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luveline · 30 days

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BABE i miss badass bau!reader!!! do you feel up to write something about her and spencer? 🫣🫣

—Spencer comforts you, even when you think you don’t need it. fem, 1.2k

You’d think that agents and staff working for the Behavioural Analysis Unit would use a little subtlety when gossiping about their coworkers. It’s in the name. You’re a profiler, after all, but you wouldn’t need to be to know that the sudden quiet that falls over the kitchenette area when you walk in is for a reason.

You’re determined to act unbothered. Only, it’s high school all over again, the whispering and the staring boring holes in the back of your head, and you’re thinking What are they saying about me? What have you done now?

Flustered, you make a cup of herbal tea and forget it on the counter by the sink. Humiliated, you rush back to your desk.

Spencer doesn’t look up as you sit. Your desks are together again for now, but who knows what whim will have Hotch separating you again. Last time it had been for ‘enabling bad behaviour’.

So what if Spencer likes to talk? He’d only think all the things he’s saying to himself. You’re speeding up the process if anything by listening. Plus, whatever the others might think, he’s interesting, smart and funny and he deserves to be listened to when he wants to tell you things.

“Hey,” you say, trying to push the humiliation brewing in your chest back to a quiet place.

“Hey,” he says. He talks to you in a way he doesn’t with the others. He’s more relaxed, less exuberantly friendly and more like a true friend.

He’s the only one in this whole office you’d ever want to sit next to every day. “Hi. What are you reading?”

Spencer folds his novel closed over his hand, an answer on his lips that stutters and fades. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You look unhappy.”

It’s that unfortunate moment that Morgan decides to arrive, a cup of coffee in one hand, a brown paper bag in the other. He shrugs out of his leather jacket, eyeing you both where you’ve stopped your conversation, the slight light of smugness to his eyes as he says, “Doesn’t she always?”

“Around you, Morgan, yes,” you say, turning your body fully to your computer. “That would be accurate.”

Morgan laughs heartily. “You love me.”

Maybe. You certainly don’t like him. Or, you’re annoyed with him most of the time. You wonder occasionally if he and the rest of your teammates are emotionally blind, considering the way they treat Spencer. Everybody makes their funny ‘harmless’ jokes, you’ve never understood why. They’re profilers, aren’t they? Can’t they tell it hurts his feelings? And they love to tell you that Spencer’s your soft spot, he is, but he’s also a nice boy who wants to be listened to above all else, so you’re a little bitter about it. You weren’t too sweet to begin with.

Today, you aren’t in the mood. You ignore Morgan and open your emails.

“You want tea?” Spencer asks, standing from his desk.

“No.”

“You always have tea in the morning. I’ll make it. Sit tight.”

You follow Spencer’s figure as he leaves. Morgan wiggles his eyebrows at you from across the divider.

“Do you ever think about taking him out?” Morgan asks.

“That’s an inappropriate question,” you say. You aren’t monotone, but you certainly don’t bustle with emotion either.

“You like him, he likes you.”

That’s exactly what Spencer needs, you think bitterly, the moody girlfriend, another thing to make him an outsider.

“You make each other happy,” Morgan continues.

“You get the same blueberry muffin every day,” you say, clicking an email attachment Hotch sent this morning distractedly, the temptation to roll your eyes at an all time high, “will you marry the baker?”

“I could. His wife might not like the idea.”

You hold in a smile. You sort of maybe do love Morgan, even when he’s prying. Better when Spencer returns and Morgan asks about the younger man’s weekend trip to Quantico’s seven floor library.

“It was awesome,” Spencer says, putting a mug down in front of your keyboard, his palm still warm from the mug taking temporary station on your shoulder. “There were more books about inmate crime than there were dictionaries. Is that okay?”

You take a sip of your tea. “It’s perfect,” you confess once you’ve swallowed. How does he know how you like it? He must steep it just as you do. Even the water level. You’d think it were the tea you’d left behind if it wasn’t in a new mug, scalding hot.

“Morgan, could you excuse us, please? For five minutes?” Spencer asks.

Your eyes widen of their own accord. Morgan makes flirty winky faces to hide his concern and meanders up the steps to Hotch’s office, pointedly looking away from the bullpen and your mess of desks.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Spencer says.

He’s wearing his glasses today, a rare sight these days, less so at the office when you’re sure there won’t be a case to go on. His hair curls at the base of his neck and flicks out under his ears, brown eyes like the flat of a mirror against the light, dark and deep. You wince when you realise you’ve been looking him over intensely, averting your eyes to the cup of tea warming your fingers.

“You know you can tell me anything,” he says.

“Sure.”

“I’d defend you. Just like you would for me.”

You drag your eyes to his. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, if you want me to go fight your corner, I will.”

“Who says I need that?”

“It’s Madge, right? The blonde woman with the pearl earrings. She and Andrea monopolise the kitchen in the morning and talk about all of us.”

You hate profilers, but you could never hate Spencer. You can’t find it in yourself to be upset that he’s worked out what perturbed you so quickly.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning back in your desk chair slowly. “There’s no point arguing with them, babe, you’d end up at Human Resources by the end of the day forced to write an apology letter.”

Spencer looks like he wants to touch you again, hand heistant, fingers moving as though he’s typing curled into his palm. “I’ll stick up for you if you want me to. I don’t care if they make me write a letter.”

“Can’t argue over silence,” you say.

It’s a kind offer, and he really is so handsome. Everybody else in the office might drive you up the wall but he’s a sweetheart, through and through.

“I like when you smile. Doesn’t happen much,” he murmurs.

If it were anyone else, you’d tell them to fuck off. “Thank you, Spencer. I like your smile too.”

He leans down for a hug. Again, if it were anyone else, you’d wriggle out of reach and give a speech on boundaries, but it’s him. He folds his arms behind your head and back, encouraging your face into the crook of his neck as he bends to meet you, gentle even when you don’t hug him back. “Don’t listen to anybody,” he says, rubbing your shoulder with his thumb.

“I don’t.”

“Who cares if they’re talking about us?” Spencer asks.

You touch his waist. “Not me.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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moonstruckme · 3 months

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wearing spencers clothes🤯🤯 the boy would not be able to focus!!!! i love all of your work btw!! you're single handedly encouraging me back into my marauders phase❤️

Then my scheme is working ! Thanks for requesting babe :)

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Spencer has to force himself out of bed so you don’t wake up to him staring at you. Also, so he has time away from you to get himself together.

He’s never felt so much like skipping before. As soon as he’s in the kitchen, full to bursting with the knowledge that you’re asleep one room over, his smile is unshakable. It’s embarrassing, honestly, he’s like a high schooler. You can’t see him like this. He starts going through the kitchen to see what’s not expired. Ketchup, hummus, bread, muffin mix (too risky), mattar paneer (not a very good breakfast), eggs. Spencer can work with eggs. He has to double-check that he has both salt and pepper, but he’s good to go.

He pops bread in the toaster once he hears you moving around, a giddy flare of anticipation shooting up through his middle. You’ve never stayed over before, and Spencer didn’t have any time to prepare. He only has one hand towel, which you seem fine with sharing and he’s going to pop in the washing machine as soon as you leave, and only one toothbrush. He feels bad that you have to brush your teeth with your finger. If you deem him worthy of a next time, he tells himself, he’ll be ready then.

He hears the quiet padding of your footsteps but forces himself not to turn around until you say, “Morning.”

Your voice is still stretched with sleep, and when Spencer turns around he can see it still lingering in your face. Your eyelids are droopy, weighted down, and your hair looks like you’ve tried to run your fingers through it but couldn’t quite get it to behave, and you’re—that’s his sweater vest. You’re wearing his sweater vest.

He must be staring, because you look down at it, your expression going sheepish. “Sorry, is this okay? I know you’re sort of particular about germs, but I didn’t want to just come out here naked, and I really didn’t feel like putting on my jeans…”

Spencer shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s fine.” All the stuff you’d done last night, and you think he’s going to be fussy about your germs on his clothes? This is a completely different kind of upset. You’re—you look—well, you look like something Spencer dreamed up. You look like comfort and sweetness and Sunday morning.

“Okay, thanks.” You smile. Spencer thinks that if he was hooked up to a transducer, you’d actually be able to see the rush of dopamine to his brain. “It’s lucky you’re so tall, this fits me like a dress.”

A small dress, but sure. “I also have a disproportionately long torso,” he blurts. “My legs aren’t as long as they should be for my height, so my shirts and vests are longer than average.”

You nod like everything he’s just said made perfect and socially acceptable sense. The toast pops up and Spencer jolts a little, remembering to push the eggs around in the pan a bit.

A little smile tilts your lips, and you lean back against the counter behind him. “Are you making us breakfast?”

“Mhm.”

The smile spreads, your eyes going soft. “That’s so sweet of you,” you say warmly. “Thanks, Spence.”

“I can’t really cook,” he warns you. “I mean, I can usually do eggs, but only scrambled and even then I might…don’t thank me yet.”

A little laugh spurts out of you. It reminds Spencer of the fountain in front of his work, of water sparkling in the sun. “Okay,” you say, “do you want any help?”

“It’s probably best if whatever happens is undeniably my fault.”

You laugh again. He wonders what he can do to make that keep happening.

“Fair enough.” You push off the counter, headed towards the door. “Do you get the paper?”

For a second, Spencer’s too busy watching you go to remember if he does. “Y—yeah. It should be here by now,” he says.

He hears the door open, and then, “Perfect.” You come back brandishing the rolled-up paper, discarding the rubber band in his trash bin. “Do you mind if we do your crossword? You seem like you’d be so good at that.”

Spencer actually stopped doing the crossword years ago—the pop culture references he didn’t get, and the rest were too easy—but he’ll do it if it might impress you.

“Sure, let’s try.”

“Okay.” You grab a pen from the coffee table, spreading the paper open on the countertop. “Wyoming’s state sport, five—”

“Rodeo,” Spencer says. It takes him a beat to realize he cut you off. He turns, grimace in place and apology on his lips. “Sorry.”

But you’re grinning. You shake your head a little bit, pride or admiration or a bit of both, and write it down. You push a piece of hair away from your face. Spencer’s eyes get caught on the wool of his sweater vest where it brushes your collarbone.

“African river to the Mediterranean, four letters. That’s the Nile, right?”

The garment seems to shift with every tiny movement. Sliding atop your shoulders, moving about your neckline, the soft material skimming your ribs. Under the counter, it has to be bunched underneath your thighs.

“Spence?”

“Hm?” He forces his gaze up. “Yeah, the Nile.”

“Thanks.” Your eyes linger on him a second too long before you bend back over the paper, a knowing smile playing on the corner of your lips. “Okay, and eagle claw in five letters is talon, right? Oh, um, eggs.”

Spencer’s brow wrinkles. “How many letters?”

“No, Spence.” You laugh, sliding out of your seat. You tug his sweater down a bit as you walk over, the band at the bottom hugging your thighs. “The eggs. Your eggs.”

He turns, registering the smell of smoke before the sight of the crispy, blackened eggs in his pan. “Oh.”

You reach past him, elbow bumping his as you switch off the heat. Spencer moves the hot pan away from you quickly. He scrapes his sorry eggs into the trash bin, setting the pan in the sink. “Sorry, I got distracted by the crossword,” he tells you, and though he suspects you catch the lie you’re kind enough not to call him out on it.

“It’s fine.” You shoot him another of those brilliant, beaming smiles, taking a piece of cold toast from the toaster. “I love toast. Do you have any butter or jam or anything?”

Spencer winces. “Not really…”

You laugh, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “No worries. I’m down for a trip to the store if you are.” He nods sheepishly, and you press your lips together, thoughtful. “I think I might change first, though.”

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gutsby · 6 months

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Grow a Uterus and We'll Talk

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Daryl has a bad case of baby fever, to put it lightly. You’re practically terrified of children. Rick lends you his kid for the night, and together, you come to learn that parenthood might not be the worst thing in the world. Even easier than baking muffins, one might say.

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, fluff, an absurd amount of baby rabies, and fluff. Don’t blame me if y’all get pregnant.

“You lay one finger on me and I’ll bite it off, Dixon.”

You’d done the same damn dance once a month, every month for the past two years, and you were starting to grow annoyed with your boyfriend’s advances.

“Would it really be tha’ bad if we tried it out…just once?” Daryl huffed.

“I don’t know,” you answered, shrugging, “Grow a uterus and we’ll talk.”

The archer playfully lunged at you from across the couch, but you easily side-stepped and took residence at the far end of the room. You reached for a stiletto to throw at his head if he came any closer.

“Still on the baby business, huh?” Carol called as she strode past the living room toward the kitchen.

“Ya know we’d make some damn cute crotch goblins,” Daryl yelled back. You rolled your eyes.

“That isn’t for you to decide, Daryl,” Carol’s voice seemed to toughen, even give him a scolding look from a distance away, “And if you knock her up before she’s ready, I’ll string you up by your balls and feed you to the walkers.”

The woman did not fuck around—and you loved her for it. Presently, you stuck your tongue out at Daryl as if to say, ‘See? I told you so’ and the man simply scowled. Flopped down on the couch and propped his dirty boots up on the coffee table.

“‘Course I wouldn’t try if ye weren’t ready,” he grumbled, “Jus’ wanted you ta consider it.”

You joined him on the couch and nudged his feet off the table.

“Is that why you’ve been parading every baby in Alexandria in my face for the past six months? Hoping I’d ‘consider’ things a little more?” you quipped, raising both eyebrows.

Daryl paused a beat, seemed to chew on his thoughts for a moment or two. Then he offered you a sheepish grin and said,

“Rick and Michonne really need the free childcare.”

You were itching to grab that high heel again. Before you could, though, a sound thundered through your foyer and the front door was thrown open wide. In the blink of an eye, Rick had stumbled through your entryway, passed off his infant to Daryl like a sack of potatoes, and raced back to the door.

“Rick, what the fuck?!” you shouted before he could escape.

“Date night,” Rick answered in a ragged breath, gripping the door frame while he glanced over at Daryl.

Daryl smiled and held Judith to his chest like she might’ve been the most precious thing in the universe. You narrowed your eyes.

“He put you up to this?” you asked, tipping your chin in Daryl’s direction.

Rick didn’t hesitate; he said that he had. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Daryl shooting daggers at his friend. Promptly, Judith pawed at your boyfriend’s stubbled cheeks and babbled.

Sensing the tension in the air, Carol gathered her belongings and contemplated baking her bread elsewhere—or at least give you and Daryl some space to talk. She started toward the door,

“Walk a lady home?” she said to Rick.

Rick shot her a curious look but accepted anyway. Casting a sidelong glance to the man on the couch and the woman who was currently staring him down with an irate look in her eyes—you—he quickly surmised it was in his best interest to leave. Hopefully Judith was too young to catch on to any curse words that might be hurled in the next several minutes.

“Be good, you three,” Rick gave his parting words before following Carol outside. The door crashed shut behind them.

As soon as it had, you were back on your feet and traipsing out of the room.

“Come on,” Daryl whined.

He followed your steps into the kitchen with Judith still cradled in his arms. There was a pregnant pause as you rifled through your cabinets, wordlessly searching for some ingredients to bake whatever pastry it would take to get your mind off the discomfiture of this situation—you decided on muffins, at length.

It wasn’t like you hated babies. You loved their big bald heads and their pudgy, wobbling legs. You loved the way they giggled and smiled and dribbled food all over their fronts. You didn’t even mind the thought of pregnancy; carrying a pint-sized redneck in your belly for nine months wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen.

It was the world that frightened you most. The thought of a newborn child’s slim chances at surviving a place like this. The fear of that alone was enough to have you fighting that dreadful outcome, tracking your cycle like a hound and fighting Daryl off every month when you knew that day was coming. You’d been pretty successful thus far. But by the looks of the man across the kitchen beaming down at the baby, you weren’t sure how long that winning streak would last.

“Wanna hold her?”

“No.”

“Wanna do her hair?”

“She hasn’t got any.”

Daryl shot you a look of mock indignation and stroked Judith’s head.

“You kiddin’? Little Ass Kicker’s gotta have at least fifteen strands by now,” he retorted, tugging at the short blond tufts as if to prove a point.

Judith smiled a toothless grin up at her Uncle Daryl. You all but had to leave the room to stifle the sounds of your reproductive organs screaming, 'Give that man a baby! NOW!' You clenched your stomach and turned away to start preparing the pans.

Daryl perched Judith on his lap and starting puffing out his cheeks. The infant shrieked with laughter. You assembled the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt together on the counter and sought after a bowl.

“Dada, Dada!” Judith chanted. Trying in earnest to say ‘Daryl’ but ending up sounding like she was calling him dad. You dropped the mixing bowl on the countertop with a clatter.

“Daryl, kiddo, Dar-yl,” your boyfriend tried to teach her, enunciating his name a couple more times.

“Dada!” the little tyke howled again as she fisted his shirt in her fingers.

Milk and oil and— eggs. Where are the eggs?

You tore through the fridge and wanted to sob into the shelves with the sheer force of delirium coursing through your veins. Damn you, Charles Darwin, I am not in a place to be procreating right now.

You tried turning your mind to other things—cooking, crying, contemplating the course of human evolution—but when you turned back with the carton of eggs in hand, you almost sent the dozen of them crashing straight to the floor.

Daryl was pinching her chubby cheeks.

If you weren’t so violently inclined to breed a whole new gaggle of progeny with this man, you probably would’ve chucked an egg at his head.

