#all of the buttons are real functional buttons that you can unbutton and button up. amazing!

[satans-knitwear]

Im so excited about this skirt omfg

Treat me ~ Tip Me ~ More of me

#the first of what will be Sooooo Many Looks ft The Skirt!! #i cant wait to plan some more. maybe i shall even venture out of the house in it. show the world. #satans knitwear #alt pinup #pinup girl #all of the buttons are real functional buttons that you can unbutton and button up. amazing! #bi girl #cheeky #uk girl #wlw #pretty lingerie #my gif to you #ootd #yeah i had shoes to match 😎😎 found them in a charity shop last year for £3

[mintmatcha]

i feel like it's the beginning of izuku having some kind of breakdown. he can't function and he hadn't seen his mom in so long and how could he just pretend it didn't happen for a tv interview and he doesn't want to be a hero anymore and--

that realization is like a punch to the skull and has him full-blown hyperventilating and trying to figure out where it went wrong, how he let everything get out of hand but who can replace him but he doesn't care but he has to care

the thoughts are racing and for the first time in a long time he's frozen in fear, and the tears start to come and it burns and hurts in a way he hasn't felt in a long, long time

(im not great at angst but djdjdjdjd ur izuku is making me lose it)

continued from this (cw for parental loss)

Swallowed by a pile of unfolded sheets and mostly dry blankets, Izuku can barely manage to look up at you. The suit you had pressed for his television appearance is crumpled behind him, tucked up and under his elbows, uncomfortably trapping his arms close to his sides, but he doesn't move. He lays there, watching the stationary ceiling fan as if it has the answers he’s looking for.

Every other time Izuku has been in your bed, it's been for sex, but now there's no sheen of sweat on his skin, no tickle of a genuine smile; his skin is pale with grief, stricken physically sick from anguish, a misery clinging so tightly to him that you feel it yourself, gripping your heart tighter with every beat.

He had disappeared immediately after his interview, gone before you could even think what to do. It took hours to track him down, calls to friends who hadn’t heard the news and visits to his usual haunts.

Any other day, you might tease him for breaking in with your spare key, tease him for not even folding your laundry, but today you offer the little peace you contain.

"Are you okay?" you ask as you approach, even though you know the answer. Deku calls you his 'fixer', the person who keeps things running smoothly from behind the scenes, but this is something you can't repair.

"My mom died," he repeats, voice brittle with disbelief.

"I know." You sit on the edge of the bed and hesitate for a long while, contemplating exactly what to do. You can't fix this. You can't make this better. "I’m sorry."

"I know." The stillness of it all, how his chest barely rising with every breath, how the street outside in silent, how you can’t bring yourself to move, haunts you. If you don’t do anything, maybe it’ll be like this forever, suspended in a moment neither of you wants to remember.

So, you inch closer to him.

“Sit up for me.” You tug him up by the shoulders, guiding him up into a sitting position. Izuku is still oddly like a rag doll, letting you move his arms where they need to be as you guide his suit jacket off his body, dropping it into the pile below you. Once it’s gone, you begin with his cuffs. Yucking your thumbs under the linen and caressing the soft skin there, you feel the scars from his youth. raised yet dormant, phantom pains sometimes still rumbling under the surface with rain is on the way.

When you drop the cuff links into the floor and begin on the front placket, Izuku seems to gather himself. His hands settling on your thighs, no playful squeeze or tender stroke. Just a simple touch to feel you there.

His voice reverberates in your hands as you undo the collar’s button. It’s a shiny, opalescent white, a stark contrast against the black of his shirt. Real mother-of-pearl, the salesman had told you, made from oyster shells. "Am I a good person?"

That question haunts you, doesn’t it?

You undo the next unbutton. His white undershirt is practically threadbare and it reeks of cigarette ash, something different from his usual brand. There might be a tinge of alcohol on his breath, but you can't quite tell.

You’re good to a fault, good to the point it’s bad for everyone around you.

Another button and you can see the dark curve of a scar across his sternum, still hyperpigmented because it hasn’t had time to fade. In the right light, you can even make out the remains of stitches under the surface, yet to dissolve.

You’re so good it’s almost killed you.

Another button. It’s as smooth and cold as it was before it was cut, nestled in some poor mollusc that didn’t know any better.

“Sometimes I wish you were less good,” you murmur.

 I think you’d be happier then.

"I haven't visited her in months," Izuku lets his head roll to the side as if it takes too much will to keep it up. His curls are held in place by too much hairspray, practically defying gravity as he talks, mumbling under his breath the same way he does when he’s analyzing data: even and scarily calm. "Ahe texts me every day, but I'm busy, I’m so busy, I’m-"

The hitch in his voice surprises both of you.

“There’s not enough time.” He helps you shrug off his dress shirt and his hands return to your sides, clutching your much tighter this time. “I don’t have enough time, there isn’t enough time to do it all, I'm only one person.”

His voice stays even and distant, but his hands are trembling as they close tighter, thumbs digging into the soft inside your hipbones. The pressure aches, then hurts, growing with every word.

“How am I supposed to do everything?” he mumbles, “I can’t be a hero and a person, I can’t be a hero and a partner, a hero and a son-”

"Izuku-" You think he might crush you without even realizing what’s happening. His palms are squeezing, fingers digging, all of it so tight you can’t wiggle away even when you try.

"I don't want this anymore, I don't want to live this life,” Izuku’s voice cracks again, “I don’t want- I don’t-

His eyes seem so verdant against their red rims. "I chose television over my mom."

“Izuku.” Your hands find his face, cupping his cheeks and pleading for his attention. “You’re hurting me.”

The pain unfurls when he lets go, blood rushing back to damaged skin. It’s going to bruise and you’re going to feel the hurt with every step.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t-" he watches his palms as if they can offer him any explanation. The skin under your touch smudges and you realize his screen make up is still on; you drag your touch down, exposing new seas of freckles, dark and bountiful. When your hand trail to the curve of his jaw, his throat bobs with a slow swallow, once then twice.

“I know you didn’t.”  And with that, you crumble into each other. Izuku buries his head into the soft below your collar bone, dragging you less than gently into his lap. You wrap yourself around him as tight as you can muster and yet it doesn't feel like enough.

"You have to let go," Izuku sighs after a long while, "I'm afraid you're gonna see me cry."

You slink off of the bed toward the door and he tenses with every step, muscles bunching with worry and self restraint. You give him once last glance before you turn off the light. You've seen him nude before but never so bare.

You can find him in the dark, arms extended, open and demanding like he needs you, even if he doesn't want you. Pressed up against you, you can feel what you can't see: the wobble of his lip, the wet against his cheek.

"I thought it was so annoying to have her text me every day," he whispers, voice barely pieced together through its cracks and gives, "And now I want is one more. One more text."

His body hiccups with a sob, silent before he lets go completely. It's ugly. It's snot and anguish, nonsense pleads to someone and no one, anger, grief, and emotions you aren't sure have names.

You hold him. That's the only thing you can do. This isn't a cross you can bare for him.

#content.cold #sad deku au

[melanielocke]

The Stars Collide - Chapter 22

This turned out to be a very long chapter from Alastair's POV. The loss in executive function after ECT is really a side effect that can happen, usually only the day of the ECT itself.

CW: domestic violence (in a flashback), ECT, unethical experimentation AO3 | Chapter list

Christopher had coordinated a continuation of Alastair’s ECT at the academic hospital in Lightwood. He went twice a week now. The days he had ECT on were horrible. He couldn’t eat or drink until after the ECT, his memory didn’t work until the day after, and he was sometimes experiencing severe executive dysfunction after the ECT. Alastair was tired and wanted to go to bed, but somehow he couldn’t figure out how to change into his pajamas. He had done this a million times before. He knew how to change clothes. He told himself to just do it. Take off his clothes, put on his pajamas. His brain refused.

Thomas was already changed into his pajamas and got into bed. ‘Are you coming?’

Alastair decided to give up and just get into bed. It wasn’t exactly comfortable to sleep in his day clothes, but there was nothing else to it.

Thomas frowned. ‘Are you going to sleep in clothes?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about your pajamas?’

‘Can’t find them. I’m tired.’

‘They’re right there,’ Thomas said. ‘You can sleep in whatever you want, but I can’t imagine this is comfortable.’

‘It’s not,’ Alastair admitted.

He felt buttons pressing against him. With his recent weight gain, his clothes were a little on the tight side and while he didn’t mind walking around in them, lying in bed in them was very uncomfortable. Nor did he want his clothes to get all wrinkly and sweaty.

‘Can you help me?’ Alastair asked. ‘It’s the ECT – I don’t know how change.’

‘Oh. Sure, of course.’

Thomas got out of bed and Alastair did the same. He tried to breathe as Thomas started unbuttoning his shirt, and stripped him down to his undergarments. It was mortifying. The only context in which he’d want Thomas to undress him was if they were going to have sex. Instead, Thomas helped him into his pajamas like he was a child who hadn’t yet figured out how to dress himself and they got back in bed together.

‘That must suck,’ Thomas said. ‘Did you forget how to change? Or can’t you make yourself do it?’

‘It was other things too, I think, but not as essential. When I couldn’t figure out how to cut an onion I could just say I was tired and then your mother did it for me. It’s like there’s so many steps involved and my brain decides to give up. No matter how hard I try I can’t make myself do it.’

‘I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow,’ Thomas said. ‘Good night.’

Alastair hated ECT. He did feel like he was getting somewhere. He dreamt of experiments and labs almost every night, but he still couldn’t quite touch the memories. At this point, Alastair was quite certain they were real. These experiments had happened. But he needed to be able to show Charlotte his memories, otherwise he’d have no proof anything happened.

His power did seem more consistent and reliable apart from those gaps, he wasn’t getting lost in memories the same way anymore, and when he did Alastair presumed those were PTSD symptoms. He’d started working on making a list of triggers he could avoid for now, because while he didn’t want to hide from life for a long time, he also wanted to protect himself from having multiple flashbacks a day. The Lightwood house was relatively safe. There was a lot of room to stay inside, and Gideon and Sophie Lightwood were very calm and gentle people. Still, there had been some things. Gideon sometimes wore a cologne that was too similar to what Charles had worn, and he’d had to change to something completely different. While Sophie rarely drank alcohol, she did like to use wine in her cooking and Alastair had to leave the kitchen when she did.

Everyone was easy to accommodate him when needed, but Alastair struggled to ask for it. He didn’t always know what he needed, and he didn’t want to inconvenience other people. More importantly, he didn’t want to show weakness, he didn’t want people to know how upset these little things could make him. Somehow he was losing the ability to hide it though. He didn’t know why that had been easier back when he was just surviving Charles.

Alastair woke up from another nightmare, another one that was slipping through his fingers the moment he tried to process it awake. It was driving him insane, to know it was right there, on the tip of his tongue, but when he needed it the most he lost it. Again.

Thomas pushed himself up to a sitting position. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’

‘It’s the same as always. I know it was the experiment, but I can’t remember any details, or verify if it’s real,’ Alastair said.

‘That must be frustrating.’

‘It’s so close, yet I can’t access it.’

He moved a little closer to Thomas. Perhaps it was too much, but Alastair wanted this, he wanted to be close to Thomas, to be held by him, to feel his strong arms. They hadn’t done that again, and Alastair hadn’t known how to ask. But now it was all he could think of. It was ironic that there was so much distance between Alastair and the man he was married to. And it was nice that they’d taken time, that they hadn’t started sleeping together immediately. But now that Alastair did want it, he had no idea how to initiate, how to ask for it. He was used to Charles deciding when and where and how they’d have sex, and while he was happy to have the freedom to decide for himself, he also had no idea how to get back to being intimate and having sex without someone else taking the initiative. He only knew the way Charles had initiated sex and that was not something he would ever wish to do to another person.

‘You’ll get there,’ Thomas said. ‘I have faith in you.’

Alastair nodded. It was nice, someone having faith in him. Alastair himself was inclined to expect the worst, he’d always been rather pessimistic and didn’t have a lot of faith himself. Mira had been right about that, his self esteem was very low. But if Alastair wanted to stop hating himself, he would have to become a person worthy of love and he had no idea how to do that.

He moved a little closer again, hoping Thomas would somehow take the hint and make a move, but either Thomas didn’t notice or he had no interest.

‘Let’s go back to sleep,’ Thomas suggested instead.

Alastair turned around and pulled the covers over him. It took him a while to fall asleep again, and he woke very early the next morning. Not wanting to stay in bed without falling asleep again, he out of bed and started dressing himself. Thank the stars his brain was working again. He went to the library to continue with Thomas’ long book series. He was used to functioning on very little sleep and rarely had an uninterrupted night. He didn’t remember what it felt like to not be tired. This was fine.

After finishing the next chapter, Alastair remembered it might be a good idea to have breakfast. He closed the book and went to the kitchen, where Sophie was pouring oats from a big bowl into a small bowl.

‘Morning, Alastair. You want some oats too? I made a big batch last night.’

‘Sure,’ he said.

‘Would you like any toppings to finish the oatmeal? I have apple slices, bananas, cinnamon, maple syrup.’

‘I’ve never had maple syrup before,’ Alastair said.

‘It’s common in this area because of all the trees, but elsewhere on the planet it’s not used as often. I really like it with pancakes or oats,’ Sophie said. ‘It’s kind of an unusual flavor.’

The oats with maple syrup were very good, it turned out.

‘You’re up early,’ Sophie said.

‘I usually wake early,’ Alastair said. ‘Sleeping issues, I’ve had those for years.’

‘Oh, that sounds difficult,’ Sophie said.

‘I’m used to it,’ Alastair said.

‘I hope Thomas doesn’t wake you up with his snoring.’

‘He doesn’t snore,’ Alastair said. ‘Though he can breathe rather loud.’

‘He snored when he was a child. I’m happy for you that he doesn’t anymore.’

‘If he did, I wouldn’t be willing to sleep in the same bed, that’s for sure,’ Alastair said. ‘But as it is, I like having him near me. Somehow I feel safer.’

‘That’s good. I know it must be difficult for you to feel safe. It took me a while to feel safe around other people again after I left my abusive ex.’

Alastair’s interest was piqued, but he knew he shouldn’t ask questions. ‘I’m sorry that happened to you.’

‘It was a long time ago,’ Sophie said. ‘I regret what happened, but I’ve made peace with it.’

‘How did you recover?’

‘After I left, Charlotte offered me a place to stay. She was still Crown Princess then and had more time for me. She offered me her friendship and support. I owe her a lot, and she’s still one of my closest friends. Gideon helped me too. It took a while for me to believe he could genuinely be interested in me, my self esteem was very low back then. My ex gave me this.’

Sophie pointed at the scar on her face. Alastair had wondered about it, but had figured it would be rude to ask.

‘He told me now no one else would want me now that I wasn’t beautiful anymore. Not that he ever made me feel beautiful, he only ever tore me down,’ she said. ‘But Gideon only ever made me feel beautiful. It didn’t matter to him that I have a scar or that I gained a lot of weight after my pregnancies.

He was rather awkward at expressing his intentions when we first got together. He ended up blurting out that he intended to ask me out to our friends while I was also in the room. And then there’s the scone incident.’

Alastair grinned. ‘That must have been awkward. But he does seem like a good partner.’

‘He is. Thomas is a lot like him. Including the awkwardness, I’m afraid. He always struggles to take initiative when he likes someone, I really was surprised when he heard he was going to marry you, that he volunteered for it. I figured he must have really liked you.’

‘It’s an arranged marriage,’ Alastair said. ‘Thomas did volunteer for it, but I think that’s because Charlotte was pressuring Matthew into marrying me instead. He doesn’t really have feelings for me. But we are good friends now. That should be enough.’

He wished it was enough. Friendship was good, and valuable, something he had missed out on his entire life. But he wanted romance too. He wanted Thomas.

‘It does. But are you sure Thomas doesn’t have feelings for you? Because as I said, he struggles with taking the initiative.’

Alastair sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you want him to have feelings for you?’

‘I think so? I do really like him, and I’d want our relationship to be more romantic. But I couldn’t function in a romantic relationship.’

Alastair was barely functioning in a friendship with Thomas, and while he’d love the upsides of a romantic and sexual relationship with him, he knew relationships were difficult and complicated and he’d never quite been able to figure that out. All he knew was Charles’ increasingly difficult moods. All he knew was to escalate, to get mad and then end up getting beaten up. He knew Thomas wasn’t like that, Thomas wouldn’t hit him, but Thomas deserved a better romantic partner than him. The best Alastair could do for him was please him in the bedroom, and Thomas did not seem interested in that.

‘What makes you say that?’ Sophie sounded concerned.

‘I’m not sure how to explain it. But I’m not very good with people,’ Alastair said.

‘Lots of people aren’t good with people, what matters is you find someone who is compatible with you. I’ve seen you and Thomas interact, and I think you can read each other quite well for a couple that hasn’t been married that long. The issue, I think is, that the situation is a little awkward since you got married before establishing any sort of relationship and you now have to figure out what you want and need from each other. And Thomas is the kind of person to avoid difficult conversations.’  

‘I guess that’s true. But he’s also very kind and caring. He does so much for me, and I’m not sure I have anything to give back.’

‘What’s most important to Thomas, I think, is to spend quality time with the people he cares about. Going to museums, walks in the woods, things like that. That’s difficult right now since you have to stay safe, but he also likes watching tv shows with other people and then discuss it, or discuss books he likes.’

‘That doesn’t sound too difficult,’ Alastair said. ‘We do watch tv shows together, and I read his books. And if it weren’t for all the threats against me I’d love to go to a museum with him.’

Alastair hadn’t considered such things as part of a romantic relationship. They were things you did in any relationship, he guessed, be it friends, or family, or romantic. It was something he’d missed with Charles, who’d often been too busy and only took him along to important state affairs, none of which could be described as fun. No one had really cared about his interests and the only time he had any fun with other people was when he watched Tilly.  

That afternoon, he decided to go for a walk in the woods. Sophie had suggested Thomas might like it if they went on a walk together, and as long as Cordelia came along to keep them safe it was alright. Lucie had decided to come along too.

Thomas knew the way, while Cordelia knew how to keep him safe. Lucie had offered him some more charms for extra protection, one she claimed would make it so the people who meant him harm wouldn’t find him. There was no evidence anyone had followed him here so far, he hoped it would stay that way.

Alastair’s only earlier experience with the woods of Lightwood was in Thomas’ memory, when Thomas and Christopher had gotten lost in here. Alastair began to understand how that could happen, the woods were endless here. The seasons were more outspoken here than in the Fair palace area, the leaves had turned bright orange and red and the forest floor was covered. It was gorgeous.

Lucie looked around in awe. ‘This is exactly the kind of environment I need to set my next book in,’ she said.

‘Do different environments often inspire you?’ Alastair asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ Lucie said. ‘I once spent a week on a submarine. Witch work. But it helped me come up with so many new ideas.’

‘Sounds terrifying,’ Thomas said. ‘I mean, what if it sinks and you get stuck? I imagine that would be a horrible way to die.’

‘What’s the point of submarines anyway?’ Alastair asked. ‘There’s no reason you’d need to go undetected and hoverships are far more environmentally friendly.’

‘They’re mostly used for scientific research,’ Lucie said. ‘Mapping out the ocean and such. I also heard there’s people working on figuring out how to live underwater. Like, build spaces people can live in underwater. We’re kind of running out of space on the planet, so people are looking for solutions in case we need to house more people.’

Alastair was hit by a sudden fear. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to get away, but he didn’t know where to find safety. There was no way out. There was no way out. But how could that be, they were in the middle of a forest. Then he wasn’t in a forest anymore.

Alastair stopped in his tracks. ‘Charles, what is this place?’

They’d been on a hovership for a long time, on their way to one of Charles’ new projects. Charles had been eager to show Alastair what he was working on, had told him that he would be very important for this project. Alastair was happy to be able to help Charles, he truly was, but he didn’t trust this place. The pilot of the hovership had stopped in the middle of the ocean, and then a submarine had come up, ready to catch them. He had followed Charles onto the submarine, down the hatch, and the submarine had taken them down into the ocean to an underwater facility. He had never known such a place existed. The walls to the outside were mostly made of glass, allowing a view of the ocean and the life in it. If it broke, they’d all die.

‘This is where my new project takes place,’ Charles explained. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, darling.’

‘What is your new project?’ Alastair asked.

Charles had mentioned it often over the past weeks, and it was clear he’d been very excited about it, yet he hadn’t told Alastair what kind of project it was, nor why it was so important to him that Alastair came with him.

‘You’ll see. It is very important to me, and I expect your cooperation.’

Alastair was getting frustrated with these non answers but he knew he couldn’t let that show. He couldn’t pick a fight, not here. He took in a deep breathe and followed Charles. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad. Perhaps, for once, he could be what Charles needed from him.

A young man greeted him. ‘Dr. Blackthorn isn’t here today, but she’s made full preparations for the first phase of the project. She’s very excited about the test subject.’

‘Test subject?’ Alastair asked carefully.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the man said. ‘She’s excited about you, of course. Your powers are fascinating indeed, and there are so many potential uses for it. Far more than we believe you’ve explored so far. We’re going to help you unlock your real potential.’

The man led them to a lab and gestured at him to sit down in a chair. ‘I’m going to put on the electrodes now.’

‘You’re going to do what?’

‘The electrodes,’ the man repeated. ‘For the reading.’

The man didn’t wait for Alastair to respond, just starting putting patches on his head. Alastair didn’t think, he just ripped them off and before anyone could do anything he ran off. He needed to get out of here. He needed to go home. He had no idea where he’d come from nor where he was going, it was a maze. He found a glass wall that looked out into the ocean, and then he remembered. There was no way out. There was nowhere for him to go, he was trapped in here.

A firm hand grabbed his upper arm, pulling him back. Alastair flinched, it hurt. He turned around to meet Charles’ eyes.

