#I'm trying to get back into writing after nearly a decade of not writing

[xiaq]

I got another raise today. Praise for my contributions to my team, validation for my hard work, and a clear overview of what my continued progression in my company could look like. I celebrated by taking the afternoon off to nap and read in bed with my husband. I painted some swatches in the space that will soon be my library in the basement of our new home. I talked to my publisher about the process of turning my 3 published books into audio books. And now I'm in the living room, writing and watching my dog attempt to entice pedestrians on the sidewalk to pet him over the front yard fence.

Next month it'll be two years since I left academia.

It was the hardest and the best thing I ever did.

Three years ago, I was having an existential crisis about my career. I was working 60+ hours a week for embarrassingly little pay as lecturer. I loved my job, but I knew that continuing to work in academia wasn't a sustainable option for me. The thought of buying a house some day was laughable. I'd sworn off relationships. I looked at my writing and I thought there was no chance I'd ever publish anything. I was nearly thirty and I felt like I'd wasted the last decade of my life and I was fighting hard against the sunk cost fallacy that whispered I should just stay. Continue as I was. Let no one know I was drowning in the life I'd always said I wanted.

See, people like to say "it gets better" when people are feeling lost or hopeless. But what they don't tell you is that in order for things to get better you often have to do big scary shit that sometimes feels like walking backward. Sometimes you have to tear things down to the studs before you can rebuild. Sometimes the path to "better" looks a lot like "worse" at first.

I was lucky that my family and friends supported my "worse" phase while I was trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my life, interviewing for tech companies and taking fire fighting exams and querying agents/publishers and basically just saying "fuck it, I'll give it a try" to every available opportunity, including dating the guy who is now the love of my life. But "it gets better" requires hard work and bravery and putting yourself out there and bitter disappointment and rallying and leaning on that support system, and trying again.

So, I'm not sure where I'm going with this other than to say, for anyone else who was where I was 3 years back, anyone who feels stuck or hopeless or like they've wasted years of their life on a career or relationship that doesn't love them back: it gets better, but you have to fucking fight for it. So rally your troops. Get your support system in place. Give sunk cost fallacy the finger. And go figure out what will serve you better.

I'm so happy, now. My life is amazing. But it might have been amazing even faster if I'd dropped out of grad school after my first year when I realized that maybe it wasn't what I wanted after all. I wish I'd been brave then. Be brave now.

#mylife #academia #leaving academia #author things #advice #go grab your happiness with both hands #i beg of you

[wintaerbaer]

things we don't say: part 5 TEASER (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 721 (for the teaser; full chapter is expected to be 8-10k)

chapter warnings: weddings!, feelings, seventeen is here now because i fell into a rabbit hole and needed fill-ins, jimin kinda ruins everything, jk is relatively well-behaved, kissing?!

a/n: given that it's been the craziest time of year for work (and i may be focused on a jk oneshot rn), i figured i'd throw out a teaser since it's taking me longer to write! i'm heading into my job's off-season soon though, so i'll have more time to write and will aim to have this next part out by end-of-year :)

PART 4 // SERIES MASTERLIST

You look up to find Taehyung's eyes gazing steadily down at you, a small but confident smile playing on his lips.

"Dance with me?"

And in spite of the unease that had plagued you only moments ago, you don't hesitate to let him wrap up your small hand in his large one and lead you to the dance floor. His palm settles on your lower back to pull you in close, and maybe it’s the proximity or the intoxicating smell of his cologne that weakens your resolve, but you find the words spilling out.

"Did you get her number?"

Taehyung looks at you quizzically, brow furrowing in confusion. "Whose?"

"The woman at the bar."

His face relaxes as he realizes. "Oh, yeah. I did."

"Good." You manage a smile. Why does it feel so hard? "It really is…good you're getting back out there. Are you going to ask her on a date?"

He laughs, mischief in his eyes. "I don't think her fiancé would like that." And now it's your turn to look confused.

"Her fiancé?"

"I met the two of them through Hoseok a couple times so we've chatted. Nice people." He nods his head, and you look over to see the woman now dancing with a man not too far from you. "They just got engaged, and she knows I'm a photographer so she asked if I'd be interested in doing the wedding. I said I'd call her this week to talk about it."

"Oh." You can feel your face flush, but there's no doubting the relief that floods through you. And Taehyung surely notices, grinning down at you in amusement.

"Were you jealous?"

"No!" you say, but perhaps a little too quickly because Taehyung laughs, his fingers applying a gentle pressure to your back to pull you closer.

"I'm here with you," he murmurs matter-of-factly.

You shake your head at him. "It's fine, Tae. If someone catches your eye…like I said, it could be good—"

"I'm here with you," he repeats, more firmly this time. He releases your hand for a moment to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and you have to look away. You spot Hoseok and Sunny swaying together in the middle of the dance floor, pressed closely together and smiling at each other like they're the only two people in the world. What it must be like to have someone look at you like that, you think, to hold you like you're something precious to be cherished. You had thought Jace made you feel that way, but now, watching your friends gaze at each other so delicately, so in love, you're no longer sure he even came close.

"What are you looking at?" Taehyung's voice rouses you out of your thoughts, and you suddenly notice his hand has drifted a little higher to where the back of your dress dips down low, exposing your bare skin.

Trying to pass off the shiver that involuntarily runs through you as a nod, you gesture at the newly married couple. "They're so good together."

Taehyung follows your line of sight, watching Hoseok lean down to murmur something in Sunny's ear that makes her giggle and press her face into his chest. "They are."

"Can you imagine loving someone like that?" Your voice is a bare whisper as if the words slipped out of their own accord, like a wish you didn't even realize you were making.

Taehyung's fingers splay at your spine, gently tugging you in until your hips are bumping his. Startled, your eyes snap back to him, breath catching in your chest. He's gazing at you intently, but as opposed to the intense fire that you've seen from him at times, there's only a deep warmth to his brown irises that you're not sure you've ever seen before. He looks at you with softness, with both a sense of familiarity and wonder that can only be attributed to your many years of companionship, and you see it all swimming behind his eyes—every day spent together seeking refuge from your families, every stupid childhood fight, every time you comforted each other through the bad days. And before you can deflect, can explain away the question as a rhetorical slip of the tongue, you hear his answer come out on a breath.

"Yes."

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung #bts fic #bts fanfic

[rat-cannibal]

i have no idea if you write for adam, but here i am

i am the ultimate angst asker, if you're okay with that

adam or lute(ilovewomenbumpersticker) x reader who does in the extermination without them knowing.

- FEED ME A BONE,

carcass

aaaa thank you so much for the request!! i am a fellow lover of women, so I will do Lute at a later date. i wasnt too sure about what you meant by 'does in'. i did give you a sad ending though, so hopefully that makes up for it!

how would adam or lute react to the reader finding out about the exterminations? Part 1

- Adam -

you and adam started dating before he started the exterminations

you're an amazing person - kind, sweet, innocent, everything an angel should be. and also everything Adam isn't.

adam is already so insecure about anything that has to do with hell bc lucifer stole his wives (cue pussy eating hand gesture)

so he doesn't even mention it when he starts thinking about the exterminations

you're suspicious, obviously, because he's going off on so many meetings and is becoming more distant

but you dont say anything because you love adam, and he would never lie to you.. would he?

when adam finally gets his extermination team approved, he's overjoyed

he comes home and immediately kisses the shit out of you

You whine as he pulls away from you, your lips swollen and your face flushed. You try to catch your breath. "Not that I'm complaining, but, uh, what exactly was that about?"

Adam grins widely, squeezing your hands. "What, am I not allowed to kiss my beautiful partner hello?" You sense a hint of deceit in his voice, but choose not to question him about it.

you and adam always sleep in the same bed at nights. you have practically since you started dating.

so when one night he doesn't come home, alarm bells immediately go off in your head

is he cheating on you? maybe he found someone else, someone better

no, you reason, surely he's just held up at work

your suspicions only intensify when he returns the following morning, hair tousled and clothing ruffled

he looks exhausted, like he didn't get any sleep. usually this would indicate a long day at work, but theres a smile on his face that paperwork could never cause

dread grows in your stomach

he greets you happily, like nothing's wrong, and you play along, not wanting to fight with your boyfriend about something that could very well have been a misunderstanding

next year, though, when he disappears again and comes back looking thoroughly satisfied, your suspicions are confirmed.

adam is cheating on you.

you're a very conflict-averse person, so these yearly meetings go on for nearly two decades (time works different in heaven ok just roll with it. 1 year = a month to them basically)

eventually, though, you come home from a hard day of work and Adam isn't there.

that pushes you over the edge. you pack a bag and store it in the closet before going back to your room.

you would look for an apartment in the morning. for now, you just want to sleep.

you wake up and join adam in the kitchen for breakfast. he looks like he always does after these meetings - ruffled, yet satisfied.

"Adam," you say simply, "we need to talk."

"Uh-oh," teases Adam, "am I in trouble?"

"Where were you last night?"

Adam swallows thickly. "What?"

You glare at him. "Where were you last night?"

"I was busy with a work thing - you know how it is, babe, they work me to the bone. It's ridiculous."

"Why do you look so happy, then, so fulfilled?" You sigh. "Look, Adam, I know you're cheating on me. I've known for years now. I guess I just hoped you'd have the balls to admit it."

adam tries to frantically explain that he's not cheating on you, that he's been leading a yearly extermination

he would never cheat on you, he loves you

you demand to know what an extermination is, and he tells you in more detail than you ever would have wanted

you listen in silence as he describes the joy he gets from killing demons - from killing human souls

you retrieve your bag and leave your shared apartment for good

adam begs you to stay, says he'll change, that he'll do anything

but you can't be with a murderer

#hazbin fanfic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x reader #gn reader #x reader #reader #reader insert #angst #heavy angst #sad ending #no happy ending

[thedrarrylibrarian]

I'm so excited to welcome @phoebe-delia to the library! I've loved reading her work for a long time, and am always especially impressed by the fact that she answers so many prompts! My favorite of her series is Eight Drarry Nights at Hanukkah time every year, which are always warm and so full of love and light. I knew she'd pick a great fic, and I think it'll be a sweet and romantic start to your Valentines season. Thanks again to @phoebe-delia!

I want to start out by thanking the incredible @thedrarrylibrarian for the chance to participate in Happy Hour. You do phenomenal work, and I just really hope you know how valued you are. I fangirl every time we interact and I am incredibly honored to get to do this.

Now, on to the rec!

When our lovely Librarian asked me to do a guest rec for Happy Hour, this fic was the first to come to mind. I still gave it a lot of time and consideration, of course, but at the end of the day I kept coming back to this story.

plant me in your garden (and watch me grow) by @thehoneybeet. 5,505 words, Rated T, and make sure to check the tags to see if it’s right for you!

Malfoy walks across the grounds to the forbidden forest nearly every night, but falls asleep in class during the day. Harry can't get enough of him.

An eighth year fic.

Every fic of Honey’s that I’ve read makes me want to be a better writer, because their storytelling is so effortlessly rich. I always have at least one moment where I have to pause and look off into the distance so I can really appreciate a line and let it sink into my brain.

And this fic has quite a few of those moments for me. The descriptions here are so vivid; I felt like I was watching Drarry through a pensieve. I’m resisting the urge to quote dump here, because I think you should experience this writing for yourself in the way Honey intended it. It’s the kind of story that, in my humble opinion, can’t really be captured in a quote or two. It flows exactly as it needs to.

I adore how Honey characterizes both Draco and Harry. Draco has clearly changed after the war but has kept the same wit and fire that attracts Harry so much. And Harry is just trying to figure out how to exist in this post-war world without Voldemort after him, and it turns out Draco is a big part of his healing. It’s a joy to watch the two of them fall for and into each other.

I just looked back at the comments, because I remembered that I’d left one a while back when I first read it (which was, apparently, in September 2022? What even is time, omg). I’m going to quote from my past self, here, who called the writing “decadent,” and the story “fucking gorgeous,” “creative” and “special.” I told Honey that this fic would always have a special place in my heart. Clearly, my heart kept that promise.

I also told Honey at the time that the fic deserved a much longer, more intensive comment than I could articulate at the time. Turns out I needed over a year. This is as close as I think I’ll get to accurately expressing the way it makes me feel.

Plus, as a personal bonus, this fic happens to include some of my favorite tropes: eighth year, pining, and Harry’s never-ending obsession with Draco.

I hope you all enjoy this fic as much as I do (and that you remember to leave them kudos and a comment!) And Honey, thank you for writing something so wonderful that it stuck with me for over a year.

Love,

Phoebe

#drarry #friends of the library #phoebe-delia #thehoneybeet #happy hour friday #Happy hour with friends #Happy hour rec #Friday fic rec #Happy hour friday #Friday Happy hour #lots of love and Happy friday #Happy early valentines #harry potter #draco malfoy #harry x draco #the drarry librarian

[bbcphile]

WIP Wednesday

I've finally worked up the courage to post the opening of one of the Mysterious Lotus Casebook fics I'm writing (Li Lianhua/Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing), specifically, from my post-canon fic where LLH's shiniang tried to sacrifice herself to cure him.

Tw/cw: suicide attempt, mention of off-page non-consensual medical procedure, internalized ableism

***

Li Lianhua crashed to his hands and knees on the ground as the last trickle of his borrowed qi abandoned him, the densely-packed sand doing nothing to cushion the blow. The impact rattled through his spine and ribs, shaking loose a bout of coughing that forced him to swallow down the burning flare of copper trying to escape from his mouth. He couldn’t cough up blood now, not here, too many steps away from the water’s reach. It would leave evidence of his route, a trail that his shiniang would undoubtedly follow once she had broken free from the immobilization. He couldn’t let her find him until the job was done. 

He pushed himself to standing, his arms and legs shaking hard enough to nearly drop him back to his knees, and he blinked to will the dancing black spots from his eyes. The waves awaited him, and he refused to crawl to meet them. He took a staggering step toward the sound of crashing water ahead of him, far fainter now than it had any right to be, and squinted against the sunlight to get his bearings. 

A large gray lump on his left snagged his attention, disrupting the blur of gold and blue that filled up the rest of his view. Why did that look familiar? He took an unsteady step closer, pressing his palm against his chest to convince his lungs to hold back a cough one more time, and the gray lump resolved into a rock. 

A rock that had once served as a pillow that was soft only in comparison to how hard the rest of the day had been.

Of course. He’d landed at Donghai beach. He swallowed back tears with a bitter laugh. Never let it be said that the universe didn’t have a sense of humor.  

He’d returned after all: three months late for the duel and over a decade late for bringing his decrepit body back to the waves that had so decisively spat him out. But surely this time, with all the mysteries solved and no business left unfinished, the sea would accept the offering of his broken frame. Li Xiangyi was long dead and it was past time for Li Lianhua to follow his example. He was already a ghost in every way that mattered. And this was the only way to guarantee his shiniang would live.

She would be furious, of course, but wasn’t furious better than dead? How could it be unfilial to make sure she lived on? Too many people had died for him; he refused to let her join those ranks. Dying to save her was already a far better death than he deserved. 

As for the others, Xiaobao would have his teachings and would be too busy climbing the heights of the jianghu to miss the weak physician he once protected. 

And a-Fei—

—well, how could he still fixate on defeating a ghost with Xiaobao shining more brightly than Li Xiangyi ever had?

No, this end was far better for everyone, and best of all, no one would sacrifice their life or be forced to play caretaker to an empty husk of a man.

A familiar chill seared through his veins and meridians, despite the warmth of the fur of his outer layer, stealing away his breath and the amorphous blue blur before him. He took another stumbling step toward where it had been, his heart stuttering painfully in his chest. 

Not much longer now. It seemed his frenzied dash here and self-shattered heart meridian were more efficient for what he had in mind than the weight his waterlogged fur coat would have offered.

Perhaps he didn’t need the coat for this at all. His body would certainly float further without it. And not even his shiniang could save him now, so what harm could it do to leave some evidence behind? Xiaobao might not believe the beggar’s words, but surely this fur cloak at the water’s edge would put to rest any lingering futile hopes. And then Xiaobao would tell a-Fei.

And if it brought them peace, if it let them say goodbye, then how could he not leave it behind?

It was decided, then. 

He lifted his hands to the coat’s laces, then paused. Were those voices? For a moment, he could have sworn he heard—

—Ah, no, the hallucinations must have started again. 

He smiled. At least he had heard a-Fei and Xiabao one last time, if only in his mind.

He untied his laces with fumbling, stiff fingers, and let the coat fall behind him. 

His heart and lungs clenched with another spasm, and a wave of dizziness broke over him, threatening to drop him to his knees once more. 

He fought against it, muscles shaking as they never had during battles. He couldn’t surrender now; not until he reached the water. He could manage three more steps. He had to.

He tried to lift his foot again.

The world swam before him, and darkness dragged him under.

