#Old Flames Can’t Hold a Candle to You

[lvcygraybaird]

– but old flames can't hold a candle to you. no one can light up the night like you do. flickering embers of love, I've known one or two...but old flames can't hold a candle to you

#the 100 #bellarke #the100edit #bellarkeedit #clarkegriffinedit #clarke griffin #Bellamy blake #finn collins #flarke #niylarke #niylah kom trikru #lyricsedit #lyrics edit #Old Flames Can’t Hold a Candle to You #mygifsets #mygifs #myedits #this is the kesha version btw......if u CARE

[superhero--imagines]

Being Sanji’s GF would include:

A/N: this is the ugliest banner I ever made I swear.

Tags: Female reader

* A man that is 6 ft +, can cook, and treats you with respect? I can’t believe we as a society weren’t simping for him before

* We already know that he loves pretty girls, so if you reciprocate his advances—he’s down hook, line, and sinker

* I feel like he’d fall hard and fast for someone a bit shy, with a soft form of kindness

* Sanji himself is so kind, even if it’s in these extremes depending on the gender of the recipient

* So seeing someone who kindness comes to so naturally, where it isn’t a flickering flame or a bright fire, but just a soft warmth that linger in all of their actions leaves him in awe

* “You’re amazing.”

* He’s still got a wandering eye though, so catch him randomly slapping himself or sitting with his face in his hands as he tries to restrain himself from ‘being unfaithful’

* “Hey Sanji?”

* “Hmmm.”

* “Have you ever thought about cheating on me?”

* The dishes he was washing clatters in the sink and he grabs your hand in both of his, kneeling in front of you

* “Never!” And he means it, he might look but he would never dream of being with someone other than you. “You’re the only person I want to be with.”

* I think as time goes on he gets a lot better at understanding why he feels the way he does, and eventually the flirtatious behavior cools down even though he’s still as kind as always because he realizes it comes from a place of craving validation instead of genuine love

* And honestly, now that he has you he doesn’t need it from anyone else anymore

* “(Y/N)-chan, can you get me the oregano?”

* You smile as you get it from the fridge, it’s not easy for him to ask you to do things

* He has the biggest goofiest grin on his face when you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your head on his shoulder

* Sanji would literally give you a romance as big as the world — or he’d try to at least

* “Sanji this is really lovely.” And you mean it, the candle lit dinner and all your favorite foods at the center of the deck

* “But um, I feel a little bad for Luffy.” It’s more than a little, there’s an entire waterfall of drool falling past his lips from his spot behind a pillar.

* His fingers curl under your chin, urging you to meet his gaze

* “There’s nothing to feel bad about, of course I would spoil the most important person in my life.”

* Your cheeks heat up from the words.

* “But Sanji—“ you look to the pillar seeing seven faces quickly duck, and a hand grab luffys still salivating head. “—they’re all staring!”

* If you could die from embarrassment you’d be six feet under

* “Let them stare, it’s because they’re dazzled by your beauty.”

* “Actually it’s because we’re hungry!” Luffy shouts, only to have his mouth covered by Nami.

* Sanji ends up making them a snack.

* His favorite hobby is pretending Chopper is your child when you guys go out

* “When are you guys going to stop pretending he’s your baby?” Zoro growls

* You look over at Chopper who’s happily sitting on Sanji’s shoulders, munching away on cotton candy

* “When he stops pretending to enjoy it,” You respond

* “That’s never going to happen!” Chopper shouts with a giggle

* He’s so greedy with you I swear

* You give him a kiss, he gives you back at least five

* You hold his hand, he keeps you glued to his side for the rest of the night

* “I know it’s ugly of me to get an inch and take a mile, but…around you I just can’t keep myself from trying.”

* He learns how to make all your favorite childhood foods, either from a relative or by studying old recipe books from your homeland

* And if you ever seem homesick or you’re feeling down he’ll suspense you with the dish

* “How did you learn to make this?” Your region is a far ways away from his usual French cuisine

* “I have my secrets.”

* Please cook for this man, just once, make a fancy dinner and have the whole crew pitch in as wait staff

* “You’re always taking care of us so this time we wanted to serve you!”

* He’ll eat half-burned pasta with tears of joy streaming down his face

* “This is the best meal I’ve ever had.”

* He’ll fall even harder for you if you have his wanted poster near your bunk bed

* “There’s a little red stain near my lips though—“

* “Ah, sometimes when I can’t see you at night I give it a little kiss for luck haha.”

* He’s dead. Sanjis dead.

* Cause of death: love sickness

* He died happy though

* He’s just such a simp for you man

* Like, take the shirt off his back and lay it over a puddle so you don’t get your feet wet, hear you’re craving a certain type of food and make it the next meal, buys you feminine hygiene products from the store with pride (along with some snacks he knows you like, kiss your hands and worship the ground you walk on type of love.

* Honestly what a dream

A/N: kinda wanna make a nsfw version too.

#one piece #opla x reader #one piece x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #sanji imagine #sanji vinsmoke #sanji vinsmoke x reader #black leg sanji #sanji fluff

[maaneskin]

THE ANATOMY OF LOVING YOU. jack hughes x f!reader, 1.2k

note, repost from old blog also , rewritten. doll face am gna kms

summary, jack loves you a lot — especially when you have a beard made of bubbles

a soft smile was playing on jacks lips as he watched you, the light of his life, give herself a messy beard made from the bubbles that filled the bathtub. 

“how do i look?”

he grinned, “sexy,” 

you stifled a giggle, throwing him a wink, “what if i made eyebrows as well? would that look good?” you gathered more bubbles and brought them to your face when jack grabbed your hand, halting your movement, “what? you don’t think it would suit me?” 

jack laughed, his hand holding yours, “on no, honey, i think you would look sexy as fuck but it would likely get in your eyes,”

“yeah,” you sighed sadly, removing your hands from his and dipping them back under the water. you began blowing at the bubbles, moving them around the small bathtub, not noticing the way jack was looking at you.

jacks breathing slowed as he watched you play with the bubbles — bubble beard still in place. he felt utterly calm sitting in the small bathtub with you, in your newly bought, first shared, apartment. the small window was open, letting him hear all the people outside going about their day. he could hear the radio standing in the living room playing another overplayed song everyone under the age of 25 hated. he could smell the freshly baked cake that was cooling in the kitchen; the two of you had baked it together before getting in the tub, or rather, you baked it while jack stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, placing soft kisses everywhere his lips could reach. he could smell the scented candle standing on the bathroom counter luke had given as a housewarming gift. the flame adding to the ambiance of the moment.

but none of that mattered as he watched you play around with the bubbles, effectively, making more of them until both your upper bodies were covered completely. jack hadn’t noticed he was in a deep daze until you splashed him with water. he gasped overdramatically, loving how your smile grew wide, “now you’ve done it!” he threw himself across the tub and onto you, water and bubbled spilling onto the tiled floor. jacks heart sped up at the familiar sound of your laugh echoing throughout the apartment. he let go of your naked body to cup his hand underwater. 

“j, don’t, don’t do it!” you managed through laughter, eyes on jacks water-filled hands above your head, “jack, it’s gonna spill everywhere-!” the water from his hands spilled down onto your head and the floor, “jack!” you removed the water from your eyes, “that’s gonna take forever to clean,” you whined, a smile still on your face.

“you started it, doll face,” jack grinned brightly, placing a kiss on your forehead, “we should get out of here, the water’s cold,” he reached over to the toilet where you had laid out 2 towels. he grabbed one for himself and got out. you got up after him, standing naked as you reached for the second towel. jack wolf whistled, making you laugh and tell him to shut up.

“you’re hot, baby, i can’t help it,” he smirked, leaning in for a kiss.

you were the first to pull away, eyes closed — kissing him was bliss, “i love you,” you muttered.

“i love you, too, doll face,” jack pressed a kiss to your forehead and another on the side of your head, sighing in content, “let’t get dry, we have a cake to eat,”

“we also have a floor to dry,” 

jack sighed, suddenly feeling the water on his feet, “yeah, i forgot about that,”

after getting dry and changing into comfortable clothes (jack wearing one of your oversized hoodies), you got to soaking up the water with your towels.

jack stared down at you from his place on the toilet, getting lost in thought. god, he loved you. never before in his life had he loved someone the way he loved you. everything you did made him feel something. everyday he went to bed excited to exist with you the next day. the day he met you was ingrained into his mind; your cute concentrated face as you wrote something down, your laptop with cute stickers, your socks with cute cats on them. (your socks were his conversation starter — luckily you thought it was funny). it had been 6 years since then, since you agreed to go on a date with him. your first date to the zoo was one of his favorite days. the way your eyes had sparkled as you held his arm, dragging him around to see the different animals. the way his heart had sped up when you smiled at him after seeing the penguins up close had made it clear you would be special to him. 

“jack,” you threw one of the towels at him, hitting him in the face and getting him out of his daydream. you giggled at his confused face, “help me,”

he slid off the toilet, gently swatting you with the wet towels. when the water was gone, he moved closer to you, pulling you into his arms, “are we eating the cake when we’re done here?” he leaned closer to your neck.