‘Didn’t I just tell you how important this project is? What do you think you’re doing?’

‘I don’t want to do this,’ Alastair said. ‘Please, I want to go home.’

Charles shoved him against the glass wall with all the force he had and for a moment Alastair worried the glass was going to break and ocean water would come rushing in. Nothing happened, except the pain in the back of his head, his shoulders. Charles looked like he wasn’t finished, angry until a few moments later a calm seemed to wash over him. His moods had always been changeable like this.

‘I’m sorry, darling. Why can’t you just do this one thing? Why can’t you see how important this is to me?’

‘How would I know?’ Alastair hissed. He knew he shouldn’t raise his voice, he knew he shouldn’t get mad, but he couldn’t stop it. ‘You haven’t told me a single thing about this project. I have no idea what’s going on, why we’re here. I don’t want to participate in experiments. I don’t want people messing with my memory. And I would have told you long before we’d gotten here if you hadn’t kept it all from me.’

He heard a voice, someone yelling his name, and a moment later it wasn’t just him and Charles in the corner. For a moment, nothing made sense. What was Cordelia doing here, how was she even on Fair? She was accompanied by Lucie Herondale and Thomas Lightwood.

Cordelia pulled Charles away from him and threw him onto the ground.

‘Layla, stop!’ Alastair managed to say. ‘Don’t hurt him.’

‘Alastair, listen to me. You’re safe,’ Thomas said. ‘He can’t hurt you anymore. This isn’t real, this is just a memory.’

Just a memory… Of course, it was just a memory. The thing he’d been trying to remember for so long. This wasn’t his life anymore. Charles was gone, and he was married to Thomas.

‘I want to get out of here,’ Alastair said.

‘I don’t know how to do that,’ Thomas said. ‘It’s your power.’

‘Didn’t you just enter this memory?’

‘No, I thought you did that. I thought you needed help. Try to picture the forest, okay?’

Alastair tried not to look at the scene in front of him, of Cordelia shouting at Charles. There was so much she’d never gotten to say to him, and for Cordelia this was her chance. They couldn’t yell at real Charles anymore, but they could yell at a memory of him. He hoped it helped Cordelia feel better. He hated that they were here. Exactly how much had they witnessed? He’d never wanted anyone to see him like this, it was bad enough that they knew.

He closed his eyed and pictured the forest. It wasn’t difficult to bring to mind, he’d spend a lot of time taking in the details. The red colored leaves, the soft breeze. This wasn’t real, Alastair told himself. The forest was. The scent of autumn, something he had never smelled so strongly before. The sound of leaves underneath his feet, the feel of stepping into them.

He opened his eyes to the forest, shaking on his feet. Thomas was holding on to him, keeping him safe, and Alastair leaned into his embrace. He’d been longing to be held by Thomas for some time, he just wished that could have happened without having a flashback first.

‘Do you want to return home?’ Thomas asked.

‘I think so,’ Alastair managed to say.

He didn’t know what he wanted, exactly. He always felt so exhausted after a flashback, but he didn’t know if resting the rest of the day was the best way to deal with it.

‘It’s real,’ Alastair said. ‘The experiments, Charles’ involvement, all of it. It really happened.’

‘What happened? Did you learn anything about what the experiments were for?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Charles was very vague about it. He took me out onto the ocean without me knowing what was going on and then he suddenly said he needed me for the project and I needed to cooperate. And there was this lab guy, I don’t recognize him, and he didn’t care at all that I didn’t want this. He put electrodes on my head, so I imagine it must have been something like Christopher’s machine. I ran away, but of course there was nowhere to go. What are we going to do now? I know we should show Charlotte, but how am I supposed to tell her what her son was really like?’

@alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @life-through-the-eyes-of @styxdrawings @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @amchara @all-for-the-fanfiction @imsoftforthomastair @ddepressedbookworm @queenlilith43 @wagner-fell @cant-think-of-anything @laylax13s @tessherongraystairs @boredfangirl16 @artist-in-soul @leslutapologist @ikissedsmithparker

#Alastair Carstairs #Thomas Lightwood #Thomastair #Cordelia Carstairs #Lucie Herondale #Sophie Collins #the stars collide #the last hours #tlh

[volkswagonblues]

a lil guide to the Fire Nation for the ATLA fic writers out there

(aka. a no means exhaustive primer on east asia by an asian person)

This is a guide for fic writers want to write a canon-era story set in the Fire Nation, or featuring Fire Nation characters. A quick little primer on the tiny details of everyday life that you might not think about, but certainly stuff that would make me, an asian person, wince if I were to encounter it. BRUSHES, not quills. CHOPSTICKS, not forks. 

(note #1: this was partly inspired by a chat with @elilim​) 

(note: #2:  I originally intended it for zukka fic writers before realizing that other writers might find it useful. so apologies for a slight Zuko-bias for that reason)

(note #3: this is all stuff i was thinking about when writing firebender’s guide, in case anyone was wondering)

1. CLOTHING

Okay, I think the most straightforward way to describe what everyone’s wearing most of the time is “tunic”. They’re all just...tunics of different colours and varieties. Later when Zuko’s the Fire Lord he wears robes. The show provides a better visual guide than I could, here are a few notes to keep in mind:

a) Japanese people wear their collars LEFT crossed over RIGHT

I don’t think this would come up in writing as much as it would in art, but it’s considered bad luck to do it the wrong way because that’s only for dead people. Let my boy Zuko demonstrate:

b) There are no buttons

This is picky, but Wikipedia says “Functional buttons with buttonholes for fastening or closing clothes appeared first in Germany in the 13th century.[6] They soon became widespread with the rise of snug-fitting garments in 13th- and 14th-century Europe.” I kinda believe it. If you look closely, characters’ clothes are always tied together or wrapped in some way with a belt. If there are fasteners, they’re braided frog closures that go into a little loop, like the qipao-style dresses women wear in Ba Sing Se, or Zuko’s casual prince’s clothes in the topmost image. Anyways, I don’t think Zuko or Azula or the Gaang would technically button or unbutton anything when they’re changing clothes. Clothing is designed to be tied, not buttoned.

[so much more under cut]

c) This isn’t a real rule, but there’s something called koromogae, or the seasonal changing of clothing in Japan.

This is something I learned when I was writing firebender’s guide, and I just liked the fun detail about there being a strict calendar for when to wear something. I liked the idea of someone like Zuko, who actually spent most of his formative years outside of the Fire Nation, coming home and just suffering mutely through the summer heat because upper class etiquette says no changing into cooler clothes until August 15. 

From My Asakusa: 

And this website:

Generally, people change from thick, heavy, dark-coloured clothes for winter to thin, lighter, bright-coloured clothes for spring and summer. In traditional Japanese culture, particularly in formal settings such as tea ceremony, it is important to acknowledge the changes of seasons—in such circumstances, not only the patterns and colours of the kimono that are worn but also the utensils and furniture that are used are required to change. By changing their clothing, people notice and appreciate the change of seasons. [Japan Foundation]

Here are some visual guides from the official creators for clothes: (notice how it’s pretty much always left over right)

2.FOOD AND EATING

a) Traditional cuisine

It seems like the most common foods in canon are Fire Flakes and meat, to the point where poor Aang had to eat lettuce out of the garbage at some point.

HOWEVER, the Fire Nation seems to basically a big subtropical archipelago, so I would guess that seafood and rice are common. If you want to write about characters eating, a. quick google for “traditional japanese cuisine” would help you come up with a menu really quickly.

Wikipedia says:

The traditional cuisine of Japan, washoku (和食), lit. "Japanese eating" (or kappō (ja:割烹)), is based on rice with miso soup and other dishes; there is an emphasis on seasonal ingredients. Side dishes often consist of fish, pickled vegetables, and vegetables cooked in broth. Seafood is common, often grilled, but also served raw as sashimi or in sushi.

But before we get too serious, at one point the Gaang eats a “smoked sea slug” (Sokka’s Master) 

Oh ATLA, never stop being you.

b) Utensils

One thing to keep in mind is chopstick etiquette. Someone like Zuko or Toph, for instance, would have completely internalized all of these.

Another thing is that there are no glasses. Cups and bowls are made of ceramic or clay. Let the Gaang show you:

And another note: characters won’t eat “bread” in the European sense, ie. a baked lump of dough. Steamed buns, yes. Fried pancakes made from batter, yes. Flatbreads, okay I’ll give it a pass. Rice or noodles should be the most common carbs of choice.

3.ETIQUETTE

“In the homeland, we bow to our elders” - angry schoolmistress in The Headband.

Japan Guide has a list of etiquette rules for visiting Japan, which is interesting but not too necessary to read. In general, based on what The Headband tells us, Fire Nation characters would have been raised with a strong nationalist curriculum that values communal contribution over individualist expression. Even someone like Zuko, who openly rebels against that, probably couldn’t help but be affected by it. In general the Fire Nation seems to have an East Asian-ish set of values. It’s patriarchal, all the positions of authority are filled by men; there seems to be a strong emphasis on patriotism; there’s a sense of diffidence and respect towards one’s elders; and finally, there’s an emphasis on “knowing” one’s place in society and fitting into what’s expected of oneself.

I don’t really know how to describe it, but in China and Japan I sometimes feel like there’s rules for everything, and even people born and raised there acknowledge it could be stifling at times. You could go down a rabbit hole researching points of etiquette (for instance, rules on who has to sit where in group dinners...), but to me the most important thing is acknowledging that Fire Nation has a rigid system of etiquette, and also, they’re an imperialist power who’s pretty prejudiced against foreigners. Poor Aang/Kuzon gets called “mannerless colony slob” just for being slow on the bowing action (!!!)

(in firebender’s guide I had a lot of fun imagining the stupid microaggressions Ambassador Sokka has to face in the Fire Nation, so obviously I’m just biased)

4.WRITING AND DESKS

Characters would probably write on paper, with a calligraphy brush. Not quills or pens -- a brush. Technically, old Japanese and Chinese texts should be written top to bottom, right to left, but the show itself doesn’t do this, so I think you’re fine. 

One fun thing about traditional calligraphy is that you don’t use bottled ink. You have something called an ink stone, and then you grind your ink yourself by rubbing the ink stone in a special little dish with a bit of water. In my (very few) encounters with this stuff in the calligraphy lessons of my youth, the ink stones can be plain or have beautiful designs on the side. It looks something like this: 

ATLA is an East Asian-ish universe, so characters are likely to be kneeling at a table, not sitting. To demonstrate, here’s my boy Sokka doing his famous rainbow at Piandao’s:

and here’s the war chamber meeting when Zuko speaks out against a general’s plans to sacrifice some soldiers:

THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS: This is Zuko’s cute little setup when he’s writing his goodbye letter to Mai. In this case he’s writing in a chair and table. It’s possible that some furniture items, like a sitting desk and a bed in a bedframe (not a bedroll or futon) are special royal palace features. Normally in a private setting we see characters sitting on the ground or on a slightly elevated platform with a low table. Maybe Caldera is just different? Or rich people are just different: the Bei Fongs also have a sit-down dining table + chair setup.

(That little rectangular box is his ink dish!!)

5.A NOTE ON GENERAL CULTURE

It’s worth talking about a few general points of East Asian culture. I can’t claim to speak for ALL of Asia, and I don’t think I should. But I do think ATLA fic writers who want to set something in the Fire Nation should take a few moments to at least skim the wiki pages for filial piety and Nihonjinron (literally, "theories/discussions about the Japanese"). There’s a certain...vibe to...asianness... that I’m not sure I can explain without like, a doctorate degree in sociology. 

It’s a bit like gender, I guess. There’s no definitive checklist to what is a woman and what is a man, and we can argue that gender is performative, that it’s a construct, but at the end of the day gender is still (tragically) real in the sense that it still shapes people and affects how we walk and talk and dress and think. Nationality is the same. Obviously, the Fire Nation is a made up place in a made up show, but out of respect to the cultures that inspired it, I do think it’s worth familiarizing yourself with some of these cultures’ codes and values.

Also, ahem, if I can direct you to war crimes in the Japan’s colonial empire. Again, worth remembering that the Fire Nation was an imperalist colonizer too.

I might do a continuation of this post and talk through my more abstract takes about Fire Nation culture - Is Zuko an example of filial piety gone right or filial piety gone wrong? Why I think Zuko’s flashbacks are like, at least part teenage melodrama bullshit (the reason is son preference), how someone like Sokka might be treated once he’s openly Water Tribe in the Fire Nation (probably with racism...), specific aspects of asian homophobia and racism, etc. We’ll see.

This is not a definitive guide. Comments and critique welcome.

If you think there’s a factual mistake, PLEASE hop in my asks and let me know. I also think there’s a huge blind spot in ATLA for South and Southeast Asian representation, so I acknowledge that I can’t speak for all Asians, and there is no such thing as a “pan-asian” identity.

If there’s something else you’re curious about, I’m not a historian or anything, but I like research. Ask me and I’ll try to answer the best I can.

And oh, one last thing, this is how I do research when I wrote firebender’s guide, in case anyone’s interested in learning more (LINK)

#Avatar The Last Airbender #zukka #atla fic #my fic #fire nation

[joshslater]

Cross Contamination

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I'm fucking furious. To most people Jack Wilson is a hockey hotshot, but to me he is just my wife's ex that can't let go. She said they had another encounter, but wouldn't go into details, saying it wasn't just his fault. She couldn't help herself, she said. Knowing how much she loathes him I suspect she was afraid of him turning violent. He is a star athlete after all, known to have punched more than a few players on the ice.

I know he's training at the stadium right now. That's how bad it has gotten, that I even know his schedule. I'm probably speeding getting there, but nothing else is important right now. I park the car in the huge, but almost empty parking. Neverending slabs of concrete to allow for the cars of thousands of cheering fans during game day. Well, I'm certainly not a fan. Still fuming as I exit the car and heading towards the arena I see him and a few others from his team running towards the same building from across the car park. They must be out for cardio or something. I stop and shout towards them "Hey! Jack!"

I can see them slow down a little, Jack saying something to them, and then breaking apart jogging in my direction while they continue at speed towards the stadium building. I remain still, just glaring at him as he closes in on me. He slows down quite a bit away and saunters towards me, still panting. He has an aura of smug superiority. He's good looking, despite his matted, sweaty hair and week-old beard. It's not just because he's in top shape, but he has that classic athlete chin cut, and mesmerizing eyes to go with it too. He's quite a bit shorter than me, and way denser and muscled, but I would bet my weekly martial arts practice can match him if needed. "Hey, cocksucker! You managed to find your way here," he yells back at me.

"I want you to know..." "Shut up"

I don't know why, but I can't look away from his intense eyes. It's like they can see into me, see every part of me. I'm frozen in place just watching him getting closer. "I said hey cocksucker. What are you waiting for? Go ahead and suck my cock." He says this as calmly as he can, never breaking eye contact. I don't think he blinks. I don't think I blink. I slowly go down on my knees,  grabbing the hem of his sweatpants, and pull down. I still keep eye contact, so I have to feel my way for the waistband of his underwear to pull it down too. I can feel the heat radiate from his steaming body. There's a smell of sweat, not the stale, musky kind, but from someone who showers every day and uses fresh clothes for each workout. He's professional and they got staff. I can hear his heavy breath as he is still recovering from the sprint. And I can feel a rather large cock in front of me that is erect, or at least a good way there. I grab it in my hands and guide the tip to my lips and begin to lick it. It doesn't really taste of much. I open my mouth and get more and more of his compression shirt wrapped abs and pecs in my view as I stare into his deep eyes, and take his big cock deeper and deeper into my mouth.

The tip reaches some point at the back of my mouth and I start to gag, making horrendous gurgling noises. I move back from him. "All the way. I want to be balls deep down your throat, cocksucker." I do as he commands, and push it in again, further. It's somehow much easier this time and my lips are tickled by his moist bush of pubes. I then start to work it, in and out, in and out. The noise I'm making is still horrendous. A wet, sloshy sound, and I hate it. "Yeah, you like that, cocksucker. Now, faster." I grab him by the hip and increase the pace. I get lost in the actions, like nothing matters but his cock, the noise, and his eyes.

I don't know for how long I was in a trance, but I feel him tensing up, pulling me tight to him, and shooting a big load of his cum down my throat. Suddenly the gaze that had held me like a vice breaks and he looks at my face rather than into my eyes. The spell is broken. I'm kneeling in a parking lot with Jack Wilson's cock down my throat, and my nose nuzzled into his pubes. His eyes suddenly widen, and his face turns into horror, like he is looking at a monster. Everything is going like in slow motion. I begin to push him away, to get his disgusting cock out of my mouth as he shoots his second load. Somehow in shock I manage to breathe in his cum. He pulls away from me as well, and his third load ends up just next to me on the concrete. "Fuck!" he says, visibly upset. "It's still in the bloodstream. Spit it out! Spit it out!"

I'm not sure I even have any in my mouth to spit out. It just went straight into my belly and into my lungs. Lungs that are desperately trying to cough up his spunky goo in phlegm-filled, deep whoops. "Fuck!" he shouts one last time, pulls up his sweatpants, and runs towards the Stadium building with one hand holding the pants up. I'm just folded over on my knees coughing and coughing while my mind is racing to make sense of what just happened. My chest is burning and I feel nauseated. There is the salty, bitter taste of cum in my mouth and a stench of athlete sweat as I gasp for air in between the coughs. I keep coughing, but less and less of substance is coming up. I spit out specks of Jack's spunk on the concrete in front of me, and realize what she had meant when she said she couldn't help herself. Did he fuck her? After what just happened I wouldn't put anything past Jack, and there is literally nothing I wouldn't forgive her for having done. She would have been helpless to stop.

I can feel my whole body burning as I get up from the concrete. I'm very aware how my clothes rubs against my body, like my senses have just gone into overdrive. Everything, every single muscle in my body feels sore. My head is spinning. Still coughing I stagger towards my car and get in behind the wheels. As I close the door the world goes silent. I can only hear my own exhausted panting. I'm confused about what is happening and feel sick as shit, but at least the world isn't spinning anymore. Somehow I must have been poisoned. What did he mean with "in the bloodstream?"

I start the car and carefully drive from the parking lot and out in the direction of home. Perhaps I shouldn't be driving at all. Crashing while driving is worse than crashing while sitting in a parking lot, but I really don't want to have to call anyone for help. Not after what I've just been through. I so sympathize with the movie cliché of a girl sobbing in the shower. I only want to cleanse myself in any way possible. To get rid of Jack from me. Even now I can feel the smell of athletic sweat, like it was clinging on to me.

There is a big pop accompanied by one of the chest buttons on my shirt shooting off in the car. The pop isn't so much heard as felt, as a reverberation in my body like someone just punched me in the chest, with dull spikes of pain in the joints. I swerve dangerously close to the side of the road. It feels like my shoulders pops into their sockets, like my chest just suddenly expands and the rest of my body catches up. There is no mirror I can look in, but I can clearly see something is off just by looking down at my body. What little movement I can make while driving the car feels different.

There is another big shift. Knees and hip joints this time, I think. I'm a little more prepared to handle that one without swerving, but this time I'm instead missing the brake pedal like the seat is set wrong. I scoot forward on the seat and reach the pedal. Now I'm getting real nervous what is happening. I'm almost home though, but I can feel my thigh muscles involuntarily flexing, my feet are hurting, and my stomach is gurgling like bad plumbing.

Her car is not home yet, thank God. I park mine as calmly as I can, screaming inside that I need to get inside and see what the fuck is going on. As I step out of the car I get a first inkling about the enormity of the changes. I almost trip stepping out of the car, and sit down again on the edge of the seat. The fabric on the trousers are straining, and I realize that my feet are probably hurting because they have swollen up inside the shoes. I try to kick off one of the sneakers, but it's stuck enough that I have to untie them. My movements feel off. It's not that it is hard to move. The opposite in fact, but different somehow. Me feet thanks me in relief as they are freed,

With the shoes off I awkwardly make my way into the house and step into the nearest bathroom. It's me in the mirror, of course, but me 5-10 years younger. I'm touching my face in disbelief. But this isn't just me regressed a decade in time. I was way taller than this then. Curious I unbutton the remaining buttons on my shirt and throw it on the floor. The chest and abs are not me 5-10 years ago. I've never looked this buff before. For one I've never had washboard abs, and the pecs and shoulders are wide and meaty. The arms more slender, though still muscular, and the core is built more for function than aesthetics. A bit too dense for the show off V shape. Dense, with a low center of gravity.

It's the body of a hockey player.

I rip off the straining trousers and the socks. Sure enough, massive leg muscles, big thighs, big ass, big feet. Jack the fucking cheater is a fraud in all areas. Whatever the fuck he is taking must have concentrated in his balls, shot into my lungs, and from there gone straight into my bloodstream to do whatever the fuck it's done to me. And there is nothing I can do to hurt him with it. Who would believe me? This is so far from any science I've heard of.

I take a closer look in the mirror again. Perhaps it isn't all bad after all.

[getyouasenju]

Dragging It In.

Part 3/3 to the “Dragging” series

Part 1 “Dragging Along”

Part 2 “Dragging Away”

Warnings: some small spoilers, curse words, some suggestive themes, angst, (maybe some spelling errors I’m sorry!).

Word Count: 3.7k

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹

“(Y/N)”

I could hear my name being called from my slumber. I felt sore all over, my head was throbbing and my throat was entirely too dry to function. Being a shinobi I was no stranger to the scratchy unbelievably tightly tucked sheets and the sterile smell. I was in a hospital for what ever reason. I hear my name being softly called again. Forcing my sore eyes open I see my pink haired friend peering over my bed. Scrunching my eyes in reaction the sudden change of lighting caused a searing pain in my head. Crossing her arms and glaring at me, Sakura spoke sarcastically, “It hurts doesn’t it? That’s what happens when you leave a head injury untreated after a mission”. My eyes widen and I stared at her cheekily. She smiled sweetly back at me... too sweet for the friend I know. I didn’t even get a chance to brace myself before she struck me.

