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highvern · 2 days

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Patterns III

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: smut (18+), eventual fluff/angst

Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?

Chapter Warnings: oral (f. & m. receiving), protected sex, kissing, awkward wonwoo, jealousy, grinding/dry humping, making out, fingering (in public)

Length: 8.5k

Note: part 3 is here and now we will yearn. you can find most of the pieces i reference HERE and some are printable! thank you to everyone in @svthub for helping and @gyuswhore beta-ing

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

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This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Wonwoo recognizes the heat of a body blanketing his before anything else. Slowly, like sands sifting through an hourglass, he wakes. Your chest sticks to his from the heat of the morning, skin on skin. Feeling comes back to his hands as they ghost along your bare spine, following the curve of your ribs, down to the soft spot above your hips and back again.

The second thing he realizes is your lips ghosting his neck.

“Morning,” he croaks through a yawn.

You hum in response, nosing along his jaw. Eyes still shut, he can see the shadow when you rise and leave the next kiss on his lips. The same rush of arousal that haunted him last night lingers. But at least this time he’s awake enough to appreciate your efforts.

After dedicating all his energy to pleasing you, Wonwoo nearly screamed when you palmed his cock. Too tired to fuck a pretty girl? Pathetic. But with swallowed pride, he brushed away your ardent hands, and passed out before you demanded any answers.

It was the fastest he’d fallen asleep in weeks.

Now, you seem to be making up for the lost opportunity and Wonwoo is just as eager to enjoy.

Hands trailing the dip of your back, his mouth opens when you prod across the seam of his lips. Everything slides together easily; your leg thrown over his hip finds the mattress and the heat against the crotch of his sweatpants calls like a siren’s song. The first nudge into the seat of your ass sends dual sighs into the air.

Wonwoo fills his palms with the swells of your ass, dragging you across his clothed length again and again until your arousal soaks through his pants. Eyes still shut, he savors the grind, slowing you with firm hands until you protest with a huff.

You indulge him as best you can. Idle touches across his chest turn the edges of Wonwoo’s mind hazy, melting his resolve until your mouthing down his neck, then his chest, and finally his caved stomach.

The first glimpse of your visage is proof he’s still lost in the land of dreams. All Wonwoo can see is endless skin, still bare from last night. The blur without his glass does little to dim your glow. Trails of golden light peeking through the window cast a halo around your shoulders like something ethereal; as if the sunrise itself sat itself in his lap this morning and decided to greet him personally.

But the way you suck him through the fabric of his underwear is akin to the devil.

“Fuck,” Wonwoo gasps. His hips curl up, searching for more relief. You don’t give in easily. Instead, you favor mouthing along the outline of his bulge until you’re back at the patch of skin sitting about the waistband.

Just as he falls into the comfort of your mouth, you move it elsewhere; lips tapering over the crescent of his hip bone while your hands make quick work of the single layer confine. Each new swath of skin is documented with fingers first then your mouth. It's slow work given the position but Wonwoo lifts his hips and assists until he’s bare and moaning your name on the first touch against his length.

Even in the coolness of the morning he’s burning. Wonwoo wants. Whatever you want, he wants too. Anything you give him he’ll take. The hunger for more worsens with each tease wherever you can reach.

His first mistake is touching you. Hair tickling his fingertips as he cups your jaw, thumb tracing the dip of your cheek as you suck him deeper. The gentle hum from the contact vibrating through his already weak willpower.

The second mistake is peeping where you lay between his legs when you come up for a breath only to find you already looking his way.

“Good?”

Wonwoo responds with a mute nod, trembling when you smile before taking his cock back in your mouth.

Your tongue flicks against his cockhead slowly. Content to focus the heat of your mouth there, a hand sneaks to jerk off what you’re neglecting.

A quick buck of his hips, completely unintentional, forces you to sputter.

Wonwoo scrambles to apologize, “Shit, sorry! I didn’t—oh fuck.”

The words die on his lips as you dive back in, swallowing him down the tight heat of your throat and leaving him there before pulling away with a gasp. His head digs into the pillow as you descend, taking more; Again and again and again until your nose brushes the smooth skin of his pelvis and you choke from another involuntary buck.

Eyes weighted, Wonwoo fights between wanting to watch the bob of your head and the instinct to pinch his eyes tight and feel. Your own choked hums are the siren song that pluck him apart until a hand stops your progress.

Grabbing himself on the next upstroke to prevent more torture, Wonwoo uses all his will to speak. “Wait.”

“Wait?” you huff.

Your tongue sneaks across the tip of his cock, lapping at the leaking slit with determination. Sticky on the next stroke, Wonwoo fucks himself into your mouth involuntarily.

“Come up here.”

“Don’t wanna,” you complain around a mouth full of dick before he can stop you.

Wonwoo pulls you off again, this time with a firmer hand and a glare he hopes silences your objections. Then, with the most pathetic sincerity he can muster, “Please?”

“Are you begging?” you goad. “Or asking?”

He doesn’t have the bandwidth for games right now. There’s a serious risk he’ll come in your mouth if you keep it up. The urge too lives in the back of his mind, haunting him since the first night you begged him to fuck your throat. But right now, after a night of denying himself the simple pleasure of burying his cock inside you, he needs more.

“Whichever will let me fuck you.”

“Say it again.”

Wonwoo chokes at the first attempt to satisfy your request. You're nasty. Licking at his cock again, undeterred by his hand preventing your greed from fully consuming him. But it’s not enough to stop you. You slip your tongue over the valleys of his knuckles, between his fingers. The wet heat of your mouth surrounds his thumb as you lash against it just to get another taste.

“What was that?” you whisper into his thigh, focusing your attention on his hip, nipping until he’s sure there will be a bruise in the shape of your mouth.

“Please let me fuck you.”

You fall to the side, scrambling for the bedside table for what he assumes is a condom. All of your back, your ass and thighs, left on display and Wonwoo takes advantage. Fingers following your curves, squeeze the supple swell of your rear until your breath stutters and your hips arch. He doesn’t stop there. Lips find your shoulder, trailing up until he can nip at your ear and his hand curves around between your thighs.

Fingers slipping through the mess, your head falls lip while Wonwoo repays your early morning favor. A ghost across your clit that sends you rocking back into his cock. “God,” you whimper as the heel of Wonwoo’s palm grinds harder. “Wonwoo.”

The sound of his name rasped on your tongue makes him hot. Wonwoo could finger you like this for the rest of morning if you let him; teeth bruising your neck, cock sandwiched between your ass and his stomach, the subtle friction enough for him to cum if he didn’t need you so badly.

But you won’t have it.

You push off his grip, turning until you’re face to face for another kiss that's too dirty for the early hour; generous with affection like you’ve got all morning to cover him in it. It’s the perfect distraction as you roll the latex down his length, and plant yourself in his lap.

It’s deep. Deep enough he feels the punch in his own gut as he splits you in half. You focus on his neck after a grunt breaks the kiss, overloading his senses. A few experimental swivels of your hips force his own to rise, keeping himself as deep as possible.

Riled from your mouth, Wonwoo is already on the precipice of finishing. Even through the condom he can feel the delicious heat of your walls clamped on his cock. The trickle of your pleased sighs into his ears don’t help either.

“Fuck, fuck, shit,” Wonwoo bites.

He tries to swallow back the rush of want, focusing on getting you caught up to where he clings so desperately to sanity. Gripping your waist, hands rough enough he’ll apologize later, Wonwoo uses the leverage to fuck roughly. One hand focuses a messy rhythm across your clit.

But it's no use. Thighs rushing up, Wonwoo’s end hits before he can warn you. You scramble for purchase from the rough jerking threatening to dislodge you and in the chaos you end up pinned to his chest as he cums.

All you can do is blink. Wonwoo stares back, hair matted to his forehead, pinked skin peeking through the sweaty locks, eyes rounded with his own shock.

“Well,” you pant, rolling to the side. “That's flattering.”

The stickiness between your thighs still burns hot; unfulfilled by such a quick ending. But he’s earned it after last night. Goosebumps flicker across your body from the cool air as you stare at the ceiling and clear the morning fog from your brain.

“Sorry, I’ve nev—”

You swat at his side. “It’s okay. Promise.”

Wonwoo’s quick enough to snatch it, fingers intertwining and preventing you from poking him in the ribs again. Laying side by side, shoulder to shoulder, your eyes slip shut. You pretend to ignore the way he moves over you, flattening his body atop yours.

A kiss on your collarbone, another between your breasts. His mouth trails to your nipple, sucking until you squirm before moving to give the other one the same treatment of teeth and tongue. It barely eclipses the feeling of his thumb searching between your thighs.

He descends lower when you start shaking. Lips blazing across your stomach and hips, lazy like there’s all the time in the world. Nerves short circuiting, you arching everything he has to offer; until his mouth replaces the hand between your thighs.

It’s slower than last night. Wonwoo savors the taste of you, tracing all the parts that make your vision blur with shocking ease. You encourage him to focus in the right spots with a hand knotted in the base of his hair, thighs crushing to the sides of his face when he delivers exactly what you need.

A wiggle of his tongue on your clit distracts from the fingers sinking inside; one before he adds a second. Not as satisfying as his cock but the bend and curl with the right rhythm for your hips to buck.

He isn’t goading or punishing. None of the usual quips that accompany him between your legs spill from his mouth. When you grind up into his face he flattens his tongue and lets you; when you tell him to give you more he does, a third finger joins the mix as he sucks your clit until you cry.

“Just like that, fuck I—” you choke. “Wonwoo, please, don’t stop.” You hump his face, feet planted on the bed for more power as you pull tight across his mouth.

A last rough curl of his fingers across your walls breaks the dam. Eyes rolling back, you savor the feel of him bullying your insides until everything explodes in flashes of white. Wonwoo does right and keeps playing with you until pushed away but not before sneaking a last lick to your bundle of nerves just to watch you shake.

Wonwoo rises with a cocky smirk before dropping back into your chest. He nuzzles down into the cradle of your throat, face still wet but you don’t have half the mind to complain. You don’t have any mind at all from the wet kisses he paints into your skin.

Sleep comes easily; carried by the lull of calming breaths and the waves still flooding your system.

The second time you wake up, Wonwoo is still asleep across the bed. It makes slipping away to the bathroom for clean up easier, but your eyes continue to glance at him as you move across the room for a fresh set of clothes. His back faces you so only the mangle of hair at the crown of his skull and the broad expanse of shoulders are exposed. The memory of the morning after your first hook up plays in your mind. Embarrassment, anxiety, the rush to be anywhere but his bed.

Now it’s the lazy weight of an early orgasm and a good night’s sleep. If the afternoon wasn’t booked, you’d be sorely tempted to lay back down and sleep the day away next to him.

A fast shower wakes you enough that fatigue can’t seduce you back beneath the sheets. The first time in weeks you aren’t plagued by racing thoughts, mind blissfully empty as you wash away the remnants of a satisfying morning. You leave the bathroom dressed and prepared for the mess waiting in the rest of the apartment.

Fishing your phone out of the trail of discarded clothes from the night, you see a litany of messages waiting to greet you. But only one catches your attention.

Em: tickets for the new exhibit are at willcall! I got an extra in case lisa wanted to come

Wonwoo’s voice makes you jump. “Big plans for today?”

You watch him wince out of the corner of your eye as he rounds the corner of the hallway, dressed in the new pair of sweats you left on the corner of the bed before leaving, chest still bare.His hair is more of a mess than what you left him with, and he bounces from one foot to the other. Good to know you’re not the only one out of their depth.

Rather than stand idle, you race to keep your hands busy in an effort to fend off the awkwardness.

“Ugh, yeah.” You pop bread into the toaster. Two slices, just in case. “My friend got me tickets to this new exhibit at the museum downtown.”

He moves for his phone on the couch scrolling through messages from the evening. “Oh, cool.”

You hum agreement into your coffee cup.

The silence of the kitchen is stifling. Not ten minutes ago you curled up in bed with him but without the guise of sex there doesn’t seem to be anything tying you together. The pop of the toaster almost sends your coffee cup flying.

“It's, um, a really cool exhibit. She’s been curating it for the past two years.” You say while putting together a sham of breakfast. “It’s the first exhibit they’ve let her do solo.”

“Impressive.”

“Yeah.” You wince. “I’m gonna get dressed so…”

“Yeah.”

Mirroring last night, you shuffle to the reprieve of your bedroom. Locked in, the crumpled sheets of your bed pointedly stare at you; the scene of the crime. If you look too closely there's traces of the dip in the mattress where you both fell together.