“no, it’s for desert; after dinner,”

“but you’re my desert,” he placed a few kisses on your neck before pulling away. he smiled at the deadpan you wore, though he could see you were flustered. he was more than aware of how much you loved it when he kissed your neck and he always used it to his full advantage. 

you gave him a gentle shove, “stop it,”

“never,” jack leaned back in and blew raspberry kisses on your neck, making you laugh. he couldn't hide his smile at the sound. he loved your laugh — it was his favorite sound (your moans being a close second), and he hoped to hear for the rest of his life. 

he placed a final kiss on your neck before pulling away, “i know we said it like an hour ago, but i love you… like a lot. more than i’ve ever loved anyone before. i wanna spend my entire life with you” he looked into your eyes, “you’re the light of my life and i-” his swallowed the lump in his throat, clearing it after, “i love you,”

you blinked away tears. his declaration had your heart racing. jack was never verbal with his love, but when he was it never failed to make you emotional. your eyes ran over his face. meeting his beautiful, bright eyes. you could tell he was getting more and more nervous as you remained silent. 

“say something,” he pleaded, feeling like he might explode.

you gulped, “i- i love you. i love you, too. you- i-”

jack’s eyes softened and he could tell you were getting overwhelmed. with closed eyes he kissed your forehead, pulling you in for a hug, “i love you, doll face,” he whispered, before falling silent knowing you needed a moment to collect yourself. his hand went up and down you back, placing the occasional kiss to the side of your head, “you okay?”

you nodded, face still pressed against his neck. arms wrapping around his body, returning his hug.

“dinner?” he asked, getting up from the floor before helping you. he kissed your lips, each cheek, and forehead before pulling away. he grabbed your hand and dragged you to the kitchen, just like how you dragged him to see the lions on your very first date.

#i genuinely cannot tell if this is readable ive been staring at it for 3 days #writing #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x you #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl x you

[tteokdoroki]

Denji blushes when you hold his cock hand

☆༉ — DENJI. pretty boy.

about. let’s pretend this ask isn’t years old but yeah actually he does omg :( !! started writing this ages ago but finished for @miguelism mwah <3

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. characters aged up to 20s, smut, nsfw, handjobs, exhibitionism, praise kink, college!au, gn!reader, roommate!denji.

“denji…”

“uhuh— i mean, uh, yeah?”

“has anyone told you, you’ve got such a pretty cock?”

you feel the entirety of denji’s length twitch within your hold— his head full of sunshine blonde hair falling back on the wall you’ve caged him against. your fingers are soft, pillowy around his thick shaft and your thumb presses to his leaky slit curiously, watching his face for a reaction. “y-you’d be the first…ah—fuck!” denji whimpers, golden brown eyes falling away from the world as you give your wrist an experimental flick, testing the waters on what you can do to him. “that’s nice…that’s real nice.”

you giggle, his precum oozing into the seat of your palm the more you start to jerk him off in the right space of aki’s bathroom. “yeah? i want you to feel good, denji.” you doubt that your roommates would want to be woken up by slick sounds and whiny whistle tone moans, so you step forward and reach out into the dark— pressing your lips against your boyfriend’s in a slow, syrupy kiss.

it’s adorable how he chases the warmth of your mouth, like a moth drawn to a candle flame, when you pull away to check the door only briefly. “come back, baby…please,” he pleads while he feverishly fucks your hand as if he’ll never get the chance to do so again. “feels good when you’re close…when you kiss me ‘n you use…shit, y-your t-tongue on me!” pleading turns to soggy, pathetic whimpers that are muffled by your tongue as you push your way back into denji’s mouth to shut him up.

you make denji feel like he’s going fucking insane, desire ripping through is chest, lewd squelching noises from his cock bleeding arousal all over your hand overlaying his soundtrack of moans and tongue lapping over tongues. opaque white slings around your knuckles as it drips from his creamy tip, only serving to guide your fist up and down his throbbing a little easier — as if it were a makeshift flesh light.

he really is so cute like this — pliant and needy underneath you, his body seizing up at your sensual ministrations and his skin shiny with sweat under the moonlight. the chainsaw devil can’t help but hiccup loudly despite how you pacify him with sweet, loving smooches. tears slip down the apples of his cheeks and track salt along your tongue too where they land at the corner of denji’s mouth. “you look so pretty with your cock in my hand,” praise for denji comes easily to you — he deserves to be cherished, to know that he’s good and loved. squeezing the base of his length, you push your thumb through his seedy slit just to see him cry, circling his bright red and mushroomed cockhead in order to lube him up more.

a pink flush blossoms across the expanse of his milky skin with every pump of his dick and his his head falls back against the wall with a dull thud. you lick your lips at the sight of his adam’s apple bobbing and his body shuddering, revealing to the naked eye just how desperate denji truly is.

“do you think you could cum for me, denji?”

the stutter in his hips tells you the answer, but you want a verbal one anyways — so for a moment, you stop palming his dripping wet cock and wait for his response.

“well?”

“please, i can do it,” he pants, eager to please — his honey brown eyes crazed and delirious. “j-just call me pretty again. ‘nd i promise i’ll—“

even with his back pressed right up against the wall and his shoulders quivering in anticipation of his impending high — denji still towers over you. so you stand on your tippy toes, languidly flicking your wrist to get him off, in order to whisper your command into the shell of his ear. “make a mess for me, pretty boy.” you simper, mouth falling open to mock his moans like you’re right on the edge with him.

denji cums with a shout and his release spills into your spoiled palm like a stream of molten igneous rock, painting your knuckles a gooey white. you have to cover his mouth with your remaining hand, muffling any sounds that escape him since his brain quite literally short circuits, reducing the poor blonde to nothing but tears and brainless babbles.

you do your best to keep him quiet while he twitches through the aftershocks — after all, it would be a shame if some else got to see your pretty boy blushing with his cock out.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

#csm x reader #csm smut #denji x reader #denji smut #denji x you #denji imagines #denji drabbles #denji thirst #csm imagine #csm drabble #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man smut #chainsaw man x you #chainsaw man imagine #chainsaw man thirst #csm denji x reader #csm denji smut #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #chainsaw man drabble

[mango-bango-bby]

Platonic dabi gives me something I never had 😭🙏 How do you think he would be with baby reader like right after he took them?

♡ Bonding ♡

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, platonic yandere, big brother!Dabi, sibling!reader, baby!reader, mentions of kidnapping, fire, Dabi calls you a brat, NOT PROOFREAD

Summary: Your big brother, Dabi, has absolutely no idea how to calm your crying (Platonic!Yan!Dabi x GN!Baby!reader)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Dabi had no idea what to do with you. He had no idea how to care for you. He knew he shouldn’t have taken you, he had no clue how to care for a baby, nor could he. He was completely broke and just started out his new life as a villain! He couldn’t care for you! But he also couldn’t leave you with Enji, he could let you be a back up Shoto.

“What do you want?” Dabi asked with a frustrated groan. Yet your cries still echoed through the abandoned apartment you two had been living in.

He had tried everything he could think of to calm you down. Yet you still cried, standing at the edge of the old crib that he found at a junkyard. Your little hands holding onto the top on the crib as you cried and pouted at him.

He had tried feeding you, changing you, trying to get you to sleep. Everything and anything to get you to calm down you’re crying. He even tried rattling toys in front of you and even changing you into a different onesie in hopes that it was what you wanted. But nothing worked.

Dabi sighed, sitting on the ground in front of your crib with his hands on his head. He looks up at you for a moment, you’re still crying, tears running down your chubby cheeks and snot on your face. “You’re a brat, you know that?” He mumbles at you, knowing you can’t understand him.

He sighs, using his quirk to shot a flame at a few nearby candles. The apartment was abandoned so the only sources of light were a few candles. Your crying stop for a moment when he shots the flames to light the candles, the candles now light with small blue flames.

You use the crib for support, as you shuffle your way over to look at the candles. Your large eyes looking over as your crying has slightly calmed. You almost seem entranced by the small flames.

Dabi immediately looked over at you, seeing how you reacted to his quirk. Your crying had calmed, your cries now only small sniffles and hiccups. “You like that?” Dabi asked, his voice a bit softer than before. He lifts his hand, igniting a small flame at his finger tips. You stare at the flame, your large eyes wide as you coo curiously.

Dabi twirls his finger, making the small flame move in small circles. This causes you to coo happily, giggling lightly as you watch. You lean over the crib, reaching out your chubby arm. You reach for the flame, making grabby hands at it to signal that you wanted it.

“Ah, ah. You don’t touch. You don’t wanna end up lookin’ like your big brother, do you?” Dabi snickers, using his other hand to gently push you back, causing you to fall in the crib so you now sit on the mattress.

Yes, you were a brat. And you cried and cried, no matter what he did. But he would be lying if he said he hadn’t grown fond of you while taking care of you. He could raise you to be different than his siblings.