#mysterious lotus casebook #mlc fic #my fic #Li Lianhua #Di Feisheng #Fang Duobing #Feihua #tw: suicide attempt #the fic will end happily I swear! #This is just about the lowest point for everyone #This is my first time really sharing my creative writing publicly in about 4 years #I am sooooo nervous omg #yay for at least temporarily being healthy enough to write! #wip wednesday #the POVs of the fic alternate between all 3 of the MCs #and they are all unreliable narrators in different ways

[zeninsama-moved]

wanted to write a lil something about big brother naoya... this is my first time writing anything kinda long in a WHILE so i'm proud of myself :') i needed the practice so be nice to me. who knew all it took was incest and piss LMAO also can u believe i used caps for this one <3

tw for incest and piss, themes of humiliation and degradation (mostly the situation, "slut" used once), female reader (she/her prns and petnames like "baby girl" used), naoya is his own warning and he's kind of a dick, maybe a little clan-relevant misogyny if you squint, fingering, naoya gets a boney but this isn't about him, not really proofread u get what u get, naoya has a shitty accent and it's inconsistent

word count: 2.5k

Half an hour into your big brother's tirade, you realize you really need to pee.

All your objections fall upon deaf ears, your big brother telling you to shut up, stay quiet, or fuckin' listen each time you interrupt his ranting to try to ask. It's pointless. So instead, you bow your head in submission, whimpering from the painful straining of your bladder.

Fuck, you need to go. You're not sure how much longer you can hold it, but it's not for you to decide. You know your brother – when he's this angry, he could keep berating you for at least another hour.

You interrupt him once more.

"Please, nii-sama, I've learned my lesson, okay? I'm sorry!"

Above you, Naoya scoffs, arms folding over his broad chest. “I don’t believe that for a fuckin’ second. First you humiliate me in front of the elders, now yer talkin' to me like I'm some kind of idiot? Is that what this is? You think yer better than me?"

It's been a while since you've seen Naoya this upset. Even with his short temper, your sister antics usually only leave him mildly annoyed. Your brother doesn't take it lightly when he feels embarrassed – even worse, undermined – and by his little sister of all people. His little baby of a sister that's meant to walk three steps behind him, bow her head, speak when spoken to. Yes, Naoya-sama. No, Naoya-sama.

"No, nii-sama," you're weeping shamelessly at his feet, your face hot and hands fisting at the skirt of your kimono, all while your bladder strains painfully. "Please, I'm sorry! It hurts, nii-sama, please let me go."

It's probably a matter of seconds now, maybe a minute at best. You're begging, silently praying to whatever Gods are listening that Naoya will take mercy on you and let you up, let you rush to the bathroom in a technique-imbued sprint so you can finally get a release from this pain. You'll even settle for pity at this point, because if you let go now, release your bladder right in front of your brother – all over the tatami, all over your kimono – you'll never hear the end of it.

Imagining the walk of shame to the nearest servant, forced to explain the mess you’ve made in the other room with a heated face and head bowed in shame – all while your big brother laughs – sends a chill through your body.

You don't notice your head fell until Naoya cradles your face, lifting it up to meet his gaze again. He's crouched to your height now, both face and touch uncharacteristically gentle when compared to... well, everything else about him. His palm is warm, yet rough from nearly three decades of back-breaking training and battle.

For a moment, you think you're lucky. Maybe Naoya is finally taking pity on you after seeing you tremble, your bottom lip quivering and eyes wet with tears as you plead for his mercy. After seeing you look weak in comparison to him.

"Hey," he coos, caressing your cheek with his thumb, wiping a tear and relishing in the way you keen into his touch. His baby sister. His sweet girl that's depended on him every day since birth, relying on her onii-sama to guide her. "You know I'm not doin' this to be mean, right? Yer just... gettin' too mouthy for yer own good."

"Naoya-nii," you whimper, voice breaking. "I can't hold it anymore, please."

"Yeah, you can," he sighs. "Dumb baby, just shut up a second and listen to me."

Another gentle hand rests on your shoulder. When Naoya holds you like this, it almost feels loving. He presses a kiss to your hairline, dampened with sweat from your body's exertion. You take a deep breath, trying to will the ache in your bladder to go away. For a moment, it does.

"If ya mouthed off to anyone else, they'd throw yer ass in the disciplinary pit, but not me. Is that why you do it? You know you can be a brat to me 'cause I won't beat yer ass about it? Tell me."

You nod shakily. "Yes, Naoya-nii."

"Look at me."

You do. Naoya's features look softer, kinder, more like the brother you love. The one that would gently push on your back to make you bow when you were young. The one that held your hand and snuck you out of the estate during the summer to show you the fireflies. The one that, despite threatening to leave yer ass out to dry when he catches you meddling in places you shouldn't, always takes the fall for it so you don't get punished.

But he can only do so much for you. For now, at least. When the old man inevitably bites it, making him the clan head, he'll be untouchable. Therefore you will be too.

The urge returns. How did you forget?

Naoya watches your eyes widen, your lips part in a stammer.

"Shh," he soothes, silencing whatever you're about to say with his finger over your lips, then replacing the digit with his own.

The kiss is soft, you try and distract yourself with the feeling of his lips, more assertive than yours, and his tongue softly prying you open. The hand on your shoulder ventures lower, smoothing over linen, fingers digging under your obi to loosen it in a practiced motion. Eventually, he accesses the ties to your kimono, loosening that as well until the fabric parts, exposing your body to him, ignoring your whimpers and pleas of protest.

It's not that you don't want him to touch you, because fuck, you really want him to touch you, you're aching for it. It's the throbbing pain inside that looms over your head in a constant reminder. You can't do this right now. If his fingers touch you, god forbid enter you, you're not sure you'll be able to hold it. The slightest amount of pressure and –

"Look at you," Naoya sighs, allowing himself to be swept up in lust. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, hair tickling your face as his lips trail down your neck and nip at the sensitive skin. "So fuckin' beautiful. My beautiful girl, aren't ya?"

Still, you're keening into his touch. The linen of your kimono hangs limp over your body, Naoya reaches underneath it and palms your breast, groaning silently against your skin. The hand cradling your face repositions, caressing your jaw before pushing two thick fingers past your lips, leaving you no choice but to accept them. You do it dutifully, allowing your brother to glide his fingers over your tongue, even hollowing your cheeks weakly around them.

Naoya takes and takes. It's no different when it comes to your body. The blood rushes to his cock, tenting the fabric of his hakama as it swells. His hands only get greedier, moans sounding more desperate as he gropes at your body, feeling your nipples harden under his palm, your skin so unbearably soft. He wants to sink his teeth in you, mark you in places only he has the privilege to see. He finds the warmth of your mouth so tempting, so inviting, he can't help but push his fingers deeper. You choke around his fingers, coating them in a rush of saliva.

"Open your legs," Naoya orders, hand now resting atop your thigh, both of them still clenched tightly together, attempting to push them apart. Your eyes widen in panic.

"Naoya-nii, I can't," you mutter, shaking your head frantically. "At least let me go first. I'll be fast, I promise–"

"Nah," Naoya teases, lips curling in a sharp grin. "Trained you to be a real good girl, didn't I? You can hold it a few more minutes."

"I can't!"

"You will."

Your body acts on its own, betraying your will and allowing your brother to manhandle you into a position he finds more acceptable. Your legs open so easily for him, giving him access to your now unclothed pussy. Spit-slick fingers rub over your folds, gathering the wetness there. You let out a shaky breath.

"After all, it would be real fuckin' embarrassing if you did," Naoya drawls, his voice always takes on this soft, condescending tone when he teases you. "If you pissed yourself, I mean."

Naoya kisses you again, this time skipping the pleasantries and parting your lips with his tongue, greedily licking against your own to taste the inside of his sister's mouth. You're overextending yourself, trying to focus on too many things at once to forget how dangerously close you are to pissing yourself, because if you were to let go right now, it would get all over your big brother's hand – and then you really wouldn't catch a break. So you try to focus on the softness of his tongue, on the pleasure of his fingers finding friction over your swollen clit.

"I don't wanna," you whimper, voice sounding like that of a petulant child. "Naoya-nii..."

"No?" He mocks, nearly grinning from ear to ear. "Don't wanna piss yourself like a dumb baby? Then don't."

One hand grips your hip to steady you, the fingers on his other finally breaching the tight entrance of your cunt. Your jaw drops, mouth hanging open in a moan. His fingers are thick. He always gives you two right off the bat, claiming he's being generous and prepping you for his dick instead of making you take it. It's funny, how he loves you like that.

His sweet baby sister, opening for him like a flower.

Pleasure sparks through your body as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, providing the right amount of pressure in tandem with his prodding fingers. Your mouth hangs open, unmoving and pliant while his tongue licks into it, kissing the corner of your lips. The fullness of your bladder makes everything feel so much more sensitive, more responsive as your brother works his fingers and and out of your cunt, aided by your saliva and drooling arousal.

Knowingly, his fingers reposition and curve, finding that spot within you and targeting it with the pads of his fingers. It triggers what you've been fighting so hard to hold. For the first time since he started berating you, you move, hands clinging to his clothed forearm, clawing at it in desperation. Your body and mind are on two different pages, the little voice in your head still grounded in reality screaming for you to push him off. Maybe you could swing it with a desperate surge of cursed energy, but your hands urge his fingers deeper, keeping them pressed against that spot.

Naoya seems to like this, cock throbbing at the sight of you trying to get yourself off on his fingers. He can feel your pussy squeezing, sucking them deeper.

"Hey, you forget your fuckin' manners?" He reprimands, though the amused look on his face doesn't match his tone. He's getting off on this, the sick bastard. You know he is. "Gonna ask me first or were you just gonna keep humping my hand like some desperate slut?"

"Please, Naoya-nii," you blurt out, the tightly-wound coil inside you clenching tighter by the second.

"The fuck was that?"

"Nii-sama," you correct, pleading. It's so fucking close. "Nii-sama, please, can I cum?"

Naoya hums, pretending to think it over. His fingers plunge in and out of your cunt at a rapid pace, filling the small room with the obscene squelching of your arousal. Your hips move on their own, desperate to meet his pace, riding his thick fingers to chase the high. Maybe you have the restraint to hold it, let yourself cum on his fingers and still have enough time to rush to the bathroom before it takes a turn for the worse.

"Gonna pull that shit again?" He asks, pace not relenting. "Hm? Gonna lash out at me again like a spoiled brat when everyone can see you? Make me look like a fuckin' idiot?"

"No!"

"Yeah, better fuckin' not. Undermine me again and I'll kill ya. Now cum for me."

You don't need any further prompting. Your body goes lax, walls clamping snug around Naoya's fingers before releasing, soaking them in a hot rush of cum. He fucks you through it, not once stopping or slowing, narrow brown eyes watching your pussy coat his knuckles in a layer of milky white. "There's my good girl," he praises, soft but sweet, only ever meant for you to hear. "There's my good baby girl, that's it, let me have it."

It hits you for the last time before your orgasm even finishes, the relaxing of your muscles. You physically can't hold it back anymore, even if you could, it's far too late.

There's another surge of warmth, the wet sloshing of another liquid streaming from your spread legs and making a mess on your brother's hand, soaking the sleeve of his haori, soaking the tatami, trickling down your inner thighs in clear rivulets. Naoya's jaw drops, eyes widening at the sight. Even then, he can't fucking stop.

"What did I say, huh? Didn't I tell you to hold it?" His fingers press harder at your inner walls, ramping up the pace, desperate to fuck every last drop from you as his cock throbs under his hakama. "You're that incapable, can't even hold your own piss?"

You're fucking horrified.

"I'm sorry, nii-sama!" you sob. "I didn't mean to, I promise!"

"Yeah, yeah," he sneers. "Go on then, let it out."

With no other option, you resign yourself. Your body slumps forward onto Naoya's broader frame, shuddering, the urine releasing in pulsating gushes along with your orgasm, further soaking everything else. Hand, haori, tatami, even the linen of your kimono pooled underneath you. Your body is overwhelmed. Your face burns hotter, eyes drooping in exhaustion and relief. Blood rushes in your ears, heart pounding loud enough, you're certain Naoya can hear it.

The room spins.

Naoya's opposite hand rubs your back in a rare act of affection. It feels different from pity. He kisses the top of your head, then your shoulder, allowing you to come down slowly.

As the rushing of blood quiets, you're too ashamed to pull your face from the crook of his neck.

"Kid, look at me."

"Don' wanna."

"Come on."

Sniffling, you force yourself upright, still kneeling on your jello legs.

Still kneeling on the cold, soaked garments. Gross.

Naoya cradles your feverish cheek. You look cute like this, lips pouted, face absolutely debauched. His heart swells in his chest.

"I'm sorry, nii-sama."

"You kidding me?" He laughs under his breath. "You know how hot that fuckin' was? Almost came in my pants 'cause of you. Wanna see you do that shit again for me."

Embarrassed, you scoff and look away, but your brother redirects you, kissing you once more – chaste, but gentle. Reassuring.

After that, he leans back and starts undressing from the waist up, shrugging off his haori, working on his kimono, all until the soiled garments sit in a heap.

"Now go get someone to clean this shit up."

"Me?" You ask, incredulous, looking down at your disheveled form – still soaked, might you add. "Can't you go find someone to do it?"

"I wasn't the one that pissed myself, little sis. Now get out of here."

#tw piss #tw incest #tw humiliation #drops this and runs #this was good practice #not putting this shit in the tags lmaoooo #mercury writes

[wundersmith-squall]

ramble about your Ezra Squall redemption arc please?

Absolutely- id be very happy to! I'm quite aware that im about to sound like this:

but you asked so this is what you signed up for /j

Soooooooo it basically wormed its way into my head because of the one time where Squall said something like 'We're wundersmiths we take all of the blame and none of the credit' and I was like, okay sir are you speaking from experience? What was the 'credit' of your actions? And also the mention of the shared enemy, which I at the time took as meaning partially something in the republic that threatens Nevermoor, and partially something to do with the system, the Wunderous Society and like, all the people in charge who are against wundersmiths and are trying to hold Mog back.

Along with these two things, I'd like to think that 100+ years of banishment are long enough to rethink your actions and become a better person.

So, I'll explain it in a way that wont take an entire essay to write out. Basically it goes in my head that, Courage Square was, at least partially an accident, and over 100 years the story got skewed, and the current population turned against Ezra and the Wundersmiths, while the population at the time knew how, Wundersmiths ultimately were trying to help Nevermoor. Courage Square was bad, which is why Ezra was banished, but he wasnt killed. After a tragedy, it would be expected that he'd be punished, but at the time, the Republic as we know it didnt exist, and so being banished out there was a very bad fate, but it was definitely better than death.

Ezra went through a, lot of bad mental states during the first few decades of his banishment, but as he grew older, he came to terms with both his past actions and his current situation, though he still feels guilty about it.

In my head, the Wundersmiths were originally established to protect Nevermoor from the weird creatures of the darkness that the Wunderous Society takes care of now. Those creatures are attracted to Wunder. When Ezra was banished from Nevermoor, there were no longer any Wundersmiths in there, and so WunSoc had to step up and find a way to cover for him. Meanwhile, Ezra, who still loves Nevermoor, establishes Squall Industries, partially to improve conditions in the Republic and partially to provide a bigger, brighter beacon of wunder to attract the majority of the dangerous creatures to a place where he could still handle them. In this same thought, the Hunt of Smoke and Shadow werent something he created, but a group of these dangerous creatures that he managed to tame.

On the same subject are the other cursed children, those who, gather wunder but are unfortunately dont have the gift to control it. The creatures of the darkness, who chase wunder, hunt down these children to take the wunderous energy from them, which they dont survive. Ezra does his best in this situation, but one man can only do so much, and the creatures are relentless.

When he first discovers Morrigan, he's not exactly sure what to do. He tries to just get her as an apprentice through the usual means in the republic, but after a certain mad ginger got in the way he sent the Hunt after her, himself being busy trying to help the other cursed children, but we all know that that attempt didnt work. Ezra, knowing about the wunder critical-mass gather-too-much-without-using-it-makes-bad-things-happen thing, so he used the gossamer to get back into Nevermoor.

Having to enter and view Nevermoor again, even though not physically, took a bit of a toll on him, plus having to interact with someone new while being himself, which is not something he's had to do in a long time. He's also never, had to teach anyone before.

From there, I imagine he goes from frustrated and angry, to irritated but starting to get attached to Mog, to actually being a genuinely good teacher (aka the floof you saw in my drawing, who doesnt sleep nearly enough but still tries his best to be a good person), who is Tired™ and also just as chaotic as Jupiter when he wants to be.

Thank you for listening to my ramble- I can happily expand on anything if anyone happens to like this train of thought. I have further specifics on, basically everything, but this is a solid overview.

