#idk how else to tag the rest and I’m too lazy to look it up so those yup

[pink-booty-butts]

Curry and Cheesecake (Ariel Conroy x Reader Smut)

Pairing: dark!Ariel Conroy x fem!Reader

Word Count: 7,168

Summary: Ariel is desperate for you to tell him what you want to make you happy after he kidnapped you.

Warnings: minors, please go read something else!! there is smut. dark, pls don’t read if you don’t like. creepy ariel. bro, he kidnapped you. stockholm syndrome is the vibe. he’s pretty sweet in most of this, but he’s still crazy and obsessive so you’ve been warned!! choking. lots of cuss words. kinda degrading but mostly praise. orgasm denial. unprotected sex bc im too lazy to write about condoms.

A/N: this is for the nugget gang, tagging @demontoucansam​ per request!! this fic is so long it’s my magnum opus. also the diner is in reference to the singular denny’s in the entire UK, which is in wales. i really want to go there and compare it to US denny’s haha. i’m so sorry if this sucks, i’ve been working on it for a while and i feel like idk how to fix it anymore so now i’m just posting it lol

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You stare at the ceiling for a few more seconds before you slowly turn your head to the sound of footsteps coming down the basement stairs. Ariel smiles when you look at him, and continues walking towards you.

“I’m back my love,” he coos as he crouches down next to your laying form. “I brought your favorite,” he says hopefully, bringing the plastic bag in his hand up to your eye level. You stare at him with drooped eyelids—trying to express as little amusement as possible—despite the pleasant scent of garlic naan and curry wafting to your nose. A corner of Ariel’s mouth twitches down in disappointment, but he maintains his composure. He sits down on the floor with his back against your bed frame, though it's so low to the ground it barely reaches the middle of his spine. It creaks a little as he does so, the rusty poles not enjoying the pressure of his weight resting against them. He unties the plastic bag, beginning to separate his food from yours.

You sit up and calmly swing your legs to the edge of the bed, desperately trying to maintain your facade of displeasure as you sit next to him on the floor. Though you did genuinely hate being kept in Ariel’s basement, it had been a while since he brought you food that he hadn’t made himself. He was very insistent on you eating properly to maintain your health, but despite his painstaking efforts to cook dishes you would enjoy, you would reject all of it. Refusing to let you die of starvation, Ariel began force-feeding you with nutritional smoothies, an often upsetting experience he had to participate in every morning as you thrashed around trying to get away from him. At a loss with what to do, Ariel hoped that bringing you food from your favorite restaurant would get you to eat without him having to do that again today.

Ariel’s eyes widen, relishing in the simple act of you moving closer to him of your own free will. He opens the take-out container with your curry in it and places it on your lap, along with a plastic fork provided by the restaurant. He stares at your face expectantly, lifting his elbow to rest on the mattress as he waits for you to take a bite of your food. Once again, you’re trying to maintain an air of disinterest and avoid giving him the satisfaction of seeing you enjoy yourself. However, it’s been weeks since you ate anything vaguely resembling normal human food. With all you’ve had to endure, you decide to let your guard down and accept this meal as a treat for yourself for hanging in there so far. You tear a piece of naan lazily, scooping up the aromatic curry as unenthusiastically as possible, while mentally praising the heavens for being able to eat such delicious food again.

Ariel watches you eat for a while, delighting in the sight of you eating without him having to force your mouth open or hear you cry uncontrollably. He carefully observes you chewing your food, his eyes not missing the tiniest, slightest hint of a crinkle in your eyes displaying your enjoyment as you swallow. He sighs blissfully, the simple micro-expression causing a wave of pleasure to roll over him. Though he still wishes you would thank him for what he’s done for you, he’s confident you’ll make it up to him once you give up your childish act of pretending to not be madly in love with him.

Ariel turns his head down to his food, finally beginning to eat the curry he picked out for himself. Ariel was typically a rice-with-curry kind of man, seeing as he found the whole ‘eating with your hands’ thing to be rather messy and unsanitary. However, he elected for naan this time as well, hoping that with this small gesture perhaps you would see how much effort he is willing to put in for you.

“Tomorrow, I’ll bring you breakfast from that American diner you like,” Ariel announces, trying to make his voice as gentle-sounding as possible to prevent from upsetting you.

“The one in Wales? It’ll be cold by the time you come back,” you respond automatically, before cursing yourself for not being able to prevent the words spilling from your lips. Damn Ariel for bringing your favorite curry from your favorite restaurant!

Ariel’s face lights up in glee. This is the longest sentence you’ve said to him since he kidnapped you! Not only that, it has nothing to do with you begging him to let you go or to see your family. His chest swells with pride that he came up with the idea to bring you your favorite food, and he makes a mental note to bring you more of your favorite things in the future.

“No silly,” he grins. “I know that one is your actual favorite, but you’re right, it would be cold by the time I come back. I was thinking of the one near your old job that you used to go to that’s similar.”

You give an imperceptible nod and continue to eat your curry. Ariel frowns, he got so excited hearing the sound of your beautiful voice speaking to him, and now you were back to giving him the silent treatment. He feels a pang in his heart and his self-esteem deflates; feeling inadequate at the idea of not being able to cater to every wish and desire that you could ever ask for. He speaks quickly, hoping to rectify his error and get another response from you.

“W-well,” Ariel starts, stuttering as his throat closes up. He didn’t want to ruin all of his progress with you simply because your favorite diner was too far away. “When you’re feeling better, we’ll drive over there, yeah?” He takes off the rubber glove of the hand closest to you, and moves his hand to touch your clothed thigh. His touch is barely perceptible, his fingers dancing along your leg in an effort to reassure you. You flinch, and Ariel removes his hand from your leg, sighing dejectedly.

You begin eating again, deigning to not respond to Ariel’s proposal. There’s no way in hell you’d willingly go anywhere with him, so you’ve resigned yourself to the possibility of being locked up in his basement forever. As you munch on your food in silence, Ariel looks down at his styrofoam plate of curry and naan intensely, as if it holds the key to how to get you to fall in love with him again. His face tightens in anger and frustration, not knowing what else he could do to stop you from being so stubborn. The anger quickly dissipates, knowing he can’t be upset with you for too long because of his love for you.

“Tell me what to do,” he demands, causing you to stop chewing mid-bite. He was still staring into the abyss of the charred bubbles on his naan, but he turns to face you with his next sentence. “Tell me what you want to make you happy. I’ll do anything.” There is a certain desperation in his voice, and it almost makes you feel bad that you’ve reduced him to such a pathetic state. At the end of the day though, it’s still Ariel, and his voice is as domineering and forceful as it always is.

“Anything?” you question. You want to know if he truly means it, or if this is simply frustration due to your lack of a response to his elaborate fantasy of going on a road trip to Wales.

Ariel’s face brightens in relief at the sound of your voice escaping from your lips. “Yes,” he responds immediately, desperate to hear you speak to him again. “Anything,” he repeats, though this time it has a darker undertone to it.

You suspect the answer will be no, but decide to hedge your bets on the possibility of a yes. Though Ariel has been exceptionally obsessed with trying to please you since he’s kidnapped you, everything he’s provided you with thus far has been based on estimations due to your relationship before this. He’s never asked you what you wanted, most likely because it would be an admission that he doesn’t always know what’s best for you, or that he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does. Perhaps this request was a breakthrough.

“I want to leave.”

“Except that,” he scolds, glaring at you as if you should know better than to ask him such a thing.

“Then don’t ask me what I want if you won’t actually give it to me!” you exclaim in frustration, your hands shooting up to flail above your head. Your sudden movement causes your container of curry to wobble over your outstretched legs, but you quickly bring your hands down to steady it and prevent it from splattering over the floor. This curry was a brief taste of the outside world since you’ve been stuck here; you refused to let it go to waste.

Ariel’s face scrunches up. His mind races as he frantically tries to prevent you from getting more upset with him. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he apologizes sincerely. “I’ll give you anything you want except that.”

You groan in disappointment and let your head fall against the mattress behind you. Your eyes close tightly; you were really trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. His question gave you the briefest glimmer of hope of finally escaping and it was snatched away in an instant. Your eyes start to well up with tears, helplessly not knowing what else you could do in this situation.

Ariel sighs sadly at the sight of you, knowing that he was the cause of your current state. You were so happy just minutes ago, he should have not said anything more after you finally spoke to him. He just couldn’t help himself, he was so desperately in love with you and your response was a drop of water reaching his lips after struggling through a desert. He should’ve accepted it and moved on; where one drop of water appeared meant that there were more to be found nearby. Now he feels like he’s been trapped in a sandstorm and carried all of the way back to his original starting point.

The two of you stay like this for a few more moments. Ariel’s mind is screaming at him, wishing he could force you to see that he is doing all of this because he loves you, and the thought of you seeing him as an uncaring monster pains him deeply. You sit there in silence. After a little while longer, Ariel knows that this disagreement has most likely put you off your food, so he closes his take-out container and puts it back in the plastic bag. He slowly and gently removes your take-out container from its place on your thighs, hoping that if he refrains from sudden movements he won’t upset you further. Ariel puts yours on top of his in the bag, and then ties the handles into a bow and stands up from his seated position. He brushes the back of his trousers, hoping to stall for a while longer in hopes of you saying something. He looks down at you again, disappointed that you are still choosing to ignore him.

“I’ll be back in a few,” he tells you, sounding like a puppy that was just kicked by its owner. His tone causes your eyebrows to furrow angrily. How dare he speak like that as if this is your fault?

Ariel waits a few seconds for a response to his statement, but turns around once he realizes he will get no such thing from you. He walks back up the stairs and into his kitchen, setting the bag of take-out on the kitchen counter with a disappointing flop. He washes his hands in the kitchen sink, looking around his empty home. His place was filled with comfortable furniture, as well as various photos and trinkets, most of which he collected from the apartment you used to live in as an attempt to make you feel more comfortable. There were only a couple boxes left of your things that he still had to unpack, but they were mostly filled with your clothing. Ariel hadn’t unpacked them yet because he was still sorting through them; he was only intent on keeping things he bought for you or things that you bought specifically to impress him. His home didn’t feel cold and empty due to a lack of material items, but rather due to a lack of you. He blissfully daydreams about past memories; the two of you cuddling on his couch watching movies, him fucking you on his countertops after cooking and eating dinner together, and waking up next your sleeping form every morning. He smiles to himself while shaking the excess water off his hands and drying them with a kitchen towel. Ariel feels invigorated in knowing that—despite your current reluctance—the two of you will return to such things soon enough, he just has to be patient.

You sigh in relief once Ariel goes back upstairs, enjoying the comforting presence of your own solitude. You wish the two of you could go back to how it was before, though you’re not sure that you would want to after all of this. Pre-kidnapping you loved him so dearly, despite his clear abandonment issues and possessive tendencies. At the time, you didn’t think much of it—if anything you relished in it. You had always been fiercely independent, and as such you felt a constant pressure to be strong and not show your weaknesses. Deep down all you ever wanted was for someone to tell you that you didn’t have to be strong all the time; that it was okay to let your guard down and just relax sometimes. When you met Ariel you felt like all your wishes were granted, as you saw his constant desire to be near you a small price to pay for what you received in return. Now all you can do is feel regret.

Ariel places the bag of leftovers in the fridge, right next to the cheesecake you had made him for his birthday. Your cheesecake was one of the only birthday presents he’s ever received in his entire life, and you went through the effort to make it yourself, just for him. There were still a few slices remaining since Ariel was trying to stretch it out for as long as possible, knowing it might be a while before you made him another one. He briefly considers having a slice of it now, as he tended to indulge in it whenever you were being particularly difficult. It was a way for him to remind himself of the love you clearly had for him, a reminder he so desperately needed after the past few weeks.

Instead, he decides to take out your favorite juice and pour it into a plastic cup, knowing you hadn’t had anything to drink since before he left to get food for you. He pours himself a glass of water and downs it quickly, tossing the glass in the sink once he is finished. Then he picks up your filled cup from the counter, breathing in deeply before opening the door to the basement again.

You let out a sharp exhale of air after hearing the basement door swing open and his footsteps coming towards you again. Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? You see him holding a plastic yellow cup and roll your eyes. On any other day perhaps you would’ve yelled at him and tossed it in his face, but if your earlier conversation was anything to go by, you were tired of this entire situation and all you wanted was to go back to sleep and pretend like nothing was happening. You take the cup from him silently, taking a few sips and then setting the cup down next to you. You expect him to leave at this point but he doesn’t. Instead, he looks down at you expectantly.

“…What?” you finally spit out after a few moments of silence. You didn’t want to acknowledge him at all. In fact, you wanted him to leave as soon as possible. Unfortunately, you knew Ariel well enough to know when he wanted something from you. You start praying he’ll tell you whatever it is soon, so that you can go back to pretending like he doesn’t exist.

Ariel’s mouth turns upward, extremely pleased at you initiating a conversation with him. Seeing as you’re still sitting on the floor against the bed, he decides to plop down next to you again. He’s significantly closer this time though, so that your thighs are brushing against each other. He wraps his arms around your waist, slowly pulling you closer to him and breathing you in. You try to pull away from him, but unfortunately your strength is no match for his desperation. “I love you,” he mumbles into your neck as if it will somehow soothe you. “I just want us to be happy together.”

“We were happy, Ariel! I was happy, and then you kidnapped me!” you yell.

Ariel rests his head on your shoulder as he brings one of his hand up to your neck, fiddling with the collar of your shirt. “I’m just trying to protect you,” he explains. “There are a lot of people who want to take you from me.”

“Oh my god, you’re insane,” you groan, bringing your hands to cover your face. You attempt to reason with him. “Ariel, please just… let me go. We can go back to how things used to be, I’ll forget this ever happened. We can still be together, I promise,” you plead.

“I can’t, you’ll try to run from me again.” He sighs, before chuckling. “Though I don’t know why you bother, both of us know there’s nowhere you can go where I won’t find you.” Ariel presses a kiss to your neck, intent on it being just the one, but he has never been able to resist you. He continues kissing your skin; his arousal growing as he recalls all the previous times he would do this and you would become putty in his hands.

“E-exactly!” you say quickly, trying to shove out the same memories from your own mind. Though you were disgusted at him for touching you right now, there was another part of you that was reacting on muscle memory. Your cheeks start to go a light shade of pink, and you swear you can feel your heart skipping a few beats. “Why bother kidnapping me when you always know where I am anyways?” You start internally screaming at yourself, hoping if you can do so loud enough you can prevent your inappropriate thoughts from coming to the surface.

He pauses his kisses to respond, allowing his lips to brush against your collarbone as he speaks. “Because it’s not enough,” he tells you, his grip around your waist tightening. “You should be within arms reach at all times.”

His response triggers something within you that causes tears to start falling across your face. Maybe it was the fact that you can’t seem to be able to reason with him anymore, or the realization that there’s no escape from him. You sob quietly, and Ariel shifts his body to start rubbing soothing circles into your back. You don’t even have the energy to be disgusted anymore. Your torso falls against his, and you sob into his shoulder in surrender.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, trying to comfort you despite his internal elation at you pressed against him willingly. “I’ll take such good care of you.”

You continue crying, wishing you were able to comprehend how someone could be so mentally screwed that they perceive this situation as a positive one. You want nothing more than to go to sleep—to forget how fucked your situation is—but unluckily you were wide awake with the realization that the sweet and caring boyfriend you once had was an absolute psychopath, and you’ve fallen far too deep into his grasp for any hope of escape. You briefly wonder what the breaking point was for him to decide to kidnap you, and the memory of his birthday from a few weeks ago briefly flashes across your mind. He was practically bouncing up and down at the cheesecake you had made for him that day. At the time you just thought Ariel was grateful you made him something with your own hands, but now you wonder if your gift unlocked something darker within him.

Little do you know, it did. Ariel already had uncontrollable thoughts when it came to you, his casual possessiveness was merely a contained form of his deep desire to own every part of you. However, when you gave him that cheesecake, something clicked. No one had ever given him a present before, much less make one. He vividly remembers the look on your face when you gave it to him, an excited-yet-nervous expression hoping that he would enjoy it after all of the time you spent on it. When he saw you like that—so desperate for his approval and so in love with him—he knew he could never let you go.

With your nose pressed against Ariel’s shoulder, you involuntarily smell his familiar scent. Before all of this, the smell of him always brought you comfort. You were able to get through so many tiring days because of him; excited at the prospect of being able to fall into his comfortable embrace upon return. Over the past few days the smell of him disgusted you more and more, as if his cologne was tainted with the stink of the betrayal of your trust. In this moment, however, that stink is nowhere to be found.

Your tired mind needs that familiar comfort so desperately that it conjures up the possibility of surrendering to him. If you weren’t so exhausted and upset, maybe it would be easier to deny that nagging feeling. But as your tears flowed freely, so too did the thought of continuing to resist it.

“You said you’d give me anything I want, right?” you ask hesitantly, your question muffled against his thick sweater and your pooling tears.

“Of course, babe,” he responds, laying his head on top of yours and pulling you further into his lap. Your legs were a tangled mess resting above his, so he removes a hand from your back to adjust them so you are straddling him. He contentedly smiles at your compliance, enjoying the familiar feeling of this position as he brings his hand to your back again.

You sobs begin to slow down as you internally war with yourself. You want to go back to how things were when Ariel was your mostly-normal boyfriend. It’s too late for that, but perhaps you can forget for a short while. You mentally curse yourself for your thoughts, knowing that even though this want was born out of a need for mental protection, it was opening a potentiality for your full cooperation with him. You didn’t want to do that, but if this was what your life was going to be, you felt you deserved to at least have some say; some semblance of control. If you could never truly escape him, perhaps it would be enough for you to be able to live with yourself.

“I want you to fuck me,” you let out, feeling relief wash over you. You still felt dirty and ashamed, but at least something would be on your terms now. You were briefly grateful in the knowledge that Ariel was a spectacular lover, as your desire to forget about everything would definitely be achieved with his incessant need to pleasure you until your breaking point.

Ariel grins widely, his nerves electrifying with excitement at your statement. Today had been a rollercoaster with you. One moment he was hoping for the smallest word from you, and now here you were asking him to have sex. He puts his hands on your shoulders and pulls you slightly away from him so he can look at your face, wanting to make sure he heard you correctly.

“Really?” he asks, failing to hide the pure euphoria in his voice. You bite your lip at the feeling of his length rapidly hardening beneath you, but nod your head quickly in response. It’s barely been a few seconds, and already you feel yourself excited at the opportunity to forget how absolutely horrible everything is for a while.

Ariel’s smile widens further. He practically laughs, positively elated at the unexpected outcome of today. He removes a hand from his back to push down against the concrete floor, readjusting his body so that he is sitting up straighter. As he does so, you smash your lips against his desperately, not wanting to wait any longer for the promise of forgetting. Unaware of your motives, Ariel chuckles into your kiss and tugs your neck harshly towards him; pressing your hips against his with his other hand. He wants you to feel how hard he is, as if it would demonstrate how completely you affect him.

The seam of his jeans rubs against your covered slit and it causes you to whimper, allowing Ariel to quickly slip his tongue into your mouth. He practically groans into you, the familiar feeling of his tongue exploring your mouth causing an overwhelming wave of relief to wash over him. The past few days have been absolute torture for Ariel. The last time he went without your touch for so long was back when he was doing research and just observing you, prior to your first date. He pulls your face closer to him, desperate for you to be as close as humanly possible to him. His hips involuntarily buck between your open legs, unable to control himself at the thought of being inside of you again. You moan again, and his fingertips dig into your skull as he tries to smash you against him. This was the part you loved most of all when having sex with Ariel, it always felt like he could never get enough of you and was constantly desperate for more.

You feel the large hand around your waist begin to fiddle with the band of your sweatpants, his thumb slipping through as his remaining fingers tightened around your hip bone. His nails dug into your skin, trying to get a tighter grip on your waist so that he could continue moving your hips along his length without moving his other hand from your head. His thumb roams around your smooth skin purposefully, searching for the elastic band of your underwear. He tugs on it harshly to provide you with more friction.

All thoughts about your kidnapping had completely left your mind at this point, despite the two of you still being on the floor of your concrete prison. All you could think about was Ariel and his obsessive desire to please you, and you were so caught up in it that you wanted to please him too. You bring one of your hands to his hair, tangling your fingers and tugging on them lightly to show him your appreciation, as was customary for the two of you. He quietly groans at the act and a deep chuckle reveberates through his body in satisfaction. Your other hand rests on his shoulder for support, despite Ariel doing most of the work for you right now.

Ariel moves the hand from your neck to your waist, seeing as you are plenty capable of maintaining the closeness of your passionate kisses. His thumb rubs small, gentle circles into the skin of your waist, before snaking his hand up your shirt to your clothed breast. He squeezes it, enjoying the weight of it in his hand. His thumb passes over your clothed nipple a few times, causing it to harden. You moan into Ariel’s mouth, and his fingers move away from your breast to the clasp of your bra. He unhooks it expertly, before moving his hand back to your breast to play with it again, this time underneath your loosened bra. The warmth of his hand in contrast to your cold skin shocks you, but it causes you to lean into him further, wanting nothing more than to melt into him and have your bodies be indistinguishable from one another. Ariel continues fondling your breast and nipple, tugging on it harshly every now and then.

You reluctantly remove your mouth from his, gasping for breath as the two of you had been making out without pause for ages. Ariel reluctantly opens his eyes once you do so, smirking at the sight of your disheveled state and swollen lips. He moves his hand to your neglected breast, and you inhale sharply due to the sudden attention being applied to it. Ariel shifts forward to bring his face closer to yours, causing his cock to rub against your mound again. By this point you were positively soaked, and Ariel was well aware of that.

The hand on your breast moves to your waist, trailing down to grab your butt cheek harshly as he pulls you closer. His other hand—still on your waist—moves to continue his ministrations on your breast, effectively switching the placement of his hands. The hand on your ass squeezes hard, and you understand this to be a silent demand to hold on, so you wrap your hands around his neck as he stands. He tosses you on the bed somewhat forcefully which causes the rusty frame to creak again. Ariel smirks seductively at your laying form before removing his sweater in one swift movement, leaving him shirtless. His hands move to his belt to unbuckle his trousers, and as you look down to follow them you see a rather large wet spot between his legs. You blush shyly, looking down to your sweatpants and seeing a similarly shaped spot there as well. Ariel chuckles at your embarrassment as he removes his belt and throws it on the ground. He then crawls on top of you with just his boxers on.

He rests his body weight against you, pressing his length into you harshly. You moan louder this time, the lack of obstruction from his thick jeans allowing you to feel so much more of him despite your sweatpants still being on. His forearm moves to the side of your head as he leans his upper body weight against it, and he presses his lips against yours for the second time today. His other hand moves to the bottom of your shirt and tugs it upward; impatient to see more of you. He separates his mouth from yours and looks down at you intensely as he pulls your shirt further up. You lift your back off the mattress and raise your arms, allowing him to pull your shirt completely off you. You fall back on the mattress and you swear you can see his patience thinning as more of you is revealed to him. Ariel tears your loose bra off and throws it as though it offended him, admiring you intently after having not seen this much of your skin in so long.

Ariel trails his hands slowly along the expanses of skin he just uncovered. He shivers at the feeling of your soft skin underneath his fingertips and briefly considers keeping you naked at all times so he never has to go without it. He bends back over you to bring his mouth to one of your breasts, sucking it harshly as the other is attended to by his hand. Your soft moans and whimpers are music to Ariel’s ears as he uses his free hand to violently tug your sweatpants down. You raise your hips off the mattress to help him, allowing him to pull them past your knees. He moves his mouth away from your breast to yank them completely off your legs, before staring down at your clothed mound as he sits on his ankles. His eyes widen in glee, the only thing separating him from being inside you is a flimsy piece of fabric that does little to hide your arousal.

He brings both of his hands to your waist, his tongue darting out to lick his lips in anticipation. He slips them both underneath the band of your underwear, pulling it away from you, leaving you completely bare before him. He looks back up to your face, wishing he could keep you in this position for the rest of his life. He delicately brings one of his hands to your uncovered slit, gently allowing his index finger to caress it. He smiles as your eyebrows furrow slightly, proud that his light touch can cause such a reaction. Once he gathers more of your wetness on his finger, he pushes it inside of you, gazing at you as your mouth opens in pleasure. He pumps his finger in and out of you slowly, enjoying the reactions he is able to extract from you. Ariel brings his free hand to rest next to your head, pushing another finger inside of you as he leans down to capture your lips with his own.

You bring your hands up to the base of Ariel’s neck, pulling him down as he kisses you. You moan into his mouth while he fingers you, which only encourages him to move his fingers faster and harder. Overcome with the need to feel more of him, your legs widen on instinct, allowing him to reach deeper into your walls. Wanting to hear your moans more clearly, Ariel moves his mouth to your neck, pressing open-mouth kisses and lightly biting you intermittently.

As your climax approaches, you feel a sudden pang of guilt at the thought of you cumming all over your kidnapper’s fingers. Your face scrunches in disappointment, and you begin attempting to prevent yourself from doing so. You fear it will only encourage his delusion that you want to be chained to him forever. Ariel mistakes this hesitancy for the assumption that you expect him to deny your orgasm, so he speaks.

“Just let go for me love, you can cum,” he whispers reassuringly in your ear as he kisses your neck. He curls his fingers inside of you and rubs circles in your clit with his thumb a few more times in an attempt to force your orgasm forward. It works, and your previous feeling of guilt is washed away by the comforting aura of bliss. Ariel delights in the sight of you like this beneath him, knowing that no other person on the planet could possibly make you feel as good as he does.

Ariel removes his fingers from you, using his other hand to pull his boxers off one leg at a time. Once you open your eyes he brings his soaked hand to your swollen bottom lip and taps his fingertips lightly against it. The two of you share intense eye contact as you open your mouth and he pushes them inside, darting his eyes away from yours to watch as you lick his fingers clean. His chest heaves as he watches you, the simple act making his stomach churn with excitement. He slowly removes his fingers from your mouth, using that hand to pump his cock a few times before lining it up with your entrance. He buries his face into your neck, biting it harshly to prevent himself from cumming at the euphoric feeling of you stretching around him.

You whine, still sensitive from your recent orgasm. Your legs attempt to close as he enters you, which causes Ariel to roughly grab one of your thighs and press it against your torso, keeping your legs open for him. You gasp for air, struggling to accommodate his size as he pushes further into you. This was Ariel’s favorite part of having sex with you, as it never failed to inflate his ego. No matter how well he prepped you beforehand, it always took some time for you to adjust. Unfortunately it was always a struggle for him as well, as your tight clenching when he entered you always made him want to cum right then and there. Sometimes he did, but this time he had to control himself. Ariel hopes that if he pleasures you well enough tonight it will change things between the two of you.

Once Ariel is fully inside of you, he leans up to kiss your jaw, giving you a minute or two to adjust before he moves. “You always take me so well,” he praises, muttering little ‘I love you’s’ in-between his kisses. Ariel opens his eyes after a few seconds, frowning in annoyance that neither of your hands are touching him. He allows you some leeway on one of your arms, seeing as it’s currently trapped on the other side of your leg that he is still pressing into you. As he lays against you he uses his other arm to grab for your free one, bringing it to the back of his head and encouraging you to tangle your fingers in his hair. Once you do so he begins thrusting in and out of you slowly, wanting to feel as much of you as humanly possible.