You were the only person he loved in that idiotic family.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

(A/N: RAHHHHH I’m back to writing!! I’ve been having such trouble getting inspiration lately. I’m sorry I haven’t been writing much but I’m doing it when I feel like I can 🫶🫶 And I totally agree with you, platonic yans are 💗💗)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

#soft yandere #platonic yandere dabi #platonic yandere #platonic yandere bnha #platonic yandere dabi x reader #platonic!yandere!dabi #platonic yandere x reader #yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader

[hwasdvlly]

Happy Hollow-ween | c.san

↠ summary: a classic yet fun activity for the season is to carve a pumpkin.

↠ pairing: san x fem!reader

↠ genres: family, fluff, and slice of life

↠ word count: 0.6k words

↠ warnings/tags: none. established relationship, idol!san, non-idol!reader, married couple, sannie is husband/father material

↠ a/n: yesss!! another of the choi family which is personally one of my fav writings

“Appa! I want this one!”

“Isn’t that a bit huge? It’s bigger than your head, Mimi.”

The beloved Choi Family are at the pumpkin patch, where they’ll find the perfect ones to carve. It’s the autumn season, too. The weather has cooled down, and everyone dressed in cozy outfits. 

San picks up a pumpkin that his baby is pointing at. He grunts and uses his strength from those gym workouts because it is heavy. “Y/N! What do you think?!” He calls over his wife, who is busy taking pictures of the lovely area. You turn your attention to your husband and see him struggling with the object. You let a giggle, “It’s almost the same size as The Great Pumpkin from Charlie Brown.” You walk up to the love of your life and your little angel. You assumed it was Sangmi’s choice. 

“Okay, I guess we’re taking it.” San tries to look strong, but, for real, his arms are about to break. You know your hubby by heart that he’ll act differently to impress you and Sangmi. 

“Do you need help, Sannie?” You snickered. San didn’t hesitate to deny it. “Nope! Nope! I got this!” The man waddles his way to the parking lot. Sangmi holds your hand. “Appa looks funny.” She laughs at her penguin dad. “You know how appa is, aegi (baby).” You tell your little girl. San will do anything for his angel. 

Once they arrived home, the Choi Family layered old newspapers on the balcony. San and Sangmi are wearing matching Halloween shirts and plaid sweats. You came out of the kitchen after unboxing the utensils to check on your family. 

“Gotta scrape all of the guts out. Like how you pick your nose.” San makes an absurd comparison. 

“Ew! Appa! I don’t pick my nose.” Sangmi rebutted and giggled heartily. 

The man smirks, “Oh, you don’t? Then what’s this?” He reaches over to tap Sangmi’s button nose. She continues to laugh her head off. You melted by the sound of her angelic voice. Maybe she will become a singer like her dad. You joined the duo by helping them scrape the pumpkin guys. 

San sighed tiredly, “Why did she choose this one? It’s going to take ages to carve.” He spoke in a low voice to prevent Sangmi from hearing his complaint. You replied, “Well, you did make a promise to her the moment she was born.” You looked at him with a knowing look. “Promises can’t be broken, I guess.” San meets your gaze, and he shows his cute pout. 

No matter what age or how long you’ve known this man, he is forever a sulky child. 

“Alright! We are done!” San cheers because it did take ages. 

You went to sit with Sangmi and wipe her messy hands clean. “How do you want to carve the pumpkin, Mimi?” You asked. 

“Can we do Kuromi?” She looks at her parents with the prettiest cat-like eyes. How can anyone say no to that? 

San nods his head with a wide smile. “Yes! I like that idea.” He agrees with his daughter. 

When it comes to arts & crafts, San will do it as if it’s a major task. Even though Sangmi wouldn’t mind if it came out ugly, her appa doesn’t accept imperfections. 

The hours went by, and the day was now night. 

You grabbed a small candle to light up. “Here, sweetheart. Our masterpiece won’t be complete without this.” You handed it to Sangmi. She holds the candle and uses her tiny arms to reach inside the top of the carved pumpkin. She places it in the middle before San grabs the lighter.

“Watch baby. This is a magical moment.” He turns it on, and the flame burns the wick. 

Sangmi’s face brightens like the Kuromi pumpkin. “It’s pretty!” She claps her hands. 

San shifts his body to the masterpiece in front of him. “Appa did good, right?” He gives you and Sangmi a smug expression.

You rolled your eyes yet smiled at your self-righteous husband. Sangmi just happily nodded to indicate that her appa did a beautiful job. 

#ateez #atiny #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez san #san ateez #choi san #san #san x reader #san x you #san x y/n #san x female reader #choi san x reader #choi san x you #choi san x y/n #choi san x female reader #san fluff #choi san fluff #san imagines

[ellieswifie]

Need a Matt celebrating the readers bday 🥺 for all my scorpios out there

mattt celebrating readers birthday

𐙚 short!

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEAUTIFUL." matt muttered as he woke you up with kisses planted all over your face. his arms were wrapped around your waist as you attempted to open your lazy eyes. "and good morning, pretty."

you moaned softly, turning your face away from matt. matt giggled to himself as he admired you laying in his bed.

you don’t usually spend the night over at his because it’s hard to get some alone time with his brothers, but after watching a few movies and a couple make out sessions, you were wiped by twelve and didn’t want to get up and leave. so you figured staying the night wouldn’t be a problem, considering it’s also your birthday.

you stretched your arms out, yawning as you turned back to watch matt sitting up on his elbow, smiling at you. he brushed fly Ways aways out your face as you attempted to but a lazy smile on your face. "morning.” you whispered.

matt couldn’t help himself but smile wider.

"i already see some wrinkles, old woman." matthew said and you felt yourself finally wake as you punched his shoulder playfully. "ouch! i was just kidding. you look pretty, always."

the tension in the air grew hot as you just started at matt. his blue eyes gleaming into yours while you laid under his glaze. "thank you.." you whisper, leaning up from the bed.

you both go in for the kiss before matt’s door swings open and your guys eyes shoot towards the door.

"happy birthday bitch!!!" nick screamed as he tossed confetti around matt’s room. chris came strolling along after him, carrying a pancake with a single lit candle. "your finally twenty!!" nick added, going towards the bed you and matt laid.

nick shoved matt slightly, reaching to give you a long best friend hug. "god i can’t believe we all are so old now what the fuck." you groan into the hug, before nick pulls away.

"we made you a pancake! the others were burnt but… this one is perfect!" chris smiled, holding the single plate in front of you. you turned to matt, giving him a single kiss before the brothers all sang you happy birthday, before blowing into the burning flame.

"yay!" nick beamed, clapping his hands. "what did you wish for?" asked matt beside you.

you shake your head, rubbing his cheek with your finger. his brothers gagged, frowning at how lovely you guys were. nick and chris both left the room to either call in food, or raid what they have in the pantry because cooking wasn’t an option anymore.

"i‘ve got everything i want here…" you whispered, meeting his eyes. "with you."

matt’s gaze grew soft as he rolled over so he laid on top of you. the back of his hand trailed down your sides, creeping past your tank top.

"everything?" matt asked, looking down your body. you nodded your head smiling at him.

“we found frozen french toast!" you heard chris yell form the kitchen. "we just gotta put them in the microwave!"

matt head falls and you give him a long lingering kiss, before you pull back biting down on your lower lip. "everything but french toast?" you say, rolling out from under him.

matt groaned rolling out of bed with you, reaching for your hand as he dragged you out the bedroom.

. . .

"you fucking cheated!" chris shouted at nate as played his last uno card on the table. "you cheater!"

nate stuck his tongue out at everyone while he won the game. he deserved it consider how many cards were getting added to his stack, but chris still insisted he had extra cards up his sleeves. "don’t play the player blame the game." nathan shrugged, standing from the couch.

chris turned to you and you shrugged, looking around the room to notice matt isn’t seated beside you anymore.

“i think it’s time for a break," madi suggested, causing the group to nod and separate from the living room.

chris, nick, and matt had planed a small party with some of your guys close friends from school and social media. you loved the little surprise, but something felt off. maybe it was the fact that matt had been slightly distant the night, or you just weren’t feeling it.

you noticed your boyfriend standing in the living room grabbing a soda from the fridge. you walked over towards him in your sparkly dress, sneakers dragging across the floor.

when nick mentioned that dinner plans weren’t working out you immediately tossed the heels across the room and pulled on one of matt’s old pairs of shoes.

"matty…" you whispered, sneaking up on him, before standing beside him near the closed fridge. his frown immediately turned upside down when he caught sight of you. he was wearing a white button up that was also meant for dinner, but it’s now slightly wrinkled and the first two buttons are undone.

he wrapped a lazy arm around your shoulders holding you close as you guys stood watching your friends around the house.

"everything okay?" you ask, looking up at him. matt almost immediately nods. "yes, it’s your day and i just want you to spend time with your friends."

you snort, leaning into your boyfriends bear arms. "well i want to spend time with you too."

"you are spending time with me right now, baby…"

you lick your lips softly, noticing chris and nate still arguing about uno. "you know what i mean." you drag out, looking at matt. a small smirk plays on his face, but you stop him and grab both his hands. it’s your birthday party and right now you just want to dance with your boyfriends hands around you, and hear the laughter of your friends.

"come dance with me." you smile, moving your guys hands together. matt interwines your fingers before he spins you around to the rhythm of the music playing from chris’s speaker.