“CHA!”

I hiss and grab my now stinging shoulder. “God damn it Sakura, I’m in a hospital bed for fucks sake! Do you strike all your patients?” She crossed her arms and smiled at me, “Only the ones I’m best friends with that promise to see me in the morning to get checked out and then never show up! I mean come on (Y/N), how hard of a hit did you take on that mission to have to put you out of commission like this?” I thought back to the rainy mission and sighed, rubbing my shoulder I looked at my friend “Not that hard... only hard enough to lose consciousness..” grinning I laughed nervously as she started balling her fist again.

“Hey! you can’t hit me again, I have a head injury Sakura- god!” I cried out bracing myself this time. “That shoulder looks pretty fine to me!” Sakura replies brushing some of her hair out of her face. “Not-uh it’s pretty bruised now if you ask me.” I whined back, praying she doesn’t strike again. Can I get a new nurse that isn’t my worried friend? “That’s why you have two shoulders!” I paled as my eyes widened. “Sakura, please!” She quickly put one hand on her hip, the other pointing at me “Don’t Sakura me! You could’ve done some real damage (Y/N)! and don’t think I don’t see that your ring is missing!” So all of our friends are just gonna get dragged into this mess huh? .... Maybe I should just simply pass out again.

Between our bickering the door croaked open and in walks the shadow man. Sakura whips around placing her hands on her hips. “Excuse me Shikamaru, It’s not visitors hours yet, you just can’t waltz in here anytime you like, fiancé’s included!” I scoffed laying back and tugging the blankets further up my body. Didn’t just mention she noticed the missing ring? I already told him I didn’t want to speak with him... and he still smelled like cigarettes! This was a hospital, he’s gonna give someone an asthma attack. I turned my head to fully examine the Nara. He looked as bad as I felt, dark circles an unbuttoned vest and a loosened ponytail. As he should!

Sighing deeply while still holding the door handle, Shikamaru looks at Sakura pleading with his eyes. Taking her hands off her hips, Sakura looks at me then back at Shikamaru, I could see the gears turning in her head. Crossing her arms and sighing, “Just this once Nara! I’ll be back later (Y/N), I’ll bring an ice pack for that shoulder!” She laughs while giving my hand a friendly squeeze. Giving me her signature smile, she departs waving at Shikamaru on the way out.

As he watches her close the door, he turns to the right and grabs the chair in the corner. The sound of the dragging was highly irritating and I rolled my eyes as I fought the urge to pull the blankets over my head and just ignore the man. He pulls the chair to my bedside and sits down trying to make eye contact with me andI was refusing to give it to him. Sighing again he leaned back in the chair. 

“You had some head injuries, you should be fine but you should’ve went to the hospital immediately after that mission, and that fall made it worse.” He sounded strained. I just nodded at him, thinking back to the mission and how outnumbered my team was. “You know, I was terrified when you went down like that.” He let out a shaky sigh putting his hands together in his lap. “Why didn’t you go in (Y/N)- god” He drags his hands down his face, “Are you doing this to spite me? Not going to be seen, then going and asking for a dangerous mission. Are you trying to get yourself killed?” I sat up straight in my bed and finally made the eye contact that he was searching for. 

“I went home first because I missed you, I hadn’t seen you in over a fucking month!” letting out a humorless laugh I continued, “I didn’t avoid being seen to spite you, I went home first instead of being seen because you’re my first priority- but apparently I wasn’t yours.” Asking for that mission though was just a tad bit spiteful though, but I’m in no position to admit to that! By the end of my rant I wanted him out, I was tempted to hit the call button. I could feel the anger in the air from both of us. He broke the silence first. “You should trust me, you know nothing would ever happen between Temari and I, I’m with you, I’ve been with you for the last four fucking years!” I was livid, trust him? I do fucking trust him!

“I trust you Shikamaru, you don’t trust me because if you trusted me, you would’ve told me why you went to see her and you wouldn’t of left without making things right with me first.” He reaches for my hand, but I snatched it away shoving it under the blankets, he looked so crestfallen. He opens and closes his mouth several times before scooting his chair closer to my bed.

“Please give me your hand, (Y/N). Please don’t make me beg.”

I was hesitant, I didn’t know if I wanted to be touched by him at the moment but, he looked determined and I was nervous. I pulled my hand from under the blanket and he quickly reached for it. Grabbing my smaller hand in his larger calloused one, he let out a content sigh slowly rubbing circles on the back of my hand, moving almost impossibly slower when grazing over the bare left ring finger. “What do I have to do to get this ring back where it belongs.”

“Shikamaru I question your IQ everyday, don’t play stupid with me.”

I slowly start to retract my hand but his grip on me tightens ever so slightly. “I already have a head injury, can you stop making my brain hurt more? Either tell me why you ran to her side or let me and my hand go. Now.” I groaned out, I was getting annoyed, and fast. When was Sakura coming back with that ice pack again? The pain in my shoulder was dull now, but boy can that girl pack a punch and Shikamaru might as well be punching me in my brain right now.

When he suddenly let go of my hand, my heart started to race. Was he going to leave again? If he left me again then I knew for sure that we just weren’t meant to be. I laid back, I just wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. More so, I want him to stop dragging this out. I opened my mouth to dismiss him when he suddenly spoke “Rasa”.

...Rasa, the fourth Kazekage. Also the father of the sand siblings, but what about him. I was just outright confused now. “Shikamaru, can you elaborate?” He straightened up looking for that eye contact again, this time I granted it to him. “It was the anniversary of Rasa’s death” grabbing for my hand again he continued. “Temari is here on the account of business between the leaf and the sand. This is the first time she wasn’t with Gaara and Kankuro during this time.” he sighed deeply. 

“He wasn’t always the best father but he was all they had, not being with her siblings for this affected her deeply. She’s the eldest and her siblings mean everything to her, they always have, she wants them to be able to depend on her. I’m the person she’s closest to in the leaf, so she called me.” he finished. Now I was even more confused. Why didn’t he just say that? “So you left me without explanation for what? You couldn’t just say this to me?”.

“I didn’t think you would understand.” I was baffled. He thought of all people that I wouldn’t understand. “You didn’t think I would understand, or is it that you didn’t want me to understand, Shikamaru.” I snatch my hand back again, this time for good. “I watched you mourn for your father after the war. You held it together on the field but I saw what it did to you after!” I rushed the words out so fast I felt like I was running out of breath but I went on, “I held Yoshino as she cried, I saw what it did to her, how it drained her, how it almost ruined her!” My head was throbbing again but I wasn’t done yet. “Tell me Shikamaru, did you run into my parents on the way here? how about someone from my clan, some siblings of mine? Please tell me they came to see me in my time of need Shikamaru!” I let out a pitiful laugh, “It’d be a miracle if you did, considering they’re all six feet under.” I let my shoulders drop as I leaned back staring straight ahead of me. There had to be more to it than this.

In a small voice I whispered to him, “You don’t think I have it in my heart to let someone who has experienced a loss have some comfort?”. I wanted to cry, more importantly I wanted him gone, at least my head did. He said nothing, but he doesn’t get to sit at my bedside in silence after this. I spoke again, still looking straight ahead, “Get out Shikamaru. You have my permission to leave this time, I won’t be mad. You’re giving me a migraine,” He still doesn’t move, so I whip my head around, I was tired. “Why are you pretending to fight so hard for us? Just admit you’re not as in love with me as you think you are”. I could hear my own heartbeat as I looked at Shikamaru. “It’s okay If you’re in love with Temari, I’ll be fine Shika. You can let me go.” If I had to let him go for his happiness, I was okay with that. He finally snaps his eyes me.

“I’m not in love with Temari, (Y/N).” How can he sit here and be so fucking vague with me? I felt not only emotionally exposed but physically as well with the tiny hospital gown. I wrap my arms around myself since I was the only comfort I’ve had these past few days. “There’s something there , I just wish you would be honest with me. If you’re not happy with me, then just let me go.” I was speaking as softly as I could, trying best to keep my voice from shaking. What kind of person did he think I was if he thought I lacked that much sympathy? I was a shinobi, but I wasn’t heartless. I at the very least expected him to know that.

“Temari will always have a spot in my heart,”

There it was, I didn’t want to hear anymore of it. when I said let me go, I didn’t mean give me a speech to verbally break my heart, he could easily just leave the room. Did he think I was going to listen to his confessions? wrong! I reach my hand out for the call button, if Sakura wasn’t coming back anytime soon, then someone else needed to come and rescue me, immediately. I felt his warm hand gently grab mine. “no more running, no more arguing, no more beating around the bush. Just you and I.” he sighed as he looked right into my eyes. He stands up and nudges me, signaling for me to scoot over giving him a spot on the bed. I felt conflicted, I really did love this man. We’ve shared our love and our lives for four years, but even before that I loved him. He could sense my hesitation and smoothes my hair down gently with his hand while gently nudging me over again. I give into the raven haired man and slowly slid to the right side of the bed making sure my IV’s were out of his way, the motion causing the back of my gown to open a bit to which I quickly pulled closed.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before” He smirked at me. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as I ball the blanket in my hands. This isn’t the time for cheeky jokes! I was flustered and honestly feeling pretty vulnerable. His chuckle wasn’t helping the situation too much either. How dare he joke with me at a time like this! My shoulder was still throbbing but that didn’t stop me from attempting to smack the man. I winced as my hand hit something hard and glared at Shikamaru. Looking at me warily, he pulled out the pack of cigarettes and rubbed the back of his neck “You know I smoke when I’m stressed.” I remember when he picked up the nasty habit, and then I remembered why he did. I felt immediately guilty for contributing to that... but still the smell of cigarettes was just so gross. 

He leans back, slowly starting to snake his arm around my waist while watching my facial expressions for a reaction. When he saw me make no attempt to remove him, he sighed and pulled my body into his. “I missed you.” he quietly tells me... funny how he misses me, but me missing him is what got us into this entire situation. I decide to keep my thoughts to myself and train my eyes on the corner of the blanket I was currently picking at. I could feel him staring at me. 

“I remember when Asuma died.” My breath caught in my throat and I immediately dropped the blanket I was picking at. I didn’t know where this was going, but I knew it was going to be a painful ride. I felt him tilt his head as he continued, “I held it in for a long time. It took my father to pull it out of me.” I knew the story, I wasn’t too close with Shikamaru at the time, but a bond between a student and their sensei is strong. I didn’t have to know them, to know that. “Point of the story is I didn’t feel comfort in anyone... so I held it in, I felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. I didn’t want anyone to coddle me, not even Temari and at that point in time, I was in love with her. I think I’ve only ever cried twice in my life in front of an audience.” He let out a sigh. By now I was fully looking up at him with curious eyes.

“When my father died in the war, I wanted to do the same. I held that pain in for my comrades, I didn’t want my fathers, nor Ino’s, deaths to be in vain.” He takes his other hand and grips my chin continuing on. “When the war was over I didn’t want to face it, but I had you. If it weren’t for you and Naruto, I don’t know how my mother would’ve made it another day.” He starts to smile a bit at me, “and suddenly I wanted to be coddled. I wanted you to hold me, to talk to me, to force me to eat when I didn’t want to, to be there when I slept and when I woke. I found comfort in you, and I still do.” He was stroking my cheek by now. “You made me realize that sometimes, It’s okay to coddle those in need. That sometimes even the strongest shinobi need a hug, need to shed some tears or just simply need some comfort. So, yes I went to comfort Temari but that was it, I finally understood how to give what you give me everyday.” 

He moved me almost impossibly closer to him “I was a fool to think the most comforting woman in the world wouldn’t understand grief when she has had a handful of it herself.” By the end of his speech my head injury was long forgotten, I had an aching heart. “I can’t believe I let the most important person in my life down. The person who gives me the most security asked for just a bit of it and I refused it to give it to her like an idiot.”

“Please hear me when I say this, there was a time in my life where I thought Temari and I were meant to be, but I know there is a lifetime where you and I belong together. You are it for me, nothing happened.” He tilted my head, searching my face for a reaction when the first tear ran down my face. Shikamaru was taken back and seemed a little panicky at the sight of me crying. I’d have to be heartless to not shed a tear for that confession, this man was everything I’ve ever wanted and I’d be lost- I’d been lost without him.

I reach arms up and around his neck as he brushes the tears from my eyes. “Shikamaru please don’t scare me like that ever again, I won’t make it to the wedding day if I die of a heart attack.” Burying my face into his shoulder, I ignore the smell of cigarettes. I could feel him release a breath of air at my proclamation, squeezing me tighter in return. Suddenly he’s pushing me off and scrambling off the bed, but I didn’t understand. I thought we were making up and there he goes running off again! “Shika, didn’t I just tell you not to scare me again? Hey! get back over here!” I told him slightly out of breath from the change in position and pouting.

I had put myself in an upright position watching as he frantically searched through his pockets with his back to me. Sighing in relief as he finally found what he was looking for, he quickly turned back to me and dropped to his knee. My ring! “(Y/N), please don’t ever make me take this ring back again, I don’t know if my heart could take it. Will you please be my fiancée again?” He was proposing to me again! I quickly nod my head shoving my bare ring finger in the cloud gazing man’s face as he returned it back to its rightful spot and we sealed it with a kiss. A knock at the door separated us.

Sakura came in pushing a cart, “Just coming by to change (Y/N)’s IV dressing!” Shikamaru takes a step back, taking a seat in the chair by my bedside as Sakura moves in close. Gently grabbing my hand, she started changing the IV dressing, of course it was the left one. I could feel her smirking at my hand. “That’s a nice ring there (Y/N), is it new!?” the medical genius teased me snickering. She knew we would make up. I couldn’t help but laugh with her. “Yeah, Shikamaru just gave it to me, isn’t it cute?” I joked back. letting out a complete and full laugh now, the pink haired woman agreed while Shikamaru face palmed. “Who knew you’d be able to get two proposals out of this lazy one!” Shikamaru was full on groaning at this point.

Another knock on the door lead to a huge bouquet with some legs poking out from under it! Ino! “I didn’t know which arrangement you’d like best so I decided to bring you all of them!” Ino was the sweetest girl and I was grateful that Shikamaru had brought us together. “Here Shikamaru, hold these!” Ino drops the bouquet into the Nara’s lap and moved to hug Sakura and then me. Another loud groan was released from the shadow man. “Was all of this really necessary Ino? (Y/N) is getting discharged tomorrow.” Shikamaru complains holding onto the heavy arrangements.

“Get used to looking at arrangements Shika! You’ll get your fair share when we’re planning our wedding.” I smirk and wink at my fiancé dearest as the two women shriek and join hands. “You’re starting the wedding planning?!” Sakura says dreamily as I nod, “Yep, want to start my lifetime with that one soon”. I reply smirking at my soon to be husband. “About time! I’m on flower duty!” Ino proclaims. I just nod my head in agreement, stuck in a staring contest with Shikamaru.

“How troublesome... you two are going to turn my girlfriend into a bridezilla.” He smirks and lets out his typical sigh.

“Not-uh, I’m not your girlfriend Shikamaru, I’m your fiancée, remember?” Using his own line on him I giggled. We smiled so hard at each other that I swore my cheeks were going to cave in.

“How about a spring wedding?!” Sakura shrieks, “With roses!” Ino excitedly adds.

I was so grateful for everyone in that room, and I couldn’t wait to drag Shikamaru back into our home where we belonged, together.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹

The Final part of the “Dragging” series guys! I’m still new and learning so Imma just apologize If you hated it lolll. Not sure if I’ll do anything else with this series, I might do a different series! feel free to message me!

Until Next Time! xxo (▰∀◕)ﾉ

#naruto imagine #naruto imagines #shikamara nara #shika #shikamaru #angst #shikamaru angst #shikamaru nara angst #shikamaru angst imagines #shikamaru nara imagine #shikamaru nara imagines #shikamaru Imagine #naruto angst #anime #anime imagine #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru nara x reader #shikamaru x y/n

[anya-grace]

Am I late for Smutty Saturday? But as they say, better late than Petra and Levi never fucking so here ya go 😛

A/N: My brain stopped functioning halfway through writing my succubus!Petra fic lol so here's Levi fucking Petra on top of the wall instead :)

I also don't have a title for this lmao. Wall sex? 50 Meters League on Top of the Sea (of titans)?

Summary: Petra and Levi. Sex. 🥰🥰🥰

It wasn't rare for them to be on night duty. It was one thing that the Corps has a limited number of soldiers, but there was also the fact that they, as the special operations squad, have the duty to learn more about their nemesis. And one way of knowing about them was to examine them up close in their most vulnerable state: at night when the sun is gone and their energy was at its lowest.

Petra didn't mind the extra work though. Even if she knew that the additional task at hand is going to take a toll on her training tomorrow, she certainly wouldn't trade anything for a private and intimate time with her Captain.

She stood next to him, watching the horizon as the orange full moon graced them with its light. She often compared the moon and the sun, and she realized that the heavenly body at night was far more beautiful than the giant ball of fire in the morning.

"Captain," she saluted, "You should take a rest. I can handle this by myself."

She admired the sharp features of the man as the light of the moon touched his skin. Petra breathed heavily when his eyes met hers, and she almost missed the way his mouth moved when he said that he was fine and that she needed the rest more than him.

After arguing that the Captain needed to rest than her, they agreed to take a break at the same time.

They were sitting on top of the wall. The wind was cold but kind, the gentle breeze swayed her hair and coat sideways and she sighed at the peaceful feeling of the night. 

"Do you want to sleep, Ral?" the Captain asked.

"No, sir." She exhaled at the tousled look of his black hair, "How about you, Sir? Do you want to?" 

"No," he said firmly.

Petra nodded and did not initiate any more conversation. Instead, she focused on this wonderful moment. She was mere inches away from her Captain, and although there were titans fifty meters below them, she still thought that this was perfect.

She secretly took a peek at the man beside her. His eyes were closed and his arms were crossed on his chest, highlighting his muscles. Petra felt her cheeks heating up and snapped her head in the opposite direction. She hugged her knees to her chest and buried her red face between them.

Stupid. Stupid. How can I have the energy to ogle my Captain when we're literally mere feet away from the titans?

She erased all thoughts of her Captain inside her head and sighed. This was going to be a long night…

***

Her eyes snapped open instantly, remembering where she was and what she was doing. She fell asleep while on night duty, and worse, on top of the wall. If she had made a wrong move while sleeping, then it would cost her her life and the Captain.

Speaking of the man, her heart beat faster as she snapped her head in his direction, and she felt a heavy weight resting on her right shoulder.

Breathing calmly, the Captain fell asleep on her shoulder. His hands were still crossed to his chest. The wind blew his hair to reveal his face, his eyebrows were knitted together and his lips slightly parted from each other.

She gave a thoughtful smile as she watched the sleeping man. Was it unprofessional to be in this position? Was it bad that she's obsessed with the way his chest rose and fell as he breathed? 

Frankly, she doesn't care. Petra wanted to savor this moment and drink every inch of detail that she could get in this proximity with her superior.

She was sure that the Corporal was more or less aware of her romantic feelings for him. On more than one occasion, Petra felt his longing stare at her when they were alone. She swore she could feel the frustration in him whenever she's close. And she knew, no matter how hard he tried to hide, that he was attracted to her too.

Her face heated up again for whoever knows how many times that night. 

Gathering her courage, she placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. The captain grunted but did not wake, but his head felt heavier on her shoulder.

The night was getting deeper, and the moon was covered with thick clouds that made the surroundings darker. The air was colder and more threatening. Her behind became too sensitive as the material of the wall became colder, and the long hour of sitting on top of the hard stone made it ache.

With the lack of anything to focus her mind on, her attention was again on Levi. His hands fell into his lap and his face was now buried on the crook of her neck instead of her shoulder. His breathing tickled her sensitive skin and she shuddered as her mind imagined things that will never happen.

Feeling a wet sensation on her neck, she felt the Captain trailing kisses and nipping on her skin. She gasped and instinctively moved away, leaving the Captain's head hanging on the air as his eyes pierced her.

Her hands traveled to her neck, the space between her legs getting wet as the realization hit her. 

"Captain...why did you– God, did you kiss me?" 

Placing a hand at the back of his neck and stretching it, Levi noted her flushed appearance. "Did you kiss me?" He asked back.

"I didn–" her eyes widened, remembering the way she kissed his forehead a while ago. 

"B-But it was different," she defended.

"How so?"

"Yours was sexual and–"

The captain stood in front of her, his shadow covered her face and body as his eyes gleamed in the darkness. "Mine was what?"

Her eyes did not leave his as he crouched down again in front of her. Something was hypnotizing in his eyes that Petra couldn't explain. She gulped as his face neared her.

"Mine was what?" he asked again, this time in front of her face, his breath fanning on her heated skin.

The sound of her heart beating was suddenly louder than it ever was. It reminded her of the stomps of the titan outside the walls, the tingling sound of the signal flares whenever it was fired when a titan was in sight, and the loud cracking of bones whenever someone was caught by a titan's hand.

She snapped the last thought away and focused on the man in front of her. Licking her lips, she closed her eyes as she pulled out courage from the deepest part of hers. 

And in a matter of seconds, Petra kissed her Captain.

The contact was chaste at first. Her lips felt his and they didn't move–not right away. Her lips lingered on his for a moment before she opened her mouth and started kissing him for real.

She moaned on his mouth as he gathered the hair at the back of her head, pressing her more to him. Petra did the same as her fingers gripped his hair, tilting his head slightly upwards to give her better access to his mouth.

She felt her back hitting the cold top of the wall. Petra shivered because of the clashing temperature. Cold on her back, and heat on her front.