You sighed as you dropped the last of your cooking supplies on the surface of the kitchen island. You planted your hands flat on the granite and stared shamelessly at the two of them. Daryl was feigning ignorance, tapping Judith’s tiny pink nose with the tip of his finger and watching her giggle. When he leaned down to kiss the top of her head, you spun around to kick the oven door shut and cut the appliance off, immediately.

“Alright, you win, you bastard,” you said in a huff.

Daryl looked up from his present occupation, eyeing you innocently.

“What do you mean, hon—”

You cut him short, raising a finger to halt his speech before starting toward the door.

“Shut up,” you muttered as you headed for the stairs, “Meet me up there in five.”

Daryl deposited Judith in her portable playard in a second’s time and went scrambling up those steps faster than he ever had before.

Silently, speedily, he thanked every one of his lucky stars and his best friend, Rick Grimes.

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fluff #fluff #daryl dixon imagine #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead #daryl dixon one shot #twd imagine

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papercorgiworld · 2 months

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Muffins and Fireworks, because I want your love

A Mattheo Riddle fluff

You are a kind and sweet person and you weird out Mattheo so much by being nice to him that you have him falling for you badly, turning our sour boy soft and sweet.

This was a lovely request but I feel like I screwed it up. I don't know but I feel like I could've done better, but it's really fluffy so I do hope it's to your liking. Also sorry for taking a freaking century to write this! For the cameo piece, Raven (@sunshineangel-reads) is your friend who listens to you talk about muffins and who ends up dating Blaise. They're very kissy. Thanks for sending in! I honestly feel like this story is more about muffins than Mattheo but yeeah, I love both.

My ending was inspired by prompt 4 of @thatdammchickennugget 's Hogmarch Challenge and since it’s still the 25th, I’m just in time.

Warning: fluffy fluffiness and kinda long for my standards

I. Kindness

You weren’t one for loud Gryffindor parties, but your friends had convinced you to come anyway. So here you were, standing outside the three broomsticks in need of some fresh air while looking up at the moon. After a few minutes you sigh and turn to head back to your friends. Just then a drunk figure stumbles through the door, almost bumping into you. You stop and he turns around looking even more drunk than he was walking. “Elloo, pretty thingy.” He flirts playfully pointing his finger in your direction, making you laugh as you had never seen Mattheo Riddle in this state. He takes two steps towards you and one step back, before focussing on you again. “Have we met?” He says leaning forward and stumbling closer to you. You chuckle and nod. “Yes, Mattheo, we’ve been going to the same school for several years.” A bright and toothy smile spreads on his lips and you find his drunk state almost adorable. “Then tell me, why aren’t you my girlfriend?” Mattheo tries to take another step towards you, but stumbles to the side and you reach for his upper arms to hold him steady. “Whoopsie.” Mattheo says, leaning closer to you again. You shake your head and get a little flustered at his flirtiness. “You. You are incredibly drunk.” You chuckle and his eyes just move from your sweet ones to your kissable lips. Your mind is freaking out as you catch on with Mattheo’s intentions, but it only lasts for a second because suddenly Mattheo tears himself loose from your hands, keeping him steady.

You frown and scrunch your nose as Mattheo throws up a few feet away from. You hear his painful breath and bite your lip as you watch him, pitting him. You think quickly and conjure a soda for him. Slowly you move over to him, resting your hand on his back. “Here, have this.” You whisper as he still rests his hands on his knees, unable to look away from the ground. “No, no more. I think I’ve had enough.” He mutters and you chuckle. “It’s not alcohol, but I’m glad you’ve figured out that you’ve had enough alcohol for today.” You gently stroke his back up and down and his eyes move to the cup and then looks up at you. You take a step back when he takes the cup and he nods, clearly he’s partly sobered up. “Thanks.” He says, sounding confused, and you offer him a sweet smile. “Go sit for a moment.” You suggest and point to a nearby bench. Your hand brushes his biceps as you guide him to sit down and his eyes watch you darkly. He had never felt so uneasy, he just couldn’t wrap his head around your gentle touch and concerned eyes. You sat down next to him watching him with those sweet eyes of yours and he fell silent, drinking from the cup. “Better?” You ask and your soft voice gives him goosebumps. He nods as he stares at the drink in his hand.

A few seconds pass in silence until a painful grunt leaves Mattheo’s lips. Again your hand rests on his back. “Do I need to walk you to the common room?” You sound genuinely concerned and Mattheo just doesn’t know how to behave around you anymore. “I’m not a girl. I don’t need to be walked anywhere.” You’re surprised by his snappy voice and you pull away, making Mattheo regret what he said, but it was too late now. He gets up and leaves, throwing the cup in a trashcan before shoving his hands in his pockets. You watch him walk away with his head low and you’re utterly confused at the way he left, but it was Mattheo Riddle after all. You knew he could act out, but you also knew that he didn’t always mean it that way. So you shrug and go back to your friends, not knowing that Mattheo would spend the entire evening alone thinking about you. Why were you so nice to me?

II. Sweetness

It was widely known around the school: you were always snacking. However, you also like to share. After a day in Hogsmeade you would bring your friends’ their favourite candy and you would pass a candy bag around before class to give everyone that well needed sugarboost. Mattheo found the gesture sweet, but also unnecessary. He was almost annoyed by your sweetness since he found it made you vulnerable to greedy people who would just take advantage of your generosity. Yet, you had noticed that on occasion he would take one of the really sour candies. Convinced that Mattheo only wanted one specific flavour of sour candy you made sure to get a small bag extra just for him.

Mattheo entered the classroom and immediately noticed the candy bag go around, making him roll his eyes as people that rarely talked to you suddenly pretended to be your friends, thanking you and saying you were amazing. You immediately noticed his mood get darker and you smile pleased that today you came prepared. Mattheo let himself fall next to Theo, but as soon as he sat you appeared in front of his desk. He shot you a curious look. “You lost?” He asked and Theo carefully watched the interaction between you two from the corner of his eyes. “No.” You say somewhat startled by his tone, but still smiling. “I noticed you rarely take any candy, probably because I never take anything you like, so I got you your favourite.” With a bright smile and shiny eyes you reveal the small bag of sour candies that you were holding behind your back.

Theodore can barely hide his smile as Mattheo stares with wide eyes. Due to a lack of reaction from the boy in front of you, your smile falters a little. “Not your favourites?” You whisper a bit embarrassed. Enzo’s hand reaches for the bag as he passes by. “I’ll take them, I love-” Mattheo’s eyes darken. “Paws off, Berkshire.” Your heart skips a beat at the harsh tone coming from Mattheo, but Enzo just laughs, raising his hands in defence. “They're good.” Mattheo nods and he feels himself melt as your sweet smile instantly returns. You hand them over and his eyes lock with yours for a moment. “Thank you.” Mattheo says, his voice a bit horse, revealing how weirded out he is by your kindness. “Sour candy for our sour boy.” Blaise says with a teasing smirk on his lips, while ruffling Mattheo’s hair, before quickly taking a seat next to Enzo far away from a clearly agitated Mattheo. “You don’t have to do this.” Mattheo says, inspecting the bag and you shake your head, but decide to ignore his statement. “Best to open it like this.” You say and your fingers reach for the bag in his hands. “I think I’ll manage.” Mattheo says tilting his head and you move away. “Right, sorry.” You chuckle and just then the professor walks in, so you quickly move to your seat.

Mattheo’s eyes stay on you as you grab your books while exchanging a casual word with your friend. He hated how you made him feel, how much you made him feel. Why couldn’t you just act like other girls flirty and none of this sweet and kind stuff.

Boy is clearly weirded out by you, but also can't help but stare.

Mattheo didn’t learn anything during the hour that passed as he was only staring at you and thinking about you. What to do with you? What to do with himself and his growing feelings? However at the end of class he did learn one very important thing, considering cupcakes. Noisy students move through the classroom, quickly heading for the door, but you and Raven aren’t in a hurry at all and continue chatting while putting your quill and books away. “No muffins?” Raven exclaims in shock and you nod with a soft chuckle. “Rae, trust me. If they had any I would’ve bought them all. They have the best. Nothing rivals the sweet texture of Honeydukes’ muffins.” Raven frowns and slings her bag over her shoulder. “Out of muffins?” You follow her through the door. “Not a single one. So I have to wait for the weekend to restock.” You explain, voice pained with the lack of muffins in your life. “Will you survive that?” Raven laughs and you shake your head. “No, I’m in agony and it’s monday.”

Your voice disappears in the hallway and Mattheo is still packing his books, since he was too focused on listening in on your conversation. Suddenly he’s in a hurry scrabbling his notes together and hurrying through the hallways, passing a confused Draco. “Potions’ that way!” The blond slytherin yells as Mattheo speed walks in the other direction. “Do we need to check on him and make sure he doesn’t punch anyone?” Theo just shrugs and heads to class.

***

Your day had been exhausting and homework had just killed that last bit of will to live. You drop your bag on the floor of your dorm and walk over to your bed, noticing a rather large box and an envelope addressed to you.

These are for the sweetest girl I know. Please don’t share, it’s okay to keep some things just to yourself. M.

You frown and flip the card, searching for a name. Disappointed that you don’t know who the card is from you move to open the box. An overjoyed yelp has your friends run into your room. “You okay?” You turn around to your worried friends rushing through the door. Your lips are already on the muffin in your hand and you nod, taking a bite. “I’m better than okay! I’m great! Look, muffins!” You take a step to the side and reveal the box with muffins on your bed and your friends laugh. “Who are they from?” You moan as you take another bite. “My lord and saviour.” Is the only answer you can give them.

III. Information is key

Mattheo could hear Raven’s giggling through the door, but as long as it wasn’t moaning there really was no reason to not walk in. Raven yelps and Blaise is quick to throw the sheets over her. “You’re early?” Mattheo smirks at Blaise’s question. “How are those tutoring lessons about magical creatures going? Learned anything new yet now that your tutor is-” “It got a little late so Rae stayed over.” Blaise explains before Mattheo said anything inappropriate. Mattheo nods in understanding. “She just stayed over. So if I pull the sheets you’ll both be wearing clothes, right?” Blaise’s tongue moves in his mouth and the hufflepuff girl in his bed pushes the sheets down just below her chin and gives Mattheo an innocent smile. “Hi.”

“What do you want, Matt?” Blaise sighs. “Chill, I’m not here for you. I’m here for the lady.” Blaise frowns and Raven’s brown eyes go wide. “Me?” Mattheo raises his eyebrows and nods. “Unless there’s another lady under those sheets…” Blaise groans and gives Mattheo a dark glare, urging him to move it. “I just need to know what’s up with that weird girl that you always hang out with.” Mattheo doesn’t mention your name in an attempt to sound uncaring and nonchalant about you, but the truth was he knew a lot about you. Raven’s eyebrows knit together. “Weird girl?” Mattheo rolls his eyes. “Yeah, the weird and always nice one.” Raven purses her lips as she thinks. “All my friends are nice.” She argues, getting up a little and Blaise wraps an arm around her to make sure the sheets stay around her body. “Well the pretty, weird and nice one.” Mattheo explains rather annoyedly, but this time Raven figures it out and sighs. “You mean (y/n).” Mattheo nods.

“What about her?” Raven asks and Mattheo rolls his eyes. “What’s her deal?” Raven frowns, why was Mattheo being so incredibly vague and weird about you. “Why is she always so nice?” Raven tilts her head at his absurd question. “Because she’s a nice person.” Mattheo sighs, not satisfied with the answer. “Yes, but there has to be something wrong with her?” Raven moves to sit up a little more and Blaise moves with her keeping the sheets close around her body, making sure not to reveal a single piece of skin. “Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s a sweet girl and even on bad days she makes the best out of everything. She likes snacking, either candy or any baked goods. She loves fireworks and chocolate milk. That’s it. Normal, sweet, happy (y/n).” Mattheo nods, finally making peace with the answer.

“Okay, fine. I’ll leave you two to it then. You have like an hour before everyone else returns.” Mattheo heads for the door, only stopping for a moment. “Thanks, Rae. And good luck with your new found idiot.” Blaise rolls his eyes and Raven giggles, turning her head towards Blaise. “He called you my idiot.”

Now that Mattheo is gone, Blaise relaxes and falls back down on the bed. Raven rests on top of him. “What’s up with Riddle?” Blaise kisses her. “It’s Matt, just ignore him.” His hands roam her body and the kiss gets more passionate, until Raven pulls away. “Is he into her?” Blaise rolls his eyes. Damn, you Matt. “Yes, kinda, but he doesn’t know it yet.” Raven opens and immediately closes her mouth, confused by his answer. How does one not know that he likes someone? “Hasn’t (y/n) told you about what happened at the three broomsticks party a few weeks ago?” The hufflepuff shakes her head. “What happened?” Blaise can hear the curiosity in her voice and chuckles. “Matt got piss drunk and said some embarrassing flirty stuff before throwing up almost in front of her.” Raven’s eyes go wide. You had not told her any of this. “And like some princess in shining armour she took care of him and it freaked him out and he was a bit weird, but what surprised him even more was that she didn’t tell anyone about the embarrassing evening. So ever since that incident he’s getting softer and softer for her.” Raven huffs not believing what Blaise’s telling her. “Riddle soft?” She chuckles, but then something dawns on her. “The muffins! It was him wasn’t it? She gave him candy and he was so weird and rude about it and then those muffins showed up.” Blaise chuckles, but turns serious rather quickly. “Just promise me not to say anything to Mattheo about this, he’s struggling but he’ll figure it out.” Raven nods and kisses Blaise.

IV. Up to something

Annoyed in advance, Mattheo walked over to the Weasley twins sitting at the gryffindor table. “I need a favour.” He announced and both guys looked up, amused. “Why would we help you?” They sing in choir. Having anticipated this reaction, Mattheo coolly lays a few galleons on his end of the table, making both guys move their chin up in interest. Fred’s the first one to speak up with a bright smile. “Have I told you how big of a fan I am of Slytherin.” Mattheo raises his eyebrows, but before he can say anything George speaks up. “Your hair looks exquisite today.” Mattheo sighs. These guys, are they for real? “I need a favour not some shit ass compliments.” Fred tilts his head. “What do you want?”

You enter the great hall and spot Mattheo talking to twins. When you walk in their direction you hear them sing “A muffin?”, having immediately caught your interest you suddenly pop up next to mattheo. “Did I hear something about muffins?” You chuckle, but Mattheo just gives you a dirty look. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to eavesdrop? You didn’t hear shit, okay?” You nod, looking at him through your lashes. “I’m sorry.” Your sad apology makes Mattheo grimace. “Don’t let people be so rude to you.” Mattheo snaps and now you’re just utterly confused. “Sorry.” You blur out which makes Mattheo frown and walk away. “Pathetic.” He mutters and you look at the floor. Fred and George shake their heads. “Just ignore him, he’s just extra cranky. Don’t take it personally.” You smile and take a seat opposite of the twins. “What were you talking about anyway?” You ask and they look at each other for a moment. “You see that pile of money?” Fred asks and you nod. “That includes a fee to keep quiet.” George explains and you nod, knowing they won’t talk.

Mattheo takes a seat next to Theo at the slytherin table, both guys watching him. Blaise is the first to speak. “Did I just really hear you tell her she’s pathetic?” Mattheo’s eyes shoot up to his friend. “What is it with people listening in on my conversations today?” Theodore chuckles and looks at his friend with a smug smile. “Look, you're gonna have to work on that flirting of yours.” Mattheo’s dead eyes move to Theo as he seriously considers if his face is worth the punch. “Let’s not forget that when Raven first complimented Blaise’s shirt, he laughed and said ‘it’s a guy’s shirt, you can’t like me’ and then walked away like she was the crazy one.” Blaise looked at his plate. “Thanks for bringing that up mate.”

***

You really need to put an extra lock on your door, because when you got to your dorm you were surprised by another box and note on your bed.

Allow me to take you to the Yule ball? Ps. if you say yes, you get to wear the dress. M.

You stare at the note for several seconds even though you had already read the message. Then you quickly open the drawer of your nightstand so you can compare the note you received with the cupcakes. “It’s the same person?” You whisper as you notice the similar handwriting. You sit down on your bed while a deep blush creeps up on your cheeks. Your heart goes faster and faster and you can’t hide your smile anymore, pressing your lips into a line. Your mind runs wild. Who is this person? After a second another thought creeps up. The box? You were laying right next to it, but had totally forgotten about it as your mind went wondering who the mystery person was. You jump up and study the box and the perfect ribbon around it. Without opening it you knew it would be perfect. Carefully you open it and gently you pull the dress out of the box, immediately holding it in front of you and checking it out in front of the mirror. Mystery person has taste… and has a date. You smile to yourself in the mirror.

V. Fireworks and love

Mystery dates are fun in theory, but in reality it had you stressing. Who is it? Where will we meet? Will he show up? How does this person even know I said yes? Well he did know I liked muffins so they’re spying on me for sure…

Mattheo watching you enter the great hall, so in love you and so terrified of love.