"anything for my birthday girl."

#ellieswifie #gracie writes #fem!reader #fluff #matt sturniolo #mattthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew #matt #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #happy birthday #request #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets

[echoalyssa]

Blinks | Brian O'Conner

image generated by midjourney ai

It was known throughout the entire crew that losing a car would hurt just as much as losing a person. We all knew that we had formed bonds with our cars in ways that no one would understand until they experienced it themselves. The second you sat in the driver’s seat; the car became an extension of yourself. The two of you were one, biological and material parts meshed together.

I’m on my knees, my hands are resting on top of my thighs, palms upward. The tears that seep from my eyes burn. Someone is crying so, so loud. There are hands on my shoulder’s keeping me from falling forward. I can’t even keep myself upright… 

How had this happened? One second, I had been speeding down the mountain pass, and the next I was scrambling away from the burning wreckage.

The entire engine bay is in flames, thick plumes of smoke spiral up into the sky. His horn blares loudly. Both blinkers still flash at me and the last remaining headlight peers at me. I can smell my car burning, chunks of flames fall to the ground around it. He was so strong, holding on as long as he could. My car has reached its end though and the horn stutters before it cuts out completely. The remaining headlight goes dark, as if someone had just blown out a candle. Almost immediately, his blinkers go dark. The last blinks… his final goodbye as he went willingly to wherever the souls of cars go.

It's utterly silent now, except for the crackling of the flames and my sobs. The trees spiral high into the sky on all sides, almost sealing us from the world. A private death. He had sacrificed himself to save my life.

I can feel my boyfriend behind me, his fingers rubbing at the back of my neck soothingly. Brian had lost his eclipse earlier in the year, so he understood everything that was running through me. I had been building this car for just under two years. I had dumped thousands of dollars into it, replacing every part of a sixteen-year-old car that I could. And beyond everything, I had walked through life every day with this car by my side. My first car.

