilbur smiled greatful for how she carried the conversation.

“ Yeah, that’s true.” He said, before she smiled at him. It was then he remembered his fathers event. Supporting a local charity, that Wilbur had to participate in. “ If you want, to make up for it, you could come support this charity I’m going too this weekend. You get to see kids throw me into a water tank. As a formal apology for your jacket.” Wilbur said smiling. Aria grinned, picking up her skate board and holding it at her side.

“ Where is it? In a park or something?” She asked, before Wilbur shook his head.

“ No, my house.” He said, as if it was obvious. Her eyes went wide.

“ Your house is that big?” She asked before Wilbur chuckled and nodded.

“ Yeah.” He said, before digging through the bag and pulling out the receipt. He tore it in half, scribbling the back out before turning it over to write his address on it.

“ Do you just keep a pen in your pocket?” Aria asked before Wilbur smiled and nodded, handing her the small piece of paper.

“ My address. In case you decide to show up.” Wilbur said, before she smiled and put it in her pocket.

“ I’ll be there. Thanks for telling me about it.” She said, before he nodded.

“ Are you gonna, skate home?” He asked, gesturing to her skateboard. She laughed before flipping it a few times.

“ Eh, I don’t know yet. I’ll either skate for a bit and then walk or walk and then skate the rest of the way. I never fully skate.” Aria said, before Wilbur nodded. Wilbur heard the sound of the time machine go off in the distance signaling it was locked. ‘Lewis must be coming back.’ Wilbur thought.

“ Well I better get going. It was nice talking to you Wilbur.” Aria said, before Wilbur smiled to her and nodded.

“ It was nice talking to you too.” He said before she smiled and waved turning to walk.

“ Bye Wilbur. See you this weekend.” She said, and with a wave of her hand she was already walking.

Wilbur took this time to take her features in. Her hair, long and black with curls in it, which went way past her hips almost to the back of her legs. Her skin, which seemed to have tanned since it was the end of summer. Her eyes, a beautiful hazle color that he finally got to admire and the small freckles that adored her cheeks helped in her attractiveness. The height difference also helped, Wilbur growing to be around 5’11. She seemed roughly around 5’6, with the boots on.

“ So, you finally talked to her. How was it?” Lewis asked, before Wilbur sported a love sick look.

“ Amazing.”

#wilbur robinson #meet the robinsons #franny #cornelius #disney pixar #disney meet the robinsons #x reader #wilbur robinson x reader #wilbur robinson x OC

[whereismymindnow]

Twin Hearts Chapter 1

Author's Note: After a lot of thought, I've decided to revamp Twin Hearts. I put a lot of work into it previously and I miss writing Pia/Niklaus so I want to try and give them what they deserve. I'm still writing a skeleton of chapters, but I'm going to call this 'Book 1' in which we witness some of their history and they repair their relationship. I will be taking some creative liberties, but I shall explain them as we go along. I also don't stick completely to the TVD timeline so some characters may be alive or already be dead.

I currently have an assignment and exam due in the next few weeks, so it may be a while before I update again, but I hope you enjoy this chapter nonetheless.

Let me know your thoughts and I hope you enjoy the little story art that I made for this update!

Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Twin!Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+ due to mature, darker themes. Twincest. Smut. Strong language. Death. Miscarriage. Murder. Vampire/Hybrid violence. Please read responsibly.

If this work is found anywhere other than Tumblr (@whereismymindnow) or Archive of Our Own (Mikki19) then it has been posted without my permission.

Twin Hearts Masterlist

----

Chapter One: The Last Piece of the Puzzle

Rebekah found herself frozen as she stood in front of the dull, grey warehouse. The rain that poured that night allowed her to let a few tears escape without them being noticed. She didn’t even care as her blonde hair turned dark from the downpour. It was like time had suddenly stopped now that she was merely feet away from her sister.

It was almost insulting, she thought. The building was plain and ugly which was a complete contrast to her vibrant, wild sister. She supposed it was a good place to keep Pia though; who would have thought an Original Hybrid would be stored just inside? People would drive past without a care in the world. What use was a rundown warehouse anyway?

Rebekah stepped closer and felt the hum of electricity coming from the door. Some sort of alarm had been fitted within the electrical locking mechanism. When she broke this door down, they’d have a limited time before her brother arrived.

“Hey!” Her head snapped to the right as a voice appeared from the surrounding woodland. A man approached, his hand already going towards the gun in the holster by his side. “What business do you have here?”

“I’m here to collect something very important… and you are in my way.” Before Rebekah could vamp forward and rip out his throat, a small hand touched her arm.

“Wait. We don’t have to kill him. He’s just doing his job.” Rebekah rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Caroline, we’ve got a strict time-limit and he’s been compelled to stop anyone at any cost. Do you really think I have the patience for that? He’s probably full of vervain too.” With a sigh the young vampire nodded and turned to face the opposite direction. Rebekah raised her brow before grabbing the man by his throat and slamming him into the side of the warehouse.

“I’ve already pressed the alarm. You won’t get very far.” He said robotically, evidently having been compelled to say that to any trespassers.

“Good. He’ll know that his time is up.” She muttered before breaking the security guard’s neck and letting his body drop to the floor. Rebekah huffed before kicking down the door to the warehouse. “Are you coming?” She asked the blonde that was still trying to ignore the senseless killing that had occurred.

“Why am I here?” Caroline muttered and looked around the forest that surrounded the odd building. She had no idea why she had agreed to help the Original in front of her. As far as she was concerned, it had been a bad idea. After all, they weren’t exactly friends, and Rebekah had driven in silence to the middle of nowhere. I’m so gonna die, Caroline thought to herself.

“You’re my insurance. Nik will behave better with you here.” Without acknowledging the girl’s confused look, Rebekah entered the dismal space. She flicked on the switch beside the door and winced as bright, glaring lights sputtered to life. There was green mould growing on some of the walls and a few weeds springing up between the cracks in the cement floor. Dust fell from the ceiling and the air was thick with moisture that irritated the back of their throats. Caroline grimaced and hugged herself as she battled the urge to flee; she was still unconvinced that this wasn’t the part where a stake became lodged into her heart. Rebekah exhaled a shaky breath when she noticed the table at the far end of the building; on it was a large rectangular object that was covered in a red velvet sheet.

“What is that? What was the man protecting?” Caroline stayed back as Rebekah vamped to the table and placed a hand on the sheet.

“I’m here to bring my best friend home. You seem to have some form of calming effect on Nik for some odd reason. That is your role here.”

“If Klaus is hiding something, then should you really be going behind his back like this?”

“Ah, of course, you just have to speak up for him?” Rebekah turned around to face the teen with a scoff. “Are you sure you’re in love with the Lockwood boy?”

Caroline clapped her hands together with a sarcastic laugh. “I think I’m done here.” She’d barely made it two feet back towards the door when Rebekah’s desperate plea rang out.

“Wait! Look… this is important for all of us! You want Tyler back to yourself and for Nik to leave you be? This is how that happens! You can go back to being the lovesick cheerleader and Nik can be whole again. Caroline…” It was now that the teenager cursed herself for being so soft. This was serious. Rebekah wasn’t one to show her weaknesses so easily. “I wouldn’t have asked for you to be here if it wasn’t important.”

At the look of exasperation that Caroline gave her, Rebekah knew she had won this battle. She allowed a small smile of victory to show on her face before motioning with her head for the other blonde to come closer. Caroline dodged a cobweb that hung from the ceiling and tentatively walked forwards. She felt like she’d need a hot shower and a face mask after leaving this dank place.

“What is this?” Caroline gasped as the Original ripped off the velvet sheet to unveil a perfectly glossy casket. Despite the area that it had been kept, there wasn’t a speck of debris or a scratch on it. She stared in awe at the ornate carving of a wolf surrounded by roses that featured on the lid.

 “How could he let you stay in here? He knows you hate the cold.” Rebekah murmured and cleared her throat as more tears threatened to spill.

“Who is in there?” Caroline stepped closer to admire the cherry wood.

“Our sister.” Rebekah chuckled as another gasp left the teenager. “The last piece of the puzzle.” Rebekah exhaled and gently opened the coffin; it let out a sharp creak as a slim girl was revealed. She wore a simple, white nightgown that flowed down to her bare feet and covered her arms.  Despite the grey tone of her skin and the veins on her face, Caroline could immediately recognise similarities to Klaus. The teenager held back a wince as she looked at the vicious dagger that protruded from the hybrid’s chest. “She was asleep when he daggered her. He couldn’t bear to fight anymore.”

“She looks so much like Klaus.” Caroline whispered, still in shock at the delicate girl in the coffin. Rebekah gave another small smile and leant forward, desperate to feel the connection with her sister once again. Her fingertips traced over her cheeks and lightly touched the necklace that hung around her neck. It was nothing special, just a piece of moulded metal that resembled a half-moon and was attached to a piece of black string, but it held over a lifetime of memories.

“She is his twin. His only full-blooded relative and she has always meant everything to my brother.” The loud gasp that came from Caroline made Rebekah let out a wry chuckle. “It’s strange, isn’t it? People think they know everything about us and then we surprise you once again.”

“I- how? How long has she been like this?” Caroline knew that he had kept many of his siblings daggered over the years, but for some reason it still came as a shock to her.

“At least five centuries.”

“He- he left her like this for five hundred years?” Caroline was in disbelief. If she meant so much then how could he leave her like this? “How did he even dagger her? I thought they didn’t work on hybrids.”

“Dark magic. He used his blood to curse the dagger. Nik was… struggling… he had been so close to breaking the curse and the pain he felt from failing had made him unbearable. They had been arguing for days, and unlike the other times that they had squabbled, this time felt different.

“Pia was truly giving up, I think. She wanted to leave. Then one night something felt wrong.  I realised that all was far too quiet and so left my bed to see whether Pia was alright. Nik had already plunged the blade into her chest by the time I realised what he was doing. He wouldn’t let me close enough to remove it. His wolf was mostly in control of his mind, I don’t doubt that he would have removed my head if I’d dared to get too close to her.” Rebekah wiped away a stubborn tear that fell down her cheek as she remembered the growl that had left her brother that night and studied the small form within the casket. “She may have been my older sister, but she always looked like the youngest of us. She never seemed to grow as quickly as the other girls did… I suppose it was due to how sickly she was at times… the slightest cold spell could leave her with a fever for days.”

“I never knew that Klaus had a twin. He’s never mentioned her before.” There was a slight jealous tone in Caroline’s voice as she spoke; Rebekah fought off the urge to let out an unladylike snort.

“We didn’t know she was related to us either until long down the line. It was all too late though… much too late.”

“What do you mean?” Caroline leant further over the coffin to look at the girl inside.

“She arrived at our home when she was merely months old. We were told she was an orphan and that her family had been killed in an accident of some kind. I always noticed that my mother looked at her tenderly and with more love than just a guardian, but I just thought it was out of pity because of how much she had lost at such a young age.

“Pia and Nik were as thick as thieves. They would finish each other’s sentences and they’d stare at each other for ages without saying anything. I used to think that they could speak within their minds sometimes. Then I remember one day - they had just celebrated their fourteenth birthday - something had changed. They held hands and snuck kisses in the stable. They would play footsie under the dinner table and sometimes I’d catch Pia crawling back under our quilt in the middle of the night with flushed cheeks.”

“You don’t mean that they…?” Rebekah didn’t need to look to her side to realise that Caroline was looking at her with disgust. The judgement didn’t bother Rebekah anymore; they’d suffered centuries of it after all.

“Once we were all turned into vampires their werewolf genes were activated due to their first human kill. That was when all was revealed. They were siblings, not just lovers. The curse that was placed upon the twins was hard enough for them to handle, but the continued attraction they felt for each other made it even worse. I’m not saying that we didn’t slaughter a lot of people, because we did, but as they denied their feelings they would kill hundreds more to satisfy their cravings. It wasn’t until they mated again that their ravenous hunger finally lessen-”

“Enough.” Klaus’ voice thundered through the warehouse making Caroline turn around in fear. His amber eyes pierced right through her, and for once, she feared that he might actually harm her. “I think we’ve had enough story time, Rebekah.” Klaus slowly walked forward with clenched fists as he tried to stop himself from tearing both girls apart. Rebekah, who had still not turned around, acted with impulse and pulled the dagger from her sister’s chest. She held the blade in front of her and faced her sibling. Since his blood had been used to create the dagger there was no guarantee it would do anything to him, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t lose an eye in the process of trying.

Klaus’ face twitched and he glanced at where his twin lay before taking in a deep breath. He raised his hands in surrender as he evaluated the situation. Pia would wake shortly and he needed to be the first thing she saw; he needed to get to her. Both parties walked in a circle until the hybrid was stood in front of the coffin. He immediately turned his back on the girls, not even bothered about the dagger, and looked down at his twin. His expression softened as he scanned his eyes over her. She was still absolutely perfect. “My beautiful Pia.

“My lifeblood.

“My everything.” He carefully leaned down and pressed a soft kiss upon her cold lips. “Oh, how I have missed you, my love.”

“Klau-”

“Do not speak, Caroline. You should have never known about Pia until I was ready for her to walk the earth again.” His hands clenched the side of the coffin as he fought to keep control of the anger bubbling within him. Caroline could hear the wood beginning to splinter under his grip. The blonde immediately stepped back and observed this new side of Klaus that she was seeing. He seemed… different. She had never seen him so possessive before. He was almost feral as he guarded his twin in the coffin, but then there was that vulnerability that was shining in his eyes whenever he looked at Pia’s body. He let out a deep breath and returned to caressing Pia’s face as though she was made out of glass. Caroline could have sworn that his fingers were shaking a little too.

“Nik, she never deserved this!” Rebekah finally exploded in anger. “She never deserved to have five centuries stolen from her.” Klaus’ shoulders straightened and he turned to face his snarling sister with a blank expression. “Do you think she will forgive you for over five hundred years of betrayal?! I mean, look what happened with Finn!”

“Rebekah, you should have more faith in me. I was waiting until the right moment.” He kept his voice quiet despite wanting to do nothing more than yell back at his little sister. It felt like a stab to the chest as he realised that none of his siblings trusted him. He knew that they would be angry at him for how long they had been kept asleep, but couldn’t they realise that it was safer for them? Mikael would have used them to get to him if they had gone off on their own and he couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t have them suffer for something that their mother had ultimately caused.

“What?! Another century?! A thousand years from now?! Nik, she has missed out on so much!”

“And if Mikael had caught her then he would have made sure that she’d never open her eyes again! He would have taken her and killed her in the most brutal way possible just to send a message to me!” Klaus quickly stopped his shouting and calmed himself. He wouldn’t do this in front of Pia. She deserved a little bit of peace when she woke up. He glanced over his shoulder and noted how her fingers had begun to twitch a little. “I was going to bring her back soon so that we could be a proper family. I would have brought her back to our house and then removed the dagger so that she could wake up in comfort and not in a cold place like this… you know she always hated the cold.”

“Yes. Sometimes we’d have to drag her away from the fire before she caught aflame herself.” Both siblings smiled at the memories of the countless winters that Pia had curled up in a ball under mountains of blankets and stayed in front of the fire. Not even Henrik could persuade her that the snow was fun to play in and that the falls looked beautiful when frozen. She had always been so slim and so terrified of becoming sick.

The air changed at that moment. The anger was replaced with sadness for how much their family had gone through. Caroline shifted uncomfortably as she felt like she was intruding on such a private moment.

“She’s going to be so angry.”  Rebekah nodded; at least Nik wasn’t lying to himself.

“Well, you always did share the same temper.” The half-siblings shared a small laugh.

“Ah!” The small girl breathed in and her eyes shot open to reveal light blue pools. Caroline jolted backwards as the sudden noise made her jump. Pia’s hands moved up to the sides of the coffin slowly as though testing her sense of touch. She blinked a few times as the feeling returned to her body. Steadily she sat up from her resting place and glanced down at herself. She turned her hands over and flexed her fingers. Her brow creased as the scent of damp attacked her senses. Finally she took in her surroundings and gasped at the sight of the dingy roof above her. Her gaze darted about in panic before she zoned in on part of her family. The fleshy tones of her skin slowly seeped back into her body as she silently observed her twin and only sister. She cocked her head to the side; Rebekah flinched as her neck let out a large cracking sound from the sudden movement. There was still no expression upon the awakened hybrid’s face. None of them could read how she was feeling. When she caught sight of the pretty blonde girl slowly backing away from her, dark veins immediately grew around her eyes and blue faded into amber as her hybrid features made themselves known. Who was this stranger? Why was she looking at her with such pity? Pia hated pity.

“She needs to feed.” As if on cue, Klaus disappeared for a few moments before returning with a compelled human that he had brought with him and left outside. Pia snatched him from her brother and dragged the man nearly into the coffin with her. Her fangs instantly shot out and she hungrily drank from the male. It only took a few seconds before the body dropped to the floor with a wet squelch; his head had nearly been detached from his body. Klaus looked on appreciatively at the sight of her; it looked like it really did only take one of them to break the curse. They were going to be unstoppable once properly reunited.

“My, my, you must have been hungry.” The girl still didn’t say anything and merely stepped out of the casket with unnatural grace. Caroline compared her to that of a swan; she was so elegant even with the red staining her mouth and dress. Pia slowly licked the blood from around her lips and cleared her throat.

“Just how long have I been daggered for, Niko? I can’t imagine it’s still 1537 considering the clothes you are wearing.” Her voice remained level, giving no inkling to the anger and devastation that burned in her chest. She could feel their bond going crazy; it was like a caterpillar doing somersaults around her heart.

“It is 2010, my love.” Klaus replied whilst taking note of her flat tone and blank features. Her expression didn’t waver as she processed the sheer amount of time that she had been kept in that coffin.

“I see.” Pia glanced at Rebekah before zoning in on the unfamiliar scent in the room. Caroline avoided her gaze and kept her eyes on her feet. She had never felt so unimportant before. It was like she was in the presence of a queen and making eye contact would be disrespectful. “So kind of you to bring an audience…” It was then that a tear finally fell down Pia’s cheek. Her bottom lip trembled as she used her stubborn Mikaelson pride to keep a straight face; it reminded Niklaus of all the times she had looked down at him when holding his head in her lap after another humiliation caused by their ‘father’.

Klaus immediately cradled her in his arms and tucked her face into his shoulder. He laced his fingers within her hair and breathed in the scent he had missed for centuries. A growl of appreciation rumbled from his chest as he finally felt whole. The wolf within him scratched and howled wildly as their mate was returned to them.

Mine. All mine.

A second growl rang through the warehouse as Pia tensed in her twin’s arms. Klaus steadied himself as she fidgeted within his grip in a half-hearted attempt to escape from him. “How could you do this to me?!” She hit her arms against his chest before slumping forward in exhaustion. She needed more blood, he noted as her body gave away. Klaus instantly brought an arm under her knees and picked her up so she was held firmly against his chest.

“Forgive me. I swear that I will make it up to you. I will make it all up to you.”

We will never part again.

#klaus mikaelson x oc #klaus mikaelson x ofc #fanfiction #twin hearts #twin hearts masterlist #the vampire diaries #tvd #the vampire diaries fanfiction #klaus mikaelson x original female character

[sacramentonewsjournal]

Out of Quarantine and Korea and into the Winners Circle in Tokyo

By Chris Oddo | @TheFanChild | Wednesday, October 5 2022 From quarantine to the winner’s circle, Taylor Fritz obtained out of Seoul simply in time to take his place within the Rakuten Open draw and notch a three-set win over James Duckworth on Wednesday evening. After the match the American World No.11 talked about his harrowing journey. Fritz mentioned he was too sick to train in his room in Seoul, after he was compelled to drag out of the draw as a result of Covid. He bided his time and eventually did some cardio during the last three days, and when he produced a unfavourable take a look at, he was clear to fly to Tokyo and arrived simply in time for his Wednesday begin. He defeated Duckworth 6-2, 6-7(2), 6-1 to set a second spherical conflict with Japan’s Hiroki Moriya. It was Fritz’s first win in Tokyo, on his fourth profession look. Up and operating in Tokyo @Taylor_Fritz97 finishes off a gritty 6-2 6-7 6-1 victory over James Duckworth for his first ever win at #RakutenOpen pic.twitter.com/NrwCFjDfS2 — Tennis TV (@TennisTV) October 5, 2022 “[I’m feeling] higher than I assumed I’d be,” Fritz mentioned in his post-match press convention. “I do not really feel wonderful, however I am actually joyful that I used to be capable of undergo all that and nonetheless present up and win my match.” Fritz, who’s presently in tenth within the ATP’s Race to Turin, says he was involved about taking part in so quickly. “I used to be extra involved concerning the cardio and my conditioning after being actually sick and never having been capable of do something. Fortunately the courtroom was very quick, and so we weren’t taking part in lengthy factors, so bodily I used to be OK.” The American has had a unbelievable season, successful the Indian Wells title in March and reaching his first Slam quarterfinal at Wimbledon, the place he defeated Rafael Nadal on Centre Court docket. However to succeed in the celebrated ATP Finals discipline he might want to make up some floor. He’s presently 430 factors behind the tempo of Felix Auger-Aliassime, and 250 factors behind Hubert Hurkacz. Fritz would probably must cross each to get in, until Rafael Nadal opts out of the World Tour Finals this yr. For now, he is simply joyful to have one other win below his belt. Originally published at Sacramento News Journal

#Sacramento News Journal

[morantanner37]

hermes crocodile bag 20

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[aenaxes-moved]

momentum

[hunter x afab!reader] hunter thinks it's a good idea for you to learn hand-to-hand. and if it's a way for you to see him sweaty, sleeveless, and in close quarters, who are you to turn down the perfect opportunity?

warnings: unprotected vaginal sex

w/c: 4.7k

a/n: i'm a simple creature—i see the sexual tension of hand-to-hand combat, and i am brought low. also the marauder has a cargo hold for literary purposes, now. anyways enjoy my first nsfw fic on this blog. reposting bc tumblr censored me :/

“Try again,” Hunter orders as he crouches down beside where you lie sprawled, chest heaving and arms limp on the training mat. “Just like I showed you: trap the wrist, lock the arm, twist and throw.”

“Unlike you,” you wheeze, struggling to lift your head off the floor, “I’m not exactly built to throw people around.” You forego your weak attempt to get up, and you swear you feel your teeth rattle as the back of your head hits the mat with a dull thud.

You turn your head, meeting the sergeant's piercing gaze with a weary half-grimace half-grin. There’s a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes—maybe incredulity—that he might be training a half-fledged jedi in the brutally graceful art of floorslamming an opponent over a shoulder while the others had taken Omega on a trip to meet the natives. It’s something you should know well, having spent your youth under the wild and unrelenting martial acrobatics of master Voss, but at the end of the day, you would choose swordplay over brute physicality without hesitation.

Especially if you’re facing off against an opponent who can and has hefted you high above his head and practically launched you across the training mat.

If Hunter’s amused at all by this knowledge, he only makes it known with a huff.

“Empire’s out for your head; you need to learn to fight in more ways than your fancy jedi training. That includes hand-to-hand just in case you lose your lightsaber. Again.”

“That was once, Hunter!” you whine, warmth spreading across your cheeks. But he’s right. Loathe as you are to admit it, no amount of force pushing would have gotten you out of that mess on Onderon, and it was a miracle (otherwise known as Echo) that you’d found your lightsaber at all.

It’s an embarrassing memory and, deeper down, a dangerous one that could have ended in more than stray blaster fire. Petulant as you would like to be, Hunter has a point. So you reach up, flapping your hand about until you feel Hunter’s hand wrap around yours, callused and firm, and yank you up to your feet. You stumble as you regain your footing, but as soon as you’ve collected your bearings, you’re shaking your hands out and bouncing on the tips of your toes.

“Fuck it. Let me try again.”

“Do you want me to go slower on the approach?” Hunter asks, this time, a sure note of playful teasing dancing over his tongue. The corners of his lips curl up, imperceptible to most, but you’ve flown long enough with the crew to pick up on his slight giveaways. You narrow your eyes, fixing him with an accusatory frown.

“‘Imps won’t slow down for you y/n,’” you parrot his words with a sour expression, begrudging theatrics complete with an exaggerated eye roll.

