hello!

you either read all the fics in a tag, or live long enough to become the author asks open, requests open

[katerbugs]

masterlist

MBAV

pt 1 poly bethan x werewolf reader

pt 2 poly bethan x werewolf reader

more poly bethan headcanons pre relationship

Twilight

wolfpack headcannons: how they are with you child(ren)

poly!Quil x Embry x reader

leah clearwater x reader

request: what the wolf pack would do if you were bitten by a child of the moon

[maeverrrb]

Favourite Twin - George W. x GN!Reader

A/N: Okay I kind of got massive motivation to write this and I wasn't going to post this thing until like Saturday but here y'all go!! This was requested by an anon and I thought it was so cute so I had to do it!!

Warning(s): Fluff, George being an absolute sweetheart, ft. Fred!! It's mentioned that reader is in the same year as George & Fred, they're all 18 and in their last year. This is basically when Umbridge is in the school, before they drop out!

^ in my mind this takes place in the fall but no weather or season is mentioned!!

Word count: 1.8k (learnt to stfu!!)

Dividers by @dollywons !! Love her down <33

Again, kisses to @p03tryv0r3 for letting me ramble about this idea before I even wrote it 😭

You loved the Weasley twins with your entire heart and being; they’d been with you since you all were first years cooped up in a train compartment, sharing chocolate frogs and trading cards with each other. Since then, you three and Lee, of course, had grown practically inseparable. Even when Lee couldn’t join the three of you in your scheming and pranking, you still did it, and did it loud. Detentions were handed out like candies; it came to the point that the teachers scheduled separate detentions for each of you purely because detentions were treated as hangouts when the three of you shared them. 

You’d never had a favourite between them, how could you? They were George and Fred. Your George and Fred. You’d spent so much time with them you could tell them apart better than their own mother; it took one glance for you to clock who you were talking to, who was who. You’d grown up with them; you were practically family with the way you spent almost all your vacations back at the burrow because your parents were both very busy, and you couldn’t return home much. 

You weren’t daft, though. You knew the twins were vastly different in personality as well. Fred was a human firecracker; loud, charming, and the face of their pranks. George, on the other hand, was quieter in his chaos. Unlike Fred, George was much more aware of the people around him. He knew who to prank, who not to prank; not based on authority, but based on the effect each prank would have on different people. You remembered a time George held off a prank the three of had planned merely because the shyest Gryffindor in the year below you stepped in, and George knew she’d cry. He made you go up to pull her with you guys, effectively involving her in your prank. It made her laugh, made her smile. Since then, you supposedly started looking at George a bit differently.

He knew when to crack a joke, when to simply smile and offer his ear. Fred didn’t understand it quite as much. He tried, truly did, but his impulse always got the better of him. Fred was the explosion, George was the gunpowder trail. He planned everything from drawing the architectural plans of the school to writing down chemical formulas with Fred in their free time. Fred was the step forward, the one who nicked every ingredient they needed, the one who made sure each explosion went off just when there was an audience. A true showman, but George was more of a ringleader.

Ever since you figured that out, you’d been more defensive when anyone asked whether you had a favourite twin. Because you weren’t supposed to. It was wrong; they were your best friends.

But you were scared it was already growing obvious as you sat on the couch near the hearth of the common room, legs thrown across George’s lap as you played with his weirdly long fingers, wiggling them and whatnot as he talked shop with Fred. They were going to open their joke shop, and with Umbridge trying to stick herself up their asses every chance she got, they reckoned it should be sooner rather than later.

“Why can’t I join you both?” You asked for the nth time, making Fred throw a cushion at you that George easily swatted away before it hit you. “Because,” he began, glancing over at Fred. “You know your parents would completely flip out. Plus, we need you in here to spread the word of our shop, love.” He said, voice slightly amused as he poked your side.

You ignored the effect the nickname had on your heart, looking over at Fred who simply nodded in agreement. “Who else will smuggle in shipments for our in-house orders?” He added, a smirk pulling at his lips which made you groan. “Whatever.” You grumbled, arms crossing over your chest.

Fred simply laughed at you, George grinned and unfolded your arms, tilting his head at you. “You can come join us when you graduate, lovely.”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, squirming your legs off of his lap purely to make a point. “You’re just scared all the customers will love me more and I’ll have to take over the business!” You said indignantly, making George stifle a snicker while Fred lifted a brow. 

“Right, cause that’s what truly keeps me up at night. Fear of losing my joke empire to someone who gets dizzy when they see the formulas and diagrams for our prototypes.” He mused, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 

George chuckled, nudging your side. “C’mon, love. How about you come with us to Hogsmeade and help us pick up stuff for a new prototype we’re trying soon?” He offered, making you perk up, a smile spreading across your face.

“Yeah! Alright!” You chirped, dropping your legs lazily over his lap again, making him let out an exaggerated gasp followed by a groan, making you swat his shoulder.

It earned you a grin, and Merlin if that didn’t turn your insides to mush.

George nudged you through crowded Hogsmeade as you made your way to Zonko’s. The twins treated it as a competitor, so you weren’t there to buy their products to use, but so they could take them apart and use the bits and pieces they actually wanted from the ‘poor excuses of chaos creators’.

You and George fought your way through the crowd and over to the register, paying for a few contraptions before exiting only to find out you’d lost Fred. 

“Georgie! Use that twin telepathy thing! Where is he?!” You huff, passing George the bag. He scoffed in turn, making a show of trying to reach into his mind and find him before gasping. “I found him!” He cried, making you look up at him in pure bewilderment, maybetwin telepathy was real?

“He’s up my ass.”

Oh.

After you bashed your fists into George’s shoulder, making him cower and cackle in one, you began to walk around in search for Fred. 

As you walked around Hogsmeade, you spotted a new bookstore/record store opened by a Muggleborn ex-student just a few day ago. You almost shrieked, grabbing George and dragging him in.

“Oh, for Godric’s sake—“ he groaned, but you paid him no mind as you entered the cool, air-conditioned store. Soft R&B played from the speakers; the music made you beam. George could just smile at you as you tugged him around the store. You stopped in front of a bunch of shelves with albums and records on them, grabbing one of Hootie & the Blowfish’s albums, Cracked Rear View, and showing it to George enthusiastically. You half expected him to be whiny and all annoying about having to come here, but when you turned to show him, you saw him flipping through copies of the Goo Goo Doll’s album A Boy Named Goo. 

He turned over to you, his smile widening as he took the album from your grasp, moving closer to you in the mellow bookstore. His eyes flicked between you and the album before pulling you by the wrist to the section where they sold Sony Walkmans, grabbing one with wired earphones. 

“How about we listen to it later, yeah? ‘Ve never heard of those lot.” He mumbled, grabbing both the Hootie record and the Goo Goo Dolls’. 

Your heart fluttered, looking up at him with sheer adoration as you watched him continue to sift through records and albums, even grabbing Madonna cause you’d mentioned how her music made you feel alive, tucking it under his arm. 

Maybe that’s when you admitted it to yourself. Maybe you did have a favourite twin. Maybe that particular twin made your heart stutter, your palms sweat and your heart race.

Maybe you were in love with that twin. That was a revelation you didn’t expect to make in a shop full of Muggle music and books. Your mouth went dry, and you turned away from George, heart hammering as you wandered off to the novel aisle.

In love with him. In love with him.

Maybe repeating to yourself over and over would make it more normal, easier. But it didn’t, it wasn’t.

He was George. You always knew he was different. He was the man who sat with you when things got heavy, as opposed to trying to cheer you up. Whenever you hit rock bottom, he’d sit there with you till you had the strength to climb back up. He never pushed, never shamed you. He was so aware of what to say to get you to listen, to calm down, to laugh. He always knew what to say.

You grabbed a book, any book, really, flipping through it to feign interest if George came looking. He did, of course, he did. 

“Love, you want t’get that? ‘Bout to go check these out.” He said softly, bending down to mumble in your ear. You felt your blood turn into lava inside you as you jerkily nodded, handing him the book you truly knew nothing about. He had three records tucked under his arm, Hootie, Goo Goo Dolls, and Madonna, along with the Walkman. You tried not to let the melting of your heart be massively obvious as you followed him to the register.

Once all was paid for and all was sorted, you found Fred outside The Three Broomsticks, showing him the goods you bought and attaining his stamp of approval before heading back to Hogwarts. Every once in a while, you and George would bump shoulders, elbows, fingers would brush. It wasn’t inordinary, quite the opposite. But you were aware of it now. The sensations making Fred’s rant sound like he was talking through a wall as you looked up to stare at his side profile.

But he was already staring down at you, not bothered in the slightest when you flustered. If anything, his smile simply softened. With a tilt of his head, he admired you as you walked, without a word. He let Fred ramble on, unaware.

Your fingers brushed again, your heart stuttered.

You swallowed hard, looking up at him nervously.

But he just smiled, eyes showing nothing but casual fondness. He saw your inner turmoil in the way you glanced around, drawing in sharp breaths whenever his fingers grazed yours. He knew why; it was because you’d figured it out. 

So as your gaze locked onto his once more, he simply interlocked his fingers with yours as you entered the palace and walked back to your dorms. He didn’t make a big deal of it, didn’t make it flashy or flirty. It was softer, intimate. Somehow, that only intensified the disaster exploding in your heart.

Because you’d figured out what he’d known since he was sixteen, so what if you were two years late?

© maeverrrb— don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

[katerbugs]

hi! i've had this idea or i guess question is more accurate about what the wolf pack in twilight would do if you, their imprintee, was bitten and turned by one of the children of the moon? i wish we got more on the children of the moon. i'm assuming they're very similar to the shapeshifters in appearance because caius mistook the quileutes for them. we know at least that he's had first hand experience with the children of the moon because he almost was killed by one but he unfortunately survived and tried to wipe the werewolves out because he's such a loser

So, I’m going to be real with you right now: I have never read the books. I have almost all of them. I got them at a garage sale so I’m only missing the second one. I will read them soon. The most knowledge I have is from the movies which did not mention the children of the moon explicitly and from engaging with the fandom over the years so I will just put my theories based on what I’ve gathered over the years in the fandom and everything. 

I think of the places where there may still be children of the moon or true werewolves, North America is probably one of those places, so that alone lends legitimacy to the idea here that an imprintee may be bitten. 

Now how the wolfpack would react to that is probably going to be similar for all of them. Paul, Sam, Jacob, and maybe Leah are going to be the most intense. They’re going to be terrified and lash out at whatever they can to mask that fear. They also throw themselves into research. Jake would probably go to the cullens for help, or knowledge. Leah would try to find as much werewolf lore from as many places as she can find. And Sam would be taking inspiration from Leah’s approach. Paul would start with wikipedia and go from there. 

The rest would be more panicky and unsure of where to go. Seth would go to Leah or the Cullens as he was more comfortable with them than the others were. He would learn from Carlisle and learn of Caius in particular and his hatred for what you’ve become. This would make him extra nervous for you and your safety. I think he would make a pact of his own with the Cullens or Bella specifically to keep you safe since the Volturi can’t see her thoughts. 

Embry and Quil (I am a poly truther so I’m putting them together because I think they would be similar anyway) would be more chill, they would focus more on helping you through the transition and tending to your wounds. I imagine it would be sort of like Remus Lupin from Harry Potter in that you go through a lot of pain every full moon and possibly injure yourself going in and out of the transition as well. Now all of the pack would accompany you on the full moons so you don’t hurt anyone or yourself, But Embry and Quil together makes it easier to flank you and keep you on one path.

For Jared I’m unsure, but I feel like he would do a quick wiki search and then try to lighten your mood while he tends to your wounds or someone else does because I feel like he has a sensitive stomach. He would stay by your side though and hold your hand. I think he would say something like “at least you can keep up with me when I run now” or something (I’m at work so I’m not feeling particularly funny rn). 

I think your wolf form would look similar to the pack, just a little smaller or more accurate wolf size if not slightly larger than a typical wolf. This would make it a little easier for the pack to keep you on track being larger than you. I think your fur color would correspond with your actual hair color so it depends on what you look like. 

Overall, the wolves would try to keep you safe and help you through all of your transformations. Sam makes sure to schedule the patrols in such a way that your imprinter would never be patrolling on the full moon.

[katerbugs]

Leah Clearwater Imagine

Leah doesn’t cry.

Seth cried over every dead worm on the road until he was 12. 

Leah doesn’t cry. Not even when she was 9 and her favorite stray cat was found on the road, flat like all his bones had melted in the summer heat, leaving behind a furry puddle.

She knew it was him because she had given him a collar. One of the ones with a little bell on it so she could hear him coming and run to get him treats out of the garage. She didn’t cry for him, only removed the collar and left his body for the vultures already circling overhead. 

She told you her favorite things about him once when you saw the collar sitting on her dresser. She did not tell you how she found him. It would only serve to hurt your gentle heart and she couldn't bear to see you with tears in your eyes. She wanted your heart as much as you softened hers.

The only time she cried was when Sam left her. Her heart broken by someone she trusted beyond any measurement, she spent months in her bed crying herself into sleep.

But then she met you at work. You were new in town and trying to find a job at the diner where she worked with some of the other kids from Forks that never made it out. She couldn’t fathom that anyone would choose this overcast life for themselves, especially not someone as sunny and lively as you. 

But here you were, joyous and smiling, with gray skies and rain as your backdrop. She was assigned to teach you the ropes and noted that you were a fast learner, eager and smart. You cracked jokes and got to know the regulars, charming everyone with your cheery disposition and quick wit.

She was immediately taken with you. Curious about where you came from and what you were doing here. She wanted to know everything about you.

She was lucky enough to be scheduled with you for almost every shift in the following few weeks as you were still getting the hang of it all. She spent almost the whole shift trying to get to know you. You answered her questions and “subtle” probing about your life with a smile and good natured way about you. The more she learned the more she wanted to know and the more she felt her heart kick up whenever you came near her.

After a week of her trying to play it cool with you, you decided to ask her out. No games, no questions, straightforward and chill was more your style. Her whole face turned red when you asked if she wanted to get dinner with you that weekend. She was speechless but managed an eager nod, rewarded with your beaming smile. She would do anything for you to keep smiling at her like that. 

Months later, after you made it official she invited you to meet her family. Seth loved you immediately, and Sue was just glad to see her daughter smiling again. The problem came when Harry came into the room and sized you up. He didn’t love the idea of you with his daughter. He wanted her to find a nice man to settle down and give him grandchildren with. It caused a bit of a fight between him and Leah when he said as much to your face. 

You took it in stride though, putting a hand on Leah's arm to reassure her that you got this. You reminded Harry that there were in fact ways for Leah and you to have children in the future if that was the path that the two of you chose together, but there is much less pressure in today's society to have children at all. 

Leah added that she would want to adopt anyways so what does it matter if she's with a man or a woman when she’s truly happy for the first time in years. 

Harry didn’t have much of a comeback for that and just kind of grumbled to himself as he sat down at the table. Sue called for dinner and you helped her and Seth bring the food to the table. You also helped Leah make her plate. 

After dinner, Leah helped you into the car and started to drive you home. About halfway through the drive she pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in park. You were confused until she buried her face in her hands and sniffled. 

She apologized for how her father behaved and begged you not to change your mind about her because of him. She tells you about her childhood, how much pressure he put on her to be the perfect daughter and how she feels like she’s failing him every time she clocks in for a shift at the diner. She tells you about Sam and how it felt like her chest was collapsing for months and then she met you and everything shifted for her. She found her sunshine again and she would do anything to keep it. 

You held her face in your hands and kissed the tears off her cheeks. And promised that you didn’t care what her family was like, you liked her and that wasn’t going to change. You were in it now. She couldn't get rid of you if she tried. That made her smile. She sniffled one more time and wiped her face, then put the car back in drive and took you home. 

She walked you to the door, and kissed you goodbye.

[katerbugs]

Poly! Embry x Quil x Reader origins

Embry and Quil do a lot of things together so it kind of makes sense that they fell for the same person. 

Their whole lives were spent together attached at the hip with Jacob occasionally adding a third shadow to theirs, and more frequently once they got to high school.

They got their licenses within months of each other, sharing the responsibility of getting to school on time once they saved up enough money to get a car they could share between them. They did homework together, citing their inability to focus without each other’s presence. They went through all of high school's highs and lows together, never once wavering in their loyalty to each other. Until Embry shifted, Jacob following shortly afterwards. 

Quil, all alone, started to fail his classes and spent most of his free time in his room listening to the mix tapes that he and Embry spent an entire summer curating together. It was in this period of loneliness that Quil realized that he was probably in love with Embry; the hurt ran too deep for the feelings to stem from just friendship alone, no matter how close they were. 

When Quil phased for the first time he was all alone. Sam came to him the next day and explained everything.

Quil joined the pack. He had Embry again. But it was different now. Quil was different now. They both were. 

No longer were they two scrawny boys sitting in Quil's room on the carpeted floor trying to figure out the computer software to put music on those damn CDs. Neither of them knew how to talk to each other anymore.

When Embry imprinted, Quil thought his heart was actually breaking into a thousand tiny pieces. He just looked so happy, joy palpable, eyes sparkling, million dollar grin on his lips. Quil thought he never looked more beautiful. 

When Embry brought you around for a bonfire, Quil was resolute in his decision to hate everything you stood for. Everything you stood in the way of. 

But then his eyes met yours. You were smiling. It’s the prettiest smile he’s ever seen (and he grew up with Embry), and your perfume was the sweetest he’s ever smelled.

Embry realized Quil had imprinted before he did. 

He put his hand on the small of your back and guided you towards Quil, slow enough to make him panic thinking he was going to lose his best friend again. But Embry is smiling at him the way he used to when they were younger and it suddenly struck Quil that this was still his Embry. Those are his Embry’s eyes and they're shining for him now in the firelight. He’s still as beautiful as he’s always been.