Every time I had needed a release, something to keep me sane, I would drive. There is no better partnership than a driver and their car. No one would ever know the car the way the driver would. But what is a driver without their car? Nothing.

~~~

Brian

She sobs, she’s desperate, just trying to get to her car. I tighten my grip on her, whispering to her. All she wants is to throw herself into the flames. She pulls and strains against my hold and part of me worries that she might bruise under my fingers. I can see the life slowly leaving her car. There would be no coming back from a fire of that magnitude. 

“Please Brian. Please!”

It’s quite possibly one of the saddest things that I have ever seen. Her car holds on as long as possible, crying for help but proud that it had fulfilled its promise of keeping her safe. There was barely a scratch on her. She’s sobbing so hard that I’m worried she’ll forget to breathe. 

Hopefully, the rest of the crew would arrive with extinguishers soon. Maybe then she would be able to save something from the car. We could build another car, but it couldn’t just be any car. When choosing a car there was a feeling, that if it was right, it would just feel right. 

I had taught her how to drive manual in this car all those years ago, we had had out first kiss standing on top of it. All of that, ripped away in a single second. Gone.

“Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay…” She whispers, so quiet and broken by her hiccupping breaths that I can barely hear it. 

When the crew finally arrives, she is just sitting on the pavement staring numbly at the still burning frame of her first car. Her eyes are dry, having already spent all the tears, but there is a haunted look to them. As if, a part of her burned right along with her car.

Thick foam from the extinguishers coats the engine bay and the front fenders. The flames do not give up easily, fighting to stay alight. She watches the whole process in the same spot that she had been in for over an hour now.

When the flames are finally gone and all that is left is the ash, she stands up. She picks her way over to the corpse and then lowers herself to the ground in front of the frame. Her forehead falls forward, landing on the car’s bumper. She presses her palm flat against it.

It’s a hauntingly beautiful picture. A last goodbye.

I let her take as much time as she needs but it is getting cold. I shrug off my jacket and approach her slowly. I drape it over her shoulders and lean down to press a kiss to her temple. I use the back of my hand to brush the tears from her face and then brush the stray strands of her hair away from her eyes.

“If you knew it was your last drive, would you have still gone?”

“Yes.” She whispers, without hesitation.

#brian oconner #brian o'conner imagine #brian o'conner x reader #fast and furious #paul waker #paul walker x reader

[lost-in-lamentation]

birthday wishes

a/n: happy birthday lucifer! 

content: these events take place in the present timeline after mc has been taken back to the past. lucifer’s birthday seems just a bit duller without you around. 

angst. hurt + no comfort. lucifer x gen!reader (they/them).

word count: 738

“mammon, what is the meaning of this?” lucifer opens the door to find his white haired brother holding a small box. with an eyebrow raised, lucifer releases a sigh. “if you’re just going to stand there without so much as uttering a word, i believe i’ll head back to my work now.”

mammon immediately snaps to attention, throwing a hand into the space between the door and the doorframe. “ah- wait! wait, lucifer, jeez,” the second born grumbles, now balancing the box of unknown contents on one hand. “it’s your birthday, ain’t it? quit doin’ work for once and have a piece of cake, at least.” 

the box, which lucifer now realises is holding a cake, teeters dangerously from side to side. silently, lucifer pulls the door back open. his gloved hands reach out to take the box from mammon, who gives it to him without a complaint. “i’ll put it in the fridge for now and have a piece when i’m done these documents.” 

“absolutely not.” mammon glares at the oldest brother, grabbing hold of his wrist and dragging him away from his study. had it been anyone else, lucifer would have started shouting, but lucifer knew that mammon was doing what lucifer would do for him. “beel would eat it before you would, and…” mammon stops just outside the dining hall and drops his hand from lucifer’s sleeve. “besides, MC wouldn’t want you to miss your own birthday.”

lucifer just barely catches the expression that flits across his brother’s face; he knows what mammon is asking. if the oldest brothers can’t handle their disappearance, the rest of the brothers will break one after another. it’s a burden that only the two of them share. lucifer exhales softly, clasping one hand on mammon’s shoulder as a sign of reassurance. no other words are said as they enter the dining hall. to lucifer’s surprise, diavolo and barbatos are also there, and he gives them a nod as he places the cake on the table. 

“you didn’t need to be here, lord diavolo. i wasn’t even planning on celebrating,” lucifer says, his gaze shifting from the young lord to each of his brothers. all of them are wearing pained smiles. lucifer hates the sight. 

diavolo laughs brightly, his arms crossing. “you’re ridiculous for thinking that i wouldn’t stop by to give you a greeting. i just happened to catch belphegor buying your cake and asked if barbatos and i could come with him after.” 

“yes, there always seems to be a good way to invite yourself into the house of lamentation,” the avatar of pride replies with a sly smile. 

behind lucifer, leviathan walks through the door holding a candle and a lighter. “lucifer,” he calls out, handing him the supplies. “you can do what MC taught us and make a wish on the candle.” 

lucifer barely manages a good look at the candle before he feels his heart twist in his chest. of course his brothers would have him make a wish because of MC. his hands tremble just slightly, a giveaway to those around him that his stoic posture is not always so strong. when lucifer manages to place the candle on the cake and light the wick, he stares into the small flame. he remembers the first time MC set a cake and candle in front of him, eyes gleaming and a smile that flipped lucifer’s entire world around. he stares into the flame a while longer, until he feels a hand tap on his leg; satan glances up at lucifer, reminding him that the candle cannot burn forever. 

lucifer makes his wish silently, whole heartedly, and desperately. there is the sound of scattered birthday greetings and applause before the age old question rings out. 

“so, what did you wish for?” asmodeus sings the question, hands tucked neatly underneath his chin.

lucifer only shakes his head, pulling the candle out from the layer of icing on top. “don’t you remember? MC told us we can’t share our wish, or else it won’t come true.”

a/n: sorry lucifer (and fans). love you!

the brothers all groan at his answer, but lucifer knows that they know the answer. lucifer knows they would wish the same thing. and yet, because it’s their oldest brother making the wish, they have a bit more hope. if anyone could wish MC back into their world, it’s their oldest brother, who has never failed them since the day they met. 

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #aris writes 🐈‍⬛ #obey me lucifer #obey me luci x reader #lucifer x mc

[jiubilant]

12 (candles) if youd like :)

12. candles

The lawman’s desk is a heavy old thing, hard-cornered, strewn with billets, bills, and bobs—and tall tallow-candles, pale and slender as a gentry-mort’s throat, standing in ship-shaped silver chambersticks. The urchin stands tippy-toed to stare at them. If she snatches them and bolts, she thinks, she could fence them dockside for a rum sum. Her hands twitch. Her own mug, blank with terror, stares back at her from the polished plate.

“The contracts are in order,” says the lawman, reaching for his quill. Then his hand stops. Through silver-rimmed spectacles, he sizes up the urchin: her togs, her scabby ears, the bald tip of her tail. The hard corners of his mouth turn down. “And—this is the child in question?”

The clerk to whom the urchin will be prenticed, unless she darts out with the chambersticks, drums two calm fingers on his cane. “Yes.”

Auntie, the urchin reminds herself over the hammering of her heart, had told her to mind him. She wouldn't disobey Auntie, never. But Auntie hadn't known, surely, that her turncoat-toff brother would march the urchin straight into a cunning-man's office, where rogues like her get their fortunes read—

"—right, hla?" the clerk is saying, for some reason.

He’d told her outside to bow to the lawman when addressed. Now they’re both looking at her—the clerk with furrowed brow, the lawman fitting her for a noose with just his eyes—and the urchin’s back feels like a wooden beam, and her tongue feels like something growing on it. She manages to nod.

“Well.” The lawman gives the clerk a pointed look, then scans the contracts again. “No bond of surety. No pension provided for the child’s upkeep. You understand that you are, therefore, obliged to provide for her out-of-pocket for the duration of her indenture?”

The urchin, half-listening, imagines the ship-shaped chambersticks sailing away: candle-flames flickering, silver prows carving the sea. She imagines herself in one. The clerk's curt voice drifts down to her as if through water. “Yes.”

“That you are, for said duration, liable for her in every particular—"

“Quite.”

“Well.” With an ironic flourish of his quill, the lawman makes his mark. “You Company people dredge up your prentices from the damnedest places. All right, Master Rano, she’s yours if you sign.”

She’ll do it, the urchin thinks, eyeing the silver glims. She’ll kick the stick out from under the old scribbler, so as he can’t grab her, and be out the door like that. She shifts her weight in preparation—

"My thanks," says the clerk breezily, and whisks the contracts from the lawman's desk. He blows on the ink to dry it—the candles sputter, as does the lawman—then drops the rolls into the wide-eyed urchin's arms. "Hold onto those, for now, and let's be off. Stuffy in here."

"Why—" The lawman, turning red, straightens his spectacles. "You've not signed!"

The clerk's cloak swirls about him as he turns. The look with which he fixes the lawman is one of perfect, polite concern. "Need I do it now?"

"A notary must witness the signature—"

"I'm a notary," says the clerk brightly, and billows out the door.

They're halfway down the street before the urchin realizes that her legs are moving. Wobbling, too. She hugs the contracts close and slows to a practiced stroll, keeping to the scribbler's shadow, because only the greenest dabbers get caught hurrying in broad daylight—

The clerk, she realizes, is talking to her again.

"—all right?" he asks, looking down his long nose. She's never seen such a beak on any bird. He doesn't look like Auntie at all, she thinks, her chest all tight. Auntie had never stared at her like that, brow creased, as though the urchin had been put together wrong.

Whatever he'd said, twice now, he wants her to agree. She swallows and drops her eyes to his boots. "Right."

The clerk studies her. Then he sinks stiffly to one knee.

"I asked if you're all right," he says, still looking at her in that odd, painful way. "It's a bit much, I expect, all this. How old are you?"

The urchin doesn't know. She wants to cringe away. She flicks her ears back instead, trying to come off fierce. "I were the biggest of Auntie's lot. Quickest, too. She"—her voice cracks, and she squares her shoulders to compensate—"she wouldn't have shipped me here if I weren't best."

It's true, she tells herself, trying not to breathe too funny. No lilligut would stroll into a lawman's office, swell as you like, and connive to nab his chambersticks besides. No coward would swimmer to far Haafingar to learn a dayman's trade, and be a prentice, and all. She won't run off. She can't cock this up, she thinks, peering over all the tickrum in her arms, or she's every sort of stupid.

She's starting to understand the look on the clerk's face. It's sad, somehow.

"What did you do," he asks, "for my sister?"

The lawman's isn't twenty steps behind them. The urchin's lie comes prompt and proper; not even a tail-twitch betrays her. "Errands."

"Really?" The clerk's voice is dry as ash. "When I was your age, she had me crawling down outlanders' chimneys to steal their limeware."

The image is so ridiculous—this spindly cove, Auntie's selfsame kin, folded up in a flue like a concertina—that the urchin barks a single startled laugh, involuntary as a sneeze. The clerk blinks at her, astonished. Then he grins.