Hunter laughs, but he’s already drawing back into a low crouch, arms raised and muscles coiled, ready to strike. You take the brief moment of clarity between your warm up and readying stance to admire him, his hair tied with his bandana, piercing eyes set in a razor focus as his chest rises and falls, even, steady. The sharp clarity is made complete, authentic, with his garb. Having swapped his standard blacks for a sleeveless top, a sheer veil of sweat glimmers brushed over the toned muscle rippling under his skin. It’s an appealing point of motivation, a reward for the small price of being thrown around for the past hour.

“You’re learning,” Hunter smiles, small and crooked, but a smile that breaks past his stolid stoicism nonetheless. “Attagirl.”

Your heart flutters, and you lunge.

Two rapid steps, and you’re meeting Hunter in the middle as he rushes towards you. Right foot, anchor heel, pivot, and the sharp wind of his arm shooting forward nearly knocks the breath from your lungs as it just barely brushes past your cheek.

He’s fast. But you’re faster, you challenge, and you shoot your left arm up, closing your grip with your right hand and trapping his forearm in your hands just beneath the hem of his glove. And when you find secure purchase, confident enough that he can’t counter, you yank with a sharp, vindictive shout. For the first time today, your grip holds.

You feel him roll over your shoulder, guided by your hand, compelled by gravity, and you’ve won. After all the blocks and parries and attacks-turned-scrambling-defenses, you’ve got Hunter exactly where you want him. Hunter may have size, bulk, experience—well, everything other than the Force—that you don’t, but if he’s taught you anything during your time with the batch it’s that timing is king.

You whoop as you feel his back roll off yours, squeezing your eyes shut as you claim your victory into the empty cargo hold.

You forget, however, the unspoken and very important step of letting go.

As soon as the split-second of simple victory flashes through you, you yelp, pulled off your feet and centre of balance flung off to the far reaches of the room. You’re reduced to an ungraceful flail of limbs and panicked disorientation as you fall, bracing yourself for an imminent collision and a sure promise of a bruise the day after. But instead of the forgiving, plasticky foam of the floor, you land with a soft oof on something else, harder than the mat, damp, bony…?

When you open your eyes, you’re propped up on one elbow, your other shoulder dipped close against Hunter’s chest, and your nose just a breath away from his collar, and, Maker help you, you can see his collarbones, sharp and clean through his blacks, rising and falling rhythmically with his heavy, straining breaths. You lift your head just in time to meet Hunter’s eyes, lightly curtained by one single swath of perfectly mussed stray hair, pupils blown wide with pride, wonder, and—

Shit.

“Uh, yay me?” you offer weakly, hoping you can blame the tremble in your voice on bone-deep exhaustion, not the blooming heat roiling in your gut.

“Yeah,” Hunter says, eyes trained on yours, steady and still.

It doesn’t take force sensitivity to feel the tension buzzing high in what little space separates your faces, the boundaries of playful sportsmanship bowing under the weight of testing curiosity, circling, prodding. The breath that passes your lips quivers, of which you’re only aware when you see Hunter’s eyes flick briefly to your lips. He lingers a moment, and you swallow hard, almost audibly, when you catch a flash of his tongue darting over his lower lip.

It might be an adrenaline high—his dilated pupils, the wild thumping of your heart against your ribs. High velocity combat and being thrown flat onto your back would do that.

You hope it isn’t.

The silence is enough to steal the sound from your tongue, just low breathing as you hover above him. It demands to be broken, something to be the first push back into the rhythm of which you have become so accustomed, the comfortable banter and competition devoid of anything more than meaningless flirting. Because for his ruggedly handsome looks, his commandeering presence, an aura that had men and women sending him drinks from across the bar, you had never let yourself seriously entertain the idea of being able to have him.

It’s hard to entertain attraction, much less romance, when you and the batch are high priority on the Empire’s list to shoot on sight, but the possibility has kept you awake at night, fingers shoved between your thighs while he sleeps two doors down. The fantasy of having, breathing him in like air, makes you feel alive, makes you feel the rare and fleeting feeling of safety. You, exiled jedi. Him, one of millions, the dedicated soldier sworn to a cause.

And yet, here you are.

Hunter lifts one hand from the floor, reaching up to brush the hair from your eyes, and you find yourself having to bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from turning your head and nuzzling into his palm, from pushing close and staying, indulging. And while your mind blurs in the frantic flurry of fighting it, he gives in freely, turning his wrist to run his gloved thumb over your jaw. It’s the softest you’ve ever found standard issue blacks to feel, but more importantly, it’s the closest he’s ever been.

“Yay you,” he whispers.

Hunter leans forward, sliding his hand across the side of your neck, his thumb soft at your ear as he curls his fingers into your hair and closes the distance. One moment there’s a vast breadth of space between you; the next, you feel Hunter’s nose brushing over your cheek, his breath ghosting over your skin for that last moment of separation. Then you’re moving with him, meeting his lips with soft motions pleading for more as you slide one hand up into his hair and press your chests flush.

He doesn’t taste quite like your dreams, all smooth, sweet freshness dancing over your tongue. Instead, there is raw exhaustion and strain bitter and heady on his skin as he licks over your lower lip. But no matter; it is real and present and Hunter all the same.

The training room silence is broken when he nudges a knee between your legs, pressing close between the want pooling low in your belly, as you barely manage to muffle a whimper into his mouth, breathy and high as you break away to gasp. Hunter grants you that moment of rest, and he’s pulling you back down against him again, holding you tight.

“I’ll stop if you want,” he mumbles against your lips. “We stop, and we forget this ever happened. But.” He pauses to nip at your lips. “You give me the word, and we take this as far as you want, y/n. Understood?”

You nod, too busy chasing his tongue to feel his gaze fixed on you. And, as always, your blissful ignorance does not escape Hunter’s watchful eye. You whine as you feel his fingers close around your chin and lift, pulling away just enough that you can see his dark eyes steady on yours.

“I need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whimper, reduced to little more than pleading submission, doe-eyed and dreamy as he slowly runs his thumb over your lip. “Want you, Hunter. Need you.”

“Attagirl.”

He makes a noise that sounds like quiet laughter, but all you care about is that he’s nuzzling against your skin and holding you close. Hunter kisses you with a trembling restraint that you practically feel vibrating under his touch, the excitement of being able to have, the roiling fear of intimacy, vulnerable and open under your palms.

It’s something you know well. You feel the same.

“We should really wash up,” he murmurs into your mouth.

“‘Fresher’s big enough for two,” you say a bit cheekily.

“You really want it all, huh?” Hunter chuckles, squeezing the back of your neck as he presses a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Never get anything if you don’t ask,” you smile against his lips.

“Can’t disappoint the lady, then, can I?” he grins, dropping his head back down onto the training mat. You sigh, resting your cheek on his collar for a single breath before you feel him shift beneath you, pulling you into his lap as he sits upright. Hunter offers you a final peck, a promise for more in just a short while.

You silently promise you’ll return to the hold come morning and clean up the mats before Echo can chew you out for any sloppiness, but cleanliness is the least of your concerns as you stumble with Hunter towards the threshold, all soft laughter and kisses strayed off their mark. Whatever concerns about anything other than the bliss of the now are even more obscured as the refresher doors slide shut behind you. You laugh as Hunter twists out of his blacks, which almost has you tripping out of your own, but he’s there to catch you, sturdy arms and warm skin to pull you into the stall and under a startling shock of cold water.

Maybe it’s that brief shock of cold before the showerhead runs warm that offers you a moment of clarity, the space and quiet to realize where you stand and take in the man before you. You’re no stranger to proximity, having spent more than one mission squeezed up against Hunter’s side, but closeness doesn’t begin to describe where you stand now, bared to each other beyond simple undress.

A smattering of scars stretches over Hunter’s skin, an organized chaos of milky pockmarks and slashes so often hidden under his armor. You recognize a few, blaster fire and frightened memories of blood and acrid fear, and the rest you save for a later night when you’ve sated the flutter in your chest as your eyes drift lower.

It would be embarrassing, how your mouth waters when you catch sight of his cock, half-hard and framed by a dark thatch of curls. But any need for shame is dismissed by the sheer gravity of want because he’s thick. You had always imagined him to be big—that isn’t much of a surprise—but your stomach churns delightfully at the thought of him stretching you open, making you feel him for days after.

“You’re staring,” Hunter huffs softly.

“Can you blame me?” you breathe.

Hunter laughs, rich and resonant over the patter of the shower spray, and he reaches that short distance forward, gently taking your hand in his and lifting your palm to his lips. You step backwards, letting him crowd you between the wall as you cup his cheek.

His hands, rarely bared to his brothers, let alone you, are strong and weary with scars of war, and he lets them follow the slope of your arm, tracing down your shoulder, your waist, and coming down to your hips, seeing in full clarity under his fingertips.

“Hold on tight.”

“Hunter, wait—ah!”

You yelp as he slips his forearms under your thighs without warning, hefting you up against the cool metal. In your hazy delirium, it occurs to you that you’re both exhausted from sparring and that him holding you up would only wear him down further. You want to tell him you’re perfectly fine on your feet. But whatever protest you may have had planned dies on your lips with a choked sob when you feel his fingers knead into the soft skin of your thighs and tug.

You arch off the wall, breath catching in your throat when you feel Hunter shift his hips forward and anchor you in place as he grinds his cock over your clit. Any hope of forming coherent words, let alone sound, is completely beyond you, now. Heat coils in your gut, all-consuming, white-hot tension pulled tight and ready to snap with each slow motion he makes.

And—the bastard—he’s good at it, too, leaving you squirming under his grip when he shifts away, cruelly aware of the brief moment just as your pleasure crests. Hunter lets you whine, filling the space with firm, insistent kisses over your collar: enough time for your high to ebb, enough time for him to stoke the frustration, the need tight in your core. Then he’s pressing your hips against the wall again and chasing you forwards, hips flush as he nips over your jaw.

All you find yourself able to do is dig your nails into his shoulders and sob.

“Shit, are you crying?” Hunter gasps, nearly dropping you down into a helpless heap under the warm water.

You shake your head wildly, locking your ankles around the small of his back as you keep him in place. It’s enough to startle him back into stillness, and he readjusts his grip on your thighs, the weight of his cock heavy against your throbbing cunt as you gasp for breath.

“I just—I’m fine,” you laugh, bordering delirious as stray drops of water catch on your tongue. “Just fuck me, Hunter. Make it better,” you breathe, chest heaving as you lick your lips. “Please.”

You know the expression that flashes across his face, the need to tease and prod, making gentle light of a dire situation. But this time, Hunter does not entertain it with his signature deadpan drawl, instead meeting you with a soft, imploring kiss.

“So pretty when you beg,” he whispers.

You open your mouth to offer a snappy retort; even in your desperation, there must be some dignity. Instead, your ears fill with the sound of your stuttering gasp over the water pattering against the refresher walls as, finally, finally, you feel the blunt head of his cock dip into your cunt.

Hunter pushes into you with a maddening slowness, one that reduces you to breathless whimpering broken between what gasps you can take. You dig your heels into his back and meet him with a straining moan because Maker, he’s even bigger than you thought, and it’s everything you’ve ever needed.

“Gotta breathe,” Hunter grunts, sinking deeper into you.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a reminder for you or for him, but you manage to slip in a gasping breath before he’s nudging up against a spot that has tears blurring your vision in dizzy euphoria. And when you come down from that high spark, legs jerking over his arms, he’s still pushing impossibly deep into you.

You watch him in a dazed trance, fixed on how his brows furrow with each quiet, flinching gasp that passes his parted lips as your cunt flutters around him. And how, through it all, his eyes never leave yours, boring into you with a fierce intensity, devotion, demanding your attention and pleading for your touch. It’s more than pure physicality, sex under the crushing uncertainty of a bounty and the shadow of conquest at your heels. He reaches for you, as open as he’s ever been, and you reach back.

“Hunter, I—”

Your words give way to a long, aching moan as you feel the sharp dip of his hips finally press up against your ass, filling you like you’ve always been meant to take him. (And you have, you swear, to him, to everything you know.)

“Gonna start moving, okay?” Hunter says through a shuddering sigh. He trails one hand up your side, thumbing over your chin while you tremble in his arms. “Cyar’ika, tell me I can.”

“Please,” you whimper.

And he delivers. You whine, feeling the slow drag, the toe-curling burn as Hunter eases almost completely out of you then pushes back in, just as slow as the first. He’s measured in his motions, and if you could see past the tears welling in your eyes, you’re sure you would see the razor focus over his features. There’s a tense edge you can barely make out from your slack-jawed disorientation, a restraint behind each careful thrust. He’s savoring it, you think as you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

But when Hunter jerks forward, punching the breath from your lungs as he drives up hard, pulling an obscene noise from your lips with a stuttering apology, you realize it’s not some way to draw this out as long as humanly possible. And as good as it is now, it’s not enough.

“H-Hunter,” you start. “Hunter, you—you don’t have to hold back—!” Your voice rises to a wavering pitch when you feel his thumb trail down your stomach, nestling close above where you part around him as he starts to rub gentle motions into your clit.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps sharply with you when he presses deep again.

“You—you physically threw me across the cargo hold—like an hour ago,” you laugh through hiccupy sighs.

“That was different,” he chokes out a soft chuckle. “I want this to be good. For you.”

Trembling wildly, you muster the strength to lift your hand to his cheek, stroking over his wet skin as the refresher patters down around you. The aching stretch of Hunter’s cock between your thighs ebbs into something sweet, warming your chest when he turns his head to kiss your palm.

“You are good to me,” you whisper, brushing your thumb over his skin. “I want this. I want you.”

You hear him inhale sharp, holding his breath as he meets you with dark eyes, wide and searching. To his gaze, you offer him a soft smile. And it’s enough.

You barely have enough time to loop your arms around his neck and hold as Hunter shifts his grip, firm and high up on your thighs, and starts a brutal pace that has you near screaming into his neck. Your legs jerk helplessly with every relentless thrust, and you find yourself knotting your fingers into his hair, cradling his head for some—any—purchase you can find.

It’s reminders like this that while Hunter doesn’t have the imposing stature or towering height of his brothers, his sheer presence alone is overwhelming, surrounding you and consuming you whole in ways the others simply could never. The power is intoxicating, crushing in its pressure, the submission and release to pleasure it demands of you, and you sob, a whiny, choked sound you barely hear over the frantic, wet slap of Hunter’s skin against yours. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and it’s so, so achingly good.

“Fuck, I’ve always—” Hunter gasps, craning his neck to nuzzle up against your jaw. “I’ve always wanted to do this. To have you like this.” You turn your head, meeting him in a lopsided kiss, all tongue and shared breath. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

“More,” you whine, crying out when he pins you against the wall, just so he might reach between your thighs again and thumb insistently over your clit.

Even with the water showering over your skin, you’re distinctly aware of the tears streaking down your cheeks, only fitting for the overwhelming sensation building in your core, cresting in blinding heat with every drag, every ridge of his cock moving inside you.

He fucks into you with soft noises, low enough that they might be drowned out by the sound of water if you weren’t pressed so close. It’s fitting, that the stolid discipline of a sergeant might follow him off the battlefield and into the bedroom, but as characteristic of him as it may be, you can’t bring yourself to particularly care—not when he’s holding you up like a ragdoll and bending you to his pleasure. You cling tighter to him with a muffled sob.

It’s nothing like your nights alone in your bunk, wishing for a warm body and something more than hopeful fantasy. Where your fingers only offered you a shot of momentary bliss, this feels like you’re falling apart in his hands, utterly powerless in only the best of ways as the coil in your gut draws tight.

“‘m close,” you croak as the heat seeps bone-deep, spreading down your spine, blazing in the tips of your fingers, and finding home in the buzzing haze between your eyes. “Hunter, I’m—I’m so close.”

“Let go,” Hunter croons, bearing the rough pad of his thumb harder against your clit, pressing firm with every thrust forward, soothing as he draws back. Your cunt squeezes down around him with the spike in want pooled in your gut, drawing a low moan from his lips, and he meets you with a thrust hard enough that you squeal. “Doin’ so well, cyar’ika.”

Trembling, you bury your nose in the juncture of his neck, but you’re pressed backward instead, a light, unyielding pressure at your neck before the back of your head is guided against the metal wall. Hunter holds you at the throat, nothing but a hovering presence of his warmth over your skin, but enough that he commands your attention, steady gaze, pupils blown as he thrusts up against you, pushing you higher and higher against that mindless gap of pleasure with every intent to pull you apart.

“Look at me, y/n,” he murmurs, low and hoarse. “Look at me when you come.”

He drives into you once more, hard, and the tension mounting in your gut breaks like a dam, flooding over your tongue in sweet, simple pleasure that pulses and shudders through your core. You feel it like your body, your visceral pleasure, is not your own, floating in a mindless state of bliss no longer anchored to anything but your rapidly beating heart and the shivering tremors buzzing at your fingertips. Lips parted in a silent cry, your lashes flutter as you let yourself be swept up in the peak of your pleasure, swept up in him, his gaze trained firm, fond on yours.

And you’re too fucked out to do more than gasp, breathy, stuttering inhales as Hunter settles his hands around your waist and starts a pace impossibly faster than before. Somehow, through the aching tremor in your legs and your limp form pressed up against the wall, you manage to keep your grip steady and keep your arms wrapped snug around Hunter’s shoulders. He pulls your pleasure, agonizingly long with no end in sight, chasing his high as you whimper and plead unintelligibly into his ear.

“C-Close?” you manage, digging your fingertips deeper into the sinew of his back.

Hunter hums, a feeble attempt to keep what little composure he has left, but you feel his movements lose the steady rhythm he had maintained thus far, forgoing fluidity and grace for the raw and primal need to satiate. Lucid sensation beyond you, you simply let him take his fill, lazily running your tongue over his lips and holding him tight as he continues to fuck into you with erratic, stuttering thrusts.

And not a moment later, Hunter bears your hips down hard on his, gasping like he’s taken his first breath of air as his climax thunders through him. You squirm in his hold with a thready groan, reveling in the warm spurts of come filling your cunt and oozing down the curve of your ass onto the refresher floor. For all your exhaustion, you curl your fingers at the base of his neck, pulling him close into a slow, lazy kiss, more languid touches than an actual kiss, but a promise of intimacy all the same.

Hunter tips forward and shifts one arm to wrap snug around the small of your back, propping you both against the wall with the other as the tension drains from his coiled poise. He sags forward with a final, shuddering sigh, pulling out of you and setting you on your wobbly feet, to which you promptly pitch forward against his shoulder.

He laughs and catches you with breathless ease.

“I have no idea how we didn’t slip,” you gasp through heaving inhales, shuddering as you feel warm rivulets of come dripping down the skin of your inner thigh. As the pleasure subsides, you return to your surroundings in a haze, faintly aware of the running showerhead, the steam, and you drop your head forward, knocking your forehead gently against Hunter’s.

“Neither do I,” he laughs and nuzzles close. “Next time, we’ll pick somewhere with less water.”

“Next time?” you prod, knowing full well that neither you nor Hunter were particularly fond of mindless flings.

“Next time,” Hunter grins, tipping his head forward and brushing his lips over your brow.

“If you two are done in there!” Echo’s voice, exasperation weary and gruff, cuts through the patter of water against the metal paneling with a bang, nearly sending you and Hunter scrambling apart if the refresher stall wasn’t already so narrow. “We need showers!”

“What do you mean ‘you two?’” Omega chirps from outside the door. You have to clap your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing aloud as you watch the rosy pallor drain from Hunter’s face as you hear her muffled protests as someone (likely Wrecker) coaxes her away.

“Not it—you’re giving her the talk,” you quip, biting back a smile as you peck his cheek.

“Maker help me,” he mutters.

#argh tumblr censored my first post #anyways #i originally wanted to write a sparring scene with wrecker but. i think that wouldn't really give you a fighting chance #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #bad batch x reader #yaej.writes #filter

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 || werewolf!Lee Bodecker x reader

summary: being the sherriff’s department’s crime scene photographer means seeing terrible things.  following lee bodecker into the woods means experiencing terrible things.

word count: almost exactly 4k

warnings: smut (noncon but she comes around eventually, if you will), werewolf sex (so...pseudo-bestiality??? but like... not really??), breeding kink, knotting, some a/b/o tropes?, kinda some degradation?,  violence, vague-ish description of gore

Something undeniably wicked was lurking in the woods behind Knockemstiff, Ohio.  That much was obvious.

It wasn’t your first gig as a crime scene photographer, so you knew what to expect; or, you thought you did.  This town was nothing like Toledo, though, in all the worst ways.  You’d left the big city in hopes that you wouldn’t have to see another drive-by shooting, another stockbroker who jumped out of his office, another mafia job left out in the street to serve as an example for would-be testifiers.  You’d left to escape some of the brutality that the urban environment brought.  And to be fair, it wasn’t anything like that, but it wasn’t at all better.  

You’d never seen a cut this deep before.  You’d never seen a body nearly turned inside out.

“It’s that damn bear,” the officer nearby announced, his words failing to distract you from your task of photographing the bloodied remains.  “This happened a couple months ago, body just like this turned up.  Thought we shot the damn thing but I guess we got the wrong one.”

“That can’t be right,” you frowned, stepping back and lowering the camera from your face; it looked worse when it wasn’t seen through the viewfinder, it looked more real.  “Bears might maul people, but they don’t… eat them.”

“They do if they get hungry enough,” he sighed.  

“Do you really believe that?” you pressed.

“I need to.”

The conversation was still echoing in your head as you drove back to the station, which was still bustling despite the day being just about to end.  

You stopped by your desk to grab a folder from your top drawer, "FOR SHERIFF" written in big letters on the front.  Tucking it under your arm, you navigated through the officers and secretaries mulling about to the back hallway of the station, finding the last door on the left and knocking even though it was already halfway open.

“Good evenin’ little lady,” Sheriff Bodecker greeted with a smile when he looked up at you, “got somethin’ for me?”

“Photos from yesterday,” you explained, stepping inside and setting the folder down on his desk.  He opened it and flipped through your shots, nodding slightly.  

"Looks good," he praised— gruff and monotone, but praise nonetheless.  "I think it's enough to prove who was driving recklessly and who was just driving."

"Think they'll be all right?" you asked, remembering how one of the car crash survivors looked as they were being wheeled into an ambulance.

He sighed a little, setting the folder down.  "Seems so, last I heard."

"That's good…" you trailed off, toying with the strap of your camera nervously, studying his face as he looked down at some paperwork in front of him.

You were a career woman, working in a male-dominated profession, and you had so much to prove… but god, if you didn't sometimes fantasize about the Sheriff in ways you knew you shouldn't.  In spite of the fact that you were sure he wanted an obedient housewife, and that that was something you could never be, you'd been known to daydream about another life where he wasn't your boss and you weren't so worried about what other people thought and the two of you could be together.

Or, on other occasions, you just wished Knockemstiff was as liberal as Toledo, so you could have a fling with him and not worry about everybody calling you a harlot.

Either way, it could never happen.  You worked with him and he worked with you; he was looking to settle down and you were looking to start your life.  It was a basic incompatibility.  That didn't stop you from letting your gaze linger on his hands, admiring how strong and thick they were.  God, you wish he'd just grab you—

"Anything else I can do for ya?" he asked slowly, that deep voice making the question sound just a bit more dirty than he likely meant it.

"No, that'll be all," you decided, giving him a polite nod before you slipped out of his office.  

Sometimes, it felt like the only chance you got to really think during the day was when you were alone in your darkroom.  The photo development equipment here was significantly more primitive than what the Toledo Police Department had been able to provide, but you didn’t mind; if anything, it brought you back to your roots, when you were just a newbie photographer who wanted to make compelling art, take photos that would end up on magazine covers or beside hard-hitting journalism.  

That dream had been dashed quite some time ago, but you really did enjoy your job more often than not.  Sure, it came with a lot of gruesome imagery, but at least it was important, and interesting.  

You couldn't be sure what time it was— with no windows and no clocks, and with hours always flying by when you were developing film— but the lack of any noise from outside your darkroom made it clear that it was quite late and everyone had left.

It was odd, then, that you did hear a noise from outside the room, like floorboards creaking.  You were ready to blame the old building settling until you heard it again.

“...hello?” you asked hesitantly, the sterile echo of your voice only making you just that much more paranoid.  “Is someone there?  I’m just here developing my film…”

The red lights cast everything in an eerie glow— bright enough to see, but not enough to assuage your fear.

You opened the door to your darkroom slowly, careful not to let too much light in, and peered down the dark, empty halls.  An uneasy feeling awakened in your gut and you swallowed nothing before hesitantly stepping out into the dark.