#im also working on a new drawing #so hopefully that will be finished in the next few days #nevermoor #jessica townsend #ezra squall #wundersmith #wunder #morrigan crow #ramble #ezra squall redemption arc

[faetreides]

I saw that you write for ATSV and heheheee I'm so excited to request this... ^^

AFAB!Reader works at Hammond with Johnathan/Spot and they start dating right before the accident happens. Reader assumes that Johnathan is dead so they quit out of grief. Spot stops by Reader's apartment after a few months of him being "dead" and the two reunite with all the pent-up emotions they'd been holding back. Including sex, of course. Gentle dominant Reader is very welcomed if you're feeling up for it! I see Spot as being a whiney submissive but maybe you see him differently idk 🫣

hi, this is so so so late and i did write a more dom reader but i struggled a log so i hope this is at least somewhat pleasing. i ended up having them not date before the accident and there might be other slight changes like that but i hope you still like it 💘

summary: the spot x afab former coworker!reader

cw: reader almost gets called mommy one time, unironic usage of the phrase “breeder balls”, obvious creative liberties relating to how he’d be able to have sex/his whole thing in general, unprotected sex/implications of him not pulling out, reader’s genitals referred to as “pussy” and “cunt”, one moment of self degradation, i’m inexperienced with writing a dom reader so forgive the messy vibes, also have not seen atsv in a hot minute so excuse any errors, implications of spot having a tongue like venom,

requests are open !! (read my rules )

divider by cafekitsune

No one could deny the extra pep in your step you seemed to possess as you sauntered through the lobby of your work building. The heels of your loafers signal your approach and the echo follows you all the way into the elevator. You take care to balance the object that’s gently cradled in your left hand while you giddily scan the array of buttons to find the one for your floor. You nearly drop what you’re holding and you have to adjust the straps of your leather bookbag when you press it. As soon as the glass doors are open enough, you rush through the gap and make your way towards your station. You don’t pay attention to where your bag lands when you shrug it off and instead focus on the recipient of what you now have hidden behind your back.

Your co-worker Jonathan was just so fun to play pranks on. There was something about the cute looks he would get on his face, whether they were annoyed or strangely starry eyed. It was a childish way to bond, sure, but you went out of your way to make your pranks as stupid and harmless as possible. If his attention was also an added bonus, then it’s simply a win-win situation.

The fuzzy fake tarantula flies through the air as you throw it. Thankfully, it completely hits its mark and lands on Jonathan’s angular right shoulder. You don’t have time to try to hide your giggles before a loud shriek bounds off the walls. The fake tarantula makes a thud when it inevitably gets flung against the wall. You spot it out of the corner of your eye and you suddenly can’t hold back your laughter.

“Yeah, you’ll be laughing it up until I have a heart attack and come back to haunt your ass.” He huffs out as he catches his breath and dramatically puts his hands over his thundering heart.

“You promise?” You tease with a wide grin, reaching a hand up to ruffle his brown hair when he playfully pouted.

Jonathan swats away your hand with an overly fond eye roll as he turns back to his work. He tugs his black turtleneck over the hump in his nose bridge in the hopes that it would hide the fierce blush flooding his face. You were really too much sometimes, but he wouldn't have you any other way.

Neither of you had any idea how ironic that exchange would prove to be.

You had been having nightmares again. The same one with a few variants, ones where no matter which way it happens, you have to watch as Jonathan violently dies. It hasn’t been that long since the infamous accident, but it felt like decades already to you. Before you quit your job in the wake of the tragedy, everyone around you was telling you that you shouldn’t blame yourself. You could hardly help that you were sick with a cold and had to take the day off. There wasn’t anything you or anyone could have possibly done. But all those awkwardly polite reassurances mean nothing when you think about how you at least could’ve been by his side. Could’ve offered a smidgen of comfort before the two of you were engulfed by your failure.

The latch of your window was about to fly across the room. It had been storming all night, and you had just managed to get only about an hour of sleep. You grumble as you climb out of bed and sluggishly pull up some flimsy plaid pajama pants. Your mind is still half asleep so you’re not sure if the button up you snatch from your closet matches, but it’s too late to care. Your favorite pair of boxer briefs lie forgotten on the floor in front of your bed. The cheaply built floor in your shitty apartment creaks with every step you take.

The white wooden windowsill is damp when you ghost your fingers along the edge. You try to peer out and around the window before sluggishly undoing and redoing the latch. Looks like you might have another all nighter in your near future.

Then you feel a drop of something fall on your face. You blink in confusion and swipe a thumb through the sticky substance, it’s pitch black and looks a lot like ink.

You look up at the ceiling only to see more weird stains making a trail along your ceiling, down the wall behind, and on the floor leading right to your heels.

“Small world, huh?”

That voice… you try to tell yourself that it’s another manifestation of your guilt. You’re just tired, that’s all. This is probably just some sort of lucid dream.

The finger that tilts your chin up begs to differ, and now you’re faced with the sight of a freak of nature. You shake as you frantically sweep your eyes rapidly over it. Black spots swirl and glitch all over a bright white body, which hunches over slightly as it… peers into your eyes. With the world you live in, superheroes and all that, it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise when you see it up close.

“I knew you’d probably be disgusted by me, but I had to see you.” The being using Jonathan’s voice says, but surely that can’t be him. Jonathan died in that freak accident months ago. Jonathan was gone forever, and you’d be all alone for the rest of your miserable little life.

The thing must be able to sense the confusion and the termoil that’s building inside of you, because suddenly you’re being gently swept on your feet and tossed on your bed. It cups your face in both of its palms and tenderly swipes its thumbs over your wet cheeks.

“Don’t be afraid, you know me, you know who i am.” It…. He? murmurs, burying his featureless face in the crook of your neck.

You sigh, wrapping your arms around somewhat familiar shoulders. In your heart and in your soul, you do know who has you trapped within the confines of your own bed. If you’re wrong, you’ll just chalk it up to having had a very realistic and very pleasant dream. You pull his face out of your neck so you can nuzzle in one of the spots against what feels like a hooked nose.

“Yeah I do, Jonathan. I know.”

Black tears rain on your face as his new body quivers with all the emotions he must be dealing with. You have no fucking clue how he became… like this. But selfishly, you’re just too happy and willing to lie in bed with your delusions to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’d leap through hoops for whatever form of Jonathan you were allowed to have.

Now it’s you who tenderly wipes away tears, and as you do so you pull his face flush against yours so you can softly kiss shadowy lips. Jonathan quivers intensely but you stand your ground and run a hand up and down his back to coax him into returning the kiss. You had always wondered what your first kiss would be like, and so had he. Maybe it would’ve been the bow on a softly spoken conversation about your long held feelings, perhaps it would happen like a cliche after you ran to each other in the rain. In the end, maybe things are best like this. You’re all too aware of just how many people don’t get to live their lives with the one they love. You had already resigned yourself to being some bitter old crone who shakes a fist at the neighborhood kids when they step on your overgrown lawn.

Something in the air shifts and you decide to nudge Jonathan over onto his back as you quickly straddle him. You’re not too sure how anything physical is even possible but all of these long held back emotions are clouding your judgment too much to not try.

When you pull your head back from the kiss to breathe, a sticky string of spit connects the tips of your tongues. You sit in a trance and watch as Jonathan flicks his tongue out to break the string. The breathy groan that followed made your pussy clench in anticipation. You look up at his face, wordlessly trying to get some kind of reassurance that this was the right thing to do. Cold hands tremble their way around your hips and he clumsily traces random shapes and squiggles on your skin.

“It’s… it’s okay, we’re okay.” Someone whispers, unsure if talking louder would bring you both to tears.

You sigh shakily and direct one of his hands to slide down your body and into your soaked underwear. You press your forehead to his, making some weird kind of eye contact as you push one of his fingers into yourself. It’s not too much of an adjustment to get used to the size, his fingers are bony and long but they’re thin.

He takes the hint and slowly thrust his finger in and out, honed in on the slick sounds your gushy folds were already making. Eventually he added a couple more fingers, curling them just right with his thrusts. Your hips start having a mind of their own, and you’re meeting every one of his thrusts. The flesh of your hips jiggles from the impact of his palm smacking against your clit.

“Fuck- f-fuckkkkk, you’re doing so good, baby.” You laugh as you start to pant and crane your head down to watch his digits play with your pussy.

All you get in return is a whine that sounds more like a creaky door hinge.

Initially, when you decided to throw caution to the wind and have sex your co worker turned comical amboniation, you thought you wouldn’t be as desperate for something inside of you as you are for his dick. If he even has one now, it could all just be smooth down there like a ken doll for all you know. But you’re so so fucking curious to find out, you did use to wonder what your cute little desk neighbor had going on under his polyester slacks after all…

“Mmfh… ha….. slow down a sec’, i think you’re ready to give me something bigger. Don’t ya think?” You whisper in his ear, giggling when you can almost hear him rapidly nod his head in excitement.

“Yes please, always wanted to fuck you so bad. Please, mo-“ He cuts himself off, and you think if he could blush he would from how much his hand is fidgeting on your hip. He huffs before pulling his fingers out of you almost too quickly, but still taking care to not cause you any pain. He was a good boy like that.

You reached behind you to wrap a hand around his already throbbing length, wiping a thumb over the beads of precum spilling from the tip. You tease the slit with the edge of your nail and coo softly when Jonathan quivers. Your grip is steady as you hover over his cock and slowly sink down on it. His fat tip breaches your walls so fucking good but you’re eager for the hefty weight of it all inside you.

Jonathan’s chest falls down quickly with shallow breaths, so you give him a second to adjust to the sensation of your tight pussy wrapped around him. You slide one of your hands up his torso and slip two of your fingers into one of the black holes on his face. He takes the hint and bobs his head up and down your fingers, sucking and smearing his saliva all over them.

When he bucks his hips up in a timid thrust, you know you can take him deeper. Inch by inch his thick dick stretches you out like it’s sinking into a squishy fleshlight. It’s way longer than you expected, a bit girthier too with a slight curve to it. It boggles your mind that he kept this big secret from you in the confines of his ugly pants, but it’s all yours now. It’s probably been yours for a long time. His balls were equally as surprising, they could’ve been paperweights they felt like they were so heavy. Your cunt clenches again at the thought of his breeder balls letting all of that cum slosh around inside of you.

You bring his hands around to your ass and you lift yourself halfway up his cock and quickly lower yourself back down. You both let out a moan when he bottoms out. The pace you set is slow and languid after that initial quick thrust. Your ass plops against his balls in an imitation of a kiss on every downward thrust. You wish you could see the fucked out look in his eyes he’d have if he didn’t look like…. this. But his soft squeals and whimpers make up for it. His body continues to shiver as you fuck him so you keep a hand on his chest and rub the skin there.

“Such a good boy, filling me up so well, honey.” You murmur, just rolling your hips in his lap and enjoying the sensations of being connected.

Jonathan whines and settles his head back on the pillow, kneading the globes of your ass. You can tell that he’s fighting the urge to recklessly buck his hips up so you make your pussy clench around him again. You soothe the noise that he releases by slightly picking up the pace. And sooner rather than later, his thighs are quivering like he’s the one doing the fucking and his long black tongue is lolling out the side of his mouth hole. Little “Ha….. ha….. ha….”’s echoing throughout the room. His dick feels like it’s pulsing inside of you as you lovingly bounce on it.

“ ‘m gonna c-cum, gonna cum s-so h-hard.” He begs, holding his head up to try to catch a view of his cock being swallowed up your pussy.

You smile warmly and lean forward to press your chest against his. Your pace never falters even when you angle your head to brush your nose against his face. The hands gripping your ass are gently pushed aside and you lace your fingers with his, squeezing a few times.

“Go ahead, baby. Cum for me.”

#need to put this behind me #atsv #across the spiderverse #🕊️.alivedove #spot x reader #the spot x reader #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse x reader #afab reader #mdni #🎧.asks #praying to god this isn’t as bad as i feel like it is #marvel x reader

[lexa-griffins]

"I'm not yours anymore" for the fic title

Oh!!!!!!!!

This... this title right here works SO well for the type of fic i crave despite being angsty enough where i probably couldn't either write it or read it without getting mad.

Lexa and Clarke, college sweethearts. Long engagement. Lexa works long hours at the office since Clarle recently realized medicine wasn't her passion and decided to take a job that pays less but lets her have the chance to take a few random classes to see what she wants.

It comes crumbling down from there. They have put the wedding at the back burner for now as they try to remain afloat. Clarke, who spent her college years so focused on her studies now has the freedom to enjoy the little pieces of college life she missed on and she does. While Lexa works and worries, Clarke goes out to drink with kids nearly a decade younger than her. She goes out more and more often. She starts leaving her engagement ring at home.

Lexa tries to be understanding and supportive. That's all she ever is. In every aspect of their life. She gets it when Clarke is done after Lexa made her cum and doesn't feel like giving back. She gets it when she is tired from work and classes and neglects the housework allocated to her. She gets it when she prefers to spend more time on her phone than with her.

Lexa gets it... but she is reaching the end of her rope. They are grown adults. With jobs and rent to pay and a wedding to plan and a life to build together. But Clarke seems suddenly so desinterested in all of that. Drinking, going out and spend her days glued to her phone seem to be much more important to her and one day, when she comes home and Clarke is /still/ passed out in bed after coming home at 5 am, she finds her phone, just standing there.

Lexa wasn't suspicious of anything. She just wants to understand what these 21 yo state college kids could possibly have to say to her fiancee that make her forget Lexa exists.

Flirting. Heavy flirting.

Nothing indicates it has gone beyond that, but not only does Clarke flirt harder than she ever did with Lexa, there is never any mention of Lexa's existence at all.

She packs a bag and leaves. And it takes Clarke until the next day to even think to call her, asking where she is. No concern, no worry. Just a demand of knowing her whereabouts.

Did Lexa imagine the love between them? Did she make up every sweet gesture Clarke delivered to her up until she quit her job and regressed back to a drunk college girl?

The breakup is direct and somehow seems to take Clarke by surprise. But Lexa doesn't budge. And a month later, the apartment they shared is nearly empty from years spent together.

Or sucks it takes Lexa leaving for Clarke too realize what she lost. It takes Clarke a year to get back on her feet after realizing Lexa is not coming back. She fucked up, she realizes that now. She cuts contact and finishes her classes. She manages a stable, slightly better paying job. And then she moves, away from memories of a life she herself destroyed.

She regrets it only nearly 3 years later. A small girl, no older than 2. Bright eyes and a sweet smile, trying to reach a cereal box on the shelf. Clarke helps her with a smile and the little girl thanks her. And right then, she hears her voice again. Still tired but happy, so unlike the way her voice sounded during their last talk, when Clarke still begged her she would change and Lexa told her it was too late before driving away.

A grocery car filled with kid's snacks and veggies. Diapers and a few kids' books. She seems lighter. The darkness under her eyes is not as pronounced. Her cheeks are fuller and so is she. The last time they cuddle Clarke still remembers how she could feel her hip bone. She said nothing, too hangover to even think of words that didn't sound like she was telling her to gain weight.

She ignores the bump. The wedding ring. The hickey on her neck.

Lexa calls out the little girl's name again. The girl turns to her and smiles, telling her mom about the nice lady who helped her get her cereal.

Clarke stands awkwardly as Lexa's eyes move towards her and a swirl of emotions pass by her face.

Clarke wants to say something. Apologize once more. Beg her to come back to her. How miserable as her life been without Lexa's smile in the morning?

Instead, she remains silent once more. And Lexa nods, as if to thank her for it.

"Have you said thank you to the nice lady?"

The little girl turns, "Thank you!"

Her voice seems trapped in her throat but Clarke manages to speak up as kindly as she can manage, "You're welcome."

"C'mon, mama is waiting for us." Lexa speaks softly to her daughter and Clarke does nothing more than look at them leave, seeming so final this time around, as Lexa spares her one last glance before disappearing behind the shelves.

They never talked about kids. It had been nearly a year by the time they broke up since they talked about the wedding. She wonders if this would have been them now if Clarke hadn't decided having fun was more important than the life she was building. If during those three years she had called and explained herself and asked them to start again.

She didnt tho. And no matter how many what ifs, the last thing Lexa told her before she finally left her life three years ago echoes in her mind.

"Im not yours anymore, Clarke."

#letter opened #sorry this is angst no happy ending #but it also isnt very good so it balances it out 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 #in my mind that last part is a dream and Clarke wakes up in bed with Lexa realizing where her life is headed towards #and apologizes and they get married and have their babies together😌

[alexthesillybilly]

What if springtrap x reader but I write it from springtraps POV idk I wanna study him this is rlly similar to another thing I wrote btw if it feels familiar :P idk why but I love writing this exact scene lmao

God, how long has it been? Months? Years? Decades? How was I supposed to know? I haven't spoken to anyone since I was left in here, and I probably never will again. I'm still trying to figure out what to do to pass the time. At first my methods were a little more about escaping, but clawing at the walls and slamming my self against the door was both very painful, and was also not doing anything for me, so I stopped doing those pretty quickly. Then I remembered there were arcade machines in this room! But then I remembered that this is the parts and service room and they were out of order. And very unplayable. But that didn't stop me, I ended up disassembling and putting them back together a few times.