"Hold onto those," he says again, and levers himself to his feet. "I shouldn't have hurried you to the hiring-hall straight off. At the end of the day, if you find the prospect of a Company apprenticeship, ah, amenable, give them back to me." His voice goes gentler. "There's a place for you to sign, too."

It's a lot of binnacle-words. The urchin blinks up at him, warily fascinated, and mouths one: men-a-bull.

"I know some already," she says hesitantly. "About the Company. About—stuff."

"Stuff."

"And fustian."

"Ah." The clerk's smile is canny as Auntie's. "Well, to supplement your knowledge—why don't we begin with the market rate for silver?"

[send me a number, and i’ll write a microfic using the word or phrase!]

#these two again to start. figured this scene would nicely bookend the last piece #skyrim #microfic #oc tag #shurri #ravi

[themusicistrue]

Hozier’s music provides something most people can’t think to express by showing relationships as they truly are – healthy, flawed, hopeful, and fraught. He has an idyllic view of love expressed through symbolism, making you think and feel whether you know the context or not. Listening to Hozier’s lyrics is a deeply intimate experience, like looking through an old pane of glass. At times, a rediscovery of something once beautiful. And at others, a forgotten shard of love lost to time. Let’s examine love through those lyrics.

There’s not much of Hozier’s distinct lyrism in his self-titled first album (2014), but it has one of my favorite instances in the song “Jackie and Wilson.” The lyric “She blows out of nowhere, a roman candle of the wild,” as a girl we were taught to be quiet, and keep to ourselves, and not bother other people with our thoughts, or words. Hozier describes the woman he loves as a firework and he loves her all the more for it. He praises the parts that we have been taught to tamp down overtime.

Now moving on to his sophomore album “wasteland, baby!”(2018) has far more instances of him writing in this distinct style of him. The first track of him actively doing this style of song is in “Movement”. Hozier says the phrase “you are a call to motion”. He makes it all feel so full as if his Love is his world. He makes it seem as though just her moving, and doing something so normal like dancing can make him want to do better, and move with her. Later on in the song he says “Honey, you, you're Atlas in his sleepin'” in this he compares her to the titan atlas who is known for holding the weight of the world on his back. He makes her seem so effortless even holding up the world. He shows how she can move even under the weight of everything.

Now in the song “Would that I” touches more on the hard parts of love. He says “Though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame”. In this the wood is a metaphor for trying to pick up yourself after leaving a relationship; while the flame is the relationship, something he knows might not end well but he still goes to it. He puts himself in the path of it and seeks it out actively. He also touches on this theme of wanting, and seeking out something that might be bad for you in “Wasteland, baby!” (the song that is) in the words “Like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass”. He compares a small act of love to the end of the world as if they can somehow be connected. He brings out these small beautiful and yet heartbreaking parts of love so often.

Now in his most recent album “unreal unearth”(2023) he has completely perfected this type of song writing. Now in the song “First time” he gives the lyric “And the first time that you kissed me I drank dry the River Lethe”. This lyric is so special when you take a look at the moving parts of it. So the River Lethe in the under world made people forget when they drank from it. He compares kissing her to forgetting what makes his life tragic. All that pain willed away in one simple act of affection.

Yet another instance of him comparing the woman he loves to the world is in “I, Carrion (Icarian)” this whole song is a big metaphor of how these two people are so different. He is more flighty – able to leave and move around; where as she is anchored. In this way, he sees her in everything, everywhere. For example, in this lyric, he says, “Once I wondered what was holdin' up the ground. But I can see that all along, Love, it was you all the way down.” This lyric shows just how much he relies on her love. It is his foundation.

The most gut wrenching song he has ever made is “Franchesca”. It fully embraces the pain that love can bring you. It has the theme that when you do finally get to be together it doesn't always work perfectly or well. The most painful part of it is he says that through all the pain he’d continue it all he wants to still be together. In the lyric “I would still be surprised I could find you, darlin', in any life If I could hold you for a minute”. this song all has the pain that is so natural and true. It gives the full feeling of just how insane it is that you are able to find someone you click with.

Hozier sees the world the way it is, and yet makes it so beautiful. His world is hard, and harsh yet it still has an air of romanticism to it all. He uses metaphor to brake the walls simple words are confined to. He gives a warmth and normality to love often not voiced in words.

#hozier #wasteland baby #unreal unearth

[marypsue]

@mickeymagpie said: i thought you were making star and david 1880s murder siblings and mike the novelist they draw in

Since you mention it...

...

“Estelle,” Michael says, as he swirls the captivating, mysterious Englishwoman around the dancefloor. “Seems old-fashioned, for someone as young and as pretty as you are.”

Estelle, Lady Sharpe – is she due the title? If her father was a baronet? Michael’s not certain, but he’ll need to find out, if he intends to keep courting her – blushes a little at the compliment, turning her dark, liquid eyes from Michael’s face. But only for long enough to be appropriately modest before she catches his gaze again, looking up through dark lashes in a way that makes Michael catch his breath. “My brother calls me Star.”

The reminder makes Michael look up, scan the crowds around them for the baronet’s menacing presence, a smudge of dusty black against all the glitter and light of the McMichaels’ ball. There’s no doubt in Michael’s mind that Lord Sharpe is the only reason why his sister has not yet married.

“Star,” he says, deliberately, turning back to the woman in his arms. Focusing on the burning points where their bodies meet, the lit candle held precariously between their clasped hands. Testing the shape, the colour of the word on his tongue. Savouring its taste. “Yes, that suits you far better. Star.”

The way Star smiles up at him makes Michael feel a little dizzy, a little drunk. It’s a slow, languorous smile, her eyes catching the candlelight and sparkling with the light of a thousand of her namesake as they whirl through the dance so fast and smoothly that the flame they hold together barely even flickers.

So fast, so smoothly, that it almost feels like flying.

…

“Read it. You’ll thank us.”

Samuel looks down at the pamphlet the bookseller’s pushed into his chest, and then back up at the bookseller’s face. “You seem to have mistaken me for someone with an interest in penny dreadfuls.”

“Oh, you’ll find plenty to interest you in this one.”

Sam barely manages to suffocate a long-suffering sigh. He’s already regretting volunteering to run this errand for his grandfather. The trip into town, the temporary escape from the confines of the grounds, was certainly not worth this hassle. Nor, in his estimation, is the copy of the literary journal that his grandfather receives monthly. The old man never reads any of the books reviewed or discussed, anyway. Believes that reading the journal removes the necessity.

“You are the second Emerson son, aren’t you?” the bookseller continues, looking Sam up and down. It’s an insolent look, judgmental, especially coming from such a petty tradesman. Especially one who can’t be much older than Sam himself. Especially one with the dubious blessing of such a countenance. To say nothing of his attire.

It’s true that Sam’s family have had…difficulties, since the unexpected departure of his father for Italy without them. And that his mother’s faced some censure lately, been denied invitations, for entertaining Maxwell McMichael’s attentions while still legally a married woman. But still. Sam’s grandfather may never have been a true baron of industry, but he’s still well known and respected in Buffalo, if quickly gaining a reputation as something of…an eccentric. A reputation that Sam, unfortunately, can’t entirely deny he’s earned.

People will of course form their own thoughts, their own opinions, of his family. But they might at least make overtures toward refraining from so clearly revealing them to Sam’s face. Especially when asking for his custom in the same breath.

So, since the bookseller doesn’t bother trying to conceal his judgment, Sam doesn’t bother trying to conceal his irritation. “What is it to you if I am?”

“Your brother married that Englishwoman? The one who was here with her brother the Lord So-and-so for the last season?” The other man arranging stock on the bookshop’s cramped shelves answers Sam’s question with a question. He nods in the direction of the pamphlet his associate had pressed on Sam. “You want to read that.”

“I don’t think much of your sales tactics,” Sam says, looking down at the cover of the pamphlet. Varney the Vampire. Sensationalist, fantastical claptrap, just as he’d believed. He can’t imagine what possible bearing it might have on Michael, his new bride, and the Lord Sharpe. Or, if it did, what purpose it could possibly serve to have Sam, living an ocean and a continent away from his in-laws’ beloved Allerdale Hall, read the thing.

“For you,” the first bookseller says, “free of charge.”

Sam casts him a sharp look. “And the catch?”

“Your grandfather’s been a good and loyal customer of ours,” the second bookseller offers. “Take it for his sake.”

“Or for your poor lady mother’s,” the first bookseller agrees.

“You have some gall, to speak of my mother. Be grateful I don’t speak of yours.” Sam glances over to the woman slouched insensate on the shoulder of the man who must be her husband, a hookah pipe forgotten between them. “Although I’m certain there’s no need for me to add my voice to the chorus.”

The first bookseller holds out a hand to stop the second from advancing on Sam. He ignores the insult as though Sam hadn’t spoken, lowering his voice instead like a sepulchral warning. The boyishness of that voice mostly ruins the effect. “She’ll thank us, in the end. When your brother and his bride return from their European tour. You all will.”

Sam looks down again at the cheap woodcut illustration gracing the cover of the pamphlet. The skeletal form of a man, face distorted in a grotesque snarl, crouches bestially over a slender swooning lady. It’s nearly comical in its exaggeration.

Sam can’t quite account for the little chill that shivers through him.

“Oh, I’m quite certain my family will thank you,” he agrees, slowly. “For my grandfather’s literary journal. It has come in, has it not?”

The second bookseller makes a face as though he’d love to tell Sam off. But he retreats behind the counter and emerges with the desired journal.

When Sam leafs through it, in the carriage headed for home, careful not to dog-ear the cover in the way his grandfather hates, he’s unsurprised to find the vampire pamphlet with its grotesque cover slipped between the pages.

…

Not for the first time, Michael dreams of David.

The dream – though in truth, it might be better called a nightmare – is much like the others. Michael wakes, in dread, in fevered anticipation, his sweat chilled and tacky against his back beneath his nightshirt, the room black as pitch and freezing cold around him, the chimneys of this thrice-accursed hulk of a collapsing manor-house all wailing out their lost-soul song. He reaches for Star, for where she should be warm in the bed beside him. But the sheets are empty and cold.

And as his eyes adjust, as though coalescing from the shadows, he sees the baronet watching him, from the foot of the bed.

No words are ever exchanged between them. This vision of David has never once answered any of Michael’s entreaties, or, indeed, his screams. The most he’s done to acknowledge a word Michael’s said in any of these dreams is that low, self-satisfied chuckle at the few times Michael’s been naïve enough to try to utter threats.

No matter what Michael says, no matter what he does, the dream always ends the same way. Gloved hands pinning him effortlessly back against the bed. A solid, cold weight on his chest, crushing the air from his lungs. Clammy breath close against the sensitive skin of his exposed neck, raising the fine hairs below his nape and all along his arms, sending delirious thrills of quivering terror through every inch of his body.