Another creak from around the corner made you turn, walking towards the noise and considering calling out again but suddenly afraid to speak at all.

A man's form appeared in front of you out of nowhere.

“Oh!” you gasped, but you sighed a bit when you recognized the badge glistening on his chest.  “Sheriff, shit, you scared me…”

“Sorry, little lady,” he breathed, “didn’t know you were still here…”

“Come in, if I leave this door open too long it’ll let light in,” you explained, pointing to where the street lamp outside shined into the window and ushering him past you into the darkroom.

“What’re you still wearin’ that damn camera for?” he asked, pointing to your hip where it was slung at your side from over your shoulder, making you giggle a little as you shut the door behind the both of you.

“Force of habit.  Never know when something worth photographing might take place,” you explained, returning to the tub of ammonium thiosulfate where you were dipping another glossy print.  

“If somethin’ worth takin’ a picture of happens while you’re stuck in here, I think you’ll’ve got bigger problems than not having your camera,” he smirked.

“Fair enough,” you scoffed.  “Let’s hope I never need to take pictures like these—” you tilted your head towards the pictures you’d hung to try— “unexpectedly.”  Lee sauntered over to where you’d motioned, pulling one the more developed photos from the clothespins.  “That’s the body we found in the woods,” you informed him, “I’m surprised you weren’t called in— it’s pretty gnarly.”

“Sweet girl like you shouldn’t have to see stuff like this,” he shook his head, sighing somberly.  

“I can handle it,” you shrugged, “Believe it or not, I saw worse working mob cases.”

“I’m going with ‘not,’” he answered quickly.  

He was right not to believe you, and you weren’t sure what to say now that he’d called your bluff.

“What… what perfume are you wearing?”

The question threw you off but you figured no harm could come from answering honestly.  “I’m, uh, I’m not…”

He stepped closer, his footsteps soft but audible on the carpeted floor as his form settled behind yours.  Your breath caught when his fingers trailed over your arm and he leaned in, pressing his face to the side of your head as he breathed in.  “You smell good,” he stated plainly, deep voice vibrating in your ears and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Um… thank you…” you answered, hearing your voice waver.  

Just when you thought he might make a move (was this already a move?), and just when you thought you might actually reciprocate if he did, he pulled away.  “I should… I’m sorry, I oughta— I have work to get done.”

Before you could even begin to wonder what he was talking about, he had already slipped out of the darkroom and back into the hall.  Oddly enough, you were sure you heard him start running the second the door was shut.  You considered shrugging it off and getting back to work, but the more you thought about it, the more you were worried.  Most of all, you wondered if he had seen something in your photographs that gave him a lead on what killed the poor old man.  

That possibility needed to be investigated further.

So, you powered down your equipment and left the darkroom, leaving just in time to see the Sheriff stumble out of the back door of the station, seeming to be limping slightly.

Too curious now to stay away, you followed his path and pushed the door open with your weight, seeing him making a mad dash for the nearby treeline.

“No, Lee, the woods—!” you warned, horrified to imagine that he could meet the same fate as the man in your photographs.  You weren’t dressed well enough for the weather— already the evening breeze blew against your bare legs and made you shiver— but you forged ahead regardless.

The moon light was just enough to illuminate your path at first, but as the clouds moved and the tree cover grew thicker, squinting just didn’t do enough to help you see.  Generally, you weren’t afraid of the dark, but this was different… it was cold, and you were alone; but you didn’t feel quite as alone as you would’ve liked to.  You called out for Lee, only hearing the gentle rustle of the leaves and the occasional snapping of twigs on the ground.

At about the same time you considered turning back and using one of the station phones to call some officers for a search, you heard something.  A whine, maybe, or a whimper.  You weren’t sure what it was; it only just barely sounded human.

“Lee, are you out there?” you called, whipping your head around wildly.  

In desperate need of light to navigate your way, you had a moment of insight and reached for the camera slung by your hip.  You relieved yourself of the shoulder strap, pointed the camera ahead, and opened up the flash.

CLICK.  A brief moment of light gave you at least an idea of where you were standing.  It was impossible not to notice how similar it looked to the background of the photos you had just been developing.  You realized, then, that you’d worried so much for Lee’s safety in these woods, but hadn’t considered your own.

Lee, at least, had a gun.  You just had a camera.  Both could shoot, but only one could protect you.

CLICK.  You moved in the direction that you remembered as clear.  It was even harder to see in the dark after the bright light had burned your eyes slightly, and you longed to reach out ahead to feel out your path yet found yourself too terrified of what you might touch.  You could hear the flash charging between shots, you knew well enough by now what it sounded like when the camera was ready to shoot again.

CLICK.  Something white reflected back in the distance, so you moved that way, nearly tripping on a root for your trouble.  

The cloud over the moon finally blew away, and just barely— finally— your eyes could make out the shape of Lee, leaned against a tree and breathing deep and fast.  His back was turned to you, but even then you could see he didn’t look well, his back bending and swelling with each panting breath that grew louder as you stepped closer.

“Oh my god, Sheriff?!” you squawked, sprinting closer.  “Are you alright?” you asked loudly, but when you reached out to touch him he spun to look at you, eyes wild and teeth bared.

“Leave,” he growled between panting breaths.

“You… you’re…” you tried to begin, but you were speechless as you tried to imagine what trick of the light could make him look like he was getting taller, like his eyes and face were shifting.

“GO!” he bellowed.

You stumbled back, dropping your camera but too terrified to even hear the bulb shatter as it hit the ground.  Your legs couldn’t move right, your eyes couldn’t look away from what you were seeing, and what you were seeing… you couldn’t describe it, couldn’t understand it.  

It didn’t look like what scary stories and picture books told you a werewolf was.  It didn’t look like an animal; it sure as hell didn’t look like a person.  Disturbingly, it still looked a bit like Lee, even though his Sheriff’s uniform was tearing at the seams from his morphing, swelling body.  His cries were broken and twisted as his face seemed to be overtaken by teeth— so many teeth— and dark fur.  

Ultimately, one last command to "go" was lost to a howl.

You finally managed to get your brain and body on the same page, turning and scrambling to run away, hearing him chase behind you.  

He walked on two legs but ran on four, his snarls coming closer and closer as you made a mad dash for the distant light of the police station.  Cold wind blew past you as you sprinted, coming to a sudden halt as you tripped and landed on the ground.  Leaves crunched under your hands and feet as you tried to stand back up, but he was already above you, tossing you to the ground again and pinning you at your shoulders.

You tried to kick him away once he'd turned you into your back, but it was laughable— pitiful, even.  When he curled his lips back to brandish his glistening fangs, growling deeply, you were too stunned to fight.  But you could beg.

“Lee, please, please don’t eat me,” you sobbed.

“I didn’t turn to feed,” he informed you, and it almost sounded like Lee, aside from the depth and roughness that shook you to your core.  “I turned to mate.”

“No…” you whispered, denial more than rejection— and as you looked down between your body and his where he hovered over you, you choked on your breath at the sight of his cock, erect and reddened and.... for lack of a better word, enormous.

You weren’t excessively familiar with human cocks (not all the rumors about the new girl who moved here from the city were true), but this one seemed different than what you’d seen, most notably in the size but additionally in how you could see it pulsing and throbbing.  His teeth were bared as his claw-laden hands grabbed your legs, lifting and spreading them.  Your stupid dress just fell away and exposed you easily, like it didn’t even care that he was a monster.

Your panties were already damp, like you didn’t even care that he was a monster.

A deep breath in through his snout-like nose made it clear he was picking up your scent.  He grinned and you shuddered.

You’d seen how deep those claw marks could go, so you were surprised when he was delicate enough to tear your clothes off without ripping your skin.  The fear that he could or would, though, kept your heart pumping plenty fast— or maybe that was because of his dark blue eyes scanning your nude form hungrily.

He adjusted your hips as he held you with his… paws, one might call them, pulling you closer and bumping his thick, swollen head against your entrance.

"No, you can't—" you stammered, not sure if you meant morally or physically.  There was no way that would fit in you, right?  There was no way Lee would force himself on you… right?

The noise you made when he pushed into your channel was, ironically, animalistic.  His intrusion stretched you wide and filled you deep, and he wasted no time in setting a brutal pace that slammed his rough, strong thighs against the back of your soft ones.

Fear paralyzed you, made you unwilling and unable to fight back.  He was all claws and teeth— where could you reach to try to push him away, without the extremely high risk of him just biting your weak little hand off?  No, it was better that you just laid there, whimpering and sobbing and trying with all your might not to moan at the feeling of being fucked, hard, in the woods, by a beast.

His tongue on your neck was an odd sensation, another way he forced you to acknowledge that this wasn’t normal— because no human tongue was this long, this thick and hot, nor surrounded by sharp teeth that grazed your jaw and cheek.

“Gonna breed you,” he informed you coldly.  It made you squirm beneath him with renewed vigor, desperate not to be filled with the seed of— well, of anyone, but especially not this thing.  Could it get you pregnant, were you even biologically compatible?  You didn’t want to find out.  

“Please, no,” you whimpered.

“If you hate it so much then why is your cunt sucking me in so tight?” he whispered gruffly against your ear before licking it, too, with that cursed tongue.

His question was probably rhetorical, but either way you couldn’t answer it— you had no idea why your body was submitting so easily, why your walls welcomed him so eagerly, why your legs wrapped around his hips to pull him closer.  Further, you had no idea why you were about to come.

Numbness and sensitivity warred across your body, everything feeling tighter and hotter and heavier until you finally snapped and your body shook and convulsed.  His arms reached beneath where your back was arching, and you clutched at his shoulders as your fingers weaved into the fur you found there.

Of course he didn’t stop when you reached your peak, he wouldn’t stop for anything now, so you were forced to take him just as deep and hard as always even as your body went limp and became overwhelmingly sensitive.  It was clear, then, that your pleasure was only collateral damage to him; he was using your body for whatever he wanted, to sate his biological drive to impregnate something.  Like everything else about this, it was disgusting yet annoyingly arousing.

It's hard to say how long you laid there, limply jolting with each of his thrusts, dripping your arousal onto the cold earth beneath you, moaning weakly as you alternated between pleading for mercy and pleading for more.  You watched the clouds blow through the night sky, afraid to look up at his monstrous face, at his pointed ears and shining teeth.  Occasionally you glanced down and noted the way your stomach bulged from the size of him; you couldn't look at that anymore because it would either make you sick or make you come again.

You gurgled and choked as you felt his cock swelling inside you— bigger, wider, until your body was stretched beyond its limits.

"Take my knot," he instructed darkly, "my little bitch."

Disturbingly, you realized he probably wasn't calling you that to insult you: it was literal.  You were his breeding bitch, a womb to carry his litter, and you whined at the way it made your gut sink in shame.

His noises were more animal-like than ever while he came inside you, thick come all but pouring into you as he panted and growled.  Funny thing was, it just didn't stop: he kept coming for so long, giving you so much while the knot kept every drop inside.

You'd never felt so full in your life, of anything, let alone hot come that made you feel warm and sticky and dripping wet.

The knot kept you plugged and showed no signs of going down as he caged your body in, nuzzling into your neck.  He could bite you now and end it all, but you weren't afraid of that since he seemed to have found a better purpose for you.  His heavy breathing made his back rise and curve above you, his clawed hands pinning your wrists beside your head while he started to lick and nibble at your ear, neck, and collarbone.

You didn't even notice that you'd fallen asleep until you awoke in the wee hours of the morning— that time just before sunrise where there's light but no real color in the sky yet— with Lee asleep on top of you.  Regular Lee, that is, naked with no fur whatsoever and a normal cock that had softened inside you.

Okay, maybe "normal" was a strong word considering it was still pretty big and deliciously thick despite not even being hard anymore, but at the very least totally human.

"Lee," you whispered harshly, shaking him to try to wake him up.  "Sheriff."

He stirred, and his cock moved inside you; the subtle stimulation on your sore insides made you moan lowly and involuntarily squeeze your walls around him.  That got his attention, and you heard his breathing change beside your ear before he groaned a little.

"Mornin'," he greeted, his grin audible in his tone as he sat up slightly and looked down at you.  You reached up and brushed your hand over his chest, happy to find a much thinner layer of hair there than last night.  "Of all the times I woke up in this forest with no fuckin' idea what happened the night before… this has got to be my favorite."

"What's the last thing you remember?" you asked.

"I told you to run… I must've caught you, huh…"

You nodded and bit your lip.  

"You know I can't stop, when I'm like that… I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," you sighed, "you didn't— it wasn't you."

"But it's my seed in you," he remembered, his words sending a little tingle up your spine.  

He must have felt it, must have seen your eyes widen or heard you gasp a little, because he grinned proudly as he looked down at you.

"Oh, you really love it, huh?  Love bein' mine…"

His hands held your arms tight as he pinned them down, making you whimper a little while he leaned in to suck on your neck.

"Love bein' bred like a bitch, ain't that right?"

You heard the deep, desperate moan before you even realized it had come from your mouth, his chuckle beside your ear making your heart twist.

"Yeah, I can tell… who knew you were so dirty, little lady?  Sweet girl like you shouldn't be gettin' off on being ravaged in the woods by a monster."

"Y-you're not a monster," you protested weakly.

"I eat people," he reminded you, letting go of your hands which you instantly weaved into his hair.

"Well, that's… everybody's got flaws, that's all."

"Yeah?  And what's yours?" he teased.

"I've got a crush on my boss," you answered with a grin, "and I came harder than I ever have in my life being fucked by… what are you?"

"The clinical term is lycanthrope."

"Right," you nodded, "that."

"And what would a pretty girl like you have a crush on me for, hm?"

"I dunno," you smiled coyly, running a finger down his chest, "guess I just thought you were cute…"

"Cute?!" he scoffed incredulously.

"Yeah… and sweet… you know, you go around actin' all tough and stuff, but I think you're really just harmless."

He cut you off with a growl as he lightly bit at your neck, holding your arms down again and tightening his grip on your wrists until you yelped and giggled happily.  "Oh, honey, you have no idea yet just how monstrous I can really be…"

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker x you #werewolf!lee bodecker #?? how do I tag this lol

[barzzal]

between halls and thin walls → part four

summary: friends who fool around almost never works. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: idiots, that’s all <3

↳ genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+

↳ length: series; part one, part two, part three, part four (6.7k), part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: my favorite part by mac miller, addicted by jorja smith, someone to spend time with by los retros

note: finally got myself to update this fic oml zzz quick psa tho, this will now be a six-part series! hope that’s okay and yenno as always, would love to hear what you think about this (validate me in the tags pls im lonely) happy reading babes! <3

“Yo, grandma. Haven’t you had too much tea to drink?” his voice echoes in the room as soon as he walks into it. You carefully set the cup down on the dining table and looked at him exasperatedly. 

“Haven’t you had too much care to give?” you snark back, earning yourself a disappointed look from him. 

“Really, y/n? That’s the best you’ve got?” he shakes his head at your appalling retort.  What a shame.

You were good at pissing him off to be fair. You just weren’t in the mood to throw teases back and forth especially now that you’re feeling particularly vulnerable.

The week has been far too dreadful for you and you know that you’re willing to grovel your way into the weekend to finally have the time to slack off, not worry about taking a bath, and just go crazy with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

However, just like always, Mathew seems to never run out of ways to get on your nerves. 

He carelessly puts his stuff on the table, causing a fairly loud thud on the surface. 

You let out a deep breath, massaging your temple. 

“Somebody’s cranky.” he grins. Not necessarily the kind you’d want to see from him. 

You try to ignore him for a few minutes but you can’t help noticing how his build easily took over much of the space you’ve already been occupying. You irkingly look up at him, closing the book you were reading. You meet Mat’s eyes who just innocently looked back into yours. Waiting. Possibly plotting on yet another sophisticated way to toy with you.

“You’re a child.” you roll your eyes and return to your reading. He says nothing and instead rests his chin atop his enclasped hands, continuing to bother you with his ridiculously beguiling eyes. He presses his lips together before sighing dramatically. 

“What?” you snap, finally shutting your book down as you look at him. 

“I wanna go out.” he looks up at you in an effort to make his huge physique smaller than it really was. 

“Then go out. You’re a big boy.” you breathe. 

“You just said that I’m a child.” he coos, mimicking a five-year-old’s voice. 

“Stop that.” you glare at him. Mat props himself back and laughs, “Come on. I’m bored.” 

You open your book again just as you reply in a tone that Mat’s getting used to hearing. “Boredom doesn’t give you the right to pester me, Barzal.” 

And as an exchange, he speaks in the same tone rather mockingly, “And so is that attitude, Y/L/N.” 

“Come on, y/n. Let’s go out.” he now pleads, looking up at you with what seems to be his worst impression of a ‘puppy eye’.

“Fine.” you finally concede and you see Mat’s beaming smile instantly. 

“Where’d you want to go?” you ask as you take your reading glasses off.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, obviously teasing. 

On the edge of being irritated, you say, “Are you kidding me?”

“Grandma.” he mumbles before saying, “Do you have anything you want to do? And please don’t say book hunt.”

You suppress a smile and maintain your composure. “I’m craving for pancakes right now but I also wanna drink. Go to a bar or something.”

He nods in agreement. Already stitching his game plan.

“We can do both.”  he bobs his all too fine brows.

He didn’t have a hard time getting you on board with his spontaneity. You actually haven’t gone out in a while and the thought of a possible night out doesn’t seem to be so bad of an idea.

You’ve been with Mat to parties and while the two of you don’t mingle as much as the other guys did, he does know his way around the club. The dance floor, however, he tries. He really does.

For about an hour Mathew waited patiently in the living room as he scrolled endlessly on instagram liking a few photos and laughing at posts the fans tag him occasionally. His eyes were peeled away from the screen when he heard the door to your room click. His irises trail onto your body even if he didn’t plan to originally. 

Mathew, albeit dressed simply in his black turtleneck sweater and a beige overcoat exudes just about the right ‘swag’ (as per how he puts it) to stop you in your stupor. Although what you didn’t know was how you weren’t any different in his eyes. You were dressed quite nicely in a black lace bodysuit with a pair of blackpants accentuated by the black boots you usually wear on a night out. Your coat was slung on your forearm whilst you held your clutch purse in your hand so you could close the door with the other. 

“What?” you blink just as you look down to eye yourself. Feeling a tad self-conscious under his gaze.

Mat immediately breaks it off. He clears his throat, pretending to wipe off the non-existent dust on the accent table. 

“What?” he mirrors with an arched brow.

You shrug off his demeanor, snatching your keys from the accent table before putting it in your purse. 

“Have you called a lyft already?” he nods, absentmindedly scratching his temple. 

“You ready? You look— decent.” He says, trying to act casual and distant when he gives you the compliment.

Not noticing the unfamiliar look his eyes had, you return the compliment and say,  “And so do you. Good job for not looking like you came straight out of an H&M catalogue.” you wink at him with a grin. A thing which was then reciprocated by a deadpan look on his end. 

Before he could even come up with yet another clever way to come at you, you start walking towards the door, looking at him once as you motion the way by curling your finger.

“Haul ass, buddy.”

𖥸

10:15 PM 

Mat decided to bring you to the usual place he goes to when he wants to be alone and just enjoy a couple of beers while he chats with River, the bartender he eventually befriends after years spent drinking in solitude. 

The bar had a rustic feel filled with wine barrels in the corner of the room. The seats were leather (mind you, it wasn’t the kind that gets easily worn out through time) and everything looked new to you regardless of all the vintage stuff displayed articulately on the brick wall. A turntable was set on the table stacked with vinyl records, most of which were from the 70s to 80s underneath.

It was obvious that it wasn’t the kind people would know about. Aside from it being located at such a secluded street leading to the suburbs, it wasn’t the type of bar kids would want to hang out in. It only had a few customers and most of them wore suits and came with company. No one really gave a hoot when you walked in with Mathew, aka, the face of the New York Islanders. Which is basically the reason why Mat kept coming back to the place. He felt comfortable and at peace. Almost in retrospect to being at home hanging with his father. 

“I can’t believe this place exists.” you say, mouthing your thanks to River as he hands you both of your drinks. The man that’s definitely aged like fine wine smiles, nodding his head over to Mat who was doing the same before he headed back to mix another set of drinks. 

“Me neither.” he grins, reminiscing about the time he’s found the small pub by accident. 

“This place looks expensive though.” you whisper, making Mathew laugh. 

“Well, it kinda is.” he sheepishly chuckles. “River’s filthy rich.”

“Is he really?” your mouth falls and you look back over the build of the old man. The way his salt and pepper hair was neatly slicked back makes quite a compelling case for what Mat had just said. 

Mat eventually explains who he was. Apparently, he was just another bored fancy man who happened to love making people drop dead and drunk with his over the top mixes. His dark deep set brown eyes are quite of a crowd favourite too. Case in point, the group of ladies seated from across you and Mathew.

“Hey.” you absentmindedly call on Mat who had just sipped on his drink. “I know what we should do.”

“All right.” he puts the glass down, “Lay it on me.”

“Let’s fix you up with one of the girls over there.” you suggest, leaning towards his body so you could get a better view upfront. Mat does not move and instead follows your finger subtly pointing at the other end of the room.

“What’s with the sudden fixation of getting me bagged tonight, huh?” he smirks, shaking his head at the idea of having to go home with some random girl. You give him a side eye as you move away from him. 

“Fixation is an overstatement. We’ll be here long enough for us to get sick of each other.” you explicitly told him. 

Mat eyes you intently. Searching if there was even the slightest doubt in your eyes. 

Long enough to get sick of each other. 

He clears his throat instead and looks across the room. “Which one?”

A gleeful cheer erupts from you just before you look over the girls in question. “What’s your type?” you ask him, not sparing a glance.

Mat looks down on you underneath the bar lights accentuating your features. Your eyes had a certain glint in them that Mat still can’t get a grasp on. Something that was just enough to spark something inside him. He didn’t want to overthink it nonetheless. It must have been just the lights. 

Once Mat sensed that you were about to look at him he immediately turned his gaze forward, squinting his eyes a little pretending to check out the women you’ve been eyeing for the last minute. 

“I don’t really have a type.” he shrugs, casually taking the fragile glass to his mouth. 

You dismiss what he said at once, “Do I look like a child to you? Just answer it.”

Mat shakes his head, “I told you. I don’t have one. If we vibe then we vibe. Simple as that.” 

You did not believe him but you decide to drop it off. Instead, you look back and return to your new found mission. Across the bar, seated were three girls busy talking to each other. 

“Got it.” you tell Mat, nodding your head towards the clueless girl sitting right across from where Mathew was. “The one in the center.” you add. “The one wearing a white bodycon.”

“She’s pretty.” he nods, validating your taste as his potential wingman. “Nice smile.”

Your hand met a firm slap on the table as you went on cheering for him. “Well? Go then!” you give him a nudge, taking it back quickly when you feel a slight hesitation on his part, “Don’t tell me you need me to introduce you?”

He takes the remainder of his glass and shaked off the kick it had in his throat. “You just sit and watch, babe.”

You do as you’re told and lean towards the bar, your elbow carrying all your weight whilst you sip on your half-full martini. 

Mathew’s stance and the way he carries himself immediately caused the girls to notice him coming. Of course, you weren’t really surprised. You watch him approach her,– reading along the words leaving his mouth. There was an exchange of proper ‘hello’s’ as Mat introduced himself to the girls. He reaches out his hand and the curly noirette in the center gives him a firm shake. 

Mat’s eyes momentarily locked with yours just as you see their hands linger in the air— tangled long enough for him to make a quick segway. He winks your way as he sees you grin from your seat, shaking your head just after you felt the need to take a deep breath. A thing you assumed to be because of the drink. So, while Mat leads the girl to one of the empty booths and sits across from her, you call on River and ask for another drink. 

Mathew must have lost track of time by the second drink he shared with Zoe. He learns that she’s from upstate and was just on the island to visit her friends. She’s still working on her major at NYU; coincidentally in the same field as Lianna so that was one of the things they’ve talked about first hand. She wasn’t really into sports so Mat steered clear of his job because he didn’t want to bore her. 

“So…” Zoe smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. “What’s the deal with you and the girl you’re with?” 

By the time she asked about you, only then did Mat remember who he was originally with. 

“Oh! She’s—” he looks over to where you’re seated only to find you laughing— no giggling with a man that was obviously a few years older than you. He’s wearing a neat black suit and a button down shirt with a couple of its first buttons opened. Zoe sees him frown, evidently losing his train of thought. 