Then Embry is introducing you, and the rest of the night is spent with you sat between them like this was always how it was meant to be.

[katerbugs]

how the wolf pack is with your child(ren)

I am a firm believer in the fact that all of the wolf pack would be pretty chill if you had a kid when you met them. Especially with the imprint. But I feel like they would have different styles of parenting. Also I did straight up forget about jacob so thats my bad gang.

Embry:

Chill to the max. Call him dad? Sure, he’s Dad now.

He loves babies too, and they love him just as much. Especially when he grows his hair back out. They just love to play with his hair and he just lets it happen, even when they get drooly. He is the number one drool man, if you have a hard time with bodily fluids, he is on it. 

I think Embry has his ears pierced from his, Jakes, and Quils legendary emo phase. Now he just wears native made earrings from small shops he comes across every now and then and babies just love when they reflect light. He is careful to not let them pull them out of his ears but a little grabbing never bothers him.

He’s a very supportive partner. He never wants you to struggle so he steps up big time; getting up early with the kids so you can sleep a little longer, makes meals and gets them to school on time, he always makes sure there’s an even split of responsibilities because he knows you're independent but he loves you and this is how he shows it.

Paul:

Is terrified he’s going to scare your kid but they think he’s so cool. He’s the type that if you have a son he’s all over it; teaching him all the things he’ll need to know about how to be respectful to women. He unintentionally raises your son to be so gentle and soft because that’s just the way he is with him. He never raises his voice at them, ever. 

I think Paul is a good cook and he will teach your little one to help out in the kitchen as well.

If you have a daughter, he panics a little. He feels like he has no idea what to do with a girl but she loves him anyway. He’s so soft with her. He teaches her to take no shit and how to defend herself and care for others. The first time she gets in a fight on the playground, the school calls him because you’re at work. He didn’t know you put him on the contact list but he’s so honored he almost doesn’t register what they're telling him about your daughter. When he picks her up he lectures her a little bit about not letting violence be the first option and always a last resort. She tells him she knocked down a boy in her class because he was picking on her friend. She tried to tell him to go away first and when that didn’t work she went to an adult but then the boy pushed her friend so she kicked him in the balls like he taught her. Then she brought him ice and told him to leave her friend alone. Paul took her out for ice cream after that. He was just so proud of her heart.

He tells you later about what happened, worried about you being upset with him for teaching her those things, and that maybe he’s a bad influence on her with his temper. He works himself up so bad you decide to pull out the big guns to relax him. You show him the pictures you have of their last tea party. Paul’s nails were painted pink and he had a feathery boa around his neck. Your daughter is placing a tiara on his head and he looks like he’s about to cry. (he did tear up right after that picture was taken). He knew that tiara was your daughter's favorite so he was so touched she wanted to give it to him. He looks down at his hands, nails still pink, and knows that he’s doing a good job despite his fears. That your daughter is being raised in a home full of love and laughter and that she’s strong and kind.

Leah:

Leah is reluctant to get too close. Since everything went down with her dad and Sam (although I headcannon that none of that happened with her dad because that sucks and SMeyer just wanted to hurt her for no reason), she has been cautious about getting close with anyone anymore. But your daughter wasn’t afraid of her in the slightest, despite her scowl. She liked the streaks of color Leah had on her hair after an impulsive middle of the night overflow of emotions, trying to feel some semblance of control again (Jessica and Angela helped her dye it). Your daughter thought Leah was so cool, and she went right up to her to tell her so. She told Leah that she liked her hair and thought it was cool, then pointed to you and said you were cool too and also that you liked her hair too and that the two of you should be friends.

Leah felt awkward about it but thanked her for the compliments and tried to get back to work. Every time she came to your table she blushed and tried to get away as fast as possible, but your daughter kept striking up conversations with her so she would get stuck. 

The whole time Jess is smiling to herself because she can see Leah’s walls crumble one by one the longer your daughter talked to her.

Eventually, Leah is great with your daughter. They have so much fun together. Leah isn’t one to do too many tea parties, but neither is your daughter. She’s more interested in legos and Lincoln Logs and train sets with entire cities and societies. Leah helps her craft life stories for each of her townspeople. 

You love to watch them play together because they work so well with each other. It’s very “yes, and!” with them, they just bounce off of each other and build the most interesting and elaborate stories together. It’s so sweet to watch. 

Leah heals a little bit every time she plays with your daughter. I think Sue and Harry put a lot of pressure on her to be successful and get off the rez “but don’t go too far!” and there were just a lot of unrealistic standards put on her. And none of this pressure was ever put on Seth because he was perfect and she could always do better. When Sam left her and she fell into a significant depression you could cut the tension in the house with a knife. She was lashing out and getting into arguments with Harry every time she ventured out of her room. He was especially hard on her during this time because this was not how he raised her to be (Yes it was, man), how dare she talk to him like that? Why is she so upset, he’s just a guy, get over it. 

Sue strikes me as very avoidant so she was mostly out of the house, picking up more and more shifts at the rez clinic. Leah feels so alone during this time she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Yeah, she has Jess and Angela but they only work together, they're not real friends yet. But then she meets your daughter and you and it’s like the clouds part and the sun shines on her face for the first time.

 Your daughter calls Leah Mimi because then she has Mama and Mimi and the first time she called Leah that, she teared up and hugged your daughter so tight her back popped. She loves being involved in your daughter's life and knowing that the two of you love her just as much as she loves you.

Jared:

He’s the fun dad. He brings your kids to the county fairs and carnivals every summer. He is always looking for something fun to do with them and make memories together.

He’s not so great with babies but once they're old enough to do more than eat sleep and poop he’s all game. 

You would think with all this fun and adventure Jared wouldn’t be so good at the discipline thing but he’s actually be super effective at getting them to act well with him. He just frowns a little and they’re straightening up right away so he’s not upset with them (he could never be). 

Overall the kids think he’s super fun and cool and they love to spend time with him. And he is so in love with you he just wants to make your life easier and full of joy, which he excels at.

Seth:

He’s young, but he’s pretty responsible. He loves kids and relates well to them so they get along pretty well. He loves to talk to them and see their joy and curiosity and he is especially good at answering the hard questions they ask. I feel like he may be a better uncle than a dad but he pretty much acts the same with all kids and it’s very relaxed and attentive. He watches them closely and takes care of them in whatever way they need at the moment. 

Quil:

Quil is pretty great too. He’s quiet when he’s with them because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing in front of them. But that just means he listens to them really well which works out well because you have particularly chatty children.

He brings over DVDs from the thrift store so they can watch movies together. Their favorites are the winnie the pooh movies and how to train your dragon. The kids love anything with a wolf so they get him to watch Balto approximately 1,000 times before he tells them the dvd ran out and they can’t watch it anymore (He hid it in the bottom of your sock drawer. Yes, they do find it eventually).

He’s another kind of ‘go with the flow’ type dad but the first time your daughter calls him Dad he does cry. 

He’s just a lover and he shows it all the time.

[woncheolisms]

look after you. (hansol vernon chwe x reader)

summary: courting gifts can be anything. a pretty necklace. a bracelet. maybe even a ring, if you’re bold. but vernon gives you socks, and you don’t know what to make of them.

pairing: alpha!vernon x omega!reader

word count: 7.2k

warnings: omegaverse au, abo dynamics, fluff, some humor, best friend!omega!seungkwan, misunderstandings but not angsty, mentions of heat and pre heat, smut, nsfw, fingering, thigh riding, multiple orgasms, knotting.

Hansol Vernon Chwe takes being an alpha very seriously. But not in the way conventional alphas would.

For example, when someone asks Vernon what he thinks an ideal alpha should be, he has some points that he will count off, a checklist of sorts in his head, requirements of being a good alpha, in his opinion. An alpha has to be strong, not physically, but mentally. He needs to be reliable, stable, someone the people around him can lean on. An alpha has to be intelligent and aware. He has to anticipate his omega’s needs and provide accordingly. Not just financially, but with thoughtful actions. An alpha must be nurturing, and he knows this is the point everyone around him gets hung up on. ‘Nurturing’? That’s typically a term associated with omegas. But Vernon stands by it. Alphas have to care, to be there emotionally, to make sure their omegas have them not just physically, but to love them for their emotions as well, to shift and release pheromones that will calm their omegas. Alphas have to be providers past the actual, financial implications of the word.

So Vernon vows to himself that if he ever gets the opportunity to be an alpha for someone, he would be the one that fits his exacting, rigid standards. That opportunity comes when he meets you.

You’re Seungkwan’s friend, which isn’t surprising. Pretty much anyone Vernon knows, he knows because they are Seungkwan’s friend. Vernon can’t understand how in hell Seungkwan can keep up with such a large friend circle. He knows everybody. But it helps indirectly because Vernon doesn’t go out of his way to meet people, so Seungkwan almost acts like the proxy for his social life.

That’s exactly how he met you.

Vernon almost didn’t go, since it was just supposed to be some kind of game night for Seungkwan’s study group. But Seungkwan insisted, really insisted, and Vernon had bailed on the last two social events Seungkwan asked him to come with, so he had to give in. He’s so glad that he did.

Just the scent of you makes him stiffen, which is very unlike him. Vernon isn’t usually much affected by omegas, hell, his best friend is an omega. But you smell so sweet, in this light and fresh way that almost energises him. Your smile is so bright as you introduce yourself, hair swaying when your head moves, and Vernon’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch. He has to visibly shake his head and blink, quickly introducing himself and shutting up so that he doesn’t act like a fool. You’re so pretty, and your voice is so calming and friendly. Vernon has this deep feeling in his chest that he wants to stay around you. Right by your side.

He hangs out with you twice more after that, all in big groups, but he manages to get near you anyhow. You’re so interesting to him. You talk about your major with a passion he can never muster, a fire in your eyes, your long term plans laid out already. You’re energetic, not as much as Seungkwan, but you know how to match the omega’s energy. And you’re also quieter with Vernon, like you understand that he’s laid back and deals with things differently. Only someone truly empathetic and kind can be like that, and Vernon’s heart soars. You’re so perfect, you’re perfect, and he will be damned if he won’t be the perfect alpha for you.

And so Vernon makes a resolve. He will prove himself. He will be the one for you, to take care of you the way someone with your spirit deserves. And he is absolutely not the kind to just pussyfoot around. So Vernon watches. Vernon observes.

When fall starts bleeding into winter, he notices how you love to be bundled up. The biggest coats and jackets, the most layers of anyone else in the group.

“Cold?” He asks when you show up at the campus gates where everyone agreed to meet so you can go to dinner together. You give him a sheepish smile and nod under your heavy hoodie.

“I get cold very easily.” You admit. “My hands and feet specifically.”

Vernon knows exactly how to fix it.

That night, he rummages through his closet and finds three sets of wool socks. His grandmother knits so many for him and his sister, and keeps sending them. Vernon wears one pair and keeps the rest for later use when his first ones are worn out. He swears by them, because she uses the finest wool for knitting. He contemplates between a navy blue pair and a grey one, ultimately going for the blue. He hopes you will like them.

When he finds you in the hallways the next morning, just before classes, he feels like his heart will beat out of his chest. He’s so nervous, and he worried himself sick last night about whether or not you would accept his gift. He wants to be there for you, to provide for you and understand your needs and take care of you. To be your alpha. This is it, the big moment.

He pulls you aside and away from the prying eyes of other students before slowly pulling out the small bag he put the socks in. You take it curiously, peering inside.

“You said your feet get really cold.” He quickly explains. “These are merino wool. My grandma makes them. They’re very warm, I promise.”

You look so surprised, blinking at the item in your hand. He watches your thumb run over them, feeling how soft they are.

“A-are you sure, Vernon?” You ask. “I was just complaining about the weather, I didn’t really think….”

Vernon immediately nods. He’s so sure. There’s no one else for him except you. You look a little hesitant, Vernon holds his breath, and then finally, you nod.

The air escapes his chest with a loud whoosh, and joy takes his place. He nods, more jerky this time, trying to tamp down his giddy smile.

“Thank you so much.” You look truly touched at the gesture, and that satisfies the alpha inside him. He took care of you, and you accepted his courting gift. You want to give him a chance. And as Vernon looks into your bright, warm eyes, he’s determined to never, ever let you down.

Vernon feels like he’s on cloud nine for the rest of the day, and when he lays in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, he’s already planning other ways to convince you that he is the perfect alpha for you. He has watched you intensely (in a non-creepy way), and he knows what habits you have, and how he can enrich your life with his own presence. His top priority is giving you as much love and care as he possibly can. His phone buzzes beside his pillow, breaking him from his thoughts. His heart kicks hard when he realises who the message is from.

[you]: i love the socks vernon thank you so much!

He grins so wide he feels like his cheeks might split. Your response encourages him so much. His alpha hums, settling like a warm weight in his chest. He goes to sleep with that same, stupid grin on his face.

Vernon did believe he was good friends with you, but you warm up to him even more after that. You love to talk and catch up whenever you meet him. You love the cat videos he sends you, and when you realise he likes them, you send them to him as well. He feels particularly giddy when you caption them with something like ‘reminded me of you’. You’re so wonderful, and Vernon can’t help that deep seated catch in his stomach that tells him he is falling in love.

He doesn’t mind.

But Vernon is still courting you, and he takes being an alpha to you very seriously. He goes shopping with his sister for the weekend and picks out one of those thermoses that keep liquids warm for hours, and not the dysfunctional, knock off kind that just look pretty. Sophia thinks it’s too plain, so Vernon frets over that, but he wants this to be practical, something you really need. This is about your comfort, and he won’t compromise on that. It makes Sophia snort.

“I’m surprised you managed to court her. With socks of all things.”

That makes him blink. “She loved them. She uses them all the time.”

Sophia only laughs.

Vernon fills the thermos with your preferred preparation of coffee on Monday and gives it to you when he finds you on a picnic table on campus grounds before your first class.

“It keeps liquid warm for at least 10 hours.” He explains himself. “It’s got thicker insulation, see? I looked it up before I bought it.”

You stare at it. “Vernon, this must have cost a lot-”

He immediately cuts you off. “Don’t worry about the price. I just hope it’s good and you use it.”

You give him a wide smile, biting your bottom lip and avoiding his eyes. Are you feeling shy? Vernon’s alpha soars.

“Thank you.” You mumble. Vernon shakes his head.

“Stop saying thank you.” It’s my job. I want to take care of you.

You only let out a little laugh and nod. Vernon feels the urge to lean over the table and kiss you. It takes everything in him to not do exactly that.

The holidays come and go. Vernon talks to you often, even when you leave the city to spend the days off with your family. You wish him a happy new year, asking him about his resolutions. Vernon’s wants to say ‘to make you my omega’ but he holds back. He doesn’t want to come off too strong and push you away. So he keeps it silently in his chest, and instead asks for yours.

[you]: definitely to hit the gym. i need to get better about being healthy :(

Vernon is already planning.

When he sees you next time, it’s because you come to the dorm room to see Seungkwan. He isn’t there, but Vernon is, so you offer to wait for your friend. Vernon is eager to let you in, patting his bed down and quickly tidying up a bit. He doesn’t want you to think he’s a slob.

(He isn’t. But he also doesn’t want you to think he is.)

“I got you something.” He starts, rummaging through the bag he put your stuff in. You raise an amused eyebrow.

“Again? You really shouldn’t have…”

Vernon shakes it off. “It’s nothing much, I promise.” He walks to you with what he got.

“It’s an athletic band, for when you go to the gym.” He explains. “I wanted you to have your own. And here,” He puts everything in your lap, “electrolyte pouches. This is the good stuff that athletes use. Mingyu told me about them. The convenience store stuff isn’t very healthy.”

Your mouth is agape, and you let out an incredulous laugh. “You really go out of your way, don’t you?”

I do. Vernon wants to say. Because it’s true. He won’t spare any expense, any effort, when it comes to you. He hopes that these attempts show them to you. This is what the courting period is all about. He wants to give you proof that he is well capable of being everything you will ever want and need.

“Thank you.” You whisper. It’s so soft, so laced with warmth, and Vernon’s alpha almost preens. Almost. It’s rare for alphas to react like that, but for Vernon, this is acceptance on another level. He vowed to himself that he would be your biggest support, your only one. And he’s succeeding. He’s well on his way to being your everything, just like how you’re his everything already. He gives himself maybe a couple of more months, then he will officially ask you to be his.

He’s generally a patient guy, but he really can’t wait.

…………………………………

You have a dilemma, and you really don’t know anyone who you can talk to about it except Boo Seungkwan.

Initially, you wanted to hold off on it. You’ve known Vernon for a while now, and you know how genuine he is as a person. He is truly one of the people you trust the most, because he’s so attentive and kind. Your omega likes him too, maybe a little too much, and you always have to remind yourself that he’s just a friend, nothing more. But you can’t help being enamoured by him. He’s so different from how you are, but you gel with him so well. There’s something so charming about him, you can’t help but be sucked in.

But Vernon’s brand of weird might be getting a little…. too weird.

When he first gave you socks that his grandmother knitted, you were shocked, pleasantly so. You were half inclined to refuse, but they were genuinely so soft and Vernon looked like he really wanted you to have them, so you accepted. You did have a cold feet problem, and you complained to him about it. He happened to have a solution in his home, so he got it for you. It was very nice of him.

But then he got you that really expensive thermos. You know it was expensive because you looked it up afterwards, cursing under your breath. You love your friends and would help them any way you can, but this felt like too much. Vernon didn’t care though, adamant on you having it. And you didn’t have the heart to refuse when he kept insisting. And goddamn, it did keep your coffee warm and cozy for hours, so you could happily sip on it for a long time. You still use that thing every day.