Sharp teeth slicing effortlessly through his flesh.

When Michael wakes, heart pounding, a shout dying on his lips unheard, the fire in the grate is low, its ruddy embers casting the vast room in a hellish light. Shadows cluster thickly and in strange configurations around the little island of precarious safety formed by the bed.

Perhaps it’s only Michael’s imagination, or the caprices of the embers, that makes those shadows writhe like living things wracked in agonies of torment.

Michael pushes the coverlet back, shaking his head to try to clear it. The fog of sleep still lies heavily upon him, his heart still rabbit-quick in his chest. It had seemed such a good idea, at the time, to humour his new wife’s desire to share her ancestral home with him before she would be forced to part from it for a new continent. Now, though, he regrets ever setting foot within these moldering walls. The sooner they continue on to Paris, the sooner they continue their honeymoon tour, the better.

Preferably without Michael’s new brother-in-law haunting their every step.

Star lies peacefully slumbering with her chestnut curls spilled out across the pillow beside Michael. He reaches out a hand to clasp the ivory skin of her bare shoulder, reassure himself of its warmth and solidity.

But stops himself.

There are spots of something dark flecking the back of his hand. And his palm. And the snow-white cover of his pillow.

Star stirs, as Michael stares. “Mm. Michael? Are you all right?”

Michael doesn’t know.

He coughs, once, into his hand, and tastes blood, bright and metallic at the back of his throat.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #crimson peak #this is mary's fic tag

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whumpril Day 11: Can't Sleep

CW: wing whump, magic whump, captivity, drugging mention

Shut in the witch’s cellar, Oryn lies awake on his pallet, surrounded by the choking, sickly-sweet scent of old magic. It makes his eyes water and his nose sting slightly. And, somehow, it makes him miss the circus. Though he stayed only a couple of days before the witch bought him, though they drugged him and treated him roughly, at least he had a clean bed and fresh air.

Then he rolls onto his side, and the rope fastened around his ankle tightens, and his bound wings crunch painfully under him.

The flame of the single candle next to him wavers in his vision, and a face swims into his mind. The other boy whose gaze he’d caught as he was forced to his knees when Griffin had first acquired him. The boy with white hair and red eyes. Immortal, he’d heard. The Immortal Resurrecting Boy. The boy that everyone had come to see. That could have been Oryn, with his ethereal, iridescent wings and near-white skin.

But instead, Oryn is trapped here, alone, with only a candle and leaping shadows for company.

Something thumps in the dark. A footstep. Then another. His heart skips a beat and starts to race. Maybe the witch is coming to check on him. He glances at the rope on his ankle, tethering him to a wooden pole, as if that will protect him. Another footstep, clumsy-sounding and hollow. Oryn holds his breath.

The smell of magic changes and grows stronger, morphing from sickly sweet to light and dreamy, like lavender and vanilla. He finds he can’t look away from the flickering candle, transfixed by its dancing, rhythmic movement. Dimly, he hears the footsteps grow louder and closer, but as much as he wants to look, he can’t tear his eyes away from the flame and dancing shadows.

No, stop, cries a small voice in the back of his mind. It’s a spell, you’re under a spell, you can’t let it take you…

Something touches his shoulder. He doesn’t jump. He can’t.

“Sleep now,” comes a gentle but strangely wooden voice. “You need to sleep, before it’s too late.”

As Oryn succumbs to the magic and slips into a deep, dreamless sleep, he sees someone. A girl, bending over him, the hem of her ragged dress brushing the tips of his bound wings.

A girl with the face of an expressionless doll.

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday11 #can't sleep #magic whump #wing whump #winged whumpee #captivity #restrained #drugging mention #original character #new oc #new oc just dropped #oc whump #blackroseswrites #sleepless #winged oc #ropes #trapped #whump story #new story #mild horror #creepy

[bleubrri]

pervert!armin pt1

contains- dubcon, nsfw-ish (masturbation), stalking

[mature content]

pervert!armin who just. can’t. help. himself. not when it comes to you. he really did try and hold back but everything about you was just so hypnotising. from the moment he sat behind you in the lecture theatre for your genetics class, it was over for you him. the curve of your neck, the delicate flicks of your wrist as you tried to keep up with taking notes, the way your glasses slid down your nose as your head kept swivelling up to the lecturer. god, you were perfect for him.

pervert!armin who is careful to walk behind you as he follows you home. he started the routine a week into the semester. he just wants to make sure you’re safe- there are some creeps around campus this late at night. he doesn’t mean to linger behind the trees opposite your apartment once you’re inside but you’re like a fucking siren, and who is he to resist you? who is he to avert his eyes when he sees you slip into your satin pyjamas, or stop his hand from palming his cock when your blissful little moans float through the open window? honestly you can’t really blame him :(

pervert!armin who is glad he knows your address now, because it means he can check on you on weekends too. sometimes he just watches you in the comfort of your safe space for a while. other times, when you’re not in, he makes sure everything’s in order (one time he was mortified to find you’d left the door unlocked but dw he locked up with the spare key under the mat), before retreating to your favourite cafe so he can see what book you’re reading this week, your oddly specific iced drink in a to-go cup despite being huddled at the corner table.

pervert!armin who fully intends to follow this routine on this breezy saturday afternoon, but finds himself rekindling old habits. as he ascends the stairs to your door he notices the flicker of a candle through your window. his breath hitches and he finds himself through the door and extinguishing the flame before he can even really think about it. you could have come home to find your place burned to the ground for crying out loud- he’ll make sure to take care of things like this when you’re together.

pervert!armin who might as well take a look around now that he’s inside- call him obsessed but he just wants to get to know you better. and he feels he does now, as he lays on his bed fucking his fist and whimpering at a candid polaroid of you taken from your bedside table, he recalls the songs you currently have on repeat and the lavender scent of your bedsheets as the black lace panties he swiped from your laundry catch the pearly ropes of cum dripping from his flushed red tip.

and pervert!armin who is more determined than ever to make you his when he approaches you at the end of a lecture, finally introducing himself. his poor heart stutters at your sheepish smile and shy handshake and he has to stop his knees from buckling when you ask him if he wants to get lunch and go over the lecture notes. sat opposite you at the corner table of your favourite cafe, he hands you your usual order, every one of your little preferences accounted for and he thinks he will never get tired of your adorable expression of bewilderment. you stare at him with grateful eyes and a voice like honey, humming in delight:

“thank you, armin.” <3

a/n: could not get this lil creep out of my head

#my lil master manipulator :( #this is self indulgent #armin x reader #aot #armin aot #attack on titan imagines #armin arlert #aot x reader #attack on titan #aot x black reader #armin x black reader #armin arlert headcanons #armin arlert smut #armin arlert drabbles #armin scenarios #aot smut #attack on titan smut

[baronessblixen]

Today's prompt: 3. "Okay, show me."

Post-IWTB/Pre-Revival vignette: Mulder watches his son play in the fallen leaves. Or is he? (wc: 1,171)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 7: Glimpses of October

In his wildest dreams, this is what he imagined his life to be. Away from the hectic life of the city, of the hustle and bustle. A house in the countryside, a remnant of when his childhood was not yet a tragedy. He had told Scully about it years and years ago. And she remembered. His Scully remembered. And when they stopped running, and when they stopped hiding, this is what they found. Their home. Unremarkable as it may have seemed at first, it holds everything he holds dear.

It’s an unusually warm day in early October, the sun still radiant, but its strength waning, He’s no longer as young as he wants to be – and there will be another candle on another birthday cake soon enough – and his bones let him know. They bristle in the crisp breeze that surrounds him. Scully has been leaving wool blankets around the house as a gentle nudge. Yes, he gets cold much more easily. So now he’s sitting here on his porch, a blanket draped over his thighs, and he watches as his son celebrates every fallen leaf.

At seven years old, his son is a ball of energy. Even from here, he can see the gap in his mouth where he’s missing a tooth. Everything is changing. October may still be holding Summer’s hand, still reluctant to let go, but it's beginning to slip away as Winter whispers ‘come here, my child’. For William it’s growth spurts, losing teeth, and his ever-growing curiosity. One day he will stop running toward them and stop asking his questions because he will have learned everything they know. He will go into the world and leave his own marks. Mulder can already see it.

Last year, William held his hand while they walked through the crunching leaves together, smiling and pointing at the variations of color. “Look, Daddy! A red leaf. Look! It’s yellow.” This year, Mulder has been relegated to watch. And he does so happily because he’s a part of his son’s life. Who would have guessed Fox Mulder could ever be a dad? Surely not him.

Before she left for work, Scully made William promise to wear his beanie. He’d sighed – in the same way she does – and said that he would. Now, hours later, Mulder chuckles as he sees his son struggle to keep his promise. The beanie can’t keep up with his son’s antics. It keeps falling off and William’s face is always full of concentration when he adjusts it back on his head.

“You can take it off,” Mulder says to him from the porch. William stares back at him, as skeptical as his mother.

“But mom said I have to wear it.”

“It’s not as cold as it was earlier,” Mulder explains. “You can take it off if you want.” William runs to him and presses the beanie into his hand with a big grin.

“Thanks, Dad.” And just like that he’s off again, his auburn hair the color of a flame as the sun catches it. Mulder takes a sip from his coffee, the liquid growing cold. Once again, he’s lost himself in his thoughts. Just like Scully has been saying. ‘Caught you in your thoughts again, hm?’ she’d said this morning, slipping her arms around him and pressing her head against his back. So warm. So comforting. Somewhere along the line, he must have done something right to deserve a woman like Scully and a son like William.

“I have a new hat!” His son exclaims, standing tall and proud.

“Okay, show me,” Mulder says back and he watches as William carefully puts a construction out of twigs and leaves on his head that only a child’s imagination could have come up with.

“Do you like it?” he asks, trying to stand still so that his invention doesn’t fall off.

“I love it. Let me take a picture for your mom.”

“Yes!” He’s so excited that his “hat” almost slips off this time. His small body is brimming with energy as Mulder hurries down the few steps to snap a picture. One of the leaves William has used to build his hat slips off and tickles his cheek. He starts laughing, making the whole construction come apart. But instead of being sad about it, his son just laughs, his clear blue eyes sparkling. His laughter is sweeter than Mrs. Scully’s apple pie and Mulder can’t help but laugh too.

“Hey Dad,” William says, throwing himself at him.

“Hey Will,” he says back.

“Can we play catch? Please?”

“Of course, we can,” Mulder replies and almost chokes up. He looks down at his son’s face that’s peppered with freckles and spots of dirt from playing outside. He presses a kiss to the crown of his son’s head, smelling nothing but love and cinnamon. This is all he ever wanted. This is what he’s been running toward. But it can’t last. It can never last. Mulder blinks a few times and gone is the sweet laughter. Gone is the memory that never was. Gone is everything he ever held dear. The scene bursts like a big, fat bubble. It was never real in the first place.