She calls him with her sweet voice, “Mat?” 

“Yeah?” he absentmindedly answers, not wanting to take his eyes off of your hand that was now gently pushing the man’s arm whilst the two of you continue to burst into laughter. 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

What’s so funny? 

Finally, Mat hears Zoe’s distant voice that eventually took him back to his seat.

“Oh. Y-Yeah.” he apologetically smiles. “Sorry. What were you saying again?” 

She hesitates to ask about you after taking a quick glance your way upon seeing the way Mathew looked at you. Nevertheless, she decides to go for it.

“Aren’t you two together? I don’t want to come off strong here or anything. It’s just that I don’t want to get in between something if there ever is.” 

Mat looks at you one more time and as if you’ve felt his eyes all along you turn your way and meet his gaze. You shoot him a quiet smile, eyeing the guy sitting beside you, mouthing what he assumes to be an exaggerated “So hot!” on your end. He reciprocates your smile and gives you an approving nod.

Once you looked away, that’s the only time Mat finally answered the woman waiting patiently for his attention. 

“What?” Mat shakes his head wildly, blowing out air off his lips defensively. “No no no. We’re just friends. She’s my roommate actually.” he shrugs you off his mind and instead tries to put his entire focus on her. 

The remaining hours were spent with you and Mat getting along with your respective potential hook-ups. Not that it wasn’t the endgame either of you were hoping for at the back of your minds. 

He’s got to admit that Zoe was the kind of girl he’d be interested in. Another fact he’s kept a mental tab not to mention to you because he knows you’ll just get cocky. 

She was sweet and obviously eloquent. He knows she’s way smarter than he’ll ever be. But out of all those qualities, she was just as passionate at her craft as someone he likes to think he knows well enough. And that alone made a small smile creep on his lips. 

Nonetheless, despite all the aforementioned, Mathew found himself a bit more reserved than he usually is whenever he gets to meet and talk to his potential ‘lady friends’ as how you’ve put it countless times. He just wasn’t his exact self.  And he was beginning to question it. 

There were no fancy hockey plays thrown subtly into the conversation. Neither mentions of golfing nor over the top league events.  No butchered french pet names swiftly tucked in his sentences. And no endless questions that would eventually lead to something along the lines of ‘Do you want to get out of here?’

Well, not until Zoe’s friends got up their seats and she told him herself. 

“Hey. The girls and I are meeting up with some friends in Brooklyn. D’ya wanna come?” 

Mat’s eyes trail down to her hand now gently caressing his. He raises both his brows thinking of a possible ‘out’ because he wasn’t sure if it was a smart thing to leave you alone with a stranger. 

He hums, “Sure.” 

Zoe shows him a delighted smile before eventually sliding out of the booth to walk towards the bar she and her friends were formally seated. 

“I gotta use the restroom first. Please excuse me.” she gives him a nod before going back to chatting with her friends. 

You, on the other hand, see Mat leave the table aiming for an archway you presume to be where the loo was. 

“Hey,” you call the man whose name you’ve already forgotten. Your pause was long enough for him to acknowledge the chances that you actually did forget who he was. Obviously.

“Chris.” The man in his early 30s answers with a submitting grin. 

You shyly laugh, squeezing his forearm as you try to apologize for forgetting. 

“Would you mind if I use the restroom?” you politely ask. 

“No, not at all.” he replies and immediately stands to help you get on your feet. Gentleman. 

Once you are in front of the men’s room, you anxiously wait for your wingman. You hug your purse close to your chest. Not a whole minute after, the door finally opens and you meet Mat’s irises with quite a gleeful look. 

A look he wasn’t a fan of for he knew what’s about to come next. 

“Are you taking off?” you eagerly ask, almost hopping on your feet. 

Mat eyes you from head to toe, looking for signs that would stink from a drunk y/n. When he sees none, that’s when he decides to say that he was. 

“Mkay good. I’ll be on my way too. Chris is taking me to New Jersey.” you tell him, briefly looking through the archway to see if there were people listening.

Once you know you’re clear, you lean towards Mat, your lips dangerously close to the sensitive skin of his ear. Mat feels your heated breath sending a familiar tingle up his spine. “I’ll get to ride a yacht tonight.” you bite your lower lip and giddily smile as if you were a cheeky 16 year-old usually depicted in a coming of age movie. 

“Who’s Chris?” Mat, in spite of taking rounds observing you all night, finds the need to ask. “And why are you coming with him to NJ?” he further questions. 

“Uh– okay, dad.” you step back for a second. You let out a scoff, checking if he was being serious about it. “I thought we’re supposed to go get laid tonight? Weren’t you about to take off with that girl yourself?” 

Mat averts your gaze and starts to scratch the corner of his brow. “Well yeah. It’s just that— he looks sketchy.” he pauses, “plus… isn’t he a little too old for you?” 

You roll your eyes as you’ve already expected to hear the words from him. 

“He’s 31. He’s not that old.” you say rather defensively so you turn the ball back on his court. “And what if he was?  Didn’t you ask one of the moms out??”

Mat’s eyes widens and you try to bite back a laugh. He whispers with a biting tone, trying to save himself. “She didn’t look like one! I’m gonna kill Beau I swear to god.”

“Come on Barz. Don’t be such a killjoy. Text me if you need anything, okay? Wrap things up while you’re at it.” you say at once. Mat doesn’t get the chance to talk you out of such a stupid idea because before he even could, you’ve already planted a kiss on his cheek and started walking away. 

Mat waited for the sound of the heavy doors of the bar, signaling that you and your friend have gone, before stepping back to where Zoe was. She waves him near the coat closet. 

“Hi.” Mat greets her friends before eventually turning his attention on the unsuspecting lass. She meets her with a smile (just like what she’s been doing all night). The same smile, however, drops the second Mat opens his mouth. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” 

Zoe nods and willfully abides, letting Mat take her gently by the arm. 

“What’s up?” she innocently asks. 

“Something came up.” he says a little too fast than what he’d originally intended. He was going to let her down either way might as well get it over with and rip up the asshole band-aid. 

“Oh.” she says in a tone Mat knew that she completely understood. 

“No worries.” she looks at him with a knowing look in her eyes. “I’ll see you around then.” 

He gives her a kind smile and nods. “Take care.” 

Mathew walks towards the bar, catching River’s teasing grin whilst he cleans up after the bottles left on the center of the counter. 

“What?” Mat reacts defensively, taking a seat in front of the lone bartender. River faintly shakes his head to leave just enough curiosity in Mathew’s mind. 

“You’re such a tool, old man.” the kid says aiming for the cold beer River has put away for himself. River did not mind because he’s grown fond of the star player for the past years he’s spent going on late night drinks at his bar. Years that even justifies a proper amount of time for him to know the in’s and out’s of one Mathew Barzal. 

“I haven’t said a thing.” he shrugs amidst the already wide grin on his face. 

There’s wisdom in his eyes that Mathew has always admired. He wasn’t the guy who’d want to talk about what’s going on inside his head but with how River’s pub seems to be just the right place, he eventually concedes and takes a shot to pick on the old man’s brain.

“Come on, spill it out. I know you’re going to anyway.” Mat gives in, running his thumb on the moist label of the bottle. 

River wipes his hands before resting it atop the counter. “Well, it’s just that– I ain’t used to seeing you turn down ladies like that too often. And you’re definitely not one to stick around watching me clean up.”

Mat stays silent for a moment, as if to gather the exact reason as to why he chose to stay. He still has a long way to go before figuring that one out. He wasn’t exactly as sharp as he was on the ice.

“I don’t know, man.” he chuckles tirelessly, “I guess I wasn’t in the mood. That’s all.”

“You?” River shots a brow and dismisses him, shaking his head. When Mat doesn’t answer, he carefully picks on his choice of words and lays it down carefully for him. After all, Mathew should have known that River was old enough to not know what’s going on.

“Though I gotta be honest with you, hijo. Never imagined you’d bring someone here.” he starts. 

What must have been a shot in the dark for the old man was just enough to tear Mathew’s eyes away from staring at the water beads on the bottle.

“What?”

“The girl, Barz.” he says, banging on the head of the bottle to knock the cap off. “She a friend?” 

“What? Y/N?” Mat quirks his brows trailing off where River was exactly headed, “What about her?— Oh, her? Yeah, no. She’s just a friend.”

“She pretty.” he speaks in a sound accent, not wanting to let Mat know he’s growing to like catching the young lad off guard. Mathew nods casually despite the continuous blabbering. “She’s y/n. But yeah— I guess, she is pretty.” 

“Then what are you doing being just friends with a pretty girl?” River inquires, taking a sip of his beer. When he sees him trying to register what he’d just said he then adds, “Why not be with her? Date her?”

“Psh. What? Date y/n? That’s crazy.” Mat shakes his head furiously, “You’re crazy.” 

“What’s so crazy about that?” River takes offense, laughing at the child’s naivete. 

“I can’t date her. I mean— I won’t date her.” he takes the bottle to his mouth, taking a large gulp before continuing, “We’re in this weird relationship thing. A setup, actually, and it’s— it’s crazier than dating her. I swear, you of all people won’t get it.” 

“What makes you think I can’t?” he smirks, “I’ve had my fair share of crazy.” River points out despite the hesitation in Mat’s eyes. “I got all night, kid.” he adds, letting him have the floor to himself. 

“You really want in on this?” he second guesses, not wanting to bore the man with his personal life.

River leans against the brass counter just below the lit rack of vintage scotch displayed on the bar. He then gestures him to give a piece of his mind and Mat finally submits to his offer.

“We’ve been in a few… prior engagements,” he starts trying to find the appropriate word. “Well, sort of.”

River hums, not necessarily getting on the same page as him so he decides to be upfront about it.

“We’ve… slept together.” he confesses.

“So you used to date her?” the old man asks. 

“No.” he answers, “I told you we’re just friends.” 

With furrowed brows, River takes a minute. And once Mat hears an all too familiar “Oh.” he sees him break a chuckle, shaking his head at the thought of what Mat had just told him. “You kids have way too much fun these days.”

Mathew shrugs, “Hey, I warned you. Told you you wouldn’t get it.”

“Okay, make me understand something here. You two sleep together, fool around, do all that shit.” he says, “and you swear you’re not in a relationship?”

“Nope.” Mat answers with pride, popping out the word with a hard ‘p’.

“Huh.” River clicks his tongue, “How long have you two been… engaged?” 

He rolls his eyes when River uses his word, “About two months.” he answers shortly.

“Is she seeing anyone since you two started this thing? You know, casual dates, the ones I presume she’s been getting before you got her into this mess?” he asks him in a tone that only fathers would ever dare to use.

Mat thinks for a moment, trying to recall the last time he’s seen a guy pick you up for dinner besides the old man you’ve successfully bagged for the night. He firmly shakes his head no and simply says, “At least not in my recollection.”

River willfully nods, walking Mat right into the trap. “Well have you been seeing anyone lately?” he asks again, this time slipping a hint of assertion. He hears a crystal clear ‘no’ from the forward and that’s when he broke a goading grin. 

“And you’re telling me you two aren’t together?” he asks yet again, getting on Mat's nerves as he continues to flood him with biting queries, building up the final point he was about to break on Mathew.

“Rivs, for the hundredth time, no. We are not.” he clarifies. 

Mat watches River pour himself a glass of scotch, still wearing a smug grin. “Imma give you a piece of advice, yeah?” he smiles rather teasingly and doesn’t wait for Mat to rebut, “I’m a happily married man so I don’t know a single squat about dating nowadays, but if you’re telling me that you kids aren’t sleeping with anyone else but yourselves? Looks like a damn relationship to me.”

With his brows all quirked in confusion (and denial in the very least), Mathew gathers all his might just so he could refute whatever madness River was trying to inflict on him and screw him up in the head. But before he could even open his mouth, the sound of the heavy doors was all it took to tear up both River’s and Mat’s attention.

“Hi.” you say the moment you were welcomed by unsuspecting men talking by the bar. River acknowledges you by raising his drink, his gaze landing on Mat the moment yours did. 

“Hi.” Mathew mirrors you in an attempt to drown his already racing heart. A smile impending to break loose at any moment but he manages to suppress it. Instead of dealing with his adrenaline, he gestures for you to take a seat beside him. 

“Where’s the sugar daddy?” he laughs the moment you drag yourself from across the room, mocking every word he said. 

“His wife called when I got into his car.” you cringe.

“Oof. Lovely.” Mat makes the distinct expression on his face just before the two of you share a laugh.

“He’s not very smooth with adultery. He needs more practice.” you casually state sarcastically, clicking your tongue. 

As you find the narrative funny, you take a sip on Mathew’s beer. “How are you not drunk? You’ve been drinking way too much the entire night.”

“Well. I’ve got some things to think about—” he cuts himself off upon seeing your mouth ajar, “And no, you’re not allowed to ask because none of it concerns you.” 

“I wasn’t going to.” you dismiss him, excusing yourself to River which he gladly took as his cue to leave.

When he disappeared into the kitchen, you turned your gaze on your friend wearing another one of your mischievous grins, “Hey, wanna get pancakes?” 

“Y/N, it’s almost 3 AM.” Mat sighs, the tiring night starting to creep up to him. 

“So?” you question, swatting his hand away when you catch him checking on his watch. 

“Come on. Stop drinking that.” you insist and take the bottle from his hand before putting it over to the side. 

The two of you said your goodbyes to the lone bartender who was just starting to clean up again. River gives the two of you a nod of acknowledgement before landing a knowing look on Mathew. One that he’s thankful enough not to be discerned by you. 

As you walk alongside Mathew, he unconsciously places a hand on the small of your back— feeling it graze on the fabric of your coat as if to guide you towards the door in an almost romantic type of way. Perhaps, a way someone would behave if they were actually in a relationship. 

Mat notices your body tense but he doesn’t move an inch. Instead, his hand travels to the curve of your waist just as he leads you through the brass doors.

Once you’re out on the streets, he lets go.

𖥸

After almost half an hour of fighting over which diner is better to eat and get sober at, you and Mat decide to just try the new diner three blocks from your apartment. Being that it was an ungodly hour, the diner was good as closed when you got in. There were a few people inside and besides the student studying alone in the corner booth, the people lounging in the vacant seats were mostly just staff. Too bad they had to work the grave shift.

Mathew, who was rather preoccupied digging in his breakfast platter, gets interrupted when you call his attention. 

“So tell me,” you ask as you take a forkful of syrupy pancake into your mouth. Finally satisfying your cravings. You put the food modestly in the insides of your cheeks when you ask him a question, “What are you like on dates?” 

Mat disgustingly looks at you. You easily get what such a look meant and you immediately roll your eyes. You let your hand fall in mid-air amidst still holding a fork in it to prove a point. “I’m not trying to ask you out, dumbass. Don’t be so delusional.”

He puts his silverware down and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Why the sudden interest?” 

“Just curious.” you simply say.

He hums, thinking about how he pulls off a first date. He then clears his throat as he takes you down that road. “First, I’m not bringing her to a 24/7 Diner.” you nearly gag. “She deserves a formal one just in case there won’t be a second date.” he explains. 

You sit there, nodding your head every now and then as he further goes on the details of how he’s like on a date. “Of course, I’d put my best foot forward all the time. Talk about her stuff more than mine and make sure she has a good time.” 

“Have you ever had a bad first date?” you curiously ask. To which he only answers with a stubborn look on his face, the one only Mat Barzal could pull off. “What? me? I don’t do bad first dates.”

“Oh, fuck off.” you flick his forehead as you laugh. The sound of his laughter echoing in your ears, drowning all the existing noise inside the lone diner.

But as the laughter dies down, Mat catches your eyes as soon as it falls on his. And just like that, there it was again, the exact same glint it had back in the bar. This time, illuminated by the pink shaded light lining up the wall accents of the diner. 

When he realizes that he’s been staring for too long, he settles on turning the tables on you. 

“How about you?” he props in his seat, “What are you like on dates?”

“You know, apart from the fact that you’re obviously into old men.” he snickers and you throw a curly fry on his forehead.

“Excuse me, I don’t.” you say sticking up for yourself.

Mat takes the curly fry that has fallen on his plate and proceeds to eat it. “Sure you do.” 

You roll your eyes, finding it hard to suppress the fact that you might actually do. “There’s a reason why women like old men, chico.”

He leans back and answers with a level headed and quite teasing reply, “And why’s that?”

“Because they’re men.” you look at him with a jerky grin as you continue, “And men, especially of River’s kind, definitely knows how to eat his french fry.”

Mat’s mouth falls wide in disbelief, appalled that you’ve actually found a way to pick up a stone and throw it straight to his face just to rub more salt on the fact that you had to teach a 23-year-old grown man how to eat cunt.

 “You’re an ass.” he says, rolling his eyes. You let out a laugh and shake your head. You were proud of yourself, sure; but showing just that is far too much for a boy’s already hurting ego. Who would have known humbling this man was such a task. 

“I’m playing! You know how to now.” you tell him, “Thanks to me, of course.”

He scoffs and takes a bite off his pancakes, “Cocky.”

“But you still haven’t answered my question.” he reminds you whilst he wipes off his lips with a napkin. 

“There’s not much to tell. You know I’m not high maintenance.” you tell him, ignoring the fact that you haven’t been on an actual date for so long you’re almost sure you’ve forgotten how to be in one. 

“I know it’s cheesy and corny but I do think it’s still in the littlest things, you know?” you sigh. Trying to remember the last relationship (date even) you had wherein those little things, the ones that are merely the bare minimum, were actually given to you. 

“You know, it’s not much, really. Maybe just a good talk without having to watch him watch me talk all night when he’s really thinking about how I’d look naked, you know what I mean?” you laugh it off, “I know, it’s stupid.”

The arrogant man sitting before you was silent for once, profusely wanting to wash the pool of melancholy he sees in your eyes. There must have been a shit ton of guys who overlooked how great of a woman you actually are just because they couldn’t stop thinking with the head in between their legs even just for a second. 

Mathew knows. And he hates that he’s been ‘that’ guy at some point. Probably until now considering him thinking with his balls on was the very thing that got the two of you here in the first place.

You take a deep breath, smiling. “Anyway, that’s better than almost getting with a married man. Right?”

“Right.” Mat laughs, his gray eyes bright under all the lights as he plays with his silverware,— devoid of how much he looked like as if he was utterly and undeniably in awe of not just the energy of the woman sitting in front of him alone nor the fact that she was by far the most unbelievable woman he’s known, but most importantly, he’s yet to realize how much in deep he’s beginning to be for the woman she actually were. 

Just as she is. 

𖥸

You left the diner a good hour before the sunrise and what must have been a quick five minute drive if you had only taken a cab, became a twenty minute foot race between you and Mathew.

You knew that walking was a bad idea but somehow, Mat’s charm and persuasive antics had a better hold than you thought you had on your very capable cognition. 

As you drag your feet into the confines of the elevator in your complex, you hear Mathew chuckling behind you with a firm hand securely placed on your waist supporting your balance. 

“You know— and not just ‘cause I’m an athlete, can I just say that you’re in a very bad shape?” he says almost a whisper in your ear, his voice low and deep.

You roll your eyes, leaning on the steel cold mirror once he pulls away, “You do it in heels then tell me who’s in a bad shape.” 

“Fair point.” he chuckles yet again, shying away. He presses the number for your floor before resting across from you. As Mat watches you catch your breath, he jokes in the hopes of breaking the ice between the two of you. 

“So…” he clicks his tongue, playful eyes looking at you, “Wanna tap?”

Disgusted to your very core, you let out a scoff just as you shake your head. “You’re fucking sick.” you laugh upon meeting his dumb grinning face. Seconds into laughter, Mat’s silence kills off the humor. The two of you exchange glances, the smiles on your faces receding into quietude. 

Mathew didn’t want to end the night letting you in the apartment not knowing what he’s been feeling the moment you’ve let him drag you out for an impromptu night out. And stupid as it was, the only thing he could think of was to slide his foot across the enclosed space embracing the two of you, nudging on your boot. You on the one hand were rather puzzled as to what caused such language. You send him a mental query by arching a brow. He lets his head fall back on the cold metal surrounding the elevator finally deciding to speak his truth.

 “I’m glad we get to hang out now. You know, just like friends do.” he genuinely says. 

“Me too.” you say, smiling. “I really had fun tonight. Thank you.”

As you meet his eyes, you see a glimmer of softness in his gaze. 

“Good thing I got bored, eh?” he says with a smirk. 

“Good thing I came back for you.” you reply.

A quiet smile parts from his lips.

“Yeah. I’m glad you did.”

It was a few seconds when you and Barzy parted from your respective walls to meet the sliding doors as it opened on your designated floor. You were pulling him closer by the tie of his coat whilst his hand was instinctively placed on your hips letting him press his body on you. Your faces were inches from each other’s, evident of not wanting to prolong the totally unplanned foreplay that’s about to go down in a communal lift. 

But just like every film you’ve watched your whole life, the inevitable cliché befalls the two of you when the next words that filled the enclosed walls you’re currently caged in came from the man who has yet to miss a morning jog. 

“What the hell is going on here?”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal smut #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #hockey fic #nhl fic #hockey smut #letters to barzy #barzzal imagines

[es-kay-zee]

Advice | Seo Changbin x Reader

pairing: changbin x reader

genre: smut

warnings: very very soft dom! reader (like, ridiculously soft), sub! idol, afab reader, oral (m receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, praise

requested: yes

word count: 4.3k

proofread: surprisingly yes :) although it was very brief so there could still be mistakes lol

taglist: @bxngchxn @jisungsplatforms @qtieskz @vogueinnie

a/n: feedback is always appreciated! i thrive off of it! i love hearing what you guys think about my writing so feel free to let me know what y'all think of this one :)

____________________

A loud knock at your door was the last thing you expected at 11.43pm on a Tuesday night. Especially in the middle of a pandemic. But the most surprising part about it, was when you opened the door, you found your co-worker Changbin standing outside.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, peering over his shoulder and seeing his car parked on the side of the road.

“I need your help,” he replies, holding up various work folders, using the best pleading look he can muster up.

“You came all this way, just for some advice on a case?”

“Yeah. I know it’s late. I just-” he pauses for a second, sighing deeply and running a hand down his face. “I just need to have this done by the day after tomorrow, and I’m struggling with it. It keeps playing on my mind and I haven’t been able to get a good night’s sleep because of it.”

You take a deep breath, weighing your options. It’s not uncommon for Changbin to ask your advice on occasion, especially considering you’re a few years his senior, but what is uncommon is for him to show up at your house to ask. And you were just about to head to bed.

“Okay, come in,” you say before you can stop yourself, and you aren’t entirely sure why you invite him in. Sure, he needs the advice, but you’re tired and want sleep. You could’ve asked him to come back in the morning. But he’s here now and you’ve already invited him in. “Just put the stuff out on the coffee table.”

He does as you instruct, walking towards the couch, taking a seat and spreading some of the folders out on the small table.

“You want anything to drink?” you ask, walking towards the kitchen.

“Maybe just a glass of water, thanks,” he calls back.

You return to the living room, two glasses in your hands. You sit down next to Changbin, placing the glasses on the table, one in front of him and the other in front of yourself. He picks up his glass, takes a sip, and clears his throat before beginning to explain the case and what he needs help with. A short while passes, filled with him asking questions and you answering as best as you can. But you can’t help but notice that Changbin’s eyes keep running down your body every now and then. It’s obvious that he thinks he’s being subtle about it but based on the fact that you’ve watched him do it almost every time means that he’s anything but. It’s even more obvious how distracted he is, because of the number of times he asks you to repeat what you’ve said throughout the night so far.

An idea pops into your had, a rather devilish thought. You don’t know what compels you to do it, maybe it’s the crush you’ve had on him for the past year, or maybe it’s just the desire to get him worked up. You’re not entirely sure, but you do it anyway. You stand up, and Changbin’s eyes flick over to you, but he’s quick to avert his gaze back to the files on the table, not wanting to be caught staring at you. And that’s the moment you initiate your plan, quickly undoing the top two buttons of your black satin pajama shirt while he’s not looking. You round the table and take a seat on the floor, across from Changbin. You have to hold back a laugh when his eyes immediately land upon the now exposed skin of your chest. It’s entertaining, how just a simple pop of a button has the man so flustered.

You lean forward, further emphasising your cleavage under the guise of looking at the files, and it’s faint, but you can hear the low groan that leaves Changbin’s parted lips. You look up at him, and you can’t hide the smirk at the way his eyes are fixated on your chest. He hasn’t even noticed you looking at him.