Then there was the little stuff, like electrolyte packets and a gym headband, or the muscle patches he got you when you complained about being sore (it wasn’t even that bad, you just like to complain). It seems that no matter what you say, Vernon is always listening, like he wants any opportunity to make your life better. It warms your heart, it makes your omega keen, but Vernon is swimming very close to dangerous waters. All this is doing is making you more and more inclined to him, his thoughtfulness and care makes you want to melt right into him. Because at the end of the day, he’s an alpha, and you want him more and more with every passing day.

As you said, dangerous waters.

Things really take a turn when he shows up at your dorm with toothpaste, the same brand you use on a daily basis. You stare at it.

“Yours was running out last time I was here.” He says, and he’s so nonchalant about it, like friends just notice something like dwindling toothpaste and buy it for you. You’re so flabbergasted that you don’t even think of rejecting it, just thanking him quietly instead. He nods, smiling.

Okay, you need to talk to Seungkwan.

You text Seungkwan about meeting you for lunch at a café outside campus. It’s not too far, but enough that you know you won’t run into any of your mutual friends there. You really don’t want to talk to anyone who won’t help you, and while you’re very social on most days, you’re in no mood to deal with people right now. You ignore the urge to stay home in bed, because you really need to do something about this Vernon situation, so you push yourself to go, despite the resistance in your body.

Seungkwan just thinks it’s a normal catchup meal when he greets you, but when you start to slowly tell him about what Vernon has been doing for the last few months, his jaw just drops more and more, his plate completely forgotten.

“You’re not serious.” He mutters when you finish.

“I am.” You sigh. “And I love it, you know? I do. It makes me feel….. some type of way. But that’s why you have to tell him to stop. I can’t keep assuming that he’s doing it for some other reason. My heart can’t take it.”

You feel intense emotions rise up in you, and you have to swallow them down. It surprises you a little, how heated and charged you feel, but you push the thought out of your mind, trying to focus. Seungkwan’s face is pinched in thought, but you can see in real time as it smooths in realisation.

“Oh my god, wait.”

You watch him curiously. “What?”

But Seungkwan doesn’t say, shaking his head. Then, he goes back to his food.

“I’ll talk to him, okay?”

You’re a little confused at the weird reaction, but you nod. You’re already feeling a little tired, even though you haven’t even been out of the house that long. You wish you had just stayed in and put this off for another day.

“Just be nice about it. I don’t want him to feel bad. He’s been doing such kind things for me, I don’t want to come off as ungrateful.”

But Boo Seungkwan has a whole other storm brewing in his head as he waves goodbye to you and heads to his dorm. He thinks he has a pretty good idea about what the hell Vernon has been doing, but he needs to be one hundred percent sure about it first.

Vernon is sitting at his desk, headphones on, when Seungkwan taps him on the shoulder. The alpha turns around. Seungkwan decides not to beat around the bush.

“So I was on a lunch date with Y/N.”

Seungkwan can see the exact moment Vernon’s face lights up. He sighs internally. His suspicions are true.

“How is she?” Vernon asks.

Seungkwan plops himself down on the edge of the bed. “Wouldn’t you know that? Since she’s your omega?”

Vernon huffs out a laugh. “She’s not my omega yet.”

Yet. “But you are courting her.” He doesn’t frame it as a question.

Vernon nods. Seungkwan wants to groan.

“And it’s going well?”

“It is.”

“Right. Sure. It’s going so well that the omega you are courting doesn’t even know she’s being courted.”

Vernon pauses, blinking at Seungkwan owlishly. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Vernon’s mouth opens and closes a few times, not unlike a fish. “I don’t understand.”

Seungkwan feels a horrific laugh bubble up in his chest, but he doesn’t say anything. He watches Vernon’s face go through a million emotions, confusion being the predominant one.

“I gave her a courting gift. She accepted.”

“You gave her socks.” Seungkwan deadpans.

Vernon frowns. “She needed them. She told me herself, her feet are always cold.”

Seungkwan groans at that, putting his head in his hands. “Hansol….”

Seungkwan laughs then, but Vernon doesn’t find the situation funny at all. A mild panic is curling in his chest, his mind racing. Did you really not know? Were you really clueless? He hadn’t said it explicitly, sure, but he was certain you got his meaning. He was taking care of you, showing you he could be a good alpha. Was he not clear enough?

Seungkwan’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “A courting gift, especially the first one, has to be something romantic. Like a bracelet or a necklace. Jewellery.”

Vernon puts his head in his hands, his elbows on the table. “I- I just thought it would be better if I gave practical gifts….”

Seungkwan huffs out a laugh. “Practical gifts are great, but fucking toothpaste, man?”

Vernon wants to bash his head into a wall. He looks at Seungkwan with pleading eyes.

“What did she say? Does she not like me?”

Seungkwan shakes his head immediately. “The opposite actually. She thinks you only see her as a friend, and she feels bad about liking you more than that because of how considerate you are.”

Vernon can’t believe his ears. He can’t. You think he’s not interested? He couldn’t have made his interest any clearer. But obviously, he went about it the wrong way, and now you feel shitty because of him. Vernon’s alpha growls, disapproving. He doesn’t like this feeling, knowing that he is responsible for any negative emotion you experience.

He needs to fix this.

Seungkwan doesn’t stop him as he tugs his shoes on, grabbing his phone before he leaves. He’s contemplating on sending you a text that he’s on his way to you, but he remembers the exchange you had with Seungkwan, and he fears that his text might make you spiral. So he just sets off, hoping he can catch you when you’re not too busy so you can talk it out. He always believed he didn’t want to rush you, but if it’s causing miscommunication, then he needs to make his intentions crystal clear.

He reaches your door in record time. You don’t have a dorm mate thankfully, since your last one dropped out and a new one wasn’t appointed to you. This is good, because it means you two can talk openly. He knocks and waits, shifting on his feet. He feels anxious and uncertain, and he prays he hasn’t ruined anything between you two, especially after he tried so hard to make everything go right.

You’re not answering. Vernon tries again, wondering if maybe you have headphones on and can’t hear him. Maybe he should text you that he’s right outside. He’s just contemplating on it when the door swings open.

You have a scowl on your face, lips pulled into a pout as you stick your head out. Cute. Vernon gives you a sheepish smile when recognition dawns on your features.

“Vernon.” Your voice is raspy. He shuffles.

“Sorry. Were you sleeping?”

You blink a few times, rapid movements as if trying to clear your vision. Vernon shifts again, feeling restless. He’s been feeling restless ever since he first knocked on your door. He scents the air instinctively. You smell…. just as you always do. Maybe sweeter? He can’t place it. Something is off, not in a bad way. But he can’t put his finger on it.

“This isn’t a good time.” You say, and your voice is still strained and tired. Vernon’s early anxiety is gone. He feels concern sting at his chest.

“Are you okay?” He has to ask, because a voice inside him is telling him that you’re not. You pause before answering, and it’s a little too long for his taste.

“I’m fine. Just tired. Can we talk in a few days?”

A few days? Vernon’s eyebrows furrow. His nose won’t stop twitching because of the alteration in your scent. He watches you, really watches you, the barely noticeable line of sweat on your hairline, your breathing just slightly more rapid than usual, how you’re gripping the doorframe like it’s holding half your weight. Vernon’s alpha bristles.

“Pre-heat?” He croaks.

You swallow tightly, he can see it with the way your throat bobs. When you don’t deny it, his alpha howls. His fingers twitch. It takes everything in him to not reach for you.

“So, later?” You ask again. He blinks.

“I was courting you.” He blurts. “The gifts. I- I thought I was being clear about it. But I wasn’t. That’s my fault, not yours. I should’ve said it, I should’ve gotten you something prettier or nicer. But I didn’t.”

Your jaw drops at his words. Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds.

“You like me?” Your voice is so tiny, so unsure. Vernon wishes he could rip the heart out of his chest and give it to you to prove that he doesn’t just like you, but that he’s in love with you. But he settles for better words.

“I wanted to show that I could take care of you. That I could be a good alpha and love you the way you deserve.”

Your eyes are bright. Your mouth is slightly open in an ‘O’ shape. You don’t say anything for a long while. Vernon feels despair sink in his head.

“I’m sorry.”

You seem to break from your trance. Your eyebrows draw together. “What are you sorry for?”

Before he can reply, your voice dies and you wince. Vernon feels his chest squeeze, hands reaching out before he can stop himself when he sees your poster hunch forward a little. He hovers uncertainly over you. Being in your space makes your scent get denser, heavier. Vernon grits his teeth hard. His brain feels like it’s short circuiting.

“You should get back inside.” He chokes out. “You shouldn’t be standing up right now. Your cramps will get worse.”

You don’t reply, almost like your mind is fogged. Vernon makes up his mind, very carefully placing his hands on your elbows so he can shuffle both of you backwards into the room.

It smells even more intensely like you inside. Vernon’s eyelids flutter, and he has to stop himself from breathing in deep. He gently guides you to the bed and you follow without much hesitation. You sigh into the pillows once your body relaxes, and Vernon pulls the blanket over you. He notices just then that you’re wearing the navy blue socks he gave you. His heart skips a beat as he leans beside the edge of the bed.

“Do you need anything?” He tries to make a mental list. He’s never really helped an omega with their heat before. When Seungkwan goes into heat, university policy is to leave the dorm and room with someone else for the duration, so he just stays with another friend. But Vernon isn’t a complete idiot, so he thinks. Painkillers, a warm water bottle, sustenance of some kind, something high calorie-

“Just stay here with me.” You pipe up. He freezes.

“I can’t.” He tries to say as placatingly as possible. “Your heat will hit soon.”

You blink up at him, and he notes the thin, shiny layer covering your eyes. “So?”

He stares. “So….. I can’t stay.” Or I will lose my mind.

“Yes, you can. You said you wanted to show me you can take care of me, right?” Your eyelids hang low, eyes only half open as you peer up at him. “So take care of me, alpha.”

Vernon thinks his head is spinning. No, it’s the room. The room is spinning. He is completely still in place, like a statue, because he feels that if he moves, he will sway and topple over. His alpha is howling, a chorus of ‘yes, yes, yes’ that chokes any other thought in his brain. Instead, he clenches his jaw hard and reaches his hand up to rest it carefully on your head. He brushes your hair back slowly. You sigh at his mere touch. You’re heated, already almost burning up.

“Are you sure?” He whispers. “You’re close to heat. You can’t be saying this just because your omega wants an alpha here with you.”

You let out a small laugh. “I’m in pre-heat only. I know what I’m doing. I’ve….. liked you for a while now.”

Vernon can feel how hot the back of his neck is. “Really?”

You nod. He lets out a shaky breath. He can’t believe his ears, almost like someone went in there and scraped all his brains out, leaving his head hollow and light. But his chest is so full that he feels like it will explode.

“Okay.” He says with an air of finality. “I’ll take care of you, I promise. You won’t want for anything. I’m here.”

…………………………….

You don’t really remember much of your pre-heats, generally. Most of the time, you spend it dozing in and out of sleep, eating whatever you’ve stashed in your room beforehand. This one is the same. You’re very sleepy, so you hunker down on your bed and nap as much as you can. The difference this time is that you’re coaxed awake every few hours by an alpha hanging over your bed, helping you sit up and feeding you small bites of warm food instead of your usual packaged stuff.

Vernon leaves whenever you fall asleep, coming back with stuff he picks up from restaurants, all rich and dense food that puts you in a good mood and makes you sleep longer. Two nights after he first showed up, you feel uncomfortable again, so you ask for his hoodie. He doesn’t hesitate for two seconds before he pulls it off and tugs it onto you.

“Better?” He asks as you sink into bed again. You hum in relief. It feels amazing to be surrounded by his scent like this. Your omega settles and your discomfort wanes.

“Much.” You reply. He nods. You watch him putter around, cleaning up plates and looking at how much water you still have. You know that you’re only settling with his hoodie temporarily. As your heat hits, his clothes won’t be enough. You will want him. All of him.

Your face flames at the thought. You really never could’ve imagined that Vernon would want to help you like this. You always assumed he was being a good friend, hence why you wanted Seungkwan to stop him. Because you were getting too attached to him, and you didn’t want to set yourself up for future hurt. Turns out, he was courting you, in some characteristically Vernon way of his. And in a way….. it worked. It made you love him more.

Days pass in your pre-heat haze. When you wake up one day, your back drenched in sweat and your heart racing so fast it makes you pant heavily, you realise you’ve hit your heat. You sit up slowly, struggling to unfold your tense body. Vernon isn’t here, probably out to get more supplies or a change of clothes for himself. Your omega whines. You’re wet between the thighs already. You rub them desperately together. Why is your alpha not back yet?

You’re just psyching yourself up to leave the bed when the door to your dorm swings open and Vernon steps inside, arms weighed by bags. He blinks, surprised to see you awake.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” He asks, pushing the door shut with his heel and placing the bags on your study table. You let out a shaky breath.

“Alpha.”

Something in your voice seemingly registers, because his head jerks up. You can feel his nose twitch when you shift, throwing the blanket off your sweaty body. Your scent hits him. You try to shuffle closer to him.

“Need you, please.”

Vernon wastes no time in toeing off his shoes and walking closer to the bed, settling on it and letting you come to him. You crawl into his lap, sighing in relief when your skin meets his. He still hasn’t taken his jacket off, so you tug impatiently at it. He obliges by discarding it, leaving him in a simple shirt and jeans.

You tuck your head against his neck like it’s second nature, like you’ve done it a million times before. You nose at his scent glands, eager to have it invade your senses straight from the source. You feel his hand run comforting circles over your sweaty back.

“You’re drenched.” He murmurs, tugging at your shirt a little where it’s sticking to your skin. You huff.

“‘M hot.”

“Do you want a change of clothes?”

No. I want you to take them off entirely.

You don’t say it, just biting your lip and nosing at his neck more. You know Vernon is here to help with your heat, but you suddenly feel so shy asking him to. God, this was your idea, and you can’t even bring yourself to verbalise it.

When your silence stretches too long, you feel a soft hand on your jaw, nudging your head up. Your eyes meet wide, brown ones.

“I’m here for whatever you need. Just ask, okay? I can’t know unless you tell me.”

He’s right. He’s being so logical and so sweet about it while you’re wallowing. So you nod, mustering up the confidence to peer up at him and say, “I want you.”

Vernon nods. “Okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

When he leans down to softly brush his lips to yours, your omega whines. You inhale shakily and press closer, kissing him properly. He takes it so slow, like he’s savoring every second of it, running his hands carefully, reverently, down your sides before sliding under the hem of your shirt. His skin is so cool against your heated body, and it’s a welcome relief. You sigh into his mouth.

Vernon grips just a little tighter, your flesh dimpling under his touch. It makes your body shift forward, your core grazing over his jean-clad thigh. Your breath hitches as pleasure zips up from your core.

That sets a charged, lazy rhythm. Vernon guides the movement of your body with a firm grip on your hips, back and forth, back and forth, your cunt sliding over his thigh. The rough material of his jeans provides delicious friction, while your flimsy shorts might as well not be there. You’re soaked through, and if you looked down, you’re sure you would see a dark patch on his jeans. He seems to not care about the fact that you’re ruining his clothes. He moans into your mouth, tenses his thigh periodically in a way that sends a pleasurable jolt up your spine. Your legs are spread wide apart, your slit open, pressing your most sensitive parts to him. He kisses you senseless as the pressure in your core gets tighter and tighter, your movements more rushed, more sloppy. He bites your bottom lip the exact moment your orgasm hits, washing over your body like a tidal wave, leaving you moaning and shaking, Vernon’s sure grip the only thing holding you steady.

“Good. Good girl.” He whispers into your raw, bitten lips. “Perfect. There you go.”

Your trembling body goes limp against his figure. He holds you there for a bit, letting you come down. You process what just happened. This was not what you expected, though you’re not complaining at all. It was so hot.

You’re shifted backwards slowly. Vernon lays you on the bed and presses a sweet kiss on your cheek, pulling back.

“You really should change clothes now, sweetheart.” He says. You giggle breathlessly and nod.

Vernon finds a fresh pair of shorts and a loose shirt. He helps you change. You really don’t feel hesitant about being naked in front of him. Hell, you just rode his thigh and came all over him. Speaking of, his jeans are ruined, you can see it a mile off. Vernon excuses himself to the bathroom once you’re settled, and when he emerges later, he’s dressed in sweats.

You eat the food he brought, more like he feeds you and you let him. It feels nice, being pampered and taken care of like this. You say as much to him. He lets out an airy laugh and shakes his head.

“That’s what my intention was the entire time.” He confesses. “I wanted to be a good alpha to you. And in my opinion, a good alpha is someone who knows how to take care of his omega. I was trying to prove that.”

You smile, watching him set the empty plate aside and pour you a glass of water.

“I already know you’re a good person, Vernon. You didn’t have to do all that.”

He shakes his head. “There’s a difference between being a good person and a good alpha. You needed to know I would be there through thick and thin, and I could anticipate your needs and make your life easier. To be loved is to be known, isn’t that what they say?”

You stare at him, speechless. Your heart squeezes in your chest, and you try to look for words, anything you can say to tell him how much this means to you, how much he means to you. But you’re tired, and your heat is messing with your head, and you can’t think of anything that will properly get your meaning across. So you put down the glass in your hand and lean forward, laying a kiss on his lips.

You feel him stiffen only briefly, kissing you back when he realises what is happening. You feel his hand cup your cheek tenderly, slotting his lips deeper into yours. You sigh into this kiss, kicking forward to once again settle in his lap like you did previously. It’s almost like instinct. It’s comforting for you, and with the way his free arm curls around you, you know he likes it too.