But you won’t look because the suffocating tension in your chest is bad enough without reliving the past hour. From tangled in a lover's embrace to the inability to look each other in the eye.

You dress quickly. Warm enough to fight off the rain beginning peppering against your window and the winds that will no doubt come with it. In the mirror you still look fucked. The unmistakable glow of a morning on the right side of the bed; puffy lips, warm cheeks, and eyes glassy no matter how much you blink. There’s nothing to be done about that though so you grab your bag and return to the living room to deal with your guest.

The back of Wonwoo’s head sits over the couch. Slumped back like he’s given up in his fight against bad luck and ready to accept whatever fate the universe bestows.

“All good?” you ask, grabbing the now cooled mug.

A hand scrubs down his face, “Landlord can’t come until this evening.”

“Oh.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just go hangout at some coffee shop or whatever.”

He looks pathetic. Like last night in the hallway soaked to the bone. Unfortunately, you’ve got a soft spot for pathetic things with glasses and broad shoulders.

The words are in the air before you can bite them back. “You can come with me if you want.”

New tension fills the space. It curls around Wonwoo’s shoulders, slipping into that place in your stomach that’s suffered all morning. He turns slowly, failing to hide the shock that finds its way in the corner of his mouth.

Staring at one another, both surprised at the offer hanging in the air, it’s Wonwoo who speaks first.

“I don’t really have clothes for a museum.”

A true enough excuse. His clothes still sit in the washer from last night and the collection of wrinkled shirts and sweats sitting in the closet will get you killed; or worse, laughed at. There’s only one person who might have clothes in the apartment that would make the cut.

“Mingyu might have some clothes here. But if you’d rather not, that's fine.”

“Uh,” Wonwoo blinks. “Then sure, I’ll go.”

Abandoning the cup on the counter, you journey down the hall. Beyond the door to your room, then Amina’s and finally the last one. You step into Lisa’s room and dial her number. She picks up the call on the second ring.

“Helloooo?” She sings. Ears straining, you can hear Mingyu’s mumbling somewhere in the background.

You wade closer to the dresser on the far wall before responding. “Hey, does Mingyu have clothes here?”

After years of living together and sharing clothes, you know the first few drawers house nothing you wish to see. But rather than spend hours digging through the massive collection she’s amassed, you wait for an answer as you slide open one of the safer ones.

“Why? Are you planning to go as him for Halloween?”

Wedging the devices between your shoulder and cheek, you move to the next drawer containing more Lisa sized clothes and less Mingyu sized ones.

“Um, Wonwoo-is-here-and-needs-clothes.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Lisa pauses before screaming. “He’s there?” The volume makes you wince, dropping your phone as she continues to babble like a lunatic on the other side.

“What did you do? Rip his clothes off? I knew you were a little minx.” She hums.

“I didn’t—” you sputter. “He got locked out last night and stayed here. Did Mingyu check his phone?”

“He dropped his phone in the lake yesterday and it isn’t working. So you and Wonwoo didn’t have sex?”

Choking on the directness, you change the subject. “Anyway! Does Mingyu have clothes he can borrow or not?”

“You did! Was it on the couch? The kitchen?”

“We’re not freaks like you and your boyfriend”

“Oh so there's a ‘we’ now?” Lisa asks like a shark smelling blood.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” she sings. “Mingyu’s clothes are in the bottom drawer.”

Shutting the current drawer and dropping on your knees, you mumble. “Thank you.”

“Have fun on your date!”

“Drown.”

“Love you too.”

The line goes dead as you dig out a pile of shirts and pants. Mingyu nearly has his name on the lease next to Lisa so it’s no surprise he’s got half his closet here. Not that you mind since the nights Mingyu stays over come with a morning of homemade breakfast and a clean kitchen. If Lisa and Mingyu ever break up you’d consider kicking her out to let him move in.

You return to the living room with a stack of options cradled in your arms.

“Here,” you say, shoving them into Wonwoo’s chest. “We’ve gotta leave in like ten minutes if we want to make it on time.”

Wonwoo emerges from the bathroom with two minutes to spare. Mingyu’s clothes are too big for him but it works. A sweater you could only describe as “meet the parents” hangs off his shoulders, tucked in at the waist. You try not to ogle but he looks good; too good considering you know what lies underneath.

“Ready?” he asks, breaking your trance.

“Yep. C’mon.”

The car ride downtown gives Wonwoo plenty of material to strike up conversation but he falls flat every time his mouth opens. Luckily, you’re more than willing to fill the silence and he’s grateful.

He tries not to dwell on the fact this feels suspiciously like a date. Not just the sequence of events but the fact when you stopped for another coffee he immediately grabbed his empty pocket for the black leather wallet still on his kitchen counter. Or how he steps ahead to hold open the door when you reach the imposing white marble building downtown.

It doesn’t matter what it all feels like because Wonwoo doesn’t date. Not for lack of interest but some things in the world don’t work out and one of them is his love life. Further proof was the pained expression on your face when you invited him here; like you would have taken back the invitation in a second if you weren’t so polite.

“So what's the exhibit again?” he asks to fill the silence of the line at will call.

Today is a busy day for the museum. Students mill about between different groups. Couples young and old mixed between families. What do you two look like to them? A couple? Two friends that have seen each other naked but can’t manage a conversation afterwards? The idea has Wonwoo increasing the distance between you.

“Ugh, ‘Love: Immortal.’ It’s—”

“A collection of love, in all its forms.” Someone announces from behind.

A woman with dark hair approaches, obviously familiar to you from the way you greet each other. Wonwoo feels a fresh wave of discomfort at the way she cuts her eyes his way and then back to yours. Surprisingly, the way you shake your head makes him deflate.

“Alright, c’mon. Lots to see.”

She drags you two to the front, flashing a smile at the security guard before walking through without hassle.

“Benefits of knowing the head curator.” She turns to Wonwoo with a spark in his eye he recognizes from his interactions with Lisa. “Who are you?”

“Wonwoo.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Em, I’m sure you’ve heard nothing about me.”

You huff dramatically but the beginnings of a smile form on your lips.

“Y/N told me you’re in charge of the exhibit.”

“Wow, so you have heard of me! I like him better than the other one already.”

You turn to ice immediately. Shoulders tense, eyes burning. Wonwoo can only assume she means Seungcheol. He knows the barest details of the break up; he didn’t bother asking for information on something that wasn’t his business. Seungcheol didn’t like Wonwoo and he can’t say he was too fond of the older man in the few instances they interacted. Mingyu’s birthday party last year was the most recent time Wonwoo saw him and the entire night he couldn’t believe no one was feeling the same exasperation at turning every story into one about himself.

At least someone seems to feel the same way.

“The exhibit?” you grit.

Em leads you through the small crowds funneling towards the main room, to a closed off wing of the museum with several signs warning “EMPLOYEES ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.” Thick blue velvet curtains obscure the room beyond the final arch but she bats them aside and ushers you two through the opening before tossing them closed once more.

Frames fill the walls, evenly spaced with meticulous precision. Photographs in black in white, large canvases full of color. Across the floor, sculptures dominate the spaces; marble, bronze, one that looks like white sand from where Wonwoo stands.

“Well, you two have fun. I have to do some finishing touches on the brochures for tomorrow's benefactor showing.”

And like that he’s alone with you again.

At least this time he has the excuse of submersing himself in art. It isn’t something he has vast knowledge of but it’ll help dull the edge he still feels in your presence.

The first sculpture looks straight out of an Italian vacation catalog. Pure marble, dramatic and imposing as it greets you two. It’s impressive; the detail, the skill. Wonwoo may not understand what he’s looking at but he can admire people blessed with the talent to create it.

Warm sunlight pours in from the sky light, painting the figures in glowing buttery gold. The woman appears to be reaching up for the winged man, desperate, wanting. Her face is hidden but the man’s is angelic and serene.

A metal card sprouts from the ground at the foot of the statue.

Antonio Canova, “Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss.”

You split to circle the statue, taking in the smooth marble from all angles. Concentration bleeds across your brows, turning them into a soft scowl. Instead of staring, Wonwoo floats to the opposite wall, coming face to face with what might as well be a painting of the way you woke him hours ago.

Two lovers, curled in the sheets, share a passionate kiss frozen in time. It hollows Wonwoo’s stomach to think someone from decades ago could paint something so familiar. Capture a moment he took for granted in a second only to have it replay in his face.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, In Bed, The Kiss.

Whoever this Henri guy is, Wonwoo doesn’t like him.

“What do you think?” you ask from his side.

Startling from your voice, Wonwoo is at a lose for words. “It’s…nice?”

“Nice?”

Scrambling for an explanation to the lie he decides on the obvious, “Like the colors and stuff.”

“Huh.”

He can’t help but feel he’s failed some kind of test. That something greater rode on his analysis of such a stifling painting.

“It looks like that one dude— Monet?”

“That dude Monet?” You snort. “He founded the impressionist movement so you’re not too far off.”

You’re already moving on to the next area when the initial sting of disappointment wears off.

More paintings, all lovers clutching in passionate embraces dot along the walls. Some are sequenced to tell a story. Some painfully longing, others with surprisingly obvious eagerness.

Wonwoo finds you again parked in front of one of the darker canvases. Your figure shields the entire image from view but it's okay. He finds himself observing the way your head tilts to the side, like the two hooded figures are the most interesting puzzle you’ve ever faced. It pulls Wonwoo in like a magnet, he wants to see what you see. Understand what makes it so fascinating even if he doesn't get it himself.

René Magritte, The Lovers.

Suffocating is the first thing Wonwoo can think of. Unsettling, scared. A litany of descriptions he’s felt looking at the other works around the room but this one leaves him reeling. He moves on before you can ask him how he feels.

Wonwoo doesn’t understand art, but apparently it understands him.

More pieces, cacophonies of colors and textures, swirls blending scenes into dreamlike scenes. Photos of couples, man and woman, woman and woman, man and man; all wrapped in embraces or staring fondly across the expanse.

Wonwoo works the way you came and you cover all the works he’s pretended to look at. The next time you collide in front of a dark painting near the end of the exhibit hall.

Edvard Munch, The Kiss.

“What do you think?” Wonwoo asks this time.

You stare at the canvas a moment longer before responding. “It’s one of my favorites so I can’t be unbiased.”

“Promise I won’t tell anyone.”

A conspiratory smile, there and gone in a flash, makes his heart squeeze.

“Munch was supposedly pretty ambivalent to love, at least that's what some people think, but I feel like this and his other paintings show the opposite. It feels jealous? You see other people blend together seamlessly and it feels that's what he wants. If you saw Kissing by the Window I think it’d be more obvious. If you look at any of his other work you’d see he wasn’t ambivalent to anything.”

“Anything I’d know?”

“The Scream?”

“Wait, really? Like The Scream?”

“Yeah, it was a few years before he painted this but he painted couples kissing since before that.”

“Huh.”

“What do you think?”

“Now that you say that, it feels like I’m watching my friends make out at a party.”

Dual shudders wrack your bodies, no doubt picturing your roommates.

Searching for a distraction, Wonwoo approaches the last piece of the collection. A dark bronze statue; two lovers, a man and woman, sit naked, wrapped in each other's arms. The placard on the floor reads: Auguste Rodin, The Kiss (Le Baiser).

Even though there's no movement, the desire is clear. It reminds him of this morning. How you sat in his lap, twisted in his embrace while he worked you up. For the first time, Wonwoo understands art. If he had the talent to immortalize the way you glow under his hands he’d do it.

The realization leaves his ears ringing, heart beating in a flurry.

Luckily, the only thing at the end of the hall is a photobooth. The sign next to it advertises the photos are free and the museum’s social media to share the pictures. You’re already making a beeline for the curtained side when Wonwoo decides to follow.

You scoot to the far edge of the seat, assuming he’s right behind. There's just enough room for him to fit in but the heat of your side into Wonwoo makes him sweat.

“Alright so we just press this and—oh!”

A flash of bright white startles you both as the machine quickly catches both of your startled expressions. The next one also catches you both off guard and so does the next. Wonwoo barely manages to smile in the last picture.

Peeking out from the curtain, he catches the strip of film falling into the dispenser tray and collects it for you both to inspect.

Surprise captured in blurry black and white photocards. Your mouth hangs open in almost all of them. Wonwoo’s eyes are shut in three of the four. As expected the final picture is the best but that's not much given the mess of the first three.

“Oh my god, you can see up your nose.” You cackle, fingers pointing at the second picture where Wonwoo’s barely a few inches from the camera.

He can’t argue. Instead he laughs too and points out how you’re crossed eyed in the third picture. You both howl with amused delight at the collection of silly expressions. And just when it’s under control, one of you snorts and starts laughing again until you're both breathless.