The night of the Yule ball had been fun. You had danced with your friends and had gotten a million compliments about your dress, but as amazing as your night had been your mind was only concerned with one thing: your mystery date. Anticipation had filled your brain and heart the last few days and now you felt like you were going to explode. Standing alone you scan the room searching for any clue to who it could be, when Raven and Blaise join you. “Do you think he chickened out?” You wonder out loud and Raven wants to speak up but Blaise cuts in. “Maybe you should get a muffin at the buffet.” You frown, that was not even an answer to your question. With your eyes still scanning the people dancing, you turn down his offer. “Not in the mood.” You state dryly and Blaise’s face falls, but you don’t notice and neither does Raven. “She just wants the guy to reveal herself.” Raven says emphasising ‘the guy’ as she looks at Blaise, making you turn your head around in suspicion. Blaise chuckles nervously as he sees you narrow your eyes. “Just get a muffin, it will make you relax.” Raven sighs. “She-” Blaise kisses her to keep her from talking and your eyebrows knit together. “I already had a snack.” You sigh, eyes returning to the dance floor. “I saw there was only one left.” Blaise argues and Raven sighs. “Will you cut it with the muff-” Again Blaise’s lips crash on Raven’s to keep her from talking. When his lips finally move away from hers she huffs. “I feel like you’re limiting my freedom of speech with your kissing.” Blaise raises a sassy eyebrow at Raven. “Are you complaining?” A playful smile tugs on her lips and they close the distance between them, leaning in for yet another kiss.

You groan and decide to go look for that last muffin anyway. When did they become so cheesy? And where in Merlin’s name is my date? You sigh, inspecting the table filled with all kinds of deliciousness, but nothing catches your eye as you're still occupied, wondering why your mystery date is keeping you waiting. A weak half smile tugs on your lips as you spot that last muffin and almost as a reflex you immediately reach for it. However it jumps away and you tilt your head. Did that muffin just jump? Again your reach for it, telling yourself that you did not just see it move away. Again it jumps up and you look around if anyone else noticed it, but everyone else was preoccupied with their date or friends. You narrow your eyes. I don’t have a date, but I will have this muffin. You move in as fast as you can but it starts to float. Whoever thinks this is funny is in the wrong. I’ll not chase a muffin around. You cross your arms. The muffin moves closer and you think this is your chance, but when you try to snatch it, it distances itself again, further from the table this time. You huff. Fine it’s not like I have anything better to do.

Determined you follow the muffin until it brings you outside and you lose it in the darkness. “Lumos.” You whisper and move around the empty courtyard. “You shouldn’t chase floating food. Enchanted food isn’t that safe.” You spin around to meet Mattheo smirking at you with his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning you. “How do you know I was chasing floating food? It could’ve had little legs?” Mattheo opens his mouth but your bizarre argument has him fall silent for a moment and smile. “I know, because I asked Fred and George to make it float.” Your eyes widen at his calm statement and Mattheo chuckles at your surprise, moving closer to you and you notice the courtyard light up as he moves. Your eyes adore the soft lights and you put your wand away. “I didn’t want other people around, when I asked you for our first dance. I didn’t want anyone to stare and judge. I wanted a moment just between us.” You feel yourself drawn to him, his soft voice and warm eyes making you fall in love with slytherin.

Feeling safe around this gentle Mattheo you take a step closer to him, fingers entangling with the fabric of your dress to lift it slightly. “Did you buy this?” Mattheo smiled his sweetest smile and nodded ever so slightly, like he was almost embarrassed to admit he did all these things for you. “I needed something to convince you to say yes.” You blush, but bravely take another step towards him. “You already had a yes when you got me those muffins… or even before that.” Even though you whisper the last part he focuses on those words. Does she like me?

You both look towards the castle as you hear the music change and a small smile tugs on your lips as you recognise it as one of the songs you had to learn by heart during those awkward dancing lessons in the weeks leading up to the Yule ball. Mattheo can’t help melting as he notices your soft smile in the dime light. “May I have this dance?” He says, bowing and offering his hand. You had always liked him. More than liked him, but you never dared or allowed yourself to act on those feelings, because he’s Mattheo Riddle. He gets into pointless fights and hangs out with a different crowd than you, different girls. But here he was, in front of you asking you to dance with him. It takes a second for you to reply, but you nod and instantly feel your whole body heat up as your hand touches his.

It doesn’t even feel like dancing, it's more like you’re featherlight steps on a cloud as Mattheo guides you perfectly. His touch is gentle and yet firm enough to keep you from worrying that you’ll ruin the dance by missing a step. You drown in his eyes and his lips curl at your dreamyness. He didn’t even know how badly he needed someone to drown his eyes until you were in his arms. “Where’s your mind at?” Mattheo whispers curiously and you look away for a second, but you can’t keep your eyes away from his for long. “I- I was wondering… why me?” Mattheo fails to hold back a soft laugh at your silly question. To him it was obvious that it had to be you. You were simply perfect. He was in love with you. You were on his mind constantly. However, he didn’t dare say that, because that would be weird. With dreamy eyes you watch him and he feels himself get a little flustered as part of him wants to confess, while also wanting to run away and hide from you and his feelings for you. “I- I just-”

Fireworks. Startled, you look up and Mattheo immediately pulls you against him as a protective reflex. You relax as you watch the wonderful fireworks, but hear Mattheo groan in annoyance, making you turn your head a little. Mattheo shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve never trusted something so important with the Weasley's. It wasn’t supposed to happen yet.” Your eyes move between him and the fireworks. “Raven mentioned you loved fireworks.” Mattheo whispers, partly hoping you wouldn’t hear it. Which makes you again wonder: “Why me?”

Students come running outside, crowding the courtyard and watching the fireworks, but your eyes stay on Mattheo, enjoying the sound of fireworks, as you wait for his response. “Because I want your love, only yours and I’ll do anything to have it… That’s why I did all these silly things.” Mattheo’s heart races as he confesses something so scary. “You have it, Mattheo Riddle, all my love, you have it.” You whisper as you lean towards him and he happily meets your lips for a soft kiss. Ignoring everyone around you, this was your moment and it was perfect.

Feedback is always welcome!

Word count: 4522

#slytherin #slytherin boys #blaise zabini #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #papercorgiworldwritings #hogmarch challenge

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diremoone · 6 months

Text

written in fine print | r. sukuna

moving to japan to get a breath of fresh air was supposed to be one of the best decisions you’ve ever made. it still may be, but now you’ve got a problem and you don’t know what to do about it. the problem? ryomen sukuna, one of the wealthiest men on the planet, being… enamored with you. you’ve come fairly far with him as “friends” while keeping him at bay, but after you both spend christmas together, you know that things have changed. and come the first day of the new year comes a surprise that forces you to face your bottled-up truth.

[ Ryomen Sukuna Masterlist ] | part three

w — slowburn, age gap, modern au, older man/younger woman, fluff, mild? angst, this time we get reader’s pov bc it’s time ;3, insecure! reader, self-indulgence, A KISS (but just one for now sorry y’all), reader and sukuna lay their feelings on the table (I’m sorry I couldn’t help but finally get to this part), sukuna gets kinda prose-y lmao, slightly unsatisfied with this fic but I hope y’all enjoy anyway, sprinkle of bittersweet at the end

God, have mercy upon my soul.

The dozens of text messages from your cousin have you sitting on the edge of your bed in absolute disbelief. You haven’t even had any coffee yet, or any sort of something in your stomach. It’s sheer willpower keeping you from throwing up the stomach acid in your belly.

But you do need something. You make your way into the kitchen and nab the biscuits you made yesterday from the bag they were in. You shouldn’t, but you eat all four of them anyway. Then you drink something.

You were wondering why everything was going too good, why life had been so… easy as of late. Now you understood why. It was the calm before the storm. It was the universe allowing you to have some semblance of peace before it decided to throw you into the pit of mental and emotional turmoil that you’d been so great at avoiding.

Why in the world did the universe decide to put Ryomen Sukuna into your life?

That’s the question you have been asking yourself over and over again ever since you decided to take him up on the offer of a first date six months ago. Even worse, why did you even think it was a remotely good idea to get involved with someone over ten years older than you? Universe aside, you should’ve had the good judgement to keep Sukuna away. Your good intuition was something you’d always prided yourself on, so why did you decide to even let Sukuna keep coming around?

You go back to your room and get the phone, rereading over the messages. One in particular your eyes stay on:

A benefactor has paid for nana’s care and set her up in a really fancy, upscale care and rehabilitation facility here. They came and got her this morning to transfer her. When I asked about it, someone from registration said it was a gift for you. Who the fuck did you meet in Japan? 5:16 am

And you know, deep within your soul and in your gut that Sukuna was behind this. There’s no one you know that has the money to pull off something like taking your grandmother from where she was to a facility where she’s going to get more constant help, cleaned, proper rehabilitation. No one else but him.

The coffee maker suddenly beeps, beginning to brew a fresh pot of coffee. You almost jump out of your skin from it. You wait until it’s done before digging out one of the banana nut muffins Shoko brought over two nights ago to pre-celebrate the new year.

You truly don’t know what to feel. You’re unsure about everything. Coming to Japan to get a breath of fresh air from the strain your old life was supposed to be one of the best choices you’ve ever made. But now, all it’s become is a whirlwind of even more, even deeper emotional confusion.

Meeting Yuuji was great. Meeting his older brother? The entire source of the emotional confusion.

You lean against the counter and gaze outside. The snow has finally ceased and you’re sure dozers are out clearing the roads. You can’t help but fall into your thoughts.

For awhile, you’ve had… feelings. You’re not quite sure what they are, but you know that they revolve around the older, rich man you’ve befriended. You know that whenever he’s around, you feel more… open, lighter even. You know he makes you feel flustered, to which you’ve learned to seal said fluster inside of a bottle and remain indifferent in his presence. Every time he looks at you or speaks to you, it makes you feel… giddy. Happy, dare you say it.

And it’s something you swallow down and hide every time it bubbles to the surface, fearing that it’ll be nothing more than the same story as your mother: a heart broken by the letdown of not ever being enough, not being what the man actually wanted, and not being genuinely cared for.

The mug of coffee in your hands grows hot, almost scalding against the skin of your palms. It brings you out of your own mind, just in time to hear your phone vibrate with more text messages, all still from your cousin.

Because apparently fate dropped a man in your lap that was more than ready to give you anything and everything you’ve ever wanted: unconditional love on a gold platter; fate decided that you finally deserve a break from strife and grief, that you deserved to stop eating humble pie, because lord knows you’ve done choked and damn near suffocated on that shit; that you deserved to be cherished and loved and made to be someone’s number one in their life.

You know. You fucking know what Sukuna does to you, how he makes you feel inside. You also know how he wants to treat you and the things he wants to do to you. And perhaps with you, if your gut instinct is right and he wants more than a body to warm his bed.

Who are you kidding? You know you’re right.

But it’s unfortunate for you that all you’ve learned to do is bottle up your feelings and act like they don’t exist. Because you’ve never been loved, not romantically anyway. Especially not like this, from someone like this.

How were you supposed to love? What did it really mean to be in a relationship? You’ve never been in one. Not one that ever really was going to go as far as this. Was what you were feeling all temporary? And if you did get into a relationship, what if he didn’t like you when you got comfortable? What if he didn’t like it when you laughed too hard, or any of the habits you have? What if he was just wanting to play savior and ended up leaving you a few months from now?

You toss your head back and groan. Why? Why was this happening to you?

You opt to spend the day inside, rather than go out like you had planned. You have to text Shoko and Utahime, letting them know that you’re not going to be able to participate in their plans of going out and visiting shrines for the new year. The latter is reasonably mad, but Shoko calms her down in the group chat. Although she does make an innuendo about spending the day with someone else “cozied up in bed” rather than them. You send her a side eye emoji in return on her personal thread.

You change out of your pajamas and into some casual clothes — a dark red long sleeve and some black sweatpants, switching to house socks to regular socks — despite not intending to go out for the day. You do end up on the couch for most of the day, switching your attention from the TV and the messages on your phone more than you care to admit. You hardly eat, and don’t realize it until you can feel your stomach against your spine each time.

All day is basically wasted in front of the television, trapped in your own mind. Trapped in the whirlwind that Sukuna has made of your heart and emotions.

You graze through your entire stock of sweets in less than a day, uncaring if it was unhealthy. Dusk settles on the horizon before you know it and you’re anything but tired. In fact, you’re wide awake.

“What do I do…?” you ask into the open air. You feel stupid doing it, but apparently fate has a response for you.

It’s 9:18 at night when several strong knocks rap at your door.

It’s 9:20 when you decide to finally answer the door.

It’s 9:24 when you realize you’ve got a guest at the front door, the very same man who’s been making you question yourself and your whole life ever since coming to this country.

It’s 9:30 when you question to yourself why you let him in. You didn’t think it through, that much you’re sure of. How could you be when he’s thrown your heart all topsy-turvy and mushed it into goo?

Just looking at him from his back floods your mind and makes your heart race, something you hope you’re able to hide by what you hope is a face of indifference and calmness. You can see the tattoos peek out from his turtleneck, and you have to gulp down your nervousness.

The large mug of fruity tea you’ve poured has now chilled, the ice just barely clinking in the glass. You quickly open the cookie jar on the counter and shove two snickerdoodles in your mouth to stress-eat being prepared for what was coming next.

“I…” you begin, and embarrassingly realize you have to swallow the cookies to talk. “I wasn’t expecting you to… show up.”

Sukuna’s silent for a moment, then replies stoically, “Neither was I.”

You gaze at him longer than you intend to. Your attention is mostly on his tattoos, the little bits that are peeking out from the deep crimson of his form-fitting turtleneck. You watch him readjust the watch on his wrist, partially revealing the tattoo inked onto his wrist. To your surprise, Sukuna actually doesn’t like showing off his tats. He used to in his younger years; he’s still proud of them, but he isn’t as much into flaunting them to the world nowadays.

Sukuna’s deep voice cuts through the air. “Have you… gotten my gift?”

You bite your lower lip. You nod even though he can’t see you. “Yeah… If you mean the one involving my grandmother, then yes.”

“I do apologize if I crossed any lines doing such a thing,” he says. “But I don’t regret it.”

“I can imagine you don’t,” you reply, knowing full-well that him regretting anything was a very rare occurrence. “But… Why? Why would you do that? Go through such trouble to help me… and my family? Just… Why?”

His ginormous frame turns to face you to look into your eyes and answer with nothing short of honesty, “Because I want you to be cared for. I’ve seen happiness in your eyes and I want to keep you happy. I want to be the one making you happy.”

“Buying my love will only get you so far,” you say.

“I know. I want to do more for you. I want… to be more for you. Not just… this. Whatever we have going on,” Sukuna admits casually, crossing his burly arms over his chest. But he doesn’t make eye contact. In fact, he keeps his eyes to the floor, away from your gaze. “I know what I want, although I’m not quite sure how to describe everything I feel… when I’m with you and when I think about you. It’s… I know what it is, I’m pretty sure, but at the same time… I don’t.”

“It’s new for you,” you mumble. Surprisingly, he actually hears you and nods. He doesn’t lie. Not with you.

“I’ve been with many women over the years, all for the same reason. I’ve never felt like falling in love or that it would ever matter. I know lust, I know what comes with that. With you, it’s anything but. At first, yes. But your immediate rejection, you continuing to keep your distance from me and your distaste known made me stop and think.”

You raise your brows. “All it took was a girl with some strong boundaries to make you realize you can’t live off being just horny for then rest of your life?”

Sukuna laughs. He actually laughs. A bright smile crosses his handsome face as his shoulders shake with laughter. He tries to cover it up with a hand, but all it does it muffle it into loud chuckles. It takes a good couple minutes before his chuckles finally fall into a simple smile of amusement. That’s when you admit your own truths. If you were going to be hurt, you might as well get it over with.

“In a way,” Sukuna admits. And then he admits even more, opening his heart and putting it on his sleeve. “You’ve reminded me that there is more to life, that I can be genuinely happy beyond office walls and red light districts. You have made me remember what feeling excited, what being on my toes feels like. You make the air lighter… happier, every time I see you. You… I care for you.”

Sukuna’s last words of admission are watered-down and you both know it. Then again, he says he is new to these kinds of feelings. And at this point, you believe him. You wonder if he knows that you’re just like him — exactly the same: that you’re new to the feelings of love, what it means to be in love. It’s confusing, really. You’re not sure where to begin when it comes to saying the things that Sukuna has seemingly had no problem admitting to you. You can’t just say, “Ditto” and make out with him.

Well, you could, but that’s beside the point.

You swallow the frog in your throat and look at him. He isn’t looking at you but at the ground, almost like he’s unsure of himself.

“You’ve made yourself a cozy place inside me, too,” you speak softly. Your hands don’t leave the mug as you set it on the counter. “We’ve only known each other for barely half a year, you know? You make me wonder if what I’m feeling is love, most of the time. I enjoy you; I enjoy your company. I enjoy the thrill you bring into my life. I… enjoy how weightless you make the world feel. I… I like the thought of being… prioritized. I’m just… confused on whether or not these feelings are rooted in love or something else entirely.”

“And I apologize for making you feel that way,” he replies. “That isn’t my intention.”

You’re quick to your words before he can continue. “Don’t apologize. Please. It’s not your fault. I… I’ve never been in a relationship. I don’t know what love is or what it’s supposed to feel like. I’ve never been loved, and I’m not quite sure how to reciprocate it. I’m afraid I’ll fuck up. Say the wrong thing, not do something right.”

Sukuna’s brows furrow. “There is no right or wrong way to be in a relationship — just yourself.”

“I’ve heard that, just as much as I’ve heard otherwise.”

Silence fills your apartment. You tap your nails against the glass mug, little tinks! resounding. You can’t look at Sukuna now. Not after just admitting to having never been in a romantic relationship. Now, you must seem more of your age than you ever have in his eyes.