“My eyes are up here,” you say, and the way Changbin jumps slightly at your words is almost enough to make you laugh.

“Uh, yeah, sorry.” The tips of his ears are red, and judging by the bulge in his sweatpants, the tip of his dick is probably the same colour. He’s quick to catch you looking at his bulge, grabbing one of your couch cushions and placing it over his lap, blocking the view from your eyes.

“Do you need any more help?” you ask, holding up a file. But the way your eyes continue to stare at his obscured lap makes it obvious that you’re not talking about the case. He clutches the cushion tighter, squirming slightly in his seat at the added pressure on his crotch. He doesn’t say anything in response to you, and you shake your head slightly at the silence. “C’mon, baby boy. You can tell me.”

The way his eyes widen at the nickname has you thinking you’ve gone too far. But the quiet whine that leaves his throat lets you know that it’s okay, that he likes it. He mumbles something under his breath, but you can’t quite make out the words.

“What was that? You’ve gotta speak up,” you say, keeping your voice calm and gentle, wanting to gently coax him into saying what he wants to say.

“C-can I kiss you?” he repeats. His question is cute, and you can’t help cooing quietly when he says the words.

“Of course,” you reply, standing up and walking back around the coffee table towards Changbin. You slowly pick up the cushion and place it to the side, replacing it’s previous position with yourself. You straddle his lap, your clothed core resting right above his bulge. You want to grind down against him, but you don’t. He asked for a kiss and that’s what you’re going to give him.

You pause before leaning in, taking a moment to look at his face, his silently pleading eyes and his pouting lips. He looks absolutely beautiful. And just before he can let out an impatient whine, you connect your lips with his, your hands resting upon his cheeks while his find their place on your waist. Your lips are soft, softer than he thought they would be, and the press of them against his own makes him feel like he’s in heaven, dancing among the highest clouds. Immediately, he’s intoxicated, drunk on the feeling of your lips. If he could somehow live without the need for oxygen, he’d never pull away, he’d be content to kiss you for the rest of time.

And just when he thinks it can’t get any better, you tangle your fingers into his dark hair. Your grip is firm, but you do not tug, there’s no need to when he’s already loving what you’re giving. Besides, there’s something fun in the gentleness, in the sweet, slow movements of yours and his lips. There’s no rush to feel more, no rush to indulge in anything more than what’s happening in the moment.

And when you do finally pull back, it’s not for lack of desire. You’re stopped only by the burning in your lungs, you’re body’s necessity for air growing greater than your heart's yearning to keep kissing him. The only sound that can be heard in the otherwise silent room is yours and his breathing, until you speak.

“Should we go to the bedroom?” you ask, wanting to be sure that he wants this as much as you do. You keep your voice quiet, no more than a hushed whisper, worrying that speaking any louder will somehow tarnish the calm atmosphere of the room.

He knows he shouldn’t do this. It crosses so many boundaries between his personal and professional life. For starters, you’re his co-worker, add to that the major crush he has on you and it’s bound to be a disaster. Emotionally. He cares about you, admires you. Sleeping with you will only amplify his feelings. But he’d be damned if he didn’t want this so badly.

“Yeah, we should,” he replies, speaking just as quietly as you.

Slowly, you stand up, taking his hand in yours and leading him down the hallway. He admires you from behind as you walk, his heart racing in excitement. He can’t believe he got to kiss you, let alone getting the chance to do more with you. You walk into your bedroom, still hand-in-hand with the man behind you. You stop, turning to face him. It’s cute, the way his eyes are wide, looking at you as if he doesn’t want to miss anything. You take a step closer to him, connecting your lips with his in another gentle kiss before grabbing the hem of his shirt and slowly lifting it up. Once his shirt is off, you lean in, whispering in his ear.

“Do you wanna take off my clothes or do you wanna watch me do it?” A shudder runs through his body from your breath tickling his skin, and he still can’t believe this is happening. Both options sound like a dream come true, but he knows which one he prefers.

“Watch, please.”

“Then get on the bed, pretty boy.”

Your words send another shiver down his spine, but maybe that’s just the nickname. He loves it, the way you talk so sweetly, the way you treat him so gently. He wishes he could live in this moment forever. He does as you say, climbing onto the bed, leaning against the headboard, sitting with a perfect view of you. And watching you strip becomes his favourite movie, something he could watch over and over and never grow tired of. The way your fingers dance over the buttons of your pajama shirt, slowly undoing them has him wishing he had a photographic memory. Wanting to engrave this image of you in his mind forever.

Your shirt falls to the floor, and your satin shorts do the same, revealing a pair of simple underwear underneath. If you were expecting company like this, then you probably would’ve worn a nicer pair, maybe one of your lacy ones. But Changbin couldn’t care less what kind of underwear you’re wearing; you look stunning nonetheless. You slowly crawl up the bed, until your face hovers over his. He pouts his lips, silently asking for another kiss, and as much as you want to give it to him, you want to hear him ask first.

“Use your words,” you say, but there’s nothing demanding about the way your speak, giving the instruction calmly and quietly.

“Can I please have another kiss?”

You nod once, kissing him again. This time the kiss is deeper, but still just as soft. Slowly, delicately, you place your hands against Changbin’s chest, running them downwards. And as your fingertips trace down Changbin’s torso, he’s sure that they’re made of electricity, for wherever they touch his skin tingles in a frenzy of static. It’s his new favourite thing, the way your touch ignites him in ways that nothing else ever has, or ever will be able to.

Your fingers reach the waistband of his sweatpants, and you toy with the drawstring. You want to draw this out, want to build up to the moment you finally touch him. Your lips never stop moving against his as you gradually, almost leisurely pull his sweatpants down. He raises his hips to help you, even aiding in gently kicking them off his ankles. His underwear remains on, just as yours still is, for now. Your lips move from his to his neck, placing soft pecks just under his jaw.

“Can I mark you?” you ask, breath fanning across his skin, and he’s in love with the feeling. He adores that you ask, that you take into consideration what he wants. He knows that that’s common courtesy, that everyone is expected to ask. But that doesn’t stop his heart from warming at the sound of your words.

He nods, mumbling a quiet “please” before you do just that, softly sucking on his skin. There’s no quickness to the way your lips move, no hurry in the way the marks form along the column of his throat and along his collarbones. The blemishes aren’t dark, they don’t need to be. It’s all about the pleasure of their creation, not necessarily what they represent. Ownership. You’re not trying to own him, to claim him as yours. You’re wanting to make him feel good, to make him feel as if he’s floating among the clouds. And it’s already working, you can tell from the happy sighs escaping his lips with every gentle suck of your own. You begin travelling lower and lower with each touch of your lips, no longer marking him.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper against his skin, and his face warms at the praise. Your lips don’t stop until they reach the waistband of his underwear, being blocked from kissing any more of him. Your slide your fingers under the edge of the clothing, looking up at him to make sure he’s okay with this. He nods slowly, almost pleadingly, and you smile at him. Just as slowly as you removed his sweatpants, you do the same with his underwear, watching the way his cock finally springs free from the confines of his clothes.

You lower your head again, and he watches the way you press kisses along his v-line. Normally he wouldn’t have the patience for this, he’d be begging you to touch him. But it’s you. And he could wait for hours and hours if he had to for you to finally touch him.

“You’re being such a good boy for me, so patient,” you mumble just loud enough for Changbin to hear you. Your eyes connect with his, and you smile at the way his eyes light up at the praise. “I think that earns you a treat.”

Another kiss, this time to the tip of his dick, and the way he sucks in a breath of air at the feeling is now one of your favourite sounds. But you know that his moans will sound even better. And you’re right, your ears finally being blessed with the sound of one of his moans when you finally take him into your mouth. You don’t take him all the way, just focusing your efforts on the head, but he doesn’t care how much of him you take. He’s just grateful that you’re even doing this, and if he wasn’t pinching himself right now, then he’d be sure that he’s dreaming. It feels too good, too heavenly to be real. But it is real.

You bob your head, movements slow, sensual, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, running along his slit. It’s divine, the taste of his precum hitting your tastebuds. It’s not normally a flavour you seek out, but right now you can think of nothing better. You look up, wide eyes looking into Changbin’s as you continue, movements never speeding up. You watch the way his hands clutch at the bedspread, trying to find something he can grip to keep himself grounded. He wants to get lost in the pleasure, but not too lost that he misses anything you’re doing.

You bring one of your hands up, linking your fingers together with his. His grip on your hand is tight, secure, and you know that this is the moment to do it. You take him all the way in, somehow managing to not gag in the process. His back arches, another moan escaping him. It’s still quiet, but he doesn’t have to be loud. You bob your head a few more times before pulling away, not wanting to get him too close to the edge just yet. You want to make him cum, but not in your mouth. You want to fuck him first. It’s not until you’re wiping the runaway spit from your chin that you finally register the throbbing between your own legs. But you’re distracted from that again when Changbin asks for yet another kiss. And who are you to say no?

You kiss him, sliding your tongue into his mouth to dance with his own. He groans at the taste of himself, absolutely loving it. You stand up, ridding yourself of your underwear before straddling Changbin again. You take him into your hand, not wanting him to go too long without pleasure. You line him up with your entrance, your dripping essence too much to ignore any longer.

The stretch stings as you slowly slide down onto his cock, and you know you should’ve done more to prep yourself. But you can’t bring yourself to care, especially with the way Changbin sighs so happily at finally being inside your walls. Tight, warm, it’s pure heaven as he fills you to the brim. You remain still for a moment, giving yourself time to adjust to his size. And not once does he complain. Not once does he ask you to move, too busy just letting himself feel you. Letting himself feel the way you clench around him, the way you completely envelop him.

“You’re so big, Binnie.”

Another nickname. Another nickname that makes him feel good. And the praise. He absolutely loves it.

You slowly lift your hips and drop back down just as slowly. Fast bounces are fun, they feel good, but nothing beats the sensuality of slow movements, of sweet, gentle sex. You set a slow pace, one that lets you both feel everything. You grab Changbin’s wrists, bringing his hands up and placing them on your breasts. He’s quick to swipe his thumbs over your nipples, rubbing over the perked nubs as your hips keep moving, bouncing and grinding unhurriedly. His head drops back, the pleasure he’s feeling making him unable to keep his eyes open. He tells himself that if something happened right now and he died, then he would die a happy man.

It feels so good, and he can already feel himself gradually approaching his release, and you can tell from the slight shaking of his thighs and the way his breathing picks up. You bring one of your hands to your clit, wanting to get yourself closer to that edge of ultimate pleasure. You rub languid circles against the bud, making you clench tighter around Changbin’s cock. His moans increase, not in volume but in frequency and pitch, and the sound is music to your ears. A song you could listen to forever.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” Changbin says, his voice breathy. You lean down closer to him, whispering into his ear.

“You can cum in me.” You clench as you say the words, and that tips him over the edge, causing him to spill inside your walls. You bounce once, twice more before you cum as well, burying your face into the crook of his neck. You continue to grind against him, riding out your highs until the both of you come back down.

The room is filled with heavy breathing, and it’s several minutes before you climb off of Changbin. Your legs are jelly when you stand up, tired from riding him, but you don’t mind. You could deal with wobbly legs every day if it meant you got to make him feel good. You get dressed again, telling Changbin you’re going to go get you both a glass of water before doing just that. By the time you come back with the glasses, he’s redressed as well, sitting on the bed. He takes the one you hold out for him, gulping down the water.

“You’re welcome to stay the night, if you want,” you say before an awkward silence can fill the room. “It’s getting kinda late and that way I can help you with the case in the morning, seeing as that’s the whole reason you showed up.”

If sleeping with you was Changbin’s first mistake of the night, agreeing to stay was his second. Not that he regrets either choice, but he’s not sure exactly what it is that makes him say yes to staying overnight. Maybe it’s the way he feels about you, or maybe it’s just that he really does need advice on the case and it’s easier to stay than come back the next day. At least, the latter is what he keeps telling himself is the reason.

You offer him your bed, and you hope he accepts, but instead, he opts to sleep on the couch, not wanting to intrude on your already generous hospitality. And so, that’s what he does. He sleeps on the couch. You give him your cuddliest blanket to keep him warm, and one of your nicer pillows, wanting him at least to be as comfortable as possible. He finds the gesture sweet, and he smiles warmly at you before bidding you a good night. You sleep alone, but you’re comforted by the knowledge that he doesn’t regret what happened. At least, not enough to leave.

When Changbin awakes in the morning, it’s to the smell of pancakes wafting from the kitchen. He smiles at the aroma before eventually opening his eyes. He spots the files on the coffee table and is immediately reminded of what transpired the previous night. He can hear you humming a tune while you cook, and it only serves to further broaden his already wide smile.

He sits up, quickly stretching his tired body before standing. He walks towards the kitchen, leaning against a wall to quietly watch you as you gently dance around as you cook. There’s something he loves about seeing you like this, seeing you in your natural being, not being confined by the expectations of a professional work environment. Just watching you, he can tell that he really likes you, even more than he did before. He wouldn’t say it’s love, he doesn’t know you quite well enough for that yet, but maybe someday he can work up the courage to confess his feelings to you. Not today, but definitely someday. You spin around, jumping slightly when greeted with the sight of Changbin, his hair still dishevelled from sleep.

“Good morning,” you greet, a bright smile lighting up your face. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I am.”

“Good, because you’re pancakes are…” you pause, grabbing one more pancake from the pan before sliding it onto one of the two plates, both already containing a stack each, “done. I don’t know what toppings you like, so I just grabbed out all the ones that I have, and figured I’d let you decorate your pancakes until your heart’s content.”

You hand him the plate as you finish speaking, gesturing to the other bench upon which sits numerous different toppings. There’s a small bag of mixed berries, chocolate, caramel and maple syrup, whipped cream, and even a tub of vanilla ice cream. He weighs up his options before coming to a decision, placing two extra-large scoops of ice cream on his pancakes along with a generous drizzle of chocolate syrup. He looks around for some cutlery, hoping to find some without having to go searching too far. But he’s out of luck, unable to see any anywhere on the kitchen bench.

“Knives and forks?” he asks, waiting for you to tell him which draw they’re in without having to go searching on his own.

“On the table,” you reply, pointing to the dining table where there's two places that have been set.

“Ah, which seat’s yours?” he asks, walking towards the table, plate of pancakes in hand.

“Either one, I’m not too fussed.”

With a nod of his head, Changbin chooses a seat and sits down, waiting patiently for you to put toppings on your own pancakes and also take a seat. Only when you start to eat does Changbin do the same. You both have idle chit-chat over breakfast, the small conversation flowing easily. The pancakes are delicious, and he’s sure to tell you that multiple times.

Once you both finish, Changbin offers to do the dishes as his thank you for making breakfast. You tell him he doesn’t have to, that you can just get to them later on in the day, but he insists, telling you it’s the least he can do after your kindness to him. Truth be told, you don’t like doing dishes, so it doesn’t take too much for him to persuade you into letting him do them for you.

You stay sitting at the table while he scrubs the dishes, watching his arm muscles as he does so. You can’t help but think to yourself that he truly is beautiful, a sculpture carved by the best of the best. He’s magnificent. You shake yourself from your wandering thoughts, reminding yourself that there’s a reason he stayed the night.

“You still wanting help with that case?”

“Yes, please. It’s due so soon and I’m sure I won’t meet the deadline without some help. So, if you’re willing to help then I will absolutely accept it.”

“Of course, once you’ve finished with those dishes then we can pick up where we left off last night,” you say, smiling softly. You can tell his mind goes straight back to the events that happened the night before because of the way his ears go red. It’s adorable, how just the thought of what happened has him flustered. He clears his throat, nodding quickly at your words and continuing to clean the dishes.

Once they’re done and dried, you both walk back over to the coffee table, each taking a seat on the couch. You gather some of the scattered files, sorting them out tidily. Changbin watches you move, happy to finally be getting some much-needed advice from his favourite co-worker.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #changbin smut #seo changbin smut #skz changbin smut #stray kids changbin smut

[anystalker707]

So pretty, all mine

Pairing: Frank x [enby, afab] Reader Word count: ~ 2 300 Genre: Smut / Fluff Summary: It's a boring day after coming back home from a tour and (y/n) decides to ask Frank if they can peg him - Frank accepts, thinking it's nothing much, just to find out he's so wrong. Kind of content: Reader is very loving <3 / Dirty talk / Praising / Pegging / Subspace

Requested by anon

Being home after so long feels weird, even if it’s far from the first tour we have been on since the start of the band, feeling like in a bus when sitting down for too long or having this feeling something is missing by the time we were supposed to head back to the bus. Sometimes I remember the first times we would come back time from the Bullets and Revenge tours, all tired and like trash, but motivated to write new music.

We’re probably having a longer pause now, on the other hand, considering how long The Black Parade Tour was, just to rest and let things settle down for a bit until the oncoming tour with Linkin Park.

A sigh escapes my lips as I look around the kitchen, hands on my hips. I should do something. Maybe eat something. Fuck, no, I just ate something. Okay, I guess I should practice, then… but that’s not what the pause is supposed to be for. Distracting myself will do, I guess, so watching TV it is.

Sitting down on the couch and turning on the TV makes me feel useless at first, but again, it’s the result of being pulled away from the tour’s routine. Even if slowly, it’ll pass.

My attention averts away from the TV’s screen at hearing footsteps before Frank’s walking into the kitchen, only in a shirt and boxers, standing on his tiptoes as digging through the cabinets in search for something. His shirt falls a few inches below his hips, but rides up with him reaching the cabinets, exposing his ass. Nice ass.

He turns around with Oreos in hands, and raises an eyebrow at me. “Want one?” he asks through the Oreo hanging from his mouth.

“No, but come here.” I make a motion, adjusting my position on the couch – he shrugs, but does so anyway, taking the bag of cookies in hand, and he’s about to sit down by my side when I pull him to my lap instead. He pauses, slowly relaxing against me, eventually continuing to eat; he holds up an Oreo, a bitten one, eyes averting down. I smile. “No, thanks.” I press a kiss to his cheek, hugging him close.

A hum comes from Frank in response and he sighs softly, shifting lightly to make himself comfortable until his head is resting against my shoulder. “What are you watching?”

“I literally just sat down.” My hand slides down to his thigh, my thumb running across the skin and tracing the tattoo there. “Y’know,” I mutter in his ear, tightening my grip around him, “I think we could do something.”

“Something?” Frank asks, sounding halfly immersed in whatever is playing on the TV.

“Yeah.” I take a hold of his jaw, making him face me – he pouts, which makes me smile, brushing our noses together affectionately. “I was wondering if I could peg you. Can I?”

“Fuck, yeah,” he says after a moment, “let’s go.”

Now, that was easy. I raise an eyebrow at him, he just shrugs. Does he– Well, of course he does know what pegging means, he’s not that dumb, I just didn’t know he would react so careless to it. Not bad, so everything is fine.

“Good.” I peck his lips and trail down to his jaw, eventually reaching his neck when he tilts his head to the side, sighing pleased, just to let out a quiet gasp once my teeth sink into a spot a few inches under his ear. Great. “Go upstairs, then.” I slap his thigh softly, chuckling at the groan coming from him.

Frank stands up and heads to the kitchen to leave the rest of the Oreos on the counter before he can go upstairs, but not without looking back at me with a glare – seeing that I’m still smiling maybe gets him more annoyed, continuing his way with heavy and low steps. Okay, gives me more time to watch the back of his thighs.

I’m finally heading upstairs after turning the TV off and putting the Oreos back inside the cabinet, walking into the bedroom to find Frank kneeling down in the middle of the bed, looking at the nothing, hands over his thighs.

The way he accepted it so easily is still in my mind when my shirt meets the ground, but whatever, not like we can’t stop at any moment or anything.

The mattress sinks under my knees as I move towards Frank until settling down, hands cupping his face before our lips are pressed together in a sweet kiss that quickly gains a familiar urgency, with Frank’s hands wrapped around my wrists, pulling me closer to deepen the kiss, eventually pulling me over him. Our lips separate for only seconds among all the shifting, adjusting our positions until Frank’s on his back and I’m over him, a forearm on the mattress to hold myself up, a knee between his spread legs.

“Hm, (y/n),” he mutters against my lips, hands on the sides of my neck, trailing to my hair.

“‘M here, baby.” My lips run along his jaw, soon pressing soft kisses down his neck, peppered in between nibbles and sucking which have his breath quickening, shallow.

My hands drop to Frank’s waist, slipping under his shirt, rubbing circles into the skin. A shaky breath escapes his nose when I reach a spot near his collarbones and he’s tugging on my hair, unable to contain a sound when my thumbs poke under the waistband of his boxers.

Frank’s grasp almost doesn’t let me pull away, only doing so when he notices my intention of getting rid of his shirt, followed by his boxers, revealing his half hard cock, but he seems to have other priorities, pushing his hips up into the air in a useless seek for friction. A grin tugs on my lips at it and I can’t help but to take a grip of his hips, leaving a kiss down his happy trail.

Despite a groan of frustration coming from Frank, I still pull away to get rid of my own clothes, keeping an eye on him to swat his hand away just in time so he won’t touch himself.

“Fuck you!” Frank pouts.

“Behave!” I chuckle, slapping his thigh – he lets out what sounds like a moan at it, jumping.

I can’t really make out Frank’s words, incoherent grumbling; they immediately stop when I’m sitting between his legs with the lube in hand after reaching for it in the bedside table.

“You fine?” I put the tube away to spread the lube on my fingers.

“Of course!” He nods exigently, squirmish.

“Aw, you’re not being a good boy!” I furrow my eyebrows and need to suppress a smile at how quickly Frank’s cheeks turn red as he looks away, what seems like pure frustration being opposed by how hard he’s getting through time. “Just tell me if you need me to stop or something, okay?” I drop the teasing, pressing a kiss to his stomach, and can feel him physically relaxing.

“Right,” he breathes.

His hole flutters under my touch as I trace the ring of muscles, spreading the lube around it before finally pushing a finger in, slowly – he tenses up, clenching around me, but a sound is only slipping past his lips when there’s a second finger and, after a few pushes, finding his prostate is easy.

A breath hitches in Frank’s throat, making a muffled moan come from him once my fingers start pressing against his prostate, massaging the spot; his thighs quiver in poor attempts of moving his hips down against my fingers, coming to a brief stop with a third finger.

“Fuck,” he says, voice tight, but only nods when I look up to check if he’s fine.

My free hand runs up Frank’s torso, running along the skin and feeling it rise under my touch. He moans encouragingly as I start pressing kisses to his tummy, slowly going up his chest and he’s gasping when my thumb runs across his nipple experimentally, hands flying to hold onto my hair, compelling me to continue fondling it and the skin around.

“How does it feel?” I ask against his chest, mostly pressing kisses down to it. He moans in response, in a positive tone. “Use your words, hun.”

“G-Good,” he gasps, tugging at my hair softly.

“Oh, yeah? How good?” I grin, pressing down against his prostate and feeling him quiver as his hips jerk forward. “Are you my good boy, Frank? So small and pretty and cute? Look at how pathetic you are, baby. I didn’t even touch your cock, only fingered your pretty ass so far and you’re already in such a poor state.”

“I– Yeah, I am, fuck– You make me feel very good, oh my God,” he exclaims, voice unusually high. “You make me feel so good, (y/n), please don’t stop, I– Fuck.” He melts. Moans easily fill the room now, not so frequent but loud, constant, coming to an end with a weak complaint and buck of hips after I break contact completely, considering Frank was becoming dangerously tight and urgent.

“Hands and knees, hm?” I press a kiss to his thigh before breaking complete contact to reach for the box under the bed.

“Gimme a moment,” Frank sighs.

“‘M not rushing you,” I chuckle, rummaging through the box and eventually moving to slip on the strap-on and have the toy lubed up.

Something about all of this, making Frank get in such a state, having such a power, is just… amusing, in a way, and maybe I had been wasting my time and should've had this idea before. A squeal comes from him at the slap across the back of his thigh, intensifying the proud feeling in my chest as I kneel behind him, holding his hips up.

“So pretty and all mine, hm?” I mutter against the crook of his neck, my chest pressed to his back. The words are far from something I’d usually say, nonetheless, they snatch a quiet pleading sound from Frank and he doesn’t even answer properly when I ask if he’s ready. “Are you in subspace, love?” Now, what a pleasant surprise.