“Okay, okay. Let’s do a real one now.”

Settling in, you both wiggle next to each other to get comfortable despite the lack of space. Wonwoo’s arm finds its way around your waist simply because there's nowhere else for it to go. Same for your hand on his thigh as you lean forward and press the button again.

You're still too close to the camera lens when the first picture flashes but manage to lean back in time for the second.

“Now a silly one.”

You both move at the same time, heads colliding. Wonwoo jumps back, head hitting the hardwood wall behind him. The camera flashed again while stars danced in his vision. Like something in a movie, his eyes meet yours. Humor melts into something more serious. The urge to kiss you, to feel your lips against his, not from some primitive hunger but a different sort of long he felt all morning.

“You guys found the photo booth?” Em’s voice calls from beyond the curtain.

Wonwoo tries to hide his disappointment but you mirror it clear as day before he ducks out of the booth.

After your not-date with Wonwoo, you cherish the peace soon to be shattered that evening. Your roommates integrate you when they return from their trips. Amina first, pretending she has no knowledge of the unexpected guest until Lisa arrives an hour later. Her suitcase sits forgotten at the door, diving into a good cop bad cop routine over bags of takeout.

“Okay, so you hook up the night before, go to a lovers exhibit at an art museum the next day, get lunch afterwards, and you still don’t think it's a date?” Amina asks in disbelief.

“Nope.” You pop the ‘P’ for extra emphasis while dividing the steaming take out between three plates. The events of the early morning are one of the few details you kept secret. Mostly to preserve Wonwoo’s pride but also to keep more evidence from building your roommates’ case.

Lisa chews through her noodles. “Did he think it was a date?”

“No.” Maybe. What if he did? Wonwoo didn’t say anything, didn’t attempt to hold your hand like some might on a date, didn’t flirt with you or stand too close. The only thing to suggest otherwise was the almost kiss in the photobooth that didn't really count at all. He needed to kill time before being let back in his apartment and you were sympathetic enough to help.

But the strip of film, with blurry captures of you mid-sentence and Wonwoo’s shocked face, remains a secret, tucked under a pile of books on the shelf in your room. Another moment you feel protective of. Want it to exist away from prying eyes, just between you two after what was definitely not a date in an exhibit full of romantic paintings and sculptures.

The second strip of film is with Wonwoo. You watched him from the corner of your eye as he scooped it up while you focused your attention elsewhere. Anywhere that would keep away the idiotic warmth attempting to bloom in your chest.

“Mingyu said Wonwoo wouldn’t talk about it so maybe your right.”

“How is your boyfriend just as nosey as you?” Amina asks through her own mouthful of chicken.

“Hey! Mingyu is definitely the bigger gossip in our relationship.”

“Steep competition.” You snicker, joined by your other roommate when Lisa chucks a fortune cookie.

“Anyway,” Lisa claps. “You and lover boy should figure out if you’re dating now.”

“We’re not dating."

Another week passes in a blink; the same nonsense with work, roommates, and friends. But you can’t shake the feeling something has changed between you and Wonwoo. His endearingly awkward attempt at small talk over text didn’t help. Assuring you Mingyu put him under a microscope when he got home, random drivel about his work day, even asking more about some of the artists you showed him in the other exhibits at the museum.

But you aren’t dating Wonwoo. That’s the key fact. You aren’t in a relationship and you’re both free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. It’s the mantra you repeat in your head over and over as you watch another girl flirt with him at the bar over the rim of your drink.

She’s pretty. Pretty enough you can’t find a way to fault him for entertaining her while waiting for the next round. Confident too, tossing her head back as his mouth moves to respond to her quip. Nothing he said could be that funny. But she laughs wildly nonetheless and Wonwoo eats it up. One of her hands finds his arm, claws digging into claim him for the night.

Your buzz turns to a boil, fueled by alcohol and the green-eyed monster whispering in your ear. Wonwoo came with you. Technically not a lie because you arrived together with the rest of your group after meeting at his and Mingyu’s apartment. But Wonwoo hovered near you, his hand slipping further up your bare thigh as the night progressed. The unnamed woman can do whatever she wants because Wonwoo is at the bar to get you a drink. And it’s you he’ll sit back down next to. Or that’s what you tell yourself.

The details of Wonwoo’s face are indiscernible; if he’s smiling at her awkwardly, or laughing at her jokes, or looking at her with the same hungry expression you’ve been on the receiving end of. Granted the bar is dark and bodies crush in on all sides, obscuring your view to the point you try and peer around them without shame to watch the show. But she steps closer and Wonwoo isn’t stepping away.

Rather than continue your own torture through watching the display, your drunk brain forces your body to take action. The bar gets closer as you weave between the crowd with grace or shouldering through drunk partiers who pretend not to hear you ask for space.

Just enough space remains between Wonwoo’s body and the redhead for you to slide between them.

“Hi,” you smile with false sweetness.

Wonwoo doesn’t seem shocked as he smiles back after a beat. “Hi.”

“Um, excuse you?” the woman scoffs behind you. “We were talking.”

You don’t even need to speak before Wonwoo plucks the cup full of ice and lime wedges out of your grasp, passing one of the new drinks the bartender slides his way. Once he has his own, you’re led away while whatever-her-name-is stomps her foot in the background.

The dance floor bleeds out into the rest of the club but Wonwoo wedges you both deep enough that the walls of bodies all around offer some sort of privacy. Not that anyone is paying mind to another pair crammed close together, you two are simply one in dozens.

Chest to chest, the pulse of music lulls you into blind numbness beyond the warmth of his thigh between your own. The drag of muscle against your core with each sway. Firm hands guide your hips, teasing under the edge of your top before dipping back down. Your hands are far more teasing; one knotting in his hair, pulling until you can feel the rumble in his throat where the other rakes across.

Wonwoo focuses his own taunts across your face. A kiss to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, chin, temple, ear. Everywhere you want to feel him but not where you need him. The smirk of his lips against your jaw, a cruel mock at the way your hips buck eagerly from some light petting, sends a new wave of chills down your spine.

It's nothing worse than anyone else is doing but you feel naked. More exposed when you find his mouth against your own, tongue scorching between your teeth, dragging across your own to spread you thin. All you can think about is where he’s touching you, how easily he could dip his hand up the back of your skirt and find evidence of arousal in spades.

The bass dips to something slower, vibrating deep in your bones and any concerns for the public eye dissipates with it. You don’t know the song. It doesn’t matter if you did because the motions of your hips follow Wonwoo’s until you turn around. He doesn’t miss a beat when you turn and glue your back to his chest; hard against the seat of ass with his palm spread across your stomach to keep you firm against the next grind.

Wonwoo’s hand follows the heat of your thigh up and up and up until only the short hemmed skirt stands in the way. Skin glowing under the attention, you wiggle further back into his chest until he takes the chance. Wonwoo lets the sway of the music do the work, fingertips flat to the seam of your panties providing enough friction to drive you wild.

It’s too dark to see below your shoulders, let alone for anyone else to see where his hand works, but the risk of getting caught scorches your nerves.

Hot smokey air blurs your vision when you lean back to whisper an offer too good to refuse. The bar is on the same long street as his apartment, a quick walk to fuck in the comfort of a mattress. But as your eyes slip open to tempt him, Wonwoo is already looking at something far across the club.

Following his line of sight, you find your ex-boyfriend crowded in a booth, surrounded on all sides by familiar faces who became strangers in the aftermath of the breakup. Seungcheol isn’t looking at you because he’s in deep with some blonde; arm around her shoulder and chin tipped back. The same moves he used to get you.

But Seungcheol can’t be here because he’s halfway across the country. He wasn’t coming back. That’s what he said. He wasn’t coming back yet he’s sitting less than fifty feet away.

Your eyes finally manage to work again, scanning the others at the table and finding his best friend. Of course he’d come back for Jeonghan’s birthday.

It’s Jeonghan who looks at you first, not Seungcheol. His eyes drag above your head, where he must spot Wonwoo’s face given the way he fails to conceal a second of shock before looking away. Jeonghan leans towards Seungcheol’s ear and you don’t stay to guess what he’s saying.

The bar is too crowded, the music too loud. Too many people jostling you side to side while you navigate towards the hallway leading towards the bathroom. It’s dark, a few couples pressed against the walls; some chatting, others… reenacting what’s happening on the dancefloor.

Thankfully the bathroom is empty. After locking the door, you catch a glimpse in the mirror. Skin flushed with sweat, hands trembling, and heart racing. How much is due to dancing after a few rounds and what can be attributed to the anxiety of an unexpected run in with your ex is unclear. The coolness of a wet paper towel against your skin helps wash away some of the mess.

Pacing in a tight circle, you burn a rut into the floor.

You won’t be upset. You won’t. You aren’t. Whatever you had with Seungcheol is long over. Thoughts of him, rose colored memories, were nothing but the past. They didn’t bring the same misery as before, the longing to have him back or for a different reality. But your body refuses to have the same reaction now that he’s back in orbit.

A firm knock against the door startles you.

“Um– someone’s in here.”

“It’s me.”

Not Lisa. Not Amina. You unlock the door to find Wonwoo peering back. His eyes widen behind the frames of his glass as he eyes your state in the new lighting.

“Sorry, I’m—” you sniffle, cut off by the comfort of Wonwoo’s chest.

It’s awkward, arms pinned under his own and your nose jammed against his collar bone. You’ve never hugged Wonwoo, or seen him hug anyone else for that matter. But he’s trying.

The rhythm of his heart calms your own. On instinct, your arms circle the narrow part of his waist, melting into the weight of his hold. All the worries dull around the edges, softened with Wonwoo here; his face pressed into the crown of your head.

“Wanna leave?” he asks.

Nodding into his collar bone, you inhale the smell of his cologne. Sweat and beer and smoke from the bar also seep in but you hold tight anyway; cling to the comfort of his scent until you feel lighter.

Another knock at the door breaks you apart, but Wonwoo keeps you close with a squeeze.

“Occupied,” Wonwoo responds.

You imagine what the person beyond the door will think when you exit. Eyes glazed, shirts wrinkled, even Wonwoo’s hair is a mess from your fingers constant tugging earlier. Maybe you’d care less if the night wasn’t interrupted unexpectedly. But now you just want to run home and sleep.

This time when you step away, Wonwoo lets you. “Good?”

“Better,” you respond.

Ushering you out the door, you quickly find the person who knocked.

Seungcheol leans against the far wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. The massive silver watch he insisted on wearing staring you down. He looks exactly the same as the day he left albeit more inebriated. Face tinged pink, shirt wrinkled at the collar. The light pouring out from the bathroom highlights the smudge of lipstick on his throat.

And he’s staring Wonwoo down like he wants a fight.

He quirks an eyebrow. “So this is what you’ve been up to?”

The ability to speak evades you. What’s there to say? The first words you hear from him in months and the situation doesn’t paint a friendly light.

“Ya’ know, she let me fuck her in there too.”

Wonwoo stiffs at your back. It’s a half truth. Seungcheol wouldn’t fuck you in the bathroom after you asked but he left you suck him off. You don’t argue. The details won’t make you look any better. You doubt Wonwoo wants to hear it. Not after being so close to fingering you on the dance floor for everyone to see.

It’s embarrassing. You heat in the face once again but ignore the bait. Instead, you snag Wonwoo’s hand and pull him away. He fights for a second, a hesitant tug backwards while he sizes up the older man. If they want to fight, you aren’t going to play witness.

Wonwoo stays as you leave. Down the hallway, past the bar, and out the exit as quick as you came. Only the bouncer stands outside the bar in the chilly night, bidding you farewell as you follow the sidewalk home.

The cold sobers up whatever alcohol remains in your system before freezing you down to your bones. Rain lingers in the air, on the edge of falling so you pick up the pace. It’s a long walk but not an unwelcome one. Plenty of people fill the streets, pouring in and out from other bars or restaurants open to the late night crowd. Hopefully they’ve all had a better night than you.

A crack of thunder announces the sky’s descent. Fat raindrops soak you to the bone before you can dodge under an awning. Everyone scatters like ants, swarming for any safe haven available. Puddles the size of swimming pools flood the sidewalk; cars rip up waves to douse the unfortunate souls close to the curb.

It’s the kind of rain where the clouds fall all at once. Waves of thunder split in half from bolts of lightning. Raindrops bounce from the ground, sent sideways by the wind to soak your shoes. The pounding sound deafens everything else but not the embarrassment clouding around. All you want to do is get home, lie down, and forget everything in a tub of ice cream.