Moving his hands to remove her coat, Levi looked down at the woman underneath him. His shadow loomed over her, but he could see the flush of red on her face and the lust shining on her orange irises.

"Do you want to do this, Petra?" His hands moved her coat from her body to underneath her, giving her a soft cushion from the hard surface.

She pulled his face on hers again and started kissing him. "Yes. Yes, I want this," she said breathily.

The fact that they were on top of the wall, the titans waiting for them to make a wrong move, and nothing shielding them from the prying eyes of whoever was still awake at this godly hour, doesn't seem to faze Petra. She opened her dress shirt and asked him to suck on her breasts.

Levi obliged and he heard her moan. The wind took her voice and disappeared through the night. He felt her warm hands removing his jacket and opening the buttons of his clothes.

Petra pressed him deeper on her chest. When they were alone, in training, or in his room, she always wanted to ask him to suck on her nipples. It was her favorite part of her own body: her breasts. And she wanted to see her Captain playing with it.

Panting, she switched their places. Levi tugged at her nipples as she moved, and the man groaned when he lost contact with her tit.

She straddled him as she worked on completely removing his clothes. Petra opened the button of his pants and groaned when she realized that the brown straps of their ODM gear were preventing her from fully stripping him off of his clothes.

Levi did the same with hers. He squeezed her breasts and palmed her clothed pussy. Petra moaned on top of him and ground her hips to his.

The hardness of the wall made it uncomfortable to stay aroused, but Petra was looking at him hungrily, her eyes never leaving his as she pulled his underwear down and his erection sprung free.

She marveled at his dick and the first and last thing on her mind right now was to be fucked by him. Damn the walls and the titans, damn the sleeping residents that may hear her moans, she wanted to feel free on top of this wall.

He removed her on top of him and ordered her to get on all-fours. Petra obliged, showing her still clothed ass to him. He unbuttoned her from the front and pulled her pants as much as the strapped harness allowed him. 

Petra shuddered as she felt the air on her exposed cunt, and she moaned when Levi licked her once, twice, thrice, to feel her wetness.

The sight of her made him lose his mind. She tasted divine, and she smelled godly. Levi stroked his dick before pushing inside of her.

The first contact made her knees weak, and her face almost hit the floor if it weren't for Levi grasping her tits to pull her closer to him. Their moans spurred into the air as Levi pumped into her harder. She could feel him grow more inside of her as her cunt clenched around him.

They fucked as the moon watched them. They fucked as one of the titans moved from one tree to the other, as if switching places to watch them clearer. The thought made Petra shiver. They were out and about someone out there must be watching them as her superior made love to her pussy. She leaned her head back and basked in the feeling.

Petra's ass bounced every time he pounded on her. He could feel her hardened nipples at the palm of his hands as he whispered on her ears how tight she was, how good her pussy felt around him, and how dirty she was letting her superior fucked her on top of the wall.

He could feel his orgasm coming through, Petra reached for her clit and he knew that she was close too. 

With a few more hard thrusts, Levi spent inside of her as Petra did the same. She fell on the floor with a soft thud, and she felt empty as Levi pulled out of her.

Laying beside her, Levi kissed Petra again on the mouth, then her cheeks, and her temples. Petra closed her eyes in appreciation.

While her sweat cooled in her skin, Petra realized what they had done and what consequences it might bring tomorrow, the week after, the month after, or in the longer future. 

She didn't want to spoil this wonderful moment. Petra opened her eyes and saw the moon peeking once again. And for the second time, she realized that indeed, it was more beautiful than the sun.

#rivetra #levi x petra #anya's s saturday shenanigans #smutty saturday 🥳 #if u don't fuck your woman on top of a 50-meter wall then don't talk to me #or to Levi or to Petra ever again #pls gimme title ideas uwu

[supercorpkid]

Let’s talk about Kara.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 2150.

It’s been two weeks since you’ve been back home from your ‘nearly death’ experience and things are almost back to normal. Almost.

You realize now you look a lot like Kara, and you’re not thinking about looks, but how things affect you. After Lena’s assassination attempt you went days having panic attacks, nightmares, having to sleep with your moms because you were scared, and developing mechanisms to get through the night. When you were shot with kryptonite, on the other hand, that didn’t happen. And now, after you almost died, things got rough at first, but you’re back to your normal life. Sure, you have to use a cast on your leg to justify your limping, and your powers are making a slow return, but you’re back at school again.

Lena has also gone back to work by now. It was a long period of not stepping foot on L Corp and things have not completely fallen apart, but they were very close to it when she came back. But Kara, well, let’s talk about Kara. She faced a lot of near death experiences, but none have affected her like you almost dying.

“Hello, my child, light of my days, star of my nights.” Kara says when you walk in the living room in the afternoon.

“You’re such a weirdo.” You make your way to the couch to sit next to her, she wraps you in a hug and you laugh. “What’s up with the Shakespearean talk?”

“Oh, you know, just want to make sure you know you’re the reason I exist.”

“I really am not. Grandmother Alura and grandfather Zor-El are.” You say with a smile still dangling on your lips and Kara smiles too, tightening the embrace. “Momma, ouch. Still don’t have all the superpowers, remember?”

“Sorry.” Kara kisses the top of your head a few times. “What do you want to do today? Should we do a Harry Potter marathon?”

You look at her expectantly face, and you give her a soft smile. You have tests you haven’t studied for, you have to catch up in almost every single subject from school, and you certainly can’t waste time re-watching a movie you’ve seen a bunch of times already. But you just take one look at her face, and you change your mind.

“Sounds awesome.” She matches your smile and soon enough you’re both wrapped up in blankets, eating snacks and reciting some lines from the movies you both know so well.

You should talk to her. It’s been weeks. She can’t go on like this. She picks you up from school every day, so you never have to walk alone (she makes Lena drive you there in the morning before work). She spends all afternoon practically glued to you, and she hasn’t slept in her own bed ever since you were back from the DEO. It doesn’t matter how many times you assure her that you’re fine. It doesn’t matter how many times Lena bribes her with hugs and kisses and other stuff, she doesn’t leave your bed.

All of her other responsibilities were tossed aside. No more CatCo, no more Supergirl calls, no more going out to buy food, no more anything. Kara is either inside of the house in her sweatpants, or with you when you need to be out of the house.

You can see Lena’s worried about her, but you know she is also still worried about you, so she hasn’t said anything to Kara yet. You don’t know what to do. You love your momma, you love having her with you all the time, that’s really not the problem. The problem is that you know this isn’t healthy. You were once obsessed with keeping Lena safe and that did you no good.

But Kara looks unhappy and worried, and your heart squeezes in your chest every time you look at her and think about telling her this has to stop. You look at her gasping next to you when Cedric dies, four movies into the marathon, and you can’t bring yourself to do it.

But the feeling grows bigger. It stirs you inside. When she lays next to you on your bed, and you watch Lena leaving for another night of sleeping alone, it grows a little more. When you see her eating cereal with chocolate syrup, because there’s no more milk and she doesn’t want to go out to buy more, it grows a bit more. When you have to go to school half an hour earlier than your usual time, because Lena has a meeting and she can’t be late, it grows more. This can’t go on any longer. You have to say something.

“Hello, my fellow Hufflepuff companion, shall we remain doing our marathon?” Kara asks and you roll your eyes, before sitting in front of her on the couch.

“Maybe.” You hold her hands and she looks at you furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. “There’s something we need to talk about first.”

“Oooh. Am I in trouble?” She asks, making you laugh.

“Momma, I think it’s time for you to go back to work.” You say turning your face back to serious. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are.” Kara says, but her face says otherwise. “But we’re having so much fun here together, aren’t we?”

“We are. But you can’t stay home in your sweatpants and ugly socks for the rest of your life. Even I know that.”

“Uh.” She grunts. “But work is so boring and you’re so cool!” She pulls you in for a hug. “Besides, your mom’s a billionaire. She can pay for everything.”

“Yeah, but you’re an adult and you need to go back to functioning like one.” You hug her tight. “I’m not saying you have to get out there now, I just want you to know that I’m ok, and I’ll be fine when you do decide to go back.”

“Ok mommy, I got it.” She jokes and you roll your eyes while smiling. “You know what I’ve noticed? You only call me mommy when things are bad. Like when you’re scared or something.”

"That’s not true!” You try to defend yourself, but you know it is pretty much how it works.

“It is true.” Kara whispers and kisses your head again. “I like how you say mommy, I just don’t like that it’s always in scary situations.”

“Ok.” You let go of her and look in her eyes. “Can we make popcorn and watch Harry Potter, mommy?”

“YESSSSSS!” Kara cheers, clapping her hands and then raising them in a celebratory move. “I’ll make the popcorn and you put the movie. And I’ll be right back, my baby.”

Kara comes back with so much popcorn, you could feed an entire movie theater. You two get comfortable on the couch with lots of cushions and blankets and continue the marathon you started on the day before.

“Hi, my loves.” Lena walks in the living room after work and looks at you and Kara wrapped up in each other while sobbing. “Why are you two crying?”

“Dobby died.” Kara points at the TV and Lena chuckles a little. “It’s a real tragedy, ok?”

“I’m sure it is.” She says ironically. “Then I have something to make your days slightly better.”

“I doubt it, we had a pretty decent day.” You say and she shows you a box of donuts. You untangle yourself from Kara and stand up right away. “Oh wow, I stand incorrect. Thanks mommy!”

“Hey! I’m mommy! Stop throwing it around like it means nothing!” Kara complains pretending to be upset and you grab one donut from the box.

“Here mommy, have a donut.” You give Kara the donut, then grab another one from the box and offer it to Lena. “Here mommy, you can have one too.”

“Stop it!” Kara grabs you from behind making you sit back on the couch. She starts tickling you, making you laugh.

“Wait, why can’t I be mommy?” Lena asks sitting on your other side. She tickles you too. “I’m mommy!”

“You are not!” Kara replies, and her hands don’t stop. “You never once were mommy!”

“Exactly! I deserve more now.” Lena stops tickling you and she protects you from Kara’s hands making her stop. “Tell her, babygirl. Tell her I’m mommy and I’ll buy you more donuts.”

“You!” Kara hisses pointing at Lena. “Come on kid, tell her I’m mommy and I’ll buy you all the food your heart might desire.”

“What the hell?”

“Oh yeah, she’s being Shakespearean.” You look back at Lena. “Well? Aren’t you going to increase your payment?”

“You’re a mercenary.” She jokes and kisses your cheek. “I’ll go shower while you two finish the movie and then we can have dinner?”

“Sure, mommy.” You say making Lena chuckle and Kara complain.

“Hey! I promised you any food your heart desires!”

“Yeah, but you don’t have any money right now.” You point at your head. “Smart.”

“You know what? You just ruined mommy for me.” She pouts.

“Sorry, mommy.”

“God, you’re so freaking cute.” Kara’s pout is immediately gone and she grabs your face and smiles. “No, you didn’t. You can never ruin anything.”

On Monday morning when you walk in the kitchen you see Kara on her work clothes. You smile at her knowing what that means, and you can see Lena is also excited that she’s going back to work. She doesn’t seem excited herself, but you know she’s making an effort, so you’re really proud of her.

In the evening, you hear when she comes back from work, so you put the TV on mute and look back at the door. She throws her shoes to the side, along with her coat and purse, unties her hair and makes her way towards you while unbuttoning a couple of buttons on her shirt.

“Hey! How was your day?” You ask and she throws herself on the same couch you’re in, placing her head on your lap.

“I think half of my problem with today was putting on real pants.” She mutters and you give a soft giggle in response.

“Right. And the other half?”

“I didn’t get to hang out with you all afternoon.” She complains and you smile, playing with her hair.

“You’ll get used to it.” You tell her making her grunt.

“Why aren’t all people as nice as you are? Or fun? Or cool?”

“Or smart.” Lena adds, throwing herself on the chair in front of you and you turn to look at her, surprised you didn’t hear her coming. “God, I wish I could fire everyone in that building and hire you instead. Everyone was particularly stupid today.”

“As much as I am flattered, please don’t fire Aly. I like her.”

“Should we all just quit our jobs and stay home forever?” Kara says calling Lena with her hand. Lena goes to the couch you’re both in, and lays next to Kara, placing her head on your lap, too. You look down giving them a smile.

“I don’t have a job.” You’re still playing with Kara’s hair, and Lena grabs your other hand so you can do the same with her.

“You can quit school. Lena can teach you, and then you can teach me!”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Lena agrees, throwing her arms around Kara. “It can be just the three of us forever.”

“Please, don’t encourage this kind of nonsense.” You poke Lena’s cheek. “You know momma doesn’t need much to go completely nuts.”

“Hey!” Kara complains sticking her tongue out at you.

“I’m really proud of you, momma.” You stroke her cheek lightly and her face lights up when she hears that. “I know it wasn’t easy going back to work and wearing real pants. But the only way we can move on and forget all the nightmare we lived, is if we all make an effort to have our lives back.” You see Lena smiling, like you’re so smart she can’t believe it. “I get that it is easier hiding ourselves here in our little world, but the real world out there needs you. They need Supergirl saving them. They need Kara telling them the truth. I wouldn’t want to take that away from them.”

“Oh my God.” Kara wipes her tears and gets up from your lap to look at you. “What did I do to deserve such a great daughter?”

“I know, right?” Lena also wipes away some tears and you smile at her reaction.

“I love you mommy.” You kiss Kara’s forehead, and she kisses yours in return. “I love you mom.” You bend so you can also kiss Lena’s forehead.

“We love you kid. We really love you.” Kara says hugging you, and awkwardly Lena wraps her arms around both of your waists and smiles. “Rao, I love this family.”

You breathe relieved when you feel that finally things will go back to normal. It’s about time.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #kara x lena #supercorp fanfic #supercorpfamily #kara x reader #lena x reader #supercorp daughter #reader insert

[pascalpanic]

Lipstick Stain (Maxwell Lord x f!Reader)

Summary: Maxwell brings you to a gala, but it seems like you can’t get what you want from him.

W/C: 2.7k

Warnings: language, slight period-typical misogyny, SMUT 18+, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), unprotected P in V sex (wrap it before you tap it babes) in a sort of semi-public space

A/N: it’s Max Lord day, I had to! I’ve been meaning to write more outside of my mains lately so this is an attempt at that! Please let me know if you have any characters I don’t write for as often that you’d like to see more of!

Maxwell Lord is obsessed with his public image. Of course he is, when he’s trying to cultivate a reputation as a rich, oil-laden mogul. He takes you to the fanciest clubs in parties, dressed in the height of 1984 fashion. He pays for your expensive haircuts, which currently features teased bangs and long waves.

Tonight, you’re at a gala. Your dress is a long, citrine-orange wrap that shimmers and has a high slit. Maxwell picked it out for you at some expensive store in Downtown D.C., insisted that you wear the color that would make all of his wishes come true when he finally found that stone. The two of you had posed for photos as you wandered in, your heels sinking into the plush velvet carpet beneath you.

“Maxie,” you sing softly in his ear as you wander up from behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist. He’s talking with a group of powerful men, many of whom you recognize from Forbes or television. The martini in his hand nearly spills when he jumps from the way your fingertips find the small of his back.

He excuses himself from the men and wraps his arms around your waist as you straighten his bowtie. “Dearest,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your bangs-covered forehead, his lips tasting of your hairspray as he pulls away. “What seems to be the problem?”

You look up at him with admiring eyes, a soft smile on your painted lips. You’re wearing so much makeup you can practically feel it move with your cheeks as the smile moves them. “Nothing,” you grin at him. This isn’t your natural environment: you were never famous before you met Maxwell. You were practically unknown, unlike the other millionaire’s wives and playthings that congregated near the bar. “I just think you look so handsome tonight,” you grin and cup the side of his face, worn but soft from the copious amounts of biotin oil he rubs into it every night. “How late do you feel like staying?” You ask softly as his hand finds its way on top of yours.

Max sighs. “It’s not how late I feel like staying, love. It’s how late these men feel like staying.”

You knew that would be the answer, but you frown anyway. “Maxie.”

“I know, I know,” he nods and pulls you a little closer. “If it were up to me, we wouldn’t even be here. But I- we need this. Black Gold needs this. If I can convince just one of those men to invest, I swear we’ll finally-”

With a soft kiss, you cut off his words. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, honey,” you chuckle as you break away, sliding your fingers under one of his suspender straps. “I know. It’s alright. I’m just… feeling tired. Not my kind of people,” you admit as you scan the room. It’s so stuffy, bland house music playing and the small dance floor nearly completely empty.

Maxwell doesn’t like these kinds of functions either. You can tell, from the way his hands quiver in yours as you walk in, from the way he downs a drink before he can talk to anyone and then sips at another for the rest of the night. “Well, you’re the most beautiful woman here,” he assures you, a hand tracing down your sides, over the shimmering, pale orange fabric. “No one could even hold a candle to you,” he murmurs as his hand drifts lower, to the bare skin of your thigh beneath the slit.

“Maxwell,” you warn as you breathe out a chuckle, snapping the suspender against his chest. “Careful.”

He smiles a little, glad he could boost your mood for even a few moments. “Not my fault you’re the most ravishing woman here,” he mumbles next to your ear.

“Do you want a paparazzo to take a photo of this, hm?” You tease, pressing a kiss to the side of his face and grinning at the pinkish-red stain. “It’ll label you as some kind of rake, an exhibitionist,” you giggle as his hand rubs against the soft skin there. It goes higher, tugging at the lacy strap of your panties over your hip. You make a soft noise of surprise and rest your head against his shoulder.

“Please,” he chuckles and shakes his head, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I’m Maxwell Lord, darling. I can do whatever the fuck I want, especially with you,” he murmurs, kissing you again. He sighs and his hand returns to your waist. “I need to go and talk shop again. Come with me.”

You groan and pout, looking up at him and holding him by the suspenders again. “Max. I don’t want to look like some trophy wife.”

“Hey, you said you’re bored. At least you can listen in on what we’re saying and help me strategize. It’d be a real help to me,” he offers, chuckling as you take a martini and take a swig, leaving a lipstick stain on the rim. “Then I’ll take you home and get that fancy dress off that perfect body.”

“Fine,” you sigh. You finish the drink in two more gulps and pat his side. “I’ll be right back, with two more of these.”

-

The night is boring. You listen to the men talk, giving sharp smiles when a man makes a chauvinist comment to you. This is the part you have to play, you remind yourself. This is for Max. You’ll put up with it to help him.

Finally, the room starts to slowly empty, millionaires filing out and into their limousines to take them to their Arlington mansions just across the Potomac. Maxwell stays to the very end, you hanging on his arm and tired.

When the room is nearly empty, the DJ finally plays some good music. It’s a song you and Maxwell both love, and you perk up as you hear it, standing up taller in your heels. “Maxie!” You coo, walking towards the dance floor. “Come on.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes but with a smile on his face as he follows you. You kick off your heels as the floor turns from carpet to vinyl beneath your feet. Maxwell takes off the jacket of his suit, loosening his bowtie. There’s hardly anyone important here to see it, and you grin as you tug him along by the patterned suspenders.

Once you’re on the floor, Maxwell takes you in his arms and sways you along to the song. It’s a slow and sexy number, some new song by George Michael that’s heavy on the saxophone and he buries his face in your neck as he murmurs the lyrics. You’ve always known Maxwell has a pretty good voice, and it makes you smile to hear it. Your feet move in time across the floor, Maxwell’s hand slipping from your waist to your bare thigh once more. “Maxie,” you sigh, your hands climbing up the back of his neck and into his golden-blonde waves.

The hand slides higher, and you can feel it toying at the lacy strap of your panties. “Maxwell,” you shiver. “Take me home.” To seal the deal, to make it impossible for him to say no, you grind your hips against his, feeling him harden beneath his suit pants. Your hands slide his suspenders off his shoulders. They dangle around his waist, emphasizing the desperate look he’s already feeling deep in the pit of his stomach.

“Okay, darling,” he breathes and pulls you back to the table, grabbing his suit jacket and bowtie in one hand and your heels in the other. You giggle and wrap an arm around him, the two of you rushing outside as Maxwell’s jacket hangs in front of his crotch to hide his growing erection.

The two of you spot the limo, with Black Gold Cooperative emblazoned on the side. The driver opens the door and the two of you slide inside. As soon as the door closes behind you, Maxwell opens the small divider window and shouts at the driver to get you home. He closes it and pulls up the privacy system in a heartbeat.

While he does that, you find your way to your knees on the floor of the limo, smirking as you unclasp the wrap’s chest snap to show off your breasts beneath the dress. When Maxwell turns back, he unintentionally moans at the sight, your teased hair messy and your tits exposed in the lacy white bra you wore beneath it. “Oh fuck, darling,” he murmurs and cups the side of your face. His other hand unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt while your nimble fingers undo the fly of his pants.

Beneath the suit, he wears no underwear. You certainly didn’t expect that, when you push them down slightly to find Maxwell’s bare and straining cock. “Maxie,” you murmur and a shiver runs through your body. “So naughty,” you chuckle and press a kiss to his shaft, leaving a lipstick stain there.

“Says the one on her knees for me,” he breathes, choking out a moan and his head falling back into the leather seats. His hand buries itself in your hair, gripping it unintentionally hard.

You take the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and focusing on the frenulum. You drag your fingertips feather-lightly over his balls, making his dick twitch and his thighs tense. “You’re going to kill me,” he groans.

You suddenly sink all the way down on him, his tip hitting the back of your throat. You suppress a gag, making tears form at the corner of your eye. He grunts helplessly, biting on his lip, and the noises he makes are all worth it.

You pull away, until just the tip is on your flattened tongue. Maxwell is aching, dripping precum now. “Get up here and fuck me, baby girl.”

You pull away with a loud, wet noise and grin up at him, your lipstick smeared around your mouth. You look like an absolute wreck and Maxwell couldn’t be more in love with it. Your eyeliner is slightly smudged at the corners of your eyes, the tears from choking around his dick sitting there and refusing to drip.