“Any insecurity you have is not invalid. I would never disrespect them,” Sukuna finally says, sheer conviction making you shiver.

The giant man stands to take his place not even a foot from you. Magnetism draws you to his face and you cannot look away. His hand comes up and brushes his large fingers across your cheek.

And like an open book, he reads you from the front cover to the very last word, reading off your exterior cover and the interior pages you’ve hidden away. “You’ve carved yourself from early maturity, into someone that your loved ones have needed you to be. You’ve never been able to truly be yourself, be free. You’ve always had to be the rock that everyone has needed, when no one has been for you. You desire to be loved, but not at the expense of heartbreak nor sacrificing the person you’ve molded yourself into for the people you love. You desire to be free above all else, not wanting to be loved unless there’s someone who can love you and give you your freedom at the same time.”

You gape, eyes almost as wide as saucers with your eyelids lined with burning tears. You dip your head and sniffle.

“I want that. I want that for you. I want to be the one to give that to you,” Sukuna continues. “The time we spent together not even a week ago, I want more of that. I no longer want to live the way I’ve been living. I want to live with you, do those kinds of things with you. That sounds corny as fuck coming from me of all people, but that’s the truth.”

You can’t help but laugh. His tone of exasperation at himself was just too funny not to.

“And what happens when you give me those things? Will you be done with me? Move on to the next person?” you ask. “Once you’ve played the part of the savior, won’t those feelings end?”

“I’ll never be done with you,” he answers instantaneously, like it was nothing short of law. “You’ve captivated me, all of me. I’ve already tried pulling myself away a multitude of times. But then one little word of anything about you and you’re all I think about for the rest of the day.”

You sniffle again and laugh. “Did you practice this? You sound like a poet.”

“I can be one if you’d like.” You giggle at that. It’s silly, but you feel like Sukuna would oblige you if you said yes. “But I mean it, every word.”

You nod and whisper, “I know you do.” Because it’s the truth. He’ll never not mean anything he says. Brutal honesty is apart of Sukuna.

The emptiness of your apartment is deafening, it’s silence almost palpable to the point where you feel like you might being to suffocate. But large, firm hands cup your cheeks and bring oxygen into your lungs again.

His hands are warm, so warm. The feeling of being touched like this, so intimately, makes all the blood flow to your cheeks to the point where you think you’ll overheat.

“May I kiss you?” he asks, tone quiet, voice deep and baritone that makes shivers roll up your spine. “At least once?”

You can’t help but bite into your lower lip. The suffocating feeling has returned, just for a different reason. But your instinct goes first — action taking the initiative over the brain — and you nod once more, mumbling out a small “yes” that you chastise yourself for being so meek.

Sukuna’s free arm wraps around your waist and gently pulls you to your tippy-toes. You’re running on instinct, one hand resting on his chest, the other circling behind his neck, eyelids slowly closing as he dives in for the kiss you’ve allowed. And when his hand cradles the back of your head, his lips meet yours, and you swear to everything from heaven to hell that you’re about to explode and die in this man’s arms.

Everything feels like it’s on fire… until it doesn’t. That fire slowly simmers down to a gentle flame, one that brings a sense of contentment.

Sukuna tilts his head, moving your lips and deepening the kiss. You allow it, and it feels like the kiss has sunk to a new depth of desire. Dare you even think or say it be devotion. His lips are warm and sweet on yours; his kiss isn’t one of urgency, but perhaps the desperation of longing. It’s not slow and controlling, not greedy. Whatever this kiss is and all the emotions contained within, you know it makes you at peace and content.

Everything feels perfect.

You both part for air, lips slow to disconnect. You can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed being so out of breath, but hearing the slight heaviness of breath coming from the large man makes you feel less awkward.

“Thought you said you hadn’t been in a relationship before?”

Your reply is breathless, “Never have.”

“Then you must be a naturally good kisser.”

That makes you laugh. You press your head to his chest and giggle away, to which you hear what you think is a chuckle from his throat.

It’s 11:20 at night by the time you look at the clock again. It’s too late for Sukuna to go home. That’s the excuse you use anyway. He’s seemingly more than happy to use the excuse right along with you to spend a night with you.

Come morning, however, things shift back to the way they were before: confusing and lonely. The couch was just as empty as the apartment. Under you was not Sukuna’s body, but a stack of pillows from your bedroom.

The note on the counter about being called in for an important meeting doesn’t do his absence justice either, instead sending every one of your walls back up, twice as high and just as thick as they were before.

Your phone dings with new messages. Utahime and Shoko, both of which declare they’re coming over to drag your ass out of your apartment to go shopping like you should’ve yesterday.

You text them back, telling them you’ll meet them at the mall, that you’re going to get ready and this time you aren’t going to miss out.

You don’t know what to do or what to think. You don’t know if one night of vulnerability means anything more than just being open with another human being. All you know is that you need a break, from yourself, your confusion, from life, and especially from Sukuna.

You need the clarity of a shopping trip and good friends for company, because your hopes for what’s coming next are getting far too high and you’re beginning to really fall in love with Sukuna Ryomen.

taglist: (no longer adding)

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #modern! sukuna #modern! au #jjk sukuna #sukuna fluff

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callsignseagull · 1 year

Text

all you had to do was stay ✪ part 1

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!reader

Summary: Six years ago Jake hit your life like a hurricane. In and out in a matter of weeks. You thought after you get over the disappointment of him leaving without saying a word you’d never think of him again. But then two pink lines change your life forever. Now he’s back and still has no idea that the little girl by your side is his daughter.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: Not much, honestly. maybe just a little angsty

A/N: Here’s part one!! I hope you like it! It's a little on the short side but hopefully there'll be more soon :))

feedback is always appreciated :)

series masterlist

You’re sitting at the dining table, scrolling through your emails with one hand while holding your toast in the other. You’ve become a pro at multitasking.

“Mommy? Do you think they have churros at that market Penny is taking me?” Your daughter is munching on a toast of her own, crumbs sticking to her cheeks.

“I’m sure.” You smile. “And I’m sure if you ask nicely, Penny will get some for you.”

She grins before taking another bite of her toast and you can’t help but reach over and give her a kiss. You can’t believe how fast she’s growing up. At now five years old, Josie is your entire world. As shocked and scared as you were when you found out about her, she’s the best thing that ever happened to you.

Turning back to your laptop, you flag the most important mails so you don’t forget to follow up on them later. The time before one of your books releases is always the most stressful, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. You got so lucky.

You wrote and illustrated your first children’s book while being pregnant with Josie, it gave you something to distract yourself from all the changes you were going through. And then you posted about it online, it went sort of viral and then a publisher reached out to you. The book was an immediate success. It’s been translated in several different languages and they even make stuffed toys and board games based on your characters now.

And now you’re about to release the fifth book in the series. It’s hard to churn one out every year, but you’re scared that if you drop the ball, all you’ve worked for will be ripped from you. You want to give Josie the best life possible, so you work your ass off.

When both of you are finished with breakfast, you clean up the table and tell Josie to put her shoes on. As you slip into your own shoes, you whistle for Muffin, the four year old poodle mix you adopted from a rescue last year, and he comes trotting around the corner moments later.

After checking you’ve got everything you lock the front for behind you, hold your free hand out for Josie to take, the other holding Muffin’s leash. Then, the three of you take on the short walk towards the Hard Deck.

Penny Benjamin has been a life saver these last few years, throughout your pregnancy and beyond. She’s been there for you whenever you needed her, day or night. You don’t know what you would’ve done without her. And now she’s somewhat of a grandma figure for Josie, and she’s probably the hottest grandma ever. Her and Amelia are the closest thing you and Josie have to a family, besides each other.

Today, Penny is taking Josie to a Food Market while you look after the bar for a couple hours. It’s still early and not many people will be there, but you’re glad you can help Penny out while still getting some work done for yourself.

“There’s my favourite little family!” Penny greets, as you enter the Hard Deck, her arms wide and Josie immediately runs towards her and into her arms.

“Hi Penny! I’m so excited! Are you excited? Do you think they’ll have churros?” Josie rambles with glistening eyes, her dimples on show and for a moment you’re reminded of how much she looks like her father. You manage to push thoughts of him to the back of your mind most days but sometimes you just look at her and all you can see is him.

You haven’t tried reaching out to him again. You know you should’ve. But it felt wrong sending him a text telling him he’ll be a father. And you doubted that he even wanted to be a father. So you decided you’d spare yourself, and your daughter, the heartache. Josie hasn’t asked about her father much, but when she did you told her that he’s a pilot in the Navy and that he loves her. You never want her to feel like she’s not wanted.

✩̿✪̿✩̿

Jake knew he’d come back eventually. He just didn’t know it would take him so long. But if he was being honest with himself he knew that if it wasn’t for him being called back to Top Gun for some top secret mission he still wouldn’t have had the guts to come back here. Hell, he’s been living only a few hours north from here for the past couple of years. He easily could’ve made the drive down. But he’d always been good at coming up with excuses. But now he couldn’t. Not when he’s in the same city for the next few months. He’d constantly be looking for you. Seeing you in every face that just slightly resembled yours. He didn’t even know if you still lived in San Diego, though. But going to the Hard Deck seemed like the logical thing to do. Even if you weren’t working there anymore, Penny Benjamin might know where to find you.

As soon as he enters the bar he’s hit with nostalgia. Nothing has changed. He takes a look around and pretends he’s the six years younger version of himself, still naive enough to think that nothing will ever rattle him.

Since it’s still the early afternoon it’s not busy and there seems to be no one behind the bar right now. With a deep sigh he sits down in one of the barstools, then notices someone crouched down behind the bar, looking for something in a cabinet.

His breath catches in his throat. It can’t be.

He hasn’t seen you in six years, and even though he can’t see your face right now, he knows it’s you. He can feel it.

Now he really feels like he’s been transported back six years in time. You haven’t noticed him yet and he can’t hold back the words that are going through his head.

“Can you pinch me? Because I can’t believe you’re real. I thought I was dreaming.” He knows it’s a bit of a dick move, throwing his first thing he ever said to you at you now. But maybe you’re not as mad at him as he thinks? What if you don’t even remember him? He hadn’t thought about that. Fuck.

✩̿✪̿✩̿

You almost hit your head when you spin around towards him. This can’t be real.

“What are you doing here?” You must look like you’ve seen a ghost, but it honestly feels like that. He looks the same but he doesn’t. He’s filled out more, even though you never thought it possible. And he just looks overall more mature. It suits him.

“What am I doing here in San Diego or what am I doing here at the Hard Deck?” He tilts his head, a small smile on his face. You don’t grace that with an answer, he knows what you mean. The smile slowly drops from his face, and there’s a seriousness in his eyes that makes it impossible for you to look away. “I was hoping to find you here.”

“Why?”

“I want to apologise.”

That makes you straighten up. Apologise? After six years?

“I was an absolute asshole to you and you didn’t deserve that. I was going through a rough time and I took all that out on you. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I just left without saying goodbye. I got called on a mission right after graduation and when I got back I figured you didn’t wanna talk to me ever again.”

His words take your breath away for a moment. Never in a million years did you think you’d get an apology from Jake.

“I-,” you stop, wringing your hands together. At a loss for words.

“You don’t have to say anything.” He smiles softly. “I’m in town for a while. Maybe we could … I don’t know … hang out sometime? Catch up?”

As much as you want to protect your heart and tell him no, you know you have to catch him up on what happened after he left. It’s not right to keep him in the dark now that he’s here. You know that.

“You don’t have to answer me now. Take some time to think about it. I’m sure you’re busy, with your books being such a success. And you’re still working at the bar?” He looks curious and you’re a little shocked.

“I’m just helping Penny out for a couple hours. You know about my books?”

“My nieces love them.” He grins. “I have to read them to them before bed every time I’ve got time to visit them down in Texas.”

“You’ve got nieces?”

“Yeah, they’re two and four. Love them to death. My Mom’s been begging for grandkids for years and she’s so happy to dote on them every chance she gets.”

Your heart constricts. Two and four. They’re younger than Josie. Not only does she have cousins somewhere in Texas, she’s also the first grandchild to a woman who’s never met her. Who doesn’t even know about her. But you don’t know much about Jake’s parents. Maybe she wouldn’t be the biggest fan of a child out of wedlock.

You glance at Jakes hand. No ring.

You muster up the courage to your next question. You know the answer might hurt, but you have to ask him.

“Any kids of your own?”

Jake shakes his head with a laugh, “No, not that I know of.”

It’s just a joke but you feel like it makes your heart stop before it starts beating rapidly in your chest. This is it. There’s no better moment than now. Just get it over with.

“Jake, I-“

“Mommy!” Josie comes barreling through the door, Penny a few steps behind her. “Penny let me have Churros and they were delicious!” She wraps her arms around you and looks up at you with her sparkling green eyes.

Maybe you don’t even have to tell him. You glance at Jake and he looks a bit taken aback.

“Yeah, honey? Did you have fun?”

“So much fun!” She grins, showing off her deep dimples, and you run a hand over her head before giving her a kiss. You manage to look at Penny, who’s glaring at Jake. It takes all your courage to look at him. He doesn’t even seem to notice Penny, his eyes focused on the girl in your arms. You can’t read the expression on his face, has he already realised how much she looks like him?

“Well, I guess I don’t have to ask you if you have any.” He smiles, his lips tight, then looks at your daughter and his smile turns more genuine. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” Hearing the term of endearment again makes goosebumps raise on your skin.

“Josie.” She’s not a shy kid, so you’re not surprised when she looks at him curiously and asks, “Who are you?”

Your grip tightens around her but before you can say anything he replies, “I’m an old friend of your Mom.”

You shoot him a really? look but he just shrugs his shoulders. Well, you guess it is inappropriate to tell your five-year-old daughter that he used to fuck your brains out.

“Thanks for helping out.” Penny says, “Both of you.” She winks at Josie.

Muffin comes trotting around the corner and Josie let’s go of you to throw her arms around the poodle mix. “I missed you!” While Muffin covers your daughter’s face in slobber, Jake huffs out a laugh.

“A dog, too, huh?”

You shrug your shoulders, not sure what to say to that.

“Does the house have a picket fence?” It’s a bit of a loaded question, you think, but you don’t read too much into it and reply truthfully, thinking about the little house you put a down payment on a couple years ago.

“It does.”

Jake rubs his chest and gives you that tight lipped smile again. “I’m happy for you.”

He means it, you can tell. “Thanks, Jake.”

He gets up from his seat at the bar, knocks on the wood a couple times then says. “Your husband is one lucky guy.” Another tight lipped smile.

“My wha-?”

“I’ll see you around.” He nods then turns on his heel and before you can comprehend what just happened he’s gone.

“Mommy, why did he say your husband? You don’t have one of those.”

“I don’t know, honey.”

You watch him cross the parking lot to his car and it dawns on you that he thinks that all your dreams came true: become a full time illustrator, fall in love, get married, adopt a dog, buy a little house, have kids.

Little does he know that you fell in love with him, had his kid, and did all of the rest on your own.

taglist: @annathesillyfriend ✪ @lovebittenbyevans ✪ @heyhihellowhatsup0 ✪ @one-sweet-gubler ✪ @emorychase ✪ @wooya1224 ✪ @novagreen04 ✪ @iammirrorball ✪ @lolcaca ✪ @caitsymichelle13 ✪ @soulmates8 ✪ @soleilgrec ✪ @lilylilyyyyyy ✪ @winters-queen ✪ @i0veless ✪ @the-romanian-is-bae ✪ @mandyppp ✪ @dempy ✪ @mizuki80 ✪ @lumpypoll ✪ @averyhotchner ✪ @babyice1274 ✪ @captain-fandomwriter58 ✪ @hangmanscoming ✪ @caidi-paris ✪ @linkpk88 ✪ @djs8891 ✪ @xomrsalliej4787xo ✪ @lnmp89 ✪ @startrekfangirl2233 ✪ @gigisimsonmars ✪ @merishfit ✪ @clancycucumber230 ✪ @sky0401 ✪ @emilyoflanternhill ✪ @roostersforevergirl ✪ @celestialeviereads ✪ @blackwidownat2814 ✪ @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak ✪ @grxcisxhy-wp ✪ @atarmychick007 ✪ @dakotakazansky ✪ @fulla02 ✪ @alana4610 ✪ @callsignwidow ✪ @memoriesat30 ✪ @ebonyhogan24

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin imagine

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xcyphoz0a · 4 months

Text

Let me in

Gender neutral reader, fluff TW/CW: modern au Character(s): Tighnari Word count: 377 Proofread: n/a | When your boyfriend demands to be let in your room when you leave him freezing in the living room | A/N: …hehe.

Tags: @chaoffee

“Let me in…”

The muffled sounds of Tighnari’s continuous chanting of ‘let me in’ is heard from right outside of your shared bedroom, as you laugh. You could practically imagine the expression he holds, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance yet adoration, nose scrunched as he tries to open the door.

“You’ve done something and you’re not admitting to it!” Your voice leaves a slight echo in the room as you pull the covers of the bed higher towards your chin, giggles escaping your form as you hear the jiggling of the doorknob stop for a second, then coming back again with more chaos.

“I’ll buy you some more soon… let me in (Y/n)!”

While you know he’d keep his word, you couldn’t help but see if he’d admit to what he’s done to your precious muffins that you had made with Collei last week. You had searched for its whereabouts in the fridge, until you found one of the muffin paper wrappers on the counter, finally finding out who–which you knew earlier as only the two of you lived in the house–ate your precious little muffins.