You thought you wouldn’t care about seeing Seungcheol after your break. Sure the brief shock would settle in but after that there wouldn’t be anything else. No hard feelings, no feelings at all. But the reality of these things is always worse than the way they play out in your head.

Seungcheol with a new girl like he’s done it a million times since your break up. Seungcheol wrapped in someone else’s arms, covered in someone else’s lipstick, without a glance your direction.

The more you think, the more you realize it isn’t seeing Seungcheol that freaked you out. Because you’ve been hanging around Wonwoo, spending nights wrapped in his arms, almost kissing him without the excuse of sex afterwards.

It’s having Wonwoo there to witness Seungcheol acting like an asshole. That he practically called you a slut to Wonwoo’s face, treating you like some object in their weird dislike for each other. It’s also the embarrassment that you dated Seungcheol to begin with. And how before you spotted Seungcheol you didn’t care about anything beyond where your body ended and Wonwoo’s began. All you wanted was to spend the night with him.

“Here,” a familiar voice rumbles next to you.

Wonwoo forces his jacket around your shoulders. Too tempted by the warm dryness, you accept without objection. The comforting scent of his cologne tickles your nose and you fit the urge to press into the collar for more. Instead you pull it tighter around your frame and watch the storm rage on.

“My place is on the next block.” Wonwoo says. “You can wait there until the rain stops.”

This time when you grab his hand, Wonwoo follows.

What Seungcheol said, what he implied, boiled Wonwoo’s blood. It wasn’t his business. It wasn’t anyone’s business. Maybe Wonwoo was jealous of what Seungcheol said, the power he still clearly had on you.

He hated that after you walked away Seungcheol’s eyes followed you down the hallway; the cocky expression on his face say ‘I won’ like you were a pawn in some fucked up game. In a way, Seungcheol had won. You scurried away like like being around Wonwoo was some sort of crime, leaving him to face the older man.

Wonwoo hadn’t take the bait. He was more concerned about where you’d end up in such a frazzled state that he only hesitated for a second rather than beating the crap out of your ex.

But right now, instead of dwelling on those unwanted feelings, Wonwoo focuses on not freezing to death in the storm. He sprints alongside you, kicking up more water that only serves to soak you both further. You take turns pulling each other under awnings and into doorways. A car passes by and sends a wave that splashes him in the face, knocking his glasses askew.

One glance at your face, shock pulling his features wide, sends you into a fit.

Hands on your knees, you keel over in laughter. Shoulders shaking, belly clenched cackling that confuses Wonwoo more than anything else tonight. More and more rain falls around you as you hunch over to catch your breath, only to choke on more shrill giggles.

Wonwoo starts shakes too. From the cold mostly. But then his head kicks back and he laughs at the ridiculousness with you. At the way you sway on unsteady feet, unable to breathe. At the utter insanity of the night you’ve shared together.

You fall into his arms, propping each other up the remaining distance to his apartment. Occasionally chirps break through; Wonwoo collapses, pulling you with him or vice versa teetering back and forth like a pair of drunk fools.

The metal of his front door is familiar once again but Wonwoo cages you against with new warmth in his chest. He could kiss you. He wants to kiss you, but he also want to stand here and laugh like kids sharing some silly secret for hours.

Settling for a quick peck against your chin, Wonwoo smiles again as your lips chase him. It squeezes something deep in his chest until it hurts. The corners of your own mouth strain along with his, warm pain because Wonwoo thinks he might like you.

More than a hookup. More than some casual fling that will dissolve in the next few months. Wonwoo likes you.

As he opens the door, ushering you inside and pulling off your soaked top, he really hopes you like him too.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi @sliceofwoozi @dokyeomkyeom @cheolism

Series Taglist: @aaniag @sdoulc @wonvsmile @jeonwonwooscutie @wonrangwoo @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @yogurttea @4cheezflatbred @fragmentof-indifference @p-dwiddle @icedearlgreytea @cottoncheol @hoshiskimchi @listxn @kwonshiho @kyeomofhearts @beananacake

#ksmutsociety #kvanity #svthub #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt fanfic #svt smut #🫡 highvern

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pit-and-the-pen · 3 days

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Hi! I am so grateful you came across my feed! You also have an incredibly extensive prompt list which is amazing btw. Could I please get a 104 and 75 with Azriel?? I have been wanting to see how they would do with a fairy, considering they are like the opposite of a bat. They’re light and airy, gorgeous wings. Illyrian wings are gorgeous too but in a dark way and I think the contrast is cool without having to make them an angel. Ya know? Thank you if you end up doing it!

Thank you so much and thank you for the request! My prompt list is left over from an event I did when I hit 100 followers and I just kept adding to it. I love the idea of the difference in their wings. Because the books have already explored a few different types of wings and I think fairy wings are absolutely gorgeous.

The reader is half High Fae, half fairy.

Hope you like it! <3

Warning: Unwelcome touching (not by Azriel), Smut (18+), protective Az!!!!

WC: ~1.7k

Divider by @cafekitsune

My wings had always been something I was immensely proud of, sure they weren’t the stark white feathered covered ones from Day or the gorgeous bat-like wings from the Illyrains but you loved them. Translucent but pink iridescent, the membrane golden in color. Compared to my stature, short by fae standards, they easily were half of my height.

When I moved from the Spring Court to Night, I remember feeling slightly self-conscious about them. Before the mating bond had snapped, Azriel had spent many nights reassuring me how beautiful he thought they were. How they made me special. I would sniffle into his neck, “But they let everyone know I’m only half High Fae.” He would hold my head in his hands and try not to laugh at the absurd concern. “So is Rhys, so is Cassian. Most High Fae are. That’s not a bad thing.” Light kisses were pressed to my face, “If anything it makes you more special. Something no other High Fae has.” His words calmed my raging mind. Once the mating bond had snapped, he really began to worship them. He was the first person I had let touch them. The both of us learned they truly were as sensitive as his own. It became something he could tease me with, only in the privacy of our bedroom. One touch and I would melt into his touch.

Now, I stood in the middle of the throne room at Hewn City. Dress in midnight blue, the same exact shade as my mates siphons. The floor length gown is skin tight and the velvet was smooth under my fingers as I tried to smooth it out.

I fidgeted slightly out of nerves. I had refused the first time Rhys offered to glamour them away, they were too much a part of who I was for me to hide them even in this vile place. But I still felt very exposed around this many unfamiliar faces.

Azriel had stepped away to join the conversation Rhys was currently having with Keir. Placing a small kiss on my temple as he walked away, “Have fun, sweetheart.” I instantly started looking for Mor, desperate for some semblance of comfort.

I found her on the dance floor. I gave her a low bow, hand extended which she returned with a perfect curtsey. I took her hand and we began to weave through the other couples as we waltzed around the ballroom, her head thrown back with laughter.

A pair of hands on my hips swept me out of her grasp. I let out a startled cry, expecting to be met with my favorite pair of hazel eyes. The male that had grabbed me was certainly not Azriel nor anyone I noticed. I could smell the faerie wine on his breath as he spoke in my ear, “What pretty wings.” I thanked him, my voice getting stuck like gum in my throat. I tried to pull the unknown male's hands off of my hips, even to just push them up to my waist but he just dug his hands in tighter. I yelped at the pressure and he just gave me a cocky smirk.

“I know how sensitive Illyrian wings are, and given the shadowslingers scent all over you, I bet you do too,” He laughed at my shocked expression, “I wonder if these are just as sensitive.” By this time, we had stopped dancing. I stood frozen, bile turned my stomach as he reached a grimy hand up to stroke the edge of my wings. His rough touch made me chirp in pain, he had pitched the fragile membrane between his nails and dragged them down.

He went to repeat the motion again when I felt the heat of him disappear entirely. When I looked around for him, I saw large black wings in front of my face. The male that had been touching me was pinned to the dance floor. Azriel’s heavy boots, holding him there by his neck. The male was desperately clutching at his leg, trying to pull him off. Azriel scoffed.

“Doesn’t feel so good to have someone touch you when you don’t want them to?” He pressed down a little harder, the muscles twitching in his leg.

“Now, if you ever think about touching my mate, or anyone else, without their expressed interest,” His hand went to rest on truth-teller’s hilt. “You will find yourself without hands.” He lifted his leg off the male's neck and didn’t spare him a glance as he grabbed my hand and started leading me out of the ballroom.

People jumped out of our way and I didn’t even think of saying anything to him as I felt his fury down the bond. Not at me, never at me. But for not being there to stop the hands I could still feel on my wings. He pulled us into a room, no, a closet, and I could almost make out the shape of him from the light that snuck along the frame.

“Did he hurt you?” He asked sternly. Fae Lights flickered on, giving the room a soft glow. I shook my head and he let out a heavy exhale. He placed his forehead against mine and we just stood there as both of our breathing evened out

“Az, you didn’t have to do all of that.” I finally spoke blushing, the dim lights of the room doing nothing to protect me from his gaze.

“You don’t understand, I will do anything to protect you.” The solemnity of those words made my heart lurch and heat pool in my stomach.

“I don’t know whether to be scared or turned on.” His laugh echoed in his chest.

“Look at my dirty girl,” He started kissing down my neck, “Does seeing me defend you turn you on?” I whimpered when his tongue started following his kisses.

“I don’t know, you’re the one that dragged me into a literal closet.” He growled lightly.

“Be nice, sweet girl.” Chiding me, I felt desire and defiance flood my veins.

“Bite me.”

“With pleasure.” He all but purred in my ear and he was on me. His lips captured mine. Teeth captured my lower lip when I moaned into his mouth. His tongue explored my mouth, brushing against the roof of my mouth and my legs turned into jelly. He hiked my leg up to rest on his waist, using the hand on my back to stabilize me. Trailing up my leg with his free hand.

“Fuck” He groaned when he reached the center of my thighs. Blood flowed to my cheeks. I was soaked. He didn’t waste anymore time before he slipped my panties to the side. I cried out as deft fingers found my clit and started rubbing tight, fast circles.

My hands started to trail down to reach for his waistband but his shadows pinned my arms to my side.

“Let me make you feel good, my love.” I moaned at his words. My moans instantly broke into a scream as I felt two of his fingers plunge into me. He curled against the rough spot and I panted out his name.

“Az…Please, I need more.” I begged him. He just started to kiss my neck again, sucking what I knew would be angry bruises. His kisses started to trail lower, his shadows once again helping him as they slid the top of my dress down to expose my breasts. My hands went to his hair as he wrapped his lips around my nipple. Sucking the perfect amount of pressure, mixed with his fingers pistoning in and out of me. I felt myself fall apart under him. My climax racked through me hard, I sagged against his hand still on my back.

“There you go. Good girl.” He praised me. I expected his hand to pull away but he kept working me through waves of pleasure. I whined, “Too much. Az.” I panted out the words, chest quickly rising and falling as I tried to catch my breath.

“Can you give me one more?” His kisses started trailing lower and he unwrapped my leg from his waist. I was going to say something but it got lost on my tongue as he started to sink to his knees. He began to trail kisses up my leg as he went to throw my foot over his shoulder.

He placed one of my hands on his head, my fingers instantly grabbing his soft locks.

“Hold on princess.” Was the only warning I received before he dove in between my legs. I mewled at the pressure his lips sucked around my clit, still sensitive from my last orgasm. Broken versions of his name left my mouth and I tried to stop my hips from bucking. He used his free hand to guide my hips, letting me ride his face. It didn’t take long for him to have me at the edge. My eyes squeezed shut, white spotting the black behind my eyelids as he gave my clit a soft nip. That was enough to have my orgasm crashing over me. This time, my knees did buckle out from under me but Azriel’s hands were there instantly to hold me up.

I blinked up at him. He was the picture of male satisfaction as he took in my glassy eyes. I once again went to reach for his pants but he pushed my hands away with a chuckle.

“Later. I promise.” He said when I pouted at him. “Two isn’t enough for you, sweet girl?” I shook my head and he really laughed at that. He stood back up and smoothed out the lines in his suit. He helped me adjust my dress back into place. My hair was a lost cause, as well as my smudged makeup. He pressed a bruising kiss to my lips and when he pulled away he whispered in my ear

“Now we’re going to go back out there, covered in your scent and maybe that will remind people just exactly who they’re messing with from now on.”

#acomaf #acosf #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acowar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger smut #azriel spymaster #acotar smut #a court of thorns and roses #requested #protective azriel

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smusherina · 8 hours

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yard work - chapter 13 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her. warning(s): a homophobic character saying some homophobic shit. listen, it's set in 2004 it was inevitable.

warning(s): derogatory slurs! several of them!