Sitting back on your heels, you hike your skirt up until it’s around your waist. You climb over Maxwell’s lap, hovering above his dick. “Want you to cum in me,” you murmur as your forehead falls onto his shoulder when he pushes your lace panties aside and runs two thick fingers through your folds.

“I can do anything you want, darling,” he mutters, sinking his teeth into the skin of your throat. “Just say the word and I’m all yours.”

“Please,” you groan, shivering as the air-conditioning begins blasting through the back of the limousine and the cool breeze brushes your sweating neck. “Please, Maxie. Fuck me.”

“There we go,” he shudders and lowers you onto his dick, your panties tucked to the side. His movements are slow. Maxwell is fully conscious of how large his dick is, and he knows it always stretches you open despite the millions of times you’ve done this before. “Good girl,” he groans as you’re seated all the way on his dick. “Feels so fucking good on top of me.”

The sensation is so hot, the strips of bare skin on both your and Maxwell’s chest meeting in select spots, the rest covered by the silky fabric of your respective formal garments. Maxwell’s thick, ring-clad fingers slide between his hips and yours, rubbing tight little circles into your clit immediately and grunting. You cry out at the feeling and push yourself up only to slam your hips back down to his. “Take what you need, darling,” he assures you, bucking his own hips up into yours.

Nodding, you lift your head from his shoulder to kiss at his neck, tracing your tongue along his jugular as you bounce up and down at him. Soft noises of pleasure drift from your lips, and Maxwell’s fingers follow you up and down, stimulating you all the while. “Feels so good, doesn’t it baby?” He murmurs to you, grabbing the back of your head and pulling it to the side so his lips can descend onto your jaw. “You love this. Would’ve done this at the gala if I asked, wouldn’t you?” He murmurs.

“Yes,” you cry out, nodding softly and feeling the tug of his hands gripping your hair when you do so. “Anything for you.” He’s an overwhelming presence of a man normally: in your face, loud, enthusiastic and hopeful. His presence is equally heavy as his large hands are all over your body, his thick cock buried inside of you, his firm chest pressed to your soft breasts.

One particularly hard grunt comes from the back of Maxwell’s throat. “Baby girl,” he shudders beneath you. “You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel it. I am too.”

You nod and your head falls into the curve of his neck, resting your face there and breathing in his expensive cologne and sweat. “Please, Maxie,” you groan out and grind your hips against him while he’s fully sheathed in you. “Cum in me.”

“You first,” he says breathlessly, teeth gritting in concentration to hold back. “Tell me how you feel, darling.”

A few more strokes to your clit do the trick, making you fall apart in his arms. “Max,” you practically sob into his neck and your arms grip at his broad shoulders desperately, your orgasm wrecking your body, making you shake all over and your thighs lose all of the power they had to bounce on him. “Feels so fucking good,” you cry as your head falls back, body pressed against his. “No one else can do it like you, Maxie.”

Maxwell can’t hold back any longer either, not with the way your walls clench him desperately hard and your body practically vibrates. “You’re fucking right,” he growls and takes over the job of the thrusts, both hands gripping your waist as he pushes his hips into yours again and again. “Because you’re mine, baby girl. All mine. And when we hit that oil I’m going to get a big fucking office and fuck you over the desk while you look over the D.C. skyline. How does that sound?”

“So good,” you whimper. He’s not sure if it’s from the way your body is still possessed by the orgasm or his words, but it seals it when you speak again. “In front of your fucking associates. Show them I’m yours.”

The words from your mouth sound infinitesimally dirtier than when Max could say it. Combined with your fluttering walls, it sends him over the edge. His dick buried deep inside of you, he shoots rope after rope of hot liquid into you, desperately crying your name and clinging to you as it rolls through his body like a rising tide.

The two of you sit there, spent and sweaty and sticky, for just a moment before you can feel the limousine come to a stop. Looking out the window, you can see you’re home. “Perfect timing, Maxie,” you breathe softly and lift your hips, sliding your panties back into place. He tucks himself back in his pants and adjusts his messy hair, pulling his suspender straps back up.

“I meant it,” he presses a kiss to your face as you sit back down next to him then scoot out of the car. “I’m going to give you the most wonderful life you can imagine when we hit oil. You’ll never want for anything again.”

Max tosses a bill with a high dollar amount into the passenger window, for the driver’s tip. You wait until he’s standing, taking his hand and leading him to the front door. “I don’t want anything now. I have you, I have this gorgeous life, and I have the ability to fuck my famous lover in the back of a limo. What more could I want, Maxie?”

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @maxlordsgf

#maxwell lord fanfic #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord #maxwell lord headcanons #Maxwell lord imagine #maxwell lord x you #ww84 #wonder woman 1984 #wonder woman 84

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Six

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: nsfw sort of?? barely

***

Cassian is going to kill Nesta.

He’s never met a woman so stubborn that she would rather throw herself under a bus than accept help from others.

“What happened to your rants about universal healthcare and redistributing wealth?” He gestures furiously between the two of them while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. “I’m trying to redistribute the wealth!”

She scoffs from the passenger seat. “Nice try, comrade. I’m not letting you dangle your wallet over me while I live with you for free. It’s disgusting and manipulative.”

Cassian wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “Why do you automatically assume I’m trying to manipulate you?” he says incredulously.

“You don’t get to pay for my things,” she snaps. “They’re mine.”

“I know you’re already broke from that MRI—”

“That’s none of your business.”

They pull up to one of the university buildings. “Oh, great argument.” Cassian brings the truck to a stop. “Are you gonna use that one in court?”

Nesta buttons her blue blazer and furiously grabs her things, not saying a word.

“What are you thinking now?” Cassian pokes, the hardness dissolved from his voice a little.

She shoves the passenger door open. “How much longer it’s going to take to get my car fucking fixed,” she bites, hopping out of the truck and slamming the door shut on Cassian’s face.

Clenching his jaw, he watches her walk sharply for the building, tension ratcheting her figure. Impossible woman.

She does look damn good in a pantsuit, though.

***

Nesta has to take deep breaths before she enters the mock courtroom, refusing to let Cassian get to her head right now.

It's not his offering to pay for her endometriosis treatment that pisses her off, but it's that he won't take no for an answer. She wishes he could just let her dig herself into a hole of debt and despair like millions of Americans already do every day. She wishes he wouldn't demand an explanation from her every time she screams and cries about getting her way.

Later. Her mind clears through an imaginary filter. You’ll deal with him later.

Now, she has a case to win.

Nesta strides into the courtroom with her file of documents and takes the speaker’s bench, her opponent already seated on the other side of the aisle. Emerie Nikolis is five feet nine inches of Mediterranean goddess, and the only student at Prythian Law who’s been able to challenge Nesta for her spot at the top of the class. Not that she’s succeeded.

Nesta’s never been up against another woman for a moot court, though, and it adds a buzz to her nerves. Men always come into the courtroom with too much confidence and not enough research, and from there Nesta can steadily dismantle their arguments until they’re left spluttering. From Emerie’s cutting hawk eyes, Nesta knows she doesn’t function like that.

As student judges file in and head for their seats, Nesta leans over and mutters to Emerie, “Good luck defending the side that represents everything morally corrupt with this country.”

Emerie brushes back her ponytail and smiles mockingly at Nesta. “You mean the side that powerful white men have chosen since the beginning of time? I won’t need luck.”

Nesta scowls at the panel of student judges. They are all white men.

“You’re lucky I enjoy a challenge,” she hisses, and sits back in her seat as they start calling oyez.

***

Cassian doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

He’s cleaning up around the house while Nesta is gone, and ends up finding a worn paperback trapped between the leather cushions of the couch. Pulling it out, he takes one look at the cover and nearly chokes. A half-undressed man graces the cover in regency-era clothes, his flowy shirt unbuttoned to reveal toned abs. A woman with golden curls clutches onto him passionately, only dressed in a corset and underskirt.

A slow smirk spreads over his face and he snickers. He didn't know people read these anymore. A glance at the back of the book proves his point: published in 1999, a true vintage piece.

Plopping onto the couch and laying back, he opens the paperback. If Nesta doesn't want him reading her books, she shouldn't leave them lying around the place.

Flipping to a random page, he frowns when it isn't a smut scene. Boring. He keeps flipping until he finds one, and props his feet onto the armrest to get comfortable. Now what exactly does Nesta Archeron get off to?

Over an hour and a hundred pages of surprisingly tender romance later, his aching eyes finally slip closed. The open book falls onto his face, and the scent of faded ink follows him into sleep.

Cassian is in a dim candle-lit room. Foiled wallpaper and overstuffed furniture decorates the space, and there, by the small window, she waits.

She turns her head to speak over her shoulder, “You came.”

“I did.” The line comes to him naturally.

Without turning around, her hands reach up for her hair. She starts removing pins from her updo, golden curls falling apart one by one. Once the last pin drops, she finally turns around.

Gleaming locks now frame her soft face and shoulders; her pale breasts rise and fall above the low curve of her thin nightgown. Under the candlelight, she looks freshly forged and porcelain-like at the same time.

“Could you help me?” Nesta says.

Cassian is stuck in his spot, unable to move. He's never seen Nesta like this: so heavenly, but so different.

“Cassian?” she asks again.

“Oh,” he stutters, “um— what do you need?”

She steps closer. “You.” His breathing stops. Nesta slips her slender hands up his arms, to his shoulders. She's holding him close. “I need you to tell me something.”

“Anything.”

Her breath fans over his face. “Do you want me?”

Cassian is very still.

“Do you want me like I want you, Cassian?” she repeats, pressing closer to him. He can feel her nipples through the wispy fabric of her gown.

“Yes,” he breathes shakily. He doesn't know which hurts more: wanting Nesta or being wanted by her.

“Have you been very lonely, Cassian?” She drags her hands back down his arms, finding his hands and placing them on her shoulders. “Is that why you like having me around so much, because you’ve been lonely?”

This Nesta knows him… a little too well. His breath hitches as his hands, directed by Nesta’s hands, slowly pushes down the sleeves of her nightgown. In a flash, the fabric has dropped to her waist, baring her unblemished chest and stomach. Before Cassian can even absorb what's happening, her arms are winding around his neck again, and now she's pressing entreating kisses into the crook of his neck.

“Tell me,” she mutters onto his skin. “Do I make you feel heard, or am I just a pretty face to you?”

“Nes—Nesta.” Cassian tries to swallow air.

She smells so good. She feels so good, and she's not even doing anything to him, just holding him.

“Heard,” he gasps when she goes for the buttons of his shirt, her mouth finding his chest. “You make me feel heard. I like it when we talk and you listen to me. Nobody listens to me.”

She pulls away from him, mouth shining. He just now realizes how jarring the gilded ringlets of her hair are.

“That’s so good,” Nesta purrs, reaching up to clasp his face. Her hands feel thin and rough, like paper. “You’re so good.” She reaches in, her lips chasing his, and—

Awareness seeps into the corners of Cassian’s reality, and his eyes peel open. He blinks between two different worlds until he finally realizes— it was a dream.

Of course it was a dream. Nesta doesn't have blonde hair or curls. And her skin isn't porcelain smooth, but dotted with freckles and moles. And yet, the arousal stirred in him is very much real, evident by the ache in his dick. Fuck.

A throat clears softly and Cassian jumps. The romance book is still on his face, he notices, and his world is darkened by the rough pages. Batting it away, confused, he fully awakens when he sees who’s in front of him.

She’s still in her pantsuit from this morning, but her hair is undone and her cheeks carry a rare flush. Her clothes are rumpled.

“Nesta.” He scrambles upright, painfully aware that he was just dreaming about her half-naked. He carefully arranges his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs. “You’re back,” he says casually. Taking notice of the blackness outside the windows, he becomes concerned. “You’ve been out this whole time? Oh God, I was supposed to pick you up—”

“No, no,” she says quickly. “Didn’t you see my texts? I went out with some people from moot court.”

Cassian widens his eyes. He’s never heard her mention any friends from school, much less leave the cabin to hang out with other people.

“I totally kicked this girl’s ass in the Title IX case I was telling you about,” Nesta goes on, “and she wanted to take me out for afternoon drinks, and some other guys ended up tagging along too…” She twists a piece of hair around her finger, the experience sounding as brand new to her as Cassian suspects it is. “And yeah, then she got me a cab.”

He raises a brow and leans back. “You willingly let someone else pay for you? Wow, you really are drunk.”

The smile blossoming on her mouth drops and the cold veneer returns. “So you go through my stuff while I’m gone?” she scolds. “How many times are we going to have the boundaries conversation?”

Cassian picks up the paperback still on the couch. “Oh, this? This was just a little light reading. You know, since I share my Netflix and Prime with you, I figured you could share your period-piece smut with me.” He fans through the pages, trying to find the spot he left off on. “I didn’t even know people read physical romance books anymore. That’s like me keeping VHS tapes of porn instead of using my phone.”

Nesta stomps over and snatches the book out of his hands. “It’s not like I enjoy owning books with ugly covers,” she hisses. “I get headaches reading e-books. And this is a classic.” She carefully wipes at the cover as if Cassian got dirt all over it.

Cassian tries to snatch it back. “I wasn’t done with it,” he grits. “Nesta, give it back.”

“I’m glad we brought up boundaries,” she says instead. “Because we need to talk about this morning.” Shoving the book into her pants waistband, she peels off her blazer and takes a seat on the coffee table in front of Cassian.

Cassian blinks, gripped by the authority in her movements. Nesta pokes a finger at his chest. “What you said bothered me all day. Nearly ruined my night. So I’m telling you now, I’m not taking your money for anything, ever. And if you bring up the topic again, I’m moving out.” She sounds dead serious.

He’s not afraid of her. “I’m bringing up the topic now,” he pushes back, his tone hard. “As someone who considers you a friend, I don’t like to see my friends struggling.”

Nesta blinks, and maybe finally accepts that she can’t fight her way out of this, because she drops her finger. “I can’t be financially dependent on a man, Cassian,” she admits, refusing to look away from him. “I’ve done it before, and it’s no way to live life. I don’t care how nice you are; I’m not taking your money. And you can’t make me.” She doesn’t shout or hiss that last part. It’s said with a quiet strength, and it makes Cassian want to concede everything. If this is about her ex-boyfriend, then he doesn’t want to be anything like him.

But it doesn’t change the fact that her health is still on the line. “What if you don’t take my money?” he says quickly. “What if I make you work for it?”

Law school doesn’t allow for part-time jobs on the side, and Nesta’s been scraping by with scholarships and leftover money from her father’s will. The suffering is worth it now, she told Cassian once, if she’s at a law firm the year after next with a starting salary of 100K.

Nesta purses her lips, skeptical. “What kind of work?”

“You can be a legal consultant for Night Court.”

“Do I look qualified to be a legal consultant?” She’s glaring now.

“Well, it’s either that or you get to be my personal assistant.” Nesta looks even more outraged at that, and Cassian holds up his hands. “I respect your need to stay independent,” he says, “but you can’t convince me that a handout or two is worse than going broke.” Cassian himself would be dead right now without all the handouts he got over the course of his life. “Please, Nesta,” he says quietly. “Think about it for me. And if you still hate it, I’ll never bother you about it again.” Even though it would kill him.

Nesta stares at him, the gears in her brain visibly turning. Finally— “Rhysand’s company does run on handouts anyway,” she mutters, glancing away. “What’s one more?”

Before Cassian can drop to his knees and thank her, she whips her head back to him. “But I want to do real work, Cassian. Not the pretense of work while I get a fat paycheck.”

He bursts into a grin and grabs her arms. “I’m gonna work you so hard.” He kisses her hard on the cheek.

Nesta makes a choking noise and starts coughing, and Cassian realizes how that sounded. “Did I say something wrong?” he plays innocent.

Nesta’s face is red for reasons other than alcohol now, but she covers it up by shoving Cassian hard enough to send him into the couch cushions. “Asshole.” She pulls her book out of her waistband and throws it at Cassian’s chest. “Have your romance back, I’m going to bed.”

“Hey— wait, it's six p.m. What about the puzzle?” he calls after her. She ignores him and keeps walking.

“Fine,” he says to her back, “but don't go to sleep with your contacts in again; you're gonna hurt yourself.”

As she reaches the stairs, he adds, “I’m proud of you for the moot court, by the way. I’m telling everybody you're the smartest person I know.”

Nesta pauses briefly at that, before saying, “Goodnight, Cassian,” and continuing up to her room.

Later that night, Cassian does want to tell everybody that Nesta is the smartest person he knows. She's the smartest, coolest, and wittiest person he knows, full stop, with killer looks and a criminally underrated personality. But something is holding him back from sharing his feelings with the rest of the world.

It's the same feeling that's had him avoiding Feyre these last few weeks. The unspoken knowledge that not everybody sees Nesta the way Cassian does, paired with the fierce desire to protect her from any sort of criticism.

He doesn't have any definitive proof to justify his feelings, but he knows he can't stop thinking about Nesta. He knows his friends will take notice of the change in his behavior eventually, so in a fit of restlessness, he reaches for his phone to test a theory.

Scrolling through his contacts, Cassian eventually settles on Mor. She's close to Feyre and Cassian both, has an inclination to gossip, and she’s never interacted with Nesta. Perfect.

Cassian: what do you think of Nesta?

He's straightforward with her the way he always is, the way she always is with him.

Mor answers quickly without question: didn’t she let feyre work her ass off at age 14 while she sat around and did nothing?

Mor: she sounds like a bitch and i have yet to see anything to the contrary.

Mor: she has very nice eyes though

Mor: if u know what i mean ( . )( . )

Cassian wishes he hadn’t even asked. He doesn’t even know how to reply to that, so he’s about to turn his phone off when another message from Mor comes in.

Mor: why do you ask? how are things going with you two?

Cassian sighs deeply, not in the mood to start a fight with one of his best friends. He never told Feyre about taking Nesta to the doctor, or the following MRI and diagnosis. The last time he had a real conversation with Feyre was the first night of Nesta’s period, when he was worried sick over how to take care of her.

“What should I do, Feyre? She's crying herself sick upstairs and all I have is this stupid hot towel.”

“You don't have to do that,” she sighed tiredly over the phone. “Nesta goes through this every month. She’ll survive. Don’t get yourself worked up over nothing.”

That was when he decided he was calling a doctor no matter what.

And now… He’s confused and upset and he doesn't know why. Instead of arguing with Mor, he texts back, it’s nothing. A second later, he adds, but she's not a bitch.

He wants to say more, but texting Mor an essay on why she’s wrong for judging Nesta without knowing her would make him look crazy, among other things. He doesn’t know why he has to clarify that Nesta isn’t a bitch in the first place.

Either way, Cassian’s theory was proven correct.

He decides not to mention Nesta to his friends anymore.

***

Nesta lays in bed, thinking about the absolute day she’s had.

If getting drunk with Emerie Nikolis and Eris Vanserra at two in the afternoon wasn’t enough, stumbling back home to find Cassian like that finished her off for good. Her cheek has been tingling for hours.

She remembers how this housing agreement between them first started: I need you to know you can enforce whatever rules and boundaries you want while you’re here.

Nesta huffs a laugh. Boundaries are for strangers. Cassian seems content to poke and tug at Nesta’s boundaries whenever he wants, and Nesta… is okay with this. A mere month ago, this would have been her worst nightmare— living with a man who pushes her on every decision, who never does what she wants but somehow always knows what she needs.

But now they're friends, and Nesta is slowly learning that the rules are different with friends. Not everything has to be spelled out, because Cassian will understand what she's trying to say anyway. Not everything that is unknown has to be scary, because Cassian is never scary.

He’s allowed to read her books because he won’t make fun of them. He's allowed to know about her personal health matters because he won’t tell anybody else. And apparently, he’s allowed to give her a job so she doesn’t go broke trying to afford endo treatment.

These are the new rules.

She’s ridiculously glad that she told Lorene she won’t be coming back to the apartment for a few weeks. She doesn't know what she'll do after then, but for now she is okay.

***

a/n: hello i love writing cassian pov and learning more about him so much :) also thinking about having cassian call nesta 'baby' when they get together more often than 'sweetheart' just bc i think it would be a good look on him. pls share ur opinion.

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies

#a favor #ncssianwrites #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fic #nessian au

[sevlgi]

sugar

requested: no

group: mamamoo

pairing: solar x fem!reader

genre: fluff?

contents: sugar mommy!solar, sugar baby!reader. [20/33]

warnings: implied sex

synopsis: The arrangement you have with your sugar mommy might just go a little out of control.

a/n: none

word count: 1.4k

Just a few months ago, you never thought you’d have a sugar mommy.

Sure, you considered it before- as a broke college student with barely enough time to sleep, there weren’t many options for you to earn money. The odd jobs you worked whenever you could barely made a dent on your student loans, and the ramen you bought in bulk didn’t exactly help.

Still, dating was the last thing on your mind, so when your best friend tried setting you up for a blind date, you were baffled. “Sooyoung, I’m not looking for a girlfriend right now.”

The brunette grimaced, still sifting through your closet with a fervor you’d never seen on her before. “I know. You’re focused on your studies, and earning money, and all of that.”

“Exactly,” you frowned, holding up the dress she tossed you. It was... skimpy, to say it nicely. “So why would you be forcing me to waste time going on a blind date when I could be studying?”

Joy sighed, handing you a pair of glittery heels now. “Look, Y/N, just trust me. Irene thinks you guys would be a really good match-”

“Wait, Irene? Your sugar mommy?” Horror dawned on you and you let go of the clothing in your lap as if it was poisoned. “Sooyoung-ah. You’re not trying to set me up with a sugar mommy, are you?”

She looked torn between answers, finally settling on pleading, “Just give her a chance. If it turns out badly, I’ll do all of your homework for a month. Two months- and you know how good I am at Chemistry.”