“It isn’t the matter of buying it, it had Collei and my efforts in it, and you scarfed it down with no mercy!” The giggles in your voice are audible that you could hear Tighnari sigh out a breath of exasperation.

“I’m sorry that I ate the muffins, we can make some more today or tomorrow, is that a deal?”

On your part, you felt like it was a good deal; however, you still had wanted to give a little tease to him in response to his constant affectionate teasing to you everyday.

But bless your heart, as you open the door, your boyfriend jumps towards you as you both end up on the floor, your face smothered in the crook of his neck as he gives you a hard but loving pinch to the tip of your ear as you both laugh in mirth.

A few minutes pass and the two of you stay like this, and you’d honestly like to move, but the two of you know that this is much more comfortable, and rather stay like this for a little longer.

After all, who could refuse free cuddles?

#the jellyfish's work #astronetwrk #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin fluff #tighnari x reader #tighnari #tighnari x y/n #tighnari x you

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newtonsheffield · 3 days

Note

take me home country roads was probably the softest thing I’ve ever read I’m so obsessed with it that i read all the snippets you wrote in the hashtag for this story here! do you think you will ever write something in this universe again so we can have a little update for them? thank you for this one💚

Oh Muffin and Bear.

I miss those two softies. They were so sweet. They really helped one another heal and I think because of that their relationship is really strong. And their children would be so loved.

Imagine the very first time Neddy whittled something for Kate. Imagine how Neddy’s always sat with Anthony in his workshop, sat on the bench watching his Dad work, fascinated as he watches the shapes appear.

“Can I make something, Papa?”

Anthony knelt in front of his son, five years old and Anthony still can hardly believe Kate found him. Let alone the two beautiful children they have and a third on the way. His chest feels tight every time he watches Kate with their sons, the swell of her stomach just visible when they pile onto the sofa around her, desperate to be as close as possible to her while she reads to them with her chin resting on the tops of their heads. His wife and their children.

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah!” Neddy grinned at him with his curly hair falling in his eyes, his feet swinging over the edge of the table. “I wanna be like you!”

It had brought tears to his eyes the first time they had let Neddy pick out his own clothes and he’d ended up with a pile that looked just like Anthony’s half of the wardrobe and he’d let them fall with his head against Kate’s chest and he fingers in his hair.

“Of course he wants to be like you. You’re a great father, Bear.”

Anthony kissed his son’s forehead, ruffling his hair. “Let’s make something for Amma then.”

It takes weeks. Weeks and weeks of Neddy’s hard work. His determined frown and his frustrated pout before finally it’s done and he takes them inside, wrapped in brown paper and twine.

“Mummy!” Neddy rushed forward, the parcel big in his hands as he races towards Kate sat at her easel with Miles on her lap as she works, Newton dozing at her feet. “Amma I made something!”

Kate smiled at their son and Anthony’s chest felt tight when she kissed his cheek, wrapping him in her arms tightly for a moment. “Did you? That’s so amazing little cub. Did Daddy help you?”

Her eyes met Anthony’s sparkling at him in the fading light of the day. And Anthony shifted slightly, still lost for words when he looked at her sometimes. “Just a little. It’s mostly his work.”

“Well, let’s see then.” Kate hummed, tugging carefully at the twine while Neddy practically vibrated with excitement as the paper slipped away.

Four bears on a log. That’s what Neddy had wanted to make. They were a little lumpy and imperfect but he’d made them with love and Anthony could see the way Kate swallowed thickly as she ran her fingers over the roughly oiled carvings.

“Neddy, it’s beautiful.”

“It’ll hold your brushes.” He said proudly. Leaning in to the touch of Anthony’s hand on his shoulder. “Daddy made the holes. That’s Papa, and Me, and Miles and the new baby.” He pointed to the Bear and his three cubs.

“You did such an amazing job, baby.” Kate’s voice shook as she kissed his face again, “I am so proud of you.”

Neddy took a deep breath, his chest puffing out, “Can we call gramma Mary and Violet so I can show them?”

“Absolutely, go and grab my phone.”

Neddy raced inside and Miles took off after him, desperate to catch up to his brother.

Kate stood slowly, wrapping her arms around Anthony’s waist and pressing her face against his chest. She breathed deeply, “You’ve been keeping secrets.”

Anthony huffed, holding his wife tighter, “It was hard. He was so cute about it but I took lots of videos.”

Kate sighed, leaning back in his arms, “Ugh who would’ve thought the grumpy bear I stayed next to one Autumn would make such sweet babies?”

“You did.”

“Yeah, I did. It’s so incredible to be right about everything.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.”

#take me home country roads #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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atelierlili · 22 days

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What's your headcanon for Katniss and Peeta's children?

How old was Katniss when give birth to their daughter?

How many years apart between them in age?

Your headcanon for their name?

Who gets the singing and art skill from their parent?

Bonus question : please give recs of your fav everlark post-Mockingjay fanfic.

Thank you :)

@curiousthg

You’ve made a grave mistake because I have so much to say and some art as well(becuase I’m so sane for them I swear)

So I’ve always headcannon that Katniss had her first baby in her late twenties-early thirties. In my head the 5, 10, 15 years go like this. Year 5: Katniss is open to the idea of children now. The games are done, but is Panem really safe yet? Is she ready yet. No, not really. Year 10: okay, Katniss feels safer and braver now. If it happens it happens. They won’t actively try for it and will let nature take its course. Year 15: Toast boy and girl are born within a 5-ish year time span.

Katniss names the girl Marigold for the golden flowers that Peeta planted next Katniss’ Primroses. Marigolds represent warmth, creativity, joy and good luck, but they were also given away during times of grief as a gesture of kindness and solidarity as the flower’s vibrant colours helped ease the pain of grief. Gold is also the colour that represents the bond between the district 12 team that comprised of Peeta, Katniss, Effie, Haymitch, Portia & Cinna. So it’s also carries some sentimental weight as without them and their bonds, this little girl wouldn’t have been born. Of course, Peeta calls the girl Muffin. Because she’s his little muffin. His little cupcake. It’s not until Effie decides that Mary is too bland a nickname for her favorite niece that we get the girl’s most used nickname- Muffy.

Muffy is a bundle of joy to their lives. And Katniss loves being a mother more than she’d thought. Having Muffy made Katniss yearn for the mini Peeta she dreamt of on a beach in the QQ.

Toastboy pops out about three and a half years later. The age gap is so close to be about the same as Katniss and Prim’s that it makes her heart squeeze again. His name is Cress, after Watercress (wait plz don’t leave), the aquatic plant that can be found in bunches at Katniss’ special lake. They are a highly nutritious plant to eat and is said to believe to have medicinal uses like treating swelling and fevers. The name is also a small nod to Annie Cresta and Finnick because of the water connection. His curly blonde hair gets him the nickname Goldilocks from Johanna.

Both children are highly artistic and connected to nature, Katniss teaches them both to hunt, but the kiddos don’t like it as much because they don’t like to hurt animals. It hurts Katniss a little bit, but she’s glad that bloodshed and violence (even to survive) aren’t a daily part of their lives.

Muffy is a performer. She’s definitely daddy’s little girl because she loves to yap. She could yap all day and still find something to talk about. She grows up loving to dance and then wanting to sing and dance- the dreams of making it big in the Capitol as a actress. (To Katniss’ complete and under horror) She’ll definitely develope some complex when it comes to being the Mockingjay’s daughter. Especially when she starts getting movie offers to play her Mom, even when after she tries going out of her way to distance herself from Katniss by going under a different stage name.

Cress is very much not Muffy. He’s a quiet little guy who follows after his big sister like a little duckling. He’s the only one who doesn’t get tired of her yapping and genuinely listens to her. Peeta and Katniss were a little worried when they started noticing that he wasn’t speaking for a while. They go to doctors and they can never find what’s causing this speech delay, but one day he starts talking at the age of 2, and he has the softest most sweetest voice in the world. He’s a very quiet and observant kid, that gets into more trouble than you’d think. While Peeta’s art is very imagery and emotionally (and politically) focused, Cress’s art is not. He’s super talented with a pencil and really skilled at realistic/technical drawings that he’d probably go an illustrate diagrams for scientific textbooks on nature and stuff. Growing up, he probably feels like his art work is too cold and unfeeling compared to Peeta’s splash of life. But in reality, the difference between they art styles are indicative of how they see and filter the world through their art.

Anyway, this is taking waaay to long so here is some early concept art of the toast babies. I’m still messing around with the tones and hues of their design, so none of this is final. I’m probs gonna switch Cress’s skin tone to a more golden undertone as opposed to Katniss’s reddish one to match his hair color, which might get a tad darker (or lighter tbh. In the books Peeta’s an ashy blonde) Meanwhile maybe I’ll give Muffy the redder undertone? There’s something off bout her that I need to keep experimenting with. She screams Movie Katniss baby, not Book Katniss Baby, but maybe that’s only because Jen has blue eyes.

#everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #thg #everlark fanart #the hunger games #atelierlili #my art #answered asks #toastbabies #Marigold Everdeen-Mellark #Cress Everdeen-Mellark #I’m so normal about them #my OCs

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pedroshotwifey · 3 months

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To The Flame chapter eight

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x Fem!reader

Chapter w/c: 3k

Chapter tags/warnings: smutty smut, nasty dirty talk, slight angst, manipulation through isolation (hehe), piv sex, unprotected sex, stuff im forgetting

Chapter summary: Things were finally perfect; of course they never stay that way.

A/N: Hey babes! This chapter is really kind of setting things off, and I swear to you that we're going to get dark in the next few, and it's downhill from there. Just needed to get her in the perfect place first >:). This is yucky nasty, so I hope you heathens like it!!

****

You wake up alone for the first time in a week this morning, already missing your husband’s heat.

It’s your second week living in your new house, but Javi was only able to take that one last off to help you get everything settled. He let you decorate for the most part, which was wonderful because you basically just ordered him around for muscle.

He was so sweet and helpful the entire time, not giving you a single complaint at all. You want the couch to go against the opposite wall? He’s on it. Need that picture in the dining room hung higher? As good as done.

You think there’s only a couple boxes left to unpack in the guest room, and then you’ll be done. It’s mostly small stuff, apart from a dresser that needs to be assembled, so you should be able to do it yourself before Javi gets home tonight.

Mentally planning your day, you stretch and yawn before pulling the covers back and sliding from the bed. You decide as you get dressed that you’ll make a batch of muffins for breakfast, that way Javi will have something quick to grab when he leaves for work in the mornings.

You make your way to the kitchen, yawning again even though the clock shows it’s past nine. You can’t lie to yourself, it’s been nice having the entire day to do whatever you want, without having to worry about getting the bills paid. It was a little hard to transition into not working, but Javi takes such good care of you that it’s hard to stress about it.

You keep waiting for the day where you feel the urge to find a job again, but it hasn’t happened yet, and you’re not eager to rush it. You really do think you can get used to this whole ‘staying at home’ thing. Especially now that you and Javi aren’t being particularly careful about sex anymore. You need to be prepared to stay home with your kids whenever that happens.

You’re not rushing that either, if you’re being honest, but you wouldn’t be upset if you found yourself pregnant. It makes you smile, thinking of mini Javis running around your house, playing in the pastures or on a tire swing hung from the big tree out front. Javi would make such a good father too; he’s so thoughtful and attentive.

You sigh as you start to mix ingredients for your muffins, turning on the radio beforehand to distract yourself. The last thing you need right now is baby fever, you’ve just taken a big life step already.

You hum along and sway your hips to the soft music as you work, occupying your mind by trying to mentally plan how you’ll be decorating the guest room. A few moments later, you slip the tray into the oven and set the timer before heading back down the hall.

The room is mostly put together; the last of the belongings mostly small decor or whatever didn’t fit somewhere else in the house. It was unspokenly decided between you and Javi that this room would hold the junk closet.

You open the first box and find that it contains pictures. You don’t mean to snoop too much, but you can’t help but analyze each one. They’re mostly old family portraits, though a couple of them are just of dogs, which confuses you as much as it makes you laugh.

You realize once again how strange your situation is as you pick out Javi’s siblings and parents. How is it that you’re married to a man whose family you’ve never met? The only relative you’ve heard him talk about before is his dad. You wouldn’t want to pry though if it was a sensitive topic, so you decide on waiting for him to open up to you when he’s ready.

You’re just finishing propping up all the photos on their shelf when you hear the timer go off from the kitchen. The muffins are perfectly done, so you pull them out to let them cool off. You glance at the clock and decide that you’ll have enough time to plant some flowers.

Javi had made these absolutely gorgeous wooden planters for you to put outside the house, and you’ve been waiting until you had time to yourself to fill them. Javi also assisted you in picking out what flowers would go in there—orange Marigolds. They look beautiful in contrast to the white siding of the house.

Since you’ve moved in, you’ve fallen so deeply in love with the old farm house. It’s honestly the house you always pictured as a girl when you would dream about your future. The big porch, the intricate vintage details, the rolling hills in the background. You just can’t believe that you’re here already, that Javi brought you here.

You get misty eyed thinking about it, gratitude swelling once again in your chest. Your eyes land on the flowers laid out to be planted and you realize you’ve been smiling like an idiot. Shaking yourself out of it, you flip on the radio you brought from the kitchen and get to work.

You savor the feeling of the sun beating down on you and the gentle breeze cooling you. It feels so nice to be outside with this weather when you’re not working your ass off on a farm.

The rest of the day is spent exactly as you had it planned. You finish planting, wash up a bit, finish the guest room, and read a bit before you have to start dinner. It’s a relatively busy day, but it doesn’t feel like work. It’s nice, getting things done in your own house.

You have just enough time to get dinner ready and pop it into the oven before you hear the front door open. Your stomach flutters as a grin spreads across your face. You had a great day, but nothing you did could top the feeling of being in your husband’s arms.

“Javi?” you call out as you start to walk back to the entryway, wiping your hands off on a dish towel. You wonder if he can smell what you just put in the oven—it’s his favorite. You grow a little concerned when he doesn’t answer right away.

“Baby?” you ask again.

Javi is silently toeing his boots off when you round the corner and walk to him. Your stomach drops along with your dish towel when you see the somber expression on his face.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” you ask gently, stepping toward him and reaching your hands out. He meets you halfway and pulls you into a comforting hug. You can feel the way he deflates against you as if all of his stress suddenly disappears when he holds you.

The combination of his raw emotion and the way he uses one hand to smooth down your hair makes tears spring to your eyes. You’re not used to him looking so distraught.

“I have some news, carino,” Javi says after a moment. His words are quiet but you can sense the urgency behind them. You loosen your grip to allow him to take a step back. He crouches down slightly in front of you so that you’re looking down at him.

“I received my promotion today,” he says, taking your hands and watching your face scrunch in confusion.

“But isn’t that a good thing?” you ask. “I know how long you’ve been waiting for this, Javi. What’s the matter?” You don’t understand why he would be upset by such a thing. Javi nods and takes a deep breath.

“Yes, baby, it was supposed to be a good thing. They offered me almost double what I’m making right now,” he says. By his tone of voice, you can tell that there is more to be said.

“That’s great,” you say, though it sounds more like a question than anything. “What do you mean ‘offered’?”

“They gave me a choice,” he says after another deep breath. “I only get the promotion if I relocate.” you jerk your head back slightly. What kind of shitty deal is that? He must see your train of thought in your expression because he quickly elaborates.

“I don’t have to accept the offer, of course, but I won’t get the promotion if I don’t. Things will just stay as they have been.”

“Well, where do they want you to relocate?” you ask even through the sour taste in your mouth at the thought of leaving this house. You don’t like the look he gives you when you do.

“Colombia,” he looks hard into your eyes as they widen.

“What, like West Columbia? The city?” you ask, bewildered. “There’s no way they mean... They can’t do that, can they?”

Javi sighs again and nods. You wish he would stop doing that.

“Not the city, sweetheart. And yes, apparently they can,” his words are gentle but with a bitter bite as he lets go of one of your hands to cup your cheek.

“But we just moved in,” you say, your voice sounds small as you look down at him. He gazes back at you, and you can see the desperation in his eyes. He wants this so much, and you can’t be the thing that holds him back, no matter how much it sucks for you.

As much as you might not want to move again, you would do anything for your husband. He’s done so much for you, it’s the least you could do. You owe him so much. Still, there’s that painful twist in your chest at the thought of leaving all this behind when you just got it.

But you know that if it were you in his position and him in yours, he would tell you to take the promotion in a heartbeat. You’re being selfish right now, you need to think about what he wants. You can’t disappoint him.

“I know, baby. I asked if I could have a few days to think about it so I could see where you would be on it. I can still tell them no.” You flinch slightly at the impatience ebbing into his tone. It’s hard to pick out, but it’s there. It makes your cheeks heat and you feel for a second like a child being scolded. You don’t want him to be upset with you.

“No!” you say a bit too quickly. “Sorry, I just-” you struggle to find the words. “I want this for you, Javi, and I’m here to support you in whatever you choose. I know how badly you want this, and if you decide to relocate, then that’s what I want, too.”

He smiles up at you, and you can’t help but to smile back. It’s true, you’ll do anything for him.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” he asks, his eyes unable to hide the glint of hope that shines in them.

“Yes, of course I’m sure. I’ll start packing tonight if you want,” you giggle and lean down to slot your lips with his.

He wraps his arms around you as he stands up, picking you up with him. Your legs instinctually cross at the ankles behind him.