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10 / chapter 11 / chapter 12

It was Friday. The last day of school, the night of the talent show, and just a few days before Christmas. They'd be passing out the candy cane-grams. There'd be some assembly, probably.

Your leg jittered restlessly while you tried to focus on your bio paper. What kind of sadistic fuck assigned an essay on the last day before break? The biology teacher, apparently. He had a superiority complex, you were sure. Allergic to happiness.

Your mind kept drifting back to the photo album. Surely, Regina had it. You'd put it in her locker on Wednesday, so she'd have found it first thing Thursday morning. You hadn't dared to take a peek in her locker, afraid Gretchen would sniff you out again.

Something had clearly gone down between them. Gretchen didn't sit with them at lunch, instead opting for her boyfriend's clique. She didn't seem to fit in too well and Jason didn't seem too pleased to have her there. Karen and Regina sat by themselves, conversing casually.

Cady had been banished somewhere. You'd heard talk Aaron had dumped her. You knew Janis and Damien weren't talking to her after she turned her back on them. Since the whole Kälteen bar shebang and the subsequent smear campaign Regina had doled out, she hadn't been exactly welcome at any table. From what you understood, Gretchen and Cady were on speaking terms, but Karen and Gretchen weren't, but Cady and Karen were. It was all terribly confusing.

You had a table for yourself. Some of your old friends crowded the ones nearby, quite pointedly not sitting with you. You were no longer cool, it seemed. Easier to focus on your paper, you told yourself. The cafeteria was serving chilli today. The slop was slightly too watery and the meat was a mystery, but it'd do. You'd run out of food at home. You'd wanted a goddamn Christmas dinner and a good slab of ham got pricy. Couldn't rely on Mrs George for a feast this time around.

"Hey," Someone called near you. You looked up, surprised somebody was talking to you. A boy, more specifically a jock judging by the varsity jacket. "You good?"

"What?" Your brows furrowed. "Yeah?"

He smiled smarmily. "Cool."

And he walked away. You kept looking as he went, staring after his back. His buddies were looking your way, the same kinds of grins on their faces. That was odd. Didn't bode well.

It didn't take long for you to find out why. The period following lunch was when Damien would be visiting classrooms as Santa Claus, handing out candy canes.

He walked right up to you with a grin hidden under the fake Santa beard, wiggling his eyebrows all the while.

"The whole bag..." He drawled. "Impressive."

Confused, you peered into the sack. A couple dozen candy canes filled it, apparently all for you. You picked one out, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as well as the snickering of the boys in the back rows.

Dyke. The message was just one word. It was clearly assigned to you, your whole name displayed proudly. Your body went numb, hands holding the candy limply. There was no signature to show who they were from. People were staring at you. Damien had lingered awhile to see what'd been written to you. The grin behind his beard had turned into a shocked scowl.

"What... What do they say?" Cady, of all people, the nerve of her, asked. She was seated a few rows from you.

"Alright, Mr Leigh, thanks for-" Ms Norbury tried to intervene.

"Dyke." You read out loud. Then you pulled out another. "Lesbo." And another. "Carpet muncher." The boys had trouble holding in their laughs. Another. "Queer." There were others you didn't deign to read out loud. Freak. Pervert. Degenerate. Homo.

If not for a few people finding all this amusing, it would've been dead silent in the classroom.

"These were supposed to be checked before handing out." Ms Norbury strode up to you and promptly confiscated the candies. Her face was set, expression severe, as she regarded Damien sternly.

"I- that wasn't my job. I don't know how, how they would've..." You watched Damien try to put it together.

"Well, is it really offensive if it's true?" Dylan, if you remembered correctly, piped up. He was a sporty guy, decently popular but nothing special. Now, though, he might as well have been an A-lister with how utterly low you'd plummeted.

Murmurs spread out around you. Damien and Ms Norbury retreated to a corner of the classroom to figure out how in the hell this had happened. People were looking at you. Your skin was crawling. It couldn't be Janis who told. She was in the same boat as you and she didn't have the power to do something like this. To make the committee ignore hateful messages meant some strings had been pulled. The only other person that knew, that could realistically do this, was Regina.

You bit your lip, closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Okay. You got the message. The album had been too much. This was a sign to stay away, to forget all the sentimentalities you'd had.

"Hey, calm down now, we'll figure this out- hey!" You didn't pause to listen to Ms Norbury when you booked it out of the stifling classroom. You couldn't bear to be there any longer.

You hid in the bathroom. Both hands held against your mouth so you wouldn't make a noise, you cried long and hard. Your breathing was choppy and laboured, and in no time at all your nose was blocked off entirely. Your eyes stung and your vision blurred.

The bell rang and pretty soon people came into the bathroom. You refused to get out, pretending to take the longest shit ever. It didn't take very long for the people coming in to discuss what had gone down in one of the junior calc classes.

It spread like wildfire. You were pretty sure the boys had nicked some of the candy canes from Ms Norbury since you could hear people reading the notes out loud, the rustling of the plastic covering.

"Who even is that?"

"Who cares? A total freak is what she is. Oh my gosh, Steph, do you think..."

"What?"

"Do you think she used the girls' bathroom? She's probably spread her diseases all over the seats! We're all gonna have gonorrhoea!"

You wanted to sink into the ground and never see daylight again. By the time the bell rang again, signalling the start of the next period, the rumours had inflated and grown disproportionately in severity.

Apparently, you were riddled with sexually transmitted diseases, preyed on freshmen and sold them hard drugs, behaved creepily in locker rooms, and had had a stint with Cady Heron while she was still with Aaron Samuels. You guessed that last one had to do with the time you'd dragged her into the janitor's closet to yell at her about the Kälteen bars.

In short, you were fucked. Your life was fucked. You'd hoped, so hoped, that even if you wouldn't get everything you wanted, you'd get some. You wouldn't get a high school girlfriend, wouldn't have slumber parties, wouldn't be normal. You wouldn't be Regina's friend. Fine. At least you could've had a quiet life, gone to community college and worked at the shop, had some buddies, and maybe lost your virginity one day. Not even that now. Not even a little bit of that. Your future in this town was just no longer there. You had nothing. You were nothing.

You skulked out of the bathroom once you were sure there'd be nobody in the halls. You got into your car and drove home. Just as you'd slumped down onto the couch, the house phone rang. Groaning, you went to answer. If it was your dad, missing it would mean there'd be hell to pay.

"Hello?" Your voice was croaky. It hurt to talk.

"Hi, sweetie! You don't sound too good." Mrs George's chirp greeted you. "I assume you had to leave school 'cause of that. I just happened to see you drive by. Rick got called to work last minute and Kylie's got tutoring till late. Come keep me company?"

"I'm not feeling too well, I'm sorry..." You said, holding the phone to your ear while your other arm wrapped around your body. You tried to breathe deep and not burst out crying, again. Your eyes felt swollen shut.

"Oh, I'll come by with some soup, then," She sounded so genuinely concerned.

You bit your lip. Tummy rumbling in its emptiness, you decided now would be as good of a time as any to bite the bullet.

"Actually, uh, if it's not too much to ask, and um- I-" You took in a shuddering breath. "You don't have to say yes, it's totally okay and I'm sorry if this is, like, too much-"

"Sweetpea, just ask." She chuckled.

"I don't have any food. Or, like, I have ingredients for Christmas 'cause I wanted to make dinner for myself, but I guess I forgot I have to eat before then too?" You tried to laugh, but the sound was strained. "Um, could you take me to the soup kitchen downtown?"

You could've driven yourself. You could've, in that you were capable of driving yourself, but with how your vision was impaired, how your body ached with loneliness, and how you weren't sure you wouldn't just impulsively drive into oncoming traffic, you doubted you would've survived the trip.

"No." She said bluntly. You flinched, feeling the refusal like a knife to the gut. "No, absolutely not. We are going grocery shopping and getting you food to last the rest of the damn year. I'm picking you up."

"Mrs George, I don't have money-"

"You shouldn't be spending your hard-earned money like that. Doesn't your dad send you enough to cover utilities?"

"He sends me grocery money. I gotta pay for gas and stuff on my own."

Mrs George's resounding silence spoke volumes of her opinion on that. "I'm coming to get you. I'm buying you groceries and then we're gonna meal prep. Okay?"

"Okay."

When Mrs George saw you, her determined attitude shifted to that of maternal worry. You fought hard not to break down, though all you really wanted to do was curl into her and cry your little heart out.

She drove you to Whole Foods, a place way out of your budget. But she insisted, so there was little you could do. She took you from aisle to aisle, prattling on and on, chatting about this and that. You listened mostly silently, humming here and there.

She picked out a lot of canned stuff, like beans and tomato purée. All that stuff was made to last forever, so you wouldn't always have to buy fresh ingredients. She bought all your favourite snacks, which she somehow remembered. When you commented on that, she just pointed at her temple with a knowing grin. Mothers never forget, she'd said.

Once you were all done, the cart was quite literally overflowing. The total nearly made your stomach drop out of your ass. Mrs Geoge simply flashed her black card and, without even a wince, paid the price. The receipt was, like, three feet long.

Carrying it all to her car was a daunting task, but a worker did come to help you. A young man, probably home from college, was all too eager to carry the bags for Mrs George.

The way he was blushing all the way up to his ears, the way she was amused by him but not receptive, made you think about what Regina had said months ago. You'd been on your way to her nail appointment and she'd gone on a tangent about how women died at menopause.

Mrs George was thriving. She was above it all. Her worth, or mortality, wasn't determined by the men around her. She'd been cheated on, continuously neglected by her husband, and put down by her teenage daughter, and still, she was beautiful. She existed independently.

In short, you were right and Regina was wrong. You saw things how they really were. She saw things tilted to the left, through a warped lens. The confirming of this brought you no comfort, she'd already ruined you and there was no redeeming herself after this, at least not for you.

"Phew, what a trip, right?" She nudged you with her elbow as she buckled her seatbelt.

You nodded along, voice still weak. You buckled in as well.

"I'll pick you up for the talent show." She said as she turned away from the parking lot. "Oooh, we should have a night in. Order some pizzas and slob around the couch. How's that sound?"

"I don't think I should go to the talent show."

"Oh, why's that?"

"Just... Something happened at school. I don't wanna go."

Mrs George frowned and glanced at you. "Honey, you know you can tell me anything. I still think you should come."

"Everybody hates me." You faced the window and crossed your arms. Very mature.

"I'm sure that's not true." She sighed. "I'm not supposed to tell you, but Regina's got something prepared for you. I think you should go see her at least."

Your face twisted in anger. "Something prepared for me- like she prepared something for me today? I don't fucking think so."

"Language." She said and you grumbled. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." You rubbed your hands down your jeans. "It's not gonna be good. She's gonna humiliate me."

"It's supposed to be a surprise, but I can guarantee that she's not going to humiliate you."

"What do you know?" You turned to her with narrowed eyes.

"I've been hearing her practice, is all." She responded, tone much too light.

You studied her face carefully. "Fine."

She smiled, seemingly relieved. Then, as if to cut the tension in the car, said:

"Oh, and by the way, I'm filing for divorce." With a giddy smile on her face, she blurted it out. You just stared for a while, almost suffering whiplash from the sudden change in topic.

"Uh... Finally." You laughed a little as you said that.

"Yeah!" She laughed with you. "It's been a long time coming. I just needed to sort some things out. Emotionally and financially. I had to get rid of some investments so I wouldn't have to pay alimony."

Your jaw dropped. The Georges were, like, filthy rich. Rich beyond reason, excess income to a ridiculous degree. You'd always assumed it was Mr George's money. How archaic of you.

"I... I kinda wished you'd done it sooner." You looked forward again. She was driving carefully since the snow made the roads prone to ice.

"Me too. The girls... They... I thought that having two parents would be the most stable, safe environment for them. I was wrong."

"Yeah." You swallowed. "Um. Since we're, like, just saying things. I'm, by the way, gay. Like, a lesbian."

"That's wonderful, honey!"

"Yeah." You couldn't say you agreed.

"Should we go get you a haircut?"

"I don't need to look any more butch than I do."

"I don't know, I think you'd look dashing." She feigned light-hearted. "Regina might like it."

"Mrs George!"

Notes: More drama! Yay! Do y'all think Regina did it?