That got boring, too.

Now I'm not really sure what to do. I spend a lot of my time either fidgeting with loose wires or pacing around like some kind of scared animal. After I stopped having the indescribable dread of realizing I was trapped here, it changed to craving something. Anything, really. Whether it was hearing music from outside, seeing a color other than pitch black, feeling anything other than the freezing cold tile floor and my own pain.

I think I mostly craved company, though.

I was never into psychology, but speaking from experience, I'm pretty sure that completely depriving a human of any communication or entertainment for years (decades??) will fuck someone up.

There's some sort of noise around the door. It's happened a few times, usually someone who broke in trying to get into the room before discovering it's boarded up. I don't know who boarded up this room, but I'd like to have a talk with them. Only a little murder included. So I don't get my hopes up too much. They're not going to get in.

So maybe I get a little excited when for the first time, I actually DO hear the door crack open and light pour in.

Holy shit, it's happening.

I can finally get out of here.

I felt nearly manic at the sight. So imagine my thoughts when someone walked in.

I freeze. What do I do?

There is so much I want to say.

Can I even talk?

I don't know anymore.

Who is this?

I try to look at them without moving. Nobody I recognize. That's probably a good thing.

If I move, I might scare them.

On one hand, then I'd be able to leave.

But on the other hand, I need to talk to someone, ANYONE, so bad that I can't let then leave already.

So I stay still while they approach.

They must not be deterred by the sight of me, surprisingly, because they crouch down beside me like I'm not... like this.

"What the hell are you?" They laugh under their breath. Wow, okay. First words spoken to me in this long. I deserve that, though.

I need to talk so bad but how am I supposed to talk to anyone now? I don't even remember how it works, let alone if I physically could. I pray they'll ask a yes-or-no question soon.

They stand back up.

No. No, no, no, not already. They can't leave. I have to risk it.

I try my best to tell them not to go. It comes out as more of a noise you'd make on your deathbed, but it's enough to get them to stop in their tracks.

"No. Nope, I am NOT being your horror movie protagonist who dies first, nope. Not today." They turn to run out the door. This time I'm prepared. Kind of.

"No-" I manage to choke out before realizing how much it hurts to speak, and very pathetically falling against the wall in pain. I have to get the message through, though. "Don't go."

"Hooly shit." The person stares at me in horror. "I have so many questions."

Talking hurts so bad, but nothing hurts worse than my indescribable loneliness, so I'll just have to deal with that later. I have to say something.

"Me too."

#springtrap #fnaf 3 #springtrap x reader #self shipping community #fnaf f/o #fnaf #fnaf x reader #william afton x reader #yooo im writing!! #girl talk

[wmarximoff]

skeleton in the closet | w. maximoff

|spooktober collection|

summary: life married to Wanda Maximoff is as simple as it gets, and everything is as it should be. but old skeletons in the closet comes to light in your hometown, where the two of you lived during your teenage years, when the body of Pietro Maximoff, Wanda's twin brother, is found after nearly twenty years of being missing.

warnings (18+): dark!reader, dark!Wanda, explicit description of stabbing, explicit description of blood, explicit description of dead body, manipulation, explicit description of physical violence, allusions to homophobia.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 8k

A/N: and we're finally on spooktober, guys! seriously, i'm really excited for the fics to come this month. so, to get a sense of what our vibe's gonna be like from now on, i think this story is a good starting point (but remember that if dark things aren't exactly your cup of tea, you don't need to read this)

|main masterlist| |spooktober masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

The autumnal chills made the lapels of your coat rustle against your chest. The transition to the cold climate began to gradually slip through the daily life, and the dark nights came to establish their veil into the beautiful celestial vault dazzles. Leaves taking on earthy tones fell from the trees like sand spilled over desert dunes. The birds returned south in flocks. It was October, as so many others had been and so many more would be. Soon it would be time to pick pumpkins and try to find god knows where a cloak for Billy's sorcerer costume.

As you unlocked the hardwood door dyed a deep pearly white color, entering your small family capsule, cloistered in the depths of a quiet neighborhood, turning with your right wrist clockwise twice at a broken one hundred and eighty degree angle, you found your nose greeted by an enticing aroma of food fresh from the oven, which in response had your stomach churning like a wild buffalo inside your abdomen.

The long rainy morning and the even lengthier gray afternoon had worn you down as a member of the working class, it’s true – your spine leaning against the hard back of the swivel chair, blinking slowly with your bright, demanding eyes, intent on your own words, wondering about your work displayed on the thin monitor sprinkled in its frame by notes on small yellow pieces of paper. Acting as if the internet and blogging hadn't incited an unrestrained crash in your job market.

That typical office job worthy of a big-city journalist's career (articles, write articles for the Daily Bugle, thank J. Jonah Jameson so the mustachioed bastard gives you a raise) that at the end of the day goes back to their residential neighborhood that didn't feel like it should exist in the bowels of New York, to sit in a leather armchair and open a cold beer with a hard click. But at that time of year, beer could well be switched for a steaming mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows and cinnamon swimming in the thickly sweetened brew.

You, however, still within your archetypal office journalist, only craved for a few silent minutes in your wife's arms in search of some comfort in your soul, because your marriage was not bankrupt as your profession made it seem as it was. Wanda still loved you as much as she had almost two decades ago, and you could only breathe if your wife gave you permission to do so. Everything seemed to be as it always should be.

You then hung your keys right next to the door, rotating both your shoulders out of the dark linen coat Wanda had told you once made you look like a stern, sexy college professor, playing with the authority worthy of a title you didn't really hold; it was your wife who did it, after all, and she allowed you to steal that coat tucked on her hanger because she said it looked better on you anyway – even though you only knew that something frugally possessive about Wanda liked to see you in her clothes, exhaling the soft floral effluvia of her perfume as if to mark her territory on your body.

Your breath still gave indications of warm, full-bodied coffee, a trace of that busy afternoon that needed some sort of stimulant—a drink from a plastic cup with your name written on the side in black marker pen; this one that, earlier that day, had been placed next to a framed picture of your family on your desk, next to a “Best Mom Ever” mug in bold letters with a handful of colored pens inside just to your left, close to your elbow.

With placid strides deferred to the wooden floor, imbued with an unpretentiousness when within the walls of your own house, you then set off with your wife's coat folded over the length of your right forearm raised to the height of your ribs, pressed against the length of your abdomen, hanging there as if to emulate the pose of a waiter in a suit at a fancy restaurant.

Upon entering the living room, however, seated on a light cream fabric sofa, you were faced with only the tops of two small heads that lavished thick locks of dark brown hair – a pair of little boys glazed over in artificial colors, your twin sons born ten years and eleven months ago.

They didn't agree on much with each other very often, from time to time fighting over toys as the ontology of having a sibling demands, but they were always close to each other's shoulders at the end of the day, just like they did inside the womb they shared for a whole nine months. A few feet in front of you, a thin television, securely screwed to the wall, flashed some action cartoon you were not very familiar with.

And you smiled with quiet lips and walked to the back of the sofa, where you lowered your spine and, without a word, placed a warm kiss on top of each of the two vanilla-scented chestnut-colored heads, receiving in response a series of dull whining – the protestor of the day, however, as it had always been, was Tommy and not Billy.

“Well, hello to you too, little dude.”

“Mom!” grumbled the little boy with eyes the same color as yours, in a slurred tone that actually sounded annoyed, craning his neck as if you'd stuck gum in his hair, “C’mon, I'm too old for this!”

"Oh, I'm sorry Tom, I almost forgot you're a big boy now that you're ten. My mistake, really,” you crooned in an air of laughter before smiling at the grumpy young boy, who squinted his eyes at you and frowned with his sparse dark brows.

“I am! I don't need to be treated like a baby all the time anymore!”       

“‘Course you are, kid, I didn't say anything to the contrary. You're practically an adult now, what the heck.”

He had a fine chin and a gently upturned nose speckled with freckles like the stars spaced across the night sky. However, as boyish he was, his temper was just so solemnly contrary to his affable teddy bear with a bow tie appearance, an explosive den of undisputed bravery. Your gaze then decided to settle on the figure of Billy, always so much more serene and courteous when opposed to his energetic brother, who was offered a smart smile on your part, narrowing your eyes and raising both of your eyebrows towards him.

“And what about you, bud,” you questioned him without bothering to betray the mockery in your tone, “Are you too old to get a kiss on the head from your mom too?”

“I'm not,” he winked, scrunching a flash of skin over his little nose in a totally, genetically Wanda way, “I like it when you kiss me on the head, mom.”

“See, Tommy,” you turned your chin towards the other twin's freckles, “Billy is ten too and he still likes to get a kiss on the head. It doesn't hurt to like it, you know. You can be tough and still like your mom, just for a change.”

The other boy, in an embarrassed guinea pig squeak, traced the path between your face and Billy's before nurturing his twisted lips into a silly little pout; the stubborn Maximoff gene played out so much more in Tommy than it did in his brother, who hadn't gotten much more from your wife's family tree than the firm, sharp bone structure of his cheekbones and his soon to be smooth jawbone.

“Fine,” Thomas grumbled crookedly in a quick desistance, “You can still kiss me mom, geez.”

“Fine,” you said then, “Because I wasn't going to stop doing it anyway,” and Billy chuckled softly as it was that you turned your face to deposit a new, quick, wet little kiss on Tommy's rosy cheek, smacking your lips against his soft skin.

“Don't think you'll get rid of my kisses anytime soon, mister.”

Leaving the living room then with an impish smile well warped in the commission of your lips, you were directed by the smell of roast chicken that had covered the house like a sheet of flavors, and with slow steps, you let yourself walk across the matte floor in toward the kitchen, to the sacred source of the aroma of fresh-baked food.

You passed a spacious hallway with pale walls, whose faces, interspersed with casual, well-appointed furniture, held photographs of pivotal moments for that family of four (everyone sporting delightful, pearly-beautiful smiles with spasms of hearty glee, say cheese Tommy, look over here Billy, no Y/n, you can't take a picture grimacing for our Christmas card, a break for a round of lively laughter, stop it, Y/n!).

Wanda cherished them with all her heart, as for while she herself was just a lonely child, the walls of the house she lived in were all foreboding and empty, like an excruciating scream in a dark room.

There were no ugly itchy Christmas sweaters or big, fed up Thanksgiving dinners in the family album of Erik Lehnsherr, a high-profile political figure in a well-buttoned jacket and an golden watch screwed to his firm wrist, and Magda Maximoff, a dreary housewife soaked in wine and draped in expensive pearls, a couple married for sheer convenience — no pictures of their own set of twin children, none of the gritty boy or even the always so quiet little girl unwrapping some of their birthday presents by the fireplace, toys bought carelessly with unimportant cash deducted from an unlimited credit card.

But already in the life of an adult, married woman, a mother, that household you two formed together was like a being of its own, as alive as it could be.

A being of pipe bones, brick skin and a happy family heart, who breathed through impromptu Saturday breakfasts and old movie nights snuggled on the couch surrounded by buttered popcorn and cups of iced cinnamon apple tea. The kind of home that is familiar without any hesitation. A generally imposing house, but not enough to be challenging.

So, as you entered the airy white-walled kitchen, an cozy countenance expressed itself through the soberly relaxed muscles of your face, and you couldn't help but evoke a tender smile at what you saw before you – after all it was her, it would always be her.

Wanda had her back to you, her long fire-flaming hair falling over her porcelain shoulders and halfway up her spine like a high forest fire, ready to incinerate you too. It gave off a lovely scent of wild strawberries interspersed with glossy locks that you were fond of sticking your nose in and sniffing that eclectic scent every night before bed.

“Yes, I…I understand. I do, I swear I do.”

It wasn't until the sound of her low voice, in a watery tone that pretends she's not about to burst into tears, that you realized that Wanda's phone was being pressed against the shell of her right ear, a distant green gaze scrutinizing the wet dark of the sink drain. A curious brow of yours rose to your forehead as she faced the raw words in an uncharacteristically Wanda tone, afforded with her deck of cards congruent with dreary answers fitting only in very unfortunate situations.

“I'll try to get there as soon as possible. I'll– I'll talk to Y/n. We'll be there early in the morning. Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow,” Wanda turned on her heel, shimmering with emerald eyes at you, who was caught in her sight like a deer in the bright headlights of a car on the dark road – she frowned, her rosy lips curled intemperately.

Ah, there you are, Wanda said with her eyes in a dull green like the slime that grows on a tiny rock in front of a profuse lake. Something happened and I need you here with me.

“No, I– I know this is a priority,” she sighed a breath of warm air, deflating her chest from under a fresh-blood-colored cashmere cardigan, “I know. I do. I'll be there as soon as possible, father. Don't worry.”

Silence engulfed all four walls of the kitchen as the call then came to an end, though neither of the two parties has properly bid farewell to the other. It was an emergency, your startled senses heightened. Erik would never call if it wasn't an emergency.

A tremor along the length of your spine from the back of your neck alerted you that something was wrong. Saliva choked in Wanda's throat, and she lowered her smartphone to then laid it facedown against the stone kitchen island. She looked at you. You looked at her.

The blood flowing through your veins cooled down at the incognito facet that expressed itself through the dull face of your so gorgeous wife, who had her brown eyebrows curled in a calliginous way and an opaque veil clouding her jade-colored gaze, gauging pale shades of awestruck green to her hollow irises – terror climbing the length of your esophagus, her hands fluttering through the auburn length of her long hair before initiating the fidget act with her own pale fingertips, the two of you sharing a brooding pose, which exhaled a scent of anguish through the kitchen environment.

“Wanda,” there was an exchange of apprehensive looks between you and her, “Wanda, honey, what's wrong? What’s going on? Did... did something happen...? Erik... is your father all right?”

“Y/n...”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out and so Wanda tried to collapse her peach lips again, to swallow the lump tied to her vocal cords. One look was enough for you to know that in Wanda's chest was an atrocious disease known as dread.

And your first instinct in the face of your wife's frightened figure was to slash through the kitchen like lightning, to shelter her haggard body against your own welcoming torso when her muscles chose to disassemble, like an ancient millenary structure that comes to the ground. It was like catching a rag doll in a free fall.

“Hey, hey, it's alright, sweetheart,” you whispered against her red hair, “Alright, alright, I'm here. I’m here with you, Wanda,” and then, a long kiss was bestowed on the pale skin of her right temple, near the last strand of a dark eyebrow.

“Y/n, they found it,” she sobbed in a whimpering murmur against the warm skin of your neck, her hands crawling like a pair of spiders up the fabric on the back of your blouse, “T-they, they found it...”

“They found what, Wanda?” you asked her mutely against her earlobe, “Who found what, baby? What’s going on?”

“A hiker in the woods,” your wife mussed in a thread of a pleading voice, “The police, they… they found Pietro's body... they found him... they found him...”

There was something eerie about Wanda's choked speech – something ominous, not of this world. And something in you flickered – your jawbone knocked, your sharp gaze blazing a stubborn roar of hopeless fear as your stomach dropped. Pietro, of course. Pietro’s body.

Pietro Maximoff, the prodigy athlete, the golden boy on the football team, the apple of his father's eye. The better twin. The missing twin, now earning the title of the twin found underground, the dead twin, the murdered twin.

The glow that always, always so unjustly overshadowed Wanda's charms. The boy this bitter couple had planned to have, the only child they could brag about, while Wanda had slipped out of the womb clinging to Pietro's neck, a particularly uninvited outsider to Erik who never stopped being more than that; more than the thing who came clinging to the boy he wanted to have, a nasty bonus.

Both your palms were sweaty against the back of her cardigan when you held Wanda tighter, the soft clothing leaving a feeling as rough as sandpaper against the tips of your so cautious fingers. You had to be there for her. You had to pull yourself together at that moment. Even if that shouldn't happen. Even if that's not how things were supposed to be.

“I–it's gonna be okay,” your voice no longer sounded like your own, it curled in an irresolute tone, your throat wavering in haste – and you masticated at your lower lip, your heart thudding against your ribcage in distress and the shrillest sensation of fear.

“It's gonna be okay, honey. It's gonna be okay. I’m here. Everything's gonna be okay.”

You kissed her strawberry head cork, your lips dry and your back sweating inside your thick blouse. Your skin turned cold against the warm of Wanda's hot tears. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not seventeen years later. Within that profuse forest, deep in the woods that surrounded the small town frame, no one should ever find anything in that unfathomable grave that you covered with pounds of soft earth when you were just eighteen years old.

ᗢ

“Why do we have to visit grandpa anyways?” whimpered Tommy, in that typical slurred intonation of a tantrum child who is frustrated at being annoyed, “It's not even Christmas yet!”

You were speechless for a few seconds, cluttering with the crimped bone of your jaw, holding up a tightly folded red shirt that you intended to stuff into Billy's blue backpack, through the open zipper like a hungry mouth for changes of clean clothes, so he could get dressed for the weekend.