No answer comes from Frank and I don’t need one, after all – he doesn’t show any discomfort nor says the safe word –, so I carry on. His breath audibly hitches when I’m guiding the toy in, tensing up, so I give him his time, free arm wrapped around his torso and kisses softly pressed to his back among comforting words. When the toy finally sinks in until the base, he’s breathing heavily, head hanging low and hands clenched around the sheets.

“You’re doing so well, hun,” I hum and let my hands wander up and down his waist, soothing and trying to avert his attention away from whatever discomfort.

As a relieved sigh comes from Frank, I grip onto his hips, pulling back before pushing back in and Frank’s moans slowly start to cut through the thick atmosphere of the room with the continuous motions. The way the movements intensify eventually have the toy brushing against me, against my clit, just right to give me the friction I wasn’t even aware that I craved.

“Fuck,” Frank says with a moan, arching his back, quickly followed by a louder moan when I change the angle of the thrusts; his hips move to meet mine. There it is, then, good.

My fingers sink into Frank’s hips for more support, pulling him against me at the same time my hips jerk forward. Fucking whines come from Frank, one after the other, weak cries as his arms collapse under him and he squirms on the mattress and, fuck, how hot can he be?

“Ah,” he breathes, eyes pressed shut, “shit, that’s intense, fuck.”

Not what he thought? No wonder why he accepted so easily. I chuckle – or try to, breathlessly.

“You look so hot like this, baby,” I mutter, one of my hands falling to a space on the mattress next to him. “Didn’t know I could break you like this, huh? ‘Bet you wish I had come up with this before, don’t you? Look at you, you’re loving this!” I grin at how hopeless he becomes, knuckles white around the sheets, gasps escaping his mouths helplessly; I press a kiss to his shoulder. “‘Bet you can’t even think straight right now.” Because, fuck, I can’t. So hot. I might just come from that.

Frank’s lips are pressed together, twitching lightly, but no word ever comes from him. Instead, one of his hands slowly moves down and I slap it away the moment I notice what he wants to do.

“No, no, no!” I click my tongue, taking a hold of his wrist to pin it down to the mattress. “You can come without touching yourself, just like the good boy you are. Are you close, baby? You almost coming?” I press kisses to his shoulder, satisfied with the affirmative hum coming from him. “Gonna make you feel so good,” I mutter under my breath, moving faster, the thrusts heavy and harsher – sending pleasure ringing up my spine –, in a way it doesn’t take long until a loud moan escapes his lips and his thighs are quivering. I take a look at his face, taking in every detail, and I can feel the knot tightening in my lower stomach.

Frank’s eventually coming down from his high with weak sounds and labored breathing, legs twitching lightly with the aftershocks.

Quiet curses escape my lips under my breath while I pull away, watching him collapse to the mattress without much reaction, and get rid of the toy as fast as possible and fucking hell, I barely touch myself before I’m coming, moaning in relief with my fingers sliding against my clit. So pathetic and so good at the same time.

I lie down on the bed next to Frank, pulling into my arms to hug him lovingly, brushing the hair away from his face. He hums softly, eyes slowly opening to reveal the beautiful hazel irises as thin rings around dilated pupils for a moment. Frank says nothing, only burying his face in the crook of my neck.

#n*fw #frank iero #frank iero x reader #mcr x reader #enby reader #mcr imagine #oneshot #smut #frank x reader #frank iero imagine #fanfic #fan fiction #x reader #reader insert #sub frank #bottom frank #imagine #mcr oneshot #mcr smut #fluff #my post

[hikarus-shida]

Eddie Kingston: "Changing Your View"

Eddie Kingston x fem!reader

genre: nsfw 18+, kind of angsty in the beginning and middle

warnings: nsfw 18+, sexual intercourse (unprotected), oral (f), foul language

summary: reader is a friend of eddie and jon. she wants more from eddie, but he only sees her as a little sister. when eddie starts flirting with other women, the reader gives up and tries to move on.

requested by: anon (hope you enjoy!)

tag list: @cutierocker202 @bec0m @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @elitehunter @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan

This is an 18+ imagine. If you're not 18+, please read at your own discretion if you don’t intend on leaving this post. You’ve been warned. :)

I hope you all enjoy! This really took me a couple hours to write, on and off. The end feels super wonky, but I really enjoyed writing it nonetheless. I really wanna do more angsty things!

imagines masterlist

*i do not own this gif!*

“He’s doing it again, Jon.” You complained, as the two of you watched Eddie pursue yet another woman that has walked by. Seeing Eddie flirt with women made you sick. You were standing in front of him this whole time and he never bothered to give you the time of day, all because you were like a “sister” to him. It felt like incredulous bullshit to you though.

“Listen Y/N, you gonna sit around and complain or are you gonna do something about it?” Jon always gave you tough love, sure he had great advice and was more than willing to always give it to you, but god did you talk his ear off about Eddie. He was the only one you trusted enough to tell about your crush and Jon told you the most logical thing to do was to tell Eddie, but you didn’t want to do that. Of course yet again, this was a problem only you could motivate yourself to solve.

“Yeah, I will do something about it,” You stood up from your seat and looking at Eddie once more before looking back at Jon, “Tell him not to talk to me, I’m over his shit.” You walked away, not looking back and missing the eye-roll that Jon directed towards you. You and Eddie were always putting him in the middle of shit, it was a mystery how he still hung out with the two of you.

It was hours now that you hadn’t talked to Eddie and you were better for it, the peace and quiet without him was astonishingly great, but you missed the constant chaos that he contributed to in your life. Jon kept texting you to stop being an idiot, but you just wanted some time to be overly dramatic about your love life and unrequited crushes.

You walked out of the women’s locker room, just to walk back in when you saw Eddie. “Yo! Y/N! Get the fuck outta’ there.” You heard his voice, unreasonably loud as it was. You tried your best to act like you hadn’t heard him, and luckily enough for you, the rest of the women’s roster wasn’t in here which saved you the embarrassment. “Y/N, I’m not afraid of walking in and seeing in a bunch of women.” You rolled your eyes and called his bluff, Eddie was too respectful to just mosey in here like nothing.

“Alright, I am afraid to walk in, but you gotta come out here and talk to me.” He said, outside of the door and his voice getting softer compelled the hell out of you, which made you mad at yourself for falling for it and him all over again. You walked over to the locker room door and opened it, now face to face with Eddie. “What do you want?” Your voice was monotone, refusing to inflect any excitement or happiness. The last thing you needed Eddie to believe was that he was in your good graces when he actually wasn’t.

“What’s up with you, lil’ sis?” You rolled your eyes and refused to meet his gaze. That’s what was up with you, that right there. The “lil’ sis” shit. The anger in you was running through your veins, you were a grown woman and he needed to see that, you needed him to see that you wanted him. “That’s my problem. I’m not your little sister, Eddie. I’m a grown ass woman! And it bothers the hell out of me that you can’t see that I’m completely in love with you like the fool that I am. You run around chasing after all these women that don’t love you like I do and you can’t even see me standing here. It’s fucked up.” You snapped, your once monotone voice filling with emotional rage.

Eddie tried to reach for you, but you moved away from his touch. The look on his face hurt you, it was for the best though. Eddie needed to know that this has been bothering you for the longest time; what he chose to do with that information was up to him. And what he did shocked you. Eddie grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into a kiss. You were so mad at him, but you wanted him so bad. The kiss was gentle at first, but once you kissed back, it had gotten messy and it was as if you two were fighting each other with your lips, trying to get one up on the other. Eddie bit your lip gently, tugging at it as he pushed you against the women’s locker room door and shut it behind you two. He pulled away from the kiss, quickly locking the door before turning back to look at you. “This is what you wanted this whole time? You wanted me? Well, I’ll give you what you want.”

Eddie surprised you some more when he began to strip right in front of you. He was once clad in his usual jersey and light-washed jeans, but now he was fully naked and he was truly hung. You licked your lips and refused to rub your eyes to reassure yourself that this was real life, and not a dream. “You just gonna look at me or are you gonna take your clothes off too?” You rolled your eyes at his comment and began to take off your clothes, starting with your top and ending with your sneakers. Eddie took a good look at you as his hand slid down to his cock, slightly jerking his member as he bit his lip. He walked over to you and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close as he looked into your eyes. “I know we have to make this quick, but I want to take my time and show you how much you really mean to me.”

Eddie laid you onto the ground, gently, while hovering over you. He slid himself down so he could face your pussy, rubbing his fingers up and down your folds before his tongue joined. His fingers inserted in and out of your hole as his tongue circled around your clit while you let out quiet moans. “Oh, Eddie.” You moaned out, your hands grabbing at the ground. Eddie continued to eat you out and now that he knew what set you off, his tongue sucked on your clit as his fingers began to pump in and out of you quickly. Your legs twitched as you felt your release, crying out Eddie’s name while he licked up your juices.

You felt the sweat building up at your temples and on your back, watching Eddie get up on his knees. His cock was slick with his pre-cum and all you could think about was how he tasted. You wouldn’t find today you assumed since Eddie lined himself at your entrance. The two of you moaned when his tip slid in you and you gripped onto his arms, leaning your head back against the floor as your back arched.

Eddie’s cock pumped in and out of you, sweat beading at his forehead. “Y/N, you’re so good. You feel so good,” His hands gripped onto your waist as stroked deeper in you. Eddie’s movements were gentle yet hard and he didn’t want to hurt you, but he wanted to make sure that he brought you to your edge again. And you were close once again because of his voice, praise, and words that he would say to you. One in particular shocked you the most as he grabbed one of your hands and interlocked them, “I love you, Y/N.”

“Eddie, I love you too.” You moaned out, his body getting closer to yours as he continued to thrust. The two of you continued to let out moans and groans as the both of you were close to releasing. Eddie’s thrust began to get even slower and sloppier, you knew he was close. He gave it all he got and his tip continued to your spot over and over again, making you cry out as you released onto his cock, Eddie soon following and pulling out of you. His load dropped onto the floor which made you quickly grab the nearest wipe to clean it up.

Eddie stood up and made sure to help you up, bringing you into a hug, not caring that the two of you were still in the nude. His hands wrapped around your back and rubbed it as he pulled you in for one more kiss. “I’m sorry for making you feel that way and not seeing how you felt about me sooner. I meant it when I said I love you.” Eddie said once he pulled away, still holding onto you while you settled into his touch and cuddled into him.

“I love you too, Eddie.” He smiled slightly, rubbing a hand behind your head as he pressed a kiss against your forehead. The two of you began to get dressed, interlocking your fingers when you were ready to leave the locker room together.

You didn’t know what was next for you and Eddie after this, but at least he changed his view and saw you for what you really were: not as his “lil’ sis”, but as someone who was in love with him and that he loved back with the same amount of passion.

#eddie kingston #eddie kingston aew #eddie kingston imagine #eddie kingston headcanon #eddie kingston drabble #aew #aew imagine

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 2

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit in later chapters) Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, non-graphic description of wounds, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining Summary: Chance brought you and the Mandalorian together on Nevarro. Now, on his ship, you have to broker a careful trust with him, despite both his and your instincts to distrust others. Notes: I’ll be loosely following the events of the first season and see what happens from there. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Taglist:  @bbdoyouloveme​ @beskarhearts​ @dincrypt​ @honey-hi​ @just-me-and-my-obsessions00​ @red-leaders​ @zoemariefit​ 

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Before you could decide what to say to him, the Mandalorian rushed across the hull in two long strides and grabbed your shoulders forcefully, lifting you from your seated position and pushing you up against the wall. You exclaimed in surprise as a strong forearm came up to hold your chest in place, restricting the expansion of your lungs in a painful way. Your hands automatically scrabbled against his arms, trying to break his grip, but his hold was iron. He was leaning all his weight into you, crushing you into the wall, and even bracing your legs against his armored thighs didn’t budge him.

“Who sent you?” he yelled, his helmet inches from your face. The depth and rasp of his voice through the modulator made your stomach drop, and your fight instincts kicked into high gear.

Here’s the Mandalorian I was expecting.

Your upper arms were trapped against your sides, but you could lash out just enough to dig your fingers into his injured side, exploiting his weakness. He grunted and faltered, loosening his hold, and you took the chance to shove him off of you while pulling the long knife from your belt and whipping it up to his neck. At this same time, he recovered and yanked his blaster out of his holster to press the barrel into your stomach. His left hand had a vice-like hold on your bicep.

“No one! No one sent me!” you panted. Your right hand pressed your knife against the fabric at his throat, and your left gripped the back of his neck so he couldn’t move away from the blade. Your finger hovered over the activation switch on the hilt.

In this position, you had to tilt your head up to look into the t-shaped visor of his helmet. You tried to make out his eyes, but all you could see was your own reflection in the inky black surface. You were sweaty and out of breath. His breath was fast and loud through the modulator, chest heaving just inches from yours. This is not an opportune time to be turned on.

“Why were you following me this morning?” he demanded. So he had known.

“Why were you watching me in the cantina a few weeks ago?” you countered.

He tensed, surprised by the question, and cocked his head to the side, considering. “...You looked familiar,” he offered.

Maybe he really had recognized me from my bounty puck, like the bounty hunter in the alley today.

As you contemplated this possibility, the threat you each posed to the other became almost palpable.

He was worried that you were after him or the child—both of whom were clearly high-value targets. And if you had really run into him by chance and didn’t know that before, then you obviously knew how much they were both worth now. You could easily take advantage of that. You, on the other hand, suspected that he knew you yourself had a bounty on your head—and here you were, on his ship, mostly at his mercy. However, you’d say the stakes were higher for him. He had more than just himself to worry about. He clearly cared about whoever this child was.

“I wasn’t following you today. I wouldn’t have been so obvious if I was tracking you. Is that how you would follow a bounty? I was trying to talk to you,” you admitted.

He seemed unsure of whether or not he should believe you. His grip on your arm loosened almost imperceptibly. You reciprocated by easing the pressure of your hold on his neck.

Perhaps, the fact that you were both so vulnerable meant you could come to an understanding.

“Can we just talk? I’m not after you or the kid. I don’t even know why they’re after you. I saw you the other day in the cantina, and I was curious about why you were watching me, so I followed you to talk today. Then I got caught in the fray when I ran into you in the alley. That’s it. It sounds ridiculous, but that’s it. Let’s lower these and just talk.”

You hoped you could earn back the fragile trust you’d had between you just minutes ago on Nevarro, but you had no reason real reason to trust each other. It was clear that neither of you was used to trusting others.

Trust was a bad habit you’d had to unlearn to survive, and the same was true for bounty hunters. His was also a brutal, solitary profession.

But, there was also no explicit reason you had to be enemies.

He hesitated. “You first.” His voice rasped in the modulator.

You continued to hold him where he was, close to you, for another moment as you considered what to do. You didn’t want to hurt him, and it seemed like his instinct was to protect rather than attack.

You slowly released your grip on his neck and dropped your blade.

He lowered his blaster and replaced it in the holster at his side, still standing just inches from you. You knew that he was only open to this truce because there were several ways he could overpower you if he needed to. You hadn’t forgotten the fire that had erupted from his vambrace. He likely had a myriad of other deadly tricks up his sleeve—literally.

After a tense moment, you both stepped back.

“Why did you help me?” he asked.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Why did you help me?”

“I... don’t know. It made sense at the time.”

“Why’d you let me on your ship?”

“I wasn’t going to let them kill you,” he shrugged, like that was obvious.

“Well, I appreciate that,” you laughed. He cocked his head in surprise. The tension thawed slightly.

You sat down on opposite sides of the hull, a safe distance apart, watching each other warily.

“Are you Guild?”

“I’m not a hunter.” He seemed skeptical but didn’t press the issue.

You reached for your bag, and he tensed.

“Just getting water.” You yanked your water bottle out of your bag and drank.

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “What weapons do you have?”

“Blaster, knife, spare blaster. Not quite the arsenal you have,” you motioned to where his weapons closet was partially open, displaying an impressive array of firearms, explosives, and knives.

He nodded and explained, “Weapons are part of my religion.”

“Right,” you muttered, not really sure what that meant. You met his visor briefly then looked away again. Having his attention trained solely on you felt like sitting under a spotlight. And it wasn’t just the threat of danger that made you squirm.

You flicked your eyes back up to him when he shifted. You followed his movements as he pulled the blaster from his holster and stood to put it on its hook in the closet, then did the same with his rifle and vibroblade. He clicked a button on the wall, and the weapons closet clanged shut. You were still acutely aware that his whole body was a weapon, so this gesture of peace was largely symbolic.

Nonetheless, you responded in kind by placing your large vibroblade and both your blasters on a crate out of your reach.

You sat in awkward silence for a moment. You weren’t really sure if these empty gestures meant anything real... or were just that—empty. How likely was it that you were going to progress from strangers to two people who actually trusted each other in the confines of this tiny ship within the span of minutes? Not very.

“I’m going to use the refresher,” you announced. He nodded.

His searing gaze followed you the short distance to the door, and you suddenly forgot what you usually did with your arms when you walked.

It was a relief to close the door behind you and be alone for a moment. When you washed your hands, you noted the generous amount of the Mandalorian’s blood drying on your fingers, smeared there from when you made contact with his blaster injury. From the looks of it, his injury was worse than yours.

You scrubbed your hands clean and leaned down to splash water on your face, wiping away the sweat and dirt on your brow. Then, you rested your palms on the edge of the sink and took a few steadying breaths, studying your face in the small mirror before you.

I’ve been in tighter spots than this.

And this time, like every one of those other times, you steeled yourself and concentrated on the next immediate step you could take to improve your situation. You let your anxiety fall away as you narrowed your focus to a tangible action: treating your thigh wound. If you let yourself consider more than that, spiral in uncertainty and linger on every unknown and variable in this situation, you’d feel overwhelmed.

One step at a time.

When you returned to the hull, you opened your bag to pull out your med pack, sat back on your crate, and got to work cleaning the graze wound through the hole the blaster shot had left in your pants. 

The Mandalorian reached into a container and pulled out his own much larger med pack. With precise movements, he removed his cape, his bandolier, and the top half of his armor. He turned away to pull up his shirt and inspect his wound. He was careful to stay angled in a way so you couldn’t see any of his exposed skin—you weren’t sure if he didn’t want you to know the extent of his injury or if he wasn’t allowed to reveal any of his skin to you.

From the way he was contorting awkwardly, it was clear that he was struggling to reach the extent of the wound.

“Do you want help?” you offered, knowing he’d refuse. You felt compelled to try anyways.

He snapped his helmet up to look at you, like he was surprised you were there. You waited for his answer. Several moments delayed, he jerked his head slightly, like he’d rediscovered a lost train of thought, and muttered: “I’m fine.”

You shrugged and finished tending to your own wound. When you had finished tying a clean bandage around your thigh, you noticed he was squeezing a tiny amount of bacta from an almost empty tube.

“Do you need this?” You held your full tube out to him.

He looked up. Again, he seemed to have forgotten you were there, or perhaps, was so caught off guard by your question, that his answer came after a long stretch of silence. It seemed like a weird reaction to such benign questions.

“Thank you,” he replied, dropping his shirt to walk toward you.

He reached for the bacta, but instead of taking the tube, he grabbed your wrist, twisting it hard. You cried out in pain as the bacta clattered to the floor. His free hand whipped behind his back to grab a pair of cuffs from his belt. Despite your struggling and flailing, he wrenched your arm over and cuffed your hand to a rung of the ladder that was just a few inches to your left.

You kicked out a foot to trip him, but he evaded it. You reached for him with your unrestrained hand, but he jumped back.

Shit. You cursed yourself for placing your weapons out of reach. The small blade strapped to your ankle wouldn’t be of much help at the moment. You let out a frustrated huff of anger. You were better than this, smarter than this.

“I’m sorry. I have to,” he insisted. He started to pace back and forth.

“You really don’t,” you argued, as you slouched against the wall in defeat. He’d cuffed you part way up the ladder, so your arm stretched uncomfortably above your head when you sank to the floor. You rubbed your free hand over your face, thinking.

“I can’t risk it,” he continued, almost apologetic in tone. He seemed to be convincing himself as much as he was convincing you.

“What are you going to do with me?”

He tilted his helmet down at you: “Nothing?”

“I mean, what’s the long term plan here?”

“I’ll leave you somewhere nearby—you can choose the planet—but I need to sleep before I can do anything else. And well...” he gestured vaguely to you then to the compartment where the kid was sleeping.

You watched him resume his circuit of the tiny hull and weighed your options. There weren’t many, and the fact that he was so worried about what you’d do to him or to the kid made you feel less threatened by him. He was spending his time thinking about how you might hurt him, not about how he could take advantage of you. At least, you hoped that was the case.

“I understand,” you relented, letting out a heavy sigh. At least he didn’t freeze me in carbonite.

He froze midstride to stare down at you.

As annoyed as you were by the restraints, you couldn’t really blame him. Honestly, you’d do the same exact thing if you were in his position. You’d already started thinking about the safest way to get some sleep in his presence—your next clear course of action—knowing that your temporary truce was fragile.

He regarded you silently, as if waiting for the catch.

“You could have just asked. I probably would have tried to talk you out of it, but I really do get it. I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”

He stood, looking down at you, incredulous.

It was strange, but not unfamiliar, to have to read someone in full armor, to take all cues from body language and tone. And in the Mandalorian’s case, even his tone was somewhat obscured. You stared back up into his blank helmet but felt sure you were reading him pretty well.

You glanced up at the handcuffs and were comforted by the knowledge that you could pick the mechanism fairly easily with some combination of your small vibroblade, the bobby pin in your hair (which was only there for this express purpose), and—if it came to it—the underwire of your bra. You’d done it before.

He doesn’t need to know that.

It seemed like, as someone who regularly restrained people, he should assume you could pick locks, but you weren’t about to bring that to his attention. You were going to let him think you were completely at his mercy because clearly that’s what he needed to feel safe. Plus, you didn’t want him to resort to a more extreme means of restraining you.

“Could you at least cuff me to something so I can lie down?” You wiggled the arm that was stretched awkwardly over your head.

He tucked his thumbs into his belt and cocked his head as if trying to decide whether or not this was a trick. He sighed quietly though the modulator.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned, striding forward to unlock the cuffs. You held your hands up in surrender. He led you toward a spot along the wall where a pipe ran a few inches off the floor and gestured for you to sit by it.

When he leaned over your body to snap the cuffs to the pipe, you caught a glimpse of his neck, where a sliver of skin was exposed between his cowl and his helmet. His skin was golden brown—definitely not green like the child, definitely human. It was less than an inch of skin, but you couldn’t help but feel that you’d witnessed something scandalous or intimate, like you’d accidentally walked in on someone changing. You also couldn’t help but notice that he smelled good under the faint odor of metal and blaster residue.

He wasn’t rough when he secured your hand in the cuffs this time.

Walking around the hull, he collected a ration pack and a thick blanket from two different crates and grabbed your water bottle from where you’d left it by your bag. He tossed the items to you one at a time.

Thoughtful.

He picked up your bacta from where it had fallen to the floor and sat back down to finish tending to his own wound.

You pulled the blanket under you so you weren’t sitting on the cold, hard floor of the ship and leaned back against the wall.

You opened the ration pack, picking at the contents, and considered the man before you.

You had a million questions for him but somehow couldn’t think of one thing to say. Nothing seemed particularly pressing as the stress and exertion of the day were beginning to catch up with you. He wasn’t a particularly chatty guy and didn’t seem interested in conversation beyond determining whether or not you were trying to abduct his child—and the jury was clearly still out on that front as far as he was concerned.

Eventually, he finished treating his wound and replaced his upper armor. He disappeared into the refresher for a few minutes then returned to what you had assumed was a storage bay, where he had placed the child. After shifting the child gently, he climbed—in full armor—into the smallest, most ridiculous bunk you’d ever seen before closing the door and disappearing from view. Doesn’t he have a room?

You finished the ration pack, kicked off your boots, and curled up in the blanket to lie down. You were grateful that your physical exhaustion was absolute. Otherwise, you were sure your mental chatter would have kept you awake. You needed rest before you could decide your next move. Telling yourself that you’d just doze, not sleep deeply, your eyelids drifted shut almost unwillingly.

***

The next morning, you woke to the Mandalorian leaning over you to release your wrist from the cuffs. You started at his unexpected closeness, jerking back, and he looked down. Clearly, you’d fallen into a deep sleep for several hours. Whoops.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You still weren’t used to that rich, raspy voice. Does it ever not sound seductive? It didn’t help that you could smell him again when he was leaned over you like that. You closed your eyes, waiting for him to move away.