You don’t know if it’s your heat, or just the fact that it’s Vernon, but the air charges quickly, and the kiss deepens. Your bodies undulate together, small moans and sighs until you can feel a familiar ache in your loins, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Alpha.” You whine into him.

“I’ve got you.” He reassures you, like he always has. The world tilts, and you’re laid back on the mattress, his torso pressing you down deliciously. His mouth doesn’t leave you for a second, nipping and kissing, before his tongue licks into your mouth. Your pussy clenches around nothing.

Fingers dip into the waistband of your pajamas, tugging them off in one smooth motion. Fingers prod at your entrance, and you pull your knees up and apart. You’re already so wet, so ready, that he slides two fingers in immediately with next to no resistance.

“Fuck.” Vernon groans at the exact time you gasp. His fingers curl, pressing and rubbing, looking for that one spot. You moan and jerk.

“You’re so wet. You’re gonna ruin the sheets.”

He pulls back enough to look down at you. You watch in awe as the corner of his lip quirks up with a smirk you have never seen before. He looks so sexy like this, it makes your head spin.

“Soak my hand. Wanna feel it.”

You shriek when he presses into your soft spot, back arching off the bed. He coos, watching you with half lidded eyes, biting his bottom lip. You burn under his gaze, but it feels so good. Your orgasm is building up frighteningly quick, and before you know it, your legs are seizing.

You babble incoherently, trying to warn him, one hand fisting his shirt while the other tugs at the sheets. The knot in your core is so tight, ready to burst any moment, and he says the final words to get you there.

“Go ahead, baby. Be a good girl. Do what I said. Soak my hand.”

And you do, stars bursting in your vision at the same time that the knot implodes. You can hear how wet the sounds get, sloppy and filthy enough to make you flush. But you’re too preoccupied by how good it feels, washing over your entire body in waves. You know, even before you are fully down, that you are now addicted to this feeling, to him. His scent, heavy and reassuring and endlessly horny, you can tell. And his presence, sure and all encompassing. Your hands, still trembling, reach down, pawing and scratching at his pants.

“Alpha.” You’re surprised you can speak. “Off. Need- need you. Your knot. Please.”

Vernon doesn’t hesitate. With a few precise motions, his pants are pulled off and his shirt follows. You run your hands hungrily over his lean figure. He’s cut. You can trace the muscles, and it makes your mouth water. He’s so hard already, long and veiny and throbbing, and your pussy clenches pathetically. Your hips jerk.

Vernon wraps a hand around his shaft, pumping a few times. You see the precum leak from his tip and dribble down. Your legs twitch when he rubs his mushroom head up and down over your slit, gathering your slick. He groans.

“Look at that. You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” You watch him bite his lip. You buck up again. Finally, he guides the head down, teasing your rim for a few seconds before sliding the head inside.

Your jaw goes slack as he slides in, inch by glorious inch, until you feel the base of his pelvis meet your skin. You can feel him throb even inside you, your walls squeezing and releasing over and over to try and get used to the massive intrusion. Above you, Vernon’s face is pinched, and he curses loudly.

“Don’t- please don’t do that.” His voice is strained. “I’m gonna cum too soon.”

You can’t help your breathless giggle, but you try to relax a little around him. You both breathe deeply, and finally, you feel the alpha move.

The pace is stable and reverent from the beginning, like he wants to feel every nook and cranny of your cunt around him. He fucks you like he’s making up for lost time, speeding up and then slowing down, watching his cock disappear inside your needy, sopping pussy and pulling out, the shaft shiny with your juices. Your eyes roll up at the feeling, how he carves through your opening, in and out, brushing over all the good spots as he moves. He changes the angle every couple of minutes, and you gasp loudly when he hits you just right.

He reads your body like an open book, immediately honing in on the spot and picking up speed. Skin slaps against skin, a plopping sound that fills the room and only turns you on even more, if that’s even possible. Vernon’s eyes run over every part of you hungrily, like he wants to commit all of it to memory, and you feel like you’re on fire under the heat in his gaze.

“I’m gonna cum again.” You whimper, feeling tears sting at your eyes as your pleasure crests to heights you have never felt before. Your whole body feels like it’s molten lava, bubbling up inside you until it overtakes your every nerve. Your hands scramble for purchase, and Vernon sees. He winds his fingers through yours and pushes up, pressing your intertwined hands above your head. Your back arches, body laid open for his eyes only. And under his watchful gaze, his soft words, you cum hard, wailing as you drench his cock with your juices, squeezing around him so hard that you almost black out. Something swollen catches on your opening. He thrusts rough a few more times before he surges forward, bullying his knot deep inside you. Your eyes roll. Your omega keens.

Vernon releases your hands, running his own carefully down your body, like he wants to milk the rigidity from your limbs. You breathe heavily, trying to blink the tears away. He nuzzles into your neck, nosing at it and inhaling deep. When you feel his tongue lick over your scent glands, you shiver.

“Sorry.” He whispers when feels it. “Too much?”

You shake your head and turn it the other way, baring your neck to him. You feel his shaky exhale. He runs his tongue over your neck again, scenting you properly. You bask in the feeling.

You’re so completely at peace here, with his knot inside you and his tongue on your skin. This is exactly what you needed. And it’s clear to you now that Vernon knows actually what you need, always.

🏷️: @picheolin-17 , @lovelylonelinesssvt , @scarlettveemin , @shad0wcast , @iluvhosh , @jimzk , @lucis-noctiana , @hannieweee , @xh01bri , @ilseamamuchoamingyu , @bleudandelion , @huihye , @markoplolo , @moondustmemories , @kaitieskidmore97 , @hocidust , @missaoki , @cheolwoo , @isaltedcarameows , @huiimoon , @tranquillitysoul , @weasleytwins-41 , @igetcarriedawaywithyou , @ateez-atiny380 , @piratekingateez2001 , @kpetts , @k4trinabluu , @sunnysidesins , @embrace-themagic , @escoupsue , @hxsxxk-180294 , @wxnderingthoughts , @meanieislife , @jiminie-08 , @w0nw0es , @lostinfakescenarios , @secret1234505 , @redemptions , @haoxiaoba , @junnhuisworld , @gojominn , @peachy-writings, @dreamingofpcy , @woozidreams , @booscafe , @tiffanylstrobel , @sannidokki , @evemds , @bramos91

[katerbugs]

twilight fanfic coming tonight or tomorrow

[sethsclearwater]

You are absolutely correct. It started as a joke when Quil and his imprint were making fun of the other pack couples for being cheesy but then it stuck and now she won’t answer to anything else. You cannot convince me otherwise

IT SO DID OMFG😭

...

"princess," paul's voice called as he tried to convince rachel to get off her very comfortable spot on the couch and come over to the kitchen to help him find the spatula he supposedly lost.

you muffled your laughter in quil's chest, both of you barely containing yourselves as you both were reminded of all of the pack boys' very odd pet names for their imprints.

"not a chance lahote!" rachel called back into the kitchen, shifting a bit under the blanket she currently had thrown over her lap as if to exaggerate her point as she got more comfortable

as if on queue, embry call stepped into the living room, his gaze immediately falling on his imprintee sitting next to rachel on the couch, "pretty thing," he started, smiling at her as you and quil both immediately lost it.

both of your laughter caught the attention of the other imprint pairs currently in emily's house, everyone watching the two of you with confused, but happy smiles on their faces as they tried to figure out what exactly you two found so funny.

quil's grip around your waist tightened, holding you closer to him as you two wheezed, "not princess-" he started, both of you immediately bursting into laughter again at the reminder of paul's ridiculous pet name for poor rachel.

"you know," you started, sucking in a few deep breaths with quil as the two of you tried to compose yourselves, "you're my pretty boy you know that?" you asked, barely finishing your question as your voice caught when you burst into laughter again.

quil had pulled you into his lap at this point, holding you close to him as laughter echoed through his chest, both of you completely unable to control your hysterics over the pack's pet names.

"my lovebug," quil mumbled against your hair just as your breathing slowed down enough to catch your breath. sure enough, it sent you both reeling again as you thought about how dumb that newfound nickname was.

quil's grip tightened around you, rocking you close to his chest, "my little lovebug," he teased, his laughter muffled against your hair as you two continued to stay lost in your own world.

"'m your lovebug," you reassured, a slew of giggles falling from your lips as quil momentarily tightened his grip on you in a silent way of showing you he approved of your response.

[sethsclearwater]

Can we please get some quil fluff??? Like it’s just fact that that man is the most cuddly person on the planet but like clingy cuddly DOMESTIC quil. I just can’t even. (Also there is an outrageous lack of quil ANYWHERE and I’m so mad cause he’s my absolute favourite so if not this then literally just anything I’m honestly begging lol)

he's so cutie🥺

...

"whatcha doin'?" quil's voice was soft as he stepped into the kitchen, taking a few quick strides so he could come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist.

you hummed, smiling as you felt his warmth coating you, "mac and cheese," you smiled, pausing your stirring for a moment to peek over your shoulder.

quil pressed a quick kiss to your lips which had you giggling, "you want some?" you asked, eyes crinkling from how big you were smiling over the silly little kiss he had just given you a moment prior.

he nodded, "oh definitely," he laughed, pecking your lips once more before allowing you to turn your attention back to the nearly finished pot of mac and cheese you were working on.

while you finished stirring everything together in the pot, quil rested his chin atop your head, his hands gently massaging your hips. "you wanna get a movie on?" you asked once you were satisfied with how well you'd mixed all the ingredients together, the pot now resembling something much closer to what was on the box that inspired you to make it in the first place.

quil hummed, lifting his chin to press his lips to your hair, his curly hair brushing up against the top of your ears with the movement, "in bed?" he asked, voice hopeful which had you giggling while you worked on getting two bowls of mac and cheese set up for the two of you.

"obviously in bed," you teased, spinning around in his arms so you could hand him one bowl while you kept the other, "gotta do the dishes first though," you added, moving to spin back around but quil stopped you, tightening his grip on your hip.

"i'll do them later, promise," he reassured, already knowing how crazy you sometimes got over the prospect of dirty dishes in your small apartment.

you were quick to concede to his compromise, more than happy to let him do the dishes later on so you two could go cuddle sooner rather than later, "i s'pose that's fine..." you drolled, laughing when quil smiled, leaning down to press another quick kiss to your lips.

"off we go then," quil teased, playfully smacking your butt which had you laughing and rolling your eyes as the two of you made your way into the bedroom.

quil helped you into bed, taking your bowl from you while you got under the covers and you reciprocated while he got in on the other side of you, quickly wrapping his arm around your waist to tug you into his side.

as you got settled, quil used the hand that he had wrapped around you to grab the remote, quickly getting the tv on so you two could settle on something to watch.

"next episode of avatar?" he suggested, already knowing the two of you had been obsessed with the show since it finally got released on netflix.

you grinned and nodded, beaming up at him which had quil laughing, "i love you so much, you know that?" he mused as he hit play on the next episode, turning his attention back to you.

"i love you more," you teased, sitting up a bit so you could press a slow kiss to his lips, smiling to yourself when quil quickly returned the affection, dropping the remote in favor of threading his fingers through your hair to gently massage at your scalp.

when you allowed him to part from your lips, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you taking in each other for a moment, "pretty sure i love you the most but whatever," quil whispered after a few moments, both of you letting out quiet laughs at his response.

"whatever you say ateara," you mused, smiling when quil lifted his forehead from yours so the two of you could go back to your regularly scheduled cuddling and movie night.

[sethsclearwater]

˗ˏˋ kinktober day three ˎˊ˗

synopsis: messy sex and creampies with embry and quil

warnings: mean-ish embry and quil (they're v condescending a few times lol), p in v smut, cunnilingus, blowjobs, creampies galore, quil cumming in reader's hair just to piss her off, creampie eating(?), eiffel tower, quil is lowkey a huge freak

word count: 2.43k

[kinktober masterlist]

"jesus quil," embry laughed as the three of you watched him drag his softening cock out of your pussy, a lewd squelching noise following as his cum began to drip out of you rather quickly - a testament to just how much he had spilled into you when he came.

"sorry lovebug," quil huffed a breathy laugh, leaning down to kiss your cheek, "jus' feel so good," he teased, both boys smiling when they saw the way you blushed and curled back into embry.

the three of you had been nearly inseparable since middle school, though your relationship didn't turn romantic until after the boys had both shifted and imprinted on you. all of you were more than intuned with each other and embry and quil couldn't get enough of making you flustered.

"you gonna get some in there too or are you lettin' me have all the fun tonight?" quil teased embry, laughing again when embry rolled his eyes.

"get on your knees for me, pretty thing," embry murmured, giving your hips a gentle squeeze before he was helping you adjust yourself on the bed, your knees digging into the soft fabric of your comforter while quil got himself situated in front of you, running his hands through your hair.

you let out a low whine when you felt him touching your hair, all three of you well aware of quil's odd obsession with cumming all over your hair - something that both boys knew annoyed you to no end, especially when you had to try and detangle it afterwards.

you peeked over your shoulder to look for embry, hoping he'd take your side. he didn't seem to concerned with it as he pumped his cock, already leaking like a faucet despite you hardly touching him yet. he glanced at you for a moment and sighed, "let me braid it first," embry offered, bringing his attention back down to your pussy, taking just a moment to line his cock up with you before pushing in.

the sloshing sound that followed as embry's cock forced some of quil's cum to come gushing out of you had you whining again, pulling your hips forward but embry held you in place, a firm hand on your hip as he thrust all the way in in one smooth motion.

quil's grip on your hair tightened, massaging your scalp for a few moments as he thought about embry's proposition, "fair's fair," he grumbled, his rapidly hardening cock rising to bump against your cheek, more of his precum and your leftover slick smearing against your face.

"quil-" you whimpered, rolling your head to the side in an attempt to get him to let go of your hair and get his cock away from your face.

"raisin' her blood pressure again. gonna give her a heart attack if you keep botherin' her all the time," embry grumbled, his warm hand also tangling into your hair as he leaned down, his cock pressing further into you as he untangled quil's hand from your hair.

quil didn't seem bothered in the slightest, letting out a soft laugh as he allowed embry to pry his hand from your hair. embry's other hand snaked around your front, landing in between your breasts to gently tug you up.

"help hold her up, quil," embry ordered as he slowly removed his hands from around you to start combing through your hair.

quil beamed over at you, as always, doing way too much as he chose to sandwich you between the two boys instead of just holding your hand, "you wanna take a trip to paris, lovebug?" he asked and you scoffed at him in disgust.

"you're nasty quil," you glowered and embry just let out a breathy laugh, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear as he quickly braided your hair down your back - hopefully well enough so that when quil inevitably came all over it, you wouldn't be spending an hour in the shower trying to detangle it.

"c'mon lovebug," quil whined, reaching in between the two of you to grab his cock and nuzzle the tip of it against your clit, you and embry letting out moans when your walls fluttered around him at the action, "won't even make you swallow," he added, as if that helped his case. if he wasn't cumming in you, he sure as hell would be coming all over you instead.

when you continued glaring at him, he dragged his cock down to slowly trace the tip across your hole that was currently stuffed with your other imprinter, "could also get back in here if you want another creampie," he drolled, pressing his tip against your entrance that was already stretched taut for effect and you gasped, shrinking back into embry who just chuckled, wrapping his arm around you to hold you in place.

"you think she'd like that em? two cocks in that tiny little pussy of hers at the same time? i think she could make some room for me," quil continued his theatrics, dragging his cock around your stuffed hole, his and embry's cum dripping down the length of him along with your spend as well.

"he's being mean," you peeked over your shoulder to say to embry who just huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"you've got it pretty thing, take such good care of us don't you?" embry hummed, sliding his hands back down to your hips, one hand slowly sliding to your lower back, him and quil working in tandem as quil slowly backed up and embry pressed you forward, neither boy stopping until you were back on your hands and eye level with quil's cock again.

you huffed, glaring up at quil who just flashed you a smile, pumping his cock in his hand, "embry's gonna make you cum so hard," he mused, and, on cue, embry drew his hips back, thrusting into your heat harder than necessary for the sole purpose of making you gasp.

quil immediately took advantage of your open mouth, sliding his cock in much to your annoyance. he couldn't have looked more satisfied with himself, cupping your cheeks in his hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against the apples of your cheeks.

embry didn't give either one of you too much time for your little standoff, quickly setting a quick pace that he knew you and quil would love. you moaned around quil's cock, embry's thrusts forcing you to act as a fleshlight for both boys as you rocked back and forth. quil let out a loud groan, his fingers immediately sliding up to tangle into your hair.

embry knew how to braid but quil sure as hell knew how to mess it up, though, the way his fingers began soothingly scratching at your scalp had you feeling much less irritated about the immenent prospect of him cumming all over it.

"i love paris," quil dropped his head back to groan, his curls spilling back over his shoulder as you rolled you and embry rolled your eyes.

quil's fingers tightened in your hair to tug you deeper, his cock brushing against the back of your throat as embry continued rolling his hips against yours. early in your relationship, you'd quickly become throat-trained with how unintentionally rough quil could be at times but still whined when your nose brushed against his happy trail.

"such a good girl," embry cooed, reaching his hand around you to roll your clit between his fingers. he pinched the nub almost as soon as he found it and you yelped around quil's cock, both boys chuckling when your eyes immediately watered, the combination of sensations quickly becoming overwhelming.

quil's cum and the copious amounts of embry's pre-cum began dripping down your thighs, the base of embry's cock coated with a frothy ring as he rode you.

"jus' made to take our cocks, aren't you lovebug?" quil cooed when he saw you glaring up at him, teardrops threatening to spill over your waterline as he continued rocking his hips against your mouth.

embry took a bit of pity on you, pressing down on your clit to pleasure the little button, your pussy throbbing around him in response as tears starting streaming down your cheeks from all the sensations.