It was a second taken to think of a wide range of explanations that there was no elucidation to be said in a way that a childish cognition could fully digest, understanding all the nuances carried in its broad meanings.

A second passed, almost taking up the shape of full minutes, until you turned your gaze towards the scowling little boy that was Tommy, who, with an observant ember sparking through the intrinsic color of his clever, harmless irises, stared at you in expectant anticipation for the resolution of his sly doubt.

He, after all, was your son, one of them. A boy to whom you owed explanations of the greatest mysteries that made up the universe just because a few years ago you and Wanda both wanted him to exist.

“Well, honey, you see, it's...” but the words, the correct ones, didn't come out of your mouth, which was left open like a big black hole lacking light, “It's... it's very important to your mama that we're going there tomorrow, Tommy. She needs it.”

“But why?” as his brother lulled him, however, it was Billy's turn to express the doubts that were hovering in his little head, who was in charge of the mission of folding a handful of pants and shirts.

“Yeah mom, why?” claimed Tommy one more time.

“Grandpa's house is weird,” Billy sustained, “It’s so big and smells like a dentist's office and old people. I don't like it there.”

“Well,” you made an unnatural sound that was a mockery of laughter, like a low battery toy, “Your grandpa is old, isn't he…? Don't ever tell him I said that.”

It was the extremes of the moderate hour of eight-thirty at night when you, with your twin children dressed in pajamas at your heels, found yourself in the softness of the boys' shared room – because they, always so united as in a only entity, would never be able to fall asleep in separate rooms, alone and dispersed in two dark corners, which was why there were then two empty guest rooms gathering dust within your house.

Clothed in their cotton pajamas strewn with tiny prints of colorful dinosaurs (red, green and blue too), the pair of little boys were by your side while you took care to pack their bags, willingly volunteering to do so when in front of Wanda's swollen, exhausted eyes, who had retreated to the master bedroom after a lifeless dinner that had surely troubled the two children's spirits.

Two pairs of little eyes then flickered towards your damp face. Just two curious children (your curious children) looking for an answer to their question before Wanda's only relative of whom they had empirical knowledge, the only one alive and yet so far away, whom they had not seen for a certain period of time, but that had sent them new toys the month before this one, on their birthday. You came out on a lame sigh, the coming headache brushing hot on a hard muscle at the back of your neck.

“Look, guys, I'm gonna be honest with you,” you uttered, tucking your knees into your comfy cotton sweatpants to sit on the edge of Billy's bed, putting the folded shirt aside.

“I know it can be a little… um, uncomfortable… to go to grandpa's house sometimes. Trust me, I... I really do. But we need to go there because... well, something serious has happened, and that's why grandpa needs mama there. You guys remember what I told you about mama's brother, right? Her twin brother, just like you two are.”

“Uncle P?” Tommy took the lead in the round of questions, taking a comfortable seat right next to your right elbow, “He left when you and mama were in high school. She said he’s far away from here. That makes her sad sometimes.”

“Yes, he… he's gone,” you bowed your head in a mechanical, hard motion, the words rancid against the face of your tongue, “Your uncle was… he was indeed far away from here, you know? But it turns out... that he was found recently. The cops found him, but… it wasn't in a good way, boys.”

“What happened to him, mom?”

Billy's eyes pointed upward towards your gloomy face, as a complement to his doubt; the little dark brow furrowed in demand for a congruent resolution to his brooding inquiry. You turned your chin at an angle towards your left collarbone to answer him.

“Well, Bill, your uncle, he…” there was a pause on your part, a long silence held in your throat, “He's not alive anymore, kid. Do you understand what that means? He... he's not coming back. Pietro will never come back.”

The boys looked at each other and, with a rehearsed action, cast a sorrowful glare on you – a look that didn't quite understand the real implications of what you'd said to them, but did it well enough to get the idea that it was something bad, something sad enough to mobilize the adults who always seemed to be in control of everything. To make mama cry even when she was the one who nursed them on blue days, brushing the tears away from their cheeks with her thumbs.

“And mama,” Billy said in a tiny voice, so befitting his sad little eyes, “Is she sad?”

“She is,” you cordially splayed your left hand on the small expanse of his knee, where your fingers began a series of affable, unconscious caresses.

“She's very sad, Bill. So we need to do this for her. We need to stand by her side in this moment of sadness and take good care of her when she needs us to. Because now she has to say goodbye to him. For real this time. And goodbyes are big, sad feelings that are very difficult to deal with, even if it's someone as strong as mama. Even more a goodbye like that. Can you do this for her, boys? She’ll be so much happier if you guys do this for her.”

“We can,” Tommy stated, ever so sure of his own words, “We can do this for mama.”

“Yes,” Billy supported his brother, “We gonna do it, mom.”

“Right,” you smiled small, just lifting the corner of your lips, “Thanks, guys, really. This will mean a lot to her. Now come here, come here,” when you offered each boy an arm, the two soon tried to snuggle against your chest, their ears brushing against both of your collarbones.

“It's gonna be okay, did you hear me? We'll get through this. We’ll get through this as a family, as we always do.”

At least, that's what you hoped would happen. As if everything wasn't absolutely out of control. As if you weren't an asshole for lying to your own kids.

ᗢ

Had flown across the sky only a few sluggish minutes since the dawn of the opaque day, enveloping the longitudinal expanses of the outskirts of Westview, then, in a vague aura of homely appearance – thus offering, to the parochial naked eye, a shifting nuance between pastel shades of salmon colors that were soon taken over by the autumnal gray of the heavy clouds, which served as the prelude to a frosty October morning (the first signs of a coming cold temperature already settling, like a disease, through the crooked bowels of the ominous city). Wanda made sure Billy and Tommy were dressed up in thick coats in the backseat.

The sun was clumsy in the midst of the gloomy sky, like a silvery child hiding behind its mother's skirt, and at the foundation of the sky's vault, a long magenta band of sun spread to the horizon, hoisting towards the day, even though it was a particularly gloomy morning.

You had just left New York State behind, and so the reddish-hued family car found itself wandering through the conglomeration of roads that made up New Jersey, just a handful of miles from the nondescript town of Westview.

“Are we there yet? I’m hungry,” asked Tommy from the backseat, his voice coming over your shoulder.

“We're almost there, baby,” Wanda replied in a slightly dry voice, her gaze always looking straight ahead, at the road that unfolded in front of the fender of the car, “Just hang in there a little longer, okay?”

“Okay…”

You looked at her sideways for half a second of bottled oxygen in your throat. Your right hand then wandered over the derailleur that stood between the two seats at the front of the car, to give a cordial squeeze on your wife's left thigh, which was tucked into dark jeans. In grim silence, Wanda held your fingers extensions between her palms – her wedding band felt cool against your skin.

Out of the corner of your sharp eye, your left hand screwed into the outline of the steering wheel, you captured the smudged image of a rudimentary green-painted board made from logs; population 3,892, “WELCOME TO WESTVIEW – HOME: IS WHERE YOU MAKE IT”. You once spray-painted that sign because you were a stupid teenager who had a stupid idea. Nobody ever knew that you did it.

Little Westview was still the same as before, always so classic and timeless. But there was something there, like an ominous specter lurking around corners and behind the fogged up windows, that had made your heart crumple inside your anxious chest and your body curl up like a tortoise does in its shell, unconsciously going further into the faux leather seat.

It was as if every component structure of the city looked into the moving car, as if everything there knew what you had done. How guilty you were; your sin leaking from your pores, bristling your veins.

As the concrete and pylons of the gray, wet asphalt citadel burst before your eyes, magically trapped in an eternal vortex of the sixties, with its empty houses and dismal colonial-style shops surrounded by leafy trees of essence green taking on shades of orange, damp and dark, and its old-fashioned cinema that in its facade of red and blue in bright neon, announced the rerun of a horror movie in black and white.

The Halloween decorations began to appear more and more as the vehicle approached the center of town – a wicked witch in a purple dress flying on top of a broom, a bedsheet made into a ghost with two open holes for the eyes and one for the mouth, a handful of pumpkins with carved pointy teeth.

You clenched your jaw, a streak of sunlight barely crossing your forearm raised to brush a strand of hair out of your eye. It didn't take more than minutes for you to park your car in front of Wanda's old childhood home – the town was tiny, and the house stood triumphantly wider and larger than the other residences.

The cream-colored little house just around the corner caught your eye like a beacon in the dark, however; before your parents moved out of the country after you finished college, this is where you had lived with your family – the window of your old room always facing the street outside.

It was about a ten-minute drive straight down Ellis Avenue (Tommy already fidgeting to get out of the car, Billy saying he was sleepy, Wanda holding back so she wouldn't explode, you just wishing you'd get there soon). Still so early in the morning, the figure of Erik Lehnsherr, once the mayor of Westview, could already be found on his front porch – gray-striped jacket and cropped white hair, bordering on the pearly tone of old age. You turned off the car ignition.

“It's gonna be okay, Wands,” was a whisper on your part into a pair of dark green eyes that weren't quite staring at you, “I'm here with you. I’ll always be here for you, honey.”

“I know,” she sighed back, before taking her right hand to the doorknob and then opening the car door, “I know, baby. Thank you.”

Erik tucked both of his hands into the pockets of his linen pants, piercing eyes burning into your silhouette beneath a pair of bushy dark brows as you helped Billy to get out of the vehicle through the left door that opened like a long red wing towards the street. Sapphire irises, the grandfather of your children.

Clean, wealthy and downright cruel. A frown stripped away from his thin dead lips, which made him looked like a comic book villain – a puff of cocky unpleasantness. Bitter aroma of pompous whiskey on the lapels of his jacket. Your wife crossed the sidewalk, that green, well-trimmed lawn that carpeted the entrance to the house, and approached her own father with her head down.

“Good morning, father,” Wanda greeted him then in a tiny voice, a grim air leaking from her mouth, and she had been bringing Tommy's hand along with hers. With Billy you followed after them, stopping behind her right shoulder encircled by her dark coat.

“Wanda,” said the man in a scolding tone, always so sharp, which prompted a jolt of muscle memory from your wife, who shivered like a shy bunny inside her coat, “Boys.”

“H-hello, grandpa,” Billy tried first, his grip pressing hard against your hand that he held.

“Hi, grandpa,” came Tommy's voice then, though Erik's blue gaze wasn't aimed at the boy; but it did towards you. You swallowed the saliva behind your tongue in a long, sullen blink.

“G-good morning, Mr. Lehnsherr,” you whispered in a strained voice, performing a vaguely welcoming act, “How are you, sir?”

A second of icy silence pierced the front porch of the house, your coat rustling over your body. You brought Billy closer to your hip, his temple pressing against your ribcage in an attempt to warm the boy in front of the zephyrs that traversed the porch of the house stained in icy white paint. A car passed on the street. A dog started barking. The older man just turned his back on you, without offering you any syllables at all.

“Come in,” said Erik then, in a tone that in no way emulated a host, already walking his body back inside the open door, ever so used to giving orders and not receiving them, “It's cold out here.”

 It took you a long time to find any answers to the inhospitalities uttered by the father of your beloved redhaired wife. Wanda realized that there had been more than one (or even two) attempts on your part to speak out over the course of a few long, drawn-out seconds. Your eyes then migrated to the troubled look of the silent woman standing beside you, who nodded in agreement with the slightest movement of her head. Silently, always behind Wanda, you only entered the residence after your wife did.

ᗢ

The hallways of Westview High School were still the same ones you remembered in your memory, seeming preserved in time since the last time you set foot on that comfortable linoleum floor, in a teenage memory cloistered within the walls of your own cranium.

But you were an adult now, a self-assured, stable woman with a solid career and an established family. You wouldn't allow a pompous boy who exuded arrogance, that same troglodyte who always bumped his strong shoulder against yours, to trouble your spirits again.

The gym’s basketball court (a rectangular floor with baskets at each end) had been willingly granted by Monica Rambeau, the then-current principal of the school, always so efficient as she did since she was a young girl, to play a crucial role in the location where Pietro Maximoff’s memorial would be held – as in a ritual religious, a cult of an numinous god, as if one were about to light a candle and sacrifice a chicken on an altar to bring him back to the realm of the living beings.

He was still there, more alive now than dead than he had ever been before. It was like your own augur spirit slithering behind your shoulders, a past always ready to haunt you, to rip your soul out of your eyes if need be. Little by little, the small town seemed inclined to accept the unpalatable fact that the golden boy had indeed died, even though almost two decades had passed and the youth of today didn't even care about the name of the late teenage athlete who studied with their parents so many years ago.

It was easy to bring back the time that had been spent there, and everything you had ever experienced in that environment – the tin lockers were still bluish and you still remembered your own combination of numbers off the top of your head (turn to the side once, turn to the other twice, then turn to the other three times and the door magically opens, but needs a slam to open it fully).

Wanda had memorized that combination when you two started dating only to sneak there cute little notes in between classes.

Near a small stage set up in front of the sloping seats of the polished wooden bleachers, with a platform at its center as in a presidential campaign, was a huge glossy photograph of a young Pietro smiling sideways, forever preserved at that stage in his life, a broken chuckle at the corner of his fifties Hollywood heartthrob's lips, a cheap performance by a small-town James Dean, just another naughty bad boy.

It was, that photograph, taken just before he disappeared, because the boy had dyed his brown hair a platinum blonde just a month before he disappeared for good. The sight of him there depressed you to the extreme, even though the tight lump in the nerve endings of your stomach further pointed to the bitter taste of fear rising in your gut; it had been a while since that boy had stopped bothering you altogether, and bringing that guilt-ridden nervousness back was not doing your health any good.

You'd abandoned your demons and didn't want to worry about them, even though Pietro's sapphire-colored irises looked like two security cameras following you around the room, his lips seeming to twitch in horror-movie words only you could hear: I'll tell them, Y/n. I'll tell them all what you did to me. The autumn air felt heavyweight and dense when enclosed in such a spacious environment, and an icy thread was rising in your throat.

Groups swarmed the walls of the gym like a flock of flies, former classmates of yours, faces dizzyingly familiar, the entire battalion of retired teachers who used to hang out with you in your everyday life at that school, and half a dozen other of Erik's stuck-up acquaintances al dresses in wealthy coats so similar to his own. You shook a few hands and offered some unsympathetic smiles – always the same questions and always the same answers, after all, you were now part of the victim's family.

“Yes, yeah, I married Wanda”, “Yeah, his twin sister”, “Wanda is sad but we're doing our best to make it okay”, “No, I wasn't that close to him back then”, “He was a great guy, wasn't he?”. No, he wasn't.

Citizens in their late forties, all expressing sad faces, as if they were rehearsing for a play; the main role would win whoever convinced everybody that they were sadder than the others at the death of a boy that everyone pretended to like at the time because his father was the mayor. You watched it all so secluded, so far away, that play worthy of social etiquette to tragedy unfolding right under your eyelashes, while Wanda was with Erik and more people talking on the platform. Black always looked good on her.

You kept your eyes on the twin boys circling near the coffee table, a donut dusted with an icing sugar crust to each, just to keep their childish palates entertained, avoiding Pietro's gaze in that photo, preferring to pounce like a cat and sneaking between people's ankles, letting yourself fall into abandon, as long as you didn't see anyone and no one else could see you either.

“Man, that's really sad,” a voice had said over your right shoulder, and Darcy Lewis, a former classmate of you, always with long dark hair and round glasses, came to meet you carrying a disposable cup of warm coffee in her right hand.

She was always full of ghastly puns and some occasional movie reference exchanged between the times you paired up in sophomore chemistry class.

“Yeah, it's really sad,” you muttered in an artificial tone, “It's sad as fuck.”

“I mean, I always thought that the guy was a fucking idiot. He was an asshole, everybody knew he was an asshole,” she continued, just after taking a long swig from the steaming cup of coffee that she held at her jaw height.

“At the time I was even glad he was gone, I'm not gonna do like these hypocritical suckers here and pretend that I liked him because I truly didn’t. But I don't know, after all this time... he was just a kid, you know?”

The walls of your stomach clenched and ached in an icy brush. He was just a boy, really. In the end, he was just a boy. Something you discarded for the earth to digest and take away, but which in a run of bad luck, just came back to haunt you so many years later.

“I just… I thought he had run off with some girl when he realized he had no chance of getting into college or whatever. He looked like the kind of guy who would try his hand at life in L.A and then come back home old and crying. But damn, being actually murdered? What the fuck. That’s sick.”

She used a tone of indignant surprise to accentuate the last word you couldn't quite digest in your stomach, acrimony bile and distressing dread climbing up the muscles of your slimy mucus-covered throat. Nothing in you was intent on looking at the woman in the thick coat standing beside you, but your gaze even less yearned for Pietro's piercing irises.