You opened your mouth, intending to continue protesting, but it made sense. Irene wasn’t old at all, barely 5 years older than Joy, and those two had a perfectly functioning relationship. If Irene knew the woman you were being set up with, it couldn’t be a cougar, and if you could earn money...

“Fine.” You picked up the clothing again, lips thinning when you saw how see-through the fabric was. “But I’m not wearing this.”

“Jesus, Sooyoung.”

Gaping at the restaurant, your hands tightened on the strap of the bag Irene had loaned you, the other two looking like they belonged in the Michelin-star restaurant. “What do you think?” Irene asked, flashing a smile to the guards outside.

“Um. I think I don’t belong here?” Even feeling the cold breeze on your exposed legs, you felt as if you were still in your coffee-stained hoodie and pajama pants, next to men in suits worth more than your life and women crowned with jewels that could buy a small country.

Joy flapped a hand at you; she had been Irene’s sugar baby for about a year, and was spoiled rotten, so of course she was used to the scene. “Nonsense, Y/N. You look beautiful. Y- she will be mesmerized.”

Irene waved a waitress over. “Could you bring Y/N to Ms. Kim’s table?”

“Of course.”

Your best friend, still clinging to the much shorter woman’s arm, waved at you. “Good luck, Y/N.”

“Damn you, Sooyoung,” you hissed as the waitress led you upstairs, to a much quieter room. There were still chandeliers hanging over each of the velvet booths, huge bouquets decorating each table, but at least nothing was bright gold.

The waitress finally stopped you at an empty booth. “Here you go, Ms. Y/L/N. Ms. Kim will be here shortly.”

“Oh. Okay.” The booths were incredibly soft under your bare skin when you sat, bowing in thanks when you were handed a menu. You gasped right out loud, though, when you read the prices of a simple soup.

“Don’t worry, I can handle it.” You nearly hit your knee on the underside of the table at the sound of someone’s voice beside you, your jaw nearly dropping to the richly carpeted floor at the sight of the person you knew was Ms. Kim.

Brunette hair was neatly slicked into a low ponytail, the top three buttons of her suit jacket unbuttoned to reveal smooth skin. The slight roundness to her face almost made her look innocent, though the dark brown of her eyes told you different. “You’re much more beautiful in real life, Y/N.”

God, her voice. You stood to bow quickly, still clutching the menu to your stomach. “Hi,” you managed to say, cursing internally at your own awkwardness.

The woman didn’t seem to notice, though, sliding into the booth opposite you and crossing her legs. “Do you know my name?”

“Uh. I know your last name is Kim, that’s about it,” you answered honestly, hesitantly sitting. “Sooyoung didn’t tell me much.”

“Call me Yongsun, then,” the woman smiled, extending a hand over the table. Her grip was firm, contrasting the soft perfumed skin of her hands. “So, tell me about yourself. Joohyun didn’t tell me much about you either.”

You nodded obediently, sipping lightly at the wine the waitress poured out earlier. “Well, I’m a college student. Um, I’m pretty broke.”

“I gathered. How much do you want in a week, then? 3000?”

“What?” Blinking rapidly, you stared at the gorgeous woman sitting across from you.

Yongsun shrugged, cocking her head. “You heard me. Or do you want more?”

“Um. We didn’t even agree to do this yet, Yo- Ms. Kim.”

She smiled at you, looking so much younger than someone who could be so rich. “Right. I’ll be frank with you, Y/N. I think you’re beautiful.” When you flushed and tried to protest, she held up her hand, continuing, “And I’m willing to pay. I don’t have time to date, really, so all I want from you is companionship.”

“Nothing... more?” you tested, tasting lip gloss when you wet your lips. “Like sex? I heard that’s what most sugar mommies want.”

Leaning forward, Yongsun picked up her own wine glass. “If you’re comfortable, that’ll come with time. So what do you say? You can back out any time you want, if you agree. I won’t hold anything against you.”

You accepted her handshake, despite the tiny little voice in the back of your mind screaming for you to stop. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

In the next couple of weeks, you learned that Yongsun was the CEO of an entertainment company, and that she was the same age as Irene. She preferred Givenchy over Gucci, red wine over white, and she liked diamonds.

Especially on you.

It was all moving far too quickly to be rational, but for whatever reason, something about Yongsun made you trust her. She was kind, never pushed you, and respected you like an actual human even with your arrangement.

It’d be a lie to say you weren’t drunk when you kissed her for the first time, but the expensive whiskey lingering at the back of your throat only serve the purpose of giving you enough courage to do what you wanted.

Anyway, Yongsun stopped you from doing anything further. “I do want to kiss you, (Y/N), but I want you to remember every second of it when I do,” she told you, your heart only beating a million times faster when she did.

After that, kisses became normal, mostly initiated by you. In barely 3 months, you grew closer, and closer, and closer, until there was no room left between you.

Yongsun’s sheets were silky smooth on you, warm where your limbs tangled with the older woman’s. Diamonds still dripped from her ears and her throat even with the bareness of the rest of her, the purpling markings from your lips staining her pale collarbones.

“Was that okay?” she asked you softly, tilting her head to look at you with soft hair splayed out around her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfect,” you breathed out, still panting just the slightest bit. “But Yongsun, you need to know that I didn’t just do that because you bought me a diamond necklace.”

She raised her eyebrows, fingers lingering on the delicate chain of jewels nestled against you. “Then why did you?”

Your fingers curled around hers, holding her hand close to you. “I feel something for you. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what it is, but I do.”

“So do I, Y/N,” Yongsun smiled, ethereal. “And we have all the time in the world to explore it.”

#mamamoo #mamamoo x reader #mamamoo x you #mamamoo imagines #mamamoo scenarios #mamamoo reactions #mamamoo solar #mamamoo yongsun #kim yongsun #solar #solar x reader #solar imagines #solar scenarios #mamamoo smut #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #girl group reactions #girl group smut #mamamoo incorrect quotes #mamamoo icons

[julia-brookes]

Asch x Reader (pt.2) —smut | Sanctuary

Synopsis: You meant the world to him... all he thought about was you.... Perhaps the two of you were meant to meet again.

Word count: 1724

Genre: Smut

NOTE: this is part 2 of my first Asch x Reader. You can find part one on my master list in my bio. :))

———

5 years. It's been 5 years since your disappearance, since you vanished from Asch's life. The light of his life, gone in a snap. Gone forever...

Or so he thought. Little did you know that the two of you would meet again on Earth...

What seemed like an ordinary day for you turned into a head spinning mess that one fateful day. Who would have thought that such a menial task as taking out the trash could reunite the daemos prince with the love of his life. Like any good citizen would, you took the prince and his knights under your wing so they could at least try to function as regular humans.

Today was similar, it seemed like an ordinary day for the daemos prince as he studied your movements as you meandered through the hall to the bookshelf. You just came back from a relatively quiet day at the Bank. Nothing much happened. Clients came in and out, making deposits, and taking out loans. It truly was as bore. Thankfully, you had a companion with you: Harry Potter, the novel you currently finished. Book in hand, you put back the fifth book in the Harry Potter series. It didn't go as planned, as the bookshelf toppled over. You braced yourself for the impact, but it never came.

The feeling was odd, the way Asch looked at you. His eyes searched your expression in earnest, desperate for an answer of some sorts. Something about you made him go crazy. It was the same feeling that a certain daemos gave him...Something inside of his mind clicked. It had to be them... Something inside him thought — nay, he knew — it was the same (y/n) (l/n) that vanished from his life all those years ago. The same daemos who stole his Highness's heart and broke it within the same moon. The love of his life.

"(Y/n)?" He spoke as you turned around "did you ever find your purpose?" He finally found out.

"So you finally figured it out, your highness?" You caressed his face with a smile.

Tears filled his vision as the realization hit him. It was you... and for the first time in years, he could physically touch you, feel you in his own grasp... you were in fact real. The prince immediately embraced you. He held you tight, as if you were an apparition that could disappear any second. Your captor's arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

His lips met yours, sending shivers down your spine. Your breathing deepened. His hand traveled from your waist to your already-loose tie, tugging it off. Your captor's lips lightly grazed your collar bones, causing a yelp to escape from your mouth. Asch seemed to notice, taking the opportunity to nip your skin. I hope that's not... He left a hickey. His lips traveled back to your neck, leaving a burning trail of passion behind them. Asch searched your neck, looking for the perfect spot. After all, you were the canvas, and he was the painter. You froze as he bit in, sending a burning sensation throughout your body... Asch's touch held you prisoner in his grasp.

He suddenly stopped, as he pulled you into the wall and into his opulent bedroom. Your back made contact with the wall again, and began to trail down your neck, down to the collarbone, and lower...

You gasped for air as the prince nipped away at your flesh. He left a mark, a message to everyone in this world: you belonged to him. You were his, and he was yours, together you would rule Daemos — when the time came, of course — and Earth along with it. His voice Moaned your name as you tangled your fingers into his hair.

He stopped. " (y/n), I want to hold you close to me, to see myself reflected in your eyes." Asch removed a hand from your waist. You felt his cool fingers ever-so-slightly graze your cheek. It was shocking to you, how cold his hand was; the coldness caused a jolt of electricity to run down your spine. "I want to hold you as if tomorrow I'd be far away..." Asch lingered. "Far away from you..."

Asch was getting impatient, he wanted all of you, and he wanted it now. Breaking the contact with your skin, the daemos began to strip off your clothes. He wasted no time either, as one hand firmly grabbed hold of your shirt, slowly unbuttoning it. His other hand trailed up your outer thigh, snaking it's way towards your undergarments. He gently caressed your thighs. As soon as you were free from the restraints of your button-down, he pushed you down onto the plush bed.

He started removing your undergarments. First your bra, letting your chest free. "Your source of power has been removed, Princess... you're powerless against me..." you couldn't help but giggle at his authoritative voice.

"Then take me, my prince..." you ran a hand down his cheek as you beamed with happiness.

"With pleasure." Asch obliged, sliding the skirt of your uniform down and pushing your lingerie to the side, revealing your delicate folds.

"Oh..." you yelped as his finger slipped inside your entrance. Asch's pace as slow, painfully slow... He inserted another finger, and then a third, eventually speeding up. "Ah!" You shrieked in pleasure, arching your back. The Prince went in deeper with a rhythmic pace. In and out, in and out... the feeling was euphoric and you wanted more. "Asch..." you moaned. "Please, I need you..."

"Hmm?" Asch mused, slowing down his fingers. The feeling was torture... you grind your hips against him, hoping for some kind of relief.

"Please... I need your..." you looked at him earnestly. "Please..." you begged.

"As you wish..." He slid his trousers down, exposing his length to you. You looked away in embarrassment. Asch leaned in closer, caressing your cheek before planting a kiss.

The prince slid his member into your folds. You moaned in pleasure as his length filled your body. The feeling was intoxicating... both of you wanted more... Asch began to buck his hips, slowly at first. You ran your fingers down his horns in return, earning a moan from Asch as his movements became sloppier. It wasn't long before he began pumping into you fully. His hands roamed the rest of your body, exploring every crack and crevice. From this night on, you were his, and his alone... you were his princess, and he was your prince...

You clawed at his back, pulling him closer towards your body while wrapping your legs around his waist. Pleasure spread throughout your body as you connected with Asch. The prince knew that he loves you, and that you love him. You found sanctuary in his body.

How long has it been since the two of you started? The clock was out of your vision. What time was it? You didn't know, nor did you care. As long as you were with Asch, nothing else mattered but him.

A tightening feeling built up within the pit of your stomach. You were close, and the daemos prince seemed to know. A smirk formed on his face as he began to slow his pace, eventually stopping altogether. The feeling of his throbbing length was torture. You wanted to release, but it seemed that he had other plans. Asch removed himself from your entrance and reached for your uniform's tie. You stared at him for a few seconds before his hands flipped you around onto all-fours. "Ah!" You gasped , as your vision was blocked by the feeling of silk being wrapped around your head.

The warmth of Asch's breath filled your ear as he said "Shall we stop here, Princess? Would you like me to refrain?" You couldn't believe it, the daemos prince asked for consent? You thought that his hot-headed nature would persist, even in the bedroom.

You simply nodded your head, begging for his body, crying out a faint "pleasure me." And again, Asch obliged. The feeling of his length entering from behind you sent a jolt of pleasure through your body. His pace was slow and rhythmic, just like before. The pressure in your stomach began to build up again, causing you to scream Asch's name. The feeling of his hands suddenly became more prominent. You felt one of them tracing the side of your figure, eventually making its way to your delicate buds. The other was on your hips, steadying his motions as he pumped in and out of you. A wave of pleasure surged through your body as you felt his large hand caress your chest before he pinched your buds.

"Ah!" You screamed. "Please, give me more!" You said in between moans. You feel him pump harder into you, threatening release. And it soon came as warmth filled inside you. Asch's length throbbed inside of you as you felt his fluids overflowing. You felt the trails of liquid spill out of your entrance, dripping down your thighs.

The two of you stilled for a few moments as the prince slipped his length out of your delicate folds. Your huffed for air as you felt Asch's presence shift from behind to your left side. "I love you so much... please don't ever leave my side...." The prince's earnest voice laced your ears as you pushed yourself onto your knees to face him.

You felt his hand run down your cheek. The blindfold was soon removed, as Asch's face filled your vision as he removed his hand from your cheek. He embraced you as he pulled the covers over your bodies. You stared lovingly into his eyes before cracking a smile as a wave of tiredness washed over you.

"I promise...." you whispered.

"After all this time..." he started. "I've loved you for the longest time..." the words entered your ears as you drifted off to sleep.

#aphmau asch #aphmau pierce #my inner demons #my inner demons x reader #my inner demons aphmau #aphmau #smut #aphmau fanfiction

[firebrands]

speak easy | steve/tony

1.9k, M (for alcohol and recreational drug use), drunk steve, drunk tony, a few kisses and an unexpected confession | stony bingo prompt fill: this comic book cover | on ao3

*

It was a normal Tuesday between the two of them, stressed and under duress and Tony needing a drink. Tony had escaped his office to work with Steve, using the excuse that a change of scenery made him more productive.

Steve was just happy to spend time with Tony, really.

“I need a drink,” Tony said over their laptops.The sun was beginning to set outside the cafe they frequented when they needed to get work done.

“Okay,” Steve said. “I think I’ll join you.”

Tony looked up from typing on his laptop, surprised. “Really?”

“I mean, once in a while is okay,” Steve said, nonchalant.

A slow smile spread over Tony’s lips, and he pulled out his phone to type out of a text. “Great. Wonderful. There’s this place I think you’ll love.”

***

They’re two drinks in before their dinner arrives, and Tony’s eyes are half-lidded with the beginnings of intoxication. Steve is along the same route.

“Jeez,” Steve says, scrubbing his face with his hand. “It’s been a while.”

Tony makes a small noise of understanding, digging into his steak.

The bar is dark, all leather and wood, with paraphernalia from the 20s strewn about. They even have lamps that look to be from that period, but tables are candle-lit. Over the speakers comes muted tinkles of jazz.

“They’re really leaning into the speakeasy atmosphere, aren’t they,” Steve says, sipping his drink.

“One hundred percent,” Tony says, settling back into the chair and sighing, cheeks pink with a pleasant buzz.

They don’t talk about work, about the little amount of sleep they’d had over the past few days, about how much they both just needed to take a breather, even if only a few hours.

When they’re done, they step outside of the bar and Tony lights a cigarette. “Where to next?” He asks.

“My place is just a few blocks down,” Steve says, eyes opening and closing too slowly.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” Tony says, orienting himself by looking up at the buildings around them.

They begin walking unsteadily towards Steve’s apartment, Tony’s hands occasionally holding on to Steve’s arm to keep steady.

They’re quiet, tonight. Tired, drunk, ready to lie down. They say nothing as they lean against each other and wait for the elevator to bring them up to Steve’s room.

***

Tony kicks off his shoes when they get to Steve’s apartment—he’s used to house rules by now, and plops down on Steve’s sofa as Steve bends down to unlace his shoes. Steve is setting them aside properly in their assigned space on the rack when Tony makes a small, pleased sound. Steve looks up to see him holding up a small ziplock bag.

“Oh, Tony, I don’t think—”

“Just one,” Tony grins, tapping some weed onto rolling paper. “Come on, we should unwind. There’s still so much week left in this week,” he says, rolling for a bit more before licking the joint closed.

Steve, after all these years, knows when to choose his battles.

They move toward Steve’s balcony and Tony lights up, taking a long drag before passing the joint to Steve. Steve wonders idly if Tony just has drugs on his person at all times, but wouldn’t put it past him; after all, he’s Tony Stark. Even after all this time, it’s still a marvel to him that they’re friends—that they could be more than that, if one of them decided to finally make a move.

They’d met at a charity auction by chance, Tony had won the bid on Steve’s art.

“The first one that actually caught my eye,” Tony said.

“You bought a Monet,” Steve responded, unimpressed by the come-on.

Tony blinked at him. “Yeah, and?”

Steve couldn’t help but be charmed, and that’s how it started—coffee and dinner, whenever they were free and Tony didn’t have plans with his then-girlfriend, Jan. Steve still kept his full-time job, even if Tony bought enough of his art to pay his rent for the year, but they started as friends. Steve didn’t know how to make them more than that—it feels like that ship has set sail.

Tony flicks the roach into the air, watching as it floats down into the empty alley in the back of Steve’s building.

Steve tsks, even if he’s already pretty cross-faded from the drinks and the joint. Tony smirks in response.

“I need to lie down,” Tony says, walking back inside Steve’s apartment. He was very good at acting like he owned any place he stepped into.

Steve follows and pours each of them a glass of water. “Okay,” he says, drinking it down in one go. He hands the full glass to Tony, who takes a sip as he undoes his tie; Steve tries not to stare.

Tony walks into Steve’s bedroom before Steve, yawning before lying down.

This isn’t new, either. Lying awake on each other’s beds, sometimes talking, but most of the time, not. What is new is Tony turning towards Steve and sliding an arm under his neck, pulling him close.

Steve feels pliant and loose, doesn’t really give a shit about anything so small as a cuddle, if that’s what Tony needs then, okay, okay.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, is all. His mind settles into a pleasant hum of emptiness, savoring the simple physical act of closeness. He tips his head up a little. He misjudges the angle, and their noses brush. Steve looks up at Tony, a little startled, and sucks in a breath when he sees Tony looking back at him, an intense, unreadable look in his gaze.

Tony’s eyes flick down to Steve’s lips, then back up.

Steve breathes.

He’s never been this close to Tony, close enough to see how close his shave is, to feel the faint ghost of Tony’s breath on his chin. Steve blinks, slow, languorous, before moving closer.

Thankfully, Tony meets him halfway.

They kiss gently, in the way only two drunk, stoned people do. Open mouthed and soft, luxuriating in each touch of their lips against each others’. Steve can feel every point of touch between them, can feel the heat emanating from under Tony’s clothes. Tony pushes against him, holds him close, kisses him until Steve groans.

Steve reaches up, fingers skimming Tony’s neck, before slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Tony huffs in response, kissing Steve again, again, again, and when Steve moves to unbutton the next—

Tony jolts up and backs away so quickly he almost falls off the bed.

Steve pushes himself up blearily, trying to get his bearings.

Tony holds his shirt closed, looking wide-eyed.

“What—”

“Steve,” Tony says, sounding out of breath. “Sorry. I just—I have to go.”

“Wait,” Steve sits up properly now, moves to get up, but Tony’s out the door before Steve can get any words together. Still, Steve tries, runs out the door after him and catches Tony standing in the elevator lobby, shoes in hand.

“What the fuck,” Steve manages. He feels half-sober, now, painfully so. It’s like he’s drunk and hungover at once, and rejected on top of everything.

“I can’t,” Tony says, not meeting his gaze. “Sorry.”

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs. “For god’s sake, Tony. Come back inside and put your shoes on there.”

Tony blinks at him.

Steve looks at him, then massages his temples. “I’m not going to let you leave in your socks. Come on. Have some water.”

They walk back to Steve’s apartment quietly, and Tony frowns at the glass Steve hands him.

“Are you for real?” Tony asks, sounding surprised.

Steve sits down and sighs. He drinks from his own glass before answering. “You can just tell me if you don’t like me, I can take it,” he says. For a brief moment, he goes back to what was happening barely an hour ago—minutes ago, even. Strange, how life is.

Tony sits down across him and sighs. He buttons up his shirt and downs the rest of his water.

“It’s not that.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, waiting.

Tony rests his head in his hands and sighs.

“How long have we known each other?” he asks.

“What?”

“Few years now, right?”

“Why does it matter?”

Tony bites his lip and looks away. Steve returns to massaging his temples.

“I am too fucking drunk for this,” Tony says, his voice just above a whisper.

Steve snorts. “Join the club.” Despite his words, he wants to touch Tony so badly it feels like an ache, but it doesn’t feel very appropriate.

Tony looks back at Steve, frowning.

“You know, I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

The words punch the air out of Steve. “What?” He recovers then adds, “I mean, me too, but.” He looks away, then looks back at Tony, feeling out of his depth.

Tony purses his lips, then sighs. “I knew getting drinks with you was a bad idea,” he murmurs.

Steve shakes his head. “You always go too hard.” Then the realization hits him: he knows for a fact that Tony only ever does this when they're together. It’s never been explicit, never discussed or planned ahead, but in the times they’ve spent with other people, Tony’s as in-control as usual.

It’s only when it’s just the two of them that Tony drops the act.

“What is it?” Steve asks. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Tony frowns some more, then takes a deep breath. “I know this is going to sound crazy. But bear with me.”

Steve nods slowly in response, dubious and a little worried.

Tony slowly unbuttons his shirt, and Steve realizes he’s holding his breath. He gasps when Tony undoes the fourth, then the fifth, pulling at the hem to show his chest—and what’s embedded in it.