“Thank you, baby,” he says once he positions you so that your back is against the wall. “Knew you would understand. You’re too good to me.”

You perk up even more as he praises you. All the annoyance has left his tone and you allow yourself to take a breath of relief. There’s a clear admiration in the way he looks at you right now, his eyes softening as he slowly dips back down to kiss you.

He thrusts his hips forward, stimulating your clit with the bulge in his jeans. You moan into his mouth as you grind down, seeking more friction. Your lips feel swollen when Javi releases them to suck at your neck.

“Oh, Javi, more, please,” you beg, making him chuckle lowly.

“I’ve got you, baby. Gonna make you feel good,” he whispers into your ear, making you shiver.

He wastes no time on unbuttoning your pants and letting you down to slide them down your legs along with your panties. It only takes a second before you’re right back where you started, only this time without anything between your cunt and his cock but his own pants.

“Gonna get you ready for me, pretty girl,” Javi says breathily as he brings his thumb up to circle at your clit. You keen as he immediately begins to rub in hard and fast motions.

As if that wasn’t enough, he takes his thumb away for only a second so he can gather spit in his mouth and lean over you to dribble it right over your sensitive bud. You gasp as the saliva begins to cool from the air of the hall.

Suddenly, his thumb is back, continuing its assault.

“God, feels s-so good,” you moan as Javi starts to nip and suck at your neck again, no doubt leaving a gathering of hickies behind. You can feel your toes beginning to curl and heat rise to your upper body. It’s not going to take long before you’re coming for the first time tonight.

“Fuckin’ soaked already, baby. Gonna make it so I’ll slide right in. My perfect fuckin’ girl. Always so good, so ready for me.”

Javi’s rambling sets you off, you don’t even have a chance to warn him before your body begins to tremble. You’re pretty sure you shout his name between moans, but it could have been anything.

“There you go,” Javi praises. “Such a good girl, so pretty when you come for me.”

You hear the rattle of his belt buckle as he shifts your weight to his other hand and one of his thighs. You look down as he tugs on himself, his red tip poking out from his fist as he moves his hips to line his cock up with your soaked cunt.

He grips your chin and kisses you fiercely as he pushes in, shoving his tongue into your mouth at the same time. Your sharp whine is smothered by his tongue licking into you, and your eyes roll to the back of your head from feeling so full.

He thrusts up heavily, effortlessly knocking the breath out of your lungs with each slam of his hips. Your back jots up the wall despite Javi’s best efforts in bringing you down to him. He lets one hand trail up to cradle the back of your head so that it doesn’t hit the wall with the force that he’s shoving up into you with.

“You’re so tight for me sweetheart, taking my cock so good,” he pulls away just enough to breathe out the words.

You clench around him, still not used to the filth that spews from his mouth when he gets his dick wet.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ love that don’t you.”

You nod as much as you can while focusing on the way his tip is punching into your cervix. You can feel another orgasm approaching, and you start to tense and keen from the intensity of it. Your legs start to shake around him and Javi increases the grip he has on your hip.

“There you go, take it just like that baby girl,” he grits.

You let your head rest on his shoulder, weakly mouthing his neck, salty and slick with sweat. Your arms tighten around him in an attempt to hold on, but you can feel your mind numbing from the euphoric feeling building up in your abdomen and spreading through the rest of your body.

“Give it to me, I can feel it baby,” Javi groans, picking up his pace. The increase makes the slaps coming from where your bodies have fused together echo through the hall, your wetness splattering on your thighs with each smack.

There’s a sharp tap to your clit with each thrust, and you’re coming around his cock with a scream before you realize you’d been that close in the first place. You feel your body melt as your husband nips at your jaw in an attempt of holding his composure.

“Oh that’s so fucking good sweetheart, come all over my cock just like that. Messy fucking pussy,” Javi continues to talk you through it, bringing the hand from your head back to your clit as you moan wildly.

“Who makes this cunt feel good, huh?”

“Y-you do, Javi, you do,” you cry as you come back down from your high.

“Yeah? Who’s cock? Who’s cock do you fucking cry on?”

“Ah—Yours, Javi!”

“Goddamn it—such a g-good girl…”

You nod into his neck, your brows furrowing as he keeps pushing up into you. He slams one hand onto the wall beside your head to hold himself up for balance as he pummels into you to bring himself closer to the edge. Javi grunts and groans into your ear like a mad man, rapidly chasing after his pleasure.

You barely register an overstimulated tear run down your ruddy cheek at the feeling of his cock continuing to spread you open and nail that spot deep inside of you. A pleasured sob escapes your closed mouth as he keeps manipulating your limp body.

“Gonna come in this pussy, fill you up so f-fucking full,” he claims right before his pace begins to falter. His hips jerk and he comes with a muffled grunt, his fingers gripping you hard enough to leave bruises for later.

He lifts your head and takes your mouth again, moaning into your swollen lips as he stills inside of you. It’s a complete mess, all tongues and teeth clashing together out of pure hunger. When he pulls his head back, you’re both panting and staring into each other’s eyes with heavy lids, both of you thoroughly exhausted. Enough so that you don’t recognize the burning smell floating down the hall until now.

Javi’s eyes narrow as yours widen, your mouth falling as well. He glances down at where you're still connected to make sure you’re not hurt.

“What’s the matter?”

You bite your bottom lip, waiting for him to smell what should have been dinner. He gets it after a moment, his eyes softening and a—dare you say giggle—tumbles from his full lips.

“Yeah,” you confirm his silent suspicions, smiling despite the inconvenience. “You might need to go grab us some dinner.”

****

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear y'all's thoughts so far! Taglist is open as usual <3

Series taglist: @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy @survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @callachloe @missladym1981 @sofiparallel @koshkaj-blog @sheepdogchick3 @movievillainess721 @jessie8605 @casa-boiardi @justlulu @iamsherlocked-1998 @hjzghi-blog

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callsign-rogueone · 2 months

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faking it - s.h.

Sawyer Henrick x healer!reader When Sawyer's friends hear that an infantry guy has been bothering you, they suggest an unconventional way to get him to leave you alone. words: 1.7k 🏷: Iron Flame spoilers in future chapters, feminine healer reader who was childhood friends with Sawyer (no pronouns used here, but future chapters will use she/her), mentions of needles (one immunization), mentions of harassment from an original character, Sawyer has a huge crush on you, and his entire squad ships it, fake-dating trope. here begins the story of Sawyer and Peach! I hope y’all like her 🥺

You fight the urge to yawn as you continue to restock the bandages and straighten things up for the day — you didn’t sleep well, and you’ve never been a fan of the early mornings that the war college requires.

It could be worse, you tell yourself. You could still be working nights like you did your first year. That was even more exhausting.

There’s a soft knock on the doorframe. “Is Cadet Lowen working today?”

Your classmate bristles, drawing herself up to her full height, but it isn’t very intimidating— she’s even smaller than Violet. “Who’s asking?”

You laugh, setting the box down and smoothing out the creases in your pale blue robes. “It’s okay, Sarah. He’s a friend.”

He gives her a disarming smile, but she still eyes him with suspicion for a few seconds before she disappears into the other room.

You instantly start checking him over for injury, but it’s too hard to see anything under all that black fabric and leather.

He smiles. “I’m fine. I just came to give you this. I don’t know if they’re still your favorite, but…”

You take the small paper bag he’s holding, that cute little concerned frown quickly turning into a grin as you see the blueberry muffin inside — just like your mom used to make. “Thank you. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion. Just making sure you’re taking care of yourself,” he answers, blushing. There’s a moment of silence before he starts to bail out. “I know you’ve been busy, let me get out of your hair-”

You don’t want him to leave.

“Did you get your flu shot yet?” you interrupt.

He laughs at your spontaneity. “I did not,” he answers truthfully.

You put the bag down, moving to go wash your hands. “Sit.”

“I brought you the perfect muffin, and you still want to stick me with a needle?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “It’s for your own good, and the good of the quadrant. Unless you can’t take a little pinch…”

He straightens up a bit, scoffing. “Of course I can.”

You smile. You know exactly how to get these army boys in line. Pride is the biggest motivator they’ve got; they’re always eager to prove that they can handle whatever task at hand.

“Your full name and date of birth please, sir?” you ask, picking up a clipboard.

He knows you know it, but he humors you anyway — it’s cute seeing you in nurse mode. “Sawyer Henrick, July 15th, 612.”

You write it down as he unbuttons his shirt, pulling one arm out of its sleeve.

Your heart races at the glimpse of the rider’s relic spanning his back; a swath of bright red contrasting with his pale skin. You certainly don’t remember him being this strong, either — all that crazy shit they make riders do has paid off, you suppose.

You take a moment longer than appropriate to get the tension out of the muscle before making the injection and smoothing a bandage over the skin. “All done.”

“Do I get a sticker?” he asks, clearly joking.

You rip your eyes away as he does the buttons back up, turning to wash your hands again. “Fresh out, sorry. I’ll give you a rain check.”

You need to get him the hell out of here before your classmates start asking questions, and before he melts the rest of your brain. “Thank you for the muffin.”

“Thank you for the flu shot.”

You can’t help but smile at him. “I really missed you, you know. I’m glad our paths crossed again.”

“I missed you too, peach.” There’s a pause as he works up the courage. “Do you want to come to town with me and my squadmates on Saturday? They all really liked you.”

While the land-nav exercise hadn’t gone according to plan at all, you’d still enjoyed your time with them. “I’d like that.”

“Alright,” he says with that shy smile you’ve missed so much. “Meet you at the front gates around three?”

“Sounds like a plan. Now scoot,” you prod gently. “I’m sure everyone is wondering where you ran off to.”

He glances at the clock — he’s definitely going to be late for battle brief, but the scolding from Dain will be worth every minute.

He gives you one last soft smile before he leaves, one you’ll be thinking about all day.

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

Sure enough, he finds you waiting outside at three o’clock sharp.

It’s been years since he’s seen you in civilian clothes. You look exactly how he remembers you, only somehow even more beautiful. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, he supposes.

You’ve swapped out the healers’ robes for something more fitted and more seasonally appropriate, a new pair of denim pants and a sleeveless light purple tunic. You’d even let your hair down for the occasion, leaving it out of the usual no-nonsense style you’re required to wear during your shifts.

Him and his friends are all dressed in their usual solid black. “I guess I didn’t get the memo,” you jest.

Violet smiles. “Don’t worry. It’s nice to see some color every now and then.”

You bring a hand up to swat away a fly, and Rhiannon’s eyes widen. “You guys are allowed to paint your nails?”

“There’s all kinds of rules about what colors and how long they can be, but yeah. I do them every Sunday afternoon. It makes me feel pretty, even with those terrible robes on,” you laugh.

Sawyer pushes down a remark about how you’re always pretty, clearing his throat instead. “Everyone ready?”

There’s a chorus of agreement from the squad.

It isn’t long before you’re all sitting around a table at the tavern, laughing over stories from your years at the school. “And then I told her that if she wanted to act like that, she should-”

The door opens, the small bell hung on it jingling. Everyone watches you fall silent, pressing your lips together and shrinking yourself as small as you can until the group of infantry passes. They head off to the bartop, out of sight, and you finally let out the breath you’d been holding.

“Are you okay? You look like a sheep that just saw a riot of dragons walk by,” Ridoc says, but there’s no humor in his tone.

You shift in your seat for a moment, uncomfortable, but the way your new friends are all looking at you with genuine concern has you admitting the truth.

“I stitched up the blond — James — a month ago, and now he thinks we’re soulmates or something. He keeps showing up at the infirmary with his friends, asking me on dates, and I keep turning him down, but he won’t take no for an answer. I’ve considered faking my own death just to get him to leave me alone,” you joke, but it’s obvious that you don’t find it funny. “It’s starting to freak me out.”

Violet frowns. “Have you talked to Nolon about it?”

“I have, but we can’t refuse care to anyone, so we’ve just been saying I’m busy and having the other girls deal with him, but they shouldn’t have to do that. I’ve tried everything. He just doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not interested.”

“Maybe not everything,” Rhiannon offers.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, those kind of guys won’t listen to you, but they will listen to another dude. They need to see another guy on your arm, because they don’t respect you as a person, but they will respect another man’s claim to you.”

Everyone looks at her, quizzical.

“I’m not saying it’s right,” she says, putting her hands up in defense, “I’m just saying it’s true. Get yourself a boyfriend, or a fake one, even, and he’ll back off, guaranteed.”

You chew your lip, pensive. “That might work. But I’ve been too focused on studying to go on any dates. I don’t know anyone who would be willing to…”

“Look to your left,” Ridoc offers dryly, taking a sip of his drink.

You glance over at Sawyer. Are they really suggesting…?

“It’s a logical choice,” Violet adds, shrugging. “You two already know everything about each other.”

You can’t quite read the look on his face, but it’s clear from his reddened cheeks that he’s uncomfortable. You shake your head quickly. “I couldn’t make you do that.”

“You wouldn’t be making me do anything. I’d be helping you, because I care about you, and because that guy’s a fucking creep.”

You’ve never heard him sound so firm before.

Your gaze drifts back to the bartop, where James is still sitting with his friends, several empty glasses in front of them. You’ve never seen him drunk before, but you know it can’t be pretty.

He laughs, too loudly, likely at some crude joke his friend had made, clapping the other boy on the back.

You wince, sinking deeper into the worn upholstery and praying they don’t see you, but you stick out in the crowd of riders and infantry — you’re the only person in the room who isn’t wearing all black, save for the bartenders.

“Breathe,” Sawyer coaxes, laying a hand on your knee beneath the table. It simultaneously soothes your anxiety and gives you butterflies, a feeling you can’t really describe.

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Sorry,” you manage, offering them a weak smile. “Didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“Don’t apologize,” Ridoc says gently. “you’re one of us now, and we look out for our own.”

“He’s right,” Sawyer adds. “I promise I will do everything I can to get this guy gone, but I don’t want to cross any boundaries. We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. You’ll be one hundred percent in control here, okay?”

You nod, entranced by the softness in his eyes as he looks over at you. “Okay,” you agree quietly.

“Attagirl,” he praises, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

You think your heart might give out.

“That’s actually really believable,” Violet comments with a soft smile, snapping you out of your train of thought and reminding you that you have an audience.

You tear your eyes away from Sawyers’, picking your drink back up. He moves his hand from your leg, resting his arm on the back of your chair as the conversation resumes, Ridoc bringing everyone back into a light mood again with another terrible joke.

This could work, you decide, but it could also go horribly, terribly wrong.

#fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #sawyer henrick #sawyer henrick x reader #Sawyer and Peach #mine

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singsangseung · 3 months

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Inside out

It is yet again time for another chapter of my Valentine’s Day Lola’s with my Ju-baby @numberonejeonginstan! My Changbin Stans gather round ( @straykeedz I am looking at You POOKIE!) this idea has been in my head for way too long and I have procrastinated writing it until now (it’s 3:36 am LMAO0. Anywaysssssss enjoy!

!! ⚠️ warning!! AGELESS OR BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED AS WILL MINORS ⚠️!! MDNI! 18+!!

Summary: yours and changbin’s sex life was anything but vanilla, so of course you’ve done food play…..but he’s never eaten it from inside of you ( and your now vanilla flavored cunt)

Warnings: oral sex( fem!rec), fem!reader, use of whipped cream( both in and outside), dirty talk, unprotected sex(act surprised)pee afterwards! Also why even would you?), cream pie( again….why?), please properly take care of your nether regions…..get that whipped cream out of your coochie (would probs cause an UTI), coke can cock binnie, breeding kink, let me know if i missed any or if there are any typos :)

This is purely a work of fiction and in no way does this represent Changbin as a person, thank you, toodles!

~~MDNI 18+~~~MDNI 18+~~~MDNI 18+~~~MDNI 18+~~~MDNI 18+~~

Let’s take a quick rewind for a second okay?

As long as you and Changbin— aka Binnie, binkie, baby boo, pumpkin, snookums, muffin, doodles, the love of your life, sunshine, boba eyed baby— had ventured into exploring and trying things in the bedroom you had never had a boring or vanilla sex life.

You had tried a lot of things. Pet play, bondage, him domming— you loved it, him subbing, anal, cum play, spitting, choking. You’ve tried it all. But, food play was a common favorite and you two often would go back to it.

But, everyone knows Changbin loves to eat and he’s damn good at it,too. He’s, especially, good at eating you out, however. Knowing how to use his tongue to circle your clit, sucking your labia between his lips, shaking his head when his tongue is inside of you in all of the most pleasurable ways. He’s made you have blindingly good, earth shattering orgasms in record time.

Less than 3 minutes to be exact. He timed it himself, don’t ask why.

But, if you would like to know why, well changbin was curious as to how fast he could make you cum with just his mouth. Yes, just his mouth. “Binnie do you really need to time it?” you askes, because in your eyes it seemed a little silly. Maybe, a lot a bit silly. “Yah, I want to. I want to know how long it takes for you to unravel on my tongue, bubby.” he grinned back at you. Well…..valid enough.

And soon thereafter, he had your thighs pressed to the bed, his face between your legs. “Start the timer, bub. Come on, now.” “bin-fuck- it just seems silly.’ you managed to choke out as you felt his lips suck against your throbbing bundle of nerves. Damn, how was he soooo good at this? Shaking his head against your cunt, he smiled feeling the gushes of your nectar flood onto his tastebuds. “Fuck me. You have the sweetest little cunt baby,” he breathed out, coming up for air. “Bin, binnie fuck! Youre so good-hhhnngggggg” you cried out, hands making a fast purchase in his soft black curls. “Yeah? Binnie eats your yummy cunt so good?” changbin groaned into your cunt, sending shockwaves over vibrations and subsequent pleasure through your body.