“Just… this isn't one of those TV shows that always has a small-town mystery or some shit like that. This is real life, man. These things are not supposed to happen around here.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to swallow a gulp of icy air. Crossing the crowd, next to her big-handed father in expensive pants, Wanda's earnest gaze sought you out. And you didn't notice something opaque distorting the green of her irises, as far away as she was from you. But your former classmate noticed the exchange of glances with your wife, and another sip of coffee came for her to speak again.

“Damn, sorry,” Darcy mussed then, “You married his sister, didn't you? Shit, I completely forgot about that, Y/n. I'm sorry. I know this must be a difficult time for your family. For you, even.”

“It’s okay,” you shrugged into your own coat, “He and I weren't very close in high school, anyway,” and then, you finally looked at her, “But I know it’s just sad that he’s gone. I’m trying to keep it together for Wanda and our boys, but… it’s tough. Everything in this situation just sucks.”

“Right?” she scrutinized at you with her piercing, pale blue eyes under her glasses frame, looking at you with pity in her gaze, as if you weren’t just a guilty liar.

“He was an asshole, sure, but he... he was just a kid. I realize this now that I’ve grown up. It’s not fair, man, it’s not fair to him that it was like this. I wonder how scared he was at the end. Nobody… nobody deserves to die like this.”

It was like the last shovel of dirt in your own coffin. It was too much, just being there was too much for you. Your stomach dropped as you vomited a sweaty smile out of your lips. So you accepted, you just did – a pompous boy who exuded airs of arrogance still troubled your spirit, after all.

Because what you had done to him (your hands stained with still-warm blood and wet earth, your skin itching against the dewy tall grass in the middle of the night, the smell of iron and musky trees in the air) had scarred your carcass for the rest of your life. The latent guiltiness would never let your bones rest again in your life.

ᗢ

You hugged your thick coat made of black fabric to your body, even though you didn't feel the autumn chill at all. But you only knew that you had done it so that you could hide from the morbid eyes of the trees in the cemetery. The atmosphere of that place was horrible. The white headstone was beautiful, and that was just despondent. There was something sadistic about the fact that a funeral was such a beautiful thing – even more so when you were the reason that corpse lost its heartbeat.

Everything in a cemetery was miserable, of course, the stench of human putrefaction was intrinsic in the still life of that sacred ground; just a bunch of dead people and memories buried to the bottom, but the fact that this tombstone was so expensive and so exceedingly beautiful was the most distressing part of it all.

It meant that Erik wanted to give the best treatment to this thing that would be a memorial to his beloved son even in death. Your cloudy irises descended to that cluster of flowers placed on top of the closed casket of dark varnished wood, whose interior held only a handful of bones worn down by exposure to time and the animals of the forest. They were burying a bag of bones because of you.

Amidst a sea of bowed heads, hazy faces tucked into dark garments, all with shoulders pressed together like a wall founded in mourning, the deceased's father was the one who spoke the parting words, while Wanda stood beside you, each of you holding the hand of one of the twin boys the two of you had had. When she noticed the stress simmering up inside you, almost leaking out of your mouth, your brow furrowed, a hand of hers soon tried to reach for your fingers.

“Pietro was a good boy,” the heartbroken father had said then, “He really was. And someday he would be a great man, I know he would. I... I'm glad my beloved Magda isn't here to witness this. She wouldn't deserve to see our boy like that. See what they did to him.”

You thought you were going to throw up as memories began to pour through the blood coursing through your pallid veins, a den of unsettling affliction teasing you into a frenzy of unease. Between bushes and rocks, into the beech woods of the forest, swallowed up by the enormities of the shadows of the scrupulous pines, placed in wide profligate rows, you set out carrying those bones that were still wrapped in a capsule of flesh, veins, muscles and sinews.

The twigs on the forest floor twisted the flesh at her ankles and calves, but the vibrating epinephrine in your veins inhibited the burning sensation of a handful of tiny cuts slashing open in your skin. But still, you groaned in pain. But the pain you felt had not come from the abrasions and fissures denoted here or there in your epidermis – it had been the broken heart, which had begun to weaken you, chilling your bones and viscera.

Flowing reality flooded your bronchial tubes; there was fear emanating from the tears dispersed down the length of your face. Fear of losing your beloved Wanda Maximoff. Wanda, your support, your muse, your martyrdom, your passion. Lyrical, but somewhat tragic, like a Homeric tale. A famine that was supplied to you; an abstruse epic romance born of the core of two girls devoid of a primordial love. What would you do without her, and what wouldn't you do for her? Heaven and hell weren't extreme thresholds that would keep you from searching for the girl you were dating.

You dug a grave, the deepest of them, a hell hole. You dropped Pietro's inert body into that eternal darkness. And then you threw dirt on him until you couldn't see his platinum hair anymore. Your yelps echoing off trees, rocks, and tall grass. The sky was overcast and the weather tasted of blood and bitterness. And when you let go of the shovel you turned back to the young Wanda standing right behind you, her eyes empty, her clothes still smeared with the blood that spurted from her own twin's jugular.

“It's gonna be okay, baby,” you reassured her, your girlfriend, your future wife, the future mother of your kids, “It's gonna be okay, Wands. I'm here with you. No one will know. They’ll never know.”

“Promise me, Y/n?” she hummed through the trees, a shy, measured voice. Dark hair curled with streaks of heavy blood starting to clot at the ends. Your dirt-smeared right thumb stroked the sharp of her cheekbone.

“I promise, Wanda. I'll always protect you, okay? No one will ever know what you did, honey. Never.”

“I love you, Y/n," she confessed, eyes shining in a sparkle that shouldn't have been there, “I want you to be by my side my whole life. I want you to keep this secret with me. Just you and me. We'll be together forever, and no one will ever know what we did.”

“No one will ever know,” you huffed back, leaning in to kiss her in front of her brother's makeshift grave.

No one would ever know that Pietro came home one night when Erik was out and found you and Wanda exchanging some teenage kisses on the kitchen counter – her sitting there, you standing between her legs, your finger going south, almost touching what hadn't been touched yet.

Or how he looked a lot like a rabid animal when he knocked you to the ground, making you hit the back of your head with a hard thud. As on the floor, slumped like a rag doll, you turned your hips dorsally so that you were facing your attacker – your own legs unusable once he had sat on them with his full weight. The boy's stiff hands bound your wrists just above your head, his hot breath brushing your hairline, just to the top of your forehead.

His psychotic dim face was thin and rampant, shades of blue flickering across his homicidal irises, his animalistic mouth hooded by strands of an oncoming dark beard that would someday show on his firm chin. And then masculine fingers, experienced, strong from gripping heavy basketballs every day, pressed against the throbbing muscle in your throat.

“You,” Pietro yawned, but, on the whole, didn't seem to be full of his mental faculties to the point that he could speak without being haunted by occasional tantrums of shaking, “You’re fucking my sister?! You fucking weirdo! I’ll fucking kill you!”

You squinted your eyes, your vision slowly dimming as your brain was deprived of oxygen. And then a cavernous growl resounded through the gray walls of the amorphous kitchen, followed by a heavy thud. You opened your eyes. With both his legs tangled up in your own, Pietro was slumped to the left, oozing from an open wound in his neck, a pool of warm blood that only grew. Like a mouse, he agonized over rambling words, before being lulled by the coldness of death.

His strong chin was soaked in the thick reddish blood seeping out of his nostrils, out of his mouth, and out of that gaping gash in the skin, from within an artery, thick and dark, almost the color of wine. Blood that trickled down the boy's viripotent chin, then dripped in a sinuous red line across your puffy face beneath him. The collar of your shirt was soaked in the color of tomato sauce.

The sound of metal hitting the floor reached your ears. Wanda dropped the knife she had stuck inside her twin brother's neck. She fell to her knees, bare by the little black dress she wore. And, pushing Pietro's body off you, you just crawled up to her like a bloody animal after a violent slaughter. And you held her against your body. You just held her.

“Y/n,” she whispered under her breath, “Y/n... I... I'm... I'm scared, Y/n... I'm scared...”

Blood all over the kitchen floor, showing and where it shouldn't be – on the sleeves of your shirt and in Wanda's long dark hair, “No one will know,” you uttered against the shell of her ear, “Don't worry, honey, no one will ever know. I won't lose you, Wanda. No one will ever tear us apart.”

You might have thought differently in the years that followed if you had seen the smile she hid against your collarbone. If you only knew how much she disliked having her ankle chained to Pietro's glory even though she always passed for the sweet passive twin (after all, what kid would even want to be second choice?). If you only knew she hadn't just forgotten that her brother was coming home earlier that night.

If you only knew that years later, when you were finally there giving a dignified funeral for the body you two buried together, Wanda smiled the same way she did that night. After all, you were her wife now. You were the mother of her children. And you were the keeper of the biggest secret in her life, the only person who knew about the skeleton in her closet. It wouldn't make any difference to get rid of Pietro if she got you for life.

“I love you, I love you so, so much,” Wanda whispered in your ear then, that night when you slept in her father's guestroom, “And I'll never lose you, Y/n. Never. Thanks for making sure of that for me, baby.”

#wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x y/n #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x female reader #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #fanfic #spooktober #tommy maximoff #billy maximoff #erik lehnsherr #pietro maximoff

[t-nd-rfoot]

CWJBHN aka All That Jake Wants

Can we just be happy now? - Jake Scott, Josie Dunne

Summary Jake tries to help you see that you guys can be more than childhood best friends, even if it scares you

Pairing Jake Seresin x childhood best friend!reader

Theme fluff, slight angst in between

Warnings relationship/commitment anxieties, military relationship

Word Count 1.5k

Note Really wanted to try writing something from his POV, so this took awhile to figure out!!! I've been in love with this song since it came out. MAJOR coincidence that the artist's name just so happened to be Jake, but I thought this song fit him really well. And since the song this fic is based on is a duet, I'm thinking of releasing a version from reader's POV, so let me know in the comments if you'd want to read it!

Playlist

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“Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“That.”

Jake couldn’t help it. He wasn’t even doing anything except looking at you from the passenger seat. But with the way you stole glances back at him—that playful look in your eyes as you tried and failed to hide your smile, he knew you didn’t mind at all.

“What do you mean? I’m just a mere passenger observing his surroundings, and I just so happen to be surrounded by…”

Ahead of him was a nearly clear sky, with few clouds above still from the afternoon rain. He looked to his right and and saw nothing but sea and sky. And as he turned to his left, he saw…

“…you.”

As cheesy as it sounded, he wasn’t entirely wrong; there really wasn’t much around you guys. But he knew what he meant. And by the way he saw you blush again, he knew you knew it, too. He cleared his throat to clear the lingering tension. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

“Seriously? You don’t recognize this place?” you mused.

Finally taking his eyes off of you, he looked around and realized your destination. The light drizzle stopped just as you pulled over at the edge of a cliff, the exact cliff you had taken him so many times the last time he visited and stayed with you all those years ago after his first deployment.

It was about a month or so after he returned to the States. He blocked out two whole weeks to visit you in your new city—LA, of all places, so different from your mid-sized town in Texas, but he always knew since you were kids that you were meant for bigger things. This cliff was apparently your favorite place in the area, since you rushed him here instead of to your apartment where he could settle down, and the two of you spent hours on hours catching up. His two-week visit turned into one month, and hardly a day and an adventure passed by that you guys didn’t end up here.

And here you both were again nearly a decade later. Things picked up exactly where they left off, except this trip meant something more. He’s gone too long without you, and he was set on changing that. And with how the last couple of months went, things were almost falling into place.

Almost.

“You really didn’t think you’d leave again without one last hurrah, ‘Res?” you teased. His high school nickname never sounded sweeter, he thought.

The two of you had gotten out to stretch your legs. He took off his jacket to wipe down the remaining droplets on the hood of the car, making a place for the two of you to lean on as you admired the ocean view—a view he could honestly care less about when you were right there beside him. But still, he looked around trying to remember every detail he could.

“Man, I sure am gonna miss this,” he sighed.

“You’re going to get views like this everyday, even better ones. I’m kinda jealous.”

He scooted closer to you till your arms touched. “Yeah, but it’s not gonna be the same.”

“How so?” you asked, leaning into him.

He laced his fingers through yours, playing with it for awhile as you waited for an answer. He looked in your eyes before turning back to the ocean. “For one, I won’t have my burger fix while enjoying the view—”

Laughter immediately flew from your lips as you let go of his hand to elbow him in the side. He flashed his pearly whites at his own corny joke, always taking pride in being the only person to get that kind of laughter out of you. “If only there was a McDonald’s in the sky.”

“A fly-thru,” you played along, “Give it a few fifty years or so. You’ll be their very first customer.”

“Hell yeah, bring back taste to plane food.”

That one moment of normalcy ended as your laughs did. He doesn’t know how, but his hands found yours once again. “But seriously, Y/N, I don’t think I could look at that again without thinking about you,” he said, gesturing to the view in front of you.

“Jake…” you sighed and shied away from him. He lifted himself from the car and stood in front of you, one hand caressing your cheek, the other tucking your hair behind your ear.

This whole trip, he’s dropped little compliments and gestures implying something more. It started out light and playful; he didn’t want to overwhelm you right away. At times, you even reciprocated it. But time was running out; all he needed to know was that you felt something too.

“I know I should have said something sooner. But that’s what I’m doing now, and I’m not going to let another ten or twenty years go by without finally letting you know how I feel,” he confessed softly. He tucked his hand under your chin. “I’ll understand if this isn’t something you want, but give me one good reason why this wouldn’t work.”

The silence spoke for itself the longer you took trying to come up with an answer. He closed the distance between you even more, and when he wasn’t met with any resistance, he rested his forehead on yours. But he could still sense the tension in you.

“If we do this, you leave in two days. Then you’ll be gone for what, six, seven months? Maybe even longer? I don’t know if I can handle that,” you whispered.

“We’ve gone without each other for much longer,” he said.

“But that was different—this is different.” Tears welled up in your eyes. “I don’t wanna lose you, Jake.”

His heart ached to see you like this. Worry washed over him as he wiped away the tears that had fallen from your eyes. “You’re not gonna lose me, darlin’, I promise.”

“You don’t know that,” you argued back, “what if long distance doesn’t work? What if we do this and realize that we’re better off not being together? Things aren’t going to go back to normal. And you know my track record with relationships, Jake. I don’t wanna give you a reason to resent me if this goes badly. Or worse, something could happen to you out there and I’d never see you again.”

It was that last thing that drew a sharp breath in him. No matter how good he knew he was at his job, the realities of it was something he couldn’t escape. To subject you to that…

No.

He couldn’t afford to think about that right now.

His mission right now was to be with you, no matter how little time he got, and he’d be damned if he didn’t get to make the most of it.

If there was anything he learned about being a navy pilot, it’s to take your shot when you see it. He’s prepared if he misses, but it was better to take a missed shot than none at all, right? Now that both of you laid out your feelings on the table, there was no point in turning back.

He wrapped his arms around and pulled you against him, closing whatever little distance there was left between you. He placed his a kiss on your forehead, his lips soft enough to comfort you, but the kiss itself firm enough to assure you. You buried your head further into his chest as he stroked your hair.

He could have stayed with you like that forever, but the sun had almost started to set; the clock seemed to tick faster and faster.

He had to set things right.

Pulling away, he looked down at you, your eyes still glassy with uncertainty. “Look. I’m not gonna pretend that anything you said is impossible. But isn’t that all the more reason to try? To see if we can beat the odds? It’s not even an ‘if’ for me, Y/N. I know we can. With everything we’ve gone through together, how could we not?”

He watched as you struggled to form a reply, so he continued.

“If it’s the future that’s scaring you, then let’s not think about that now, if that’s what you want,” he assured you, still holding you gently. “We have 48 hours left together, and I don’t want to waste it. That’s 48 hours to just be…”

He wracked his brain, struggling to find the right words.

“That’s 48 hours to be happy. Can we—can we do that? Just be happy, right here, right now?”

His eyes pleaded for an answer. “Well, ‘Res,” you nodded softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “when you put it that way, how can I say no?”

Finally.

Relief didn’t even have time to wash over Jake’s face as he kissed you the moment those words left your mouth. He’s dreamt of this moment for years, but none of those dreams measured up to the real thing. It’s like he knew you both fit like puzzle pieces, your bodies molded together the deeper you kissed.

And that’s how both of you stayed, never letting go of each other as you watched the sun set over the horizon.

It was 48 hours well spent. Tears were inevitably shed as time ran out, but Jake was all smiles even as he departed. Sure, he was more than sad to go, but at least he knew this time—and for the rest of time—that his happiness didn’t have to end.

Disclaimer I do not own Top Gun: Maverick or any of its characters. I do not own CWJBHN by Jake Scott and Josie Dunne. Please do not copy my work or translate without my permission.