Ariel watches your face closely, seeing you shift quickly between pleasure and confusion—though he’s not sure what’s so confusing about him making love to you. Typically he’s a lot rougher with you, but he wanted to go slow this time, seeing as it’s your first time in a while. Not wanting to leave you without a second orgasm, he reluctantly asks, “Do you want me to go faster?”

“Y-yes,” you let out. Though you were still enjoying it, slow, passionate love-making was the last thing you wanted right now. You wanted Ariel to break you into tiny little pieces until you forgot your own name, forgot him taking you away, forgot this basement that he refused to let you out of until he was sure you wouldn’t try to escape. “I told you to fuck me, didn’t I?” you snap at him.

At this, Ariel wraps his hand around your throat, squeezing it lightly. Your narrowed, challenging eyes completely shift into docile submission as you start gasping. Ariel leans down closer to your face, picking up his pace and giving you exactly what you asked for. Moans escape between your desperate breaths, and Ariel’s previous look of adoration and reverence for you is nowhere to be found. Instead, it is replaced with something far more sinister and angry.

“I told you I’d give you anything you want,” he sighs in disappointment as he squeezes your throat tighter. “But don’t forget that I’m still the one in charge here,” he seethes proudly into your ear. “Now apologize for your poor manners like the good girl we both know you are, and maybe I’ll let you cum again.”

“P-please,” you manage out, your hand moving to your neck to try to pry his fingers off you. Ariel refuses, moving the hand previously holding your leg down to your neck as well, harshly pulling your hand away and forcing it down against the mattress. Despite this, he eases the pressure on your neck slightly, allowing you to speak a bit better. “I’m-I’m sorry Ariel,” you gasp. Ariel smiles, pleased with your compliance. He kisses you between moans, moving his hand away from your throat and to your other hand, pushing both of them deeper into the mattress as he continues his sharp thrusts.

“Good,” he praises. “Much better.” He moves one of his hands away from yours, lowering it to your breasts to pinch and pull at your nipples. He alternates between them, pleased at the additional moans coming from you as a result. “Your tits are always so soft,” he tells you, blissfully enjoying the feeling of them in his hand again. “Maybe I should just leave you like this and fuck these instead,” he threatens.

You whine at Ariel’s proposal, feeling your orgasm approaching and not wanting it to be denied to you. “Please don’t,” you whimper, struggling to speak as pleasure overwhelms your senses. Seeing you like this, Ariel’s eyes brighten in realization at the opportunity before him. Normally he wouldn’t stoop so low—well, he would, but he always wanted your love for him to be real—but he hasn’t heard his favorite words from your lips in so long. Surely it would do nothing but bring you closer to his loving embrace?

“Tell me you still love me,” he whispers harshly, “and I’ll let you cum.” His voice is somewhere between a desperate plea and a threat, and with your lack of surety on that you decide to open your eyes and look at him.

Your heart tightens, seeing the man you originally fell in love with in front of you. Of course you still loved him. Despite his insane actions, your love was not so easily dismissed and you couldn’t deny that, no matter how much you wish you didn’t love him anymore. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad? Maybe the man you loved was still in there, and you just needed to bring him out?

You war with yourself, but ultimately decide that you already knew there was no escaping him. If you were going to be stuck with him for the rest of your life anyways, it was better to be in a prison of your opposing feelings instead of a literal prison.

“I still love you, Ariel,” you tell him gently, your voice surprisingly level for someone who’s currently getting railed. Ariel smiles lovingly at you, bringing one of his hands to your face to stroke your cheek. The same hand then moves down to between your legs to rub harsh circles against your clit, and you feel Ariel spill into you shortly after your orgasm overtakes you. He stays buried inside of you, letting his arms fall to his sides as he rests his head on your chest.

“I knew it,” he pants against your skin. “I knew you still loved me, you had to.” As you feel him smile against your sweaty skin, and your high slowly dies down, you start feeling the same wave of guilt pass over you again. Did you still love him? Or did you just say you did because you wanted your release? You weren’t entirely sure, but it’s not like you were going anywhere, so you had plenty of time to think it over later. Ariel hugs you as he lays on top of you, repeating the last few moments in his mind over and over again.

Maybe Ariel would get another cheesecake sooner than he expected.

#ariel conroy x reader #ariel conroy imagine #ariel conroy fanfiction #ariel conroy x reader smut #ariel conroy fic #x reader #x reader fanfiction #x reader fic #ymata fanfiction #ymata imagine #you me and the apocalypse fic #you me and the apocalypse fanfiction

[vivid-wisp]

You know how it be suffering from big brainrot being into FNF so I’ve compiled a list of ideas for the characters. This is more so for myself but thought I'd share some of my ideas. Take this as you will, these headcanons are based on educated guesses, actual lore, or just for fun. I also really like explaining my reasoning for some stuff so be ready for that. Long post. :]

Boyfriend / BF

- Is asian specifically Japanese, based on the idea how the dev team like to agree Hatsune Miku is BF’s canon sibling. Can also be asian American.

- Despite his appearance BF is actually somewhat physically strong and capable. If he can’t rap battle someone he’d be down to beat someone up, based on the idea how PA (Phantom Arcade) says he sucks at FromSoftware games and would rather throw down IRL than in video games.

- Him and Pico were exes, but they dated when they were WAY YOUNGER, and this was before when BF or Pico knew how to handle a relationship properly. Pico was the one to call things off. (more on Pico’s section) They may still get kind of flustered around each other.

- For most of his childhood, BF never really felt like he stood out. It leads into the reason why he likes singing since it ironically feels like he's being heard, despite not really liking to talk a lot. He was a very quiet kid back then. He'd always liked singing and rapping, he just wasn't put into a position of intense judgement until meeting GF's father and mother, rockstar and ex-rockstar. Training arc begins.

- BF took courses/majored in music design or sound design in college, but dropped out to spend more time with Girlfriend and practice his musical talent himself seeing as it felt more natural than doing boring classes.

- Despite what people think, BF doesn’t dye his hair. It WAS a different color but a shade, like a lighter blue color when he was younger. (Based on Ninjamuffin/NM's recent AMA answers)

- BF owns a dog, not specific but definitely a large breed of dog that stays at home and is taken care of by his parents. He loves a lot of pets and animals, especially anything blue.

- It’s no surprise BF isn’t the smartest, but this comes from a place of putting on the “bad boy” act and being told he’d never make it anywhere in life so he never tried. BF is really a soft guy who deep down has a good heart and just wants to show his appreciation to the person (GF) who makes him feel okay knowing you don’t have to be the best.

- BF actually CAN speak, but chooses to be selectively mute. More so because he’s not the best when it comes to words, and he’s never felt the need to talk. Don’t expect much because like in Week 6, it’ll likely just be random noises he makes or his signature “beeps!” He still reacts, just with noises. (we ignore the logic of him singing it just sounds like beeps to us the players while everyone in universe perfectly understands) [just saw NM's recent AMA I GODDAMN CALLED IT LET'S GOOOO]

Girlfriend / GF

- GF unsurprisingly, has a very wealthy background and in turn family too. So she’s no stranger to most expensive things. This doesn’t mean she won’t appreciate anything BF gifts her, in fact she’s more than appreciative of anything if it comes from BF her love.

- May or may not be a demon like her parents but she doesn’t want to scare BF, and also has slight appearance anxieties about it so she chooses to hide it by staying in her “human” form. She's self conscious of appearing like a demon, and doesn't want to scare people away just based on her look.

- So yes GF can and will in fact beat you up, a lot more than BF if she really wanted to. Especially if she went into her demon form.

- Also not the brightest, due to her extravagant background she’s been so spoiled to the point where everything is handed to her on a silver plate. Which also means her intelligence. They're both himbo/bimbo dynamic I don’t make the rules sorry.

- Actually really good at singing herself too, she’s a bit more wonky with rapping but she’s still good. Ties into the fact GF is the first to teach you how to rap/sing in the tutorial. If she really wanted to, she would destroy BF in a singing battle.

- Kinda aloof and can be apathetic, but more in the sense of “oh cool" instead of a "not caring" feeling way. Like moving on from something that was most definitely not cool like oh my god does that monster with bloody human teeth have a lemon for a head-

- Absolutely adores the large height difference between her and BF. She loves picking BF up suddenly and swinging him around. It’s cute and funny to her. (BF likes the height difference dynamic too but he'd never admit it)

Pico

- Pico never went to college nor finished, instead he takes up jobs from around the city as a mercenary. He's so skilled to the point it pays well enough he doesn't really need a job. He owns a small apartment.

- He likes spending time when he's not on the job, around BF and GF but this is more so at a distance. He does hang out with them, but don't expect him to show up automatically by their side. Like maybe once a week.

- Despite his original job to kill BF, Pico is very protective of BF and looks out for him albeit distantly. He knows BF can handle himself, but he will risk jumping into a situation if BF needs help. ONLY when he needs help.

- Pico still spends time with Nene and Darnell, but this is more so as an acquaintance thing. They're still friends, but all three of their jobs (as assassin and mercs) make things kind of awkward and distance from one another.

- Pico has a lot of untreated trauma, whether that be PTSD, schizophrenia, OCD, etc, a lot of it is very untreated. While Pico is aware he has some mental health disorders he's not aware of ALL of them. He frankly doesn't care nor does he really feel like dedicating the time to properly help himself, which stems from his upbringing in his childhood, "deal with it" attitude back then. He doesn't think it's a big deal, even though deep down he knows he should seek help. Especially after hanging out with BF and GF who, unsurprisingly, are (relatively) normal in the head unlike his friends Nene and Darnell. His disorders disrupt his everyday life and living routine, he can have a lot of very bad days.

- Pico is a wannabe DJ, he likes to sing and rap but prefers the latter and likes listening to music more rather than doing it itself. When he was a kid he liked BF for his passion for singing and rapping, and admired him in a way.

- BF and Pico went to the same elementary school, and were very much friends. After the events of Pico's School, Pico acted very different than how BF knew him, and somewhere along that path BF and Pico decided to date each other when they were in middle school (at 13-14). This was very much a hasty decision and didn't end well. Pico was the one to break things off due to knowing he couldn't handle the responsibility of another person, especially in a relationship. He had too much on his plate already from the trauma that still haunted him, and also was around the time Pico told BF he would be getting homeschooled instead after many years of decision with Pico's parents. It was best to end things before they'd spiral and get worse.

- While BF was heartbroken, he knew it was for the better even if he was upset for quite a bit. After Pico became homeschooled and left middle school, BF noticeably became more quiet until he'd meet GF near the beginning of high school. Pico and BF tried to keep in contact, but eventually naturally just fell out of touch with each other, both too busy with their own lives now. Pico never really resolved his whole feelings issues, which still show up when he'd meet BF years later again but knows those feelings are best left behind.

- While Pico was very surprised and shocked to see BF again despite being commissioned to kill BF, BF himself was too busy being caught up in seeing an old friend again. Whether that be BF was either too dumb to realize he was being killed or because he was genuinely very happy to see his old friend again, the two had a small reconcile after so many years and decided to rap for old time's sake.

#fnf #friday night funkin #fnf pico #fnf boyfriend #fnf girlfriend #idk how else to tag the rest and I’m too lazy to look it up so those yup #I just thought this list would be fun to make :] #picos school #this is a really long post im so sorry to any poor soul who actually read all of this #also i just read through a lot of NM's answers in his recent AMA and one of them has ruined me dhmu going dark

[bastillewolf]

Hello idk if the requests are still going but if not then its okay ignore this and if they are please don't over work yourself and you don't need to do my request if you don't want to just stay healthy and eat well and drink lots of water we all live your work (and are simps for corpse-)

The ask : could I ask for a corpse husband x reader where they used to get shipped together before they even meet each other and when they meet each other corpse goes soft for reader and they play two rounds In among us together where they are imposters together and corpse is an imposter alone in the other round

Reader info : reader has a very soft voice and is a softie and the pronounce is she/her or they/them ( as you wish)

Again you don't gotta do it if you don't want to

Thanks so much for the ask, An. I was feeling like shit and this was a lot of fun to write. I’m sorry though, I completely read over the part where the reader was supposed to have a soft voice. I’ll see if I can make another one with this specification sometime. Also, I wrote this rather quickly because I’m watching Twilight for the first time and now my feelings are hurt.

#CorpseBride - Oneshot

Pairings: Corpse / Reader

Twitter wasn’t really your forte, but you knew how to get around. It’s just that you never really had the time to check it, let alone to see what’s on the trending page every single day. At the very least, you were capable of replying to your friends’ stuff and letting your viewers know when you were streaming or when a new video would be up. Again, you weren’t a pro, but you got by.

Until you didn’t.

“Hey, everyone,” you greeted, and immediately went to change your Among Us figure to its usual colour and outfit before someone else took it.

Everyone welcomed you, while it seemed Toast was still busy trying to get a last person to join.

“Whaddup, baby,” Corpse’s shot out from the rest of them. It was pure teasing, something he’d grown quite comfortable with ever since people had blatantly started simping for his voice. “Nothing much, honey. How’ve you been?” You cheekily replied. “Pretty good. Streaming still makes me nervous, though.” “You greeted me with ‘Whaddup, baby’ and then proceed to tell me you’re nervous? Don’t get upset when I say that I don’t believe you.” He chuckled at that.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Impostor

“Ha!” you called out, “I doubt this will soothe your nerves, Corpse. You’re teamed up with me now.” You sneaked in a glance at chat. “We are not an old married couple! If anything, he can be my bitch for this round. I’m just not gonna murder anyone.”

And that’s basically how it went. He managed to kill three people and still wasn’t being sussed. “Alright, I think I’ve tortured him enough,” you laughed, “I’ll even spare Sykkuno for the man.”

You managed to corner Toast and killed him in a corner where the water wheels were, before heading out into admin. You vented until you found Corpse in Labs and jumped out. It was right when Sykkuno walked in.

“Oh, god no. Please, Sykkuno.”

Your kill count still wasn’t down yet and he was obviously planning to run straight out the door to hit the emergency button, but he was stopped. Corpse had murdered him in an instant.

Your mouth was hanging open. “Did… Did he just kill Sykkuno for me?” Chat was going absolutely wild. “What the fuck just happened?” You decided to report the body anyway.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Corpse growled, “Not my best friend, Sykkuno.”

You had to mute yourself to keep the laughter at bay. Corpse evidently vouched for you, saying you’d walked in on the body together. Felix was sussed and voted out.

“Corpse, you killed me!” Sykkuno cried out.

“I’m so sorry, Sykkuno! I wanted to spare you but you walked in at the wrong time!” You pleaded.

“Sacrifices had to be made,” Corpse merely responded.

“Wait, what happened?” Sean asked.

“I walked in on one of them venting and then Corpse killed me!”

“Collateral damage. You watched me get killed one time, too.”

“Blame me, Sykkuno. It was my fault,” but you were laughing as you said it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard such regret coming from an imposter,” Sean laughed along, “Also, why the fuck were you two being so slow? Three meetings in and you’d only killed three people.”

“Corpse was simping for me,” you replied.

“I was not.”

“Yes, you were. Otherwise you would’ve asked me what the hell I’d been doing that entire time.”

“Fuck off,” he laughed.

“Corpse is an UWU-boy!”

“Oh my god, you guys are already trending.”

“Wait, what?”

Your phone was being blasted off to space, getting tons of messages with the hashtag #CorpseBride. It was number 1 trending on Twitter.

“So… whaddup, baby?”

“Oh no, you better buy me a drink first.”

“Sure.”

 You hadn’t thought he’d been serious in that moment, until he’d asked you to meet up after the game had ended. You hesitantly agreed, but reminded him that he absolutely did not have to participate in this just for the meme. “I’m not doing this for the meme,” he’d said, “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while, I just never knew how. It seemed like the perfect timing.”

You met him at his apartment, knowing how he was about going out in public, and feeling extremely nervous. You’d brought takeout, and because you hadn’t been sure what he wanted you’d ordered way too much. Upon opening the door, he looked at you, down at the bag, and said, “Shit, you got food?” Not really knowing what else to say, you simply replied, “Uh, yeah.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have lots of leftovers, then.”

He smiled, gave you a hug that ended way too fast and left you paralyzed for a minute, and then invited you in. It turned out he’d already ordered food, too. “Plenty to choose from,” he laughed awkwardly. “Uh… You got any neighbours who might want some?” you asked.

“I-I don’t really talk to anyone outside of my friend group.”

“Oh, of course. I could go around, if you’d like.”

“You’d do that for me?”

You furrowed your brows. “Of course I would. Why not?”

“Alright, but let me at least come with you. You just do the talking.”

Three knocks at three different doors later, and someone accepted the offer and took over some of the food. “Hang on a minute,” the elderly man said, clad in only his pyjamas and a bathrobe, managing to make the situation even more uncomfortable, “Aren’t you my neighbour? You always scurry off before I get the chance to talk to you!”

You looked at Corpse, and he back at you, and you turned back to the elderly man. “He, uh… He’s very people shy. He has anxiety. I’m trying to help him cope. Also, his vocal chords are damaged.” Nothing you’d said so far had been a lie, technically, but the man still remained sceptical. “Then why didn’t you just leave a note or something?”

“Uh…” you jumped at the small voice appearing from behind you. It’s just that his ‘small voice’ is still nothing close to small. “I know, I’m terribly sorry, sir. I also just wanted to let you know that if you ever need anything, I’m just a few doors away.”

This seemed to please the man enough.

“I can’t believe you made me do that.”

“I made you?!” You gasped, “I didn’t make you do anything, you filthy liar! You’re just as bad in real life as in Among Us, when you’re the impostor and I’m the innocent crewmate.”

“No comment.”

“I didn’t even ask you a question.”

“No comment.”

“Deadass?”

“Deadass.”

You both laughed. Corpse hesitated for just a moment, but decided to ask anyway, “Were you nervous when I opened the door?”

You chuckled awkwardly, admitting, “Yeah, I was. I always get anxious meeting people. Well, we’d met before, of course. But just, you know, in real life.”

“I get it.”

You stood there in silence for a moment, until you noticed the rest of the takeout in your hands was getting cold. “Come on, wife,” he joked, linking his pinkie finger with yours, “Let me get you that drink.”

If he hadn’t dragged you along then and there, you could’ve sworn your knees would’ve given out.

TAG LIST CLOSED

@annshit @simonsbluee @majolittlemixgurl18 @redosmo @mythicalreader @gracehaileym @leikarinn @its-bootz @ollwinchester @thehatredofshiprrick @curlyhairedbrock @thatbandchick39 @reddeserths @mitseuul @potenzel @tanchosanke @tooturntashbash @stephn-prkr @missingpuzzlepiece @dreaalol @goldiefox1 @imrisaluk @chimchimsugakookies @helena-way07 @danny-devitowo @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @richkookie @cherry-piee @artist-bby @bluewneptune @bratttyaphrodite @eccedxntesiaast @faithneko @thebootythrasher @bethpiercwhy @theeerealpunkin @heartbroken-writer @chisaikuki @realnicoleworld @candystoregirl @derpygiraffe43110 @rintomoj @phantomamethyst @helloitsmeamie203 @falcon-arrows @nvthvlyy @ellomellows @loraleiix @ladolcedea @lunaruss @princess00wifi @pennnyroyalty @cultofandom @easygoingtheatre @crpseclt @thatonefangirlbornonfriday @myherotrashbin @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @martinimom @gummybear123 @sparklingblacktea @lovelynervouskingdom @kingsuals @weeblyheaux @flightsandfantasy @chanelle-jackson @actual-spawn-of-satan @dixielumsden  @consumegods @mirandabarry @ikearandl @narwhalsaremagicalbroski @armycandy10 @chillininahottub-withaghost @mitchiesdungeon @yeolliedokai @alyofmusic @qatiee @dzzizzi @johnjacobjingleheimerschmidt @leilanixx @thefuckthesaurus @hughugh20 @thanossexual @moneybagmara @squintyangel @motheroffae @arossebyanyothername @vacaprincess @jinxedanxrchist @peterparkerspjsuit @chrysanthykios @wildflowerwhore @punkrainbows  @justalilsimpsometimes @bunniwritesx @sunnsettee @justxanotherxshipper @alilshit @dekahg @laugh-like-the-moon @sadness-babee @corpsie-bby @corpsesgirl @dead-boys-stuff @roses-and-grasses @sakusawife @byunniebaekhyunnie @lazy-little-me @phantomamethyst @letsloveimagines @polahorvat @sokkas-paintings @possiblyanxioushuman @a-dot-dev @aniyahsucks @choicesstan1 @error-loading-sorry @bi-andready-tocry @agustdpeach @punkrainbows @xibrokensunriseix @genjicats @forest-rav3n @devilishducky97 @namjoons-crabssss

People I wasn’t able to tag (please check your settings lovelies):

@holosexualunicorn7000 @theroyalsaikou @timotheessoleil @devilish-ducky @000-22-000 @matcha-chaii @corbins-kinda-smart @milybones @theinbookss @mintchip17 @arghm8ty @alyss01 @ry-winter @sbfandom @anacrcarvalho @petitebitvh @corbins-kinda-smart @marmeladebreadwithhoney @solielfhuz6942 @xsarcasm101x @siriuslystupid @bakugonua @n0t-a-simp @emmapotato88 @notmewrongb1tch @c00ln3rdz  @rolls-and-rolex

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #pewdiepie #jacksepticeye #among us #youtube fanfiction

[ahundredtimesover]

Friday Nights and Take-Out (1)

Would I be someone you’d hypothetically hook up with?

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre/Tags: strangers to friends to lovers, popstar/idol!jk, fluff, angst, future smut; this is a dialogue-heavy series so read if you’re into that! Also Jk is a sweet friend

Warnings: foul language, these characters talk alot bc I talk alot, heavy drinking, eventual smut

Word count: 4,300

Series summary: You meet pop star/idol Jeon Jungkook at the cafe, you get close, and as Hyejin says, you’re like friends with benefits without the sex. But you’re bad at feelings and so is he.

series masterlist 

A/N: My recent dive into fanfics compelled me to unearth this thing I wrote 5 years ago for a certain curly-haired brit (luvu harry) but I never finished it so it never saw the light of day but now it will bc i love jungkook so much and idk what this is but let’s see!

#

There’s a light and unsure knock at the door. As you open it to see who’s visiting you this Friday night, you immediately wish you stayed at least a half hour later at your family-run café so you didn't have to be having this conversation right now. 

But you are having it right now. At your apartment. With your ex-boyfriend who finally decided to give you an explanation as to why he broke up with you five months ago. 

The next thing you know, he’s saying he’s decided to move back to Australia after graduation, he’s saying sorry for the nth time, you’re watching him walk out the door, you’re heading to your room for your blanket, you’re going back to your couch, and then you’re crying as it dawns on you exactly what just happened. 

The break up had caught you off-guard because things were going so well. Your dejected and grieving self wasn’t enough to scare him away and his shy, non-expressive self didn’t sow any doubts on your relationship. You two barely fought, too, too alike in disposition for any disagreements or grudges to fester and hurt you. Things just worked. 

But like many good things, this one ended too. It’s like he just woke up one day and decided it wasn’t going to work out anymore, for what reason, you never knew until now. It hurt you, of course - it was still a memorable 2-year run - but true to form, you were able to dust yourself off quickly and get back on your feet shortly after. 

You tried to reach out though; you were good friends before anything anyway, but he avoided you like the plague and you thought you’d not only lost a boyfriend but a friend too. Tonight felt like the closure you didn’t know you needed. He’s gone, for good. And then after graduation, he will be gone for good, for good. 

You stay lying on your couch until you get a text from Jungkook, your new famous friend and current favorite person.

JK: Ran into Jieun at work, says drinks on her at The Third tonight. You up for it?

Nope, you say to yourself. 

You: I don't wanna go out tonight. 

You immediately reply. On a normal night you’d think about it, or even pretend you’re considering it, but not tonight.

It isn’t one of those nights when you’re sad and you want to be around people and get wasted so you can convince yourself you will be okay. It’s one of those nights when you’re sad and you know you will be okay the next day but right now you’re not and you’ll deal with it until the morning comes. You’ll just have to wait because it is only 7:30 in the evening. 

You try to think of a series you’ll binge-watch, but then your phone rings and it’s Jungkook’s meme face, the one he took last week and saved as his contact photo, lighting up the screen.

“Hey, you alright?” He asks, as you groggily pick up and say “hi.” You think he probably thought something was up when you didn't have a follow up message after you turned him down for something.

“Yup,” you manage to respond after an ugly sniffle. “Except I’ve been ugly crying for the past 10 minutes,” you continue.

“What happened?” 

He seems to have stepped out of wherever he was because you hear the mumbles in the background soften quite a bit and you figure you probably disturbed his dinner.

“Jinyoung came over and said the shit I needed to hear five months ago,” you start. “He copped out cause he got scared, Jungkook. Not of getting hurt, okay, which I always said was a bullshit reason for anything but he got scared of me and my dreams. I mean, come on, how much of a fucking coward can you get?” you blurt, sniffles in between phrases, fingers pressing the bridge of your nose to try and keep yourself from crying even more. 

“But I don't know, I’m pissed but he looked so sad and sorry and now he’s moving back to Australia and I just…” you try to continue, frustration rising up again. You’re a mess of emotions right now, that’s for sure.

“Ah, boys,” Jungkook breathes out, knowing this conversation is too important for it to be had just over the phone. “I could come over with food if you like. I know you probably don't need me but you need the food so…” he trails. 

You smile to yourself. “As long as I’m not disturbing your Friday night plans.” 

“You aren’t. I’ve had enough of the hyungs, if I’m being completely honest,” he replies, voice a little louder.

You hear a mix of scolding and laughter in the background, knowing for sure that the rest of the guys are giving Jungkook shit for bailing out on them for you. Again.

“Sounds good,” you say. “Thanks.”

#

You hear a knock on the door under the fleece blanket you have over your fetus-laid body on the couch. 

“It’s open!” You shout, as you tuck the soft white material under your chin and move to your side for a more comfortable position. You look at the built, chocolate-eyed, knife-for-a-jawline pop star walk into your place with what looks like take-out Japanese food. 

“What happened to locking doors?” He asks with a concerned and almost terrified tone, brows scrunching under his stray locks, the rest of his hair hiding underneath his black bucket hat. 

“I didn't wanna escort Jinyoung to the door because it felt poetic to watch him leave from a distance…” You dramatically say.

“And you were too lazy to walk 10 steps to lock the door, but were energized enough to find your blanket from your mess of a closet in the far corner of your room?” He continues, blinking continuously at you.

“Exactly,” you say, as you point to him as if giving him props for reading your mind. 

He rolls his eyes but grins as he does, revealing his dimple that you believe is the first line of offense of his charm. You may not be one of those people who get hysterical when they see him — although you did end up embarrassing yourself when you bumped into him at the café a few months ago when you’d met — but you know charisma when you see it, and you can’t deny that it basically oozes out of him even when he’s not trying. 

He sits on the couch, in the area where your feet lie, and he starts unwrapping the food and lays them out on your coffee table. You sit up ready to pounce on the sushi rolls in front of you when he stands up and gets two glasses of water. “Anything else you need from the kitchen?” He asks.

You respond with a no and watch him open the cupboards, and you can’t help but be touched at the effort. Here is a guy whom you’ve only known for a few short months, blowing off his Friday night plans to be with you because your ex-boyfriend decided to show up… and because you needed food and Jungkook knew you wouldn't make your own when you’re upset. You’ll probably just end up with a bowl of ice cream topped with cookie dough and chocolate chips or something.