“That’s okay.”

He stood, clipping the cuffs to the back of his belt. You sat up, leaning against the wall, and rubbed your eyes.

He sat on a crate across from you, with the baby on his lap, feeding him little pieces of something gross looking. The kid was perched happily on his knee, wiggling his giant ears in satisfaction as he chewed and watching you with unguarded interest.

“Who is that?” you asked.

The baby was alert and cheery, periodically letting out joyful little chirps, a marked difference from their subdued temperament the night before.

“He was a bounty,” the Mandalorian stated simply, as if that explained the whole situation.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his non-answer and didn’t respond. Obviously, there was more to the story, but he didn’t want to share it. That was fine. You didn’t owe each other anything (except maybe your lives, but in that regard, you figured you were even).

You watched the Mandalorian. He was sweet with the child—patient, too—but awkward and unsure. You didn’t have all that much experience with children either, but you knew holding a baby out in front of you with straight arms, as you’d seen him do for a moment yesterday, was not normal. He seemed caring and invested but inexperienced.

How long has he had this baby?

“I think we can help each other.” The Mandalorian spoke slowly, interrupting your train of thought.

This development surprised you, especially considering he’d made you sleep cuffed to a pipe.

From the moment you set eyes on the armored warrior, you had expected him to be cold, withholding: a lone wolf. In some ways, he was—the armor alone was enough to make him seem hostile and untouchable—but in other ways... He was almost... kind? He’d protected you, a stranger, without hesitation. The fact that he was caring for a wanted child was another piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit.

“How’s that?” You fidgeted with the edge of the blanket in your hands.

You hadn’t had the chance to formulate a full plan for yourself, but you didn’t really need to. You’d do what you’d always done: disappear. You’d lay low for a few weeks, then return to one of the three places you had hidden supplies: namely, new identification and credits. And then you’d disappear again. Maybe change your hair. Find a temporary job somewhere. Same old routine.

“The same people are after both of us.”

You snapped your head up to look at him.

“They saw you holding the kid and board the Crest. They know you’re with me,” he continued.

The same set of questions played in your head: Did he recognize me as a bounty that day in the cantina? Or did he notice the moment when the bounty hunter had recognized me in the alley yesterday? Or does he really just think I’m caught up in this with him because of pure chance?

He took your silence as an invitation to proceed.

“I can drop you off on a nearby planet. We can go our separate ways, but I think they’ll be looking for you too. It might be best to stay together for the moment.” He spoke carefully, like he knew he was out on a limb, and he didn’t expect you to agree. This was the most you’d heard him say at once. When you really considered it, he was right. Based on they way the fight went down, with you and the Mandalorian protecting each other, everyone would conclude that you were a team. That’s how the word would spread. Hunters would come after you both. If they found you separately, they’d assumed you knew where the other one was.

Between bites, the kid let out the cutest, tiniest sneeze you’d ever heard. The Mandalorian wiped his nose gently with the edge of his cape, and the softness of the gesture made your heart squeeze. You looked away briefly to hide the smile on your face.

You turned back to him, expression neutral, meeting his inscrutable gaze once again. “We’d be harder to find if we went our separate ways. We could lead them in two different directions,” you reasoned, trying to parse out all the options.

“I... feel bad that they’d come after you for no other reason than you happened to run into me in an alley.”

Again, his thoughtfulness surprised you.

For now, it seems safe to assume he doesn’t know about my bounty.

And you weren’t ready to share that yet...even though you knew hiding it was unfair to him and to the child. They were both already at risk. If you decided to stay with him for the moment, you’d eventually need to admit that you were a liability all on your own.

Not yet though.

“What’s your plan?”

“Head somewhere deserted. Lay low for a couple weeks, then go from there.”

That’s what you would be doing alone anyways. He’d already proven his skill in battle. Would it be so bad to have someone looking out for you for once?

It would be a relief, if you were being totally honest with yourself.

“Okay,” you agreed hesitantly. “For now, this makes sense,” you gestured between you two.

He nodded once.

You posed the question that was plaguing you: “What made you change your mind about me? Why are you trusting me all of a sudden?”

“You stayed cuffed.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. Apparently, it had been a test, and you had passed. I guess he was being smart, not underestimating me. 

He seemed satisfied to leave the conversation there, but your curiosity got the better of you. You took the chance to build on this blossoming trust.

“So, does the helmet stay on all the time?”

He met your gaze for a moment before looking down at the kid and saying, “No living being has seen my face since I was a child. This is the way.”

Well, that’s super sad.

You thought back to the exchange between him and that huge blue Mandalorian. They’d both said the same thing then too.

Mandalorians have a catchphrase?

You wondered what this helmet rule meant in practice: for instance, does that mean he could be helmetless around someone if they couldn’t see his face... Like, were blindfolds or very dark rooms on the table? And what about the rest of the armor? Can he take that off? How bad should I feel that I’d seen a sliver of his neck? You wanted to know the answers to all these questions but obviously couldn’t ask.

Instead, you nodded and said, “What’s your name?”

“Mando is fine.” Impersonal. Business-like. It’s what Karga had called him.

His proposal to stay together for the time being had felt like an opening, but clearly peeling away all his layers of metaphorical armor would take a long time. He was so guarded, but it seemed like he didn’t really want to be. You related to that on a deep level.

“Mando?” You voiced the question that had popped into your head when Karga called him Mando the first time: “Isn’t Mandalorian spelled m-a-n-d-A-l-o-r-i-a-n?”

“...yes?” he confirmed tentatively, unsure of your point. His hand, which was in the process of feeding the child another bite, paused midair as he watched you. The kid made impatient whiny sounds and reached for his hand.

“So shouldn’t your nickname be Mand-a?”

He scoffed, making a sound somewhere between amusement and annoyance, and resumed feeding the child, who let out a contented coo as he chewed.

There was an awkward beat of silence while you waited for him to ask for your name. When he asked, you’d share your fake name, as always. 

He didn’t ask.

***

Chapter 3

#my writing #tempered glass #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fic #mature #the mandalorian reader insert #din djarin reader insert

[love-and-monsters]

Caged Fae: Halloween

M Fae X F reader, 6,041 words

Enjoy a Halloween festival with your roommate Fae, Yarrow. Have fun taking in the sights of the seasons. This story is a continuation of Caged Fae, which can be found here.

Delicately, you adjusted the mask so that it sat snugly on Yarrow’s face. “What do you think?”

Yarrow blinked out at you, his gaze as steady and unperturbed as ever. “Any opinions?” you pressed. “Yes? No?”

He reached up and delicately unhooked the mask from his face. Delicately, he folded the ribbon, tucked it into the mask, and handed the whole thing back to you. “Is that a no?” you said.

Yarrow smiled enigmatically. He got up and wandered back across the room to the small pile of gourds you had collected. You followed after him.

Come on. You have to give me some hint. I thought this would go well with your antlers,” you said. The mask was made of light wood and molded into the rough shape of a deer’s face. There were deep red and gold markings painted along the eyes and curves of the mask, giving it a striking look. “Don’t you want to go out without hiding your antlers?”

Yarrow turned his head and looked at you for a moment. It had been a few months since you’d rescued him, and he had tagged along with you to the market a few times after glamouring his antlers. His quiet, polite demeanor had earned him a few admirers, mostly the older women who treated him like a beloved nephew. “It’s All Hallow’s Eve,” you prompted gently. “It’s a party. Don’t you want to go out?”

Yarrow patted your hand for a moment, then went back to fiddling with the gourds. You sighed. Fae were mysterious creatures, and when Yarrow was in one of his moods, there was no getting through to him.

Instead, you picked up the mask and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in an hour or so,” you called over your shoulder. “Hold down the fort for me.”

There were hurried footsteps behind you. You turned to see Yarrow holding out your coat. He shook it at you, lifting an eyebrow.

“Oh. Thank you,” you said, slipping into it. Yarrow nodded, then retreated back to the pile of gourds. You slipped out the door and down the path to the town center.

There was a bite of cold to the air as you walked, and the trees had exploded into fiery color. The town was bustling- All Hallow’s Eve was in less than a week and everyone was trying to get the final festival details in order.

“How was the mask?” Mr. Demark asked as you stopped at his stall. His usual trade was carpentry, but around this time of year, he also sold beautiful wooden masks. His wife, who designed and painted most of them, perked up, waiting for your verdict.

You slid the mask across the stall’s table toward them. “Sorry. I don’t think this one is what he wants either.”

“That boy,” Mrs. Demark said, picking up the mask and examining it. “Not easily satisfied, is he?”

You’d taken four masks from the stand so far, an owl, a wolf, a bobcat, and finally the deer. Yarrow had tried each of them on with perfect patience, then taken them back off and handed them to you. “I’m sure he wants something specific,” you said. “I just don’t know what it is.”

“Any luck teaching him to write yet?” Mrs. Demark asked. You shook your head. You were pretty sure Yarrow could read as well as he could understand you, but every time he wrote anything, it was in an odd, swirly script that you couldn’t make sense of at all. You weren’t sure if he wasn’t writing because he refused to write in a human language for some reason or if he physically couldn’t, but the result was the same. It didn’t help that Yarrow never seemed terribly concerned with whether or not you understood him.

“I’d like him to dress up,” you said. “I do want him to be able to enjoy the festival. But he just doesn’t seem to like anything I give him.”

“Want to try another one?” Mr. Demark asked. You glanced over the few masks he still had. There weren’t many left; it was close enough to the holiday itself that most people had secured their costumes.

“I don’t know,” you said after a moment, shaking your head. “I don’t want to bring him back something he doesn’t want again.”

“Here.” Mrs. Demark rummaged in her pouch and passed you a few coins. “Your money back. Don’t want you to waste it on something you’re not going to use.”

You tucked the money away. “I’m sorry about Yarrow.” Mrs. Demark waved you off.

“Never mind. Perhaps he just doesn’t like costumes,” she said. You nodded and headed off into the rest of the market.

The more you turned the words over in your mind, the more likely they seemed. Yarrow had been held captive in a circus, after all, where odd costumes were the norm. Perhaps masks brought back bad memories. Your stomach tightened at the thought of it. Maybe it would be uncomfortable to be out at all and he was just trying to be polite and humor you.

You finished up your shopping and hurried home a little after the sun had set. Yarrow was standing outside when you got home, apparently unbothered by the cold, as he was wearing only his usual thin clothes. He straightened when he saw you approaching, looking at you intently.

“Hey,” you said as you walked up to him. “Everything okay?”

Yarrow tilted his head, considering you for a moment. “Sorry I’m late,” you said with a glance at the sky. “I know I said it’d only be an hour, but, you know. Things kind of got away from me. I got you something,” you added, hoping to get Yarrow to stop looking at you with a vaguely disapproving expression. Apparently, he wasn’t easily bribed, because the furrow in his brow just deepened.

You stepped into the house and pulled off your coat. There was already a fire in the stove and stepping into the glow helped drive away the chill that had sunk through your skin. “Here,” you said, passing one of the packages to Yarrow. He turned it over in his hands. “They’re spiced cookies. A specialty from a local bakery.”

He nibbled at one delicately as you unpacked everything else. Yarrow seemed to appreciate heavily spiced foods, you’d noticed, or ones with a strong scent. It had taken you an embarrassingly long time to realize that was because he couldn’t taste anything.

He ate slowly while you put all your things away. Occasionally, he would reach out and turn one of your purchases over in his hand, or run his fingers over a bolt of fabric. You’d purchased several items that were more frivolous than usual- you had more money to spend thanks to Yarrow and the end of fall also signaled the end of traveling merchants. It had been a bit fun to pick up some interesting items for the winter.

“I thought this might be nice for you,” you said, holding out a long bolt of fabric. It was soft, but weighty, and made of a deep forest green. Next to it, you held up a section of white fur. It had been fairly expensive, but you had been almost compelled to buy it. It looked regal, elegant, and it fit with Yarrow’s otherworldly air. He rolled it in his hands, examining the texture of the fur.

“What do you think?” you asked. “I know you don’t technically need a winter coat, but if we go out, it’ll look weird if you’re not wearing one, and I thought it would look nice.”

Yarrow stared down at the fabric, running his fingers over and over it. Finally, he lifted his head and gave you a smile. Relief lightened your chest. “Okay. Good.”

The nights were getting colder and colder. Yarrow seemed entirely unbothered by it, but you had started keeping the fire on at night and dragging out your heavier quilts. Still, it didn’t quite drive away the cold. You still woke up shivering and the quilt was cold when you got into it every night. Yarrow still slept mostly on the floor, rarely even bothering with a pillow.

You had no idea if that was something typical of Fae or if being trapped in a cage had given him odd notions of comfort.

It took a couple of days to pluck up the nerve to ask Yarrow about All Hallow’s Eve. Part of that was just you being uncertain how to approach the content. You didn’t want to accidentally upset him. He’d given no indication that he was traumatized by it, but he also hadn’t given any indication that he wasn’t. It was hard to tell when he didn’t talk and his expressions seemed generally aloof. Trying to pick a way to approach him that was neither too insensitive nor too timid was an awkward space to fit into.

The other problem with talking to Yarrow was that it had become rather difficult to find him.

Pulling a vanishing act in a house that only had three rooms was pretty impressive, but Yarrow managed. He moved soundlessly, aided by the face that he was pretty much always barefoot. Most of the time, you would look up only to find he had completely vanished from the room with no sign of where he’d gone.

If he wasn’t inside, he was usually in the garden. Yarrow never wandered all that far from you. He’d never moved all that far from the house if you were inside, despite not really having a reason to stay. You were grateful for his presence, nonetheless. He was surprisingly good company.

Finding him in the garden could still be a bit of a task, though. With his influence, the garden had grown enormously, with plants sprouting into enormous tangles of leaves and vines. It took time to search the whole thing, and it was really starting to get cold outside. You shivered under an icy wind as you picked your way through the garden. “Yarrow?” you called. “Yarrow, are you out here?”

Something to your left rustled and you turned to see Yarrow emerging from a thicket of berry bushes. They were still green, despite the frost creeping up, but you were pretty sure even Yarrow’s powers weren’t going to last forever. A few of the leaves had already given up and littered the ground beneath them. Yarrow brushed some leaves off his front and looked at you questioningly.

“Oh, here, let me-” You reached up and brushed a leaf from his hair. “There’s one in your antlers. Hold on…” Without thinking, you grabbed the antler and tugged his head down, pulling the offending leaf off from where it had been impaled. Yarrow complied with your tugging, showing not even the slightest hint of resistance as you tugged on his head. The realization of what you were doing struck you and you released him. “Oh. Er. Sorry.” Yarrow straightened back up and looked at you curiously. “Right. Um. Can we talk?”

Asking to talk with Yarrow was mostly just asking if it was okay for you to talk at him, but he nodded and headed back into the house. You followed him inside, hanging up the shawl you’d tossed on before heading outside. Admittedly, it had done very little against the chill.

Something heavy fell onto your shoulder. You looked up as Yarrow tucked a blanket around your shoulders and pushed you toward the fire. “Oh, I’m fine. You don’t need to-” Yarrow tugged your hands insistently. “Okay, okay. I’m sitting.”

You settled in front of the fire, readjusting the blanket so it was more secure on your shoulders. Yarrow sat across from you, the firelight flickering across his features. It cast sharp shadows on his face. “So, All Hallow’s Eve is in a couple of days.” Yarrow nodded. “I just, you know wanted to talk about it.” Yarrow tilted his head patiently, waiting for you to go on. “I just wanted to ask about… how you’re feeling about this? I mean, going out in costumes and everything. I know you were kept for a while in a place where they used costumes a lot, and you seemed uncomfortable when we were trying on all those masks. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That this wasn’t bringing back any bad memories.”

Yarrow stared at you. He tilted his head a little, blinking. “Yes? No?” you said. “It’s okay if you want to stay home. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

He looked at you for a moment longer, then his expression softened. His lips turned up in a small smile and his shoulders shook in a way you recognized- Yarrow was laughing. He reached out and patted your hand. His fingers were warm and strong.

“Is that a no?” you asked. “You’re okay with going out?”

Yarrow got to his feet and patted your head. The gesture was small, but full of so much affection that your throat constricted a little. He was rarely expressive with his feelings, so you were always startled when he was affectionate. Yarrow smiled serenely at you, then strolled back outside. You stared after him. Apparently, the conversation was over. You’d gotten the impression that he wasn’t bothered, at least. Maybe he just wasn’t a fan of masks. If he really didn’t want to go out, you supposed he would find a way to let you know.

You saw Yarrow less frequently in the few days leading up to All Hallow’s Eve. He showed up for mealtimes and sat with you then, but for the rest of the day, he was outside, doing who knew what. For all you knew, this was normal Fae behavior in fall. You kept an eye on him, but he seemed okay, so you didn’t worry too much about it.

The festival for All Hallow’s Eve started in the afternoon, so you spent the morning pulling together your costume. It wasn’t especially interesting- in fact, it was sort of a rehash of the outfit you’d put on the year before. Most costumes were focused on hiding identity rather than trying to actively look like something else. You’d picked up a simple rodent mask, something that looked equally like a squirrel and a mouse, and wore brown robes with a shabby fur ruff around your neck. It was simplistic, but you hadn’t really put that much effort into your costume that year- your initial plan had been to coordinate with Yarrow, and his disinterest had soured your own desire. In fact, the fur ruff was the only difference between this year and the last one. The mask and robe were the same.

You’d just finished gathering the requisite components and spreading them out when Yarrow abruptly reappeared. He didn’t come in from the outside or step out from another room; you just looked down for a moment and when you looked back up, he was standing there as if he’d been present all along. It had startled you the first few times he’d done it, but living with him, you’d gradually acclimated to it.

“What do you think?” you asked, gesturing to the outfit. “I don’t have anything for you, but you can at least keep your antlers out.”

Yarrow looked down at the costume for a moment, studying intently. He plucked at the fur ruff, then curled his lip. “No?” you asked. Yarrow shook his head and grabbed your hand. He tugged on your arm, pulling you along with him.

“Where are we going?” you asked. He pulled you outside and through the garden. It had wilted a lot in the past few days, dried branches sticking out into the path. Yarrow pulled you past them, into a thicket of bushes. They had grown into a sort of bramble wall, providing a secluded area. Carefully draped over the bushes were two beautiful outfits.

One of them was deep green, with heavy, elegant robes. A faint leaf pattern shimmered on it, only visible under direct sunlight. Little pink and yellow flowers sprouted along the hems. You weren’t sure, but you thought they might be alive. Placed on top of the robe was an elegantly carved mask. It was roughly in the shape of a deer, but there appeared to be real flowers sprouting over the surface in a way that colored and textured it. The entire thing looked ethereal.

“Did you make that?” you asked, your voice hushed with awe. Yarrow nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

Yarrow reached for the second outfit and picked up the second mask. It was done in a similar style, also resembling a deer, but it was a little smaller and rounder. The flowers set on it were pale yellow and orange, sprouting so that they created the illusion of shading. The outfit beneath the mask bore similar elegant robes, but these were made in a deep, burnt orange, with faint lines that looks like tree branches stretching out from the seams. A thick ruff of fur lay under them, a deep and rich brown. It was the softest thing you had ever felt.

Yarrow moved so you were facing him and tilted your chin up. Slowly and carefully, he reached out and placed the mask onto your face. There was no attaching string or hooks, but that didn’t seem to matter. It settled perfectly on your face, contoured to your features.

“You made this for me?” Your voice was quiet and there was a slight catch to it. Yarrow gave a small nod. “It’s beautiful.” Before you could think better of it, you reached out and pulled Yarrow into a hug. He stiffened, but only for a second. Then his arms came in around you and he gave a small squeeze back.

“We should, um, get changed,” you said as you broke away from him. You gathered up your outfit and hurried back to the house. Despite never having taken any measurements (at least, not that you’d ever seen), the outfit was perfectly sized. It was also surprisingly warm. Even without the fur ruff, you felt comfortable.

You’d just slid on the mask when Yarrow returned to the house. The outfit had looked beautiful just sitting on the ground; on Yarrow’s body, it was ethereal. With his face half-hidden by the mask, he looked inhuman, but beautifully so.

“Wow,” you said. “You look amazing.” Yarrow’s lips quirked into a small smile. He reached into his pocket and removed a small looking glass that he held up to you.

For a moment, you couldn’t recognize yourself. There must have been some Fae magic in the mask and clothes, because, under the mask, you could see your skin had taken on a slight glow. The mask looked almost alive on your face. You were almost surprised to see that it didn’t mold to your expressions.

“Thank you,” you said. Yarrow smiled broadly, then took your hand. With a firm insistence, he pulled you toward the door.

The chill barely touched you as you stepped out into the crisp autumn afternoon. The sun had already started to slip downward in the sky, threatening to set. Yarrow slowed his pace as you headed toward the festival, but his hand stayed around yours.

The festival was already in full swing when you arrived. There were banners and decorations draped along the streets and booths were set up all throughout the town. Many of them sold food or drink, some sold little trinkets to keep evil spirits away, and some were peddling some of their crafted items, styled specifically for the festival. There were also a few game booths, areas set up for storytelling, and a few contest stands. You peered at some of the woven bolts of fabric that sat in a contest booth. Yarrow gave you a questioning look.

“Oh, I didn’t want to enter because you helped me. It felt unfair to have Fae magic in it,” you said. Yarrow still looked confused. You had a feeling that an ethics conversation with a Fae wouldn’t go well. “Maybe next year,” you said noncommittally.

“Look at you!” Yarrow flinched as a hand clapped down on his shoulder. “Those are some nice costumes.” Mr. Demark was standing behind you, a broad grin on his face. “Where’d you get those masks? They sure aren’t some of mine.”

 “Yarrow made them,” you said.

“Did he now?” Mr. Demark leaned in close. You felt Yarrow’s back stiffen next to you. “It’s impressive. Wouldn’t consider coming to work for me, now would you? You’ve got some talent.”

Yarrow gave a polite smile and bowed slightly. “That a no, then?” Mr. Demark said. “Ah, well. Just don’t go selling them or I’ll be out of business.” He laughed loudly and strolled back off into the festival. Yarrow stared after him for a moment, then started examining the fabric again.

You walked around the festival together for a while. The food there was delectable, and you ended up buying more pumpkin bread than you could comfortably eat. Yarrow declined to eat anything, but he did end up buying some spiced cider. You’d never seen him drunk, and you kept a curious eye on him. After about two and a half mugs, though, he showed no signs of inebriation. Maybe human alcohol just wasn’t potent enough for a Fae. It was a bit disappointing. You’d wondered what he was like drunk.

The sun had set fully at that point, which meant that several campfires had been set up around the town. People sat in loose circles around them, sharing stories. You and Yarrow sat in on a few of them; Yarrow seemed particularly interested in the stories featuring Fae.

“So,” you said as you stepped away from one of the circles close to the edge of town, “any of that true?”

Yarrow shook his head, then paused, considering. He held two fingers a short distance apart. “Only a little bit?” you said. Yarrow nodded. “What bits were true?”

Yarrow thought for a moment, then gave a dramatic hair toss and struck a pose like he was modeling. You dissolved into giggles. “Do you- Do you mean the bit where he said all Fae are really beautiful?” Yarrow nodded furiously, grinning.

“So not the bit where you kidnap babies?” Yarrow shook his head. “Or the bit where you all dance naked in the moonlight to lure humans in?” Even behind his mask, you could see Yarrow’s eyes roll.

You had moved toward the edge of town as you spoke, standing right on the outskirts of the forest. “We should probably get back,” you said. “It’s not-”

Your voice trailed off. There were lights emerging from the gloom of the woods. They looked like overlarge fireflies, except they glowed faintly blue instead of yellow. They left glimmering trails behind them when they moved. It was soothing to watch them, almost hypnotic. You took a step toward them.

Yarrow pulled on your hand, hard. You hadn’t even felt him grab it. You stumbled backward, blinking hard. The hypnotic feeling faded to the back of your head, though you could feel it threatening to rise again. Little lights. Little lights in the forest that compelled people to follow them and then led them astray. “Will-O-the-Wisps,” you said. Yarrow nodded. “I’ve never seen them before.”

Yarrow stepped forward, waving his hand toward the wisps. The coalesced, swarming densely for a moment. Then they vanished back into the forest as suddenly as they’d arrived. You let out a breath. Yarrow stared after them for a moment, then pulled your hand fiercely, pulling you back toward town until you were standing in the warm glow of a fire.