He stands there in front of his porch that’s in desperate need of repair. Scully has told him several times and every time he just nodded, not caring. Eventually, she stopped mentioning it. Just like she stopped kissing him hello and goodbye. Stopped coming home altogether.

He rakes up the leaves, cursing under his breath. His bones are as unused to exercise as his mind is to thinking outside of its madness. In his dreams, the leaves are always radiant. Fiery red like Scully’s hair, mustard yellow, and rust brown. In reality, they’re drained of color, radiating their pungent smell of decay. One time, before all of this, before they even had William, long before they had to give him and their love up, Scully explained it to him. How the leaves begin their decay on the ground, releasing organic compounds and that smell we call autumn. He doesn’t remember if he fell in love with her that day, or if it happened long before it.

“I miss you, Scully,” he says as he keeps raking up the leaves.

“You were right to leave,” he goes on, taking a deep breath. He’s come back from death once before. He’ll be like these trees. Shed his sadness, work on himself, and come back stronger in the Spring.

“I can do this,” he says to the leaves and to the wind. Maybe it can carry his words to where Scully is. Maybe he can prove to her that he’s still the man she fell in love with once.

When he’s done, he turns around and looks at the pile of leaves. William will never see this house, or live here. He’ll never ask Mulder to play catch. But he hopes that wherever his son is, he is loved and cherished. In his heart, he is.

#fictober23 #my fave so far #cause i had so much fun writing this #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

[coltrainbat]

Chris or whoever of his characters makes his GF's birthday special because it hasn't been in a long time

Best Birthday Ever

A/N: A couple of things, Firstly, Chris, if you're reading this, this is my dream birthday. Secondly, rewatching glee so shameless plug for what I think is the best cover ever. Thirdly, the dress. OMG. Actually why am I spoiling this, read the story you're going to love it. That's all. TY 💕

The anxiety swirled in your stomach when a glorious bouquet of flowers arrived at your desk. You sighed opening the card already knowing who it was from.

1 day till the big day, get excited. Xo Chris

The big day in question was your birthday. You learnt long ago to not get excited about your birthday. Yeah you’ll get a gift from your mom, a card from your grandma and a bunch of flowers from your bestie and maybe if you’re lucky a few Happy Birthday texts from some friends but ever since your 21st birthday in which only 10 people showed up out of the 30 you invited all feigning excuses of being away, sick or celebrating some distant aunts wedding anniversary you have since tried to avoid making a big deal of the day all together. You found it best to just save yourself the embarrassment. 

Chris, on the other hand, had been buying a gift every day from the 1st of this month leading up to it. Chocolates, flowers, making special dinners, little, small gifts like jewellery, perfume, plants or quirky knick knacks for your desk. In his opinion, one day wasn’t enough for you and you need to celebrate the whole month. 

While you appreciated the gesture and enjoyed the curious enquiry with a subtle envy from the girls in your office about the beautiful bouquet. You really just wanted to snuggle on the couch with Dodger, watching a movie, maybe even get super crazy and crack open a pint of Ben & Jerry’s… birthday cake flavour of course. Besides, all your besties from college were scattered around the world and your family a good 12-hour flight away. 

You arrived home, throwing your keys in the bowl and shrugging off your coat. 

“Honey, that you?” Chris came bounding down the stairs, Dodger in tow. 

“Hey baby… did you get my surprise.” 

“I did thank you they were beautiful.” Closing the space between you, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“I want to skip my birthday.” You looked up at him, resting your chin on his chest. 

“Oh, come on baby, you’re not that old. Look at me! I found 10 more greys in my beard. 10! That’s 10 more since last week.”

You chuckled rubbing his beard into your hands.

“It’s not about getting old. It’s just the day itself is never that good for me.”

“Well, I’m going to change that.”

“Oh really?” You questioned him.

“Yeah really, tomorrow night we are going out.”

“Argh do I have to? Can’t we just stay in and watch that new Netflix movie.”

“No arguments. Please, you have to trust me on this.”  

“Ok, fine, I trust you.”

You wake up, to the soft singing of Happy Birthday, opening your eyes, there was your gorgeous boyfriend, in nothing but his boxers, holding a singular cupcake and lit candle in his hand in the doorway. You sat up as he walked towards you shielding the flame with his other hand. Dodger jumped on the bed, smothering you with kisses.

“Happy Birthday to you…” Chris finished his serenade.

“Make a wish beautiful.” You blew out the candle

You wished for the best birthday ever. 

He leaned down, grabbing your cheek, pulling you into a long, passionate kiss. 

Placing the cupcake on your bedside table.

“And now for the best part… Birthday sex.” He beamed. You couldn’t contain your giggles as he tackled you back down into the sheets. 

Your workday went by breezy with more cake, more Happy Birthday singing and more jokes about getting older but not wiser, 

That was until you got a string of calls:

The first from your mom saying she was sorry she couldn’t be there, but she’d bring your gift next time she sees you. 

Then from your best friend, who understandably, couldn’t go halfway around the world for a singular day but you should expect a package at your door. 

Then a group call from your college girlfriends who were either working or caught up with the kids but who had all pitched in to get you a voucher to your favourite restaurant and wanted to make sure you had a drink on them.

And finally, texts from your siblings and cousins, with Happy Birthdays and Love you’s but no promises to visit anytime soon. Ya know life is crazy busy etc. 

It was fine. Totally fine. You still had tonight with Chris. This thought didn’t stop you from shedding a few tears on the toilet at work. Why would you even assume that anyone in your life cared that much to travel to see you just for an irrelevant birthday. You were delusional. But after tonight the day was over and you didn’t have to go through this again for another year. 

At least they remembered, I guess. You sighed, wiping your eyes with toilet paper. 

You got home and continued your same routine, keys in bowl, coat on rack. But no Chris and just Dodger sitting at your feet.

“Where’s daddy Dodge?” The pup crocked his head in confusion, letting out a little whine.

Great. Not here. And not even a text. You figured he had a sudden work thing pop up and would be back shortly. 

You went upstairs to your bedroom, hoping to lie down before you had to get ready. When you noticed the large box on your bed with a card on top, addressed to you, naturally, it was your birthday after all and any box with a bow on your birthday is instantly yours.

You opened the letter, immediately noticing Chris’s handwriting. 

  Y/N, 

  Put this on. Car is arriving out the front at 7. Be ready by then. I had to pop out to run errands and will meet you at the restaurant. Love you, Chris. 

You thought it was sweet he got you a car, but you were a little disappointed he couldn’t take you there. Your disappointment quickly disappeared though when you saw the dress in the box. 

You gasped at the sight of the shiny dress with feathers on the hem. Holding it up, you didn’t even want to guess how much it cost, not to mention the matching bag and shoes that came with it in the box.

Excited to put on the opulent garment you jumped in the shower, taking your time getting ready knowing you had 2 hours, you blow dried your hair and used all your best makeup products. Finally, you slipped on the dress.

“OMG it has POCKETS!” You admired yourself in the mirror, repeating the action of slipping your hands in and out.

The tightness of the dress engulfed your curves, showing a decent amount of cleavage and the noticeable bump of your ass.

Chris definitely chose this dress.

You got a text on your phone telling you the car was out front, so you grabbed your bag, gave Dodger a kiss and made your way outside. 

The driver stood outside the black Mercedes. 

‘Happy Birthday ma’am.” He tipped his hat as he opened the passenger door, holding your hand as you scooted in carefully. “Thank you.” You smiled at him.

Champagne. Thank God. You gulped down the glass as you sat in anticipation of what Chris had planned. 

Finally, you arrived at the fancy bistro, making your way inside, the whole place was empty which was unusual for the Michelin star restaurant, on a Friday night none the less.

There he was. Sitting at a table right in the middle of the room. He looked drool worthy in his smart outfit, his khaki shirt slightly unbuttoned revealing his gold chain and a peak of his tattoos.

He finally looked up and caught your eye, jumping from his seat and straightening his tie, holding out his arms for you.

“There she is!”

He pulled your hand and spun you around, getting a full 360 of the dress.

“God, it looks even better on you.”

“I love it so much, thank you it’s the best gift ever” You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“That’s not your surprise but I’m glad you like it.” 

  What else could this man have possibly install for you?

The waiter immediately brought out your starter. You sat and ate, devouring all your favourite foods cooked to perfection, platter by platter. 

Chris looked at his watch 8:32. 

“Shit we are late, come on, get up.” 

“What are you talking about, we haven’t even had dessert yet!”

Chris fumbled with his words “I’ve got something different planned for dessert come on.” He coaxed you out of your seat. You made your way towards the door you came through, Chris pulled on your arm back.

“No, we aren’t going that way, over here.”

Walking towards the back of the restaurant, Chris lead you towards an inconspicuous black exit door. 

“Chris we can’t go through here!”

“You wanna bet?” He said as he opened the door, revealing the best thing you have ever seen.

The door opened to a beautiful courtyard, covered in fairy lights. 

  In it stood:

  Your mom, 

  Your dad, 

  Your siblings,

  Your cousins, 

  Aunties, uncles, grandparents,

  Your whole friendship group from college with their significant others and kids. 

All of you and Chris's mutual friends.

  Heck, even your work friends. 

  And of course, 

  your best friend.

  All in one place, for you. 

“SURPRISE!”  They all shouted at you. 

You almost bowled over in shock but not before your bestie ran up and engulfed you in a hug.

“But you all said… I thought… with the travel… and the cost of plane tickets…and… you-“

“Chris flew us all over here, sorted everything down to accommodation, travel, babysitting, food even drinks!” She beamed, shaking a cocktail in her hand.  

“You did all this?” You turned around to your boyfriend, standing sheepishly, his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, it took a bit of rearranging and months of planning but yeah I did.” He smiled

You practically jumped on him, unable to wrap your legs around his waist due to the dress. He lifted you off the ground, hugging you back.

  “Thank you.” You whispered in his neck. 

  “Nothing’s too much for you babe.”

  “Best. Birthday. Ever. And it’s all thanks to you.”

“There’s one more thing.” He gestured to his right; a choir had formed into positions all dressed in black. 

And then they started to sing. 

Your favourite Glee cover. Sung by a professional choir. No fucking way. Tears started to well in your eyes from joy as you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist. You looked up at the beaming man who leaned close to your ear.

“Told ya to trust me.”

You spent the night, catching up with friends you hadn’t seen in months, drinking from bottles of expensive French champagne, dancing like crazy and telling Chris a billion times over how much you loved him. 

Your birthday extended all the way to 5am in the morning and you wondered how he was going to top this next year… 

#chris evans imagines #chris evans fic #chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #chris evans x y/n #chris evans one shot #chris evans fanfiction #cevans #chris evans x plus size reader #chris evans fandom