Nodding your head swiftly, you cried and felt your legs start to twitch as your hips started top cant up into his mouth. “Yes–hhhnnnng! Yes, fuck fuck fuck! Eat me so good, binnie!” You sobbed, feeling the all too familiar knot start to coil up in your stomach. “I-i’m getting close bin.”

Wow, close already? He thought to himself in his head. He really must be good, because he hadn't even been eating you out for 5 minutes.

Looking up at you through his eyelashes, he gave you a cheshire cat grin and snaked his tongue into the warmth of your cunt. “Ah! Fuck me, m almost there binnie! I’m gonna cum! Shaking his head vigorously against your cunt, he smiled and lapped up your juies as they only continued to pour out of you. “Yeah, binnie’s baby is going to cum?” he teased, as if he couldn't feel your pussy clenching around his tongue and your thighs twitching in his hands.

“Yes–hng– yes! Im going to fucking cum, binnie!” You clenched your eyes shut and pulled his hair at the roots. Briefly, he pulled away from your cunt, only to let a dribble of a mix of your arousal and his spit fall onto your cunt. “Give it to me. Come on baby, give binnie a good one,” he smirked before diving right back in and giving a harsh suck to your clit. “Yesyesyes,” you blabbered as hot tears spilled from your eyes.

Snap. the coil that was holding you to the world had snapped and you came–hard. White vision, you couldn’t hear, you were shaking like a leaf, your ears were ringing. “Yes, yes yes ! binnie! I’m cumming-oh fuuuuuuck!” your toes were curled to their fullest extent and you had a vice like grip on his hair as you came. Your sweet juices poured from your hole like water pours from a fountain. “There we go. That’s binnie’s good girl.” he crooned, sucking and slurping and drinking your cum up. “Fuck, so sweet baby. Could drink your sweet cum all day.” he groaned, pulling back up and smashing your lips together.

2 minutes 45 seconds and 34 nanoseconds

You loved it for various reasons. Being able to bring spice, literally, into the bedroom— or sweetness. Whether it was spraying and sucking whipped cream off his cock( one of your favorites), him spraying chocolate sauce on your cunt and licking it off before eating you out, making a lollipop molded from his cock that he would watch you suck on as if were his own cock—that’s a story for another day, or you licking caramel sauce off his chest and sucking it out of his belly bully like a shot glass. Not to mention Changbin sticking a lollipop in your cunt and licking off your nectar that was added and mixed with the lollipo’s strawberry flavor— he loved that one. It added, literal, flavor to the already debaucherous and sinful things going on on that bed.

However, Changbin had never eaten anything from inside of your pussy.

And that brought you to your current position.

It had all started earlier that night, after you finished dinner. “Yeobo, do you want dessert,” you asked your buff bunny boyfriend. “Sure, love bug, what’s on the menu?” He replied back, his tummy full from the meal you just shared.

Looking through your fridge and freezer, you tilted your head, pretending to look for something— even though you had a plan this whole time. Pulling out the can of whipped cream that sat on the shelf, you shut the doors and turn to him. “Your favorite.” You giggled, tugging your lower lip between your teeth.

“My favorite?” He was confused. He had a lot of favorites; your pussy, your tits, your ass, your lips,your cum, your spit. Food wise, he also had a lot of favorites, especially when it came to his dessert. Changbin loved Taiyaki, shaved ice, mochi, Felix’s brownies, again your cum. The list could go on but your cum was always at the top, regardless.

Perching up on his spot on the couch, he could see you holding a bottle of whipped cream. Oh. ….Oh. Standing from the couch, he strides towards you and braced his arms on either side of your frame thus locking you against the kitchen counter. “My favorite, huh, baby?” He breathed out, his plush lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. Nodding, you tilted your head to be able to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

“Mhm, your favorite, binnie…….me,” you whispered, as his tongue slid into your mouth. “Oh? Is that so?” He gruffed out, biting your earlobe before pulling you in for a heated kiss. It was a conglomeration of spit swapping, your tongues fighting for dominance and shared moans. “Yea…..I’m your favorite treat to eat,” you whispered, his mouth swallowing the words.

Not only were you his favorite dessert; you were his favorite break, brunch, lunch,dinner, snack, midnight snack. Generally, you were just his favorite everything. Simply put. He could not, for the life of him or for your own sanity, get enough of you. Once Changin got a taste of you— even if it was the smallest taste— he couldn’t stop, not that he wanted to anyways.

With his strong arms, in a split second he had you sit on the cool marble countertop. The coolness of the counter being a stark difference to the heat between your legs. What you, however, failed to realise was how Changbin grabbed the can of whipped cream and shook it. “Open wide baby,” he cooed, his index and middle finger holding your jaw and pressing your lips open. “Mmmmm, so yummy,” he chuckled sinisterly, pressing the nozzle and dispensing the cold sweet whipped cream into your mouth.

As soon as the whipped cream was in your mouth, his mouth came chasing, gripping the base of your neck and licking, feverishly, into your mouth. It was sweet, sticky, creamy mess. You had melted whipped cream and saiva smeared around your mouth as Changbin continued his hot licks and sucks. Fuck. So sweet, bunny.” He panted, using the back of his hand to wipe the whipped cream and saliva concoction from his mouth.

Pushing you down to lay on the counter,he hastily pulled your sweatpants and panties off. “But not as sweet as this title pink cunt,” he breathed out. His eyes locked onto the sight of your wet glistening pussy. “You trust me right?” he asked. What? Why would he even ask that? It was a silly question, “right baby?” What a silly little question to ask and especially during sexy times.

“With my whole heart binnie. Why?” You knew he was up to something. He always has some idea in his pretty head. Then you felt and heard it. The sound of the whipped cream spraying and filling your cunt. It was an odd sensation. You couldn’t decipher if it was good or bad, however. “Oh….oh what thee fuck? Binnie?” You gasped, the cold cream mixing with your warm wetness. “Sh, just trust your binnie,” he winked before shoving his face between your thighs.

Oh what the fuck. He put whipped cream inside your pussy. Before you could even register, his tongue his making its way around your labia. “Oh my fuck, binnie!” this was not what you were expecting, but it felt good nonetheless. Peeking up at you through his eyelashes, you could see the proud smirk on his beautiful face. “Fuck bin! Feels good!” you whined, it was a feeling you couldn’t verbally describe. It was somehow, almost, enhancing the feeling.

Being able to feel how the whipped cream was becoming less cold and whipped as it melted in your pussy was interesting, to say the least. But……you liked it. And yes, you may have played with food in the bedroom before, but never in this way. It was good, better than you expected, to be honest.

Swirling his tongue in your cunt, you could feel how he was tensing his tongue to be able to scoop the melted whipped cream out. “I- fuck! Changbin! Oh my fucking fuck!” you pressed your eyes shut, and arched your back off the countertop. “Yeah, honey girl?” he perched, slightly pulling away from your wet cunt to take a breath in.

Oh. oh the sight was filthy. His mouth was covered in a mix of your nectars and a mixture of melted whipped cream. It was hot, even though that whipped cream was not….not now at least. “I-i fuck me……it feels so good. Make me feel so good.” you breathed out, eyes slightly glossed over as you panted, your chest heaving.

“I’m sure it does, baby. You taste so good, almost better than you always do. Although, nothing beats the raw taste of that sweet creamy cunt.” he smirked, biting his lips. “Have a taste baby,” he panted out, collecting a fair amount of the pussy juice and whipped cream mixture on his calloused finger and pushed it into your mouth.

Woah, it was good, if you had to say so yourself. You’ve tried your own cum before and admittedly it was pretty good. Not that you would go out of your own way to just consume your cum. But, changbin on the other hand would. He had an almost unhealthy obsession with your cum, and you in general.

“Back to the matter,honey,” he smiled, and dove right back into your pussy. Even more rapidly, he slurped, drank and licked all of your juices. “Bin! I-hhhhng! I’m close!” thank god, because his cock was hard as a rock in his sweats. “Give me a good one, baby. Give binnie a good one,” he grunted into your cunt, the words slightly muffled.

Fucking his tongue into your cunt, he used one hand to hold your waist to the counter while the spare hand was reaching into his sweatpants to palm his own cock. “Come on baby, cum for binnie. Be binnie’s good bunny.”

His good bunny. Binnie’s good bunny.

That was all it took for you. Snap, crackle, pop. your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. “Yesyesyes binnie! I- hhhhhnnnngggg–i’m cumming! Fuck of my god!” snapping your eyes shut, gush after gush of your cum and whipped cream poured out of you. “Gooooood girl. Such a good bunny for binnie.” changbin praised you. Sucking the mix of your cum and whipped cream from your hole. “Such a sweet little cunt. My favorite fucking dessert evert,” he conceded, giving one last kiss to your clit before pulling away to shove his sweat pants down.

“Fuck, bin. I need you in me, fuck, please.” he was going to give it to you good, and soon. “I know bunny,” he smiled, a chuckle falling from his cum–and whipped cream– covered lips. He loved seeing you so desperate and needy for him. It turned him on, knowing he did that to you. It was one of his favorite sights to see.

But, the sight of his fat dripping cock splitting the lips of your cunt open was near the top of his list. “Ssssh, bunny. I know. Binnie knows,” he consoled, seeing you opening your legs further to welcome his built and muscular body. Grasping his girth in his hand, he lined his ruddy fat cockhead with your hole. “You ready, bunny?” he teased, painting his cockhead up and down your cunt, from clit to your hole.

What a fucking tease. Whining, you circled your thighs around his waist in effort to sink his cock into you. “Yes! Yes, i’m so ready! Want it so bad- fuck- so bad,binnie! Please please pl-”you begged, tears beginning to build in your eyes. Suddenly, his full girth was splitting you open–almost like a banana split. A binnie split,you could say. “Fuck, bunny. How are you still so fucking tight?” he groaned, stabilizing himself on his feet before slowly withdrawing his hips. “I fucked you this morning and you’re still so tight, bunny.”

It, really, was a great question. With how active your sex life is, you were still really tight, not that he was complaining. Your binnie would never, he loved how you sucked him in and held his cock with a vice grip. It was addicting.

Slowly, he pushed his cock back in and you positively mewled. “Hnnnng! Fuck, so full, binnie!” you wailed. His cock always made you feel so full, like after a good meal. His cock was like a meal, for you. “Ye-yeah? Feel full of my cock, darling?” he groaned, slowly starting to build a rhythm of slow deep drags. “Uh huh! So full, feels so–hnnngggg– good!” You sobbed, arms extending to hold onto his shoulders. Dragging his hips against yours, he groaned and let his head fall forward,eyes closing in bliss. “You feel so good,bunny.” he grunted, blinking his eyes open.

With his chin tucked to his chest, he could see just how well you were taking his thick cock. “Oh fuck, bunny. Taking binnie’s cock so well,” he lamented, seeing how your wet and creamy cunt was swallowing his cock. Your labia stretched around his girth. How had he never watched how your little cunt stretched around him? He would have to watch that more often, maybe even record it for when he’s away on tours. If you let him ,that is.

“Uh huh. Binnie. So fu-fuck- so full.” you crooned, hitching your legs higher to slot in the creases of his elbows. “More, need more binnie, please,” you begged, leaning the back of your head on the counter as your hair splayed around you. “Fuck me, of course. Anything binnie’s bunny wants, she gets.” he panted out, picking up his pace. Not too fast but incredibly deep.

“I-hhhnnnnggg! Like that binnie! Fuck, fuck me like that!!” You wailed, tears spilled from your eyes as your nails dug into his muscular bulging shoulders. “Yeah, like that bunny? Feel me so deep like this,bunny?” yes, you could feel it so deeply, each vein and small stream of his precum. You could feel it all. It was overwhelming.

“Ye-yes! Feel your cock so deep in me, binnie!” you whined, toes curling. Pressing his hips against your snugly, it felt like his cockhead was pressing against your cervix while also splitting you open and almost to your limits. His cock was just so thick, you could barely wrap your hand around it. “I know bunny. You just hug my cock so good with your little pussy. So warm and wet.” his scratchy voice creaked out. “Nee-need you to move binnie. Please, move.” the pants and begs and pleas spilled out like a water faucet.

Nodding, he pulled back and pressed back into you. Thwack. You could hear the visceral and raunchy smack of his heavy cum filled balls smack against your ass. “Oh-oh! Fuck, again, do that again, binnie,” you pleaded as you could feel your walls start to close in on his girthy cock. “Like this, bunny,” he teased, rolling his hips into yours and grinded his pelvic bone against your clit.

The grind of his trimmed curly black pubic hairs against your sensitive clit paired with the feel of his girthy cock splitting you open was blindingly good. “Uh huh! Hhhhnnnngggg! Ju-just like that,binnie!” Sobs and cried and wails tumbling from your raspy throat and out of your pink lips. “I’m getting close, binnie! Fuuuuck!” You cried, eyes rolling back.

“I know, bunny. I can feel you gripping my cock so good. Gonna let me breed this pretty pussy?” He questioned, feeling his own orgasm building, the familiar coil building as the pressure was stacking in his lower abdomen. He was going to cum soon. But, he needed you to cross the finish line first.

“Fuck!Hnnngggg– of course! Yes yes! Slightly picking up the pace, his rhythm was slightly altering as he started to chase the feeling of his orgasm. “Come one bunny. Give me another one. I know you want to. be my good bunny. Binnie’s good little bunny to breed.” He grunted out, voice slightly worn and cracking. “Yeah. want to be binnie’s good bunny,” you pouted, as he reached to rub your clit and sped his pace.

Broken cries fell from your lips, the stimulation of his thick cock, his calloused finger rubbing your clit, him wanting to breed you. It was all too much, in the best way you could possibly imagine. “I-i’m close binnie!” his hips only faltered more as he was on the brink of his own orgasm.

“Fuck– come on bunny,” he slightly begged, wanting to get you over the orgasmic bridge first. He always made you cum first. Now, that was his main goal. Driving his cock into your cunt deeply, he pressed frantic yet precise figures on your clit. “I-fuck! Binnie! Almost there! Gonna gum for you binnie, gonna be your good bunny!” You cried, as the band snapped.

Rip, tear, visceral bliss. Your orgasm rammed into you and ripped your body to shreds. A pleasured yet pained scream tore from the depths of your soul as your cunt gripped his cnt tighter than it had before. “Fuuuuuuck! Ahhhh fuck! Cum-cumming cumming cumming!” You wailed, your voice hoarse and strained as you cried. Your head thrown back, he could see your body heaving as you choked on air as you came and his cock started twitching even with your walls gripping him so tightly.. “Oh my fuck, binnie!” you sobbed, your arms giving out, leaving you to fall onto the counter under you and your legs shook like autumn leaves.

That was all it took for Changbin. With one final push, he pressed is hips against yours the farthest he could and threw his head back. With his vision going white and his ears rang, he let out an animalistic primal groan out. “Fuuuuuuck, bunny. Gonna breed your cunt, squeezing me like a fucking vice.” He seethed, reeling his cock twitching as the numerous roped and spurts and gushes of his cum emptied from his heavy balls. He didn’t have to look to know or see that he came a lot. “Fuuuuuck,uuuuugggghhhhh, bunny. Take my cum.” the words flew from his lips as he stilled inside you. And take his cum you would. You did every time.

“fill me, binnie! Breed me!” You begged, feeling your womb fill with his cum. Blinking himself into reality, he saw how much he and you came. There was a thick ring of your mixed cum at the thick base of his cock and it was dripping onto your kitchen counter. Fuck, you were in the kitchen and there was windows.

Rapidly, he snapped his head to the windows above your sink. Mortified, he made eye contact with your neighbor. The poor lady had seen you two. Now , you didn’t know how long she had been there. But she got a good show and for free. But, he knew he couldn;t tell you that you two had been caught in the act.

Shielding your body from other peoples’ eyes, he laid over your shaking frame. But, damn, that felt so good. Delicately, he pulled his cock from your cunt and it only spilled out even more. Fuck. there was a lot of cum. A decent puddle of it forming on the counter, as you laid panting. “That was….so good,binnie.” You tiredly giggled.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your lips and used a washcloth to wipe up your mess. No longer was it white from whipped cream but his cum. Would he be able to taste the vanilla of the whipped cream at all? Curiously, he collected a bit on his finger and sucked it into his mouth.

Hm. it was mostly yours and his cum. But, there was the faintest taste of vanilla whipped cream. He liked it.

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mediocre-daydreams · 2 years

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congrats again! 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐫: basic but grumpy/sunshine with remus 👀

this is so genius remus is absolutely grumpy x sunshine i'm gonna have to write more of these

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

“for the love of merlin, will you stop?” remus covered his ears with his hands. his eyes were shut in exasperation.

it was two days before the full moon, and remus was grumpy. more so than usual, because he’d just gotten roped into a week’s worth of detention for a prank he didn’t pull.

“i’m not even doing anything,” sirius protested. his words were muffled by a mouth full of half-chewed french toast. “i’m eating breakfast. it is the most important meal of the day, after all.”

remus groaned, slumping forward until his forehead was resting on the surface of the table.

“no offense, but you’ve been a bit of an arse all day,” james said, tossing a napkin at sirius and silently miming the action of wiping his mouth. despite james’ bluntness, he still cared about remus.