“Thanks for being here even if I don't really need you to be,” you say after chowing down a salmon roll, legs crossed underneath you as you both sit on the floor and eat from the coffee table.

“You’re overstating that, Y/N,” he laughs, looking at you, as you’re about to have a mouthful of the tuna roll this time. “I’m 200% sure that you would’ve stayed underneath the covers and probably just ate ice cream or gummy worms until morning if I hadn’t come.”

“Fine,” you start, putting the food down, straightening yourself. “Thank you for my happy food and for being here on a Friday night, watching me carbo load on rolls and tempura rice in my jammies under my blanket. It really means a lot.” You flash him a smile. 

He laughs at this. “May I remind you that this is nothing compared to last week? Keeping me hostage here wasn’t the most fun. Except for your comfortable couch that I had the pleasure of sleeping in,” he grins, tapping the empty space on the sofa next to him.

Right, last week. How could you forget? 

Your days-late New Year celebration ended with you being a goner at the bar, Jungkook being the only one available and strong enough to take you home, what with your friends' adventures and misadventures that night. 

By the time you were home, you were completely passed out. Long story short, he had stayed - which you didn’t know he did - you walked out of your room half naked, heard a sound and someone approaching, screamed and grabbed a knife, ready to attack your supposed intruder, who only turned out to be him.  

So yes, skipping out on drinks tonight didn't come close to him having to take care of you the week before and almost being stabbed by someone he was only trying to help. 

“Please don't remind me,” you say, feeling your cheeks turn red. 

“It’s a funny story to tell,” he chuckles and proceeds to get a mouthful of his own tempura rice bowl.  You look at him surprised - didn’t he just have dinner at the dorm? You shrug it off, almost forgetting this is Jungkook you’re talking about and his bottomless pit of a stomach. 

“I could’ve killed you!” 

He laughs. “But you didn’t.”

“And I didn't have an ex-boyfriend knocking on my door to apologize for being a dick,” you say, sounding serious all of a sudden. 

You know that even if you don’t really intend on having Jungkook here, it still means a great deal to you that you have someone you can talk to. You didn’t want to disturb your friends who were busy with their own work and social lives and having him here is really more than you could ask for, especially considering what he does for a living.

“What did he say?” He asks, eyes soft. You’d only mentioned the breakup in passing a few times before because really, what more can you say? Sometimes relationships just run their course; it happens. At least that’s what you thought it all was.

You sigh, readying yourself. “He said that he just started to think about that talk we had about the things we wanted, and he pointed out the fact that I wanted to do so many things and it just scared him—my goals and the fact that I could reach them scared him,” you share, dragging the words and almost shouting at the stupidity of it. 

“I know I always say we shouldn't invalidate anyone’s fears but that’s being selfish and just ridiculous.” You put the chopsticks down, as if to prepare yourself for the flurry of emotions you were about to release. 

“This guy stood by my side when I got injured and when Grandma died and I was a literal mess. But I got myself together and I got better for myself and for him and then suddenly me wanting more out of life, more for myself, suddenly scared him?” You pause for a bit, catching your breath. 

“It’s like, when he realized what I - what we - could become once real life happens, he bolted out the door, out of this country, back to everything he knew before me, before us.” 

You’re emotional again, air catching in your throat as you feel the tears pool around your eyes once more. By this time, Jungkook had paused eating his meal to focus all his attention on you. 

You continue on about that 15-minute conversation you had - if you could even call it that, given that it was all Jinyoung talking, with you staring at the man you once considered you could have a future with. 

Once you’d calmed down, you and Jungkook exchange thoughts about relationships, back and forth with nuggets of wisdom that you don’t really expect from someone you thought didn't have the time of day to maintain a relationship. 

He’d be constantly linked with models and fellow pop stars, which he’d noted weren’t anything serious or factual for that matter, at least those that weren’t part of some PR stunt, yet here he is right now, agreeing with what you’re saying and adding a different perspective to things. 

He is a hopeless romantic after all, that much he’d admitted during one wine-filled night after crying over Titanic while you were both on the phone (“they literally knew each other for just 3 days, Jungkook, they couldn’t possibly be in love,” you’d shouted. “Ah, 1900s romance,” was all he said. “So beautiful, isn’t it?” Another gulp of wine and then he’d fallen asleep.) 

You two find yourselves grabbing the pitcher of Sangria from your fridge and settle on other topics, like what could be acceptable reasons for breaking up with someone, to the ideas of fate and destiny - which you constantly bicker about because you don’t believe in it while he does, oh so passionately - to the afterlife.

“Relationships are so draining,” you say, tipping your head back on the couch, a groan escaping you. “Even after it’s over, it still takes so much out of you.” 

“I can only imagine,” he laughs bitterly. 

“Words of advice from Friday Night Me - don’t get into one. It’s tiring to pick up the pieces once it’s over.”

“Friday Night You?”

“Yeah, the one who’s upset. Monday Night Me will probably say something different.”

This amuses him, but he nods in agreement nonetheless. “Relationships tend to get messy and I’ve already got enough crazy to deal with,” he continues. “That much I’ve seen watching the hyungs get into these things from the sidelines. I’m sure it’s great and all and I can’t wait to be in one too, don’t get me wrong.” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“I mean hello, Jack and Rose?” You roll your eyes. “Allie and Noah?” 

You laugh. Seriously, this guy needs to watch more romantic films. 

“But I don’t know, too much going on with me right now, I guess,” he continues, shoulders slumped, eyes suddenly finding your fur rug interesting.

You dwell on this thought a little longer than you had wanted. 

You get what he’s saying, though. It’s draining enough for a commoner like you, what more for a worldwide superstar like him? You try to decipher if it’s sadness in his voice, maybe frustration? Resignation? Acceptance?

“But I’m sorry you had to go through that, Y/N.” He says, subject of the conversation now back to you, causing you to break out of your reverie. “I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better,” he says, hand scratching the back of his neck.

“Hey, no need to be sorry! I’ll be fully functional again by tomorrow. I just didn’t realize there was more to the breakup so I was just thrown off a little bit.” You flash him a smile. “But I’m good, really. And the food was enough,” you add. “And your presence, of course.” A smile again. You realize you seem to do that a lot when he’s around.

But you do feel better. You hadn’t thought much about Jinyoung since the breakup until tonight, seeing all the other things going on in your life. But seeing and listening to him made you feel all sorts of emotions that you really just wanted to let out. 

You’d kept a lot of these thoughts to yourself the last few months because you didn’t feel like there was more to say after that first goodbye, and it was nice to have Jungkook there to just listen, which is what you said you wanted him to do (“what kind of friend do you want me to be tonight?” He’d asked. “The listening one,” you’d replied.) But you’ve said what you needed to say, felt all that you needed to feel, and now you’re shutting close, under lock and key this time, that chapter of your life once and for all. 

After a fairly long silence, when he was sure you’d already expressed all your frustrations, he let out a breath. 

“Well, this was a much better option than drinking your sadness away at some club, yeah?” he asks, moving his body to his left side with his back on the armrest so he’s now facing you who’s also back on the couch now, sushi rolls and tempura rice all gone, sangria but a sip left. 

“Well, that wasn't an option in the first place, Jeon,” you call out. “I’m not really one who would take advantage of my misery and use it to justify a night of drinking and awkward hook-ups,” you anticipate, recalling the countless times your friends had encouraged you to go out and find someone good enough for a one night stand these past months.

“Ah, so you’re not a fan of hook-ups, no?” He smirks, looking intently at you, clearly curious about your thoughts on the idea. It’s amusing how quickly you could change topics but it was a good try to move on from the somber conversation you just had.

“I don't really wanna have sex with someone I’ll only be sharing fluids with,” you say, blankly. This intrigues him because now, he’s moving closer to you like a kid waiting for his next adventure story. 

You laugh at his movement. He tips his head, signaling you to continue.

“It’s just not my thing, that’s all,” you start, trying to find a way to explain yourself. 

“I want someone to talk and laugh with when it gets sloppy,” you say, “and someone to make me breakfast when I oversleep. A guy for pure pleasure probably wouldn’t be that person for me. He’d probably just focus on getting both of us off and then up and leave,” you shrug.

This amuses him, even if he chuckles and says “I knew it probably had something to do with food,” and being the Jungkook you’ve come to know these past months, he asks you something that catches you off-guard but at the same time doesn't really surprise you.

“Would I be someone you’d hypothetically hook up with?” He smirks again, excited for your answer.

“No, you’re too good-looking for that,” you say almost instantly and you curse yourself in your head.

“So you mean hypothetically if you were to hook up with someone, he’d have to be unattractive?” He asks, seemingly confused.

“Uh, if it would just be for pure pleasure, yeah… I mean I wouldn’t mind but of course he’d have to be like, hot or something,” like that was common sense. “I’d probably be too drunk to focus on his face and it’d probably be too dark for it to matter anyway,” you shrug. You’re hoping this makes sense to him because your friends never did quite get it. 

You just really don’t do hook ups, especially drunk ones, not that you put sex on a pedestal, but you just have a thing for the before and after of it - the gentle fore play, the removing (and not ripping) of clothes, the cuddle and the aftercare that stretches to breakfast or lunch, and the lazy morning sex. Call you hopeless romantic or something, at least this is your version of it, but those were the things you like about sex, the full package. 

“Hmm, I feel honored to be too attractive to hypothetically hook up with Y/N Y/L/N,” he says, feeling proud of himself, smiling like a kid who just got a blue ribbon for something superficial. God, the duality and contradictions of this guy, you think.

“Let’s just say… you have a face and a touch I’d hypothetically want to get used to, so I wouldn't settle for just one night with you, and then it wouldn't be a hook-up!” You say trying to sound nonchalant, thinking about the tinylittle crush your friends claim you’ve developed on the guy in front you but really, anyone with a pair of eyes would agree that the man is beautiful (you’d always deflected though - “have you seen King Namjoon? Now that is the man, you’d say). 

You settle for honesty though, and it’s true. You just don’t delve on the full package thing, because you know Jungkook is exactly the kind of guy to do all that, but you stop your mind from going there, much so with him sitting in front of you. 

“Ah,” he says, pleased with himself. “So you could get used to this, huh?” He teases, lunging on you, his knees just barely resting on your thighs. He’s planting his hands on your face and squishing every surface he possibly could, laughing as he’s doing so while you shout out every cuss word you know and trying your best to hit him with your hands even if he’s just going to block your hits anyway. 

You kick him on the thigh when he finishes his rampage but it is you who squeals of pain because you used your right foot, the one you re-injured after playing a tune-up game of volleyball the other day. 

Naturally he grabs your foot and starts massaging it, as if he’d always been doing that since you’ve met, which he hasn't. And you haven’t even known each other that long. 

“You’re annoying,” is the only thing you could mutter after finally catching your breath. You can’t lie though, his massage is pretty good. You lay your head on your stretched out right leg and can’t help but close your eyes. 

He sees the satisfaction on your face and not long after, he quips, “I bet this is also something you could get used to after a good night of fucking, yeah?” he starts laughing. 

Since last week’s incident, you’d noticed Jungkook being more comfortable and definitely a little cheekier, flirty, even. Perhaps seeing you in your underwear could do that to a person, you think. 

You feel your cheeks heat up, and all you could do is hit his arm continuously so that he had started to flex after a few slaps. You literally were just talking about hook ups, why did you feel so scandalized? (You’re in denial; you know exactly why.) 

“Good? That confident with your abilities, I see.” You tease, as both of you have now settled down and kept your body parts to yourselves. 

A grin starts creeping from the side of his lips and you immediately regret making such a comment. “Nevermind!” You shout, holding out your hand to cover his mouth before he could say anything again. 

“I’m teasing. I wouldn't know, actually. It’s not like I do it often to know, anyway.”

At this you’re pleasantly surprised, not that you expect him to be the kind of pop star who casually and constantly hooks up with women just because he can, but still you know the parties he attends and all the beautiful women in his circle who no doubt wouldn’t mind making a move, or probably already do on a regular basis. 

Maybe you’re just startled that he would be open about this particular facet of his life to someone he hasn't known long. But then again, you two have been open to each other about many things since you’ve met, but that’s still something you’re only starting to get used to. 

“It doesn't matter,” you say, flashing him the same sincere and thoughtful smile that you put on when he started fixing up your dinner for you earlier. He returns your smile, eyes soft, as if grateful for you not asking any more.

“Well, I mean you’re good at a lot of things anyway so if you suck at that, you could always just sing or dance or impersonate someone and that would overshadow whatever it is you suck at,” you say, winking at him. 

He hits you with a pillow. 

“I’m not sure if that’s supposed to make me feel better,” he says, “but thank you for complimenting my impersonating skills because I think that’s being undermined by the media.” 

You both laugh at the humor.

#

“Tonight made me feel better, though. Thanks for being here,” you say as you finish your glass of wine. 

It’s been hours since he arrived, sleepiness no doubt creeping on the both of you, especially on him who’d spent his day practicing and filming. It’s moments like this that make you happy you met him, that you didn’t freak out or think much when he asked for your number those months ago. 

It’s also moments like this that you remind yourself of what you’d lose if you nurture that tinylittle seed of affection that’s growing in your heart, one unwittingly planted there a week ago. 

He looks at you softly again, as if there’s more he wants to say but instead he replaces his bunny smile with a gentle one, wrinkles forming at the outer corner of his eyes, cheeks just slightly pushing up to reveal the bags underneath those orbs of his. They glisten under the lighting in your living room.

He lets the silence linger a little longer. 

“Anything for you, Y/N.” 

You let yourself bask in this thought, in his presence, just for tonight. Saturday You will get over this. 

As you lay on your bed that night, you decide it isn’t just your past with your ex that you’ll bury under lock and key. It’s also this.

##

>> part 1 drabble

series masterlist

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts fic #bts jungkook #idol jungkook

[highqueenofelfhame]

no tag list bc im posting this from my phone and am too lazy so pls reblog so this gets traction! thank you for reading and follow @highqueenofelfhamewrites for better and more frequent updates and turn on post notifications! i might do away with tag lists soon idk. the whitethorn kids are headcanons from @musicmaam and i so i hope you love the babies we love them very much and becca is a mastermind

masterlist

Outside, it was a still and quiet morning. Despite the sun having risen hours ago, the sky remained a murky gray. Dew clung to the grass and a light fog remained settled over the landscape. It looked cold and like the kind of day that would usually have Aelin curled up in the study, a roaring fire warming the room while she sat in one of the oversized leather chairs and reread a favorite book. Rowan knew that once outside, the cool air would be a sharp bite at his skin. It’s how Terrasen always was in early November.

Instead of reading, though, Aelin was staring at her side of the closet. Her fingers nervously tapped above her elbow while she surveyed dresses and pantsuits, jackets and turtlenecks. More than once she had murmured that she never knew what to wear, and more than once he had told her that it really didn’t matter and she would look beautiful all the same.

A level below, Rowan heard the front door open and close, followed by their oldest son, Arden shouting up the stairs that they were home. They referred to him and his boyfriend, Jamie, and Aelin and Rowan’s oldest, Evalin. The three had driven from the University of Orynth on the other side of the city to the family’s house on the outskirts of town.

Genevieve, Declan, and Endymion, the younger half of the Whitethorn kids, were all getting ready. Genny had been up with the sun to make breakfast for everyone, her hands sticky with cream cheese frosting and cinnamon by the time she had finished. Declan and Endy were down the hall, fighting for counter space in their shared bathroom while Genevieve finished up at the vanity Rowan had built her last year in her bedroom.

More noise followed the voices downstairs turned to a quiet murmur as Rowan approached his wife and rested his hand on her lower back. Aelin leaned back on her heels and into his touch, turning her head slightly. Rowan pressed a kiss to her temple and she shivered, reaching out for the dress that he knew she’d end up picking. It was his favorite.

“Perfect choice, fireheart,” he murmured, rubbing his hand across her middle back as she sighed and pulled it off the hanger that she dropped to the floor. Rowan chuckled to himself, nudging it toward her pile of shoes as he followed her back out into their bedroom.

Rowan was already showered and dressed. He wore a simple black suit with Aelin’s favorite dark green tie— one that she claimed brought out his eyes, though Rowan hadn’t noticed a single difference as he tied it around his neck.

“You are worrying about nothing,” he murmured into her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. Aelin shuddered a sigh, licking her lips as she turned to look at Rowan over her shoulder. Their eyes met for a single heartbeat before moving to the door.

“I hope Arden and Evie remembered to pick everything up this morning.”

“I’ll go check,” he promised, squeezing her shoulder before walking away. Rowan paused in the doorway, turning to look at his anxious wife. She stood in front of the window, dress draped over one arm while she twisted her wedding band around her finger. It made his heart squeeze in the most painful way, but he left her and jogged down the stairs to where the rest of his family mingled in the kitchen.

Entirely typical of his children, none of them looked up when he entered. Gen was dressed in leggings and an oversized sweater, manning the stove to make everyone else eggs. Endy and Declan were arguing over who got the cinnamon roll in the center of the pan: it was the most gooey and beheld more icing than the others. Declan won out in the end, but only because Genevieve pointed a spatula at Endymion to remind him of a petty crime he’d committed against her the day before.

“You don’t deserve that cinnamon roll. You know what you did.” Endy snorted, but relented, allowing Declan to eagerly swoop in for the golden treat. A large dollop of icing slipped off the side, barely making it onto his plate as he did. Endymion sighed wistfully, likely dreaming of how good that would have been in his stomach instead of his brothers. Rowan laughed to himself, ruffling Endy’s hair as he walked by. His youngest shrugged him off with a shiver, lips pulling down into a frown while he looked over at his father, then to his older sister as she walked into the room.

“Has mom been down yet?”

“She’s still upstairs,” Rowan said, while the other kids mumbled that she’d yet to come down. Arden and Jamie slid into the empty barstools at the counter, accepting plates of bacon and eggs from Genevieve. “Can someone go check on her?”

“I’ll go,” Evie decided, heading up toward Rowan and Aelin’s bedroom, stairs creaking with every step.

Genevieve was watching Evalin up until she disappeared at the top of the landing, her lips twisting to the side as she shifted to turn the stove off. The kitchen settled into a comfortable silence, the scraping of forks the only disruption. Genny poked at the cinnamon roll she’d chosen for herself before pushing it away, toward Endy.

“I can’t eat,” she said quietly, tapping her phone screen, the time blinking up at her before it went dark again. It seemed that Endy could eat, however, because he pulled her plate over and dove into her cinnamon roll immediately after finishing his. It was almost enough to make her smile but she seemed to be fighting it off. Rowan moved to wrap his arm around his daughter, but she shrugged out of his embrace and disappeared up the stairs. If he had to guess, she was joining Aelin and Evalin.

“I’m worried about her,” Rowan and Arden said at the same time, the former cracking a half smile.

“Me too,” Endymion agreed, fingernail tapping against the counter while he looked over his shoulder. Rowan opened his mouth to speak, but the soft closing of a door followed by the squeak of the top stair silenced him. A moment later, his three girls were filing into the kitchen. Aelin hugged each of her babies, pressing kisses to their cheeks that they didn’t shy away from.

“We ready?” Arden asked, picking up the bag he’d brought in with him. Aelin nodded and rubbed her hand over Genny’s upper back.

Genevieve had always been the most anxious of their kids in the worst way. Over the last year, her panic attacks had only gotten worse and nobody really knew how to help her. A few months ago, she had finally caved and agreed to start taking medicine for it when she needed to. Judging by the way she stood, worrying her lip and twining the ends of her silver hair into tiny braids, Rowan wondered if she was already debating taking one of those pills to keep the monsters of the day at bay.

The ride was quiet. The only conversation consisted of Aelin and Rowan asking Evalin, Jamie, and Arden about their college courses. The youngest three Whitethorns stayed quiet and listened while looking out the windows and tapping on their phones. No music filled the empty silences— the last five minutes was nothing but garbled road noise and turn signals, the occasional sniffle of a nose, or a small sigh.

When the car was put in park, nobody moved immediately. Aelin stared through the windshield, fingers drumming on the gear shift. Rowan lay his on top of hers, but she didn’t look over at him. Instead, she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and, after several heartbeats, nodded. Only then did the kids file out of the back seats, Genevieve going to take her mother’s left hand while Arden took her right. Rowan walked beside Endymion and attempted to steady his son when he stumbled over a rock that was hidden in the grass.

They walked through the cemetery, moving by headstone after headstone. Some of them were large and ornate weeping angels, others were crosses jutting out of the ground. A fair few were simple concrete rectangles in the ground with a vase for flowers. The one they came to stop at was something in between.

It was about two feet high in the middle of the graveyard, simple text embedded into the shiny quartzite stone. A large hawk had been carved into its surface, wings spread wide mid-flight, beak parted as though it were releasing a fierce battle-cry. There was no vase for flowers anywhere near it. Instead, piles of stones were left all around it. They were in all shapes, sizes, and colors. One had a painted hawk on the surface that he knew Genevieve’s boyfriend had left behind at the funeral last year.

Arden placed the bag he carried on the ground and they let Aelin be the first to pick her stone. She picked a large smooth one, a paler gray than the headstone itself that fit perfectly in her palm. She folded her legs beneath her body as she knelt before it, trembling fingers tracing over the name.

ROWAN M. WHITETHORN

JULY 16, 1970 - NOVEMBER 11, 2020

HUSBAND. FATHER. HERO.

TO WHATEVER END.

A breeze shifted through the air, moving Aelin’s hair across her face and she could have sworn it was warm. She could have sworn she smelled the familiar pine and snow scent that she would always and forever associate with her husband. Aelin could have sworn it felt like a lover’s caress, like fingers brushing away the tear that slipped down her cheek.

Aelin wasn’t sure how long she sat there, surrounded by their children. Each of them swapped their favorite stories about their late father, about what they missed most. All of them cried enough tears that Terrasen could hit a rare drought but the patch of grass they held each other in would still be green as ever.

When they finally stood, the air had dropped a few more degrees because the sun had never come out to keep them warm. It made that fleeting warm breeze even more bizarre, the one that smelled like him, considering the one that rustled the leaves on the nearby tree was cold enough to bite.

Out of the corner of her eye, she swore she saw him. She swore she saw a head of silver hair sock his head in her direction, but she blinked and he was gone, her oldest son stepping up in the place she thought she saw him, felt him, smelled him. Silver hair faded into a golden blonde that matched her own, but the eyes that peered down at her were as bright green as his father’s. Aelin felt her face crumple as she leaned into him, resting her temple against his shoulder. She inhaled hard, desperate for that pine scent to feel her lungs, desperate to erase the last year of her life without him. Desperate to pretend that he was still alive and it was his shoulder that she put her weight on.

But it wasn’t. And it wouldn’t be.

Still, as she looped her arm through his and started to walk back toward the car with their kids, she spared a last glance over her shoulder, projecting their vows into the void of the world: to whatever end.

She wasn’t sure what it was, but Aelin was almost positive she heard his voice whisper it back as another strange, warm breeze wrapped around her and left her completely breathless.

#tog #rowaelin #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #writing #my writing #aelin galathynius #whitethorn clan #whitethorn kids #tog gen 2 #fanfic #tog fic #tog fanfic #happiness

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Surprise, Surprise

Summary: it’s Christmas and the two of you don’t follow the no gifts rule.

Pairings: Chris Evans x Black!Reader

Warnings: smut, swearing, daddy kink, begging, pregnancy sex

(A/N: idk why I’ve been struggling with this Christmas shit. Anyway thanks for reading. Reblog always 💜 ✌🏾)

Tagging: @titty-teetee @blackmissfrizzle @olyvoyl @night-of-the-living-shred @liquorlaughslove @harrysthiccthighss @mariahthelioness29 @whiskey-cokenfanfic @olyvoyl @hqneyyincc @queenoftheworldisdead @iam-laiya @emjayewrites @slytherinandoutasgard @zaddychris

——————————————————————————

“I thought we said no gifts!”

Chris laughed as you handed him the box. It was finally Christmas morning. Little Chris was finally done opening what seemed to be a never ending sea of presents and was happily playing with the remote control car he’d pretty much begged for.

It had taken you a minute to settle on the way you wanted to go about telling him, but you finally figured it out. The shiny red wrapping paper of the little box was hiding the secret you’d been keeping from him for months.

You rolled your eyes with a smile on your face. “You and I both know we weren’t going to listen to that.”

He laughed because it was true. Your heart feeling like it was about to beat out of your chest as you watched him carefully unwrap the gift so he didn’t make a mess.

First he took the note out that you’d put on top of the tissue paper. He mouthed the words, his face softening as he finished before tearing through the rest of the paper. “Seriously?” He asked, his eyes filling with tears as he sniffled.

You nodded, suddenly feeling just as emotional. Your eyes feeling all prickly. You laughed as he looked back down the tears freely falling down his face this time.

“Really?”

You laughed through your own emotional haze. This smile had spread on his face despite the tears. “Yeah.”

Chris pulled you into a hug before kissing you tenderly. He put his hand on your stomach. “How far along are you?” He asked.

“Six weeks.”

He grinne before getting down on his knees so he could place kisses all over your stomach. “Hey, Baby, it’s me your daddy.”

You ran your hands through his hair still crying as he talked to the little jellybean inside of you. “Hey, Bub,” he called Little Chris over who’d been much more busy playing with one of his new toys.

“Yes, Daddy?” He asked before giggling. “Why are you talking to Mommy’s tummy?”

Chris grinned up at you as you did the same down at him. “Come here,” he held his arm out, so he could tuck the small boy into his side. “Mommy has a surprise for you.”

“What is it, Mommy?” He asked looking up at you with those same eyes as his dad and your heart melted.

You sniffled, holding out your arms for him to climb into you. “We love you so much, Bubba.”

“I lub you, too!” He wrapped his little arms around your neck.

You smiled looking at Chris who’s tears had started falling down his face. You pulled him back so you could look into his face. “Mommy is gonna have a baby,” you told the small boy, stroking his wild curls.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you said.

“Where is it?” He asked in that innocent little voice with his head tilted sideways.

The both of you laughed and Chris scooped the both of you up so you were in his arms. “It’s in your mommy’s tummy,” Chris said.

“Oh.” He wrinkled his nose. “I want a brudder.”

“We don’t know what we’re having yet, Babe,” you said leaning into Chris. You wanted to be close to him. Needing to feel him against you.

“You’re gonna be a big brother soon, Bub. Isn’t that exciting?” Chris said.

Little Chris nodded. “Yeah. Can I go play with my toys now?”

His father just laughed before kissing his cheek. “Go ahead.”

Once he’d climbed down and scurried off to play, Chris kissed you so sweetly. “I kind of hope it’s a girl,” Chris said with a chuckle.

“Me, too.” You smiled softly. “Then we can be over with it.”

“You wish. We’re going to have a football team full of kids.”

You shook your head. “You wish.”

“You just wait and see.” He chuckled. You sniffled before leaning over to kiss his lips again. He laid down with you holding you in his arms so snug. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just hormones.”

“It’s okay, Baby,” he said, with a sigh before kissing your forehead. “I got you. I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

He chuckled. “It’s not possible. Now open your gift,” he said with a a smirk as he got up to get the box he’d hidden behind the tree. There was this purse he knew you’d wanted. He was planning on giving you your real gift later.