"there she goes," quil chuckled, sliding one hand out of your hair to brush your tears away, "keep suckin' like a good girl," he ordered, though his tone was a bit more condescending than anything and you went to argue with him but your response was muffled by the way his cock was currently occupying all of your mouth.

quil laughed at that, fingers tightening in your hair, "focus on cummin' lovebug," he patronized, rolling his hips a bit further to prove his point, his cock pressing even deeper into your throat. embry rolled your clit between his fingers before you could work yourself into a tizzy over quil not playing nice with you. you let out a loud moan around quil's cock, quil groaning at the sensation.

embry tightened his grip on your hip to pick up his thrusts again, working toward a steady rhythm to get you to your third orgasm of the night, quil toward his second, and him toward his first.

as soon as the tears started pouring down your cheeks, they didn't stop, the onslaught of pleasure from the wonders embry was working on your pussy making it hard to focus on anything other than how good you felt.

if embry and quil were anything in this world, they were experts at making you cum and were quickly proving that point as quil continued praising you for taking their cocks so well while embry focused on maintaining a steady pace working you right toward the edge.

quil seemed to be closer than you though as his balls tightened, his thrusts getting sloppier as he got close to the edge. you licked a stripe up the length of his cock, suckling at the tip in a way that you knew would have him snapping and that apparently worked as well as you thought it did as quil let out a loud groan, fingers tightening in your hair as his free hand pulled his cock out of your mouth and aimed it at your face and hair. you squeezed your eyes shut as he came, thick ropes of his cum spraying over your cheeks, hair, and back just like you knew he wanted.

you had no idea how he always managed to cum so much but sure enough, your face, hair, and back were coated with his spend. as he slowed, he slowly pushed the tip up against your lips, pushing in just enough that you could suckle on him for the last few drops of his salty release.

how he didn't get overstimulated by that, you had no idea, but he loved it, scratching at your scalp as you sucked on his tip, swallowing the rest of his semen.

"such a good girl," quil scratched at your scalp as he caught his breath. once embry decided he'd cum enough, he reached down to pull your back up to his chest, quil's cum smearing across embry as well.

quil, shameless as ever, spoke up, "let me suck her clit," he groaned as he watched how embry rolled his hips against yours, slowly working you back up to your orgasm after quil had cum.

"how are you even-" you didn't have a chance to finish your sentence as quil laid down in front of you, hooking his hands around your thighs before he burying his face in your pussy.

you and embry both moaned as quil got to work sucking and licking your clit. while embry kept one arm wrapped around your front to secure you to him, he slid his other hand up to tug at one of your nipples.

the combination of quil's tongue and embry's fingers and cock had you going limp in his arms, quil and embry easily supporting you as they worked you toward your third orgasm of the night, "you wanna get some payback for quil cumming in your hair like that?" embry gritted out as he snapped his hips against yours, pressing his lips against your neck to hide his smile when you let out a high pitched whine and nodded.

"then go and cum on his face, yea? i'll be right behind you," embry egged on and quil moaned against your pussy, the vibrations going straight to your core as your belly tightened, your orgasm barreling into you like a freight train.

quil nipped at your clit to send you over the edge and you came with a cry, fingers reaching down to knot into quil's curly hair and hold him in place as he licked and suckled at your clit through your orgasm.

embry wasn't far behind, his cock bullying deeper into you as his thrusts sped up, a loud groan leaving his lips when quil reached up to roll his balls between his fingers.

embry's cum spilled into you, the warmth immediately flooding you as a combination of all of your releases spilled out and into quil's waiting mouth.

when quil decided it wasn't coming out fast enough, he began licking at your hole, still very much occupied by embry and you cried out at the overstimulation while embry bucked his hips further into you, the action giving quil exactly what he wanted as another gush of cum came spilling out onto him.

"quil!" you whined, tightening your fingers in his hair as you tried to pull him away from your cunt but he just gripped your thighs tigher.

"em tell him to stop!" you whimpered when quil's tongue began lapping at your wildly overstimulated entrance again.

embry tugged you back and, for a moment you thought he was taking your side but then he grumbled, "let me lay her down, and then you can have her you freak,"

at that, quil sat up, sitting back on his heels, all of your combined cum dripping down his chin, his cock already hard again.

you whined, anxiously looking over your shoulder at embry as he unplugged his cock from you, laying back and settling you between his legs. he just pressed his lips to your hair, one arm coming to settle over your belly so he could hold you in place.

when quil didn't immediately dive in, embry raised an eyebrow at him, "well, are you gonna clean her up or what?" he asked and quil sprung forward, laying down between your legs so he could get clean up.

[bambieyedoll]

⋆·˚ ༘ * WOLFPACK HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ — you take them lingerie shopping with you.

synopsis: how they'd react if they went shopping with their s/o and they see them looking for a new pair of lingerie/cute underwear.

pairing/s: paul lahote, jacob black, embry call, quil ateara, jared cameron, seth clearwater, sam uley, leah clearwater

masterlist | check out my other work !

paul lahote

paul wasn’t even paying attention to what aisle you wandered into until he noticed you slow down, then stop, in front of a wall of lace, silk, and soft pastel fabrics.

at first, his brow twitches. confusion turns to amusement fast. “wait—this is what you were looking for?” he asks, voice low and already laced with mischief.

when he sees you pick up a delicate little set. lace-trimmed, pale blush, his entire demeanor changes.

smirk mode: activated.

he steps closer, arms folded across his broad chest, head tilted slightly as he watches you pretend to inspect tags. “i mean… if you’re trying to kill me, just say so.”

he doesn’t get shy. not paul. if anything, he enjoys the idea that you’re looking at something sexy for yourself because he’s the one who gets to see it.

picks up a darker, more sultry pair and holds it out to you with a grin: “this one. definitely this one. you should try it on. for research purposes.”

if you so much as blush? he’s thrilled. will lean in and murmur something like, “don’t get all shy on me now. you started this, sweetheart.”

absolutely insists on buying it for you and wants to carry the bag out, pride written all over his face. you’re his girl, and he’s not quiet about how lucky he is.

jacob black

jacob’s totally content following you around the store, not really paying attention, until you veer off into a corner he wasn’t expecting.

the lingerie section.

his steps immediately falter. he doesn’t want to seem weird about it, but the moment he sees you scanning a rack of lacy bralettes, his ears turn bright red.

“uh… this the right aisle?” he asks, trying to sound casual, even though his voice cracks a little at the end.

you don’t even respond, you’re already holding up a set to inspect. and that’s when jacob’s brain starts to short-circuit.

he can’t stop glancing. can’t stop imagining. you in something soft and sheer, maybe in his hoodie right after.

“you… you’d look really good in that,” he mumbles without meaning to. the second he realizes it, he groans and covers his face. “shit, forget i said that.”

you laugh, and that only makes him more flustered. you teasing him? game over.

“this is so unfair,” he grumbles under his breath. “you’re not even doing anything, and i’m losing my mind over here.”

he walks out of the store with his arm around your shoulders and the most intense internal monologue of all time.

embry call

embry’s always been a little awkward with attention, especially when it comes to you. so when you intentionally drag him into the underwear section while out shopping? he’s already sweating.

he tries to play it cool. tries to keep his hands in his pockets, tries to hum some tune and look away. but he fails instantly the second you lift up something silky and say, “do you think this color would look good on me?”

he makes a choked noise. his whole body jerks slightly like he’s been electrocuted.

“i—uh—y-yeah. that’d look amazing. wait—i mean good. just—good. totally appropriate.”

he’s so red in the face. you could probably fry an egg on his cheek.

he peeks at the tag like he’s examining battle strategy, then whispers, “are you getting that for…you know. wearing around the house? or…like. just…wha—what’s the purpose?”

you tease him about being flustered and he covers his eyes.

but even through the nerves, he genuinely thinks you’re beautiful no matter what you wear. so when you ask which one he likes, he points to something soft, cozy-looking, not too flashy.

“this one,” he says quietly, handing it to you like it’s a sacred artifact. “you’d be comfortable in it. and you’d still make my heart stop.”

jared cameron

jared walks into the lingerie section like it’s the highlight of his day.

he’s not shy. not even close. “oh, we’re going in here? finally,” he jokes, grinning.

the moment you start flipping through the hangers, he’s already at your side, picking out options. “okay, but look at this one. it’s got your name all over it.”

jared treats it like a fun game. he’ll toss out ridiculous suggestions just to make you laugh, then sneak in one that actually makes you blush.

“you keep reacting like that and i will ask you to try it on right now,” he teases, voice low and teasingly serious.

he watches your face more than the clothes, lives for your flustered expressions.

if someone else walks by and gives you a look while you’re holding something sultry? jared steps closer, voice dropping: “keep lookin’ and you’ll go blind.”

he pays for it all without hesitation and tucks the bag under his arm with a proud smile.

“don’t worry, babe,” he says with a wink. “i’ll help you decide which one’s best later. in private.”

seth clearwater

poor seth. the minute he realizes you’re looking at underwear, he nearly combusts.

“oh! oh—uh—y-you’re shopping for that kind of stuff?”

he stands a full foot away from you like he might get struck by lightning just for being near a pair of lacy panties.

he keeps trying so hard not to look, but curiosity always wins.

when you hold up a cute, pastel bralette and ask what he thinks, he freezes. his mouth opens, no words come out. he just nods rapidly.

“yep. cute. definitely cute. super… lacy. i mean—lovely.”

if you tease him by grabbing something bolder, like red lace or black satin, he gasps. “that’s—um—that’s—wow. you’d—uh—you’d wear that? for… like… sleep?”

later, as you’re checking out, he tugs at your sleeve and whispers, “i think you’d look beautiful in anything… but that one? that one’s gonna live in my head forever.”

his honesty is so endearing, and his face is red the entire drive home.

quil ateara

quil’s the type to notice instantly what aisle you’re walking into and make a comment before you even grab something.

“ohhh no. you’re doing this to torture me, aren’t you?”

he follows behind you with a dramatic sigh, hands in his hoodie pockets, eyes twinkling.

“i swear, if you hold up something with bows or frilly lace, i’m going to melt into the floor.”

and then you do, and he does.

he pretends to faint. literally leans back like he’s about to collapse. “have mercy.”

picks out a ridiculous novelty pair first (think: glitter hearts), just to make you snort. but then he finds one that’s genuinely sexy, holds it up thoughtfully, and gets weirdly quiet.

“you’d look so good in this. like, dangerous.”

when you actually buy it, he jokes the whole time but his hand stays firmly at the small of your back.

that night, when you wear it? his first words are, “okay. yep. dead. you killed me. worth it.”

sam uley

sam is calm, composed, and entirely unreadable. at least on the outside.

the second you start browsing lingerie, he’s beside you with one eyebrow lifted. “lingerie shopping, huh?” he murmurs, voice deep and smooth.

there’s something in his tone that makes the back of your neck heat up.

he doesn’t tease. doesn’t get flustered. he just watches you with this quiet, intense gaze that says everything.

when you lift a black lace set to inspect, he steps closer. “you’d look stunning in that,” he says simply, like it’s a fact.

if another guy walks past and looks at you too long? sam’s hand tightens slightly on your hip. that protective, alpha instinct doesn’t sleep.

helps you find your size without hesitation and is absurdly practical, until you try to call him out on enjoying it too much.

“maybe i am,” he says, low and husky. “but you knew what you were doing bringing me here, didn’t you?”

by the time you leave, his arm is around your waist, and he’s leaning down to murmur in your ear, “you’re wearing that for me later. no arguments.”

leah clearwater

leah doesn’t usually linger in stores longer than necessary. she likes getting in, getting what she needs, and getting out. especially if the store’s crowded.

so when you pull her gently toward the lingerie section, she blinks, glances at the signs overhead, and says with a dry laugh, “oh, so we’re going there today?”

her tone’s light, a little sarcastic, but not biting because even if she doesn’t say it aloud, she’ll follow you anywhere.

she stands at your side as you browse, arms folded and eyes scanning the displays with a raised brow. you half-expect her to scoff at the lace and silk, but instead, she just murmurs, “some of this stuff looks like it’d fall apart in the wash.”

still… she lingers. quietly. watches you sift through colors and fabrics like she’s memorizing which ones you’re drawn to.

when you hold up a soft, lilac set. more cute than bold, leah’s eyes soften. she clears her throat. “that’s nice. you’d look really good in that.”

there’s no teasing in her voice, no biting remark, just quiet honesty.

and when you smile at her reaction, she shifts her weight awkwardly, glancing down. “what?” she mumbles. “i’m allowed to have taste.”

you ask if she wants to help you pick one out, and she hesitates. for a second, you think she’s going to say no but then she reaches for a muted wine-colored bralette and matching bottoms. “this one,” she says, holding it out gently. “i think it’d suit you. strong. subtle. pretty.”

she says the last word a little softer, barely audible, and you catch her biting the inside of her cheek when your eyes meet.

leah’s not used to softness, not the romantic kind. but around you, it leaks through in little glances, brief touches, and quiet protectiveness.

when you head to the register, she walks close beside you, her hand brushing yours until she just grabs it outright.

“you don’t have to dress up for me,” she murmurs once you’re alone again. “i already think you’re beautiful.”

but then, just a beat later, a small smirk tugs at her lips as she adds, “still. if you do wear that one tonight, i’m not gonna complain.”

[forkshighschooler]

I need more Quil Atara x human reader

Sun-Warm Smiles

Pairing: Quil Ateara x Human!Reader

Summary: You’ve always known Quil Ateara was sunshine in human form, the boy who made La Push feel like home. You just didn’t realize that every easy smile and lingering look meant something more—something written into his bones. When an accident at First Beach leaves you shaken, Quil can’t hold the truth back anymore.

Warnings: Soft angst, mild injury (nothing graphic), lots of fluff, imprint reveal, cussing (very light), friends-to-lovers vibes.

⸻

You always know Quil’s coming before you see him.

It’s the way the air changes—how the quiet of La Push fills with something loud and warm and a little ridiculous. By the time you hear the slap of his sneakers on the gravel, you’re already smiling.

“You’re early,” you say without looking up from your sketchbook, perched on the driftwood log that’s practically your assigned seat at First Beach.

“I’m tragically punctual, actually,” Quil announces, dropping down beside you so dramatically that the log shudders. “There’s a difference.”

You snort. “Pretty sure there’s not.”

He leans in, trying to peek at your drawing. “What masterpiece are we cookin’ up today, Picasso?”

You angle the sketchbook away from him. “Nope. You don’t get to see until it doesn’t suck.”

Quil presses a hand over his heart. “I am your number one fan and you’re gatekeeping? Wow. Betrayal.”

You finally glance at him—and there it is. That sun-bright grin, the one that always hits you dead in the chest. His brown eyes are soft, crinkling at the corners as he looks at you like you’re the most interesting thing on the beach. Maybe in the whole world.

It does stuff to you you’d really rather not think about.

“You’re my number one loud fan,” you correct, nudging his shoulder. “There’s a difference.”

He gasps. “Slander. I am… spirited.”

“Annoying.”

“Adorable,” he counters automatically.

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips ruins any chance of pretending you’re annoyed. This is how it always is with him—back-and-forth teasing, easy laughter, that comfortable closeness that makes everything else feel far away.

You’ve known Quil for almost a year now, ever since you moved to Forks and somehow ended up spending half your time in La Push “by accident.” Accident being code for: you made one friend who dragged you to the rez, and then somehow you met this boy with a hurricane laugh and a heart too big for his chest.

That was it for you, really.

You tug your hoodie tighter around yourself as the ocean breeze picks up, teasing your hair around your face. Quil’s gaze flicks to the motion, and something in his expression softens even more, like melted honey.

You pretend not to notice the way your stomach flips.

“So,” you say, to distract yourself, “are we doing a bonfire tonight or was the group chat just Sam yelling about chores again?”

Quil groans like he’s in pain. “Don’t say that man’s name when I’m trying to relax.”

You laugh. “He’s not that bad.”

“To you,” Quil says pointedly. “You don’t get three-hour lectures on responsibility because you forgot one trash bag.”

“You also set it on fire,” you remind him.

“It was an accident!”

“With a lighter.”

He waves a hand. “Semantics.”

You snicker and finally flip the sketchbook around to show him. It’s the view in front of you—the rocky shoreline, the horizon, the hint of trees. But there’s also a figure on the log, half-finished. His nose, his jawline, his wild hair.

Quil stares.

Your cheeks heat. “It’s not done yet,” you babble. “I was just… blocking in shapes. You weren’t supposed to—it’s not—”

“That’s me,” he says softly.

You fidget with the corner of the page. “Maybe.”

He doesn’t look smug like you expected. Instead, there’s something almost reverent in the way he runs his thumb along the edge of the paper without touching the drawing.

“You drew me,” he murmurs, like that means more than it should. “Like… actually drew me.”

Your heart thumps. “You’re around a lot,” you say quickly. “You’re good… reference material.”

He finally tears his eyes away from the sketch and looks at you instead. You wish he wouldn’t. Or that he always would. You haven’t decided which is worse.

“I like it,” he says quietly. “I like that you see me like that.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly tight. “Messy and unfinished?”

“Worth putting on paper,” he says, and it’s too honest, too raw, like it slipped out before he could stop it.

You’re saved from having to answer when someone yells his name in the distance.

You both look up to see Embry waving from further down the beach, a football tucked under his arm. Behind him, you can see Jacob and a few of the others.

Quil groans again. “Duty calls.”

“Duty?” you echo. “You mean the burning need to show off your terrible spiral throw?”

“Ouch.” He clutches his chest. “I take psychic damage.”