Edited tagline and layout

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #tgm fic #jake hangman seresin #hangman seresin #hangman top gun #hangman fanfiction #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic

[nicoline1998enilocin]

"Friends/coworkers to lovers" with rdj x female!reader, you decide the path, just fluff or fluff/smut... but like my nonnie friend, "I want to live the cliche of cliches" with the most precious, kind and gentle human being in the world 🥺

Precious

PAIRING | Robert Downey Jr. x Assistant!Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 3.1K

SUMMARY | Your girl's night turns unexpectedly when you accidentally butt-dial your boss, Robert, and he hears you confess your feelings towards him. Ever since that moment, he's trying to impress you every chance he gets, and when you finally talk about it with him, your life just turns out perfect.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. RPF, coworkers to lovers, mutual pining, swearing, accidental butt-dialing, jealous RDJ, smut ( a little bit of teasing, fingering, protected sex ).

A/N | Thank you for this sickeningly sweet request Nonnie, because I believe I've pulled almost all of the clichés out of the closet for this one heheh, but my goodness, was it a fun one to write! I hope you will enjoy what I did with this one 🖤

A/N 2.0 | I want to give extra special thanks to @buckys-wintersoldier for helping me develop ideas for this one! It's always great to work together; this one turned out amazing because of you!

Likes, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💚

Divider is made by @firefly-graphics | 18+ banner is made by yours truly

Main Masterlist | Robert Downey Jr. Masterlist

''Here you go,'' you say to your best friend, Avery, as you hand her a glass of white wine. Tonight is your night off, and you plan on having an uninterrupted girl's night with her.

''Thank you! I needed this after the week I've had,'' she groans as you let yourself sink into your couch, your glass in hand. She tells you all about her breakup - the reason she visited you in the first place.

''So, is there anything new in your love life?'' Avery asks, and you sigh as you shuffle in your place a little bit, and unbeknownst to you, you accidentally butt-dial Robert.

''Precious? Is everything okay? You know it's your day off-'' Robert says, but of course, you don't hear him, but he can hear everything you're saying though.

''So... you know my boss, Robert. Who doesn't know him?! But that's beside the point. Well, I've been in love with him for the bigger part of a year?'' you phrase it as a question, even though you know damn well it's true.

''But...?'' Avery asks.

''But I'm afraid that if I tell him, he'll fire me, and I'd be left without a job,'' you sigh. Robert feels his heart hurt slightly at the thought that you'd even think he'd fire you. You're the best assistant he could ever wish for, and he would never find anyone better than you. Not that he'd want to, of course.

''I'm sure he would never do that; you've been his assistant for nearly a decade!'' Avery says, and you know she's right, but it still doesn't change your thoughts.

Robert feels a little twang in his chest as he hears the way you think, and he's already planning on ways to make you feel better and make a move at the same time.

You sigh softly before taking a big gulp of your wine and closing your eyes for a second so that you can think about your options.

''I've been thinking about talking to him since I practically tell him every single thing, but telling him I've been head over heels with him, that I can't fucking think straight, and all I can think about is him bending me over the back of the couch and just rail me like there's no tomorrow,'' you say, and Avery just nods.

''And the worst of all is that he invited me as his date to a charity event, and my stupid brain somehow can't comprehend that it's just an evening of work and not an actual date,'' you vent.

''Babe, you should talk to him about this because this isn't healthy! I am one hundred percent sure you won't lose your job if you do; he's a reasonable man,'' Avery says, and after hearing those words, Robert hangs up, feeling guilty that he kept listening for so long.

If only he kept listening...

''You're right; it's just that I'm afraid of losing him more than my job. I can easily find another job anywhere else, but I will never find another Robert...'' you say before throwing back the rest of your wine and quickly filling it up with more.

The rest of the evening is spent gossiping until you're both too tired to keep your eyes open, so Avery decides to sleep over at your apartment just to be safe. She doesn't tell you she doesn't want you to be alone right now.

''Hi, Precious!'' Robert says as he's walking over to you, as you're seated in a coffee shop where the two of you are taking some time to catch up about non-work related things.

''Hi Robert,'' you say with a big smile as he sits down, and you push his coffee order towards him, together with a pastry for the two of you to share.

''What would I ever do without you?'' he says, and the smile he gives you has the butterflies in your stomach erupting into a frenzy, and your heart skips a few beats here and there as you take in his praise.

A smile tugs on the corner of your lips, and you can't stop commenting.

''Let's hope we'll never find out!'' you say as you shut your laptop; you can continue looking at dresses for the charity event Robert has invited you to attend alongside him.

He gives you a smirk as he looks at the same bit of hair that constantly falls into your face, and when Robert leans over to tuck it behind your ear, your brain shortcircuits for a few moments.

Your mouth is slightly open as you feel his fingers on your temple and behind your ear before softly sliding against your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

When you snap back to reality, you gasp softly and blink a few times, unsure of what just happened, and you're pretty sure Robert noticed, but he didn't comment on it. It was not like he did it on purpose or anything like that.

''So, anything new in your life?'' Robert asks, and you quickly shake your head, maybe too soon for your liking.

''Still the same things, same people, same stress,'' you sigh as you try to give a small smile, hoping he's convinced and not as weirded out as you are.

''Been looking at dresses for the charity event though, so that's exciting,'' you quickly add, and your mind immediately wanders to a few beautiful dresses you've seen.

''Anything interesting so far?'' he informs because he plans to match with you for the evening, mainly because he's thinking about confessing his feelings to you that night.

''I've seen some nice ones, but nothing that stood out yet, actually,'' you say, though you can think of one dark blue dress that you can't get out of your head despite it being way out of your price range, even with the ungodly amount of money Robert pays you as his assistant.

''Can I see? I'm just curious what you're thinking at the moment,'' he says, and he gets up, only to slide onto the bench next to you, letting his thigh touch yours in a move that's innocent enough.

''A-Are you... sure?'' you ask, and he nods, so you grab your laptop and show him some of the dresses you've been eyeing, expertly avoiding the blue dress.

''Hm, I don't think I've seen the perfect one yet,'' Robert says, and you show him more until you need to use the restroom so when you're gone, he opens the tab you've been avoiding this whole time and snaps a quick photo as a reminder to order it for you, later.

The rest of the afternoon is spent catching up, and before you know it, it's time to go home again and go to bed early since you have some stressful days coming up.

Robert drops you off at home, and as soon as you set foot in your apartment, you sigh deeply, glad you made it through another day without completely embarrassing yourself in front of your boss.

Today's the charity event day, and you're in the shower to prepare for tonight. After a short run and a call with Robert about everything going down tonight, you're finally letting the warm stream of water calm your mind.

You opted to go for a silver floor-length dress so Robert will always look gorgeous no matter what color he chooses to wear, and he notified you he would be going for a blue outfit, which would fit beautifully with your dress.

After an extensive shower and an excellent hair and face mask, you're getting ready to grab a late lunch, so you won't have to worry about having dinner later than usual.

When you're about to make yourself a nice BLT sandwich, your doorbell rings, and you head over, unsure what to expect when you open the door.

When you swing the door open, there isn't anyone in front of the door, but instead, your gaze falls onto a large package on the floor, sporting a small note on the box saying ''Precious''.

You pick up the package and take it inside, placing it on your dinner table before opening it. You don't need to wonder who it is from because only one person calls you that.

As you lift the lid, you're greeted by the dark blue dress you couldn't afford and a shoe box with the Louboutin logo on the box. Your heart starts racing, and you immediately grab your phone to call Robert.

You decide to FaceTime him, and before he can even get a single word in, you're already talking and thanking him endlessly.

''Robert, how did you even know this is the dress I've been wanting so badly? And combined with these shoes, it's honestly too much; I don't deserve this...'' you say as you fight back tears, even if they're from enjoyment and happiness.

''You deserve to be spoiled occasionally, especially on a night like tonight. There is a huge chance not a single person will be able to take their eyes off of you, and I would love to show you off to everyone tonight,'' he says, and after some more convincing, you agree to wear it.

Robert will be arriving at the party before you, so he arranged for a car to pick you up and bring you to the party before going to his house after the party so you can sleep over there.

Your hair is done in a big bun to show off the dress, and the make-up look is in a similar shade of blue to compliment your clothing without looking like you're overpowering on the blue.

When the car arrives, you grab your silver handbag to finish the look, and you're off to the charity event, where Robert will be tonight as one of the guest speakers.

Your timing could not have been better because when you get out of the car, you see Robert on the red carpet as he's giving an interview, but he stops in the middle of his sentence when he sees you.

''Oh wow! She looks beautiful! That's my amazing assistant, everyone, and without a doubt, the most beautiful woman to walk this red carpet today,'' he says, and you can't help but feel a blush creep onto your cheeks.

''Hi Precious, you look gorgeous tonight,'' he says before pulling you to his side and kissing your cheek.

''You look amazing, too, Robert. If we didn't know any better, we would think you two matched on purpose!'' the interviewer said, and after that, the interview carried on as it was supposed to.

After the formal part of the evening, you walk over to the bar, ready to get a drink, and get stopped by a handsome man you recognize as Sebastian Stan.

''Hey, are you enjoying yourself tonight?'' he asks sincerely before ordering a drink and getting yours.

''I am! What about you?'' you ask, and you two get wrapped up in conversation for a while, so you don't notice Robert keeping an eye on you.

When Sebastian comes closer to whisper something in your ear, Robert suddenly appears by your side, ready to whisk you away right that very second.

''Can I talk to you for a moment, Precious?'' Robert asks impatiently, and you're immediately worried that something went wrong.

''It was good talking to you, Sebastian,'' you say before following Robert, and he said his goodbyes before ordering another drink and moving on with the rest of the evening.

''We should get out of here because I want to tell you something, and I'd rather not do it with all these people here,'' Robert says, and you nod in response, afraid of what's coming next.

Robert just walked you into his house, and you're sitting on his couch, impatient for what's to come. He grabs both of you a drink before sitting beside you, and you turn to face him.

''So... uhm-'' he starts, flustered before he even tells you about his feelings, let alone how he knows you share those with him.

''I'm just going to get it over with. When you were having girls' night with your best friend, you accidentally butt-dialed me, and I could hear you two talking. That means I heard your confession and must tell you I feel the same. I have felt the same for quite a long time, and when I knew you felt the same, I tried to go above and beyond to make you feel nothing short of special. I hope you will at least have one night with me, where I can show you how much,'' he says, and your mouth has fallen open after ''butt dialed''.

''A-Are you... I mean- Really? This isn't some sick joke, right? Because I would love nothing more than to spend the night and show you how much I love you, how much I've loved you for such a long time.''

After downing your drink in one go, you put your glass on the table and sit closer to Robert, and you let him cup your face with his big, warm hands as he pulls you in for the softest, most loving kiss you've ever shared with another human being.

When he pulls away, you keep your eyes closed, and your lip is pulled between your teeth to temper your excitement slightly.

''Want to move this party to the bedroom?'' you ask softly after you open your eyes, and you look into Robert's sparkling brown eyes as he nods before getting up.

When you're in the bedroom and seated on the edge of the bed, Robert turns on some slow jazz music to set the mood, and oddly enough, it's very calm instead of the heated night you expected.

''I want to make tonight special, Precious. I don't know how many more nights together we'll have, so I want to make the most of the one we have now,'' he says as he grabs your hands and guides you up so you're standing before him.

When you're up, his hands glide into your hair as he pulls you closer, his mouth finding you effortlessly and molding them to yours as if they're made for one another.

Your hands wander from Robert's chest up to his shoulder to take off his jacket, and when he pulls away, he shrugs it off, followed suit by his shirt that you've unbuttoned as well.

''Turn around, Precious,'' he whispers in your ear before placing a soft kiss beneath the shell, his scruff tickling you ever so slightly to make a giggle escape.

''You like it when I kiss you, don't you?'' Robert teases, and you nod swiftly while his hands glide down to the zipper of your dress, making you smile wide as he reveals the dark blue lingerie you're wearing.

You spin around slowly as he looks you up and down, and you pull your lip between your teeth again.

''That's my job now, Precious; I'm the only one who gets to bite this beautiful lip of yours,'' he says before capturing your lips again and nibbling softly on your bottom lip like he said he would.

After both getting completely naked, Robert guides you onto the bed, ensuring you're comfortable while littering kisses all over your chest and around your nipples, letting his hand glide over your thigh as he gets settled between them.

''You're perfect, Precious, and I can't wait to find out what it's like to come home,'' he whispers as he reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom.

It's rolled on quickly, and after a few swipes through your folds, he finds your clit, rubbing it in short circles, which makes your breath hitch.

''R-Robert, please,'' you beg softly, and he listens without teasing as he's lining up with your entrance and sliding in slowly, letting you adjust to him.

A deep moan leaves your body, and your back arches off the bed as he slides in every so perfectly, and you're feeling somewhere north of heaven right now.

''I wish I'd told you years earlier... We got a lot to catch up on, Precious, because I'm not letting you go after tonight,'' Robert says as his warm breath ghosts over your lips before placing them on yours as he makes such slow, sweet love.

It doesn't take long for both of you to fall apart around each other, and if it were any other night, you'd have taken the opportunity to keep going until there's no more time, but this feels perfect.

When he's cleaned both of you up, he pulls you into his arms, and you talk for a little while before you fall asleep, still naked, but you don't mind. You've never felt more comfortable with Robert than you do now.

The following day, Robert slipped out of bed a little earlier and ordered some flowers from a local florist before preparing breakfast for you.

When you wake up, you notice Robert's not next to you, but you grab the shirt he wore last night and put it on with your panties before heading downstairs, where the smell of breakfast fills your senses.

''Mornin', Precious,'' he says as you walk into the kitchen with messy hair and his shirt, flashing his biggest smile as he recalls last night. It was nothing short of perfect.

''Thank you for everything, Robert. Yesterday was amazing, and I can't wait for more moments like it,'' you say as you pull him closer for a kiss, something you wished you could have done long ago.

Just as he's about to respond, someone rings his doorbell, and he goes to answer the door with a little jog, getting a big bouquet of red roses from the delivery man and tipping him generously.

''I got you a little something this morning because I wanted to show you just how much you mean to me,'' Robert says as he walks in with a bouquet of nearly 50 red roses and hands them to you.

''Oh my god, these are amazing! Thank you so much,'' you say before leaning in for one more soft kiss, and then it's time for breakfast and a meaningful conversation.

''This may be odd, but... what are we now? After last night, after our confessions, I don't think I can go back to just being your assistant,'' you say as you cut up some pancakes with maple syrup, putting them into your mouth as you look expectantly at Robert.

''First of all, I'd love for you to keep your job, so please don't worry about that, but I was also hoping you would be my girlfriend because there's not a single chance I'm ever letting you go, Precious,'' Robert says with a sweet smile, and your heart feels like it's going wild.

''I'd love to be your girlfriend,'' you say, and you seal it with a kiss.

#robert downey jr #robert downey jr request #robert downey jr one shot #robert downey jr fanfiction #robert downey jr fanfic #robert downey jr x female reader #robert downey jr x reader #robert downey jr fluff #rdj #rdj request #rdj one shot #rdj fanfiction #rdj fanfic #rdj x female reader #rdj x reader #rdj fluff

[elvisabutler]

like a slip and slide

summary: you beat your boyfriend to the bathroom at the hotel and claimed the first shower. he decides that it's a shower made for the both of you. but you need to be quiet. fandom: austin butler pairing: austin butler x plus size! reader word count: 1540 warnings: unprotected p in v sex. wrap it before ya tap it. minor negative self talk. austin flexing his muscles. fear of getting caught. actually getting caught ( technically ). i think that's it? author's note. welcome to day 8 of kinktober shower sex with austin butler. i...made this a plus size reader because i've very specifically wanted to write one and really wanted to do it for kinktober. i'm fond of shower sex so i figured this was as good as any to do it with. i'd apologize but honestly, i've been plus sized pretty much all my life so let me write about austin butler picking someone up in the shower and taking them to pound town. and i truly did try and avoid the normal insecure plus size element but trust me while i'm very secure in my size ( over two decades with it will do that to a woman ), i one hundred percent have had the "oh jesus can you even pick me up" issue pop up. anon, i know you had the particular scenario in your head. i tweaked it just a hair so hopefully you enjoy.

You feel Austin before you see or hear him. You feel his arms wrap around your waist as one of his hands moves to grip your hip. You feel his lips against your neck before either one of you utters a single word.

"Austin." You whine, dragging out the -in of his name. "I won fair and square. You're interrupting me time."

Austin huffs out a laugh, the warmth of his breath hitting the side of your neck that for some reason felt cool, causing a shiver to run through your body. "Me time. Are you sure we can't make it us time?

A moment passes before you exhale softly, your hips rolling back and rubbing your ass against Austin's cock. You had guessed he was at least partially hard but hadn't quite been expecting for him to be fully hard. You hum after you hear his sharp intake of breath. "Us time. In the shower. You know we can't, baby."