“I—“ Steve says, his brain failing to come up with any thought other than loud screeching. “What?”

Tony looks up at him. “I’m Iron Man.”

Steve sputters. “No you’re not.”

“What?”

“You—I. What? How? When? What is that?” The questions tumble out of him and Steve has to consciously loosen his grip on the table.

“It’s reactor tech,” Tony says. “It functions like a pacemaker, when I’m not…” he trails off.

“When you’re not Iron Man,” Steve finishes for him. He feels unpleasantly lightheaded. “All this time?”

“I’m sorry—”

This snaps Steve out of his thoughts. “Why?”

“I should have told you sooner, I was such a coward—I just didn’t know, there’s just—”

Through the static noise of his thoughts, Steve notices that he’s never heard Tony speak so haltingly. He reaches over and takes Tony’s hand, caring for him coming as second nature at this point. “You don’t have to be sorry. I don’t know if I would have told you, either, if I was in your place.”

Tony’s staring at his hand, nestled in Steve’s palm. “You’re not mad?”

Steve reaches over again, this time to tilt Tony’s head up to meet his gaze. “Of course not.”

“But I might be,” he adds, smiling a little encouragingly at Tony. “If you don’t let me kiss you.”

A small, slow, shy smile blooms on Tony’s lips. “Good thing I’d like you to keep kissing me,” he says softly.

Steve stands up from his chair, leans over, and pulls Tony close. Through the haze of it all—the swirling effects of liquor and drugs, the surprise, still, of Tony’s confessions—the real revelation comes in the way Tony’s lips feel against his, quiet as a promise.

#stevetony #superhusbands #stony #steve/tony #steve rogers #tony stark #marvel comics #things i write #fluff #sorta?? #idk jkdhfkj #anyway i hope yall enjoy it!

[cosmic-hearts]

castles in the air | lee donghyuck | two

lee donghyuck x female reader

genre; enemies-to-lovers, friendship, romance, fluff, angst

warnings; mentions of alcohol and drinking in this chapter!

foreword; in which you might be a real-life princess with a prince promised to you right from the start, but you won’t be getting your happy ever after. 

<< previous chapter | next chapter >>

You stand before your wardrobe, faced with yet another clothing dilemma. You love fashion and dressing up, you really do, but sometimes it can be a real pain in the ass. 

If this were another soirée or evening function, you’d know exactly what to wear—that gorgeous Isabella Militao dress you’d been saving for a spectacular debut. That would be sure to make jaws drop; it was a gift fashioned by the loving hand of Aphrodite herself. 

But you’re going to a high school party, and you don’t think girls turned up in the latest garb fresh off the runways of New York Fashion Week. 

You think back to when Donghyuck asked you to go to the party with him (“because we actually need to seem like we’re dating”), and you asked him what to wear. He’d scoffed and you nearly socked him in the face.

“How would I know? Your parents literally own Seoul’s biggest fashion brand. And you’ll look good in whatever.”

If that had been a genuine compliment, you would have been flattered. But it was the tone in which he’d said it, that matter-of-fact, detached voice devoid of any tinge of personal belief or emotion that made it clear he was merely stating a truism, an indisputable fact. He might as well have said that the sky was blue. 

You eventually decide on a red sleeveless silk floral dress that stops slightly above mid-thigh. It’s not exactly the most modest article of clothing you own, but it’ll have to do. 

When you get in Donghyuck’s car, he doesn’t even glance over to see what you’re wearing, a stark reminder that this clearly isn’t a real date. You on the other hand, can’t help but sneak peeks at his outfit (it’s just the fashionista in you, you swear): a denim jacket thrown over a casual white button-up shirt and dark jeans. A simple look, but surprisingly he makes it work. 

You quickly look away before he catches you staring.

He drives in complete silence and before long you reach your destination. Upon entering the house, Donghyuck immediately leaves your side to reunite with five other boys; you have to stand alone for a hot minute and bear witness to the fist bumps, back slaps and bro hugs going all around.

“Who’s this?” One of the boys asks, his blue hair gleaming underneath the faux strobe lights. 

You open your mouth to reply, but Donghyuck beats you to it. “My girlfriend. Everyone, this is Y/N.” He sounds like he’s gritting his teeth while introducing you as his girlfriend, which makes you want to laugh; after all, he’s brought this upon himself.

“Hi,” you say, smiling at the boys, “it’s nice to meet you guys.”

“Hi, I’m Jaemin,” the blue-haired boy steps forward and says, flashing you a wide grin that sparks a curious flutter in your chest. 

“Did you break up with Sohui?” A brooding, dark-haired boy asks Donghyuck. It’s clear to see that he has none of that chipper energy Jaemin possesses.

Donghyuck’s gaze becomes shifty and he clears his throat awkwardly before replying, “Yeah.”

What a lie.

Before you can think too much about it, Jaemin whisks you all away for a game of spin the bottle. The consequence? 7 minutes in heaven. 

You’d heard of the game before but you didn’t think people actually played it at parties; it all seemed so terribly cliche. Looks like you were dead wrong, because once the bottle lands Jaemin and then you everyone’s in an uproar and you’re panicking because you really don’t want to lose your first kiss to a stranger, however hot he may be. Heck, you’d rather do it with Donghyuck; at least he’s a familiar enemy. 

Jaemin smirks at you and grabs your wrist, gesturing towards a nearby closet (god, the sheer disgrace you feel, what would your parents say?) and your heart starts thumping in your ribcage, the butterflies from earlier entirely gone. You contemplate breaking out into a sprint for the bathroom or just running out to the garage and driving Donghyuck’s car away into the night. You look over at Donghyuck, hoping that he can read your mind and get you out of this situation (you know he hates you but surely he doesn’t hate you that much), but he’s staring at you with a glazed expression on his face and you can’t believe he’s about to offer you up like a lamb to the slaughter, that asshole—

“I’ll do it instead,” Donghyuck suddenly stands and grabs your free hand, tugging you away from Jaemin. Without waiting for his response he drags you behind him to the closet, pulls you in and shuts the door with a loud slam. 

You release the breath you’d unconsciously been holding and start to sink down onto the cushions littered about in the dark, dank and cramped space, but then you stop short Donghyuck places a hand on your arm. He shrugs off his jacket and shoves it into your hands, whispering, “Your dress.”

When you two are finally seated, his jacket draped over your lap, you ask in a slight whisper, “What do we do now?”

At this, Donghyuck breaks out into a sardonic smile, leaning in close to whisper in your ear, “We’re not going to do anything. Don’t forget that I have a girlfriend, and if I kiss you, you might just fall in love with me. Can’t risk that now, can we?” 

You try to ignore the way his breath tickles your ear and the fact that it’s not an entirely uncomfortable sensation. You hate the way Donghyuck plays with you like this, as though he’s constantly reminding you that he will never be yours, arranged marriage or not.

You press yourself into your corner of the closet to get as far away as possible from him, before taking out your phone and instinctively scrolling through Twitter, your lifeline—it’s almost like a coping mechanism, the way you try to get lost in your timeline filled with pictures of the Albertine bookstore and 90’s Chanel gowns to try and forget the fact that you’re currently stuck in a musty closet with your childhood enemy. Donghyuck does the same; he pulls out his phone and starts typing rapidly. You figure he’s texting Sohui to complain.

Before long the 7 minutes are up and the boys are pounding on the closet door. You sigh; they sound like ravenous zombies lying in wait to chew you out when you emerge. You’re about to push the door open when Donghyuck puts a hand on your arm; you turn to face him with the most annoyed expression can muster. What now?

Without warning, he reaches behind you and pulls out the scrunchie that’s holding your hair in a high ponytail. You nearly yelp at him in surprise as your hair spills past your shoulders, utterly dishevelled (also, that’s a limited edition Chanel scrunchie right there) but he must have seen it coming because he places his hand over your mouth, quick as a flash. Leaning in close, he whispers in your ear, “We have to look like we just made out, idiot.”

You flash him an angry glare which soon turns into a look of sheer embarrassment as he unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, a sliver of light through the crack in the closet falling on his now exposed collarbone. You look away hastily, thankful that the darkness obscures the blush creeping up your cheekbones. 

He’s about to push open the door when he suddenly hisses, “Shit, I almost forgot the most important thing. I need to get some of your lip gloss off.”

Against your better judgement, you acquiesce. Anything to get out of this literal hellhole.

Closing your eyes, you feel a warm palm on the back of your head and you brace yourself. You feel his thumb running across your bottom lip in one swift but gentle motion, and when you open your eyes he’s swiping it across his own. 

The blush in your cheeks intensifies and you look away quickly. 

Finally, Donghyuck pushes open the door and a flood of electric purple light streams in. The boys whoop and cheer, and Jaemin invites you to sit next to him. You happily do so, desiring to be in the proximity of anyone other than Donghyuck—you might just combust with embarrassment if you sat next to him after that horrendous episode.

“Are you good at drinking, Y/N?” Jaemin asks, his smile as striking as his cobalt blue hair. He really is a heartthrob. 

“Somewhat,” you say, being deliberately evasive; you aren’t about to let him know that your tolerance was limited to dainty sips of Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay typically served at the high-end functions you went to.

“Great! Let’s play a drinking game then,” he says, winking, and the butterflies in your stomach make it hard for you to resist.

Over the course of the next hour, you find yourself in an endless cycle of drinking games—you weren’t bad at those games, and it wasn’t very often that you had to drink, but when you did, the single shot of soju burned your throat on the way down and seemed to erode your consciousness along the way. You can feel your cheeks getting hotter and hotter, and the laughing faces of the boys seem to pass by in a hazy blur. 

“Y/N,” a low voice chimes in your ear; it’s a stern, familiar voice. You frown instinctively; you have a pretty good idea of who it is, even if you can’t see him. “Stop it. You don’t have to keep drinking if you can’t handle it.”

You wave him off; there’s no way you’re drunk. “Who… Who said I can’t handle it? I’m no… lightweight.”

“Yeah… She seems to be managing fine, right Y/N?” Another voice, this one slurred and a little too mirthful to be sober. A flash of blue hair. It’s the cute boy, you think to yourself and smile.

“Enough,” the stern voice cuts in again, right when you are about to reach up and touch the boy’s hair, to see if it feels like cotton candy as much as it looks.

You feel an arm snaking round your waist, forcing you to stand up. Your head rests on something firm and solid; it’s almost comfortable, but you want to keep drinking. You have to prove that you can hold your liquor; you are Y/N, for goodness’ sake, and you can do anything you set your mind to.

But before you can open your mouth to protest, the world begins to spin and darkness swallows you whole; you have no choice but to fall into it without resistance.

—

This isn’t what Donghyuck envisioned when you decided to take you to the party. 

He didn’t expect to have to get stuck in a closet with you for a whole 7 minutes. He didn’t expect you to get dead drunk while slobbering all over Jaemin. And he certainly didn’t expect to be hauling you on his back to the front step of your house and having to present your dismally inebriated form to your mother. 

“I’m so sorry,” Donghyuck says, hoping he comes across as apologetic enough, “I should’ve taken better care of her.”

To his utter astonishment, your mother waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Don’t worry about it! I expected this to happen; Y/N has never been to a party without us before. I’m glad you were with her; god knows what would have happened to her if you weren’t there!” 

Donghyuck resists the urge to chortle. What are you, a child?

“Could you take her up to her room please? I’ll get the housekeeper to run her a bath.”

“Sure,” he says, grimacing inwardly at the thought of having to lug your deadweight up four flights of stairs; thank goodness there’s an elevator.

He tries his best not to dump you unceremoniously onto your bed, taking care to remove your strappy sandals. When the job is done, he’s about to leave when something on your desk catches his eye. He walks over and picks it up, turning on your desk lamp for better lighting. 

In his hands lies a framed photo of the two of you when you first met as kids—you in a bright pink dress adorned with a monstrosity of ribbons, him in a suit. You’re both sitting on a park bench holding hands; he’s staring at the camera with a stony expression, while your smile looks more like a grimace. 

The memory of that day rushes to greet him, clear as day—it was the first time he saw you, and it was on the same day that it was announced that you were going to be his future bride. It was the day he started his campaign of relentless hate towards you, the day he decided that you were to be his lifelong enemy.

Donghyuck sets the picture down on your desk with more force than intended. Why would you still keep it? Did you really want a constant reminder of your betrothal to him? Did you really want a constant reminder of him?

His whirlwind of thoughts is interrupted by a weak voice. “Donghyuck?”

He walks over to your bed where you lie intoxicated, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded, tangled locks of hair strewn across your pillow.

“You’re awake,” he says, voice flat. 

“I… said… I wasn’t drunk… idiot…”

Nope. Still wasted.

“Just go to sleep. Your bath will be ready soon,” he’s about to leave when you lift your hand to latch weakly onto his wrist.

“Wait,” you mumble, “I… have to ask you… something.”

“What is it?”

At this, your lips turn into a pout. “I know… you’re… a liar.”

“What?”

“You…,” you gesticulate aimlessly at him—after all, finding words is such a chore when you’re hardly sober— “when we were young… you said that… you hated me because I was wearing… pink.”

Donghyuck’s breath hitches in his throat; he can’t believe you can remember that. 

“Yes; what about it?”

“You’re lying. That’s… a stupid reason… for hating someone. So tell me… why exactly… do you hate me so much?”

Donghyuck feels his heartbeat pick up but he keeps his lips pursed. 

“I never told you this… but… it hurts. It hurts how… you don’t even want to be friends with me…” you ramble on, lips forming a pout while your eyelids get heavier and heavier. “Why don’t you like me…” Your eyelids flutter shut and your breathing evens, and Donghyuck releases the breath he’d been holding.

Donghyuck feels the sour pang of guilt creep up on him. Granted, you’d never done anything to warrant his hate for you; he simply detests your very existence, which isn’t something you can help. It never once occurred to him that you’d be hurt by him—he didn't think he mattered to you at all. He can’t believe you still remember what he’d said to you all those years ago. Sighing, he rakes a hand through his hair; perhaps some soul-searching is in order.

He pauses for a moment, watching the way your eyelashes graze your cheekbones ever so slightly. Your cheeks and lips are flushed cherry pink from all that drinking, and a stray lock of hair spills across your face. He reaches out to draw it away from your face, marvelling at how normal you look for once; your sleeping face is so tranquil, like a child’s. No one would ever be able to guess at how you are nothing less than a perfect, infallible human being. It’s easy for him to forget how you’re the same age as him; you just seem to possess a maturity way beyond your youth that Donghyuck really can’t wrap his head around.

He gently drapes the duvet over you, and he’s about to leave when he sees that his denim jacket is still wrapped snugly around your body, though it’s a couple sizes too large for your slight frame. 

He can let you have it for a little while.

—

You proudly hand your mother your school journal, decorated with pink glitter and purple felt butterflies you painstakingly cut out yourself. On the first page, the words “My Dream Job” are neatly inscribed in cursive lettering, with hearts over the i’s. 

“Mrs Lee asked us to write down our dream job today,” you gush, pigtails bouncing with excitement. “Look what I wrote!”

Your mother smiles as her eyes skim over the words ‘fashion designer’.  You gabble on. 

“I told the class I wanted to take over your company when I grow up and become a fashion designer just like you!” 

“Very good, Y/N. I’m so proud of you. I have no doubt that will happen,” she says, patting the top of your head. 

“Oh, I also asked Donghyuck what he wanted to be. He said he wants to be a singer when he grows up.”

Your mother’s hand falls from your head and she frowns. “Does he?” 

“Yeah. Isn’t that cool? I told him that was really cool.” 

Her expression turns austere. “There’s no future in that, Y/N. You should tell him to be like you and take over his family’s company. That way he’ll be successful.”

“But he’s good at singing,” you protest, eyes shining with the memory of his voice, “and he looks so happy when he’s singing. If he’s happy, won’t he be successful too?”

—

“Do you still sing?”

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow at you as he chugs his iced coffee. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s called making conversation. It might not be in our contract, but did you intend to sit in silence until the sun sets and we go home?”

It’s your turn to pick a date, so you’ve dragged Donghyuck to a music cafe with a stage by the entrance where a teenage boy sings soulful R&B tunes. You weren’t being entirely truthful when you told him you were just making conversation; you did want to know if he still sang. To see if he was prepared for what you were about to throw him into. 

“Sometimes,” he says, “maybe one day I’ll serenade you. With a song about how annoying you are.”

You resist the urge to toss your steaming mug of chamomile tea in his face. These days, after your horribly embarrassing encounter at the party (Donghyuck insists that you threw up in his car, but you don’t remember that at all), his attitude toward you seems to have shifted. Sure, he’s still mean, but not resentful. He doesn’t seem to hate you that much anymore; when he says spiteful things you can sense its teasing undertones. 

You wonder what sparked this change. Shouldn’t he detest you even more? You literally threw up in his car—or so he claims. Or maybe he’s finally come to his senses and recognizes just how lovable you are. 

You load up your smile like a gun.

“You do that,” you say, raising your hand to beckon someone over. To Donghyuck’s surprise, the manager of the cafe scoots over, and when he leans down you whisper something into his ear. The man chuckles and sends a curious glance at Donghyuck.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” you say, smiling sweetly and taking a sip of your coffee. 

The performer ends the song, and bows to polite claps from the audience. The manager you just spoke to goes up on stage, voice filling the room. 

“Thank you Jihoon, that was lovely as usual. Next up we have Lee Donghyuck—this is his first time performing, so do give him your encouragement!”

Donghyuck literally jumps in his seat and you stifle your laugh. He sends a death glare in your direction and mouths I’m going to kill you. You clap for him in response, that sweet smile never leaving your face. You’ll get it from him later, no doubt, but this is totally worth it. 

Donghyuck finally gets up and trudges over to the stage. He steps up to the mic, closes his eyes for the briefest of instants, and his lips part.

You expected, after all these years, that his voice would have hardened somehow, taken on a rougher edge, flavoured with the accents of a baritone. However, Donghyuck surprises you yet again—his voice is just as airy and angelic as it was nearly a decade ago, and every line he sings is like a stream of honey pouring forth from his lips. He breezes through countless high notes effortlessly in a way that sends chills down your spine, without so much as a twitch of neck muscle; he loads every word with so much emotion that it seems like the euphonious melody is coming to life right before your very eyes. The other patrons in the cafe are spellbound, drinks and conversation long forgotten; he’s bewitched everyone, and there’s no escaping. 

In short, Lee Donghyuck is still a marvellous singer. And possibly a siren.

When he’s done, it is silent for a moment, the aftereffects of his spell still lingering. And then a single clap from the manager breaks the reverie and soon everyone is applauding in awe and surprise. There are even a few cheers.

You watch as he smiles and bows bashfully before walking down the stage, leaving his five minutes of fame behind. His cheeks glow under the warm light of the cafe; he looks absolutely ethereal.

“What do you think?” He asks as he slides into his seat. You can almost feel the passion flowing from him in waves. 

You stare at him, starstruck. How could you possibly tell him that you never want him to stop singing, that you actually would like to be serenaded by him, that you want to wake up and fall asleep to the sound of his voice every single day? 

So you settle for, “N-Not bad.” Yes, you stuttered. You hope your cheeks won’t betray you.

Donghyuck smirks. “Really? Your face tells me something else.”

Instinctively, you place a hand on your cheek—it’s burning. You take a large gulp of coffee to hide the flames in your cheeks; Donghyuck’s smirk only grows wider. 

Avoiding his gaze, you ask, “Anyway, what song was that? I’ve never heard it before.”

He rubs the back of his neck with his palm. “Actually, I wrote it.”

“You what?”

“I wrote it. Want me to announce it to everyone?”

You can’t believe it. Not only does this boy before you have the voice of an angel, he’s a lyrical genius too? The world is simply not fair.

“Wow.” You lean back in your chair, all attempts at unfazed composure gone. “That’s actually crazy. You’re actually crazy.”

You look back at Donghyuck, expecting him to look smug, but instead his lips are pursed and his gaze is downcast.

“What’s wrong? Upset that your identity as a secret genius has been exposed?”

“No, it’s just… I wrote this song for Sohui. I thought she would love it, especially since she’s always been super supportive about my singing and songwriting. But… she doesn’t like it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She said I should have bigger dreams now. Apparently, I can’t get anywhere with this.”

You keep silent, wondering how she could possibly say that to him. Heck, if a boy wrote you a song and serenaded you with it you’d probably get down on one knee and profess your undying love to him. 

“Maybe… maybe she’s right. My parents say that all the time too. I shouldn’t be singing anymore. It’s time to grow up. You can’t make money out of dreams.”

He looks so crestfallen, the incandescent shine that had previously graced him completely vanished. That shine of passion was what set him ablaze and made him look so euphoric, and now it’s gone, like a candle snuffed out by the darkness. 

You want to get it back for him. You want to see that look of pure bliss spread across his face. You want to see him shining bright and luminous again. 

“So, what? You’re just going to stop singing then?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest, “I thought you were more determined than that. Once you’d set your mind on something, you wouldn’t let it go. That’s how you nursed that burning hatred you had for me, right?”

He has the good grace to blush.

You lean across the table and look him straight in the eye. “And I thought you could care less what others thought; that’s why we’re doing all this. That’s why we’re going against our parents’ will and fighting this bloody engagement. The Lee Donghyuck I know won’t go down without a fight, especially if it’s something he clearly loves so much.”

One final push. “But I could be wrong. I mean, I don’t really know you.”

Donghyuck’s head snaps upward and he stares right at you; you can see the fire in his eyes. Whether it's rage or passion, it doesn’t matter. You managed to rile him up. That was all you wanted. That’s the only way to keep his flame burning. 

—

The drive home is filled with a pregnant silence. You wonder if you took it too far; after all, you and Donghyuck aren’t exactly the chummiest of friends. Maybe you overstepped the boundary a little.