“Go,” you say, laughing. “I’ll be here.”

He hesitates, eyes searching your face like he’s looking for something. Then he nods, pushing himself up.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises. “Don’t go wandering into the waves without supervision.”

“I’m not five,” you protest.

He points at you as he walks backward. “Tell that to the girl who tripped over a seashell and nearly ate sand last week.”

“That was one time!”

His laughter carries on the wind as he jogs away.

You watch him go, warmth curling in your chest, something steady and dangerous and growing. You’ve tried to stomp it down, ignore it, bury it—it’s just Quil. Your best friend. Your favorite person. The boy who shows up with snacks when you’re sad. The one whose shoulder you fall asleep on during movie nights. The one everyone whispers about lately, because he’s gotten taller, broader, and way too pretty for your peace of mind.

He’s also the boy you’re almost positive doesn’t see you the same way.

You’ve seen the girls look at him. You’ve heard them giggle, watched them trail their eyes over his arms, his smile, his easy charm. You’ve listened to him talk about “the whole imprinting thing” like it’s a cosmic soulmate situation, a destined, once-in-a-lifetime kind of love.

Why would that ever land on you?

You sigh and look back down at your sketchbook, shading in the line of his jaw with careful strokes.

Behind you, the waves crash, steady and endless.

⸻

You don’t see the wave that gets you.

One second, you’re standing near the waterline, shoes off, toes sinking into the wet sand as you look for a better angle to snap a reference photo of the rocks further down. The next, a larger wave surges forward, faster and harder than you expected.

The sand shifts violently under your feet. Your ankle rolls.

You yelp, arms pinwheeling. The world tilts.

You go down hard, your knee slamming against something jagged and unforgiving. White-hot pain bursts up your leg. Your phone flies from your hand, skidding across the wet sand as cold seawater rushes over you, soaking your clothes, stealing your breath.

“Shit—!”

You try to scramble up, but when you put weight on your leg, it gives out. Panic flares in your chest, sharp and bright.

You hear your name, distant and echoing over the roar of the ocean.

Then you hear Quil.

“(Y/N)!”

He sounds terrified.

By the time you blink the saltwater from your eyes, he’s already there.

You don’t even see him cross the distance—one heartbeat you’re alone with the sea, the next there’s warmth and strength hauling you upright, big hands gripping your arms like you might shatter.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” he says, breathless. “Are you okay? Where are you hurt? Did you hit your head? Can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?”

You stare at the blur of his hand, your teeth chattering, adrenaline buzzing through you. “Was I supposed to study for this quiz or—?”

He huffs out something like a laugh, but his eyes are wide, wild, scanning you from head to toe.

You follow his gaze and see it—the torn fabric at your knee, the trickle of blood mixing with seawater, staining your skin pink.

Your stomach flips queasily. “Oh.”

Quil’s jaw flexes. “Can you move your toes?”

You wiggle them in the sand. “Yeah.”

“Ankle?”

You roll it carefully. It hurts, but not in the broken way. “Sprained, maybe. Or just mad at me.”

“Sounds like you,” he mutters, relief making his voice softer. “Okay. We’re getting you out of here.”

“Quil, I’m fine, it just—”

He doesn’t listen. Of course he doesn’t.

He dips down and scoops you up like you weigh nothing, one arm under your knees, the other around your back. You squeak, automatically flinging your arms around his neck.

“Quil!”

“Complain later,” he says, already striding away from the water. He’s warm. So, so warm, heat pouring off him in waves that battle the ocean chill clinging to your soaked clothes. His chest is solid against your cheek, his heartbeat thundering fast and erratic.

You try to steady your breathing. “You know, if you wanted to carry me, you could’ve just asked. We didn’t need the dramatic near-death experience.”

His grip tightens fractionally. “That wasn’t funny.”

You blink. “It was a little funny.”

“You went under, (Y/N),” he says, voice low and rough. “You weren’t answering. I thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching again.

You look up at him properly then, really look at him.

He’s drenched, too—the ocean must’ve gotten him when he charged in after you. His hair is a mess, curls sticking to his forehead. There’s sand on his arms, his chest heaving like he ran a marathon. But it’s his eyes that get you.

They’re scared. Really, genuinely scared.

Your chest squeezes. “Quil…”

He doesn’t meet your gaze. “I’m taking you to my place. My aunt’s home, she can look at your knee.”

“You’re overreacting,” you say gently, but your voice wobbles.

He finally glances down at you, and whatever he sees in your face makes his expression soften. Just a little.

“Maybe,” he says quietly. “Let me overreact, okay?”

You swallow hard. “Okay.”

⸻

Quil’s house is a blur of warmth and fussing and Neosporin.

His aunt fusses over you the second you’re inside, clicking her tongue and calling you “sweetheart” while she cleans the cut on your knee. It stings, but not as much as the way Quil hovers in the doorway, arms crossed so tightly over his chest you’re surprised his biceps don’t snap.

“You’re fine, mija,” his aunt assures you after a few minutes, patting your hand. “Stitches not needed. Just keep it clean. Ice for the ankle.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, grateful and embarrassed and overwhelmed all at once.

When she leaves you alone with Quil in the small living room, the silence is heavy.

You’re sitting on the couch, one leg propped up on a pillow with an ice pack balanced on your ankle. Quil stands a few feet away, like he’s afraid to get too close or not close enough. You can’t tell which.

“You can sit, you know,” you say softly. “I don’t bite.”

He exhales sharply through his nose and drops into the armchair across from you, elbows on his knees. His eyes finally lock onto yours.

“You scared me,” he says bluntly.

Guilt crawls up your spine. “I didn’t mean to. It was just a wave. I’m clumsy. It happens.”

“It shouldn’t happen,” he fires back. “Not to you.”

You blink. “Waves? You gonna sue the ocean for me?”

He doesn’t smile. That makes you more nervous than anything else today.

“Quil?”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m trying really hard not to say the wrong thing right now.”

You frown. “There’s a wrong thing?”

“There’s always a wrong thing with you,” he mutters. “Because everything I say feels like it’s not enough.”

Your heart stutters. “I… don’t understand.”

“Yeah,” he says, laugh humorless. “I know.”

The ice pack suddenly feels too cold. “Then explain it to me?”

He looks at you like you’re asking him to jump off a cliff.

And then, slowly, he does.

“You know how we always talk about imprinting?” he starts, voice low. “How Jake and Embry joke about it, how Sam takes it way too seriously?”

You nod cautiously. “Yeah.”

“You remember what I said? About how it’s… like gravity moves?” His gaze is intense, pinned to yours. “Like your whole world snaps into place around one person, and nothing feels the same after?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. Your throat is dry.

He swallows. “That happened to me, (Y/N).”

Something ugly twists in your chest—jealousy, maybe, or fear. You force your voice to stay even. “Oh. Um… okay. Who’s the girl?”

He stares at you like you just missed the point of an entire movie.

“Are you serious?” he asks, incredulous.

You flounder. “Well, yeah, I mean, you said—”

“It’s you,” he says, and the words are like a match dropped into gasoline. “You’re the girl. You’ve always been the girl.”

Your mind blanks.

“Quil,” you say faintly. “Don’t joke.”

“I’m not joking.” He sits forward, edge of the chair, like he’s ready to stand, to pace, to explode. “I couldn’t. Imprinting isn’t… it’s not something you fake. It’s not a crush, it’s not some ‘hey, you’re cute’ thing. It’s—” He gestures helplessly, searching for words. “It’s the way my heart stops every time I lose sight of you on that damn beach. It’s knowing your laugh from across town. It’s—” His voice cracks. “It’s feeling like I will actually fall apart if something happens to you.”

Your vision blurs for a second. “But… but why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you’re you,” he says immediately. “Because you’re beautiful and stubborn and you think you’re clumsy and ordinary and second choice when you’re the only choice that ever made sense to me.” His hands curl into fists. “Because I didn’t want to scare you off. I didn’t want you to feel trapped, or like I expected you to love me back just because my DNA decided you’re it for me.”

Your chest aches. “I… I do feel like that sometimes.”

“I know,” he says softly. “I’ve heard the way you talk about yourself when you think I’m not listening. Like you’re the backup plan. The extra. The one in the background while everyone else is in the spotlight.” He shakes his head, anger burning in his eyes—not at you, never at you, but at the idea of you thinking that. “You are my spotlight, (Y/N). I don’t even see the rest of the room when you walk in.”

Your eyes sting.

“That wave knocking you down?” he continues, voice rough. “I thought I was gonna lose my mind. My whole body just—reacted. One second I’m joking with the guys, the next, you’re gone under the water and I swear, I didn’t even think. I just ran.”

You remember the way he’d appeared at your side like lightning. “Was that… the wolf thing?”

“Partly,” he says. “But mostly it was the you thing.”

A helpless laugh bubbles out of you, half-sob, half-shock. “The ‘me thing’?”

“Yeah.” He finally gets up, crossing the room in two strides. He kneels in front of the couch, careful not to jostle your leg, his hands braced on either side of your hips like he’s still afraid to touch you without permission.

He’s close. Too close. Not close enough.

“Look,” he says, softer now. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to decide anything right now. You can take all the time you need to process the whole ‘hey, your best friend is magically bound to you’ thing.” His lips twitch. “But I needed you to know. Because I can’t… I can’t do this halfway anymore. Not when a stupid wave makes me feel like I’m gonna stop breathing.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re surprised he can’t hear it.

“You really…” You swallow. “You really imprinted on me?”

He nods once, firmly. No hesitation.

“Since when?” you whisper.

“The first week,” he says. “You were sitting right where you were today, on that driftwood log. You had your headphones in, drawing something in that sketchbook. Your shoelace came untied. You stuck your pencil in your mouth, balanced your book on your knee, and tried to tie your shoe without dropping either.” He huffs a small laugh. “You were so focused you didn’t notice me trip over my own feet staring at you from the parking lot.”

You blink, stunned. “I… I remember that. You fell into a trash can.”

“In my defense, I had just met the center of my universe.”

Your cheeks burn. “Quil.”

“It’s true.” He shrugs, but his eyes are earnest. “The gravity thing? That’s real. My whole life just… shifted. And I’ve been orbiting you ever since.”

You stare at him, your chest overflowing with too many feelings to sort out. Confusion. Fear. Awe. Something fierce and warm and blooming that you’ve been trying to smother for months.

“You could’ve told me,” you say quietly.

“I was scared,” he admits. “You matter too much to lose. I thought if I pushed, if I made it weird, you’d run. And I’d rather have you as my best friend than not have you at all.” His voice softens to a whisper. “But today… I realized there are things worse than you running away.”

“Like?”

“Like you getting hurt and never knowing how much I love you.”

The room is so quiet you can hear the ticking of the kitchen clock. Outside, a car rumbles past. The world keeps moving, oblivious.

You, however, are very, very aware.

“You love me?” you echo.

“Yeah,” he says, with the same certainty he once used to say your favorite snack order by heart. “I love you. Not just the imprint thing—though that’s there, and it’s strong and it’s real—but me. Quil. I love the way you get paint on your hands and don’t notice. I love that you narrate your own drawing process under your breath. I love that you always save the last fry for someone else even when you really want it.” His smile is crooked, vulnerable. “I love all of it.”

Your eyes blur again. “You weren’t supposed to make me cry more today.”

“I’d offer a refund, but I’m kinda all you’ve got right now,” he jokes weakly.

You laugh, choked and watery. “You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he says instantly, then freezes, like he wishes he could stuff the words back in his mouth.

Something inside you finally, finally clicks into place.

“Oh,” you say, breath hitching. “My idiot.”

You reach out before you can overthink it, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. His eyes widen, startled, then hopeful.

“I like you,” you blurt.

He stares. “I—what?”

“I like you,” you repeat, a little louder, your cheeks flaming. “Like, really like you. And I’ve been trying not to because I thought you’d imprint on someone else and I’d just be the friend you hang out with until your real soulmate shows up.”

His face crumples, like he’s both hurt by the idea and relieved to hear it.

“(Y/N),” he breathes. “You’ve always been the soulmate.”

You swipe at your eyes with your free hand. “I’m still mad you didn’t tell me.”

“That’s fair.”

“But…” You exhale shakily. “I’m also really glad it’s me.”

His answering smile is blinding.

“Yeah?” he asks, like he needs the confirmation.

“Yeah,” you say, the word steady this time. “I don’t know how all the imprint stuff works yet, and it’s a lot, and I’m probably gonna freak out at some point, but… I want to figure it out with you. If you’ll let me.”

He makes a sound that might actually be a sob disguised as a laugh.

“I am very on board with that plan,” he says roughly. “Like, top of the list, best plan I’ve ever heard, would tattoo it on my forehead if that wouldn’t be weird.”

“Please don’t do that,” you snort.

He grins. “No forehead tattoos. Got it.”

You hesitate for half a second, then tug him closer by his shirt. He moves willingly, bracing one hand carefully beside your hip on the couch, the other hovering uncertainly near your cheek like he’s afraid to assume.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, the words tumbling out before your courage can abandon you.

His eyes go very wide.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, affectionate and dazed. “Yes. God, yes. But also, your leg—”

“My leg is fine,” you say. “My ankle’s on ice. My lips, however, are tragically neglected.”

He chokes on a laugh. “Say less.”

Then his mouth is on yours.

It’s soft at first, almost shy—careful, like he’s terrified of hurting you or pushing too far. His lips are warm and a little chapped, but he kisses you like you’re something precious, something breakable and beloved. The hand near your cheek finally settles, thumb brushing your skin in a touch so gentle it makes your heart ache.

You sigh into it, fingers curling tighter in his shirt, pulling him closer. He follows your lead, deepening the kiss just a little, just enough to make your toes curl and your thoughts scatter.

When you finally pull back, you’re both breathing harder than the kiss really warranted. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Okay,” you whisper, dazed. “I get the gravity metaphor now.”

He laughs, low and delighted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Feels a lot like falling. But in a good way.”

He opens his eyes, and the love there is so open, so unguarded, it steals your breath. “I’ve got you,” he says softly. “You don’t have to be scared of falling. Not with me.”

You believe him.

You think you always have.

Outside, the ocean keeps crashing, steady and endless. Inside, you’re wrapped in warmth—Quil’s hands, Quil’s smile, Quil’s stupid perfect laugh. The boy who runs into the waves without thinking if it means reaching you in time.

Your world has shifted, tilted, spun.

You find you don’t mind the new gravity at all.

“Hey, Quil?” you murmur.

“Yeah?” he hums, thumb still tracing lazy circles on your cheek.

“Next time you carry me princess-style across the beach,” you say, your lips quirking, “I expect snacks and a dramatic speech.”

He grins, wide and bright and so, so in love. “Deal. Imprint’s honor.”

And when he leans in to kiss you again, you let yourself fall the rest of the way—straight into him, into this, into a future where “second choice” doesn’t exist.

Not when, for Quil Ateara, you’ve always been the only one.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[slutgeant]

hiiii I have a request for peter !! sorry if this doesn't have much detail, but a fem! reader and him going to a ball and it just ends with both of them being so tired that they just end up cuddling and spending the night in each others embrace <3

masterlist

Just Us

✧. ┊     PAIRING: peter pevensie x fem!reader

✧. ┊    WORDS: 2.1k words

✧. ┊    TAGS/WARNINGS: slight angst, 95% fluff, no major warnings apply

No, Peter did not love balls in the slightest. Especially when it was to celebrate him. To celebrate his "impressive" victory over the Telmarines, even though it was a battle that they won, and every creature in Narnia had done their part. Not just Peter. But he had no say in the matter, his siblings being too encouraging about the event (likely wanting a way for Peter to embarrass himself), and you being at the forefront of planning. You, of all people, had seen him endure the sleepless nights. Had seen him dedicate his very being to Narnia. So when Caspian suggested the idea of a ball to celebrate Peter, you'd been ecstatic.

And now, he stands in the corner of his own ball, drink in hand, eyes trained on your carefree form as you mingle amongst the regal Narnians. The nymphs sewed you a gown, a gown that seemed to be woven from starlight and water streams, shimmering with every step you took. It was a cruel irony, Peter thought, that you looked more radiant and joyous in this moment than you ever had when you were comforting him through his nightmares or celebrating a small victory in the war room.

He watched you laugh, a genuine, unburdened sound that barely carried over the music, yet it echoed loudly in his ears. You were the reason this entire, suffocating spectacle existed. You, who knew exactly how much the war had cost him, had thrown him to the wolves.

"Enjoying the view, High King?" Caspian’s voice was light, far too cheerful, as he slid into the corner beside him.

Peter didn't look at him. He kept his eyes locked on you, watching as you expertly navigated a group of centaurs, looking perfectly at home in the centre of the attention he so desperately wanted to escape. A human who found where she belonged. Unlike him.

"You have no idea what you've done, Caspian," Peter murmured, his voice tight, taking a sharp sip of his drink. "She looks happy. And I look like a fool in a gilded cage."

"She worked hard on this for you, Peter. We all did."

"I know," Peter replied, a pang of guilt warbling with his irritation. He watched you turn, your eyes finally finding his across the crowded room. You beamed, raising your glass slightly in a silent toast, completely unaware that you were the focal point of his frustration and his intense, longing focus.

He forced a small, strained smile back, watching you return to your conversation. You looked beautiful, but for the first time, he found he couldn't bear to be the one to keep you in this spotlight. He wanted to drag you out of this ballroom, away from the prying eyes, and back to a place where he didn't have to be the 'Magnificent' high king, but just Peter, and you were just his.

His hand tightens on his cup as you glide over to him, looking like you're floating in that gown. You were just as beautiful as the dryads and the naiads. You were Narnian.