His hand slides down from your hip slowly until he reaches between your thighs. It doesn't take but a moment for him to force your legs open just enough for him to cup your pussy, teasing you with the mere promise of his fingers while he stands behind you. He rocks his hips forward as he pushes slides one finger in, first the tip then slowly up to his knuckle. "Why not? I'm here, you're here. You're soaking wet in more ways than one. Come on, sweetheart. You can feel how much I want you. I've been like this since dinner, seeing you all dressed up in that dress that hugged everything."

His tone is one of pride, knowing that sometimes when going out with him and your family you didn't choose something nearly that form fitting but today was his lucky day as he saw every curve and dip and everything in between just in that dress. "Please? Just let me fuck you. Feel your pussy hugging my cock."

"Aus-" You start a little breathless before shaking your head. "That would mean you've got to pick me up, and you-" The next words you utter are swallowed by the gasp you utter as Austin rocks forward again, biting softly at your neck.

"Turn around." He murmurs, loosening his grip around your waist and on your hip.

You don't want to, feeling as if Austin's got a plan up his sleeve that you don't know about, that maybe he plans on sinking to his knees like he does most of the time when he proposes the idea of you two having sex in the shower. It wouldn't be unwelcome but honestly, you wish you could have sex with him in the shower. You know you're not light necessarily and you know he can pick you up, he's done it on occasion from the bathtub to the bed, or from one place to another place in a short distance. But shower sex would be different, it requires a longer period of time holding you up and if you weren't against the wall like you've been sometimes when you're both feeling too needy to even make it to the bed or the floor, well he was going to get tired and you didn't want that. A sigh passes your lips as you turn around, ready to see Austin on his knees or ready to hear him say something.

What you don't expect is to feel his hands cup your ass and then slide down to the back of your thighs and just lift you up. A startled yelp escapes your lips as you wrap your arms around Austin. "What are you doing?!"

Austin just hums before kissing your lips, down your jaw and right down to your neck, gathering just a bit of your skin in his mouth before sucking. You feel yourself becoming wetter as you feel the hot water hitting your back and as you feel Austin's kisses against you burning a trail of fire. He finally pulls back just enough to smirk. "Shh, You don't want them to hear us do you? But, I'm lifting up my girlfriend so that I can sink her onto my dick so that I can fuck her in the shower. So that I can feel her legs around my waist and so that she can feel me in places she's never felt before." Your eyes widen slightly before he continues, looking down to focus on actually making sure he can slip between your folds. "I don't just have these muscles for show, baby."

A retort is on your lips but it flutters away the second you feel his cock inside you. He was right, you could have sworn you've never felt him like this, you've never felt part of his cock brush up against your clit from the angles you're both in, you've never felt how full he makes you feel like this. It makes it hard for you to remember how to breathe, a stuttered attempt happening once, twice, three times before you take a deep breath and groan, your words half slurred together. "Christ Austin."

His lips curl into a smile as he shifts his grip just a hair when your legs finally remember they're a part of this and wrap around him. He kisses you gently, his tongue coaxing your mouth open and meeting your own tongue when you finally do open it. He kisses like he wants to savor you, like he wants to take his time tasting every inch of your mouth like he isn't already intimately familiar with everything about you.

Except maybe this. Maybe this is different because you've never tried it before maybe that's why he's savoring it and you. Or maybe he's worried you're going to make enough noise to wake up your family in the next room over.

"Barely even fucked you yet and you're already slurring." He chuckles before using his grip to lift you up just a bit before dropping you back down. "Come on, ride me like this, use those thighs I love so much."

"Aus I ca-"

He nips at your bottom lip before shaking his head. "None of that, I've had my head between them enough, I know your thighs have that strength. Come on baby, let me bury my face in your breasts while you use my cock the way you want to."

Your legs tighten around him at the comment about having him against your chest and you force yourself to cant your hips just so to get started. It's different than riding him horizontally, more effort expended with each slide of your bodies against one another and you can't tell if it's the water or your own juices making an obscene noise as you ride Austin. He wasn't lying when he said he'd bury his face in your chest, alternating between taking your nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting and while normally you prefer his hands on them he makes up for it, sucking little hickies all around them, his hand under your thighs squeezing them reflexively like he thinks they're where they normally would be on your chest. You're not sure when it happens, when the sensation of his cock in you and everything in between overwhelms you but you start to feel your body tightening like the spring it always does when you're about to come. You try and tell Austin this, tell him that you love him for this but any thought you have gets swept away in a haze of your orgasm and in your nails digging into this upper back. You try to muffle the sound against Austin, try and remember to be quiet but you swear you can still hear your moan echo in the bathroom. Austin thrusts against you, easing you down from your high while chasing his own. It's lazy and a little softer than you expected but you realize why once he speaks, nuzzling against your neck.

"I'm going to let you down and I'm going to clean you up, okay? Pretty sure I'm gonna see my come sliding down your legs." He takes a few heavy breathes. "Your legs okay?"

You nod. "Yeah. I'm good- you- you came? I didn't-"

"Right about the time you decided to use my back as a pincushion for your nails and probably woke up your cousins." Austin looks a little bashful and chagrined at that knowledge before he continues. "On the count of three, baby."

His countdown is slower than you expected but when he reaches three, your toes hit the bottom of the shower, slipping just a tad but Austin catches you with a quick grip of your hips to steady you before you lose any more of your footing.

You open your mouth to say something before you hear pounding on the wall joining your room and the next one and your aunt's voice telling you to two to keep it down. In the moment after all you and Austin can do is laugh as you actually try and clean each other off.

You make a note for the next trip you might take with your family- get a room far away from everyone else.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler smut #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #austin butler x plus size reader #austin butler fanfic #i took a chance on this tbh. #i also kind of forgot this was the super specific one until midway through. #hella sorry anon. blame it on exhaustion. #ally's kinktober 2022

[dreaming-marchling]

⭐  Because I couldn't choose which fic I most wanted a director's cut from. :D

I'll go with Across the Lonely Decades :)

Some BTS Tidbits:

"In the center of the mess was his newly re-made warlock. Magnus’ magic had been restored to him eight weeks ago and seeing him with his old confidence back had been a relief to Alec. Worth the trip to Edom and the literal hell he and Jace had gone through to make it right."

Imagine my deep shock when the show went in a totally different direction with this, lol. I was so sure that Jace was going to be a big driver in helping Alec get Magnus back, like nearly as intense about it as he was in getting Clary back. After Magnus and Alec sacrificed for him and with Alec's pain which Jace knew so well having just lost Clary I really thought we were going to see battle parabatai in Edom doing their damnedest because they BOTH were determined to get Magnus back. Super let down that they didn't go that route although obviously there are great aspects to what they picked. I left this bit in even after that aired just as an ode to what I wanted that arc to be.

---

This is one of the main ambience videos I used to help myself get into the Victorian mood.

---

“I don’t know much about parabatai I’ll be honest.” Ragnor said

Ragnor is not being honest. He's trying to get Alec to talk about it.

---

In answer, the warlock hurriedly handed him a… scimitar? Not his favorite and kind of a random choice but he’d take it.

I was getting into The Old Guard and Joe uses a scimitar so I threw this in for the unexpected blade Alec is given. I also picked Ragnor using Yusuf as the first Joseph iteration when he was sharing his revelation about Jozef's identity for the same reason.

---

The whole thongs conversation got added after I started posting the story because I felt like we needed another nice Bane scene of him trying after readers were even more upset about his behavior than I had anticipated.

---

“Shh,” Jozef shushed him gently. “I’m Joseph and Lottie is getting Magnus. That’s what matters, all right? I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise. Dymphna won’t come back.”

“Alec!”

Magnus’ frantic voice called for him.

Alec blinked slowly.

“Stay awake, Alec.” Jozef urged him. When had he learned Alec’s name? He hadn’t known it before when he had been sending Alec through time. He hadn’t been kind then either.

I wasn't super clear in the story and it confused some readers so I'll say it clearly here - Joseph only uses Alec's name here after Magnus calls it. He doesn't know it before that, he was using it after to try to keep Alec awake. I also initially had Joseph call Alec "child" before I decided that was too much and switched it to boy. I wanted Joseph to be really kind and tender to Alec to highlight the person he used to be. Also, I forever live for the idea that Alec is very obviously not centuries old to actual centuries old beings lol

---

Alec felt like he was floating.

I added this whole section to further break hearts right before the chapter was posted.

I pre-write all my stories before I start posting and while I'm editing as the story is posting I have added little bits to stories but I have never added so many scenes as I did to Across the Lonely Decades. I was having so much fun with this one and had so many feels and this was one of my favorite experiences with readers, I just wanted to give more and more.

---

A reader was sad that I didn't include Magnus' POV of Alec getting glamoured for their morning bread date so I wrote them this in a reply comment, in case anyone here has never seen it:

Magnus didn't go into this with plans for how he would change Alec. If he was going to take his 21st century boy out for as many different 19th century experiences as he could, he would likely be magically disguising him enough times that a great deal of fun could be had through the month. Right now, he had plans that needed them out the door quickly so he was just going to play a game of opposites top to bottom.

First, hair. Lengthen it and lighten it. He sent a pulse of magic at Alec and his hair grew rapidly, going from his usual short style into...

Oh.

Oh that was...

Alec leaned into the mirror to inspect his new hair, “What are you doing?”

Every moment of every day Alec was beautiful, Magnus was agonizingly aware of all the ways, but this...

It was like a Greek statue had come to life. Lush and lovely, made for worship. Tousled curls framed Alec's face, somehow highlighting his hazel eyes and making them glow. He looked like a Romantic poet, like he was about to whisper sonnets into Magnus' ear, like they were...

“Magnus?” Alec asked sort of cautiously.

Alec's voice broke the spell abruptly. “Apologies, darling, that hit me harder than I anticipated.”

---

To Alec’s surprised, Cat gave him a brisk rub of her hands over his arms, “I’m joining Eula and Kaira at the pantomime. Send me a fire message if he keels over but otherwise, have a lovely time and I’ll rejoin you tonight.”

Eula and Kaira are from Hybrid. Kaira more prominently as one of the warlocks who comes to help Magnus get the collar off and Eula is one of the warlocks who were killed to give Alec magic, Valentine calls her a bore when she argues with him.

---

But her eyes were the same. The pleased smile was the same. Martha stood in front of him.

“Hello, pretty boy.”

I didn't end up getting into their reunion conversation but Martha had been keeping an eye on Magnus for decades waiting for Alec to start appearing at his side. Technically she could have gone to Magnus while they were freaking out trying to find Alec and explaining but that would possibly ruin getting Alec home so she didn't. She was pretty pleased to get the call inviting her over knowing now was the time. Now that she doesn't have to stay away she and Alec become buddies :)

Thank you for asking!

#My Writing

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Did their mother leave Rhys the sword specifically? Or How did he get it?

This is based on the very vague idea that religion and displacement killed Britannia, and this is probably the second wave of Anglo-Saxon invasions, so I refer to the Jutes to try and be specific but eh???? This takes place as the Germanic invaders come to close around the family hillfort, I fucken guess. Idk, There was one Celtic British tribe called the Brigantes in Ireland, Scotland and England and maaaaaybe in Wales. It's a fucken reach, but I'm basically writing fantasy at this point anyway. But anyway, as the Romans pulled out in the 5th century, that transformed into the Kingdom of Rheged in what is now Northern England and Southern Scotland. Arthur is about ten, Rhys is probably sixteen, Alasdair and Brighid about 18. Alasdair has been stabbed, and Brighid was sent away to her her own territories. None of this makes fuck all historical or chronological sense ngl but this scene gripped me by the neck and wouldn't let go until it was on paper. TW for offscreen violence and... consensual implied???? murder.

The Jutes breached the steep sides of the earthworks on the seventh day. The carnyx made their harrowing cries, and Rhys shoved a Jute down and pried his sword from the man's neck, whipping around as the carnyx blew two short notes and a longer third, the signal to summon him to mother. Arthur was on the inner walls with the other archers. Rhys saw his youngest brother flick blood from his fingers as he nocked another arrow and slipped between the maze of stone battlements as fast as his legs would allow him. Arthur glanced down, a frown on his face as his arrow flew, and then he was off the gallery, hanging from the beam and running next to Rhys for home.

"Go back," Rhys said. "Go back, I'll come for you after."

"Mother summoned you," Arthur said, keeping pace. His tunic was wearing thin at the elbows, all the wear of firing, and Rhys ached. He would have to find his baby brother a new one soon and find his cloak before winter closed in.

"Yes," Rhys said.

"I'm coming."

Rhys slowed, stopped for only a moment, his momentum nearly tipping Arthur over as Rhys gripped his arm.

"They breached the walls." He said and Arthur nodded, his too-large eyes watering.

"I know."

"Do you understand what comes next?"

"I... I want to say goodbye. Please. I'll go if you say, but I need to say goodbye."

Rhys squeezed his eyes shut, taking a breath, pain he had ever scarcely imagined twisting in his body. "When I say go, you go."

Another nod, more tears. Rhys held his brother's trembling hand. He was still so young, sandy hair still fine. He kissed his brother's forehead.

"I won't let anything happen to you today." Rhys said fiercely. "But you have to go when I say."

They moved again. In the stone hall, they found mother on the yew throne before the altar where she had once been worshipped.

"Mother!" Arthur leapt into her lap, crying freely now. Her hair was loose, streaming over her shoulders in firey spirals, so like Brighid's. He sobbed into her arms, and Rhys could barely keep his grip on his sword. Not even his own, Alasdair's old one. He'd lost his brother in the fray and Alasdair had not responded to the call. His mother cradled her youngest son and stared at Rhys, searching his face.

He nodded, and his understanding of his duty seemed to give her more strength than she'd had in decades. She gripped Arthur tighter.

"Don't go! Don't leave." Arthur cried and then in a much smaller voice. "Don't leave because of me."

Mother cradled his face, her war torc glinting. "It is not your fault. This is not your fault, sweet boy. All things must journey beyond the sunset. It is only my turn now."

"Where?" Arthur trembled. "Where will you go?"

Rhys had to close his eyes. The world had changed so much, Arthur could not immediately recall where they went in the end.

"West, my love. Beyond the sea and the sunset. With all those gone and all those yet to be. West."

Arthur clutched her tunic in his small, trembling hands, but his small mouth set in a line.

"Someday," She said and kissed him. "In some form. You will find me again, my love. My sweet boy. I love you. I love you so much. Find your cloak, find your bow and live, my sweet boy. Stay alive." She set him on his feet again.

"No," Arthur shook his head and his control broke complete, sobbing. "Mother no, please don't make me go."

"You must," She touched his cheek. "You must find your siblings and you must go. I will see you again."

"Wait for us, Mama." He cried. "Don't go too far west, please. Please."

"I will see you again." She said firmly, and her tears broke over her cheeks. "Go, my boy. Go now."

He wouldn't. He screamed and kicked. Rhys had to lift Arthur as he beat on his back and tossed him from the hall, slamming the doors behind him as he howled. His mother was in tears, beautiful and trembling. The great golden war torc around her neck glinted.

"I am sorry," She said and she gripped his hands. "I am so sorry I have to ask this of you."

"I know." He whispered.

"I won't die under the hooves of the Germans," She said, fiercely, her nails puncturing his palms. "I will die as I lived."

"I know," He said again, unsure how he had managed to keep his sobs boiling in his belly and not rising to spill out.

"You have to keep the peace, my love." She said. "You have to keep the peace between all of you."

"I will." He said and that was what broke the sob open. He dropped Alasdair's old sword. "Don't hate me when I fail. Please. I'll try but I---"

"Never." His mother flung him on her and held him like he was newly weaned and tiny again, clinging to her as all light and life and warmth in the world. "I will never hate you. I will love you and your siblings still when the fire in the sky goes out, Rhys."

The cacophony had grown louder, shouts and screams and clanging metal. She gripped him.

"My torc goes to your sister. What's left of the gold you can divide amongst yourselves." She lifted her hands from him and he went cold without them. She reached behind her seat and lifted her sword. "And this, this will have to be yours."

"Is this..." He stared at the leaf-bladed sword he had watched her wield all his life.

"Yes." She said and pressed it into his hands. "Through my heart, my love. The blood will soak the soil, but my cloak can cover the wound. Wait for your sister to bury me in the barrow. It's cold enough. You know where."

Rhys sobbed. They poured out of him in the rush of the great rivers. One, two, three great gulping sobs, and then he shook his head, rubbed his eyes and looked at her, breathing hard.

"It is time. Remember what I told you." Her dreams of her youngest son, her wisdom for Rhys, her love for all of them.

"Keep the peace. Arthur will one day build impossible iron ships. You love us."

"More than anything, I love you." She said, and he knelt before her on her throne. Her hands were white. She opened her cloak to reveal her tunic, and he lifted the sword.

#hws brittania #hws england #hws wales #my writing || cacoethes scribendi #Arthur || stone set in the silver sea #Rhys || my word for heaven was not yours #Eirian || into the nightlands #Britannia and her children || they made a desert and called it peace #historical inaccuracy? in my historical fantasy? more likely than you think