But all you know is that you won’t stand by and let him give up such a blessing, something that clearly gives him so much joy. You won’t let him become an empty shell. 

You of all people know how that feels. 

When you reach home, you unbuckle your seatbelt and say goodbye. “Thanks for today, Donghyuck. You can choose the next date.” 

You’re about to reach for the door and get out, but Donghyuck stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

“Y/N,” he says, and you look at him, acutely aware of the sensation of his fingers clasped around your wrist. His gaze burns into yours in a way that makes your heart jolt and your brain question everything you ever thought you’d felt about him.

You wonder whether, in an alternate universe, things could have been different between you two.

“Thank you,” he finally says, gaze softening, the faintest hint of a smile etched on his lips.

Perhaps you melted a little.

#lee donghyuck #lee donghyuck imagines #lee donghyuck scenarios #lee donghyuck fluff #lee donghyuck angst #nct dream #nct dream fanfiction #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #haechan scenarios #nct haechan #haechan nct #haechan fluff #haechan fanfic #haechan fanfiction #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #nct imagines

[reindeersweaters]

Hi Sweetheart! What about a drabble of You Go to My Head Kristoff holding their baby for the first time? Lysm! Smooches!

ANYTHING FOR YOU, DEAREST! 

You Go To My Head drabble

words: 1126

rating: T (for mild language and a brief childbirth scene)

                         Kristoff paced up and down the waiting room. It was unbelievably hot so he unbuttoned the cuffs on his sleeves and rolled them up past his elbow.

               “This your first one?” The only other man in the waiting room piped up.

               He was sitting casually in his chair puffing on a cigar and reading the newspaper.

               “Huh?” Kristoff asked.

               “Is this your first child?”  

               “Um. Yes.”  

               “I can tell. I was much the same way with our first.” The man chuckled and turned the page of his paper. “You get used to the waiting when you’ve had five.”

               “I shouldn’t have to get used to the waiting.” Kristoff grumbled pacing around the room again. “I should be in there with her.”

               “It’s just not the way things are done, son. Besides, I doubt you would even want to be in there.”

               “Of all the damn fool things-“ Kristoff began to mumble back but then the double doors towards the delivery room were thrown open and there was Anna, waddling out in her regular clothes. “Anna! Baby, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

                “They say it’s false labor.” Anna grumbled, readily leaning into him as his arm came around her. “It certainly feels real and I told the nurse exactly what I thought about her leaving me alone in a room for an hour, but the doctor insists that I should go home and get a good night’s rest and not to come back until my water has broken.”

                The other man in the waiting room gave a cheery wave, which Kristoff barely reciprocated as they headed back towards the hospital entrance. Anna continued to voice her dissatisfaction as Kristoff checked them out and went back out to his truck.

               “Did you want to go straight home?” Kristoff asked.

               “No, not yet. Can we go to your mother’s house? I really could use one of her cold compresses and I can’t make them like she can.”

                “Of course.” Kristoff nodded.

                The whole drive Anna shifted uncomfortably every few minutes, but she didn’t talk except to mutter a few choice words about the hospital’s hospitality. Kristoff merely held her hand and she would squeeze it tightly every few minutes. He would then kiss it gently and murmur his agreement.

                “I should be in there with you when it happens.” He said, thinking that there was no way they could really stop him if he insisted on his presence.

               When they pulled up in front of the Bjorgman house they were greeted by several of his siblings who were playing catch in the yard. This seemed to give Anna a brief moment of happiness but as soon as they were inside, she was grimacing again and rubbing firm circles against her swollen belly.

               “Hello, dearies!” Bulda called, coming out from the kitchen wiping flour from her hands on a dishrag. “What brings you here?”

               “We were just at the hospital-“

               “Oh! What’s wrong!?” Bulda was immediately by Anna’s side and checking her over.

               “I thought I went into labor and they’re insisting it’s false because my water hasn’t broken.” Anna groaned. “Though the doctor barely even looked at me and the nurse left me alone in a room by myself for a whole hour.”

               “And you didn’t call me from the hospital?” Bulda raised an eyebrow at Kristoff.

               “Sorry, Ma. They wouldn’t let me back in the room with her and I was preoccupied being angry about that to think to call.” Kristoff found himself scowling deeply.

                 “Oh dear, come here, come here! Let me make you one of my cold compresses.” Bulda ushered her back into the kitchen.

                 “Thank you.” Anna said, slightly teary.

                 “It’s nothing dear. Kristoff fetch me the armchair from the front room, will you?”

                 Once Anna was made as comfortable as possible, Bulda went about finishing up making several pies. “They’re for a church function this Sunday, though if you stay long enough, I might give you a slice of one.

               “That sounds wonderful-ah!”

               Kristoff was up in an instant. “Anna what’s wrong?”

               “It’s nothing, I’m fine.” Anna waved him away, though her face clearly said otherwise and was pinched with discomfort. “It’s just the false labor.

               Bulda put down the rolling pin she had been wielding and came to Anna’s side. “False labor doesn’t give you such sharp pain you can’t speak.”

               “It’s not that bad.” Anna insisted, but Kristoff could tell she was lying and he gave his mother a look.

               “How frequently are you experiencing these pains?” Bulda asked, gently feeling around Anna’s belly.

               “Just every few minutes.”

               “And has it been growing worse?”

               “Well, yes, but my water still hasn’t broken, and the doctor said not to come back until it had. Oh!” Anna finished with a gasp and she gripped the edge of her chair tightly and began to breathe heavily.

               “False labor my behind.” Bulda tutted. “Kristoff, if you’ll set the big kettle on and get me some towels.”

               Kristoff obeyed, hurrying to accomplish what his mother asked.

              Then Anna instructed him to call Elsa’s house, which he did promptly.

               Then he was tasked with getting his younger brother’s and sisters out of the house, ringing his Aunt Crystal to come take them.

               Then it was his job to sit behind Anna and gently rub her back.

               Before he knew it, he was holding her hand again and her grip was so strong it felt like he was being continually pinched in one of the steel clamps he had to use at work.  Elsa arrived just in time to sit by her other side and hold her other hand.

               “Kristoff if you want to leave you can.” Elsa offered.

               “No!” Anna cried out at the same time Kristoff was shaking his head. “I need him here!”

               “I’m not going anywhere.” He insisted, kissing her hand again.

               What happened next was a bit of a blur. Before he knew it, he was holding a little bundle that had a mop of blond hair like him, a perfect little button nose, just like Anna’s, and ten little fingers and toes.

               “Wow.” He sighed in awe, wiping tears from his eyes.

               “Did you regret being in the room with me?” Anna chuckled. “What with all the screaming and the fact that I nearly broke your hand?”

               Kristoff looked over at her, amazed at how radiant she looked despite how tired he knew she was.

               “Not even a little bit.” He then leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You were absolutely incredible.”

               “He’s incredible.” Anna giggled, peeking at the little baby in her husband’s arms again.

               “That’s an understatement.” Kristoff grinned. “So, what are we going to name him?”

               “Isn’t it obvious?”

               “Um… no?”

               “His name is Ryder, of course.”

#you go to my head #drabble #the fact that hospitals didn't let husbands back with their wives while they were giving birth still baffles me #also I based this off my mom's birth story with me #the doctor literally told her to go home #luckily she didn't listen #because I was born like three hours later #childbirth is wild man #anyway! I hope you like this KP *blows kisses*

[dreamonhunters]

dyin’ ain’t so bad, not if you both go together

tw // major character death, graphic depictions of violence, guns, blood, references to drugs

yet another birthday present!! happy birthday to @aw-jus-let-em-try ! rizz i love you so damn much and i’m so grateful to call you my friend!! ♡ i do hope you enjoy immortal javid as much as i think you will 🥺

read it here on ao3!

Jack Kelly died when he was twelve years old.

And again, when he was thirteen.

There’s a tombstone that says he died when he was fourteen, again at sixteen, eighteen, nineteen, and the one on his twenty-first birthday that he doesn’t talk about because alcohol poisoning isn’t a very cool way to go.

Different names, of course. He’s many things, but stupid isn’t one of them.

There’s more. Jack remembers each and every last one of them, vivid technicolour in his mind. Some of them are lost to time now, forgotten and unrecorded. Never been one to keep his legal documents in order.

He’s twenty-two now, and the tally on his chest — emblazoned on the soft flesh over his heart, dark against tan skin — says he’s died twenty-seven times.

He’s lived more lives than years.

Fingertips graze over those dark lines. A blessing and a curse. Jack Kelly is unbreakable, because his life isn’t so fragile. You fear nothing and nobody when you can’t be destroyed, when the light behind your eyes can never be extinguished.

He hears shifting beside him, and his eyes flicker over to the bed. Expensive sheets cover a man’s sleeping form, curled on his side, one arm resting beneath his head. Softly illuminated by the rising sun, filtering through the cracks in the blinds.

David is beautiful when he sleeps.

Jack lets out a soft sigh, allowing the fabric of his shirt to drop back down. Turns to watch his lover sleep, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth upwards. He’s a lucky, lucky man, truly. People like David Jacobs don’t fall for Jack Kelly. But neither of them should exist, because they both died a long time ago, and so Jack doesn’t look at the improbability of it anymore.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he murmurs. Davey mumbles something unintelligible, rolling over onto his back. “C’mon, we got work to do.”

“What time is it?” Davey asks, voice still thick with sleep. Blinks blearily up at the ceiling, letting his eyes adjust to the change in light.

“Half seven,” Jack answers, without glancing at the clock on the wall. Doesn’t need to, because he wouldn’t get up any earlier than that without six alarms and a strong cup of coffee. “Think Finch an’ Albert are up. Heard ‘em bickering.”

“Unsurprising.”

He laughs, turning to lean against the wall. Davey rolls back onto his side, and that little smile lights up Jack’s world. Reminds him why he fell in love with this man all over again.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” Jack murmurs.

He laughs, shaking his head. “No need to flatter me, Jackie. I’m getting up.”

“Not flatterin’. Admiring.”

Davey pushes himself upright, stretching his arms. Arches his back until Jack hears that satisfying crack, the type you get from a good stretch. “You’re sweet.”

“Don’t you know it, sugar,” he murmurs, moving across the room to press a soft kiss to Davey’s lips. “C’mon. Up an’ at ‘em. We got a deal to close.”

Davey’s laughter fills Jack’s ears as he waltzes out of the room, rolling his shoulders back. Shoots a tired-looking Racetrack his trademark grin as he passes. Albert and Finch are still bickering in the kitchen, although they both look a little more animated now. Romeo’s head rests on the table, a glass of orange juice long forgotten beside him.

“Mornin’, lads,” Jack greets. Uncharacteristically cheerful for this time of morning, but he chooses to ignore that minor detail.

“Mornin’, boss,” Albert drawls, mimicking Jack’s tone in the most obnoxious manner possible. “Didn’t think you were gonna make it.”

“I ain’t that lazy, Al,” Jack deflects. “Gimme a break.”

“You want coffee?” Finch offers, placing his own mug back on the counter.

“You already know I do.”

“I don’t think Jack can function without his coffee,” Davey’s voice chimes in, and Jack turns to see his lover standing in the doorway. Leaning against the frame, small smirk tugging at his lips. Cocky. A quiet challenge, just between the two of them. The top of his shirt hangs open, unbuttoned. Unusual for Davey, but more than appreciated.

“Good mornin’ to you too, David,” he drawls playfully, turning back to smile at his boys. “What’s got you lot up so early?”

Finch groans, sliding a cup of coffee across to Jack. “Ask me after.”

“Someone’s cheerful,” Albert comments, earning himself a sharp jab to the ribs.

“Racer had another stupid idea,” Louis mumbles, somehow managing to avoid eye contact with anyone as he enters the room. As he always does. “And you know he isn’t gonna just give up on it.”

Jack simply laughs, sits himself down beside Romeo. “Rise an’ shine, Juliet,” he teases, nudging the boy’s shoulder. He stirs, grumbling something under his breath. Still doesn’t lift his head.

“We’ll be out most of the day,” Davey adds coolly, retrieving the milk. “Got a deal to close.”

“Anything important?” Finch asks, head inclined slightly towards Davey as he rejoins Albert at the table.

Jack shakes his head, jaw cracking as he yawns. “Nah. These guys ain’t regulars. That’s why I want more money off ‘em.”

“And you think tha’s gonna work?” Albert questions.

“You know me,” Jack smirks. “I don’t take no for an answer.”

“And we don’t have long,” Davey reminds.

“That we don’t,” he agrees, draining his cup. “Laters, boys. Don’t burn the house down.”

“So keep Race away from the toaster? Got it,” Albert teases, earning himself a dark glare from the blond.

He follows Davey out of the kitchen, and maybe he’s lagging behind just a little to admire his lover. Not that he’d admit to that.

Davey and Jack have always made a good pair. Maybe has a little something to do with the fact they slept together on their second meeting, but Jack likes to gloss over that fact. It’s not the most romantic story, but it suits them, he thinks. Jack was never one to beat around the bush.

“You sure we shouldn’t bring Racer along?” Davey asks, voice betraying just the slightest hint of anxiety. They’re in the garage now, with Jack making a beeline towards his preferred vehicle. “He’s the talker.”

“Nah. I got this, Dave, don’t worry ‘bout it. You know I got a way with words, an’ you’re not exactly quiet.”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. Doesn’t really require an answer, really, because Jack’s right, and they both know it. They’re equally as competent, and sometimes it’s nice to have something for just the two of them.

They don’t talk while they drive. Jack doesn’t have anything to say, and Davey doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s at the wheel. A quiet hour to prepare themselves, mentally and physically.

Jack fiddles with his glock. Flicks the safety on and off, that soft clicking a small distraction for his mind. Davey would complain if he weren’t so focused. Occasionally, he’ll hum quietly to himself, break the silence for a few fleeting moments, and it’s nice. Pleasant. Comfortable.

Davey pulls up a few blocks away, rests his arms on the steering wheel. Jack knows that expression. Steeling himself.

“You ready?” Jack asks softly, leaning over to press a light kiss to Davey’s cheekbone.

“Mm,” he answers, not meeting Jack’s eyes. He needs these moments. It’s a little harder for Davey to create that mental separation.

They stay there for a short while longer, listening to the other’s breathing. Jack waits for Davey to unbuckle his seatbelt and pop his door open, taking another deep breath as he steps out. And he follows his lover’s lead, tucking the glock into his waistband. Insurance, more than anything.

Davey’s by his side in an instant, the back of his hand brushing against Jack’s. He resists the urge to intertwine their fingers, just for those few fleeting moments, because he doesn’t quite need that physical reassurance anymore.

You can’t hurt Jack Kelly, and you can’t hurt David Jacobs, because every time they come right back. Death has no permanence. Blink, and they’re awake, side by side, gasping for that first breath all over again. A blessing and a curse.

Jack’s fingertips trace the tally on the inside of his lover’s wrist, a feather light touch. Davey isn’t so laidback, however. He explains his fears quietly, when it's just the two of them in a darkened room, bodies pressed against each other. Every death marks one closer to the end for him. A fear that one day this little performance will come to a horrifying close, and suddenly the fragility of life will become all too real. There has to be a limit to their immortality, he insists, even if Jack disagrees. Just how far can they push it?

His head turns, steely blue eyes meeting deep brown. “Be safe, Jackie,” Davey murmurs, eyes filled with a concern most people wouldn’t quite understand. When you don’t quite fear death, your biggest fear is loneliness, Jack realises.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

A modern office building towers above them, morning sunlight reflecting off the large glass front.

“Little bit more than I expected,” Davey murmurs, and Jack shrugs. Punches a code into a small keypad, buttons glowing blue beneath his fingertips. Not a single smudge on those glass double doors.

“Hey, they’re payin’ us good money. I just want a little more, y’know?”

“As always,” Davey sighs, with that faux irritance that Jack knows and loves.

A voice crackles over the little intercom, a female voice. “Who’s here?”

“Jack Kelly and David Jacobs, here to see Mr. Pulitzer?” Jack asks, that usual drawl disappearing from his voice. He means business.

There’s a soft click. The doors slide open, and the pair step into a modern lounge area. “Floor twenty-seven,” Jack murmurs, shoes clicking against the polished marble floor. Nobody else around, no other sounds.

Davey doesn’t speak, follows Jack into the elevator silently, leans against the cool metal railing as they ascend. His brow pinches together with a silent anxiety. Gets like this every time. The doors slide open.

“Kelly. Jacobs. Good to see you again,” a smooth voice greets. Pulitzer is a tall man, greasy hair that’s greying at the roots and bright blue eyes that crease up a little when he smiles.

“You too,” Jack smiles, lips pulled into a tight grin. False, a little too strained around the edges, but only Davey would pick up on that. “This ain’t gonna take long.”

“I’m sure it won’t,” Pulitzer mutters, turning on his heel. Leads them towards a door, right down the far end of the hallway. Too polished and perfect. Their footsteps echo as they walk. Holds it open for them. Davey shoots him a small smile as Jack sits down.

“So,” Jack drawls, leaning forward. Long arms cross on the edge of Pulitzer’s desk, one hand coming to rest under his chin. “I got bad news. We’re gonna have to up rates, ‘cause suppliers are screwin’ me over.”

“Is that so?” he asks, leaning back in his seat. Davey’s fingers hover over his own gun, just a little anxiety settling in his gut. “Who supplies you, may I ask?”

“Smaller cartel across town. The Delanceys.”

“Interesting.”

Pulitzer drums his fingertips on the desk rhythmically. A dim sound, and somehow it echoes in Jack’s brain. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, hyperaware of the way his clothes feel against his skin, the weight of the gun on his hip, the gentle sound of Davey’s breathing somewhere close behind.

“How so?”

There’s tension in Jack’s shoulders. Something in Pulitzer’s expression just doesn’t sit quite right with him.

“I just so happen to know a certain Morris Delancey. And I just so happen to know he hasn’t changed his prices in four years.”

Shit.

There’s a predatory grin on Pulitzer’s face, toothy and shark-like. Jack doesn’t like it one bit. Can’t think of a way to talk himself out of this one, and Davey isn’t forthcoming. He’s a deer trapped in the headlights, waiting for Pulitzer to finish him off.

His brain doesn’t quite register the gun, or the shot that fires off, or the smell of smoke that fills the room. Dimly, he registers the sound of a body hitting the ground, and he already knows it’s Davey. Doesn’t have time to react, because his vision is hazy as a second bullet pierces his own skull.

There’s a sudden moment of peace. The darkness envelopes him, like an old friend, a comforting embrace. Fleeting.

And then there’s agonising pain, splitting his skull straight down the middle. Because recovering from death isn’t a painless process, of course not. There has to be some kind of drawback to immortality. Every single time, your body has to rebuild what is broken from the inside out, bring itself back from the end, and that’s no easy feat.

Maybe that’s why Davey’s so afraid it’ll all be over one day. That there’s a limit, and one day his body will give out, unable to muster the strength to rebuild itself once again.

Jack isn’t so sure.

When his eyes reopen, he feels concrete beneath his fingertips. Gunpowder on his tongue, blood stuck between his teeth. Coppery. Licks his lips, sore and cracked. Darkened sky, the few stars you can see despite the city lights glinting overhead. Distantly, he can hear cars, somewhere far below. A rooftop.

How fitting.

He’s alive, all over again, and he lays there for a few quiet moments. Feels the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, how he can move each finger independently. The ground is scratchy against his skin.

Davey’s there, and he sits up a little too fast. Chest heaving, eyes wild. Some things never change.

“Hey, calm down,” Jack murmurs, slowly easing himself up. “You’re fine. We’re fine. It’s good.”

“This time,” Davey whispers, voice cracking just a little on the second syllable. “This time, Jackie.”

“An’ that’s what matters, ain’t it? This time? I don’t give a damn about next time, ‘cause it ain’t happened yet.”

Davey shakes his head, still trembling. “I don’t know how we live like this.”

“‘Cause if there is a limit, we ain’t gonna find it by standin’ still,” he answers. “C’mon. You’re gettin’ yourself all worked up over nothin’. We’re alive, Dave. Who gives a shit about this ‘limit’?”

“I do.”

Jack sighs, moves his hand to rest on top of Davey’s. Familiar touch. Smooth skin beneath calloused palms, worn rough from years of firefights and underhanded tactics.

“Let it go, Davey. We’re okay.”

“This time.”

“Sure, this time. An’ all the times before.”

Davey’s still shaking. Slowly, carefully, Jack pulls him a little closer. Intertwines their fingers. Matching gold bands gleam in the streetlights.

“You still got me, ain’t ya? And I ain’t goin’ nowhere without you,” Jack reassures. There’s a smile on his face. A different look, softer behind the eyes. Silent promise, just between the two of them. “I love you, David.”

“I love you too,” he replies. Breathy. Eyes still wide with shock, heart still racing. It’ll take a while for him to calm down, back to that trademark neutrality Davey’s better known for.

Jack lays back down. The concrete isn’t comfortable, but he doesn’t really feel like walking back. They could be miles away, for all he knows. Dark eyes fix on the stars, lips twisting upwards. Innate comfort. A ghost of a smile.

“Sleep here tonight, Dave. They ain’t gonna miss us.”

He silently shifts closer, rests his head on Jack’s chest, lets his lover hold him close. There’s no words. Doesn’t need to be, because they understand each other perfectly without the need for words. Davey drifts off first, exhausted from the whole ordeal. And Jack feels him breathe, feels his heartbeat, feels the warmth of his skin. Calm.

He’s alive, and real, and in a strange way it feels like he’s never been alive at all.

Jack has died twenty-eight times. Davey’s on fourteen.

One more strike over his heart.

#rayray writes #my writing #newsies #fake newsies au #javid #jack kelly #jack newsies #david jacobs #davey jacobs #davey newsies