—————

You’d made the rounds at his mom’s and your parents. Not wanting to say anything about the baby yet. Wanting to keep it your little secret for awhile. Little Chris didn’t even let it slip after you’d told him that it was a game and that he couldn’t tell anyone.

Chris was so attentive all day. Not that he usually isn’t, but today especially. Like he didn’t want you to lift a finger. Always kissing you and touching you.

Except even though he kept trying to find the right moment to do what he wanted, he kept getting nervous. It never felt like the right time. His nerves were getting the best of him.

You were exhausted when you got home. Little Chris had fallen asleep in his car seat. Pooped from all the festivities of the day. So you and Chris got ready for bed.

Chris pulled you close from behind, covering you with the comforter. He trailed his fingers up and down your arm before kissing your shoulder. “If we have a girl we should name it after you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No.”

“What? I like your name,” he said. “I got my mini me. You could have one, too. Y/N is a beautiful name.”

“I’m glad you think so, but no.” You turned so you could face him. You stroked his cheek, his facial hair tickling your hand. “We’ll come up with some names later.”

As he looked into your eyes there was this feeling in his chest. Maybe it was your hands on him. Or how cute you looked in your pajamas. Or the softness of your voice. The love in your eyes.

“Hey I forgot that I have another present for you,” he said softly.

“So much for no presents,” you said with a laugh.

Normally he would have laughed along with you, but he was trying not to lose his nerve again. “C’mon. It’s in the living room.”

“Do we have to? I’m comfy.” You pouted.

“Lazy girl.” He kissed your cheek before sitting up.

He led you to the living room. Turning on the lights on the Christmas tree. You sat down, but he grabbed your hands to pull you up again.

“I know you’re tired, but I need to do this. While I have the nerves to do it.”

You laughed. “What?”

He sighed. “Yeah... Okay so I know we haven’t been perfect, but I love you. I wouldn’t want to spend my life with anyone else or have kids with anyone else. Baby, I really don’t know how I could ever begin to pay you back for everything you’ve ever done for me.” He sniffed, but as your tears fell he put his hands on your cheeks to wipe them away. “Don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry.”

“It’s hormones,” you replied, waving your hand in the air with a laugh.

He chuckled. “God I love you. I don’t care that we have haven’t always been perfect.” He sighed before finally getting down on his knee. “Because you’re perfect for me, Baby, and I want you to marry me.”

You covered your mouth with one hand, nodding your head. He slid your ring on before standing up to hug you. You wanted to tell him yes, but you couldn’t help it as you cried into his chest.

He held you tightly. “I love you,” you sobbed.

“I love you, too,” he replied he leaned down to kiss you and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You were hungry for his touch. Already tugging at his shirt. He helped you take it off before kissing you again.

“Oh, Daddy,” you whimpered.

Once your clothes came off, he laid you in front of the tree. He kissed down your body, paying special attention to your stomach. “You’re gonna have my baby,” he said with a grin.

He finished his trail before kissing your thighs then got on his knees because fuck he wasn’t waiting anymore. He needed you bad. He rubbed your clit with the head of his dick. Making you have to bite your lip as you looked into his eyes.

“Fuck, Iove that fake innocent look on your face,” he breathed as he moved to your slit rubbing up and down.

You laughed. “Why fake?”

“Baby, you probably got pregnant while I was calling you a nasty slut and that I wanted to put my baby in your tight cunt,” he laughed. “You’re far from innocent. I just like how you still make that cute face.” He put his free hand on your face, before leaning down to carefully kiss you. “Do you want to move to the couch? I want you to be comfortable.”

“I wanna have sex in front of the Christmas tree.” You pouted.

“Have you been thinking about this?”

“Maybe.” You looked up at him with that innocent face he was just talking about. Your brow furrowed with your lip all pouty. Your eyes all big.

He chuckled. “My nasty little wife.”

There was something about him saying that, that made you need him right now. “Daddy, will you please fuck me. I need it.”

“Yeah?” He finally started to push his tip into you. “How bad?”

You whimpered. “Really bad. My pussy needs you.”

“Yeah?” He pushed into you a little more. “You’re gonna have to be real quiet for me.”

You nodded. “I’ll be good.”

“You’re always my good girl,” he said as he finally pushed all the way into you. You gasped scratching at his biceps. He hadn’t wanted to get on top of you like he wanted. He was too afraid to hurt you.

He could tell how hard you were trying to keep quiet. Thinking to himself that he’d have to get you away from here at some point so he could fuck you right. Where you could be as noisy as you wanted to be. “Daddy, please,” you whimpered.

“What do you want?” He asked.

“Harder.”

One of the things he’d missed about you being pregnant with CJ was how you’d beg for him. You were insatiable as it is, but when you were pregnant it was like he didn’t even know what got into you. It was almost like you couldn’t control yourself. He knows every pregnancy is different, but that was one thing that hopefully stayed the same.

He moved his hips a little harder. Short of pounding into you. “Fuck me hard,” you begged. “I need it.”

He groaned giving him trying to be careful because fuck if you were begging, he would happily give it to you. He started pounding into you. Grabbing your thigh so he could hold it up to go deeper. Your pussy hugged his dick as you tightened around him.

“Just like that,” you whispered before covering your mouth to hold your noises in.

“Yeah you like it when Daddy fucks you hard, huh?” He asks.

“Uh huh.” You grabbed your tits so you could pinch your nipples. They were so swollen and sensitive. He leaned down so he could take care of them himself. “Yes!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he groaned. You were so wet and felt so good. If he had it his way you’d be makin all the noise you wanted.“Don’t make me tell you again.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he said that. God you loved when he took control like this. Why was your man so damn hot. He was making you lose your mind. “Oh, fuck,” you gasped. “I’m cumming.”

“That’s it, Baby. Be a good wife and cum for me.”

You mewled making him need to cover your mouth while he fucked you through your orgasm. Pussy juices soaking him. The way you were tightening around him was pushing him to the edge.

Normally Chris had no issue hanging on for you to have more orgasms, but the way your pussy was hugging him was making him reach is point, too. All he could think about was how he loved fucking your pregnant pussy. About how he was finally going to make you his wife. How fucking good your cunt felt.

About how once you had this baby he’d fuck you pregnant all over again. How he was planning to keep putting baby after baby inside of you. “Ah, fuck,” he groaned before finally letting go.

He kept shoving himself into you because in his mind he still needed to breed you. It didn’t matter that he already had. The lighting from the tree making you look like all ethereal. He rolled off quickly coming to lay beside you.

Breathing all heavy with a smile on his face. “We should probably get to the room. Don’t want CJ waking up to this.” He chuckle leaning over to kiss you.

You hummed, rolling to your side to put your head on his shoulder. “Mhm,” you yawned.

He smiled. “Need me to carry you?”

You nodded already starting to doze off. He kissed your forehead before standing up then reached back down to scoop you into his arms. You rested your head on his shoulder, yawning. When he laid you down in bed he tucked you in before disappearing back into the living room to pick up your clothes.

When he came back to climb into bed with you, you threw your arm over his waist and got all snuggled into him. “Hey, so I was kind of thinking,” he said.

“Mhm.”

“How do you feel about us eloping?”

#chris evans smut #chris evans x black!reader #chris evans x poc!reader #Chris Evans x reader #chris jamal evans x reader #Chris Jamal Evans x black!reader #Chris Jamal Evans

[hopeless-ro-simptic]

The Artist and The Dancer -Through Ink and Quill | A Classics Collab

This is my submission for @pleasantanathema ‘s 10k followers collab! Please see the masterlist here and give the rest of the creators some serious love! We’ve all worked hard on this and are so proud of @pleasantanathema for making it to 10k! 

Aged up! Edgar Degas inspired Shinso Hitoshi X Female reader

Word Count: Just under 10k! 

Warnings: NSFW, vaginal fingering, not safe sex, not super historically accurate, they fuck in a bathtub, references to loss of sight and repeated mentioned ankle injuries, angst, fluff, quirk use in a sexual manner, kind of body worshiping, praise. IDK how to tag stuff for warnings. It’s pretty tame. 

Quick background before we start: Degas is a well known impressionist painter from the 1800s, he’s super well known for paintings to do with ballerina’s, women bathing, and horse races. He also has a degenerative eye disease that I referenced as well. In this little...long? fic of mine, quirks are still a thing but heroes not so much. Shinso’s quirk is only mentioned twice, but reader has a quirk that allows her to make music from her body when she dances. This can be read as any body type/description of reader but it is mentioned that she is a ballet dancer, has some sort of hair to grab onto, and someone out there can lift her up. Also I tried to put breaks where sometime has either passed or we’ve gone back in time, and I tried to make it clear but hopefully it makes sense. We’ve got quite the backflash going on.

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Smack. Smack. Smack.

The telltale signs of a new pair of point shoes. No other sounds in the room other than those of ballet flats scuffing the floor, the bending and breaking of their fresh soles, and of tull swishing about with the movements.

Shinso truly loved these sounds, his eyes flickering from the blank canvas he set up in front of him over to the ballerina sitting in the middle of the floor, a frown tugging at your lips as you bend the new shoes in half, flexing them back and forth before smacking them harshly against the floor again.

No words were spoken as the two prepared, Shinso setting up his brushes and paint, getting comfortable on the rickety stool under him, the you finally deciding your shoes were to your satisfaction before you pulled them on, expertly tying the ribbons that you had painstakingly sewed on, before you started in on your stretches.

The light from the large windows that were set into the sloping ceilings of the attic gave the two plenty of natural lighting. Dust particles swirling in the air capturing Shinso’s attention as he shifted his lazy glance away from the stretching ballerina, picking up his paintbrush and getting to work on filling in the background of his canvas. His eyes flicking around the room and back to his canvas taking everything in at once.

There was a soft huff coming from the you that drug Shinso’s eyes over to your form, watching as you pushed yourself off on the floor before you stepped into first position, your eyes staring at the floor before shaking your head and switching to what Shinso had heard you refer to as fourth position, your eyes hovering just above his head for the briefest of moment before you dropped into your dance.

Music flowed through the room as you moved, entrancing the painter for several moments as the music lived and breathed in your movements. Dipping when you dipped, lifting as you jumped, swirling around the space like the perfect partner.  The string instruments that lived just under the your skin, filled the space with melodic tunes sounding like a live symphony was playing in the small attic that just held the two of you.

Shinso watched the dancer with awe for several moments before he forced himself to look away, picking up his paintbrush again, grabbing paint and smearing it across the canvas, letting the music flow in him and dictate his brush strokes as he captured the ballerina in front of him. He worked as you danced, his paint brush dancing along the canvas to your melody, filling in the empty spaces with a thick layer of paint, his eyes barely looking at his work as they trailed your steps across the creaking wooden floor, enchanted with your movements, with the way that your skin shimmered with sweat, how the tutu resembled flower petals reminding him of a fantasy creature that was too beautiful for the real world.

The discordant sounds of strings snapping melted into silence as you thudded to the ground with a curse had Shinso jumping from his chair, knocking his paint over onto the floor in the process. You were bent over yourself in the fetal position, clutching your ankle that was already swelling, the skin bruising as the moments ticked by. Shinso crouched down by you, hands hovering above you before they finally rested on your shaking shoulders, the sight of tears dripping onto the wood underneath you had his stomach clenching.

“Are you okay?” He had barely whispered the words when you snapped your head up, slapping his hand away, anger clear on your face as you glared at him a hiss on your tongue.

“I’m fine, don’t touch me.”

He sat back on his haunches, watching with concern as you struggled to get your breathing under control, sitting up, adjusting the ribbons on your shoes before you forced yourself into a shaking standing position, hesitating to put weight on your foot as you looked down at him.

“Well are you just going to sit there? Go back to painting.” Your eyes were harsh, your words like a whip that stung Shinso’s cheek as he looked up at you from his position, a frown settling on his lips as he pushed himself off of the floor backing away from you, his eyes shifting down to your swelling ankle. Annoyance at you burning on his tongue. Still he understood how important this was to you. How dancing was the reason you breathed, just as his art was his.

He couldn’t ignore the thoughts in his brain though as you stepped back into your dance, music swirling around you for several seconds, the notes sounding shaky and pitched only for you to drop back down to your hands and knees again when your foot couldn’t support your weight, the music ending harshly.

Shinso hesitated by your side, hovering as he watched you slam your fists into the wooded floor below, a scream of frustration echoing through the small attic as you crumpled onto yourself, shaking with the force of the sobs leaving your lips, the movement activating a soft hum from your quirk. It wasn’t until your fists grew bloody and you sat up with fevor, reaching for your ankle and yanking at the laces angrily did he finally step in.

“Stop… stop… Y/n I said stop!” Your eyes glazed over momentarily, your movements halting as the tired artist activated his own quirk, crouching in front of you, his grips on your wrist tight as he regarded you tensely before releasing his quirk, your shoulders slumping slightly.

“Y/n…”

“Leave me alone, please, it’s not worth it.” Tears were streaming down your face as you tried to quiet your sobs but failed, hiding your face into your palms ignoring the sting from where your knuckles were split.

“What are you talking about… y/n –“ His words were cut off as she weakly lashed out at him again with her own, her voice cracking as she cried.

“This is my third repeated injury in a year. I can’t dance anymore Hitoshi, I can’t – They replace dancer’s for less. You should just find a different muse, there are plenty of dancers at the theater, they already replaced my role for-.”

His grip on your wrists grew tighter as he pulled them away from your face, peering into your eyes as he did so, frustration so clear in his eyes as he regarded you.

“My muse, what are you even talking about? I will never replace you. You think I paint you because you are a dancer? I paint dancers because they remind me of you. Just the same as the horse races I paint because you love them so much.”

“But I can’t- my stupid ankle- I’m usele-“

“You are not useless! So what things aren’t turning out exactly how you want it to! You can still do this! You just need to-“

“To what? To what Hitoshi! What am I supposed to do if I can’t dance! What am I supposed to live for!”

“Me! Live for me.”  His own voice cracked in frustration, and you could see his eyes becoming glossy as they shifted around your face.

“Hitoshi… I-“

His lips were on yours before you could finish your statement, a squeak of surprise leaving your lips as you tensed in his grasp, only for him to pull away before you could react. His grip on your wrists loosening until he dropped them altogether, eyes focused on a chip in the wooden floor between the two of you as you gaped at him, your mind screaming at you to say something, to do something, anything to change the look of torture on his tired face.

“I’ll draw you a bath.”

And he was gone. It wasn’t for several seconds that you finally noticed the tape he had placed into your lap for your ankle, but the pain in your ankle had long been forgotten your eyes latched onto the stairs descending into the rest of the artist’s house.

--

Your fingers wandered along the clouds of bubbles, your mind lost in thought as you sunk lower into the warm water, your injured ankle resting gingerly on a towel on the edge of the bath. By the time that you had finished wrapping your ankle and had made your way down the stairs to the bathroom, Hitoshi was already gone, a note hastily scrawled out and left on the chair next to the bath.  

He had gone out.

Short, simple, practically no explanation for his disappearance.

It was his brevity that had you clenching your teeth over and over, your mood shifting from frustration to confusion to something else that you tried to ignore as you thought back to how this all started.

--

You had been working with the artist for almost two and a half years now, after having met him at the theatre. You had been in the corps at the time but was quickly becoming a favorite of the director, Aizawa Shota. To the point that when he had allowed the young artist to watch a rehearsal at his request, to study the movement of the human body as he had explained, he had pulled you aside and introduced you to the purple haired man as one of the options for the Prima for the next show. You had been elated at the time, noting the slight up tweak of the director’s usual frown as you tried to keep your own smile from splitting your cheeks open.

Aizawa had suggested that you work through your practice routine, allowing Shinsou to watch and sketch away on the sidelines, as long as he didn’t distract you. You prided yourself on your ability to focus and block out everything when you worked, but you couldn’t help but notice the way the young artists face shifted into amazement when music started to flow out from your movements, no instrument in sight. The way that he had all but dropped his pencil out of his hand, his eyes glued to your every movement, his previously bored face suddenly filled with complete enchantment.  

At some point in your practice, he had finally picked his pencil up and ended up with over half of his sketchbook filled with renderings of you. You had asked to see his drawings when you had finished, and this time the artist got to see the way your own face lit up at seeing his work, constantly drifting back to one sketch in particular where you had been suspended in mid-jump, the way he had captured you made it truly look like you were flying.

It wasn’t until you had gotten back home late that night and unpacked your bag that you noticed at some point before the artist had left, he had slipped the drawing in your bag with a note attached stating that he would love nothing more than to capture more of his ‘muse’.  

He had visited the theatre almost every day after that, Aizawa allowing the artist to watch from the sidelines, some form of art medium in his hands at all times, as long as he didn’t interrupt.

Several of the other performers at first had flocked to him with high pitched giggling as they asked him to paint them, or offering to preform for him themselves, but the artist practically ignored them all, acting like they weren’t there until Aizawa would step in and the girls would scatter in fear of being reprimanded or worse. At first you had wondered if Aizawa would get annoyed and ask the artist to leave, clearly it was affecting the others, but then you wondered if the dark haired director had a soft spot for the young man, spending a lot of his time around the him, and even cracking a few smiles at things that he had said. You swore that hell had froze over when you had heard the deep chuckle that was Aizawa Shota’s laugh for the first time.

When you had found out that the artist was the director’s nephew, you weren’t at all surprised, the similarities too obvious to not notice.

Days had turned into months, and it was no longer shocking to see dark lavender hair waiting in the wings, the others growing used to him as well and treating him as practically nothing more than a stage prop. The two of you didn’t speak much, if at all some days, conversations for the most part only pertaining to mutual admiration for each other’s work. But somedays the conversations would linger longer, questions of other interests such as food, music, and even sports coming in to play. That was when you had told him of your love of horse racing, how your aunt had owned horses that were famous for their champion bloodlines and how you had always enjoyed dressing up to go to the races, flouncy hat included.

Hitoshi had told you that he had never been to the races, and while you had been fake appalled and teased him mercilessly the rest of the day about it, you had assumed that would have been the end of the conversation, that much like you the artist would completely remove it from his mind and move on with the rest of his life outside of work. It wasn’t until the following Monday when he had waved you over to show you his sketchbook filled with drawings of horses and jockeys that you realized the artist in front of you had actually been interested in what you had been saying. The feelings stirring in your stomach at that realization had been… kind of nice.

Not even a week after that was the first incident. True to his word Aizawa had chosen you and one other girl to work on the Prima roll for the next ballet they would be preforming. You both would be learning the part, and he would decide along the way which one of you he wanted to go with, the other would be placed back into the corps. You had barely been on time that day, skirting into the wings of the stage and dropping down into hasty stretches, Aizawa shooting you an icy glare at interrupting his instructions he had been giving the group, that had melted a little at the end as you shoot him an apologetic one back. You never were late, and he could show mercy… occasionally.

Minutes later you were on the stage, running through the first number, allowing the orchestra to take their time setting up as your quirk worked it’s magic, the music flowing through the air as you ran through the movements with practiced ease. You knew your steps like the back of your hand, knew the timing of the music like it was your own heartbeat.  You knew that the next step, your partner would be stepping up behind you, lifting you up into a jump and gracefully bringing you back to the ground to move into the next series of foot work that ended in a pirouette.

But the pirouette never came, instead the sound of strings snapping, and shrill notes filled the air covering the sound of a body hitting the ground. The series of gasps and whispers sounded quiet in your ear compared to the sound of your own heartbeat, matching the throbbing in your foot. You could feel the tears springing to your eyes, refusing to open them even as shadows fell onto your form. It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand grip your shoulder gently coaxing you over did you finally force yourself to look up into the dark eyes of the director, his brow furrowed as he examined your foot along with one of the trainers that helped take care of the dancers.  You could barely hold back a scream as they guided you to move your foot, your vision blurring as the two shared a look between them that only made your insides churn.

Before they had wheeled you off to the local doctor, you had caught sight of lavender hair, a grim look on his face, his eyes never leaving yours.

You were beside yourself, wallowing really. A sprained ankle. A sprained ankle had you locked up in your small apartment, staring off into space trying to think of anything to distract yourself from what you really wanted. Aizawa refused to let you even step foot inside the theater until you were signed off on by a doctor. Insisting that you stay home and rest. Heal up. Get strong again so that you could come back and work. Because he expected your recovery to be swift. That’s what he told you. That he expected this to just be a minor setback and that you would be back in time to still vie for that Prima position you so badly wanted. That if you really wanted to be Prima, you needed to take care of yourself now so you could work later.

But you had seen the looks, heard the whispers of the others. A sprained ankle… for most would be a temporary setback, but for a ballerina it could be career ending.

Still, you forced yourself to look on the bright side, to focus on Aizawa’s words, to force yourself to remain in bed with the ice pack on your ankle even as you felt so antsy that sitting still one more minute might actually drive you mad. You can’t say you weren’t beyond excited when there was the softest knock at your door that had you immediately perking up.

“Come in, it’s unlocked.” You had had a few friends from the theater and otherwise come to visit, and while it was frustrating to listen over and over about how they wanted you to get better soon, it was still nice to have some sort of company.

But you hadn’t expected that a mop of lavender hair would peak its way through the door, a sheepish look on his face as he took in the room, eyes settling nervously on you.

“Shinsou… I wasn’t expecting you to visit.”

He stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind him slightly probably as to affirm to your oh so nosey roommate that nothing scandalous was happening. He pulled a set of flowers from behind his back, clearing his throat as he looked around the room for a place to set them.

“I uh… brought you these, but I see that I wasn’t very creative with my get well present.” You glanced around the room, taking in the dozens of bouquets that were scattered across every possible surface. He’s not wrong. Flowers weren’t exactly the most unique, but still you felt something stir inside at the thought of the moody artist picking flowers out at a stand. You didn’t fight the smile spilling onto your lips as you regarded him.

“It’s okay, I’ll forgive you for your lack of creativity today.”

He chuckled softly at that, looking at the floor and studying the wood grain, his eyes not meeting yours a smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank goodness for that, I think I’d be beside myself if my muse didn’t forgive me.”

His muse. The thought repeated like a mantra in your head for the next several weeks, somehow giving more reassurance and comfort than anything anyone else had told you over the course of your healing process. The artist had come by a couple more times since then, bringing sketchbooks filled with drawings and paintings of racehorses and a couple of the ballerinas at the theatre, asking questions about different poses that he had captured the ballerina’s in, wanting to know the technical terms and just talking to you about random daily life.

Before you knew it you were getting signed off by the doctor, a smile on their face as they let you know that you healed up wonderfully but still to take it slow and make sure to stretch your ankles properly before and after dancing.

Then everything went back to almost normal. You were back at the theater six days a week, though they had you slowly getting back used to the dance routines, refusing to let you do any jumps for the first several weeks until you were cleared again by the doctor at your follow up. One thing was different though.

Shinso came to the theatre less and less, and when he did he was growing more and more moody and frustrated. More noticeable still was the way that his art started to change, the way that he was less focused on making a clear and crisp rendition, the subjects growing blurrier and with abstract brushstrokes. Colors no longer having defined areas and being used to blend across the entire canvas in ways that you hadn’t seen before.

The young artist was also growing in popularity as well, though that didn’t mean he was any more friendly than before. In fact, you had seen him turn down many a parties and dates with a level of tact that was more than lacking.

At first it was just towards other people, the few straggler dancers that still vied for his attention, people that would get in his way when he was walking, random people that annoyed him at the racetracks when he would join you to watch the horses because they were breathing wrong.

Then he started to grow colder towards you. At first you thought he was just having a bad day, trying not to let it affect your own mood. But one bad day turned into two, then three, and the next thing you knew, you barely could be around the hostile artist without feeling like you were going to blow up yourself.

It was a particularly bad day. You had been avoiding Shinso all day, refusing to talk to him and trying desperately to focus on your role for the upcoming decision date that Aizawa had set. But with how loud the artist was growing with his yelling it was hard for even you to ignore. Even more so when someone brought to your attention that the argument was with none other than director Aizawa himself.

Still, you forced yourself to dance harder, to make your music louder and to block out the artists shouts. You blocked everything out as you dipped down, the music following the flow of movement from your body as you moved into a succession of spins and leaps. You were halfway through your routine, your solo, feeling good about the way your movements flowed across the stage, the music in the air sounding light and airy. Like you were flying.

But with the sudden slam of a door flying open and into the wall, the shouting of the young artist grew significantly louder breaking into your bubble of solitude making you fall out of your third spin, silence growing heavy as your music died down and you turned to watch the angry man storm through the theater space.

“Hitoshi, come back here and let’s talk about this rationally.”

“No, I’m done! I’m done! It’s useless! I’m useless! Everything in this world is fucking useless!”

“Hitoshi-“

“No, fuck you! Fuck you, fuck this place, and fuck -… fuck this.”

You watched in a mixture of shock and dread as Shinsou tore apart his sketch book, flinging pages into the air, yanking his portable paint pallet out of his bag and snapping it in half tossing it across the room and into the wall, paint splattering everywhere as pieces of the pallet shattered off in different directions. Shinsou tore his bag off of his body, the strap snapping as he did so, throwing it to the floor before turning and leaving the theater with a slam of the door.

The silence that followed was uneasy. Only broken by the whispers of the crew members and some of the dancers. You turned to Aizawa who was running his fingers through his hair, a look of distraught on his face as he kneeled down and started to pick up some of the scattered drawings littering the floor, his voice rough as he spoke.

“Rehearsal is over for today. Go home and get rest. I want everyone back here early tomorrow.”

You looked around watching as everyone collected their things, chattering quietly and sending glances back to the director and you as they left the theater. You felt frozen in your spot until you noticed a drawing near your feet, a drawing of you.

Bending down to pick it up you examined it, a frown pulling at your lips as you realized it was a quick sketch of you. Messy, compared to his usual work, but it mostly focused on your face. If you didn’t look for specific details it looked like you were laughing, holding onto what looked like it could have been a hat that you wore to the racetrack weeks ago, the wind blowing your hair in your face. The only thing that was actually clear in the drawing was your smile, the attention to detail in the way your lips quirked up had you pausing. It was different than the rest of the drawing, all focus being pulled to the one point, whereas the rest seemed almost blurry, vague.  

“He drew it from memory.” Aizawa’s voice had you jumping, looking up at the director, a blush creeping onto your face at your reaction. You had completely forgotten he was there, but the director didn’t seem to notice as he lightly tapped the drawing in your hands, his face pulled into a sad frown as he regarded it.

“Is that why it’s so blurry?” You took a deep breath, handing the director the drawing to allow you to start your cool down stretches. He didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to lock the theater up, nor did it seem he minded you staying for company. The last thing you wanted to do was cause another injury because you weren’t taking care of yourself after practicing so hard.

But the director just gave you an odd look, a crease appearing between his brows.

“… would you mind doing me a favor when you leave here? I have some things to take care of here and I’m afraid it will be much too late by the time I’m done.”

“Yea of course,” You tilted your head giving him a look of confusion.

An hour later you were standing here, staring up at the house in front of you, you couldn’t help but feel the anxiety creeping in as looked back down at the note in your hand, shifting the full and heavy bag on your shoulder. While you didn’t mind helping out the director, this wasn’t exactly something you wanted to deal with right now. But you agreed. So with a heavy sigh you rapped your knuckle against the wooden door three times, waiting, silently chewing your lip for a response.