“Are those things common around here?” you asked, just barely keeping a wobble from your voice. “I’ve never seen them.”

Yarrow thought for a moment, then positioned himself so he was standing across from you. Carefully, he drew a line between you in the dirt. “A barrier between us?” you asked. Yarrow made a broad gesture. “Between our worlds?” Yarrow nodded. He gestured at the sky, then at the town around you and scuffed the line away with his foot. “The holiday… makes the barrier vanish?”

Yarrow nodded. A chill crept up your spine. “The veil gets thin. I’ve heard that before,” you said. “Is it dangerous?”

Yarrow shook his head. He clasped your hands in his and you felt a tingle of magic jump through you. His eyes gleamed with inhuman power for a moment. “It makes you stronger too,” you said. Yarrow nodded. He squeezed your hands again. “And you’ll protect me.” Another nod. “Thank you.”

Satisfied with the conversation, Yarrow turned away and began wandering back into town. The festivities were wrapping up in some areas and ramping up in others. Most of the families with children had departed, meaning that certain areas were turning toward debauchery. The stories told were less appropriate for young ears and a few people had stripped, despite the chill. Yarrow looked at them with some interest, but, thankfully, seemed uninterested in joining them.

Several of the fires had gone out and a fire toward the center had been stoked into an enormous blaze. People danced around it while musicians played close to its base. Laughs and whoops of excitement carried across the town.

Yarrow paused and stared across the way at a smaller fire. There were several couples gathered around it. One by one, they stepped forward and held out their clasped hands to a man. He wrapped their hands in a ribbon and murmured words over them, sprinkling a few drops of water from a nearby basin. The couple held their hand over the fire for a moment, just high enough to not get burned, then stepped back with murmurs and bows of thanks.

“That’s a couple ceremony,” you explained. “It’s usually for new couples, for over the winter. There’s an old legend behind it.” Yarrow looked at you curiously. “You want to hear it?” A nod. “Uh, okay.” You sat down on a log next to a fire that was only faintly glowing embers. Yarrow sat with you. He was close enough that your knees were touching.

“Um, I heard this story a long time ago, so it’s not going to be super detailed, but I remember most of it,” you said. “The story goes that there was a couple who lived in a cabin a bit of a ways out of town. They lived far enough away that when the winter snows came, they were unable to get into town.” Your voice dropped into the sort of hushed tones used by storytellers. Yarrow’s eyes were fixed on you face, like he was enraptured. “The couple didn’t think anything of it. They had enough food to outlast the snow, and they had each other, and they thought that would be enough.

“But after a few weeks, with the snow still coming down, an evil spirit was carried in on the cold, northern wind. The spirit lurked in the corners of their home, out of the way of their glowing fires. And slowly, the spirit’s evil intentions crept into the couple.

“Gradually, the couple grew harsher and harsher with each other. They spent much of their time fighting or ignoring each other. And the longer they ignored each other, and the more they fought, the stronger the spirit grew. Soon, the couple was unable to think of anything but their seething hatred for the other. The woman took to sleeping on the floor, in the light of the fire.

“But the fire could not last forever, and the couple was so consumed with their arguing, they ignored the sputtering flames. And the, one night, while the woman slept in its glow, the fire sputtered, leaving her in darkness.

“And the spirit struck.

“Months later, when the snows finally melted, a few people from the town went out to see how the couple was doing. The found the man lying in his bed, his throat slit. Even though it was warm enough to melt the snow, the man was still frozen solid. His wife was never seen again.”

Yarrow had leaned in while you were telling the story. His face was quite close to yours. You leaned back and cleared your throat. “Um. So, that’s the story. The ceremony they’re doing is supposed to drive away evil spirits. It protects you.” Yarrow nodded slowly. His face was expressionless beneath the mask. “So, what do you think? Believe it’s true?”

Yarrow rolled his eyes under the mask and stood up. He offered you a hand, which you took and he tugged you to your feet. He waited a moment for your to straighten your robes, then began pulling you toward the ceremony.

“Woah, hey, hold on.” You tried to dig your feet into the ground, but Yarrow was supernaturally strong. “Are you- you want to participate in the ceremony?” you asked, a little bewildered. Yarrow nodded. “But it’s… for couples. You want to do it with me?”

Yarrow gave you a look and tugged on your hand again. “Okay, okay,” you said. He seemed oddly insistent on it. Maybe he knew something about evil spirits you didn’t? Regardless, it didn’t look like he was just going to give it up anytime soon. You relented and allowed him to pull you over to the ceremony.

Most of the couples had already been blessed, so there wasn’t a long wait before you were called up. The man was wearing a long red and purple robe and he was slightly stooped over with age. He smiled at you as you approached. “Haven’t seen you before,” he said conversationally. “New couple?”

You sputtered a little, but Yarrow just dipped his head and smiled. The man smiled back at you. “Wonderful. Now, I’ll need you to take the masks off for the ceremony.”

You carefully undid your mask and glanced at Yarrow as he did the same. The light of the fire against his skin made something in your chest catch. Your heart fluttered violently against your ribs. With a swallow, you turned back to the man.

“Now, clasp your hands and hold them out.” Yarrow linked your fingers and held your hand you. You felt overly aware of the touch of his fingers on yours.

The man reached out with a length of white ribbon. “This represents your love for each other. It binds you together and holds you fast.” He wrapped it around your hands, tying a loose knot near your thumbs. “The water represents the storms your relationship will weather.” He sprinkled it over your hands. The ribbon shivered a little, but remained wrapped securely around your hands. “The strength of your love will carry you through the tough times. Remember your love, and no spirit can stay your course.” He folded his hands around yours, pressing them together. “I bless you against all evil spirits, I bless you against the forces of hate in this world. This blessing will help to shield you, but only the strength of your care for each other will allow you to weather all the storms.” His hands unfolded from yours and he gave you a smile. Gently, he guided your hands over the fire, just high enough to avoid burning. “With this fire, I drive away the spirits of the cold and dark and hatred. May it burn bright enough to keep you warm throughout the long season.”

With a smooth pull, he freed your hands from the ribbon. It untied in a moment, pulled back into the curve of his fist. Yarrow held onto your hand for a moment longer before slowly untangling your fingers. He gave a small bow to the man and swept away. You murmured a quick thanks, then hurried after him.

He paused, letting you catch up. “You okay?” you asked. Yarrow nodded. He fiddled with the mask in his hands, like he was uncertain if he wanted to put it back on. Without really thinking about it, you linked your arm through his. “Want to go home?”

Yarrow turned his head slightly toward you and smiled. You started down the trail toward your home, arms still linked.

You walked in silence for a little while. “Did you have a good time?” you asked finally. Yarrow blinked at you, like you’d startled him out of thought, then he nodded. He pressed into you for a moment, bumping your sides together. It was warm and affectionate.

“Good. I had a good time too,” you said. You tilted your head back, looking at the mostly full moon. It played off of Yarrow’s hair and antlers, making them almost glow. You had a sudden urge to reach up and stroke his hair, smoothing down the few flyaways. You barely managed to restrain yourself.

You stopped just outside your house, scooping up a few more pieces of firewood to bring inside. Yarrow opened the door, ducking slightly to avoid his antlers scraping on the frame. You carried the wood over the fire and stoked it. The house was still cold, but the costume kept much of it away.

“So,” you said, trying to find something to say, “do you think the ceremony worked?” Yarrow’s face was practically obscured by the shadows, only half-illuminated by moonlight. He looked a little confused. “Uh, for keeping away evil spirits? The hand holding thing?” Yarrow snorted gave you a sarcastic smile. “You don’t think so?”

Yarrow sighed and rolled his eyes. He tapped his chest and pressed a hand to the center of your chest. It took you’re a moment to grasp the meaning. “We don’t need it because you protect me anyway?” you translated. Yarrow smiled and nodded. “Then why were you so insistent on doing the ceremony if it wasn’t going to-”

Yarrow rolled his eyes and pressed his hands to your face. You stumbled to a stop. His thumbs traced your cheekbones for a moment. A shiver crept along your spine. His bright, gleaming eyes were locked on yours. Slowly, one of his hands slipped down to cup your chin. His thumb traced along your lower lip. He was so close, so close you could feel his breath tickling against your face. Warmth was flooding your body and you could feel yourself shaking.

His lips pressed against yours. His lips were warm, and so soft, and they molded to yours. Your hands jumped up to the back of his head, tangling in his hair. His mouth opened against yours, your tongue tracing his lower lip for a moment.

After what was either a few moments, or a long, wonderful eternity, you broke apart. You swallowed hard. “You wanted to do it because you love me?”

A smile curved across Yarrow’s mouth. He nodded once.

“Oh.” You felt your heart flutter, your stomach tighten. “I love you too.”

Yarrow helped you stoke the fire and eased you out of your costume. He allowed you to help with his as well. You found yourself tracing your fingers along his smooth skin. He even allowed you to brush out his hair, sitting quiet and contemplative as you smoothed the brush over his head again and again.

Your bed was cold, as usual when you slipped inside. You shivered, tugging the blankets around you. “Ugh.”

There was the sound of movement from across the room. You looked over to see Yarrow standing in the doorway, thin nightclothes draped over his slender body. He swept across the room to your bed.

“Hey,” you said. “Need something?”

Yarrow lifted up the covers and, before you could really process what he was doing, he was snuggled next to you. He was warm, radiating heat like a furnace. You moved closer to him automatically. His legs tangled with yours and you felt his hands settle around you. He made a quiet noise of contentment in his chest.

Finally warm and overwhelmingly content, you buried your face into his chest and hugged him. One of his hands trailed slowly up and down your back, soothing you into sleep.

#exophilia #Fae #Fae boyfriend #monster boyfriend #fairy #Yarrow #halloween #OCxOC #mXf

[tsuraiwrites]

"I’m better, now that you’re here.” (for fenders if you have time!)

thank you so much for the prompt @protect-him! for @dadrunkwriting

Fic: Alone No Longer

It’s with no small amount of trepidation that Anders knocks on the door to Fenris’ mansion – and how strange, to think of it as Fenris’ now that the specter of his former master has stopped hanging over it. Before this evening the same elf ripped that former master’s heart out of his chest, only barely refraining from repeating the action with his sister before Hawke interfered. 

In all truth, neither Anders nor Justice had felt compelled to step between Fenris and her impending death, not when the woman had clearly betrayed her brother to Danarius, and for what? He’d never met the magister, only heard of him from Fenris’ tales, and even from that sliver Anders could have told Varania that he would never take an elf on as an apprentice. 

Nevertheless, she had believed it, and led Fenris right into Danarius’ clutches in the process. If Fenris had not thought to tell Hawke about his suspicions, if he’d gone to meet Varania alone…

Justice writhes under his skin, always so angry these days, but the mere thought of Fenris dragged off by a magister is enough to send them both into a towering rage. Anders takes a long, deep breath in an attempt to settle down, but only seeing Fenris has made it back to the mansion in one piece is going to calm him – calm them both.

Anders knocks again, this time with the butt end of his staff in a manner that he knows from experience will reverberate throughout the mansion annoyingly. In the distance, a muffled crash and faint cursing that makes his lips tip up in a smile.

“Damn it, Hawke, I already told you–” Fenris wrenches the door open, pausing halfway as he takes Anders in; a scowl plasters itself across the elf’s face. “Mage. Stop grinning at me, it’s repulsive.” 

“Come on, you know Hawke would have barged in after the first knock,” Anders says, grinning wider and feeling his cheeks begin to hurt. 

Maker, how long has it been since he smiled like this? He feels in good humor, if sore from the earlier fight. Fenris frowns harder, but nonetheless lets Anders push past him into the foyer. He casts a look around, but everything is the same as always, from the cobwebs to the desiccated corpses still littering the entryway. Fenris motions him onward with a jerk of his head, and together they head toward the kitchen – the only room besides the master bedroom Fenris bothers occupying in this dilapidated dwelling. 

“Why are you here?” 

“Well, you didn’t let me check on you after the fight.” Anders has always been bad at lying – some cue constantly giving him away. There must be something in his voice because Fenris looks back over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. Anders hurries to continue. “Also, I wanted to ask you about your plans.”

“Plans?” Fenris stops in his tracks before they can cross the kitchen threshold, so suddenly Anders nearly runs into his back. He takes half a step back when Fenris turns, but the lack of space between them makes Fenris’ burning gaze all the more intense when it lands.

“What you plan to do now.” Anders hums and elaborates: “Your former master is dead and no one is hunting you. You could go anywhere, do anything! You could scrounge up some gold and buy farmland in Fereldan under the King’s new laws, for example.” 

Fenris’ lip draws back in a moue of disgust.

“You truly think I would be happy as a mud farmer?”

“Fereldan isn’t all mud. There are a few places where it doesn’t rain constantly.”

“A few. I see,” Fenris says flatly.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you avoiding answering the question,” Anders teases.

“And I don’t see how it’s any of your business!” Fenris growls, and Anders’ grin falls at the sudden shift in mood. His shoulders draw tight as he fights not to hunch down when the words sink in. 

He knows – he knows it’s been a Maker-damned stressful day for all of them, Fenris especially. But part of him instinctively wants to go back to comfortable anger in response, back to that tooth-baring back and forth they were famous for before they were something– something that apparently doesn’t matter to Fenris in this moment. Wants to snarl back with words he can make all the more cutting for their recent… intimacy. 

“No, of course not,” Anders hears himself say, and turns.

“Mage,” Fenris says, but Anders ignores him, heading toward the door. “Anders, wait,” he calls out, voice rising. 

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to bother you about your business,” he snaps, forgetting his resolve from just a moment ago. “After all, it doesn’t matter to me whether you plan to stay or leave!”

Anders is a terrible liar – his voice cracks down the middle of the statement. 

Mortified, Anders hastens his pace but is hardly surprised when a hand settles on his arm, grip unyielding in turning Anders around. Anders doesn’t fight it, lets Fenris use his momentum to spin him around and press him against the closest wall, one hand fisting in Anders’ robes.

Contrary to the snarl he half-expects, irritation has been wiped from Fenris’ face, his intense green eyes staring into Anders’ with the weight of expectation. 

“Tell me why it matters to you,” Fenris demands, voice low and heated.

“Tell you– tell you why I care? Did you miss the whole…” he motions at the scant space between them, the hand still clutching his robe, the way they are already leaning into one another, Fenris’ head raised and Anders’ lowered. They both pause to consider the position, the easy way Anders acquiesced to being pushed against the damn wall by a person easily capable of ripping out his heart with his bare hands. Even in the face of Fenris’ anger, Anders hadn’t felt afraid of being hurt by him for even a moment.

Maker, but he is so fucked. 

Fenris is silent for a moment, watching that realization play across Anders’ face. He has no idea what expression he’s making, but Fenris’ fist unfurls, his grip on the coat gentling until a bare palm lies flat against Anders’ chest. Anders imagines he can feel the heat of his hand through the thinning fabric. 

“I was not sure that you would care. I have heard things from Isabela–” Fenris starts, stops when Anders carefully sets his hand over Fenris’.

“I can guess what you’ve heard. I haven’t slept around casually since– well, not for a long time.” He swallows, hesitates, but forces himself to swallow around the tightness in his throat. “And I know we haven’t… really spoken about it, but this isn’t that.”

“No, it is not,” Fenris murmurs. 

That immediate affirmation sends relief pouring through him, and Anders struggles not to slump against the wall from the force of it. His fingers flex and spread under Anders’ hand, almost inviting, and Anders takes the opportunity to lace their fingers together.

The angle is awkward, but Anders’ fingers curling into Fenris’ warm palm feel almost more intimate than some of their sexual encounters. He can’t bite back the plea in his voice when he asks his next question.

“Are you going to stay in Kirkwall?” With me, he doesn’t say. It doesn’t seem to matter, Fenris clearly understands. 

“Yes,” Fenris answers, and kisses him.

-

Some time later, they lie sated in Fenris’ large bed, a fire blazing merrily in the fireplace across the room.

“How are you doing, really? I mean, the whole ‘sister betrayed you for a scam’ is not something you hoped for when you wrote her,” Anders murmurs against the elf’s sweat-damp brow.

Fenris snorts.

“You tread over sensitive topics with the delicacy of a bronto, but… I am better, now that you are here.” So saying, he pulls the heavy blanket over them, wrapping an arm around Anders’ waist as he burrows his face further into Anders’ neck. “Sleep, mage.” 

And Anders eventually does.

#fic #dragon age #anders/fenris #fenders #not beta read #wordsarethebonesofmylovers

[15-dogs]

Hi! 💕 if its okay, could i request a George x fem!reader with the prompts 2 and 17 (fluff) from the list 3?

ginger snaps |g.w.|

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

summary: forgiveness is best served with a side of cookies

prompts:  “Aw, you’re so cute.” and “You promised me a cookie!”

warnings: none

guide: (Y/N) = your name, prompts are bolded

word count: 1711

a/n: aaa I meant to get this out WAY sooner but I’m finally finished so wooo hope you like it!!

You glanced up from your Potions essay for the hundredth time that evening to see your boyfriend, George, staring at you. You rolled your eyes with a groan in mock frustration as you slammed your quill against the table. You could feel the glares from the other studying students in the library, causing you to wince at the just-too-loud noise that you made.

“You best be quiet, love,” he teased.

“It’s your fault, George!”

George clutched his chest, feigning hurt. “Me?” he gasped. “How could it be?”

You glanced around the room before leaning in towards George. Your eyes narrowed in on him as you poked him in the chest. He stared down at your finger, raising his brows at the action that was meant to intimidate him.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he tapped your nose. “Aw, you’re so cute.”

You jerked back from him, pretending that your cheeks weren’t tinged pink. Curse that boy and his ability to make you flustered like no one else. “No, I’m not. I’m...I’m…”

“Cute?” he offered.

“Yes-...wait, no!” 

You ran a hand through your hair as you contemplated what to say next. The silence was filled by stifled snickers from George. Your eyes finally snapped up to his, alight with an idea. His laughter died out instantly as he recognized the little expression that was plastered on your face.

“Georgie?”

“Yes, love?”

“Remember a few weeks back when I made those cookies that you just absolutely loved?”

George’s eyes widened as he nodded furiously while recalling the memory; it was his birthday so you made him these fantastic ginger snaps that he couldn’t get enough of. 

“You said that you only make them on special occasions.”

You picked up your quill, your eyes focusing back on your essay. “If you do your work and let me do mine, I’ll bake them for you tonight.”

George’s eyes lit up like a child on Christmas. He pecked your cheek and warmth washed over you at the feeling. As annoying as he could be sometimes, George sure could be sweet. And he knew it too. He knew that if he just looked at you lovingly for a minute, you’d be distracted.

About an hour went by and you were nearly done with your essay, distraction free, when you felt George’s amber eyes on you again. You glanced up and his eyes snapped down to his paper. You bit back laughter as you resumed your work.

And then it happened again. You could feel his stare and, when you looked up, he looked away. At one point you weren’t entirely sure whether you found him annoying or you were swooning. Either way, you weren’t particularly shocked by his behavior, just surprised that he would forfeit free, homemade cookies.

The pattern continued a few more times before you stopped him. You slammed your quill down on the table in frustration, catching your inkwell before you knocked it over as Madam Pince shushed you from the front of the library. 

“George, what are you doing?”

He looked up at you with wide eyes. “Now, love, I thought we agreed not to be distracting!”

“We did! Now why are you distracting me?”

“Distracting you? You’re distracting me!”

You scoffed. “Now how’s that?”

“Because you’re just so beautiful that I can’t look away.”

Your heart swelled but you did your best not to let it show. You were positive that George noticed the blush that coated your cheeks, though, and that only made you more embarrassed.

“See? How could I look away when my girlfriend is just too beautiful?”

“Quit it,” you grumbled, feigning annoyance.

“I’ll try my best, love, but there’s no say that I will.”

And so you tried, and by Merlin you tried, to focus on your work, but George has that wicked way about him where every word, every glance, leaves butterflies in your stomach to the point where you can’t focus on anything else. He knew he had that affect over you, too. He knew because of the way you’d blush and stutter, he knew because of the way you’d tell him to bugger off with a slight smile on your lips, but in that moment, he knew because you kept rereading the same sentence over and over again for about 5 minutes straight.

Finally, your frustrations hit an all time high, causing you to huff and stand up from the desk. George looked up at you with wide eyes, mischief glinting in them.

“What’s the matter?” he asked innocently.

“Take a guess, George.”

You gathered your things and made your way out of the library. You heard the scrambling of papers being mashed together and shoes padding at great haste from carpet onto stone tiling behind you. You glanced over your shoulder as George caught up to you, straightening out his robes.

“Are you going to make the cookies?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, George-

“You promised me a cookie!”

“-I barely got a thing done because of you!”

“Oh,” he sighed softly.

You looked up at George, suddenly feeling quite guilty about your sharpness. You let out a breath, your eyes shutting for a moment. “I’m not mad at you, Georgie.” He gave you a pointed look. “What? I’m not, I swear!”

“Honest? Because you’re giving that look that mum gives Fred and I, well, all the time.”

You cracked a smile, easing George’s anxieties. “No, I’m not mad. I’m just frustrated that I can’t get anything done.”

“So you’re not mad?” he clarified. You shook your head, a laugh on the tip of your tongue.

“No, I’m not mad. I’m just going to head up to the dorms and try to work alone, if that’s okay?”

George felt his heart sink a little— maybe he did take things just a tiny bit too far. He put on a smile as he tugged you in for a hug, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. You gave him a shy smile and a meek wave as you left George to his swarming thoughts.

As he watched you round the corner and disappear from sight, he knew he had to apologize. He scoured his mind, wondering how to fix the mess he so clearly caused. So he thought about you, thought about what you would do for him.

Then— as good ideas usually do— it struck him like it had been the most obvious thing in his mind. No wasting time with that apology. As Bill always told him (though he’d pretend not to listen), if you know that you’re wrong, there’s no use in waiting to say sorry.

***

You sat in the common room as it was far more comfortable (and empty) than your dorm. Finally done with your essay, you looked over it one last time before putting it away. Your eyes were tired from looking over the homework repeatedly, feeling like you never want to look at another piece of parchment again.

As soon as you sat a few hours ago, a pit had formed in your stomach. Perhaps you’d been too harsh with George; he was just goofing off and you went off on your own. You had decided that as soon as you finished your essay that you’d head down to the kitchens and bake those ginger snaps that you had promised him earlier.

A few minutes later, you put your essay away and gathered your things as you exited the common room. You snuck into the kitchens with ease but nearly dropped your things from fright when you heard an unfamiliar noise in the back.

“What was that?” you whispered to a house elf.

The little elf known as Pipsy pointed towards a figure at the station which you normally bake at. “Master George is having a few difficulties at the moment.”

“Master George?” you repeated incredulously. George’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice.

“(Y/N)?”

“Thank you, Pipsy,” you said before joining George. You rolled your sleeves up and grimaced at the mess he had made. “What’s going on here?”

He frowned. “An attempt.”

“At what?” 

“Ginger snaps, I believe?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the little bits of flour on his face and molasses coated fingers. You snatched a rag off of a rack beside you and cleaned him up. His eyes fell shut with bliss at your fingers carefully brushing off the extra ingredients from his cheek. 

Once his face was cleaned, you popped up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He opened his eyes, grabbing you lightly by the jaw to place a chaste kiss against your lips. The tips of his ears turned red as he never was truly quite used to kissing someone as wonderful as you.

“May I ask what compelled you to make ginger snaps?” you asked as you cleaned up his station.

“Just felt bad about distracting you, is all.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, a shy smile finding its way onto his lips. “Why are you here?”

“I guess you could say I felt bad about distracting you, too,” you teased.

George wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, placing a kiss to your temple. “No harm done. Distract me as much as you’d like, my love.”

You rolled your eyes, wiggling out of his grasp as you gathered new ingredients. George eyed you suspiciously, leaning on the counter. You shooed him, pushing him towards the sink with you to wash your hands.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” he questioned, leaning down to catch your eyes.

“Wash up, Georgie! I promised you a cookie, so a cookie is what you’ll be getting.” 

He quirked a brow at your explanation but joined you nonetheless at your station. Your lips curled upwards at his confused demeanor so you motioned for him to stand behind you, taking his hands in yours as you mixed together the ingredients.

From then on, that became a tradition of yours— well, the tradition being you baking cookies while George claimed he was helping by peppering you in kisses every second he could. Although, you were never one to complain.

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