"Come dance," you said, reaching out a hand, your fingers brushing against his leather gauntlet.

Peter looked at your hand, then up at your eyes, searching them for any sign of a tease.

"I don't think so," he muttered, his voice low, almost swallowed by the swelling orchestration of the centaur musicians. "I've done enough performing for one night."

"It's not a performance if it's with me," you countered softly, your smile shifting from festive to intimate. "Consider it a tactical retreat from the crowd. No one will bother the High King while he's dancing."

He let out a short, breathy laugh, the tension in his jaw finally fracturing. He set his cup down on a nearby stone ledge.

"You always have an excuse," he murmured.

"I have a plan," you corrected, stepping closer so he had no choice but to lead you onto the floor. "There's a terrace on the east wing. In ten minutes, the fauns are letting off the star-flares. Everyone will look up. We look down, and we run."

As his hand found the small of your back, the fabric of the nymph-woven gown felt like cool water beneath his palm. He pulled you into the rhythm of the music, his movements naturally commanding despite his internal reluctance. For the first time since the music started, Peter wasn't looking at the crowd, the banners, or the glittering crown he felt he hadn't earned. He was only looking at you.

"Ten minutes?" he asked, his eyes darkening with a sudden, quiet intensity as he guided you through a turn.

"Nine now," you whispered, leaning in closer.

The star-flares erupted in a sudden cascade of brilliant gold and emerald sparks, drawing every eye in the hall toward the high arched windows.

Just as you promised, Peter did not hesitate. His hand locked around yours, surprisingly warm and solid, and he pulled you back into the shadows of the velvet curtains before the crowd could even begin to cheer. You ran through the winding stone corridors of Cair Paravel, the sound of your breathing and the light rustle of your nymph-woven gown echoing off the walls. Peter didn't stop until he pushed open the heavy oak door to his chambers, letting it click shut securely behind you both.

The room was bathed in the soft, ambient glow of a dying hearth fire, silent and completely removed from the suffocating grandeur downstairs.

Peter leaned his back against the closed door, closing his eyes as he let out a long, heavy breath. The rigid, regal posture he had maintained all evening melted away instantly. He looked entirely undone, his hair slightly rumpled from the escape, his collar loosened, and the weight of the High King temporarily lifted from his shoulders. Just a boy now. A boy who loved a girl.

When he opened his eyes, they fixed on you with an intense, quiet vulnerability.

"Thank you," he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper that cut through the silence of the room. He stepped away from the door, moving closer to you until the heat from the fireplace caught the edge of your shimmering gown. "I don't think I could have survived another minute down there."

"I should've asked how you felt about it. I know you're humble to the core and hate these things" You pull off your painful heels and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. The dull thud of your heels hitting the rug seemed to break the last of the rigid formality holding him together. Peter’s lips twitched into a genuine, tired smile as he watched you toss them aside. He walked over, unbuckling his heavy leather gauntlets and dropping them onto a side table with a metallic clatter.

"Humble is a polite word for it," he said, running a hand through his hair, leaving it thoroughly dishevelled. "I just... I look at the centaurs who lost their sons, and the talking beasts rebuilding their homes, and it feels entirely wrong to sit on a throne drinking wine while they're still bleeding."

He stepped closer, the firelight catching the sharp planes of his face. The exhaustion in his eyes was stark, stripped of the brave facade he wore for Narnia. He looked down at your bare feet on the cool stone floor, then up at your face.

"You don't need to apologise," he murmured, his voice softening as he closed the remaining distance between you. "You planned it because you wanted everyone to see what you see in me. I know that. But the only part of this night that felt real was dancing with you."

His hand reached out, his bare fingers hesitant before gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your collarbone, his touch warm against your skin.

"Then let us celebrate you with only the two of us," you whisper back.

He didn't say a word. Instead, he stepped into your space, his hands finding your waist. His grip was firm but incredibly gentle, mindful of the delicate, gown beneath his fingers. He pulled you flush against him, the cool material of your dress pressing against his warm tunic.

The silence of the room was thick, broken only by the crackle of the hearth fire and the distant, muffled thump of the star-flares still bursting over Cair Paravel. Without the eyes of Narnia on him, his gaze was fierce and entirely focused.

"Just us," he agreed, his voice a low, raspy promise against your lips.

He leaned down and kissed you. It wasn't the polite, measured kiss of a fairy-tale king, but something deep, desperate, and filled with the relief of a man who had finally found his safe harbor. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer as if trying to anchor himself to the one thing that made sense after months of war. When he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours, his chest heaving.

Peter reached back with steady fingers to undo the delicate ties of your gown. As the fabric pooled around your feet, the cool air of the room hit your skin, replaced a second later by the warmth of his hands. You helped him unbuckle the heavy leather straps of his jerkin, setting the last piece of his warrior persona onto the floor. Stripped down to the basics, the scars from the recent battle with the Telmarines were visible on his shoulders, but his stare was entirely soft.

He lifted you easily, carrying you the short distance to the large bed near the hearth.

The heavy furs and soft sheets welcomed you both as Peter climbed in beside you. He immediately pulled you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you securely. The contrast was instant. His body was radiating heat, solid and grounding, while you curled into his side. He rested his chin on the top of your head, inhaling the scent of the celebration still lingering in your hair, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles on your bare shoulder.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The distant sounds of the ball were completely forgotten, replaced by the rhythmic sound of Peter's heartbeat beneath your cheek. His muscles, which had been locked tight with tension for weeks, finally began to loosen.

"I don't ever want to go back down there," he murmured into your hair, his voice heavy with sleep and deep contentment. He tightened his embrace, pulling you even closer into his warmth. "Let them have the castle. I just want this."

"We can have this in Finchley too," you trace his fingers. You'd loved Narnia. You'd loved forgetting about politics and gender roles, and technology and all the ugly things the outside world had to offer. But it didn't matter where you were. As long as you fell into his bed at the end of the day. As long as you felt his fingers on your skin, his kiss against your temple.

The mention of Finchley hung in the quiet room, a sharp reminder of the world waiting for them beyond the train station. Peter’s fingers stalled on your shoulder. His chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh beneath your tracing hand. He turned his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your temple, just as you’d dreamed. He'd known how much you adored Narnia. How much you hated the thought of going back home. How much you didn't want this dream to end.

"Finchley," he breathed out, the word sounding foreign amidst the stone walls of Cair Paravel.

He shifted, rolling slightly onto his side so he could look down at you. The firelight caught the bittersweet curve of his smile. In England, he was just a schoolboy. He was a boy who had to fit into cramped train cars, fight with boys his age, and watch his country rebuild from a devastating world war. There were no crowns there, no grand victories, and certainly no nymph-woven gowns.

But looking at you now, stripped of all the royal titles that suffocated him, he realised you were right.

"You'd really content yourself with a cramped flat and a radio?" he whispered, his thumb gently tracing your jawline. His eyes searched yours, fierce and deeply earnest. "No talking beasts, no magic? Just me coming home from some mundane job, completely ordinary?"

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours with a slow, tender certainty that answered his own question. It didn't matter if they were Kings and Queens or just two teenagers hiding from the London rain.

"If I have you," you murmur against his mouth, "I don't need Narnia."

"Then you, my love, shall be mine." He pulled the heavy furs up over your shoulders, tucking you securely into his side as the fire crackled down to a soft, amber glow. Wrapped in his warmth, the burdens of Narnia felt miles away. For the first time in months, Peter's mind was completely quiet, his heart steady beneath your hand as you both drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[raven-dor]

for a moment

in which peter pevensie is entranced by you...

PAIRING: peter pevensie x fem!reader

WARNINGS: SET DURING THE GOLDEN AGE, tension you could cut with a knife, idiots in love

WORD COUNT: 4.0k

🎶 : runaway - aurora

AN: 💗 - prequel to 'you were here' happy reading!!

Peter prided himself on his efficiency. Every morning, at the same time (eight am to be precise), he received a knock on his door, alerting him that the day had officially begun. His dressers would come in and choose an outfit, he would go through his first pile of paperwork, and head down to the drawing room for breakfast. 

He always made it a point to stop by the kitchen for a chance of seeing what they’d be eating that day. Like any other day, he approached the door, fully prepared to waltz through with his award-winning smile, when an angelic voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

As captivating as the nyads themselves, he couldn’t help but lean in, wanting, no, needing more.

Peter Pevensie was by no means graceful.

Tripping over his own foot, he fell through the doorway, causing the once majestic voice to screech. The voice had come from possibly the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. 

Peter was sure his cheeks were red as he scrambled to his feet. 

What in Aslan’s name- your head whipped over to the door, yelping as a man with hair as golden as the sun burst through, stumbling over his own legs. “Excuse me-” 

His clothes were much too grand for a servant, his hair much too clean for a butler. And as he stood, you realized who exactly had fallen into your kitchen. 

“Your Majesty!” Your eyes grew wide as you sank into a deep curtsy. 

“Please, don’t bow. I hate it when people bow.” Slowly, you stood, arms clasped behind your back. 

“You have a beautiful voice, my lady.”

“I am no lady, Your Majesty.” 

The High King frowned ever so slightly. “And humble as well.” 

“Your Majesty-” 

“I’ll leave you to your singing…” He trailed off, arms flailing as he gestured to the kitchen. “And baking.”

You nodded. “Have a good morning, Your Majesty.”

“My name is Peter. Formalities are so pretentious, don’t you agree?” 

“I don’t know if I should have an opinion on that matter…” A small smile graced your lips. In that very moment, Peter vowed to try and make you smile as often as possible. “But I suppose so.”  

It seemed as if his voice no longer worked, gawking ever so slightly as you curiously stared back at him. Panicking, he darted back through the door he’d fallen through. 

The dining room had already dove into a quiet chaos, his siblings all shouting quick words of greeting, food already on their plates. 

Even with the hectic nature around him, Peter felt as if he was walking on clouds. “Morning, Lu.”

“Pete.” She grinned. “You look oddly bright today. Cheery even.”

Susan laughed. “What an odd thing to say.”

“I’m not wrong. He looks all dazed and… giggly.” 

“Giggly?” Edmund’s brow raised, a horrible smirk on his lips. “King Peter the Magnificent looks giggly?”

“Well, how would you describe him, Ed?”

“He’s not even paying attention to us. Look at him.” Peter was now smiling at his muffin, dead to the world around him. “Dear lord, something’s happened.”

Lucy laughed. “He met a girl. I can feel it.”

“Let’s not talk about him like he’s not even there.”

Peter hummed, setting the pastry down on his plate. “I may be ‘dazed’, but that does not mean I can’t hear.”

Lucy tilted her head. “So you do not deny you are dazed?”

You liked working in the castle. You liked how the staff were treated with respect and even admiration, and how, if one of the maids or butlers became ill, they had time to recover. You loved that even though every one of you was a servant, the royals never truly treated you like it. Since you’d begun your employment, you’d been invited to eat with them at every major holiday, every birthday gala, and every other major event Queen Susan threw. 

You loved all of that, but there was one benefit that defeated them all.

The library. Cair Paravel’s library was by far the best in the kingdom. Having taught yourself to read at an early age, you grew an affinity young, sneaking away whenever you had the chance. The giant oak doors creaked as you pushed them open, the smell of the parchment immediately flooding your senses. Climbing the rolling ladder, you made your way around half the room until you found your new captivating read.

You’d almost made it safely down the ladder when disaster struck. “We meet again, my lady.” The voice caused your heart to skip, your mind to panic, and your balance to falter. Tripping over your own foot, you fell backward, eyes squeezed shut as you prepared for impact. Only it never came, two strong arms wrapped around you.

“Are you quite alright?” 

You froze, rigid as realization clouded your mind. “Your Majesty!” Pulling yourself free of his hold, you sank into a low curtsy. “I cannot begin to-” 

“Please, don’t apologize.” His eyes fell to your hands, smiling at the sight. “You have great taste.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” You stood, tilting your head to the side. You always thought the royals had been too busy to enjoy the library. “Lord, what fools these mortals be.”  

“Stand aside. The noise they make will cause Demetrius to awake.” 

He laughed, the sound causing your insides to twist horribly. “I see you’ve enjoyed the library.” 

“Very much so, Your Majesty.” 

“I swear I’ve asked you to call me Peter.” His eyes lit up, and if you were any braver, you would have scolded him for teasing you.

“Peter.” You opted for a strong glare in his direction. “Do you often have time to read?”

“Not so much anymore.” He frowned. “It seems as the years go on, the time I spend in here dwindles.” 

You frowned along with him. “I’m sorry.” 

“It is not your fault.” He laughed. “The kingdom never rests.” 

“And neither do you, it seems.” Your eyes widened. “That was uncalled for. I- I should be going-”

“Please, don’t.” He stepped forward, as if he was prepared to stop you. “It’s funny. We keep finding each other. Just a fortnight ago-”

“You should have never heard-”

“My mother did the same thing.” A distant look settled in his beautifully blue eyes. “Sing as she cooked. It distracted her from whatever worries she had, and her food was perfection.” He sighed. “Perhaps that is why the food here is so magnificent.” 

Your cheeks felt hot, laughing to distract from the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. “I’m only the breakfast baker.”

“Interesting.” He smiled. “Breakfast is my favorite meal.”

You were going to combust, you were sure of it. “May I ask why you’re in the library? I thought you had meetings at this time of day?”

He smirked. “You keep track of my schedule?”

You sputtered. “No, I take care of your sister; she talks of you.”

His eyebrows scrunched. “Lucy?”

“Susan.”

He nodded. “Ah. Well, Yes. I normally have a meeting around this time. But I’m rebelling. My chief of staff is pestering me about marriage, and alliances, and I feel-”

“You feel like there are more important things to deal with.”

He tilted his head. “Are you a witch?”

You stopped breathing; the question, odd in nature, seemed to come from nowhere. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s just…” He stepped closer, eyes scanning your face curiously. “I was thinking that exact thing.”

“I’ve cared for your sister for years. She is quite worrisome, and I can only assume she gets that trait from you.”

He scoffed as if you hadn’t just seen into his very soul. “Worrisome?”

“I only meant that she thinks too much. It is a great quality to possess, in small quantities, my lord. Your sister… may be a bit anxious at times.”

He laughed loudly, clutching his heart. “A bit? Su’s the most anxious of us all!” 

You couldn’t help but giggle along with him, his laughter proving to be quite infectious. “She is quite pent up.”  

“She has this terrible need for everything to be perfect.” 

“Just the other day, we discussed what shade of blue was closest to the Silver Sea for the Sailor’s Luncheon. She wanted to know which tablecloth would remind them of their love for the ocean.” You held your stomach. “I’m convinced they were all the same color.”

Peter had never felt more entranced than he did in this moment. Your eyes glowed as you spoke, your laughter as stunning as the sun setting in the west. His own laughter grew as a result, his smile so wide it hurt his cheeks. 

“Your Majesty, there you are.” Mr.Tumnus’ dulcit tones echoed from the hall. Peter frowned as your laughter ceased, all remnants of humor falling from your face. “Mr.Alcotstrom is looking for you.”

Peter nodded. “I am aware. The lady and I were engaged in a riveting conversation.”

Mr. Tumnus smiled. If he sensed Peter’s annoyance, he did not show it. “And I’m sorry to interrupt you, but we both know how Alcotstrom gets when you run off.”

“Yes, yes. Tell him I’m coming, Tumnus.”

The faun nodded, smiling quickly toward you. “Wonderful to see you, Ms. Heywood.”

Peter waited until the faun had left the room to speak once more. “Your last name is Heywood?”

“It is-”

“I had a general with the same name.”

“My father.” 

It all made sense. General Haywood had told him of a daughter, one staying in the camps with him, who had only known a life of fear and ice, a life controlled by the White Witch. “Why are you working as a maid?”

“After he passed, it made sense to find work taking care of what he loved.” You grinned. “He loved this country, and the people who fought to free it from Jadis. It felt right to stay.”

“I’m sorry-”  

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But you must know-” 

“Enough.” Your voice was tense, your smile fading. “I have chores to attend to, and you have Mr.Alcotstrom.” You curtsied quickly, spinning on your heel toward the door. 

“When will I see you again?” His voice was but a whisper, but it had startled you regardless. 

“I suspect soon, quite soon.” You looked over your shoulder. “We keep running into each other.” 

“Will you be at my birthday gala?” He sounded… eager? 

“If you wish it.” 

“I wish only that you want to be there, my lady.” 

Why did he have to be so devastatingly charming? “I would love to.” 

“Wonderful-” 

“But I do not have the proper gown.” When you said it out loud, your reasoning sounded frail, weak, as if you had thought of it on the spot. “It would not be wise to attend such an elaborate event in… well,” You gestured to your issued work gown. “This.”

It was truly a wonder the hold you had on him. “I can assure you that anything you arrive in will be more than adequate.” 

“That is very kind-” “It is the truth.” 

“Peter.” You laughed at the hilarity of it all. The High King was complimenting you. Peter was complimenting you. “You flatter me.” 

“If that is the only reason you cannot attend-” 

“It is.” You interrupted. “I swear it is.”

“Then I will see you at the gala.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but knew it was not worth it. In the end, you would go. Not because of the decadent food or the lavish decor, but to simply see him. “I will see you then, my lord.” 

It was much too early for this- this incessant knocking. You groaned into your pillow, willing the bothersome noise to cease. 

It did not. 

Rolling out of your bed, you slipped your robe on, cracking the door open ever so slightly. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning.” The woman smiled. You recognized her as one of the seamstresses who made the Queen’s gowns. You’d brought alteration notes to her many times. “You are Lady Heywood, are you not?” 

Peter. “May I ask what this is about?” 

“I was told it was urgent.” You opened the door the rest of the way, jaw-dropping at the sight. A large white box sat in her arms. “I hope this meets your specifications.” 