“I told you to fuck off- oh… y/n?” He was squinting at you for a moment his frown turning to look of confusion, peaking his head out of his door and looking around the street for something.

“Aizawa asked me to bring this back to you.” You stood tall, pulling on the inner ballerina and forcing a face of bravery, ignoring the fluttering feeling settling in your stomach. This was the first time at his place, and the sight in front of you had you fighting to keep the blush out of your cheeks, a fight you were sure you were failing.

He looked absolutely wrecked. His coat was long gone. His usually crisp button up was opened, hanging loosely off of his frame, untucked from his pants. His belt already undone, shoes missing. Not to mention his regular ruffled and messed up hair was sticking out at odd angels and looked more bedhead like than normal.

Sure, you had seen the tired artist show up at the theater and even your home when you were out with the injury a few times looking a little sleepy and rumpled, the sight always making it hard to keep your eyes off of him, but this… this was a whole other level. He was gorgeous.

His eyes hovered on your face for a moment, only making your cheeks redder, but if he noticed he didn’t say anything, his usual snarking teasing gone as his eyes shifted down to the large bag on your shoulder his expression turning sour as he reached out and took it from you.

“You really didn’t have to… should have just thrown it all away. Or use it for kindling.”

“Don’t say that.” Your voice came out harsher than you expected, and you immediately caught yourself, biting you lip and hoping you didn’t piss the moody artist off even more. You did not want to argue right now.

“It’s true. It’s all junk-“ He tossed the satchel onto something inside the house, maybe a table or a chair, or probably just the floor given his attitude.

“I think it all looks beautiful.” You stated like it was a matter of fact.

His eyes looked up back towards your own, shifting around your face several times as he spoke his next question, squinting ever so slightly like he was having a hard time deciding what to focus on. You couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

“Do… do you want to come in? I want to show you something… I know you don’t have a chaperon-“ He brought his hand up to scratch at his neck, looking back into his house as he spoke.

“Yes!” You flinched at how quickly and desperate that sounded, but the words were already out, and it was worth it when the artist in front of you let out a soft chuckle, giving you a slightly bewildered look before stepping back and allowing you in.

If your mother knew what you were doing right now, going into a man’s house, a single man’s house without a chaperone, she’d faint right there from shame. But you choose not to think about that as you stepped in, the door closing softly behind you as Shinso guided you through his home.

His home that was littered with art. Every surface, every wall, everything was covered with canvases and sketch paper. The floor even had some strewn along it, like it fell off the over piled surfaces and he never bothered to pick it up. Some of it you even recognized from seeing it before. Drawings upon drawings of horses and ballerina’s and even several portraits all along the place, some barely started, some halfway done, and so many that looked completed.

You saw oil paintings, gouache, charcoal sketches, even some wax figures. There were pieces of pastel chalks all over the place, paint brushes in water jars and coffee mugs, sketch pads everywhere you looked. What you easily counted as at least four different easels.

You felt like you were in heaven, your eyes skirting all throughout the room, taking in anything and everything. You felt like you were stepping into the mind of the artist in front of you, and you couldn’t help but gape in awe. But the artist didn’t stop, gesturing you to follow him as he walked back through his hallway, skipping straight past a set of stairs that led to what you assumed was the attic with the large windows that you could see from outside. Instead, he walked directly back to the house, opening a door, and letting you step inside. Leaning against the door frame, he nodded to the easel in the center of the room.

You felt giddy, a smile on your face as you skipped over to the easel, beyond excited to see what the artist was working on. You looked back towards him once more, to which he only solemnly nodded in response, making your expression drop slightly.

“Go ahead, I want your opinion on it.”

You just wanted him to smile and were tempted on making a snarky comment that would get at least some sort of response from him, even it didn’t last for more than a second. Instead, you turned back to the easel, gingerly lifting up the sheet that was covering it until it unearthed what was underneath, the sheet slipping to the floor as you stepped back, taking in what was in front of you.

You were silent for a long moment as you took it in. It was clearly a painting of a ballerina, as so much of his work was, but this painting, was by far the most abstract that you had seen. The colors all blended together, none of the shapes having a specific outline, the ballerina not even having a face, just blotches of color where you assumed the shadows somewhat outlined vague features.

But for some reason, it was the most beautiful work that you think you had seen. The way that everything blended seemed to invoke a feeling in your that you just couldn’t pinpoint to one emotion.

The ballerina could have been anyone, and the lack of facial expression and the fact that the only thing that was clear was that she was wearing a tutu reminded you of how it felt to be invisible back in your days in the corps. How you were just another background dancer. Mediocre in the sea of talent. So easy to blend into the background and be forgotten.  

But looking further into it she was gorgeous. Her pose was clearly one of a graceful jump, frozen in time, she looked like she was flying, the tutu making her look like a bird, the way her limbs extended and pointed just perfectly. She looked ethereal, like she wasn’t of this earth. She looked… free.

“Well damn. I didn’t think it was that bad.”

You startled, looking over to the painter who had the weakest of teasing smiles on his lips, like he was trying to make a joke but wasn’t sure if it was actually a joke or not. That’s when you felt the cool air stinging your cheeks where your tears had wet them. Reaching up you brushed your tears away a soft laugh leaving your lips as you looked back to the painting in front of you sniffling softly.

“It’s… I don’t even have a word for it.”

“Ugly, horrific, putrid? Maybe vomit inducing? That’s the same isn’t it?” You shook your head, pushing the artist’s shoulder softly as he came to stand by you, crossing his arms, as he regarded the painting seeming to search for a word to properly describe.

“Magnificent.”

His eyes shifted back to yours, his lifts quirking up into a smile slightly as his eyes shifted around your face again, trying to memorize your features. You smiled back, his eyes focusing on your lips for a moment before his own frowned and he let out a sigh looking back towards the picture and taking a step towards it as if to see it better.

“I’m going blind.”

You froze for a moment, staring at him in utter confusion, your eyebrows pulling together as you listened to him speak.

“That’s why everything is so… blurry, unpronounced. I’ve always painted what I saw, and this... this is what I see.” He gestured to the painting, your eyes flipping back to it and looking at it in a new light. Your brain working a mile a minute as things started to click in your mind.

The clumsiness. The way his art was growing more and more abstract, less defined, turning to simple brushstrokes of color. The way his eyes never seemed to focus very long on any one thing, his squinting.

His hostility.

“I don’t want to give up being an artist… I love it more than anything. It’s my passion, but I don’t see how I can keep going if I can’t even find my paintbrush half of the time.”

“Shinsou…”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m not giving it.”

He turned and regarded you, looking hesitant, guarded. All you wanted to do was give him a hug, but from one artist to another… you remembered what you felt like when you hurt your ankle. The fear of not being able to do what you love. He needed someone to push him, to show him he still can. Not someone to coddle him.

“This…” you gestured to the painting, stepping towards it and tilting your head as you looked at it. “This is amazing Shinsou… this isn’t just a picture. It’s not just a rendition of life. This shows emotion. It impacts someone. This …This is art. If someone doesn’t like this, if someone tells you this is trash, or it isn’t art or you can’t be an artist. They are a fool. A complete idiot. And they are just jealous because even with full sight they can’t make something half of amazing.”

Turning back to the purple haired artist, you expected an argument, a protest, some lame excuse as to why he thought it was awful. But instead, he just looked at you for a long moment, before turning back to the picture, hiding a smile as he hummed a soft response, his voice cracking as he did. “Whatever you say my muse.”

From that day on, Shinso was back at the theater, back to painting you, a little less moody than usual. After your second injury, days after Aizawa had given you the role of Prima, which he had to give to the other dancer, Shinso had come to visit you daily, helping you around as you healed. Some days he would paint, sometimes he would bring a hoard of pencils, once he even brought just paper, taking time to fold up so many little figurines for your bedside table. After you had healed enough to start lightly dancing again, the two of you had decided to work out of his home. Allowing you the freedom to dance, without disrupting the theater, and allowing him to create art as he watched.

-Present Day-

The creak of the door had you glancing up from your bath that was starting to run cold, the bubbles still piled high more than covering your body from the artist who hovered at the door, ever the gentlemen and averting his eyes as he leaned against the door frame, staring at the floor with his hands in his pocket. The two of you had grown very comfortable with each other, to the point that outsiders would be appalled, but he was your closest friend. You were his muse.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You noted the blush that was creeping up on his cheeks as he kept his eyes on the floor, your silence making him uncomfortable as he cleared his throat and started to speak again.

“I can call for a carriage to take you home, but you really need to get that ankle delt with first, at least let me wrap it for you.”

“Hitoshi…”

You watched him tense up, like he was waiting to get slapped even though you were across the room. The sight had your gut clenching, not in a good way.

“Come here.”

His head snapped up, his eyes wavering but focusing on your own in bewilderment as he choked on his own spit, reaching up and straightening his vest. But you just nodded your head, affirming your words, a slight smile on your lips as he hesitantly stepped towards you until he was hovering at the edge of the bathtub, his eyes focusing on your face, his stance relaxing as he recognized you weren’t mad at him.

You lifted up your hand, your smile widening as he took it in his own, rubbing his thumb across your soft skin, seeming mesmerized by the way your fingers curled around his own.

“I wish…” He started, his eye brows pulling together for a moment as he paused in thought, only for him to start up again. “I wish I could see you dance for the rest of my life.”

“Hitoshi…”

“I want to be with you y/n… I want to hear your music, and make you smile, and I want to draw you until I have no more paper, and even then I’d paint you on the walls. I want to be able to hold you and tell you how amazing you are and to get to see you live your dreams and fly like the angel you are. I want to be able to touch your face whenever and to memorize it that way because I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to see your eyes or those lips. God those lips. I want the first thing I do every morning and the last thing I do every night to be kissing those lips.

I want to go to the racetracks with you every weekend and enjoy how relaxed and carefree you are, and to hear your little squeal when the gun goes off for the race to start. I want to be able to go get breakfast with you from that little café three blocks down and sit in the park and listen to the birds. I want to take late night strolls with you and feel the warm summer nights. I want to dance with you under the moonlight while we make our own music.  I want to stay up all night just listening to you talk about literally anything, and I want to see what you look like when you first wake up in the morning when I bring you breakfast in bed.

You’re not just my muse for my art… y/n you are the reason I continue to live and breathe. You are the reason I can still paint. You are the reason I get up in the morning and frankly the only reason I get dressed enough to go out in public, just so I can see you. You are my muse in all senses of the word.

Y/n… I.. I love you.”

You were stunned into silence, eyes wide as you regarded the man in front of you. This moody artist. Who constantly looked tired, and whose sense of humor was dark and sometimes a little rude and self-deprecating. Who you were pretty sure could draw you with his eyes closed because he had already done so thousands of times. Who stood by you even though you weren’t able to do the one thing you were good at anymore.

You barely even registered what you were doing yourself, but one moment you were looking up at the young artist in front of you, your fingers wrapped in his, and the next you were yanking his hand, pulling him into the over-sized bathtub on top of you, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you pressed your lips to his.

The sound of water sloshing about was drowned out by the sound of protest that came from Hitoshi at getting wet, which was quickly replaced with a sigh of satisfaction as he eagerly answered your kiss with his own, his hands resting on either side of the bathtub to help him keep himself up.

You separated your lips from his, a cheeky smile on his face as he moved to pepper kisses across your cheeks as you giggled trying to get a word out.

“I love you too”

“Yea? A grumpy artist? That never sleeps. And half the time doesn’t remember to eat. You sure?” He moved his hand to cup your cheek, which you leaned into rolling your eyes, before he leaned in and kissed your nose, moving back down to your mouth, pressing himself further against you.

You let out a content sigh in response, arching up into him, bring attention to the both of you that you were very much naked. You felt your cheeks heat up as his gaze flickered down towards your chest, leaning back slightly to get a better view as he let out a hum in thought.

“We should get you dried… dressed… should really deal with your ankle.” Even as he spoke the words, his hands slid under the water, hesitating on a little before they softly caressed your sides, one moving to grip onto your hip, the other resting on your rib cage, thumb dangerously close to brushing your breast. You watched as the man above you chewed on his lip, seeming distracted by the sight in front of him. You wondered what it looked like to him. You wished he could see it all clearly.

“Toshi… come here.”

“Hmm? I’m right here.” His focus never wavered from taking in your body, his own eyes seeming to glaze over as he kneaded circles into your flesh with his thumbs, his tongue running across his lips only to be replaced once again by his teeth.

“Toshi..” Your whispered out the nickname, your fingers lacing behind his head tugging him closer to you until he relented, pressing his lips against yours once, then twice, then groaning as he went back again for a third time, his grip tightening on your hip as his other hand reached up and tangled into your hair, water sloshing out onto the ground from his movements.

His lips were soft and plush against your own, moving a little clumsily at first but quickly getting his footing as he pressed further against you, angling his head just right, slipping his tongue against your lips asking sweetly for more.  You momentarily forgot how to breathe as you let him have access, a moan vibrating your throat as he swirled his tongue against your own, coaxing you back into his own mouth before sucking on your tongue lightly groaning in response to you.

You gasped, feeling his hips roll against your own, his wet clothes pressing against you just right, making your skin sensitive to the point that you were arching into him. Feeling your pebbled nipples rub against the scratchy fabric of his vest, the seem in his pants sliding along the space just above your clit, making you wonder what it would feel like if it just moved down slightly.  Separating your lips, he shifted so that his lips were against your ear, softly speaking to you, his voice growing husky as you felt him pressing against you, the bulge in his pants bigger than you expected for the lean artist.

“Y/n.” He pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear, his voice dropping even lower as his fingers at your hip shifted towards your thigh, moving closer and closer to the apex. “Let me take care of you, my muse. Let me make you feel as beautiful as you are to me.”

You nodded, barely containing a whimper as you felt his tongue run along the edge of your ear, his breathe hot against your skin, his fingers delving between your thighs, coaxing them apart so he could shift to be between them. His fingers splayed across you, sliding between, and separating your folds, his middle finger making a languid circle against your already swollen nub. His voice strained like he was trying to hold back groans of satisfaction as he breathed his words into your neck, pressing hot open mouth kisses to your skin.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the day I met you.” He buried his face against your skin, letting out a groan as you whimpered softly in response to his fingers slow and purposeful touches, fingers sliding easily across your bundle of nerves, circling and circling, from the water surrounding the two of you. “I’ve wanted to worship you until you realized just how amazing you were.”

Your own hands drug across his back, coming around to pull the buttons of his vest apart with trembling fingers as you pressed yourself up into his touch, trying to remove all boundaries between the two of you. He slowly sped his ministrations up until he found the perfect speed that had you mewling at his touch, grinding up into his fingers to get more pressure and relief, whispers begging for more leaving your lips like they were your mantras.

He focused all of his attention on your clit, lightly tugging it with the pads of his rough fingers from years of using them to blend out chalk and charcoal. His lips moving from your neck to your ear only to whisper soft encouragements and praises into you.

Finally, after what felt like too long you yanked his vest off of his shoulders, it pooling in the water, trapped on his arm, and quickly made short work of his button up shirt, cursing the fashions of the day and whishing there was an easier and quicker way to undress. As soon as you had access to his chest your lips were on his skin, pressing kisses, your teeth snagging against his neck pulling soft moans from the man on top of you as you sucked on the skin leaving marks.

“Please Toshi more. More.”

“Fuck darling..” his fingers left you for the briefest of moments, making you cry out in frustration only for his to sit up and tear off his shirt and vest, tossing them into a wet heap of fabric on the floor, the sound sounding just as obscene as the noises leaving your lips. His hands shifting to his pants, quickly untying them and pulling them off only for them to follow the rest of his clothes allowing you to see him in his full glory for the first time. He didn’t give you time to appreciate him though, his lips sealing against your own, forcing your eyes closed as his fingers returned to their new home between your legs, his hips rolling down against you making you moan with the heat that was coming from his dick rubbing against your thigh.

You nipped at his tongue, drawing more noises of pleasure from him as he coaxed you up and up, rubbing his length against you sensually as he shifted closer and closer to your cunt. You were both panting at this point, dizzy from the lack of air, but not caring as you pressed closer to each other, long forgotten the water splashing out onto the floor making a mess of his bathroom.

Your fingers dragged down his chest, nails leaving marks that he leaned into as you searched for your own toy to play with, finding it took both hands to hold in your grasp. You didn’t have to do much work, his thrusts doing practically everything as you guided his tip up and down your slit, surprised to feel the distinct difference of your own wetness compared to the water, his own fingers in the way occasionally as he strummed you closer to the finish line.

You couldn’t help the wanton moan that echoed through the house when his tip dipped inside of you and pulled back out, your eyes rolling back as you lifted your hips up to his own, forcing him further inside until he was practically at the hilt, your hands moving to grip his ass and pull him closer to you, legs wrapping around him and trapping him in place, his hips thrusting into you as he cursed against your lips.

“Fuck. So god damned perfect darling.”

He didn’t move for a moment, instead focusing on making sure you were comfortable in your positions, his lips devouring your own, a smile on his face as he whispered soft praises between kisses.  But that moment quickly passed, you being the first to roll up against him, dragging a curse out from his lips, him dipping his face to press it into your cleavage, a groan leaving his lips as you ground up into him with a whine.

Lips attached to your nipple, one hand still swirling your sensitive bundle of nerves causing you to cry out, the other pinching the other nipple between two fingers, rolling it in perfect unison as he suckled on you, tongue laving back and forth, the heat of his mouth making you want to scream.

His thrusts were slow and deliberate, dragging himself almost all of the way out of you, your walls clenching as he did to get him to stay, only for him to press back into you, bottoming out and pressing against your cervix with each thrust.

With one more flick of his finger against your clit you were gone. His name leaving your lips in short breathy cries as you arched up into him the pressure feeling too much as you clenched down around him, your grip tightening and trying to hold him in place. But he didn’t stop there, his fingers continuing to slowly circle your clit, helping you ride out the wave as he pistons in and out of you, your own name being said as a prayer.

He released your nipples as you came down, shifting his lips back up and slowly moving up your neck, sucking and biting on the skin as his voice reverberated around the room.

“You are so fucking gorgeous. So perfect. My beautiful muse.”

You could feel him starting to speed up his thrusts, making more and more cries leave your lips as you tried to keep up with him, already feeling pressure building up again.

“Toshi.. please, please… Toshii… pleaseee.”

“I know darling, I know. Fuck you feel so good. I’m not gon-“

His voice was cut off with a groan as he pressed his forehead to yours, fucking into you relentlessly as your walls fluttered around him. A hot huff, before he groaned out your name again pressing into you, his thrusts growing sloppy.

“Toshi please, I wanna cum again. Please.”

“Fuck- nng… Fuck. C- haa-“ He couldn’t finish his words, plowing into you, feeling the waves of what little remained of the water crashing against him, perfectly level with your clit making you arch back up into him with a whine as you tried to find a second release.

“Fuck. Darling… Kitten… cum for me.”

He buried his face into your chest, a long-drawn-out moan leaving his lips, sounding broken as you felt hot spurts of liquid squirting into you, your mind exploding with pleasure as his quirk snapped on, making you scream out his name, feeling aftershocks hit you wave after wave as you collapsed against the back of the tub, panting harshly, your mind hazy as you came down.

The two of you sat there for several moments, gasping for air, your legs shaking form tensing up for so long. After a moment or two, Shinso glanced up at you, his cheeks red, hair sticking to his face from sweat, an exhausted but content expression on his face.

“Are you okay my muse?”

You let out a snort, and a short nod in response, leaning into his hand as it cupped your cheek, him leaning up and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips a smile on his.

“You’re magnificent.”

“Hmm.. I bet you think so.” You leaned back, looking at the ceiling with a smirk feeling your body relax only for your attention to be brough to your still swollen ankle as you shifted it, pain shooting through your leg.

At seeing your face, Hitoshi sighed softly, shaking his head before pressing another kiss to your lips, pushing himself up and into a standing position, leaning over to grab a towel, his still impressive length swinging practically in your face making you blush.

“We really need to take care of your ankle. I’m serious this tim- Oh fuck kitten..” his fingers gripped your hair, his head dropping back as he closed his eyes, his dick twictching back to life as you ran your tongue along it slowly, a snarky laugh leaving your lips at his reaction.

“Kitten?” You tilted you head back, looking up at him a question in your eyes, his face turning scarlet as he looked away from you biting his lip, hiding a sheepish smile.

“Please let me take care of you… stop distracting me.”

You huffed a pretend sigh of annoyance, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes.

“Fine, if you must. But I’m continuing that later.”

He rolled his own eyes at you, stepping out of the bath and drying off before moving to also grab you a towel, helping you out of the bath as well, taking extra care to dry off every inch of you, making you lean your weight against him and not on your foot before he scooped you up, shuffling off towards his bedroom.

“I don’t want your injury to get worse. You still want to dance don’t you?”

You hummed a soft acknowledgement, wistfulness lacing your tone as he slowly placed you into his bed, helping set up his pillows to accommodate your leg better. He would get the two of you settled then call for the local doctor to come look at you. He just hoped you didn’t want to go home soon.

“As must as you still want to paint.”

His smile was filled with understanding as he brought over one of his shirts to you, helping you into it but leaving your bottom bare, covering it with a blanket before dressing himself only to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes latched onto yours with a look of adoration you had seen so many times and mistaken for something platonic.

“You know, I’d love to paint you bathing sometime. You truly look like a goddess then.”

You blushed at his words, shaking your head laughing, a fluttering feeling in your stomach as you realized just how much things had changed so quickly.

“The scandal Mr Shinso! What would the papers say about us? My honor was already sullied months ago just by being here, but now you want physical proof that you’ve seen me without my knickers?“ You were joking for the most part. You didn’t care about honor. Scandals. Most girls would be ashamed to be rumored to have even kissed a man that wasn’t their husband in this time, but you loved him, and you knew nothing wrong could come of that.  Who cared what anyone else thought?

“Then marry me.”

You froze, staring at the artist who looked more sure of himself than any other time you had seen him. His face completely serious, shoulders relaxed, as he gazed at you like you were his entire reason for living.

Your lips split into a smile without you even realizing, your cheeks almost hurting from how wide it was as you looked down at your lap for a brief moment before meeting his eyes once again when his hand reached out to take yours, thumb rubbing soft circles.

“Yes. Yes I’ll marry you.”

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#Shinsou #Shinso #Shinso Hitoshi #Hitoshi #Hitoshi Shinso #mha #bnha #mha fanfic #mha fic #bnha fanfic #bnha fic #shinso fic #Hitoshi fic #Shinso hitoshi fic #shinso x reader #hitoshi x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #classics collab #through ink and quill #ballerina reader #have worked on this all month and my fingers hurt.

[comfortbucky]

Happy sleepover! You're really lovely. I was thinking about some hcs for sam wilson and first time going together at a music festival?

OMG !!! MY FIRST SAM WILSON FIC !!! I LOVE THIS NONNIE !!! ☺️

also wtf no you are the lovely one !! 😭🥺💗thank u so much nonnie !!!🥺💗 (idk why but u calling me lovely really just made me cry just now)

𝗮 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗳𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗮𝗹 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘀𝗮𝗺 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚

pairing: sam wilson x gender neutral!reader

warnings/tags: tw anxiety, soft!sam, fluff, suggestions/alluding to sexual content, pet name (sweet pea)

A/N: this is LITERALLY days late and i’m so so sorry but life …. sgshdbbwjdk anyWAYs !!!! i hope u enjoy🥺💗 (not be posting this at 3am … my anxiety unexpectedly keeping me up😖🤧)

𝗷𝗼𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿!♡ ☁︎｡⋆ ﾟ☾ ﾟ⋆

𝘀𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗻𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗴𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚

u and sam actually bonded over ur shared love of music from the moment u met

the day u met, u were working out at the gym

u were trying to pair ur wireless headphones to ur phone for ur music, unsuccessfully

and so marvin gaye starts blasting from the speakers of ur phone

ur face is burning up, mortified by the fact that everyone in the gym now knows that ur listening to hitch hike to run to

as ur fumbling with ur phone to pause it, u sense a figure approaching u, and at first, it scares u

but then u look up at the stranger beside u and are greeted with the warmest, sweetest smile u’ve ever seen

“that’s a great song choice.”

his voice was smooth, like caramel, and there was a hint of a southern accent that escaped his lips

heat rose to ur cheeks as u stammered to get any words out of ur mouth

the both of u ended up chatting up a storm as u were both leaving the gym, and the rest is history

although sam’s southern charm was enough to make ur knees weak, ur attraction to him was also because of the fact that u guys had almost the exact same taste in music

so it only made sense that u guys decided to go to a musical festival together

it was the first time going to one for the both of u, and u felt a bit anxious, but sam was such a calm presence to be with, ur nerves quickly dissipated into the warm festival air

he did this through small actions like

holding ur hand while the two of u waited on line to get in, his thumb brushing on the back of ur hand to soothe u

while u guys were waiting on line, someone shoved past u guys, causing sam to shoot them a glare

right after, he stood behind u, wrapping his arms around u, to act as a shield to prevent anyone else from shoving u

when u guys finally entered the festival, u guys immediately made a beeline to the stage to see none other than megan thee stallion

as soon as u heard the music booming through the speakers, u let it flow through u, taking over ur body movements

ur sweaty bodies meshed perfectly together, swaying to the rhythm of the beat

occasionally, u guys took breaks to get overpriced drinks, quenching ur thirst

“my TT’s sweet tea would’ve put whatever this is to shame! i gotta take u down to delacroix sometime to show u a real iced drink.”

u knew u loved sam, and he loved u too, but neither of u had uttered those 3 words to each other

during one of the bigger performances, u two were facing each other as u were dancing together

and u couldn’t help but finally confess, but he couldn’t hear u over music

“i love u!”

at that very moment, the song had ended, allowing sam, and everyone in ur proximity, to hear ur admission of love

u immediately stuffed ur face in ur hands, scared to see his reaction

“hey,”

he delicately removed ur hands from ur face, holding ur hands in his

“i love u too, sweet pea.”

as soon as u collided for a kiss, the next song started, perfectly timed (cheesy but let me have this😁)

u were both exhausted by the end of the night, dragging ur bodies to the exit

despite how tired sam was, he mustered the strength to give u a piggyback, after much argument between u two

when u guys got back to ur hotel, u both collapsed onto the bed

u were ready to fall asleep right then and there but sam convinced u to shower

“come on, i’ll get in with u”

and that was enough to force u out of bed

afterward, u guys were showered, cuddling, face to face, with him caressing ur face

“hey sweet pea?”

“yeah?”

“i love u.”

u pulled him in for a lazy, sloppy, slow kiss before u fell asleep with his lips against urs

sam chuckled to himself and pressed a kiss to forehead before drawing u closer to him, settling in for a night of sleep with u in his arms (🥺💗)

#𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗯𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆'𝘀 𝟱𝟬𝟬 𝘀𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿! ☁︎ ˚☽˚｡⋆ #sam wilson #sam x reader #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x gender neutral!reader #sam wilson x gender neutral reader #sam wilson x gn!reader #sam wilson fic #sam wilson fanfic #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson headcanon #sam wilson hc #sam wilson blurb #captain america #sam wilson captain america #sam wilson fanfiction #imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #soft!sam wilson #was part of this inspired by new girl #yes #tw anxiety

[bisou-doux]

In honor of my favorite boys’ birthday, I thought I’d share a little preview of the fic (would I even call it that??? Idk) I’d started writing for @amourtentiaa‘s sleepover bash. Enjoy!!