Taglist posted separately. Please comment on the taglist post to be added on there :)

#mean girls #mean girls 2004 #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #mean girls x reader #lesbian regina george #wlw

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shadowdaddies · 2 days

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Hello girly, there is so little fics about Tarquin, so can I please request a Tarquin x mate!reader. Where she is a quiet and kind female, it would be cool if she was a "lesser fae" (like she has a tail or horns). She loves him and doesnt really want a role in court, she just wants to be there for him. Maybe the high lords dont know much about her, and there is a High Lords meeting and she randomly appears (maybe pregnant) and just some fluff, and Mor, Feyra and Viv being happy because there is another female to be frainds with

ahh I love this, there's definitely not enough fics for Prythian's Most Eligible Bachelor™. Thank you for the request!

Less is More

Tarquin x Reader

warnings: this does get a little steamy at the end

Taking practiced, steady breaths, you forced your pounding heart to slow and plastered on a confident smirk as you took long strides through the open doors.

Your hand was slick with sweat against Tarquin’s, your mate giving a reassuring squeeze while he guided you to walk slightly in front of him. Were you a weaker faun, you would have been smothered by the table’s gazes burning into you, but you were not weaker. You were a “lesser faerie” - or so that was your title given from the old High Fae - but you were High Lady of the Summer Court, and remembering that put the strength in your spine you needed as you took your seat.

Tarquin took his place next to you, turquoise eyes swimming with pride as he drank in the attention from the room. He feigned nonchalance, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before resting your hand atop his against the table. “Ah yes,” he laughed softly, raising your joined hands in display for the group of High Lords and Ladies. “Allow me to introduce my mate, the High Lady of the Summer Court.”

You smiled, unable to control the blush that bloomed upon your cheeks as Feyre gave you a polite smile and nod, Rhysand and Kallias both granting quiet congratulations.

It was Viviane who smirked, reclining back in her seat as she loosed a dramatic sigh. As the second High Lady in Prythian’s history after Feyre along with what you’d heard of her, you liked the female already. “It’s nice to have another High Lady at the table. Perhaps soon enough, each court will recognize their females as equals.”

Her icy blue eyes sparkled with amusement at the sight of flames on Beron’s fingertips, the High Lord of Autumn’s focus having never moved from the horns on your head, perfectly framed by your royal crown.

Conversely, Tarquin’s own stare never faltered, watching Beron with a predator’s gaze. He knew better than to bait the other High Lords - Tarquin found it better to rule as himself, a kind yet firm leader - and you admired him impossibly more for it.

“Welcome, High Lady. Let us begin,” Helion purred, his smooth voice emanating a deep power that seemed to bring Beron out of whatever anger-filled haze he was lost in. Murky brown eyes whipped to Helion, who returned the acknowledgment with a slight arch of his brow.

“Beron, if there is something you wish to lead the meeting with, please do so,” Helion drawled, his demeanor remaining cool despite noticeable efforts not to look past Beron to where the Lady of Autumn was seated. You made a mental note to ask Tarquin about that later, focused on keeping your chin high for the moment.

Beron’s eyes flicked between you and Feyre - the lesser fae and former human at the table - but wisely he remained silent. “Continue, Helion,” Beron ground out, and you had to bite back your smile at Rhys and Feyre’s wicked grins, darkness recoiling from where it had been ready to strike.

You sat through the meeting, listening to male egos battle each other over petty squabbles, only interjecting as you and Tarquin found necessary. It was easy to find where you would fit in with this group. While it was clear Autumn would never accept you and Dawn was ambivalent, you felt a fast kinship towards Night and Winter - unsurprising, given those courts were who your wise mate was most drawn to.

As soon as the meeting ended, Beron quickly cleared, leaving the Lady of Autumn to scurry behind him. Your heart hurt for her, her eyes tired as her eldest son seemed to be the only person who paid her any mind. The other High Lords dispersed, only Night and Winter lingering behind with Tarquin and you.

“Finally, that’s over!” the Night Court’s emissary, Morrigan, practically squealed as she maneuvered around the table to you, enveloping you in a warm hug.

A surprised laugh escaped you at her kind and gentle touch, the dichotomous nature of the Night Court’s leaders jarring despite Tarquin’s advance notice.

“So, would you tell us the story of how you and Tarquin met?” Viviane pressed, her arm looping through yours as Feyre fell into step alongside the both of you. You were surprised at how easy it was to talk with them - both High Fae from such different backgrounds - but you felt beyond blessed by the Mother for not only allies, but new friends through your role.

The crescent moon was high in the sky, stars twinkling impossibly bright when you felt the heavy need for sleep weigh upon you. You hadn’t even noticed your eyes struggling to stay open until familiar hands draped a jacket over your shoulders, and you stirred to see Feyre, Morrigan, and Viviane all slowly rising.

Bidding each of them a good night, you leaned into Tarquin’s warmth, savoring the calming scent of coconut and sea spray while he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your hair. He led your to the shared room in which you were staying, closing the door gently behind before peeling his jacket from your shoulders.

A whine escaped you at the sudden cold, and your mate chuckled, arms wrapping around you fully this time. Enveloped in his warmth, you settled against Tarquin’s chest and swayed to a silent melody, the rhythm of the ocean.

“You were incredible tonight,” he murmured against your neck. “You are always incredible, and yet you always blow me away with your grace and wisdom.”

He pressed another lingering kiss to your shoulder, working his way up to hover near your ear. Teeth tugged lightly on the skin of your earlobe, your mind growing dizzy with the sensations when he whispered, “I am so thankful, and honored, to have you as my mate and High Lady.”

Feeling the weight of the crown against your horns, you couldn’t help but tease him. “Horns and all?” but Tarquin’s eyes grew darker, turquoise eyes like a brewing sea storm.

He pulled your head to his toned chest, tongue flicking out against one of those sensitive horns. You mewled at the motion, the scent of the room changing with the fervor of arousal growing.

“Especially these,” he breathed, hoisting your legs around his hips before turning to toss you onto the mattress. You bounced against the silken sheets with a giggle, watching your mate lift his shirt over his head while his gaze raked unabashedly over every inch of your figure.

“Every part of you is perfect,” Tarquin whispered, white hair aglow in the light from the window, eyes shining with mischief as his body slid sinfully against your own.

“I love you,” you whispered, legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him in for a passionate kiss. He once again kissed his way down your body, this time peeling away the fabric of your dress as he did so. Your consciousness drifted away at his touch, carnal feeling and deep emotion invading your senses while the only thought you could manage was that “forever is not long enough with this male.”

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ros3ybabe · 22 hours

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🎀 Overcoming Gym Anxiety 🎀

I got asked about this through my inbox by @sxfiaaa so I figured I'd make a post about it and hopefully help a lot of people with something I too used to struggle with!

🩷 Wear Comfortable Clothing

We've all seen the beautifully dressed people on Tiktok, Pinterest, etc in their matching sets and cutr gym clothes. If that is what you're comfortable wearing to the gym, do it! Wear it, and be confident in it! If you're more of a loose clothes/sweatpants/baggy shirts or hoodie type of person, do that! Wear whatever you feel comfortable (and cute) in, because the better you feel going into a workout, the more you'll be able to focus on your workout!

🩷 Know What You're Doing When You're There

This just means go in with a plan! You don't need to know how to use every single machine or do every single exercise known to mankind. Scroll tiktok or pinterest for some workout videos for inspo (please make sure the video you get inspo from shows proper form!!! Proper form is so important for being safe!!)

If you know you can go certain days of the week, make a workout split to follow that! EX 3 day split: Monday - Leg Day, Wednesday - Upper Body, Friday - Full Body

OR, if you just want to go do cardio, then plan for that! I didn't know how to use a treadmill, but I went to the gym at my university and stood on the treadmill til I figured it out!

🩷 Remember This

No one is going to look at you and judge you or think mean things about you. Everyone is at the gym for the purpose of bettering themselves and their health. If you find people giving you occasional glances, maybe it's because they don't recognize you from the gym (or they do recognize you from somewhere else), maybe their admiring your outfit/physique, maybe their avid gym goers who are watching your form and technique, or maybe their just zoned out and you happen to be in the line of sight.

When I'm at the gym, I look around between sets and take note on other people's form to see if maybe I should tweak the way I do a certain exercise, or I'm admiring another girls outfit or physique because there are a lot of beautiful women at the gym. Sometimes, I'm thinking "dang, they're lifting so heavy, how cool!" or "wow, their form is amazing, they really know what they're doing." I've never thought bad abut someone at the gym because why would I?

🩷 Don't Be Scared To Ask For Help

if there an exercise you really want to do but don't know how and videos aren't helping, ask someone around you who isn't in the middle of an exercise and looks like they may know. The guy at the gym doing upper body who has good biceps may be the right guy to ask about upper body exercises. The girl doing impeccable Bulgarian Split Squats might be the right person to ask for help with those types of movements. Just make sure they aren't in the middle of an exercise, because that can cause some unwanted issues, especially if they're mid-rep, that can turn into a safety issue.

People love to help people, especially at the gym. If you politely ask for help from someone, they may take it as a compliment that you think they look like a person who is knowledgeable on working out. I'd definitely be so flattered if someone asked me for help or advice at the gym!

🩷 Random Advice:

remember your why! no matter how anxious you are, remember why you're going! what are your goals, what do you hope to achieve, how proud will you feel after?

start small if you have to! if it's really anxiety inducing to start working out, make it your first goal to at least step into the gym. then 2nd goal, walk around the gym to get a feel for it. 3rd goal, maybe 5-10 minutes on a treadmill, and then keep building momentum each day.

be careful with the hours you go! there is such a thing as peak gym hours. It varies by place, but a lot of gyms are busy between 2pm and 6pm I've seen. I personally love going to the gym super early morning, it's a little less busy and I'm a morning person so it works out for me! If you can only go during peak hours, bring a friend or keep your headphones on and do your thing!

Bring a friend! If you're really anxious about going alone, bring a friend with similar goals! Sometimes it can be a lot nicer to learn something new with a friend then try and learn it on your own! Plus, it's like extra motivation and accountability!

Have a motivating pre workout routine. Play some music while getting ready, prep your bags, prep your playlist, get your workout itself figured out, and just keep yourself excited to go! I love blasting high-energy music that makes me feel like a baddie on my way to the gym.

I hope this was helpful!! My thoughts were everywhere but I tried to convey them as best as possible! I'm happy to answer any questions or offer more tips and advice, don't feel scared to ask! <3

til next time lovelies 🩷

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bumblekastclips · 2 days

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KYLE CROUSE: Alright, here’s one from HappyTimes. “Everyone is sent a notice to come help take out Eggman's new base immediately. It's a floating fortress out above the middle of the ocean, so Shadow has to take a 4 hour plane ride to get to it. And because of how everyone's schedule happened to line up and where they were all located, he coincidentally has to share it with just Tangle for the whole trip, which he only finds out after the plane had started taking off. How does the flight go between the two? P.S. He has no chaos emerald so he can't warp away. He's stuck on the plane with her.”

youtube

IAN FLYNN: So Shadow is obviously and immediately nettled, and Tangle’s like [interrupting] “Ah tut tut tut tut tut! Look! Look, I know about ‘ya! I know you like your boundaries,” —she says as she makes, like, a force-field gesture with her hands— “I get it! My bestie’s just like it. So, I got my earphones, we got our in-flight movie, I’m just gonna watch that and not say another word to ‘ya! We cool?” And he just kind of blinks, and then nods, like yeah, okay, he can work with that. And so she plugs in her headphones and she queues up her movie… well, she tries to, the touch screen’s kind of hard to work with, and the glare makes it hard to see. She pokes a little harder, maybe she pokes it with her tail— [as Tangle] “Ope, sorry! You’re kinda tangled around—” [escalating] Don’t worry, she’ll completely untangle it, she’s got lots of experience! This tail gets all over the place! KYLE: [chuckling quietly] IAN: [as Tangle] “Ah, anyway, do you mind if the armrest is up? No? Okay, cool! I’m gonna— finally!” Alright, there’s the movie, and oh, she loves the musical number in this part and she’s gonna sing! Along! Out loud! KYLE: [laughing] IAN: And Shadow is just sitting there… KYLE: Seething. IAN: Ever-so-slowly grinding his teeth to dust. KYLE: Figured he already did that, considering how many coffee beans he eats. IAN: [chuckles] KYLE: But sure. I do enjoy that they are seated side-by-side, and I’m assuming they’re the only two on the plane. [laughing] IAN: Yes, all the other seats are occupied, somehow or another… KYLE: Not with people, just with stuff. [laughing] It’s just them. Just those two, they’re the only— and they’re— and they sit next to each other! IAN: Plane lands, and Sonic goes, “Great! You made it. Shadow, I thought you were coming with somebody else?” [as Shadow] “I did.” [as Sonic] “Where- where’s Tangle?” [as Shadow] “Overhead compartment.” KYLE: [laughing] Oh no! IAN: Sonic pops the latch and Tangle kinda comes out like a can full of snakes and she kind of stretches and goes, “You know what? Honestly, the leg room in there was a lot better than the seat, not gonna lie.” KYLE: [cackles] Oh, but she has a problem with small spaces! She didn’t freak out? I mean… IAN: [laughing] Look, you want continuity in my joke answer, man? KYLE: Yes! IAN: I got nothin’. KYLE: [laughs, then as Tangle] “No! No! No!” Shadow would stuff her in there anyway. [sigh] No, no… maybe it’s Archie Shadow, not current-canon Shadow. That would be better. IAN: [chuckles] KYLE: That would go better. IAN: He would just be sitting there with the Shadow face the entire flight. That’d be hilarious. KYLE: [chuckling] Which Shadow face? IAN: The Shadow face. KYLE: [chuckles] Okay. That one. Yee… I love it.

—– TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Please remember that nothing that is said on BumbleKast is canon! It’s just some guys and their opinions occasionally spitballing ideas. If you don’t like an answer, you don’t have to take it as Word of God or anything like that. It’s all just for fun!

#bumblekast #ian flynn #kyle crouse #sonic the hedgehog #idw sonic #archie sonic #shadow the hedgehog #tangle the lemur #Sometimes I just hear an answer and I just know it has to be written out. This was one of those times.#Youtube

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chai-berries · 3 days

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all my friends support palestine and know neil druckmann is a zionist

A Kiss for The Ping Pong Champ (#22)

when manny said he was planning on throwing a party that night, he didn’t tell abby that it was gonna be at their apartment. so when she comes back home, covered in mud and twigs from a dumbass mission she willingly signed up for, it’s to a party in full swing and spilling out of their front door. the mission was a basic one and abby got pretty filthy but she’d take just about anything that means exploring zombie filled treasure troves. her side of the room is steadily filling with books and pins and little trinkets. she had her current “best find yet” in the breast pocket of her jacket.

abby first hears the party from the stairwell and she practically stalks towards the front door, tired and irritated but not surprised. manny and abby have both hosted parties in their penthouse apartment plenty of times in varying amounts of success. it’s just abby forgot about it and had made plans with you and now they’re fucked.

she smiles politely at everyone she walks to her bunk. grabbing her shower caddy and some clean clothes, she sneaks back out and into the communal showers.

twenty minutes later, abby is clean and back in the packed apartment. manny greets her with a wave and she responds with a prominent middle finger and a sarcastic smile. he cackles, startling the girls beside him.

she gets herself a drink and finds some guys from the gym that she sometimes trains with. one of them, joe, was defending his poorly made joke to abby and the others when abby sees movement from the corner of her eye.

“uh excuse me please?” abby fully turns to see you scooting awkwardly past a group of people. you meet her eye and grin, shouldering past the last person and are soon within her reach.

“hi,” you breathe

“hi,” abby echos.

you look around the party. “i didn’t know there was gonna be this many people when you asked me to come over. i thought it was just gonna be us —”

abby itches to touch you. the itch wins and she gently puts a hand on your shoulder. you stop talking.

“i honestly had no idea about the party. i’m just as surprised as you. do you wanna leave?” abby looks up to see where manny is.

“no,” you say a little too quickly. “i’m cool with staying if you are.”

you share a smile.

“ok then let’s get you a drink. nothing spectacular but they are interesting.” she leads you over to a table where people are mixing up drinks. she goes past all the mixes and shitty liquor and pulls a small bottle out of a box.

“here,” she hands it to you. “it’s wine. from 1993. you said wine ages well and you’ve been wanting some since last christmas sooo” she trails off and suddenly feels like she shouldn’t know that you like wineries and napa valley history and god she’s so weird but you’re smiling at her so that has to be good sign, right?

“abby, this is amazing! thank you,” is all you say but the relief that fills abby is embarrassing. this time it’s your turn to lead you both to abby’s little corner in the front of the penthouse. everyone is mostly in the upper stairs area, besides nora and leah who wave at you both as you pass by. you sit down on abby’s bed and she follows. a silence passes between you as the party becomes ambience. abby remembers her surprise and reaches into her jacket’s breast pocket. she closes her fist around the item and scoots back so her back leans against the wall and her feet hang off the bed. you follow her movement with your eyes. she makes eye contact with you for a brief second. you note that she looks bashful.

“i, uh, found you something while i was out.”

“yeah?” you turn to sit sideways on her bed, one leg tucked under you.

“you gotta close your eyes first.” you close your eyes and hold your hand out, a big smile on your face. what you can’t see is that abby is easily caught off by your smile and almost misses dropping the mysterious item into your hand.

“okay you can open your eyes now.” you do so.

in your hand is a necklace. a long gold chain and a pendant. you untangle the necklace and hold it up. the pendent is the letter of your first name. the necklace as a whole is in pretty good condition with only a little chip on the pendent.

“oh abby,” you look up and see the girl blushing. “this is so sweet! i love it. thank you.” regardless of how uncomfortable it will be, you lean forward to hug abby tightly. “thank you again, abs” you whisper and kiss her cheek before pulling away.

you quickly undo the clasps and ask abby to put the necklace on you. after a failed attempt of putting it on while sitting, you both stand up. you turn your back to abby and she very ceremoniously places the necklace on you. once it’s clasped you turn back around to face her. you reach up to adjust the pendant so it sits in the middle, by your sternum.

when you look up, abby is already smiling at you. she opens her mouth to say something when someone calls her name.

she rolls her eyes and answers with a reluctant “yeah?”

it’s joe again. “it’s raheem’s birthday and he wants a beer pong rematch.”

“right now? i’m busy.” she glances at you.

“yes now. he heads out on that week long mission tomorrow morning.”

abby closes her eyes and lets her head fall back. it’s raining outside and she can hear the rain above her head. she exhales heavily through her mouth. she looks back at you and you have the most understanding eyes in the world and abby both hates and loves it.

“okay,” she says to joe. “one game and he gets the bad beer and im taking that nice stuff.”

joe holds his hands up. “righto, captain.”

abby rolls her eyes again. she looks back at you. “this okay? just one game and they’ll leave me alone.”

you roll your own eyes but there’s a smile on your lips.

“abs it’s fine. i promise. now go, because i think joe is coming back over here.”

and sure enough he was. abby briefly squeezed your hand before heading up the stairs. you walk over to nora and leah, who have been joined by a happy drunk whitney. they were getting up to join you to watch abby kick reheem’s ass, all of you making up abby’s cheer squad.

the cups and sacred ping pong balls are already set up. you make sure to stand where abby can see you and you can see her. and she makes sure to wink at you before shooting the first ping pong of the game right into one of raheem’s cups. the boy groans loudly and his friends cheer on abby. abby holds her hands up, shrugging off the attention. you bite your lip to stop smiling at her antics. your eyes catch movement as she pulls up the sleeves of her henley to her forearms, making her arms look even bigger. pulling the sleeves up also shows off her bracelet collection. including one that you made her months ago. she’s never taken it off so it’s worn and faded. but the sentiment is still there and it makes your heart ache with love for her.

while raheem takes his time aiming, you continue watching abby as she stretches her arms over her head and twists her upper body back and forth. you suddenly remember that abby just came back home from an overnight mission and there were currently over twenty, mostly drunk, people shoved into her apartment. she’s probably exhausted but putting on a good show for these people that look up to her. you make a mental note to ask her if she wants to come back to your place until the party’s over. your room is smaller but ten times quieter. you continue to zone out a bit, watching abby while thinking about abby as the game continues in front of you.

unfortunately (but fortunately for you) everyone knew the end score pretty quickly. abby had four out of six cups left on her side while raheem had two left on his. the crowd was engaged in the action like it was a tennis match. manny had even moved to stand beside abby as her right hand man. your eyes stay locked on her.

it was raheem’s turn and everyone watches as his ball hits the rim of the cup but bounces away. the crowd groans for him. abby steps up and without even trying, sinks the ball into the cup closest to raheem. the crowd cheers. raheem goes again and makes it. abby downs the cup and wipes away the little bit that missed her mouth with the back of her hand. she picks up a ball and closes one eye to aim it perfectly before letting it go. the ball arches in the air and lands in its target.

the people cheering for abby lose their minds. manny starts to shake abby excitedly. joe and a few of the other boys from before surround her. you hear manny say something about getting abby “a drink fit for champions”. you watch abby smile and joke with her friend until the crowd by the alcohol table blocks her from you.

beside you, nora clears her throat. you stop searching for abby and look to nora.

she’s fighting off a smile.

your brows furrow in confusion. “what?”

nora shrugs. “i don’t know. i just wanna know when did you get thirsty? where did my innocent friend go?”

“what are you talking about?”

“c’mon. you are so obvious. you were practically undressing abby during the whole game. we are in public, girl. have some class,” nora laughs.

you look down. “i’m not undressing her with my eyes,” you mumble. nora scoffs

“i don’t know why you are so in denial. you have the girl,” nora’s eyes move over your shoulder. “and speak of the devil and she shall appear. hey abs! congrats on demolishing raheem! i just know he’s going to be sulking about this in the clinic for months.”

abby shrugs. “all in a day’s work.” she turns to you. “you okay?”

you smile at her. “yeah i’m fine. nora was just bullying me.” you pout. abby’s head swivels to nora who has the common sense to be already walking away with leah and whitney shuffling behind her. “it’s fine. it wasn’t serious.”

abby looks back towards you. “okay…do you wanna get outta here? i feel like if i stay, someone is gonna wanna challenge me again or something.”

“yeah! i was just gonna ask if you wanted to come to my place? ya know, until the party clears out.”

abby blushes. “yeah i’d love to. let me just grab my bag.” she moves to go down the stairs but stops at your hand grabbing her bicep.

“wait abby?”

she stops a step below you. “yeah?”

she is taller and generally bigger than you because of her muscles but having her be a step down makes it easier for you to cup her face and very gently press your lips to hers.

the gentle kiss is met with abby’s own passionate response. she reaches for your waist. your hands go from her face to her neck and then down to her shoulders.

you pull away first. “and that’s a kiss for the ping pong champion”

abby opens her eyes and hums in response. she squeezes your waist and let’s go, walking down the stairs to grab her bag. when she comes back she simply takes your hand in hers and interlaces your fingers.

just like the way she arrived, abby smiles politely at people who say hi but doesn’t stop walking until the sounds of the room fade away and she can only hear you and the sounds of both of your feet along the hallway.

#ITS FUCKING 2K WORDS ??? LMAOOO #if you are reading this — hi 🫵🧡🤍🩷#abby anderson x reader #abby brainrot era #mads’ headcanons #abby anderson x you #abby anderson fluff #the number game #number 22

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bibuddie · 18 hours

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okay i'll bit why exactly do we want tommy in more episodes? ....like are we not rooting for buddie, why do we want tommy here when if he sticks around the chances of us getting buddie are going to drop significantly, like we should want him gone by the end of the season. I don't want him sticking around because he's a threat to the story I've wanted the writers to do for the last 6 years. I guess I assumed with your URL that you're also rooting for Buddie but perhaps I was wrong and you're rooting for Bucktommy to be endgame which just absolutely not, sorry. Yeah 3 episodes vs 6 years, does not even match.

okay idk what’s in the air today but as my beloved @canonbibuck so eloquently put, “we want tommy in more episodes so he can stick his tongue into buck’s anus. hope this helps”

on a real, first of all, please remember this is all fiction. like, we’ve lost the plot so severely i think. second of all, i’d love to introduce you to this GROUNDBREAKING concept called ✨multishipping✨!! back in the days when one direction rpf was a bigger thing and even before that, everyone was shipped with EVERYONE. in fact, it was ENCOURAGED!! the more ships under your belt, the better!! now it’s much less endorsed and i honestly have no idea why!! THIRDLY like, in the loveliest kindest way possible, i have stuff going on outside of tumblr and like i genuinely don’t think its that deep?? i get wanting your ship to be endgame (i’m actually rooting for buddie endgame despite what you want to believe), but this website isn’t my entire life?? i’m in the middle of a biomedical science major, i’m spending my full summer doing some really cool research at a really prestigious university, i’m doing stuff i’m really proud of, and i’m so happy that there’s other things in my life apart from this website and this show. i love it, and i love the community on here for the most part, but i think it’d pay for all of us to remember it really isn’t That deep in the slighest. breathe, relax your shoulders, it’s fine. me enjoying bucktommy while it lasts and writing fic about them won’t kill you, i swear.