“While I appreciate the offer, I never-” 

“The High King himself asked that this dress be made for you.” The woman had a horrible smirk on her lips, a teasing nature in her tone. “I do wonder-” 

“Thank you for the dress. I’m sure it will be wonderful.” You interrupted. “What is it-” 

“His birthday gala, I assume.” She was now grinning. “Shall I help you try it on?” 

“There’s really no need-”

“The ladies will be here to help you prepare in just a few hours.” 

Your mind was reeling, all this information too much to handle. “I- May I have a moment?” 

“Of course. I’ll be just down the hall.” 

“Thank you.” You’d waited until she left your sight to slam the door shut, staring in both awe and horror at the box in your arms. Setting it carefully on your bed, you peeled it open, eyes tearing up at the sight.

On top of possibly the most extravagant dress you’d ever seen sat a note, small and simple. His handwriting was polished, perfect in every way. Your hand shook as you opened it, a small gasp leaving your lips at its contents. 

Not with the eyes, but with the mind.

Clenching the note in your fist, you whipped around, stalking toward the High King’s quarters.

“I cannot accept your-” 

Peter tore his head up from his work, his cheeks immediately growing pink at the sight before him. There you stood, as radiant as ever, in your nightgown and robe, feet bare, hair wild from a restless night’s sleep. “My lady, you are-” 

“Peter-” You huffed, slamming the door shut behind you. “It is too much.” 

“It?” He raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea as to what ‘it’ you are referring to.” 

“Do not feign ignorance-” You stopped, squinting at the king. “Is there more?” 

“I beg your pardon?” “You said ‘what it.’ Are you implying there is more you have yet to gift me?” He looked much too smug as he replied. “I cannot reveal all my tricks.”

“You are too kind.” You scolded. “It will look inappropriate.”

“I do not understand.” 

“They will think I am some sort of-” You couldn’t even speak the word. “Some sort of-” 

Peter stood, arms crossed, as he watched you curiously. “You seem awfully concerned with how others perceive you.” 

“I am concerned for the both of us. It will look as if you are giving me special treatment, as if you and I are-” 

He hummed. “Yes?” 

“It is too extravagant.”

“You have still not told me the issue.” “Well, it’s fragile.” You frowned. “It’s improper to say-” 

He ignored the urge to point out that you had just burst into his room in your nightgown. “If that is all-” 

“If this is some sort of horrible way of embarrassing me or-” 

“Surely, you cannot think I would do that to you?” He looked positively betrayed. “I had that dress made because you told me of your predicament. I was merely remedying the situation.” 

“And that is all?” The note still clenched in your fist started to burn. “You have nothing more you wish to say?” He shook his head, and you frowned, nodding once before turning back toward the door. “Fine.” 

“Only-” He whispered, so softly you hadn’t heard him. The door slammed behind you, and his posture slumped, staring after you like a lost soul trapped in the River Styx. “Only that I find you positively entrancing when you are determined.”

Who were you to deny such a beautiful gift? 

That’s what you reminded yourself of for the entirety of the night whenever a new lady’s maid curled your hair, applied rouge, or tightened your corset so much you thought you would surely pass out. 

It felt nice to be pampered, to be the one treated so gently. Your days consisted of accidentally burning yourself from touching the pan, kneading bread, scrubbing the floors, and hemming the Queen’s gowns. 

You never paid any mind when those things happened; it was just how it had always been. And you still understood that you were a maid and nothing more- “My lady.” 

“Please don’t call me that.” You murmured. “You know that I am not a lady.” 

“Yes, miss.” The girl nodded. “We’ve finished.” She placed your slippers before you, wrapped in luxurious green silk. “My lady-” You smiled at the title, and the girl winced. “I only meant- It’s just- you look like a Princess.”

Which brought you back to now, nervously clenching your fists as you waited to walk down the grand golden stairs. Many a young lady stood at the top, proudly jutting their chins when their names were announced. 

You wished you’d thought of entering through the servants' door. 

“The Lady Heywood.” 

Aslan, that was you. Stepping forward, the front of your skirt lifted ever so slightly, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. Not many looked, thankfully. You were not from an affluent family, not a trader’s daughter or a diplomat’s niece. 

You were simply a maid. 

“My lady.” Somehow, Peter did not understand that sentiment. There he stood, handsome as ever, at the bottom of the steps, his hand extended. “You’re here.” 

You couldn’t help but smile, delicately placing your hand in his. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” You didn’t want to elaborate, nor did you need to. He knew, and he smiled, eyes sparkling ever so slightly. “Happy Birthday.” 

“Technically speaking,” He whispered as he led you through the crowd. “My birthday is tomorrow.” 

“Oh.” You giggled. “So this is all a ruse then.” 

“Exactly.” He laughed along with you. “We all lie, the four of us. The day after our birthdays, we laze about, go on rides, swim in the enchanted lake.” A far-off look grew on his face. “It is quite-” 

“Peaceful.” 

He stopped, looking over as if you’d shocked him to his very core. “Yes. Peaceful.” He let go of your hand, much to your chagrin, to nab two flutes of champagne. You’d almost refused to let go. Almost. “Are you quite certain you are not a witch?” 

“Very, my lord.” You took a quaint sip, staring at him curiously. “You know that you’ve asked me this before.” 

“I have.” He didn’t even try to deny it. “It’s just-” 

“Yes?” You raised a brow. 

“You have this ever so captivating-” 

“Peter!” 

The High King did nothing to hide the annoyance on his face, turning toward his brother as if it were some chore he wished not to do. “Edmund.” 

“Susan is asking for you.” 

“I’m in the middle of a conversation, dear brother.” You took another long sip of your champagne, trying not to seem eager at his very apparent need to stay with you. “The lady and I-” 

“I’m sure you were being quite witty-” Edmund peeked over his brother’s shoulder, smiling quickly. “And I am truly sorry, my lady, but it is urgent business.” 

“Well, if it is urgent-” Your heart clenched ever so slightly, a small, polite smile gracing your lips. “Your Majesties.” 

“Lady Heywood,” Peter mumbled. “There is no need to-” 

“It will only be a moment, Peter.” Edmund practically grumbled. “Aslan, you are quite worrisome tonight. Relax, it is your birthday.” 

“Technically-” It had slipped out before you could stop yourself. “Tomorrow is the king’s birthday.” 

It seemed that the Just King didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff. Peter, however, looked proud. “She’s right, you know.” 

“Will you just-” Edmund grabbed his brother’s arm, pulling him away before he could spout out more excuses. 

“I’ll be on the terrace.” You’d barely spoken, but he had seen, smiling brightly as ever.

A horrible chill ran through the air, goosebumps forming on your delicate skin. You shivered, rubbing your arms as if that would solve your issue. 

“Are you cold?” 

“Hardly.” You whispered, almost laughing at how your teeth began to chatter, betraying your words. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Peter leaned his back against the railing, gazing at you curiously. “I would hate to think you have.” 

“I could never lie to you.” You hadn’t meant it to sound so grave, but you stood by it nonetheless. “I’d be executed.” 

He scoffed, laughing lightly. “You have such a grave sense of humor, my lady.” He stood straight, shrugging his cape off his shoulders. “Have you enjoyed the festivities?”

“I have.” Your cheeks felt warm. Perhaps you had begun to exhibit symptoms of hypothermia, or perhaps it was because Peter’s lips were a mere breath away, draping his cape over your own shoulders. “People will talk, you know.” 

“Let them.” He huffed. “People pry into my business much too often.” 

“I’m sure.” You pulled the cape closer to you, fighting to urge to fall prisoner to its comfort. You turned around, staring into the ballroom full of aristocrats. “What do you suppose they are whispering about right now?” 

“In this very moment?” 

You hummed, nodding.

“Well, I suppose…” You hadn’t noticed how his gaze fell to you, or how his pupils dilated ever so slightly. You hadn’t noticed how his voice grew breathy, and cheeks flushed, much too pink to be from the cold. “They are whispering about how beautiful you look in this light.” 

You dared to look up, heart skipping a beat. “Peter-”

“You’ve said my name.”

“We cannot-” 

“Do you know what I wished for? For my birthday?” 

You glared. “To stop interrupting me?”

He laughed, shaking his head lightly. “Not exactly. Although it did involve you.” 

“Well…” You suddenly felt too hot under his cape. “Now you must tell me.” 

“I cannot.” His eyes flickered to your lips. “Or my wish will not come true.” 

“Surely you can make an exception.” Your lids lulled, his spell captivating you, his gaze trapping you to stay so very still. “Just this once.” 

“I cannot.” He smirked. “Perhaps, my lady, it would be best to show you.”

“Well-” You dared to step closer, your breaths now mingling in the cold night. “If you must.”

His arm snuck around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Do you trust me?”

“Implicitly.”

He grinned, grabbing your hand in his. “There is a secret stairway.” 

Not exactly the surprise you were expecting. “I’m sorry?” 

He tapped the railing three times, and sure enough, a stairway appeared, away from the prying eyes that begged to catch a glimpse of the High King. “My lord?” You whispered. “Where are we-”

He practically pulled you down the stairs. “One moment.” 

“Perhaps we should- oomph!” In one fell swoop, he had spun you around, pressed you against the wall, and smashed his lips against yours. “Peter-” 

“You.” He kissed across your jaw, voice raspy. “I wished for you.” 

“You’ve ruined your wish.” 

He shook his head, his lashes tickling your skin as he continued his ascent. “I-” Another kiss down your neck. “Don’t.” And another. “Think I have.”

taglist: @beebeechaos @lillisummers @maryjaneeeee @theholyharp @y-ns-things @strawberrysodaboy @moonchild0908 @iluvhrj @loviepookie @cultish-corner @lennetlive @j07lvrg @darkfairymoon @a-very-fictional-girl @weirdowithnobeardo @idunnowhattonamethis @kimi01985 @elleyaps @littlemadamred

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO JOIN!

[lustagel]

౨౿ ugh i can’t stop thinking about how loser! rodrick would follow you around like a lost puppy when you’re in a swim suit.

every other guy would let their girl be. she looks good. he know it, she knows it and he wants everyone else to see how beautiful she is, but not your boyfriend. it isn’t that he’s insecure or anything he just simply can’t stand not being seen with you when you look so good. ever since he was mistaken for being just your “loser friend” by a guy that was hitting on you, he’s been eager to hold your hand or kiss your hair line in public.

so now, with your ass on full display for everyone to see, he needs to be stuck to you like glue! anywhere you go he wants to come, and you indulge in his behavior by holding his hand while he falls shortly behind. you believe it’s cute. the way he’s so quick to stand when he sees you even remotely move while you’re at the beach. “i have to use the bathroom,” you tell, wrapping your towel around your waist, but he still stands from his spot beside you. “me too,” he lies, of course. you only grin before standing and holding your hand out to him. you walk the whole way through the warm sand with his hand in yours. once you make it to the bathroom, he takes his place by the sign.

“you want to watch me pee too?” you joke, but you’re only met with hopeful eyes from him. you almost roll your eyes. “stay here, cutie.” you kiss the corner of his lips before leaving.

he can’t help it, he just want everyone to know you’re his cool girlfriend.

[pixiexdusts-world]

Loud noises, quiet secrets

Rodrick Heffley x popular!reader

Summary: Rodrick goes on a date with the popular girl at school and discovers she has quirky spooky hobbies that perfectly match his vibe.

Word count: 2,021

Rodrick Heffley never thought a girl like you would say yes to going out with him. He was used to rejection—“You smell,” “You’re a loser,” or the classic “Dream on, Heffley.” But when he nervously asked you out in the hallway, clutching his books to hide the sweat on his hands, you didn’t laugh in his face. You actually smiled, cocked your head, and said:

“Sure. Saturday night?”

That one word—sure—was enough to make him float through the rest of the week. He’d replayed it over and over in his head, barely paying attention in class. Even Greg noticed, groaning every time Rodrick hummed Metallica riffs under his breath with this goofy grin on his face.

Saturday came, and Rodrick tried his best to look cool without looking like he tried too hard. He settled on his signature ripped jeans, a Löded Diper t-shirt (because duh), and sprayed himself with Axe body spray until Manny gagged when he walked past.

He drove his van to your house, knocking on the door with shaky hands. He expected some giant, muscular dad to answer and threaten him, but instead you came bounding out with a jacket and a smile.

“Ready?” you asked.

Rodrick blinked for a second too long before nodding. “Uh—yeah. Totally. Ready. I’ve been ready since like… birth.”

You laughed, which he considered a win.

The two of you started the night with something simple: grabbing burgers at a diner. Rodrick cracked dumb jokes about the food (“If this burger was in my band, it’d be the lead singer”) and nervously drummed his fingers on the table.

He expected you to be… intimidating. You were the popular girl at school, the one everyone seemed to know, the one who always looked effortlessly put together. But sitting across from him, you didn’t seem untouchable—you seemed real. And when you picked up your burger and nearly dropped it onto your lap, you laughed at yourself instead of pretending it didn’t happen.

“So,” you said after a while, sipping your soda. “Rodrick Heffley. Drummer. Skips homework. Drives a van. What do you actually do for fun?”

Rodrick leaned back, smirking. “Besides rockin’ harder than anyone else in Plainview? Not much.”

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Come on. Everyone’s got some weird hobby or secret thing they like.”

Rodrick shrugged. “I guess I write dumb song lyrics in my notebook sometimes. My mom thinks they’re poems, but they’re, like, about roadkill or whatever.”

You laughed so hard the people in the next booth stared.

The night was going okay, but then you dropped a bomb.

“So… you can’t tell anyone this,” you said, leaning closer across the table. “Like, promise me.”

Rodrick held up his hand dramatically. “On the honor of Löded Diper, I swear.”

You bit your lip, then admitted, “I like… making creepy little stop-motion videos.”

Rodrick blinked. “…Like, with dolls and toys?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, embarrassed. “I build these tiny sets in my garage, film stuff moving frame by frame. I add sound effects, edit them together. They usually end up kind of weird or horror-ish. It’s just… fun.”

Rodrick stared at you for a long second, then broke into a huge grin. “That’s… epic. That’s like, Tim Burton level! Do you have, like, a skeleton made out of Legos or something?”

You laughed, covering your face. “Actually, yes. His name’s Kevin.”

Rodrick slapped the table. “Kevin the Lego skeleton! That’s it. You’re officially the coolest girl I’ve ever met.”

After food, you suggested skipping the movie theater.

“I have a better idea,” you said, smirking mischievously.

Rodrick was half-convinced you were going to reveal you were part of some underground secret society, but instead you directed him to drive to a quiet part of town. He followed your directions until you pulled up to a run-down building that looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

Inside, it was dusty, half-abandoned… but in the corner was a projector, speakers, and a stack of old horror movies.

“You break into abandoned buildings… to watch movies?” Rodrick asked, eyes wide.

“Not break in. Borrow space,” you corrected with a grin. “I bring snacks, sometimes blankets. No one ever bothers me.”

Rodrick stared at you with actual admiration. “You’re like… a rebel genius.”

The two of you sat on the floor, the glow of the projector casting shadows across the walls. Halfway through some old zombie flick, you confessed another secret:

“I also… build miniature haunted houses.”

Rodrick’s soda nearly spilled. “Wait—like, tiny haunted houses?”

“Yeah. With lights, fake cobwebs, moving doors… I even make little soundtracks for them. My room kind of looks like a spooky carnival sometimes.”

Rodrick’s jaw dropped. “That’s the most metal thing I’ve ever heard.”

You laughed nervously. “I was scared you’d think I’m insane.”

“Nah,” Rodrick said, leaning back against the wall. “You’re like… my dream girl. Creepy movies, stop-motion skeletons, haunted dollhouses… it’s perfect.”

You blushed, looking down at your hands.

Just when things were going perfectly, you both heard a noise outside—footsteps crunching against gravel. You froze.

“Uh oh,” you whispered.

Rodrick looked panicked. “Cops?”

“Maybe. Or the owner. We should—”

But before you could finish, the door creaked open. A flashlight beam swept across the floor.

Without thinking, Rodrick grabbed your hand and pulled you behind an old vending machine. You both crouched low, breathing hard.

The light flickered past, then disappeared. Whoever it was muttered something about “rats” and left. The door slammed shut.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Well, that was close.”

Rodrick realized he was still holding your hand. He quickly let go, cheeks burning. “Uh—yeah. Totally. I wasn’t, like, scared or anything.”

You smiled at him knowingly.

The movie flickered to an end, the room dark except for the glow of the projector bulb. You turned to him, fiddling with your jacket zipper.

“Thanks for… not freaking out about my weird hobbies,” you said softly. “Most people would’ve run for the hills.”

Rodrick shrugged, trying to play it cool even though his heart was racing. “Most people are lame. I think you’re awesome.”

You bit your lip, then asked, “So… do you like me, Rodrick?”

The words hung in the air like a drumbeat waiting to drop. Rodrick, for once in his life, didn’t crack a joke.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “A lot.”

You smiled, leaning closer until your shoulders brushed. “Good. Because I like you too.”

Rodrick swore his brain short-circuited.

He drove you home late, the van rattling down quiet streets. Neither of you said much, but the silence wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable, filled with the afterglow of shared secrets.

At your house, you lingered by the van door.

“So,” you said with a teasing smile. “Think you can handle dating the popular girl with a haunted dollhouse collection?”

Rodrick grinned. “Only if you can handle dating a guy whose band once got banned from the community center for setting off the fire alarm.”

You laughed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek before darting inside.

Rodrick sat frozen in the driver’s seat, hand on his face, heart pounding.

When he finally drove away, he muttered to himself, “Rodrick Heffley… you just won at life.”