Fight or Flight

Fred Weasley x Fem!reader

Warnings: cursing, alcohol/drinking mention (really short), food mention

Tagging some moots just because: @krasivayadarling @wonderfilworld @fictionalwhores @amixedwitch @rorybutnotgilmore @ronbrokemyheart @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @mitsukui @pineapplesandpinas @darthwheezely

Well, fight or flight I'd rather die Than have to cry in front of you Fight or flight I'd rather lie Than tell you, I'm in love with you

Fred and y/n hated each other when they first met.

He thought she was just a boring little teacher’s pet and a pompous know-it-all who didn’t know how to take a joke. 

She thought he was an immature, lazy, conceited asshole who played horrible, unfunny pranks on innocent people. 

The fact that in every class he hardly paid attention only to get perfect marks, while she was studying her ASS OFF to get the same grade, PISSED. HER. OFF. 

“It’s completely unfair!” y/n explained to Angelina, “I’ve never ONCE seen him pay attention. He doesn’t even look at the blackboard!” Angelina hummed in acknowledgment as she continued to doodle on one of her textbooks. She was used to y/n’s daily “I hate Fred Weasley” rants and tended to just tune her out and let her rant as she acted as emotional support. “Are you even listening?” y/n asked. “Hm? What?” Angelina replied, breaking out of her trance. 

Y/n didn’t like George very much either; admittedly, he was the more level-headed of the two, but he was still just as much of a good-for-nothing troublemaker as his twin.

Y/n and Fred were CONSTANTLY competing in EVERYTHING.

Bragging whenever they got a higher mark and reminding the other every chance they got for the rest of the day.

Not letting the other hear the end of it when their team won a quidditch game- Fred supported Ireland’s Ballycastle Bats, while y/n rooted for Scotland’s (far superior) Montrose Magpies.

They’d get into drinking games at parties- taking shot after shot until their friends had to drag them away before one of them died of alcohol poisoning.

When Fred had mentioned gobstones to her, he refused to explain the rules- so y/n quickly ended up with the marble’s putrid liquid being sprayed in her eyes. George later explained the rules to her, and after a bit of practice, she managed to hustle Fred out of the bag of sweets he’d just bought at Hogsmeade.

Y/n had been the one to smugly introduce Fred to various muggle card games. She played a lot with her friends for fun, but with Fred the stakes were always raised. Once in a game of blackjack, y/n was on a winning streak and Angelina had to stop her from betting away the £200 she’d gotten as a birthday present.

They were constantly bickering. Always about stupid things, too. Like, she’d give the wrong answer in class, Fred would say something smug about it, and they’d go on insulting each other until someone told them to stop. Fred bumps into y/n in the hall? they stand there for a good few minutes hurling insults at each other until y/n is dragged along by Angelina. Fred messes up y/n’s potion? Bickering. Y/n takes the last piece of toast at breakfast? Bickering. The list goes on. 

They’d play a lot of chess (both the muggle and wizard versions). When they played the wizard version, it usually gathered a small crowd as they’d both get extremely competitive and pelt each other with both various insults and broken chess pieces, it would usually end in a screaming match as they kept insisting that the other somehow cheated. But when they played the muggle version, they weren’t quite as excitable. They wouldn’t tell anyone when they’d go and play, and it was usually somewhere they wouldn’t be bothered (the common room late at night or sometimes even the library). 

With muggle chess, they were quiet and calculating. Fred was always so bursting with energy, that sometimes it would overwhelm him. Chess was one of the few things that could calm him down. It was the type of thing that allowed him to concentrate deeply without feeling for a moment like he had to think about anything else. Y/n just enjoyed the game. She loved how despite its simplicity, there were infinite ways a game could go. 

They’d usually end up playing when they noticed the other had had a rough day, and one would suggest a game of chess. Sometimes they’d ask what was wrong, and it would either be the simple answer of “I don’t wanna talk about it.” so they’d play in silence. But other times, they’s go on to explain what happened while the other listened. Either way, neither of them seemed to look up from the board the entire time. Sometimes they’d play late into the night when everyone else was asleep. When they’d sneak back into their respective dormitories, if anyone asked, they’d come up with some sort of excuse as to where they’d been.

Playing muggle chess against y/n was probably the only time Fred couldn’t care less whether he won or lost; he’d never admit it, but when they weren’t biting each others’ heads off, he quite enjoyed her company. And while she’d rather die than say it to him, y/n felt the same way. 

#fred weasley #fred x reader #Fred and George #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #song fic #writing challenge #enemies to lovers #angst #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #fluff #hp fluff #hp golden era #george weasley #fred and george weasley #tw alchohol mention #tw alcohol #tw food #cw cursing

[maplecornia]

chapter 15

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.04K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: these next few chapters i really like, they're a LOT of connection time between tae and yen. plus idk why but since a majority of this chapter happens in the rain it just makes it ten times SPOICIER

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear |@mangminnie | @pixiekooo

They leave you behind.

As you watch them go, you can't help but be reminded of that which you have lost. The sight of their hand linked together shocks you with a pain deep in your heart. Ignoring the lump turning in your throat, you bat away your memories, and try to rise and wave goodbye.

Keyword….TRIED.

“Oh, no you don't,” Taehyung says as he pushes on your shoulders, sitting you back down.

You plump down on the wall, tilting your head up to glare at him. He meets it with a look of his own, before slowly bringing the ice up to his face, and grinning almost manically. You roll your eyes, leaning back, and he chuckles, positioning himself on the ground with the ice.

“So, what were you telling those kids anyway?”

You sigh, taking out your sketchbook once more as he tries his hardest to open the bag. You only need one pencil at the moment to finish the drawing, so as you bring it out, you smother your smile at his struggle, resisting the urge to mutter karma underneath your breath.

“Nothing much….just a story they asked me to tell.” You explain, not wanting to draw attention to your drawing or have him looking at it any closer than he has to. There’s something about him looking into it, about him seeing what you can see that scares you.

“Are you okay?” His voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you blink, looking up at him, and finding his eyes mere inches from yours. His hand rests on your knee as he pushes himself up to meet your gaze, his long dark eyelashes fluttering as he blinks. As you slowly nod, he pulls away, chuckling. “For a moment there, I thought I lost you. Where did you go?”

“Nowhere. I was just...spacing out I guess.” You say, shrugging it off, and resuming your preparation. You twirl your pencil in your hand, smirking as Tae finally opens the bag, the contents inside spraying out in an explosion. He lets out a surprised splutter, and you release a small laugh before turning away and starting your lazy task of filling in the last minute details of your work.

He brings some of the ice out of the massive bag and places it inside one of the many plastic Ziploc bags he had hidden in his backpack. Why he has Ziploc bags in there, you don't know, but who are you to judge when you have “emergency towels” in yours? Once he closes the bag, he turns to your foot, which you have delicately placed over your right leg to rest it. He reaches for it, but hesitates, looking up at you.

“Ummm...may I? That is to say, is it okay if I….ummm…” he asks a bit uncomfortably, and you raise your eyebrow at him over your sketchbook, smirking a bit just to tease him. He doesn't move, his hand held in an awkward hovering position over your foot, and you try to resist the urge to laugh at the uncomfortable look on his face.

“I suppose. That is if you don't mind the stink.” You remark, and he wrinkles his nose at you. You chuckle as he turns away, preparing to pull off your shoe.

He zips down your wedge and pulls it off of your foot, gently. Almost as if you were Cinderella. As he pulls off your shoe, setting it beside the rest of the ice, he makes a big show of how “stinky” it is, pinching his nose. You laugh, hitting him on his arm, and he laughs too, flinching away.

“I’m just joking! I'm just joking!!!” he cries, laughing before you end your attacks, giving him the stink eye. It's pretty futile, considering you can't stop the grin from spreading on your face.

As he works, examining your leg, his hands explore the space between your calf and your foot. With a soft touch, they tenderly search for any sign of swelling, anything that might indicate a trip to a hospital, or something worse than a mere bruise.

As they touch the space between your tights and your foot, where the material breaks and his soft fingers brush over your bare skin, a shudder passes through you. Your heart accelerates, and you can feel it as your face flushes beet red. Immediately, you hide behind your sketchbook, clenching your eyes tightly shut. You try to tell yourself to ignore it, that they are just fingers, just the touch of someone who's trying to help you out.

However, the fact that they are his fingers, the fact that it is his touch, refuses to be ignored. Finding your breath has come short, you glance at him, hoping that he hasn't noticed. Thankfully, at the moment, he is too distracted by his inspection.

Eyebrows furrowing in concentration, he decides to pull off your sock to get a better look, this time not even asking your permission. As he does, you hiss in pain, his fingers passing over a tender spot on your ankle. He immediately stops moving his hands, flinching off you as he looks up.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks softly and you shake your head, pulling back a bit and swallowing hard. Now you're worried, you didn't think it would be this bad.

“Can I…?” he inquires, gesturing back to your leg, where his hand rests carefully underneath your ankle. You nod mutely, swallowing hard, as you set your drawing aside and position yourself securely on the bench. You brace yourself for the next time he touches you, pulling the sock completely off and setting it inside your wedge beside him.

This time when you feel the sting of pain, you merely wince, sucking in a small intake of breath. He looks up at you, as though asking if you're okay, and you shake him away. He nods before inspecting your ankle. As he angles your foot to the side, your eyes widen at the sight of your ankle.

Curse that damn suitcase.

When you fell, you felt your ankle twist beneath you because of the suitcase behind you, but you didn't imagine it would have this much of an impact.

The entirety of your outside ankle is discolored, a mixture of blues, purples, and dark greens to show you that it is a bruise. It's begun to swell, turning into an ugly injury, one that you can't possibly walk on. When you tried to walk earlier, you only made it worse, making it swell and discolor; hardly giving it any time to heal. Your tight shoe put only more pressure on it, which didn't help matters.

“Taehyung….”

“I told you.” His voice is soft, but you can hear the frustration behind it. The anger which makes his words sting, which makes you wince. As he looks up at you, you can see the irritation clear on his face. Accusing you, forcing you to admit that you were wrong.

“Why didn't you listen to me? Now….” he breaks off, shaking his head as he swallows hard and picks up the Ziploc bag of ice. You stay silent, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to apologize for your pride.

Taehyung carefully wraps your leg in the ice, bringing out the athletic tape he keeps in his backpack. Truth be told, he had almost forgotten that he had it with him. He silently thanks Jungkook for convincing him to carry athletic tape with him. Who knew that he would have to use it to treat an injury that a stupid girl refused to treat herself?

Watching you do this to yourself...

It's almost as though he were watching Jungkook tire himself out to reach perfection.

As though he were watching Jimin starve himself, or work himself to exhaustion because he never believes himself to be enough.

As though he were witnessing JHope sacrifice his happiness just so that everyone else can be happy.

As though he were watching Namjoon and Suga work so tirelessly to produce their music, just to make it as perfect as they believe it should be. Sometimes sleeping at the studio, or staying awake through the night.

It’s even worse when he sees Jin in you.

When he sees how you give everything up. How you give yourself up just because you’re trying to hold everyone else together. Just because you’re trying to hold yourself together. Just so that you won’t break. You feel as though your pain is nothing, as though you are nothing compared to everyone else and that to fix yourself, you have to save others.

Tae sees that in Jin every day.

All because he wants their happiness over his.

Tae hates that.

It's almost as if, watching you, he were watching his friends waste away just so that they can succeed in a life that won't last forever.

It angers him, that he can't protect them from a pain that isn't so easily cured.

Now...he's feeling the same anger towards you.

You regard Taehyung with wary eyes, watch as he secures the Ziploc bag around your ankle with athletic tape. Something he had randomly in the simple black backpack which rests on his shoulders. He has to make at least two more bags of ice before your entire ankle is covered, the ice offering a sweet relief from the pain you were experiencing before.

You have to refrain from letting out a deep sigh of relief as it immediately begins to erase the pain, but you manage, biting your bottom lip softly. He nods in satisfaction as he finishes, letting your leg rest gently back on the ground. As he finishes, his eyes rise to yours.

“I'm sorry.” You whisper, and he looks away, as though reminded of why he was mad at you. His hands release your leg and he gathers all the materials he used to help you out, starting to put them away. You continue, trying to explain yourself, as though that will somehow make things better. “I guess I didn't want to trouble you, I didn't mean--”

“Why?” His question is soft, but immediately cuts you off.

“What do you mean?” you ask him, as he puts away his supplies and scoffs.

“Why was it such a problem?” he asks as he raises his eyes to yours. Despite the hat, you can see how his eyes pierce into yours. How they tear down every wall you have ever built and shock you deep into your core. When you don't answer him, he continues, tying the large bag of ice once more, and leaning it against the park bench.

“Why did it matter if I wanted to help you? It was my choice, my issue. So why did you try so hard to walk away?” as he picks up your shoe and offers it to you, he rises as well, holding it to you. Slowly, you take it, placing it on top of your satchel. There’s no way you're going to fit that around your ankle now.

You sigh before answering, almost unsure of what to say.

How to answer.

You’ve always been like this. Never accepting help, wanting to do things on your own….it's just how you are. It wouldn't change just because you meet someone slightly more famous than everyone else out there, that's just not how it works.

At least, not for you.

“I didn't feel like I should burden you.” You murmur.

As you say the words, he can't help but stare at you, all of his frustration fading away. He can't help but feel surprised at the answer.

“You're not a burden,” he says softly, drawing your eyes to meet him. He smiles kindly at you. “I wasn't obligated to help you, I wanted to. So don't worry, you aren't a burden.”

Lost in the moment, neither one of you looks away.

So lost in him, you almost don't hear the thunder before the first lightning bolt strikes the sky.

You both break away at the sound, staring up at the sky.

The rain starts as a mere trickle of sprinkles but soon grows into a roar of harsh, pounding droplets of tears from the sky within a few seconds. You flinch away from it, immediately dropping your head and shielding your eyes from the rain. Taehyung does the same, flipping up his hoodie over his hat, as though he needed more protection.

People are running from the rain, heading for cover. There are shrieks everywhere as the downpour begins, and surprised bystanders try their best to hide from it.

You take it all in with wide, dazed eyes, but honestly, you can’t feel anything.

Maybe you should be panicking, maybe you should start moving, trying to find some kind of shelter, but you just sit there. Your eyes glazing over, the rain around you reflecting your hopelessness, your despair, your pain. It all combines into a cold numbing feeling that resounds through your body, makes you go still, makes you retreat into the flaming chaos of your mind.

Taehyung starts saying something as he turns from you, surveying the rest of the crowd.

You try to hear him, you do, but as your eyes wander over to the bench beside you, they are lost, in the roar that starts to grow in your ears. Your heart immediately drops to your stomach in disappointment and panic, as you see it.

Your sketchbook, open and bare, on the bench next to you.

It lies there, vulnerable, as the raindrops desperately soak up the page.

Frantically, you snatch your sketchbook off from the bench beside you.

Biting your bottom lip, you hide it in your massive coat which still hangs around your shoulders, trying your hardest to dry it off in frantic fear. You try to ignore the lump turning in your throat, try to ignore the burning behind your eyes.

Was it all for nothing?

You swallow hard, holding your sketchbook safe to your chest, your coat protecting you so far from the rain which has fallen. You would have stayed there through the whole storm, wallowing in self-pity, if not for Taehyung.

As the rain pelts down, the storm growing fiercer by the minute, he literally has to take you by the arm, and shake you before you awake and finally register what he's saying.

“Did you hear me?!” he shouts, his hand tight and cold around yours. It's drenched, and his hat is dripping as he leans in front of you, shouting words you barely register. It's only then that you hear the deafening roar of the storm, the faint screams, and shrieks around you, and his panicked voice. It’s only then that you feel the cold, the water running off of your body, the shivers coursing throughout. It’s only then that you awake from the thoughts consuming your mind.

Looking up at him, you allow yourself to be a bit amazed.

He woke you up.

“Come on! We have to go!” He shouts as he tries to pull you up. His slick grip tightens around your hand, as his urgency grows. Pulling on your arm, he tries to drag you along with him as he walks away, but you stop him.

You tug back, your hand slipping out of his. Pausing, he turns to you, confused. Raising your eyebrow, you mutely gesture down to your ankle, at the melting ice pack and makeshift compress he made for you.

His eyes darken with understanding as he moves back beside you.

Placing your arms around yourself and holding yourself in a tight embrace, you shiver in silence. You have gotten used to the rhythm of the droplets which fall on your head, drenching you from head to toe, and plastering your hair to your face and the back of your neck. They uncomfortably roll down your skin leaving behind small paths of rivers on your skin as though branding you with its mark.

You carefully slide your sketchbook into your satchel, closing it up tightly along with the rest of your art supplies. You stare at it, swallowing hard as you try to ignore the tears which threaten to spill on your already wet face. The trees' dense leaves have succumbed to the weight of the rain, and no longer offer much shelter for you, but as of this moment, you could care less. Smiling slightly, you bow your head, already resigned to waiting here through the rain.

As you clutch your coat tighter around your body, it takes you a moment, but soon you realize that the steady drum of the rain is no longer playing on your head.

Confused, you lift your bowed head and find Taehyung before you.

He stares down at you, those hazelnut eyes regarding you with guarded pain. Inches away from you, his hands are extended so that they rest on the tree trunk directly behind you. You share the same breath, the same heat, the same protection. He has provided a haven, a place where you can be safe from the storm around the two of you.

You meet his steady gaze with one of your own, a bit surprised.

“We have to go.” He whispers, his lips looking more glossy than ever amidst the humidity and the rain dripping off of his face. You swallow hard, forcing your eyes away from them and meeting his eyes, desperately trying to ignore how the rainwater has made his face shine in a very distracting way.

“I know that you can't exactly walk right now, but I’ll carry you.” He offers, pushing himself off of the tree trunk, and holding his hand out to you. You don't take his hand right away, regarding him with wary eyes. Tae grows impatient and bites his bottom lip with anticipation as the wind starts to blow harder, the storm growing worse by the minute.

“What are you waiting for?!” he shouts over the deafening gusts.

You hope your hesitation isn't too obvious, but Taehyung notices.

Of course, he notices.

If Jungkook were here, would things be different? Would you trust him to take you to safety?

He’s always felt as though he weren't good enough. Not for ARMY, not for his hyungs, not for his family, and now…

Not for you.

“What about your backpack?!” You call out to him from your perch on the bench, trying to distract from the real reason and bring up a new problem. A bit confused, he looks at his back as though he had forgotten it was there. He ponders the question for a moment before shrugging it off his shoulders and holding it out to you.

“You could carry it instead!” He responds, and you slowly take it, securing it around your shoulders. When you're finished, he looks at you expectantly. “Are you ready?!”

“Are you sure?! Wouldn't it be better to wait for the bus to come back?!” You cry out over the start of the storm. Taehyung, drenched already from standing in the rain for too long, rolls his eyes almost before taking you forcibly by the hands and lifting you off the bench.

Not expecting the action, you jump to your feet. Your foot failing you once again, you fall into his waiting arms, your hands resting securely on his chest. Shaking your head slightly, you raise your eyes to his and falter. The fact that he’s so close to you, that he’s holding you, causes your heart to soar with unimaginable emotion so much so that it's near impossible to pull away. His arms are secure around your waist, hands pressing against your back as you lean on him.

His eyes stare profusely into your own as you gaze at him, searching his deep pools of color. You're able to see the tiny raindrops which have caught onto his thick eyelashes, the smooth angle of his cheekbone, the defined muscle of his jawline.

You're lucky your hands are clinging to his chest because if they weren't, you might've gotten too close for comfort.

On the other hand...perhaps you're already too close.

You avoid his eyes, biting your lip furiously, as you command yourself to hold back. Now is not the time or place for your imagination to run wild.

His hands respond to your touch, wrapping themselves around yours as though instructing you to keep them securely on his chest. As though refusing to let you fall.

Breathing heavily, you look up at him at the touch, your wide, hesitant eyes searching his.

“Trust me.” He says, close enough now that he doesn't have to shout, recreating a space for the two of you to exist in. “I promise you won't fall, so trust me, please.”

When he looks at you that way, beautiful hazelnut eyes staring deep into your soul, it's hard for you to say no. You nod, mutely, and he smiles. After a moment, he slowly releases his hold on your waist, wrapping his hand around yours and directing it to rest on his back as he kneels on the wet, dirty concrete sidewalk, his back broadening as his muscles stretch to fit the position. Gathering your emotions, you hesitate, wondering if this is a wise idea, but Taehyung cuts through your thoughts.

“Just hop on! Act like it's a piggyback ride!” he instructs from the ground, causing you to smirk before you raise your coat over your head and prepare to climb on.

“Isn't that exactly what it is?!” you bring to his attention.

He smirks, unable to prevent the soft laugh from escaping his body. Letting out a soft sigh, you prepare to board him, as though he were a train, analyzing the best way to get on. You secure your injured foot first, and he wraps his firm arm around it, making sure that it's safe from the rain. Your other foot comes next, and you wrap it carefully around his waist, in the little bent position like most piggyback rides. With the other leg, you pull your entire body weight on him, wrapping your hands around his chest, right where his collarbone meets his pectorals.

As your entire body rests on him now, he is acutely aware of it. He tries his hardest not to blush, reminding himself that this was his idea, that he was the one who pushed for this. He tries to ignore the fact that when your hand accidentally slides up a bit and grazes his throat, he can't help the shudder that passes through his body as he immediately looks to the floor. He swallows hard, his eyes burning a hole in the ground as you pull your coat over the both of you, offering a sort of canopy or umbrella against the rain.

Once you've finished, you position yourself so that you're secure on his back, your face resting in the crook between his neck and shoulder. An action which he certainly feels as his heart seems to drop to the bottom of his chest at a million miles an hour. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before turning to face you as best as he can. You pull back your face a bit as well so that you can get a clearer view.

“You ready?” he asks you, half teasing, an inquiry which makes you smile.

“Are you?” you ask in turn, and he looks away, laughing a bit before rising to his feet with surprising swiftness. You almost fall with how fast he stands, and you have to scramble to secure your hold around his neck. He laughs hysterically at your reaction, and you have to fight to keep your smile at bay before you smack him on his shoulder. You can feel him laugh beneath you. It's a warm sound, something that resounds throughout his entire body.

“Don't do that!” You demand, pouting almost before his laughter subsides. He glances at you once more over his shoulder, smirking at your pouty expression.

“I thought you said you were ready.” He challenges, raising his eyebrow, and you roll your eyes at him, lifting your head off of his shoulder.

“Correction. I said, ‘are you?’ Technically I never answered your question.” You retort and he chuckles, nodding as he turns his head to the road before the both of you.

“Is that so?” he asks and you nod. Finding it more comfortable to rest your head on his shoulder, you lean forward, your hands sliding down his chest with the movement. He falters at the touch and tries to drown out the incessant pounding of his heart with his voice. A futile effort, but an understandable one.

“Well, now's the time. Here, I'll ask again.” You roll your eyes at his condescending tone.

“Are you ready now?”

You wait a bit before answering his question, if only just to get on his nerves a bit. Overdramatically, you raise your hand to your chin, pondering the question and making a sort of humming sound as though you're thinking hard about it. He notices the sarcastic notion and scoffs. You pause for too long, however, and he grows tired of waiting.

After a moment, he raises his eyes to the warm canopy of your coat that you have offered, and pretends to drop you once more. Leaving you to cling to his neck frantically and him dying in a fit of laughter. You hit his head in retaliation this time, and he ducks, unable to stop his laughter. You can't help but laugh as well. When you gain your composure, you raise yourself a bit, by placing your hands on his slick head and pointing forward.

“Onward!” you cry. Taehyung chuckles to himself from underneath you, trying his hardest to gain his composure but failing miserably. “Go to Narnia!”

When you tap his head slightly as though they were the reins of a horse, his laughter fades and he smirks at you over his shoulder. At that look, you automatically wish you hadn’t said anything at all.

“Oh no.” You groan before he turns back to the road, and breaks off into a run down the street. You let out a startled laugh, barely managing to secure your hold around his neck before he’s speeding off into the distance. As he runs, you cling onto him for dear life, smiling with content as you rest against the crook between his neck and his shoulder.

A small space, yet you fit perfectly.

As though it were made just for you.

You hold tighter to him, and close your eyes, trying to convince yourself that this isn't a dream; that this is all real. That you are this close to Taehyung and it's not just something you made up in your mind.

You try so very hard, but when you open your eyes when you see his grin…

You are shocked all over again.

Once more, you find it hard to believe.

In an impossible situation, is it okay to believe that it's not all in your head?

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: so when i was reviewing them, i was like omg, i did NOT realize how many intimate scenes i put in there so ;-;

chapter 16 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

#{infinite stars} updated! #bts ot7 #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfiction series #bts x female reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts #bts fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #bts x female!reader #fanfiction series #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan #ot7 #bts ot7 fanfiction #bts ot7 fanfic #wattpad #ao3 #wattpad writer #ao3 writer #fluff #angst #series #kim taehyung

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Jihoon: Unfamiliar (Part Eight)

Characters: Jihoon x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, familiar au, fantasy, fluff, smut (it’s kinda rushed bc i was lazy lmao, unprotected sex, fingering, super nervous jihoon trying so hard to act cool lmao, biting/marking, idk there’s not much to warn yall about) 

Word count: 2,008

Summary: Jihoon’s never really been considered a warm or affectionate person. His pack teases him about what it’ll be like when he finally gets a mate, but he doesn’t worry about it. Little do they know that his mate is a lot closer than they think.

Tag list: @choiminjae0325​ @heolykpop​ @fullsun-donghyuck​ @yoonbabe-d​ @exuwu​​ @lets-get-1t​​ @vintageot5​​ @sehunnies-hunnie96​​ @childfmoonn​​ @wobwobkpop​​ @henloimawierdobye​​ @dirinast​​ @joshwoah​​ @wreckedbytae​​ @salty-for-suga​​ @janellxu​​ @xu-miseo​​ @uglyratlmao​​ @sakura-uji​​ @littleheartsays​​ @onewoowonderboy​​ @xxbluestrifexx​​ @starlightshua​​ @artistic-rendition​​ @yunception​​ @mrsfandomz​​ @psshwa​​ @peachy-hoon​​ @chaseyui​​@haven-cove​ @jisungsdreamy​ @belledamsceno​ @saxtaee​ @k-pop-ology​ @uglychildd​ @eclvpe​ @killcomet​ @meowtella​ @coupsiekkuma​ (if you wanna be added please send an ask!! also please know that unfamiliar is apart of the entire tftp series so this tag list carries over to all of the other tftp stories)

Unable to tag: @birthday-prinxess @sooooofrench @junuoyi

Previous | Next | Unfamiliar Masterlist

Despite how flustered Jihoon got whenever he was cuddly with you or you were affectionate with him, he couldn’t stop himself. He was almost always touching you in some way, earning soft chuckles or teasing smiles or almost inaudible jokes from his pack. The teasing did eventually become old, but Jihoon’s blushing never stopped.

But with you now knowing you were Jihoon’s mate, there was only one thing he had to worry about now other than you going to the market without hiding your ears and tail: marking. To say he was nervous was an understatement, but so would be saying he was excited. He just wanted you to belong to him in every single sense, and marking was that last step. But Jihoon was Jihoon and despite being unable to control his instincts to want to be near you all the time, he was still shy and awkward and couldn’t manage to initiate anything.