“i’ve literally been awake for three hours,” remus deadpanned, lifting his head just enough to look at james pointedly. “and i’m regretting getting out of bed at all.”

“who spat in your pumpkin juice?” sirius said, mouth now clean.

“the full moon is in two days,” peter mouthed.

“huh?” sirius leaned closer to peter. his face was contorted in confusion.

peter huffed and pursed his lips. “the full moon is in two days,” he hissed.

james hummed in understanding, nodding vigorously. with the recent (failed) prank and a load of assignments at the forefront of their minds, the marauders had forgotten all about the approaching moon.

sirius raised his eyebrows, impressed by the closeness of the date. sirius looked down at remus, who was still slouching in his seat with bleary eyes, and frowned. “mate, you’ve gotta eat something.”

“i’m not hungry.”

“they have muffins!” peter goaded. “you love muffins.”

“they’re the blueberry ones,” remus sighed with despondency. “i bloody hate blueberries.”

james furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully. “okay, what about-”

“rem!” your robes trailed behind you as you rushed over to remus’ side. “good morning, love. are you alright?”

remus lifted his head and blinked as he adjusted to the light. instead of glaring like he’d done to james earlier, his face softened. “hey,” he smiled unconsciously. he always smiled when he saw you. “i’m all good. no, i’m great, now that you’re here.” remus tugged lightly at your hand, prompting you to sit next to him. he laid his head on your shoulder when you did.

“that was bad, rem,” you chastised. “sappier than sirius’ maple syrup.”

remus turned his head to peer up at you affectionately. “that was definitely worse.”

you busied yourself as you poured juice and filled your plate with various breakfast foods. “have you eaten?” you asked, glancing over at remus’ scarce plate. “you’re bound to be hungry; especially of late, i mean.” you were hinting toward his heightened metabolism around the full moon.

“i haven’t,” remus confessed. “nothing looks good.”

“what about the muffins? you love muffins.” you stretched your arm across the table, careful not to shift too much and push remus’ head off your shoulder. it didn’t matter, because remus unbound himself from you on his own and reached for the muffins. he handed you one and began peeling the wrapper off his own.

peter’s mouth parted.

“d’you want some fruit? they’ve got fresh blueberries today. it must be a berry day,” you commented, holding your hand over your mouth as you chewed your muffin.

sirius looked vaguely offended. “hey, you just snapped at me for-”

“i’d love some.” remus pecked your forehead. “thanks, love.”

james blinked in a rapid succession of increasingly flabbergasted expressions. “but you hate blueberries! you literally just said that!”

“no, i didn’t,” remus said, raising his eyebrows as if challenging his friends to question him. “i have nothing against blueberries.”

“what? we went berry picking with hagrid last weekend.” you laughed incredulously as you handed remus a bowl of bright blueberries. “he ate, like, three slices of my blueberry pie.”

james crossed his arms, looking remus up and down smugly.

sirius scoffed. “you’re a bloody liar, moony. a big, fat, liar.”

remus shrugged, unphased by his friends’ accusations. “didn’t i tell you to shut up, sirius? i can’t deal with your stupid voice right now. you know my ears get sensitive around this time.”

remus looked down at you, admiring the way the apples of your cheeks rose as you smiled at him with complete adoration. if it weren’t for the equally mushy smile on his face, he would’ve probably been drooling.

“what’cha lookin’ at me like that for?” you grinned—no, beamed—you beamed, flashing remus rows of teeth that he swore gleamed brighter than all the floating candles in the great hall.

“oh, nothing,” remus deflected. “you’ve got some blue on your face… here, let me…”

you knew what this was. remus did this all too often. still, you let yourself indulge in his ploy, melting into his touch as his lips wiped away the remnants of your breakfast. when he began to pull away, you grabbed hold of his gryffindor tie and yanked, pressing your lips to his with finality.

james and sirius looked disgusted. peter, ever the romantic, bit his cheek to keep his smile at bay.

“i think i’m going to be sick,” sirius groaned, clutching his stomach. “james, will you hold my hair back?”

“anything for you, lovie dovie baby darling,” james cooed, twisting his voice into a poor imitation of remus’. “i’ll eat all the blueberries in the world for you, honey sugar pumpkin sweetie.”

remus lobbed a slice of unoasted bread at james’ face.

#remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #1k followers celebration #grumpy x sunshine

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lunarw0rks · 10 months

Text

Old Bones | Chapter Four

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): strong language, PTSD themes, casualties of war, hostage situations, blood, gun violence, mentions of abuse, death, nightmares, mentions of scars/medical gore

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: thx for all the support so far!

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

Ad Astra

Simon might’ve been handling the situation well, but you, on the other hand, have been nauseous all morning. The sight of his reddened wounds, paired with the squelch of the blood that coated you, all replayed in a loop.

He comes back during sunrise, clothes covered in patches of dirt and scrapes from the previous night. Limping to the shower to wash off, he still looks at you like an alien from another planet, yet he’s the one disposing of a body before breakfast.

You look up from the paper plate below you—some stale muffin and a coffee you snagged from the lobby. He’s wearing fresh clothes again, probably on his last pair of those, and he’s changed the dressings himself, thank God.

“Where’d you take him?” Rather than eating it, you’re smushing crumbs of the stiff baked good in between your fingertips.

“Nowhere important. We’re leaving today.” As if he’s going to tell you that. He zips up his duffel, not before stuffing in the bourbon first, naturally.

You’ve packed up next, casing the room one more time to ensure you got everything. Once you’ve reached the kitchenette, you spot your ring, still laying where you’d thrown it the previous night. You scoop it up, rinsing off the crimson caked in the crevices. The thought of slipping it on again comes as quickly as it leaves—immediately.

The diamond is placed atop the tip you left for the maid. Hopefully, they’ll appreciate it, or pawn it, either way, it’s a piece of mind. Taking that ring off was one step closer to healing, but now being on the path for vengeance has manhandled you two steps back.

The town is several miles behind you now, and it’s back to silence. Not a peep from the radio, nor his mouth. Just the sound of the idled engine when he stops, the repetition of the blinker, and his sighs of discomfort when traffic becomes heavy. It’s half-tempting to reach into the glove box and start reading the owner’s manual, or start solving calculus problems to pass the time. At least when there was a body in the back, your mind was too packed to allow boredom.

“You seem to be healing well, at least.” You have to say something, or you’ll jump out of the moving vehicle yourself.

“I’ll be fine,” he sighs again, only looking briefly at you as you’ve stopped in the next lineup, with his blinker puttering again. “You did fine.” His voice carries the usual dryness, like his vocal cords alone fought on the battlefield.

The compliment is delivered with passivity, to say the least, but coming from him it’s better than being ignored.

“Yeah, well, I was scared shitless,” a compromising chuckle nearly comes, but the memories of kneeling in the gravel push it away. “I’ve never done anything like that before...”

His eyes return to the highway ahead of him as he passes the traffic jam, going quiet again. The crop fields have instead turned to muddy grass, with somehow less civilization than before. He digs into the center console and pulls out a stray cigarette, only cracking the driver’s window slightly when he lights up. The chin of his mask is pulled up now, just slightly above his mouth. After his first deep inhale, he holds the cig out to you.

“No thanks.” You reply flatly, only watching as he exhales the smoke through the small crack of the window. His hum of amusement, or more so shock that you rejected it is next. You already have hired guns after you, what’s some lung disease to add to it?

Simon’s eyes make their way to your hands again—where you’d failed to scrub the blood from under your fingernails, a rookie mistake. Then, how you’re still fiddling with the ring finger of your left, despite still not wearing it anymore—that nervous habit he noticed the first time he saw you. The slight indent on your ring finger, where the skin has remembered the wedding band you’d kept on for so long.

The ring in itself is a scar of its own, only it’s an internal one—unlike the several that riddle his own hands. Knives, splinters, discoloration, fingers with the indents of the stitches he’d gotten years ago.

The questions had been eating at you the entire ride since he forced you to reveal his name. “What are we going to do with him?” A man so desperate for carnage, yet he’s sitting there so calmly as if he’s on this road trip for leisure.

“Nothing nice, and nothing you need to know about.”

Somehow, the thought of that isn’t as comforting as you thought. Cal was a hideous memory, but still a memory nonetheless. It’s not Stockholm syndrome or forgiveness for what he’s done, it’s the plausibility of someone you spent years with being snuffed out.

“He’s still my husband, Simon, I think I have a right to know.” You’re speaking in offense, yet the only emotion you feel is conflict.

Simon scoffs as if you’ve just insulted him personally. “Still your husband, huh? Should I turn around right now, and bring you back home, then? Hm?”

“I suppose you’ll go running into his arms, ‘n get scooped off into the sunset, then?” He tosses the cig out the window, and pulls down his mask again, still shaking his head.

You can’t stand it—the way he makes you sound like a delusional schoolgirl. It’s quite clear, you go home, and you’re in the ground somewhere before you can unpack. “I’m not an idiot. Do you think I’m expecting a warm welcome from him?”

“You’re not thinking at all, that’s your problem.” There’s that insufferable prick again, the one hiding beneath the half-assed attempts to act like a human being.

“Who are you to tell me what I’m thinking, you arrogant prick?” You turn to face him, despite being confined by the seat belt. “You have no clue what this is like for me,” you’ve twisted back again, this time facing your torso to the window now. If you look at him any longer, that idea you had about leaping out of the moving truck might come true.

His fury dissolves again, and now his cinnamon irises have flooded with the echoes of his past. He did understand. Simon understood every bit of it—the urge to kick and scream, and most of all the desire to self-protect when faced with disapproval.

You’ve practically ripped a page straight from his book, responding exactly how he would’ve if it was him in the passenger seat feeling provoked—like a wounded animal snarling because it’s been licking its own wounds for too long.

—

You’re nearly face-first into the dashboard when he punches on the brakes, not bothering to brace you, despite you dozing off in the seat next to him. This time, it’s not an apocalyptic town, it’s a bigger city surrounding you—an apartment complex somewhere on the outskirts. Nicer than yours, surely, and with tighter security.

It’s nightfall, meaning you slept through most of the day—also obvious because of the kink in your neck from the awkward scrunch your body was in for several hours.

“We’ll be hidden here.” Simon’s tone is reassuring as you’re peering up at the tall building. The place is decent inside, and more modern than your own.

Yet another place to hide, all while the law could be tailing you here. A body left behind, a duffel of weapons, and an ex-soldier doing mercenary work without authorization; how much worse could this look from the outside?

It seems the further you’re running, the closer Cal is to find you, in spite of how well Simon cleaned up the messes.

—

It’s a repeat of the first night he arrived—unable to sleep, and looking up at the stars. The roof gives a much more pleasing view, much improved compared to the window back home, which was full of chips and caked in dust.

Now, you could see the stars glimmer, how they were covered and uncovered by the passing dark clouds. If the noise from the city were to cease, the sight would be all the more peaceful. There was no interesting conversation down those stairs, where Simon had been glued to his laptop, probably digging up information on Cal—something that still contested your convictions. Up here, the breeze was freeing, and the smell of the rain overshadowed that of the bloodshed.

“Bloody cold out here.” His voice airs, fizzling out into the cloud of noise pollution.

You hadn’t noticed the bite of the wind, despite subconsciously tucking your knees up for warmth. He was only making conversation, probably because you’ve been more of a leech than a partner. Despite your lack of response, he sits beside you on the edge, roping his legs through two gaps in the railing.

The crinkle of a paper draws your attention again, and the next thing you know it’s placed beside you, only he’s keeping his hand down to prevent it from blowing away.

“Nearest whereabouts, vehicle, and associates.” Above it all is his latest photo, smiling like a sleaze behind his executive desk—ripped from some article Simon dug up about his newest promotion.

His last line is delivered with more forethought, a stark contrast from what he said in the car. “Figured you deserved to know.”

“Put it away.” You whisper, sliding the paper back to him. Despite the wear on Cal’s face, that damn smile still remains spine-chilling.

The paper is folded again, and you only meet his eyes when the crinkling stops. You’d rather stare at Simon’s lack of face than look at another photo of him. There’s a stillness again, whilst you’re in the stars again, and he’s still eyeing you.

He’s returned to his feet now, and he’s rubbing his calloused hands together for warmth. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You can’t leave it at this, not after he’s found Cal’s whereabouts. You’re following him with your eyes, until he’s reached the door back to the inside of the complex, and you’re to your feet before you’ve rehearsed the words.

“I am thinking, Simon. That’s my problem.” His fingers stop as they’re about to turn the knob, and he’s now facing you.

“I know.” Aside from his gruffness, he speaks like someone who’s known the insides and outs of you for a century. You’re the closest thing to a picture of himself right now.

His patience is off-beat, and uncanny to him, only because it’s been buried beneath decades of his own pain. He could claw at himself, try to stop himself from giving you comfort all he wanted, but he’s been losing that fight since the supermarket.

You can’t comprehend why, or how, but you’ve embraced him—and he hasn’t resisted yet. His hand finds its way to the back of your head, giving it a tight hold, all while you’re snaking one arm around his uninjured side. You suppose it's been so long since you’ve been gratified, that’s the logical way of it.

The embrace only lingers for a few moments, his hand remands on your shoulder, peering down at your troubled expression. “We’re going to find him, and then you’ll be out of my hair, doing all the thinking you want. Understood?”

—

“7-1. Ghost, how copy?”

“Hostiles are not secured yet, Sir. Moving toward target building.” His boots thundered through the sand below him, coating all of his protective gear. He’s forced to ignore the chaos in the village around him, and only focus on the target. The woman screaming bloody murder, the crying disoriented children, and ensuing explosions in the distance.

Simon bashes the door and it comes to a crash, splinters of wood sent flying. Inside, is the target—one of the high-ranking Al-Qatala lieutenants. Inside the decaying homestead, he’s holding his family hostage, all while Simon and his Task Force are entirely focused on the intel, rather than the pleading faces of horror knelt in the cement—the true reality of war, all in a line, execution-style before him.

He’s posted behind one of the pieces of furniture, battling every urge to unload on the devil. Their pleads have overshadowed every comm, every bullet, every explosion, all in a language he can’t comprehend.

“Do not intervene. Secure the target and only the target. We need him alive.” Finally, he catches a piece of the radio transmission, quite literally ripping his finger from the trigger of his rifle. Simon knows himself; when a negotiation has become too personal, familiar enough that he may disobey direct orders.

He’s the lone soldier in there with the rest of him doing recon on the operation. Every bit of his being is telling him to take the risk, to make up some story of self-defense—but the hostages are too close to the danger zone. He wouldn’t forgive himself if his own stray bullet compromised their lives.

“Give yourself up,” Simon shouts, mounting himself on the cover, yet his finger still remains off the trigger. “Now!” He bellows, wincing as his crosshairs fall on the wailing woman, covered in scrapes and bruises, while her husband, the captor, his knuckles bleed.

The captor goes on a speech, something about how kind the SAS will be to him when he’s in custody—he’ll be sleeping like a king as long as he’s giving them actionable intel.

All whilst his wife and children will be left behind in this war torn country, picking up the wreckage his squad left behind as a morbid parting gift—rubble, remains, chunks of their heirlooms. He was right. So right about that aspect Simon wanted to choke the life out of him, or beat him bloody with his bare hands—give the fucker a taste of his own medicine, only without any teeth left.

The lieutenant raises his gun, and yet Simon is powerless. Unless he fires on a foreign soldier, he can kill any one of his hostages, and be snoozing in that cozy cell by the end of the day.

Another gargle in a language Simon can’t understand, and she’s down. The distraught woman, wife, mother, now nothing more than a martyr of warfare.

Lifeless, more bloody than before, and slumped at her spouse’s feet, all while that morbid grin is still written on his face. All while Simon could do nothing to stop it.

That flashback visits him often, always resulting in hands overtaken by tremors, and wide eyes, as if he was back there again. This time, he’s not in bed, he’s still in front of his laptop at the table, having passed out after hours of research.

Cal’s expression; the deadened eyes, familiar devilish smile, the entirety of it staring back at him, causing him to slam the screen shut. After that dream, the feeling of wrath has returned. Not only for the Al Qatala lieutenant, but Cal as well. Too personal, too painful, and awfully familiar, especially with you here.

He finishes off his glass, letting the bitter burn coat his throat slowly as the tremor subsides. He now knows he’s not there anymore, not in cover behind the furniture watching a hostage situation.

He has to move, or he’ll risk smashing the electronic to pieces. The echoes of that woman’s tear-stained cheeks contrasted with yours in the supermarket, and then flashes of her bloodied corpse distorting into yours, with Cal standing over it.

His silent steps carry him to the living room. He has to check, or he won’t get back to work anytime soon. When he reaches the couch, you’re curled up, slumbering peacefully—a stark difference to what his flashbacks tried to convince him off.

Simon lets out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes briefly as he convinces himself this is the real reality, this is the spot he’s standing in, not that awful place.

He locates the small quilt kept inside the ottoman, gently draping it on your sleeping frame. He studies the scene for a few minutes, eyeing the rise and fall of your chest pushing through the blanket. Once he’s satisfied, and sure with his consciousness, he returns to his spot at the kitchen table.

He’s greeted with the intel on Cal again, flicking his eyes over to your peaceful sleep, and the sight of the devil before him, in comparison to you, is only unearthing that rage he felt in the hostage room. He couldn’t save that woman, but he’ll be damned if he makes that mistake again. No superiors, no comms, no bureaucracy to follow like a sheep again—his own two hands, that’s what he’ll use this time. No mistakes.

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