(and yeah, i want tommy to stick around. i’ve actually got reallt attached. his crinkly eyes and crooked smile have beguiled me. sue me.)

#bucktommy #anon #asks

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ghostgorlsworld · 3 days

Text

Johnny Boy (Part 7)

Werewolf! Johnny x reader

part one is here

Once upon a time, you would've done anything for John Mctavish. He had been your older brother's cool best friend, and you were always desperate for him to see you as more--until one fateful night that ends up with you pregnant and him...gone. Fast forward six years and you've made a good life for yourself with your daughter Emma, with Johnny none the wiser. Until he decides to knock on your door.

Notes--Johnny is showing his true colors so the story is definitely getting a little darker.

You woke up hungover and embarrassed.

You were old enough to know better and a mother for Christ’s sake–by all means too old to be making idiotic decisions that could shake the life you had spent over half a decade building. You could hardly remember what had led up to Johnny doing…the thing that he did, but you were sure you didn’t exactly put up a fight.

Tommy walked Emma back to your house shortly after seven, dressed for work. He pulled the makings of breakfast from the fridge, grumbling some nonsense about two full-grown wolf-soldiers eating him out of house and home. You were trying very hard not to do your walk of shame, refusing to look at the chair or the leftover pizza in the fridge. Emma, of course, was none the wiser, curling up in your lap to nuzzle at your face.

“Did you have fun?” You asked, inspecting her for signs staying up too late.

Emma nodded, beginning a long play-by-play of the previous night’s events, including a humorous addition of her forcing Simon to teach her card games. “We had ice cream after dinner,” she said, whispering it so Tommy wouldn’t hear. “Uncle Tom told me not to tell you.”

Emma couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. You laughed and tickled her sensitive feet.

You couldn’t believe you had been so weak to let Johnny back in again. You couldn’t trust him, no matter what he said about his reasons for disappearing, and adding sex to the equation could only make things even worse.

“Johnny was out late last night,” Tommy said casually, cracking an egg into a pan. “He left after Emma went to bed.”

You couldn’t help but glance at the chair, trying very hard not to remember Johnny’s voice, wrecked and commanding, or his hands, or his tongue-

“I had an early night,” you said. “Charlie called for a raincheck.”

“Mm,” Tom said. “Scrambled?” You nodded, not missing Emma’s curious look. She really was too smart for her own good.

The weekend passed uneventfully–you avoided Johnny by packing up Emma and spending a day in the city, finishing up your Christmas shopping in the shiny shops and taking Emma ice skating in the square. He called you once, but you quickly put Emma on the phone, your stomach aching just at the thought of talking to him.

Emma picked out a pair of red and white striped socks and a box of legos as a gift for her father. She was pleased with her choices, and you tried your very best to smile when she displayed them to you.

Johnny wasn’t even going to be around for Christmas, and that was something you needed to discuss with him. Your little girl couldn’t survive off of no letters or calls–after all, it nearly killed you.

Monday comes with the first real snowfall of the year. You dressed in warm layers, sweaters and soft scarves, Emma’s face pink under the winter jacket you had strapped her in.

Charlie was sitting by your desk at work, two cups of coffee in hand and your favorite pastry in front of your chair. He smiled as you unwound the scarf from your neck, looking appropriately guilty and embarrassed. “I wanted to apologize,” he said, passing you the coffee. “I…it was a dick move. I had a few already and confused the days–I er, I tried to call you in the morning when I had come to my senses but you didn’t answer.”

Honestly, you had forgotten about it completely. You raised a brow at the man. “I took Emma to the city for Christmas shopping. We were busy.” Charlie nodded. “Yeah, of course, it’s the holidays. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry, I feel like I’ve fucked things up.”

You searched around for anger, or even mild irritation, but it was gone, used up entirely by Johnny. “It’s alright, Charlie, thanks for the coffee.” Charlie smiled again, relieved. You took a seat at your desk and listened to him chatter about drama with Chris and Jan at the copying machine.

You watched his hands. They were good hands–man hands, if you will, pale hair on his knuckles and a silver ring on his thumb. Johnny’s hands were wide and thick with dark hair, his nail beds always worn raw from the shift from stubby human nails to sharp claws.

Why were you comparing? What was wrong with you?

Why couldn’t you just let sleeping dogs lie?

Charlie claimed your attention once more, following you to the carts of books that needed shelves. “I was wondering…I know I’ve acted like a right bastard, but I was thinking I could make it up to you. How does dinner tomorrow sound? I’ll make the food and supply the wine, you just bring yourself.”

You wanted to say no. That meant that you would have to see if Julienne would keep Emma for a few more hours, not to mention your attraction to Charlie had taken a nose-dive when he ditched you the first time. If only your body held all men accountable–your issue with Johnny would be solved overnight.

That was the thing that made you consider it. Johnny. He was your kryptonite, your achilles heel, and you needed to burn his touch off your skin.

“Alright,” you said. “If I can get a sitter for the bear.” “Deal,” Charlie said, grinning. He kissed your cheek gently, mouth warm and chapped.

Johnny texted the next morning, asking if he could take you and Emma out to lunch on your break. He offered to drop her off at Juliene’s house as well, saving you the walk.

You needed to rip the bandaid off. He wasn’t going to stay away forever, and it didn’t matter he had eaten you out while you were very sad and very drunk, you couldn’t keep him away from Emma.

“Em, do you want to see Johnny today?” You asked, hoping against hope she would shake her head.

Instead, your darling girl perked up, ears twitching as she nodded eagerly. The full moon was coming quickly, so her behavior was…off, her eyes growing brighter by the day. Johnny used to refuse to be around you on the week of the full moon. He disappeared from your house and would show back up a few days later, looking exhausted and on edge, twitching if you tried to touch him.

You sighed.

Where should we meet you?

Johnny’s reply was lightning quick. You still like Angelo’s?

Angelo’s was a sandwich shop you used to frequent with Johnny, you hadn’t been in ages. That’s fine.

Johnny texted back something enthusiastic and barely legible.

Julienne had agreed to watch Emma for a couple more hours without irritation, saying she could use the money for a fancy new garden gadget she had been eyeing. You planned on grabbing it for her for Christmas, a token of your appreciation for her help with Emma.

You were going to give Charlie one last chance, if this dinner didn’t pan out you would find some other patsy to take you out every other weekend.

Johnny was going to be gone soon, after all, and Emma is unpredictable with these things. She could take it as easily as she took the death of her grandfather, or it could be…catastrophic.

You eyed your phone, forcing yourself to do the hard thing that neither of you wanted to face.

I was hoping you would talk to Emma about you leaving soon.

There. You said it. You tossed your phone on the bed and finished getting dressed, herding Emma to school before you forced yourself to look at his response.

Of course, hen, we’ll talk about it.

Work went by quickly in your haze of anxiety. What would he say to Emma?

What would he say to you?

You didn’t expect him to be waiting at Emma’s school. He was leaning against his truck, all twinkly blue eyes and a sharp smile that reminded you that he left for you. Because he couldn’t control himself.

Johnny was trying to be good. You see it now, you remembered the way he used to follow you home after school, walking close behind you like he thought someone was going to steal you away. He wouldn’t share food with anyone, not even Tom, but if you asked he would always tear whatever it was in half and put it on your plate.

Johnny and Tom had been playing video games in the living room when you left for your first date. You were sixteen and he had just hit twenty one, and he had looked at poor Dan Hilton like he wanted to rip out his guts and serve them up with eggs.

You had chalked it up to brotherly feelings, or the simple fact that Johnny has never liked to share.

To see it for what it was felt…odd. You had heard about wolves claiming human spouses, putting a bite on their throat like a wedding band and never, ever letting go.

“Hey,” you said tiredly.

Johnny straightened–he wanted a hug, you could see it in the way his hands twitched. “I figured I would give the two of ye a ride, yeah? It’s fuckin’ freezin’ today.” “Alright,” you said, glancing at your phone. The bell should be ringing any minute, and Johnny’s attention would be on Emma and not you. His attention was dangerous, it made you stupid and reckless.

“I heard you’ve got a hot date tonight,” Johnny said, going straight for the jugular.

You stiffened. “That’s none of your business.” “Ach, lass, you wound me.”

“Johnny, the other night…it was a mistake. I was drunk and lonely and you were there.” You didn’t think it was possible to hurt Johnny, but you did. It flashed across his eyes, his jaw tightening into a straight line.

You felt your stomach twist–god you were handling this all wrong-

He took a step, tilting your chin up with the pad of his rough finger. He wanted you to look at him, to watch his pupils swallow up the bright blue of his eyes. “I’m not a good man, kitty. Hell, I’m not even a man, not really. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’ll repent every fuckin’ day for it, but if you let him touch you, I’ll gut him like a goddamn fish.” “How dare you-” you began, but Johnny gripped your chin then, pressing the tips of his claws into your skin lightly. “You want me,” Johnny said, his gaze hazy and wild as it dropped to your mouth. “Even now. I should bite you right here, make it real fucking simple for you.”

There it was–the wolf that he had hidden from you for so long, the killer wearing the skin of your brother’s best friend. You forced yourself to hold his stare, feeling the sharp prick of his claws on the delicate skin of your throat.

“I want a proper husband, John,” you said softly. “I want a real father for my child, someone who will be there for the birthdays and graduations and holidays. I want someone to sleep beside me every night, someone that doesn’t make me do this alone.”

You knew you were driving a knife right between his ribs–you knew how badly this would hurt him. Johnny had spent his childhood not being right for his mother, not being human enough, gentle enough.

His eyes were so bright and so lost.

“I’ve been alone for six years, John. I don’t ever want Emma to know what that feels like.”

Johnny was silent, his breath coming fast and rough. “I’ll never let another man have you,” he rasped. “You’re mine. Both of you.”

He pressed closer, nuzzling your jaw with a low growl. “I’ll be a good mate, hen, I suppose it’s only right that I prove myself before we have our next pup.”

“No!” You hissed, pushing him away. “Enough, Johnny. You’ll be gone soon and I’ll have to deal with the fallout as per fucking usual.”

Your words weren’t working–they were working him up instead, like Emma when she watched the neighbor’s squirrels chase each other in the trees. His heart thudded like a drum under your palm.

“You’re making a scene, kitty,” he said slyly, tilting his head like he wanted nothing more than to give chase. “Now hush, we’ll talk about this later. Emma shouldn’t see Mum and Dad argue.” You opened your mouth to argue, so furious you could hardly think.

“Mum?” Emma sang, bouncing out of the school. “Oh, Johnny!” She ran to him, the little traitor. Johnny smiled, his sharp edges softening as he swung her up into his arms. “Ach, my girl’s getting heavy,” he teased, nuzzling her face. She mimicked his movements, her smile bright and happy–they were scenting each other.

You looked away. “C’mon you two,” you said, forcing your tone to lighten. “I only have an hour for lunch.”

You barely touch your food, your stomach twisting and turning in furious knots. A sandwich, your old favorite, sits in front of you, courtesy of Johnny.

The audacity of men. You were the one who had spent countless nights bouncing up and down the hallway with Emma in your arms, exhausted and sore, your breasts swollen and aching from her sharp teeth–yet, Johnny was quickly a new favorite. They were the same, after all, the same species, the same aggressive, needy temperament.

Johnny wiped a bit of mustard from Emma’s cheek, humming at her irritated whine. She was close to her shift, and her skin was sensitive. “Dinna fash, baby, it’s the moon,” he crooned, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “I woke up this morning w’my skin crawling.”

That was another bump in the road. Emma’s shifts had gotten harder and harder over the years, more anger, more pain, and the internet had barely any information about early childhood shifts. Jack hadn’t been concerned, saying Johnny had the same issues at that age–the only difference was that Johnny was a feral little thing that used to sneak out during the full moon and pick off the strays of London. Emma couldn’t bring herself to squash an ant, much less devour a cat or dog–but then Johnny hadn’t had much human influence, at least, not until you and Tommy.

“Emma, tell your Ma that if she doesn’t eat, we’ll have to feed her ourselves,” Johnny said. He was smiling, but his eyes were sharp.

Emma sniffed at your sandwich. “You didn’t have breakfast either, Mum,” she said accusingly. “You always tell me food is good for your brain.”

You cocked an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I’m not hungry.”

“Eat, kitty,” Johnny said, his tone rougher as if you were one of his soldiers. “You look dead on yer feet.” You took a bite, just to appease them. You could still feel the small, stinging cuts his claws had scraped on your jaw.

#soap x reader #john soap mactavish #cod x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #cod mw3 #soap mactavish

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