How he wasn’t a virgin was a mystery to just about everyone.

Then again, those were just random people before. You were his mate. This was special and important and something he didn’t want to mess up. He wanted it to be absolutely perfect. 

But he wasn’t going to show his nerves or how badly he wanted everything to be perfect. He knew when the time came, he was going to act calm, cool, and collected. He wasn’t sure when it would happen because he felt like planning it out might be too weird, but he knew when it happened, he would act like he was totally relaxed and ready -- not that he wasn’t ready, he just didn’t want you to know he was nervous about making it perfect. He couldn’t let it show that he was overthinking everything.

As had become an average night, the two of you laid in bed together with your head on his chest and him playing with your hair and ears until he happened to fall asleep. But neither of you were too tired considering you decided to take a nap in the middle of the day, and Jihoon had joined you about half an hour in. The two of you ended up sleeping three hours until Seokmin woke you up for dinner. So you were talking quietly together while the rest of the house slept or did whatever they did before going to sleep.

“Who do you think will have a baby next?” you wondered since the current topic of discussion was Mingyu and Danbi’s daughter who Jihoon could hear babbling down the hall in his brother’s room.

He hummed while he considered the limited options before deciding, “I’d put my money on Woo and Soomin.”

“Really? ...Huh.”

“Well the only other options are Jia and Minghao, but I have a feeling Minghao would tell her they’re not ready. And you can’t tell me that Jooyeon seems like she wants to have a baby anytime soon,” he snorted.

You lifted your head and rolled onto your stomach to look at him, “What about us?”

You almost burst out laughing from his face when you asked that. You’d clearly taken him off guard and he wasn’t sure if he’d offended you by not including you two or not.

“O-oh... I didn’t mean like--”

“No, I know,” you giggled. “Yeah, we’re not really ready right now, huh?”

“Can I ask a question that might be rude?” he wondered.

“Is it if our child would have cat ears?”

“Yeah,” he smiled cheekily as you started laughing.

“What if it’s part cat and part dog?”

His smile turned to a pout, “I’m not a dog.”

“How come Seungcheol doesn’t care when I say you’re dogs?”

“Because Jooyeon keeps saying it and at this point, he goes along with anything she says as long as it doesn’t get her or anyone else killed, arrested, or injured.”

You shrugged with a nod, figuring that was fair enough. Jooyeon was pretty stubborn and sometimes intentionally went out of her way to push everyone’s buttons -- all in good fun, of course. One could only correct her so many times before realizing it was useless.

You shifted so you were laying on Jihoon on your stomach, your arms resting on his chest as your chin sat on your arms. You stared down at him, and he raised his eyebrows at you expectantly. Because of your topic of conversation, it had brought up thoughts that you had in the back of your mind, but you weren’t sure when to bring it up or how Jihoon would feel about it.

But now was as great a time as any other, right?

“Why haven’t you marked me yet?” you asked bluntly, your tail flicking behind you.

He might’ve stopped breathing when you asked that, his eyebrows raising but his expression staying the same for the most part. And it wasn’t because he was calm, cool and collected like he hoped to be when the time came. No, it was because he was too taken off guard to even look like it.

“Um...well...d-did you want me to?” he wondered slowly, trying his best not to stutter so he wouldn’t show his nerves despite the fact you were laying on his chest and his heart was beating a million times a second.

“Of course I want you to,” you chuckled. “I’m your mate.”

“...Now?”

You shrugged, “Why not now?”

He nodded, “Okay, then kiss me.”

Jihoon asking for a kiss was easy. It was something he did all the time without thinking twice about, so when you did kiss him, he didn’t feel exceptionally nervous. The feeling of your lips on his and the way your lips moved together was something he was used to by now and no longer got flustered about. 

When things started to get more heated, he managed to stay calm. As you began grinding down on him and feeling him slowly grow hard in his pants, you let out soft moans that had his hands gripping your hips tighter while his eyes spotted red behind his eyelids. Your lips moved down to his neck, nipping and sucking as he let out a sigh of your name, continuing to guide your hips. It was like his instincts were kicking in and he forgot about how nervous he was to do this with you.

As you left hickeys on his neck and collarbone, his hands explored your body. One went lower, though, moving underneath your bottoms and going between your legs. His fingers started rubbing your clit over your underwear, smirking to himself when he felt your hands squeeze his shoulders harder as you let out a moan of his name.

"You sound so pretty,” he mumbled, his eyes closed as he listened to your breathing and your quiet whimpers.

You broke away from Jihoon to roll on your back and tug your bottoms off. Once they were gone, you tugged on Jihoon’s shirt to pull him on top of you. But before you kissed him again, you pulled his shirt off and tossed it off the bed like you had with your shorts. He smiled down at you before kissing your lips briefly, kissing down along your jaw and down your neck while his fingers went back to work on your clit. His fingers soon pulled your underwear to the side before he was dragging his index finger up and down your slit, making you whimper and buck your hips up. He slid his finger inside you and slowly pumped it in and out, letting out soft grumbles as your moans filled his ears.

Gradually, more clothes came off until your naked bodies were pressed against each other while Jihoon worked you open with two fingers. You reached down to grab his wrist to keep his hand from moving, looking up into his eyes.

“Are you ready?” you asked quietly.

And that was when calm, cool, and collected Jihoon suddenly disappeared. It hit him what was about to happen, and he was hit with a wave of nerves that had his face turning red as his red eyes raked your naked form beneath him.

“U-um... I’m-- Y-yeah,” he stammered.

“Are you sure?” you wondered. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

“N-no, I am,” he insisted.

You smiled, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, “Nervous?”

“...Yeah.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” you giggled.

He frowned, grumbling, “It is not...”

“Here, maybe this will be a little better,” you said as you rolled on top of him, straddling his lap. He stared wide-eyed up at you his hands almost immediately going to your hips as he admired how you looked naked above him. “I’ll do all the work and then you have nothing to be nervous about.”

You lifted your hips, holding the base of his cock and aligning his tip with your entrance. Jihoon opened his mouth to protest, but you had already sunk down on him and silenced anything he could’ve said -- though he wasn’t even very sure himself what he planned on saying. He let out a moan, his head falling back against the pillows as he squeezed your hips.

After taking some time to adjust, you began slowly moving your hips. Jihoon groaned out your name softly as he enjoyed the feeling of how you felt around his length, his eyes never leaving your body. His hands moved up your torso to your breasts, squeezing them and rolling your nipples between his fingers. You whimpered as you pressed your hands against his chest for leverage, increasing the speed you were riding him.

“You feel so good,” he growled lowly.

As you increased your speed and adjusted your angle, your tail twitched and your ears flattened on your head. You let out moans and whimpers as you chased your release while Jihoon began to thrust up into you. He eventually got impatient and needy, holding your hips in place as he fucked up into you. You mewled as your nails scratched his skin, letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

As Jihoon got closer to his release, his instincts outweighed his nerves. He suddenly flipped you on your back and began pounding into you as he growled in your ear. His fangs began elongating as he rubbed your clit with one of his hands, the other still having a hard grip on your hip that would probably bruise in the morning. You whimpered and gasped, writhing beneath him as you grabbed onto any part of him your hands would touch.

“Are you close?” he asked, his fangs grazing your neck so you knew that meant he must’ve been close.

“Y-yes,” you mewled.

It only took a few more thrusts before you felt warmth fill you. Jihoon released inside you with a loud moan before you felt something sharp in your neck that you thought would’ve hurt, but somehow caused your orgasm to come crashing down on you. You arched your back off the bed, seeing stars behind your eyelids as you came around Jihoon’s cock, crying out his name.

After riding out your orgasm, you relaxed back onto the bed. You didn’t even realize Jihoon had pulled his fangs out and was lapping at the mark to heal it faster, but his softening length was still inside you as your release mixed with his and dripped down your thighs.

“That was fun,” you giggled breathlessly.

Jihoon lifted his head from your neck to look at you, the hints of a smile on his face, “You’re the only person I know who would giggle after being bitten.”

“I’m also the only person you know who’s part cat, so,” you shrugged, “I guess I’m a little weird.”

“And I love it,” he told you before pressing a kiss to your nose. Then he pulled out of you and pushed himself off the bed, “I’ll get a towel.”

You reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back to you before you snuggled on his chest like you always did, humming, “Five more minutes.”

#seventeen #jihoon #woozi #seventeen au #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen oneshot #seventeen fanfic #seventeen series #werewolf!seventeen #seventeen x reader #jihoon au #jihoon imagine #jihoon scenario #jihoon oneshot #jihoon fanfic #jihoon series #werewolf!jihoon #jihoon x reader #woozi au #woozi imagine #woozi scenario #woozi oneshot #woozi fanfic #woozi series #werewolf!woozi #woozi x reader

[shotosgaychangemymind]

forcing u to write my idea bc i’m stocked up on unfinished fics :p

road trip with karasuno headcanons 😎

Oooo ok then

Short little PSA: I’ve never written headcanons sooooo this is what you get :)

And soup…. i want to read those fics :))))))

_________________________________________________________

Karasuno on a road trip (reader insert cause idk how else I’d do it)

Hinata

He’s was whining after only 20 minutes on the bus. You’ve got about 13 hours left on this trip, but the little ball of energy is already bouncing in his seat. For the good of the group, you decide to distract him a little, at least long enough to get Tsukishima not to rip his head off.

The only thing is, you chose to busy him with a fun road trip game; something you also need to participate in until he inevitably gets tired of that. From the experience of your road trips in the past, you teach him the ABC game: take turns going through the alphabet and finding signs with a word that starts with the letter you are on. You’re pretty sure you sat there and played that game a good 26 times before Hinata finally ran out of excitement about new words, pestering you to think of another game to play.

Kageyama

He had stayed fairly quiet the entire ride, simply resting his head against the window, dozing off every now and then. You had gotten bored a bit ago, and saw his head straighten up from the window, looking around the bus for something to do. Getting up and swiftly crossing over to his seat, you slide into the spot next to Kageyama.

You strike up casual conversation, going on about your love-hate relationship with road trips. He simply listens and nods along every now and then, until he states, “I love road trips. Some time to just take in the scenery and think over plays and old games.”

The statement shocked you a bit, not thinking him one to enjoy the serenity of it all. But, you just settled into your seat and took up staring out the window just like him.

Tsukishima/Yamaguchi (because I’m lazy)

A solid few hours into the trip, you’d woken up from a little nap and wanted to bother some more of the guys. It was a little hobby of yours; what else was there to do, really?

Surveying the bus, you spotted the mess of blonde a few seats in front of you and quickly contemplated annoying Tsukishima: something that would grant you a death wish fairly quickly.

You were seriously thinking about it for a bit, until you noticed Yamaguchi at his side. Thinking about it now, he’s been there the whole ride, keeping the angry blonde occupied. Although, you’re fairly certain Tsukishima would have been perfectly fine listening to music without any interruptions for the entirety of the 13 hours. Still, Yamaguchi had been chatting with Tsukishima the whole ride, even getting him to participate in a few road trip games at the very beginning. Of course those games didn’t last long while Tsukishima was playing, but Yamaguchi got him to do it none the less.

Eventually, you spot Yamaguchi taking his attention away from Tsukishima and putting it to the social media feed scrolling across his phone screen. Tsukishima has returned to his state of bliss with the clunky headphones atop his ears and head leaning against the window.

Suga (because I love Suga sm, this is gonna be an established relationship with reader :))

Sitting up, you wipe at your eyes, waking yourself up some. Tilting your head up, you spot your what your used as a pillow—or who you used as a pillow—Suga. He was staring back at you, eyes taking in how sleepy ypu still looked.

“Go back to sleep. We’ve only got a couple more hours anyway,” he said while laying your head back onto his shoulder. You wrap your arms around his torso, forcing him to snuggle into your side. “Remind me to get you an actual pillow next time we go on a trip.”

“Be quiet. Would you rather me be an energetic ball of noise like Noya and Hinata?”

“Nope, get comfy. Hopefully they’re battery will drain soon too,” he chuckled to himself as he looked beside him at the boys who were vigorously smashing buttons on switch controllers, shouting at each other about winning.

Noya

Fairly early in the drive, you decided to see what Noya was up to. He was generally pretty good at keeping you entertained, so he’d probably do the same this time.

As expected, the second you sat down next to him he was off, talking away. He told you about his coolest receives and how he had taught them to younger kids.

After he was done proudly ranting about his stories, he quickly changed the subject to food. Once he mentioned wanting a snack, it was all over for the rest of the bus.

Hinata popped up from the seat behind Noya, asking about some form of snack (rather loudly), causing Kageyama to yell at him from across the bus. Of course, any noise from Kageyama causes Tsukishima to start a “who can be more salty” competition, quickly leading to Suga smacking them on the back of the head, one by one as he walked down the aisle.

______________________________________________________

This is just a short little thing and I hope it fit your standards Soup. If you guys want more characters, let me know and I’ll add them on to this and tag you!

@lazychickensoup

#haikyuu fanfiction #🏐🎬.request #🏐🎬 #hq fanfic #haikyuu #fanfic #haikyuu headcanons #headcanon #karasuno #hq hinata #Kageyama #suga #noya #tskuishima #Yamaguchi

[fandom-obessesive]

I never told you pt 4.

-

A/n: hiiii I’m back:), im really sorry about the time gap, just needed to take some space for myself, also I’m working on redoing part 3 cause I still don’t like it lol, but here’s the final part, I hope you enjoy, if you would like to be on the tag list for any future imagines/oneshots/fanfics, just leave a 👋 below, I also take requests, and I hope you guys have a lovely day.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word count: 1038

Warning: Obsessive thoughts? Idk I kinda wrote the reader having like a mini thought panic attack based off of what happens in my head sometimes but I feel like that can be harmful to some people so🤷‍♀️

-

Waking up the next morning had definitely been interesting. As nice as having fingers run through your hair was, and as much as you appreciated the forehead kisses every few minutes, you had to say your favorite part was the loud and long stomach growl accompanied by a quiet ‘shut the fuck up’ right after.

Smiling up at him, you opened your eyes and were met with a sheepish smile from Paul.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He said rubbing your arms as you sat up. The temperature difference causing goosebumps to break out across your skin, making you hide back into his arms for warmth, at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“What are you talking about? That’s probably one of the best ways to be woken up” you joked. He rolled his eyes at you hugging you closer to him.

“Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to come meet Sam and Emily today, I’m pretty sure Jared and Kim are going to be there too” you thought for a moment before shrugging.

“Sure, didn’t really have any other plans for today, so why not” You got ready and within 20 minutes you both were in his Jeep, heading to Emily’s.

When you walked in, you were greeted by the smell of muffins. On the way there Paul had warned you not to stare at Emily, along with most of the story behind the accident. Expecting something far worse, you were greeted by a woman with 3 long faded scars down her face, but a smile that seemed to light up the whole room.

She introduced herself and offered you a muffin, after accepting, you had been introduced to Sam, Jared, Kim, and a newly phased Embry. The day had gone smoothly and at one point you found yourself with Emily and Kim in the kitchen with Kim gushing about Jared.

“He’s just so cute, and sweet, I just- uhhh, I’m so excited to spend forever with him. At first I was kinda skeptical about the imprint but after he explained how it's like, the way the shifters find their soulmate, I almost tackled him.” Her and Emily laughed together unaware of the shock that just shot through you.

You vaguely remembered the legends talking about Imprinting but never remember Paul mentioning anything about them. The rest of the evening, that word haunted you, taunted you. Images of someone else coming in and stealing him away from you plagued your mind.

‘He’s going to leave you again’ ‘imprint’ ‘no he’s not, he wouldn’t have told you if he planned on leaving you again’ ‘imprint’ ‘you’re not going to matter to him when he finds his imprint’ ‘imprint’ ‘shut the fuck up, he’s not like that’ ‘imprint’ ‘imprint’ ‘IMPRINT’ ‘HES NOT GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOU’ ‘YOU WONT BE IMPORTANT’ ‘YOURE NOT HIS IMRPINT’ ‘YOU. WON'T. MATTER.’

When dinner was served you sat quietly as your thoughts spiraled. You laughed, and joked, and talked like nothing was wrong. Wanting to enjoy the moments you had with them before you were replaced, you said nothing until you forgot about that awful word. Until it was buried in the back of your mind. He took you home and spent the night, and you cuddled up to each other till you both fell asleep.

-

He stayed the next day wanting to spend as much time with you as possible considering he had patrol later tonight. You sat on his lap with your head on his shoulder, and back to his chest, his arms loosely draped around you. Most of the day was spent being lazy and eating food, more so him than you but eh, what can you do. After relaxing from a laughing fit, you both leaned into the other, simply enjoying the others company.

He nuzzled into your neck making you giggle and shy away, looking up at him, just enough to wear your noses were touching, lips centimeters apart. His eyes bore into yours, everything else seeming to melt away. Glancing down at his lips, he took that as a sign to lean in. You closed your eyes, so close to finally being able to kiss your long time best friend and crush, until.

‘IMPRINT, HE HAS AN IMPRINT.’

You jerked away from him, hiding your face in your hands from embarrassment.

“Shit I’m sorry, I can’t-“ you started

“No I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-“

“I just don’t want to lose you-“

“You just want to stay friends and I should respect that-“

“I’m just so scared cause I know one day-“

“You’re my imprint, I need to respect your decision-“

‘You’re my imprint.’

That stopped you in your tracks real quick.

“Woah, woah, wait, what did you just say.” You said turning in his lap, grabbing his face in your hands, making him stop too.

“Say what you just said again.” He looked down for a second, collecting his thoughts.

“You’re...my imprint, I need to respect your decision?” He said unsure.

‘You’re my imprint, you are his imprint, YOU ARE HIS IMPRINT’

“I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You'' you stated, smashing your lips together.

You absolutely melted into each other.

After you pull away, him chasing the kiss, you couldn’t help but to laugh. He looked confused but smiled nonetheless.

“You never told me you imprinted on me dipshit.” You said rubbing your nose against his. He sat up straighter as his eyes widened.

“Wha-wait. I swear to god I did, that day on the cliffs when I showed you I was a shapeshifter, I thought-“ he rambled trying to recount the day, desperately trying to make him telling you about the imprint more than just his imagination. You simply shook your head, the smile never leaving your face.

“I never told you.” He finally stated.

“Nope, not until just now.” You said kissing him again.

‘Imprint, im his imprint’

You smiled again into the kiss, making him do the same, and for the rest of the day you two spend enjoying your new relationship, finally being able to be happy together because he wasn’t going anywhere this time, and for that you could forgive him for being so stupid juuust one more time.

———————————————————————

A/n: I hope you enjoyed my first ever imagine series:) once again if you would like to be on the taglist leave a 👋 down below, even if I don’t respond I will see it! But if you are on the taglist and would like to be taken off, just shoot me a message! I’ll understand, I promise, I’m just awkward lol. Have a great day you guys.❤️

Taglist: @chloe-skywalker @chiefjacob @fangirlanotherjust @jelly-fishy-babie @dillybuggg @britty443 @ineedmorefanfics @lahoete @stylesluxx @dumbbitch-2020 @kettnerjanea @suicidarsi @nowimapotterheat @a-dorky-book-keeper

#paul lahote fanfiction #paul #paul lahote oneshot #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote #twilight fanfiction #twilight x reader #twilight imagine #twilight #quileute #wolfpack x reader #wolfpack #jared cameron #embry call #sam uley #emily uley

[ickle-ronniekins]

luck of the irish

request from @stars-shaped-clouds: Hi! If your requests are still open I would like to request for Fred Weasley! :D maybe meeting Reader the first time and fred is all like it’s like love at first sight thing? I really love your writing!!!!

request from @keoghans: Hi! I love your work sm!!!! I wanted to ask for a Fred one, where the reader is a Beater in the World Cup finals, and is a friend of Oliver Wood, and he’s all giddy looking at her play and stutters a lot when they meet and yeah, idk, flustered, stuttering Fred gets me hahah thank you love! ♥️♥️♥️

pairing: fred x reader

word count: 2.9k

A/N: yo what the FUCK i loved these requests—also i know wood doesn’t play for ireland but let’s just ~pretend~ and also i knoooow that in gof they don’t go home for the christmas holidays because of the yule ball but again let’s just ~pretend~ and go weak for flustered, head over heels, desperately adorable fred and his love and first sight with a professional irish quidditch player

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @bobduncanlover @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 | message me if you’d like to be added darlings!!!

Fred finds himself rather excited to get back to school. Not for the work, of course, but the mischief! He and George had also heard through the grapevine that this year is supposed to be more exciting, more chaotic—something will be happening, but what, he doesn’t know. He just has to sit tight and wait until the feast, where Dumbledore will undoubtedly give them a clue as to what’s about to happen. Fred can hardly handle the wait.

But when Fred ends up at the Quidditch World Cup with his father, siblings, and friends before he heads off to Hogwarts for his sixth year, the last thing he expects is to meet someone who makes him want to push off school for as long as he possibly can. He’s expecting the laughs and teasing and Butterbeer and Quidditch puns and stories shared with old comrades. Which, he supposes, he is getting, but also with something else, too. His twin makes sure to add in some extra teasing.

Fred’s skimming the campsite for a familiar face, and he finds himself becoming aggravated when he can’t spot who he’s searching for.

“Where the bloody hell is Wood?” Fred asks, searching desperately through the very large crowd gathered outside their tent. “I thought you said we’d be seeing him before the match?”

“I did,” George tells his twin, also skimming the sea of people in front of them. His voice gets lost in the crowd, “Could’ve sworn he told me so..”

Suddenly, Harry’s voice echoes loudly. “Oliver! Good to see you!”

George and Harry are giddy at the sight of Oliver Wood, their former Quidditch teammate and captain. The tall, lanky bloke stands outside of their tent, pulling both men into tight embraces. It’s been quite a while since they’ve seen him, in fact.

It’s when he begins blabbering on about the Quidditch World Cup that Fred notices his arrival.

“Mate! Finally! How are things?” Fred says, seizing his hand for a firm shake. “Thanks again for setting this up,”

“Not a problem at all, glad you lot could join! Been ages since we’ve seen one another,” Wood beams, now offering greetings to Ron, Ginny, and Hermione respectively. Turning back toward the twins and Harry, he asks, “How was your travel? Okay? No hiccups?”

“Not a one,” George says brightly.

“Good,” Wood says, sticking his hands inside his pockets. “Really glad you guys could make it—I know it’s mad as a hatter, here, but I reckon that’s what makes it more exciting.”

Harry laughs at this and offers, “Going to be really wicked watching you play professional, you know.”

But Fred is no longer listening to the conversation in front of him; instead, you seem to have caught his attention, and to his surprise, you’re making a b-line right toward him! He feels as though his throat is closing up; it’s not until he realizes that you’re actually headed toward Oliver that he begins to breathe properly again. If you’re not the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—

“Merlin! Wood, we’ve been looking everywhere for you. We’ve got to head to the changing rooms in a bit. Reckon Lynch will want to give us a good chat beforehand.” Both you and Oliver erupt into chuckles, leaving Fred nearly breathless at the light, airy sound of your laugh.

“Who’s this?” Fred asks shyly, watching your eyes sparkling at the sight of all of them.

“Speaking of playing professional—” Wood begins, introducing you to the lot around you, “this here is Y/N. Wicked good Beater, started out just this year for the Irish National Quidditch team.”

Fred suddenly feels his insides constrict; you? A Beater? On a professional Quidditch team? You can’t be more than seventeen years of age, and the smile tugging at the edges of your lips as you shake hands with everyone nearly sends him to the ground in a flustered mess. Suddenly, you take his hand in yours and he feels the electricity almost immediately. He can hardly contain the nerves. He’s starting to believe in this whole ‘love at first sight’ thing—

“Fred and George are Beaters, too,” Wood explains to you, and Fred’s delighted to see an impressed look on your face, “really wicked, they both are. And Harry, here, what a brilliant Seeker.”

George playfully slaps him across the arm. Everyone around begins to laugh when he teases, “Stop it, Oliver, you’re embarrassing us.”

“You can’t be more than sixteen,” Fred says to you without fully registering what’s happening. He’s saying things without thinking. He apologizes, “Sorry—erm—what I mean to say is, you look so young to be playing professional Quidditch. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I—I mean—” he’s finding it hard to now create coherent sentences when all he can hear are annoying snickers from his brothers behind him.

“Color you impressed?” you ask, and he feels his knees go weak. He offers a nervous laugh when you continue, “I’m flattered. Seventeen, actually. But, yeah, I reckon I’ve just gotten really lucky for my age.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Oliver cuts into the conversation, “you’re brilliant. Just wait’ll you see her play—madhouse, she is.”

You begin to laugh and turn back to him, “Neither one of us will be playing if we’re late—Lynch is looking positively dreadful, reckon we’ll need to go and give the pep talk ourselves?” Wood agrees and picks up his broomstick he’d placed on the ground. You turn back to everyone, “It was nice meeting all of you. See you after the match perhaps?”

“Yeah!” George begins excitedly. To Wood, he says, “Mate, when your team undoubtedly wins, come back here for a drink, eh? It’s the least we could do to thank you.”

The nerves are bubbling up inside Fred; he’s hoping Wood will agree and bring you along. Something tells him he’s not quite finished talking with you yet.

Wood looks at you and both of you shake your heads. “Alright, then! We’ll see you in a few hours time!”

Shouts of luck echo from everyone in the group, including some people nearby in surrounding tents. Can’t this evening last forever? The thoughts of Hogwarts, and whatever’s planned for this year, have seemingly left Fred’s mind, now that you’re here. Before you leave with Wood, he says to you, “Good luck! But from what Wood says, it doesn’t sound like you’ll need it.”

You grin broadly at him. “Thanks, Fred. Keep your fingers crossed for me, though. We still need all the luck we can get if we’re going to crush Bulgaria.”

From behind George and Ron, Wood yells with delight, “We’ve got the luck of the Irish—it’s all we need!”

— -

The match is underway, and Ireland is absolutely crushing Bulgaria. When he flies close to them, Fred’s excited to see a very large grin plastered across Oliver’s face. But there’s still a long while to go, and plus—the Snitch is nowhere to be found.

But why is it, Fred thinks to himself, is he feeling so nervous? Perhaps it’s the heights. He’s standing with his family up near the top of the pitch, what looks like millions of rows of spectators beneath them. Are they in the highest one? He’s too nervous to move and find out; he’s nearly rigid.

He realizes, though, that it’s not the height that’s got him feeling jumpy. An incoming bludger is headed straight for the Ireland Chaser hovering right in front of them, and Fred feels as though his entire soul is on fire when you quickly fly past, pummel the Bludger to the other end of the very large pitch (much larger than Hogwarts’), and send a wink his way before heading in the complete opposite direction, nearly vanishing in thin air.

George notices this and laughs. When Ginny and Ron question him on this, he nearly replies, “Just having a laugh,”

“Why?” Ginny and Ron ask together. Ron continues rather anxiously, “You worried Bulgaria’s going to catch the Snitch before Ireland, too? That Krum is absolutely wicked—”

“No,” George laughs again over the crowd, “I’m having a laugh at Fred. Someone here,” he continues, pinching Fred’s cheeks, “is a bit flustered over one of those famous Beaters.”

“Am not.” Fred replies, a twinge of annoyance in his voice. He pulls at his long hair, trying desperately to cover up the cherry red color now flooding his cheeks. George just cocks his head to the side, as if to say, Really, Fred? You’re an awful liar. He can feel his insides tighten at the thought of it. God, you’re brilliant. He wouldn’t mind having you wrapped around him for the rest of the evening after Ireland’s impending win. He finds himself watching you with dazed eyes and a lazy smile, not even paying attention at all to the match in front of him. Instead, he’s counting the times you fly near them and meet his gaze. Fred swallows thickly and then agrees, albeit begrudgingly, “Fine. So what? She’s gorgeous—”

“—and sweet,”

“and our age!”

“and plays professional Quidditch.”

Fred rolls his eyes at the mocking yet truthful statements coming from his friends. George opts to continue, “It’s no wonder you’re in love, Freddie.”

Ginny squeals, “Putty in her hands, he was!”

“Would you lot shove off?” Fred asks, eyeing Mr. Weasley curiously, thankful to see that he’s deep in conversation with Amos Diggory. “Make fun of me all you want, but for Merlin’s sake, don’t let dad hear you—he’ll absolutely never let me live it down.”

“All the more reason to keep teasing, mate,” Ron tells him, turning toward Harry and Hermione before the three of them erupt into a fit alongside George and Ginny. Again, Fred just rolls his eyes.

But he doesn’t really care what they think. Not now, anyway. Not when you’re hovering near them again and he notices the tight grip you have on your broomstick, the thin line of sweat at your hairline, the dimples in your cheeks when you grin brightly at another goal for Ireland. You turn and glance at them again, wiggling your eyebrows at him before pummeling another bludger straight toward a Bulgarian player, and Fred can’t contain these feelings of both admiration and jealousy bubbling up inside him as his eyes try to follow you all around the pitch. All he can remember is the way your hand felt in his when you introduced yourself just a few hours ago. All he can think of is how bloody adorable you look in those Quidditch goggles and robes. And all that’s flooding through his mind now, as he watches you slam yourself against a Bulgarian Chaser and call out to the other Ireland beater across the pitch, are the grins he keeps eating up each and every time you make so to fly by his seat in the stands.

— -

“Holyhead Harpies, for sure. They’re brilliant!”

“Couldn’t agree more. And Puddlemere United?”

“Merlin, no—don’t tell Wood I’ve said this, but they’re bloody awful. Just like the Falmouth Falcons. How about the Chudley Cannons?”

“My family’s exclusive to the Cannons, actually.”

“Knew I liked you for a reason, Fred.”

He lets a soft laugh escape his lips as he watches you tip your goblet backward and drink hastily the rest of your Butterbeer. Your cheeks are flushed; is it Ireland’s win? The copious amounts of Butterbeer you’ve consumed? The fact that the tent is so bloody warm? Fred doesn’t know, but he gets a sense that it might be something else when you bat your eyelashes at him and bite down on your lip to keep from smiling too much.

He’s feeling much more confident now—nothing a few drinks and slaps on the shoulder from George couldn’t fix! He’s surprised at how.. normal you seem. He’s hungry and desperate to learn more about you in your fleeting time together that he’s not even letting anyone else chat you up for a bit. Not that you mind, really. It’s not like you’re itching to get away from him. Actually, Fred thinks to himself now as he watches you, you might just be inching closer—

“So tell me then, you’ve been a Beater since your first year at Hogwarts, yes?” you ask, and Fred nods his head, eager to hear more, “you and George. What about the other two?” you nod in the direction of Ron and Ginny, who are animatedly chatting up Oliver Wood now. “Your other siblings don’t play?”

“Not those two,” Fred says, grinning a bit, “They’ll join us for little games we have at home, but not for school. Although, come to think of it, Ginny’s kind of brilliant actually—maybe she’ll play for Hogwarts one day..” he thinks fondly on memories of the last summer when they’d finally let Ginny join in on some of their matches.

“And what about you?” you ask, the glittering of your eyes very evident in the moonlight poking through the tent, “plans for after school? Pranks, maybe? Professional Quidditch, perhaps?” you tease him a bit, nudging him in the ribs.

Fred beams again and sips his drink slowly. He absolutely loves that you want to know more about him. “You joking? Follow you after that brilliant match? I reckon you’d have quite a laugh.” Which you do. You laugh at this, and he’s positively melting into the ground beneath him, itching to hear your laugh more and more. “George and I have some.. plans up our sleeves. Creating mischief at school isn’t just a hobby, you know.”

“No?” you inquire, sipping again on another Butterbeer, “is there such a thing as ‘professional pranksters’?”

“If there is, that’s exactly what George and I are.”

The two of you fall into a fit of laughter, grabbing the attention of the other group nearby. George wiggles his eyebrows at Fred, who feels the nerves bubbling up inside him again and shakes his head at his twin, before turning back toward you.

“So tell me,” Fred begins again, soaking up as much information as he can before the night’s end, “you’ve won. You’ve won the bloody Quidditch World Cup—” the both of you giggle lightly, and he watches as you nervously pull at your hair and bite down on your lip again, “—what’re your plans now? School, holidays?”

“I’m going back home tomorrow, to visit with my family,” you reply, and Fred digests this. “My parents are here tonight, but they’re off somewhere with my aunt and uncle—tomorrow’s when I get to go and see my extended family.”

Fred nods, taking this in. He just has to ask; it won’t sound strange, will it? “Yeah? And where’s home?”

“Ottery St. Catchpole,” you tell him, twirling the Butterbeer in your hands, and there’s a catch in Fred’s throat at your words, “right in Devon, if you’re familiar?”

“You’re kidding,” he replies breathlessly, and he sees you waiting with bated breath for his next words, “that’s where we are. How’ve we never run into one another in the village? We live just across the large hill!”

You sit back, surprised, and Fred’s happy to see an enormous smile on your face. You open your mouth to speak, but just then, Wood calls to you from the entrance of the tent, noting that Ireland’s captains would like to have a quick word before reuniting the players with their families.

Fred feels his insides tighten; he doesn’t want the night to be over, and he finds himself clutching his goblet rather tightly. He glances at his watch; Merlin, it’s nearly one am! How long had you two been at this? He peers at you, the rosy color of your cheeks still evident in the moonlight, and he wonders if you’re feeling the same way. When you turn back toward him and glance at him with sullen eyes and a weak smile, he realizes you just might be. You tell him, “I’m sorry the night has to end.”

“Me, too.” he admits, continuing to twirl his Butterbeer in his hands, “I’ve had fun.”

“Me, too.” you echo him, standing up from your seat and stretching in your Quidditch robes. Fred’s feeling rather woebegone at your impending departure, but suddenly he feels his spirits lift a bit.

“Can I write you?”

You peer at him with admiration in your eyes. A large grin spreads across your face. “Absolutely. Is that a promise?” you wink.

He laughs cheekily and hope he doesn’t sound as positively giddy as he feels, “It’s definitely a promise.”

He watches as you look around the tent and pull at your robes. Then you ask him, “Could I maybe.. maybe see you for Christmas?”

He’s beaming again; he feels that fire coursing through his veins once again. He stumbles over his words and clears his throat, “Y-yeah—that sounds great. I’d like that.”

You grin and place a hand on his arm. “Good.” And much to his surprise, you lean in and place a gentle kiss upon his cheek before squeezing his arm once again and making your way to bid farewell to everyone else, and then toward the entrance of the tent. Once more, you turn back to him, raise a hand in farewell, and nearly vanish into thin air.

Fred doesn’t even realize that George and Wood are standing beside him; he’s merely feeling the electricity buzz through him at this very moment, and is already beginning to count down the days until the Christmas holidays. When George pokes him in the ribs and interrupts his thoughts, he’s brought back to reality and notices everyone watching him now—each of them winking and chuckling lightly at this new relationship he’s seemed to have sparked. He can feel a chill wash over him when Wood leans in and says to him before leaving,

“I’m telling you—it’s the luck of the Irish, mate.”

reblogs & feedback are much appreciated lovelies, thank you for reading and requesting x

#fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp imagine #ron weasley #ginny weasley #arthur weasley #harry potter #hermione granger #oliver wood #viktor krum #quidditch world cup #quidditch

[paperstarwriters]

Untimely Thirst

I am not a MegOp shipper. I don’t mind it and it can look hekka cute at times, but I am not an active shipper of it, so take the fic with a grain of salt. It’s a Vampire/Werewolf au fic based off of this thread from @optimus-audio-fins​ and @yeetmetothehell​ (Sorry if you didn’t wanna be tagged I kinda just assumed) Also this is my first MegOp fic so... I’m a bit unused to it. Sorry.

I’m also gonna warn you that there are a few innuendos that slipped in and I’m really freaking sorry but someone is sucking someone else’s energon, OK? not my fault we decide to say the “Vampire sucked him dry” (or maybe I’m a bit dirty minded IDK) Also this has little to no editing! why? Easy, I’m lazy. Don’t hold it against me. If you find any major errors feel free to point them out. I don’t mind going in and changing things.

Having said that, enjoy!

Looking back on it, Optimus should not have jumped right back into battle after nearly getting his aft handed to him by those monster hunters. He most certainly should have taken heed of Ratchet’s warnings and even more so, he should have taken something to drink. 

Although the humans have expressed their interest and lack of fear from the fact that Optimus is basically a “space vampire” he still did not want them to learn about some of the other aspects that come with a pair of fangs. He is much more than a glorified bat— he can’t even turn into a bat! He couldn’t exactly blame them of course, their encounters with his kind were often quick and without explanation, so humans had to make up some information to explain the event to themselves. Whatever the case, he would much rather listen to Miko ask for the hundredth time if he would turn into a bat than be in this predicament.

A fight in an energon mine was something that did not often end up well, this was no exception. Too many shots deflected from themselves instead hit the walls or pillars of the cave, and now they were stuck, an enclosure far too cramped to fight in, but large enough that they could at least sit apart like civilized mechs. They were able to stand before, but between their attempts at fighting and the attempts of blasting a hole to escape, they were forced to sit together and wait for help to arrive. 

Meanwhile, Megatron fared arguably worse, at least in his own eyes. Optimus showed no sign of his predicament, while Megatron was forced to display it before himself.  During the fight he had intended to utilize his own extra ability, termed “werewolf” by humans. Aeons fighting as a gladiator allowed him to regulate his transformation, meaning he could hang in a range between his usual form and going for a full wolf, but something about Unicron’s blood affected his transformation. It took much longer to return to normal and unless he wished to walk around with dog ears and a tail he rarely turned. Today however, was a fight against Optimus. He brought his all to every match as he always did, and as a consequence, he sat in this enclosed place with Optimus trying desperately to hide his furiously wagging tail. It didn’t help that his scent filled their little room, only making his tail wag faster, and his ears twitch as he longed to rest them upon his chassis to listen to the soft thrum of his spark.

Both with their own hardships to hide, they sat, silently. Awkwardly. It was going to stay that way until they were saved. Correction, it was supposed to stay that way until they were saved. Optimus’ needs however did not relent and weighed down on him heavier than the stones above their helm. In his unwilling observations of Optimus his hardships did not go unnoticed by Megatron. The way his frame rattled as he shook, and his labored ex-venting, that caused him to flare his fangs. Not to mention the unnaturally brighter glow of his optics. In the same way Orion would have his occasional hunger pangs, Optimus, despite being a prime, still craved. Without thinking, Megatron spoke up.

“Do you need a drink?” 

He even offered his arm. It hung there a moment, while Optimus’ jaw remained in his lap. Megatron did not fare much better than a series of “ah, um, well” spilling from his vocalizer in the same fashion Starscream did when he was seriously considering the pros and cons of tearing off his wings. Or more horrifyingly, the same string of noises Orion made when he first offered his energon for him to drink. 

It took a moment for Optimus to regain his senses. Of all the things to happen that was not one of them. It took the feeling of fluids dribbling from the corners of his mouth for him to snap it shut, and consequently snap his mask on right after it.

“No.” It was flat. Bitter. Fake. His usual response, his usual demeanor against his enemy. The dance they both knew for so long. Megatron could work with this. 

“Why Prime?” he grinned, lopsided and cocky, flashing his own sharpened denta and trying to ignore how his tail seemed to pick up the pace. “Afraid I may stab you in the back? As we’ve already confirmed we cannot do that here. After all, it is your denta in my lines. If I tried anything too suspicious for you you could easily drain me. No?”

His heating fans kicked in. A loud roar amidst the silent little cavern they were stuck in, and a louder roar in Megatron’s ears. He couldn’t help it though, he did want to taste Megatron’s energon again. It was sweet, intoxicatingly so, and even more so after a battle. He could drink it for hours if he was allowed to, but that would mean that he’d hurt his friend, and in the past that’s what inevitably stopped him. Now, however, that barrier was worn down. He had no qualms about punching him, shooting at him, or even attempting to sheath his blades in his chassis. It did not however mean that he wanted him dead. No, he only wanted him back. Aeons of war and he still thought in that same foolish way he did as an archivist. Ratchet was right, he did go soft. 

“I do not want or need your energon Megatron,” he lied, staring him straight in the eye as he did. “Even if I did, it’s tainted.” 

That was true. Dark energon pulsed along with his usual energon intake, and for the first time in a long time, Megatron cursed Unicron’s blood. He didn’t have any feasible reason to convince Optimus to drink his energon. Tainted now with dark energon, his own energon must have smelled disgusting. It must have seemed revolting. At the very least he did not have to worry about his wagging tail anymore.

“It’s not like you have much of a choice.” It felt like an excuse— one he was trying to tell himself rather than Optimus. “By the way you sound, I doubt you would be able to hold up until any help arrives, yours and mine.” He leaned back smirking as he was once more granted the upper hand. “Even if you do, how hungry would you be by then? What would you do if it was your precious medic that came around? Or perhaps the scout Bumblebee? Would you drain them at first glance?” He bit his glossia then forcing his train of thought to a halt before he began to spill too much.

That… That was a good excuse to drink from Megatron’s lines again. Dark energon or not, Optimus craved to sink his denta into his proto-flesh again. To relish in the taste of energon pouring down his throat directly from Megatron’s lines. It always felt as if it was being pumped right to his awaiting glossia when he drank it right after Megatron came back from a battle. Sure, Ratchet’s energon tasted nice as well, but nothing seemed to beat the sweet flavor he got from Megatron. It took a lot of willpower just to keep himself from revving his engines, a bad habit that occurred when he got excited, carried on from his life as Orion pax. One that Megatron would most certainly notice and recognize. As much as he wanted to— as much as he craved it, he still refused to drop his guard. Why was Megatron so intent on supplying him energon anyways?

“Why...Why do you want me... to drink from you?” he managed through heavy ex-vents. It was getting bad. Incredibly bad. 

It was most certainly getting bad. Caught red handed for something he did not think about. For all his planning and consideration to convince Optimus to drink from him, he never managed to formulate a feasible excuse. For now, at least, he had to buy time. 

“Why indeed,” he wondered aloud, forcing his face into a sly grin. He allowed himself a pause to consider his next words carefully, cautious to save a part of his processor to regulate his face. “Perhaps it is to ensure that none of my troops are felled by your fangs.” That sounded… okay… right?

Apparently it did not as Optimus arched an optical ridge. “I was unaware you still cared for your crew, considering you did not raise a digit to aid them as the mine collapsed.” Right. There were most certainly a good number of Vehicons that may be caught in the rubble, and Megatron was far too preoccupied fighting Optimus to care. Optimus on the other hand did his best to ensure his team was safe, even amidst fighting him.

He chuckled at the comment and smirked, a look that irked and irritated Optimus. Just let him suffer in peace already. The more this dragged on the more he could feel his defenses wear down. “Well, Prime, perhaps I wanted to see you succumb to your… oh, what was it called again?” No. He knew well what it was called and he refused. “I recall Orion talking all about it once… ah yes, an energon frenzy, wasn’t it?” If he was in that state, he could rip him apart. Turn feral with barely a twitch of an optic. Of course that was what Megatron wanted. Force him to fight on his level. Like a gladiator, only concerned for their own life. Like a monster, without thinking. It made his lines run cold.

Perhaps he overstepped his bounds. Optimus was no longer trembling, his armor instead clamping around his frame. Even his auditals which Megatron had taken to watching twitch back and forth while Optimus wasn’t looking now froze in place before they lowered in the same manner he would flatten his ears against his helm. The only remaining reminder of his hunger was in the burn of his optics, now glowing far brighter than it did before, the bright beams focused right on him in a hateful glare. A spotlight for him and him alone, and one he was used to returning with a smile.

They glared at one another, a glare that any from their own teams would be interpreted as hateful glares, seeking to eagerly claw out one another’s optics if only the situation had been better. Instead, two masks faced one another—

I want to drink Megatron’s energon!

I want Optimus to drink my energon!

—both hiding the same thing.

They sat there for a few more minutes, glaring before the tremors returned. They were barely noticeable at first if not for the aid of Megatron’s heightened hearing. Slowly that grin became real. He grew eager awaiting Optimus’ inevitable unravel before him. Simultaneously, Optimus’ scowl, revealed once his battle mask snapped back from the increasing tremors, became more real as well. He did not wish to succumb to Megatron’s wishes, but more so, he did not want to end up sucking Megatron dry.

The tremors increased, and the haze was beginning to seep into his processor. Everything smelled so heavily of energon— likely because they were in a collapsed energon mine— but it smelled specifically of Megatron’s energon. His spark spun in his chest as the dizzying urge overtook his processor, crawling over his shielding walls and forcing his optics to snap away. To look away, to look anywhere else but at Megatron.

He leaned onto his servos now, mouth opening and closing as he panted, showing off his denta glowing red as they were caught in the spotlight of his optics. He was only vaguely aware of his wagging tail as he watched Optimus come undone. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to keep himself from bending as well, he wanted Optimus to ask him, but if it took any longer…

“Megatron.” He sounded so strangely weak despite the bright intensity of his optics. “May I drink your energon?”

There’s drool slipping past his fangs, dripping down his chin and onto the floor, but he cannot find the will inside himself to care. He’s so, so thirsty, and while any energon would suffice at this point, he doesn’t want anyone else’s. Even if help were to arrive, just in the bare nick of time, both the Autobots and the Decepticons would have to pry him from Megatron. Even though Megatron offered first, it still comes as a surprise when he immediately raises his arm before him. Optimus is only vaguely aware of the soft and subtle thump as Megatron’s tail hits the ground in it’s furious wagging, but he doesn’t have the mind to process such or to even care. He traces the seams in his armour, mostly the same since he last drank from him, and he opens his mouth to sink his fangs into the proto-flesh at one of the seams. 

Dark energon is strangely sweet, but it’s a fake candy-like flavor that is easily distinguished from Megatron’s own energon. It’s every bit as intoxicating as he remembered long ago sweet, but now a degree of something savory was so much clearer now, whether this was enhanced by the dark energon, or time and aging, he may never know. Whatever the case, he greedily drank what his energon lines pumped onto his tongue, savoring every drop, knowing it may be many more aeons before he was granted another taste.

Megatron’s tail hit the ground so harshly that it was beginning to hurt. The bite on the other hand felt blissful, painless, and as wonderful as it did long ago. The sheer trust needed to offer someone like Optimus in order to make sure they were not drained of their energon, was not lost upon him. As much as the idea mixed with the ongoing war made his tanks twist into knots, he shoved them to the back of his processor. He’d use it as an excuse later. A reason why he most certainly did not indulge in such a… close encounter. For now Megatron let himself feel his energon flow into Optimus. A piece of himself being given to Optimus. Romantic, in some incredibly twisted sense, befitting for the two of them. Miraculously, even though Optimus was drinking Dark energon, it did not take any visible effect. 

It would take a while for Dark Energon to properly settle in his energon lines. An upside to being a “space vampire” his resistance to foreign energons was much higher and with the added aid of the matrix, the two seemed to cancel each other out. Meaning he could continue to drink for just a little longer. He could take another sip of his fallen friend’s energon. He could savor another taste of Megatron. He was deaf to everything but the slow thrum of his energon lines and his spark. He wanted more— he wanted it all. Greedily he kept drinking and drinking, becoming more and more lost. A blood frenzy was approaching, he could feel it, feel it dribble into his consciousness, but this was what Megatron wanted to see wasn’t it? If Megatron wanted to see him delve into madness the same way he did for dark energon, he was more than willing to put on a show, more than willing to show off because he—

“Orion.” It was a soft whisper, strained as Megatron glared with tired optics.

Otpimus tore himself from his enemy’s arm checking internally for his energon levels and most importantly dark energon levels. It was close. If he drank any more, he may have actually begun to have some problems. It was diluted with regular energon, something that likely aided the slow intake. Optimus spared a worried glance to Megatron, who’s smirk seemed much more forced now that he could focus on it. The wagging tail and twitching ears became quickly apparent as well and just before Optimus could ask him about it, Megatron beat him to the punch.

“No, energon frenzy? Funny seeing as you were just about to drink me dry.” He chuckled earning a scowl from Optimus.

In that moment, a stone was shoved aside, revealing a beam of light other than their red and blue ones. A breath of fresh air seeped in through the hole, washing away the scent of energon, and each other. 

“Optimus! Are you okay there?”

“Just fine, Bulkhead.”

More rocks were scooped away, and the two war leaders stumbled out into the excavated cavern. Optimus wavered his audital fins still twitching as he felt the tendrils of that energon frenzy seeping into him, already draining his mental energy as he fought against it. Megatron fared no better having been literally drained, as he was taken aside by Soundwave Bulkhead scowled giving a stiff nod to the silent mech who returned the nod before they parted ways, their leaders in tow. 

“Sorry Prime, I had to team up with him to get you out…” Bulkhead muttered as if it was a horrible act. “In... the moment it was a wise choice Bulkhead…. I… I appreciate your efforts.” He managed to mumble as a ground bridge opened up. The swirling colors made him dizzy and irritated, but he forced himself to keep quiet about it.

“You sure you were okay with bucket head?” It took him a moment, recalling Miko having coined the name after Megatron and his helm’s likeness to a bucket. 

He considered his choices in what to say, taking care to avoid the truth, overthinking it immensely as he settled on, “it was fine.”

“Ratchet’s got some energon for you when you get back to base, just hold on a little longer Prime” Optimus barely managed to hide his grin, tuning away just in time to see Megatron disappear in his own ground bridge a safe distance away.

“It’s alright Bulkhead. I’ve had my fill.”

Now, if only he took the chance to pet him.

#tfp megop #tfp megatron #tfp optimus prime #transformers fantasy au #vampire/werewolf #Vampire Optimus #Werewolf Megatron #maccadam #shipfic #megop #megatron x optimus prime #mutual pinning #pinning idiots #blood mention #My writing #thank you for reading #Transformers

[shook-snatched-and-sad]

so i binged a show called ‘the owl house’...

and to say the least, i am OBSESSED! 

(this contains spoilers so don’t read if you haven’t finished the show yet!!)

aside from the fact that i’m a big old lesbian simp for Eda the Owl Lady, i really loved her storyline. it reminds me a lot of my day to day life as someone with a chronic illness. I want to focus on episode 4 ,“The Intruder,” where we learn of Eda’s curse and later episodes where it’s a prevalent point.

in the beginning of the episode eda’s exhausted to the point where king and luz end up carrying her to her bed (nest). she was already tired, but tried to show luz more magic bc she wanted luz to be happy and let her sleep. sometimes when you’re tired and want to lay down you still try to make others happy, and that can be too much for your already sick body. i am guilty of this 10 times over!

she has her elixir, which is almost like pain meds for me and others with chronic pain (or other meds for others in the chronic illness gang). her elixir has a tag reading, “an elixir a day keeps the curse at bay.” if she doesn’t take it, she transforms into something she doesn’t like. and i mean,,,, yeah, it REALLY DO BE LIKE THAT. even tho i’m still trying to find the right medicine for me, i feel like total GARBAGE when i forget to take my meds. i get snappy and irritable and anxious and everything hurts beyond comprehension; that’s all part of my “curse.”

she also took a little while to reveal her curse to luz, and king didn’t even know but has lived with her for a while. some people i’ve known most of my life don’t even know that i sometimes need a cane or that i even have a chronic pain disorder! you don’t want that judgement or others feeling like your condition is too much for them to handle (which is shitty, but people do say this); you can see that eda has had this happen to her time and time again and that it really left a mark on how she feels about trusting others. 

she also doesn’t remember who cursed her, and this fleshes out in my mind a few different ways:

1. it adds to her trust issues. she doesn’t consciously know who did it, so it could be anyone she interacts with and that’s scary. to her it’s traumatic, and she lives with the aftermath of the event everyday

2. not remembering? mega brain fog! sometimes you just have bad days where your brain is so cloudy that you low key forget someone’s name or a simple word to something (i once forgot the word “tv” and it’s technically not even a word). it’s almost like a tip of the tongue type thing. also, the figure kinda looks like fog

3. sometimes you don’t know what causes your illness. i have fibromyalgia and it’s just one of those complicated medical conditions where there is no determined cause for it. trauma? yeah, maybe. a few people in the fam with rheumatic stuff? could play a part. god spun the wheel and had to add whatever wacky thing it landed on? hell yeah, baby! 

later in the season eda needs some more of her elixir (her meds) and the guy at her usual place doesn’t have it in stock for another 2 weeks. she has to go to the boiling isles’s version of the black market to get it. when she gets to the black market guy, the price is outrageous and he just proves that this show is TOO SELF AWARE FOR ITS OWN GOOD. IDK WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT TO SPIT SUCH FACTS ABOUT CAPITALISM BUT GODDAMMIT SOMEONE HAD TO SAY IT!! sometimes you can’t get the name brand version of your meds bc insurance doesn’t cover it (even if that’s usually what you get) and you have to get the generic version but IT’S STILL WILDLY EXPENSIVE. and it’s worse if you don’t have insurance. i know other chronically ill people who just ended up smoking w**d for their symptoms until the insurance company stopped playing games, and honestly that says something about the wack ass healthcare system of america *sips tea*  luckily the rude mf that wouldn’t give eda her meds got his stand destroyed and that’s on performing magick without parental supervison

and what i especially like about this show is that they gave this character a curse (illness) and didn’t make it her entire identity for the show. any other time there’s a chronically ill/disabled character, it’s their only personality trait and exhaustively used throughout as a lazy ploy too add diversity. yes, eda has this curse and she lives each day treating it, but she has so much more substance to who she is: she’s a businesswoman, a friend, a mentor, a goofball, a badass, a powerful woman in her craft. eda had said her self at the end of “the intruder,” “no one likes having a curse, but if you take the right steps, it’s manageable.” and that’s exactly what it’s like being a chronically ill person who is able to manage their symptoms with medication and still do certain things that bring them joy. without her elixir eda wouldn’t be able to perform magick and have her business; without my meds and some physical therapy i wouldn’t be able to go to school full time for my photography degree and have a job as a photographer. 

could i possibly be projecting this metaphor onto a character that makes my little gay heart go uwu? maybe but that’s none of your business (unless you feel it too. in that case it’s our business <3). but i seriously cannot wait to see what else is in store for our #1 bad girl in the rest of the series!

(my attention deficit ass wrote this while being distracted from one of my final papers thank you for attending my TEDTalk)

#fibromyalgia #chronic pain #chronic illness #eda the owl lady #the owl house #the owl house theory #the owl house spoiler #the owl house spoilers #eda the owl house #eda clawthorne #king the owl house #luz noceda #luz the owl house #adhdlife #college #cripple punk #cripple life #wlw #cane user #wlw tag